#pls know i rewrote most of this to be...

[inosukijiro]

𝗚𝗜𝗬𝗨𝗨 𝗛𝗔𝗦 𝗔 𝗖𝗥𝗨𝗦𝗛

𝙨𝙮𝙣. ━ giyuu is wholeheartedly in love with you.

━ 𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨. no bc i am making this man a pathetic simp for you idc. im writing these with myself in mind so yk, i have to pour out my feelings. and also i need to get all this giyuu writing off my chest, its actually a problem the fixation i have on this man but no fics tickle my brain just right so i have to write them myself

━ 𝙖𝙙𝙙𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨. btw thank you so much for all the love and support on my last two posts. literally you all are so incredibly sweet !! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ i just graduated college so i might have a bit more time to write but no promises!

━ 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨. none. giyuu might be a little ooc. modern reader in kny. i rewrote this a few times so pls be nice 🤧. 1.4k words.

━ 𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙩. im just going though and adding a synopsis and fixing my titles. og title: falling for you.

Giyuu actually doesn’t know how this occurred. No, actually that was a lie. He knew how this happened, but didn’t at the same time. And honestly speaking, the man does not care at all. You were so nice and sweet to Giyuu it made his head spin. Like it makes him ill in the best way imaginable. He doesn’t understand why you want to be around him so much, why you want to be his friend – not that he minds – but he just can’t get past his own indiscretions about himself. That was until you told him to his face.

You tell him that you thought he was cute – I'm sorry? – and you liked how calm he was – really? His brain can’t compute anything that you say. He doesn’t know if you need any medical assistance or he’s just dreaming. But it makes you laugh. The cute, dumb look on his face as he stands there, gaping at you like a fish.

It wasn’t like it was new information. You did enjoy his company the most. He was very quiet and by no means were you either, but you have this habit of matching the energy of people you were with. So, it was almost relaxing and refreshing spending time with Giyuu. Though Giyuu is silent most of the time, he does in fact talk. At first it's about a mission he was on recently, if and most likely when he gets more comfortable with you, he’s talking a little more in depth about random things that are on his brain. It's endearing really. Or sometimes he’s just talking about things that he thinks you might like to know, random facts, and so on.

But sometimes you do the talking and he likes that too. You could talk for hours and he could listen to every word you have to say. He would soak it up like a sponge as you focus your eyes on the crochet hooks weaving in front of you. Your voice is quiet and nice, soft and warm sounding.

This typically happens when you visit his estate. And you visit his estate a lot. Maybe Giyuu was a little disappointed that you weren’t staying with him, but he knows that he shouldn’t bite the hand that feeds. He’s lucky enough to see you this much, as much as he's lucky to see you at all. He can’t be too mad though. Mitsuri has jumped you the first moment she got when the Master had brought up your living arrangements. You had nowhere to go. And honestly, Giyuu may have been a little relieved that Mitsuri of all people had gotten to you first.

He really wouldn’t have minded if it had been Rengoku or Gyomei. For obvious reasons, Rengoku would be happy to have him stopped by and probably Gyomei too, because it seems like they don’t have a bone to pick with him. Honestly speaking, he wouldn’t have minded Muichiro either, though the boy would have probably forgotten your existence within the day. But any of the others, the thought made his skin crawl for plenty of reasons. Maybe it was because it would have become a hassle, or he would be harassed every time he went to visit you. Yes, it does seem on par with him that might just avoid you so you don’t get verbally assaulted like he does if you were to associate with him. But he was a lonely, pathetic man who was enamored with you at first glance the minute you showed up out of nowhere and he couldn’t help but thank the heavens that the stars had aligned so nicely for him – even if he felt he didn’t deserve it.

His only issue with the arrangement was Obanai. The man had almost butchered him on numerous occasions just for showing up to the Love estate. Even if he wasn’t there for Mitsuri, the Serpent Hashira didn’t seem to care. Maybe it was funny the first few times �� it actually wasn’t – but you really couldn’t keep your mouth shut anymore. Obanai was wearing you thin with his commentary. Everytime Giyuu was around, it was like the others just couldn’t help themselves by making a comment insulting the man. Maybe it was because you didn’t want to disrespect a Hashira, especially if four of them were in the room with you, but Giyuu was here to see you, and it was almost like insulting Giyuu was an insult to you for wanting to spend time with him.

Mitsuri was okay with Giyuu coming to visit you, she actually encouraged it. So watching Mitsuri stand behind you while you gave Iguro a piece of your mind was something Giyuu didn’t know he needed to see until then. And maybe he did allow himself to feel a little selfish and smile mentally. He still remembers how Iguro had this look of disdain on his face, simultaneously looking like a scolded child and embarrassed because this was happening in front of Mitsuri.

Giyuu wondered if you caught the look that Obanai and Kaburamaru were giving you – if looks could kill and all that – but that was stupid. You most certainly did and just didn’t care enough. And Giyuu also wonders just what kind of sorcery you have, because he did hear you mention Sanemi by name at some point and now he's not bothering him as much, especially when you are around.

It wasn’t like he could do anything about it, not like he had ever done anything about it in the past. He never really had the heart to correct anyone in their assumptions of him, he never really thought he had to. Though, that mainly was because he thought he deserved such mistreatment. Regardless, it didn’t matter how he felt about it and himself. If you enjoyed his company that much to defend him, he was going to provide as much of it as you wanted. But there was something about it that made his heart swell a little bit bigger and flooded him with enough warmth that you could have mistaken it as him having a fever.

Now here the two of you were, sitting outside the Water Estate. You both had taken your places by the koi pond Giyuu has. It's so calm and cool. The soft moving of water could be heard every time the wind blew just enough, as well as the sharp sound of water splashing because some fish got too close to the surface.

Giyuu isn’t losing himself as he stares at the pond, watching the fish move around. He finds himself mesmerized though, as you talk. It’s nice, as usual. He likes how you talk and the way you talk. He could listen to you for hours and never get tired of hearing you. And he knows that if he glances at you now, even briefly, he wouldn’t be able to look away. You just look so… wonderful. It makes him dizzy. But he has such a weak will to do so, and now he's staring at you. Eyes soft and relaxed. He has never felt so content.

Giyuu doesn’t know if he realizes what kind of situation he is in. Or maybe he does. Maybe he’s finally realizing just how much of an effect you have on him. He likes you. He likes you beyond anything in the world. He loves you and everything about you.

You don't notice him staring. You’re too busy weaving the crochet hook in and out of your craft. You make it look so effortless. So enjoyable. And you seem so happy crocheting away as you speak. The way you talk and do it at the same time, you're so smart. You have to be. And Giyuu can’t help but hope you don’t look up. You’re as mesmerized with your work as he is with you. He would die though, if you caught him. The thought makes him sweat almost, being so close to you like this. His hands are clammy, and he's never been this nervous.

Yeah, he definitely has it bad for you. And for the first time in a while, even despite his nerves, he found the corners of his lips curling upwards, in a soft and timid smile. He averts his eyes, almost to gather his bearings, but that isn't enough. The subtle flush creeping onto his cheeks betrayed him. But he couldn’t be more delighted.

thank you for reading !! ૮₍˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶₎ა

[simpjaes]

heeseung taking out all his anger during sex drabble pls ❤️

MDNI.

this was originally written for jeno on my other blog but it fits so well [i rewrote it/reworded a lot of things. it's much better now lol] wc: 2.3k

tags: Heeseung hate fucks reader when he has a bad day, unprepped penetration, reader basically loses her ability to feel anything other than his cock lmao (cock drunk)

It doesn't always hurt when Heeseung has his hands on you. Really, most of the time it’s blissful. There were those nights though, when he would be rough, careless, and borderline worrisome with you. Oftentimes humiliating you in the way you can barely even mutter his name, weak and quivering under him. 

It doesn’t happen happen, but when it does, you know how much you always end up…kind of loving it.

Really, even if in the moment you’re in pain, sometimes even scared, you had to tell him after the fact to keep doing it. That it’s okay. That you fucking love it. 

Naturally, tonight is another one of those nights. 

Heeseung, first, had you against the counter with his strong arms pressing you back until your head hit the cabinets. You were, essentially, pinned there between his frustrated eyes and the counter top with him slotting himself between your legs. Not a single word is said to you, not a single explanation, and arguably, you know better than to ask. 

You already know. He’s had a bad day.

So, you just let him. Feeling his lips go from a grimace to biting and nipping against your skin. You can only imagine how bad his day went for him to be so silent, still, you let him do as he pleases because you don’t exactly want to make it worse for him. If anything, you’re fine with being an outlet. You get plenty out of this too, after all.

And there is a part of him that knows he’s doing this with you rather than at you, based on your previous pleads to be his outlet. He’s forever in love with the fact that you let him be this rough, with his bruising grip and harsh teeth. There’s nothing more in this world he could need to unwind aside from you and you alone. Solely because you let him.

When he drags you to the bedroom without a word, you simply let him. Internally bubbling with all sort of emotions. Fear, excitement, concern, arousal. He appears to be more angry tonight though, solely because his fingers gripping your wrist hurts much more than usual. You can feel your skin under them, pulling and stretching under his grip as he takes you to where he wants you. 

And yet again, like on many nights like these, he doesn’t offer a single bit of foreplay. He does little more than getting his cock out with that same frustrated face, flicking his head down as if he has an expectation of you. That, he does. You know it very well, and you do as you’re directed. Rolling your pajamas down your leg and easily spreading your legs and pussy for him. 

Unprepped, still mostly dry. You know it’s going to hurt, and he knows it’s going to hurt too. The understanding is mutual but the act is much needed on more ends than just Heeseung’s. 

The drag of his immediate, forced, plunge is uncomfortable for both of you, but something about the feeling of getting you wet while he’s inside of you is something that grounds Heeseung beyond belief. The feeling pulls him out of his red thoughts and turns them a shade darker. 

It’s always you who can distract him. 

And, of course, he only goes faster and harder at that point, chasing the moment for when you’ll slick up for him nice and wet. Gripping onto your body in such a harsh way that all you can do for him is whimper and cry. Your eyes always force the tears, especially when he hasn’t kissed you yet. But even if he had kissed you, you’d be unable to kiss him back at this point. Not until the discomfort subsides anyway.

Thankfully, and like always, it doesn’t take long for your body to want it. What was once the sound of dry and slapping skin turns to that of wet, squelching sounds as you drip out and around him. The drag hurts no more, and by this point you need him to go harder, faster, fucking deeper. After all, if he’s going to hate-fuck you when you’re not even the point of his anger, if he’s not even going to kiss you, he better find a way to make it hurt more. 

Heeseung does come back to himself when he feels the slide though, loving that he can come home from his awful day and have you present yourself in such a way for him. He loves you more than anything, for so many fucking reasons that don’t include that, but still. This is what you do for him, and it brings his softness back tenfold as he reaches out for your face, eyes softening for you in concern. 

Fuck, he swears he learns something new about you every day too. After all the years the two of you have been together, he’s shocked when you turn your face away from him. He’s a bit defeated at the act, partially wondering if he’s really pushed it too far in terms of using you. It’s not often he doesn’t at least give you some praise as he does this, but really, he was so, so upset. His brain just….he needed this before saying anything. 

And so, at that motion of you turning your face away from him and his softer hands, he only slams his hips harder. He tips himself back a bit now, using one hand to tug at your clit as if it’s a form of retaliation from your rejection.

It would be retaliation anyway, but Heeseung knows well enough how much you love to hurt. You love when he tugs and pinches against your pretty, swollen clit. The sharp pains always make you cry in a way that fucks your brain up. As if you don’t know whether to plead for him to stop or to ask for more. 

Still, he’s frustrated that you won’t let him love on you now that he’s grounded himself a bit. His whole fucking day has been a disaster, and now you’re pulling away? Not making eye contact? Not letting him kiss you?

“Baby, look at me.” He says, now nearly demanding that you do as he says. 

And, of course, you do. 

“You want it to hurt more?” He continues when you still shift your eyes away from him, but he’s a bit amused in the way you nod to him. So out of it for him that he feels almost silly for being upset at you in the first place. 

“Yeah?” He nods with a half chuckle, slowing his hips but now driving in with intent and harsh plunges. “Just like that?” 

You yelp as you urge him with a nod, loving the sear and feeling of your boyfriend tearing you open. And while you know he’s being rough, he’s not quite giving you his all now that he’s softened up.

You want him to give it his ass by this point now, if the sound of your pussy is anything to go by. You want him to fucking hurt you, to the point you can’t moan, to the point you can’t breathe. 

“More,” You manage to get out for him in another yelped whimper. “You’re being soft.”

“Yeah?” He asks for confirmation with his hand reaching for you cheek again, burying his leaking cock in so deep, so painfully deep. “Look at me.”

You do, showing him your blown out pupils and mess of hair on top of you head. You nod frantically, wanting him to push further than he ever has. Wondering if he’ll ever surpass his own limit for you. 

It goes like this for a while longer than usual. More pain, more pleasure, and your heart rate higher than you thought possible. 

He’s using you so well and you couldn’t be more proud to be this for him. An outlet, his girlfriend, his sex doll. And fuck, he bites, he bruises, he drags his hips so painfully into you that you feel like you genuinely could be split in half at any moment if he truly wanted to. 

So full, you can feel it so deeply inside of you that all you can do is cry.

You lose yourself to that feeling, basking in the sensation of your walls clenching every inch of him and moaning out with each second that passes. To the point your throat is sore and your eyes are swollen from the tears. 

He pulls against your hair now, holding his hips in place and burying himself just as deep as before inside of you. Instantly, you see tunnel vision now. Like you could burst, both physically and emotionally, all for him. 

Him, him, him. 

And he only holds himself like that to the point that you can feel your cervix bruise. He only pushes harder now, trying to inch in more of his cock despite having no more to give. He lifts your leg over his shoulder just to get a different angle at the failure, only to find a way to make you feel him deeper than you thought was possible. 

God, it hurts so good and he loves it. Your pained face paired with the image of your pussy taking the entirety of him. You’re everything to him. 

And now? His grunts are that of focus rather than pleasure. He wants to ruin you, he is trying to ruin you to the fucking core just to see if you’ll unravel in a new sort of way. 

It’s the fact that he’s talking to you through it too. You can’t make out a single word though, tunnel vision is tunnel hearing, and all you can focus on is the feeling of his cock bruising the deepest part of you. Being torn apart by the man you love is…something you’ll never forget. 

And when you do manage to catch a smirk on his face before his hips start sliding back and forth again, you realize he loves this as much as you do. Of course he does, who wouldn’t love a girl willing to let her man surpass his own limits? 

Out of respect, no less. 

“Are you with me?” His voice echoes through your eyes, and while he’s fully aware that you’re absolutely fucking gone with the way he’s fucking you right now, he takes your distant nod as confirmation. 

Despite how far aware he seems in your head, you know that every sensation your body is feeling right now is because of him. You can’t help the quivering. The uncontrollable shaking.

It feels so good, to the point you are nearly numb to everything else around you. The swollen feeling of your body being abused is too, too fucking good. You can’t even comprehend that he’s kissing against your slack mouth, but you do your best to kiss him back. 

Goddamn does he love the way you drool all over yourself and him. Good. Fucking good girl. 

“Try again,” He chuckles against your tongue, waiting, just to see if you can manage to kiss him properly. Though he suspects you’re completely lost in your head right now. 

After all, he’s giving you exactly what you asked for. 

And all you can do in return is blink up at him with a dazed smile. Your body is moving up with each of his thrusts just to make it that much more painful, and his lips continue to lay against yours. He’s truly waiting for you to kiss him back like you have the ability to do it. Like you can truly think of anything else rather than what he’s doing between your legs. 

Hah. 

“You’re so gone, baby.” He smiles in a breath at your failure to do anything more than leave your mouth open for him. He’s fucking floored by how much you love this, and how you truly embrace the inability to think at this moment. “You’re loving this, hm?”

You can’t even not for him this time, feeling pangs of pain and pleasure shoot through your body with each sharp thrust. 

“Try again, pretty girl.” He encourages you when he licks against your bottom lip again, gripping your hair with his other hand and craning your neck back. 

”You can do it, come on.” He adds, biting against your neck and licking the mark. 

You once again, can’t even try, because he accentuates each word with a drag of his pulsing cock and a sharp pressure against your clit with his abdomen. So, you stop trying, falling into the depths of the sensations and allowing yourself to lose your grasp on reality entirely. 

Fucking hell, he loves it. The way you come undone, the way your entire body goes clack before shaking uncontrollably with a wet spurt of your pussy trying to push him out. He can feel you clench around him, your body acting on instinct to push, push, push, the pleasure out and all over him. 

He has to hold back his own impressed moan at the way he stays buried into you as you squirt around him with that pretty, pained look on your face. 

“Fuck, that feels good, doesn’t it?” He grunts out, slowing his pace to feel you clench around him fully, enough to where he needs to brace himself to pull out slightly just to shove his cock right back into that quivering mess. “So out of it too, god–” He moans now, leaning back just to look down fully. Noting how you’ve left a mess all over him. 

And you still continue to quiver, your pussy still clenches and grips him. All the way until you’re slack, still clenching, and he’s now pumping his cum into you with such a relieved moan that it almost brings you back to reality. 

By the time he’s done shaking on top of you, out of breath, and pulling out, your ears are ringing save for his soft voice. 

“Baby?” You hear him say as he dips down beside your head. “I got you.” 

You manage to nod to him and smile in a drunken kind of daze as he lifts you from the bed for the proper clean up from a boyfriend who very much loves you. 

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 FRANCESCA

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

SUMMARY: fate will always find a way. {wordcount: 22.1k; fem!reader; romance & tragedy}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: wow guys i can't believe it's over. i won't lie this chapter was an absolute monster to write, i cried and rewrote several times, but i think it came out the way i was hoping. i'll leave some more notes at the bottom so as to not spoil, but i hope you enjoy, it's been such a crazy ride, ily all lots. as always, reblogs appreciated

GENERAL WARNINGS: mcd. dissociation. explicit mentions of past self-harm & suicide attempts. dazai describes his scars as "gross" and "ugly". implications of child abuse. suicide. i believe that's all, if there's any i'm missing, pls let me know, this is a heavy chapter obviously.

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

“... You said you have a brother?” 

You look up from where your head is resting on Dazai’s chest, peering at him with furrowed brows. He raises his eyebrows, hoping the curiosity on his face comes across as innocent. In his defense, it mostly is—Dazai only wants to know because he’s wondering if he’s correct in assuming the mentions of your brother were in the present tense because he’s still alive. 

If that’s the case, then that’s another first in this universe, he thinks. As far as Dazai is aware, in every other universe, your brother has been long dead by the time Dazai meets you and if that’s changed, it had to have been because of something Dazai unwittingly did, otherwise what else would’ve led to such a drastic change from the norm.

He doesn’t recall if you ever mentioned anything of significance about your brother in any of the other universes. The most he remembers is that in some, he passed away when you were sixteen and that he was involved with some shady business. You claimed that it was something to do with underground rings but if Dazai’s right in assuming that he is still alive, then Dazai thinks that the underground ring business was a cover for Port Mafia business, because the only thing that so drastically changed in the years your brother would have died was Dazai coming into contact with the Book and upending the Port Mafia’s operations.

“I do,” you say, shifting to prop your chin up on his shoulder, you lean in to brush your lips against his jaw and Dazai’s eyes flutter shut, lifting his hand to caress the small of your back. “We don’t speak anymore.”

God, Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this. He lifts his free hand to cup your cheek, watching as you lean into his touch. He lifts his shoulders up off the bed to tilt his head down, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. He can feel you smile against his and he swears his heart is in his throat, hand sliding to hold the back of your head as he lets his fall back against the pillows. You settle back against his chest and Dazai cards his fingers through your hair as his mind spins.

It’s been two weeks since the event, and while the upcoming conflict with the House of the Dead and their allies has been eerily quiet, Dazai thinks it might be for the best because things with you have not been quiet. The past two weeks have been tense and strained, once the fog of the night the two of you spent together finally disappeared, the realization of your situation hit you hard. 

It’s been cycle after cycle of you shutting yourself off from him—curling up in the corner of his bedroom and staring out the window before sending yourself into a steep spiral of fear and paranoia. You haven’t dared to leave the headquarters in two weeks, even when Chuuya and Atsushi and half the Black Lizards offer to escort you, too scared to even step out of his apartment and go down to the lower floors. Sometimes you lash out at him, angry and accusatory; other times, you just cry, terrified sobs that rip Dazai’s heart right out of his chest, and he can only hold you until it passes. And it does pass, it always passes, and he gets a day or two with you like this, peaceful and pleasant. He can pretend that the two of you are just a normal couple in love with each other and not have to face reality.

He hasn’t been much better off. Every day that passes, the corners of the pages of the Book edge further into his vision. He knows it’s coming—his face-off against Dostoevsky, the first trial he has to face to ensure you can live in this universe—and he knows he can’t let himself falter even once or make a single mistake. He’s good at putting up a front around the executives—although he’s sure that Chuuya and Kouyou are realizing just how anxious Dazai really is—but he has to keep his hands beneath the table to hide the way his fingers tremble. He thought he would have more time to prepare for this, he doesn’t know why the timeline sped up so much in this life.

He tries to distract himself from the growing fear by keeping his attention focused on you because you need him right now. Desperately. He’s never seen you like this before. And it’s his fault, he knows it. In most of the other universes, you never knew his enemies were hunting you down; and in the ones that you did know, you’d been eased into a life with him already, you’d known what you were getting into. He threw you into this life without any regard for how it might affect you, like tossing someone who doesn’t know how to swim into stormy waters.  

Guilt claws at his throat again, as it always does when his mind drifts to what he’s dragged you into, so he forces his mind back to the conversation at hand. Another welcome distraction from the anxiety, a way to keep his fear at bay—trying to figure out who your brother is, a mystery that he hasn’t solved in any other universe. It’s easier to actively avoid the creeping fear than to face it upfront, especially when he’s not sure he’ll be able to overcome it.

“Why is that?” he finally asks, and then after a moment adds, “... I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you say, but he can hear the strain in your voice and Dazai understands that it’s entirely not fine, and if your brother does happen to be part of the Port Mafia, Dazai is going to put him through the most excruciating and uncomfortable missions before forcing him back into your life because how dare he make you feel this way. “It’s been like this for like six years now. He cut off contact with me, I don’t know why, he never explained. He still sends me money but I don’t care for any of that, I just want to see him.”

Interesting. Six years ago. When he usually would have died in all of the other universes. Dazai’s mind spins as he tries to narrow it down. So many things happened that year. The Dragon’s Head Conflict, the incident with Verlaine-

The incident with Verlaine.

No.

Dazai shifts a bit and you instantly shoot him a disgruntled look, the apologetic smile he gives you in return is only half-hearted. He ghosts his lips across the top of your head before wrapping an arm tighter around you, fingers rubbing absent circles against your bare skin.

Of all of the events that occurred after Dazai came in contact with the Book, the incident with Verlaine had been the one that changed the most. Dazai had gone out of his way to ensure that the Flags survived the incident so Chuuya would still have people after Dazai finished the final stage of his plan, just like how he made sure to put things in place for Atsushi and Kyouka, Gin, pushing Akutagawa to the Armed Detective Agency. Everything would fall into place after the final stage, everyone could have their mostly happy ending.

Everyone but him.

His mind drifts a bit at the thought of his original plan, the phases that he’d enacted to ensure the preservation of this world—long, happy lives for you and Odasaku. Dragging you into his life shattered that and he still hasn’t figured out how exactly he needs to adjust everything to account for this.

You brought me here. I need you here with me. Don’t go off somewhere I can’t follow

Your words ring through his head. His eyes slide shut and the reminder of Phase Five flashes before his eyes. He can feel a headache coming on already, his throat swelling with frustration. No. Now’s not the time to focus on this. 

The incident with Verlaine. The Flags. Is it possible…?

It doesn’t necessarily have to be one of the Flags. He’s sure that dozens upon dozens of subordinates managed to live in this universe with the Flags still around, Doc especially, butterfly effect and all, but Dazai can’t help but hesitate, a gut feeling drawing him to them. You didn’t recognize Albatross or Piano Man, obviously it can’t be Lippmann. That only leaves Doc and Iceman. Doc doesn’t have a family, Dazai remembers the man mentioning it offhandedly after he was wrangled down into the infirmary for a checkup a few years ago, but Iceman…

“Nah, Iceman ain’t gonna be around this weekend, his kid sister’s graduating uni. He’s going to the ceremony. Hit me with whatever you needed him for, I’ll get it done.”

Albatross’s words from a year and a half ago echo through Dazai’s head. He fully sits up this time, eyes widening, ignoring the way he jostles you around. You scowl at him and shift into a sitting position yourself but Dazai is already fumbling for his phone. You claim you haven’t seen your brother since you were sixteen, and Dazai supposes that doesn’t entirely fit in with the fact that if his theory is right, Iceman went to your graduation, but he also supposes that the man didn’t necessarily have to make himself known to you to attend your graduation.

What other pieces is he missing?

Dazai should have recognized Iceman in the picture on your wall, shouldn’t he have? 

Not necessarily, he thinks—you and your brother had been young in the picture, no older than ten and fourteen, and Dazai doesn’t even deal personally with Iceman anyway. The man reports to Piano Man, and Piano Man reports to Dazai as the middle-man. He hardly sees Iceman more than once or twice a year, if even that. 

And…

Oh.

Dazai exhales, realizing that Iceman being your brother might explain more things than just some oddities in this universe. His mind races as he tries to mentally flip through the pages of the Book, remembering some of the stranger universes out there. Some are so distinct from this one that there are hardly any similarities to this one—universes where the world is still being torn apart by the Great War, universes where you and he had been born hundreds of years prior during an era of warring feudal lords, universes where the world is entirely flooded and universes where the world has become a wasteland.

But there are other universes so similar to this one, with just a few distinct differences, that Dazai struggles to understand what makes them turn out so outrageously different. Everything is functionally the same until the two of you are thirteen or fourteen, where it’s as if the timeline abruptly branches off into countless routes for no apparent reason. Sometimes, he ends up with Odasaku rather than Mori, but in that same universe, you somehow end up with the Port Mafia. In other universes, he ends up with the government as a member of the Hunting Dogs, you end up with the Port Mafia too in that one. Sometimes you have an ability that manifests, sometimes—like in this universe—you don’t. 

He never understood what causes the timelines to go down these routes when everything else is fundamentally the same. He assumed that he was somehow the root of it: it was a decision that he unwittingly made that caused the abrupt branching off of the timeline, but he was never entirely convinced of it because he couldn’t make sense of how him ending up somewhere other than the Mafia led to you joining the Mafia, or triggering the manifestation of your ability.

It makes a lot more sense if you already have a connection to the Mafia that he was unaware of.

That would leave your brother as the variable affecting where you end up, and whether or not your ability manifests. Not Dazai.

“What’re you doing?” you complain, flopping back onto the bed and tugging at his shirt as he puts together the mystery that’s been plaguing him for almost seven years.

“Gimme a second,” Dazai murmurs, only half-listening as he shoots a text toward Piano Man, telling him to summon Iceman back to headquarters from where he’s been dealing with a slippery target abroad for months, not bothering to wait for a response as he tosses his phone back onto his dresser and returns his attention to you, significantly more pleased than he was moments before.

The best way to test his theory is to drag Iceman back to base and see the man’s reaction to you being here. Is it smart? Maybe not, but Dazai doesn’t really care.

“What’s got you so happy all of a sudden?” you ask, eyes narrowing a bit in suspicion.

Dazai’s lips tilt upward as he leans down, half-rolling on top of you as he ghosts his lips against your forehead, nose, and then your lips before resting his head on your chest. “I’m spending my day with a beautiful woman.” He tilts his face up to kiss your jaw, relishing in the giggle you let out. “Of course, I’m happy.”

“Yeah?” you ask, nuzzling your face into his hair as you wrap your arms around him. Dazai thinks that if he died now, he would die in a state of bliss—tucked away in your arms with no threat of the outside world to weigh over him. You trace over the thin cotton shirt he’s wearing, drawing absent patterns over with the tip of your finger, up his chest to his shoulder, trailing down his arm.

“Mhm,” he agrees, eyes fluttering shut momentarily as he basks in your touch. He glances back down again when he feels your finger brush over the bandages covering his forearms, hesitating for a moment.

He peers up at you through his lashes, watching the curious expression cross your face as you look down at them, not noticing that he’s caught you staring—he knows what you’re thinking, how could he not? He’d known this was going to come sooner or later, that one day you’d wonder what was beneath the rest of the bandages. You’d never looked at him differently for it in any other life, but Dazai can’t help the lump that rises to his throat as he prepares for you to ask.

You don’t.

Instead, your gaze lifts back to his and you lean down to press your lips to his forehead. He hums lightly and tilts his head up, waiting to see if you’ll say something, but you only lift your hand to brush your fingers through his hair.

“Aren’t you going to ask?” he murmurs, eyes sliding shut again as you trace your fingers over his face, drawing along the slope of his nose down to his lips.

“I don’t plan to, no,” you say lightly, smiling as Dazai nips at your finger when you press it against his lips lightly.

“Why not?” he asks, gaze lidded as he looks up at you again. He almost frowns, wondering if you don’t want to see what’s beneath the bandages, but that would be ludicrous and makes him feel a bit insecure, so he waits for your answer instead.

“Because I figure you’ll show me on your own when you’re ready,” you tell him and the lump returns to his throat, bigger this time as he catches sight of the soft expression on your face.

He’ll never get used to it, he thinks again, breathless.

“What if I’m never ready?” Dazai questions quietly, watching your face carefully for a response.

You’re entirely unbothered by the prospect. 

“I hope one day you will be, but if you’re not, that’s okay,” you say as your arms tighten around him, leaning down to bury your face in his hair again—he can feel you smile against the top of his head.

His lips part to respond but no words leave them. Instead, he lets out a sigh and takes one of your hands into his, smoothing his thumb over your palm. “What did I do to deserve you?” he says more to himself than anything else as he lifts your hand to his lips so he can kiss your knuckles.

His eyes flutter shut for a second as he considers what to do, but before he can make a decision, he feels you shifting a bit behind him. He glances back at you, brows furrowing in confusion when he catches the sudden conflict plaguing your expression. He twists around to face you, lifting his hand to cup your cheek, frowning at the downcast look in your eyes as you lean into his touch.

“What’s wrong?” he asks you, wondering if he said something wrong but he has a feeling that it’s something running deeper than that. He keeps his voice soft as he searches your eyes for an answer. You don’t respond at first, and Dazai feels significantly more concerned, shifting to his knees to kneel on the bed next to you, tilting your face to make you look at him. “Talk to me.”

“... I have orientation in a few days,” you finally say and Dazai instantly knows what has you suddenly on edge, swallowing thickly. “For school. On Friday. I can’t not go.”

He runs his thumb along your cheekbone, hoping that the small smile on his face does not convey the nerves that eat at him—he doesn’t need to stress you out any more than you already are. A part of him wants to curse himself for being so selfish; none of this was supposed to happen. You were supposed to live out your life happily without this weight hanging over you; you were supposed to go to school and graduate, not be so scared to leave the bedroom that you hardly even want to go anymore.

God, the guilt is suffocating; it takes all of Dazai’s self control to keep himself grounded here with you and not lose himself in regret.

“Sounds exciting,” Dazai hums, careful to keep his voice light. “You’ll meet all of your new classmates, you better not forget about me.”

He finds a small victory in the way your eyes turn up slightly at his comment, but it’s only brief, returning back to that downcast expression that makes Dazai feel sick to his stomach. He brushes his lips between your brows before pulling back to look at you again, the tips of his fingers running through your hair.

“I’m scared,” you admit softly, “what if-”

“Don’t be,” Dazai cuts you off, doesn’t even let you finish the what if that’s been haunting his thoughts since he came in contact with the Book all of those years ago. If you voice it out loud, he’s scared that it’ll shatter the dam that’s been holding back all of the fear threatening to consume him. “You have nothing to be scared of. Nothing will happen to you.”

“You can’t promise that,” you say, trying to look away, but he forces you to look at him again. His heart feels like it’s in his throat when he sees the way your eyes have welled with tears, one spilling over to trickle down your cheek—he leans down to kiss it away, trailing his lips up to the corner of your eye before hovering over you.

“I can,” he corrects gently. He tells himself the same thing he told you the night he decided to see you again—he has the knowledge, power, and resources, and Dazai is never as motivated when he has you as an incentive. Already, his mind is racing, making plans to get his own men into the building, trying to figure out what would be the best course of action to maybe have Chuuya pose as another enrolled student so he can keep someone close to you. “I can.”

You don’t look convinced, your bottom lip wobbles as you look up at him doubtfully and Dazai is instantly leaning down to press his against yours. Softly. Gently. It’s an innocent kiss, a plea for you to trust him to protect you because he will protect you.

“Do you trust me?” he asks and then falters instantly, reminded of the argument the two of you had two weeks ago. He amends the question and instead asks, “Do you trust me to keep you safe?”

You stare at him for a moment and for a terrible second, Dazai thinks you might be about to say no, but after what feels like an eternity, you nod, and Dazai lets out a breath that he didn’t even know he was holding. He has to go talk to Kouyou, and the Black Lizards, and Chuuya. He doesn’t give a fuck if he turns this into the Mafia’s biggest operation since the Dragon’s Head Conflict, if that’s what it takes to keep you safe. 

Dostoevsky won’t win—not this time.

When he comes back to the penthouse after spending nearly the whole day trying to work out plans for your orientation on Friday, he can already tell that you’re teetering off of the edge. Dazai lingers in the door frame for a moment, the corners of his lips turning down and all thoughts of the upcoming operation fizzling away as he lets out a soft puff of air, studying you.

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed staring out the window blankly, hands sitting loosely in your lap. You’re still wearing the pajamas he’d left you in this morning, but there are stains on the front of it—he wonders if you tried to cook something but gave up halfway, it would explain the sudden influx of dirty dishes in the sink. 

You look beautiful—you always do, even when you’re littered with stains and half out of it—but you look so fragile that it makes Dazai sick to his stomach. He’s never seen you look so fragile before than he has the past two weeks. You’ve always been willful, the most fearless and headstrong person that Dazai has ever known. Seeing you like this because of him, nonetheless, breaks something in Dazai that he didn’t even know was still capable of being broken.

“I’m back,” he says quietly, so as to not startle you, but you don’t react to his words anyway. 

In fact, you don’t acknowledge his presence or even blink as he brushes his hand against your shoulder before coming to kneel in front of you, eyes searching your face. His throat tightens as he reaches up to cup your cheek and it’s only then that your gaze tracks down to him, but he can tell from the distant look in your eyes that you’re probably not even really seeing him.

“What’d you try to make earlier?” he hums, resting his free hand on your knee, drawing absent circles over your skin.

You stare at him for a moment and when your lips part to respond, he can barely hold back the sigh of relief—if you’re still responsive, maybe he can catch it before you steep down into your spiral, he just has to figure out how. He needs to distract you, obviously, drag you back from the ledge as you’ve done for him—not him—so many times before. 

“… Cupcakes,” you finally tell him softly. “They burned.”

His lips curl upward into a smile, hand sliding up your thigh to grab your hand, lifting it to press a kiss upon your palm. “We can try to make them together later, hm?” he offers. “I’ve never made them before.”

“... Okay,” you respond quietly after a few seconds of silence, and Dazai considers it a win—or, well, he does until you start speaking again: “I don’t think I should go on Friday, Osamu. Maybe I should just unenroll… at least until things calm down, then I can figure it out. I’ll just start later. It’s fine. A lot of people do it.”

Dazai’s eyes slide shut. He holds your hand to his face and rests his forehead against your knuckles—this time he can’t hold back the sigh that slips from his lips. This is his fault, he did this to you. In a world where you’re supposed to be free of the dark, fulfilling all of the dreams you couldn’t because of him in other lives, you’re too scared to even start school, wanting to drop out rather than step outside his penthouse.

God, what has he done?

He drops your hand back to your lap and looks back up to you, hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your head, fingers intertwining with your hair as he looks up at you. Your expression hardly shifts, watching him absently as you wait for a response, but he doesn’t know how to convince you yet so instead he gives you a soft smile that he’s sure doesn’t meet his eyes, but he doesn’t think you notice in your distant state. 

“Come take a bath with me,” he says, half a request, half a plea as he squeezes your thigh gently. “Then we’ll talk, yeah?”

You avert your gaze from his again, but you nod, so Dazai considers it another win. He stands up quickly, helping you to your feet before guiding you into the bathroom. You’d do this for him sometimes in the other universes; when he goes through really bad slumps and can barely bring himself to eat or move, you’ll coax him out of bed and into the bathtub, bringing him a tray of breakfast and letting him rest against your chest as he soaks in the hot water and picks at his food. Sometimes it brings him out of the slumps, sometimes it doesn’t, but it never fails to make him feel less alone so he figures it’s about time he’s able to return the favor to you. 

He hums a familiar jaunty tune as he leans over to get the water running in the tub—hot, you always like the water just a bit less scalding than he usually has it—before turning to you. He crosses the bathroom in three long steps, standing in front of where you’re still leaning against the counter. He cups your cheeks and purposely smushes them so he can lean down and place an obnoxious kiss right upon your squished lips. You don’t look amused by his dramatics, but your eyes are tracking him now—another win. He’s on a roll now, maybe he’ll be able to pull you out of this before it spirals.

“Let me help you get undressed?” he proposes, smiling as he lifts a finger to his cheek and waits for your response. 

“Okay,” you agree—a quicker response than the last ‘okay,’ a good sign. 

Dazai doesn’t waste time as he presses his lips to your forehead, fingers curling around the hem of your soft cotton shirt. He carefully pulls it up above your head, placing it on the counter behind you. You’re not wearing a bra beneath it, so Dazai only lets his hands settle on your hips before he props his chin up on the top of your head.

He lets out a soft breath, eyes tracing the smooth skin of your back in the mirror before he lets them flutter shut. Just as he’s about to kneel down and slip off your shorts and panties so he can get you in the tub, he feels your arms wrap around his waist, and oh. Dazai’s throat tightens as you lean your head against his chest and press your bare body against his clothed one; one of his arms curl around you, large palm splayed against your lower back, while the other cradles the back of your head.

Dazai would do anything for you. Build empires or burn them. He’d gift you the sun and the moon and the stars. He can feel your body trembling against his and he knows that he’d rot in the depths of hell if it meant keeping you safe. There’s no length he wouldn’t go to, no depths he wouldn’t stoop to. His arms tighten around you and he presses his lips back to the top of your head, letting out a shaky breath.

Fyodor Dostoevsky will die. Agatha Christie will die. Both of their organizations will burn. Anyone who’s a threat to you—whether it’s ten bodies or ten thousand, he doesn’t care.

“C’mon,” he says softly, “let’s get you in there.”

He feels you nod against his chest and with much reluctance, his arms drop from where they’re wrapped around you as he kneels in front of you. He kisses your navel as his fingers curl around the hem of your shorts; he pulls them down until they’re loose on the floor around your ankles. When he scoops you into his arms, your eyes widen and he tosses you a playful wink before easing you down into the tub.

Once you’re mostly submerged in the water, you draw your knees to your chest and prop your chin on top of them, staring ahead. Whatever light had managed to return to your eyes fizzles out almost instantly and Dazai bites back a sigh, intent on getting into the tub with you and distracting you from the thoughts plaguing your mind. He slips off his jacket and drops it onto the floor, pulling off his tie haphazardly. He reaches up to unbutton his shirt and-

Oh.

Oh.

Dazai has made a fatal mistake.

His vision tunnels in on the bandages peeking out from the sleeve of his shirt, envisioning the mess of ridged scars that stain the skin beneath them. Slowly, his gaze draws back to you. To the tub. To the water. If he wants to get in with you then-

You don’t seem to notice his sudden predicament, too focused on whatever spot on the wall you’ve been staring at since he set you down, but Dazai thinks that his world might be on the verge of collapse because he loves you, he does, but he doesn’t know if he’s ready to take off the bandages. Not yet. Maybe the fear is irrational, maybe it’s not—you’ve already done things in this universe that you’ve never done in any other, and he’s terrified that when you see the deep, ugly scars that litter his skin, you’ll look at him differently.

Shit.

His eyes slide shut, trying to figure out what to do.

He could leave the bandages on—he could, but they’ll become soggy and loose and they’ll probably slip off anyway, not to mention it’ll irritate his skin. And he’ll feel gross after. And he’s sure you’ll take notice of the fact that he won’t even take the bandages off to take a bath with you. He’s evaded it pretty casually up until now and the conversation yesterday morning, but this would be so glaring that there would be no denying that he’s actively trying to not let you see beneath the bandages. Yes, that is what he’s doing, but he doesn’t need you to be aware of that, though distantly, he notes that you probably are already at this point.

Or he could just… take them off. He’s going to eventually, he knows that; he’s not going to hide his body from you forever, but he thought he’d put it off for as long as possible. But maybe this is for the best—it happening now. Him putting it off for as long as possible is exactly what he tried to do with telling you about his position in the Mafia and that obviously blew up in his face—not only did it not happen on his own terms but it happened in the worst way possible. At least now, he can control the situation.

It is with great reluctance and severe anxiety that he finally starts unbuttoning his shirt. He fumbles a few times, fingers feeling extra clunky, but he pushes through because his comfort doesn’t matter right now, helping you does. He reminds himself of that over and over again. He can hardly even count the number of times that you’ve put aside your own comfort for him in all of the other universes, even in this one; he shouldn’t even hesitate to do the same for you. His shirt hits the floor and Dazai’s heart leaps to his throat, the first plate of his armor shed. His pants are next, and Dazai feels sick with nerves as his fingers brush the pin holding the bandages of his left arm in place.

Just do it.

His fingers work to unfasten the pin—he tells himself that he’s being ridiculous. That this is you. He wears his bandages like armor, a shield to hide himself from the rest of the world, but you’ve always been exempt from the ‘rest of the world.’ You’re you, the woman he’s loved since he laid hands on the Book when he was fifteen, the only person in the world who has accepted him for all of the good and bad and-

“How could I accept any of this?”

Your words from two weeks ago ring through his head and Dazai freezes from where he’s about to unwrap the bandages. Doubt sweeps through him—fear, cold and debilitating because he really doesn’t think he can handle your rejection. Not now, not ever, especially about this.

You won’t reject him, he insists again and forces himself to continue, but instead of looking down at the scars that line his arm, deep and discolored, lumpy to the touch—gross, he thinks again, ugly—he looks at you. You’re still staring ahead, oblivious to his rising anxiety and Dazai uses it as motivation to keep unwinding the bandages, letting them fall to the ground carelessly. 

First, his arms, then the bandages around his calves and thighs, his abdomen and chest, and finally his neck—he grimaces as his fingers graze the rough scar that circles his neck, one of the more prominent ones that mar his body, a reminder of his near-successful attempt at fifteen after he first got his hands on the Book and couldn’t cope with all of the knowledge of the different universes. With the knowledge of Odasaku. With the knowledge of you. He was fifteen. Lonely. In the worst mental state of his life, desperately searching for a reason to live and only finding more and more reasons why he should die. He’d found out he was just as isolated from the world in every other life as he was in this one, just as empty—and that the only people who could fill the gaping hole in his chest died because of him in every other universe. 

He was fifteen. It had been too much.

It’s still too much.

His gaze tracks down to the floor again, a heavy feeling settling over him. He’s second-guessing himself again, he’s feeling guilty again. He’s tired.

He’s so tired.

When he moves forward to join you in the tub, he’s hardly present; his body is moving on autopilot and it’s only when his toes dip into the hot water—a few degrees short of his liking, but the perfect temperature for you—that he’s finally drawn back to reality. He’s already in motion, so he can’t stop himself from joining you in the tub, but he is very hyper-aware now of the scars on his body, making an active effort to not let them brush your skin so as to not draw attention to them.

Luckily, his tub is large enough that you can sit comfortably between his legs without being too squeezed between them, so the deep scars that are littered across his inner thighs are not necessarily pressed against your outer thighs. But… the scars on his chest and abdomen are not as easy to evade, nor are the ones that line his wrists. His fingers brush your shoulder from where he was about to pull you back to lay against him and wrap his arms around you, eyes fluttering shut. 

There’s no way you won’t notice them when you lay back.

The largest scar that mars his body runs from his shoulder to his opposite hip—he doesn’t remember how he obtained it. It was from before he found himself in Mori’s hands, and everything before his time with the Port Mafia is vague and blurry, if not entirely blank. Either way, it’s deep and ridged, discolored. Gross. And there’s no way for you to lay against him without feeling it rough against your skin.

He barely withholds the sigh that nearly escapes his lips, but he forces himself to close his fingers around your shoulder to pull you into him. He reminds himself that your comfort comes before his insecurity, you’ve put your own wellbeing to the side for him so many times before—it should not be so hard for him to do it once for you.

For better or for worse, you don’t react when your back lays flush against his chest. For better because you didn’t have an adverse reaction to feeling the worst of his scars against your bare skin. For worse because he thinks it might only be because you’re still half spiraling into a dissociative state. He presses his lips against your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your body, and instantly he flinches because he realizes that he’s just rubbed the scars on his forearms right against you and that has seemed to catch your attention. For better or for worse.

He’s frozen when he feels you shift against him, head turning down toward where his arm is tucked against you. He’s angled it so that you can’t see them, hidden in the water and against your skin, but you’re undeterred and Dazai can hardly bring himself to breathe when he feels your fingers curl around his wrist, gently easing his arm off of you to cradle it between your hands like it’s something fragile, turning over so you can look at scars that litter his skin.

He can’t see your face. A part of him is glad, still plagued with the terrible fear that you’re going to see the scars and be disgusted, but the larger part of him wants to know, wants to see you, wants to-

His breath hitches when you bring one finger to his skin. Soft, gentle, you trace your finger across the ridged lines. Dazai’s lips part to speak, he has the distinct urge to say something, to explain even though you haven’t spoken a word, but he doesn’t know how to explain the emptiness that has plagued him ever since he was a child, that only became even more exacerbated once he made contact with the Book. He doesn’t know how to explain that he was so desperate to feel something that he resorted to this to distract himself from the void. He doesn’t know how to explain that the only reason he never actually killed himself was because he knew he had to survive to ensure you and Odasaku’s survival in this universe. 

But he doesn’t have to speak, because all of the air in his lungs whooshes right out of them when he feels you lift his arm up out of the water to your face—you brush your lips against the pulse point on his wrist before settling back against him, wrapping his arm back around you and covering his hands with your own. 

Dazai’s cheeks suddenly feel wet—it was a simple action, short and sweet, you didn’t even say anything, and he doesn’t know why it affects him the way it does. He should have expected this, right? You’ve never looked at his scars and found them off-putting, you’ve always accepted him for how he is but-

“How could I accept any of this?”

“No amount of time or charm would have made me accept this easily. Accept you easily.”

Again, your words shatter his thoughts and Dazai has to force himself not to physically react. As if you can sense his distress, you shift in his arms a bit to tilt your head back to ghost your lips against his jawline before settling back against his chest, eyes fluttering shut. His arms tighten around you, heart steadying in pace to match yours. He rests forehead against the top of your head, shivering when he feels you nuzzle your face into his skin, nose brushing the wretched scar that mars his neck.

“Osamu,” you finally say, voice soft. He hums in response, waiting for you to continue. “What I said the night of the event…”

Dazai’s throat spasms. He swallows thickly and tries to play off your words with another soft hum and a brush of his lips against your temple. He’s careful to keep his voice light as he speaks. “You had every right to be upset, I-”

“I… have had a lot of time to think the past two weeks.” You don’t even let him finish his sentence and Dazai is suddenly frozen, no air gets to his lungs as he waits for you to speak. “What I said that night… it doesn’t reflect how I actually feel. I said them in the heat of the moment.”

“… Yeah?” Dazai’s voice is too raspy, too quiet, the vulnerability in the single word is so palpable that it almost makes him want to curl in on himself. Without his bandages, without his masks, he feels as if he’s been stripped bare to his core, his rotted heart laying in your gentle hands, thumping erratically as he awaits your judgment.

“The past few months I’ve spent with you have been the happiest I’ve been since my brother left,” you admit, lacing your fingers with his. “No matter what happens, I wouldn’t give this up for anything. If I could go back in time and redo all of this, I’d still choose to meet you that night at the club, and every time after that.”

He’s grateful that you’re not looking up at him now. He stares ahead at the wall blankly, tears streaming steadily down his cheeks. His chest is warm, breath a bit shaky, and he thinks he might be holding you too tightly but you don’t complain.

“Nothing will happen,” Dazai promises you, voice cracking. “Nothing.”

“I know,” you say quietly, and he can feel the small smile on your lips as you kiss his neck gently, right over his scar. “I trust you.”

“I’m so nervous,” you laugh as you smooth out the dress shirt you’re wearing. Dazai watches as you keep glancing at yourself through the window of the elevator leading down to the first floor. He smiles to himself as he leans against the wall, observing you. “Are you sure I look okay? I don’t even know what the dress code is for this thing, they didn’t say in the email. What if people are just wearing jeans? I’ll look dumb all dressed up.”

“You look beautiful,” Dazai murmurs, lifting his hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “You worry too much.”

“I’m not the best at making friends,” you say, voice quick and riddled with anxiety. Dazai raises an eyebrow, lips quirking up because he thinks that might be the silliest thing he’s ever heard you say. “I hope I can at least find a few people to talk to. I hate going to events where I don’t know anyone. I wish you could come with me. What if they all hate me?”

Dazai has an answer to that question, but he doesn’t think you’ll like it, so instead he hums softly, fingers brushing your cheek and smiling lightly to himself as you lean into his touch. “I wish I could come with you too. If only to make sure you don’t forget about me when you find yourself surrounded by all your new friends.”

