#truth and despair etc etc

[ananke-xiii]

for @slutsons-blog 💖

I'll explain the genesis of this post in case anyone else is interested!

The frame of reference of the post is basically the way I see Cas from s6 unitl 15x18 which I guess you haven't watched yet? But you're on this website so I must presume you know what happens in that episode, right? It's the episode where Cas says this:

I always wondered, ever since I took that burden, that curse, I wondered what it could be? What my true happiness could even look like. I never found an answer because the one thing I want… It's something I know I can't have. But I think I know… I think I know now. Happiness isn't in the having, it's in just being. It's in just saying it.

I'm not denying the pathos of the moment and its poetry and I understand its importance in the wrapping up of Castiel's arc for s15. However, I personally have huge problems with this way of thinking about happiness. If I put my thinking cap on I'm very suspicious of that equivalence where happiness = not having = just being = just saying. I find it profoundly false and purposely vague which makes it more interesting to analyze.

Then there's the notion of "true happiness" which always makes my ears perk up because, you know, "truth" is a super loaded topic and combined with that of "happiness" you might as well have the recipe for a philosophical bomb in your hands.

What this little declaration sounds to me is very dangerously close to the famous "happiness real only when shared", the annotation that Christopher McCandless wrote next to a passage from the novel "Doctor Zhivago", a story also about a difficult love between two people that ultimately ends in death. The passage was the following:

And so it turned out that only a life similar to the life of those around us, merging with it without a ripple, is genuine life, and that an unshared happiness is not happiness, so that duck and vodka, when they seem to be the only ones in town, are not even duck and vodka. And this was most vexing of all.

I haven't read the novel so I couldn't really speak about it but it seems to me that its political aspect shouldn't be ignored given that Boris Pasternak was faced with the threat of exile by the Communist Party (among other things) upon news of being the recipient of the Nobel Prize for that specific novel.

In this light the collectivist dream of "merging without a ripple" has some serious ominous undertones, therefore "happiness" in that passage might (or might not, again I haven't read the book, I just know of its context) as well be equivalent to omologation and comformity.

Now, of course, while I don't know and forever won't know what McCandless took from that passage that made him write the "happiness real only when shared" famous annotation, I do know that in mainstream culture this has come to mean, that is that the only real, or I might just say "true", happiness is when you share life with other people or when, I might just say, you reveal your feelings to other people. Which still hasn't solved my issue: what does true/real happiness mean? what do "real" and "true" mean and how do these adjectives affect "happiness" and decide when it's real/true and when it's not? And, finally, who dictates what reality and truth are? It seems to me that the answer to the question has just been shifted but not resolved.

And I think it's not resolved because we keep imagining our society as based on lack, on the things we can't have and never will which is a phallogocentric view of the world.

This is where the "lacanian supernatural" idea of my post comes from. If you wanna explore the inner workings of my brain, more below.

I'll try to be brief which means I'll have to oversimplifly lots of stuff which means this stuff will not be properly contextualized but these French philosophers/psychoanalysts talked.and.wrote.A.LOT. and then they modified their views during the years and also it's been 7 years since I'm done with them so it is what it is, that is I hope it'll make sense.

Basically Lacan revisited Freud's works and posited that the real trauma for people is not literally related to sex but, more symbolically, to language. He used Freud's Oedipal complex to express that the paternal function doesn't mean an actual fear of castration but it's the function that imposes the Law and defines what can be desired and attained and what cannot. For Lacan, it's not about the anatomical penis, but about the "phallus" which is a symbolic signifier of lack and sexual difference. To put it bluntly, the lacanian father(s, there are actually three fathers but let's not go there for now) is what comes between the child and the mother and tells the child: you are not your mother (but "I am your father" hahahah lol little joke), in this way he makes the child desire to go back to being one with the mother and makes the child enter the world of language which is the world of the "Law" (life like it is established to be lived: norms, social relations, kinship relations etc).

Now we have a problem Houston 'cause yes, castration is not literal, cool, but it's still something that happens. According to Lacan what gets castrated is the "jouissance": the lack of jouissance is what constitutes the subject. Now, what is this jouissance, you may ask? Well, it can't be translated into English. It can be translated as "enjoyment" altough you might want to bear in mind that "jouir" in French also means "to have an orgasm", just fyi.

Here Lacan expanded on Freud's "pleasure principle" because he differentiated between "plaisir" (pleasure) and "jouissance". "Plaisir" still obeys Freud's "pleasure principle" (everything we do, we do it to obtain pleasure and avoid unpleasure) while "jouissance" is trangressive because it goes "beyond the pleasure principle". According to Freud beyond this fucking principle there's only death: in other words humans tend towards death (the death drives). "Jouissance" is therefore both enjoyment and the road to death.

In Lacan's view "jouissance" cannot be experienced because the world is ruled by the symbolic signifier of the phallus which dictates a life based on lack as per above. For Lacan jouissance cannot be reached even by sex, the jouissance in sex is just a fantasy related to body parts. Now don't ask me why but later in life Lacan started to rethink some of the stuff he said and basically he started saying that there is an "other jouissance*", which is a "feminine jouissance" that can be experienced because it's a jouissance of the body that his "beyond the phallus" (which to me seems a total contradiction of his other points but okay, I guess), but which is nevertheless an "étrange" meaning "strange" jouissance. From this "étrange" stuff he went on to play on the word as "être-ange", meaning to be an angel, to talk about asexual jouissance.

*This concept of the "other jouissance" was then used by some French feminists, notably Cixous, to describe women's sexual pleasure and, more broadly, women's ability to create and be creative (as I said I'm oversimplifying so don't come at me tumblr academics). So no more death drive talks people, this is about creation and joy and pleasure beyond the phallus.

Finally, I want to say that I don't agree with almost anything of the above, but it's still interesting to read stuff through lacanian lenses cause some of his takes are like a trip or something hahahah. Quite a few philosophers have criticized Lacan, namely Derrida because they were like: dude, even if it's not the real thing you're basing everything on the phallus, are you okay? 'Cause, like, as you can see Lacan's central idea is the "phallus" that, anatomical or not, still gives meaning to everything. This is what Derrida calls "phallogocentrism" (the centering on the phallus + logos) i.e. the Western tendency to privilege language and the masculine point of view to create and shape discourses. Other philosophers like Deleuze and Guattari in "Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia" have criticized Lacan because his theories were based on a concept of desire as lack while for them desire is very much active, present and an affirmative vital force. They have also criticized the idea of the Other (which in Lacan is the mother but, again, there technically are three mothers but, as I've said, we won't go there) as the negative difference through which the norm (the Law) is established and have advanced the notion of positive difference, aka an Other that's not a minus compared to the Law.

And this is what I meant when I wrote in the tag that Berens is my enemy because saying that happiness is in "just saying it" means that what's important is the language and the word and that's it's okay to want and not having because desire is lack and like, no dude, not at all.

Sooooooooooooo. Are you still there?

I will proceed to translate my post now LOL.

in the lacanian (= a world founded on the phallus, therefore on lack and where desire is unattainable) supernatural that damingingly lives in my head (as you can see) the one thing castiel wants and he knows he can't have is the other jouissance (women's sexual pleasure and ability to create) but he can't have it because the narrative forces him back into his incorporeal être-ange role (an angel who has no sex and no body and cannot therefore experience other jouissance) while he pretty much wants to have a body and, dare i say, suffers from a little bit of womb envy (just my headcanon that does have some solid proof because Castiel is very closely associated with mothers, births, portals, rifts and children) because that angel doesn't have a death drive but a birth drive (as I said, he doesn't want to die, he actually wants to give birth and create but the narrative, which is lacanian, says no, you can't have that so RIP, see you in your next resurrection and, btw, from s6 you're obvi also gonna be a neurotic, good luck babe!)

Wow, this was a very, very convoluted way of saying transmasc cas rights but yeah.

[starlitsequins]

tears in my eyes as i open up google docs to write another fiddlestan fic

[moonchild-in-blue]

being a good guard dog😌

YES. You see my vision. Murder Espera my most beloveds - I need to work on my half baked wip of them asap.

You think Slasher iii and Stalker iv are cruel and twisted. Ohhh boy, if you only knew who they work for.

(gaaahhh i miss them so much omg 😭😭😭😭)

[caladbolg]

hm

[embervoices]

A very useful thread on Bluesky:

(There is a lot more. Rather than give you all the images, I've copied the full text below.)

Meredith Rose‬ ‪@mrose.ink‬ November 8, 2024

This is not going to be a repeat of 2016-2020. It will be better, it will be worse, but most of all it will be different. Here are things I want every single person to keep in mind as we head into round 2 of a Trump admin.

My credentials: I’m a queer female public interest attorney working on tech policy in DC. I’ve been doing this for a decade--longer than some, not as long as others. I had to navigate three different administrations, as well as Congress, regulatory agencies, courts, and the advocacy world.

FIRST: don’t let despair override your media literacy.

The left has grifters, just like every other movement. If you’re able and compelled to donate, give to orgs with established track records. Avoid giving to individuals, especially anyone who emerges overnight with a one-weird-trick “plan.”

The left is not immune to misinformation, and everyone—EVERYONE—falls for it sometimes, present company included. There is no shame in it. When (not if) it happens to you, you should acknowledge it; delete or retract the post to reduce the spread; and move on.

If a source consistently shares half-truths or outright misinformation, it is not trustworthy, no matter how much “their heart is in the right place.” Unfollow and move on.

Prediction, analysis, and reporting are three fundamentally different things. Learn to identify them for what they are. Reject attempts by amateur “analysts” to predict the future. They know as much as you do.

Real subject matter experts know and acknowledge their limits. They’re also (usually) hesitant to try and predict the future. The best frame their predictions in terms of a range of possible outcomes. Subject matter experts may also disagree with one another! It happens!

SECOND: What we know for sure about how the Trump, how he operates, and how that will impact the next four years.

Trump is a narcissist who avoids reading and doesn’t care about details. He cannot be persuaded by argument or logic; he’s moved mostly by flattery, and will agree with the last person who flattered him. He can and will upend his own administration’s work without warning, often by tweet.

As a result, most policy experts—even those "on his side"—dread him taking an interest in their field. Ask any Republican staffer who worked in Congress during the last administration, and most of them will confirm that their greatest fear was Trump tweeting about anything related to their work.

As such, people who are serious about their work will do everything to make it as invisible and boring-seeming as possible. This is the policy equivalent of defensive camouflage. Lots of “normie” work will continue in silence. (The lion’s share of tech policy ends up in this bucket.)

If you have a niche issue that you care about, now is a great time to donate to orgs that work on it. Lots of money will be funneled to big legacy orgs working on headline issues: ACLU, climate change orgs, etc. Consider sending your donations where they matter most: local, niche, established.

Trump runs his cabinet like the Apprentice. He thrives on chaos and making people compete for his approval. Not only does he not reward collaboration between his subordinates, he actively undermines it.

Moreover, everyone who works with him knows that they’re vulnerable to being thrown under the bus at a moment’s notice, for any reason (or for no reason at all). His cabinet is going to be scorpions in a bottle. They will not be able to coordinate, for good or ill.

One scorpion can still do a lot of horrific damage. But large scale inter-agency coordination is unlikely, particularly after the first few months, by which point he will likely (prediction warning!) have gone through a handful of cabinet secretaries already.

FINALLY: The view from inside civil society heading into 2025.

In 2016, Trump was a largely unknown quantity. The left and establishment right alike wasted a lot of time trying to read tea leaves and make sense of this guy, because he was completely outside the realm of what anyone had dealt with. That’s not happening now.

He did us a favor by broadcasting his plans in advance (aka Project 2025). Civil society has spent the last 2.5 years strategizing around it. We’re not starting off flat-footed.

The Biden admin did a good amount to future-proof its own achievements. Folks can speak to their own areas of expertise, but clean energy and CHIPS and Science Act (investing in domestic semiconductor production) have benefitted from huge sunk investments. That money’s not getting clawed back.

OVERALL TAKE-AWAYS:

It's going to suck. But civil society and the political left have some advantages we didn't have last time. We know him, we know his angles, and we know who he's bringing in--none of which we had in 2016.

We'll get through this. It will be grim, but we'll get through it.

John Cutting‬ ‪@johncutting.bsky.social‬

Thanks Meredith. I really valued your analysis over the past few years, and I think this is a reasonable, actionable framework to think about the upcoming storm

Meredith Rose‬ ‪@mrose.ink‬

I really cannot overstate how much time was (necessarily) wasted in 2017 trying to figure out this guy and his influences. The fact that he's not only a known quantity, but ran the most over-studied administration in this nation's recent history, makes this a very different game.

John Cutting‬ ‪@johncutting.bsky.social‬

I bet we can weaponize his narcissism. Let's say some ghoul starts making progress with a mass deportation effort, if we start calling that ghoul that "shadow president" en masse, Trump would fire him in right away and appoint Hulk Hogan or something

‪Meredith Rose‬ ‪@mrose.ink‬

This is exactly why I don't think Musk will last very long. Trump is very clear that he's the only one in the room allowed to have an ego or any kind of brand name.

[xueyuverse]

It's ironic to me that part of the fandom insists so much that Hua Cheng's personality revolves around Xie Lian when in fact MXTX created Hua Cheng first and then had to make Xie Lian his ideal type. Like, the truth is that Xie Lian was molded for Hua Cheng. I find this contradiction very funny, I'm sorry.

But they were indeed created for each other.

Hua Cheng has a strong personality, he is firm in his ideals and beliefs, assertive in his opinions, cold in his justice and someone who does not bend the rules just to fit in, he creates a third way instead of adapting to a world that hates him and was cruel to him.

His ideal type would have to be someone as confident as him, who not only does not bend the rules, but also does not get corrupted by difficulties, someone benevolent enough to see people like him with kindness, because only someone faithful in his beliefs would be able to be so different from everything that the world says is right — because the right thing is for you to annihilate people like Hua Cheng, whether they are innocent or not, just because of a supposed curse that they did not ask for.

This meta is based on this excerpt from the afterword that MXTX put in TGCF ↓

When it comes to character designs, the Shou’s were decided on first for the first two novels, but I was torn over the Gong’s for a long time, and needed a run-in period. Hua Cheng, however, was an exception. Inspiration struck and there he was; inspiration struck again, and I blinded one of his eyes.

[...]

It was actually the Shou, Xie Lian, who tortured me for up to half a year’s time. When the novel started serializing, I was still torn over him for a long time.

[...]

But the most important thing is, by my instincts, someone like Hua Cheng will most definitely love someone like this. So, after a good half a year’s worth of qualms, in the end I still typesetted him: It’s you!

Speaking more about this postscript, I found it interesting how for MXTX, Xie Lian was the most difficult character she has ever played. People tend to think that Xie Lian only has two personality traits: (false, for many) kindness and idiocy. The idiocy may even be right lol, but when you stop to think about it, Xie Lian is a really difficult character to create and, mainly, to develop.

For all the layers he has, he could easily be a snobbish prince, a vengeful and bitter ex-prince, a fallen prince who rises again to reconquer his kingdom and reclaim his throne or a spotless saint who is always intelligent and wise and is above things like sadness, anger, lust, etc.

We know that Xie Lian is none of these things, he was not made for these plots. But if he is none of these things, then what could he be? Honestly, I find it very difficult for anyone to come to the conclusion that your protagonist is a "loser" who failed and has no ambition to rebuild his kingdom and become the new king. It's bold to make your protagonist a poor and extremely unlucky nomad, especially with the princely background that you gave him, we can see from the amount of stories out there about protagonists who lost their kingdoms and then have a path of reconquest that it's difficult not to be tempted to follow that path.

Of course, Xie Lian is a god, something greater than a prince or king, but he is a poor god, known as "the joke of the three kingdoms", he has no wealth and for 800 years he only had 1 believer that he didn't even know existed and he is also known as the "god of plague" and "immortal scrap collector", unconventional titles in the literary world lol

He must experience youthful ignorance, overestimation of his own abilities, have been laughable, been foolish, made mistakes, despaired, felt hatred, gone crazy. But he can’t run, and he can’t hide; everything is what it is. All this was killing me. Not just within the text, but outside the text too. My mediation was useless, and I’ve no energy anymore either, so in order not to be affected, I stopped looking at comments altogether. Since I always habitually vaccinate myself before a serialization begins, speculating on all the worst possible scenarios and preparing myself mentally, by the time serialization started I had already expected how all the negative comments would go down. But after much hesitation, I still thought, why not try all different kinds of characters? I haven’t tried writing a main character like this before.

— MXTX

[thequeerwizardcouncil]

Urgent News.

One of the largest threats to queer safety, especially queer youth on the internet, is the KOSA bill. It is effectively a censorship bill that will make access to the internet for queers, nigh impossible and constantly monitored.

Now of course the council's concerns may lie within the queer, but the bill will also affect pro-Palestinian messages, activism, truthful information, etc. It will make it difficult to look for sexual health information, information on Palestine, Sudan, the Congo, climate change, queer history, queer info in general.

It is a bill that the USA is going to use to effectively stop all the criticism against them, all the information on the genocides committed in the name of capital, and block out safe spaces for queers in and out of the closet.

And it is being discussed whether to have it added to the FAA. What does that mean? The FAA was the same way the Tiktok ban was passed so easily, a way for the US to pass bills without much resistance. So you might be thinking:

What is to be done?

Well for one, if you are a member of the council reading this, you are obligated to reblog this and spread the message far and wide. And we mean it. Whether through posters, posts, shouting, protests, whatever you can do, you must do. Even if you aren't a council member, morally you should still do it.

As evidently the internet is in jeopardy.

Other than that, sign these petitions, spread these links and urge others to do so. Call your representatives, email them, mail them, fax them. And again, urge others to do the same.

You don't need to be American to spread this or sign these. And you should care still even if you aren't American, as this will be a global effect if KOSA passes.

stopkosa.com

Woodhull Freedom Foundation | Stop KOSA

change.org | Stop KOSA petition

EFF | KOSA Bill

EFF | Look for your representative sand contact them

We must do anything and everything to keep the internet safe. For all.

So do not fall into despair that we will fail, and do not become complacent thinking we will win. Become active and make sure we win.

For in the dark we endure, and in the light we fight for who you call impure.

@skyethebisexualwolfwizard

@im-a-wizard-who-dont-crime

@thebutterflyoficeandwisteria

@bisexualchemistry

@sassy-piece-of-parsley

@flirtyambiguouswizard

@ballisticallytestedwensleydale

@the-moth-wizard-of-mayhem

@aroace-wizard

@serious-tabaxi

@agentldiddy

@parkyrtheelvishbard

@autistic-dinos-and-dragons-lover

@a-goose-in-a-trenchcoat

@sapphicdragons-3

@transgender-wizard

@jhomikle

@cynical-artificer

@anne-androgynous-android

@asheslab

@ryukyuna-the-kitsune-in-cabin-13

@incrediwizard

@amethyst-aster

@ash-the-tiefling

@shittest-wizard-ever

@bi-gender-sorcerer

@somecallmekay

@be-gentle-with-littluns-2

@ladyofspoons

@slymewitch

@alchemical-overreaction

@frogpantsthebloodgod

@yourlocalbreadenthusiast

@detectivewizzard

@the-necrobotanist

@lixorloveslicorice

@hyper-lynx

@chaos-wizard-nyehehe

@song-de-lune

@lord-devere

@waluwizard

@so-um-brasileiro

@distinctlyrevived

@dread-is-decaying

@wizard-ghost

@the-reluctant-princess

@ye-olde-ace

@maniquinn

[klarolinexluv]

After my little rant earlier, I was thinking about it about more and I’ve just had the thought that some people like to erase the fact that Regulus CANONICALLY changed his mind.

