#the greatest idiots to lovers story ever told

[madeofloveandpeace]

Eye contact is so important, am I right fellas?

[shadowbriar]

Sirius Black - Dare You

Pairing : (F/M) || Sirius Black x Reader Word Count : 2.7k Warning : Drowning. Sirius being an idiot. I hate him. Prompts : “I couldn’t decide whether to kiss or kick you.” || “Oh? Oh.” Notes : I don’t really like Sirius in this story, he’s borderline toxic but he’s cute in the end, so I forgive him. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕

Happy tears and laughter would be the two main things that filled the group of friends’ summer break. Agreeing to join the Marauders and staying over at the Potter’s summer house would be one of the best decisions she’s made in her entire life. From the moment she stepped in the place, she knew that the days spent would be one of her greatest days, and she has been proven right so far. 

Now they’re seated in a circle, cheeks rosy from gulping down the bottles of booze James was so kind to provide. Her knees were grazing with his, sending jolts of electricity through her spine. He was laughing, being the most beautiful version of himself in her eyes. She always loved to see him beaming in laughter. The way his hair would fall on his face, hiding the piercing grey eyes that would always strip her soul whenever they’re locked on hers. Sirius Black is the definition of magnificence indeed.

If she should ever point one flaw from him it would be the fact that he wasn’t hers. Sirius has always been so carefree, so nonchalant with every aspect of his life, including romance. As bitter as she should admit, there must be no girl in the castle that hasn't tasted those pink lips of his. No girl except her, of course.

“So, will tonight finally be my lucky night?” Sirius whispers to her ears “Can I finally land the chance of tasting those lips of yours?”

“Not with your alcoholic breath, you’re not.” She says, pushing him away in a friendly manner “You’ll never kiss me, Sirius.”

The boy pouts, “Why not? Everyone else would.”

Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it? Everyone would and everyone had. She wouldn’t have any problem with his past lovers. No, the problem wasn’t of his long list of ex-lovers. It was the fact that he never meant the kiss he shared with anyone. And even though she would kill to have him kiss her, knowing that she would just be another tally to his list never sits right with her. Not when she holds the purest and most loving feelings for him.

“I bet you ten galleons we’ll have our kiss before this break is over.” He continues, still having that confident smug expression on his face “I’ll get it, one way or another.”

She snorts, “I’d love to see you try.”

“Oh, I will try, alright.” He nods in determination “Wouldn’t you be so kind and give me mental support? Small kiss on my cheek, perhaps?”

“Yeah, right.”

“Sirius!” Lily exclaims, making the two turn to the red girl “Your turn.”

“Oh, Merlin.” He mutters.

“I’ve got one.” Marlene says, her mischievous expression plastered all over her face “Never have I ever fancied someone in this room. And I meant by full on whipped, down bad, would kill for that person kind of fancy.”

James groans, “Come on, now, we all know the answer to that!”

“Do we?” Mary comments, her brows furrow “Cause I don’t.”

“I don’t either.” Lily says with the same confused tone, glancing at her boyfriend with a ‘you better explain later’ look before turning back to the raven haired boy “So have you or have you never, Sirius?”

“Of course, I have.”

“No,” The girl next to him gasps, making a disbelieved look “Who?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, Dove.” He winks “Right, spin the bottle again!”

She was stunned. So much secret for someone who seemed to have always been an open book for her. And what did he mean she wouldn’t have believed it? Would the person be someone she would least expect? Could it be Dorcas, though she’s been with Marlene for the longest time? Or could it be one of the Marauders? Or could it be Lily, the girl his best friend has been pining for years?

So many possibilities for such a vague answer.

“Stop staring at me.” Sirius says smugly “You’ll fall in love if you don’t.”

She rolls her eyes, “Who?”

“Not telling.”

“Oh, come on!” She whines, pulling on the sleeves of his sweater “Who is it? Who did you fancy?”

He turns to see her, smirking, “I’ll tell you if you let me kiss you.”

“No.” She frowns “Never.”

“Your lost.” He snorts, acting offended “Could’ve been the best night of our lives.”

Indeed it could’ve been the best night of their lives, well her life for sure, she wouldn’t know if it would leave any remark for him. Being friends with Sirius for years had made her certain that the boy could never hold half as deep of a devotion as hers, yet with the new half confession he made, she’s starting to question everything she knew. Who could be the lucky soul he’s hoard feelings for?

—-

The sun was shining bright, birds chirping as if they were singing a pleasant song. If she should choose one thing she loves most about the Potter’s summer house, it would be their pool and the sun loungers around it. She loves feeling the warmth of the sun while listening to the banter her friends exchange or taking a quick dip to the pool to cool herself from the heat. All and all, the time spent at the pool has always been the pleasant highlight of her day.

Until today.

Her eyes were closed, the sunglasses she’s wearing don’t seem to do much of a help to block the striking light. Her skin was getting red, slightly burnt from the sun, but she wasn’t in the mood to move from her seat. It’s not like everyday she could sunbathe like this.

“Help! Someone!” A voice yelled, making her sit straight up “Help, he’s not breathing!”

She turned to the source of voice, Peter, frantically shaking Sirius’ soaked body.

“What happened?” She asks as she gets to the two, kneeling behind Sirius’ limp body “Sirius, wake up!”

In a panic, she begins to tilt his head and perform CPR on the unconscious boy. Her body was trembling in fear, afraid of all the bad possible outcomes of such a disaster. Worry and fright pollutes her mind that she didn’t even think for a second that Sirius is a brilliant swimmer. There would be no logical way to explain how such a skilled boy could drown in a pool that’s not even as deep as his height.

She begins mouth to mouth, counting on the seconds before doing the press on his chest. She begins with a light one, afraid of giving him too much pressure. Yet before she could do a third press to his chest, the boy bursts into laughter.

“You’re tickling me.” He exclaims, now sitting up as if nothing has happened “Merlin, I should’ve done this years ago.”

She pulled away, looking appalled and baffled at the situation, “You were- I thought- What’s just happened?”

“You kissed me.”

“What?”

“I said, you kissed me.” He said with a victorious smile “Told you we’d have that kiss before the break’s over.”

She blinks, letting out a disbelieved chuckle from the stunt he’s pulled, “You’re a dickhead, Sirius.”

She stands from her spot, walking away in angry steps. How dare he trick her that way? How dare he scared her to death, only to taunt her with the kiss that he obviously had no remarks of? How dare he hurt her this way?

“Wait, Love, I’m sorry.” Sirius called, trying to catch her “Hey-”

“Is everything a joke for you?!” She snaps, turning to him with teary eyes now.

Sirius gulped, understanding that he’s taken it too far this time.

“Do you understand the horror I felt? Thinking that you really drowned? Thinking that you’re really not breathing? Do you even understand how terrifying it was, Sirius?!”

He winces, her shouting was making the others to come out of the house, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“Everything’s just a joke for you, isn’t it?” She says with a quivering voice, yanking his hand away from her “Just fuck off, okay!”

The group of friends gasps. Sure she’s never been a saint but she’s never spat on anyone, not unless they were exchanging a banter. They knew that Sirius had crossed the line this time, whatever he did. Just perfect to turn their blissful getaway into a living nightmare now.

—-

She’s been staying in her room, sulking over her pathetic state. Exactly why did her heart have to choose him? Why couldn’t she just fall for a more grounded boy? One who would be more careful with her heart. One who would take care of her gently. One who would never be as careless as Sirius is.

It was never meant to be, she knew it. From the beginning she could already taste the bitter ending her infatuation would lead her. Sirius would never take her more than a friend, let alone reciprocate her feelings. He’s never wanted to be tied to someone else. He’s never wanted to settle down with someone. He’s never wanted to grow old and spend the rest of their lives together. No, that was never and would never be Sirius.

But why is it so hard for her to hate him? All the tears shed over this morning’s incident was not of her hatred for him, it was for her hatred towards herself. How could she be so foolish to still love him, even after everything? Even after every blatant evidence that he would never be the one for her?

A soft knock was made from the other side of the door. Perhaps it was Lily again, coaxing her to get out of the room and take her dinner. She hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast, after all. Yet her appetite has gone out of the window and she certainly isn’t in the mood to meet anyone tonight.

“Love?” He says softly “It’s me. Would you please open the door so we could talk?”

Her head turns, not expecting to hear his voice.

“Pease?” He begs, knocking on the door once more “It wouldn’t take much of your time, I promise.”

Sniffling, she finds her feet closer to the door. Her brain was cursing her for it, for giving in so easily after everything he’s done, but her heart could never bear the plea in his tone. He knew exactly how to crumble her fortress with just one pleading. Another thing to add on the things that make her so pathetic tonight.

“What do you want?”

Sirius’ expression softens, noticing her still wet cheeks and the heartbroken expression she has all over her face, “Can we talk?”

She didn’t say a word as she walked back inside the room, not closing the door in a gesture for him to come. He did, quietly closing the door behind him and standing a few metres away from her, not wanting to invade her sheer tolerance for him.

“I’m sorry,” He starts “For everything this morning, I’m really sorry.”

She remains quiet, watching him as she tries to decipher his words.

“I thought it was a harmless prank, I didn’t think it through, I’m sorry.”

“Why are you so obsessed with wanting to kiss me, Sirius?” She asks, her voice still barely above a whisper “Am I one of the girls in your dating conquest?”

“No, no, of course not!” He exclaims fast, taking a few steps closer to her “I have never intended for you to feel that way. You’re far from the girls I ever dated from. You’re my friend, you're worth so much more than all of them combined.”

And there it is. A friend. His friend. As much as it relieves her to know that he thinks of her preciously, the bitter truth still hurts. She knew that he only sees her as a friend, she knew these all along. Yet having the confirmation served to her face now brought a whole different level of heartache she didn’t know one could even suffer from.

“Alright.” She says with a sharp breath, trying to maintain her composure so not to crumble completely in front of him “I forgive you. Would that be all?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

Sirius turns his body, walking closer to the door before shaking his head and facing her again, “No, actually that’s not all.”

She raised an eyebrow, confused by his demeanour.

“I suppose I have to tell you the real reason why I’m so desperate to kiss you.”

“Okay,” She nods lightly, still not following the direction he’s heading “I’m all ears.”

“I like you.” He blurts “I like you, I love you, I want you, I pine for you, Merlin, I’m desperate for you.”

She blinks, taken aback by his confession.

“I’m the worst at showing my true intentions, believe me the boys have scolded me for years for it but I really don’t know what to do with all these emotions. I yearn for you and it’s maddening that you’re not mine and that I couldn’t kiss you or that I couldn’t hold you anytime I want.”

She’s still mute, trying to digest each of his words.

“I’m sorry for being the pathetic loser that I am. I know that you must hate me for everything. For being this pitiful and foolish with the whole dating quest but I tried, truly I tried to wriggle myself out of these feelings and I can’t. Everytime I try my best to suppress these feelings, it would only spit on my face and amplify instead.” He confessed, looking defeated and desperate from his own torment “So I beg you, please get me out of this. Please get me out of this torture.”

“And how would I do that?”

He shrugs, shaking his head, “I don’t know. Yell at me, tell me that I’m an idiot and that you hate me for ruining our friendship. Tell me that I’m the most pathetic bloke there is and that you’ll never reciprocate my feelings. Tell me that you’ll never love me.”

“Is that truly what you want?”

“No, but there really isn’t any other way, is there?”

She shrugs, “I don’t know, perhaps there is.”

Now it’s his turn to have his brows furrowed in confusion.

“The person you fancied, it was me?” She asks, trying to make sure that she wasn’t lost in translation “You fancy me?”

“Fancy is a far understating word, but yes, it was you. It’s always been you.” He reaffirms “And I never said I stopped fancying you. You’re the one who thought I no longer do.”

“Oh? Oh.”

An awkward silence fell between the two. As she tries to process his confession, Sirius is put on edge. He’s never seen her with such mannerism, so hard for him to understand what she would say next or what she’s thinking. He hoped that she would break his heart. Utter all the worst words she could probably say, he hoped that she would crush his heart to pieces, because otherwise he knew that he’ll be stuck loving the girl who doesn’t feel the same way about him.

“Is that all you could say? Oh?” He asked, still nervous of her response.

“So far, yes.”

He nods, “Right.”

“Do you really mean it?’

“Which part?”

“Every part.”

“I did.” He answers firmly, gulping “Except for the part where I wanted you to break my heart. I hope you wouldn’t, but there’s no other way for me to get out of these feelings, so if you would.”

“I wouldn’t.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, completely lost from her words now.

“Merlin, I couldn’t decide whether to kiss or kick you.” She says with a bitter chuckle, running a hand through her hair “You stress me so much, do you know that?”

“I’m sorry?” He apologises “I think?”

She rolls her eyes, coming closer to him this time and resting her hands to his chest, “You’re a pathetic loser, Sirius Black.”

He gulps, bracing himself for the heartbreak he’s about to face.

“You’re the daftest bloke in history and I hate you for confessing your feelings to me now,” She continues, glueing her eyes to his now “Because if you’ve done it earlier, you could’ve kissed and held me for years already.”

 “What-”

“Shut up and just kiss me before I get mad at you again.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

And so he leans in, finally getting the price he’s thirsted for the longest of time. She was the definition of perfection, the way her soft lips met with his. How her body’s now close to his, being held in his protective embrace just the way he’s always prayed at night. For a moment there all the years of silent pining and distressful yearns for each other doesn’t seem so bad. Never that bad when a happy ending is their reward.

[riordanness]

Heyy!!! What are your 5 most favorite couples and why do you ship them???

hiii this is gonna be quick cos i’m lazy burnt out

1) percabeth. always and forever my favourite ship of all time. i won’t go into extreme detail but they literally mean the world to me. definition of soulmates. they have every good trope !! greatest love story ever told.

2) ricky bowen and gina porter. (percabeth variant #1) literally binged hsmtmts for them. love them to death. they’re so alsjskdjd and uGh i just adore ricky

3) ravi singh and pippa fitz amobi. (a good girls guide to murder). i love these idiots oml. (percabeth variant #2) they put me through so many emotions?? sarge?? hey sarge remember me?? i hated it and i adored it at the same time. cried over them fr. go read it.

4) killian jones and emma swan (ouat). i love these too (percabeth variant #3) loved their enemies to lovers shit and the dynamic in general. how they let their walls down for each other etc etc. i just love them yk. go watch ouat bc you should it’s so good

5) newt and thomas (maze runner). i’m not usually that into gay ships but omg?? missed opportunity?? these dumbasses are soulmates in another universe. (also, fuck i hate myself for getting so into maze runner as a younger girl bc i still cry over (SPOILERS) newt’s death every time i think about it. but yea they’re the best anyways

[zinzinina]

okay I'm not sure I'd you're still doing the uh. thing where you write a scene from a different pov but if you are and have time/interest, would you feel like doing poe pov with that part in directions where he asks how many other guys she's been with? I love love love that fic so much btw and I'm gonna go through your masterlist when I get off work <3

Hello! ✨ A little confession: some of these have been sitting in my inbox for months. I secretly didn't plan on fulfilling this request because it meant that I'd need to go re-read Directions, and I very rarely read my own writing again once it's been posted. But I was in the mood for something fun and easy, and then I actually had a great time revisiting this story! So thank you so so much @buckyisdisabled, @lostinwonderland314, @mandaloriandin and sweet Yearning Human anon for asking for this and for your lovely messages. I really hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it x

Pairing: Poe Dameron x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Rating: Explicit 18+

Warnings: PIV, creampie, oral sex (f! receiving), fingering, squirting, feelings, implied cum eating, overstimulation, masturbation, friends to lovers

This is reworking of a scene from this fic, told from Poe’s POV.

from a certain point of view ask game ✨

———

———

Poe sucks his slick fingers into his mouth, and her taste hits his head like spice; sharp and sweet.

She pants up at him from his pillow (his pillow) her eyes wide as a nervous animal’s, her hands curled into fists. It takes everything he has not to blow his load in his pants right then and there.

He feels a little drunk. He needs to course-correct.

Drastically.

He’d meant it when he told her he thought this would be fun. Because everything is, with her. He thought she’d be giving him shit the whole time. He’d expected her to be unimpressed with him in the way only she ever is; doing what she does best and keeping his feet nailed to solid ground even while his head did tailspins around the sound of her laughing at him. 

But she’s not laughing at him. The way she’s looking up at him…

This, right here, is extremely fucking serious for her.

Maybe he should’ve tried to make this nicer. Maybe he should’ve lit candles.

For reasons that are not entirely clear, he catches himself remembering a particularly fucked up day from several months back. His comms and tracking had both shorted out after a hit in the middle of an above-planet dogfight with no visual, and for about two hours, the Resistance network listed him PKIA. 

When he’d eventually landed back in the hanger, it was chaotic with smoking, twisted astromech parts. Unbeknownst to him, Black One was a ghost ship. 

Mechanics and pilots alike had turned and gaped in silent shock as he’d climbed out of his cockpit, and he’d only had a moment to wonder whether there was something growing out of the top of his head before he’d been knocked off his feet by a sobbing projectile stinking of sweat and smoke in an oil-stained flightsuit.

She’d only stopped crying after socking him in the chest, her voice hoarse as she told him how much of an idiot he was for not switching over to his backup signal.

He’d never wanted to see that look on her face ever again, and if he hadn’t pushed her into verbalising the source of her terror here, he’d be too turned off to go any further. He doesn’t go in for that shit; he wants his partners relaxed and comfortable and enthusiastically willing.

But it’s knowing what she’s actually worrying about—stuck in her head as always, thinking about everyone else; what he thinks of her, rather than focusing on how she feels—that makes him determined to stick with her, as long as she says. 

He’s staggered by the amount of trust she’s putting in him. Shit, he doesn’t know whether it makes his heart ache more, or his dick. Like she has anything to be nervous about. Like she isn’t the prettiest fucking girl he knows. Like making her smile isn’t the single greatest source of pride he gets to hold over himself. 

Doesn’t she know? Can’t she already fucking tell? He’d worship the ground she walks on if he knew she wouldn’t laugh herself sick at him if he tried. 

It would be funny, if it weren’t so painful. That for all of her quick, sharp perception, she’d miss this, so entirely.

“Perfect. You’re perfect,” he says softly, and he can see how little she believes him. “Told you. Nothing wrong with you. I wanna try something,” he continues, before she can say anything to piss him off. He can handle her putting shit on him. He isn’t letting her do it to herself. “You’ll like it, I promise. And if you don’t just tell me and we’ll stop. Okay?”

“Okay,” she says, nodding, her eyes still huge. A sudden throb of affection makes his head feel like it’s filled with tibanna gas. 

“I’m gonna take your pants off,” he tells her, grasping each of her ankles to do exactly this.

She lifts her ass toward him as he wriggles her underwear and pants over her legs, giving him a brief glimpse of the most beautiful view he’s ever seen in his life.

His brain’s still catching up when he sees the furtive way her eyes keep flicking down toward where it feels like his dick’s trying to bust through his fly.

“Don’t you want…?” 

“It’s not about me,” he cuts her off. And if you touch me right now I won’t make it, and I’ll ruin my reputation, and kill any chance of living any of this shit down with you ever again, he decides not to add.

He bends, spreading her legs with both hands. Her clit’s so swollen her labia are parted around it, the soft skin inside her thighs smeared with her first orgasm. 

Her first orgasm—the first one another person’s given her, anyway—and it’s his.

And, oh, it had been so easy.

His ego is not immune to this.

But, nice as it is, it doesn’t quite feel like a boost in the traditional sense. It feels something more like a twinge, hard and new, right under his ribcage. Like vindication, maybe, or—and he feels like a fucking moron for even thinking it—fate.

He bows from the waist and nudges into her with his nose, his tongue laving a stripe up the entire length of her pussy. 

Her skin tastes like soap. Somewhere in the dimmest corners of his head he’s annoyed at this; imagines her scouring every inch of herself raw in the showers before coming to him, filled with nerves and doubt under the spray. He presses the muscle of his tongue into her opening in search of more of the her he’d found on his fingers.

The sound she makes zips lightning-hot straight to his guts. 

His eyes roll briefly closed, and he sinks down onto his elbows, the twisted line of the sheets digging into his skin under his weight.

She shifts her thighs together, her fingers twitching at her side. He steals a glance up and finds her watching him, her lips parted, her eyes too-bright.

“Open your legs,” he encourages, his lips barely lifting from her skin. She sinks her teeth into her lip as she lets her knees fall flat to the bed. 

She’s spread out open in front of him, and he dips his head to continue. 

She flinches and tenses and exhales in turn, reacting to every touch of his mouth as though speaking aloud. It makes him feel violently impatient, and so he moves slower, trying to temper himself. 

He wants to be inside her. 

He wants to swallow her, and to be swallowed by her. Fuck, he’s never wanted anything more in his life.

He’s pretty sure he’s leaking precum into his pants; all the blood having long vacated his brain to swell bruise-achingly hard in his cock. He tries to stay focused, but the reality is that Poe’s thoughts ran away from him the second she set foot in his room. The challenge now is to just try not to do something stupid.

Something stupider than fucking his best friend.

She hisses, tossing her head back, her legs twitching so hard his tongue nearly loses its place against the hot nub of her clit. 

He slides both hands beneath her thighs to lift her hips to his face in an attempt to keep her still, barely managing to tamp down the urge to rut helplessly against the mattress in search of relief.

The smell of her, the taste, fills his senses. But it’s still not enough. He wants to bring her to insensibility; to work that softness into the bed, glutting himself until her whimpers turn to those of overstimulation.

He’d never really considered himself a possessive person, but as she quietly sucks in a sharp, shallow breath, he realises he wants that sound all to himself.

He pulls it out of her with his tongue again, and again, his attention unwavering.

He wants her thinking of this, of him, from now on. Every single time she comes, alone or otherwise. He wants her to dream about him inside her; tongue, fingers, cock, he doesn’t give a fuck. At briefings. At meals. Waiting around bored for launch clearance in her fighter, standing alone in the showers, when someone else presses their hands to her skin, and lifts her chin to meet her lips (and fuck, that hurts to think about, like hitting realspace at-speed, hard enough to grind his bones together). 

She comes with a pained-sounding cry, her pubic bone bumping into his nose and pushing his face away. He drags himself up and finds her reaching her hands out as though to stop him. 

“You okay?” he manages.

“Poe, I want…please…”

“What, baby? Talk to me.” He leans up, bracing himself over her. Maybe she’s changed her mind. Maybe she’s had enough and she’s going to tell him to stop, to give her back her pants, to never mention any of this again.

It’s still more than he’d ever imagined he’d get.

Her eyes stay on his and she blinks slowly at him, as though trying to remember who he is. His heart thunks hollowly in his chest, and he waits.

“Fuck me.”

He pauses. It wasn’t what he’d expected her to say. His already-painful cock jumps in his pants at the demand. “You need a break first?”

She answers by trying to drag him down toward her, her hips lifting to press against him, ankles hooked around the backs of his legs. 

He doesn’t wait to be told twice. He shifts his weight, kicking his pants down, settling himself between her legs. 

She ducks her chin and kisses his shoulder.

His head swims. He barely feels the touch of her lips through the material of his shirt, but it hardly matters. The gesture is so small, so careful, so quick, as though she couldn’t help herself.

As though it’s something she’s thought of before.

Which is when it hits him: the one thing he’s never seriously let himself entertain. Does he…actually have a chance? 

Without undue vanity, Poe knows that his looks are the one area, at least, that he can afford not to worry about. He’s not an idiot. He knows exactly how people respond when he flashes his teeth at them, or holds their eyes with his own for a protracted moment from beneath a quirked eyebrow. 

But never her. She’s somehow always been frustratingly, crushingly immune to every single weapon in his arsenal. It had been a source of ire in the early days, while he was still learning the colour of her voice, and the shape of her mind. 

The sadder, slower ache of acceptance had come later; gathering like thunderheads, lingering long.

She wasn’t for him. She didn’t want to be. Letting himself pretend otherwise would have only ever been an exercise in masochism. 

Despite all of this, Poe’s still human. And, as he had come to realise, knowing something intellectually is very different to knowing it physically.

Whenever she smiles at him, and bumps into him, and rolls her eyes at him. Whenever he’s inside somebody else, tasting the sweat on their skin, or stretched out around their pleasure. Whenever he jerks his cock alone in his bunk late at night, ashamed and furious at himself for such a disgraceful breach of their friendship, for the things he’s imagined.

Everything he’s ever done with anybody else; every filthy, beautiful fucking thing, he’d turn himself inside out and crawl over hot coals to do again with her, to her, for her, if she wanted.

And now, here she is.

He might not ever get another shot at this.

He needs to make it count.

“How many other guys’ve you been with?” he says, his voice coming out rough. She looks mortified, but he doesn’t care. “How many?”

“S-six,” she says. 

He nods. He’d already known about Kip and Terrett, and he’d had his suspicions about Rau and Valen. He’s a little disappointed at the knowledge that Rau had let her down with all the others; he wouldn’t have expected it. 

“Then that’s six other times we gotta make up for,” he says, distractedly. 

He presses forward, and the first millimetre he sinks inside her already has him panicking. 

She immediately feels far too hot and close, but the hardest part, the part threatening to undo everything, is the way she’s looking up at him, as though silently pleading with him, and Gods, how she doesn’t need to.

“Oh, sh...shit. You good? I’m good. That’s…ungh, so fucking good.” He’s aware he’s making no sense, but that’s the only thing left in his head, probably the only thing he’ll ever know again: good, good, good.

Her fingers are clenched tight around his forearm, and he thinks she might be holding her breath, but then she lets it go, and the wet bloom of her cunt swallows him fractionally deeper.

“You’re doing so good baby, you’re taking me so well, you feel perfect,” he groans, hoping he doesn’t sound as wrecked as he feels, his guts on fire with need.

She squirms under him, and fuck, she feels incredible. After coming twice he can feel the evidence of how wet she is, the smooth glide of her body gripping close around him, giving way slowly. 

It’s suddenly too fucking hot in his room. He can feel his hair sticking to the back of his neck and around his ears, and it’s vaguely annoying, but he couldn’t give a shit. 

Her warm breath meets his chin, and he follows the line of her attention down the length of his own body, to the place where his hips are flush against hers. Between her parted legs he can see his cock half-sunk inside her, and his face presses to her damp, salty skin as he murmurs to her, pressing forward, enveloped entirely by her.

He has no idea what he’s saying. It just feels important for her to know. 

Whatever it is, he never gets the chance to find out.

Because then she’s kissing him, and her mouth is on his and her lips are parting and they’re soft and her teeth are catching at the dry ege of his lower lip and her breath is hot and it’s hers and it’s in his mouth and it’s in his lungs and it’s oxygenating his fucking blood and pumping through his heart and his brain and searing through every single part of him until she’s all that’s left.

He’s pretty sure he’s dying.

“Holy fuck,” he thinks he’s trying to say, and he feels her smiling, gently biting into his lip, keeping him quiet. 

She rolls her hips up against his, pushing herself off the bed. He can feel himself rapidly losing control as she throws her head back, her brows drawn, teeth cutting into her own lip.

“Baby, wait, wait a sec,” he pants.

“What’s wrong?” she gasps, and of course she doesn’t listen; she never fucking listens to him, rocking up toward him, making him see stars. 

“Just…fuck, hang on.” Cold showers, he thinks, grimly. Freezing cold showers, and depressurised-cockpit earaches. Nine hour-long diplomatic debriefs. The rancid-smelling mucus trail Klaud leaves behind everywhere he goes.

“Is this…not good?” she says, low and weak. “Poe?”

His eyes nearly roll back in his head as she whispers his name, and the sound jolts through him—her voice, the one he knows so well—like this, with him.

Whatever pitiful electricity’s still left in the meat of his brain fizzles out. “Oh shit, say my name again,” he begs, not even waiting for her to do so. 

He’s already moving, needing to feel the walls of her cunt stroking and sucking at his cock. “D’you know how many times I’ve thought about this? About being inside you like this? And I never, ever thought you’d wanna…” 

He shouldn’t be saying this. He’s gotta be real fucking careful, if he doesn’t want to accidentally tell her every shameful daydream he’s ever had about her and disintegrate what’s left of their friendship into dust. 

“You’re fucking perfect,” he tells her instead. “Your pussy is perfect.” 

She recoils, and it’s equal parts adorable and infuriating that even now she’d be embarrassed to hear him say this.

He almost laughs. “Why’s that make you shy? You don’t like me talking about your pussy? You wanna know how good you taste, baby? You’re sweet, so sweet and tight and—” and fuck, he can still taste her on his lips, and he watches her carefully, finding the place that makes her fall boneless and focusing there, right there, until the viselike grip on his arms weakens and she’s coming again.

Her voice breaks, but he doesn’t slow. She can take it. 

He pushes her hips down, fucking her into the mattress, skin clapping on skin. She’s yanking at his hair hard enough to hurt, but he relishes the pain because it keeps his vision clear; exactly where he wants to be. 

Her orgasm tumbles into another, and he seizes her knees, lifting her toward him as he picks up his pace. She moans, belatedly trying to cover the sound with her hand, and it’s the sweetest music he’s ever heard. He is never, ever going to be able to get that sound out of his head again.

“Hey, hey. Let me hear that,” he says, leaning closer, dragging her hand away. “Don’t you cover that up. Come on, baby, I wanna hear you.” She presses her lips together, and he huffs, driving himself into her just a little harder than strictly necessary.

He’s rewarded with a weak, throaty whimper, and he grins at her. “That’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” he confesses.

Her nipples stand through the thin, sweat-sheer fabric of her tank top, her softness rippling upwards with every stroke. He watches her body greedily, wanting more, wanting everything all at once. 

He wants, very badly, to lick her again, all the way from her neck to her sweet, trembling cunt. He can still taste her on his tongue as he presses his fingers down to her clit, just above the place where he’s still pumping in and out of her.

She cries out, coming again until she’s melting wet into the bed. 

He still doesn’t slow, but his thoughts have run away from him and all of a sudden he realises it’s too late, far too late to stop himself.

He wants her full of his cum, until he’s emptied out all of the ache of himself into her, and her pretty, swollen cunt’s overfull with him until he dribbles out from between her lips and onto his fingers, making a mess of the sheets so he can start all over again.

Right at the precipice of his climax, she opens her eyes and looks up at him. There are tears of overstimulation clinging to her eyelashes, and her fingers are clutching gently at the back of his shirt. 

Nobody has ever laid me down as low as you, he thinks, surprised at the strength of his emotion, willing her to understand.

But then he’s coming so hard his limbs go numb, and he isn’t thinking anything anymore. 

He presses himself deep, deep inside, shaking violently as she swallows every pulse of his orgasm. His heart is thunderous in his ears, his muscles liquefied. He slumps, panting.

If she objects to the deadweight of his body over hers, she doesn’t say anything. He stays there, smothering her, trying to regain his breath, until he can feel her beginning to shift uncomfortably beneath him.

“Was that…okay?” she says, ridiculously, like his soul didn’t just leave his body.

He doesn’t even bother responding to the question. “You’re crazy,” he muses instead. “She’s crazy.”

He’s lifting himself off her when his chain swings from the neck of his shirt, clocking her between the eyes. “Oh, shit,” he says, as she gasps in pain. “Sorry, baby.” He presses his fingers to the spot, feeling guilty. “Normally I’d’ve taken that off.”

