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dailynnt · 2 months ago

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FRIENDS WITHIN TOUCHING DISTANCE

⊹ Summary: Jungkook and you, his childhood friend, live together in an apartment, sharing space as roommates. Your relationship, built on years of friendship, is gradually becoming strained by growing sexual tension. You decide to become friends with benefits, trying not to complicate your feelings. But Jungkook's world is not so simple. When you begin to realize that he is hiding something, you open the veil of his double life - a world of mafia, criminal activity, and risk that could ruin not only your deal, but everything you valued in each other.

⊹ Couple: Jeon Jungkook/ Fem!Reader

⊹ Characters: The Reader, Jeon Jungkook, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, Min Yoongi, Kim Seokjin, Kim Namjoon, Jeon Hoseok.

⊹ 🔞 Age restrictions: 18+

⊹ 👩🏼‍❤️‍👨🏻 Relationships: ⚤

⊹ 📘 Number of part: 25/?

⊹ 🖇️ Tags: best friends, friends with benefits, slow longing, sexual tension, protected sex, unprotected sex, alcohol, drunken sex, inexperienced main character, mafia au, illegal trade, deaths of minor characters, weapons, swear words. Tags will be added as the story is written.

⊹ 👩🏼‍💻 From the author: I can't believe I wrote the second part. I am so happy with how it turned out. I hope you will also enjoy it and look forward to the sequel. I will try to write it as soon as possible. I tried to create tension between Y/N and Jungkook. In part three, you'll find something very hot, so stay tuned for part three. Thanks to everyone who liked my story, I will do my best for you.

⊹ ⚠️ Warning: English is not my native language, so there may be mistakes in the text. Please don't get mad at me too much! Those under 18, please don't read this story!

≣ Chapter Index ↓

Part 2. In theory

Today was a day off. Sunday. The one and only day when you could devote it entirely to yourself and not to your studies. Even though exams were about to start before the New Year holidays, you still recognized that you needed to rest, otherwise you might go crazy. This day could have started better if not for the morning's fight with Jungkook. And that's why you feel uncomfortable. You seem to have resolved everything and he has apologized, but there is some unpleasant residue. The emotions that you've been holding in for so long have left behind this very residue.

It wasn't just the quarrel you had this morning that made you feel uncomfortable. Jungkook. That's who was really making you feel as if you were detached from reality. His "question" about your love life kept repeating in your head.

Why did he suddenly want to know? Did you behave in such a way that he wanted to ask you about it? You had conversations on this topic, but it turned out that most often it was when you got together with a large group of your friends. One of them would start, and the evening would turn into a discussion of sexual achievements. Not infrequently, when you were drinking with Jungkook, he would also start such conversations, but you tried to avoid them.

But the truth is this. You only want to know one thing: why did he want to know if you had sex? What business is it of his?

You beat your fists on the bed. This question was tearing at your brain. Why are you lying here thinking about this? Don't you have anything better to do?!

You heard the sound of the combination lock. Jungkook had returned from the store. Your heart beat faster and felt like stomach was being stirred with a spoon. You sat on the bed and stared at the front door of your bedroom.

You need to calm down. You need to act normal. This is Jungkook, your best friend. You've known him for so long, so why would you have any problems with him now? You stood up and clenched your fists. "I'm going to make it through this. Nothing strange has happened. I'll treat my friend like I always do!" You straightened your hoodie, pulled up the sweatpants you loved to wear at home, and confidently opened the door to the living room.

Jungkook was on the doorstep, taking off his shoes. His black jacket was already hanging on the nightstand at the entrance. Two large bags of groceries were standing next to him. Noticing the white containers, you concluded that he had bought ready-made food. That's why he was gone for so long.

Your best friend noticed you. When your eyes met, you felt a twinge inside. And you literally lost to yourself. Your heart started pounding again, and your breathing became rapid, but you tried to hold on. In a split second, you ran your eyes over his figure, and you liked what you saw in front of you very much. Jungkook was dressed in all black. He liked to dress like that, 90% of his wardrobe was black. The other 10% were white clothes. For some reason, he did not wear colored clothes. The black Calvin Klein hoodie fit him perfectly. His pants were the same color with many pockets. His hair was slightly disheveled, probably because he was wearing a hood.

Jungkook picked up the bags and smiled broadly. "I decided it would take too long to cook, and we were already hungry. So I bought some ready-to-eat food." - He rustled the bags. You smiled awkwardly. Mentally scolding yourself for acting like a fool, you walked towards Jungkook, who had already come to the table and started to open up the containers of food.

"You're such a smart boy for thinking of that, because I'm really hungry." - You said as you helped Jungkook take out and open the lunchboxes.

"But you had breakfast!" - Your friend protested. "You fried some eggs for yourself and didn't even leave me a piece!"

"Two eggs without anything is not breakfast. Consider it as if I didn't eat anything. And I didn't fry them for you because you thought deserve them?" - You jabbed your finger at him. Jungkook giggled.

"I really didn't deserve breakfast this morning. But to make it up to you, I bought something for you." - Jungkook said. You looked at him. He was taking something out of the bottom of the bag. And as soon as the craft rectangular box appeared, you squealed with happiness.

"Donuts!" - You squeaked. You had no idea that Jungkook would buy your favorite hazelnut and chocolate-filled donuts. You loved all the donuts in the world, but these were your favorite.

You threw your arms around Jungkook and hugged him. And you kept squealing with joy. Donuts were the only thing that made you feel good, and your friend knew it. So it couldn't have been better. Jungkook hugged you around the waist with one arm, laughing, and tried to hold the box of dessert in the other.

"Thank you!" - You were still squeaking over Jungkook's ear. You probably would have hugged your friend for another 5 minutes and mocked his eardrums, but at that moment Jungkook's phone rang. You had to let him go. Handing you a box of donuts, your friend picked up the phone.

"Hello!" - Jungkook said. He went to the sink, and you continued to set the table.

You opened all the boxes and looked forward to finally having a good meal. Jungkook bought pork jangmyeon, kimchi, pickled radish, five packages of cooked rice (Jungkook eats a lot of rice for lunch), your favorite pulgogi, pocheeji (tofu stew), and stewed vegetables. You were almost salivating at the sight and smell of the food. You walked over to the chopstick stand and heard Jungkook talking.

"...Nothing special. I don't think I even asked her name." - You realized who Jungkook was talking about and with whom he was talking. It was Jimin, and conversation was about this morning girl who you had seen in the morning. You looked up at Jungkook. You had to nudge him to the side to get the chopsticks.

"I drunk but remember all. It was good, I don't think I'll call her again." - The irritation reappeared. But why would you care what Jungkook is talking about? But your mood disappeared easily. You were annoyed that he was talking with Jimin about the this morning girl. The image of her in your head made you think back to the fight, which made you feel uncomfortable. "How annoying... let him start telling him in detail about what they were doing there!" - You were angry. Why do he have to discuss it so loudly? You feel like you're eavesdropping, but he's talking so loudly that you have to be deaf not to hear.

You sat down at the table and started eating without waiting for Jungkook. Your movements were sudden and loud. Jungkook noticed that you started eating without him and smiled slyly. Your sudden, irritated movements could not escape his eyes.

"But you know what, Hyung? I haven't had a blowjob this good in a long time." - You spat out the pulgogi you had put in your mouth a moment before. You coughed, covering your mouth with your hand so that you couldn't be heard.

Jimin didn't know you were living with Jungkook, no one did. You were the one who asked don’t to tell anyone. You explained that you might be misunderstood, because everyone already suspected you were dating. But this did not happen. Even though you spent most of your time with Jungkook, it didn't mean that you were dating. You were just really good friends. Like soul mates. Although, considering the last three months, you were like sworn enemies.

Jungkook walked over to you and lightly patted you on the back while he continued to talk on the phone.

"I can give you her number if you want." - You heard your friend's voice somewhere above your head. He sounded like he was smiling. You wanted to strangle him. How can you say such things when a person is eating? You looked up at him. He was standing over you, smiling slyly. Jungkook was no longer pounding you, but stroking you. You beat his hand away and gestured that he was a fool and needed to end the conversation because the food goes cold.

"Anything. I was going to have lunch and bought some food." - A big sly smile graced Jungkook's lips. He sat down next to you and grabbed the metal chopsticks. Your eyes were completely focused on the lunch dishes, but with your peripheral vision you saw what your friend was doing. He was opening his portion of rice and still listening to what Jimin was saying to him.

"Tonight? I'm free..." - Jungkook answered. You looked up at him with anger eyes and encounter with two black buttons. "Ahh, I mean I'm free, but I promised Y/N I'd eat samgyopsal with her. We haven't seen each other for a long time, and she's going crazy because of the exams..." - Your friend made up a lie on the spot. You raised one eyebrow in surprise and question. Would he really refuse to meet Jimin? You love Jimin, he's also your friend, but whenever Jungkook is "free in the evening" like this and Jimin calls him, it always ends the same way. Jungkook is either gone for a day or he brings someone home. Jungkook probably feels guilty and, taking into account his words about following the rules, decided to lie. The guy sitting next to him nodded his head with a sweet look on his face, confirming to you that he wasn't going anywhere with Jimin. You lost interest and went back to your plate.

"If you want to join us, I won't mind. After all, we've been wanting to eat samgyopsal with you for a long time. But you need to text Y/N. She needs to know you're coming too. She's been very nervous lately." - You heard that irritating smart guy. His side was instantly hurt by your punch.

"I'm not a nervous, fool!" - You said with one lip. Jungkook could hardly contain his laughter. He talked to Jimin for another minute and finally said goodbye. You didn't say anything, although at first you thought about killing Jungkook as soon as he hung up, but you changed your mind. It's better to restrain yourself. God, why are you so angry with this guy lately? Has he really always had such a big mouth?

The only sound in the kitchen was the sound of metal chopsticks hitting a plate. When Jungkook finished talking on the phone, several minutes had passed. And all this time you were eating in silence. Each of you was thinking about something different. For example, you were wondering why Jungkook hadn't spoken to you yet. Why he didn't ask you if you liked the food, or why you were angry, or if you wanted to go to a restaurant tonight and have samgyopsal with Jimin. God, what's wrong with you? You're ready to go off like a bomb. How soon is your period due? Maybe you're so angry because your period is coming up.

"How's the food, baby?" - Jungkook finally broke the silence. You took your time answering. He surprises you sometimes. How he knows what you want him to do. He almost always does exactly what you think. You've known him for so long that you can just guess what he's going to do?

"It's good." - You said, finishing the radish. You tried to keep your tone calm, but it came out too dry. Jungkook smiled, surprisingly. You heard him sigh.

"You wanted to eat samgyopsal, so I thought we'd go to a restaurant not far from here tonight. That's why I made up this story for Jimin..." - Your friend said. But to you, it sounded like an excuse. He said it after you gave him a look full of lightning.

"Really? For some reason, I thought that when you told Jimin you were free, you wanted to continue yesterday's fun!" - You said in a sarcastically sweet voice.

"No, I didn't. I really wanted to invite you to eat out." - Jungkook said seriously. "But if you don't want to..."

"I do. I need a drink." - You said, getting up from the table.

"You've already eaten?" - Jungkook was surprised. You grabbed a box of donuts to eat alone in your room. Jungkook had bought them for you and you didn't want to share them.

"Yeah, you talked on the phone too long. I'm already full. What time should we go?" - You asked.

"I don't know, what time do you get hungry?"

"Okay. I'll tell you when I'm hungry. Thanks for lunch." - You turned on your feet and walked toward your bedroom.

You spent almost the whole day in your room. After lunch, Jungkook went out without telling you when he would be back. You only knew he had left when the door slammed shut. Trying not to think about what business Jungkook could have gone on, you turned on a drama to distract yourself from the annoying thoughts of your friend and your constantly irritating attitude towards him. You didn't get to watch the drama properly. First, you got a call from Suyong, a friend from the university. Then you called your parents and talked to your mom on the phone for almost two hours. It had been a long time since you had talked to her for that long. Given your busy study schedule, conversations with your parents were usually late at night and it was literally to find out if you were okay.

After talking to your mom, you received a text message from Jimin inviting you and Taehyung to join you with Jungkook for grilled pork and soju tonight. You agreed, saying that you missed the guys and that you'd love to spend the evening with them. You really needed to dilute the company of Jungkook, who had been annoying you lately.

Finally, when you finished texting Jimin, you could devote yourself to watching a drama.

The drama turned out to be so interesting that you didn't notice how you watched 6 episodes at a time and it was getting dark outside. You felt very hungry, because your last meal was well past lunchtime.

You went out to the living room to look for Jungkook. He must have come back when you didn't hear him, but the light was off. You noticed that Jungkook's jacket, boots, and bike helmet were missing. It's so late, almost eight o'clock in the evening. Where could he be for so long? Maybe he was called to work because of something urgent?

You didn't know where Jungkook worked. The only thing you knew was that it had something to do with security. He was some kind of manager or something. You repeatedly tried to ask Jungkook where he worked, but he was skillful at avoiding answering.

You went back to your room to call your friend and tell him you were hungry. A few long rings and he picked up the phone.

"Hello!" - Jungkook said.

"Hello. Where are you?" - You asked.

"I went away for work. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, I had an emergency." - Jungkook's voice was quiet in the background.

"Mmm. I'm already hungry." - You said. "You promised we'd go to a restaurant."

"Yeah. How long until you're ready?" - You heard Jungkook walk outside. The sound of the road and the wind reached your ear.

"Are you coming to pick me up?" - You asked hopefully.

"If you want." - Jungkook said gently. You didn't think for a second. You answered immediately.

"I want to. I'll be ready in about 30 minutes."

"I'll be there in exactly half an hour. I'll call Jimin and have him come too." - You heard the sound of Jungkook's bike engine.

"Taehyung will be here too." - You said as you went to the shower.

"Great. It'll be more fun!" - Said your friend. "I'll be there soon. Get ready." - You gave a short "Okay" and ran to take a shower.

After quick showers you washed face and put on light makeup. If it were just you and Jungkook, you wouldn't have done this. You're used to not wearing makeup around him. But Jimin and Taehyung are the kind of people who shouldn't see you without makeup. You can't really trust them. In December, you wore a warm beige sweatshirt and jeans to keep warm on motorcycle. It might have been warm in the restaurant, but you don't want to freeze to death while Jungkook is riding his bike. So a warm puffy jacket is perfect. You were just putting on your hat when Jungkook called. He told you that he was waiting for you.

You arrived at a restaurant that was a block away from your house. It was a cozy place that was always crowded. Jungkook parked his bike and you went inside together. To your surprise, Jimin and Taehyung were already there, grilling pork. When they saw you, they waved their hands energetically to invite you to the table.

"Hi guys!" - You greeted your friends, taking turns hugging them. Jungkook shook his hands and helped you undress. There was a hanger near each table. You sat down at the table and felt the smell of roasting meat warming your appetite to the max. Jungkook sat down next to you.

"How are you? Did you come together?" - Jimin spoke to you. You followed his movements and the way the pork was being cooked, fascinated.

"I picked up Y/N on the way to the restaurant." - Jungkook said as he stuffed his mouth with rice and kimchi. You decided to wait until the meat was ready and then start eating.

"Taehyung, pour me some soju." - You asked him gently, noticing the four bottles on the edge of the table. He smiled kindly and grabbed the bottle closest to him.

"Don't drink on an empty stomach. I'm not going to carry you home on my shoulders." - Jungkook said, still chewing on something. He waved his hand at the shot glass you were holding in your hand and you saw that his knuckles were knocked off. You abruptly put the stack down on the table before Taehyung could finish, causing some soju to spill onto the table. You turned to Jungkook, grabbing his injured arm.

"What happened to your hand?" - You asked with horror in your voice. Jimin and Taehyung looked at you, puzzled. Jungkook wanted to pull his hand out, but you were holding it tightly. Jungkook carefully hid his other hand.

"Hey, did you fight with someone? Let me see your left hand!" - You demanded. Jungkook used a little more force and this time pulled his arm out. You looked at your friend in displeasure. Jungkook looked at you, and then at his friends, who were also looking at him.

"It's nothing. I just fell off my bike." - Jungkook replied, ignoring his friends' looks and continuing to eat. Jimin and Taehyung lost interest as well, the former continuing to grill the meat and the latter starting to eat as well.

"How did you fall off the bike?" - You asked. Of course you didn't believe him. How can you fall so hard that you hurt your knuckles? Or is it possible?

"Simple, I didn't calculate the rise when I parked. I forgot to put on gloves, so I bruised my hands." - Your friend explained indifferently. You continued to look at the wounds on his hand with suspicion. Jimin had already finished grilling some of the meat and put it on your plate first, followed by the rest to everyone else . You didn't notice because you were too busy worrying about Jungkook. He continued to ignore you and stuff his stomach. You sniffled, went back to your plate, and started eating. Why do you care so much if he doesn't care? You hadn't seen Jimin and Taehyung in a long time, so you decided that you would pay more attention to those two and your wonderful dinner.

The friendly get-together was a great decision for you. Jimin and Taehyung were perfect for a casual conversation on a Sunday night. You had fun, delicious food, and warmth. For some reason, Jungkook, who was sitting next to you, hardly participated in your conversations. You found out that Jimin had been promoted last week, and Taehyung told you how he lost a bet with a friend in the military (Taehyung was in the military special forces) and had to do some hellish set of exercises. He also said what it was called, but you didn't remember because you were already a little drunk. What's the point of making excuses, even sober you couldn't remember the name of this exercises. You encouraged your friend, telling him that he would become even cooler and stronger than he was before after the bet. Taehyung almost went to kiss you for that compliment.

Sometimes, when you looked in Jungkook's direction, you noticed that he was constantly texting with someone. And a few times he even went to talk on the phone, although he lied about taking a smoke break. Jungkook did smoke. Although it didn't fit in with his lifestyle and sports, which he was obsessed with, but yes, he smoked. Once in a conversation, he shared that smoking helps him calm his nerves. Don’t good reason, if ask you. There are many other ways to calm your nerves. But if smoking is the only thing that helps Jungkook, what can you do?

In the afternoon, Jungkook was gone all day. He said he had an urgent call to work. Could his distant behavior have something to do with it?

Jungkook returned after another smoke break. When he sat down next to you, you caught the smell of cigarettes and his perfume. It wasn't a good combination, but you liked it. You turned your head to the black-haired guy who was your best friend and roommate. He picked up a shot of soju and drank it in one gulp without even a wince.

You were shocked when he suddenly started drinking after a while of sitting there. Although he didn't mean to at first. He was driving and it was logical. When you protested who would take you home, he said "taxi". You stopped worrying. It's not far anyway, you can walk at least.

Jimin and Taehyung left the table, one to go to the restroom and the other goes to order more appetizers and soju.

In a short moment, Jungkook drank another shot of alcohol. What caught your attention were his bruised knuckles. Some of them were just red, even blue, and the first three were bruised to the point of blood. This was evidenced by the healing wounds covered with a blood crust.

"They should have at least put band-aids on them or something." - Suddenly you said, drawing Jungkook's attention. He gave you a look.

"No need for that." - He smiled. You rolled your eyes.

"Of course, we're so cool. There can't be any infection or contamination at all. You fell on the road. Is asphalt ever sterile?" - You answered sarcastically.

Jungkook smiled, his smile seemed sly. He leaned in and whispered almost in your ear.

"You care about me that much?" - A wave of heat rushed through your body. Your alcohol-red cheeks flushed even more. Your heart started to race. That self-assured, sly smile on his handsome face again.

"Get over yourself, Jeon. I'm just saying the obvious. If you've hurd, you need to take care of yourself." - You said calmly. But if Jungkook could hear your heart beating so fast it could jump out of your chest, you were doomed to fail. Jungkook laughed again, confidently, still too close to you. How he loved this kind of talk. Teasing you was probably his favorite thing to do.

"I’d rather when someone cares about me." - Now it was your turn to laugh. That's what you did when he said. "When we get home, will you take care of me?" - Jungkook whispered in your ear. His breath was hot, and his whisper set your insides on fire. You couldn't give up so easily. He was teasing you and you knew it. This thing was that manner of his, probably the same way he traps the girls who fall into his bed. Ahhh that fox! But you rarely lost in such cases.

"You want me to take care of you, of course I could, but on a condition." - You joked. Jungkook raised his left eyebrow with interest, while playing with a lock of your hair.

"What condition?" - You heard his playful tone.

"You will do me good." - You answered. Jungkook froze, and the curl he was playing with slipped from his finger. "I win," you thought, laughing with difficulty.

Jungkook probably wanted to answer, but his friends came to the table at the same time.

"Just look at them!" - Taehyun said to Jimin with indignation. "And then they say they're not dating. They're openly flirting with each other!" - You straightened up sharply and tried to pull away from Jungkook. Your best friend also returned to his previous position, folding his arms on the table.

"Really. Perhaps you two confess to us at the end. Who is this hypocrisy for?" - Jimin said as he poured soju for everyone. You were outraged. Again, these talks about relationships. Especially from Jimin, who knows that Jungkook fucked another girl this night. If he was in a relationship with you, how could he do that?

"Hey guys, come on!" - You started to get angry. "We've discussed this topic a thousand times. We are not in a relationship. It's never going to happen." - You knocked over a stack of soju Jungkook waiting for anyone to respond. Jungkook looked at you, struck by how harshly you said it.

"Living with him is a nightmare, what kind of relationship you talking about?" - You blurted out. The table became quiet. Everyone was looking at you, trying to understand what you had just said. Jungkook tried to hold back his laughter. You were gave yourself away.

Panic filled your thoughts. But you had to act quickly, given the looks on Taehyung and Jimin's faces. You threw a quick glance at Jungkook, who was almost laughing.

"Do you live together?" - Taehyung asked, squinting his eyes.

"No." - You answered too quickly. "I mean, he's impossible to stand in life, we argue all the time, how would I date him?" - You justified yourself.

"We argue because you're always unhappy about something." - Jungkook suddenly spoke up. He sounded irritated.

"I'm unhappy about something?!" - You punched Jungkook in the ribs. "You're the one who's always acting like a piece of idiot!"

"Okay, okay, calm down." - Jimin tried to calm the two of you down. "Otherwise, people are all staring at us." - You turned away from Jungkook. This guy really annoys you.

"Let's talk about this specifically." - Taehyung began to think out loud. "You've been best friends for a long time. Ever since high school. You went to taekwondo school together. You spend a lot of time together. Have you ever thought about dating?"

"No!" - You and Jungkook said in unison.

"Well, don't you attract Jungkook’s appearance? He was very popular in school and college." - Jimin joined the conversation. You chewed your meat and answered indifferently.

"I know and I've never denied that Jungkook is handsome, but dealing with his character is a mission impossible." - You said. Jungkook started to complain again, exclaiming "what the hell is wrong with my character?!" as Jimin ordered him to be quiet and continued his interrogation.

"You mean you admit that you like him... Appearance!" - Your friend clarified.

"Well, yes. But I don't look at his looks..." - You said. "You know It's like when you eat chocolate every day and it gets tried and you just stop enjoying it, even though it tastes the same. Besides, I always had only one problem with those girls of his. And it continues to this day." - You finally finished. All three guys were puzzled.

"How about you. What do you think Jungkook? Do you like Y/N’s looks then?" - Taehyung asked. Jungkook clicked his tongue.

"What are you guys, matchmakers? Stop asking stupid questions."

"Hey, have you lost your mind? I answered so you answer too!" - You snapped, glaring at your friend.

"So you want to know if I like you, baby?" - Jungkook purred. He was amused that it was you who insisted on answering. You blushed. Him calling you "baby" in front of everyone didn't make it any easier for you.

"I swear, Jeon, I'm going to kill you tonight." - You were seriously angry. And for Jungkook, there was nothing more amusing than your expression right now. He took another drink, keeping the three of you waiting.

"Y/N is hot. And her looks are beautiful." - Jungkook finally said. Hearing those words about yourself is like a miracle. Jungkook really thinks you're hot? Oh my God, you were ready to fall apart. "But she's not my type. So we'll never really have anything with her." - It's like a bucket of cold water was dumped on you after his words. You froze, but there it was expected. Yes, you've always known it. You are not his type and he would never like you. So there's nothing to talk about. You were upset, but you couldn't show it. You faked a laugh to support Jungkook's words.

"You see, there's no way we're going to be able to date. I hope this is the end of the matter." - You said.

"Come on!" - Taehyung persisted. "If you were to live together in the same apartment, wouldn't anything happen between you?"

"Do you mean sex?" - Jungkook asked. You almost choked on the rice bun you were eating. Jimin jumped up to you and gently patted you on the back to save your life.

"Yes. In theory." - Taehyung asked with a sly smile.

