#polites x sirens | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tiktokonaclock · 6 months ago

Text

The Siren and the Demon Chapter 12

Zenet looked at the device in her hand.

“I-I don’t know. Haven’t seen it.” She exhaled. “Maybe- maybe you left it in the car?”

“No. I put it down after I came in. It must be somewhere in the house.”

Zenet cursed under her breath as she tucked the phone into her waist and covered it with her shirt. Why couldn’t women’s clothes have proper pockets?

She finally opened the door and swiftly walked out of the bathroom, praying god to keep the phone from falling.

“I can call it. Is it in the silent mode?”

“No.” Gill followed her as she quickly walked back to the kitchen, pretending like she was looking for her own phone.

Zenet looked around after walking in. “I left mine in the bathroom.” She finally said. “I’ll be back in a second.”

She rushed iin the corridor towards the bathroom, her heart beating in her chest. She took Gill’s phone in her hand and threw it on the bed. Thankfully, the bedroom was right across the bathroom she used.

She walked back in the corridor, her own phone in her hand. Gill’s phone started ringing in the bedroom. He walked past her and took it from the bed. Zenet walked back into the kitchen, blowing out her breath to calm her nerves down.

“I don’t remember taking my phone to the bedroom at all.” Gill expressed casually as he took two plates out of the cupboard.

“You must be getting old.” Zeent leaned on the wall and crossed her arms with a smirk.

“Very funny, Zenet.” He pointed at the dinner table. “Sit down. Time to eat.”

It was a close call. A very close call. But she had pulled it off.

What if she hadn’t? What if he saw his phone in her hand?

She focused on what was ahead of her instead of dwelling on what-ifs.

“How do you like the soup?” Gill asked.

“It’s great!” Zenet’s eyes turned to her bowl, then back at Gill. “You outdid yourself this time.”

“With your help.”

“Nah. All I did was to chop some vegetables.” She shoved her finger. “And myself.”

“Does that still hurt?”

“Not really.” She filled her spoon with the hot liquid and swallowed it. A mischievous grin appeared on her face. “I think I can smell the blood in the soup.”

“Oh my. Are you turning into a shark now, Zenet?”

Zenet let out a small laugh. “Just a tiny baby shark.”

“Careful. That’s how it begins. First, you start to smell the blood in the water. Next thing you know… You are circling the waters.” He leaned forward. “Hunting your prey.”

She leaned forward as well, with a smile on her lips. “Spooky.”

“Yeah.”

Zenet looked away. She tried to imagine herself as a “shark”. A politician who beats her rivals down, and becomes an important figure in the political arena. A young woman of power and influence. She was not able to picture it.

She returned to her soup. “You know…” she said, partly to change the subject. “I think being able to cook well is a privilege.”

“What do you mean?”

“People always assume that those who can’t cook are richer. Oh, I can’t even make an omlette. Y’know. But if you cook well, that means you have a kitchen, the ingredients, and the time. And I think that means you have it good.”

Gill shook his head. “Interesting point of view.”

“Right? People tend to take a lot of things for granted.”

“The catering in the orphanage was not very good, I am assuming?”

Zenet chuckled knowingly as her eyes turned to her bowl. “Not very good is an understatement.” Her smile faded away as she turned her spoon into the soup. “Mom used to cook well.” She murmured, her voice much lower. “Whenever she was sober enough to cook.”

“You remember her?”

“Of course.” She looked up at him right in the eyes. “Do you get any news from her?

“No.”

“Do you at least know where she lives?”

“No. I am not sure if she is even alive to be honest.”

How easy it was for him to lie without even batting an eye. She would not have suspected anything if she hadn’t seen the address in the vault.

She chose not to force it any further.

Gill got up, taking his bowl. “I think I will go for seconds. Do you want some more?”

“No. I am good.”

Gill reached for his phone to check the time. What he saw on the screen made him freeze.

“Zenet, there is dried blood here?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Her stomach flipped upside down, her vision got dark for a second. It felt like a thousand needles were poing into her brain.

She could not even turn around to look at his face. When she finally did, he shot a glare towards her. Like he was ready to dive right into a fight.

Fuck. Think fast. Fuck.

“I must have smudged it when I brought it to you.”

“But you didn't bring it to me.”

She made a smacking sound with her mouth. “No. You remember it wrong. I was closer to the bedroom. Because I had left my phone in the bathroom. So I took it. Brought it to you. You took it from me in the hall. Don't you remember?1

His face remained emotionless for a second, making Zenet’s heart skip a beat.

“You did?” he finally asked. His tone was free from any blaming.

“Yeah.”

“Wow. I am getting old, am I not?”

Zenet let out an emotionless laugh, doing her best to mask her nervousness. “Maybe.”

She took a long look around when she first walked onto the balcony of the great mansion. Everything in this house radiated a sense of wealth and power. The wealth and power Gill built for himself far away from the orphanage he left her in. This balcony was no different. It was bigger than the room she had shared with three other girls in the orphanage.

She hated it. She hated him for it.

That space was Gill’s favorite in the whole house, a perfectly cozy spot to spend time in.

Gill stood still, watching Zenet as she studied the decoration in detail.

He realized that her fingers were glancing at the side as she walked as if she wanted to feel the house on her fingertips. He allowed her time to take it in, to finish the thought. When she finally wore the sweatshirt she was holding in her hand and sat down on the one-person swing, he took the mugs and walked into the balcony.

“Thanks.” Zenet murmured when Gill offered her the mug. He comfortably settled into the armchair across the swing.

“You like this spot,” Gill said, more as a statement than a question.

Zenet scratched between Rocco’s ears, who had been lying peacefully under her feet.

“Yeah. I do.” She smiled widely. She looked up. “I have always wanted one of these swings. Whenever I saw these in the store I used to think; where do they even fit in?”

“Yes. You need a… wide space to fit these in.”

“Yeah.” She murmured. She looked away as she felt the air thicken with the questions they wanted to ask each other but could not.

She checked her phone when she heard the notification. “Oh no.”

“What is it? What happened?”

“They wrote a patrol duty to me for tomorrow night!” She whined.

“So I suggest you go to bed early tonight. I got the guest room on the second floor prepared for you.”

Guest room. “Thanks.”

Her eyes moved back to the view and for a second, just a split second, she allowed herself to imagine this as a regular evening in her life. That the guest room was her room. That this house was her home.

She drank the remaining coffee in her mug. Then she leaned down, kissed Rocco on top of his head, and got on her feet.

“Good night, father.”

She walked back into the house and left Gill alone in the balcony to finish his coffee on his own. In the remaining hours of the night, he would fill his glass with much stronger liquids, watch the serene view, and think.

Zenet sat on the edge of the twin sized bed.

Every single room in the god damn house was incredible. Even the guest room. And for some reason, that made her extremely angry.

She felt an odd satisfaction when she sent the address to the emperor’s phone. The house Gill ordered a pizza to in the middle of the night; it had to be important, right? In one way r another. Something had to be up with that address.

“Hello your majesty-” Delete.

“As per your command-” Delete.

“To whom it may concer-” DELETE.

Everything she wrote sounded either rude or weird. She thought of Gill’s tone in the messages he wrote to the emperor as her fingers danced around the keyboard once again.

“Good evening your majesty. I found something that you might find useful. Do you recognize this address? Gill ordered a pizza to this address at midnight a few days ago.”

She was about to close the tab when she noticed that he got online.

Online. Typing. As if he had been waiting over the phone for some time.

“That’s Kazarina’s home address!”

Zenet lifted her head. She looked up at Contestir.

“Bingo.”

Ren was lighting the oil lamp when Zenet walked in. She froze for a split second. They had been avoiding each other ever since they lost rest of their friends one by one. Besides the time Zenet asked for Ren’s help, and the time Ren refused to help her, they had not spoken much.

Zenet wanted to be there for him. And wanted him to be there for her as well. There was not a third person who could completely understand what they had been going through in the whole Empire of Gundalia.

But Gundalians did not do friendship, she knew.

“Hey.” She acknowledged him dryly as she walked further into the small room soldiers use during their patrol duty. She put her bag on the table and started to take her belongings out.

“Hey.” Ren narrowed his eyes to avoid her gaze.

She put her bomber jacket on after taking it out of her bag. It was given as a part of the Gundalian soldiers’ uniforms, and it was Zenet’s favorite piece by far. It had Gundalia’s amblem on the shoulders and the bustline. It was made of high-quality leather.

“Did they give you the walike-talkies?” She asked.

“Yes.” He handed her one of the radiophones and put the other one in his pocket.

For the first time since she came in, her expression softened and a smile, although small, appeared on her face. She took her walkie-talkie to her mouth.

“Testing. One. Two. Can your hear me? Over.”

Ren grinned. He took his own device. “Positive. Can you hear me?”

“Positive.” She shook her head. “At least we can let each other know if the shit goes down.”

Ren glanced at the clock. He had a feeling that it was going to be a long night.

Ren and Zenet walked side by side. The oil lamp Ren was holding dimly lit the hallway as their footsteps echoed in the stillness.

It had been uneventful so far. Zenet felt the need to break the ice, as she often did.

“So, what’s on your mind?” She asked, glancing at Ren.

Ren looked away as his jaw tightened. “I don’t want to be here.” he admitted, his voice in a whisper.

“You wanna go back to the brawlers?”

Marucho’s watery eyes appeared on Ren’s mind. “I really don’t know.” He ran his hand through his hair.

“I… I feel trapped. Barodius promised things would get easier. He told me he was going to explain me all I need to know about Linehalt’s powers but- I am not sure if he actually knows anything about it.”

“But we are fighting for something important.” She opposed softly. “It’s bigger than you or me, or Barodius. It’s Gundalia’s future. This isn’t about him at all. I hate the way he handles things around here but-”

“I didn’t sign up for this, Zenet.”

“Neither did I. But you need to understand what’s really going on, Ren. It’s not all shits and giggles out there.” Her thumb showed the window they were passing by. “Gundalia’s fighting to survive, Ren. Literally. People are starving.”

“But Barodius-”

“Barodius has no other choice. He is barely keeping this place from falling apart.” She narrowed her voice. “If things don’t change, it is going to go downhill from here. Walk outside for a day an you will see it. Crime, violance, desperation. Because people can’t afford to live anymore.”

“But it is not Neitha’s fault that we are so fucked up.”

“Neitha’s the worst part! They have the Sacred Orb, for fuck’s sake. They could fix it all with a wave of their hand. And it is not like they would lose anything by helping us, Ren. That magic could fix everything- the economy, the food shortage, the street violence. And what do they do? Nothing. They sit in their pretty cities instead while we rot!” She took a deep breath, her voice softening. “We are Gundalians, Ren. Our people, our future- It comes first. Always.”

Ren exhaled. Things were getting more and more complicated for him with each second passing by. “How are we going to build Gundalia’s future if we are not in it, Zenet? We are just pawns on the board. Like the others were.”

Talking about Sid, Jesse and Lena still made their souls hurt, which was why they had been avoiding using their names. Zenet fliched.

“Kazarina killed them.” Ren continued. “And for what? Failing some mission? They didn’t deserve that.”

“I know.” Her shoulders fell off. “At least Mason could get out.”

“He was lucky.”

They walked in silence for a while. Then, Ren spoke up again, his voice filled with anxiety. “What do you think will happen to us if we mess up?”

“We might end up like them. Or we might find a cheat code.”

“I don’t think I can do this anymore, Zenet. Not after everything I have seen, everything that happened to them.

“I get it, Ren. I do. But I can’t just walk away. I have things I can’t just leave behind.” Even though I was left behind by them.

“But how much longer can we keep going on like this?” Ren asked the question she had been asking herself.

“I don’t know.” She whispered into the cold, empty hallway. “I guess we’ll find out.”

Zenet smiled bitterly as they walked back into the room to spend their rest time. “Do you remember the time Jesse made me transform into Kazarina to fool you guys? Man, even Sid was terrified.”

Ren glanced at Zenet, smirking at the memory. "Yeah, Sid almost lost it. You really had him convinced for a second there. I wasn't sure what was happening at first either." He took his hand on his cheek dramatically. “I was like- what is she doing here? In the Interspace? In our control room? Are we gonna die?”

"You should have seen your faces though. It was spectacular to watch!” Zenet chuckled softly, though her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “But... it was also weird, you know? Being her. I felt so... powerful. I did not feel like the orphanage leftover anymore. But I also felt trapped in her skin."

Ren raised an eyebrow, sensing the shift in her tone. "Trapped? How so?"

She sighed, her gaze drifting off. "I don’t know. It was like wearing Kazarina’s face gave me a glimpse of what it’s like to have that kind of control, but at the same time, I hated it. It’s like... people fear her, but no one really sees her, you know?"

Ren nodded, thoughtful. "Yeah, I get it. But you are not her, though. You're different."

"Am I though?" Zenet muttered. She took her shark plushie out of her bag. Ren laughed softly, pointing at it with questioning eyes.

“I don’t have a pillow small enough to fit in my bag, and I still want to have something soft for my head.” Zenet explained as she offered it to him. “Do you want to use it?”

“No, I am good.” He crossed his arms and leaned back into his chair. “Your ability is kind of scary you know?”

“Scary? Scary how?”

“I mean- a person could walk into the room, talk to you. And you might even tell them your secrets. But that person is not the person you think they are. Like they are wearing a mask. It’s scary. It’s like the Capgras syndrome, but actually real. I find it way scarier than hypnotizing.”

“I never thought of it that way.” Zenet admitted. “You might be right.”

She checked the time. “I will take another tour around the halls.” She said. “I suggest you try to take a nap. I will wake you up when it’s your turn.” She took a few snacks out of her bag: a pack of crackers, a protein bar, a can of cold coffee and a bottle of water. “You can have these snacks if you want. You sure you don’t want the shark?”

He sent her a warm smile. “I am. Thank you Zenet.”

“Anytime.”

Zenet wished she could wear her headphones during patrol duty. She didn't like being left alone with the thoughts in her head. The dark and lonely corridors were giving her way too much space to not be consumed by her thoughts. She wanted to play her rock music. Loudly. But instead she listened to her own footsteps, as the oil lamp flickered in her hand.

Then, a door slided open and Master Nurzak came out.

"You're up early." She stated, watching her tone as much as she can to avoid sounding rude. "Can't you sleep?

"Zenet." Nurzak said, as the young girl took a few steps towards him. “I believe I could ask same of you."

"I am on patrol duty."

"Of course." He smiled. "I have always admired the loyalty you have shown to the throne.It is the have It is youth like you that give me hope.”

He turned his back to her and kept on walking. Then he stopped to glance back at her over his Shoulder. "Hope that the future of Gundalia will be better than we ever dream."

She could not talk or even breathe untill he completely walked away, leaving her on her own.

Hope... Future of Gundalia....

These were dangerous words.

The plan. The time must've come.

She took the radiophone on her mouth. "Ren! Wake up! It's can emergency!”

No answer. She started to run.

"Ren!" She shouted again as she burst into the room. "Wake up!

"What?! What!" Ren woke up with a gasp. “Zenet! Are you okay?"

She paused for a second. "Yes, but... There will be a coup tonight!”

"What?! Where did you get the information?“

"Uh... A reliable source.” She shook her hand up and down to create is a sense of emergency. "Come on. We need to hurry.”

He got up as they rushed to the cabinet together. They took out the guns and started to put them together, loading the extra ammunition.

"What do we do?" Ren asked in panic.

"We need to alert someone Superior.”

She grabbed her phone and called someone. "D-Master Gill!"

Ren heard some a murmuring from Gill's side.

"It's happening. Yes. Please come to the palace immid rately. Un-Should I alert anyone else or- you will? Okay. Goodbye.”

Ren didn't question how she had Gill's number saved.

"Which way did he go?" He asked.

"He - he went towards the east side. To the temple.”

Ren loaded the gun and wore it on his waist. He handed her the other one with an encouraging look on his eyes.

“Let's go.”

Nurzak's footsteps echoed on the temple.

The temple looked lonely, as if no one had set a foot in it for years. He turned his head up to look at the previous emperor's portrait: He looked regal, his posture radiating power. His hands were put together on the sword he was holding.

Nurzak opened the passage to the Secret route.

The two teenagers were out of breath from running through the halls of the Gundalian palace.

Zenet held Ren's elbow to stop him from just walking into the temple.

"No! It might be dangerous!”

Ren looked into Zenet's eyes with piercing gaze, searching. “Zenet? Did you know about this beforehand?”

Zenet's yellow eyes flickered. “I had heard some rumors.”

Ren did not seem too convinced. "Where did you hear them from?"

She needed to think of a convincing lie, as she often did. But her brain had Stopped working on that moment.

They both flinched when they heard the clapping sound coming behind them. They turned their heads to see the emperor, slowly applauding.

“I must congratulate you two.” He said with a grin. "You realized what was going on far before anything actually happened. Well done.”

"Y-your majesty. Zenet gulped. "Did Master Gill inform you about-“

“That's why I am here."

"Then, you will allow us to evacuate you, to a safe spot, right?" Ren asked.

Barodius laughed. "Aren't you two adorable?" He walked past them towards the temple. His finger showed them a secret spot, perfect for the two to hide. "You two will hide and watch. Do not interfere.”

He walked into the temple before anyone could oppose.

Ren and Zenet dropped on their knees as they observed the temple. If it wasn't this serious, Zenet could have enjoyed this. And also would have joked about not having Popcorn.

“You think you can hide this from me, Nurzak?"

"You are like a fly to garbage…”

“No matter how mighty the empire, or how powerful the leader, sanctity of the sacred and must not be Violated. To any who ignore this, suffering will follow. Do you remember? Those Words that your father spoke?"

Ren was probably hearing this speech for the first time, but Zenet had watched it a thousand times, on the small television the orphanage had in the common room.

A smile creeped on Barodius' face. "Of course I remember. How can I I forget when my father resited that speech morning, noon and night? He was a supercitious old fool but to his credit, he knew how to recruite a Loyal following."

He replied, pointing at Nurzak with his last sentence.

“His followers believed in him....”

“Of course they did!" Barodius snapped. Because he poisioned their minds by preaching the same supercitions that he believed in! It's easy to rule when fear is your motivator!"

Zenet was not old enough to understand anything about politics during the previous emperor's reign. But from what she heard, The sounded like a cult leader.

She imagined the emperor as a prince, sitting side by side with her father. They would probably bet her age then, or maybe slightly older. She could see Barodius rolling his eyes, and Gill crossing his arms on his chest as they share a knowing look.

Everyone is dumb except us.

“All those memories are like a rotting Stench to me!" Barodius moved his hand forward, as if he was reaching out for the future. "Now, it's time to Clear the air. My father is no longer emperor. That title belongs to me.”

"Emperor Barodius, I am going to tell you one more time, you would be wise to hear my warning.” Nurzak sounded like a father trying to discipline his son.

"And if I decline? What are you going to do, Nurzak? Are you going to sneak up to Neitha and use that thing in your pocket? To turn the orb against me?”

"What?!"

“The Switch code. I know all about it. It has been handed down through my family for generations after all! I told you, you cannot hide anything from me!"

Ren looked at Zenet. "The switch what now?"

Zenet sighed as she put her hands up in a surrendering manner. " I don't know, man.”

The bells ringed out. It was breaking dawn. A new day had begun.

Hundreds of soldiers, dressed in the same uniform as Ren cand Zenet teleported into the temple, their traditional spears all charged up.

Zenet's hand automatically went to her waist. She felt the gun secured. They were allowed to carry guns only during the patrol duty. And even though she was more familiar with the spear, the gun gave her a sense of security.

She realized Kazarina, standing between the soldiers with a smirk.

"So, it is a new day in Gundalia.” She chirped.

Zenet's eyes opened wide. It all made sense now.

"It's a setup!" She whispered.

"What?”

"It's a setup!” She exclaimed, not loud enough to let them hear. She took out her phone once again.

This time, Ren could hear the other line. "Zenet, I have just arrived." Gill said upon answering her call.

"It's a fucking setup!" Zenet repeated.

Ren didn't even think of getting shocked by the sudden cursing. And appearently, neither did Gill. "What do you mean?!" He asked.

"This is not a real coup! They are tricking Master Nurzak!”

"Just find somewhere safe and stay put untill it's safe. " Gill said and hung up.

"Zenet, how do you know it's a setup?" Ren asked.

Zenet looked at Kazarina as she made the troops attack Nurzak instead of Barodius.

“Did you think I would betray the emperor to follow an old man?” She asked. with a wicked laugh.

“Instinct." Zenet murmured. The Instinct of a shark.

She turned her head to see Gill running towards them. They shared a look.

Zenet's eyes scanned the environment once again to take in the amount of destruction. The beautiful temple, which was one of the few places in Gundalia that's actually nice, was now in rubble. Smoke arose from various spots, painting pattems on the polluted air until it dissolved.

She and Ren had been there sitting on the floor side by side for quite some fime now. They had hunched their backs and put their elbows on their knees. They did not look so different from the wreakage that surrendered them.

"He's dead." Zenet murmured. "I had spoken to him in the morning, and now he doesn't exist.”

Ren turned to her, his expression blank. He pointed at her phone with his head. "What does it say on the news?”

Zenet unlocked her phone and checked. the news. "Neithian strikes on the Capitol City kills 38. The palace remains silent."

She put the phone down and turned to him.

Ren Sighed." Does anyone actually. believe this?"

"They will believe whatever media Tells them to.”

"How can Neithia attack us when they can't even protect themselves yet?"

"No one's gonna question that." Zenet pointed at the rubble. "They will service the news that Nurzak died on the Strike and voila. His hands are clean.”

Ren left out another sigh and got on his feet. “I am going to bed." He said, leaving Zenet was alone in the wreckage.

“I admire the old prune's spirit. Thinking he could stage a rebellion... Clearly, he underestimated your loyalty. Especially you, dear Kazarina.”

So it was dear Kazarina now.

Apparently she was back on his good graces.

She sent an arrogant smile and Gill, who seemed conflicted.

"There has been a lot of sneaky behavior around here lately, wouldn't you say so, Gill?" Barodius asked with a cheeky tone.

Kazarina must have thought Barodius was merely teasing Gill, for which Gill was greateful. If he had told her about Gill's small trip to the throne room earlier, he would need to say goodbye to ever having sex with her.

Even though he would never admit, not even to himself, Gill felt a deep regret for it. He didn't know what got into him that made him want to throw Kazarina under the bus like that.

He liked having sex with her, and strangely, he liked the things that came with it.

He liked talking to her; over late-night pizza, or coffee, or more intimate pillow talk. He liked spending time next to her, even when they were both busy with different things. Sometimes feeling her presence next to him felt enough.

Maybe these things were scaring him. Maybe he was scared of how vulnerable and exposed the felt when he pulled her to his lap and looked up to her the way a believer would look at the magnificent sculpture of a goddess: Through the eyes of a worshipper. In absolute devotion.

Love was a weakness. And if this actually was love, Gill hated being weak.

He caught her eye. The same alluring look appeared on her lilac eyes with a smug smile.

See, I was right. You were wrong.

"I- suppose...”

" I extend my thanks to you, Kazarina.” Barodius repeated.

“No thanks are necessary." Kazarina narrowed her head in a fake humbleness. "Everything I do was for the glory of you and Gundalia.”

"That pleases me."

She looked back up, right at Gill.

They shared another look.

Zenet was getting used to having conversations with the emperor. Barodius could say it from her behaviour, which got more comfortable.

“I first saw the cape. It had blue foundation stains on it. But it was not enough evidence to verify anything. So I got into his phone to look for more clues. And found this."

Her hands met in front of her. "I know that it is forbidden for the members of the Twelve Orders to have any sort of romantic or sexual relationships between them, so I thought you'd like to know this.”

"Indeed.” Baradius leaned back at his chair.

“Do you know why we have that rule?”

"No. But I have a guess.”

“Do tell."

"It is to stop them from getting too close to each other. Because if they are too close they might come together to conspire against the monarch."

Precisely.

"Do you think they might try to do that?"

"I don't See why not. Some species of sharks like to hunt in packs.”

“Then, you will need to take precautions?"

"Yes. Kazarina might have proven her loyalty today but her opinion might as well change in the future. And I need to be ready for it."

"What are you going to do?"

"I do have a plan in mind. And I will need your help to put it into action."

"Of course, your majesty. Anything you need."

Anything I need, huh? Even if I need you to get yar hands dirty?"

Zenet hesitated for just a split Second before answering.

"Yes.”

He smirked. "Sit down." He said. “How do you have your coffee?”

#bakugan #bakugan gundalian invaders #gill #kazarina #emperor barodius #gill x kazarina #the siren and the demon #jesse glenn #lena isis #zenet surrow #witnessing the birth of a baby shark #we got into her political views in this one #may god have mercy on Kazarina and Gill because Zenet won’t

7 notes · View notes

winterwriterstudios · 8 months ago

Text

Me: *awake at 3am, trying to sleep*

My brain: Psst!

Me: Ugh. What 3am thoughts are you going to haunt me w/ tonight?

My brain: Remember Epic: The Musical?

Me: Duh.

My brain: Leona as Odysseus.

Me: ?? Why him?? Since when did we care abt him? Why not Jamil?

My brain: BECAUSE VIL SHOULD BE PENELOPE.

Me:

My brain: AND EPEL AND JACK ARE TELEMACUS!!!

Me: stfu

My brain: POSEIDON IS MALLEUS

Me: ToT

My brain: AOELUS IS LILIA

Me: let me sleep, please

My brain: RUGGIE IS EURYLOCHUS

Me: T-T who even is that??

My brain: STFU AND LET ME COOK

18 notes · View notes

minxmut-cafe · 5 months ago

Text

5. Whispers of the Tides

Pairing : Jimin x Reader

Word count : 1.8k

Genre : Fantasy Au.

Authors note : HERE is the 5th chapter! I've also opened a Kofi page so if you're interested in my writing your support would be appreciated. Make sure to like or reblog!!

General Warning : Smut, crude language, angst, fluffy, gorey themes, lil bit of torture,

Summary : In the kingdom of Solaria, Prince Jimin is caught in a web of secrets, darkness, and ancient power. When a mysterious maid enters his life, he's drawn into an intricate tale of betrayal, loss, and a curse that binds a forgotten princess to the depths of the ocean. As tensions rise between the five powerful tribes, Jimin discovers a hidden connection between the princess, a siren, and his own fate-one that could unravel the balance of the entire world.

With the Abyss calling, and the truth slipping just beyond his reach, Jimin must navigate treacherous waters, confront his past, and uncover the secrets that tie him to the ocean's depths. But the more he learns, the deeper the darkness becomes, threatening to pull him under.

Will Jimin uncover the truth before it's too late? Or will the ocean's power drown them all

MASTERLIST

__________________________________________________

The maid’s words echoed in Jimin’s mind long after she had left.

“Dream well, Your Highness.”

