#Unlit Library

[harseer]

There is a library by the riverside.

Just down from where the poles grow.

It can exist only under the darkness of a moonless night.

And when eyes and ears come, it goes.

Poetry, Sagas, Encyclopedias, held only in the taste of a binding,

The smell of paper and the wetness of its long-dried ink.

Come blinds and deafs and dullards, read as you always have.

Works which may as well never existed.

In the library by the riverside.

[odoraful]

𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑾𝑰𝑳𝑳 𝑵𝑬𝑽𝑬𝑹 𝑲𝑵𝑶𝑾 𝑨 𝑳𝑶𝑵𝑬𝑳𝒀 𝑫𝑨𝒀 𝑨𝑮𝑨𝑰𝑵

life has been a little less empty for zayne with you in it

⟡ content: zayne x gn!reader; established relationship; a little bittersweet, but still with fluff 🫂; appearance of zayne's parents; bits of zayne's childhood; 1.5k words

⟡ a/n: title is from a quote by the wonderful brennan lee mulligan from the D20 season a court of fey and flowers <3 i was feeling very soft about zayne’s life and this was written as a result :’) i hope this is an enjoyable read !

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Emptiness was something Zayne had grown accustomed to. It was in the streets that he walked on at night following a late surgery shift. It was in the study rooms he frequented as a university student–often the last person to leave once all his peers had gone. It was even in the classrooms of his childhood–remaining there to read and draw whilst everyone else played outside during breaks. Emptiness gave him periods of focus, which was important considering the career path he eventually pursued. Though, he had not always welcomed emptiness as a companion in his life.

The first time that Zayne was left home alone was when his parents went on an emergency trip out of town for work. Being only a child, he wringed his small hands as his parents hurried to pack equipment he did not yet understand. Before they left, they repeated instructions to the young boy about what he should do for the night. Warm up dinner, finish his homework, brush his teeth, go to bed early. They did not repeat these because they believed Zayne would be disobedient, but because they knew how frightening aloneness could be for a child. Having set guidelines for what to do would hopefully help him to feel capable of being by himself.  

“Remember, we’re only a phone call away, sweetie,” his mother reassured, smoothing his hair back with her fingers.

His father lowered himself on one knee to kiss his son on the forehead, tousling his hair and the careful combing his wife had just done.

“We’ll be back by tomorrow,” his father also reassured.

As the door clicked shut, Zayne watched from the window, pushing the curtain aside. After seeing and hearing the whirring engine pull away, he let the curtain fall. He stood at the entrance for a moment.

All became still, and he was greeted by emptiness for the first time.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

He was shocked to feel his heartbeat drumming in his chest and hear every small breath he took. His own internal systems were exposed in silence.

He shuffled further into the house, the once familiar space now feeling too big and labyrinthian. Even his thoughts seemed to echo off the walls as he recalled what his parents had told him to do. Yes, he had tasks he needed to complete. Going through his to-do list would surely rid of the uneasiness bubbling inside him.

Zayne checked things off one-by-one. He tried to focus intensely on what needed to be done to forget about the fact that he was alone.

At last, Zayne retreated to his bedroom. His penultimate task was reading one chapter from the library book he borrowed. However, the words were distant to him as the crawling feeling of isolation left goosebumps on his skin.

Patches of unlit space in his room turned into sinister voids waiting to suck him in. The rustle of wind against windows became Wanderers raking their claws against glass.

He closed his book and snuggled deeper and deeper into the blankets, tucking his head inside and squeezing his eyes shut. He prayed he would have no nightmares tonight. If he did have one, he would wake up to nothing but a hollow room and his heart rattling in his ribcage. Torn between needing rest and not wanting bad dreams, exhaustion eventually took hold.

Zayne awoke not to terrors of the emptiness, but to the comforting touch of his mother. Through his own bleary vision, he saw his mother’s tired but gentle eyes. He sat up groggily. 

“You were so very brave, my dear,” his mother praised.  

“W-where’s Dad?” Zayne asked, sleep lifting with each blink of his eyes.

“He’s making breakfast for us.”

Something flickered in his mum’s gaze after her reply. She opened her mouth, hesitating to speak again.

“Zayne.” She took his hands in hers, brushing a finger over his knuckles. “Me and your father… we need to help as many people as we can, so that means this might happen a lot more as you get older.”

She examined her son’s expression. Zayne nodded.

“We love you very much, and we want you to do exactly as you did last night if this happens again, okay?”

Zayne nodded again, understanding then that he and the emptiness would have to get along from now on.

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At the end of another shift at Akso Hospital, Zayne drove out of the parking lot into the deserted streets of Linkon past midnight. Classical music quietly played in the background as he headed home, unlit buildings passing by in the rear-view mirror.

At the red light, he was the only one waiting. Perhaps this hour of the night meant that phantom cars would be most active, bustling about to do their ghostly activities. That sounded like something you would say to comfort him. Zayne could hear your voice in his head, could see you wiggling your fingers in a poor attempt at mimicking spookiness. The corner of his mouth twitched at his own imagination.

But, you weren’t in the passenger seat beside him this time. He stared out the front windshield, emptiness before him.

Parking the car outside his home, he approached the front door. Hovering his fingerprint over the handle, the sensor gave a small buzz of confirmation before unlocking.

Zayne listed off what he needed to do in his head as he turned the handle and entered. Since he already showered at the hospital, he just needed to change into his sleep clothes, have something to eat, and complete his observations of the day in his journal. Tomorrow (or technically today, though the late hour made it difficult to believe this was a new day) marked the beginning of the weekend when he could spend time with you. If he completed his to-do list diligently, then he could rest quickly and see you sooner.

He slipped his shoes off and undid the laces before putting them beside his other pairs. Zayne expected he would be greeted by an empty, unlit interior. The emptiness was no longer was an unwelcome, unsettling sight like he thought it to be as a child. There was a calmness to it that he had grown to appreciate. But, if he dug deep enough inside himself, there was still a feeling of loneliness he could not quite shake.

That was why he frowned when he saw the lights had been turned on in the living room. He definitely recalled turning them off before he left.

Zayne walked further inside, keeping his guard somewhat up for the possibility of an unwanted intruder.

Rather than a burglar, he was surprised, and much more relieved, to see you instead. Curled up on the couch, a blanket wrapped around your body.

He almost didn’t want to interrupt you. You were so cozy and peaceful, bathed in the warm glow of the lights above. At the sound of Zayne’s footsteps, your tired eyes opened, and your head raised towards the noise.

“Zaynie,” you drawled.

Your voice was crackly with sleep, but your smile was as adoring as ever. Combined with the nickname you used for him, affection tugged at his heart.

He hung his bag up and loosened his tie, joining you on the couch.

“What are you doing here?” he asked softly, brushing loose strands of hair away from your face. “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow afternoon.”

“Mmm…” you leaned into his touch. “I thought I’d get a head start and see you earlier.”

 “Earlier being at two o’clock in the morning. You didn’t have to come all this way and wait for me.”

Hearing his point, your lips turned down into a pout.

“Firstly, all this way was only about a 20-minute drive from my place to yours,” you clarified, “and secondly, I wanted to wait for you.”

He breathed a laugh, something between incredulity and fondness. It wasn’t like you didn’t have work today either. Even after your own gruelling shift today fighting Wanderers after a flare-up in a no-hunt zone, you still had the energy to come see him after he finished. Zayne was about to give you a half-serious scolding about staying up late when you leaned closer to him. The words stopped short in his throat as your lips met his cheek.

His face, cold from just being in the night air, blossomed with warmth. Likely due to your tiredness, your reaction time was slower than usual as your kiss lingered for a second or two longer.

“Welcome home, Zayne,” you whispered by his ear as you pulled away.

Home.

His home.

A place that was no longer empty now that you were here. A once solitary existence now filled with your presence.

He wished that he could somehow speak to his younger self. He would say that he would one day be reunited with someone who would wait for him even in the dead of night. That person, with all their endearing stubbornness, would be the one to protect against Wanderers that might be stalking in the emptiness (for they were a renowned Hunter after all), and leave the lights on to dispel any deathly voids.

His mouth parted, breathing becoming unsteady as he whispered back,

“It’s good to be home, my love.”

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[lovegalor333]

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

safe house (next part)

summary: your boyfriend takes it too far again and paige picks us the pieces

content warnings: domestic violence

“Pick up, pick up, pick up.” You plead over the drone of the dialling tone. You were trying to reach your friend Allie, her apartment wasn’t far from where you were but you didn’t want to show up unannounced, but you also didn’t really have a choice. It was either Allies place or a park beach at 11PM because there was no way you were going back to your own apartment.

You lived with your boyfriend who had a temper firey enough to melt ice caps and you often ended up on the receiving end of said temper and today was no different.

You had gone to your classes and studied in the library for a few hours before heading home to cook dinner. Your apartment was silent and unlit when you walked in and you said a silent prayer, thankful that you would get a moments peace.

You cooked dinner, your favourite playlist softly emitting from the speakers, curating the perfect evening vibe.

The sound of a key turning in the door made your head snap up from the stove and you quickly paused your music in an attempt to not create any unnecessary arguments. Your boyfriend had an opinion on everything you did from the way you dressed, who you hung out with and even your music preference. He made it clear that no girl of his would listen to slutty music after you had played SZA one time.

��Hi baby, I cooked for us.” You announced as he joined you the kitchen, peering over your shoulder to look at the pot of freshly cooked pasta.

He’d been at the gym, he smelt of sweat and his skin was clammy against yours as he pressed into you.

“Pasta?” He questioned in disgust as if you just offered him a plate of raw meat.

“Yeah, you love pasta.” You said gently, he did love pasta, you’d been together almost a year now and he’s said many times it’s his favourite food but somehow you knew you’d be in the wrong tonight.

“I’m not eating that.” He scoffed, purposefully knocking the handle of the pot sending the pasta you had just cooked flying to the floor. The tomato sauce still hot, splattered up your leg causing you to jump back and collide into his chest.

“You don’t know me at all.” He says shaking his head, a deep frown set on his face. “You love pasta.” He mocked your words.

You mummbled out apology after apology as you begin to clean the mess he made but it’s no use. His hands were in your hair and then around your throat and you squeeze your eyes closed knowing what was coming next.

Like always, you told yourself just take it, there’s no use fighting back. He was bigger and stronger than you, your small hands are no match to his. Once he got bored, he goes to take a shower, without a second look in your direction and that’s when you left.

By the time you reach Allies place, she still hasn’t picked up so you hope that she’s in and just not on her phone as you knock at the door.

Your face ached and throbbed as you wait for the door to be opened and you knew the metallic taste in your mouth was blood, undoubtedly from a busted lip. Allie knew what your boyfriend was like so the sight of you wouldn’t be a shock but it was because it wasn’t Allie who opened the door.

“Y/N?” Paige, Allies roommate stutters, eyes darting around your face, her shock at your appearance evident.

“Um- is- is Allie here?” You murmur feeling embarrassed that someone else is seeing you like this.

“Um, no. Her and Jana are out. Are you OK? Come in.” She rambles out, stepping aside to let you through the door.

“I can wait in Allies room.” You suggest, noticing the setup of the living room. There was a blanket on the couch and Greys Anatomy was on the television and from the way Paige was dressed, in slouchy plaid pyjama pants and a black sports bra, you assumed you just interrupted her chilled night.

“Wait.” Paige stops you as you begin to walk to your friend’s bedroom. “What happened?”

You turn to look at Paige and her brows are furrowed and eyes turned down in genuine concern. You stare at her for a while, not knowing what to say or how to say it.

“Who did this to you?” She asks gently, voice soft and caring and your walls crumble as tears spill out and you stumble to sit on the couch, suddenly very light headed.

“My boyfriend.” You choke out between sobs and you watch as Paiges face turns from soft and concerned to hard and filled with anger.

“What the fuck?” She hisses coming to sit beside you on the couch. “How long has he been doing that?”

“A while. It’s fine. It looks worse than it is.” You reassure Paige and it was true. It always looked worse when it was fresh, once you washed your face and iced it, it would look better and with the right amount of makeup, you could cover it completely.

“Fine? Y/N this is not fine!” She fumed and brought her hand up to your face causing you to flinch at the unexpected, sudden movement.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. Can I touch you? I want to check you’re OK.” She apologises, her voice light and calm, an adjustment from a few seconds ago.

You nod your head, granting her permission to inspect your face. Her hands are soft and warm against your skin, they’re big but not big and scary like your boyfriends, they’re big and comforting as they trail across your face causing you to wince every now and then.

Paige uses a cloth and warm water to wipe away the dried blood on your lip, it stings but you’re used to it so you don’t react. Her movements are slow and careful as if your a piece of fine china and she’s scared to use any force incase you break.

“Are those- are those hand prints around your neck?” Paige asks and you can only nod, there’s no point denying it, the blonde girl is practically in your lap she’s so close to you.

“Fucking hell Y/N.” She breaths out and her hand comfortingly rubs up and down your arm.

“I don’t know what to do. He just gets so angry for no reason and I can’t fight back. I’m not strong enough.” You begin to sob again, only now realising the severity of the situation. You’re blooded and bruised again because of your boyfriend but you can’t see a way out.

“You have to leave him. You can’t keep going through this.”

“I can’t Paige. He’s already told me he won’t let me leave him.” You cry.

“Listen,” Paige begins, taking your face in her hands, “listen to me good. Tonight was the last night he’ll ever put his hands on you. Do you hear me? He’ll never hurt you again.” She comforts as tears spill down your cheeks and she wipes them as they fall.

“You’re safe here.” She adds before leaning in pressing a kiss to your forehead, it wasn’t sexual at all, it was completely platonic and warm and comforting and you believed her. You were safe here.

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

a/n: hello guys, hope u enjoyed. let me know what u think, im still new to this 💋

[604to647]

What Was I Made For?

3.1K / Frankenstein AU Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Summary: Left on his own, Tim learns a new way to live.

Warnings: None! Age gap cause Tim’s like hundreds of years old 🤷🏻‍♀️😂 Semi-sentient woodland creatures that meddle, I guess 🤭

A/N: Inspired by @almostfoxglove’s beautiful AU moodboard below - if you haven't already, check out that post and the tags, along with all her other AU moodboards! Thank you so much for sharing them with us 🥹🥰

Title by Billie Eilish / Dividers by @saradika-graphics as always 🥰

For a very long time, Tim did not go outside during the daytime.

Father said not to.

And even though Father has been gone for many years, Tim still heeded his words.  His being the only voice Tim had ever heard.

He still doesn’t know why Father left.  He’s even less sure of why he never returned.

Merge Mansion remains dark, even during the day.  Its halls empty, its candelabras unlit.  If anyone was to pass through the ivy choked iron gates and listen at its door, and no one ever did, they would hear only the skittering of mice and the occasional heavy footstep, so slow and deliberate it could be mistaken for the heartbeat of a slowly dying house.

Only ever at night, Tim goes out to the woods behind the now dusty and crumbling mansion.  Those same woods where Father would have him lift, throw, break - repeatedly.  And Father would write furiously in his notebooks.  Tim thinks maybe that’s what he was made for.

For more years than can be counted, enough so that he passes into legend, Tim continues to do what he knows.  He uproots trees and plants and heaves them over knolls and into streams.  He rolls boulders and smashes rocks.  He haunts the forest alone until the dawn threatens to pierce through the thick overhang of the old growth trees; hiding within the moss-covered stone walls of the only home he’s ever known until night brings cover once again.

Until one night after so many nights, he just… doesn’t.  Instead of his nightly exertion to prove something to the darkness, Tim just sits and bathes in the pureness of the moonlight.  He breathes in the earthy musk of the forest’s damp soil and the sweet scent of pine mixed with bark sap.  Instead of his own laboured breathing, Tim finally hears the babbling of the brooks, the hooting of the owls, and soft breeze whistling between the low berry bushes and the high tree tops.  Tim doesn’t know if he was made to be at peace, but he finds that he can do it all the same.

He teaches himself to read.  At first using words Father would say and the signs he would point to in the room Tim lived in: Lock.  Unlock.  Hot.  Cold.  On.  Off.  Danger.  Stop.

Then from books about nature that he finds in the library, remembering words that Father would use to describe their surroundings when in the woods that Tim now knows so well.

Tree.  Rock.  Hill.  Hole.

It takes a very, very long time.  But Tim has nothing but time.

He’s not even sure if he’s doing it right - he has no one to ask.  Not that he could even if there was.  He says the words in his head the way he thinks they sound, but with no voice, never out loud.  He wasn’t made for that.

It’s no matter.  Even if he isn’t sure he’s sounding them out properly, Tim thinks he’s assigned the words to the pictures in the books of animals and landscapes correctly.  There are other books, as well.  Ones with illustrations that are foreign to him and where the words denote meaning that he doesn’t think he will ever understand, but he learns them anyways:  Music.  Dance.  Laugh.  Feast.  Love.

In his woods, Tim no longer destroys: he clears, builds, tends.  Tim carves out paths that feel softer on the bottoms of his lumbering feet.  He removes dead branches from healthy trunks and uses them to sweep the forest floor.  He rolls away dead trees, some fell by age or disease, others by his own hand in the olden days when he thought that was what he was made for.

He still only does these things under the cover of night.  Father had said to be afraid of the village at the bottom of the looming hill upon which Merge Mansion perched.  He warned Tim that if he was discovered, the villagers would come and hurt them both.  Tim wishes that he had known the words or had the voice to tell Father that he would have protected him.  That perhaps it was the villagers who should have been afraid of him. Father’s notebooks say that he was built to be fierce. 

The bunnies in the woods do not seem to think so.  Nor the foxes, or the badgers, or the mice.  The deer do not find Tim to be fearsome, and the birds readily to flock to him.

He supposes it’s because he starts to help them build their nests; his long legs easily carry him to the farthest corners of the woods where the best nesting materials can be gathered.  He volunteers his big, pawlike hands to dig their burrows and holes.  His strength he uses to drag logs and branches to where whole furry families reside, breaking the thick wood into smaller pieces to help them expand and fortify their homes for their growing broods and the incoming weather.  He’s tall enough to lift baby birds back into their nests when they fall out before they’re ready to fly.  He forages and shares all his bounty, himself having no need for sustenance. 

Tim would not mind if this is what he was made for.

The years continue to pass.  The village at the bottom of the hill gets less busy, smaller, and is eventually gone.  Tim only knows because he witnesses the number of tiny square windows illuminated by bright candles during the night, dwindle until there is only darkness.

From the now dilapidated walls of Merge Mansion, Tim watches as what remains of the village rots and is reclaimed by the Earth.  It looks less frightening to him the way it stands now, wild and lush - much more like his beloved forest where he’s only ever known friendly creatures.

It’s the bunnies who convince him to come out in the daytime. 

It had been an especially abundant year for the rabbits, with baby bunnies almost overrunning the forest floor.  The mamas plead with Tim using their big brown eyes to help round up their little ones and keep them safe, making sure none of them strayed too far from the safety of the woods.

Little bunnies are hard to see in the dark.

The first time Tim steps outside during the day, he’s so blinded by the sky’s brightness that he thinks perhaps his eyes were not made for sunlight.  His forest is so green in the daytime.  A richness of browns with the occasional pop of red, blue, even lavender.  In the winters, the snow is so white during the day it appears almost clear.  Once the snow has melted, the streams splash with fish that jump during the day – something that never happens at night.  The sun’s beams warm Tim’s rough skin in a way the moon’s cold, comfortable ambiance never has.  The sounds of the forest are so much louder, cheerier in the day than they are at night – it strikes Tim as odd given it’s the same forest but he supposes he feels more alive during the day as well.

The deer are the ones that lead him out of the forest and to the front of the house.  The overgrown grass on the Merge Mansion hill begs to be grazed on, and with the village gone, Tim and the deer while away many days unseen and unbothered amongst the soft green blades – looking out to a splendid view of rolling plains and sprawling forests stretching all the way to the horizon.  He never strays far from the house - still heeding Father’s words of caution even though the dangers he warned against look to be long gone.

Tim doesn’t even know that another village has sprung up somewhere on the other side of a low mountain that he considers to be more than a fair distance away until you.  The first time he sees you, you’re but a little girl and you come with your own father to the cemetery that rests at the bottom of his hill, where it once bordered the old village.  The same cemetery from which Father gathered the parts that make up Tim as he is, if Father’s notebooks are to be believed.  The deer scamper away before you or your father see them, but Tim stays and hides, watches.

He hears your father tell you that these graves belong to your ancestors who once lived in the old village that’s now gone and that even though you live on the other side of the mountain, you should still pay your respects.  Tim listens to your cheery chatter and the hum of your father’s merry tunes as the two of you clean the gravestones, pull the weeds, plant fresh gardens.

You and your father come every week and Tim begins to look forward to it.  He watches you grow into a beautiful woman and your father into an old man.  He listens to the musical lilt of your voice and the gentle teasing of your father as the two of you care for and nurture the plot of land at the base of the Merge Mansion Hill so that it grows vibrant and fragrant with flowers that he’s only ever seen in Father’s books.  He hears your father tell you stories he heard as a child about the house that Tim lives in – the legend of a mad scientist and a terrible monster.  Tim doesn’t know why, but he feels relief when you laugh at these stories and call them ridiculous.

When your father stops coming with you, Tim watches over you in his stead.  You continue to do your duty in the cemetery joyfully and your sweetness is like an invitation.  The bunnies and the foxes and the mice and the deer all come down to join you.  You laugh and share your food with them and they enjoy your company as much as you do theirs.  Music.  Dance.  Laugh.  Feast.  He thinks he finally understands.  When his furry friends turn their soulful eyes up to the house, Tim knows they’re looking to him to come down but he shakes his head no.  He’s not made for this.

He doesn’t know that you see him anyways.

You’ve known he was there since the days you would come to this cemetery with your father as a little girl.  Most times as just a shadow on the Merge Mansion grounds, but once or twice you had seen Tim’s handsome, haunted face in one of the cracked windows.

You don’t know who he is or what he is, but some how you know that you have to pretend that you’re unaware of his presence.  As if for some laughable reason, he finds you to be frightening.

So, you try to make yourself to be as nonintimidating as possible.  You wear soft flowing fabrics that lie prettily over your equally soft skin in pleasing colours that compliment the hue of your hair and the brightness of your eyes.  You keep your voice gentle and the sound of your notes harmonious when you sing or hum your favourite songs of love and fantasy.  When your father tells you the old stories of the Merge Mansion Monster, you make sure to loudly decry this characterization.  Your unseen friend is not a monster, and you want to make sure that he knows you know that.