In canon, we know so little about Regulus. We know he is Sirius’ younger brother, Walburga and Orions son, Bellatrix, Narcissa and Andromedas younger cousin. We know that he became a death eater at the age of 16. We know that he was quite close with Kreacher, or had some sort of special bond with him. We know that at 17 or 18 in 1979 he made the decision to GO AGAINST VOLDEMORT. We know that he CANONICALLY chose to go to the cave, with the knowledge of what Voldemort had done, we know that he knew about the horcrux, he CANONICALLY, again, CANONICALLY, sacrificed his life to try and stop Voldemort.

“Oh but he only did it because Voldemort hurt his house elf.” Shut the fuck up, yes that may have been a contending reason but we don’t actually know his reasonings for anything. He could have been having doubts since the very beginning, he could have been disgusted with what happened with Kreacher, he could have done nothing after that, but no he went on to research, he discovered Voldemort had made a horcrux, he could have DONE NOTHING BUT HE DIDNT.

We know so LITTLE about Regulus Black but the biggest thing we know about him, the most important thing we know about him is that at the end of his life he changed his mind, KREACHER EVEN SAYS ITS “Master Regulus changed his mind, but he doesn’t seem to have explained that to Kreacher, does he?” LIKE OMG HE CHANGED HIS MIND. He didn’t want to be a death eater anymore. HE CHANGED HIS MIND AND THEN DID SOMETHING ABOUT WHAT HE DISCOVERED. He went to that fucking cave, drank the drink of despair, stole the horcrux, replaced it with a fake and then ordered Kreacher to destroy it, to leave without him.

Yes, this was a suicide mission, we all know that but at the end of the day, Regulus sacrificed his life in an attempt to to destroy a horcrux, to stop Voldemort. People are always forgetting that, and I’m so over it.

If you want to call me pro-fascist for supporting Regulus when canonically he betrayed Voldemort than for fuck sake do it, it doesn’t change the fact that I am not, that Regulus actively worked against the dark lord JUST LIKE JAMES OR SIRIUS OR REMUS, etc. I will always love Regulus no matter what and I don’t give a shit what names you call me because I know the truth, I know who I am, I know that you are just trying to put me down in an attempt to make yourself seem better.

PEOPLE ALSO SEEM TO FORGET THAT REGULUS AND SIRIUS GREW UP IN THE SAME HOUSE. Sirius had a support system, CANONICALLY, Regulus did not.

Anyway… I rest my case.

[thewickedjazzy]

Blood, Sweat & Tears [Sex Pollen] for Kinktober.

♡「knight! akutagawa x afab! reader.」

Synopsis: you drag your loyal knight to a secluded antique shop, unaware that a cursed relic would force him to quench his insatiable desire for you, leaving him one choice only...fuck or watch you both die.

Warnings and w/c: 3.1k. ņsfw, smųt with plot, dead dove ー read at your own risk, dub-con, blood, cum, manipulation, age gap (aku is in his 30s YUM), sex pollen (obv.) slight implied knife play (rashomon)...etc.

“ryuu-kun, c'mon! why are you so stiff? just relax!” you giggle softly, tugging on the poor man's black shoulder cape as you practically drag him toward the entrance of the haunted antique shop.

truth be told, akutagawa wasn’t hesitant —at least, not for the reasons you assumed. the idea of going against the king’s orders wasn’t something he took lightly. defying authority was not a habit for a devoted knight like him, and he had never imagined himself in a situation like this. but for you?

oh — for you, he would go against any order. he would take any risk just to see your eyes light up, to hear that carefree laugh of yours that always seemed to make the heavy burdens on his heart feel lighter. lord! how he loves to just see your cheeks flush, the delicate pink hue resembling the sakura in full bloom ー his new favorite colour.

akutagawa had been by your side for years, from your childhood through your teenage years, and now, as you stepped into adulthood, he couldn't help but notice how things had changed. he had seen your growth with his own eyes, and it disturbed him more than he'd ever admit. you were becoming someone who could get into trouble with ease, and while he was too loyal to question you, the protective instinct in him was stronger than ever.

“i’m relaxed, with all due respect, don't you think you're being a bit reckless?” despite his apparent annoyance, his eyes soften as they find yours. there was something captivating about the way your eyes glimmer under the poor light of the shop, like stars in a forgotten sky.

you step further into the abandoned shop, soft giggles echo as akutagawa’s reluctant footsteps follow close behind. the place feels like it hasn’t seen sunlight in ages, dust dances in the beams filtering through the cracked windows, illuminating shelves filled with eerie artifacts and relics of a forgotten age. for you? this was simply an adventure — a moment of thrill in an otherwise carefully controlled life.

“look, ryuu-kun! isn’t it fascinating?” you point toward an ornate mirror standing tall at the back of the shop. its frame is twisted, covered in intricate carvings that seem almost to shift as you stare at them. “wooah! i’ve never seen anything like it.”

the knight watches you approach the mirror, every instinct tells him this place isn’t safe, that there’s a dark enchantment here that could harm you. but your enthusiasm and willingness to explore, pulls him in against his better judgment.

“your highness...” he says softly despite the danger evident in his voice, “don’t touch it. we don’t know what kind of curse or magic might lie within that thing.”

but of course you’re already inches away, mesmerized by your own reflection in the mirror’s surface as if it almost seems to beckon you, whispering captivating, incoherent lullabies that you can’t quite decipher. your fingers reach out, grazing the glass searching for the source of the sound. but the moment you make contact, an odd chill courses through you, and the reflection changes, warping, revealing shadows of something darker within.

and suddenly, you’re not looking at yourself anymore. instead, you see visions flickering across the mirror — scenes of solitude, a vast, empty world where you stand utterly alone. the cheerful warmth in your chest vanishes, replaced by a cold sense of despair. you try your best to step back, but your gaze remains locked onto the mirror as if bound by an invisible force.

akutagawa’s eyes widen as he watches you freeze, your expression shifting from delight to horror. without a second thought, he lunges forward, pulling you away, but not before his eyes accidentally catch his own reflection. and again, the mirror’s black magic grips him, and for a fleeting moment, he sees something horrifying — the blood stained memories of his past in the port mafia, of every life he’s taken, every failure, every ounce of suffering he encountered.

“r-ryuu-kun…” you try to speak but you're disoriented...pale, leaning against him as you struggle to steady your breathing.

he shakes himself free, grip tightening slightly on your arm. “we need to leave. NOW.”

you nod, feeling a strange, lingering heaviness creeping inside your chest. arguing feels pointless, afterall he’s the reason you’re still alive and kicking up till now. you murmur a soft “i’m sorry,” but he doesn’t respond. without a glance, he strides toward the door pulling you along with him.

and just as he reaches the threshold, a sweet, floral yet infused with a dangerously intoxicating heady scent looms around you both, almost as if the scent itself seeps into your senses, leaving your body heating up and your thoughts hazy.

“ryuu?… i don’t feel well-… what do we—what's happening to me?” your voice is barely audible, the heat sensation spreading through you rapidly, making your cheeks flush more and your breaths come quicker, each inhale carrying more of that cloying scent, filling your senses until all you can think about is the knight by your side.

“it's the curse,” he mutters, “i-it won't break unless we give... blood, and... uh- more.”

you look up at him and it’s clear he’s struggling just as much, flushed and panting heavily. you instinctively cling to him, seeking closure against your own will, and he finds himself leaning closer, almost reflexively. despite the losing battle within him to resist, he begins to tell himself that perhaps fulfilling this desire is the only way to break free of the mirror’s spell? perhaps it's the only way to truly protect you? there’s no time to consider if it’s twisted or not, he's silently beating himself up for letting you get hurt in the first place.

he tries his best to keep his thoughts under control, but it's nearly impossible with the enchanted pollen's effect taking over his mind and turning him into a puppet of it's own making and the line between his sense of duty to protect you and his desire to make the aching pain in his pants go away becomes harder to see.

“your majesty..” he murmurs almost apologetically as he lowers his face close to yours, a deep blush spreads across your cheeks as you finally understand — this isn't just about you and him anymore. this is about survival, about breaking the curse that binds you. blood and cum must mix in order for the magic to release its grip. is it grotesque? yes, but in this moment, it’s the only way out.

your eyes are heavily half-lidded, lips parted perfectly, a few beads of sweat trace your cupid’s bow as you clench onto him with wobbly legs, your thoughts absolutely shameless, cunt instinctively clenching around nothing, are you actually craving him? the knight who has been by your side for so many years — the one who’s spent countless hours guarding and protecting you — is now stirring feelings you’d only ever brushed aside. you would be lying if you said that you never thought of him this way, there was something about the familiar warmth he carried that made you want to stay wrapped in his arms forever.

“ryuu-kun.. i-it hurts so bad— please make it stop.” you cry, though you're not sure whether you're asking for release from the curse or for something else entirely. the look you're giving him is so pathetic that he can't help but dart out his tongue to wet his lips, before smashing his lips on yours feverishly, you both grunt in relief, you're not sure what's happening but it's seems to work. he slips his agile tongue between your parted lips, spit mingles with lewd mewls as he pins you against the wall, hands fumbling with his garments, taking his pants off, unbuttoning his black tonic, almost everything as to free himself from the suffocating layers of fabric, before fully pressing his bare upper body against yours.

“your highness... i'm sorry,” the words are soft, but the look in his eyes is anything but. there’s a lurking emotion there that he rarely reveals— less guilt, and more... eagerness? surely he knows the stakes of this spell too well. he understands the strength and danger of it, how it could kill you both in less than an hour if you don’t break it. yet, akutagawa’s no saint. he's a deviant, laced with sin and shameless thirst, an absolute reprobate. even as he’s forced into this for your survival. there’s an obscene side to him he can’t hide, a filthy hunger in how his gaze trails over your body, wondering how it’ll feel when you’re wrapped tight around him, how you’ll respond to him thrusting into you. will you bite back a scream? will you moan his name, too breathless, too fucked out to form a word?

either ways, there's no point for him to guess as he'll be witnessing it shortly. strong and boney hands tremble as they run wild against your body till they reach your pants pulling them down, he's too engrossed in your details as a muffled groan escapes his pretty lips before he slides down your nectar-soaked panties, taking both your legs wrapping them around his narrow waist, holding you close as if he can’t bear the thought of you slipping away from him. with a shaky sigh as he pops the buttons of your shirt, catching the beautiful euphoric sight of your breasts spilling over your bra.

“there's no time, please trust me on this,” just a few words to trick himself that what he's doing is only for your survival. his disheveled black and white locks brush your cheek as he presses quick, breathless kisses to your temple.

you manage to nod, feeling his hard cock press against your puffy folds from beneath, and your hips subconsciously buck yearning for any friction to ease the swell of pain building rapidly in your core.

however, it's short-lived, as in mere seconds, he's plunging into you with a deep, throaty groan, his entire body trembling as if he's been transported to another dimension. a wave of tingling ecstasy floods through him, muscles tightening as his fingers dig into your bare shoulders, holding you close.

“f-fuhckmmh- your highness-” he whimpers against your ear, the heat radiating from his body is absolutely insane, “forgiv-e me—,”another thrust, “i am bound to protect you— not to desecrate you like this.”

“i-it's fine,” you murmur, soft fingers gripping his face to force him to look at you. “i trust you ryuu-kun.”

what other options do you have? none.

he just stares at you for a few seconds before thrusting again. his hips start moving leisurely at first, stretching you deliciously as you bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his mesmerising scent, feeling every agonising movement of his flawless cock picking up its pace by each passing second and the instant he bottoms out, he practically 'pounds' into you deeper, harder, each stroke finding a new angle that leaves you gasping for air.

his own pleasure is muffling his ears. he still cannot believe it. he's been waiting for this moment his entire life, to finally fuck his monarch that's been taking over his thoughts each passing night, getting him atrociously horny.

“oh god, you feel ngh~ heavenly—,” it's a whisper more to himself, knobby hands gripping the swell of your ass as he rams into you manically, “blood...we- fuck! have to mix blood.”

before you can make sense of it, he conjures a faint trace of rashomon from his tonic, its shadowy tendrils coiling around his sleeve, sharp enough to slice yet gentle in his intent. he presses the edge to your palm, watching a bead of crimson pool against your skin.

the sharp sting pulls a gasp from your lips, your dazed mind barely registering the act before akutagawa does the same to himself. dark silver eyes smoulder with lust as he guides both your bleeding palms to his cock, smearing the mingled blood over it, the warm slickness adding to the sinful mess already coating him.

“ryuu-” you breathe, with a trembling voice, whether from pain or arousal, you’re not sure.

his eyes meet yours before you feel the soft clouds of his lips crash onto yours, it's all desperate and messy, teeth nipping at your lower lip hard enough to draw blood. the metallic tang spreads across your tongue, blending with the taste of him as he drinks in your broken moans, tongue delves deeper into your mouth, spit melding together as he aligns himself with your slit once more. his blood-slickened cock slides back into you, each thrust feels heavier, deeper, as if the leverage of the curse itself presses against you both, urging you to fulfill its dark demands.

“just a litt-le more,” he rasps, teeth scraping along the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving a delicate trail of violet bruises and ruptured vessels.

a borderline salacious symphony of sounds echoes, wet and obscene, sopping and slick, each thrust accompanied by a squeaky rhythm as his balls slap against your pillowy ass cheeks. your eyes roll back in a bliss, glossy lips parting lusciously in a wanton moan, every vein and ridge of him dragging you closer to euphoric oblivion.

“ryuu... i can’t...” you sob, nails digging into his back as the pressure in your core mounts, legs trembling around his waist. “i... i can’t take it anymore...”

“stay with me, your majesty haah,” he murmurs breathlessly, lips brushing against your ear as he drives into you deeper. “we need... to break it. just a little longer... please...”

his hands clutch at your hips, pulling you into each thrust until all that’s left is the white-hot pressure of the spell, of the lust, threatening to swallow you both. his cock throbs inside you, and it’s clear— he can’t hold back any longer.

“please, ryuu... i’m—” you bite your lip, unable to finish as the knot in your belly tightens, ready to burst.

akutagawa's focus narrows, all he can think about is you, how your breasts bounce with each thrust, body arching beneath his, exposing the delicate curve of your neck— everything about you is perfect in this moment, and he can't tear his eyes away. the sight of your face contorted in pleasure, the pout tugging on your lips, the way your legs tremble, how your hips move to meet his, how your nails drag across his back starved for his naked skin. is this his body on yours? is he finally feeling you? kissing you? fucking you?

'god, look at you,' he can barely think, his thoughts fragmented, lost in the instinctual need to bury himself deeper, to take more, to feel more. the way you tighten around him, the slick, wet warmth of your cunt — he’s fucking drowning in it.

'fucking beautiful.'

a few thrusts of akutagawa’s hips and his name tears from your lips in a breathless, desperate cry, the sound of your orgasm crashing over you like a truck, slamming into him with brutal force. your walls flutter and clench around his cock, milking him, dragging him deeper into the molten heat of your release.

his vision blurs, heart thundering in his chest as his hearing dulls to nothing but the wet, obscene noises of your bodies joined together. for the first time in his life, he is obliterated by the sheer, soul-stealing intensity of his orgasm, his cock still twitching violently as he spills deep inside you, his seed mingles with the blood smeared between you, the combined essence finally breaking the curse’s seal.

“i-is it over?”

akutagawa doesn’t answer immediately, his forehead pressing against your shoulder as he struggles to gather himself. his meaty length that's still buried inside you twitches, body refusing to move, refusing to let go of the impossible warmth and tightness of your walls. the thought of pulling out feels unbearable, like he’d be severing himself from something sacred.

“yes,” he finally rasps, “the curse is broken.”

still, he doesn’t move, his grip on your hips tightening imperceptibly. every inch of him aches to stay like this, to savor the raw, feral perfection of you wrapped around him. but he won’t say it — not to you, not to your highness. it’s not his place to speak such desires aloud. instead, he forces himself to swallow the words, forcing his breathing to even out as he pulls out of you despite the burning need still coiling in his gut.

without a word, he moves to gather your clothes, fingers brushing over your skin tenderly in a way that feels foreign coming from him, as if he’s afraid that, if he rushes, it’ll break something.

“rest, your highness. please, don’t move,” he ties the fabric hovering near your ear as his soft upper lip brushes your sensitive skin with a low murmur. “you’re safe now.”

“safe...” you repeat the word, almost testing it on your tongue.

“at least for now, but the curse... it doesn’t work like that. it’s not just broken once. it could flare up again in a few days... and when it does,” he pauses, allowing his words to settle in for a few seconds. “we’ll have to repeat the ritual.”

he’s a liar. a filthy, self-loathing liar.

the curse is broken. it has been broken since that moment. nothing will flare up again. it’s absolutely impossible. the ritual is complete. there is no reason for him to say this, no reason at all. but still, he can’t help himself. he lies, not to protect you—but to keep you. to keep you near him, just a little longer.

“we’ll have our next time soon,” he mutters to himself, he hates himself for it. every fiber of his being recoils at the thought of deceiving you like this, manipulating you with his twisted words, but the words are already sealed in his mind. mostly like a promise — one he will keep. and this time, he won’t stop.

TAGS: @a-smol-bean @violetbutterflix @amanoava @falloutjuli @embersweapons @warriordemigosworld @cathias @v15aexe @vasarii @pe4rl-diver @sukidenks @dazaifavbandage @chuuminn @fyodorsprettynun @ace-0fspades69 @irasamu @trippyserval @alyszuha @bittysuguru @writingandmusing @corruptedwrathkitsune @thedamselzelda @fyodorssimp1 @vikkinakahara @laylabuurr @perlaslibrary @remlionheart @osamucide @ranpazz @naviiq

[vaguely-concerned]

To the ‘themes I am picking up on in Veilguard’ list, let's go ahead and add what I have a sneaking suspicion will actually turn out to be The theme:

— the world has changed and can never be as it was again.

— I have been changed and can never be who I was again.

— in this simple unavoidable truth there is endless grief and endless hope.

And I… may be getting a bit emotional about it haha. Let me show my work a bit: 

if da:o is a game about people who are already dead or half ghosts in some form (through societal forces, psychologically, functionally, literally, in body, through the joining etc.) coming together anyway to save the world from being swallowed by total nihilism and despair (symbolized by the blight) through the power of love and friendship and also this sword/potential heroic sacrifice that I found, da2 is a game about people who have lost their homes and been set adrift finding and building new homes in each other (while completely failing to save the world. also through the power of love and friendship. as well as years of petty bickering <3 we must imagine kirkwall if not happy then worth having been because the love was there the love was there and that's the only sanctifying force we can ever have in this doomed world and city of ours), and da:i is a game about old stabilizing-but-unjust comfortable lies vs. disruptive but potentially liberating uncomfortable truths, and the power of friendship to help us distinguish the one from the other and navigate through them...

folks… I'm starting to think that veilguard might be a game specifically about moving towards recovery and acceptance after trauma — about how even in this flawed, severed, scarred state, what is here right now is worth loving and worth caring for. even in an imperfect and impermanent world and self, there is worth and joy. and of course the first real tragedy — and threat — of Solas is that he just cannot find it in himself to accept this and move on, to let go of what was, the regret won’t let him go or he won’t let go of it. which means that even though on the surface it’s Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain (and the will to subjugate and violate they represent) who are the main villains, the real antagonistic force in this story beneath that is the Dread Wolf’s despair. A despair Rook must make an answer to by the end of the game, one way or another, compassionately or with righteous fury, triumphant or pyrrhic.