He’s usually far more thoughtful than this when he has company, but this time he hadn’t unclipped his necklace, or changed his clothes or sheets. The thought simply hadn’t occurred to him. Because she doesn't feel like—has never felt like—a guest in his bed. In fact, her absences have only ever felt like temporary discomforts to be endured until her return.

She’s scowling at him, her nose wrinkled up like a Weequay’s, and it’s so fucking cute he wants to kiss her again. “Why didn’t you?” she says.

She needs to ask? “Because it’s you.”

As he crawls back down between her legs, he finds a spectacular mess of cum and sweat and the evidence of her orgasms on the sheets, and fuck, it’s soaking down here. He wonders whether she even realises what she’s done.

He’s disappointed he didn’t get to watch. He’s sure he can get her to do it again, though.

She blinks down at him, her eyes glassy. “What are you doing?”

His mouth waters watching the way her wet skin shines and he feels an answering twitch in his recently-softened cock. “Cleaning you up. We’re not done yet.”

Her eyes widen, but whatever she does next, he misses it.

He’s preoccupied.

Just tagging a couple of the lovely people who commented on the original and might be interested in this, absolutely no pressure of course! x

@saradika @oscarseyebrow @the-little-ewok @bacarasbabe @writeforfandoms @hardc0rehaylz @moonlight-prose @lcvenderblues @onfiretakemehigher @littlemousedroid @viceofdionysus @grufflepuff-writes-stuff @ifimayhaveaword @millllenniawrites @liamakorn @lilhawkeye3 @grumpymuffinmama @dailyreverie @mandelirious

[run-me-through-but-not-like-that]

heyy i love the way you write, can i have a request for izzy? him and the reader were childhood friends and the reader was the only person izzy opened up but then izzy chose ed instead of the reader and after years they reunited, thanks to stede

(idk if i was able to explain what's on my mind but basically friends to strangers to friends to lovers trope)

oh and i hope you are okay!!

Reuniting with your Childhood Best Friend, Izzy Hands:

Ever since you were kids, you and Izzy had been best friends. It was always the two of you against the world, or that's how it felt at least. You grew up together, learnt how to survive together. Vowed to do everything together. And that's just how it was, until Edward Teach showed up.

A boy with fire in his eyes and unmatched charisma. The three of you became friends during his short stay in your hometown, you taught him all the best spots in town and he taught you both how to cause as much trouble as possible.

Edward told you all his stories from his short time as a pirate, told stories about how he was going to be the greatest pirate in history, how he would rule the seas. You could admit that you admired the boy and his ambitions and you could tell that Izzy was in awe of it. Of him.

Then it was time for Edward to sail off with the ship he arrived on. He invited you both to join him, to help him become the most fearsome pirate captain the world had ever seen.

You knew Izzy would go, you saw it on his face, you did know him better than anyone after all. You wanted to go with them, didn't want to spend the rest of your life in this town, but you couldn't leave. You had a responsibility to your sick mother.

It broke your heart to see Izzy go, broke his too. He had given you a tight embrace before boarding the ship with the taller boy.

And you didn't see either of them again...

Of course, you had heard about the infamous Blackbeard. You hadn't thought too much of it at first, just that a new force had risen on the seas. It wasn't until you heard the mysterious captain being referred to as 'Edward Teach' that you paused to consider it.

You knew that name, that man. Boy, really, when you knew him.

As Blackbeard's infamy grew, so did the rest of his crew. Including his infamous first mate, Israel Hands. You had grinned like an idiot when you heard that name.

They did it. The two of them fucking did it. Two stupid kids, now Blackbeard and his first mate. Two of the most feared pirates to ever sail the seven seas.

You had resigned yourself to never seeing them again, never seeing him again, even after you learnt that they were alive and making a name for themselves. There was no chance you were going to risk a run in with Blackbeard's crew claiming to be an old friend.

Time passed, you joined various crews. None were permanent, as was typical for the lifestyle. Then you met possibly the strangest man you had ever met, Stede Bonnet, and when you saw the fuckery of a crew he had assembled, you jumped right on board. The whole thing was just too enticing, too different, to pass up.

You stayed with that crew longer than any other crew you had sailed with before, finding friendships there. Family. A home. Something you hadn't experienced in a long time.

The last thing you expected was for Blackbeard to come across the Revenge, to take an interest in it, to fucking board it and save all of your lives.

You had gawked at the man when he strode across the deck, probably a reaction he was used too and didn't think twice about.

But your reaction wasn't because he was the legendary Blackbeard, it was because he was...so much different. The last time you saw him he barely had a stubble, just peach fuzz really, with hair just past his ears. But it was the same look in his eyes, something half-mad (you still weren't sure if it was a good thing or not).

You had looked around for the first mate but hadn't seen him, it made a familiar, heavy feeling settle in your chest.

You didn't see the man until later that day. Once Stede had been declared stable, experiencing a bad fever but likely to survive it. The crew had been kept at bay by two men, Ivan and Fang you think you heard.

That's when the man made himself known on the deck. You hadn't even recognised him at first as he strode about, barking orders and threats. It wasn't until Blackbeard came back out from the captain's cabin, laughing and saying, "calm down, Iz. We've got this."

Your eyes had widened. Iz. Izzy.

Israel fucking Hands.

The first mate had tensed, shouldering squaring as he spun around to face you. Oh, you must have said that out loud. Yeah, everyone was looking at you, confused.

He squinted at you, trying to figure out what to make of you. How you knew him.

"Really? Y'don't remember me, Iz? That stings," it was half joking because it definitely would hurt if he didn't remember you.

But he did. He breathed out your name, recognition taking over his face.

When you stepped forward to approach your old friend, Ivan had grabbed you. Only following orders, you were sure, nothing personal.

"Leave them," Izzy demanded and Ivan released you in an instant, though confused by the order.

You finally approached the man, a smile on your face. Hell, Izzy couldn't remember the last time somebody recognised him and smiled.

"Holy fuck, I remember you," Edward, Blackbeard, whoever, pointed at you. His eyes widening slightly.

"Yeah, I remember you too. Before the beard," you nodded, unsure of how to interact with him. He wasn't that lanky kid anymore, he was intimidating now.

"Yeah...kinda stole Iz away, didn't I?" Edward chuckled, clasping his hand over Izzy's shoulder.

"No hard feelings. I couldn't go, would have if it weren't for...well, you know," you never really blamed Izzy for leaving, even if you sometimes wanted to hate him for leaving you all alone. If circumstances were different, you would have left with them without a second thought.

Edward seemed confused by that, obviously not remembering your reason for staying behind when he invited you both into a life of piracy. Izzy, on the other hand, nodding in understanding, his expression almost, almost, apologetic

"How-I mean, what happened?" Izzy asked lowly, almost guiltily.

"The inevitable," you sighed solemnly, "we both knew she wasn't going to get better but I couldn't just leave her...had to be there until...until the end, y'know?"

"I'm sorry," the first mate nodded respectfully. You still remembered a time when he would have pulled you into his arms, letting you cry against his shoulder. Even if it felt like a lifetime ago.

You just shrugged, shaking off the old memories.

You took a moment to take in his new appearance. He was older now, obviously, had grown a few inches, wasn't quite as small as he once was. Had grown a beard, not as impressive or wild as Blackbeard, more neat and trimmed, greying. It suited him.

He had tattoos now as well, not as many on display as his captain but two noticeable ones. A cross, perhaps a star, on his cheek and a swallow on his neck. The latter only served to remind you of the fierce pirate he had become.

He looked like a different man, his eyes harder than they once were but the same colour. Still familiar.

The new look suited him.

Then you noticed the ring secured around his necktie and your heart nearly leapt out of your chest. A part of you always worried that Izzy went on to bigger and better things, that he would forget about you. But he hadn't.

"You kept the ring?" you asked, staring at the shiny piece of jewellery. He had taken good care of it by the looks of it.

"Uh...yeah, I guess" Izzy attempted to shrug it off, trying not to look flustered. Like he had been caught doing something he shouldn't. Honestly, he was a little surprised that you remembered it as well.

You just grinned as you fished a chain out from under the collar of your shirt, presenting the ring that hung from it like a pendant.

"Fuck" Izzy breathed out, he had felt silly for keeping hold of it...until now.

"Very eloquent. As always," you chuckled a little to yourself. His language hadn't changed in the slightest. "Just glad I wasn't the only one," you confessed.

"Hold on a fucking second," Izzy shook his head, seemingly coming to his senses as his surprise wore off. "You work for fucking Bonnet?" he asked, looking at you like you had lost your mind.

"Uh yeah. Been pirating for years now, since...y'know. Ran into Stede and his crew a while back. They do things a lot differently here, it's insane, and I had to be apart of it," you explained.

"I shouldn't even be surprised. I mean...it's you," Izzy rolled his eyes. Strange things had always endeared you.

"Ah, so you do remember me well," you grinned.

Before Izzy could respond, Blackbeard patted his shoulder. "Iz, uh, can we kinda move this along? I need you for something," it wasn't really a question, he was his captain after all.

Izzy just nodded, sparing you a final glance, before following him towards the captain's cabin.

"You know Blackbeard!" Black Pete shouted once the two men were out of sight.

"Uh...kinda? Not really. I grew up with Izzy, actually. We met Edward, uh Blackbeard, when we were teenagers," you explained, returning to your crew. Remembering that you were technically captives at the moment.

"At least this might mean he won't kill us," Frenchie looked at you hopefully.

"...we'll see," you hummed, unconvinced. You were never able to predict Edward, you didn't think that would have changed over the years.

As the two captains struck up an unlikely friendship, the crew quickly learnt that Izzy was an absolute nightmare. Running them hard to keep the ship up to his standards, each demand punctuated with a threat, and yet, not once had he threatened you.

In fact, whenever you approached him, he seem to mellow out, listening to whatever you had to say. Fuck, he might have even smiled at some memory you recalled to him. When the crew learnt that you had once been friends with the first mate, they thought might be let off easy. Apparently, Izzy's soft spot only extended to you.

-

Despite having reunited with your childhood friend and spending most of your time with him most days, it could be difficult to get him alone. Even harder to have his full attention.

So, when you found out that Izzy was on watch one night, you headed up from the bunks to finally get some time to properly talk to him.

"So...you and Edward really did it? Blackbeard and his first mate, two of the most feared pirates to ever sail to seas," you asked as you stepped up onto the quarterdeck.

"You didn't think we would?" Izzy cocked an eyebrow as he turned to face you. Not seeming all that surprised by your visit.

"If anyone could, it was you two. But piracy doesn't normally let you live long. For years, before I started hearing your names whispered in pubs, I worried you might have died during your first month," you confessed with a small sigh, leaning your forearms against the ship's railing.

"Well, we did it," he hummed, joining you by the railing.

"Just glad you're alive," you gave him a small smile. Even now, you almost couldn't believe that this was Israel standing in front of you. That he was still alive, that you were united again, that he had became the fearsome pirate that he promised you he would become.

"Glad you're alive too," you almost laughed at his quiet admittance. Like being glad your old friend was alive might be a secretive thing. "Figured you would hate me for leaving the way I did," he confessed, looking at you sincerely.

"Izzy...we were kids and Edward was giving you a way out of that place, promises of adventure. Like I said, I would have gone too, didn't blame you for it. Just missed you," you assured him, reaching out to place your hand on top of his, where it lightly gripped the railing.

Izzy sighed as he looked down at your hands before turning his hand over to gently clasp yours. It felt good to have you back by his side. For so many years you where the only person he could trust, the only person he felt was truly on his side. He felt the same way about Edward but not to the same extent. He could trust Edward and Edward could trust him, but that had nothing on the bond you two had had.

Standing there that night, it felt like nothing had changed. Like you were both still young, ready to take on the world together.

"What is Blackbeard planning to do with the crew?" you asked, a little hesitant. Unsure if you wanted to know the fate of your friends.

"Not sure," he confessed, seeming uncomfortable with the prospect of not knowing his captain's plan. "The original plan was the usual raid, at least I thought it was, but he's taken a liking to Bonnet of all fucking people. Your crew should be safe for now," he assured you.

"Will you be heading back to the Queen Anne?" you wondered if he could hear the plea in your question for him to stay, at least a little while longer.

"If Blackbeard does," Izzy nodded curtly. You just nodded in return, hoping your disappointment wasn't too obvious. Clearing his throat, Izzy continued, "there are some openings, we lost a few men against the Spanish."

"Are you inviting me to go with you?" you asked, a smile that Izzy remembered forming on your face. Playful. Cheeky.

"The invitation has always been open," he promised, making your smile soften, turn into something sweet.

"Just don't go anywhere without coming to see me, yeah?" you couldn't make the promise that you would leave with him, the crew had become your family after all, but you weren't ruling it out completely.

Izzy just nodded, giving your hand a small squeeze.

"Right, you have to tell me everything that's happened since you left," you insisted, knocking your shoulder against his.

"That's a lot to tell," Izzy chuckled a little to himself.

"Well, we have all night. Want me to brew some coffee?" you insisted, giving Izzy the best puppy dog eyes you could muster. That always worked when you were younger.

"...yeah, alright," Izzy agreed, making you smile brightly before hurrying off to grab some coffee so you could catch up on everything the two of you had missed.

-

Since Blackbeard and his crew had boarded the Revenge, things had started to settle down. The crew was becoming more comfortable with the changes, and Edward and Stede were officially co-captaining.

Now, the crew, including the captains (and Izzy by captain's orders), found themselves sitting around drinking talking.

"So, what's the story behind the rings?" Lucius turned his attention to you, and Izzy who sat by your side, once there was a lull in the conversation. The question got everyone's attention. Lucius had been watching to ask about the rings since the first day when you had seemed so excited to see Izzy wearing it, apparently the crew were curious too.

Knowing Izzy wouldn't give an answer and that the question was mostly directed at you for that reason, you spoke. "Some fancy ship stopped at our docks and some couple decided to come and slum it with us all for a while. Of course, we robbed them. Izzy actually stole the sapphire one and I stole the emerald. Later that day we swapped them. Silly really, swapping gifts like we hadn't stolen them together, but it was for the best. Green suits Iz."

Izzy grumbled something at the small compliment, hiding the slight colour of his cheeks behind his tankard as he drank.

"You never told me that Izzy," Edward frowned slightly. "assumed it was from your family or something."

"You never asked," Izzy shrugged. He never really hid the story, Edward just never asked about the ring. If he had, he would have told him.

"Well, what else don't I know?" Edward asked, keeping an air of light-heartedness.

"Plenty, I guess," Izzy shrugged again, clearly frustrating his friend with his short answers.

"Like what?" his captain continued to poke and Izzy knew he would have to give him something to chew on.

"I don't know...you don't know my middle name," Izzy hummed thoughtfully.

"You have a middle name?" Edward questioned, Izzy only nodded. Clearly, he didn't wish to share more information. "Well, what is it?"

Izzy just scowled into his drink, letting you know that it was time for you to step in.

"Don't even ask, he hates it. He won't tell you. It took me months to pry it from him," you advised. "I actually quite like it but the first time I called him it he put a knife to my throat," despite the threat, you laughed fondly at the member.

"Better not tell anyone," Izzy grumbled. He did not need Bonnet's crew bugging him with it just because they know he doesn't like it.

"Hey, I vowed on my life to never tell anyone," you reminded him sincerely.

"Hold on," Lucius waved his hands, getting everyone's attention back on him. "Is Izzy the person you raided the merchant ship for rum with?" he suddenly recalled all your little stories about all the trouble you and your friend used to get up too. He couldn't believe it only just clicked that you had been talking about Izzy fucking Hands.

"Yeah."

"And who you robbed people at the docks with?" Black Pete asked,

"Yep."

"And stole apples with?" Frenchie continued.

"Fucking hell, you told them about that?" Izzy groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Sure I did, didn't tell them it was the infamous Israel Hands that I accidently gave a concussion by throwing an apple at his head though," you shrugged.

"I wasn't even looking at you, you caught me off guard," he complained, defending himself.

"Yeah, exactly, I was trying to get your attention," you rolled your eyes, you had thought that was obvious.

"What happened to that old fuck's farm anyway?" Izzy asked, his full attention turned on to you.

"Just before I left, his nephew took it over. Just as strict about starving kids stealing the apples though. Right bastards," you told him with a small huff, never having liked the two men.

"The nephew that had a thing for you?" Izzy asked, his nose scrunching up in distaste.

"Yeah, that one. As if I'd ever be interested in that selfish bastard," you scoffed, shaking your head.

"Was such a twat," Izzy muttered and you laughed in agreement.

Lucius raised an eyebrow as he looked between you both, the way your knees touched as you sat together. Smirking to himself, he took a sip of his drink.

-

It was a quiet day on the ship, the crew effectively avoiding their given chores. You had slipped away, standing at the head of the ship, enjoying the breeze.

Izzy doesn't greet you but you heard him approach, leaning against the ship's railing. Izzy never needed much conversation to enjoy company, in fact he probably preferred it that way.

"Looks like Blackbeard is going to be sailing with us for a while longer," you commented, eventually breaking the comfortable silence.

"Yeah, Stede Fucking Bonnet," Izzy muttered, his nose turning up in distaste.

"You really don't like him, do you?" you asked, slightly amused despite being more fond of your captain.

"Gonna get everyone killed," he insisted. You couldn't completely disagree with that, Stede very obviously lacked experience or expertise just like the rest of the crew, but now Blackbeard and his crew were here. Maybe they could train the captain and crew up, get everyone in fighting shape. Make a real pirate crew out of the Revenge.

"So...does that mean you'll be going back to the Queen Anne?" if Izzy really felt like staying with the Revenge was a suicide mission, why would he stick around?

His hesitation before answering seemed like a good sign, maybe he wasn't already planning his leave. "...would you come with me?" he asked quietly.

It wasn't the first time he had asked you that and you had time to think about your answer. "Probably."

"Probably?" Izzy squinted at you, not understanding what that answer meant.

"I really like it here. Sure, Stede isn't the best pirate captain but he's better than the alternative. I like the crew, they're my friends. But...doesn't feel right to be separated from you again," you admitted before asking, "would you consider staying?"

"It's what I've been leaning towards," he confessed, making your eyes widen slightly. Sure, he hadn't appeared to be taking any action at leaving but he also never hid his distaste for the crew.

Though, maybe you shouldn't be too surprised. Izzy had been following Edward for years now, since they were kids, that probably hadn't changed completely just because Stede and the Revenge came into the picture.

"Come here," Izzy beckoned you, breaking you from your thoughts.

It wasn't like you were particularly far away but you still stepped closer, frowning slightly as you watched him remove the familiar ring from his necktie. You wanted to question him but found the words getting caught in your throat when he lifted the chain from around your neck and removed your ring as well.

"What are you doing?" you finally managed to ask, the small chance of Izzy planning to get rid of the rings making your throat close up.

Izzy didn't answer you, though he did soothe your concerns with his next actions. Without a word, he slipped his ring onto your chain and returned it to its place around your neck. You reached up, clutching the ring curiously, reverently, as he tucked your ring securely on his necktie.

"You said green suits me, guess you'll just have to stay close by then," Izzy explained, reaching out to fiddle with the emerald ring dangling from your neck, brushing your hand out of the way.

"Romantic bastard," you breathed out shakily.

He scoffed but still smiled at you. Maybe he was a little sentimental. Just a little. Maybe a lot when it came to you.

You couldn't help but return his smile, searching his face for...well, you weren't completely sure. But whatever it was, you were pretty sure you found it.

Still smiling, you hooked two fingers under Izzy's necktie, your thumb pressed against the sapphire ring, as you pulled him towards you. He moved without fight or hesitation, letting you press your lips to his, hands instantly lifting and cupping your face as he returned your kiss.

The two of you would very likely be staying on the Revenge for a long time to come, but even if he led you back to the Queen Anne or some other unseen future, you would go willingly. Maybe this time you would leave with him. Maybe this time he would choose to stay for you.

[miekasa]

future nostalgia (eren jaeger)

↯ pairing: eren jaeger x (fem) reader, armin is absolutely putting in the work and deserves wingman of the year, mikasa is your well-reasoned, protective friend how you like them apples

↯ genres and warnings: college au, fluff, everybody is a little bit of an idiot, armin and eren supremacy, i will find a way to make levi captain of something in any and every au

↯ word count: 1.5k

↯ summary: armin arlert is the greatest wingman a boy could ask for; unfortunately he’s also oblivious as hell and painfully single himself, but you know what, he’s doing his best (aka you and eren putting your friends through the mental wingman/wingwoman olympics).

↯ notes: i’m running out of gifs to use i’m going to have to learn how to use photoshop to make headers rip in peace to me, also this an old piece, reworked for eren again, sometimes i cheat off of myself it’s okay  

“Just come by the rink during practice,” Armin pleas, “I promise, he can put his hot-headedness to good use!”

“I don’t doubt that,” you chuckle, your voice booming through the speaker of his phone, “But I’m pretty sure the rink is closed to non-athletes or team members, Armin.”

“But I can get you access! Manager’s privileges!” Armin boasts.

“While I appreciate the reminder about how single you think I am—and, I do, truly, Armin, from the bottom of my heart, thank you—you don’t have to try and set me up with one of your hockey jockeys.”

“They’re not jockeys!” Armin protests.

“Reiner Braun is most definitely a jockey.”

Armin slumps down a bit. Okay, most of them are good people. Most of the time. Look, Reiner is the exception, not the norm, but even he could be analytical and composed when he needed to be. 

“I’m going to tell him you said that,” Armin threatens.

“Fine, then I’ll tell him that you almost leaked his nudes to the entire girls volleyball team freshman year.”

“You play dirty,” Armin pouts, face growing red at the memory. (In his defense, it was freshman year, pretty much the first time in his life he’d had alcohol unsupervised, and in his drunken haze he thought he might have been doing Reiner a favor; he was pining over Christa pretty hard). “Which is exactly why you’ll love Eren!”

“Eren, still?” you question, trying to hide the amusement in your tone. “What’s the infatuation with me and Eren? You know, if I’m being honest, Jean is more my type, or even the captain—what’s his name again?”

“You mean Levi?” Armin questions, incredulous, “He’s the exact opposite of your type, don’t lie to me!”

“He’s still hot.”

“Is he really?” Mikasa’s voice questions doubtfully; and you can practically feel her rolling her eyes from across the receiver, “You can do better than him, (Y/N).”

“Wait, am I on speaker?” you ask.

“Maybe, doesn’t matter,” Armin hums, brushing away the topic, “Like I was saying, Eren is great, and you’re great, so you’d be great together! Plus, he’s kind of loaded, and very generous. Not that you’re shallow or anything, but I’m just saying, he’d take you on nice dates.”

“You’re kind of loaded and you don’t take me on nice dates.”

“Because we’re not dating.”

“You could take me on a friend date,” you muse, “Don’t be stingy, Armin.”

“She has a point,” Mikasa quips, “You always go to the fancy museums and don’t invite us.”

“Because the last time I did, you fell asleep! In the middle of the coral reef exhibit!” Armin whines.

“Because it was boring as fuck,” Mikasa deadpans, prompting you to chuckle.

“I have to agree. I’m afraid if you and Eren have the same taste in dates, it will never work out.”

“We don’t!” Armin insists, “Look, Eren is exactly your type, (Y/N), I’m telling you! He’s cute, athletic, but not bulky, and little clumsy, but it can be charming! Plus he loves puppies, cares about the environment, believes the healthcare system is corrupt, and hates most branches of law enforcement! What more could you want!”

“Armin,” you pause, holding back your laughter, “Maybe you should set yourself up with Eren if you think he’s that great.”

Armin chokes on the other end of the line, and your chuckles stumble out; you can imagine the blonde growing red and increasingly embarrassed with every passing second.

Mikasa hums. “Armin and Eren do have good chemistry—”

“Hello?! I don’t want to date Eren!”

“—but, I’ll vouch for Eren on this, too,” Mikasa continues, “I think you two would be good together.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. You’d always known Mikasa was in support of setting you up with Eren too—albeit much more subtle than her blonde counterpart—but she’d never said it explicitly; showing her approval in contended nods and hums whenever Armin would scheme to get you and Eren together. It was somewhat reassuring to hear.

You’re about to continue teasing Armin about the subject, when you hear your apartment door unlock. You shift your phone to your other hand, as you hear the sound of keys clanging onto the hook near the door.

“Look, guys, I gotta go,” you tell him, “This is been fun, but maybe focus on working out your feelings before setting me up, yeah? I wouldn’t want to get in the way of such a beautiful friends to lovers story.”

“Will you—I want you to date Eren, not date him myself! There—be quiet, Mikasa—there are no feelings to work out, I don’t even like g—”

“Sounds, good Armin,” you chuckle, words hurried as you hear footsteps approaching you, “Try and get Levi’s number for me, would you? Rumor has it he’s loaded, too—old money rich and everything.”

“But Eren is perfect—” is all you hear before you end the call, a pair of arms wrapping around your waist from behind, just as your thumb presses against your screen.

Ruffled, brown hair falls onto your shoulders as a chin is propped up against your neck; a flurry feather light kisses greeting you soon after. You hum, reaching your hand back to curl into the brown tresses, a final, exaggerated kiss pressed into the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

“Why are you trying to get Captain’s number,” Eren questions, voice muffled as he nuzzles his nose behind your ear, “No offense, but I think you’d have to line up behind his hundred and one fangirls first, babe.”

You chuckle lightly, neck growing warm as Eren continues to bury himself into your skin. His is cold from the winter air, but you don’t know why he insists on inflicting it onto you, when you know he’ll be back to furnace temperatures within the next ten minutes.

“I’m just messing with Armin,” you answer, resting on of your hands over Eren’s at your waist and giving it a squeeze, “He’s still trying to set us up.”

Eren chuckles, undoing his hold on you to spin you around to face him, cold hands cupping either side of your face. You scrunch your nose at the frigid feeling, but Eren finds it cute, leaning forward to press a kiss to the tip of your nose as an apology.

“Well, Armin is nothing if not loyal,” Eren muses.

“He’s too good for you,” you jest, poking at Eren’s forehead playfully, “He’s putting in all this work to be a good wingman, and you’re slacking off.”

“Technically, he’s not doing any work, we’re already together.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t know that.”

“And who’s fault is that?” Eren questions, using his hands to squish your cheeks together, “I wanted to tell him two months ago.”

“First of all, this secret thing was your idea to begin with,” you point out, “Which—oh, by the way, I told you Mikasa approves of you; she said we’d be cute together on the phone.”

“That doesn’t mean she still won’t castrate me if we ever break up,” Eren says, a shudder running down his spine at the thought of it.

It’s not that he wanted to keep your relationship a complete secret from all of your friends forever, but he was hesitant at first, unsure of how your two friend groups would merge and take the news. And, he knew how much Mikasa cared about you, and truthfully, the dark haired girl scared him a little.

But it was bordering on half a year now, and he was certain that somebody would catch on soon enough. That, or Eren would accidentally let it slip to the entire hockey team one of these days—he almost has on a handful of occasions, but you don’t need to know about all of that.

And while a part of him did like the privacy that came along with dating in secrecy, Eren was finding it increasingly difficult to pretend to not be in love with you whenever you two went out with your friends; and to not brag that he had a super hot, super supportive girlfriend to wear his jersey during games, and Jean didn’t.

“You have plans to break up with me, Jaeger?” you question, but there’s a playful lilt in your voice.

It makes Eren grin, using his grip on your face to pull you closer, words ghosting over your lips before he pulls you in for a kiss, “Not in a million years.”

[berryblissbby]

Fiercest; devoted;

Pairing: Princess!reader x Guard/Warrior! Hajime Iwaizumi

Word Count: 9,500

Warnings: Use of blades and knives

A/N: Sooo this is the longest thing I've ever posted on tumblr and one of the longest fics I've ever written. Ive only even written a handful of things to completion before so please be kind (⩾﹏⩽). I'm currently reading TOG and this story was born from me trying to process HOF so if you see some parallels just look away! This is fanfic we borrow, not steal. And finally I must say, must I write a plot? Can’t they just learn to tenderly love each other in the end? 

AND! AND! Here's the pinterest board i made for this fic, i'm so sorry that all the references are white people omg, pinterest has shit diversity.

Summary:

The moonlight won’t let you forget, the sunlight brightens the truth.

You are his princess, and he is your warrior. Raised together Hajime is your greatest source of comfort when he suddenly pulls away, igniting your temper and flaring animosity towards each other. Either under the light of the moon, or the rays of the sun, you’ll fight it out, just like always.

 You were the princess of an empire. Heir of the kingdom that was the pinnacle of learning, healing and safety for anyone who wished to stay there. Books, music, and art were all treasured, and culture was allowed to thrive and breathe. Your court was beloved, held strong by devotion and loyalty, “the strongest court in the world” the people said. You were loved as well, by your parents and their people. Adored, you were their future.

 Hajime was a lesser by his kingdom's terms. In a kingdom of magic wielders, he was unwanted nobility. So he was sent to you, to your kingdom, where compared to your human court, with a little magical blood in him, he would be strong. He was to be your guard, to keep you safe, and when you were ready to rule your bond would be unbreakable.  

You were nine and he was thirteen . Delightfully shy- to adults- you lacked true friends. Hiding behind your mother, father or nursemaid, you could be found with your nose in a book. Even at celebrations it was the same, unless you convinced your mother or father to dance with you, much to everyone’s joy. 

 But then you had Hajime, and even though you were scared, with red rung hands and shifting eyes, he danced with you. Uncoordinated and silly, gentle smiles turning to grins and grins to giggles, you landed on the floor in a heap of laughter. Everyone could tell- when you were with him your timidness melts, and is met with ferocious quips and laughter full of love- that you would grow to be a shining queen. You didn’t worry, your child princess self, because when you were sat on your heaviest burden, your own little throne, he would be behind you. With his chest puffed up, his daggers sharpened and shining. Already your fiercest warrior and most devoted protector. 

 -

 You grew together, his dark eyes were always watching you, blanketing you in warmth. When you learned  how to fight and hold a dagger correctly he practiced with you, until your coordination and form were perfect. When you were strong enough for a sword he was right there as well, much to the captain of the guards dismay. You practiced together, but he never let you win. It was infuriating, his determined expression and unrelenting jabs. But “it’s for your own good” and you knew you'd best him one day. 

 -

 He snuck into your room, when your chambers were too big, and the darknesses fingers too long. He stayed in the chair in the corner, and listened to you talk until your words slurred and you fell asleep. Your maids usually find him still there, curled up, in the morning.

 -

 He was right beside you when you learned how to ride a horse by yourself at ten years old, with shaky hands and gasping breaths. And when you fell off- the one and only time- he picked you right off the ground, dusted off your dress, and growled at the stable master. 

 He wiped the tears off your face as fast as they fell. Your little hands gripping the front of his shirt begging him not to leave.

 Hajime pulled you to his chest, shushing you again. It was awkward, just two little kids clinging to each other, one barely old enough to comfort the other. But you needed him nonetheless.

 He was right there the day you got it, hanging off the rails of the round pin, pumping his fist in triumph as you and your horse trotted in circles.

 Looking over, a grin breaking across your face,  you met his own grin. It sent shivers down your spine, blooming in your tummy. You could see it, with that feral grin on his face, you understood what type of man he would be. He truly was a warrior.

