#the four empires au

[pacificwaternymph]

A:TLA AU headcannon:

Grian is the cabbage merchant

wait that’s actually hilarious.

Okay yeah headcanon accepted

[thetomorrowshow]

the night got deathly quiet

a secret side storyline is resolved in this update. Can anyone tell me what it is?

cw: violence, mild gore (lots of dead people), death

~

They hadn't expected the war so soon.

Jimmy had figured they at least had a couple of weeks. It wasn't exactly public knowledge that Scott would be touring Rivendell and therefore not available to make battle decisions, but Lizzie and Joel had both sent extra troops to strengthen Rivendell in case of an attack from fWhip.

And then the attack came from behind.

They hadn't received any reports that Mythland was even doing more than preparing armies, let alone mobilizing them. In order to surprise them, he must have moved fast.

And maybe, that's what Jimmy gets. After all, he's the one who decided to rebuild the Capitol right next to Mythland's border. Of course Sausage was going to attack, when Jimmy's certainly the weakest empire and the least likely to be prepared—and of course he managed to do it without alerting anyone, what with the Codlands right next door.

And when he does attack, it goes badly.

"Codfather, you’ve got to leave," insists Belgio, a senior member of the Cod Council. Two of his advisors had shown up at his door less than an hour ago, out of breath and terrified, to inform him of the coming armies. Emil had left almost immediately, still young enough to fight, but Belgio (old, his scales flaking in places) and remained, in some attempt to evacuate Jimmy.

Someone screams from far away, clear over the shouting of so many warriors—because all the normal noises of the city have gone silent, and even so far from the battle, in his small house at the dock, Jimmy can hear the war.

It calls to him, almost. The screams of his soldiers call for his help.

He isn't going to run from them.

"I can't," Jimmy says firmly, pulling tight the side buckles of his chestplate. "I swore an oath to protect this people—I carried them out of the clutches of the salmon, and—"

"And that is why you've got to be saved," Belgio says. "If you're to save us again, you have to make it out!"

"I can't let them die alone!"

Belgio falls silent, the rings of Jimmy's shout echoing in the small house, floating away like the dust that dances in the window's light.

Jimmy bites his lip, shifts his chestplate a bit.

"Can you get the buckle on the back?" he asks quietly. Wordlessly, Belgio moves behind him, tightens the strap and buckles it.

Jimmy lets his eyes flicker shut for a moment, almost in a wordless prayer. To whom, he doesn't know.

He just begs for the strength to defend those he loves.

"When I first saw you, I knew you were our leader," Belgio says after a moment, patting Jimmy's shoulders and snapping him out of his moment of piety. "We know that you've had lots of doubts over the years. Blood doesn't matter, Jimmy. You're our Codfather."

Jimmy nods, a lump in his throat. He doesn't know what he can even say, what he can do to make any of this situation better.

He's probably going to die, isn't he?

A year ago, he would have been more than happy to die for his country. A year ago, he would have marched out into battle without a care, only hoping to take down as many of Sausage's people as possible.

He wouldn't say he has more reason to live now. Sure, he has Scott. And Scott is . . . Scott is wonderful.

But he's always had his people.

The difference is that now, he knows the price of sacrifice. He knows that if this kingdom falls (if he leaves them without a leader), no Codlands will remain.

He has to go out. He has to try.

If he'd woken in Rivendell this morning, Scott would have stopped him from returning to the Codlands. And what good would that have done? Let it be conquered, let these people be utterly destroyed, and (being an imposter king) have no way to carry on their legacy?

At least if he dies here, he'll die a martyr.

Yet here he is, the noonday sunlight filtering in through his cabin's windows, dressing in the armor that has never seemed to fit quite right, and he wishes he were anywhere else.

He twists the ring on his left hand, once, twice, three times for good luck. He's probably not going to survive. Not a full-scale invasion. Unless he's taken prisoner, which he thinks would be unlikely—he still doesn't have the Codfather head, and his face is a little disfigured from the loss of his scales. As far as he knows, he isn't anyone recognizable. And even if someone does recognize him, the only reason he would be taken prisoner would be to gloat at Lizzie and Scott, or to torture him.

He doesn't plan on being taken prisoner.

With the addition of a wooden medallion that Belgio reverently lays around his neck (Jimmy lets him do so, shrugging away the guilt—if he remembers correctly, it signifies some prayer of strength, and he needs all the strength he can get), he's ready to leave.

He steps into the kitchen, checks his reflection in a pan hanging there. Awkward tan armor, his earfins swirling, his good old leather boots, the patchy scars on his face. Jimmy nods at himself, sweeps a hand through his perpetually messy hair.

This is it.

"I'll see you," he says to Belgio, who looks at him for a long moment before nodding, stepping out of the way of the door.

"At least think about escaping, all right?" he offers half-heartedly. Jimmy tries for a smile.

He's not going to do that.

He picks up the Codfather sword, leaning against the wall in its scabbard, and belts it onto his waist. He swallows back his anxiety, takes a deep breath, and pulls open the front door.

The dock is empty. A scrap of cloth blows through the street, the wind whistling just slightly in his ears.

And louder now, in the distance, Jimmy can hear the clashing of swords and the shouting of soldiers.

He hikes up his chestplate and starts running in that direction.

It doesn't take long at all to find the fight. He runs into some twenty of his soldiers soon enough, regrouping behind a cornerstore. The battle has already nearly reached the square beyond, and Jimmy can see more of his soldiers surging forward through the streets, weapons drawn and captains shouting.

This squadron has paused, their captain organizing them, when Jimmy runs up to them.

"Jimmy!" one of them gasps out, standing from where she's crouched behind the wall. "We thought you'd gone to safety! Why are you still here?"

"I won't abandon my people," Jimmy says, even as her face twists in distress.

"This isn't a fight, Codfather," she says urgently. "This is a massacre. We've sent as many children as we can to the Ocean, please join them and g—"

"I'm not running away." Jimmy pats her arm in what he hopes is a comforting manner, before turning to the captain of the group, identified by the blue ribbon tied hastily in their hair. "What's it like out there?"

"Mythland soldiers crawling all over the place," the Cod replies, giving him a quick salute. "They started with catapults, taking down the city walls. They've been moving in, forms of . . . thirty or forty, I'd say. Just one right after another. It's endless, sir."

"Any weaknesses?"

They shrug. "Their backs are unprotected," they suggest. "They're only in half-armor. But we haven't been able to get behind them."

They're wearing half-armor. Because of course, the Cod Empire isn't enough of a threat to bother with their backs.

It burns at Jimmy to know that they're right.

"Right. Well, we probably shouldn't sneak around behind them, we'd get surrounded," Jimmy says, turning the matter over in his mind. He thumbs the hilt of his sword consideringly. "Maybe a point formation? Break through their front line, then stab them in the back?"

"It could work," the captain concedes, glancing at a tall Cod, who shrugs hopelessly. "We'd need more numbers. Is there another group we can join up with?"

"I saw some running over there," a young Cod pipes up, pointing to the left of them, her too-big helmet slipping into her eyes. "Maybe twenty soldiers?"

"Forty isn't enough to wedge into Mythland's armies," another soldier says. "There's got to be thousands of them."

"If we can get a hundred, I'm willing to try," the captain says decisively. "There should be more on the east side, I heard from Mela that they're holding their own over there."

The east. That's the most populous part of the city. It would be best to head there anyway, make sure there aren't any more people who need to be evacuated.

"What do we know about the towns and provinces further inland?" Jimmy asks, suddenly struck by the question.

The captain shrugs. A soldier looks uncertainly at his feet.

Probably fallen or going to fall, then. There's rivers and canals running through most of the Codlands, so those could be a quick escape if the soldiers of Mythland aren't used to fighting fish hybrids. If someone could warn them. . . .

"You," Jimmy decides, pointing to the young girl. "Take the canals, go warn as many towns as you can that the war has begun. Get them out of there. Queen Lizzie or Lady Katherine will accept them as refugees, whichever empire is easier for them to get to. Got it?"

She nods, takes off at a sprint. Jimmy turns to the others, squares his shoulders.

He can do this. He managed about ten years of peace, which he thinks is pretty good for a war-ravaged kingdom. He can save it again now and lead it back into peace.

He doesn't know who he's trying to fool. He isn't even the righteous heir of this kingdom. Arguably, it's his rule that brought about this war with Mythland.

It was his rule, though, as illegitimate as it might have been. And he swore an oath when he took it upon himself to protect this people.

"To the east!" Jimmy declares, and takes off.

-

The east is chaos.

Yes, there are plenty of Cod defenders in the streets, but there are also hundreds Mythland attackers flooding the area. There's a house burning down (smoke is thick in the air, and those around are choking and tears stream from their eyes), a window being shattered, children screaming and running, someone is dying on his left and someone is killing on his right—

"Jimmy, behind you!"

Jimmy turns around, somehow has the ability to dodge a swing from an axe and draw his sword. He doesn't really know anything about facing off against an axe (his combat instructor had always told him to flee), so he just jogs half-backward, drawing the warrior in, until one of the soldiers in his group can stab the man in the back and take him down.

Then they keep moving, further into the battle, avoiding fights but gathering random Cod where they can, calling for soldiers as they go until they've collected a fairly large group. Probably a hundred, right? That looks like about a hundred.

"Form a wedge!" Jimmy shouts, for once glad of his naturally loud voice. The Cod soldiers obey, and they move down the large main street toward Mythland's advancing lines.

He can see the proper lines of soldiers, now, not just a mob of men in red with shining silver armor roaming the narrow Cod streets. It looks well-directed and terrifyingly intimidating, and surely far more impressive than his own small troupe must appear.

And it goes on forever. There's—the lines are endless, wave after wave of footmen rushing forward, killing Cod and barging into homes and destroying the town.

Jimmy stares for a moment, utterly overwhelmed.

His people are dying. They're being wiped out entirely, all at the will of a power-hungry king. Their culture had barely survived the centuries of subjectivity and war with the salmon. It won't survive this.

Jimmy shakes himself. It could survive this! He just has to . . . he has to save it.

"Wedge formation!" the captain from before shouts, then begins leading the pack, past individual battles and destruction and to the main lines.

It all gets blurry after that. Jimmy runs with them, storming toward the enemy, yelling instructions to his people, ignoring the way his voice shakes.

He fights. He raises his sword against people, stabs some in their unprotected backs, fights some head on. Face after face blends together as Jimmy almost mindlessly swings his sword (he's been training with it every week for the past ten years, and while he isn't perfect he's certainly a force to be reckoned with), one thought running through his brain on repeat: save them. Save them. Save them.

He isn't sure how long it is before he hears calls of retreat. The Cod numbers have dwindled around him, his soldiers collapsing one by one under the weight of just how many Mythlanders there are. And more are still coming—Jimmy looks up at some point and sees so many footmen, so many knights on horses, there's too many the world is going to end—

He falls back with everyone else, weaving into the smoky streets among fleeing and screaming people, shouting soldiers, a fry crying for its mother, all hazy and uncertain—

Then a shout rouses him from the depths of his mind.

"That's him! That's the Codfather!"

He whirls around, trying to spot anyone who might have—there. A smug-looking knight on horseback, pointing to him and shouting to his comrades, and now there are five or six or seven Mythland soldiers moving toward him.

Jimmy curses under his breath, wipes a trickle of sweat from below his ear.

He doesn't really want to die here, but maybe he can draw enough Mythlanders his way that he can distract them from his people.

It's not suicide. Maybe he can get to his cabin, grab his elytra off the hook by the door and get away—or jump into a canal and swim out.

A glance into the nearest canal tells him that others have tried the same thing. Bile rises to his throat; dead Cod are floating, belly-up, arrows piercing them all over, the canal running red with blood.

He hopes the young girl he sent made it out. He hopes she didn't have to swim by any bodies.

He fears that neither hope has any truth to it.

An arrow whistles past Jimmy's ear, and he takes that as his cue to start running.

Sausage's men must have a line of bowmen behind the main advances, and if one has shot for him, it must mean that the endless sea of red soldiers has an end, and behind that end is the archers. If Jimmy could gather another group, sneak in behind the lines, they could get the archers. Bows aren't really made for hand-to-hand contact, so they could probably just take them all out and stop any more airfire from hitting his soldiers.

But then that group would surely perish. Every one of those soldiers would be surrounded. Jimmy doesn't know if their wedge did any real damage—he couldn't tell from the thick of it—but they'd had a way out. Killing the archers would cost more than it would save.

And now he really has to get going, because there are more soldiers coming in droves and several of them are aiming for him.

He turns on his heel and sprints off, dodging the battle at every turn. There are still too many citizens among the fighting, why haven't they fled—there's an older gentleman that he shoves into a house, a child that he picks up with one arm and carries a short distance until he finds a fleeing man who can get her to safety.

He rounds a corner in a winding street (skipping over bodies all the way down, he knows he's headed toward more death) to find two Mythland soldiers fighting one Cod soldier, the Cod's energy clearly flagging. Jimmy leaps into the fight, stabbing one soldier through his unprotected side.

"Go!" he shouts to the Cod, and xe stumbles away, sword hanging loosely at their side.

Jimmy makes quick work of the other Mythlander, kicking her in the knees to get her down before knocking the hilt of his sword against her head. Then he continues down the street, covering his mouth as the stench of smoke grows stronger, until it opens up into a plaza—the plaza that Jimmy knows to be the center of the city.

The plaza is destroyed, entirely unrecognizable as what was surely once a pleasant hub of energy—there's people screaming everywhere, shattered pottery and trampled food and bodies on the ground, a dog barking, soldiers killing without consideration, market stalls burning and in disarray, horses rearing. . . .

There's so much, and Jimmy moves to go forward, eye catching on a Mythlander about to kill a defenseless Cod, when a hand catches his arm, pulling him back into the doorway of a shop.

"Codfather," this new soldier begs him, a Cod instantly recognizable as part of Jimmy's Rivendell guard, shouting to be heard above the turmoil. "Leave! Free us later, you can't save us now!"

Jimmy can't leave, though.

Not when his people are dying before his very eyes. Not when he can save at least one life.

He promised to be willing to die for these people. He has to keep that promise.

Anyone can lead a country—he's living proof. But not everyone will lay down their life for another, no matter their station. And the latter is the kind of Cod that Jimmy wants to be.

He claps the soldier on the shoulder. "You get out," he tells him. "Will you abandon your country in this time of need, or keep fighting to save those weaker than you?"

The soldier looks down at his feet, then back up, teary determination in his eyes, soot and dirt dulling his scales (as if the battle has drowned his light). "I fight with you," he says.

Jimmy grins. "Good. What's your name?"

"Micah."

"You've accompanied me to Rivendell before?"

Micah nods.

Jimmy squeezes his shoulder. "Well, Micah," he says, "maybe we'll both get to see those mountains again."

And with that, he hefts up his sword and charges into the fight.

He dispatches a Mythland soldier immediately, striking down a second one as soon as he gets near enough. Jimmy's blood is pounding in his ears, his heartrate elevated. He knows how to fight. Better than many rulers, probably, forced to fight since before he was even declared Codfather, and expected to defend if there was ever an attack.

He licks his lips, twists his sword around in his hand before plunging it into the back of another enemy. Maybe they can barricade off the plaza, only leave one street open so only one soldier can get in at a time? It wouldn't be permanent, but it might last long enough for them to hold their own until they had a chance to flee, or until some sort of back-up arrived.

There isn't back-up coming, though. Nobody knows this is happening. Nobody knows the Cod Empire is falling.

Jimmy fends off a spearman, knocking the spear out of their hands before slamming the flat of his blade into the side of their head. He's got this. He knows how to dance this dance, knows how to look for weak spots.

This soldier relies too heavily on his shield, blocking every one of Jimmy's hits with it rather than his sword. Jimmy goes for a wide cut on his unprotected side, takes him down, then spins to the side to dodge a swing from a man whose balance is off, feet too flat. He steps in past his range, shoulder-checks him to knock him back, then stabs him through the shoulder.

"The Codfather!" the next soldier greets him, smiling sharply. "I"ll be honored for killing you."

"Not if you're dead," Jimmy grunts, swinging his sword into the soldier's neck and partially decapitating him, his body collapsing instantly.

There's another one waiting behind, and Jimmy steps back to dodge a strike and something rolls under his feet—he slips back and trips, barely manages to catch his feet under him before he falls into the canal behind him. He glances down—just for a moment—and sees the arm of the Cod's body that he'd slipped on—

Then, with a burst of blinding pain, a sword drives its way around his chestplate and into his shoulder.

He gasps a little bit, the world slowing around him.

There's a sword in his body.

It cut through his flesh like a knife through butter, straight into that space between his shoulder and his chest, and there's metal separating tendons and flesh and he's going to die—

The sword is drawn out, and Jimmy stumbles forward with it, the shiiick of the sword being removed echoing in his ears.

He's—he's fine. It's not a fatal wound. It's just—just blood, soaking his tunic, sticking to his skin. He's bled before. It's not too serious to have it outside of his body.

"I got him!" a woman—the person who stabbed him—shouts. Jimmy glares at her, the world around him coming starkly (too starkly, everything just a little too bright) back into focus. Nobody who's smug about it is going to kill him.

He hefts his sword back up, ignoring the pain shooting out from his shoulder, ignoring the slight wooziness that tugs in the back of his mouth.

He swings at her, more precisely and accurately than he expected, cutting down into her shoulder and neck.

She collapses when he yanks his sword out of her collarbone, but her call had brought others. There are three more approaching, lifting their weapons.

Something that Jimmy would say is one of his worst qualities is his stubbornness. Lizzie has got on him time and time again for never backing down from a fight he can't win.

And this is one with no hope.

So Jimmy takes a deep breath and fights.

He takes down two of them before the third gets past his defenses, slashing a sword deep across his thigh.

His leg gives out, spurting blood everywhere, the cut burning somewhere beyond Jimmy's consciousness. He falls to his knees, stabs up under the chestplate of the soldier—and there are four more behind her.

His arm shakes as he stabs the knee of the first soldier, then hits them in the side when they twist downward. He adjusts his grip on the sweat-stained leather of his sword, adds his other (heavy, near-useless) hand to it.

He manages to kill the next soldier before he gets hit again—he dodges, bending to one side, but the sword swinging at his head manages to clip his earfin, neatly slicing off a piece of it that falls to the ground beside him. He aims up, stabs that man through the chin—

His back stiffens as cold metal shoves down in the back of his chestplate and pierces into his flesh, stabbing through his back—through—through—through his body and angling down, in his back and down, and Jimmy can't move, he's skewered on this sword, he chokes on nothing as his eyes go wide and it hurts—

Another shiiick with a tiny little squelch, and the sword is removed with a jerk that pulls a sound from Jimmy's lips that's something in between and grunt and a whimper.

The enemies around him (for they truly are surrounding him, at least five, hazy and out-of-focus) go still, their weapons lowering.

Jimmy's arms drop to his side. His grip on the sword loosens. Someone screams in the distance, distorted by his uneven ears.

No.

No.

One of the Mythlanders—a man with a grey beard, his armor old and unpolished—kneels before Jimmy, puts his hands on either side of Jimmy's head.

There's something proud about the way he holds his chin, something . . . something different in his eyes. Jimmy doesn't know what. All Jimmy knows is that he suddenly feels cold.

"You fought admirably, son," he says, voice low and gravelly. "There are those of us in Mythland yet who respect a warrior, despite the actions of our king. Go into the next life without fear, for you will be honored."

Jimmy stares blankly at him. There's hot blood pooling in the back of his tunic, running in rivulets down his back. He can't move his left arm, blood caking under it. His thigh is wet with the stuff; blood trickles down the side of his neck.

He's so cold.

The man tips Jimmy's head forward, places a scratchy kiss on his forehead. "Rest easy," he murmurs, before standing, picking his sword back up and turning away into a blur of color.

Jimmy slumps forward against his will, slowly falling onto his stomach, cheek landing against the dusty cobblestone. He doesn't feel the way the fall jostles his wounds. He doesn't feel anything but cold.

The boots that stand in front of his eyes are new, splashed with blood on the toe.

"Finally," the person says distantly. "I've been chasing him for twenty minutes. Fought like a dog."

And then, with a noticeable plop on his back, he spits on Jimmy.

One of Jimmy's other worst qualities, in his opinion, is pride. And somehow, his pride is stronger than the cold darkness pulling at him.

And his sword is still in his hand.

Gathering every last ounce of strength that he has, Jimmy strikes out to the side, slashing through those new boots and cutting into the calf.

The man curses, leaps away. Jimmy can't help but smirk a little, lips feeling numb. His fingers lose grip of his sword, his vision blurs further.

"Why isn't he dead already—"

A boot slams into his head and the fuzziness goes black.

-

"Just roll them into the canal. We'll have the Cods fill it up with dirt."

"Glad we don't have to carry them all the way to the fields. The savages fought hard, I heard they're still loading the wagons with ours."

"Have you heard anything about Daniel?"

"No, haven't seen him. Whose squadron was he in?"

"Twenty-third, Hal's group. He's my wife's brother."

"You'll probably have to be the one to tell her, then. If he's dead."

"And his husband. They'll be heartbroken."

"Mm. Oh, urgh—their weird scale things always grossed me out."

"It's the ears for me. Every time I went to market there'd be one of them selling something stupid. My daughter thinks they're terrifying, would scream when we passed by."

"She's right. They're freaky-looking. I was glad to kill a few."

"Are you two working, or talking?"

"Milord!"

"Working, sire, our apologies."

"Your majesty, what brings you out here?"

"I received an urgent report from one of my captains. You haven't seen a Cod body—hehe, Coddy—with scars on his face? Blond hair, tall, lots of scars?"

"None that match that description yet, sire. If we see one—"

"No need, I'll search with you. Are we just rolling them into this river-thing?"

"Yes, milord. Allow us—"

"Oh—"

"There it goes!"

"Right, and now the next—"

"Oh! Is this the one you're looking for?"

". . . Well. Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy. Scott wasn't here to save you this time, was he?"

"Is that. . . ?"

"Friends, this is—or, was—the Codfather."

"Looks like he put up quite the fight. There are so many bodies around him."

"He's drenched in blood. Must have been painful."

"It was supposed to be fWhip to kill him, I think. He always wanted to. He isn't going to be too happy about this, let me tell you!"

"Do you need the body?"

"And stink up my kingdom by bringing back a dead fish? Roll him into the river with the others. But give me a second with him, all right?"

"Yes, milord."

"Of course, your majesty."

"Honestly, Jimmy, I think this look is an improvement! You think Scott is into this, all this blood and guts? You never know, elves are a little freaky! . . . Well, I can't say I'll miss you. I loved messing with you, but I can find a new game. Look, if you get to heaven, tell 'em to let in your old pal Sausage! And if you end up in hell . . . tell 'em the same thing! Covering all my bases, you know? . . . I guess this is goodbye! See ya, Jimmy!"

"It's close enough to the canal, we won't even have to touch it, really."

"Just kick it in."

"You two take care of that! Oh, I can't wait to tell Scott. . . ."

"All right, I'll just—"

"And I'll—"

"There it goes! Which one next?"

"Let's keep going along this way, and when. . . ."

-

That night, the Cod Empire is deathly quiet.

Smoke hangs like a cloud over the Capital, some buildings still burning (pointless from the beginning, yet even after the battle had been won there were celebrating soldiers setting fire to cabins and shops, destruction just a mark of victory). Bodies line the streets, half the canals filled with the dead.

There are some still living. Soldiers who had surrendered, children and caretakers and disabled who weren't able to escape but were able to hide. They do not sleep, fearing what the morning will bring. Will King Sausage order their deaths? Will he move through their land to the ones beyond? Will he demand slavery of them, even the children?

A father bundles up his baby and waits for a change in guard at the docks, then slips into the water and swims away, heading for the Ocean Kingdom. Another Cod tries the same thing and is caught with an arrow in their throat.

Those who remain hide in their homes, curtains drawn, and hold each other, too fearful to try to contact friends and family to see if they still live. They daren't go outside, lest they join the bodies in the streets.

They all know that their Codfather has fallen. That news had been shouted through the town, on every gory street and dock, until all in the town silently despaired and knew that they were doomed.

Lord Sausage, King of Mythland, returns home and writes a gloating letter of conquest, which reaches all of the empires before the night ends. One day of battle, and the Codlands has been conquered. He doesn't write of the fate of the Codfather, relishing the opportunity to tell the Ocean Queen and Lord Smajor in person.

In the canals are hundreds of bodies. An older Mythland soldier on guard frowns as he stares down at the disturbing piles of dead, on top the pale body of a guard named Micah, and shakes his head in disgust.

In the canal near the center of town, under two other bodies, completely submerged in the dirty water, is the body of the Codfather. His hair floats in the water, his face almost unrecognizable, bloated in death, painted with blood and mud.

It's the dark of midnight, not even lit by the moon, only the dim stars twinkling down. The body of the Codfather rocks a little bit with the shift of the water, little ripples coming from seemingly nowhere, traveling down each canal.

Something rumbles, deep underground.

The water picks up, tiny ripples becoming actual waves, crashing against the land and shoving the bodies from side to side, piles spilling over and sending dead Cod flopping to the land—almost as if a storm is brewing, though the skies are clear as can be.

The Mythlanders on guard around the town laugh nervously, step away from the canals, as the bodies seem to thrash in the choppy water.

And in the canal near the center of town, the Codfather lies in the water.

His eyes flash open.

[moomoorare]

﹏𓊝﹏﹏ 𓆝*̥˚ -ˋˏ• ༻𓇼༺ •ˎˊ- 𓆝*̥˚﹏𓊝﹏

Exhale Inhale 🫧 - Scales of Fate AU

Art I made inspired by when they exit the elevator and enter the Landarium. Click and zoom to get a better look at the details!

From chapter two: If you could fly and be the bird (then you would see the forest burn)

· · ── 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 ˎˊ- ⋆·˚ ༘

Chapter Two Summary:

Queen Lizzie brings her Knights to the Landarium (her underwater exhibits for dry land animals) to tidy up some legal documents before their departure for the grand empire tour. Gem has a really bad time. They're all worried about her.

.˚₊‧༉︶︶︶︶( 𓆉 𖦹*ੈ‧ 𓇼 ₊˚ 𓆡 )︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

[inaris-mage-of-storms]

(Content warning for swearing, blood, injury, and violence.)

Jimmy wasn't at the meeting.

Scott cast a worried glance around the gathered circle and up the road, hoping maybe he had just overlooked him, or that he was running late. Empty seats weren't unusual. The group meetings almost never had full attendance, especially these days. But Jimmy had never missed a single one since the very first time Pix had invited him, not without providing a solid reason in advance.

"Has anyone heard from the sheriff?" asked Scott. Head-shakes and dismissive shoulder shrugs were his only answer.

"Maybe he finally realized he doesn't belong here." There was a cruel smirk on Sausage's lips, and Scott shuddered at the feeling of wrong wrong he's all wrong something isn't right this isn't him that crawled up his back every time he looked at Sausage lately.

Shelby's laugh was harsh. A tendril of sculk curled against her hair like the tail of a velvet ribbon. "Maybe we'll have a peaceful, quiet afternoon for once."

"It is nice not having to listen to him screaming baseless accusations and getting mad at every little joke," said Lizzie. "I'm surprised he showed up as long as he did, to be honest."

"He's still one of us," snapped Scott. "Regardless of whatever disputes - "

"Is he, though?" asked Fwhip, curling his tail thoughtfully. "Does he really belong in a gathering of kings and princesses and gods?"

"Do you?" spoke up False in a quiet voice, and Scott shot her a grateful look. "Do half of us fit into this little consortium, if that's the criteria?"

"The criteria is power," said Fwhip. "Leadership. Someone who's been trusted to look after the people who gather around them. Jimmy doesn't have leadership qualities, he has an inferiority complex and a child's temper!"

"He has been a little out of control lately," said Gem.

"All right, that's enough," said Pix, stepping forward and holding up a hand. "Whether or not Jimmy belongs here is not on the agenda for today. Has anyone heard from him recently?" No one answered, and Pix sighed. "Very well. Joel, Joey, Oli, and Katherine have all sent their apologies in advance for being unable to be here today. Now, the first order of business is…"

Scott barely listened as the meeting progressed. It took all of his self-control to stay in his seat, between his concern for Jimmy and his urge to get away from the creepy magic that emanated from Sausage and Shelby. Armor now, escape plan later, he reminded himself every time he caught himself eyeing the exits for too long. Focus. Don't show your vulnerability. That was an especially important reminder right now, he thought, given the way Sausage looked directly at him every time he teetered on the edge of bolting.

When the meeting concluded Fwhip stepped toward Scott, clearly intent on speaking with him. Scott met his eyes, then very deliberately turned his back on him and strode away. He checked the straps on his wings before unfurling them, and after a brief glance to check for any wear or damages he headed straight for Tumble Town.

Scott hadn't been to the mesa for some time, and while he had heard rumors of the dwindling population, he was unprepared for the sight that greeted him. Tumble Town was eerily quiet, and as Scott glided down from the sky he realized why: it was empty. Not a single building showed any signs of life. No one peered out any windows or walked the streets. Houses and storefronts were shuttered, and crop fields were overrun with weeds.