"I don't know." - Jungkook shrugged. "In theory, it could happen if we lived together." - It was at that moment that you really thought you were going to die.

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#jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #bts #jungkook x f!reader #jungkook smut #jungkook friends with benefits #jungkook #bts mafia au

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physics-of-one-piece · 27 days ago

Text

Merlot & Primroses (Doflamingo x Reader)

Chapter 1

(AO3 link)

Summary: Your husband’s brother finds you. Life with him and his sham of a family is as cold as the snow your husband was found buried in. You're going to wilt slowly living with Doflamingo, you’re sure. No flower can survive in such snow.

Tags: Doflamingo x Reader, Rosinante's Wife!Reader, Civilian!Reader, Female!Reader, Rosinante x Reader (mentioned through flashbacks), Murder, Mentions of Fratricide, Emotional Breakdown, Grief, Angst, Hurt, Post-Minion Island, North Blue Doflamingo, Red Suit Doflamingo, Doflamingo is His Own Warning, Celestial Dragon Traditions, Donquixote Brothers, Adult Themes, New Tags Added with Each Chapter

A/N: It's finally here. The Red Suit Doffy fic I've been working on since... (checks dates of the first chapter) September 2024. Damn. I've only got the first two chapters written, everything else is vibes, but I want it to be 8-10 chapters. I also wanted to explore Doflamingo's way (or lack thereof) with showing/wanting/offering physical affection. This post is great analysing it and is the one that inspired me to even start thinking of writing it deeper and Doflamingo's lack of offering touch, and his use of touch when he does choose it/want it. It just confirmed to me back then that Doflamingo is INCREDIBLY touch-starved and very very not aware of it which has the potential to be very dangerous. Especially North Blue Doflamingo. (shudders) Also... I'm not sorry about the GIF. If I had to suffer making it, you have to reward my suffering by suffering while watching it. It's only fair 🥺

Word Count: 11.7k words

Chapter Navigation: 1 (you are here)

Chapter 1

The moment you and Rosinante moved into your house in North Blue for Rosinante’s mission, you had no disagreements over furniture placements and colour configurations. You both adored white and blue, and light colours, so there weren’t a lot of disagreements. The one thing you and Rosinante immediately agreed upon was the colour of your bedroom’s walls, both the ceiling and the surrounding four walls — sky blue.

To Rosinante, it was his favourite colour, and to you, it reminded you of the sky and the sea. It reminded you of the sky blue dress shirt Rosinante wears under his white waistcoat when wearing his marine uniform as a Navy commander — the uniform he wore when you met him.

It’s the sky blue ceiling you wake up to.

You’re laying in the bedroom you share with your husband, no weight of your clumsy blond husband on the other side, drooling away and snoring — silently thanks to his Devil Fruit — in his sleep.

That’s the first thing you notice.

It’s silent. Unnervingly so.

You roll over, half-asleep, glancing toward the alarm clock on your desk beside the marine transponder snail.

It’s way past the time Rosinante should have contacted you to tell you of successfully healing Law by making him eat the Op-Op Fruit.

Aren’t they back yet?

They should’ve been back by now.

Rosi would have called you that they’re on their way by now. You could heat up the dinner leftovers, or… No, you’d start on another dinner! Minion Island is cold this time of year, and although you’d bought Law the warmest cloak you could find in the town, he would probably still feel an unpleasant chill. You’d make them warm soup easy on the stomach.

Or... or...

A cake! A cake to celebrate Law beating his disease for good, and Rosi’s official last self-given assignment as Corazón. He could finally remove that mantle for good.

You were definitely going to convince him to keep his black feather coat, though.

The weather must be bad. The North Blue Sea was infamous for its waves during the winter months. Or maybe they're laying low on Minion now that the marines have arrested the Donquixote Pirates.

But Rosi would have called you if they were staying low; he’d promised to call you.

The yellow transponder snail with the white and blue shell rings.

You lunge across the bed to reach it, lifting the receiver by the time the second ring sounds out, your heart leaping in relief — Rosi must be calling to tell you they’re okay, that Law is healthy now, that they will come home soon —

The voice that said your name wasn’t Rosinante’s.

“Vice Admiral Tsuru,” you said, eyes wide. You cleared your throat. “Yes, it’s me.”

“Your husband, marine commander Donquixote Rosinante…”

Why does Tsuru-san sound in pain?

“...is dead.”

The world stopped, turning completely silent.

All you could do was stare blankly.

What?

The last two words repeated in your head like a broken record.

Rosinante is dead. Rosinante is dead. Rosinante is dead.

Rosinante… is dead?

Those words didn’t belong with Rosinante’s name. Rosinante and the word dead didn’t belong in a sentence.

Shock left you mute, your head completely empty.

“We found him in the snow, with twenty bullet wounds. Sengoku confirmed his identity,” Tsuru’s voice sounded pained and hoarse. Then, the marine vice admiral abandoned her white coat, and said to you, woman to woman, “I’m so sorry.”

Your eyes filled with tears. It can’t be… it can’t be Rosi… not Rosi…

“He’s right here with me.” said Tsuru, while your hand around the receiver started to tremble. “We’re taking his body to Marineford. We’re sending a ship to escort you there tomorrow.”

Body. Body. Rosinante’s body.

Rosinante’s corpse. Your husband’s corpse.

“Understood.”

You put the receiver on the snail, its “Ga-chak.” filling the silence.

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears. The sound of it echoes in your head. Your sight blurs, and you lose sense in your legs. The next moment, you’re sitting numbly on the floor in the bedroom which you and Rosinante painted together, surrounded by the sky blue walls, tears running down your cheeks.

What just happened? What…

Seconds ago, you were thinking about what food to warm up if Rosinante and Law managed to come back at this time late at night.

Seconds ago, Rosinante was alive.

You shuddered, crying more tears.

Now, you'd just gotten a call he’s... dead? That they’re transporting his body to Marineford?

Shock numbed you. That didn’t make sense. Just three days ago, Rosinante slept beside you, his large body wrapped around you, keeping you tucked into his chest, keeping you warm. He’d been beside you, breathing, talking, smiling and alive.

In the snow? Twenty bullets in him? Twenty? Rosinante never got that many bullet wounds.

You grab at your throbbing head.

This can’t be real. It doesn’t make sense. Rosinante had been right here, which only felt like hours ago. He'd been right here with you, in this very room, his warm, soft lips kissing yours, his face snuggling in your neck, his blond curly hair between your fingers, his long arms wrapped snugly around you, his angelic laugh tickling your ear.

It’s not real. It’s not real, this is a nightmare, it’s not real. You’re having a nightmare. This isn’t real. It can’t be, it can’t —

“Rosi…” you whisper shakily, trembling. You choke on a breath. Your chest hurts.

Your mind struggled to catch up to your body, which was shaking, panting, tears streaming down your shocked face and open, wide eyes.

You realise your lungs are hurting, your breathing rapid — alarmingly, so.

You can’t breathe.

You’re going to suffocate in the wave of your grief.

You rush outside. The air is cold. You inhale it greedily, foggy clouds sifting out of your mouth. Your chest felt painful while you gasped in the air. Your ribcage was squeezing in on itself. The cold air made you realise how warm the tears on your cheeks were.

You couldn’t stand anymore. You fell to your knees, and the sounds burst out of you; you started crying openly, loud, uncontrollable sobs leaving your mouth.

You screamed, howling into the sky, crying uncontrollably. The sounds your body produced, your lungs released, were heart-wrenching, full of agony.

You wept and wept, sobbed and screamed, hiccuped and choked, looking up at the starry night sky without really seeing it, tears streaming down your face as you howled in agony into the sky you used to watch together with Rosinante, crying toward the far-away stars.

All you could see was Rosinante, smiling brightly at you, his voice saying, “I love you!” filling your ears.

And your heart was wrenched open and killed.

Dead with your husband.

All you could do with the unbearable agony inside you was weep and howl like a dying, mourning animal.

***

How does betrayal feel like?

It feels like silence.

Silence of four years, a gap battled with taps on the den-den mushi and ink on paper.

It feels like the silence being broken by a voice. A voice not as deep as Doflamingo’s but sounding godly all the same, confident and calm, a softness Doflamingo’s didn’t possess.

His little brother’s voice, which Doflamingo mourned the loss of, not knowing he was mourning an empty lie. So many nights he spent thinking how Rosinante's voice would sound like as an adult, how his laugh would sound like, hoping maybe with time, he would hear it - one day, one day, one day — not knowing it was there all along and Rosinante had denied him all of it, had given it to the marines, to Law, to strangers Doflamingo didn't know.

Doflamingo hated them all.

Why did they get to have it and he didn’t?

Rosinante was his little brother, his family, his only equal, the only one who understood, the one who’d been through the same hell as he had... And yet, Doflamingo never got Rosinante back, never truly met his brother as an adult, not really. All Doflamingo got from Rosinante was a mask and silence, while they got everything.

All Doflamingo was given was a scrap, and lies.

So many lies.

Rosi — the one who gave his nickname to him because he couldn’t pronounce Doflamingo’s full name when he was two, shortening it into a harmless nickname full of fondness — didn’t even call him Doffy.

The first words Rosi said to him after four years of silence, after eighteen years of nothing, was his fucking marine code.

Rosi talked to him like they were strangers.

“You just had to go and screw everything up! Why did you come back just to mess with me, Corazón?!”

What Doflamingo meant by those words was: Why? Why did you come back? You should’ve stayed away from me if you hated me. Then this wouldn’t be happening! I wouldn’t have to do this if you’d stayed away from me!

The pain of betrayal is sharp and agonising.

Like a bullet.

Like red blood on white snow.

Doflamingo wouldn’t be surprised if he was bleeding in the same places Rosinante had, too.

Vergo’s words rang out in his head.

“Corazón has a wife.”

Doflamingo stared at the picture of you on the file Vergo sent him, staring down at your face.

At the one Rosinante gave everything to…

Finding out something like this...

It felt like... Like the first inhale of the fresh, clear sea morning, like the first bite into a feast after starving for a week, like the most pure, fresh water after a long trek in the desert.

Doflamingo thinks he understands now why Rosi didn’t stay away from him, why Rosi returned.

Because Rosi couldn’t stay away. If not for himself, then for his wife. Would Doflamingo be able to stay away, if he knew his brother was alive somewhere, with a wife, and hell, maybe planning to have a family? Would Doflamingo be the one considering a choice; stay away or meet? Cursed if you don’t, cursed if you do.

Would Doflamingo be able to do it?

He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t be able to stay away from Rosi, or from Rosi’s family. Because Doflamingo was family, too. Rosi’s family was Doflamingo’s family, too.

Just like now, Doflamingo couldn’t stay away from you. It was impossible. It felt like his own threads were pulling him toward you, urging themselves forth from his fingertips, reaching out to wrap around you, no matter how much he was sure you didn’t want them to.

Just like how Rosi couldn’t stay away from Doflamingo no matter how much he hated him, Doflamingo couldn’t stay away from you no matter how much he knew you hated him.

He just couldn’t. The thought was painful to bear, the mere image of staying away threatening to shred the last remaining piece of Doflamingo’s heart held together by strings.

“Doffy?” Vergo’s voice across the snail pulled Doflamingo out of his thoughts; he was still staring at your file, at the picture of you, at your name. “What do you want to do?”

Doflamingo got out of his chair, grabbing the pink feather coat that laid on it.

“I’m going to go get her,” he said, swinging the pink mantle over his shoulders. He grabbed a quill and parchment, writing down a note for Trebol and the others to find.

He looked outside. It was early in the morning; Vergo's call and documents he sent had woken him up. It was still dark out on the sea.

“Understood,” said Vergo without question. “Safe travels, Doffy.”

Doflamingo hummed in response, and put the receiver back down on the snail. He exited his cabin, walking to the balustrade of the ship, putting his right foot atop the rail. The wind was chilly, brushing at his face.

He still had a family. Rosinante had not only left Doflamingo behind.

He left a wife behind, too.

Doflamingo took to the sky.

***

Something burns on your skin. Your eyelids flutter open; the morning light sneaks in through the curtains, casting your eyes in the ray of gold. Your brows furrow in pain from the light hitting you.

You feel empty.

You woke in the puddle of your own misery. You've cried and howled yourself into sleep on the white carpet. You don’t know when you entered inside again after releasing the howl of agony into the night sky.

The house is empty.

Rosinante isn’t home yet.

That’s okay. You’ll wait. You’ve waited before. You can wait a bit more.

Rosi will come back.

He’ll come back.

It was just a bad dream.

You curl into yourself, tired.

Rosi always comes back, no matter what.

You’ll make pancakes… and you’ll wait for Rosi. You’ll make a lot of batter so you can make him and Law loads when they come back. They’ll be hungry after their trip.

Early dawn was outside, and the blue sky was painted with clouds.

A knock came at your door. You dragged yourself to it, and opened the doors.

A dark-skinned, handsome man dressed in marine uniform and coat towered above you, twice your height, nearly three meters tall. His dark, charcoal eyes were red-rimmed, revealing he’d been crying. His usually slicked-back, tidy white hair was rumpled and untidy, as though he’d wrestled with someone.

“Wulf,” you say, staring at the tall navy commander.

“Hey,” he whispers, voice hoarse and morbidly quiet. “Can I come in?”

You open the doors wider, letting him in. Wulf closes the doors behind himself, locking them with the key in the keyhole.

“I’ll go make you some tea,” you offered, hurrying to the light blue kitchen to place the kettle on the stove and grab a tea bag

“No,” he said. “I’m not here for…” He clenched his eyes shut. His large body shuddered.

“You can sit down while I —”

“I don’t want tea, dammit!” snapped Wulf.

His yell made you flinch, and you turned still.

“Fuck,” Wulf breathed, full of pain, tears glistening at his eyelashes. “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, quieting his voice. “I’m sorry. Fuck.”

Wulf’s large body slumped down, landing on the large white couch. He lowered his head to the floor. His large, dark hands lifted up to his hair, grabbing at the thick strands tight. He closed his eyes, a look of pain on his face.

“It’s okay,” you offered quietly.

There was no emotion in your dull, lifeless eyes, empty of any spark. You could see how tired Wulf was. He probably didn’t sleep a wink. He looked an absolute mess. You weren’t ready to look in the mirror to see how much of a mess you were.

After what felt like an eternity of silence, Wulf spoke up. “We need to send a search party out for Law. He wasn’t the boy the Minion marine patrol took into custody.”

Search party? For Law? But that would mean… that would mean Wulf would have to explain to Sengoku who Law was.

“No,” you breathed.

“Huh?”

“Don’t you dare tell them about Law!”

Wulf’s eyes widened at the sudden surge of life in your dull eyes. You were tightly gripping the collar of his white dress shirt with both your hands, staring at him with a numerous amount of emotions filling your eyes, your face.

“If Law’s alive, they’ll go after him because he’s got the powers of the Op-Op Fruit!” you yelled at him. “Don’t you dare make Rosi’s death be for nothing!”

You froze.

Oh.

You said it.

Death.

That’s right.

Your fingers let go of Wulf’s collar.

Rosinante…

Died.

A chill swept through your body, making you shiver.

“Law,” you whisper, trying to keep yourself together, keeping your sanity stitched with the thoughts of the little boy. “We need to find Law.”

“Minion -”

“Why aren’t you and your team setting sail for it already?!” you asked desparately. What if Doflamingo sent his agents to scour the island? What if Law was...

“If I’m to ask for a marine ship, I need to give them a good reason!”

“You never did shit by the book, Wulf! That was Rosi!”

“Yeah, and I always got sent flying across Marineford by Sengoku for it, or did you forget that part?”

“I’ll call the patrol on Minion and tell them to look for Law.”

“No!” you yelled. “Doflamingo’s got a spy in the Navy! He’ll find out Law’s still there and find him before you!”

You could see Wulf’s thoughts racing in his head. “Then, I’ll send Hibou -”

“Hibou doesn’t fly fast enough! You can’t send him there alone! Law doesn’t trust marines!”

Wulf hesitated. “It took me and Rosi longer than a day to activate our Devil Fruits… Law might not be…”

“Law is a genius!” you yelled. “He’s going to be the best doctor in the world! Some stupid disease won’t kill him!”

Law was not dead. Your husband believed in Law, and you believed in Law, too. That kid was strong. Stronger than you were.

Law had fallen asleep reading on your lap. You put a blanket over him, but anytime you tried to remove yourself from him, the boy would murmur disagreeably, clutching onto your pants with his tiny fingers in his sleep. Rosinante cooed over him, snapping a few pictures of Law — and some of the two of you — with the camera snail because you two were the most adorable sight on the planet, according to the younger Donquixote. But you could see it in his brown eyes. Rosinante was worried sick for Law.

“Don’t worry, Rosi,” you said, reaching out with your free hand — the other one was running gently down Law’s dark hair — to take your husband’s much larger one, settling it over his scarred, pale palm.

“Our boy is too strong to die,” you said firmly.

The touch and words appeared to break Rosinante out of the pit of his thoughts, the blond man sitting beside you turning to look at you, wide-eyed.

“Our?” asked Rosinante in a whisper.

“What?” you asked, blinking.

Rosinante sniffled. His eyes glazed over, his lips trembling. Before you could see what was wrong with him, the blond turned away from you shyly.

“Rosi, are you crying?” you asked, worried.

“N-No!” squeaked the big, blond man, hiding his face in the pillow of the white couch of the home you shared, wiping at his teary eyes. “No, what are you talking about? I’m not crying!”

You smiled softly, a swell of affection blooming within you, overwhelmed by love you felt for him. Rosinante was so kind and gentle, with a truly bleeding heart. It was one of the reasons you fell in love with him on first sight — his kindness and clumsiness won you over right away.

“Our, huh?” murmured Rosinante softly.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, making sure there was no question about it. You were willing to die for the boy sleeping on your lap. You were willing to fight the entire world for this boy, were willing to die for him. “He’s our boy now.”

“Yeah.” The smile lit up Rosinante’s face, casting him in heavenly light; he looked like an angel, his soft brown eyes staring gently down at the sleeping boy. “He is.”

“Our treasure.” whispered Rosinante, reaching down to caress Law’s cheek with his fingers.

Wulf took a breath.

“Okay. If there is a spy, as you say, I’ll call Sengoku-san directly to lock down Rosi’s file.” Wulf shuddered. He looked down at you, full of worry. “If Doflamingo finds out about you, he’ll come to kill you. I’ll put Nietzche and Hibou on patrol around this island, and the rest of us will head to Minion -”

“No,” you said, something burning inside you. The next words came out of your mouth on instinct. “Use me as a lure.”

Wulf’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Use me as a lure,” you said, meeting Wulf’s gaze. “It’ll keep Doflamingo’s attention off of Minion Island long enough for you to get Law away. If Doflamingo comes, he comes. I know how to shoot a gun.”

Wulf frowned, disliking the idea entirely. “You don’t know what he’s -”

“Doflamingo killed him.”

The words are out. Because both of you knew. You and Wulf knew Rosinante wouldn’t get killed so easily. Nobody could kill Rosinante except Doflamingo, because Rosinante would have fought them tooth and nail, and there was no way anyone on Minion Island could have given Rosinante trouble — not even those top executives — except Doflamingo.

If it came down to having to directly hurt Doflamingo, you knew Rosinante wouldn’t be able to do it. You never faulted him for it. In fact, you loved him for it. You would never ask Rosinante to do such a thing, even if your own life was on the line. You’d rather die than force him to make such a choice, to even think about it.

Rosinante loved his brother more than anything, no matter what.

But it seemed Doflamingo loved power more than he loved Rosinante.

It sickened you. It infuriated you. Rosinante could never hurt Doflamingo, not for duty, not for revenge, not for anything. So how could Doflamingo hurt Rosinante?

“His only family… And Rosi told me enough to get a glimpse of what his brother is like. So if he finds out, he finds out. He’ll come here, and you all - all six of you, will go to Minion Island while he wastes time coming here, and you’ll take Law away from there.”

For a moment, Wulf said nothing, simply staring at you with his dark, black eyes, momentarily surprised by your words.

“You… aren’t trying to follow Rosi, are you? Because you know… you know he’d want you to stay alive, to take care of that kid.”

Chills rose on your spine, but they weren’t of fear. You didn’t raise your head. You simply lifted your eyes to Wulf’s, and let him see what was within them.

It wasn’t sadness, or a wish for death. It was determination, burning and fierce, mixed with burning fury.

Wulf sighed in defeat. He could tell by your eyes you weren’t going to back down from this.

“I’ll call in some favours for a ship. I’ll call you when I have everything ready.”

Wulf said your name.

“He killed my brother in arms.” said Wulf darkly. “It’s not just you or me who wants him dead.”

Wulf turned his head over his shoulder to gaze at you, his eyes full of bloodlust. “The crows are hungry for Doflamingo’s blood.”

“Shut the door after me,” Wulf said, then left.

You did just that. You walked back to the kitchen, breathing in and out. Your stomach felt empty. You needed to eat something.

Pancakes.

If it’s going to be your last meal, you want it to be a good one. Therefore, the pancakes with chocolate syrup is the best decision for the last meal. An easy, simple meal.

Your fingers tremble.

You can’t believe Rosinante is gone.

Simply… gone.

How are you supposed to wake up tomorrow knowing Rosinante will never be lying beside you again?

Tears well in your eyes. You take a breath, swallowing them down. You’re not allowed to cry again. Not yet. Not until you know Law is safe.

You head up the stairs to change from your night dress, heading back to yours and your husband’s bedroom. You survey your wardrobe.

Before you know it, you’re opening Rosinante’s part of the wardrobe, taking one of his blue shirts from the hanger, hugging it tight to your chest.

You kept holding on to the calm you got with him. You hold onto the scent of him you’ve come to know; coal and citrus, woody smells that he always wore that felt like a hug around your shoulders.

For a while, you sit on the bed, holding your husband’s shirt, trying to pretend he was there when you knew he wasn’t. Eventually, you returned back to the terrible reality, and put his dress shirt back on the hanger.

Light blue. You decide if you are going to get killed by your brother-in-law today, you want to die in light blue. It was Rosi’s favourite colour, and you grew a love for it over the years. You need somewhere to conceal a weapon. You grab black pants, put the light blue blouse over yourself, and get dressed.

You open the drawer in your night table, staring down at the small, black revolver. You pick it up, check the safety hammer is on, then check the cylinder holding six sea stone prism bullets. Loaded, ready to be fired.

You holster it under your blouse, making sure you can reach it quickly.

It’s silent. So silent.

You’ve never heard silence quite this loud.

You head to the kitchen to make the pancakes. You wished you’d made them before Wulf arrived; he needed something to eat.

The day is sunny, the birds are chirping in the trees. But there is a somber, mourning silence in your house. You gather the bowl to crack the eggs in and make the batter.

Rosi would already be stumbling out of your bedroom by now, dressed in his blue striped pyjamas, his blue sleeping hat atop his head, his sleepy face endearing in a handsome way, his blond waves of bed head swept in all directions, his hands rubbing the sleep off his eyes before he stretched his arms out and yawned to the point tears edged at his lower eyelashes.

Then, he’d see you and smile like the sun before greeting you with a happy, sweet, “Good morning!”

You look out of the window. The scenery in front of you is so vibrant, green forest and blue river. Doesn’t it know all your life has died? The most colourful painting is worthless to you.

You make the batter without having to think too much about it, so used to the movements they became second nature to you, just as fighting was second nature to Rosinante. You start the stove, listen to the clicking sound of the fire, adjust it, and set the frying pain on it, spreading butter along it. Then, you pour the batter in. The smell of the pancakes soothes you, and once the side is fried well, you flip it, and wait for the bubbles again.

They remind you of gunshot wounds.

Twenty gunshot wounds. Were they all from Doflamingo’s flintlock? Did the fucking bastard put twenty bullets in your husband, treating your husband like he was swiss cheese?

You set the first pancake on the plate, and make twenty more. You take the chocolate syrup and spread it over each one thoroughly with a butter knife, then roll the pancakes. You sprinkle sugar over them, and serve them at the center of the table.

“Look, Law! Pancakes!” cheered Rosinante happily to the little boy with the spotted hat trailing after his long legs like a baby penguin after its father; you held back a giggle at the two sleepyheads, smiling gently at them.

Rosinante greeted you with a kiss, getting a “get a room!” from Law, and then he sat down at the table and inhaled the smell of the pancakes.

“Ah, they smell so good, dear!” said Rosinante, smiling brightly at you.

“Come on, Law! Don’t be shy!” said Rosinante, patting the chair next to his. “This is my wife’s masterpiece! After you taste her pancakes, you’ll never want to eat anything else for the rest of your life! You can live on pancakes!”

“You can’t live on pancakes,” grumbled Law.