Dazai wishes that he could tell you that you’re worrying over nothing. That in every other universe, you were quite literally the center of your class. Brilliant, beautiful, kind, Dazai sometimes struggled to get you away from people because you always had someone wanting to grab coffee with you. Struggled even more to understand why you wanted him when you could have any man of your choice. But he can’t say that, and he’s definitely not going to be pleased if he suddenly loses all of his time with you to a bunch of undeserving nobodies, so he resigns himself to just making you feel better.

“Dazai Osamu,” you giggle as you turn your attention toward him. “Nothing in this world would ever make me forget you.”

Dazai’s cheeks heat up, lashes fluttering as he averts his gaze from you. You grin at him and hook your arms around his waist, tilting your head up to look at him. He leans down to press his lips against yours, letting out a pleased sigh against your lips when he feels you kiss him back, smiling against him.

You’ve been better the past few days, a bit more excited over starting school, spent all of yesterday trying on new clothes for him to pick out something to wear for today. Dazai, on the other hand, has been a nervous wreck, although he’s been doing his best to ensure you don’t realize that. 

Everything has been put in place—Chuuya should be waiting at the train station already, Albatross will be driving you there, the Black Lizards are going to escort you into Tokyo, and Mishima offered to have his men do sweeps of the streets to scope out for any enemies before your arrival. As long as everything goes according to plan, it’ll be fine. The riskiest part will be the train station with how busy it is, it’ll be easy for you to get separated from your escorts, but so long as Chuuya gets to you, no one will be able to touch you.

“Everything will be fine,” he unintentionally says out loud as he separates his lips from yours to kiss your forehead.

You look up at him, eyes searching his face for something, and he prays you can’t see his growing anxiety. Finally, you say without any doubt, “I know.”

Dazai lets out a soft breath as his eyes slide shut, reaching out to intertwine your fingers with his as the elevator comes to a stop at the first floor. He leads you out of the elevator and across the vast lobby, various lower-ranked members still linger around the room, but much less than there usually is considering he’s sent almost all of them out to ensure everything goes according to plan. For a moment, Dazai’s head throbs painfully—there are so many variables. He starts to question his decision of making this such a large operation but he knows that this is the only way. 

He knows Dostoevsky. He knows that he’ll leap onto this opportunity. Keeping this a small, secret operation would do more harm than help when Dazai is sure that Dostoevsky is about to use the full force of the Three Deaths, the Pale Flame and the House of the Dead to make his move. He’d be shooting himself in the foot if he didn’t use all of his available resources to keep you safe.

“Can I ask a silly question?” you suddenly ask, playing with his fingers as the two of you walk across the lobby.

“Ask away,” he says.

“Do you think there are other universes out there?”

Dazai almost laughs, but he refrains. “I do,” he agrees, and then smiles a bit to himself, repeating words spoken to another him by a different you, a joke only he’s privy to. “String theory, multiverse. I think the world’s a lot bigger than just ours.”

“Yeah?” you ask, looking up at him, a soft expression on your face. “Do you think we’re together in all of them?” 

This time Dazai does laugh, squeezing your hand gently when you jolt in surprise, giving him a dirty look. “I’m sure of it,” he says, trying to push away the smile that keeps threatening to rise to his lips. 

Your smile softens at the edges, gaze averting from him, but before he can ask what’s wrong, you ask: “Do you think there’s maybe one where things aren’t so hard?”

Dazai suddenly has no inclination to laugh, smile falling and throat swelling. He doesn’t know how to respond to that, but luckily, he doesn’t have to.

Kouyou and Piano Man are waiting at the entrance of the building, both having remained behind to guard him while most of the Mafia’s other forces are elsewhere. Kouyou doesn’t look pleased, Dazai can see it in the way her brows are furrowed and her lips are tight, but Piano Man still has the same easygoing expression on his face that he always has, gaze focused on you.

“Lippmann told me to pass along his regards,” Piano Man sighs. “He’s been lamenting all morning not being able to be here himself to send you off. The struggles of celebrity life, I suppose.”

You laugh. Dazai can tell from the way your lashes flutter that you’re flustered by the comment. “It’s not a big deal, really. It’s only orientation. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“It’s exciting though,” Piano Man sighs whimsically. “We never have normal things to be excited about around here. It’s only ever bloodbath after bloodbath. It’s a nice change of pace.”

Dazai’s smile tightens and thins, eye twitching at Piano Man’s blase reminder of their occupation, noticing how you cringe a bit. Piano Man catches wind of Dazai’s irritation and his casual smile widens a bit.

“Sorry,” Piano Man hums, sounding not at all sorry and entirely amused. “But honestly, if you think this is bad, wait until your graduation. Iceman didn’t let any of us attend his kid sister’s graduation, we’ve all been dying to see what one’s like. I’m sure Lippmann and Albatross are already plotting out some type of party.”

“I haven’t even started yet,” you complain, but you look a bit giddy and Dazai can’t help but let his gaze linger on your soft smile, one rising to his own lips as he observes you. “It’s so far out. It’s a three year program.”

“I think they plan on making it the grandest event of the year, so it’s never too early to start planning,” Piano Man says easily, tossing you a wink before focusing his gaze on Dazai. “Speaking of Iceman, he’s on the way back now. Should be back in Yokohama in the next hour or so. Are you going to deign us with the reasoning as to why he’s been called back so abruptly?”

“Nope,” Dazai says dismissively, letting go of your hand to press his hand to the small of your back, leading you out of the building and toward the sleek, black car waiting for you.

Albatross instantly is rolling down the window, grinning wildly. “There ya are, doll. C’mon, let’s get out of here. We gotta make it to the train in ten.”

You suddenly look a bit nervous, turning back to look at Dazai as Tachihara steps out of the car and holds the door open for you to slide in the middle seat between him and Hirotsu. Dazai tilts his head, questioning as he lifts his hands to cup your cheeks gently. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you say with a sigh. “I just wish you could come.”

Dazai leans in to kiss your forehead one last time, hands settling on your hips, ignoring all of the gazes of his subordinates watching the two of you. “I know, I do too.”

Dazai thinks that the next six hours are going to be the worst of his life, only able to sit back in the meeting room with Kouyou and Piano Man and watch the CCTV, unable to do anything if something happens to go wrong.

“Stay with Hirotsu and Tachihara,” he finally tells you, voice taking a more serious tone. “They’ll stick with you the whole time. Chuuya is at the station already, went early to scope things out, he’s going to meet you there.”

“Mkay,” you agree, giving him one last long look before making your way into the car.

Tachihara nods deeply at Dazai before entering the car and shutting it behind him. Dazai feels a weight on his chest as soon as you’re out of sight, and he stands there waiting for the car to pull off.

It doesn’t.

After a few moments, the window rolls down, and Dazai watches fondly as you lean over Tachihara to prop yourself outside of it.

“I’ll see you later,” you say, leaning out the window of the car with a soft smile. For the first time in weeks, you look alive. Your eyes are shining, your lips curved upward, and Dazai falls in love with you all over again. The smile on your lips takes a more teasing edge as you push yourself out the window a bit more to grab his tie and drag him closer so you can brush your lips against his and whisper, “I love you.”

Dazai’s eyes shoot open, lips parting to speak but no words leave them, your words leave him caught off guard and dizzy, hardly even registering in his head. You let out a giggle and before he can even think of formulating a response, you let yourself fall back into the car, urging Albatross to start driving already. 

“To think I’d ever see the day that the infamous Demon Prodigy is ever rendered lovesick,” Kouyou hums, fanning herself as she watches Dazai curiously. “You’re actually happy now, aren’t you?” 

“Refreshing, isn’t it?” Piano Man sighs. “Now, we don’t have to worry about being shot in the head if he has a sudden mood swing.”

Dazai looks to the side to give Piano Man a look so withering that it has him instantly giggling to himself.

“Or maybe we do,” he sings, retracting his words. “Come, let’s go back inside. It’s gross out today.”

Piano Man instantly starts making his way back into the building. Dazai sighs as he casts one last long look to where the car is disappearing around the bend in the direction of the train station, gaze lingering before he turns his attention back to Kouyou, who’s still watching him with a contemplative look. Dazai is suddenly reminded of her late lover, who the old boss had killed after Kouyou tried to escape with him, and Dazai wonders if she’s feeling bitter.

As if she can hear his train of thought, she shakes her head and says, “I’m glad you’ve found someone, boy.” Then hesitates before adding, “For all of our sakes, I hope it lasts.”

Dazai doesn’t respond to that. Instead, he frowns and turns to make his way inside, but he doesn’t get more than a few steps before he’s freezing midstep, the sound of a familiar engine roaring down the street in the direction of the main tower reaching his ears. At once, everything tunnels around him, vision blurring and body stiffening. He can’t even bring himself to turn around. Distantly, he hears Kouyou asking him what’s wrong, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

He swears that his bones creak and ache as he physically forces himself to look over his shoulder, unfocused vision falling upon a familiar head of fiery red hair skidding to a stop in front of the building. Chuuya doesn’t even bother to turn his motorcycle off or prop it up, it thuds hard against the ground, metal screeching against the pavement as he rushes toward them.

“Chuuya,” Kouyou asks, as confused and caught off guard as Dazai feels. “What are you-”

“Get him inside,” Chuuya shouts. “Get him inside now.”

“Why are you here?” Dazai speaks the words so quietly that he doesn’t think anybody hears him. He feels Kouyou grab his wrist, Chuuya reaches them and pushes Dazai from behind, but their touches only feel like faint tingles. His chest suddenly feels cold, numbness spreading from his core to his limbs. “Why are you here?”

“Tolstoy just blew up our main port, Dazai,” Chuuya hisses, and just before Dazai’s shoved into the safety of the building, a bullet whizzes past his head, lodging into the sign behind him. Only a graze, but it stings, and Dazai can feel the blood seeping through the bandages of his left eye, sticky and uncomfortable. “This is happening now. I thought I could make it before they left. All cell lines are fucking down. That rat bastard Dostoevsky did something.”

No, Dazai thinks, head twisting to the side to look back toward the road you disappeared down with Albatross, Tachihara and Hirotsu, but before he can even force any words from his lips, he’s pushed into the building, listening as Chuuya gives sharp orders to immediately lock it down.

Dazai shakes his spinning head, body on autopilot as he’s ushered to the elevator and up to the most protected floor of the building. He tells himself to think, that now is not the time for him to start slipping up, for him to freeze. You’re out there—in danger—he has to think, he can’t afford to make a single mistake. 

“You have to go. Chuuya, you’re supposed to be at the station,” Dazai says, finally focusing his attention on the one person who is not supposed to be here. The one person he trusted to protect you. 

“You’ve sent three quarters of our forces out on a protection detail for her. She’ll be fine,” Chuuya spits, eyes wild as he turns to face Dazai. “You’re here in this building alone with a handful of men, Ane-san and Piano Man. You’re the one in danger right now. I told you—your head is mine to take one day. I’m not fuckin’ letting you go off and get yourself killed because you’re hyper-focused on your girl.”

“Get to the train station,” Dazai repeats, voice low and cold and entirely too steady compared to the way his mind is falling apart.

It’s happening.

It’s happening.

He knew this was going to happen. He knew it. He knew this was coming. He knew Dostoevsky would take this opportunity to make his move, that’s why he had everything planned so carefully. That’s why he sent everyone out. That’s why Chuuya was supposed to be with you, because Dazai isn’t Dostoevsky’s target. He never is. You are.

Chuuya ignores him, stepping into the executive meeting room. Dazai’s blood pressure spikes. Fear begins spreading through him, cold and debilitating. The mindkiller. He needs to focus, he can’t let himself freeze up. Not now.

“Chuuya,” Dazai says. “That’s a direct order. Go back to the train station now.”

At that, Chuuya finally turns a furious look into him. “Me not being there isn’t going to make a difference. Me not being here might. You’re all but fucking defenseless and Tolstoy and Nabokov are coming now. We don’t have time to argue about this. Hirotsu and Tachihara, Atsushi and Kyouka, all of the fuckin’ Black Lizards—they’re all with her or at the train station, she’ll be fine.”

If Dazai was any less riddled with fear and rage, he might laugh or maybe even cry, or both—he feels close to hysterics, really—because of course now, of all times, is when Chuuya decides to grow a fucking brain for himself. 

“And if you’re wrong?” Dazai doesn’t even want to speak those words, but Chuuya leaves him no choice. “If she dies because the dog thought himself smarter than the master? What then, Chuuya?”

Chuuya all but snarls at him, taking a step forward, but before he can say anything else, Kouyou clears her throat.

“Boys,” she calls quietly, eyes trained on one of the screens streaming the city’s CCTV feeds

Dazai follows her gaze.

On the top left corner of the wall of screens, one of the live footage is flooded with static—gray, shifting into a deep purple before a familiar symbol flashes onto it. The coldness in his chest spreads so quickly that Dazai almost shivers, dread anchoring his feet to the ground.

Dazai doesn’t have to look at the screen to know what’s coming next. 

Oda Sakunosuke is a patient man.

He is. He really is. It’s just that Ranpo Edogawa enjoys testing the boundaries of said patience. He bites back another sigh, watching as the man—man, he questions—complains loudly about an ‘entitled mother’ who had the nerve to ask for his candy to calm her upset child down. Oda has half a mind to step away out of embarrassment, acutely aware of all of the eyes on them, but he knows that if he steps away even for a second, Ranpo is going to find himself lost and then Oda is going to have to track him down again.

Oda sighs, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he tilts his head up to look at the ceiling, listening to the announcements over the loudspeaker, signaling the arrival of the next train. Two minutes until it pulls into the station, an hour to get to Tokyo—gives him plenty of time to go back over the files for the mission. Should be a quick in-and-out case, probably won’t even have to stay the night in the city; a string of ability-user murders in Tokyo that have the TMPD in shambles trying to figure out, so they reached out to the Agency to come take care of it.

Oda doubts it’ll take more than half a minute for Ranpo to put the pieces together once given the known evidence by the TMPD, but the issue will be actually getting the ability user in custody. From what Ranpo theorizes, he has some type of invisibility ability that makes him slippery. 

With Oda there, it’ll be an easy grab—with his ability, speed and reflexes, few people can outmaneuver him—but it’s just a matter of when he decides to show himself.

Oda frowns when he notices that Ranpo suddenly stopped rambling, gaze cutting to make sure that he didn’t wander off again, but he’s hardly able to turn his head halfway to the side before his ability is activated. Everything blurs out around him, watching as a girl a few years younger than him—panicked and not looking where she’s going—crashes right into Oda while he’s already off-balanced reaching for Ranpo, sending the both of them hurdling over the edge of the platform and into the tracks just as the bullet train comes barreling into the station.

Oda’s jaw tightens as he’s flung back into reality, surroundings reappearing. His head snaps over to where the girl had appeared from and he catches sight of you just as you’re about to throw yourself out of the crowd, eyes wild and anxious. He watches you trip, hands darting out to steady you before you crash into him; you look up at him, eyes wide and a bit starstruck, lips parting to speak but no words leave them.

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice a low monotone as he helps you stand back up straight on your own feet. His head tilts to the side curiously as he watches the way you stand a bit closer to him, eyes peering around as if you’re reaching for someone. “Hm?”

“Oh!” you suddenly say, looking up at him with a wobbly smile. “I’m sorry. Sorry. That was so rude of me. I… got separated from my friends. It’s really busy today, isn’t it? It’s not usually so busy.”

Oda hums, looking around curiously. It is a bit busier than it usually is—Friday trains are usually busy, but midday like this, people are usually at work. The late night trains are the ones typically packed and impossible to get on, people leaving from work and traveling for the weekend. Today’s not a holiday either, as far as he’s aware.

“It is, isn’t it?” Oda says, scanning the crowd once more before letting his gaze settle back on you. “You look rattled, is everything okay?”

Your smile wavers at the edges, and Oda frowns, eyes trailing over to Ranpo, who’s already frowning, green eyes squinted and trained on you.

“I’m just… not used to traveling alone! I’m nervous,” you answer, a blatant lie, but you don’t seem like a threat. In fact, you seem more scared than anything else. “I want to find my friends.”

“Is someone bothering you?” Oda asks carefully.

You hesitate, smile straining. Your eyes flicker around again, seeking someone out and Oda can see the despair in them when you don’t find whoever you’re looking for. 

“I’m okay,” you say finally, nodding. “I’m trying to get to Tokyo. I have orientation today for grad school. I don’t like traveling alone.”

Oda tilts his head to the side, he takes a step closer to Ranpo than you as an experiment, watching as you immediately match his step, sticking close to him as you continue seeking out your ‘friends.’ You don’t seem like a threat, and his ability has yet to be triggered, but it wouldn’t be the first time underground organizations use civilians as decoys to set up traps for the Agency. He spares another look at Ranpo, knowing the man must’ve figured out whatever is going on, only to find him staring at you with a tight jaw and an uneasy expression.

“What school are you attending?” Oda asks in an attempt to calm your nerves and hopefully get some answers out of you. 

You look at him, a bit more clarity in your eyes and smile more steady as you say. “Waseda,” you say, brighter now, more relaxed. “Their school of political science.”

“You tryna go into politics?” Oda asks curiously.

You nod. “One day, hopefully,” you say with an easy smile before giving him your name. “What’s your name?”

“Oda Sakunosuke,” he greets. “Nice to meet you.”

“You’re heading to Tokyo too?” you ask curiously, and Oda doesn’t sense any ill intent behind the question so he answers.

“Yes,” he says. “Going there for work.” 

“Oh? What do you do for work?”

Oda pauses for a moment, choosing his words carefully on the off-chance this is some sort of setup, before saying: “I’m trying to write a novel.”

You light up. “Really?” you ask, delighted. “That’s so impressive, what about?”

“… Humans. The human experience,” Oda answers, glancing back at Ranpo again with furrowed brows, but the man hardly budges, gaze pinned on you.

“Oh yeah?” you ask, the smile on your lips becomes a bit teasing. Oda finds his own lips twitching up in amusement. “What’s your take on the human experience then, Oda Sakunosuke? Will your story have a happy ending?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” he tells you honestly, and then tilts his head to the side and asks curiously, “How would you end it?”

You click your tongue as if to chide him. “Shame on you, Oda Sakunosuke, trying to poach ideas from broke grad students,” you say, voice taking a dramatic lilt, but there’s a light to your eyes that hadn’t been there before, so Oda thinks his plan at least partially worked.

“Almost grad students,” Oda corrects, matching your tone as he lets his eyes drift around again, trying to pinpoint what exactly had you so frightened before running into him. “Take pity on an old man plagued with writer’s block, won’t you?”

“I suppose I can grace you with my boundless wisdom,” you quip, and Oda snorts to himself, eyes drifting back down to you as you grin up at him. After a few moments, your smile falls a bit. “I think a happy ending is nice to imagine… We like to indulge in such fantasies because real life is never so easy. I think if you’re going for an accurate telling of the human experience, a bittersweet ending would be more realistic.”

“Bittersweet?” Oda questions.

“Bittersweet,” you agree. “I think many people die content, or even happy… I don’t think many people die without regrets. So, I think a story on an accurate telling of the human experience should have a bittersweet ending to reflect that.”

“Hm,” Oda hums, considering you in a new light now, the way your eyes are a bit sadder, the smile on your lips soft on the edges. He finds himself far more into this conversation than he expected to be, so absorbed that he hardly even realized that the train has finally pulled into the station. “What about you, then? Do you think you’ll die with regrets?”

“Who’s to say?” You shrug with another bright smile. “I think if I were to die right now, I’d die with one regret. But I’d be happy.”

“Only one?”

“Only one,” you confirm. “I… wish I’d met someone sooner. That’s all. What about you, Oda Sakunosuke? If you died right now, would you die with regrets?”

“Countless,” Oda says quietly. “... But I think I would also be happy.”

“See.” You wink. “Bittersweet.”

Oda’s lips flicker up into a ghost of a smile, lips parting to speak, but suddenly someone is calling your name frantically, loudly from across the train platform. You light up, head twisting in that direction and Oda follows your gaze to where a young man with short orange hair is waving his hand, perched up on a garbage can, looking around for you.

“That’s one of my friends,” you say, looking relieved. “I’m going to head over to him. It was nice meeting you, Oda Sakunosuke.”

“Nice meeting you too,” he replies.

You toss him another wide smile before turning to leave, but before you can even take the first step, Ranpo finally moves, fingers curling around your wrist to stop you in place. Oda looks down at him, alarmed, and you look back, surprised.

“You should… be careful,” Ranpo tells you, more serious than Oda has ever seen him before, and Oda feels a sinking feeling in his gut as Ranpo lets go of your wrist.

You look a bit disturbed, but you nod. “I-I will. Thank you.”

“What was that?” Oda asks, voice low and concerned as he looks down at Ranpo, whose brows are still furrowed. He still looks uncertain, and Oda doesn’t think he’s ever seen Ranpo Edogawa uncertain before.

Dread weighs heavily on Oda’s chest, his gaze turns back to where you’ve started to quickly make your way across the platform along the yellow line in the direction of your friend, who has finally caught sight of you and is rushing toward you, looking too panicked for someone who’d just found someone they lost.

“Something is wrong,” Oda murmurs more to himself than Ranpo, and at once, he activates his ability.

The world slows and grays out around him, but his gaze remains focused on you. He watches. 

One second passes, you take another step forward, your friend is still too far away. 

Another second passes, another step forward. 

A third second, and something is shimmering right next to you, a gold circle to your left, swirling with patterns—an ability.

A fourth second passes, and you turn, eyes wide and fear painted on your face as a gloved hand darts from the circle and wraps around your wrist; your friend reaches down to his waistband, revealing the gun strapped to his side. 

A fifth second passes, and you’re gone. 

His ability fades away, leaving him back reeling in reality, ready to act on what he’d seen. He rushes forward, heart racing in his chest, and he can hear Ranpo giving chase after him.

One second passes—you’re still too far away, you’ve made it across half of the platform already, Oda knows he won’t get to you in time, but he tries anyway.

Another second passes—Ranpo is yelling for him, Oda ignores him. 

A third second passes—the swirling gold circle appears to your left, and Oda knows that it’s too late.

Oda Sakunosuke is fast, but this time, he is not fast enough.

Chuuya knows that this is his fault.

The sickening scene taking place on the screens set up in the executive meeting room has his stomach turning inside out. He has to manually force himself to breathe, slow and steady, because if he doesn’t, he won’t get any air to his lungs. Next to him, Kouyou stands stiffly, gaze trained on the damning video and on his other side, Piano Man looks resigned, head turned to the side, attention focused on the blacked out windows looking over the city. 

Chuuya can’t see Dazai’s expression from where he’s standing, and he’s glad for it. 

You’re sitting at a table with Dostoevsky. It’s a small, square table in an equally small, unassuming room. Tiled walls, a thick steel door, no windows—it’s an abandoned office room down in the lower floors of the metro, emptied out besides the table, two seats, and you and Dostoevsky.

A small room. Unassuming. Enclosed and suffocatingly confined. Cold and damp. There is no sun, no warmth, and no life.

Not a place where anyone should die, much less someone as bright as you.

“Ah, there we go!” Dostoevsky smiles as if this is all some big game to him and Chuuya’s temper spikes, blood simmering in his veins and eye twitching as he glares at the Russian. “The cameras should now be connected.”

Chuuya did not hold you in high regard for a long time. He thought you were a pretty face, but more than that, you were a distraction. You showed up one day and suddenly Dazai couldn’t focus on anything but you. He evaded important meetings, and the ones that he attended were spent either zoning out or tapping away at his phone talking to you. It left Chuuya as the one to pick up the slack, so yeah, he certainly did not hold you in high regard, and he’s not entirely sure when it began to change.

Or, maybe that’s a lie.

He thinks back to the day he ran into you coming out of the elevator, when you dragged him around half of the city looking for a very particular brand of white chocolate for whatever sugary concoction you wanted to make Dazai; and the way you pouted and begged and pleaded with him to try some when you make it for Dazai to the point that he wanted to agree, if Dazai wouldn’t have tried to blow his head off for intruding on his time with you. 

He thinks that’s when his view on you started to shift, because it’s not often that Chuuya is treated like an actual human being, a twenty-two year old with a love for fine wine and music, instead of the mafia executive he is, a weapon of war that can bring down nations. As irritated as he was having to take time out of his day to babysit Dazai’s new plaything, he found you made for good conversation and that it was nice talking about things other than missions, politics and violence. 

You like talking about music with him and you ramble a lot about conspiracy theories and history—he thinks he’s learned more about the classical era of Europe and the Sengoku period the past few weeks joining you on outings than he’s learned in his entire life. Chuuya thinks you might be the first real friend he’s made since the Flags. You have more life in you than anyone Chuuya has ever met before, and Chuuya thinks it’s fucking sick that you’ll be drained of it by the likes of a soulless bastard like Dostoevsky. 

Chuuya also thinks, again, that this is entirely his fault.

“I had a nice talk with your lover, Dazai,” Dostoevsky says with a facetious smile. “She’s quite enchanting. It’s a shame that she ended up with the likes of you.”

Chuuya thought he’d be able to make it in time. He really thought he did. He thought he’d be fast enough to get back before you took off with Albatross, Tachihara and Hirotsu; he thought he’d be able to drag you with him and Dazai, lock the two of you up in the most well-protected room in the headquarters to wait out the assault of Dostoevsky’s tripartite alliance; he can still hear the gunfire now as they bombard the lower floors of the building. Chuuya should be down there helping his subordinates but he can’t bring himself to move, staring at what his decision had caused with a heavy heart and more guilt than his mind can come to terms with. It was never his intention to leave you out there to die. 

He wouldn’t do that to you.

He wouldn’t do that to Dazai. No matter how much he can’t stand the asshole, he wouldn’t fucking do that.

“I have offered a deal to her, Dazai,” Dostoevsky muses, head tilted to the side as he looks up at the camera in the corner of the room, thin fingers wrapped neatly around your wrist. “A fair exchange. But I leave it in her hands, not yours. Either way, I will get what I want.”

How the hell does that work? 

Chuuya lets out a shaky breath, gaze flickering over to Kouyou, who stares at the screen with a tight expression, brows drawn together and lips cut downward. He can hardly bring himself to look at Dazai, but he forces himself to shift to the side, looking down to where Dazai is sitting in front of the wall of screens, eyes trained on where you’re sitting with Dostoevsky.

Dazai’s expression is eerily blank, more so than Chuuya has ever seen it before. It makes his throat swell, the air to his lungs catching in his windpipe. He’s seen Dazai distraught before—the night on the roof years ago when he was drunk and screaming at Chuuya to just let him jump. He’s seen Dazai upset before—a few months after his sixteenth birthday, before the Dragon’s Head Conflict commenced, when he returned to headquarters with an expression so haunted that Chuuya didn’t dare utter a single snarky word to him.

He’s never seen him like this before. Visible eye entirely void of life as if whatever part of him that had been reanimated by your arrival in his life has been killed off. As if he knows exactly what’s about to happen, as if he knows there’s no stopping it. But Chuuya can see the way the corner of Dazai is pinched, the way his face, while blank, is hard, and Chuuya knows Dazai well enough to know exactly what that means: that if there’s any chance of preventing this, Dazai is going to do whatever it takes.

“Fair exchange is a funny way of saying I’ll die either way,” you say softly. Your voice is bitter; you’re not looking at Dostoevsky or the camera, instead your gaze is set on the wall next to you, an unreadable expression on your face. 

Dostoevsky turns his attention back to you, eyes curious. “I am no liar, I gave you my word that you’ll leave this room alive, myshka,” Dostoevsky hums, lips curved up into an entertained smile. Chuuya’s eye twitches at the pet name. “Go on and tell Dazai what I ask for in exchange… I am quite curious to see how far he’s willing to go for you.”

How far? 

Even Chuuya knows the answer to that, and from the expression on Dostoevsky’s face, he must know the answer too.

Ah, Chuuya realizes, his own question now answered. How does that work? Dostoevsky tells you the deal, and you have to make the decision of whether or not to tell Dazai. If you tell Dazai, there’s no lengths he wouldn’t go to fulfill Dostoevsky’s demands if it means saving you. And Chuuya suddenly understands why Kouyou looks so grave, because there’s only one thing Dostoevsky wants: Yokohama and the Port Mafia out of his way. Dazai out of the way. 

Dazai would hand it all to him on a silver platter if it meant saving your life. Yokohama. The Port Mafia. He’d let Dostoevsky put a bullet through his head if it meant you’d get to live.

“Dazai,” Kouyou begins, and her voice wavers. Chuuya doesn’t think he’s ever heard Kouyou’s voice waver in the seven years he’s known her. “You cannot-”

Kouyou doesn’t finish her sentence. Doesn’t need to. They all know what she’s going to say, and Chuuya doubts that Dazai is listening anyway. He looks at Kouyou from the corner of his eye and she meets his gaze, a heavy expression on her face.

“You gave me your word that I’d leave this room alive. What happens when I step outside?” you ask with a sigh, looking back over to meet Dostoevsky’s eyes. “You’ll get what you want from Dazai and kill me anyway.”

You look tired and Chuuya’s stomach weighs down with guilt again. God, what the fuck has he done? You were on your way to your fucking grad school orientation and Chuuya signed your goddamn death warrant. You had so much ahead of you. You never belonged in this shitty world, and an instinctual part of Chuuya wants to curse Dazai for it, for dragging you into this and putting you into this situation.

But even as the thought crosses his mind, he tosses it away, because how the fuck is he supposed to condemn Dazai for clinging to the only damn thing that makes him happy as if Chuuya doesn’t do the same? His gaze turns back down to Dazai, frowning when he sees that he’s no longer staring at the screen intently. He’s leaned back in his chair, still looking at the screen but his eyes are glazed over, as if he’s not fully present.

As if he’s given up.

“So meticulous,” Dostoevsky murmurs, he reaches to brush his knuckles against your cheek. The noise that Chuuya lets out is close to a snarl when he sees the way your lips tighten in disgust as you turn your face away from him only for him to pinch your chin between his fingers to force you to look at him. He glances down at Dazai, only to find that he’s hardly even reacted to what’s happening. “You are very intelligent… I would have loved to have a woman like you at my side.”

“People like you are fated to be alone, Fyodor Dostoevsky,” you reply, lips curved down as you stare at him. “What a terrible fate. I’d always prefer a short and fulfilling life than a long and solitary one.”

Your gaze draws back up to the camera as if you’re desperately trying to convey something to Dazai: I don’t regret this. If I had the choice, I’d do it all the same.

Chuuya doesn’t even think Dazai can understand it in the state he’s in.

Chuuya’s stomach twists and turns, he has to take a step away, breathing in a shuddered breath as he pulls his hat off to run his fingers through his hair. He presses his hand to his face, trying to calm himself down, but his ears are ringing and the black coffee he’d downed before heading over to the train station is threatening to come right up his throat.

And if you’re wrong? 

Dostoevsky’s hand drops from your face, but his other remains wrapped around your wrist. He smiles as if telling a joke that only he understands. “Maybe in another universe you and I can work together.”

Dazai jolts at the words and Chuuya looks at him again, watching the way he draws in a sharp, shuddered breath. Chuuya’s lips part. He doesn’t know if he’s trying to speak or force himself to breathe, but his eyes land on Dazai just as the man finally breaks.

If she dies because the dog thought himself smarter than the master?

It’s brief. His expression crumbles and he quietly wheezes for air, hand flying to his chest as if trying to claw his own heart out, as if his brain has only finally registered what was happening. Kouyou and Piano Man are too focused on you and Dostoevsky to notice, but Chuuya thinks if he stares any longer at the screen, he might fall apart. His expression smooths out again immediately after it shatters, his eye takes that distant look again, as if he’s totally separated himself from reality.

“Is that your decision then, myshka?” Dostoevsky asks, voice deceptively soft. Chuuya has to drag his eyes back to the screen, teeth grinding together when Dostoevsky’s hand leaves your wrist to cup your cheek, running his thumb over your bottom lip. 

To your credit, you don’t look scared and for a second, Chuuya doesn’t know what the fuck you’re doing. Dazai would do anything for you, give up anything, you have to know that. All you have to do is say what Dostoevsky wants and Dazai will do it no matter the cost. The irrational part of him, the one riddled with guilt and regret, almost wants you to just say what Dostoevsky wants, tell them and maybe they can figure something out, buy enough time to get you out of there. 

(Another part of him, deep down, knows that it’s hopeless. With Dostoevsky’s hand in contact with you, your fate is sealed. No one will get there fast enough to get you away from him before he can trigger his ability.)

Chuuya realizes, a bit dully, maybe you do know that and maybe that’s exactly why you’re not saying anything. Whatever Dostoevsky wants of Dazai is not something that you can allow him to give up.

Chuuya also realizes, chest sinking, that Dazai probably knows you well enough to know this too. To know that you’d give up your life for his. He looks over at Dazai, the vacant look in his eye and the hopeless air about him. He knew this would happen the moment Chuuya showed back up on base, desperately trying to get him to go back to you.

A crash against the heavy metal door leading to the room that you and Dostoevsky are sitting in shocks Chuuya out of his thoughts, gaze snapping up as Dostoevsky lets out an exaggerated sigh.

“It appears our time is up,” Dostoevsky hums. “What a pity. I would have liked to talk with you more.”

What then, Chuuya?

Chuuya’s vision spins as Atsushi and Kyouka burst into the room you’re being held in. Atsushi, half-transformed, throws himself at you, trying to get you away from Dostoevsky. Kyouka, with her cell to her ear, commands Demon Snow to sever Dostoevsky’s hand from where he’s touching you, trying to sever the physical connection between the two of you before he can activate his ability. 

Behind Dostoevsky, a gold swirl appears, a hand reaching out to grab his arm.

For a moment, Chuuya’s chest swells with hope, breath catching as watches raptly.

And they do it. 

Dostoevsky’s expression twists as Demon Snow cuts through his elbow, severing his lower arm from the rest of his body, Atsushi’s arms wrap around you as he tackles you away from the Russian onto the ground. Dostoevsky is dragged backward into the gold swirl—Gogol, the teleportation ability—and Kyouka and Atsushi focus their attention on you.

He watches with bated breath, waiting as Atsushi fumbles to shift you into a more comfortable position. He leans forward, eyes a bit wild and nails digging into the palms of his hands.

Kyouka kneels next to Atsushi, blue eyes wide, and Atsushi’s expression crumbles as he finally turns you over in his lap. Chuuya’s breath slows, he takes a step back as he shakes his head. 

What then, Chuuya?

Blood stains the corner of your lips, eyes empty, body limp in Atsushi’s arms. No one is faster than the triggering of an ability. Chuuya knew this. How many people have tried to kill him only to be thwarted in a split second by Tainted Sorrow? Still, he had allowed the hope to claw its way up into his chest, clinging to the thinnest thread that maybe, just maybe, his decision won’t have cost you your life, and in an instant, that hope is stripped and Chuuya is forced to face the consequences of his actions. 

Next to Chuuya, Piano Man lets out a shaky breath, turning away from the screen and pacing over to the window. Kouyou makes a soft noise in the back of her throat, eyes sliding shut.

Chuuya’s eyes drag from the screen back down to Dazai. Dazai stares ahead blankly, eye so black and void of light that if Chuuya didn’t know any better, he’d think he was staring into the eye of a corpse. 

Dostoevsky might’ve been your executioner, but Chuuya had been the judge to impose the death sentence.

Onto you, and onto Dazai.

You thought that you would be scared of dying.

Your mind is distant and dazed as you fall backward to the ground, familiar hands wrap around one of your arms and your waist as you’re dragged away from Dostoevsky. You taste iron in your mouth, red tints the corner of your vision, you don’t feel any pain but from the way your limbs become numb and heavy, you know what’s happening.

Maybe you’re just in shock, mind unable to comprehend what’s happening, but you don’t think that’s it. You’d known what was going to happen the moment you were pulled through that ability into this room, the moment Fyodor Dostoevsky told you the only way you’d make it out of here alive is if Dazai offered his own life in exchange.

Dazai would’ve done it. You know he would have. He would’ve accepted the deal and laid his life down for yours in an instant, but you couldn’t let him do that. He’d face pushback from his executives, they might even lock him up to prevent him from following through, and then he’d have to live with the fact that he had the chance to save you but failed. 

You couldn’t force that choice on him.

Your vision blurs and tunnels, eyes fluttering shut, but your body jolts as someone flips you around, hazy gaze focusing in on someone kneeling next to you, whoever is holding you in his lap. Two vaguely familiar wide swirls of violet, gold, and blue hover above you and your surroundings start to bleed out, the white tiles of the walls around you and the two people who’d barged into the room disappear, the violets and golds and blues spread across your vision, melding into a sunrise painted across the early morning sky.

The hand on your body falls limply to the ground next to you, the tips of your fingers brushing through soft white sand. Your head tilts to the side, something warm trickling down your cheek from the corner of your eye. 

You let out a weak breath, your vision clouds red and for a second, you swear there’s a figure laying next to you—lips curved up into a small, sad smile, dark eyes soft as he reaches out to brush a strand of hair out of your face. Dazai wears tan instead of the black you’re used to, both eyes uncovered as admires you. You can feel the ghost of his touch against your skin, warm and familiar.

Osamu… 

You can hear the commotion around you, more people bursting into the room. You can feel your body weakening, but all you can think of is him.

Maybe in the next life.

Dazai doesn’t know where he is. Doesn’t know when he is. Doesn’t know what he’s doing. Doesn’t know who he’s with. Doesn’t know who he is.

Every step he takes, every second that passes, his surroundings become more and more indecipherable. He can hear the vague sounds of Chuuya, Kouyou and Piano Man talking around him but he can’t make out what they’re saying or what’s going on. He finds himself walking but he feels like he’s trudging through slush, as if time has slowed around him and he’s trying to impossibly push through it.

“Pull yourself together,” Piano Man murmurs as Dazai mindlessly moves forward, unsure of where he’s even being led to. 

Every time his eyes slide shut, he’s faced with the image of you in that room with Dostoevsky, the sight of his fingers on your skin. He turns to look at Piano Man and for a moment, he’s lost, wondering how a dead man is standing before him. His lips part to speak but no words leave them, the black walls fade into the vaguely familiar tan and brown walls of the Agency, the coat he wears lightens and Piano Man’s face morphs into Yosano Akiko’s as she tries to snap him out of the stunned stupor he’s left in after finding your body in your apartment. He’d figured out Christie’s plot, but he’d been too late, and his mind had been entirely unable to come to terms with it. Because Dazai never fails, everyone relies on him to know what to do but-

But when it comes to you he just can’t win. No matter how hard he tries, he’s never enough. He’s never quick enough. Never smart enough. Never enough. 

“...ey, hey, boss, are you even listening?” 

Dazai blinks, gaze focusing back on Piano Man and he notices that he’s in the elevator, heading down. Chuuya and Kouyou are watching him carefully but Chuuya doesn’t meet his eyes. Dazai realizes Piano Man must have said something—asked something—but he doesn’t know what.

“We’re heading down to the first floor,” Piano Man finally says again. “The onslaught from Tolstoy and Nabakov ended-” Of course it has, Dostoevsky got what he wanted. “Albatross and-Albatross and the others are on the way back… We must be there to meet them.”

Dazai doesn’t respond. Doesn’t think he’d be able to if he wanted to. His brain is slow, still hasn’t comprehended what happened, still doesn’t entirely know where he is. The pages of the Book keep piling around him, endless and suffocating. He jumps from one reality to the rest, each time seeing the same scene in different fonts. He sees Piano Man and Kouyou exchange a look with one another but Dazai’s gaze is already pointed ahead again, staring through the reflective surface of the elevator doors.

Dazai doesn’t even recognize himself.

They still talk around him but all of the words sound muffled and faraway, like he’s underwater and they’re speaking above the surface. As Dazai stares into the doors, he swears he can almost picture you standing next to him, tucked beneath his arm and leaning into his side as the two of you wait for the elevator to reach the first floor. You smile up at him, he watches it through the reflection, heart in his throat as you lean up on your tiptoes to brush your lips against his jaw and he swears he can feel the ghost of your lips, the warmth.

But then the elevator doors slide open and the illusion of you is shattered.

Dazai’s breath shakes as he forces himself forward but he’s careful to keep his expression flat, ignoring the lines of subordinates already awaiting his arrival. They kneel as he walks past but Dazai hardly takes notice of them, eyes trained ahead.

And then-

And then Dazai sees it.

Hirotsu is holding you, your body is limp and lifeless. Dazai stops dead in his tracks. You look small in his arms and Dazai feels bile rise to the back of his throat, threatening to burst from his lips. Even from a distance, he can see the blood staining the corners of your lips and eyes, can see the way one of your arms dangle loosely from your body, can see how you’ve been entirely drained of life by Dostoevsky.

He wants to move forward, wants to pull you in his arms and shield you from all of the prying eyes around you, hates the way everyone is staring at you, wants to scream and curse the gods above who play with human lives like they’re some sort of game, who are laughing at Dazai for thinking he could get away with defying fate.

Most of all, he’s tired, and he wants to be with you.

The crowds of subordinates who’ve gathered on the lower floor of the building whisper amongst themselves. Some of them, who havent seen you around the base with him, are trying to figure out who you are. Others, who know exactly who you are to Dazai, let out low murmurs as they watch Dazai carefully, waiting for some type of reaction from him. A few, likely those who’ve spoken to you personally, lower their heads in respect.

Dazai tries to make himself take another step forward, pull you away from Hirotsu into his arms, hold you close, stop them from taking you away, but his feet are rooted to the ground.

One voice rises above the whispering crowds.

“What the fuck?”

Dazai’s gaze slides slowly to the side, watching as a vaguely familiar figure pushes to the front of the crowd, walking in the direction of you and Hirotsu. He blinks slowly, not recognizing who it is until Chuuya and Piano Man start moving toward him, both with furrowed brows and concerned words.

Ah, he realizes. Iceman.

Dazai had called him back to headquarters from abroad—but why? The cogs in his mind move slowly as he tries to remember why he brought Iceman back, why the man is having such an adverse reaction to the sight of-

To the sight of you.

Dazai’s eye shifts back to you, all of the air pushes out from his lungs when he notices the way your head has fallen to the side. Your eyes are shut but your face is tilted toward him and you look so-

You look so dead.

Everything around Dazai begins to tunnel and crumble. The buildings around him blurting into indistinct blobs and all of the crowds of his subordinates melding into the background. Iceman’s arrival, Chuuya and Piano Man trying to settle him down, it all becomes white noise as Dazai stares at you blankly.

How did this happen?

He’d-

He’d done everything right, hadn’t he? He’d done everything to make sure you would be protected. He’d clawed his way to the position of boss, annihilated all of the Mafia’s enemies to ensure that Yokohama would be safe for you. He’d sacrificed everything, how did it still turn out like this?

The white noise, the buzz of people around him, it all slowly shifts to laughter. The sight of Hirotsu holding your body turns into Dazai—a different Dazai—hunched over your limp form screaming his throat raw in your apartment. It turns into him sprinting through knee deep water with Yosano Akiko at his heels to get to your lifeless form floating face down in the water of the same beach you met him at. It turns into Chuuya catapulting himself through the air, desperately trying to get to you as you fall because Dazai can do nothing but watch—he fails. It turns into Mori stepping out of the hospital room he was treating you in, Dazai can’t hear what he’s saying but he knows—then Mori turns into Fukuzawa, Fukuzawa into Ango, all the same grave expressions, all the same fate. 

It was never the Port Mafia’s enemies that were at fault for your death. Wasn’t Mimic or an affiliation with the Mafia, like it was for Odasaku. Wasn’t Dostoevsky. Wasn’t Christie.

It was Dazai.

Dazai is the reason you die in every universe. 

The only way for him to save you from your fate is to stay away from you, and he couldn’t even do that. The only chance for him to give you a normal life—a long life—squandered because of his own selfishness.

The laughter gets louder, more manic—they laughed at him when you stumbled into him at the bar, when he tried to stay away, when he gave in to meeting you again. They laugh louder now that things have played out exactly as they knew it would. Dazai danced along perfectly to their marionette strings, as they knew he would from the beginning.

Fate. 

Fatefatefatefatefatefatefatefatefatefatefatefate.

The word that’s haunted him since he was fifteen years old tears apart his mind, claws open his rotted heart from the dark crevice it’s slipped into the past thirty minutes. His vision goes spotty and his head feels light. He knew better. He knew this would happen. He knew-

“That’s my sister.” Again, Iceman’s voice rises above the laughter, a broken gasp that jolts Dazai from his spiraling thoughts. “That’s my sister—what the fuck?”

Ah. Dazai suddenly remembers why he called Iceman back to headquarters. Remembers laying in bed with you a few mornings ago—you were in his arms, warm and happy and alive, and Dazai was excited, figured out the mystery that’s been plaguing him for years. He put together who your brother was, wanted to give you the chance to see him again. Wanted to do something good for you.

And now-

Iceman whirls around, eye wild and expression feral as he focuses on Dazai. Dazai doesn’t know what Chuuya and Piano Man told him, but whatever it was has the man unhinged as he pushes Piano Man hard out of the way to throw himself at Dazai.

“What did you do?” Iceman roars. “What did you do?”

He reaches for the gun at his side, pulls it out and clicks off the safety in a split second—quick and efficient, as expected of the Port Mafia’s best assassin. Around Dazai, other members of the mafia raise their guns in defense of the boss, Dazai only distantly has the mind to raise his hand to order them to lower their weapons.

Chuuya stops Iceman before he can steady the gun at Dazai’s head and pull the trigger. He wrangles the larger man to the ground, using his ability to keep him down, yelling at him to calm the fuck down and explain himself. Iceman clearly has no intention of doing that from the way he futilely tries to throw off Chuuya and go for his gun again.

Dazai watches absently until Kouyou ushers him back into the building, not even giving Dazai the chance to hold you one last time. His chest caves in as soon as you’re out of sight, breath weak and ragged. Kouyou pinches his arm hard.

“Pull yourself together, boy,” she warns. “You cannot let them see you weak.”

Dazai wishes that Iceman had pulled the trigger.

Iceman has never been a good brother. 

He was four years old when you came into his life, and when his mother tried to introduce him to his newborn sister, he’d turned his nose up and pouted, upset at no longer being the only child. 

He was nine years old when his mother died, sacrificing herself to save a child in Motomachi Shopping Center when a drunk driver barreled down the sidewalk. When you tried to cling to him and cry, he pushed you away to mourn by himself, angry and grieving.

He was eleven years old when his father started to see his mother in you, taking out the bitterness he felt for her decision on you with cruel words and crueler hands when he would come home drunk after a long night of gambling away all of his money. A good brother would have stepped in to protect his little sister, but Iceman chose to turn a cheek and plug his ears when you would curl in bed at night and cry.

He was thirteen years old when he came home to you physically hurt for the first time, blood trickling down from a split lip as you curled in the corner of your shared room. Iceman had already started involving himself with the underworld by the point, so it only took a few sniffles and your fingers curling around his wrist for him to stay up all night, waiting for his father to fall asleep so he could press a pillow to his face, smothering him to death and leaving the two of you homeless without a dollar to your name.

He was fifteen years old when he officially joined the Port Mafia, desperate to get a roof over your head. Sixteen when he killed his second man. You never asked questions when he came home covered in blood and wounds, even though you definitely should have. He lied and told you he’d joined an underground fighting ring to try to make some money for you. You took care of him in a way that he never did for you, patching up his wounds with an easy smile and tender hands.

He was eighteen when he met the rest of the Flags after making a name for himself as one of the Mafia’s best assassins. He stopped coming around as much, spending his time at bars with the Flags, afraid that one day you’d figure out what he’s been doing for money, afraid that you would start to see him as a monster instead of the brother you still loved for whatever god forsaken reason.

He was twenty when he cut you off. After his near death experience at the hands of Verlaine, Iceman realized his life was much too dangerous to keep you in it. To provide for you and give you the life you deserve, he had to abandon his name and leave you behind, otherwise you would forever be at risk of people trying to kill you to get to him.

The best thing Iceman ever did for you as an older brother was cutting you off to let you live a long, fulfilling life away from the dark. Away from him.

And for what?

Iceman sighs as he fumbles in his pocket for another cigarette, already on his second pack of the day. He tilts his head back against the tree he’s leaning against, the muddy ground staining his pants. He lights the cigarette and takes a long drag, tilting his head down as a heavy feeling sweeps over him.

And for what?

It’s been two and a half weeks since he came back to Yokohama.

Two and a half weeks since your death.

Your death, the words still make him sick to his stomach, make him feel as if the world is collapsing around you. Iceman had always been sure of the two of you, he’d be the one to go first. The thought of outliving you—his little sister, the one person in the world he’d sacrifice everything to protect—was never even an option in his mind.

He’s spent just about every waking hour with you, trying to make up for the times he didn’t while you were still alive. You’d always hated the dark; he used to bitch and complain when the two of you shared a bedroom because you couldn’t sleep without a night light, and now he feels sick to his stomach thinking of you stuck out here in the dirt alone and in the dark. 

The Flags have tried to drag him away, Lippmann pleading with him to come inside and sleep and Piano Man trying to coax him back with promises of drinks and fine food, but Iceman refused to budge. Chuuya sometimes joins him, brings a nice bottle of wine, cracks it open and after three glasses, starts choking over air, apologizing and begging for forgiveness—sometimes to Iceman, sometimes in front of your headstone. 

Iceman enjoys their company—he does—but he thinks he prefers to be alone with you.

Which, unfortunately, seems to be a rare occurrence.

He sighs as he hears leaves crunching on the path leading up to your grave, gaze drawing to the side. At first, he figures it must be Chuuya dragging himself back to your grave, ready for another round of drinks and regret, but he pauses when he recognizes the long black cloak and red scarf donning the figure making his way over to your grave.

His fingers twitch down to the gun holstered down to his side, resentment and anger simmering dangerously beneath the surface.

Dazai Osamu kneels in front of your grave for the first time since your death. He did not attend your funeral. Didn’t come to see you laid into the ground. Didn’t pay respects. He’s spent two and a half weeks holed up on the top floor of the centermost building of headquarters with only Chuuya and Kouyou as company. 