Your woodland friends who proclaim to know him best seem to say, give him time.  So you do, waiting patiently for a sign.  For what?  You don’t know.  Just a sign for more.

It comes one summer day, many, many years after your weekly trips to the cemetery became solo trips.  For two weeks, you’ve been in a state of mild panic, unable to find the delicate gold chain necklace that your father gave you - his last gift to you before he passed.  A part of you fears that it may have come unclasped and dropped onto the path some time during your weekly trip to the Merge Mansion cemetery; your heart clenches – if that was the case, your treasured necklace is surely lost.

Your surprise when you find your necklace waiting for you on top of a gravestone next to a small tied bundle of lavender is palpable.  Your eyes threaten to overflow with tears as you look up the hill to the house and mouth, thank you.

You don’t know that you had actually lost your necklace next to this very gravestone and that one of your bluebird friends had carried it up to Tim in its beak.  Tim spends two weeks practicing making the small bouquet of lavender – his large and clumsy hands unused to the precise and delicate movements required.  He refers to the instructions in the book he found so many times he can see the diagrams in his sleep.  But he keeps trying until he gets it right – wanting to offer you something more than just your returned necklace as a token of his appreciation for all the work you do.  Holding the delicate chain in his oversized hand, he can’t stop looking at it glittering in the moonlight and admiring its intricate craftsmanship.  It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.  Well, second.

The next week, Tim discovers a large and fragrant bouquet of the cemetery’s best and biggest blooms laid outside of his iron gates.

Three weeks later, on the same gravestone, you find those flowers dried and pressed, then laced together in a pretty flower crown.

You weave your own from new fresh flowers and leave it in place of the dried one you take home.  The following week, the crown you made is gone, and in its place, a large pile of fresh wild berries that must come from the forest behind the mansion.

The squirrels had objected, but Tim promised that the reduction of berries from their weekly hoard would be for a good cause.  You helped prove him right the following week when he returned from the hill with a jar of wild berry jam which he happily shared.

This continues for months.  Each week a small, thoughtful trinket exchanged - neither you or Tim having much to offer except your consideration and time.  The giddy anticipation and resulting awe a gift in itself.

The day you bring a blanket that took you six weeks to knit, you’re imbued with a bravery (the source of which is unknown even to you) that brings you all the way to Tim’s doorstep.  The heavy door opens when you push against it, but no one answers when you call out.

While Tim is in the woods assisting with the birth of a newborn deer, you’re wandering the dark, musty halls of Merge Mansion.  You find where you think Tim must sleep: in a room that looks like a lab - electrical wire equipment, gurneys, restraints and medical utensils long since pushed against the walls of the room and abandoned.

You read the notebooks left behind by the scientist and seethe on Tim’s behalf.  To call him a Creature!  To experiment on him and put him through trials of endurance and strength as if he was merely an instrument for violence!  You’re grateful that Tim’s creator must be long dead by now, else he might not be able to escape the vitriol you feel rising in your chest at the mistreatment Tim endured at his hand.

You leave the blanket and the mansion in a hurry.

When Tim comes back into the house, he knows immediately that you were there.  He smells you.  The sweet floral perfume from your garden and the sticky scent of fruit from your jams hangs in the air.  Nothing in this house or the forest smells quite so lovely.  You were here. 

With growing distress, he finds your thoughtful gift in the room where he sleeps and knows that you’ve read Father’s notebooks.  You know the truth of what he is now.  He’ll never see you again.

But you come back.

You leave him a letter and for three weeks, he reads it every day. 

It’s a letter that tells him about yourself and your family, and how you came to be his weekly visitor.  You tell him how you’ve always known he’s been there but you were afraid to scare him away so you never let on that you saw him.  You tell him that now that you’ve calmed down a bit, you’re not quite so angry at Father but you do think that he didn’t understand Tim’s true nature, or perhaps, you concede, he simply wasn’t gifted enough time to understand. 

You tell him what you think of his nature.  In your experience, men who are strong are rarely gentle and those who harness power are hardly ever giving.  But Tim is.  His hands, arms and muscles may be sewn together from much lesser men, but he, Tim, wields his strength to protect and look after others.  His heart may not be able to pull down trees or break rock, but it’s tender and pure – and where his true power lies.

You write that even though you’ve never met him face to face, you only ever feel safe and cared for knowing he’s around.  And you hope that even if he never forgives you for trespassing in his home and going through his personal belongings without his permission, he will take your words to heart.

Every week you come back to the doors of Merge Mansion bearing a small gift and a big apology, but Tim is nowhere to be found.  You’re starting to fear that you’ve crossed an unforgiveable boundary and ruined your indescribable but cherished connection, when the most wonderous sight awaits you as you near the top of the hill nearly a month after you left your letter.

Tim. 

Impossibly large and broad, a hulk of a man is sitting on the front steps waiting for you.  His face is hard, lined from time and worry, but his eyes are soft and vulnerable.  You see some trace of old scars along his forehead and neck, and down the worn skin that stretches over the corded muscles of his forearms.  His clothes are outdated and entirely the wrong size, but somehow it works on him.  He looks formidable.  Wild, yet tame.  Handsome.

You run to him, beaming.  Tim stands when you come to a stop in front of him, towering over you as he holds out a bouquet of wildflowers picked from the forest lands behind his home that he tends to so carefully.

When you reach out to accept, your small fingers brush his larger calloused ones, and the jolt of electricity that passes between the two of you feels like pure joy.  And although Tim can only offer a quiet grunt, unable to say the words that he wishes he could sing with his whole chest, you understand him perfectly.  Your incandescent smile and hopeful expression reassure him that you too, recognize the simple, unspoken truth: Tim was made for you.

🎶Obligatory Billie Eilish, What Was I Made For lyrics🎶:

'Cause I, 'cause I I don't know how to feel But I wanna try I don't know how to feel But someday I might Someday I might

Think I forgot how to be happy Something I'm not, but something I can be Something I wait for Something I'm made for Something I'm made for

[hisonlykiwi]

"With that kind of power at your disposal, the possibilities are endless."

synopsis: azriel, who's never bothered to acknowledge your existence seeks you out for help.

wc: 1.3k

warnings: mentions of gore memories and trauma.

a/n: hey guys, i'm thinking of making this a small series with multiple parts. please let me know what you think <3

part two

____________________________________________

I pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration, looking over the report Rhysand had given me a few days back. I look at the clock ticking away on the wall beside me; It’s been exactly 5 hours and 27 minutes since I came down to the library. 5 hours and 27 minutes of studying the reports of the numerous attacks on Velaris and I’ve got no lead or clear motive.

I let out a sigh, shifting my gaze over to the shelves around me brimming with books that are probably older than me. I wonder how Rhysand keeps such good care of this place, it’s truly a sight for sore eyes. Since a child, I’ve loved nothing more than hiding away in the library and stuffing my face with any book I could- I freeze.

The air around me shifting slightly. I felt a shudder dance down my spine, the air thick and heavy. I move my hand down to my thigh where I keep my dagger. I feel something, no, I feel someone’s eyes watching me. My eyes fix on a darkened corner of the library, instantly seeing a familiar figure. Our gazes instantly lock, and I stir slightly in my seat. An uneasy feeling pooling in my stomach, how long had Azriel been standing there, watching me? I didn’t dare break eye contact until I gasped at the feeling of a cool breeze on my ankle, I looked down to see a tendril of black smoke, very similar to the ones I’ve seen around Azriel. It must’ve felt me staring at it because it hurried back to the unlit corner where Azriel stood.

 I awkwardly clear my throat and release the tight grip I had on the dagger, “Can I ask why you’re lurking in the shadows and watching me?” I say to him, monitoring his every movement. I felt odd asking him a question seeing as we’ve never talked before. I see him all the time but always at a distance, he never talks and always has a stoic expression. The only thing I know of him is he is the spymaster shadowsinger who has been Rhysand’s best friend since childhood and just so happens to be, one of the most powerful Illyrians in Prythian history.

“Just gathering information.” He says, stepping out of the corner, the soft light accentuating his strong features. I tracked his every movement; It was no secret that Azriel was devastatingly handsome. I felt a nervous pang in my chest watching him approach me. “You’re quite fascinating to observe.” He continued, I raised an eyebrow at his statement, “And what exactly is fascinating?” I could feel his eyes scan over my figure, "Your movements, your expression, your presence... It's all quite intriguing." He said in a low deep voice.

I felt a small heat rise to my cheeks, I ran a hand through my hair, unsure of what to do or say. Oddly enough, I felt anxious, but I refuse to let it show. “Is there something I can help you with?” I ask him in a stern voice. I’m confused as to why he is speaking to me in the first place. I watch him take a sit on the chair in front of me, suddenly this table felt quite small.

He watches me, gaze still piercing. "Help me? Well... There is one thing I was curious about..." He said in a suggestive tone. I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms over my chest, “About?” I stared back at him. I watched as he mirrored my position, also crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back.

There was curiosity etched in his features, “Two words; reality altering.” I made no movement; the air so tense I could slice it with my dagger. I only stared back at him, expressionless. There is no possible way he knows about my powers, the only two people who know are Rhysand and Amarantha, who’s head I personally saw get impaled to a wall, so safe to say it wasn’t her. And Rhysand wouldn’t be careless enough to give away this vital information, even if the man in front of me was his best friend. “Yeah, I’ve read about it.” I say to him, trying to sound bored.

My comment caused for a smirk to break out on his beautiful face, “A little mouse told me you have a powerful gift. A gift so powerful that people would go to war over it.” I chuckled, “Is that so? When you find that powerful gift, please let me know, I would love to have such power.” I finished with a smile. Azriel's expression remained unflinching as he kept his eyes locked with mine, his intense gaze not wavering.  “Is that what you told Bodhi before you made him brutally murder his entire family?” I felt my breath hitch in my throat, I shut my eyes, memories of Bodhi’s face and his family’s mutilated bodies flooded my mind. The painful memories serving as a reminder of why I will never know peace nor deserve peace. It’s haunted me every single night, their horrific screams replaying over and over in my nightmares.

"Ah, so now it's confirmed." He said, a slight smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "I knew there was something special about you.” I deeply sigh, trying to push away the thoughts of what Amarantha forced me to do nearly 50 years ago to the back of my mind, like always I’m rendered unsuccessful. I open my eyes to meet his golden eyes once again. “What’s it to you, Azriel?” I spit out at him, his name tasting like venom in my mouth. He leaned over the table, his voice dropping dangerously low. "With that kind of power at your disposal, the possibilities are endless... You could control armies, change the course of history... Or you could use it for more hedonistic pursuits."

Now it’s my turn to mirror his movements, I put my elbows on the table and lean over the table, our faces less than a foot apart. “So, I ask again, what’s it to you?” He replied, his voice low and cold, "It's simple, really. I want to know exactly what that power of yours can do." After a few moments, “No.” I plainly say, I tear my gaze from his and start collecting the report from the table so I can make my way out. "Running away already, are you?", his deep voice said, carrying authority. I ignore him and continue to get my bag, when I felt his hand on my wrist, stopping me from standing up.

“I need your help.” I pause and look back at him, a pleading look on his face. “Why? You’ve never spoken to me, let alone acknowledged my existence. Then you barge in here, provoking me and suddenly you want my help? I have to laugh.” I pull my wrist away, but he grips tighter, “Please.” He says, and I tug my wrist away again, but he doesn’t budge.

 “Let. Me. Go.” I say, unable to withhold my anger. I blink and suddenly, I’m standing in the middle of the woods with Azriel still holding my wrist. He fucking winnowed us to the middle of nowhere. “Azriel, what the fuck are you doing?!” I give him a hard shove, but he doesn’t budge, of course, he doesn’t, he’s a 6’5 man made of pure muscle, ugh! He holds me close to his chest, “I have strong suspicions the inner circle is in grave danger and your abilities would be able to prove if I’m correct.” He quickly says, I stop moving, processing what he just said. He notices, slowly lets me go and moves away a bit but stays close. I peer up at him, confusion and concern laced in my features. “What do you mean, exactly?”

I furrow my eyebrows, still processing. Danger? How could they possibly be in danger? Is that why he brought us out to the middle of the woods, so no one would hear him? I hear Azriel take in a deep breath, “I think Elain is working with Hybern.”

[jinusajas]

10/22/24; 08:23pm

shouma toriashi x fem.reader

notes/warnings: reader and shouma are both 20 years old; there is alcohol consumption.

when shouma invited you over to his place, to say you were a mess of nerves would be an understatement.

you had began dating the ever so reserved and stoic shouma for 6 months now, and how you managed to capture his attention was still quite the mystery to you.

for starters, you both attended the same university and shared some classes together. each time you saw shouma, you would often sit beside him because of how… safe he made you feel. as you focused on jotting down your notes, the lingering scent of cigarette smoke that wafted off of his clothes was oddly comforting to you.

never once had you spoken a word to each other, yet one afternoon (after a particularly boring lecture) you heard a deep voice call out your name. looking back, your eyes went wide upon seeing the way shouma casually approached you. he asks if you’d like to grab a bite to eat with him, which you politely accepted his offer.

shouma ends up taking you to a nice sushi restaurant, where you ordered a side of your favorite rolls along with a filling bento boxed lunch. the entirety of the meal was spent in solace, simply enjoying how delicious the food was. by the end of it all, shouma simply stood up to take care of the bill in its entirety, stopping you the moment you took your wallet out of your purse.

“i’ve got it, wait right here.”

warmth was felt settled on your cheeks, and you watch him with a bit of a dazed expression on your face. soon enough, shouma returns to you, never once leaving your side until you were safely back at your apartment.

deep down, you thought that would be the last of your interaction with him-

however, shouma ends up proving you wrong.

those offers to eat out with him were seen as dates in his eyes, but it was so difficult to discern because of how nonchalant he’s been the entire time. and the fact that he wasn’t so vocal about his feelings-

well, that made it even more difficult to read him.

in fact, you wanted so desperately to ensure that you weren’t getting mixed signals from him that you flat out asked him if he considered you as being his girlfriend one late evening.

you were both studying at your university’s library, with an unlit cigarette loosely hanging from shouma’s lips. he closes his textbook while returning the cigarette within its box, shoving them both aside when he stands up to be closer to you.

you were currently settled on the carpeted floor, with your notes and textbooks surrounding you. you look up at him, wondering just what he was thinking when he lets out a yawn before kneeling before you. adjusting his body, shouma manages to settle his head against your lap while allowing the entire length of his legs to spread out.

your hands were raised awkwardly in response before deciding to settle themselves into his silken locks of hair. a pleased hum was heard coming from him, with him opening one eye before telling you, “of course you’re my girlfriend. we’ve been dating this entire time, dummy.”

needless to say, you didn’t question the validity of your relationship with him after that night.

but now… it seemed like you were taking it almost to the next level. it was finally the weekend, and shouma had invited you to spend the night at his place. he told you not to worry about anything else, just to pack the essentials that would ease with your comfort at staying the night with him.

so with a single backpack filled with your essentials, you wait outside of your apartment for shouma to come and pick you up. your text to him was sent a mere five minutes ago, yet you were shocked to hear him coming through the hallways before reaching you.

a tiny smile graces his handsome features while he gives you a helmet, taking your hand while leading you toward his motorbike. your heart continues to pound with anticipation, with you getting on the back of his bike while donning the helmet.

as he drives out of the parking lot, shouma quickly gains speed, weaving through the streets of tokyo with an astonishing expertise. you cling to him, feeling your abdomen performing somersaults at what was to come.

in what felt like mere seconds, shouma parks his bike within a parking garage before taking your hand. he grabs a hold of your backpack and helmet, carrying them for you with little complaint as he lead you toward his apartment. with his front door settled a mere inches before you, you allow your boyfriend to unlock the door and open it, letting you step in first.

your heart wouldn’t stop its fast pace, with shouma turning on the lights to his apartment. he tells you to make yourself comfortable on the couch, and you try not to let your anxieties show. once shouma places your belongings in his bedroom, a sudden knock at the door nearly makes you jump out of your skin.

recognizing how jittery you were acting, shouma places a hand on your shoulder, “relax, i just ordered some fried chicken to be delivered here.”

feeling flustered, you give him a nod and shaky words of affirmation, silently berating yourself for acting so weird right now. blood was felt rushing through your ears when shouma accepts the delivery before returning back to you. he settles the order of freshly fried chicken in front of you, “go ahead and eat, i’ll grab some nice cold beers we can both enjoy.”

your ears perked up at the mention of beer. perhaps… having a bit of alcohol in your system will calm your nerves and help you relax around shouma?

once your boyfriend places the case of beer on the table, your hands automatically grab at one of the cans, popping it open before drinking all of it in one go. shouma’s eyebrow was seen lifted up in response, but he just takes a piece of fried chicken and starts eating it.

yet when you began opening a new can of beer-

and then another (downing three cans within the span of fifteen minutes)-

shouma became filled with concern for you.

“oi, that’s enough.” shouma takes the case of beer away from you, seeing your expression become even more dazed. you began to hiccup profusely, all while giggling. as shouma steadies you by wrapping his arms around your waist, your laughter became even louder and more uproarious.

“hehehe oh my god, shooooo….!” he lets out a grunt of your name, struggling to keep you steady while in his embrace.

“this isn’t like you… have you eaten anything yet?” shouma asks with his eyebrows becoming even more furrowed.

cue another snort, “nope. i was too nervous t’eat.”

shouma hums in response, managing to carry you inside of his bedroom before carefully laying you down against his mattress. once you were settled, he had every intention of getting you a tall glass of water-

only to be stopped when you wrapped your hands around his wrist, successfully causing him to land back in bed with you. “hey-“

you began to pout now, clinging to him as if you didn’t want to let him go. “no, don’t leave me sho.”

a defeated sigh escapes from his parted lips, with shouma pinching at the bridge of his nose in response. “what’s gotten into you? you’re acting strange.”

“it’s because… i don’t want to disappoint you.” his eyes widen when he sees the tears running down your cheeks and the way you began to sniffle. he shakes his head and uses the pads of his thumb to wipe away your tears.

“how could you ever disappoint me?”

your tears seem to cascade down your face now, with shouma using the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe them away, “b-because you’re experienced with… with physical intimacy and stuff… but i’ve never d-done anything like that before… and y-you invited me over made me really anxious and t-that’s why i drank so much, y-you know for liquid courage- a-and i just-!”

shouma then shuts down your ramblings by giving you a searing kiss against your lips, silencing you immediately. despite the saltiness of your lingering tears, you manage to kiss him back, basking in how gently he treated you. he ends up pulling you closer to him, with his hands delving into your hair while deepening the kiss.

once he was certain that your tears had dried did he finally pull away from you. keeping his gaze on you, shouma presses a lingering kiss against your forehead, “silly girl… i invited you over to my place because i feel so comfortable around you. you’re quiet, but kind hearted, and the way you hold no ill will towards my family… i want you to be here with me… and i’ll only initiate such acts when you allow it. every part of our relationship is on your terms because-“

shouma cuts himself short, letting out a huff as he decided to remain quiet just then. he lays back in bed and pulls you toward him, with your body flushed against him, making your heart begin to race as you replayed his words over and over again in your mind.

shouma was never one to be good with words-

but what he did say and reveal was more than enough for you.

you smile, still feeling the alcohol running pleasantly through your system while you cuddled even closer to him. short bursts of giggles escapes from you, “i’m still really drunk… and m’afraid i might not remember what you said.”

shouma lets out a scoff before tightening his arms around you, “then i’ll just have to remind you when morning comes.”

you could feel your grin become wider, and those three precious words were felt bubbling within your throat. however, you held off on speaking it, choosing instead to convey it in a different manner.

with your head resting against his chest, you allow your fingertips to travel toward his bicep, giving it deliberate taps.

one tap.

four taps.

three taps.

i love you.

satisfied with your actions, you let out a pleased hum before closing your eyes-

only to feel shouma lift his arms away from you. his hand was felt drawing comfortable circles around your back before giving it a series of deliberate taps as well-

one tap-

four taps-

three taps-

three taps.

i love you, too.

end notes: eeee don’t mind me. after finally hearing shouma’s voice in the anime, i’m happy to say that im a shouma girlie (⺣◡⺣)♡

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[it-happened-one-fic]

Might've Walked Slower - Floyd

Author Notes: So, I was actually planning on posting a different fic today, but then the Stitch even came out today so I decided Floyd would get a fic posted today instead. I've actually had this written for a little bit, but it's been undergoing polishing and gathering dust in my google docs. I had fun writing and working on this one, though I have to admit it really doesn't have any specific source of inspiration beyond NRC having an old building and me wondering if there were secret passageways. As per usual, reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Type: Gender-neutral reader/ sfw/ fluff/ flirtation

Word count: 1685

It started the same way a great many things at NRC seemed to start. With a task from Crowley.

To be fair, this task wasn’t particularly difficult or even that annoying. It was just returning some books to the school library for him.

The only trouble came in the form of a bored Floyd Leech, who was currently lurking in the library for unknown reasons. Luckily, Floyd had thus far opted to sit and boredly watch as you shelved books once he’d discovered your presence didn’t mean anything exciting.

But nothing could stay simple in NRC, and today served as still more evidence for that fact.

You’d simply put one hand down on a strangely empty shelf to support yourself while you stretched upwards to place a book on a still higher shelf. And that was when everything went horribly wrong.

You leaned forward ever so slightly more, frowning as you stretched just a little bit more, and all at once the shelf let out a horrible groaning sound and gave way. Your eyes widened, and you realized exactly what was going to happen.

You plummeted forward with a shriek that had Floyd jerking upright from his previously relaxed position of stretching his upper body across the top of a table, “Shrimpy?!”

His voice sounded equal parts startled and concerned, but you paid him little mind as you scrambled, catching yourself against a web-coated wall as you tumbled through where the bookshelf had just been. Your shoulder slamming hard against the cold stone in a way that promised you would have some impressive bruises tomorrow morning.

You groaned slightly as you pushed yourself back, your uninjured arm wrapping around your body so that you could press a hand to your now-throbbing shoulder. But all thoughts of how much that was going to hurt tomorrow fled as you stared at the gaping hole in the wall that was now in front of you.

You stared in quiet horror at the hole before your brain kicked into gear, noting that the edges of the opening were smooth and that this area had obviously been built this way to let the bookshelf swing open like a demented door to reveal the tunnel lined with sconces that hung on the filthy walls.

