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tender-rosiey · 2 years ago

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“GOOD! NOW PUNCH HIS FACE!”

— when your baby and gojo, geto, nanami, toji, and sukuna get protective over you (f!reader)

a/n: I am alive!! as an apology here is a multi-character post 🙏 btw in toji's part, you're megumi's mom

GOJO SATORU:

two peas in a pod, twins, copies: these are all things people have called your husband and son.

honestly, they’re not wrong. your son has his father’s looks—satoru swears he has your nose and ears but anyway—and he carries the same protectiveness and love he holds for you, if not amplified.

you can’t count on one hand the amount of times the house has been turned upside down because of their fights for a cuddle session with you.

of course, you have always tried suggesting them simply sharing you, but these problem children would rather eat raw zucchini than ever share the cuddle time.

so while your son is barely six, you can still count on him to team up with satoru against anyone who wrongs you in anyway like what’s happening right now for example.

you’re out with your lovely family to buy some groceries, and since they both were whining about getting some sweets, you allowed them to go and snatch a couple from the next aisle.

on the other hand, you stayed to look for another type of detergent to clean the floor—especially since satoru got this new type of paint for s/n and it’s quite an endeavor to remove it with a regular detergent.

however, being in the cleaning supplies section never guaranteed the lack of filthy men who can’t take no for an answer. this one man approaches you, smug grin on his face as he leans on the wall, “what’s a pretty lady like you doing alone?”

“buying groceries like a normal person; now please leave me alone.”

he quickly frowns, “don’t be so stingy doll,” his hand extends towards your arm, “I can show you a good time; I promise—“

the man is swiftly smacked with an egg on his face, and he is left with the egg dripping down his face, “what’s your wrong with your kid, man?!” he yells at the person behind you.

he then grumbles, “ruined a potential good night.”

“my kid was absolutely right in what he did,” you hear satoru’s voice. you then feel a hand on your shoulder, and you’re pulled into a chest you’re all too familiar with, “’toru—“

your husband shoots a small smile your way, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, before looking at his son, “that last throw was very good, s/n! throw another one but just below his stomach."

a cheshire cat-like grin is plastered on your husband’s face as s/n prepares to launch another egg at the man.

there is a very evident scowl on your son’s face as he yells, “don’t you ever bother mama again, you stinky bum crumb!”

the man gasps and tries to make a run for it, but your son wouldn’t be the son of gojo satoru if he doesn’t manage to land the hit exactly where he wants.

the man quickly crumbles to the ground screaming and alerting literally everyone in the store.

so satoru picks both you and s/n and makes a run for it.

you hold tightly onto him, “wait, ‘toru, the groceries!”

“we can always order! saving my princess and son is more important!”

your son grumbles, “but I want to hit the rude man!”

“me too, champ, but—“ satoru sweat-drops and glances behind him, “I doubt the angry security guards would like that!”

GETO SUGURU:

your twin girls are one of the sassiest to exist.

in a way, they take after their father who is also pretty sassy but very low-key.

the sass of all three combined is terrible to be the victim of. luckily for you, they don’t dare direct their triple ray towards you, especially—in any argument—at least one will try to win you over.

if it’s suguru trying to stay on your good side, then he is hugging you from behind, pressing feather-like kisses on your shoulder and whispering about how sweet you are. if it’s the girls, then they cling to your legs and keep yelling about how much they love you.

so it is safe to say that you have a small squad to protect you from any potential “danger”.

“oh my, dear shouldn’t you focus on refining yourself a bit more?” you hear a woman say beside you.

you turn towards her, offended, “excuse me?”

“I mean,” her eyes scan you, disapprovingly, “you look average at best, and with that you won’t be able to find yourself a husband, let alone have children.”

you’re still processing her audacity as she continues, “but then again, it’s probably for the better that you don’t have children; you can barely take care of yourself.”

“can I help you?” your husband says as he approaches the woman.

she smiles condescendingly before chuckling, “I was simply telling this lady to take care of herself more; she hardly looks presentable.”

geto’s smiles tenses up as he is about to give the woman a calm peace of his mind, but his daughters beat him to it.

your older twin stands in front of the woman, scanning her with pure disgust in her eyes.

she grimaces and voices out her thoughts, “you are like a crunchy lizard.”

the woman gasps, “how dare you—!”

you cut off the woman, curious about your daughter’s conclusion, “why a crunchy lizard, sweetheart?”

your daughter looks at you with a small frown, shaking her head, “a crunchy lizard is an ugly sad lizard.”

a snort escapes your husband, and you’re barely able to contain your smile.

your other daughter follows up, looking at her twin sister, “the lady looks like that one green thingy we saw yesterday,” she taps her little foot, trying to remember and beams at the woman, “shrek! you look like shrek!”

then they both glare at her, frowning, “you’re a monkey!”

your husband doesn’t let it go as he deals the final—subtle—blow, “come on now girls; we shouldn’t bully the lady with the mcdonald’s like hairline anymore.”

it seems like the woman can’t take it anymore as she starts sobbing and running to the hills.

a moment of silence is shared across the four of you, before you carry both of your girls in your arms and start tickling them, “I don’t know whether to be proud of you or scold you, little evil girls!”

they squeal, trying to escape your hold and calling for their father.

geto chuckles and wraps his arms around the three of you, “let them have it for tonight, y/n,” he ruffles their hair, “they were brave and defended their mom, after all.”

“yeah, papa is right!”

“yes mama, please!”

you pout then smirk at geto, “well I don’t mind, and since papa is also very proud of you girls, he will buy any toy that you guys want today!”

the color drains from your husband’s face, and he watches motionlessly as his girls latch onto him, screaming about the toys they want.

you giggle at his expression and blow him a kiss. he reluctantly blows you one back, while the girls excitedly pull him towards the toy store.

NANAMI KENTO:

you and your husband were blessed with the sweetest girl as your daughter, and she was just recently joined by another sweet girl.

you can never forget the happiness on your daughter’s face when she saw her baby sister.

it also seems that no matter how many times you give birth, your husband can’t help but get emotional when he holds your baby. his hands are forever delicate as he cradles her to his chest.

you remember what he said during the birth of your first daughter.

