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cheapshrimpysheep · 6 months ago

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My Heaven's Light

SUMMARY: Rollo managed to kidnap you before sending the NRC students to Fleur City's Waterways, believing he was saving you. Malleus and the others reach the tower, ring the Bell of Solace and rescue you. Malleus expresses his protective side and Rollo apologizes for kidnapping you.

CHARACTERS: Rollo Flamme VS Malleus Draconia (x Reader)

TAGS: GN Reader; Angst to Comfort; Jealousy

WARNING: Spoilers from Glorious Masquerade; Kidnapping

WORD COUNT: 4.220 Words

COMMENTS: Thinking about the fact that Rollo is the twisted version of Frollo and thinking of MC as Esmeralda, it is inevitable to imagine Rollo kidnapping MC. But not for the same reasons!

Rollo is a really complex character, but one I've wanted to write about for some time now. I plan to try writing more with him in the future.

Until then, I hope you enjoy this one. 🐲🦐🔔

By the way, do you have ANY idea how many times I've looked up synonyms for common words just to get as close as possible to Rollo's way of speaking? One thing is for sure: I am greatly expanding my English vocabulary with this.

Amidst the panic that the firelotuses were causing, both your colleagues and Professor Trein end up paying more attention to the flowers than to you.

As you move away from the flowers, you end up approaching one of the pillars. That's when you feel a hand covering your mouth and another holding your arm behind your back.

You are carried away through the shadows as you try to free yourself, but these attempts only make the hands hold you even tighter and run the risk of injuring your arm.

The person who is taking you leans over and whispers in your ear. “I beg you not do make this more complicated that it needs to be.” It's Rollo!

He takes you to a room adjacent to the hall and pushes you inside, making you fall into an armchair. Just before he closes the door to lock you inside you hear Grim's voice.

“[Y/N]? [Y/N]?! MY HENCH-HUMAN DISAPPEARED!”

No matter how loud you scream, or how much you bang on the door, the chaos outside is too loud for anyone to hear you. Eventually you realize something is going on, so you stop to listen to the conversation. Rollo had revealed himself and was talking to your NRC colleagues.

“My, my.” You hear Azul say. “That was quite a predictable villain line, you know.”

“Silence!” Rollo's voice echoed. “YOU'RE the villains here! And what's more, you flaunted your magic and mesmerized our good citizens with it... Just like you did with your prefect. You imprisoned them with you and poisoned their mind. The poor thing became numb to the absurdity after spending every day swimming in it. Mages use their magic to lead people astray and cloud the eyes of the virtuous public. It's sad state of affairs, but it's devastating when the victim is someone like [Y/N].”

“What have you done with [Y/N]?!” Malleus's powerful voice demands to know.

“For now, I am keeping them safe. But once I engulf the world in the fiery crimson of these flowers and strip every mage in Twisted Wonderland of their magic, then I will have saved them, and all those like them who suffer at your hands!”

“You have no idea of the atrocity you are insinuating, Flamme!” Not only does Malleus’s voice thunder, but the sky outside does too.

“And there he is, folks! The secret mastermind who was controlling the ‘final boss’ all along!” Idia says. “But what kind of mastermind jumps the gun and shows up this early? Dude has like, zero patience.”

“Could you not right now? You're ruining the moment.” Azul complains.

The discussion continues with Rollo revealing that his plan is already well underway. When the Bell of Solace rang for an unprecedented fourth time that night, it suffused the city with magic. The firelotuses aren't only in the school. They've spread throughout the city, and are sapping the energy from every mage living there. And after that, he opens the floor for everyone to fall into a pit.

“And those accursed mages, with Malleus Draconia foremost among them... They'll all be finished! Enjoy your time down below. Though I think you'll find it quite...draining. At long last... I shall finally mete out my justice.”

Some time later, the door opens and Rollo enters, extending his hand to you.

“Come. We must go to the Bell Tower. It is safer-”

What he didn't expect was for you to attack him with a tall candlestick. And you discover that in addition to being a promising mage, he also has excellent reflexes. He manages to dodge your attack and grab your wrists so you let go of the candlestick.

“I do not aim to harm you!” He says very seriously. “Please don't turn it into something I have to do.”

“Then what are you doing locking me here?”

“Preventing you from falling for the tricks of those magic-addled fools once again.” He comes closer, still grabbing you by the wrists. “You poor thing. Blinded by villains who wear an elusive mask of companions. But worry not, that tragic state of affairs shan't last much longer.” He brings his face even closer to yours. “Now, I will provide you with a choice. You will accompany me peacefully to the Bell Tower, where you will be safe by my side. Or you will make me forcefully assure your safety. Which one will be?”

If you choose to resist, Rollo will pin your arm behind your back again and place a handkerchief over your mouth and nose. Whatever is in that handkerchief, will render you unconscious. And you will wake up on the top floor of the Bell Tower, lying on a blanket.

You see Rollo with his back to you, looking down at the bright scarlet below. You stand up.

“For the Righteous Judge's sake, don't try to go against me again.” Rollo says, without turning to you. “Even without the use of my magic you will not be able to overpower me.” Still without taking his eyes off the outside he calms down to invite you. “Would you be so kind as to join me in gazing out over the city?”

If you choose to accompany him peacefully to the Bell Tower, Rollo will release your wrists with a smile and give you his arm for you to intertwine with yours.

“I'm glad my judgment of you is aligning with the truth.” He says calmly as he guides. “To remain so virtuous amidst the chaos of magic, you must surely be one of heaven's lights.” You see now a new smile, a peaceful one.

The climb up the tower was silent, as you needed to breathe to climb all those stairs. When you finally reach the top, Rollo extends his hand to you. If you give him yours, he will guide you like a gentleman to a point where you can both see the ominously lit city below.

After your choice:

“Ahh, the city's turned a marvelous shade of crimson... How cleansing it is. I've never felt so at peace before.”

“Why are you doing this, Rollo?”

“Once magic vanish from the world forever, no one will have to suffer with its consequences. Magic is not something to be lionized. It is an evil temptation that, behind its illusory wonders, only causes pain and suffering. If it wasn't dangerous, it wouldn't be like a toxin in your body... However... I wonder how much you actually know about it.”

You look at him as if to ask what he means by that.

“Are you even from this world [Y/N]?” He finally looks at you. “I don't know what it is, but there's something about you that's different from every non-magic user I've ever met. And the circumstances surrounding you are quite... abnormal.”

You choose not to respond.

“I see you have your secrets. I have mine owns as well." He takes his handkerchief to his face. "If you don't feel comfortable talking about your past, then allow me the right not to talk about mine either.”

He puts the handkerchief back in his pocket, and you observe the city in silence for a moment, until he speaks again.

“They will come here. I don't know which students will be strong enough to reach the tower, but Malleus Draconia will certainly be one of those who will be able to reach me. And when that happens, I will guarantee that he will be the first to fall.”

“Why all this obsession with Tsunotarou?”

“Obsession is a very strong word, I simply...” He stops to process what you just said. “I beg your pardon, but am I correct in assuming you were referring to Malleus Draconia just now?”

“Of course, he was who you were talking about just... Oh, I called him Tsunotarou didn't I? Sorry. But yes, I was talking about Malleus.”

“T-Tsunotarou?” He takes the handkerchief back to his face. “Is it some kind of mocking nickname?”

“No! I mean yes, it's a nickname, but no, it's not to mock him. It's a long story but that's what Grim and I call him.”

“Does he know about this... name?”

“Oh, yes. He even likes me calling him by that, he thinks it's funny. Or at least that's what it seams. He smiles every time he hears me say that name.” Just like you were smiling talking about him. “He calls me Child of Man.”

“You have a playful nickname for each other.” Rollo whispers with the handkerchief covering his angry (jealous) expression. “Soon enough you'll feel disgusted by it.”

“Sorry, I didn't understand.”

“No, nothing. Pay me no mind.” He takes the handkerchief away from his mouth. “Ah... I hear the firelotuses rustling... Those wretched Night Raven College mages are making their way up the tower, aren't they? Villains are always so stubborn.” Before you could complain about his words, he puts his hand on your arm and continues. “I must get you in a safer place. Those monsters won't give up without a fight.”

“Who do you think we’re calling-”

He ignores your reprimand and takes you by the arm to a small room that they will not have access to without first going through Rollo.

“I am deeply sorry for what I'm about to do, but I need to make sure you do not alert them to your location.” With his magic, he makes ropes appear to tie you up and a piece of cloth to silence you. “See how despicable magic is? An atrocity like trapping you is completed in seconds. But I will release you as soon as the danger has passed.” And he closes the door.

“Here we are.” You hear Malleus’s voice. “The very top floor of the bell tower.”

“The Bell of Solace stands out even at night.” Azul comments. “Look how it glints in the moonlight.”

“Now to ring it, wipe out the flowers, rescue [Y/N] and finish this stupid pop-up quest for good.” Idia points out.

“But to do that...” Malleus returns. “We must first pay our respects to the host of the party.”

This was Rollo's cue to reveal himself. Which he does.

“At long last, you've arrived. The greater the villains, the more they insist on stopping around. Deplorable.”

“Where are they Flamme?” Malleus demands to know.

“Safe, of course, away from you and your wicked lies.”

“Okay, I really need to ask.” Idia says. “What does our magic-less Prefect have to do with this flower plan and ending magic thing? Why kidnap them? They have no power to stop you. Unless you kidnapped them to keep them for yourself. Good taste tho. But you only met them literally today! That’s like the ultimate desperate creep move.”

“My actions involving your Prefect have nothing to do with personal motives. Innocent victims must be rescued from your evil hands! And that is exactly what I did.”

“I don't know if you would use the word ‘Innocent’ like that if you actually knew them.” Azul comments with a smirk.

“If this is true, it will be proof of your corruption!”

The flowers reach the bell and the exchange of words follows a course that ends with the three fighting Rollo after Malleus said:

“Regardless of your reasons, you will not have your way. I shall stop you for all the fallen in this city... For the wonderful person you kidnapped... For the people awaiting us at school... For Briar Valley... And for myself. You see, I harbor a particularly potent animus toward you. A feeling aggravated by the disrespectful actions you had towards who is dearest to me. I shall eradicate the firelotuses and put all to rights. With the Bell of Solace itself!”

They lose the first fight against Rollo. And it's after that that Idia reveals what they read in Rollo's diary that they found in the fireplace. About his brother. About him not being able to do anything to save him... And you hear Idia going down a not so empathetic path, to which you would react with a facepalm if your hands weren't tied.

You hear Rollo getting angry and starting to lose his composure, Azul attacking him with Deuce's signature spell, with whom he had made a deal, the astonished reaction when seeing that Rollo is still standing, and finally, you hear Rollo use his signature spell and the sound of flames bursting forth.

A new fight, even more violent, until the sound of the flames died away and...

“Rollo collapsed, and his flames went out...” Azul says. “That means Malleus won, right?”

“Dude, Malleus is out of breath.” Idia says “I can see why he wanted us clear. We could've easily been collateral damage.”

Rollo says he accepted his defeat, but only to try to attack Malleus one last time when he turned his back on him. He failed, and Malleus rang the Bell of Solace, making all the flowers wither.

“The firelotuses...” Rollo was sobbing. “My flowers, my salvation, they're all withering away... You VILLAINS. What have you done?!”

“More important than that.” Malleus approached, his figure towering over Rollo's on the ground. “What have YOU done to [Y/N]?”

“Why do you show yourself so worried? A being like you would never truly care for someone like them. Admit your true intentions! You want to see them suffer on the long term.”

You finally manage to get your feet close to the door. You hear the worried voices of Azul and Idia telling Malleus not to succumb to Rollo's provocations. And you knock on the door with your feet so they can hear you.

You hear hurried footsteps coming your way, see Malleus opening the door, and look down in horror.

“[Y/N]!” He quickly reaches down to free you, breaking the ropes with his own hands and untying the piece of cloth around your mouth. He would have preferred to use magic to ensure he didn't hurt you, but he was relatively weak in that regard. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

You say you're fine, but that doesn't stop Malleus from picking you up in his arms.

“Is [Y/N] hurt?!” Azul asked, worried.

“They say they're fine. But just in case.”

“Something tells me that Malleus just really wanted to live the scene of the hero who picks up the princess in their arms after saving her from the clutches of the villain who kidnapped her.” Idia comments, just between him and Azul. “Hey, no judgments. This is what I call sense of opportunity.”

Rollo was furious, but he would never admit how jealous he was. Not even to himself.

You watched the shows that your NRC colleagues prepared. The music was beautiful and they sang so well! Especially Malleus. After that, you all talked for a bit in a group before Malleus disappeared. Only for you to see him dance with Rollo. Seriously? All that and he's still going to dance with Rollo before he dances with you?!

You dance with the others, until Malleus appears to bow to you and invite you to dance with him. However, to his surprise, you look sullen.

“Is there something wrong?” He asks you. “Did I do something that displeased you?”

You answer yes, that after everything, the first person he danced with was Rollo. He chuckles, and you get even more sulky.

“Forgive me, but I could not resist provoking Flamme one last time. That, and warn him never to even come near you again.” He says with a smile, which makes it a little scary. “I jest. Well, partially. I did threaten him if he did anything to you again.” He pauses to see if you would cheer up a bit, but you still didn't seem completely satisfied. He smirks. “I must admit, a little jealousy can actually be charming and cute.”

Other people wanted to dance with Malleus, but he asked them all to, please, wait a little longer.

“You are creating a quite long waiting line you know? I will not dance with anyone else until I have my desired dance with my beloved.” He smiles smugly when he sees your reaction.

You give him your hand, he kisses the back of it and brings your body closer to his, placing his other hand on your waist. And you dance together.

“Please be careful.” He says as you dance. You look down at your feet, confused. “Fufu. No my dear, I wasn't referring to your dancing.” The sweet smile becomes more serious. “I was referring to Rollo Flamme. I have reason to believe that, after just one day, he has already recognized your charm. He does not convince me that he did that to you just because he believed he was saving you. But worse than that...”

His expression turns sad and you feel his hand pull you closer.

“He still have hatred towards me and wants to get read of all the mages. Under different circumstances, I would not fear his attacks. I would even invite him to try. But with you... If he realizes how much you mean to me... Despite what happened, I don't believe he has that kind of character, but if he reaches a state of despair where his hatred for me is stronger than the attachment he might feel for you...”

There’s a pause. His expression becomes more peaceful.

“I learned an expression that the citizens here have. Heaven's Light. We don't know what this place called heaven is for sure, but according to some records from the past, it would have been such a wonderful place that it was not even located on land. It was somewhere above the clouds. I believe even the stories of the Lord of the Underworld spoke of a similar place. They say that the name ‘Heaven's Light’ was given by the Kindly Bell Ringer to the woman he fell in love with, for being such a caring and kind person to him.”

He caresses your cheek with one of his hands.

“I understand him perfectly. From the story I was told, I can only believe that I too was blessed with my own Heaven's Light. And just like the Kindly Bell Ringer, I will do whatever it takes to protect it.”

You didn't even realize that Malleus has led you to a more secluded place. Only when you saw that the two were hidden by the shadows and a pillar and he began to bring his face closer to yours. “My Heaven's Light.” He whispers before kissing you.

After your dance with Malleus, he went to dance with the other people who also wanted such an honor and you went to dance with some of your other colleagues.

You were finishing dancing with Sebek when Rollo approached you. Both you and he startled when Sebek quickly placed himself between the two of you.

“What are your intentions?” Sebek inquired with hostility.

“My intentions are not vile.” Rollo replies, hiding his displeasure at the way Sebek is talking to him with his composure. “I would only like to be able to invite [Y/N] to dance.”

“I cannot allow it! My orders are to keep this human safe and away from you.”

Rollo takes his handkerchief to his face, holding back the urge to respond to his audacity and insulting words. However, you tell Sebek that it's okay and that you would like to accept Rollo's invitation. Both he and Sebek are surprised.

“B-but...” He had those sad puppy eyes, eager to fulfil his duty. “My liege told me... he entrusted me to protect you.”

And you say he can still do it. He can watch you while you dance with Rollo. And if something really happens, he can intervene.

“But what if it's too late?”

You say that Rollo wouldn't do anything like that in front of all those people. And that Sebek could tell Malleus that it was your fault for telling him not to stop you.

“But... *sigh* Why are you humans so stubborn? Fine. But I won't take my eyes off you. Even if I have to stop myself from blinking!... Be careful.”

Rollo extends his hand to you and you place yours in his to accept his invitation to dance. He guides you very gently.

“I wanted to apologize for the way I treated you.” He tells you while dancing with you. “I never meant to be rude to you. And regardless of what the students of Night Raven College tell you, at no point did I intend to harm you.” Your expression shows your suspicion. “I don't intend to apologize for doing what I concluded was the best way to save you at the time. I only apologize for the... atrocious way in which I did it. I shouldn't have forced you to come with me. But I feared what those spiteful mages might do to you in a moment of desperation.”

“They wouldn't hurt me!” You say, with certainty in your voice.

“How could you be so sure of that?”

“Because, unlike you, I know them.”

He looks you intently in the eyes, and sighs. The music comes to an end, as does your dance. You bow to each other.

“I find it pitiful seeing someone magic-devoid like you stuck in that villains' lair.” He tells you when you both straighten up. “I am inclined to make my utmost efforts to have you reside in Nobel Bell College instead, however I've already come to the sorrowful realization that it is your heart that keeps you hostage in that island. But before we part, I insist that you know that if you ever find yourself overwhelmed by those circumstances that involve magic, do let me know.” He gives you that subtle smile of his. “I will be glad to provide you with my support and assistance at any moment.”

You give him a smile back, accepting his offer.

“But, just to guarantee that you don't forget my heartfelt offering...” He reaches into his pocket, takes out his handkerchief and extends it to you. “Here it is said that handkerchiefs are powerful guardians of the memories of a loved one. It is common to offer them when we don't want to be forgotten by someone. Despite my mistakes, I would still like you to have the most pleasant memory of me possible." You accept his gift. "I confess that my biggest wish at the moment was to have one of yours too.” Without his handkerchief, he covers his mouth with his hand. “But that is just a mere whim of mine.” He takes his hand away from his face and smiles again “Not even in my wildest dreams did I think I would have so much pleasure in meeting someone from Night Raven College.” He gives you one last bow. “May the Bell of Solace allow our paths to cross again.”

He turned to walk away, but you wanted to do one last thing. You had also bought a handkerchief just like his when you were doing your tour of the city, and you wouldn't need two. You ask him to wait and he turns back to you.

“It doesn't have to be a mere whim.” You say, handing him the handkerchief you had kept with you. Perhaps the sign of a second chance.

He receives your handkerchief and looked at it with his natural smile, but his eyes were different, they had a small, almost imperceptible sparkle.

“I will keep it as one of my most cherished possessions. Thank you, [Y/N].”

“Should I assume this was some sort of revenge?” You hear Malleus's voice say suddenly as you step away from the dancing crowd.

You didn't know he was there, and so close. You look at him and he's smiling wryly.

“I didn't give him any gifts, though. Should I have bought a souvenir too? Perhaps make a bouquet of those crimson flowers he is so fond of.”

“It seems you were right, Tsunotarou.” You say with a sly smile. “A little jealousy can actually be charming and cute.”

Malleus makes that cute pout.

“I told you to be careful.” He says, not as a scolding, but as a concerned request.

You tell him that nothing bad happened, that Rollo wanted to apologize for what he did to you and for him not to blame Sebek because you were the one who accepted Rollo's invitation.

“Don't worry, I know Sebek is a loyal guard. And that you are the one with a kind heart. I told Sebek that I believed him when he told me that it was of your own free will that you were dancing with Flamme. It is in your character to give others the opportunity to explain and apologize. I know this well because it's one of the things I love most about you.” His pout comes back. “However...” He smiles smugly. “I would be more reassured if you spend the rest of the ball close to me. Just in case.”

“Just in case of what, exactly?” You ask.

“Just in case someone else becomes so captivated by you that they want to lock you up in a tower. Which reminds me that in some tales the kidnapper arrange a dragoon to guard the kidnapped.” His smile becomes even more smug and slightly threatening. “Fu fu fu. I would like to see them trying.”

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

#Twisted Wonderland #Twst #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #Twst x Reader #Twst Imagines #Malleus Draconia #Malleus Draconia x Reader #Rollo Flamme #Rollo Flamme x Reader #Glorious Masquerade #Twst Glorious Masquerade #Twisted Wonderland Glorious Masquerade #Twst Halloween

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certaimromance · 9 months ago

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𝜗𝜚 Cupid Walks Right.

Coworker!Reid x Avoidant!reader

series mastelist | main masterlist

Summary: You've been hiding your attraction to your coworker for a long time, until a few pictures of him kissing a celebrity in a pool unleash emotions you can't control.

Words: 1,6k.

Warnings & Tags: fem!bau!reader. mentions of crime and arms. spoilers for s1 e18 ("somebody's watching"). hurt+comfort. two idiots in love. lots of jealousy. fluff. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: The reader is simply me every time I watch that episode but with a lot more drama to make it interesting.

One bullet after another hit the paper meters away from you, with each shot more accurate than the previous one. You had lost count of how many cartridges you had already spent because your mind was full of thoughts that only the sound of the shots echoing in the shooting room managed to silence and give you back a little control of the situation.

Memories of one of the last cases still lingered in your mind, and you couldn't understand why. It hadn't even been something relevant enough to stick in your mind that much, it was just a crazy stalker obsessed with a celebrity and more of the same old same old in terms of creating a profile. It was nothing you hadn't seen before, and it had ended well, with a happy ending that included Spencer kissing the victim he was supposed to be protecting.

That was the crux of the issue, the root of your problem.

You saw some photos that captured the moment in vivid detail and wanted to run out and throw up in the nearest trash can. You held back to avoid answering embarrassing questions, blaming your bad feelings on the last thing you ate and insisting that you were just satisfying your curiosity. But as they say, curiosity always kills the cat.

Maybe it was because it was unprofessional and unnecessary, maybe you were in a bad mood and needed to relax, maybe you were upset that the guy with the germ problem had shared saliva with a stranger, maybe you didn't like Lila Archer because of her performances, or maybe you just wanted to be in her shoes and have him kiss you like that. And for heaven's sake, maybe you've had a few inappropriate dreams about it lately.

You were just about to fire again to get the thoughts out of your mind when someone tapped you on the shoulder. You turned around, ready to defend yourself with the gun in your hand.

“Wait, wait, it's me. I'm sorry.” Spencer raised his arms in a sign of peace and took a few steps back. “Just me.”

“What are you doing here? You scared me.” You lowered the gun and placed it on the table, trying to sound less abrupt. “I thought everyone had gone home.”

He approached you again, checking the open shells and the pile of bullets on the ground. He was quite surprised to see how many times you had hit the target with perfect shots, and how you still seemed intent on continuing, even though it was almost two in the morning. It wasn't practice, because you didn't need it, it was something else, and you seemed quite angry about it.

“I spent the hour going through some papers and saw the light on in here. I thought I'd come and have a look.” He explained, trying to follow your gaze, which seemed to elude his. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, perfect.”

You started gathering your things and cleaning up the space you'd been using, planning to leave as soon as possible because of his presence. It had been weeks since you'd been alone with him because you'd managed to avoid seeing him as best you could. You'd even managed to convince Hotch that it was time for him to pair you up with someone else during the cases to experiment. You didn't even know why he'd listened to you, but it had been a great relief.

“You're leaving already?” Spencer asked, and you just nodded. “Can I take you home?”

Usually he drove you home, because your car was still at the mechanic and you refused to buy a new one. You always used the minutes you spent together to talk about something other than cases, they were moments of relaxation that you both appreciated. The big difference was that now you couldn't afford that luxury without feeling strange.

“Don't worry, I'll call a taxi.” You grabbed your jacket from a nearby locker. “I'm fine.” You added, with the intention of heading for the door until he stopped you by the wrist.

“Is everything okay...between us?” He asked as you looked up to meet his eyes. “Are you mad at me?”

“I'm sorry, what?” You said, feigning confusion. You always knew it was only a matter of time before he figured something was off with you. After all, he worked in profiling.

“Are you mad at me?” He asked again, in a lower voice, sounding a little more vulnerable than he'd intended. That instantly made you feel bad, you didn't want to hurt him with your confusion.

“No.”

He let out a sigh at your automatic response. His shoulders slumped a bit, and he felt a wave of relief for a few seconds. But then he looked into your eyes for a moment and hesitated, biting his lower lip.

“So...why are you looking at me like that?” He asked, sounding a little shy and with a hint of apprehension in his voice. “Or not looking at me at all.”

“I'm not doing anything.” You make excuses.

He got the chills when he heard your voice, which came across as cold and distant.

“You're giving me that look.”

You gave a little frown and folded your arms, as if to say you didn't agree.

“What look?"

“You look at me like I've done something wrong, like you're disappointed or angry...I think both. You barely look me in the eye, you walk away every time I want to talk to you, you don't sit near me on the jet or want to work with me anymore. And you've been like this for a week.” He paused for a second, remembering when your strange behavior started. “Ever since the L.A. case.”

The room was suddenly filled with silence and a palpable tension. You had been foolish to think Spencer wouldn't notice your remoteness, given his perceptive nature. But you didn't have a choice. You didn't want to appear jealous when you didn't even have feelings for him, you were just ovulating or something like that.

“Is it because...because of Lila? I heard Morgan say some things, and you haven't treated me the same since.” His wavering voice sounded more and more confident, as if he still had to convince himself of his point of view. “I want to know what you think, please.”

You could only curse Derek for exposing you like that. He was the only one who knew about your strange attraction to Reid because he had caught you looking at him several times and you had confessed it to him once in a bar after several drinks and a ridiculous game of cross questions. Since that night, the jokes and suggestions about making out with Spencer under a tree had begun.

But a beautiful actress did it before you, in her pool, with lots of pictures to prove it.

“I'm not one to tell you what to do, but I think your actions were unprofessional and most of all risky.” You spoke after a few seconds, clearing your throat and trying to contain the burning you felt. “It could have ended badly.”

Come on, you would have done the same thing. You often thought about what it would be like to kiss him in the middle of an investigation, especially when he kept giving important details. So you were a little hypocritical.

“I'm only saying that because I care about you.” You added, noticing how confused he looked.

“I know, I care about you too.” He replied calmly, taking a step toward you to touch your arm. “This has been bothering you?”

You froze at his warm touch and the implications you thought he was making about you, nodding as if hypnotized. Had he realized that you had been jealous all along? That you wanted to go back so he could kiss you and not her? That you wanted him to put his hands on your cheeks and kiss you deeply until you were breathless?

“I think I understand, but don't worry about me. I won't do anything dangerous anymore.”

Oh, he hadn't noticed.

Spencer really thought that you were just concerned about his safety because he was your friend and your partner on cases, that you were just frustrated that you weren't there to back him up in case things went wrong. It didn't even occur to him that it was something much deeper and more heated than that.

“So, all good?” He gave you a small smile that made your heart beat a little faster.

“Sure.” You lied, with a strange lump in your throat at the guarded words. “I just didn't know you liked blondes.” You added in a fake teasing tone.

Despite your clearly suspicious tone, Spencer laughed sheepishly. “Actually, I like your hair color.”

A strange bubbling sensation reached your stomach and made you smile.

“Mine?” You asked, lowering your gaze to the floor.

“Yes, it's like it's perfect for you.” He carefully brushed your hair out of your face and tucked it behind your ear, causing the feeling in your stomach to identify itself as butterflies fluttering nonstop.

“You're telling me because I have a gun?” You tried to change the subject with a nervous laugh. “I'm not a celebrity, after all.”

“You don't have to be one to be as pretty as you are. But you could be if you wanted to, and...” He started to talk about statistics and a bunch of data you didn't even know, but strangely enough you didn't listen to him this time because you were stuck on the first sentence.

Spencer really thought you were pretty.

It was only then that you realized something had changed. The only successful shot had been Cupid's arrow to your heart.

Because, damn it, you were totally in love with that man.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid imagine

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bucketbueckers · 1 month ago

Text

TIMELESS

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

content: slight language, fluff w maybe a little angst (im beginning to realize the "angst" is probably just plot) but it's literally not that deep at all (this is a bucketbueckers fanfiction we all know there's a happy ending), AU, soulmates, author won't pretend to understand history, potential misuse of period-typical slang, historical inaccuracies (ask me if i care [spoiler: i dont!]), abuse of punctuation, light violence, poorly proofread

wc: 15.5k

synopsis: Even in a different life, you still would have been hers. OR – two (of the many) lives you've lived with Paige Bueckers, and the one you're living with her now.

notes: im not rly much of an au author but i figured i needed a lil bit of something different after FOTS beat my ass. i've been toying w this idea for a while now 😋 this fic is probably better in theory but i had sm fun writing it (and thinking about pilot!paige and knight!paige kinda drives me crazy) idk not too much yapping from me today but as always i hope y'all enjoy &&& happy munch madness, lets have some good vibes going into game day tmr 🫶

2025

It’s a warm, breezy Tuesday in Connecticut, one of your rare off days, and this is quite possibly the last place you’d expect yourself to be.