Iceman thinks he has some fucking nerve, being the reason that you’re six feet under and not even bothering to come see you.

His first reaction is to make himself known, rise to his feet and pull out his gun—an offense worthy of execution in the eyes of the rest of the Mafia, pulling a gun on its boss, but Iceman’s self-preservation was thrown out the window the moment he came back to headquarters to see you dead in Hirotsu’s arms and Dazai Osamu standing there like an emotionless statute as if he didn’t cause this.

But he hesitates when he sees the expression on Dazai’s face, lips trembling and visible eye glassy. Iceman doesn’t think he’s ever seen the boss in such a sorry state before—his bandages are yellowed and grimy as if he hasn’t changed them in weeks, his coat is wrinkled, scarf dirty, lips chapped and cracked. Dazai Osamu is a man that most people see as untouchable and unflappable, and even Iceman, riddled with grief and fury, can’t help but pause at the sight of him breaking.

“I thought I could stop it,” Dazai breathes out. Iceman startles a bit, irrationally thinking that the man is talking to him, but settles down when he realizes that he’s talking to you, eyes slid shut as he kneels before your headstone. “I tried so hard. I tried so hard to stop it.”

Iceman’s eyes lower at the sheer pain in Dazai’s voice, the hoarseness of grief that has his throat red and raw, has him stripped him bare to the bone. From where Iceman is sitting out of sight, he can see the way Dazai’s fingers are trembling in his lap, shoulders shaking.

“All of this was for you,” Dazai’s voice wavers as he speaks, cracking over his words. “All of it was for you-I don’t-what am I supposed to do now? Shit. What do I do? It’s all gone to waste, I knew it. I knew I shouldn’t have-”

The noise that escapes Dazai’s throat is more belonging of a wounded animal than of a human. He curls over at his waist, blunt nails digging into the marble of your headstone, forehead resting against the cool stone. 

Iceman squeezes his eyes shut, throat swollen, letting out a full body shiver at the sound. He forces himself to his feet, fingers enclosing around the grip of his gun, and makes his way over to where Dazai is kneeling. The man stiffens when he hears Iceman approach, straightening and tilting his head to the side to look at Iceman from the corner of his eye. His mouth dries a bit when he sees the tear streaking down Dazai’s pale skin.

“Are you here to kill me?” Dazai asks, voice raspy and throat sore. There’s a mocking edge to it that makes Iceman’s jaw click, as if Dazai is purposely trying to antagonize him. “Go on then, I left Chuuya behind. There’s no one to stop you this time.”

“You think you deserve to go see her already?” Iceman asks coldly.

He stares down at Dazai, watching as the facade cracks at Iceman’s words. The corner of Dazai’s lips twitch downward and his eye goes a bit hazy as it tracks back down to your headstone. He takes in another shuddered breath and Dazai’s shoulders finally slump over, lashes fluttering.

“I knew this would happen,” Dazai finally croaks out, voice weak and wavering. Iceman’s lips tightens at his words, flicking the safety off on his gun and pulling it from his holster. “I knew this would happen and I still sought her out.”

“Even a blind person could’ve seen how this would turn out,” Iceman spits out, pressing the muzzle of his gun to the back of Dazai’s head. He doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t react at all. A part of Iceman wonders if this is what he wants—to be put out of his misery. “This is on you.”

“I know,” Dazai says hoarsely. “... I know.”

Iceman knows that you loved Dazai Osamu for whatever fucked up reason. The same fucked up reason you probably still loved Iceman even after all of the bullshit that he did, and didn’t do, during your childhood. He forced Chuuya to get him the tape after he’d calmed down, watched the way you sat there with Dostoevsky, accepting your fate. Heard that you were given a choice, and the choice you made. He hadn’t been able to understand it at first—you’ve always been so full of life, excited for the future even at your lowest, he couldn’t fathom what could’ve possibly made you so accepting of death.

So he dug further, got Piano Man and Lippmann and Albatross roped up in his schemes. Heard the way you would act with Dazai, how happy you were and how happy he was. Forced Piano Man to get him tapes from around the base; he saw the way you looked at him and the way he looked at you. 

You loved Dazai Osamu, and Dazai Osamu—a man that everyone had been convinced was incapable of emotion, a demon without a heart or conscious—loved you.

He takes in the dark bag beneath Dazai’s tired eye, the glassiness and lack of life within them, the sickly pallor of his skin, and the dirtiness of his clothes. His nails bleed from where he dragged them against the marble of your headstone and he can see a murky redness staining his yellowed bandages, peeking out from where his coat rode up his arm.

Iceman has not been the only one grieving you.

“Aren’t you going to kill me?” Dazai finally rasps out. Less of a question, more of a beg, a far cry from the cold and brutal mafia boss that Iceman has come to know, and Iceman knows that Dazai Osamu died in the same moment you did, only a walking corpse remains in his place.

Iceman scoffs, holstering his gun. “Nah,” he says. “Whatever you’re doin’ to yourself. That’s worse than death.”

“…oss. Boss.”

Dazai’s gaze drags from the photo on his desk to where Chuuya has entered his office, tilting his head to the side as he waits for Chuuya to say whatever he came here to say. Chuuya hesitates and Dazai’s jaw tightens in annoyance. He’s been like this since you-

For three and a half weeks. He’s been like this for three and a half weeks. Constantly hovering, afraid to leave Dazai alone for too long. If Chuuya isn’t hovering, Kouyou is. Dazai can hardly get a moment alone and it’s becoming increasingly hard to continue the preparation for phase five, the final part of his plan. Everything is set in place, if all goes according to plan, tomorrow morning will be the long awaited moment. 

In a little over twelve hours, he’ll be able to be with you again at last.

Four hours until Atsushi is to go to the Armed Detective Agency with the files that will antagonize Akutagawa into attacking the Mafia headquarters. Dazai expects that by three in the morning, the Agency would have managed to fully infiltrate the building, and Atsushi and Akutagawa will be clashing on the roof of the headquarters. 

By dawn, it’ll be time.

But one major obstacle remains. 

Dazai’s gaze draws back to Chuuya, who’s still standing in the door of his office, becoming increasingly more irritated by Dazai’s lack of a response. As long as Chuuya is around, Dazai is going to have trouble following through with the final step. The executive will do whatever it takes to prevent Dazai’s death, so Dazai needs to get him out of the way.

“Chuuya,” Dazai hums, “Wh-”

“We’ve captured Gogol.”

Dazai halts, fingers pausing from where they’d been thrumming against the desk as he thought. His gaze sharpens as he tilts his head to the side, “Is that so?”

Gogol. Gogol. The one who captured you, handed you to Dostoevsky on a silver platter. Dazai might’ve been the cause of your-

Dazai might’ve been the one at fault for all of this, but that doesn’t mean he can let your executioners get off scot-free. He rises to his feet, the pads of his fingers pressing into the dark wood of his desk. For a moment, he doesn’t move, his ears ring and his eyes slide shut. Dazai didn’t think he’d get the chance to handle either of them—he’d resigned himself to accepting that he would have to forfeit personal vengeance to ensure that at least Odasaku will be able to live out his life in this world.

But now…

From the corner of his eye, Dazai swears he can see you barge into his office from his apartment, a wild smile on your face as you wave around the TV remote, claiming you found a good movie for the two of you to watch. It’s only for a split second, but Dazai’s heart leaps from his throat, breath catching. He hasn’t dared step foot in the apartment since… everything happened—it’s too big now, too empty. Your coffee mug still sits on his kitchen table, clothes strewn across his room from where you’d been having a fit trying to find the perfect outfit for orientation.

“Dazai.”

Chuuya speaks and the mirage of you is gone. Dazai lets out a heavy breath before shaking his head and making his way toward Chuuya. Neither of them speak again as they make their way into the elevator—they’ve hardly had a full conversation with one another since… since Chuuya chose to disobey orders—heading down to the belly of the headquarters where Gogol will be held. Dazai’s mind spins, lashes fluttering as he thinks.

He knew that Dostoevsky would be well out of reach, that he would have to leave your justice for when the Russian makes his real move in the hands of Odasaku, Akutagawa and the Agency, in the hands of Chuuya, Iceman and Atsushi. There’s no way that Dazai would be able to get his hands on the man in a timely manner, and Dazai can’t risk being in this world any longer than he’s already been. The longer he remains, the more Odasaku is at risk of meeting the same fate you did, and then all Dazai has done and sacrificed over the past seven years would be for nought. The only chance he had to protect the two of you squandered because of his own selfishness and incapability.

But Gogol. He hadn’t dared hope—Dazai lost any semblance of hope the moment he saw Chuuya show up at the Port Mafia headquarters—but he couldn’t help but want.

Kouyou and Piano Man are already waiting in the torture chambers when Dazai and Chuuya finally arrive. Gogol has silver shackles around his wrists, military-grade ability nullifying cuffs that the Mafia had stolen from a government shipment a few months back, and when he sees Dazai, he laughs wildly as if he’s just been told a hilarious joke.

“It’s really you,” Gogol cackles. “Dostoy thought for sure you’d have offed yourself by now.”

Dazai hums, but otherwise doesn’t react to the words. He supposes that they’re not too off the mark, Gogol is only unlucky in that he managed to get himself captured the day before it’s meant to take place.

“Are you going to kill me?” Gogol coos. “Avenge your pretty little thing? Not many people manage to catch Dostoy’s attention, y’know? I was so curious about her.”

Dazai tilts his head to the side and smiles thinly, a cold one that makes Gogol look impossibly more entertained.

“I hear that you enjoy freedom,” Dazai says more to himself than to Gogol, but finds a bit of sadistic pleasure in the way Gogol hesitates. “What makes you think I’d ever give you the mercy of death? The ultimate freedom?”

Gogol does not respond, so Dazai continues, “So long as you live—and you will live—you’ll never take another breath of fresh air or feel the wind against your skin ever again. My men will ensure you live to a ripe old age. They will feed you when you try to starve yourself, force water down your throat when you refuse to drink, they’ll heal you when you try to kill yourself to free yourself of this prison. For the rest of your life, until you rot of old age, you’ll be caged in the basement of this building. A bird clipped of its wings, trapped forever behind gilded bars… I think that’s quite the fitting fate for you.”

Dazai relishes in the way that Gogol freezes at his words, but even that is not enough to heal the gaping wound in his chest caused by your absence. The pleasure is hollow, like the hole you left in him. Dazai is so tired, he just wants to get back to his office so he can finish finalizing the last step for the final phase.

He just wants to be with you.

Dazai turns to leave, motioning for Chuuya to join him, but as soon as he turns his back, Gogol is speaking again, letting out another manic laugh: “Aren’t you curious as to what the deal was? I can tell you.”

Dazai stills, Gogol laughs louder. 

“It was a life for a life. Your life for hers. I thought Dostoy was crazy for it, I mean, who would think a random girl’s life would be equal to that of the boss of the Port Mafia,” Gogol snickers. “But looking at you now?” 

Dazai’s jaw tightens, he looks over his shoulder as Gogol doubles over laughing and then says quietly, “Her life was worth ten of mine.”

He doesn’t hesitate this time as he walks back toward the elevator, ignoring the way Gogol howls with laughter even as Piano Man has his men drag Gogol back into the most secure cell in the Mafia headquarters. Chuuya follows behind Dazai dutifully, and it’s only when they reenter the elevator does he finally speak.

“You sure you don’t just want him killed?” Chuuya asks, voice a bit stunted and awkward.

Dazai doesn’t respond. “I have a mission for you.”

“Hah?” Chuuya demands. “Now? What’re you talking about?” 

“A meeting with Goldoni of the Family in Rome, he’s insistent that it’s done in person. It’s essential that it takes place as soon as possible. I’ve booked a flight for you, it leaves in two hours.”

“Two hours?” Chuuya hisses. “What are you planning, Dazai?”

Dazai doesn’t respond again. Instead, he turns his head to the side, looking at Chuuya dead on. “That’s a direct order, Chuuya.”

Chuuya draws back as if he’s been slapped, but he doesn’t speak up after that, and Dazai knows that he’s won. By the time Chuuya lands in Rome, everything will be over—the last step of the plan will be complete. His eyes flutter shut as he leans back against the wall of the elevator; he feels a type of contentedness that he hasn’t felt since he watched you drive off with Albatross, Hirotsu, and Tachihara.

Soon, he sighs to himself softly, eyes reopening to focus on his reflection. He swears he can see you again, feel the ghost of your touch against his skin as your fingers lace with his. All he has left to do is talk to Odasaku, and then he can be with you again. 

We can watch one last sunrise together.

“I had someone once, y’know?” Dazai Osamu says, expression distorted and eyes distant, drawing to invisible figures sitting at the stools with them. Oda stares curiously, watching as he opens and closes his mouth, as if trying to figure out what to say. “It was hard. Without you and her, everything was so much harder. I tried so hard to do things right, to protect this world; I did what I could, but I couldn’t stay away from her.”

Dazai’s words disappear with his ragged breathing, dozens of emotions crossing over his face as he stares at his lap. Oda doesn’t speak, trying to put together whatever piece he’s missing—figure out who this her is that Dazai is referring to so that he can understand what’s going on. He keeps his gun steady, pointed at the boss of the Port Mafia in case this whole thing turns out to be a trap even if he’s slowly starting to doubt it.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye to her,” Dazai says airly, talking more to himself than to Oda. “She said she’d see me later. Told me she loved me. I didn’t say it back. Do you think she knew, Odasaku?” 

The man in question chooses his words carefully when Dazai looks at him, black eye wide and imploring, much like a child seeking out advice from a trusted adult. After a few moments, Oda finally says, “Women are a lot more intuitive than men. If she said it, I’m sure she knew you felt the same.”

Dazai lets out a quiet laugh, a soft smile on his lips and a fond, but faraway expression on his face. “You always know what to say, Odasaku,” he murmurs softly, saying that odd nickname again. Oda frowns, but Dazai only continues. “She was good. A lot better than me… Deserved better than me. She was so smart, Odasaku, I think you would’ve liked her. She got into one of the best grad schools in the country, y’know? Was on her way to orientation when-”

Dazai stops talking suddenly, takes in a sharp and stunted breath, eye going a bit wild as if he can’t even force out the words. Oda is suddenly frowning, recognition sparking in his head as he remembers you, the sharp girl from the train station that he’d failed to save; the one who's been haunting his mind since the moment that golden swirl appeared and dragged you away. Ranpo had deduced it was mafia business rather quickly, but Oda couldn’t convince himself of it because he couldn’t figure out how someone like you was affiliated with the mafia.

This… It would make sense, wouldn’t it? Still, Oda couldn’t imagine you with someone like the man sitting before him, or maybe he could, he reconsiders, watching the adoring expression that paints the mafia boss’s face as he talks about you, the smile on his lips and the enamored look in his eye, the pride. Oda doesn’t think he’s ever seen a man look so entirely lovesick before.

Dazai looks at him curiously, must have caught the spark of recognition on his face. “Do you know her?”

Oda pauses, trying to figure out what to say. He doesn’t know if he should admit to seeing you in the moments before you were killed; Dazai Osamu is clearly not stable, fickle and capricious with his emotions, Oda worries that the mafia boss might abruptly turn on him, become hostile when he realizes Oda could have saved her but failed. 

“You did,” Dazai breathes out, excited suddenly, eye lit up like a child who has been told Christmas is coming early. “You knew her, you did, didn’t you? How did you meet? Wasn’t she incredible? Tell me.”

Oda inhales slowly, testing the words on his tongue before he says: “... I met her at the train station… that day.” Dazai’s smile wobbles at the edges, a glassy look in his eye like he’s looking right through Oda. Oda continues speaking quickly, “She was brilliant. She gave me a good idea on how to end the book I’ve been writing.”

Dazai’s smile softens, the childish appearance disappears as he looks down at his drink. “Will you use it?”

Oda responds honestly, “I think I will.”

Dazai looks as if he’s been given a precious gift and for a moment, Oda hesitates, gaze lingering on the expression that is somehow both sorrowful and content at the same time.

“It’s almost dawn, isn’t it?” Dazai says, a bit distantly. Oda watches carefully as an unfocused look clouds Dazai’s black eye, his head turning to look out the window of the bar. “She loved sunrises… I promised her we would watch one more together.”

The sun breaks the horizon in the distance, Dazai smiles wistfully as the colors spread across the morning sky. Endless pink clouds dance in the dawn, orange paints the skies; he stands at the edge of the roof where you sat with him that first morning, leaning your head on his shoulder as you watch all of the shapes the clouds make.

“Doesn’t that one look like a cat?”

Dazai hums in agreement as his gaze traces the sky; he’s never been able to see all of the figures you point out in the clouds, but he likes listening to you talk. Sometimes, you’d spin stories as you rest on his chest, and he’d doze off to the sound of your voice. He wants to look down to where you’d normally be sitting, but he’s afraid that if he looks, he’ll find you disappointed—sad eyes staring at him as if you know what he’s about to do. 

Worse, he’s scared that if he looks, you won’t be there.

Distantly, he can hear Atsushi and Akutagawa still arguing with one another, shouting questions at Dazai, but it all sounds distant and muffled—he couldn’t make out the words if he tried. He’s hyper focused on the sound of your voice in the billowing wind; he can almost imagine that each brush of the gusts against his skin is your touch.

He waits, even as he hears Atsushi creeping toward him, trying to get to him before he lets himself fall over the edge. He promised you one last sunrise, and it would be remiss of him to not stay long enough for you to watch your favorite part.

“She loved sunrises,” Dazai repeats again, this time for Atsushi and Akutagawa to hear. Atsushi halts at the words and he can hear a wavering ‘boss’ escape Atsushi’s lips. He closes his eyes and he can picture you in front of him, a soft expression on your face, lips curved up, and a dreamy smile tugs at his lips. “I’ve waited for this moment so long. I’m pleased, I really am… I just wish things had turned out differently. I wanted her to live, and I wanted to read his novel when he finished it, but I guess what I want doesn’t matter anymore… It’s enough to know that they were able to meet here.”

“Please wait,” Atsushi cries out, and Dazai can hear him moving again, stumbling as he tries to get closer. “Dazai-san, wait!”

“Atsushi-kun, Akutagawa-kun,” Dazai says. He opens his eyes again, watching as the sun finally crosses the horizon in its entirety, basking the world in an ethereal morning glow. His breath catches, and Dazai sees you again standing before him, haloed by the light. He reaches out hesitantly, but draws his hand back before his fingers can graze you, not wanting to taint you with his touch. “I’ll leave the rest to you.”

Dazai takes a step forward closer to you. He ignores Atsushi’s screams and Akutagawa’s shout. His eyes slide shut as he falls, the wind whistling in his ears and ripping the air from his lungs, but Dazai feels at peace for the first time in weeks. A smile curls to his lips, he swears that he feels your arms wrap around his waist, the familiar weight of your head resting on his chest. 

Dazai hopes, maybe a bit irrationally, that there might be a universe out there that he missed, one where the two of you are able to live out your lives. Maybe if he’s lucky, Odasaku will be around too. He’ll have finished the novel with your help, just like in this universe; and Dazai will pout and whine whenever you push him out of the room to brainstorm with the older man, but he’ll always smile as soon as he’s out of sight, content, happy. He’ll get to read the novel once it’s published—you refuse to let him get any peeks until it’s done and you yell at him and Odasaku when Dazai tries to guilt him into showing him it—and he’ll get to be with you.

He’ll get to be with you.

Find me again. Next time, I’ll make it right. 

I promise.

GUYSSSSSS WATERLOO IS OVER I'M ACTUALLY GOING TO CRY. this series has been my baby for so long i don't even know what i'm going to do with myself now that it's over. :(

some notes to share with u guys:

fyodor's ability. SIGH. the past few chapters fucked up my plans, so we're going to imagine that that his ability is still the kill on touch for the sake of my sanity. or maybe he used someone else's ability to kill her. who knows. i had this scene set in mind from waterloo day one so i didn't want to change it.

THE ODASAKU-READER CONVERSATION WAS ACTUALLY SO ANTICIPATED, i had the idea from side a when dazai chose to bring her to his grave, and then i was like ... wait, what if in side b... and i think it's a neat tie in to the beast movie too, because if i rmr correctly, he sought out fyodor later on and i think witnessing reader's capture & not being able to prevent her would give him even more of a reason to go after the man.

uu!chuuya hurts my heart truly. he really did care sm about reader the more he got to know her, and he blamed himself so much for her death. and then dazai uses the fact that he disobeyed orders and got her killed against him to make him leave so that dazai can kill himself. poor man will never not blame himself for everything

ICEMAN AS READER'S BROTHER. look, i know a lot of you wanted odasaku but it just didn't fit. she would've recognized his name in side a

badlands!reader -> i fear she is dead and gone, as you all probably have come to terms with by now at the end of the uu. but i want to add in HOW she dies because it's touched on in this chapter & i posted an ask about it a few weeks ago.

in badlands universe, fyodor isn't actually the one to kill reader, it's agatha christie when the order of the clocktower finally makes their move on yokohama for the book. for this, i also have to get into christie and what i think her ability might be - obviously we know it's based on "and then there were none" which is the mystery novel that involves 10 people w various accusations against them being killed/dying according to a nursery rhyme. i dont know exactly how i want the ability to be executed, but i know for the purposes of the fic that involves 10 ppl dying in various ways according to how they died in the book. christie targets various ppl that have been close to the agency/pm and reader is one of them. so over the course of 10 hours, the 10 people start dying. it takes to the 5th hour for them to realize that this is an ability user and not coincidences because by that point 2 ppl affiliated with the pm and 2 ppl that have close ties with the ada die and the two organizations approach each other about it, and obviously ranpo figures out during that meeting that it's an ability targeting ppl affiliated with both organizations. and that's when dazai starts getting a really bad feeling, tries to call her but she doesn't pick up, and then ends up ditching the meeting to go find her but </333 he doesn't get to her in time. her death is the death on the 5th hour and it parallels emily brent from the book: injected with cyanide after drinking poisoned coffee. dazai finds her in their apartment </3 he is too late to save her.

also a fun side note about badlands: reader and dazai were, in fact, engaged.

anyways, i love you all, thanks for sticking along the ride with me

(。♡ ‿ ♡。)

[hyukascampfire]

𝒯𝑂: 𝑆𝑂𝑀𝐸𝑂𝑁𝐸 𝐹𝑅𝑂𝑀 𝐴 𝑊𝐴𝑅𝑀 𝐶𝐿𝐼𝑀𝐴𝑇𝐸 ༉

𝓘N THIS STORY 〃 a life lived as a human among the fae is one hard-earned. the folk are built of indescribable beauty, and of debauchery and mischief. for some, a life lived subservient to the folk is just fine; but to those who dream of something more, they would spend their lives clawing and biting to make it happen.

you, looking for a way to escape a life as a faerie’s human servant, put a new foot forward thinking that any life could be better than that. but, when your first assignment as a king’s spy is alongside a brooding, icy faerie man, you begin to wonder what your place in this foreign world really could be.

wc ➳ 23.2k

pairings faerie!taehyun x human!reader, faerie!yeonjun x human!reader

warnings angst, unprotected sex, voyeurism, orgasm denial, jealousy, angst again, dubious intentions of multiple main characters... poor mc has no idea who to believe

playlists ⑊ yeonjun ˒ taehyun ˒ series

…🪶ashlynn's note this part, i put my heart and soul into! i rewrote so many parts and agonized over following the path that i most wanted the story to go down—i hope it shows! xoxoxoxo, love ya! again, this is a long one, so pls let me know about spelling mistakes :,)

← ⑊ →

You had hoped that learning of Yeonjun’s relationship with the same crowd who have made attempts on your life would be enough to rattle your brittle heart into sense. You really had. As you watch Taehyun, bent over the war strategy table, though, you wish you had more time to sort it out in your head. You hate the thought of settling on half-baked answers and information all for the fact that time is not on your side. When had time ever really been kind to you, though? It had not made exceptions when you were small and innocent in your cradle, had not slowed down to allow you to at least cherish your final moments a normal child with her human parents. You can only fantasize who you would be if you had been given just enough time to know that gentle love. Even now, time makes your choices for you.  

Taehyun looks over those metal figurines as if searching for something in them. There are more of them stood and strewn out on the map. It reminds you how you are now faced with a plethora of newer, more powerful players.  

You miss when this had been a simple spying mission—when your path forward had been unobscured and clear. You envy that version of yourself: able to believe that bad things presented themselves as such. The world had been clean-cut. Evil had jagged teeth and foul breath, and good had soft edges and sweet smiles. You’re not sure where that distinction lies anymore.  

“How’s your shoulder?” you say, making your presence known. You’re sure he had been keen to your presence from the moment you’d entered the estate, though; not only thanks to his better hearing, but also because Taehyun is constantly assessing his surroundings. The smallest insect could hardly sneak up on him. You push off the doorframe and enter the room. 

He nods his head once in greeting, but he doesn’t tear his gaze away from the table’s ensemble. “It’s doing fine.” 

Sighing, you decide not to push it. The sight of that puncture had been ghastly, and it wreaks havoc in your belly every time you replay it, but the tick in his jaw when you mention it tells you enough of how he feels about disclosing whether or not anything might hurt him. How many times in the past few weeks had you forced him to do just that? It’s no wonder that the two of you butt heads so terribly. Allowing you to stitch him up must’ve been the extent of how far he’d let you see him in need of help. 

You gesture toward the table. “Have you decided when we leave?” 

Taehyun answers you with a strained sigh out through his nose: a testament to how he’d been mulling it over. He levies those figures a few more moments of his gaze as if they might speak an answer for him. They don’t. He concedes to their lack of direction and turns to you. “Every moment we spend here, we risk our identities further,” he starts, crossing his arms over his chest.  

You wince. He still believes that you’d at least contained some of your identity by taking out those three faeries. You know better. Even the bard in that tavern had known what had happened; it’s why Yeonjun ended up finding out in the first place. Even if not all of them had been a part of that rebellion, it’s reckless to assume that there were no more than that. 

Continuing, he says, “And judging by what we’ve picked up, we need to get it all back before the solstice.” He doesn’t pace as he thinks. Only the faraway look in his eyes betray the noise in his head. 

You hate the way it sounds like he’s going to demand that you leave immediately, and you hate how it sieges your tongue and makes it dance into a pitiful ploy to stay. To give yourself some credit, it’s better that Taehyun knows every bit of information you have. This moment is desperate for informed decisions. 

“I saw Yeonjun this morning,” you blurt. The words bubbled and bubbled behind your lips until they’d found the tipping point and spilled out. You’d agonized over what to make of it all for hours: that Yeonjun had been as deceitful with you as you’d been with him, that you are a sorry human girl that had wedged her way into the cross-firings of a war much beyond yourself, that you still have the gall to consider your own feelings despite its grandness... None of that worrying had led you to a conclusion that both your heart and mind would agree on.  

Taehyun’s gaze snaps to you, contained and remote aside from the twitching at the corners of his lips. The intensity of it makes you waver, but you have no time for wavering.  

“He’s... been made aware of our purpose here. He knows that we’re spies,” you say. As you watch him try to piece that together, you add, “He’s part of their rebellion.” 

Now he laughs, barbed and full of mock and disbelief. “The prince is rebelling against his father? He thinks he’ll find the throne like that? What’s his plan for when this falls through? For when his father hears of his mutiny? The prince will lose his head.” 

The thought makes you nauseous, despite how Yeonjun’s image has grown to be something murky. You don’t know what Yeonjun’s intentions are in aligning with the rebellion here. You hardly know anything about his relationship with his father and the High Court aside from the fact that he feels suffocated by his life back there. You’d assume that there’s a lot more to his reasoning, but you’ve learned your lesson about assuming that you know who people are. The inability to lie comes with the need for secrets. The thought that perhaps Yeonjun is only making a shady attempt for power crosses your mind, but either your own reasoning or your own stubbornness shoves it down. Nobody in faerie would hand their fealty to a prince who’d taken the throne of a long-standing king by those sorts of means. He’d be a king with no denizens to preside over. 

You interject Taehyun’s parade of scoffs. “He told me that war is coming, that it’s been coming.” 

His face drops, and he straightens up. “Of course it is. It’ll begin the moment we return with what we’ve found.” 

Your lips go a bit numb, and then your fingers follow. You know that this is your duty—it’d been this all along. It should come as no shock to you that he intends to relay this all to The King. But that was before you allowed your heart to make its home here. How simply he demands that you return to those lands with information that would kill Yeonjun... it has acid crawling a path up your throat. 

You make your best effort to ensure that your voice doesn’t falter as you speak. “He offered us protection as long as we stay here,” you say. “We don’t have to leave now.” You try to catch his gaze as you add, “We don’t have to leave at all.”  

You know that Yeonjun plays a part in the rebellion, but you don’t know how deep his devotion goes, and you also don’t know to what ends you can trust his intentions. How far do his loyalties to the rebellion go? And, where do his loyalties to you stand? The thought that he may have never loved you at all... it’s been a plague to your heart and mind from the very moment he’d revealed the truth to you this morning. Your guilt has chipped away at you without mercy—you’ve spent so many awful nights wishing you could unload your deceptions in front of him. How had it ended up so trivial in the grand scheme of things? How are you the one left feeling betrayed? 

You really, really cannot imagine having Yeonjun’s blood on your hands. He is one of them—a creature deception, and yet you still cannot shake those stolen nights from your bones. He had been your first. He’d made this place a home for you, where you had never had a home. It’s pitiful to search so deeply in someone else for your own strengths; even you can see that. Nevertheless, you do it. You suppose that a pair of warm arms and sweet words will do that to someone, no matter if you know that they could rot you like sweets do the tooth. It’s not unlike drunkards who find their day’s comfort in their drinks, even as it rots their body and mind away. Anything for a stretch of belonging and bliss. You're desperate for it. 

Taehyun’s sinewy words rattle your wandering mind back to reality. “He tells you that he is a member of the same group of people that have tried multiple times to kill you, and you believe him when he says he’s going to protect you? Still?” he spits, shaking his head. “What makes you so sure that he’s not just keeping us from running? That he isn’t handing us on a platter to his rebel friends? You’re going to get us fucking killed.” 

Blood roars like frothy-white rapids in your ears, warring with the echoes of his honey-glazed exclamations of love. To some capacity, he had to have meant those words. Faeries can’t lie, and he had said it so plainly. He loves you. 

“We can’t leave yet,” you say, stepping toward him on legs that you fear might collapse beneath you. “You said it yourself; we can’t return without the whole story. If we return now, we could be missing something.” You study the frosty set to his face and suck in a stabilizing breath. “Please, Taehyun. Please trust me on this.”  

You sound desperate and pleading, but you don’t reel it in at all. You are desperate and pleading. You have no intent of returning as some successful spy and continuing a life of deception and violence. It’s not who you are; it’ll never be who you are. Maybe this world tries to ask it of you, but you refuse to concede to it. 

“Part of our job is staying alive,” he says, his body rigid. He doesn’t like where you’re going with this, you can tell that much. 

“Is that what you want? To be a pawn of war? Isn’t that what we are if we bring this information back?” you challenge. “Don’t you think that if the prince of all people has turned against him, then serving at his hand is the wrong choice? I don’t know The King—I’ve never even seen him! Why should I be excited to serve him?” 

“The prince has more reason than anybody to want his father off his throne.” 

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you say, stepping further toward him. Though, it does make you revisit those thoughts. If vying for the crown is really Yeonjun’s intention, you suppose he’d have no problems pleading with you to stay in order to tie off loose ends. You wish you could see it all from somebody else’s untainted eyes. “What I’m saying is, do you want to be a spy? What has The King ever done for you to earn your loyalty?” 

Taehyun looks at you with disbelief, the corners of his mouth tilting down. “I don’t care about the damn king,” he snaps, and then gestures down at the table with all those figures. “The Queen operates on necessary evils. Where she can find a string to pull, she will pull it. My father was her general for a reason. Do you think she would keep him unless she approved of his violence? There is no good side to this war—just sides. If you’re suggesting that we stay here and try to forget that we came as spies, then you can forget it.” 

You glance over at the war table and wonder how you’ve become a moving piece in ancient faerie politics when all you’d set out for was a purpose. You’d been so warped by your bitterness with your upbringing that you’d failed to see how anything could be worse than that. You’d been so excited that you jumped willingly into dark water without knowing how deep it was, and now your feet can’t touch the ground. Is this the purpose you want? 

“Leave, then,” you say, stepping back. “You can leave. Just let me stay here. Please.” 

Something in Taehyun’s expression flips, so subtle that you can’t name it. It unsettles you, your hair standing on edge. There is something in his eyes that you do not like.  

“So, that’s it?” he says, his voice odd too. “That’s all it took for you to hand your future over on a leash to him?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you stammer. The only ones with a collar around your neck are the spies. They’re the ones who insisted on that geas—the ones who needed to compel you with their faerie magic to ensure your obedience.  

“It means that you got all the way here, uncovered a whole rebellion, and made a life for yourself, not handed to you by a prince, and you’re going to trade it in. It means that you’ve let him convince you that you are weak and need to be coddled.” 

Your fists curl tight and dig your nails into your palms. “I never wanted to be a spy,” you grit out. Yeonjun is not the reason you want to stay here. He may be part of it, but you’ve come to be utterly unwilling to return to that spy den like it’s your home, or something. It’s not. You’d slept there for one night. Beyond just your word and that geas, what reason do you have to return? 

“You didn’t? And yet, it’s what we are, isn’t it?” he says. “Do you think that I dreamed of being a spy? That I do it because I love it? Actions have their consequences.” 

“Then, what do you do it for, Taehyun?” you say. “When do you begin living your life for you? Doing what you do because it’s what you want?” 

Taehyun seems to consider your words for a few long heartbeats before settling into something in his head. You allow yourself to let go of some of the tension in your shoulders as you watch his expression morph into something much less poisonous. 

You hadn���t expected him to react like that. 

“Do you have any weapons on you?” he says. 

Faltering, you sputter out, “What?” You look over the room. The last time you’d been in here, you’d sparred. Does he intend to properly fight you in here now? Had you pushed him too far? Shaking your head and feeling at all the places you usually tuck your blades away, you say, “No... I don’t.” 

“Get some. Where we’re about to go...” he trails off, as if reconsidering, but then he continues, “I’ll get you a hag stone.” 

You furrow your brows, not taking off to do so. “A hag stone?” you echo, thankful that he isn’t trying to duel you, but wary at the need for such a faerie ward. Hag stones are of the more serious class of wards used to protect humans from faerie enchantment or glamour. Most often, humans would string theirs up with a bit of thread through the hole of it and wear it around their necks as a pendant. Unlike turning one’s clothes inside out or taking red berries on your person, hag stones protect against the more devastating faerie magic. You shudder simply wondering what you might need a hag stone to protect yourself from. 

He nods a bit solemnly. “Kelpie do not let a meal or trick pass them by when they wait so long to have them.” 

You look at him with wild eyes, hoping to see him laugh or play his words off as a joke. He does not, but of course he doesn’t. Taehyun doesn’t waste his words on jokes. 

“Why... Why would we be going to a kelpie?” you ask him, laughing around the ball of fright in your chest. 

He lends you a wretched look. “I have old debts to call on.” 

❆

The forest in which Taehyun leads you is untamed. At some point, the sound of nature’s buzzing tapers off, and you know that you’ve entered a deeper forest than you ought to be sticking your nose in. When the forest goes silent, it’s only for one reason.  

You’d grown up here. Maybe you’d been born elsewhere, but that does not negate the fact that you had grown up scared every day of the powerful creatures that inhabit this world. Your fear has ruled you for your whole life, and you let it. You’d be a fool not to. It’s how you survive in this world. Your limbs tremble; they plead with you to listen to everything you’ve ever known—do not mess with what is bigger than you.  

You step around frost-capped puddles and dance between briars, careful not to snag yourself on their claws. It unsettles you further that this part of the forest is so untrodden and overgrown. With no folk coming through, you fear how the kelpie might behave when you make an audience before it. Will it climb straight from its frosty swamp and drag you back down with it? Is the hag stone you clutch at your chest enough to keep you safe? 

“I don’t understand why we’re doing this, Taehyun,” you say, delicately avoiding any tumbles as you speed up to gauge his feelings by his face. You’re not fond of the remote blankness in his eyes, nor the staunch determined set to his jaw. “That thing might kill us, and your shoulder is hurt. You shouldn’t be out here; you should be letting it heal.” 

“I know my limits,” he says. 

Grimacing, you return his curt tone. “Taehyun.” You grab at the material of his sleeve with urgency. When he stops to look at you, you continue. “I want you to actually listen to me. You’re being unreasonable. Yeonjun said he’d use his pull to protect us. Both of us. We have no reason to be out here, you’re just putting us in danger.” 

He lets your words stew in the air for a moment before saying, “I’m the one putting us in danger? Me?” He scoffs. “We are about as safe dealing with a kelpie as we are living off his promises. I’m doing what’s best for us. Trust me.” 

You’re winded by his choice of words. You’ve become wary of dealing out your trust so frivolously. Those two words ring alarm bells. 

“But where is this coming from? You didn’t want to stay.” Your breath furls out in a plume of white smoke in front of your face as you speak.  

He looks as if he doesn’t want to answer that. It only makes you more apprehensive. Your limbs fill with lead, planting you where you stand. “Taehyun, I’m scared,” you say. “Isn’t finding help from a solitary faerie a bit too far? How is trusting Yeonjun any more dangerous than that?” 

Taehyun steps toward you. “He is going to kill us. It’s not if, it’s when. That bastard is going to hurt you. This... This is for us. We are self-sufficient; we don’t need his protection shit.” A bitter tang colors his words. “I know that you’re scared. I won’t let it hurt you; I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise that you’ll be okay. You want to stay, don’t you?” 

You nod. You would even make deals with a kelpie for it.  

“Okay, then, let’s go,” he says, taking off with those words, effectively punctuating the conversation.  

You follow him. 

You grow more anxious the deeper you trudge into the forest without any consolation as the daylight begins creeping away. Following behind Taehyun, the wind whips at the perfect angle so that his form takes most of its terror, allowing you a respite from at least some of the brutal cold. You don’t feel any remorse using him as a shield against the elements—frost runs through his veins. He doesn’t shiver or wince at it. 

Taehyun stops a few feet before a wintry mire framed by crystallized cattails and reeds. Your heart stutters as he looks around to ensure that this is the right spot. The water is dark and deep. You stay a healthy distance away from it. You do not want to find out just how deep it is. 

“Where is it?” you say, keeping your voice low as if the beast might lunge from the water and snatch you up if you don’t. 

Taehyun surveys the forest surrounding you and then the body of water as he always does, and when he looks to you, you already know he’s calculated and planned. He doesn’t face a situation without thought—that notion soothes you, even if it’s to the slightest degree.  

“It won’t come until I call it,” he says, gesturing at those murky and horrible watery depths. Swallowing hard, you consider how close you stand to it. You take a shuffled step back. “When you see it, you need to stay calm. Don’t let it see your fear. It’ll find it amusing and latch onto you. Do you understand?” 

A rush of heavy dread spreads from your core and seizes your lungs at his words. You’ve made it this far. You want to stay. You want to stay, bad. If this thing outsmarts you, you will not go down without swinging this time. You have your daggers, and you know how to wield them. Bravery is most of the battle, isn’t it? 

You muster a nod, trying to give yourself a brave heart, but Taehyun shakes his head. Your eyes must betray how stricken you are. “Do you understand?” he repeats, his voice sharp and grave. 

“I do.” 

He accepts your words, pressing on. “It will try to trip you over your words and spin you into a trap with tricky words. Do not entertain it, even as it tries, okay?” 

You’ve been terrorized by faerie tricks your whole life. You can handle their schemes just fine. “Okay.” 

Taehyun frees a blade from its hiding place and brings it to his palm. He slides it there, slicing it open. Crimson creeps from the slit, running in between his fingers and trickling onto the snow. He’d cut pretty deep. 

“Why are you—Taehyun?” you say, stepping toward him as he curls his wounded hand into a fist over the water, shaking it so as to let the droplets down into the black water. You regret those steps you’d made toward him as something comes crashing through the surface. 

No, rather than emerging from under the surface, the beast is born from the water, manifesting from it as something gangly and wretched. From its pointed ears to its hooves, it pushes up from nothingness until it is standing there, real and terrible before you. Its skin glistens with a thickness like oil and its hair and tail hang in heavy, seaweed-like tendrils, plastered against its body. The scum floating on top of the water clung to its hair and pelt as it rose, twigs and the like poking from its withered body. A bridle cages its head, leather reins dangling down. Of all its awful things, you believe that its eyes are the worst—bone-white and piercing, they send a terror down your spine that solidifies in your bones. You know you will not soon forget the ancient soullessness that lives there. The folk do sometimes resemble the places in which they hail from; you suppose that the kelpie bares striking resemblance to the swirling water that sits at its feet. 

You try not to choke or gasp or react in any way at all, but it isn’t easy. You focus your adrenaline on keeping your breathing as even as you can manage. 

“It has been a long time since I’ve found a human at my doorstep,” the creature says, steam blowing from its nostrils as it snorts. How long might a long time mean to a faerie, especially one you know is so ancient? You hope that your presence does not intrigue the beast at all. 

Taehyun swoops in before you can speak, and you are boundlessly thankful for it. “I’ve come to call on the debt you owe me,” he says. He doesn’t leave any room for any familiarity or playfulness. 

“Is it that time?” the kelpie says, placing one hoof down onto the snow. It had looked so incorporeal and liquid that you half expect it to burst and turn to water as it does, but it climbs out just fine. Very real.  

Taehyun eyes the kelpie as it makes land, dribbling with water and its kelp hair swinging. You swallow hard as it disregards his presence to observe you. You’re used to the folk disregarding you, not this. How many years had you yearned for their attention? Right now, you scare under it.  

“For what do you need my help, boy?” it says, voice gurgled, “And why do you bring this human along? Is it for her? Or, rather, have you brought her as your peace offering?” 

Your legs tremble beneath you.  

“I don’t owe you any peace offering, kelpie,” Taehyun says, his head held righteously high. “You’ll offer me what I ask, or you’ll suffer for it.” 

Shifting under the tense atmosphere, you still don’t speak. In Faerie, debt is law. The folk live by a law that is, like many other things about them, foreign to you. Whatever natural laws by which they govern themselves are vastly lost on you—but of keeping promises and respecting debts, you are very aware. They hate to be indebted—you’re sure it’s why this kelpie is so peevish. You hope that the folk’s need to balance their debts is enough to keep it hospitable.  

The kelpie makes a rumbling and throaty sound that mimics that of a laugh. It rumbles the ground below your feet. “Just as rigid as the last time we met like this,” it says. “I wonder if it's because you’ve inherited your father’s stone heart, or because you fear me?” 

The kelpie remains playful with its intonation, but tension lies thick and dangerous beneath both of their words. You know well enough that the beast is not being light-hearted.  

Taehyun holds his face firm. He refuses to give an inch. “Do not try that with me. You have your word to upkeep for my help.” 

Shimmering under the moon’s light now, the beast treats us with a long moment of hostile silence. You can feel its malintent despite how hollow those eyes remain.  

“What do you ask of me?” it finally says, whipping its drooping tail behind it. 

“There is a rebellion here,” starts Taehyun, shoulders relaxing to the slightest degree as the kelpie defers, “The north is uneasy. I’m optimistic that you’ll lend us your protection and hand, whenever I call on it. Regardless of it being in my interest, I’m sure that you aim to keep your lands peaceful, no?” 

“Rebellion? For what would anything of the courts be in my interest? Of their rebellion or even just their ridiculousness, I do not care. I’ve left your gentry to you, leave me to mine.” 

Taehyun’s nostrils flare. “I’m not asking you to care about the courts, I’m asking you to lend me your help when I ask of it,” he grits out, “Or, rather, I’m not asking. I am informing you that I am expecting you to uphold your debt to me, and you’d better be ready to do so. This is just courtesy.” 

You feel the kelpie’s offense in the hollow quiet that follows Taehyun’s demands. Among many things, the fae are prideful creatures. Your stomach is in terrible knots. Taehyun is just trying to regain the power in the situation. You know that. It doesn’t make you any less scared for your life. With an ancient creature like a kelpie, it is paramount to earn its respect, or else it will push you around. 

Worse than that. It will drag you down into its waters and make your soul into a meal. 

“It’s a pity you think that hag stone will save you from me, human.” The kelpie turns its attention back on you. You bade your knees not to crumple. “It takes much more than that to protect you in places like these. Perhaps you’ll be safe from petty enchantment, though.”  

Taehyun shoves his words in before you can give the kelpie any sort of reaction. Not even a tremble. “Understood?” 

“You’ve made deals with our kind before. The magic reeks on you. It’s lousy enchantment, I could dissolve that geas for you. All you’d have to do is climb up on my back, and I’d grant you your freedom.”  

You can’t help but perk up. The prospect of ridding yourself of the geas placed over you is a painfully delicious one. 

Bristling, Taehyun steps between you and the kelpie. Whether he does it to fight off the beast should it lunge at you or to prevent you from approaching it, you’re unsure. “Do not,” he says. 

“Wasn’t going to.” You say it, and of course it’s true. The kelpie is poking around to see what will most entice you. Regardless, you can’t deny how awfully you wish that geas were gone. It’s the one thing that you fear will tether you to The King’s bidding. No matter how you armor yourselves from the rebellion here in the north, what’s to stop the spies from tugging on the enchanted leash? One command from Cricket, and your body would betray you and walk the whole way there itself. 

Though you don’t verbalize your interest, the kelpie no doubt sees the interest alight in your eyes. It pounces accordingly. “Unless you’d prefer that I give you a whole other enchantment. Protection against any of our kind’s glamours? Permanant true sight? A touch to my pelt would be all it would take for you to make yourself free.” 

Taehyun clicks just the hilt of his sword free from the sheathe. “Stop with the tricks. You can find your fun elsewhere.” 

Like the swampish water behind it, the kelpie stands there totally still, studying Taehyun. You really wish this altercation could wrap up at any pace faster than it currently is. You’re itching to escape those white eyes. They’re much more intimidating as night settles in. What sort of thing had Taehyun even done to indebt a creature like this to him? Once again, you’re left confronting how little you know of him and his past. By the time you’ve come to terms with the last thing, the next arrives to remind you that the folk lead much longer lives than you do. 

It finally speaks again. “Why have you brought this human with you, Lord?” Its furls out the term like a weapon. This bitter intonation that you’ve seen be used multiple times to speak of Taehyun’s title sticks with you. The title is a taunt. In this case, the you know it comes from the kelpie’s place of utter indifference and lack of obeisances toward whatever sovereignty the Courts may claim. The kelpie only answers to the land.  

“Because I needed you to know that your protection will extend to her. Know her face, learn it so that when I call on you, you’ll play your part correctly.” 

“I fail to see why you dote over her safety. Who is the human to you?” The kelpie takes a step forward, its powerful muscles rippling with the moon’s white light on its ink pelt. You mirror it with a step back. Taehyun stays put. “I owe her no help. That’s not how this works. I concede that I am bound to your help, but I do not repay double. You overestimate my generosity.” 

You watch as Taehyun takes on a posture that you’ve come to recognize as his offensive posture, potent adrenaline twisting up your stomach and sending your heart into a fit so fierce that you feel it in all your pulse points. You’re sure that swords are a laughable matter to the kelpie. Iron, though, you’re sure would still burn. Turning your hands to fists, you make a conscious effort not to find your iron weapons. If the kelpie were to see that, it may escalate things. You do not want to escalate.  

It’s only smart for you to consider your disadvantages: Taehyun is wounded. He had literally been struck by an arrow last night. You’re so far into the woods that running would consist of stumbling over roots and avoiding thorny bushes. Taehyun might know them, but you’re fully unfamiliar with a kelpie’s weaknesses, or if they even have any at all. You’re better off appeasing the beast.  

“Taehyun,” you warn. 

He pays it no mind. “I said,” he snarls, “stop with the tricks. You owe your very ability to draw breath to me, and beyond that. It was my neck on the line to grant you that. What I did for you was worth many debts. If you want to settle it all to even, you’ll do it. Don’t play this like a fool.” He doesn’t address the kelpie’s first question. 

Taehyun creeps toward the kelpie. You’re not sure where he sources all that fearlessness from inside himself. He’s way too close for your comfort. “What are you doing?” you hiss, quiet and meant for just him. There is no way he intends to fight this thing right now. You’d prefer taking the risk of trusting Yeonjun’s word over this any day. 

“Even the general”—the kelpie spits that word with a similar distaste as he had Taehyun’s title—“knew when he was in over his head. Ask a more respectable payment of me.” 

You suck in a breath. “Let’s just go,” you tell Taehyun. “We don’t need to do this; we didn’t need to in the first place.”  

As Taehyun takes one last step toward the kelpie, he reaches a sword’s distance from it.  

Really? Is this happening right now? 

“I’m giving you grace right now, kelpie,” he says, his voice pure warning, “My father is the one who landed you like that. It’s humorous that you’d even speak of him while we’re sorting out the debts that you incurred because of him. I suggest that you give up the sly act.” 

Once again, a charged and meaningful pause rings throughout the forest. The silence speaks volumes of how the kelpie takes his words.  

It’s a flash of movement, the two dark figures like blurs as Taehyun’s hand flies out to grab a hold of the reins that hang from its head and the kelpie rears back with a bone-piercing, harrowing whinny. He braces himself on its side and uses its flank to push off of. The creature bucks fast, but Taehyun is faster.  

The rage that it bellows with guts you. The forest ground trembles with its frantic clambering, hooves battering the snow.  

The kelpie’s frenzy ends as Taehyun takes the reins in both hands. It doesn’t make any more attempts to send him off, nor does it stumble about wildly. It settles. The kelpie bows its head. Your hands cover your mouth. They’re ready to muffle your scream. You wait for Taehyun to become one with the beast’s figure and for it to drag him down to the depths of its water that don’t see the sun’s light. Nothing happens. Instead, he slips off the back of the kelpie without any trouble, landing with a thud back on the ground.  