Though you’d initially thought you’d somehow caused the entire bookcase to topple, that was obviously not the case. Instead, it looked like you’d managed to somehow trigger a mechanism that had opened some sort of hidden door to a passageway that you were now standing in the entrance of.

“Shrimpy, are you…” Floyd trailed off from where he’d appeared behind you as he beheld the darkened path you’d uncovered.

Both of you stood in silence, staring down the stone tunnel whose walls bore unlit sconces before giving way into a deep darkness. You slowly stood as you continued to stare into the darkness from next to Floyd. Wondering what, exactly, this passage was and where it led.

“What have you found this time, Shrimpy?” Floyd’s amused voice snapped you out of your silent gaping, and you shot him a look only to find him staring into the darkness with sparkling eyes that spoke of an emotion that one should always be wary of if it were coming from Floyd. 

Excitement.

With a simple gesture that was not unlike snapping his fingers, magic shot out from where the young man stood, and flames began to flicker in the sconces as he stepped past you into the passageway. Before you could say anything, he’d already reached back and wrapped one hand around your wrist with a smooth rolling motion of his long fingers. 

“Floyd, wai-” You were cut off by him giving you a slight tug and pulling you into the tunnel-like space with him. He was already grinning in a way that told you that you were probably going to be stuck going with him no matter what you said.

“Come on~ it’ll be fun,” His eyes were alight, and the yellow one had a slight glow to it that reminded you of the deep-sea fish that used lights to tempt prey in closer. 

And, in some ways, it was tempting to check out the tunnel-like passage you’d discovered. After all, just finding it brought to light numerous questions. 

Were there more? What was it for? And how old was NRC anyway if it had hidden passageways like this?

You hesitated though, glancing back towards the library as your freehand fell away from your shoulder before Floyd’s sing-songy voice came from far closer than it had been before, telling you he’d stepped closer to you, “Don’t you wanna know where it leads~?”

You looked back towards him, finding that he had indeed stepped closer and was now looking at you, still holding onto your wrist and smiling in a way that told you he knew he was going to win. Because, unfortunately, you were curious about this hidden passage that you’d discovered.

“Just for a little while. I’m not spending all day and night exploring some creepy path with you,” Your tone was firm, but still drew a giggle from the tall young man who now turned to lead you down the path. His hand sliding down until your hands were interlocked.

“It's not creepy, just a little dark. Kind of like home,” You all but snorted at his utterly relaxed demeanor. Of course he wouldn’t find previously secret, web-encrusted tunnels lit only by widely spaced sconces creepy.

But then there was no telling what he was used to seeing from his time living under the sea. Creepy might be an everyday commodity for him. And he had said it was sort of like his home….

When you didn’t actually respond as you glanced around at your surroundings, he twisted, looking back at you with an amused, almost mocking grin, “Aw, don’t tell me you’re afraid of the dark, Shrimpy~”

“Hardly, I just tend to be wary of places that strike me as fishy,” If anything, your words seemed to delight him further as he tugged you up closer to him so that you were walking side by side as he leaned towards you.

“Don’t worry. I’m way more fishy than anything that’ll be in here,” He winked in a way that had you rolling your eyes, but not pulling away from him even as he giggled. Because, for better or worse, having Floyd with you while exploring some dark hole in a magical school was far better than being alone.

After all, he could probably take on anything you found.

Floyd stopped, tugging you to a stop by simply not letting you pull him with you as you came to the edge of the set of stairs. 

Glancing back, you noticed him tilting his head with a thoughtful expression before he met your gaze and smiled teasingly once more, “Reckon it goes to the dungeon?”

You couldn’t stop the snort that came from your throat as you shook your head, “Why would a school have a dungeon?”

He shrugged, staring down the stone steps and soon guiding you down with him as he kept lighting sconces as you approached them, and amusingly, it made you wonder if he really was worried that you were afraid of the dark, “Don’t know, maybe for bad kiddies?”

“Shouldn’t most of the school, including you, be down here then?” Your wry words had him snickering even as you pondered where the staircase led. 

You tilted your head as you carefully followed Floyd down the stone staircase, “Has this place always been a school?”

Floyd gave you a sideways glance before shrugging in a perfectly nonchalant manner, “Don’t know. You’d have to ask one of the history buffs about that.”

Your mind briefly flickered to Malleus’s analysis of the gargoyles on every building on the campus before you dismissed the thought with a shrug, “Either way, I hope this staircase ends with a door out of here.”

“Aw, you aren’t enjoying our date?” You grinned despite yourself at Floyd’s potentially faux pout.

“I didn’t realize this was a date?” You glanced up, still smiling, at Floyd in time to watch as he briefly went wide-eyed before recovering with record timing.

“You think I just casually take all cuties down some potentially forbidden tunnel?” Floyd’s grin was perfectly shameless, but it had laughter bubbling out of you as you shook your head at his antics.

And a large part of you couldn’t believe that you were slowly slipping into the all-too-obvious trap of flirting with Floyd. But here you were, and in no way were you uncomfortable.

In fact, despite yourself and the environment, you were perfectly enjoying your little jaunt through this web-encrusted passage. And you had a sneaking suspicion that the sole reason you were having fun was the young man next to you.

Looking ahead, you could indeed see a door at the foot of the stairs, no doubt the exit to the lengthy tunnel, “How about next time you tell me we’re on a date before whisking me off down some dark tunnel? I might’ve walked slower.”

You could’ve sworn his eyes were sparkling as he grinned at both you and your words before he turned to look at the door, “Well, let’s see where our secret path leads.”

With that, he pushed open the door, scaring the ghosts on the other sides and letting the scent of cooking food spill into the passageway. Your new location could be in only one place. The kitchen.

Floyd was laughing as the two of you entered the hot room filled with now flustered spirits, but before he let go of your hand, he tugged you closer to him and leaned down to whisper in your ear, “Next time you go exploring, make sure to tell me.”

You looked up to see him grinning at you, utterly delighted by the happenings of the day and a long way off from the bored Floyd of earlier as he winked at you, “I’ve got to hold you to walking slower on our next date.”

[leonw4nter]

And When The Sun Left, I Thought You Never Loved Me

RE4R!Leon x F!Reader royal AU

You yawn and feel the exhaustion take over your senses and weigh down your lids yet sleep does not claim you; you consumed three thick books, all three stacked on your bedside vanity but you find yourself unable to sleep, for some odd reason. Warm milk with honey, sniffing peppermint oils, and an opened window to let the cold evening gale circulate in your room– you’ve tried it but you still continue to lay awake and irritated in your bed, turning over to lie on your stomach to groan into your silk pillowcase. You’re sure that the sun will rise from the sea again in a few hours, the tweeting of birds rending you that the night is over and you’ve lost the chance to rest for the day ahead will be busy, overseeing wedding preparations with your betrothed, Leon. Only having migrated to his palace a week ago, you were still in the process of familiarization with the ins and outs of his grand residence. You assumed that sleeping in a new environment, one wildly different from your manor, affected your sleeping habit.

One of your nurse-maids has also informed you that being far from your husband-to-be, especially in the evenings, could be one of the sources of your troubles with sleeping. Though he is to be your husband in a matter of days, you are not very familiar with him and the same goes for him; you two have only met a month ago, over a talk of paintings and music. You must admit, he seems to be genuine of heart and truly kind to any person he meets but you know that this could change as soon as he marries you and is expected to give the kingdom heirs. You wince at the thought of heirs, unprepared for such an undertaking despite the public’s expectations, especially the families joined by your union. At first, you were hesitant and against whoever your parents paired you with but after getting along and taking a liking to the crown prince of the kingdom, you are now only half hesitant to this marriage.

Turning to your side with your eyes trained on your curtains gently swaying along to the cold breeze, you wonder if Leon is also struggling to fall asleep right this moment or if his own nurse-maids have given him remedies to induce a deep and restful sleep. What do they give him? Warmed milk or cold milk? With or without honey? Does he even need these in order to fall asleep? Since Leon is often busy with building strength and engaging in his studies in his palace’s own library, you figure that each day for him must be eventful if slumber claims him so easily. The more you ponder about his sleep habit and regiment, the more you grow envious of him right now; you itch to get up, depart your chambers, and head to him, maybe even fall asleep tucked away safely into his side– if he loves you back and is willing to breach the conduct between betrothed pairs– to sleep in separate chambers until the night of their wedding. As soon as the idea is entertained, the harder it is to ignore its appeal to your current state. You sit up and shake your head, trying to clear your mind of any thought that involves you walking down unlit and unfamiliar halls, looking for the door of the crown prince’s royal chambers. Even if you are familiar with the maze-like residence, you doubt that you can get through his doors that are guarded by elite-ranking knights. Sighing, you accept that you will hear birds soon and will appear before your family and his with dark bags beneath your eyes.

“Ah, yes. I struggle with sleep,” you suddenly recall him telling you quite some time ago. “The images of battle, the smell of rust and blood harass me just as I slip into slumber. It… it haunts me.” You sit up, pity settling deep in your bones; you have experienced losing sleep due to nightmares every once in a while yet here he is, plagued and haunted by the monsters of his past and present every night. The bags underneath his eyes suddenly make sense, along with his frequently chapped lips and his exhausted aura. Not even the most calming and fragrant oils could help him, for those only served as temporary relief for the troubled young prince. Determined to go to him, more for his sake than your own this time, you grab your maroon cloak, and quietly leave your bedchambers. A few steps down the hall, a considerable distance from your door, you regret not bringing along a lantern with you. Despite the silver gleam of the moonlight, this would be little help to a place as foreign as this. Far from your door and forcing yourself to be familiar with what will soon be your residence, you continue on in the dark with a hand around the walls as you tread along, feet gently padding along the carpet.

“Floors are equal to rank,” you mumble to yourself. “The king and queen are on the uppermost floor, crown prince on the level beneath theirs. I’m on the lower levels, which means I will climb a staircase… twice or thrice.”

You’re not sure where you are or where the staircase is. You’re certain that there is a painting hung by the stairs but as you continue walking, you’re certain your memory may be playing tricks on you. To make matters worse, you’re growing increasingly afraid as you head to his chambers alone in the dark. The eyes of the portraits of past royals feel as if they are moving and staring at the back of your head, ready to pounce from the gold frame and maul you. Doing the sign of the cross and mumbling a proactive prayer for yourself, you dash down the hall and turn to the first hallway extension you see. You keep a hand firmly fastened around your mouth, mentally reminding yourself to keep yourself silent. So much for staying silent when you bump your elbow against the wall, startling yourself, and tripping over your own feet and landing harshly on your side with a thud. You are not in pain, not yet at least, because your attention is turned to the stretch of the hallway behind you and the dead-end in front of you. You focus on leveling your breathing and trying to limit the noise you’ve been making since earlier, the thudding and the yelp you forgot to conceal. The dead-end in front of you appears to melt and disintegrate, the walls opening up but you look up and realize that it’s not a dead-end; it’s a door.

“Who dares to interrupt the crown prince’s slumber.” A gravelly, baritone voice demands. You gasp, looking up at the man in front of you. Leon. Your eyes widen, breath hitched in your throat.

“My prince!” You whisper with urgency, adjusting your position to be kneeling in front of him, forehead to the ground with your hands laying flat beside your head. “I- I apologize. Disrupting and causing a ruckus was far from my intentions!”

Leon crouches and tips your chin up politely, blue eyes inspecting your blushing and reddened face. “You look troubled. What bothers you?”

“I ran here, my liege. I am unfamiliar with the palace and bumped my elbow, which startled me. I apologize and ask for your forgiveness, my prince.”

“You did not exactly answer my question, my princess.” He says, helping you stand up. He lays his hands on your shoulders, looking you over before he gently takes your forearm and inspects your elbow. A slight redness right where the anterior band should be.

You mentally berate yourself for not giving him an answer, wishing that you hit your head instead and fell concussed so that you didn’t have to deal with this situation.

“Ah, my deepest apologies once again.” You keep apologizing, you look like a hooligan! “I came here to see you, sire. I…” I wanted to see if you were kind enough to let me into your bedchambers and perhaps let me lay by your side to fall asleep! “I… was wondering if you were sleeping soundly. I t-thought about you, my prince.”

He hums, gently setting your arm back to your side. You take a swift moment to observe him– he still had bags beneath his eyes and his lips were cracked as ever, his skin paler than usual, and droopy lids. Tufts of wheat-colored hair stood at odd angles at the back of his head, a telltale sign of him tossing and turning in his bed for only god knows how long.

“Are you being honest, my princess?” He asks. “You thought about me?”

“Yes, my liege.” you respond, dipping your head in a shallow bow. “I found trouble with falling asleep and you came to mind and I wondered if you were also having trouble falling asleep.”

“I am.” He curtly says. “I am and have been finding trouble sleeping. I… I find it warming that you would think about my well-being.”

“You, my prince, are human just like the rest of us. The worst spares no one,” you respond with a soft smile. “Would you like me to accompany you until you fall asleep?”

A look of surprise crosses his face and you wish you never offered that in the first place, appearing desperate in front of the man you must impress.

“Yes,” he quietly says as he opens his door wider for you. “I would love that.”

It’s your turn to be surprised yet you nod and cross the threshold of his chambers for the first time; the walls were covered in gray wallpaper, meticulously embossed with dainty damask patterns in gold leaf. The ceiling was painted with a mural of a soft sky with hues of some pink and light blue along with clouds of different appearances, some looked like cotton while others looked like feathers. The baseboards and crown molding of his room were all sculpted and painted gold as well, similar to his bed frame with an impressive canopy that loomed over. His sheets were made of dark gray silk with subtle damask embroidery, as well. A magnificent chandelier crafted in the form of a chimera hung overhead, decorated with diamonds and sapphires. His room is just as breathtaking as he is, his space a reflection of his personality. You let go of a breath you didn’t know you held, head craned towards the heavens to admire the artwork above you. If you thought your room was grand, his was even more so.

“I see that you seem to like the mural on my ceiling,” he observes.

“Yes, I do. It is quite the beauty,” you softly smile. “I did not expect you to have such a treasure like this confined in your quarters, my prince.”

He grins, walking behind you as he observes your impressed face. When visitors take a peek into his room, the sole thing they would consider as a treasure is his chandelier. He expected you to do the same but instead opted for the soft pink and light blue view suspended above your head.

“I am glad to know that you still recognize the colors despite a tiny sliver of the moon beaming in. Consider me impressed.”

You grin, giving yourself a small pat to the shoulder when Leon isn’t looking your way. “So, my princess, shall we retire for the evening?”

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

You and Leon lay on opposite sides of the bed, both of you sleeping on your backs. His eyes are shut, brows furrowed while you try not to fall asleep just yet, keeping your gaze trained on the canopy above. Every now and then, you tilt your head to steal glances and take in the finer details of his face– the slope of his nose, the permanent furrow of his eyebrows, and his long lashes. Before you can help it, a giddy smile manifests itself in your lips the longer you stare at him.

“You are staring at me, dear princess.”

Your eyes widen, snapping your head to face the opposite side as you shut your eyes and tense your body. Your ears pick up a heavenly sound, his laugh, beside you and you turn to face him, confused. “What amuses you, prince?”

“What amuses me,” he faces you. “Is how I am utterly wrapped around your delicate finger, my dearest princess. You have me wrapped around the same delicate finger you used to carefully take apart the walls I built around my heart yet I do not wish to take action against that.”

Your cheeks burn beet red, heart challenging even the fastest racehorses that Leon’s father owns. You nod, a silent acknowledgement of his flattery for you cannot properly conjure the words to say to react to that.

“It makes me nervous that our wedding is to take place soon,” you speak up. “I am not sure if I will be the princess the people will need, if I can serve you properly. There are certain things that I am not ready for.”

You feel Leon’s finger experimentally brush against your knuckle underneath the duvet, careful so as not to cross a boundary that you’re not ready for yet. Returning the same gentle brush of a finger, you slowly link fingers with him as your heart explodes in the most vibrant colors inside your ribcage.

“I am certain that you will treat the people with utmost respect and kindness, my princess, worry not. As for serving me, your presence alone is a service beyond measure. I do not ask for more.”

You giggle, a melody Leon looks forward to hearing.

“Thank you. How about you, my prince? Are you nervous?”

“Very much so, we both have a lot to bear on our shoulders with this union. I must admit, that is one of the few reasons I have been lying wide awake almost each night. I am sorry that even you are disturbed.”

“No, my prince. I am not disturbed at all– far from it, actually.”

“We tend to apologize frequently,” Leon observes. “Another thing we share in common.”

“We’ll add another trait that we share in common soon,” you beam.

“Hm? What is it?”

“Our surnames. We will share them soon.”

Leon’s eyes widen, warmth travelling from his cheeks towards the tips of his ears. He quickly tilts his head to the side, away from your eyes, and lets out a wide grin. He must admit, you got him there.

“As anxious as I am, a part of me cannot wait.”

“I believe we share the same sentiment.”

Slowly and carefully, you tilt your body and inch a little closer to Leon. His positive reception to your presence is taking a toll on you, glowing with confidence and that confidence leads you to be a little more forward with your actions.

“A little closer, dearest.” He says, moving a little closer to you. “You are not quite near enough, in my opinion.”

After a little more shuffling and getting cozy, you two finally settle into a position that is comfortable and fall asleep together with his arm wrapped around you and your arm slung around his chest.

NOTE - I feel so old rn coz yesterday, only my right knee was the one hurting... now it's both knees + my back 💀 Joints cracking at every movement too so now I've been drinking milk... why? I think my bones need the extra calcium <3 Anyways, sorry yall for this mid ass fic 😭 My brain stopped working mid-writing but for some reason I was still determined to finish this so.... yeah :') I decided to do some cleaning before posting this and I came across a bunch of old school records from when I was younger (think 6th grade and lower) and bruhh... I WAS SO STUPID?!?!?! LIKE I STRUGGLED WITH SPELLING AND IDIOMS?? HUH???? I NEVER KNEW THAT??? I always thought I understood idioms well so ion know what the fuck happened... like I looked at schoolwork that involved idioms and I did get good scores, perfect even, but for some reason the comments on my OLSAT performance then said that I was below average when it came to spelling and idiomatic expression understanding so 😭😭😭 No clue mates.......... Anyways, that's all and thank you for reading my fics!!!!!!!!! I <3333 UUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The hanging jewels divider was made by @mikeykuns , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

[charlieg1rl]

(✮⋆˙‬) ─── high tension

lines blur and tension finally snaps, pulling you and jisung into something reckless, heated, and long overdue. in the thick of smoke and low murmurs, nothing feels uncertain anymore—only inevitable.

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚. charlies note: OKAY this is a long time coming, maybe a months time ? but its finally here !! 4.3k words

warnings : VERY suggestive

back to library | req? yes / no

you never expected to be this familiar with your dealer.

at first, it was just a business arrangement—a text when you needed something, a quick exchange, and then you’d both go on with your lives. han jisung was well-known on campus for two things: having the best weed and being absolutely insufferable. his reputation preceded him. everyone said he was funny, maybe a little too chatty, but reliable. which was all that mattered.

your first deal was simple. a friend had given you his number with nothing but, “jisung’s got the best. just text him.” so, you did.

you: hey. chris gave me your number. jisung: either you’re looking for an existential crisis or some quality bud. which one is it? you: second one. jisung: nice. meet me outside the library in 10.

that was the start of it. nothing special. just a clean transaction. except jisung had a way of making even the most basic interaction feel like an event. “first-time customer discount,” he had said, grinning as he passed you a carefully packed bag. “because i’m generous.” you rolled your eyes but took the deal. and that should’ve been it.

except it wasn’t.

now, somehow, he texts you first.

jisung: yo. got some new stuff. fresh, just for you. discount included, 'cause i'm generous like that. you: are you seriously running a customer loyalty program? jisung: obviously. you’re a vip now.

what started as casual transactions turned into late-night conversations on his beat-up couch, the smell of weed and ramen mixing in the air as he ranted about music and you ranted about life. at first, he was just the guy you went to when you needed to take the edge off. but now? now, he’s showing up at your apartment with food. now, he’s making sure you get home safe from parties. now, he’s your favorite part of the week.

and that’s when you realize: you might be getting addicted. and not to the weed.

it hits you in the middle of a tuesday night when jisung shows up at your door, a plastic bag in one hand and an unlit joint between his lips.

“you look like you need this,” he says by way of greeting, wiggling the bag.

you lean against the doorframe, arms crossed. “what gave it away?”

“the fact that you texted me three times in the past hour.”

you scoff. “i was just asking questions.”

he steps inside without invitation, already making himself at home as he kicks off his sneakers. “questions like ‘are you awake?’ ‘where are you?’ ‘why do you take so long to reply?’”

“you do take forever to reply.”

jisung plops onto your couch, making himself comfortable. “i was rolling.”

you snort, locking the door behind him. “rolling what?”

“guess.”

you shake your head and drop onto the couch next to him. he pulls out a container of takeout, handing it to you like it’s second nature.

“you brought food?”

“yeah. thought you might need something to soak up the smoke,” he says, finally lighting the joint. he takes a slow drag, then holds it out to you. “want?”

you take it, but don’t smoke just yet. instead, you watch him exhale, the soft glow of the cherry illuminating his face in the dim light of your living room. it’s strangely intimate. more than it should be.

“jisung.”

he turns his head to you, lazily raising a brow. “yeah?”

you hesitate, then take a hit. the smoke burns in your lungs before you release it. “never mind.”

he watches you for a second longer, then smirks. “you sure?”

no. not at all.

the air between you shifts after that night.

jisung still shows up unannounced, still texts you about new strains like he’s running a startup, still steals your leftovers when you’re too high to fight him for them. but now, there’s something else. a tension neither of you fully acknowledge but both of you feel.

it’s in the way he lingers when he hands you a joint, fingers brushing yours for a second too long. in the way his gaze drops to your lips when you inhale, watching the way they part, the way your chest rises and falls. it’s in the way he sits just a little closer, his knee knocking into yours like it’s an accident.

one night, you’re both sprawled on his couch, passing a blunt back and forth as some old-school hip-hop plays in the background. you’re not even sure whose playlist is on anymore.

jisung stretches, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of toned stomach. he catches you looking and grins. “like what you see?”

you scoff, taking the blunt from his fingers. “in your dreams.”

his grin widens. “you are in my dreams.”

your heart stumbles. he says it so casually, like it’s not a big deal. like he’s not just admitted something that makes your stomach twist into knots.

you cover it up with a laugh, exhaling smoke in his direction. “sounds like a personal problem.”

jisung doesn’t respond immediately. instead, he watches you, head tilted like he’s deciding something.

then, suddenly, he leans in.

your breath catches. he’s close—closer than he’s ever been. his eyes flicker to your lips, and for a second, you think he’s actually going to do it.

then, at the last moment, he pulls back with a smirk. “you blinked first.”

you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “you’re an idiot.”