He landed next to the sheriff's office and had one foot on the porch when the sound of shattering glass from the saloon broke the silence. He jumped and spun around as the sound repeated, and as he hurried over he could see Jimmy through one of the broken windows. The empty bottle that had sailed through it lay broken on the ground, and a wooden chair followed, knocking more glass out of the frame and splintering when it landed.

Scott pushed open the swinging doors just as Jimmy turned and scowled at the tall liquor cabinet against the wall. The sheriff studied his reflection in the glass door, chest heaving, and for a moment Scott thought maybe Jimmy had calmed down. He opened his mouth to speak, but before Jimmy's name could cross his lips, Jimmy screamed in rage and sent his fist through the face that stared back at him.

Whiskey and blood dripped onto the floor, and Jimmy let his hand fall to his side, staring dumbly at the overturned bottles inside the wrecked cabinet. Scott stood frozen in place, taken aback by the outburst.

"Jimmy?" he called out hesitantly, unsure of what he should do.

"Hm? Oh, hello, Scott." Jimmy's voice was far too calm and steady. It frightened him. "If you've come for business, I'm afraid we won't be able to conduct any today. All of our resources are a little, er, behind on production." He laughed, as if at some private joke. "Unless you're here for terracotta. Take it, however much you need, from wherever you want. Might as well."

Scott stepped a little closer, keeping his movements slow and easy to read. "I came to see if you were okay. You weren't at the meeting today." He spoke softly, as if he were trying to approach a wounded animal. He was, he supposed. Jimmy made no indication he was aware of the lacerations on his hand and arm, but it had to be stinging.

Jimmy turned to look at him, and Scott paused his approach as something dark flickered across the sheriff's face. "The meeting?" He tilted his head. "Oh. Right. I won't be attending those anymore."

"Why not?" He had a small first-aid kit tucked in his bag somewhere, he was sure. He moved a hand down slowly, feeling around for it. Jimmy paid him no mind, his eyes still on Scott's face but not really looking at him.

"Don't have a reason to." If Scott were to only go by Jimmy's voice, he wouldn't have thought anything was wrong. It didn't match the disheveled sight before him. "It's a gathering of regional leaders. The only thing I have left to lead is sand and tumbleweed."

"You're still one of us," said Scott. "You're still our friend."

Jimmy laughed.

He threw his head back and laughed as if Scott had told him the funniest joke he'd heard in his life. He laughed until he had tears in his eyes, and he wiped them away with his uninjured hand. Scott's eyes traveled over Jimmy's chest. His shirt hung open, a different injury on display. The gash across his chest was mostly healed, but the edges were still red and angry. Scott's own anger stirred at the sight, and part of him wished he'd confronted Gem about it at the meeting.

Jimmy's peals of laughter died down into chuckles. "What a sweet thing to say," he said when he calmed down. "And what a load of shit." He stepped forward, glass crunching under his boots. His smile was terse and venomous, and if it were anyone else approaching him like that Scott might have turned and fled. Jimmy came to a stop in front of him and leaned in. There were bags under his eyes and dirt smeared across his cheek. The hair under his hat was limp and oily. Scott wondered how long it had been since he'd slept.

"Why are you really here, Scott?" The calm, almost cheerful tone he'd been speaking in finally slipped into something bitter and full of grief. "I don't have anything left to take. All the jokes have already been made a hundred times over. What more could you possibly do?"

Scott could feel his heart crumbling at the pain that radiated off Jimmy in waves. He wanted to pull him close and bundle him away from the world and everything in it that had ever hurt him. He wanted to whisper reassurances in his ear that everything would be all right. He wanted to kneel before him and beg forgiveness for his own part in Jimmy's heartache. He wanted -

It took an explosion to shatter the tension between them. The building shuddered, and Scott stumbled into Jimmy as dust rained down on them from the rafters. A second explosion sounded, and Jimmy wrapped his arms around Scott instinctively, pulling him close and covering his head.

"Oh sheriff!" Fwhip's voice was far too cheerful as it rang out across Tumble Town. "Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

Jimmy snarled in anger and shoved Scott away from him, stomping out of the saloon. Scott followed on his heels. "Fwhip, what the fuck!" screamed Jimmy. "What is the meaning of this?!"

"There you are! Thought I'd have to do this one next to get your attention." Fwhip grinned down at them from the roof of the jail and waved a stick of dynamite at them. Lizzie sat next to him, her hand on top of one of the bundles of TNT that surrounded them. Smoke rose lazily from the remains of the bank.

Jimmy's eyes snapped from the dynamite in Fwhip's hand to the office door below, fear flickering across his features. "Norman's not in there," Scott murmured to him, and glanced behind him to confirm the glow he thought he'd seen a moment earlier. "He's in the bushes behind us."

Jimmy relaxed ever so slightly at the reassurance and glared up at Fwhip. "Well, you've got it," he spat. "What do you want?"

Fwhip hummed and tapped his chin. "You know, I didn't actually think that far ahead!" He threw the dynamite from one hand to the other before setting it aside and leaning forward to look at them better. "I assumed you'd be hiding somewhere with your tail tucked, and we'd level this place and go home."

"I'm just here for a little fun, myself," said Lizzie. "We have so much extra gunpowder lying around, and an unpopulated area is the perfect place to do a little product testing."

"It really is," agreed Fwhip. "Hi Scott! You're on the wrong side of the street, buddy. Come over here where it's safe."

"I'm exactly where I want to be," said Scott, peering up at them and using one hand to shield his eyes from the hot sun. "Why don't you go do your product testing elsewhere?"

Fwhip clicked his tongue. "I was afraid you might say that." He jumped down and sauntered over to them, and Scott stepped forward to put himself between Fwhip and Jimmy. Lizzie watched them closely, running her fingers over a flint and steel.

"I mean it when I say you're on the wrong side," continued Fwhip. "Something's coming, something big. You can feel it too, right?" He was still smiling, but Scott could see the fear and uncertainty in his eyes. "Whatever is coming for us, allies are going to be important. Friends are going to be important."

"I know," said Scott. "And we've been friends for a long time, haven't we?" Fwhip's smile softened at Scott's words, then vanished as Scott stepped away from him to stand firmly at Jimmy's side. "But I meant it too. I'm exactly where I want to be."

Fwhip laughed, dumbfounded. "You're a fool. I never took you for a fool before, Scott." He narrowed his eyes at Jimmy. "And all over this sorry excuse for a man. Amazing."

It was Jimmy's turn to step forward, placing himself in front of Scott even though he had no reason to believe Fwhip would ever hurt Scott. "Go home, Fwhip," he said tiredly. "I'm not a threat to you anymore. Just leave."

"Funny, saying you're not a threat when you've got a hand on your sword," said Fwhip, eyes moving to where Jimmy's hand clenched the hilt.

"I don't want to fight you," said Jimmy. "But I will, if that's what it takes to make you leave Tumble Town alone."

Fwhip laughed and moved back over to the jail, catching his mace as Lizzie tossed it down to him. "You wanna dance, little man?" he taunted, twirling the weapon with ease before gripping it firmly. "Let's go, then!"

Jimmy drew his sword and launched himself at Fwhip, but his movements were slower and clumsier than usual and the goblin sidestepped him easily. Jimmy cried out and dropped to his knees as the mace slammed into the back of his leg, and Scott winced at the blood and bruising visible through the fresh rips in Jimmy's jeans. Jimmy gritted his teeth and forced himself up, barely avoiding a blow to the shoulder, and whirled around to slash at Fwhip in return. His blade clashed against the head of the mace, sending a shower of sparks into the sand.

Scott caught a glimpse of movement near the ground. Norman slunk from bush to bush, and the glow that only Scott could see increased in intensity at the same time as some of the smaller wounds on Jimmy began closing up. But even with his deputy's help, Jimmy's strength was fading against the ferocity of his opponent, and new wounds were being inflicted faster than Norman could heal them.

"Norman!" yelled Scott in desperation. "Go get someone! Pix, maybe, I don't know!"

For a moment he thought Norman was going to ignore him, but when Jimmy moved out of his range again the cat let out a worried yowl before turning and darting away from the fight. Norman was fast, but Scott knew he wouldn't be back with anyone in time to stop the fight before it turned deadly. What he would need Pix's help for was the aftermath. Stopping the fight was up to him.

When Fwhip and Jimmy broke apart again, Scott drew his own sword and darted between them just in time to deflect Fwhip's swing to the side. He gritted his teeth, feeling the impact travel through the blade and up his arm. "That's enough!"

Fwhip's eyes widened and he took a step back, lowering his weapon. "Scott, what are you doing?" he cried out. "I could have hurt you!"

Scott pointed his sword directly at Fwhip. Behind him, Jimmy gasped for air. The smell of blood overwhelmed the smell of hot sand and gunpowder that permeated the town, and Scott resisted the urge to turn and tend to Jimmy's wounds right then and there. Fwhip stared at him from the other end of his blade.

Scott took a deep breath and fixed Fwhip with a steady gaze. "All alliances, treaties, trade deals, and other agreements between Chromia and Gobland are canceled effective immediately," he said sharply. "Likewise for Animalia."

"You're making a mistake, Scott," called Lizzie.

"You're not – you're not serious, are you?" said Fwhip. "Tell me you're joking." Scott didn't move, and Fwhip laughed in disbelief. "Scott, I'm your friend. Your oldest friend. Your first alliance."

"You are," said Scott softly. "And I've been grateful for your companionship, Fwhip. You've been a brother to me for many years."

"Then stop this nonsense," Fwhip pleaded, pinning his ears back. He let his mace drop to the ground and put his hands up in surrender. "Look, I'm done. I've made my point. Why don't you come to Gobland and we can talk about this?"

Scott looked at him sadly, but his mind was made up, and he continued his official declaration. "Sheriff Jimmy of Tumble Town is under my personal protection as the King of Chromia," he said. "From this moment on, any further hostilities against him, his citizens, or his territory will be taken as an act of war against Chromia."

"Don't," said Fwhip. "Please. Don't choose him over me."

Scott pressed the tip of his sword against Fwhip's throat. "Any hostility against Jimmy will be taken as an act of war against me," he repeated. "And Chromia will respond accordingly."

Fwhip's shoulders sagged, and Scott lowered his sword. "Has it really come to this?" asked Fwhip.

"It has," said Scott. "And I'm sorry it has. But you've made your choice, and I've made mine."

"So you have," said Fwhip quietly. "Goodbye, Scott."

Scott watched Fwhip and Lizzie depart, then sheathed his sword and turned to see Jimmy leaning heavily against the nearest fence, face pale and eyes unfocused. Scott sucked in a sharp breath at the injuries that littered his body. His first-aid kit would be useless. He was going to need proper supplies, and potions, and -

"You shouldn't have done that," said Jimmy unsteadily.

Scott furrowed his brow. "Of course I should have," he said. "I think he might have really killed you if I didn't step in." Oh gods. Fwhip might have actually killed him, he realized, a cold shiver running down his spine at the thought. All it would have taken was one missed parry, one inopportune blow to Jimmy's head or torso, and he could have been -

"Yeah. Might have." Jimmy shrugged, then winced at the movement. "Doesn't matter. I meant your alliance. You just burned two bridges for nothing."

"I didn't burn them for nothing," said Scott. "I burned them for you."

Jimmy managed a broken smile. "Yeah. Like I said. For nothing." He looked at the empty houses around them. "Don't you see? It's all gone. Everything is gone. All the people I swore to protect have either moved on or been buried under the damned clay." He kicked the toe of his boot against a swath of exposed terracotta. The movement threw him off balance, and he gripped the fence until his knuckles turned white. "I failed, Scott. I failed!" There were no tears in his eyes, but the haunted and hollow look he gave Scott was far worse. "I failed," he repeated dully. "I'm alone."

Scott stepped toward him and carefully, cautiously, cradled Jimmy's face in his hands. "You aren't alone," he said firmly, and swiped his thumb over a drop of blood on Jimmy's cheek. He meant to wipe it away, but it only smeared. "I'm right here, Jimmy. And I will die before I ever walk away from you again."

Jimmy stared at him with wide eyes, processing his words. "You know, I almost think you might mean that," he said slowly.

"I do," said Scott. "I've never meant anything more in my life. You are not alone."

"Oh," was all Jimmy managed to say. He pulled away from Scott's hold, lifting a hand to run it through his hair, then stopped and stared at the lacerations that had re-opened during the fight as if only just realizing he was injured at all. "Huh." He looked down at himself. "That's...quite a lot of blood, actually," he said weakly. "Scott, can you do me a favor?"

"Anything," said Scott.

Jimmy ran his fingers over his swollen arm and winced. "Can you feed Norman tonight? He gets rather upset if he has to fend for himself too many days in a row, and I have a feeling I'm going to be out of commission for a while."

Scott almost laughed at the absurdity of Norman's dinner being Jimmy's biggest concern at the moment. "Sure. I'll make sure he's taken care of."

Jimmy smiled. "Great. Appreciate it." His knees buckled and his eyes fluttered shut, and he crumpled forward into Scott's arms as he passed out.

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[thefastestelementalmasteralive]

Back on my "multiversal Scott's except they are set of three siblings and Xornoth" train

[amourcheol]

ave, general

❝The Eagle of Rome has returned to you at last.❞

historical! au | fluff, smut, crack | 16.1k words

s u m m a r y : after your husband returns from the wars in foreign lands, you could not be more proud to see him be the shining pride of rome. however, even among the celebrations and your own personal news, lee jihoon only wanted one thing—some time alone with you.

c o n t e n t : roman! au, roman general! jihoon, husband! jihoon, father! jihoon, mother! mc, a lot of historical background and roman terms to add historical accuracy, soldiers! bss + wonwoo and chan, this is bss and friends, all of them are so annoying it's a wonder they aren't executed, seungcheol is, in a literal sense, a baby, this is a bullying chan campaign, the soldiers do NOT know how to talk to a baby, domesticity <333 mature content ↠ mentions of loss of loved ones, descriptions of war and death, dirty talk, petnames (my love, my sweet, darling, mea vita), fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), slight exhibitionism, unprotected sex (roman contraceptives are dookie), multiple orgasming, slight aftercare

t a g l i s t : @hyuckworld @gyuswhore @lexyraeworld @moonlightwonu @spooky-goose1003 @dvalitaes @cookiearmy @lllucere @syluslittlecrows @mrsjohnnysuh @fancypeacepersona @thepoopdokyeomtouched @monstacheol @xabsolutelynothingx @kyeomiis @icecream-sundaes @peachytokki @jihanniecheol @ourkivee

a u t h o r ' s n o t e : she is here!! i promised myself i would release this once i've watched gladiator II and she is back...changed woman...i guess this is a belated bday present to jihoon? thank u for inventing music king </3 enjoy reading loves !!

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“WHERE IN JUPITER IS HE?”

The maid whined as she focused on the crowd once more—thousands of citizens gathered across in the Capitol, the road cleared for the procession about to occur. Giddy conversations of every man, woman and child flourished for a mile, and you had to hold onto the girl accompanying you to not be trodden over.

“Careful, mistress!” Myrtia, your servant, warned as you dared take a step at the edge of the hill. “They will be here any minute now!”

You did not listen, holding onto your heavy shawl tighter as you waited in earnest of what was to happen. Rome was a city of chaos, but you did not hear the noise—despite the crowds, the instruments, the chanting, every single voice seemed irrelevant as you stood over the Capitolium. The little houses underneath you swirled around the hill, all evolving the temple behind you, the destination of the people about to be welcomed. Columned buildings made of stone and marble surrounded the crowds, speckled with garlands, its bright colours of vermillion shining in the summer sun. 

A small sigh left your lips. Today was the day he would come back home to you.

“By the gods!” Myrtia let out an excited screech, grabbing onto your arm and pointing towards the empty street, barricaded by the people. “They’re here, they’re here!”

Following her finger, you stared at the scene.

That was when the parade entered. 

Screams of elation spanned across the crowd as thousands of soldiers flooded in tight ranks, accepting the cheers with pride as they marched along, prisoners of war being dragged along by their chains. There must have been hundreds, spanning back beyond your vision, dirtied and haggard, but that was the consequence of challenging the Empire. The soldiers all adorned their red and silver uniform, smiling at the city which welcomed them.

Your eyes scanned the front of the parade, lips curving at the five men on decorated horseback. Each and every one of them had their distinguishable responses towards the people who sang praises to them, and you longed to see them ride up to the Hill where you could greet them.

When your gaze hovered to what rode in front of the men, it widened.

Four horses, adorned in the finest metals and blood-coloured clothing, led the chariot of the same colour, fully festooned in laurels. Gold swirls cemented on its front, making itself heard with its screeching wheels.

It was not the chariot you cared about.

No, it was the man who stood in it.

The man who was clothed in royal purple and gold, holding a laurel branch in one hand and a sceptre in the other. The man, whose wild black hair perfectly settled the golden crown that another beside him held. The man, whose ghost of a smile sent the crowd in absolute frenzy, beginning up a chant to his name.

“Hurrah for the Triumph!”

“Hurrah for the Triumph!”

“Hurrah for the Eagle!”

Your heart stopped to a standstill.

At last. At long last, the Eagle of Rome had come back to its nest.

“Mistress, look!” Myrtia exclaimed, pointing towards the star of the show, the lead victor in this parade. “Your husband achieved the Triumph!”

You glanced at her with unadulterated pride before focusing on the man in front, coming closer in your vision as he began the ride up the hill. The Triumph. A public celebration of a certain general who managed to lead Rome to a special, foreign victory. It meant the destruction of the enemy, complete desolation, which a mere centurion could not simply achieve. To receive the Triumph was to be respected by the highest of the Roman officials. 

You smiled at the notion. The destination for the parade was the Temple of Jupiter behind you, its columns holding up the huge, faded roof, towering over the few beloved relatives of the generals that led the soldiers. “I never doubted he would.”

The crowds grew wilder as the generals journeyed closer, halfway up the rocky hill—everyone opened their doors, leaving their houses to witness the rare spectacle. “Do you think they would let us speak to them?” your maid wondered out loud, following your steps as you turned your back, walking to the Temple. Standing right beside the steps, upstaged till they reached your height. “Gods, I forgot how big the temple is sometimes!”

“Wait here,” you said, holding onto the polished stone as you climbed up the steps. The thundering sounds of hooves on cobblestone entered your ears, and the few other relatives which accompanied you silenced, joy in their faces as the parade ascended. You turned before the show, the entire building shading you with its presence.

There he was.

With his four white horses slowing, neighing wildly at the company that arrived at the hill. With his red and golden chariot inciting excited Latin from the crowd, there he was, swiping past in front of his friends. The horses finally stopped, just before the steps, and the generals behind him followed suit, halting their own as they waited for their commander.

Their commander let go of the reins—stepped down from the chariot, purple robe flowing after the steps. The head that wore the crown turned to the Temple, laurel and sceptre still in his hands.

His calculating eyes skimmed the crowd, face exposing a little pride at the turnout.

He then faced his destination—right on you his stare settled, standing alone at the entrance.

You swore you saw his entire body still.

You were not wrong. The commander parted his mouth, eyes widening with who welcomed him past the steps. Gods, he nearly dropped the possessions in his hands, staring and staring at the woman.

No, not just a mere woman.

But you, his wife.

One of the generals, instantly noticing their leader’s change, got off his horse, same black hair glinting in the sun. He walked over, taking the objects from his hands, smiling knowingly. 

When the leader’s hands were free of the spoils, he willed his feet across the sanded street, first step atop the stairs. His gaze never wavered, unable to stray from the woman who haunted his nights. 

You, however, could not wait at all.

A choked sob escaped you as your own feet dashed forward, barely able to control themselves as you ran to him. His arms began to raise as you collided against him, wrapping your hands around his neck and crying into his purple-clad chest.

“Missed you...Jihoon…” your muffled murmurs slipped into his attire. “Missed you...so much.”

You felt strong arms envelop you, a rough-hewn face burying into your shoulder. “I thought of you everyday, mea vita.”

Mea vita. My life. A smile caught onto your tears as you hugged him tighter. “And I thought of you every night.”

He returned it, feeling his lips curve upon your skin. Placing a small kiss, he pulled away slightly, only to take your face with one of his hands and lean in closer. Enveloping your lips with yours, he kissed you with the longing of a thousand lost souls, finally returned to their other half. 

A soft groan threatened to leave your captured mouth, but then you felt your husband pull away, hands upon your waist. “I must stop here, my love, or I would not be able to stop afterwards.”

Cheeks burning, you did not let go of him. “Are you not finished?”

Shaking his head, he looked beyond you, to inside of the Temple. “I have to pay respects. It is the final part of the ceremony.” He turned to you again, aching to take you before the sacred grounds. “I cannot have you waiting for me that long.”

You were to object until the raven-haired boy behind him spoke up, waving his hand about. “We can escort her home, Jihoon,” he suggested, patting his general on the shoulder. “We do not need to go inside.”

“Are you sure, Wonwoo?” your husband asked, looking towards the other four. 

One of the centurions, with straight, cropped black locks framing his face, grinned smugly, holding onto his reins. “Oh, just let her leave with us!” he exclaimed. “We all know she missed us more than your stone-cold arse!”

You chuckled as Jihoon knifed the man with a glare. “A few hours in Rome, and Soonyoung is already a pain in my backside.”

The younger centurion beside Soonyoung scoffed, brown locks being caressed by the wind. “As if he is not a bother for us all.”

Soonyoung mocked a gasp. “Seungkwan!”

“Everyone, quiet down!” Another man declared, eyes closed and head raised in pride. “We all know our Captain’s wife wishes to ride with me.”

Soonyoung began to chortle at the claim. “_____, you might as well walk home than take Seokmin’s offer,” he mused, earning a near-death experience with a dagger thrown at him. 

Raising a brow at the bickering group, you raised a finger. “You know what? I think I shall ride with Chan.”

The said-boy perked up, eyes widening. “Me?” He asked, dumbfounded. “Well, of course, I just—”

“He would fall asleep mid-journey!” Seungkwan complained, crossing his arms. “It is already past his bedtime!”

“Hey!” Chan chimed in, but it did not help that he looked away, trying to stifle a yawn. Seungkwan pointed and laughed, proving his stupid point. 

“Enough!” Jihoon shouted, silencing them all instantly. “If _____ says she wants to go with Chan, then that is final.”

All of them began to complain, but one warning glare from their commander had them quieting like scolded children. Chan, being the one chosen, began to smile in innocent satisfaction, earning the evil wrath of Seokmin and Seungkwan. Soonyoung merely shrugged, whereas Wonwoo put a hand on his chest, heartily agreeing with his commander.

You glanced at the man in charge, looking as ever the victor in his royal robes. “Come home soon.”

Stealing another kiss from you, he squeezed your sides in comfort, smiling in reassurance. “I already am home, vita.”

THE LEGACY COMMANDERS ALWAYS KNEW HOW TO MAKE THE MOST NOISE.

Throughout the half-hour journey, the five men talked of their lives for the near-two years they were away—the battles they had won, and the siege they had laid over Alexandria, where Mark Antony and Cleopatra were finally defeated.

Chan glanced back every five minutes to check you were stable on horseback, urging you to hold tight whenever a rockier road was being taken. You patted him softly where you rested your hands upon him, showing him you were well. “Do not fret over me, dearest,” you assured him, earning an uneasy chuckle from him.

Unfortunately, the few centurions, riding right beside you two, heard your reassurance, and instantly resorted to striking fear. “Hanging onto Chan for dear life will not help you!” Seungkwan remarked loudly. “One wrong bounce of the horse and he is flying off!”

The youngest of the men, on instinct, tightened his hold on the horse, now fearing he would drive his commander’s wife to her death. Soonyoung laughed at the scene, but set his sights on the next youngest down. “Seungkwan should not be talking,” he crowed, galloping further ahead. “Pray tell us, how much denarii did you borrow off Wonwoo to heal your broken leg? You know, after you tripped over a tent rope?”

“Careful, Soon,” Seokmin exclaimed over the horses’ hooves. “Or Seungkwan will not hesitate to call on all the escorts you went bankrupt over in Egypt!”

Soonyoung immediately whirled his head to you, who eyed him incredulously. “_____, it is an exaggeration!” he deflected. “It was only one visit, merely to see what the women were like—!” 

“Is it true, Wonwoo?” you asked, who was fighting back a grimace at his friend’s endeavours. “Is our dear centurion as scandalous as he’s accused to be?”

The answer was swift. “Soonyoung’s cock is as clean as the city sewers.” 

As everyone cackled, the guilty flushing with embarrassment, he quickly switched the conversation to everyone’s adventures while on the road to Alexandria. Soonyoung did most of the storytelling, with Seokmin chipping in with great pride—Seungkwan had to tell the two of them off when they exaggerated their military prowess, while Wonwoo only laughed, narrating the truth of their adventures. Whatever they told you, though, you knew that they came out victorious.

The Legacy Legion was destined for greatness—especially if Jihoon Park commanded it.

By the time they were done, you had arrived at your villa, almost on the outskirts of Rome. The huge estate had been gifted to your husband by his superior, Octavian, who was thankful for the continuous loyalty he had seen from the Legion. Its exterior towered over the five horses, guards opening the gates to let you and your friends inside.

The estate was basked in whites and greys, roof the colour of baked bricks adding vibrancy to the faded walls. When entering, you were met with your bustling courtyard, servants hard at work with preparations for Jihoon's return. Within the four walls were different rooms which served different purposes—you could smell the different breads and meat being cooked on a slow heat, taking their time to be fully made. The boys began to salivate at the aroma, and when you felt Chan’s stomach grumble beneath your fingers you reined in a laugh, waiting for him to heave off before helping you down as well. 

“Take the horses to the stables,” you ordered one of the servants walking past you, who nodded, shouting for other men to come and help him. 

Seokmin groaned as he sniffed the air again, holding his armour-clad stomach. “I cannot take this any longer!” He whined, stomping to where the smell took him. “____, I must have cena now or so help me Ceres!”

“Stop complaining about lunch!” Seungkwan crowed. “I gave you half of my breakfast, and you pinched Chan’s bread too!” 

“Here we go again,” Wonwoo mumbled. He then heard grumbling in his abdomen, and knew he could not argue against his body. 

You watched the absolute creatures in tenderness, and waved them all over. “Come,” you began, walking inside the first door. “I wish to show you something.”

“This better be some roasted boar!” Soonyoung grumbled, earning a jab in the arm from Wonwoo.

The destination was not far, and with one further turn, you ended up in a smaller, yet spacious room, golden sunlight streaming through the windows. You ushered the boys in, taking up the entire space, and they were all about to complain when you showed them.

Every single man in the room melted at the sight.

“By the gods!”

“Tell me it is not an illusion!”

“This is a better sight than roasted boar!”

Laughing, you put a hand to your lips. “Not so loud now! Jihoon is not aware of this yet, and I wish to tell him myself.”

“Of course!” Wonwoo agreed, eyes dancing. “By Jupiter, he would be overjoyed!”

“I hope so,” you voiced out your wishes, glancing at the surprise. 

The boys were about to say more when they heard the distant sounds of thundering hooves near the villa, and everyone stilled. 

“Quick!”

“Everyone get out of here!”

“Seungkwan, move—”

The five greatest centurions of Rome scrambled to get out of the tiny bedroom, rushing into the courtyard where Jihoon now made his entrance, crown still upon his head. He saw the rather guilty exit of his men, and raised a brow at their strange behaviour.

“What are you all—” he was about to ask, but then the boys dashed towards him, each grabbing his arm and pushing him to their last destination. “Wait, hold on—!”

“This is of extreme importance, we assure you!” Wonwoo simpered, knowing his end was near with the behaviour he and his friends upkept. 

“Even more important than lunch!” Soonyoung added.

“Even more important than roast boar!” Seokmin chimed in.

Jihoon was about to throw them off when they pushed him into the small room, waving excitedly at you. “We will be looking for food!” Seungkwan called from the door, and Chan looked at you apologetically before following after his friends. 

Watching them busy themselves, he turned to you, cocking his head. “What was all that for?” 

“They are terrible actors, but they had good intentions.” You then bit your lip, glancing beside you. “Actually, they brought you here for a reason.”

“Oh?” He took a step forward. 

Nodding your head, you put your hand upon the stone. “Jihoon, while you were gone, I had a life-changing experience.”

Furrowing his brows, he put his hands on his hips. “And that was?”

Exposing a little smile, you ushered him closer, gazing down at the said-experience.

“My love, I gave birth to our son.”

You felt Jihoon’s world still for a moment.

Within seconds after, he closed the distance to the cot, following your gaze.

There, wrapped in blankets, lay a small baby, lost in sleep.

The general did not know what to say.

He could only watch the little bundle of life as he dreamed of things which he could not understand, tiny lips brushing against his tiny thumb. The man’s heart began to race at the sight of his closed eyes, the flutter of his lashes as he stirred in slumber. 

So innocent the baby was—so vulnerable that he wondered whether people of his time even knew what innocence meant.