“Fix your appearance,” Taehyun commands.  

You allow a sound of surprise to slip as the beast melts down, shedding water to the ground and crumpling over. You watch it shrink all the way down until, where once the gangly beast had stood, the form of a faerie man stands. He unfurls from the forest floor to his full height, taller than Taehyun and reedy in his limbs. His hair cascades down from his head in shaggy, damp brown locks with twigs and leaves tangled in. Sharp faerie ears protrude from it. It confirms to you that this is just another form of the kelpie, not someone else entirely. 

“You’re a fool,” the man says, turning on Taehyun with wild eyes.  

You join his confrontation on Taehyun. “What the hell is going on?” you say. You’re still jittery with the urge to run. 

Taehyun entertains only you, saying, “I hoped that he’d just make things easy in the first place.” 

The man, dripping with water from his tattered, sopping rags for clothes, sneers. “I would not serve you if you fucking killed me. Of course you had to take my bridle.” 

You give Taehyun an expectant look. You’re in dire need of being filled in. 

“His bridle,” he says, grabbing the reins that still hang from the man’s face even in his human form and tugging him into a walk into the forest, “I grabbed it. He serves me, now. He can hate it all he wants, but he’ll do what I ask.” 

The thought makes you deeply uncomfortable, but you can’t pin exactly why. It lives somewhere around the place inside you that loathed the way the folk made your kind into their glamoured servants.  

“We’re just going to bring him back with us?” You trail them tentatively back through the woods that you had arrived from. “Like a prisoner, or something?” 

“Exactly like a prisoner,” the man says, excited to get a hit in on Taehyun. Of course, he’s unhappy.  

He stumbles as Taehyun tugs him forward by his bridle. “Shut your mouth,” Taehyun says. It’s more commanding than angry. “What’s your name?” he asks him.  

The man looks as though he wants to deny him that knowledge. Names are a powerful thing to a faerie. They spend their lives hiding them away—to give away their real name would make them totally vulnerable to the whims of whoever knows and uses it. However, you assume that whatever hold Taehyun has over him now works in a similar way, and his lips move despite his revolt.  

“Beomgyu,” he answers, eyes full of bite. 

You climb between a pair of close-resting, gnarled trees. “Does he have to keep that thing on, Taehyun?” you say, struggling with the sight of him being dragged along. It’s unsettling. “Like, does it work without that?” 

Stopping, Taehyun reaches up to pull the bridle off and around from Beomgyu’s head. He lets it fall to the snow. “You can use his name if you need to command him and I’m not around. He’ll have to do what you say.” Pushing Beomgyu into a walk, he says, “You’re going to protect us if in any case we need it. That includes her. You’re going to stay within my estate, unless one of us brings you somewhere. You won’t try your hand at any escape, and you won’t make any attempts to harm us either directly or by omitting something you are aware will do so.” 

You rub your hands together to generate heat as he lists his commands. Why would he even need those precautions, if Beomgyu is supposed to be his compulsory servant now? Would that not mean that he’d be unable to harm him? Either Taehyun is being extra precautious, or the command he has over him is weaker than you had thought at first. Beomgyu scowls the whole way through. Perhaps if Taehyun had not spoken those exact words, he would have lunged at him. 

As the kelpie stalls, Taehyun urges him forward once again with a shove. “Walk,” he snaps. “You did this to yourself. If you’d been a respectable man, I’d have only asked for your help when we needed. Now, you’re following us everywhere.” He allows him to stew on that for a little before saying, “You do your job well and I’ll let you return to your waters. I’ll forget I even made you my servant, and you’ll live knowing you’re no longer in my debt. You’ll not have to worry that someone might tame you again, because I already had, and I won’t even utilize it. We’ll never even make each other’s acquaintance again. You’ll be free to toil in your forest, and I will stay far away. All I need is for you to keep us alive and unharmed.” 

At least he doesn’t intend to keep him forever as an eternal servant. Most faeries that fall into debts work their long lives as living servants. Your years as Nut-hatch's worker taught you how that life whittles your soul down. Hundreds of years of just that is unfathomable. Maybe that is the cost of betraying honor here, though.

“So be it,” Beomgyu says, teeth gritted.  

You continue to trudge through the forest behind them. 

❆

Once you’re within the walls of the estate and Beomgyu is given a place to stay, you turn to Taehyun. “What part of that was safer than trusting Yeonjun?” you say.  

His eyes drop closed and he sighs. “It was worlds safer,” he grits out. “I knew what I was doing. You had that hag stone, and I’d have cut him down if he tried anything.” 

He stretches out his shoulders, shifting them uncomfortably under the fabric of his tunic. You know that his sewn-up wound bothers him. Could it be getting infected? You hope not—an infection this early on would most definitely mean it would be a nasty one. If only he weren’t insistent on pretending that it’s nothing. “I don’t think you could”—you gesture at your own shoulder—“you’re going to infect your shoulder. I don’t know how to treat an infected wound that big.” 

“I wouldn’t have even gone there if I thought I couldn’t handle it. I had a plan. I can protect us just fine.” 

Us. You’ve been wondering what your purpose here might become once you abandon returning to your duties. Would you be staying with Yeonjun? If he betrays you, and Taehyun were to push you out now that you’re no longer partners in duty, where would you go? Crawl to the doorstep of some random faerie to place yourself in their services, just to find yourself a warm place to stay? Taehyun now makes it clear that he still sees the two of you as a pair, but why? You still can’t understand why he’d suddenly switched up the moment you said you’d stay here even if he left. Realistically, he should’ve killed you for being a traitor to the king that he serves. You know that his intentions are more complex than that, but you fail to grasp where they lie. His actions and his words clash.  

“And when Yeonjun doesn’t betray us? What will all of this be for?” 

“This doesn’t stop at the prince,” he says, “there are more players than just him and The Queen. Any one of them could determine that we’re liabilities. Don’t you think that we should prepare for that? We came here as spies infiltrating their court from the very king that they rebel against; of course they’ll have plans for us. It’s still best that you stay your distance from the prince from this point on, regardless, unless you bring the kelpie.” 

Your mouth drops open, brows pinching. You don’t like the thought of being chaperoned at all. If Yeonjun is to betray you, then it’ll be your own fault. You can take the consequences of your actions just fine. “I think I can make that decision for myself,” you say, voice low. “And I can protect myself, too. Are you saying my skills aren’t up to your standards? Well, I didn’t spend that time working on them for nothing, and I don’t plan on stopping. I know I’m not perfect, but I think I can at least use a dagger adequately.” 

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Taehyun says, eyes flat with frustration. “You can protect yourself well. I know that. What I mean is that you shouldn’t rest your life on his integrity. I have no doubts that you’d be able to protect yourself from him alone. He’s delicate. The King doesn’t pamper his children, but I have no doubt that the prince hasn’t wielded a sword anywhere other than in sparring. But you don’t know if you’ll ever truly be alone, and you don’t know whether or not he’s setting you up. I think you can at least agree that it’s best that you can acknowledge that and behave accordingly, no?” 

“I rested my life on your integrity today. Am I supposed to trust you blindly, too? What if you’re just stringing me along until you kill me for my treason to The King? You were his spy, no? How many years did you serve him? Why have you given it up so easily? Why are you staying here? None of it makes sense to me, but I still trusted you. Was I wrong for that? Are you a liar, Taehyun? Does your tongue tell lies?” 

His eyes crystallize, a few degrees colder than you’d seen them all day. “I can lie,” he says. “But would I have done what I did today if I intended to kill you? It’s time that you see that actions tell you so much more than words ever will.” 

Again, he treads around your questions about his intentions. “Why are you staying here?” you repeat, studying him with your suspicion.  

He’s quiet. 

“Answer me,” you demand. 

“Is this not my home?” he says. 

Unsatisfied, you press more. “I thought you hated this place. Why would you want to stay here? Don’t you have an awful reputation here?” 

His eyebrows shoot up, but his face stays hauntingly blank. You’re used to his blank mask, but this feels different. “If you think that I left here because of my reputation, then you’ve fooled yourself.” He begins making for his quarters. “I have obligations to fulfilling my father’s role as Lord of this estate,” he says before turning and ending the conversation on his terms. 

That leaves you just as confused. If he cared about his responsibilities here, he would’ve never left them in the first place to become a spy under The King. It makes no sense. Whether or not it’s true, you’re positive that you aren’t getting the whole story. You sigh and drag your feet bed-bound. You hope to never have another day as unending as today again. 

❆

You dodge Beomgyu for the entirety of the day, not sure what to make of a new presence around the estate, even if it’s an indebted servant beast of a presence. You’d half expected Taehyun to rope him up in the horse stalls outside, making that his permanent residence, but he’d given Beomgyu a place somewhere in the servant’s quarters. You’re glad of it—you may be wary of him, but you don’t wish anything like that for him. Now that he has a more human form, you find yourself able to empathize with him more than you were when he was a hulking, killer water horse. He doesn’t necessarily run around much—without a doubt because he’s not the happiest about being forced into Taehyun’s servitude. You don’t blame him. 

Despite your efforts, he enters the kitchens while you’re alternating between chomping on a slice of bread and a platter of dates. He eyes you. Though in this form his eyes are not as piercing, they’re still heavy.  

You offer him a slice of the bread and push the platter toward him. “Hungry?” 

He shakes his head. “I don’t eat the way you do.” 

Then why’d he come to the kitchens? Either he’s exploring, or he came looking for you. “Not even like this?” you ask, gesturing down to his form. 

“I eat when someone is foolish enough to come to my waters,” he says. “I thought I’d be eating yesterday, but the Lord subverted those plans, didn’t he?” 

You laugh a bit, though it’s absurd to laugh about being eaten with the same creature that had intended to do so.  

“I sometimes go for more years than the entire span of your human life without eating,” he says, tilting his head to one side. Shaggy locks of hair follow his head with it. It’s unkempt and in dire need of a washing to rid it of dirt. 

You gesture at his dirt-smudged cheek. “Do you want to clean up? I’m sure Taehyun has some clothes to spare for you. There are some pretty nice bathing quarters, here, too. The kind that makes you reluctant to get out.” 

A wry smile cracks across his face, a bit feral like the rest of him. “I’m not afraid of some dirt. These are my clothes. I’d go naked before dressing myself in his.” 

“Okay, then,” you snort, shrugging. “No baths.” You rip a bite out of the wrinkled fruit in your hand. “How did you even end up... in debt to Taehyun?” you ask, eager to fill yourself in. If Taehyun insists on not telling you anything, you’ll find it in other places. You’d picked up that it had something to do with his father, but you need to know more. The more you’re able to piece together, the better you’ll be able to make sense of Taehyun’s behaviors. You hope so, at least. He holds is truths very close to himself, and almost everybody else seems to harbor a poignant distaste for him. 

Beomgyu’s face sours up again. “I had a dispute with his father. The General was going to raze my forest and kill each one of us. I’d called on him and asked for his help. I’m not sure what he did, but The General never came. If I knew it’d land me like this, though...” He grimaces. “I’d have just let him make me history.” 

Reigning in the laugh that bubbles in your chest at his resentment, because you’re positive that you finding humor in his misfortunes would ruffle him, you nod and pocket that information. “Then, why didn’t you just agree to help when he tried to collect your debt in the first place?” 

“I was going to,” he snaps. “He’s just a prideful creature. No patience. If he’d waited a few moments, I’d have agreed.” 

Humming, you don’t tell him that he’s definitely the one who wound himself up like this. Taehyun had made it clear multiple times that Beomgyu needed to stop playing around.  

Taehyun’s voice comes from the doorway, cutting into the conversation with its matter-of-factness. “Speaking bad on my name while I’m away, kelpie? Should I amend your list of commands to include watch your mouth?” His tone is bare and humorless. 

Beomgyu bristles beside you, about to rebut him before you spy the weapon at Taehyun’s hip and interrupt before they can come to verbal blows. “Where are you going?” 

Taehyun rips his icy gaze from Beomgyu to you. “To Court,” he answers, plain and as if it were obvious. 

Furrowing your brows, you say, “Court? Why didn’t you tell me we’re going? I don’t want to get ready in a rush.” Your mind turns. You weren’t even sure what you’d be doing now that you’re no longer here as spies. There’s no need to infiltrate Court, now. Would you just be attending as revelers? Not to mention that Yeonjun no doubt has no clue that you’re even staying. You hadn’t seen him since you’d ran to him yesterday morning and had your world thrown for a loop as he revealed his truth. How had so much happened in one day?  

His mouth hardens. “You’re not attending with me,” he says, knuckles turning white over the pommel of his sword. “You’ll stay here with him today.” 

Your heart thrums in your chest; not with fear like it had been doing so much over the span of the last few days, but with anger. “What?” you say, shock straining your voice. “No. I’m getting ready; wait for me, or don’t. I don’t care.” You spin on your heels to do just that, gritting your teeth. He thinks he can tell you what to do? Is that it? You don’t care what he’s done for you, or what power he thinks he has over you because of it. You’d left your life of taking commands behind for a reason. This was supposed to be new beginnings, not just your past life under a new skin. 

He catches your upper arm frantically. Whipping your head to him, you rip yourself away from him and back off. “I said, no,” you grit out, lips twitching into a heavily emotional scowl. It’s not just that he’s telling you to stay back today: you know that what he’s doing is much bigger than that. It sends memories of a life in a seamstress’ cottage flooding back. You struggle to keep your head afloat, to keep yourself from drowning in it, but they’re old and deep wounds. 

“Oh, look at that,” Beomgyu croons. “You are just like him. Except, your father was a general, so at least he had some reason to believe that folk would obey him. You? Not so much.” 

Taehyun’s head snaps to him. He barks a command. “Leave.” 

His eyes flash and he reels against it, but Beomgyu’s body moves against his own will. There’s a spark of ravenous hate smeared across his lips and in the glare he gives Taehyun as he leaves. 

“So, you’re just going to hand out commands and expect them to be followed now, huh? Because you’re suddenly just... taking up this role as Lord? Well, you’re not my Lord. You’re not his, either.” 

He crosses his arms over his chest. “Stop that.” 

Laughing a bitter laugh, you spit, “Stop what? Oh, I’m sorry. I should just obey you like a good human does, huh? ‘Cause that’s what we’re for, right? My bad, I’ll get a head start on working around the estate—what would you like for dinner, my lord? Or, do you need me to press your clothes? Go ahead and place your glamour over me, so at least then I won’t have to serve you consciously.” Your words are angry, but you choke toward the end around the lump of emotion in the back of your throat. 

He takes both your arms into his hands, his brow furrowed hard. “Stop it,” he snarls. “Stop it, damn it. Don’t do that. You’re not a servant here. Don’t you try to cry to me, I expect better than this from you. That’s not it at all.” 

You shove back on his chest, putting some distance between you. “I’m not crying,” you say. “And, so what if I was? There’s nothing wrong with it. Really, I think it’d do you a little good to cry some time.” 

“It’s weak,” he says. “Pitying yourself just ends up making you into a fool. If you just sit around and wallow, you’ll stay where you are. The only thing you can do is act.”  

That sounds about right coming from his lips. “Is that what your father taught you?” you ask. “Well, he was wrong. You can cry and try and take care of things at the same time. Crying is not the weaker emotion.” 

“I’m just asking you to stay back today,” he says. 

“Why?” you say, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “Tell me why? It’s not like we’re spying around or have some sort of mission to keep secret. Why can’t I just go enjoy it like that for once?” 

“Can you just do this for me?” Taehyun says, jaw tight. “I just need you to stay.” 

You’ve become sick of him not telling you things. Being in the dark never feels good, but it especially feels like shaky ground now. If he thinks you’ll be attacked, so what? You’re the one who wanted to stay here. Let you come. You’re better off being attacked as a group of three than he would be by himself, no? 

You decide to lean into his own concerns to appeal. “What if they’re waiting for you? Wouldn’t it be better that Beomgyu and I are there? Isn’t that why you did that whole thing yesterday?” 

He shakes his head. “If they are, then it’ll be easier for me to slip out if it’s just me.” 

Crossing your arms over your chest, you determine by the solemn lines to his face that he’s not going to give. “Fine,” you say. “I’ll stay here today. If it’s so necessary, I’ll stay here. Do you want me to stay inside the estate, too? Could I go see Yeonjun?” 

“I’d prefer that you stay here,” he says, slow and measured and veiling tension. 

You shake your head, pairing it with a tired laugh. “Yeah, right, I forgot. He’s a threat too. Well, you have fun then.” Turning and departing from the kitchens, you leave behind your bread and dates. So much for lunch. 

❆

Reaffirming Taehyun’s ability to lie, it was not just that one day. The next day, Taehyun slipped out for Court, sword on hip and pleading with you to stay in the estate on the terms that he believes they still might have an attack planned for you. It turned into a week that you were cooped up in the estate, and then two. The same walls you’d once looked at in wonder for their beauty became the ones you stared at mindlessly during the most boring of hours. 

You spend most of your time listening to Beomgyu drone on and on about the ways he’d tricked faeries and humans. He’s quite odd, but it’s not like you can blame him for it—most of the folk are odd to you, and he’s an ancient beast among them. You feel like that warrants a spunky personality like his. He’s nice company, anyway. Such a long life lends you an impressive wealth of stories. 

You can’t help but think about Yeonjun. He’s got to have seen Taehyun at Court by now. If there haven’t been any incidents at this point, doesn’t that mean that he doesn’t intend to betray you? The images of him thinking that you’re avoiding him makes you want to slip out to see him. You not sure why you don’t. Maybe the lies that sat between you affect you more than you thought they did. You’re quite the hypocrite, though. You’d kept secrets just as much as he had. 

You miss those stolen nights you two had shared. A knot, queasy and pessimistic, sits in your belly each time you lay in your bed and remember them and tells you that you’ll never see anything like that again. You’d allowed a girlish part of you to blossom beside him—a part of you that could throw caution to the wind and melt into the fun things in life.  

As you rot your days away in that estate that has become more like a dungeon than an estate, you allow yourself to miss him only a little. Once it begins transforming into a certain impending doom about how you’d thought that staying here would be everything you’d ever wanted, you find something else to do. If you aren’t toiling around by yourself or listening to Beomgyu drone, you’re practicing your combat skills. The times that Taehyun stops in to help you, it ends with you insisting that you’re fine to make appearances in Court by now, or at least see Yeonjun with Beomgyu in attendance. He never agrees. Each time, it’s the same awful excuse: Tensions are worse. He doesn’t know if they’re planning something. When you ask why he demands that he can attend, but you and Beomgyu can’t join: He’s a lord. It’s his duty to attend Court. 

The solstice is nearing, too. You’d looked forward to it, honestly. Hopefully Taehyun will let you attend by then. 

You sit crisscrossed on the hardwood flooring, running your fingers through your hair. Beomgyu is stood a couple feet away, and makes big gestures as he explains the one time he’d been called to attend Court as a solitary faerie. Moments like this have kept you grounded over the weeks. 

“And the stupid crone tried to say that I was wrong for catching him,” he exclaims, crossing his arms over his chest and shaking his head as if the ancient memory were still as fresh as day one.  

You laugh. “What did you even do to end up there, anyway?” you ask. You can hardly picture Beomgyu in the setting of Court, even more so meeting with The Queen and her council. Moreover, you’re intrigued to know what he’d said to talk himself out of trouble. You’re amazed that he managed to make a sufficient enough case to save his life. 

“They said that I’d been taking too many of their folk—hah! I must eat too, you know? Oh, the pretention! Do they expect me to starve? If a fool lands themselves on my pelt and then in my waters, it’s only natural that they’re eaten. I’m simply freeing them from one more mud-brained fool. The Courts are full of those, too. It’d take me a millennium to eat them all. What are they so worried for, I wonder? They do the very same to their own people.” 

“Aren’t they ridiculous?” you say. Like you, he’d been an outsider in Court. Though you’re sure that it’s just as, if not more, intricate to those well-versed in it, to the ones like you two... It’s odd to see. You had grown used to it in the time you spent there, but you still know what the first day had felt like. Anyway, you hadn’t spent as many days there as you feel you had. All that had happened had bloated that time in your memories. “To be quite honest with you, your kind are all so odd to me. I grew up among you, but still... my instincts are always kinda at odds with my surroundings, you know?” 

Beomgyu considers that for a moment, as if trying to view the fae from a human’s eyes. “Even when we look so similar?” he asks you, grabbing at a lock of his hair and making a round gesture over himself. 

You nod. “Even in this form, you just... I don’t feel like I’m looking into the face of another human. Maybe that’s because I watched you turn to this from a horse, though.” 

“A kelpie,” he corrects. “What gives it away?” 

“Sorry, a kelpie,” you snicker. You look over his face. It’s so close to right, but somewhere in your mind you can decipher that something is not right. Like all of the fae, though, there’s an unspeakable beauty there, beyond explanation. It demands your human attention. Even the most terrifying are beautiful. “Well, for starters, your ears. They’re pointy. All of you have that, and none of us do. And then... I guess”—you narrow your eyes—“your eyes? They’re just different. And your limbs are pretty lanky, too.” 

He frowns as if he’s unable to see it. “You don’t sound so sure,” he says, joining you on the floor. “I’ve had quite some time to look at myself in my life. I don’t think I ever saw any of that when I was in this form...” 

“I’m sure you did,” you say, lips turning up in a playful mock. A water creature no doubt has an eternity to stare into the water at themselves in its rippled reflection. “Did you do a lot of that?” 

Scowling, he huffs. “No. But I’m sure you would, if you looked like this, huh?” 

You roll your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.” His face morphs from dismay to careful concentration. Frowning, you look around and ask, “What?” 

“I hear somebody,” he answers, pushing off the floor. 

Your spine tingles, but you search for the logical explanation. “Like... Taehyun?” 

“No... the walk is definitely different.” He strains to listen. “He’s usually pretty quiet. This one... they don’t conceal their footsteps.” 

Neither of you can get to a window to scope anything out before there’s three heavy knocks from the door, the metal knocker ringing. You shoot him a wary look and tilt your head toward the door. You mouth the word, answer? 

He considers for a moment and then nods. Well, he’s the one able to hear their approach. You trust they’re at least not imminent danger. You pull the door open. A breeze of frost comes rushing in as you do, blowing your hair and as jarring as a hit to the face might be. You’ve been cooped up in here for so long you’ve forgotten how bitter the cold here is.  

Behind the door your eyes lock with a pair of inky ones, settled into a pinched and snooty face. “Letters from the palace I have for you, my lady,” she says, her voice mousy. She holds out a stack full of letters to you, all held together by some twine. 

An errand runner. You furrow your brows down at her and accept them. The little hob wrings out her long fingers. “From who?” you ask her.  

She bows her head to you hurriedly. “Oh, from the prince, my lady! He sends these for you!” 

You look down at the stack in your hands, and your heart begins to run amok in your chest. He’d sent to you? You thank her. She scurries off in the snow and you close the door, sharing a look with Beomgyu. 

“The prince?” he says, brows shot up. “Meaning, The King’s son? He’s sent letters for you?” 

Nodding, you hold the stack close to you. Your feet ache to find your quarters and to begin tearing into each one; you’re ravenous for any sort of word from him. Does he hate you? Does he miss you? At least he still thinks of you. You’d worried that he might’ve found another lady of the court to dote on in your absence... 

“Yeah,” you say over your shoulder, more interested in tearing the letters open than explaining to him why the prince would be sending you letters. Curiosity sits in his furrowed brow. You hadn’t exactly prattled on about Yeonjun to him. Had you even mentioned him at all? 

He tags along as you head to your room and plop onto your bed. You don’t tell him to leave you; opening these letters alone... You appreciate his presence in some odd way.  

Unstringing the pile, you pull the first one out and run a thumb over the wax seal that identifies it as definitely from the High Prince—a fine silver dusted over white wax and branded with the image of Yeonjun’s insignia, the fox. It’s uneven and dribbled, clearly sealed by Yeonjun himself with the insignia ring he often wears on his finger. You pry it open and then unfurl the parchment inside. 

𝒟𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝓊 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝒹 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛 𝑡𝑜 ���𝑜𝓊𝑟𝑡? 𝑃𝑒𝑟ℎ𝑎𝑝𝓈 𝑤𝑒 𝑘𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝑚𝒾𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟. 𝑇ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐿𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝒾𝓈 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒. 𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝓃𝒹𝑒𝑟 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒. 𝐼𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒𝓈 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝓈𝑒 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘. 𝑀𝑦 𝑑𝑜𝑜𝑟𝓈 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝓊.  

𝒯ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝓈 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛.

𝑌𝑒𝑜𝑛𝒿𝑢𝑛

Beomgyu’s gaze burns holes through you as you read this first one. You sigh, pressing your lips into a thin line as you reach for the next one. This one twists a hot knife of guilt into your belly and up into your heart. 

𝐻𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝐼 𝑑𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝓈𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑤𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑔?   

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑙'𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝓃𝑑 𝐶𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑡, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝐼 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝓇 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝓈𝑖𝑑𝑒 ℎ𝑖𝑠, 𝓎𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝓇 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒. 𝐼'𝑚 𝑢𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝓈 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑒. 𝐴𝑙𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ, 𝑝𝑒𝑟ℎ𝑎𝑝𝓈 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡'𝑠 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝓎𝑜𝑢𝓇 𝑎𝑏𝓈𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑤𝑖𝓈𝑒.

𝐼𝑠 𝑖𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑢𝓈𝑒 𝐼 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝒾𝑑𝑒𝓃𝑡𝒾𝑡𝓎? 𝐼𝑠 𝒾𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝓊 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝑢? 

𝐴𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝓊𝑡𝑚𝑜𝓈𝑡 𝑐𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑟: 𝐼 𝒹𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡. 𝐼 𝒹𝑜𝑢𝑏𝑡 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝓊𝑙𝑑 𝑖𝑓 𝐼 𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑑. 𝑌𝑜𝑢'𝓇𝑒 𝓆𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝒶𝑟𝑡 𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑒𝓇.   

𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝐼 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑡 𝑟𝒾𝒹𝑖𝑐𝓊𝑙𝑜𝑢𝓈, 𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝑢 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑤𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝓇 𝓈𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔. 𝐼 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡. 𝐼𝑡'𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝒶𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑛 𝑏𝓇𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝓇𝑡, 𝑟𝒾𝑔ℎ𝑡? 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑖𝑡. 𝑁𝑜𝑡 𝑢𝓈.  

𝑆𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑚𝒾𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑠𝑎𝓎 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹 𝑠𝑜 𝑒𝒶𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑦 𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝒾𝑐𝑘𝑙𝑒. 𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑡 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑒𝑥𝑖𝓈𝑡. 𝐼 𝑠𝑎𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑡 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝓈, 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑓𝑒𝑙𝑡 𝑖𝑡.

𝒟𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝓇 ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝒾𝑡 𝑓𝑒𝑙𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝓉 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑢𝓇 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝓈 𝑚𝑒𝑡, 𝑡𝑜𝑜? 𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑜𝒹𝑑 𝑖𝑠 𝒾𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝓈𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑜 𝒹𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝒾𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝓎𝑜𝑢, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝓈𝑜 𝑓𝑎𝓇 𝑏𝑒𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝓎𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑜𝓉 𝒶𝑙𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝓊𝑟𝓈𝑒?

𝑃𝑙𝑒𝒶𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑚𝑒, 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝓉𝑦. 𝐼𝑓 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛'𝑡 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝑢𝓇 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒, 𝑎𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝓈𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑚𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝓉 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝑘𝒶𝑦. 

𝑌𝑒𝑜𝑛𝒿𝑢𝑛

“What do they say?” Beomgyu asks, timbred voice whipping you from the words that had settled a quaking ache in your chest.  

You’re not entirely sure how to tell him that they’re desperate letters of the High Prince’s love for you, a worthless human girl that had avoided him on purpose. He probably wouldn't believe you, anyway. Leaving behind your old life, you had pleaded with the sky to make your life something worth note. It seems that it had answered. Fate works in odd ways like that, granting your wishes in the last way you might expect.  

“A lot,” you say, brushing him off. Your voice cracks with it, though,  

Hearing the veiled emotion, he frowns, inching forward to take a peek. “Why are you upset?” he pries, and then gasps as a thought formulates in his head. “Have they called you to be tried by the council?” He considers his own suggestion for a long moment and then shakes his head. “You hardly have gone anywhere enough to cause that degree of trouble, though.”  

You let your face drop into your hands. Is the tremor in your chest from laughter, or from crying? You couldn’t say. Maybe it’s both. 

The kelpie makes an unsure sound, clearing his throat. “I... uh, I jest...” 

Collecting yourself, you say, “No. I’m not being called in for trial.”  

Dried up rose petals come fluttering out with the next letter. The flower of love. 

𝐻𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑙𝑒𝑓𝓉 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝓇𝑡ℎ? 𝐶𝑜𝓊𝑙𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑛𝑜𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝓈𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝓈𝑡 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑎𝑡 𝓎𝑜𝑢𝓇 𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝓈𝑜? 𝐼 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑠𝑜 𝑝𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑐, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑚𝓎 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑒𝓈𝑜𝑚𝑒. 𝐼 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑤𝑒'𝑑 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒. 𝐻𝑎𝑑𝑛'𝑡 𝓎𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝓈𝑡𝑎𝑦 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑚𝑒?

𝐼𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝓈𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝓇𝑒𝑠𝑖𝒹𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝒾𝑠 𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒶𝑡𝑒, 𝐼 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝐼'𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑠𝓊𝑟𝑒 𝒾𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦'𝑙𝑙 𝓇𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ 𝓎𝑜𝑢, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑑𝑜, 𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑚𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝐷𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼'𝑑 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑛𝓎𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔?

𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝓈��� 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝑚𝑒. 𝐼 𝑏𝑒𝑔. 𝐿𝑒𝑡'𝑠 𝓉𝑎𝑙𝑘. 𝐼 𝑗𝑢𝓈𝑡 𝑤𝒶𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡'𝑠 𝑤𝓇𝑜𝑛𝑔. 

𝑌𝑒𝑜𝑛𝒿𝑢𝑛

Why hadn’t you at least gone and told him that you’ve stayed? How had you allowed yourself to feel fear when you think of him? You don’t deserve his love. You don’t even know if you deserve love at all. All it would’ve taken was one night of slipping out. He deserved to know that you’re okay. You don’t remember being this selfish. When had it happened? Maybe selfish is what becomes of you when you’ve wasted a lifetime expected to serve others before yourself and then are granted the freedom to consider yourself first. You don’t want to be selfish, though.  

The one you pull open now is more raw. Hurt. The paper, scrawled in writing that becomes less elegant and more frenzied as you read down it, crumples in your hand. 

𝐼𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝐼'𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝓈𝑜𝓇𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝒶𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑖𝑙𝓎 𝑓𝑜𝓇𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑒'𝑣𝑒 𝓈ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑, 𝐼 𝑎𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡. 𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝓊. 𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝓈𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑦 𝒶𝑟𝑚𝓈. 𝒯ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝓇 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝑤𝑒𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝓈𝑜𝑜𝑛 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑖𝑡.   

𝐷𝑜 𝐼 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝓈𝑎𝑦 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑚𝑜𝓇𝑒?   

𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝓊, 𝑑𝒶𝓇𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔. 𝐼𝑡'𝑠 𝑚𝒶𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑒 𝓈𝑖𝑐𝑘  

𝑌𝑒𝑜𝑛𝒿𝑢𝑛

You stuff the letters back in their envelopes and shove them into a box in your wardrobe. If you don’t, you’ll read them over until you’re ill. Once over was enough for you. 

❆

“The Lord would have my pelt if I let you leave,” Beomgyu, crossing his arms firmly over his chest, says. “Let alone by yourself.” Realizing that his words insinuate that Taehyun holds any true power over him, he backtracks. “If it weren’t for the harness, I’d be unconcerned with his anger, but... Of course, you know, I’m obligated by my imposition to his word, so...” 

Tugging your boots on, you say, “So, tell him I commanded you to stay. You’ll be fine.”  

You had waited for Taehyun to leave for Court, anyway. You have hours of the night to sly-foot your way around him. 

You’d moped around for a few more days, your gut heavy with stones each time you remember Yeonjun’s letters. Stuffing them into a box, no matter how deep into the corner of your wardrobe, still could not wipe those words from your mind. You’d turned them over and over until you couldn’t handle imagining him writing those letters with a hopeful heart any longer.  

The solstice is only a few days away now, too. You’d been bound to the estate for weeks. Although you’re unsure what Taehyun’s real intentions are in boarding you in, you can no longer even care if leaving will end up getting you attacked. You’ve become a bird with clipped wings.  

Even if your wings are out of order, you’ll walk your way to your freedom. Hell, you’d crawl there. It just so happens that Yeonjun’s doorway feels like freedom in this moment.  

Like he’d always said, the doors remain unbarred. You don’t even have to use the metal knocker; you just push through the doors of swirling white engravements. Just as if nothing had changed. He’d been waiting for you. 

Instead of Yeonjun in his quarters, you find a brownie diligently working on doing up Yeonjun’s bedding. When she turns to you, her hands continue their efforts. 

“The prince is not here right now, dear,” she says, snout twitching. Round eyes recognize you before you can introduce yourself. “He’s only just made for Court, though. You should catch him quite quickly, if you mean to.” 

It seems he hasn’t given up searching for you in Court, either. You offer her your gratitude and slip out from his room. Picking up the hems of your dress, you race to catch Yeonjun before he’s arrived at Court. Once he does, things get more sticky—if Taehyun spots you... Pushing down the anxiety that bubbles up at the thought, you cross your fingers. Let luck be on your side.  

Your Court dress, though heavy, feels nice on your skin. Although you often look down on court goers for their pompousness, you can’t deny how good it feels to fit in. That’s perhaps the reason you cling to Court the way you do; you’re beyond desperate for belonging. 

On the plush, snow-dusted bits of the forest’s floor, you spot a set of footsteps. They’re quickly being filled with the flurries. You clasp your hands in an overwhelming bout of gratitude—luck had listened, this time. Those tracks are as fresh as can be. You double your pace. 

Around a bend, you’re overjoyed to see his figure walking there. Finally hearing you coming over the roar of snowfall, he spins. His face pinches and then drops as he recognizes you. 

“You... You came?” he says. Disbelief flips his lips into a frown. “You got my letters?” 

“I did,” you answer, catching your breath. “I’m so sorry.” 

A few feet float between you, the space not yet closed but so magnetic. His cheeks are tinged pink with the cold. Yours must be too.  

“I’d thought you left. I thought I’d never see you again.” 

Your chest caves in a little at the hurt in his voice and the way it clashes with the longing in his eyes. He wants to be angry; he wants to yell at you. He can’t do either when he’s just thankful to see your face. You had missed his just as much. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat. “It shouldn’t have happened.” 

Yeonjun approaches you and takes your face into his hands. His fingers are ice on your skin. He swallows in your face, soft black eyes darting from your eyes to your lips and around the rest of it; just like he’d begged you to let him do in his letters. 

“Why?” Yeonjun asks you, brushing your hair back with his fingers like he’s just testing the feel of it. 

You don’t know how to answer him. You could tell him a lot of things: Taehyun told me to stay away. He had told me that you’d hurt me. I’d started to believe him. I became scared of you. We had lied to each other. None of them feel adequate in this moment, so you shake your head. 

His eyes harden to a degree as you don’t answer. “Why wouldn’t you come talk to me, pretty?” he urges. “If something was wrong, why couldn’t you come to me? We can’t leave things broken. I sent you weeks of letters. Weeks.” 

Weeks? You’d only seen four.  

“Finally, I got smart enough to send them when he’s at Court. And then you show up here. Tell me, how am I to think that you’re okay? When he won’t even let you speak with me?” 

You blink once. Twice. Taehyun had been intercepting letters. A pit of anger flares in your belly. Whatever this protecting thing he’s doing really is, you’re sick of it. Since when had he become your keeper? He’d demanded that Yeonjun was trying to do just that, but here he is, and you have no clue why he’s doing it. 

“I didn’t know you’d sent letters until yesterday,” you tell him. “I should’ve come and seen you.” 

Running his thumb over your cheek, he murmurs, “You’re not going back there. Please, tell me you’ll stay with me. If you’re to stay here in the north forever, let it be with me. We can’t slip around like this forever.” 

Shaking your head in his hands, you pull back. You can’t decipher the dread that washes over you at his suggestion once again. Your heart is wary with the need to do just that—to not return to the estate where you’d become some sort of prisoner. Something washes over you and tells you that it won’t go the way you’d wanted, just as most things in your life hadn’t. 

Seeing the way you retract, Yeonjun becomes more desperate. “Please,” he says, hands finding your shoulders to hold you as if you’ll leave him there.  

“We’ll figure it out,” you say. “Just give me a few days to think about it, okay?” 

His face stays drawn as if he wants to argue it, but he relents. Taking your frozen hands into his own and wrapping them up in attempts to warm them, he says, “Okay. Okay, let’s get away from this blizzard, then. I’ll wait for you, love.” 

Your chest sizzles. The cold isn’t so bad, today. In a way, you’d missed it. You nod.  

Yeonjun brings you to his chambers and urges you to settle into a plush seat. You run your hands over the embroidered whorls of thread on the cushions as you watch him rummage through a chest. “What are you looking for?” you ask him, drinking in his figure. He’d switched his Court shirts for some more comfortable wear, but even in those he looks princely. He’s so pretty. Your heart flutters as he fishes out what he’d been searching for and turns to you with a smile. He settles beside you carrying a leatherbound book and a miniature wood sculpture of a girl. 

“These,” he says, setting them down on the cushion between you.  

You pick up the wood thing, looking over its painted pink cheeks and feeling the carvings that make its face. It’s fitted with a dress; one unlike any you’d ever seen. Your brow furrows. “What’s this thing?” you ask. 

“It’s called a doll,” he says explains. You feel his eyes on you, watching your reaction, not on the thing in your hands. “Human girls carry them around to play with. They change the dresses and stuff. They even make things for them to hold, but... I couldn’t get ahold of any of those.”  

Heart stuttering, you look at the wood-carved thing. “Human girls?” you ask, imagining a life where you too could have worried only about what dress your toy would wear. You revere the resilience your younger self had to have. At least you didn’t know any better; you didn’t know how you could’ve had it. That ignorance saved you. The painted eyes of the doll stare back at you. 

“Kinda cute, huh?” he says, smiling and scooting closer to fiddle with the thing’s hair. “They even do their hair up all pretty.” Looking back up to you, he says, “It’s a shame that no human who has ever grown up here knows of things like these. Simple joys.” 

You nod, a little choked up. “Yeah. I wish I had. It would have been nice to have something like this as a girl.”  

He tucks some hair behind your ear to get a better look at your face from the side. “How did you ever end up being a spy?” 

Tearing your gaze from the doll to meet his, you find a sadness there despite you not even having told him yet. It’s as if he knows it’ll hurt him already. You fiddle with the little doll’s dress as you recount. “I was a servant to a seamstress,” you start. “A royal seamstress, too. She was favored well by the gentry. She brought in hordes of clients and made dresses and Court clothes for them—but, really, her work mostly ended at being there to hear what they’d want and inlaying the dresses with her magic when they’d ask for it. The rest was my work. Taking their measurements, making their dresses... I worked her shop as soon as I became able to.” Memories of cruel and wicked faces that snickered at your expense or those who found it entertainment to scare you come back, as fresh as ever. Those memories never leave you; the ones so early on that they’d calcified into permanent parts of your personality. That terrified little girl will always be somewhere in your mind. She surfaces quite a lot, these days.  

“There was this one time...” you say, trailing off to trudge up a more awful memory. “A Lady had come in to have a dress made. She brought a guard along with her. He was this massive troll with grey skin like a toad.” You’d recall his details without any trouble for the rest of your life, you think. “I’d ran off to grab some fabric for the Lady, and he followed,” you say, voice wavering just how your little heart had wavered as you had turned around from the bolts of fabric to see the goblin stood there. “He yanked me around by my hair until I sobbed, and then he had me get on the floor and beg him to let me live.” You know now that of course he wasn’t going to kill you—he wouldn’t want problems with Nut-hatch—but you hadn’t known it then. You thought you were dead. “When he had enough of his fun, he let me go. When the other two saw how hysterical I was, all I got was being asked why I’d left them waiting so long.”  

Yeonjun asks, voice soft and tender, “The seamstress allowed that?” His eyes are heavy with a mixture of emotions. You see sadness and anger there, but also something a bit more. 

“Nut-hatch?” you say. “Of course.” They’d known what he was doing in there, of course. Even a human could have heard it. As long as you served your purpose, the folk could not care less. 

He looks taken aback at that, recognition turning his brows up. “Nut-hatch? You worked for Nut-hatch?” he asks. 

Nodding, you hum. You had no doubt he’d know her name. Her work was well-renowned in his father’s court and beyond. “I did.” 

His eyes rake over you for a long few beats before he turns your face up. “Their names?” he asks. 

“Huh?” 

“The goblin and the Lady. What are their names?” 

You try to tug at the threads of that old memory. “I don’t remember,” you say. Much of it is fresh, but you hadn’t committed their names to memory. Inconsequential in the grand scheme of it. “It’s okay. It’s passed now.” 

He doesn’t look very convinced, mind wheeling behind his eyes. You don’t want to stay on this memory for too long. Pushing it back into the dusty corner where it stays, you continue explaining. “I accepted that as my life for a long time, but... At some point, I just wanted more. I imagined all the ways I could find a new life as a human here. There are so many other things I’d preferred, but the only one I could manage was that. Even that, I was wrong about. I’m not really made for that, you know?” You lighten your tone in hopes that it’ll make your chest feel lighter as well.  

He listens intently and then leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead. Pulling you into his chest and keeping you notched under his chin, he says, his voice smooth to your ears, “I’m so happy you’re here now, pretty.” 

Letting out the weight in your lungs in a long, meaningful sigh, you melt into his touch. It’s difficult not to when his body is so warm against yours. You revel in it for some time, just letting him smooth over your hair and rub your back. You try your best not to let any old, sad emotions pour out through your eyes; this is a happy moment. You’ve made it. Perhaps things had been harder than you imagined they’d be, but you knew it’d be a long journey when you escaped that sewing cottage anyway. 

Peppering a few last kisses to the top of your head, he releases you to pick up the book he had also grabbed from that chest. On the front it reads: Pride & Prejudice.  

“A book?” you say, looking over the brown leather and gold printing. It’s an unfamiliar name to you, but you never read much anyway.  

He nods and pries it open. The spine crackles with age. “It’s also from the human world.” Thumbing through the pages, he adds, “It’s a story. I read it often, it’s quite a nice one. I want to give it to you so that you can read it too; it’s a beautiful love story.” 

You lean in to take a look at the words, too perfect to be handwritten. “Where do you get all this stuff?” you say. It reminds you of he’d brought you to that market for human goods. He seems to be interested in things that are human. Perhaps that includes you. Either that or he continues to show you these kinds of things for your sake. 

“I lived in their world for some years,” he says, flipping through the pages. “It’s quite different. Though... I found myself not wanting to leave. When the time came, I brought these back with me to remind me of that time.” 

Lived? Not just visited, but Yeonjun had lived in the human realm? Your heart flurries with a lifetime of wondering what your true home was like. How ironic is it that he knew more of humans than you? That you’re the one asking him questions about your kind? “How long?” you ask first. “And why were you living there?” 

“Just for something my father wanted me to do,” he answers, “Somewhere around a decade, I believe.” 

He’d spent ten years there. Multiple things click into place—no wonder he’s so able to understand your human emotions. No wonder it feels as though you’ve been seen to a different degree by him than you’d ever known before. He’d spent years with your kind. “What is it like?” you say, not sure where to begin with your questions. 

He smiles fondly. “You wouldn’t even be able to believe me, pretty. You’ll just have to see it.” 

See it. “You’d take me there?” you say.  

“Of course,” Yeonjun says, frowning. He takes one of your hands into his, pressing a kiss to it. “You deserve to see it.” He presses another kiss to your skin, now at your wrist. The hair on your skin raises at the contact. His eyes find yours as he begins a slow ascent of kisses up your arm. Each is warm and sends your spine blazing. Once he reaches your shoulder, he slows down, leaving a long moment between kisses. He continues this pace—one that both makes you wish he’d slow down and that he’d hurry and quell your want—right up the juncture of your neck and up the column, too. His controlled breaths puff out like fire on your skin where his mouth lingers. You let your head back to help his path up. He places one final kiss at your jawline before his lips land on yours, drunken and in no rush at all.  

You can’t help the visceral urge to run your hands over his soft skin, to check if the warmth there was real or if you’d manifested it in your longing. Yeonjun breaks this lethargic kiss just to laugh, but he’s quick to recapture your lips. He meets your hand and brings it under his silken shirt, guiding you up the soft planes of his abdomen. 

Pushing you back, he whispers into your mouth, “I missed you so much, pretty.” 

You rememorize the gentle muscles of his stomach beneath your palm. “It was only so many days,” you tease, “you’re just horny.” 

He lets go of your hand to begin slipping down your dress from the shoulders. “Yeah?” he hums, gobbling up each inch of skin that he reveals. “I suppose I am. It’s a gift to be able to love you in this way.” Once the fabric is clear of your hips and he’s tugging it down your legs, his face turns sly. He studies your wettened core. “I think you missed me too, though, love.” 

You drag your bottom lip into your teeth. You had. Your chest thumps rhythmically in your chest, syncing like symphony with the throb between your thighs. 

Blood sings in your veins when he places his palm right on the boundary between your lower belly and your cunt. Your stomach soars, too, so excited by his touch so near where your body craves it. He runs it up, feeling the curves of your body, up to your breast. You expect him to stop and pay attention to your chest, but he presses his hand down right over your heart and feels its beating against his palm. His eyes flutter to a shut, and he leaves his hand there for a few moments, relishing in it.  

“What other purer form of love can I show you?” he says, tapping on your hip. “On your hands and knees, baby.” 

You flip, your limbs a bit clumsy in anticipation. Once you’ve found your way there, he dances his fingertips on the small of your spine. 

“Did you think of my touches while we were apart?” 

“Mhm,” you hum. Especially on the nights when the estate seemed the emptiest. Some nights, your fingers were just not enough to save you, and you’d contemplate making a big escape to find him.  

“Well, I shouldn’t make you wait too much longer then, huh?” he coos, running that hand down to ghost touches over your slit. Though minimal, you jolt. You’d been so ravenous for this. He’d worked his shirt off so that when he leans forward to meld his chest to your back, it’s his skin that touches yours, not fabric. His hand stays ghosting touches that leave you softly gasping. 

He teasingly pinches your clit, laughing in your hair at the sharp hiss it draws from you. “So reactive,” Yeonjun muses. His fingers find their way to your hole. He dips the middle two in. “Just like the first time we made love like this. Your lovely face is burned into my mind, pretty. You have such hungry eyes.” As he pushes his fingers in, he uses his free hand to tilt your face against the cushion so that he can better see your eyes. 

You sigh, shuddering and breathy, as he begins to curl his fingers. It only takes him a few curls to rediscover that spot that has sparks flying behind your eyes. 

“There?” he asks, chin on your shoulder. “That feel good, darling?” 

Your muscles tremble at their own accord, rendering your huffs trembled as well. “Yes,” you answer. Each meaningful curl hits its mark, knees unsteady pillars that dig into the cushions. “So—so good. Please don’t stop.”  

He maintains a sickening pace—your muscles twitch around his giving fingers, just enough so that your entire body buzzes and your stomach twists, but not enough to send you shaking yet. You collapse down from your elbows, chest in the cushions. He brushes back the hair that obscures your face with the movement, adamant to see your face.  

He eggs you on by curling deeper; faster. Your answering groan is shaky and tense—you can’t get enough of the knot he curates in your belly, but at the same time, it’s daunting. He sits back, but his fingers don’t falter. His free hand explores, feeling your body up for all the time he couldn’t.  

Stomach taut and brimming on your peak, you suck in a breath. Your orgasm sits so close, running a line of electricity from between your legs up to your spine, raising goosebumps on your skin.  

Your eyes fly open, mouth ready to scold, as Yeonjun pulls his fingers from you. Your chest bubbles up with frustration, your orgasm drifting off to somewhere else. “Why?” you ask, cheeks burning. It slips and slips away from you, hole twitching around nothing as if seeking out just enough stimulus to bring it crashing back. “I was so close.” 

His hand soothes the loss ever so slightly by circling your cunt, but he does not make the mistake of offering you any touch where you most need it. It only prolongs the float down, keeping you suspended. You abhor it.  

“Please,” you whine. 

He doesn’t entertain your whines. He only continues to deliver just enough to torment you until he’s sure that you’re not so wound up that you’ll cum the moment he touches you, and then he slides his fingers back in and begins building up a more tense knot with pointed curls. Your insides delight in the return of attention, falling almost instantly back into a brutal climb. Yeonjun doesn’t bother with languid, teasing strokes now. He aims for your ruining. 

You writhe against the cushions. Your heart is a fluttering bird in your chest, trilling at the prospect of your release. It’s so close—so close that you might be able to just touch it. It tastes like honey on your tongue, painting your words sweet. “Love you,” you tell him. “Love you so much.” 

Yeonjun rewards your sweetness with his free hand on your throbbing clit, sending your hands gripping at the cushions. You wiggle your hips helplessly in search of just the right amount of friction that it’ll finally give you want you’ve been wanting. “Yes,” you mewl. “Yes, so close—” 

“Wait, baby,” he commands from behind you. “It’ll feel so much better. I promise. Hold it back.” 

He reins in his touches once again, not stopping like last time. It’s not enough to put a stop to the orgasm rippling right under your skin, right at the edge of ripping through you. You can’t hold it back; it’s right there. 

“No,” he says, once again ripping his touch from you. It doesn’t stop anything—you go rigid just before it crashes over you, and then you’re shaking without his hands even on you. You cum with a vengeance—body reclaiming twofold what he had denied you.  

“Holy shit.” Yeonjun groans watching you come unraveled without his help. “So riled up that you’re cumming by yourself, pretty,” he says, running a hand around to feel your belly muscles twitching and the way they roll along with the twitches of your hips. He eggs on your orgasm with gentle touches at your clit, sending you jolting, until you’re a panting mess and he can tell that you’ve had enough. 

You attempt to push yourself off your chest, but he gently guides you back down with a palm against your back. “Stay there, pretty. You can handle a little more, right? You did so well, I know you can. Let me make love to you, darling.” 