“I feel like a piece of heaven has been plucked and placed in my arms.”

the way he always goes soft for the three of you is honestly adorable.

today, you were going on an outing with your—now 6 months old—baby and your older daughter who is almost six.

your husband never brags about his muscular form, but he never misses a chance to carry the baby or the baby supplies.

you have offered to at least carry the bag, but he always refuses, stating that ‘you already carried the baby for nine entire months in your belly; this is the least I can do.’

so yeah, sometimes you wish to smooch your husband till forever, but that’s not the point.

you’re walking hand in hand with your daughter as she sings her favorite song. you hear someone click their tongue, so you look to the side and lock eyes with an old lady. she takes the opportunity and approaches you.

“you should be ashamed of yourself!” she yells pointing at you, “your husband shouldn’t be carrying the baby supplies nor the baby itself for the matter,” she scowls, “that’s your job!”

“with all due respect ma’am, but that isn’t her job, and taking care of the baby should be something we are both responsible for.”

“yeah!” your daughter huffs, “and don’t take out your sad life on my mama!”

your eyes widen as you stare at your daughter.

on the other side, your husband is just as speechless. your daughter pays no one any mind as she continues, “mama works hard every day! you wouldn’t know that! you immature nugget!”

nanami frowns lightly, “d/n, that’s not nice—“

and for the cherry on top, your baby daughter throws the bottle cap she was playing with at the old lady, and frowns at her.

she starts babbling some nonsense that you're pretty sure are curse words in baby language.

having had enough, the old lady huffs, “the utter disrespect,” and starts walking away.

the rest of the spectators’ eyes follow her till she is out of sight. finally then, people start minding their own business, and you and your little family are left to the aftermath.

you giggle, “that was funny.”

“really?!” your daughter beams.

nanami cuts her off, “no,” he then looks at you with a small frown, a sigh escaping his lips, “y/n don’t encourage them—“

your baby daughter screams happily when she sees her sister smile. she starts kicking her feet with the biggest smile on her own face.

your older daughter starts laughing with her and tries to make her little sister laugh more—she was successful.

meanwhile, you chuckle, leaning on your husband’s shoulder, “admit it, kento; it was kind of funny.”

his resolve softens at the sound of laughter from all three of his girls, “okay, maybe a little, but—“

“yay!!”

ladies: 1

kento: 0

FUSHIGURO TOJI:

your husband and son are so alike, save for the part that your husband is a bit more shameless, and your son is more on the shy side.

however, they both have the same bluntness and the tendency to give anyone who they don’t like attitude.

for example, today, you were walking in the park with the both of them to unwind a bit.

not to mention that megumi wanted to walk his dogs which was a plus, since you would be able to watch your dear son play around with them.

it was all going great until you saw an old ‘friend’ who came running at the sight of you. he was someone who has always been way too touchy and in your personal bubble.

you have tried talking to him about it, but you’re confident that he does it to somehow force you into reciprocating the intimacy.

even if you’re a married woman with a freaking kid.

he giddily clasps your hand, “y/n, ‘been a long time!”

“h-hey,” you smile awkwardly.

he laughs, “I was passing by when I saw your figure, and I couldn’t help but come and say hi.”

you nod, “that’s great, but I am busy, so maybe later?—“

“you’ve gotten even prettier!” he exclaims, “I wish you would finally take me out on a—“

“can’t you see that she is uncomfortable?” your son retorts, “also, you should step back; you shouldn’t touch someone like this without asking them.”

megumi squeezes himself between the both you and glares at the man.

the guy was about to reply to your son, but toji pushes him back with ease, pulling you beside him and hand resting on your waist almost by instinct, “kid is right,” he tilts his head a bit, “ever been taught manners or do I have to do the teaching for you?”

the guy is taken back; offended, he snaps “you can’t speak to me like that!”

“and you can’t hold my mom’s hands like that, but here we are,” your son cleverly sasses him.

on the other hand, your—shameless—husband pulls you into one scandalous kiss and smirks at the guy when he pulls back, “and you can’t hit on a married woman, by the way.”

you hear your son gag in disgust at his dad’s actions, but you’re too busy burying your face in your husband’s chest, hoping that the guy disappears before toji makes even more of a bigger scene.

you also hope that the ground would swallow you, but that’s the alternative option.

the guy clutches his fist, before walking away, spewing insults at the sky—since he is too scared to cuss out your buff husband. once the man is out of sight, toji ruffles megumi’s hair, chuckling, “good job, kid.”

your shy bean’s cheeks redden slightly as he looks away, “…thanks.”

you’re still thinking about what just happened when you slap your husband’s chest, “toji, literally why?” you grumble, patting megumi who started holding onto your leg the moment you hugged toji.

“why not,” your husband shrugs with a small smile, taking pride in your flustered form.

“dad, I want ice cream.”

“no, you just want me to let go your mom, so you can hog her for yourself,” toji grumbles, staring down at megumi.

unfaltering, megumi looks up at him ,“dad, I want ice cream.”

“god damn it, listen here you—“

“divine dogs.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA:

there is no denying that both your son and your husband care for you very much, and they both—very aggressively—compete for your attention.

I am talking he literally throws the kid across the room kind of aggressive, and your son, in turn, throws whatever he has at him.

it’s eventful, but you would be lying if you said that it wasn’t one of the reasons why you will get grey hair earlier than everyone else.

so their very aggressive nature is also shown in their protectiveness over you.

a person doesn’t need to insult or even dare flirt with you for your devil duo to make their life a living hell; your husband and son don’t tolerate someone speaking to you if it causes you to ignore both of them.

for example, this one new servant was clueless to where the broom is, and unluckily for him, he saw you sitting with your husband and son in the gardens. he humbly approached you, “excuse me, m’lady.”

you turn to look at him with a smile, “yes?”

he clears throat, a bit flustered by the attention, “I—I wanted to ask where the—“

“up your ass, you disgusting fiend,” your son sneers followed by his father’s ever-permanent scowl.

“who gave you the permission to come and speak to her so casually?” sukuna presses, and the servant quickly falls to his knees.