But despite the invitation of rest, sleep did not come. His body felt heavy, his limbs unwilling to settle, as if the very air in his chamber was thick with questions that had no answers. The warmth of the bed seemed almost suffocating, the silence surrounding him oppressive. His thoughts drifted back to her words—their meaning curling around him like smoke.

Frustrated, Jimin rose from his bed, the cold stone floor a welcome contrast against the warmth of the room. He didn’t want to wake the servants or deal with the formality of the guards. The night was his alone.

He donned his cloak quickly, slipping through the door with ease, his footsteps light as he made his way through the quiet corridors of the palace. The air outside was cool and crisp, the scent of jasmine carried by the breeze as he passed through the open courtyards. The night felt different here, somehow quieter.

He walked without destination, letting his feet guide him, until the familiar sound of the ocean reached his ears. The beach—the one he used to visit in his youth, before the weight of his title and responsibilities had hardened his soul.

It was the lonely part of the shore, where jagged rocks broke the surf and the water was a deep, endless blue. A place he had once come to think, to breathe without fear of judgment or expectation. The rhythmic sound of the waves had always been a soothing balm for his restless heart.

The night was still as he reached the edge of the beach, the sand cool beneath his boots. The water was dark and undisturbed, its surface reflecting the pale glow of the moon, the rocks standing like silent sentinels at the water's edge.

Jimin made his way to the spot where the rocks curved inward, a small cove that had always offered a sense of solitude. He could remember the feeling of this place from his childhood—how it felt like a small universe unto itself, where nothing could touch him, not the weight of his future nor the expectations of his bloodline.

He sat on the smooth stone, letting the waves wash over the shore before him, their soft crash against the rocks pulling his mind into a meditative stillness. But his thoughts were restless still, drifting back to the maid—the way she spoke, the mystery that clung to her like a second skin.

Who are you?

He closed his eyes, trying to push the thought away, but it lingered, stubborn as ever. His connection to her was undeniable, yet impossible to define. She had a way of slipping under his skin, into his thoughts, making him question everything he thought he knew about himself, his kingdom, and the world around him.

That was when he heard it.

A sound, faint and gentle, but unmistakable—footsteps.

Jimin turned sharply, his heart quickening. There, standing at the edge of the cove, was the maid. Her silhouette was barely visible against the moonlight, her figure ethereal and almost otherworldly as she stepped toward him with quiet grace.

She did not speak at first, but there was a subtle shift in the air as she approached, an unspoken presence that filled the space between them. Her dark eyes met his, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to still.

“I didn’t expect you to be here,” Jimin said, his voice barely a whisper, as if speaking louder would break the fragile connection that seemed to form between them.

The maid smiled, the expression soft but knowing, as though she were well aware of the quiet moments that always seemed to draw him to this place. “I could say the same about you, Your Highness.” Her voice was soothing, almost melodic, as if it had been designed to calm the very storm brewing within him.

Jimin felt an unexplainable warmth rise in his chest, something that made his heart skip a beat despite the stillness of the night. “I used to come here as a child… to think, to escape everything. It’s the only place where I felt at peace.”

She nodded slowly, stepping closer to him, her presence a quiet comfort. “A place untouched by the weight of responsibility,” she said softly. “A place where you could just be.”

Her words hit too close to home, and Jimin found himself staring at her, as if she had peeled back the layers of his soul in a single breath. “And what about you?” he asked, unable to stop himself. “Do you have a place where you can be yourself?”

For a moment, she was silent, her gaze drifting to the water. There was something in her expression—something fleeting, like the flicker of a shadow passing across the moon. “I suppose I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be… myself,” she murmured, almost to herself.

Jimin felt a pang of something—compassion, perhaps, or maybe curiosity. He wanted to ask her more, to dig deeper into the mystery that was her life. His voice softened. “Where do you come from?”

Her gaze met his, steady and unflinching, and for a moment, it felt as though she were weighing her answer carefully. Then, with a quiet, almost wistful tone, she replied, “I belong to the ocean.”

Her words hung in the air, vast and unfathomable, like the tides themselves. Jimin’s heart skipped a beat, the answer both simple and utterly confounding. “The ocean?” he repeated, searching her face for something—clarity, understanding, anything.

She only smiled faintly, the kind of smile that seemed to know more than it let on. “It is where I come from and where I will return. That is all you need to know… for now.”

She turned to leave, her figure illuminated by the silver light of the moon. But before she could vanish into the shadows, Jimin acted on impulse. His hand reached out, catching her wrist.

The instant they made contact, a chill ran through his body, sharp and all-encompassing, as if he had plunged into the icy depths of the sea. His breath hitched, his muscles tensing, yet strangely, there was a sense of comfort in the cold. It wasn’t unpleasant—it was calm, quiet, and vast, much like the ocean itself.

The maid stopped, glancing down at his hand before meeting his gaze. Her eyes were unreadable, though a faint flicker of something—amusement, perhaps—glimmered there. Her lips curved ever so slightly, a smile that was neither warm nor cold but somewhere in between, like the embrace of the tide.

“Careful, Your Highness,” she said, her tone carrying an almost teasing edge. “You may find the ocean’s touch… difficult to forget.”

Jimin released her wrist instinctively, his hand tingling as if it had been touched by something otherworldly. She stepped back, the moonlight catching her face once more, and for a brief moment, her eyes darkened—stormy and unfathomable, like the abyss he had dreamed of.

And then she was gone, leaving him with the echo of her words and the lingering chill in his veins.

#bts smut #bts x reader #park jimin #fantasy #jimin smut #namjoon #fluff #bts jin #bts army #bts jungkook #smut #siren #politics #jimin x reader #jiminie #taehyung #yoongi

6 notes · View notes

mannythemunchkin · 17 days ago

Text

Please please PLEASE!!!! Read this if you're an epic fan!!!🥺🥺 The Fair Maiden is EXQUISITE and such a good comfort fix-it fic, guys. I cannot recommend this enough!!!!🥺🥺❤️❤️❤️

Kquil, my darling, this chapter was everything I wanted AND MORE. You amazing, delightful woman🥺❤️❤️

EPIC : THE FAIR MAIDEN (not so platonic ver.)

CHAPTER FIVE : THE JOURNEY HOME

relations. : various epic characters/reader -- platonic odysseus/reader ; polites/reader ; platonic eurylochus/reader ; platonic elpenor/reader ; platonic perimedes/reader ; platonic odysseus' crew/reader ; hermes/reader

chpt. sum. : You and the crew finally make the final journey back to Ithaca but not without some mishaps along the way.

tags. : reader is still a disney princess (primarily polites' disney princess) ; female, mute reader ; pure comfort ; animal crossing new horizons game mechanics ; hermes tame (sadboy) appearances ; polites being a disney prince ; crew panicking over you ; evil mermaids make an appearance ; slight crack ; tiktok sound reference in the beginning ; odysseus being a distraught, overprotective dad ; eurylochus constantly shaking his head at everyone.

length. : 10.6k

a/n : for anyone curious about how i imagine Polites to look, I envision him as @elianzis Polities but with glasses hehe~ (i'm too shy to tag them directly ( /)///(\✿) nvm they won't see this anyway, you darlings deserve a direct link to their amazing page and artwork ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧)

navi. | series m.list

← prev | four : the washed-up stranger

“We are owed a thorough explanation, fair maiden,” Odysseus’ eyes narrow into a stern look as his strong arms fold over his chest. A few steps behind him, Polites and Eurylochus stand, observing the scene while the rest of the crew form a crowd behind them, also observing the scene. Their captain looks like the perfect image of a father scolding his daughter, which was a feeling most of the men could sympathise with — many left home and their young children behind. In the weeks that have passed since your arrival, many have since grown a filial fondness for you and look to you as their own daughter. So Odysseus wasn’t the only one seething from the display.

There’s a pressure in the air that makes it hard to find the strength to look anyone in the eyes, but you know you’ll have to give some kind of statement on the events that have just transpired. The only problem is that you can’t speak.

“Captain,” Polites approaches helpfully, a kind smile on his lips as his eyes filled with concern behind the shine of his glasses, “The fair maiden cannot speak, remember?”

“She can still attempt to explain herself!” Odysseus stubbornly huffs, arms still crossed as he looks you up and down. “Well? Young lady?”

Feebly, you raise a hand and pull an embarrassed look — this was going to be difficult, but you’ll try your best. You shake your head and wave your hands about to try and express that your association with Hermes is one that came unexpectedly, even for you.

‘I never know what he’s going to do next!’ you attempt to communicate with your hands and a shake of your head, ‘He took me by surprise; I didn’t know how to react!’ you think it’s best to avoid the topic of guiltily kissing the god back and, instead, focus on trying to explain that this was all a misunderstanding that went too far. ‘Please believe me…’ you pull a hopeless, pleading expression, pouting pitifully as you hold your hands together in a praying gesture, looking at Odysseus with forlorn eyes.

Beside him, Polites nods along with a pondering expression; he was always someone who understood you well. “You mean to say that he took you by surprise?” The elucidation Polites was deciphering from your gestures was understandable; the gods always seemed to do whatever they pleased, not really caring about who was affected and how. It made his stomach lurch to think that you were involved with a god, knowing the horrid encounters his captain and close friend had to suffer because of quite a few. At the very least, you seemed unharmed and that it was Hermes, a rather friendly god from what Polites could gather from the musical that warned him and others (mainly Odysseus) of their fates.

‘Yes yes!’ you nodded your head enthusiastically, feeling lighter at the feeling of being so easily understood — you could always count on Polites.

“UGH!” Odysseus shouts, punching a nearby tree before turning to you with wild eyes, completely ignoring the 100-bell coin that falls on his head before falling to the ground. “What a manipulative, conniving, sorry-excuse-for-a-god! What in the underworld is wrong with him?!” Odysseus stands there for a moment, panting from his heated outburst as everyone else, including you, stares on in shock, frozen up, not knowing what to do or say and unable to look away. “

Why would he manipulate you?” Odysseus approaches you with sympathetic eyes, his hands reaching out to clasp onto your shoulders when he comes within arms reach of you. “Why would he do that?” you feel his large, calloused hands squeeze you ever so slightly and he looks away, thinking to himself.

Moments tensely pass before he meets your eyes once more, “Did you give in?“ He doesn’t give you the chance to answer before his hands fly to his head, clutching at his hair as he howls into the air, “NOOO!”

Eurylochus finally steps forward to shake some sense into his brother-in-law and captain while Polites moves to stand beside you, placing a comforting hand on your upper back. “He’ll get over it in time,” the glasses-wearing third in command whispers with a small smile.

“Get a hold of yourself, Captain; you’re losing face.” Eurylochus clearly wasn’t the type to offer the best comfort.

Odysseus was unable to hear anyone outside of his rapid murmurings, however. “So shameless! So barbaric!” Oddly enough, the captain’s stubbornness on the topic and anger for your sake made you smile. In the time you’ve spent with Odysseus and the crew, you’ve grown quite close; you associate it with the warm comfort that blooms in your chest every time they act adorably like this. Pulling away from Polites, you step up to Odysseus and interrupt his ramblings by hugging him around the torso and laying your cheek on his chest. His rambling immediately stops and he freezes up, not knowing how to respond. You feel him look over his shoulder to where Polites stood before sighing and hugging you close in return.

“The next time this happens, you come to me and I’ll make sure nothing bad happens, okay?” Odysseus smiles down at you but despite his offer, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. Hermes had given you his blessing and that had led to you travelling between two sheds, which will be very helpful for when you’re on the water again. It also wasn’t the case of you not enjoying the kiss because you kissed him back… In your heart, it only seems right to clear up this misunderstanding.

When Odysseus finally pulls away after calming down from his strong emotions, you call for Hermes. Hopefully, he’ll come back and help you clear the air with everyone. As the speediest god known to man, it didn’t take long for Hermes to return with his usual charming grin on his face.

“You called my lady~” He stays suspended in the air and bows at the waist whilst bringing your knuckles to his lips.

‘Hermes, you need to clear up this misunderstanding! Please!’ you plead with the god telepathically, knowing he can hear your thoughts. Behind you, the crew, Odysseus, Eurylochus and Polites, are alert and drawn taught like a bow, their fingers twitching to grasp their weapons and attack.

“Did you call him here, fair maiden?” Eurylochus asks and draws his lips into a thin line when you nod your head in confirmation.

“Hmmm~… your fair maiden says she wants to clear up this misunderstanding,” Hermes comments, rubbing at his chin with smiling eyes.

Eyes wide, Polites looks between you and Hermes almost frantically, “You can understand her?”

“Oh yes, I can darling~ She speaks directly to me up here,” Hermes points to his temple and giggles as he watches you stomp your foot and angrily scold him. It was amusing the see the wonder and awe in the men’s expressions, some even held a hint of envy — they also wanted to be able to understand you.

‘Tell them that our first meeting was a surprise and that it was so you could give me your blessing. And…about the kiss…’ Hermes carefully observes the way your eyes dart to a figure who stands behind you with the rest of the men. He’s a man with kind eyes, a bandana and glasses. With a thoughtful hum, Hermes looks Polites up and down. Perhaps he has another reason for backing away — Athena was right. Despite wanting to act on his desires, Hermes knows that only agony and suffering will await him if he associates himself with yet another mortal. ‘Both times, the kiss was a surprise,’

‘Oh, but you enjoyed them both, yes?’ Hermes replies telepathically and laughs aloud when you grab him by the collar, a feeble threat, for what can you do against a god like him? Gasps of amazement echo amongst the crowd from your gesture and Hermes’ easy surrender as he holds his palms up.

“Alright alright, my little traveller, I concede…” Hermes clears his throat once you finally let go of his collar and smirks when Odysseus takes the opportunity to pull you back and stand in front of you defensively. “The first time, I had given your fair maiden my blessing. Similar to the one my sister has bestowed upon you Odysseus,” Hermes explains, his smirk never faltering under the tense atmosphere. He quite likes it. Actually. He loves knowing the power he holds above mortals as a god. It was only disheartening how, despite his superior standing, when it comes to love, he remains inferior, a loser.

“I want what’s best for her too. And I haven’t forgotten my promise,” Hermes holds his hands up with his palms facing them once more, “I won’t interfere with your journey further than this.”

With that Hermes zips to the skies with his signature laugh fading along with him. You don’t understand why he left so quickly and your brows furrow at the thought that, perhaps, the subtle hints of sorrow in his eyes weren’t a figment of your imagination.

⊹࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹࣪ ˖

“Fair maiden,” Polites goes to you, “are you alright?” his expression is consumed by worry. There’s no judgment or disgust, only concern and your heart aches at the sight. Recently, you haven’t been the best at keeping your focus, and it's evident that everyone has noticed. Odysseus is always quick to blame Hermes, but you make sure to put a stop to his ramblings before he has the chance to curse at the god. Despite their friendship in the musical, it seems as though Odysseus now has a grudge against the godly messenger. It was quite amusing in a way, but you did feel a little guilty for being the cause of that small rift.

The rest of the crew, however, easily step up to help you with your regular island, eager to be of help after all the blessings you’ve given them thus far, helping them survive on the open ocean, evading starvation and keeping up their spirits so that they could get home safely. Eurylochus has been a more silent but proactive supporter; you can feel his concern through the look in his eyes but appreciate his courtesy of keeping quiet, stepping forward to help you when you need it, and pulling away when he can sense that you need the space. The second commander was the one to often redirect Elpenor and Perimedes’ advances, who are unable to hold themselves back from reaching out and doing their best to comfort you by pulling silly faces or distracting you with a bug or a fish they’ve found. The pair were always very endearing, so much so that you felt a little regretful whenever they were dragged off at the collar by Eurylochus.

“The fair maiden doesn’t need you two bothering her right now!” Eurylochus scolds with obvious irritation, “Go and find something else to do, something useful.”

“Awww…” Elpenor pouts as Perimedes crosses his arms.

“We only wanted to cheer her up with the flat fish we found…“ The two looked like an adorable pair of dejected puppies but Eurylochus was right, you needed the space to think about your emotions and the conflict going on between your heart and mind.

“Fair maiden?” Shaking your head, you snap yourself out of your daze and force a smile at Polites. You give him a reassuring nod and turn away before he can say anything more. You should refocus your efforts on gathering supplies so that you can help Odysseus and the crew return home safely.

⊹࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹࣪ ˖

It’s been two or so weeks, and you were finally in agreement with Odysseus that you could make it home safe and sound, satisfied with the amount of supplies you had gathered on your island. Not to mention you had Hermes’ blessing to replenish your stock when needed. Early the next morning, Eurylochus and Odysseus were surveying the crew’s efforts in hoisting the supplies up to the ships, using a very handy pulley system they had created with their fishing nets and some ropes. The ordeal was rather sufficient and soon enough, everyone was taking the time to say goodbye to your villagers, primarily their favourites and the ones they had spent the most time with on the island.

“This is goodbye, Boots!” Elpenor wails, cradling the alligator in his arms like a baby, as Boots makes an equal wailing noise, snapping his powerful jaws to express his sorrows. “I’ll never forget you, my friend!”

Perimedes was equally heartbroken, knelt before Fang and quietly hugged him. The blonde presses his face into the wolf’s silver-grey fur, murmuring his farewell as Fang patiently waits to be let go, comfortingly patting his friend on the thigh with a paw as he nuzzles him affectionately with his snout. “Be well, Fang. I will miss you dearly, my friend.” Perimedes sniffles as he pulls away, only to weep when Fang leans forward to lovingly rub his head against him.

“You take care of yourself, okay, Mitzi?” Polites whispers as his glasses fog up. He lovingly hugs the blue and white cat to his chest, smiling when she purrs and nuzzles the side of his head. “What a good girl you are…thank you for being my friend. I shall never forget you, my dear.”

“I’m going to miss you three…” Eurylochus whispers in a strained voice as he fondly watches his familiar trio of squirrels play about his sitting form for the last time. “Marshal, make sure these two don’t get into too much trouble.” the white squirrel huffs a breath but nods and gives a brief shake of his tail in response, it’s a resounding ‘Of course!’. “Filbert, make sure you don’t eat too quickly, or else you’ll get a stomach ache…again.” the blue squirrel blinks up at the tall, broad second commander and wiggles his tail. There isn’t a single thought behind his eyes, and Eurylochus can only sigh in resignation before smiling fondly at the food-loving squirrel — there was no getting in between Filbert and his love for food. “And Poppy, keep being sweet. That is your most charming trait.” the red squirrel lets out a happy squeak and runs up his form to rest on his shoulder and nuzzle his cheek affectionately. She is soon joined by Marshal and Filbert, who also nuzzle into his cheek from the opposite shoulder — that was the closest you’ve seen Eurylochus to crying openly, he’s truly made a great bond with the three in the short time you've been together.

“Fauna, Shino,” Odysseus addresses, taking a knee before the two deers. “This is where we must say our goodbyes—” Before he could speak further, Fauna let out a small whine and pressed her snout into the captain’s cheek while Shino playfully nibbled at his hair, conscious of her horns. With a baritone chuckle, Odysseus brings up his arms to hug both of them in return, pressing his forehead against their own as he whispers a soft farewell to each of them separately. “Fauna, you graceful creature, thank you for bringing me peace and stability. Please stay healthy. Shino, I hope you never lose your vivacious nature, thank you for being such a joy. Please stay healthy, also.”

Maybe one day you’ll be able to reunite the crew with your villagers; it broke your heart seeing everyone so anguished over having to say goodbye. But there was still a buzz in the air over making the final leg of the journey home. Despite the goodbyes, everyone was eager to see their families and their beloved island once again.

Stepping onto the dock, you look up at Odysseus’ main ship and ponder on how you’d be able to climb up. Many of the crew easily climb up to the deck with their bare hands and feet, effortlessly scaling the side of the ship, with several making a final jump for the ship’s raised perimeter before hulling themselves onto the top deck. You bring out your ladder but frown when it barely reaches the top of the ship. Maybe it was worth trying to scale the side of the ship too. Looking down, you grab the long skirt of your dress and hull it up before you make your first attempt at climbing the ship, but stop in your tracks when you’re called to by a pair of familiar voices.

“Fair maiden!” you smile at Perimedes and Elpenor as they approach.

“Would you like some help getting to the top deck?” Elpenor looks sheepish despite being the one to offer help — you gather that he remembers the comical antics they engaged in with helping you down from the ship the first time you docked at your island.

You begin to nod but abruptly stop, surprised when a figure steps in between you. Polites eyes the two sailors with an unreadable look as they avoid his eyes. “If the two of you want to help the fair maiden up to the ship’s top deck, I suggest you climb up there yourself and throw us a rope. Stand by and be prepared to pull,” Polites says in a commanding tone as you stare up at him in wonder. He was able to effortlessly switch between the two sides of him as a kind friend and the authoritative third commander, but it always surprised you to witness the definite shift in his voice and posture.

“Yes, Commander!” Elpenor and Perimedes simultaneously salute him before helping each other climb the ship the same way everyone else did. After seeing that Perimedes and Elpenor follow through with his orders, Polites looks down, his expression softening as he gazes upon your beautiful features and the wonder in your eyes.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me, my fair lady.” Polites doesn’t elaborate further and suddenly pulls you into his side by the waist, pushing a silent gasp to escape you. He mutters a softly whispered apology and catches the rope thrown over the ship’s perimeter. In silence, you watch him wrap the rope around your combined waists, joining you both with a secure knot. He finally wraps the rope around his spare arm and tugs at it when he asks if you’re comfortable and gets an affirming nod. The two of you immediately start being pulled up together; Polites firmly wraps his other arm around you and settles you on his waist for extra security. “Apologies once again, fair maiden.” Polites avoids your eyes as you wrap your arms around his neck, securely perched against him, tempted to wrap your legs around his hips for even further security.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to reach the deck, where you find that the majority of the crew had participated in the tugging of the rope, explaining why it had been such a quick trip up. Smiling gratefully at them, they nod in acknowledgement while Polites undoes the knot of the rope tying you together.

“Lift the anchor!” Odysseus commands a distance away despite his voice ringing so clearly, “We set sail back to Ithaca now! Make haste! Full speed ahead!”

“Yes sir!” the resounding boom of the crew’s synchronised will send a shiver down your spine. They’re such a powerful fleet when they’re all working together. Despite enjoying your island and the happy memories you’ve been able to create with everyone, you were excited to be on the ocean again. Journeying with Odysseus and the crew gave such an addictive exhilaration that you think your veins would pop at any moment — in the best way possible.

Peeking shyly up at Polites, you find that he’s already smiling down at you and hurry to move your gaze elsewhere. He simply laughs in merriment before stepping away to bow at the waist towards you, a hand against his chest while his other lays against his back. “Rest, fair maiden, allow us to work the labour.” You share a gentle smile before he joins the crew at the oars.

⊹࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹࣪ ˖

It’s been difficult for you to meet Polites’ eyes, knowing that he’d been a witness to the display of Hermes’ favouritism for you. It helped that the matter was calmed by Hermes’ confession and promise to keep his hands to himself, however, the guilt wasn’t so easily swept away. Was that guilt? What did you have to feel guilty for in the first place?… Looking towards Polites as he mingled with the rest of the crew, your heart pinches in your chest. It was a stinging pain that slowly numbed out but lingered. Polites was helping to mend the large nets Odysseus had insisted they use to help you gather ingredients for their meals, his smile was the same, his kind eyes were the same, and his soft touch was the same. And yet, it all felt so different to you. Why do you feel as though you’ve betrayed him somehow? Sighing, you turn around only to be faced with Odysseus.

“Polites?” he asks you, his voice lowered so as not to draw too much attention. You must have pulled a flustered expression if his amused laughter was anything to go by. “He’s a good man, I can attest to that — he is my close friend and brother in all but blood, after all.” Odysseus places a hand on your shoulder, the warmth of his large palms feeling like acceptance and approval against your skin. But you cannot accept and look to the ground with remorse, “Don’t look so upset now. I wouldn’t lie to you about this…“ he observes your mannerisms further and realises he was completely off with his deduction. “Oh, I see… Not to worry, fair maiden. Polites is very understanding, a trait of his I admire greatly. He is not the type to shame you for acting under the will of a god; we are all but the casualties of their volitions.” His words brought you some comfort but you weren’t fully convinced. Seeing this, Odysseus does the only thing he can think of and pulls you into his arms, burying your face into his chest as he leans down to whisper in your ear. His arms feel protective around you, secure and solid, it feels safe there and you can finally breathe in relief. “Trust in me. Trust in him. He does not see you differently nor will act differently towards you.” Odysseus pulls away slightly to be able to look into your eyes. There’s such an abundance of faith and warmth in his stare, it’s almost tangible. “Polites is no ordinary man.”

It isn’t until sunset, when all of the crew across the twelve ships have been fed, that you finally get to stand beside Polites again. The two of you enjoy the sea breeze together, resting against the ship’s edge, watching as the sun sets on the horizon and the rocking waves that lap against the ship’s body. There’s some chatter around but not at the usual loudness; rather, the crew have quieted with the day, eager to wind down for the evening.

“I’m sorry that you had to say goodbye to your island,” Polites utters, breaking the silence and observing as you shake your head, insistent that ‘it isn’t a big deal’. However, you are unable to meet his eyes the whole time, and his brows furrow in concern, “Whatever’s the matter, my lady?” you cannot answer and you don’t want to so you turn away, trying to distract yourself by leaning against the railing further and tensely scrutinise the lapping waves below.

“…I assure you that I see you no different to before.” Eyes wide with shock, you snap your neck towards him, silently questioning how he knew. “Odysseus spoke to me.” You huff a sigh but cannot deny anything. “I only want to assure you that, he was right. After seeing our potential future in that musical, I was reminded over and over how we have no say against any god. Therefore, you cannot be blamed.”

But you still liked it in that moment… you want to express to him the guilt evident in your expression. Polites takes another moment to observe your actions and expressions once more. He can pick up on your shame easily, his attentive eyes make it so.

“Are you feeling guilty somehow?” you freeze up and that answers enough, “Then that must mean you weren’t opposed to Hermes’ actions.” The guilt on your face deepens and you hear a sigh that makes your heart stutter and your stomach heavy, “Then you must feel regretful for my sake.” When you look towards Polites again, his lips aren’t curved into a frown but rather a smile, a kind, understanding smile. “Is it because you worry for my feelings? For our relation with each other?”

With sad eyes, you meet his own and reach up to weakly grip the fabric of his chiton. A fragile apology. Polites, with such softness, takes your hand and brings it to his lips, “Is it because you feel as though you’ve betrayed me somehow? Like you’re using me and taking advantage of my character?” He hit it right on the head. You can’t look at him! He must think you’re a very greedy and shameless person, and you were in that moment, but you’re hardly ever like that…

“Please do.” his words, which he says so nonchalantly, make you look up with wide, rounded eyes. He chuckles at your adorable look of surprise and brings your hand down to press your palm against his chest, “Feel free to use me however you wish, my fair maiden, as much as you wish.” He moves closer, but you’re frozen in place. Now, he’s so close that you can feel your breath against the back of your hand that he presses against his chest. “That is all I could ever dream of being. As long as I am useful to you, nothing else matters. I am at your mercy.”