The world will change again and again and so will you — BUT the crucial element is that so will everyone else who exists along with you, you are fundamentally not alone in this existential truth. all we’ll ever have is each other and my god that is plenty, my god that is enough!!! Which is the second thing Solas just can’t accept, he keeps himself separate and completely alone out of an awful mix of fear and pride and feeling himself unworthy of anything else. Rook and the player want to save the world of Thedas because it’s where everyone we love lives, Solas wants to go back to the past because that’s the only neighbourhood where he can still visit those he loved — and the person he himself was, before. A very sympathetic and human instinct/trap to fall into when touched by trauma, I think, if only it wasn’t backed by godlike power, a fundamentally oppositional personality, and a catastrophic lack of therapy to make it literally everyone else’s problem too lol. It’s varric and solas’ banter about the man on the island and where meaning in a life comes from all over again, writ large and with detail work — and the added idea of ‘what if there are also other islands out there, though. With other people on them that you could find if you reach for each other’. Rook with the best of intentions has to make choices to which there are no perfect outcomes and live with what happens — and not cut themselves off from everyone else around them even when there is regret or shame. You get back up every day and you make a life with other people doing the same and you do your best, and that’s the only victory this world will give you. In the end, that is more than enough, that is essential. And I um. I love that. So much. It’s why some of the writing clumsiness on top can’t hurt me because this thematic spine is so solid and so beautiful to me. It’s DA2 all over again that way for me personally — I forgive this story for what it isn’t and couldn’t be, and I love it with my whole stupid open heart for what it actually is. Thank you for coming to my TED-talk and goodbye etc.      

(For my fellow TLT heads out there — you know what this story is reminding me of most of all, actually? It has some big Nona the Ninth vibes down there in the deep. It’s about… the horror and unspeakable beauty that can only be found in liminality, and the role of love in making that basic fact of existence bearable. And also even more unbearable at the same time. I'm so sorry.)

[pennyellee]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐗 - 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐮𝐧𝐚

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, mentions of antidepressants, anxiety, panic attacks, nightmares, mentions of night terrors, mentions of self harm, manipulative behaviour, mentions of labotomy, medical cases, intimate life, diseases, “failed” pregnancy, alcohol, medication, etc.

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 8,7K

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

A/N: so yes, it took me a while to actually finish this chapter and as I mentioned - it’s shorter than what I usually want to write for lacrimosa. Truth to be told, this is what I can do for now till I get something better to write on. I don’t know when the next chapter will be written and up, so for now thank you for your patience, i actually didnt think i would write a chapter whilst im in US coz the only device on my person is my phone, but im very happy I managed to write something. This chapter is more of a prequel go what’s going to happen next. Many of you actually guessed/predicted some things right and for some you have to wait till the very end, we’re near it.

Massive thank you goes to @chaoticpuff17 who managed to beta read it despite both our situations being crazy rn, ily queen 🥹🫧🩵

Love you all, p.

m.list previous next

lacuna (n.) a blank space, missing part

The night was relentless, a symphony of thunderclaps and the steady drum of rain against the cobblestones. The celebrations of the famous Kkangpae toned down, and after some months, several trips to the barren debris land of where Yakuza reigned, they returned safely to the sanctuary.

Back where she cannot hide from him in the stables, kitchen or sunroom, switching from one room to another just to not be in his presence for longer than she wanted. Yet, he managed to steal her away when his frustration boiled up enough. Y/N could’ve hinted how much she doesn’t want him to sleep next to her all she wants, he kept sneaking in and out every time. Yoongi was patient, determined even. Determined to make things right this time by giving her space. But the wrenching feeling of not having her close enough consumed him, night, day and moon.

Yoongi kept his promise, giving Y/N the space she needed while gradually attempting to rebuild the trust that had been shattered. He was careful with his words, patient in his actions, and ever attentive to her unspoken needs. The pair worked on their friendship these past weeks, he wanted himself to be her person. The person that she would love and lean on.

But the young Buin might seem calm now, from outside, but her wit remained under the surface. She buried herself deep within her psyche and doctor Kim could do very little to “repair” her. Not even renown specialists who came to give the young girl a helping hand did not succeed.

Yoongi watched her from a distance yet at the same time he was so close, his heart aching with the knowledge that he was partly to blame for her withdrawal. He had been too harsh, too controlling. Now, he was paying the price. He wanted nothing more than to hold her, to whisper apologies and promises into her ear. But every time he approached, he could see the fear and distrust in her eyes. It was a barrier he didn't know how to break.

Wang Xiaoqing’s wisdom was passed onto her, they whispered. But truth to be told, the elder woman, may she rest in peace, underestimated the new blood. The following legacy. Now, her kin suffers.

Yoongi wishes he never used the letter as leverage against her nor let her read it. At night he wonders whether that would change things. Whether by now she would be in love with him just as much he’s in love with her.

He sat down with the rest of his family at the dinner table after she broke down with yet another panic attack. The dining room was oppressively silent, the atmosphere thick with unspoken tension. It wasn’t even the end of January, and the snow was still prevailing outside. Yoongi sat at the head of the table, his expression a mask of stoic resolve, though his heart was anything but calm.

Y/N was conspicuously absent, her chair at the table glaringly empty. Yoongi's mind replayed the scene from earlier, the look of sheer panic in her eyes as she had crumbled under the weight of her emotions. He had wanted to reach out to her, to offer comfort, but he knew his presence would only worsen her distress.

Clearing his throat, Yoongi broke the silence, his voice strained but firm.

“I know you care about me. About this family—”

“I’ve made mistakes—mistakes that have pushed her to the edge.”

“No, Yoongi—” the right hand man straightened himself in his seat interrupting his leader.

Yoongi’s eyes flickered with a mixture of frustration and sorrow as he turned to face his right-hand man, Namjoon. The room held its breath, tension crackling in the air.

“Namjoon, please,” Yoongi said, his voice weary. “My wife slit her throat, stop justifying my actions.”

Namjoon hesitated but nodded, leaning back in his chair, his expression still troubled. Yoongi took a deep breath, steeling himself to continue.

"I pushed her too far, and now she's breaking—”

“Now, I don’t know what your intentions are with my wife, but I forbid you from whatever you are putting into her head.”

Namjoon's eyes widened in shock at Yoongi's words, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for the right response. The weight of Yoongi's accusation hung heavy in the air, and the room seemed to grow even quieter, the tension palpable.

Yoongi's jaw clenched, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. He had always trusted Namjoon implicitly, had relied on him as his closest confidant and advisor. But now, in the wake of Y/N's pain and suffering, he couldn't help but wonder if that trust had been misplaced.

“All of you.”

“Yoongi, I swear—” Namjoon began, his voice tinged with desperation. But Yoongi held up a hand, cutting him off.

“I don't want to hear it, Namjoon,” he said, his tone final.

“Whatever it is, I’m giving her the space to tell me herself.” Namjoon's gaze faltered under Yoongi's intense stare.

“I would never intentionally do anything to harm Y/N or come between you two. She's like family to me, too.” Yoongi's jaw clenched tighter, but he nodded curtly, acknowledging Namjoon's words.

“Seokjin.” He addressed the oldest man in the room.

“Yes, Yoongi?” Seokjin replied, his voice steady despite the gravity of the situation.

“She’s still taking those pills you gave her,” Seokjin's brow furrowed in concern at Yoongi's words. They were only a temporary solution before Seokjin decided that day to put her on barbiturates. She needs his help and if he cannot help her the way he knows it will be most effective, he’ll at least prescribe whatever will tone down her night terrors so she can sleep at nights.

"I'll talk to her," he said firmly. “But you know what would certainly help her—” Yoongi’s hand flew high to hit the table, making everybody twitch at the loud noise.

“No, Seokjin. No.” The family members exchanged solemn nods. Yoongi took a moment to compose himself, his chest heaving with pent-up frustration.

"She needs more support than we can provide on our own. We have to consider what's best for her.” Yoongi struggled to find the words to express his feelings. "I know, Seokjin," he replied, his voice thick with emotion. "But that is going way too far.”

Namjoon leaned forward, his expression earnest. The youngest at the end of the table cleared his throat. All eyes turned to him, waiting for his input. Jungkook hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of the tension in the room, before speaking up.

“Maybe you just need to stop shielding her in. Let her live a life—” Jungkook's suggestion hung in the air, a fresh perspective on the situation that caused the family members to exchange thoughtful glances.

Yoongi's brow furrowed as he considered Jungkook's words, the idea of allowing Y/N more freedom conflicting with his instinct to protect her.

“But what if she runs for the hills, Kook.” Park Jimin’s voice echoed from across the room, his hands busy pouring the strong liquor to seven crystal glasses. Yoongi's gaze flickered towards Jimin, setting the first glass in front of him.

"I can't bear the thought of her running away from me again," Yoongi admitted, his voice heavy with emotion. Hoseok nodded in agreement, his expression sombre.

Jungkook nodded thoughtfully, understanding Yoongi's apprehension. "I get where you're coming from, hyung,—” Jimin set down the last glass of liquor, his expression sympathetic.

“I’d say, nonetheless, she needs something to occupy her mind other than those thoughts.” Said Jimin sitting down on his chair while nursing his own glass of the booze.

"Maybe if we can find something that brings her joy, something to distract her—” Seokjin nodded in agreement, his expression thoughtful.

“She studied, tasted her own freedom and now all she’s left with is being your wife.” Yoongi's heart clenched at Jimin's words, a pang of guilt washing over him. But still a large part of him was thinking why it is not enough.

“She can work with me once she’s better.” The doctor interjected. Yoongi's gaze shifted towards Seokjin, a flicker of hope igniting within him at the suggestion.

"You think she'd be up for it?" Yoongi asked, his voice tentative yet hopeful.

“Ah hyung you’re so in the dark—” Jungkook remarked. Jungkook sighed, his gaze meeting Yoongi's with empathy.

“She needs to feel like she has a say in her own life, like she's not just living for someone else.” Where this newfound wisdom arose, Yoongi did not know. But he was glad for the support of his family men.

Hoseok placed a reassuring hand on Yoongi's shoulder, his expression filled with empathy.

“She knows so much about herbs, remedies, I think she’ll be happy to help Seokjin.” Yoongi's heart swelled with gratitude for Hoseok's insight. He hadn't fully realised the extent of Y/N's knowledge and interests outside of their marriage and that needed to change.

“Don’t tell her just yet.” The right hand man remarked.

“Yes, I want to give her more time to recover before we come back to the sanctuary.” The other family members murmured their agreement, a sense of solidarity and understanding settling over them. After all, at the end of the day it is a happy wife, happy life.

But months later, Y/N understood that if there’s even a slight possibility that the scarred leader will grow for better, it would be a painfully long process. She realised so once he returned with his knuckles all bruised and bloodied one night. She tended to them, and he was basking under her touch. Despite everything, she couldn’t ignore the humanity in his pain.

Her eyes rolled and a loud sigh followed when she understood what was the cause of his lapse of senses. He had let his frustration and anger take over him, but rather than put it out on everyone else like he was known for, he silently left his office to vent his anger elsewhere. She guided him to sit down after she asked the maid to bring her everything she needed to clean his wounds.

Yoongi watched her, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and excitement under her delicate touch. The feel of her hands, so careful and tender, was both a comfort and a torment. The imagery masking all the darkness that loomed over them, they would fool even the Lord himself that this couple is one of love.

They sat in silence, the only sound the soft rustle of bandages and the distant rumble of thunder outside. Yoongi closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes to him. She avoided him less and less. So why did he have to let his steam off so suddenly?

“You know—” she began, focusing on his other hand now.

“You’re not really setting a good example of “communication is the key ”, now do you?”

Yoongi's eyes flickered open at her words, a hint of guilt flashing across his features before he quickly masked it with a neutral expression. He couldn't deny the truth in her statement, nor could he easily articulate the tangled mess of emotions that swirled within him.

His mind drifted back to the hushed whispers, the concerned looks from Seokjin. Y/N was still fairly weak in terms of her health. Yet, he hoped that maybe, just maybe, she’ll come to tell him he’s going to be a father. Foolish of him, he knows. Selfish of him, he knows that too.

“I’m sorry, Dove.” He only muttered, forcing a kiss to her sphenoid bone, it was the only affection she rarely allowed him to show. Y/N knew that if she wanted to persuade him that she isn’t a flying risk, she’ll have to allow him to do more. She progressed slowly, with patience and space to breathe everything out.

The reason the young leader needed to vent his anger was obvious to Y/N. She heard the maid that so blatantly spied on everything she did, what she asked for, and whom she talks to on the telephone. Y/N was cautious, yet today, she had to ask for some feminine goods. She understood where his hope for a baby came from, he got himself to believe that once the monthly bleeding did not come the first, second nor the third month.

The young gal, however, knew that this has nothing to do with the possibility of her being pregnant. She still drank the remedy, just to be sure, and for her peace of mind as it bore too many demons already. The fourth month her body decided it’s time to function again and of course the devoted maid reported that right back to her husband whose hope for a child vanished.

“I was hoping we could go see Ma and little Bo Cheng before the wedding, I promised to teach him how to ride a ho—” she began her request carefully. Y/N had managed to negotiate Daiyu’s extended vacation in America with her young son and Kai, yet she couldn’t shake the strong feeling that Yoongi had only allowed such a thing to happen because he felt indebted to her at the moment. Her state was far more delicate than he thought and he desperately wanted to make her happy. The one thing she wanted the most, he couldn’t grant. Freedom.

“Would that make you happy?” Yoongi interrupted. He sighed, his eyes drifting to the window where dark clouds gathered on the horizon.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, a small, hesitant smile tugged at Y/N’s lips. It was a fragile thing, easily shattered, but it was real. And in that moment, Yoongi vowed to himself that he would protect that smile, nurture it, and help it grow.

“Yes, it would. Maybe we could also pay a visit to Daiyu—” Y/N sucked her lips in and shyly smiled again. Yoongi nodded slowly. He sighed, leaning back in his chair, his fingers drumming against the armrests. The weight of their precarious situation pressed down on him, the knowledge that every decision could have far-reaching consequences hanging over them like a dark cloud.

“I’m not sure about that, sweetling,” he replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty. Her heart clenched, did he understand her intentions?

“You said you’ll give me the world, Yoongi. Why not this?” Y/N’s smile faltered, a flicker of disappointment crossing her features.

Yoongi’s gaze softened further, a mixture of regret and longing in his eyes. He reached out, taking her hand in his, his touch gentle and reassuring.

“I will consider this trip, but we have to be cautious now. War is looming on the horizon.” He explained, his tone serious.

“What do you mean war? You’ve just won one,” she challenged, her voice laced with disbelief.

“The world is a volatile place, Dove. Our battle was nothing in comparison to what is to come. The world will fight—” Yoongi’s expression darkened, the weight of their past victories suddenly overshadowed by the looming threat of conflict. Y/N’s heart sank at the mention of war, a cold knot forming in the pit of her stomach.

“Until we’re certain there’s no threat, I want us to remain in Korea, my love.” he declared, his final words.

Y/N’s heart sank at his words, but she forced herself to nod, understanding the gravity of their situation. The war threatened to consume them all, and they had to tread carefully if they were to survive. Y/N nodded slowly to his words.

“She wrote to you this morning, didn’t she?” Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that she’s running out of time. If they were caught up in the chaos, she feared she may never leave this place. And with Yoongi’s resolve to remain in Korea, their window of opportunity grew smaller with each passing moment. It was worth the shot, he wouldn’t let her slip that easily if there’s an actual threat that the world’s will battle.

“She met someone,” Y/N added softly, her voice tinged with uncertainty of how Yoongi will react. He, however, already knew. There was nothing that would go past him or so he thought.

"She met someone?" he repeated, his voice tinged with false scepticism. Y/N's heart ached at the doubt in Yoongi's voice, but she held firm in her conviction.

“She’s a widow with a child, who—”

“Happy widow with a child—” she inserted herself into his remark. "She deserves it, Yoongi. After everything she's been through, she deserves a chance at love and happiness.”

“Daiyu is no longer tied to the syndicate. You promised not to meddle with her affairs unless she needs help.” She reminded him less gently, her voice tinged with a hint of caution.

“I intend to keep that promise.” Lie. He already knew the man who so openly started to court her. A sense of relief washed over Y/N as she watched Yoongi's resistance soften, even if it was pretended.

“The rain won’t stop pouring—” Y/N’s voice trailed off, a sombre note creeping into her tone as she glanced out the window at the stormy sky.

“How do you feel today?” Yoongi observed Y/N for a moment, his expression softening as he took in her weary demeanour.

“Better than yesterday.” She replied, her voice carrying a hint of resilience. Yoongi nodded, a sense of relief washing over him at her response. Despite the challenges they faced, he was grateful for every moment of peace they could find amidst the storm.

He noticed the subtle signs of improvement in her appearance. Her cheeks, once sunken and lifeless, now held a hint of colour, and the dark circles under her eyes seemed less pronounced. Her eyes sparkled differently, not with tears as of late. Whatever Seokjin is doing to help her, it is working.

“Have you slept well?” he inquired gently, his voice filled with genuine concern. From Monday to Friday, storms reigned over the hidden valley. Yoongi reached out, gently brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face, his touch tender and reassuring. Her dark hair grew enough to reach past her shoulders since the unfortunate event back in October.

“It wasn't the best, but it was better than before.” Yoongi nodded in understanding, his gaze lingering on her with a mixture of admiration and concern. He knew that even the smallest victories, like a few hours of sleep, were worth celebrating in their tumultuous world. After all the night terrors she endured for months.

“How’s working with Seokjin?” He knew how demanding their roles could be, especially in the midst of ongoing turmoil. Yoongi expected her to sigh just as softly as she always does, her expression to reflect the weight of responsibility, but none of that happened. Y/N smiled at him brightly instead.

Y/N's smile was like a ray of sunlight breaking through the clouds, momentarily dispelling the shadows that lingered around them.

“Work has been great. I've been able to help so many people—” she replied, her voice infused with a sense of optimism that Yoongi hadn't heard in a while. As she spoke, Y/N’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm, a stark contrast to the weariness that had plagued her in recent months.

“Did you know that punk, Jungkook, pretends to be sick every other day just to swing by?” Y/N’s voice was filled with amusement as she recounted the antics of the youngest of the seven. Though older than her, she did not feel any age difference between them two.

Yoongi couldn’t help but chuckle at the mention of Jungkook's antics.

"That sounds like him," he remarked, a fond smile playing at his lips. She continued, her words flowing freely as she recounted her experiences while working with Seokjin at the clinic.

“Seokjin has been a wonderful mentor,” she continued, her eyes shining with gratitude. “He’s taught me so much more than we actually studied at school—” Yoongi nodded in agreement, a sense of pride swelling within him as he listened to Y/N's tales of their work at the clinic.