“m-my apologies, my lord! I did not mean to disturb you!”

sukuna crosses his arms, “well, you did, and you also disturbed your queen and prince,” his eyes narrow at the servant, “what do you have to say for yourself?”

meanwhile, you’re watching all of that, mouth agape and trying to articulate anything to save the poor guy. you finally find your voice, “sukuna, it’s okay; he didn’t mean—“

your son hugs you tightly and glares at the servant, “to think he would so brazenly speak to you like you’re old friends is terrible, mother.”

you can almost see your son’s cursed energy flaring, and you can spot the small smirk on your husband’s face as he watches his son.

before it escalates any further and you find yet another dead corpse in your palace, you pick up your son, kissing his cheek which makes him flustered and causing him to bury his face in your neck.

you look at the servant, “you’re dismissed, and you can ask the head maid about anything you need, okay?”

“y-yes, m’lady!” he, however, stays glued to the ground, “may I have the permission to lift my head?”

sukuna grunts, “sure.”

“thank you, m’lord,” the servant says, before scurrying towards the gate, having secured his freedom after his little mistake.

or at least, that’s what he thought.

your husband slices his legs off with a flick of a finger, and your son, who has inherited his father’s technique, slices the head off.

and so the body falls to the ground, and the other servants hurriedly start cleaning up the mess.

you frown at your husband, “sukuna! he apologized!”

he rolls his eyes, and pulls you by the waist, “do I look like I care? he shouldn’t have interrupted our time together.”

“aww, you’re jealous!”

“no, I am not—“

“hands off, old man!”

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toruforuu · 1 month ago

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gojo satoru x reader || gladiator au [18+]

Gilded Gage part one

➷pairing: gladiator!gojo x princess!reader

➷summary: a princess betrothed to a roman emperor whom she despises for his cruelty, sets her sights upon an ethereal looking arrival into the arena and is struck with an overpowering curiosity. the gladiator’s skilfulness earns him the emperor’s favour, keeping him alive for now, while the princess sneaks through the silence of the night to meet with him in secret — blooming with something the emperor could never bring to life

➷genre/tags: gladiator au, forbidden romance, sneaking in the night, historical au, the roman empire, strangers to lovers, female princess reader, gladiator gojo, smut (in the second part), angst with a happy ending, bit of fluff, smitten gojo, lots of yearning

➷warnings: implied misogyny and sexual harassment, description of violence and injuries/death, mentions of blood and vital organs, weapons, reader called princess a lot (cause she’s one, like literally)

➷word count: 11.3k

a/n: hello lovelies, it’s been so long since i last posted! i am genuinely finding myself in the biggest writer slump i’ve ever experienced, hopefully that’s past me now. here’s the promised gladiator au. in the end I decided to separate it into two parts, otherwise it’d be way too long and i doubt that anyone would actually read it. be sure to let me know if you’d also like the second part as well. no more yapping, enjoy!

The Colosseum is filled to the brim with people, standing and cheering loudly as the fight unfolds in front of them right down in the arena. The sun rays down at the circle shaped creation with no mercy, its strength wearing you down. Eager and bloodthirsty roars echo through your ears as swords clash, the sound of metal blended with the overwhelming buzzing of people. You fight the disgust lacing into your features as you sit in the area reserved for royalty, seated inches behind the emperor himself as his bride to be. Your fingers grip onto the handles of your seat, causing the gold jewellery you’re draped in to shackle. You blink, and blood seems to gush out, spilling on the ground due to the merciless slash of a sword blownwed by the winner — piercing through the flesh of the loser. Screams pinch through the air, earning frantic chants from the audience.

The sight hurls your insides, causing a nauseous feeling to take over you as the intestines of the fighter flee out of his dismembered body, falling to the ground without any trace of life. Even more aversion swallows you as you catch the grin tugging at the ruler’s lips from your angle. He’s quick to stand up and clap, the whole arena dying down into pure silence in response.

“You have fought well my champion, though today’s fight is not yet to be finished,” his deep voice spills through the Colosseum, the audience remains quiet as you continue to be on the edge in your seat.

“Rise,” the Emperor tilts his head in your direction, commanding you. You don’t dare to defy him in any slightest as you know any of your slip up could resolve in one of his episodes. You delicately lift your body from the wooden throne, quick to close the distance between you, and to step under the weight of the burning sun which paints the sand floor in golden fury. You create a shield with your palm, blinking away the sunlight before locking your gaze with the man you’re promised to.

The man’s hand sneaks around your waist, bringing your side to his. Your hands fly out to rest at the railing made out of stone, feeling a piece of security. The emperor looks down at you with a twisted smile, deliberately crafted golden crown consisting of laurels resting at the top of his head.

“Bring out the prisoners,” his other hand gripping a golden cup is lifted into the air, a gesture of bidding. As soon as he speaks those words out, large gate opens up. The guards push dozen of men inside the arena — their hands buckled together in one iron chain, bringing their rate of survival against the champion to absolute zero. With spears pointed at their figures, they have no other option than to step on the battlefield under the eyes of hundreds.

Most importantly, the emperor himself.

“My lord, you are going to have them fight in chains?” your soft voice breaks out into the open, questioning the outlook of the situation. The men are offered a weapon against all odds, but being connected to one another is seemingly putting all of them into a disadvantage. From their filthy and bruised appearance it’s clear these men are mere prisoners or slaves. Trapped souls dragged into the arena, not as warriors but as bait for the amusement of the citizens.

“Yes, is it not exciting? It is all for you, my future bride,” from the tone of his voice it’s absolutely clear this man who is yet to be your husband is serious, assuming he’s pleasing you with this dehumanising act. It awakes a terrifying and electrifying wave of anxiety within you. The emperor is known for his cruel ruling and rational punishments, regardless of it, it never ceases to shock you just how merciless he can be.

You don’t protest, only smiling at him and moving your hand to rest at his chest in gratitude. All of it a scene, an act you feel you’re bound to preform in exchange for your safety. You have no power to do anything but watch, your eyes squinting upward at the sea of spectators before falling on the muscular figure standing across the arena in chains. The champion covered in bronzed armor that glimmers with polish, he stands with the casual grace of a justified killer. He’s armed with a simple curved blade which is still dipped in blood from its previous encounter, and a round shield, bearing the imperial crest. The champion is a living legend among the audience — undefeated and unscathed.

They chant the name of the gladiator as if it’s a sacred prayer to the gods.

It sickens you.

The dozen men murmur among themselves, panic rising in their expressions as they throw their sword from hand to hand. A nervous gesture signalling their rising worries as the undefeated gladiator makes his way towards them.