“Well, if you do end up liking them and want more, I’ve got more batter in the bowl, so I’ll make you more if you want, okay, Law?” you asked.

Law blushed. “Thank… you…”

You glanced at Rosinante questioningly, speaking with your eyes to him. Did Law not have pancakes with the Donquixote Pirates? Rosinante shook his head sadly, in a way that told you Law didn’t let himself be a kid, so he never ate ‘kid stuff’ like pancakes.

Tentatively, Law took the rolled up pancake, and after glancing to Rosinante, who was eating his own with his hands — the pancake looked miniature in your husband’s fingers, almost like a toy — chomping down on the roll enthusiastically, Law did the same.

You nearly squealed from the cuteness as you watched the two eat.

Law’s eyes widened after the first bite, and then they lit up, filling with light. A small, tiny smile bloomed across his face, and he stared at the pancake with child-like joy.

There he was. A little boy, not a tough, pirate apprentice.

Law quickly devoured the pancake, the little smile on his face filling you with joy. You smiled happily.

Once Law realised he’d eaten the single pancake he took, he glanced from the plate, then toward you, and asked, “Can I have another?”

Rosinante cooed. “You can have my entire plate, you cute little pancake!”

To prove how much he meant it, Rosinante slid his plate of a pile of rolled-up pancakes to the little boy.

Law scowled, though to you it looked more like a cute, indignant pout with his cheeks puffed up that way.

“I’m not a pancake, Cora-san!” Law protested, for which he got a fond chuckle from Rosinante, who simply beamed down at him.

You giggled. They were so cute.

“Of course. You can have as much as you want, Law.” you said softly, smiling gently at the boy.

Law nodded, that little smile sneaking onto his face again.

You stared at the plate loaded with twenty rolled-up pancakes.

You made too much.

Tears started flowing down your eyes again, uncontrollable and wet. You wipe them from your cheeks, sniffling. But they keep coming out, so you let them cascade down your cheeks, letting them roll in silence as you sit down, murmur a sob-filled, “Thank you for the food.” and grab one pancake from the plate and force yourself to eat it.

The taste is great. But your taste buds can’t appreciate it. You start sobbing halfway, and your hands slide up to your face, covering your eyes. You rest your head on the dining room table and cry your eyes out into your forearms, hiccups and sobs shaking your body.

You can’t do this. You can’t do this. You can’t, you can’t...

It hurts too much. You're going to be sick —

Rosi... Rosi!

Your cries and sobs echo across the kitchen tiles, creating a tragic symphony.

After you’d cried yourself out to the point your chest hurts and your throat feels sore, you eat the pancake to the end.

Outside, the azure sky is impossibly clear. The cicadas are so loud. They make the loss of Rosinante’s silence more deafening. You’ve always had too sensitive and too precise of a hearing; you could hear droplets from a well ten meters away, and the slightest rustling of the leaves in the wind. You could pick up who was approaching you by the sound and weight of their footsteps — a thing that freaked some people out. It wasn’t any devil fruit; you stayed away from devil fruits because you had no need of them working as a translator for the marines, and you liked to swim.

Rosinante told you it could be a form of Observation Haki. Apparently, the advanced, one-in-a-million Observation Haki users are able to hear people’s inner voices. That sounded absolutely terrifying to you. How didn’t people go insane with that? It wasn’t an ability you wanted, and thankfully, your hearing didn’t seem to reach that crazy, abnormal level.

Rosinante was practically your sound therapy with his Devil Fruit. He made the world around you go silent, muted all the noises, be it the spinning of a washing machine, the shrieking of the birds, the insistent meowing of an alley cat, the barking dogs, the annoying cicadas that you thought about committing arson over by setting the entire forest on fire…

“Honey, that’s illegal. Also, I’m the one usually setting fire to stuff, it’s my whole thing!” Rosinante was genuinely distressed. He gave you a pleading look, pursing his lips, which started to quiver and tremble, his eyes filling with tears as he cried — his sad puppy look,which immediately melted your heart, making you coo internally. He was absolutely adorable. “You can’t do my thing!”

Rosinante snapped his fingers. “Silent!”

A purple sphere came alive, momentrily floating above his finger, and then enlarged, pulling the two of you into its space. All sound from outside vanished.

You launched yourself at him and hugged him, wrapping your arms around his neck, your legs around his wide waist. “I love you, Rosi! I love your Devil Fruit!”

Rosinante’s face grew deeper shades of red by the passing second, until, quite literally, the gathered temperature exploded in a burst of steam out of his ears, and your husband combusted into flames.

“I love you!” he yelled, peppering you with kisses, pulling you onto his lap, making you giggle and laugh. You squeezed your tall husband’s back as much as the length of your arms allowed you to.

“I love you more,” you said, staring up at him lovingly.

“Nuh-uh,” said Rosinante, his face turning serious. “I love you mo —”

You shut him up with a kiss, burying your fingers in his soft, silky golden hair, pulling him down to you.

Rosinante smiled into the kiss, admitted defeat, and enveloped your lips in a deep, long kiss, his hands coming up to cradle your head, his fingers warm and sweet on your cheek.

In the end, with how breathless and flushed Rosinante left you, you thought you were the defeated one in the end.

You can’t take it anymore. You want out. Out of this house that is full of memories of the happiness you two had, of so much potential, now silent like a grave.

You get your bag, grab some cash to buy groceries to make for lunch. Rosinante wouldn’t want you to wallow in misery, much less not eat. He was always fussy about making sure you ate, always insisting on serving you seconds, and you knew why. It broke your heart.

You reach the small port town, passing by people, your eyes unfocused, lost in memories. Your feet are leading you somewhere, a familiar path which you and Rosinante took many times.

You remembered when he surprised you the first time he managed to sneak away after completing his first mission for Doflamingo ahead of schedule, bearing you gifts, unaware his presence was the greatest gift to you of all.

In the early morning, your husband dragged you out of bed for a “surprise”. It would have been a normal, endearing, funny wake-up call if your husband’s arm wasn’t nearly the length of your entire body. Being dragged out of bed by Rosinante’s excited arm felt like being launched by a slingshot from one point to another. And of course, the landing point ended up being Rosinante’s body, and because it was Donquixote Rosinante, he failed to consider his own pull strength — once again, slingshot fast — and that was how you ended up falling on his chest. He, of course, as the good marine he was, caught you so you don’t get hurt, and once more failed to take another of his natural skills into account.

His clumsiness.

With a shriek as panicked as your own — albeit for different reasons — Rosinante moved to catch you, tripped midway and fell forward at the same time as you impacted him, and you ended up crashing into him midway on his fall, and he fell on his back rather than his front, you atop his chest.

After you two looked at each other to check the other was okay, the two of you burst out into giggles on the floor.

Rosinante excitedly told you to get dressed (you chose a white summer dress), brought his backpack and led you through the island by the hand, still dressed in his pirate outfit of white trousers, pink shirt and black feather coat, smiling the entire way. You loved the feather coat, and you couldn’t help but comment how he and Doflamingo were now truly “bird brothers”. The look Rosinante gave you at that comment made you laugh for a minute straight, especially when he dramatically pulled off his purple sunglasses to blink at you repeatedly.

You two walked for a while. You told Rosinante about your days, how everyone was very helpful and welcoming, and let him know about the invitation for a barbeque party tomorrow, and Rosinante agreed — he did have to meet the other marines on the island, along with their families.

Rosinante came to a stop in front of a steep hill.

“It’s right up this way,” said Rosinante, smiling in that adorable way that made him even more handsome. “I’ll carry you up.”

You gulped.

“Are you sure you can trek this, Rosinante?” you asked, holding some doubts. You’d seen your husband fall down the entire fifty meter flight of stone stairs of Marineford like a bouncing ball many times when you met him, and this hill had plenty of rocky, dirt-covered terrain.

You could already imagine Rosinante rolling down it like a pancake covered in black feathers. Or... Like an ostrich.

This hill and forest looked like something for hikers, and no offense to Rosinante, but he and hiking don’t go hand in hand, so your hesitation was well-founded.

“Yup,” said Rosinante, beaming down at you. “Up you go, mi amor.”

Without much arguing from you — because you’d never refuse being carried bridal style by your favourite man in the world, falling to your death be damned — he perched down, bending his knees to be at your height, and picked you up carefully, one hand under your knees, the other on your back.

It’s comfortable. Rosinante is warm, his long, strong arms cradling you close to his chest like the most precious treasure, and you feel like a princess swathed in the black feathers of his feather coat and his embrace. You close your eyes, resting your head on his chest, on the soft fabric of his pink dress shirt scattered with hearts.

Rosinante started uphill, trekking upon the soil with the confidence of a man who braved deep snow, heavy rain and thick mud many times throughout his life. Large, lush pine trees towered around you, the forest rich with fresh air that mixed with the soft coal scent of your husband. You pass by moss-covered rocks, glimpse squirrels curiously looking down at the giant, lanky blond man from their branches high above, chipping away at pine cones and walnuts in their tiny fingers. Their big brown eyes reminded you of Rosinante’s. After five minutes of Rosinante climbing uphill, the terrain turns flat, and he walks through the thicketed vegetation, the leaves of high bushes and branches brushing across his waist. Sunlight sneaks through the canopy of the trees, touching you and him occasionally, dappling you two in warm light.

“Okay,” said Rosinante. “I’ll put you down now.”

After he puts you down to the ground, Rosinante takes your hand, twining his long fingers between the spaces of yours, and leads you through the maze of greenery, further and further, deeper into the forest, where it becomes more quiet with every step. His long fingers, tucked between yours, holding your hand tight, chase away any anxiety or insecurity you might feel in the new, unknown surrounding.

A high, towering wall of leaves and shrubs conceals your view to whatever lies ahead.

“Close your eyes.”

You chuckle, but do so.

“Wait here,” Rosinante told you. “Don’t open your eyes!”

You laugh. “I won’t.”

You put your free hand over your closed eyes to reassure him of it.

Rosinante’s long fingers — calloused from training, falling and scarred from all the battles he won and survived — slide out of the embrace of yours.

You wait for a few minutes, wondering what sort of surprise he must have for you. You couldn’t hear anything. Rosinante must have used his Devil Fruit so you can’t hear what he’s doing. All you can hope for is that your sweet husband’s ‘surprise’ doesn’t involve anything flammable.

“Okay!” Rosinante chirped behind you, making you shriek and leap at the sudden revelation of his presence, which made him chuckle. “Ready?”

You peek through your fingers to look at him. Rosinante’s smile and excitement is infectious, making you smile to the point your cheeks hurt.

“Yup,” you said.

“Hey!" your husband scolds when he notices your eyes between the tiny space of your fingertips. “No peeking!”

You huff, but relent, covering your eyes fully again.

Rosinante takes your hand, and leads you forward. You keep your eyes closed. Leaves brush over your face, and you feel the warmth of the sunlight on your skin again.

“Okay... Three... Two...”

“One.”

You opened your eyes, gasping at the sight. In front of you and Rosinante was a blooming field of blue forget-me-nots, forming a large circle around the pine forest.

There, among the blue flowers, was a picnic blanket, a picnic basket filled with food atop it.

A giddy smile on his face, pleased with your joy at his successful surprise, Rosinante led you by the hand toward the picnic blanket where all the food awaited.

You two sit down beside each other. You can’t speak; you’re completely speechless.

Rosinante had made you an entire feast; there were rice balls, black bean soup, chocolate cream cakes, muffins with chocolate chips, grilled toast with melted cheese that made your mouth water at the mere sight of it, blackberries and black risotto with chopped cuttlefish meat.

Rosinante was by no means a lousy cook, in fact, he was quite good at cooking (you were surprised by it the first time, too, especially when he told you he spent a lot of time cooking with Sengoku when he was a kid) but he had to be monitored so he doesn’t set the entire house on fire.

When you opened the container holding the black risotto, hot steam surged out. The black risotto smelled absolutely heavenly. It tasted heavenly, too — it was the perfect amount of ingredients and flavours that you moaned aloud.

Dear gods, Rosinante’s black risotto was to die for. It was one of the meals both you and your husband enjoyed, eating it at a restaurant in Marineford every Friday on your lunch break together even before you’d started dating. The black colouring of the food was due to the squid ink used in the recipe. You both loved it so much that it became your go-to food to make.

Rosinante pulled out a champagne bottle from the basket, further impressing you.

“I snatched this one from Doffy’s liquor cabinet. 1480.” Rosinante smirked smugly, waving the bottle victoriously. “He should’ve drank it while he could.”

You laughed. Rosinante may not talk good things about his brother, but stealing liquor from his brother was a very sibling thing to do. It was clear Rosinante loved pulling pranks on Doflamingo.

While Rosinante said this, removing the golden foil, distractedly unwinding the cage, his eyes focused on you, he forgot to move the bottle away from himself.

The cork launched out of the seal with a loud pop. By some stroke of luck, the cork missed hitting Rosinante’s head, but the golden liquor bursting with bubbles did not. After you heard the satisfying pop, all you could do was stare in shock as champagne sprayed your husband in the face.

His golden waves of hair sogged like a wet dog’s, sparkling liquid running down his cheeks, trailing across his pale neck, sliding down his collarbone and over his chest, staining his wet shirt.

“Rosi!” you cried. “Are you okay?”

Rosinante laughed softly, rich and warm.

“I’m okay,” he replied, looking down at you in that tender, gentle way that filled your heart and made butterflies fly in your stomach.

His long tongue flicked out, licking along his lips, tasting the champagne he spilled. You feel your face flush when you realise you’d looked at his tongue attentively.

“Tastes good,” he said.

You chuckled fondly, watching champagne drip from his golden bangs. “I’m sure it does.”

“Does it smell good?” he asked as you reached for a towel in the basket. You sat between his sprawled, spread out, long legs, brushing off the liquid you could spot.

“Yeah,” you said, chuckling, continuing to pat his face and shirt. It smelled fresh. “It does.”

Rosinante smiled goofily. He gave you your glass, then poured the champagne, and next poured it to himself in his own.

“What do we toast to?” he asked.

“Love and health?” you suggested.

“Love and health!” agreed Rosinante. “Salud!”

“Salud!”

The two of you clinked your champagne glasses together, then drank a few sips of champagne. Rosinante took two large gulps of it instead of humble sips.

When the plastic plates were all cleaned up and the food was gone, stored away in your stomachs, you asked him the question you had since the start of this surprise date, “When did you cook all this?”

“After you fell asleep.” Rosinante’s long arms wrapped around you, a movement he started doing by instinct with how many times he’d done it. You leaned back into him, sinking into his embrace, comfortable between his legs. “The muffins and chocolate cakes are bought. I bought them first thing in the morning, while you were still sleeping.”

You smiled; your husband had always been sneaky, both literally and figuratively.

The blond hung his head sullenly, looking like a sad puppy. He puffed out smoke to the side, mindful not to blow it in your face. “Sorry, my love. I’m no good at baking…”

“It’s the thought that counts,” you said, leaning into his strong body and planting a kiss on his cheek, which made him perk up, a sweet blush painting his cheeks, soon followed by his goofy smile. “And what you did cook is delicious, as were the cakes and muffins you bought.”

“Thank you, Rosinante.” you said, full of joy. “This is beautiful.”

Rosinante chuckled, a charming, gentle, yet deep sound. It made your heart race in your chest. It still didn’t feel real that this wonderful man was yours. The knowledge of it rushed goosebumps up your spine.

To think you’d find a true prince charming in this world. He had come straight down from heaven and accidentally bumped right into you. He was straight out of a fairytale, brown eyes and golden locks of wavy hair tickling his earlobes.

Rosinante looks so pretty, like an angel.

“It’s nothing to thank me for.” Rosinante’s long fingers laced between the spaces of yours, his wedding ring pressing against yours. “You always take care of me. It's my job to take care of you, too, you know. It’s nice to be away from Marineford. I get you all to myself.”

Rosinante’s lips lifted into a sly, flirtatious smile, his eyes lowering to your lips, a hint of hunger flashing in his brown eyes. “And we’re all alone… this place is pretty well hidden.”

You picked up on his meaning and smiled brightly. Your hand slid up his chest, carefully tracing along the hearts on the pink fabric, along his strong, firm shoulder, brushing against his nape, sliding up into the blond, golden curls of his soft hair, running your fingers through it slowly. All the while, Rosinante’s body leaned closer and closer to yours like a magnet of north finding its south, his large hand settling on the middle of your back, pulling you flush to him, towering over you, until all you could see, smell and breathe was him.

“Is that so, commander…” you murmured, meeting his intense gaze with half-lidded eyes.

Rosinante cradled your chin between his thumb and index finger, brought your face up to his, his half-lidded eyes soft and hungry, a charming curve of his lips rendering you breathless. Your breath hitched, staring into his intense gaze — in that moment, you saw the heavenly, commanding intensity inside your husband’s seductive eyes, lighting a fire in your chest. You were being looked at by a real god.

Rosinante kissed you, soft and deep.

“I’m back,” you say to the empty field of blue flowers.

You lay down among the field of the blue forget-me-nots and close your eyes, hoping the flowers will swallow you. Hoping they will enter your lungs, suffocate you, and end you, give you your last, final, living breath. Your tears soak the blue petals of the flowers you and Rosinante used to lay among.

Rosinante used to lie right here beside you, the halo of his blond curly hair shining among the blue blossoms.

Now, there is only the gaping hole of sorrow, a void. An emptiness. You don’t feel anything.

You closed your eyes, clutching Rosinante’s picture tightly between your fingers. You lay there on your side, crying silently among the blue petals where you and your husband once laid together.

No one ever told you that grief feels like fear. You are not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same terrible sinking in the stomach, the same restlessness, the same yawning hole.

It sinks in.

Rosinante isn’t coming home to you.

***

“Excuse me?”

The owner of the flower shop jumped at the deep voice. She turned, and had to look up, and then had to look up more, and then some more, and stared at a handsome man with blond, spiked-up hair, dressed in a red suit with a red tie, sunglasses concealing his eyes.

“Do you know where the Donquixote residence is?” the man asked.

“If you’re looking for Commander Rosinante, he’s away on marine business.”

The stranged blinked - or at least, she assumed he did, by his expression.

“You don’t know?” the exceptionally tall man asked.

“Know what, sir?”

“Rosinante is dead,” the blond man in the red suit delivers the terrible news bluntly, calmly, without any deep emotion, as though he’s telling her about the weather; it reminds her of veteran marines who have seen too much death and have grown used to it. He is staring down at her, into her eyes, with a serious look.

“Oh goodness!” the florist cried, eyes wide. “That poor man... When did it happen?”

“Yesterday evening,” said the blond man blatantly, his voice still calm, his expression still serious. “The news coo hasn’t flown out yet, so only the marines and family know for now. He’ll be in the obituary today or tomorrow.”

“I see... So you’re looking for —”

“His wife,” said the man.

The florist pursed her lips. The man with the unnerving resemblance to Commander Rosinante, despite being devilishly handsome and appearing not to have a single evil bone in his body or hold any malicuious intent, was still a stranger to her.

“Please,” the man with the hair the colour of the yellow primroses says, a desperation in his face. “I’d like to surprise her. Cheer her up. We haven’t seen each other a long time. She shouldn’t be alone.”

The flower shop owner’s heart throbbed at the words and the look of raw pain on the tall man’s face. She had no idea Commander Rosinante had died… and yesterday evening, at that… That was why you’d been wandering around aimlessly, like you were a ghost not meant fo stay in the world. You must have gotten the news… you poor thing.

“Mrs Donquixote lives in a house near the river,” said the shop owner. She pointed to the right end of the cobblestone street. “You take a right there, then a left. It’s a bit farther in the richer district, but that’s the sort of accomodations a Commander and his wife deserve. I can’t believe he's gone… He was such a wonderful man. His son will be devastated.”

The tall man tensed up, flinching.

(In that moment, Donquixote Doflamingo experienced a small heart attack thinking he was an uncle and there was a baby with you — his brother’s baby.)

“...son?” he breathed; his entire tone of voice changing, he sounded shocked and hesitant.

“This little boy. Law, I think. ” The man’s body slumped, as though he was relieved. “He was the sweetest thing. Quiet, but what sick child wouldn’t be? He always clung to Commander Rosinante when I saw them in town. No doubt Commander took him from the battlefield. I suppose he took the boy to the marines to try to find his parents, or to ensign him into the force.”

The blond man’s lips twitched slightly. “I see… Thank you for the help.”

The man turned to leave.

“She likes primroses,” blurted the shop owner. She glanced to the man’s glazed-up hair, and then to the yellow primroses - Mrs Donquixote’s favourite flowers - and was struck dumb.

The sharply dressed man’s blond hair was the exact same colour as the flowers.

“Like your hair, sir.”

“My hair?” asked the man.

The florist nodded. “Yellow primroses.”

The man smiles, and once more, the woman is hit by how similar to Commander Rosinante he looks - so similar he could be his brother! What a strange resemblance!

“Then, a bouquet of yellow primroses, please,” says the man dressed in the merlot suit, handing over a bill of five thousand berri. “And keep the change.”

“Oh, no, no, dear.” she said with a shake of her head, arranging the bouquet of yellow flowers, not taking the offered bill. “You keep your money. Just get her these, all right?”

The man’s mouth opened in a slight ‘o’, and he stared at her in surprise. He looked goofy, and so similar to the same expression Commander Rosinante made when he was shocked or taken by surprise.

However, he nodded, accepting the flowers.

“And... stay by her side.” The florist said. “Don’t let her be alone.”

An emotion crossed the man’s tanned, handsome face; he looked like he was in pain.

The blond man pulls the bouquet of yellow flowers to his chest, his long, puppeteer-like fingers holding them protectively.

“I will,” he promised.

He turned and left in the direction of the Donquixote residence. The florist was unable to keep her eyes off of him. What a sharp-looking, well-dressed man…

And so handsome! Oh, if she was only thirty years younger, she would have definitely asked him for his transponder snail number, or whatever the youth use these days.

***

The moment he was out of the small town, Doflamingo used his strings and flew high into the air, using the same basic of given directions to locate your house.

It didn’t take him long to find the river, and as he approached the flatlands of the island, he saw many houses scattered around. Probably those of families of retired high-ranking marine officers and their families. likely from other high-ranked retired marines and their families.

Doflamingo landed in front of the wooden fence surrounding a garden. A white, two-story house stood down the garden.

Doflamingo saw rows of cabbages beside the dirt path, their green leaves shielding the plant’s head. There was a roofed porch leading to the entrance doors. The garden fence didn’t even reach to his knees. Doflamingo stepped over it.

It looked rather a lot like a farmhouse, but without the farm — Doflamingo would have heaved if there were farm animals around being used for sustenance — and with the garden and yard.

A crow gave a caw. Doflamingo turned to the sound, and nearly cut a human-like silhouette’s head off with his strings.

It was a scarecrow. Not any scarecrow. Doflamingo stood eye-level with it, staring at the shiny red sunglasses, white dress shirt and white capri pants with red flame patterns the scarecrow of hay wore.

Doflamingo’s lips twitched; he felt like laughing, and barely withheld it not to make any noise. It was certainly a likeness.

Corazón must have stolen one of his sunglasses for it.

Chuckling, Doflamingo prowled toward the porch, and stood in front of the entrance doors.

Should he knock?

Doflamingo smiled maliciously, full of menace.

No.

Donquixote Doflamingo, hands in the pockets of his merlot suit pants, kicked down the doors of his sister-in-law’s house.

“Honey, I’m home!” he called.

The only sound in the space lit by the windows letting the light in was the whoosh of the curtains.

“Huh…?”

She isn’t even home to be surprised!

Scoffing in annoyance at his entrance being ruined by not having you witness it, Doflamingo entered through the door frame into the living room lit by natural light coming from the curtains.

“Tch.”

Guess she’s still in town. Did she go to buy groceries for lunch?

“Hm?”

A large picture caught his attention.

Oh.

You’re beautiful.

It was a picture of you, Rosinante, and Law. All of you are smiling at the camera, showing the peace sign. Doflamingo stares at his little brother’s big smile, because it’s the first time he sees it on him, having never seen it on his brother as an adult.

Doflamingo’s mouth forms into a sneer.

Thinking you could have your cake and eat it too, huh, Corazón? You bastard. You liar. You traitor.

Doflamingo exhaled. It didn’t matter anymore. Your husband’s sins were not yours. His brother already paid for his betrayal, and Doflamingo had forgiven him for it. You were a Donquixote by marriage with his brother, therefore, you were under Doflamingo’s protection, and the only real family he had left. As the head of the Donquixote family, since your husband was gone, your care, happiness and health were Doflamingo’s responsibility now. In Mariejois, the head of the family is expected to care for the close family members such as this. Celestial Dragons leave no family behind. If you and Doflamingo were in Holy Land, he would do the same; do anything to provide for you, take you into his home, care for you.