 -

 He stood behind you when you first attended state meetings with your father, against the wall with the other guards. You had been terrified. You hadn’t known, really, what they were talking about, and you had been scared that they would ask you questions you wouldn’t know the answer to. But Hajime was there, and that made your words a little more steady. 

 -

 He was eighteen and you fourteen, budding into adolescence, and it seemed to be everyone’s business. He was turning into a man and you couldn’t help but notice, not that you would ever speak of it.

 He was leading you horse, walking you around the gardens. He liked to pick and choose when you should be treated as a princess. With swords in your hands he tended to ignore it, but at times like these, you were an heiress and he was an indentured servant.

 “I don’t understand”

 “It’s a tragedy, it's supposed to make you sad!” You say. “It’s about the ‘what if’s’ and the yearning, you have to focus on the yearning.” You giggle at your words, as you drag out your syllables. 

 You were telling him about your latest book, and how it had left you heart broken for the two lovers. With bad timing, and greedy people stealing their chances at love, they could never be together. 

 You always told Hajime about your books, you couldn’t help talking about the ones that you couldn’t get out of your head. He was an amazing listener, and you appreciated him dearly for it. Even though his face would remain blank and his eyes would shift all around you, looking for threats, he would always pay attention.

 He scoffed. “ Well, what if I don’t care about yearning, what if they’re just stupid? The answer was right in front of them.” 

 “That’s not the point Hajime,” you pout.

 He scowls up at you, stopping your horse. 

 “What?” You can’t help but laugh at both of your dramatics.

 “Just don’t let me catch you doing anything dumb like that,” he doesn’t let you answer, starting your horse walking again. ¨Idiots.¨

 ¨Hajime!¨

 You appreciate him, in every sense, always protecting you, in body and soul.

 -

 He was twenty and you sixteen. Your temper was epic, it shook the stone walls and snapped as easily as the ribbons on your dresses. But your heart was just as easily broken. You were a slave to your emotions and you could feel it, festering in you. You would never let it show to the court, but your family knew, and so did Hajime. There was little left of the girl who used to hide behind skirts.

 You didn´t know if it was a gradual process, or if you woke up to it one day, but suddenly you couldn´t stop watching him. You couldn´t stop admiring him. He was so big, and strong, and he made you laugh so hard. His hands were soft, and large. He was smart, catching things you hadn’t in meetings, and his voice would send shivers down your spine when he whispered in your ear, telling you things about the people you were surrounded by. Things that he had learned to keep you safe; precautions. You couldn't stop your cheeks from heating up anymore, they were perpetually flushed, and it was impossible to hold his gaze. Things that wouldn't have mattered before made you stutter. But what set you off, was when you would look up to him, when you expected to meet those cool eyes, they would be somewhere else.

 Before, when you had been upset, you would drag Hajime to the training rooms and throw him a sword. He would let you get a few hits in, before winning, of course. But only after you got everything you needed out. He was the cool water to your raging disposition. He had a sternness to him now, even though his fiery character could rival yours sometimes, he knew when to hold back. And when he did, his easy answers and cool voice were equally frustrating as they were calming. You shared more together while in those practice rooms swinging swords than anywhere else. But now you had lost the thing that had made it better.

 Now you only saw him when mandatory, behind your throne and next to you at meals. He seemed to be more interested in the guards and other warriors than you, so you ate in silence and read alone at night. You eventually requested a new guard, and your parents said no. You two were friends, and he was sent here for you, that would not be changing overnight. But he didn't feel like your Hajime anymore, your friend or defender. Because he wasn't paying attention to you anymore, not like he was supposed to. Or how you wanted him too.

 It made you burn when you looked up and he wasn't looking at you. The embers in your chest that would flare when you didn't get your way, when someone disagreed with you, when Hajime said something brash, were a roaring fire. You didn't understand why things had changed, where it had come from.

 You saw it, when his eyes met the older courtiers- well, older compared to you. You saw the eyes of the women on him, how they trailed over his broad back and strong arms. You knew that the lady’s had started taking their walks through the section of the palace they had previously thought of as unpalatable. They would bat their eyelashes and fan their fans in front of them as they walked past the training rooms, hoping to catch Hajime in only a thin damp shirt. It was infuriating.

 You took to ignoring him, long lonely months. It was intense, the war between you both, silently throwing glances at each other, both sets of eyes holding promises of worse words to come. He was a weight behind you at all times, dragging your heart deeper into a pit of solitary despair. He left you whenever he could afford, never letting your parents or the other guards see. You were kept safe, but it wasn’t comforting like before. The walks to your rooms after dinner were the worst, the internal battle inside you was tearing you to shreds. Should you talk to him? Confront him? Bear a dagger and rough it out? But he would leave you by your door and walk away before you could decide anything at all. 

 You had burned too bright, the fire in you now gone. The fury that had kept you warm was nothing but a cold pit in your chest.

 You were all alone, every day that knowledge split you open like a cold blade. You were determined to stay away from him, to not bother him, since he obviously didn’t want anything to do with you. But one day, it all became too much. 

 You had attended a dinner tonight, with a distant royal family. And they had said things to you that they had no right to say. They had spoken as if they had known you. They knew things about you that made your skin crawl. All of those things were somewhat common knowledge, but then they had started making assumptions about you, asking you things that if you were a queen you would have known the answers to. But you weren’t, you were a stupid little princess, with no one. And you felt so small. 

 The only thing that made it worse was when you realized you were bracing for something. After every one of their comments, you were waiting for one of Hajime's raging blows. For him let his temper go, just a little. To tell them how it was, to defend you. But it didn’t come, you looked over and he wasn’t paying attention. What happened to your warrior? Your watcher? Your protector?

 -

 You remembered a conversation between you and Hajime, before. It was late at night, Hajime was laying on the rug in front of your heart, his arm thrown over his eyes. Your book set to the side.

 The candles had all burned low, but the fire stood strong. It casted a blood orange glow across half of his body, the other half a stark blue. You didn’t know if he was asleep, and took your time admiring him.

 The side away from you, from your vantage point lounging on the couch, was flushed. His mouth was pulled down slightly, but it didn’t scare you. That looked like you’re Hajime, with sharp teeth and a barking laugh. Who felt everything thrown at him. 

 You didn’t know how he hid it so well, but he really did experience everything; he might conceal it, but it was in there.

 You looked at the other side of him, the one in a cold blue light from the moon coming in your windows. You wondered if that was what other people saw, the straight backed man, who knew who he was and what he stood for. 

You said his name gently, he grunted in response.

“Do you remember… that tragedy I read years ago, about the two lovers…” you explained a little more, trailing off.

He took a deep breath saying, “ yes, with the idiots.” 

You don’t bother hiding your pursed lips before you say, “what… what would you do in their situation, since they’re such idiots.” You pluck at a thread on the couch, not looking at him.

From your peripheral vision you could see him turn his head to look at the flames, and suddenly a wave of anxiety hits you, you're scared to know his real answer, his honest one.

You get up and walk to the window, and the stark difference in temperature makes you shudder. It was starting to snow, just barely. The moon was so bright, causing the gardens below your window to glow. The marble walkways mirroring back the moon.

“I would…” you look back at him, with a hand still on the window sill, and almost gasp. “I would run too, because I wouldn’t know any better, just like them.” He had sat up and turned away from the fire, his whole front blue and cold. 

You couldn’t stand the window anymore, and went to sit by the hearth. 

-

You think he’s run. He’s carried himself as far away from you as he can without abandoning his responsibilities. The gap between you is the largest thing you have ever felt. A dark ravine, and on the other side was him, with his back turned to you. Everything is blue, the moon won’t let you forget, it refuses to shroud out the light, so you can’t remain ignorant. You hate it. And every day, you come closer and closer to falling into that deep crack in the earth, reaching out your arms, stretching your fingers, feeling the rocks shift under your feet, pebbles falling into the dark pit, maybe to never hit the bottom.

-

 You couldn’t calm yourself even hours later, your mind would go back to dinner when you tried to read, and you couldn’t sleep. Sometimes, when it was too late to brandish swords or you were too young to hold one, Hajime and you would walk the palace halls. Running from guards not to be caught, jumping on chairs in forgotten sitting rooms, daring each other to grab things from the kitchen. All before putting his grumpy cool mask back on and escorting you back to your rooms. But you never dared walk the halls yourself, you were always too scared. Hajime... Hajime, he would always take you, and make you feel better. 

 You had been pacing your rooms, trying to find a way to fix your hurt. Trying to come up with any solution. Sitting down on your bed, you put your head in your hands, pleading with the tears not to fall. You wanted him to make you feel better again, you wanted to feel safe with him behind you, not cold and unwanted. 

 You didn't know what to do, really, you told yourself as you snuck your way into his rooms, holding your breath the whole way there, still scared. Closing the door behind you you leaned against it, and for a moment, it felt like before. He smelled the same and the room was so warm it made you shiver in satisfaction. But he was a warrior, so your moment of peace didn’t last long as he rolled over, almost reaching for a weapon before he realized who you were. 

 You tried smiling, but seeing him like that, with his dark hair messy, and cheeks ruddy from sleep just hurt you more. You couldn’t stop the quiver in your lip.

 “You've been crying,” he said, pushing himself off the bed slightly. You tried not to watch the blanket fall off his shoulders.

 Nodding, you turn your head, wiping away tears with your wrist, not looking him in the eyes. You took a moment, trying to calm yourself and almost took a step towards him, but you caught yourself. That made the tears come faster. If things had been like before, you would have ran to him. You won't have hesitated, you wouldn't be bracing for something foul to come out of his mouth. 

 But those things didn't matter, not when he finally sat up and opened his arms letting you throw yourself at him.

 He rocked you back and forth, pulling you onto his lap, cooing at you. “What’s wrong, what’s the matter my princess.” The vibrato in his voice echoed through you, made you want to melt, but it was also painfully familiar. 

 His kind words only made you cry harder. How long had it been since you had heard him speak to you at all? And it had to have been even longer since he had been kind to you like this, only reserved for when you were totally alone, and desperately in need. 

 There was so much wrong, but you could only find it in yourself to shrug. He let out a scoff. Pulling you back, you tried to hide your face, but he grabbed your chin to make you look up. He swiped a thumb under your eye, catching a falling tear. You almost smiled at his frown, how you had missed it, when it only promised light scolding, not cruel disregard.

 “I j-just... want you t-to m-make me feel better,” the last word comes out in another desperate sob and he pulled you to him again. 

 He hummed saying, “Don't tell me someone did this to you.” 

 You shake your head, burying your face in his chest. You didn't want to face the truth, that he had been so neglectful that he really hadn't seen what had happened at dinner.

 “Let's get you to bed, okay?” 

 You desperately nod, you had missed this so much. You had missed his kindness so much. You almost felt like little kids again, and he led you through the dim hallways clutching your hand. Like when you had first met.

 You woke up alone.

 Cold, sober reality washed over you like water, slithering down your spine. Oh. Things were not back to before. You hated Before, it taunted you. It laughed at you as you broke each time the word crossed your mind. Before was better, the most shining and brilliant version of what you had lost. 

 -

 He was escorting you across the castle, and you battled with yourself again. Just like always but worse, now that you knew he was still in there. The contrast ached more. You almost didn't say anything, but you passed by a set of windows and happened to look outside.

 It was spring, almost summer, and everything was green again. The hills outside rippled as the green grass swayed. Beyond the grass were wildflowers. You wish you and Hajime could ride out there and lay in them. But you couldn't- or, he wouldn’t.

 That makes you stop for some reason, and you walk up to the window looking out. He stops too, remaining behind you.

 “Hajime,” You say quietly. He doesn't say anything, facing forward.

 He wouldn’t look at you. He refused until you grabbed him as hard as you could with your little hands, not holding back when your nails dug into his wrist and forearm.

 He tried pulling back, but you wouldn’t let him. Grabbing one of your wrists he made you yield. 

 “I’m not... we’re not going to talk about this, not yet,” he said the words with shifting eyes, not able to meet yours for too long. “I can’t.”

 You had never minded him when he was his serious self, because you would always see the loving side of him eventually. When you were alone, when it mattered. But this, the firm cold shoulder, it wasn’t the protective one you were used to, it was cruel. 

 “Well,” you spit out, ripping your wrist from his grip, “ when you can finally tell me your secret, it better be important, because right now I don’t appreciate being ignored- ignored and...” you struggled to find the right words, your chin quivering, eyes filling with tears. Unloved? Unprotected? 

 “Whatever this is,” you gesture at him, the venom in your voice dissipating with each syllable. Until each blink yielded more tears.

 ¨You´re dismissed,¨ you tell him, you could make it to tea just fine by yourself.

 -

 You were furious, angry, livid. The only thing that dosed the ever flaming embers in your chest was the announcement your father made. You had known it was coming, but him telling everyone solidified it.

 He had called you and Hajime to his private rooms a few nights before, you two had met in front of the door.

 You were to decide which member of your court  would take the oath to be your protector and advisor. Everyone knew it was going to be Hajime, but sometimes a ruler didn't have such loyal followers, and they would choose from a selection. But your father wanted to follow tradition and tell you properly. You had come of age, it would be time for you to take up more responsibility, and this was the first step.

 You could feel him standing next to you, facing your father and mother where they sat. The emers in you were doused, replaced by a rush of freezing water that contrasted your hot tears. You couldn't imagine spending the rest of your life like this. You would be a horrible queen if this was the future that awaited you. 

 Before he made his oath to you, there was to be your birthday celebration. A frantic day of eating, receiving gifts and dancing. Who would you dance with?

 Tight lipped, you thanked your parents and walked out. You could hear Hajime behind you, and you didn't try to quiet your ragged breathing as the tears flowed. 

 They had threatened to fall when your father stood up at dinner and told your court.

 -

 It was your birthday, you hadn't danced with Hajime, and you always danced with Hajime. Everytime you could, you let your face relax and your smile melted away. You were exhausted. But someone asked you to dance.

 The man no older than Hajime, with fluffy brown hair and beautiful brown eyes, asked you with a hypnotizing smile. He spun you around and said the most outrageous things in your ears, you couldn't help the grin that spread across your face. 

 You would pass a couple and he would share their most treacherous secrets. Nothing too bad, just outlandish enough that you would blush and want to hit him- only lightly.

 He asked you again and again, until you finally had to say no, your face was hot, your skin was covered in a layer of perspiration and you were sure that your hair had fallen out of its updo.

 You made your way back to your seat on the dais, next to your parents. You didn't realize that Hajime had moved from his spot on the wall, blending in with the other guards, to stand behind you.

 Taking a seat, you hear a scoff. Straightening your back you almost don't believe it. Maybe it was the exercise, or the fact that you were feeling loose after laughing so hard. Or maybe it was because you were actually having fun, but you found that tonight- tonight you had energy. 

 You could feel it in your chest, that scoff has blown a harsh wind over those embers, fanning them a glowing orange.

 “Yes, Hajime,” you say, slightly turning your head in his direction. You tried to keep your tone light.

 He grunted, not saying anything. You place your hands in your lap. He won't even give you words.

 “Tell me,” you say, face blank, friendly tone gone.

 “Nothing, Princess.”

 How dare he scoff at you and pretend you were the crazy one.

 You spun in your seat. There he was, in his nice uniform, with your kingdom's mascot and colors. Your mascot and colors. Your kingdom's mascot and colors. The kingdoms that you would rule, mascot and colors. 

 The blades strapped around him were intricate; polished and shrap. He looked straight forward, not acknowledging you. He looks good, something inside of your chest whispered, but was whisked away as your eyes caught on the dagger on his belt, with the same color jews as his uniform

 You stood up in a flurry, so fast that he only had time to brace himself before you were grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him down to your level. Nails digging into him all the while.

 “Follow me,” you say through gritted teeth. Pulling back looking him in the eyes, you tell him exactly what he needed to know. It was an order, an order from his future ruler. The exchange was so fast you knew no one would see it.

 Spinning on your heel you walked down the dais and straight into the crowd of dancing people as they desperately tried to not step on you.

 “Princess,” Your father said from his seat behind you. You knew he was objecting at your rudeness, but you didn't care, the act of disobedience spurring you on. You hear the music halt, only for a second, but you keep moving.

 You could feel everyone's eyes on you as you made your way further and further towards the doors out of the hall. Each breath wasn’t enough oxygen, and your vision spotted, but the chills rippling over your skin were addicting. 

 You knew Hajime was behind you.

 -

 You didn't answer any of his furious remarks as you grabbed his forearm, dragging him through the palace. You turned down a certain hall and he stopped talking.

 You threw open the doors of the practice hall, letting go of Hajime’s arm. Marching down the long open space, so big it could probably hold dozens of bodies, you open one of the cabinets across from the row of tall windows. The room was dim, and you don´t think of lighting candles.

 Selecting two swords, you slide one to him across the floor, to where he stood still at the door. He stopped it carefully with his boot, as it spun towards him.

 Looking up from the sword, he says, ”No.”

 “Pick up the sword, Hajime,” You say from across the room, sword in your hand. You’re not sure why you threw it at him, he already had one on his hip. Maybe because it was unfair, that he could always have one and you could not.

 He scoffed at you, leaving it on the ground. 

 “Pick it up,” You growled.

 He didn't have time to roll his eyes before the twin dagger to the one on his belt landed in the door frame, next to his head.

You watched his eyes flick to your hand, smoothing out your skirts, hiding the slit that led to your thigh. You switched your sword back to your dominant hand, breathing already ragged, not looking away from those sharp eyes as he picked the sword off the ground. 

 You stayed exactly where you were as he walked towards you.

 “You are b-”

 “I don't want to hear any of what you have to say about my behavior.”

 He rolled his eyes, stopping in front of you, getting into his proper stance. You mimicked him.

 “You are being a brat.”

 You swing for him, and he easily blocks, sending your sword arcing through the air, still in your hand. He sends a shallow jab at you, which you take a step back from.

 “What right do you have judging the people I spend my time with?” You say, jabbing right back at him, which he blocks with a sweep of his sword. “And when am I not?”

 You go for his left, which he dodges, and as he came around spinning to face you again, he swung low at the wide skirts of your dress. You hear it rip and feel the cold air hit your calves. Taking two steps back he observes you, lowering his sword, intentions clear. 

 He thought that would end your little fight.

 He thought that the ruining of your dress would make you stop, that you were shallow enough to ask for his mercy just because of a tear in your skirts. It made you furious, knowing he wasn't taking this seriously.

 You feint lunging at him, he swung from the right, and you blocked, swords suspended in the air for just a moment. 

 “Stop it.” You say, voice almost a whisper.

 You grunt and pull back. Circling each other, you watch as the moonlight brightens his face. The circling continues, and no words are exchanged, giving you time to think about what had been said, only making you more upset.

 You had faults, in moments like these, you couldn't hide your next move, anger making you just want to act. You swing at him, and he blocks. While your sword is up, he takes the chance to roll, and shove you backwards away from him. A dirty trick.

 “Stop what?” He says to you, looking at you from where you had stumbled a few steps away, face blank.

 You looked at him, with his back to the windows, face shrouded in darkness, and you hated him.

 Before you could think about it, before you could flinch and regret your actions, your arms were arching up, throwing your sword across the room. Watching as Hajime involuntarily followed its arch through the air, sinning blade spinning over handle, until it landed in a clatter. You watched him all the while, and saw his shocked expression before he could hide it.

 “I am your princess,” You growl, his head snapping back to you.

 “I am your princess!” You yell, taking a step towards him, chest pressed to his.

 “I am your Princess!” You scream, shoving him backwards toward the large windows.

 You pressed against him, leaning him back against the window sill. You stretch to your tiptoes, your hands clutching his shirt as you stare into his eyes. With all the venom you can manage, panting, you say, “I am your princess! I am your princess and you will do as I say!”

 “What are you doing?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed. You barely hear his words, or his sword clatter to the ground, your breathing too ragged, your heart beat too loud. You could feel it, in every part of your body, it echoed through you.

 And in that moment you can almost see him. That flash in his eyes, that tone of voice, his breath fanning over your face. He was your Hajime, only for a second.

 “Stop it,” you say, losing momentum with each word, “stop it.”

 He finally tugs himself free, ripping your hands from him. He doesn't let go as he presses you a few steps back and leans down to look into your eyes. 

 His eyes were dark, and you lost him again, the Hajime you want. You yearned to bang on his chest and beg for him back, but you don't dare break the delicate dance you two were in.

 “I see them,”  you hiss, trying to get in his face, “I see how they look at you.”

 “Who?” He spits.

 “Your courtiers.” You say the words as if it's a curse.

 He throws your hands down, taking steps to the door, still facing you.

 “Nothing?” You ask. “You never have anything to say anymore.”

 “Why does it matter?” Squaring his shoulders he looks at you straight on. 

 “Wh-”

 “Why does it matter if they look at me?”

 “It- I-”

 “Tell me why it matters, Princess, and maybe we can talk. I don't want part in your tantrums.”

 You watch him walk away, listening to every fading step, until you only have your breathing to fill the silence.

 -

 You couldn’t stop thinking about that night, it made you sick, haunting you with the memories of what you had said to each other.

 Maybe you had been wrong. Wrong to order him to follow you, wrong to act so brash, wrong to scream at him, and to accuse him of those things.

 You scolded yourself for acting that way, to let your temper control you. It had felt good, until you had crashed. 

 The option-less future spread in front of you. What would you do? Exhaustion was seeping into you, a new type of tired, one that you would do anything to amend. 

 If your temper wouldn’t fix your problems, you would have to try something else, even if it burned you from the inside out.

 -

 You called him to your rooms, something you had never done before. There was no need to call upon each other, you always knew where the other was

 Hajime found you in the chair in the corner, the one he used to stay in; you rarely used it.

 The last rays of evening sunlight were shining in your windows, cascading over your body.

 Your face was illuminated by the sun, every beautiful line and imperfection was open in the light. It made you glow, like you should have been kept in a painting so you could be adored forevermore. You were golden, hair caught fire, glowing like a beacon of truth. The heir of an empire, the hope of thousands. 

 “Majesty,” he bowed, something he had only done a handful of times, for special occasions. It felt forgien and stiff doing it there.

 “Iwaizumi” you said, it sounded like a song, a sigh and a prayer and a plea. But it wasn’t right.

 When was the last time you had called him that? Never, a furious voice in the back of his mind told him.

 “It’s almost time for me to choose.”

 He stood up straighter, meeting your eyes for the first time. There wasn’t that look in them like before, of hurt and hardness. Determination that you would power through. It was just a fact.

 It was almost time for you to choose the person of your court to swear a never ending bond with. To protect each other, in body and soul, to in turn protect your kingdom.

 You looked down at your hands, and he was compelled to take a step forward to make sure he heard you, but not too close. He had a feeling that if he took another step he would see your  red rung eyes, and he didn’t want to think about that.

 “I want it to be you… I'm sorry for that night, for yelling, and trying to cut you into pieces. But…” You take a deep breath and look out the window. “ I don’t know what’s changed, and I’m so sorry for how I’ve acted, and whatever I’ve done, but I want it to be you” 

 With those last words you looked him in the eyes. The anger was gone, and all he saw was a tired princess. His tired princess. You didn’t break his gaze, not saying anything more .

 He almost wanted to question you, the maturity in your words shocking. But he stayed quiet; that wasn’t his place anymore.

 You had said your peace, he knew, as he looked into your eyes, with your face passive. It was his turn now, to come to you and bear his teeth, to gouge the hurt out of his chest in to lay it bare for both of you.

 -

 Hajime had a memory he kept close to him, right on his hip. He might have kept it on his ribs, the ones that protected his heart, if that was where you kept daggers. 

 It was the winter solstice celebration from years before. Hajime and you were in your parents' private rooms, giving gifts.The two of you sat on the floor next to the fire, with your parents on the couch in front of you. 

 “Now this one is for both of you.” Your mother explained, handing you both identical boxes. “Open them at the same time.”

 You gave Hajime one look before tearing into yours. He didn’t get to see your reaction as he worked on delicately undoing the ribbons, but he heard your gasp.

 Resting in your hands was an exquisite, shining dagger. You gently held it up, and both your heads turned in to stare at it. 

 “Oh my…” You gawked.

 Hajime went back to his gift and opened it to an identical dagger. Twins. 

 He held his up, and you two compared.

They had blades of shimmering silver, with curved tips that looked sharp enough to split hairs. The handles were of matching silver formed into delicate patterns, inland with jewels that matched your kingdom's colors. The metal reflected the light of the fire behind you, flickering gold and orange, like the blades held the sun.

 Looking up to your parents your father explained. “I had those made for the two of you.” 

 You waited, but that was all he offered. Hajime watched you balance the dagger in your hand, turning it over and examining it. 

 “They’re beautiful.” You say.

 “I would hope that you don’t use them on each other, and only wear them for celebrations, but I doubt that is something that will happen.” 

 Hajime chuckled, looking down at his own dagger. The king might not have said it, but he had a feeling he knew what the daggers were for. 

 They were the two of you. Cut from the same stone, at each other with blades as sharp as diamonds, all while in your shining castle. 

 They were to remind you where you came from, that you two were one in the same, and that you were to work together. Much better to mar an enemy with the same blade than have the one that matches your in your gut. 

 “Thank you,” he said.

 Hajime looked at you, and you were smiling. Leaning over, your grin was feral, and he couldn’t help the electricity that went down his spine.

 “Do you know what this means?” You ask. “I need to get my dresses tailored.” 

 Hajime ruffled your hair, but your smile was burned into his memory. One in the same. Maybe his future queen really would be as strong as him. 

 Hajime could learn to like that.

 -

 Hajime was trained by your father and his men to be a warrior. Your warrior. While you were trained in how to fight men across oceans and continents, he was taught how to fight men with steel and teeth. You did give him a run for his money when you brawled, but he knew that he would never want to be facing you in a killing field, with an army at your disposal.

 Your cleverness was beyond him, not that you would ever give yourself credit for it. But you were still young, and when he caught something that you had missed in meetings or conversations, the sparkle in your eye, the way he knew you were in awe of him, was addictive.

 In all honesty, Hajime wasn’t your only lover, or admirer, you had many. Your parents were kind to you, your father could often be found making you giggle, especially when you were seated next to him at meetings. Your mother and you discussed books and music. You would often receive compliments from your father’s advisors and friends, which always made you blush in thanks. And your mothers lady’s loved to give you advice about clothes and any romantic endeavors you might go one. Not that there were many. The boys liked winking at you, and making you blush. Hajime tried his best to keep that to a minimum. Your court did love you, they loved the princess that was bashful and kind, but had the cleverest ideas at council meetings. You were the beautiful shining light, in your beautiful shining castle, and you would keep your court strong.

 Those were all things that Hajime knew well. Painfully well. Because he was always the first to notice. He had seen how they all cared and vowed to make sure that you would stay that way, that you were protected and cared for. So your light never went out, so your kingdom was always strong. He would do what he must, he would not let your court fall.

 So when he had looked at you and the light in your eyes had changed, he felt responsible.

 It wasn’t a bad change, just different. It only took him a short amount of time to pinpoint what it was.

 He couldn’t love you, not like that. He couldn’t let himself break you, because he knew he’d manage somehow, he was always a little heavy handed.

 What protector would he be if he broke your heart? If he was the first one to weaken you? To welcome you into the cruel world you would be entering, of choosing the best of horrible options, of lying and deceiving? He would not be the one to welcome you to that.

 -

 Maybe he was wrong, maybe you could take it. He wouldn’t be the one introducing you to the hurt, he could be the one to guide you through it.

 -

 He was surprised when he found you, always too afraid to wander the place at night. You were in a sitting room, long forgotten by the court, locked away and covered in sheets. 

 It was one of the rooms you would play in as children, with the furniture pushed to one corner; each and every one of the walls between the tall windows was covered in paintings.

 By now both of you had them memorized, whether that be by sunlight, candle light or moon light, both of you knew each of them well.

 You were only looking at one, standing right in front of it, your favorite painting of them all. 

 Hajime watched you, in the light of the moon, stare at the picture. Your profile was perfectly outlined by the stark light.

 “Tell me about her again,” he asked, voice carrying across the room.

 You spare him a glance before turning back to the painting.

 You take a step closer and take a breath. “Her name was Kiyoko.”

 You bring your hand up, and with only a finger you delicately trace the frame. 

“She was the most beautiful woman in the land, and the man who painted her was in love with her, but there were few who weren’t.”

 Hajime didn’t have to see the picture to know what it looked like, he had spent plenty of time looking at it with you. The girl was beautiful, with silky black hair, pale skin, and eyes that felt like they knew all, like they were windows into the fiercest storm.

 He knew the curve of her lips and the mole on her chin, and the pastel color of her dress. She was framed in a sea of greenery; plants, grass and trees all around her. Despite her pale dress and cool eyes she was surrounded by orange flowers, and in the corner of the painting, were perched crows.

 He wasn’t sure what made you stare at that painting like you did. Like you could see details that weren’t there. You had always said that when you looked at it, you longed for the frame to expand, for the picture to grow wider, to see what she saw.

 You also had a thousand questions for her, you wanted to know her as intimately as you knew her face. But she never answered, staring back with those eyes, until only Hajime was left to answer your questions.

 “She was loved by everyone, it was said that you would be blessed if she acknowledged you, and if she spoke to you, you were destined for the most devine heaven.” You move your finger from the frame to the painting, looking like you would touch it, but you don’t, only coming infinitely close.

 “She married the man she loved, and had a laugh that sounded like bells.” You bring your hand down and step back from the painting. 

 “You would be her most devoted admirer.” Hajime said.

 “I already am,” you smile looking down at your hands, “but I think she would have deserved a beautiful friendship.” 

 -

 It wasn’t a real story, her name was Kiyoko, that was the name of the painting, but each time you told it, it was different.

 Looking up to reply to Hajime, you met his eyes. On his face was a smile that delicately curved, turning his mouth up.

 That smile… the curve of his mouth, the sharp teeth behind it. It made your knees week, the relief of seeing it again.

 He took steps towards you, until you were standing shoulder to shoulder looking at her again. 

 “What do the crows mean,” he asked, encouraging you to keep going.

 You take a moment before answering. “They’re her other admirers, only to ever love her from afar.” 

 He hummed, and you swear you could feel it in your bones. 

 You turn to look at him, right in the eyes.

 “It matters… it mattered because you weren’t looking at me.”

 He tried to speak, but you stopped him. “No, listen to me.”

 He wouldn’t look away from your eyes, face cool.

 “I couldn’t- can’t- you just… you weren’t looking at me, and I didn’t know what to do. It’s unbearable.” Your words were so quiet, always so quiet in moments like these

 It seemed like he couldn’t bear to break the silence as he said with narrowed eyes. “You think I don’t know, that I didn’t see?”

 “You won’t break me Hajime,” you say with a scoff. He almost flinced, coming close but stopping. Like you had seen right through him when he wasn’t expecting.

 “You don’t know that,” he hissed, “I know, saw it, everything, and I made that decision. I won’t be the one to introduce you to that, to be the first one to hurt you.” 

 He spoke with his hands, and you watched them as they moved. They were so wide, well taken care of, you remember them being softer than expected.

 “You’re supposed to protect me,” you grit through your teeth. You don’t know if he can tell how flushed you are, but you know he can see the silver lining your eyes.

 “H-how am I supposed to protect this kingdom, t-this court without you! I can’t do it without you.”

 “You’ll do just fine,” he said, standing up straighter.