He thought all good had withered from the world till his eyes beheld this child. His son.

“It was he that helped me cope with your absence Jihoon,” you continued, and you did not know why it began to hurt to talk. “You see, the boy looks so much like you.”

Your husband’s eyes flickered to you, catching the melancholy in your stare. He knew—of course he knew how you felt about him hardly being here.

You could not blame him, though. With a position of such esteem came great responsibility, which he would risk his life to fulfil. It was his honour, his undeterred loyalty in what he believed in, that made you fall so deeply in love with him. Still, you admitted that life was barely liveable without his magnetic presence near you.

He propped his hands on the edge of the cot. “May I...may I hold him?” 

“Of course,” you replied, slowly pulling the boy in your arms, cooing softly so he stayed asleep. When you were sure he was peaceful, you held him out to your husband, who took a deep, shuddering breath.

With shaking hands, he raised them towards his son, feeling the soft cotton of his blanket beneath his fingertips. Staring at Jihoon, you made sure that he would not let go—satisfied, you gave him the stirring bundle.

Another hard sigh escaped him.

The child, on instinct, nuzzled further into his hold, right into his chest, and he knew his answer straight away. His heart fluttered nervously, holding his breath to not wake him. It was so bizarre that his nerves heightened with every second, fearing he would let go—his sword was heavier than this child, yet his hold on him was shaky, uncertain. 

He wondered if he could ever get used to this feeling.

There were sensations he had experienced which brought him immense joy. His victories, his commandeering of the Roman legions, the subsequent victories that were guaranteed under his leadership. His centurions, who, despite their incessant complaining, shouting, general presences, were the catalyst to his success. You, who was behind the man that he was, and became—the reason he breathed. 

A small murmur escaped the little boy, and all the love Jihoon had lost these years had come back.

He was never the one to expose such extreme emotions, but gazing at the baby brought him such…peace. In truth, he had not felt peace in a long, long time, yet the feeling washed over him, like small waves upon the shores of a beach. Each twitch of his fingers, every kick of his feet brought his soul to a standstill, then revived it once more. 

He contributed to this creation. He was half the reason for the slumbering life in his hands.

His stare did not leave his son. “What did you name him, vita?”

Your gaze was rooted to him as you answered.

“Seungcheol.”

Jihoon’s rocking froze. 

His eyes darted towards you, and the pure shock which emitted had your heart breaking. His mouth parted, only for silence to welcome his tongue. 

It was now your hands which held onto the cot.

Seungcheol was not some ordinary name you thought up on the hour of the birth.

No, this name was originally held by the previous leader of the Legacy Legion.

Most importantly, the name was held by yours and Jihoon’s dearest friend.

Choi Seungcheol was a sweet, charismatic boy who had grown up in the same neighbourhood as you and Jihoon. He was the nail in your house of the trio, and the mastermind of the romance which weaved between the two of you. 

He had an incredibly bright future ahead of him. Under Octavian’s army he had achieved the title of primus pilus—the leadership of an entire legion—with all of the boys, including Jihoon, under his command. He was an advocate of justice, and had risked his friends many times for defending the rights of Rome and her citizens against tyrants.

It was these very tyrants that brought about his downfall.

Jihoon was never meant to leave your side these past two years. He was meant to stay in Rome under Octavian, but the rivalry against Mark Antony had crossed lines, and war was about to be waged. Seungcheol, forever the hero, vowed his undeterred loyalty to the former, and promised to shed Mark Antony’s blood.

That very night, the commanders of the Legacy Legion were celebrating the war when a group of assassins launched an ambush—the five of them managed to cut out and leave, but Jihoon was on the verge of death fighting. Your husband was to die that night.

That was when Seungcheol made a sacrifice. 

He hollered at the assassins to fight him, giving Jihoon the chance to escape. Your husband begged him to run, but he knew his friend would not listen. 

When Jihoon saw the dozen daggers slash into Seungcheol’s chest, he could not let the sacrifice go to waste.

It was this act that brought him the rage to accept command of the Legacy Legion. It was this dire need of vengeance that helped him cope with the months of stalemates across Egypt, when he thought Mark Antony was to escape.

It was Choi Seungcheol’s sacrifice that made Lee Jihoon the Eagle of Rome. 

Thinking of this particular past had your vision stinging.

Jihoon scoffed, stroking his baby’s brow. “Imagine how smug he would be now,” he mused, “If he knew we named our son after him.”

The thought had you rasping out a laugh. “Gods, we would never hear the end of it.”

He cracked a smile, gaze never straying from his bundle. He grew silent once again, clamping his lips together. Scared to wake him if he rocked him further, Jihoon settled the boy back into the pillowed cot, blinking back the stinging in his eyes. 

He turned to you, and seeing his change of expression had you stepping closer. “Darling?” you got out, your hands raising to touch his face. “What troubles you?”

Shaking his head, he wrapped his fingers around your wrist. Leaning into your palm, he replied, “Nothing troubles me, vita.”

Then, he pressed a small kiss upon your skin. “I have no more troubles now that I have seen him…and I have him because of you.”

His gaze settled upon you, eyes glossed with teary gratitude. “Thank you, my love, for bringing me peace.”

The words nearly made you cry.

Jihoon did not let you, though, when, with his other hand sliding around your waist, he pulled you to him. He enveloped his lips with yours, and with a whine you accepted him, closing your eyes. The kiss you shared was achingly soft, seething with months upon months of longing—he turned your head slightly, and his lips delved deeper, taking you fully with the strength of a waking beast. 

His hands dug deeper into your sides, feeling the desperation seep into his lips as he slowly pushed you back, your arms closing about his neck, needing him all over you. Sliding your hands within his locks, you revelled in its velvety softness, knowing you could live forever in him. 

The action had your husband humming into your mouth, a perfect incentive as he backed you against the wall, pressing himself fully against you, extinguishing any last atom of space between you two. You could not get enough of him, trying to make up months of his absence in this kiss alone, but you wanted more, needed more, or you would collapse in his arms.

It was fortunate for you that he understood you perfectly.

However, your dear friends did not understand at all, bursting into the nursery in utmost hurry.

Five pairs of eyes rooted to the passionate scene before them.

Chan let out a shrill scream.

You and Jihoon repelled from each other, breathless gasps emitting as both of you whirled your heads to the door. The five centurions gathered at the doorway, stunned at the show that went on before they interrupted.

Seokmin let out a groan, clutching his stomach. “I regret eating that entire boar now,” he rasped out, turning away from the panting couple. Seungkwan elbowed him harshly in the gut, making the former double over.

Soonyoung sauntered in, stepping past you two in mighty fashion. “You both are insufferable!” he yelled, bringing out baby Seungcheol and rocking him in his arms. “Carrying out such atrocities with a child nearby?”

“I apologise for the disturbance, general,” Wonwoo said, glaring at the man who now cooed comically at the baby. “We were just...um, we were to ask ____ of the plans tonight.”

“But y-you seem to be very preoccupied!” Chan added, pulling the men near him away from the door. “So we shall not disturb you again!”

“You should have thought about that before,” your husband hissed. “And what do you mean by plans?”

“For your return,” you answered, smiling a little as you regained your composure. “It has been too long since you stepped foot at home. Of course I am to celebrate.”

“And do we not exist to you?” Seungkwan demanded, armoured hands at his hips. “You include Jihoon only as if we were here in Rome partying this entire time!”

“I wished that were the case,” Soonyoung drawled, stepping beside you, swaying the baby the entire time. “I would rather the company of wine than you foul-smelling bastards anyday.”

Seokmin, recovering, scoffed, pointing a finger at his fellow centurion. “Oh, do let us know then, Soonyoung, who was calling us his dearest friends on the march to Alexandria?”

“That does not count!” he countered, waving off the claims. “I was beyond gone from wine, and everyone spews rubbish when drunk.”

“You spew rubbish anyway,” Wonwoo muttered.

“You are lucky I am holding Jihoon’s child right now, or I would have knocked you out.”

“Just Jihoon’s child?” you crossed your arms. “And what if you were holding someone else’s baby?”

There was a pause at that. “I shall not comment further.”

“Enough!” the general ordered, silencing the bickering group. “Out, the lot of you! Go back to your own homes and leave us alone!”

“But _____ said we can stay here and help with preparations!” Wonwoo voiced out, stepping forward in haste. 

“I never said that!”

“Please, Jihoon,” he continued anyway, “I have no wish to dump all responsibility on her.”

The said-man pursed his lips in thought, clearly in no hurry to keep his friends when he could be using this precious time to continue what he left off with you. Already his hands ached to linger further over your body, but if he was disturbed once again, then he would kill his subordinates without hesitance.

Seokmin stopped his train of thought. “Personally, I have no wish to do housework,” he jeered. 

Your husband then smiled, which was more a flash of teeth. “Brilliant. You can piss off back home, then.” He then directed his threatening stare towards the others. “All of you.”

Five pairs of eyes turned to you, hoping for your objection on the matter. However, you only shrugged, holding out your hands to the man beside you. “General’s orders, I fear.” When a series of groans followed at your verdict, you took Seungcheol from Soonyoung’s hands. “Do not whine like that, friends! I am giving you the chance to have more fun before tonight’s celebrations!”

“Whatever,” Seungkwan grumbled, turning his cloak as he stepped out of the room. “I am off to get more drinks! Anyone but Jihoon may join me.”

“Hey!” the commander shouted, but the men were already leaving, save for Chan, scratching the back of his head. 

Seokmin cocked his head in question at his friend’s stillness. “What are you standing here for, fool?”

“Well, um,” Chan started, his shy gaze levelling with yours. “I am not inclined to wine as of now, so I was hoping if I could...err, linger here and help around…” His eyes widened, raising his hands. “But if it is bothersome I will accompany the others!”

Your heart melted at his timidity. “What are you so nervous for? Of course you can stay. Those four idiots will only be causing trouble the entire afternoon.” 

“And we intend to continue such troubles at night as well!” Soonyoung declared, almost skipping to the entrance. “Honey wine, here I come!”

“Chan, are you sure?” Jihoon asked, gesturing towards the exiting group. “You should rest a little after months of fighting.”

“I am alright, I insist,” his soldier assured him, raising his arms. “Let me take care of the child.” When you obliged, handing him the stirring bundle, he slowed his movements, ever so careful not to disturb him. He darted his gaze over you. “You, uh,” he said, and he chuckled sheepishly, a blush rising upon his cheeks. “You both carry on with whatever you were doing before!”

Before you could say further, the man was hurrying out, forgetting to close the door as he took Seungcheol with him.

You and Jihoon watched him go, stunned at the sudden entrance of the centurions, and then the sudden exit within minutes. You could not help the huff of laughter that escaped you at their antics, catching his attention. “What is the laugh for?”

“Your commanders, darling,” you mused, wrapping an arm around your husband. “They are more bizarre than usual.”

Exhaling through his nose, he returned your embrace twice over, engulfing you within his hold. “My half-witted commanders,” he reminisced, running his fingers across your back. “They are delighted to be back.”

“I can tell,” you giggled out, leaning into him. “I missed them greatly.”

His face ghosted a little smugness. “But you missed me more.”

“You keep convincing yourself of the notion.”

Feeling his laughter reverberating off him, you felt yourself being pulled at arm’s length, looking up at him once more. Your husband leaned in then, gently pressing his forehead against yours. “No one is at home anymore, vita.”

A raise of your eyebrow. “Chan just asked me to stay here.”

“Oh, you know what I mean,” he insisted, brushing his nose with yours. “We are alone...with no one to bother us again…”

Much as you would like to follow his intentions, you feared the state of the pending party. It had been two years since the Eagle and his centurions’ return—their triumph will be celebrated without fault.

“Jihoon,” you murmured, taking great pains in retracting from his kisses. “I must go.”

His lips trailed down to your chin, making your willpower all the more weak. “Can you not spare me even an hour?”

If you could spare him half that hour, you would have gladly indulged him, but the party arrangements awaited. The soldiers, and your general, deserved the best of welcomes.

So you made yourself separate from his tempting hold, taking a few steps away from him. “I cannot offer even a second, my love.”

The man pretended to be beyond upset at your resistance. He waited till your feet landed on the entryway when he spoke.

“Perhaps it was better you did not give me a mere hour, vita.”

You looked back. Leaning against the stone cot, he let his lips curl upwards. “It simply would not suffice.”

The curiosity in your eyes had him further smirking. “I need an entire day to make up for the two years of absence from you.”

It was sheer luck you were holding onto the doorframe. 

“Careful, love,” he cooed, which only had you stumbling further out of the door in shock. His laughter followed you faintly as you left the room, blood rushing to your cheeks in drastic speed.

You hoped ardently, without shame, that he would carry out his intentions.

Then, you aggressively shook your head, heading straight to the kitchens. Not these thoughts at the moment, _____.

You have a party to prepare for.

THE NIGHT OF THE WELCOMING ARRIVED AS QUICKLY AS YOU HAD HOPED.

The guests began to enter your estate as soon as the sun descended on the empire, bringing words of praise and gifts to your husband and his soldiers. Your pride swelled exceedingly at hearing the positive messages, encouraging everyone to drink to their health. The smiles did not cease, widening further when the men and women fawned over your child. They wished for your baby to grow up just like the man he was named after, and you smiled, scared that one word from you would have your tears gushing.

You had everyone lay on their seated beds, surrounding tables filled with nourishment. Orders spilled from your lips to never stop the plates of beef and veal and fish and infinite other meats—tonight, your guests would feast like emperors. 

Eventually, the stars of the legion arrived, howling in celebration at seeing you adorned in indigo-coloured finery. You reckoned that they had drunk a fountain’s worth before showing up here, but you only hauled them inside, showing them to their place—cushioned couches all set up around low, circular tables, food nearly toppling off the edges. 

Seokmin drooled at the sight. “Out of the way, bastards!” He declared, running straight for the bedding in the middle part of the cushioned arc, settling himself nicely before digging in instantly. “Tell your slave Chan to bring us some wine!”

As if on cue, the soldier came rushing in with huge jugs of the featured drink, looking at you. “Is this alright?”

“Of course, Chan,” you said, taking the jugs from him. “Now you lay beside your friends! You have helped me enough.”

“Where is that man of yours, my lady?” Soonyoung drawled, snatching a cup of honey wine from the servants. “He did not accompany us this afternoon.”

“He had to go meet Octavian,” you answered, the rest of the centurions lodging themselves on the cushions. “There were honours he had to receive from him before he could officially celebrate here.”

“As long as he gets drunk with us, I do not mind,” Wonwoo voiced, raising his cup in toast. 

Seokmin, seeing Chan looking around in embarrassment, poured a cup full of alcohol and pushed it in his hand. “Drink up, boy! I am not having you shy away from your victories!”

The latter seemed much inclined to throw away the wine, but his friends began to groan. “Fine, fine, but only a sip!”

Seungkwan downed his cup, sighing into it. “He will never grow up.”

Wonwoo eyed you with concern as he plucked a grape from its pack. “Will you not have a rest with us?”

“You men have your fun,” you insisted. “I will settle when Jihoon comes home.”

Fortunately, that did not take more than ten minutes, you catching the sound of hooves outside the estate. Footsteps sounded from the entrance, and you whirled to see your new arrival.

The primus pilus of the Legacy Legion looked every bit his title—regal, powerful, magical in his purple robes, hemmed with gold as it draped over his loose white shirt, exposed on his right arm. His locks, longer than his hair months ago, curled slightly along his neck, roughening his usual soldierly demeanour.

Squealing, you rushed to him, greeting him with a kiss. “Come, come!” You exclaimed, ushering him inside.

“The general’s arrived!” Seokmin before you with the others following, albeit with more difficulty.

Jihoon directed a soft smile at you before sneering at his friends. “At least finish chewing on your food, you babies.”

“Care about your own baby before calling us such, you prick!”

“You are very lucky you are drunk, Wonwoo!” 

“Sit with them,” you said, tugging him to a free space between subordinates. 

As your husband obliged, he let his curiosity wander. “And where are you off to?”

Your gaze went beyond the dining hall, into the leeways that brought you to the kitchens. “I am a host, dear, and that means making sure all my guests are accommodated for.”

His grip on you was strong. “When will you come back?” He asked, thumb brushing over your hand.

You let your lips slip into a small smile. “Soon.”

And you were off, letting Jihoon’s eyes brush over you instead of his touch.

A few hours into the party and the chaos began.

You knew it was bound to happen eventually, with the amount of wine being consumed—your friends alone downed half the deposits, the consequences of such reckless drinking being exposed by their behaviour.

The centurions’ area was by far the loudest: Seokmin drank to the point he pissed in the jug that stored his wine, Seungkwan then threatening to topple that very jug atop his head. Soonyoung resorted to self-praise in his stupor, with Wonwoo shaking his head, yet laughing uncontrollably at every unfunny quip the former slipped out. Chan giggled as he sipped his alcohol, Jihoon watching all his friends with a full cup in his own hand. 

It was around midnight when you heard the voice of your beloved calling for you. 

“Vita!”

Excusing yourself from your tipsy guests, you walked to your dear men, who were creating a ruckus in your home. You felt soft fingers caress your shin within your dress, and you looked down to see your general smiling at you.

“Sit, my love,” he said, tugging you down to him. “You have made me wait a while.”

“Fine!” You exclaimed with mock exasperation, laying down next to him. 

He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you to him, your entire back pressed against his front. “There,” he whispered, and the proximity of his breath had chills running down your spine.

You hoped he could feel the warmth radiating off you.

“_____!” Seokmin exclaimed, pointing his cup at you in accusation, wine sloshing out and spilling. “I have a bone to pick with you!”

“Oh, gods,” Jihoon cursed quietly.

“So I found out from our esteemed general that you named your son Seungcheol.” The man scoffed. “How could you commit such an action?”

When you raised your eyebrows, he smirked in disbelief, gesturing towards himself. “My lady, I am offended you did not name him after me.”

Wonwoo spit out his drink, unable to control his laughter. Seungkwan poured himself some more, clicking his tongue in amusement. “Gods forbid we have another Seokmin in our circle.”

“Now what is that supposed to mean?” the man demanded, bunching his robes from his arms. 

“I know you are not that stupid,” was his sly answer. 

“Boys,” Jihoon seethed, glaring at the two about to send the estate down with their fists. “Lay off the anger or lay off the wine.”

Grumbling as they broke off their spat, you looked up at the mediator, swirling his cup. “You know you do not have to be a general here.”

Your husband hummed absent-mindedly, lazily running his hand along you. “I know, vita. Can I ever rest, though, when I have such rowdy dogs barking around me all the time?”

Chuckling, you leaned into him, his honey-like scent engulfing you. “Have you drank?”

“Only a little.” You felt a lilt to his voice as he continued. “Sober enough to see clearly how divine you look. Especially in this dress.”

You stilled as his hands began to wander downwards. 

Your voice barely came out as you said, “Jihoon, what…what are you doing?” 

He did not respond, instead adorning a small smile on his face as his fingers ghosted down your body, to your stomach. On instinct you stopped his trail with your own hand, gripping his wrist. “Jihoon!” you hissed. “There are people right beside us!”

“People who do not know what is going on around them,” he added, gesturing to his friends. Sure enough, each and every one of the centurions were out of their minds, save for Chan, who was too preoccupied trying to take away their drinks. 

Jihoon turned to you once more, eyes inviting. “I mean, I will stop if you wish.” His movements turned slower, your hand still on his. “If you have other…pressing matters.”

Your mind could only think of damning whatever ‘pressing matters’ there well to the underworld. Perhaps he could see it too. “If roaming eyes are what you fear,” he whispered, “Then let me solve that problem.”

In a flash, he brought one long slit of his toga, resting the huge sheet of fabric upon you so your entire body was cloaked, along with his wandering fingers. So casually he began his journey once more, widening your eyes with each finger spiralling downwards.

When he reached the spot, shielded only with your silk, his head rested softly against your neck. “There we go.”

He barely grazed the slit, but the very sensation had you squeezing your own hand upon his. “Easy, darling,” he whispered, as if he was not the reason for your change. “I haven’t even done anything and yet you falter.”

“Not my fault you went away for two years,” you hissed. It was a terrible thing to say, really, but your desire was bubbling. Your rationality, in turn, simply had to depart.

The comment only made your husband chuckle. “I was saving the Empire, vita.” His other hand, completely free, occupied itself, his solitary finger ghosting along your skin. “Would you rather I damn the world to the gods and serve at your feet instead?”

“As if you do not already,” you murmured, your hand loosening on his wrist. 

Earning another soft laugh from him, his new freedom had him sliding down further. “And where did this…newfound confidence come from?” he asked, one finger delving into your slit and eliciting a shuddered breath. “I’d only hear gasps from you before.”

His slow endeavours found your clit beneath the silk, and the seething gasp that tore from your mouth had the bastard sighing in satisfaction. “Ah, see?” He continued, his hand upon your shoulder now sliding beneath his cloak. It found refuge upon your breasts, perked from the sheer desire burning inside. “Fuck, I missed, I–” His fingers circled your clit, and you closed your eyes, heart beating rapidly underneath his other hand. 

Your breathing turned harsh, eyes darting to the members of your husband’s legion—completely unaware of the shuddering mess of nerves you had become. “Look at you,” Jihoon sighed out, fastening his fingers. “Acting out with our loved ones under this roof.” Your soft whines were music to his ears. “Whatever shall I do with you?”

“Maybe you should—fuck,” you cut off, your legs tensing, a dull, delicious ache growing at the small of your back. “Jihoon, I—”

Your line of speech was interrupted by another voice. You had hoped it would be your husband, taunting you further into oblivion, but it was a voice of pure concern.

“By the gods, _____, are you alright?”

You blinked back to see Chan, holding two glasses of wine, shaking off Soonyoung’s hands. Your eyes then widened, acutely aware of Jihoon’s fingers slowing, your release fading. 

Sly as an asp, your husband retracted his hands, still under his cloak. “What is the matter, dear friend?”

The centurion had his gaze fixed on you, confused at your state. “Is _____ okay, general? Her breathing, she…it sounds uneven. Even her eyes are dazed.”

Soonyoung, taking the lucky chance of his friend’s engrossment, snatched the wine from his hand, downing the bowl. “She is drunk, you fool!” he exclaimed, loud enough for Wonwoo to double over, cursing his rowdy mouth. “And you should be as well, instead of ruining our fun!”

“My lady, allow me to indulge you with wine,” Wonwoo sang out, trying to catch a jug of alcohol from thin air. 

Seungkwan snorted at his attempts, successfully stealing Seokmin’s drinks and chugging the lot. “Oi, you prick!” The latter yelled, nearly bringing the estate down. His friend merely laughed, calling him names and finishing the rest of the wine.

Chan, glancing for a moment away, focused on you once more. “Jihoon, I fear for _____.”

You feared for yourself too, but not in the manner the soldier spoke of—more your sanity at the pulsing, the near undoing now far from being reached. 

Jihoon pressed a kiss to your temple, smiling at Chan’s words, despite differing intentions. “You worry too much, Chan,” he said, beginning to get up from his cushions, taking you gently into his arms. “It is as Soonyoung says. Mea Vita here has had a drink too much.”

The centurion seemed a little unconvinced, but his trust for his commander outgrew any suspicions. Seokmin scoffed at the couple attempting to leave, shaking his bowl at you both. “And where are the lovebirds off to?” he demanded.

“Lady _____ is tired from the honey wine,” Chan explained. “Jihoon is helping her sleep.”

“Ha!” was the boy’s reply. 

“Are you really that dim-witted?” Seungkwan asked, laughing darkly at the youngest’s naivety. 

“Huh?” Chan glanced at his general.

The general declared to his guests, “I will be retiring with my wife, but enjoy until dawn, friends!”

Cheers arose from every corner of the estate, no doubt eager to live up to his request. Jihoon then rested his eyes on his soldier, who looked up at him with great bewilderment.

He only offered a sly wink before slipping into the hallways. 

Chan’s confusion only deepened. 

Soonyoung spluttered into laughter. “You poor fool!” 

Seungkwan’s smirk was prevalent as, taking the bowl filled with fresh honey wine from the tables, he sat beside Chan, offering him his first drink. “Let us educate you, dear man, on what exactly is about to happen between our general and his wife.”

IT TOOK APPROXIMATELY TEN SECONDS BEFORE YOUR PATIENCE SNAPPED IN YOUR DARKENED HALLWAYS. 

You slapped your hands against Jihoon’s purple-clad chest, and tried to push him back into the stone wall. Of course, when one had the strongest general in the Roman Empire as a husband, physically overtaking them is an impossible action.

Which was why he began to laugh at your efforts before casually taking your wrists, whirling you about.  Suddenly your back was against the wall, with his face near inches from you. 

“Cannot control yourself for even a minute?” He purred, bringing your hands above your head. “Has the journey to our bedroom become too difficult?”

“Stop fucking about with me” you got out, aching to have your hands freed, touch his face, his lips, but he was too strong. 

The man leaned further. “No, vita…it has been too long.” 

He brushed his nose along with yours. “Don’t think I’ll be satisfied with simply fucking you against the wall.”

His words alone had your heart beating faster, eager to see how he would play the night out. It had been far too long since you had felt such promise of pleasure in these years.

“I won’t be either, general,” you mused, and the fire that sparked in Jihoon’s eyes could have very well brought you your undoing then. 

That was enough for him to swoop in, damning all sweetness to the underworld as he collided his lips with yours. 

You swore you could never tire of Jihoon’s lips as he moved hungrily, grip on your wrists tightening. A small noise lodged in the back of your throat, aching to be released but to no avail. His mouth refused to pull away, miss even a moment of how you felt against him. 

The years away made you realise how much you missed his touch—lips in sync, bodies snuffing out any distance left—you had no choice but to whine into his mouth, opening yourself up fully to him. You wanted him all, without a single drop of hesitation.

Feeling the exact same, he happily delved further, an eon-old kernel of fire singeing his lips and searing you with his desire. His tongue, catching onto his lust, slithered past your teeth, swirling your tongue with his and increased the volume of your moans. 

Gods, your moans, your little voices of passion were like victory trumpets to his ears, every single ah! or fuck! riling him further into a frenzy. He had not forgotten these glorious sounds when he was thousands of miles away, but it had been so fucking long since he had heard them in person, and not just his dreams.

So he relished in your moans. Completely engulfed himself in your bubble of desire as his one hand strayed from your wrists, skirting downwards along your body. Grabbing hold of your skirts, he raised them to your hips. He caught sight of your cunt, and he swore his mouth watered. 

“Stop it…stop stalling, Jihoon,” you seethed, soul almost withering in wait for your husband to ruin you already.

Fortunately for you, he was the most accommodating man.

His hand freeing yours, it journeyed downwards to the real treasure. Your eyes widened at his finger sliding inside you, and the pure, ethereal sensation of his touch finally attaining your cunt had you dazing off completely. Your mouth forgot all words, as if forgetting how to speak the languages which Jihoon whispered now on your skin.

With your hands gaining newfound freedom, they carded through his hair, finding refuge in the soft, growing locks, tidied for the party. You would have done more had Jihoon not circled your clit, and the delirious sensation was back—your legs nearly gave way, and you let out a whimper as you held onto him tightly, lest you fell at his feet. 

His sharp eyes caught onto your weakening state, slowing his ministrations. “How about I take this somewhere else?” He rasped in your ear. 

Not waiting for your answer, he slid his hands underneath your thighs and picked you up, you instinctively wrapping your legs around him. He did not cease his kisses, his tongue dancing inside your mouth while finding the door to the bedroom. 

He did not waste a single moment—kicking the door open with his foot, he settled you on the table right beside, throwing the objects to the floor. Giving you a small peck, he journeyed downwards, slowly kneeling before you while opening your legs.

His husky chuckling rang in your ears. “Gods, after so long…” he could not even finish, pressing airlight kisses upon your inner thigh, each phantom touch nearing the kernel of arousal. “So…fucking long…”

The minute he reached his destination his tongue slipped free of his mouth. Holding onto your thighs, he let himself take the last step.

His tongue sliding along your cunt had you melting on the table. 

You were certain the table had crumbled beneath you, the ground fading as your husband explored you, lapping up the arousal dripping since the moment he graced you with his touch. A satisfied noise left his occupied mouth, you tasting like the honey wine you poured for him not an hour ago.

This. This made fighting relentlessly for two years worth it. This made every single drop of blood, buckets of sweat and floods of tears worth it. Life was hard, torturous even away from Rome, from you, but all that dark anguish in the time lost between you two was worth it if this was his reward.

And Jihoon would make sure this, too, would be worth it for you.

His tongue found your clit, and if you were not a mess before, the tendrils of pleasure that came with reduced you to cinders. He circled the bud like a slow march, growing faster with each passing beat. You moaned his name, a mantra on your lips which only rang louder. 

“J-Jihoon,” you kept whimpering, and his tongue would circle faster. You begin to thrash against him, unable to sit still while he brought you such unadulterated thrill. You would have happily grinded against his face had his hands on your thighs not tightened, indicating to stop fidgeting.