Standing before you is an old antique shop. It’s a block away from the apartment you share with your girlfriend, Paige Bueckers, and you pass it every day on your morning jog. It’s rustic, worn at the edges, but there’s something softer about its unassuming visage today. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you’re out a little later than usual – Paige had an afternoon practice compared to her typical morning ones, so the two of you had lounged in bed for a little longer, soaking in the time together.

Whatever the reason, there was something in the air that compelled you to stop by. So you do.

The sign that hangs over the door is rusted, hanging loosely from one tarnished chain, its words unrecognizable from how time has eroded it. A bell chimes happily as you push the door open. Immediately, you’re hit with the scent of aged paper, ink, and something else that is distinctly vintage. The walls are lined with various art pieces, antique furniture tucked neatly into the crevices of the shop with tan price tags attached. You’re wrought with a familiar sense of nostalgia; there’s something so incredibly touching about the fact that everything in this store had belonged to somebody once, had been something of value, something to take care of. Everything is still in perfect condition. It’s beautiful to know that after someone is long gone, there is still someone out there who will cherish their belongings and take care of them the same way they had.

You gaze around the shop, taking everything in, your steps slow and methodical. You were never a patient shopper, always seeking to get in and get out, but it feels as though the shop is trying to tell you something – trying to show you something. You wander, studying the art, the intricate carvings on aged furniture, until you make your way to the check-out counter. The clerk is absent, although there’s a cardboard box full of old pictures – a black and white photo of a bride, toddlers playing soccer, an elderly couple on a porch swing.

There’s something achingly familiar about them. It makes your heart swell, makes you wrack your brain to discern where you’ve seen these photos before. You sift through the rest, lingering on a few; there’s one of a couple laughing on the porch of what you assume to be their first house, a photo of two people embracing – one is wearing an aged military uniform, which makes your face soften, and the third is two teenagers holding hands, dressed fashionably. That one makes you smile as you take in the lovestruck expression on their faces.

Still, there’s something about the photos that give you pause. You pull out your phone, navigating to FaceTime, and you call the one number you know will pick up no matter what.

The line clicks through and Paige’s face fills your screen. She’s slightly out of breath, her face flushed from the exertion of practice, hair messy and sweat beading at her temples. Despite that, she grins, a sort of smile that’s reserved only for you. “Hey, baby,” she greets, her voice soft, which brings a smile to your face as well. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” you say back. “Sorry, I know you’re at practice–”

“We finished early, but I always got time for you,” she promises. “You know that.”

Your smile widens. “Well, I was on my jog, but you know that antique shop in town?” Paige hums in affirmation. “Something told me to go in, so I did. Look at some of these photos I found.” You flip the FaceTime camera, positioning your phone over your collection of photos. Paige leans in a little closer to see, her brows drawing together in concentration.

“They feel…really familiar,” she says, scratching the back of her neck. “Like I feel like I’ve seen them somewhere.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” you exclaim. “It’s so weird. It’s like I know these people.”

“Wait, go back to that one,” Paige requests. “The black and white one, military uniform.” Doing as instructed, you pull that one to the forefront of the stack, gazing at them expectantly. That’s when you truly take a closer look, recognizing the expressions on the couple’s faces, their facial features. Your breath hitches just as Paige says, “Why do they kinda look like–”

“Us,” you finish.

“Yeah,” Paige murmurs, a little awestruck. “I can’t explain it but like – I can feel it.”

You flip the photo around, your eyes catching on the date on the back, and the subsequent memory hits you like a truck.

1944

It’s a sweltering afternoon in May when your life changes.

Well, changes for the second time since 1941.

Three years ago, the United States declared war on Germany and the adjoining Axis powers following the attack on Pearl Harbor. It was a dramatic shift for the entire country, one that displaced just about every facet of life. Men were drafted, heading overseas to fight, leaving holes in the workforce. Although the reality was bleak and dire, you saw this as an opportunity – for independence, for some shred of equality, for freedom. With plenty of job openings as workers were joining the war effort, you landed a job at a shipyard along the coast.

It wasn’t easy. Far from it, actually. You worked long, uncomfortable hours, hardly fitting in time for a break. You, along with several other women, worked on building, repairing, and maintaining the ships that would be used to transport supplies or men overseas. For you, it was enough – the daily routine, the knowledge that you were contributing to something greater than yourself, that your efforts were making a difference. It was worth it.

You get off your shift sometime in the afternoon. You’ve been up since the early hours of the morning; now, you’re half-asleep, only going through the motions and letting pure muscle memory guide you down the busy streets. Something big is happening soon – you can feel it. You’ve noticed drastically more uniformed men on the streets, whispers of another draft; at this point, your suspicion is a matter of when and not if.

Barely aware of what’s in front of you, you turn the corner, colliding roughly with the person in front of you. They hardly move although you bounce backwards, knocked off balance by both your exhaustion and the fact that you’re so much smaller than the other person. You’re already bracing yourself to eat concrete, eyes shut tightly, when you realize you’re not toppling over; instead, there’s a pair of firm hands holding you by the arms, keeping you upright.

“You alright?”

Her voice is concerned, if a little gravelly, rough around the edges in a way that captures your attention immediately. You open your eyes, your breath hitching, because you’re sure this is the most beautiful woman you’ve ever laid eyes on. The street is busy — everyone lost in their own little worlds moves right by you, but at this moment? It feels like time stops, like nothing exists except for you and the blonde woman before you.

Her hair is pulled up in a tight, slick-back bun, the edges pressed and the golden waves reflecting in the early May sun. Her eyes are a deep blue, almost startling so, but there’s an evident kindness that softens the intensity. Her jaw is sharp, angular, her nose sloping elegantly despite the chisel, but what truly captures your attention is her stature — she’s the tallest woman you’ve ever seen, no less than six foot, and her broad shoulders fill out her khaki uniform service shirt. There’s an emblem pinned over her left breast, wing shaped in the aviator insignia. You’ve been staring for far too long already and the pilot is smiling like she’s caught you. Despite yourself, you feel the heat rise in your cheeks.

“I’m okay,” you assure her, your voice even, which makes the expression on her face soften.

“The flyboys would never let me live it down if I ran you over,” she says coyly, her hands lingering just a second longer on your arms before she finally steadies you. Her touch makes you flustered. “Hurtin’ a girl like you is cause for a national emergency.”

You laugh, a tinkling, carefree sound that betrays the way your heart pounds — in a good way. “You think you’re slick, don’t you?”

With gentle hands, she pulls you under the awning of the storefront you’re standing next to — an antiquities shop, according to the sign, keeping you out of the way of the bustling crowd as she murmurs, “I call it like I see it.”

With a teasing smile, you glance up at her, enjoying the way she looms over you far too much. It’s not intimidating, her stature, but it does make you feel warm all over. She’s long, toned, and you can see the muscle hidden behind her uniform. Her khaki button up is tucked neatly into the waistband of her sage green trousers, the top missing a few clasped buttons to reveal the dog tags hanging from her neck. She looks so put together, handsome and beautiful all in one, and maybe it’s the solemnity of the world around you, but this moment in time feels so peaceful, so right. “Do you, now?” you ask. “And what exactly are you seeing, flygirl?”

The nickname makes her preen, flashing her teeth in a smile that could surely ruin you. “Well,” she begins, her eyes scanning your figure in a way that looks as though she’s in a gallery staring at art, and not actually standing in the middle of a crowded street and staring at a woman who has just gotten off a twelve hour shift, covered in motor oil. Her gaze doesn’t make you feel objectified – far from it, but you’re beginning to think that you enjoy her attention. “I see this pretty girl – gorgeous is more like it, but I ain’t never been good with words. Just actions.” Her lips quirk slightly, reaching out with her thumb to wipe away a smudge of grease off of your cheekbone. Your face flushes, which only makes her features brighten like the clouds parting for the sun. “I see honesty. Ambition.”

“You can tell that much about me just from one look?” you say, a little amused.

“I’d tell you a hell of a lot more if it meant seein’ you again,” she confesses.

You scan her features, not quite sure what you’re searching for – deception, maybe, but you don’t see it. All you see is genuinity, a certain brand of hope that you haven’t seen in anyone’s expression in the last few years. You don’t know anything about her other than the fact that she’s a pilot, an aviator, but a slow smile spreads across your face the more you consider her request.

In times like these, you need all the joy you can get, no matter how short it is. So you teasingly lean in, relishing in the way her body eclipses yours as she melts into you, but you stop her with a hand to the chest. You know she could easily push past it, but you appreciate the way her body goes rigid, like she’s letting you make the call. Her brow raises – a challenge, maybe? – but despite herself, her smile grows, too.

“I’m not that easy,” you whisper to her, satisfied when her breath hitches. You press against her gently and she leans back, acquiescing. “You’re gonna have to work for it if you wanna see me so bad.”

“I can do that,” she promises, nodding emphatically, which makes you laugh quietly – she’d seemed so confident, so composed; now, she just seems eager to impress, to listen to every word you say.

Content, you take a step back, flashing one last smile. “See you soon, flygirl,” you say, enjoying the smitten look on her face, until –

“I never got your name, yardbird!” Her voice carries over the thrum of the crowd.

When you pause, glancing back at her, she seems amused, if not a little hopeful to hear you answer. But again – you’re not that easy. “Find me again and I’ll tell you,” you call back, your promise reaching her ears. You watch as her smile grows; even from afar, you can make out the determination in her eyes, the clear message of challenge accepted.

You’re not surprised to see her again.

If anything, you were almost expecting it. Her eyes had held a promise, the vow that she’d rise to the challenge. She didn’t become a pilot by being unambitious – you were sure that it was the complete opposite of that, having to work twice as hard as her flyboy companions. Any surprise you hold is because of how soon you see her.

It’s the next day and you’re walking home from the shipyard again, taking that same path you’ve taken hundreds of times across the years. You’re guided by muscle memory, weaving around the slow walkers and finding natural gaps in the crowd. When you turn the corner, the pilot is standing under the awning of the antiquities shop again, her hair pinned up in the same, sleek bun, her uniform crisp and pressed. She’s glancing at her wristwatch and as soon as you round the corner, stepping onto the street, she looks up and meets your eyes immediately. A smug smile graces her features.

“Found you,” she calls out, pushing herself off of the wall with a boot to the brick. You roll your eyes, amused, and you meet her in the middle by the doorway.

“You memorizing my schedule?” you ask her.

She shrugs a coy shoulder. “I’m committed,” she declares. “Said you weren’t gonna make it easy for me, right?”

“So she does listen,” you muse.

“Every word.” You smile at her, and it’s then that you realize she’s hiding her hands behind her back. Recognizing your curiosity, she reveals her hands, her smile softening – she’s holding a singular red rose, a rich, dark red in color, and you shouldn’t be surprised, but you are. “Think this is enough to finally earn your name, yardbird?”

You hum, tapping your chin dramatically, which draws a laugh from the aviator. Conceding, you take the rose from outstretched hands, much to her relief. You introduce yourself, listening as she tests the pronunciation on her tongue, smiling at how nice it sounds rolling off her tongue. Then, she sticks out her hand for you to shake as she states, “Paige Bueckers, airforce service pilot.”

She walks you home after that, her hand gentle yet protective over the small of your back. Your conversation is full of laughter, teasing, and Paige flirting with you unashamedly; you like it more than you would ever admit to her, although you’re certain she knows. Despite the fact that this is only your second conversation, there’s something about Paige that gives her the uncanny ability to understand you – it’s like a connection that goes deeper than your accidental run in from yesterday, like she was born to know you and you were born to know her. It’s like you’ve known Paige Bueckers your entire life. It’s a new feeling, but certainly not an unwelcome one.

This quickly becomes your routine. You wake up early, spend your morning and the better part of the afternoon at the shipyard, then Paige walks you home. Getting to know her comes as easy as breathing and being with her is almost enough to make you forget about the chaos in the world. It’s like Paige is your perfect complement. She came into your life in the most unexpected way possible, but the more time you spend with her, the more nights you invite her over for dinner, the more you realize that you truly wouldn’t have it any other way.

Some nights she stays over. Paige blends so seamlessly into your routine that you wonder how you were ever complete without her at your side constantly. In the mornings, she’ll brew your coffee – how she figured out exactly how you took it, you weren’t sure, but you weren’t complaining, make your breakfast, massage your hands (because they were always sore and calloused from working on the ships all day), and walk you to the shipyard every day. At some point in time, she graduated from having a hand on your back to tangling your fingers together, which is something you truly relished in.

Over the month, the two of you get closer. Sometimes you stay at her house, waking up early enough to iron her uniform just to make her day a little easier. Paige tells you that you don’t have to go out of your way to do that for her, but secretly, you like it when she’s still in the grips of sleep and she gets out of bed to wrap her arms around you, resting her chin on your shoulder and watching you smooth out every wrinkle from her shirt. She’s warm, and soft, and dare you say it, she’s yours, even though neither of you have truly discussed it yet. It’s not traditional – in fact, nothing about the two of you is traditional; until recently, it wasn’t normal for women to work, let alone fly airplanes, let alone be in relationships together, but it works because it’s you and Paige. It works because although you’ll never have the vocabulary to describe it, you know this isn’t the first time you’ve met Paige. This isn’t the first time you’ve shared sleepy mornings together. It’s not even the first time you’ve loved her. Whether you truly realized it or not, you and Paige were a story centuries in the making, spanning across several years, decades, lifetimes.

But in a world like this, not everything can be perfect. Your suspicions were right from the very beginning.

“I have to leave,” Paige whispers to you on one quiet, sunny afternoon. It’s June 1st, barely fourteen hours into the day when Paige breaks the news. You’d been working since dawn. When Paige picked you up from the shipyard, she’d been noticeably dim, not nearly as lively on the walk back. You pressed, but she was silent, so you’d hoped that she was just tired from training; then, she’d suggested the two of you go to her backyard to lay in the sun. You curled up next to her, your chin on her chest, smiling as she pointed out the different shapes in the clouds (“That one’s definitely a boat,” you’d said, finger directed at a blob in the sky, to which Paige had responded with, “Y’think so, yardbird?”)

You knew Paige was an aviator. An aircraft service pilot, to be exact. You knew that eventually, she would be called in to fulfill a duty. You just never thought it would come so soon.

“When?” you murmur, willing your voice not to crack. Your hand was resting over her stomach – you can feel how her breathing comes to her quicker, hear the way her heart pounds in her chest. She wants to leave just as much as you want her to, but she knows she’s bound by obligation.

“Tomorrow morning,” she responds. Your heart aches and she can only tighten her arm around your shoulders, her chin pressing into your temple. “I’m flyin’ out to England – all of the Allies will be there. We’ll get debriefed, then… I’m flying twenty men into Normandy to invade Europe. After that, I’ll be transporting supplies and cargo between our bases and the frontlines.”

“Paige,” you try, but the lump in your throat cuts you off.

“Don’t worry about me,” she says, trying for a lighthearted tone, but you can hear that it’s weighing on her just as much as it’s weighing on you. “I’ll be okay.”

“Please don’t make me a promise you can’t keep,” you beg, which makes Paige deflate, unable to continue being strong. “There’s no guarantees–”

“I know–”

“And don’t be reckless, you hear–”

“Yardbird,” Paige stresses, her voice cracking on the syllables of her nickname for you; despite the anguish on her face, there’s a calm acceptance, a sort of determination that looks like a promise to return. She squeezes your shoulder, directing your attention to her face. Tears are pooling on her waterline and if there’s one thing that’s always true about Paige Bueckers, it’s that irritating, unmistakable confidence of hers; you can see it reflected in her eyes. She believes that she’s coming home after this mission. You know better than to get your hopes up. “I promise you–”

“Don’t–”

She interrupts you with a stern look, desperation clouding her features now. She needs you to hear this. “I promise I’ll come home to you,” she vows. Paige’s voice softens to a whisper, her eyes searching yours to make sure you’re listening. “I don’t care what it takes. As soon as my mission is complete, I’ll be flying the first plane out of Europe. You and me?” Paige trails off, squeezing your hand like it’s a lifeline. “We aren’t done here. I still have to make you mine.” You murmur her name, but she shakes her head, needing to finish her thought. “I still have to introduce you to my family – to Drew. There’s so much more we have to do together – that we are going to do together. Okay?”

You gaze at her for a few achingly long moments, trying to memorize the blue of her eyes, the slope of her nose, the way her hair is disheveled because she’s usually so put together and that thought alone makes fresh tears spring to your eyes. Before they can fall, she leans up, pressing her thumbs to your cheeks and her forehead to yours. “I’ll write you letters,” she promises. “Everyday.”

You breathe in deep, trying to remember her scent. You know that you still have the rest of the day with Paige, but it feels like she’s already overseas. Gathering yourself, you nod against her, trying to commit the way her skin feels on yours to memory. “Okay,” you repeat, giving in. Her fingers brush across your skin, tilting your head up to meet her eyes. She’s scanning your features for any hint of a falsehood, but the only thing she sees is a quiet acceptance, the kind that comes when you know you can’t argue anymore or stop something from happening.

She offers you a gentle, wobbly smile, and it does lift your spirits some. If Paige can believe so ardently in something, then so can you. “I’ll be okay,” she says again.

“I know,” you confess, because deep down, you really do think she’ll come back to you. From the very first moment you crossed paths, you learned that Paige was not one to back down. Now, when her choices are coming home to you or not coming home at all, her decision is simple.

Nothing changes when she leaves. You work your shifts, mind obviously elsewhere, but with what you know about her deployment, you know that you can’t dwell on it too much. You have a heftier workload now, maintaining and fixing the ships, so you get lost in the routine.

The bright spot of your week is the first letter comes a few days after she leaves. Somehow, the worn paper smells like her, and you smile at the sign of her looping scrawl, the borderline chicken scratch handwriting. It makes you think of all of the times she’d leave you notes across your house, reminding you that you’re beautiful and that she’s thinking of you. The memory makes your chest ache, so you push it to the back of your mind.

June 3, 1944

To my yardbird,

I just landed in England. It’s very busy here. It’s beautiful, too, and I think you’d like it. I can see us walking down the cobblestone streets together, maybe sometime in the future when the vendors and stalls are in business again. I would probably say something annoying and you’d shake your head, amused and trying to hide your smile, but I would know.

How are you doing? How is the shipyard? The hibiscuses we planted in May? I want to hear everything.

When I sat down to write this, I thought the words would come easy to me. I spent my entire flight thinking of what I would say to you, what I would ask. I thought it would be easy to tell you how desperately I want you and how I count down the hours until I get to see you again. Maybe God’s honest truth is that these aren’t understandings that can be summarized in one single letter – or truths that can’t be summarized at all.

Do you ever think about how you can look up and see the same sky as me, the same stars? I’ve spent a lot of time in the air. I know the clouds like the back of my hand, the way they move, the way the wind currents will guide me home. I know more about the sky than I know of the earth. In my profession, it’s hard to stay grounded – literally and figuratively, but my time with you has reminded me that there is an importance in returning to the soil, spreading my roots, seeking out a future I previously thought I couldn’t afford. You’ve given me hope, a dream, a love.

On my flight to England, I looked to the west and I saw a star. It shone brighter than the rest, glimmering and sparkling despite the fading night. As I’m writing this, I’m staring at the very same star. It makes me feel as though we aren’t so far apart right now, that you could look up and see what I’m seeing. You and I, we’re still connected, two ends of a red string coated in something cosmic and everlasting. When I look to the sky, it’s like I’m looking at you.

I will be home soon. That is my one promise to you. Until then, I hope you’ll look to the sky and look for me, too.

Yours,

–P

You draft your response immediately and send it off with the mail carrier before evening. You don’t know when it will get to her or if she’ll have much time to write back, but before you go to bed that night, you step outside and direct your attention to the western sky. You spot the star she was referring to almost immediately, the way it twinkles against a dark canvas; despite the ache in your heart, looking at it makes you feel a little less alone.

June 7, 1944

To my flygirl,

You make England sound so peaceful. I’m sure it is made all the more beautiful a country by you being in it. I would love to visit with you, when the world is all right and it’s a warm, summer day. Even if we just explore the cities, you have a way of making each moment feel more significant. You turn the mundane into a memory. Wherever you go, you leave a trail of magic behind you, and I am endlessly blessed that God has put me on this earth with you if only so I could follow it.

I’m holding up. The days are long and the nights are short and I miss you more and more each day you’re gone. According to the radios, you flew into Normandy yesterday and the invasion began. I hope you stay safe. The shipyard is busy – we are sending out more and more ships everyday for cargo and for men. Even more come back for repairs. I rarely get a break as of late, although I know my job is an important one. The hibiscuses are healthy, but they bloomed a little brighter when you were here to care for them. I don’t know how you do it. It is as though these things know you – they know you’re gentle, and kind, and that you have this nourishing, uplifting factor about you. They know of your love as well as I do, of what it is like to be without it.

I find myself writing and then pausing. I have so many things I would like to say to you but this paper can only hold so many of my thoughts. I agree that one letter is not enough to express myself fully. However, I know not to worry. You are thoughtful in ways most people never think to be and you have always been talented in understanding me before I’ve been able to understand myself. There are many things you know but I do like saying them. I miss you – isn’t it funny how we always come back to this? I miss you in a way that makes my chest ache. I miss having you in bed next to me and I miss the way you sing in the mornings. I miss you because you are everything I didn’t know I needed and more than I ever thought I deserved.

Remembering that you are under the same sky as me makes me feel a little less alone. Remembering that you see the same stars, the same moon, the same sun reassures me you aren’t so far away. Remembering that you feel the same love reminds me that you’ll be home soon.

With love,

Your yardbird

Over the course of the next several weeks, you continue to work. You continue to gaze at the sky before bed, imagining Paige doing the same before she goes to sleep. You write to her and you read the letters she sends you. They always start the same – an affectionate “To my yardbird” that never fails to bring a smile to your face. She tells you about her days, never once mentioning the toils of the war, only the beauty of the nature around her in spite of the damages around it. She tells you about the other women airforce service pilots – the WASPs – in her platoon and their ineffable courage. Paige tells you about the ones vying to return home to their families, too, and their unshakable determination to make it home.

You reread all of her letters when the sun goes down. Each and every one of them, starting with the one dated from June 3 to her most recent one. At this point, you have all of her letters memorized from the penmanship to the content. You spend hours with your hands clasped as you utter your hopes, prayers, a constant wish for her to be safe.

The weeks tick by. There’s nothing of note on the radio. You get lost in the rhythm of working, of thinking about Paige, of writing letters to her and handing them off to the mail carrier with the same unwavering expression of hope. You remind yourself that you and Paige aren’t done here, and that she’ll be back soon.

Then, her letters slow down ever so slightly. The Allies are pushing for one more coordinated attack, she’d written to you. I’ll be in the air frequently.

All you could do was wait. And hope. And work.

So, you do.

Four more weeks pass by. In that time span, you only get one letter from Paige in the second week, then she’s silent for the next two.

You try to not let the worry ruin your life.

On August 25, the radio at the shipyard crackles to life, announcing, “The Allied advance has liberated France. The Germans are in full retreat.”

You felt as though you could breathe a little easier, but you were still sick without the knowledge of whether or not Paige was okay. You don’t hear anything for two days.

On August 27, you’re leaving work early, a rare happenstance. Given the relative silence of the last few days of the invasion, you and the other women were able to finish repairs fully on the current batch of ships you were working on and you were waiting to get the damaged ones back from overseas. With nothing else to do, you walk your worn path back home, letting pure exhaustion and muscle memory guide you home. You’re too tired to even think, but you do glance up at the antiquities shop as you pass by. It had become a habit over the last twelve weeks, bringing a smile to your face as you remember the day you and Paige had met.

But you stop in your tracks, letting the bustle of the crowd pass you by as you gawk. Part of you can’t believe it, half-tempted to rub your eyes, convinced you’re in the middle of a dream or that the sheer exhaustion of the past three months has finally caught up with you. All you can do is stare, until–

Paige Bueckers cocks one of her signature, amused smiles, her eyes relieved and fatigued all at the same time. Her hair lacks its usual gel, the edges unruly. Her uniform top is buttoned one lower than usual, exposing the undershirt she’s wearing, and the hem is barely tucked into the waistband of her trousers. She doesn’t look injured, just like she could use a really long nap, but the sight of her makes your heart leap out of your chest.

“You’re early today, yardbird,” she comments wryly, glancing down at her wristwatch. “You got a hot date?”

You drop your bag at your feet, coming into her personal space with three quick strides. Judging by her expression, it’s clear she wasn’t expecting this reaction from you, but you can’t bring yourself to care as you cup her cheeks, standing on the tips of your toes to kiss her. Paige melts into you completely, her arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against her with an overwhelming amount of relief. She sighs against you, tilting her head to kiss you deeper, but your hands tremble on her face as you taste the salt on her lips. You can’t believe that she’s here right now. After twelve weeks of aching, of hoping, of believing, she’s here.

You break away from her when your lungs burn, needing to breathe. Despite the tears, she’s still smiling when she presses her forehead to yours, her eyelids slipping shut like she just needs to absorb the moment and breathe you in. You do the same, your hands sliding down to tangle in the fabric of her shirt. She’s firm, she’s warm, she’s alive and she’s in front of you and you have possibly everything you’ve ever wanted right here in front of you. “I can’t believe you’re here,” you whisper into her chest, your voice a little muffled, but Paige’s shoulders shake with laughter, dissolving all of the tension left in your body.

“I told you,” she murmurs, her chin pressing into your temple as she holds you close, “I’d come home to you.”

And if there’s one thing that’s true about Paige Bueckers, it’s that she doesn’t break a promise. Not this one, and certainly not the one she makes to you almost a year and a half later in her backyard when the two of you exchange private vows during a quiet, peaceful, summer afternoon, promising to love each other for the rest of your lives.

2025

As quickly as the memory comes to you, it disappears just as fast, leaving you in a daze. You blink once, twice, wondering if you’d just imagined it all or if that was real. Glancing back down at the photo in front of you, the two women embracing in the middle of a crowded street – one a flygirl, one a yardbird, their features so similar and their expressions so loving, you think that it had felt too real to be fake.

“Hey, you alright?” Paige’s voice echoes from your call, concern laced in her tone, and despite yourself, you can’t help but crack a smile because those were the very first words the aviator had said to you. Perhaps there was more truth to it than you thought.

“I’m okay,” you promise, peering down at the photos again. An idea hits you all at once. “You said you finished practice early, right?” Your girlfriend hums, clearly confused with where you were going with this. “How quickly can you get to this antique store?”

Paige doesn’t keep you waiting too long. She makes it to you in record time, the jingle of the bell above the door capturing your attention. You glance up, spotting her, and the two of you share matching smiles as she strides closer to press a kiss to your temple, squeezing your hip. “Alright,” she murmurs. “Lemme see these pictures.”

You hover silently next to her as she sifts through the pile of pictures you’d accumulated. She lingers on the black and white photo of the pilot and the shipyard worker – describing that photo as you and Paige still feels a little too weird, but you watch as her brows furrow, her eyes lighting up with something that looks like recognition. You don’t even have to ask to know that she’s feeling the exact same thing that you did.

“This is insane,” she mumbles under her breath, which makes you laugh a little, amused. Paige holds the photo gently in one of her hands as she looks through the others, finding one of two teenagers holding hands on their way to a dance, presumably, considering the way they’re dressed. They don’t look as similar to you and Paige as the first photo did, but it still brings back a sense of nostalgia that Paige picks up on, too. “You remember prom? Junior year at Hopkins?” your girlfriend asks, nudging you gently.

You resist rolling your eyes. “How could I not?” you say sarcastically. “Someone saran-wrapped the doors so tightly that the principal had to call the fire department just so we could get in.” Paige laughs. Affection blooms in your chest despite yourself, and you grin, too. “We made the best of it, didn’t we?” Paige hums in affirmation, brushing her fingers across the photo before you before picking up another one. It’s two people laughing on a porch. You can tell they’re lovers by their closeness. “Remember when I rented my first apartment and you helped me move in?”