“and yet,” he says, plucking the blunt from your fingers, “you keep me around.”

you don’t have an answer for that. or maybe, you do, but you’re not ready to say it out loud.

without warning, he reaches into his hoodie pocket and pulls out a small packet.

“here,” he says, tossing it into your lap.

you pick it up, eyebrows furrowing as you inspect the package. mango-infused rolling papers.

your lips part in surprise. “what—”

“figured you’d like them,” he interrupts, lighting another joint of his own. “said you liked the smell of mangos once.”

you don’t remember saying that. but he does.

something warm blooms in your chest. you trace the edge of the package with your thumb, an unfamiliar feeling creeping in beneath the usual haze of smoke.

jisung exhales, watching you closely. “you gonna roll one, or just stare at it?”

you shake your head, but you can’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. “shut up, han.”

he grins. “make me.”

and just like that, the tension coils tighter.

the next few times jisung comes over, the tension keeps building, but it’s always there in the back of your mind: am i imagining this?

at first, it’s subtle. a lingering touch as he passes you a joint. his gaze a little too long when you laugh at something he said. but you’re probably just reading too much into it. after all, he’s han jisung. the guy who makes a joke out of everything, who treats every moment like it’s a bit for his own personal comedy show.

so, when he texts you one evening, “yo, got something new for you tonight. think you’ll like it,” your heart doesn’t skip a beat. it doesn’t, really. except maybe it does.

he shows up late, as usual, with his usual lazy grin and a bag that smells like something distinctly new. but instead of the quick exchange you’ve grown used to, he lingers a little longer at your door this time, his eyes flickering down to your lips.

you clear your throat, feeling heat creep up your neck. “you’re staring.”

“i’m not staring,” he says, but his voice is low, an edge to it you haven’t quite heard before. “just thinking.”

“about what?”

he shrugs but there’s something unspoken between you, something that hangs thick in the air. something you can’t quite place.

“do you ever wonder,” he starts, his fingers brushing yours as he hands you the joint, “if we’re more than what we pretend to be?”

you frown, heart stuttering in your chest. “what do you mean?”

jisung just gives you that smirk. “you tell me.”

you swallow hard, trying to ignore the feeling curling in your stomach. you’re not sure if he’s joking or being serious, and honestly, you don’t want to know. because the thought that he might actually mean something makes you feel something that’s far too complicated to unpack right now.

instead, you change the subject. “you’re an idiot,” you say, taking the joint from him.

he chuckles, but this time it doesn’t feel like the easy, playful laughter you’re used to. there’s something else there. something that makes you doubt yourself even more.

the next night, you're sitting on your couch, the glow of the tv flickering softly, when jisung knocks on the door again. your stomach tightens before you can stop it, the familiar feeling of his presence throwing you off balance.

he steps inside, holding a bottle of wine and that same lazy grin. “you ever smoked with wine?” he asks, like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

you raise an eyebrow. “that’s a thing?”

“anything’s a thing if you’re willing to try it,” he shrugs, and his eyes are on you—just a little too long.

and just like that, you’re caught in another moment, wondering if you’ve imagined it all.

you keep your focus on the wine, on the rolling papers, on anything other than the way your heart seems to beat just a little too fast every time he looks at you.

but it’s definitely just in your head. right?

when you’re both sitting on the floor, half a bottle of wine gone, rolling yet another joint, something shifts. your fingers brush as you take the paper from him, and this time, neither of you pull away. it’s not an accident.

jisung’s gaze flickers down to your lips again, and this time, he doesn’t look away. “i think i like this,” he says quietly.

you look up at him, confusion swirling in your chest. “the wine or the company?”

he pauses, his eyes locking onto yours. “both.”

the words linger in the air between you two, heavy and loaded with something you can’t quite name. but you know it’s there, just beneath the surface, waiting.

you laugh, more out of nervousness than anything else. “you’re ridiculous.”

but inside, your heart’s pounding, and the only thing you can think of is the question you’ve been too afraid to ask: is he flirting with me? or am i just imagining it?

the wine’s long gone, and so is the joint you’ve been passing between you two, the air thick with smoke and something else you can’t place. jisung’s on his third one, and you’re starting to feel the warmth spreading through your limbs. but in this moment, something’s different.

for the first time in a while, the haze doesn’t make you forget everything—it sharpens things. your thoughts, your awareness. your feelings.

you’re both sitting a little closer than usual, and you can’t help but notice the way his eyes flicker over your face, the way his lips quirk into that teasing grin that’s beginning to feel a little less playful, a little more… personal.

he catches you looking, and for a moment, the space between you feels too small.

you pull the joint back to your lips, your fingers brushing against his again as you do. this time, it’s impossible to pretend it’s an accident.

jisung leans back into the couch, his fingers tapping lightly against his knee. “you ever realize how much clearer everything feels when you’re high?” he asks, looking over at you.

you blink at him, feeling strangely attuned to his presence in the dim light. “clearer?” you repeat, your words coming out a little slower than you intend.

he shrugs, staring up at the ceiling. “yeah. it’s like all the noise in my head clears out, and i can actually think about stuff. like, really think about stuff.” his gaze flickers to you, just briefly. “i guess when you’re high, the sober thoughts don’t seem so hidden anymore.”

you blink again, his words cutting through your own haze. high words and actions are sober thoughts, you realize, the thought hitting you with a strange clarity you hadn’t anticipated.

it’s almost like the high is making the things you both never say, the things you both dance around, impossible to ignore anymore. maybe that’s why the air feels charged, maybe that’s why every time your eyes meet, there’s that pull, like something is about to snap.

“you ever think about stuff, jisung?” you ask, your voice quieter than you intended. you feel almost nervous now, the blunt between your fingers nothing but a prop for the words you can’t seem to stop from spilling out. “i mean… really think about it.”

he turns his head slowly, catching your gaze with a serious look, his voice dropping low. “yeah,” he says softly. “i think about you.”

the words are simple, but they hit harder than they should. you freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. the room feels too warm now, your mind scrambling to process what he’s said. it’s one thing to joke around, but this—this feels different.

you laugh, but it comes out breathless, more to cover the sudden weight of his words than anything else. “you’re such a jerk.”

he smiles, but there’s no teasing in it now. “you think i’m joking?”

the air between you is thick with tension, thick with something that’s become impossible to ignore. the weight of your unspoken thoughts hangs in the air like smoke, swirling and curling around you, suffocating you.

“i don’t know,” you reply honestly, feeling the truth of your own words more than you want to. “i think i might be imagining it.”

jisung doesn’t say anything at first. he just watches you, and for a second, you wonder if maybe he’s reconsidering saying what he just did. but then he leans in slightly, his eyes still locked onto yours, his voice barely a whisper. “i don’t think you are.”

your heart skips a beat, and you look away, suddenly finding the floor incredibly interesting. you wish you could just laugh it off, like you always do with him. but this time, it’s different.

high words and actions are sober thoughts, and right now, you’re both too sober to ignore what’s brewing between you two.

the silence that falls between you both is thick, heavier than any haze that’s filled the room. it’s like the air’s been sucked out, and all that’s left is this palpable tension, the kind that lingers in the space between two people who almost say what they’re really thinking, but don’t quite dare.

jisung shifts on the couch, his body so close to yours now you can feel the warmth radiating off him. it makes the room feel even smaller, more intimate than you’re ready for. you fight the urge to look at him, your eyes glued to the floor, trying to distract yourself with anything that isn’t the way he’s breathing just a little deeper than usual.

“so,” you say, your voice a little higher than it should be, a weak attempt at breaking the silence, “you were saying something about sober thoughts?”

his lips curl into that familiar, cocky grin, the one that usually makes your heart race. but tonight, it’s different. tonight, it feels like he’s just about ready to say something that’ll change everything.

“yeah,” he mutters, eyes still on you, tracing the curve of your cheek with his gaze. “i was thinking… maybe we’re both just too good at pretending we don’t know what’s going on here.”

you’re not sure if it’s the wine, the weed, or maybe just the way his words sink deep into your chest, but you finally meet his gaze. the air crackles between you as his eyes flicker to your lips, then back up to your eyes, an almost imperceptible shift in his posture. your heart skips, and you can’t decide if it’s the anxiety or the adrenaline that’s making your palms sweat.

“pretending?” you repeat, the word hanging in the air like smoke. you know exactly what he’s talking about. the tension—it’s been there for weeks now, building and building with every touch, every glance. but hearing him say it out loud somehow makes it all too real.

“yeah,” jisung says quietly, his voice almost like a confession, “pretending like we don’t know we’re both walking around this whole time pretending we don’t want to… do something about it.”

your pulse quickens, and you can feel the heat rising to your face. you want to respond, but your mind’s a tangled mess of thoughts that don’t seem to make sense. you’re high, but you’ve never felt so aware of everything happening around you—of every little shift in his expression, every tiny change in the way he’s looking at you.

and then, without thinking, without even realizing you’re doing it, you close the space between you. one hand moves to his chest—tentative, unsure—and the other touches his shoulder. your breath hitches in your throat as his gaze drops to your lips again, and just like that, the world seems to slow down.

you’re about to kiss him.

no, you tell yourself, but your body doesn’t listen. you can’t stop it. you don’t want to stop it.

jisung’s breath comes a little faster now, his eyes searching yours, like he’s looking for some kind of permission, some kind of answer to the question neither of you has asked out loud. he leans in just a fraction more, and then he stops, waiting for you to make the move.

you can’t breathe. the tension is unbearable, and you know this could change everything. this could be the moment where everything shifts from playful teasing to something much deeper.

but instead of kissing him, you pull back, just enough to catch your breath. “are we really doing this right now?” your voice cracks, betraying the mix of nerves and excitement swirling inside you.

jisung’s lips twitch in the beginning of a smile, and he leans back against the couch, crossing his arms over his chest. “no. we’re just talking about it.”

you blink in confusion. “talking about it?”

“yeah,” he says, his grin widening. “you’re not ready for that, huh?”

your chest tightens, heart racing. you stare at him, trying to figure out if he’s teasing or serious. but the way he’s looking at you now—it’s not the usual cocky, playful look. it’s something deeper. something that makes you feel like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall but unsure if you should.

“why are you doing this, jisung?” you ask, the question escaping before you can stop it. you need to understand—because you don’t know what’s real anymore, and what’s just the high talking.

he doesn’t answer immediately. instead, he leans forward again, his voice low. “maybe i’m doing this because i can’t stop thinking about you.”

the words hit harder than you expect, a weight settling deep in your chest.

the room is silent again. the weight of the unspoken words hangs in the air, heavy and pregnant with possibility.

and suddenly, it feels like the only thing you can do is lean in again.

this time, you don’t stop.

you kiss him.

it’s tentative at first, a slow, almost unsure press of lips. but then, just like the way the tension between you two has been building for weeks, the kiss deepens. it’s more than just an answer—it’s the release of everything you’ve both been holding back. his hand moves to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, as if trying to close the gap that’s been lingering between you both for far too long.

the warmth of his lips sends a jolt through your body, your heart pounding in your chest. you taste the remnants of the wine on his breath, the faint sweetness mingling with the earthy flavor of the weed. the combination is dizzying, a mix of flavors and sensations that blur everything around you.

and it’s all so natural. it feels right.

you pull away for a second, breathless, to catch your bearings. you’re not sure how to process this, how to make sense of the rush of emotions flooding your chest. but jisung doesn’t give you time to think.

his lips are on yours again, more urgent this time, his hand moving to your waist, pulling you even closer. you let him, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. the way he holds you, the way he kisses you—it’s like he’s been waiting for this just as much as you have.

and when he pulls away again, there’s a fire in his eyes, one you haven’t seen before, not like this. his breathing is shallow, and his fingers are grazing the side of your face like he’s still processing the fact that this is real.

“don’t make me regret this,” he murmurs, voice low and thick with desire. there’s a vulnerability in his tone that catches you off guard, a rawness you hadn’t expected from him.

you look up at him, heart in your throat. “i don’t want to regret this either.”

and for a second, it’s like the world stops moving. the weight of everything—of the flirting, the late-night conversations, the stolen moments—crashes down on you. this is the moment where everything changes. where you stop pretending. where you stop running from it.

jisung leans in one more time, and this time, there’s no hesitation. no second thoughts. just the feeling of his lips pressing against yours again, urgent and hungry. it’s a kiss that tells you everything you need to know. that tells you he’s not just playing around anymore.

he’s in this.

and maybe, just maybe, you are too.

the kiss lasts longer this time, slow and deep, the kind that makes everything else fade into the background. the buzzing from the weed, the lingering taste of the wine, the tension that’s been building for weeks—all of it disappears in the space between you two, until there’s nothing left but him and you, tangled together in the moment.

when you finally pull away, both of you gasping for air, you don’t know what comes next. but you know one thing for sure.

this is only the beginning.

the moment his lips meet yours again, it’s not slow anymore. it’s fast, hungry, desperate, as if you’ve both been waiting for this moment for too long and now that it’s here, neither of you can hold back.

his hands are on you—everywhere. one hand moves to the back of your neck, pulling you in closer, while the other slips around your waist, pressing your body into his. the heat between you intensifies with each passing second, the softest moan escaping you when his lips find that sweet spot on your neck.

jisung doesn’t let you catch your breath. his lips are insistent against yours, each kiss deeper than the last, until you’re both breathless, the room spinning around you. his tongue brushes against your lips, asking for permission, and you give it, parting your lips for him. the kiss turns hotter, the world shrinking until there’s only him and the feel of his hands roaming your body.

your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, trying to deepen the kiss as much as you can. it’s messy and frantic, but neither of you seem to care. his lips move with purpose, taking the kiss from soft and slow to urgent and fierce. you feel the heat rise in your chest, your body pressed so tightly against his that you can feel every inch of him, every muscle tensing as he pulls you impossibly closer.

jisung groans into your mouth, fingers tightening in your hair as he pulls you onto his lap without hesitation. your knees settle on either side of his hips, the warmth of his body seeping into yours. the joint—forgotten—smolders in the ashtray beside you, the scent of weed and roses lingering in the thick air between you.

his hands roam, slow and teasing, fingertips grazing the bare skin beneath your hoodie. you shiver, a breathy sigh slipping past your lips when he presses his palms flat against your back, pulling you closer. his lips move against yours, unhurried but deliberate, as if savoring every second.

“you’re high,” you murmur against his mouth, though you don’t pull away.

jisung exhales a laugh, his breath warm against your lips. “and?”

“high words and actions are sober thoughts,” you remind him, voice barely above a whisper.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide, dark and heavy with something you can’t name. his thumb brushes over your cheek, then lower, tracing the curve of your lips.

“exactly.”

your breath catches.

the weight of his words settles between you, thick and undeniable. he’s not hiding behind the haze of smoke. not playing it off like a joke. he means it.

and you’re fucked.

because you believe him.

because you want this—sober, high, or anything in between.

his hands slide down your back, settling at your waist as he leans in again, this time slower, deeper, letting the moment stretch, letting the tension snap and coil until all that’s left is you, him, and the quiet hum of something inevitable.

your fingers tangle in his hoodie, gripping tight as you meet him halfway, lips parting, bodies pressing closer, heat pooling between you like a slow burn waiting to ignite.

and this time, neither of you stop.

© charlieg1rl ⋅

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[fanaticsnail]

Chapter 3

Masterlist here, Moodboard here

Sapsorrow Masterlist

Word Count: 8,054

Themes: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, forced proximity, lord and subordinate, one bed trope, apprehension, mutual pining, obligation, slow burn, eventual love, protective, "where is my wife" trope. Slow-slow-slow burn. Series Inspiration link: The Storyteller Episode 8

Song Suggestions: The Green Light - Je Suis Parte

(Image Source: Here)

Your sleep that night was restless; your body awakening much before the first dawn of sunlight cracked through the dark of the night to awaken the many unique birds within the lands of Kuraigana. Their voices were yet to cry out and alert the castle and surrounding keep of the morn, yet you continue to lay sleepless amongst your plush bedsheets.

Huffing out a breath of frustration, you shook your head and rose from your reclined position against your pillows and thrust the duvet from your body. One foot falling over the mattress first, followed by the other, you slid your feet into your sleep shoes tucked beneath your large bed and hoisted yourself to your feet. Reaching over to your armchair, your fingers found your lengthy silk negligée and wrapped it around your body and tied it firmly around your front. The lengthy pale sleeves draped around your wrists, you found your hairbrush and began angrily detangling your sleep-deprived hair from their matts.

Why did he look at you like that? Why was he so intimately holding you? Why did your breath hitch as your eyes met? His eyes, the amber hue bearing such intensity and longing- was that what it was? Surely you were mistaken. Those were the thoughts keeping you from a blissful slumber, clawing like a beast at the walls of their cage, the thoughts rendered you paralyzed and incapable of rest.

You angrily thrust your hairbrush down within your firm grip, a loud clack of the metal base echoing against your vanity benchtop. You clenched your eyes firmly shut, pursing your lips and biting back a frustrated scream.

It had been years since any action was outside the realms of your control, this one being the first to draw a physical outburst to occur since you were a teenager. You sucked in a deep breath while closing your eyes, rotating your neck to rid it of its sleep-deprived, rigor-mortis akin stiffness. Reopening your eyes, your pupils narrowed in as you focussed on your puffed eye-bags below your irises.

“You came here to do a job. You are a governess,” you reassured yourself, affirming yourself sternly in the mirror, “You are strong. You are safe. It is just a job.” Your looped affirmations continued as you attempted to repress memories from arising, but to no avail. You knit your brows together, shaking your head to rid the memories from coming to light before your eyes before the sun was yet to create the dawn. 

“You are in control here,” you again spoke aloud, rising from your seated position against your vanity. You claimed a small unlit lantern hanging limply from the door, unhooking it from the wall and drawing out a small box of matches to ignite the flame atop the wick. Shaking the flame away from the matchstick, you discarded the small piece of twig into the basket below your desk and fled from the room causing you sleeplessness. 

The halls became ignited by the small flame in your lantern, illuminating the portraiture littering the gloomy halls. Several generations of the lord you unwittingly bound yourself to with the Sapsorrow ring lay staring vacantly at you as your slippers peppered the ground with your featherfall footsteps. 

You were unsure as to where your feet were carrying you until you found yourself amongst the large wooden shelves in the large library. Each book was meticulously cataloged and alphabetised, the colors on the leatherbound spines ranging from the deepest of emeralds to dark magenta with golden twine. As each of the spines of the books drew you in by their pigments and binds, your left hand unconsciously flew to the shelves and danced among the pages. Tracing upon the many spines as you wandered aimlessly amongst the shelves, your fingers met with a vacant space in the nook; your fingertips falling through the space housing a book that no longer resides within its crease. 

Looking at the space for any semblance of literature navigation, you noticed you were in the section marked “S”, somewhere tucked between knowledge of Sangiovese vines and winemaking, and Sailing the uncharted waters of the grand line. 

“Sapsorrow,” you spoke aloud in a small whisper, gasping as your fingers collected the moved dust, “that was what he said,” you pressed your sleep-deprived memory for a semblance of thought: “Ten rings of the Sapsorrow queen, all riddled with charm, none can break from its challenger’s gleam, or cause the commissioner harm.”

“What does that mean?” you gasped once more, drawing up your fingertips to look at the dust collected, rolling the powder and webs within your hand, “there’s ten of them. What is a Sapsorrow? Ten of them?” you looked down onto the moss-coloured stone sitting innocently atop its golden circlet of destiny, “Like ten fingers?” 

Turning again to the bookshelf and looking at the vacant space against the shelves, you huffed out another breath of exasperation and grumbled; “It would have been useful to have a book on the matter. Perhaps that is what my betrothed-,” you rolled your eyes at the taste of the title over your palate, "-is doing with the book. If there even is one.”

You growled beneath your breath, another attempt at ridding yourself of the memories of the night prior. It was dancing behind your closed eyes slower than it occurred in reality. Each small brush of his fingertips over your body as he took your measurements, the small rasp in his voice as he spoke to you, his humility in joining his forehead against your own, and the way he held you against himself. You were going mad, reading into something that was truly not there. 

Shaking your head and breathing in deeply, you attempted to calm yourself down and reached for the nearest book at the end of the row. Your brows furrowed as you looked at the title, a small curious smile prickling at the corners of your cheeks. 

“Waltzing: A Pirate’s Guide to Entangling with the Upper Classes,” you spoke, your eyes lightening as your smile deepened. You examined the books cover for any other information, finding no further explanation, “there’s no author? Curiouser and curiouser.” 

You took the book to the corner of the room, sitting atop a plush crimson armchair and placing your lantern on the side table to illuminate the corner of the room. You huddled against the suede arm of the chair, bringing the pages closer to the light as you turned the first chapter: “Swords and Steps.” Your face became more bright as diagrams of pirate gentleman holding his sword upright and extended, followed by the placement of an ornately dressed woman spinning within his arms; the imagery of the evening’s prior events falling away from you the further you dove into the pages. 

The lantern’s wick began to flicker, the candle warning you it was in its final moments as the hours in the library began to fall away from you. You were barely aware of the dawn beginning to filter through the curtains, the first light a warm pink dusting the marble floor with its presence. The only sense able to bring you from your hypnosis within the pages was the scent of the extinguished wick as the stale smoke danced over the benchtop. 

Shaking your head, you attempted to again return to the present as you closed the pages of the book together and rose to your feet; hastily sauntering over to the aisles to return it to its rightful position within the shelves. You didn’t even know where to begin navigating the halls, unsure how you managed to draw yourself from your wing into the library to begin with. The patter of your heart began thumping heavily against your ribcage, anxiety raising at the thought of being caught within your bed clothes by a member of staff, or worse: Zoro and Perona. 

As the light of the sun began awakening the walls you wandered earlier, a strange mud-covered silhouette of a person holding a bouquet of flowers at eye level remained in the sunlight cascading over the front marble steps. They were picking at the thorns, clipping the stems and arranging the florals and vines in a fashionable style with pliers and ribbons of twine wrapping around the amassment of petals. 