In honesty you tried—you endeavoured to be composed, but the bastard made the task impossible. The writhing continued, and would have kept going had Jihoon not halted his actions.

You let out an agitated yelp. 

“I’m sorry, vita, but you have to stay still,” he replied, fingers running along your thighs. “Do you not want to enjoy this?”

His lips glistened as he spoke, courtesy of your cunt. With his head in between your thighs, he was a feast for your eyes. “Fuck, Jihoon, I…I already am.” 

Maybe he agreed that he was a fine feast, for he curved his shining mouth in a dark smirk, eyes not leaving yours as he slowly slung a leg over his shoulder. “Well then,” he began, repeating with the other leg, fingers skimming the naked skin. “Let me add to your pleasure.”

This time, when he dove in, he was relentless.

You gripped onto the edge of the table, fingers digging into the wood as he quickened the rhythm of his tongue, working on your bundle of nerves so deliciously you wondered how your soul still survived inside your body. 

The wondering stopped, your questions answered when his finger joined in on the ravishing, sliding inside you and knocking the breath out of you. He was so undeniably good, knowing you liked the insertion slow, almost testing the waters before completely undoing you.

And gods bless him, for that is all he intended to do. The Eagle of Rome only knelt for the gods, but you, your whines, your writhing pleasure he drank like a man parched…

You had become a deity in his eyes; and a celestial figure deserved the best of service — hours upon hours of honing your desire because he was the only one who was capable of ruining you.

Another finger found itself inside you, and your cunt began to pulsate at the fullness it achieved, inching along the growing tension bubbling deep within your gut. Beads of sweat dripped down, your willpower to not thrash against his face about to snap, and when he fastened his pace an obscenely loud moan ripped through your mouth. 

You were much too close to the final high.

“Fuck, Jihoon—!” you nearly cried, hands unable to stray from his hair, his wonderful, lustrous hair. “Jihoon, please, I’m so clo—”

His free hand on your thigh squeezed you ever so slightly, as if aware of your near absolution. He only sped up his work, his fingers gliding in and out so quickly you could not keep up. If that was not enough, his mouth sucking on your clit was ready to bring the sky down on your head.

But Jihoon was ready to risk the destruction of all the world. Ready to face the gods in his last hour as he swirled your swollen bud with his tongue one last time.

That was enough to come undone.

Your release came crashing, curls of pleasure riding all through your body as your mind misted into fog, no thought or idea save for the slow assistance of your husband, easing your throbbing. A lust-struck sigh came out of you, hand falling from his hair onto his tensed shoulder. Sensing your high washing over, he slowed his tongue, fingers withdrawn from your cunt.

He caught your gaze in his, two slick fingers hanging between you two. He dared you to look away as he brought them to his lips, slipping them inside and tasting the residue.

That sight alone could have made you come for the second time. 

The bastard knew it too, for a ghost of a smirk exposed itself on his face, once his fingers were clean of your arousal. “Could not let it go to waste,” he murmured, as if your wetness was liquid gold. 

Hands back on your thighs once more, he lifted himself up gently, toga in disarray over his service. With you sat upon the table, his fingers found home upon your chin, lifting your line of sight on him.

Pure hunger lay dormant in his eyes. 

Not just his eyes, but his mouth still, when he leaned in and kissed you. You returned it without question, desire coiling around your soul as if it had not been released mere minutes ago.

You did not care. Not when you had waited so fucking long.

The man smiled between the burning kisses, humming at your lusted agony as he slid an arm around your waist. “My love—” a kiss upon the corner of your mouth —”What more shall I do—” another kiss, to the other corner—”For you?”

If he kept at it like this, you were going to forget your mother tongue. “Inside me…” you mustered between his lips on you, on your skin. A pathetic attempt, but your mind was still recovering from your release.

He paused, a malicious grin curving. “Pray, mea vita, my sweet, was I not just inside you?” Tugging you off the table, he held on tight as your knees buckled. “See? Even your body speaks for me.”

Your leg brushed against the weakness of his argument, almost tenting his toga. “Does yours?” you managed to remark, catching the defeated furrow of his brow. 

His stare had you silent once again, butterflies forming in your stomach. Leaning in, his lips brushed against the shell of your ear. 

“I’ll have your body screaming for me when I’m done, vita.”

Your body, in his response, shuddered against him.

Jihoon did not wait for more as he slotted his mouth along yours, igniting the flame again, unable to have enough of you as he whirled you around, eliciting the same little whines he adored so ardently.

He swooped you up in his arms, knowing your legs could not take the walk to the bed. Never stopping his kisses, he knew where to go by memory, hands skirting along your skin as he neared the final haven of tonight. Despite his words, he laid you gently upon the bed, continuing his trail upon your cheeks, your jaw, anywhere where you would allow him. 

Your heart sang at what was to come. Memories flooded you, passionate nights of years ago reminding you of what had been, and what distance had snatched from you. You had never forgotten the last time you both had made love, the very last night you both had been offered before he was to sail away to satiate his need for vengeance. He had asked nothing from you, not a single request, even though he knew you would have given it to him in a heartbeat. 

No, that night, he had explored every inch, every crevice of your body—burned his presence onto your skin till the entirety of Rome knew that Lee Jihoon had left a piece of himself in you. That piece morphed into the child you bore, but Jihoon had never really left your soul, despite the thousands of miles stretching between you two.

“Never again,” you let yourself whisper as he broke away, your hands fisting themselves in his toga, tugging off the fabric which was another form of distance. You needed him once again. Yes, you had withstood miles upon miles away from him. But now, you could not handle even inches apart.

He understood. He always understood, slipping off the clothing till it reached his hips. Climbing over you, his abdomen exposed, you could not believe your cheeks burned at the sight of him half-naked before you. A small chuckle escaped him, and he stole a quick kiss before burying himself into your neck.

His fingers reached for the loose straps of your dress, barely of use. “Take these off for me, darling,” he whispered, and the order vibrated along your skin, ready to be followed. While you desperately tried to pry your dress off, he pressed open-mouthed kisses along the base of your throat, making your simple task an impossible mission.

One strap fell, and Jihoon’s teeth slowly sank into your skin, sucking at the spot with such passion a soft groan trambles out of you, unsure whether you could get the other half of your dress off. Thankfully, with someone as accommodating as him, he pressed an unironically chaste kiss before finding the last straps himself. 

The pure smugness in his eyes had you in near tears. “One little kiss, and you’ve ceased working,” he drawled breathily. “Must I do all the work, my sweet?”

You would have cursed his ancestors had he not brought your dress down, tossing the clothing to the side and drinking in your bare figure. 

A breath shuddered out of him, certain that you could inhale the pure lust oozing from him. “I can’t…I cannot believe I went two years without…without this—”

The words were left unfinished as he wasted no time, indulging your mouth for moments before pouncing downwards, taking your left breast in his mouth and skimming his teeth softly against the nipple. The man was riling you up now, you taking his hair in your hands, certain you were trying to tear his locks out with the way you held onto him. Jihoon did not seem to mind, too occupied with your breasts to pay heed to your damage.

“Jihoon, please, I need you to—fuck!” cut off with his tongue encircling your breasts, you nearly had had enough. Your cunt ached for the final descent, your patience growing thin. “Please, I-I need you inside me!”

His answer was allowing one last lick to your right nipple, cold striking your breasts as he looked down at you, eyes glossed over with carnal delight. With his hand he ripped away the toga pooling at his hips, and his cock was freed, almost enraged to be cloaked away in silk. 

You looked like a fool staring at it, but you could not help it—you did not remember it being so huge, even though it has been inside you countless times. Another piece of evidence that he had been away from you long enough.

“Ogled enough, darling?” his voice snapped you back, and you were almost embarrassed at the shit-eating grin that lit up his face. 

“Shut up,” you mumbled, but you could not say more, you being silenced with his searing kiss. 

Pulling away, his forehead rested against yours, black locks tickling your cheeks as he held your one side in one hand, and his cock in another.

Nudging your legs apart, the tip brushed against your folds, and your soul nearly departed from the ghost of a touch. “Careful,” he warned, thumb stroking your hip, and he stole a glance at you.

“I love you, vita,” he whispered.

And began the final descent.

His cock slid inside, slowly, ever so slowly, but with every inch you felt each layer of your spirit stop to a standstill. Jihoon never stopped watching—catching your parted mouth, the shallow, uneven breaths you took, the knitted brows, your fingers holding onto him for dear life. He could not help it, see—these few seconds, these few, transitory moments, where both souls are on the edge of the world, and none know whether they’d hang on, or fall to their doom.

This moment encompassed such an image within the features of your face.

And he relished it. Captured the image, and used it as fuel to his carnal fire as he buried himself into you, releasing a breath he kept inside the entire time. Maybe it was after so long, but the two of you stayed still, your husband fearing you might snap. A frivolous thought, of course, but one can believe anything when one is so vulnerable.

One look from you, though, had his doubts disappearing in an instant. You let a small smile escape, and it was all he needed before he slowly withdrew, the mere action so gratifying you wondered whether it was another one of your dreams, a vision granted by the mercy of the gods.

Maybe the gods were extra pleased, for Jihoon was no dream—only a very pleasing reality, waiting for your whimpers to fill the room before thrusting back into you again. The rhythm was beginning to strike, and you were its follower; the shy hesitations started to fade, and you could feel his desire burning with every slide out, and every slide in of his cock into you, holding onto your hips to keep you steady. 

With each thrust you felt the stakes of your pleasure reach higher and higher. Tendrils of delight rippled through you with his movements, quickening yet keeping his fluidity, like an elegant dancer in a warfield, somehow managing to emerge victorious with his body alone. Of course, you could never doubt your husband. He was the favourite of the Empire for a reason.

“By the gods, you—” he plunged into you once more, and he grazed a certain spot inside you that had you seeing the universes. “You’re so fucking good to me, you—”

Never finishing his sentences, never even finishing his line of thought, the sole thing in his mind being your delicious fucking folds, your cunt which felt so perfect around his cock. He leaned in further, teething sweet love bites onto your neck, revelling in your pleasured groaning, growing louder and louder with each quickened thrust. “Yes, vita, just like that!” he exclaimed, never stopping. “For all of Rome to hear!”

He did not care a bit if the world heard them now. All that mattered to him was you, you and only you.

More so when that familiar, growing ache of nerves was back, warning you of your impending release. Jihoon was ruthless to you, relentless with his cock, unforgiving with his tongue and teeth which managed to devour your every inch. There was no escaping it—the ache was like a tightened knot, with his actions well on its way to unravel it.

“I-I’m close, Jihoon,” you breathed out, pressing your lips on his chest, his shoulder, anything you could grasp. “Please, love, I need to—”

“I know, vita,” he guttered, as if he, too, was close. He did not care much for that, though, when all he could focus on was you, all broken words and teary gazes beneath him. “I know.”

To add even more to your doom, he brought back an older prospect, fingers circling your clit and heightening the delight swirling within your gut ten times over. The nerves were pumping, faster and faster, and you were deathly aware that it was now or never.

Your eyes, seeing stars throughout, found your husband within the mist of desire. “J-Jihoon…”

Everything was forgotten. Not a word remembered in the fog of your mind but your vita’s name, your lover’s name, bright as the summer sun, as bold as the royal colours he adorned in his triumph.

As true as the love never lost between the two of you.

It was enough for the Eagle of Rome to capture your lips, holding you in a heart-wrenching kiss.

It was enough for you to completely ruin yourself.

Your cries drowned onto his mouth as release came crashing, legs shaking as you died and resurrected all at once, came undone within his hold. The world slipped away in that moment, with him as your anchor, saving you from being eternally lost.

While you lay breathless, Jihoon slipped himself out of you, breaking away from your kiss to cry out himself, spilling himself onto you and the sheets. A haggard fuck escaped him, arcing over you before throwing himself beside you. 

Silence welcomed you after that.

The din of the party remained, and both of you gasping, but a silence followed, like a warm winter blanket. Both of you stared at the ceiling, the moonlit parts of the surfaces, trying to catch your breaths after what you both just experienced.

Turning your head, you caught Jihoon already stealing glances. They were heavy-lidded, unsurprisingly, yet you found it endearing, despite the circumstances.

“What?” you got out, cocking your head at his soft staring.

He shook his head, smiling tiredly. He stretched his arm out towards you, murmuring, “Come here.”

Obliging, you followed under his arm, resting your head against his chest. Despite the granite-hardness of his body, no other surface would suffice. Your head rose and fell along to his uneven breathing, a small comfort. 

As the general gazed down at you, the softness returned; his thumb stroked along your cheeks. “I…” he began, voice huskier than usual, you humming in satisfaction. 

“Yes?” you got out, hanging onto his every word. 

Glancing away for a second, he looked to the window, and the view it offered of the world beyond.

He then glanced back at you, a better world he had found of his own.

“I am…so happy…” he whispered. Whispered because he had to tell his world what he felt. “So happy to come back to you.”

Your heart but into a thousand butterflies.

A smile as wide as you could muster was your response.

And as he continued stroking your hair, and you leaning into his hold, you too, knew that you felt the exact same.

For the Eagle of Rome had returned to you at last.

CENTURION LEE CHAN HAD WITNESSED HORRORS.

He had seen thousands of dead men, scattered across the sands of Egypt. He had seen ships sink before his very eyes—by the gods, he had even seen the beginnings of death, when he nearly drowned at the final naval battle that secured Legacy Legion its victory.

None of these events, however, made him more queasy as realising that you, while you were laid beside your husband, were not experiencing intoxication from honey wine. It was an exhilaration of a completely unusual kind, a feeling that had the tips of his ears reddening. 

His fellow men’s reactions only made it worse. “What did you think they were going to do?” Seungkwan only demanded. “Sleep it off on their first night together?”

“Well, how was I to know?” the youngest visibly shivered. “I do not know how married people work.”

“Poor soul,” Soonyoung tutted out, no plans for pausing his drink. “I fear for when he is to wed.”

“I still do not understand,” Seokmin voiced out. “They have a whole child together. How did you not…”

“My apologies for not pondering over our general’s intimate life,” Chan grumbled. “How idiotic of me.”

“Do not mind these deviants,” Wonwoo assured him, handing him a fresh cup of wine. “You just drink their awful comments away.”

He spared a fearful glance at the cup, filled with honey wine. “I should not,” he meant to declare in a confident stance. His voice, already weakened from a previous revelation of his commander’s, had rendered his declaration as a childish mumble. “The baby would need my attention sooner or later.”

“Fuck the baby!” was Seokmin’s great exclamation, clicking his tongue. “He is already the star guest of this damned celebration. We—!” he patted his chest repeatedly—”We were supposed to be the ones our people fawn over!”

“Your need for attention never fails to astound me,” Wonwoo remarked, circling his drink. “The boy was named after our murdered friend.”

“It happens to men like Seokmin,” Seungkwan drawled, slinging an arm around him, “To those men who received no attention at home.”

“Fuck off!” Seokmin jeered, rasped out from the alcohol buzzing in his system. “At least our Roman women fawned over me this afternoon. Where were your girls?”

“My, my, our dear Seokmin’s imagination runs so wild!” The second-youngest cooed condescendingly, grabbing Wonwoo’s cup, which had the latter furrowing his brows. “He dreams of female attention when we have seen no evidence of it!”

Soonyoung wished to join in on the bullying, chiming in, “And now he envies a child that cannot control its own piss!”

As everyone laughed at the poor, drunk soul, who genuinely looked as if he might cry, Wonwoo waved his large hands around, as if attempting to calm everyone down. “No more harassing the unloved virgin.”

“We were not talking about Chan though,” Soonyoung instantly piped up, his next said-target narrowing his eyes. 

“Just because I choose to save myself for someone I love,” he grumbled, which had chuckling resonating around the group.

“Gods help her when she turns up, then,” Seungkwan sighed out, drinking Wonwoo’s wine. 

Perhaps Chan might have said something in retort—might have even garnered the strength to punch the honey wine out of his friend’s insides when one of the servants came hurrying. 

He identified her as Myrtia, your personal maid, who looked incredibly distressed. “Centurion Lee,” she immediately began, “Seungcheol keeps crying!”

“Oh, gods,” Soonyoung crowed, “Wet-nurse first, soldier second, is it?”

“At least he is not a whore first, Soonyoung,” Seokmin muttered.

“Both of you, shut up!” Chan finally snapped, turning to Myrtia once more. “Where is he right now? Will _____ not tend to him?”

“Our dear _____ is a little occupied being tended to herself, remember?” Seungkwan reminded him, his smirk malicious. 

The youngest flushed scarlet, shaking his head. “Right, of course…” He heaved himself off the cushions, to much of his friends’ agitation. “I will see what to do.”

“What?” Soonyoung sat up, but the alcoholic daze had him swaying slightly. “Wait, wait, wait, don’t just leave!” 

“Take me to Cheol,” Chan said to Myrtia, but before she could even agree, four rounds of disapproving voices hurled towards the poor boy.

“No!” Seungkwan exclaimed first, taking great pains to hoist himself off the long tables. “No, no, you cannot go on your own!”

“Exactly!” Seokmin joined in, using Seungkwan’s toga to try hauling himself up. “You will die in there!” 

Wonwoo clicked his tongue, even though he, too, was beginning to follow after his friends. “Chan is not going to die with a mere child.”

Chan watched his superiors rise carelessly from their furnishings, already feeling a little frantic. “What are you all doing?”

“Why, coming with you, of course!” 

“Myrtia, my sweet,” Soonyoung purred, patting a hand on her shoulder, “You lead us straight to the baby!” 

Hurriedly nodding, she turned and headed towards the destination, five centurions hot on her heels as they were led down the familiar hallways. Chan muttered to himself, but did not have time to self-ponder when he was constantly being distracted.

“How much longer is this going to take?” Seokmin whined, holding onto the walls for support. “And since when did the lamps on _____’s walls start shaking?”

“It has not been a minute and you’re complaining!” Seungkwan snarked out. “It’s a wonder you managed to walk forty miles everyday, lazy git.” 

“Not lazy enough to slice your mouth right off!” 

“Just this door here,” Myrtia said, turning into the empty doorway, dipping her head in respect as she stepped out of the way, allowing Chan to enter first, the rest stumbling behind him. 

Sure enough, the first noise heard in everyone’s ears was the wailing—a screechy, whiny sound which reverberated off the stone walls, striking discomfort, irritation, turmoil in the hearts of whoever heard them. The man who felt it the most dashed to the cot, brows joining together in agitation over the sight of the baby. 

“You would think Chan was the father,” Seungkwan retorted. “Do something about this crying, boy!” 

“You really are heartless,” Wonwoo scolded, following after the youngest. Observing the crying child, he pursed his mouth into a thin line. “How does one…stop a baby from crying?”

“Only a mother can take care of her child,” Seokmin voiced out, as if he thought of a ground-breaking notion akin to Plato’s wisdom. 

“We are not disturbing _____,” Seungkwan rebuked, shaking his head vigorously. “Those two have waited nearly two years to fuck each other again.”

“Let them have their fun!” Soonyoung roared, which had the baby crying louder. “Gods, Chan, you are the youngest after Cheol. Handle this sobbing mess!”

“I have seen twenty summers,” Chan muttered.

“Yes, so a baby in my eyes!” 

“Of course you are going to consider Chan as a baby, you geriatric. It’s a wonder you did not collapse on the battlefield.” 

I will kill you in the next war, Seungkwan.”

As the rest started grumbling amongst themselves, the youngest gently picked up the bundle, slowly rocking him in hopes to calm the crying. Seungcheol’s face was reddened with the constant sorrow, and it broke Chan’s heart a little, hoping that he would gain some newfound power and solve whatever problem ailed him. 

A sigh escaping him, he began to mumble sweet nothings to him, morphing those whispers in a quaint song he heard from his own childhood. His melody was like honey wine, words so soft, his voice so sweet, that the men that accompanied him began to quieten, turning their heads to the origin.

Wonwoo watched the scene, smiling lop-sidedly. “You are a natural!”

“It is quite embarrassing,” Seokmin admitted, scratching the back of his head, “That the youngest of us is the only one able to calm a child.”

“None of us claimed to be good with children,” Seungkwan thought out loud, observing the younger soldier tend to the sobbing, which had quietened to mere whimpers. 

Soonyoung tried to raise a brow—strong on tried, but he was too drunk to carry out such a simple action. “You always boasted of your relationships with your nieces and nephews.”

“That is different. I could care less about random urchins.”

“Seungkwan!” Seokmin exclaimed. “Seungcheol is no urchin.”

“He was though, was he not?” The man scoffed, albeit a bit tenderly as he began to reminisce. “Gods, did you forget how insufferable he was?”

“Always on our arses, too,” Soonyoung agreed, snickering. “Do you remember when he got us in shit with Octavian?”

“Talking back to Caesar’s successor during our first military session.” Wonwoo visibly shivered. “The punishment still haunts me.”

But the distant memory only made the rest chuckle, as if the centurions had not received verbal lashings from the leader of Rome at that time. Silence bathed the room, only Seungcheol’s voice sputtering through the surface of calm. It had only been a meagre two-and-half years since the inspiration behind his name had passed, but with the hardships of the Alexandria campaign, it had felt like decades. Even Chan felt the age of this campaign, although he was young when he suffered the loss. 

He sensed the loss a little more that night as, walking away from the cot, he leaned against the wall. As if unable to stand, he let his legs buckle a little, sliding down and settling on the floor, feet spreading out before him. “I sometimes see him in my dreams,” he admitted. 

There was a heavy pause. 

Then, “He visited me more a year back.”

Everyone focused on Soonyoung. Travelling to where his youngest friend sat, he copied his position, continuing, “I told Jihoon about it, actually, right before Actium…I deemed it a sign of the gods.” A small laugh huffed out of him. “He then corrected me, saying it was all Cheol.”

“Typical,” Seungkwan said, smiling. “Take all the might of the gods and reward himself for it.”

“I cannot blame him, though,” Wonwoo countered, wandering over to the seated duo, looking down at their general’s son. “A loss of faith can come with a loss of a loved one.”

“Yes, but look at us now!” Seokmin reasoned, gesturing to them all. “Victors of the coming generation!” 

“But these so-called ‘Victors’ cannot stop a baby from crying,” Wonwoo murmured, sitting beside Chan. “I doubt we deserve that title.”

“Hey, at least Chan deserves it.” Seokmin hurried to sit beside the former, watching tenderly over at the baby. “Look, he is silent now!” 

“No way!” Seungkwan exclaimed, sauntering to the group and settling beside Soonyoung, reaching over to inspect the claim.

Sure enough—at the centre of the most powerful soldiers in Rome, almost slumbering in complete peace, was a silent Seungcheol, happy Seungcheol as he stirred only if Chan moved his hand, or shifted his legs. It was not as if they had not seen a mere child before, but, once again, this bundle, so full of life, was different. This was their commander’s legacy. Their leader’s soul extended from his own life-force, his evidence that he loved. 

This Seungcheol that the five men stared at was the new beginning. 

It was a long time before anyone spoke. “Do you think he looks more like one over the other?” Wonwoo asked.

“All babies look the same to me,” Seokmin offered his opinion. 

By Seungkwan’s incredulous glance, it seemed it was not appreciated. “No one let this idiot have a child of his own.”

The accused frowned, genuinely hurt. “Hey! I should like to have a family one day. Give you all opportunity to become uncles again.”

“I would recognise your baby anywhere,” Soonyoung crowed, “Because it shall be the ugliest out of ours.”

The gasp that escaped Seokmin had Chan choking out a laugh. Seungcheol stirred at the action, which had the latter immediately stilling. “You guys need to insult each other’s future children a little quieter,” he whispered. 

The former had other plans, though. “Wait, can I hold him?” 

Chan shot a concerned glance. “Fine, but be careful!” he insisted, slowly handing over the bundle to Wonwoo, who, after smiling at him, passed him over at the end. 

Seokmin began rocking the child, who glanced up at him, languidly blinking up at the soldier. He was ecstatic, softly touching the tiny nose, and feeling his mouth widen into a grin. “See? He likes me already!”

“Yeah, after Chan has done all the hard labour,” Wonwoo commented, beaming at the baby’s expression. 

“I want Cheol after you,” Soonyoung demanded, crossing his arms, “So he can see what a real man is like.”

“Real jester, more like,” Seungkwan muttered, earning himself a hard elbow in the side. 

What Seokmin wanted to do was tell the eldest to wait his turn. He did not have the opportunity when he smelt the air around him, and found it most foul.

Chan noticed it immediately as well, and within the next few seconds, the others caught on. Five pairs of eyes whirled to the baby, who had the audacity to giggle.

Seokmin let out a scream. 

“BY THE FUCKING GODS—!”

Everyone scrambled to their feat, the rest struggling to hold back their amusement. “Not so loud!” Chan hissed, though he was restraining a laugh, only successful by the finger on his lips. 

“Stupid damned baby!” Seokmin screeched, holding the bundle at arms length. 

Wonwoo could not help his laugh, which spluttered out of him. “You cannot blame a baby for acting like one! It is like scolding a dog for running after a bone.”

The comparison had Soonyoung bellowing out, holding his stomach. “I always knew Seungcheol was annoying, but shitting on us is another low!”

Seokmin visibly shivered, patience running thin. “I hope he is rotting in the underworld,” he cursed, completely merciless. 

“I hope he is laughing at you,” Seungkwan prayed instead, wiping a few tears from his eyes. 

Chan only shook his head, walking to the doorway and stretching his head out. “Myrtia!” he called out, catching her tending to the guests in the dining areas. 

Quickly she arrived at the scene, understanding immediately what had occurred, judging by the men’s reactions. “Hand him over, Centurion,” she ordered, he obliging her instantly. 

“Sorry?” Seokmin offered, as if he was the one who soiled his toga. That had the others laughing even more, which had him furrowing his brows. “You men are the worst!”

“After ruining Chan’s night with all our complaints, it is only fair that we turn to you!” Soonyong explained, as if that was perfectly reasonable. 

Seungkwan cackled darkly. “We really are each other’s worst enemy.”

Wonwoo somehow found that incredibly sentimental. “I would not have it any other way,” he said, slinging his arm around Chan, ushering the other three to join in. “After all, who knows us better?”

“You make a stellar point!” The eldest clasped onto Chan’s free side, poking him in the cheek. “I would not wish to befriend any other wretched bastard.”

“You do not possess the ability to make friends, Soonyoung,” Seungkwan pointed out. 

“Then what are we?” Seokmin demanded, offended, the last to join the group. 

“Comrades?”

“Colleagues?”

“People who have seen me naked?”

But it was Chan, who was quiet all this time, observing his older—usually irritating, sometimes diabolical, yet always beloved—superiors, there formed an answer which had been settled in his heart the moment he had found their company nearly a decade back.

“Brothers.”

The men surrounding him stilled, gawking at the centre of their group—the centre that was always the core of their brotherhood. Although there was ample opportunity to poke fun at the situation, they found no ground for such humiliation. They only watched as, in an almost comical image, four pairs of eyes softened at the boy who had grown right in front of them. 

Wonwoo ruffled the youngest’s mop of waves. “And you are the dearest out of us all.”

“And do not forget it,” Seungkwan said. “Even if we make you seem otherwise.”

Chan smiled at them all, face flushing at the amount of attention received. A comfortable silence fell over them, everyone pondering over different notions, reminiscing of their times together. 

Soonyoung, however, possibly still a little intoxicated, thought of a completely different opportunity—thoughts of the very near future. 

“Men,” he began, “I have a proposition.”

The soldiers perked up, about to brace themselves for a revolutionary idea.

“Who wants to spy on Jihoon and _____?”

There was a momentary pause. Chan, visibly horrified, whirled his head left and right, praying to the gods that his fellow brothers felt the same. 

“Go on, then.” 

And as the four eldest centurions shuffled to the nursery’s entrance, Chan scrambled for a solution, because he would have rather been Mark Antony’s prisoner than listen to his commander and his wife…solidify their reunion.

He sucked in a sharp breath. 

“Wait!” 

The men paused, looking over their shoulders. “What is it?”

That intake of breath was released in complete devastation. So much for calling these utter shits brothers. 

“How about we all drink? I shall…” A hard gulp. “I shall join you properly all this time.”

They could not believe it at first. Chan, however, trudged over to them, grabbing onto whatever shoulder was nearest. “I mean it.”

He swore his brothers seemed happier in that moment than they had been cradling Jihoon’s child. 

“Well, what are we waiting for?!” Soonyoung roared, already leaving the entrance. “Let us empty the coffers!” 

And as the five most powerful men in Rome ran to be utterly gone with alcohol, Chan could not help but huff out a laugh, and hoped he had done his primus pilus a favour. 

YOU HAD ALWAYS ADORED THE WAY YOUR HUSBAND SLEPT.

As one of the most esteemed, strongest generals ever walked on Roman soil, Lee Jihoon looked as vulnerable as your baby son as he lay next to you. His body rose and fell with every breath, his arm a strong comfort around you. 

You could not help the smile that slipped past your mouth, watching him rest so peacefully after two years. You loved every single inch of your husband, but these little pieces of him, offered to you on rare occasions—with the sun bleeding through the bedroom windows, cool air drifting inside, kissing your skin—were a treasure rarer than all the wealths of the empire. 