Her lips curl into a fond smirk. By help you mean Paige stayed over every night for a week straight, delaying your unpacking and “breaking in the new crib,” whatever that meant. You’d enlisted her to help with your furniture, your decor, and building shelves, but you’d go to bed in her arms and wake up to all of your furniture in completely different spots. “Oh no,” Paige would whine, a terrible actress to this day. “Guess I gotta stay and help you fix this.” It didn’t take a genius to figure out that she was intentionally waking up at night and “inconveniencing” you just so she could stay a little longer and annoy you, but you suppose the real kicker was she never really needed an excuse to be near you, anyway. You would have let her stay for the week even if it meant she didn’t fuck up the way your furniture was arranged.

“I still dunno why your furniture kept moving,” she muses, still committed to the bit. “You ever call maintenance? Or security or somethin’?”

You roll your eyes for real this time, pressing a little closer. She raises her arm to rest it over your shoulders. You pick up a photo of a 30’s bride, her veil long over her face. It wasn’t a secret that you wanted to marry Paige someday – the two of you had been together since high school and you both had discussed as much; now, she was entering her final March Madness tournament as a Husky. The two of you were so interwoven into the fabric of each other’s lives that you were sure you would be together until one of you took your last breath.

“You look pretty in white,” she comments off-handedly, like she’s slick, but you know better.

You grin. “You think so?” you ask coyly. She hums again, a smile of her own growing on her features the more she stares at the picture of the bride. “Well, I think you look pretty good in a suit, too.”

“Oh, little ole me?” she croons, faux shyness lacing her tone.

“You’re so annoying,” you say.

“You’ve loved me since we were fourteen,” she reminds you – as if you’d ever forget it. “You’re stuck with me at this point.”

The truth was, you’d be content to be stuck with her for the rest of your life. The other truth was that Paige’s ego was already so dangerously over-inflated that it’s days away from popping like a balloon with too much helium, so you couldn’t possibly admit that to her. The third truth was that Paige knows you love her, just as she loves you, so she didn’t need you to admit it to her, anyhow. The both of you were stuck with each other, not that either of you minded.

“Let’s get these?” you request, and Paige nods, scooping up your selected photos in her gentle hands.

But it still feels like you’re missing something. You have your photos, the memory of a life long passed – which reminds you; you and Paige will be having a lengthy conversation about that memory later today – but it feels as though you haven’t seen everything the universe clearly wants you to see. So you link hands with Paige, scanning the shop once more as you search for the missing piece.

It’s Paige who actually locates it after a few moments of walking. She glances at you meaningfully, guiding you down a row of bookshelves, eyes roaming over its contents like she knows exactly what she’s looking for. At the very end of the line, there’s an old, dusty, leatherbound book covered in cobwebs laying flat on an antique table, as though someone pulled it off the shelves to read and then forgot about it. Paige exhales like it was exactly what she was looking for.

She drops your hand to brush the back of her hand over the front cover, getting rid of the dust and the cobwebs, and then immediately sneezes. It makes you choke on a giggle, the mystery and the intrigue of the moment softened by Paige’s incessant allergies, and the tips of her ears flush red as you whisper a quiet, “Bless you.”

When the cover is clean, she wipes her hands on her shorts and opens the book carefully to the front page. You peer over her shoulder again. The penmanship is in neat cursive, the ink fading with time, but still legible enough for you to read. There’s a date in the top right corner reading 1543 September 9. Paige whistles lowly, holding the book a lot more gingerly now, which amuses you a little bit.

You look at the first line, reading, “Father procured me this journal to document my life and my emotions. He believes that it will help regulate me and, in quote, save me from this phase of rebellion lest I make a mockery of the crown. I am only eighteen. Surely, he must understand that the life of a princess is not one for me.”

Paige blinks once. “Well, that’s heavy.”

“Paige, she’s eighteen.”

“Technically, like…” your girlfriend pauses to do the math in her head, “...Four hundred and…eighty sum’.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself, and when you reach out to turn the page, you’re hit with another memory – only this time, you know that Paige is seeing it too.

1543

“Princess, your father is just trying to look out for you. He is just…a little misguided.”

You huff indignantly as you drag your brush through your hair. You truly do not mean to be this dramatic, but indignance just seems to be the main emotion that your father manages to evoke from you. Ever since you turned eighteen, the “of age” marker determining your eligibility to officially inherit the throne, the King – your father – has been nothing short of particular. Exacting. Expectant. If you’re not studying with your tutor, you’re listening in on his meetings, learning the ins and outs of how to run a country. You’re his only heir, so deep down, you understand why he demands so much from you. There’s a short time between now and when your father won’t be deemed fit to run a country. You’re just upset that being the princess means you can’t be you anymore.

There’s a certain degree of freedom you get used to growing up in the castle. You want for nothing – everything is provided for you, no question about it. You have the best education possible, learning from private tutors all over the world – math prodigies, language experts, philosophers. Everything you could possibly want is at the tip of your fingers. As of late, however, it seems that you may just be broken.

You long to be outdoors, away from the castle and its stuffy, too large walls. You long to do things for enjoyment and not for obligation. You’re eighteen – you want to be with people your age, not the children of the entitled, pompous bureaucrats that your father rubs elbows with. You want to be you, not the Princess, not the heir to the throne, just you.

It seems there are just some luxuries that one cannot afford, not even monarchs with the world at their disposal.

“‘Misguided’ is one word for it,” you huff, trying to not catch too much of an attitude with your chambermaid, Carlotta. It is not her fault, not in the slightest, and she’s been there for you your entire life – even longer than your father has. “I do not want to be–”

Carlotta hushes you, a gentle, cautious hand resting over your shoulder. You clamp your mouth shut. “You must be careful, Princess,” she murmurs.

“There are eyes and ears everywhere,” you finish, your voice barely a whisper. “I know. I’m sorry.”

That was another thing you loathed about being a royal – the constant paranoia. It is a well-known fact that your father has enemies. Perhaps that is just a fact of life that comes with being king, a political figure, someone in charge of making decisions for millions of people. It is hard to be free when you’re tailed by your father’s most trusted knights and officers.

“It is all right,” Carlotta assures you. “Now come – you must be ready for the banquet.”

You nod, swallowing back your remark, and you allow Carlotta to help you into your gown.

The banquet goes as well as you were expecting. It’s loud, raucous, and full of minging, networking, and brown-nosing. You’re certain that you’ve never faked as many smiles or laughs as you have until today, but once it becomes socially acceptable, you sneak out the back door.

Or, as well as one can sneak when there’s a knight tasked with following your every move.

You glance over your shoulder. Just before the door slams shut, a tall figure in breathable armor slinks through the gap, following you at a respectable pace. However, there’s something that gives you pause.

As irritated as you are at the prospect of being tailed by your father’s appointed guards, you’ve made a habit of knowing who they are. Tristan is your usual suspect – he’s tall, lean, and his armor is recognizable. There’s a crest on his breastplate, signifying that he comes from a family of nobles, but this knight lacks the decorative chestpiece. Every other day, you’re then followed by Maximus. He is a little shorter than Tristan, although in place of a family crest, he has the traditional knight’s insignia – he doesn’t come from a family of nobles; rather, he’s an experienced knight who worked his way up through those ranks.

Whoever is wearing this suit of armor isn’t Tristan or Maximus, and you know that while your father makes a habit of annoying you, he wouldn’t reassign your patrols without telling you. Feeling your heart beat a little faster in your chest, you lengthen your strides, trying to get away from whoever is pursuing you without giving it away that you know they’re an enemy.

The issue with all of the country’s royals concentrated in one wing of the castle means that the large majority of the knights are assigned to that wing. That means there’s little protection through the back corridors. That means you need to find a way to get the knight off of your trail. There’s a variety of things you could be used for. A bargaining chip. An arranged marriage. Perhaps you’d just be killed entirely.

You hang a left, casting another glance over your shoulder. You don’t see the knight round the corner just yet, but you can hear his footsteps pick up speed. Realizing how dire your situation is now, you will your body into a run, thanking Carlotta for putting you in a pair of sandals instead of the heels your stylist had set out for you. The heavy clank of armor follows you down the winding halls as you breathlessly search for your exit.

To your right is a set of tall glass doors, leading into the palace gardens. Confident in being able to find somewhere to hide there, you push the doors open and run outside.

What you’re not expecting to find, however, is a tall blonde woman sparring in the dark. She spins on a dime, her sword lowering, but recognition flickers across her face once she realizes you’re the Princess. You briefly wonder if she’s a knight, too, or if she’s here to kill you, as well, but you throw all caution to the wind, deciding to trust the blue of her gaze. “Help me!” you exclaim, throwing yourself behind her just as the glass doors burst open and the turncoat knight barrels outside.

You realize, perhaps a little too late, that the blonde woman is not wearing armor. She’s dressed in a breathable navy and white tunic, the knight’s crest emblazoned across the chest, and a pair of worn boots. At the very least, she’s drastically more agile than her opponent (and taller, too, you note, although you remind yourself that there’s possibly a time and a place for those sorts of realizations).

The armored knight draws his sword, a quiet acceptance in his body language like he knows he’ll have to go through the blonde knight to get to you, but she’s rigid, confident, rising to the challenge completely.

They collide in a flurry of sparks, loud groans, and the clang of metal against metal. The blonde, to her credit, doesn’t budge, but the force of their impact sends the armored knight stumbling. Using that to her advantage, she delivers a swift kick to his abdomen, which makes the knight fall to the ground completely.

“Yield!” she barks, her blade against the soft part of his helmet.

He pauses, gazing up at her as if truly contemplating it, before his own leg jerks out, knocking her off balance. She grunts, dropping to one knee, and he uses her injury to kick her backwards as well. He digs his sword into the soil, using it to lift himself up. The knight spins his sword in his hand, remnants of dirt flying off of his blade, and he stalks towards her like a predator to his prey. All you can do is watch on in horror.

You’re so focused on the other knight that you don’t notice her fingers digging into the dirt next to her until she comes up with a fistful of soil that she launches directly at his helmet. He recoils with a yelp, disoriented, and the blonde knight locates her sword, slashing out in a quick motion and catching the soft spot where his knee bends. He staggers again and she slams her hilt into his wrist, causing him to drop his sword. She grabs it immediately, dual wielding both blades, and the checkmate move comes when she kicks his injured leg. He falls to his knees and she crosses both of the swords under his neck again, chest heaving and sweat beading at her temple.

“Yield,” she commands. “I won’t ask again.”

He lifts his head ever so slightly, meeting your gaze across the garden. You stand your ground even though you’re rattled and you can feel your pulse in your fingertips. Barely eighteen and I’m already surviving assassination attempts, you think to yourself, Father would be proud. Then, he drops his head again, defeat in his posture. “...I yield.”

By the time he finishes his sentences, the garden doors burst open and more of your father’s nights enter the garden, brandishing their blades. They catch sight of the blonde knight, swords to your attacker’s neck, then settle their gaze on you, breathing heavily but not a hair out of place. “Arrest him,” one of the captains instructs, and another knight surges forward to deal with the attacker. “Secure the Princess. Alert the King immediately.”

The garden is a flurry of activity as the knights disperse. One group leaves as they drag away your attacker. Another group surrounds you as if forming a wall between you and any potential danger. Still, you can’t keep your eyes off of your savior, the blonde woman whose cheek is slightly smeared with blood. You’re not sure if it’s hers or his, but this isn’t a night you’re going to forget for a while – not because of the attempt on your life, but because of this knight’s bravery, her spur of the moment decision to put her life on the line for you, especially against an opponent with far more protection than her.

It’s nearly stupid. She’d behaved so recklessly, but it was her job. So why do you feel so drawn towards her?

Your father arrives with a security detail of his own. You’re not quite sure what you were expecting from him, but he gives you a cursory look over, nodding in approval when he sees that you’re okay, before he turns to his men. “Who allowed this to happen?” He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to, but you think he’s scarier like this – the deadly sort of calm that only comes out when someone is truly pissed. “Who allowed a turncoat knight to nearly kill my daughter?”

His men are notably silent. Your father scoffs, shaking his head, and he turns on his heel, probably ready to storm out until he catches sight of the blonde knight, standing solemnly in the corner. “Who are you?”

Her voice doesn’t waver when she answers, not meeting your father’s eyes out of respect. “Sir Paige Bueckers, Your Majesty.”

He glances at her – armorless, then he glances at the rest of the knights gathered – uniformed. “Why are you here?”

Paige hesitates, looking up to meet your eyes, a silent plea for help. “She saved me, Father,” you answer for her, drawing your father’s attention back to you. She relaxes slightly, gratitude in her expression. “I noticed the knight following me wasn’t one of my usual handlers. So I ran out here to flee and found Sir Paige.” Your father looks at Paige again, studying her in a new light. His quiet contemplation could mean a lot of things. Then, surprising everyone, you say, “Father, I want her reassigned to my guard detail immediately.”

Your father considers this for a few moments longer, then he turns to the captain. “See to it,” he orders. The captain nods emphatically. And with that, your Father returns indoors, his security detail following. The rest of the knights follow until it’s just you and Paige, who stares at you with a mix of shock and curiosity.

You nod at her, softening. “Come. Let’s get you to the infirmary.”

Paige, unsurprisingly, is not a woman of many words. You don’t expect her to initiate any sort of conversation with you given your status, but she does look at you – a lot – mostly when she thinks that you’re not aware of it. There is nothing inherently inappropriate about her gaze. You can tell she’s curious. You can also tell that she knows she has a duty to do. Her gaze flickers on and off you to scan the hallways for any sort of potential danger and her hand hovers over the hilt of the sword strapped to her waist as if someone would jump at you both from the shadows.

Functionally, she hasn’t said a single word to you since you met her, yet you battle the urge to get to know her. You know that would never be allowed – a royal fraternizing with a knight. It breaches every code of conduct and tradition that you’ve been raised to recite by memory. Despite your knowledge, there seems to be a pull between you and the knight, one that you’re finding harder and harder to resist as you watch her brows tent in concentration, her eyes studying everything about her surroundings as you lead her to the medic.

When the two of you reach the infirmary, she doesn’t say much else, either, only nodding or shaking her head when the physician asks questions like “Does it hurt when I do this?” or “Do you feel any pain here?” You do watch as her face screws up, discomfort in her features, when the physician pokes and prods at her knee.

She’s fortunate, according to the physician, that it is only bruised and she should expect to recover quickly. Taking an armored boot to the knee when you’re wearing only a thin tunic is usually grounds for a fracture or a broken bone. Paige takes the diagnosis in stride, her eyes trailing after the physician as she leaves the infirmary to fetch some herbs from the greenhouse, and shamelessly, your eyes find the knight again. She doesn’t glance at you, but you can tell that she’d like to, so you break the silence to say, “You don’t need to be so formal with me.”

Her throat bobs as she argues, “I do.” Then, as if you’d forgotten, she reminds you, “You’re the princess. Treating you otherwise would be disrespectful.”

You cock a wry smile. “And would disobeying my wishes not also be disrespectful, Sir Paige?”

She pauses, not expecting that one, and finally, she glances up to meet your eyes. Her eyes are startlingly blue, alert despite the exhaustion and the lingering pain of her battle, but they’re kind. They’re soft in a way you would never expect from a hardened knight. They’re gentle when they appraise you, studying your features, and her features relax as if she’s looking at you – truly looking at you – for the first time. “I suppose it would be, Princess,” she agrees. “I apologize.”

Your smile softens, too. “Considering you saved my life today, perhaps we can call it even?” you suggest, trying for a joking tone, and you find that it’s well-received when she chuckles. “Thank you for that, by the way. I would not be here without your courage.”

“I was just doing my duty,” she murmurs humbly. “My only wish is for you to not have had to witness that.”

“I’m stronger than I look,” you say reflexively.

Paige glances at you again, her eyes lingering on your face before a slow smile curls on her lips. “I’m beginning to see that.”

You know she doesn’t intend to say that in any sort of way, but the warmth of her gaze, the approval in her eyes, and her words alone are enough to make your cheeks flush. It’s wrong – that much you’re sure of. You haven’t known the knight for very long, but there’s something so magnetic about her, like you’ve met her before, like you know you’ll be safe with her. This conversation feels like one you’ve had before. That thought doesn’t alarm you as much as it should. Paige just feels right.

Then, she raises her hand, rubbing her face, and she doesn’t realize that she’s reopened the small cut beneath her eye. “Oh,” you say, not nothing much of it as you reach out for a piece of gauze, “you’re bleeding.” Motioning to the wound and ignorant to the way Paige’s breath hitches, you ask, “May I?” She nods and you step between her parted legs, hovering over her as you gingerly reach out with the cotton, fingers light and delicate against her skin, cleaning away the blood. You and Paige are inches apart by now, and the sudden closeness makes your hand tremble, especially when your eyes flick up to meet Paige’s. The expression on her face is almost awestruck, reverent in a way that makes you forget about how dangerous this is. You don’t realize that you’ve planted your free hand on her shoulder, holding onto her to keep her from moving, nor do you realize how her hands grip the edges of the table, knuckles white like she knows it would be wrong to touch you, but the way her breath stutters makes it so obvious that she’s desperate to regardless.

Sobering up, you lean back, red tinging your cheeks as Paige exhales deeply. The physician returns to the infirmary at that time, grinding together herbs in a mortar and pestle and muttering to herself absently. You and Paige exchange a glance, the heat of the previous moment softening as you both put some space between each other, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve stumbled across something that you shouldn’t have – the chemistry between you and the knight. You’ve always been curious and daring by nature; you know yourself well enough to know that you’ll track down that spark and see where it goes, even if it means sweeping the ashes under the rug after it ignites into something you can’t quite stop.

For now, you have to play it smarter. All eyes are on you as you prepare to take the throne from your father, and the last thing you want to do is jeopardize Paige and her future, even if you’ve already done so by assigning her to your personal guard.

Beneath the professionalism, the practiced stoicism that you see right through, you recognize that very same spark reflected in Paige’s eyes – the curiosity, the determination, the willingness to press the match to the kindling if you’d so much as asked. You know this is risky, that this energy between you and Paige is something that will splinter the foundations of the life you’ve grown so accustomed to.

And the worst part of it?

You wouldn’t even mind if it did.

Paige assimilates seamlessly into your routine. You wouldn’t expect anything less from the knight, who adjusts to her new position with a startling quickness and efficiency. Given the recent attack on your life, your father arranged to have her moved to a room only a door down from yours in the Royal Wing of the palace, believing that having her close would allow her to protect you better. She becomes your shadow of sorts, although you had to put your foot down early on in your new…partnership, and force her to walk side by side with you instead of the infuriating ten or so feet away.

“Being close to me would keep me safer, wouldn’t it?” you’d questioned her, by no means trying to be coy about it.

Paige had smiled softly like she knew, amusement and acceptance in her features as she agreed, “I suppose it would, Princess.”

She follows you everywhere – your royal meetings, your appointments with your tutors, to the dining room, and well, if she’s found in your bedroom, listening to you ramble about your latest project, then you’d say it’s for your own protection as much as it’s for the growing friendship between the two of you. When Paige isn’t worried about her professionalism, she talks. A lot. It doesn’t bother you at all. You’re content to listen to her stories, her experiences, her life, how every choice she made throughout the years led her here. Selfishly, you’d think that inadvertently, her choices had led her to you, although you don’t voice that thought at all.

She grew up in a small village a few hours away by horseback – Storrs. It isn’t well known for much except for the cold winters that the locals loathe. She’d recounted her childhood with a fond smile on her face, even the uncomfortable parts like the time she’d hurt her knee severely while sparring or when her parents had divorced. Divorce wasn’t as familiar to you, having been raised in the castle where your father remained with your mother until she passed, even though there wasn’t any love between them after your birth and their failure to conceive a male heir – although that’s a story for another day. When you voiced as such, wondering about the casualness in which she and her parents viewed their separation, she’d merely shrugged and said, “Sometimes people just don’t feel the same love that they did before. Why stick around to force something when your heart’s not in it?”

You’d felt as though that applied to a little more than relationships, considering how you didn’t want to be queen. As much as you trusted Paige, you didn’t think it was the time nor the place to drop that kind of confession on her.

While there’s no more attempts on your life, Paige sticks by you fiercely. If it were anyone else, you’d probably be pissed at the lack of independence, but there’s something about Paige’s company that you cherish, even if it’s just her standing watch at the door while your tutor teaches you philosophy. You like having her around. That thought should scare you much more than it does. For the first time in a really long time, it feels like you’re free. Growing up, you’d never had many friends. Everyone your age was always too aristocratic, too pompous, too entitled. You’d tried, but you could just never get along with them – it was always like you were on the outside looking in no matter what you did differently. With Paige, it feels like you’re shedding all of the past desires to fit in. She makes you feel as though you don’t have to fight your way inside just to be accepted. She makes you feel as though there’s always a place you’ll belong, even if it’s just with her.

So while there aren’t any more attempts on your life, that doesn’t mean your life gets easier. As you progress in your training and you begin to take up more royal duties, there is an increase in the number of suitors that make their way through the castle. Most of them have been arranged by your father, seeking to find a husband to rule next to you – or rather, someone for you to stand next to while they rule. They’re either princes of distant kingdoms, or the high-ranking sons of nobles. You hate all of them. They’re either too old, too stuck-up, too arrogant, or too…male. You’d longed for visions of long, blonde hair, twinkling blue eyes, the gentle way in which the knight spoke to you yet the fierce way she protected you. None of these men were her, and you could tell your father was becoming upset by how often you turned them away.

If you hated them, then you’re not quite sure what word to use to accurately portray the amount of disdain that Paige feels for them. You can see it in her expression alone, the white-hot hatred that burns in her eyes even as she speaks to you politely, calmly. You see it in the way she stands unyieldingly next to you, a hand poised over the hilt of her sword as if she was ready to dispose of whichever groveling idiot was trying to propose, if you wouldn’t deny them yourself. You see it in the way her entire demeanor shifts, the way she grows more confident when you’re alone and her hand curls around your waist and she dips her head down to your ear to whisper, “None of them deserve you. Not a single one of them.”

If Paige hadn’t already ruined you for anyone else, then you’re sure she ruins you completely after that.

At first, you think it’s just her commitment to duty. Paige’s entire job is to keep you safe, protected. If she feels as though these suitors would be too violent, too uncaring, too unfit for you, then you suppose she was well within her right as the princess’s protector to feel however she wanted to feel. Then, you think it’s just hate. She knows you almost as well as you know yourself, if not more. At this point, you’re both a little more than princess and knight. You’re friends who share a mutual duty to a kingdom. However, you realize all too late that it’s actually jealousy.

She stands behind you, her tall stature imposing and intimidating as she stares down the last suitor you had scheduled for today. He’s the prince from a kingdom down south. His name is Oscar and if you had to be honest, you got a bad feeling from him as soon as he strutted in, a black and red cape billowing behind him like he’s already king and has nothing to worry about. You’d even felt Paige stiffen behind you, but you promised your father you would at least talk to your suitors before rejecting them (and you were not keen on sitting through another lecture from him).

The interview goes terribly. You can feel Paige’s mood worsen the more Oscar speaks. He interrupts you countless times, talks over you, and when you do get to speak, he dismisses it like it’s trivial and continues rambling on about his success or his fortune or how well he could lead a kingdom. You knew the conversation was over as soon as he promised he wouldn’t take anymore than five mistresses and you had to stop Paige from jumping across the table and stabbing him entirely.

So, you politely tell him, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think you’re what I’m looking for in a potential king. I have to look after my people.”

You see the shift in his expression before he even raises a hand. You just couldn’t react fast enough to block the swing.

But Paige does. She catches Oscar’s wrist in her hand, her grip so tight that the tips of his fingers were turning purple and he was choking on pain. Then, she slams his hand into the wooden table before you, the surface almost splintering from the force of it. You can hear a sickening crunch, but all you do is raise your brows as Paige leans over you, her gaze set firmly on Oscar. “We’re done here,” she murmurs, her voice low and threatening. “Raise a hand to the princess ever again and I’ll kill you myself. Do I make myself clear?”

You don’t hear what he says, too stunned to focus on anything but the vein that protrudes from Paige’s neck, the challenge laced in her tone, the way her response has left a warm feeling deep in your belly. He scurries out with a metaphorical tail tucked between his legs, the door slamming shut, and you and Paige are left alone in the conference chamber. Paige breathes heavily next to you, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder in both consolation and apology, yet all you fixate on is the way your thoughts race.

Paige is saying something to you, but it sounds like you’re underwater. You push out your chair, standing as she rambles, and you turn on your heel to meet her eyes. There’s still a lingering fire in there although it dwindles the more she talks, concern and something else you can’t quite place taking precedence. Before you have the time to talk yourself out of it or remind yourself of how wrong this is, you curl your fists in the fabric of her tunic and you pull her down to your level.

She immediately freezes against you, the words caught in her throat releasing in the form of an indulgent groan as she finally registers that your lips are on hers. When she relaxes to kiss you back, the intensity is almost overwhelming, like the fire from earlier has returned. She grips your hips possessively, backing you into the table and lifting you onto it for better leverage, one hand dropping to hold your thigh and the other curling around the back of your neck. Paige leans forward, pressing against you like she couldn’t stand to leave any inch of space between you.

The kiss is hazy and it makes your mind spin in the best way possible. You sigh against her, welcoming the intrusion when her tongue swipes across your bottom lip, and she holds onto you like she’s scared that you’ll disappear if she lets go. Paige kisses you like you’re hers, which you may as well be. You’re hers to protect, hers to hold – not the princes’, not the nobles’, not anyone else’s.

When you both break away from each other, chests heaving, her voice is rough, low, wrecked when she whispers again, “None of them deserve you.” Her eyes scan yours, her thumb brushing across your pulse point and her breath hitching like she can feel exactly what she’s doing to you. “Not you, the princess. And especially not you, the girl whose heart is as pure as it is kind. The girl who I…”

You swallow thickly, feeling the heat in your cheeks and fighting the urge to pull her back into you as she trails off. “And you do?” you murmur. “Deserve me?”

“I’d fight a hundred men and a hundred men more if it meant proving that to you,” she vows. You know her well enough by now that you don’t need her to prove anything more to you. She already has. Your heart is hers. “This isn’t just a duty to me,” she confesses a few beats later, her voice hardly above a whisper like she’s confessing a secret. “It’s real. What you are to me is real. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”

“Nothing will,” you say, confident and assured. “I’m safe with you.” Paige nods, her hands warm against your skin, and you press your temple to hers to admit, “For you, I’d run away and leave it all behind.”

You feel her freeze against you, surprise, mostly. She leans back to meet your eyes. “Princess, you don’t mean that,” she says quietly.

You nod vehemently, your fingers tightening in the fabric of her tunic. “I do, Paige, I swear it.” She softens, taking in the conviction in your tone. “I don’t want this – I don’t want to marry someone else. I don’t want to be the queen. I want you, a life of peace, where I don’t have to worry that someone will try to kill me or if I’m making a decision that will kill my people. I want peace.”

The silence lingers. There’s a realization in the wake of your declaration that in your position, you could never afford peace. Princesses don’t get peace, or a life of ease, nor do they ever get the one they love. Knights don’t get peace, or a life of ease, nor do they ever get the one they love. You know you’d give it up in a heartbeat if you could find the courage to. You study Paige’s features closely, waiting for her to speak. She swallows thickly before she does.

“Storrs,” she whispers, confusing you. “My village. We can go there – just say the word and I will take you, I swear it. I don’t owe anything to this kingdom. My loyalty is to you. We’ll be safe there, free, and you can do everything you’ve wanted – you can teach, you can explore–”

“Okay,” you agree.

Paige pauses. “What?” she asks, trying to keep the hope at bay.

“We’ll go to Storrs,” you repeat, a smile growing on your face.

“You mean it?” Paige murmurs, her voice cracking, and all you can truly do is cup her face in your hands, kissing her once more. This one is softer, the perfect seal to the promise you’ve just made to each other, and it feels more right than a crown on your head ever will. Her embrace makes you feel more secure than a legion of your father’s men ever could. You know in your heart that this is where you belong.

Happiness doesn’t last for too long.

When you wake up the next morning, you can feel that something is off. Paige is usually already awake, standing guard at your door and waiting for you to come out for breakfast. Now, there’s an unusual silence that lingers and it makes you feel on edge.

Instead of Paige at your door, you find Carlotta, wearing an uncomfortable expression on her face. Dread wraps its fist around your heart, squeezing tight, and your chest hurts when you ask, “Carlotta, what’s going on?”

“Your father has requested your presence in the throne room immediately,” she says to you, her voice shaking. You swallow thickly, afraid of what waits for you. You cast an uneasy glance at the door to Paige’s room, not seeing anything out of the ordinary, but still feeling as though something is terribly wrong. Carlotta follows behind you as you walk through the winding corridors, anxiety coursing through your veins.