The figure almost didn’t look human; bipedal humanoid, surely, but not human. The amount of dirt, muck, fur and feathers eclipsing their body under their cluster made them look beastly. You heard a deep rumbly hum, the creature before you appearing to be singing softly to themselves a tune you could not recognise. This was the only clue that allowed you to presume their gender, the smoothness of their deep voice almost serenading you with its comfort. Rolling slightly on your heels to rid yourself of your nerves, you cautiously approached the figure while holding your arms laced over your chest to shield his view from your sleep-clothes. 

“Excuse me, sir?” you called to them, their body’s stiffening in response and raising the flowers up further to cover their face, “No need for alarm, I am the Governess here.” He seemed to remain statuesque, rigid in his stance and not making a sound. You grew more curious, stepping forward again to get a better look at the arrangement, noticing it was similar to the ones placed atop your table and decorating your room. 

“I know who you are, my lady,” he spoke slowly. His cadence seemed familiar to you, albeit his face was hidden, “You should not be up at this hour. Is there something troubling you?” You were taken aback by his direct approach, but it was a welcome surprise. 

“I was unable to sleep, sir. My thoughts are my own, although I have been having trouble ruling over them of late,” you replied honestly. He nodded behind the flowers, your eyes trailing over him and studying his attire. He was clad in hessian pants, his boots trekking mud into the cobblestone galley. His torso was clad in a pale linen with mud, sticks and leaves masking the pigment of his skin from your eyes with how heavily caked he was beneath the thick sludge. 

“If I may be so bold as to ask for your help,” you asked him, stepping further into his proximity. The scent falling off him in waves was the earthiness of the mud mixed with the petals clutched over his face. As you drew in closer, you noticed he was wearing a broad straw hat, his face shielded by the wide brim, while his nose and lips were covered by a piece of woven cloth. He held his sight fixed to his hands, electing not to make eye contact with you. 

“You may ask anything of me, my lady,” he responded, his eyes remaining holding to the floor beneath him. You allowed a soft smile to rise against your lips, a small sigh electing to release itself from your chest at his candor. 

“I am unaware of my surroundings. I have been here a fortnight now, this being the first night I have opted to explore the grounds rather than remaining sleepless in my bedchambers,” you confessed to him, nodding as you spoke, “I have no idea where my wing is from here, and I assume you are a member of staff here.”

“I am something of the like, my lady,” he admitted to you, nodding while actively listening to your words as they fled from your lips, “I admit I was on my way to your chambers presently.” Your eyes widened, looking at the bouquet clutched firmly within his hands then back to his face.

“So, I’ve finally caught the culprit,” you laughed at him, “just as you have caught me in naught but my nightdress. Those are meant for me, are they not?” His rigidity did not halt, nor the tingle in his fingertips dancing amongst the vines. 

“You’re the one who brings the ever changing arrangements to my bedchambers, am I correct in my assumption?” you asked him while fixing your gaze on the white puffs of roses clutched within his muddy fingertips. 

“That you are, my lady,” he again admitted, bowing in a low stoop as a performer would to receive their applause. You smiled warmly, reaching for his forearm and lacing your right arm within his. 

“Chaperone me,sir. Please lead me to return to my wing,” you asked him with a small laugh, uncaring for the dirt falling from his sleeve onto your own. 

“I will make a mess of the halls, my lady. I should not be above the cellars while dressed like this,” he spoke in a warning tone, “I don’t enjoy cleaning up the boot prints I trek in at this hour.”

“Tush,” you dismissed his warning, tugging at his forearm, “I cannot wait for you to strip yourself of your tarnished clothes, bathe and escort me to my wing. I am in my nightdress, sir,” His eyes widened at your comment, his eyes almost holding a honey color displayed from its angle to you. 

“I would not desire tarnishing your own clothes with my mess, my lady,” he sighed as you both witnessed some mud falling from his shirt onto your sheer chemise. You smiled at his halt while bringing your other hand to fall atop his dirt-caked forearm. “Please, sir. I cannot have the lord of the house seeing me like this. Nor our shared wards.”

“Is not the lord of your house your betrothed?” he asked you, his brows furrowing as he spoke his warning.

“That he is, sir,” you nodded your confirmation while laughing once more, “all the more reason for the both of us to scurry on to my wing so we can both be rid of this predicament.” He hummed in response, shaking his head slightly with a small chuckle. You sighed in relief as he began to shepherd you towards your room, your body physically relaxing aside his as he guided you through the halls. You made idle conversation, the morning rising alongside the chirps of local birds warning you the day has been broken and to be thrust into your day. 

“How long have you been working the land here in Kuraigana? Your arrangements speak wonders to your skill, sir,” you praised him, watching as his smile began to upturn in the creases of his eyes. His nose and lips remained hidden beneath a woven cloth, his eyes being the only human part you could gauge the emotions of.

“I have been working with agriculture since I first laid eyes on the keep. There’s something about the soil here that is particularly riveting. The grapes thrive here,” he expressed with such unbridled passion, you could feel his joy at working the soil of the gloomy land, “they grow large, their skin dense and firm. Perfect for a variety of vines and vintages.”

“A viticulturist also? My, you have an array of talents. What do you grow here?” you ushered him to continue expressing his passion, your interest in the land growing by the interaction with the creature guiding you to your wing.

“I do enjoy watching the vines grow, yes. I also have had a hand in crafting the varieties into wine,” he admitted, nodding beneath his wide, straw hat. 

“A wild ferment, perhaps? A malolactic for chardonnay and sangiovese?” you asked him, prodding him and probing with your pointed questions. He chuckled at your comments, shaking his head at your comments.

“You are well versed in the art of conversation, my lady,” he commented accusingly, with a small whisper of humor beneath his words, “you need not humor me with your polite words.”

“Sir,” you furrowed your brows at the creature, halting your steps, “if I was not interested in your craft, I would not be asking so many questions,” your confession rendered him almost speechless. You chuckled at his surprise, once again allowing your feet to fall in pace towards your chambers.

“To further spur how truly interested I am in what you have to say, I would simply hum and nod to showcase my active listening while not asking questions,” you continued, your warm smile continuing to power your words, “my favorite phrase to use in that particular situation is: ‘that certainly sounds interesting’.”

He chuckled at your comment as he continued leading you to your chambers, the door within your sight as he unlaced his arm from within yours and opened your front door for you.

“A gentleman amongst the staff of Kuraigana?” you praised him with your words, prompting him to hand his head with a small huffed chuckle at your words. 

“I aim to be, my lady,” he uttered, walking within your bedchambers and beginning to remove the prior arrangement of flowers atop your desk and replace it with another arrangement. Unbothered by his presence in your chamber, you began tending to yourself by finding an appropriate uniform for the day and hooking it over your changing screen beside your bed. You continued to hear his footfalls against the room adjacent to yours, yourself feeling secure behind the screen enough to begin changing into your uniform to begin your day.

You threw off your chamise, followed by your night dress, slippers and socks before weaving yourself into your chosen attire for the day. A simple long dress, practical in nature with a cinched waist and a modest neckline: exactly how a governess should be seen by members of the household staff, not scantily clad in your bed attire. 

“I am heading out, my lady,” the strange chaperone informed you, prompting you to hasten your pace of lacing your boots. 

“Wait, sir. Allow me to thank you for escorting me back to my wing,” you called to him, hastily making your way towards the table setting in front of you. The flowers were breathtaking, this one filled with difficult to collect flowers with sweet scents and crystal-like dew drops. You carefully selected one from the bunch, a simple bushel of baby’s breath clutched between your fingertips as you carefully pried it from its place amongst the bouquet. 

“This one is for you, sir. Thank you for aiding me in my time of need,” you presented the small bushel of flowers to him; his muddy hand coming out to collect it within his discolored fingertips. 

“Thank you for your kindness, my lady,” he nodded in a small bow, your fingers brushing together slightly at his withdrawal. 

“What may I call you, sir? Surely you have a name, and I would like to know I have a friend here in Kuraigana while I work,” you asked him, your trail of intellect deducing the flurry of thoughts, “or would you prefer to be known simply as ‘Farm-hand’?” 

“Farm-hand,” he repeated back to you, his voice almost laughing, “Farm-hand is fine to me, my lady.”

“If you are to go by this name, please bestow one of a similar likeness to me, Farm-Hand,” you laughed at his candor, as you reached for the metal hairbrush you were using earlier and began hastily smoothing over your tangled locks.

“If I am to be Farm-Hand,” he thought hard, a small hum exiting from his chest, “you ought to be ‘Lost-Lady’. Considering it is too much of a mouthful to address you as ‘woman clad in naught but her nightdress’.”

You laughed again at his comment, before guiding his muddied form outside of your bedchambers. 

“Until tomorrow's flowers, Farm-Hand,” you stooped in your low courtesy and offered him your left hand. He accepted it, bringing down his forehead to brush against the back of your hand atop your knuckles.

“Until the morrow, Lost-Lady,” he raised his forehead from his bowed position and watched as you turned back into your chambers to continue readying yourself for the day, the door shutting with a small click behind you. 

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Mihawk was frozen, his dirtied hands rolling over the small white flowers within his fingertips. He hooked his hand against his mask, drawing back the material to taste the air once more without the filter of material or mud. His beard was no longer scratching behind the mask, the flavor of the air feeling all the more sweet. As he twirled the flowers within his fingers, he sighed at the innocent object dancing in his hand. 

His left hand shook, feeling the warm tingles of the memories of your flesh joining briefly with his as he clutched yours within his fingers. The ghost of radiant heat against his forehead remained alongside the memory of such a warmth you presented to him, a presumed low-ranking member of his staff. 

He looked down at his attire, the mud covering his body causing him to physically hiss out a verbal reprimand at himself.

“So stupid to lose footing beneath the vines,” he chastised his appearance, “especially to collect the insignificant little baby’s breath-.” His words halted as he drew up the pale flowers you had gifted him in return once more, a soft smile rising to his lips. 

“What have I ever done in this life to deserve such sweetness?” he whispered to himself, a sighed laugh falling from his lips as he shook his head. 

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Sitting with the young pink haired debutante in the courtyard, you noticed her eyes were glazed; her far off expression alerting you to her being not overly present for this afternoon’s private lesson. 

“Perona, dear?” you called to her, placing your cup back on the saucer. She hummed in response, slowly blinking her eyes but remaining away with the ghosts that haunt her. You sighed deeply, rising to your feet and moving behind your chair. You slowly wedged the chair beneath the circular dining table and walked over to crouch in front of her. 

“Perona,” you softly spoke, reaching to claim her hands laced within her lap beneath your palm. She squeaked, looking down into your eyes and uttered a hasty, “yes, my lady?” 

“There you are, you’re back,” you smiled at her, prompting a blush to rise and litter her pale cheeks with its hue. You smoothed your thumb over her knuckles to reassure her she wasn’t keeping you waiting. 

“I’m sorry my lady, they-,” she began, rapidly blinking as she attempted to articulate her thoughts to place them within the air verbally, “-they have been saying some unusual things to me. It’s been a bit tricky to ignore them.” You quirked your head to the side, not completely processing what she was admitting to you. 

“Oh?” You prodded her, rising to your feet and tugging lightly on her hand to usher her to her feet, “and what do they have to say today? Only good things, I hope.” Her teeth drew outwards in a straight line, cringing out a small apprehensive wince of a smile. 

“Not exactly,” she admitted while rising to her feet in front of you. Her smile only drew more apprehension from you, curiosity now being eclipsed by concern at her words. You nodded to her to continue relaying her thoughts to you, her nodding while adding; “they say he’s found a way. Something about the moon being first, I think. Help? He’s getting help- no-... asking for help? They’re not making much sense.”

You knit your brows further in the center of your forehead, her words not drawing any conclusion to your already troubled mind from sleeplessness earlier. 

“A beast? No... A Crocodile has the moon?” she nodded with her eyes shut tightly, focusing on the voices as they presented themselves to her. She continued shaking her head, the many voices falling over her mind and corrupting her thoughts with their nonsensical visions. 

“Perona,” you called to her, her aura beginning to turn a different hue to indicate her beginning to be overwhelmed by other worldly voices. You took both of her hands in yours and gave them a firm squeeze, “Perona, sweetheart.” She opened her eyes, glossy and a different hue than her usual vibrancy.

“The moon,” she uttered, “the moon has commenced.”

“Perona!” your voice held an elevated firmness to your tone, immediately snapping her from her daze and coming back to the world she views as reality. 

“I’m sorry, Governess,” she uttered quickly, bowing her head to you and beginning to tremble a little, “they’ve just been enthusiastic lately. They are very interested in that.” She nodded to your left hand, your ring shining its smoked, green gemstone within the sunlight. 

“They say,” she teeters off her voice, shaking her head as the voices begin to eclipse her form and shroud her mind with their nonsensical visions. She allowed herself to snap out of it, taken aback by their final informational relay, “there’s a party? Oh! And there’s a dress for you.”

The blood in your face physically leapt from your head and paled. He’d done it. He’d made the first dress, the doom of your wedding day approaching with more haste than you would have desired. You were to be a bride, donned in dresses of the finest make and forced down the aisle with the knife of destiny thrust against your back to usher you onwards-.

“-Not one of those, my lady,” Perona broke you from your thoughts, her eyes wide and serious as they met with your widened gaze. She gently squeezed your hands within her own, reassuring you with her kind expression, “they say the party is to announce your engagement, and Mihawk has had a dress made especially for you to wear to it.”

“O-Oh,” you stuttered, the color once again returning to your cheeks. Perona giggled at your apprehension, lacing her arms within your own and beginning to draw you closer to the sage-colored hedge-ends to look over the impressive grounds of Kuraigana. 

“You want to go and see it? They say he has it ready for you, if you like,” she shrugged, her enthusiasm sparking at the corners of her cheeks as she physically began to shake with anticipation. You allowed a softness to fall over your body, your young debutante beginning to break down your walls and squeeze herself into the realms of personal friendship. 

“I think I will wait until he sends for me,” you smiled at her, “for now, we need to continue with your lessons.”

“Why, my lady?” she whined, a small semblance of childish anger falling from her pouted lips, “I don’t want a husband, I don’t want to be a lady.”

“Do you desire to wear beautiful gowns, dance with handsome men and woo them with your radiant beauty?” you sighed, your eyes rolling with a soft smirk arising against your lips. She immediately snapped out of her childish tantrum.

“Yes, my lady,” she softly spoke while nodding, her pink-hair bouncing with the gentle bob of her head. 

“Then lessons in being a lady are to continue until I’m satisfied you are able to showcase my reputation alongside your own,” you chastised her with your smirk rising into a pleasant smile. 

“Yes, my lady,” Perona sighed, beginning to lead you throughout the beautifully maintained hedge-ends. The map of the maze lay unpolished, dust and dirt falling over the sign and making the object unable to be read.

“I shall talk to the Farm-Hand about that tomorrow,” you spoke under your breath. Perona looked to the side, conversing with an astral projection beside her, “We have a farm-hand? I thought that was-... oh…”

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

“WHAAAAAAAA-?” the den-den-mushi split the lord of Kuraigana’s eardrum with the verbal cry form the other end of the transmission. 

“Silence your incessant screaming, Clown,” Mihawk growled into the receiver. 

“You called Me, Hawk-Eyes,” the voice called on the other end, Mihawk’s migraine beginning to worsen its throb against his temples. He should never have done this, requested aid like this. From them. 

“That I did, Clown,” he admitted in a defeated sigh, bringing his index and middle fingers up to rotate around his temple. 

“Stop calling me ‘Clown’. I have a name,” the voice spat back at the gloomy warlord as he sat neatly dressed against his desk, “and if you’re calling in a favor, I require to have my full title spoken to me.” Mihawk sighed again, his defeated eyes closing as his humility began to overcome his body. 

“Captain Buggy D Clown,” Mihawk uttered darkly into the microphone at the end of the den-den-mushi, “I need you to make something for me. I know you can do it, I’ve seen something similar at your big-top. It needs to be starlight. A gown for a bride as radiant as the stars that litter the night sky. A dress so spectacularly clustered with diamonds of glittery stars, people would be amazed that something so beautiful could be found within the realms of mortality.”

A brief pause occurred, static from the other end of the receiver before the clown once again spoke up.

“Mihawk, baby,” the voice taunted him, “you had me at ‘I need you’.”

At that, the other end of the receiver clicked to indicate the end of the conversation, the clown striking a bargain with the darkened lord of Kuraigana, who’s very core was wrecked with absolute hopelessness. 

“Two calls down,” he sighed, rotating his neck to rid it of the tension arising within it, “the drunken red-head is next.”

Lord Dracule Mihawk understood this undertaking was seemingly impossible, the three gowns he was to present to his governess- …no, his betrothed, was no easy feat. He did not initially intend on asking for aid, but his resources and contacts were depleted with such haste, there was no way he would be able to commence such an undertaking on his own. 

The Crocodile managed to sense there was a difference in his usually stoic and disinterested demeanor, which prompted Mihawk to relay his troubles onto the larger gentleman. A cigar clenched within his pearled teeth, his eyes held amusement rather than their usual boredom at Mihawk’s predicament. 

“I have some material you may enjoy, former warlord,” he spoke with such confidence, his eyes almost twinkling with delight at the notion he had something to hold over the golden-eyed swordsman, “a shipment delivered balls of silk and satins to my keep. Pale as the coldest chill of the first drops of winter,” his taunts continued as he blew a puff of cigar smoke into Mihawk’s face, “it almost looked as radiant as the moon.”

“Almost,” Mihawk spat, his eyes narrowed and anger growing more tangible, “almost will not do. It needs to be exact, precise, executed to the highest quality for my bride-.”

“-Your Bride? Mihawk,” Sir Crocodile’s sinister grin split his reptilian face upwards, “You never took me as the type to marry. Concubines? Of course. They have their uses. But Bride?” He removed his cigar from his teeth and pressed the butt-end with his thumb into the ashtray, “A Bride to the lord of Kuraigana. She must be some woman.”

“Indeed, that she is,” he admitted, his anger only remaining within its elevation at the taunts from the larger man. Sir Crocodile hummed, stooping lower to Mihawk’s stature, and smiled further upwards to crinkle his cheeks.

“I will have it made for you, Hawk-Eyes,” he hissed into his face, his shadow from his larger stature doing nothing to intimidate the confident swordsman, “and I expect a favor in return for it. Send her measurements to me, and I will have a hundred hands stitching it for you.”

“Mihawk, you gloomy old prick, that you? What are you calling me for at this hour?” the lazy voice of the overly confident red-headed captain asked at the other end of the receiver. Mihawk sighed, his anxiety at requesting the final object from his oldest rival getting the better of him the longer he remained in silence. 

“Mihawk, if you don’t speak soon, I’m going to hang up the call and go back to my drinking-” Shank’s voice was halted by Mihawk uttering a single word.

“Lingerie.” Silence. Naught a word was spoken for several seconds; the anxiety elevating higher in Mihawk’s chest the longer the silence remained stagnant. An uproar of laughter was thrust into the receiver, several members of the red-hair pirates thrusting their jovial laughter into the air at a single word. As the laughter stifled back, Shanks spoke up once more.

“Lingerie, Mihawk? You want some lingerie? Is it for you, or is it for you?” the red-head captain jested, taunting the dark-haired warlord with his words. Mihawk shook his head, notably too far deep now to pull away from his request now. 

“Red-Haired Shanks,” Mihawk began, the verbal shushing from the redhead on the other end to hush his crew to silence as he heard the request of the former warlord. 

“Yes, old Hawkie? Go on, relay your request for intimate items onto me. See what I can do with your raunchy thoughts, you sick bastard-.” Shanks’ words were halted as he heard the tone of voice depicted by the usually stoic gentleman.

“Sapsorrow, Shanks,” Mihawk gasped in desperation. The audible sound of the thud of footsteps and the voices of the crew fell away from the speaker, indicating the redhead was actively moving away from the campground.

“You still have that thing? Mihawk, you should’ve cast the cursed thing into the seas. Mine was at least swallowed by the sea-beast while I protected the boy,” Shanks hushed an elevated whisper into the receiver. 

“I know,” Mihawk uttered, his brows knitting further into his face as he cursed himself of such stupidity. After another moment of silence, Shanks spoke again.

“And your betrothed requested Lingerie to be a condition of her intention to wed. My, Hawk-Eyes, you’ve at least got a good one,” he chuckled into the receiver, “go on, lay it on me. What conditions needs to be met with this one?”

“Gold,” Mihawk confessed into the mouthpiece of the receiver, “Gold as heated and radiant as the sun, beams of dawn and cracks of dusk. Admittedly, I am unsure where to begin with this request.” More silence followed on the other end of the receiver, Mihawk feeling the anxiety once again claw at his throat with anticipation.

“Do you have her-... I’m assuming it’s a her, yes?” Shanks asked, his voice giddy and boyish; elevated with a twinkle of mischief and excitement.

“Yes,” Mihawk hummed his gruff confession into the receiver.

“Hah!” Shanks laughed triumphantly, “Wonderful. Do you have her measurements?” Mihawk relayed his governess’ measurements to the one-armed Captain, hearing the thump of sandals footsteps falling against the sandy shores of Shank’s island’s shores, crunching beneath his heels.

“Beckmann,” Shanks called his voice away from the receiver, “Beckmann, you’re not going to believe this-... Mihawk, give me a moment, would you? Beckmann!” Mihawk’s expression was not amused, his eyes narrowing beneath his lengthy dark eyelashes. 

“Beckmann, bring me my anvil, pliers and soldering pick! All the gold we’ve got on us and then some-... Mihawk,” Shanks laughed into the receiver, his voice brimming with absolute glee, “Oh, Mihawk. You’ve made my day.”

“I’m glad one of us is getting a semblance of joy from this request,” Mihawk sarcastically spat into the receiver.

“Oh, lighten up. You’ll be getting some joy out of this once I’m done with it, Hawkie,” Shanks laughed again into the mouthpiece, several clangs and elevated voices being spoken into the mouthpiece.

“All the gold on us, Captain? That seems a bit rich comin’ from him. Isn’t he a lord or somethin’?” Beckmann’s raspy voice held a distant quietness away from the mouthpiece. 

“Yeah, but I’m gonna make something out of it, Becks. Lingerie for the sword-wielding lord’s future misses. Gotta get out the good stuff for this one-... Hawk-Eyes, are you still there?” Shanks called back into the receiver, Mihawk feeling his anxiety beginning to calm at the notion that Shanks was willing to participate in the task. 

“I’m here, one-arm,” Mihawk lazily drawled into the microphone, exasperation relayed on every syllable. Shanks chuckled at his title, disregarding it with glee. 

“I’m gonna make your future misses something you will both never forget,” He laughed into the transponder, his boyish charm prompting the swordsman to almost crack a small and apprehensive smile.