“We cannot fight him head-on. But if we use the chain together as our weapon, then we might have a chance,” a man placed at the end of the chain mumbles to the other men, but panic has already taken its hold. A few men scream and rush forward, dragging the rest behind them. The chain becomes chaos, jerking bodies in every direction and dragging some of them to the ground while The champion moves.

He’s swift, a blur of lightning speed as there’s no baggage holding him back.

The first man falls, his chest opened with a single slash of metal. Another tries to keep away, unfortunately he’s yanked back by the chain, straight into the champion’s killing stroke — keeping his streak of robbed lives. A third decapitates himself by bringing the weapon to his throat, ending his misery before he’s killed by the hands of others. Blood paints the sand, pooling on the floor. The survivors stumble back, heaving with eyes wide open as sweat drenches their bodies and are left bereft of oxygen. Four lie dead now, perhaps five. It’s hard to keep a track.

The crowd is screaming, drunk on the violence and the man who spoke before forces himself between the others, grabbing the chain and snarling something which goes unheard by the audience. Leaving you to guess whenever they listen or lead themselves towards death.

And indeed, they hear him. Out of fear, if nothing else.

A man with unusual ball of white hair directs them to move in a circle, to feint and pull in coordinated tugs. They spread out, using their own bindings as both weapon and trap. When the champion charges, confident. They act. One man dives in sacrifice, drawing the champion’s first swing. Another yanks the chain, unbalancing the warrior.

Like a tide, they shift, loop, and bind.

In moments, the champion is tangled into the chains with no room to move his body, imprisoned just like them.

Without a scratch, not hurt, but humiliated and bested.

The crowd holds its breath. The emperor whose face is painted with neutral expression as he stands beside you, raises a hand to give his final judgment.

His thumb points downward.

Death.

The champion’s eyes shift into utter panic, unable to move.

“Kill the man, drive a blade through his throat and you may live another day,” The emperor calls out to the six men who survived the bloodbath. Your head jerks towards him, brows lifted in surprise at the punishment to his favoured champion. The man captured by the chained prisoners breathes hard, unable to mask his fear.

“Your majesty, with all due respect, spare the man’s life,” you wrap your arms around his bare biceps, closing the distance between you before anyone else can interfere to kill.

“What was that, princess?” his cold gaze falls down at you and you tense up with a swirling cannibalistic terror that you might have overstepped your set limits.

“He is your champion, let him have at least a gracious death,” you modify your words, offering a kind hint of a smile in contrast to his calculation gaze.

The crowd awaits his answer in silence, your words not audible to any one else.

“You are quite right, dear,” his palm pats your shoulders, his proximity distancing and you loosen up in quiet relief. From both his words and his action of leaving your personal space.

“You,” the emperor’s finger points down at the man who strategically brought his champion to defeat “you will face the champion one on one. Battle for either life or death,”

Not exactly what you had in mind when you pleaded for the man’s life to be spared.

Your gaze follows the direction of his finger, landing on the clever prisoner who saved five other lives along with his own. The man’s hair is coloured pure white, the exact shade of your delicate tunic — unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. His features are quite a mess from the distance you’re facing him, the details tucked away. The blinding white of his locks and a reflection of his iridescent eyes are the only two things to be mapped out.

“I do not kill for amusement, your highness,” the prisoner is fast to decline, bowing down to his knee. The other men mimicking his motion, which only appears to anger the ruler further. You stand unmoving, frozen in fear of what’s coming.

“You are brave to defy my orders,”

“Do it, or else you and your men are doomed for the same fate,” the madman demands with a crazed smirk, turning his gaze to glance at you briefly. From below, the victorious prisoner looks up towards the royal box as the emperor announces his decision, breathing heavily with sweat and blood running down his face. His eyes dart to you standing next to him, noticing you for the first time. Seeing you look down at him, the man's exhausted gaze meets yours fleetingly, but his attention is quickly called back to your soon to be husband.

“As you wish, your highness,”

He has no other choice but to fight.

The sun blazes higher than moments ago as it reaches its highest peak, casting long shadows of the Colosseum. The crowd roars once more like a tidal wave of bloodlust and anticipation. At one side stands Valerian, the undefeated champion who’s been gifted a second chance, armour glinting like a god’s wrath in the sweltering weather, though there’s a certain hesitation in his movements now.

At the other side stands the white haired prisoner— no title, no name, no armor, just chains recently broken and scars scattered across his body. The crowd jeers, expecting slaughter. But there's something in his eyes — calm like the sea before a storm, it creates a pit in your stomach.

The horn rings and Valerian moves forward like a warhorse, his massive blade cutting through the air. The unknown white haired man dodges with impossible grace, grabbing a fallen shield from the sand, and ducking under the swing. The wind coming from the blow nearly taking his head.

He answers with a broken spear, driving it into Valerian’s knee.

Gasps echo through the arena, painting an amusing grin on the emperor’s lips as the giant falters.

From now on it’s a dance — brutal and desperate. Valerian attacks with the fury of a man defending his honour, but the unfamiliar prisoner slips through his reach again and again, turning every mistake into an advantage. He moves like a ghost with precise strike.

Another drops of blood stain the sand, leaving marks of the battle.

The prisoner’s shoulder is cut.

Valerian’s leg wobbles.

They circle around each other, crowd no longer cheering as the fight leaves them breathless.

Then, in a haze of a motion, the prisoner feints left, ducking from a wide swing. Only to drive a dagger which was stolen mid-fight into Valerian’s side. The champion instantly drops to his knees, meeting the gaze of his opponent one last time before collapsing to the ground like a house of cards, unmoving. The arena erupts while the bloodied prisoner stands and towers over the champion’s dead body, collecting himself from the overwhelming adrenaline of the fight.

“What do you think of him, my dearest?” it pulls you of the awing trance, sending you back to present. Not knowing whenever you should be disgusted or pleased with how the fight had turned out. Your hands soothe down your tunic, eyes fleeting between the victor and the man you’re betrothed to.

“He has proven himself worthy,” you shakily breathe out near the shell of his ear, orbs still unknowingly flickering down to sneak glances at the extraordinarily looking man with fur of white hair. Meanwhile you’re held by the one who’s been letting the empire to starve and suffer under his reign.

One thumb pointed up, mercy.

The marble halls of the palace glisten under torchlight. Silent and still as though the night itself holds its breath at your bravery. Somewhere beyond the columns and guarded doors, Rome sleeps — drunk on the violence performed in the arena earlier that day.