“I remember this one young man who had sustained severe burns on his arms. The sight of his injuries was heart-breaking, but I could see the determination in his eyes to overcome the pain.” Y/N’s voice softened with emotion as she recalled the moment.

"We worked tirelessly to stabilise him, and when he finally regained consciousness, the look of gratitude in his eyes made all the long hours and hard work worth it. It was a reminder of why I wanted to be a nurse in the first place—to make a difference in people’s lives, no matter how small.”

Yoongi listened intently, his heart swelling with a mixture of emotions. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret for not allowing her to pursue her passion for nursing earlier.

He may not be able to undo the past, but he could certainly make sure that she had all the support she needed to thrive in the future. The youngest was right. She needed this, she needed to regain her purpose in her life. To be someone for herself.

He realised how much he had underestimated her need for work, how vital it was for her to have a sense of purpose and fulfilment. There was still hope and goodness.

Yoongi listened to all the stories she had to say as for the first time since forever, there were no tears, no screams, no tension in the air. Just the calm, steady rhythm of their shared breaths.

“You know,” Yoongi began, his voice soft, "I'm proud of you. Proud of everything you've accomplished and the progress you’re making. I should have let you do this sooner.”

“Can’t change the past now can we?” He nodded to her remark solemnly, squeezing her hand.

“Tell me more,—” he urged, eager to hear more about her work, her passion. He wanted to be part of her world just like she is part of his, to support her in every way possible.

Y/N smiled, her face glowing with happiness. “Well, there’s this little girl named Jang-mi. She’s been coming in for treatment regularly, and despite everything, she's always so cheerful—”

Y/N pulled her coat tighter around her, feeling the icy water seep through the fabric. Her breath came in shallow gasps, mixing with the cold air to form small clouds that dissipated as quickly as they appeared. She huddled beneath the overhang of a small alley, her body shivering uncontrollably. The once comforting weight of her coat now felt like a burden, soaked and heavy.

Her mind raced, a chaotic swirl of fear and desperation. The past few days had been a whirlwind of terror and confusion. She had trusted the wrong people, made alliances that crumbled under the weight of deceit. Every step she took seemed to lead her deeper into a labyrinth of danger and uncertainty. She couldn’t afford another mistake; the stakes were too high. The sound of her own heartbeat was loud in her ears, a constant reminder of the life-or-death game she was playing.

A sudden flash of lightning split the sky, casting stark shadows and illuminating the alley in a harsh, white light. For a brief moment, everything was clear and sharp, every detail etched into her memory. That’s when she saw him.

At the mouth of the alley is where he stood , his figure backlit by the brilliant light. He was drenched, his hair plastered to his forehead, but he seemed unfazed by the torrential rain. His presence was as menacing as ever, a dark silhouette against the night. His eyes, however, were what held her captive. They were dark, deep pools of unreadable emotion, reflecting the storm’s fury.

Yoongi didn’t move, didn’t speak. He simply watched her, his gaze intense and unwavering. It was a look she had seen before, one that sent chills down her spine. It was the look of a predator sizing up its prey. She knew then, with a sickening certainty, that no matter how far she ran, he would always be one step ahead.

Panic surged through her, threatening to overwhelm her senses. She pressed herself against the wall, the rough brick scraping her skin through the thin material of her coat. She needed to think, to find a way out, but her mind was a blur of fear and fatigue. The rain continued to pour, the cold seeping into her bones, making her limbs feel heavy and uncooperative.

Yoongi took a step forward, the movement slow and deliberate. His boots splashed in the puddles, the sound muffled by the storm. Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, a wild, frantic rhythm. She felt like a trapped animal, cornered with no way out. The alley was a dead end, and Yoongi was blocking her only escape route.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low and smooth, cutting through the noise of the storm. “You can’t keep running.”

His words were a cold, hard truth that she didn’t want to accept. But she had no choice. Every attempt to escape had led her right back to him, like a cruel game of cat and mouse. She swallowed hard, her throat dry despite the rain. She had to keep fighting, had to find a way to break free from his grip.

“I won’t let you control me,” she said, her voice shaking but determined. “I’ll find a way out.”

Yoongi’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—amusement, perhaps, or admiration for her defiance. “You’re stronger than I thought,” he said, taking another step closer. “But strength alone won’t save you.”

He was close now, close enough that she could see the droplets of rain clinging to his eyelashes, the way his clothes clung to his body. His presence was overwhelming, a dark force that seemed to consume all the light around him. She knew she had to act, had to do something before it was too late.

Summoning every ounce of courage, Y/N pushed off the wall and lunged towards him, hoping to catch him off guard. But Yoongi was ready. His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist with a grip like iron. She struggled, twisting and pulling, but he was too strong.

“Let me fucking go!” she cried, her voice breaking with desperation.

Yoongi pulled her closer, his other hand coming up to cup her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You’re mine, Y/N,” he said softly, his breath warm against her skin. “And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Even if it means protecting you from yourself.”

Tears mingled with the rain on her cheeks as she realised the futility of her struggle. Yoongi’s words were a chilling promise, one that she knew he would keep. She was trapped, caught in a web of his making, with no way out.

The storm raged on around them, but in that moment, all Y/N could feel was the cold, unyielding grip of the man she used to fear, and the inescapable reality of her situation.

Y/N woke with a start, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the remnants of the nightmare clung to her mind. Her body was drenched in cold sweat, and her heart pounded wildly in her chest. For a moment, she couldn’t discern reality from the dream, the vivid images of the rain-soaked alley and Yoongi’s menacing presence still haunting her.

It was a memory that was hidden in the back of her mind to resurface when she’s the most vulnerable. It had happened a few times already, her mind showing her each time she attempted to escape the scarred leader.

She took a deep breath and listened to the mix of crackling fireplace and raindrops outside. His eyes were on her petite physique, his hands holding a book he was reading while she took a well deserved afternoon nap. He put down his reading glasses and ran a hand through his hair, closing the book and turning her attention to her.

“Which one was it this time?”

She turned to see him sitting beside her, his eyes filled with worry. The contrast between the Yoongi in her nightmare and the one before her now was stark. Gone was the cold, calculating predator; in his place was a man who genuinely cared for her well-being. He did change a little. Or maybe he was like that before but his selfishness didn’t allow him to show her his bright side.

Her legs moved to his lap when she was asleep, and he gently rubbed circles into her ankles, his touch soothing for once.

“Will you keep me safe?”

Yoongi's expression softened further, his gaze unwavering as he looked into her eyes. He knows that there were moments that haunt her till now. Moments he let happen with his cockiness.

“Always,” he replied, his voice steady and filled with conviction. “I’ll keep you safe, no matter what.”

“I just... I don’t want to be afraid anymore,” she admitted, her voice breaking slightly.

“Just rest, Dove,” Yoongi murmured, his voice a soothing balm to her frayed nerves. “I’ll be right here.”

After a few silent minutes, Y/N broke the calm silence.

“Can we play the piano?”

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. Together, they moved to the old piano in the corner of the room. As they sat side by side, their fingers tentatively began to touch the keys. Each note was a delicate thread, weaving together a tapestry of their unspoken emotions. The music became their secret language, a way to say everything they couldn’t put into words.

Every time she did not feel like speaking herself, they played. Until she felt better. Yoongi played with a gentle intensity, his fingers dancing over the keys with practised ease.

He was a better player, so she thought. Afterall, he had had more life to practice.

The medication made her more open to him. Sooner or later she’ll have to get off of it before it will become her only source of happiness. There were days it made her sleep well, drink, eat, breathe and live like the person she used to be. And there were days she sat in front of her vanity mirror knowing this effect is only temporary.

She cannot afford to get off of them while she’s remaining by his side. Her being would not take it and the prospect of freedom would be scarce. It blunted negative emotions which worked in the scarred boy’s favour.

It was working, but it was a question of time when she’ll develop tolerance and they won’t work anymore. That’s why Seokjin is desperately trying to convince Yoongi that he’ll have a way to help her. Permanently.

Yoongi knows that it would be just another mistake he would have to write under his name.

“I’ll always keep you safe,” he whispered again, his words a promise and a plea. And in the quiet aftermath of their duet, she almost believed him.

In that fleeting moment, she wasn’t running, and Yoongi wasn’t chasing. They were simply two souls, lost in the music, trying to find their way back to each other. One more than the other.

His hand moved to cover hers on the keys, their eyes meeting in the stillness that followed. The world outside ceased to exist, the rain and the fire a distant backdrop to the intensity of their shared gaze.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Yoongi leaned in, his breath mingling with hers. Her heart raced, not with fear, but with a different kind of anticipation.

Their faces were inches apart, the unspoken words hanging in the air between them. His eyes flickered to her lips, then back to her eyes, seeking permission, seeking assurance. Y/N’s breath hitched, her mind a whirlwind of emotions.

“Unnie?!” Xiaoli's voice rang out, bright and oblivious. “We need to talk about—”

“Can you keep me safe from my own sister?” She scoffed playfully. His chuckle bounced on her lips as his lips still hovered just a breath away from hers, the paper door swung open with a sudden, sharp creak.

Taehyung stepped in behind her, his eyes widening as he took in the scene. "Oh. We’re... interrupting, aren’t we?”

Yoongi pulled back slightly, his expression darkening as he turned to face them. Y/N felt the moment slipping away, the fragile connection disrupted.

“What is it?” Yoongi asked, his voice strained with barely concealed irritation.

“You invited us to have dinner, Hyung.” Taehyung reminded him, his tone a mix of apology and amusement.

Xiaoli’s eyes darted between Yoongi and Y/N, realisation dawning on her face. “Oh... we’re really sorry. I didn’t mean to barge in, Kkangpae Min.”

She apologised, still not her but always to him and him only. Y/N forced herself to smile. The woman that her sister became is not the same one she grew up with.

“There was nothing to interrupt, don’t worry,” she waved it off and Yoongi sighed, the tension in his shoulders evident.

The fleeting moment of intimacy with Y/N hung heavily in his mind. Before, during and after the dinner. He was extravagantly close to feel her lips on his again, just for the moment to be swept away.

Dinner was a mix of awkward silences and forced conversation. Xiaoli and Taehyung tried to lighten the mood, but the air was thick with unspoken words.

Yoongi, for his part, seemed distant, his mind clearly elsewhere. Every so often, his gaze would meet hers across the table.

“Will you come next week?” Xiaoli asked, sipping her wine.

Y/N, momentarily distracted from her thoughts, looked up.

“Next week?”

Y/N glanced at Yoongi, who was already looking at her. She hesitated, unsure of committing to anything he did not allow earlier.

“Yes, Y/N promised Bo Cheng to teach him how to ride a horse, and I have some business to attend to.” Yoongi cleared his throat, breaking the silence.

“I could teach him,” Said Xiaoli, a bit jealous that their brother wanted Y/N to teach him when she was right there in the hotel.

Once Xiaoli and Taehyung will be with each other for eternity, the family of three then, will take their leave back to China.

The Triad leader attended his own business trips while his wife and children stayed with the “allying” clan.

He doesn’t know. None of them knows what Y/N did to herself, apart from Xiaoli, who herself doesn’t know every detail. They spreaded white lies to cover this “lapse of senses”. A misstep. Y/N hides the fading scar carefully to avoid any explanation. She wished to not tell them, and the kkangpae did not object to her wishes anymore. Whatever she wants, she gets. Usually, most of the time if she’s reasonable and clever about it.

The past months painstakingly helped them to get better. Or so Yoongi thought. Her priority was never to be his good wife, her priority is him thinking she will be his good obedient loving wife and when he won’t expect her to seek freedom anymore — she’ll disappear.

“I don't know about that, honey. You remember that nasty fall you took last year?” Her husband-to-be said nonchalantly. Y/N furrowed her brows in confusion.

“Fall?—“ she asked, doubting his words.

“What are you talking about?” Xiaoli herself was surprised at his words. She did not recall any falls. Y/N knew Xiaoli isn’t the best rider, but she was decent enough to hold any situation that would make her fall from the horse under control.

“I don’t remember that,—” she said, taking another long sip from her glass.

“You’d certainly remember falling from a horse. Why don’t I know about this, Yoongi?” Said Y/N turning herself to the quiet man.

“I was having a hard time keeping you here as you loved to go for a run back then. It must have slipped my mind—“

“My sister falling from a horse slipped your mind?”

“He did not know Y/N, until a lot later. Right, Hyung?” Taehyung smiled sweetly at her, defending his Kkangpae. As always. Y/N clicked her tongue and gifted Yoongi with a penetrating stare creating another layer of tension in the room.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He cleared his throat, attempting to gather his thoughts. The last thing he wants is to mess up their relationship again.

“You’re right, love. I should have told you once I got to know that,” Yoongi admitting guilt is a new trait he acquired these past months.

“How did she fall?” Y/N aimed her question at Taehyung as her sister clearly doesn't remember it.

“It wasn’t probably that bad if I don’t remember it, Unnie. Don’t worry about it anymore—“ the younger female answered before her fiance had the chance to do so.

Y/N sighed loudly but the hand under the table that was gripping her younger sister’s thigh was not seen by her eyes.

It was hard to keep focus, especially with Seokjin constantly needing her assistance at work. His stern demeanour and meticulous nature kept her on her toes, but she appreciated the distraction. She knew why she was at his beck and call. Yoongi demanded so. Under any circumstances she ought to be next to Seokjin.

The ambulance in the sanctuary was significantly smaller than the big sanitorium in the town, but there was still some work to do here too.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, leaning back in his chair and studying her intently.

“The usual,” she murmured, filling today’s report. Seokjin watched her for a moment, then brought the courage to ask.

“Have you been intimate?” Y/N dropped the pen at once and with wide eyes. She stared at him. The question came out of nowhere nor was it called for.

“Wh-what do you mean intimate?”

“Exactly what I said,” he replied calmly, not breaking eye contact.

“Have you been intimate with Yoongi again?”

“I don’t see how this is your business, Seokjin.” She felt her face flush with heat, a mix of embarrassment and anger.

“I’m not trying to pry. I’m your friend, but I’m also your doctor, sweetling—,” he said softly.

“Your health and well-being are my concern,” Seokjin explained. “And you know that if something’s affecting you emotionally or physically, it could impact your health.”

Bullcrap, he is in fact prying.

She was silent for a minute, trying to comprehend how he is taking care of her being this late. If she wouldn’t attempt to kill herself, these concerns wouldn’t be as great. But Y/N cannot afford to break havoc. She can’t go on rampage as she wants every single person here to think that she is moving towards being a good obedient wife of the Kkangpae. Even though she wants to scream to each and one of their faces about how much they failed her. How much they hurt her. Yet, patience is the key. Breathe, sleep, eat, endure.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, then decided to change the topic.

“What about your wife?” Seokjin’s eyes flickered with surprise before he masked it with a neutral expression. Y/N barely knew the woman. Matter of fact she has seen her maybe three times since the wedding.

“Very much pregnant,” he said, his voice a mix of pride and weariness.

“Oh,” Y/N replied, taken aback. “I didn’t know. Congratulations, I guess.” Here comes another thing that Yoongi managed to keep from her.

“Thank you, my dear,” Seokjin said, a small smile touching his lips. “It’s been… an interesting journey, to say the least.”

“I can imagine,—” Y/N said, sensing there was more beneath the surface.

“Can you imagine yourself on that journey?” Seokjin interrupted, his gaze searching her face.

She pretended that the question took her by surprise, looking down at her hands to not give herself away.

“I don’t know,” she admitted softly. He is testing her. “It’s hard to think about that kind of future with everything that’s going on.”

Seokjin nodded, his expression thoughtful. “It’s understandable. But it’s something to consider. Maybe a baby would help you to shush your demons away.”

Y/N’s heart raced at the suggestion, and she forced herself to maintain her composure. “I… I don’t think a baby is the answer, Seokjin. There’s so much I need to sort out first.”

“Sometimes, having something to focus on, something to live for, can make all the difference,” Seokjin said gently.

She nodded, still feeling uneasy about the direction of the conversation. Opting not to give more than she would want to by not answering his remark and going back to finish the report.

“Just know that you have options. And that you don’t have to go through any of this alone.”

“Thanks,” she replied, offering a small smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Of course she won’t.

Y/N entered the dimly lit room where Yoongi was sitting, his face illuminated by the soft glow of a lamp. He looked up as she closed the door behind her, his expression softened once he looked up from the papers. The office in the sanctuary remained the same apart from the fact that now the young Kkangpae occupies it far more often than before.

He took his glasses off and pushed himself away from the desk creating a space for her to come and stand in front of him, leaning against the massive wooden desk. Her hands felt the warmth of the wood that had been heated by the lamp, reflecting the same heat that radiated between them.

“Did you ask Seokjin to put thoughts into my head?” she asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her.

Yoongi sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t ask him to, but I knew he would at some point try to give you some wisdom. What did he say?”

“That a baby would be the right treatment for me,” she replied, her voice tight with frustration.

Yoongi’s eyes widened slightly, then he closed them and exhaled deeply.

“I’m sorry, Dove—“

“Do you think that too?” she asked, searching his face. “That a baby would magically fix everything?”

Yoongi shook his head, stepping up from his chair and closer to her. “No, I don’t. A baby isn’t a solution to our problems—“ she didn’t believe one word that was coming out of this mouth. He wouldn’t break his knuckles this hard if he didn’t want the baby that Y/N took care of not happening anytime soon. Her system was full of herbal remedies. And now that she knows, the herbs flowing in her system are working, she can use that to her advantage.

“But that would make you happy right?” She countered, seeing through him. Softening her mimics to appeal to him.

“Well, yeah, I want a family with you someday—“

“Someday? The bandages on your knuckles says that you’re pretty eager to have it now—” she scoffed and murmured under her nose.

Yoongi’s eyes for once reflected something she couldn’t quite recognise. There was a mix of desperation and longing that flickered there. His hand reached out, trembling slightly, and cupped her cheek gently.

“Dove, I want us to be happy, truly happy. But I know bringing a child into this world won’t erase your pain or solve our problems. We need to fix ourselves first—” His thumb brushed her cheek tenderly.

“I’m sorry for being selfish, my love,” she felt a tear escape her eye, rolling down to where his thumb could catch it. She closed her eyes for a moment, leaning into his touch because that’s what always softens his edges.

After months, she has learnt what strings to pull to make him move just the way she wants to. Yet, Y/N knows that he isn’t that stupid to believe she suddenly wants to live with him happily ever after.

“I can pour us some wine. We can play the piano after dinner, hm?” He could feel her vulnerability, her heart laid bare before him. Or so he thought as she wanted him to think that. His hand continued to caress her cheek softly, his touch gentle yet laden with unspoken longing she sensed each time he attempted to get closer to her.

She nodded, a small pretentious smile playing on her lips as she stepped closer to him. The tension between them lingered.

He pulled her closer, his lips brushing against her forehead. “We will be good. We just need time with each other.”

He sat first, patting the space beside him, inviting her to join. Her fingers brushed the keys, eliciting a soft, mournful note. A melody that echoed in her mind far too often. An anthem for hurting. Weeping symphony, tears of sorrow.

He became far too respectful towards her boundaries which essentially was ruining all of her plans. Her fingers pressed the keys with delicate touch even when she wanted to smash them rock hard.

“Why this song?” She let the question hang in the air for a moment, her fingers poised above the keys as if weighing his words.