⊹࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹࣪ ˖

The sea had been calm for days, plagued by the kind of stillness that made the crew restless because of its familiarity; they can still remember how close to starvation they were after avoiding the Cyclops’ island and yet, not having any winds to aid them — the gods promising not to interfere in their journey home after everyone saw their potentially disastrous future also meant having no winds to push them forward. Their energy to row at the oars wasn’t proportional to their rapidly depleting food stores. They were somewhat confident now that you were there to help them with your god-like powers, but they couldn’t help but feel restless by the grim memories that haunted them. It didn’t help that the supplies you had readily provided each of the twelve black ships were running low despite the efforts Odysseus and the crew have made to preserve them for as long as possible, even using the storage techniques they were familiar with such as salting and sun-drying. The piles of coconuts were long since exhausted, dried fruit reduced to crumbs lay at the bottom of sacks, while rows of sun-dried, salted fish were gone without a trace. Odysseus paced the deck, the concern weighing heavy on his shoulders and brows as he tallied their remaining stores mentally, only to stress himself further. He tried to hide it, knowing it didn’t do well for the crewmen to see their captain so openly anxious. It was no use, however.

You watched him from where you sat mending a fishing net with a small group of the crew, your fingers working deftly through the frayed fibres, nimble and much softer than their callused, sturdy hands. When the captain sighed and rubbed his temples, you set the net aside and approached with knitted brows, tapping his arm gently.

"Fair maiden?" Odysseus murmurs and turns to you, eyes wide with shock before softening as he observes your gesticulate communication style. First, you pointed to the empty corner of the ship that once held piles of coconuts, then mimed eating—generously and without restraint, your hands shovelling imaginary food into your mouth. Then you gestured to the horizon behind the ship’s stern, where your island had disappeared behind days before and smiled.

Odysseus frowned. "You want us to continue eating freely? But we’re quickly depleting our food stores if we run out—"Pressing a hand to your chest in promise, you stare deeply into his eyes and implore him to have confidence. ‘Trust me’ you voice with your pleading look.

For a long, drawn-out moment, Odysseus observes your countenance and takes in the glow of your certitude before eventually exhaling and nodding. "Alright. But if we starve, you’re to blame."

There’s a teasing glint in his eye as his words come out softly, the two of you know he doesn’t mean anything threatening by it, especially when he smiles at the sight of you forming your arms into an ‘x’ with a firm shake of your head. ‘It won’t happen, captain,’ you end with a two-finger salute that he chuckles at.

Over the next few days, you made sure that the crew ate well, as you always did, providing thick and hearty stews, golden-baked bread and fragrant fruit. The men thought themselves stupid and almost threw themselves overboard from the realisation; despite the visibly depleting supplies, you still had your slim wooden storage, where fresh food supplies endlessly flowed from.

After shaking off their nervousness, the crew finally allowed themselves to laugh. “How could we have forgotten?” Odysseus shook his head fondly at you, and everyone laughed louder thinking back on their brainlessness. With your care and a steady supply of three meals per day, their strength had returned, and they were functioning in optimal conditions once again. But there was also confusion among the relief. When you first arrived, you could only feed them one meal per day, and they were left to snack on coconuts and bread baskets that you had left out for them to ration between themselves. Now, they were able to enjoy three full meals a day without worry, and the idea of allocating equal provisions amongst all 600 men had been long forgotten—they were eating as if they were still on your island.

"Where is all this coming from?" Elpenor asked one evening, mouth full of stew-soaked bread such that barely anyone could understand him. But you still understood despite his muffled speech and smiled simply at him in response, tapping your lips and winking in a silent secret. Somewhat embarrassed, Elpenor avoids your eyes and tries to ignore the rising heat in his cheeks — he can’t help that you’re such an angel but it wasn’t good for his heart when you winked at him like that. Beside him, Perimedes chuckles at his younger friend’s reaction and nudges him teasingly with his elbow.

Polites watches you with quiet amusement, adoring the way you interact with the crew and tilting his head fondly as his glasses catch the firelight. His unwavering, warm gaze lingers on you with a deep emotion swimming in his chocolate pools—trust, admiration, and something more that makes your cheeks warm. The third commander is sure that you have your way of getting ample food supplies, that’s just how you are; you’re capable of so much, and you surprise them every time, pleasantly so. He thinks much more of you than that but keeps the thoughts to himself. What matters is that the crew were safe and well and that their spirits were high, and it’s all thanks to you. Glimpsing the relaxed look of his captain and the second commander across the deck, standing side by side as they gaze at you tenderly, Polites can tell that they are just as grateful to you.

⊹࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹࣪ ˖

You always leave at dawn, travelling back to your island for food and other supplies through your storage shed. The sky is still painted by golden rays, stretching over the softest blues and hints of purple, the crew remain asleep except for the watchmen, who you’d learned to avoid with careful steps; they were already exhausted from the night watch, so you dare not disturb them unnecessarily— they’re likely already dreaming of the peaceful sleep they’ll fall into as soon as the rest of the crew wake up. With the storage shed as your gateway, travelling between your island and the boat was without hassle, the only indication of your leaving being the slow creak of the weathered wood as you slipped inside and shut the door behind you. Your villagers always greeted you on the other side, the early risers at least, helping you with your daily chores and collecting more food for the crew, who they always ask about and you’re always happy to update them on. Hermes’ blessing was truly that, a blessing; thanks to him, you’ve been able to keep feeding the crew well without having to worry about your own food stores. A mere two weeks wasn’t enough to prep for feeding all 600 men for the long journey home, but you didn’t have to worry about such things, thankfully.

This morning was different, however. Filbert had gotten sick, and you had rushed to give him medicine, it was also time for you to harvest your crops and replant new ones, which you had taken extra time in doing as you had added more to your crop field since having to feed a 600-men fleet. You had just finished shaking the apple trees, the fruit crisp and sweet as usual, when you realised how much time had passed and hurried to put the fruits and crops into your storage so that you could return to the ship quickly.

‘I’m sorry, everyone, I have to run!’ you call back to your villagers in your rush to the storage shed, their replies echoing in your mind as you fling the door open and jump inside. While travelling through, you begin to hear the frantic voices of the crew on the other side and bite your lip with worry. Things don’t sound good…

"Where did she go?!—”

“Fair maiden!“

“Did she fall into the water?!”

“—Hurry! Stop rowing and cast the nets!”

The evident panic and fear in their overlapping shouts made your breath hitch. You hadn’t meant to cause such alarm but steel yourself before pushing the shed door open. The sun blinds you as you step out of the shed, blinking rapidly to allow your vision to return, only to freeze in place when you take in the chaos around you. On both sides of the ship, groups of men had cast nets as others tried to signal to the other ships to stop rowing and drop their anchor, shouting over the waters and urging them to cast their nets as well, just in case you had accidentally been thrown overboard. Men rushed about frantically, not knowing what to do, but were restless and used their energy to look for you wherever you may be, desperately hoping that you were hiding somewhere on the ship. Eurylochus was shouting orders across to the other ships, his features marred with anger that things weren’t being done diligently enough, quickly enough, well enough. Polites ran between the two sides of the ship, helping cast the nets about and hurriedly hulling them back only grow more agitated and desperate with every empty find, his eyes were unusually wild with a trepidation, enough to have sparked urgency even in yourself.

Odysseus stood there, overlooking the panic with barely contained hysteria, his hands clenched into tight fists at his side to the point where his knuckles were white and shaking, the veins in his arms bulging from the strain. He took deep breaths, trying to calm his mind so that he could think straight and go about methodically finding you, trying to imagine where you could have possibly gone as Athena perched on his shoulder whispering calming assurances into his mind.

‘Be calm Odysseus.’ The wise goddess says in a gentle but firm tone. ‘She is safe and she will return.’

‘How could you possibly know that?’ Odysseus argues back bitterly, his irritation rising at her composed air.

‘Trust me…’ Odysseus grits his teeth as he eyes his mentor and friend fly off his shoulder, his eyes glaring at her feathered body and outstretched wings. But then she lands on your storage shed, and when his eyes fall, it lands on your frozen form.

“Fair maiden!” Flooded with relief, Odysseus sprints forward and pulls you into his arms, his relief doubling, knowing that you are safe and sound and real. Behind him, half the crew go rigid and blink at you in stunned silence, they’ve become a small gallery of statues as they try to comprehend your sudden reappearance. For a heartbeat, no one moved. It was still and quiet except for the confused shouts from the other boats, frantically asking for updates on you, their fair maiden. Smiling into Odysseus’ shoulder, you raise a hand and give an almost shy small wave, causing a crescendo of happy cheers to go through the crew. Some raise their arms to cheer, while others pat their chests in relief.

“You’re alright…” Polites whispers to himself with sagging shoulders, gone was his taut frame and tense air surrounding him. Thank goodness you were back and well.

“Where did you go, fair maiden? We couldn’t find you.” Eurylochus asked, approaching and helping pry Odysseus off you once he was close enough. It made you giggle slightly to see Odysseus’ outstretched arms and defeated pout before turning to glare at his second commander for handling him like a sack of potatoes.

You suppose that now was the perfect time to visually demonstrate the blessing Hermes had given you. With a look that they didn’t know how to comprehend, you turn and step back into the shed before shutting the door. The last thing you saw was Odysseus’ widening eyes, Eurylochus’ furrowed brows and Polites’ figure rushing forward with skewed glasses. Now everyone knew what you were trying to say to them; it was a farewell, a goodbye. NO! The moment you disappeared, the ship erupted with cries of despair and shouts of denial.

"SHE’S GONE!" Elpenor shrieked, thoughtlessly shrugging past his captain and commanders in his attempt to get to the shed. Perimedes was close behind him, breaking out of the crowds with wild eyes and hands frantic with the urgency to do something.

“Hurry! Open it! Pry it open!" Perimedes joins his friend, his fingers scrabbling at the wooden door but their movements were so clumsy with nerves, they barely managed to grasp the wood properly.

Odysseus stood in place, frozen and with a pale complexion. You had come through the shed and now you had disappeared through it too… How could you just leave like that? No one got to say a proper goodbye. "No—no, she wouldn’t just—“ the captain couldn’t even bring himself to finish his sentence. This was too much at once.

“She just got back…” Polites utters, his mind racing but still too slow at grasping the reality that you were gone once again. He felt like he was collapsing; he couldn’t feel his legs, and his arms were shaky.

Eurylochus moved before anyone else could, shovelling away Perimedes and Elpenor so that he could plant himself in front of the shed with his arms spread. "STOP." His voice boomed and cut through the panic like the mammoth blade he carried on his back: the Strongest of Same. "She’s coming back.”

"How do you know?!" someone shouted, desperation evident in their voice.

Eurylochus didn’t flinch. "Because she always does.”

“Then open the door—”

“No!” Eurylochus had learned his lesson from that musical. Never again will he do such a thing, he has faith in you, more faith than he has for his captain, and he wouldn’t dare doubt that faith. A single drop of poisonous doubt could lead to something disastrous and that wasn’t what he wanted, not for himself, his captain, or the crew. He had doomed them once, not again.

Odysseus’ hands clenched at his sides. "Eurylochus, if you’re wrong—"

"I’m not.” Odysseus gave a firm nod, the conviction in his second commander’s eyes was contagious, to the point where he felt idiotic for not sharing in his certainty about you, to begin with. He should have better faith in you too, it isn’t like you to just up and leave like that; you will return.

The crew wavered, torn between fear and trust until Polites stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. He, too, had seen the conviction in Eurylochus’ eyes and came to the same short cycle of revelations as his close friend and captain. ”She’s never let us down before. Let’s wait.”

Moments stretched on like hours as the crew muttered amongst themselves, casting frequent, uneasy glances at the shed. Odysseus didn’t move, his gaze locked on the door with a tight jaw as Polites stepped up beside him to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. Everyone anxiously eyed the door behind their second commander’s strong physique, willing it to open somehow soon.

Then—

Eurylochus hurries to the side, hearing your faint approach before anyone else could, and everyone goes rigged at his sudden movements. The shed door creaks open. And you step out, arms laden with overflowing food—baskets of fresh bread and perfectly ripe fruit and vegetables—you wanted to make it obvious that you had returned from your island, so it was necessary to provide the visual aid. Hopefully, this provides a good enough explanation.

But then you look up and blink at the scene before you: the entire crew staring, some with tears in their eyes, others with hands still half-raised as if to reach out and break down the shed’s door. Nothing you wanted to convey had been communicated successfully.Before you can even process things, however, Odysseus crosses the gap between you in three strides and pulls you into a crushing hug once more. The baskets of bread dig into your ribs as loose fruit and veg fall to the wooden deck by your feet, but you don’t care—not when his arms tremble slightly around you.

“Don’t. You. Ever.” he growls into your hair, his arms giving you a slight squeeze, ”Do. That. Again.” Pulling back slightly, you give him a questioning look. What had they been so worried about? You didn’t take that long, though… was there a time disparity as you moved through the portal?

Polites answered your silent question for you as Odysseus pulled away, his voice soft with relief. "We thought you left us for good. The shed was the same way you were brought to us and we believed it had taken you away just the same.”

Your chest ached at his words, and you searched the crew to find that everyone shared in the sentiment. With your eyes, you give everyone an apologetic look; you hadn’t meant to scare them, you only intended to finally explain how you were getting so much food. Setting the baskets down, you reached for Odysseus’ hand and squeezed it in silent apology before turning to the rest of the crew and bowing your head to convey your regret— ‘I didn’t mean for this to happen’. Then you tilted your head back as if calling to the sky for—

Hermes appears with a gust of wind, lounging mid-air with a smirk as the airy fabric of his attire flutters around him elegantly. "Oh, relax darlings~ She’s under my blessing, remember? She is free to move between her island and your ship whenever she wishes through her little shed." His eyes flicker to Polites, who stiffened under his scrutiny, and sees how close you and the headband-wearing commander are. The third commander moves you two even closer when he defiantly pulls you to his side by the waist, his eyes filled with emotions no one but Hermes can decipher — Polites had silently announced his interest in you and your close relationship with each other. When you turn to smile at the kind third commander, slightly curious about his sudden touch, Polites simply brushes his lips against your forehead.

“Next time," Polites murmurs against your skin, "warn us before you go.” With heated cheeks, you nod your head, heart fluttering at the warmth of his touch and turn your gaze away when Hermes laughs, clearly seeing the exchange before vanishing with a wink directed at you both. Behind you, Odysseus and Eurylochus exchanged knowing smirks, teasing words eager to fall from their mouths as they eye Polites’ pink-flushed ears and his hand that has yet to leave your waist.

That evening, the chaos had finally calmed down, and you were able to help routinely deliver dinner to the other ships with Polites and Eurylochus at your side. Naturally, the other crewmen were curious to know what all the disorder was for despite it settling surprisingly fast.

"What was all that shouting earlier?" Lycaon from the second ship asked, accepting his share of bread gratin as his other crew mates leaned forward to listen closely.

Eurylochus sighed, eying you the way a disappointed brother would. "The fair maiden gave us a scare.”

“Did the fair maiden really disappear?” Several crew members’ eyes turn to you as you help distribute coconuts for dessert to another group nearby, oblivious to the conversation going on about you.

Polites shook his head, his hand finding yours as soon as you returned to them after distributing all the food you had for the ship. You were ready to move on to the next ship. “No, she’s not going anywhere.” The crew relaxed but their worried glances lingered, making you look at them with bewilderment. Squeezing Polites’ fingers, you look at him curiously but that was a mistake; was his smile always so charming?

⊹࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹࣪ ˖

The air hung thick with tension that morning.

You had woken before dawn, slipping quietly through the storage shed to tend to your island once more. This was a solid routine you had built up on the ocean journey, and everyone knew that you would return each time. Today, the crops needed watering, the fruit trees had to be shaken, and you wanted to prepare something special for breakfast, a treat for the crew, perhaps some coconut pancakes. The thought made you smile as you worked, the morning sun warming your back as you converse happily with your villagers, updating Boots and Fang on Elpenor and Perimedes. As soon as the duo knew that you were returning to the island, they eagerly asked you to relay messages to their favourite alligator and wolf villager, both of which greatly appreciated having some contact with their favourite crew members. They truly made a beautiful friendship together despite the little time they had; you only wished to reunite them properly but didn’t want to risk anyone’s wellbeing as Hermes’ blessing was meant for you specifically.

Now that everyone knew where you were going each morning, they weren’t fussed about how long you took to return, as long as you were safe, they were happy, so you were able to take your time and enjoy doing your chores as you zipped about the island with your villagers close behind. You even settled on cooking breakfast on your island’s outdoor cooking area, where your kitchen station remained steady and on a solid foundation, unlike the rocking of ocean waves. A considerable stretch of time soon passed, and you were finally happy with returning to the ship. However, as you stepped onto the deck, you immediately sensed something wrong with the atmosphere.

A heavy cloud had settled over the ship, as well as the other ships in Odysseus’ fleet, obscuring your view and filling the air with an aqueous chill. Nestled in the fog, the crew moved with urgent precision, replacing their usual laughter and cheerful greetings, welcoming you back aboard the ship with grim silence. Many, if not all, of the crew were wrapped up with rope, tied to each other with some even tied around the mast while a large group had their hands tied to the oars so that they could keep rowing the ship. In some way, everyone’s hands and feet were tied together to limit their movement.

What was happening?

Your frantic eyes search the boat until you find Odysseus, who’s standing at the helm and holding up a flag with a set jaw. The raised flag was red to mean ‘caution’, but it was also shaped to look like a fishtail, you didn’t know what it meant exactly, but the other ships did as they raised the same flag in response: they had seen the warning and were acting accordingly. Eurylochus was beside the captain with an armful of rope, tying his hands and ankles before joining the two of them together, holding the other responsible should anything happen to them. On the deck with the rest of the crew, Polites moved between the men, quick on their feet and pressing small lumps of beeswax in his palms into the ears of the crewmen. No matter how light your footfalls, Polites immediately turns to catch your eye when you step forward cautiously, your inquisitive expression meeting his rigid look of worry as it quickly morphed into one of horror.

Beeswax in their ears. Dense fog. Restrained with thick ropes. Your stomach dropped in realisation, the pieces finally connected in your mind. Sirens. You knew the stories—how their hypnotising voices could drive men mad, how they lured sailors to their deaths on jagged rocks and feasted on their cold, unmoving bodies. Thankfully, the crew were prepared, sealing their ears with wax, tying themselves up for extra measure and holding up a flag for the rest of the fleet to go with the right protocol. You, however—

You hadn’t been there to prepare with them.

But… there haven’t been any documented occurrences of sirens seducing women. Was it simply because women didn’t often sail the seas? Was that possible? Could sirens seduce women, too?

Before you could react, the first spellbinding notes drifted across the water and slipped into your ears. It started as a whisper, soft as a lover’s sigh but cold as the chilling touch of ice. Then it coiled around you, sweet and intoxicating, pulling you forward like a tide, beckoning you to the edge where you can gaze out at the waters beyond the ship’s safe perimeter. Everything, the ship, the skies, the crew and their frantic shouts for you—it all melted away.

There was only him.

Polites stood atop a sunlit rock, where the golden rays made his soft curls shine, and the waves crashing around him framed his musculature in a picturesque frame. His draping chiton was gone, showcasing his sun-kissed skin made to shimmer by the droplets of seawater decorating its wide expanse. His broad chest rose and fell in a soporific rhythm, to a tuneful song that made your heart stutter and your blood heat up. His voice—oh, his voice—smooth but rough, kind but deliciously surly, was like nothing you’d ever heard from him before, singing words meant only for you.

"Come closer," Polites beckoned, his hand outstretched with a charming grin on his lips. "Just a little closer, my love. I’m all yours…” Your body moved without thought, pushing you to the ship’s edge. “That’s it! That’s my good girl.” The railing pressed against your lower stomach as you leaned forward, the sea spray kissing your cheeks as you smiled hopelessly at the enchanting man before you. Polites, with his persuasive eyes and thick physique of coiling muscle from the war, smiled widely, his eyes darkening with promise.“Don’t be shy now, my sweet. You know I’ll take good care of you, you know you can use me as you please. Come to me now—”

Strong hands wrenched you back abruptly, just as you were about to leap.

The real Polites—your Polites—spun you around, his face pale with fear and his forehead soaked with sweat. His lips moved, but you couldn’t hear him over the song, over the phantom Polites still calling for you a painful distance away, so close yet so far. You struggled weakly against the real Polites’ hold, attempting to reach the railing multiple times only to be pulled further and further from the edge. Polites’ grip was like iron; he wasn’t going to let you go until they had long passed, and those slimy, revolting, oversized fishes were far enough away that they didn’t endanger you. With one hand, Polites fumbled for the beeswax Odysseus had given him to distribute to the crew. With the other, he held you tight against his chest, your back pressed to his pounding heart.

“Please…” he pleads, his face buried in your hair as he hurries to press the wax into your ears, successfully blocking the siren song. With the world muffled and the song dulled to a distant hum, you finally stop struggling and slump against Polites’ hard frame, weak from a sudden wave of exhaustion. It feels like you’ve fought against 100 men, you were delirious with the fatigue and desperately panting for breath, trying to catch the air that had suddenly left you winded.

Blinking rapidly, you try your best to gather yourself, but the overtiredness lingered, and so did the vision: Polites on the rocks, half naked with his brawny build on full display, his sultry voice pulling you in, his calculated temptation bewitching you like a heavy sedative. You tremble violently and lose all feeling in your legs as you topple over, with Polites quickly twisting your forms to cushion your fall. He collapses with you, protecting you from the harsh tumble against the wooden deck below as his arms remain locked around your frame. Even when he groans from the ache that begins throbbing from his lower back, his mind doesn’t stray from one singular thought: as long as you’re safe, that’s all that matters.

When reality finally catches up and you realise the horrific fate you could have endured, tears gloss the surface of your eyes. You bury your face into Polites’ chest for comfort and cling to the fabric of his chiton for assurance. ”I’ve got you.” Polites whispers into the foggy air even though he knows you can’t hear him fully and comfortingly rubs your back as recompense.”I’ve got you…”

Minutes pass by like an eternity, but it isn’t until the ship is a safe distance away that the crew finally releases a breath of relief. Then they see you again and are reminded of what could have happened if it weren’t for Polites rushing to your aid. Thankfully, he had volunteered to untie everyone once they had safely passed Siren territory, leaving him without the additional security of being tied down, and he was free to help pull you back after returning to the ship. With overwhelming concern, the crew look you over with troubled expressions as you remain in Polites’ strong arms, oblivious to his scarlet-red face. It would be very easy for them to tease their third commander to death, but the two of you looked like such a good pair that the majority settled for grinning wickedly in silence instead.

“It’s alright, my fair maiden,” Polites whispers, gently taking out the beeswax from your ears after getting rid of his own waxy earplugs. They had escaped the fog with the rest of the fleet, and Polites had manoeuvred you into a sitting position, where you’re currently curled up in his lap. “There’s no need to be frightened, we’ve moved passed the sirens now. You’re safe.” He gently strokes your hair until you finally pull away just enough to look up and glimpse his warm smile.

“There you are.” His grin widens with relief, “Thank the gods you’re alright…” He lifts your hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles. "I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you sooner. Please forgive me…” He keeps his lips pressed against the skin of your knuckles as he looks up your arm to meet your eyes, his gaze apologetic and begging.

Your heart swelled and fluttered in your chest, a pleasant feeling as you answered his decorous plea. Leaning forward, you press a kiss to his cheek, quick, impulsive and so soft…

‘I forgive you’.

He froze. Then, slowly, his lips pull up into the softest smile.

“Third commander!” Eurylochus shouts across the ship, drawing all the attention to where he’s tied at the waist with the flag and Odysseus, who snickers mischievously at the picture you and Polites make together, especially after that sweet kiss on the cheek. “I think now would be a good time to untie us, don’t you?” There was a playfulness in their second commander’s voice that didn’t escape anyone and a wave of giggles infected the crew as Polites rolled his eyes and carefully set you aside, politely smoothing out the ruffles of your dress so that your skirt didn’t pull up and show too much unnecessarily — always the gentleman.

“I’ll be back in a moment, okay? Take deep breaths and try to calm your heart in the meantime.” He practises a few breaths with you before finally leaving your side to untie the crew, smiling at your considerably calmer demeanour, “That’s a good girl.”

With everyone untied and the rest of the fleet also perfectly unscathed by the incident as all were showcasing green flags, another breath of relief was shared. Polites has returned to your side, sitting beside you as you both observe the crew tidy up the ropes so that everyone can quickly get back to working the oars or any other routine task they were responsible for. There was a silent agreement between you and Polites that you wouldn’t bring up what happened in the hopes that you wouldn’t have to confront the situation again. But this also means avoiding Odysseus and Eurylochus’ devious grins, a look that made their thoughts transparent about you and Polites as a pair.

“So…” Elpenor drawled, stuffed full of dinner and dessert as he looked towards you and Polites, who had hardly left one another’s side since the incident. "What did you see in place of the siren, fair maiden?” It was a useless question because everyone could see. You weren’t embarrassed to see the siren take Polites’ form but your face still burned hot, especially from all the attention. Polites became rigged at your side, not knowing how to answer the question, let alone, banish the visages of his shirtless, shameless image atop a rock, skin and muscles on full show. Merciless, everyone else kept their teasing smirks on display, with some even wiggling their brows at you two.

“…I didn’t know you were built so…sturdy, third commander,” Perimedes comments, breaking the silence and sending the whole crew into fits of belly-aching laughter. Polites tried to glare at him but couldn’t muster the full bitter expression with the heat plaguing his face. At least, he was able to offer you some escape from the teasing as you buried your burning face into his shoulder and he instinctively rubbed a hand up and down your back for comfort.

Odysseus coughed into his fist as his shoulders shook from barely suppressed laughter. This wasn’t a good look for him as the captain, but Eurylochus was giggling, too, so it can’t be that bad. "Alright, that’s enough. Back to work, all of you.”

The crew dispersed at once but not without casting knowing glances your way one last time. To distract yourself, you stand and think about preparing tomorrow’s breakfast ahead of time and take your kitchenette out from storage to begin at once. Savoury bread baskets will be good, and maybe some pull-apart bread to have with a variety of fruit jams might be good, too. As Polites watched you walk away, Eurylochus reached over to clap his friend on the shoulder and murmur something that made his ears turn even redder before walking past to stand at his usual station. Hesitantly, Polites meets his captain’s eyes, not expecting to meet such a warm gaze after how he had reacted to Hermes and you.

“You two make a rather charming pair.”