The cushions are awfully warm against your skin and you’re still dealing with the waves of pleasure that drift up from your cunt, but you nod your head for him. “’Kay,” you say. 

The rustling behind you tells of how he’s slipping out of the rest of his attire. You lay boneless as he does, focusing on the waves running down your thighs. It’s ecstasy in its purest form. It floats through your veins, addling any consciousness and breaking you down into what you are at your core. 

The familiar prod at your entrance jolts you back to life. As he presses in, he presses a hand to your flushed cheek. It’s a welcome temperature difference—you feel set ablaze in some sort of languid flame, one that takes its time to consume you. He laughs softly. “You’re burning up,” he says as he bottoms out, as if the feeling of him filling you up isn’t rendering you jittery in anticipation. “Ready for me, pretty?” he teases, taking your hips into his hands. “I need you to make those pretty sounds for me. I want to know that they’re just as sweet as I remember them.” He punctuates his sentence with deep rolls of his hips, aiming where he knows will have you singing. 

You’re helpless to the chorus of ��Oh's and ‘Yes’s that he draws from you, the smacking of his hips and your sweet moans much too loud for you. You dread the thought of his servants hearing you and push your face into the cushions, muffling the array of sounds that bubble over. It’s all you can do—you could hardly contain your sounds. 

Your scalp strains as he tugs your head back, tugging your face from the cushion. “None of that, love. I waited too long for that. Don’t hide your pretty voice.”  

You shake your head. “Too loud,” you pant. “They’re gonna hear.” 

“I don’t care who hears you. Let me hear how good I’m making you feel, or I’m going to stop. Do you want me to stop?” His fingers cling to your soft hips, betraying how much this is affecting him. You know that he hardly wants to stop. 

You’re turned to mush, though. In this moment, being heard feels nowhere near as awful as Yeonjun ceasing those dizzying thrusts. You shake your head, scalp aching against the movement. “No,” you say, breathless.  

“That’s what I thought,” Yeonjun taunts, letting your cheek drop back into the fabric. “Let them hear our love. Let them hear how real it is, darling. Louder.”  

You tentatively let your sounds out into the thick air, but he decides that it’s not enough for him. Taking his hand off your hip to brace himself on the seat’s plush armrest, he doubles down his thrusts, feverish and desperate to guide you both to a beautifully explosive end. Your mouth drops open, unfiltered words and sounds spilling out from your chest as you grab at the cushions for help. With the hand that he doesn’t use to deliver those wild thrusts, he encases your hand in his own, threading his fingers between yours.  

For a few more incandescent moments, Yeonjun’s room only consists of your unabashed cries, his alternating grunts and whines, the rhythmic and hollow smacks of his hips to your skin, and the musk of your passion. Frantic bodies dance against each other, skin against skin in the purest way. Your thighs tremble pathetically, his cock brushing against your sweet spot until you squeeze your eyes shut and ride out the quivering of your cunt around him. You squeeze his hand as you shake. 

“Yes,” his pretty voice whines, “Just like that.”  

Picking up his pace, he chases to join you in your orgasm. He pants behind you, desperately fucking into you until his hips stutter and he stills, falling into your shoulder to deliver needy rolls and shooting warm spurts of his release into you.  

You two stay like this for some unhurried moments. You focus on his heartbeat; feeling it thudding against your back reminds you that he is real, and he is love. You hold his hand in yours a little tighter. 

❆

“I doubt that this will go exactly as you believe it will,” Beomgyu says, watching you do your hair up. Your eyes meet his in the vanity’s mirror.  

Arms burning as your hold them over your head, your words come out clipped with the ache. “It worked yesterday, didn’t it?” you say. You push a filigree comb into your hair to secure it up. “I got back hours before he did.” 

“I’m not saying that Taehyun is right,” he says, “but I think that it would do us both a favor if you practice a bit more precaution.” 

“What, are you afraid of Taehyun?” you ask, raising your brows at him in the reflection.  

Your taunt hits its mark, Beomgyu shifting in your bed and scowling. “Of Taehyun, never,” he parries, “of the fact that he could ask me to do anything and I’d do it, yes.” He shakes out his lightly matted tresses, a habit you’ve noticed over the passing weeks. “I played a little too closely to the fire with him once, and it landed me like this: no longer the owner of my being. I’d sooner chew off my own fingers than become his obedient dog, but I believe you also know that it’s best to soar low with this, no? Are we not together in this?” 

You press your lips into a thin line. In a way, you’d come to an alliance of sorts with Beomgyu. Despite his being a kelpie, the two of you are not so different now. Both confined to these walls, listening to Taehyun when he commands it. You don’t want any of your actions to snap back on Beomgyu, though. With you attending Court today, it’s almost definite that Taehyun will see you. You turn to face him. “Why don’t you join us, then?” you offer. “I’ll tell him myself that I commanded you to come with me. I’m sure he’ll be less upset if I have you there with me.” 

He gives it a thought, his eyes looking as tired and sunken as they always do. “I’m not one for Court,” he says. 

“But I’ll be there,” you plead, unable to help the twitching of smirk on your lips. “If we do it together, it can’t be so bad.” 

He frowns, but you can see that you’ve won. “I grieve for how the forest left me to my own,” Beomgyu grumbles. 

You surge up from your seat, eyes bright. “You’ll go?” you say, giddy to return to the thrill of faerie revelry and also to see the strange kelpie in the center of it. 

Grimacing, he answers, “I will join you.” 

You take his hands into yours and press a cheeky kiss to his forehead. “You’re not so scary as you try to paint yourself,” you tell him, watching as he catches bait. You laugh as he glowers. 

“Don’t push it.” He climbs off your bed. “I’m scarier than you should imagine, girl. I do this for my own reasons.” 

You pull a patronizing frown and nod. “Of course, I know.” 

You don’t have to wait for him to get ready to any capacity; he tells you that he has no intentions of making any impressions, and you’ve seen faeries in far more drastic states of disarray. Many show up for their reveling in just their skin. 

Beomgyu drones on about how he detests the audaciousness of the gentry folk while you make for the hall. The forest around you is as quiet as you remember it being when you’d first met him. It reminds you that, no matter how used you become to him, he is a creature to be feared. The little folk are right to hide away. For you, though, his might is a relief: should Taehyun be right, you’ll be safe. He moves at your beck and call. Though, the thought of forcing the kelpie to carry out your will is an uneasy one that you do not strive to fulfill. 

Once the buzzing of Court comes into earshot, wonderful faerie music along with it, you breathe it in. “First time in... how long since you’ve shown your face here?” 

“Perhaps four-hundred-something years,” he answers, looking over the scene with as much distaste in his face as his voice. “We solitary folk don’t make ourselves known here unless to bow to a crown. I do not bow to any crown.” 

Itching to find your prince, you gesture toward it. He should be fine—Court is supposed to be an insouciant place. “Don’t they host anybody who decides to come? Faerie hospitality, and all that? You’ll be fine.” 

“It’s all hospitality until you step foot from those trees,” he says. “And even hospitality is sometimes betrayed. You know how capricious we can be, I’m sure.”  

You approach the warm lights, but his words remain with you. It beckons you to remember that their minds are fickle and fundamentally different from yours. However you think they may act, they might act in the complete opposite way. You should at least let that guide how you conduct your actions a little bit. 

As you breach the pillars of trees and are finally surrounded once again by their pinched faces and gangly limbs, you search for both Taehyun and Yeonjun. You see neither, and so you make your way to the tables to seek snacks. You scour them for something sweet to chew over as you wait for him to appear. He’d said he’d be coming around this time, right? You surely hadn’t mistaken the time he’d told you? 

Beomgyu speaks from beside you, observing a hag that loiters nearby. “Is he not here?” he asks. 

Shrugging, you say, “He’ll be here soon.”  

You watch the hag inching closer, bent over with age; though, you assume that’s she’s been old for the entirety of her life. Her pointed ears droop from her thin tresses of silver, cuffed with gold.  

Turning from her, you gesture over the cavorting crowds, more frantically chasing their merriments than ever before. The solstice arrives tomorrow; they welcome its presence with their excitement. “This is all for the solstice?” 

He offers you an affirmative nod. “Just some excuse to entertain themselves like this,” he explains, “the solstice will arrive whether they encourage its coming or not. I believe that they just enjoy this debauchery too much.” His hollow eyes rake over the throngs. “Anyway, many of them are just here because it’s the only time that they’ll see Court. Otherwise, only the gentry gather here.” 

“What makes you any different than them?” you ask. “What makes you so averse to offering your allegiance to the High Courts? Would it not be nice to have their protection, and to keep them off your back?” You seek Yeonjun once more in the crowds, but still, he doesn’t appear. “You know, so they don’t call you in for things like eating too much?” 

“I do not surrender my sovereignty to any. Come they to my doorstep and demand that I do, I could not care. I’m content with the way I make my life.”  

His refusal to do just that must be why Taehyun’s father had come to claim his life. You’re sure that it’s also why the coming of the General’s son to steal his autonomy must’ve made him so angry. You don’t blame him.  

Why would The Queen demand fealty from the solitary folk? You’d thought that, like the High King, she’d leave them to their forests. If they’re all as adamant as Beomgyu, it seems like a lost cause. 

“Well,” you say, “I’m glad that—” 

A gnarled hand, fingers knobbed against your skin and skin about as soft as tree bark, tugs your arm. You spin to find who owns it.  

The hag’s eyes remind you of Beomgyu’s, piercing and dull with the weight of a long life. Though, hers are much more unsightly than his mud-brown ones, saggy eyelids drooping over a pair of eyes with ink-black where the whites of her eyes should be. She pulls you toward her by your skirts.  

You tug yourself back, pinching your brows. “Who are you?” 

She points her clawed, grey hand out at you, bangles of gold and chunky beads jingling as she does. “You, girl,” the hag says, urgent. Her voice is harsh and it crackles as she speaks. She reaches inside of her furry robes and produces a wood trinket from it. In her palm that she shoves at you lays a bit of wood carved into the shape of a wolf, painted in black. Its shaggy black fur reminds you of the kind Taehyun would sometimes wear over his shoulder.  

“I don’t need that,” you say, rejecting her hand. Nothing in faerie comes for free—the hag just sees a human girl that she can offer free things to in hopes that you’ll know no better and take. Then, you’d be in her debt, and she’d demand something from you. You do know better, though. 

“Oh,” she says, shaking her head as she draws out the word. “You do, girl. Take it, take it. You need it, I know it. Take it, I won’t hold it to you, girl, just have it.” Razor teeth appear behind her curled lips. “It is dormant with me. But, in your hands... Take it.” She shakes her jousted hand out at you each time she demands that you take it. “It offers you protection. It would do no good in my possession. It beckons me to give it to you, its pleas are so loud—loud, loud, loud! Take it off my hand, won’t you?” 

Her urging unsettles you, but so do her words. You assume that it’s inlaid with some sort of protective enchantment. Why would you need protection? Although, she could also just be fooling you. She could be holding a perfectly plain hunk of carved wood in her palm for all you know. You shoot a look at Beomgyu. If she were any trouble, he’d tell you. 

He looks about as lost as you do, shrugging. 

“Oh, sakes!” the hag grumbles, clutching her robes to her body. She takes Beomgyu’s hands and places the thing there. “There. I have no reasons to be here fooling humans. Useless debts, what could you give me? Nothing I need.” She points a sturdy, twiggy finger at you. “Keep it on you, girl, else it won’t do its work.” 

With those final ill-boding words, the hag hobbles off, her curved back disappearing between the gaps in the crowd. 

“Here,” Beomgyu says, regarding the trinket with his observation. “That hag really wanted this to be yours, so I think it ought to be in your hands.” He tries pushing it off to you. 

Laughing, you don’t reach out to take it, darting his hand with your whole body. You hang your hands in the air. “I’m not taking that thing,” you say. “She handed it to you, so I really think it ought to be in your hands.” 

He deadpans. “I’ve just been collecting myself a heap of debts, haven’t I?” He closes it into his fist for his lack of pockets. “What’s this one to add?” 

“Does it... feel like it has anything bad on it?” you ask, remembering how he’d identified your geas. “Like a curse, or a bad enchantment, or something?” 

Shaking his head, he says, “No. I feel it does have a protective purpose, but the magic there is... odd. Hard for me to decipher. Probably that hag’s.”  

You purse your lips, nodding. Regardless, whatever protection that thing might have offered you, you’ll be fine without it. 

Shaking off the odd interaction, you resume perusing the snack platters in your wait. You skip over glazed pinecones. Those would be terrible on your human stomach and teeth. You can only imagine how they’d jab at your gums. You opt for a helping of braised fiddlehead ferns. Chewing on the furled thing, you entertain yourself with the revelers. Littler folk dart in and out of legs. Long-limbed gentryfolk with flowers in their hair spin with interlocked hands at the center of the clamor. Sharp-eyed faeries with even sharper mouths speak in clusters, no doubt scheming. In all its oddness, you’d missed it.  

 A silk-smooth voice steals your attention. “A kelpie?” Yeonjun says, regarding Beomgyu beside you. “Now, how did you manage to befriend a kelpie? Even better, how did you drag it here?” 

Your chest lights up. “Long story,” you say, brushing his curiosity off. “What took you so long?”  

He’s dressed in his Courtly best—cuffs made of ruffle and an array of rings decorating his fingers. They catch light as he brings his hand up to run a hand along the expanse of your collarbone. He hesitates to answer for a split second. “I ran into Kai on my way,” he explains. “He’s performing here today and for tomorrow's solstice.” 

Accepting his answer, you go to tell Beomgyu that you’re going off, but he’s not even there as you turn. He must’ve wandered off as Yeonjun had arrived. 

“Want to join them?” he asks, tilting his head toward the dancing bodies. Soft black strands drift over his eyes.  

Shaking your head, you offer him some of the sweets you’d been eyeing, knowing that he’s got a knack for sweets. “Not today. I think I want to remember all of tonight, and, well...” Memories of the way you’d danced uncontrollably until it’d fade to black lick at your mind. You want to revel in your return to normalcy fully, not with a buzzing mind. You can’t deny the allure of that tingling in your bones as you hear the faerie music, though. It curls a wild finger at you, beckoning. 

An uncomfortable look passes through his eyes, gone as fast as it had come. “All right, darling,” he hums, accepting the sweets. “Does the Lord know you’re here?” 

Lips tugging into a faint frown, you say, “Not yet, I think.” The quick expression doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Unlike the ice the Taehyun offers you, Yeonjun wears his feelings all over himself. It’s just one way that they are fundamentally different. “Is something wrong?” 

Yeonjun looks taken aback at your asking. “I’m doing just fine,” he says. “Why do you ask?” 

He does not say nothing wrong. You know it is because he cannot lie. You look him over. What had happened? And, why is he averse to telling you the truth? “Just thought you looked a bit upset.” You shrug. “Did you want to dance?” 

His nose crinkles with a laugh. “No, pretty. I’d be in your presence doing nothing and still be content.” He takes your hands into his, the metal on his fingers biting cold against your skin. “How about we go listen to Kai play?” 

He leads you to where the musicians work at concocting their works, claiming a chalice of some drink from a table on the way. Kai, of course, stands away from the rest, back to a tree while his fingers dance on the strings. You look around for Taehyun from here, but still, you don’t see his face. 

Yeonjun holds the chalice’s neck between his middle two fingers, sipping from it. “It’s nice to know that even as this season ends, I won’t be forced to go back there.” 

His pretty lips wrap over the edge of the chalice as he drinks from it. “Won’t your father know something is up when you don’t return?” 

Nodding slowly, he grimaces. “I suppose that time has finally come.” 

You squeeze his hand in yours. “We both sacrificed things to be here, huh?” you say. You don’t know a lot of what Yeonjun’s life back in his home court was like, but you know that it would be hard to revolt against your own family for anybody. Even for the prince of Faerie. 

He captures your eyes, his soft brown ones making crescents with his gentle smile. “We did,” he muses. 

“Remember our first night in Court?” you say. You’d been so uneasy, searching for a place to fit in. Then, from the crowds of overwhelming faces, he’d appeared, all charm and welcoming smiles. How couldn’t you have let your heart fall? 

Another flash of disconcertment, his smile faltering. He hides it behind another sip of his drink. Swallowing, he nods, laughing off-kilter. “I do. I think watching you dance that time was the best thing I’ve ever seen.” 

Odd, but you don’t push the issue. If he says that he’s fine, it must just be something to little effect. “What made you come up to me that night?” you say, remembering how confused you’d been when such a pretty gentry boy had taken interest in you. You’d agonized over why he’d done so for long, and sometimes you still, but you’ve made some peace with it by now.  

His lips are tight. “I... It’s hard to explain.” 

You accept that answer at face-value and let your head fall into his shoulder while you watch Kai dutifully work at his songmaking. Among those making the music for Court, his contributions stand out as the most enthralling. Faerie music is too elusive for you to decipher why, but perhaps it’s just his lazed passion. “I understand,” you say. His shoulder is tight and less cushy than you expect it to be. Looking up to him, you frown to see how he’s looking down at you, eyes stormy. He looks like he’s sick to his stomach. You go to ask if he’s going to be okay, but he speaks before you can. 

“Pretty, I... I have to tell you something.” He pulls you off of him to look into your eyes. He’s always been so steadfast and sure, but now his gaze wavers. “I’m so sorry.” 

Your stomach drops. You don’t like the way he’s looking at you. “What?” you say, a tingle in your spine telling you that something isn’t right; that you’re not going to like what he’s going to say. “Yeonjun, you’re making me nervous. Is something wrong?” 

You know it’s awful and you’re not sure why you do it, but for a split second, you inspect the hall for possible attackers. A terrible bout of potent adrenaline makes you want to run or cry. Beomgyu is here, right? 

He swallows hard, face a ghostly pallor. “I can’t keep doing this,” he says, voice trembling. “I need to tell you the truth, it’s... it’s been eating me alive. I can’t look into your sweet face and know...” 

Acid climbs up your throat. Your heart joins it, thick in your throat and choking you. “What? Know what Yeonjun?” you ask, lips trembling. Your skin prickles, hair raising. You may throw up. He looks stricken in place, not answering you. “What?” you demand. 

“I didn’t come up to you for no reason that day.” 

Your heart, still caught in your throat, bursts. It’s a horrifying, bloody affair. “No,” you say, shaking your head. You feel so removed from your body that you can almost envision how your blood-drained face might match his. 

“I knew that you were the spies the moment I saw you. It was....” He sucks in a breath. Your world spins around you as you wait. “I was supposed to determine who the spies were. I was supposed to have them killed, but pretty, I knew I couldn’t do that the moment I saw you. I thought it was just going to be some... some random faerie that I’d...” 

If your world was spinning before, it’s now flipped upside down and inverted. “No,” you repeat, a guttural plea that you know won’t change anything. It’s the only word that your mouth will make for right now, though. 

You’re hurt. You’re scared. You’re angry. You’re frozen. 

Yeonjun grabs for your hands, but you rip yourself away from him, your glaring eyes so at odds with your wobbling lips. “It doesn’t change anything,” he says. “It doesn’t change how I love you now. You know I love you. You know I love you, right? I’m so sorry. I would never hurt you. I did my best to protect you. Please, I never wanted to hurt you,” he rambles, frantically grabbing for your arms as he falls down to his knees before you. 

A few faeries around you gasp, and a blur of their commotion forms around you. The crowned prince of Faerie just went to his knees. Your eyes dart wildly around their guffawing faces, and between a space you spot a familiar face: cold eyes and a cracked mask of indifference. He looks right at you. 

What on earth is going on? How is this life right now? You snap back to Yeonjun in front of you. 

“Please, don’t look at me like that, pretty,” he pleads. “Please.” His voice cracks, eyes frantic. “Slap me. Tell me you hate me for it. But please, don’t look at me like you’re scared of me.” 

Tears scald your cheeks. 

“I know that it’s selfish of me to ask you that; I know, I know it—but please, I can’t handle it, love. I was never going to let anything happen to you, I knew it the moment I saw you. I felt it right here”—he gestures to his beating heart, the one your hand had felt and cherished so only last night—“I knew that no matter how big my ambitions were, they would never be bigger than that.” 

You can’t listen to any more. His words pour out onto your skin, but they all slip off like rain upon a beast’s winter pelt. None can penetrate the ringing in your ears. 

Yeonjun sees how retracted you’ve become. “Pretty, please,” he says, slower and more dire now. “Say something." 

You don’t know what to do. Your feet are rooted fast to the ground, but you know that you have to leave, or else you’ll start creating excuses for him. You know yourself too well to let that happen. 

Picking up your skirts, you manage only a few words to part him with. “Though your kind can’t lie,” you say, “you have been the biggest liar I have ever known. You said you loved me.” 

“I do,” he says, shaking his head, eyes twinkling. “I do.” 

Maybe love is a different thing to a faerie. 

You take off. He calls for you, but it’s muffled by the restlessness of the folk around you and the still-playing music. You dart between openings and bounce off bodies, lights and angry faces a blur in your frenzy. Most folk don’t spare you even a glance; nothing could pull them from their merriment. But others gawk at you like you put on a performance, greedy eyes drinking in any amount of fanfare. Their eyes itch under your skin. Crossing the expanse of the hall has never felt so arduous.  

You’ve become their spectacle. 

Breaking into the cold night air, you don’t run home or collapse to your knees in a sob. You hold your dress hard in your hands, the one he’d gifted you among so many others, its fabric bunching in your fists, and stand there as if frozen staring into the tree line ahead. You don’t move and you don’t think; both would remind you that this is real and that you are a fool. You just allow the bitter air to swaddle your skin. 

You don’t even know if you doubt that he loves you. You don’t even know if he actually never intended to hurt you. Had there been times where all you’d done was look at him with starry eyes, and he’d look at you deciding whether or not to have you killed? 

Why are you even here? There is nothing left for you. Whatever simple joys you thought you’d found, they’re gone. You’re so far away from home, and you’ve nobody to call home. You’d left behind your beginnings of a purpose, and now the only purpose you serve is to rot away in Taehyun’s estate because you demanded that you stay here. 

All that time you’d spent worrying, and still, you walked yourself into this. You’re a joke. And now, you’re fully serving your purpose as one—to be laughed at.

White breaths unfurl into the night air before you, floating off to join the snowflakes and heavy fog. You just watch those fluffy flakes fall for a while. 

Snow creaks under a few footsteps behind you, someone letting you know that they’re there. “You’ve gotten awfully good at sneaking around,” Taehyun says. 

You let your head fall back, sighing slowly out through your nose. Turning to him, you spit, “I understand. You were right. I got it, okay? I don’t need you to come here and rub it in.” 

Beomgyu approaches from behind Taehyun. 

Taehyun doesn’t say anything for a bit, ice-hard eyes darting all over your face. “Take her back to the estate,” he tells Beomgyu. 

Glad to escape him, you begin your way on your own. You know that he’s only looking at your break down as pathetic. Perhaps it is, but recognizing that doesn’t make it hurt any less. Wind lapping at your wet cheeks have them stinging as you walk. 

Beomgyu awkwardly trails behind you as you follow the path that had become trodden in the time that you and Taehyun have been here, foliage and shrubbery broken down to make somewhat of a path. 

He doesn’t speak; you don’t expect him to. Instead, you break the quiet yourself, unable to stand only the sound of wind twirling between trees. “I should’ve taken that ridiculous charm thing,” you say, laughing through your tears. That hag had absolutely been able to feel what was coming with you with whatever intuition that the magic in her bones lends her. 

“But then,” Beomgyu says, “you wouldn’t know the truth.” 

That’s true. Not knowing the truth doesn’t make it untrue, but at least it spares your fragile heart. “I don’t know if I’d mind that,” you tell him. “I think I’d prefer it.” 

Ignorance is bliss, as the saying goes. 

❆

You don’t remember falling asleep. You remember climbing into your bed, dreading that you’ll be in your head all night, but to some mercy, you’d found sleep not long after that. 

You’d pulled yourself from bed, no matter how it had grown a gravitational pull and insisted that it’d hold you warm while you weep. If you hadn’t, you might not have gotten up at all. As a girl, you’d force yourself into the day’s routine when you had your worst days. It’s the only way that you live through it. You’d also made an effort to walk past your wardrobe. It carries so much of him: the lovely things he’d gifted you, his letters, and that book he’d lent you. It’s not that you don’t want any of these things; to wither away in your bed, to go through his things and wonder how someone who’d showered you so had meant to be your killer, to drag your feet... It’s that you can’t. 

You poke your needle through the fabric. On the cut of white fabric stretched inside the embroidery hoop, you’ve embroidered a dozen woven wheel stitch flowers of different colors and types. Your bottom aches against the hardwood flooring and your lower spine strains, but you don’t pay any mind to their complaining. You just continue to embroider the little flowers. Some are poppy, some rose, and some you’d made up just to have more to stitch. 

A knock resounds through the war room from the doorway. You look to see Taehyun there. He’s dressed in his Court attire. 

“You should get dressed,” he says. “It’s almost midnight. If you want to make it in time, you’ve got to get ready now.” 

Since when had he decided that you’re okay to go? It’s as if this elusive threat that’d he’d been so careful has up and disappeared. “You can go. It’ll take me too long to get ready.” 

Truth be told, you’d go sick seeing Yeonjun’s face, and you know without a doubt that you would. 

“It’s the solstice,” Taehyun says, stepping into the room. He looks like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t. 

Despite how much you had wanted to see it, your heart is too apathetic for it to be worth anything now. Returning to the same faces that had seen your demonstration and no doubt now talk of it... You’d rather finish your fifth rose. “I know.” 

He hesitates, studying you while gears turn in his head. “Hadn’t you thought that something would happen on the solstice?” he says. “Come on. It’s worth seeing how this unfolds.” 

“Why? We aren’t spies anymore. I don’t care what happens in their conflict. It’s well beyond my control as a human here.” 

He grimaces, but you don’t recognize the look there to be anger, more a rigidness. He rests his hand on his sword as he always does. “Then we’ll stay here.” 

You furrow your brows. “Huh?” 

“We can celebrate the solstice here,” he elaborates. “We don’t need to do it there. Plenty of folk celebrate on their own.” 

It dawns upon you that this is his stilted attempt at comforting you. It’s the only way he knows how. You push off the ground. You couldn’t ignore this sliver, however little, of tenderness. You’re not sure if you’d ever see it again if you did. You’ll take anything to distract your mind, as well. You can’t escape the image of Yeonjun’s eyes as he’d pleaded with you from the ground. “I’m not sure Beomgyu will join us, though. He doesn’t believe in the need to celebrate the solstices.” 

“He will if I command it,” he says.  

“What, you’re going to command the poor kelpie to sit and watch a bonfire with us?” you say, imagining how he’d brood. 

The north is wickedly cold at all times, but it’s especially so after night falls. You shuffle closer to the bonfire that Taehyun had built. It’s multitudes smaller than the bonfire you’d sat around with Yeonjun, but it’s warm enough for just the two of you. You quickly shove down those tainted memories before they sting. A lump of emotion forms in your throat before you can, though. You clear it. “Is there anything special that you’re supposed to do?” 

Feeding one last log into the flame, he watches it catch. “We started this really early,” he says. “The fire is supposed to keep you warm and represent the sun’s warmth until sunrise...” He trails off, sliding the cuffs of his shirt that he’d slid up to his elbows to tend to the fire down and sucking in an awkward breath. He looks between the fire and you as though he’d not fully thought out his offer when he’d made it. 

You face your palms to the orange flame, letting the roiling waves of heat warm them. “It’s nice like this.” 

The flame sizzles and pops, spewing sparks and eating up the wood, for a few long moments. You’re not in a talky mood, and Taehyun doesn’t seem to know where to begin on conversation with you that isn't functional. No snow falls around you, and any wind is cut by the estate. This—a place to lose yourself to your mind—is both the thing you need and what you most should not have. 

Taehyun stands watching the fire twirling, his arms over his chest.  

“Is your shoulder healing fine?” you ask, once the air starts feeling a bit heavy with the weight of the prolonged quiet. “Are my stitches holding up fine? No infection, or anything?” 

His gaze flicks up to you. “You stitched it up pretty well,” he answers. “I saw the flowers you were making. You’ve got a good hand.” 

Frowning, you say, “You didn’t say it’s not infected...” 

“It’s not infected,” he says. 

That could be a lie or the truth, you know. But... this sort of deception, you’re more comfortable with. Your human mind can pick up on these subtleties, can catch the careful intonation of somebody trying to hide something behind a lie. “Could I see it?” you ask him. 

He hesitates, expression flat as his eyes convey the extent of his consideration. “You can.” He grabs at his tunic, the fabric the only thing his frost blood even needs to wear out in the cold, and pulls it over his head. 

You swallow hard and fight the flush to your cheeks at the sight of his scar-flecked flesh, his muscled abdomen disappearing as he turns around to show you his back. When you’d last seen his bare skin, you’d been so high on your fear and adrenaline that you’d barely flinched.  

Blinking, you focus on the arrow puncture at his shoulder blade. It’s done some healing, but tinged by an angry red and visibly swollen around the stitches. You curse. 

Of course, he’d rather let his shoulder rot away than admit that he needs any more of your help than he’d been forced to allow. That would require admitting that he’s not just an impenetrable wall of ice. “That is definitely infected,” you say. “Were you just going to let that kill you? Infections like that are beyond help once they get in your bloodstream.” 

“I’ve had infected wounds before,” he says, preparing to put his shirt back on. “This one is nothing. It’ll take a bit longer, but... It’ll heal up fine.” 

You grab his arm. “Just let me clean it a bit,” you insist. “It’s not that big of a deal. You’re not scared that it’s gonna hurt, are you?” 

Sighing, Taehyun says, “I thought you wanted to enjoy the solstice.” 

The hopeful girl you’d been had wanted that, but now it’s just a reminder of everything you don’t want to remember. You wave your hand in the air dismissively. “We did. Come on.” 

You find a bucket to fill with water and cloth along with some stash of ancient spirits in the kitchens, their containers lined with a layer of dust so thick that you know they’re left over from Taehyun’s father. He watches you gather it all. 

You beckon him to turn and show you his shoulder again. He does, bracing his arms on a counter and letting his head hang. You spill out some of that strong liquor into the wound. You’re not really sure if it’ll work as a disinfectant, but as a girl you’d seen an older woman pour it over her wound once, and it’s all you know. 

Gently dabbing at his shoulder now with the water-soaked rag, swollen except for where the stitches sinch it, you say, “You should’ve been going gentle on this thing.” 

Taehyun doesn’t make any fuss as you prod at the wound. “I had more important things to concern myself with,” he says plainly. You press the wet rag to the wound and hold it there, and he begins to try and redirect the conversation to anything other than about himself. “What did the prince say to you at Court?” 

Your stomach drops. “It was nothing.” 

“I know that’s not the truth,” he says, picking up his head to try and look over his shoulder at you. “Tell me the truth.” 

You take the long, torn strips of cloth and begin wrapping it around the expanse of his broad shoulders in a sloppy and amateurish wrap. As long as it shields the wound, it’ll work. “That’s rich coming from you,” you say. “There’s plenty that you lie to me about. You even lied about this.” You tap his shoulder. 

Turning now that you’re done, Taehyun eyes you. You don’t know if he’d been able to hear anything over the sounds of Court or if he’d heard it all with his better hearing ears. You can’t tell which it is.  

“I’ll hear it from some Court gossiper anyway. I think you’d prefer to tell me it yourself.” 

The thought of that scene being a topic of Court gossip makes you ill, but you know that it’s true. The folk love the show, especially one that includes a prince of Faerie on his knees in front of a human. Red-hot embarrassment takes a leisurely stroll up your spine. Your biggest fear has taken flesh in the cruelest way possible.  

Well, if he’s going to end up knowing anyway... You’d prefer it’s from your mouth. You don’t know what sort of conflated half-truths the folk might come up with, since they have no more idea what happened than what they saw. “He was supposed to kill us,” you say, chest too tight to explain it in any depth. “Or, at least, find out who we are, so that we could be killed.” 

Taehyun doesn’t look shocked. He nods. “So, they anticipated our arrival, then. The odds had been stacked against us from the beginning.” 

You nod. Would you have been able to escape? If things had never become entangled between you and Yeonjun, would you and Taehyun lived beyond the first day? Taehyun is strong and you know that he’s no doubt survived plenty in his life, but you’d have been caught completely unaware. “Yeah.” 

“I told you that he’d show you his colors eventually.” 

You want to fight him on that, but you can’t. You have nothing to say. He’d been right. 

What’s left for you now that he has?  

…🪶 ashlynn's note RAHHH! like i said, this part gave me a bit of grief because part 3 was left so open ended—i had so many options and paths i could follow, but ultimately, i chose this one! how do we feel?

﹙🏷️ ﹚ @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits , @f4iryfever , @arcturus444 , @linqed , @serenityism00 , @immelissaaa , @luv4cheol , @lickingan0rchid , @20-cms , @hhoneylix , @beestvng , @sanshiningstarhwa , @hyucktapes if your tag isn't working, check the mentions part of your settings!

[simpxxstan]

cannn i request a bff! Wonwoo with lots of pining and emotional constipation pls 🤍 love ur writings

anon requested: hiii can i please request a f2l wonwoo trope? Luv ur writings<3

this is a part of my 550 followers event, but requests are now CLOSED.

genre: sugary fluff, gamer!wonwoo, high school au, friends to lovers.

word count: 6.9k words.

listening to his voice asmr audios and leftover while writing this- can't you tell i just love wonwoo's voice? he's just such a warm hug personified! pls note: i've combined two requests here because they're similar! thank you to both anons for requesting! i'm so sorry again for the delay T_T i rewrote this many times. i hope you like it!!

warnings: very shy reader, gaming references (likely to be inaccurate due to lack of personal experience, please excuse!).

it's the last year of your high school, and yet it doesn't feel like so. you may have turned 18 early this year, but it doesn't feel like the year you graduate from school and move on to a higher, more independent direction in life.

or perhaps you're just not mature enough. not ready enough to embrace adulthood. either way, the intense fear of what the future holds has you by the throat since the start of the year. it's not that you're trying to escape from responsibilities, but somehow it daunts you to no end that you'll have to leave this cocoon you've lived in all your life. step out of your comfort zone and into the real world.

perhaps it's not a maturity thing. perhaps it's just an introvert thing.

you're quite sure none of your classmates feel this scared of the future right now. most of them have their career goals defined, ready to sit for entrance examinations, or write applications to foreign universities. most of them have had experiences bordering on the edge of adulthood already- like their first kiss, their first date, their first relationship. most of them have already figured out where they see themselves three or four years from now- even if it not perfectly, it's brilliant that they even see themselves four years from now.

you? you don't even know if you'll be able to make it on time to the first day of class. it's literally the last year of school, and you've still not mastered the art of not getting late due to extreme social anxiety on the first day of class. somehow you rush into class, ankles burning from running through the campus, moments before the teacher arrives. you notice that there are only two seats left available in the class- one in the first bench, and another towards the back. you wonder if you should be sitting in the front to make a good impression on the teachers on your first day, but then your friends wave to you from the back, and your decision is made for you.

just as you finally settle down, your nerves easing out with the flowing conversation with your friends, the teacher walks into the classroom, creating pin-drop silence instantly, but she's not alone.

"good morning, class. welcome your new classmate for this year." on hearing her words, you look up from the new book your friend's been showing you.

the book almost drops from your hands.

"hello! my name is jeon wonwoo. nice to meet you all!"

_

in this moment, you're so, so glad you didn't choose to sit in the first bench. in this moment, you're so, so glad you always stick to your friends who generally do the talking for you whenever you're outside your tight-knit friend circle. in this moment, you're so, so glad you're the most ordinary-looking girl in the class.

because all of these ensure jeon wonwoo doesn't even spare a glance at you. and if you can keep yourself in check, he will not spare a glance at you for the rest of the eleven months of the school year. it's anyway just one year. if you keep out of his sight for long enough, he'll forget you exist.

as you walk home that evening, you wonder why must the universe be so cruel to you that it's now decided to make jeon wonwoo enter your class? wasn't it enough that he tormented you every day after beating you at games, that now you would have to see him daily in your immediate periphery? wasn't it enough that he'd already stolen your heart when you knew nothing of him except his voice, that now you would have to also know how devastatingly handsome he is in real life?

on reaching home, you slump down in your gaming chair and turn on your desktop.

2 messages from jeonwonubokdeongeori

you sigh before clicking the discord popup open, your annoyance increasing tenfold on reading the texts.

how was your first school day? going to a new school is so daunting T_T

daunting? with that face? with those charms? with that obvious intelligence sparkling in his eyes that no teacher can resist? what a liar. but at least he's telling you now that he's going to a new school. you can't ask him the name of the school because you don't want him to get curious about your school in return. so you keep it neutral.

i bet it wasn't as bad as mine lol wanna play and get the stress out?

wonwoo's message comes instantly, and you feel yourself melting. it does sound like such a tempting idea, especially with the way your body is still high-strung from all the social exposure and new worries of the final academic year. you want to say no- you want to start distancing yourself from him, you want to ensure your crush doesn't become serious. and yet, you can't keep yourself away from clicking on the yes button when he sends you a request to join a game.

seconds later, his voice rumbles in slowly through the other side of the game. his player is wearing a yellow outfit today, similar to your school uniform. "hey," it's a single syllable but it sends a shiver of comfort down your spine, and you can feel your body relax. it's online. he doesn't know it's you. it's just a game between friends.

"hi won," you voice is a soft whisper, almost afraid that he'll recognise you. you're sure he won't, because you've made sure he hasn't heard your voice throughout the day- but even if he does, he doesn't indicate it in any way.

he chuckles on the other end. "you sound so tired. you probably need sleep more than a game." "i've been drinking too much soda- no way i'm gonna sleep soon," you stifle a yawn to keep talking to him. "mhmm, soda's not good for you, princess." princess. you know it's not a nickname, or meant to be endearing. he's simply referring to your username, pretzel_princess, which you go by during games. three days ago, you'd wished you'd used your own name as your username, just so you can hear him say your name while playing, although princess sounds good enough. but in hindsight, it's been the best decision you've ever made.

"jeon wonwoo, are you just stalling the game?" you smirk, and you hope he hears it in your voice.

he does.

"well then, game on, princess."

_

after that, you can't keep your eyes away from wonwoo. the initial shock has now worn down- and suddenly the reality seems more stark in full HD. he's right here- literally ten seats away from you. in all likelihood, you could just whisper and he would hear your voice.

and identify you at once.

and yet, you can't keep your eyes off him. he seems so.... different in real life, and yet exactly the same. you start linking every tiny bit of character you've learned about him till now to his real self.

like how he's complained to you multiple times about his poor eyesight- and you've scolded him about his terrible gaming addiction and how he should stop immediately, only for him to laugh it off. you can see how thick his glasses are, and how he has to squint often even with the glasses- and you make a mental note of scolding him again tonight.

like how he doesn't like swimming during the physical education classes- instead opting for athletics. he's told you before he has a fear of drowning, and now you witness this with your own eyes too.

like how he's an introvert too- keeping mostly to himself, although everyone is trying to get a piece of him. with his looks and his natural charm, you can hardly blame the girls and the guys for swarming around him every day. although it's barely been a week since he's joined, he's already solidified a fanbase- people who are ready to give him homework, their lunchboxes and also their hearts. it's no surprise though- you're no different than them. you were just a tad bit more pathetic- at least they hadn't fallen for him after hearing just his voice.

it feels like you're leading a double life. you've never been more thankful for your introvertedness- perhaps the only time you've been thankful for it. but this is the only way to ensure wonwoo doesn't know who you are. you do your best to ensure your friends don't get curious about him, and even if they do talk to him, you stay away from the spot at that moment. it's even better because none of the teachers know you by your name (you've never given them reason to), hence no one in class draws attention to you. your friends call you by a nickname (not princess), so even if they're calling out for you from a distance, wonwoo could never realise it's you.

well. things are not as bad as you'd think they would be.

unless of course, one counts the worsening of your infatuation. it's already been a while since you've known each other as ... online best friends. well, you'd been gaming together on the same server for a year now, but it was only eight months since you'd dm-ed him, and initiated a conversation, ignoring your shaky hands. thankfully, he'd replied almost instantly- and that had sparked things off. too fast, you'd gone from strangers who game together occasionally to friends you share your feelings and thoughts with. wonwoo had been surprisingly easy to open up to. perhaps because he resonated with most of your experiences? with him being as introverted and shy as you see him now, you'd understand why. or perhaps because you'd always thought he would be just an online friend- a voice behind a screen. never more tangible than that. and there was a comfort in that. no fear of judgement. no insecurity about your looks. no worries about embarrassment. and even when you had your voice on, conversation had flown easily, and so had giggles and intimate moments.

you slam your head against the textbook you're reading as you remember that night when you'd messed up. of course, your crush was nothing new. you'd slowly and surely begun to develop feelings for the gentle-voiced gamer who had won his way into your heart with his gaming skills and the softness with which he treated you. like how he would immediately catch on to any exhaustion in your voice. how he'd remember the little details you told him about your daily life. how he'd remind you to sleep instead of playing another match, because you'd have to wake up early the next day. sometimes, with your headphones on and wonwoo's voice floating in, you'd escape from this real world, away from the fears of your life, into a world where it felt like you were sitting with him, on a swing, in a playground. and sometimes, your imaginary world took you to a rollercoaster, him holding your hand as you both screamed with the adrenaline rushing to your head. and eventually, your imagination would take you to a world where you'd picture a faceless wonwoo hugging you after a long day of studies, just as his words comforted you with the similar warmth of a hug.

well, faceless no more.

your face heats up as your mind strays to the thought of hugging wonwoo. knowing he was so much taller than you, and so beautifully built even in the hideous school uniform, his hugs would absolutely engulf you and drown you in his warmth. you shake your head as you focus on your book again. you shouldn't be daydreaming about your online best friend. not when you don't even have the guts to own up and face him in real life.

_

the next month is largely uneventful. the novelty of wonwoo's presence slowly wears off, although his fanbase does not. but you've grown smart at avoiding him. with your study pressure mounting up, you both have lesser time to play games anyway, but whenever you do, you're bound to lose your sleep. because after two hours of just you and him, your noise-cancelling headphones focusing on every breath he takes and curse he utters while playing, your mind feels like levitating. he frequents your dreams on those nights- and you dream about an alternate reality where you can sit next to him in the library and hear his gentle voice from up close instead of simply through your headphones. where his laugh shakes up your desk and you can actually see the beautiful smile you know he must have on his face whenever you crack a silly joke and he laughs for you. where you can solve his maths sums with him, after he complains about finding them too hard.

you know you're being stupid. you have your college entrances coming up really soon, and you should move on from this silly crush of yours when you're not even brave enough to do anything about it. but you simply can't distance yourself from jeon wonwoo.

"what are you thinking about, princess? you're very quiet these days." his question isn't probing, but caring. "it seems like there's a lot on your mind."

you sigh. "there is, but i can't tell you."

"no? wonwoo's upset on hearing that."

you double take on hearing that. "it's nothing serious. just silly worrying. i don't want to dump on you-" "you're not dumping anything on me. if you keep stuff from me, i'll feel even more helpless and sad." you try to understand if there's any hint of fakeness in his voice, but you cannot hear anything except the slow rumble of genuineness in his voice.

"i- i can't tell you, wonwoo."

"is it about me?"

"what? no. no, no. why would i be upset about you?"

"i don't know. why else would you hide things from me?"

"ummm-"

"i won't push you. but i really want to help. i like hearing you laugh often, princess."

he doesn't raise the issue again during that match, but his words linger in your mind for longer than they should. it ends up distracting you during the game, and he tsks into the microphone.

"i'm seriously going to abort this game if you don't tell me why you're playing so badly. i thought we were friends."

best friends, you remember telling wonwoo two months back. you're the closest thing to a best friend that i have, won. and he'd said it back, his voice shy, me too, princess. i'm so glad i found you.

"you're not going to let this go, will you?" your voice is vulnerable, as his caring words really seep into the layer beneath your skin. "if you want me to, i will."

"then i do want you to. i'll talk about it when i'm ready, wonwoo."

he sighs, and you feel the sound of his breath send a shudder through your spine.

"as you want, princess."

_

it's midterms week and you're neck-deep in assignments, when wonwoo's call request comes in. you don't think twice before accepting it, knowing he's a great study partner.

"hey! are you busy with exams?" "so right i am." "yeah lol, me too. 'tis the season, huh?" he chuckles, and you grin. if you consider the fact that it's almost the end of two months and wonwoo still doesn't know you, then it makes you feel ... kinda good on the inside. like you're in a detective movie. like you're in a spy film.

"my brother says he wants to meet you." you almost choke on your coffee when you ask him, "what?!" "yeah, he said that he's heard enough about you, now he wants to see if you exist at all." "you can just tell him i exist-" "he doesn't believe me. says that i'm too loser to have a sweet girl friend like you."

sweet girl friend.

pretty sure wonwoo doesn't intend it to sound like the way it does, but it does make your skin burn up with an unbearable blush instantly. all your sleepiness is gone instantly, his words acting quicker than coffee, and you sit upright.

"you're not a loser. and you have plenty of female friends, i'm sure." "no, and no. princess, i play games on my computer every day, barely have a social life, and haven't gone on a date with anyone in my seventeen years of existence. i don't think you understand my loser level."

"and your brother has done all of this?" "you bet. he has a girlfriend and he's just fifteen. seems kinda illegal to me." you laugh. "as long as he isn't crossing lines, it's not illegal i guess." "hmm true. the point is- we're really very different, my brother and i. and i admit i am a loser... in real life."

you coo at him, your voice becoming softer. you can't imagine him having confidence issues- not when you've seen how perfect he literally is. "i think you're just overthinking. firstly, gamers aren't losers. secondly, you do have a social life. you have me. and you have those other friends you game and hang out wit-" "yes but seungcheol and mingyu are also losers. seungcheol is literally in college but hasn't been able to get laid yet." wonwoo's dead-serious words make you burst out laughing, and he joins in.

"i think it's just because you're all shy. it's okay! you know i'm super shy too." there's a pause before he replies, and you almost think you've lost your internet connection. "i don't think you're as shy as me, though." "there's no comparative metric, won."

another pause. "maybe. but i wish i wasn't like this. you know, you and i live in the same city, but we've never even planned to meet up or anything."

your pulse flutters in your neck. "but that's the charm of online friendships! we connect so well, but just talking online is enough, isn't it?"

"yes... but don't you ever get curious?"

you're moments away from a meltdown. you want to confess your secret and run away from the desktop at the same time- because you're sure he's recognised you. but thankfully he replies before you do. "but then again, i wouldn't ever be able to face you because of how often you've beaten me in overwatch." and his laugh breaks the tension and you take a deep breath of relief. fuck. that was close.

_

"wonwoo, you were right when you'd told me you'll need some help in pre-calc. i understand that the curriculum in your previous school was slightly behind ours here, which is why your foundation is a bit weak. don't worry, smart boys like you catch up in no time." you'd barely paid attention to your math teacher's ramblings, eager to pack up your bag and leave for home. it's finally the end of the class day, and you're excited for the weekend. you also know wonwoo's birthday is tomorrow, and you've bought a new character for him on the game you're both obsessing on currently, and you can't wait to hear his excited, high-pitched giggle tonight when he receives his gift mid-match.

"y/n and seori, i want you to discuss amongst yourselves who would like to tutor wonwoo in his pre-calculus foundations for the rest of this term. you'll receive extra marks for this on my paper, so i request you to take this seriously."

your bag slips from your fingers, as you look up, an ashen look on your face. it's clear that your teacher wants you to take this up with the way she's got her eyes fixed on you even as seori has already stepped up to her. thankfully she speaks before you need to. "i'll do it, ma'am. y/n, i hope that's okay with you? i really need the extra marks," she whispers the last bit to you, and you let out a sigh of relief as you nod your approval. you look away from seori to see wonwoo's eyes on yours, and you panic for a moment. but there's no sign of recognition. just a mild curiosity and confusion flash in his pretty eyes, before you avert your eyes and walk out of the classroom.

it's probably a coincidence, you tell yourself as you walk back home, your heart still racing from the close escape you made mere minutes ago. it was bound to happen some time or the other, you console yourself, you're lucky to have avoided it for two entire months anyway. but as soon as you reach home and switch on your desktop, you see a notification flash.

4 messages from jeonwonubokdeongeori

what can he have to say? what if he has actually recognised you? you gulp, your palms sweaty as you click it open.

hey can we skip tonight's gaming session? i have a small gaming party with my friends tonight and then they'll be coming over for a sleepover

oh, must be a birthday celebration.

sorry if you were looking forward to it :(

you were looking forward to it. you've spent a solid bit of your savings from your pocket money to buy it for him, and you'd really looked forward to, well, hearing his reaction. but you wouldn't dream of barging into his plans.

ooh it's not a big deal at all! i hope you have fun, wonu <3

you see him come online instantly, and you're hit with panic. maybe you shouldn't have sent the heart. it was overstepping boundaries, wasn't it?

i'll make it up to you, princess ^^

god. he knows too damn well how to make your heart flutter.

or maybe you can come along and join the party? you already know seungcheol, right? it'll just be him and a couple of my other friends. jungkook and mingyu. they're really fun too hehe

the panic rises in your throat again. fuck. you remember exactly what happened the last time you joined a gaming party with wonwoo and seungcheol. and you've spent the entire last month trying to erase it from your memory, and if you could, really, from wonwoo's memory too. so you're pretty quick to turn him down.

nah i think i'll pass have fun tho!

and then you go offline to avoid spiralling into your thoughts, and get into studies. which is actually what you should be doing, instead of gaming with your crush anyway.