 “Don’t say that! Why would you- why would you say something like that.” 

It was getting hard to get the words out, every time he spoke you ached more and more.

 He was panting, like those words had winded him. His face was hard, unyielding. You wrapped your arms around yourself, and covered your wobbling mouth. A sick imitation of a comforting embrace

-

 He didn’t know what to do. His princess was shattering right in front of him and there was nothing he could do. 

 There was no one to point a blade at, no where to keep you safe. Looking at the tears in your eyes, he knew that this had been happening for a while. You were begging him to take his words back, any of them, but he wouldn’t let himself.

 Hajime resisted the urge to look down at his hands. He’d always been heavy handed, that's what he had said to himself. He was trying to shield you, gods-dammit, but those hands had done more harm than good when it really mattered.

 All he could do was watch you crumble in on yourself, while he stood feet away.

 -

 He was clueless. He always knew what to do. Your faithful, balanced Hajime was at a loss.

 You could see it, you blinked and you were there. No longer in that moon-bathed room, but outside, children again.

 How old were you? Nine? Eleven? How old was he? Thirteen? Fifteen? You were just children; the same as always. Had you even grown up, were you always clutching each other like this? So dependent yet so unaware of each other?

 You had never seen him like this, he lived with a sword in his hand and a shield on his back. His upper lip stiff, his will unmoving.

 But the man standing in front of you was desperate, with his hands splayed in front of him, like they would burn you if he got too close.

 Why couldn’’t you just say it, why were you two always dancing around it? Your own choreography, your own sacred, unique steps. 

 “I’m tired,” you say, shoulders dropping, eyes lifting to the ceiling.

 “I am too,” Hajime admitted.

 You closed your eyes tight, feeling more tears fall from your lashes. And when you opened them again, you were met with steel. Not like the steel of blades, but unforged steel, ready to be shaped, reborn.

 Looking into those eyes, the irises that framed hurricanes, it felt like those roaring winds blew right through you. Breathing life into you, fanning your flames. Maybe she could answer just one question for you.

 This is the last time, you vowed to yourself, no matter how it ends.

 -

 Hajime didn’t ask questions as you dragged him through the palace, his presence giving you a little more confidence than before.

 Up and up you went, just when he thought you were done taking him up stairs you found another set, and headed right to the top. You only felt him hesitate once, but you didn’t look back, and he followed. You made it to the top. A tower that was once a sentries station. 

 “How did you… isn’t there someone working here?” Hajime asked.

 You didn’t have to look at him to see the crease in his brow. “No, there’s no need to have anyone up here.”

 Your kingdom had been peaceful for years, if any attacks were to come, they would not be so often as to need guards on the lookout every day. Hajime knew that, so you followed. “I haven’t been sleeping, so I’ve just been walking around at night… and I wound up here.” 

 He didn’t say anything, but you knew what he was thinking. You never walked alone, the fact that you had been in that sitting room tonight was shocking. But you? Wondering up here?

 On one hand, you hoped that he was feeling guilty. On the other, you felt horrible for tearing him up like that. But you knew that was how he was feeling, he wouldn’t push it to the side this time. Not with it spelled out in front of him.

 Crossing his arms and leaning back, he gave you a look of disapproval, but you were no stranger to those cunning eyes. You tried not to dwell on the picture before you, slowly focusing into something- someone you recognized.

 You walked up to the window, leaning against it, staring at the slowly brightening horizon. 

 “Just tell me why.” Was all you said.

 -

 Hajime stepped forward, shoulder to shoulder with you, hand on the cool window sill. The warmth that encompassed Hajime's side almost made him purr, you were so close.

 He took a moment to look at the view, the mountains in the distance, silhouetted by the rising sun. The dark sky was slowly becoming a splash of deep colors.

 “I don’t just protect you, your life isn't your own. What I do affects you, what I see keeps you safe. What I let you do… it could change so much. If I stumble, if I overlook something- so much is at steak. And I know what you were thinking when you looked at me.”  He paused as you nodded, and watched your eyes move from the horizon to the city nestled below the palace. “So I stopped, and you were pissed.”

 “I’ll be disappointed if you say you didn’t see that coming.”

 “Well, it worked to my advantage… until you woke me up that night…” 

 Your smile melted, but you didn’t say anything. Maybe he was bracing for something, that crackling irritation he was used to. But it didn’t come.

 Hajime stiled. Maybe this wasn’t him talking to his princess anymore, as you listened, as he spoke, he realized it was his queen in front of him. 

 “You hurt me. You were mine and then suddenly you weren’t.” He sat there and listened as your voice cracked

 “I’m sorry”

 You turned to look at him. “You can’t break me that easy Hajime, we’re one and the same, in sword and devotion. I want you at my back, I want you protecting me. I need you to want the same. I thought- I thought we agreed on that. So please… let me choose you.”

 “Please let me be your princess, please let me choose you, I want you to protect me, the right way.”

 With you next to him he could see the sunlight reflected in your eyes, how it made them sparkle, how the roofs of your city seemed to wink up at you with the last slivers of moon light. Telling him how much hope they had for you, how they knew that their princess would keep them safe.

 “I'm sorry,” he whispered.

 With that admission, you threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing him as hard as you could. You took a few breaths before pulling back, still keeping your arms around him, looking into his eyes.

 “Let me be your princess Haji, please.” It was like you were looking for something in his eyes, not breaking the connection.

 “Always,” he whispered, leaning closer, not looking away.

 “But you aren’t my princess.” He watched your eyes flutter and he drew closer and closer, wrapping his arms around you, keeping you right against him. “You're my queen.”

 He met your lips, and you were the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. He didn’t think he could ever forgive himself if he made you feel like you had again. 

 And as the sun created the mountains, and it's morning rays illuminated you and Hajime, he knew that his hands might have broken you, but they had also put you back together. 

 -

 Pulling away from Hajime, you try not to look as out of breath as you felt. You stared into his slate eyes and felt like he had never left, that the time between you that had hurt you  was just a memory, a distant past.

 They say you can’t remember pain. Maybe its to give you the courage to forgive, to be able to try again.

 You watched his mouth as he said, “I'm a fool.”

 “Then that would make me a fool too,” you muse, tone playful.

 “No,” he said, shaking his head slightly, furrow in his brow. “We can’t have a queen who's a fool.”

 “Then what am I?”

 “An idiot,” you watched his mouth as he said it. His smile was crooked, like he was trying to hide it.

 “Like the lovers,” You breathe, your own smile spreading across your face.

 “Like the lovers,” he repeated.

 The word lovers echoed in your head when you decided you wanted to kiss him again.

 -

 With each breath, you felt the embers inside of you cool to ashes, blowing in the wind like ash. 

 You might have lied, that night wouldn't be your last fight, but it would never be like that ever again.

 Hajime and you were once again in the practice hall, but this time things were different. You were both giddy, as the early morning sun glinted in your eyes. You tumbled and swung your swords at each other, but this time it was laughter shared between you, not savage words.

 You felt like you two were dancing again. With your dress whispering around your legs, and the dagger that matched Hajimes visible around your hip, you felt like you had that night as children, when Hajime first taught you to laugh. 

 You weren’t upset, or nervous this time, as you gave each other bruises and sore shoulders. Because later that morning at the ceremony you knew who would be standing next to you, with his back straight and his shoulders down. Your fiercest warrior and most devoted lover.

[persephoneyss]

Bad Movie.

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x f! Reader. Ft. Jungkook.

Genre: Yandere, dark themes, angst, gore a little.

Summary: ❝Looking for the person you love, beautiful woman.❞

Warnings: Yandere behavior, obsession, harassment / stalking, humiliation, forced marriage, non-sexual intercourse, abuse of power, implicit murder, drug use naming, minor past master / pet relationships, secondary character abduction, ugly hallucinating hoseok , beatings, blood, photos depicting abuse, mistreatment and death, bribery, sexism and humiliation (directly aimed at female prostitutes), hoseok mistreats and humiliates jk, awkward marriage proposals, use namjoon as a secondary character because it hurts more:(, etc.

Number of words: 6000+

︙Author's Note: This is my longest fic so far, I think. It took a lot for me to do it, especially since I didn't have a clear idea about the whole plot that would take and the role that each character would develop. So if you see Jungkook in a kind of strange character, blame my mind for including him almost last. Also, I hate Hoseok in this fic. Namjoon angel and fallen soldier, by the way let me know if they cried with his death, it hurt me to write it. Thank you very much for the 200 notes in my previous fic, I'm crying.

Read the Warnings well and enjoy!

(Sorry for any mistakes, my first language is not English and I am not fluent either.)

Puedes leer este fic y más aquí en espa��ol.

Confidence, a beautiful and treacherous feeling at times.

Feeling superior is a constant whisper of the ego within you, calling to be released and make others feel as what they really are, despicable and useless trash. It was fun laughing at losers when you haven't had that sense of defeat yet.

Hoseok fervently watched his rivals fall at his feet, laughing at his incompetence and stomping even more pathetic defeated form even though they were already dead in tears of pain. He smiled, he always did when he felt invincible and He bit his lip gently to hold back an excited laugh.

No one could be compared to him, and in his high sense of power he could never be alert when he struck him with a blast of vengeance.

It was you.

His eyes stared at you in horror and anger, his ego inside him hated you from the first moment. Because while despicable, he loved you for much more than his pride and winning sense.

He fell at your feet but he never made you notice it, behaving as he normally would around you even though he was always behind you.

Luck was her greatest ally, he always smiled at her and she helped him. It was fun to play with your opponents pretending to be the victim, the cornered mouse and then smash everyone with a snap of your fingers.

His mother looked at him with love and his father with pride, he was the only and favorite son of the Jung family. His success was never derived from love, much less, it was blasphemy in his family to say something so false and impossible.

Hoseok admired his family when they met in the great message of his parents' house, his grandparents smiled and his relatives brought out their most exquisite stories to entertain. They were all crows pretending to show interest in a prestigious place in the will of the family's monarch, his grandfather.

It was at one of those dinners that he got to meet you, he used to get bored of hearing his cousins ​​tell their anecdotes with prostitute women who mostly called, whores of a night. Mocking their shocked faces when they refused to pay them and threw them out of their big luxurious houses.

He rolled his eyes when a family friend, little Jungkook who was known to his father because of his prestige in his last name, chimed in trying to get into the conversation with a shy smile.

Lucky bastard, he thought bitterly. He didn't like the little idiot sticking his hands in boiling water, he wasn't even supposed to be there.

He hummed a goodbye as he walked out the front doors, walking aimlessly to his bored eyes. His feet stopped abruptly with a strangled sigh when he first saw you, you looked tired as you apparently searched for a key inside your bag. Could visualize the logo on your shirt from the grocery store where he assumed you were employed, He stood looking for what seemed like an eternity at you before you find the keys and rush through the back door. He snorted before lazily continuing on his way, however the next day he ended up following in your footsteps again and with even more confidence.

It took a few weeks for him to be able to enter the small commerce store and be able to look you face to face for the first time, it was expected that you would serve him with a smile asking if he was offered something. But he did not see you anywhere, he looked for you before another equally young woman approached him kindly, he sighed making a face of disgust surprising the she worker, his expensive shoes got dirty on the floors of the humble place with shame. His little investigation and search took him through many corridors of the establishment, he observed the shelves and each person who seemed to be wearing the uniform of the store thinking of finding you distracted with your work, maybe he thought of approaching you and asking for directions which he clearly didn't need. Knowing that  she you couldn't refuse because that was your job. In a way, you were there to serve him.

He let out a bored sigh, tired of playing hide and seek, he turned around ready to leave that place that disgusted him so much in a certain way, but once again he stopped in an instant. It was a moan. He clenched his fists, walking hurriedly to the place where the noise came from, he was sure it was your voice and that made him even more angry thinking that he would find you in a compromising position with someone.

He did not think that his lover would be such a stupid and dirty person.

You were crouched on the floor, grimacing with pain and exhaustion. You seemed very annoyed trying to lift a box with your arms, the scene was tender and certainly pathetic, she smiled noticing that you were so distracted that you were never aware of how I was watching you with carnal desire and painfully bad adoration.

"I-can I help you." He was surprised at his little babble, justifying himself later. Nobody ever managed to make him nervous, his father used to despise weak people and certainly he always sought his approval by doing things that were not correct. "They seem heavy."

Your face pale before the scare, turning into a face of shame quickly, you shook your head with a gentle movement, smiling still pained. "I'm fine sir. Can I help you? Maybe he got lost, let me guide-..."

"Actually, I do need help but not with your services." I speak in disagreement, you seemed confused but she nodded at his request. The customer is always right, right? How convenient. "I need you to allow me to help you with that heavy box, not to be rude or calling you weak miss, but you can't seem to handle it."

Lie, under his politically correct excuse was a dialogue about how insufficient you are even with things as easy and common as carrying a box, obviously you needed his help and Hoseok could give you that and more, much more. You just had to say it, it was so simple and fun.

"I -... I can do it, but i will accept your help sir ..." He smiled making an emphasis for he to give him his name, he let out a small laugh finishing his sentence.

“Hoseok, you can call me Hoseok, darling..." He mock imitating his position, your name left your lips like a melody and he immediately felt the sweet taste of it slide down his tongue. Beautifully perfect, indeed. "Now that we can finish the introductions please allow me."

Her expensive outfit crumpled as she bent down to lift the box with ease, you were once again oblivious to her incoherent and certainly crazy fantasies, it was like a romance comedy movie in her eyes. The charming fellow always stays with the girl. And likewise, no one could go against the fictional plot.

He was immersed in the beautiful narrative that you would be hers at the end of the credits.

It was not the last time she saw you, she returned to her same routine of continuing to stalk you with obvious impudence. The only thing that really changed was her new setting and her character, he was hiding between the shelves waiting for the right moment to appear in front of you with a charming smile. Over and over, he was locked in an infinite loop.

He was starting to get tired of just having you in his arms and sheets just in his heavy and lustful dreams.

"A date? How funny Hoseok."

His face twisted in annoyance, but he put on a fake smile again when you looked at him again. "Hobi." He corrected in a high-pitched voice, insisting that you call him that. "And she spoke very seriously my dear, everything is ready."

"Eh ... I -..." A simple wave of her hands was enough to shut you up, you frown in confusion and secretly disgusted.

"On Saturday, I'll send you the address of the restaurant. Goodbye, dear!"

You watch it for a few seconds but he's already gone, you resign yourself to continuing with your work of ordering the products on the shelves. Thinking and trying to remember when you gave him your number. A very characteristic noise distracts you, a call makes you smile with love and adoration.

The plot is taking an interesting turn.

Hoseok was charming by nature, his economic position made him even more desirable to the opposite gender and even his own. It was not strange to see people flirting with him or being suggestive with his proposals, he was on a pedestal and he enjoyed it. His subconscious whispered a little bored. I couldn't deny that he became boring in a way, but you appeared in the story as an extra who soon became a main character. You changed the script of his life already established and narrated.

You were so funny.

He smiled in front of the mirror when he thought of you, since he met you that day he started chatting with you secretly from your supervisor. You had told him several anecdotes to make him laugh, you were also naturally charming pulling out various expressions of adoration that you did not even notice. Oblivious to that, you'd better get ready for the climax of the movie.

The wind was strong in the streets of Seoul, your hair was noticeably messy causing you to let out a tired sigh. You should be planning your wedding banquet right now, but you honestly didn't want to leave Hoseok alone at the dinner he had organized. You put the invitation in your bag, thinking of giving it to her when the time was right with a smile. He seemed like a good person and undoubtedly a good friend in the future.

"You're on time, I was just about to order our food. Honey." The last word slid down his tongue with malice and arrogance, Hoseok inwardly chuckling at your disengaged expression.

"Thanks, but don't stop you can order for both." You say arranging your chair correctly.

The restaurant looked relatively empty, there were only three other people including a couple who ate dinner while chatting enthusiastically.

You smile unconsciously, thinking about what would also make you feel the same way.

"I was looking forward to this dinner, my dear. I also hoped I could tell you how much you have captivated me for a long time, specifically since the first day I saw you." And the others too, he thought shifting your posture.

"Thank you, I'm very flattered to cause that feeling ... in, good in you." You whisper clearly uncomfortable forcing yourself to stay calm. You were sure that you had never given a hint or anything else in Hoseok to establish romantic feelings. "But I-... "

"I know, darling. That is why I have to offer you the opportunity to be my girlfriend and my future wife."

Wife?

For a moment, you feel a rush through your body. You refuse to make a scene in front of all the few people present out of respect, you calm down by counting to ten slowly in your head, but it becomes very difficult for you as you continue to observe his comfortable smile and how he behaves. He seemed very sure of the affirmative respect you would give him, you snort angrily at the thought.

"I am sorry to have been misunderstood Mr. Hoseok, but I am not seeking a relationship with you and very sorry I reject any relationship beyond friendship." Your body lifts up, making Hoseok laugh well in advance of your final sentences. "I am engaged and my future husband is waiting for me, good afternoon."

Trembling, you leave the invitation in silence, leaving the luxurious premises in the same way. The waiters watching you with surprise, being an audience of rejection and humiliation on your part. Hoseok sighs, sipping his wine glass patiently pretending not to hear what the couple behind him are saying.

What a bad luck.

Life wanted to want to return all his damn vanity to him, making fun of him with your almost imminent rejection, obviously he knew that you were engaged and that you loved the poor man who had the bad luck to be his competition, but love is not always the important thing in a relationship or at least not of both parties. The voices of the waiters and the couple distract him from his plans for his next step, he clenches his fists angrily dropping the silverware on the plate calling the attention of everyone in the place.

"Filthy vulgar and talkative people, she will be my wife even if her words have been heard by her prying ears." He raised his voice, causing everyone to shut up. "It's just part of the script."

Maybe if the character who wanted to be the main loses the role of him, he should be the villain. The bad guy in the movie.

He read the invitation with meticulous delicacy, laughing at the little message you put aside. He thought about attending for a second, wondering if it would be nice to walk in to go straight to the altar and shoot your husband willing to take his place by your side. But that would be risky.

"Where are we going, sir?" He asked his driver with a smile.

"Take me to the best brothel in Seoul." He whispered delicately, smiling just as happily as before your rejection. I'd make you pay double the bill for your indulgence.

And likewise, the world is a truly small place. Jungkook nodded clearly uncomfortable obeying someone other than Mr. Jung. Hoseok cornered him like a helpless rabbit in the claws of a cunning fox, flashing his jaw in warning. He felt confused about his little assigned task, watching the direction pointing the right way to his chauffeur who only followed orders.

A small feeling of remorse ran through him, making him want to vomit when he remembered how Hoseok's face was so close to his with arrogance, as his hands roamed his arms gently. He was disgusting how he used his power to such a useless and demanding gain, sometimes without any realism.

"Little Jungkook, you have a very lovely name. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, you were so insignificant that you seemed pathetic to me." He whispered making her wince. "My father told me that you are good at obeying, I would like to test his theory." His cold hands were constantly running down his arms, making a shiver run through his body. "Still remembering well, I already did it before."

Jungkook was weak under his cloak of power, where he could so easily hide it. Lose it. "Yes, h-hyung." An inappropriate moan came from his lips causing him to cover her mouth in shame, a little touch near his crotch was enough to tempt him. Hoseok smirked, narrowing his eyes before walking away slowly wiping his fingers on his expensive clothes in disgust.

"I want you to befriend someone, don't ask, just do it. I'll tell you your next step when you're done." He ordered bored.

"We are here, young Jeon." Notice Jimin with a smile, Jungkook sighed wearily thanking him before getting out of the car ready to fulfill his mission.

I observe him for a few seconds standing in the entrance without doing anything, he was cleaning the windows of the building with force. He seemed like a nice person, certainly a bit humble. He approached making the man bow respectfully, even though he was older. Money can buy everything, they say.

"I am young Jeon, a new investor. May I have a chat with you?"

The man was surprised, no one who was someone by name and a few numbers along with several zeros would be able to notice his presence and at least greet him. A coffee sounded more intimate and undoubtedly inconvenient for him, but again out of respect he accepted the offer with a smile adorning his features.

"My name is Jungkook informally, but I like you and you can call me that." He spoke kindly.

"Namjoon, Mr. Je -... I'm sorry, Jungkook." He corrected sheepishly, making her smile.

He still didn't understand that he planned to do Hoseok with a building cleaner, but he didn't feel in a position worth asking. Furthermore, he would still not receive an honest answer.

He passed by the same place every day, pretending to enter the building only so he could meet Mr. Kim and talk about unimportant subjects. He gained his trust almost immediately, promising that he would give her a better job soon at his own company. He felt like an idiot taking advantage of the man in front of him in such a way for a simple whim from Hoseok.

He was an idiot, but he didn't want to go back to what he was before. A pet.

"I'm very happy, I think she will make a good wife." He responded with encouragement, seeing how Namjoon nodded looking for a picture of his fiancée to show him. He seemed excited, Jungkook understood his happiness after he explained that he saved for a long time to achieve his dream of getting married in a church. They were both in it together, in looking for a future.

He got lost in his thoughts, maybe if he lied to Hoseok about gaining trust from him, saying that Namjoon was a very cold and quiet man, he could make him forget about it. He sighed squeezing the coffee cup in his hands, Namjoon caught his attention by showing a photo of you smiling at the camera with a background of the bridge and the sun behind making a beautiful background.

Jungkook became alert, having seen that face before.

Hoseok had you as the wallpaper on his phone, he knew it was you because of your characteristic features and the scarf you wore in both photos. You were the new fad of a rich fool.

"T-is ... She's so cute, you're very lucky."

Namjoon nodded with a smile, apologizing before returning to his work upon being called by his supervisor. Jungkook put aside his cup feeling the bitter taste of his thoughts, Hoseok was planning something, he knew he was a son of a bitch who liked to keep his plans under lock and key and in a deep grave. He walked away calling for Jimin quickly, before being accosted by Namjoon who came running over, seemingly forgetting something of the utmost importance.

"I apologized Mr. Jeon, but I wanted to give you this personally. It is an invitation, in addition to the proposal to be the best man at our wedding. My fiancee said that it would be appropriate for me to choose someone and I decided that you were perfect, you can decline if you prefer. . " He spoke kindly, as always. Namjoon seemed to have no hatred in his heart, making his own feel heavy on his chest.

Could he bear the blame?

"It's my pleasure to accept her proposal, thank you for considering me. Good afternoon, namjoon-hyung."

He said goodbye by getting into the car as fast as he could, making Jimin look at him with derision. Obviously noticing his nervousness, Jungkook sighed hiding the invitation as much as he could before reading Hoseok's message ordering him to go to his house to sort out his affairs.

It seemed like a joke as he always looked so flawless, ready to humiliate him again.

"Jungkookie, I'm glad to see you again. Now, we'd better come in for our talk." He smiled making anger grow inside him, Hoseok sat on one of his expensive furniture before pouring himself a glass of wine. "Well, I heard from a little bird that you accomplished your task. Good pet."

"Don't call me that, hyung." He grunted in annoyance, making him laugh. "I can't go through with this, I did what you wanted. Leave Namjoon-hyung alone."

"Oh, they're close now really cute. But you forget that I can't fulfill your wish, because "Namjoon-hyung " is an essential piece in my little game." I speak mocking him as always. "Then we will move on to the next step ..." He thinking for a moment, before snapping his fingers. "Invite him to a bachelor party night at the brothel in the center, I already made the reservation. When they are there, leave him alone. A whore will take care of him properly, and maybe you can go make him a oral another yourself." He sneered evilly, reminding her of his past, Jungkook bit his tongue resisting the urge to respond properly. "Since you're clearly good at it, little pet."

"Yes, hyung."

Hoseok nodded saying for him to leave asap, tired of seeing his stupid face. He got up ready to do so, but his arm was taken tightly before bringing his face closer to hers, Hoseok let out a sigh, doing he could smell his breath of mint and wine combined. His hand lowered him into his pockets dangerously close to his crotch, he bit his lower lip to resist a moan escaping him, this had happened before and he begged it to stop forever. From his pocket, she pulled the invitation out, making her gasp in horror.

"Godfather of wedding, new facet of you... kookie." Rolling he eyes pushing him away from him, he fell to the ground before being met by a blow to his cheek. "What a shitty pet, you idiot."

Two days was enough for you to tremble at the thought. Your dress was proud to be seen, it was the most comfortable dress you could find at a fair price. Namjoon tried to enter but he was stopped by your friend who said that he will wait until you keep the dress out of his sight avoiding bad luck. A smile wavered on your face, everything was perfect up to a point.

Namjoon looked at you, a blush covering his cheeks before asking his obvious question. You didn't expect him to want a bachelor party, but you couldn't refuse because you simply trusted him.

Maybe it was your mistake.

You wished him luck, feeling an inexplicable emptiness. Your friends didn't offer to make one for you, they just sat on the couch in their living room talking about movies and arguing about what color the cake would be. It was the calm before the storm.

Jungkook felt a giant headache, the lights of the place were making him dizzy. Jimin had insisted on going with him to such an 'unusual' place to keep him safe. Namjoon had brought a couple of friends who seemed to be always close to him preventing the woman who did the job Hoseok had him do from becoming difficult.

He smiled, thinking that he would have no choice but to let it go. But Hoseok was not a good loser, and neither was he a good winner.

Hoseok:

He distracts his friends, and be careful what you say, kookie.

Received at 11:30 p.m.

He bit his lip, glancing around the bar, thinking he'd find him sitting somewhere spying on everything but nothing looked suspicious. He sighed, sending Jimin out for drinks with one of Namjoon's friends who he gladly accepted. He got up having pushed one away, the other who introduced himself as Jackson seemed more reluctant to leave his friend alone but with a few excuses about feeling bad managed to get him out of sight.

Believed that he would find Namjoon sitting right where he was before but no, he was gone. He felt a burning feeling of guilt, maybe if you didn't find out, nothing would happen.

"You're still the same as before, boss." Jimin sat down next to him, making him uncomfortable.

"Same as before? I am no longer a child."

"But you continue to obey as one. The manipulation they use on you is your greatest weakness, you are afraid, you obey without hesitation thinking about how this will indirectly affect you. But you never do anything to avoid it, you feel bad about this but you still sit here without doing nothing."

"What can I do, Jimin? I don't know if he really left by his will, or if they forced him. I don't want to enter a room in this dirty place and see him sleeping with another woman, because he wanted to and is a fucking infidel . "

Jimin ignored his words, falling silent after several seconds.

Feeling unhappy is a horrible feeling without a doubt. The curious eyes looked at you as if they themselves could judge your story.

Namjoon disappeared as quickly as the wind, many sharp tongues said that he eloped with a lover so as not to marry you. Others believed it was a kidnapping, maybe a robbery gone wrong and he was taken away or he was killed somewhere far away. A sob escaped you just thinking about it, the detective in front of you watched you cautiously.

"We don't know anything about him yet, but we will continue with the investigations."

You nod, without saying a word. Jungkook came in minutes later with a handkerchief in hand, he observed you before gently hugging you. You had the pleasure of meeting him after Namjoon disappeared that night, he introduced himself as a close friend from work and quickly offered to help you with the search.

Maybe he felt guilt.

"Thanks, Jungkook." You smile wiping the tears that escape from your eyes.

"They are looking for the best they can, they even alerted the Japanese embassies in case they might take him there."

"Japan?" Puzzled questions. "Why would someone take him so far? He's just a man with little money, that's ridiculous."

"We don't know, but I promise I won't rest until I find it."

Hoseok sighs bored, witnessing the moment. He had been bribing the bloody police force to hide the information from you about the discovery of your fiancé's corpse floating in the middle of the waters of the river where they used to go together. The only thing that was removed intact from his clothes was a small photo of you smiling, sitting on the banks of the same river.

The police mourned the death, but his faces left grief when they saw the money in his hands. He made fun of Jungkook as usual, who passed by him ignoring him when he went to his house to talk to his father, he knew that the useless little one was very meddlesome in the search for your future husband and ex-fiance. He rolled her eyes remembering how she used to look at him with discontent in meetings, suspicious of him.

He was a good detective, he couldn't deny the obvious.

"You didn't have to do this, a I'm sorry was enough." You say admiring all the bouquets of flowers that came to your house from him. "And I'm sorry for your loss."

He wasn't sorry.

"My dear, losing a loved one is something without a name. I can give you more than this if you promise to smile again, I love your smiles."

Jungkook snorts approaching you from behind, Hoseok to growl at noticing him so close and see how he puts his hand on your shoulder, apparently like support.

"Hyung, he didn't think it's a good time for ... That."

"But little kook, when is not a good time to express how you feel about your loved one?"

"When that person you say you love is crying over the loss of someone special because of evil people who don't know what remorse is. Do you understand that, hyung?"

"No, not really." He laughs cynically making you lose your patience, your little body comes between the two men, with one already furious and the other inadvertently giving up, you make a face of annoyance before speaking.

"Sirs!" You yell at him immediately, Jungkook steps back adjusting his tie. A mania that he had and that you noticed when he presented himself in front of you with regret, he did it when he was uncomfortable or nervous. "This is not the time to argue, I think you'd better leave my house if you're just wasting your time. Thanks for the flowers Hoseok, and Jungkook ... I, I want to continue the investigation on my own."

"That?!"

"What you heard, don't feel responsible for Namj's disappearance -..." You tremble correcting your words, making Hoseok scoff. "My husband, he was just at the wrong time in the wrong place. Thanks for your help, I'll see how to pay you very soon." Jungkook denies trying to insist but fails when you are already closing the door and giving him an apologetic smile.

Your breath feels heavy, you sigh falling to the ground sobbing again. You wanted to find Namjoon, but a large part of you was afraid of how. Dead, with another woman, with serious injuries or simply ... Alive but with trauma for life. You did not want to see him suffer, it was your judgment in life to see the person you love cry in his pain.

You observe yourself, telling yourself that you would be fine when you find it.

Your email seems to explode with thousands of messages received from people claiming to have seen a man like Namjoon near their homes. You ignore them knowing that most of them were false, the first few days you read all of them giving the police false clues that they quickly denied and dismissed.

You dry your tears, closing all the windows and cooking a simple instant soup, eating in absolute silence. It was overwhelming feeling alone at home, where you were supposed to feel safe indoors.

The rain, thunder, and evil outside seemed to be invisible within that place.

A chill runs through you, the control of the television seemed tempting to calm that neat silence and avoid your boredom. You give up turning on the TV, you see the first channel, you keep changing looking for the unknown, you didn't know what you wanted to see. Maybe a newscast saying they found a tall man with dark brown hair and charming eyes unconscious, with a couple of blows to the face and a few scratches but okay, safe, alive and waiting to see your face waiting for him with a warm smile.

Swearing never ever to let go.

A couple of tears slide down your cheek, ruining your fast food. A few knocks on the door manage to scare you, causing you to bite your lip in anger.

"Who is?!" Questions in a shout.

Nothing.

"It better be good ..." You say in muttered, you open the door expecting to see a child running to his house laughing at his childish joke.

But no, there is no one at the door. Just a small envelope that easily slipped underneath, you take it hoping it's a letter from the police announcing good news. Maybe a simple identification of suspicious faces, or footprints at the club.

"I hate being the bad guy, it makes me feel good.

He's dead, I did it for you. For me. For us. I want to make you happy but it's so difficult when I don't know what you want, tell me what you want.

Love you. Love you. Love you.