⊹࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹࣪ ˖

Days rushed past routinely and without any more incidents that could endanger anyone’s life. You’ve kept the crew well fed so the majority were able to man the oars daily, expediting their journey back home. Meanwhile, you and Polites have returned to normal without any of the crew to follow as they seemed stuck on pushing you two together as much as possible, your only reprieve was when you delivered meals to the other ships, whose crewmen weren’t witnesses to the siren Polites you had been enchanted by. Today was progressing to be another regular day until the sun reached its zenith, and a joyous cry rang through the salt-stiffened air —a single, trembling voice putting a stop to all activity and chatter.

“IT’S HOME! ITHACA!”

Odysseus' head snapped up, his calloused hands freezing on the ship's rail as he looked upon his familiar island home sitting on the horizon, its jagged silhouette a canvas of brilliantly familiar colours, golden cliffs were bright and proud under the sun’s rays, white shores lined the perimeter where the waves lapped at the land and bunches of green pigments decorated the land with lush foliage sprouting from his island’s fertile soil. For a deafening heartbeat, Odysseus didn’t dare breathe as his vision blurred with salty, bulbous tears and his throat tightened, rendering him unable to speak.

It’s been a decade. A decade of rigorous fighting, bloodshed and war followed by weeks of ocean waters, the journey was filled with longing and desperate pleas to finally reach home—and now, at long last… they were home, all 600 men.

The crew erupted into cheers. Soldiers who had faced the ruthlessness of man now wept like children, their loud celebrations raw with disbelief and profound happiness. Elpenor nearly toppled over the railing, pointing with a shaking hand at their beloved island home as Perimedes sank to his knees beside him, pressing his forehead to the deck, overflowing with gratitude to have returned. It felt like a dream, home at last. Even Eurylochus, ever the phlegmatic second commander, gripped the mast as if he might collapse without it, his knuckles white as he closed his eyes and imagined embracing his beloved wife again after 10 years of fighting a war.

Odysseus swallowed hard, then roared, “TO THE OARS!” They mustn’t waste another moment.

There was no hesitation; the crew surged forward to man their stations, everyone was eager to make it home and finally, finally, relax without having to anticipate any more arduous trials ahead. Their energy was contagious, and you scrambled to join them, rushing to the nearest oar and give your additional support. You find yourself gripping the handles right beside Polites’ own, working so close together that his shoulder brushed yours, warm and solid, and when you glanced up, his eyes were bright with unshed tears, his chest swelling with prodigious pride.

“Faster! Faster!” Odysseus bellowed from where he was also rowing, his voice rough and saturated with emotion, you were surprised he wasn’t choking up when shouting orders. The oars dipped as one, and the ship leapt forward, cutting through the waves like a blade. Closer and closer the fleet of 12 ships raced back to their island, wading over ocean waves so that they could finally dock their ships permanently.

Home, they’ve reached it after holding on for so long, their wives, sons, daughters, family, friends, and loved ones were all past these shores. They were going to make it. Just a little longer.

navi. | series m.list

next | six. ... →

a/n : i planned to post this yesterday but i got a little carried away and the length hit double digits for the first time in the series -- i guess i wanted too many things to happen all at once. no worries, it'll be back to around 5-6k words for the final chapter. once this version of the series is done, i plan on going through the purely platonic version so those of you who are looking forward to that, it won't be too long now. my mum is going to have a major surgery in a few days though, so i'll be preoccupied again for a while after to take care of her so please just be patient with me on updating the series.

thank you all again, for supporting and loving on the series, it's been such a joy to write the chapters despite my initial plans on only writing half the amount of chapters I've written now haha! i adore you all! thank you so so much ( ˶˘ ³˘(⋆❛ ہ ❛⋆)!♡

taglist : @bluepanda08 @doodle-with-rhy @sunshinedaisy21 @jolixtreesunn @ellaprime7 @marcelemry @nishayuro @hijinkxy @kerosene-demon @windrosesrasta @keikeiluvyou @darling-eos @iamapotatoe @yuzxi18 @woncloudie @permanently-nothere @ash1 @barrythestrawberry041 @trashcannotbealive @yuksssss @reisinnie @evg6287 @athanasia-day @fuji-sen @yourlocaleffy @magdalenacarmila @starmee-lodurrson @mousedit @tomarisela @onlybe-satanonce @atanukileaf @carrotcakeandcoffee @starmee-lodurrson @depressinglyobsessed (if i missed anyone i'm so sorry! (⸝⸝๑﹏๑⸝⸝) my mind has been so scrambled recently)

#kquil has done it again folks #READ IT #YOU WON'T REGRET IT #amazing #siren Polites will forever live in my head rent free....#epic the musical #epic the musical x reader #polites x reader

233 notes · View notes

gf2bellamy · 21 days ago

Note

omgg could i request bubbly reader whos always smiling and giggling but one day an officer (or whoever) says shes being unprofessional and too much and it makes her so so sad so she tones it down and spencer is so upset seeing her like this bc shes the light of his life

-🦨

light — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: sunshine!reader feels insecure abt herself, mention of officer saying she's being unprofessional a/n: hii 🦨 !! hope this is what you asked for <3

"Morning." Your voice was quieter than usual, your smile smaller—just a polite curve of your lips rather than the bright, beaming grin the team was used to. You walked into the conference room, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you took your usual seat.

Morgan and Emily immediately exchanged a glance.

Normally, your entrance was impossible to miss—an enthusiastic, cheerful “Good morning!” ringing through the air, maybe even a playful comment about someone’s coffee choice or how exhausted everyone looked.

“Morning, sunshine.” Morgan’s voice was gentler than usual. “You good?”

You nodded quickly, forcing another smile. “Yeah, yeah. I’m okay. Thanks, Derek.” The words felt rehearsed, like a line you had practiced just to avoid further questions. You glanced up at him for only a second before lowering your gaze to the table.

Emily’s frown deepened as she studied you, before cutting her eyes to Morgan again. Neither of them were buying it.

The door opened, and Spencer walked in, carrying two coffees.

He placed one in front of you like he always did—a silent little tradition between the two of you. Normally, this would earn him that smile, the one that made his heart stutter in his chest. The one that felt like warmth on the coldest days.

You would’ve reached for his hand—his hand, the one no one else was allowed to touch—and squeezed it, your fingers lingering just a little too long, just like they always did.

But today?

“Thanks,” you mumbled, barely looking up. You wrapped your hands around the cup, but nothing more. No smile. No touch.

Spencer’s spine went rigid. His fingers twitched at his sides as he stood there, processing, waiting—hoping—for a second longer than necessary. When nothing else came, he hesitated before reluctantly taking his own seat.

Emily and Morgan’s eyes were already on him when he looked up, their silent concern mirroring his own. He swallowed hard.

Something was wrong.

But it just got worse from there.

When Garcia called, her voice bubbled through the speakerphone, laced with her usual flair. "Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favorite team of crime-fighting superheroes! Tell me, my loves, who needs saving today?"

Usually, you’d fire something right back—some exaggerated response about how she was the real superhero or how you were tragically in need of her brilliance. Instead, silence stretched for a beat too long before Rossi finally spoke up, filling the gap where your usual laughter should have been.

At that moment, even Hotch—who rarely indulged in team gossip—glanced at you, his gaze lingering longer than usual. A whole five seconds in Hotchner time. That was basically a siren blaring that something was wrong.

Your usual energy, the lightness that kept them all going, was gone. Every word you spoke was muted, every sentence clipped.

You kept your gaze trained on files, your hands fidgeting with the corner of the page, and when someone addressed you, your responses were polite but distant.

Spencer watched you more than he paid attention to the case briefing.

His mind ran through every possibility, every variable that could explain this drastic shift. Were you sick? Had something happened? Had someone said something?

His stomach twisted at the thought.

Spencer caught up to you just as you reached your hotel room that night. You glanced at him, surprised. The cool metal of your keycard was still in your hand when he spoke.

“Can I talk to you?” His voice was careful and concerned.

You hesitated.

You weren’t stupid. You knew exactly what this was about. The stolen glances from the team, the way Spencer had been watching you all day. It was obvious. You could still avoid the conversation if you wanted to. You could brush it off, say you were tired, say you had work to do.

But a part of you knew you couldn’t do that. Not to him.

So you sighed, slipping the keycard into the slot and pushing open the door. “Yeah. Sure.”

Spencer followed you in, shutting the door behind him as you plopped down on the bed. You leaned back on your hands, crossing your legs, trying to look nonchalant—trying to make this feel like nothing.

“So,” you said, offering a weak smile, “what did you want to talk about?”

Spencer didn’t answer right away. He just stood there for a moment, watching you, hands fidgeting at his sides.

A beat of silence.

“You.” The word landed between you like a grenade with the pin pulled.

Spencer took a step closer, his voice dropping. “You haven’t smiled all day. You didn’t laugh at Garcia’s joke. You didn’t even—” He cut himself off, fingers flexing at his sides. “You didn’t squeeze my hand.”

The admission hung in the air, fragile and aching.

Your stomach twisted. He noticed. Of course he noticed. You looked away, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. “I’m just tired.”

“That's a lie.”

Your head snapped up. Spencer was rarely so direct.

“You think I don’t know you?” he said, voice cracking. “You think I wouldn’t notice when the best part of my day just—just disappears?”

The honesty in his words punched through you. Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

Because what could you say? That some stranger’s offhand comment had unraveled you? That you’d spent the entire day replaying his words in your head like a broken record?

Unprofessional. Too much. Annoying.

Spencer took another step forward, his voice softening. “Talk to me. Please.”

Your throat tightened as you stared at him, the weight of his words pressing against your ribs.

Spencer Reid—your Spencer—was looking at you like you’d just ripped the stars from his sky.

You swallowed hard, forcing out a breath that barely made it past the knot in your chest. “It’s stupid,” you whispered.

Spencer shook his head immediately. “It’s not.”

You let out a hollow laugh, rubbing your palms over your thighs. “You don’t even know what it is yet.”

His voice softened even more, barely above a breath. “And I still know it’s not stupid.”

That did it. The dam cracked, then crumbled, then completely shattered.

“Someone—someone said I was too much.” You exhaled shakily, finally putting the ugly truth into the open. “That I was being unprofessional—that I need to tone it down because I laugh too much, because I smile too much, because I don’t act like—” Your voice wavered, and you clenched your fists against the overwhelming sting in your eyes. “Like I belong here.”

Spencer inhaled sharply. You finally met his gaze and all you saw as fury. Not at you, never at you—but at the words that had managed to dull your light.

He took another step closer. His hands twitched at his sides, like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if you’d let him.

“Who?” His voice was controlled, but barely.

You shook your head quickly. “It doesn’t matter—”

“It matters to me.”

God. Why did he have to care so much? Why did he have to look at you like that—like you were something precious, something irreplaceable, something he wasn’t willing to lose to someone else’s careless words?

You chewed on your bottom lip, shaking your head again. “It’s not like he was wrong, Spence.” You forced a smile, but even you could feel how empty it was. “I am a lot. And maybe I do need to—”

“Don’t.” The word was firm. Gentle, but unyielding.

Spencer exhaled slowly, like he was trying to steady himself. “You are not too much,” he said, each syllable deliberate. “And whoever made you think that doesn’t understand what this team—what I—would be without you.”

Your breath hitched, tears threatening to spill over.

“You make things better.” His voice cracked, and it nearly shattered you. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to see you walk into a room and not light it up?” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “It—it hurts.”

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. You swiped at it quickly, but Spencer had already seen.

And that was when he finally moved.

Slowly, carefully, he reached for your hand. His fingers, warm and steady, curled around yours—just like they always did. The same comforting touch you’d given him a hundred times before.

Except this time, he was the one holding you together.

“Please don’t dim yourself because of someone who doesn’t understand how lucky they are to know you,” he murmured.

Your heart clenched. Your lip quivered.

Spencer slowly let go of your hand, his warmth lingering even as his fingers slipped away. He didn’t move far, though. Instead, he lowered himself in front of you.

His hand hesitated just inches from your face, his breath uneven. “Can I?” he asked softly, his fingertips ghosting near your cheek.

You swallowed hard and gave the smallest nod.

Spencer wiped away the tear with a touch so gentle it made your chest ache. But his hand didn’t drop. It hovered there, close enough that you could still feel the warmth of him.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. His thumb traced just beneath your eye, barely skimming your skin, as if he could erase not just the tear but the weight of everything that had led to it.

His voice, when it came, was a whisper—rough around the edges.

“Whoever said that to you… they don’t know you. Not the way I do.”

You exhaled shakily, blinking at him.

“They don’t know the way your laugh makes even the worst days bearable.” His thumb barely moved, brushing against your cheekbone. “They don’t know how your energy—your light—makes all of us better. How it makes me better.”

A fresh tear slipped free. Spencer caught it before it could fall.

His other hand lifted then, resting gently on your knee. Another silent plea for you to believe him.

“I don’t want you to change.” His voice cracked.

You bit your lip, trying to keep the emotion at bay, but it was useless. His words—his kindness—were unraveling you.

Spencer inhaled sharply, like he was gathering courage, and then—so quietly you almost didn’t hear it—

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Your breath hitched. A teary-eyed smile broke across your face before you could stop it. And then—without thinking, without hesitating—you threw yourself into his arms.

Spencer barely had time to brace himself, but to your luck, he held firm, his balance steady despite the force of your embrace. His arms wrapped around you instantly, holding you close.

“Thank you,” you mumbled into the crook of his neck, your voice muffled.

Spencer let out a breath. His hand moved in slow, soothing strokes along your back.

When you finally pulled back, you sniffled, brushing away the last few stray tears that had slipped down your cheeks. Spencer watched you, his expression impossibly soft, his own smile small but so incredibly fond.

You inhaled deeply, gathering yourself before flashing him a gentle smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back tomorrow—back to being the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

Spencer’s ears went bright red. He opened his mouth—whether to protest or agree, you weren’t sure—but all that came out was a flustered little laugh as he ducked his head.

The next morning, Spencer was already waiting for you when you stepped into the conference room.

Two coffees sat on the table—one in front of his usual seat, the other carefully placed at yours.

You bit back a smile.

Spencer was flipping through a case file, his brows slightly furrowed in concentration.

“Good morning, everyone!” you greeted, voice bright and chipper, just like always.

Morgan and Emily—who had clearly been watching you like hawks since yesterday—immediately exchanged a look before turning back to you.

“There she is,” Morgan grinned, arms crossing over his chest. “I was starting to think we’d lost our sunshine.”

You smirked. “Please. You could never get rid of me that easily.”

Garcia gasped dramatically through the speakerphone. “Oh, thank God! Do you know how hard it is being the only source of light in a room full of broody FBI agents? I almost cracked under the pressure.”

A ripple of laughter spread through the team, but you weren’t really paying attention.

Because across the table, Spencer was staring at you.

Not in the way he had yesterday, all worried and desperate to fix something he didn’t understand—but in the way he always did.

With quiet awe. With warmth. With something so soft it made your heart ache.

You sank into your chair, reaching for the coffee he’d placed in front of you. The cup was still warm, and when you took a sip, it was exactly the way you liked it.

You glanced at Spencer, eyes twinkling. When you reached under the table to squeeze his hand—just like you always did—Spencer let you.

And just like that, the warmth returned. And Spencer knew, without a doubt, he would do anything to keep it shining.

#criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x you #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic

2K notes · View notes

dksfml · 6 months ago

Text

Love 119 [Part One]

part of my paramedic!jungwon series. [part two] [part three] [part four (prequel)]

pairing: paramedic!jungwon x doctor!reader genre: workplace tension, constant bickering, fluff (trust me) word count: 2.7k summary: jungwon and you made it a habit to constantly be at each other's throats, especially in the emergency room. while he barked orders, you fired back just as fiercely. but once the doors closed, the tension shifted into a warm intimacy that only you two knew. author's note: self-indulgent fic because i've seen no one writing this trope

The late afternoon sun was just beginning to dip behind the skyline when the call came in—an emergency at a construction site on the outskirts of the city.

Jungwon barely had time to glance at his watch before he was in motion, his team falling in line behind him as the sirens wailed and the ambulance tore through the city streets.

Arriving at the site, chaos greeted them. Workers were clustered around a man lying motionless on the ground, his hard hat cracked and discarded nearby, dust and debris littering the air. Jungwon’s jaw tightened, taking in the scene in a flash. This wasn’t good.

“Let’s move,” he barked, his tone sharp but calm, his team already spreading out as they grabbed the necessary equipment from the ambulance.

He strode forward with an authoritative air, his well-built frame and broad shoulders drawing more than a few eyes from the construction workers, some of whom were openly staring at him, their faces filled with a mix of concern and awe.

“Step back, please,” Jungwon said firmly but politely, the workers quickly making way as he knelt down beside the injured man.

His dark hair, just a bit tousled from the rush, caught the light, and the sharp angles of his jawline seemed even more pronounced against the backdrop of the gritty site. His team watched him with admiration; Jungwon always exuded this calm, confident charm that somehow made even the most panicked scenes feel manageable.

Jungwon quickly assessed the man’s condition. The patient was unconscious, his breathing shallow. One of his teammates handed over the stethoscope, and Jungwon listened intently to the faint sounds of the man’s breathing. His brow furrowed.

“Possible head trauma. We’ve got low oxygen saturation,” he muttered under his breath, signaling for the oxygen mask as his hands moved swiftly yet delicately over the man’s body, checking for fractures and injuries.

His every move was precise, commanding attention—not just because of his skill but the way he carried himself. Even in the face of an emergency, he looked collected, like he was born to handle the pressure.

"Jungwon," his teammate called from the side, holding the patient's chart. "No significant external bleeding. We’ve got a weak pulse though, around 130, BP's borderline. We need to get him out of here fast."

Jungwon’s eyes narrowed as he nodded, quickly making a decision. “Let’s secure his airway first and immobilize his spine. We can’t risk any movement.” He made the call as he smoothly slid the oxygen mask onto the patient’s face, adjusting it with a gentleness that contrasted the urgency of the situation. His fingers brushed over the man’s wrist, checking his pulse again. A slight frown creased his forehead.

With practiced ease, his team set up a backboard to stabilize the patient, while Jungwon prepared to radio the hospital. His deep voice echoed through the dust-laden air, crisp and calm. “We’re looking at a possible internal bleed or brain injury—trauma to the head, decreased GCS. Get Y/N on standby. She’ll want to know.”

He tapped his earpiece, dialing straight into the hospital, his tone switching effortlessly into that of a strict professional.

“Y/N,” he started, his voice filled with authority as he spoke into the receiver, “we’ve got a situation here. Male, late twenties, unconscious after a fall from height—GCS is 4. We’ve administered oxygen and immobilized his spine, but he’s unresponsive. Internal injuries are likely.”

There was a brief pause on the other end, before your voice came through, crisp and all business. “Vitals?”

Jungwon rattled off the numbers, his tone growing sharper as he outlined the gravity of the situation. “BP’s dropping fast, pulse is weak, pupils uneven—one’s blown. It’s not looking good.”

“Get him here as fast as you can,” you replied, your voice steady. “We’ll be ready when you arrive. I need him in trauma two for imaging, and you better give me a detailed report when you get here.”

Jungwon rolled his eyes subtly, though no one else could hear his exasperation. “Of course, Doctor. Just make sure the room’s prepped.” His sarcasm was impossible to miss, but before you could retort, he was already motioning for his team to get the stretcher ready.

“Let’s get moving,” he said, standing up in one fluid motion, his wide shoulders casting a shadow over the patient as he signaled for the transfer. His team lifted the man onto the gurney, Jungwon guiding them every step of the way. Despite the intensity of the moment, there was something about the way he commanded the situation—his deep voice, his piercing gaze, the way he moved like a force of nature—that made even a frantic scene seem a little calmer.

Jungwon was the kind of guy people listened to, the kind of guy people looked up to. Even with the weight of the situation hanging over him, he held his head high, taking charge like it was second nature. His team moved quickly, securing the patient in the ambulance as Jungwon gave one last glance to the scene before climbing in.

“Let’s go,” he said firmly, and with the wail of sirens, they sped off toward the hospital.

Jungwon stormed through the emergency room doors with a sense of purpose, his jaw clenched as he guided the gurney toward the trauma bay. “28-year-old male, head trauma, GCS of 4, possible internal bleeding. Move it!” His voice boomed with authority, eyes scanning the room as the ER team sprang into action.

The chaos of the emergency room was nothing new, but today it seemed more charged than usual. The tension was thick as the nurses hurried to get the trauma room prepped, doctors barking orders as they readied themselves. And at the center of it all was you—focused, sharp-eyed, already gloved up and waiting.

The moment Jungwon and his team wheeled the patient in, your eyes met his, a silent exchange of understanding mixed with the tension that always crackled between them in moments like this. Not that anyone would’ve noticed—your constant bickering was practically a feature of every shift.

You stepped forward, your voice cutting through the noise of the room. “Trauma two is open. Let’s get him in fast!”

The team followed your lead, transferring the patient from the gurney to the hospital bed with swift efficiency. Jungwon stayed close, hands still gripping the rails of the stretcher as if he was unwilling to relinquish control.

“You took too long with the vitals report,” you said, throwing him a sharp glance. “We could’ve been in there five minutes ago.”

Jungwon’s eyes narrowed. “We did take the vitals. Maybe if you paid attention, you’d know that.”

“Excuse me?” you shot back, your gaze never leaving the patient as you worked to stabilize him. “I don’t need a paramedic trying to tell me how to do my job. We had a plan, and your delay didn’t help.”

Jungwon glared, his voice low and clipped. “Maybe if your plan didn’t waste time on unnecessary scans, we wouldn’t have needed a second round of intubation last time.”

Your hands froze for a split second before you caught yourself. You threw him a withering look. “This again? You think you can waltz in here and play doctor, Jungwon?”

“I’m not playing doctor. I’m trying to make sure you don’t screw it up.” His tone was biting, but professional, and the tension in the room rose instantly.

One of the nurses stepped back, shaking her head. “Here they go again.”

You didn’t back down, leaning closer as you adjusted the IV line. “How about you leave the doctoring to me, and I’ll leave the paramedic work to you? We’ll see how long that lasts.”

Jungwon took a breath, his expression unreadable for a moment, his frustration barely contained. “Fine. Just don’t mess it up.”

“Same to you,” you retorted, not missing a beat.

Before Jungwon could respond, one of the nurses interrupted. “Dr. Y/N, patient’s BP is dropping.”

Instantly, you refocused, the banter dropped as quickly as it had escalated. “Let’s get the trauma panel done. We need to stabilize him before moving for imaging. Prep the fluids.”

Jungwon watched you work, his arms still crossed, but he didn’t say another word. Despite the constant arguing, there was no denying that you are incredible at your job. Even in the most high-pressure situations, you were in complete control.

You worked together in tense silence, the only sounds in the room now the soft beeps of the monitors and the quiet shuffling of the medical team around them. Jungwon’s team lingered just outside, waiting for their next call, though they couldn’t help but glance back inside the room occasionally, accustomed to the combative exchanges between Jungwon and you.

As the patient’s vitals finally stabilized, you took a step back, letting out a quiet breath. “We’re clear to take him to imaging now. Good work, everyone,” you called to the team, your voice steady once more.

Jungwon uncrossed his arms, walking past you toward the door. “You’re welcome,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

You narrowed your eyes at his back but said nothing. You didn’t need to. Your argument had run its course for now.

Thirty minutes later, with the patient stable and prepped for surgery, you stepped out of the trauma room, pulling off your gloves. Jungwon was waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, that same tight-lipped look on his face.

“Everything go okay, or did I miss something else?” he asked, his voice loaded with sarcasm.

You glared at him. “Yeah, we managed just fine without your commentary, thanks.”

“Good,” Jungwon muttered, pushing himself off the wall and adjusting his jacket. “Maybe next time you won’t waste so much time arguing.”

“Maybe next time you’ll do your job and get out of my way,” you shot back, your voice sharp.

“You love being in control, don’t you?” Jungwon’s eyes glinted, his voice dropping low as he stepped closer. “Can’t handle someone else calling the shots, huh?”

You crossed your arms, your gaze unyielding. “I don’t need to handle anything, least of all you.”

“Trust me, I’m not asking for much,” he replied with a smirk, his voice oozing with challenge.

You scoffed, brushing past him. “Try asking for less.”

Jungwon shook his head with an exasperated sigh as he watched you walk away, but his lips twitched ever so slightly. The others on their teams didn’t even blink. This was just how the both of you were. They were used to it by now—the biting remarks, the challenges, the constant back-and-forth. Every time Jungwon’s ambulance showed up, it was only a matter of time before you and him were at each other’s throats again.

Hours later, the hospital had quieted down. The rush of the afternoon was over, and most of the staff had gone home. You and Jungwon had managed to avoid each other for the rest of your shifts, though your earlier argument still hung in the air like static.

You finally peeled off your gloves after your last appointment and scrubbed your hands clean, your mind replaying the events of the day. You were tired, drained even, but there was something about that last spat with Jungwon that wouldn’t stop gnawing at you. Maybe it was the way he always had a smug retort ready or how he never backed down from your challenges.

Shaking your head, you let out a sigh. “Annoying paramedic,” you muttered under your breath, grabbing your coat and heading out of the ER.

Your apartment wasn’t far from the hospital, a quiet space tucked away from the noise of the city. By the time you have arrived, your exhaustion had fully settled in, your body craving rest.

You pushed open the door and was greeted by the sound of faint rustling from the kitchen.

“Rough day?” a familiar voice asked, soft and warm.

You smiled, the tension from earlier melting away. There, standing in the kitchen in the same paramedic uniform that had driven you crazy just hours ago, was Jungwon. His hair was a little disheveled now, his expression soft and boyish, the strict leader of the paramedic team completely gone.

“You have no idea,” you murmured, walking over to him, your eyes catching on his broad shoulders, still defined under the crisp lines of his uniform. Jungwon turned around, and you couldn’t help but feel your heart skip a beat when you see his easy smile, so different from the sharp tone he used at work.

Without another word, Jungwon wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. The scent of antiseptic still clung to his uniform, mixed with the faintest hint of his cologne. You closed your eyes and let yourself melt against him, the weight of the day slipping away. You buried your face into his shoulder, feeling the strong muscles beneath the fabric, and sighed softly.

“You’re lucky I put up with you,” he teased, reaching for your hand and pulling your close. “Even after you yelled at me for no reason.”

“I didn’t yell for no reason,” you protested, but your voice had lost all its sharpness, softened by the warmth of being home. You leaned against his chest, letting out a deep breath. “Okay, maybe I did. But only because you deserved it.”

Jungwon chuckled, his arms wrapping around you more tightly. “Sure, I deserved it. You really hate me that much, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no heat behind it as you melted into his embrace. “The worst,” you muttered, though your fingers played with the collar of his uniform.

Jungwon smirked, resting his chin on top of your head. “Good thing we’ve got the whole night to make up for it, then.”