The scene awaiting you in the throne room is not one you could have ever prepared yourself for. Your father sits idly atop his throne, an almost nonchalant laziness in his body language. He’s surrounded by his usual guard detail. Your body burns with anger when you realize Oscar is standing right next to him, his hand wrapped in gauze and a splint, a malicious expression on his face. But what truly devastates you, what makes fear seize your heart entirely is Paige held firmly in the knight captain’s grasp, her hands and ankles shackled. She looks no worse for wear, only disheveled and her bun mussed from an evident fight, but her eyes burn bright with hatred and something that looks like failure.

“My daughter,” the King calls across the room. Everyone directs their attention to you, but you’re not prepared for the amount of grief and shock on Paige’s, like she wasn’t expecting you to see her like this. “Come – we have much to discuss.”

There it is again. That same steely calm from the night in the gardens. Your father isn’t the kind of man to yell – people with power and trained men at their disposal have no need to raise their voices – which is why his demeanor in this situation makes you fearful. Not for yourself, but for Paige.

“I’m not a man who shies away from admitting when he’s wrong,” your father continues when you step closer. “Accountability makes for strong leaders. I’ve always told you that, haven’t I?” You scan his features, your gaze giving nothing away. He’s not looking for a response. “It seems I’ve made a mistake in knighting an individual. Where she goes, trouble follows, such as the night in the garden. And now, with the suitors.” Your father cocks his head, looking perplexed. “Prince Oscar has suffered several broken bones and a fractured wrist due to…your knight being unable to control her anger. Alas, it has come to my attention that she has also filled your head with lies, deceit, and empty promises.”

He stands, his sea of guards parting for him as he makes his way towards you, towards Paige. “If she wants to run away, so be it. If this turncoat knight no longer wants to give back to the kingdom that has made her, that has given her the life she has now, then so be it. What I will not allow is for her to manipulate my daughter – the Princess – into leaving with her.

“So,” he muses, ushering Prince Oscar forward, who gazes at you like he’s won. “We are here to make an example. The monarchy will not be mocked. My daughter, tomorrow at sunset, you will be wed to Prince Oscar. He will be your king and you will inherit the throne. And your knight –” he spits the word like it’s venom, clear distaste evident in his features, “–will be executed at nightfall for treason against the crown.”

Your ears are still ringing.

Your father’s revelation left you numb, reeling. You watched as his men dragged Paige out of the room, her eyes locked on yours in surprise, disbelief, and ever-present grief. Your father had more to say to you, but you weren’t listening. Being forced to marry Oscar of all suitors was at the back of your mind. All you could think about for hours on end was your knight will be executed at nightfall. The word executed circulated through your mind on repeat along with images of Paige’s eyes, betrayed and disappointed all at one.

This wasn’t the plan. You and Paige were supposed to run away. You were supposed to leave kingdom life behind and go to Storrs together. You were supposed to live a life of peace in a small village where the crown couldn’t possibly find you. You’re not supposed to marry Oscar, or watch the love of your life be executed. This was all so horribly wrong.

You’re confined to your room for the entire day, your father feeling as though you would find a way to escape or look for Paige. He knows you better than you’d expected. With nothing but time on your hands, you wait. You cry. You scream and you break the mirror in your room because when you look at it, all you can see is the way Paige had stood behind you as you asked for her opinion on your dress and her jaw had gone slack before she whispered, “I think you’re the most beautiful woman the world has ever seen.” You spiral, because you were so close to making it out but your father and Oscar have derailed your plan.

At nightfall, 24 hours away from Paige’s scheduled execution, Carlotta knocks at your door. She lets herself in when you don’t respond. You hardly look up, even when she takes a seat on the foot of your bed. She’s silent for a few moments before she says, “I’m sorry, Princess.”

You laugh bitterly, the sound scraping against your throat. “It’s not your fault, Carlotta.” Even if it was, you don’t want to think about it. This woman has raised you since you were a baby. You weren’t sure if you could ever handle that heartbreak.

“It’s not,” she agrees softly. She clears her throat. You can almost feel her hesitation. “I was next to your mother when she passed on,” she admits. That confession makes your heart skip a beat. “I held her hand as she was taking her final breaths. I’d loved her, you know. Your father never knew. He didn’t care to. But when I watched my life’s greatest love die, it was a pain unlike anything else I’d ever experienced. I thought a part of me died that day. Your mother, however, entrusted me with something special to her – a part of her. She made me promise to take care of her daughter – the Princess – and to this day, you are the most important person to me.”

“Carlotta,” you murmur, tears pooling in your eyes and your voice cracking. “What are you saying?”

“You love her,” she says, like it’s more fact than fiction, like it’s something as obvious as the sky is blue or the grass is green. “Sir Paige. She is your life’s greatest love. I couldn’t save my love. But there is still hope for yours.” She stands, drawing your attention as you feel her move. There is a folded piece of parchment in her hand. Carlotta presses it into your hands. “Read this, and do not lose your faith, Princess.”

Carlotta leaves before you can say – before you can ask anything else of her. Your mind spins as you look down at the paper in your hands, at Paige’s familiar, sloped handwriting. Fingers trembling, you unfold it, and you begin to read.

Princess,

I did not think I would get to speak with you after they dragged me out of the throne room in handcuffs, so you will have to forgive me if this letter is incoherent. It is difficult for me to wrap my head around the idea – the fact, rather, that I will be dying at nightfall tomorrow.

Being a knight, I had always known that my death would be imminent. My profession is not safe. My duty is to put my life on the line for the kingdom, for the king and the princess. I knew of that long before I picked up my sword for the first time. I had always imagined that it would be in combat – perhaps I would be fighting those hundred men and the hundred men more that I had spoken of. Perhaps I would be the lucky one and die of age after living a life of valor, dedication, and virtue. Execution had never crossed my mind.

If there is one part of my life that I could pick out and say is the greatest moment of it, I would say that meeting you is it. Not being knighted for the first time or my father teaching me how to wield a blade. It was you. It is always going to be you. You are my purpose, my reason for fighting. You have made my life worth it, even if we were only a short time.

I want you to know a few things. First, this is not your fault. If I knew the outcome from the very beginning, I would choose you everytime without question. A moment with you is worth an eternity wherever my soul takes me next. Second, do not give up. You are kind, courageous, brilliant – I know you will think of something. Third, I miss you. I have only been apart from you for a few hours, but I miss you; if I knew of a way to make you miss me the way that I do, I would never dare to make use of it for you are undeserving of such an all-consuming ache. The fourth is that I love you. I planned on telling you once we made it to Storrs, after I had introduced you to my family. You deserve to know.

You are my greatest love, Princess. In this life and the next I will never give up on searching for you.

Eternally,

–P

By midafternoon the day of your wedding and Paige’s execution, you can tell that something has shifted once more. The palace is eerily silent. Again. It almost makes you worry, but after considering that your life couldn’t get any worse, you decide that the silence is a problem for you in the future. For all intents and purposes, you’re still essentially trapped in your room, and you spent the better part of the night and the entire day leading up to this moment rereading Paige’s letter to you. It didn’t make you feel any better about the situation, but you try to remember Carlotta’s words to you. They give you strength when you feel like all else is failing.

The minutes tick by until you hear tapping on the glass door leading to your balcony. Believing it may only be a bird, you think nothing of it until the tapping persists, louder this time. The glass is textured, so you can’t see out of it, but you reach for the first sharp object you can find – in this case, it’s one of your heels – and you creep towards the door, pushing it open with caution.

You freeze immediately. The heel slips out of your grasp and Paige is standing before you, her tunic rumpled and exhaustion in her eyes, but she doesn’t look hurt, and that’s all you can truly be thankful for. “I was beginning to think you weren’t home,” she murmurs, a coy smile on her face that is not befitting of the moment, and you could sob as you throw your arms around her neck. She wraps her arms around your waist, lifting you off of your feet. Paige buries her face in your neck, breathing you in and sighing in relief – you’re both okay. You don’t know what to say, stammering through words that don’t make any sense, but Paige squeezes you a little tighter, shushing you.

After a moment, she places you back down on the ground, drinking you in like she can’t believe this is real. Then, she smiles softly. “We don’t have a lot of time,” she says quietly. “Carlotta is waiting for us at the stables. Get your bag and whatever else you need. She’ll take us to Storrs.”

Overwhelmed with emotion, all you can do is nod, wiping your eyes as you retrieve the bag you’d packed after you and Paige agreed to leave. You make sure to slip into a pair of more comfortable shoes and you don’t forget to grab her letter stashed under your pillow. When you’re ready, she guides you down the wall of the palace and into the garden below, creeping through the bushes until you reach the stables. You hug Carlotta so tightly that she groans, laughing, and together, you, Paige, and Carlotta make the journey on horseback to her village.

Her village welcomes you and Carlotta in – they’re definitely a little shocked, but they’re happier to have Paige back and safe. She introduces you to her family, her mom, her dad, her step-parents, her brother and her step-siblings and they all treat you like one of their own, a blended family that’s no less full of love. They own a small little shop, one that dabbles in selling antiquities and artifacts from ages ago. You can see yourself splitting time between working there and teaching the village children, but most importantly, you can see yourself free, in love, and happier than you ever would have been in the castle. It will surely be a national emergency when the King realizes that the princess, the knight, and the chambermaid have all escaped, but you think that’s a problem for someone else.

For the record, Paige does tell you she loves you – in person, not through a letter – that night after you’ve been fully introduced to everyone and her mothers worked together to make a hearty dinner for you and Carlotta. It’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of having – a love that’s wholly yours, a life to share with someone who cherishes you, and the freedom to live the life you’ve always wanted. You were always destined to find this – destined to find Paige, to love her, to give her your heart completely; the two of you have always been connected by that red string of fate and wherever your souls take you next, you know you’ll find her there, waiting for you.

2025

The memory fades and you and Paige blink in tandem, your hands still resting over the book as you look at each other. Almost no time has passed, although the both of you look like you’ve lived a whole new life entirely, which you may as well have. Paige breaks the silence to mutter, “I was a knight in a past life and in this one, I have to do homework?” Her disbelief makes you laugh, all of the tension dissolving as she joins in with you.

“Says you,” you retort. “I was a princess.”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “You ain’t never letting that one go.”

“Nope!” you chirp happily. Paige rolls her eyes, but she can’t keep the smile off of her face as she closes the book gently. You intertwine your fingers with hers, giving her a squeeze. “Hey, you okay?” you ask.

Paige nods, her smile widening. She leans in to kiss you softly, which makes you grin against her. “Never better,” she assures you. “I was right, though.” You hum, gazing up at her, and she reaches out to brush a strand of hair out of your face. “You are my greatest love.”

“You’re mine, too,” you promise, wrapping your arms around her neck as she pulls you into a hug that feels lifetimes in the making. “We’re timeless, aren’t we?”

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #uconn wbb #ncaa wbb

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withercat1 · 7 months ago

Text

Some observations about Mouthwashing

Spoilers ahead!

Ok so this game has got me so hyperfixated that I’m using Tumblr for the first time in like a year just to keep a tab with the Mouthwashing hashtag open so I can refresh it throughout the day and see what people are posting. That and my tab full of Danny AOD gifs. Anyway.

So I wanted to share some things I’ve noticed because I haven’t seen anyone else mention them and I want to seem smart and observant.

First off is the name Curly. Like it’s kind of a weird name. It’s unclear whether this is his first or last name because the writing on his id card is so burned and so cursive. It is worth noting that Curly is an actual name, meaning “strong man” or “great strength”. What stands out to me though, is that Laika, the dog who was sent into space, was actually named Kudrayavka originally, which means “Little Curly” (and a little fun fact, Laika means “barker”). Thematically, both of these make sense. I don’t know which one was intentional, if either. It’s entirely possible Curly as a name is a reference, or just a name the devs liked.

Secondly, Anya’s design is based off of Shelley Duvall in The Shining, most recognizable to most people for the scene where she’s hiding in the bathroom while Johnny breaks down the door. That being her most iconic scene really reminds me of Anya’s deal with doors, being unable to lock the door to her quarters, and then locking herself in medical while the others try to get her out.

Thirdly, and the one I find most interesting, is one of the videos that plays on the tv after the storage room is opened. It’s about atoms, and states that atoms make up everything, like shoes, and ships, and sealing wax, and cabbages, and kings. I don’t know if this video was chosen by the devs specifically for this quote, but for the purposes of my rambling I’m going to assume it was. This quote is a direct reference to The Walrus and the Carpenter, a poem by Lewis Carroll.

The poem is hyperlinked above (hopefully, Idrk how to use Tumblr), but I just want to post the segment that the quote from the video comes from.

“The time has come,' the Walrus said,

To talk of many things:

Of shoes — and ships — and sealing-wax —

Of cabbages — and kings —

And why the sea is boiling hot —

And whether pigs have wings.'”

To briefly summarize the whole poem, though I highly recommend reading it for yourself as well because it’s really good, the Walrus and the Carpenter come across a group of oysters and ask them to join them for a walk. The oysters do, and the Walrus and the Carpenter walk with then a bit, before finally stopping, where the lines above happen. Right after this, the oysters ask to take a break, and the Walrus and the Carpenter agree to let them have the break - because they plan on eating the oysters. “And why the sea is boiling hot,” I believe, refers to the oysters being boiled in order to prepare them for consumption.

The Walrus says he pities the oysters, and wipes his tears away, while actively partaking in the consumption of the oysters. The poem ends with a statement that all of the oysters have been devoured.

So! Let’s focus on the Walrus here. Someone who leads innocents astray, boils/cooks them, and then eats them, all the while crying about how awful it is while doing nothing to abstain from eating them. Sound familiar? Sound like that guy we all hate? Little bit! I don’t know if it was an intentional bit of symbolism or not, but it’s super big brained if it was.

That’s all for now but I’m sure I’ll think of some more things later. I love this game. If u made it this far I really appreciate it, feel free to comment and let me know what you think

Also let me know how to tag a post as spoilers properly, I seriously do not use this site

#mouthwashing #mouthwashing game #captain curly #i’m so normal about this game #spoilers

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yolli-es · 6 months ago

Note

Could you possibly write fluff alphabet prompts for the lovely girl Jinx :3

Fluff Alphabet Jinx ❣️

Tags: NO spoilers for season 2 (if you haven't watched it yet), mention of violent acts, psychological problems.

My heart is broken, so I hope this helps heal yours.. Perhaps I misunderstood the request and/or points.

Affection: How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?

Touch, touch, touch.

Does this all the time and expects the same from you. Jinx can never help it, she won't even try. Every time you're lost in thought, she'll take your hand and play with your fingers. Gently, lightly, and casually. You won't even notice, but she can do it for hours.

Jinx is very attached to you and never leaves you for more than an hour unless absolutely necessary.

Just let her do it.

Best friend: What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?

Spontaneous. She often said something strange, and after looking at your face, she laughed awkwardly and quickly changed the subject. She came up with strange, sometimes too childish games to have fun and too dangerous to strengthen your relationship.

Like your first meeting. Don't be surprised if you bumped into her or she suddenly tried to steal something from you and then you became friends. This is Jinx.

You quickly got used to it.

Cuddles: Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?

Hug, hug, hug.

Jinx has received many hugs in her life, but never one that was so meaningful and necessary to her. Vi and Silco were important to her, but you have a deeper connection with her. Every hug reminds her that she is not just existing. It gives her strength and faith in her better side.

If she could, she would do it forever. It doesn't matter how, gently or harshly, with love or joy. The main thing is that it's you.

Domestic: Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?

Surprisingly, Jinx is good at cooking. But only because she is picky. Yes, Zaun is not a buffet, but she knows exactly what she wants and how she will get it. She will not let you eat something garbage.

And yet, she just doesn't see the point in cleaning. Haven't you seen her lair?

"If it's dusty, you don't need it; what's the problem, toots?"

Ending: If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?

No way.

It would be the end of the world. Break up with you after everything she's been through? Forget it. She'll do anything, from murder to rebuilding her personality. Yes, Jinx will resist and say that she won't do it. But she will. She's too scared. You've done so much for her, and she lives and breathes with you.

If you leave her, she will not leave you alone. Jinx will follow you in the shadows. It is unlikely that you will ever know that she is there, unless Jinx herself wants you to know. She will definitely find a way to come back to you, and believe me, you simply will not have a choice.

In case of an unforeseen situation... she definitely won't survive without someone's support.

Fiance(e): How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?

Never really thought about it. There's too much going on in her life to think about something as simple and mundane as a wedding.

But that doesn't mean she'll never think about it.

It will be like a sudden walk in Zaun when she suddenly sees a married couple and it dawns on her. Most likely, she will propose to you almost immediately after he thinks about it.

Say yes, and she will throw you the most lavish wedding. In her style, of course.

Say no, and she'll just wait before trying again.

Gentle: How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?

Jinx gives you all the tenderness that is left in her. Every time she tries to be more careful with you, especially when she tries to make it pleasant for you. Hugs, kisses, and games, in most cases, will take place in playful and caring touches.

But emotions are too much. Jinx can't control them, even though she tries. She has a hard time talking about her feelings, especially when they don't match yours. This only makes things worse and makes her feel misunderstand. So in her vulnerable moments, Jinx tries to move away from you, just to avoid scaring you and driving you both into a corner of fear and mistrust.

She's trying; give her a chance and time. You are a good influence on her.

Hugs: Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?

Jinx hugs you often, and yes, it's the best way to say, "I'm here, and I love you." In most cases, it will do it too tightly; it is quite strong.

I love you: How fast do they say the L-word?

It's complicated. Even when Jinx confessed to you, she couldn't say it without stumbling and biting her lips.

It didn't get any easier with time. It's easier for her to show with actions than to say. She'll make, listen, steal, sew, cook, and anything but say? Oh... And yet, Jinx knows better than anyone how sometimes it is important to hear confirmation that you are loved.

And she will say it, definitely.

Jealousy: How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?

It's so bad that she saw the enemy even in her sister. Just once, it was awkward, but still.

Jinx will definitely know if someone likes you. It must be her magic ability. Then she will be even closer, more aggressive, and talkative. She will lose her shyness even if you don't like it. Jinx might show you off her new gadgets with a hint of "Oh, I have no one to test this on." If the person doesn't understand... well, I think he did.

It's not you; no, she's absolutely certain of your loyalty. The problem is in this world and... in her. She's still Jinx, isn't she?

Kisses: What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?

She kisses wherever and whenever she wants. Why should she choose or be shy?

Most of the time, these are innocent and quick pecks on the cheek, lips, and neck. Sometimes, you'll get a barrage of quick kisses, so attack back!

The rest of the time, Jinx does not skimp on long and intense kisses. She will always make the first "trial" kiss as if inviting you to continue and giving you the opportunity to say no. She won't object the rest of the time either, but then you will definitely not get rid of her teasing and sad face for the rest of the day.

Everything she does to you, Jinx expects to get in return.

Little ones: How are they around children?

Doesn't notice them most of the time. It's understandable; most of the children here are doomed.

And yet, if the child becomes a little closer to her than a stranger and Jinx sees the child's sincere affection, it will mean that now this is your child. It does not matter whether he has parents or some problems with anything; now this is your child, and Jinx loves him.

In most cases, she will act playfully with the child, playing out the older sister or "kind" parent. But that doesn't mean she won't eliminate any possible threat to the child. Don't underestimate her.

Morning: How are mornings spent with them?

When she wakes up before you, she lies still while you sleep. Maybe she's just thinking about something, or maybe she might be staring right at you. Maybe she's staring at you while she's thinking about something? As soon as she realizes you're about to wake up, she'll wake you up looking like she just got up and is bored.

When you wake up first, it's all up to you. Watch her, and Jinx will definitely be embarrassed about it after waking up. Wake her up, and Jinx will make a displeased face, only to relax you and attack you with a pillow from behind. Fall asleep again, and Jinx will beat you to it.

It won't be boring.

Night: How are nights spent with them?

Depends on Jinx's condition.

If she was even a little restless, the night would be the same. Jinx would wake up and unwittingly wake you. She's sorry; she didn't mean to.

If everything is fine, she sleeps like a hibernating bear. It seems as if even a nuclear explosion could not wake her up.

Open: When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?

Talking about your feelings is a real problem for Jinx, let alone her past. Most likely, you already know a lot thanks to rumors in the city. Jinx will not comment on this in any way.

However, time goes by, and you have already been there more than once in the shittiest moments, opened your soul to her in the most difficult moments, and saved her in the most dangerous. The truth about her is the least she owes you.

Jinx starts slowly, from afar, and as if it's not about her at all. And then the story will get deeper and deeper, and you'll see not Jinx but Powder. After that, you'll be truly close.

Patience: How easily angered are they?

Very easy. A few careless words, and she's furious. Don't worry, Jinx won't hurt you. But she and the others may well suffer. She knows that you didn't wish her any harm, but she can't restrain herself.

Quizzes: How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?

Jinx knows and remembers absolutely everything. For her, every little thing about you is important and valuable. She never knows where and why it might be useful to her, but she is sure that this is important knowledge. Secrets that she will not share.

Remember: What is their favorite moment in your relationship?

Every moment when she thinks, "I knew I was right about you."

One of those favorite moments was at the very beginning of your relationship. Some bastards were hunting her down and were damn close to catching her. When she was cornered, you showed up as their partner. You gloated and laughed, shook their hands, and even pointed a gun at Jinx. And all this in order to destroy these bastards. It was cruel, dirty, and instructive.

No more such gangs were formed.

She loves you so much.

Security: How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?

You won't find a more reliable partner. Jinx will save you at any cost; she is simply unstoppable. She has no fear and no limits when it comes to safety. Zaun does not forgive mistakes.

However, Jinx has never asked and will never ask you for protection. You have saved her many times, and yet she is still convinced that you are fragile and definitely cannot cope on your own.

When it comes to a real fight, Jinx will forget about all the nonsense.

Try: How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?

Jinx will pretend that all this is nonsense and that she doesn't care about such trivial things. And then she will invest herself in it as if it is the last thing she will do in her life.

Ugly: What would be some bad habits of theirs?

Blow up anything and anyone.

Vanity: How concerned are they with their looks?

She doesn't care.

Of course, she won’t let herself get to the point of becoming a lump of dirt, but she’s indifferent to anything that doesn’t concern hygiene.

Whole: Would they feel incomplete without you?

Yes, and this is actually tragic.

Jinx tends to get attached to someone and build a very strong bond with them. When you're not around, she's not complete; everything seems to fall out of her hands. Everything that was perfect before doesn't work, and things that Jinx was confident in before are called into question.

She just needs to know how you'll react to anything before making any decisions; Jinx feels empty.

Xtra: A random headcanon for them.

You will definitely get small matching tattoos on your wrists, neck, or stomach. Jinx will be in the most visible place of your bodies.

She lets you paint her bombs and guns. It's personal to her.

Yuck: What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?

Lies. In any form.

Jinx can't trust herself, so what's she supposed to do if she can't trust you? Even if it's a small thing, don't lie to her. It could become too big.

Zzz: What is a sleep habits of theirs?

Lie down on her, or Jinx will throw all her limbs at you. Don't even think about dodging or moving away; she will grab you tighter.

It helps her feel calmer.

Jinx loves you.

Thank you.

#arcane x reader #jinx x reader #arcane jinx #arcane jinx x reader #jinx arcane #jinx x fem!reader #arcane #arcane headcanon #arcane league of legends #arcane netflix #jinx league of legends #jinx alphabet

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curawrites · 6 days ago

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Searching, Saving, Sparring, Kissing

Garrick Tavis x fem!Reader

Warnings: Minor Onyx Storm spoilers, cursing, unwanted attention from a man, sparring, kissing, lazy ending.

Note: Exams are finally over and I’m finally free!! Yippee!!! 💚Anyways, I tried something different with this fic and it turned out okay I think? Idk I kinda gave up on editing this more because it’s all I’ve done for the past few days.

Tag list: @ttheslutttybookwworm @sheblogs @mazzer @luvly-writer @river-of-woe @celeste-fourthwing

Garrick sighed as he once again, looked at the time. You were supposed to have joined him for training in the sparring gym ten minutes ago but you still hadn’t showed up.

Strange.. It wasn't like you to be late.

Although, it was the weekend so you could have just slept in.. Wait- No, you couldn’t have because every morning you wake up early to go fly on your dragon Ahvi, he knew this. But even then, you should have been back by now.

So where were you?

When five more minutes had passed and you still hadn’t showed up Garrick decided that he should go find you. Who knows, maybe you lost track of time flying or maybe you were still getting ready in your dorm.

Figuring the most likely scenario was the first one, he decided to question Chradh before venturing out to look for you in the quadrant, “Is Ahvi in the Vale?” He asked through the bond.

“She is and has been for the last thirty minutes now that she went out on her usual morning flight with the Shy One you like.” Chradh answered.

So you were back from your flight.

After thanking his dragon, Garrick left the sparring gym to try and catch you on what he assumed would be your way to the gym from your dorm.

But he never got to run into you before he found himself questioning the girl who lived next to you as he stood in front of the door to your dormitory. “Hey do you know if Y/n is in there?” He asked her.

She blinked at him suspicious before answering, “I heard her leave this morning like she usually does but I don’t think she’s been back.” She shrugged before walking off.

Well that’s weird. If you weren’t in your dorm, or on your way to the gym, or out flying, where were you?

The only other place Garrick could possibly think of would be the Archives. It was possible that you had decided to return a few books before meeting up with him, and had lost track of time while looking over the new books Jesinia would have given you.

To avoid the long walk to the Scribe Quadrant, he decided to discreetly use his distance wielding to travel there in an instant.

Thankfully the first person he saw when he entered the Archives was Jesinia. He quickly signed a greeting to her before asking her if she had seen you this morning.

She gave him a confused look before signing back that she hadn’t seen you since you had came the week prior.

Garrick visibly deflated at her answer then signed a quick thank you before he left.

How in the gods names was he not able to find you? It wasn’t like you were Xaden who could hide in the shadows. You had your routine and you liked books where else- Then it hit him, you could be in the library!

Not only was it in the Rider’s Quadrant but it was on the way from your dorm to the sparring gym.

He scolded himself for not thinking of that sooner, before he once again used his distance wielding to get to the library. Only to not find you anywhere amongst the many cadets currently studying for whatever tests they had.

Now he was truly stumped, it’s not like you would’ve wanted to ditch him or anything. You had agreed to his offer very enthusiastically and with the cutest blush on your face, so he knew you had intended on coming.

As a last resort, he decided to question Chradh again, “Does Ahvi know where Y/n is? I can’t find her anywhere.” Garrick asked as he walked through the halls, still keeping an eye out for you.

Chradh grumbled in slight annoyance, “I’m sure Ahvi knows exactly where her own rider is. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t be eating double her weight in sheep as we speak.” He pointed out, as if Garrick could see what he was observing.

Garrick sighed, “Could you just ask her where she is? ..Please.” He said as he undid the wrap around his hand.

Chradh let out a displeased growl, “And interrupt Ahvi’s feasting? I think not. I’d rather fly all the way to the border in a thunderstorm before facing her wrath.” He responded.

Garrick rolled his eyes, “Tell her I asked then, maybe she’ll take it better because she likes me.” He rewrapped his hand as he waited for a response.

Seriously how bad could Ahvi be? She was half Chradh’s age and size for the gods’ sakes.

After a few seconds of silence Chradh finally replied, “The Shy One is in the courtyard.” He informed through a stubborn grumble.

The courtyard? Why would you be- Garrick shook his head, all that mattered was that he knew where to find you, “Thank you.” He huffed before immediately heading to the courtyard.

Thankfully the walk wasn’t long and when Garrick finally stepped outside, he was immediately met with the sight of you talking with some guy. A guy he couldn’t seem to recognize.

It’s not like he knew every person in the quadrant, but this guy was no cadet, he had a lieutenant’s patch on his flight jacket. But why would a lieutenant even be at Basgaith? More importantly, why were you even talking to this guy in the first place? And what the fuck was he giving you?

Garrick felt his fists tighten as he watched the guy hold out a black leather harness strapped with two very ornate looking short swords and eight matching daggers towards you.

Considering he knew Xaden had spent a small fortune on Violet’s daggers, he could only imagine that this man had used his entire life savings to buy those.

Jealousy churned in the pit of Garrick’s stomach as he watched you tense up in surprise. But to his shock and relief, you didn’t jump up and squeal like you usually did when you were excited. No, you took a few steps back, causing the guy’s smug expression to falter before he started to step towards you.

Garrick’s protective instinct kicked in before he was walking closer to the rotunda where you stood.