You move like a shadow. A princess, betrothed to an emperor you neither love nor trust, slipping through a hidden passage behind your chamber’s tapestry. Feet tapping against cold stone. A hood drawn over your head to conceal your face as a secret from passersby, draped in your silken robes.

Every creak of wood, every echo of footsteps sets your heart pounding incredibly fast in your ribcage. The guard’s numbers are smaller at this hour, their concentration dulled by routine and drinking too much wine throughout the day. You time your movements with the changing of the watch, slipping behind statues, darting through moonlit courtyards, where a loyal servant from your home waits at a forgotten gate meant for deliveries, holding a satchel and a stolen dagger.

Your eyes meet briefly, both of you know what’s at stake if your soon to be husband was to find out about your whereabouts.

He’d have your head.

You carefully step out into the open, beneath the night sky that belongs to no ruler. The city looms ahead. The streets dangerous, filthy and still alive. You inhale its scent which consists of smoke and liquor. Behind you, the palace glows like a gilded cage. A cage where you’ll harbour by the end of the night anyway.

You don’t look back again, despite the guilt and fright nibbling at you.

As you stroll through the alleys of the city that’s drifting off to sleep, you no longer feel like a locked up princess who’s been sent off into enemy territory to play out a pack of marriage to attempt for peace.

The Colosseum spreads out before you, vast and silent beneath the cloak of the night sky decorated with small lights of the stars — towering arches of the architectonic building looming like a massive beast, the roar of the crowd now just a ghost echo in the stone. You approach it with no hesitation, heading for a narrow side gate. One not meant for nobles like yourself, but for the lowest layers of the society.

A man scouts the entrance. Old, bend, one eye milky with age. He doesn’t speak and neither do you. He simply nods and lifts the iron latch with a screeching sound. A debt repaid, nothing more. One’s coins you never deemed to recollect til now.

Inside, the air shifts as you descend underneath the huge arena. It’s surprisingly cold and damp, your silky robe not providing enough of warmth. The flicker of torches guides you down the narrow stone stairs, the further you go, the more of death hangs in the air. You move quietly like a mouse through the corridors, hood drown low to keep your identity a secret, robes brushing the filthy floor. The cells appear, row opposite to another row, dark iron bars separating men from the world above and from each other. Some sleep. Others sit in silence, eyes distant. Barely acknowledging your wandering gaze. Your attention peaks all over the place, glancing in all directions to not miss the glimpse of white hair.

You have no idea what force urged you to hurry down here, risking your life for a stranger — as if the gods poisoned you, rushing you in here.

You freeze in motion.

He sits before you like a god carved from war itself. The torchlight dances across his skin which is faintly burned by the overwhelming force of the sun, tracing outlines of his defined muscles. His chest rises and falls with a slow, steady rhythm, broad and unyielding. You could see the trail of old battles on him, pale scars that curl across his shoulders, a jagged line down his side.

They should repell you.

They don’t.

There he sits in the shadows, head of white hair bowed, arms resting on his knees. No chains this time, but he’s caged nonetheless. You clear your throat, gentle enough to not scare him, and it works like a charm. He instantly snaps his gaze in your direction, straightening his posture — arms hang heavy at his sides now, thick with strength, veins popping like vines winding over stone. Even at rest, there was a quiet violence to him, mixed with ethereal features of those worthy of being a prince. You had seen marble statues with less perfection, but none with heat of a real man.

“Who is there?” he asks, his voice a low growl as he tries to make out your figure in the darkness which perfectly helps you mask your identity as well.

“It matters not,” you respond firmly in the dark, keeping a reasonable distance between you and the bars. Partially out of fear, who knows what else he’s capable of after what you saw in the arena. The newly crowned gladiator looks at you, his expression guarded with suspicion but also curiosity. A scoff escapes past his lips.

“You are hurt, are you not?” worry embodies your tone, not sure why as this is the first time you’re ever directly speaking to the gladiator.

“What is it to you?”he mumbles, sounding tough and unaffected by your mysterious presence. The man's hand moves to his upper body, carefully touching the slashed area of his shoulder, and wincing slightly at the lightest of touch.

“Nothing. Still, takes this,” you mumble with all the politeness you were raised to offer, regardless of the strange circumstances you’re finding yourself in and bend down to slide a numbing cream in between the bars. In a quick motion, not wanting to risk anything.

“It is a numbing cream, for your slash,” the gladiator gazes up at you with narrowed eyes after he scans the cream, a mix of confusion painting his face. He reaches out for the box you slid in, only then noticing the intensity of his penetrating orbs. The colour of them is darkened by the dim lighting, nevertheless, they still shine like they’re crashing waves of sea water splashing against the rocks at shore.

“How did you get your hands on this?” he questions gruffly, though there's a note of gratitude in his voice, while he looks between the cream in his hand and your cloaked presence.

“That is unimportant,” you breathe out softly, swinging your hand in the air to brush it off. You tug your hood lower as you feel it sliding upwards, revealing parts of you.

“If you are not here to mock me, what for then?”he utters neutrally, his voice less rough than the first time. His hand hesitates for a moment, dipping his fingers to gather the cream so he can apply it on his injured shoulder. He’s wincing lowly as soon as the cool substance touches his raw wound. A soft sigh follows, his nostrils flaring.

“To help you, I know it is something you are not used to. I simply thought you fought well,” you mumble back with a hint of nervousness, hands soothing down your silky robes — the hems layered with dirt from your outing. The white haired gladiator listens to your words, his expression hardening at the mention of his performance in the arena. His digits finish massaging the cream into his injury, treating it.

“I fought well, so what? Not that it matters. I will just have to fight again tomorrow, and the day after, and then the day after,” he rises to his feet, startling you a little with the swiftness of his movement. You retrieve a step, tilting your head up to somehow catch a glimpse of him — the hood blocking your view.

“You fought unlike anyone I have ever seen before. I am sure you will earn your place here. Temporarily, of course, before you are freed,” you whisper into the dead of the night while his hands reach for the bars, knuckles turning white from his tight grip. It makes you swallow a lump forming in your throat, this is probably the longest you’ve ever talked to a man alone. It doesn’t help he’s practically stripped of his garments, muscular chest to your display.

And most of all, he’s a vicious killer.