“You’re still in your uniform,” you mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant. But inside, your mind was in chaos. His broad shoulders. The way he held you. The authority he exuded at work seemed to linger here, too, but only just enough to make your heart race.

Jungwon chuckled, his hand moving up to cup the back of your head. “I thought you liked me in uniform.”

You groaned, your cheeks flushing. “Stop it. I’m tired.”

“Liar,” he teased, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. His own softened as he took in your face, the familiar tenderness filling his gaze. “You love it.”

And he wasn’t wrong. As strict and commanding as you could be at work, here with him, you couldn’t help but feel weak in his arms. You were whipped for him in every sense of the word, even if you would never admit it out loud.

Jungwon kissed the top of your head, his earlier bravado fading into a gentle affection. “Come on. Let’s get you out of these scrubs and cuddle.”

You let out a soft laugh, the kind that only he ever got to hear. “You’re the one who’s going to change first. That uniform’s distracting.”

“I knew it,” he grinned, but without missing a beat, he started peeling off his jacket, revealing the tight black undershirt beneath that highlighted his lean muscles. You had to look away before you lost yourself completely.

As you settled onto the couch, your limbs tangled together in the quiet of their apartment, the world outside felt a million miles away. In here, there were no patients to save, no colleagues to impress, no reputations to uphold. It was just the both of you.

Jungwon nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his earlier strictness replaced by a cuteness that only you got to see. “You’re such a pain at work, you know that?”

You smiled, running your fingers through his hair. “You’re not so easy yourself.”

And just like that, the bickering, the tension, all of it faded away. Because here, in your shared apartment, away from the chaos of the ER and the expectations of their coworkers, you were just you and Jungwon—no titles, no arguments. Just two people who loved each other, even if you never let anyone else know.

[part two] [part three] [part four (prequel)]

3K notes · View notes

gtgbabie0 · 5 months ago

Text

Bi Han x Wife!Reader

Synopsis: {Bi-Han did not have many weaknesses— but you?… you could make him completely fall apart}

For my other works my Masterlist is here <3

!!-18//MDNI-!! Enjoy my lovelies 💕

It was a rare moment to see your husband so at peace, his brows unfurled and his shoulders relaxed, the sight was welcoming— you daren’t even speak not wanting to break the silence that had blanketed itself around the steamy atmosphere.

The hot springs were always a nice way to end a stressful week, the warmth of the water chased away that chill that nipped the air not to mention how good he looked— his hair pulled back into a bun with a few stubborn strands that fell to frame his face, the way the water glistened across his chest and his toned arms that were resting upon the smooth rocks… you were lucky indeed.

Although such silence spoke more to Bi-Han than words did, he could sense your tender gaze upon him and knew exactly what was going through your mind— perhaps that’s why the corners of his lips twitch up into a small smile, he knew you far too well.

“Will you join me anytime soon or will you just keep staring?” He asks, his voice deep and almost commanding beneath the softness that seems to overtake him in your presence. He opens his eyes to look up at you standing there with a silk robe wrapped around your body tightly.

A small scoff falls from your lips as you roll your eyes, averting your gaze in an attempt to be respectful— and to save yourself from further embarrassment.

“I am not staring… just admiring, there’s a difference.” You mutter the response softly, fiddling with your fingers.

“Well your admiring is almost too polite, come here.” His tone carries a certain twinge of playfulness, something you don’t hear a lot from him save for in private— where he can let that mask of his slip and open his heart to you.

With that you let your robe drop, the silk rippling against the curves of your body to pool at your feet leaving you bare for him and he shamelessly drinks in the sight, his gaze dragging along the slope of your shoulders down towards your chest and over your hips and thighs— he was absolutely enraptured by you, every single inch.

Bi-Han’s gaze follows you closely as you step down the stone stairs and into the hot waters, wading closer to him. It was almost a shame to call you mortal because it was clear to him that the gods were your creators, sculpted beneath their fingertips.

Especially right now, with the pale light of the moon kissing your skin and casting an otherworldly glow around your body— you are the girl that all the poets write about.

“You’ve been neglecting me as of late.” You state so matter of factly, sticking your chin out in a playful confidence. The statement breaks him out of the trance you seem to have trapped him in.

At your words he sighs, yes he’d been neglecting you, but it wasn’t on purpose. In fact, he’d gone to bed many nights swamped by guilt for how little time he has had for you recently, but on the other hand, this distance was for you— to build a life where you would be protected.

“I’ve had much to do in preparation, forgive me.” He says, voice gruff yet gentle… always so gentle with you.

You hum in understanding, padding your way closer to him through the steamy water and as soon as you’re close enough his hands immediately find purchase on your bare hips, tugging you near his body, he couldn't help himself, he ought to have more self-control he thinks to himself yet you seem to call to him like a siren does to a sailor.

“Well… am I to remain with this burning between my legs?— or will my husband make up for his negligence?” You respond playfully, brushing your fingers through the water and watching it ripple in small waves, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

The bluntness of your words catches him slightly off guard, making him chuckle through his nose as he drags the roughness of his fingertips along your waist and up your spine then back down again.

“Come here then, I’ll see what I can do about this burning of yours, hmm?” And with that he’s cupping the back of your thigh, pulling you to straddle his lap as the water sloshes up against your bodies and the rocks.

Your hands instinctively reach out to rest against his broad shoulders, stabilising yourself as he cups your chin to tilt your head in his direction— his thumb brushes along your bottom lip with an almost reverent look in his dark eyes.

Being so intimately pressed up against one another sends your mind into a hopeless flurry of emotions and thoughts and Bi-Han reveals in the way squirm against him, the small noises that you make and how your pupils dilate.

“Yes, please—” you breathe almost pleading, meeting him halfway in a slow kiss that borders on desperation. His lips slotting perfectly against your own and he swears you were made for him, every curve and dip of your body.

Your fingers pull on the tie that keeps his hair up, dropping it into the water before running your hands through his dark tresses as he deepens the kiss— his tongue pushing past your parted lips to brush against your own, trying to tug you impossibly closer.

He can’t help but smirk at the feeling of your hips grinding against him in search of that friction you so heedlessly need. “Mm, I’ve got you, my love.” He whispers in between lazy kisses that taper off into small pecks, his lips trailing along your jaw— a hot mixture of teeth and tongue pave the way down your neck and over your collarbones, focusing on the spots that make you whimper and arch into his toned body.

Your whole body flushes with a tingling sensation as he dips his hand between your legs, his fingers dragging along the coarse hairs on your mound before pushing between your slick folds— a sharp gasp escapes your lips and your hand grasps a little tighter in his hair which causes him to groan in return, a sound that makes a familiar heat pool in your abdomen.

It was all so dizzying and the heat from the hot springs certainly didn’t help either, but you couldn’t say you minded not when his calloused fingertips rub slow circles over your clit-- the sudden feeling makes your hips buck against his hand, the warm water lapping up at your back and against the smooth rocks.

“Mhm— more, I need you.” You’re already in a daze of pleasure and lust, it didn’t take that much for him to render you into a blabbering mess and he basked in it every single time.

His hand tightens around your jaw ever so slightly, his thumb pressing into the corner of your mouth and he stares up at you in pure wonderment, enjoying every small little twitch in your face as he continues to circle at your clit.

“Shh my sweet, patience you know I’ll give you everything you want… always,” he seals the promise with a kiss, smiling against your lips as you moan so carelessly into his mouth at the feeling of his middle finger dipping into your wet hole, followed by his ring finger.

The slickness of your walls clenching around his digits only serves to turn him on, his cock hardening in between your thighs as he pumps his fingers in and out of your greedy cunt— curling them deeply in a way that makes you arch and whimper, grinding yourself against the heel of his palm.

His fingers stretch you open slowly, the water splashing up against your body, water droplets trickling down your jaw and rolling along your shoulders.

“I need you… inside me, please.” The words fall from your lips so carelessly, heady in a sense— completely drunk on the pleasure he was giving to you.

He gives in to your wants, as always, he could never find it in himself to make you wait especially when you make such pretty noises— and partly because of how hard he is.

The loss of his thick fingers is soon replaced by his cock, his hands now grasping at the fat on your hips as he slowly guides you down onto him whilst you pant and moan into the crook of his neck— whining about how big he is which only elicits a deep chuckle from him. The sound rumbling through his chest, you could feel it against your own.

“Shh, you can take it… take me so well,” Bi-Han groans, tipping his head backwards slightly as you take all of him deep inside you, practically sucking him in and he breathes some comment about how ‘tight’ you are and how much he 'missed you'.

It’s all such a haze in your mind, your eyes bleary with lust as he helps you move against him— your knees pressing either side of his thighs, your nails biting into his broad shoulders— it drove him insane and he can’t help the way he grunts at the feeling, his hands squeezing at the curve of your ass.

The tip of his cock hits your cervix with every bounce, each one more intense than the other— the drag of his cock along your walls brings you closer and closer to the edge. It was a little embarrassing how quickly your body starts to tremble, the familiar tingle that flickers down your spine leaving a searing heat.

“I can’t— I can’t,” you’re a blabbering mess, letting him take control as he guides your hips up and down along his thick cock— thrusting up into your wet cunt as you practically melt into his strong body.

“You can, my girl… let go.” He whispers through slightly gritted teeth, smirking against the dewy skin of your shoulder as you loop your arms tightly around his neck— “I’m right there with you,” he grunts, turning his head to brush his lips along the curve of your jaw,

Through whiny moans your orgasm washes over you, fingers buried in his hair as your warm heat clamps down around him until he’s spilling deep inside your womb— the pair of you immediately finding each other's lips in a slow and needy kiss, his nose brushing against your own.

“I’ve got you, always,” Bi-Han whispers hoarsely, his arms wrapping around your waist to hold you close to him as your body goes all boneless against him, all you can do is whimper in response. The heat from both your bodies and the water provided a sense of comfort, along with the way his calloused hand rubs your back soothingly… he’d never make you wait so long again.

1K notes · View notes

blessedbyahuntress · 3 months ago

Text

Blessed by a Trickster

Chapter Twenty: Along with my suffering, can you also take my depression and anxiety?

Prev/Next

A/N: I hope y'all didn't get used to the long chapters 😅

Warnings: None

Word count: 450 (I'm soooorrrrrrrrrrryyyyyyy)

Listen to: Suffering

You looked down from the mast, where you crouched with Polites. Your bow was drawn, an arrow knocked, ready to be sent flying as soon as Odysseus sent the signal.

You watched your captain pace the deck, looking out to the water expectantly.

A nearby rock- you saw something flash near it in the corner of your eye. You turned your head, gaze locking with Polites’s before you returned your attention to the churning sea.

You leaned down farther, breath catching as you saw Penelope- or at least, Penelope’s identical twin slipped gracefully out of the waves and onto the rock. You touched your ears gently, glad for the beeswax blocking all of your hearing.

“Don’t you miss me?” You watched her mouth. Odysseus’s back was now turned to you, which made it impossible to see his response.

“Then jump in the water and kiss me.” You snorted at the siren’s words. This one must be young or idiotic.

“I’ll make sure that you are safe and sound.”

You tapped Polites arm, getting him to look at you. “The old ‘afraid of the water’ trick?” You mouthed. Your friend nodded.

“Come play with me and our daughter, and let’s watch our love leave the ground.” Now you wanted to burst out laughing; everyone knew that Odysseus didn’t have a daughter.

There was a pause, and then the siren slipped back into the water, resurfacing with practiced ease. “I can take the suffering from you.”

Her next words sent a shiver down your spine, for what she intended certainly would make the statement true, “I will take the suffering from you.”

Another pause, and the siren drifted closer. You couldn’t see what Odysseus said, but you watched the false Penelope’s eyes light up. “Of course!”

Your captain waved his hands around, gestures wild and theatrical.

“Oh, no,” the siren said, looking rather bored. Odysseus must’ve piled a bunch of questions on her, for the siren arched an elegant brow. “He will chase you high and low, so find a place he’d never go. The one way you’ll get home is sailing where he’s scared to roam. Oh, it’s through…”

“The lair of Scylla.”

“No,” you said aloud. You looked at Polites, eyes clouded with fear.

“This is your only way home; the lair of Scylla.”

The siren seemed to take pleasure in Odysseus’s scared expression. “Well you asked, and now you know.” She slapped the water with great impatience. “Now jump in the water!”

Odysseus started walking to the helm of the ship, and the siren followed down below. “I would take the suffering from you.”

Odysseus sighed visibly, gesturing behind his back to you.

You grinned, letting the arrow fly.

Taglist: @barrythestrawberry041 @thereigningking @m-carriaga2021 @jackintheboxs-world @fallenh34art @itzkingbo @sabrina-senpai @smartiepants217 @doodle-with-rhy @trashcannotbealive@uselessmoonlight@permanently-nothere @keikeiluvyou

#epic the musical #epic musical #polites #blessed by a trickster #epic odysseus #epic fandom #epic the musical x reader #epic the thunder saga #epic suffering #siren #eurylochus #eurylocus x reader #odysseus

86 notes · View notes

dilatorywriting · 6 months ago

Text

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 5]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 6.8k

Summary: 'Rule 27: It’s a poor choice to help a hare at high noon, but it will certainly appreciate you if you do.'

WARNING for some descriptions of violence

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

You’d first set foot on The Rose Queen when you were the tender age of eleven. Or, well, something close to that. It wasn’t like most peasant orphans were taught numbers, let alone how to interpret calendars well enough to mark the passing of years.

It was the first ship you’d ever seen up close—sleek, and salt-stained, and creaking beneath your toes. The Boy King at its helm had turned his nose up at you in his too big coat, with his too big boots and tricorn hat that kept slipping down over his eyes. It was a ragtag crew that you’d wandered into, made of nothing but runaways and street rats. The ship itself was just as unusual and fresh-faced. It was built in a very impractical sort of way, with hallways that led to nowhere and portholes that opened up into endless seas of shadow where you could tumble down, down, down for hours and never see an end (or so you’d been warned). There were paintings on the walls, all off-centered and hanging on crooked nails that wobbled with every dip in the waves. The masts and rails were stained a deep, bloody red, in honor of its title. And no matter how the raging winds and waves battered at those petals, your Captain would have you out there the next morning to paint them anew. The Rose Queen was the finest pirate ship in all the ocean, and you only half-said that out of personal bias.

The vessel of the Silver Songbirds was… not like that.

It was grand, certainly. But there was a barren cleanliness to it that didn’t feel lived in. Sure, Riddle’d had you literally scrubbing stains out of the deck with a toothbrush and pot of turpentine, but this was different. Sterile, rather than squeaky. The wood planks didn’t whine with a weary, seaworthy groan beneath your feet that you could feel through the heel of your boots—as if to reassure you it was there. The air smelled of salt, sure, and you could see a group of gulls circling overhead, but the whole of it felt… empty. Lonely.

The black haired man led you to a small, private room in the ship’s hull. That alone was strange. You’d been sharing quarters for the whole of your seafaring career. This new little suite of yours had a bed, and white paint on the walls, and a porthole for a window. He gently coaxed you into sitting at the foot of the mattress and readjusted the coat resting along your shoulders. His smile was soft, kind. The sort of warm, pretty expression that you could read about in a love poem.

You remembered your Siren’s vicious, pointed smirk—red, and haughty, and sharp enough to cut glass—and fought a pang of something you absolutely refused to put a name to.

When you blinked back into focus, his lips were moving in a slow, steady flow and you focused your best on the shape of them. It was hard, with how placid his expression was—with how little there was to make out of anything he was attempting to get across. And whether it be your furrowed brow or a sudden memory that oh right, you’d told him your ears worked as well as a three-legged horse pulling a one-wheeled cart, he startled into silence. His face twisted up with chagrin, and he offered you an apologetic smile with round, pink cheeks.

He fumbled around in his pockets for a piece of paper and scribbled out a hasty note to press into your palms.

‘My name is Neige Leblanche, and I’ll be taking care of you for this journey.’

You paused, fingers worrying at the sides of the neat, square bit of parchment. It felt right to offer your own name in return. That would be the polite thing, surely. But you paused, throat tight with uncertainty and a prickling, unpleasant sort of heat. Because you’d never even told your Siren your name, had you? Not even once.

And beneath that sudden, sour gut punch was something else.

‘Rule 116, your name is not a number, but it is your value. Do not offer it to any whose own interests are undue.’

The first time Ace had found himself with a wanted poster (‘Ugly,’ he’d complained, bitter. ‘How am I supposed to hook any tail with this? I look like a mutant potato. This stupid portrait is worse than prison.’), Riddle had taken your handwritten Book of Rules and underlined that one thrice over. You hadn’t thought much of it until you’d had to cut a hangman’s noose from around your idiot, foxy friend’s throat—the handiwork of the tavern folk he’d been boasting to only an afternoon before. And then it had made sense. Ace had survived (with a new, grand tale of woe that he liked to repeat ad nauseum until you wished you’d left him strung up), but the lesson had remained.

Carefully you swallowed the words resting on your tongue and offered a polite-ish nod in their place.

“Nice to meet you, sir. Thank you. For saving me.”

Neige shook his head in a panicked sort of rush, hands waving back and forth with a clear ‘none of that! None of that!’ before reaching back into his pockets to search for another note.

‘It was my honor,’ he wrote, words jumbled and sloppy in his haste. ‘It’s the duty of all officers to help those in need.’

Your brow pinched. Officer? Officer of what?

Your Siren had called these Songbirds dangerous. ‘Not safe’ written into the sand over and over again with his curled claws. You didn’t know much of mainland politics and other such nonsense, but maybe there was some sort of… Siren Hunting Order? Soldiers of the King sent out to scour the seas and keep them safe for a host of weary, would-be-merman-meals? That would make sense. It would make a lot of sense, actually.

Another note was pressed into your hands.

‘How did you end up stranded on that island?’

Islet, you wanted to correct petulantly. Riddle would have. Your Siren would have.

You opened your mouth and hesitated. Telling Nigel, or Nergal, or whatever his name was that your ship had been besieged by a pod of ravenous mers (and one fair-faced asshole who you already missed far, far too—) was as good as serving them up on a silver platter, wasn’t it? Siren hunters probably traded information like how pirates traded maps or merchants traded gold. And you’d be damned if your loose tongue was what led to your friend companion co-strandee’s family being hunted for sport just after he’d finally managed to make his way home again.

So you stiffened your upper lip and turned to look your savior in the eye.

“I fell overboard,” you said, firm. “Because I’m an idiot.”

He blinked, startled, and you could recognize the spluttered ��…oh’ shaping his lips.

He handed you another scribbled bit of parchment, gaze averted and awkward.

‘I’m sorry.’

“Never apologize to the half-wit for whatever fallacy of their own led to them falling into the pit,” you recited naturally, and Nigel startled. His doe eyes went round with confusion and he tilted his head at you like a curious hound. Nothing intimidating, more like some kind of fluffy cocker spaniel or primped up lapdog staring up at you with too-long-lashes and too-few-thoughts.

You shrugged.

“Just a rule I was supposed to follow,” you shrugged off. You offered a slanted grin. “Though when you’re the idiot in question, it can be pretty hard to avoid.”

Neville smiled at you with a soft sort of laugh that you swore you could feel dancing along your skin.

Another note.

‘I’ll be back in a bit. Please enjoy the amenities here and get some rest. If you need anything, let us know and I’ll get it sorted personally.’

You dipped your chin in thanks and collapsed back against the small, flat mattress in the corner. It was soft, sturdy, probably good for your back and all that nonsense. The sheets were crisp and white, and they rubbed blandly at your weary hide. You could smell the lingering, sharp fragrance of some kind of tacky soap in the cotton. Totally not unpleasant at all. Theoretically, it should have actually been the best bed you’d ever slept in. But a part of you missed swaying back and forth in a net hammock, and an even bigger part missed plopping down in the sand with the heat of a crackling fire at your front and the even steadier warmth of the long, curling, press of gemstone scales at your back.

You flopped over onto your side and stared at the empty, carefully manicured surface of the desk opposite you and wished more than anything that you’d brought your shell.

The room was cold when you next woke, and you shivered into the jacket Neige had draped along your shoulders (because it was ‘Neige.’ It had been signed on the bottom of the note he’d left you that morning alongside your breakfast. Which was stupid. The dumbest name you’d ever heard). The starched fabric of it all wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it was better than shivering through the chilly ocean mists that were seeping in through the porthole.

You burrowed into the swathe of white and blue wool like a rabbit in a hole, and then winced in irritation when another of those stupid, gaudy pins dug into your cheek.

You plucked the first from its place—the duo of silver songbirds. It really was quite pretty, despite the ominous undertones and all. Two, graceful, delicate sets of feathered wings arching up into the sky—forever frozen in a dance to the clouds. You dropped it into the little, dark crevice between your bed and the wall. Good riddance.

Next came a crest that was familiar in a distant sort of way—a memory that tickled that back of your brain from days long past. You hadn’t noticed it before, what with the echoes of ‘not safe, not safe, not safe’ blaring in your head like an alarm, but it was just as neatly polished as the birds pinned above. It was diamond shaped, the edges embossed in twining lines like the cut of a rope. At its head sat a strange sort of crown, with the arches and more familiar pointed designs replaced by the billowing arcs of sails. All of that gallantry surrounded a pair of rearing stallions—hooves crossed along a golden edged sword and circled with blue ivy.

You twisted it between your fingers, watching the metal glint in the low light. You hadn’t set foot in proper society since Riddle had let your young, dumb self abscond into the ocean all those years ago. You could hardly remember the flag of our home country, let alone the specifics.

You frowned and the edges of the badge pricked at your fingers.

You dropped this one behind the bed too, with a petulant flick of your wrist to make sure it really stuck.

‘I’m sorry I haven’t been around more often, there’s some business I’ve been having to take care of.’

You handed the note back with a shrug.

“It’s no bother.”

Neige offered an apologetic grimace nonetheless and another of those smiles that looked a bit too sweet to be real.

‘Do you mind if I ask you something?’

You bristled before you could help it, thoughts spiraling away to harpoons, and nets, and hunting parties. And then you settled your shoulders into a polite, easy line and offered one of your own too-put-together smiles in return.

“Yeah, sure. I mean, you saved me after all.”

Neige smiled again, easy and comfortable, and pressed another slip of parchment into your palms.

‘Where were you headed? When you fell overboard?’

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck you with a barbed cactus branch dipped in—

Ahem.

You cleared your throat in a way that was surely a Very Normal Person Thing To Do, and tried to ignore the fact that he was so brazenly attempting to map out his plan of attack—to pinpoint the route that the sirens had been chasing and run after it like hounds tracking a fresh scent. Which, to be fair, sirens were a scourge on the seas. Hundreds upon hundreds of good men and women had been lost to their crooning songs and wickedly sharp teeth. They were vicious, often cruel, and so much stronger than any mortal sailor that of course the world above would fear them. You’d been very much of the same opinion until only quite recently, and now—now you just couldn’t.

“I don’t know where we were going,” you lied, and Neige’s brow pinched in a dour, rejected kind of way. “But,” you tried, sprinkling in a touch of truth to make the lie go down easier, “I know we were coming from Port o'Bliss.”

He nodded, that uncongenial expression slipping off his face as easily as it’d settled there.

He rattled off something quick and bubbly, and you pointedly arched a brow. The brunette blushed bright pink and hastily scrabbled for another bit of paper.

‘Thank you for being so helpful. I know it can’t be easy.’

Your neutral expression froze on your face and when you smiled it felt more like a polite bearing of teeth. Did he know? Could he see right through you? Or worse, was he getting all the answers he wanted from you either way, no matter how you tried to coat it in a veneer of misdirection.

“Sure thing.”

He handed you another note, this time for his pocket. Crumpled and soft, the ink a bit smeared along the curling letters.

‘It’s a poor choice to help a heron at high noon,’ it said, ‘but it will certainly appreciate you if you do. So my thanks to you.’

Something settled in your gut at the familiarity, something deceptively warm and homey.

“It’s a hare,” you said, without much thought. “Not a heron.”

Neige nodded with a polite, smiling mumble that looked like another apology, and then left you to your own devices.

That night, a veritable feast was delivered to your tiny, white-walled cabin. A grand spread of food fit for a king. There was roasted fowl, pools of thick, spiced gravies, mountains of vegetables that you’d never even seen before. And tarts. So many colorful, fruity tarts that were so sweet they almost made your tongue curl.

“What’s the occasion?” you asked as Neige took a seat at your desk to nibble at the meal alongside you—a cloth napkin folded neatly across his nap and a clear glass flute for wine placed a bit precariously by his elbow.

He smiled, honey warm, and offered you another note.

‘For helping the hare.’

Neige didn’t come to visit you the next morning, and his absence had the hair at the nape of your neck standing on end.

You paced and paced around your cube of a barrack. It was maybe four steps from one end to the next, but the constant bumping your toes against the wall was better than just sitting there doing nothing. The worst part was the silence. Not the one in your head. Yes, yes, you were more than used to that. On and on, yada yada. But the silence of the ship. The Rose Queen had always felt like a living thing, a great, wooden beast with a pulse you could feel thrumming beneath your toes, your palms. All you had to do was lay a hand against its side and you could feel the rumble of the tide beyond, the rushing footsteps of sailors sprinting about to meet one of Riddle’s orders or other, the thump of heavy, wet mop heads smacking the deck overhead. It was quiet, but it wasn’t quiet. This ship? No matter how you laid against the boards or pressed flat to the walls, there was nothing. And it made you feel like you were trapped aboard a vessel full of ghosts.

The sun had long begun to set by the time Neige returned, and by then you were nothing but a livewire of nerves.

Had they found him? Your Siren? Was he there somewhere, just a few floors above—strung up like a fish in a net? Caught and displayed like a fine trophy? Or had they killed him outright? Had they found his pod? Had he put up a fight? Had he—

A piece of rolled parchment was held out for you to take, a satin blue ribbon tied along its belly. Neige’s soft, brown gaze was glued to the floor and you snatched the paper from his hands like a rabid cat and tore it open. You could barely keep your eyes steady to read it all—fine, pointed print done up in a neat hand.

‘—danger to those who venture—'

‘—for the safety of the people—’

‘—therefore, the decision has been made—'

‘—with the greatest consideration—’

‘—with immediate effect—'

‘—we have declared the extermination of—'

“You can’t!” you wailed, and Neige’s doe eyes darted up to yours and immediately away once more in guilt. “He’s—he’s not bad. I swear! I know how things look—and—and I know he’s not—that’s he’s a—but you can’t—”

Neige’s wavering stared jumped back to you in open surprise, and you saw his lips twitch on one word—delicate brows pinching in question.

‘He?’