_

silence.

radio fucking silence.

there's just the pitter patter of the rain outside, but no replies from wonwoo.

i like hearing you laugh.

i'm glad i found you.

sweet girl friend.

it all feels like a lie when you stare for hours at the unseen, unread, unopened message that's staring back at you from your chat with wonwoo. it's almost night, one would think he could text back with a simple thank you after you'd spent half your pocket money on buying him the new character.

or maybe wonwoo is just like all the other boys. what did you even expect? that he'd be rolling over in gratitude after you buy him something he's been audibly craving for for weeks now? that he'd confess his love for you after you stupidly purchase something for him that has no real value?

get out of your damned imaginary world, y/n, you chide yourself mentally as you wipe the lone tear that has begun sliding down your cheek. but it doesn't make sense! after all these months of getting to know wonwoo, you simply can't believe it that he's this heartless that he won't even have the courtesy of replying back after almost an entire day of receiving the gift. and you know it's not an unwanted gift. and you also know wonwoo isn't the type to ghost you either! you'd think he's busy or caught up in something- but you can the little text next to his discord icon showing that he's been online today. then there's really no logical explanation left that can explain this kind of beha-

oh.

of course.

of course! he must have found out who you are. fuck. maybe during the delivery of the character, they must have shown him your email address or something to show them who's send him the gift. and that would be a total giveaway because your email address definitely contains your name. either he's put two and two together and matched princess with y/n, and naturally, instantly felt repulsed by you- hence the lack of response.

or.... (and this is honestly the worse option) he thinks you're just y/n who's sending him a birthday gift that miraculously coincides with something he really wants. oh my god. this really is much worse than the other alternative because now he thinks of you as a creep who can't even meet his eyes in class but must be stalking him and finding out about his gaming hobby.

another slow tear rolls down your cheek, and the phone drops from your hands and crashes down on the tiled floor, the screen cracking from side-to-side.

at this point, you should just drop out from school.

_

but of course you don't. monday comes round, and so does your period. you've never been more thankful for cramps before today. at least it saves you from the embarrassment of facing wonwoo. as you toss and turn in pain on your bed all day, trying fruitlessly to read your study material, your mind keeps going back to one face.

a single, delicately created face, with eyes that look alive. complete with a simple pair of metal glasses, shining against the spots of barely-there acne on two cherub cheeks.

you shake your head and dump your books on your lap. there's no point in this. it's a risk you've taken from the first day when you'd decided to hide from him instead of coming out as your true self. who knows, perhaps he wouldn't have rejected your friendship so blatantly then? instead, you try to sleep. maybe that'll help you feel refreshed.

but oh, you're not even left relieved in your sweet sleep. a single scene keeps replaying in your head as soon as you shut your eyes.

it was the first time you were in a live gaming party with voice unmuted. wonwoo, two of his friends, and two other friends from the common gaming server, smera and roy. he'd convinced you to switch on your mic because it was just friends who you trusted anyway. well, that was just the first mistake.

the second mistake had been, of course, to get comfortable enough with all of them to agree to play that silly truth and dare game. and then one thing had led to another, and a little bit of prodding from smera had ended up with you confessing that if there was anyone in this group who you'd kiss, it'd be wonwoo. if the mortification of that wasn't bad enough, smera had gone ahead and said that she'd even lowkey expected it. and within moments everyone else had forgotten your confession- it was as if they didn't even know how hard it had been to admit it- when rob confessed that he really want to kiss mingyu right now and the group started cheering.

the third mistake, and the worst one, had been staying on call with wonwoo after the party was over. "so you'd kiss me, huh?" he'd asked softly, his voice laced with a grin, as you'd blushed and thanked god he couldn't see you right now in your embarrassed live wire state. "among the others, yes. i don't know the others as well as i know you!" you'd rushed to explain, hoping your voice wasn't quivering as fast as your heartbeat. and then wonwoo had gone silent for a very long time, before saying, "and what if we knew each other outside this world, y/n? would you kiss me then?"

and then you hadn't been able to reply. you'd frozen in your spot, until wonwoo's shy laugh could be heard and he'd resumed the game.

you don't know if you could still reply today. perhaps it's the secret you'll hang for.

_

your excuse only lasts so long and eventually it's wednesday and you make your way out of bed. you've mentally lectured yourself enough times to know all the different things wonwoo might have to say to you and you've armed responses for most of them (although you think you're going to end up running away in almost all of them, forgetting your practiced response in the spur of the moment). your first class in mathematics, and you decide to arrive just a few minutes late so as to avoid any chance of conversation with wonwoo before class.

"oh y/n, you're finally here." your legs falter as you appear at the door of the classroom and find your teacher looking you straight in the eye. "sorry i'm late, ma'am!" "it's okay. i'd thought you'd be absent again." "i wasn't feeling well, ma'am, i'd mailed-" "yes yes i know," she nods her head impatiently. "it's good you came today. you'll have to start tutoring wonwoo from today itself. mid-terms are in two weeks, and i want his level to improve by then." "i thought seori...?" "seori isn't professional enough, from what wonwoo's told me."

it's only at this point that you realise that there's another pair of eyes focused on you in a piercing gaze. you know who it is, and you try your best to avert your glance.

not professional? you wonder what that may mean.

"fix up a timing for the sessions, and please don't disappoint me, y/n." she says the last bit with a pleading tone in her voice, and you wince. "alright, ma'am."

_

all through the class, there's only one thing playing in your mind on loop. you. wonwoo. in the tutoring room. alone. for the next two weeks. fix up a timing for the sessions. don't disappoint me. your lower lip wobbles and you can feel the tears inching in your eyes slowly. expectations. disappointment. aren't you just a disappointment to everyone? to your parents. to your teachers. to yourself.

even to wonwoo.

if you hadn't kept your head down for the entirety of the class, gazing at the sight outside the window, your attention completely unfocused from class, you would've noticed a figure turning to look at you whenever the teacher has her back to the class. but you don't notice him, so you don't realise his eyes fixed on you when you make a dash out of class as soon as the teacher leaves the classroom. you want to escape the inevitable for just another day- defer it, rather. you know it's going to be torture when wonwoo finally accosts you. as you make your way to a corner in the school, a secluded spot near the roof, where you've never seen anyone else going except yourself, a flurry of thoughts float in your head. all thoughts that should ideally deter you from running away. but you do it nonetheless, because you can't think straight. you feel the tangible cloud of these worries clog your throat as you hide in your favourite hideout corner and cover your face with your hands as you feel the fresh wind blow onto your heated skin.

he's going to hate you more now because you're delaying the academic help he deserves, simply because of your stupid nerves.

he's likely going to complain against you to the teachers, how you've taken academic responsibilities casually, and mar your good academic record and rapport with teachers. fuck, that's a further lower chance of getting the LORs you need.

he's also likely going to talk about what a creepy stalker you truly are in your mutual gaming circles, and you'll be ousted from the one safe space, your hobby, the one place where you've felt unjudged, the only place you can be yourself.

fuck. fuck. f-

"how long are you going to hide from me, princess?"

you freeze on spot. the voice is unmistakable, it's haunted your dreams long enough. you can feel a warmth in your periphery and you know he's right behind you. the hair on the back of your neck rise up into goosebumps and you know you've been caught.

you turn around slowly, your eyes fixed to the ground. you see wonwoo's sparkling white sneakers standing close to yours, and in the silence of this secluded spot, you can hear his breathing, slow and steady, completely contrasting your own shallow, frenzied breathing.

"i d- don't kn-know what you're t-talking a-about." you stutter through every word, your skin burning up with the keen awareness of wonwoo catching you red-handed.

"so that's how it going to be?" you can see his toes edge slightly forward, as if he's rocking in his shoes. and then you start to feel slightly less tensed. you start to focus on the tone he's using- it's not particularly menacing. in fact, it's not angry at all. which is surprising because-

"are you mad at me, princess?"

this time you look up, and you're hit with the force of wonwoo's beautiful eyes looking straight at you from barely any distance. with his height, he's easily towering over you, his glasses making his gaze more stern... and yet the way he's looking at you, it's so... soft? how odd that he's asking you if you're mad at him, when truly, it's quite the opposite.

"i sh-should be asking y-you that."

"me?" he tilts his head to one side in query, eyebrows furrowing. "i could never be mad at you."

your voice quivers as you speak the next words, "but you now know who i am."

"and?"

"that's why you're avoiding me!"

"that's true." you take a step back at his words. "so you do admit it, wonwoo?"

"i do. if you're referring to my lack of communication in this last few days, then it is true. i won't blame it on any excuse except my own conscious behaviour."

god. he's going to just say it like that. straightforward. no roundabouts. no sugarcoating. perhaps it's better like that. will save you the pain of hope after the heartbreak.

you look straight into wonwoo's eyes. "i get it, wonwoo. i've disappointed you. and you regret ever making friends with you. because i'm not popular, nor smart, nor attractive. you know how you'd wished if we could ever meet in real life? the truth is, now you're glad you didn't follow along that plan, otherwise you'd regret it terribly."

"i do regret it." he lifts his hand to brush your bangs out of your eyes. you almost jerk at his touch, but it's too gentle. when it gently wisps along your cheek, it feels... almost familiar. how cruel of him to do this before he's going to reject you outright. how cruel of him to give you a taste of heaven before leaving you heartbroken.

"why are you doing this, wonwoo? can't you leave me alone?"

his hand frames your cheek, cupping it barely, and you want to lean into his touch. when his cold palm slowly begins getting warmer through your touch, he speaks again. "i regret not meeting you sooner, princess. or rather, y/n. i regret not following up on that, y/n, because that way you'd never think such mean things about yourself. not just are you being mean to yourself, but also you're being mean to me!"

"to you?" your eyes grow wide, and a small smile plays on wonwoo's lips. "yes. you're not giving me a chance to explain myself. i'm sorry for disappearing on you after my birthday." he pauses, and you just raise your eyebrows, waiting for the explanation he's so desperate to give.

"yes, well. dumb move on my part. but then- i didn't know how to react after you sent that character to me!"

"how did you know it was me?"

"the mail id?"

"yes. damn, yes. i knew it."

he chuckles, "but i knew that you were princess long before that." "you did?" "seungcheol's sister goes to this school, you know? she'd recognised your voice immediately." you gasp at his words, "but you're still not letting me finish."

you take a step back, suddenly reeled back to reality. you try to move your face away from his hands, and his left hand drops from your cheeks, only to grab on to your wrist even as you step away. "i was stupid. i didn't know if you sending me the gift was... just friendly or something more. and just because i feel something more doesn't mean you will reciprocate it."

"what do you mean?" your voice is softer now, glazed with curiosity.

"the reason why i disappeared on you was because i needed time to think my way through with how i wanted to approach this with you. and convincing our math teacher to get you, her favourite student, to tutor me was the easiest way out ever." there's another chuckle, but your mind is spinning.

"approach what with me? wonwoo?"

he takes another step towards you, his hand slipping lower than your wrist and holding your palm now, inches away from locking his fingers around yours.

"i like you, y/n. don't you know that already?"

your mind whirls again, and you blink for a few seconds. "what?!" he blinks back at you, equally shocked. "i thought it was obvious, y/n. do you think i play games with any girl every night? share every life update with any girl every night? can't go to sleep without hearing the voice of any girl every night?"

"won-wonwoo..."

"so tell me now, please. spare me the heartbreak and tell me why you sent me that gift."

it feels surreal, but wonwoo's racing pulse against your fingers makes you realise that he's real. this is real. this is happening. wonwoo likes you.

"of course i like you wonwoo. i even told you i'd kiss you. wasn't that a giveaway enough?"

"you said that because i was the only one you'd kiss in a room full of other friends... but it didn't mean anything!" he's quick to protest, and your heart melts. maybe wonwoo is shier than you'd thought. so you take a step closer to him, and link your fingers into his finally. "well now you know what it means."

_

three bunked classes later, you and wonwoo make your way back to the main classroom area of the school. the rush of adrenaline in your body is insane right now, because you're holding hands with wonwoo. with wonwoo! you don't think you can believe it, so you keep looking down at your hands to make sure its real.

"i wish i'd met you before y/n. i was so desperate to know you more! it was so obvious," wonwoo's low giggles are music to your ears as he leans in to whisper his sweet words. "i thought that's why you kept running away from me." his hand slips out of your lock, and around your waist, pulling you in gently. you gasp at his move, and look around quickly to see if anyone's looking. but thankfully, there's no one in the corridors right now, so you let his hand remain there.

"i kept hiding because i was worried how you'd react on knowing the real me, won." "but i knew the real you already. sight isn't our only sense, you know." "yes, but i'm not-" "i don't care what you're not. there's so many things i'm not. and yet, you say that you like me. so what matters is you and me, don't you think?" you turn your head up to look at him, blushing at the fond look in his soft eyes. you want to hug him, pull him towards you and never let him go. but you settle for leaning closer into his body for now.

"i was promised a tutoring session, you know." he says slowly, as you realise you're both walking towards the isolated tutoring room of the school. it's empty right now, because it's still class hours. "do you want to be tutored now?" you raise your eyebrows, concerned at his wish to break out of this precious moment you're having and instead study. "i want to be in the tutoring room right now. there are no cctvs, see." you spin around to quickly check, blushing at the way he's whispering into your ear. but before you can turn back to him and reply, you feel a wet peck on your cheek, and your body bursts into flames.

jeon wonwoo just kissed you.

"wonwoo!"

"what? did you not like it?" he whispers, slightly alarmed.

"no! just! warn a girl before you do things like this, you know." you try to hide your blush furiously, but fail, as he wraps you into his embrace. "there are no other girls to warn. only you. and i don't need to warn you. because now you know i do things like this." and he leans in again, and before you realise, he's left a kiss on your nose. your heart races as you avert your gaze, and you're both erupting into giggles. "you're really a menace, jeon wonwoo." he cups your face with his hands, looking right into your eyes.

"and you're my princess, y/n."

[partycatty]

Do you write for other characters like bi han or tomas?

i do! i'm just mentally ill over johnny LOL

lin kuei trio > caught

the boys can't keep their eyes off of you! what're you gonna do about it?!

warnings: idk nothing much tbh, i guess a little nsfw at the end of smoke's part but nothing crazy, controversial bi-han take? kuai favoritism <3 & google translate

notes: pretend that bi-han's betrayal doesn't happen for his part. i rewrote this twice bc i kept accidentally clicking on notifs and forgetting to save. third time's the charm :3 also pls admire that i specifically made gifs of each man making eye contact w you teehee

masterlist <3

♡

bi-han >

•let me preface this by saying i heavily disagree with the headcanons of most of his fics. this man is ASS at verbalizing affection, and probably wants a trad wife to serve him. he won't call you "princess" or "doll," and PDA is not his strong suit. he'll love you of course, he just wouldn't show it with flowers and cuddles.

•that being said, all he could do was eye you down as you opened the front door, coming face to face with him, his brother kuai liang, and the fire god liu kang. your jaw opened and closed rapidly, trying to make sense of the two ninjas and man with glowing eyes.

•"uhh, there's no hunky ninja-themed bachelorette party here tonight," you say, raising an eyebrow. "try two houses down. lord knows they're a couple of freaks—" before you could close the door on them, bi-han reaches forward and sticks his foot in the door. liu kang, the primary voice of reason and supposed leader of the situation, asks to enter your home. you don't feel like you're in a position to decline.

•kuai liang wanders your living room, tracing his finger across your shelves and leaning in to inspect your paintings. liu kang stands in front of you, giving you the whole "earthrealm, fire god, tournament, chosen one" spiel, we all know how it goes. but you're struggling to focus, struggling pretty hard actually, because bi-han is literally standing like a statue at your kitchen island a few feet away, his icy glare seemingly stabbing through your skull. perhaps he's just intimidating you into an agreement. it works.

•you really hope that bi-han's staring ends there, but you are a damn fool.

•you train alongside the other recruited earthrealmers, taking a short break when you see a now-familiar trio stroll through the training grounds. yellow, grey... and blue. and even though their destination seems well past your location, bi-han literally could not tear his eyes away from you as you sat under the tree as you try to relieve yourself of the ruthless heat of the sun. he drinks in your damp form, and the way your hair sticks sweetly to your forehead. that is, until kuai liang gives him an obvious playful jab to his side, making bi-han snap forward and continue to lead his brothers, not before shooting him a nasty look. icy frost is noticeable on his fists as he clenches them.

•are you losing your mind? why the hell is the grandmaster of the lin kuei eating you alive with his eyes alone? you try to confide in your earthrealm partners, but raiden shrugs, kenshi's at a loss for words, and kung lao and johnny just laugh boisterously at your oblivious nature.

•finally, you're accompanying the lin kuei trio as they wait for instruction from liu kang regarding the soul stealing beacons. smoke and scorpion sit on the bench while sub-zero paces endlessly. each time he faces your way, he locks eyes with you. what is this guy's deal? it literally looks like he wants to skin you alive.

•kung lao and raiden permit them to enter liu kang's meeting room, and bi-han immediately struts off with a noticeable tinge of pink on his face. as the other two follow, you stop and grab kuai liang's shoulder gently, making him face you with surprised eyes.

•"pardon my hindrance, scorpion," you say with a quick bow. "but your grandmaster has been eyeing me down since as long as i've known him. is... is there something i did? something he is displeased with? i find it quite unnerving."

•kuai liang's face freezes, and then very clearly fights a shit-eating smirk. it's not typical for him to be as amused as he is now, but how could he resist when he could literally see what was going on? he chuckles for a moment.

•"bi-han thinks you'd make a good wife," kuai liang replies, a smile tugging at his lips. "please forgive his harsh expression. he couldn't shake it if he tried."

•with that, bi-han's younger brother turns on his heel and enters the mission debrief, leaving you beet red and suddenly completely understanding the signs after the fact.

•when the trio returns successful, you stop noticing his eye contact, because you're too embarrassed to even glance in his general direction. doesn't stop him, though.

♡

smoke >

•you were an initiate of the shirai ryu following its formation. disgusted by the betrayal of your former grandmaster, tomas and kuai liang beckoned you to carry on a new oath in a new chapter of the close-knit clan. you had not seen them much prior to this, but they didn't think to question your dedication.

•since reforming the clan and being given a higher position rather than a lowly grunt, your uniform changed. the once all-black, full-body uniform became something you could design. you opted for something a little more... breathable. think mk11 mileena.

•shut up i know ninja uniforms are like that for a reason just bear with me

•you decide to debut said outfit at a meeting over tea, strutting in and taking your seat with grace. tomas nearly chokes on his damn tea, a single puff of smoke shooting from his lips as he coughs. he wishes he had his mask on right about now, so he could conceal his reddening cheeks. you, his brother, and harumi look at him with partially perplexed, partially amused glances before moving on, hoping to save smoke from the embarrassment of being confronted.

•every time you leaned forward to point at the map centered on the table, tomas's eyes were glued to you. this poor man doesn't know what to do with himself when you're just so pretty! taking a gentle sip of your tea as kuai liang asks tomas about the new recruit, that hasashi boy, you glance up past the cup and realize tomas is quite literally giving you heart eyes, completely entranced. you chuckle to yourself. it is quite cute when he looks at you like that, lips parted and eyes gentle.

•"grandmaster," you say calmly, turning toward the pyromancer. "it seems your second-in-command missed your question. would you mind repeating yourself?" as you ask, tomas seemingly snaps out of it and tries to conceal his devious thoughts, putting his palm over his mouth and leaning on his elbow on the table.

•kuai liang groans to himself before repeating the question, one that tomas answers quickly and a little anxiously. he flashes you a sheepish smile. harumi giggles and look at the two of you knowingly.

•a long evening of training kicked your ass, and you decided you deserved a good rest in the nearby hot springs. fully confirming you're alone in the moonlight, you strip of your uniform and dip into the hot water. your tense muscles unravel at the warmth and you let out a pleased moan at the relief. the water reaches just above your breasts and you're about to lean your head back and close your eyes, letting the comfort of the water encapsulate you.

•that is, until you see a faint trail of smoke creep out from behind you and dip into the water around you. you smile knowingly, not even bothering to turn around.

•"tomas," you say, a hint of playful displeasure in your tone. "for a ninja, your stealth skills are starting to fall apart."

•your trained ears hear him freeze completely and let out a little gasp. tomas slips out a curse in his native language. now it's time to toy with your food.

•still in the water, you spin around and prop yourself up against the ledge of the hot springs, looking up at him seductively. tomas breaks from his deer in headlights pose and faces you, looking down and trying so incredibly hard to remain focused on your eyes, but it's just so hard when your breasts are right—

•"i've seen the way you look at me," you confess in a sultry voice. "i'm not a blind fool. it's incessant."

•"i-i didn't think you were," tomas stammers out, crouching down to be more eye level with you. "i meant no offense, you're just so... so—"

•"none taken," you chuckle, tilting your head. "were you going to be a peeping tom, or join me, then?"

♡

kuai liang >

•since being recruited for earthrealm's part in the tournament, kuai liang has paid more visits than probably necessary to run into you during your months of training.

•he'd be all like "omg heeeey what are youuuu doing hereeee" knowing damn well of your schedule (i'm lying i'm just in love with this yummy little s'more).

•though he would get into the habit of taking late night strolls around the wu shi academy to clear his mind. it was happenstance that you enjoyed the same habit.

•this man is huge and hunky, giving you comfort and safety as you navigate the moonlit paths of the land. he finds you to be a sweet conversation partner, carrying yourself with elegance and kindness that perfectly compliments his humble, noble spirit. you speak of a passion to fight for what is right, so focused on speaking and gesturing that you don't even realize kuai liang is staring down at you with utmost admiration. his heart warms (more than usual) at what a catch you are — for the tournament...!

•"tell me, scorpion," you speak up, looking up at him with eyes that could melt. "are you the only of your family to harness the power of fire?"

•"it is a long running ability in my family," kuai liang replies, confidently but with a gentle tone. "the methods in which we harness this power are a well-kept secret."

•"even so, scorpions don't burn," you reply quickly with an amused tone, grinning up at the man. you realize he was already looking down at you with a mirrored smile. "what makes you a scorpion?"

•"my strength and sting," he says as if he were reading a script. then again, he's probably been asked this hundreds of times. his brothers were icy sub-zero and hazy smoke, his name didn't exactly fit the narrative.

•as you part your lips to continue your conversation, a gust of wind makes you shiver and you let out a little gasp, instinctively wrapping your arms around yourself. kuai remains unfazed but takes note of your chilliness.

•"are you alright, xiǎo huǒhuā?" he asks with a hint of uncharacteristic concern. your face warms momentarily at the nickname, only to be reminded of the bitter cold with another gust of wind. it wasn't the first time he said that unfamiliar phrase, but you just never thought to ask about it. reflecting on it now, you're realizing it's a pet name. you rub your arms.

•"just... cold," you reply with a trembling lip. "times like these i wish i had your power." for the first time in a while, kuai liang breaks his gaze from you and looks down at his hands, debating whether or not to speak up. he didn't want to push any boundaries with you, as he genuinely enjoyed your presence. still, he decided he's only got one shot.

•"it's a power i'm willing to share," he replies lowly, sticking his hands out palms-up. you look up at him, hesitant about his offer. another gust of wind, harsher this time, pushes on your back and pulls you toward him. you catch yourself on his hands. they're so warm and inviting. they're not necessarily soft, but they feel comforting and... god, so warm. as you sigh with relief, you look up again and realize that, just like every time beforehand, kuai liang was looking down at you with a soft smile. he was just always warm as a pyromancer, heat creeping through his skin no matter the weather.

•you two had successfully broken the barrier of touch, and you continue to walk down the path. kuai holds both of your hands in one of his, the other wrapped around your shoulder and rubbing up and down your arm to keep you from being too chilly. it's a sweet embrace, one that neither of you want to fully unpack yet, but it's a step nonetheless.

•"why is it that every time i look at you, you're already looking at me?" you ask quietly, enamored by his embrace. kuai tenses up momentarily, feeling a little sheepish at the direct confrontation. he soon relaxes after finding the right words.

•"because you're beautiful, xiǎo huǒhuā," he replies gently, squeezing your arm and hands tenderly.

•"what does that word mean?" you ask, face flushed and entire body no longer concerned over the cold.

•"...little spark."

•and so, you two continue to walk down the path in the moonlight, now in his comforting, toasty embrace.

[peace-for-levi]

golden hour

{sometimes i get ideas for drabbles that aren't long enough to be chapters, or oneshots. this was going to be a side chapter/drabble of morgen, but i didn't like where it was headed so i rewrote it. pls accept my garbage, i wrote this in ~45 mins}

cw: i have projected!!!!!! my abandonment issues onto levi lmao. anxiety, trauma, very slight possessiveness (but not to the point it's unhealthy) references to smut from the night prior. so mdni! finale pt. 1/manga spoilers!!!

w/c: 1201

taglist: @levmada @poisonpeche @jayteacups @happybird16 @theferricfox @sckerman @whattheheckmidoriya @notgoodforlife @anlian-aishang @unadulteratedtreecrusade @nelapanela94 (i honestly forget who's in my taglist??)

Levi Ackerman doesn't know peace. He is a man most acquainted with strife and sacrifice.

The void left in his heart after the Rumbling is gaping and steep. It pulls him into the dark, with little hope of anything good ever happening. Maybe he doesn't deserve it; maybe he isn't meant to have nice things. That's what the cynical side of him says. But then again, cynicism was all he ever had. Negativity, doubt... As a soldier, he always had to err on the side of caution.

So the idea of you laying in his arms, flush to his bare chest, is something so foreign to him. Levi can hardly believe his eyes.

Sunlight filters through the windows, casting rays and lighting up the room. Shining on you, he finally takes you -- and all your wonder -- in and he breathes easy.

He pulls you closer. Where is the next threat? When, even?

This is too good to be true.

You stir in his embrace and he relaxes, allowing you to fidget and stretch as needed. Your dewy and damp hair from last night clings to your forehead. Dirt doesn't repulse him too much anymore, he thinks. Well, not if it's you. He flicks the stray hairs dangling in your eyes away, and blows the rest away gently. Now he sees you.

He gasps when you smile in your hazy state, snuggling closer.

"Mornin'," you sigh.

"Mm." He doesn't mean for it to come across as a grunt. "Good morning. Sleep well?"

The gravelly baritone of his morning voice sends shivers down your spine. "Ohhhhh yeah."

It would be hard not to sleep well after last night, but he will stay on alert. He had his night of fun. Now it's time to get back to business. But what business does he have left? The teashop? It's closed today. Maybe cleaning the kitchen. Oh wait, you did a spring clean of it last night.

He sighs, heavily. It's hard to go from always having a task to do, to nothing at all. He can't lose his edge, it's too soon. It's barely been a few years. If he loses his edge, what happens then? What if you slip through his fingers? What if you realize that your time could be spent elsewhere, fulfilling whatever dreams you may have?

Not that he'd stop you, it's just…

I just don't have anyone else, he thinks, selfishly.

He must stay alert and aware all the time. He gave into desire last night when he could have been doing something more productive. If you continued to see how good he was, you'd continue to need him, hopefully. He needed you to rely on him, to need him, so that way, you'd always come back to him and you'd be in his life.

"You're shaking."

He's snapped out of his toxic train of thoughts. "Hmm?"

"When you tense your muscles, though it's faint, you shake, and…" you lean in closer, ear to his chest, "well, I feel it a lot more since I'm right next to you."

He sweeps his hand to cradle your head, wanting to keep you there.

"Sorry, guess I'm just…"

You peek up at him. "Just what?"

"Tch… Just forget it."

You blink owlishly. Sheesh, you only wanted to open a line of communication with him. But even after all those years, even when (an unsteady) peace between Eldia and Marley was established, he keeps his walls up. He doesn't know that it's okay to start taking down those bricks, however slow or long it may take him to.

The birds are chirping a song outside, perched on the sill. You smile softly, listening. "Do you hear them?"

"Yeah."

You try to wiggle out of his arms. "Relax, and listen to them. They're trying to talk to us, maybe." You search for his eyes.

"Yeah, they say you need a shower."

Despite his joke, his pupils are trained on the door into the hall of your shared apartment. The poor man, is all you think; a tortured soul who's not used to reprieve and doesn't know how to accept the rest he deserves. Always on the lookout.

You shimmy out entirely of his grasp and sit up. Though faint, you don't miss the bit of resistance he put up. You purse your lips in thought. Coax him out of it. That's always been your go-to method of trying to get him to open up.

A small nudge in the right direction.

"Last night was fun."

He had started to hum with the birds up until then. He peers back and he turns fully to face you. "Good, I'm glad. I feel the same."

"So feel it," you insist. "I think you don't allow yourself to enjoy the nice things in life."

He scoffs, in denial. "I'd hardly consider this a pleasant "morning after" experience."

"Not when you keep yourself so guarded and cagey, no."

Whatever scoff or smirk he tried to force fell flat. He averts his gaze, sensing a lecture. But when you move to ruffle his slowly thinning hair, his milky and grey eyes find yours. You smile sadly at the grey hairs you spot.

"I'm fine, I'm okay, Levi. You don't need to worry about me, ever. So rest. It's just us, now."

He scoffs, again, and turns his back to you. You flop down and trace the pads of your fingers over his muscles. You trace every scar and blemish; every cut and piece of skin so torn, it can hardly repair itself back to "normal."

He's always been the most human of the lot, and the most scarred (in more ways than one.) He carries the scars with him. The anguished fallen, the courageous subordinates he never got to apologize to. He carries them with him. Like how he carries his former squad, Erwin and Hange.

"Put down your swords now, Levi, the war is over. Take off the armour, too, that shit gets heavy."

He swallows thickly. "What about you? What if you're ever in danger? With my body like this, I ca–"

"Leave the sword at your feet, then. Pick it up when you need to," you soothe. You lean down to kiss him. When his shoulders creak, you giggle. "See, you're getting old! We should resting now."

I just can't be alone. Not after everything that's happened, he thinks.

"'We'," he parrots. "What about when you get bored living with a cripple?"

What will I do when you leave me?

"Well, no one else can make Sunday morning pancakes like you!"

He smiles for the first time now, his lips curling with bliss. He has to internally fight the urge to tense. "Don't make it out that pancakes are an achievement… Then again, I have never seen someone so god-awful at flipping."

He rolls onto his back now. You lower a hand to his scarred, pallid cheek. You smooth a thumb under his milky eye. As gently as you can manage, you sink back into his arms.

"So as long as you'll have me, I won't be leaving any time soon."

You don't miss the thick swallow and the trembling lips.

"I'm staying right here, 'Vi."

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ rbs and comments always appreciated!! ♡

[h4sanz]

ichor.

pairings: nikolai gogol x f!reader

warnings: smut, roleplay, hints of primal prey, intense knife and blood play, dumbification, degredation, name calling, brat taming, impact play, dacryphilia, manhandling, bondage, major consensual non-consent, hints of dub con

word count: 1.4k

a/n: started writing this late 2022 and finally finished LOL. deleted and rewrote this SO many times, but finally got a result i liked ;)

your heart is pounding in your chest as you hear footsteps approaching. they still for a moment while you try to breathe as quietly as possible so he doesn’t hear.

you almost let out a sigh of relief when you hear those light footsteps again as they fade away. holding your chest with your hand, you use the other to quietly push the door open.

“there you are.” you freeze. but he walked away… is all you can think as he slowly steps towards you. you whimper when you feel the cold steel touch your lips. “you think you can hide from me? hm, you really are stupid.”

“k–kolya.. wh..” you’re cut off by the white-haired man shushing you, a finger against the grin on his lips. tsk, tsk, tsk. you never seem to learn, he thinks, jotting down a mental note to go over his rules again, later.

anxiety courses throughout your entire body, leaving you paralyzed. you knew better than to try to fight back, the man’s ability rendering any sort of attack from you useless; and that’s just how he wanted it. a monster: what every person who’s had some sort of encounter with him seems to think about him. the silence is tense, dragging out the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach whilst nikolai… enjoyed it? the disdain on your face amuses him; and that thought makes you sick, knowing he is getting off on your terror.

a loud cackle makes you shiver in fear, your eyes snapping towards his humored face as he throws his head back. “ah, even if you’re stupid, you’re still the most adorable human i have ever come across,” nikolai comments as he takes notice of the way your thighs just ever-so-slightly squeeze together. the knife glides across your lip, scraping towards the apple of your cheek. the glimmer of the steel shines in your eyes, the reflection of yellow irises barring into you.

wincing, your face scrunches up in pain at the sharp sting on your face, a trail of blood beginning to fall as you hold in a cry. a burning sensation then takes over, the feeling of wetness sliding along the bright red mark on your portrait. “who knew blood could taste so good..” he remarks, now dragging his finger over the wound, gathering the blood on his fingertip before rubbing it against his thumb.

nikolai begins writing on the other side of your face, the letters messy and almost unintelligible due to the messy ink. ‘mine.’

fingers are shoved into your mouth, a metallic taste clashing with your tastebuds. a moan slips out of your throat and through his digits, just barely loud enough to make him throb between his legs.

when he pulls his fingers from your wet cavern, he picks you up and throws you over his shoulder before making his way towards the room. you thrash against him, kicking your legs and banging on his back while sobbing out soft pleads for mercy. “kolya! pl–ease.. don’t, i promise i’ll be good!” you beg once he reaches the entrance to the room he’d gotten made specially just for you. “baby, i promise i won’t do it again. please don— ah!” a cry shatters out of you as you hit the ground with a deep thud.

you quickly scramble to sit on your butt, your arms holding you up whilst staring at him with tears in your eyes. “i don’t remember saying you could talk, let alone tell me what to do.” he lifts his shoe to rest on your crotch before deeply pressing down. a shiver crawls up your spine when the metallic blade suddenly appears against your throat, pressing into the skin, but not hard enough to pierce it. “the more you act like this, the more difficult it’ll be for you.”

“m’ sorry, kolya.”

he laughs at the whimper that falls from your lips as you apologize, crouching down to forcefully make you face him. “i know, darling. but you still need to be dealt with accordingly.” you’re once again being hoisted up onto his shoulder, hanging lifelessly in defeat.

it feels like hours before you’re dropped onto the leather doctor’s office-like chair. you beg nikolai with your eyes one last time, causing him to shoot you a dirty look as if to say ‘don’t you dare’.

you don’t even notice you’re fully strapped down until you reach to feel the cut on your skin, hands and ankles bound to leather cuffs. “no use trying to get them off. there’s no where to run.” he clearly finds pleasure in being condescending, always making sure to assert his dominance and position of superiority over you.

the tip of the weapon trails along your abdomen, inching closer and closer to your to your core, stopping right below your navel.

the steel spins, the tip digging into your skin ever-so-slightly just before it trails even lower, aiming for your thigh. it digs down, causing a prick of blood to bubble up, then gliding it across the expanse of your upper leg, leaving a thick trail of your ichor. you scream out in a pained cry, your whole body tensing. this cut is much deeper and larger than the previous one on your cheek, the pain almost unbearable.

“oh, what a wonderful view. however, i bet the sight of you coming because of our mixed blood would be absolutely delightful, my kryhitko.” suddenly, the knife scrapes across his fourarm, the delicious blood dripping directly onto your cut.

fingers then trace the fresh wound of yours, smearing the fluid around the perimeter. the now drenched appendages make their way towards your pulsing core, slowly beginning to draw up and down your folds. you hate how wet you are—how turned on you are because of the heiness acts the white haired clown is committing.

“you seem to be enjoying this almost as much as i am,” he smirks at you before slowly inserting his fingers. they softly graze the walls of your core, the slightest amount of pressure making you twitch. gliding in and out of you, they curl ever-so-slightly, reaching towards your g-spot. nikolai begins to rub slow circles on your clit, in a massage-like pattern. he’s mesmerized; the color of your blood and slick combining look so delicious on his fingers; the way you flutter when he applies pressure on your most sensitive spot; the lustful look in your eyes as he works wonders on your body–all of it. he’s absolutely enthralled with you. and the way you so gracefully murmur his name helps not one bit.

the sound of your cunt fills his ears–one of the greatest sounds he’s ever heard, to tell the truth; everything about you drives him wild. the closer you get to release, the louder your pants and whines get. when you start to buck your hips up towards him, he slows his pace but continues to go even deeper inside of you.

you’re getting close to your release when he stops, removing all hands from you.

when he sees the pout in your eyes, he looks at you mockingly, “aw, so close, weren’t you?—well you know the rules. no coming until i say so, dove.” a sigh falls from you, almost like a groan, but your face stays still, knowing if you look at him a certain way, things will get ten times worse for you.

once your breathing has calmed, pleasure begins to start building up once again, harsher than before.

and then—

it’s gone: again.

his torture continues for what feels like hours to you: bringing you to the brink of release, then removing all contact from you. you can’t even remember how many times he’s done this, already, but it’s got to be at least more than five.

your impending orgasm begins to build up, urging you so, so close until it storms over you like a tsunami. your eyes are blurry, scrunched up in fixation whilst your whole body convulses due to the pleasure. words spill from your mouth, like ‘sorry’ and ‘please’. however, your mind is still just barely conscious enough to realize your fate; your fate that is in the hands of a clown, a man who loves tormenting more than anything. and for a moment, his smile quivers in ire.

“oh, my sweet dove,” he coos softly into your ear, feigning sympathy; although irritation discernible in his voice.

the apologies coming from you slip right past him. you think you deserve forgiveness? absolutely not. and he’ll be sure to help you understand that.

sorry abt the shitty ending (◞‸◟) but if you made it here , thx sm for reading !! tis my first (fully completed) one shot ;> so feedback more than welcome! feel free to dm with any tips :]

© h4sanz 2024

[niki-phoria]

pairing: leon x male!reader (he/him pronouns) genre: fluff/slight angst/comfort word count: 18.0k

warnings: canon typical violence, blood, mentions of needles/stitches, leon gets shot, cursing

includes: re2 leon, i rewrote the entire re2 game with a self insert lmao, maybe slightly ooc ada (she's nicer to leon and reader than in canon), not 100% canon compliant but i did my best, thinking about making a ver of this for re4 skdldns, this is barely proofread apologies for any mistakes, PLS NOTICE THE TLOU REFERENCE

a/n: someone wrote a poly aeon x reader fic and i'm obsessed with that idea now

requests open !! read my rules first

you shove your body underneath the door, desperately trying to escape the oncoming hoard of zombies running at you. the sliding door slams down just after you make it through. you aren’t given any time to catch your breath when a man’s voice catches your attention. 

despite nearly being crushed just seconds before, you force yourself up on shaky knees and run towards the sound. “god damnit!” 

“watch out!” another man yells. you recognize him - lieutenant marvin branagh. 

you turn the corner just in time to watch marvin bring the door down on the zombie’s head. you flinch a little at the noise of the man’s skull cracking before the door shuts with a final slam. 

the man marvin saved pants as he sits up, moving to lean back against the wall. marvin has a hand pressed against a wound in his abdomen. he braces himself against the metal of the door as you rush over to him. “lieutenant!” 

“y/n,” he sighs. “you shouldn’t be here. it’s not safe.”

“what happened?” marvin simply waves you off as you turn your attention back to the man he saved. messy blonde hair frames his sharp features. his breathing has evened out as his eyes continuously switch between you and marvin. 

“thanks…” the man says. 

“marvin branagh.”

“leon kennedy,” he sighs. “there was another officer; i… i couldn’t…”

marvin shakes his head. “i’m sure you did what you could, leon.” he glances back at you before gesturing to leon with a shake of his head. “let y/n check you out. he’s a doctor.”

you breathe in a shaky sigh as you nod. “come on,” you reach your hand out for leon to help him up. “that bite on your neck looks bad. let me see if i can help.”

leon accepts your hand with a nod. marvin limps over to a nearby bench, grunting as he leans back against the seat. despite your growing concern over his condition you focus your attention on the man in front of you. 

he sits down on a gurney you had previously helped set up during the first few days of the outbreak when you didn’t know exactly how bad it would become. “here,” he whispers, handing you his flashlight. 

“thanks,” you reply, using the light to search through the mess of medical supplies lying around. most of what you brought was forgotten in the chaos - hundreds of helpless people begging for help, thousands of zombies attempting to break into the precinct, watching officers you had come to know as friends die in the most horrific ways you could have ever imagined. 

you gather up just enough gauze, bandages, and antibiotics to treat leon’s neck as quickly as you can. blood has spread into the fabric of his shirt underneath his jacket. the wound is deep - deep enough to need stitches. you let out a small sigh at the realization. 

“is something wrong?” leon asks. 

you nearly flinch at how gentle his voice sounds. after weeks of screaming and crying being the only real interactions you had with people, the mundaneness of his question is a welcome change. “yeah, it’s just… you need stitches. the bite goes from your neck to your shoulder. i need you to take your shirt off.”

leon’s face flushes a deep red immediately. it’s almost cute how he immediately blushes at the prospect of having to strip in front of you. you set the flashlight down to illuminate the room around you as you turn your back to search for a suture kit. 

you wait until the sound of rustling clothing stops before turning back to face leon. the way his blush has extended from just his neck and cheeks to spread fully across his cheeks makes you stifle a small chuckle under your breath. he looks up at you with a questioning glance as you shake your head. “sorry. it’s been a while since i’ve flustered someone this much.”

you pull a glove onto your hand before tilting leon’s face away so you have full access to his neck. he winces a little when you press the gauze against it. “have you ever gotten stitches before?”

“no,” he whispers. his voice is slightly strained, likely from the harsh pressure you’re applying. 

“okay,” you nod. “i’ll try to be as quick as i can.”

you pause when leon reaches up to grab your hand. his touch is gentle as he wraps it around your wrist. icy blue eyes stare up at you. “can you… talk me through it? it helps.”

“of course,” you nod. leon smiles slightly at you as you turn your attention back to the bite in his neck. “right now i’m holding gauze to stop the bleeding. then, i’ll disinfect the area to prepare it for stitches. after i finish the stitches, i’ll wrap it with a bandage. you’ll need to take antibiotics for at least a few days. besides the… zombies, you were bitten by a person. you can’t let this get infected out here. we don’t have enough supplies to treat it right now.”

leon takes a shaky breath as he nods. “easy enough, right?”

despite his thinly veiled sarcasm, you can immediately tell how nervous he is. you reach over to grab his trembling hand before gently squeezing it. “you’ll be just fine, leon. i promise.”

“okay,” he whispers. he squeezes your hand back before softly smiling at you. 

you shift to get a better angle of the wound, gently pulling the gauze away from his neck. leon watches you open the suture kit and prepare the needle. “it’s gonna be okay.” he nods, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath as you start. your hands are gentle against his skin as you carefully weave the needle through his skin to carefully patch up the wound. the tension in his shoulders slowly relaxes the farther along you stitch until you finally tie it off.

“okay,” your voice cuts through the silence as leon’s eyes flutter back open. you press a bandage against his skin to cover the fresh wound before moving to throw the needle away and take your gloves off. “we’re done.”

“that’s it?” 

you chuckle at how surprised he sounds as you move to sit beside him on the gurney. “that’s it. just be careful for a few weeks until the stitches heal and try not to move your shoulder with any quick movements.”

“thank you,” leon smiles. something about the simple gesture flusters you despite him being a stranger you’ve only had a few interactions with. he silently reaches over, taking your hand into his once again. “do you know any way to get out of here?”

“this place is a repurposed museum. eliot said there are some tunnels underneath it that should lead outside.”

“eliot,” leon repeats the name. he turns to reach into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small, bloodied journal. he opens it to the bookmarked page before handing it over to you. “there was another officer. he said this would get us out of here.”

inside are messy sketches spread across two pages. on the first is the goddess statue in the middle of the station is drawn on the left side, complete with a view of the tunnels leading down to the basement and the parking garage. on the next page were three different statues with little symbols drawn underneath them. blood coats the edges of the pages. “well, unless you have another plan, let's hope this works.”

“let’s go then.”

leon is careful as he tugs his shirt back over his head, followed by his jacket. you do your best to remain silent as you follow behind him. his gun remains raised as you carefully search through each room, picking up handgun ammo and other spare parts whenever possible. “do you know where the medallions might be?”

“no,” you sigh as you shut the door of an office behind yourself. a fake plant sits in the corner, next to a cheap, beige couch and a large mahogany desk; likely belonging to a senior officer. “the city told people to come here if they needed help when the outbreak first began. they sent a group of doctors out here just before people started showing up in hoards. i’ve spent the past few weeks patching up officers with bites or scratches and praying the zombies don’t find me.”

you both jump when there’s a loud crash against the window. leon is quick to grab his gun, raising it in front of his body as he steps closer to it. “stay behind me,” he whispers. you nod as you step back away from the cracked glass, hand reaching into your pocket to tightly grip the combat knife eliot had given you when the zombies first began invading the precinct. “use it wisely,” he had said. “save who you can save.”

the snarling becomes louder as the bangs against the window increase in volume. leon cocks his gun when the glass shatters before firing two shots into what used to be a woman. her body slumps forwards against the remains of the wood as you let out a shaky sigh of relief. 

“it’s okay,” leon whispers. you nod, following him further into the hallway. the only light comes from the moonlight breaking through the windows and the flashlight leon has. it’s not much, but it’s better than stumbling around in the darkness. 

“hey,” leon’s voice interrupts the silence. he uses his flashlight to gesture to a lion statue in front of you. it’s sitting in the middle of the main hallway, facing towards the entrance. it’s paw holds a shield up with a golden slide in the center, contrasting against the bronze it was made of. in front of its base is a puzzle with three slides. “this is where the first medallion is, right?”

you step closer to lean over leon’s shoulder. the first symbol in eliot’s notebook is a crude drawing of the same lion statue and three symbols drawn underneath it. “it looks like it.”

leon shines the light on the journal page as you step forwards to slide the puzzle into place. he chuckles when you grimace at the grime coating the metal. 

the statue moves once you input the correct code. a red medallion is pushed out from the golden slide. it feels heavy in your hand when you carefully pull it out from its resting place. “one down, two to go,” leon remarks. you follow him down the steps to the goddess statue, placing the medallion into the first circle at the statue’s base. the concrete shifts in response, opening to reveal the beginnings of a railing. 

“huh,” a cough interrupts your awe. 

“lieutenant,” leon gasps. you’re quick to rush to marvin’s side, though he pushes your hands away when you attempt to help him. 

“don’t, y/n,” he rasps. “i’m a dead man walking. have been for a long time.” you purse your lips as you step back, giving him space. leon kneels down next to him; eyes occasionally drifting from the blood on his side to his face. marvin pulls out a combat knife - a similar one to the knife eliot gave you - before pushing it into the man’s hands. “take this. use it.”

“lieutenant, i can’t-” 

“that’s an order, rookie!” marvin cuts him off with finality. he lets out a shaky breath as he lays back down against the wooden bench. “save yourself. don’t make my mistake.” 

your eyes remain fixated on the slow rise and fall of marvin’s chest until it eventually comes to a stop. your shoulders fall as you step forwards, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “leon,” you whisper. “i’m sorry. he’s gone.”

leon glances back at you with teary eyes before turning back to marvin. you kneel down beside him as you reach over to close marvin’s eyes. you wrap your arm around leon’s shoulders, gently coaxing his body closer. “i’m so sorry,” you repeat. leon lets out a shaky sigh before he throws himself into your arms. he buries his head into the crook of your neck; his hands clinging onto your shoulders as if you’ll disappear the second he dares to let go. you wrap your arms around his waist as you rub a gentle hand against his back. tears sting against the skin of your neck, soaking into the fabric of your t-shirt. 

“i’m sorry,” leon chokes out. he pulls away from you, furiously wiping the tears away from his cheeks. “we need to keep moving - there are more medallions we need to find-”

“don’t be sorry,” you whisper. his breath hitches when you raise a hand to gently wipe away the tears that continue rolling down his cheeks. you pull him back into a hug as leon cries against your chest. “it’s all gonna be okay. i promise.”

time seems to stall as you sit there with leon in your arms. the ground beneath you is cold and uncomfortable and you’re keenly aware of marvin’s body behind you, but you let yourself forget everything as you hold him. the zombies, eliot’s death, marvin’s death; none of it matters as you feel leon slowly relaxing in your arms. his sobs turn to sniffles and his hands stop trembling. 

leon takes a deep breath as he pulls away, wiping his hands against the dried tears on his cheeks. a part of you is saddened by the loss of warmth, though you push that feeling away as soon as it arrives. “let’s get out of here,” he whispers. 

you nod, reaching over to grab leon’s hand. he gives it a reassuring squeeze as you walk along the balcony before making your way into the library. the dust nearly makes you sneeze, though you suppress the urge as you search through it. the staircase in the corner is broken. fragments of wood are scattered on the floor. it cracks with each step you take. “those bookshelves are on wheels,” you gesture. “we can push them together and use that ladder to make it up to the second floor.”

“alright,” leon whispers. he holsters his gun once again before grabbing the edge of the first bookcase. it shakes under the weight as you use your body weight to force it to move. it slams against the rest of the cases, causing a flurry of dust to fly out. you cough, waving your hand in front of your face in an attempt to clear the air. 

“guess they didn’t read much,” you mutter under your breath. leon chuckles, reaching over to pat your shoulder. you’re nearly embarrassed at how such a simple gesture causes a mess of butterflies to erupt in your stomach. you turn away in an attempt to hide just how flustered you are, focusing on the next bookshelf in the line. 

“it was nice of them to leave a ladder,” leon remarks as you set it against the cases. it’s old and doesn’t feel sturdy when you put your weight on it, but you don’t have any other option. it creaks a little underneath your weight. 

“don’t worry,” leon says as he moves to hold it steady. “i’ve got you.” you nod, carefully climbing up until you reach the top. the wood is even dustier; though you ignore it in favor of holding the ladder still for leon to climb up after you. 

you stumble slightly when you stand up, though you’re swiftly caught by a gentle hand against your waist. “careful,” he whispers. 