The first thing he was able to hear was your very shy but polite protests, “N-no. Gods no I can’t accept that..!” You stuttered, waving your hands frantically in front of you.

The guy chuckled at your stunned expression, “Come on Y/n, don’t be so modest! This gear is specially made for your signet! You see, all the swords and daggers have runes imbedded in their blades that allow you to cover them in flames without the metal melting.” He explained proudly.

You stared at him in complete disbelief before an awkward laugh bubbled its way out of your throat, “Oh Tom- Th-this is.. This is too much..” You sputtered as you took another step back.

Tom flashed you a charming smile, “Nonsense! I can’t help but spoil you okay? You are my favourite cadet after all.” He said as he began to unbuckle and pull out all of the harness’ straps. “Here, I’ll even help you put it all on.” He offered.

Garrick felt bile build up in his throat. What. The. Actual. Fuck.

Your entire body tensed, “Tom it’s really not necessary- I’m already late for my sparring session..” You protested but he had already sunk to his knees.

Tom completely ignored any and all of your pleading as he strapped you into the harness. Once the straps were wrapped snuggly around your thighs and hips, he adjusted the sheaths of each blade, making sure the two short swords crossed comfortably above your butt, while the daggers rested on the outside of your thighs.

When he was seemingly done you let out a sigh of relief. Thank the gods..

But Tom wasn’t getting up, instead he was staring up at you while his hands rested on your thighs, inches away from your ass.

You blinked down at him, waiting for him to move but the moment never came, “Um.. I need.. I need to go now- Garrick is waiting for me..” You chuckled awkwardly.

Tom’s brows furrowed, “Y/n, I barely see you.. Surely he can wait a little longer.” His hands gripped your harness tightly.

A shaky sigh left your lips, “Tom, please.. I’m already really late..” You pleaded, keeping your tone gentle as you tried to loosen the hold he had on the leather straps.

That was the last straw for Garrick. It was clear to him that you were not feeling this guy at all and despite that you were still being way too nice to the fucking creep.

And while he adored your shy and kind demeanour, it was unfortunately your biggest detriment when it came to confrontation. Especially when it came to people who were of a higher rank than you, like a lieutenant.

Having enough of watching you let Tom walk all over you, Garrick finally decided to make his presence known. “Ah, there you are Y/n, I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” He called out as he walked to your side.

Your head whipped towards him, revealing the embarrassed flush that coloured your face, “Garrick I’m so sorry. I- I was just on my way after I flew with Ahvi but I got caught up-“ Words awkwardly tumbled from your mouth as you desperately tried to explain yourself.

Stupid Tom! This was not how you wished Garrick had found you. Now he was going to think you weren’t interested in him but you really were and-

Garrick only shook his head, “Don’t apologize you were only ten minutes late when I decided to go look for you. I assumed you went to the Archives to return some books to Jesinia before we were supposed to meet up.” He smiled reassuringly.

A blush warmed your cheeks, “A-ah.. you know me too well..” You muttered as you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

With your attention else where, you didn’t notice that Tom was finally standing up.

He completely ignored Garrick’s presence as he brushed the grass off of his pants, “We’ll continue this later, yeah?” He looked at you expectantly, a strained smile plastered on his face.

Before you could respond, Garrick glared at him, “Unfortunately you won’t. We have a test to study for after training.” He lied before turning to you, “Now then, let’s go spar.” He put a hand on your lower back.

You nodded stiffly, quietly uttering a simple goodbye to Tom before you let Garrick lead you back inside the quadrant. “Thanks for getting me out of that Garrick..” you muttered as the tension left your body.

He glanced towards you, “Yeah, don’t worry about it. That Tom guy seemed like a real creep..” Garrick commented with a shudder.

A sigh left your lips, “He seemed perfectly normal the last few times we’ve chatted but I guess me mentioning we had plans set him off or something..” You shrugged as you walked into the sparring gym. “Anyways enough about him. I want to talk about sparring.” You huffed before pulling out some cotton wraps from your pocket.

Garrick smiled, “Someone’s excited.” He teased while adjusting the mat that he had claimed earlier that morning.

Your cheeks warmed, “Why wouldn’t I be? It’s good practice to spar with you, especially unarmed because I’m shit at it. I do well with a weapon and my signet, and I can take on most girls without them. But I’d rather not get my ass handed to me by some buff first year guy again because that was embarrassing..” you cringed at the memory as you wrapped up your hands and knuckles.

He hummed in response as he fixed his own wraps, “So no weapons?” He said as he glanced towards you.

“Nope. Just hand to hand.” You confirmed as you loosened all your harness’ straps

The harness fell down your legs and hit the floor with a metallic thud, “Aww you don’t want to try out your new gear? I was looking forward to having you hold such a pretty knife at my throat.” He pouted playfully.

A flustered noise of surprise slipped past your lips, “Sh-shut up..” You kicked the gear to the side before walking towards the mat.

Garrick snorted as he saw your flushed face, “You ready?” He asked, matching your fighting stance.

Your fists clenched against the cotton wraps, “Ready.” You nodded before swinging.

He dodged your punch easily, only to be kicked in the gut. Not bad, he thought, not bad..

Winning a sparring match against Garrick had seemed practically impossible before. But now that you had actually landed a few good hits on him, you couldn’t stop the hope from blooming in your chest.

Maybe you had severely underestimated yourself earlier or perhaps Zinhal had blessed that damn first year with some beginners luck because you were actually holding your own-

Suddenly your feet were swept out from under you. Panic washed over you in an instant and before you could really think it through, you had already grabbed onto Garrick, forcing him to go down with you.

Your back hit the mat with a force that knocked the wind right out of you, and the smacking sound that followed echoed throughout the empty gym. Despite struggling to breath, you still tried to fight back.

And while your attempts were valiant, they weren’t able to stop Garrick from pressing your thighs down with his knees before grabbing both your wrists into his hands and pinning them above your head. You tried you best to squirm out of his hold but it was no use.

A defeated sigh left your lips as you realized that you were in fact trapped, “I yield..” you muttered as your head fell back against the mat.

Garrick let go of your wrists, “Fuck yeah!” He cheered, raising both arms in the air before he placed his hands on either side of your head.

His victorious smirk faltered as he gazed down at you. Gods.. You looked absolutely irresistible like this, all flushed and sweaty under him.. He hadn’t intended to pin you down so suggestively but he wasn’t complaining when his eyes met your own.

You panted heavily as you looked up at him, a blush slowly creeping up your cheeks as you realized how inappropriate this would look to any outsider passing by.

A grin tugged at the corners of Garrick’s mouth as he watched your face turn bright red while your lips pursed into a flustered pout. He couldn’t help but stare at them, they looked so soft.. So kissable.. So- His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned down and kissed you. …Warm.. He finished the thought as his lips melded against yours.

When you weren’t kissing him back, Garrick pulled away and opened his eyes. He was about to apologize for taking it too far but your stunned expression stopped him in his tracks.

Your eyes were wide with shock while your mouth opened and closed as your tried to find your words, “Garrick.. I..~” You licked your lips before looking him dead in the eyes, “Kiss me again..~” You demanded.

Garrick grinned as his cheeks warmed, “Gladly.~” He said before leaning down and pressing his lips to yours again.

This time you kissed him back passionately, wrapping your arms around his neck before tangling your hands into his dark hair.

The world seemed to fade away while the sounds of your lips melding against each others echoed throughout the empty gym as you lost yourselves in your passionate exchange..

#fourth wing x reader #fourth wing #garrick tavis x reader #garrick fourth wing #garrick tavis x y/n #garrick tavis fluff #garrick tavis x you

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stuckinmymind22 · 2 months ago

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On The Run (part one)

🚨🚨🚨MARINEFORD AND FISHMAN ISLAND SPOILERS🚨🚨🚨

shanks x afab! reader (she/her)

tags: lovers (intimate) to lovers (romantic)

tw: swearing (dialogue and narratively), drinking, violence (you shoot people and they shoot back), you nearly kill a person (intentionally), injury, graphic descriptions of pain, ptsd, you’ve killed people, previous kidnapping, celestial dragons and all of that, lmk if i missed anything

wc: 10.5k

a/n: this idea had me in a chokehold this past month, there's gonna be at least a part 2 (prob 3 too) maybe more little things idk, there's also a prequel in the works that is literally just smut so stand by for that

summary:

You were a barmaid on a small island in the new world with a big secret lying dormant in your past. Your island had been under the protection of Whitebeard, and after his recent death it was only a matter of time before pirates showed up, but no one expected it to be another yonko.

The bar you worked at was a popular spot for the locals and became one of the primary hang out spots for the pirates while they were in town (they couldn't turn down free booze).

The captain, Shanks, ever the charmer, had set his sight on you and quickly you found yourself in his bed (not that you minded). You knew what it was, a temporary relationship to pass the time, and that was fine with you. You weren’t stupid enough to try and get involved with a Yonko (that would be a mess and just end badly for you).

Everything was going smoothly, until the marines showed up. But they weren’t after the Emperor, they were there for you.

It was around midday when a handful of Red Hair Pirates wandered into the bar you worked at. They had been following the same routine for roughly the past week, as they had stayed on the island to get their ship repaired after a storm. In a matter of hours, the crew were going to be setting sail, an inevitable conclusion to their stay. You had grown rather fond of the crew over their time there, especially to their captain, Red-Haired Shanks, who you had a special relationship with (one that often had involved a bed).

A part of you was sad to see you go, although you always had known they would leave, but you were grateful that they had stopped by once again so you could say your goodbyes to some of your favorite members of the crew. The night before, you had spent saying ‘goodbye’ to their captain over many hours, but it seemed that hadn’t been enough for the man.

“You’re looking extra beautiful today,” the captain greeted you with a wink. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the heat that rushed to your cheeks. “Let me guess, the usual?” You asked with a smile. "You know it, Doll," he said as he and his crew took their seats nearby.

Although there were fewer members than there historically had been, there were enough that you could not possibly carry all the pints over by yourself. You called over your coworkers from the other side of the bar for their help, while they did come over and help, they were very skittish around you. You thought that it was odd behavior, but you didn't push the matter; they’d been under a lot of stress lately, so you attributed it to that. They’d recently returned from another island where they had gone to get specialized treatment for their child’s illness, which put a lot of stress on their finances.

“Where’s the rest of the crew?” You questioned the group of pirates as you passed out the drinks. “Getting the ship ready,” Yasopp spoke up. “I see,” you hummed, “Tell them goodbye for me then.”

“You’re not gonna come see us off?” Shanks asked, feigning hurt. You rolled your eyes at the theatrics but grinned regardless. “Unless you’re gonna wait for me to get off, then I can’t.” You realized the accidental innuendo after you said it. “I could get you off right now if you want,” Shanks whispered huskily into your ear. The offer was tempting but would make the clean cut you were going for more difficult. In response, you slapped his arm but laughed, which made the man beam with pride.

You conversed with the group of pirates for a while before a large group came in, clearly celebrating. Your coworker was nowhere to be seen, so you knew you had to get back to work. “It was nice talking to you boys, but duty calls,” you said apologetically, “Please come say goodbye before you leave.”

“Wouldn’t dream of doing anything else,” Shanks said with that damn charming smile. “Don’t worry ‘bout us, go do what you gotta do,” Benn Beckman, the first mate of the Red Hairs, spoke up. You nodded and went to the other group to get their orders before returning to the bar to get their drinks.

Suddenly, something felt off with the air, putting you on edge. With practiced precision, you maintained your composure as you discreetly scanned your surroundings, trying to find the cause of your unease. White uniforms caught your eye, and you faltered, nearly overfilling the tankard you were pouring. This wasn’t going to end well.

There looked to only be a dozen or so marines — nowhere near enough to take Shanks and his crew. If there had been many more soldiers, that would’ve been news on the island, and you would’ve heard about it at that point. The navy was still licking its wounds from the war, surely, they wouldn’t be so stupid as to go after another yonko so soon… right? They could’ve gotten cocky after the death of Whitebeard and were trying to ride that wave to take out the rest of the yonkos, but that seemed far-fetched.

No. There was no way in hell the Marines were here for him, you realized. Shit, they probably didn’t even know he was here. You looked at the man out of the corner of your eye, and he was as laid back as ever, head thrown back as he laughed at something you didn’t hear. The relief didn’t last for long, though, as you quickly realized that the only other person on this island that they could possibly be after was… you.

Shanks had chosen that exact moment to walk up to the bar, greeting you with his charming smile. You were only halfway paying attention to him as you stood on guard. Upon realizing that you were not listening to him, Shanks’ words teetered out, replaced by a curious look.

You were hoping that the unit had stumbled upon your little island on accident and were just going to restock and peacefully head out fast. That dream had been promptly crushed when you saw your coworker walk up to them. You pieced it together, and your coworker’s suspicious behavior around you started to make sense. You had, mistakenly, attributed the odd behavior to stress. They had a chronically ill child, which was a cause of significant emotional and financial strain for them. You watched the entire interaction, how they had tried to be discreet about it, but your fears were confirmed when you were pointed out. The person in charge looked your way and nodded. Shit, he’s a vice admiral

“Fuck,” you spoke your thoughts. Shanks raised an eyebrow, but you didn't look his way, so he followed your gaze and saw what the issue was. He saw the Marines and they saw him. If you weren’t busy trying to find a way out of the situation, you would’ve been really amused by the unit’s reaction to coming face to face with a yonko in the wild.

Shanks, ever the lil shit, waved at the group with a wiggle of his fingers. “Don’t draw their attention over here, dumbass,” you scolded him as you whipped him with a nearby towel. “What? I know him,” the red-haired man laughed. When that explanation hadn’t pacified you, he tried again, “You can relax, they aren’t gonna do anything—“ maybe not to you, you thought internally “—and if they do, we’ll get rid of them, it’ll be easy.” To him it was problem solved, so he was confused when you growled out “The fuck you will. You sit still and look pretty. Don’t get involved.”

The man was unsure what had prompted such a severe reaction from you, but he raised his hand in surrender. “Promise me,” you begged with a genuine fear you hadn’t been able to hide. His eyes softened. He felt that he had owed you at least some level of trust, so he agreed. If things were to go wrong, it wouldn’t be difficult to step in, but he’ll let it be for the time being.

The bar was unusually packed for the time of day — that wasn’t good. They all needed to leave.

If they had been there for you, as it seemed, you knew damn well that you wouldn’t be going down without a fight. However, the possibility of people getting caught in the crossfire was an issue for you. Never mind the fact that it had been instilled into you early on to minimize civilian casualties, you didn’t want to see these people getting hurt. When you had arrived at the town, years earlier, with no funds and very little to your name, the community had come together to help you. They had cared about you in a way you had forgotten people could. You would always be indebted to them. You had to ensure their safety at all costs.

With the Marines nearly at your door, time was running out. The building needed to be evacuated immediately. You hated doing it, but you had no other choice. “Leave. Now.” Your voice echoed in through the room, a powerful energy radiating off of you and your words — Conqueror’s Haki. It had been years since you had used it last, and it had been a little shaky as a result. But it worked. Right away, people had started to file out of the bar; you even had a Marine or two spinning on their heels at your command.

Confusion and shock followed in wake of your order. Wide-eyed patrons walked out, most of them clueless as to what was happening. Those who understood what you had done were taken aback. Conqueror’s Haki was rare enough on its own, but it was damn near unheard of for a random civilian to possess the skill.

There was clearly something Shanks had been missing about your story, no way were you just some barmaid on a sleepy island. The question of who you really were was front and center on the captain’s mind as he watched you on the sidelines. He was intrigued to say the least.

The Marines had gotten stuck navigating through the exiting crowd; you took the opportunity to examine them while they were still hung up. The unit was led by a man smoking not one, but two cigars, clad in an open bomber jacket and a Marine coat draped over his shoulders. His coat denoted his position as a vice admiral, which concerned you. While it wasn’t yet confirmed that they were there for you, you weren’t stupid; you knew. To the extent of your knowledge, the World Government had never sent such a high-ranking officer after you — even in the height of their search efforts.

Still hoping for the best, you feigned ignorance to the situation. Pretending to be drying a tankard, you gave the approaching soldiers an award-winning smile, “Fancy a drink, boys?”

The senior official ignored you entirely. Instead, he opted to address the emperor in the room, greeting him with a curt nod, “Red Hair.” That annoyed you, but you had to keep your cool.

“Smoker,” Shanks said with a laid-back smile, like he was greeting an old friend, not a high-ranking military official. The white-haired man pursed his lips in annoyance, bored he continued, “We aren’t here for you. Leave before we have to be.” While it was a clear threat, the man had seemed reluctant to give it, probably fully aware that his men and him were no match for the pirates.

“Nah. I’m good here,” Shanks said as he sat down at the bar stool as if to prove a point. His response roused some laughs from his crew. The vice admiral, Smoker, was obviously irritated by the response but didn’t push the matter any further. For the first time, the man set his sights towards you, addressing you by your birth name. You cringed when he called out your name in full (title and all); it had been years since you had gone by it. You had grown to resent the name. It reminded you of all that you had lost: your family, your friends, your freedom.

It had taken him a moment, but Shanks’ eyes widened when he finally placed the name. That was you? Your sudden disappearance many, many years ago had sparked a multinational search. Being the daughter of a powerful king, your apparent kidnapping had been a massive story at the time. If he could recall, the search for you had lasted for months, and, right when it had seemed like all hope was lost, you were spotted. You had reappeared suddenly to “commit acts of terrorism” then had dropped off the map entirely. Your poster had gone from “missing” to “wanted” overnight, but you were never seen again.

Under normal circumstances, this would be the part where you would cut your losses and run, but this wasn’t a normal circumstance. You had realized that the unit you were dealing with was a part of the G5 — a branch that was notorious even within the Marines for their recklessness and cruelty — there was little chance that they wouldn’t leave some level of collateral damage. If you were to run, they would follow you with reckless abandonment.

Although you had gotten people out of the building, that didn’t mean that they had left the vicinity. A crowd was gathered right outside, some were trying to stealthily watch the encounter with varying degrees of success — not that you could blame them, this was undoubtedly the most exciting thing to happen in this village in years (the Red-Haired Pirates included).

You needed to find a way to settle this then and there. There was also no telling what could happen if the pirates got involved. Just because they had connected with the community during their stay didn’t mean that they would be mindful of their surroundings (especially when they could just up and leave at any time). You prayed that the handsome, one-armed man would stay true to his word.

You weren’t entirely sure what you were going to do, but luckily you had always been quick on your feet. You had to stall for time while you tried to find the best way out of this.

“Are we really going to do this?” You asked. “You could always pretend you didn’t see me. I’m not going to cause trouble for the government ever again. Plus it’s been, what? Thirteen years?” Admittedly it had been a Hail Mary, but you didn’t want to fight and it would be a disservice to yourself not to try. “I’m a whole new person now,” you said, gesturing to your body, which had changed considerably from when you were taken as a teen.

“Time doesn’t absolve you from your crimes,” the marine, Smoker, said level headedly.

“But what crime did I really commit?” You questioned him. In the past you had managed to talk yourself out of being captured; however, most of those times you still had the youth of a child and the pity that came with it. “Outside of destruction of property, it was all done in self-defense. Actually, even the destruction of property thing was too.”

“You know that it is bigger than that,” Smoker countered, not batting an eye. His words made you realize he had more pieces to the story than what had been made public. That stoked a fire within you — his complacency in the matter made what you had to do easier.

“You got me there,” you admitted, face and facade dropping. You were tired. Tired of running. Tired of having to look behind your back at every step. But what choice did you have? Fighting your way out was the only thing you could do at that point. “Hey Yasopp, can I borrow your gun please?” You’d seen the pistol on his hip when he’d walked in

The only snag in your plan was the fickle nature of pirates. You had your part down, but if they didn’t help, you were fucked. Well, not fucked, but you would have to flee, endangering the lives of the nice people who welcomed you onto this island and cared about you, which you wanted to avoid at all costs.

The sniper was surprised by the request, to say the least. Did you even know how to use a gun? Unsure of what he should do, Yasopp looked to his captain with an unspoken question. Shanks had been a little taken aback at the request too; this was a very different side to you than the one he had been familiar with. But he was curious. The emperor signaled the go-ahead to Yasopp, who immediately tossed the weapon your way.

While the pirates communicated, the woman next to Smoker spoke up in an attempt to appeal to your sense of better reason: “You don’t have to do this.” You wished that she was right.

“Yes, I do,” you said firmly. The universe had incredible timing as that was the moment you caught the revolver. “I’m not letting you take me back. And I’m not letting you kill me,” your words came out desperate and definitive.

After you spoke, you raised the pistol, but held it with such unfamiliarity — as if that was the first time in your life you’d held one, which was odd because you had explicitly asked for a gun. Smoker ordered the troops to take aim at your movement. For someone who had the barrel of a dozen rifles pointed at you, you were remarkably calm. Despite the fearful expression that painted your face, your body was relaxed.

You fired the first shot. It missed. By a long shot.

Shanks remained confused by your actions. He’d been watching you closely and had noticed that something was off. The question was what. One would expect you to be embarrassed or something by that performance, but the corners of your mouth were upturned. Oh, you had meant to do that. You had something planned. However, wasting a round when you only had six shots and twelve targets seemed like a shit strategy. What exactly were you playing at?

It worked. Your plan had worked.

The shot had been so bad that the order to retaliate didn't even come like it should have. Multiple soldiers had faltered in their aim at you. After all, you were just a weak barmaid on a sleepy island. What damage could you really do? Underestimating you was their mistake, though. When they’d lowered their guard, you pounced. You moved before they could notice their mistake, targeting the soldiers that held firm while the others would be ever so slightly delayed in their reaction.

You emptied the revolver in quick succession, aiming for the shoulder of the arm on the trigger to disarm and incapacitate. The gun was more powerful than you had expected; one bullet aligned so perfectly that it had been able to take down two marines in one shot, shooting straight through both of them. After hitting five soldiers, the pistol had stopped firing. That wasn’t right.

Dodging a barrage of bullets, you checked the gun to find all of the chambers empty. Well, that was inconvenient, you sighed and tossed the pistol back to its owner. You needed a new weapon. In the process of hopping the counter to ‘borrow’ a rifle, a sharp pain erupted in your side. Fuck. But no injury was going to have you back down — they’d have to kill you for that — so you kept fighting.

The rifle had been helpful. It didn’t take long for there to be only one man left standing. The vice admiral. This time, however, you aimed for the heart. The man knew what had happened to you and still had decided you were the one in the wrong; the world would probably be better off without him. Not considering the consequences of shooting a high-ranking official, you fired the shot.

The man never dropped — it didn't even look like he was hit. You were certain you had aimed right at him. You tried shooting him again and the same thing happened. That time, you saw his body turn into... smoke? It was clear to Shanks that you didn't know about the vice admiral's devil fruit. He had sat back and watched for long enough. You had proven that you could do more than hold your own, but it was time to intervene.

“I think it might be time for you to cut your losses and go, Smoker. Don’t ya think?” Shanks said, making eye contact with the man. It hadn’t been a suggestion; it had been an order. Smoker ticked his jaw, but he knew a losing battle when he saw one. His men were injured, and so was Tashigi — none of the wounds were yet critical, but they required medical attention. He ordered a full retreat.

“You put on quite the show, Doll,” Shanks said, his charming personality making a full return. He couldn’t deny that he’d found the whole thing to be attractive and quite entertaining to watch. He’d never guessed you had it in you — it had made him realize that he didn’t know much about you.

A noncommittal grunt was the only indicator that you had heard the man at all. But his voice had brought you back down from fight mode, which allowed the anger to kick in. You were pissed. You were so fucking angry, unshed tears clogged your waterline as you vigorously wiped them away. You knew that you’d just lost everything.

Somewhere through the haze you heard the voice of Yasopp and, without thinking, you talked over it, "Do you always keep a chamber empty? You play reverse Russian roulette often?" Despite it being a joke, there was a bite to your words that the group had never heard before, regardless of that the quip garnered a hearty laugh. You started to get an explanation that likely boiled down to being drunk, but you weren't listening, you were spiraling.

Everything that you had built there was gone. You couldn't stay (you had a garden dammit). The government knew where you were and you were no longer safe — you could not go back at any cost, you could never let them catch you.

Staring aimlessly out the wide open door you recognized a familiar face, your coworker’s, and you saw red. Your feet carried you outside before you could second guess your actions, some marine's rifle still in your hand. Someone called out your name, but you spared them no mind. Steps followed behind you, who they belonged to didn't matter. You could only focus on the pounding in your ears and the anger in your heart.

As you approached your now ex-coworker, you raised the barrel, leveling it between their eyes. Your aim held steady as they collapsed on the ground in terror. You loaded the gun, ignoring the silent plea in their eyes. A crowd was still gathered in the street, watching your movements in disbelief.

A few steps behind you stood Shanks. He observed your actions, curious as to what you would do. He wasn't there to stop you from pulling the trigger; he would have already done it if it were him. Guns weren't for threats, but were you really going to shoot someone dead in the middle of the street? The only kill shot you had gone for was Smoker, who was a stranger trying to arrest you; this, however, was someone you had known. It was obvious that you had sent people out to minimize casualties, yet now you had a rifle to the head of a civilian.

Finger on the trigger, ready to pull it, but you hesitated. For the first time in a while, your father's voice echoed in your head. While a man of power, he had always stressed the importance of mercy, saying that you needed to really be sure of what you were doing when taking a life while yours was not at stake.

When you thought about it, you were more sad than anything. Just when you had started to really lay down some roots, it had been torn up entirely. You wanted to hate the person who had turned you in, but you knew why they did it. Your head had appeared to be easy money, and they were a desperate parent trying to help their child. The anger didn't subside, but you knew what you had to do.

“I should kill you. I want to kill you,” you seethed, “but I won’t.” Taking your finger off the trigger, you lowered the barrel. You were shaking in fury as you towered above them bestowing mercy. “Because I don’t like traumatizing kids. I’m not gonna make yours watch me blow your brains out. For your sake I hope this is the last time we see each other because next time I probably won’t be as forgiving. Now go comfort your child. They’re crying. Four buildings down across the street in that alley.”

When they made no move to get up, undoubtedly frozen in fear, you gently kicked their leg. “Go before I change my mind.” That had been all that it took; they scurried away in the direction you pointed out.

You were still fuming, but you would have time to be angry later; you needed to disappear. You had no idea where you would go. The island was far too small for you to hide on — you had to leave and soon.

A faint plan was developing in your mind. Being on the run required cash, much more than you had on hand. The bar was empty — bar the pirates — and you knew the code to the safe, which made it your best bet. You spun on your heel and headed back the way you had come.

The crew's attention had snapped to the door when you entered, but you paid them no mind, too focused on your objective. Their captain trailed behind you, sending them back to the ship with just a glance. The Red Haired Pirates had been together for so long that they had practically mastered the art of wordless communication; they all knew what that look had meant. The men were quick to exit, leaving in silence, which was surprising given how rowdy they liked to be.

Shanks, however, lingered. He took back his seat and watched you. He didn't speak while you moved around — no words of comfort, no judgment; he was just... there. You had waited for any sort of reaction to come from the man, constantly eyeing him out of the corner of your eye, but there never was one.

Halfway through clearing the place out, the pain had finally made its reappearance. You didn't have time to deal with the injury, so you powered through it, ignoring its existence. You stuffed your pockets full of money and shoved some down your shirt with urgency, getting more berries than you had originally calculated. But there was no telling when that stroke of luck would end.

------------

Shanks had been following you the entire walk to your home. His presence stood out, so it had been obvious who it was. Initially, you had wanted to tell him to fuck off, but you had thought the better of it. Even if it bothered you, his presence was more beneficial than harmful — he was a deterrent for the marines, and you weren't sure of the extent of your injuries, but you trusted that if you passed out or something, he would help you.

Standing outside the door, you took a moment to grieve — you had been there for five years and would never see it again. It was the first place that had felt safe, that had felt like home, since before you had been taken, and you were losing it all.

When you entered, you hadn't bothered to shut the door behind you, and Shanks took it as an open invitation. He followed you inside and looked around, as if he hadn't been there before.

You pulled out and opened a small trunk that you hadn't used in years — since you had arrived on that island. Even though you had been free for over a decade and settled for nearly half of that time, you didn't have a lot of things to your name. While you packed your belongings away, you brainstormed how you would get the hell off of the island.

There had never been a high-ranking ranking official to come after you. The government seemed to finally be putting resources into tracking you down, which must be because of the change in power, and so any commercial means were off the table. It would be hard to get out, unless…

You looked over at Shanks and held an internal debate. Initially, you had wanted to cut all ties with him, to make things easier, but you weren't sure if you had much of a choice anymore. He'd felt your eyes on him and turned around to look at you — there was nothing left to lose.