You frowned and fought the urge to stomp your feet. Because, okay, fine. Sure, you were arguing tooth and nail for someone whose name you maybe didn’t even know. Someone who had swum away from your stupidly sentimental ass with all the power and grace of a beast fit to rule the depths of the oceans while you could barely flounder at its surface. And sure, sirens killed people and ate them. But this one was—he was special, and you’d be damned if you let some primped up fishermen try to reel him in on a hook just because he’d maybe eaten a few people. And—

There was a hand on your shoulder, and Neige was staring down at you with an expression not dissimilar to that of a parent about to tell their child that the cat had got out and met a terrible, squishy end beneath the wheels of your neighbor’s carriage. He sighed, dark lashes brushing along his cheeks, and then reached out with his other hand to tap a finger between your collar bones.

“What?” you snapped, and he tapped again. “Me? What about me?”

He paused, gaze meeting yours with a pointed sort of melancholy.

Oh.

You remembered the pins you’d dropped behind your bed, one by one. You remembered the strange coat of arms crowned with golden sails and bearing a great, shining sword. Something regal, something imperial that a commoner like you would have only caught fleeting glimpses of in parades, and marches, and war calls.

Something like, say, Pyroxene’s Royal Naval Fleet.

You glanced down at the parchment again, crumpled between your fists, and smoothed it out into something legible beneath your fingers. You reread the text with careful focus.

‘For the Crime of Piracy’ it said. Right at the tippity top. In red ink.

“…ah,” you blinked. “That makes a lot more sense.”

You were to walk the plank on the ‘morrow.

Which honestly, you hadn’t even thought was really a Thing—walking the plank, argh. Fiddly dee and a yo-ho-ho. That sort of storybook nonsense. The parables that parents passed onto their children to try and scare them away from a life of villainy. Real pirates were put to the rack, or hanged in the town squares to scare the adults away from doing the same.

But you supposed it was practical, at least. Blood was hard to scrub out of wooden decks, so beheading would have been a bit of a mess. Bullets were best to be conserved out on the high seas where stocks were already low, and honestly, your body would just have to be thrown overboard anyways before it stunk up the barracks. So, like, doing it all in one would be quite efficient. You could appreciate that.

Your hands would be bound at your back and you’d be given three breaths, three steps, and then you’d be tumbling down into the waves below. Claimed by the waters that you’d patrolled for so many years now. Fitting, honestly. Riddle would be proud (beneath the raging, spitting indignation of you being caught at all, but that was another matter). At least you wouldn’t be going out from food poisoning or something mundane like that, so that was a win. And who knew. Maybe your Siren would find you again when you were nestled to rest in some seabed not too far from here, and he could finally make a meal of your dumb ass yet. Happy endings abound.

You wondered idly at the dual branches of fate you’d wandered along in these past weeks, and if it would have been better to hide away when you’d first seen those sails on the horizon. To keep to the little, crescent island you’d found yourself on and slowly starved to death. Alone, abandoned, and sitting in a forever stillness worse than any silence you’d known before. Forever staring out over the horizon for a glance of amethyst fins that you knew you’d never see again.

If given the choice between the two, you’d take the plank.

Neige brought you another feast that night, and you gorged on it merrily.

When he nervously kept piling your plate with choice cuts after choice cuts, gaze diverted to the floor and looking like a kicked puppy dog with its tail between its legs, you rolled your eyes and swatted at his fingers.

“Unclench yourself,” you huffed, and he puffed up stuttery and pink in horror. “It’s not the end of the world. You’re just doing your job, right? If we’d met under different circumstances I bet I would have shot you first. So, really. All’s fair.”

He worried his lower lip between his teeth, guilt still swimming heavy and warm in those doe eyes of his.

He said something under his breath, something that you’d bet even if your ears were working at full capacity you wouldn’t have been able to parse out. He leaned forward to scrawl a note on the napkin beside your plate.

‘You’re happier now? After all this? I don’t get it.’

You reached out to pat him merrily on the shoulder, more a smack smack smack then anything really pleasant. He could see him fighting a wince with all the trembling sort of bravery of a field mouse. Poor dear. What was the Royal Navy thinking? Hiring on someone who looked like they belonged on an advert for rouge and sweets. This was the last face a pirate was expected to jeer into? This one? Really? It was a wonder this little, squirrely man hadn’t keeled over the first time someone spat on his boots.

“It’s a poor choice to help the fish at high noon,” you said around a mouthful of crumbs. “But it’s my choice. And I’m happy to do it.”

“Fish?” you saw him mouth, brow pinched, and you batted at his shoulder again before reaching for another of those too-sweet tarts.

There was a whole procession for your execution. With speeches. Which even with the slowly encroaching panic worming into your guts, you couldn’t help but think was at least a little funny.

The whole crew was lined up in solemn formation, listening stalwartly to some judge, or high ranking officer, or whatever rattle off who even knew what. Your crimes? A homily? The lunch menu? Fuck if you had any clue. And you were the one being fed to the sharks. There had to be some joke hidden in here, right? The scoundrel pirate who could never be tried, simply because they couldn’t hear their own sentencing. You wouldn’t even know when to stand up and shout ‘I object!’ It would probably be pretty funny, right? If you just did that out of nowhere. And what was the worst that could happen? Oh, no. A fine. Please, sir. Add it to the list of debts I owe from beyond my watery grave. Amen.

A hand at your lower back gave you a gentle nudge forward and you shifted against the ropes binding your wrists. They were nicer than your own stores aboard the Rose Queen. Not nearly as itchy, the fibers neat and clearly expensive. Neige stepped up beside you and offered you a look that was likely meant to be kind, but your growing nerves had started to eat through your willingness to play friendly. You could feel the weight of the crew around you, even if you couldn’t hear them. The creak of the deck beneath your toes as they shifted about, the way their bulk must have been shielding you from the worst of the wind. Unlike with your own mismatched family of castaways, their presence wasn’t reassuring. And you kept your eyes locked forward and away from the field of sharp gazes eating into your hide.

The plank was narrow, and immediately you were fighting the urge to sway on your toes. Having your hands bound at your rear only made it worse. It threw off the whole of your center of gravity and had you feeling dizzy and seasick.

You took one breath, stuttery, and one step. The wood whined beneath your heels in a vibration you could feel all the way up to your knees.

Another breath, another step. You could feel the salt soaked board starting to bend now. Clearly it wasn’t meant to support much of anything, let alone a whole person. And for some reason the idea of it breaking beneath you was so much worse than taking that last step all on your own. A sudden plunge that was out of your control. It had your heart hammering in your throat and cold nausea bubbling in your belly.

You looked down. You didn’t want to, but it was like your gaze was a weighted, magnetic thing. Pulled down into the salty depths below. The water looked rougher than it had a moment ago, or maybe you were just really starting to panic. You could see the white froth of the wake breaking against the ship’s hull. It churned like the start of a storm, which was really, terribly inconvenient. Seeing as it’d been so still and calm just a few minutes before. And, y’know, the fact that you had to fall into that mess of sharp peaks and rocking waves. You swore you could see dark shapes flitting about just beneath the surface, a flash of grey, or maybe green. It was hard to tell, with the brightness of the early morning sun in your eyes.

No one was poking at your back, urging you forward, which you thought was quite odd. You’d been taking your sweet ol’ time sauntering to your demise. You’d assumed they’d have less patience for a pirate with cold feet. Instead, the world around you was just silent and still. Shifting with the raging waves below, but empty and quiet as a tomb for all you knew otherwise.

You took your last breath, your last step.

And then the ship lurched and you were plummeting towards the water. The dissonance between having something beneath your feet—no matter how frail—and then nothing was jarring, and it had you gasping on impulse. Hair whipping at your cheeks and lungs squeezing tight as the air screamed past your throat. It felt like you were drowning before you even hit the water.

When you did finally crash into the waves, it hurt. You’d always been a fairly proficient swimmer, but whether it be the mind numbing panic or the ropes binding you tight, tight, tight, you just started to sink. The salt stung like an open wound, and the water was cold. Frigid. Like being tossed into the jagged side of a glacier. You at least had the sense not to gulp down a mouthful of water out of reflex, but that didn’t make things much better.

You screwed your eyes shut, bubbles frothing at your nose, and tried to find that peace that you’d clung to all night long. A life for a life, one catch for another. No one was going to miss you anyways. And if you had to meet the reaper some way, then of all the ends the universe could have spun for you, at least this one had some meaning to it.

You sighed into the darkness, soft, but when your lips parted next around what should have been a mouthful of icy saltwater, all you could taste was air.

Your eyes shot open in the gloom to a mess of familiar golds and purples that you’d thought you’d never see again.

Your Siren pulled back, bubbles curling from the edge of his lips into a soft stream of warmth between the two of you. Nestling as deep as a full breath all the way in the tightest corners of your lungs. You could feel the dip of his claws as he settled his hands at your shoulders—keeping you in place. And immediately you shrieked and flailed in your bindings.

“You—!”

You promptly choked on another mouthful of sea water and your Siren wailed—all that molten fondness in those lovely amethyst eyes of his sharpening into familiar, pissy exasperation from one second to the next. He dragged your face back to his, slotting his mouth against yours and pushing more air into your lungs. You leaned into it before you could help yourself. Half for the whole oxygen thing, and half, because, well—

When he pulled away this time he smacked a hand over your mouth with a sneer, his thumb and index finger hooked upward to pinch at your nose. He jabbed a claw in your face with a clear ‘stay put’ and immediately went to work cutting through the bindings twined along your arms. The ropes fell away beneath his talons like butter to a hot blade, and he fretfully ran his palms up and down your limbs—looking for any stray bits of netting like a compulsion. Once he seemed certain that you’d been properly freed from your ties, he hauled you up against his chest in a grip that had you losing all the air in your lungs all over again. You could feel the cool jut of the sea glass around his neck pressing into your collar, and he buried his head down into your throat until you didn’t know where he ended and you began. The frills of his tail fluttered in the water, and the bulk of those twining strands curled up and around your legs like a barnacle.

He was warm. Warmer than you’d been expecting, for a creature who spent his life patrolling the darkest depths of the ocean. It wasn’t the same sort of heat that would beat off a human’s hide, but it was more comforting than any you’d ever known. You burrowed down against his shoulder, nose scrunching against the side of his neck and the fins at his ears brushing your temple. You could feel his claws flexing at your sides, feel the shift of his scales against your skin. And just as your lungs were starting to burn, he ducked forward to pull you into another kiss—filling your chest with wonderful, wonderful oxygen all over again.

You blinked blearily past the sting of salt in your eyes and he scrubbed a thumb against your cheek.

Now that those high, wonderful, heart bursting emotions were settling back into something manageable beneath your ribs, you took a moment to look at him. Really look at him. Because you’d sent him on his way, hadn’t you? Waved him off with well wishes and a hope for his happiness. And all that aside, how had he even managed to find you—

Bubbles streamed from your nose as that newest shared breath began to run dry, and your Siren hooked an arm around your waist to propel you upwards.

You crested the surface with a gasp, paddling instinctively against the churning wake. When all that did was leave you smack, smack, smacking at your Siren’s chest like a flailing toddler, he hissed—a spitting, pissy thing you could feel on the breeze—and hauled you back up against him. Just like he had all those times you’d swum together in your cove. You forced yourself to settle, bobbing gently against the tide as he kept you both aloft.

Once your body had managed to catch up with your brain to realize that it was, in fact, not drowning, all of the adrenaline rushed out of you like a broken spicket. You slumped against the Siren’s chest, fuzzy headed and dizzy. Because he’d saved you. Which made no sense in the least. But you’d almost died, and he’d saved you—

Your gaze drifted back up to the ship from which you’d only so recently taken your Cannonball of Doom and startled.

There was blood everywhere.

Staining the railings, splashed along the low flying flags, dripping along the deck. A macabre mess of gore and claw marks gutting the once grand vessel like a beached whale. Some of the crew still seemed to be hanging onto the life rafts, others were taking running leaps into the water like they were under compulsion—eyes glazed over and distant. There was a prickling all along your skin, something twisting familiar and strange in your gut, and oh. Oh.

One of the grander looking officers (the one who had been giving your pre-execution speech, perhaps? He looked similar enough) was shouting something from his place at the bow of one of the life rafts—arm extended in a grand show of valor and sword glinting into the light of the morning. And then a great, emerald siren was rearing over the side of that tiny vessel with a sharp grin on his face and sharper talons on display. The officer was dragged overboard, and the siren’s tail came down on the guardrails with a force that had the wood splintering and the already haphazard little boat rock, rock, rocking until it caught on a high wave and capsized.

You could see the flash of colorful scales and the tips of even brighter fins all around. Cresting above the water just long enough to grab hold of another wailing victim and drag them down to the depths. There was enough blood in the water that you could smell it. Acrid and copper against the ocean’s already sharp, salty musk. And sure, you were a pirate. You’d been in raids, you’d seen death. Plenty of it. But this. Well. It was unfamiliar. In a strange, detached sort of way. These assholes had chucked you overboard, after all. So you only really had a teensy, tiny pinch of sympathy for the fact that being eaten alive probably hurt like a sonofabitch.

It was more strange, you supposed, to be at the center of a sirens’ hunt and not be the one facing down the angry, bitey end.

You kicked in the water, nose scrunching when the red tide lapped against your chin.

“This isn’t going to attract sharks, is it?”

Because if you were saved from drowning at the hands of a royal militia only to wind up as a fish’s dinner, you would be terribly annoyed.

Your Siren rolled his eyes at you, like you were just the most ridiculous and stupid creature in all of creation. And then he made a languid swipe of his large, fully-healed tail and began to swim away from the literal bloodbath he and his pod had wrought. With you and all your silly, fragile humanness in tow.

It was far too relaxing, being pulled along against his side. The gentle rocking of his tail beneath you as he swam at the surface—always ensuring to keep your head above the water as he did so. You could feel your eyes starting to dip, feel a yawn cracking along your lips. Maybe it was just the adrenaline crash hitting, or maybe it was the relief that you hadn’t even wanted to address. He’d come back. For you.

The earless pirate who never seemed to do much but stumble into one conundrum after another. Who had only annoyed him at best and shorn his fins to shredded, useless bits at worst. Who had thrown shells at his head and only nicked him a little when you cut the ropes from his hide.

Who had made him human foods with fire and taught him your language in a messy scrawl of sand and snark. Who swam with him in the bay and twined a necklace of shining, purple sea glass around his neck. Who braided his hair, and laughed at his pouting, and—

There was a rough roll of surf that splashed in your face and you spluttered against the white froth.

The Siren paused and beat his tail against the deeper waters, propping you upright as you hacked and fretfully patting at your back. You could see his mouth moving as he mumbled something, brow pinched, and stared back at him with your own wobbly frown—confused.

“Why did you come back?” you asked, and the Siren’s brows jumped up into his hairline. He looked startled, genuinely. And that only had you even more befuddled. “And how did you even find me?”

This time when he huffed, there was a subtle sort of irritation there that you’d learn to recognize well.

He was pouting.

Something brushed against your fingers in the water, soft and fleeting. You glanced down just in time to catch a blur of lavender flitting nervously below the choppy waves, never dipping close enough again to touch, but looking hesitant to keep much further either.

The Siren followed your gaze only to narrow his eyes, pointed teeth bared as he swatted at the poor, round, little octopus with his tail. A clear shoo, shoo if you’d ever seen one. The octopus squeaked, sending bubbles spiraling in all directions, and frantically looped out of the way of the mer’s petulant tantrum. You whacked him right back, indignant on your teeny friend’s behalf. Because—!

“You followed me,” you burbled, and the little octopus spun in a fretful circle. If you didn’t know better, you’d say the poor, little dear was wringing its hands. Your Siren bared his teeth and smacked out again. “Hey! Don’t be an ass! He saved me,” you argued, and your bitch of a merman just snapped his fangs in your face like a feral cat.

You gawked.

“No way. You can’t be annoyed that you were beat out by a baby, purple octopus the size of an orange.”

He huffed and turned up his nose, and you burst out into laughter for the first time since you’d watched him swim out of your cove all those days ago.

You laughed and laughed until tears were beading at the corners of your eyes, and your Siren was grumbling in complaint and pinching your sides with his curved claws. There wasn’t real malevolence in that stern glare of his, though—just more of the prickly, teasing sort of snide side eye he’d given you in your latter weeks together. Fondness, you realized. That’s what was softening it all. The same sort of warmth you held for him.

Your favorite, pissy, preening, self-righteous goldfish.

You snorted into his shoulder, still shaking on giggles, and you could feel his sigh against your temple. You burrowed down against his side, feeling his fins brush along your hips as he kept the both of you afloat.

“Thanks,” you said, soft. “For coming back.”

You were expecting another melodramatic sigh, another plaintive roll of the eyes. Instead, his fingers came up to twine with yours and tugged your hand to rest against the pendant at his throat. You blinked, confused, and he just curled your palm around that little, sand-smoothed piece of glass.

You arched a brow. “What does that have to do with anything?”

This time he did roll his eyes at you, and when he spoke he mouthed the word dramatic and wide so he was sure that you could see it.

‘Moron.’

You whined in complaint and smacked his fingers away. “But I’m your moron.”

Another huff, soft against the nape of your neck. And you could see the barest twitch of a smile on his red lips as he turned back into the tide and continued his trek home.

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

@marvelous-maxi, @ilikefanfics4, @jackalope08, @crocwork-clockodile, @cosmicobubisi, @buttplugs-stuff, @pomefleur, @decemebercircus, @ailynyan, @genzombie, @meliade-ot, @sunlightocean, @theofficialantitherapist, @hermiona18, @sailorenthusiast, @fantasy-dating-sim-trash, @thefiasco-onyourblock, @insideous-beez, @its-clockwork-princess

@novaloptr, @imlost-sendhelp, @matcha-berry @preciosayorgullosa @whoretaglia, @kookygirlwholikescookiesandcoke, @nanauedorian, @trixeraptops, @voxnipop, @starkling25, @thedum1, @horcrux-alchemist, @sleepykitty21, @apathicace, @instantregret101, @nekanecorvus, @looney-mori, @re-ducing, @my2phetaliaheadcanons, @naughtybodypillow, @rendy-a, @carmen-404, @candy284, @thealiennamedterry, @their-name-is-fake, @huetolog, @glacticrose, @seraphinariddle, @rabioa, @sn00zl4x, @dreasimping, @jeidoreech, @ai-dev, @galaxyshine24-7, @fatally-incorrect, @juulranch, @camrastuff, @nocteetdie, @stargaryengirl, @warmsmilesandhugs, @01paige01

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Vil Schoenheit x Reader #Vil x Reader #vil schoenheit #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #vil shoenheit #Siren!Vil #Mermaid!Vil #Fantasy AU #Monster Mayhem Vil Part 5

1K notes · View notes

risuola · 6 months ago

Text

FEELIN' LUCKY || GETO SUGURU

Suguru has a reputation of a playboy — and rightfully so. He likes to change girls, bedding them as he pleases. He thinks he can have them all. He's a player, a red flag and you show him he's wrong. It's a story about a boy who has everything but craves to have you.

contains: frat boy!suguru x nerdy!reader, pining, maybe a little slowburn-ish, flirting, smut (unprotected sex, some body worship, mentions of hooking up, booty calls, sexting), wc. 9420 ⋯ reader discretion is advised

kinktober '24 masterlist || art in the header: @/chu-cho on tumblr

Suguru knows how to navigate around the campus. He’s tried all the shortcuts, been on all the parties, talked (and fought) with all the teachers. He’s known around — troublemaker, a frat boy, a heartbreaker. It’s no news to anyone that Suguru Geto is a red flag personified; a ladies’ man, playing with every beauty he deems worthy of attention. And he’s lucky too, girls tend to love him, all of them. After all, bad girls love bad boys and good girls, unfortunately, do too. He’s a flame that attracts all the moths, a sin that tempts and renders every heart helpless. He’s a siren song luring women towards their doom. The ultimate playboy, reveling in the attention he gets everywhere he shows up, soaking it up like a cat basking in the sun.

It’s unfair, he jokes sometimes, when he aims to add another notch to his bedpost. Unfair how easy it is for him to have what he wants, how all that meets his gaze is heart-eyes and flushed cheeks. But he likes it, he likes to take, he likes to be wanted and pick from the crowd. It boosts his ego. He is, after all, drop dead gorgeous. He is, truly, with his long, raven hair and purple glint to his eyes, all surrounded by an air of sexy danger coming from his piercings, his clothes and the way he acts.

“Who’s that?” He wonders, mind rushing through the extensive catalogue of female students he knows. “She’s new.” Clearly. He doesn’t know you yet.

You’re pretty, too pretty for him to let you go just like that. You came to the party at the frat house, but you don’t seem to fit right in. Maybe you’re a transfer student? Or a friend of someone? It doesn’t look like you’re someone’s girlfriend. A man that’s sane would not let you wander around such place alone. Not in that dress. You’re gorgeous, breathtaking. You make Suguru’s heart beat a little bit faster, his pulse quickening and he can hear it in his ears, a steady thump echoing over the sound of music. It’s excitement — something he has not felt in a long time.

His friends say something. He’s not listening, eyes laser focused on you and only you. You move with grace, your hips sway from side to side like a pendulum as you find your way through the crowded living room. Your cup is empty, it’s clear from the way you tap it with your fingernail every time someone tries to stop you — you’re pointing on it, gesturing your intentions as you try to speak over the loud music and blurring chatter. You seem polite too, the way you smile brightens the area. He likes how it reaches your eyes, how your nose scrunches a little and the skin near your temples crinkle. Everything about you is hypnotizing, you know what you’re doing. You have to know what you’re doing. You’re magnetic and he wouldn’t be able to resist even if he wanted to.

He doesn’t.

You push through the crowd and Suguru follows, a predator stalking its prey. You are, after all, like a sweet little rabbit tonight. His eyes never leave your back, watching the way your hair sways and bounces with each step you take, how the fabric of your dress hugs your delectable curves. You look soft, he’d love to touch you, to squeeze those plush thighs, to feel the pliable flesh of your rear, to have your chest squeezed against the hard planes of his muscular torso. He wonders how soft your skin is under the fabric, if it’s smooth and warm to touch. He wants to find out, to explore every inch of it until he maps out every mole, scar and birthmark. He licks his lips subconsciously, his tongue swiping over the piercing in his lower lip and he wonders if you’d like it — if the cold metal decorating his mouth would be something you’re into.

He catches you in the kitchen. You’re holding a can of strawberry flavored soda and looking around, and he knows what you’re searching for. “Hey there, beautiful,” he greets smoothly, flashing you a smile that’s known for making girls weak in the knees. “Allow me,” he reaches, taking the cold metal from your hands — his fingers brush against yours as your eyes met, the touch lingering a little longer than necessary but he’s content as he swiftly opens the can for you, earning himself a chuckle.

He’s already got you.

“Thank you,” you smile, taking the drink back and filling your cup with the pinkish liquid. It smells sweet, the delicate aroma of artificial fruit breaking through the typical mixture of sweat and alcohol that fills the room. It’s refreshing, the scent, the look of bubbles dancing at the edges of your cup. You take a sip, tasting the flavor on your tongue and he wants to try it too. From your lips, preferably. Those glistening, cherry-colored lips. Oh, you look delectable.

“I’m Suguru,” he grins again, his eyes scanning your breathtaking features and committing the picture to memory. “I don’t think we’ve met before.” He already envisions you below him.

“I doubt that too,” you nod and you know he’s attracted to you. It’s clear from the way he looks at you, eats you with his eyes only. Obvious from how his gaze lingers on your lips a little longer than he should but you allow him. You introduce himself too and he repeats, testing the name on his tongue.

“What brings a gorgeous woman like you to our little shindig?” He extends his hand out to shake yours, his thumb brushing over your delicate skin as his touch lingers.

“I got invited by one of my friends but I can’t seem to find her in this crowd. I’m sure she’s having fun somewhere though, it’s alright,” you explain, briefly looking over the students crowded in the main area of the house. Most of them are drunk already despite the quite early hour but you don’t mind it. A frat party is exactly what you expected it to be. “I wouldn’t honestly dare to call this a little shindig.”

Suguru chuckles lowly, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Well, I suppose ‘little’ was an understatement,” he grins and sips on his own drink. “How do you like it so far? Do you enjoy the mingling masses and blasting music or maybe I could steal you away? My room is just upstairs.” His eyes flick down to your lips once more before meeting your gaze again, a hint of mischief dancing in their violet depths. One step closer and he’s invading your personal space just slightly. “Because I could show you a good time, if you’d like. Just the two of us, away from all that noise and chaos,” he finishes a little quieter, a little lower. His tone is meant to seduce, to tempt you and he knows it always works. In his mind, he’s already alone with you, he imagines tracing your curves as he trails kisses along your jawline. His touch feels electric against your skin and you have to give him that — he sure does know how to get the attention he wants.

“I appreciate the offer, but I came here for the noise and the chaos,” you reply, smiling as your hand finds his wrist in a gentle caress meant to put some distance between his fingertips and your skin. “It’s not every day I get to attend a party such as this one,” that said, you’re ready to retract when his free hand meets the curve of your hip. You hear a hum and he’s suddenly much closer, you feel his breath on your lips, a mixture of mint and something strongly alcoholic. A little sweet too. A coke, maybe. There’s warmth bouncing off of him, one that you feel tingling on your skin when he leans down to meet your height. The tip of his nose teases yours before it moves to the side, running over the lines of your cheekbone.

“Are you sure?” He asks, smirking as he waits for your resolve to crumble. Not a single girl before you had resisted his charms and you surely are not going to be the first. He enjoys the challenge you present. Most girls would have melted under his touch but you remain composed. He likes that. He likes a woman who knows what she wants. “We could make our own noise, create our own chaos.”

“I’m content with all that’s happening here,” you hum, slipping out of his embrace. “Thank you for the company, Suguru. It was nice to meet you,” and you’re gone.

He stands there, dumbfounded. He stands there, once more looking at your back and he cannot believe what happened. A bunny that slipped from the hands of a wolf, girl that rejected Suguru’s charms, A moth that said no to the flames of his lust. A challenge he’s not going to pass on.

He smirks.

Before, he just wanted to have you.

Now, he has to have you.

And he will do whatever it takes.

Over the next weeks, Suguru has not given up. He hasn’t been able to get you out of his head, his interest in you hasn’t diminished; if anything, it’s grown stronger with each passing day. He’s determined to unravel the enigma that is you, to uncover the secrets hidden behind your captivating eyes and sweet smile. There’s something about you that made him desperate. A mystery he cannot quite unravel, a puzzle he can’t solve. And he thinks of you. He finds himself lost in thoughts of you more often than he’d care to admit. He spots you around campus occasionally, always looking effortlessly stunning and each time, he feels that familiar pull, that undeniable attraction that draws him to you.

Maybe it’s him, who’s the moth.

He doesn’t like this. How you always brush his advances off, how sweetly you smile while doing so. Every time he wants to touch you, you slip right through his fingers. You have tainted him with longing he has never felt before, you ruined him. He doesn’t want other women anymore, the line of booty-calls and flings blocked and removed from his phone. The nights he spends thinking of you, fucking his fist and swearing to all gods above and below to change, asking for a chance to sink his teeth into you. Because he doesn’t want anyone else. And he doesn’t know what you have done to him.