As the call of the den-den-mushi went quiet, Mihawk sighed and lulled his head back on his arched backrest. He felt relieved to have the weight of his predicament shared with his allies, but also apprehensive at the requests they would omit from him in return. And the teasing. He loathed being on the receiving end of taunts and jabs from the three of them, particularly the idiot clown.

He propped his neck back upright and glanced his amber eyes over to the desktop, honing in on the small bushel of baby’s breath you had offered him earlier. He reached his fingertips forward, his index finger and thumb grasping the twig holding the cluster of white flowers.

“Lost-Lady,” he smiled at the innocent balls of petals clinging against the sprigs. He chuckled at your earlier interaction, how open you were with him about your feelings of late. He was already thinking of another arrangement to create to decorate your halls with his flowers and vines: sweet jasmine, honeysuckle, bluebells and daisies were amongst his choices for your following tabletop. Much less of a risk of becoming covered head to toe in mud again.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

“M’Lady, Hawk’s lookin’ for ya,” Zoro huffed a small grunt, extending his left forearm to you as you and Perona entered the galley. You shook your head at Zoro, your eyes glaring at him to wordlessly reprimand his pronunciation of your title. He furrowed his brows at first, before his eyes widened in clarity as it dawned on him. He shook his head slowly, rolling his eyes within his skull and bowing sloppily and lowly to you.

“Forgive me, my lady,” His voice, absolutely dripping with the sticky molasses of sarcasm, “I extend my most sincere apologies, my lady. Would my lady prefer me to kneel on the ground to receive a verbal reprimand, or dost my lady prefer me bent over her lap? Perhaps at such an insult to my lady, I should be drawn and quartered. A cat and nine tails whipping their iron slashes into my chest for insulting you in such a way, my lady-.” 

“-That’s quite enough, Zoro,” you reprimanded him, unlacing your hand from within Perona’s arched elbow. Your brow descended into the middle of your face, your chin extended into the air as you circled him, “and here I thought you were making waves as a gentleman, but you are remaining evermore a petulant brat.”

“I aim to please, my lady,” the corner of his lip curled upwards into a small smirk. Perona refused to react to the situation for fear attention from her governess would be drawn to her rather than the display offered by Zoro. 

“You are doing a poor job it today, Trainee,” you snarled at him, causing his smirk to widen as his eyes narrowed at your challenge. 

“Bein’ a gentleman?” Zoro scoffed at you, his lip darting out to dampen his bottom lip as he tested you further.

“Pleasing me,” you quipped back, your challenging eyes and candor immediately bringing a warm blush up the swordsman’s neck and teasing the lobes of his ears. He remained speechless, Perona allowing a silent giggle to threaten to pour over her lips. As the silence began to build with tense air, you clicked your neck and approached the young swordsman.You were now within a foot of the tall gentleman in training, continuing to warn him with your expression.

The three of you were so caught up in this moment of challenge, you remained blissfully ignorant yet again to the silent approach of the lord of the house watching from the shadows. He was on the edge of his hypothetical seat as he witnessed Zoro challenge you, but now watching on with amusement at how you were effortlessly managing him. 

“Try again,” you ordered him. There was not a sound that dared break your challenge of the green-haired swordsman within the galley. He sighed deeply, bowing his head formally to you and closing his eyes. 

“My lady,” he uttered slowly and cautiously, “the lord of Kuraigana has requested your presence in the parlor. Perona and I are to escort you to meet with the formal dressmakers for a fitting.” He almost made it through the sentence before allowing his distaste for the whole situation known. 

“We’re all to have a fitting?” Perona squeaked in joy, “We all get a pretty outfit for it?”

“Yeah,” Zoro huffed, his brows falling against the arch of his nose to indicate his displeasure, “we’re all meant to get one.for it. He’s invited everyone already. They’ll be here by the weekend.” You allowed a shocked breath to escape your chest, not understanding such haste in such a ceremony. 

You inhaled deeply through your nose, closing your eyes in deep thought before speaking again. 

“Zoro,” you began, calming your body and attempting to regain control of your uncontrollable circumstances, “escort Perona to the parlor for her fitting. I will be going to my chambers for a small moment,” you cringed a small smile, attempting to stifle the anxiety by gritting through the pain, “unless the lord of the house is here to escort me himself, I will need a moment or two to myself-.”

At that small apprehension, Mihawk made his entrance to where the three of you had met within the galley. Perona withheld her small smile behind her palms, her upturned eyes doing nothing to satisfy her amusement and joy at the swordsman approaching them. Zoro followed Perona’s eyes to lord Mihawk, which in turn alerted you to his presence approaching behind you. You felt the waves of his confident aura falling from him before you turned to meet his gaze. He cleared his throat briefly, honing his gaze on the green-haired swordsman and addressing him.

“You heard your Governess,” he commanded him, turning to Perona and nodding to her, “Off you go to the parlor. Ensure the spatchcock is properly feathered, Perona.”

“Yes, my lord,” she chuckled, taking Zoro’s arm and immediately springing in her steps towards the parlor without a word from Zoro regarding his new bird-related nickname. You remained stationary and rigid in the galley, your chin extended outwards and tongue pressed to the roof of your mouth. Eyes narrowed, you felt him circle your body like a hawk looking over their next catch. 

“I have come to inform you,” he began, remaining behind your back and away from your sight, “I have announced our intentions to wed. There is to be a ball this weekend, held here at the keep,” he paused his words, the tap of his feet indicating his approach in front of you. You closed your eyes, feeling waves of anxiety again rising over your body and filling your head with the thoughts that swirled well into the night. You remained with your eyes tightly closed, clenching your jaw behind your closed lips.

“Betrothed?” He addressed you, halting his prowling in front of you. He extended his hands above your own, hovering over where you had them hanging together in front of you but refusing to bring them down to touch yours. You opened your eyes, your brows furrowing as you looked down at his hand slowly descending and hovering above your own before snapping your gaze back against his amber-colored eyes. 

“Yes, Betrothed?” You asked him, eyes dancing between his irises and searching within them for an indication as to how he was feeling. He sighed, finally bringing his hands down to collect yours and smooth his thumbs over your knuckles softly. You were again taken aback by his softness, unsure as to which place this was coming from. 

“Is there someone I could invite for you to make this transition easier for you?” he whispered in a low rumbly tone, “it is quite the conundrum: coming here to complete a job, only to find yourself bound to your employer in matrimony. What can I do? You may ask anything of me, my lady-... Betrothed.”

Your heart began to race your mind with how frantic and sudden this expression of care for you had been brought on. You took your time to study his face, looking from his brows to his cheekbones, bearded jaw down to his smooth lips beneath his manicured mustache. You drew your gaze back up to his amber-hued orbs and danced your gaze between them.

“I have no one, Betrothed,” you admitted with a small nod, placing one of your palms atop his hand, “you knew this of me from back when I first tutored that arrogant blond boy in shells-town with his iron-jawed father. We discussed this at the gala.” Mihawk arched his brow upwards, deep in thought. 

“Remind me, Betrothed, the mention has fled from me presently,” he asked, bringing his other hand to rest atop the one you just placed atop his. You inhaled deeply, exhaling out your tension at the memory.

“No father, no mother,” you smiled at him, “no sisters, nor brothers. Although, you may be interested in my dowry,” scoffing at the comment, Mihawk rolled his eyes and nodded his chin for you to continue on. “My mother died birthing me, my father died of illness on the road as he ventured over the estate.”

“No friends, nor extended relations?” He inquired, drawing up your hand to lace within his elbow, leading you on towards the parlor at a leisurely pace. 

“None that are alive, nor that you would not already know, I’m sure,” you commented with a polite nod, “you did attend many of the functions I presented my students at.” He hummed in response to your comment, continuing to fall in step with you through the hallways onwards. 

“No former lover to come knocking on my door, betrothed?” Mihawk’s curiosity pulled at the corner of his lip with his brow arched upwards. You halted your step with him, pulling him to a halt and shooting him a warning look. As his eyes met with yours, he understood the tangible emotion clawing at your chest.

“If you are asking what I think you are asking, sir,” you snarled at him, your lip curling upwards at his question, “I am a lady.” His eyes widened at your comment, searching your face for any further emotion to depict your unspoken confession.

“I did not mean to pry into your personal-,” he was halted by your words as you spoke over him, your eyes softening and a small smile rising to your lips at his attempt to flee from an uncomfortable situation he created for himself.

“This title we have been using to address each other,” you commented, again keeping in step with the tall swordsman at your side, “I am no longer comfortable with our mutual use of the phrase. Shall we dream up something else more appropriate together?” 

Mihawk’s breath caught in his throat, hoping you did not catch such a quiver of anticipation falling from him. Why did you have such a hold over him? Why was the way you were speaking to him affecting him like this? Your voice, that sweetness you held in your cadence. It was intoxicating.

“I am sure we will think of something,” he held tight his jaw and remained outwardly stoic. Internally; he was delighting in your willingness to allow him to think of you. You gently squeezed his forearm in support, walking in comfortable silence towards the parlor together. 

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Zoro’s arms were horizontally outstretched, perpendicular to the floor as the tailors began to pin and prod the material he was trying on. Perona beamed at her reflection, her eyes reflecting her joy at the trim and frill of her fine gown. Zoro smirked, closing his eyes and addressing his peer. 

“Mihawk’s infatuation is starting to spill out, isn’t it. He’s not even hiding it anymore,” He chuckled, Perona immediately laughing at the comment before retorting her own comments on the matter.

“Speak for yourself, Moss,” Perona continued to giggle, “your little crush isn’t as hidden as you think it is, either.”

Tag List: @sordidmusings@writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @be-good-please @little-bunnybabe @sukilovesyou @buggyenjoyer @thesailus @under-kitty @acehyacinth @andriannag @one17 @canthebest1 @khaleesihavilliard @quirkyrascal @hungrhay @sentieence @lebanese-afg-ya @captaincupio @szired

[stsgluver]

𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 — gojo satoru

synopsis. libraries and gojo do not mix

wc. 1.3k

tags. rb!gojo, gojo x reader, reader is close friends with geto + shoko, gojo is described as an 'attention whore'

a/n. i might write for choso next since ive got some yuuji's older brother x babysitter ideas

series masterlist

“say it again.”

“now you’re just fishing for compliments.”

gojo’s head rested on his crossed arms as he stared up at you with those cerulean eyes that you so adored. he wore a confident grin as he shrugged off your allegations, “i’m gorgeous who wouldn’t want to compliment me?”

you scoffed, maybe a little too loudly for the student library you were currently in (they dreaded whenever you walked in with your snowy-haired boyfriend in tow since he couldn’t shut up for more than thirty seconds). “maybe someone who has three exams,” you emphasised by showing him your laptop screen with more tabs open than you could count, “in the next week and actually wants to study so they can pass.”

“my trust fund’s probably more than you could ever make working,” gojo waved a hand dismissively.

“that’s brilliant, satoru,” you deadpanned, “i’m not leeching off of you.”

“it’s not leeching, it’s love,” he said wistfully, blowing you a kiss.

you shook your head in disbelief – his parents had raised him in such a controlled environment, teaching him about his future important roles and the importance of his wealth. he’d risk it all for you and a relationship that he was not even sure was forever. well, in gojo’s mind you were forever – in his dad’s? not so much. so your boyfriend can’t exactly blame you for your hesitancy when his dad asked him at least once every week if he had broken up with you yet.

“i will never understand you.”

“but you do baby. better than anyone.” there was a sincerity in his tone, one that convinced you that he was right and you two were meant to be it for one another. he leant forward to press a quick peck on your lips, sitting himself back down far too soon for your liking. you weren’t even ashamed by how quickly he had you staring back at him with hearts in your eyes.

“this is a public space. i did not come here to see that.”

you twisted your head to see shoko grimacing with geto in tow, an unlit cigarette between her lips as she stuck her nose up at the two of you. they had just come out of their own exam and you were surprised that shoko hadn’t chosen to go and have a smoke before she met you. presumably, you took it as a sign she felt she hadn’t completely bombed out. 

pulling out the seat next to you, you excitedly gestured for your close friend to sit, having barely seen her for the last couple weeks with exams and assignment deadlines. she pushed her bag off of her shoulder, dropping down into the seat next to yours, before leaning across to steal the bag of crisps that you had next to your laptop.

“where’s my kiss, pretty boy?” geto sat down in the seat opposite gojo, an over exaggerated pout on his lips, the metal hoop on the corner of his mouth jutting out. he sent you a wink when you rolled your eyes at his usual flirting with your boyfriend. 

“see!” gojo didn’t even flinch when you elbowed him in the side because of how loud he was being. one of these days they were going to outright ban you altogether and then you would never get a moment of peace to yourself to study. “he compliments me. i wish he was my girlfriend.” 

you, again, went to hit him in the side, but this time he caught your arm, pecking your cheek quickly despite you trying to wriggle out of his gasp.

“shhh,” another student in the room hissed and gojo quietly groaned (somehow always the victim in his mind), releasing your arm and slumping down in his seat like he’d just been scolded by his mother. shoko snickered at his behaviour and the look on your face.

“can we please leave?” gojo whined a little more quietly, though not by much, resting his head on your shoulder. glancing over between the two who had just finished their exam, you let out a quiet sigh. they’d made no effort to take any materials and of their bags yet so there was no way they were going to be doing any studying now either. you were outnumbered three to one.

“depends,” you slowly closed the screen of your laptop slowly, gesturing between your boyfriend and geto opposite who raised an eyebrow. “you really want suguru to be your girlfriend instead of me? over a compliment?” you folded your arms in front of your chest, trying to not laugh as you acted serious.

geto clasped his hands together, clicking his tongue, “you hadn’t told her yet?”

gojo lifted his head from your shoulder, hesitantly glancing towards you with a grin he couldn’t hide as he (unsuccessfully) tried to shuffle his seat away from yours, “i was getting there. haven’t you seen her? she’s violent, i was scared.” 

“funny that,” you pointed a thumb at your snowy haired boyfriend, “weren’t you just offering me your trust fund?” 

that peeked shoko’s interest and she held out her hand to you, “i’ll go halfsies with you on that.”

“of course, anything for you,” you agreed, slipping your hand into hers and giving it a quick shake. shoko winked now at gojo, who’s mouth had dropped wide open at how carelessly you’d just hypothetically given away half of his money.

“woah, woah,” geto raised his hands in the air, bringing the attention back to him as hbe leant back in his chair, “this changes things dramatically. i was only ever here for the money.”

gojo gasped and stood up, overwhelmed by the consecutive betrayals, pointing an accusatory finger at his best friend, “you’re literally rich yourself. how could you use me like this?” to any random onlooker, they may have actually been convinced that he was seriously devastated by his fake mistress’ words.

“yeah but spending someone else’s money means everything’s free. i’m not asking for much, i deserve a life with no burden.” shoko stood up so she could reach across the table and give him a high five. 

gojo held out his hand, aggressively raising his fingers as he listed aloud, “i’m feeling undervalued, underappreciated, under-”

your boyfriend almost jumped out of his skin as a librarian placed a hand on his shoulder. it was almost comical at how this older woman, half the height of gojo, glared up at him. “excuse me sir, we’ve had several complaints,” though her words were formal and polite, she gritted her teeth as she spoke, narrowing her eyes at the disruptive male. if it were up to her, there’d be a large sign of his face on the door with a massive, red ‘x’ through it.

“sorry ma’am,” geto stood up and bowed his head, clearing his throat as he tried not to laugh, “we will be leaving now.” gojo nodded in agreement, slipping under the woman’s grasp and scurrying out of the room with geto close behind.

“i’m going to kill him,” you muttered, although you were still smiling as you hurriedly packed your laptop back into your bag to follow after your boyfriend. 

“all of that walking for nothing,” shoko complained as you stepped outside to see gojo and geto at the bottom of the stairs. pulling out her favourite yellow lighter from her pocket, she finally lit the cigarette she’d been teasing herself with since she’d left her exam.

once you got to the bottom of the stairs, gojo hooked his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to himself. geto stole shoko’s cigarette to take a hit, blowing out the smoke upwards before he looked between the three of you. “where to now?”

“i’m treating you all to ice cream with my hard earned money,” gojo pressed a kiss to the side of your head before lightly shoving you off of him, giggling to himself. “kidding! we’re all racing and whoever gets there last has to pay.”

taglist. @jar-03 @animeflower26 @hyori2 @ja-zz

[lokisprettygirl]

Fix You Fix me (Bill Skarsgård! Eric Draven x Female Reader) (Au)

Read chapter 1 here

Chapter 2

Summary : Eric leaves you unable to walk after the first day.

Warning: Fat shaming, body shaming, manipulation, reader lacks bit of a spine, emotional abuse, reader's weight will be mentioned because the fic demands it

Note : This is going to be a slow burn

Eric was definitely shocked when he found you at his gym late at night, all dressed up and glammed but looking like a deer caught in the headlight. You had that glimmer in your eyes, the confusion mixed with excitement that all the first timers had in their eyes when they entered a gym.

When you told him you needed a personal trainer he was taken by surprise, he had been seeing you for years around the block, he used to visit the library pretty often before -- well not the point he thought.

Point was he wasn't expecting the shy, timid woman looking so desperate to lose a few pounds before this year would end. He couldn't help but wonder why you seemed so desperate. Maybe it had something to do with that boyfriend, so he subtly brought up the breakup comment but you were quick to clarify it wasn't a breakup.

It wasn't a breakup.

Next morning he was almost disappointed when you didn't turn up but then he moved on with his day. He was used to seeing women like you having the sudden burst of motivation after a few rounds of alcohol and then never entering the gym again. However two hours twenty minutes later you did turn up, out of breath, slicked with sweat, staring at him with those big hopeful eyes.

Now that was something he wasn't used to.

There was a desperation in you that seemed unmatched as you stood waiting like a pet for your owner to acknowledge you. Before he'd break your spirits any further he took you outside, he really wanted to know why you needed to do this so badly as if you had a deadline you couldn't cross. Your answer didn't satisfy him, it couldn't have been just about the dress. A stupid dress. There was something more to it, but he didn't care, you were a paying client and he was going to focus on that. He wasn't going to treat you any differently then he did any other clients.

*************

Eric had given you another chance and you didn't want to waste it away so after work that day you bought an alarm clock just so there would be no mishaps again.

“DND now you bitch I dare you”

You held the clock in your hands and threatened it before placing it on the nightstand..it was set for 5 am.

Jake hasn't called or texted all day so you grabbed your phone.

Well you didn't have to tell him that you missed the session, now you knew he was disappointed and probably thought you didn't take this seriously.

Next morning you were up at sharp 5, you showered and brushed your teeth before putting on the same legging from yesterday. It was too snug now that you had gained weight but it was the only one that actually fit..

After you put on Jake's hoodie you grabbed a water bottle, your phone and a headphone to head for the gym. It was ten minutes walk from your place and it was just 5:35 so you knew you'd reach on time.

When you reached at 5:45, you crossed your arms and stared at the now unlit sign. It was closed.

The gym was closed.

You sat down at the porch, a part of you wanted to call him but you refrained. Did he lie to you? Was he just fucking with you? You knew he was a jerk..kind of but you didn't think he'd be this cruel to you. Besides, you were a paying customer.

Your mind was running a mile per second but then you saw him walking in, he was dressed completely in black, his hair wet from the shower, his duffel bag slinging on his shoulder.

Okay so maybe 6 am was the opening time.

He stared at you before he asked you to step away from the door so he could unlock.

“When I say 6..come at 6”

He said to you as he took out his keys from the pocket of his cargo pants, embarrassment flushed your cheek.

“Sorry i just didn't want to miss”

You mumbled, almost inaudibly, talking back to the guy who had the permission to put you through hell for an hour didn't seem like a bright thing to do.

As he entered, you immediately followed behind, he turned on the lights and air conditioner before he placed his bag on the counter.

“Change and get back in two” he said to you all while staring at his phone so you cleared your throat. What was wrong with a hoodie?

“Umm change?”

“Ever heard of workout fits? I need to see your form and you need to be able to move which you can't do in that giant hoodie”

“I understand..I'll do it tomorrow”

“Why can't you just take it off?” he crossed his arms.

“Because I am not wearing anything underneath..” you said to him before you bit on your lips “no that's not what I meant…i mean it's just a sports bra under there and -”

“Step on the scale”

Well for one you were glad to be interrupted.

You stood on the scale, it wasn't a normal scale you had at home, it was huge like a mini treadmill. He looked at the numbers on the digital glass and noted down your information.

All you understood was one number.

150 lbs. You had gained almost twenty pounds in the past two years.

“Five rounds of the whole gym..now” he asked you, snapping you out of the thoughts

“Five?”

You stared at him, he didn't answer, he just stepped into the gym area so you followed behind him.

“Six now that you have wasted a minute”

You immediately sprung into action as he said that. It started alright, you were jogging at a medium pace, the gym area was fairly big but you could do six rounds back and forth right?

Wrong. By the third round you felt your lungs burning in your chest and he didn't seem impressed as he wrote down something in his notepad before taking out his phone and ignoring you, once in a while he looked your way before he went back to staring at his phone, probably staring at the pictures of his perfect girlfriend.

“I need a second -” you said between your huffing and puffing, stopping for a moment to catch your breath but as you saw the intensity in his glare you quickly began running again. By the sixth round you wanted to die..

When he finally put his phone down, you knew you were in for a long torturous session.

At first he made you warm up, you followed his movements as you did some mobility exercises.

“You have no muscle mass and no flexibility” he said to you as he saw you struggling with bend down and reach stretch.

“I don't?”

You didn't mean to sound as sarcastic as you probably did.

“Warm up done, sip on your water, don't gulp”

That was warm up? Just warm up?

“Get down on your fours” he asked you as he threw a yoga mat your way.

“But we just met” you joked before you realised who you were joking with.

He didn't seem like the type of guy who appreciated humour in his day to day life.

“I didn't mean..I was just-” before you could even finish he interrupted you.

“Mat. Knees. Now”

You nodded as you tried to ignore the embarrassment you had brought for yourself.

After doing three sets of knee push ups, where you couldn't even move an inch down, Eric showed you how to do a proper squat. You could do that you thought but you were doing it all wrong.

“Push down from your hips”

“Focus on your gluteal muscles..mind to muscle connection..”

He kept shouting instructions behind you.

Three sets of fifteen and your legs felt like rubber, you looked at the time and it has been just Ten minutes since you started.

What the hell?