My heart is so weak in your cold eyes, I feel that you look at me with ignorance of my feelings. Do you want to find it? Do you want to do it?! Okay. Good luck with it. "

It was everything, plus a picture of a golden ring with a large diamond shining brightly. You wrinkle the letter in anger, tossing it into the first bin you found nearby. It seems that in the end, someone did want to joke with you.

Your days remained the same, you went out to work and in the afternoons you called each of the investigators to ask for new news, it was almost always a solid wall, there was nothing really important to report and little by little, they gave up.

Jungkook knocked on the door, he heard some footsteps approaching making him have a little hope. But when the door opened he saw you with a worried face, he felt his heart squeeze in his chest when he tried to get closer but you avoid him by leaving in a hurry. You were dressed in a long black skirt and a white blouse, you were elegantly ready for something.

"Where are you going?" He ask stopping your hurried pace, taking your arm tightly.

"Yo, listen... He... Or her, I don't know who it is but ... You know, he or her know where, he's alive I know. I just don't have time, please."

Your mouth moves wiht fear, you were hiding something but not from him. You were willing to tell him but not now. Not at that time.

"Let me accompany you, I can take you and I will feel better if you are safe."

You nod, letting go of his grip and running down the stairs, outside there is a very elegant car, apparently waiting. The driver smiles at you as if he had known you before, you make an uncomfortable face trying to continue on your way but Jungkook introduces him saying that he works for him.

"Jimin, he's Jimin. He's a good person and a great friend, I've told him about you before."

"I see, sorry." You speak with a bow before climbing to the back, Jimin just smiles kindly, as always.

"Where are we going today?" He asks animatedly, Jungkook takes your hand for support making Jimin remove the smile from him. Your nervous state and your afflicted face are enough for him to understand the situation.

You give him an address, Jimin searches the map being unknown to the place. Your eyes sparkle when the lights of Seoul are reflected in them, Jungkook holds your hand tightly in fear of letting you go again. He felt sick when you stopped calling him, cutting connections with him totally to this day. He spend sleepless nights looking for more clues, the only thing I had until that moment was the identity of the woman, she was a prostitute without anything special, when he spoke with her he seemed indifferent saying that he did not know Namjoon and that the last time he saw him It was when he drugged him and left him in a room as ordered.

The whore made fun of him saying that he would give him this information if he did not tell the police anything, he obviously accepted. Now he repented, the woman disappeared after that and days later she was found in a garbage container. It seemed to be a suicide, the container was from her building, the window of her old apartment faced just where she was supposed to fall if she threw herself without thinking twice.

Right in the garbage.

The wheels of the car made a thud when it stopped, it was a cabin, the only one nearby. You came down quickly thanking Jimin who just made a flirty face. Your hands trembled with the cold, you look at the letter that tells you where and when you should be standing at the door.

"Wait for me here, if we don't go out or you hear noises, you know who to call."

"Yes sir!" Jimin obeys with a laugh at the boss's serious tone of him.

"Y-you should go, I can do this alone." Your voice rises in the echo of the silent place, Jungkook rolls his eyes before offering his arm to you, making his decision clear.

You laugh calming your nerves, the door opens just as you both step close to it. A man stops them, saying that only you can enter the next room. You stop Jungkook who was to protest, you calm him down by leaving your ring in his hands with a smile.

Your body disappears when another man closes the door silently, Jungkook sighs looking annoyed at the guards who ignore him.

A message coming to his phone distracts him for a few seconds.

Jimin:

Should I call the police, Mr. Jung, or the hospital?

Received at 9:35 p.m.

Smile ready to answer before hearing the door open again, he approaching you to ask everything and at the same time nothing. Your pale face is enough to make want to hit the person who was inside with you. Questions remain in the air, your arms surround him while you sob for forgiveness.

From the shadows Hoseok smiles, admiring the document in his hand, your signature shiny as gold is glued to it. He thought it would be more difficult to convince you to accept his marriage proposal, but the precious and expensive ring fit you perfectly. He raised his hand proudly admiring his own, the wedding would be planned as soon as possible making him jump like a happy child.

You had accepted, with the promise that he would bring you back to Namjoon.

But it was never specified in the contract that he would be alive.

The wedding was in a meadow, outdoors with distinguished guests and a few friends and family of yours. Hoseok greeted everyone, by taking your hand tightly introducing you as his wife immediately. It's as if he wants to show everyone that you now belong to him, as if you were a prize.

And maybe if you gave him the key to her success.

"You better smile my dear, nobody wants to know what will happen if you don't." Her lips brushed your hand before placing a chaste kiss on it. "I love you, my beautiful protagonist."

You sob, tears falling from your face as you melt into his disgusting caresses. The man in front of you, your un-predestined husband. The one who stole the position of your true love, he was kissing you delicately.

"Don't cry, decorate the room just the way you wanted. The photos were a special touch ..." His teeth bit into the sensitive skin of your neck, an involuntary groan of pain escaping. "Love you."

Your eyes move desperately to find a photo where the beaten, abused or dead body of Namjoon cannot be seen. You scream when you find one where you see blood everywhere, you are resigned to look down at the ground where Hoseok was crouching kissing the inside of your thighs.

Your mind tried to process the idea that Namjoon had been killed, mutilated and thrown into a river that washed away his body along with happy memories. Farewell to him was prolonged as your body faded in pain.

Hoseok enjoyed the sight of your eyes tightly closed, his cock throbbing inside you as she fucked you like his wife.

The head of the bed moved crashing into the wall, and unconsciously your walls tightened around it causing it to release a curse aloft to the sky.

We got to the end of the movie, smiled as he dazzled the credits by seeing Jungkook's lost name. His little bitch who was his toy for many years, laughed remembering how she did wonders with her mouth.

He pretended not to know him when her father introduced him, taunting her hurt face.

He held you in his arms tightly, you had been struggling to free yourself from his grip as he continued to abuse you over-stimulating your pussy. Your eyes closed falling asleep from crying so much.

He caressed your face, kissing your dry, chapped lips.

The end.

[aelingalathyniusrailme]

If you find me on the edge, we’ll jump together

gwynriel pirate au pt 7-god may be a man but the devil comes in the form of a women

check out the other parts if you want :) pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, pt 6,

Feyre, feyre, feyre. Feyre fucking archeron. The name of the women before them reverberated through out her body, echoing against her ears, clouding every thought in her mind. 

Gwyn was going to rip this bitch to shreds. why must the archeron’s be such a huge part of her life. One she consider her family, the other was love gone sour but the youngest archeron, the pain this women caused her was tenfold to anything Elain could have given her. 

She hardened her self to the memories that arouse, let her anger burn through any remaining hope to salvage what they once were. 

Her history with the assassin was long but her seconds was longer, she scolded herself for being so selfish. 

Gwyn looked over to Nesta and struggled intensely not to go to her. To anyone else she appeared as she always did, cold, indifferent, unbothered. But gwyn saw the slight twitch of her hands, and narrow of her eyebrows. the way she dug her nails into her palms and the almost imperceptible change of her breathing. This unexpected visit had shaken her second and Gwyn knew first hand she didn’t do well when she wasn’t in control. 

Nesta permitted seeing her sister all of once a year and gwyn had forced her to spend an hour with her just a few short weeks ago. 

And while she was looking at Nesta, Nesta was staring at the strange interaction going on between Feyre and The Shadowsinger’s own second. 

Gwyn’s mind was spinning, going over every way this could possibly go wrong, there were quite a few if shew as being honest. Her gaze cut to Azriel, his features gave away nothing except she knew recognition when she saw it. 

Azriel did not know her, but Rhys sure as hell did. 

Feyre’s eyes locked with Rhys’s, there was tension there, hatred even if they couldn’t look away. 

“You look as radiant as ever Feyre, darling.” His voice was light, it was teasing with a hint of mockery. Although it would be impossible to dispute that Feyre was beautiful, even in the dingy light of a grotesque bar she couldn’t help but draw the eye to her. 

Feyre could never be anything short of perfect. The irony of her being a trained murderer was not lost on anyone that knew her. 

“You look about as well as the bottom of my shoe.” Her features were one of practiced disgust. And yet she was in a room with some of her greatest friends turned enemies and all she could do was stare at that boy. “What the hell are you doing here Rhysand?”  

“I happen to find that the daily bouts of my life are none of your business anymore.” anymore. Clearly there was history here, but exactly what kind? Romantic or platonic, romantic or platonic.

Feyre stared back at him with a glare that could rival icy coldness of her sister, still clutching the lives of innocents on the thin line between life and death. A line she knew all too well.

This was going to be so fucking annoying. So gwyn took the opportunity to interrupt whatever that was, plastering a grin to her own face as she drawled, “Feyre archeron, so unlike you to be so distracted you don’t even say hello to a dear friend,” Gwyn gave her a look of mock surprise, “by a boy no less.” 

She turned towards her with distain, “Yes, my apologies, hello Gwyneth. You too sister.” Nesta remained silent, thankfully, in order for all of them to walk out of here alive her second had to keep swords to herself. 

“I remember mentions of a chat?” Azriel supplied quietly. 

Feyre’s mood brightened, “ah yes thank you for the reminder, we were getting off track. I have a proposal.” 

While she spoke, Gwyn’s eyes met Azriel’s from across the room. I know what you are about to do and I need you to please just follow my lead. Gwyn knew as well as any that the eyes told stories, she was praying that this wouldn’t be too much of a stretch. 

She needed her pirate enemy on her side. I’ll be damned, gwyneth berdara used the word please. 

You are despicable. 

You love it. 

Over my dead fucking body. 

No need for the language your majesty. 

I’ll use whatever language I want. 

Azriel inched closer to Feyre, slowly pulling out a knife. 

Stop, Azriel you have to stop. gwyn pleaded with her eyes.

Why? There’s almost twenty of us. 

Yeah, we would need an army of hundreds to defeat that women. 

Azrie scoffed, that’s impossible. 

Beyond her being the greatest assassin of our generation, she’s- 

Gwyn could almost see the wheels turning in his mind. She watched as he slowly but sure connected the dots, noting the way she radiated power. 

I’ll be damned, she’s fae isn’t she? 

That women can kill you without even lifting a finger. 

Oh Berdara are you worried for me?

Gwyn was about to respond when her senses kicked in and she noticed it was abnormally quiet. She forced her gaze away from azriel’s to find everyone staring at them. 

“It’s almost as if you want me to slit their throats.” Feyre sighed. “Now are you two done?” 

She stayed silent so Feyre took it to mean continue, but really Gwyn was just contemplating all the ways she could cut out her vocal cords. 

“Anyways, back to my proposition. Under the law, pirates are considered criminals, however her great majesty, the queen turns a blind eye to the deeds of your...folk.” She sounded disgusted. 

“And here I was under the impression that you murdered for a living.” Nesta responded. 

“I murder for the sake of the greater good, you murder for fun. We are not the same.” 

“You are a delusional coward.” 

“And you are nothing, not even worth an insult.” Feyre laughed. “At least our imbecile of a sister had the curtesy of retaining some magic, but you dear sister could not even light a flame if your life depended on it.” 

“Ah yes Feyre Archeron the greatest assassin to ever live, a puppet on a string still craving the validation of a queen who cares nothing for you. Poweful fae who falls to her knees for the very same you think yourself better than.” Rhys to his credit did not react to the clear insult. 

“You, my dear sister, are so much less than nothing,” She tilted her head and smiled, repeating her words. “and you believe you are everything.” Feyre grip on the knives she was holding tightened against the throats of Tarquin and Viviane. “It’s pathetic really cause you’re the only one.” 

The archeron sisters stared daggers at each other, each refusing to back down. 

Gwyn’s mask changed from insane adventurer to the pirate captain she occasionally had to be. 

Her voice turned icy, her posture straightened, and she clenched her jaw, “Nesta stand down.” Gwyn ordered, dominance infused in those three simple words. She turned to Feyre, “How about we discuss in private where family and ex lovers do not intervene.” 

“And ex friends are better?” 

“Oh Feyre, sweetie, don’t get it confused, you are clearly here for a reason, my only concern is, have you come as my enemy or as my ally?”

“Me holding your crew hostage doesn’t give you a clue?” She droned. 

“I’ve known you far too long to ever be fooled into making assumptions of your intentions.” 

“I’m glad somebody here has some semblance of a brain.” Feyre shot a look in Nesta’s direction and then one to Rhys. “Now I am going to let you two go,” Feyre purred. “But do not mistake that for safety. Captains come.” Gwyn rolled her eyes to Azriel 

What are we dogs? 

Obviously we pale in comparison to the greatness of this women. 

Gwyn laughed before she could stop herself. Everyone in the silent bar turned to look at her. Gwyn stared right back refusing to be embarrassed although she felt color flushed her neck. Azriel flashed her a smile, one that would send any ordinary soul to their knees. But gwyn wasn’t any ordinary soul, right?

They followed Feyre into the back room, watching her sit on the chair like a throne before speaking, “As I was saying my queen overlooks your faults for various reasons of her own but this fairytale you are chasing must be put an end to.”

Azriel crossed his arms, “and why is that?”

“Like I said the queen has her reasons, however, she is willing to make a deal with you two.” 

“No.” No, no, no. Gwyn was done with the queen. Forcing the memories down her mind reacted like a moth to a flame repeating the mantra that got her to where she was today, never again she promised herself, never again. 

Feyre ignored her. “Her majesty is willing to absolve you of all your crimes and keep both The Shadowsinger and The Silver majesty extremely well off for the rest of your lives.” 

“What’s the catch?” Azriel questioned.

“You pirates, always so untrusting.”

“What’s the catch?” He repeated through gritted teeth. 

“You allow the huge hall to be conquered in the queens name.” 

“Why would we ever do that?” Feyre was many many things but she was not an idiot. There is no reason for her to ever believe either captain would agree to the fools bargain. So she waited for her to play the rest of her hand. 

Feyre laughed as if they were beneath her. “Because you need me.”

Tagging: @imsointobooks @meher-sumedha @himadrij @gwynrielsupremacy @ipsa-est-lux-plenae @flora-shadowshine @allthebooksunderthemoon @valkygwyn @bookish-isha @lattristantketchup @generalnesta (If you want to be added or removed please let me know)

[moonculus]

terrible things ~ wilbur x reader

angst

warnings: death, weapons, kissing (all non-descriptive)

pronouns: implied she/her

notes: inspired by the song, terrible things by mayday parade. i apologize in advance <3

☾　‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙　☽

that’s when i met your father, the boy of my dreams. the most beautiful man that i’d ever seen.

“mommy?”

you looked away from your coffee cup to meet your child’s bright eyes staring back at you.

“yes, honey?” you asked, smiling softly.

“what happened to my father?”

immediately, you felt your heart tighten. you had put off talking about your husband for as long as you possibly could. phil, techno, even tommy. everyone who cared for you worried about you. you had thrown yourself into caring for your child, barely even giving yourself time to feel.

“when you’re older, baby,” you tilted your head sympathetically.

the daughter clung to your leg, pouting up at you with puppy eyes. the same her father would make whenever he wanted a hug or kiss from you. you were never the disciplinarian. to be honest, neither of you were. you hoisted your daughter onto your lap, preparing yourself emotionally.

“well, since i was your age, i was convinced i would be a leader. no one could ever tell me i needed a husband, i thought boys were frivolous. while my friends would talk about crushes and cooties, i would talk about sword skills and the inner workings of our country. i never thought i’d need anyone. until i met your father…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you swung your wooden makeshift sword at a tree, grunting as it was stuck in the bark. you pulled at the handle, kicked at the stump, and eventually plopped down in the grass beside it, frustratedly.

“need some help?” a soft voice asked you.

a small boy your age crooked glasses and a yellow sweater he seemed to be quickly outgrowing.

“no. i can do it myself,” you huffed, brushing yourself off and attempting to pull the sword out again.

“my dad says it’s always best to accept help, even if you think you don’t deserve it.”

“my dad used to say if you can’t do things on your own, you shouldn’t do them at all.”

“your dad’s wrong,” the boy shrugged, leaning against the tree.

“do you mind?”

“i’m wilbur,” he grinned, sticking his hand out for you.

“i’m tired of this,” you folded your arms against your chest.

“well, tired of this. do you want to be friends?”

“my dad said friends make you weak,” you muttered, shifting from foot to foot.

“your dad’s wrong,” he repeated, smiling. “anyways. sometimes, everyone needs a knight in shining armor.”

with a swift hit to the handle in exactly the right place, the sword fell to the grass. your chest rose and fell as you glared at the weapon.

“thank you,” you mumbled.

“i’ll take a friendship as an apology.”

you rolled your eyes at him, a smile threatening to cross your face.

“fine.”

wilbur’s face lit up with a toothy smile.

“but,” you began, pointing a finger at him. “only because i owe you.”

“oh, of course,” he nodded, stifling a grin.

“y/n. my name. i’m y/n.”

“y/n,” he repeated. “i like it. i’ll see you around, y/n.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“and then what happened?”

your curious daughter that had been squirming in your lap, now settled, relaxing in your arms.

“well, a few years passed, and we became practically attached at the hip. inseparable…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

i can tell by your eyes that you’re in love with me

“stay together- be safe!” phil called after the two of you, as if you would’ve gladly left the other alone.

“we will!” you chorused, already bolting away.

the once short and underdeveloped boy had grown into a lanky, somewhat scrawny teenager. stretch marks dotted his knees from an unexpected growth spurt at twelve. he had long since ditched his glasses, claiming that he was too mature for his crooked lenses. suspiciously, he had adopted the spectacles back once he had overheard a conversation between niki and yourself in which you told her you thought boys with glasses were cute.

the two of you flopped onto your backs at the same willow tree you had first met. it had become a memorial of the start of your friendship, a place you visited often.

clouds drifted through the sky, the both of you pointing out ones that looked like ducks and cats.

“d’ya ever think about your future?” wilbur asked you out of the blue.

“yeah. i’m gonna be a ruler. you can be one of my royal consorts,” you shrugged.

“what’s a consort?”

“i dunno, i heard my mom use it once. i suppose it’s like an advisor of some kind. you’re my second in command!”

“well, i’m fine being your second. as long as you don’t let it go to your head,” he nudged you, smiling.

you rolled your head to the side, meeting gazes with wil. his eyes searched your face, and for a second you were confused. you had barely even acknowledged the thought of crushes- you didn’t know what they felt like. later on, you could assume it felt a little like this.

the two of you leaned in, connecting your lips gently. neither of you had any clue what you were doing, it was both of your first kisses. as soon as it began, you pulled away. you didn’t miss the blush creeping into wilbur’s cheeks, just as he didn’t miss the smile you tried to hide behind your hand.

“i- crap. i li-“ wil stammered.

“i know.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“ew, cooties!”

“you’re right, cooties. that’s why you never kiss boys,” you pointed at your daughter.

“anyways, we loved each other. we had since the day we met, just were too young to know it…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

im asking you, please. you know that i love you, will you marry me?

“gods, you look beautiful, honey,” niki cooed as she placed flowers behind your ears.

“you think so?”

“i know so! wil is going to be speechless.”

“we haven’t been out for weeks, with all of the battle preparations,” you sighed, placing your face in your hand.

“don’t remind me. there you are, perfect!” niki smiled, squeezing your shoulders gently.

“thank you so much, i owe you.”

“oh, hush. you owe me nothing,” she dismissed. “now, hurry! he’s waiting.”

there was a calm breeze as you walked to your willow tree. the air smelled floral and familiar, like it was curated just for you. you heard the soft strum of a guitar, and your steps quickened.

a grin plastered itself across your face as you saw your love, surrounded by blue petals and lanterns, plucking the strings of his instrument. it was a scene out of a movie as you took a seat in front of him. he smiled at you softly, not speaking until the melody finished.

“i love you,” he began, clasping his hands around your own. “i have loved you since i’ve known you. you are my muse, my meaning. without you, i’d perish beyond means. i promise i’ll care for you when you’re sick, when you take up half of the bed, when you insist on midnight walks- i’ll take it all.”

by now, tears of happiness were falling down your face, you practically already nodding.

“y/n y/l/n,” he started, pulling out a dark ring.

you interrupted him, throwing your arms around his neck and all but tackling him to the ground.

“will- you- marry- me-“ he laughed in between kisses. “i’ll take that as a yes.”

“yes, yes. of course it’s a yes, you idiot. i love you,” you smiled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“but if you lived happily ever after, where’s dad?”

again, your heart felt pained. your eyes filled with tears as you squeezed your daughter’s hand.

“sometimes, it was just never meant to be…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

please don’t be sad now, i really believe, you were the greatest thing that ever happened to me.

you were married as soon as possible, only your close friends and family invited to the wedding at the willow tree. a few months later, you were expecting. once you told wilbur, he was ecstatic. your family was growing. alas, the past few weeks had been strained. wil had grown further apart from you, feeling as if he were worlds away while he laid next to you. it all became clear, all the pieces clicking once the three of you stood in the final control room.

“wil, please. you’re going to have a child- you have me! you can’t do this, think of everyone,” you pleaded as phil held your arm.

“i’m sorry, my love. truly. i wish there were another way. i will never stop loving you. never,” he smiled sadly, his fingers dancing across the button that would annihilate your entire nation.

“it was never meant to be.”

phil held you close as you sobbed, his shouts at his son drowned out by the sounds of explosions. once the dust settled, you saw your boy, the same one who had always had the brightest eyes, dull and lifeless as he stared at you.

“i love you,” he mouthed as he nodded at phil.

you didn’t quite understand what was happening, not until it happened. your hand flew to your mouth to muffle your screams as the man’s blade plunged itself into it’s target. you scrambled to your lover, his soul already left his body. you cradled him in your arms as long as you could before his father had to carry you away from him.

from that day forward, you pledged to throw everything you could into daughter- the legacy of your late husband. you swore you’d never leave her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

don’t let it get you, i can’t bare to see the same happen to you.

“he’s gone?” she breathed out, tears falling down her little face.

“yes,” you sniffled, failing to hold back your own tears. “yes, he’s gone. but he loved us very much, even if he never got to meet you.”

your daughter clung to your shirt, not fully understanding everything. you would explain to her later more in depth, when she was old enough to understand.

“you were his unfinished symphony. his little melody,” you smiled down at her.

melody would learn to understand her father through stories from you, her uncles, and her grandfather. the two of you continued to visit his final resting place- the willow tree you had buried him at. for a while, it had only reminded you of misery, memories you’d never get to relive. but, ever since melody had been born, the tree was rejuvenated. it even seemed to sway as if it were listening when you spoke.

your wilbur, his love, and your baby, melody.

your symphony.

☾　‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙　☽

[honeysofte-archieve]

birdsong.

rating: teens and up. suggestive themes.

pairing: cremisius aclassi/female lavellan.

word count: 2,559

summary: Lavellan stays the night. Or rather: a morning.

haven’t written anything in a long while so this might come off as really clumsy & cringy, but here it is, anyway! <3

* * *

She is wearing his shirt.

She is sitting by the wide window sill, leaning against the wall and reading a leather-bound book while balancing a cup of herbal tea on one of her folded knees, and she is wearing his shirt and--

not much else, to be honest.

This is naturally the first thing Krem notices once he opens his eyes because he’s surprisingly one-track minded when it comes to Lavellan to his greatest embarrassment. Not that her appearance is the only thing that he cares about, far from it for he would adore her no matter what, but it certainly makes her all the more distracting to him.

The boys like to give him shit about it, too -- how utterly obvious and showy his affection and desire for her is. Krem would shut their faces permanently with his fist if Lavellan didn’t find it so endearing and smile at him sweetly whenever the topic comes up. Sometimes she even gets on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek in front of all of them like she’s not ashamed at all of his affection for her and isn't afraid to show she returns the sentiment just as wholly.

And isn’t that the most amazing thing in the world for someone to have? To love and be loved so genuinely and kindly that one can feel it all the way inside their spine and lungs, a comforting presence no one wants to lose, ever.

in ao3.  ♥

But of course, the topic of love has never come up, at least in spoken words. Everything is still quite new and wonderful, but Krem knows it's true. He loves her. And he's pretty positive she loves him too. Or he hopes she does, the other option gives him way too much anxiety so he's trying not to think about it. Like, ever.

But anyway, Krem can’t help but stare with no words to describe what he is feeling. He can feel the faint flicker of red on his cheeks. He can feel how his heartbeat quickens two-fold. He can feel a weight loosening free inside his chest as he watches this beautiful creature that is somehow his.

Inquisitor Lavellan looks open and vulnerable and beautiful in the morning sun, the light dancing on her neck and chest-- the old scars on her face, the faint stretch marks and moles littering her thighs and arms more prominent this way. She is frowning slightly as she reads, her teeth tugging her lower lip in concentration at whatever is happening in the book, before she licks her thumb and turns another page, oblivious to Krem’s gawking.

The shirt, of course, is not the main reason he can't keep his eyes away from her, though, even if she looks very attractive in it.

No, the very thing that has Krem astonished is that she's still here. In his room. In the morning. For the first time since they've started doing this, kissing and laughing and having sex, and Krem… isn't entirely sure what to make of it.

Lavellan is a very busy woman after all.

A few moments pass before Lavellan glances in his direction and takes a double-look when she notices him awake. Krem kind of does this awkward finger-wiggle sort of thing at her because it's quite impossible for her not to figure out he's been staring at her quite intently for a while now.

"Good morning, Cremisius,” Lavellan murmurs with a small smile on her heart-shaped face and does a finger-wiggle right back at him, making it look somehow elegant and not idiotic as hell.

No one, not one person, calls him Cremisius. No one except for her. And he likes how the name forms in her mouth, likes the look on her face as she says it aloud. His heart always skips a beat when she does it and he doesn’t think he will ever get used to it. He is so easy for her.

Lavellan looks unusually relaxed this morning, Krem has not often seen her like this-- probably no one does. She works and works and works and rarely takes time for herself and it’s always rubbed Krem off the wrong way how much people demand of her, never giving her a break, never letting her just be. Sometimes he feels like fighting every fucker who makes her feel like she doesn't deserve time for herself, but he desists. Mostly.

But here she is. Here she is this morning; still with him despite her duties and demands of others. For the first time during their relationship. It's almost astonishing.

“Morning.” Krem’s throat is slightly dry and his voice catches just a little when he meets her bronze coloured eyes. Maker, he hopes it’s not too obvious.

“Did you sleep well?” Lavellan asks gently, closes her book and takes a sip of her still steaming tea. She mustn't have been awake for long though the morning seems already later than normal. Krem is usually already long awake at this hour, doing drills with the boys or eating an early lunch.

Krem blinks and blinks again before finally realises she’s expecting an answer and he ends up nodding. And for a while, they just keep staring at each other in silence before Krem can’t help but beam at her in something like happiness.

“I like your shirt,” he blurts out, feeling absolutely moronic today for some reason. It makes Lavellan lift her eyebrow and for a while, Krem is sure she’s going to ignore the comment as she often does, but this time she only shrugs and says:

“I was feeling a little cold.”

It’s summer and it’s not true, both of them know that, so Krem grins, his lips wide, and Lavellan rolls her eyes in something like fondness. She scratches her leg, the shirt collar dropping downwards as her body moves and Krem has to swallow hard.

The moment isn’t awkward, per se, it’s just new and it seems like neither of them really knows how to fill it. It doesn't feel like the place for empty chatter.

“You look good in it. Comfortable. Very.... stimulating,” he dares to comment and suppresses a lewd grin that threatens to slip out.

“Hmm,” Lavellan answers. She seems amused, however faintly, which Krem takes as a victory. He feels an urge to do something with his hands-- pull her closer across the distance and touch the soft skin of her thigh. Or something.

“So,” Krem says slowly. The scratchy sheets are bundled around his waist and he scratches his abdomen. His chest is bound, but he doesn’t feel self-conscious around her, not anymore. For she knows him; she knows most things about him. He knows a little less about her, but he’s determined to learn every piece of her in time.

Lavellan opens her book again.

“So,” Lavellan answers and even though she’s not looking at him, the corners of her mouth are twitching. It makes Krem braver than he is.

“I kind of didn’t expect you to still be here.”

His words are casual and not accusing, not in the slightest, and he’s glad that Lavellan notices it as well because her expression doesn’t change.

“I’m taking the day off,” Lavellan replies and flips a page forward in her book, though she’s not reading it as far as Krem can tell, just staring at the words since her eyes don’t move on the paper.

“Can an inquisitor take a day off?”

“Who could stop me? I am the Inquisitor,” Lavellan kind of scoffs, kind of laughs. Krem’s gaze is focused on her pink mouth because, Maker, he is apparently just as bad as most other men are when it comes to a pretty face. He really hopes Lavellan doesn’t notice, that’d be quite embarrassing. Not that he has ever pretended to know something about words like honour or chastity.

“... Fair point.”

Lavellan hums underneath her breath, a breathy sound that is filled with something untraceable to him. He wonders what she’s thinking about.

“What are you reading?” Krem asks casually as he can, feeling slightly idiotic because he doesn’t know what to do at this moment. He wants to stand up and go to her, he wants to kiss her and pull her back to bed and do things to her that makes her body wet with sweat and pleasure.

Still, he does nothing except grip the bedsheets into this fist and takes a deep breath. He can be patient when he wills so-- he can be patient for her.

“A romance novel. Or rather a bodice ripper, I would say.”

“Shit,” Krem replies. Or more like mumbles as he still feels a little tired after the night despite having slept so long this morning. He's sort of surprised the chief hasn't come barreling through his door yet, the big damn oaf.

“Josephine gave it to me,” Lavellan continues casually. She is combing her long blonde hair with her fingers as she speaks and Krem wants nothing more than to touch her right at this moment. He aches with it, his fingers cramping at how hard he is gripping the bedsheets.

“She apparently got it from Vivienne who got it from Cassandra who got it from Sera who got it from... somewhere." Lavellan pauses. "Josephine called it the ‘the most beautifully written love story of this age’ so naturally, I needed to read it.”

“So, how is it?”

Krem doesn't want to talk about books.

He wants to pull her back into his bed and do things to her with his mouth and sleep some more afterwards.

“Mildly entertaining and educational. Considerably smuttier than I expected truth to be told, but I don’t mind. See, I had no idea qunari could be so incredibly... bendy.”

Lavellan grins at him, her mouth in a wicked bow, and Krem is not blushing. He is not. He is a grown man and doesn't flush at the mere mention of sex, that would be ridiculous considering he spends most of his time around Iron Bull and the other boys who hold nothing back.

"I'm certain you could ask the chief about it if you're really curious."

Lavellan huffs. "No thank you, that is definitely not the kind of conversation I want to have with my lover's superior."

Krem's heart jumps into his throat. Lover, he thinks. He likes the sound of the word. It feels fitting for them.

“Come here,” he requests throatily, changing the subject to something he is more desperate for. “Please.”

Lavellan spends a moment only looking, or perhaps studying, him with her piercing eyes before she sets down the book and her now empty teacup on the window sill and comes to him, all gentle smiles and cold fingertips. Just before he lays down, she takes off his shirt and Krem feels a tiny bang of disappointment before he realises that the sight of her bare frame, her charming curves and soft belly and generous chest, the constellations of freckles, moles and scars on her skin, are a marginally better sight.

Lavellan lets him look at her a moment that doesn't feel like enough time to drink in the picture she makes before she settles beside him on her stomach and Krem closes her delicate hand inside his own sword-callused one.