You dared not wake him, lest the moment ended, only allowing your fingers to stretch a little forward. Your fingertips caressed the small cuts, scars on his skin, wishing you could fill every crevice of his battle-worn face with your liquid love. 

How beautiful he was, with or without what his experiences added onto him. 

Perhaps he could feel the adoration radiating off of you, for he began to stir faintly, humming to your caresses. His arm around you pulled you closer, and you were mere inches from face. 

What fortune to be so close to him, because you witnessed his eyes flutter open. Dark, chocolate irises welcomed you, and you wished with your heart that you could dive into them, and be forever lost in their haze.

“Morning,” you uttered, smiling.

He offered a lazy one in return. “Morning, my love.”

You almost beamed. “I love it when you say that.” 

His brow raised absentmindedly. “What? Morning?”

You tutted. “I think you need to sleep some more.”

“Hmmm…” he nuzzled into your neck, closing his eyes. “I will if you sleep with me.”

“But I already am.”

He craned his head back, nestled in your chest. “I think you know what I mean, vita.”

Involuntarily, you caught your lower lip between your teeth, and by the look on Jihoon’s face, he had half a mind to copy your actions.

Perhaps you would have let him too, if you did not hear a suspicious sound.

You perked up, head turning towards the door, where the origins of the voice—voices, as you listened in—lay. Your husband, catching onto your change of countenance, stretched himself before sitting up straighter, eyes squinting at the door.

Grabbing onto your clothes, which lay unceremoniously on the floor, you half-dressed yourselves before you reached just before the entrance of the room. The voices were much louder, a sense of agitation filling each one.

The loudest of the noise, amongst all the bickering, was a soft wail.

“—you stupid prick, I told you not to feed it that!”

“Well how was I supposed to know what it likes?”

“I hope you and Seokmin never have children—”

“Gods, Jihoon is going to be raging mad—!”

“What it deserves for being called Cheol—!”

You did not get to hear the end of the discussion, for Jihoon grabbed onto the doorknob and burst open the door.

Shrieks were heard on the entrance, five centurions stumbling into your bedroom, one with a special, wailing package in his hand.

“By the gods!” your husband exclaimed, shaking his head at his subordinates, scrambling to stand straight. “What are you all doing, muttering about behind our door?”

“Uhh…general!” Wonwoo declared, earning a sharp hiss from his friends. “We actually…uhhh…” He looked at the others, confused. “What were we here for?”

Soonyoung, rubbing his temples, seethed, “Seungcheol, you idiot!”

“Ah, yes!” Wonwoo straightened, deepening his voice to pretend sobriety. “Seungcheol!” 

Seokmin’s eyes widened. “But Seungcheol died years ago!”

Seungkwan then smacked him around the head. “Not that Seungcheol, you fucking idiot!”

You are the fucking idiot, you ugly bastard!”

You glanced at Chan, whose focus only lay on the crying child. The one who held him looked as if he might burst into tears too, but you spoke up before you had any more crying children in the house. “Here, let me tend to him.”

The boy handed you your son, but you noticed he dared not look you in the eye. “Is something the matter?” you asked him softly.

Soonyoung scoffed at your question. “Silly little virgin has been shitting his toga ever since he heard you two fucking like rabid dogs.”

“Watch your filthy mouth,” your husband guttered, which had the scolded-man shrinking back behind Wonwoo.

Seokmin snickered, Seungkwan smirking as you glanced at the youngest. “Chan…” you trailed off, not really sure on what to say.

Thankfully, your husband seemed to have a solution. “Chan, please grow up,” he remarked, crossing his arms over his tousled clothing. “You were holding my child mere seconds ago.”

“He just needs to stick his cock into someone,” Seungkwan said, a bit too matter-of-factly.

“Or something,” added Seokmin, the honey wine clearly still talking.

You saw Chan physically recoil from the statement. “What did you even have in mind?” Wonwoo asked, nose scrunching in distaste. “Actually, I do not want to know.” 

“Sober up, the lot of you,” you said, unable to stay serious, despite the death glares Jihoon offered them. “I need you all to help me clean the place up today.”

Everyone unanimously groaned, causing the latter to get irritated. “If I hear a sound from you pathetic drunkards, then it’s 40 miles around the city.”

Soonyoung turned his head to you, clearly exasperated. “_____, did you bite his cock or something?”

“Soonyoung!” You gasped. 

“I need to lie down,” Wonwoo groaned, turning towards the door. “I shall be dunking myself in a well nearby.”

“Take Seokmin with you,” Seungkwan drawled, fixing his hair. “Maybe this time he will actually drown.”

“If I drown little man, I’m taking you with me,” the man snapped. 

“Chan, dear, please sort them out,” you requested, hearing him sigh.

“I shall try my best, my lady,” he mumbled, knowing that his best efforts will be in vain. 

As he began to leave, you called out his name. He looked back, and you smiled as you rocked Seungcheol in your arms. “You are his favourite, Chan.”

The revelation had his frown morphing into a small smile, bowing his head ever so slightly before turning to his centurions. “Let us give our general some privacy.”

Seokmin grumbled underneath his breath, following after Chan. “As if they had not had enough privacy…could have made another baby for all we know…”

Jihoon focused his gaze on Soonyoung and Seungkwan. “Remember. No fucking about or it’s 40 miles.”

The latter waved his hand, opening the door. “Yes, yes, we are aware.”

Soonyoung mocked a salute, adorning a most dramatic drawl. “Of course, your excellency, no doubt at all, your royal highness, please, do give us further idiotic orders to taunt us with, your magnanimous majesty!”

Jihoon’s glare did not waver. “Get out.”

“…right on, general.”

And so the last of the centurions were out, you standing at the door as they made to leave. Before they exited, though, they all simultaneously waved at you, some a bit too enthusiastically, others a soft gesture. 

“Ave, _____! Ave, general!”

And they left, laughing already with plans to bring more merriment into their lives.

Your husband joined you, leaning against the opposite door frame. “I have a feeling they’re going to drag poor Chan into some brothel.”

“I think the boy would pass out before that would take place,” you said, chuckling as you glanced down at your child. “At least he takes care of Cheol well.”

“Does he?“

“…better than the average soldier, then.”

“At least they had fun yesterday.” Jihoon took a step closer, observing his son giggling at his mother’s entertainment. “Though they test my patience everyday, they deserve all the reward.”

“Do not exclude yourself, my love,” you reminded him. “You did not enslave yourself to your armies to disregard yourself like that.”

“I do not exclude myself.” His hand reached out, holding Seungcheol’s little head. How strange, that his entire head could fit in his palm. “I am simply happy with what I have right now.”

He offered you a smile. “I am more than happy with you and my son beside me. I ask for nothing more.”

You returned his smile, heart bursting at the seams as he leaned in, enveloping your lips with his in a sweet kiss.

And as the two of you played with your son in the morning light of the Roman sun, you snuck glances at your husband, the light of the Empire. The Eagle of Rome.

Finally, your home was now complete.

[ladycrimsonandblack]

rating the white star's battles based on how embarrassing they were for him personally

because he deserves it.

his first appearance in the mogoru empire: 1/10 — by far his least embarrassing battle. he manages to come off as extremely powerful and menacing final boss. cryptic remarks about choi han and cale's situation make him look mysterious. our heroes put their everything into this battle and just barely manage to come out of it alive. cale faints for weeks afterward.

battle at the castle of light: 7/10 — starts out pretty well for him when he traps our heroes in the castle, but goes downhill from there. he just gets tricked so easily. cale and co. have a blast pretending to be weak to throw him off, ambushing him, and then chasing him off with rocks. embarrassingly, all of this is facilitated by the fact that the white star does not, in fact, know all the entrances to his home village.

battle at the north: 6/10 — the white star just keeps getting scammed. when will he learn? gets some points for his excellent showing against witira and the whale king. loses all of them because archie was allowed to talk.

battle at the dubori territory: 4/10 — the white star actually had a pretty good showing here. managed to trip cale with his illusionist. dealt pretty well with choi han and eruhaben, even if they managed to get out of danger. did some heavy damage to the territory itself. he did lose an arm (both metaphorical and physical one), so there's that.

battle of the underground city: 5/10 — immediately realizes the city is fake and that the whole thing is a trap, thus disrupting cale's plans. however, any points he might have gotten are immediately made void by the fact that he starts constructing an elaborate history between cale and himself to justify his previous losses. his ego can't take it anymore. he's retreating to the AU land.

the battle at the stan territory: 6/10 — this should have been a win for him. he's prepared for everything. the battle is going on at four fronts, and cale henituse can't react in time. unfortunately for him, his plans are shit and cale can, in fact, react in time. actually, he can react so fast that he manages to mitigate the situation in all four battles and reinforce the stan territory. the white star is, once again, forced to flee, but not before informing everyone around about his weird AU land belief, thus making cale's reputation soar. embarrassing.

the battle to steal cale's body: 7/10 — the white star is forced to contend with alberu, who brought a gun to a knife fight. it does not go well for him. also, they really shouldn't have underestimated mary.

the battle at puzzle city: 20/10 — there are literally no good points here. his disguise is seen through pretty easily. he gets trapped by the mana disturbance tools. cale hits him with a mental attack so devastating that his ego can't take it, and he gets himself sealed. the bitch-slap happens, and it's glorious. at least he gets sealed into a golden plaque, so at least he gets some dignity there.

the battle in the sealed temple: 10/10 — he gets killed by a stick. the only thing mitigating the embarrassment factor here is that cale had to stab himself in the heart first, and that adds a certain oomph the white star himself has never been able to accomplish.

+ special mention

the battle in the wrath test: 15/10 — he gets beaten by a rock. like. it's literally a pebble. sure, it's a magical pebble, but still. a pebble.

[puppetmaster13u]

Another de-aged Danny au, but he's with Dan & Ellie & Jazz as well.

Jason has like just arrived back to Gotham, caused chaos in the underbelly due to well, 8 heads in a duffle bag, and is just starting his takeover of Crime Alley. It's going good, great even! And then he busts some sort of gang or smuggling ring run by people in white suits and there's... holy shit why do these four toddlers have Lazarus eyes?!

Is that a lab?! And Lazarus waters?! Jason might be a bit mad but he's not an asshole, he's not going to just leave these kids here to the streets. He can't just take them to the Batclan either, and as much as he begrudgingly trusts Talia, he sure as fuck doesn't trust Ras. Who knows what he'd do to four... what are they, pit-kids?

Now he's juggling his whole revenge-thing, running a criminal empire, taking over Gotham's underbelly, and being a single dad. At least the goonion seems to be down for helping, seeing as he's making Crime Alley safer...? .... Fuck he needs some proper sleep

[celestie0]

does anyone wanna be on taglist for this gojo x reader series? 🧚‍♀️✨

title. if the world was ending

synopsis. gojo satoru is your long lost love, the one that got away, that heartbreak that time could never heal, and you haven’t spoken to him in years. but when an asteroid the size of the empire state building is set to crash into the earth in three days, and effectively wipe out all life as we know it, then surely some promises of no contact can be broken, right?

warnings/tags. heavy angst, smut, fluff, dystopian au, second chance romance, end of the world romance; mentions of pregnancy & abortion, violence, blood, alcohol, smoking, drugs, cannibalism, suicide, murder, starvation, corruption, basically all the crazy shit that goes down across the globe when eight billion people realize they’re all going to die.

parts. there will be a total of four parts! i anticipate 50k words

teaser. here’s a little teaser!! as always i can never choose which part to tease but i suppose this kinda gives a gist:

note. for my followers that read my other series, i promise that this one will be like four parts max lol it’s just it was actually supposed to be a oneshot but when i finished writing the first part was alr 10k+ so🧍🏻‍♀️i figured i’d make it like a sort of limited series?? mini series?? but fret not lol i will still continue to update kickoff & ihm in the midst :”)

comment below if you’d like to be on the taglist, and please make sure your settings allow you to be tagged or else i won’t be able to tag you

much loveee!! i’m so very excited for this one :”0

[dr3amfyr-e]

brat. - j.v. ( w. 4.5k )

꒰ in which the boy you see every summer enrolls in the same university as you. ꒱ — modern!jacaerys velayron x reader

୨ ⎯ i cannot stress enough, football means ⚽️ not 🏈. childhood-friends-to-lovers, but you have to get through my 2000 word psychoanalysis and backstory first. light angst. mention of the death of a parent. lots and lots of talk about the velaryon-targaryen-hightower family dynamic. light make out action. reader's family is implied to be wealthy enough to have a summer home. almost everyone lives au. set in the uk, not westeros. omitted daemon rhaenyra marriage because there’s no way to to make it even semi-normal. realizing now i omitted daemon entirely erm sorry. pushing the laenor agenda bc he’s my favorite character. this is abhorently long. extreme overuse of the em-dash. uhh the perspective is wonky in a few places. part two. ⎯ ୧

i had to write this twice. i'm offering this to you with shaking hands, like a peasent child begging for coins. i may write a part two because i have more to say, but i don't want to figure it out rn.

On the cold January morning that Jacaerys Velaryon-Targaryen was born, the media went into a frenzy. 

The Targaryens were old money, their fortune rooted a century back in good investments. Historically adept at finding their way into things, the empire had a string to pull in every industry. From art and law to technology and shipping, if business prospects looked good there would be a Targaryen investment.

And then there were the dogs — regal greyhounds, with long, thin bodies and sleek coats. The Targaryens bred them as far back as bloodline records went. The pups were never for sale; sometimes they were used as show dogs, and successful show dogs they were, but more often they were pets. It was a status symbol, to nonchalantly own such a coveted creature. 

The Targaryens were idolized in the public eye. They were all stunning, with sharp features and silver hair, and each member of the family seemed to possess a Midas touch. But, where Valyrian blood ran hot, so did the press. It was no surprise when magazines started to turn a profit from silver heads plastered across their glossy covers. It was the price that came with God-like aristocracy.

From editorials to gossip columns, people devoured the insider life of the untouchables. When Aemma Targaryen died, there was a four-page spread in nearly every magazine; complete with pictures and quotes. Business papers filled with opinion pieces about Rhaenyra’s inheritance claim to her family’s empire; magazines exploded with the announcement of her engagement to Laenor Velaryon, and subsequently Viserys’ marriage to Alicent Hightower, the daughter of his lawyer. 

When Jacaerys was born, reporters lined up outside of the hospital doors. There were cameras and microphones and crew trucks, and Rhaenyra hated it. It wasn’t the way she wished to welcome her child into the world — swarmed by people who didn’t know nor care for him.

Laenor had always been good at navigating the attention, and Rhaenyra was constantly grateful. So, when he pulled his gaze from the babe and steeled himself to deal with the onslaught of reporters outside, tears pricked at her eyes. Appreciation, exhaustion, adoration? She couldn’t be sure. 

Looking down at her son, she thought, he’s perfect. He had a smattering of dark hair, and he was quiet but not concerningly so. Wispy lashes fell upon his cherub cheeks, and when he eventually blinked up at her his eyes were dark. He looked nothing like her — she didn’t care. 

She refused to talk to anyone outside of her family, and had the curtains in her private room drawn. To expose her son, her heart, to the prying eyes of the bored masses with nary a care for his well-being was a nightmare. She wouldn’t have him exploited. 

At the time of Jacaerys’ birth, she and Laenor had been married for a little over a year. Laenor’s father, Corlys, managed the bulk of the import and export for Viserys’ company. Corlys was a good man, he hadn’t dreamed of marrying his son off. But Laenor and Rhaenyra were both in the same impossible situation: the wiles of youth mixed with the ever critical public. 

They had both fallen into scandalous relationships, both preyed on by paparazzi. If they married one another, it would save face for both of their families. Plus — both being the eldest and heir, this would clear the expectation of a dignified marriage. They agreed to leave each other to whatever youthful fun they wanted to have, as long as everything was discreet. 

Both the Velaryons and the Targaryens kept a summer home in Dragonstone, a private community in coastal Wales. It was the perfect place for Rhaenyra and Laenor to begin their life — far from her father, close to his parents, and out of the line of sight for any nosy journalist. 

The public eye had looked to other things by the time Lucerys was born, two years later. Again, Laenor dealt with the small gathering of reporters with the utmost grace, and Rhaenyra submitted a written statement. 

Alicent divorced Viserys that same year. 

As she watched her boys grow up, full of energy and life, Rhaenyra thought, there was no one better to parent with than her best friend — a title Laenor had rightfully earned. They hadn’t had much choice in knowing each other, and they certainly would never have chosen to be married, but he made a bearable roommate. They had things in common; they liked the same music, and the same men. They drank the same wine and frequented the same restaurants. And, they both loved their boys. 

As Jace and Luke grew up, they found the best company in each other — the school in Dragonstone was so small, though, that there were very few other options. They both played on the school’s small football team, and Jace took piano lessons while Luke learned to fence. Where Jace was driven by emotion, Luke was level-headed; where Luke was cautiously quiet, Jace spoke his mind. It was an ideal childhood, the Welsh coast was an idyllic backdrop to grow up upon, with the sea in their backyard. 

They were ten and eight when Joffrey was born, both excited for their new brother. Their mother brought him home, bundled in a soft red blanket. The boys sat on the couch beside Rhaenys and stared at him for upwards of an hour. 

Hardly a week had passed when Harwin Strong died. He was a family friend, a frequent presence in their home and life — Jace and Luke had been upset by this, of course. 

In time they came to understand the situation fully. Jacaerys first, fitting the pieces together with the evidence he found in the mirror. Neither Rhaenyra nor Laenor had dark hair, like he and his brothers. 

His matriline was uncontestable though, as he grew into himself. He possessed the same nose, jaw, brow, and high cheekbones that Rhaenyra wore. The comparisons between the two became more frequent as he grew older, and he found himself to be quite proud to look like her. 

Her attitude lived in him as well, the temperament she had been so notorious for as a girl festered in her eldest son. She had once been christened ‘The Princess of Dragonstone’ after flipping off a reporter at their summer home. Jacearys earned it for himself when he was fifteen, after loudly berating a reporter. He had been defending Luke, but no one seemed to care when they deigned him ‘The Prince of Dragonstone’. He took it with grace, claiming that he couldn’t help but be his mother’s child.

It instilled a sense of public propriety he strove to uphold. 

Rhaenyra remarried the same year — to Alicent Hightower — and moved her children from Wales to London. It took a while to adjust to the new life — Jace liked his new school, but he detested his step-brothers. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t come around to the idea of living with Aemond and Aegon, who took so much pleasure in making he and his brothers miserable. 

After the first month, Jacaerys fell in brilliantly. He performed well in school, quickly being enrolled in the advanced literature and history courses. He got on well with his peers, and made a number of friends. He joined the football team and spent his Sunday afternoons learning piano concertos. 

Living in London made him a more publicly prominent figure in his family's legacy. He knew how to play his role as heir; he carried himself perfectly — confident and charming and elegant. He didn’t particularly like being in the public eye, but there was a certain sense of satisfaction when he did something to receive positive public attention. 

King’s Landing, much like where he had grown up, was a community reserved for the upper echelon. Situated in Northwest London, and surrounded by wrought iron gates, it was regal and dignified. The house had high, vaulted ceilings, large stained glass windows, and more than enough bedrooms. It rained more, Jacaerys noticed in the first month. When it had rained in Dragonstone he would watch the droplets bounce off the sea, where it lapped at the sandy bay. Here the rain splattered unceremoniously upon the pavement. 

For as wonderful as life in London had turned out, Jacaerys found himself longing for what was left behind in Dragonstone. Laenor lived there still, and while he called often and visited as much as he could, it wasn’t the same. Jace’s childhood bedroom remained, along with all of the memories in the house he grew up in. And his friends. There was an assortment of people he only saw between late May and early September; the children of the other seasonal residents. The number had dwindled in years past, with fewer of them returning for break — favouring more interesting places, like Ibiza or Rome, as they got older. 

Far too few of his childhood friends he kept in contact with, especially after the move to London. You were the exception. 

He was grateful, on days when it stormed in London, to receive a silly text or too-long voice note. It made things feel less dull — you had a way of doing that. 

He took to reading theory around the time he turned seventeen. It’s queer theory, at the suggestion of his cousin Baela, who lent him his first Judith Butler book. He finished it that weekend. 

His aunt Laena and her two daughters lived in London, and Jace found a close comrade in Baela. She played competitive tennis and listened to riot grrrl, she was much cooler than him and he knew it. Her bedroom held two massive bookshelves, and she let him pillage her collection for De Bouvier and Didion and Gay. Hours were spent lying across the floor in Laena’s house, studying, or reading, or talking. He enjoyed Baela’s company more than any of his school friends, favouring anything with her over anything with the boys from his football team. 

His youngest sister, Visenya, turned one around the same time. Baela, staying with Jacaerys while he babysat one night, inducted him into the eldest daughter club. 

“You’re so keen on driving your siblings around, and taking care of them. Plus, aren’t you your mother’s closest confidant?” She asked. 

True, Jace supposed. He was the oldest of Rhaenyra’s children, and the most responsible of his brothers and step-siblings. His mums both worked full time, they were busy but as involved as possible. Jace just did the menial things. He made Joffrey breakfast, picked Luke up after school, and watched Visenya when necessary. He didn’t mind.

Baela argued that he should mind. 

He had been a sensitive child, more so than his brothers, but it made him incredibly emotionally adept as he aged. So many boys his age prided themselves on stoicism, but that was never something Jace felt connected to. He always felt things too deeply to bottle them up — it accounted for the occasional temper that flared up when he was upset, but also how empathetic and kind he was. 

Jacearys was set to graduate with honours in the first week of May. It was three months before when college acceptance letters began to appear in the mail. He had applied to a number of places, and been accepted everywhere. The University of the Vale was where his hopes hinged though. 

Just after Valentine's Day, it showed up. The envelope was wide and stuffed full, and sealed with a wax stamp. His acceptance letter was on the very top of the stack of papers — the thick paper heavy in his hands, as he admired the blue printed border and silver flocking. 

Rhaenrya sorted through the informational packets while Jace reread the letter. Part of him couldn’t believe it was real.

He sends you a picture of the letter, and you respond in kind with one of an identical nature. 

You hadn’t planned to go to the same university, but it certainly was a happy coincidence. 

After graduation, he was beyond excited for the reprieve that Dragonstone granted. The promise of early morning hikes, and evenings spent on the beach — the once empty house, full of life and bustling with bodies. 

You were the first thing Jacaerys thought to look for when he set his bags down in the summer home. 

It was late May, and you were guaranteed to be out of school. I’ll text after I unpack, he thought, pulling clothes and books from his suitcase. 

His room in Dragonstone had once been his childhood bedroom. The walls were a warm tone of white, and the small bed was still covered with his blue and white checkered duvet. Piano scales and pictures of his brothers and friends adorn the walls. There was a soccer trophy on the back edge of his desk, something he had won when he was eleven. It was stuffy from nine months of stagnance, but familiar all the same. 

He pushed the curtains back from the window to let sunlight filter into the dusty room, gazing down at the beach, when he spotted your figure. He was quick to rush downstairs, out the backdoor, and across the stone path that leads from the patio to the beach. He greets you with a call of your name and a tight hug, sunglasses perched atop his head and linen shirt half buttoned. 

It had been a year since he’d last seen you. You had kept in touch during the school year; Jace favoured Snapchat and FaceTime, delighted with the pleasure of seeing the mundane things you were up to. There was a nearly constant text thread, and voice memos passed back and forth. But, it all paled in comparison to physical company. 

He abandoned his housekeeping duties, keen to sit on the beach and talk. And you did so for hours, about everything and nothing. He tells you about his last year of school and listens as you do the same. When the sun dipped past the treeline, he leaned back on his elbows, watching the water crest on the sand. He felt more at ease than he had in a while, enraptured by the ease of your presence. The conversation flowed, there were no awkward lulls and no pressure to talk about something dignified. It was comforting to be so close to someone who didn’t see much of his life in London — you knew the best version of him. 

Your friendship had always felt like that, from a young age. On days that smelled of sunscreen and sea salt in his mind, you would meet in the mornings and depart past dark and then do it again the next day, never tiring of each other. Your parents knew his, so you had always been welcome in his home — invited or not. You had shared a bed during sleepovers, drunk from the same cup, and fallen asleep on the couch during movie nights countless times. Quick glances and imperceptible expressions were a language you communicated in, reading each other without words. In your presence, Jace was the most comfortable.

The summer slipped away as it always did, taking long nights and leaving memories of sand and sunshine. The days were ambled away in the water, on rocky hiking paths, or in the meadow that sat a mile away from all of the homes. 

Jace had started The Hobbit before school ended — most days he found himself sprawled out in the park or on the beach, reading. He had also taken to running with his dog, Vermax, in the mornings. He relied on the serotonin boost to start the day, and with no football to play a jog was a decent alternative. 

When the summer drew to a close, the typical melancholy that befell the return to the real world wasn’t present in Jace’s mind. He presumed it had everything to do with the fact that he would see you every day now

You have one college class together — a nine a.m. medieval literature discussion. 

Clinging to familiarity in the new environment, he glued himself to your side for the first week of classes. He memorized the way to your dorm, meeting you outside every morning to walk together to your first lessons. The meandering conversation was a good start to the day, and he silently relished in your tired eyes and quiet voice, not yet used to the early schedule. 

On Friday he all but begged you to come back to his dorm after the discussion; it was your only class that day so you had given in. You hadn’t seen his living quarters yet, and he wanted to spend time with you, worried for when your schedules would fill up and you would lose room for each other. 

The discussion had been mind-numbing. You reviewed the same syllabus as the lecture, and went over the same rules and policies as every other class. With the thirty-five minutes remaining, the teaching assistant made everyone watch an incredibly monotone video about the history of medieval England. 

Jace linked his arm into yours in the hallway after class, pulling you to the doors. The cool morning air was refreshing, waking you up more as you walked across campus. His dorm building was new and modern, seventeen floors with grey siding and big windows. It was private housing, clearly expensive. 

He had a single room with an adjoining bathroom and a small common space. The walls were typical dorm white, with laminate wood flooring. Joffrey’s school photo is hung on one wall, the frame clearly decorated by the child with glitter and string. Scattered across the other walls were photographs in thin silver frames, a large world map, a clock, and a cross-stitch of a rainbow stag beetle.

Sitting on the couch, you observed the unframed photos that lay across the coffee table, inspecting a leggy grey dog as you plucked it from the pile, “Who is this?”

Jace leaned into your side, gazing at the photo, “My mum’s dog, Syrax,” He reached over you to tap the picture, “Syrax is my dog’s mum.” 

He slipped his hand into yours as you walked with him to his second class of the day.

In the third week of school, Jace asks you to attend a mixer for a pre-law society with him. He doesn't know anyone, and doesn't want to be alone at the party. You meet at his dorm at a quarter-to-six so you can walk to the event together. 

The dress-code is emi-formal, and when he opens the door to you his hair is slicked back with water and he smells like his cologne — musk, sandalwood, and amber. 

“Are your clothes pressed?” You ask, grinning at his freshly ironed slacks and the three buttons undone on his shirt. 

He rolls his eyes, locking the door behind him as he escorts you down the hallway. The walls of the elevator in his dorm are mirrored, and you laugh at him when you catch him taking pictures of himself. He makes you take one with him, and sets it as his lock screen. 

The mixer was in the dean of law’s massive house, buzzing with young people in smart outfits. Jace abandons you about fifteen minutes in, spotting a group of poli sci majors from his social psychology class. 

From his childhood spent between galas and his mother’s business meetings, Jace was good at navigating these situations. He was charming, leveling the professors with charismatic smiles and confident posture. He was good at holding an intelligent conversation, discussing theory and strategy. 

You were on the patio, watching the stars, when he found you an hour later.

His arms brushed yours as he leaned against the railing, “Sorry for leaving you,” His voice was quiet, and he stared at your profile, watching the way the moonlight illuminated your skin. 

You wave his apology off and make him buy you coffee in recompense on the way home. 

You’re stood talking together on the quadrangle a few weeks later, a cup of hot chocolate warming your mitten-less hands, when you realise just how cold it’s gotten. It's just too cold for the thin jacket that you try to sink further into, hiding from the wind that bites at your delicate skin.

Jace watches you shiver, observing your lack of appropriate attire. 

“Are you cold?” He asks, reaching out to run his hands up and down your arms, half to warm you, half to gauge how thick your jacket is. Not very. 

You nod, “I didn’t check the weather this morning.” 

He sighs with exaggerated exasperation and slides his arms around you, careful of the paper cup you held. Of course, he’s worn the right coat, and you feel the downy material of his hood against your cheek as he rubs your back to generate some warmth. You smell the cologne on his collar and the expensive shampoo he uses; he grumbled something about taking better care of yourself. 

Then, one particularly cold Friday morning he has forgotten his coat. Dressed in a hoodie, he mirrors your excuse from the week prior, smiling sheepishly — face flushed from the chilly air, dark curls blowing around his head like a halo. You take pity on him, slipping your scarf off. You loop it around his neck, tucking the ends down into the collar of his sweater, and leave him with a fond peck on the cheek; his skin is cold. 