By Celestial traditions and rules of the Holy Land, you belong to Doflamingo now.

Doflamingo frowns. It’s an entire life here, in these pictures. A life Doflamingo never knew about, never asked about. Because he’d trusted his little brother.

A life Doflamingo was completely left out of.

Reading about the Fleet Admiral adopting his brother was one thing, seeing his little brother, dressed in marine cadet garb, shyly looking at the camera with Sengoku’s hand on his shoulder was another. More people started appearing in the pictures as his brother grew, as he got leaner and stronger, as he cut his bangs not to cover his eyes anymore, and eventually, you were in the pictures with his brother, too — it was so unbearably obvious you two were going to be together by the way you two smiled, by the way you held each other, your body languages speaking with the way you leaned toward each other — that when he arrived to the single photo of the two of you in the living room in Water 7 (undoubtedly tyour honeymoon destination), it felt like you and his brother had been married way before he wore his wedding suit and you your wedding dress.

Doflamingo climbed up the stairs towards the bedrooms. He needed to know what sort of clothes you liked to wear.

The master bedroom was large, walls painted sky blue, with a large three meter long bed in the middle, and a large white wardrobe.

Doflamingo scoffed, unimpressed. What a dump of a master bedroom. Is this where the magic was supposed to happen? It wasn’t very magical to Doflamingo. It looked like any plain bedroom in the taverns he stayed in.

Doflamingo walked to the closet, and opened it. There was no walk-in closet here. What a disgrace. This isn't how their mother raised them to treat their spouses.

The clothes in your wardrobe were so ordinary... so plain...

Well, it didn’t matter. Doflamingo was going to buy proper clothes for a beautiful woman like you.

Curiousity got the better of him, and he opened his brother’s wardrobe.

Ten pristinely white marine coats hung from the clothing rack, paired with blue dress shirts.

That was a lot of coats.

Doflamingo let out a snort, shaking his head at his brother’s affliction to set his clothes on fire. Some things never change. Whoever thought giving his little brother a lighter was a good idea must have been a madman.

Donquixote Rosinante, commander of the most deadly assassination and spy unit of the marines, the Crow Corps. Doflamingo had heard about them, but never knew their identities - they were thought not to exist, really. For all his years in the underworld, Doflamingo never encountered them — or maybe he had, and was not aware of it.

The Crow Corps were a myth, a story to scare the sailors with, a marine legend pirates talked about when something went incredibly amiss in intelligence gathering and the underworld.

“Must’ve been the Crow Corps.”

“Beware the Crow Corps, they’re the marines’ eyes and ears; they can hear you through the thickest walls and see you in the darkest shadow.”

Doflamingo would have felt proud of his brother’s achievements if he didn’t see how dim-witted his baby brother really was, throwing all of his hard work away to save Law.

After checking your shirt, dress, skirts, pants and shoe sizes, he also pulled out a few bras to get an insight on your bra size — he needed to know it be able to buy you proper, nice undergarments, not this cotton, wire bullshit — he started scouring boxes in Rosinante’s wardrobe. Maybe he’d find some information on the marines there, a blueprint, a floor plan, sailing routes, anything really. Instead, all he found was Rosinante’s official documents, and the copy of the marriage contract. You two had even gotten a house in Marineford free of charge. He was surprised how well the marines took care of their families, but it wasn’t new. Better to encourage families and support them so they give you more little marines to train and send out to get killed in battle.

Doflamingo took your personal documents from your nightstand’s drawer. You’d need those with him. Registrating your identity again would be a risk — he didn’t plan on letting you off the ship the first two weeks, little less to risk taking you to a registration office for you to get your identity card again. Putting them into his pocket, he also folded the only single good file of clothing that fit his standards — a beautiful light blue silk dress — and put that into the pocket of his feather coat, too.

With that done, he left the master bedroom, and headed back downstairs into the open living room and kitchen, and started scouring through the drawers in the living room, too. He paused when he found a video snail, with writing on its shell.

Our Wedding

Footage. Of his little brother’s wedding.

Doflamingo took the snail from the shelf, pulled down the projector screen on the wall opposite of the large white couch, and set up the snail. He sat down on the couch and turned the snail on.

The first thing he saw was the man standing beside his brother as his brother’s best man.

That was the crazy zoan shithead that attacked him ten years ago.

Doflamingo clenched his teeth, his chest inflated as he inhaled in fury. The blood vessels on his forehead exposed themselves, throbbing along with his rage. He wanted to break something.

That one? That half-Lunarian scum was Rosi’s best man instead of Doflamingo?

It seemed Rosinante had abandoned him as a brother way before he tried to destroy his life.

But Doflamingo had never abandoned Rosinante. He’d trusted him. He’d loved him. Rosinante was his precious, sweet little brother, the one he trusted the most in the entire world, the one person nobody — nobody — was allowed to hurt. And what did Doflamingo get for trusting him, for protecting him, for loving him, because who else if not his brother by blood, who else if not his equal, his fellow god?

All his plans nearly ruined, Law fleeing after eating the Op-Op Fruit, and his little brother pointing a gun at him.

In the end, after all that, after screwing everything up, aware of what he’d done, how he’d betrayed him... Rosinante didn’t even have the guts to do it to the end and pull the fucking trigger.

Doflamingo returned his attention to the projection on the wall.

His brother was dressed in the usual wedding marine outfit; soft light blue suit, light blue waistcoat, white dress shirt and light blue tie with floral prints of small forget-me-not flowers.

However, Doflamingo found his eyes pasted to you, staring at you intensely, taking in your wedding dress. It complimented your figure, hugging your delicate curves, with an open back, off-shoulder, with flower-patterned lace sleeves. The off-shoulder dress revealed your delicate collarbone and shoulders, temptation in white lace.

What a beauty you were.

Doflamingo was impressed. His brother cleaned up well. No wonder you were all over him — his brother finally dressed as was proper for his godly status. If only his brother dressed like that all the time, and not like a clown…

“Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss!” the cheering of the guests filled the room.

Doflamingo could tell by the way your eyes looked at his brother. You loved his brother deeply.

Rosinante leaned down, and you met him half-way, hugging him around the waist happily — oh yes, you very much loved his brother, thought Doflamingo, amused — and the two of you shared another kiss as newlyweds.

Applause and cheers erupted. More confetti rained down on Corazón and you, a few scraps of it landing on your heads, strewn over his brother’s golden hair.

It didn’t escape Doflamingo’s notice how close Corazón held you to himself, and kissed you again, more passionate and deeper this time, making the crowd cheer and whistle.

Doflamingo chuckled. Who knew his quiet, sweet little brother was so passionate and possessive with his wife… he sure liked playing the good marine boy, but he was certainly a greedy, selfish man.

Just like Doflamingo.

Doflamingo heard a whistle from behind the video snail, “Leave some for the honeymoon, Rosi!”

“Oh, shut up, Wulf. Gimme that!”

His brother’s face entered the frame, his light brown eyes looking at the recorder snail, blinking. Doflamingo blinked back, staring at his brother who was without his make-up and beanie.

Rosi.

“Why’re you taking pictures?”

“It’s a video snail, Rosi.”

“Oh!”

“Hiiii!” said Rosinante, waving at the snail’s eyes, smiling wide and bright like the sun, golden and white, truly like a god. “We just got married!”

Doflamingo stared at the screen, watching his little brother smiling and waving at him.

You laughed, and Doflamingo felt his breath hitch at the sweet, gentle sound, staring at your smile; it was like an angel smiling.

“Well,” murmured Doflamingo, lounging back on the large white couch, staring at you; you looked beautiful in that wedding dress, like an angel. How on earth his brother held himself back from taking you and ripping your dress off your body was anyone’s guess. “You got something right.” The pirate smiled darkly. “What a pretty thing your wife is, fufufufu!”

“What are you doing, recording all the time? Hibou is stealing your ladies, you know.”

“Not that I mind!” came another man’s voice.

“I’m putting my flirty boy hat down for tonight!” announced Wulf determinantly. “I’m your best man, it’s my duty to record everything!”

“Isn’t that the photographer’s job?” asked Rosinante.

“Not when you promise the photographer a piece of this,” said Wulf with a grin, touching his body clad in the sky blue suit from the waist up to his white slicked-back hair, giving the snail a flirtatious wink, “in exchange for him giving you the video snail.”

“Wulf…”

“What? You two aren’t the only ones fucking at the end of the night!”

Rosinante’s face turned a deep pink, while you chuckled.

Doflamingo skipped forward, past the procession and the feast, and over the speeches. He stopped to watch the couple’s first dance.

Rosinante took you by the hand and led you onto the podium of leaves. The band started playing a slow, romantic song mainly focused on piano and violin. Rosinante pulled you close (with surprising elegance Doflamingo never thought him capable of, clumsy as his brother was) and pulled you into a slow waltz. For long minutes, you two danced, spinning and swaying, blue and white blending together perfectly, like the sky and the clouds.

The music continued, and Doflamingo watched you rest your head on his brother's shoulder when he bent down, resting his forehead against your temple, kissing your hair. You pulled your head up from his brother's shoulder, and that sweet look would have made Doflamingo bend down and kiss you. Instead of doing that, Rosinante laid his forehead against yours, and as you two swayed together to the slow music, staring into each other's eyes, your lips moved, forming words Doflamingo couldn't hear from the music. Rosinante smiled gently at you, his lips moving, making the same shape of words as yours did.

The music muted it, but Doflamingo could tell. He knew the shape Rosi’s lips formed, what words they whispered to you, pressed together with you as his brother was, the two of you like swans entangled in each other’s wings.

“I love you.”

Getting hungry — and wanting snacks to watch the show — Doflamingo headed to the kitchen to get some beer and chips.

Doflamingo paused in the dining room, his eyes catching onto the plate on the dinner table. It was a plate with a tower of pancakes, covered in chocolate syrup. Were you expecting someone? A marine guard to take you away from the island and to Marineford for the funeral?

Well…

Doflamingo grinned.

Finders keepers.

He snatched one and devoured it in one bite.

The chocolate syrup and chocolate filling inside created a wonderful flavour in his mouth.

Delicious.

Doflamingo grabbed the next pancake, feeling absolutely no shame in eating the pancakes you made for someone else.

As Doflamingo eats the full plate of pancakes, he walks around, surveying the pictures of you and his brother atop the fireplace. There is a large, binded book, and after cleaning his gloves from chocolate and sugar with a napkin, Doflamingo picks it up.

It’s a photo album. He grins. Bingo.

Doflamingo gets himself comfortable on the white couch, puts the flowers and the plate of pancakes on each thigh, opens up the photo album, grabs another pancake from the plate and looks through the pictures of you and his brother as he waits for you to come home.

***

Whenever you had nightmares, Rosinante used to say, “As long as I’m here, no one can hurt you.”

Those words feel empty and meaningless now. Rosi is gone. He can’t protect you anymore, no matter how much you wish he would.

You open the doors of the house, enter, and close them behind you, locking them from the inside.

It takes you a moment, but you notice it.

There is something in the darkness.

A tall, shadowy figure of a man, hunched over, long spine bent, his long, lanky legs crossed over each other, and…

The darkness outlined the silhouette of dark feathers of a massive coat upon his broad shoulders, covering his back.

Hope blooms within you.

“Rosi?”

A sinister, deep, wicked laugh resounded in the darkness, breaking through the silence. The malice within it sunk your gut, shivering your bones with fear; you felt like you were going to be sick. It sounded like evil incarnate.

That isn’t Rosi’s voice. That isn’t Rosi’s laugh. Rosi never laughed like that – ever.

You didn’t know how you managed to flick the light switch on to see which madman it was, but you did.

The first thing you saw when light illuminated the living room was…

Red — merlot red.

For a moment, the colour blinds you. Your focus returns, and you make out what the merlot red is. It’s a tailored, merlot double-breasted suit jacket with golden buttons with a black dress shirt tucked underneath it, a crimson tie tucked neatly in the collar, all of it paired with merlot suit pants.

A man was here. It wasn’t Rosinante.

Golden rings dangled from his tanned earlobes, their shiny reflection lost in the dark shadows of your home, their glitter extinguished. He had a long neck, similar to a flamingo’s, thick and muscular. White-framed sunglasses obscured his eyes. Their tinted, reflective lenses coloured like a bloody sunset stared right back at you, coated crimson in the darkness.

A wide, crescent-shaped, demonic smile bloomed on his face, stretching ear-to-ear, baring all of his white teeth.

That smile froze the blood in your veins.

Your husband’s older brother, Donquixote Doflamingo lounged on the white couch, legs spread wide on each side, grinning at you.

****

Let's say Doflamingo fixed the doors he kicked down, bcs... He wanted that element of surprise. This fic (this chapter particularly) has been in the works for a long time, I just wanted to share it already. If there are any missing scenes connecting between paragraphs - no there aren't. Actually, I appreciate if you guys say to me if there are. There are so many times I can proof read 11.7k words before my brain explodes. Some notes for the chapter and references.

Reader howling to the sky in mourning after finding out about Rosinante's death - for imagination purposes, it's literally Luffy screaming after Ace dies. It was a direct reference to it, and that's how I imagined Reader looking - same expression as Luffy.

The "Rosinante is dead." Doflamingo delivered the news the same way Luffy said "Ace is dead." to Tama in Wano.

Taglist: @fanaticsnail @moonbaby26 @daydreamer-in-training @queenmimi2817 @dummyduck44 @pinejayy @tellynojelly @capycapy-bara @dilf-destroyer-04 @yataidiot @orioncipher @isebauwolf @r-amenegg @skullfacedlady

#doflamingo x reader #doflamingo x you #doflamingo x y/n #x reader #one piece x reader #donquixote doflamingo #doflamingo #doflamingo one piece #op doflamingo #one piece #merlot & primroses #fan fiction #doffy x reader #doffy x you

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just-some-random-blogger · 6 months ago

Text

Break Bones?

There has been nothing but tension between you and your ward, and Breakbones has only added to it.

bodyguard!Gwayne Hightower x Lannister!Reader x Harwin Strong | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has golden lannister hair, enemies to lovers, forced proximity ig, im just a girl!reader, angst?, jealousy, typos, etc.

A/N: this the '3rd part' to Seeing Red (1) and Seeing Green (2) but you dont have to read either to understand what's happening <3. Also, I think a lot of facts are skewed here in this fic but... Roll with it pls thx. I hope someone enjoys this because I do nawt 🥲

Tagging: @lancedoncrimsonwings @targs-on-zorses @barbieaemond @arabellasleopardcoat @dreamsandconstellations

@uniquecroissant @holdingforgeneralhugs @b00kw0rmsworld

Lunch was my favorite meal. This time of day was most pleasant, with the sun high in the sky and the birds singing. Normally at this time, whatever grogginess the morning gave me would long be gone. But today, it was not so.

Gwayne turns to me as I pointedly smack on my meal to annoy him. If my day is grim, then so should his.

He chews harder than he needs to then swallows, "I see frolicking with Breakbones has made you forget your pedigree."

I raise my brows, "nay," I set my spoon down, "my meal is simply so scrumptious that I cannot contain myself."

Gwayne releases a breath. I watch him as he reaches for his teacup. He looks as though he's using all the muscles in his body to withhold an eye roll. He takes a sip; the heat of the tea leaves his lips ruddy.

I watch him set his floral cup down. I watch him as he leans back on his chair. When did his get that long? The locks by his temples go past his cheeks now. A line forms on his face when I stare too long. I avert my gaze to my own teacup. The milkiness of his face is reflected in my drink. My stomach churns.

"So-" "How-"

We look at each other after speaking at the same time. I open my mouth, meaning to tell him to go first, but he cuts me off and simply speaks, "how is Breakbones?"

Offence latches on my being. How ill-mannered of him not to even feign the courtesy of allowing me to speak first. Irritation springs forth, so I quip, "what?"

Gwayne scoops some honey and stirs it into his tea. He licks what remained on the silverware.

I avoid his eyes as he does so.

"Your whereabouts have not gone unnoticed by me," he says dryly, "I am aware that you have since been accompanied by Breakbones to the market more than once."

A horrid scowl finds my features, "and just who is this foul creature?"

Gwayne's expression falls until my scowl is reflected on him. His jaw sets, "I can assure you; you have already wholly vexed me this morn; you needn't feign ignorance to add to it."

"But I am not acquainted to this brute who breaks bones," I hiss, "and I need not feign something which comes easy for me."

He realizes then that I was sincere in my own vexation when I heatedly continue.

"Your delusions of my character will not bleed into reality, Ser." I pointedly raise a brow, "whichever part of my body you think would associate with such people who garner such names would surely rather strike your cheek."

He furrows his brows as he tilts his head, "yet it seems you are ignorant to the fact Breakbones is your beloved City Watch commander."

My brows furrow. I am silent for a moment before speaking, "Ser Harwin?"

He scoffs out a chuckle, "oh, yes," he takes a sip of his tea, "the brute with such a name is the one you have extended such warm amity to as of late."

A moment of concern and even alarm floods me. But it is fleeting the next moment, and my expression falls. I huff. A pit grows in my stomach, "how acrid and crude."

Gwayne's brows quirk as he gulps his tea. The manner in which his lips curl pierce through my belly in the most unpleasant of ways.

"I am well aware that you and I have never met eye to eye, that you disagree with my interest in beautiful things-"

His expression slips.

"-but your want to deter me of my only companion here is repellent, even for one as you."

Companion? Gwayne's blood rises just as I from my seat across him, "such as I?"

"Such as you!" I maintain, chucking my table napkin onto my half-finished plate.

"I see your unfeigned ignorance has made you callous to my efforts to please you," he words harshly, slowly rising from his seat.

"But it is not your work to please me!" I snap, "your work is to keep me safe!"

"From library books?!" he raises his voice, "from cakes and dresses? What is your danger in King's Landing when not only do a thousand guards reside within these walls, but your own lord brother is seated upon the council of the king?"

My nostrils flare at his words. I decide to maintain my dignity by forfeiting my response. I gather my skirts and flee him.

He releases an irritated laugh, "oh, how very like of you!"

"Do not wait. I have errands to accomplish."

"Ha! Do accomplish them well with your beloved Breakbones."

I storm away from him. I storm and storm until my face rains. It annoys me how my breath shortens and how my throat constricts. I run off to my chambers and dismiss any ready servants there. I crumble to my bed and wring out my melancholy.

The letter I received late last night calls to me from my vanity. I sigh and reach out to it. I slide down my bed and will the contents of the letter to change.

It does not work. The words are as clear as they were last night underneath my lamp, if not clearer now in afternoon shine.

Highgarden would be honored to receive Lady Lannister. House Tyrell presently prepares its home in hopes it will be hers in the apparent future.

I rip the parchment to shreds, as if its riddance would destroy the reality it held.

It does not.

It comforts me, nonetheless.

I wash my face and reapply rogue before exiting my chambers. I begin to walk off but freeze when I see Gwayne at the end of the hallway. He does nothing. He says nothing.

I turn the other way.

I find myself heading to the guard's quarters, where I soon learned Ser Harwin was not. A guard informs me that he was in the training grounds, and so I promptly make my way there.

The moment Harwin catches the golden glint upon my head, he is distracted. He pays less attention to his pupils, offering me a smile and nod in regard. Soon, when I am close enough, he says a quick word before abandoning his post altogether.

Harwin struts up to me with another smile and nod, "my lady Lannister."

My heart swells at his kind regard, a stark contrast of Gwyane, "lord Strong."

"You must forgive my state," he wipes the sweat dripping from his temple, "an hour remains of our session, then I will be free to accompany you to the baker's today," he assures. He smiles but it quickly disappears as he adds, "after I wash and change, of course."

I press my lips tightly together, yet it does not contain my giggle.

Harwin crosses his arms at the sound, his own lips unable to contain his own giggle.

"I am in no hurry, commander," I clasp my hands together, "feel free to ignore me until you are ready."

He walks backward, "I pray you do not require me to do something impossible."

I chuckle at the sentiment, but I roll my eyes. I sit myself on a crate nearby and watch as the man instructs his pupils. He demonstrates the proper handling of a sword and strikes the dummy. For a moment, I think of Gwayne training.

Then suddenly, I remember our argument and find myself calling out, "break bones."

I watch as Harwin turns to me.

I flatten my skirts on my lap but do speak any further.

"You call, my lady?"

I straighten my back, slightly taken aback that he responded, and shake my head, "never mind."

Harwin does not think twice on it. He continues with his lesson.

Watching him teach was... titillating. His voice was rich and sure, his actions more so, and his demeanor was truly that of a commander. More and more, I thought of 'break bones' and continued to convince myself that this was not him. Soon, I was not enslaved to my thoughts and became thoroughly entertained by Harwin's instruction. It was almost a shame that the hour passed as quickly as it did.

Harwin quickly comes to me, announcing he will not take long to tidy up, then leaves just as quickly. Unable to help myself, I decide to ask a guard about this break bones fellow. Before I can even ask if that man was truly his commander, he's already droning about See Harwin Strong. Before he could finish, the said man was beside me, face and locks slightly damp.

Harwin and I make our way to the stables after and I immediately start, "I did not realize you had quite a reputation."

I watch my feet peak out from beneath my dress as we leisurely make our way to his steed. Harwin, with his hands behind him, turns to me with a quirked brow, "and what reputation might that be?"

"Breakbones," I look up.

He simply stares.

"I thought Gwayne thought it up to deter me from your companionship."

He purses his lip, "...does it?"

I give him an incredulous look, "perhaps if I had known it before I knew you. I was testing the name on you. I did not expect you to respond."

"Is it very ill-fitting?"

"Yes," I speak immediately. I tilt my head, "you are very gentle."

He laughs. It is quiet but hard enough that he must clutch his gut and take a moment to gather himself.

Though it was not like him to mock me, I could not help but feel perhaps that in this moment he was. A frown finds me.

I think of Gwayne and his condescending laughter. My chest tightens.

He breathes in deeply before finally calming. Harwin notices my dejected demeanor and it wipes the grin off his face, "forgive me. I laugh only because I have not yet been called gentle in earnest."

It does not rid my frown.

"It pleases me," he mutters.

I stop in my tracks when he reaches for my hand. My pulse quickens when he takes and lifts it.

"I am glad to appear as such to you," he speaks carefully, blue eyes locked on mine. He presses a chaste kiss at the back of my hand. He maintains his hold until we are in front of his horse.

Harwin helps me up the brown stallion. He maintains a respectable hold and even fixes my dress as I seat myself. I look down at him and his smile. I nod, indicating that he can now climb up.

He shakes his head, lips still curled upright, "I do not think it wise for me to ride with you today."

I furrow my brows, "why ever not?"

Harwin takes the reins of his horse, "well, I fear my hasty washing was not enough."

I roll my eyes, "I-"

"And I desire to uphold the gentle nature you recognize in me." Harwin begins to walk.

"I do not understand."

He snorts lightly, "I fear my softness will not remain if I ride behind you."

My brows only furrow deeper.

Harwin catches this and chuckles. He mumbles under his breath, "the lioness is but a kitten."

"I heard that."

He raises a hand, "a jest. An innocent jest."

I spent a good part of the afternoon scrutinizing cakes and frosting, meticulously ordering the perfect assortment to be delivered to me tomorrow.

By the time Harwin and I were back in the Keep, I could tell that he was worn, not only from being made a taste tester against his will, but also from walking back and forth.

Another image of Gwayne flashes in my mind. Guilt and dread threaten to spill from my lips.

Harwin helps me down his steed and softly smiles once I am stood before him. My heart stings at his drowsy expression. My forehead curls as I reach for his cheek, "you have been most patient and kind."

His face perks at my touch.

"I am most grateful," I brush his curls away from his face, "I would not have been able to accomplish what I have today without you."

Harwin straightens when I pull away, seemingly reinvigorated.

"Forgive me if my meticulousness cost us a longer trip than expected."

He chuckles and shakes his head, "you award me more credit than I am due. It is an honor to witness the care you put into your gifts."

I watch him as he leads the horse into the stable. Harwin continues once he's walking back towards me, "I am sure Gwayne's nameday will be heartfelt, knowing his lady took great measures to prepare her gifts for him."

The thought makes me want to pull my hair out. I sigh and simply walk off.

Harwin's expression falls. He follows after me, "is something wrong?"

I watch my shoes peak from beneath my skirt with my steps. I turn to him when he calls me by my name. Harwin has a look of concern upon him. I comb the tips of my golden hair in agitation, "I... do not wish his nameday to come."

A line forms between his brows.

I sigh, "surely you are aware that my move to King's Landing was to secure myself a husband."

Harwin did, in fact, not know this, but does not have the chance to say so.

"My brother says the only house interested in me is that of the Tyrells."