Your alarm clock never took so long whenever you snoozed it in the morning for ten more minutes of sleep.

“Relax for thirty seconds then we will start the workout”

Wait what?

Eric walked over to the whiteboard, casually scribbling down what looked like a list of medieval torture techniques disguised as exercises. You read them slowly, each word landing like a personal attack.

Jump squats. Burpees. Mountain climbers. Wall sit. Dead bugs. Plank to finish.

“All bodyweight exercises.. going easy because it's your first day”

He mumbled casually as if you weren't already dying. This was easy?

You swallowed.

He turned around, arms crossed, the sleeves of his black shirt tight around his biceps. “You ready?”

“Do I get a choice?”

“No.”

You gave him a weak thumbs-up, to which he only raised an unimpressed brow

“Alright,” he clapped once. “Let’s see what you’re made of.”

You launched into the jump squats after he showed you the preview, your thighs screaming, balance wobbly. He was close—too close, watching your every move. Not in a pervy way, more like a hawk watching a baby bird trying to fly.

“Land softer” he said, “or you’ll destroy your knees. And keep your chest up..core embraced..remember to breathe the way I taught you.”

You adjusted your form as he said that, gritting your teeth, trying not to pass out.

Then came the burpees. You flopped onto the mat like a dying fish halfway through the second set.

“Come on,” he said, crouching beside you. “No one’s going to do this for you. You want to fit into the dress? Move”

You glanced at him as you caught your breath. Everything burned, your legs, your face, your ears, your lungs.

But something about his voice made you get up again, he was strict but also encouraging.

It was hell. Pure, leg-burning, lung-crushing hell. But you did it.

Barely.

By the time you were lying on your back after the last push-up your hoodie was soaked, your limbs jelly, you were convinced you’d hallucinated the whole session.

“Don't relax, we need to cool down first”

Well dying seemed like a better option now.

As the session finished he passed you a water bottle from the small cafeteria next to the reception.

“Shower is that way” he pointed towards the bathroom/changing area so you shook your head.

“I'll just go Home and do it..thank you for the session” you smiled as you stared at him.

“You did good”

Did he just compliment you? Well that felt good.

“Thank you..umm tomorrow?”

“You're not coming tomorrow” your brow raised as he said that.

“Mmm why?”

“You won't be able to”

“Okay umm day after tomorrow?” You asked again so he nodded.

Next morning you understood what he meant.

The moment your eyes opened you felt it, the searing pain in your chest. But that wasn't it, you also realised you couldn't get up. Like at all. None of your muscles moved, you grabbed onto the edge of the bed to lift yourself up and all you felt was sharp pain in your stomach. But that wasn't the worst of it all. The moment you tried to stand up, your legs just refused to budge, your so called glutes refusing to aid.

The pain wasn’t just soreness. It was agony. Muscles you didn’t know you had were on fire. Even blinking felt like an effort. You let out a small, pitiful groan as you somehow reached the bathroom.

How were you supposed to sit down now?

A loud scream was heard from the bathroom as you slowly descended to reach the commode.

You pulled your phone out from the pocket of your pants to send him a text. The Devil himself.

He was quick to respond.

In the evening after finishing work you walked towards the crow, maybe some physical activity will help loosen up the knots you had all inside your body. As you entered you saw a guy at the reception you hadn't seen in the past two days.

Just like Eric he was also covered in tattoos. He gave you a smile as he passed you the register to make the entry.

As you entered the main gym area you looked around for Eric but he was nowhere so after taking out your workout clothes you put your bag in the locker before you moved to the bathroom /changing room.

Your eyes widened when you spotted a familiar face there.

It was Regina. Eric's girlfriend. The perfect Regina. She was dolled up in the finest gymshark attire, you didn't want to stare but you couldn't help yourself, that booty, those curves. It was as if she was made in a lab. She was tying up her perfect blonde hair in the mirror when she caught you staring.

“Are you new here?” She asked you out of nowhere.

Oh god she was talking to you.

Regina Blanc was talking to you..

“Umm yes..i just joined yesterday”

She turned to look at you as you responded.

“I really love your shirt ..where did you get it? It's so cute”

Damn you always thought she'd be a mean girl in real life but surprisingly she was nice.

“Thank you ..umm.. forever 21..it's really old” you smiled at her so she smiled back. Before things would get awkward you headed for the changing room.

You pulled out your phone and texted Jake, then waited for his response as you squeezed into your leggings.

He was coming over tonight so you are excited to see him.

When you stepped out, luckily Regina was not there. To be frank she intimidated you with her perfect blonde hair and her perfect boyfriend.

As you went back into the gym area, you noticed all the treadmills were occupied except the one next to Regina.

You took a deep breath, acting as carefree as you could before you stepped onto the elevator.

You didn't really know how they worked, there were so many buttons, there should be just three buttons you thought. Start-Die-Stop.

“Oh let me help” she said as she stood on the side of the elevator effortlessly between her run.

She pressed start and then increased the speed to 4, it wasn't slow but it wasn't fast either.

“Thank you” you smiled at her.

God she was really nice

'I'm y/n by the way” you introduced yourself finally so she turned her head to look at you, her ponytail moving with her like a cartoon character, her treadmill was now set on the lowest.

“I'm Regina”

Yeah as if you didn't know.

A minute later Eric finally walked in, his eyes met with yours in the mirrorview so he gave you a curt nod before he reached the side of the elevator to reach Regina.

“Hey babe” he leaned forward as he kissed the side of her temple. That's when you really noticed how freaking tall he was as compared to you. Even Regina with her modelesque stature looked short in comparison to him.

“Babyyyy” she cooed, her pitch high as she pushed the stop button on the elevator and turned to him.

“I'm doing legs today..help me?” She said as she kissed him. You didn't want to stare but the mirror all around you made it impossible.

“You don't have to ask”

You almost saw a hint of smile on his face as his arm wrapped around her waist.

“Oh btw meet Y/n..she's new here”

She said to him so he nodded.

“I know..she's a client”

Regina seemed surprised by that information for some reason.

“Ohhh okay..well good luck..my condolences to you” she said as she turned to look at you, you could only chuckle in response.

“Let's go” he picked her up effortlessly, her legs wrapped around his waist as she let out a squeal, he then took her to the squat rack.

You looked around to see if other people witnessed that but it was as if nobody cared or maybe they were used to it.

He didn't even look at you after that, his eyes were hooked on Regina as he spotted her and guided her throughout the workout.

After thirty minutes you stepped off the treadmill. Your t-shirt was now soaked in patches of sweat. Grabbing your water bottle, you moved to the stretching mats at the far corner.

“Okay let's see” you mumbled as you pulled your phone out and opened youtube to find stretches that will help with muscle soreness or Doms or whatever he had said.

You used the water bottle to angle your phone.

“Oh god oh god” you couldn't move an inch, how were you supposed to touch your toes?

“Go help her..she's so clueless…it's cute” Regina said to Eric as she was taking a break from her set.

He looked at you for a second before he turned to her again.

“She's doing fine..got her YouTube and stuff” he said as he grabbed her water bottle to take a sip “Besides I'm only getting paid for twelve sessions” he winked at her so she shook her head before she let out a laugh.

“You're so money minded” she pressed her manicured finger into his chest to tease him but he just shrugged in response. You looked at them from the mirror just in time to see her boop Eric’s chest with her fingertip, like they were in some kind of romcom.

His expression barely changed, but the sight of him there, so tall, composed, completely absorbed in her, made your stomach twist. Did people ever feel that way about you and Jake? Did they ever look at you and think ‘oh what a cute couple?’

You shifted into another awkward stretch, groaning as your legs or your hamstrings screamed in protest. The girl in the YouTube video looked like a graceful swan, you felt more like a whale suffering a heart attack.

“Breathe into it,” the video said.

You did. Barely. Mostly you just whimpered in pain.

From across the gym, Eric leaned against the rack, arms crossed, watching without really giving it away

He had that maddeningly unreadable expression on his face. When Regina teased him, he smirked, but his eyes wandered..just for a second, back to you.

Why were you so helpless he thought.

“Okay that's enough” you mumbled in affirmation as you got up somehow and grabbed the mat to keep it in the used section.

As Regina noticed you leaving she called your name so you stepped towards her.

“Give me your number..we should hang out sometimes” she said to you, your eyes widened in surprise.

Was this really happening?

After exchanging numbers she clicked a selfie with you.

“Let me know when you're done with the photoshoot” Eric said to her before he walked to the reception area.

“Oh shut it” she giggled before she turned her attention to you and clicked another selfie.

She was probably way younger than you. You just realised that. How old was Eric?

Regina tucked her phone into the waistband of her leggings and smiled, all glossy lips and sparkling teeth.

“You’re seriously so cute” she said, giving your arm a playful nudge. “We could totally do, like, a girls' brunch or something sometime. There’s this café downtown that does these insane matcha pancakes and I'm telling you it's insane..Eric loves it too”

“Yeah—yeah, that sounds fun.”

You nodded quickly, your mouth catching up a beat too late.

She took your Instagram handle so she could tag you in the picture. From the glass door you noticed Eric at the reception desk, leaning on the counter and saying something to the tattooed guy from earlier. His eyes flicked toward you for half a second, just half and then back down to whatever he was doing.

After saying bye to Regina you stepped out of the gym area.

The guy, whose name you learned was Chance, pointed towards the register to mark your exit so you grabbed the pen.

“Feeling any better?” Eric asked so you looked at him..

“Kind of..I can walk now” you chuckled “I guess this is what Jake wants me to feel when he says you won't be able to walk for days after I'm done with you” you said nonchalantly. There was complete silence in the room for a good ten seconds before Chance laughed out loud.

Why? Why couldn't you just keep your thoughts in your head?

You wanted to disappear. You could feel the heat rushing up your neck to your face as you tried to busy yourself with scribbling your signature in the register.

Eric still hadn’t said a word but you could see from your peripheral vision that he was biting the inside of his cheek. That same unreadable expression on his face that he always had but this time, you were almost sure there was a flicker of amusement behind his eyes.

“I meant..” you stammered trying to get rid of the awkwardness, “I meant soreness. Like workout soreness. You know, post-leg day... DOMS. Not like…not like sex or—never mind.”

Chance laughed harder and leaned on the counter. “Nah, nah, don’t backpedal. That was awesome”

You groaned internally as he said that.

“Tell your boyfriend I’ll try not to upstage him next time” Eric finally spoke, his voice calm but gruff.

Your head shot up. Your jaw dropped open as you weren't expecting a quip from him. He still said it in his intimidating serious voice though.

“I will”

***************

“Baby i'm so sore” you said as you laid down in the bed after dinner with Jake. He was in the mood, he brought flowers and chocolates for you, even though you were trying to diet and he couldn't stop touching you.

“You don't have to stress, let me do my thing honeybear” he said to you so you smiled and nodded.

Every inch of your body hurt as he tried to make love to you slowly, you whimpered but it wasn't from pleasure.

As soon as he came he collapsed on the bed next to you.

“Fuck that was good..” he said so you turned to him and smiled.

“Goodnight..i had such a long day” he pecked your lips before he turned off his side of the lamp.

“Mmmm are you really sleepy?” You asked him so he nodded

“I stand on my feet for hours..my job isn't just sitting all day long and signing book logs”

You wanted to talk to him about the day but you understood that he was tired. His job wasn't an easy one. He wasn't wrong about that.

Next morning you woke up around 5 on your own..you noticed that you had plenty of notifications on your phone, particularly from instagram. You wanted to check but you got showered and ready first. On the way to the gym you finally opened the app.

Regina had posted the picture she took with you yesterday on her grid. Like not even a story, her main grid.

“Met my new bestie yesterday” was her caption. She had tagged your profile, it was private so you had plenty of requests pending now.

You couldn't help but smile at the picture but then you made the mistake of looking at the comments. One after the another, all you found was horrible things being said about you.

“You know how they say there's always an ugly one in a couple of friends? It's true”

“God If I was this girl and looked like that I'd never dare get a picture with a queen like Reg”

You scrolled further, heart thudding harder with every swipe.

The warmth from Regina’s friendly caption was already fading, replaced by the sting of her followers and their faceless cruelty.

“Regina, blink twice if she forced you to take this pic.”

“Nothing screams ‘main character’ like being the pretty friend. You're doing the lord's work, Regina.”

“No way she works out at The Crow. I thought your boyfriend had standards 😭”

“That poor shirt didn’t stand a chance..geee”

“Literally thought it was a fan photo at first. Can’t believe she tagged her”

“New bestie? Girl, that’s charity.”

“Someone please tell her the 2006 look isn’t cute anymore”

“Why would Regina post this? It’s ruining her aesthetic.”

“She kinda looks like the before pic in a weight loss ad”

“Why is she built like someone’s tired auntie?”

Your throat tightened. Your fingers trembled slightly as you scrolled faster, searching for one, just one, comment that was kind to you. Something neutral. Even a dumb emoji would do. But no, it was all variations of the same thing: you weren’t pretty enough, thin enough, polished enough to stand next to someone like Regina Blanc.

Had she… read them?

She had replied to a few people under other comments that were praising her and didn't include you but nothing under the insults. You nearly closed the app, until you noticed a name in the likes.

Eric Draven.

He had liked the post.

Of course he did.

You clicked the little heart icon to double-check.

He probably read those comments. Probably saw every insult. Probably agreed with some of them.

The screen blurred as tears welled in your eyes, and you quickly locked your phone, you felt embarrassed and humiliated. It wasn't Regina's fault, she just wanted to post a picture.

It wasn't her fault you were so fat and ugly. You didn't want to blame her but you sure as hell didn’t want to walk into that gym again either.

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Taglist @loushaw131460 @wiseyouthinfluencer @purplerainx1 @bloodykisserr

[alzrite]

Visitors From Afar

Five foreign cookies enter the Spire of Knowledge.

The empty halls of the spire echo with new footsteps. Five cookies walk through unlit hallways as their gaze wanders the opulent structure.

"Whoa..." One of the three smaller cookies exclaims. The candy cane in his hand moves with the cookie as he marvels. "This place sure is big."

"I wonder where the library is." The smaller cookie with a star-covered waffle hat wonders. "It must have lots of magic tomes to read."

Their marvel of the steeple is interrupted by the clack of a staff familiar to the grand tower. "My, my, what do we have here?" a friendly voice speaks from the end of the hall. A blue cloak embroidered with gold flows with the blue cookie walking towards the five. "It's been a while since new visitors intruded."

"Intruded?" The soft voice of the green-coated cookie asks.

The blue cookie stops before the five cookies, a genial smile spreads on his face. "I long since closed my spire to any visitors." The mismatched eyes of the cookie glint with quiet anger at the disturbance. "So, do tell me why you have intruded on my spire." The smile on the blue cookie's face remains. "Do you seek knowledge from my library as the many cookies before you did?"

The cookie adorned with white and waffle patterns takes a step forward. "We are looking for the Fount of Knowledge." The eyes of the vanilla cookie remain closed as he faces the blue one.

The blue cookie tilts his head as his eyes glimmer with amusement. "Why do you seek him?"

"The seal on the tree guarding the beasts has been broken and the beasts have escaped." The face of the vanilla cookie remains passive as he explains. "We heard that he was once their friend and came here seeking his help." The eye on the cookie's vine staff stares at the, no longer smiling, blue cookie.

"And how do you expect me to assist in this?" The blue cookie asks.

Confusion grows on the smaller cookies' faces.  The cookie with a cane speaks. "But, we are looking for the Fount of Knowledge so we can ask him for help."

"And... you're not the fount of knowledge?... Are you?" The small pink cookie asks.

The blue cookie chuckles in amusement. "Why I am the Fount of Knowledge little one!" He takes a bow as if entertaining an audience. "Now, if you would answer my question I might consider offering my help."

The green cookie steps forward to answer. “We were hoping that you may be able to assist us in resealing the beasts within the tree.”

“And why would I do that?” The blue cookie taps his staff to the ground. A table with matching chairs appears before them at his command, landing softly on the hallway floor. “Why don’t we settle more comfortably for this conversation?” the Fount offers with a smile.

The vanilla cookie smiles at the offer. He takes a seat, setting his staff to lean on the table. The other cookies hesitantly follow suit. The blue cookie’s smile widens. He summons a tea set and tower of treats with a flourish of his staff. Taking the remaining seat, he settles his staff as the vanilla cookie did. Floating the teapot with his magic, the fount pours tea into each teacup, filling his own last.

The fount takes a small sip of his tea. “Unless they come for my spire I have no need to fight them.” He takes one of the blueberry treats from the tower. “So I have no reason to help you.” He pops the small treat into his mouth.

“But if we don’t stop them they will destroy the cookie world.” The green cookie argues. “And your spire will be destroyed along with it.”

The blue cookie hums, disinterested. “But for what reason would they destroy all of the cookie world.” He adds a cube of sugar to his cup. He starts to mix his tea with a teaspoon. “They may have changed but I doubt they wish to simply destroy.”  He taps the teaspoon on the rim of the cup and lifts it to take another sip. “So tell me, what do they seek?”

The vanilla cookie speaks up. “They seek our Soul Jam.”

The blue cookie pauses. “Soul Jam?”

The vanilla cookie nods. “Yes, just like the one I have.” His head bows, bringing attention to the Soul Jam resting on his chest.

The blue cookie hums. He reaches into his sleeve and pulls out a matching blue jam. “Like this?” He asks them.

The five cookies before him all stare in shock. “You have a Soul Jam?” The vanilla cookie wonders. “And it matches mine.” The eye on his staff rapidly switches between the two identical Soul Jams.

“It’s the same Soul Jam.” The fount returns the ornament to his sleeve. “I received my Soul Jam from the witch who created me.” He adds another sugar cube to his cup, mixing it in as he did the previous one. “They later asked for a piece of it. After my friends changed for the worse.” He takes a sip of the sweetened tea. “Your Soul Jam is that piece.”

The vanilla cookie’s hand moves to touch his Soul Jam. “That would mean we share a Soul Jam.” The soft voice of the vanilla cookie comments.

The fount adds another sugar cube to his tea, mixing it in as he did the others.

“Is my Soul Jam also just a piece?” The green whit-haired cookie asks.

The fount’s attention moves to the Soul Jam attached to the staff in the green cookie’s hands. “Your Soul Jam is a half of my former friend’s.” He takes a sip of his tea, returning his sight to his sweetened tea.

“Half.” The green cookie echoes while watching the blue cookie add another sugar cube to his tea.

“How many sugar cubes are you going to add?” The sweet voice of the smaller pink cookie asks.

“Until my curiosity is sated.” The blue cookie answers whilst mixing his tea.

“Is the tea not sweet enough already?” The small cookie with a cane asks.

“Oh, it’s plenty sweet.” The blue cookie answers with amusement before taking a sip.

“Then why do you keep on adding more?” The smaller cookie in a robe and hat asks.

“To sate my curiosity!” The fount answers with a smile.

“Um,” The green cookie stutters.

The blue cookie turns his attention to her. “Yes?”

“Why is my Soul Jam a half and Pure Vanilla’s is a piece.” She asks.

“Well, your Soul Jam is only a purified half. Your friend’s on the other hand is not just a piece of my Soul Jam but also its own Soul Jam.”

The green cookie’s face scrunches with confusion.

The clink of the teacup being set down comes from The vanilla cookie’s direction. “Did we ever introduce ourselves?” His comforting voice asks.

The fount laughs. “No, we have not!” He sets down his teacup on its matching dish. “Allow me to start.” The blue cookie stands, taking hold of his resting staff. “I am The Fount of Knowledge.” He introduces himself with a wave of his staff. “Also known as Blueberry Milk Cookie!” He takes a deep bow and returns to his seat with a smile.

The vanilla cookie is next to the stand. “I am Pure Vanilla Cookie.” He directs a smile towards the fount. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Blueberry Milk laughs. “The pleasure is all mine!”

Pure Vanilla sits down and the green cookie beside him stands up. “My name is White Lily Cookie. It’s nice to meet you.”

Blueberry Milk smiles at the soft-spoken cookie. “You as well my dear.”

White Lily returns the smile with a small one of her own. She returns to her seat and the smaller cookie with a can stands up. When he saw the table blocked all but the frosting on his head the smaller cookie moved to stand on his chair instead. “I am GingerBrave!” He announces proudly.

“Ah, GingerBrave.” The fount says with a smile in his voice. “I like your buttons.”

“Oh!” GingerBrave’s smile brightens. “Thank you Mr. Fount of Knowledge!” He thanks much to the fount’s delight. The brave cookie returns to sitting and the robed cookie moves to stand on his chair, much like his friend did.

“I am Wizard Cookie.” He introduces himself. “It’s an honor to meet you.” He says respectfully with awe.

“Would you like to visit my library sometime?” He offers the smaller cookie. “I heard you were interested in the tomes.”

A gasp of delight comes from Wizard Cookie. He quickly composes himself, controlling his excitement. “Thank you for the offer. When can I visit?” He asks with hope in his voice.

The fount laughs. “Later today if you're not busy!”

Wizard Cookie nods with excitement. “I won’t be busy at all!” He returns to his seat and his pink friend stands on her chair as her friends did.

“I’m Strawberry Cookie.” The pink cookie introduces herself. “It’s very nice to meet you Blueberry Milk Cookie.”

The smile on Blueberry Milk’s face doesn’t waver. “It’s nice to meet you as well my friend!”

Strawberry Cookie smiles and returns to her seat.

“Now that the introductions are done. Do you have any further questions?” The fount asks.

“Yes.” Comes the answer from Pure Vanilla. “What do you mean when you say my Soul Jam is a piece of yours while also being its own Soul Jam?”

Blueberry Milk hums in thought. “After I gave the witch a piece of my Soul Jam,” He takes some blueberries from the treat tower and drops them into his tea. “She told me that she would create a new one with what I gave her.” He places his hands on his teacup. “Any more questions?”

“The witches visited you?” White Lily asks with wariness and worry.

"One of them, yes." He confirms then takes a sip of his tea.

"And," She hesitated, the grip on her staff tightening. "She didn't..." She looks up at the fount. "eat you?"

The fount blinks. He slowly lowers his cup.  His voice comes softer, and the flavor of comfort threads through his voice. "Only some of the witches created us cookies as delicacies for consumption." His cup clinks against its saucer. "My creator is not one of those witches."

"Oh..." The soft voice of White Lily echoes in the quiet hallway. Pure Vanilla's hand settles on the shoulder of his friend.

"Do you..." White Lily begins.

The fount lets out a hum of curiosity.

"Do you know who my witch is?" She asks.