“Do you know what they interpret it as?” She finally said, her voice soft, barely audible above the lingering notes. Her eyes, once masked with a facade of calm, now revealed a flicker of the anguish she carried.

“Tell me,” he flipped the page of the notes book for her to continue the song.

“It’s a tale of unspoken grief, of wounds too deep to heal and shadows that never leave.”

He felt a shiver run down his spine as she said that. Part of him understood what message she was trying to leave and part of him wished he’s wrong.

“I view it as love lost and dreams shattered. They say it’s a lament for those who wander through life carrying burdens no one else can see.”

He carefully listened to all her words, all the notes she played, all her feelings she shared. Her fingers moved over the keys, each note a whisper of sorrow.

“The scars I carry inside,—“ His hand reached out to touch hers, a gesture of comfort. Stopping her from playing more.

“Let me help you carry that weight—“

“You created it in the first place.”

His eyes widened, a mixture of guilt and realisation flooding his expression. She pulled her hand away.

“The scars I carry, the emptiness I feel, they all trace back to you.”

His mind raced to comprehend the depth of her pain, trying to understand her intentions. It’s not like he ever expected her to say it out loud.

“You created emptiness in me Yoongi—“

He felt his heart clench with guilt and regret. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice cracking. It was nothing new. She heard his apologies but she was yet to accept them

She turned back to the piano, her fingers resting on the keys but not playing. “Intentions don’t change the past,” she said softly. “The pain remains—“

“But the future can learn from mistakes.”

“I will. I’ll learn—“ He began before she interrupted him.

“You need to fill the space now.” His eyes lit up listening to her words. In his mind, this was it. The holy grail. In her mind, she was wrapping him around her finger before she would bounce away like a pebble on the pond.

“Heal me if you must.”

These were her last words before the distance between them shrank, the intensity of their emotions drawing them closer. He leaned in, his heart pounding in his chest that she could almost hear it but Y/N didn’t pull away.

Their lips met in a soft, tentative kiss, a delicate brush that spoke of apology, of yearning, and of promises yet to be fulfilled. Her heart cried and the song remained echoing in her mind.

As they pulled back slightly, their foreheads resting against each other, Yoongi felt a warmth spread through him, chasing away the cold shadows of regret. She looked at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. His thoughts were swirling with one thing only — this was the real beginning of them. And it was the beginning.

The beginning of the end.

I N T E R L O G U E

The walls were lined with bookshelves, each shelf overflowing with dusty tomes and old papers. A large, ornate desk stood in the centre, its surface cluttered with stacks of documents.

Seokjin rarely sends her to this room as they also rarely stay in the hanok the sanctuary has for medical assistance to those who live here.

She approached slowly, her fingers brushing over the worn leather of a chair before settling on a stack of yellowed files that he asked to bring. It was then when her eyes caught the opened crimson red files that laid flat open on the desk. The ones that the doctor forgot to take with him the other time he had to run and tend to the lady of the house in the middle of the night. They stayed there, laid open, for several weeks. Touched by a thin layer of dust on top of it.

Kim Seokjin is renowned in his field of practice. Yet, this was going to be his great mistake. Inside, there were detailed medical records, notes written in a precise, almost mechanical hand. The words on the pages made her stomach churn—phrases like “prefrontal lobotomy,” “behavioural correction,” and “psychosurgical intervention” leapt out at her. She read on, horrified by the cold, clinical descriptions of procedures that seemed more like torture than treatment.

Her hand flew to her mouth to not let the wailing cry away.

Trembling, she pushed the file aside and reached for the next one. Not bearing what they’ve done to her sister. Y/N’s hands shook as she read through the files, each word a dagger to her heart. The clinical detachment with which the procedures were described made her feel sick. These were not just medical records—they were accounts of inhuman experiments carried out in the name of science, or more so — control.

The name on this file was all too familiar, it was Jin’s wife. He must have done it before the wedding as she seemed far too calm. Her heart pounded in her chest as she opened it, fearing what she might find. The contents were similar—detailed accounts of medical procedures, records of a lobotomy performed in a desperate attempt to ���cure” her of what the notes described as “hysteria” and “unmanageable behaviour.”

Y/N felt a wave of nausea wash over her. She stumbled back from the desk, her mind reeling from the revelations. The room seemed to close in around her, the shadows deepening as the weight of what she had discovered settled on her shoulders.

The name on the empty file under those made her anxious, hysteric even more as the tag had Min Y/N written on it.

She wiped her tears but they couldn't stop falling.

“Y/N?”

.

.

.

©pennyellee. please do not repost

Love you all!! ♥

Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥

keep in mind - I'm not an expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction. Nor in this case, I'm a medical professional.

let's be friends chummers 🫧♡ ︎

lots of love, p.

tag list: @beautifulcloudfestival - @honsoolgloss - @jingerbreadoutofstock - @moscow778 - @januara26 - @dinosolecito - @yoongislatinagff - @xyahrinx - @hi12345567 - @nochuel - @deltamoon666 - @bbkissme99 - @darkuni63 - @nansasa - @sazsazsaz - @missmin - @strxwbloody - @royallyjjk - @jaiuneamesolitaiire - @shadowyjellyfishfest - @bbgniecyy - @elayne321 - @seojunandsoju - @bun-27 - @whipwhoops - @wobblewobble822 - @whofan88 - @haneyyyyyy - @lostgirlinthewoodss - @secfir - @btspurplesky - @elleflying07 - @pamzn - @megseungmin - @selenophileforlife - @idkjustlovingbts - @seonghwaexile - @catlove83

[dewdropdinosaur]

Our Mom

LUCIFER x (F) READER Part One Summary: You like Lucifer and he likes you. One problem though: what will your 'kids' think? Based off an comment from @river-ride Warnings: NONE OMG!!! My lovelies, thank you so much for the support on my last Lucifer fic. Y'all are amazing! Remember, requests are open for lots of fandoms etc. Thank you so much for all of y'alls love and I appreacite you. For now, enjoy more Lucifer my dears!!

In the bustling corridors of the Hazbin Hotel, where the damned sought refuge from the fiery depths of Hell, Y/N was a beacon of warmth and solace. She was more than just a resident; she was a pillar of support, a confidante, and a pseudo-mother figure to many within those crimson walls.

Among those she touched was Lucifer, the charming and enigmatic ruler of Hell, who found himself inexplicably drawn to her gentle kindness and unwavering compassion. Yet, despite the undeniable spark between them, neither dared to voice the truth lingering in their hearts. Despite being quite close after the battle with Heaven and the rebuilding of the Hotel, neither party could seem to bring themselves to speak their feelings. 

On one hand, Y/N feared two things: that Lucifer could never like a lowly sinner like her and that since she was a pseudo-mother to all of the hotel’s residents…dating the King of Hell may cause a few setbacks in relationships that she desperately did not want. Y/N loved each and every resident in the Hotel, an older demon herself who never had the chance to have her own, everyone under the crimson fading roof became like a child to her. She adored Angel’s compassion even in the midst of despair, she loved playing cards with Husk(who definitely didn’t let her win to see that small smile of hers), time spent chatting and planning with Charlie was always a blast, and yes…even time with Alastor listening to old jazz tunes had found its place in the grand scheme of things. So, her feelings for Lucifer would have to be put on hold indefinitely for this arrangement not to break.

On the other hand, Lucifer the King of Hell himself was a wreck. Every time he saw Y/N, her smile, the way she carried herself with compassion but still headstrong it made his knees buckle and he could have sworn he was back in Heaven. She was like an angel, ironically so. He fully knew of her past, her sins. Yet, she was so willing to help and assist others at a shot of redemption she knew she could never have struck a chord within the lonely ruler of the Underworld. 

However, one fateful evening, as the residents gathered in the grand hall for their routine meeting, tensions simmered beneath the surface. Charlie, along with Husk, Angel Dust, and Alastor, had grown wary of Lucifer's aloof demeanor towards Y/N. They knew of the unspoken affection that brewed between the two, and they were determined to push the devil to confront his feelings(or perishing for daring to even look at Y/N was another option considered by some…ahem…Alastor and the beloved Sassy Narrator) 

As the meeting progressed, Charlie cleared her throat, catching everyone's attention. "It has come to our attention," she began, exchanging knowing glances with the others, "that certain... feelings may be harbored within our midst."

Husk smirked, Angel winked mischievously, and Alastor's grip tightened, his eyes glinting with murderous amusement.

Lucifer's eyes narrowed in suspicion as he let out a breathy chuckle, sensing a trap. "And what feelings might those be, my dear? I surely hope no animosity has been brewing."

Charlie gestured subtly to Y/N, who stood by the sidelines, her gaze fixed on her ‘children’ around her. 

"Feelings of a... romantic nature, perhaps?" Charlie smiled but her eyes were nervous. She knew her father well enough that it was indeed time to move on from Lillith and Y/N was no better candidate, doing a better job than Lillith herself ever did. But what if she was wrong and her father really had no interest in her ‘new’ mother. Or the other way around?

A collective murmur swept through the room as the residents exchanged curious glances. Y/N's cheeks flushed crimson, and Lucifer felt a strange warmth spread through his chest at the mention of romance.

Clearing his throat, Alastor leaned forward, his grin widening into a smirk. "Now, now, Lucifer, don't be shy. We all know how dear Y/N is to you. Why, if anything were to happen to her, well..."

The implication hung heavy in the air, and Lucifer's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Are you threatening me, Alastor?"

Alastor chuckled nonchalantly, though the glint in his eyes betrayed his amusement as he waved his hands in a circular motion around his cane which made ominous shadows appear around Lucifer’s chair. 

"Merely stating the obvious. After all, we wouldn't want anything untoward to happen to our dear Y/N now, would we?"

The tension in the room was palpable as Lucifer's jaw clenched, his gaze flickering between Y/N and the others. Husk flicked his claws open, Angel smirked with a glinting knife in hand, and even Vaggie tilted her head to gesture to her angelic spear. All of them were in agreement… ‘hurt our mom and you will wish you got to die a second time.’ 

 Sensing his inner turmoil, Y/N stepped forward, her voice gentle but firm.

"Lucifer, you don't have to listen to them. Whatever you feel, whatever we feel, it's... it's our choice." 

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still as Lucifer met her gaze, his expression softening with an unspoken understanding.

Finally, with a resigned sigh, he stepped forward, his hand reaching out to cup Y/N's cheek tenderly. "Perhaps... perhaps there is truth in what they say," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But know this, my dear Y/N: I would move mountains to keep you safe, to cherish you, for as long as you'll have me."

A soft smile tugged at Y/N's lips as she leaned into his touch, her heart swelling with a newfound sense of courage and hope. "Then let's face whatever comes together," she whispered, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

And as the residents of the Hazbin Hotel looked on, witnessing the delicate dance of love and redemption unfolding before them, they knew that no matter the trials that lay ahead, Y/N and Lucifer would weather the storm together, bound by a love that transcended even the depths of Hell itself. 

And even if something did ever happen…well they would kill the King himself without a second thought and Lucifer knew it. 

[iridescentflamingo]

TMNT Head cannons

Bayverse Turtles. Just ideas that kind of poured out tonight. (Aged up turtles, you can pick but I want them 30-ish. ~NSFW)

🧡🐢🎇🧡

The easiest turtle to win over is Mikey. He practically throws himself at you. When you give him positive attention back, he just ramps up his flirting. He has pet names for you for days. Eventually, he'll settle on one or two good ones and use them instead of your name almost always. You are going to have to confirm that you have feelings for him before he takes it to the next level. Due to the fact that he is so very straight forward and right out the gates with his cat calling, you have to confirm that you are not just being nice and playing along. He's a flirt, not a creep. (Maturity has found him, it just took him a few more years than his brothers)

Once you do, your fate is sealed. Mikey is definitely a very handsy, flirty, hiding no feelings and having practically no shame kinda dude. He doesn't care if anyone sees, hears, smells etc. his flirting and most of his physical romancing. Telling you how hard you make him a bit louder than he should, toughie tough. Making out on the couch in front of everyone, he doesn't care. Getting caught with his hand down your pants in the kitchen, oh well.

What he does keep secret and quiet is when he vents. Always expected to be the fun and sunshine brother, you become his confidant when he's got heavy feels things to unload. To make sure that it doesn't bog you down, he tries his hardest to end with something more positive and turn it back into good-vibes.

The other thing he'll keep more on the down-low is when the two of you are trying new fetishes or engaging in kinky play for the first time. He doesn't want to be interrupted or for you to get embarrassed and then never want to try again, so that stuff stays in his room, when he knows it's private and he won't be bothered. After y'all get comfortable with it, maybe then he's less cautious.

💙🐢🌊💙

Leo is tough to know. He's dead set on his duties to the point that it's most of his personality, until you get to know him better, and that only happens if he lets you. It'll be slow. He will start by sharing random tidbits of himself that don't have to do with ninjutsu, weapons, or his leadership responsibilities. In the beginning they're bland, basic facts; which pizza toppings he prefers, his favorite type of TV show, his preferred genre of book. They're things you could gleam from just being around him for more than a few days. He's stupid cautious.

His next step would be to ask if you want to do some training with him. He sticks to simple things, testing your abilities and skills. It's really more to learn about you, but it's a start. He takes it easy on you, mostly dodging until you get frustrated, and then maybe he humbles you with a sneaky move like knocking you off your feet. He doesn't ask you if you want to practice again, he waits for you to ask.

Over time, the training becomes more physical and he shares actual details about himself, but you have to be giving info in return. Knowing what his favorite movie is probably would never be information that The Foot uses against him, but you never know. You have got to meet him, tit for tat, and offer your own truths. If he catches you lying, you're not just back to zero, you're in the negative.

Eventually, if you've managed to gain his trust and build a strong connection with him, Leo will open up properly. He will joke, play, swat, and treat you like one of his brothers, with a more gentle approach because you're not a 200lb+ muscled turtle.

If romance blooms, expect another slow trudge full of trust building and honesty before you get any proper boyfriend-esque attention. Once past the awkward "we shouldn't, it's too dangerous, how would this work?, I'm not human, will you really be happy here?" Swamp of despair, it should be smooth sailing. Be honest and he's all yours.

All that time spent building that relationship will return ten-fold from Leo with whatever type of affection you ask for. He wants to please, he wants you happy, and he will make it so if possible.

❤️🐢🥊❤️

Raph is going to keep his feelings secret for as long as he can. He hides his insecurities by trying to be the biggest, heaviest hitter, and a tank for his brothers. And those are just his viewed shortcomings compared to his three brothers. When looking at you, he compares himself against all men. He has little hope. In the mirror he sees a big, green face with sharp features and a scowling, RBF. He may act like hot shit in front of his brothers, but it's a front. Besides his appearance and size, his temper can flare, and he's come a long way since he was a teen, but it can still explode from him, which is terrifying to see, especially up close. He's very aware and is afraid that if you see him in that state, it will only reinforce the fact that he's a monster.

You will see glimpses of how sweet he can be from time to time, but they won't come often. When you're around, his guard is up doing double time; keeping up appearances and keeping his feelings in check. Over time his facade will falter occasionally. He'll be laughing at your jokes, ribbing you when you get frustrated over video games, checking to see if you've eaten, and maybe even leaning against you as he nods off on the couch. When you smile at his playfulness and kindness, he'll smile back until he catches himself and suddenly remembers that he has something to do. It will probably be going to their home gym.

If you can manage to get him to accept that you honestly and truly think he is not a monster, and that you want to be around him, and miss him when you're not with him, you're going to get someone who can be a huge teddy bear cuddler, but also someone who likes to get physical and more rough in the bedroom. This is going to take a lot of repeating yourself and him asking, not always subtly, if you really mean it. If you're sure you wouldn't be happier with some other guy. If your eyes work. If he's really not too big. If if if... You will learn that kisses can usually stop him from spiraling.

Sometimes Raph wants to cuddle and be soft and tender. Despite his size he is careful. He handles you like you're a porcelain figurine in the beginning. With the practiced ability to knit, his large hands can be surprisingly dexterous and delicate. He is not a bull in a china shop unless he chooses to. Quiet times together have him completely wrapped around you, holding you carefully close and seeking your body warmth. You are careful not to laugh the first time he slips and churrs when he begins to doze off in your arms. He won't do it again if you embarrass him.

Over time, he allows himself to be a bit more rough with you. At first it is just careful roughhousing, perhaps some near choreographed play tackles or even picking you up and pretending to slam you on the bed, setting you down carefully with sound effects instead of actual violence (Raph may have loved watching WWE growing up). After a bout of rougher hands-on play, he notices that you're turned on. This changes things immediately. Taking advantage of the situation, the play shifts from silly to sexual in an instant.

You both end up having the most amazing sex you've ever had thus far. The next day you talk about it as you ice bruises and he apologizes as you hobble around when you first get up from bed. As a couple, you set limits and it becomes a more regular thing. You enjoy this rougher type of sex and he enjoys being able to be less careful. Being rough is in his nature and you loving it and getting off to it just helps strengthen your bond.

💜🐢⚛️💜

(Saved the best for last~)

Donnie is guarded, but secretly hopeful about the possibility of a relationship. This busy, brainy, tech wizard of a brother is a master of design and invention, but he still has his own hang ups. Instead of fighting off insecurities, he fights anxiety, boredom, and possibly depression. Instead of working out or training, he buries himself in his work. Keeping busy keeps his mind from wandering into darker thoughts. It also leads him to pass out and sleep dreamless sleep. He knows that it isn't healthy, but the other thoughts aren't good for him either.

When he notices that you've taken an interest in what he is working on, he eagerly shares to the point of info-dumping. If he catches himself, he apologizes out of reflex. You have to dismiss it or he will assume that, like his brothers, you do not have time to hear him ramble. Asking him questions, especially if you do not understand what he is talking about, will spur him on to explain. He's patient and wants to share his knowledge. If you pretend to know, he can tell, and won't say anything, but will take note that you're just trying to be nice in order to placate him and get him to stop.

Always watching and analyzing everything, he'll take notice who you talk to when you arrive, who you spend the most time with, how you react to his other brothers antics and conversations, who you decide to sit next to, how much physical contact you give and to who... He sees it all and makes mental notes. He will also overthink things. Were you just laughing at Mikey's jokes, or was that flirting? Were you smiling at Leo because he was kind, or was that something more? Was that shove you attempted to give Raph just for fun, or were you trying to spur him to touch you? If you don't give him equal or more attention, he will notice and make pessimistic predictions.

If you give him the most attention out of his brothers and are genuinely interested in his projects and research, he will take note and begin to test you a little. While handing him a screwdriver, he notes how you react when his fingers linger on yours a little longer than they should have. As he explains the wiring on a smaller machine, he stealthily monitors your pulse rate when he moves close enough for your arms to press against one another. After some motor oil droplets splash on your cheek, he watches your face for any signs as he gently wipes the dark spots away with his thumb. Every action is inconspicuous and easily dismissed, but a treasure trove of valuable information before he makes any kind of decision as to what to do.

If he is completely positive that you harbor a crush on him, he meticulously plans his own confession. A true romantic, he wants this to be perfect. The two of you will be alone, most likely in his lab space where he is most comfortable. His brothers will either be out or busy. You won't have any idea that this is a special evening and will be under the guise that you're coming over to help him out with a project, as you often did. He'll let the evening start out with that project, but will end up shifting your attention to something else he's made. The secret project will be something impressive that has you in awe, asking how long he's been working on it. That's when he makes his move.