“You look so beautiful,” he confesses, perhaps too honestly, the words escaping his mouth like a bird out of its cage For a short moment Lavellan looks almost impossibly surprised like this is something she didn’t expect him to say at all. Her eyes are wide and sweet with something like utter fondness for him.

“And you are looking very handsome,” she counters, never quite knowing what to do with a direct compliment and this time he definitely blushes quite visibly but finds himself not minding it that much at all anymore. She could see all of him, naked and laid bare, and he would let her, always. No secrets, no fears.

Lavellan cups Krem's cheek and peers at him with an unflinching look, her thumb stroking the curve of his moist mouth. His tongue peeks out of his mouth and he swallows hard.

“Your freckles have grown bolder under the summer sun,” she comments aloud as her fingers explore every nook of his face, tracing the bridge of his nose with her long nail and thumbing the fragile, blue skin underneath his eyes that are still puffy from sleep. He feels invincible, confident beyond explanation. That's what Lavellan does to Krem.

Krem licks his lips. He licks his lips and the tip of it catches on Lavellan's fingertip, just before she presses her tender mouth to his own and kisses him for the first time for what feels like forever.

And it's a very good kiss. One of the best he's ever had.

Not overly gentle, but intense and sweet, and it consumes him entirely with its depth, making him feel thoroughly light-headed and happy.

So happy. Being with Lavellan makes him the happiest he's ever been. He's a lucky son of a bitch and he’s the first one to admit that.

"I'm glad you stayed tonight," Krem whispers, his voice husky with need and she looks straight into his eyes before murmuring: "Me too."

Afterwards, a comfortable silence surrounds them for a long while. They fill it with kisses and hungry caresses, but they're not in a rush to start anything more. They continue until Lavellan breaks apart and searches his eyes with her own brown ones. For some reason, there's a touch of sadness in them.

"You know it's nothing personal, don't you?" she asks hesitantly, her fingers drumming against his chest as she talks-- a habit that tells him that she’s genuinely nervous about his answer. She swallows before continuing: "If I could, I would wake up in your arms every morning, it’s just-- "

"I know," Krem murmurs, shushing her words with a small peck. And he does, but fuck how he hates it. Sometimes he would just want to bury her in his arms and hide her from the rest of the world. Not that Lavellan would ever let him, but a man can dream.

"Good." Lavellan nods, satisfied. She brushes his forehead with the back of her hand, sweeping off a drooping hair strand that's been tickling his brow for a while now. Krem isn't sure if he deserves such tenderness from her. Or anyone.

"Good," Krem repeats with the biggest grin that flashes his teeth and Lavellan rolls her beautiful eyes before kissing him again with a fierce sort of enthusiasm that takes Krem off guard.

But neither of them are leading it to anything more. They're perfectly content just like this, with rush or impatience for nothing.

It's a new feeling and it's lovely.

"This is nice," Krem says after they pull apart again with their mouths wet and red, her doe-eyes almost swallowed up by her black pupils.

Lavellan looks entirely fond. She presses her lips to his forehead, the gesture not overly sweet but close enough. "It is."

"Maybe you could… take a day off again some time," Krem suggests making Lavellan sort of snort in surprise. Though before Krem can feel too bad about asking, she murmurs acceptance in his ear.

"Mm. I'll see what I can do."

It's as good as a promise.

[wangxiandecoded]

Episode 12

Previous Episode | Next Episode

(Spoilers for the whole show ahead!)

Even when Wen Chao asks for their swords, Wei Ying is trying desperately to make Lan Zhan look him in the eye to telepathically understand what his soulmate is feeling. Lan Zhan hates it but he has no choice but to cooperate with the enemy. He has withdrawn to himself after the multiple losses he’s faced and being a puppet at the hands of the Wens must be rattling him some more. Even if he wanted to tell Wei Ying everything that’s on his mind, he wouldn’t have been able to find the words to. 

Lucky for him, Wei Ying has an inkling that his Lan Zhan has faced an inexplicable disaster and that’s why he’s behaving this way with him. He knows it doesn’t mean he should stop reaching out. His concern for him leads him to repeatedly seek Lan Zhan’s face, looking for anything that might suggest how he can alleviate his plight.

One of the perks of having Wei Wuxian as your boyfriend is that he was born ready to make a clown out of the most dastardly villains.

Wei Ying Says “Fuck You” In The Name Of Love

Wei Ying has a brilliant idea to talk to Lan Zhan or at least let him know he is not alone.

There is something powerfully impressive and quietly romantic about Wei Ying insulting the Wen clan by reciting the Lan clan’s rules to Wen Chao’s face, on the heels of the former decimating and annexing the latter. Of course Wei Ying is the first one in a room to stand up to a bully and protect the others but Wei Ying knows Lan Zhan’s hands are tied right now, even if he doesn’t know what exactly happened. But that’s okay, because Wei Ying will defend his honor and become Lan Zhan’s hands, his mouth, his everything that delivers the unmistakable “fuck you” on behalf of his family. And he does it in an act of rebellion that originates in the sanctum of love. Understandably, Lan Zhan falls more in love with him.

Wei Ying’s Plan Misfires 

His happiness is short-lived, but honestly who could predict his plan would go like this?

We see that Lan Zhan does want to confide in his soulmate the pain and pressure he’s been dealing with alone the whole time, but it’s too dangerous for them to talk right now. 

Wen Chao carries the same kind of smugness as a prick who’s been waiting to out a gay couple. I mean how awful do you have to be to physically abuse Wangxian for.. being Wangxian? Blatant homophobia right there.

Wei Ying has had enough of Wen Chao’s bullshit and is unafraid to clap back with his signature cheekiness.

When Wei Ying is captured, Lan Zhan blocks the whip coming his way and ends up taking a hit to his injured leg. Wei Ying then wants Wen Chao to come for him instead of Lan Zhan, and we can honestly expect nothing less from Wangxian at this point.

Lan Zhan conquers his silent grieving and mute seething to stand in defiance against Wen Chao. It is worth mentioning that his patience and tolerance can even bear the brunt of a fallen world, but cease to exist the second someone mistreats Wei Ying before his eyes. You know what they say about love being a vicious motivator. His protective stance here screams..

Lan Zhan Holds On To Wei Ying For A Short Span Of Eternity

Wen Chao sure is very curious about the nature of their relationship and unable to fathom what Wei Ying could possibly want with Lan Zhan. He’s already safe and sound with him in Qishan, so if they’re not talking about the Yin Iron, what the hell is it? This inquisition is a bit ridiculous, as if the writer specifically gave him these lines to point out to the audience that Wangxian are being soulmates in love once again.

What Lan Zhan does not say, he makes up for with the million times he reaches for Wei Ying instinctively; spontaneous skinship is one of the ways through which his love for Wei Ying finds expression. It is phenomenal that He Who Does Not Touch People firmly holds on to his lover through this whole monologue that follows.

There are few things in the world that can inspire Lan Zhan’s wrath and protection right now, and Wei Ying commands both so effortlessly. Defeated as he is, for Wei Ying, Lan Zhan is always a man of action. And this action particularly proves his willingness to send packing to hell whoever dares to come close to his lover. I wonder what would’ve happened if Wei Ying hadn’t gone to the dungeon on his own volition.

Wangxian Are Once Again Ready To Risk It All For Each Other

It would’ve been nice to see them get their alone time, but what’s one more complication on the path of true love, right?

If you thought about it, Wangxian’s universe truly conspires to bring them together sometimes. Wen Ning tells Wei Ying everything Lan Zhan wasn’t able to, and Wen Qing does everything in her power to ensure they’re both out of harm’s way. Even when our heroes aren’t able to spend time together, they are being assisted by outside forces that work to ensure their love has a future. There are always people left in the world who are rooting for Wangxian because they’re the good gays guys! 

We are well aware of how deeply and madly Wei Ying loves Lan Zhan, but it is startling all the same that even when he is in physical agony, what infuriates him to the point of madness is the news of Lan Zhan being hurt and his home being burnt down. Wei Ying is also more than willing to endure his pain a while longer if it means Lan Zhan has a shot at getting better.

Wangxian at any given point of time are ready to sacrifice themselves for the other and wage a war against the entire world for wronging the love of their life. That’s what makes these soulmates more unique than most, if not all lovers in fiction. Throughout the story, their romance is subjected to a billion tests and every choice they make is bound to make the viewers cry and highlight the unfairness of the impossible stakes they go through to be with each other. This is no ordinary romance, and that’s why it is all the more fantastic they are able to survive these unthinkable odds and come out shining in the end.

Lan Zhan’s concern and affection for Wei Ying is so open that it bleeds all over our screens. It’s like he looks at the rest of the world with aloof objectivity but the minute his lover comes into his sight, his eyes can bloom only warmth and emotion. Even the vision that touches Wei Ying from afar should be gentle and reverent, fit for holding in sight something precious beyond measure. This can be said about the both of them.

It is when NHS mentions their halcyon days at Cloud Recesses that we realize how their lives have changed irreversibly. Both Lan Zhan and Wei Ying are visibly sadder, like they’re wishing to return to simpler times when courting Lan Zhan was the biggest problem in Wei Ying’s life and fighting his feelings for Wei Ying was Lan Zhan’s. They’ve grown closer since then but the impediments on their road have also grown bigger.

Wei Ying Asks Jiang Cheng To Stay Out Of His Love Life

Lan Zhan keeps walking like #conceal don’t feel but the sad version of WuJi reveals all.

Wei Ying has been growing tired of Jiang Cheng trying to dictate what he should and should not feel or do about things that do not concern him and he rightfully puts him in his place in this scene. Jiang Cheng tells Wei Ying to not choose “someone else” as “we” already have a lot to deal with. He implies Wei Ying shouldn’t help Lan Zhan because he isn’t family and is clearly underplaying his injury despite Wei Ying emphasising its urgency. And Wei Ying is so done with putting up with that kind of negative energy in his love life.

He is quick to silence anyone who thinks they can hold him back from his heart or overstep the boundaries of his relationship with Lan Zhan. And his logic is very sound, for who on earth is capable of stopping Wei Ying from helping him? Not even Lan Zhan! 

Wei Ying breaks free of Jiang Cheng's grip and leaves in Lan Zhan's direction after patronizingly patting his arm. And that is his answer. To him, Lan Zhan isn’t just another person and there is certainly no choice he has to make when it comes to him. It will always be Lan Zhan who is his foremost priority and the rest of the world has to simply get used to being left behind.

We see that he knows Lan Zhan would never ask for help but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t need it. His soulmate will hence always offer it, and if rejected, simply throw him on his back and continue while Lan Zhan informs him once again of how “boring” it is. He doesn’t get to do that, but his sentiment is romantic enough to stay in Lan Zhan’s memory for sixteen years and become an action he boldly reciprocates when Wei Ying comes back.

Wangxian’s Love Story is Truly “Epic”

Episodes 11 and 12 trace the beginnings of the turmoil that will forge Wangxian’s path (and make us weep). Every romance starts from the idyllic state of undisturbed happiness but it seldom remains there through the whole story. And let’s be honest, calamities bring emotional depth and complexity to a plot, exposing that our favorite characters are human, flawed and a lot closer to reality than we imagined. Both the heroes stay loyal to their core values, with the conviction to be fearless in the face of unforeseen adversities in life and love.

And we hope like the hopeless romantics who are in love with the greatest love story ever told, that maybe all the tragedies that are about to befall Wei Ying and Lan Zhan won’t matter one day because their happy ending will heal all wounds. Obstacles will continue to strew our heroes apart and push them towards the other on a loop, but Wangxian are like magnets destined to snap back together. They will ascend beyond the stratosphere of romance, straight to the heavens, because their love’s greatest virtue is that they have each other and know each other more than any two people ever did in all of history. They are devoted to the other unconditionally in soul, mind and body. 

It’s just that our idiot-soulmates take the long way round to realize that their own joint force is capable of annihilating and birthing entire universes, and nothing that ever dared to stand on their path ever stood a chance. And when they do realize that their love is an infinite, impossible force that can bend the laws of nature and be a harbinger of greatness to a world that is doomed to fail, their story is exalted to an epic that doubles as a romance, effectively displacing all the bland, straight examples of love that have infiltrated our past and perpetuated heteronormativity. Because it boasts a love that all of humankind should vie to fashion their lives after and is a true sight to behold - a sight we will rewatch for as long as we live, and bequeath to posterity so they can grow up looking up to Wangxian. Because their love story is the big budget live action fantasy that queer people have been deprived of for so long and is now here to tell us : You should dare to love because it will become your greatest strength. Just like it became Wei Ying and Lan Zhan’s.

[fullsunalicia]

since i just noticed we are in DIRE need of some yuta around here and i love your writing to bits... may i request a friends-to-lovers!au with our one and only osaka prince?🥺 some tooth-rotting fluff with a dash of angst sprinkled in between? thank you so much!💚

velleity • NMY

velleity (n.) - a wish or inclination not strong enough to lead to action. an accurate example: the love that has been blooming inside your veins for nakamoto yuta, long before you even knew what it was like to fall.

thank you so much for your request !! i love yuta with all my heart and i was so happy when i saw your message 🥺 i hope you enjoy bubs!

You meet Nakamoto Yuta in elementary school, back when his Korean was clumsy and his beautiful features had still been a mystery beneath these chubby cheeks. The grimace the boy presented when you pulled at them didn’t reveal them, either, so for a very long time both Yuta and you couldn’t ever imagine calling the other ‘beautiful’.

Now, it would be blasphemy to call him anything but. Yuta’s face is what people claim to be picturesque. Perfect, down to the last detail. To assume that he is flawless would be a lie, but you’re convinced that your best friend isn’t far from that. He looks like he jumped straight out of a fairytale, like the prince you had been imagining every time your mother read you a good-night-story. You see him when you close your eyes, long after you slipped into a dream. But because you never reduced him to looks, you get to brag with the title ‘Yuta’s best friend’. You know him inside out, all the little things and the trivia behind it. Your knowledge is a treasure, expanded over the many years where you get to know this precious soul and watch it grow. Take shape, a rose exploding out of its’ bud.

That knowledge contains the silliest facts. He loves takoyaki, especially when you cook it. Despite the fact that you’re not japanese and will never reach the culinary skill level his mother is on, he inhales the food like it’s his last meal and then bombards you with every single compliment he can muster up. He also loves soccer, but quit it to focus on school and later on becoming an idol. Another funny fact is that Yuta hates the taste of limoncelli, because it’s the first alcoholic drink you ever gave him and then procceeded to get him wasted with. An hour later, he vomitted it out. (To be fair, he asked for you to get him drunk because he claimed it’s the only way to cure a broken heart. Clearly, this man has never had the perfect comfort food.)

You have read Nakamoto Yuta and studied him like a favorite book, a favorite read. There are folds in his soul from pages that you hold more dearly than anything else, and torn pages that represent the many fights that you both had. Yuta is familiar, constant. From time to time, you take him out the shelf, dust him off and fall in love with him all over again. The story enamours you every time. Your best friend stole your heart when you were sixteen and unknowing, undisturbed, when he held you so tightly you were going to suffocate. The smell of perfume and home. Loud whistles from both of your friend groups, a heartbeat that resonates inside you as if it was your own.

Befriending Yuta had been fate. It had been like meeting a kindred spirit, and you broke the golden rule. You fell in love. You feel that love even now, when you look into those ebony eyes. You’re looking at him, but he’s looking at her.

Heart-wrenching. That’s what it feels like when you serve him his favorite food but he still can’t tear away his gaze from her, and you reminisce the days where he would cheer like a little boy and thank you with the brightest light in his eyes, even though your first tries at the dish must’ve been only edible at best. You grab for a chopstick and aim for his head, and he whines loudly when it meets its’ target. “You’re so mean! Is that the thanks I get for visiting you at work?”

“You mean bothering me, idiot?” You roll your eyes and turn around to wipe the counter. Of course your stupid heart had beat faster the second you saw him step into the restaurant, just for it to shatter into a thousand pieces when you realized that he was here for someone else. Sweet Sana, who had been on the receiving end of your envy for years now, based on the fact that she was Yuta’s dream girl and not you. The envy is always accompanied by guilt, because Sana is nothing but kind and selfless, the shoulder you had been leaning on for years now ever since Yuta dedicated himself to his career. You watch as she rounds the tables and picks up dirty dishes, a smile adorning her lips despite the tedious task. An angel. She must be. “You just showed up and demanded to be fed. Not a single please and thank you, you spoilt brat. Aren’t you ever getting sick of takoyaki?”

“I could never.” Your best friend seems disturbed by the thought. If Yuta was ever served a death sentence for having killer looks, you’d bet a thousand dollars he would still choose Takoyaki as his last meal on death row. To look that good should be illegal. And it should also be illegal to steal your breath every time you guys meet gazes. There’s so much warmth in his eyes, reserved only for you - it’s a look that not everyone can be grazed with, not to those who haven’t known his entire being by heart. But never will you find the romance you crave in them, and that thought pushes you to look away every time.

You swallow down the pain and force yourself to keep a neutral face. “I’m putting you on a diet, if that’s the way you’re gonna act when I serve you your favorite food. Stop staring at her already, creep, you’re scaring her.”

Yuta sighs, long and heavy. Dramatic. He’s always been open with his crushes. “But she’s sooo pretty,” he pouts then, resting his head in the palm of his hand to look at Sana more comfortably. Right when both of you look at her, she turns to where you guys are sitting and waves, a cute little blush exploding on her cheeks. Very relatable. There’s not a single girl who is immune to your best friend’s charm. Yuta immediately springs into action to wave back, and you try to ignore the way his excited grin makes your chest hurt. “See? She’s not even doing anything and I’m still falling even harder!”

Yeah, that feeling seems familiar. The only difference is who you associate it with.

— ❅ —

Falling in love is so easy. Too easy, considering the fact that it can take years for your heart to recover and even then, the person never leaves your heart fully. You have wasted many years trying to get over Nakamoto Yuta, but your heart refuses to do so; the farest you ever get is closing the door on him, but you can never quite get yourself to lock it. The keys are always in his hands, impossible to tear away. Some people just aren’t meant to leave.

You’ve learned too many lessons from Yuta for you to ever forgot about him. You will never be able to not associate warm summer nights with him, will never forget the way he runs off the soccer field straight in your arms and whirl you around after a particularly good game. The first person to ever teach you how to cut off people that cause more harm than peace, who showed you how a proper friend should treat you. A first kiss, though left undiscussed. The many nights spent cramming in information before an important exam, getting drunk together and letting your hands wander because you trust each other. It’s all Yuta, and it always has been. You look for him in other people, in hopes of moving on but also easing the pain in your heart that is solely caused by the boy with the chubby cheeks.

Your eyes search for him everywhere.

Sadly, you even find the boy in Sana’s eyes. Her eyes emit warmth, a home inside a soul. You met Sana in highschool and love her the way you should’ve loved Yuta - she’s family, a sister, a best friend. She knows secrets you never even dared to think about in front of Yuta and treats them like treasures, a pirate taking his precious things to the grave. Trust is like gold to Minatozaki Sana, and the fact that you willingly give her your entire world is the greatest gift you could’ve ever given her. You can’t hate someone who is a part of you - Sana is you as much as you are her, one soul in two bodies. It’s a pity you got the half that Yuta would never desire.

Her fingertips are coarse; so unusual for the girl who looks like the definition of soft. At the end of every shift, you guys take turns massaging sore spots in your shoulders since both of you are too broke to pay for a professional massage inside a salon. You make do with what you have, at ten in the evening. There’s too many chores that are still unfinished, but the laziness is more powerful than your sense of duty. Whatever. Your manager has never complained about you staying longer to clean, so there’s no rush.

“You’re tenser than ever.” Sana sighs over the groan you let out when she hits a painful spot, her thumbs digging in to erase the knot she found. For someone who claims to possess no strength, her grip is pretty hard. “Have you been sleeping properly? You know I told you to stop pulling so many all-nighters... It’s not helping you.”

“I’m aware, mom. But my college degree isn’t earning itself.”

“Oh, shut up.” Her apron hits the empty barstool beside you before she moves to grab a rag to start wiping the counter. The artificial light usually creates an unpleasant ambiance, but it looks like moonlight when it hits Sana’s skin. So surreal, out of this world. The gods must have shaped her, there’s no other explanation. A perfect fit for Yuta. For a second, you contemplate how you managed to befriend the most precious people in the entire world. She rips you out off your train of thought, though. “Your grades are fine. You’re just throwing a hissy fit. Here’s a deal, either you start sleeping on time or I knock you out. How’s that sound?”

“Very pleasant,” you deadpan, and that’s the end of the discussion. She pinches your waist before moving along to put the chairs on the table. It’s always quiet in the evening, especially in this corner of the city. Every night at the same time, an old couple passes the window and waves at you, like the precious members of society they are. There’s a distinct routine that Sana and you established over the years, and you fall into it on instinct. The clean-up is quick as always. The bell on the door signals the end of your shift, and you step out into the cold night as Sana turns the key in its’ lock.

You guys are like two peas in a pond, to the point where traditions and habits have been assimilated together. It has now become a reflex to know what to do in any situation - while anyone else panics at your tears, Sana grabs a bottle of wine and a good movie. When the world turns blurry and the stress is the only thing Sana can see, you’re the first one to cook some spicy food and watch as she eats it, just to catch that special, grateful smile. Cogs working in clockwork. A perfect fit.

“How are things going with Taeyong?” Sana sounds neutral, but the cheeky undertone in her voice is evident to you. You know her better. “Drop it,” is the immediate answer you shoot back. Her laughter rings in your ears like a melody. You wish you would be able to dislike it.

“Hey, I just asked you a simple question. Is that forbidden too, now?”

“Yes. You’re not even allowed to say the T in Taeyong. Move along now, I want to go home and get some food in my stomach.”

Sana hums. “I heard Taeyong is a pretty great cook, too. Did you know that?”

You don’t answer her. Taeyong is nothing like the man that is truly inside your heart, and yet there’s no possible way to deny him. You’ve once told him over a bottle of whiskey about the feelings you harbor for his fellow band member, and yet he doesn’t let that deter him from his conquest of your heart. Taeyong knows unspoken secrets that neither Yuto nor Sana are even aware of, and that thought is strange to you. Taeyong isn’t connected to you like he is to Yuta. It’s barely been a year since you’ve properly gotten to know him. And yet, he coaxes things out of you that you wouldn’t even admit in your wildest dreams.

Lee Taeyong is dangerous. Point, blank, period. Still, you let him court you because he doesn’t mind the constant reminder that your heart belongs to Yuta. It even hurts to tell him that, because Taeyong has one of the most beautiful smiles you’ve ever seen. His heart is yours to take, even though you don’t want it. Just looking suffices, though. You threw one look inside and have yet to tear your eyes away, locked into a spell. Like looking at a car crash.

He claims that look is enough for him to keep trying. To you, it’s just torture for an innocent man who could have everyone if he wanted. Girls who are kinder, more selfless. Selfless enough to finally move on from a childhood crush and give him all he craves.

“Hello? Earth to (y/n)?” Your blonde companion waves a manicured hand infront of your face. “I didn’t mean to step on a landmine. I’m sorry, okay?”

The sigh you heave out is more alarming than intended. Meeting Sana’s eyes, you already know she’s got you figured out. Lying is useless now. “There’s no reason to be sorry,” you mumble, but it sounds half-hearted. “I just feel guilty about Taeyong. You know, since it’s unrequited and all.”

“I’m telling you, you’re missing out. I get that you want to focus on finishing college, but that boy could be heaven for you. I wish a boy would look at me like that. You deserve the world, (y/n).”

If only she knew.

Your shared apartment is freezing. Sana hurries to turn on the heater, while you finally get rid of jacket and work clothes. The walk to your room is quiet, accompanied only by the sound of Sana’s playlist starting to quietly reverbate through the apartment. Every nook and cranny is filled with a reminiscent thought, a story that only the owners of this apartments can recall. Despite your awkward predicament, you’ve always been thankful to have Sana.

Life is so much better with friends, especially those who see your entire being and decide to love it. No matter what comes with it, no matter how many disputes. It’s been a rocky road, but Sana and you have moved mountains to honor your friendship. You wouldn’t give her up for anything in the world. Especially not for a boy.

To your luck, you fall asleep just in time before Sana can scold you. Atleast in your dreams, everything is perfect.

— ❅ —

Though you claim that Taeyong is dangerous, you’ve always been someone who likes to play with fire. He looks like an artist’s dream-come-true, with sharp edges and soft doe eyes. Not even the dye in his hair can jarr the perfect image he creates, though he claims you’re just trying to make him blush by saying that. Your eyes may be locked on another man, but you’re not blind. Taeyong is as pretty as they come, with the kindest heart you’ve ever seen.

Since you reject an invitation to coffee and cake because you need to study, Taeyong climbs the many scary stairs up your fire escape so he can tumble through your open window. Accompanying his sweet grin is a bag of macarons and other pastries, which makes your stomach grumble embarrassingly loud.

“I thought you weren’t hungry.” Taeyong sets down the paperbag on your biology book, before he settles in the chair beside you and curiously peeks at your notes. You asked him once if he ever wanted to attend college, and he said that he had considered. He’s too in love with being an idol, though. It’s an attribute that connects him to Yuta - their ambition for the stage. Your best friend gave up soccer for it. You wonder what Taeyong has left behind to perform for the world.

You open your mouth to answer, but your stomach interrupts you again - now the blush settles on your cheeks, the very thing Taeyong had waited for. He laughs as you grab the paperpag, murmuring a “I’m not hungry” before stuffing your mouth with a lemon macaron. Normally, you’d offer him the other half, but it seems like you’re starving. “I thought I told you to rest today,” you say instead, eyes raking over his face. His hair is tinted red and white, like blood on snow. Beauty in controversy. “Since, you know, you’re like the most popular idol in the game right now and everything is pretty busy as it is.”

“Did you really think I’d miss the chance of finally being home alone with you?” Taeyong throws your legs over his lap and leans back - shirt riding up to reveal his defined tummy - and you avert your eyes. He’s already being tortured, you don’t have to make it worse by thirsting after him. But his statement opens up a gaping hole inside your stomach, so unsettling that your heart starts to clench. “He told you?” you ask dumbly. Of course Yuta had. Who hadn’t he told of the happiest moment in life, right after being accepted into SM? After months of pining, Yuta had finally been able to score a date with the Minatozaki Sana. Now the apartment lays empty, like a hollow tomb. For your dead heart, maybe. You realize that you’re being melodramatic, but it’s the only thing cheering you up right now and you have no wit left to make up for it.

Sana had accomplished what you never did. In a few weeks, those dates will evolve into a relationship, and it’ll finally be your turn to vomit out the cold limoncelli that burned the back of Yuta’s throat. It’s a tradition to down it after a heartbreak, one you guys kept up long after highschool. For the first time in ever, it’s going to be Yuta’s fault you’re drinking it. An Irish Wake for the girl who got away.

She had locked sickening in that dress. You sent Sana off with one of the most hurtful smiles you had ever been forced to put on, before all your tears ruined the sociology notes of today’s class.

You stuff your mouth with another macaron. “I should’ve known he’d tell the entire world,” you sighed. A warm hand covers your thigh in comfort, but it’s useless. A band-aid can’t help with a wound that’s located on the inside. “You know, Taeyong, maybe I’ll just change my name and move to Hawaii. I’d be a lot happier on Hawaii. Is there any way for me to like, legally get rid of my identity and disappear under mysterious circumstances?”

You hate the look of pity inside his eyes. It makes you lower you own gaze, reminds you of the sea of pain that you’re drowning in. It’s hard to stay afloat. You don’t need anybody to make it harder. “We could start with some mimosas, first,” Taeyong gently says. The gentleness banishes any kind of annoyance that had developed under his pitiful gaze, and he lets you climb into his lap, hides you away from the world in his embrace. Until you are ready to face it, ready to return to reality. The one where you’re an unaffected roommate who’s simply happy for their friends. “But I feel like I’ve barged in on enough Yuta-(y/n) traditions. So how about we grab some food?”

“I told you I have to study, Tae.”

“Bullshit. I think I’ve been watching you stare into the air for about five minutes before I even came in, you loser. Admit it, I’m doing you a favor.”

The punch you deliver to his chest does nothing to quiet down his little giggles. “You suck,” you growl as an answer, but stand up nonetheless to change into something more presentable. Taeyong respectfully turns away while you do, humming a melody under his breath. The pants you put on are only pulled over your hips before you halt in motion and watch in awe as the sun casts shadows over Taeyong’s face; his face contorting into art as his cat-like eyes slip closed. For some strange reason, Yuta’s words come to mind; about how photographers always gush at the leader’s photogenic features.

For a second, you ponder over this reality. The reality in which you stop clinging to a lover long lost and face a new one, something that could be good and healthy for you. As easy as breathing. It would be like spring, the end of an era, getting rid of the chains that held you back. You only have to accept him. Almost in trance, you take a step forwards, toward Taeyong and that warm reality - just to get a closer look at the artwork - before those chains rattle again. You’re a fool to think that you’d ever be able to discard of them. The freezing metal rips you out of Taeyong’s summer dream, back into the room that is filled to the brim with Yuta’s memories.

It’s far too late for you now. Silently, you finish changing and tap Taeyong’s shoulder as a signal that you’re ready to go. His smile hurts to look at, and he doesn’t even wait for permission before he interlocks your fingers and pulls you along. You wonder how he deals with the pain of rejection. It looks like nothing on him, but you feel like you’ve been poisoned, slowly rotting away. The guilt seems to crush you a little bit more now that you’ve got a taste of Taeyong’s experiences. “Wait,” you say, voice tiny. Feet skidding to a halt. Taeyong’s curiosity is as innocent as ever, and you feel bad for how hard it must be for him to look at you and know you’re never going to be his. “Tae, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t be the one you want me to be... I....”

“Stop.” Taeyong’s voice is strangely calm. It soothes your many worries, enough for you to quiet down. He raises his hand as if to cup your face, but decides against it - dropping it again to cover both of your hands. Smile never leaving his lips. “(y/n), I knew what I was getting into. It’s me who’s selfishly accepting every slither of affection you even grant me.”

“But am I not hurting you?”

“Sweetheart.” Taeyong laughs, as if you had said something funny. His thumb traces your knuckles, once, twice, a habit that he picked up from you. This time, he confidently tugs a strand of hair behind your ear, still giggling when he speaks again. “We all suffer for love. How could I ever judge you when your pain is essentially mine?”

You think you understand. If you imagine the pain to be a heavy bundle, it’s easier to carry it together. In awe at his strength, you let your gaze wander over Taeyong’s face again as he starts blabbering about a new K-BBQ place he’s been wanting to visit. When you catch the train, you finally feel like the poison’s slowing down. It hasn’t spread through your entire body yet.

As always, Taeyong is the remedy to all your problems.

Sadly, he can’t protect you from the awful sight Sana and Yuta offer when you find them tucked in the booth of a restaurant you used to frequent with Yuta. It would’ve been too much to be happy for one afternoon atleast. Despite standing outside the glass windows, you can hear Sana’s melodious laughter in your mind when she dips her head down to quieten the soft sound; golden curls flying with every shake of her head. Your best friend is beaming at her, drink in hand long forgotten, and you tear your eyes away from the scene before your broken heart starts piercing your lungs.