His brows quirk. A doubtful thought.

"I did not..." I turn to the ground, "think my demeanor so odious that I am able to attract but one marriage proposal. Surely my family name weighs more than that."

The thought makes Harwin's forehead curl.

"I am not due to leave for Highgarden until the next moon, but I figured if it pleases Gwayne, I would set him free on his nameday. Another gift for him."

Harwin frowns, "do you not think your decision rash?"

"Rational, perhaps."

He does not seem to like my resolve on the matter, and yet he does not press any further. The rest of our walk is silent, and soon we are in the hall to my chambers.

Both Harwin and I slow at the sight of Gwyane standing attention at my door. He shifts in his spot, turning to us. When we reach him, I notice the way his jaw feathers.

The auburn haired man lifts his nose slightly, "Breakbones."

Harwin nods, "ser Hightower."

"How kind of you to return the lioness to her den," he turns to me, pale blue eyes ripping into my flesh, "I do hope she did not bare her teeth and claws too much."

Harwin raises a brow, "her company is most welcome, teeth and claw included."

I turn to Harwin. He smiles at me. Gwayne watches. His blood curdles.

"She tells me tomorrow is your nameday," Harwin looks to Gwayne, "what plans have you made to celebrate?"

"Whatever my lady has planned for me," he chuckles dryly. His begins to turn red in the face.

My brows furrow, "worry not, Gwayne. There shall be no errands to attend to on the morrow."

"How magnanimous," he smiles, or rather sneers, "your commander seems to need the day off. See how worn you've made him."

"Enough," I quip.

"Agreed," he blurts, "you should retire," he motions with his head, "I will treat the man to some wine," he turns to Harwin, "and perhaps he will the same, as a nameday treat."

Harwin nods, "perhaps on your nameday itself. I have an evening patrol I must cover."

Gwayne's nostrils flare, "unfortunate."

With that, I thank Harwin for accompanying me and head inside my chambers.

Gwayne places a hand on Harwin's shoulder, leading him down the hall, "I must express my appreciation for lightening my load as of late."

"My duty is to serve, but it is a pleasure to do so for the lady Lannister."

Gwayne pulls his hand away then brings both behind him, "I'm sure for one who is daily surrounded by sweaty men, it truly is."

Harwin does not respond. They continue walking down the hall.

"I am glad to know she did not forget my nameday and neither of us will need to be worked by her tomorrow."

Harwin gives a lopsided smile, "if it comes down to it, ser, I will do any work she may require of you in your stead."

Gwayne's face twitches but he expertly covers it up with a low chuckle, "oh, how good. Do not deny me then if it happens."

The two men part ways at the end of the hallway. Gwayne heads for his chambers, feeling irritated and suffocated. He bathes but it does not soothe him as much as he hoped. The next morning, he wakes up groggy and attempts to bathe it away, but the water was as ineffective as the night before.

He gets dressed and makes his way to the solar. He stops in his tracks when he hears the ruckus from inside. It doesn't take him long to recognize the voices, which is why he decides to enter and interrupt the argument taking place inside.

I gasp softly at the sound of the door opening. The sight of Gwayne's concerned expression only makes the tears from my eyes spill further.

Tyland turns to him. He does not mask his ire, which is why he does not greet him. My brother simply quips, "you will not leave her today."

Gwayne turns from my brother to me. It takes a moment before he realizes it was an order, "of course, my Lord."

The master of coin sighs and heads for the door. Before leaving, he raises a hand, "a servant will come to deliver your nameday gift tonight or tomorrow. Lannisport has been overflowing as of late, but I was assured your delivery will be swift."

Gwayne nods, "you have my thanks."

Tyland leaves after this, and Gwayne walks over to me.

I pull away before he can touch me. I lean towards the table and push the assortment of cakes towards him, "you will not need to steal my sweeties today, ser."

I walk towards the window, turning my back on him, uncomfortable with the idea of the man seeing me in disarray. He is insensitive to this and follows after me. I move away, but he does not relent.

"You need not tend to me!" I snap, strands of gold sticking to wet cheeks. I brush my hair away and helplessly point to the table, "there is a box on your chair. Tend to it! I have no use of you."

Gwayne pulls his head back. The sentiment stung, but he decides not to take offence. He cannot, not with the red eyes staring back at him. He decides to walk off and head for his usual chair.

Sure enough, a smallish wooden box tied in a red velvet bow rests on the cushion. He sets it down on the table before seating himself. He turns to me then back at the box. He undoes the bow and opens it. He stares at it. His silence reads to me as disinterest.

"Gloves. Practical but stylish," I walk towards him. He turns to me as I pull the chair beside him. I sit down, taking one glove and the hand it belonged to.

Gwyane spares a moment to watch the red leather be slipped on him hand, the rest of his moments are spent observing the tear laced lashes before him.

After buttoning the glove in his wrist, he stretches his fingers, opening his closing his hand to test the fit. His eyes do not leave me as he does so, "it fits me perfectly."

"As it should," I say, reaching for the other, "I paid the artisan well for this."

He grabs my hand just before I can do that with his. I stare at the veins that run past his sleeves, "I am exhilarated by the knowledge the shape of my hands are known by you."

My lips part.

Had it been any other day, had the circumstances been different, I would have received that statement with offence, for it was one of clear mockery. Yet, with how his dimples vaguely made an appearance and how his lips pressed softly into a smile, it seemed... genuine.

And it seemed to make my heart skip.

I mutter, "I stole a pair of your gloves and had it fitted."

Gwayne chuckles.

My heart skips again.

"Clever girl," he releases my hand and removes the glove I put on him. He takes the ribbon on the table then turns to my hair, "red goes well with gold, wouldn't you agree?"

"... my hair is already made."

"You would be glad to know that I am skilled in unmaking it," he pulls my chair closer to him.

My body burns as he reaches for my curls. My hair was braided by the sides in a fashion I quite enjoyed; I did not enjoy the idea of him unmaking it.

"-just as I am skilled in braiding," Gwayne adds.

I knit my brows at the idea.

"Do not look so shocked," he chuckles, "my sister has as much hair as you, and I did not enjoy how it flew to my face when we were children."

Before I can speak, he grabs my shoulders and turns me away. He gathers my hair and my skin pricks at the feel of his fingers against my nape.

He is silent when he begins. I close my eyes and focus on the feeling of his light touch.

"I would braid Alicent's hair when she wept as well."

My eyes open. Oh.

"Thankfully, it was not a frequent occurrence."

I turn to my skirt.

"I do not tell you this to press you for answers," he softly clarifies, "merely to express how I think it comforted my sister... and how I wish to do the same for you."

I do not reply. My lips wobble.

"I was instructed not to leave your side today and I do not wish to add to whatever offense that could bring a lioness to tears."

I silently wipe my face.

Gwayne says nothing more after this, not until he finished braiding my hair.

He rests the braid on my shoulder. I inspect it, seeing he incorporated the ribbon into the pleats and even managed to make a small bow at the bottom. I look up at him. He frowns and reaches for my cheek, wiping my tears.

I take a deep breath to calm myself, "my brother received an offer for my hand."

Gwayne stills.

"Well," I turn to the box on the table, "he received multiple."

He leans on his elbow. He smiles, though against himself, "we came to King's Landing to find you a match, did we not?"

"It seems my brother has other plans," I mutter, "apparently Tyland means to use me as leverage for the crown. He wishes to wed me to the Tyrells so that he can have a firmer hold on Highgarden. Jason does not know this. He was led to believe I was simply going to King's Landing to purchase new dresses."

A line forms between his brows, "I presume Jason found out about Tyland's plot."

"Yes. Jason writes that I should put my dresses to good use and entertain any suitors that come to me whilst I am in King's Landing."

He nods curtly. He sighs and shrugs, "why the tears then? Does the idea of entertaining men upset you so?"

"..."

"... Tyland reminded me of what happened last time when I had many suitors at my beck and call."

Gwayne clenches his teeth. He rests his hand in front of me, "I swear on my life that no one will come close enough to take advantage of you again."

His hand itches to reach out, but he instead goes for the cakes, dragging it in front of him. He shoves a chocolate cake into his mouth and chews.

I watch him lick his lips. He notices how I lick mine. He speaks through a mouth half-full, "do not think I will share simply because you are sad."

I snort and roll my eyes. Gwayne is relieved this was the reaction he garnered.

"I had enough cake from tasting them with Harwin yesterday."

He stops chewing.

I notice the frosting on the corner of his lips and wipe it with my thumb, "enjoy your cakes."

Gwayne is perfectly still.

"Happy nameday."

#gwayne hightower #gwayne fanfic #gwayne x reader #gwayne fluff #gwayne angst #gwayne x you #harwin fanfic #harwin strong fanfic #harwin x reader #harwin strong x reader #harwin fluff #gwayne hightower fanfic #gwayne hightower fic #gwayne hightower fluff #gwayne hightower x reader #harwin strong #harwin fic #harwin strong x you #gwayne fic

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illbegottenfaith · 3 months ago

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2001 - theo nott x reader

Honey, what you runnin' from? When you comin' back to bed? Toss and turnin' all night long with me instead Honey, what you runnin' from? Where the hell you headed to? Do you like the way I run after you?

or, theo doesn’t understand what’s holding you back from taking things further

a/n - I think I would classify this soft core smut at best? But adding an 18+ tag jic

tropes/warnings - 18+ MDNI, fluff

word count - 1.6k

“Fucking hell. Hide me.”

You shrunk yourself down the best that you could behind your best friend, Ivy, laser-focused on the boy at the other end of the hallway. Ivy rolled her eyes, making no effort to help.

“I can’t believe you still won’t tell me what happened that night. It can’t have been that bad.”

“It was,” you muttered, stupidly trying to get Ivy to cooperate. It was no easy task, especially on days like today when she was feeling particularly stubborn, which was a problem since the boy looked fully intent on approaching them.

“Will you relax? You look like an idiot. Like an even bigger idiot than usual. He probably doesn’t even remember whatever-“

“Ivy. Happy birthday. Sorry I couldn’t make it to the party.”

Damn. You thought you had more time. Curse him and his unfairly long legs. Ivy did the grown-up thing, which was literally anything other than pretending she didn’t see him. “It’s alright, Theo. You can make it up to me next year.”

“How was it?”

“It was nice, actually. We got a discount on -“

Ivy was cut off by a gentle tug, revealing a hunched-over you. You straightened hastily, clearing your throat, refusing to meet his gaze.

“L/N.”

“Nott.”

“Planning on dropping by tonight?”

You put on a straight face, looking politely confused. “Hm?”

“The party. Tonight.”

“Oh. Where?”

Theo narrowed his eyes, and your face burned under the intensity of his gaze. It took everything you had to keep your features schooled while he shamelessly searched your face for what felt like far too long.

“The Slytherin common room,” he replied, finally tearing his eyes away from you. You relaxed, blinking hard and a little breathless, your palms a little clammy. “Can’t miss it. Just follow the stench of firewhiskey and bad ideas.”

Internally, you nearly passed out. Externally, you shrugged noncommittally. “Sure. Maybe.” Definitely not. You weren’t going to spend a second longer in Theo’s presence if you could help it.

You and Ivy get to the party and, as expected, you’re abandoned the second she finds Ivan through the crowd. You wander around before you decide to join a group of Slytherins on the couches, next to Theo. You get handed a drink. It burns your throat and makes your eyes water. The loud bass starts to sound more tolerable. Another drink. Theo’s frowning at you. You wonder if anyone’s told him how good concern looks on his face. Everything is now ten times funnier. You press up against Theo, laughing yourself silly, leaning into his touch as he drapes an arm around you. Another drink. You’re more than lightly flushed. Theo places a hand on your thigh. You don’t move it away.

Eventually, you end up pressed against the door of Theo’s room, your mouths a heady mess of heat, teeth and tongues, your bodies moulding to each other’s. Your eyes flutter shut, blissfully able to let go with your senses dulled by alcohol. You can’t tell if it’s the music or your pulse vibrating through your body, but you’re aching for his touch. He presses a knee against your core and you groan into his mouth, melting into a boneless mush in his arms.

“Theodore,” you sighed desperately, breath catching in your throat. It was enough to slow his ministrations on your neck which had been filling your head with the most delicious kind of static. You never used his first name despite your best friends being glued by the lips since sixth year, mostly because you never went beyond exchanging civil pleasantries. Occasionally, you’d have a chat that wasn’t entirely unpleasant, or you’d let your thoughts wander to his disarming blue eyes or wicked smile, but that was it. It never did, and it never could, go any further than that. You were too different. It would never work. You’d only be setting yourself up for heartbreak. Nothing good could come of entangling with the illustrious Theodore Nott, figuratively or otherwise.

And to use his first name was to acknowledge the existence of this softer, kinder Theo - a version worlds away from that Nott boy with the aloof face and the piercing eyes. He hummed against your neck, thumbs restlessly skimming the waistband of your skirt.

“We can’t - we shouldn’t,” you continued, once you were able to make sense of your fuzzy thoughts. You pushed him back gently, cool air rushing in to douse the heat of the moment. “Our friends have a whole thing. We’d only get in the way. It’s just a bad idea.”

His hands stilled on your hips. “I don’t understand. What about our thing?”

He looked so dazed and so adorably dishevelled that you almost felt sorry for him. It was late, Theo’s words sounded dangerously close to slurring, and if you were being honest, you should have left the party hours ago. You stroked his cheek absentmindedly before gingerly slipping out of his hold, recovering your shirt. You slipped it on, fumbling at rhe buttons with trembling fingers, and turned back to see Theo still watching you, uncomprehending, his swollen lips parted in confusion.

“Get some sleep, Nott. You’ll get what I mean in the morning.”

“Bye, Theo,” Ivy was saying now. “Give Ivan a kiss for me.”

“Should I feel him up while I’m at it?”

“It only seems right to give him the full experience.”

Ivy grinned as he walked off while you all but dragged her down the hall towards your next class.

“Aw, come on, Y/N, he’s not that bad.” She glanced at you, eyes twinkling with mirth. “You know, I always thought he has a thing for y-“

“Aren’t you late for Herbology?”

Ivy cursed as she fumbled at her wristwatch, hurrying down the corridor. In about a minute, she’d realise that she didn’t have Herbology today, but you decided to let her find that out herself.

Hours later, you were holed up in the library, desperately trying to plug your ears with all the ruckus going on floors below. Trying to focus was a losing battle.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

Your head snapped up too see Theo leaning against one of the bookshelves. Busted. To be fair, she was nowhere near the world’s best liar, so it was doubtful whether he had even believed her in the first place.

“Nott,” you greeted, in a pleasant enough voice. “Is that the time? I hadn’t realised the party had already started.”

The music continued blasting, more than audible to the two of them. Theo arched an eyebrow, slowly walking over, and you had the decency to look embarrassed over your bald-faced lie.

“I was planning to drop by later.”

“Well, you should.”

“Maybe I will:”

“It’s almost as fun as that last party ages ago.”

You stiffened at the memory. “Ah. Yes.”

Theo leaned over you, broad-shouldered and hypnotising. He dragged his gaze across you inch by agonising inch, undressing you with his eyes. You were starting to feel uncomfortably warm in your uniform. He dropped his voice.

“First and last time I see you in my bed, hmm?”

You choked, failing to suppress the shiver prickling over your skin. “That’s - stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Talking like…that.” You felt your face heat up all over again, cursing yourself for your inability to even pretend to keep your cool in front of him. “Looking at me like that.”

His gaze flickered to your chest, so brief you’d have missed it if you blinked. “Like what?”

You let out a frustrated, overwhelmed sigh, your brain becoming oddly fixated on the memory of his hands on your hips, travelling up your ribcage, at the nape of your neck, grip tightening on your waist -

“Go on. Use your words.”

His breath tickled the shell of your ear, the closest he’d been to you since that night.

“Like…like you actually want me. Like I’m something special.”

“You are something special.”

You groaned and looked away. “I’m seeing someone,” you tried, half-heartedly. Theo snorted.

“What, that Davies guy? Yeah, like that’s going to last.”

You couldn’t even bring yourself to feel all that indignant on Davies’ behalf. Not that you were going to let Theo know that. “I’ll have you know that Mac is a perfect gentleman.”

“My point is-“ Theo started, irritatedly. You took a perverse sort of pleasure in ruffling his feathers. “- why the fuck are we talking about Davies when you could be in my bed, doing far more interesting things with that mouth?”

“Or maybe it’s something else entirely. Perhaps you like having me run after you. Is that where you get off, hmm? The thrill of the chase? Being a tease?”

“I am not a -“ you began hotly, before you caught the mischievous twinkle in his eye. You rolled your eyes. “You’re too cocky for your own good,” you muttered.

“I thought you like me cocky,” he teased. His expression softened the next second and you watched him trace lazy circles on your wrist.

“Besides…I’ve never tried this hard to get into someone’s pants.”

You gave a shaky laugh. Theo bent down once more, this time to press a kiss to your lips, then another, and another, until you were lying on your back on the table, looking sinfully ravished, blouse long forgotten.

One night couldn’t hurt, could it?

#theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x y/n #theo nott x reader #theo nott #theodore nott fluff #theo nott smut #theodore nott smut #theodore nott imagine #Spotify

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thetinyblossom · 7 months ago

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Agere community we need to talk.

[Text ID: Agere community we need to talk. End ID]

I have noticed a huge rise in UNCREDITED and STOLEN works; it being art, edits, collages etc

Specially reposts on Tumblr and Pinterest

Examples:

*Original artists that had their work stolen: @regressionworldz and @cutiecorner

This post is a guide about internet etiquette and crediting

[Text ID: This post is a guide about internet etiquette and crediting. End ID]

1. How to NOT steal stuff!

Any work with the tag “Free to use” (also known as “F2U”) means that they are allowed to be reposted, used in collages, edits etc. Just check if credits are needed!

*Important addition (that I can’t believe I had to add):

* “Why does this matter?” “Can’t you just ask where they got it from?”

It’s a question of politeness and fairness, yes, someone can ask where that piece is from but it’s not a guaranteed answer, people can lie and people can forget!

Also, people might see it and take it at face value, think the post belongs to that person when it doesn’t

Adding to that, there’s folks that do not want their work reposted for many reasons!

To top it off, heres the issue of the original creators not getting the attention they deserve, imagine that you spent hours on a piece just for it to be stolen and that post getting more attention then your own original post, that one you worked hours for it to, to be just the way you wanted it to be, that would upset you wouldn’t it?

Overall, crediting and asking to repost is just the polite thing to do

For Artworks:

Your first need to check if the artist allows reposting of their work or the use of them for collages, if they allow, then you link to their original post and state who drew the pics of art

For GIF’s + non-product photos:

Credit to the original post! Or at least as far back as you can find it!

Usually photos of products such as toys, plushies, accessories etc made by big brands are easy to spot and know where they came from (ex: blogs that post PNG’s usually don’t need to credit all their sources), but, small business/hand crafted works should always be credited!

Reposting moodboards:

Similar to artworks, first ask permission to repost, if allowed link to the original creator!

“But they said “no”!”:

Then don’t do it! Even with credits! Don’t do it! Is as simple as that! Respect others right to say no!

2. How do I identify stolen work?

There are many giveaways of stolen posts, such as:

• Low photo quality

• Watermarks that don’t match

• Lack of information about what was made (for who it was etc)

• Unable to answer simple questions such as what brush they used or long it took

Examples:

3. What do i do if my work was stolen?

1. Inform the person that it’s your work and to either remove it or credit them

2. If it’s still not credited or taken down, report their post

3. If the report didn’t go anywhere or if the account is still doing it to yours and others content, please make an awareness post about it. Strength comes in numbers after all!

4. Overall…

Let’s stop with this unpleasant and rude act of stealing others work!

I really hate to see that on our community, please, inform more people about it and report any acc that profits of others uncredited/stolen content!

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holybibly · 1 year ago

Text

Object of Desire | OT8 |

Pairing: otx8 x reader

Genre: sugar daddy au, dark romance, smut, vampire au,

Word Count: 9.2 k

Summary: Caught in a web of deceit and forbidden pleasures, Nabi quickly learns that some obsessions can be deadly and love can bite.

WARNING: only!18+ Blood drinking, blood kink, obsessive behavior, voice kink, daddy kink, master/pet game, pet names, explicit sexual content, explicit language, emotional manipulation, possessive behavior, seduction, BDSM, polyamory, mirror sex, marking, voyeurism, power play, and more.

Disclaimer: I do not support themes of violence, obsession, possessiveness, or emotional or psychological manipulation. This book is intended for entertainment purposes only.

A/N: I honestly didn't expect so much interest in this story and I'm so happy to see these cute 'hearts' popping up in my notifications all the time. I'm an emotional mess. And so, even though I know I should be concentrating on "The Divine Rosa", there are too many other ideas in my head that I can't (won't) ignore, so here we go. "Object of Desire" will be different in style, so I hope you'll love it as much as my main work "The Divine Rosa". A promised bonus for everyone who voted for Seonghwa in the poll will be released this weekend. I'll try to release Woosan next week, the preview will be out this weekend. Comments are welcome, I really appreciate your reactions. If you'd like to be added to the tag list for this or future updates, let me know in the comments. Divider @saradika

Part 1. Do you want to make a deal with the Devil?

Now going out of town in the middle of the night with Yeonjun seemed like a bad idea.

A very bad one, I thought.

God, what was I thinking when I agreed to do this? Yesterday, this whole venture seemed like a great way to solve my problems, but now the prospect was not so rosy.

Sometimes I feel like a complete idiot, and this is one of those times.

Outside the window the dark landscape was sweeping by at high speed; the bare trees were shrouded in an ominous gloom, and only the dim light of the tall street lamps over the road was the only source of illumination to guide us in the darkness.

It seemed that the darkness around us did not stop Yeonjun from driving. His posture was relaxed and his hand was sure as he turned the wheel in the right direction, the diamond bracelet on his thin wrist sparkling with starlight. One of the many family jewels that Yeonjun treated with special affection.

In contrast to him, I couldn't relax and kept fidgeting on the leather seat made of black Iberian leather, no less.

Every part of my body was begging me to stop and come home before it was too late. Not so, I had imagined that we were going to an elite club. I knew that we would be there late at night, but the fact that the club was way out of town came as an unpleasant surprise.

At the moment it's an hour's drive from Seoul and more than an hour and a half to the destination on the GPS.

The whole thing was strange and made me dizzy, or was it the thick smell of Yeonjun's perfume? It was a dense, smoky scent with a hint of vanilla. Powerful enough to draw the eyes of everyone around to its source, and sexy enough to make you want to kiss the naked skin of the wearer of this tantalising scent.

It would be several days before I was able to wash off the remnants of his perfume after our meeting, so much of it had eaten its way into my skin.

I glanced at Yeonjun; a stray yellowish-white light from the lantern momentarily illuminated his face, and a shadow of long velvet eyelashes fell on his pale cheeks. His black raven hair was streaked with flashes of platinum and gold. He looked otherworldly - I would even say demonic.

I felt a palpable shiver run through my body, as if someone had just dipped my heart into a bucket of icy water.

"Jun." My voice was terribly uncertain. "I don't think I can do this." I said as my fingers pulled down the hem of a short dress. The expensive material looked luxurious in a perfect shade of white and was decorated with a sprinkling of crystals. Yeonjun insisted that I wear it tonight and said that I would be grateful for it as soon as we got to the club. I don't think I'd ever choose something like that for myself, and not just because of its crazy cost; Jun's fashion preferences were so different from mine. He was a fan of overt sexuality and bold lines; I, on the other hand, preferred neutrals and comfort. "I have changed my mind; this proposal does not suit me at all. Maybe we can go back..."

Yeonjun smiled softly as he turned to me, but in the darkness of the drawing room the smile was more ominous than reassuring, his lips the most breathtaking shade of red I had ever seen.

Warning bells began to ring in my head. There are times when you can sense danger even before you are faced with it.

"Nabi, my dear, there is nothing for you to be worried about. We have already discussed this. Remember?" His hand was cold as he laid it on my knee. "I will take care of everything. You're my guest tonight, which means you're under my protection." The long fingers shrank a little, a kind of confirmation of his words. His fingernails were painted glossy black, and his fingers were adorned with several silver rings.

I would like to believe that nothing is going to happen to me, but my insides are tied up in a tight knot of fear.

Miss Kim Seoyun's words echoed in my head like thunder: "Humble yourself and surrender to destiny; you are where you are supposed to be.

When did I start believing all this? This is no time to panic, Nabi.

Everything will be fine.

To be honest, Yeonjun was never my first choice when I needed help, and I always tried to keep a certain distance from him for a number of reasons. There was something so predatory about him, almost animalistic, that lit up the red lights of danger, but I was desperate; student loans, rent, insurance and food were starting to pile up. I was in desperate need of money, and preferably a lot of it, fast.