His answers have been rehearsed in his mind over and over, but his nerves still cause him to shake and some of his answers carry a hint of nervousness, but his face is confident and sure. He reports his data to you and details how he's noticed your affection. Still monitoring you, he is careful and has a backup plan readied in case he has to abort his admission. If everything goes as planned, you end up with his hand on your cheek and a gentle first kiss upon your lips.

Donatello is almost clingy with his affection. You receive messages when you are not around him and when you are at the lair, he is close to you or at least nearby. He seeks physical contact often but in more discrete ways when around others. At the dinner table, he'll move his leg so that his calf is leaning against yours. During movie night, he is hip to hip with you on the couch, encouraging you to lean against him once the flick starts. It's not completely hidden, but its modest.

Away from prying eyes, it is a completely different story. Hands end up under and in clothing as kisses turn from soft and sweet to hungry and demanding in seconds. All you have to do is say the right words. Donnie proves time and time again that he is a quick learner and has your body figured out within a couple of weeks. You find it difficult, at first, for him to properly let go and let you take the wheel, but in time the trust is built and he allows you to give without also receiving. He turns out to be a versatile switch after deviating from his original, more dominant, tenancies.

His favorite thing to do is make you climax. His second favorite thing is to climax together. His third is using toys...

~Ɛ>------------------------------------<3~

@thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @sophiacloud28 @thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @tmntngl @avery73 @tmntngl

(lmk if I missed anyone's tags)

[lalunanymph]

sucker punch (m) — sae itoshi

in the pivotal moments leading up to the most significant fight of his career against his estranged younger brother, sae meets a girl who turns his entire world upside down

warnings:- underground fighter!sae, fem!reader, heiress!reader, reader is coded to be feminine (wears dresses, makeup, heels, etc), language, cursing, mentions of blood, mentions of food, mentions of alcohol, suggestive content, unprotected sex, hate sex, oral sex, rough sex, petnames (princess, whore, slut, daddy's girl), power play between sae and reader, degradation, exhibitionism, sae's repressed emotions™

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ masterlist ࿐ྂ

✯ chapter 2

Aiku was furious when he heard the truth. 

“You slept with her?” he hissed. “With an investor?” 

At 7AM, it was too early to be harassed and lectured by his long time friend. Sae could barely keep his eyes open. 

“Yeah,” he muttered nonchalantly, picking up his cup of coffee and blowing steam off the surface, ignoring a vein popping from Aiku’s forehead. 

“You asshole.” 

Sae never did admit he was a particularly nice or smart guy. “Yeah, yeah. Pile it on me.” 

“You don’t get it, huh?” the other man groaned. “Sae, this isn’t some floozy girl you took back home after a night out. This is L/N Y/N. Her family could buy us out ten times over! You’re messing with the wrong woman.” 

Pausing the cup halfway to his mouth, Sae scrutinised his exasperated friend with a raised brow. When he didn’t say anything else, Oliver let out a heavy breath. The despair in his friend’s mismatched eyes almost made him feel guilty. Almost. 

“Tell me you at least promised to see her again.”

Sae’s silence stretched on. Oliver’s expression crumpled in disbelief. 

“Fuck,” Aiku groaned, like he was in pain. “We’re dead meat.” 

“I will,” Sae insisted, frowning. He set his cup down and fixed his friend with a determined look. “I can still make this right for us.” 

“You better,” Oliver warned, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Or else we can say goodbye to the Ult Match and spend the rest of our lives in petty rings.” 

Despite how apathetic he was on the outside, Sae wasn’t an asshole on the inside. Aiku was an inch away from ripping out his hair, and he wasn’t a sadistic bastard to sit back and watch him do it. Sae would try to make it right with you for his best friend’s sake. 

“Fine. I’ll go to her office tomorrow and apologise.” 

A pair of green and purple eyes fixated on his neutral expression. “Sae… you can’t fuck it up for us.” 

Hard not to when Aiku was constantly harping on him to do better. But, his next words snatched Sae’s snark back before it had a chance to spew out of his mouth. 

“The boys… they believe in you, Itoshi.” 

Sae flickered his teal eyes to catch Aiku’s gaze. For once, his friend and manager was dead serious. “They see you as a way out of this life. Everyone is rooting for you to win. Don’t let them down.” 

A pedestal truly was a lonely place. Sae had never given much thought to how daunting the burden on his shoulders were until Aiku pointed it out through his less-than-poignant warning. The other boys in U20 had their eyes on him. They were waiting for his move; the blueprint to their next actions in this violent world resting upon his unwilling pen. 

Sae never asked for such idolisation or those inexperienced necks craned up towards him. He only wanted to fight. 

“Fine.” A million plans were running through his mind, starting with how he could get an audience with you. “I’ll try to convince her. Though, I am not going to stoop low enough to lead her on. I can’t afford to be distracted.”

Returning to his bastard ways when it came to women, Aiku smirked. “I know you won’t fall for her. Just charm her enough till the purse strings loosen. You’ll succeed. “

His friend’s faith in him restored, Sae stood up, slinging his suit jacket over his rumpled button down. 

“See you later.”

“Sae?” 

He craned his head back to find Aiku struggling with his next words. Eventually, the heterochromatic-eyed man pursed his lips. Sae expected another warning or a threat. Not what Oliver said next. 

“Good luck.” 

Foreboding. Hopeful. Oliver’s hopes and dreams were hinged on this entire meeting. 

A twitch appeared in the corner of his mouth. 

“Thanks. Expect good news later.”

His knee was bouncing rapidly up and down, a nervous tick he had not managed to get rid off since his childhood. 

Against his expectations, you had agreed to another meeting with him, the message relayed back to his stiff figure seated in the waiting room by your bored, matronly personal assistant. He wished he could pinch himself that this was real, but that witch behind the desk would judge him. Sae settled for looking around, drinking in your beige walls and calm lights. 

He wasn’t an artistic person per say, but your expert eye was obvious from the tasteful furniture you laid around this calming office, down to the stack of timeless fashion magazines on the coffee table. Sae thumbed through the thick stack when your assistant called his name, gesturing to your slightly ajar door with a roll of her eyes. 

Aiku’s voice chimed in the back of his head, lending him strength. Do this for the boys. 

Sae stood up, nodding his thanks. He was dressed in a casual sweater and jeans, which in hindsight, was making him sweat like a sinner in church. Sliding his clammy palms down the acid wash denim, he squared his shoulders and pushed your door open further. Your office was designed in the same scheme as the outside decor; elegant beige and wooden furnishings with gold accents. He suddenly felt too shabby standing in the middle of this space.

He hated to admit how his mouth ran dry at the sight of you. You were clad in a simple A-line dress and stockings, heeled foot gently tapping a sprightly rhythm against your desk. The morning sun bounced off your skin, giving it an admirable inner glow. Your ruby red lips were set in a neutral pout and you nodded in greeting when you caught his eye. 

“Hello again.” 

Sae wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, so he stuffed them into his pockets. “Hey. How’re you?” 

You shrugged, and he tried to not eye a loose strand of hair brushing your neck. “I’m fine. Tired, but nothing too bad.” 

He hummed and hawed, unsure of how to break the ice. Just last night, he had you pressed into your own sheets and screaming his name. Apparently, you were recalling the same memories he was. Your face flushed, and you were no longer an unattainable woman; right now, you reminded him of a young girl speaking to her crush in broad daylight. 

“What do you want, Itoshi Sae?” 

A repressed shiver fought to run down his spine. He liked it whenever you said his full name.

“Funding,” he mumbled, not sugar-coating his real intention. The young man took a deep breath, not above begging for your help. “I know we had a rocky start, but I’m doing this for my team and would like to humbly request your backing during the next match.” Balling his hands into fists, he waited for your answer. Sae was never good with words so he hoped his honesty more than made up for his standoffish personality.

Those pretty lips of yours pursed into a deeper pout. 

“Ego-san spoke to me this morning.” 

At the mention of Blue Lock’s infamous coach, Sae struggled to hold back a grimace. Had you already struck a deal with that asshole? He hoped you didn’t—if not he would’ve wasted his time coming over here to convince you. 

“And he shared with me Rin’s stats.” Scrutinising him from head to toe, you blinked. Innocent and curious. “That’s when I realised both of your last names match—Itoshi.” 

Sae’s heart sank slightly. As much as his entire family history was left out in the open for investors to pour over, something about the thought of you being privy to it made him nervous. Like he was about to fail an exam he didn’t study for. 

Your pretty, deep eyes met his, and in them was a world of curiosity. 

“He’s your brother, right?” When he didn’t reply, you pressed on. “And you’re standing before me, asking for money to injure and potentially kill your own younger brother.” 

His mind turned fuzzy, thoughts slowing down. You slid your gaze right to his tensed and closed fists. 

“Why?” 

Sae’s reaction was immediate. He pivoted on his heel and marched right towards the door.

“Wait.” 

A dark, deep anger was unfurling in his chest, but your command that was spoken from a higher power than his own standing made him instinctively pause. Sae’s entire body was rigid, and if anyone were to look closer, they would find his clenched palms trembling. 

He heard the crisp click-clack of your heels on the floor. Felt your hands sliding down his back in an empathetic touch. It took every ounce of his self-control not to turn around and bury himself in your embrace.

“I’m sorry.” Your tone was soft, regretful. “I only wanted to understand where you were coming from. I can give you the funds, but I want you to think this through. No matter what anyone says, a brotherly bond can never be destroyed.”

It was, Sae swallowed hard. It is destroyed beyond repair. But, he didn’t have the courage to put those thoughts into words. 

“I can handle it,” he chose to reply in a gruff, aloof tone. You let your hands fall to your side, at an impasse with the notoriously stubborn prodigy. 

“Okay,” you finally whispered. Sae turned around, and for a split second, you were graced with the rising sun of hope burning through his beautiful teal eyes. It was a breathtaking view, better than any scenic seaside you had seen throughout your life. “I’ll give you the money.” 

Without a caveat or a requirement. You sat back down behind your desk and nodded towards the door. “Ask your manager to send me an email. I’ll make the transfer latest by tomorrow.” 

Sae felt like someone had just punched him right in the noggin. Did this really just happen? His ears were ringing.

You had gone back to scribbling in your notebook, your brow furrowed and attention resolutely not on him. He couldn’t help but to admire the slope of your neck or how your messy bun made you look much younger than you were. 

“Why’re you still standing here?” 

You sounded amused more than hostile. Sae unwittingly took one step forward. 

“I’m sorry for this morning,” the words tumbled free from his loose lips before he could stop them. “If I made anything awkward or I hurt your feelings… I’m sorry.” 

Your forgiveness was given to him in a flash, a grace which he didn’t deserve. 

“We’re fine.” 

Till his dying day, Itoshi Sae would never know what compelled him to reach for your hand or for the next words to spill from his stiff lips. 

“Let me make it up to you. Have dinner with me.” 

Your wide, unblinking eyes spoke volumes of your shock. “Um. O-okay.” 

Gingerly letting your hand go, he bowed his head forward. “Thank you. I’ll pick you up.” 

“I can drive—”

“No,” his earnestness radiated beyond his exclamation, catching himself off guard. “Let me do it. It’s the least I… I can do.” 

Your answering smile was both unsure and sincere. “Okay. I’ll send you my address again.”

Sae returned your grin with a brittle one of his own. Then, he turned on his heel and left your office, feeling lighter than he dared dreamed; filled with a dangerous sort of optimism. 

And in his dark and bloody world, nothing was more lethal than hope.

As much as he liked to pretend that he was unaffected after every meeting with you, Sae could not lie to himself.

The days passed in a haze. One dinner became two, and then he was seeing you for the third time in a week, driving to your apartment where you always greeted him with a smile and a kiss. Sae found he liked how your mouth felt pressed to his own. It was like a sedative he could never get tired off, leaving his lips tingling and heart strangely full. 

Maybe this was how addictions began.

First, it was an innocent need to try it out for the sake of his curiosity. Then, one hit became four, and before he knew it, he was drowning in your magnetic field. You were the sweetest addiction he had ever encountered. Better than cigarettes or alcohol—he actually liked how you tasted on his tongue. 

“Sae,” your airy moan touched his neck. “Mhm… more… please…”

If you were his vice, he was your addiction. 

No one had ever touched you the way Itoshi Sae did. Not like you were a relic or a fragile piece of glass. His rough palms clasped your hips in a bruising grip, tightened around your neck when you begged him to let you cum; giving your cheek a small slap whenever he noticed your eyes rolling too far back into your head.

“Yeah?” he licked his kiss-bitten lips. “Wish your daddy could see his little girl now—how much she’s begging for some low class cock.” 

You preened and gasped, back arching at his taboo words. “Sae… d-don’t be mean…”

He nudged his face into the crook of your neck, adding another mark onto your already decorated throat. “You love it when I’m mean,” he whispered in between sloppy sucks and kisses. “Makes you cum harder.”

Your star-filled eyes strayed down his bruised chest in wonder, your own scratches and mouth leaving the same amount of destruction as his own marks had on your skin. 

He was fucking you nice and deep in your own bed, a pillow wedged under your hips and his fingers laced with yours, bringing them to the side of your head as his hips continued to languidly snap forward. You bit your lower lip, undulating your hips in tandem with his thrusts.

“True,” you laughed breathily. “But, you’ve been—mhm—denying me.”

He had, hadn’t he? Everytime you whispered you were about to cum, Sae switched the pace or the position. Going deeper, going slower. Fucking you shallowly. Slamming his entire cock into you until you could feel his head ramming your cervix. Taking his time to rebuild and orchestrate your climax.

Your hands were released, and they wound up in his hair, pulling him closer. In this position, your hips were tilted high enough for his pubic bone to grind down on your clit. It was also a perfect position to kiss him deeply while he grinded his hips sensually against yours. Doing his best to make you cum this time.

He barely noticed your smaller palm sneaking in between your two bodies until he felt your knuckles graze his hip. Glancing in between your joined sexes, Sae sucked in a sharp breath when his eyes zeroed in on your index and middle finger rubbing your clit. 

“Such a little slut,” he cooed, deep voice sending shockwaves into you. “G’na make me lose my fucking mind.” The last part was whispered under his breath, but you heard him all the same. 

Your giggle was both light and profound. “Yeah? Am I gonna make the big, bad Itoshi Sae fall for me?” 

His cool teal eyes appraised you, leaving no room for his mock displeasure when he circled his hand around your throat, choking you lightly till you gasped and your smile disappeared.

A shark-like grin and teeth flashing like knives lit up the dark room. “Don’t get too far up your head, Princess. This is purely physical for me.” 

Despite getting the upper hand, you would never let him win without a fight. “Good,” you choked out, baring your teeth. “Makes it easier for me to watch you die in the ring.” 

His thrusts sped up, fueled by your hatred. A thick thumb pried your lower lip down, pulling the plush flesh aside to run the calloused tip over your teeth. You sucked on his digit without prompting, earning a hazy flash of satisfaction in his softening teal eyes. 

“Feisty,” he murmured. “At least I know you won’t miss me. I won’t feel bad when I do this—”

With raw, untameable strength, he hoisted you from the bed, carrying you in his arms as your legs locked around his waist.

“Sae!” you squeaked, but he was already moving towards the huge, glass windows. Setting you down back on your feet, his cock slipped out of you with a lewd ‘pop’, stained with your juices. His tall and broad frame crowded you against the cool glass, and you whimpered when he pressed his aching dick to your hip. 

“Suck me in front of the city,” his order reached your heated ears as a silky whisper. “Show the world how much you truly hate me.”

For a split second, he could see a glimmer of surrender in your eyes. Maybe you would beg him to take you back to bed. Maybe you would promise him to be a good girl.

But, whatever your determination was made out of, it was the same as his. You would never back down from a fight. 

Taking him up on his challenge, you slid to your knees, ferociously beautiful eyes devouring his whole body with the intensity of his opponents in the ring. You wanted to kill him; Sae knew that. 

But, instead of driving a deathly fist into his sternum, you chose to wreck him in a different way. 

Uncaring that you were naked and covered in sweat right in front of a set of high windows which anyone from the opposite building could peek into, you glanced up at him, and slowly parted your mouth. Your eyes rippled close at the first taste of yourself on his cock. Sae watched, deceitfully unfazed as you licked up and down the prominent vein on his length, gathering enough spit in between your pursed lips to smear it over his weeping dick. 

The look in your eyes was breathtaking. 

He could physically taste your discomfort, but your ego was feeding off his own. Despite you being naked and on your knees with submission, Sae knew the truth.

It was you who controlled the entirety of this scene.

You held the strings when you raked your nails down his abs, scraping your perfect manicured tips over his balls. It was your hot mouth and tongue he was succumbing to.

His thighs were starting to tremble. Your mouth stretched into a grin, despite his length impeding your devious joy. With one simple push, you had him pressed against the windows, shuffling on your knees slightly so that you were bracing your hands on the cool glass and fucking your throat up and down his cock. 

Sae’s fingers tangled in your hair, roaming down your neck and shoulders. His expression was openly vulnerable, filled with an unravelling surrender which men had whenever they were at the precipice of their pleasure.

It took one flick of your tongue for him to spurt down your throat, thick and hot.

You pried your mouth off his length quick enough for his seed to splatter down your chin and neck. Some of it dribbled onto your heaving chest. Without his prompting, you locked eyes with him, drawing your trembling hands right to your tits and massaging his cum into them.

“Do you believe me now?” you whispered, voice hoarse and scratchy, kneading your tits in a way that had him hypnotised. You leaned forward to kiss his sensitive cock head, even as you spewed venomous words to contradict the tender gesture. “Do you believe how much I hate you?” 

Not as much as he hated you the very second he yanked you off your knees and drove you back to the edge of your bed. Sae’s snarl would be terrifying if he hadn’t followed it up with his mouth on your denied and desperate pussy. Peering down the line of your body, his auburn hair was dyed black by the night’s shadows, its sharp edges tickling your bare thighs. 

You tossed your head back, curling your fingers in his locks. 

The pent-up anger and heartbreak pushed you down the teetering edge of your most painful orgasm. Your clit pulsed against his tongue, your abdomen contracting rapidly as your body expelled a gush of slick which stained his chin and nose. Sae continued to lap through your folds even in the throes of your orgasm. He didn’t care that your legs were shaking or if you were begging for him to slow down. He wanted your surrender to be as agonising as his own.

After the world had stopped spinning, you found yourself in his arms, your face pressed into his chest. Sae was fast asleep, knocked out from the potent oxytocin cocktail.

You stubbornly tried to stay awake for longer, not willing to let the fight go even if there were no winners between your bruised and exhausted bodies.

Eventually, your eyelids must’ve slipped close on their accord, and you nodded off to sleep, curling your hand over Sae’s left pec and nuzzling your nose into his pulse point, comforted by these simple signs of his steadiness and strength. 

“You look like someone mauled you twice over.”

Aiku’s annoying lilt greeted Sae the moment he arrived into their makeshift gym. Setting his bag on the ground, he narrowed his eyes, not in the least bit embarrassed by the marks on his chest and neck.

“Shut the fuck up. It’s too early to deal with you.” 

The heterochromatic-eyed man laughed. “Whoa, slow your roll, you usually leave the swearing for 10AM.” 

Sobering up, his friend took one good look at him. “Were you with her?” 