He's appreciative, though the scarf does little against the cold wind cutting through his sweater. Still, he doesn't give the scarf back. 

With the cold, comes midterms. You’re the first person Jace asks to study. 

Your dorm room is closer to the central part of campus, and thus a shorter walk in the bitter cold. Jace brushes snow out of his hair as you unlock your door, ushering him inside. It's small. Two twin-sized beds, one on each wall, with nary enough room for two bodies between them; a desk is crammed into the small space between your bed and the window. You let him take the desk, spreading your books and notes out across your bed.

Your dorm is old, and the room has very little ventilation. Despite the frigidity outside, the room is stuffy and almost hot with both of your bodies inside. An hour into studying Jace shrugs off his heavy, knit sweater and pushes his glasses up into his hair. 

“What are you working on?” You ask, leaning forward. You’re bored, working on the same power point you started yesterday. You want to talk to him, though he doesn’t seem keen on the idea

He doesn’t look up from typing as he speaks, “Analysing The Art of War.” 

You shut your laptop, bent on distracting him, “The book?” 

He nods but doesn’t give a verbal response. 

“Who's that by?” You ask, fighting to suppress a grin

This time he does look up, glaring at you over his glasses, “Sun Tzu.” 

His tone is short, but it's amusing to annoy him so you grin, suppressing a giggle, “Sounds very interesting.” 

“What do you want?” He asks after a beat, still holding your gaze. 

You shrug, “Nothing. I’m bored,” 

The next time you study is even less productive, school work discarded on his floor in a matter of minutes. 

“We can’t be trusted to work together,” He tells you, watching as you calculate his astrological chart, geometry homework forgotten. 

You attend your first college party together in November. When you arrive at his dorm, he’s dressed much more casually than normal. 

You reach out to tug at the thin silver chain peeking out from his shirt collar, “This is fun,” You tease, giggling, “Aiming to impress tonight?”

He rolls his eyes in mock-offence, turning you around by the shoulders to shove you out of the doorframe. 

The lights in the house are dim, and they strobe slowly through different colours. It’s too dark and too bright all at once. The music is almost unbearably loud and people are packed in like sardines, it’s all incredibly overstimulating. 

When he senses your unease, Jace takes your hand, pulling you tight against your side to lead you through the throng of bodies. He’s looking for someone, but you’re unsure who, and he canvases the whole space before giving up on finding them.

The backyard of the house is quieter, but the ground still vibrates from the bass of the music. People are scattered about, smoking cigarettes and sipping from bottles of cheap beer. 

You both learn what Jell-O shots are, and make out in the bathroom back at his dorm. It’s not the first time you’d kissed each other, trying it a few times in your adolescence just to see what it was like. But this is different, tipsy and sloppy, as you giggle into his mouth. 

It's forgotten in the morning, when you wake up in his bed still dressed in your going-out clothes, head pounding.

But then it happens again, the week before finals.

You had stayed at the library far too late studying, leaving the pair of you to walk back to his dorm in the dark. It's positively frigid, cold December air whipping snow into your face. 

There are still snowflakes in your hair as you shed the thick coat you’re wearing, pulling off your gloves and hat. 

There's a bottle of wine in Jace’s freezer, left by Aegon the weekend before. It's expensive and rich and red, and Aegon would likely skin you if he found out you were drinking it — but, that's part of the fun. There's a baking show on the small television, and you’re curled into Jace’s side to steal some of the warmth from his body.

When the program lulls he brings his hand to your hair, combing through the tangled strands. You pay it little mind, leaning into his touch as you watch a contestant on-screen whip macaron batter. His fingers slide down to your jaw, turning your head so your eyes meet his. He’s studying your face, cheeks flushed from the wine or the cold. 

The attention is odd, and you giggle nervously under his gaze. His hands come to cradle your jaw as he leans towards you, nose brushing yours. The air is charged with an unusual tension, his mouth a breath away from yours. 

When he kisses you, he’s slow and gentle, his whole body angled into yours. Everything feels warm, a welcome contrast to the weather outside, and you chalk it up to the glasses of wine coursing through your bloodstream. 

It's pleasant, different from times past; this certainly doesn’t feel like an innocent, experimental kiss. It's heated, tinged with passion. He uses the placement of his hand to ease your jaw open, tongue sliding slowly into your mouth. 

There's a vibe, something you hadn’t felt before with him. It's communicated through the gentle touch of his hands, and how his breath hitches when you kiss him back with the same sort of force. 

The moment is broken by the announcement of a winner on the television. His hands slide down, resting on your shoulders, pulling your frame into his. 

You don’t talk about it afterwards. 

[jaeyunverse]

the fake dating pact

pairing(s): park sunghoon x fem!reader

genre(s): fluff, suggestive, fake dating, enemies to lovers, rich kid au, cruise au

wc: 1.6k

warning(s): profanity, making out, implications to sex (no smut)

inspired by: dil dhadakne do

summary: in which ridiculous circumstances lead to a fake dating contract pact being struck between park sunghoon and you.

note: i’m ngl i thought i’d reposted this fic but i’m not able to find it so here we go LOL the sunghoon brainrot’s been hitting real hard lately

masterlist

There was a slight chance Sunghoon and you had crossed the boundaries you’d set when you first drew up your fake dating contract.

Okay, agreement would be a more accurate word choice since the document wasn’t legally binding, but the two of you took its contents very seriously. Together, you’d come up with a few mutually acceptable ground rules:

no kissing unless absolutely necessary

non-sexual acts of intimacy are acceptable in order to maintain the facade

keep arguments to a minimum no matter how insufferable the other person is being

no bed-sharing under any circumstances

no falling for park sunghoon even though he is the epitome of sexiness

The last condition was total bullshit, but you didn’t have it in you to make him get rid of it. Your mom had already done an excellent job at pissing you off; the last thing you wanted to do was get into it with Sunghoon.

One may wonder what caused the two of you to make this pact. Simply put, both your families desperately wanted to set you up with people you had no interest in dating.

(Not that you wanted to seek a romantic relationship with Sunghoon either, but we’ll get into that later.)

Lee Saerom had organised a cruise across the Mediterranean Sea on the occasion of her parents’ 30th wedding anniversary. Normally, your family wouldn’t have come within 10 feet of the Park family, but you were both good friends of the Lees and neither of you wanted to give the other the satisfaction of avoiding the trip.

Now that all the powerful and influential families of Seoul were gathered in the same place for a celebration spanning over a few weeks, your parents thought it would be a good idea to find you an ideal suitor who would help their company expand.

Word spread that you were seeing Lee Heeseung, the younger son of the Lees and heir apparent to their empire. The rumour was entirely false, but you had to admit it was a genius move on your parents’ part. Not only did it become harder for Heeseung and you to deny the allegations, but it made the Lees consider a future with your family’s business.

As if you weren’t in a shitload of mess already, the entire thing had somehow turned into a competition with the Parks beginning their own efforts to set Sunghoon up with Ning Yizhou.

The minor problem was that Heeseung and Yizhou were in love with each other, and neither of them had the courage to tell everyone the truth. They were both too afraid of disappointing their parents and bringing disgrace to their families.

You supposed it was a good thing Sunghoon and you had no such qualms. So, before things could escalate any further, the four of you got together and decided to put an end to this idiocy.

On the third night of the cruise, Sunghoon and you announced your relationship. Holding his hand and giving him lovey-dovey eyes felt ridiculous, but you would rather stomach fake dating him than see a wedge form between Heeseung and Yizhou.

Needless to say, everyone was shocked.

Yizhou even pretended to faint while Heeseung started sobbing hysterically. You couldn’t believe he actually pulled out a tear stick and applied it to the underside of his eyes when no one was looking. You wondered if he’d purchased it for this specific reason when you’d explored Turkey earlier that day.

Overall, it was a pretty convincing act.

The Lees and Nings were furious, but you weren’t particularly worried. In fact, you didn’t even care. Your parents had it coming their way the moment they dragged you into their scheming and plotting.

It took a few days for everyone to calm down and for the festivities to resume, but things pretty much went back to normal. Sunghoon and you both got tongue-lashings from your families, but they didn’t make you two break up.

Your reputations were already in the gutter; forcing you to end your relationship after all that had conspired would have been the cherry on top of your disaster of a cake.

The pre-decided course of action was to fake date Sunghoon till the cruise ended. Once you returned to your daily lives and enough time had passed, you would cook up a reason to break up.

It didn’t take long for your original plan to go to shit. As it turned out, spending a week pretending to love the bane of your existence had proved to be quite the opportunity to really get to know him.

Ever since you were a kid, you’d heard your parents say a lot of terrible things about the Parks. You’d been instructed to stay far away from Sunghoon. An impressionable and susceptible child such as yourself had obeyed every order they gave you.

You’d literally been hard-wired to despise and assume the worst of Sunghoon.

The wall of hatred you’d built between the two of you began coming down brick by brick once you learnt the kind of man he was. He was honourable and good and down-to-earth.

Of course, he was a dickhead to you for the same reason you were a bitch to him, but the asshole side of him was more endearing than annoying now.

His snarky replies no longer seemed to bite, and there was always an underlying film of adoration accompanying them.

Perhaps, he’d grown to care for you just as you had for him.

You certainly hoped that was the case, since regularly making out with someone who couldn’t be bothered with you wasn’t exactly your dream.

To this day, you had no idea how you’d ended up grabbing the collar of his shirt and crashing your mouth against his.

Maybe it was because he kept reminding you that you’d lost a bet to him and you wanted to shut him up, or maybe it was because he hadn’t bothered to button up his shirt and his abs were on full display, the ocean wind ruffling his messy hair.

Nonetheless, something seemed to snap in him when you made the move. He responded to your kiss immediately and pinned you against a wall. Thankfully, it was almost midnight and there was no one to witness your less than decent makeout session on the deck.

The next ten minutes consisted of his hands travelling under your loose shirt, fingers grazing the cold skin of your abdomen. Soon, your shirt was discarded, and your legs were wrapped around his waist.

Sunghoon hadn’t bothered stopping even when you ran out of breath. Instead, he’d taken the opportunity to leave bruises on your jaw and neck. The warm feeling of his tongue soothing the spots where he’d nipped at your skin with his teeth had caused you to experience a burning need for desire that went further than the second base.

The amount of reaction he’d gotten out of you was embarrassing. Never had you been unraveled by anyone so effortlessly. He had to muffle the whimpers that slipped past your lips as a result of his ministrations.

If it weren’t for the fact that you were making out in the open and were at the risk of being walked in on, things would have escalated. By the time you parted, Sunghoon’s lips were swollen, his face was flushed and he was breathing hard.

His eyes were hooded and dark, and he was gazing at you with an intensity that made you shiver.

Taking that as your cue to leave, you pressed a chaste kiss on his cheek, fetched your shirt from the ground and hurried away.

You didn’t even know why you thought things would go back to normal the next day.

One look at him, and your legs turned to jelly. You happily obliged when he wrapped his fingers around your wrist and whisked you away from everyone else.

Soon enough, you’d breached almost all the conditions in your fake dating pact.

You spent most of your nights together—be it hooking up, lying in the comfort of each other’s arms or just talking till slumber claimed you. Never in your life had you imagined being at ease around Sunghoon.

Everything else faded away when you were with him. He made you feel yourself. He made you feel whole.

“Hey,” you murmured while you were both swimming in the pool one night, the stars shining brightly in the sky. His eyes were closed and his neck was tilted up, the back of his head resting on the decking behind. “Can I ask you something?”

Sunghoon hummed and opened his eyes, turning his attention to you. “Yeah.”

“I know we have a plan,” you continued, doing your best to ignore the droplets clinging to his skin, “and I know that we’re supposed to stop pretending after this cruise ends tomorrow, but have you ever thought about making this—” you pointed at him, and then at yourself— “real.”

He laughed softly and shook his head in amusement. Your brows furrowed in confusion. “I’m not joking—”

“Every single day,” he interrupted you. Wading his way through the water to close the distance between your bodies, he repeated, “I have thought about making you mine every goddamn day.”

He cupped your cheeks and rested his forehead against yours. “I think I’ve fallen in love with you, Y/N,” he whispered.

Taking a shuddering breath, you closed your eyes and felt him press his lips to yours.

The kiss was slow and passionate, as if the two of you had all the time in the world. It expressed what couldn’t be said using words, and you realised just how much you’d grown to admire and care for this man.

It physically pained you to consider the possibility of a life without him.

“Sunghoon,” you mumbled against his mouth. “I would say I love you too but I don’t wanna breach the contract.”

He chuckled and ran his tongue along your bottom lip, even going as far as to suck on it. “I thought you broke the last rule days ago.”

You couldn’t stop the smile that stretched across your face. You opened your lids and shifted to get a better look at his expression.

Sunghoon’s eyes were shining with happiness, and you thought you could gaze into them forever. You thought you could witness the grin on his face and hear his honeyed laugh without ever getting tired. You thought you could stand ground against anything life threw at you if you had him by your side.

You knew you could love him and be loved by him for as long as your soul wandered through the worlds.

“I love you too.”

[pacificwaternymph]

Behold, The Cabbage Lord

Oh. My. God.

That is SO amazing XD I love that so much

[somuchbetterthanthat]

Not me thinking of an Amnesia AU where SOmething happens to Vander and he forgets like, the past ten years of his life or something, and the kids are trying SO HARD to 1. help him catch up 2. Make Sure Nobody Else Knows cause Vander's too important, etc.

but also they're out of their depth and, sure, they could ask Benzo (they suspect he knows, at least a bit, has that frown on his face and keeps nudging Vander) but Vander keeps saying with a serious face "I merely don't understand -- is Silco dead, as well? Is that why he's not here?"

So, of course, the kids are like. Well. We don't know a Silco. But we'll found out about him!!! And if he IS alive we'll bring him to you (because Vander is sighing going at least if Silco was here I could rely on him - he's the mind i'm the brawn and all that.)

And then they DO find Silco, right in the middle of his Evil Era, building slowly his Evil Drug Empire.

Imagine Silco, cornered with four kids saying "You're alive!!! Vander needs you!!!" and they argue with each other on whether they can tell Silco why the man who tried to kill him suddenly "needs him". They're not threatened by him: Vander has told them so many stories of him! He did not mention the eye and the scar tho ("was it the Enforcers?" Vi asks, quiet and filed with righteous anger already and Silco is raising eyebrows going i could use that, but also he's TOO BAFFLED as to what is Vander's big plan in sending his children to?? trick him?? into revealing himself so he can finish the job???? what is this.)

and then fluff and angst. I guess.

[helenazbmrskai]

Guide on how to not marry the Northern Duke. [1/2]

Title [Guide on how to not marry the Northern Duke.]

Pairing [Northen Duke! Yoongi x Reincarnated! Reader]

Genre [Fantasy Romance, Reincarnation, World in a novel AU, future smut and angst]

Summary [You need to make an elaborate plan so you can avoid your impending death at the hands of your favourite character so you can’t just sit around and wait for something to happen – no matter how distraught you wake up one day in an unfamiliar bed.]

Words [11,5k ; part 1 out of 2]

Warnings [mistreatment and negligence, period drama, slow burn, mention of blood and drugs, tiny sexual tension]

Rating [+18 overall but this part is a tame +14]

A/N: Guess who’s back again? ME. I’ve been working on this for a lot and I know I already have a similar story on going but I just couldn’t get over this idea in my head. So enjoy! And as always excuse me for the typos.

Masterlist // part 2 (end) // I don't do tag lists anymore I'm sorry!

Every story needs a good start, and this one starts now with an old tale, much older than you.

There’s an ancient fairytale that tells you about the funding of the Empire and it all starts when God left.

Tired of human foolishness and deeply rooted malice he left the world he created to turn around its axis and burn down on its own; famine started to scavenge the continent as war broke out in every corner of the human world. Each kingdom perished one by one until only one was left.

It seemed like humanity would be wiped out permanently in no time but then just when they all thought there was no turning back, a saintess appeared among the rest and divided the continent into four regions with the help of the received divine power. That’s the birth of the empire’s central city where the empress Hyeri ruled over the four divided territories.

To prevent war from breaking out again the saintess turned to the heavens and pleaded while crying out to their maker and hearing her prayers the God who left decided to give them one last chance at redemption seeing the pure heart in front of him.

That’s when the holy prophecy was made.

Each chosen duke was granted unique powers to rule over their territories. However great powers come with great responsibilities. In the end, there’s always a price to pay but that’s the tale of another story.

This is how peace finally settled over the world once more. In exchange for the powers, the dukes wrote a blood oath that prevented them from stealing each other’s powers or waging unnecessary war. However just like every pact it wasn’t perfect. Loopholes could be taken advantage of but momentarily peace was forged.

This is the short version of the founding tale of the originated Kingdom that was taught to the people of the empire throughout generations. You particularly remember these starting lines from the novel you read in your previous life. The introduction is something you often skip through but thankfully you didn’t do that with this one.

The four families who inherited great power were Kim, Jung, Min and Jeon. When you first read the story introduction you thought that it’s quite lame and generic to base the family's attributes on the four seasons. However, seeing one of the duke’s illustrations you decided to read it all.

When choosing a book to read you only pay attention to the hotties. In this case, it wasn’t any different either.

A mysterious and cold duke of the north is something that a girl cannot ignore to save her life.

Each duke possesses an artefact which comes in the form of a ring and different precious gemstones that fit into the depression are named after the four seasons using a dead language.

Nix - means snow, which makes the wearer the lord of winter. The most handsome guy throughout the entire book in your opinion. Next, Saltus - translates to forest which is the symbol of spring. Umbra is shade and Calor is heat. The last remaining ones are autumn and summer. Each duke is the epitome of beauty, and their descendants are no exception.

This is a fantasy romance novel you read before you died in a sudden hit and run accident.

The original story is about an orphan girl Hyo who is the lost daughter of the king. After she’s found – the plot starts as she meets the four archdukes at the annual imperial ball and falls in love with the lord of Spring. Kim Taehyung. A handsome man with good manners and unmatched beauty as he’s described in the book. She’s captured by one look of the male lead’s brown eyes and shiny blond curly hair. Despite their fairytale-like first meeting, their love is not exempt from hardships. Their first obstacle is the villainess Kim Y/N who falls in love with Taehyung at first sight at the same ball and sets her eyes on marrying him but in the end, she fails to murder Hyo and gets beheaded by the second male lead Min Yoongi as an imperial order.

Hyo and Taehyung then live happily ever after and the novel ‘Flowers bloom in the heart of the Lost Princess’ ends there.

You see, dying a second time is not an option even if the one you possessed is Y/N.

You need to make an elaborate plan so you can avoid your impending death by the hands of your favourite character so you can’t just sit around and wait for something to happen – no matter how distraught you wake up one day in an unfamiliar bed.

Even though there’s no chance you will fall in love with the Duke of Spring like in the original novel – things can still go wrong if you make changes in the natural flow of the story, so you need to think this through carefully. You need to think about the plot holes and that the characters you see can be different from what you read in the book as that only tells you one side of the story.

The first thing you need to change gradually is the way the servants and the Duke see you.

The first week when you reincarnated as Y/N you spent your days with a high fever bedridden, you’re not sure if the pain came from the strain of absorbing the real Y/N’s memories or if something else is behind it. Your health is very poor as your medical history suggested, but you get accustomed to the villainess' body step by step. After another week your probation ended so you were able to leave the estate freely again. There were days when sudden headaches interrupted your day and, in the morning, you often coughed up blood.

You ignored it at first because the symptoms seemed to get better with time, and you had no way of knowing if it was normal. You didn’t ask in case someone found it suspicious. The most important thing right now is that you need to focus on staying alive and avoiding your death at the end of this novel – this is what you thought without knowing anything at that time.

As the plot thickens when you least expect it.

It’s not just your weird health conditions your head hurts just from thinking about the actions of the real owner of this body.

You just can’t grasp why a beautiful woman like Y/N would do those cruel things when she has everything she could’ve asked for. She’s a rich girl born with a golden spoon in her mouth, and she gets crazy just because she can’t have a man. It feels unnatural. If someone asks you to choose between life and a man you would choose life without hesitation.

You can have another man but not another life. Er, well – in your case, you do get another one thought but that’s beside the point.

Even before that incident happened with the female lead, she had a terrible reputation among the nobles.

Well – you can’t do anything if you’re not well rested so you will just think about this a bit later. You can’t possibly pull another all-nighter to study how this novel works. You close your eyes to finally get some shut eye when some woman barges into your room without knocking forcefully parting your curtains to let the early rays of sunshine in. The sound of her voice makes you freeze. This uncomfortable feeling suddenly ripped through your body as if a pile of rocks were sitting on your chest not letting you breathe. While you gained some of Y/N’s memories there are still holes in those fragments that you’re unsure of. However, her feelings are so intense sometimes that your body reacts like clockwork.

What you feel after hearing her voice is sheer terror. Who is this woman that even a villainess like Y/N is even afraid of? You can’t open your eyes as if your body is doing it unconsciously, unmoving like a doll to protect itself. Someone is coming closer.

You feel a prick on your forearm and your eyes fly open due to the pain. Her name appears in your mind as soon as you see her face and some of Y/N’s memories flood your head regarding that nasty woman. She triggers something dark in your eyes to appear.

Your nanny, Biwon.

“Wake up. Are you planning to sleep till the afternoon?” Biwon lets out a fake troubled sigh and her eyes are full of arrogance when you meet them you freeze completely at the sight.

“I’m sorry nanny.” Your mouth moves on its own like a broken record. It feels like this is not the first time she wakes Y/N up with a prick of a needle and the apology comes to her like second nature. Y/N’s attitude shows all kinds of trauma of being abused. How is it that this was never mentioned in the novel? While not much was mentioned about how she grew up you would think this is a piece of important information to have.

“Wash your face the duke requested to have breakfast with you for some reason.” She left without giving you any kind of assistance like a maid should do. At last, the water in the basin is ice cold to the touch and murky it manages to wake you up completely from shock.

You’re not just imagining it. Biwon has complete power over Y/N even though she’s the lady of the house.

You knew that the other maids avoided Y/N because of her temperament but to think that she’s been through manipulation and abuse by someone so close to her. Because Biwon is the one who spent the most time next to Y/N ever since she was a child everyone buys her lies. No one pays attention to Y/N, not her father or her brother.

She has no one to rely on in this household.

Biwon deliberately made her isolated in her own home so she could control and exploit her. Her malicious plan is clear to you after observing the situation objectively. What else is there that was not mentioned in the novel? Things might be more complicated than you thought.

However, this is not the time to ponder over this. You need to get ready alone. It didn’t take you long to realise Biwon forbids the maids from helping you so you can embarrass yourself in front of your family. While the real Y/N would have problems with getting dressed and being presentable without help as she’s a noble – there’s one tiny fault in your nanny’s plan – that she has no idea that you’re a modern woman who can wear her own fucking dress and get ready all by herself. She has a lot of extravagant dresses, so you had a hard time choosing but then something caught your eye. This dress has been buried deep in your wardrobe, a solid light cream-coloured dress with an elegant bow in the front. This is the perfect dress.

You do light makeup to match the dress and leave your long hair down after brushing it. While you were getting dressed you saw the countless bruises on your skin and your right arm was full of holes from the needle your nanny used to stab you with to wake you up. It’s good that the dress is long-sleeved. There’s no way the maids don’t know about your abuse since they bathe you. So, your guess is they are either the nanny’s people or they just simply don’t care enough to tell the duke. It’s clear the duke doesn’t care about Y/N so it wouldn’t benefit them to tell him when they could face the wrath of your nanny if she finds out. They think he wouldn’t do anything about it, and you think so too.

You feel compassion for Y/N. She was made to be a villain even if it doesn’t excuse her actions in the end. It’s only been two weeks for you, but she had to endure this for a lifetime.

You’re determined to change her future even more now that you know the truth. You’re going to live for her as well.

Opening the door to your room you find a maid waiting for you to lead you to the dining room as per the duke’s request. She looks taken aback by your neat appearance but doesn’t say anything and just shows you the way.

She dares to walk ahead of you. Even if you want to give her a piece of your mind you hold yourself back, you can’t afford to create a ruckus and be sent back to probation. It’s not that you care about who walks in front of you it’s the meaning of this action that angers you.

You hold back by creating a fist the pain of your nails digging into your palms in half-moon shapes keeps your head clear and controls your bubbling rage. You’re going to show everyone how Y/N won’t bow down anymore. You’re not a doormat that everyone can just walk over.

You’re not going to let everyone disrespect you ever again but to achieve that you need to make a plan and be more patient.

First thing first you need to make the duke care about you to an extent so he will listen to you. Good thing that you know the novel. You might be able to use that information to get what you want. You’re not going to make him like you, you just need to be useful for him to look at you. You’re not sure he would be even capable of liking you in the first place – not that you would want that after he neglected Y/N like that. Talk about loving family, this is just another example of being blood-related sometimes does not matter.

It's not like he’s your real dad anyway.

The dining room is just as fancy as the rest of the mansion. By the time you arrive the duke and your brother are already seated and chatting. The duke is sitting at the head of the table and Seokjin is sitting on his right.

Your tableware is set away from them probably a scheme made by your nanny to keep you isolated.

She must be afraid of why the duke suddenly wanted to dine with you when he usually never bothers to see you. You can’t let this golden opportunity pass like that. You’re going to make the most of it.

“Good morning, Father, Brother. Sorry for being late.” You give them a little courtesy. You’re careful to get your posture nice and graceful like you read in the etiquette book. The nanny purposefully discouraged the young Y/N to skip classes and remain a dumb doll for her to exploit but you’re not going to let her continue to do that.

While your posture is not perfect this will at least show that you’re trying to be as polite as possible.

You stayed up all night for an entire week to study about this new world’s etiquette and history to play your part more convincingly who knew that your knowledge would come in handy in a situation like this? You’re thankful that you decided to study even before you realised the nanny’s schemes.

You school your features to remain passive as you look at the grand duke’s and your brother’s dumb expressive faces. It looks like they are seeing a ghost. Even though you’re annoyed to be bent like that you keep the position until you receive the acknowledgement like a lady should. How annoying that you must bow like that until you are recognised by a man.

“It’s alright. Sit down, Y/N.” The duke gives you a curt nod seemingly flustered that he stared at you for so long. You remind him of his late wife a lot dressed like that. To everyone’s biggest surprise, you take a seat directly on his left side facing your brother.

You remain silent in your seat knowing that the duke’s pride will take a hit if he doesn’t correct the mistake that he didn’t even notice until you sat down. Usually, they wouldn’t care if you sit far away, they would probably think that you were the one who wanted the seat away from them in the first place as a sign of defiance but they can’t deny that you’re the lady of the house so to assume you would sit far away is an arrogant mistake on the servants part.

“What are you waiting for give my daughter a set and bring the food.” Thankfully the duke is just like you expected. He looks annoyed at the servants. His authority is absolute so the maids scurry to bring you some new tableware and bring out the food. The lonely set is forgotten at the rear end of the table. This is the first time you see something so mouthwatering in a while since you were forced to eat in your room and the food, they brought you was not even close to this. Now that you think about it, it was probably some leftover from the kitchen. No wonder Y/N is this thin.

It probably wasn’t even part of her punishment so someone must be stealing the food that is made for Y/N.

It’s hard to control your expression or your body language that is burned into your body by nature. You’re feeling uncomfortable all over that you can’t enjoy the food at all. It’s sad to see how rigid you are in the presence of your supposed family members. You don’t have any appetite even though you feel like you’re starving.

“How are things with Gold Wing? Did you manage to get them to agree with our terms?”

The Gold Wing is under the jurisdiction of the House of Summer. The old man Jung Jeyhun is a greedy man who keeps delaying his son’s succession because he wants to keep his title as an archduke. He’s the hidden boss of this novel. Y/N can’t compare with an evil villain like him. There’s probably no one else who knows he’s backing that trading company. You’re an exception only because you read the novel and know everything about how he wants to be the sole ruler of the Empire. He’s behind many unfortunate events that happen in the novel that no one finds out about until it’s too late.

“No. They’re trying to sell their stones for double the price. Knowing that none of the other companies have that much supply since they bought the rights to the mines.” Your brother looks irritated as if he recalls the meeting with the head of the company vividly.

No wonder they are cocky, they have the backing of House Summer, and they cheated the other rival companies out of the right to produce this type of stone that’s particularly high priced in the first section of the book. This stone is called Stelar which is steel but it’s a novel, so they had to give it a fancy name. Swords here are mainly made from two important ingredients iron or steel, but steel has a longer durability and is easy to craft to different shapes, so they tend to use that instead of iron which is way cheaper because of this fact. The knights used swords made with Stelar but because of the high price, it was hard to come by after the Gold Wing trading company monopolized the rights.