The fount hums. "No." He answers. "I only know the witch of me and my former friends for we share the same one." He elaborates.

White Lily's tense shoulders slump.

A sudden clap from the fount startles the visitors. “Now, it's getting quite late. Do the five of you have any plans for the night? I don’t recall any inns nearby.” The blue cookies inquires.

“Ah, we could return to the faerie kingdom.” The vanilla cookie answers.

“Goodness, that’s quite the travel from here.” Blueberry Milk exclaims.

“Well, as you said, there are no inns nearby.” White Lily points out.

The fount hums in thought. “How about this, the five of you stay here for the night. I have plenty of room here in the spire!” Blueberry Milk offers.

“Oh, we’d appreciate that very much. Thank you Blueberry Milk Cookie.” The vanilla cookie expressed their appreciation.

The fount replied with a smile. The guests are then guided into their rooms for the night as sunlight slowly dips under the horizon. 

[folcanta]

rewatching Cowboy Bebop as i recover from surgery.

it's really cute and somewhat bittersweet to see how Sunrise got there from Escaflowne... (Watanabe also boarded on Escaflowne and you can reeeeally tell in episode 5.) those delicious dutch angles. they're not "cinematic" in the sense of being nice to look at, although they are. they're cinematic in that they both literally pull from film theory in their compositions and cuts, in a way that sets them apart from pretty much everything else. Jet's episodes are mini Michael Mann films and they're really good lol, clever beats and editing. overall extremely well-directed, tightly considered, and both stories have a huge, endlessly sympathetic interest in humanity. Sunrise is the Wow Cool Robot factory and they're still being Wow Cool Robot'd up to 2025!!

by the esteemed titas vilkaitis

maybe it's just my interpretation, but by watching this i think you can tell how much they loved Escaflowne + were jilted by its unlit brain reception. Bebop too sought to completely break/redefine the boundaries of genre but it's so much more bitter/cynical and imo emotionally withholding— and ancillary deaths have little meaning and there's usually something to take the attention/edge off of sad and sombre moments. which is nothing like Escaflowne, where emotions are allowed to hang in the air as atmosphere.

Escaflowne is a fantastical but dystopian distant past (war-torn, creating huge weapons of war by ripping energists— an analogue for both oil and nuclear energy— from the natural world) with a difficult but defined fix/conclusion, if the characters can gain unclouded awareness of themselves and each other. Escaflowne believed in utopia, one that is very much possible when disarmed, built with focused intent on mutual respect and commonality— communistic, even if we don't know what exactly happens with the royals of the story, we can see what's truly valued and status is not it. Cowboy Bebop sees itself beyond utopia; the time for utopia has ended with people so scattered and severed from one another, at once stratified and classless, where classlessness of this kind is not freedom. Bebop is a fantastical but dystopian distant future with no fix/conclusion, as the characters reject themselves and each another. both stories are about how the past walks with its characters, how it lives alongside them and how they're stuck— willingly and very much not— in its cycle. there's even an eye motif, one which began with Escaflowne ;^)

i love Cowboy Bebop, i have it memorised forward and backward on the inside of my eyelids, but the stuff it's critiquing is so similar to Escaflowne it does make me a little sad how shallowly these stories were taken and then iterated upon with such diminishing returns. you can't so easily iterate on something that commented on and predicted not just the future of storytelling, but also us as people— and now we just try to rehash the old instead of making predictions/engaging with the present and future ourselves. or even the past, really. stuck in suspended animation trying to regurgitate what worked once for a world that decided none of it was needed anymore, and opted for the cheap, the easy, the impersonal. you can't just thoughtlessly breathe life into something that entire systems have deemed dead unless you also seek to confront, dismantle, and work outside those systems as much as possible— otherwise you're reanimating a corpse.

does anyone really give a shit about the live action Bebop remake? does it really hold a candle to the original? what's the point? why bother making bullshit if you could make something beautiful instead? WELL, because companies want more money. your nostalgia is someone at netflix's paycheque as they delete entire libraries of film from their catalogue. please god never remake Escaflowne. the circumstances which produced it are gone. we have moved on. it's horrible and unfair but that's what happened. we're in schlock city now, baby.

like just read the full text from the Bebop interstitial,

Once upon a time, in New York City in 1941... at this club open to all comers to play, night after night, at a club named "Minston's Play House" in Harlem, they play jazz sessions competing with each other. Young jazz men with a new sense are gathering. At last they created a new genre itself. They are sick and tired of the conventional fixed style jazz. They're eager to play jazz more freely as they wish then... in 2071 in the universe... The bounty hunters, who are gathering in the spaceship "BEBOP", will play freely without fear of risky things. They must create new dreams and films by breaking traditional styles. The work, which becomes a new genre itself, will be called... COWBOY BEBOP

that is a STRONG manifesto. nothing in Bebop or in Escaflowne is random. it is written and designed to be signfiicant, but that light shines more or less strongly on different elements within each. maybe if Escaflowne had outright stated its aims and ideals in this way, more people would've understood and appreciated its range and depth. maybe. maybe.

in either case, it's sad and disappointing that works of art made in a time where art spoke directly to us and asked things of us were/are sidelined. we weren't being condescended to by the art around us. we were being instructed to have standards and aspirations and conversations. i look at these beautiful, heartfelt pieces with wonder. i can't love them as mere slivers of their whole because i can see that those pieces aren't disparate, nothing exists on its own, every person and every relationship, every action and reaction, everything is important. pulling it apart only reveals more of how it's connected.

oh but look at this...

:^) cute

[portraitsofguilt]

⋆⑅˚₊ — in the back seat, I’m yours. abby anderson

description.             non of you can keep your hands to yourselves after a night out with friends, it has to be done right here, right now.

content warnings.               MDNI, nsfw content, female bodied reader, semi public sex, vaginal fingering, fingering, cunnilingus, college au, car sex author’s note.                 tumblr kept community label this back in may and I guess I am trying my luck again so you the ppl on tumblr can also see it !!! hope you like this if you haven’t read it on ao3 yet :)

it was one of those nights that when the day ended and before the next one started, ellie, abby, dina, jesse, you, and a few other friends of yours didn’t need to be cooped up in the college’s library, learning for upcoming exams and writing essays for extra credits. it was a night to celebrate your hard work and relax, let loose and forget about school even if it was just for a little while. abby and you both enjoyed nights out like these, seeing each other in lovely outfits, nicer than what you two usually wear but not so fancy you would look apart from everyone, laugh with everyone, to laugh with each other when arriving home.

the two of you have been driving around a little just before, trying to not get caught in the city’s traffic too much but one thing lead to another with abby parking a little away from the dorms, in an unlit alleyway, maybe one or two streets down. non of you could keep your hands to yourselves, not after you have endured almost five hours of just being around friends with no chance to really admire each other.

“abby…” your voice came out almost like a whisper, and you looked down, trying to work out a sentence. but your mind’s wires were knotting as you couldn’t stop your fantasies from taking over every coherent thought you had up to this pint. in such a thigh place like this, on the backseats of abby’s car, no wonder you had no room to think, abby was the only thing on your mind. her lips, her skin, her fingers, her breath, her voice… just abby.

“i’m yours… i wanna be yours,” you finally choke out, your hands tensing around abby’s neck as you wait for her to pull away and say no, that it is too public and fooling around was where she drew the line.

abby smiled sweetly down at you, with one of her hands on your flushed cheeks as she hummed, “yeah? wanna be mine, sweet princess?” you nodded, biting your lips while doing so, hypnotized by the lustful look on abby’s face.

“want you so bad abs…” you whine as you lean closer, wanting and needing another kiss so the burning feeling between your legs would be kept at bay. your eyes slipped shut and you whined softly as abby’s teeth got caught on your lower lip, biting and pulling before her mouth slipped to your jaw. she nipped and sucked at the skin of your neck, each kiss sending new tingles across your body.

a grin ran across abby’s face hearing your needy whines. she pushed some hair out of her face before burying her head into you neck, sensually kissing as her hands gave your thighs gentle squeezes. your girlfriend was more than eager to leave some marks, sink her teeth into your perfect skin, and hear you cry a little before letting a pleasant moan out when her tongue soothed the pain.

“you are so precious princess, so soft.”

abby whispered as she opened your legs, pushing the apart and unbuttoning your jeans, practically ripping them off in excitement, ogling those see-through, pretty pink thongs. the sight made the girl’s pussy above you clench around nothing, and that yearning desire to hear her pretty thing of a girlfriend cry out her name grew bigger.

she palmed your clothed cunt, laughing out loud pleasantly as she felt the forming wet patch on her palm. “i was thinking o-of this all n-night… you touching me like this,” you watched as abby’s eye darkened at your words, a grin eating away her facial muscles.

“all this flattery is gonna make me take real good care of this pussy.” abby smirked, flashing one side of her teeth hungrily as she stretched her back for one last time. she wanted to see the forming mess that you were, see how your face twitches as she moved your panties down and pocketed them. “gonna touch you now, ‘kay?”

you turned away, trying to hide your face in your own shoulder as you were already feeling fuzzy and sparkly all over your body. it felt so good to be under abby like this, feeling so small and at a loss of control, but still feeling just as special, her pretty princess, and now you just wanted to please the predator that had trapped you. if abby kept talking to you with that low voice of hers, with this choice of words, the sickly sweet tone that made your knees buckle, then you would have done anything abby had asked for no matter if people were to watch.

abby’s hand run up your flushed body, taking handfuls of your soft breasts as abby rapidly flicked your clit with her tongue. you worked up the courage to look, your glassy eyes stuck on abby’s face as it disappears between your thighs, trying your best to focus in spite of the dizzying weightlessness in your head that threatened to blur your vision. you wanted to see abby first, at least for a little while.

“you are so wet, princess, do you feel that?” abby asked teasingly, moving her thumb up and down between your sticky lips, eyes completely drowning in the stretching sight of your early arousal. she dragged your slick up to your clit and circled it once as slowly as she could, reveling in the way you absolutely melted under her. your entire body thrummed as abby repeated the motion, your mouth hanging open and your body shuddering.

you could taste it in the air how turned on you were, it was embarrassing and the best feeling at the same time. there wasn’t a single thought in your head besides how good it felt to be at abby’s mercy, letting her touch your pretty parts and play with you as a fox would with a bunny before catching it.

your thoughts were interrupted and you almost slipped off the seat when abby’s tongue glides over your fiery core, pushing into you eagerly. “it’s so fucking hot when you drip for me, must be feeling good, huh?” you nod, hardly you can but you try, unable to do anything else because there is no word that you could form with your mouth.

abby teases you a little more, playing dangerously, barely doing anything that would feel too good before pushing a finger inside you without any warning. your juices drip onto the car seat and abby’s fingers slip right in you, a gasp catching in your throat as your insides welcome your girlfriend with much need and want.

you feel amazing, and abby feels amazing as she moves inside you, relishing in the teasing strokes inside of you, as abby goes joint by join in you before even thinking about speeding up. there is a sight of satisfaction leaving you when abby picks up an even speed, her tongue playing with your clit while her finger fucks into your tight hole.

the night air is cool on your exposed, bare breasts, and you reach up to pinch and rub your already hardened nipple, your other hand reaching for anything in the car to grip, to hold onto. it is abby’s hair that you land your pick on, it feels so good, and the great view of abby’s head between your thighs doesn’t hurt either, just makes you feel even more excited and pretty.

the sound of abby’s finger moving inside you is dirty and hot, and you can feel your face heat up with the pleasure of it. you thrust your hip up into abby’s hand, your own encouraging way for her to put more pressure on your clit, to play with it, to abuse it even.

it comes so suddenly, without a warning when you feel that oh-so-wonderful knot in your stomach paired up with those butterflies trying to break out, making your body writhe, twist and turn. you shake, nails scratching abby’s scalp as you gasp and moan, cursing multiple times, your thigh muscles tensing and wanting to close around that handsome face of abby’s.

“mh… fuck, abs, ‘m gonna m-make a mess, c-cum all over!” you moaned, feeling your hot clit throb and pussy squeezing around abby as she didn’t let off, feeling your hips spasm against her before abby’s finger was coated in your warm, milky arousal, working you through your orgasm. “come on pretty girl, come for me.”

your back arched off of the little support that the inside door handle was providing, your head pushing up against the fogged-up window as you moaned her name out loud, chanting it as your muscles tensed then let go of your body as a whole. you fell back limp against the fabric of the back seats, panting with your eyes stuck closed, little mewls leaving you as the last waves of your drunken daze rode through your body.

“you are so sweet,” of course, abby knew how you tasted, it wouldn’t have been the first time she had pulled her fingers out of you and licked them clean of your oh-so-sweet cum. “like candy.” she continues her little comment, chest blooming at the sight in front of her, looking down between your legs, watching as the fabric absorbs your delicious juices. she feels bad, wasting something so good.

“come on, let’s go inside, yeah?”

[magnoliandew]

The Covenant of the Fallen Petals of Santo Donquixote

In a church built when Doflamingo's ancestors first reigned, a devout young nun uncovers dark truths.

2.0k words

The first thing I've ever written omg?

A SFW formal introduction of my OC Marie and the beginning of a longer Doflamingo x OC fic <3

Doflamingo is here so .. Canon typical violence. Religious imagery

The Covenant of the Fallen Petals of Santo Donquixote is one of the oldest institutions in Dressrosa. The well-maintained stone walls showcasing the best-preserved architectural elements and details in the country. Elaborately carved stone bases supporting pillars and still standing aqueducts, a testament of the old ways of in spite of the changing city surrounding it.

The Covenant of the Fallen Petals of Santo Donquixote blessedly survived the attacks of deposed King Riku by way of being far east near Carta and the eastern port.

Marie can vividly remember that evening.

Sisters and Cardinals alike all rushing to collect water and usher in survivors. Marie is drawn to the Grand Hall, the area everyone typically gathers in for murmuring prayer and receiving directives, searching for guidance. Unlit candles clattered to the floor as the rackety sound of wood on stone greet her instead. Pews being pushed against walls, making room for the wounded. Marie’s unsettled marron eyes meet with a familiar sister seeking out the familiar warm reverence from her. Sister Uji’s frantic movements and tightly clasped hands betraying her stiff assurances that everything will be fine. Nodding along perplexed Marie observes her.

“We are in the Temple… of course we will be protected...” Marie says firmly but without hesitation. Sister Uji’s shoulders relax as she releases an incredulous chuckle drawing Marie into a tight hug before rushing off to her duties.

Too young herself to be of much help here, Marie heads upstairs to soothe the little ones in the nursery. Shaking away the energy of that confusing interaction and needling hecticness, Marie quietly slips into the room moving to light a candle she is startled at seeing the Abbess watching over the children. Marie quickly dips into a low curtsey her knees barely off the ground.

“Mother Superior! May the thorns guard your path in all seasons” Marie greets eyes lowered.

“And may we bloom quietly, as foretold” the bemused Abbess responds and nods in greeting. Her attention is elsewhere her eyes looking to the distance through the open window.

Marie stands and smoothens her skirts carefully moving around the restless puppy piles of children, pressing cool cloths against furrowed sleeping brows.

The Abbess quietly observes Marie before taking her leave, she pauses at the door

“Little sister Marie, you spend most of your time in the library. Do you know the original version of our greeting?”

Running a gentle hand on the chests of a little one with stress addled uneasy breathing she takes a moment to respond.

“Hmm… traditionally it was May the thorns guard your path, follow the heavens, not the crown answered by, And in silence we bloom, forever faithful” Marie sneakily glances at the head nuns face hoping she recited it correctly.

The Abbess gives Marie a smile, her face otherwise unreadable. “Well said, it would do you well to keep that close to your heart Little Sister.” She pauses; looking at the horizon again “I’ll be assigning you to nursery duties from tonight. Come daylight many more changes will come to harvest I feel” Joy blooms across Marie’s face at receiving orders directly from the Abbess herself!

Twinkling eyes look out the window, young Sister Marie’s memories of the flames, bright enough to be seen on the horizon, burned like a sacred flame rather than the arson of a mad king she was told it was the next day.

Her serene life was not safe from the cleansing flames.

Raised by treasured religious texts in dim breezy halls.

The sounds of her bare feet echoing off warm glazed tiles and running water dripping from the fractured fountain were the only thing keeping her company outside of prayer.

But in the days after the attacks, the once serene halls filled with new parishioners eager to help rebuild and bright eyed nun candidates invigorated at the news of the return of the rightful monarch and savior of Dressrosa.

The increased public interest in The Covenant of the Fallen Petals of Santo Donquixote never quite waned over the years. The church a bastion of faith, providing food for those in need and taking in most of the areas orphans. Eventually partnering with a church in the north to send the overflow of nun candidates and exchange goods with.

Returning to relative normalcy nearly 8 years after the attack on Sebio the church, but with the addition of a lively congregation and steady donations coming in.

Little Sister Marie is little no longer, with time and the new recruits not only does she finally have Sisters her age, but she isn’t the youngest member anymore. With practiced gentle smiles and earnest work within the community Marie has garnered a bit of popularity around Dressrosa, word of a sweet but pious nun with eyes like scarlet glass the topic of idle gossip.

Often found either in the markets, neighborhood and orphaned children alike, running around her feet as she distributes alms or in the church’s courtyard teaching hymns and herbology to anyone who will stop by.

Humming and walking through the halls on a rare evening without bedtime duties at the nursery, Marie passes by Father Moji unpacking a shipment of gold candelabras. His eyes quickly glance over her appraisingly and Marie muses that it was not dissimilar as when he looked over the candelabras.

“Sweet Sister Marie! May the thorns guard your path in all seasons”

“And may we bloom quietly, as foretold” she replies smiling.

“These are going in the nave can you accompany me there? A woman’s eye is always best for these tasks.” Father Moji remarks as he picks up the velvet lined box.

“Oh! I wish I could be of service, but I am expected in the kitchens” Marie says with a small curtsey as she rushes away.

“Helping out in the kitchen” she finds herself roaming around the cellar, cool and spacious, the thick walls dampening most sounds in and out. Marie drags her fingertips across the mostly empty shelves as she passes. Alone she allows her face to relax, her sigh wistful as she recalls the cruel whispers about her as the church grew and before she learned to practice her expressions in a mirror.

“I can’t tell if she was looking at me or through me it’s so creepy" Young Marie fortunately quickly learned that being too outwardly devout makes people nervous.

Retrieving a basket of potatoes from their meager provisions. Patatas bravas probably on the menu again. She thinks as she heads up into the kitchen the excited giggles of the sister greeting her.

“….hard-boiled man?”    “Yes! It’s not the first time he’s come by”

The sisters are excitedly chatting and greet Marie as she drops off the potatoes, filling her in on the conversation about their famous visitor as they cook.

In the following weeks meetings amongst the higher ups ramped up in frequency. Marie is always chosen to attend, ostensibly for her talent with herbal blends but the frequent lingering looks and increase in accidental touches as she pours the tea dimming the joy from being a part of something so important. Quietly leaning against a far wall, her ankles crossed after serving tea her mind wanders, grateful at least that the clumsiest Father wasn’t in attendance tonight. Waiting for the meeting to end only catching bits of their conversations on how they can try to capitalize on the Kings sudden attention and garner his favor. She remembers the last incident with Father Moji, his foot accidentally catching the hem of her habit nearly pulling her into his lap before she could find her balance, her face red with embarrassment from the memory alone.

The Abbess, noticing the beginnings of dark circles under Marie’s eyes and flushed face from increased work from serving the droning on Cardinals, dismisses her early silencing the complaints with a look as Marie bows in gratitude and slips out. The conversation returning to something about how best to be granted the title of Basilica.

Lacing her fingers together and leaning back to stretch she can’t help but notice the massive bright full moon beautiful in the clear sky. Looking over her shoulder checking if the coast is clear she impulsively decides to sneak out for a night forage. Her stock of herbs depleted from all of the secret meetings and praying that the light of the moon will also provide clarity to her troubled mind.

Sliding out of her shoes and leaving them with her veil in her hiding spot at the edge of the stone wall separating the church from nature she sneaks out with practiced grace. The breeze through her hair relaxing as she picks various herbs and medicinal flowers. The soft sounds of her stepping through dry leaves comforting… but not enough. The knot in her chest is only growing as she can’t steer her mind away from thoughts of Father Moji, during dinner his clumsy hands brushed against her ankle as he bent down to retrieve something dropped. Last week while distributing alms his fingers lingering too long on her wrist as he handed her bread. Her smile had stayed even and polite but inside, she was spiraling. Drowning out her thoughts with a well memorized psalm,

“I wish something could be done about him,” she whispered, the thought burning like incense in her throat. The knot in her chest only growing as she speaks to the wind, pushing through determined to forage a bit more before going to her room. Following the aqueducts, something drawing her in this direction away from her familiar route, she rests for a moment leaning against the old stone, closing her eyes to listen to the calming sounds.

Crickets chirping

The breeze through the trees

A loud unnatural snap

Marie’s eyes shooting open as her head whips in the direction of the sound peaking around the pillar her wide eyes take in an impossibly tall figure, golden hair shining in the moonlight, his back towards her. One hand raised, palm toward the sky, as if in offering his fingers moving purposely. Marie leans in squinting and she can just make out golden pink threads stretching from his fingertips and wrapped around the leg of a man dangling upside down in the air the unbound leg bent wrong in an unnatural angle. Marie covers her mouth to stifle her gasp and takes another small step towards them, her training to tend to the injured briefly overriding her self preservation. But as she stops the scene before her comes into crystal clear clarity. The man’s mouth is open in a silent scream, and she finally recognizes him as… Father Moji, bound and hovering in the air like a marionette. The tall man doesn’t say anything as he closes his fist, another snap ringing through the air as he drops to the ground, the thud of the impact ringing in her ears. The man slightly turning his head in her direction, the edge of his smile coming into view finally knocking Marie out of her stupor. Shining ruby eyes wide, she turns and bolts, the basket forgotten as it tumbles from her grasp, making her way back to the temple as fast as she can.

She doesn’t stop running until she is in her room, back pressed against the door she drags her tired body to the sink to wash her hands and splash her face, only to catch her reflection looking back at her

eyes wide

hair wild

and a smile on her face.

Thank you for reading! Any tips on formatting is welcome. And of course tell me what you think (gently)

Is it gouache to tag you in this fic? If you don't want me to or it's just generally weird please let me know <3

@tuquidflamingo @physics-of-one-piece @doffyslittledove @shanalikeanna @thus-spoke-lo @doomedtoxicyaoi @icy-spicy @ohnomyhooves