If only you had recognized the citrine liquor sloshing against Yuta’s glass, for you would have noticed something was definitely going wrong. You don’t take notice of his drink, instead quickening your speed and forcing Taeyong to keep up with you. When you start rambling, your companion says nothing, opting to shoot back his own anecdotes to take off your mind of the thing that is evidently bothering you. For the entire evening, he doesn’t let go of your hand once, and you return home with your belly stuffed with delicious dinner and your heart patched up by your new favorite member of NCT.

— ❅ —

You pass your exams with flying colors.

The pride that fills you when you see the grade on the piece of paper almost makes it worth all the things you’ve endured the past few weeks, even though it had been increasingly difficult to keep up. Silently, you watched your pretty roommate leave your shared home more times when you would have liked to count, while you remained stuck inside your stuffy room. The only escape you had for a while were the fire escape outside your window(which had been making you nauseaous the first few times you sat on it, but Taeyong had insisted it was fine) and work, where Yuta only came to blab about his idol life or test your culinary skills. You never ask him about Sana, and he never spills. His quiet support during exam season was the only reason you could handle Sana’s nightly meets, and you clung to the few moments where you could call Yuta yours.

There had once been a time in highschool where studying had been much more fun. Every correct answer had earned you another piece of candy, which became so addicting that Yuta and you upped the stacks by making the other treat them to dinner if they had more correct answes by the end of the free period. What started as school work evolved into a competition, which in turn had led to your first kiss under the lights of Seoul’s summer festival, the roar of passerbys and the loud music booming through the streets accompanying that precious memory. You had been glad, so glad it was Yuta who had stolen away that first experience, because you know for a fact he would never waste it. You had bet him a ticket of the ferris wheel, since it was terribly expensive and pocket money was barely cutting it for you. Not only had he purchased the ticket, but also won you the biggest teddybear on the market. You couldn’t remember what instilled it, but seconds after the plushie was placed into your hands, Yuta had cradled your face and kissed you like his life depended on it.

Your first kiss was magical. The sweet taste of cherries and the unimaginable trace of love that Yuta had left on your tongue had made you feel alive, as if for the first time in your life, your heart finally started to beat. The blood rushing through yours veins was powered by fireworks and adoration for one single boy, the sweet boy who taught you how to ride your bike without your training wheels, made you cook takoyaki atleast twice a week, and bothered to create silly traditions and inside jokes like limoncelli or Hello Kitty band-aids, placed over Yuta’s nose after he got a soccer ball to the face.

That summer had been the summer Yuta was accepted into SM. You had never talked about the kiss again. But what a vivid memory it was! Like your personal, handmade movie, your own living piece of magic. You had never imagined love to be so powerful. But you understand it now, as you look into Yuta’s eyes and realize that all you had ever wanted for him in life was for him to be happy. And he was.

That was enough. The pain, the endurance, you’d do it all again. For Nakamoto Yuta, who reached for your hand and never had let go. Not for soccer, not for the industry, not even for the many people he had dated in the past. That must be worth something.

“You’ve been looking at me weirdly all day.” Yuta scrunches his nose in fake disgust, but his eyes are still crinkled from the pleasant smile that curved around his plush lips. His mom always says that he looks like a fox; it had been his halloween costume three years in a row. Right now, he looks just like that. Coy and dangerous and in the wait. “You trying to pick a fight or what? Because I’ve got all day, and a little wrestling never hurt anybody.”

“So what, I’m not even allowed to watch now?”

Yuta winks before you realize the extent of your words. Cringing, you turn away, but not before seeing the laughter burst out of him, the sound addicting as always. “Don’t get weird with me now, Nakamoto,” you warn him, sliding off your soft bed to close the window. The cool wind was enjoyable, but it kept messing up your many exercise sheets that still needed to be sorted out before september came. Next time around this year, you’ll finally have finished your degree and would return to a proper working life. What an adventure that would be. “Are you planning to camp in here for the rest of your life or are you going to leave eventually? Because I actually got plans and I’m not afraid of kicking you out.”

It was already strange to you that Yuta was sitting here, and not in the living room with Sana. To your knowledge, they were still dating, and the reminder still stung. But no, your childhood best friend remains seated where he is, wrapped in your favorite blanket that you bought on a family trip to Osaka. Another memory that ties him to this place. Your parents had offered to surprise him since you guys were always seperated during summer vacation, and they had always wanted to go to Japan. You learned how to fish there. Weirdly, you kinda miss sitting on the cold river banks while your father tries to explain how to properly kill a fish.

Yuta clutches his chest in faux pain, dramatic as always. “So mean,” he whines. “Here I am making time for my best friend in the entire world, and it is not even appreciated. I’m kicked out, even! Tell me, what has happened to justice? Is it not first come, first serve anymore?”

“First of all - I’m your only best friend.”

“That doesn’t matter.” He nonchalantly waves you off, like someone would an annoying fly. “I still love you the most out of all of my friends, so it’s different. Pick up a book once in a while, (y/n).”

You try to shake off the pain that one single word had incurred in you, but it’s so unbearable. It makes you want to scream. Your life would be so much easier if Yuta truly loved you and you’d be able to tell him aeons worth of confessions, of how you found heaven in his soul and salvation is his heart. It sits on the tip of your tongue, a heavy burden to carry for someone who’s as frail of you, but you only tell him: “It is first come, first serve. Taeyong has been planning to take me out after my exams for a while now, while you were out being lovey-dovey with a certain roommate.” You raise an eyebrow at his awkward expression. A fox in the trap. “So much for loving me most, oh best friend.”

On any other circumstance, he would’ve jumped at the opportunity to argue. Yuta is very clingy, and very affectionate. You’ve seen his band members on the receiving end of it, and are glad that they atleast don’t suffer his temper tantrums whenever someone challenges the position of ‘best friend’. Today though, he nitpicks: “You have plans with Taeyong?”

You blink. “Yeah, I guess. I told you we guys got closer in the past few months.”

Yuta’s hand feels more heavier in yours than Taeyong’s did. He pulls you onto the bed again, hands latching to your waist to hold you close, treating you like a personal teddybear. It doesn’t take long before your back is pressed against his chest while he rests his head on your shoulder. “How close, exactly?” he grumbles, childish annoyance peaking through his voice. “You’re not giving him all my Hello Kitty band-aids, are you?”

“Are you accusing me of treason?”

“Maybe so.”

You try to escape his death grip, but ultimately fail. God damn those muscles. “Get out of my room, traitor. I would never ever give away the holy Hello Kitty band-aids.”

“Hmm.” Yuta loosens his hold, and you suck in the breath you so desperately needed. Do you look like a ragdoll or what? “I suppose it’s alright then. When are you getting back?”

“Who are you, my father?” You smack his thigh in retaliation for him caging you in, but your friend only laughs it off. A pinch to your waist makes you jump away from him. “Since when do I need permission from you to come and go?” you complain then. Never once had Yuta been so protective because of a boy than now. It made you wonder what was going on with him. He only shrugs, not offering a explanation. With a last grin, he falls back into the mattress and crosses his arms behind his head, as if the room belonged to him. Ass. “Be back before twelve,” the man only hums.

When you leave Yuta in your room(although with a heavy heart, since you’re sure he’ll join Sana in the living room after you leave), he offers you his cheek as a goodbye. You freeze in place, since this is the first time since sixth grade you sent him off with a kiss to the cheek. Nonetheless, you bow down to do him the favor, his warm hand keeping you in place for a few moments longer, before he lets go of your waist and gifts you a smile that seems rather melancholic. You almost stay.

Almost. You’d rather choke than watch him lock lips with your only female best friend.

“What are you doing on saturday?” Taeyong asks you after offering you a bottle of soju, abandoning your side to place the fluffy picnic blanket over the grass. Han River glistens golden in the light of the sun, a honeyed mirror of the world. It’s almost tragic that life is so heartstrickenly beautiful, no matter what the circumstances are. You suppose that’s what makes it so beautiful. A few moments later, Taeyong has tugged you down so he can rest his head in your lap. With a happy sigh, he closes his eyes and soaks in the last warmth the day has to offer, as always ressembling a statue.

“Nothing, I think,” you tell him. The soju is sweet, easy on the throat. A stark contrast to the Yuta-(y/n) tradition. You don’t have the heart to tell Taeyong that the festival starts on friday, since it’s evident that Yuta is going to take Sana and not you. The magic spell from that fairy-tale kiss had long worn off. This is the real world. “Not until now, since you’re taking me out, I’m deducing?”

“Absolutely correct. No wonder you passed your exams, you’re so clever!”

“I feel belittled.”

Taeyong laughs. The sound rumbles through his chest, as harmonious as the lyrical verses he creates and incorperates into songs. “It wasn’t meant to be,” he promises, hand reaching for your own. His fingertips are cold from the bottle he had held for you until you reached the riverbank. “I’m very proud of you for passing your exams. You did exceptionally well, even though I mothered you so much.”

“Thank you.” Your answer was demure, but it came from the bottom of your heart. Taeyong had been an important emotional crutch, and he had even fulfilled your promise of seeing someone else so he could move on from you. Even though he does, he vows to be a friend for life like Yuta is. It’s so different from the Osaka prince, but Taeyong has truely gotten to the point where he became vital for you, in another way than Yuta is, but how Yuta should have been. He hasn’t told you the name of the secret lady, though. “You think I’ll get my degree?”

“A hundred percent.” A tight squeeze is reassurance enough for you, and Taeyong’s face contorts into a happy grimace when you squish his cheeks. “Thank you,” you say again. “You’re the best friend in the entire world, Taeyong. Really. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“If you want me to live, never say this in front of Yuta.”

“Sure thing.”

You’re not the only people bathing in the evening light, as the riverbank is crowded with families and friends all alike. Their joyous laughter takes you to a time where breathing had been a little easier, a little freer. Where your heartbeat didn’t resonate through broken shards. You’ve come to realize, though, that you wouldn’t trade it for anything else in the world.

Not if it meant Yuta.

— ❅ —

[08:26pm] yuta-chan ♡: do you think you could meet me at 9 at the ferris wheel? i have to leave for japan after that.

[08:29pm] (y/n): so that little cuddle fest in the kitchen today didn’t mean goodbye already?

[08:29pm] (y/n): that was embarrassing to do in front of taeyong, by the way.

[08:30pm] yuta-chan ♡: he can handle a little pda. i came first, you know.

[08:31pm] (y/n): i don’t think i’ll be able to make it, yuta. i’m out with taeyong.

[08:31pm] yuta-chan ♡: boo, you whore.

[08:31pm] yuta-chan ♡: can you please atleast try? for me?

[08:32pm] (y/n): yuta... ✓

[08:32pm] (y/n): are you serious? you lose service now?? ✓

calling yuta-chan ♡...

[08:34pm] (y/n): yuta, i cant just leave ty!! pls come back online 😭. ✓

Sighing loudly, you slam your forehead down onto your phone. The line infront of you was getting shorter and shorter, and the tickets to your movie were already purchased. What was so damn important for Yuta to want you to meet him at nine? Even if you went now, you don’t think you could be there on time. Taeyong watches curiously as you pound more messages into the device, only for you to whine since they aren’t getting through. “For God’s sake! I’m gonna kill him!”

“What did Yuta do now?” Taeyong sounds way too amused for your own liking.

Angrily, you try to call your best friend again, but to no avail. Apparently, Yuta had chucked his phone away after ominously telling you to meet him at the festival. That stupid festival, and the stupid emotional value it came with for you. “He wants me to meet him at the ferris wheel in twenty minutes!” you shout then, exasperated. The loud volume of your despair brings you a few nasty glances from the people standing in queue, but you cannot bring yourself to care right now. “And he knows exactly I’m out with you right now. I can’t just drop everything and go just because he wants me to! He didn’t even tell me why!”

“Just go, (y/n).” Taeyong pinches your cheek. The gesture would have been adorable if you weren’t so annoyed right now. “It’s just a movie, and we can just rewatch it - I’ll just call someone else.”

“No, I don’t want to.” You stuff your phone back into your pocket. You can’t come back running to Yuta, just because you love him. Being at his beck and call will just ruin you, as it always has over the many years you had been spent motionless at his side, too cowardly to step forward. The allure of velleity stops here. You have to break free of your curse now, or you’ll never be able to. “I’m sure it’s fine. I bet he just wants help with Sana or something, it’s not like he can’t do it on his own. He’s a grown man.”

“(y/n), it’s not about Sana.” Taeyong’s eyes turn serious now, shaking at your resolutement. “I think you should go.”

“Trust me, Tae, I know him. He’s just panicking because he has to leave Sana behind for a few months because he’s never dated someone over long distance, even though it’s not forever. I’m going to finally move on and accept that Yuta and I are never going to be.”

“He’s not dating Sana, (y/n)!” You squeak when Taeyoung abruptly turns to you to shake your shoulders, so unusual for the calm man he usually is. Your second mom, as you lovingly called him. “I am. They stopped dating a long time ago because Yuta explained he wasn’t into her, he was into you. He was trying to move on and failed! Do you understand, (y/n)? Nakamoto Yuta is in love with you!”

You gape at Taeyong like a fish out of water. For a few seconds, which feel like centuries, you’re so speechless you forget the urgency of the situation. Your brain can’t register everything at once, despite the fact that you just received the biggest news of your life, so it latches on to the most logical one at hand. “You’re dating Sana?” you repeat in utter shock, rumbled to the core. “When the hell were you planning to tell me?”

“I’d love to tell you more about my secret romance but I’m afraid if you stand here any longer, you’re going to miss out on your last chance to ever confess your feelings to Yuta ever again!”

The veil drops. In a matter of seconds, nothing in this world made sense but Yuta, because why wouldn’t it? Your best friend, the love of your life - suddenly growing overprotective and so hellbent on PDA, the long, sad gazes that seemed to trail after you that you had interpreted as pouting because you were neglecting your friendship. All of it falls into place, and awakens one instinct that has been buried deep inside you for years now, unused and unpolished ever since Yuta left the soccerfields behind.

Whenever the team had won, it was a race about who could tackle Yuta first. Yuta, the star player, dubbed score god by his teammates as he keeps carrying them to the win. You had learnt pretty quickly to leave your friends behind in the dust just to reach him in time, to fall in the arms that had always been waiting for you and you only. You barely remember the few occassions where Johnny had in fact been faster than you were, just for Yuta to avoid him so he could embrace you and whirl you through the air like some kind of doll. The sound of victory, the heavy pattering of a heart that is so familiar that you that it seems like your own. Now, it comes back to life - you barely remember placing the ticket into Taeyong’s hands as you stumble around and push past all the people, in direction of the main festivities. Your legs are light, lighter than the wind and the air as you run like you were running for your life, heartbeat hammering in your ears. Was it your own, or Yuta’s, the melody that has been accompanying all your life? No time to wonder as you pick up speed and pray, pray for any god willing to listen for Yuta to wait.

How could you be so silly and let him leave before telling you goodbye at the ferris wheel? Was it not another one of your silly traditions, like that disgusting alcohol and the awful takoyaki you had made in the first weeks of learning how to cook? The sweaty jerseys that were always exchanged to show your support at his games? The whispered promises, the untold ones, was it not always there? You feel blind, so blind - and so stupid! How could you not have noticed the ways Yuta’s gaze had stopped trailing after your roommate? Was it not you who left him in that bedroom and never saw him join Sana in the living room, crawling into the bed beside him when you returned like he hadn’t ever moved? Was it not you who had taken up all his time?

The festival is as stuffy as ever, as well-visited as ever. It is 09:08pm and you fear for your life, for your heart, because it’s with Nakamoto Yuta and he is about to leave with it forever. You fall onto your face a few times and scrape your knees bloodly, but you keep walking, praying.

No one familiar is standing in front of the ferris wheel.

This must be karma. It truly is, fate paying you back just in time for you to cripple in metaphoric debt. For years, you had prided yourself with knowing Yuta best, your favorite book, one you’d read for the rest of your life. Now, when you finally break out from the spot you were frozen in, it is already too late.

Atleast that’s what you think for ten long seconds.

There’s a warm hand who pulls you back, the hand that has been guiding you all your life. Late-night walks back home, your first time in Osaka. Han River’s riverbank and the streets of the city when the festival lights lit everything up. Yuta’s beaming smile goes straight to your heavy heart, and it soars in happiness as he hugs you and whispers: “You came back for me!”

“I did, you big idiot!” Without second thought, you jump into his embrace and throw both arms around his shoulders. You are right where you’re supposed to be. You’re home, you’re home, you’re home. While the salty tears of relief blur up your sight of the buzzing marketplace around you, loud, sincere laughter pearls from your lips. It’s a hymn of joy, your unofficial serenade to the man of your dreams. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re here.” Yuta pulls back to cradle your face, something he had never done so carefully except that one time, almost seven years ago. “You’re here with me,” he says then, almost in disbelief. There’s a moment of silence where the magic of your teenage days returns, spell-bound, and just a second later, Yuta’s warm body finally crashes against yours as familiar lips cover your own. Of course he tastes like limoncelli, but below that, he tastes of precious memories and secret thoughts, the silent adoration that was never one-sided. His fingers trace your jawline while you tousle his hair, both mapping out each other as you imprint it into memory.

You are unconditionally, irrevoceably in love with Nakamoto Yuta. You tell him that when he finally lets go of you, and he repeats it back, as many times as he can. Confessions and explanations are exchanged, but nothing really matters except the fact that you managed to jump back in time and finally fulfill your chance. You finally made your move.

“I don’t think I can let you go to Japan yet,” you tell him then, several minutes later, while you stand in line to the ferris wheel, even though he should be long gone by now. There’s a flight to Tokyo going in two hours, and yet he’s still here. Clinging to your hand like you’re going to disappear if he looks away. Love-stricken eyes that make your knees go weak. “You owe me some explanations.”

Yuta pulls you closer with the arm he keeps hooked around your waist, bright smile never leaving his lips. “We’ll have plenty of time up there to spill,” he responds and kisses the tip of your nose. He smells like home. Like forever and beyond. “I love you. I’ll give you the rest of my life in exchange for just one evening with you.”

No, one evening wasn’t enough. You’d give Yuta eternity in exchange for his heart, but let’s just start with today. In celebration of being inclined to move. For two hearts who were lost at sea, meeting again after what they thought would be never ever. He’s definitely going to miss that flight, though.

[help-im-a-gay-fish]

The Birth of Sun and Moon. Part two.

Part 1, Part 3 baby blues

The following in part 2 of 3 of a piece of writing about the birth/spawning of the Dark-Cream ship kids Celestial star and Luna light.

This takes place in a universe separate to @zu-is-here dark cream story and splits of somewhere around 'the price of happiness'. Any continuity errors should be accepted as being part of an alternative timeline.

Synopsis: a few days after the last piece of writing. Dreams soul spawns the twins. It happened out of no where. Confused and alone. How will cross react?

Why.

How?

Why.

These (for the most part) where the only things going through Shattered's mind, as he lay on the floor of the void, where he'd collapsed a few minutes before. He lay almost paralysed. Unmoving.

His eyes were locked on it. A tiny little thing. It was completely covered in the gloop and wasn't moving at all. If Dream hadn't known any better, he'd have thought that it was just a lump of gloop.

But he knew better.

It had started with a leach from his soul. Then a deep and sudden pain. It had been a very painful experience. Though not the most painful, that prize would always belong to his corruption, his consumption of the golden apple and being turned to stone. Yeah, the pain hadn't been anywhere near the pain of those events.

However, it's suddenness had made it the most shocking. It had felt like his whole body had been shocked with electricity and burned with fire all at once. Then it felt like his soul was splitting apart, he supposed it kind of had been.

Was it... Was it dead?

Dream moved his hand underneath his chest and attempted to push himself up. However his arms gave out under him and he weakly fell back down onto his chest. It still hurt to move his body. He felt even more drained then he did after to much positively.

Shattered didn't take his eyes of the gloop. He waited for it to move. It still didn't.

Come on Dream! He thought to himself. He couldn't just lay on the floor until Cross came back. After taking a deep breath, he attempted to push himself up again. His body complained as he did so. Through gritted teeth, he pushed himself into a sitting position.

His body ached and complained, but now he was sat up.

It still hadn't moved.

Maybe it was dead. It wouldn't surprise him if it was. His soul was very damaged due to the corruption, so it wasn't a good soul for spawning. It had never been an issue before, since he'd never wanted or even thought he'd be in a place to have children.

However, a trickle of sadness ran through him, as he stared at the un-moving blob.

This child was un wanted, but no person could ever be happy about a child being born dead.

It hurt a bit, although he knew it couldn't be helped. He could never be a parent anyway. It wasn't really in his nature. On top of that, Cross had never expressed a desire to have children to him, so... maybe it was better this way.

It also hit him that since the spawn with accidental, it was most likely a unpure spawn. Unpure and born from a corrupted soul? There was no telling what that could cause. So in the end he started to feel relieved.

Despite that, it would probably hurt Cross if he found out about it..... So he should dispose of the body as soon as possible.

After a brief pause, Shattered summoned a tentacle. It hurt a lot more then normal and felt a lot heaver then he was used to. It fell limp at his side. He truly hated these tentacles, they brought him so many painful memories. He'd swarm off using them unless absolutely necessary. The pain was subsiding now, but it was still ever present. Slowly and carefully he lifted the tentacle up and moved it over to the blob

He curled it around it and tugged slightly. But then something happened.

There was an ear splitting screech and suddenly it sprung to life.

Dream jumped backwards, then shuffled back. He continued to shuffle backwards until his back hit the sofa.

His soul hammered in his ribcage. What. The. Hell.

His eye lights locked onto the blob again, it was now moving. Squirming, convoluting and making a most uncomfortable gargling noise. 1000 thoughts and ideas ran through his mind in an instant. But in the end he settled on one.

It was alive, he was a parent.

This thought froze him in his place. He could no longer feel the pain rippling through his bones, or his soul racing. He felt nothing but numb.

It continued to wriggle and started to cry. It was in distress and was calling for him. But feeling nothing, he simply continued to watch it rive in pain.

So many times he had heard people talk about an instant love. An instant connection to their children the moment they are born, a special feeling from deep in the soul. People said it was the most amazing feeling. Like a feeling of being complete. But Shattered felt......... nothing.

The gargling and crying continued, but now it just felt like background noise to him. He just stared.... spacing out.

He didn't notice as Cross returned to the void, he didn't notice as Cross approached the scene and he didn't notice as Cross bombarded him with questions about what had happened? where the gloop had come from? and what the blob on the floor was.

But what he did notice was Cross approach the wriggling mass and wrap his coat around it, picking it up gently. He noticed as Cross rocked it slowly from side-to-side and he noticed as it quieted down and stopped screaming.

He blinked. "Cross..?"

Cross looked over at him, "Dream... why is there a baby here? where did this come from?! Are you alright?"

Now that Dream has been snapped back to reality, the pain that ran through his bones hit him again. He winced slightly and leant his head back against the sofa.

"I.... I guess... I spawned..... I don't know how to describe it properly"

He felt suddenly very weak and very dizzy again. The gravity of the situation was crashing down upon him. Now that Cross knew about it, there was no going back.

Cross simply stared at him for a moment, then back at the tiny creature.

"........ Are you saying that this is your baby?" he paused for a moment before adding "or.. our baby?"

Dream slowly nodded.

Cross had a look of pure disbelief on his face. "How? why? How it this even possible?"

He rocked the tiny creature a slightly.

Shattered simply stared at him. He felt slightly disheartened that cross hadn't seemed to notice he was in a bad state, but he figured that the situation must have just been a big shock to Cross.

"it's...." he said running his hand across his face "an energy being thing.... I'm not really fully sure about how it works myself.... it must have been something to do with when we were soul touching"

Cross continue to rock the tiny bundle. The gloop started to drip down his arms slightly from where it's still covered the baby. He didn't seem to even notice and didn't seem to be listening to Dream anymore.

It was then Dreams saw something that truly made his heart drop.

Cross smiled.

Dream could see it right then and there in his eyes and in his face. The happy, natural, instant connection kind of starry-eyed Love. The one people claimed to feel upon first seeing their child. The same kind of love that Shattered had been unable to feel.

His soul twisted in his chest: he felt truly horrible. He wanted to cry but decided it was better not to.

Cross walked over to Dream and carefully sat by him.

Dream could now see Cross had wiped off the majority of the gloop from the child. They seemed to be sleeping now and they seemed peaceful.

But then something else court Dreams eye, a tiny little of light next to them. A second being. There were two.

"twins.."

Dream said, his voice shaking slightly. Twins!? was this some kind of a cruel joke. Was life trying to make a mockery of him? It wouldn't be the first time.

"Twins!?" Cross said, turning to dream "what are you talking about?"

Dream simply sighed and gestured slowly to the tiny ball of light. It moved slightly.

"that's what energy beings look like upon their birth" he said. He was so defeated.

Cross felt another rush of joy follow through him. But this soon faded as Cross finally noticed his partner's condition. Dream looked more exhausted and drained then he'd ever seen him. He felt like an idiot.

"Wait.... are you alright? you don't look so good Dream"

Dream gave him a sidewise glance. Finally he noticed.

If today had been a normal day, Dream would have taken the opportunity to mess with him a bit. After all, playing with Cross was always fun.

But today? It wasn't a normal day. He just wanted a hug.

"it's just the process is very straining.... I'll be fine..... my soul just needs to rest for a while"

With that Cross seemed relieved and turned his attention back to the baby. He nuzzled it slightly. Dream looked away from the scene.

".........."

Dream felt himself wishing to cry again. No Dream. Stay strong.

"look..... I didn't know or I would have told you" he said quietly "I had no idea... I'm sorry about this. I know you didn't really want children"

Cross let out a light chuckle.

"Are you kidding? this one of the greatest gifts you've ever given me" he smiled softly.

Dream looked back to him instantly. "What!?"

Cross turned to his lover.

"I'd always accepted that I'd never be able to have children... and I was fine with that because I had you, but now... " He smiled wider

"I know that your whole thing is shattering dreams but right now you've made another one of mine come true".

Cross kissed him on the forehead and nuzzled him lovingly.

"I love you so much you know"

Normally a kiss or a nuzzle from Cross would have made Dream's soul skip a beat. But right now, it made him feel sick. Truly and utterly sick.

Resting his head on Cross' shoulder, he relaxed his body weight against him. It was all to much. Way to much. He couldn't take it. He just wanted it to stop.

Maybe he could just rest for a while and when he woke up this will all just be a bad dream.

He closed his eyes and slipped unconscious.

***************

Part 2 yay! So happy! @zu-is-here I hope you like this like the other part.

Thank you everyone! Part 1 was taken very well, so I hope this is a good follow-up! Thank you for reading.

Original cross and dream belong to jakei95 and jokublog

Original shattered dream belongs to @galacii

Dark cream comic and story is by @zu-is-here

The Dark cream twins belong to me :)

@official-darkxunshine-kids

[dhwty-writes]

Surprise the Child Surprise

It's my birthday and I can't celebrate because of Covid. So, I decided to treat myself (and you guys) to some self-indulgent birthday fluff. The last scene is a bit emotional but besides that nothing bad happens, no angst, no drama, just 4,6k words of happiness. Enjoy! 

Summary: Jaskier and Geralt almost forget Ciri's eighteenth birthday and Jaskier just won't have that. He plans on celebrating it as it should be. Everything goes horribly wrong - until it doesn't. 

Read on AO3

Jaskier woke with a start, cold sweat pooling at the base of his spine with the dreadful feeling that he had forgotten something.

Now, that wasn't unusual, not really; he forgot things all the time. Only this time his mind cleared with the horrible certainty that it was something important.

He sat up, heaving in the mild spring air while he took stock of his surroundings, desperately searching for whatever he had misplaced. It wasn't his bag, that was beneath his head, and it wasn't his lute either, that was tied to Roach's saddle – which meant that he hadn't forgotten his witcher either (not that that happened often, but, to his shame, it had been an occurrence in the past). They hadn't forgotten Ciri either, she was sleeping peacefully on the other side of the fi- ‘wait a fucking minute.’

"Geralt!" he hissed quietly. The witcher grunted in his sleep and blindly groped around to pull his lover close. Jaskier jabbed him sharply in the ribs. "Geralt!"

"What?" he snapped and opened his eyes, alert for any danger. "What the fuck, Jaskier?" he growled when he noticed that they were the only ones around. "It's the middle of the night."

"I know!" Jaskier whisper-shouted. "Be quiet or you'll wake Ciri!"

He groaned and flopped back down. "Don't I deserve the same courtesy?"

"Shh!" he made again. "It's about Ciri!"

"What's about Ciri?"

"It's almost Belleteyn," he informed him solemnly

"So?"

"So, your child surprise is about to turn eighteen years old."

"Shit happens," Geralt grunted and turned to his side. "Lie down and go the fuck to sleep, Jaskier."

"What do you mean, shit happens?" he gasped, doing a very poor job of keeping his voice down. "We have to do something about it!"

He sighed exasperatedly and rubbed at his temples. "We can't stop a birthday, bard. Now get back here, so I can sleep."

"I don't want to stop it, idiot!" he hissed. "I want to celebrate it."

"Jaskier!"

"What?"

"Not now!"

"Right," he mumbled dissatisfied and moved to lie down beside him in his outstretched arms. He sighed content when Geralt wrapped himself around him, and even threw one leg over his hips to keep him in place.

And while Jaskier's body settled down, his eyes drooping tiredly, his mind wasn't quite able to shut down. There were a lot of austerities on the Path, Jaskier knew. His foot started tapping nervously. In the past twenty-eight years he had learned to live with the blisters on his feet and the reappearing holes in his clothes as well as the occasional dry spells, both in a literal and a figurative sense. But not celebrating Cirilla coming of age? That surely went too f-

"Jaskier," Geralt groaned.

"Yes, my dear?" His foot stopped twitching as he focused on the rumbling in the chest behind him.

Geralt nuzzled his neck gently. "You're thinking too loud."

"Right, I'll just stop doing that!" He rolled his eyes. "Great idea, Geralt, why didn't I think of it myself?"

He groaned wordlessly and tightened his grip on him. "Please," he whispered, "mercy. Anything to let me go back to sleep..."

Jaskier sighed. "Just keep holding onto me?" That usually helped him ground himself. He knew that Geralt was right. It was no use driving himself crazy now. He only hoped that his tireless mind that knew no rest would come to the same conclusion soon.

In the end, he must have fallen asleep, for Jaskier woke the next morning with a terribly foul mood that usually came with not enough rest. Ciri was joking around with him, completely unsuspecting of anything and Geralt didn't stop shooting him reproachful glances that he translated as ‘told you so’.

They broke camp a bit slower than normally but soon they were back on the Path again. Ciri galloped off on her mare a few times while Jaskier and Geralt enjoyed a more leisurely pace, Jaskier using her absence to continue conspiring with a hushed voice: "Geralt," he hissed and leaned over to him.

Geralt rolled his eyes and pushed at his shoulder. "You're going to fall off," he chided.

"Pfff, fiddlesticks!" he scoffed. Still, he sat upright in Pegasus' saddle again. "We need a present," he determined. "A good one."

The witcher shook his head disbelievingly. "I still don't know what all that fuss is about."

"She's coming of age, Geralt!" He threw his arms open wide, tugging sharply on the reins in the process and Pegasus snorted in annoyance. "This is a special day!"