Their goal is to weaken the other three houses’ military power by selling the stones at a high price and getting funds for their territory but it’s not the only reason. The swords they sell are not simply made of Stelar. Steel is an alloy of iron. Iron needs to be mixed with carbon to make steel. They use some steel and put more iron to degrade the quality of the sword which breaks more easily than it should. You remember learning of it in school in your previous life, but these people don’t know of it because the novel has plot holes here and there. Since the novel focuses on the main characters things that are not related to them too much have more freedom to change, and things may differ as the author cannot mention every little thing. This could be what you need to make changes.

The truth that they tempered with the swords that got imported only comes to light when Yoongi investigates the company when he almost loses the battle with the barbarians but that battle only happens when you reach nearly half of the novel. He could tell that there was a difference in quality when he saw the sword break too easily. He made an assumption just by that and the fact that the new sword became heavier due to the added mass of iron.

Even if you feel bad for taking credit for his discovery you need to use that information, he finds out later so you can survive in this household.

“May I speak up, father?” You heard enough to grasp the current situation. You need to speak up before you lose your courage.

“What can you even contribute to this conversation?” Your brother looks angry that he got interrupted. In your eyes he’s not scary he’s just a big child throwing a tantrum when things don’t go his way. You decide to calmly face him even if you have to hide your nervousness by clasping your hands together under the table for comfort. Still can’t control the original Y/N’s physical reactions.

“I don’t think I asked brother.”

The duke raises his hand to silence Jin before he can spit out angrier remarks. The moment you appeared and gracefully bowed wearing your mother’s dress the duke could tell that something about you just became different. The air around you is filled with determination.

He got reports of you acting unusually tame so he asked you to dine together and see it for himself.

Your eyes that only reflected the world around it suddenly became full of will to live.

He’s curious to hear what you have to say. Usually, you wouldn’t speak unless you were spoken to. “Do you perhaps have a good idea of how to deal with them?” He proposes fully giving you his attention.

“The problem is that we don’t have Stelar to make swords for the knights, right? I suggest we find a mine suitable to harvest the stones we need that way we don’t have to depend on the trading company.”

“Are you a fool? Do you think if we could produce it, we would continue to make this ridiculous deal work?” You’re getting tired of your brother always cutting in. You can’t get angry though. The first thing you need to change is how people see you and you can’t get angry because the people around you will call you a temperamental child even if your anger is justified. They wouldn’t care either way they just want to belittle you. You just need to not allow them to do so.

“We have a place like that in our territory that could be suitable. I can mark it on a map if you’d like.” Even though the duke might be suspicious of how you know of a place like that he will investigate either way. This deal is too good to pass up on.

In hopes of discovering a new mine, he will even accept the flimsy lie of you just discovered it by reading some book and looking at maps.

“Alright. I will instruct the knights to check it out. If what you said is true, I will reward you.” You nod your head pleased with the outcome of this uncomfortable breakfast.

In the novel the imperial prince comes across the mine in your territory when he’s running away from assassins and due to his discovery, he gets praised by the king for solving a big problem. However, if you find the mine first that puts you in a favourable position with the other houses and even the king if you give the stones at a lower price making the Gold Wing trading company lose its base customers by making better deals.

Thankfully that painful breakfast comes to an end soon as father’s aid whispers something into his ear. He leaves in a hurry which makes you think it’s about something important and work-related.

Your brother leaves without saying a word so you can finally enjoy your food alone.

Ever since you came to this place you’ve never been this full before, it puts you in a fairly good mood. You even managed to grab the duke’s attention and for once got something more filling than stale bread.

All you need to do is wait until the mine is discovered and now that one thing is out of the way you need to start with disciplining your maids and get your nanny kicked out. Biwon had a good life here up to this point because now that you’re here you will make it a living hell for her, and that’s a promise.

“What did you talk about with the duke?” You’re not surprised to find your nanny in your room when you get back. She looks anxious you can see how her nails are bitten and she slightly thumps her foot. You got back early so if you tell her some half-truths, she won’t suspect you that much.

“He didn’t talk to me at all. He only talked with my brother about work that I don’t understand. I don’t know why they keep ignoring me. You’re the only one who cares about me, nanny.” Good thing that the maids left after serving the meal, you would be in trouble if someone overheard you and you were caught lying. You bury your head in her apron to conceal your disgusted expression when she caresses your head.

You need to act like usual, so she won’t suspect a thing. If her guard is down, it will be easier for you to make your move.

You can easily produce some fake tears for the greater good.

“That’s right, only I care about you. Who else would love a useless child like you.” You bite your tongue to hold back when Biwon hugs you. You agree with her even if you want to break her arms that hugs you like a shameless person.

Biwon doesn’t use needles on you again to erase her marks since you started to dine with the duke. Thankfully she doesn’t realise what you’re planning.

The mine you talked about last time turned out to be true and the duke was very happy to get back at the Gold Wing trading company. He started to make a profit thanks to you, and he even listened to your suggestion of lowering the price to sell it to the other houses. Developing the mining ground consumes a lot of money at the moment but the profit will be greater than ever if it’s finished. You asked to have dinner with them every day as a reward which made him look surprised. He reluctantly agreed when you asked to make your contribution a secret for now you can’t let your nanny hear about it just yet. The duke probably thought he would buy you some clothes and accessories and you will be all set. Unfortunately for them, you don’t care about luxuries especially if it comes from them.

While you would prefer to not eat with them you need to show the staff that you’re indeed the lady of the house. Now they are giving you the bare minimum of respect after the maid got scolded by your father after the tableware incident.

You didn’t think Jin would come after you excused yourself from the meal. Right when you leave the dining room your brother appears halting you in your step and grabbing your hand forcefully to stop you in your tracks.

“Where are you going in a hurry so dressed up?” Your wrist throbs in his hold. That bastard how could he grab the hand of his sister so hard? Compared to him your body is so small you look like a child next to him. You’re not surprised since you were malnourished before. You’re sure it will bruise badly but you refuse to show him that he’s hurting you.

“I believe it’s none of my brother’s business where I go in my free time.” You look into his eyes with confidence. Y/N was always longing for her brother’s love but you’re not the real Y/N and you will never consider him your brother, so his attitude doesn’t bother you at all emotionally. He simply became a person you’re forced to live with and tolerate for now.

If everything is over you will cut ties with them for good.

“You’ve been acting weird ever since your probation. If this is your way of seeking attention from father or I, that will never happen no matter what you’re scheming.”

Using the moment of his surprise you get out of his hold and get farther away from him. Your smile says it all. ‘I don’t consider you a brother so go to hell’. You’re getting angry but you refuse to show him any reaction even if you can’t exactly control the fire in your eyes.

“You don’t have to be afraid of that. I don’t consider people who neglect and belittle me my family at all. I don’t need your love or attention anymore.” You show him your back confidently as you walk away from his frozen form.

“Gaon prepare some indigestion medicine for me. Is the carriage ready?” Jin catches your voice talking to your maid still frozen on the spot you left him.

Your eyes looked different. When you were young you used to beg for his affection always clinging to him but now. Why does it look like you despise him and why does it bother him?

He never felt anything for you for a very long time.

“Yes, my lady everything is like you instructed.” You nod satisfied by the way things progress.

Now there’s only one thing left to do.

You’re on your way to meet with the head of the blacks information guild. The only one who could top the Gold Wing trading company by power would be them. The blacks is one of the largest information-selling guilds – trading only to deceive people and hide the fact that they know everything that can be known throughout the empire.

They have men everywhere. The head is conveniently the second young master of house Autumn who currently stays in House Summer territory. Jeon Jungkook is clever enough to know that information is the most important thing to have the upper hand this is how he was able to survive the battle for succession.

It will be probably dangerous to meet him but you will have to take this gamble on if you want things to work out you need the backing of the most powerful guild in the empire.

Convenient that the duke doesn’t care about Y/N’s safety so you don’t need to play hide and seek with the guards you can do your business without getting interrupted. If you say you don’t need an escort, they back off immediately and let you leave.

Following the novel’s description, you look for a house with a red chimney and a black door away from the main streets. Once you find it you have to knock two then three times until someone asks, “Are you lost?” and you have to reply with “Yes can you tell me where can I find black paint?” - and you’re in.

It’s only a select few that know about this code so Jungkook will be suspicious of how a lady with a bad reputation knows about it, but you came to make a deal that he can’t refuse. You can talk around the fact of how you know about their secret entrance.

As you expected Jungkook came himself to greet you, you could recognise that brown hair and emerald eyes anywhere.

“Please have a seat. I prepared some tea.” His smile is pleasant but calculating. His intentions are clear unlike when you talk to your blood relatives, so you’re surprisingly relaxed in his presence. Jungkook is intrigued by your body language. Usually, people are distrustful of him because of his mask. Your eyes tell him that you know more than you look.

“I have a request to make. I would like to know what this liquid is and any information that you can get on it or the bottle.” Jungkook is said to like straightforward people, so you try to be confident.

Jungkook laughs seeing your confidence. You exceed his expectations he heard that you’re stupid and extravagant with a bad temper, but it seems like his information is outdated. That needs to change he smirks.

He gives you credit for realising he wields information. Usually, people come to his guild to do business. Not many know that the purpose of the blacks is different.

“How much will you pay me for the information?”

“I heard I can pay with information for information. I have something important to tell you anyway.”

“Oh.” People rarely have any information that he doesn’t already know but you look so confident that he has to humour you. “Please enlighten me.” Taking a relaxed laid-back pose he awaits your answer.

“The head of the Gold Wing trading company is the current Duke of House Summer and he has a spy in your guild.” The only reason the blacks are not at the top is because of the upper hand they gain from the spy. No one would suspect that Jungkook’s right-hand man is a spy. He causes the guild’s destruction near the end of the novel. Heartbroken from the betrayal Jungkook is stabbed by him in the end.

Jungkook grips the side of the sofa after hearing your daring words until the wood slightly splits. He doesn’t usually trust people so to think that someone betrayed him feels impossible.

“I’m not saying that without evidence. There’s a tree in the back looking directly at the alleyway if you dig the dirt near the roots, you will find a letter with a coded message it was placed there this afternoon so you have to look for it before sunrise. I swear on my life that if I lie to you, you have the right to kill me.” The only way he will believe you is if you match the sacrifice for your accusation. Your life is on the line, but you know you’re right.

Or that you hope it’s the same as in the novel.

Jungkook instructs one of his men to look for the tree. He visibly pales when he sees the man come back with a dirty envelope. He reads the letter with a face of indifference, but you know he is furious deep inside and somewhat sad. Trust is not easily given away by him.

“Who— ” Jungkook closes his eyes to compose himself. “Who is the spy?” He appears distraught which is normal considering the fact you just dumped on him suddenly.

You hesitate for a moment. You know this information will hurt him, but he is entitled to the truth – and you do this to save his life in the end. “It’s Sam.”

You can tell it hit him hard but you don’t think he doesn’t believe you. He might get angry and it’s really not your place to intervene. However, you know this feeling very well. Being betrayed by someone you trusted. If nothing else you can sympathise with that feeling.

“Please excuse my rudeness.” You tell before you impulsively side-hug him. He’s so surprised by your embrace that he doesn’t try to push you away immediately. You’re so warm and your hand is comforting on his back. He doesn’t know you, but it feels like you understand him to some extent.

He closes his eyes and lets this moment pass by. Hidden from prying eyes it’s just – you and him for this moment.

At last, he composes himself and accepts your request. He even gives you a pendant that’s only given to the highest-ranking customers saying that your information is worth that much.

It’s a pretty pendant with a black snake on it. Looks like a masterpiece.

Thankfully nothing out of the ordinary happened while you were out. You were able to enjoy some snacks when you got back in peace as your nanny was on vacation.

You need to make your move while Biwon is away your plan needs to be done by the time she gets back. Thanks to the blacks information guild – you were able to identify the liquid your nanny made you drink every day — you only had to wait two days to hear from them.

Your discovery is enraging and liberating at the same time.

It helped you put the pieces together and even gave you an advantage to work with. To finally know the full truth of what happened to Kim Y/N. This could be a good explanation for why you couldn’t access all her memories or why some things become hazy the longer you thought about it.

Life was way too cruel for a girl like Y/N.

Now that you’ve set up the stage you just need to wait for the protagonists to arrive.

Biwon seems relaxed after her vacation; she probably enjoyed a luxurious life out of the jewellery she stole from you. You’re getting sick just from seeing her smile. It must have felt good to be able to look down on a noble lady and make Y/N cater to her all this time, exploiting a poor young lady. To think that all those rumours come from her to isolate and degrade her. She should smile while she can you think smirking through the rim of your cup.

Now’s showtime.

The taste of tea is familiar in your mouth. Due to double the dose of the liquid she made you drink each morning the symptoms came earlier than you anticipated. Suddenly getting on the drug after you stopped taking it is a huge risk, but you need to prove her involvement in the crime.

You didn’t think it would hurt this much though. Your head clouded over soon, and your body collapsed on the floor in tremor.

Gaon called the doctor immediately as you instructed and while you were getting examined your other trusted maid planted the evidence in your nanny’s room. It didn’t take long to see Biwon try to escape your trap, but it was too late when the knights found the medicine bottle.

She had nowhere to run to.

You regained consciousness but it was hard for you to open your eyes yet. The pain you felt in your abdomen felt unbearable, but you need to see this through till the end.

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice this. To tell the truth, the lady came to me often to ask for headache medicine.” You could feel the worry in the doctor’s voice. You feel bad for suspecting him at first. He might be the only one to actually care for Y/N in this forsaken house.

“This drug is called blackroot it’s made from a rare flower that was used in a war experiment in the past. The characteristic of the flower is that it can manipulate the mind – it makes the user unable to control their temper and creates hazy thoughts. While it works as a brainwashing technique it has all kinds of side effects such as explosive temper, haziness, headaches, loss of appetite and memory loss. The longer someone takes it the more fragile that person will become.”

No wonder Y/N is this thin. When you first heard about this drug you felt incredibly furious to make her take such a dangerous drug just because Biwon was greedy for things she couldn’t have.

Once the dizziness subsided you were able to open your eyes it seemed like the medicine the doctor gave you had some effect. The pain is still there but your head is clearer.

“I- didn’t do this! I was framed!” Biwon begs on her knees in front of the duke and young master but seeing their reactions no one actually buys that half-hearted accusation. Serves her right.

You made sure to get solid evidence of her crime.

You’re able to sit up thanks to Gaon’s help and you look down upon your nanny with a hard expression.

You cannot believe this is finally over.

Now no one will dare to take advantage of you after this incident comes to light. It won’t make your reputation restored to how it was before but at least it will provide you with a good opportunity to show the people around you that you’re different without having to fear someone figuring out you’re not the real Y/N.

“Have the witnesses come forward.” The maid who is questioned is shaking like a leaf in front of the duke.

“Who served Y/N tea?” Jin comes forward to interrogate the maids. For some reason, he looks livid. It’s probably because of their pride. How dare they manipulate the duke’s daughter a mere maid. – they probably think like that.

“The nanny always prepares the tea for the lady in the morning. No one was allowed to touch it I swear I didn’t know that the lady’s tea had blackroot in it.”

“That’s right, we were never allowed to serve her tea or be present when she made it we would be only called when the lady was about to get dressed.” If they were present at all you think for yourself as you roll your eyes.

“N- No! That…” Biwon looks around like a cornered animal. It’s nothing compared to what you’ve been through. No, you promised the real Y/N that you would not let her go so easily.

“I’ve heard enough. Drag her to the underground dungeon.” After hearing the duke’s command, the knights drag Biwon out of the room. Finally, some quiet. Your head is killing you.

“Everyone leave, now. My daughter needs to rest.” As if seeing it on you that you’re nearly at your limits the grand duke instructs everyone to let you be.

Everyone leaves except for one person. Jin looks torn as he contemplates what to say to his sister.

You know the reason why Jin treated Y/N with contempt is because of that incident in the past. Y/N mad because of withdrawal symptoms from the drug called him a monster. She told him that because of him their mother died, and she even threw a teacup in his face that made him bleed. In reality, she partially blamed him for being forgotten and emotionally abused. After that Jin ignored her altogether. While saying those things are hash and not justified because of the drugs the behaviour of her brother is not something that you can overlook either. There’s no clear line to determine what’s right or wrong. You can’t simply judge if someone deserves forgiveness as it entirely depends on the person who’s granting it.

There are no right or wrong answers.

Their relationship was probably a bad fate. You’re not his sister so you have no intention of making up with him even though he’s wearing that pitiful expression. You feel bad for Y/N but you’re not going to live as her shadow forever. Once this story ends you will leave this kingdom and live as yourself. To make that happen you need to keep your relationship with Y/N’s family distant just like before so you could leave without problems in the future.

“How are you feeling?” Y/N has memories of when her brother spoke to her softly like this. Too bad it’s too late for Y/N to see this. You pull your hand away when he tries to hold it.

“This doesn’t change a thing between you and me. I would appreciate it if you could ignore me like before.” You turn away not inclined to see that pitiful expression on his face anymore.

Thankfully he leaves without a fuss this time.

Things are only growing more awkward as time passes. You made the suggestion of dining with them every day to avoid being punished by Biwon, but it comes back to bite you in the ass now that she’s gone, and no one dares to bother you anymore. You ignore the looks of pity you receive from the staff. They were the ones who ignored and badmouthed you. They have no right to take pity on you at all.

Those who did not try to see the truth don’t deserve to feel regretful.

It's annoying to see the duke and your brother try to get closer to you. They have no idea what Y/N had to go through while they were living in their blissful ignorance.

You wonder if things would have been different if she had been born as a boy in this period. Women are often ill-fated. How tragic.

“Your birthday is coming up in a few months. Do you have something in mind about how you want the celebration banquette?” Your fork freezes in the air when the duke calls you.

While you don’t want a party it would be good to build your reputation. You have no choice but to have one.

“I’ll prepare for it. Thank you for your concern.” You keep your eyes on the food. After taking that double dose your appetite seems to be worse than before. You need to gain some weight, you’re too thin as it is.

“Don’t worry about the budget just prepare how you like.” You’re getting dizzy this is getting bad you overestimated and thought some rest was all you needed. You need to take better care of yourself if you want to beat the final boss of the story. This is about time you meet with your favourite character as well. You need to look your best even if he only glances at you for a second. You’re getting excited just thinking about him.

“Alright. Excuse me I’m full.” You step away from the table to leave and prepare for the upcoming events when you lose your sight for a moment. Thankfully the head butler catches you in time that you’re not faceplanting the floor this moment.

“I’m fine. Thank you.” You push the old man away with reddened ears. This is so embarrassing.

“I’ll carry you to your room.” Your hand automatically holds onto your brother when he suddenly picks you up, to keep your balance. Now you’re really getting tired of their sudden act of affection.

“I said. I’m fine.” You pursue your lips in a frown when he keeps ignoring you to let you down.

“You can hate me all you want. I deserve it but I’m not letting you down.” You’re speechless. At least he knows. It doesn’t matter if he has regrets now that you solved everything.

If it weren’t for your effort and sacrifice things would have been left alone and you would be still suffering without anyone to rely on at the hands of your greedy nanny.

They can feel guilty all they want; it doesn’t change a thing. If anything, you’re feeling angrier about how they think they have the right to make things right after everything that has happened.

It’s bothersome.

“It won’t change anything. No matter how hard you try I’ll never consider you as family again. Not after you and father abandoned me. You don’t know anything about me or how much I suffered. If you didn’t care then don’t care now.” It’s probably hard to hear and somewhat you feel guilty for saying that since you don’t know what Y/N would have wanted but this is how you feel.

You’re torn about what you should do.

This is supposed to be your home when you feel the safest.

However, you can’t remember a single good memory or a time when you felt relaxed in this place. It just makes you sad.

“I understand.” His hand around you tightens just a tiny bit before he relaxes his posture and the hands that hold you gently. At least he’s not trying to come up with excuses. He knows fully well that what you told him was the truth. They have no idea how much you had to suffer since they kept ignoring you. His heart is getting heavy when he realises how light his sister feels in his arms. A woman in her twenties should weight a lot more than this. He’s carrying you with care and gently places you on top of your bed. You have no intention of getting closer to him, but it’s been bothering you for a while ever since you saw that memory. You feel like they don’t deserve your kindness. You wonder if Y/N would be forgiving. If she would be able to embrace them and trust them again. You know you can’t.

“You’re not a monster and I’m sorry for saying that so stop thinking about useless things.” You impulsively grab his hand before he can leave. This is all you can give him as an apology – you know Y/N probably would have wanted him to hear that at least. Something wavers in his eyes. You didn’t think such a small gesture would make him cry. Now that you think about it probably no one said such words to him before. His biggest fear. From an early age, he always heard that his mother died because of him. It shouldn’t be a small child’s fault. It makes you feel like this whole family is just unfortunate.

“I’m sorry Y/N.” Jin holds your hand with shaking fingers. You can clearly feel his tears fall as he pushes his face into your palm seeking some comfort. You don’t know how but you can feel that this apology is sincere. You don’t have the heart to push him away this time.

Just this once you will allow it.

“The captain of the imperial guards shouldn’t cry like this.” You pat his head while he cries. Seeing such a powerful figure crying into your skirt on his knees feels weird.

He hadn’t left for a while and even when he did, he looked reluctant. You could tell what he was thinking without having to hear him say it. He’s afraid that the next time you see him you will push him away and avoid him. Your hand on his head and your words comforted him. He’s the one who did wrong but, in the end, you helped him instead deal with his biggest fear a little better.

He realises that he doesn’t deserve such a good sister as you.

His sudden resolve and earnest eyes make you bite your lips in worry. You know it won’t be good when he suddenly turns around with fiery passion. “I, Kim Seokjin give my oath to Kim Y/N that I will protect you for as long as I live. If I break my promise, I’m willing to die a miserable death.” This is your first time seeing someone give their knight’s oath. His hands are elegantly placed over his heart in a kneeling position and his eyes are fierce and honest. Stupid brother, you’re not the one he should give his oath to!

That was not your intention to make him so motivated. You should really learn how to ignore things in the future if you want to avoid bothersome situations like this. It’s not like you can reject him now either.

After he finally left because of work called you collapsed on your bed.

You can’t believe he gives you the knight’s oath instead of the female lead. He’s supposed to fall in love with her and be the miserable second male lead. You expect that things will be different if you change your destiny, but such drastic changes make you anxious for the future development of the plot.

Thankfully your favourite character was not caught up in the love triangle since his territory is the farthest away from the capital. He doesn’t frequent gatherings because of his inability to fully control his powers, and he has a bad reputation overall because of his war achievements and fearful power. Throughout the novel, he is described as someone who doesn’t care about women and is only fixed to find a way to control his abilities.

Min Yoongi you can’t wait to see him at the upcoming hunting festival.

Everything becomes normal and quiet.

Your daily life is better except for the torturous dinners with your family. Thankfully Jin is busy with imperial work and your father manages his new business and duties as a duke, so you don’t have to run into them too much inside the house.

In two or three days you make a trip to see Jungkook and get useful information and sometimes chat over some tea.

What’s next on your list is to gather personal intel on people who will attend the hunting festival. The fact that this is organised by the Duke of Summer is making you anxious. You remember some crazy shit happen around that time and his main target will be your favourite character. Min Yoongi.

Trying not to look too obsessed with a man you’ve never met before you decided to look over his information last.

There’s not much that could be gathered on him (even by a professional information broker as the North keeps their gates locked skin-tight) in the first place the info that your eyes skim through is less than you expected even with the additional stuff that you know because of the novel is limited mostly to his childhood and main events which is not much at all.

He wasn’t present in all the episodes but when he’s involved – well, things were never good.

You don’t know all the archduke’s special abilities which is a concern. You know Min Yoongi can read minds. The limitation to his power is that he has to touch the person to hear all the thoughts but with malicious intent, it doesn’t even need that.

It makes him the second most powerful ability user since he can detect lies and see one’s true self. Someone has to be well aware of his ability to hide something from him.

His special skill is to tell what the other person is thinking good or bad but that means that he could hardly hear his own thoughts. The world is never silent for his ears and that has its consequences. What little is known of them in the outside world is that all the Min descendants had gone mad at some point in their lives and chose to kill themselves when there was another person that could take over the Ducey or their son became of age if they were lucky to hold on until then. Min Yoongi’s tragic childhood is summarised in a few sad lines in the novel it was not overly detailed, but you remember feeling sad.

Whilst your survival is the priority you want to change Yoongi’s fate as well if it’s possible. Even if he’s not going to madly fall in love with you. You want him to have a happy life and not end as tragically as in the novel. You liked his character a lot. Even when he was faced with such hardships, he never gave up he would never succumb to the same fate as his father, and he held on until the last moment of his life.

You admired his determination to live.

You want to do the same with your second chance and hold on until the last moment trying to change your fate.

Who knows maybe you could overcome it together.

So many scenarios run through your head imagining how you will greet him when you finally meet him, what you will say to him. All of those restless nights couldn’t have been wrong when you’re finally faced with him. None of them could get you ready for that hard cold stare that he shows you.

You practically burst open the carriage door after the chaperone states that you’ve arrived.

Being in the same space as your brother and father acting all cute and considerate for almost four full hours made you want to let the ground swallow you whole and never want to see the sun again.

This is when you first make eye contact with him – or so you think. His eyes visibly slip over your face as if he’s not even seeing you just looking through you like you’re one tree of the dozens curving the landscape. It hurts your pride a lot to be invisible to your favourite character, but you gulp it down and hold your head high when you exit the carriage.

You knew it well that he was that type of person, but it didn’t mean it still did not hurt you to see it with your own eyes. There’s one thing to say he’s not interested in women but in reality, it felt like he’s not into humans – not just women. Hearing everyone’s thoughts might be a reason why he would be so over humans that he doesn’t even want to acknowledge them but damn.

Now that you see him and not just read about him you can tell two things already. One, he’s crazy handsome. The lines that describe how good-looking he is does not give him justice. Two, the lines in the novel are too tame to describe how much he loathes to see and interact with anyone. It’s almost comical how disgust is written all over his face when he has to shake hands with nobles or greet the young ladies.

That face still has many admirers even when his expression is a permanent frown all the time. Most likely to his greatest disapproval, he’s very popular with the ladies despite his bad reputation.

You can imagine how annoying it must be for him. Forgetting how you felt hurt before you even started to feel bad for him. His circumstances are unique and, in fact, no one knows what he has to deal with every single day. Even though you know you don’t really know what it feels like.

You’re contemplating how to approach him to not get immediately shut down or seem too suspicious when some of the ladies have you locked in a circle. Seeing their arrogant expressions, you could already tell what would happen when they finally opened their mouths.

“What a surprise to see you attend this year. Are you even allowed to be outside yet?”

You grit your teeth and smile at them.

It’s a waste to argue with them and you’re not here to let them bully you. You came here to see your favourite character and they are already dampening your mood.

“The ladies might need to check their eyesight soon. I arrived here with my brother and father so if you have complaints about me being here you could always go to them.” You speak with a permanent smile but there’s nothing friendly in your expression as you cross them leaving the circle of hyenas behind you.

They’re lesser nobles of course they wouldn’t dare complain to them. Your family is powerful after all one of the four most powerful people in the kingdom is your father. They targeted you specifically because you were an easy target so far too dumb to attack them with words like they do, and Y/N's violent temper just served the right purpose to belittle her and make her the most hated woman in high society. You’re not going to give them the chance to humiliate you anymore. They are just extras in a novel.

The thought alone makes you smile. Right. You’re the main villain in this novel but you’re going to turn it into your story so that you can be the main character in your life.

Something that you always wanted to try.

The first day goes by without incident. After the second day of the hunting festival starts the hunting begins and activities for both the ladies and men begin slowly but surely following the original plot of the novel.

Until there’s a big error occurring in the middle. You don’t remember any banquet happening to welcome the most influential families. This could mean that it wasn’t relevant to the main plot to mention, or things changed somehow and now there’s a sudden dinner plan made by someone.

There’s a banquet held for the four archdukes and their families and while you’re thrilled that you’re seated right across from your favourite character you were not expecting him to death glare you right in front of your salad.   

To your best knowledge you haven’t even greeted him yet so why does he look like he wants to murder your entire family? You’re unsure.

At some point, you stop avoiding him and look him in the eye but still, you can’t read his expression at all.  

You feel like you don’t have to emphasise that you couldn’t eat a single thing at that dinner in peace.

You jump when a man approaches you in the empty hallway and when you look at him something clicks in your mind, now that you think about it you can recognise this man from anywhere. He’s Namjoon his right-hand man the only person that he tolerates.

“You scared the living shit out of me.” You’re so surprised that you don’t check your language before it’s already out in the open. Your eyes are wide as you look at the man probably thinking that you’re a weird person. Shit. Now you’ve done it. You tried so hard until now to remain in character and not use slang words or bad language.

Which is hard on their own as you breathe and live with words that end in fuck most likely than not.

The struggles of a modern woman. Haah.

“I mean you should not hide in the shadows like an assassin ready to strike Mr. You scared me.” You try to put the blame on him entirely so he would forget your previous words and it seems to work as he’s quick to apologise and state his business.

“Duke Min would like to speak with you. If you could please follow me, I will lead you to him.” You narrow your eyes after Namjoon finishes his sentence. Him wanting to see you is very weird.