The threat of being left out on the streets and being thrown out of university has never been as real as it is now.

The only thing that gave me the slightest bit of confidence was Jimin's assurance that I could trust Yeonjun completely and how carefree he was.

Damn, Jun looked like we were going on a spontaneous romantic trip instead of a closed elite club outside the city in the middle of the night.

I asked myself again, "Why did I agree to this?" Oh yes, money. A lot of money.

A few days ago, Yeonjun contacted me and offered to help me with my money problem. Of course, Park Jimin couldn't keep his big mouth shut and told him about my problems. He told me that one of his friends at the private club had a good deal for me. I could make a lot of money out of it.

The income was enough to pay off all my debts and the number of zeros on offer was enough to turn my head.

It was an unequivocal and desperate "YES" and at that moment I did not think at all about the consequences or the characteristics of this proposal.

Jun also promised me a lot of fun but after I signed the NDA and read the multi-page contract with its veiled meaning and rather vague wording of some specific points, doubts blossomed in my chest, and I began to understand what kind of fun was being discussed.

Looks like I made a deal with the Devil.

The dress was delivered on the eve of our trip, a few hours before Yeonjun's chic Ferrari pulled up outside my dorm room. The all-white gown, richly embroidered with blue topaz and opal, was incredible. The plunging neckline of the corsage barely covered the lace bralet of the same colour as the dress.

I have never seen my breasts look so full and so soft. I would even call it seductive. Everything I moved had to be clean and graceful; if I moved too sharply, the soft pink halos of my nipples would start to show. This was beyond the limits of my modesty. At one point, I could even feel Yeonjun's searing gaze resting on my cleavage. It was a carnal look with a shadow of hidden lust in the depths of the dark, shining pupils. It was the first time in the several years of our dubiously friendly communication that he had shown such a desire for me.

The dress and underwear came with four-inch heels. Of course, if my life had been in danger and I had tried to escape, there would have been no chance of success. Incidentally, I'm a terrible runner; I bet I couldn't have run more than ten meters before I collapsed with breathlessness. I should have gone to the gym when Jimin offered it to me.

Oh my God, Nabi, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?

Jun's silky voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

"You have such a tense look on your face, my darling." He purred. "We'll be there soon, Nabi. Try to relax; you're going to love "Crescent", I'm sure."

Why did it have such a sinister ring to it? "Crescent" - the name was sweet enough, I would say poetic, but the way Yeonjun rolled the word over his tongue as if he could feel its taste - thick and viscous - made the name something forbidden and sinful. Well, the idea of the cult was not so absurd to me. And that stupid prophecy never left my mind.

"You're where you should be..."

In the reflection of the small mirror in the car, I met my gaze. My pupils were dilated like those of a hunted prey. And though I tried to calm down, I could feel the cold, predatory touch of Yeonjun's hand all too well. Baby, it looks like you're going to get caught.

I ask myself again. Why did I find myself in this situation?

Dressed in the most luxurious designer clothes, like a real doll. Ready to become an exclusive blood donor for a very wealthy private community whose clients needed this kind of service, accompanied by one of Seoul's wealthiest heirs.

Now I can say: "Hey, Nabi, you really screwed up."

❤︎❤︎❤︎

A few days before the visit to "Crescent"

I looked again at the envelope lying on my bed. It had been delivered early in the morning, when the whole city was in a half-awake haze and the streets were not yet filled with coffee and fresh pastries from charming little cafes. The envelope was just left on the door, as if it were something unwanted, without bothering to deliver it to the to the addressee.

Why do we even pay for a delivery service?

He's been there for a couple of hours with the overdue bills and some flyers. I found him on my way to get a life-saving coffee, which had to be postponed due to the unexpected arrival of this mysterious object.

And that didn't make me feel any happier at all.

The thick, dark purple paper looked regal and too expensive to be mediocre; usually such envelopes contained bad news or invitations to a private bohemian reception, but it was too fancy for the former and impossible for the latter. Poor students can't get into high society unless they spread their legs in front of someone's wrinkled dick. And I wasn't inclined to do that.

I took the envelope back to my room and put it on the bed. It looked impossibly ridiculous—I would even say vulgar—surrounded by fluffy pink pillows and a variety of stuffed animals—a small army, as Jimin liked to put it. The envelope was a perfect match for its sender—luxurious, vulgar, and obscenely expensive—the very embodiment of Yeonjun's tastes. Judging by the ten missed phone calls and a whole bunch of messages, Jun wanted to make sure that the envelope had been delivered. He even linked it to Jimin, which almost offended me.

I still remember how, on a stupid whim, I had to dye his hair pink in the middle of the night while his sweet, high-pitched voice babbled something like, "Make me look like the Sugar Plum Fairy." After that, you swore to be absolutely loyal to me, Jimin.

All men do is lie.

I didn't have the strength to play in peepers with purple paper. It was giving me a headache. I also had to give an answer to one of the culprits in this situation; otherwise, the scale of the drama would reach the dimensions of the universe.

Come on, Nabi. It's just an envelope. It won't bite you.

After I had settled down comfortably on the bed, I decided to begin to reply to Yeonjun's message.

"I've received the envelope with the documents you told me about, Jun. I'm so grateful for your help." Okay, that was nice, maybe. Or at least I wanted it to be that way. I'm definitely not going to text him to say that I've been deliberately ignoring his texts and calls. Anyway, we had a pretty interesting relationship with Yeonjun. They were never very sweet. The second one was for Jimin, and as my fingers were hovering over the letters with the first apologies, the phone started to vibrate.

Our photo with Jimin flashed on the screen. We were on a trip to Pusan, his hometown. The golden beach in the purple sunset, smiling Chim and Taehyung—his gorgeous boyfriend-and me with a grimace, burnt shoulders and one shoe in hand, the other lost in an unequal battle with tidal waves. When you look at this photo, you can immediately say that it is summer, my least favourite season. I don't even know why it was necessary for them to drag me along on this trip. Most of the time I was on my own. While Chimin tried to lick Te's tonsils or fought off the frat boys who thought buying a sugary-sweet cocktail would magically open my legs. So that was how two weeks of my "fun" summer holiday went by.

And here we are again, back to the lie. Let's go; it'll be fun, they said.

How this photo ended up on Jimin's contact screen is still a mystery to me. But that's not the point now. I took a deep breath and picked up the phone:

"Hi baby."

"Oh! Did you really answer my call instead of ignoring it as usual? How can you treat me like this? I am your soul mate. The only light in your dark world; you don't love me at all?" There was the sound of a fake sob on the other side of the phone. "I've never been ignoring you, Chim." I didn't get to finish because I was interrupted.

"I've called you a lot—eighteen times to be exact. And you, my dear butterfly, haven't answered a single call. You're making me nervous, Nabi, and that's making Taehyung nervous."

"If you'd let me finish, then you'd know how much I love you and how impossible it is to ignore you." He couldn't see my smile. But I'm sure he could feel it in my words. "You are the only light in my boring life; will you forgive me? And please apologise to Tae. I know my sunlight can be quite unbearable sometimes. So why did you call me?"

"First of all, I wanted to know if you'd received an envelope from Yeonjun; you don't answer when he calls, so he called me. More importantly, have you opened it, Nabi?" He asked, sounding genuinely interested as he spoke.

"Yes, Chim, I got the envelope." I ran my fingers over the dark purple paper in a thoughtful manner. "And no, I didn't open it yet. I'm not sure I even wanna. Is this a good idea, Jimin? All of it?"

"You're being too dramatic, in my opinion. Jun wants to help you. All you have to do, my beautiful butterfly, is relax and accept his help. Sometimes sweet little girls like you just need someone who can solve all of their problems for them." Jimin told me in a patronizing way. In a way, I had to agree with him, but hey! I'm not a damsel in distress or a sugar baby; even though I was in trouble, it wasn't as bad as it looked. Jimin's a bit of an exaggerator. "It's not that hard. You go to the club with Yeonjun, have fun, and in the morning you have a few thousand dollars in your account. How does that sound for you?" Park Jimin had a very annoying way of being right all the time. It really wasn't that hard to accept Yeonjun's offer, earn enough to pay off your debts, and take a little time out of the eternal race for money. In the end, I have to think about myself sometimes.

"Okay, I'll listen to you and try to relax. One last question, though: Are you trusting Yeonjun?" And this question made me feel much more uncomfortable than the secret clubs, the elite society, and the complete financial crisis.

"Absolutely." Now his voice sounded confident and serious. "Nabi, Yeonjun and I have been friends for years. I'm sure you'll be safe around him. Jun wants the best for you, and so do I, and if you'll let us, we'll give it to you. You do know that you can ask me for anything, right?" The warmth and care that I could hear in every single word that he said to me warmed my heart. "I am not going to ask you for money."

"You're a stubborn, willful, and terribly categorical bitch, and now I can understand why you haven't had sex for so long. Can't you just let me and Tae look after you? Say the word, and you'll have the whole world to yourself. Sometimes I honestly don't understand how I can love you with such intensity. Given your utter inability to take advantage of opportunities. We're the best package deal ever. Do you know that? Where else are you going to find such a good dick and a black card as a bonus?" He asked.

"Jesus, Jimin! You can stop this. We're not fucking, is that clear? And I'm not going to take your money, even if you try to put your credit card in my hand every time. I can handle this on my own. "I shouted in a huff.

"OK, don't be uptight." He was such a bitch sometimes. He really enjoyed irritating me. "But I'm right. Aren't I? It's been a long time since you've been scolded. Go on, say I'm right. Come on, Nabi, tell me everything. Are you playing with yourself, dirty girl, or do you need to be taught a lesson? I want details."

There were times when I couldn't understand why God was punishing me in this way, but I guess it was the reckoning for the sins of my ancestors that could come in the form of the pink-headed Park Jimin.

"I hate you. I wasn't serious.

"I know." Chimin said cheekily. "By the way, to calm your nerves a bit, I'll tell you. I personally know some members of the club you and Yeonjun are going to. They are Taehyung's friends, so have no fear. But the best thing about these clubs are the men. Nabi, there are men there who make me believe in the existence of Greek gods and fallen angels." Jimin said it dreamily. "God, I would show them how flexible I can be if I didn't go out with Tae."

"All right, stop with that. I get it." I wasn't in the mood to listen to the dirty fantasies of my best friend right now. Especially when you consider the fact that he was absolutely right about my sexual life. I'd been single for a long time.

"Okay, nun, I won't corrupt you; otherwise, you'll have a desire for sex."

"Park Jimin!" I squealed.

Jimin just laughed out loud on the other side of the phone.

"I won't do it again. I promise." Actually, I didn't call you in the first place because of Yeonjun or your arrangement, but I wanted to ask you if you wanted to go somewhere with me.

"Where exactly do you have it in mind?"

"Do you have any idea about Paradigm?" "That fancy spiritualist boutique on Instagram everyone's talking about? I've had a bit of a hearing about it." Why would Jimin want to go to Paradigm? It was a place that was just as private and secret as the one that I had to go to with Yeonjun. "I have to pick up some packages for Taehyung; you know he's obsessed with all kinds of mystical stuff, and this damn boutique only gives out packages—no deliveries—can you imagine that? It feels like the Holy Grail, not a silly amulet."

"As defined by your style with Tae, it sounds terribly stilted and expensive. Sure, I'll go. Give me an hour or so; I need some time to pack."

"Fine, I'll pick you up. Wait for me, my love."

"Please, just pick something a little more simple than your Porsche.

"I love my Porsche; what's wrong with my car?"

"It's too much attention. Last time, everyone at the university talked about it for a whole week. There were even questions about whether you were my sugar daddy or not.

"I definitely love it. It is the universe's way of telling you that there is no need for resistance. I am going to take care of you, my little butterfly. And I am definitely going to come and pick you up in a Porsche. See you in one hour, baby."

"Jimin, just not in a Porsche!" I shouted, but it was too late; I only heard beeping.

As always, it was Park Jimin who had the last word.

I was happy to be able to postpone opening the purple envelope for a while because of this unexpected trip. Even though an occult boutique or something like that wasn't the best prospect.

Anyway, it's time to pack.

Jimin has a strict rule. He's never late.

Exactly one hour later, Jimin's Porsche picked me up from the dorm, and to all my indignation, the only response he gave was a mocking giggle.

There was good traffic on the roads. After twenty minutes, we stopped at the glass door with the silver star engraving. The exquisite sign above the door read as follows: Paradigm is a boutique of spiritualism." The phases of the moon, from New Moon to Descending Moon, were written on the board below the sign.

"Let's go, Nabi. Pick up the package, and I'll take you home. I know you still need to get Yeonjun registered." Chim wrapped his hands around my forearm and literally dragged me into the boutique as we entered.

As we walked in, the bells above the door began to ring, but the sound was not familiar to me; it looked more like glass than metal. When I looked up, I understood the reason for the sound. There were crystal bells hanging above the door, with long strings of pearls and little silver crescents. It was a very beautiful sight. While I had my eyes on the bells, Jimin was already in conversation with the girl behind the counter. She was tall, with a cascade of long, golden hair. Her features were large and expressive. The girl looked more like a model than a soothsayer or spiritualist, although in the age of Instagram, maybe that's what modern wizards and witches should look like.

I couldn't hear the whole of the conversation, just bits and pieces of it: "It's a parcel for Kim Taehyung. "Yes, it concerns the Kim family." "Please deliver it as soon as possible."

While they were talking, I thought I'd take a look around the shop.

The common room was not large; the shape of the room was round, probably because of some mystical meaning. The walls were covered with velvet curtains, behind which a number of doors were concealed. On metal shelves were various objects: crystal balls, shards of precious stones, heavy tomes on voodoo and fortune-telling, ancient talismans in forged frames, hare legs—a symbol of good luck—and other magical items. There was something macabre about this place—a thick, dense air in which the scent of frankincense and myrtle was vivid—and the heavy, lingering presence of something otherworldly, like a ghostly footprint—a very evil footprint. In all other respects, it was the same luxurious, new-fangled boutique for the chosen rich or the mystical amateur.

My attention was drawn to a crown. It lay on a velvet cushion on one of the many shelves. There were nine black diamonds at the center of the crown. They were surrounded by rubies, so deep in scarlet that they cast a black glow, and pearls to match. The lines of the metal were twisted. They were like snakes wrapped around jewels. The cut of the diamonds was not typical; it was something extremely rare for this kind of gemstone—the Empress.

I was drawn to this crown as if it were a magnet. This feeling of inescapable attraction that you can't resist—I have a feeling like this crown has always belonged to me. Now we are finally reunited. I reached out to touch it, to feel the coolness of the dark, glittering diamonds under my fingers, and I almost did when someone's hand fell on my shoulder.

"You shouldn't touch that, dear."

I gave a frightened jerk, either at the touch of someone else or at the low voice that had come so close to me.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I was just attracted to this crown, and I..." I had no idea how to explain the fact that I'd literally had a call from a piece of metal. Even for a place like this, it might have sounded crazy.

As I turned, I saw a woman in her 40s. Like the girl at the counter, she was more like a modern socialite on Instagram than an occult shop worker.

"All right, darling, the important thing is that you stopped it in time. This thing has a bad reputation; every one of its owners has ended up committing suicide. Anyway, my name is Kim Seoyun, owner of Paradigm. What brings you here today?"

"I'm here with a friend who needs to pick up a package for his boyfriend."

"A young man with pink hair, right? He's in the office with JaYoung; they're in charge of the registration," Seoyun said.

Even the names of the two were breathtakingly beautiful and meaningful. Sometimes the universe invests more in some than others. Seoyun frowned for a moment, as if she had read my thoughts. Then her face cleared, and she smiled softly.

"You're a beautiful girl, Nabi."

"Thank you." I sounded terribly stupid; sometimes I act like a complete fool, but I couldn't think of a more witty response. There was an uncomfortable silence between us. Until it was broken by SeoYun, who asked me a question.

"Do you want me to tell you what your fate is going to be like? My clients are of the opinion that I'm very precise in my predictions."

"Oh no, you don't have to do that." I waved away. "I don't really have a lot of faith in destiny and omens."

"You don't believe in destiny?" She arched her eyebrow in a skeptical manner. "Or don't you want to believe in it?"

"I'm a realist; I can't imagine believing in a destiny and hoping for some mystical higher power to intervene."

"Hmm, this is quite interesting. Come on, let's play," she said, picking up a Taro deck and opening it like a fan. She handed it to me. "You choose five cards; two of them are about love, two of them are about the future, and the last card is about the inevitable destiny, something that's been foretold since your birth."

I won't lie, I was so curious, even though I had no faith in the cards in my hand. My hand reached out for a pack of cards, my fingers hovering over the smooth, flickering surface as if I were trying to feel the ones I needed.

Fatum—the word had a scary ring to it.

AfterI had quickly decided on the four cards, I solemnly drew the last card and handed it over to Miss Kim.

Seoyun took the cards from me with a knowing smile. She began to turn them over one by one and started to explain what each meant.

"You are going to love like it is hard to imagine." She said. Feelings carried threatening limits. Crazy, wild, and burning love—this is a card that comes up very rarely, but it has a very strong meaning. It is the Queen of Cups. For someone who really loves you, you are going to be a true queen, a goddess; everything will be done for you; everything you want will be fulfilled; but if you get too caught up in this feeling, you will be too easily controlled. As strong as this love is, so strong is the destructiveness of it. You should be more careful with it.

The next card was turned over by Seoyun.

"The star is a bright omen for you. You have a choice in front of you that will change everything. Follow the star, and it will show you the path, but remember, no star shines without darkness. This is a map that will lead you to where you need to be. In search of that guiding star, it looks like I'm going to have to look up in the sky some more. Perhaps I should also follow the spiders in order to find the Chamber of Secrets as well.

I treated them with absolute skepticism.

"Death: everything has a cycle, and when death appears, it means you're nearing the end of one. The appearance of death is the end of one cycle and the beginning of another. It may have something to do with the love that awaits you. Your loneliness is about to end."

"The Five Cups is a situation in which you are stuck and can't move forward. This card is about your problems and the need for change in your life. This is the same kind of magical kick that is followed by heavy and dramatic events. The Fives indicate that this is only the second act of the great play; there is still much to come, but the finale promises to be happy if you accept your destiny. Otherwise, it can always end in tragedy. This card tells you: Accept yourself and surrender."

I didn't have a bit of faith in her words. If Jimin or Lia had been in my place, they would have been on a shopping spree for amulets and shamans; their belief in the afterlife was absurdly high.

Before I turned the last card, Seoyun took my hand. She looked me in the eyes seriously and asked:

"Are you sure that you want to know what fate has meant for you, because sometimes it's hard to deal with it?"

"Yes, I do. I'd like to hear it." Isn't that the whole point of a fortune telling?

It's just a deck of cards and some vague words from a pseudo fortune-teller. What could possibly go wrong?

When Miss Kim turned over the last card, her face went pale, and she let the palm of her hand slip out of hers as if it had been burned.

"Go away." sounded like undisguised horror in Seoyun's voice. "Leave immediately. JaYoung, accompany her to the exit, now." She turned away from me, clutching the card in her hand.

I never had a chance to have a look at what was on it.

"What is going on? Why are you kickin' us outta here? What did you see on that card? "In complete disregard for my questions, Miss Kim hurried to the office door, hiding behind the curtains.

Just then, JaYoung and Jimin came out of the other room with a small black box tied with a gold ribbon. It must have been a parcel for Taehyung to take.

"Nabi, are you all right?" Jimin asked me in a worried tone.

No, it wasn't all right; the lady looked at me as if I were one of the bad omens of the biblical coming.

What was it about this card that was able to frighten her to such an extent?

"JaYoung, take her to the exit and close the boutique; we will not be working any more today."

I grabbed the woman's hand before she could turn the doorknob and disappear into the darkness of the room.

"What's the meaning of the last card? Tell me; I'm not going to leave here until you tell me."

"Death is closer to you than you think. It's already on its way to you." Her whole body began to shivered as if it were cold, but the shop was warm. I would say stuffy.

"Who's comin'? What are you talkin' about?" I insisted on it.

Seoyun suddenly turned to me and pushed a crumpled tarot card into my hand. There was There was madness in her dark eyes, and her pupils were so dilated that they were almost the thick green of her iris.

"The Devil."

After that, she practically pushed me to the exit, where I met a worried and confused Jimin. We came out of the boutique, and the door behind us clicked in a characteristic way.

This was not how I had imagined a trip to Paradigm.

"What the hell just happened?"

"You'll believe me when I say I have no idea." Jimin and I looked at each other.

"Next time Taehyung will pick up his stupid packages themselves, I will not go to places like that again. Nabi, I saw someone's canned heart in a jar and bat carcasses. Did you know they have such tiny, sharp teeth? I could swear that I've never seen anything so disgusting in all my life." He said.

"No more occult boutiques, I totally agree with you. Let's go home, I still have to send the paperwork over to Jun."

"I must have something to drink first, and the stronger the better. Let's go to 'Salvatore' and then go home."

I took one last look at the sign, which was now shimmering faintly in the setting sun. I crumpled the card into a small ball and threw it in the rubbish bin next to me.

The Devil, of course. I'm not going to believe the words of this crazy fortune teller. Maybe I should scatter the salt at the entrance, or then he will suddenly knock on my door.

Two hours later, after a big margarita for two and a few glasses of red wine, Jimin took me home, and I was in the same position as before the whole stupid trip to Paradigm.

Sitting on my bed, hypnotised by a dark purple envelope with documents from Yeonjun. There was no point in putting it off any longer.

Instead of pulling a millimeter at a time, I need to learn how to rip off a plaster in one move. Maybe deep down I'm a masochist if I prefer this method, but right now I don't have the time to sort out my hidden sexual desires.

I picked up the envelope; it was surprisingly heavy and pleasantly soft to the touch. The paper had a pleasant odor of powder and velvet, a reminder of the Victorian era in England. Unrequited love letters must have smelled like that.

The envelope was sealed by a wax seal with a monogram cast in an antique shade of gold. When I opened it, the thin wax cracked under my fingers, leaving a glistening particle on them. Inside were a number of documents tied together: a non-disclosure agreement, a handwritten note, and a velour jewellery bag bound with silk ribbons and embroidered with opals and sapphires. I'm sure this little thing was worth twice what I'd been paid in six months, and what lay inside cost much more.

My first choice was a piece of paper. Yeonjun had always written in an incredibly beautiful way - calligraphed, like a fountain pen, with little curls at the end of the letters.

"My lovely Nabi, I look forward to seeing you this Saturday. I am so glad that you have agreed to take me up on my offer. A treasure like you deserves the best in the world, and I'm overjoyed to give it to you. In case you change your mind and decide to back out of your contract with ”Crescent,” I will be the one to pay all of your bills and your tuition fees in the future. We have already discussed this with Jimin. Despite your stubborn refusal to accept any financial help from us, I will do it anyway."

Sometimes I think that all of my friends have a sugar daddy complex; their desperate desire to pay for everything in my life is taken to the extreme. Of course, if you grew up with a "golden spoon" in your mouth, a few thousand dollars, it was absolutely nothing. But for me, it was an exorbitant burden, and yet I wanted to handle it myself.

As dubious as it sounds, I didn't want to say no.

"There's a confidentiality agreement in the envelope, and you need to sign it until tomorrow night. Your session is scheduled for Saturday night. We have to be at ”Crescent” by 23:00, after which Seulgi, the main administrator, will pick up a perfectly compatible client for you to donate blood. Before you meet her, I want to make sure that all the paperwork is in order. There are also two versions of the contract that you should have a look at.”

The ”Crescent” allows donors to choose whether they want to work with them for a year or for one night. Accordingly, there are two types of contracts: annual and one-off.

”I've picked out an outfit for you to wear when we go to ”Crescent”; it'll arrive on Friday with everything you need. You'll look gorgeous, and I'm sure you'll thank me afterwards. Personally, I think you could do with showing a little more of your skin and accentuating the sexy lines of your body. For my taste, you're too modest.”

I squeezed my eyes shut in annoyance. If my buttocks weren't pressed up against the skirt and my breasts weren't protruding, I'd certainly be too modest. The more skin on display, the better. Jun's preference was something I was well aware of. A nice outfit was to be forgotten, and if my underwear was even a little bit covered, I would consider myself lucky. I was sure there would be no thanks on my part.

"The club's owners give all new donors a thank-you gift. It's inside an envelope. Accept it with all sincerity, because you are giving them your life's resources, and this is the least they can do for you. It is also their request that you wear it on your arrival at the “Crescent.”

My dear Nabi, it will be a night you'll never forget. I can assure you of that.