“Fancy seeing you there,” he remarks, settling himself beside you on the bench outside the library. The afternoon is particularly sunny, warmth caressing your skin as you sit comfortably, engrossed in a book. “Mind if I join you?” He asks, but he doesn’t wait for the response, as he leans over to glance at the title of your read. “Ah, philosophy. A deep thinker, huh? I like that.”

“Do you?” You ask, nudging a bookmark between the pages. “You don’t strike me as a philosophical type. You seem to me more of a live-in-the-moment kinda guy.”

He chuckles. “You’d be surprised,” he replies, his tone light and teasing, “there’s more to me than just good looks and undeniable charm. Although, I won’t deny that those are pretty great assets,” he winks playfully. Suguru leans back on the bench, stretching his long legs out in front of him. The ripped, black denim exposes a bit of his thigh, the ink of his tattoos peeking through the dark threads, drawing your attention.

“Oh, the confidence. It’s much more valuable trait than the outside looks,” you hum, leaning against the backrest too.

Geto laughs, a rich, warm sound that carries easily in the quiet outdoor setting. Then, he turns to face you fully, his expression turning serious for a moment. “But you’re right, I’m not usually one for heavy books and deep discussions. I prefer to keep things light and fun.” It’s a confession, he admits to it with a hint of vulnerability that’s quickly pushed behind his typical grin. “Besides, a guy can learn a thing or two from a smart, beautiful woman like yourself.” He flirts, but there’s an underlying sincerity to his words. He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Tell me, what’s so captivating about this particular tome? What insights does it hold to have captured your attention so thoroughly?”

“It’s a tale of a man discovering what really matters in modern life, a story of loss and reconciliation. The narrator, whose days are counted due to sudden diagnosis, meets the Devil who offers him an extra day of life in exchange of making one thing in the world disappear,” you explain briefly and he watches your fingers dancing over the front cover of the book, tracing the lines of the simple graphic of a cat. “There comes the question, how do you separate out what you can do without from what you hold dear? I think it’s something we don’t pay much attention to in our lives because we have everything within reach, but what if something just… disappeared? The narrator has to take responsibility for each one of his decisions. There’s no going back, there never will be, once a thing is gone, it’s gone.”

Suguru listens intently, his expression thoughtful as he absorbs your words. “That’s quite… It makes you think, doesn’t it?” He muses, nodding slowly. “It makes you wonder what you’d choose to erase if given a chance to live just a day longer.”

“The question of how to decide what’s okay to remove and what’s not is what makes me think the most,” you look up. The day is beautiful today, fluffy clouds travel sparsely over the azure blue sky, the sun warms your skin with its golden rays and the birds sing, hidden within the crowns of the nearby trees. You hear some chatter, somewhere from the distance where other students pass by, you hear the cars that honk impatiently as they stand in the traffic and you hear a dog barking. There’s a park not far away. “Some things that are insignificant to me might be the entire world to someone else.”

“So you think the burden of consequences might outweigh the price of life itself,” he notes, his eyes studying the lines of your profile. Your eyes, reflecting the blue of the sky, your cheeks flushed from the wind and sunrays. He thinks the color of your scarf makes your complexion looks brighter. “I don’t know if I would be capable of eradicating something from the world permanently. At first, I thought it might be easy, just get rid of something small and simple, but then it made me wonder if things I think are unimportant, truly are so.”

Truth is, Suguru doesn’t think he would dwell much about the topic if not you, but he wonders what if. What if he made a decision that would cause a war? Or someone else’s loss? What if a thing that he picks results in him not meeting you?

“That’s what philosophy does to you,” you chuckle, turning your gaze back to him, just to meet his eyes glued to yourself.

“But maybe that’s what makes life worth living,” he turns to you fully, his eyes wondering as he drops his usual playfulness and mischief. “It’s much easier to pretend we have control over our lives and the world around us rather than confront the harsh truth that we are all just tiny cogs in a vas, unpredictable machine. But maybe it’s the uncertainty, the constant surprises, the knowledge that anything can change in an instant what makes the journey worth the effort.”

“Maybe it is,” you nod, taking a moment to let his words sink in. “I wouldn’t expect you to engage in topics such as this. I apologize,” you offer a smile and he melts.

“You know, most people assume I’m just a pretty face. They don’t expect me to have substance beneath the surface,” he muses, his expression turning thoughtful before he lets out a breathy chuckle. “I guess I do give them the reasons to do so. But I really enjoy talking to you. It’s nice to have conversations that aren’t just surface-level flirting and innuendos. There’s just something about you...” He trails off, reaching out tentatively, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His fingers linger against your skin for a moment before falling away. “I like how you challenge me, make me think deeper than I usually do. You are a puzzle I can’t wait to solve.” His gaze locks with yours, his expression open and vulnerable in a way you haven’t seen from him before. “Can I see you again? Like this, I mean. Just talking, getting to know each other better.”

The question hangs heavy in the air as you consider it. You will meet him again, one way or another, somewhere around the campus or at another frat party. You will see him again as he targets another girl, flirting his way into another pair of panties. And you exhale, your lips curving upwards slightly as you lean your head on your fist, elbow on your knee.

“Suguru,” you begin, his name slipping over your tongue with ease you enjoy. But you know better than this. You have seen it all too well how he treats women. “I enjoy conversing with you and if it’s just talk that you want from me, then I will find time to meet you again. But I need you to know that I will not allow myself to be another notch on your bedpost. It’s easy to get swayed by your charms, but I know your reputation and I know it for sure that if I had to give up one thing in the world, it would never be self-respect.”

And he knows for sure that if he had to give up romance for the rest of his life just to have you, he wouldn’t think twice about it.

“I don’t want to charm my way between your legs,” he swears, too quickly, too desperate to make himself believable and he groans, annoyed by his own self. He nervously runs his hand through his dark, raven hair. “Just, please, give me a chance. I won’t lie to your face and say that I’m suddenly ready to settle down or that I’m done sowing my wild oats entirely. I know what kind of reputation I have and I can’t deny that I’ve played the field more times than I can count. I’ve earned it fair and square,” he admits, his voice tinged with a hint of bitterness. All of the lustful nights flashed before his eyes, the nameless girls, the empty promises and unanswered calls afterwards. All the nudes, all the sexts, all the quickies in the locker rooms and dingy bathrooms. Suguru would give them all away if only earned a chance to be with you. “I want to change. I already started to change. You don’t have to believe me right away, but you are different. From the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew there was something special about you. And I won’t lie that I’m not attracted to you physically. That would be impossible. But there’s more to it than that. Something worth pursuing beyond just a one-night stand.”

“And what change are you talking about?” You quiz. “Because as far as I am concerned, I’ve seen you flirting with some girls just yesterday.”

And he winces, unable to deny your accusation. “You’re right, I did flirt with them. It’s become a second nature to me, a habit I can’t seem to break easily.” He sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair once more, frustrated. “But it didn’t go further than talk. I didn’t… I’ve stopped sleeping around. I blocked and removed all the girls’ numbers from my phone, deleted the pictures I had. Fuck, I even declined an invitation for a party with my pals, for the first time since high school. Look,” he leans in, his eyes locked with yours and his hand finds yours. You feel his thumb rubbing soft circles on your knuckles and you wonder if it’s to soothe you or himself. “Being with you, talking to you… it’s opened my eyes to what I have been missing out on. I’ve spent so long chasing meaningless encounters, never allowing myself to form real connections with anyone and now, I’ve tasted something more substantial and realized just how hollow my previous pursuits have been. I want to do better. For you, yes, but also for myself. I want to prove to you that I’m capable of more than just cheap thrills and empty promises.”

It’s true, everything he says. He is ready to drop the player mask, to shed his frat repute just to have a chance at something real, something that makes his heart flutter in his chest and his stomach bubble with butterflies. He is ready to say no to easy sex just to fight for your attention, your touch, your heart.

He is genuine, but you just hum, your expression unreadable as you weigh your next words. You like him desperate. You like how his violet eyes sparkle with puppy-like vulnerability rather than a flirty mischief. And he is beautiful, you cannot deny it — a man of impressive built, clad in ripped jeans and leather, heavy boots and a band tee. He looks like he bites, and you know he does. You take in the sight of his piercings, the large gauges, the snake bites in his lower lip, the piercing across the bridge of his nose, right between his captivating eyes and the one right above his left brow. You wonder what kissing him would feel like. Would the metal come in the way? Or maybe it would add to the experience?

“I’m not sure what to tell you,” you sigh. “I will give you a chance if you think you can change. But you’ll need to prove it. Think about it.”

And he did.

The lonely nights he spends at the frat house, laying in bed instead of partying with his friends, he wonders where the path of his change will lead him. What if it’s him, confronting the devil and having a chance to lose himself just to earn a day with you? He thinks he’d take it. He’s sure he would. He flips on the mattress, his eyes squinting as the lights from his phone blinded him with a new message. An unknown number. He opens it, it’s a picture, a bare body that he recognizes by the butterfly tattoo on the ribcage. A nude from one of his exes. She must have gotten a new number because he remembers vividly how he blocked her. Usually, he wouldn’t think twice about it, he’d reply with something cheeky, possibly send an explicit picture of himself, maybe set up a meeting or invite her over. His fingers typed the message before his brain managed to intervene and once he hit ‘send’, he cursed out loud.

“Fuck, you idiot!”

A pillow flew across the room as he stared at the ceiling. Would it hurt to go once more with no strings attached? It’s been some time since he’s gotten laid and the vision of tension coming off of him was a temptation beyond measure. But what about you? What about a change he had promised?

Is the change even for him?

Suguru stares at his phone screen, the message he sent glowing mockingly back at him, a shameful reminder of his weak self-restraint. The girl already replied, they always reply so fast, and he doesn’t know what to do. He knows he fucked up, he knows he shouldn’t have responded. He shouldn’t have even entertained the idea of hooking up with his ex, or any other girl. It goes against everything he told you, everything he promised.

With a heavy sigh, he tosses his phone aside, despite the notifications flooding his inbox. More pictures, the location, the time — an annoying ding makes his blood boil and he groans, burying his face in his hands. He feels conflicted, torn between his desire for physical release and growing feelings for you. He wants to be better, to be the man you deserve, to be the man that deserves you. He wants to prove to you that he’s serious about changing, but old habits die hard. The temptation is still there, lurking in the shadows of his mind, waiting for a split second of vulnerability.

He tosses and turns in bed. His thoughts race with the pictures of you, his mind replaying every conversation, every shared laugh and stolen touch. He remembers the way your eyes sparkled when you discussed philosophy, the passion in your voice as you told him about the importance of self-respect. He realizes that those moments were more fulfilling than any other fleeting pleasure he’s experienced before.

But he gets up anyway, he pulls up his dark-washed jeans and a hoodie, socks and boots and he’s ready to go. With a jacket grabbed in the hallway and a phone in his hand, he leaves the house. The crisp air of near winter hits him the moment he steps outside, cooling the blood in his veins and clearing his thoughts.

12 unread messages.

He groans again, this time into the nightly silence as he strides through the pavement, legs leading him in the direction of his doom. Suguru slips the earphones in, plays on the music but the melody and lyrics are helpless against the chaos in his mind.

It’s pointless, to resist his own body. He knows it’s pointless, he knows he has control over his legs and deep down he knows he would reject the booty call if he truly wanted. You deserve a better man anyway, not a player that fucks around like it’s a sport. You deserve someone who would worship the ground you walk on, a man of culture and manners with whom you’d engage in long, deep conversations late in the evenings, not a man-boy who cannot control his own dick. But fuck, does he wants you.

He wants you so bad, he wants to be all those things for you. He wants those discussions about philosophy and life, he wants to kiss your knuckles and be the knight in the shining armor, carrying you in his arms and shielding you from the world and assholes such as himself.

He lights up the cigarette, taking a deep breath in and looking up. The night is pretty. Calm. He wonders if you are already sleeping. Or maybe it’s one of those nights that you pull in order to study and secure your grades. The semester just began but he learned it already that you care about your future more than he does about his own. You’re a little nerdy. He thinks it’s cute. He can imagine himself wrapping a blanket around your shoulders when it’s late and carrying you to bed when you’re falling asleep on top of the books and notes. You would fit perfectly in his arms.

“You fucking moron,” he slanders himself quietly, already seeing the motel in front of him. He shouldn’t be there but he moves forward anyway. He knows his ex is already waiting for him, he can tell by the lights in the room they always used to book for the casual encounters. He stops before he enters, giving the smoke few more moments to burn. He can feel it in his lungs, somehow calming as he checks his phone, scrolling through the notifications.

One of the messages is from you.

It’s innocent in the sea of suggestive texts. There’s an apology for the late hour and a book title that you promised to send him a day before. The one you’ve been reading for the last few days and the one that made him rethink his entire life’s choices. There’s not much substance in the message, but it shakes him awake.

The turn he takes is aggressive, it’s resolute. Heavy boots thudding against the concrete panels as he walks away from the motel. ‘Sorry, not coming.’ He sends the message and blocks the number, feeling lighter the second he removes the nude picture and the unwanted contact.

It takes just an hour before he knocks at your door, the dormitory silent in the nightly time so he keeps himself quiet. You open after a long moment, dressed in a make-shift pajama. He likes the way your hair is messy from the pillows, how you smell like vanilla and flowers and coffee. You look so pretty like this, so undone, so unexpecting yet not entirely disappointed to see him. You seem… content?

“Suguru?” His name comes from your mouth and you usher him inside, afraid of someone seeing him. Once the doors shut behind him, your eyes search him for answers.

“Brought you some food, I thought you might need it,” he grinned, showing off the box of pizza and a bottle of soda. “I figured you’re studying tonight and might need some fuel.”

“So thoughtful,” you tease, but the smile that shapes your mouth reaches your eyes, so he knows it’s genuine. He follows you to your bedroom and he’s not surprised seeing the notes all over your bed and scattered on the floor. The papers full of sparsely highlighted knowledge that you want to transfer into your brain take most of the space before you gather them onto a neat pile. He sits right there, on the newly uncovered spot on your mattress. It feels intimate, to be in your room, to rest on your bed, to see you in your pajama. He wonders if you know what the sight of your thighs does to him, the plush, tender flesh begging to be touched, kissed and kneaded. Suguru thinks your skin would look beautiful with bitemarks all over.

“So, pizza,” he clears his throat after letting his eyes linger for way too long on your bare legs. “I took pepperoni, I hope you like it.”

“It’s perfect,” you smile and separate the barely cut pieces for easier access. “I appreciate the thought, really. But there was no need for you to leave the house just to do this.”

“For you, I would do it at every hour,” he says and then sighs deeply. “But truth is, I didn’t plan this.” Suguru feels like he’s inside the confessional. It’s a foreign tension, completely different from the one he felt just hour before. The knot in his stomach has nothing to do with lust and desire and all to do with stress and regret. “I’ve received a booty-call from my ex. That’s why I left the house,” he spats it out quickly, thinking it’ll hurt less if he does it in rush. “I didn’t go there though. I told her I’m not coming, blocked the number and came here instead.”

You stay neutral, chewing on the pizza as your tired eyes size him up. “Old habits die hard, huh?” You mock, slightly amused by his tormented expression. His eyebrow creases before he lets himself drop back onto the mattress, a soft grunt escaping his mouth as he covers his face with his hands.

“I meant it. I want to change and I’m working on it.” He says, his voice quiet and devoid of his usual cheekiness. “I fucked up when I entertained the idea of hooking up with a random person tonight but cut me some slack, I didn’t do it.”

“Good boy,” you mock-praise and he groans again, but then his entire body tenses when you lay next to him. He feels your breath against his cheek, the tip of your nose prodding the flesh. He doesn’t move, too afraid to ruin the moment. “Do you regret it? Not going, I mean. Be honest, don’t say what I want to hear.”

“I don’t,” he replies, his tone resolute. “I don’t regret not meeting my ex and not having sex tonight. I was pent up — fuck me, I still am, and when I replied to her text, I didn’t think much about anything except for my dick. But I don’t regret not going because I didn’t want to go. And I’m grateful that you texted me because you reminded me what really is important. Right now, it’s you.”

It makes you smile. He’s torn inside of his mind but you take it as a win anyway. Before, Suguru wouldn’t second-guess pulling his pants down and now you made him think. Now, you made him reconsider; wonder who he is without the façade of the charismatic ladies’ man. He will have to learn to navigate social situations without relying solely on his charm and wit to get what he wants. But he can do this. For you.

Before he speaks again, you’re asleep already. Sideways on the bed, most likely uncomfortable but right next to him and he doesn’t dare to move a muscle in his body. You’re sleeping, your face just an inch from his own. The soft fragrance of your skin fills in his nostrils and not even the smell of pizza nearby can disturb it. There’s a hair somewhere around his face, he doesn’t know if it’s yours or his own, but it tickles his cheek every time you exhale. It’s fine.

An hour passes and he finally gathers the courage to shift, as carefully as he can, he turns to his side, to face you. You’re a vision he takes in with his eyes wide open, committing the picture of your peaceful expression to memory. He likes everything about you, every hair of your eyebrows, every freckle and beauty mark. He likes the way you look so unbothered, so comfortable next to him. He wants to touch you. Oh, how much he craves to caress your cheek, to thread his fingers through your hair. His heart thumps in his chest, reaching speeds matching those of sprinters. The feeling is foreign. Is this…? It cannot be. Suguru Geto is not about… that. His entire life he believed he’s meant to have fun, no strings attached, no responsibilities. What did you do to him?

You move and he stops breathing. It’s an instinct, he thinks, that you shift closer to him, but he tells himself you want that. And you fit so well against his chest, your head below his chin, your hand around his middle. The room spins and he wraps you in the embrace of his arms.

He feels your heartbeat, the gentle rise and fall of your breathing and suddenly, he calms down. It sinks into his mind that it’s where he wants to be. All the years of empty flings, the mediocre orgasms, the shameless pursuits could never compare to the feeling of you in his arms. That’s what he has been missing on. And he will do everything to be the man deserving of you.

Time passes, and Suguru slowly falls into the rhythm of his newfound resolve. It’s easy to decline hookup invitations when he can spend time with you, but maybe he did feel a little too confident when he decided to attend the big, annual party at the frat house. It’s Halloween, after all, how could he not go there when everyone will come? Quickly he falls into familiar routine of charms and alcohol, nursing a beer from a red plastic cup and chatting playfully with attractive attendees. His friends push him towards temptation, inviting more and more girls to the crowd and Suguru feels drawn to the lively atmosphere, the flirtatious banter comes as easy as breathing.

That is, before a pretty sophomore dressed in a devil costume takes a seat next to him — a seat he has kept for you, because you promised you’ll come, despite the need to study. It’s fine if the girl sits there for a moment or two, he thinks, as he engages in a conversation. He knows, it’s as obvious as day, that the second-year beauty is interested in getting into his pants — her hand on his thigh, the fluttering eyelashes and pouty lips say everything about her intentions. As the night progresses, he finds himself more and more… uncomfortable. Surprisingly.

And so, he feels relieved when he sees you in the crowd, late but looking absolutely adorable in your sweet bunny costume. It’s simple yet makes his pants grow tighter as he takes in the way the plain black dress hugs your curves. The fluffy tail bounces with each step you take through the filled living area and the long, pink-lined ears swing just slightly along with your hair whenever you move your head around, looking for something — for him and his heart skips a beat. In that moment, everything fades away — the raucous laughter, the pulsing music, even the sophomore girl next to him.

Excusing himself from company, he forces a smile as he brushes the invasive hand off his thigh and gets up from the sofa, making his way over to you. “Hey there, cutie,” he greets, pulling you into a hug and you melt into his chest in an instant. “Glad you could make it.” He breathes in your scent, letting it calm his nerves but it does little to calm other things down. Fuck, you look perfect.

“How could I miss my favorite frat boy sporting a vampire costume?” You quiz, backing up a little to take in his attire. He’s wearing all black, a dress shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, pants that make his legs look even longer than they are. His eyes are smudged with little bit of black eyeliner but it works for him, he looks sexy. “Aren’t you a pretty one. I might consider letting you bite me,” you tease, and he knows you’re joking but it doesn’t stop the blood in his body to travel downwards.

“Careful what you wish for, bunny,” he muses, “I might just take you up on that offer and sink my teeth into that delectable neck of yours.” His fingers intertwine with yours as he lifts your hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before he leads your arm up onto his shoulder. “God, I missed you,” he murmurs as he lowers his head, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

He feels you chuckle, your nails scratching at his scalp as you thread your fingers through his dark locks. Once more you proved him that the change is worth it, because it’s you who’s on the line. “Dance with me?” He asks and you move with him towards the makeshift dancefloor.

Suguru pulls you closer as you enter the rhythm of the music, one hand resting on the small of your back while the other twirls you around gracefully. You’re giggling, amused by the undivided attention he pays you — he’s sweet when he has his eyes on the target, when he has to work for something. He dips you dramatically and your hand tighten on his shoulder, but it’s secure, the way he holds you as if he wished to protect you from all the bad in the world. His eyes lock with yours as he pulls you back up, flush against him. The heat radiating off both your bodies mingles together, creating an intoxicating aura that threatens to consume you whole.

You don’t really listen to what’s playing, a melody mellows in the background as his hands trace patterns along your sides and hips, follow the line of your spine, sometimes teasing the fluffy ball that is your tail. His touch ignites sparks wherever he grazes, leaving trails of fire in its wake. He’s hungry, for you, and you are too. It’s hard to deny it any longer and you think that maybe, just maybe he is ready to commit to something more than just a fleeting romance. It’s been months since he began pursuing you and his attention has been focused solely on you, despite the obstacles and temptations of his life. A reward wouldn’t hurt now, would it?

“I need a drink,” you tell him and he’s quick to react, taking your hand and leading the way towards the kitchen. He knows what you like, snatching a can of strawberry soda from the counter. When you nod in approval, he opens it, too hasty, too eager, that he doesn’t realize the way it bubbles over, spilling over the aluminum container and his fingers. Before he can react, your lips are already on his skin, licking away the sticky trail of pinkish liquid.

Suguru freezes as he feels your tongue glide across his skin, tasting the sweetness of the spilled soda. A shiver runs down his spine at the sensation, his breath hitching in his throat. Desire darkens his eyes, pupils dilate as he watches, transfixed, how you lick the sugary mess from his fingers. The sensation sends jolts of electricity coursing through his veins, pooling in the pit of his stomach. He breathes out your name, but you’re quick to shut him up.

You pull him down, your hand in his hair as you press your lips to his own. He tastes the strawberry sweetness of the soda on your tongue as it dances with his own, the flavor mixing deliciously with the taste of you. The dripping can is soon forgotten on the fake-marble countertop as he scoops you closer, arms wrapping around your waist securely. He can feel the heat of your body through the thin fabric of your costume, the softness of your curves molding perfectly against the hardness of his muscles. He’s eager, he moans lightly into your mouth, the sound vibrating against your lips. You feel the cold metal rubbing against your face, it’s interesting, it’s addicting. You like it.

“Always wanted to try that,” he pants out when for a moment you pull back. He chases your mouth, hungry for more, desperate.

“The soda?” You ask, pressing soft pecks to his pout.

“You.” He lounges forward once again, unsatiated and you don’t stop him. You don’t hear music anymore, all that’s rumbling in your ear is the sound of your heartbeat. You feel the heat in your veins, the flooding of ecstasy filling your cells one by one. There’s no space left between you, but you take a step forward anyway. You feel his hips rolling, a desperate cry for any sort of friction and when you slip your hand down, palming his groin through his pants, he groans into your mouth as his hips buck involuntarily into your touch. “Please,” he begs, eyes locking with yours as he leans his forehead against your own. He can feel himself throbbing beneath the confines of his pants, straining desperately for more of your attention. “You want me too, please tell me you do. I can’t… It hurts, I crave you so much, it hurts.”

“Let’s get out of here,” you murmur. “Your room is upstairs, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he breathes out. “But I won’t take you there. You deserve better than this place and my filthy bed. Let me take you to my apartment.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer and you follow him anyway, your hand incased in his large one, sticky from the spilled soda but none of you seem to care as you saunter through the dancing crowd of young people. Just to get outside.

The walk is a blur, you don’t remember much of it and so does Suguru. The night air is crisp, sending chills down your spine and the boy teases you about it, promising all the warmth he can produce in just few moments. You laugh with him, unbothered by the cool wind that tousles your hair. “It’s just around the corner,” he promises and you hum, matching his pace as he leads you through the neon-lit streets of Tokyo. The world blur into nothing, all you see is the man that holds your hand, the blue-ish hint to his hair whenever the lights fall on it just right, the sticky heat of his palm. You can still smell the faint strawberry aroma; you can definitely feel it on your tongue even though you didn’t manage to truly take a sip of it.

And you laugh again when he fumbles with the keys to his apartment. “Nervous?” You tease him playfully. “You have no idea,” he replies, smiling sheepishly and the entry finally swings open. He ushers you inside, kicking the door shut behind him and flicking the lights on.

Suguru wastes no time, pulling you flush against him once more as he presses you against the nearest wall, his lips finding yours in a heated kiss. His hands roam your body greedily, mapping out every dip and curve, learning the shape of you and you do the same. He shrugs the jacket off and you’re quick to explore the broad lines of his shoulders, the hard muscles of his chest and stomach. You feel him everywhere, the hungry touch devouring every inch of your form. He breaks the kiss, trailing his lips down the column of your neck, sucking and biting the sensitive skin and you whimper breathily — the sound undeniably similar to his own name.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, guiding him lower as he reaches your chest. His kisses grow more wet and delicate as he meets the soft mounds of your breasts, tightly confined by the neckline of your dress. He breaths in your scent, an intoxicating mixture of sweet and floral. It makes his head spin, it’s addicting. He wants more.

It’s easy to slip the dress off of you — first the straps and then the garment goes down, inch by inch revealing the smooth expanse of your skin to his starved gaze. He drinks in the sight of you, his eyes roaming hungrily over the newly exposed flesh and in that moment he swears he has never seen a more beautiful woman in his entire life. His fingers skim along the edges of your bra, tracing the lace delicately before he leans in again, kissing your lips with softness that speaks more than any words could. He wants you, but he wants to worship you. He doesn’t want to make it all about lust and desire, he wants to make it about you and him. About whatever is this feeling that bubbles between you.

And so, he moves down slowly, lips mapping out the curve of your collarbone and down the path to your sternum. His hands follow your curves with gentleness he doesn’t recognize in himself. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, his hot breath meeting the skin of your stomach, “just breathtaking,” he lowers himself to his knees — something he has never done in his entire life, used to have women at his feet.