“Freed? You either must be delusional or naive if you think that will happen,” the gladiator can't help but snort at your words as he retorts, skepticism returning to paint his sharply defined features. Desperately trying to see past the hood covering your face.

“You simply have to be good, keep winning and charm the audience,” you advise him with all you’ve come to know over the months you spent here, even though he seems to find your behaviour naive. He falls silent at your statement, contemplating your advice.

“And how do you know that, huh?” he hums, still wary — letting out a long sigh and leaning against the chilly wall of the cell, gaze fixated on your masked figure.

“I have lived in city for a long time to see,” what you say is not hundred percent right, however, your time spent in the city is great enough to know how things work around here.

“Why not stop walking around the bush and tell me who you are?” he leans forward into the bars again while still fixating his somewhat cold orbs at you, demanding to drop the mysterious act.

“Trust me, it is safer for you if you remain unaware of my identity,” you chuckle quietly to yourself at his pressing demand, finding his presence shockingly welcoming. The gladiator listens to your words, his expression hardening at your chuckle. He lets out a low huff of annoyance, but curiosity pierces his system.

Just who exactly are you?

“You someone of importance? Someone with power?” he goes on, pushing you to give him answers.

“No one has power in city expect for the emperor,” you frown automatically at the harsh reality of being in the hands of someone so cruel. His expression mirrors yours, your truthful declaration resigning with him.

“You got a point there, mysterious stranger,” he mutters, his hand mindlessly touching his shoulder where the injury is. As if out of habit. There's a moment of silence between the two of you in which you step closer, hand reaching for the bar — your gold ring illuminated by the moonlight revealed to him, unbeknownst to you.

“I will bring you food the tomorrow, if you live, that is,” his eyes linger on the gleaming gold of your ring, processing your words, expression conflicted. Part of him wants to know more about you, to uncover the mystery that shrouds you, but he also understands your sense for secrecy.

“Alright," he finally responds, his voice gruff but with a hint of resignation.

“What is your name?” you keep standing by the cell, less afraid of what he’s to do. Curiosity gets the better out of you and since you’re half hidden in the safe embrace of your robes and hood, you ask. Otherwise you wouldn’t be as brave.

“Two can play the game,” he curves his lips into a lazy grin, huffing out and refusing to provide you with it.

“See you tomorrow, oh saviour,”

Days stretch out into weeks and each night, you slip past the velvet-draped guards and silent marble corridors due to the help of your loyal servant. Your heart pounds louder than anyone’s footsteps as you sneak through the palace each night, crippled with fear that you may be caught. One would expect a practiced ease due to how often you preform, however, it seems to make an opposite effect. You’re worried your luck of being unnoticed will run out. Though you can’t bring yourself to sleep peacefully without paying the white haired man a visit.

The gladiator. Your gladiator.

At first you told yourself you were doing him a favour, treating his slash. That you have no reason of coming back here.

And yet, here you are.

Time and time again.

He waits for you in the shadows of the cell below the training pits, always stiff at first, as if unsure if you’ll come. As if each time might be the last and you wonder if someday, it might truly be.

His body is bruised and bandaged from battles played out earlier in the daylight in front of hundreds, but you never him voice his complains out loud, regardless of how roughed up he ends up.

You silently admire that.

Meanwhile you’re betrothed to the emperor, unbeknownst to your gladiator, weak and forced to follow his orders. You’re the empire’s prize, it’s what they call you. A future empress, beautiful and admirable. Expected to bring prosperity and sense into the crazed mind of the ruler. Bring children to continue the lineage. But they don’t see how your hands tremble when you hear the crowd roar, how you flinch at each touch of your soon to be husband, how you perk your ears each night — hoping you’ll hear silence and not his footsteps.

What frightens you perhaps the most out of all is each time the gladiator steps into the arena. It feels like a piece of you goes out with him. You’re on the edge of your seat, nervously gripping at layers of your tunic as metal clashes in the arena. Each time he fights to live another day.

He might have earned the favours of people effortlessly and the emperor himself, nonetheless, how long can you steal moments in the dark with him before the light of the world finds out? Before the emperor learns that his bride’s heart doesn’t belong to him, that it never did nor never will. That instead, it belongs to a man with blood coating his sword at the end of each day?

Who knows what would happen then, in the best scenario — he’d have you both killed.

Despite all the risks, you don’t regret coming to him every night like a prayer and leaving each morning, feeling like a sinner. Though every day, you fear the gods are listening, judging and plotting against your odds.

“You are Greek, I can tell from your accent,” you finally let out what you’ve been meaning to for the past few days, from the moment you picked up on his light accent. It wasn’t noticeable at first and those not born on greek lands would overlook it entirely.

“I was born there, yes,“

“I was leading an army into a battle. Lost, got captured, travelled miles without knowing where we are headed. I stopped hoping after endless days of walking, and by a miracle landed here —into an arena in the capital of the empire,” he shares his story with you, glazing you with a form of vulnerability and the simple reality behind his path leading him to you. It leaves you feeling sorry for him, but you don’t wish to shower the gladiator in pity. You’re sure he’s had enough of time to do that himself.

“No wonder you are as skilled,” you point out instead, tone tender as ever. He snickers in response, watching your cloaked figure from the corner of his eye.

“Where from Greece are you?” you investigate, since there’s not much you know about the man and he’s the closest thing to home in months. He’s cautious, only offering what you’re offering. So you’re afraid he’ll brush you off like you usually do with him.

“I was born on Mykonos, however, my time there was short lived as I was quickly transported to Athens for training,” the mention of his home sparks a memory of your own island within you — shimmering in the late afternoon sun, its walls and painted columns casting long shadows. The sea breathing quietly in the distance, and the scent of salt and thyme carried on in the breeze. Bells echoing from the high towers, marking time. You’d walk alone, past frescoes of dancing bulls and gods with lion eyes, your sandals gliding over mosaic floors. A child of Crete, promised to an emperor across the great body of water. One you barely knew, but whose ships brought you to the heart of the empire. Your home might not be your home anymore, though your heart will remain anchored on the island forever.

How you dread being separated from it.

Knowing the foreign gladiator was brought from the southeast, thrown to the beasts just like you were, brings you a sense of comfort.