“thanks,” you chuckle. leon’s light blush is visible even in the darkness as you follow him across the unsteady surface until you make it across to the top. his hand ghosts against your hips longer than necessary, though neither of you mention it. 

the unicorn statue is in the lounge right next to the library. the already grand room looks even bigger in the darkness, complete with ornate wall details and arches lining the ceiling. the statue itself is similar to the lion - the unicorn stands tall on a rock with a hoof resting over a shield. the same slider puzzle remains at the bottom. 

leon slides eliot’s journal back over to you as you repeat the same process of inputting the code. you wipe the grime off on your jeans as the statue slides open to reveal the second medallion. “nice job,” he smiles. 

you bite back your flustered smile as you pocket it. “thank you.” leon reaches over to grab your hand as you make your way back down the stairs to the goddess statue in the main hallway. the second medallion exposes more of the underground staircase when the concrete shifts around even more. 

“there’s a clocktower on the third floor of the building,” you say. “eliot told me they use it for storage; something about old pieces in the museum they couldn’t get rid of. i think the last statue is up there.”

“okay,” leon smiles. “let’s go find the clock tower, then.”

you retrace your steps up the grand staircases to the second floor. he guides you through the winding hallways of the station until you find the armory. lockers line the room filled with miscellaneous boxes of ammo and spare hip pads. leon uses a spare part to fix the keypad before using it to type in the codes to a few lockers. you take the time to look around, searching through the room for anything else that could be considered useful until a shotgun on the wall catches your attention. “leon,” you call. he wanders over from where he was standing. you pull the shotgun down from the wall before handing it over to him. 

“w-870,” he murmurs. he pumps the gun once before flipping it in his hands. “nice.”

“do you have any shotgun shells?”

“there are some in here,” he says. “start saving anything you find.” 

you nod, pocketing a few more boxes of handgun ammo just in case as you follow him out of the armory. you walk back into the stars office, searching around for a few minutes. 

the room is filled with a few desks sitting back to back. papers lay on the floor, likely thrown around in the chaos. a board in the middle of the far wall catches your attention. a bulletin board and a few group photos surround it. 

“stars?” leon reads. you jump slightly at the sound of his voice from beside you. “sorry,” he whispers. you shake your head, turning your attention back to the group photo on the wall.

“special tactics and rescue service,” you elaborate. “they were the first people sent out when the virus first hit. i know someone on this team.”

leon hesitantly brings a hand up before resting it on your shoulder. you take a breath to calm yourself, letting the fearless persona you’d been forced to create falter for a second. “i’m sorry,” he whispers. you bite your lip, willing the tears in your eyes to disappear. 

leon reaches over, pulling you into a hug. the warmth of his body against your own feels comforting. you let yourself relax against him. the weight of everything you’ve been through hits all at once. you wrap your arms around his shoulders, letting out a shaky breath as he rubs a gentle hand against your back. 

it feels like you spend hours standing there, clinging to a man who was a stranger yesterday. leon brings a hand up to rest against your cheek when you pull away. he rubs his thumb against your skin as he tilts your head up to look at him. his piercing blue eyes seem to lure you in - daring you to step closer and make the first move. your breath hitches when his hand falls to wrap around your neck, pulling you back into his chest. he presses a kiss against your forehead before you pull away completely. 

“thank you,” you whisper. leon simply nods, though he doesn’t move away at all. you softly smile at him before turning to the door. “there’s a staircase just outside the armory. it should go up to the third floor.”

he reaches over to grab your hand, gently squeezing it in his. you intertwine your fingers together as he returns your smile. “let’s go, then.” 

you nod, following leon through the seemingly never ending hallways. the staircase leads back to another hallway and a storage room. the dust makes you cough when you push the door open, making him chuckle beside you. “shut up,” you mutter. “i have allergies.” 

“just don’t sneeze on me, okay?”

“well now i have to because you’re being so snarky,” you tease. 

leon playfully gasps, placing a hand over his heart. “you wouldn’t dare!”

“the punishment fits the crime, rookie.” you squeeze his hand before you let go, letting the moonlight illuminate the stuffy room as you look around. 

“hey!” leon calls as he follows you inside. “who are you calling ‘rookie?’”

you stifle a laugh as he walks in behind you. the final statue stands surrounded by debris. thick, iron bars block your access to it. “there it is.”

“there has to be a way to break into there,” leon says. 

you nod, using your foot to kick some of the debris out of the way. “there’s a detonator,” you murmur, kneeling down to pick it up. “do you have a battery?”

“yeah,” he whispers, searching through a few pouches until he finds it. “here.”

you pause before fully inserting the battery, turning to look at him. “leon.”

“yeah?” 

“it’s a bomb. you should step back.”

“oh, right,” he whispers. you stifle a chuckle as he steps back until he’s standing against the wall. you push the battery into place before pressing a button to start the timer. it lights up, starting the countdown at 10 seconds. 

you set the bomb down on the debris before rushing over to where leon is standing behind the wall. he angles his body so it’s just barely in front of yours as the bomb clicks until finally exploding with a loud boom. dust fills the room once again, rising into the air in big clouds before it slowly settles on the ground. you turn away to cough as leon waves a hand in front of you to clear some of it away. “what happened to our deal?” he jokes.

“we agreed that i’d sneeze on you. this doesn’t count.”

“i’ll keep that in mind, then.” you chuckle as you follow leon forwards. you help him push the rocks out of the way, exposing a small, open area in the bars. “careful,” he whispers as you crawl through the gap. 

the maiden statue is similar to all of the others. she has one hand raised, the other resting against her hip near the medallion. the puzzle is even dirtier than the others - a layer of dust and grime coat each of the symbols until they’re nearly incomprehensible. “read the symbols out to me?” 

“it’s… a woman’s face, the bow and arrow, and the snake,” leon lists. you slide each one until the concrete slides to expose the final medallion before stepping onto the base to take it, flipping it in your hands. 

leon reaches out to help you stand after you crawl back through the hole. “thanks,” you whisper. he simply nods, intertwining your fingers together once again. 

“let’s get the hell out of here.” leon refuses to let go of your hand as you make your way back down to the main hall of the station. you follow him down the grand staircase until you reach the goddess statue. he gives you a nod of confirmation before you slide the medallion into place. 

the concrete slides for the final time as the statue twists to reveal an old metal door leading to tunnels below. the paint has chipped and rust coats the bars. darkness seeps up from the basement below. it looks ominous, even when leon shines his flashlight down the staircase. he squeezes your hand as you slowly begin creeping down the steps. 

the staircase leads into a large, somewhat cozy room. a large desk sits in the middle of the room surrounded by bookshelves on all sides. leon looks around for any spare ammo as you look around the tunnel. the small hallway leads to an old elevator. “leon,” you call. “there’s an elevator.” 

“it must go down to the basement,” he hums. “i saw a map in one of the storage rooms. there are a few holding cells down here.”

“lead the way,” you gesture. 

you follow leon down another set of staircases farther into the basement. pipes and old wiring line the ceiling as you walk along the unsteady metal grates. it’s eerily silent as you continue on; the only sound is your footsteps echoing along the concrete walls. 

“y/n,” leon’s voice cuts through the silence. he gestures to a shelf blocking your way, moving to the side to make room for you. “help me out with this.” 

you lean against the doorframe on the other side, using your body weight to push the shelf out of the way. it slams against the wall with a loud crash. “good work,” leon pants. 

your response is cut off when something else hits against the side of the wall. you flinch back as a monster barrels through. it reaches out with a sharp claw, pushing against your chest and shoving you down onto the floor. 

“y/n!” leon yells. from your position pinned underneath it you can see more of it’s body structure. it’s a man - or the remains of one. his torso has been taken over by the virus, leaving exposed muscle and bone in the place of skin. it shoves your body back against the grates until they fall apart. your body hits the ground hard as the zombie tumbles down beside you. 

you scramble to your feet as leon jumps down, shooting it away from you. “leon,” you rasp out. every part of your body aches as you flip onto your knees. your chest heaves as you attempt to catch your breath. 

“don’t worry!” leon yells. his voice sounds distant. gunshots continue to ring out, accompanied by howls from the zombie. “i’ll lead it away! just stay there!”

you grit your teeth, forcing yourself to stand. the world spins around you but you force yourself anyway. your hand tightens around the handle of the combat knife eliot gave you as you follow the noise of the scuffle. metal scrapes against metal as the zombie swings a piece of broken pipe towards leon. an eyeball poking through the muscle catches your attention. “the eye!” leon yells, shooting at its iris. “aim for the eye!”

he grunts when the zombie reaches out and grabs him. you take the opportunity to run towards it, digging your knife into the creature’s eye as far as it will go. the zombie howls as its body shakes. you jump down off of its back as it collapses against the ground - finally dead.

“y/n,” leon rushes over to you. you let him pull you to your feet. his arm wraps around your waist as you lean against his body, grateful for the support. “god, are you okay?”

“i’m fine.” your attempt to wave him off fails as he guides you over to rest against the wall. leon brings a hand up to cup your face, tilting your head back and forth to check you over. “i’m a doctor,” you chuckle. “i’m okay. i promise.”

leon stares into your eyes for a few seconds before he sighs. you wrap your arms around him as he brushes a hand against the dirt on your cheek once again. “don’t ever do that to me again,” he whispers. 

“as long as you don’t either.” he chuckles dryly as you reach out to take his hand into yours once again. you intertwine your fingers together as you stand back up. his arm remains firmly around your waist as you continue on. it’s a comforting feeling: despite all you’ve been through, you’ve done it all together. 

you let the world around you fade away until leon’s voice catches your attention. “that must lead to the parking garage,” he says. a metal ladder is bolted against the wall. he uses his flashlight to expose a sewer grate just barely visible at the top, blocking your view from seeing outward. “are you gonna be okay climbing up there?”

“leon,” you chuckle. 

“right,” he smiles. the metal feels cold against your hands as you grab onto the first bars, carefully making your way up. you push up against the metal sewer cover, pushing it out of the way and exposing more light from above. 

“it’s safe!” you call down to leon, pushing your body fully out of the tunnel. he nods, quick to follow you out of the tunnels. 

leon’s face flushes slightly when you hold a hand out to help him stand. “thanks,” he whispers. you simply nod, intertwining your fingers together once again. “there’s a gate over there.”

“let’s go then.” 

the machine has an empty space for a keycard. he sighs, cursing under his breath. “we need to find a keycard somewhere.” you jump when a low growl echoes from behind you. leon is quick to grab his gun as you turn, now face to face with a rabid dog. 

“leon!” you yell when it jumps out. it pins him to the ground as it barks, teeth gnashing as he tries to fight it off. his gun scrapes against the floor in the chaos. 

“y/n!” your hands tremble slightly as you move on instinct, reaching over to grab his gun and firing at the beast once. the shot is enough to knock it off of leon as he scrambles to his feet. you flinch when another gunshot rings out, echoing along the parking garage walls. 

“nice shot,” a woman calls. her heels click along the ground as you stand on shaky legs to face her. her tan trench coat has been tied around her waist to accentuate her strong silhouette. a big pair of black sunglasses hide her eyes as she circles around to face you. 

leon moves to stand in front of you, keeping his gun fixed on her. “who are you?”

“fbi,” she says, nonchalantly raising a badge. leon relaxes slightly, nodding at you before holstering his gun. he reaches over to grab your hand as you follow after her. 

“leon kennedy,” he introduces. “raccooon city police department.”

“ada wong.” she pauses to remove her sunglasses, looking at you. “and him?”

“y/n l/n.” 

she simply hums in acknowledgement, turning on her heel. “surprised you made it this far.”

“hey! what’s going on here?” leon yells after her. 

“do yourself a favor: stop asking questions and get the hell out of here.”

“wait!” leon’s questions fall on deaf ears as you watch the woman disappear into the darkness behind a few abandoned cars. 

you place a gentle hand on his shoulder, gently pulling him closer. “are you okay?”

“i’m fine,” leon sighs, reaching over to grab your hand once again. he falters slightly under your unrelenting gaze. his icy eyes meet yours once again as he softly smiles. “i promise.”

“okay,” you nod, squeezing his hand. 

“the holding cells should be near here,” leon says, gesturing to the other side of the parking garage. “hopefully we can find a keycard somewhere in there.”

“lead the way.”

leon chuckles as you follow him around the corner and down yet another hallway. you pass through a heavy door into a room filled with various areas that are marked off with thick, iron bars. you bite back the bile in your throat when you step over the corpse of an officer and continue further into the jail. 

“at least there’s power down here,” you murmur. leon chuckles beside you as you continue searching through the different cell blocks. 

you jump when a zombie bangs against the bars next to you. leon is quick to react, raising his gun and stepping in front of you. you both let out a small sigh of relief when the bars hold. though the zombie’s attempts to grab at you are futile, leon turns back to check on you anyways. “are you okay?”

“yeah,” you whisper. “i’m fine. just a little startled.”

“hello?” a voice echoing through the hall catches your attention. you follow leon as you run towards the sound. you find a man sitting alone in the cell. he’s wearing a jean jacket and a parking keycard badge hangs from a lanyard around his neck. “you’re human.”

“how long have you been in here?”

“long enough. are we… the last ones alive?”

leon steps a little closer to the bars. the man’s face is illuminated by the moonlight shining through the window behind him. “no, there are a few more of us.”

“oh, thank god,” he sighs in relief. “that’s good news. unless irons sent you, of course,” he sarcastically chuckles.

“chief irons?” 

leon glances at you as you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “is he still around?”

“who cares! hopefully he’s somebody’s dinner by now. he’s the bastard that locked me in here!” the man pauses to take a drag from his cigarette before throwing it to the side. “i was about to blow the whistle on his dirty ass. i guess i would’ve done the same thing.”

footsteps echo from down the hallway catch your attention. “leon,” you whisper. 

“listen! i’ll make you a deal,” the man pleads. “there’s no other way out of the parking garage! believe me!” 

“i… i should talk to the chief first-”

“come on! don’t be an asshole, okay?” the footsteps slowly grow closer as you reach over to grab leon’s hand, pulling him farther back away from the bars. the man raises the keycard. “just get me the fuck out of-”

you jump when the man screams as something breaks through the brick walls behind him. you watch in horror as the man is lifted into the air and dragged along the side of the wall until his skull cracks against the brick. his body falls to the floor limp. dead. 

“oh my god,” leon whispers. 

you both jump at the familiar sound of heels clicking along the hallway. leon raises his gun towards the darkness before ada steps back into view. “put that away. it’s just me,” she says. 

“i don’t even know what happened, he just… it was all so quick.”

ada curses, crossing her arms over her chest. “i told you to get out of here. you wouldn’t want to end up like him, would you?”

“wait, you knew him?”

“he was an informant to my investigation.”

“so it’s true? chief irons is dirty?”

ada simply rolls her eyes, turning on her heel once again. “find a way out of here. then we’ll talk.”

“ada!” she ignores leon as she continues walking away, back up to the parking garage. 

you walk over to the panel on the wall, opening the hatch to inspect it. the wiring inside has nearly been completely fried; the jail must have been forgotten in the chaos. when the power went down in the rest of the building, the wiring failed. leon sighs as ada disappears down the hallway before he turns back to you. he steps over next to you to look at the panel over your shoulder. “what are you thinking?”

“the cells must be electronically controlled. if we can figure out how to turn the power back on, we can open the doors and grab the keycard.”

“okay,” he nods. “do you know how to fix it?”

“no, but i’m sure i can figure it out. i’ve done a lot of things i’ve never done before tonight,” you let out a bitter laugh as leon raises his flashlight to illuminate the wires. he reaches over to squeeze your hand into his once again as you carefully begin to weave them around each other until they’re connected around each other correctly. 

the cell door opens with a loud shriek of metal scraping against metal as it slides open. “good job,” leon smiles. 

“thanks,” you whisper, following him into the cell. leon pauses when he goes to grab the parking pass from around the man’s neck. “what is it?”

“there’s a recording device,” he says, pulling it out of the man’s pocket. he clicks it on as he raises it so you can both hear the words clearly. 

“...i just find it way too coincidental that umbrella’s one of the benefactors.” you recognize the reporter’s voice, even through the grainy recording device. 

“you told me this interview was about the new scholarship umbrella set up,” a woman replies.

“come on, annette, nobody cares about that! they wanna hear about the g-virus and-”

“where did you hear about that?”

“-and that big fucking sinkhole in the city! which, by the way, rumor has it, it goes straight into your underground lab!”

“lab?” leon murmurs. 

“this interview is over.” the tape ends with the sound of annette slamming her hands against the table and a door slamming shut. the reporter lets out an aggravated sigh before it ends with a small click.

“maybe that’s why the fbi is looking into this,” you say. leon pockets the recorder quickly before handing the parking pass to you. “umbrella is a pharmaceutical company. i remember there being a big controversy about them dumping chemical waste into the ocean or something.”

“sounds like something the government would be interested in,” he hums in agreement. “let’s get out of here.”

you retrace your steps out of the jail and back into the parking garage. you pause when the ground below your feet shakes before the wall beside you crumbles. you both gasp when a giant man easily breaks through the wall. his skin is an unnatural gray color. he towers over you as he silently knocks you back into the wall before grabbing leon. 

“leon!” you scramble back to your feet when the headlights of a swat car light up. the engine revs once before the car begins picking up speed, slamming head on into the man and knocking him back into the wall. 

you run over to leon’s side as he coughs in an attempt to catch his breath. slowly, his gasping relaxes until his lungs are no longer heaving for air. he  lets you help him back up to his feet as ada steps out of the car. 

“this is getting old. saving your asses - that’s twice now!” 

“i didn’t realize we were keeping score,” leon rasps. 

“this isn’t a game!” leon pulls you behind him when something moves from underneath the rubble. he curses under his breath as he raises his gun in the direction of the noise. ada nonchalantly takes a remote out of her pocket, pressing a button that makes the car explode into flames. “nothing dies down here. i take it you have the keycard?”

“i do. and this,” leon says, tossing the recorder to her. “would you happen to know anything about that?”

ada barely glances at it before pocketing it herself. “maybe… after i hear it. now, come on. let’s get out of here.”

you shrug when leon gives you a questioning glance. ada’s heels echo along the road of the parking garage as you follow her. you insert the pass into the card reader of the machine until it shines a bright green. the shutter creaks as it slowly begins moving upwards. 

the parking garage opens to a small hill that takes you back into the city. a light drizzle of rain makes you shiver as you follow ada across the empty street. “what are you doing out here, anyway?” leon asks. 

“getting more info on the people responsible for this mess. and what about you? trying to save the world?”

“i told lieutenant branagh i’d bring help.”

ada scoffs. “good luck getting that.” she sighs when you reach the edge of the sinkhole. the ground has opened to reveal part of umbrella’s lab the reporter mentioned on the recording. ada turns on her heel once again, turning to look at the store behind you. “going through that gun shop looks like the only way.”

a neon red sign shines brightly in the otherwise dark city street. ada kneels down to pick the lock before pushing the door open. leon catches it, holding it open for you as you follow her inside. the shelves have been knocked over and rubble is all over the floor. you follow leon as you search through the mostly empty store. 

“don’t move!” a man yells as he shoves the barrel of a shotgun in your face. you carefully back away, holding your hands up. “i said don’t fucking move!” 

“okay,” you whisper. leon follows your lead, holstering his own gun. “okay. we’re not gonna hurt you. just put the gun down.”

the silhouette of a young girl catches your attention from the corner of your eye. her breathing is raspy. “sir, i think your daughter needs help,” leon begins.

“don’t tell me how to deal with my daughter!” the man yells, pumping his shotgun. 

“drop it!” ada yells as she steps out of the shadows. 

leon is quick to pull you behind him before raising his own gun once again. “y/n, back up,” he orders. you glance at the man’s daughter once again before obeying, slinking back behind a shelf. 

“step aside. we need to terminate her before she turns,” ada says. 

“‘terminate?’ that’s my fucking daughter!” 

“ada,” leon whispers. “just let them be.” he glances back at you, nodding as a gesture to return to his side. 

“emmie, i told you to stay put,” the man whispers. he kneels down to wrap his arms around her, though she doesn’t react at all. instead she stares straight ahead, still raspily breathing. the man sniffles as he looks over his shoulder at leon. “you’re a cop; how did this happen?” 

“mommy?” the girl whispers. 

“mommy’s sleeping,” the man reaches over to pat her back. he kneels down, lifting her up into his arms. “and i’m gonna put you to bed too, okay?”

you let out a shaky sigh as they disappear behind the door. leon reaches over to grab your hand, squeezing it when a single gunshot echoes out. “you okay?” he whispers. 

“yeah,” you nod. you let the comfort of leon’s hand in yours calm you down. “i’m fine. let’s go.”

leon intertwines your fingers together as ada silently leads the way out of the shop. “ever heard of umbrella? they’re a pharmaceutical company secretly making bioweapons. they made a virus - it turns people into indestructible monsters.”

“that explains the zombies,” leon murmurs. 

“that’s why i’m looking for annette birkin,” ada continues. “she’s responsible for unleashing the virus. i’m going to bring her down.” she leads you down a set of metal staircases until you reach the opening of a sewer. 

“you don’t have to be here,” leon leans over to whisper to you. “i know this has been… a lot.”

you squeeze his hand in yours - a silent promise. “i’m not leaving you. not now.”

“okay,” he whispers with a soft smile. 

“after you,” ada gestures to the sewer opening. 

“thanks,” leon replies sarcastically. you do your best not to grimace at the smell as you follow after him. “at least there are lights in here.”

the sewers are a large, dark, seemingly never ending tunnel. your shoes do little to protect your feet from the water lining the bottom. they make you feel stuffy and claustrophobic despite the space around you. leon’s hand still remains tightly in yours. he occasionally glances back to look at you; to check on you, you suppose.

“i can’t imagine a lab being down here,” leon remarks.

“according to hq, this should lead right to umbrella’s secret facility,” ada replies. 

“but the sewers are owned by the city. how could they have an entire working operation without anyone knowing?” he asks. 

“welcome to corporate america.”

“umbrella’s controlled the city for years,” you say. “i’m sure it wasn’t that difficult.”

“he’s right,” ada sighs. “let’s just get this done.”

you follow leon through the winding tunnels until a stream of light catches your attention. the shadow is broken up by the bars of a gate. 

you freeze when something passes by. it almost looks like a giant lizard or an alligator. it’s steps shake the ground and splash water in its path. “what the hell…” leon whispers. 

“stay sharp,” ada says, looking over your shoulder. you carefully back away from the bars as its footsteps slowly grow further away. “god only knows what else is down here.”

“she’s right,” leon whispers, squeezing your hand. “stay close to me.” you nod, continuing to walk through the tunnels. 

“this way,” ada instructs. she leads you down a set of stairs to a new part of the sewers. your steps echo against the metal grates you walk on until you reach the edge. “it’s not too late to turn back, you know.”

“no chance,” leon says. “i’ve got to see this through.”

leon grunts as you both jump down into the water below. its ice cold temperature makes you shiver slightly as you wade through it. the water nearly reaches up to your knees, soaking completely through your shoes and staining your jeans. 

you wave off leon’s concerned glance with a small nod as he looks up at ada. “you sure this is the right way?”

“unfortunately.” she pauses when the ground begins to shake underneath you. the water splashes up as the footsteps of the beast grow closer. the noise echoes lowly as the monster slowly grows closer. 

you jump back when something emerges out of the water with a loud snarl. “jesus christ!” leon yells. the water drenches you as giant jaws snap in your direction, pushing you further back. it’s teeth glisten, even in the dim light.

“get out of there!” ada yells from above. “now!” 

you reach over to grab leon’s arm, pulling him along with you as you start running. the monster is quick on your heels as it uses its head to push trash out of the way in its pursuit of you. the water continues to rise the further you run. it soaks through the thin fabric of your t-shirt as you do your best to wade through it. 

the monster snarls as it lunges forwards at you. you push trash out of your way with your right hand as you tug leon alongside you with your left. he curses when he nearly trips, clinging onto you a little more. 

“get down!” you yell. your voice cuts through the chaos. you shove leon down with you as you duck underneath a pipe blocking your path. he’s quick to follow your lead as the beast runs into it mouth-first. flames erupt when its teeth puncture the metal. 

leon only lets go of your hand long enough to raise his gun. “duck!” he yells out before firing a single shot at the pipe. you brace yourself for the explosion, hiding your face behind your hands as the force of the blast ricochets through the tunnel at you. 

it’s strong enough to knock you off your feet as you hit the water below. the world feels like it’s spinning and your ears ring as leon reaches out to help you up. “are you okay?” he asks. 

you cough violently as if it’ll be enough to ring the water out of your lungs. leon supports you as he gently pats your back until you manage to catch your breath. as soon as it feels like you can breathe again you wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a hug. he’s quick to react, rubbing a hand against your back to help calm you down. “it’s okay,” he whispers. “i’m here. i’ve got you.”

you stifle a small laugh when he presses a kiss against your forehead. despite the less-than-ideal circumstances, it makes butterflies swarm all throughout your chest and stomach regardless. “leon! y/n!” ada calls down from above. she kicks a metal ladder down to allow you to climb up. “get up here.”

you’re quick to obey, following leon up. the metal feels cold against your skin, though you bite back your complaints. ada leads you into an elevator, silently leaning against the wall. “so, let me get this straight: umbrella sells monsters like that to… who? the military? somebody else’s?”

“they don’t sell the monsters, they sell the viruses that make them. scary as that alligator was… annette is far more dangerous.” the elevator leads into another small, stuffy room. a few tanks and wiring line the walls. 

leon pushes the door open, leading into umbrella’s underground lab.

a blonde woman is kneeling on the ground, inspecting the remains of a human corpse. the sleeves of her white lab coat have been pushed up over her elbows. “this is definitely william’s handiwork,” she whispers. 

you hang back as leon raises his gun at her. “hands where i can see them!” he instructs. 

“annette birkin!” ada is quick to follow, stepping even closer as she raises her pistol. 

“she’s who we’re looking for?” 

“not much time…” annette mutters to herself as she stands. 

“we’re here for the g-virus!” ada interrupts. 

annette dryly chuckles. “that’s not gonna happen.”

“i’m warning you, doctor!”

“oh, yeah?” annette raises an eyebrow as she pulls something out of her pocket. she lights the corpse beside her on fire before turning on her heel and running away.

“stop!” ada yells after her. 

“ada!” leon pushes her out of the way when annette fires in her direction a few times. he grunts when he hits the ground. the metal grates clatter underneath the weight. you’re quick to rush over to leon’s side, kneeling down beside him. 

“you’ll never get the g-virus!” annette yells as a concrete door slides shut behind her. 

“didn’t expect that from a scientist,” ada whispers. 

“don’t worry about me,” he rasps. “stop her before she gets away.” 

you curse as you press your hands against the wound on his shoulder. “go,” you say. “i’ll take care of him.”

she purses her lips, glancing back down at leon before nodding. “here,” she whispers, taking off her trenchcoat. “take this.”

“thanks.” she simply nods in acknowledgement before rushing off in search of annette. 

leon coughs when you press down on his shoulder harder. “i’m sorry,” you whisper. “i need to stop the bleeding.”

he forces his eyes open as he looks up at you. “y/n,” he whispers. he brings a hand up to gently wrap around your wrist. “you should go.”

“we’ve made it this far,” you whisper. tears sting at the edges of your eyes, threatening to fall until you force them away. “i’m not leaving you now.” you bring a hand up to cup his cheek, brushing your thumb against his soft skin. icy blue eyes stare back up into your own as you softly smile down at him. “just let me take care of you.”

leon relents with a small nod, finally letting go of your wrist. he grunts when you rip the fabric of his uniform to expose the wound. “it’s not deep,” you whisper - more to yourself than leon. “you won’t need stitches.”

“that’s good,” leon grunts. his eyes flutter closed as a shaky breath escapes him. you reach over to grab ada’s trenchcoat, digging through the pockets in hopes of finding anything useful. to your relief, you find a wad of bandages. you move quickly as you wrap them around leon’s shoulder. he winces with every movement you make as you mutter continuous apologies each time his eyes squeeze shut or he twitches. 

“okay,” you whisper, tucking the edge of the bandage underneath itself to tie it in place. “i’m done. you’re okay.”

leon wraps his arm around your shoulders as you move to help him sit up against the wall. his hand wraps gently around your wrist, tugging you back to his side when you try to pull away. “y/n,” he whispers. he softly smiles when his eyes meet yours. his face is flushed a light pink. it makes you smile slightly when you notice it. “thank you.”

“of course,” you nod. an unspoken tension falls between you as leon’s hand moves up to cup your cheek. he rubs his thumb against your skin before gently pulling you in a little closer. your breath hitches when his eyes fall from looking into your own down to your lips. 

you lean in even further until your foreheads are just about to rest against each other. leon’s hand falls from your cheek down to your jaw, pulling you in even closer. “y/n,” he whispers. you can barely hear him over the sound of your own heart racing. he glances back up at your eyes. “can i kiss you?”

you subconsciously lip your lips in lieu of a verbal response. leon’s ears burn a deep red as you lean down to pull him into a sweet kiss. 

leon brings his hands up to wrap around your shoulders. you move in sync together until you finally pull away for air. you stare down at him with a soft smile as you catch your breath. “i think i have feelings for you,” you whisper. 

leon simply smiles, pulling you back down into another kiss. his thumb traces along your jawline when he pulls away. “i think i have feelings for you too.”

he pulls you down so your forehead is resting against his. you’re careful not to touch his shoulder as you shift even closer, leaning further into leon’s touch. his arms wrap around your waist, keeping you close against his chest. 

you fall into a content silence together for a few minutes. the only noise you can hear is occasional splashing water from what you assume is another giant alligator and leon’s breathing just above your ear. you can hear his steady heartbeat against your ear. his hand slips underneath your t-shirt to rub random little shapes against your skin. his touch sends shivers all along your spine, though it’s a welcome change from the frigid air.

“leon?” your voice is quiet when you break the silence. he simply hums in acknowledgement, shifting slightly to look down at you. “we should go look for ada.”

“yeah,” he agrees, though neither of you make any attempt to move. neither of you are willing to give up the momentary peace. not yet.

it’s only when you force yourself to sit up, pulling away from leon’s arms that he reacts. his grip around you tightens slightly as he whines. “kiss me before you go?”

“why don’t you come with me? besides, you’re the one with the gun.” leon chuckles as he takes your hand, letting you pull him to his feet. “just watch the shoulder. and neck.”

“of course,” he nods. “now come on. let’s go find the lab.”

the hallways feel as never ending as ever as you begin searching through them. miscellaneous pipes crawl all along the wall as you make your way through. leon sighs when you come to a dead end. the concrete stops off, leading back into the tunnels of the sewer. “guess the only way from here is down.”

“i guess so.” leon jumps down first, splashing into the water below. he grimaces as the disgusting smell and feeling of cold water spreading up the fabric of his pants.

he turns, holding his arms out to you. “come on. jump.”

you raise a questioning eyebrow at him. “jump? seriously?” 

“of course i’m serious,” he says. “i’ve got you.” 

with one final glance down at the water below you take a sharp breath and take the leap. leon catches you in a bridal hold easily; his arms supporting your weight under your knees and against your back. once the fear of falling wears off you wrap your arms around his shoulders, smiling at him. “thanks,” you whisper. 

leon simply shakes his head, leaning in to pull you into a quick kiss. “anytime.”

he carefully lowers you into the freezing water, taking your hand into his once again. the tunnels break off into two separate areas, each leading further into the maze. “well, left or right?”

“let’s go right. it looks more promising.” 

the tunnel leads back into yet another concrete staircase that finally leads into umbrella’s lab. you silently pocket a cassette tape from the ground as leon uses a spare part he found to bring part of an elevated walkway down. it moves smoothly as it lowers to where you are before clicking into place. 

it leads into yet another small room, this time somewhere within umbrella’s lab. files are scattered across the floor. a desk sits against a panel-covered wall. a small table sits in front of a lone chair. on the other side of the room is a thin metal railing that blocks you off from an area below that stretches along the entire wall. 

the sound of groaning echoing throughout the room catches your attention. you follow leon as you rush over to look over the railing, squinting to see into the darkness. just barely visible amidst a pile of rubble is a woman - ada. “we need to find a way down there.” 

“let’s make it quick,” leon agrees. 

a small brown table resting against a different wall catches your attention. an old tv sits beside a seemingly abandoned vcr. “hey,” you whisper, gesturing to the tv. you insert the cassette into its opening before pressing play. 

the tv immediately lights up with static for a few seconds before the video plays. the camera shows the tilted view of an opened briefcase as a man pleads in the background. it glitches even more as you watch his hand come into frame, reaching for the briefcase before someone steps in and kicks it away from him. “please… stop,” the man recording whispers.

“over here, you freak!” a different voice screams. the standing man leans down to grab the briefcase, knocking its contents onto the floor before something pushes him against the wall. you barely recognize it as one of the zombies through the grainy recording. “don’t hurt him… don’t hurt him!” the first man pleads. you squeeze your eyes shut when the zombie effortlessly kills the pinned man. the camera tilts as a small rat comes into frame before the zombie’s foot comes into view and the cassette ends with even more static and a click.

“the virus,” leon begins. “i’ll bet those rats spread it.” 

“let’s worry about helping ada for now.” he hums in acknowledgement as you continue searching through the lab. 

the first room leads into another dull, similarly sized room. it’s just as messy as the first, though there’s no equipment inside. a bulletin board hangs on the wall, coated in different flyers and reminders for staff meetings, passive-aggressive complaints, and messily scribbled notes for various different experiments jotted on post-it notes. 

“y/n,” leon calls, pulling your attention away from the wall. you silently follow after him as you make your way to yet another moving walkway. the metal creaks loudly as it lowers down before finally clicking into place. 

you jog across the platform until you reach a cable car entry. the machine beeps with denial as an automated message plays. “id wristband required for cable car entry.” 

“where the hell are we gonna get one of those?” leon mumbles.

“we could always… steal one.”

he stifles a chuckle as he turns to look at you. “you’re gonna steal in front of a cop?”

“that depends,” you step closer to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “are you gonna arrest me?”

leon smiles as he leans in to pull you into a quick kiss. “not if you keep kissing me like that.”

“let’s go break the law, then.” you chuckle as you pull away, tugging leon behind you as you walk back down the steps.

the inside of the lab doesn’t feel any less winding and endless than the sewer tunnels. thin metal railings block off various areas as you continue on. 

a metal door slams shut behind you as you enter yet another room. various papers and broken glass crinkle underneath your feet as you step closer to look around. what would normally be just another part of your routine process quickly changes when sparks ignite from something nearby, lighting a fire on the ground below. you cover your face with your hands as the flames burn brightly, threatening you if you dare to get too close. you freeze when the ceiling above you shakes. pieces of the drywall begin to crumble, raining down on you. “y/n,” leon whispers. his hand reaches to grab his gun almost instinctively. “run!”

you flinch when something breaks through the ceiling. a claw glimmers in the light of the flames. it effortlessly tears through the drywall, piercing another hole downwards. 

“leon!” you yell. he grunts when the flames grow, ducking down to avoid yet another attack from the monster above. you force your way through the smoke to reach out and grab leon’s arm, pulling him with you out of the room and towards safety. 

your lungs burn and your legs ache as you force yourself to keep running. the monster slashes at the metal railings behind you, though you don’t dare to turn around. “it’s still alive?” leon yells. you flinch when a particularly close swipe from its claws nearly hits you. 

the hallways eventually lead to a large, orange storage container. you’re quick to jump down onto the lower platform, ignoring the way the metal rattles underneath your feet. a big metal controller catches your attention. random pipes and wires are connected to the back, leading to yet another cable car. it’s controlled by two big buttons on either side of a few miscellaneous smaller ones in between. 

leon pushes down on the left button, bringing the machinery to life. the monster chasing you snarls, undeterred by leon’s bullets or the container slowly swinging out of the way. the same singular eyeball you saw on the other monsters blinks open on the zombie’s shoulder blade. 

“y/n, the button!” leon yells over the gunfire. the zombie lets out a high pitched squeal of pain when he lands another shot directly into it’s eyeball. you’re quick to rush over, pushing down on the second button. it lights up a bright green as more machinery starts moving. 

“leon!” you yell, reaching over to pull him back away from the metal container slamming into the zombie’s side. it’s claw scrapes against the metal grate you’re standing on in an attempt to hold on. leon rushes to your side, tugging you back behind him as the container finally knocks it off of the edge. 

it hits the ground below with a loud crack that echoes for a few seconds afterwards. after a few seconds of silence, you let out a small sigh of relief. “are you okay?” leon asks. 

you glance over the edge into the darkness. slowly, the adrenaline coursing through your veins relaxes, leaving a horrible fear in its place. it spreads across your chest, holding your lungs hostage. “i’m fine.”

“no you’re not.” leon steps closer to place a gentle hand against your cheek. “hey,” he whispers, tilting your face so you’re looking at him. you long for the way everything about him feels so confident. strong. fearless. 

“breathe, y/n,” he whispers. you nod, slowly forcing the air into your lungs at a steady rate. you do your best to follow leon’s exaggerated demonstration until the sinking feeling goes away. there are no monsters hiding in the dark. it’s just you and leon. 

he pulls you into a hug, letting you lean your body weight against him. he presses a kiss against your forehead, rubbing a gentle hand against your back. you let yourself fall into a comfortable silence just until your hands stop trembling and your heart rate returns back to a steady beating. 

“thank you,” you whisper, finally pulling away. 

leon simply shakes his head, reaching over to grab your hand once again. “ready to go?” 

“yeah,” you nod. 

you step over the destruction left in the zombie’s wake, making your way to yet another metal door. it unlocks with a small click before opening into another larger room. a large lever is flipped upwards next to a giant sliding door. you walk over, flipping it down so the light shines a bright green instead of the previous red. 

you slip underneath the metal, finding yourself in what looks like a trash chute. “ada?” you call out as you begin to search through the rubble.

“over here!” you quickly run in the direction of the sound. you find her sitting on the ground with a piece of metal lodged in the center of her thigh. you kneel down beside her, hands ghosting against her thigh. “i can’t get it out,” she sighs.

“it’s not in too deep and it didn’t hit the bone,” you mumble. “you won’t be able to run or fight on it but you should be okay.” 

ada’s eyes remain fixated on the metal as you hesitantly wrap your hand around it. “y/n,” she smiles softly when you look up to meet her gaze. “just do it. i’ll be fine.”

“okay,” you whisper. “try to relax. it’ll hurt less.” ada nods, looking away when you gently hold her leg in place with your hand before pulling the metal out in one smooth movement. she winces before letting out a small sigh as she relaxes. you toss the metal aside as leon reaches into his pocket. 

“here,” he says, reaching over and pressing a bandage against the bleeding wound. your hands are gentle as you wrap it around her leg a few times before holding a hand out to help her up. “you did great. get someone to prescribe you some antibiotics as soon as we get out of here.”

“thanks y/n,” she whispers. “you should go. both of you.”

leon furrows his eyebrows before shaking his head. “i’m not leaving you. not like this.”

“you don’t understand. the situation is worse than i thought. we might not make it out of here.”

you give a slight nod of confirmation when leon glances at you before you turn back to ada. “you’re not getting rid of us that easily.”

she scoffs but relents, pushing off of the wall. her first few steps are unsteady but you resist the urge to reach out and help her, simply following her lead instead. “let’s go then. we have to get to the nest.”

“nest?”

“umbrella’s lab. right beneath us. annette let it slip. that’s where the virus samples are.” ada glances at leon before turning back to you. “you’re sure you’re up for this?”

“we’ve made it this far,” you dryly chuckle. “no turning back now.”

“come on. we’ve got work to do.” leon’s hand slips back into yours as you follow ada up a flight of stairs. “the cable car will take us down to nest. this wristband’s our ticket to ride.”

true to her word, you follow the path up directly to a small, white cable car. ada sits down on the uncomfortable metal seat at the edge of the car as leon pushes a few buttons on the control panel. it jolts slightly when it begins moving as an automated message begins playing through the speakers. “this train is designated for nest. do not exit until you have reached the final destination.”

“i was thinking, i’m glad you’ve been investigating this,” leon says as he begins pacing around the moving car. “i can’t wait for the fbi to raid umbrella’s headquarters and bring those bastards to justice.”

“i agree, but, to be clear, you’re not working on official capacity here. this is a federal case. once we get the g-virus i’ll be back on my own.” ada sighs. “look, i’m a liability now. the only way i’ll be able to finish this case is with your help. both of you.” she pauses to slip the bracelet off of her wrist before wrapping it around yours. “here. you’ll need this.”

leon gives you a slight nod when you turn back to glance at him. “okay.” his hand slips back into yours before you pause, turning back to ada. “stay safe.”

she stifles a chuckle before nodding. “you too.”

the cable car exits off into yet another hallway. you step off onto a platform in between two flights of stairs. the only visible lighting comes from small led lights installed in the floor along the path. a giant umbrella logo is on the wall beside the car.

“are you ready for this?” leon asks. 

“yeah,” you squeeze his hand. “let’s go.” 

the stairs lead to yet another door; this one blocked off by a scanner in the middle. a blue screen in the center is marked with a single line that matches the bracelet on your wrist. it chimes with a small confirmation when you approach. a banner reading “access granted” lights up across the screen as an automated message plays: “for your safety, stand clear until the doors are fully open.”

it slides upwards, just slightly ahead of another door behind it to reveal what looks like the reception area of umbrella’s lab. the light above flickers as soon as you enter. the same umbrella logo is on the wall behind a curved reception desk lit up with strips of led lights and complete with a fake plant on the edge. “welcome to nest,” the same automated message plays. “enjoy your visit.”

you push a metal door open before hanging back just enough to let leon use his flashlight to lead the way. boxes are stacked up against one of the walls. blood smeared against another wall catches your attention. a messy handprint stains the white metal, complete with a pool of blood on the floor. it slowly descends down the wall until stopping completely. 

an uncomfortable feeling of dread begins to nestle itself in your chest, though you’re quick to push it down. you turn into another smaller room. it’s filled with what looks like the remains of an office. a table has been flipped over, leaning against a nearby wall. blood coats the floor just in front of two bodies. 

leon glances back at you, watching as you silently slip out of the room. you lean back against the wall as the snarls of zombies are swiftly cut off by gunshots. 

“y/n,” leon calls. when you reenter the room even more blood and bodies cover the floor. you swallow the bile in your throat down as he gestures to a corner of the room. the only thing visible in the darkness is a fake plant in the shadows. “there’s a ladder over there.”

“do you want to climb up first or should i?”

leon glances up into the darkness for a few seconds before letting out a small sigh. “i’ll go. do you mind holding the light up?”

“yeah, of course.” the flashlight feels heavy in your hand when you take it. it’s bright enough that you can see splotches of water damage on the ceiling above. 

leon pauses for a second once he reaches the top - waiting for something to jump out at him that doesn’t come. once he’s determined that the coast is clear, he leans over to look at you. “it’s clear,” he calls down. “be careful. it’s a little tight up here.” 

“okay,” you whisper to yourself. the metal is cold against your hands; clanking against the wall it’s attached to with each movement. 

the ladder leads up to a vent. cables covered in a thick layer of dust surround you. it’s stuffy and claustrophobic as you shift onto your knees. the metal grates that make up the floor dig into the exposed skin of your hands. your knees ache. each rustle of clothing and every movement echoes throughout the vents as you crawl through. 

the vents lead into yet another hidden part of the lab. leon jumps down first, setting the flashlight down before he reaches his hands out to you. “i’ve got you,” he smiles. 

you stifle a small laugh as you maneuver your body before jumping down. leon’s hands ghost against your waist as you reach out to steady yourself against his shoulders. “thanks,” you whisper. he simply nods with a small hum. 

the room is a small kitchen. an unclean stove rests against the wall complete with a freezer next to it. leon takes the flashlight once again, raising his gun as you slowly begin searching through the rest of the lab. it illuminates another smear of blood against yet another curved wall. he effortlessly shoots down another zombie in your path before you continue on. 

the hallway splits off into two different paths: an area restricted to people with level two clearance and an area with level one clearance. the door slides open as soon as you approach. there are a few panels on the walls with exposed wiring. leon walks over to check one while you gravitate towards a window near the side. a small, glowing chip is stuck between two of the destroyed blinds. 

you hold it in your fingers, flipping it to check it over. it’s thin - only a few millimeters in size. you tug the bracelet off of your wrist, removing the blue chip and replacing it with the new green one. it slips into the band of your bracelet with a small click. “you find something?” leon asks. 

“i think i just got us area two clearance.” you flip your hand out to show him, exposing the glowing microchip. 

“nice job,” he smiles, leaning over to press a quick kiss against your cheek. “there’s an area two door back there. we should be able to get in with this.”

the area two door slides open with the same small hiss as soon as you approach. it leads into yet another set of hallways, each blocked off with its own set of doors. you circle back around through the winding hallways until you reach the reception area once again. the lights flicker on when you enter and the same automated message plays. 

“okay,” leon sighs, pushing open yet another door. “i wonder where the g-virus is.”

“if i was hiding a super secret virus that turns people into indestructible zombies i would put it somewhere confidential. you know, behind one of those doors deep in the facility.”

“you’re probably right,” he hums. you exit the reception area back into the central area of the lab. you step up onto a small platform. a machine is at the edge, shining with a small, green led screen that reads area two. leon steps back as you reach your hand out to press the button. it emits a low whir as it begins moving; a platform rises up to meet where you’re standing. 

leon kneels down beside a corpse laying against the railing. he’s sitting in a pool of blood wearing what looks like a military uniform. he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small voice recording. “y/n,” he calls. you lean back against the railing as he clicks play letting a grainy recording play. 

a man’s voice is the first to come through. “alpha to ghost. target moving to the west area. must be going to retrieve the g-virus and arrival agent.”

“this is ghost. understood. rendezvous at point w-3.” the second man’s voice is deeper and raspier than the first man’s. 

“roger.”

there’s a small lull before their voices come through again. “this is alpha. arrived at destination.”

“understood. stand by for target.”

the recording skips for a second before continuing. “this is alpha. got eyes on the target. he’s going to open the safe.”

“roger. awaiting the signal.”

“got eyes on the g-virus.”

“we’re going in…”

the tape becomes even grainier for a few seconds. something rustles in the background before someone speaks again. “doctor birkin, you’ll come along with us quietly.”

it skips once before it ends with a small click. leon pockets the device quickly before glancing back at you. “the g-virus is in the west area… got it.” 

you jog across the raised platform until you reach a structure in the center. it almost looks like an elevator. white led lights surround you to just barely illuminate the area around you. the same id reader stands in front of it shining a light magenta. 

“access restricted,” the monitor beeps when you approach. a red banner spreads across the screen with the same message. the center area leads to a few set of stairs leading up to another elevated platform. you press the button, spurring the machines to life once again. 

it leads to yet another area of the lab. rubble blocks off a portion of the hallway, forcing you to go left. a thick blue line on the floor guides you through the various parts of the building. 

another door slides open to another reception-like area. various bottles and papers lay sprawled across counters and cover the floor. a lab coat lays haphazardly thrown on a chair beside a computer. 

you venture even farther, passing by yet another sliding door. a giant plant and the overwhelming smell of flowers greets you immediately. vines coat the inside of a room hidden behind a thick, glass panel. bile raises in your throat when you approach. a man’s corpse is wedged in the middle of it. he’s wearing a yellow hazmat suit - likely to protect himself from whatever resides inside of the room. 

“jesus… what happened here?” leon whispers. his question goes unanswered as you continue searching through the lab. the door slides open with a small hiss. fog seeps out as you hesitantly follow him inside. vines coat the ceilings and crawl up on the wall. 

you duck underneath a body hanging from the ceiling. thick ropes of thorns stretch across it’s body like veins. it almost doesn’t look human - not anymore. 

an empty metal shelf rests back against the wall. you resist the urge to sneeze, pushing another set of vines out of the way. you freeze when a low clicking sound echoes from the hallway. leon is quick to raise his gun, aiming into the fog. a creature stumbles out of the darkness, screeching when leon fires a few shots into its body. 

leon keeps his gun trained on it for a few seconds as it collapses to the ground in a heap. he nods when you hesitantly approach, watching as the creature remains motionless on the floor. you’re quick to walk past it, entering yet another room. 

the door slams shut behind you as soon as you do with finality. you’re almost grateful for the way the sound echoes. the room appears to be another observation area in between the glass. screens are illuminated on the wall full of various diagrams and blueprints. a desk sits in front of the glass looking into the area. computers and a few chairs sit beside it. various papers are scattered across it, decorating the area. 

a machine stands beside the desk with a small led screen and a button in the middle. leon pushes down on it, causing an automated message to play. the lights turn on to illuminate the various thorns and plants in front of the panel. “dispensing solution now,” the message says. 

the machine clicks as a small vial is pushed out. the liquid inside is an orangey copper color. it moves fluidly when you turn it in your hands. “maybe you should hold onto this,” leon says, handing it over. 

“are you sure? you have more pockets than i do.”

“i also get kicked around more than you do,” he chuckles. 

you playfully roll your eyes as you take the vial before pocketing it. a different door leads into the second area filled with thorns and overgrown plants. a small pathway is partly illuminated by another set of led lights. another creature springs to life with the same clicks. its body collapses against the floor as it jumps down in front of you before it stands upright. leon is quick to shoot it down. the bullets pierce its chest a few times, causing an orange mist to emit from where it gets hit. it dies with a screech, falling motionless to the ground. 

you force your way through another door. it opens into another lab area. the desk is covered with a variety of paperwork and various different chemicals. a machine in the corner catches your attention. it has three small tubes connected to a larger machine. three buttons are at the bottom - green, red, and blue. right next to the first machine is a small opening where you insert the vial. 

the machine accepts it with a small click before whirring to life. the first button lights up as it begins working. “manual mode engaged,” an automated message plays as it begins to scan the vial. it flips after a few seconds. the button blinks before the liquid drains, mixing with something else within the machine. leon takes the new cartridge when it’s pushed back out of the same opening in a different container before handing it back to you. 

“that was… surprisingly simple.” leon chuckles as you pocket the vial, following him out of the lab. 

“it doesn’t look like there’s anything else in here,” leon sighs. “except monsters.”