All my love, Yeonjun. "

I was very excited about the prospect of Saturday night. There was a feeling that there was some hidden meaning in the whole situation that I was missing out on. My brain was sending me distress and danger signals, just like Yeonjun. Be careful. The storm is coming.

In any case, sometimes it is better to be at ease and just go with the flow. Like Jimin said, I should be less dramatic.

I signed the NDA contract right away. I'll definitely forget it if I don't do it now. Checking Yeonjun's words against the remaining documents in the envelope, there were two versions of the contract: a one-off and an annual one. I decided to save the gift from the owners of the 'Crescent' for the very end. My first choice was the one-off contract. There were fewer pages, and it was clearer and easier to read.

The first item on the contract was the NDA. There was a long explanation of why it was so important and necessary.

"All "Crescent" clients are people of high social status and position. Their privacy is of the utmost priority to us. Especially with regard to their "special" conditions and specific needs, we want to guarantee our clients complete privacy. Each donor undertakes to sign a confidentiality agreement prior to the first session. Otherwise, the contract between the donor and our client will not be concluded." Guests of the club, hereinafter referred to as "donors," are obliged to keep confidential all the information obtained during personal meetings as well as everything that happens during the blood transfusion, hereinafter referred to as "sessions."

Well, it sounded a bit strange, but I could understand why "Crescent" insisted on signing a contract of this kind. In today's world, it is difficult to keep things secret. And when you are dealing with powerful and wealthy people, it is even more difficult. Paparazzi lurk around every corner, and tabloids are ready to start a scandal with the slightest spark, especially in South Korea.

Who in their right mind would want to survive the criticism, the judgment, and the airing of dirty laundry?

The donor's responsibilities and the client's expectations were the next point in the contract.

In short, you become an exclusive blood donor for one or more clients of the club after signing the contract. This is what Yeonjun told me as well. This form of contract required a single "session."

They didn't give any details, just that the service was linked to a certain type of genetics in their clients and was urgently needed. They did not say how the transfusion process would take place.

"The donor agrees to give their blood and receives financial compensation from the club after a successful procedure. The whole process is strictly controlled by "Crescent" staff. They also act as intermediaries between the donor and the client. Their job is to carry out a compatibility test that will guarantee a better result in the transfusion."

Point three is called "testing for compatibility."

Each donor was tested for compatibility before the "session," and the club administrators—as I learned from Yeonjun's note, my administrator's name is Seulgi—took a blood sample and compared it with the most suitable partner or partners. It was not only the blood that was important, but the members of the club also had a long list of preferences and wishes that the donor had to match. Looks were not the least of these. Height, weight, hair colour, body type, nationality, and age—the list seemed endless. There was even a clause about the type of voice and the food preferences of the donor. Let's just say: "Crescent" customers were very spoiled and had a personal view of the blood donation process. Partner - It sounded a little too intimate to me for this kind of situation, and it clearly had a double meaning.

The most pleasant of all—financial compensation—was point number four.

"For voluntarily donating their life resources, all donors receive financial compensation from "Crescent," ranging from $1,000 to $3,000. The amount paid varies according to the amount of blood donated and the status of the client with whom the donor was matched".

It was a fabulous amount of money. It was a very quick income, but it wasn't that easy. I felt it in my gut. The work was flawless; there was just no such thing.

I've reached the last point in the contract - the completion of the agreement.

Here are the details of the beginning and end of the 'session', how the money was paid, how the donors returned home, and other details. The start of each 'session' was exactly midnight, but the donor had to be at the club two hours before for preparation. The 'session' ended at 8am the next day. In general, the whole process took up to eight hours. The transfusion took place in private rooms, the doors of which were locked from the beginning to the end of the "session." Inside the rooms, there was a "panic button" in case of unforeseen situations.

The transfusion process itself is only revealed on arrival at the "Crescent," as the paragraph indicates: "is not standard." The donors were taken home by the club staff at the end of the "session." If there was a request from the client for the donor to be taken home in person, there was no objection to this.

And that's all. The one-off contract was over. A few thousand dollars have been added to your bank account.

I won't lie, it sounded fabulous. But there was a lot that made me feel confused and want to know.

Some of the clauses in the contract left me scratching my head with their veiled meaning and ambiguous choice of words.

So I moved on to the second version of the contract - the one for the year.With lots of footnotes and sub-paragraphs, it was twice as long.

It had the same beginnings: the NDA agreement, the donation, and the compatibility test, but then everything changed dramatically.

Gone was the faceless "client." In its place came the "patron." Now it sounded as if there was a contract between the patron and the donor. In addition to this new word, there were also new points to be included in the contract.

Medical care, diet, sports with a private trainer, spa treatments, and even specific items such as painting, dancing, and music lessons. From the signing of the annual contract, which included renting accommodation, paying bills and school fees, giving gifts, traveling, and so on, the patrons were fully responsible for the welfare and comfort of their exclusive donor.

They promised to keep the donor happy and satisfied and to see to whatever needed to get done. It was now that the ambiguity of the word 'partner' began to make sense to me. In this contract, it was clearly stated that the business relationship could continue between the sheets.

"The sexual or romantic relationship between the donor and the patron is their personal affair and is welcome if both parties are interested in and attracted to each other. All intimate details, including details of the sexual act, remain strictly confidential between donor and client. A list of the sexual practices as well as the permissible kinks will be discussed in advance. The donor is entitled to determine the acceptable boundaries of sexual contact, its intensity, and the degree of emotional "subspace" involved. A stop word is chosen in advance, or the clients can always use the color system: green - yellow - red.

Donors have the right to appeal to the management of the club if, at any time, their rights have been violated and they have been subjected to emotional, physical, or sexual coercion. The owners of "Crescent" have an obligation to provide the donor with a safe place and appropriate specialists for the assessment of the donor's condition. The contract is suspended. Further details are awaited. The issue can be resolved peacefully. In the worst case, the contract will be terminated immediately, and the donor will be compensated for a period of five years." That was certainly not my expectation. I will have to ask Yeonjun if he has any knowledge of such cases, if they have happened, or if anyone has ever had an early termination of a contract.

In addition, it was stated that such a relationship was not obligatory and that if the donor did not want to have sexual relations with the patron, he could refuse, and the patron would have no insistence.

But I don't think many donors would refuse, considering that even Jimin, who is dating an absolutely perfect and insanely attractive man named Taehyung, talked about the beauty of “Crescent's“ clients. It's a very tempting offer, even though it sounds like a twisted version of sugar daddy with a bloody kink.

There have also been some changes to the point about the financial compensation. It is now a compulsory monthly allowance. Depending on the status of the patron, it could range from $30,000 to $90,000 a year. The more he or she could afford to pay, the higher the amount of the benefit. The money was divided into equal parts. It was paid over the duration of the contract. Always on the first Monday of the month.

I can't imagine that anyone would be willing to pay that kind of money for your blood. Obviously, for the members of the “Crescent“, this was an acute question, as the amount in the contract had several zeros.

One of the most important points in the contract was the exclusivity clause.

This was unacceptable for an annual contract, unlike a one-off contract, which allowed the donor to contract with different clients each time. To put it bluntly: Your blood belonged to the sponsor. In this respect, there were so many requirements and so many details written down that were important to the patron. In addition, the one-year contract was only available to donors who had knowledge of the club's clients or staff. Yeonjun was one of them. So I received two versions of the contract instead of one.

At the end, there was the same information about the terms and conditions of the 'meeting' and a few paragraphs about the expiry of the one-year contract.

Having read the contracts, I felt like we were in a strange combined version of 50 Shades of Gray and True Blood.

With a heavy sigh, I leaned back on the pillows, putting the papers to one side, and pressed my cheek against the fluffy, soft toy. It felt good against my skin, the soft purple velour. It was a weird variation on 'Princess of the Bumpy Space' from 'Adventure Time'. Minho had given it to me after another drunken debacle. How he came into possession of this toy is still a complete mystery to all of us.

I had a couple of thoughts about my options. On the one hand, I could make a one-off deal with them and then forget about what had happened the next morning. The amount they offered to compensate me would have been enough to make me feel good for a while, but certainly not enough to pay off all the debts and put some aside just in case.

On the other hand, there was a contract for one year with regular payments and various bonuses, but this also involved a mysterious and demanding patron. One year, and I can say goodbye to all the debts I owe. There was also the chance, without a boring, monotonous job in a bookshop, a tiny room in a student dormitory, or a permanent pit of debt, to see the world, enjoy art, and simply live and be happy.

All this was offered to me on a silver platter. But somehow I thought it was a deal with the devil rather than a blessing from an angel.

In that tempting sentence, there was too much 'but'.

All my thoughts had me on the verge of tears and screams at the same time.

I looked around my little room: dim, mousy grey painted walls; scattered notes and piles of textbooks on the table; picture frames; toys; piles of crumpled blankets on the floor; and a black Balmain velvet jacket that once belonged to Minho, but which he is absolutely certain makes me look better than him. In addition to my things, there were a few of Lia's dresses and Yeonjun's leather jacket, which he left me after one of our many meetings, in my wardrobe, which was tiny by Jimin and Minho's standards. The contrast between their clothes and mine was unbelievable - brand labels, monograms, and distinctive prints - all screaming about their high cost and inaccessibility. I could never have that kind of money, but I had the desire. I really wanted to have it.

This sense of accessibility was something I was curious about.

There was a thick twilight beyond the window. A scattering of purple light poured into the room, turning the whole room a mystical shade of purple. As it danced along the walls, the colour dripped down to the floor, making it look like dark purple water. You could see the first stars begin to appear in the rapidly darkening sky, their broken light sparking off a sapphire embroidered ribbon on a small jewellery bag. I had completely forgotten all about this so-called gift. The cobalt blue sapphires mirrored each other and looked like the eyes of a big cat. That's how I'd always imagined the eyes of a predator - shining in that mystical blue. I took the pouch in my hand and shook it lightly in an attempt to determine what was inside, but the contents did not make a sound.

The silk ribbon came undone with ease. I stared at the contents of the bag with unblinking eyes. Inside was a delicate ornament made of white gold. Thin lines were woven into a star shape. It was inlaid with sapphires and diamonds. It was mesmerizing to look at. Whoever made this necklace obviously put a great deal of love into it. The shape of the ornament itself was not standard; it was more like a guide star in the center of the compass.

I was reminded of what Miss Kim had said to me today as my fingers gently traced the pattern of the necklace.

"Follow the stars, and they will show you the way. A star is a bright omen."

Could it just be a coincidence that the piece of jewelry I was holding in my hand was nothing less than a guiding star?

Either way, I'll definitely be wearing it Saturday—not just because the owners asked me to, but because it is my wish. Perhaps this star will indeed show me the way, but one thing I was sure of was that it was the most beautiful piece of jewelry I'd ever seen.

I thought I'd put the jewelry back in my bag and do some paperwork for Yeonjun. I've had enough mystical prophecies and rich patrons for one day, so I've left the contract selection for Saturday. I'm going to spend the evening resting and relaxing. I'll have a long, hot bath with butter and pink salt, which Jiminy brought me from Paris. I will read a book or listen to a meditation course and call upon my inner "I" to harmonise.

Meditation and soul-searching have become very popular with Lia lately. As a result, I have a whole bookshelf in my room that is dedicated to books of this kind and various CDs with meditation and breathing exercises. Last month, she even gave me a decorative fountain, which was supposed to be calming and relaxing but in fact made me feel more nervous and annoyed than soothed. I looked at the jewelry bag containing the necklace again after gathering all the documents.

"The star will show the way..."

And it's only now that I realise that I've never said my name, Miss Kim, and I don't know how she came to know it.

"You're a beautiful girl, Nabi."

For a moment, I thought that maybe her words weren't made up or lying, but rather a warning, but it was only for a second.

I decided not to give it much thought, shaking my head as if to drive the thought away. If it were a sign of my destiny, it'd be my meeting with her on Saturday. I looked out the window again. As if mocking me, the crescent moon shone brightly through the thick midnight clouds. One thing I was absolutely sure of: a visit to 'Сrescent' would change my life forever.

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raz-writes-the-thing · 1 year ago

Text

Mine (Doctor Who Drabble)

Dark!Ten x Fem!Reader 18+ ONLY / requests are open

Summary: Dark!Ten would do anything to keep you with him.

CW: Dark!Ten, blood, smut

DW: @nyxiethesimp @quickslvxrr @midnight--raine @blueberry-sunshines @stevekempscocktails @go-bonkers-go-foolish @peytonpenguin37 @yeethaw13 (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

“You,” the Doctor growled, hand over your mouth to forcefully keep you quiet as he thrusts himself against your cunt with no mercy. “Are not allowed to fucking leave me. No, oh- you’re mine. All fucking mine.”

You whimper against his hand, trying to keep your eyes open so you can see the look on his face. He likes it when you’re watching.

“No fucking baser species is going to take you from me,” he growls, shoving two fingers inside your mouth. Your lips wrap around them dutifully, and the metallic tang that hits your tastebuds reminds you that there are still splatters of blood across his hands and chest.

You’d be lying if the thought didn’t make your cunt clench with need.

“You’re mine,” he grinds out again, shoving his fingers into the back of your throat. You swallow around the fingers as your throat threatens to make you gag. His hips snap against you and a little bit of drool slips past your lips and down your chin. It mixes with the splatters of blood on your face, turning the lightest shade of pink. “Oh yes- no one is allowed to touch you, darling. I will kill every single being who even turns an eye to look at you.”

Your eyes roll back as his words send molten heat down your spine. You really shouldn’t react that way to his violent words. You know he’s not kidding. You know he’s telling you the absolute truth. He has and would kill anyone for you- entire worlds have burned for an unpleasant comment towards you.

And yet you stayed. And his filthy words promising blood, and death to anyone who got in your way? Turned you on faster than anything else, and he knew it, too.

“You like that, don’t you?” He asked, fingering your mouth and watching as the drool collected on his fingers and slid down your chin. “You like to hear what I’d do to them- how I wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone- anyone- for you,” he ripped his fingers out of your mouth and placed them around your throat. “Blimey, I think even seeing the blood on my face- on my fingers when I’ve killed someone turns you on, doesn’t it?”

You nod against his fingers and he laughs.

“You’re filthy- fucking meant for me, darling, and I will never let you go.”

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vezpr · 3 months ago

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corporal: ch 2 - expectations

SUKUNAxF!READER ☽☾ HEIAN ERA AU ☽☾ ONGOING SERIES ☽☾ AO3

☽☾𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬:CH1: PUNISHMENT ▪︎ CH2: EXPECTATIONS ▪︎ CH3: DENIAL

☽☾ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: You are such a menace that your father decides to offer your eternal servitude as a gift to the King of Curses.

Sukuna has not accepted such a tribute in years, more often opting to eat the young girls rather than put them to work, which is perfectly acceptable as far as your asshole dad is concerned.

Will the demon make an exception for you?

☽☾ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 18+MINORS DNI, blood and gore, violence, abuse, true form sukuna, eventual smut (still not yet), references to cannibalism, angst, I suck at tags

☽☾ 𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @sodapop182 ; @moonchhu

☽☾ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: CH: 3.5k TOTAL: 7.7k

If you would like to be added to the taglist, please comment something to that effect. But please put an age in your bio so i don't have to block you. lmk if I'm doing this right, I'm an absolute virgin and open to suggestions. Thanks for reading. 🖤

Tearing through the woods outside of the shrine, you don't think about your sister, this time. You don't think of your father or his men, your mother, nothing. No memories, pleasant or unpleasant, swim up through the ink of night as the trees claw at your clothes and skin. Your mind is eclipsed with a fear as hot and red as the fire in your lungs.

You have not known fear like this for a long time, perhaps ever. All the running that you did from your father and his men was done more out of spite than fear. You had certain expectations of them. You were familiar with their cruelty and the limitations placed on it by society, or by your mother, perhaps. You father was not a kind man, by any means, but his eyes softened somewhat when they looked at her. The only power that you had was that of being able to put them through their paces. Here, you did not even have that. The comfort of expectations does not exist for the monster at your back, no more than the limitations of ordinary men.

So, you run, spurred by terror long after your rapidly depleting stamina should have forced you to stop. It feels like hours have passed when you finally come to a halt, hands on your knees, panting, muscles burning. Hyperaware of every sound, every sensation, even the trickle of sweat down the line of your back is enough to raise your hackles, but there is nothing but the ragged sound of your own breathing in the stillness.

As you try to slow your respirations, you ask yourself what it is you're so afraid of. Pain? You are overly familiar with pain. Your heart gradually slows as you come to the conclusion that Sukuna can only hurt you or kill you, just like any other man. Pain you can endure. And death? Well, if you are dead, then you won't be bothered, will you? You'll just be dead. What would wound you more is humiliation. Your mouth presses into a grim line as you ponder it.

Did the bastard confiscate your things and let you go, trusting that you would meet your own end in the forest without his help? Not the worst plan, you decide, as it occurs to you, for the first time, that you really have no place to go, no plan beyond running. Beyond escape. You've never had to plan beyond that because you've always been outnumbered, overpowered and dragged back.

Does he think you will return on your own? You scoff into the darkness at the thought. I'd sooner hang myself from one of these trees, you think to yourself as you look up at the branches, silver in the Autumn starlight. Still. Quiet. Unnaturally so, as if the earth itself is holding it's breath. Hiding.

Even before you hear it, you feel it, looming large and lethal at your back. Larger than Sukuna, even. Much larger. It shifts it's enormous weight, rustling the leaf litter. As you peer over your shoulder, your eyes widen and your heart hammers against your ribs like you never stopped running. A reptilian chittering sound blooms out of the dark: a bony whisper, a rattlesnake kind of warning. The moon outlines it's dark shape in indigo, a moving mountain that tears trees right out of the earth as it moves after you. How you didn't see or hear it before is a mystery.

Your feet slam against the shuddering ground with the slowness of nightmares as a scream claws it's way out of your throat. You don't make it very far before a root hooks your foot and sends you sprawling. A sickening snap followed by bright sparks of pain shoot up from your wrist as you catch your fall with your hand. When you look down to see splinters of bone jutting out of a ragged wound, a hysterical sob escapes your mouth. You clutch your injured limb against your chest as your heels churn at the dirt, propelling you backwards, too slow as the monster stops short in front of you.

It is too awful to look at, a twisted amalgamation of drooling faces and colorless eyes shining with idiot hunger as it prepares to stuff you into its many jagged mouths. You dig your chin into your shoulder, squeezing your eyes shut and baring your teeth as you feel it's hot, putrid breath against your skin. Thick, black saliva drips into the dirt between your feet and burns it like acid, white tendrils of smoke rising from the bubbling pool.

The chittering sound rises again, like a demonic chorus of cicadas. Distantly, you realize the effect is created by all of those throats babbling at once. You find yourself too breathless to scream as it's clumsy teeth try to find purchase in the flesh of your calf, only succeeding in lightly scratching and slobbering all over it. Perhaps in frustration, its crying slowly rises in pitch, high and keening.

Then, there is another, quieter sound, that cuts the wailing short. It is soft like a whip cutting through the air before it cracks, like the hiss of lightning parting the sky before the thunder of it crashing back together. Crashing like the quivering weight that descends upon your lower body as the monster inexplicably falls to pieces at your feet. You blink owlishly at the dismantled pile of flesh, hardly daring to believe that it is truly dead, even as its quivering breaths grow still.

Your legs throb under the lifeless weight of it. It is impossible to drag yourself out from under it with your one good arm, so you resort to wiggling on your back in the dirt, removing yourself inch by excruciating inch. You haven't yet had the time, nor the prescence of mind to worry about what lurking horror might have so effortlessly ended the dead thing that pins you to the dirt. That mystery is soon solved for you when a familiar voice comes out of the dark behind you.

"Tch. Pathetic."

You cease your struggles and crane your neck back, pressing the back of your head into the dirt to meet Sukuna's garnet gaze. He leans against a tree, as if he can't be bothered to hold himself up, looking only vaguely interested in the scene before him.

"Me, pathetic?" You spit, redoubling your efforts to writhe out from under the dead thing. "Was I not easy enough to kill? You had to sic your pet on me?" The thought had only now occurred to you, that Sukuna had unleashed this thing on you, but the notion already has your blood boiling with rage.

Sukuna snorts, "Not mine." His eyes leave you in favor of examining the corpse. "Hm. A grade two, this one," he mutters.

Your eyes follow his and you notice a jagged, black fang, about the length of your outstretched hand, lying in the dirt by your hip. Glancing back to ensure his eyes are still focused on the monster, you stretch out your good arm and wrap your fingers around it. The edges bite into your fingers, but you clutch it like a lifeline, headless of the pain.

"Well, do you intend to finish the job, or are you just going to stand there, blabbering nonsense?" You sneer, craning your neck to look up at him.

His eyes snap back to yours and he smirks, lazily peeling himself away from the tree and stepping towards you. "So eager to die, arent you?"

He lifts the bulk of dead flesh away from you with one hand as he hooks another into the pit of your injured arm and drags you to your feet.

Gritting your teeth, you swing your good arm, arcing your makeshift weapon to catch him in the back, but he snatches your wrist away with yet another arm. Now, you are leaning awkwardly against his chest as he supports most of your weight. You legs are not as useful as you might have hoped. They burn painfully and buckle at the knees as the blood rushes back to your cramping muscles.

He eyes the monster's tooth in your hand with mild interest. "You want to hurt me with that?" He asks with a mean grin. "Go ahead."

With that he lets go of you and takes a step back. You cry out in frustration as your traitorous legs buckle underneath you and you land on your knees at his feet. He throws his head back and laughs as you snarl up at him and swing your makeshift weapon at his legs, which dodge your clumsy blows effortlessly.

"For weeks you lived in peace with me and now all these theatrics, for what reason?" He muses as he steps this way and that to avoid your rageful attacks. It doesn't take long for him to grow bored of this game, and you are taken aback when he sinks to his knees in front of you. Even so, he towers over you so that you have to hyperextend your neck to see his face. His lower set of hands snatch you up around the waist while the upper pain pin your arms to your sides. You grunt at the pain in your broken wrist, but he takes no notice.

"I asked you a question," he snarls, holding you at eye level.

He huffs when you only writhe in his grip and scream in his face until your throat is raw and you are too breathless to continue.

"Fucking feral little rat," he mutters. "Is it because I touched your leg?" He asks, eyes dragging the length of your body.

You scoff. Of course it wasn't just that it's...

"Are you throwing a tantrum because I didn't ask permission? Hm? And what was the plan? Where will you go?" He cuts off your thoughts by echoing your own thinking from earlier. It has you subconsciously biting into your cheek hard enough to draw blood. Infuriating.

He smirks. "Just a spoiled little princess playing at running away. Well. Time to grow up, little girl, and realize that you will always belong to a man. Before, you belonged to your bitch of a father, and now, you belong to me."

No longer able to hold in your rage you shreik and slam your head forward in an attempt to split his smirking lips. Of course, he leans away and you only succeed in tossing your hair, drawing another cackle from his mouth.

"You want to hurt me? Try, brat," he bellows to be heard over your shreiking as he presses his forehead against yours hard enough to bruise. The moment he releases your good arm you sink the oversized canine into his temple and drag it down, flaying his cheek. A second swing and his larger, upper eye is reduced to a wobbling jelly running into the bleeding wound. Slick with gore, the tooth drops from your hand and Sukuna slams you down on your back with enough force to steal the air out of your lungs.

Then he is folded over you, hand on your jaw tilting your gaze to his wounded face. "Look at me," he instructs and your stomach lurches as the flesh bubbles and warps. Then it is takes its old, unmarred shape, as new and smooth as ever. You stare at it, blinking as if that brief interruption of sight might return it to ruin, as it was seconds ago. As if to dispel your disbelief another of his hands grasp your broken wrist, lifting your hand so that your fingertips brush his new skin. At the same instant, your injured joint transforms the same way his wounds had until it is new and free of pain.

Speechless you stare at your hand on his cheek until you realize that he is no longer holding it there. He leans in until his lips are nearly brushing your ear. "I can touch you however I like, whenever I like," he says, slipping a hand from your waist to trace the angle of your hip bone and the curve of your outer thigh through your ruined kimono. "I can break you and mend you, break you and mend you and never, ever let you die." His hand slips from your jaw to your throat where he squeezes briefly before, suddenly, he hauls himself off of you.

"So, brat," he says, standing over you haloed in the pink light of dawn, "if you are ever so lucky as to have me touch you again, try not to overreact."

All you seem to be able to do is slide your eyes stupidly from your healed wrist to his unblemished face until all the breath decides to leave your lungs at once. The sky, blushing with dawn and tattooed with skeletal branches, fades to black.

...