“Suguru,” you breathe out but he doesn’t listen. Not when the skin of your thighs feels so soft against his cheeks, not when it tastes so delicious as he trails wet, open-mouthed kisses along the plush flesh. Your fingernails find a way into his hair and he dives between your legs, encouraging one of them to hook over his shoulder. He savors the scent of you, his nose rubbing against the fabric of your underwear, prodding at the little wet patch. He licks it, his tongue flattening over the cotton, catching a hint of your taste — and that’s enough to make him go crazy for you.

“Fuck, you’re so sweet,” he breathes out, every exhale that meets the wetness of your panties sends jolts of electricity up your spine and back down to your core. He presses his lips to where he thinks your clit is, you feel him sucking gently and it’s enough friction to feel yourself pulsating. You moan quietly, the sound escaping your parted lips easily as your hold on his hair tightens. There’s no denying that you want him just as much as he wants you. He’s desperate but so are you.

Your knee buckle as he continues the torture and he coos sweetly. “Let’s take you to bed, you sweet thing,” his tone is sugary, a melody dripping with honey as he smiles at you in a way that makes you blush. There’s adoration written all over his face, his cheeks are flushed, lips red and glistening. You want to follow him when he stands up, but he swoops you off your feet, carrying you bridal style towards the bedroom. It makes you giggle.

“Practicing already?” You muse and he just smiles.

“Perhaps.”

Your back meets the cold bedspread as he lays you down delicately. No time is wasted before he’s right above you, right on you — you feel the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress. No complains about it. He feels good, his hips rolling in a way that has his bulging erection grind along your panties. You hate the fabrics between you two, you hate how they make you feel less of him.

So you move your hands, slide them between your bodies, fumble with the buttons of his shirt. “Impatient much?” He teases, but helps you, pulling the shirt over his head, saving you trouble of the bottom fasteners. His lips find yours in a kiss that burns and you whimper into it, feeling the warmth spreading all over your body.

You reach down. Button, zipper. Your hands tremble as you push the fabric off his hips and he kicks it down. He helps himself with a hand and soon, his pants are on the ground, along with his socks and your bra, that you impatiently toss away. Suguru’s heart rumbles against his ribcage as he takes in the sight of your bare chest. It’s perfect, you are perfect and he cannot believe the luck he has — after years of chasing simple pleasures and meaningless peaks, he had finally found someone he wants to call his.

He feels your heart underneath his cheek as he leans down, inhaling the scent of your skin — his nose trails patterns over the soft flesh before he presses his lips to it, kissing his way towards one of your nipples. It pebbles beneath his touch, hardening as he latches onto it, sucking and teasing it with teeth, twirling his tongue all around. He matches his ministrations with his fingers, not letting the twin feel left out. Your taste is of pure heaven and the sounds that leave your mouth are ones of an angel.

There’s a patch of wet on his boxers, right where the throbbing head of his cock strains against the fabric — the precum oozing out as he grinds his hips against yours. It makes him insane how you reply with the roll of your own, to match his moves, to cause more of that delicious friction that sends both of you into a spiral of desire.

Unable to wait any longer, you hook your fingers at the waistband of his underwear, tugging it down and Suguru replies with the same — pulling the soaked cotton off of you. He wants to taste you, and he will, but not now. He reaches down, guiding the tip of his cock between the folds of your pussy, the head sliding with ease as your slick mixes with the pearly beads of semen. He loves the way your thighs tremble every time he glides over your sensitive clit, how your breath hitches and eyes close.

“Ready?” The question falls and you nod fervently, your hands finding his shoulders for balance. “Use your words, beautiful.”

“I’m ready,” you assure and then, your back arches off the mattress. He slides in inch by inch, stretching you, filling you so completely, making you go blind for a moment. The pain burns just faintly, losing its flames to the flooding of endorphins and pleasure. He goes in to the hilt, his body shuddering as he drops his head to the crook of your neck.

The feeling overwhelms him. The way your pussy grips him, like a vice that almost pulls him in more and more. It’s delightful. Ecstatic. It’s something he’s never experienced before. Is that what love feels like? He moves, slowly backing his hips until there’s nothing but a tip nestled inside you before he pushes forward again, knocking the air out of your lungs and his own too.

You paw at his arms, his back and chest. You want him closer, you want to feel all of him. Stars are clouding your vision, the world ceases to exist and there’s nothing else in it but you and the man on top of you. He feels so good, like he’s meant to be right there with you and Suguru feels the same. Like he found home, like he belongs there, in the warmth of your embrace, in the tightness of your walls. He loves the way you cling to him, the way your nails dig into his skin and your heels dig into his ass, urging him to go harder, faster. He complies, his hips snapping against yours as the wet sounds of your bodies colliding echo through the room, alongside your moans and gasps.

He changes the angle, shifting his hips to hit that spot inside you that makes the stars glitter before your eyes. He knows he’s found it when your back arches off the bed, your nails scoring down his back and a scream tears from your throat. He loves the sound, he loves the sight. He loves how you come undone, how beautifully blissed out your expression is, how your eyes lock with his even though you see nothing but haze. He grins, a smile lost against your skin as he continues pounding into you relentlessly, chasing his own high. He can feel it already, it threatens to consume him. His balls draw up tight, his heart races in his chest.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, muffling his groans and whimpers against your tender flesh as his hand grips your hip tightly. You match him thrust for thrust, nails leaving angry red marks in their wake. You feel the pleasure building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter until you feel you might explode. Your walls start to flutter around him to the rhythm of your heartbeat and the desire coursing through your veins.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Suguru gasps, his voice strained with exertion. He knows you’re close, it drives him insane. “I’m gonna—” He cuts himself off with a guttural moan as his climax hits him like a freight train. He follows you into the pit of pure delight, headfirst, no thoughts. Just pure, overwhelming bliss.

He collapses on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, as his hips buck forward few more times, riding out your highs with stuttered thrusts. You both lay there, panting and sweating, basking in the afterglow of passion. His softening cock slips out of you, followed by a gush of combined fluids but none of you worries about the mess, too blissed out to care about a thing.

“Wow,” he breathes, nuzzling his face into your neck, finding your pulse with his lips. “That was incredible.”

You giggle softly, carding your fingers through his sweat-dampened locks. They feel like silk, soft and luxurious. “Mm, it certainly was.”

“I don’t deserve you,” he exhales, rolling off of you and pulling you into his arms. He presses a tender kiss to your temple, marveling at the intimacy of the moment. It feels new, like an uncharted territory that he wants to explore further. With you. “I meant what I said earlier,” he murmurs, his voice barely above whisper and sincere. “I want to be better. To be worthy of you.”

You hum, lifting your head to look at him and all you see in his violet eyes is raw honesty and a depth of emotion that takes your breath away. “I believe you,” you tell him, leaning in to capture his lips in a slow, lingering kiss. There’s no more rush, no more lust — just pure, soft affection. “And I want to help you change. Together, yeah?”

Suguru smiles against our mouth, his heart swelling with love he never knew he was capable of.

Together.

2K notes · View notes

neeeooon · 1 month ago

Note

Heyyy could I request Isagi, Reo and Yukimiya confessing their feelings to their crush, but the crush is so shy and insecure that at first, they don't believe the boys and instead, they think it's like, a prank or a bet because the guys are like, cool athletes ? thaanks !!

omg so cute!! yes tysm for the request! 💞

when they confess their crush on you

hs athlete!bllk x shy gn!reader

isagi yoichi

-> when isagi yoichi, aka the best player on the high school soccer team, ran up to you after the final bell rang for the day, sirens immediately went off in your head

-> he barely got the word “date?” out before you clutched your books closer to your chest and shook your head. “i’ve heard about the boys on your team who ask people out as bets and pranks just to humiliate them. i didn’t think you were like that, but i guess i was wrong.”

-> “… eh?” “that’s why you’re asking me out, right? to make your friends laugh?” “EH?!”

-> it takes a lot of convincing, and most of it is isagi stumbling over his words because he was not expecting you to say that. bachira spent twenty minutes hyping him up, repeating that “the worst thing y/n could say is no.” this was worse than that

-> the combination of his stammering, nape rubbing, and pink cheeks is enough to prove he’s genuine. “okay… we can hang out this weekend..?” “this weekend works!”

mikage reo

-> mikage reo. wealthy, intelligent, great at sports, and used to getting what he wants. so, when he sets his eyes on you, he thinks asking you out will be a breeze

-> “uh, no thank you…” you politely decline after reo asks you to eat lunch with him. it takes a moment for your rejection to sink in, but once it does, reo is all sorts of confused. “wait, no? why not?”

-> his voice doesn’t sound as accusatory as his words, so you shrug and duck your head to hide your flaming face. “you’re only asking me out because bored… so no thank you.”

-> he’s flabbergasted because what?? reo thinks you’re the most attractive person he’s ever seen, and anytime he gets the chance to talk to you, you’re always kind. plus he likes the sound of your voice; how could he not have feelings for you?!

-> before you can move around him, he’s stretching himself out like a sea star. “wait! i’m rich! i’m never bored! wait, that came out wrong..” rubbing his purple hair aggressively, reo pulls a small box of chocolates from his book bag and holds them out for you. “i like you. i have for a while, and me asking you out isn’t because i’m bored, it’s because i want to get to know you better!”

-> though you’re still a bit hesitant, chocolates are your weakness. you timidly take the box from his hands and offer a half-hearted smile. “okay… we can hang out after class tomorrow.” “it’s a date!”

yukimiya kenyu

-> he asked karasu and otoya to give him advice on how to ask you out, which was a huge mistake

-> those two followed you around school for a week before you finally broke down and begged them to leave you alone. when yukimiya went up to apologize and explain, you immediately shut him down

-> “i-i’m sorry! i don’t know what game you and your friends are playing, but i don’t want to be a part of it!”

-> he needs a moment to think after that. “game?” “you know, how you ask people out and ditch them? or worse, trick them into thinking you like them before insulting and laughing at them…” yukimiya is genuinely hurt that you’d think so little of him and his friends, despite not knowing a thing about them. was that their reputation?

-> “i’m not playing a game with you, y/n.” “… you’re not?” “no. the reason karasu and otoya were ‘following’ you was because i wanted to know what you liked so i could surprise you when i asked you out on a date..” “a date?”

-> part of you is still unsure, because why would yukimiya, the soccer model, as you out? but his eyes look genuine, and his smile makes you feel fuzzy, so you decide to risk it. if he breaks your heart, so be it. you only live once, anyway. “okay… um, here’s my number. text me?”

468 notes · View notes

tasteleeknow · 10 months ago

Text

RASPBERRY PIE

minors dni. minho x fem!reader. 4k words content warnings. pet names (sweetheart, angel). mutual pining. sweet/shy reader. perv!minho. corruption kink. food play. dirty talk. oral (m rec.). soft!dom minho.

you bake your quiet neighbour a warm raspberry pie.

He's pretty sure he's utterly fucked from the jump – he finds himself attached so early he almost convinces himself you're a witch in disguise; that maybe he'd moved in next door to a creature designed to trap men like him. A siren, maybe. The sweetness was an act; all the soft tones and doe eyed looks were just a trick to lure him down beneath the waves.

He was determined not to drown.

And then you show up with the pie, a little flushed from working around a hot oven. It'd been 6 months – 6 months since he'd moved in, and as he opens the door to find you in an apron with little pink stains, a feeling of approaching and inevitable doom settles in his chest. Finally, you'd come to take him.

"Hi," you greet with a shy smile. "My friend brought me over far too many berries yesterday so..." you look down at the golden pie, carefully decorated and clearly still warm, "...well I made this. For you."

If he was wise, he'd politely decline, close the door, and never be faced with the reality of the sweet little siren in his apartment, offerings of temptation and all.

"For me?"

You look up at him through long lashes. "Do you like pie?" you ask. It's the way you say it, like if he doesn't you might genuinely hurt inside – like with a simple rejection of your offering, he had the ability to snuff out some little candle alight inside you.

"I like pie," he says.

Then you smile. Like it's the best news you've heard in weeks. "Oh, good."

He steps aside, his body betraying him. The siren enters with her warm pie and soft smiles – and he knows, unequivocally, that he's fucked.

He keeps his distance as you comfortably navigate to the kitchen to find a place for your offering. The apartments were all pretty much identical as far as he knew. The two on this floor, his and yours, were mirrored. He imagines that just on the other side of your joining wall, you took the same steps he did he each morning, in parallel.

You fiddle a little with the delicately placed raspberries atop the pie as he approaches from the other side of the island. You wear a tiny silver ring on one finger, much like one he wears on his own. He'd spotted it before, during short interactions in the elevator. He suppresses the urge to comment on it now, to ask if it meant anything to you.

He doesn't need to know you. He couldn't afford to. He was finding himself attached enough without it.

Then you pluck one little berry up in your fingers and bring it to your lips. He watches you. He watches you and he knows that he's walked willingly into a trap.

"Sweet?"

You look up. "Hm? Oh." You nod. "They're lovely. My friend gets them from this farm near his parent's place."

Friend. His. He sits in the feeling that stirs in his chest for a quiet moment. It's a rotten feeling. He doesn't like it at all.

"He brings them often?" he finds himself asking.

"Not at all. He just happened to come by after being there for a weekend. He doesn't go there often, I don't think." Your accompanying smile is almost enough to snuff out the rotten feeling before he has time to digest it. Almost.

Then he considers that this might not be the only pie. You may have made this other guy a pie just like it... maybe it was bigger, maybe you'd used the sweetest berries in his pie.

He kicks a cat toy across the floor as he stuffs his hands in his pockets, a little embarrassed by his own internal monologue. Witchcraft, turning his brain into mush.

"You have a pretty view."

He looks up to find you brushing your hands down your apron and rounding the kitchen island. You seem drawn to his floor to ceiling windows, a little moth to the light.

He follows.

"Mine isn't nearly this nice," you continue once he's standing beside you. "All I get is the construction site and a concrete wall." Then you close your eyes, head tilting back a little to let the sun's afternoon rays bathe your face. "Don't get the sun like this, either," you add, a little dreaminess leaking into your already sweet voice.

Oh, he's fucked.

"You like it?"

You blink up at him, eyes adjusting to the light again. "Hm?"

"I mean if you really like it, you're welcome over anytime, whenever." He wonders if this is part of your spell work, making him say stupid shit. Maybe he'd be better off if you were casting spells on him, if he had a reasonable excuse for being so fucking braindead. "For the sun," he adds, like it makes it better.

A small breath of laughter slips from your pretty lips. "It does get a little gloomy over there, on my side of the wall."

It was hard to imagine anywhere you were being gloomy.

"I should go," you continue after a short moment of comfortable silence, each of you basking in the sunlight. He really should appreciate that more, he notes. Then he considers the fact he'll associate this little patch of warmth with you each time he attempts such a thing.

"Sure," he says, following you from a safe distance to the door. "Thank you. For the pie."

"You're welcome."

Everything is fine. He's alone and he survived the encounter. Then he's faced with the pie. He stares down at it, warm and made with careful hands.

He plucks a berry off the top. He thinks of the berry you'd eaten in the same way.

Everything is fine.

He hesitates as he goes to pluck a second berry. Instead of lifting one from the crust, he presses the tip of his finger a little against the surface. Warm. He breaks through. His finger is coated in syrupy, red filling when he pulls it free. It's sugary sweet when he sucks it clean.

Shame. That's what he feels next. Because sweet gestures of neighbourly kindness should not trigger the kind of thoughts creeping their way into his head.

He wonders if the little siren's cunt is as warm and sweet as the little offering she brought him. He considers doing the right thing, having a cold shower and sitting in the morning sun with a slice of pie.

But apparently, today, and the day before, and every day for the past 6 months, Minho was not wise and he wasn't very good. Because he let the thoughts of his sweet little neighbour stew for months, and this is where it'd led him.

He stands there, one palm pressed flat on the kitchen counter, the other buried in his sweatpants, and he thinks of the sweet little siren with her sweet offerings, and he imagines sinking his hard cock into her warm, sweet cunt.

—

It's hard not to deflate entirely as you close your apartment door behind you. You'd expected too much from a single pie, you suppose. It would entirely out of character for him to ask you to stay for a slice, to take the opportunity to finally have a conversation longer than an elevator ride.

You sigh, dropping your forehead against the cool surface of the door. It helps a little. You're overheated, both from the cooking, the warm sun, and the heat that had bubbled up from the inside as the pretty - yet frustratingly reserved - man next door had watched you move about his space.

You hadn't lied, his apartment was far nicer than yours. You could imagine basking in that patch of sun any chance you had. You wonder if he does the same, if he sits there after a shower, chest bare and hair still a little damp - letting the sun warm his skin.

You leap back as a knock on the door jolts you out of your daydream. Sighing, you press your palm to your forehead - head thoroughly rattled - as you pull the door open.

Oh.

"Hi," Minho says casually. He's a little flushed compared to when you'd left him minutes earlier. He shouldn't be. There were no stairs between your apartments.

"Hello, again."

He glances over your shoulder, getting a clear view of your empty living room. "It is darker in here," he says, still casual.

"Oh. Mm, yeah. I miss your sun already."

His eyes fix back on you. Then he pulls his lip between his teeth slightly. He has something to say... something he won't say.

"Why'd you make me the pie?" he asks.

You blink. "I... had a lot of berries from-"

"Your friend. I know."

You're officially confused. His eyes drop down your dirty apron before returning to your face. "You only made one?"

"Is it bad?" you question.

He pushes some hair away from his eyes. "No," he says quickly. "No, it's... nice." His eyes sweep down your body again. "Sweet," he adds.

"I only made one."

His eyes jump to yours before a brief look of confusion flashes across his pretty face. He seems to remember his own question soon enough. "You didn't want to give it to," he gestures vaguely behind you, "your friend?"

"No," you answer simply. This entire interaction was drifting into territory you weren't sure you were ready for. If his questions got any more interrogative, you might find yourself wondering how to answer them in any other way than 'Oh, the pie? I baked it for you because I have a huge, embarrassing crush on you, even if you've seemed intent on not knowing me.'

"He doesn't like pies?" he asks.

You can't help following the path of his fingers as he fiddles with the chain hanging around his neck. They brush his skin as he strokes the metal back and forth.

"I... don't understand what you're asking me," you say as you pull your eyes from his neck. "Is something wrong?"

He readjusts his position in the doorway, pressing his hand to the frame and freeing you from the constant distraction at his neck. He leans over you a little like this.

God, he's pretty.

"You a witch?" he asks.

"I'm sorry?"

"Did you put something in it?" he continues, still leaning well and truly into your space. "Something to make me-" he cuts himself off, brows furrowing.

"Are you asking me if I poisoned the pie?"

His voice drops, like someone might overhear, despite you both being entirely alone on this floor of the building. "I'm trying to figure out why all I can fucking think about is how you might taste on my tongue."

Your head rushes, all the heat returning. Then your eyes drop to the floor.

"Look at me, sweetheart."

You don't. His shoes are safer. He was flirting. More than flirting. He wanted you.

His fingers guide your chin up, it doesn't take much, a nudge. "I'll leave if you want," he says. "Never mention it again. Just tell me what you want."

"Did you like it?" you find yourself whispering. "The pie."

His lips crack into a lopsided smile. It's tiny, but it's a smile. "Loved it, sweetheart. Sent me to heaven."

"Would you... would you like to come in?"

He nods.

You go to turn, to let him follow you. But then, instead, you take his hand and lead him in. He's warm. You imagine all the sun he gets over there must've absorbed deep inside him over time. Maybe he could leave some of it behind here for you - that heat might leak from him if your kept him here long enough.

He follows where you lead, his hand still grasped firmly in your own. You're not sure why you lead him to the sofa. You aren't sure what you're expecting next. It's why you find yourself simply standing beside the piece of furniture waiting for him to say something – to let go of your hand maybe.

Instead, his thumb begins brushing over your skin. He's quiet, seemingly unhurried to break the tension building.

"I asked my friend to bring the berries," you confess quietly, eyes focused on your interwined hands. Confessions were always so much easier with your eyes downwards. "I wanted to make something for you... specifically."

"Why's that?"

His thumb continues against your skin. He doesn't make you look at him like he had before.

"Because I... wanted you to - I wanted your attention."

You can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks, "So you baked me a pie?"

"I'm good at baking."

"You are," he agrees. Then his other hand reaches for the hem of your apron. He rubs it between his fingers a little. "Messy though."

You look down at the patterned splotches, pink on white. Then he releases your hand, taking that warmth with him. He only allows you a few seconds to miss it though. That same hand snakes around the back of your neck, skin on skin.

Your eyes are drawn to his without thought.

"Are you always messy?" he asks.

You nod, chewing on your lip a little.

He seems pleased with your answer, a small hum escaping his throat. "I like messy," he says, sounding a little far away. "Do you like messy, sweetheart?"

Your eyes drop to his lips, a little stained from your pie filling. "Yeah," you breathe.

He tugs you towards him before your have time to suck in another breath, attaching himself to you like he's starved. You can't help gasping a little into his mouth as he presses you into him with a hand to your back.

Holy fuck. Surely you'd wake up slumped against the door any second. Maybe someone hadn't just knocked on the door. Someone had opened it and knocked you out and you were dreaming about your pretty, brown eyed neighbour.

He groans a little before taking your lip between his teeth. No. No you were definitely awake. "So sweet," he mumbles as he releases you, his breath ghosting over your wet lips. "Can I have you?"

–

It's hard to keep his head on straight as you look up at him with those big sweet eyes. Can I have you? His stomach rolls as he waits for you to say yes. Please say yes. 6 months of denial and he was desperate.

You'd made that sweet little gift for him. Just for him. His little siren.

Then you're pressing against his chest, forcing him down onto the sofa. He looks up at you, at the stained apron and the hair sticking a little to your temples from the time spent making his pie.

Then you lower yourself to your knees.

Oh, fuck.

Your hands only have to brush his legs for him to get the hint. He spreads them, allowing you to shuffle closer to him – settling between his thighs.

Then you look up at him. "Can I taste you?"

He's keeping you. His head drops back as he collects himself. Then, "You want my cock in your pretty little mouth?"

You nod, fingers pressing lightly into his thighs.

Minutes ago he was fucking himself into his own hand imagining how warm you'd feel around him. Now you're between his legs, lips wet, asking to taste him.

He's careful to keep his eyes on you as he frees himself, intent on catching each and every reaction you make – he's keeping it all.

You're a little hesitant as you reach for him. "You're good, sweetheart," he encourages. "Touch me however you like."

It seems to be all you need. In the next second your soft little hand is wrapping around his length. His head drops back again as his eyes close.

It's a mistake, closing his eyes. He's not prepared when your wet lips press to the tip of him, soft and warm. He groans, hand automatically making a home in your hair. He needs grounding. He needs –

Your lips wrap around him. His little siren was sucking his dick into her sweet little mouth. His hips jump a little. "Oh fuck, that's right. You're all warm for me."

You hum a little around him. Then, you take him deeper. Hot little tongue dancing over his sensitive skin.

"Good girl," he groans. "Take it for me, sweetheart." He resists the urge to spill himself right here, right against your tongue. "Hm? You taking it for me?"

His hips jump again as he fucks himself into your hot mouth, wet and sweet and just for him. You'd wanted his attention. You'd come for him. Just him.

"You mine?" he gasps as he forces his head up to look at you. "You gonna let me fuck you?"

Your lips pull off him slowly, a little suction at his tip sending his head spinning. "Do you want to?" you ask, lips swollen.

He leans forward enough to begin lifting you, encouraging you to climb into his lap. Each hand rests at your hips as you settle yourself there, his leaking cock pressed between you.

"So bad," he answers.

You shift a little in his lap. He imagines you squirming on his cock.

"Me too," you confess. It's quiet, like it's bad.

Sweet siren.

"Sit on me," he instructs. "Want you to bounce on me, sweetheart."

You eyelashes flutter as you blink a few times, processing, deciding. Then you shift, reaching up under your dress and tugging your underwear down.

Something in his stomach stirs when he realises you were leaving the rest on, apron and all.

You grasp him in a soft hand, guiding him beneath your clothes – then you sink down. He's transfixed by the little sound that escapes your lips as you take him in. That, and the way your cunt feels squeezing around him. He might have to keep you for fucking ever.

Hot and sweet and wet and better than he'd imagined as he'd fucked himself against his counter minutes earlier. Better than any of the scenarios he'd dreamed up over the months he'd spent thinking of his sweet little neighbour.

You fall into him with a sigh once you're full seated, cock buried deep.

"Doing so well," he says, hand squeezing a little at the back of your neck.

You mumble something into his neck in response. He can't quite make it out, but he swears, it almost sounds like a tiny 'thank you'. He has to keep himself from filling you at the thought of it.

His hands return to your hips. You must take it as a prompt because you lean back from him enough to begin lifting yourself off him and dropping again.

It's slow at first, a little swivel in your hips, grinding yourself down into him.

The apron prevents him from seeing how his cock looks slipping in and out of your little cunt. He hasn't even seen it, that sweet little hole between your legs.

Instead, he feels.

–

It makes sense that a man as pretty as him would have the prettiest cock. One you wanted to taste. One that would have you slippery and ready to take him.

There's this vein that throbs in his neck each time he drops his head back with a groan. His neck. God you want to lean forward and bite into it. But he might not be into that. Next time, you think. Or the time after that.

God you hope there's a next time.

His fingers dig into your hip as you sink all the way down again. It feels a little like he's resisting, holding back.

"Minho?"

His head lifts, eyes a little glassy as he blinks at you. "Hm?"

"You can fuck me," you tell him. "However you want. I want you to fuck me."

He blinks again. His fingers dig into your skin harder.

"Tell me when you wanna stop. Just tell me," he says.

You nod. Then he's leaning forward and tugging you against him. His lips press to your skin just at the crook of your neck.

Then you're falling. He falls over you. Then he lets go. He presses you into the couch cushions as he drives into you, hair falling over his face. He's even pretty like this, with parted lips and brows slightly furrowed.

Your skin slaps together as he fucks himself into you. Messy, he'd said. He liked messy.

That's what he gets as he continutes to drive into you, as you begin to drip around him, as he fucks that wetness into you and over your thighs and then the sounds it all makes.... messy.

"Wanna fill you," he mutters. "God, I wanna fill you so bad. Wanna fuck my cum into your sweet cunt."

You squeeze your eyes shut as he continues, overwhelmed.

"You can take it for me, angel. I know you can. Sweet little thing made just for me. I knew it." He's muttering so much you're hardly sure he even knows what he's saying. His fingers are almost painful as they dig into your skin, like he can't hold onto you hard enough.

"Fill me," you gasp.

He eyes lift from where you join together to lock on your face. "Yeah?" he asks, a slight croakiness breaking his words up a little. "I'll make you all warm and sticky inside, hm? Just like your pretty little pie? That sound nice?"

Oh god. There was something inside you, something made for this – for him. You knew this was going to ruin you forever.

"Please."

He falls over you, then he bites. He bites into you as he floods you full.

#lee know smut #lee know fluff #lee know x reader #stray kids smut #stray kids fluff

2K notes · View notes