“the last time i see one of these things will be too soon,” you whisper, following him back out of the room. 

you retrace your steps back out until you find yourself in the lab’s winding hallways once again. the same thick blue line on the floor leads you throughout the facility until you find a set of lockers. abandoned phone chargers, binders filled with notes, and forgotten water bottles are left until you find a signal modulator. it’s a handheld device with two buttons on the side, four different diagrams on the front, and various antennas at the top. “looks useful,” leon quips. you hum, handing it over to him to take. 

you continue through the winding hallways together in a comfortable silence. leon occasionally glances over his shoulder to check that you’re still following him. an unfamiliar feeling of butterflies swarms in your stomach each time his eyes meet yours or he lets his hand brush against your own. it’s too dangerous for him to risk being unarmed - you both know that - but a selfish part of you wishes that you could hold reach over and grab his hand like you did in the precinct. 

“hey,” you tug leon back to your side before he can walk down another hallway. he shines his flashlight towards you before you tilt it down to face a panel in the wall. 

“nice catch,” he smiles. he hands you the signal modulator as you slip it into the empty space. it whines as you turn the knobs to adjust the signal until it clicks into place, confirmed with a small beep.

“man, this place is a maze,” leon murmurs. 

you hum in agreement as you turn to go down a different hallway. you force yet another door open, shivering when a rush of cold air greets you. a white fog blows throughout the room; a result of the subzero temperatures, you suppose. “who left the freezer open?” leon remarks as the door slams shut behind you. you rub your hands against your exposed forearms in a poor attempt to maintain at least some of your body heat as you explore.

a large machine sits in the center of the room. windows allow you to see into a machine. there’s a small cylindrical opening at the bottom of the machine next to a small led screen that reads “standing by.” you pull out the vial, slowly inserting it into the opening. it accepts it with a click as the machine whirs to life. the arm moves down to grab the cartridge, moving it into one of the various containers within the machine. “cooling sequence in progress,” a message plays. 

a small gust of white fog is blown out after a few seconds before the machine’s arm reaches down to return the cartridge through the first opening. the orange liquid has turned blue when you pull the vial out once again. it feels cool to the touch. “think we’re almost done here?” 

“hopefully,” you sigh as you pocket it. “i can’t wait to get out of here.”

“let’s go then,” leon chuckles. 

after what feels like hours of wandering around the lab, you finally make your way back to the greenhouse area. you insert the cartridge into yet another machine, watching as it disappears before a small mist blows over the plants. the once shriveled up leaves spring back to life almost instantaneously.

beside you, the man’s corpse is knocked against the glass. you kneel down to pick up the small, purple chip as it falls to the ground, quickly inserting it into your id wristband. “looks like that did the trick,” leon says. 

the lights remain on as you follow him into the area. most of the hanging vines have pulled back, exposing more of the path and railways in front of you. “warning: you have dispensed a dangerous solution without authorization. your actions have been logged and you may be subject to disciplinary measures.” 

the message goes ignored as you circle back through the lab once again until you make your way back to the large platform in the center.

you step up to the button, pressing on the “area three” button. the machine whirs to life, raising up to meet your feet before clicking into place. “hopefully the g-virus sample’s up here…” leon sighs. you follow him as you jog across the platform to another sliding door. he kneels down to grab another cassette tape off the ground. he pockets it quickly before you continue on.

“there’s another panel over there.”

“here,” leon says, passing you the signal modulator. 

“thanks,” you whisper. it slides into place against the wall before you turn the knobs a few times, adjusting them until the signal lines up perfectly. it clicks for a second before the lights flicker on above you. a vcr sits on a table nearby, coated in a thick layer of dust. leon pulls out the tape, sliding it into place quickly. 

the monitor beside it glitches as it springs to life. the grainy footage shows a doctor frantically searching through a few cabinets before a man’s voice comes plays. “got eyes on the g-virus.”

the footage glitches once again, this time showing a top-down view from a vent above. the man’s arms come into frame as he pushes the vent out of the way before jumping down onto the ground below. the doctor flinches, grabbing the briefcase in his hands and hiding it behind his chest. “doctor birkin, place your hands on your head and get on your knees!”

“you think i didn’t know you were coming?” doctor birkin scoffs. “this is my life’s work!”

“we have our orders, doctor birkin. i’ll ask you one more time…” 

another man comes into frame before multiple gunshots ring out. “stop!” a man yells. doctor birkin falls to the ground - umoving. blood seeps through his lab coat and pools on the floor next to him. “hold your fire!” 

the chaos momentarily stops as another man kneels down to check his pulse. he curses under his breath before turning back to the men. “what the fuck were you thinking? our orders were to bring him in alive!” he sighs, raising a hand up to touch an earpiece. “we’re in, sir, but we had a bit of a… situation. target resisted; we had to take him out. … that’s correct, sir. … roger that. just the samples, then.” the man kneels down to grab the briefcase before turning back to the group. “let’s move!” the camera focuses on doctor birkin’s corpse for another few seconds before it comes to an end in another glitch. 

“so those were the g-virus samples?” 

“i guess so,” you sigh. 

the hallways loop back around to yet another restricted area. you run across the platform to a separate area. the doors hiss when you approach before sliding open. it leads into another runway illuminated by led lights on the floor. sitting on a pillar at the end of the runway is a small cartridge filled with the g-virus. “leon,” you call, gesturing to it. he steps up beside you before reaching over to grab it. it’s so small that it just barely fits in his hand. 

“huh. that was easy,” he quips. you stifle a chuckle as he quickly pockets it. “alright, now back to ada.”

“attention: unauthorized removal of a level 04 virus detected,” an automated message plays over the loudspeakers. “facility lockdown initiated. self-destruct sequence will begin when lockdown is complete.”

“we better get moving,” you murmur. 

“you don’t say,” leon chuckles. you just barely make it back across the platform when the ceiling cracks from above you. rubble begins to crumble down before a monster jumps down. it’s claws scrape against the platform as it stands. 

“you again,” he says, raising his gun. you jump when the doors behind you open up. 

annette pushes past you before shoving leon out of the way. “move! he’s mine,” she says. she raises a gun before shooting at the monster. it howls in pain when a spray of liquid nitrogen hits it. “this has to end,” annette whispers.“what the hell is going on?” leon yells over the chaos. 

“sorry, william,” annette sighs. “you left me no choice.” she shoots the monster once again, hitting it directly in the face. its body writhes for a second before it collapses onto the ground, unmoving.

leon gestures for you to stay back before slowly approaching it. he kneels down next to it beside annette. “you called this thing ‘william.’ why?”

she shakes her head, still focused on the beast in front of you. “it shouldn’t have been like this…” she whispers. “it’s umbrella’s fault - this whole mess.”

“you’re umbrella too,” leon’s eyebrows furrow as he stands up. “you’re telling me you weren’t involved in this?”

“yes…” annette sighs. “but we never meant for this to happen!” 

“tell me everything - right from the start,” leon demands. 

annette takes a shaky breath before she begins. “i found william on the ground. he had been shot. he had a sample of the virus in his hands. he said they ‘wouldn’t get away that easily’ before he…” she looks away, squeezing her eyes shut for a few seconds. “he infected himself with the virus.”

“so you made this monster?”

“we made the g-virus, but we never intended to-”

“you can spell it any way you want. you’re still responsible.”

the monster’s body twitches for a second before an eye emerges and starts blinking. “leon!” you yell. “it’s moving!” 

you both flinch when it springs back to life, grabbing annette with its claw. she struggles in its grasp as it effortlessly lifts her body before throwing her at a nearby wall. her back slams into it first before she collapses against the floor in a heap. 

you rush to her aid as the monster stands up again. it slashes in leon’s direction, claw scraping against the metal. “leon, watch out!” he ducks just in time to avoid another attack from the monster as annette scrambles to her feet. she pushes down on a button making the room light up with flashing red lights. a siren blares through the loudspeakers. 

“what are you doing?” leon yells over the noise. 

“we can’t let him get away!” 

he jumps over the edge of another moving platform to jump down back onto steady ground. “alright,” he whispers. “let’s end this here.” 

“class a breach detected,” an automated message plays over the siren. “lab quarantined until target is neutralized.”

you watch anxiously from above as the sound of gunshots mixes with the clash of the monster’s claws against metal. sparks ignite with each slash against metal wiring. leon grunts as he avoids yet another attack, leading the monster away from where you’re standing on the balcony above. he grabs a grenade from his waistband, pulling the pin out before throwing it at the monster. your ears ring when it explodes. more rubble crumbles down from above as the lab around you continues to fall. you let out a small sigh of relief when the beast finally collapses against the ground - dead. 

“target has been neutralized,” the message plays. “ending quarantine.” 

“leon?”

“i’m okay!” he yells. “stay put. i’ll be right there!”

a service lift clicks into place before leon rushes to your side. annette’s breathing is shaky and blood stains her shirt. “jesus, that looks bad,” he whispers, kneeling down beside you. 

“feels worse, believe me,: she heaves.

“look, about what you said… i don’t know how much i believe it, but i’m willing to-”

“just tell me you’ll destroy damn g-virus sample,” annette rasps. 

“no, it’s evidence. it’s going to the fbi.”

“you trust that bitch?” she bitterly laughs. 

leon pulls away, furrowing his eyebrows. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“she’s not fbi. she’s a mercenary. she’s gonna sell it - the g-virus is going to the highest bidder.”

“that’s bullshit,” leon says as he stands. you follow him, reaching over to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. he takes a breath before turning back to annette. 

“i hope you’re right,” she says, shifting to lay on her side. “but if the g-virus… gets into the wrong hands…” her words taper off as she collapses against the floor. you kneel down beside her, reaching over to place two fingers against her wrist. you can feel the beating slow to an eventual stop before her body relaxes. 

you glance back up at leon, shaking your head. he lets out a small sigh as you reach over to close annette’s eyes before you stand up to rejoin his side. you can see some of the tension relaxing from his shoulders when you reach over to grab his hand, intertwining your fingers together. 

“come on,” you whisper. “let’s go.”

you both jump at the sudden sound of another automated message in place of the sirens. “attention: self destruct sequence initiated,” leon squeezes your hand as you both start running back through the lab. “use the central elevator to evacuate immediately to the bottom level train platform.”

you pass through various sliding doors out of “area three” until you find the central platform once again. you’re surprised to see ada limping her way towards one of the machines that controls how the runways move. “ada!” you call out. she presses a handheld device against it making it shift until a platform rises up, giving you a clear way to her. 

“i was just thinking about you,” leon says as you walk towards her. 

the ground beneath you shifts as the lab begins to shake. “that makes two of us. i was getting worried.”

“you know, we make a good team, but i need to ask you something.”

“this way’s clear. please, tell me you got it.”

“oh, i got it.”

“leon,” you whisper. the platform beneath your feet continues to vibrate beneath your feet. 

he waves you off, turning back to ada. “let me verify the g-virus sample and we’ll get the hell out of here.”

“before we do that… i ran into annette. she said you’re not fbi.”

ada sighs, glancing back at you for a second. “oh, leon…” you flinch back when she pulls out a pistol, aiming it at him. “why couldn’t you just hand over the sample?”

“ada, wait-”

“back up y/n!” she says, refocusing back on leon. “i don’t want to hurt you.”

“y/n, listen to her.” you don’t move, staring between the two people you’ve grown to trust more than you thought was possible over the course of a single night. leon turns back to ada, pulling out his own gun. “i realized, as much as i wanted to trust you… i didn’t.”

“i really hoped it wouldn’t end up like this.”

“so that’s all this was… we were just pawns to you?”

ada scoffs, cocking her head. “i’m just doing my job.”

“and i’m doing mine, so drop that damn gun! i’m taking you in.” 

ada remains unfazed by his determination and the gun pointed at her chest. “hand over the sample, leon. i don’t want to hurt you.”

the runway you’re standing on shakes once again. it begins to fall apart beneath your feet, breaking away from where it’s attached to the platform. you stumble slightly under the unsteadiness. finally, leon lowers his gun. he drops his hands back to his sides as he sighs. “fine. then you shoot me, but i don’t think you can.”

“y/n!” you flinch when the ground beneath your feet fully collapses. 

“ada!” leon grabs your waist before you fully slide off the platform as you reach down to grab ada’s hand. you’re just barely able to catch her wrist, letting leon hold your body up. you watch as the sample falls; glass cartridge clinking against a metal railing as it tumbles down into the abyss below. 

“y/n…”  

“hold on… i’m not gonna let you go.”

“forget it,” ada says. 

“shut up! we’ve got you!” leon yells over the chaos. 

you tighten your grip around her hand when it starts to slip, willing yourself to hold on tighter. “it’s not worth it!” 

“don’t do this…” leon begs. 

ada glances down into the darkness below before turning back to you with a small smile. “take care of yourself. both of you.”

“no!” you scream when her hand slips out of yours; her body tumbling down into the void. 

you’re biting back tears as leon tugs you up away from the edge of the platform, forcing you to run with him towards more stable ground. his arm snakes around your waist as he pulls you along with him. “come on. we need to go.” 

you forcefully wipe your eyes as you scramble to your feet. you glance down into the dark one final time before you start running. alarms continue to blare around you. the sound rattles your bones and pushes you to go faster - push yourself harder. 

“nine minutes until detonation,” the announcement plays. you run into the elevator at the center of the platform just before the ground falls apart underneath your feet. the elevator hisses as it shuts around you, slowly beginning the descent. 

“i’m sorry,” leon whispers. you glance over at him as he squeezes your hand. “about ada.”

there are millions of thoughts swirling around in your head, though you can’t make sense of any of them. instead you refocus on the doors in front of you, watching as you slowly pass by the various different floors. “yeah,” you finally reply. “i am too.”

the elevator comes to a stop with a small jolt before the doors slide open. you run past a hallway filled with computers until something catches leon’s attention on one of the monitors. through the staticy footage you can just barely make out the figure of a woman. 

“claire?” he yells. “claire!”

“leon? you’re down here too?”

“yeah, but the whole place is coming down,” he pulls back to glance at the monitor. a giant warning signal flashes across it. “listen to me, you need to get out. fast!” 

“yeah, there’s a way out. we can make it. where are you now?”

“claire? are you still there?”

“leon?” the static increases and the audio begins cutting out. you anxiously glance back at the timer as leon leans in even closer. “hey, leon, you’re breaking up.”

“forget about me! just get out of here!” the only response comes in the form of static. “damn it,” he cusses to himself. 

“leon, come on,” you yell, tugging him through the hallway. an explosion goes off just as you exit the building, lighting the nearby area up in flames. you push your anxiety down as you run to the cable car. 

it feels like an excruciatingly slow descent until you finally make it back onto steady ground. leon shoots down a few stray creatures that lunge at you from the shadows as you maneuver through the back alleyways of umbrella’s lab. you jump when a large figure catches your attention; a man - the same man that attacked you in the police station’s parking garage. 

“is this a fucking joke?” leon yells. a rush of hot air greets you as you push yet another door open. various pipes and tanks are set on fire, burning behind metal railings. you bring your arms up to cover your face as you push your way through. another explosion blocks off the area you were running through before the same man jumps down behind you. the metal grate you’re standing on falters when another explosion lights before it knocks you down completely. 

you wince as your shoulder slams into the ground below. you’re quick to scramble to your feet before pulling leon up with you. “we need to keep moving!” you yell. he grunts as he forces himself up as you start running once again. you rush through another set of doors, going further into the alleyways. 

leon wraps his arms around you, pulling you down to the ground with him as a nearby fuel tank explodes. pieces of shrapnel go flying all around you. a beam falls down, causing even more flames to erupt nearby. you cough violently as the chaos settles down. “are you okay?” he asks, patting your shoulder. 

“yeah,” you rasp. “i’m fine.” 

your momentary bliss is broken when the ground underneath you begins shaking once again. “what the hell…” leon mutters. the giant emerges from the shadows - now shirtless but still intimidating as ever. “oh shit.” the man is unfazed by the flames ignited against his shoulder as he jumps down in front of you. “y/n, get out of here!” he yells. 

“i’m not leaving you!” you reply. his rebuttals are cut off by the man effortlessly tossing a metal beam in your direction. you’re quick to react; pulling leon out of the way to momentary safety. he gives you a small nod as a form of saying thanks before raising his gun. 

“alright, come on!” 

“six minutes until detonation,” the message plays. it’s just barely audible amidst the chaos. you jump out of the way when the man swings a clawed arm at you, doing your best to dodge his attacks. despite hitting him numerous times in areas that should be fatal, leon’s bullets don’t faze the man at all. it charges at you, using the flaming clawed arm to break a concrete wall apart. 

the man knocks another metal beam down, making even more of the ground crumble around you. an opened case sliding towards you catches your attention. a rocket launcher lays inside, neatly tucked inside two thick pieces of black styrofoam. “leon!” you yell, pushing it over to him. 

“nice,” he chuckles, reaching down to grab it. it sits heavily against his shoulder as he aims it towards the man, hitting him directly in the chest. you use your hands to block the explosion. you squeeze your eyes shut as your ears ring. you cough a few times as the smoke slowly clears. 

leon rushes over to your side once again, helping you up with a gentle arm around your waist to support your body against his. the lower half of the man’s body lays on the ground. blood pools on the floor around it. “are you okay?”

“never been better,” you quip. he simply rolls his eyes, tugging your arm over his shoulders to support you. the approaching sound of a train horn blowing is an unusually comforting sound. “let’s get the hell out of here.”

“yeah,” he nods. you run towards the train, jumping to catch onto one of the open carts before tugging leon up with you. you leave explosions and falling rubble behind as the train blows past into a tunnel, leading you far away from umbrella and it’s lab. 

leon glances back at the rubble before turning back to face you. he reaches over to pull you into a sweet kiss as you let out a small sigh, leaning your head against his shoulder. he intertwines his fingers with yours as you force yourself to stand despite your growing exhaustion. 

the door slides open as soon as you approach, exposing a different train cart. a tall, perky, brunette woman stands next to a young blonde girl. “leon,” she smiles as you approach. 

“claire.” your eyes flick to the girl as she smiles up at you. “who’s this?”

“oh, this is sherry,” claire smiles, wrapping her arm around the girl’s shoulders. “and…” 

“y/n,” you introduce. 

“i met him in the precinct,” leon explains. his arm snakes around your waist as you sit down against the wall, finally letting yourself relax. he coaxes you to lean against his chest, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “sleep,” he murmurs. “i’ll be here when you wake up.”

-

true to his word, leon wakes you in the morning with a small kiss pressed against your forehead and a gentle hand stroking against your cheek. “morning sunshine,” he smiles when your eyes flutter open. you groan as you stretch your sore joints before dramatically collapsing against the floor. 

“come on,” leon chuckles. “get up. the train stopped moving a few hours after you fell asleep. we need to get moving.” 

“fine,” you sigh, letting him pull you to your feet. you brush the dirt off of your jeans as you meet back up with claire and sherry. 

“ready?” she smiles. 

“yeah,” leon nods. “let’s go.”

the summer heat glares down at you as you start to trudge through the desert. leon reaches over to grab your hand into his - a habit you’ve both seemed to pick up - before you intertwine your fingers together. “so…” sherry begins as she breaks the silence. she glances from claire to leon before continuing. “are you guys, like, boyfriend and girlfriend?”

“no,” claire chuckles as leon’s face flushes a light pink. “we actually just met last night.”

“oh. well then, what about you two?” she asks, looking over at you and leon. 

you glance from down at her to up at him, stifling a chuckle. “yeah,” he smiles. “we’re dating.” you look away, doing your best to ignore the way butterflies immediately swarm in your stomach. 

leon squeezes your hand as he stifles a laugh of his own before sherry gasps. she points at something approaching ahead, just barely visible in the distance. “look!” 

you pull sherry to the side of the road, standing beside her with claire. leon walks to the center, hand resting over his gun holster. the gentle roar of an engine slowly approaches. you watch as a semi truck drives by, completely ignoring you as it does. the tires blow dust up at you as it fades away into the distance. 

leon sighs as he walks back over to you. “well, he was friendly.”

“so… is it over?” claire asks. 

“i don’t know. but if it’s not, we’ll stop it. whatever it takes.”

“come on,” you smile, reaching over to grab sherry’s hand. claire laughs as sherry happily skips along between your arms as you slowly make your way out of raccoon city.

[sugar-omi]

What if there was like this ending where we could elope with Baxter because like his entire outfit when we were planning the wedding is purple and just screams "Speak Now" by Taylor Swift. It's been like on my mind for the past few days. I love Cove with all my heart I promise but Baxter just makes my heart beat in a different way than Cove does. Could you like write this maybe?? Or just rant about it, Idm <3

omg i almost rewrote this bc it wasnt at the top of my drafts n i thought i lost it pls i almost lost my mind anyway i wont lie its more proposing less wedding but :,) i hope its ok tysm for the rq anon<333

tags : fluff, (after) step 4, eloping

synopsis : you propose to baxter and elope

I think baxter would be a bit sad to not have a full blown wedding, but I also think he's just happy n surprised to be marrying anyway LOL

I imagine he'd even be the one to propose it first, especially if he knows you don't want a wedding event.

but first I wanna talk abt the proposal...

you've woken up a bit earlier than baxter.

even though he says he's become tolerant of morning for his job, once his days off hit he's back to the same stumbling baxter you first saw.

so while your darling Victorian-emo man is sleeping in, you're up bustling around the kitchen preparing breakfast.

it's an assortment of croissants, fruit, oatmeal, eggs, and waffles.

it's simple in reality, since most of these things are store bought or like how the croissants are a messy craft you and baxter somehow didnt turn into an atomic bomb.

considering you two have the cooking skills of a racoon who cant reach the stove.

you've made bread with your ma before, so it turned out excellent.

only because you did most the work and baxter was your pretty assistant.

but you couldn't tell with how nicely things are plated up and prepared.

putting all the plates on the tray and carefully balancing it so as not to spill the contents, you start walking to your shared bedroom.

you're meet with a sleepy baxter, rubbing his eyes and his hair is sticking up on one side.

he's so cute..

he blinks and smiles, turning his body towards you. "there you are.. oh. what do we have here?" baxter raises an inquisitive brow and steals the mug of coffee once you set down the tray.

you're nervous, he doesn't even see the ringbox yet and you can't decide if it's a miracle or cruelty against your poor heart.

smiling at the sight of baxter and willing your voice to come out strong, you present your gifts.

"here we have a mug of black coffee, just how you like it."

baxter hums into the cup, joking with you. "I suppose it'll do."

you laugh and continue your presentation. "next are some waffles with a side of eggs, sunny side up, only laid by the best chickens. and here is an assortment of the finest fruit, picked by yours truly from the loveliest grocery store."

baxter doesn't even try to stiffle his laughter, snorting at your best snobby waiter voice.

"and what else is there?"

"well here we have an engagement ring, and finally some croissants with your pick of jam, peanut butter, or perhaps you'd like me to make a sandwich out of it, my good sir?"

baxter laughs, his head tossed back and holding tightly onto his coffee so he doesn't spill it on the sheets.

he's still laughing a bit as he comes down and he chooses from his platter. "I'll have the ring-" baxter wipes his tears of laughter.

"wonderful choice, sir." you pop open the ring box.

baxter let's out a small "wait-!" suddenly realizing what you just said.

you laugh, more out of nerves than anything. "baxter... I uh, well I have a lot I could say and I can't really decide what to say even then so.."

you pick up the box and present it to him.

"I love you, and I wanna be with you forever so baxter.. will you marry me?"

suddenly baxter is very awake, and he's staring at the black band with wide eyes. the single diamond in the middle of the silver strip is blinking back at him and before he realizes it he's crying.

baxter, still aware that there's a tray of food between you, moves it to the side and throws his arms around you.

when you decide to elope, wanting to forgo the whole wedding planning, it's still beautiful

you and baxter go shopping and pick out some clothes together.

he definitely insists on matching color schemes, so you end up going for a plum and black palette

baxter in his nice plum purple shirt n a black vest <3333

you have xavier as (one) of your witnesses and they take lot of pictures. all of them aren't great because they're definitely teary eyed and wiping away a few tears watching you get married because you've become such good friends.

please indulge him a bit and have a "reception"

it's really just baxter dressing up your house nicely and having all your friends and family over for a nice dinner

he'd just be bouncing around the house, hanging lights and confetti and there's a nice 2 tiered cake xavier made and its still very lovely and intimate

he's just so happy to be married to you, he loves you so much <3

[clare-with-no-i]

Hello I totally agree with your explanation of “Deddies” and I love it so much. Can I SOLICIT a director’s cut for back to the old house? (If you feel like it!)

kelsey omg! pls you know I am always one to chitchat about my fics (I am narcissistic). thank you for asking! the entire time I was writing I kept thinking CHANNEL KELSEY CHANNEL KELSEY CHANNEL KELSEY so I hope this connects with you! I knew from the get-go that I wanted to write you something Order-era, because I know you enjoy those stories :) I also knew it was going to be a little angsty, a little contentious between James and Lily. there had to be some distance between them to create conflict. and you said you liked canon divergent! so!

The new recruits don’t know that the potions closet has a spring-loaded trap fashioned onto the doorknob.

the first sentence is actually one of the most important of the whole fic. I wanted to try and set up a few things right off the bat: first, that there's a new group of people entering the scene who are important to the story. second, that the narrator (shortly, you'll find out, it's James) is in a position of authority over them, and is intimately familiar with the setting. third, there's going to be some interaction between wizarding concepts (the potions closet) and muggle technology (spring-loaded trap on the doorknob).

essentially, this one sentence captures the essence of the entire plot: a new recruit (lily) not knowing that muggle tech is going to be key to an Order operation which James is running. I rewrote this sentence a few times, and once I landed on it, I ended up writing a lot of the story around it.

When he was little, before he mastered any sort of magic, he used to bandage the broken wings of birds he’d find in the back garden, gauze nicked from the muggle-junk cabinets his mum kept, fumbling fingers dumping alcohol wherever he saw blood. One of the housekeepers told him that he might just be prolonging their suffering instead of helping them like he thought. He was too young to understand what she meant, or maybe too headstrong to care about anything past what he thought was right. He would always release them, but now that he thinks about it: did any of them ever fly?

another passage I found really important. James has a bloated sense of responsibility in this story, which is something I usually write him with across all of my stories, especially in canon. we see him agonizing over whether he's coddling these new recruits too much, almost to the point of being neurotic about it. he's an unreliable narrator, as we'll learn: he wants to blame himself for things, or try and fix things over which he has no purview. here, he's getting upset with himself for trying to help animals as a child. like, hello? lmao

The eyes he meets when he looks in front of him are Lily Evans Green — she has a patented shade, or at least, he’s always thought of them that way, somewhere between hunter and sea — and narrow. The last time he saw her was at Leaver’s Ball. She’d been a wisp, a moment, an apparition between bodies in ornate robes and gowns. He doesn’t jolt, but he knows from a sudden crick in his neck that he doesn’t stay still, either.

the "he doesn't jolt" sentence is another favorite primarily because we're pretty sure he did actually jolt. you don't just end up with a crick in your neck from barely moving. but it's so fun to see him downplay his reaction to seeing Lily (at least it was for me), and that was part of the reason why I tried to indicate across the story that she sort of knew that he had feelings for her, at least at some point in their lives. he's way more transparent than he admits.

She mumbles a quiet thank you in cadence with the rest of the lot, as though they’re really strangers, as though he’s just a tour guide and she’s not at all surprised to see him, as though she doesn’t care at all that he’s in front of her, except the tips of her shoes point at him for a few delayed seconds, long after the others have walked away. One of her socked ankles fidgets.

I pulled from one of my favorite new girl episodes for this haha. the 'a man's feet point toward what he wants' thing with nick and jess is so cartoonishly stupid but just the right amount of delusional that it felt really authentic to have him fixate on it. especially now that she's given him this bodily reaction of fucking his head, where before he was speaking above his audience. it also gives us a little distance from lily, again: we don't know if she's looking at him or not, or what her expression might be.

A glass bottle full of brown hydrangeas wobbles. The label’s been ripped off, but it was Firewhisky before it housed dead things, and its wide, stained edges keep it from tipping over.

another important sentence here is the firewhisky bottle line, which I've talked about a bit before. the central motif of the story is vessels: houses, primarily, as this all takes place in this house-turned-headquarters, but also bottles — for potions, for alcohol — and to me, in this moment, the firewhisky bottle was just a gigantic metaphor for the entire Order of the Phoenix. all of the Order members had identities before they became soldiers cloistered in this house, and it's those little indicia of their past selves ("wide, stained edges" from holding firewhisky) that keep them from collapsing entirely. James's resilience and humanity; Sirius's humor and fighting spirit; Lily's cleverness and kindness. I promise I actually thought about that as I wrote it and am not just now doing a close reading hahaha

“Hang on.” Inexplicably, James holds his hand up to stop him. The scrolls crinkle as Jeremy clutches them back against his chest as though looking for a threat James has identified. Instead, James elaborates, haltingly, “You’re—uh. You’re going to take up the whole dining table with that.”

it was important to me that this moment was ambiguous in meaning: whether James was trying to keep the plans a secret or whether this was just him reverting to a schoolboy crush by forcing Jeremy to keep the maps in his hands so that Lily has a place to sit with her tea. could be either or both :)

He gets up, suddenly and almost entirely against his will, thinking of the way her lips flattened and unfurled as she whispered, magnets, magnets.

he just wants to be around her! this is the thoughtless beauty of liking someone — you just want to be around them all the time, right? you want to stick to them like, pardon the obvious reference, a magnet.

“You can’t tell me that we weren’t…I thought we were starting to get close in sixth year, is all.” To say that he has a physical reaction to this wouldn’t be inaccurate, but just as well, he’s the longest-serving member of the Order currently living in this house, and he has spent years learning the art of avoiding disarmament.

this is a turning point for a number of reasons: we finally get an insight into how Lily feels, and we James refuse to process it and instead just make immediate reference to his work in the Order, something about which he is confident and assured. I had to find a good enough reason for them not to be together or even really be on speaking terms, and the only catalyst I could think of was to have this big, destabilizing event (James's parents' deaths) really personalize the war for him earlier than it might have done in canon. of course, we know that he would have joined either way just because it was the right thing to do — and so does Lily — but I tried to give the impression that he's not sure, and it's a point of insecurity for him. it was also important that I get across the "oh my god he was just a kid!!!" perspective here from Lily as a proxy for the reader. because now that I've altered the timeline of canon, we presumably won't have that happening with Harry; it's all been transferred to James.

There is an acute sensation which James has experienced only in this room, in the last six months, of realizing that being beholden to a movement and a person are two very different things.

the moment with Dumbledore in his office is where we get a little bit more information about what's going on, albeit in these distorted/fractured formats. Remus is doing work that requires him to be away from his friends; it's at Dumbledore's behest; the mission that we later learn involves Sirius, Marlene, Fabian, and Gideon living undercover in Malfoy Manor has been going on for roughly six months.

“I just think I’m better suited in the field,” one person says. “I can’t be stuck here mixing herbs all day.” “I know. You’d think they’d ask us instead of us having to ask them. I mean, were we recruited to pass out flyers?” “Or fold the clothes they left in the closets.” “Bloody hell.”

another little easter egg here, which connects to something in the first scene! we know that there are four empty rooms in the house. we now know that there are clothes left in the closets in them. we don't know where Sirius is, or why James has this undercurrent of panic beneath his internal narration, but at this point hopefully the pieces started to come together.

When he leaves the lab, he shakes out his overwarm hands, watching the crescent imprint of a fingernail disappear from his palm.

this was my 2005 pride and prejudice hand-flexing-scene moment, in all candor

“You don’t want to be healing me,” he posits, slurring his words a little. “I don’t want you to be hurt,” she replies in her top pupil voice.

I felt pretty comfortable giving Lily the more blunt-force romantic lines here because of the setting and because of how completely frazzled I make James in her presence. we see her have her moment of reckoning earlier, when she's out smoking, basically putting it all together that he didn't just stop liking her in sixth year — he had this massive traumatic event that he didn't even think he could tell anyone, and he had Dumbledore pulling strings in the background to get him to fight for the Order. so, coupled with how blatantly clumsy he acts around her (despite him thinking otherwise) and how often he seeks her out, it would be pretty easy to surmise that he still has residual feelings for her. but, again, we're not getting the full story from him, and she doesn't know what's going on with the mission, so I hoped to create this sense that she couldn't really discuss their relationship until all of his cards were on the table.

Her eyes stay closed for a good few seconds. He can’t tell if he’s fantasizing or reading her expression correctly when he thinks that she’s sitting in the moment, luxuriating in it. He feels at once completely in himself: in this twenty-year-old version, learning what it’s like to have something and let it have you in return. The leaves of a nearby tree cut through the sunlight and splotch their bodies with shade. The wards are down, for just a little while.

after they finally kiss (!), it was important to me that we see him actually start to believe that they're as close as he wishes they would be. he's starting to trust in the face-value reality in front of him: that she's just sitting in this moment, entirely comfortable with where they are, and with him. hopefully the buildup here has been sufficient, but I thought it was a poetic sort of resolve here, that he's been able to fulfill this wish that he's had since he was sixteen, this age where he became stunted in his emotional growth because he was adopted into this grassroots war effort.

earlier in the story I refer to him as a "time-turner body," because he has this incredibly curious, contradictory relationship between certain parts of his identity. he's grown up faster than his peers in that he's become a senior member of the Order after fighting for four years. he became an orphan at sixteen but was taken under Dumbledore's wing. he has this unrealized teenage crush which he has been forced to confront after she becomes a soldier. he's been run ragged by worry and by fear as his friends take on these roles that he can't help with. so here, finally, he's at peace with his twenty-year-old self: his friends are all in one place, he's gotten to fulfill this one-who-got-away romance from his teenage years after getting to know her as an adult.

finally: the wards were my other big motif, essentially just giving visual representation for how trapped James feels by his environment. we know that someone had to "let Lupin in" from the previous scene, AKA take down the anti-apparition wards, and now they're down until the mission is over. finally, he sees into the outside world, a world not limited to this house and this war.

woohoo! thank you to any and all who read this absolute phd thesis. my god. kelsey as per usual you are too kind to ask me for these things and I appreciate you!! and another HUGE shoutout to Hafsa for organizing this wonderful wonderful event!

[softenkiss]

EXTREMLY IMPORTANT!!1! pls read before deleted :33

HIYA YALL it's been a whileee IM SORRY!! i've been on summer break for a while now and i have been enjoying it very much <33 hope yall have been okay as well!!

anyway anyway,, i have pretty big news. this blog is getting REVAMPED. im gonna be changing it completely (kinda) and just giving it a whole new long and everything!!

i know this doesn't sound like a BIG deal but here's the two most important things,,

i WILL be deleting some of my work and i REWRITING the ones i keep.

my way of writing is that i usually try to keep things kinda like serious and like...formal ig?? idkidk but i usually don't write like that (my drafts are way different lmao :'33 i use emojis and abbreviations and everything) BUT i really wanna just show off THAT style of my writing and i hope you all enjoy it as much as i do!! (plus no more tiny font...probably lmao)

ALSOALSO about request...i WILL still be taking them!! im currently at 189 followers (I LOVE U ALL DEARLY TYSM) and i MIGHT open inbox for request at 200?? MAYBE earlier idkidk

as of work i DO enjoy (my last three writing post probs),, they'll probably just get turned into drafts and rewrote!! if not,, i'll just post them again! :PP

ANYWAY that's all!! happy pride month btw and i hope you all have a amazing day! ♡

[uriekukistan]

how do you … hhow do yiu start writjng. like how do you. opening paragraph…. how do you begin..

sksjdj sorry this took so long, i genuinely rewrote my answer 3-4 times 💀 took me a few hours to figure out how i wanted to answer this tbh bc usually i don't even know what im doing either

also im by no means a perfect writer, i’m still working to improve with every fic, so pls take this w a grain of salt, everyone writes their own way as well…hopefully this isnt too long or annoying or preachy or anything.

i always have an outline of my fic ready before i start writing, regardless of if it's super vague or highly detailed, i also try to think about what the character(s) want from the situation(s) and potential ways that could create conflict (not in an angsty way per se but in a plot moving way). knowing this is super helpful for deciding where to start because different types of openings are good for different stories.

ideas i use a lot!

-> character intro! this is my most commonly used way to start a new story. i like to make sure my MC is in the first sentence so the reader knows who the story is going to focus on. this does have a potential to go wrong, bc essentially, there's the good way and then there's my immortal 💀

when i say to use a character intro, i mean like their mindset/beliefs as they pertain to the plot, main conflict they're facing, or how they're feeling at that moment, rather than "basic info"

ex: megumi fushiguro is 15, has black hair and green eyes, and he's a jujutsu sorcerer and is in his first year at jujutsu tech. in his free time, he reads. he loves animals. he was abandoned by his parents at a young age, so he's wary of others <- boring, bland, sparks 0 interest

VS: Megumi was never a fan of love. Not in books, not in TV shows, not in movies, and certainly not in real life. He hadn’t so much as considered having romantic feelings for someone in fifteen years of living, and he wasn’t about to start now. Definitely not now. Not after what had happened. <- interesting, gives insight into how megumi thinks (and how strongly), sparks interest bc what happened??

hsiao doesn't want to date a coworker because she has a dangerous job, but has a crush on saiko. urie can't express his feelings because he's spent ages bottling them up, and now he needs to grieve someone he didn't realize he cared for until it's too late. establishing these things is really important, and should be done eventually either way.

i think this method works best for stories focusing on a conflict that's more internal because it sets up the characters psyche, but can still be used for external conflict effectively!

-> dialogue: another one that can be tricky, and gets a bad wrap sometimes, but it can very much be used well. it's good to use if the story is focusing on interpersonal conflict, especially if it involves a lot of arguing. usually, i throw the reader into a high tension, fast moving scene with dialogue, sometimes one with a confrontational start, sometimes in the middle of an already brewing interaction.

-> strong feelings: this works best with negative feelings, so i use it mostly for reeeeaaaallly angsty fics. physical pain, extreme sadness or guilt, grief, rage, or high stress work really well for this, because they're feelings that tend to consume everything else. you gotta be ready to dedicate a few paragraphs to really good descriptions that make readers feel. it's a bit intimidating to write and has the potential to overwhelm readers as well, so i tend to reserve it for fics that i intend to be really heavy and upsetting, no happy ending/comfort type fics

-> straight into action: gonna be honest, i try to avoid this one as much as possible unless it's in a multi-chapter fic where the characters/conflict have been firmly established. used outside of this, i think it works best with actions that are literal beginnings, or it feels like part of the story is missing. things like waking up, opening a door (staring at a blank page trying to write..........)

lil tips ig

★ shorter sentences: my usual writing style has a lot of lengthy sentences, but when it's the first thing a reader sees, it slows down the pace immediately. of course, there's a place for long sentences as well, but the average reader is going to go for something that grabs their attention quickly.

★ u don't have to start from the beginning!! honestly i get this from writing academic essays, but sometimes it's easier to write the beginning after you wrote the rest because even if u think u know where ur going, it can change as u write it. tbh once i wrote fic almost entirely backwards 💀

slfkjgnkjnsfglk i hope this was at least somewhat helpful, honestly i wasn't sure what to say, but i'm really excited to see ur fic!!! ik u have a lot of things planned, so i'm sure once you get the first words out there, the rest will start flowing !!!

[gojoest]

Hello Ai! I've finally rewrote my drabble, and its muuuuch longer than what I had in mind 😅

Its over 1.6k words 💀 and I dont want to clutter your dashboard, so I put it up on AO3 ✨

Its called, Good Luck Kisses:

You add special good luck kisses to Satoru's routine but one day you forget. To make up for it, you plan a surprise for him when he gets home.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58576768?view_adult=true

Anyways, I hope you like it! 😘💙💙💙

- satorus soft cock anon

easy link

finally i had the time to sit and read this and i am left craving for more 🥹 your brain is always coming up with the most delicious concepts about satoru’s soft cock !!

this was so cute (and grew super hot as it progressed 😮‍💨), him being upset and giving you the silent treatment bc you forgot the very special kiss that day 🥹 i’ll munch him up 🥹 also the way those kisses make his entire day and people around him can clearly see the beaming happiness emanating from him 🥹 and that he even flexes about it, ofc nobody knows that those good luck kisses are planted on his cock 🤧

PLS I LOVED THIS, i can’t wait to read more of your stories 🥹 thank you for writing this and dedicating it to me i am literally sobbing happy tears, i will hold it dear forever !! 🤍🤍🤍 just like i hold his soft cock in my tiny hands, gently and delicately 🥹 ah, now my brain is filled with thoughts of it 🤧

[frogsndogs]

If You Can't Scooby-Doo The Time, Don't Scooby-Doo The Crime

First, 10000/10 title. I cannot think of a better episode title ever. It’s a masterpiece. Should be hung in the Louvre fr. 

I know it’s a kids show, but the most hardened criminal that they could come up with was ‘Stealin’ Stan’? But ngl the name is pretty cool. But I’m wondering what did he *allegedly* steal? What happened? Why was he considered the worst of the worst to the point that he was locked up with all those chains? Pls, the people want answers. 

Ravi was an interesting and nuanced character that I would be interested in delving into more and I have so many questions about him. I wonder if he really thought that Stan was innocent even before everything? Also, did he feel guilty when he thought Stan was dead? Did he feel like if he had just done his job then that man would still be alive? And now? The prison is closed but he still guards it. Why? To make sure that no one suffers the same fate as Stan? Because he feels like he failed, is he doing it as some kind of atonement? if so for who? Because he wants to guard Stan, and make sure he isn’t disturbed, trying to give him at least peace if he feels responsible for his death? Being a prison guard has *got* to do things to your mental health. 

“Evidence doesn’t lie.” “But friends do?” That line… it is flawless. Just rewrote my brain chemistry. Three words, all the feels. I am on the floor rn. The sound that Fred made after that makes me think that he didn’t have a solid rebuttal for that, but honestly in Fred’s experience? Yeah, they do. Are we not remembering Chuck? The guy from ‘Game of Chicken’ that tricked Fred into helping him find the gold, by almost killing Fred and his friends? (Not to mention Professor Huh and Rose). Shaggy standing up for himself was good, I don’t love it when shows just portray him as some kind of wimpy pushover, he is a strong, capable member of the gang and should be presented as such.  I wish that Fred and Shaggy had a longer, proper convo about the incident, but they were running out of time, and it is a more lighthearted show.   

But Daphne, gal, friend, buddy, my dude. 

I liked Stealin’ Stan’s speech at the end and I expected some sort of joke, but for real? I think that if they had left it as is it would have been a good commentary of the justice system - they locked up an innocent man, blocked his attempts to prove his innocence, they knew he was innocent, and refused to let him out, refused to admit that they were wrong. They destroyed a man’s whole ass life, and for what? One guy’s reputation? Disgusting. 

Look at him. He’s thin as a yardstick. What has he been eating recently? Let him have the sandwich Fred, he deserves at least that + a hefty settlement from the US Government.

[slightecho]

20 Questions For Fic Writers

I got tagged by @daydreams-and-honeybees and @halcyonhue (it won’t let me tag you and idk why! 😭)

This is gonna be very interesting and silly bc I have written much and posted little!! 🤣

TAGGING: @silvvergears if you havent done this before and…… actually idk who among my fic writing friends has or hasn’t done this one bc I’ve seen it going around a few times, so if you are a fic writer and want to do it, i’m tagging you!! 😆

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

LMFAO only 4

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

481,043 words jfc 😨

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I used to dabble in writing voltron fic years ago, and that makes up the majority of works on my ao3 but currently writing for The Owl House and I’m hoping to outnumber the Voltron fics on my account with other fandoms 😎

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Lmao uhhhh since I only have 4 published, I’m just gonna say the top two tbh 😅😅😅

Ashes takes the number one, with Crowd of Thousands as my second most kudos on a fic

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes!! I love responding to comments! I want to discuss things with people reading my fics and (especially in the case of Ashes), I wanna see what my readers theories are on what’s going to happen. It’s one of my favorite parts of having people who read what I write!!

If you’ve ever left me a comment and I haven’t responded, don’t be discouraged. Sometimes I just don’t know what to say beyond a giant thanks for reading. 😅 And sometimes I won’t reply if my last reply was a teaser

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Uhhhh so if I had finished it, it WOULD have been the untitled Bungo Stray Dogs Heathers AU fic I got like 75% of the way done writing and then abandoned.

But other than that I don’t have any with an angsty ending—oh wait no ¡Viva La Gloria! is technically a published fic in my ao3 isn’t it?

Yeah it’s ¡Viva La Gloria! then lmao

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Crowd of Thousands currently.

Ashes by the time it’s done.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Haven’t yet ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Pls don’t send me hate I’ll cry

Criticism and critique are fine. Just don’t be mean to meeeee pls 😊

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I have.

Nothing published anywhere.

I’m not very good at it

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Not really. I don’t really read them either tbh

I’m kind of the kid who doesn’t want their foods to touch on their plate when it comes to entire fandoms in fics it’s just not my thing

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not yet, or at least not to my knowledge.

Knocking on wood now

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Somewhat?

The planned Elowyn piece I have is something my girlfriend and I came up with together. So I have co-authored concepts

The first two or three chapter of Ashes, besides the prologue, there was a LOT taken from the discord RP that I’d originally come up with the plot of Ashes for. I had permission from that friend to use them. And I heavily, HEAVILY took out and then rewrote their portions (namely the Raine parts of the chapters “Moving Day” and “Hexside” bc the rest at the time were my characters). Their original writing has been scrubbed and a lot of Raine’s character and story arc has transformed into something else entirely. Pretty much all that remains is that they were the one who came up with the idea that Raine was Manny’s sibling. If they read it, they could probably still see the bones of what they wrote if they squint. But by the time Luz hits Eda with the door in “Hexside,” they’d already moved on from the rp. So it was very easy to rewrite around their parts and just reuse the posts I that I had written for those chapters.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

That’s too hard a question how dare you

I like too many ships

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Oh jeez.

Either the untitled Bungo Stray Dogs Heathers AU that was never posted anywhere, or The First Golden Guard.

Pretty much The First Golden Guard i have just notes scribbled out of the plot, what I think the first chapter is, and some various bits of dialogue from different moments in the fic. But then I started writing Ashes and that took over my life, and now I really want to write The Caleb Files, and the bonus stuff that got cut from Ashes. Plus the Elowyn fic. so I just don’t know if it will ever get written now

16. What are your writing strengths?

Description and voice.

I really love getting a little flowery when describing action or setting while writing. And in the case of setting in particular, I think I have a more natural ability.

I also really strive to make sure each character’s own unique way of talking comes through in their dialogue. Maybe not always when the narration makes the reader privy to their thoughts and emotions, but at the very least, their dialogue does.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Bro just cannot stop yapping!!

I actually genuinely do believe my greatest weakness is my inability to shut up sometimes. I’m sure if I go back and reread Ashes from the beginning, I’ve said the same shit multiple times.

Also sometimes I just get repetitive!! And I use certain colloquialisms like “just,” “after all,” and “as if” FAR too often.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

sigh.

I am a latinx person who lived through the VLD fandom… I have a LOT of opinions… and I have seen some bad Spanish dialogue written by non-Spanish speakers… the kind of shit that stands out to even me, when I have little verbal fluency.

Here’s the thing: I am not AGAINST anyone writing another language of dialogue into their fics. I actually do think it’s a good thing.

HOWEVER!!!

If you are a person who only speaks one language—if you’re a person who kind of doesn’t know what I’m talking about when I say ‘code switching’ or only understands the basic definition of code switching—I am BEGGING you to try and have someone with more experience in that language than you to proofread those dialogue sections.

The amount of times I’ve seen weird moments where the code switching didn’t make logical or emotional sense for the character beyond the author’s “I want to include Spanish here” is innumerable. And that’s not to say code switching needs to have a deep, profound reason all the time—sometimes code switching happens bc there’s no word or phrase in one language that directly translates from the concept or emotion you know how to describe in another! But from what I’ve found, there are a lot of people who understand code switching in concept (and that it’s important for representation) but not in practice bc they simply have no firsthand experience with it. I don’t blame them, though! It’s a hard thing to understand on description alone! Unless you’ve experienced it before, I don’t think it’s something you can fully comprehend. And it can stand out. You can even think you’ve done it right on technicality, but it falls flat.

A tiktok in how to spot AI images I once saw said “AI understands that a mirror, or stairs, or chair legs have to be there there, but it doesn’t understand why it functionally exists or what purpose it serves” and therefore it makes mistakes by adding twelve stairs on the right and fourteen on the left, or five legs on two chairs that are somehow sharing them, or mirrors won’t show the correct items reflected back. I’ve seen many well-meaning fic writers (and published authors!!!) do the exact same thing with language switching. They understand that it should be there, but not functionally why.

Also a basic “don’t rely on google translate” here….. but also a less basic one: different cultures of a shared language are gonna have different turns of phrase and different slang. I’ve also seen a lot of fics that have Lance (a Cuban character) using Mexican slang or words. That’s always awkward.

There’s just a lot. I could go on about this forever but I think I pretty much covered it all.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Ever?! Lmfao Harry Potter when I was a young teen. I didn’t understand what I was doing at all and only did it because my older friend who knew I liked writing my original stories at the time said that I should try writing fic.

I didn’t even have a plot or anything. I just genuinely thiugh fanfic was writing your little self insert OCs and perpetually playing with them in a dollhouse made of your favorite thing 🤡🤡🤡

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Wholly and completely, without a shadow of a doubt

Ashes

It’s genuinely the first fic I’ve ever written where I have actually wondered if I was better off writing it as an original story and going the publishing route. Unfortunately for future me and fortunately for you all, I’m way too attached to the characters as their original names and incarnations to do that 🤣

It’s also the first fic I’ve ever written where I went into it already knowing every piece of the puzzle and having all the clues laid out to perfectly set them up ahead of time. I’m very proud of that and I long for the day where someone rereads Ashes after it’s over and discovers the tiny things in the extremely early chapters that were hints towards the end.