Emika, grinning, face tilted toward the dappled sunlight, laughter bubbling out of her throat. It is a musical sound until it changes, distorts into a horrible chittering, vacous and reptilian. Her mouth opens, impossibly wide, a poisonous womb that delivers a wailing many-faced blackness that swallows the world. Closer, the newborn horror leans in until all you can see is a single wet, red maw screaming its hunger and eager to feed on you. It is made of hunger and fear. Its tongue lolls out and begins to twist and warp. It pales and changes shape, grows four garnet eyes, a tattooed jaw, a laughing mouth. Sukuna's face leaning close to yours. "Look at me," he says, surrounding you, a universe that leaves you no choice. He is still laughing when he tilts away, falling out of orbit as gravity pulls your back into the dirt. He is replaced by a robin's egg sky seen in patches through the green leaves of spring.

Emika's face glides into view, a smiling autumn moon in the Spring sky.

Her bamboo sword taps your neck.

"Dead," she says.

Dead like the warrior she once daydreamed of being, with a katana on her back and a pretty servant girl at her side.

"Dead." She smiles, haloed in sunlight.

Your eyes blink open. Even as the nightmare fades you realize it holds too many parallels to waking life for comfort. Finding yourself suspended above the ground in an unfamiliar position, your body jerks, your legs inadvertently tightening around Sukuna's waist. He is carrying you like a child on his hip, his lower arm hooked under your backside while his upper one supports your back. Your chin rests over his shoulder, your cheek pressed into his neck. Finding this abhorrent, you squirm weakly.

"I can walk now," you mutter, but you are so tired. Your eyelids, leaden.

"Walking has caused you enough trouble, wouldn't you say?" He chuckles, a sound that is becoming increasingly annoying.

In any case, the dead weight of your body against his is enough to refute your claim.

Your eyes flutter closed, head lolling against his neck. He smells of smoke, blood and earth and he is warm against you. The effect is like a sleeping tincture.

"I want to know," you mutter against his skin as you struggle against your rapidly retreating consciousness. "I want to know what is expected of me."

You are too exhausted to think of your statement as an acquiesence, but that is what it is. Sukuna is taking you back to the shrine and you are accepting it. Perhaps that is why he laughs. Your eyes pop open at the hateful sound and you hope that he does not discern the increasing tempo of your heart with the way that your chest is pressed into him. Wouldn't want to give him the satisfaction.

"Expectations," he says. "You can't live without them, hm? How, then, would you rebel?"

You clench your teeth. He is unbearable. You hate him. God, you hate him. But you are just so tired right now.

"I have no expectations of you, rat." He continues after a pause, although he thinks to himself that you are really more of a mouse, at the moment, as you go limp again with sleep.

...

When you wake again, from a long sleep that is blessedly dreamless, there is nothing to greet you but silence and the shrinking light of early evening. You lie for a moment on the futon, staring at the dark grid of ceiling in your chambers.

Under the thinning haze of sleep that still clouds your mind, a flickering flame of rage persists. When you look down at yourself, filthy with mud, blood, and mystery secretions from whatever that thing in the forest was, it grows brighter. Cast off and forgotten like a broken doll. You flex your healed wrist. Why does it make you even angrier?

I have no expectations

You tear off your kimono and toss it aside, fuming.

Rat.

You tear the linens, ruined by your dirtiness, off of your futon and thrust them away to join your clothing on the floor.

"Maybe I will go around naked, then," you fume, stomping towards the door, but you stop there, losing your nerve. "Bet you wouldn't expect that. Bet you would find that you have some expectations after all."

spoiled little princess

"Maybe I will go around like this is my home and you are an unwanted guest," you hiss into the silence.

time to grow up and realize you will always belong to a man

You retrieve your dirty kimono and shrug into it, gathering the fabric loosely around your chest with one hand while you rip something clean out of the wardrobe with the other. The shoji door slams against the doorframe as you storm out of the room not bothering to close it.

now you belong to me

Uraume and Baba look up from their work, picking vegetables for dinner in the courtyard as you tear across it without sparing them a glance. You make quite a sight, blood-streaked and furious.

"He'll be getting his kicks with that one for quite some time, I'll say... yes," Baba croaks as her milky eyes track your movements.

"Baba!" Uraume scolds.

"It's the truth," Baba crows. "It is!"

...

The steaming water of the hot spring soothes the aching muscles of your legs. This makes encroaching on his territory doubly satisfying, even if he, being a morning bather, in your limited experience - doesn't find out. You close your eyes and hold your breath, sinking to the bottom on your knees. Your fingers rake through the matted mess of your hair, breaking loose the dirt and dried blood. You stay under until your lungs burn and then burst to the surface with a sharp inhalation.

"What the fuck do you think you are doing?"

You startle at the sound of Sukuna's voice booming over the soft gurgling of the water. He is standing at the opposite end of the spring, kimono pooled around his feet, hands frozen at his waist in the middle of loosening his hakama.

"Whatever I want, since you have no expectations," you retort, having recovered quickly from your surprise.

He snorts. "Alright."

You glare at each other through the rising steam.

You are the first to avert your eyes when Sukuna resumes undressing, unceremoniously dropping his hakama.

Your back is turned and you make a point of staying submerged to the shoulders as you make your way to the edge of the pool. You movements increase in urgency, heart thumping faster as you hear him splash into the water behind you. Unwilling to let him see your bare skin, you pull your clean kimono into the water and put it on while still submerged.

When you drag yourself over the lip of the pool in your dripping robes, he is laughing. Your skin erupts in goose flesh that cannot be entirely attributed to your soaked clothes and the chill in the air. Although it pisses you off to no end, you try to at least appear unperturbed. Chin held high, you make it a point not to look at him as you march back toward the shrine, as if he is beneath your notice. You hope he feels it.

"Come here, rat."

You pause, your back still turned to him.

"I said, come here." He repeats.

Vacillating between the desire to defy him and the desire to seem unafraid, you settle on the latter and make your way back to the water's edge. There is a deliberate slowness in your movements, to show that you are in no hurry to obey him.

Sitting on the lip of the pool, you let your calves dangle over the edge, lazily treading water.

"What do you want?" you hiss, meeting his crimson gaze.

#sukuna x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #jjk x reader #fanfiction #true form sukuna #jjk sukuna #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna x female reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #no use of y/n

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draco-dormiens · 3 months ago

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FOR ALL THAT IS RIGHT AND JUST - Chp. 1

auror!draco x auror!fem!slytherin reader / post-war au

a/n: sorry about my inconsistent ass. i'm hoping you enjoy this first chapter after i changed it a little, makes better sense for the story to come. sit back and relax cos this is nearly 4000 words bby ♡

warnings: talk of the war, people missing/kidnapping, strong language, mutual pining

wc: 3984

tags: @yeolsbubbles @send-me-styles @shinytalent

tag list open!!

masterlist

Ministry Mayhem

London, 1st May 2007

In the early hours of Tuesday morning, as the sun rose and began to cast it's orangey glow through the gaps in the bedroom curtains, the first ring of an alarm blared a rather unwelcome sound throughout the quietness of the small London flat that you called home. Sleepily, you peel your eyes open to read the time; 6:15am. With a soft grunt, you reach out to slam the snooze button with all the strength you could muster. A typical day, no less, was awaiting you at the Auror office of the British Ministry of Magic, and it was about to wait a little longer, too.

Besides, it wasn't as if anything was in dire need of solving. For the last ten years, the wizarding world had come to know a peace that had long escaped it. The fear and uncertainty that comes with nasty rumours, shadowy figures and the whispers of war was long over now. Harry Potter had fought and won against the most fearsome Dark Wizard in all of history, and now he was keeping the peace as Head of the Auror Office. Although, it wasn't all that exciting nowadays. The more gripping cases ranged from bewitched broomsticks to Oblivating Muggles in the wrong place at the wrong time. It certainly wasn't taking a whole team of Aurors to clear the workload, with most officers getting fidgety and frustrated. It was as if they wanted something to happen; in your eyes, you'd rather be Oblivating an elderly woman who saw a young boy riding a broomstick over London than some raging lunatic.

The clock blares again. Another tap of the snooze button. For a moment, you thought you'd heard knocking at your window. No, you think, I'm just tired. Five more minutes and I'll get up.

It wasn't your first choice, becoming an Auror. During your school years as a young Slytherin, you were certain it was Ancient Runes that you would pursue. That was long before the brewing storm started to reach its boiling point, clouding up any chance you had of finishing school. The prospect of war had reached civilians, and along with it a great fear of the unknown. It was perilous to venture outside of your home; your parents had been cautious to send you back for sixth year. The rumours were terrible. Frightening, even, especially when it was becoming clearer that most of them were true. Even the ones in your own family. A vivid memory of your father arguing in hushed whispers with your uncle one night over Christmas break, had solidified a fear that had been nagging your parents for a long while.

"You can't," your father said, almost spitting the words as you pressed your ear to the door, "don't go to him. Don't give your life away for something so ludicrous."

Your friends began whispering amongst themselves. Troublesome tales of someone you had known your whole life had started circulating around the school. A hard pill to swallow, but one you had to force down eventually.

"My parents said he's right," Pansy had muttered one night in the common room, the glow of the fire just lighting up her face, "I'm starting to think that following him is the better way to go."

"Have you seen Draco lately? He looks dreadful. His attitude is somehow worse." Daphne whispered, and then gulped, "you don't think... surely not, right? He's only our age."

"Dunno, heard his father was a follower during the first war," Blaise then added, looking around to make sure no one was eavesdropping, "I wouldn't hold your breath. I think he's one of them."

You stir in your sleep as if an unpleasant dream had began to plague your slumber. The clock blares its final warning, and with it, a series of sharp, jarring taps at your window that only grow in volume the longer you lay there. Groggily, you get up, slamming the alarm clock as you make your way to the impatient visitor. As you pull back the curtain, you see a familiar owl perched on the window sill with a letter secured in its beak. You open the window and gently take it from it's grip, and with a mighty swoosh of its wings, it soars off over the city. Ripping open the letter, you hadn't bothered to notice the wax seal of the Auror office, and begin to read:

Get down to the office as soon as you can. Sending this to everyone. It's serious.

From the handwriting you can tell who the sender is. Though still half asleep, you understand the urgency and begin rushing to get dressed. As you button the last hole on your blouse, readying yourself to enter the Ministry through the Floo network, you hear a knock at your door. Grumbling about who it could be and marching across the living room, you swing it open to be met with your, quite literal, partner in crime.

"Draco." You say simply, a smile ghosting your lips. He beams back, his attire as pristine as if he just walked out of the store. His white hair not an inch out of place, his black suit and white button down completely creaseless, and a glimmering Auror badge on his jacket to top it all off. He flashes a pearly white smile, leaning against the door frame with that same old cocky demeanour. Draco appears in some of your earliest memories as a child, and even now in work, he was a significant part of your everyday life. Growing up as children of wealthy pureblood families, it was a regular practice to mingle with those of your kind. Even though his personality was an acquired taste, despite your differing views and childish bickering, he was still both a thorn in your side and a priceless friend.

Friend. For as long as you can remember.

"Morning, take it you got Potters note?" He said, sauntering in to your apartment like it was his own, "reckon he's being a bit dramatic, don't you? Probably just dropped a biscuit in his brew."

"I doubt he'd send an owl all over London for a biscuit, Draco," you call back, hurrying to get the rest of your things together before leaving, "I think something is genuinely wrong, and I'm a little worried if I'm honest. We haven't had anything major in... well, forever."

"You know, if you'd told me in like, fifth year, that one day I'd be clambering out of bed before seven in the morning for Potter, I'd probably have pitched myself off the highest turret." Draco said dramatically, just after accusing Harry of being equally as ridiculous.

"Stop moaning and get in the fireplace," you said as if it were something normal people say on a regular basis, "we need to get down there and find out what's happening."

Draco, still mumbling, clambers into your fireplace and waits for you to squeeze in next to him. Much smaller than his own, he's bent doubly to get in, and ushers you to get the Floo powder before his back gives in. His moaning is only met with a rather stern look from yourself. You take a handful of Floo powder from the little bag sitting on the hearth, and take Draco's hand in yours. With a chant, you fling the powder down at your feet, and with a puff of green smoke, you both disappear, leaving the small flat empty and silent.

In the blink of an eye, you're no longer standing in your living room, but instead in the shiny, emerald tiled entrance to the Ministry. Draco dusts himself down, tutting at the slight specs of soot on his jacket, not noticing how you've become stiff with shock.

"Bloody Floo network," he mumbles to himself, coming to stand beside you, "how are you spotless? It's always me that gets-"

He stops his rambling when his eyes follow your line of vision to see the hoard of people just up ahead, swarming the foyer like ants, an incoherent jumble of noises filling the air from cries to shouts. All extremely well dressed and rather wealthy looking, you both got the impression that these people were not average witches and wizards: they were, in fact, much like yourselves - from old, pureblood money.

"What in Merlin's name is all of this?" You mutter, mostly to yourself, as your feet start to carry you towards the mess, Draco following behind. In the midst of all the chaos, is Delphina Sallow, the lady that usually operates the front desk of the Auror office. Delphina was a tall, slender woman with very dark hair and pale blue eyes, which were a striking contrast to her rather ghostly complexion. A nervous sort of woman, she was struggling immensely in a heated conversation with a man you recognised as Mr Selwyn, whose son was in your year at Hogwarts. Much larger than back then, with his pointer finger jabbing the air furiously, he seems to be, at best, enraged.

"This is a travesty, young lady!" He bellows at Delphina, who has resorted to using her clipboard for protection against the wave of saliva, "my son has been taken, taken I tell you, right from under our noses! Sleeping soundly he was; I can see him sitting there during third supper, not a care in the world, enjoying his fourth lamb chop like the innocent boy he is. I demand justice, young lady, or so help me I'll sue the entire Auror office for all it's bloody well worth."

"P-please, sir, I'm only the receptionist, I-I don't have any authority to help you-"

"No authority?" Mr Selwyn shouts with such force, his large moustache almost flies off of his round, purple face, "I do not care for your position, young lady, get me someone who can find my son or I'll be in the right mind to get you fired. I know people in high places, you know!"

"Excuse me," you interrupt as you reach them, Delphina's face washing over with absolute relief, "can I ask what's going on here? Miss Sallow is not an officer, sir. If you have concerns, please take them up with someone clearly wearing a badge."

You point abruptly to the shining Auror badge on your jacket. Mr Selwyn scoffs irritably.

"Well, miss badge, I demand you find my son. At once." He rounds on you, his large, bulbous belly almost touching you before he can get any closer. Draco appears almost instantly, standing just in front of you, the most condescending smile curling at his lips, trying and failing to hide the clear desire to swing a fist into Mr Selwyns beetroot coloured face.

"If you get any closer, sir, I may have to resort to unsavoury means. All in the name of law, you understand." Draco stood completely straight, towering over the stumpy Mr Selwyn, to which the angered man grunted something under his breath before waddling off to his next victim.

"Thank you," Delphina sighs, dabbing the sweat on her forehead with a handkerchief, "he's not the only one I've dealt with this morning. So many reports of missing persons, all within the last few hours or so. I-it's my day off, I'm only here on Mr Potter's orders."

"As are we, Miss Sallow," Draco smiles at Delphina, to which she blushes furiously, "I think you should head back up. Tell Potter we're here, would you?"

As if the Minister himself had instructed her, she scurries off to the lifts.

"Honestly, you could tell Del to jump off a cliff." You scoff lightheartedly, turning back to see a rather smug looking Draco, as he simply fixes his tie and winks down at you.

"It's the charm, darling. Don't say it doesn't affect you, too."

Before he can bask in your flustered reaction, off in the distance, amongst more distraught civilians, you spot Cerberus Langarm, fellow Auror, rushing through the crowds of people with a look of pure determination on his face. You tug on Draco's arm, inciting him to follow you, as you battle through to chase Cerberus. Amid the madness, you hear a mixture of complaints and angry voices from the hoard of people. As you close in on Cerberus, you call out to him, causing him to halt and turn at the sound of your voice.

"I take it you both got letters, then?" Cerberus says as you reach him, "didn't know what we'd be walking into, but this is something else. Somehow, I don't think it's about a bewitched broomstick this time."

Cerberus Langarm was a tall, well built man with sun-kissed, olive skin and dark, shaved hair. He kept a very neatly trimmed moustache, and under his left eye was a deep scar that covered most of his cheek. He was a man dedicated to his duty, and other aspects of his life came second to it, which Draco often made a joke about. Cerberus was a well accomplished man of the law, and highly respected amongst his fellow officers and higher ups.

Sometimes, you wondered if Draco was a little jealous of Cerberus and his undeniable ability to walk into a room and make it sing for him.

"Delphina said something about missing person reports," you being to explain as the three of you make for the lifts, "and I have noticed something; most of these people, they look like a certain group of wizards. Don't you think?"

"You mean rich, pompous purebloods who have nothing better to do than flash their money and complain about Muggles?" Cerberus said, "yeah, they seem the sort. All I know is that Potter better have an explanation for all of this."

The lifts were especially busy; people were squashed like sardines in a can, garnering irritable tuts and mumblings amongst the staff trying to reach their destinations. The three of you manage to squeeze into a lift heading for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; whispers of the going's on in the foyer filled the usually awkward silence, as the relatively short journey felt like an eternity.

Once the lift had landed at the correct floor, the three of you took no time in squeezing out of the overflowing space and into the open air. For what felt like a moment of relief, was soon overtaken by the mayhem that you were presented with. The department was practically torn apart; papers everywhere, frantic officers pacing back and forth between rooms, folded notes in the shape of paper airplanes zoomed up and down the hallway, narrowly missing your head when one bolted for the lift doors, making it just in time before they slammed shut.

"Salazar's mother," Cerberus muttered, looking back at yourself and Draco whose eyes were transfixed by the sight, "we better find Potter."

Meanwhile, inside Harry's office, stood Harry and Auror Penelope Fawley, assessing the multitude of reports from that morning. They could hear the muffled sound of panic outside, the office workers were working relentlessly to try and get some sort of order in the place. Piles of letters sat upon Harry's desk, as the two of them read aloud the contents of the reports.

"During the night we heard strange ongoings in the neighbours backyard, sounds of magic and a man's voice," says Penelope outloud, "my husband got out of bed and lit up the room with his wand, before trekking down the stairs to peer out of the kitchen window. He thinks he saw two people appartating from the neighbours garden, but his eyesight is not what it used to be. Then, at around 5:30am, we received a knock on the door. It was Mrs Selwyn. Her son was missing."

Penelope, a fair-haired, pretty woman with dark blue eyes and black rimmed glasses, ran her perfectly manicured finger across the parchment as she read. Harry, now pacing up and down the office with his chin in his hand, listened carefully to what Penelope was reading aloud. She places down the parchment and picks up another letter, tearing it open and unfolding the note inside. Penelope clears her throat and begins reading once more:

"I received an owl from my sister a few days ago. She was worried that someone had been outside her house during the night, but couldn't seem to undo the Colloportus charm her husband casts on all the doors when he works nights. She has young children, and they live in a relatively secluded place." Penelope read, and then perched against the desk, "I owled back immediately, but didn't seem to receive a reply. Then around 6:00am this morning, her husband, Blaise Zabini, showed up at our door. My sister, Daphne Zabini, was missing from her bed when he returned home from work. The children were still sound asleep and seemingly untouched."

Harry comes to a halt at the window overlooking Muggle London below. With a great sigh, he rubs his tired eyes that had been awake since the early hours of the morning. As he turns to speak to Penelope, they both hear heavy, hurried footsteps beyond the door, and within a few seconds, you burst in, all guns blazing, Cerberus and Draco in hot pursuit.

"I do hope you have an explantation, Harry," you pant slightly, "what on earth is happening? Missing witches and wizards - and what was Delphina doing in foyer; she was getting practically spat at by Mr Selwyn, and not to mention the hoard of people downstairs, and the office-"

"Thank you, officer Y/L/N, I'm well aware of the situation both outside my door and in the foyer. In fact, I've been well aware of it since three this morning, so, if you’d be so kind as to ask one question at a time, I'd really appreciate it." said Harry, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Draco stifles a laugh behind you.

"Potter," Cerberus advances forward with urgency, "any kind of light you can shed."

Harry composes himself, and then walks over to his desk, pushing forward what looked like a collection of personal files from the Ministry of Magic Archives; somewhere that a person would need all kinds of permissions to enter. It contained many records - such as historical records, every single published issue of The Daily Prophet, various magical projects and, most importantly, personal files of every witch or wizard that comes into magic across the country. Draco, his interest now peaked, gently brushes past you with a hand at the small of your back, his eyebrows knitted together in a very curious expression. He begins shuffling through them, his features relaxing into more concern than curiosity when he realises each and every one of them have a big, red stamp across the front that read: Missing.

"These," he breathes, looking up at Harry, who's expression was more exhaustion than anything else, "these are all purebloods... I know half of 'em. Nott, for one. Scrawny devil."

"They all look the sort in the foyer, too," adds Cerberus, "lots of old money and questionable bloodlines down there. Odd coincidence?"

"Not likely," pipes up Penelope, who lifts herself elegantly off the edge of the desk, "every single one of these witches and wizards have gone missing during the last few hours. All of them, and without a single trace. No signs of break ins, no signs of struggle or injury at the locations they went missing from. It's a fair assumption to say they have been kidnapped - and not by some amature."

"So you're saying that a whole bunch of wizards from pure bloodlines have just miraculously been taken from their beds in the night. For what reason, exactly?" Draco raises an eyebrow at Penelope. She doesn't look too impressed by his questioning of her theory.

"Malfoy," Harry said, not with his usual air of authority, however, it was far more pleading, "Penelope has a point. Let me give the bigger picture," Harry slumps down onto his office chair with a heaving sigh, before tucking himself under the desk and resting his elbows on the surface, hands intertwined, "I was called in by the Minister at three o'clock this morning. That's when the first report came in about a missing person. Not long after that, they started coming in troves. One after the other, we couldn't keep up. Hence why I owled," he took a pause, "Penelope was first here, and with her help, we retrieved the personal reports to further investigate the missing persons. We made the connection of their blood status quite quick, and have since then been trying to theorise as to why it only seems to be witches and wizards of a certain blood status."

"I'd say that was quite obvious," said Cerberus, who was a rather serious and right-to-the-point kind of officer, "someone out there has a grudge against them, surprisingly," he said with an air of sarcasm, "but it can't just be one person that has done all of this; there must be some sort of group or organisation. No one, even with magic, can be in all of those places at once."

Penelope suddenly gasped, and everyone looked around at her.

"What about Hogwarts? They need informing immediately. The amount of students, and faculty, that could be in danger tomorrow," she said with the utmost seriousness, "I can go, Harry. I can fly to Hogsmeade, they won't know a thing unless-"

"Thank you, Penelope, but I have already considered Hogwarts," Harry cut her off gently, and her shoulders slumped in relief, "in fact, I need to speak to Y/L/N and Malfoy. Langarm and Fawely - you go down into the foyer and tell the public to go home and rest. There's nothing more we can do right now without some more information."

The other two left, leaving Harry, Draco and yourself alone in his messy office. Once the door had been shut softly, he ushers you both to take a seat in front of him. You both do so, as Harry relaxes a little in his plush office chair, relishing of the quietness for a moment.

"As you may already be aware, it's the tenth year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts tomorrow and a memorial service is being held at the school," Harry begins to explain, "myself and Ron were invited by McGonagall as guests to represent the Ministry, and well, for other obvious reasons," he waves a dismissive hand, "however, with all this, I think it best we stay here. I'd much rather be there to support McGonagall, but I feel it's necessary that I'm accessible. So, instead, I'm sending you too to keep watch."

"Me?" Draco exclaims. Harry raises his eyebrows at the sudden outburst, "I hardly doubt they'd want me there, Potter. Can you imagine their faces?"

"I'm not sending you as guests, Malfoy," Harry reiterates, "I'm sending you as Ministry officials. You won't need to do anything drastic. I just want you to keep an eye on things. I'll send other officers too, as we might need to change protocol slightly to ease McGonagall's mind. Merlin knows she'll panic when she receives the owl I'm going to send."

"You can count on us, Harry." You say with utter confidence, "If anything happens, I'll inform you immediately. My owl is rather good at finding me in a tight situation."

"Thank you," he smiles kindly, Draco now completely silent, "now, you'll need to take the train to Hogwarts with the guests of the ceremony. I'd feel much better if you were on that train. I can't have eyes everywhere, so be my eyes. Got it?"

With a very sure nod, you rise from your seat, pulling an extremely quiet Draco up with you by the arm. You could tell he was bothered about returning to the school, even after all this time, but you had every bit of confidence in him. Even if he had none in himself.

disclaimer: i do not own harry potter or any of the characters or storyline associated with it.

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