You’re about to answer, opening your mouth to spill something of your own, but the interruption of footsteps prevents you from it. You’re quick to stand to your feet, brushing dust off your silky robes. Panic seizes you, heart thundering in your chest as the sound circles closer and closer, until you’re met with the face of the gatekeeper.

Relief fast to embrace you.

“I am incredibly sorry to interrupt, but here is what you asked of me, princess,” the gatekeeper bows a little as he hands you the list of all the gladiators in the Colosseum, eager to depart from the both of you. Your efforts to keep your identity hidden are crushed in a fraction of seconds, by one word. You grip the papers tightly, pushing it into your pocket without giving it a look. Papers which were meant to reveal his name to you.

The blue eyed warrior stops dead at the sound of the man's words, his thoughts racing as he processes your title spoken into the hollow walls of the Colosseum.

"Princess?" he whispers, stunned at the unexpected revelation from the gatekeeper. The white haired gladiator stares at you in disbelief, his gaze no longer curious, but now utterly shocked from your secret flattening. He takes a step closer to the bars, his expression bathing in disbelief while trying to make sense of the situation. You offer him nothing but overpowering silence, head tilted to stare down at the floor.

“You are royalty?” he ponders — hushed, needing to hear the words coming from you so he can be sure his mind isn’t playing any tricks on him. He takes yet another step towards the bars, reaching his hand out to wrap it around the metal bar.

“No, you must have misinterpreted the situation,” you attempt to play the doomed situation down, voice shaken up due to the unexpected reveal. The man on the other side of the cell certainly doesn’t buy it as he continues to tower over you.

“Do not take me for a fool, I heard him call you a princess,”

You remain unmoving, debating innerly on what should your next step be. He knows, there’s no turning back. You could run, never show up here ever again. Only watch him from the box, married to the brute.

No.

Without a word, you lift your head from the ground, letting out a deep and long breath. Your hood slides backwards, revealing the lower part of your face. The gladiator is left breathless as he watches the scene he fantasised about for so long playing out before him. He’ll finally be able to capture the face of the one who’s become his reason to keep fighting. In the faint light, he can make out the delicate curve of your cheek, the gentle slope of your nose, and the fulness of your lips.

He leans in closer, nearly coming into contact with the iron material. The beat of his heart quickens, crazily drumming against his ribs, mind struggling to reconcile the fact that royalty’s standing right in front of him.

The intensity of his icy blue globes suffocates you with anxiety, hand reaching into the air to brush away the hood entirely. Revealing your face, the one he’ll surely be certain to put a label to. And indeed, the gladiator’s breath hitches in his throat as you push away your hood fully, showing him your face in its full glory and offering vulnerability. In the soft light, your features are even more graceful and delicate than he could have imagined.

As he studies your face with great detail, the realisation dawns on him. He recognises you. You’re the woman who sits by the emperor's side everyday, watching each fight play out with a horrifying expression painting her beautifully sculptured features.

You’re basically forced to dart away your gaze, his eyes urging you to feel like you’re standing completely bare in front of him. You survey the long corridor, brushing a strands of your coloured hair behind the shell of your ear. Though his attention never entirely leaves your frame, eyes tracing every feature, studying the way you brush away your hair. He can't help but be captivated by your beauty — similar to the one gods posses — a wave of conflicting emotions swirls through him yet again. He should be respectful to you as a princess, bow down to you. Though there’s a part of him that simply sees you as this mysterious woman who visits him night after night. Nothing more, nothing less.

A mysterious woman whom he thought to be a commoner, turning out to be a princess betrothed to the emperor himself.

“I suppose it must be tad of a shock for you,” you huff out, continuing to look somewhere to the side. Successfully avoiding the gladiator’s eyes, not fully ready to capture them once more.

“You could say that,” he replies, still studying your averted gaze, the sight bringing him to chuckle softly in amusement. He’s baffled by the overflowing emotions you’re portraying, the way you’re unable to fully lock your eyes with him — he’s taken aback by it, even more so since you’re the closest he’s been to a member of a royal family.

He should be the one to be nervous, not you.

You lightly shake your head, in disbelief of the situation, which causes your hair to come undone from the clip that had been holding it together at the back of your head. A few front strands fall into your vision, urging you to blow them away with your mouth. The gladiator watches with a devoted look, the hair framing the shape of your face like you’re in an ethereal painting. He then fully presses his body into the metal forming the bars, face sticking out in between the space with the intention of wanting to reach out and touch you.

He’s so close, regardless of the barrier separating you. One brief movement and he’d be able to touch you, but he’s careful to respect your boundaries. A certain warmth radiates off him, luring you to give in as his breathing fanes across your face. Still, his orbs remain utterly glued to the sight of you — admiring the shape of you and your soft looking hair enveloping the sides of your hair.

His mind is clouded with confusing desires.

The gladiator can't help but be taken aback by your alluring presence, his heart skipping a beat as you leap closer. He watches you intently, his gaze locked on your face while his mind races with thousands of thoughts per second. He reaches out, fingers gently grasping one of the bars — touch tender despite the rough calluses on his hands, but rather swift in response to his own pleas.

Your body flinches away out of fear at his fast movements, a habit you harvested throughout your months at the palace. The emperor is unpredictable, you never know if he’s about to soothe your hair, pinch your skin or something far worse. You curse yourself innerly for your doubts, because you trust this caged man more than you ever would your soon to be husband.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, princess,” his voice is smooth as he makes out your fear, even if it appears for a mere second. He is quick to retrieve his hand from the bar, remorse filling him up to the brim. He shouldn’t have let himself go, shouldn’t have forgotten that you’re royalty and you’re not used to being sought after so casually.

The gladiator whose name you’re still unaware of steps back, creating distance between you in an apologetic manner.

“No,” you let out quietly, closing the distance again to seek out his proximity by sticking your hand in between the metal barrier, waiting for him to take it and scoot over to you once more. Your gesture shows him that you’re not afraid of him, though you perhaps should be as you see what he does to other men inside the arena. However, you can see it pains him. That he’d rather be anywhere else, he kills simply out of the need for survival. If he didn’t strike first, then he’d be dismembered. That made you grow fond of him in the first place.

He’s taken aback by your unexpected gesture of trust, mixture of awe and hesitation overtaking his being. With a slow movement, he reaches out and gently wraps his much larger hand around yours, holding it soothingly. His hands are rough and scarred while yours look like they’re made of porcelain, polished and well taken care of. Your own heart stops for a moment at the difference in the sizes and at how surprisingly gentle he is with you.