"Take me with you," you said, swallowing your pride, "Just to the next island, that is all I need." The longer he responded, the more worried you became. The smile that formed on his face calmed your fears. "That's why I'm here, Darlin," he truly had intended to anyways, and if you declined, he had been ready to find a way to talk you into it.

He had motives outside of altruism of course, he was a pirate after all. Curiosity definitely had been a big one, he had a lot of questions. You were also a competent fighter. It would be mutually beneficial if he could convince you to stay with his crew (he would get your skills, you get guaranteed protection from the government). Another reason he refused to admit was that he just liked you, in ways that were unfamiliar to him. What he could admit, however, was that he would miss the time you had spent alone together, that had always been something he'd enjoyed.

He saw it while he was lost in thought. A large red patch on your side. It looked like you hadn’t dodged every bullet that had come your way. Your shirt was dark and disguised it well, but the stain was still there. You had done a good job at hiding it too; you hadn’t limped or shown any outward signs of pain. What the hell have you gone through? Bullets hurt, that he could attest to.

Shanks had walked over to you and lifted up the hem of your shirt in a way he had many times before to assess the damage. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You questioned, slapping his hand away. Instead of answering, he did it again, checking your back, and you held your breath in fear.

There was no exit wound, but he could not remember if that was good or bad; all he knew was that you were still bleeding. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he said, putting pressure on the wound.

“Didn’t know I had to, and I’ve been through worse,” you answered, continuing your task. He believed you. He thought back to your nights together and had recalled the feeling of scars littering your body (the lighting had always been awful, and details were all fuzzy).

“How long have you been bleeding?” He asked, trying to determine how much blood you had lost. “Since I got shot, I think,” you responded. “Now let me finish packing.” Normally, he would have laughed at your quip, but for some reason this time it wasn’t that funny. His hand had been painted with scarlet, and he scolded himself for not noticing earlier. Over the years, he had seen worse injuries, but he needed to get you to Hongo as soon as possible. “We gotta go, you need a doctor,” he said. When you attempted to pull back from him, he told you to stay still.

“You are not my captain. I am not gonna take orders from you. Let me go,” you looked him dead in the eyes as you spoke and he returned your gaze. “You might wanna start listening to me if you don’t want to bleed out,” Shanks was no longer playing around, he sounded serious in a way you had never heard from him before. Your will had faltered a little bit before it came back strong, “I’m gonna finish, then we can go.”

"Like hell you are," deep down he knew that you weren't going to cooperate if this didn't get done. "I'll do it," in his mind it had been that or picking you up and taking you kicking and screaming, which he would really prefer not doing. “Not with that bloody hand you’re not,” you said, looking at the red spilling between his fingers. “It’s your blood,” he was getting tired. “It’s still blood,” you argued. Shanks wiped your blood off on his shirt, “There, now what do you need?” Thankfully, your hands replaced his, keeping your bleeding under control as you pointed out the few items that had yet to be packed.

------------

After Shanks had uncovered the bullet wound in your side, you had stopped trying to suppress or hide the impact the injury was having on you. On your way to his ship, you had needed to sling an arm around his neck to keep yourself upright (getting more of your blood on him in the process) while you tried to control the bleeding with your other hand. The closer you had gotten to the dock, the more obvious it had become that you had lost a lot of blood. Your movements had started to slow down, and Shanks knew that you needed to hurry and get medical attention.

Yasopp had been the first to spot you and the captain approaching. Then he saw the crimson all over the man's white shirt. "Oi, Hongo, c'mere," the sharpshooter shouted back to the doctor, sounding more amused than concerned, "Captain's gonna need you soon."

Shanks glared up at the man, not amused. Only then had Yasopp noticed that you were using the tall man as a crutch and clutching your abdomen. It was your blood. You had been bleeding profusely. "Oh shit," he said before shouting back to the doctor to hurry. Yasopp jumped down onto the dock to help bring you on board. There was only a rope that provided a way up; there had been no need for anything more than that as the captain had been the only one still on the island, and he had expressed his desire to leave quickly.

The gunman rushed to greet the two of you and lend a hand. You refused to let anyone else see you in such an openly vulnerable state, so you brushed past him, refusing his help, and started to climb the rope by yourself. Some of your blood had transferred to the fibers of the rope as you climbed. Yasopp was taken aback by your sudden increase in strength, and while he was confused, Shanks shoved the trunk of your belongings that he'd been carrying into his arms. The one-armed man followed closely behind you.

It was a slow process for you, scaling the rope with one arm when you were so out of practice. Your struggle was clear, but you wouldn't let a little bit of blood loss stop you, so you powered through it, eventually reaching the top.

Hongo arrived out on deck just in time to witness you climb over the railing on your own. He had recognized you from the bar (and knew your relationship to the captain), but why were you onboard a pirate ship? The doctor, somehow, had yet to hear about the events that transpired less than an hour ago. As far as he was concerned, you were just an ordinary civilian, so why'd the hell had the captain brought you aboard the Red Force hurt and bleeding? Hold on, hurt and bleeding?

Shanks had followed quickly behind you. He scanned the crowd, looking for the doctor before his feet were planted on deck. When he found him, he made eye contact. "Hongo," he said with a faint nod and a glance your way. It was an order: to take care of you.

Immediately, Hongo rushed to your side to aid you, calling out for a stretcher upon seeing your condition. You, however, brushed him off, "I can walk. Where am I going?" You questioned, looking around. He had opened his mouth to insist otherwise when the captain gave him a look that boiled down to 'just do as the lady says'. Warily, Hongo led the way to the infirmary with a few men on standby, not entirely confident that you wouldn't collapse along the way.

You were much more conscious than you should've been, that was the first thing about you that gave the doctor pause. Based on the size of the stain on your shirt and the combined red on both you and Shanks, you had lost a lot of blood — almost too much blood to be conscious, but there you were, walking. He couldn't help but wonder what the hell you had been through to be capable of such a feat. Perhaps you were one of those rare people who didn't feel pain, he contemplated, but the way you had been gritting your teeth proved that was not the case. One thing had become clear to him at that point: you were not an ordinary civilian.

Along the way, you rattled off all of the information that he would need to know, unprompted: a gunshot wound to the abdomen (that much he could tell), you weren't sure if there was an exit wound, it happened around thirty minutes ago, even giving him your blood type.

The doctor knew you would need a transfusion. Blood transfusions weren’t a common occurrence on the Red Force; the crew rarely needed them, so only a small amount was kept on hand as a just-in-case. When the bleeding had been too much, there were enough people to get on-the-spot donations. He knew there wasn’t enough of your blood type on hand, so the doctor sent someone back to collect two or three people for donations.

Upon your arrival at the infirmary, you requested that as few people as possible were in the room. It was an odd request, but he obliged. He instructed an assistant to go draw blood in another room. The other one got you hooked up to a transfusion while Hongo got started on the gunshot wound. Initially, you had been very adamant about keeping your shirt on under the bright lighting, even if it would hinder any aid, only lifting it to the point of injury. You had also refused to let him check for an exit wound, but in a way that could be excused with modesty and would not have raised an eyebrow had he not already been suspicious about you.

Once only the two of you had remained in the room, you stripped yourself of your shirt, telling the doctor that he could do whatever he needed to. Sat there on the exam table, shirt in hand, you kicked your feet like a child, in a vain attempt to redirect your nerves. Hopefully, he doesn't see it, you thought. In such bright light, the scar on your back was harder to hide.

With full access to the area of the gunshot, Hongo checked for an exit wound, finding that there was none. After an assessment, he had decided that the best course of action would be to remove the bullet, and he told you as much. “Get it over with, please," you said, bunching up the fabric of your shirt to stuff into your mouth. "We have pain killers, do you want-“ you cut off the doctor's offer once again, asking him to get it over with. The man hesitated but proceeded anyway. He gathered the necessary tools and waited for your signal. After stuffing your balled-up shirt in your mouth, you gave him a nod.

You were not looking forward to the experience, but the faster you could get it over with, the faster you could cover up. A sharp, searing pain exploded in your abdomen as Hongo started his search for the bullet. No matter how hard you had bit down on your shirt, it hadn't been enough to muffle your screams, which, unfortunately, were heard as they echoed down the halls. The digging around your insides was not pleasant, and you started to wonder if it would be better just leaving the slug in there. Your screams, however, dimmed as he prodded deeper into the cavity of your abdomen. Even when the bullet had been retrieved, the process of disinfecting the wound was just as, if not more, grueling. By then, the only indicator of your pain was the tears welled up on your lash line — tears that never fell.

It had been while Hongo was finally bandaging you that he had noticed what you were trying to hide — the reason you hadn't wanted anyone in the room. He nearly had missed it too; the mark was faint, but it was there — the ghost of the hoof of the soaring dragon. A slave branding. The mark of a celestial dragon.

Oh, shit.

The doctor’s movements had faltered at the discovery. You knew that he had seen it, and that scared you. “Please don't tell him," you said, voice so faint it was practically like a child's. The plea had taken the doctor by surprise. He knew who you were talking about but was confused as to why you were begging him to keep it a secret from him of all people — surely he had seen it...right?

"I won't," he responded, the tension in your shoulders dissipating slightly. "Promise?" you asked in the same small voice. "I promise," he reaffirmed. The reassurance allowed you to finally relax; it was as if you had given your body the permission to show the extent of your injuries, and the world slipped into black quickly.

------------

Shanks had known that returning to the ship with you, an injured civilian, before departing from the island would raise some eyebrows from the crew, which is exactly what happened. The captain, however, ignored the surprised faces and questioning looks, not even sparing them a glance. They could wait, preferably for a time when you were not actively bleeding out.

He watched you leave, walking your damn self to the infirmary out of sheer willpower alone. At least your stubbornness from earlier hadn't been personal. You were limping and stumbling, but you were still upright, and that said a lot about you. Shanks felt someone walk up beside him; he didn't have to look to know who it was. His right-hand man, Benn Beckman, joined him in his observation. The gears in the yonko's mind were turning, trying to figure you out. Only when you had turned a corner did the first mate speak. "She coming with?" he asked. "Yes," the captain answered definitively, the decision already final. Beck took a drag from his lit cigarette and nodded, "She crew?" "No," at least not yet.

Shanks had been stiff since he arrived, which was noticed by people onboard. In attempt to lighten the mood, someone shouted, "We takin' fugitives now?" He cracked a smile and loosened up a little, a series of laughs also ringing out on deck. While the joke had helped to cut some of the tension he had been feeling, he was still worried about you, probably more than he should be. You’ll be fine. You’ve gotta be.

“Let’s get going, yeah?” the captain proclaimed, and the crew, like a well-oiled machine, quickly unmoored the ship and set off. Both Beckman and Yasopp had stayed by Shanks’ side; the first mate’s continued presence made sense, but the sniper’s didn’t. “Yassop, what ya doing? Don’t go deadbeat on your crew now too,” Shanks joked, the mirth in his voice was noticeably forced. “Haha, very funny Captain,” Yasopp deadpanned. The captain clapped his back to send the man off, but he didn’t move. “Now, where do you want this?” Yasopp asked, raising the trunk you had packed. Oh yeah, he had forgotten about that.

“Umm…” Shanks tried to think of a spot for you outside of the infirmary, where you would surely be staying for the foreseeable future, but he was drawing a blank. "Bring it to the guest quarters," Beckman said, the slightest twinkle of mischief in his eyes — which the captain was blind to as his back was towards the man, but Yasopp had caught it. He understood what Benn had been playing at and he smiled knowingly. The guest quarters were right next to the captain's. The sniper verified the option with the captain, who nodded in agreement before he walked away.

"Make sure you get someone to clean it, I don't know the last time we used it," the captain shouted over his shoulder. Yasopp and Beckman shared a knowing grin before dissipating.

One of the newer recruits (newer was a subjective term as he’d been on the ship for a couple of years) came running out on deck. He had been one of the people to follow you and Hongo to the medical bay, so when he had come rushing back with urgency, Shanks’ heart had dropped into his stomach. He felt nauseous, fearing the worst.

Instead of delivering the dreaded news, the man called out for any donors with your specific blood type. Shanks didn’t realize it, but there was something threatening in his eyes that signaled if anyone had your blood type, they better fucking go. The look on the captain’s face had several men following the first to the medical area despite the fact that he had only requested two or three.

After that, Shanks had tried to go back to his captainly duties and help get the ship out to sea, but he was doing a shit job at hiding his worry. He didn’t even understand why he was so worried about you; you’d likely be fine, but he felt sick to his stomach regardless.

------------

Shanks had been on his way to check on you in the infirmary when he heard screams echoing in the hallways — your screams. They were muffled, but they were still audible. He’d been around long enough to know that you were likely getting the bullet taken out. He thought about turning around, but the screams stopped before he could. The abruptness that the screams dropped off concerned him, and he picked up his pace.

He listened at the door just to make sure that you were alive without disrupting your privacy. Hearing your voice was a relief, but then he realized what you’d said: "Please don't tell him." He could put two and two together. He knew it was him you were talking about. What were you keeping from him? Oh no. You couldn’t be…? …right? But what else would you beg a doctor to keep from him? A part of him wanted to just barge into the room and find out for himself, but he had enough self-control not to. Instead, he would wait outside the door until he got word on your condition.

A few moments later, when Hongo opened the door, nearly running into the man he’d just promised to keep something from. Shanks had been stood at the door, staring blankly, eyebrows furrowed in thought, which he had been so lost in that it had taken him a moment to realize someone was in front of him.

Shanks couldn’t help himself, he asked point blank, “What aren’t you supposed to tell me?” The doctor sidestepped him, directing a nearby medic to make sure you rested and let him know if anything changed in your condition. “You know I can’t tell you that.” The captain didn’t like that answer; he was worried about you in general and feared that whatever you were keeping from him involved him somehow. “I can keep a secret,” he tried again, falling into step with the man.

Stopping in the middle of the hallway, Hongo looked his captain in the eyes. “Respectfully, Captain, it isn’t for me to say.” Hongo stood firm on his position, but threw the emperor a bone when he stayed tensed. “It’s got nothing to do with you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” The information brought Shanks a little bit of relief. Although he wanted to know what was being kept from him, he let the matter go and switched topics. “How’s she?”

“She lost a lot of blood. I don’t know how she was still walking — most of our men could not have done that,” Hongo admitted. Shanks had recognized how far your sheer willpower went, it had been impressive. “We are insanely lucky that it just missed her artery or else no amount of will could’ve gotten her here.” That was a fact Shanks wasn’t sure he wanted to know. It scared him more than it should have. “Nothing too major was damaged, but she’ll need to be on bedrest for several days, possibly more, the recovery in total will take a couple of weeks. Right now, infection is what we need to watch out for.”

Shanks nodded in understanding before a bell rang out in the halls. Several years back, Lucky Roux, the ship’s head chef, had gotten annoyed — for probably the first time in his life — at people complaining that food was cold multiple hours after it had been cooked, so he had a bell installed to signal meal time (also used for booze). After that it was your own fault if your food got cold or you missed a meal. The two men changed corse, making their way to the mess hall.

Hongo hadn’t been entirely convinced that the captain was unaware of the brand on your back, even if you had believed he was oblivious. It was a delicate situation to broach. “Do you know her history? There’s gotta be something there for her to be able to take a bullet like that.” He’d chosen his words carefully as to not break his promise, plus, it was an actual question he had. “You didn’t hear?” News had always seemed to spread like wildfire on board so it surprised Shanks that the doctor hadn’t heard what happened back on the island.

Down the hall, Yasopp, ever the story teller, could be heard telling the story animately. “—and that’s when everyone left the bar. She even got a few marines—” A sizable crowd had gathered around him listening to his tale. "Go sit in, you'll see what I'm talking about," Shanks said to Hongo, clapping him twice on the back before leaving him there.

He spotted Beckman, who stood nearby against a wall enjoying the story despite having had lived it. “Just the man I wanted to see,” Shanks said, approaching him. “Can I have you look into—“ “Her bounty? Yes,” the man cut him off, both spoke in hushed tones.

“It always freaks me out when you do that,” Shanks said faking a shiver. Benn smiled, his cigarette still in his mouth, and shrugged, "What can I say? I know you best."

“Just find out what you can and let me know. You’ll probably have to ask around ‘cause there’s no way in hell they shared what actually had happened.” The red-haired pirate went to leave before returning. Speaking once again in a quiet voice he said, “And I think this goes without saying, but don’t let her know you’re doing this.” He had realized that you would not be happy with everyone knowing your past after you had gone to such lengths to hide it. “And the others too,” he added. “Of course, Captain,” his first made responded. Feeling satisfied with the answer, Shanks walked off.

“—and then she, with out thinking, asked me if I had a habit of playing reverse Russian roulette,” Yasopp had found that quip really funny, laughing loudly just recounting it.

“She got you good with that one,” Shanks chimed in as he passed by. “Maybe it’ll teach ya to keep your gun full.” Yasopp’s justification was covered by the captain’s laugh.

------------

It had long been dark by the time you woke up. Pale moonlight streamed through the dark room; you blinked away the sleepiness and reoriented yourself. Memories from earlier streamed back into your mind as you recognized where you were and why. Lying in a hospital bed on a damn pirate ship. Oh god. One thing you knew for sure was that there was no way in hell you were going to let yourself be confined to a bed, injury be damned.

You sat upright, swinging your feet over the edge of the mattress; the motion sent off your pain receptors, and you winced. Your arm got tangled in the IV line in your arm that you hadn’t noticed, so you ripped the needle out before looking around the room for your bloodied shirt. There was no sign of the garment, but there was, however, a nicely folded (hopefully clean) shirt at your bedside. The shirt was much too big for you, but it was something, and you hated your back being exposed.

Exiting the confines of the stuffy infirmary, you set out to find people or just something to do. Truth be told, wandering around only worsened the pain, but it hadn’t stopped you. It didn’t take too long for you to stumble upon a small group of people gathered playing cards. Most of the players were people that you recognized, several of whom you actually knew the names of. Yasopp and Lucky Roux greeted you exaggeratively, an energy that you returned at a mere fraction. Unfortunately for you, Hongo, the doctor, had been one of the players with their back to you, and hearing your name, he turned around.

“You shouldn’t be walking,” he stated, rearranging his cards. “But I’m so good at it,” you joked, approaching the group. “Seriously, you could reopen your wound,” the doctor tried to reason. “Good thing you’re right here to help me then,” you said, patting him on the shoulder and taking an empty seat. “What’re we playing, boys?” You asked, rubbing your hands together, completely brushing off his concerns. Hongo recognized the signs that it would be a losing battle trying to get you to go rest, so he gave up trying to convince you.

“If you want something to drink, we’ve some sake and some rum over there,” Yasopp offered[slurring his words], pointing to some barrels with his glass. “Oh hell yeah,” you exclaimed, standing back up and waltzing over to the alcohol, your enthusiasm bringing about some laughs. You were glad to have something to undercut the pain of your wound and filled a cup practically to the brim before downing it. A large portion of the liquid had missed your mouth in your eagerness to down the drink. Then it was rinse and repeat for a couple of glasses.

The spectacle had one of the senior officials at the nearby table remarking how much your behavior mimicked a certain redhead they all knew, a consensus that was unilaterally agreed upon. You had heard them but just rolled your eyes, filling the cup a final time before returning to your seat. “Sorry ‘bout that, I wanted to catch up with everybody,” you joked, commenting on the varying degrees of intoxication.

“Want in?” The dealer asked, dealing you in before you nodded. “But what are we playing?” You asked, picking up your cards. Multiple people spoke on top of each other trying to answer your question or explain the rules. You laughed — it had felt good to laugh, other than the pain shooting through with the movements. “Ehh, I’ll figure it out,” you waved off the explanations.

You had, in fact, figured it out with no intervention, sweeping the floor with them. Your winning streak stopped after the third round, but playing was still fun. The good vibe had you forgetting the circumstances of why you were with the pirates in the first place — until your cup had run dry and your liver started putting work in. You needed more. Announcing you’d be back, you returned to the liquor only to run into someone along the way.

Shanks hadn’t thought of himself as a possessive man, but he had been momentarily distracted at seeing you in his shirt for the second time in twenty-four hours, and he had to remind himself that he was no longer allowed to think like that. Once his mind cleared, anxiety set in. “Whoah, where’d’ya think you’re going, sweetheart?” He questioned, wearing his signature grin, which was conflicted by the worry in his eyes.

You met his smile and raised the empty tankard, shaking it and said like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “I need a refill.” {You were being cute.} “I like the spirit, but you should probably be lying down,” he countered, the extent of his concern for you was, well, concerning to him. “I’m fine,” you smiled up at him. “No bleeding, practically good as new,” you reassured him, giving him a 360 as if that would prove your point.

“You were shot,” he said, not buying it. “I’ve been shot before, I’ll be alright,” you tell him. Some bounty hunter years ago had taken the “dead” part of “dead or alive” a bit too seriously and had gotten you in the shoulder. It had been a bitch to heal, but you had lived through it once, you could do it again. Your reassurance hadn’t been reassuring for the man at all. You had a move to walk around him, but he blocked in your path, “Hongo said you need to rest, you should go lie down,”

“I tried to tell her, Captain,” the man in question piped up from the table nearby. It was clear that they had all been watching your exchange. “See? He said it’s okay,” you tried to justify. “Well, Captain’s right. You should be resting,” Hongo said, causing Shanks to give you the I-told-you-so look. “Whose side are you on?” You questioned the doctor, then returned your gaze to the man in front of you. “I am fine. You don’t need to worry your pretty little mind.”

Ignoring your words, he put his arm around you. “I’m afraid it’s the doctor’s orders, love,” he said, putting his arm around you. “Come on, Doll, I’ll walk you.” You shook his arm off you, stepping out from under him. “I told you I’m not doing it.” You looked him dead in the eyes with defiance. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “At least sit down,” he negotiated. “I will,” you said, and he smiled. “After I get a drink.” His temper was officially wearing thin. “I’ll do it,” he attempted a compromise. “I don’t need a man to get me a fucking drink, Shanks.” You stepped around the tall man, continuing your mission.

Shanks turned around and spoke with authority, stopping you in your tracks. “I am telling you, you need to rest.” His captain’s voice was much less sexy now that he had actually been trying to tell you what to do. “And I told you no,” you said with just as much authority and fire in your eyes. A silent battle flared between the two of you, neither side willing to back down. Deciding to be the one to end it, you walked off without a word, skipping out on the alcohol.

------------

After walking away, you had found a quiet corner of the deck. The stars were so unbelievably bright out in the deep darkness of the open waters. You had always found nights to be more beautiful on the sea, but it had been years since you had the luxury of such a view. It felt peaceful, but looks could be deceiving.

You leaned against the railing, staring blankly at the horizon. Waves crashed up against the ship, providing an ambient background noise as you lost yourself in thought.

The ordeal from earlier in the day, particularly being called by your birth name, had brought back a lot of memories. Some were good, like the ones of your family and your father teaching you how to fight, but others — the majority of them — were ugly.

The night you had been taken, the last time you had a true taste of freedom. You cursed your younger self for letting her guard down so far. Everything that had gone wrong in your life could all be traced back to that moment. You knew it was unfair to blame yourself for it. You had just been a kid, but you had been old enough to be smarter, and you weren't.

The thing that really haunted your mind as you stared out into the vastness of the sea was the night that earned you a bounty. The night that lived on in your nightmares. You could still hear the screams and smell the smoke. You had taken multiple lives that night. Some of them had deserved it, to be honest, but there were several who had been victims of both you and your captors. They hadn't deserved the death they received, but a sick part of you had always wondered if it would have been better than the alternative for them.

The Celestial Dragons had long been notorious for their sick and twisted ways. You had regretted how it had all played out, but you had never regretted what you did. But the blood still lived on your hands — no matter what you tried, it never washed off.

You were pulled out of your dark thoughts by the creaking of the floorboards. A quick glance to the side showed Beckman walking your way. He stopped a few feet away from you, leaning his back against the railing. You heard the click of a lighter as he lit up a cig. For a while, the two of you existed in silence. You knew that he knew that you should be resting or whatever, but he never said anything about your injury.

"You were impressive today, didn't know you had that in you," Beckman's deep voice piercing the stillness of the night. You chuckled, almost bitterly staring at the water, "I don't want to be impressive. I want to be safe." You heard him take a drag from his cigarette before he responded, "With the World Government after you, that might not be a choice." Admittedly, it was not what you wanted to hear at all, but you knew he spoke the truth. A new wave of silence overtook you both; it was hard to measure how much time went by until he broke the silence once again.

"You're a lot like him, you know," Benn said. That was the second time that night you heard someone say that. "What?" You knew who he was talking about, but you were confused as to why he was saying it. "I think that's why we all like you so much," he continued as if you hadn't spoken. "What do you mean?" you questioned him again, fully turning your body to face him. "Exactly what I said," he replied with a smile before he left, leaving you alone to figure out what the fuck he had meant.

end a/n: AAAAAHHHHHHHH i did it!!!!! very excited about this one, have a rough plan for what's next but idk when that'll happen.

thank you for reading!! i hope you enjoyed it 💕

more from me

#shanks x reader #one piece x reader #x reader #canon post

167 notes · View notes

damn-stark · 3 months ago

Note

Junho and reader break in the squid game island? Both are cops or something plsss😭❤️

Chapter 1 Together, we can take it to the end of the line

Chapter 1 of Sinnerwoman

Hwang Jun-ho x fem!reader

A/N- I hope you all like it :)

Warning- ANGST!! FLUFF!! Weapons, blood, and talks of death! Spoilers for the show!

Pairing- Hwang Jun-ho x fem!reader

Episode- 1x05 - 1x08

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

——

Day 1:

You- Jun-ho, where are you?

No response to the text you sent and two phone calls were declined.

Day 2:

You- Are you okay? Let me know or tell me if you don’t want to talk…

Yet again, no response to the morning text. When you get to work you expect him to be there, but he doesn’t come. Not for lunch and not toward the end of the shift.

“Detective!” Someone tries to catch your attention and you have half the mind to pretend you don’t hear and leave for the day since you assume what’s coming, but it would be disrespectful and would only worsen the matter.

“Chief,” you redirect nonchalantly and turn on your heels to see him walk up to you and search around you before his gaze finds yours.

“Where’s Hwang?” He asks the dreaded question, making you stiffen and internally groan before you respond dryly.

“I don’t know, Sir.”

The man’s eyebrows immediately furrow before he quips. “What do you mean you don’t know? He’s your boyfriend, you’re supposed to know.”

You fist your hands and shrug stiffly before you retort in the same nonchalance. “Well, I don’t know. Sorry.”

The captain looks at you up and down with a hint of judgment and amusement and you can imagine—no you know he must think Jun-ho must be doing something malicious behind your back and you’re oblivious, but he doesn’t know Jun-ho like you do, he wouldn’t cheat on you…right?

He wouldn’t keep secrets, would he?

Then again do you even have the right to be upset even if he does have secrets considering the ones you keep from him?

The answer to that is an immediate no, but finding out he's seeing someone else behind your back is different, and…he…wouldn’t do that, would he?

You return home and text him again.

You- At least let me know if you’re not going to work.

Jun-ho is usually a quick texter, he never leaves you on received for too long when he’s out of work, and if he is busy doing something else he lets you know, but this time he hasn’t. He doesn’t call nor does he pick up when you try to call him once before bed, so rather than falling asleep and hoping to get an answer from him in the morning, you’re left on your bed staring at the ceiling and overthinking.

Every thought is worse than the other and with every bad thought you crack more and more until you can’t take it a moment longer and finally break. You do the one thing you said you wouldn’t do and…check his location. That’s when you find out that he’s not even close to the city or abroad just like you imagined, he’s on an Island…

Shit.

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

The Island was much harder to navigate to than you thought, but finally, after sailing for far longer than you’re comfortable with on nothing but the endless sea and its creepy deep, and dark waters, you make it to the Island. However, instead of driving right through the entrance and boldly announcing your presence, you sail to a more obscure part of the Island.

Did you count on having so many rocks surrounding the Island? No, but you do find an opening that seems to fit your boat.

Yet rather than sailing right through, you stop the motor right by the opening and intend to dive in the water to swim through the opening to avoid having someone hear your boat, but when you walk to the edge of the boat and look at the water, you remember how deep and vast it is.