Sae stiffened. Why should this fucker care? 

“Fuck off. And tell Shidou I’m ready for our training,” he mumbled coldly, completely ignoring Oliver’s innocent question. 

Knowing how stubborn his starfighter could be, the other man sighed. “I’ll get that roach in. Just—” he pursed his lips, eyeing the marks you left around his pecs and nipples. “—you know what… never mind.” 

Sae slipped on his gloves, ready to start the day. His schedule was easy to track: wake up, stretch, meditate, work out, lunch, workout, snacks, workout, tussle with Aiku or Shidou, and then hit the hay. Every wedge of the clock was decided for him to be as productive as he could.

But, he never factored in you. 

Instead of a clear mind and fresh air, he started the day with your arms curled around him and the sight of your sleepy eyes cracking open. Where are you going? Your hoarse voice reached him from where you were swaddled in your blankets.

“Out,” he muttered curtly, unable to turn around and face you. Knowing he would see your crestfallen expression.

When Aiku told him to charm their biggest investor, he never expected to be wrapped up in her body almost every single night. Sae didn’t hate it per say—but it was encroaching a dangerous territory. He was starting to grow comfortable beginning his day with you. 

The sandbag bore the brunt of his displeasure. He worked his muscles down to the ligaments, stopping for five minute water breaks and nothing else. The gym Aiku had rented for U20 was slowly emptying out, other fighters leaving for home or lunch. Even Oliver had packed up and left with a cheery wave, tossing the keys onto the counter and telling him to close up. 

Sae grunted in acknowledgement, returning back to his heavy hits and feigns. He was half an hour into his workout when he realised he wasn’t alone. 

Through the blurry exhaustion, he faintly made out your smile.

“Hey, champ,” you murmured, looking absolutely gorgeous in your tank top and linen shorts. So very different from the business-class woman he was used to. 

Sae blinked, standing up straighter. “Hey. What’re you doing here?” 

Shooting him a smile, you shrugged. “I was driving by the area and decided to survey the U20 gyms… you know, to make sure my investment is sound.” You approached him, and Sae felt something in his chest bump up a notch. Without hesitation, you yanked yourself up the firm ring skirt and into the ring itself. 

You surveyed the space with interest. Before Sae could open his mouth and gruffly tell you to leave, you rooted him to the spot with a sweet smile.

“Can you teach me some moves?” 

This time, Sae was too stumped to refuse you. He nodded, unsure of what power you held over him to make him agree to something stupidly dangerous for his heart. He walked over to you, engulfing you in his heat when he adjusted your stance.

“Part your feet wider.” When you hesitantly did as he ordered, Sae clicked his tongue, and nudged your ankles apart further with the tip of his foot. “Get into a steady base. Keep a neutral spine.” 

He taught you how to throw a hit, and almost smiled when you got it right the first time. Fighting comes naturally to you, he wanted to compliment, but the words were stuck in his throat.

Flushed and eager, you flashed him a smile that had his stomach flipping on itself. “How do you train everyday and not want to eat all the time? I’m starving!” 

Sae pretended to look over his shoulder at a blinking exit light so he could hide his half-smile. Your innocence was infectious. 

He turned back to you with his signature serious look, and said, “Let’s go for lunch, then.” You perked up. 

“Okay,” with a small chirp, you walked to the edge, but Sae beat you to it. He got down the ring, parting the rope and offering you his hand. 

“Some asshole broke his neck when he tripped,” he began to explain, in case you got the wrong idea, judging from your wide-eyed stare. “Don’t want you to end up dead on my watch.”

You fought back a smile, taking his hand. Sae surprised you by grabbing your waist, nudging an arm underneath your thighs to literally sweep you off your feet in a bridal style carry, until you were gently set back down onto the floor.

“Just how strong are you?” you managed to exhale when you got your breath and wits back. The imprint of his touch burned your skin and you swore you felt like your face was about to explode with heat. 

In answer, he flashed you a grin. The first time he had ever fully smiled at someone. 

“Really strong,” he bit on his tongue before he could add ‘princess’. He shouldn’t be calling you a pet name outside of the bedroom; not because it was wrong but because he would slip up and confuse you—confuse himself. 

Killing the voices in his head, he gestured for you to follow him to his car, enticing you with an offer you couldn’t refuse. 

“Ramen? My treat.” 

Boy meets girl, boy falls in love. 

At least, it was close to love as Sae could fathom. 

Without even realising it, his days and nights with you grew longer. The meticulous hours he portioned during his day growing out of whack the longer he spent time with you. Sae used to think he was above petty distractions; that he had a will of steel. 

Little did he know how much it started to creak and crumble whenever you reached out to touch him. 

Yesterday morning, you had found him in your living room, perusing through your stack of paperbacks. When you called out his name, the auburn-haired fighter nearly threw your copy of Before The Coffee Gets Cold under your couch. 

“You’re not very discreet,” you mumbled, coming over to him and pinching his blushing cheek. Sae huffed and withdrew the book from behind his back, scowling at the cover. 

“Why do you have this book?”  

His tone sounded almost accusatory, but, weeks of knowing him made you understand it was his embarrassment hidden behind his gruffness. 

“Because I love it,” you mumbled, and somehow, found yourself sitting on his lap, flipping through the pages and reading out your favourite parts. 

This little sliver of knowledge about your literary tastes gave Sae a burst of courage to invite you back to his own apartment. At first, he was worried it would be too threadbare for you, but you never commented on the lack of furniture or personality. 

“As long as you have a bed and hot water, you’re better than so many others,” you told him bluntly. Sae quietly agreed, his childhood on the streets flashing into his mind.

The pile of romance novels he had saved from the old bookstore down the street was the subject of your intense scrutiny. He thought you could’ve dug up his past through those yellowing pages; unearthed his every insecurity from studying which book was the most weathered and annotated. His fists were clenched at his side, teal eyes rapt on your relaxed figure.

Then, you snapped your eyes back to meet his and smiled so brightly, he almost forgot what he was afraid of. 

“Read this for me,” you gently pushed an old copy of Romeo and Juliet into his hands. Sae glowered, and he opened his mouth, about to refuse you when you stood on your tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “You have a nice voice. Read to me, please?”

For the second time in his short life, Sae found another person bundled in his arms, enjoying the simple delight of reading a book out loud while rain pattered down the grimy windows. 

There was a hollowness appearing in his chest, not from sadness, but an ache he couldn’t quite control. It reared its spiked head whenever you nuzzled his chest or kissed him softly. Demanded for him to devour every goodness in his path whenever he caught you smiling at him fondly.

Sae sensed you were falling in love with him.

And he was helpless to stop you. 

Yet, there was a gaping hole right above that monstrous hollowness. It clashed heads with the beast, demanding for a piece of your attention. Demanding to hold you till you solidified within his grasp. Until he could finally get rid of the knives lodging in his lungs and breathe freely. 

He curled a lock of your hair around his finger, tugging on it gently enough not to wake you up from your nap. You had nodded off to sleep when he was twenty pages into the book, curling into the crook of his arms. 

Sae snapped the crumpled paperback shut, and set it on your thigh. 

Your breathing was steady, lashes casting shadows over your cheeks. He ached to kiss each mark on your face, holding himself back from the monster looming in the back of his mind. 

But, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to press his lips right to your cheek. He pursed his lips in his own awkward rendition of a kiss, leaning back immediately when he felt your breathing stutter. The scent of vanilla and coconut from your skin stung him like a sweet rush of electricity.

I love her. 

Simple and kind. Those words did not strike him with fear, but a sense of realisation. 

Swallowing hard, Sae tried to tame the butterflies exploding in his belly. They fought to escape, ramming past his ribcage with the ferocity of a stampede. 

I love her.

He should’ve been afraid of such a revelation, but all Sae felt in this moment was pure, unadulterated peace. 

Boy falls in love with the girl.

And so, the story begins.

©️ all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Guileless

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, dejection, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The reader attempts to move past her ruination, but is reminded of her tarnish conscience at every turn. (Regency AU, tall!reader)

Masterlist

Character: Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson

Note: thanks to those who waited on this one!.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like I love coffee and that’s a lot and probably unhealthy. Take care. 💖

It should be the happiest time in your life. You should be elated, and yet, as ever it is, every victory precedes a treacherous defeat. A proposal one day, and despair the next. That nipping of doom in your gut, that ever present doubt, is made certain by the passage of time. It has been much too long. 

You sit in the pews, throat tight as you keep your chin locked. You breathe slowly, as if too sudden an intake might unleash the tempest brewing inside of you. It is more than nerves, you know it, that sicken you so. You should be happy for your pending nuptials but you are only horrified at the thought. 

The bishop reads out the banns before the rows; the first for yourself, the third for your sister. She will be permitted to wed and your mother has presided over much of planning already. You dip your head as your name rings out beside Lord Odinson’s and you swallow back a swell of bile. You’ve been gulping down your own stomach for much of the morning, ever since you caught a whiff of pickled shallots in passing the kitchens. 

You push your head up and your hand down to your lap, knowing you will be observed. You must at least look certain of your fate. You must sit proud for the engagement all would put into question. For the time until it shall all dissolve, you must play your part. 

You can barely keep from wilting where you are. A prudent woman might bite her tongue. She may commit to the theatre of it all. She might lie and get away with the folly. You glance over at Lord Odinson, just across the aisle, and you know you cannot. It isn’t one lie, it’s a lifetimes’ worth of betrayal. 

Yet how should you tell it? It isn’t only him who must know. Your father would need good reason why you’d rather the convent to a proper marriage. You will be ruined but you could not put that stain upon the only person who was ever kind to you. Lord Odinson deserves an honest wife and a child of his own. 

Your insides sour and you nearly spasm as you fight the tide of nausea, brought upon by more than your forsaken condition. Your eyes trail away from your betrothed to another man bound in promise. Lord Rogers sits with your sister, as ever, and she leans on him shamelessly, even beneath the Lord’s rafters. 

She would deny it. She would laugh in your face should you ever reveal the absolute truth. No, you must confess the sin as your own and that alone. You will not name the culprit for they would they never believe you and he would never admit it himself. 

Yet, you know that the Duke Rogers will ever be triumphant in knowing that he has brought the monstrous giant to her knees. You are his Goliath, the vile retched creature he has slain in his valour. He will be hero and you be the villain. 

💟

You hand the letter to the carrier just before noon. You don’t expect an audience to be granted until the next morning at earliest. Lord Odinson is a busy man; an ambassador in much demand between the house and society. Even his betrothed must request his presence. 

The cart rattles through the gates and you watch it fade off into the grim horizon. The winter bites in the air, adding to the chill in your bones. That coldness that freeze over your heart. You must be strong now, as strong as the valkyrie he misnamed you as. 

When you go to Lord Odinson, you will bring the crown to him. You will hand it back and admit your tainted stature to him. You will show him how truly small you are.  

At least, that is what you intend. You may prove yourself weak as ever. However it should unfold, this engagement cannot persist. 

“A day! A day and I shall call you husband,” Cora’s shrill tone greets you as you come through the front doors. She is in the sitting room with Lord Rogers. Your mother continues to fawn over the last-minute details for their wedding. “Isn’t it very exciting, my lord?” 

“And I shall call you wife.” 

“And Duchess,” she preens with a trilling laugh, “oh, how elaborate I shall be.” 

“My Athena,” Rogers drones back, “my goddess, my beloved.” 

“Oh, how darling,” your mother preens over them, “it shall be resplendent. I’ve made certain the cake will be exactly as you like it, dearie. The cook has even procured some citrus for the lemonade.” 

The mention of lemonade makes you shrivel. You recall the sunny day when Lord Rogers spoke to you over a weeping beverage. As you fell for that virulent charm. And all that came after. 

You peer at the grim windows and frown. How everything does change so quickly. Happiness is fleeting and yet disappointment comes as a chronic plight. You will never know a day without shame. 

You flit off without notice. Your heart rents at the thought that you will not have the same fervour. You will not sit and plan your own wedding with Lord Odinson. All your fanciful dreams have evaporated. It is one thing to put a mask on, to pretend as virgin, but you could never foist a bastard upon the kind man who has shown you a taste happiness. You will be certain to thank him for all he’s done but you will not spit in his face. 

As you get to the bedroom doors, your stomach churns violently and you burst through, not stopping as you rush to the pot and fall to your knees. You wretch into it as your body contracts painfully. You empty your stomach until you are panting and hollow. 

“Sister,” Alina startles you as she rolls to the edge of the bed, a novel in hand, “is it a winter ague?” 

“I...” you shakily wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, “I believe so.” 

That lie alone singes your tongue like a brand. Your eyes well with tears and you flick them away with your lashes. You sit back on your heels and heave out a pungent breath. 

“Oh, how awful, and just before the wedding,” she sits up and shuts the novel. “Let us pray it passes quickly. You needn’t delay your own nuptials.” 

“Mm, no, that wouldn’t be...” you let the sentence tail off and you stand, taking the pot with you, “I’ll dump it before it can stink.” 

“If you are unwell, call for the maid.” 

“No, it is fine,” you insist, “I didn’t mean to disturb your reading.” 

“You didn’t,” she insists. “What’s the matter, sissie? You hardly seem a lady about to marry.” 

“I...” you croak, “it is the ague, that’s all.” 

“Mm, perhaps Lord Odinson might offer some comfort should it get any worse. He does seem the character,” she offers. 

“Or perhaps he is better to stay away. You as well, should it pass onto anyone else,” you hold the pot to your stomach and turn, carrying it out without another word. Albina huffs and falls back onto the bed, the flutter of pages following shortly after. 

You descend and keep along the wall, passing through the kitchens and beyond the servants’ quarters to the rear of the manse. You come out into the crisp air and overturn the pot well away from the house. A wave of dizziness washes over you, silver spots dotting your vision. Perhaps it is an ague. Oh how you wish it were. 

You set the pot down as you grasp at some stability. You stand and wipe your clammy forehead. Your hand drifts down to your bodice and you let it venture further. You try to feel your stomach through the layers. It is tauter than it once was but no rounder. Not as yet. 

You sit on a low stump, the seat the stabler uses to shoe the horses. You let the frigid air seep through your dress and stare at the grey clouds that blot out the sun. You hold your chin, elbows on your legs, hunched over as you let the stagnancy of that moment swallow you. 

For a moment, you believe that you can make time stand still. That you might stretch on this fantasy a little longer. That a single second might be spent into an eternity. You shake your head and close your eyes as your cheeks tingle with the cold. 

You try to picture the convent. You imagine dark halls and darker mornings. Prayers and repentance filling the days and keeping wakeless the nights. Would the nuns even accept a ruined soul like yours? 

“Miss,” Mary, the broom girl, stands along the path back to the house, “you have a caller.” 

You sit up and blink, a caller? How long have you been there? You shiver and rise, towering over the young servant like the mottled forest creature of wives tales. You nod and stride past her, rubbing your arms to warm yourself as you return to the house. 

It cannot be him. Not already. You’re not prepared. It has been all you can think of and yet you are wholly unready for it. 

You carry on inside and come into the main hall. Lord Odinson waits, your mother chittering at his elbow as Lord Rogers and Cora stand in the archway to the west wing. 

“You will be at the wedding tomorrow? We did not receive your response sir,” your mother pleads as she tugs his sleeve. 

“Ah, yes, did I not give it?” Odinson says coolly, “certainly I will come with some Asgardian ale to christen the blissful newlyweds.” 

“And we thank you for such generosity,” Cora coos. 

“I’m certain refreshments will be plenty,” Lord Rogers deflects. 

“Ah,” Lord Odinson’s attention is drawn by your emergence from behind the staircase, “my valkyrie, you called for me and I am here.” 

“I... you have come so... swiftly,” you remark, your voice teetering. 

“Of course,” he assures as he crosses the polished floor, “as ever I will for my beloved.” He approaches and takes your hands in his, kissing your knuckles, “you are like ice,” he feels your hands and covers them with his gloved ones, “are you ill?” 

“No, uh, yes, no,” you stammer, “sir, I only meant... I only thought to speak with you.” 

“I do cherish the tenor of your sweet voice, lady, I would ride so fast as I might to hear it,” he assures. 

“You rode... all this way, my lord?” 

“I do prefer to be in a saddle,” he affirms, “so, shall we converse? Perhaps we might have some tea to warm you, my valkyrie.” 

“Please,” you cringe, wishing he would quit his honeyed words, “I do not require it. Perhaps somewhere private...” 

“With chaperone of course,” your mother insists. You blanch but do your best not to show your unease. “Pollo! Pollo!” She claps, “forgive me I will not be able to do so myself as I have much to attend to for the morrow, but we have a groom here... Pollo!” 

She cries out and the dark-haired man appears. The old groom has a round belly and wine-reddened cheeks. He doesn’t speak more than Italian but he is steadfast in his service. Your mother bids him, pointing at you, then shoos him with a flick of her fingers. 

He shrugs and bows his head, nearing you and the duke. You peer over at your sister and Lord Rogers as they watch. The former stares at your betrothed as he clings still to your hands and the latter narrows his eyes in your direction. Just the sight of him makes you even more sick than before. Of any, he cannot know though you expect should Cora find out, it will not be a secret. 

“The sun room, perhaps,” Odinson suggests. 

“As you wish,” you agree. 

He offers his arms and you accept it. He guides you along, well-acquainted to the halls already, and takes you around to the sun room. The curtains are closed and the space is dim with the shadow of winter. The groom claims the armchair in the corner, making it groan with his weight, as another servant follows to light a lamp and put flint to the fireplace. 

When all is lit, you detach from Odinson and retreat from him. You mash your hands together and sway, spinning back to face him as he watches you intently. He seems unbothered by the spontaneity of it all. 

“You missed me? I have longed to see you again,” he beams. 

“Please,” you show your palms, “please, I... we must speak.” 

“Of? Name anything and it shall be yours. As my wife, you will never want for anything, valkyrie.” 

You wince as if struck. You drop your arms and your head. You stalk over to the bench that looks toward the window and sit, slumped forward as you shake your head. He approaches as he lets out a long exhale. He sits beside you. 

“Something is amiss. Forgive me for making light, I came upon mistaken sentiment,” his voice is grave, “you have something to say and I must listen. As ever, I am the storm but these winds have calmed.” 

You rock and another hot tinge settles behind your eyes. You roll them up and sit straight. You crane to see over your shoulder. Rollo’s eyes are closed as he’s halfway to sleeping. It is propriety alone that has him sat in that chair. 

You look ahead once more, “I cannot marry you.” 

He sucks in air and snorts, “what?” 

“I cannot—it cannot—I'm sorry, Lord Odinson.” 

“Why ever should you change your mind? The banns are read and will be again,” he touches your arm and you shy away. 

“You deserve... better.” 

“I deserve you,” he insists. 

“Please, sir, let me find the words,” you beg touch your temples as you try to rein in your wits. You close your eyes and shudder. 

“You are cold still, perhaps you might move closer to the fire--” 

“It hardly matters,” you lower your hands and clutch them tight.  

You make yourself look at him. You must. He warrants at least the truth told to his face and not the floor. His blue eyes twinkle as his usually bright face is stern. 

“I am...” you take a breath and struggle to let it back out as the words burn the tip of your tongue, “I... am with... child.” 