Why?

“Does this have to do with him glaring at me throughout dinner?” You take a step back narrowing your eyes suspiciously at the man. Even though he’s just the messenger you can’t help but ask. You and him being alone after you witnessed his personality might not be the best idea even if he’s still your favourite character. You don’t want to die by his hands either.

“He.. the duke has a difficult personality but he’s not a bad person. I’m sure he’s just interested in the lady.” You can tell that Namjoon really believes that but for some reason you can’t picture him being interested in you. Y/N might be pretty but the duke is not that kind of person to be captivated by something so shallow as that. That has to be a different reason why he wants to talk with you in private and while you’re anxious.

You decide its best to see what he wants.

Also, he’s not someone that anyone can just say no to. He will most likely force you to meet him. It might be your best option to get this over with and see where this conversation goes. If it even goes anywhere. He’s a practical person like that.

You’re anxious and excited at the same time as you follow Namjoon just a step behind.

“Who are you?” You’re perplexed to meet with this type of question. He cornered you without warning, both his hands were caging your hip, your backside digging into the edge of the table.

You’re scared and strangely excited to be this close. Your heart is beating heavily trying to break out from your ribcage.

“Kim Y/N.” You reply dumbly while still trying to process this sudden change in his behaviour and his closeness to you.

You were greeting him first and suddenly you’re completely caged in.

“Kim? Is Duke Kim your father?” You would find his furrowing brows adorable if you weren’t so close to witnessing it. His scent is overpowering your senses, and your faces are just a hair's breadth away from touching – your favourite character makes it hard for you to think straight. Air is caught in your lungs when he holds you by your chin tilting your head up to meet with his eyes.

“Y-Yes.” You’re unsure what he wants to hear from you. From the moment you stepped into his office, he kept questioning you without answering any of yours in return.

“Am I interrupting something?” Both of your gazes turn to face a surprised Kim Namjoon standing by the door. He looks exactly like he just got here and witnessed something weird happening. You can’t blame him for it, you’re surprised as well. Min Yoongi keeps acting weird. He looks somewhat bewitched as he keeps looking between you and Namjoon almost bordering to look crazy in your eyes for a moment.

As if he’s in a deep thought about something mind breaking discovery.

Yoongi didn’t hear his right hand man coming at all but what’s even weirder than that is he can’t hear his thoughts at all.

It all started when he tried to read this woman’s mind throughout the dinner celebration but failed while everyone’s else mind spoke to him clearly. He found it strange for her to be the only exception. As if she has a shield around her mind that doesn’t allow his power to penetrate. The Kim family’s power is to neutralize other powers (everyone is aware of it as the family never tried to hide it) but that can’t be the answer since he could hear their thoughts all the same as you have to be aware of the power you’re trying to block but no one knows that he can read minds.

But now upon making contact with her, he can’t even hear what others are thinking. Which could mean her power is even more rare compared to her family. Everything is quite like it was never before. It’s unsettling but on the other hand, it’s quiet and peaceful.

A realisation draws on him that Kim Y/N might be the key to finally learning to control this power of his that has been plaguing his generation of heirs and forcing them to live a miserable life until they either take their lives or become insane. Her power acts like a tranquillizer almost. Tasting this peaceful silence Yoongi’s hand curves around her waist more protectively. Protective of this silence he’s experiencing for the first time in his life.

He will do anything to keep this woman by his side from now on. He comes to a firm resolution on the spot.

“Be my wife.” To say you feel shocked after hearing that would be an understatement. This is not your usual love confession, and you know it. There’s nothing tender in his words or expression if anything it feels like a business transaction to you.

It’s clear he’s proposing an arranged marriage kind of deal where you both get something out of it but you’re not fond of the idea. In your previous life, you never had a real boyfriend whilst you dated here and there. Someone you could say is the love of your life you never once experienced that feeling, and you don’t want a marriage in your second life without love. You decided to do anything you wanted from now on.

“I’m sorry but I have to refuse your proposal. I won’t marry a man I know is not in love with me and I don’t love him either. This is not something I want.” Too shocked to reply you use that time to get out of his hold and get away before he regains his senses after getting rejected. He probably didn’t think anyone would dare to say no to him as he was aware to be popular with the ladies. This just makes you even more unique as it was anyone else, they would have said yes immediately to an offer like that. Namjoon gets out of your way as you leave, his mouth hanging open still trying to process that the man who notoriously hates women suddenly asked for a lady’s hand in marriage and getting brutally rejected by one at the same time.

The door shuts behind you abruptly and Yoongi massages his temple with his hands trying to figure out what he did wrong for you to storm out like that. Was his proposal not to your liking? What does it even mean to marry the person you love is beyond his comprehension.

[inaris-mage-of-storms]

Farmboy AU Part 5. Jimmy and Scott explore Tumble Town and their growing relationship. Content warning for mild alcohol use and brief nudity/suggestive content.

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Jimmy's grandfather had been right when he told Scott there wasn't much to Tumble Town anymore. Many of the buildings he could see looked abandoned, and even the ones with some movement in and out were falling apart. The train tracks were unfinished and overgrown, and if a station had ever been built, Scott couldn't tell which building it might have been. One of the old buildings had 'BANK' painted across the top in faded letters, but the windows were boarded over and the steps had rotted through.

If he had been on his own Scott would have headed straight for the saloon, but Jimmy spotted the general store and grabbed Scott's hand. "It's huge!" gushed Jimmy, pulling him over to it and peering inside the dusty window. "There's so much stuff in there!"

"Well then, let's take a look around," said Scott, pushing open the door. The man behind the counter barely glanced up from his outdated newspaper when the bell chimed, but he took a second look at Scott's traveler's clothes and narrowed his eyes.

Scott smiled politely and made sure to keep his free hand out of his pocket and well in sight. Jimmy still had a firm grip on the other, tugging Scott around as he looked at dry goods and household items that looked as if they'd sat in the same place for the last ten years. It wasn't anything like the cleaner, better stocked, communal places Scott was used to seeing in other towns, but Jimmy was fascinated by every bag and tin on the shelf and it was some time before Scott managed to coax him back outside.

As they strolled down the main path, the doors to the saloon were thrown open and a man all but fell out. "Go home and sober up, Billy!" shouted a voice from inside. "You act like that to my girls again and I'll save the sheriff some trouble and shoot you myself!"

The man snarled some choice words in the barkeep's direction but stumbled away from the saloon and down the path, right into Scott. "Oh dear. I'm so sorry," said Scott immediately, holding both hands up in a placating gesture. "How clumsy of me. Are you all right?" He smiled as Billy cursed again. "I do apologize. Though I can't say I'm all that disappointed," he said, resting a hand on the man's bicep. "It isn't every day I get to fall into a strong, good-looking fellow like yourself."

Billy looked taken aback a moment before preening at Scott's words. "Well. No harm done I suppose. You new in town?"

Jimmy clenched his jaw at the way the man's eyes swept over Scott, but Scott just tilted his head and smiled up at his target, biting his lower lip. "Oh, just passing through." He ran a hand down Billy's arm. "But I might be tempted to stay a little longer if, say, a handsome gentlemen were to be thinking about buying me a drink tomorrow evening."

"I can, uh, I can do that," said Billy eagerly. "I'll be here. Usually am."

"Then I'll look forward to it," said Scott with a sweet smile, and stepped back. "For now, though, my companion and I have some business to attend to, I'm afraid."

The man tipped his hat clumsily and staggered toward one of the derelict houses, and Jimmy frowned at Scott. "We won't be here tomorrow evening," he said.

Scott smirked and took Jimmy's arm. "I know," he said, leading Jimmy towards the saloon. "That's why our friend is buying us a drink tonight instead." He flashed the coin purse he held in his other hand before slipping it into his coat.

Jimmy gaped at him. "What? You - !" He glanced around and lowered his voice to a hiss. "You're a pickpocket?"

"I," said Scott, "am an artist. It's just a little slight of hand." He sighed at Jimmy's wounded, disapproving look. "Jimmy. He was just going to spend it on more drink that he clearly didn't need, and from what we overheard earlier, he's not a nice man. And now, he gets to go home and sleep it off, not bothering anyone, and we get to have a nice dinner and sleep on a bed tonight instead of in a bedroll." He tilted his head and smiled up at Jimmy much in the same way he had smiled up at Billy. "No harm done, right?"

"I guess," said Jimmy uncertainly. "It did seem like he wasn't very nice." He still wasn't sure how he felt about the theft, but he did know how he felt about the pleased look and the kiss on the cheek his acquiescence earned from Scott.

The inside of the saloon was only slightly more lively than the inside of the general store had been. A handful of people sat by themselves at tables or the bar, and the barkeep stood on the side with no customers while he wiped down a mug. Jimmy felt self-conscious as almost every head in the place turned their way, but Scott seemed unbothered as he leaned on the counter by the barkeep. "Evening," said Scott, getting the slightest of nods in return, and placed down a couple of coins. "Two beers, please. And what do you have for food?"

"Just threw the last of the pork chops in the stew pot," said the barkeep. "Should be chewable in another fifteen minutes or so."

"I...see. Thank you," said Scott. "And do you have a room free for the night?"

"He does, but I bet you'd be a lot more comfortable in mine." A woman came up beside Scott and slid her arms around his arm, and Jimmy snapped his eyes to the bottles behind the bar to avoid staring at her plunging neckline. "Got a nice feather mattress with room for all three of us if you'd like," she said with a charming smile.

Scott smiled and patted her hand. "Thank you, but no. Just need a room for my friend and myself."

The woman pouted a little but didn't seem offended by his rejection, still leaning against him. "Irene," said the barkeep, "let go of the poor fellow and go make sure that room's ready for guests, would you?" With a cheery sure thing, Nate, Irene let go of Scott and disappeared upstairs. When the stew was ready Scott thanked Nate and he and Jimmy carried their mugs and bowls to a table.

"Oh man, this smells so good!" said Jimmy, immediately picking up bowl and sipping from it while Scott used his spoon to poke at what he hoped was actually the promised pork chops. "Haven't had pork in ages."

Scott decided a chunk of potato was a safe first bite and was pleasantly surprised by the well-seasoned broth. "Try your beer," he said, nodding at the mug. Jimmy eagerly took a gulp, only to make a face immediately and getting a laugh out of Scott. "I suppose I should have warned you, it's a bit of an acquired taste for a lot of people," he said, taking a sip of his own.

"It's not bad," said Jimmy, eyeing the amber liquid. "Just... different." He took another drink, smaller this time, and considered it. "No, it's not bad," he decided, and went back to his stew.

They were almost done eating when Scott saw Irene come back downstairs and waved her over. "Does the room we're renting come with a tub?" he asked.

"Sure does, darlin'," said Irene. "If you're lucky, the enchants on the tap might even work tonight."

"Excellent," said Scott. "And if I could make one more request..."

He pressed a coin into her hand and whispered something in her ear, and she grinned. "Why, I think that can be arranged," she said. "I'll go get that sorted and leave you boys to the rest of your dinner." She winked at a confused Jimmy and walked away.

"What was that about?" asked Jimmy. "What did you ask her?"

"It's a surprise," said Scott, looking pleased with himself. Jimmy tried to wheedle more information out of him but he wouldn't budge. When they had finished their stew and a second round of beers, Scott stood and offered his hand to Jimmy to lead him upstairs. The room waiting for them wasn't much in Scott's eyes. But the covers on the single bed looked recently changed, tucked and smoothed with care, and a mostly-fresh poppy sat in a vase on the nightstand. Every surface he could see was free of dust, and the lanterns were already burning. He peered inside the drawer of the nightstand, pleased to see the bottle of Thick Potion he had requested, and shut it again.

The bathtub was in one corner of the room hidden behind a privacy screen. Scott eyed the symbols inscribed on the copper pipes before turning the tap, and the symbols flickered for a moment before lighting up properly. Jimmy leaned over Scott's shoulder and stared in awe. "I thought these only existed in like...big cities, or really fancy houses," said Jimmy. "But there's one right here in Tumble Town!"

"Well, most of them are a lot nicer," said Scott, testing the water temperature with a finger as the glow on the symbols faded. "It looks like they don't have anyone who can renew the enchantments when they wear out." He started shedding his clothes, glancing over his shoulder at Jimmy with a playful smile. "Come on, there's just enough room for us to share. Who knows if it'll hold up well enough for a second round."

"Share?" Jimmy's voice went up an octave. "I mean - if you think - and I guess it is less water wasted - "

Scott laughed and stepped into the tub. "I'll even close my eyes while you get in," he said, and settled into the water while doing exactly that. "Oh, that feels nice," he sighed happily. "Some day when I decide to stop wandering I'm going to build my own house, and the first thing I'll have put in will be enchanted water pipes."

Jimmy stepped in as well, and Scott waited until he was settled on the opposite side before opening his eyes again. "Wow," said Jimmy, the novelty of a warm bath distracting him from Scott's legs pressed against his own. "Gosh. This is nicer than the river, or getting a fire going."

He carefully looked everywhere except at Scott while they washed, until he heard Scott giggle quietly. He was about to ask what Scott found funny when Scott leaned forward and pressed their lips together. "You're so shy," said Scott, putting a hand to Jimmy's face and stroking his cheek with a thumb. "It's cute."

"Oh...Sorry?" said Jimmy uncertainly, the tips of his ears bright red. "Or, thank you? I don't - gosh," he floundered.

Scott laughed again and turned so his back was to Jimmy, handing him the bar of soap. "Wash my back for me?" he asked over his shoulder. Jimmy's breath caught in his throat, but he took the soap and did as he was asked until Scott leaned back against him without warning. "I can feel your heart pounding," murmured Scott. "Do I make you that nervous?"

"I'm not nervous!" insisted Jimmy. "I'm just - you're - I - ...mmh." Scott reached up and twined his fingers in Jimmy's hair, pulling him into a kiss. "...What was I saying?" asked Jimmy in a daze when they broke apart, and Scott's breath on his cheek as he laughed felt even warmer than the water around them.

[grandline-fics]

Immune To Your Charms

DESCRIPTION: Soulmates are incapable of harming the other in any way. Normally that would be a good thing but not when you're meant to be enemies.

WARNINGS: It's Doflamingo so be warned if he's not someone you like to read about. Contains swearing, descriptions of violence and killing. Soulmate! AU, Enemies to Lovers

CHARACTERS: Doflamingo

WORDS: 3,399

A/N: Part of the Good For Your Soul Series. The next chapter is here and as you voted for, their first kiss is here. Honestly I'm not overly happy with this chapter but I'm excited for the next parts I have planned going forward. Hope you all enjoy

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight(here) | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve(coming soon)

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“I understand Joker is a very busy man and he has a meal organised soon but will he actually be joining us tonight?” The servant tensed when he was cornered by the Captain of the crew now staying in the palace. Under the intense stare and fear that these unknown pirates could become violent without warning, he shifted uncomfortably out of the added fear that he could say the wrong thing and bring the true terrifying anger of the King down on him. “Well?”

“U-um Joker has um…” The servant stammer out before clearing his throat and controlling his fear. His ruler was more terrifying than any of these men combined and he had to remember that and accomplish his tasks to the same standard as he would any other day. “Seats have been specifically assigned for Joker and the elite officers so he should be attending tonight.” His answer seemed to settle the Captain and with nothing else needed he left, breathing a sigh of relief when he was out of his sight. The Captain however felt new nerves begin to rise. 

He would finally learn who Joker was. Given how lavish the palace was he was more and more sure he was just some criminal that got lucky in creating a weapons empire. The only real threat was the power in his name and ‘elite officers’ in his employ. Where it just the two of them alone in a room together he was quietly confident that he could overpower and take Joker out if need be. Still though he and his men were on their best behaviour. Already they had countless ambitious plans in mind for later.

When the weapons were safely loaded into their ships and their hosts were too drunk to intervene they’d take what they could and what wouldn’t be immediately noticed until they were long gone and safely on the seas. Of course they’d dispose of Joker’s men that would be joining them and wait an appropriate amount of time before having word sent of their defeat. Their crew would change their alias and ship name and sell the weapons on. It was the perfect plan and given how relaxed the security was here in Dressrosa, he really had nothing to worry about. Allowing himself to relax the Captain stepped out into the Palace’s grounds and sought out the closest servant to grab him a drink. In what felt like no time at all he was being summoned to the banquet room. 

As he walked through the corridor, the rest of his crew slowly began to join him from other corridors until they were all led inside the enormous room already filled with the most delicious smells from the finest looking food awaiting to be served and feasted on. Multiple tables were set up and carefully arranged to make room for all of the guests while servants lined the wall, awaiting to be of assistance. The lower ranking members of the Captain’s crew and the lower ranked subordinates of Joker’s crew took the longer tables to the back of the room to mingle amongst themselves. One table at the top of the room stood out and it was clear no one was to go near it expect the Captain and his right and left hands. One servant led the three men to the ornate table and instructed them to sit. The three were spaced out, most likely to seem as though they were to mingle too but nervously the Captain also felt like this was the perfect way to keep everyone separated and helpless. Trying to keep those paranoid thoughts at bay, he reached for the already poured drink in front of him only to freeze. What if the glass was poisoned?

Thankfully no one was nearby to notice his hesitation and even if they had they had no time to mention it because from outside the banquet hall the sound of footsteps drew closer. Joker’s crew immediately silenced their conversations and rose from their seats. While other pirates fell quiet they remained sitting, watching curiously and waiting. The Captain watched as the banquet room doors opened and one by one people entered, each looking more and more intimidating. They all stopped by their designated seats until only two opposite the Captain remained vacant. Nervously the man licked his lips, wondering why two seats were empty. Vaguely he recalled some of his men mentioning coming across one of Joker’s playthings while they were bathing. Dread filled him then. He remembered the call where Joker mentioned his new lover. Had that been who they meant? His head whipped around in time to see you enter the room. 

You walked completely relaxed, gaze lazily sliding over the men sitting at their tables. While you spotted where your three targets were sat you gave no visible indication or reaction to where they would be sitting. As much as Doflamingo had promised the pleasure in killing them would be yours, you didn’t fully trust him to do something and pretend it was just coincidence that they were the ones targeted. When you met Diamante’s stare you smirked slightly, seeing that he was watching you carefully. Doflamingo had most likely asked him to watch for any giveaways that indicated who broke into your room earlier and from the slight annoyance in his eyes you knew he didn’t see anything. Smiling sweetly you stepped to your designated seat and lazily folded your arms on the back of it, settling your gaze firmly on the guest of honour capturing his attention. 

The Captain knew he probably shouldn’t ogle you so openly but how could he not? Everything about your appearance demanded attention. Your choice in clothing highlighted your form perfectly and showed just enough skin to catch the eye of others while still leave them wanting to see more. Whoever Joker was, he was a lucky man to have you on his arm and in his bed. Despite how attractive you were, what captured the Captain even more so was your relaxed attitude. Everyone else in Joker’s ranks stood tall and almost tense, waiting for his arrival, but you? You were completely at ease even when Joker’s purposeful steps began to approach. Everything told the Captain to at least turn his head and finally have his curiosity answered about the identity of the man he was scamming now but he didn’t want to look away from the force of your stare. Slowly he swallowed hard when your lips curved slightly into a playful smile and he heard his own crew begin to mutter and whisper as they tried to make out Joker’s face.

Then the ripple of shock and fear washed through the banquet hall when Doflamingo came into view, the feeling so visceral that the Captain shuddered without even seeing who it was that was drawing near. Then in what felt like a blink he made out the shape of someone standing next to you and finally you turned your head and seemed to break him from his spell. The Captain looked and froze completely to see the grinning face of Doflamingo Donquixote. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he had made Doflamingo one of the targets of his scams. Had he known, he never would have done it. Fear gripped him as he now realised he and his men were trapped in the Warlord’s base, his entire island. They were screwed. There was no way they were getting out of this. Unless…had they done enough to keep the man fooled? If they saw the scam through to the end could they make it back to their ship safely. “Do-doflamingo, sir! I-it’s an honour! O-or would you still prefer I call you Joker?”

“Either’s fine.” Doflamingo grinned, the frightened expression he was witness to was perfect and there was still so much more fun to come. “We’re all allies here.”

“Aww poor man’s terrified.” Your cheerful voice broke the tension as you, Doflamingo and the rest of the family slid into your seats. The Captain glanced at you, finding it easier to breath when he wasn’t looking at the man in charge. “Just relax. You’ll feel better once you’ve had a drink.” The Captain glanced at the untouched drink still in his hand and his previous paranoia came back. What if this banquet was truly a final meal? Was it all poison? As if reading his thoughts your laugh drifted up. The Captain all but flinched when you rose slightly in your seat and leant across the table to settle your hand on his to softly coax the glass out of his trembling grip. His eyes widened while you took a sip. You set the glass back into his hand and sat back in your seat while licking the stray droplet of alcohol from your lip. “See? Harmless.”

The Captain watched as Doflamingo’s hand settled firmly on your leg when you were back in your seat in a clear show of possession and quickly he looked away from you and threw back his drink. It might have been harmless but you were very dangerous. The last thing he needed was to succeed in his scam but get killed because Doflamingo didn’t like how he was looking at you. The Captain felt relief when the servants appeared with the many plates of food, managing to break the tension and everyone seemed to completely relax. Conversation began to surge up and all previous worries eased back,  the Captain being pulled into idle conversation with a member of Doflamingo’s family obsessed with art. While he wasn’t truly interested it was better to engage with the older woman than risk dying early.

Doflamingo leant in to speak in your ear, his voice low enough so only you would hear him. “And people call me the scary one.”

“What do you mean?” You asked softly, mouth hidden behind your own glass as you turned your head slightly towards him.

“You’re like a completely different person. Being sweet and nice?” He chuckled while you smirked. “Truly terrifying how easily you can pretend to be comfortable in a room filled with pirates.”

“I’’m always sweet and nice. Besides, who says I’m pretending?” You asked innocently. “I’ve never been uncomfortable here and none of the new additions here are going to change that.”

“Not even the ones who got a little too familiar with you?” Doflamingo asked, the tone in his voice hardening slightly. He watched you carefully to see if you’d subconsciously look in the direction of the men you had refused to identify. Unfortunately for him, you kept your sights firmly on his face, your calm smile unmoving. 

“Not even them.” You insisted before taking a sip of your drink. You dropped your free hand onto his that remained on your leg and gave it a reassuring pat. Turning your head fully you leant in to murmur “This isn’t my first time having to play at being a pirate’s lover so stop worrying. As long as I get the ones I want, I won’t ruin your plan. Deal?” Your only answer was Doflamingo’s chuckle in your ear and his glass clinking against yours.

———-

For the remainder of the banquet, the sound of laughter and conversation didn’t stop. Through it all you noticed a few of the pirate crew becoming more at ease, no longer shooting nervous glances towards Doflamingo. Either they had enough alcohol in their systems now to have a lack of fear or they believed that the Warlord truly had no idea he was being deceived. You almost felt bad for them. Almost. When the evening was winding down you’d found your chair pulled closer so you were lounging against Doflamingo’s side while he spoke with the Captain who was beginning to slur his words slightly as he thanked Doflamingo for his generosity and promised him he and his crew would be valuable additions to his numbers. 

You felt Doflamingo’s body tense and knew his patience was beginning to fray and he was building up to finally enacting his revenge against the crew. Some of the other members at the table realised too and began to move from their seats, the guests failing to notice their movements. Slowly you pulled out from Doflamingo’s hold and allowed him to stand.

“Everyone before we end this wonderful feast we have one more treat for the evening.” He announced with a broad grin while his guests cheered out. “It’s a game I like to call survival.” Immediately the cheering stopped and the drunken faces still conscious immediately sobered, terror flooding their bodies. “While I applaud you all for thinking you could steal from me and lie, I can’t let it go unpunished. So I’m going to give you all a five minute head start. If you can make it to your ship, you can leave with your lives. If you make it to the streets of Dressrosa but get caught, you’ll be sent to our Coliseum and fight for the rest of your lives. If you’re still in the palace when you get caught? You die. Your time starts now.” 

The reaction was immediate, the subordinates of the pirate crew scrambled from their seats and rushed for the doors, staggering and hurrying from the banquet hall. Any of their friends that were sleeping off their meal and overindulgence of drink were abandoned. Still sitting in their seats were the Captain and his left and right hands but it wasn’t by their decision. They were held firmly in place in their seats, something controlling their bodies against their will. Doflamingo’s laughter filled the room as he and the rest of the family sat patiently for the five minutes to pass. “Sadly for you, Captain. You don’t get to play.”

Doflamingo had thought that you would have left immediately too to make sure no one else killed your mystery targets but instead for the five minutes you remained in your seat, completely relaxed. When the wait was over and those under his command started the hunt you finally rose with a soft sigh and left the room. Ignoring the hurried footsteps and panicked yells of the pirates who ran aimlessly through the palace, still unfamiliar with the confusing layout as they desperately tried to find their way to safety you made your way to the chosen room. 

During the feast, the maid that had been so apologetic for not being able to stop your targets secretly slipped a message to the men while they ate and drank under your instruction. She informed them subtly that when it was quiet and Doflamingo wasn't looking they were to make their way out of the hall and follow her where you would meet them later to finish what had been started. Fuelled on their own ego, fantasies, and emboldened by the alcohol in their systems they all saw no possible negative to this proposition. They didn't see you as a threat. With a small hum you opened the doors and stepped in to see the three men waiting, their expressions impatient and frustrated. “Took you long enough.”

“I told you I preferred to take my time with these things.” You said with a smile, lazily folding your arms behind your back. “Besides, Doffy’s not an easy man to sneak away from. Needed to wait until he was preoccupied with your Captain.” At the mention of the Warlord and their Captain, the three men seemed to calm their anger slightly. “So who’s first?”

“Just because you're fucking a Warlord doesn't mean you're in charge.” One snarled, pushing away from the wall he had been leaning against and headed towards you. “Like we told you, this is what we want.” He reached for you only to stagger when you dodged him with ease. Sharply you hooked your foot around his and threw your arm around his neck, twisting sharply to snap his leg and send him hurtling to the floor, smashing his face against the pristine marble floor. His howls of pain filled the room and you wasted no time in getting up and closing the distance while the other two were surprised. 

The next pirate closest to you tried to pull his dagger on you only to be disarmed with your precise training. You used his strength and your momentum against him to twist his hand and force him to stab himself. While the wound was deep and immediately debilitating it wouldn’t kill him right away, you were going to let him die slowly. Twisting the blade, you ripped it from his chest and whirled to shoot the third pirate in the back with your own pistol as he tried to flee into one of the side rooms. He crumpled to the floor, unable to move. 

The coward wouldn't even try to stay and fight you? Pathetic. For all that talk they were all very disappointing. Slowly you stepped up to the pirate you’d shot and kicked him onto his back. The least he could do was look you in the eye when you killed him. Coldly pulled the trigger once more and put him out of his misery. The only sound that still filled the room was the pained, muffled breaths of the first pirate, the one who’d touched you while you had bathed. You returned to him and stood on his broken leg, smirking when he cried out in pain through a mouth filled with blood and broken teeth. Holding his friend’s dagger firmly you crouched down until you were poised over him and stabbed him, relishing how much of a release it was for your anger and disgust for him and his crew. Unable to hold back you stabbed him again and again as all the frustrations you’d been holding onto finally slipped away. 

With a low sigh you rose and took steadying breaths. Suddenly you felt a presence behind you and your spun, blade striking down on the person only to hear the confusing sound of steel clattering to the ground. Blinking you saw the hilt of the weapon still in your hand but the blade was gone, now by your feet as fate intervened once more to prevent you hurting Doflamingo who stood in front of you. Slowly you looked up at him to see him grinning at you. Even with his sunglasses on you could feel the heavy force of the stare aimed at you. There was a beat of silence before the tension snapped and inexplicably you both closed the distance. 

Doflamingo’s mouth claimed yours at the same time yours melded perfectly against his. You dropped the useless dagger and your bloodied hand fisted tightly into his shirt as his settled on your lower back, pulling the other closer at the same time. You’d never had a kiss this powerful before, one that made your mind hazy and craving more so instantly. It felt right but at the same time it was wrong. You couldn’t allow yourself to give in, to let it progress further. The same was also the case for Doflamingo. 

He'd seen you kill them so perfectly and viciously that he’d felt pride in his chest at seeing you exact your revenge against them that he couldn’t help but kiss you. But now that he was in that moment, he couldn’t let it deepen. He had trysts and lovers, someone to fill the space in his bed for as long as he still got some enjoyment and pleasure out of it. He refused to let this get deeper, to feel anything more than he did. He was still set on defying fate and knowing you couldn’t be manipulated and used the way he could with others, he refused to give you more power. He refused to set you any closer to being on equal footing with him. In unison you both parted and hands dropped. Together you both left the room, leaving from separate doors. You headed straight for your room to wash off the blood and Doflamingo was immediately called for by one of the subordinates to inform him all the pirates had been dealt with. For the rest of the night you and Doflamingo both hated how much you’d wished the kiss you could both still feel on your lips had continued.

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