"What are you two talking about?" This time Jaskier truly almost fell off.

"Ciri!" he exclaimed while trying to regain his composure. "Melitele's tits, you scared the living daylights out of me!"

She snickered mischievously. "Twenty-eight years on the Path, Jaskier, and still that jumpy. By the looks of it I'll soon be the one protecting you!"

"Well, that only speaks of your prowess with that sword of yours," he answered light-heartedly. "But I assure you, I won't be in need of your defence in the near future."

Geralt snorted. "You couldn't handle anything more dangerous than a very determined squirrel."

Jaskier gasped in mock offence and swatted at him while Ciri laughed. "How dare you?" he bristled. "I could handle a very determined rabbit at least! Besides, I trust that you will burden yourself with the duty to rescue me from any further possibly lethal situations. Just as you did in the past."

Geralt hummed quietly but it was a soft hum, the kind that always managed to set butterflies loose in Jaskier’s stomach. ‘After all these years,’ he thought happily, ‘I am still the luckiest man on the continent.’ And how could he not, with his quiet witcher by his side, who showed his love daily in a thousand ways that never required words.

"So, what were you talking about?" Ciri asked curiously and brought him back to the present.

"You don't want to know," Geralt grumbled the same moment that Jaskier winked exaggeratedly and said: "Oh, nothing, dear."

She wrinkled her nose. "Gross," she declared and spurred off again.

As soon as she was gone, Jaskier shot Geralt a pointed look that said as much as 'Do you understand why I wanted to talk about this at night now?' and the witcher sighed.

"Fine," he conceded. "But no dramatics."

Jaskier gasped and clutched his chest dramatically. "I would never!" A wide grin spread on his face. Secretly, he had been making plans for months. He already knew what gift he would present her with, he knew what cake he would order in a bakery. He even knew a nice quiet clearing with a lake in the area where he had once deflowered a fair maiden but now it would be perfect for the birthday celebration of the Lion Cub of Cintra – who he really should stop calling Cub, now that she was a woman grown, come to think of it. With the xenovox he even could invite the rest of their little family.

“Jaskier…,” Geralt growled as warning but it only made him grin wider. He was sure that everything would go just perfectly. 

~*~

"This is horrible!" Jaskier croaked and sniffled.

"Come on, Jaskier," Geralt said softly, "it's not that bad."

He coughed violently and clung to his lover. "I'm sick, Geralt," he lamented in a whisper, the loudest sound he could manage, "I'm sick and can't sing. This is a catastrophe as terrible as there ever wa-" The rest of his tirade was drowned out in another fit of coughing.

"Shhh," the witcher made and rubbed his back soothingly. "Don't overexert yourself. And stop talking, you're only making it worse."

"You sound entirely too pleased with my miserable condition."

"I assure you; I am not. I prefer your singing to your whining. I mean it, though. Stop talking."

He rolled his eyes and shot him a look that said as much as 'as if that's ever gonna happen'. Judging from Geralt's snort the witcher found his own joke hilarious, too. "You're horrible!" He swatted at him. "I am lying on my deathbed and-"

"I assure you; you are not."

"-you are still treating me badly. I don't even know why I put up with you!"

Geralt smirked. "I've been asking myself the same thing for the past three decades..."

Jaskier let out a strangled shout and punched him weakly in the chest. The witcher only laughed and responded with a kiss. 'I guess it does have advantages to have a lover who can't get sick,' Jaskier mused.

"You're cute," Ciri said fondly as she stepped through a portal onto the clearing.

"Ciri!" Jaskier exclai- well, tried to exclaim and whispered instead. "Oh, I am so sorry that I am in this wretched state today of all days," he said and tried to scramble to his feet only to be promptly pulled down by Geralt again. "Stop that, you donkey arse, I'm trying to wish your daughter a happy birthday."

"The sentiment is very much appreciated," Ciri told him and squatted down beside him, "but I am not the incapacitated one." She smiled softly and held out a vial. "Got you medicine. Drink up, Jaskier."

He scowled angrily which undoubtedly resulted in a ridiculous pout, but didn't try to resist too much when Geralt uncorked the vial and held to his lips. He did complain, though; it was one of his greatest strengths after all. "That tastes like piss," he lamented.

Ciri laughed and arched an eyebrow. "And you know what that tastes like because...?"

He winced. "That's a story for when Uncle Lambert gets you drunk the first time this winter."

Geralt's grip on him tightened. "No, he won't."

"Sure," Jaskier drawled and winked at Ciri who grinned excitedly. 'Just you wait,' he mouthed and made grabby hands towards her. "Can I give you your annual birthday hug at least?"

"That you can!" She wriggled closer and batted Geralt's hands away. "Scoot, you can have him again, later. Right now, it's my turn for the best hug on the Continent."

Pride welled up inside him when he heard that as if he had just won the Oxenfurt bardic tournament. And even though he was not willing to admit it there was a tiny tear in the corner of his eye when he pulled her close. "Happy birthday, Ciri," he whispered, the tears stealing his voice as much as his ailment. "I'm so, so very proud of you, cub."

"Thank you, Jaskier," she answered, her voice just as heavy as hers.

It felt nice and Jaskier allowed himself to sink into that feeling until- "Who are you and what are you doing to my daughter?" the sharp voice behind him startled him and he tried to scramble away.

"Yennefer, what the fuck?" he croaked hoarsely.

The sorceress just laughed and even Geralt snorted amused. "Gets you every time. What is that, a knee-jerk reaction, or-!"

"Oh, ha ha, very funny," he rolled his eyes only to be pulled into another hug.

"Oh, shoo!" Ciri said and held on tighter. "I'm not done here yet and I'm the birthday girl. Besides, I'm his as much as I'm yours."

'Huh,' Jaskier thought as he closed his arms around her again. ‘Whatever she means with that.’

To his even bigger surprise, Yennefer agreed: "Yeah, we did a pretty damn good job raising that little rascal." There was a tiny pause. “All three of us did.”

Geralt hummed and closed his arms around him again. 'Oh,' Jaskier thought as he realised what they were saying and there was no stopping the tears now. He had never thought himself as part of Ciri’s chosen-few of educators doubling as parental figures. ‘And yet,’ he thought, ‘here we are.’ “Are you serious about that?” he whispered quietly enough that he hoped Yennefer didn’t hear.

“Sure am,” Ciri answered and squeezed him tightly.

"Are you crying, bard?" Yennefer mocked, but there was no true edge to her voice. "That's pathetic."

He sniffled and raised his middle finger in response. The sorceress laughed and Ciri slowly let go. She got up and walked over to her to receive her birthday wishes, too. Jaskier used the time to get comfortable in Geralt's lap again.

The witcher had already congratulated her early this morning when Jaskier had still been certain to meet death on the damp forest floor somewhere in Kovir of all places. After ten pathetic minutes of his whining, Ciri had taken pity on him and opened a portal to go get medicine somewhere. He hadn't asked where but knowing her mother — or rather any of her parents — there was no way there wasn’t some level of illegality involved.

"So, I guess we're staying here for today?" Ciri asked, turning towards them again.

"That was the plan anyways," Geralt mumbled.

"The plan?" Ciri asked disbelievingly. "You had a plan?"

"Now come on, Cub, that would hardly be the first t- yeah, shutting up," Jaskier mumbled as he saw the three pointed glares directed at him.

"Please," Ciri mocked, "you don't do plans. None of you."

"That's untrue," Yennefer chimed in, "we do, in fact, do plans.”

Jaskier added: “Alas, they’re always deferred by fate.”

“They’re shitty from the start,” Geralt concluded.

They all shared a hearty laugh which ended in another coughing fit from Jaskier. Geralt fell silent as once and glared at him angrily. "If you don't stop talking now," he growled, "I'll gag you."

Ciri and Yennefer gagged in unison. "Gross," Ciri declared. Ridiculously, he was relieved to see that. 'Come on, Jaskier, she's not a completely different person just because of one stupid day,' he reminded himself. But when Geralt squeezed his hand, he knew that he was not alone with his thoughts.

"So," their daughter asked as she sat down against a log, "what was the plan?" She looked at them expectantly.

Geralt 'hmmed' and made no apparent attempt to start talking. Jaskier rolled his eyes but determined to elude a smelly rag shoved into his mouth – he had no doubts that the witcher would go through with his threat – he kept his mouth shut and began jabbing him in the ribs with his finger instead while he gazed at him pleadingly. "No," the witcher said sharply but began talking at least: "Jaskier wrote a song for you. Wanted to serenade you. Pity he can't do that now."

Yennefer snorted. At least Ciri smiled sympathetically. "I'm looking forward to hearing it. Once you can hold a note again."

Jaskier hit Geralt sharply in the ribs with his elbow and made grabby hands.

"Will you be able to keep from singing, if I hand you your lute?" the witcher asked doubtfully.

He nodded eagerly and Yennefer shook her head, laughing loudly. "Liar."

Geralt patted Jaskier's head but made no attempt to fetch him his lute. Defiantly Jaskier crossed his arms. Not that anyone of the present people cared for it.

"There's also cake," Geralt continued. "Jaskier insisted."

"Where?" Ciri arched an eyebrow. "With the horses?"

"Hmm."

"Ah. I think you mean to say there was cake." She pointed her thumb at where Roach was happily munching out of- the black saddlebag the cake was stored in.

"No!" Jaskier croaked and jumped to his feet. "Bad horse!"

But before he could dash over to her, Geralt caught him by the scruff and pulled him back down. "Bad bard," he growled. Yennefer and Ciri didn't even try to hide their laughter.

"This is the worst birthday I've ever planned," Jaskier moaned woefully. That alone sent the two women into another fit of laughter and once Geralt clamped his hand over his bard’s mouth and they resumed their discussion with wide gestures (Jaskier) and pointed glares (Geralt) they were positively howling with laughter.

"So," Ciri said, once she had recovered. "You wanted to stay here for a whole day doing what? Listening to one song and eating a cake?"

"Of course not! Who do you take us for, Ciri?" Yennefer asked. "I wouldn't dream of punishing you with one of the bard's mediocre songs as your only present."

He showed her his middle finger. Again.

She smiled brightly and continued: “There’s a banquet table waiting for you behind another portal. With proper cake.”

He held up his second middle finger, too, for good measure. At least until Geralt pressed his hands down again.

"Show her," he told Yennefer and Jaskier sat up a bit more. Geralt had refused to provide him with so much as a hint for whatever he had planned for Ciri's birthday, but judging from his secretiveness it had to be huge.

"Are you sure?" the sorceress inquired. "It was your idea, after all."

The witcher just shrugged, and then Yennefer shrugged, too, and handed Ciri a velvet pouch. "Happy birthday, ugly one," she told her with a soft smile.

The girl looked at them questioningly before opening the little bag. She turned it upside down and Jaskier leaned forward to get a better look. They gasped in unison when the silver chain slid out. "Where did you get that?" she asked disbelievingly as she traced the wolf's head on the medallion with her thumb.

"Found it years ago," Geralt said simply as if he hadn't just gifted her an incredibly rare artefact of his school. "Was waiting for the right moment. Gave it to Yen for safekeeping. Thanks."

"Well...," the sorceress said, "I might have... modified it."

"Yen...," Geralt said reproachfully but she only raised her hands in innocence.

"Don't worry! None of the original qualities are lost. I know this stuff. After all, I've done it before." She tapped the amulet around her throat. "Remember Ellander, Ciri?"

She nodded, her eyes still on the medallion. "I couldn't look away from it."

Yennefer smiled. "This is just the same."

She raised her eyes. "Geralt..."

Jaskier felt him shake his head behind him. "It's nothing. You're a witcher, aren't you? Trained in Kaer Morhen like the rest of us. You're meant to have one."

Without any sort of warning, Ciri flung himself at Geralt, trapping Jaskier awkwardly in the midst of their hug. "Thank you," she said over and over again, "thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you."

Jaskier uncomfortably cleared his throat. "Umm- D'you want me to?"

"Shut up, Jaskier," they said simultaneously. Ciri let go with one arm to point at Yen. "And you! Stop pretending and join the hug!"

"Now that's no way to talk with your mother-" Ciri and Jaskier groaned and rolled their eyes. "Fine," she decreed. "Just don't think too much of it." But then, to Jaskier’s astonishment, she came over and hugged them, too. 

Ciri sighed happily. "This is the best birthday I could have wished for," she confessed. "And the best family, too." And, in the end, that was all that mattered.

Yennefer stayed for the rest of the day but when they all woke up on the next morning, she had already said goodbye to Ciri and vanished without a trace. Geralt insisted on waiting for another day but Jaskier wanted to hear none of that. He was feeling well enough, he claimed, and they could resume their travels.

~*~

It took a week for his voice to fully return and another for him to find a quiet moment to finally give Ciri her present. Geralt had gone off to- do something, he was sure and he approached Ciri nervously.

"Hey," Jaskier said softly and sat down next to her, gently nudging her with his shoulder, "watcha thinking about?"

"Hmm," she made stoking the fire until sparks danced up into the night. "Just... stuff."

He nodded. "I imagine," he agreed but made no attempt to press her further. She wasn't like Geralt in that aspect. He knew she'd open up eventually.

After a while she asked: "Do you think we'll ever know peace?"

"The continent? I'm sure of it."

"No," she shook her head. "We. You, me, Geralt. Yennefer and Triss. Lambert and Eskel. All of our little family, I mean. Do you think we'll ever have a place to call home? Where we won’t have to fear?"

Jaskier laughed at that. "Who knows? There's nothing certain in life, little cub, you should know that. There might come a day when you and Geralt sheathe your swords. A day when the last portal closes behind Yennefer. Or there might not be. There's something that won't change, though, and that's a promise."

"And what's that?"

"Wherever you go, my songs won't be far behind. You'll never be alone on your Path. And that's a little bit like home, too, isn't it?

Ciri smiled. "I guess it is."

"Now, I believe I promised you a song, didn't I? Would you like to hear it?"

"Yes, Jaskier, I very much would."

"Great!" He shot up and wheeled around, lunging for his lute. He slung the lute strap over his shoulders and bowed with a flourish that made Ciri laugh. "Ladies, gentlemen and noble steeds," he announced, "I present to you my newest creation: The Ballad of the Lion Pup." He hesitated for one moment. "Just- this is for your ears only, Ciri. I mean every word of it, but no living soul must ever hear it. Do you understand?"

“I know.” She nodded solemnly and tipped her head back to gaze at the stars. "Just sing it already, Jaskier."

"Right..." he said and gingerly plucked the first few notes of the song. Then, he began to sing:

 In a time of dark and blood and war

There was a princess fair.

And though she knew the woes of life

She did never despair.

 When the White Sun rose above our heads

And the Lioness did fall

The Lion Cub then quickly fled

To escape from Nilfgaard's thrall.

 For years she ran, for years she searched

For a wolf as white as snow.

And when they met, their fates entwined,

It was the end of all their woes.

 Up north inside the White Wolf's den,

The Lion Cub did grow.

Amidst the stone and winds and ice,

New life and love did rise.

 And though she had arrived a Cub,

She never left as that.

The Cub did turn into a Pup,

Part of the White Wolf's pack.

 The White Wolf was the first to love,

His destined Child Surprise.

And so, the Wolf both strong and rough,

Held the young girl when she cried.

 The wise Grey Wolf taught what he knew,

As he'd done for all his life.

So, in the Den life grew anew,

The pack again did thrive.

 The Strong Wolf and the Small One, too,

Loved their Pup just as much.

For after years of grief, they knew,

The glory of a laugh.

Then there joined into the fray,

A lonely Griffin in his nest

At night they loved to sing and play

Whatever they loved best.

 In sorcery she was well trained,

For witches she knew two.

And so, the Pup a sister gained

And then a mother, too.

 Do trust that this whole song is true,

For I was there, as well.

And I loved her 'til the end of time,

So, believe the tale I tell.

 In a time when our whole world burned

There was a princess fair.

But she was loved and loved in turn

So, she did never despair.

 The last notes drifted off into the night and Ciri looked up at him with tears in her eyes. "Thank you," she whispered.

There was a quiet harrumph from the edge of the trees and Jaskier spun around. "Geralt!" he exclaimed happily, taking in the fond expression on his face. "Did you listen?"

"I did," he confessed quietly opening his arms for the bard. He quickly set his lute down and hurried over to him.

Ciri got up with an exaggerated sigh and roll of her eyes. "Ughh," she said and grabbed her bedroll, "I'll set up camp elsewhere."

"Don't go too far!" Jaskier called after her.

"Don't be too loud," she replied, obviously doing her best to sound annoyed and failing miserably. "I fucking hate it when you're loud."

Jaskier snickered quietly and turned to loop his arms around Geralt's neck. "Just like her father," he whispered against his lips, "feigning annoyance to mask her softness."

"Hmm," Geralt made and kissed him. "I'm doing a better job, though."

"No, you're not. And I love you for it." He pecked him on the mouth.

"I also seem to recall another father of hers who's horribly dramatic. And whines three days about splinters up his arse after sitting on a log I told him not to sit down to."

"That's not fair." Jaskier wrinkled his nose. "You see, you don't have all the facts."

"Which are?" the witcher asked and pulled him closer.

"That I happen to be endowed with a rather shapely arse," he replied grinning cheekily, "which you aren't allowed to touch if there's so much as a sliver of wood in it."

"Hmm," Geralt made contemplatively and lowered his hands to grasp his backside firmly. "I'm not convinced. Might need to get a better look at it."

Jaskier laughed loudly and dove in for a kiss. "That you shall have," he promised and tugged him towards their bedrolls.

When they laid side by side afterwards, as naked as the day they were born with tangled limbs and mingled breaths, Jaskier sighed contently. "So," he said, pillowing his head on Geralt's chest, "some review? Three words or less."

"Shapely arse indeed," he mumbled, his voice heavy from exhaustion and bliss.

He slapped him lightly. "Not that, you idiot witcher. The song. Did you like it?"

"Hm." Geralt buried his face in Jaskier's hair. "Loved it. Love all your songs."

"Really? Because I seem to remember some comment about my singing and its resemblance to a fillingless pie."

He groaned. "Fuck, Jaskier, that was years ago."

He snickered. "Always love to tease you about it."

"I'm aware." After a short pause he added: "Can I ask you something?"

"Always, darling."

"In your song... It's not like the songs you sing about me. It's not about... her deeds."

"No," he agreed, "it isn't."

"Why"

"Because the people needed reminding that you were their protector all along. With Ciri they need reminding that she is more than just their protector. As does she herself." He propped himself up on one elbow and gently stroked Geralt's hair. "In a century or five or ten, stories of her will fade. They won't remember the colour of her hair, or her favourite food or that she fell in love with that lovely girl three months ago." Geralt shot him a bewildered look and he sighed. "Though I can hardly hold it against them if her own father didn't know."

Geralt scowled. Tired as he was, it was the most adorable effigy of a pout. "I still don't understand."

"They will always remember her heroics," he explained patiently. "That's not what's important, though. The important thing is that she's loved and loves in return. And that she never forgets it."

"Hmm," he hummed and frowned even harder. "I love you."

Jaskier blinked stunned for one moment. 'Oh Geralt,' he thought as soon as it hit him, 'you only needed to ask.' In his mind there were a thousand odes to Geralt's love already, a myriad of songs that had never been sung, never out loud, at least. Not even when it had been only him had he dared to do that, but now- "And I love you, too," Jaskier sighed contently and snuggled closer. He kissed him on the cheek. A promise, a sacred oath between them, understood without ever saying the words. 'I'll sing of your love, too.'

His mind was already drifting off to sleep when he heard Geralt whisper: "There's peace in your arms for me. There's a home in your songs. With you, there’s nothing I fear."

With a content smile on his lips, Jaskier slept. Peacefully.

[luninosity]

Avoided grading today by working on the sequel story for Sorceress, a story that’s been living in the back of my head for literal years. I always knew it was Lorre’s story, and he’d fall in love with a prince...

#

The world’s greatest living magician, lying on his back on a rocky ledge halfway up a cliff and bathed in sunshine, felt the boat’s arrival on the shore below like an uninvited knock at a private door. He did not enjoy it.

 He did not move for a moment. He did not feel like it, and there’d be no rush. Nobody’d get past his wards.

 He kept both eyes closed. Sun streaked red behind his eyelids; gold warmed his skin, his hair. His body soaked in the sensations of strong heated stone, sank into stone, became stone: learning how the rock felt when bathed in lush late-morning light. His edges blurred, softened: time slowed, thrummed, grew earthen and deep, salt-lapped and wind-etched. He might’ve been here for centuries, unhurried. Equilibrium and erosion, solidity and reshaping: a balance.

 He had needed balance. Something he’d thought he’d known, once. Something he no longer understood.

 He’d thought the island might help. Being rock for a while, or the wind, or the seaspray: being suspended amid them all. Being alone, because he was not sure he recalled how to be human, not well enough.

 The island was warm—Lorre had always shamelessly adored being warm—and far enough from the mainland that he’d been mostly undisturbed, and close enough to trade routes that he could occasionally walk on water out to a boat and barter some repairs or some healing for some news of the Middle Lands and King Henry’s court and the Grand Sorceress Liliana. Lorre had promised not to magically check in on Lily or their daughter; he was attempting to keep that promise.

 Equilibrium. Difficult. Sunlight was easier. Sunbeams were weightless. Stones did not have to think about human promises. Human perceptions.

 The knock came again. It was not physical, or not entirely. It was a presence, an unexpected intruder standing below, shuffling feet in the sand and no doubt wondering where precisely a magician could be found, being faced with a towering blank cliff and no visible habitation.

 Lorre sighed, pulled himself back from frayed edges and heavy sleepy light, and sat up, pulling a robe on in an unfussy tumble of blue and gold, mostly just because he liked the caress of silky fabric on bare skin. His senses shifted, dwindled: more human, though not entirely. He’d been a magician too long to not feel the threads of brilliance—cliff, vines, fish, grains of sand, sea-glass polished by waves—all around.

 He peeked over the side of the ledge. Behind him the cave yawned lazily, reminding him of sanctuary: he could simply walk back inside, the way he had for several years now, and ignore the new arrival. That generally worked.

 He was rather surprised someone’d found him at all. He wasn’t exactly hiding—oh yes you are, said a tart little voice in his head, one that sounded like Lily’s—but the island, after a bit of work on his part, nearly always concealed itself from maps and navigation charts. At the beginning a few enterprising adventurers had managed to track it down, young heroes on quests or proving their worth by daring an enchanter’s lair or begging for Lorre’s assistance in some revenge or inheritance or magical artifact retrieval scheme.

 He’d ignored all but two of them. The illusion-wall kept everyone out, simple and baffling; the island had fresh water but little in the way of food. Mostly the adventurers’d given up and gone home, years ago; he couldn’t in fact recall the face of the last one. Two had become nuisances, loud and shouting; one of those had actually threatened to drink poison, melodramatically demanding Lorre’s assistance in collecting a promised bride from a glass mountain, claiming he’d die without her.

 The young man currently standing on his beach was neither loud nor melodramatic. In fact, he was calmly considering the sheer cliff-face, which revealed nothing; he stepped back across the small curve of beach, shaded his eyes, seemed to be measuring. After a second he put a hand up, obviously checking the edge of the cliff: having noticed the very slight discrepancy where sea-birds dropped behind the illusion-wall a fraction sooner than they should vanish behind the reality.

 Intelligent, this one. Lorre dangled himself over the ledge at an angle which would’ve been dangerous for anyone else, and watched.

 The young man had dark reddish-brown hair, the color of autumn; he wore it tied back, though a few wisps were escaping. He’d dressed for travel, not in shiny armor the way some knights and princes had: sturdy boots and comfortable trousers, a shirt in nicely woven but also practical fabric, a well-worn pack which he’d swung down to the sand. He wasn’t particularly tall, but not short: average, with nicely shaped shoulders and an air of straightforward competence, not trying for impressive or intimidating.

 Lorre, despite annoyance about the interruption, couldn’t help but approve. At least this one had some sense, and didn’t walk around clanking in metal under the shimmering sun.

 The young man called up, “Hello?” His voice was quite nice as well, not demanding, lightly accented with the burr of the Mountain Marches but in the way of someone who’d been carefully sent to the best schools down South. “Grand Sorcerer?”

 Lorre mentally snorted. He didn’t have a proper title, not any longer; if anyone did, it’d be Lily. His former lover, now wife of the brother of the King of Averene, was by default the last Grand Sorceress of the Middle Lands; she’d started up the old magician’s school again, welcoming and training apprentices. Lily always had been better with people. Lorre was not precisely welcome in Averene.

 The young man said mildly, “I expect this is a test; I thought you would do that, you know,” as if he thought that Lorre might answer, as if they were having a conversation; and looked around. “I’m meant to find you, is that it?”

 That was the opposite of it; Lorre on a good day barely recalled how to be human, and certainly wasn’t fit to interact with them. He’d lost his temper with the melodramatic poison-carrying prince, strolled invisibly onto the shore, asked the poison to turn itself into a sleeping draught, and then poured it into the idiot’s water flask. Then he’d found a passing ship and dumped the snoring body onto its deck. He hadn’t known the destination, and hadn’t bothered to find out.

 His current young man was looking at driftwood. Lorre wondered why. He was getting a bit dizzy from leaning nearly upside down; he considered the sensation with some surprise. A swoop of gold swung into his eyes, distracting and momentarily baffling; he pushed the strands of his hair back with magic.

 The young man found a stick, one that evidently met his standards for length and strength. He kept it in front of himself; he walked deliberately toward the cliff, and the illusion.

 Oh. Clever. Avoiding traps. Testing a theory. Lorre found himself impressed, particularly when the young man watched the tip of the driftwood vanish and nodded to himself and then set rocks down to neatly mark the spot.

 The island was not large, and the beach even smaller: a jut of cliff, a tangle of vines, a small lagoon and a trickle of water down to the shore. The illusion hid the cave-opening, but there wasn’t really anywhere else for someone to be; the young man figured that out within an hour or so of methodical exploration, and returned to the shore, and looked thoughtfully at the cliffs. He’d rolled up his sleeves and undone the ties of his shirt, given the heat; he had a vine-leaf in his hair, along with a hint of sweat.

 Lorre, in some ways still very much human, couldn’t not stare. Something about those forearms under the rolled-up sleeves. That hint of well-muscled chest. The casual ripple of motion, broad shoulders, heroic thighs.

 “I suppose,” the young man said, very wry, still looking at the cliff as if perfectly aware Lorre was watching, “I should introduce myself. I think I forgot to, earlier.”

 I suppose you should, Lorre agreed silently. Since you’re here. Disrupting my life.

 He ignored the fact that he’d had no real plans. Meditation. Quiet. A hope for calm.

 A hint of dragon-fire slid through his veins, under his skin. A memory. Restless. Beckoning. Dangerous.

 “My name is Gareth,” the young man said, “Prince of the Mountain Marches, Lord of Honeywood, if the titles matter to you. King Ardan is my older brother. And we need your help. Desperately.”

 Lorre found himself obscurely disappointed by this ordinariness. So small. So human. Just like all the rest.

 He flipped himself back up onto the ledge, getting up. He had spiced wine in the small pantry, and a book on the theory of sea-witches, magic-users hidden in the ocean, which no one had ever verified, but which might be possible, down in the deeps.

 “The mountain bandits have a mage,” the young man—Gareth—told the air. “This year. They’ve always come—but it’s worse, it’s so much worse—and the villages need us, and we’ve never had a good army, we’re a small kingdom and we mostly have a lot of goats—and they have magic now, and then my uncle betrayed us, and—” He stopped, voice exhausted, defeated. “You’re here. You must be here. Are you listening?”

 No, Lorre nearly said. I’ve been an ancient oak, a speaking raven, the bones of the earth. I’ve nearly killed a king and then saved him again, mostly because my former lover asked and I felt generous. I’ve turned myself into a dragon to see whether I could, and I could, though I got lost in the doing of it. I’ve watched rulers come and go, and magic’s still been here, and I’ve still been here. Why should I care about you and your goats?

 But he thought suddenly of sunlight on his skin, and the way he liked sensation, the whisper of silk on his legs or the taste of strawberries. He thought of Lily’s voice, and his daughter’s face. He’d been younger then, and so had Lily; they’d thought they were, if not in love, at least made for each other, the strongest two magicians in the world. They’d made Merlyn—Merry, Lily called her now—and Lorre had complicated feelings about that too.

 He wasn’t sure he’d ever been meant to be a father. He had not thought about the reality of a baby, and he had not known what would be expected of him; he had not, in all his life, spent much time with uninteresting small babbling humans. He had been disappointed, back then, when Merry had not shown any magical ability at all; he’d only cared about the power, or at least the person he’d been then had only cared about power.

 But he’d thought he’d been fighting for them all: magic, magicians, their welcome at Court, in the face of growing Church opposition. He’d burned with it: righteous anger, a cause, his own temper.

 Which had, he reflected ruefully, ended in banishment. Not that he’d cared; he’d simply lost himself in the magic, in testing himself, in explorations. More and further and deeper. Seeing what he could do, what he could become, simply because he could.

 Lily—and Merry—had saved him, then. Reminders of this self, this person: someone who liked summer and sweetness and satin, who might be a terrible parent but would never, even in dragon’s form, harm his daughter. He’d found a way back.

 And he’d left again, because he was not entirely human, and he was reckless, and he was single-minded and self-indulgent, and he knew all that. He could not be someone else, someone like the ridiculously beautiful king’s brother Lily had fallen in love with, fiercely loyal and burningly devoted to family and country. He could only be himself, and so that self was probably best far away from anyone he might harm. He’d been trying.

 He thought, the pinprick of it sleeting in like autumn rain: I like goat’s milk cheese. And honey. And pleasure. Little things that this body enjoys. Perhaps Prince Gareth enjoys his goats. And doesn’t want them stolen.

 He peeked down again. The prince had sat down, disconsolate, on a large rock. His shoulders slumped.

 Lorre considered options. He did not help people, famously so. If he did so once, others would expect it. If he reappeared, he’d disturb the world: a power reemerging. If he took sides in a ridiculous tiny Northern border conflict—

 He was actually considering it. He’d spent too long with trees for company.

 Gareth got up. Lorre blinked, startled, and paid attention.

 The prince spent some time gathering stones. Setting them out. Making a message on the sand: PLEASE HELP US.

 That was also fairly clever. A constant reminder, not as obnoxious as hurling stones at the barrier, but visible.

 The day had become afternoon, all gold and green and blue and white, sun and sea and sky and sand. Lorre, sitting on his rock balcony, one leg swinging, listened to the leap of distant dolphins and felt the purr of the world under his hand, resting on stone. The waves coiled and crashed, steady as tides.

 Gareth was making a shelter out of branches and fronds, building a small firepit, evidently having decided to settle in. Lorre had had heroes attempt to outwait him before; it never worked.

 Gareth, once satisfied with the shelter, added a new rock-message. This one said: I CAN WAIT.

 He meant it, too: he pulled out a book, and sat back down on the big sun-warmed rock. After a few minutes he took off his boots, and wiggled toes in hot sand.

 Lorre caught himself wanting to laugh. He’d done the exact same thing upon first finding this island: boots off, bare skin, luxuriating in the feel.

 And the prince had even brought a book. So well prepared. And so literary. Lorre could count on about three fingers the number of mighty-thewed questing heroes who’d done that.

 He rather wanted to know what book it was.