There’s a possibility that you could just sink, and if you sink, you drown and die. The sea is so vast. It’s so terrifying. How are people not scared of it? You were so focused on getting to the Island that you were able to not think about your fear of the sea, but now you’re stopped in place, looking through the surface, seeing the dark depths of the open water, and feel like starting the motor and sailing all the way back to the mainland where you’ll be safe, but…Jun-ho is here and he doesn’t answer your texts or your calls. If he’s not dead yet, he might need your help, so you draw out a few deep breaths and take a moment to convince yourself to push your fear aside before you dive into the water.

When you’re in the water you start to breathe heavily and feel your heart race, but you shove that fear to the depths of your mind for now and start swimming so the worst doesn’t happen. However, the opening leads to a long corridor dimly lit by lamps on the walls, so the shadows turn to menacing threats that threaten to trap you and drag you down the depths of the sea.

That is until you finally find firm ground on a dock occupied by other small boats. “Finally,” you say between pants as you climb on a far corner of the dock, and then sit on your knees to drop your head in your hands and catch your breath so you can calm your racing heart and be wary of what you have to do in this place. You’d be no use to yourself or Jun-ho if you’re still shaken up by the dark waters.

After you manage to collect yourself, you only prioritize one goal. You don’t think about the fact that you’ll have to retrace your steps over the water and sail back to the mainland. You make Jun-ho your priority and become intensely determined.

However, if only finding Jun-ho could be as simple as walking through a door and finding him. You have your phone and you could still track his phone, but when you take your phone out of the plastic bag you kept it safe in, you fail to get service which results in you not being able to track Jun-ho anymore. And it’s not like you have wi-fi either so you’re left with no choice but to be careful and search this vast place as if with your eyes closed.

Thankfully, you don’t run into anyone when you exit the docks, you’re just greeted by yet another long hall lit by more lamps strung up on the stone walls. Spread down the hall there’s different turns that lead elsewhere, potential places that could lead to Jun-ho. Which one do you take?

Shit. Shit. Shit…

You look at all your options and debate for a while. When you make a strategic choice you take a step forward, but, at that moment, the sound of a gunshot echoes, and you know it would be a crazy risk checking if it’s who you’re looking for, but if you don’t risk it and check, then you could possibly lose the chance of finding him and you’d be left searching and searching for someone who might not be on the Island on anymore, besides, you’ll just take a quick peek. That won’t hurt…hopefully…then again even if it did hurt, it would be worth it for him. Thus, you quickly navigate through the labyrinth that is this cave until you reach a door you assume leads to where the gunshot came from.

After you make sure no one else is approaching, you then make sure not to be loud when you open the door, nor do you throw it open. You open the door just wide enough so you can peek out through a gap with one eye.

Alas, you’re met with a grey stone wall, so you push the door open just wide enough so you sneak through. When you make it to the end of the wall, you press yourself against the stone and peek out, that’s when you find him, the man you’re looking for in a pink jumpsuit, standing over a gap of illuminated water. No one else seems to be around him, so you slowly walk out.

Jun-ho doesn’t notice you right away so you call out to him. “Jun-ho.”

Said man spins around swiftly and the first thing he does is point the gun at you.

You don’t move in response or say anything. You stay where you are and let him see you. You let him figure out on his own that yes, it is you. You’re intertwined in the shadows of the cave. You’re not a trick his mind played on him, it’s you in the flesh looking at him like he’s salvation itself.

“Jun-ho,” you muse and he responds by muttering your name before he takes a few steps forward and stops.

You stay under the shadows of the room and study him carefully to make sure he’s unharmed, to reassure yourself that he’s there, before your very eyes, and breathing.

He's alive, and you’re relieved, but how long will he remain yours if you stay here?

Thus you bring an end to the moment and stride over to him to grab his wrist right away. “Come on, we have to go. I saw armed pink people guarding an entrance. We have to leave before we’re caught.”

He remains silent, but he doesn’t budge, he lets his wrist slip from your grasp, making you turn swiftly to look at him with panic. “Jun-ho, we have to leave.”

Said man blinks as he gathers his thoughts before he finally interjects with something other than your name. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

You walk back to him. “My phone,” you breathe out and hold his gaze, noticing how intensely he studies you with concern and confusion—“I tracked your phone here after you disappeared. I thought you were,” you pause and drop your head to let out a deep breath before you share the worries that plagued your mind when he was gone. “…With someone else so I checked your location.”

He scoffs and you look back at him.

“That’s when I saw you were here and—”

“And you came to catch me?” He continues for you with amusement breaking through his conflict and playing on his lips. “That’s…very much like you. I wouldn’t have gotten away with it even if I did try.”

You scoff now and he drops his head to let out a chuckle before he faces you with a serious face. “But I wouldn’t have done it. You know that.”

You avert your gaze out of shame and shrug. “Well I was being ignored so I thought the worst, but now aren’t you glad I’m here? Whatever this place is?” You quip and glance at the body floating in bloody water before meeting his dark eyes and returning to your panicked state.“Now we have to leave. I have a boat just outside. We have to swim to it, but we’ll make it.”

You grab his hand, but once again he refuses to move.

“No. I can’t. I have to find my brother and this place has the answers,” he explains, making you look at him with disbelief.

“Your brother?” You probe, making him nod.

“That’s not all, this place is manipulating people by dangling money in front of their faces only to kill them in different games.”

Your lips part and you gasp in horror at his revelation.

“I have to get evidence to stop it as well as find my brother…or…at least what may have happened to him because…I think he’s here or…he was. I’m not sure but I have to know.”

You shake your head. You know that he loves his brother and misses him dearly. He’s been searching for him and any answers as to what led him to disappear, but you can’t put your lives at risk for an answer. Not when you have a way out without getting killed.

“I’m sorry Jun-ho, but now that you told me what you know, we can’t put our lives at more risk!” You argue with panic. “We have to go.”

“And throw away the chance at finding my brother?” He snaps, making you blink repeatedly in disbelief before you counter with little patience.

“And didn’t you hear me? I saw armed guards. How long until they find us?! We have an opening and we have to take it.”

He steps back and shakes his head. “No, go if you want now that you know I’m okay, or stay and help me now that you’re here, but I’m not leaving. Not without answers.”

You challenge his gaze and nod stiffly in comprehension. “Is that how it’s going to be? After I risked my life coming after you?” You remark and he lifts his chin slightly in defense.

“I already told you what this all means to me. As grateful as I am that you came even if it was for your own jealous reasons, I won’t throw away my chances at finding answers.”

You let out a deep sigh and turn away to compose yourself before you lose all your patience.

“I know how hard this must have been with your fear of the sea,” he adds in a softer tone. “But you know what my brother means to me. And these people…it’s horrible. Everything about this place is horrible. I can’t leave without evidence to use to bring it down.”

You swallow thickly and then clench your jaw as you let out a deep breath through your nose.

“We might not have this chance to leave again,” you point out.

Jun-ho walks around you to face you with concern. “Don't stay if you don’t want to, go while you have the chance.”

You slowly meet his gaze with a look that softens the moment you meet his eyes. “And leave you all alone to get all the credit?” You murmur, making him scoff with a faint grin tugging on the corner of his lips.

“Plus I’m deep in it now. Whose going watch your back if not me?” You tease, making him finally laugh breathlessly before he looks into your eyes and drops his grin to step closer and cup your cheek with a smile filled with admiration.

“Thank you for coming after me even if you didn’t know what you were going to face,” he says softly.

You cup his hand and take your turn to look at him with awe that's also mixed with worry.

“Come, just above those ladders is a room that can give me the answers I’m looking for,” he shares and then steps away to point at the ladders at the far end of the room with his eyes.

Now you do hesitate while he leads the way, but you also can’t leave without him so you follow him to the ladders and climb them all the way to the top until you reach a hatch blocking your path.

“Do you have something to pick the lock?” He asks as he peers back at you.

“No,” you immediately let him down. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “It’s okay,” he says and then reaches into his pocket to pull out a revolver—“it’s going to be loud. Be ready.”

You hum and watch him shoot the hatch to pop open the lock.

“What is it?” You ask since you can’t see what Jun-ho can as he slowly opens the hatch door.

“The hatch opens to a cabinet. We’re inside the leader's room. I don’t think anyone’s here,” he shares, but even if there was someone the gunshot would have been a dead give away and you would have been caught, so luckily there isn’t anyone nearby.

“Let me check first and then you can climb up,” he lets you know over his shoulder before he climbs up one step to push open the cabinet doors and then climb into the room.

Once he's inside he does as he says and checks the room first, when he knows the ghost is clear, you hear his footsteps return before he pops over, letting you see him again. “Come on.” He waves you over, letting you climb up the rest of the ladder to get into the bland and depressing room yourself.

“Did you bring a gun?” Jun-ho asks and you look at him like he’s told you a joke before you remark.

“What do you think? No. I thought you were here hooking up with someone else, why would I bring a gun?”

He huffs. “I was just asking. Stick behind me then. Don’t wander off.”

You roll your eyes. “Wouldn’t dare to.”

He points his head to a door that looks exactly the same as the other doors in the depressing room, only, this door leads to a small room with a desk and a simple full-size bed. Thankfully, you don’t run into anyone, but the moment that you do walk in the room a siren begins to wail which could mean a variety of things, but you fear it might be about you and Jun-ho.

“We need to hurry,” you warn him, but he doesn’t stop being careless to hurry. He checks every corner with his gun, when he’s assured that the room is clear he opens a different door and immediately points his gun at the hall just like you were trained to. When a threat doesn’t pop out to become an inconvenience, he walks inside and you follow after him into the dark and menacing hall that leads to yet another dark room. Yet this one, unlike the others, isn't dimly lit, it’s covered in darkness and stays that way until Jun-ho’s small flashlight illuminates what he's looking at.

“What exactly are you looking for?” You ask just above a whisper just in case anyone is nearby to hear you.

“Just anything that can lead to my brother, In-ho,” he says over his shoulder and then watches every step you take as you make your way to his side now.

“Did you bring your phone?” He asks as he comes to a stop and turns to point the flashlight on you.

“Yeah,” you grumble and shield your eyes before you look down to pull your phone out and use your flashlight. “That’s the only thing I can use down here though. I have no service,” you complain and lift your eyes, making him lower the flashlight from your eyes.

“Me neither, but we don't have to worry about that until later. For now, let’s hurry and look for an answer.”

You nod in comprehension and intend to walk down the room to begin searching the shelves at the end of the room and let him cover the entrance, but he lingers where he is to look at you with emotions you can’t identify. “What?” You probe with concern.

He blinks out of his stupor and lets out a deep breath before he mutters, “be careful.”

You snicker. “I’ll yell if I need help.”

The corner of his lips twitch up before he holds your gaze for a second longer and then lets you both break away to cover different parts of the room.

“There’s so many records,” you point out as you run your flashlight over multiple different book spines that are mostly all pretty thick.

“Let’s find…this year's first,” he says in response. “And then switch from there.”

You keep running your light over the books as you walk across the shelf until you spot a binder that’s labeled with this year. “Jun-ho,” you call out and pull out the thick binder.

Your boyfriend doesn’t hesitate for a second before he strides to where you are and looks at what you found.

“It’s a binder for this year,” you share before you crouch to put the binder down. Jun-ho mirrors you, letting you open the binder and come across a profile of a player they call 001, but since that’s not his brother he finds no interest in it so you flip from page to page, making sure to look at every name printed by each picture in the corner.

“Who are these people?” You ask and steal a glance at him with a narrowed gaze that holds the hints of a darkness within—“They have the people’s medical records,” you add, noting his impatience and worry and feeling your heart ache at that.

“I don’t know.” He shakes his head.

You let the page go and look back, pointing your flashlight at the shelves behind you containing more stuff that could be useful. “I’ll check over here, you keep flipping through this.”

He doesn’t say anything, he just nods, letting you slip away to rummage through different shelves in hopes of finding something useful, but it’s all pointless. That is until a black box with a pink bow catches your eye.

It could be another pointless search, or it can hold an answer or a hint, so you pull the shelf out to grab the box and open it, finding a list of names next to different years.

Yet for the first few rows, all the names mean nothing until you reach the year 2015 and catch the name of Jun-ho’s brother, Hwang In-ho.

“Jun-ho!” You whisper shout and turn hastily to fall on your knees beside him and quickly hand him the list. When he sees what you point out his eyes widen and he then snaps his head up before he sloppily shoves himself to his feet and runs over to a shelf down the room.

You carefully follow him and catch him holding a binder of the year that his brother's name was listed next to. This time though he’s not so slow when he’s flipping through the pages, he takes a lot of pages to reach the number his brother was and there, as marked, is his brother's profile.

“In-ho,” he whispers and you study the page before you drift your eyes to watch Jun-ho instead.

“At least we know he won this…place,” you try to bring him some comfort. “We can leave now.”

Jun-ho looks through the gaps left between the shelf and the books and deadpans, “no,” before he leaves you there in that aisle and returns to where he left the list of names.

“What do you mean no?” You remark and peek out of the aisle, catching him pull out his phone. “You have your answers and we can probably still leave without getting caught.”

Jun-ho’s phone clicks and as you approach him from behind you see him take a picture of the list of players and then his brother's profile, but he doesn’t stop there, he darts around the room and grabs different folders and a couple of cassettes.

“What are you doing?” You query as you remain towering over him, basking his crouched figure in your shadow as he takes more pictures.

“We need more evidence,” he mutters as if it isn’t obvious. “I don’t have enough. After we get more we can leave.”

You scoff and turn your head away out of frustration, contemplating just forcing him out of here. It’d be a struggle but it would be worth it to get him out of here alive.

You also contemplate other choices, but ultimately you go along with what he wants because leaving him behind is not an option.

“Fine, but—” before you can finish talking suddenly a phone rings, cutting you off and making you freeze in place. Jun-ho on the other hand abandons what he was doing and slowly sneaks out of the room, leaving you no other choice but to follow him back to the main room and toward the land phone.

You know he wouldn’t be stupid enough to answer it, but it seems like he debates whether to do it or not as he just stares at the ringing phone. You almost have to ask if he would dare to do something so reckless, but then a ding breaks through the sound of the ringing phone, causing your heart to jolt before you snap your head from side to side to find a room to sneak into.

As it seems like you found your escape as if connected to your thoughts, Jun-ho rushes to you as quietly as possible to grab your hand and yank you with him to the same room you thought of escaping to. When you’re inside he does the unnecessary after he presses himself on the wall by the door; he proceeds to press you against his chest with his hand over your mouth. Then again, even with his gun in hand, you find comfort in the feeling of his heart racing against your back and his warm body pressed against you the most as the stressful moment unfolds.

“<Front Man speaking,” you hear a deep and obviously disguised voice answer the phone in English rather than Korean. “Yes. A minor disturbance has taken place. But it’s been addressed. No need to worry. We will make sure that no trace of it remains by the time the VIPs arrive>.”

Your heart skips a beat and you grip onto Jun-ho’s arm as you understand what the Front Man is saying.

“<Yes, sir,” the Front Man continues. “The game will begin on time, in line with the schedule>,” he finishes before you hear them hang up the phone and leave right away.

You expect him to come back, so you wait, but once you both know that there’s no one in the room anymore, Jun-ho lets you go and leads the way out, making sure that the ghost is really clear before he lets you follow him to the phone.

“Maybe we can finally reach the police with this phone,” you suggest, and a hopeful glint glimmers in his eyes.

“Yeah, good idea,” he praises you before he reaches over and grabs the phone to dial the number.

Yet…his effort is fruitless because he tries and gets no ring. He tries a different number but also gets nothing, ending with him sighing in defeat and returning the phone to its place.

“Damn,” you hiss and watch him with the same unaffected look that doesn’t carry any hint of true horror or deep concern. You are worried, but more so for his own safety, and the little fear you do hold is for the same reason. Anyone else would be horrified and constantly looking over their shoulder, but you don’t hold the weight of those emotions. You hold almost a knowing look as if this place is not actually strange. A darkness.

“We should, uh, go back to the record room to put the things back and then see where to go from there,” you share your idea as you raise your hand to cup his shoulder and give it a gentle squeeze before you return to the record room.

“You understood what the Front Man said right?” He asks once you're both in the record room since he knows you’re fluent in English too.

“Yeah, did you?”

He hums. “We have to stay until the VIPs arrive,” he shares the inevitable plan you already expected. “We have to know who they are.”

“Or at least try,” you argue to try and remind him to stay grounded and not get carried away with answers he might not get. “If this place is as horrible as you say, I doubt that they would show their faces. And without photos of their faces, we’d risk our lives for nothing.”

“They might not show their faces, that's right, but we have to try something to get answers. Even if it means being bolder in the attempt.”

You put the papers back in their respective folders and then as you get up to put the folders away, he gets up to return the binders to their shelf, leaving no room to add anything on the matter. Thus a silence befalls the dimly lit room that would make it feel alone if it hadn’t been for the soft shuffling noise he’s making.

“Jun-ho,” you call out as you don’t hear anyone coming, leaving you a perfect moment to speak up.

“Hm?”

You push the folders back in place and let your fingers linger on the back before you begin to walk away. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming here?”

“Because I didn’t really plan on coming. I was looking into more clues on my brother's disappearance and found a connection with a player here at the same time so I followed him in hopes to find answers,” he explains nonchalantly, but that still doesn’t assure you of anything.

“Okay, so that explains why you were gone for an entire day before you disappeared, but…why not let me know?” You ask as you come to a stop at the end of the aisle. “I could have helped you, or even just kept you company. Or I could have just known where you were.”

Jun-ho’s footsteps start to depart from the aisle he is at and stop in the middle of the room, making you slowly walk away from the aisle but remain in the cover of darkness as you turn your flashlight off.

“I’m capable too, you know?” You remind him.

“I know,” he says back without a moment of hesitation, letting you know that he believes in what he said.

“I graduated in the same class as you at the academy. I have the same training, and I’m even a decorated detective,” you press with a slight quiver.

“I know,” he insists, but even if those words escape his mouth, you remain lost as to why he chose not to tell you a thing.

“Then?” You remark and at last step into his light where he finally sees your vulnerability in your eyes brimming with tears and your face contorted with frustration.

Vulnerability is something you don’t often show. When he met you you were cold; was it because you were in a male-populated career? Or was it the way you were raised? He didn’t know but it took you a while to even be his friend.

“I,” he says and pauses, luring you closer to him to meet eye to eye and not have the darkness be in the way—“I didn’t want to put your life at risk,” he reveals, making you blink in surprise.

“I didn’t know what I was getting into,” he adds, making your face soften and your breath hitch. “And I didn’t want to risk your life for something that could have turned out to be pointless. I don’t like to see you get hurt and if something had happened to you, or if something happens to you because of me, I…don’t think I could ever in my life forgive myself.”

Your face contorts with disbelief while in your stomach you feel a fluttering sensation as all the butterflies dance with utter awe at the sound of his confession.

“I…love you,” he reveals three words that hurt your chest, but also bring a deep bliss that makes it easy to get drunk off of.

“I’m happy you said it,” you redirect as you grab his arm. “Because I love you too, Jun-ho. I have not had many people in my life, but now I have you. And you’re someone I cherish and love beyond measure.”

His lips form into a smile as he proceeds to cup your cheek. Now you don’t have the luxury of time or of being careless, so you lean in for a short but passionate kiss that you linger in to savor the taste of his lips. A little taste of pure bliss and love in a sinister place.

“So,” you interject when you pull away. “What now?”

Jun-ho sighs. “With the Front Man gone, they’ll be busy with a game, so we wait until the VIP’s come. That’s all we can do. We can’t disguise ourselves as the Pink guards, they would have already seen the body in the water, so they’ll be even more suspicious now.”

You sigh deeply and step back. “Well…I can wait. I suppose. What other choice do we have?” You groan before you remember what else you have to put away and walk back to where you had gathered everything to grab the black box and hand it to Jun-ho.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t find more on your brother,” you share your pity. “But is it enough for now?”

Jun-ho looks at the box containing the fact that his brother was one of the previous winners and hesitates before he nods softly.

“Good,” you say for his own benefit and then give him a peck on the cheek while he walks over to put the box away.

“You should get some rest. It’s going to take a while,” he offers, but you turn and quickly protest.

“No. I’m not tired. You should rest. How long has it been since you’ve slept? I can keep watch.”

Jun-ho turns without pushing into the shelf and walks back to you. “I’ve slept enough. You came all this way. You must be tired. It’s okay, I don’t mind keeping watch.”

You put your hands on your hips and shake your head. “No, we take turns then. You sleep the first half and I’ll do the second. This is me putting my foot down.”

Jun-ho scoffs and drops his head as he admits defeat. “Fine, come on then let’s stay in the aisle with the lights off.”

You giggle and make your way to an aisle. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you are trying to seduce me.”

He lets out a chuckle and you can’t help but smile at the small yet heartwarming gesture. “You don’t know better.”

As you take a seat on the floor the last thing he sees is you beaming at him before he turns the light off and takes a seat next to you.

“I can sing you a lullaby,” you tease him as you lean toward him.

“Pft,” he snorts and then he can’t help but laugh. “I’m not your dog.”

You giggle. “Aww, he enjoys them though. He looks forward to it.”

“It’s weird,” he mumbles as he takes something out of his pocket and then presses the cold object on your lap, letting you identify what it is—“for just in case.”

You place your hand on the gun to feel its cold surface before you place it beside you. “Well, hopefully, you won’t sleep through any trouble. I won’t be able to carry you out.”

He huffs. “I’ll be right here if anything does happen.”

You smile softly and then press your lips on the top of his head and let your lips linger there as he lets his body relax and his head fall on your shoulder.

Silence follows to accompany you after that and his snores don’t fill it because you know he’s not in a deep sleep, and how can anyone be comfortable enough to find deep sleep in this place? So you’re sitting in the silence, keeping an ear open for any potential danger while also wondering if you still want to keep this deeply buried secret still buried. Especially after Jun-ho said he loved you.

You trust Jun-ho, and he’s already here, but can you really confess such a deep-kept secret and put his life at even more risk? For so long you have tried to distance yourself from the secret. You turned your back on it and pretended it didn’t exist until you found out that the man you love was here putting his life at risk, so it begs the question, should you tell him and…risk losing him?

If you tell him will he turn his back on you and make your nightmare a reality? He told you he loved you so he deserves to not be lied to about something so significant, but…can you really be so selfless?

You don’t know, and you can’t figure out the answer to the question when he wakes up, so you shelve it and close your eyes.

It is hard to find sleep, but eventually, it comes to you and you drift off. It’s not a long sleep, you’re rudely woken up by the sound of the phone ringing again, but the sleep was enough to recharge some of that energy you had lost, which, that in itself is important.

“Get behind me,” Jun-ho demands as he grabs your arm and helps you up without actually letting you try on your own. He then proceeds to pull you behind him so he can point his gun through the bookshelf's gaps.

The phone rings again and in the short silence the elevator dings before another ring echoes and footsteps click on the ground. The phone rings two more times before there’s finally an answer in English. “<Front Man speaking,” you understand the monotone voice say before he pauses for a brief second and then continues again. “I’m happy to hear you enjoy the game. Yes, the host is currently waiting for the VIP’s to arrive.>”

A silence proceeds to fall and a couple of seconds later the sound of clicking shoes recedes, almost relieving you of the stress tightening your chest. Albeit before either Jun-ho or you can feel relief, the monotone voice booms in Korean.

“Are you in here right now?” He directs in Korean to either you or Jun-ho. You assume it’s Jun-ho, but you aren’t certain. “You’re good, but you made one mistake. I always put the receiver down the other way.”

Jun-ho peers over his shoulder to look at you with a shameful look, causing you to pass him a look of reassurance before you press your hands on his back for comfort.

“The bullet you shot was a Smith and Wesson M60 revolver, standard issue for Korean police. What’s a cop doing here…without a partner?”

You curl your fingers, grabbing the pink material of Jun-ho’s pink suit.

“Or so you want us to believe? We saw a boat arrive with a woman in it…” He pauses

Your breath hitches as your heart skips a beat.

“Your partner? I’ll tell you what?” He adds. “We’ll play a game. I’ll let her wander around to try and find you. If I catch her you can watch her die.”

Jun-ho’s breath shudders and his gloves crinkle as he tightens his grip around his gun.

“If you find her, you can come out and ask me questions. I am sure you have many,” he adds and then pauses as he finally sounds above you, making you hold Jun-ho tighter.

“I don’t know how you got in, but you can't leave this place without my permission,” the Front Man continues and gets closer, opening the door that leads to the record room and marching down. When he opens the final door that welcomes him in the same room, he’s quick to turn on the light, causing you to place your hand over your mouth and clench your jaw as your nerves rise sky high.

You wish for him to leave with every step he takes, but he walks past you. He then turns around and only gets closer to spotting you, and even if Jun-ho raises his gun higher, what would stop the Front Man from finding you?

The Front Man is the overseer for a reason, a defenseless woman and one man with one gun won’t scare him.

Nevertheless, as if by divine intervention the radio beeps, stopping the Front Man in his tracks before he can turn your way.

“We found a body,” a man comes through the radio.

“Where is it?”

“The Northern coast of the Island,” the other man responds, making the Front Man put his radio away and whisk off, leaving you and your boyfriend to remain hidden. Yet it’s only after a few minutes pass that you let go of your boyfriend, letting him move from his spot to face you without turning on his flashlight as if fearing the Front Man would appear if he did.

“We need to find somewhere else to hide. We won’t get lucky here again,” he says between heavy breaths.

You nod stiffly and slowly lower your head, letting him know you’re bothered. “What?” He probes.

“We don’t have much time left,” you point out as if he doesn’t know that fact clearly—“Whatever you have planned you need to do it now,” you press and face him with a pointed gaze.

“I know,” he mutters and puts his gun away before he sighs and averts his gaze, letting you know he’s holding something back.

“What?”

He unclenches his jaw and slowly meets your gaze through the darkness. “I’m going alone, and I’m not listening to any protest. You heard him. If he finds you…” he pauses and lets out a shaky breath, making you grab his hands to try and assure him that there’s nothing to worry about.

“He won’t. Especially not when I’m with you.”

Jun-ho pulls his hands away from your hold and grows firm. “No, I won’t put your life at any more risk because of me.”

“Jun—”

“I said no,” he cuts you off roughly. “You’ll stay in the cabinet until I’m done.”

You raise your chin and challenge him just as fiercely, but he doesn’t budge, ending in his victory.

“Fine,” you grumble and push yourself to your given height to storm off. Before you can reach the door you turn on your heels and bump into his chest. “But if you don’t make it back two hours after you leave I’ll go find you.”

He clenches his jaw and huffs but compromises for your own sake. “Fine.”

You hum with contentment before you turn again and leave the record room to now hide with Jun-ho in the cabinet and wait again, finding yourself lulling to sleep in that wait.

However, this time you just close your eyes because a light burning sensation on part of your face wakes you up, and when you try to follow where the sensation starts from, you catch Jun-ho with his dark eyes set on you.

He sees that you catch him staring, but he doesn’t look away, making you smile giddly.

Before you can comment on the matter though, the elevator dings and a pair of footsteps walks out before the presence lingers until he sets off as another ding rings out and multiple footsteps now echo, making the monotone voice speak.

“<Greetings,” the Front Man speaks in English. “I hope your long trip here has not been too difficult. I am the Front Man, who operates and oversees all matters here. It’s a true honor to welcome you>.”

“<Where is the host?>” A guest speaks and you now imagine that the VIP’s are here.

“<Unfortunately, some urgent business has prevented him from attending.>” The Front Man gives an excuse that triggers more questions.

“<Seriously?>” Someone else asks. “<I find it hard to believe the host would miss a night like tonight.>”

“<He asked me to apologize on his behalf,” The Front Man offers the guests.

“<Did some problem happen here?>” A man with a deep gravelly voice and accent asks.

“<Not at all. It’s just a personal matter of the host.>”

You clench your jaw and your gaze hardens. A detail Jun-ho misses as he’s attentive to the Front Man going on.

“<The remaining games will be held as scheduled.” He breathes out and then goes on. “I’m sure you won’t be disappointed.>”

“<Well, I hope not,” a different man interjects in a different accent you can pinpoint. “Listen, I’m willing to give anybody some slack. That’s not a problem.” He chuckles. “I just have to say that I’m a difficult man to please. I hope you won’t disappoint me.>”

Oh, brother.

“<Shall we?>” The Front Man says, leaving the comment as is and bringing his guests toward the cabinet you’re hiding in, but ultimately passing you to go through a hidden door and leave elsewhere. Thankfully.

After a few minutes Jun-ho shifts to open the cabinet and climb out. You quickly follow after him to grab his hand and turn him around toward you so you can smash your lips on his. And since he didn’t expect the kiss he’s caught off guard, but he doesn’t slack, he grabs your jaw and pulls you closer, tempting to open the gates to your burning desire, but since you’re in such a dangerous environment the desire doesn’t burst open those gates, so even if you’re hesitant you’re able to pull back without trouble.