You choke out the last word and nearly faint. You stare at him, waiting for him to explode. You mightn’t even have a say in who knows should he speak too loudly. His eyes search yours and he blinks. He turns his face down and looks at his lap, gripping his thighs as he nods and hums. 

“That’s wonderful,” he says. 

“Pardon?” 

“Yes, it’s wonderful. We’ll have a child.” 

“Sir, I—we haven’t... it is another man’s,” you feel as if you shouldn’t have to explain this. 

“Why certainly he put it there, yes, but I would claim it,” he faces you again. 

Your eyes round, “why should you do that? That isn’t... proper. I am not proper, sir. I am telling you that I have been... corrupted. I should never have said yes.” 

“But you did.” 

“You needn’t-- it isn’t fair.” 

“Perhaps it isn’t fair that you should have to carry the cad’s seed,” he agrees, “for any many who would lay with a lady and not seek her hand, well, he can be nothing else.” 

You’re quiet as disbelief clouds around you. He can’t possibly mean it. He must be in shock. Certainly, he wouldn’t just accept another’s child. 

“Sir, you shouldn’t-- you shouldn’t do this. I am releasing you.” 

“I don’t want to be released,” he says sullenly. 

“Why? Why would you do this?” You ask. 

“I meant all I said to you, from the first breath, my valkyrie,” he proclaims. “And I mean it still.” 

“But, sir, you cannot—I cannot live with myself--” 

“You are honourable. Honest. You have told me this when you did not need to. When you could’ve claimed an early birth, when you could have kept quiet, yet you did not. That says more than a fleeting tryst. For that’s what it was, yes? Or do you lay with this man still?” 

You shake your head and look down at your fingers as you twists them until they hurt, “just once. Only once. It was... unplanned. It wasn’t...” your voice cracks. 

His chest inflates with a sonorous breath, “did you want it?” 

“Pardon?” You murmur. 

“Unplanned... did you... was it... your tryst, was it willing?” 

You put your fist to your mouth and sob. You can’t say it. You won’t. You replay it in your head every night and you think of how you told him to stop and yet you did not stop him. You should have fought more. You should have screamed. 

“I didn’t make him stop,” you eke around your hand. 

“Make him? Did you ask him to begin?” 

“Please, sir, I cannot—please just end this and I will ask my father for the convent once more. I cannot bring this shame on you.” 

“Shame? Shame is the man, if I should call him that, who has done this,” he snarls and reaches for you, taking your hand. “I swore you would be my wife and I will hold to that. As you swore to be my wife. We will see the altar together. As one.” 

“You do not have to--” 

“I want to,” he growls and you look up at his angry face. You’ve never seen such fury in him. “I have never done anything but by my own whim and will not change that now.” 

“You are too nice, sir. Too nice, I cannot ask it--” 

“Who?” He sneers. 

“Sir?” 

“Who has done this to you?” 

“I cannot--” 

“I should know.” 

“No, please, I wouldn’t-- it would be my ruin--” 

“No, it would be his and you protect him still, so tell me.” 

“No, no I will not. That I cannot tell you, sir. To say it would defeat me completely.” 

He sighs into a snarls and lowers his chin. He sounds like a simmering bull, readying for the charge. You tug on your hand but he will not release you. You relent and let him cling to you. 

Silence, suffocating and still.  

“My brother was an orphan. We took him in when he was young. He is a duke, same as me, now,” he declares as he squares his posture. “You wouldn’t know the difference. And I won’t. Not between this child and our next.” 

“Sir, surely--” 

“We are to have a child,” he says, “that is happy news and I thank you for bringing me here to hear it.” He pets your hand and leans his arm against yours. He brings your fingers up to your mouth and kisses them, “one day, I will know who the culprit is and on that, I will surely split his skull. Not for his bastard, for that child has no sin, but for your honour, lady. For my wife’s honour.” 

💟

Cora’s wedding to Lord Rogers culminates in a grand luncheon. The bride is a beautiful mist of tears as she accepts the well wishes of her guests. She basks in the attention as you gladly languish in the shadows. 

Despite Lord Odinson’s unexpected and reassuring reaction, you’re still uncertain. You don’t know if he’s keeping a good face on until he knows how to act, perhaps renegs his grace, or if you might come to pay for your discretion later in your union. You’re prepared to meet your atonement, however it comes. 

As you sit for the meal, the chair beside you is claimed almost at once. Your betrothed has appeared throughout the event but you’ve hardly been at his side. Each time you see him, his eyes skim the crowd as if he can see right through every one of them. Yet, when he looks at you, you feel only warmth. You don’t understand how he can look at you as such. 

“How do you fare, today, my valkyrie?” He asks as he straightens his cravat, “you look well.” 

“Good, I think.” 

“Glad to hear it,” he raises his glass for a servant to fill it with sherry. You opt for lemon water, as much as your tumultuous stomach can handle. 

“I thought we might have our own reception at Nine Pillars,” he suggests. 

“I would like that,” you agree, your eyes drifting beyond him, to your father’s gardens, where... “whatever you may offer, I will be grateful for.” 

“Mighty valkyrie, full of grace,” he praises and reaches for a platter, “ooh, they have some sweet ham here with pineapple.” 

He takes a helping and puts it on your plate. You smell the tangy fruit and the underline savoury waft of the meat. You lurch and grasp the edge of the table. You give a panicked look to Odinson as he peers down at the food. He switches your plates out swiftly. 

“Tell me, what are you in the mind for then?” He leans in so his arm touches yours as you sip from the lemon water to quell your stomach. “Valkyrie, give me your command and I will obey.” 

You give him a coy grin, “you can be so silly.” 

“Silly. Mad. All for love,” he assures you.  

“Is their anything dry?” You ask, “bread, perhaps.” 

“Sourdough,” he reaches to take the basket as others help themselves to the spread. 

“I’ll have some of that.” 

“With marmalade?” He offers.  

“No,” your face pinches at the thought, “no, bread will do.” 

You blink and shake of another tide of sickness. As you do, your eyes meet another pair further down the table, amid the rabble of voices. Lord Rogers tilts his head as Cora tugs on his sleeve and giggles up at the couple behind them. He hardly seems to notice as he stares you down. 

You go rigid and quickly look away. You touch Odinson’s arm to keep from panicking. He looks at you, then down the table. He doesn’t say anything, merely carves off a chunk of bread for you. 

You pick away at the hard crust and the dry spongey inside. You take small bites, cautious of upsetting your volatile stomach. The afternoon wears on, course after course, and you avoid those dishes which threaten to overthrow your restraint. 

At last, the cake is serves, a tiered sponge with cream and fruit and candied sugar spun in a facsimile fountain atop it. It’s splended and beautiful. The couple are served first as they smiles in delight. The doling out of servings takes some time as guests wait patiently for their turn and the cake is pushed on a cart from chair to chair. 

When it comes your turn, your name rises over the crowd. You sit up and glance over, relieved at least not to watch the layers of custard and cake hit your plate. Lord Rogers has his hand on the back of his wife’s chair. 

“And how do you like the dessert? I believe you’ve been saving space for it all day, eh?” He chirps. 

You angle your head in confusion. You look down then at Odinson who sits a little taller as he leans forward. 

“You’ve hardly indulged, so I hope you might show your support and delight in this delectable dessert,” Rogers taunts. “A wedding is no place for a sour face.” 

Your lips part. You’re stunned. How could he be so bold as to call you out? Among all his guests and he must torment you. Was one night not enough. Your whole life as his violation thrives within your womb. Lord Odinson subtly touches your elbows. 

“I am most happy for you and my sister,” you rebuff, “and you are correct, I’ve been in much anticipation for dessert.” 

You take your fork and scoop up a heaping mouthful. You smile at it even as your insides rage. You make yourself taste it. It’s so sweet and smooth and wonderful, but your stomach mulches as if it is rubbish. Your cheeks tremble and you swallow, nearly gagging. 

“To you, sir, and my sister, Cora, I wish a happy marriage,” you force out as you hide your mouth behind a handkerchief. 

“To the happy couple,” Lord Odinson raises his glass and the table erupts, at once, the attention shifted back to them. 

You brace his arm and squeeze. You fight but you cannot withhold the uproar within. You stand and rush away, frantically searching for somewhere to hide and spew your guts. 

💟

The days overcome your doubts. The weeks come with more affectations; your sickness ebbs and flows and the temperature feels at times hotter then colder, swaying back forth, while some moments you spend with a throbbing head and pulsing feet. The most obvious symptom of your condition is the tightness of your stay. Soon, you will be showing more than you like, but for now, loosened laces can ease your discomfort. 

Your wedding day fast approaches. Time does seem to defy any human whim. You wish it would slow so you could catch your breath. Much like your husband-to-be who has yet to falter in his affections. 

You sit before the mirror with the grown of silver petals in your lap. There is one still bent from Cora’s envy but you will keep it to the back of your head. You will wear it as proudly as that night Lord Odinson gifted it to you. You hope for the day you might both forget all else. 

If it is to be. If he is at the altar waiting still. 

Albina and Hannah take the crown from you and secure it among your styled locks. Albina smiles at your reflection as Hannah jabs you with a pin. You nervously wring your hands as you admire the lavender shade of your gown. You wish you’d had more of it, that you hadn’t needed to trim it in ivory to make up for your height. Still, it is beautiful and the nicest dress you’ve ever worn. 

“Are you nervous?” Albina asks. 

“Suppose,” you admit and lift your chin, “very, truly.” Though not for the reason she might think. 

“Lord Odinson is kind. He should be gentle,” Hannah says. 

Your cheeks tinge at her suggestion, “sister.” 

“Well, it is what we are all thinking, isn’t it?” She shrugs. 

“I hope I do not find a husband so soon,” Albina adds, “I would like to enjoy my books a little longer.” 

“You might take on the spinster’s mantel then,” Hannah snipes. 

“It shouldn’t be so bad,” you murmur. “Every woman must do it. Eventually. It cannot be so horrible.” 

You lower your head again, trying to hide the emotion battling in your chest. It was bad, that first time. Lord Rogers hadn’t been kind at all. Would Lord Odinson be any different? For Rogers seemed kind at first glance only to be cruel upon touch. 

What if you husband did not want to meet his duty? What if he could not knowing you had lain with another? You would not blame him and without consummation, he might still turn you away. 

“Cora said it was more painful than anything she’s ever felt,” Hannah undercuts your dread. “Though she still loves her husband well.” 

“You shouldn’t speak of that,” you gird. 

“Why not? Won’t you tell us how it is so we may be ready?” She challenges. 

“I... I... It’s rather strange to speak of it.” 

“You are strange,” Hannah retorts with a huff. 

“But pretty,” Albina chimes, “look at you, sissie. You truly look like a queen in that crown.” 

You meet the gaze of your reflection. You do look better than you ever have before. You wonder if they notice the new fullness in your cheeks. If they do, they don’t mention it. You take a deep breath. 

“I shouldn’t keep them waiting any longer,” you stand.  

If you wait any longer, you might lose your nerve. 

The bishop waits in the grand hall of Nine Pillars as you emerge from the rooms allotted for your preparations. The crowd stands among the columns and hushes as you appear at the end of the hall. You face the clergy man and for an instant, your heart dangles precariously, ready to plummet.  

Where is Lord Odinson? 

His golden head pops up beside the bishop and he fixes the flower tucked into his lapel. His long blond hair is draw back as a scarlet bow holds it back, its ears peeking out behind his nape. He is smiling as he pauses and his eyes meet yours across the space. 

You can see even from there how his features slacken and for a moment, you are breathless. He looks as stricken. You put one foot down and let your long legs carry you. 

All your doubts float away. The faces around you haze together and the world crumbles to dust. It's only you and that man.  

💟

The ceremony gives way to a soiree, bodies clustered together, partners dancing, and you among them. Your husband, a husband, has your hand in his as he leads you in the steps. This man, this wonderful forgiving man you vowed yourself too nearly sweeps you off your feet, a sensation you've never known before. 

Your cheer blooms from you as his cheeks flush in his excess. He barely pauses to receive kind words from his guest. His elation is contagious. It gives no way to your fears. 

"Do you know what I thought upon the altar, beautiful valkyrie," he purrs, "I nearly fell upon my knees even." 

"What?" You smile, glowing up at him. 

"That the gods did bless me. That you must be sent from them, a gift to me, mere mortal." 

You can't help but pat his chest, "you flatter." 

"You are too modest," he guides you along, "you are a statue come too life, art in the flesh." 

"My husband... you words are too sweet." 

"I know, I know, the wedding night is still ahead of us, I do run too fast," he chuckles, "but how can I help the anticipation? 

Your lashes flick and giggle, "husband." 

"That word has never sounded sweeter," he grins, "but a sweeter noise might be my own name. Say it for me, valkyrie." 

Your cheeks burn hot, "Thor?" 

"Delicious," he growls nearly baring his teeth, "and I shall savour every sound you make. Every moan and mewl. Every breath and laugh. Just as every part of you." 

It's too good to be true. You deign to let yourself feel it all but you must. If even only for tonight. If only for the next moment. You will have a morsel of happiness if it's all you have to chew on for the rest of your life. 

💟

The night wears on and so do you. Your feet ache, as does most of you, and your voice is raw from laughing and talking. It is the first that you ever spent an event not along the wall or hiding in some shadow. It is a night all your own, or so your husband has made it feel. 

Yet, he does not tire. Not as quickly. As he booms and bawls to the amusement of all, you cling to his arm and repress a yawn. You will not spoil his fun, you will persist. 

Still, you cannot ignore all urges of your humanity. You press a hand to his sleeve and excuse yourself, promising to return. Your husband pauses to bid you not be long and you're further abashed at his attention. 

You flit off to find the privy. You've been several times over the day. Your bladder swells no matter how little you drink. As you progress, you find your body is contradictory to your mind. 

You venture down the corridor and sweep into the room. Once relieved, you emerge feeling lighter but no less tired. The silent desolation of the corridor rather makes your exhaustion all the more potent. 

You turn towards the statue of a warrior, you recognise it, it is the means by which you've found your way. Before you can pass it, a figure appears from behind it and you falter in your slippers. 

You gasp and ball your hands, the man before you sending a ripple of horror through you as he smirks at your surprise. Lord Rogers' cheek dimples as he quorks his head like a cynical crow. 

"You are ever a creature of urges," he muses, "fluttering back and forth as a skittish bird." 

"My lord, I... what is the meaning--" 

"I'm afraid we've not had much of a chance to speak, have we? The blushing bride is much a titter," he chortles, "she has the gull to giggle like a maiden, even." 

"Lord Rogers," you utter, appalled. 

"But the sway of her hips do betray her true nature. That which is within her," he sneers, "as does the curdling of her face over any dish that tickles her nose." 

"Sir, I know not what you mean--" 

"I should laugh truly, to know that another will raise my bastard," he taunts, "that it is him, does entertain me more." He takes a step forward and you back, "so you will be certain to lay with him this night so he may believe he has vigour." He grabs your arms before you can elude him, "you will think of me, won't you, Athena, my fallen goddess? Of how I desecrated your--" 

Suddenly, you are staggered. Lord Rogers is swung backward and flung into the statue. There's a roar, tha same noise you would expect of a charging bear, and the flash of scarlet. You watch paralysed as Thor grabs Lord Rogers by his jacket and spins him, throwing him into the other wall. 

The smaller of the men, though they are both built well, slides to one knee, his hand on the plaster. The other is quick, wasting not a second before aims a foot into Rogers' stomach. The duke falls backward and is at once straddled beneath the larger. 

Thor lays blows upon the other man, hailing down on him like the tempest he claims himself. Your fear overflows and you push through the thick waves. You come forward numbly and pull your husband by the back of his collar.  

"Please sir, unhand him." 

"You would defend this animal!" He wails down another fist and growls. 

"No, no, I would not spare him but I would... I would have my husband not take me to my wedding night with bloodied knuckles. Thor," you pet the back of his head, "let this be a happy day. Please." 

He sits back on his heels and puffs out. He looks back at you as you step away. You put your hand to your middle.  

"Husband?" 

He snarls and spits on Lord Rogers, standing with a huff. You reach for his hand and he takes it. He squeezes as he sends one last kick of his toe to the man on the floor. 

"Let me save my strength for you, wife. I certainly would need it." 

[sabo-torao]

Small disclaimer before you head in: this whole post will be referencing the TCB translation. I know VIZ handled the exchange I'm discussing differently, but I couldn't find anyone who talked about the original version and as a result I don't really know who is closer to the original meaning. In any case, the "analysis" should still stand. Whether Dragon was commenting Sabo's firmness or admiring his resolution, Sabo's still putting on a mask, and that's the point I'm trying to break down. Enjoy!

This very specific interaction between Dragon and Sabo in chapter 1083 has always stuck out to me.

"My, you really are unshakeable."

which is an appropriate response to what Sabo said, of course. What kind of sensitive person reacts that way to the death of an innocent, right?

Even so, I can't help but compare the thing Sabo said to his actual, genuine reaction to King Kobra's death.

He's devastated.

Sabo brokenly screams Kobra's name, and his expression is one of full despair; he never thought about killing Kobra, let alone letting him die. On the contrary, he actively tried to save him.

Kobra told him to just let him go, that he was dead weight and he shouldn't be concerned about him, but Sabo straight up refused. In fact, Kobra's actions read way more as a sacrifice than an inevitable death; the king let himself die, knowing that this way Sabo could flee and reach Vivi and Luffy safely.

On the Lulusian ship, we see Sabo think about Kobra's last words to him and actively trying not to cry (and failing).

That's not an unshakable man. He's suffering, he's grieving. He realizes he failed his very own mission of saving the king and lets the meaning behind Kobra's actions and words sink in.

It really puts his former reaction into perspective.

Sabo's firmness, seriousness and coldness in front of Dragon and Ivankov are nothing but a façade. He acknowledges that what he's about to say might come off as harsh, and that, even if he does feel sorry for Kobra, the tragedy doesn't weigh him down thanks to the results it brought, but it all sounds like he's reassuring himself more than actually showing his indifference.

Hell, he even drinks his glass of wine right after having said that "he doesn't really care". How can anyone take his words seriously?

And we've been knowing Sabo is inclined to do this sort of thing since Dressrosa; he acted all cool and composed in front of Luffy but the second Koala called him on the Den Den Mushi he was weeping, having a hard time believing that his little brother didn't punch him or hate him for being alive all along. He even denied he was crying!

All because Sabo hates being seen as vulnerable, especially in front of the people he thinks he has to be strong for (Luffy, Dragon, etc). It's something I think goes back to how his parents treated him, since they scolded him for, y'know, having emotions and being a normal kid in need of love, but i digress.

I once saw someone describing Sabo as a very cold person in comparison to his brothers, even going as far as to say that Sabo doesn't care if people die if it means achieving the Revolutionary Army's goals (using this very interaction as proof), which couldn't be further away from the truth.

Bonney even says outright that it's weird seeing a "radical revolutionary" act so friendly when Sabo helps her out. Why would he do this if all he ever did was for "The Cause"?

Yes, Sabo is ruthless, rude, violent at times, and his friendly demeanor could be seen as a little more volatile than that of his brothers', but he's not heartless. He's not a "meanings to an end" guy, he proves it time and time and time again, and it's disheartening seeing people label him as such.

Sabo is kind. He may not be as warm as Ace and Luffy, but he is fundamentally a good person. A generous, kind, caring, sensitive person.

No matter how hard he tries to hide it.