“Be careful,” you whisper against his lips.

He lifts his head to press a kiss on your forehead and let his lips linger on the sweat-covered surface. “I will. Promise. You be careful too.”

“Three hours.”

Jun-ho chuckles, making you feel chills as his breath washes over your flesh. “You’ve given me more time? I’m surprised.”

You smile softly. “I trust you, but I’m still looking out for you….until the end of the line partner.”

He smiles sweetly against your forehead. “Until then,” he whispers before he cups your jaw and presses another kiss on your forehead, and then leaves you waiting with your heart in your stomach in a place that makes you feel as if you’re stranded in the middle of the ocean with nothing but endless dark waters to taunt you.

——

*LATER*

It’s starting to feel stuffy in the cabinet and you can feel your hunger creeping in as you’re not plagued by a thousand other thoughts. Moreover, the time you gave Jun-ho is starting to come to an end, but you forbid yourself from overthinking. He’s smart. He’ll make it back. He will…

You lean your head back to rest it against the side as you wait and wait until you hear the sound of doors sliding open and footsteps that make a hasty and hard beat.

You don’t shift an inch so as to not alert the wrong person of your presence, even if it means you can’t see who it is.

You have to sit with your breath held until the person reaches the cabinet and crouches down to open the doors, revealing themselves to be your boyfriend Jun-ho.

“Jun-ho,” you breathe out with relief.

“I’m back,” he reassures you quickly before he waves you to him. “Now climb out so I can open the hatch.”

You hum and let him help you out so he can open the hatch, and then urge you to go back to climb down first, which you do without protest.

When your feet hit the concrete ground you turn and take a couple of steps away to give Jun-ho space to land, but right away you’re slammed with fear as you see the dark water and realize what awaits you in order to leave the cave.

“Jun-ho,” you let out a shaky whisper and when you hear his feet hit the ground, but not respond you peer back and notice his eyes fixated above for a lingering moment before he turns away and hastily rushes to you to grab you by the hand and pull you with him.

“He was right above us,” he shares quickly which you barely catch, but manage to anyway. “He knows we’re going to use the scuba gear to make our escape. We need to hurry.”

He then stops you where the benches are and swipes scuba equipment off the bench to start putting it on you without as much as thinking.

“Jun-ho,” you call out, but it goes to deaf ears because he continues to help you, causing you to glance at the water and see a malicious darkness taunt you. “Jun-ho,” you whisper again as you keep your eyes on the water, but again he doesn’t listen.

“Jun-ho!” You exclaim and he snaps out of his stupor to look at you with concern—“let me,” you don’t express your fear to let him focus on his own gear, which he does, but your fear only heightens and it's something Jun-ho doesn’t need to notice. After he snapped out of his stupor he remembered.

“We have flashlights to light our way, and I’ll be right in front of you.”

You swallow back nervously and nod hesitantly before you wrap your phone in a plastic bag and shove it into a secure pocket. The time comes to dive in the water, but all you see is death looming in the deep water.

“You’ll be okay,” Jun-ho assures you one more time before he puts his mouthpiece in and dives into the water. You grab your mouthpiece and stare at the water, watching the malicious water grow darker and deeper than it actually is. Yet you know time is critical and there’s no other choice so you insert your mouthpiece and dive into the cold water. After that, Jun-ho doesn’t hesitate to sink in and you have no other choice but to follow him. And as comforting as his presence is, your fear doesn’t cease to exist.

The malicious darkness slowly closes in on you the more you swim in the never-ending underwater tunnel, while the bottom, even though it is visible, is an abyss that threatens to drag you to a point of no return. There’s so many times when you want to stop and just ball up and close your eyes to not look at what you’re surrounded by, but you know that if you do so you’re doomed so you keep swimming, feeling the fear gripping at your throat until finally you see the break of light and resurface. You're not out of the water, nor are you close to land, but you can take a deep breath of fresh air and grasp the fact that you aren’t going to drown in the eerie depths.

“We need to get in touch with the police and the Coast Guard. Or at least I have to send what I got on my phone,” Jun-ho says with his mouthpiece out of his mouth and his eyes set on the island you just escaped. “I’m sorry we have to dive back in and swim back.”

You shake your head. “It's the only place we can probably get some service so…it’s okay,” you assure him. “Let’s get going before they find us.”

Jun-ho glances over at you and nods before you reinsert your mouthpiece and dive back into the water. The swim to shore is shorter this time and not as dark. You're not surrounded by an underground tunnel, but the fear is still as high, and your anxiety is skyrocketing as you sense that the Front Man and his pink goons are close due to their lack of presence so far and the fact that you’re out in the open heading right back where you left from.

At least when you finally make it to shore you’re able to let go of some of the emotional weight that fear burdens you with while also shedding the physical weight of the scuba gear. If only you were lucky enough to have service in your phones, but alas, neither Jun-ho nor you have any service, pushing you to climb the rocky hill set before you in hopes of getting enough service on high ground.

Once you’re close to reaching the top though, the sound of a gunshot brings you to an immediate halt, and when you look back to follow the noise another gunshot follows and you’re welcomed to the sight of pink guards trying to climb the rocky hill, and the Front Man.

“Shit,” you mumble between pants and then get pulled down by Jun-ho as he hides you in the shrubbery to pull out his phone and call your Chief now that he has a bar of service. And as the line rings you keep your eyes on the bright pink guards coming your way.

When the Chief finally answers the phone you continue to be on the lookout.

“It’s me, Chief,” Jun-ho says between pants.

As expected the Chief descends into madness, but Jun-ho pushes to be heard. “Can you hear me all right, sir? Just hold on, I’ll explain it later.”

The pink guards disappear past your eyesight, meaning that even if they’re not above you, they’re finding their way.

“Look,” Jun-ho keeps ignoring the question. “We’re somewhere southwest of the mainland.”

“What?” You hear the chief's query before he asks if you’re with Jun-ho since you’ve been missing too, but Jun-ho keeps pressing on.

“Can you try to locate my signal? Put a whole team together for this.”

The Chief once again questions Jun-ho while you see the Front Man following the Pink Guards trail.

“You gotta get a whole squad. The police, coast guard, everyone!” Jun-ho insists, giving a second for the Chief to respond before he continues. “Let me send over a couple of things, okay, and take a look.”

The Front Man also proceeds to disappear into the wilderness, making your heart begin to pound.

“I’ll call you again soon,” Jun-ho says and ends the call but proceeds to try and send the Chief evidence he managed to obtain.

“Are you done? I can’t see them, we have to go,” you hurry Jun-ho up and he follows up with a hum so you grab his hand and pull him with you so you can now put space between you and the people after you.

Once you make it to the top of the hill, Jun-ho lets your hand go and brings you to a stop. “Wait, wait, wait!”

You stop against a tree and look back, seeing him checking his phone and pressing on his screen with obvious panic, but you can’t do anything about it so you look out and that’s when you catch the Pink Guards not far from where you are.

“Jun-ho,” you call out and grab his shoulder to gain his attention so he can see what you do, and it’s at that moment that the Pink Guards come to a brief stop and manage to spot you and Jun-ho.

“They’re over there!” A guard points out to you, making Jun-ho and you break into a sprint to leave where you are.

After a while of running and when you’re within a forest, the guards get closer. You can see them and hear their commotion, but Jun-ho and you are fueled with a dire need to escape with your lives so you manage to pick up your speed, but soon thereafter, you’re forced to a stop as you come across a cliff that leads to the water. There’s no more path, just water below the cliff.

“We…we have to,” you stammer. “We have to jump!”

You look over at Jun-ho and just as you meet his dark eyes, he pushes you into some thick shrubbery just beside you that keeps you hidden. He then kicks something in the water that makes a big splash as the Pink Guards catch up and announce their presence with a gunshot to the air before you can jump out and push you and Jun-ho into the water.

“Police,” Jun-ho exclaims his identity. “Put down your weapons, you got that?!”

You move to be able to peek through the branches and leaves as the pink guards shuffle to find their position in front of Jun-ho.

“We already know everything about you all,” Jun-ho shares as you see him show off his phone. “The Coast Guard will be here soon.”

“I don’t know,” a different but familiar voice interjects in the distance. “Have the Korean police ever been quick to act?” He asks and you drift your attention to the voice and see the Front Man approaching Jun-ho menacingly. “And besides, you barely get any signal around here. I don’t know what you tried to send, but I doubt it went through.”

It’s a form of intimidation, but Jun-ho doesn’t falter. “Come and turn yourself in. You’ll get a plea bargain with that.”

“If you drop your gun right now and hand over the phone, I might let you and the woman live,” The Front Man mocks Jun-ho as he keeps moving toward him, making Jun-ho react.

“Stop right there!”

“The gun of yours holds five bullets,” The Front Man reveals that he knows Jun-ho’s predicament. “But for the police regulations, one chamber must remain empty and one must be filled with a blank. That leaves three live rounds. You already used one to kill a man, and another one to break the lock. Which means that there’s only one left in your gun.”

You clench your jaw with fear and use every muscle in your body not to expose yourself and just tackle Jun-ho

in the water because you know that if you do you'd be killed before you hit the water.

“One bullet is more than enough to kill you,” Jun-ho spats and cocks his gun, but the Front Man keeps moving forward.

“Give up,” he urges Jun-ho.

“I warned you,” Jun-ho snaps. “Take another step and—”

Before he can finish his warning he does as he said and shoots the Front Man in the shoulder, making you hold your breath as you expect the worst.

Alas, you catch the Front Man signal his men not to retaliate, so you’re able to breathe while keeping your attention on every single movement made by both men.

“This is over,” the Front Man groans. “Now come with me.”

Jun-ho steps back closer to the ledge, and the Front Man gets closer while he proceeds to urge Jun-ho to give up—“Do as I say. Or you die.”

“Who the hell…” Jun-ho trails off as he lowers his gun. “Are you?” He finishes asking, and miraculously in response the Front Man reaches for his mask to take it off and reveal his face, giving meaning to why he’s been merciful to Jun-ho and not killed him yet. The Front Man is…In-ho, Jun-ho’s older brother…

No…

“In-ho,” Jun-ho whispers in disbelief as he watches with wide-eyed shock.

“Let's go,” the Front Man tells Jun-ho one more time—“make it easy. For you and your partner,” he says with a softness in his voice whilst he extends his hand to offer it to Jun-ho.

Alas, without surprise Jun-ho declines with a shake of his head, making the Front Man lower his hand to instead grab his gun now. You see that without a fault and intend to come out of hiding, but Jun-ho knows you well. He looks your way and as if pretending to speak to his brother he mutters “no,” to you before glancing back at his brother. “Brother…In-ho, why?”

The Front Man hits the trigger and the bullet pierces Jun-ho’s shoulder, making him stumble back, while your eyes go wide and you immediately cover your mouth to not cry out in response. You do want to run out but either way, before you can even attempt to snap out of your shock, Jun-ho loses balance and falls back.

You want to cry out for him, but with your hands over your mouth, all you can do is contort your face with distress as tears crawl down your cheeks.

Meanwhile, the Front Man approaches the ledge and watches his brother hit the water. After a few lingering seconds he puts his mask over his face, masking any and every emotion he could have, and then turns around. Before he can walk back to his goons, his masked face tilts your way, and his masked eyes find you.

He looks right at you, there’s no mistaking it. You meet eye to eye and he then walks away without exposing you. It’s only once they’ve put some distance between you that you come out of hiding and without so much as hesitating, you jump off the cliff, feeling gravity drag you down with all its force before you hit the water.

Now you would give yourself time to collect yourself after making a big jump, but when you resurface you don’t care about anything, but Jun-ho.

“Jun-ho?!” You cry out and look around desperately. When you find his unconscious body resurfacing you swim toward him, feeling a twinge of agony hit your heart as you fear the worst, but you also know you can’t be certain and that you don’t want this living nightmare to become a reality, so when you reach him you quickly wrap your arms around his body and press your ear against his chest.

Now it takes a while to hear a thing, your own heart is thumping in your ears, but you’re insistent and refuse to accept that he may be dead so you hold your breath and search.

After a second of waiting you finally catch the sound of his beating heart and break down into a sob as you hug his body against you with relief, stealing a moment from time to press a kiss on his forehead before you find a sliver of solace in his beating heart as you press your forehead against his, right there, in the eerie sea.

A/N- To be continued in a series??? Would you all like that??

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secretlysamcro · 30 days ago

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𝑁𝑜𝑡 𝑆𝑜 𝐿𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑦 | 𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑂𝑛𝑒

Black female reader x Jax Teller Possible spoilers, violence, explicit & threatening language, kidnapping (knowing me - eventual smut) & eventual Stockholm syndrome (kinda?) If you’re under the age of 18, haven't finished the show, or dislike any of said topics, please read no further.

So this is my first ever original [by original, I mean not requested by someone else] part series! I hope you guys love. Will be multiple parts, just not sure how many yet. Let me know if you'd like to be in the tag list!

You knew taking the shortcut home was probably the wrong fucking idea, but after two pitchers of rum punch, half a smoked blunt, tequila shots and slut drops, you waited outside the club for over 30 minutes for your friends, who had disappeared somewhere between all of that. Fuck it. Your phone was dead, you had your heels swinging in your hand and your bladder was about to burst.

It was only a fifteen minute walk home, but halfway there, the pressure in your stomach became impossible to ignore. You slowed, scanning your surroundings then stumbled your way into a quiet alley between two warehouses, mumbling to yourself. ‘Real classy girl, love that for you’ You crouch low, behind a dumpster trying to be quick but before you could even handle your business, you hear it.

Voices, angry and dangerous. You freeze. The hairs on the back of your neck now standing to attention. “You thought we wouldn’t find out?” A voice growls, sharp and low “you hurt one of ours, we hurt you back. That’s how this works”

You hover forward slightly, three men stand with their backs to you. Their faces aren’t visible but the bold letters stitched across their backs? Yeah, shit was about to get real. The bodies are circling another figure kneeling against the concrete. His face is bloodied, eyes wide with fear but his pleas completely ignored.

“You fuck with the Sons of Anarchy…” the voice continues, cold as ice. “…you pay the price”

A single gunshot shatters the stillness.

You flinch violently, your hand clamps over your mouth before the scream could slip. That drunken balance, fails you. Your ass hits the filthy ground hard, landing in the piss you were trying so desperately to hold in. Your panties are still tangled around your thighs and your dress bundled up above your waist. You freeze, your heart hammering violently, praying they didn't hear. And for a moment, nobody moves.

Then, the men's voices pick up again, absolutely oblivious.

"Clean this up Hap. Rat's comin' in the second van to dump him. Needs to be on AB territory"

"You got it brother" another responds, his voice monotone but gravelly.

Another voice then speaks up nervously, slightly hesitant "Jax man, we do that, then they'll know it was us"

"That's the whole fuckin' point Juice"

Footsteps come closer, crunching over broken glass and dirt, louder and closer. Your pulse races, you’re barely breathing as the headlights flood the alley, tires screeching as a van speeds towards you. You press back harder against the wall, praying the shadows hide you and nobody looks down to see you there.

The doors slide open violently. "Come on Jax! we gotta go brother!"

The blonde man, the one they call Jax, runs towards the van, shoving something into his waistband. As he sprints past, the silencer he'd been clutching falls from his grip, rolling smoothy along the ground, like it's moving in slow motion, coming to a stop.

Right in front of you.

You don't dare breathe. You squeeze your eyes shut, praying that somehow it will make you disappear.

"You gotta be fuckin' kidding me" his voice is dark, so fucking dark.

You try to crawl back against the wall, your body trembling and your heart punching at your ribs. But he's already moving. He storms over so fast that your breath catches in your throat. "I..." you say quickly, your voice cracking "I didn't...I didn't see anything I...I swear...”

"Bullshit" he bites back, yanking you roughly into the light.

Your knees scrape against the concrete, sharp pain shooting up your legs as you're dragged forward. You try to tug your underwear back up with one hand, desperate to cover yourself.

But he doesn't care.

With a hard pull he hauls you to your feet by the wrist, like you weigh nothing. Like you're just another problem he has to deal with. He doesn't scream, doesn't threaten. He just stares at you, like he already knows what's got to happen.

"I...I didn’t see anything..."

"DONT LIE TO ME!" he barks, shaking you by the shoulders.

Then, more footsteps approach. "Jax, what's..."

He whips his head towards the voice. "She saw me. She saw all of us" he then turns looking directly at the one with tattoos decorating his skull "And some stupid asshole said my name too. so its not just faces. It's me. she knows my fucking name"

You try to speak, your words slurring as the alcohol still sways through your body. You try to explain that you're not a snitch, that you wont say anything. But the words fall short when he grabs your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his.

"Doesn't work like that darlin" he says, stone cold. Pushing your face out of his grip before turning to the man behind him. "Put her in the van".

There's no hesitation. You're grabbed hard by the forearm, and yanked towards the waiting vehicle. Before you can even steady yourself, your shoved inside. Your body hitting the cold metal floor. Jax stays where he is for a short moment, just watching. Then he crouches, scooping up your phone, heels and your small bag, pausing when he notices the damp patch spread across the fabric, his face twisting in quiet disgust.

Without a word, he tosses the bag and your shoes into the van after you, but your phone? he keeps that. He climbs in, slamming the door shut, dropping onto the bench opposite you. The silence heavy as he presses the button on your phone, trying to turn it on. But there's nothing. He exhales harshly, shoving it into his pocket as his Jaw rolls in frustration.

You're curled up in the far corner, shoulders shaking quietly. Tears flow silently down your face, but you keep your back turned so he cant see. Doesn't matter though, he knows you're crying. He sees every shudder and every tremble. He glances over briefly, his chest tightening a little when he realises just how exposed you still are.

Panties twisted awkwardly around your legs, your dress bunched up at your waist and your thighs streaked wet from piss. The minimum lighting in the van reveals your bare skin and even though he can’t see you too well, he can feel the panic and humiliation radiating off you in waves.

He lets out a forced breath through his nose as he rubs at his beard. His gaze flicking over your exposed skin. Quickly and uncomfortably. His eyes pausing at the dark ink across the small of your back, he can't quite make out what it is but he doesn't linger long enough to figure it out.

Yeah he just ended a man's life in cold blood, no hesitation whatever. But this? seeing you, someone who shouldn't even be here, someone who had no part in the clubs messy business, broken down, vulnerable and terrified? that shit doesn't sit right with him.

He mutters a curse under his breath, more aimed at himself than at you, then shrugs off his Kutte, pulling his black hoodie up and over his head, leaning forward slowly. Draping it across your shaking form. Your body goes stiff at the sudden weight of the fabric, but you don’t move. And he doesn't say a word. Nothing comforting, no apology, doesn't offer any words of false reassurance, just places the hoodie over you as he breathes deeply, frustrated at himself and the fucking mess he's now made.

Jax is pulled out of his thoughts when the driver glances back through the metal grate. "Where we takin' her Pres?" The words hang heavy in the air, Jax doesn't answer right away, his thumb tapping against his knee whilst his brain fired off in a hundred directions at once. They can't risk just dumping you, You'd seen too much. He inhales, biting his lower lip as he does. Then, his eyes flick over to where you're crawled up, silent still shaking and still wrapped in his hoodie.

"The cabin" he says, low and certain. It's isolated, quiet and no one goes they're unless they're told to. And right now, Jax needs quiet, to figure out what the fuck to do with you.

The van finally rolls to a stop after what feels like forever. You're slipping in and out, half drunk and half terrified. Everything aches, everything burns. You don’t even know how long you've been curled up in the back, knees tucked to your chest and his hoodie clutched around you like a barrier.

The door slides open and slams shut again, leaving you alone.

You catch the faint words through the walls of the van "Hap's all done at his end. Just this shit to deal with now"

"Alright" Jax replies, calm and steady "give me a minute, go inside, move anything too personal, I'll bring her in"

You sit up slowly, wincing as pain shoots through your hip from how hard you landed earlier. You pull of the hoodie and lay it beside you. Hands trembling as you finally tug your dress down and drag your underwear back into place.

A second later, the van door slides open again, fast and hard. Jax climbs back in, ducking a little under the frame. He pauses for a second, then takes a deep breath stepping forward, crouching down and offering you his hand. "Come on" he mutters "please don't make this any harder than it already is" his voice is flat, not cold but not kind either.

You don't move.

"You alright?"

You let out a dry humourless scoff, the first sound you've made since being in this van. You’ve moved past fear now, and your ‘take no shit’ attitude begins to seep through. "What do you think?" Your voice is hoarse, but the sarcasm still on fucking point. "I'm half drunk, covered in my own piss and in the process of being kidnapped...so yeah I'm perfectly alright"

His jaw flexes, but he doesn't say anything back. He just nods once like he deserved that answer. Then, reaches out and helps you up. Firm and steady, but no roughness this time. Just a man trying to handle a mess he didn’t plan for, and a woman who’s not about to go quietly. Jax kicks the cabin door open without saying a word. His grip on your arm, controlled. He walks you down a narrow hallway, his shoes heavy against the old wooden floor. You don't ask where you're going, you already know it doesn't matter.

He stops outside a door at the back of the cabin and pulls it open. A small room, a bed, a set of drawers and a tiny ensuite tucked to the side. No windows. Nowhere to run.

He guides you into the room. "Don't do anything stupid" he says simply, his eyes meeting yours for just a second before leaving and locking the door shut.

You stare at the plain wooden walls. It's silent, your heart hammering in your chest again. You haven't even sat down when the door clicks open once again.

This time though, its not Jax.

A different man walks in. Tall, messy dark curls, twitchy fingers and eyes that never stop moving. He's got a gun in his hand, held loosely at his side. He shuts the door behind him then takes a few slow steps towards you. Not in a rush, but like he's done this a hundred times before.

He grins, just about. "I don't know what Jax is thinkin', keepin' you alive... but I'm here to make sure you understand something real clear" He stops right in front of you.

Close. Too fucking close.

"You saw somethin' you weren't suppose to, and the only reason you're still breathin' is cause pretty boy out there wants to think this through" he rolls his eyes, waving the gun in the air "Me? I'm not so patient"

The words stretch on, and before you can even think, you snap. You slam your foot straight into his shin and shove him hard. He stumbles back and you rush him, teeth clenched and your nails scraping against his face. He grunts, throwing his arms up and in the scuffle you manage to draw blood from his skin.

"You crazy fucking bi..." His hand lifts, the gun gripped tight, ready to hit you with it.

The door slams open.

"TIG!" Jax's voice cuts through the room "What the fuck are you doing brother!" in a flash, he's between you both, grabbing Tig's wrist mid swing. “I told you to scare her! not beat the shit outta her”

His lips curl, blood dripping down his cheek "She fucking jumped me! look!" he points at the mark you've left on his face.

“Get out” Jax snaps, his voice sharp.

“Seriously? She started it” Tig whines, sounding more like a sulky teenager than a grown man.

“Go wait for the others. Let me handle this” Jax says, his tone sharp and final.

Tig huffs moving in the direction of the door “whatever man” you can tell by the way he looks at Jax that he wants to argue, but it’s like he knows better. He shoots you a glare as he passes, then lifts his middle finger with a slow overbearing smirk.

“see ya around sweetheart” he slams the door behind him, hard enough to rattle the cabin walls.

"So you don't wanna kill me, you don't wanna let me go...you're just trying to scare me?" you half laugh, sitting yourself down on the edge of the bed.

He rubs his face in frustration. You're hitting nerves and he hates that you can already see through him. "Can you just shut your mouth for one fucking second?" he snaps, his voice rising with irritation.

And just like that, he's on you in an instant, dropping to his knees in front of you gripping onto your arms, practically trying to shake some sense into you.

The heat of his breath hitting your face as he leans in. "Listen to me..." his voice is low but fierce. "I don't wanna do anything fucking stupid, But him? the one you just tried to fucking bite. He doesn't give a shit. And neither do the rest of em" his grip tightens just a little, goosebumps flaring up along your bare arms. "I'm trying to find a way to get you out of this. So shut. the. fuck. up. and quit being so fuckin' stubborn"

You chew your lip, the alcohol dulling but not fully gone. You're not sober but you're aware enough now, to know how real this shit is now. You just nod in response, not trusting your mouth to say the right thing.

Jax exhales hard, then glances down at you, taking you in again. Your piss stained clothes cling to your skin, you can see the smallest flicker of disgust on his face, even if he is trying to mask it. You catch the look and speak softly, almost begging. "Can I at least have a shower?"

He stares for a second longer, then finally releases his grip, standing again "Yeah". But he doesn't move far, he hovers on guard, and when you stand he makes sure to lock the door Tig just left through, his eyes not leaving you the entire time.

You hesitate slightly, unsure if you're even allowed to move yet. You watch on as he searches through the drawers in the corner, eventually pulling a pair of old joggers and a oversized tee, tossing them onto the bed next to you. "Go" he says, nodding towards the ensuite.

You move cautiously, your eyes flicking back to him. But as you go to close the bathroom door behind you, his foot wedges it open. "Not happening" he says, almost amused.

"Are you serious?" you say, narrowing your eyes at him.

He smirks, the corner of his mouth twitching like he's amused by your attitude "Not a fucking chance" he mutters, sinking to the floor, planting himself in the doorway like a guard dog.

"Creep" you glare at him, your lips turned in annoyance.

He gives you another grin, all teeth and no warmth "Been called worse sweetheart" he says, lighting a cigarette as he waits for you to clean up.

He continues sitting in the doorway, one knee bent up and the other stretched out. His jaw tight and his eyes locked forward but you know he’s aware of everything in the room.

You move slow, peeling off your dampened dress. Your eyes keep flicking back over to him, making sure he’s not looking. Steam begins to fill the bathroom as you step into the shower. The hot water hitting your skin, the grazes on your knees stinging deep but for the first time tonight, the tension in your body finally relaxes, just a little.

Outside of the shower, Jax takes a slow drag of his smoke, his eyes momentarily drifting. Then he sees it, the tattoo he couldn’t work out earlier. "Lucky You" in small print just above the curve of your ass. He scoffs under his breath, amused. Intrigued. Maybe a mixture of both. “Yeah…not so lucky” he mutters, the irony making him laugh.

When you finished getting changed, you still don't utter a word. You simply step over him, your bare foot brushing against his thigh, your hair still wet, curls shrinking tighter as they dry. He stiffens slightly but doesn't move, doesn't speak. Just follows you with his eyes as you sit back on the bed.

"You always act like this?..." he speaks finally, his voice low, almost taunting "...like you ain't scared?"

You meet his stare, holding it as he gets up off the floor. "Maybe I am scared"

"Are you?"

"What the fuck do you think?"

He doesn't reply right away. Just studies you, the same unreadable expression plastered across his face. Something behind his eyes shift, but its too quick to catch. "What's your name?” "Why? so you can put it on my grave?" you raise a brow as you stare him out.

"I could just check in your bag” he mutters.

“Do that then”

“Rather you just tell me…bags covered in piss” he makes that same face again, like he's grossed out but trying to hide it.

You cant help but let out a laugh. "So you'll shoot a guy in the head, but a lil piss is where you draw the line? wow...that's wild"

He finally makes eye contact now, a grin creeping at the corners of his mouth "Oh" he says, the grin now blatant on his face "so you did see somethin?"

Your stomach drops the second the words leave his mouth. You try to keep your face blank. You’ve sworn up and down until now that you didn’t see a thing. Your throat tightens and your chest pulls tight. You don’t have any words to respond with so you just watch him.

“Guess I’ll just call you Lucky” he says, already walking towards the door. Absolute audacity in his tone, and as if he’s not already five steps past disrespect, he winks as he says it.

You sit up a little straighter “Lucky?”

He glances over his shoulder with that same fucking smile. “The tattoo”

And then, it hits. You feel the heat rush up your neck. You don't know if it was when you were standing in that damn shower, or maybe it was before that. When you were chucked in the back of the van, skin exposed and eyes on you like you were nothing more than a problem.

“Fuck you” your voice is low, the words sounding rougher than you meant them to.

He stops in the doorway, turning fully leaning himself against the frame. “Not tonight darlin” Then the door shuts behind him. The lock clicking slow. And just as the silence settles, you hear the deep roar of more bikes turning up, one by one.

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Jax Teller Masterlist

My plan is to do shorter parts than usual, so we can drag it out a little! Thank you for taking the time to read! Love you all 🤭🖤🫶🏽

xoxo secretly samcro

#jax teller #jax teller x black!reader #sons of anarchy #secretly samcro #jax teller x reader #jax teller one shot #samcro #jax teller imagine #soa #charlie hunnam #jax x reader #black!reader

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