“How did you end up at the mercy of the madman?” he holds your hand delicately as he asks you, as if afraid he might hurt you, knowing the strength he possesses.

“I was born on Crete. My father is the king of the island, one well connected. The second the emperor’s mother announced that her son is to be wedded, I was brought to a ship as a candidate,” his touch electrifies you, not in the same way when you were near other men in your life. Not that you have ever been left alone with one like this before — in the night with only dim light illuminating your vision, tucked away from the sights of everyone.

When you compare it to polite gestures with your suitors, it failed to do such as his touch. It failed to do half of what this man stirs in your insides.

Your father would be furious, yet the simple thought of it excites you. The forbidding atmosphere excites and scares you at the same time.

“Sadly he took a liking to me. And although I loathe to breathe the same air as he does, I have no other choice,” you finish speaking, hesitant to lock your gaze with his again. Your tone picks up on a hint of sadness, lacing your expression as you retell him the simple story of how you became the target of the emperor.

“I’m sorry, it is horrible, and you do not deserve it,” he gently squeezes your hand, and it feels refreshing to hear someone voicing out their sympathies. All you’d get from the noble society is how ungrateful you’re for not being over the moon, that countless of women would throw themselves off a cliff for a chance to meet the ruler. How gladly you’d let them have him instead.

“Do not apologise, you do not deserve to be treated like this either,” your free hand flies to the air, gesturing at the darkened place where a metallic smell of blood hangs heavily in the air.

“No need to worry about me,” he mumbles to interrupt you, shaking his head to strip you of your worries.

“But I do, each time you step into the arena,” the words are simple, yet holding an immense power.

He bends down to your level.

It happens in a quick moment, away from the eyes of courtiers and the weight of your duties. In a place where the air smells of iron and stone. A princess of Crete, a bride promised to the emperor, raised in silks and showered in gold jewels. You’re meant to be wise, untouched and perfect — served on a silver platter for the empire. But when you look at him, the gladiator chained in these dungeons, all of your problems seem to unravel and dissolve like sea foam. He isn’t beautiful in the way noblemen are. There is nothing polished or rehearsed about him. He stands in front of you, inches separating you, bruised from the acts of the fight. His eyes holding no brutality when they met yours. And at this moment, you’d trade all of your life and all those noble men for a simple taste of a gladiator.

You truly didn’t know why you kept coming back. But you did at the same time. You told yourself it was curiosity, pity, maybe even rebellion —though standing in front of him now with little space between you and the atmosphere heavy with something unsaid, you know it’s far more than that. You reach out absentmindedly, fingers slipping between the bars, brushing the line of his jaw. He doesn’t flinch nor forces you away, he welcomes it. His skin is warm beneath the pillows of your fingers, rough with scars, real in a way nothing in your world had ever been.

And then you slowly lean in, eyes fluttering shut in the process. Resulting in the fact you can’t make out anything besides the ramping organ in your ribcage.

Your lips meet, just barely at first. More a breath shared than a kiss. Something in you shifts into place as it happens though. It’s soft, then urgent, and another second you’re trembling with all the things you were never allowed to want, but dreamt of in secret. The white haired warrior kisses you back like he knows this might be the only time he’s offered the opportunity, like the moment is slipping through his fingers even as he holds you close.

It’s your first kiss, and it strangely feels just as natural as breathing.

You liked to imagine you’d share your first kiss somewhere in a garden, smelling petals of roses or at the foot of a golden throne with a prince. Instead you’re here, in the shadows, with a man whose name is a mystery waiting to be discovered. And still, none of your scenarios could compare to the real thing, to the heat shared between you as your lips move in sync with his.

“Satoru,” he whispers into your mouth in between your shared kisses, his hands slipping further past the bars to pull you closer by your perfect silky robes. Pressing you into the metal cell, in hopes of feeling your body against his.

“Satoru?” you repeat in confusion.

“Oh, Satoru,” you coo in realisation of his name, and whisper your own in addition.

“Say it again,” he demands, fingers brushing past your robes.

And you do.

Again and again and again and again.

It tastes sweetly on your tongue, just right.

And when you finally pull away due to the lack of oxygen, your lips are still tingling with the taste of him and suddenly, all is different. Your cheeks are flushed with a tint of pink, silently praying he won’t speak of it out loud. And he doesn’t, he actually seems to ride the same wave of adrenaline as you.

He clumsily sneaks and twists his hand in order to be able to caress the swell of your cheek. Pushing strands of your hair to rest behind your ear, causing you to chuckle fondly as the featherlight touch tickles you.

“Is there anything you would like for me to bring tomorrow, before your fight?” you suggest, hoping to make his time in the cell more accommodating.

“Just your company,” he smiles down at you, turning it into a smirk only a moment later. The one which grabs you by your throat, robbing you of any common sense.

Isn’t it crazy how one person can make you feel what other never could nor would in such a short period of time?

“I appreciate your flattery, but in all seriousness, do you not need anything?”

“No, your presence will be enough of a fuel,” he goes on, refusing anything before you even offer it.

“Do you think differently of me, knowing I am a princess?” you mumble worriedly, looking to the side for a while. Not wanting to appear pretentious, hoping his outlook on you won’t change despite him knowing who you really are.

“A stupid title will not alter the way I think of you,” his voice drops an octave, meant only for your ears. The gesture seemingly intimate, causing an entire havoc in your stomach.

You hold his face in your palms, memorizing the lines carved by his skills and the spots where the sun attacked brutally — surveying the kindness etched onto his features that hides beneath his nonchalant armour throughout the day. And you kiss him full of gratitude like you can press your soul into his, because by dawn, you both return to your cages.

It doesn’t matter whether it’s the arena or the palace.

The sun rises like gold urns pouring water over the city of Rome, spilling light through the stained arches of windows straight into your chamber. Soft beams brush against your bedsheets and the heading of your bed. You awake slowly as it reflects into your face as well, breath catching in your throat — not from your disturbed sleep, but from a creeping dread you could no longer push away.

Your wedding is in a week from today.

The scent of jasmine and rose water fills the room, meanwhile maidens move quietly as they notice your awake state to draw open the heavy curtains and to sett out gowns the colours of twilight and fire. All for you to try later in the evening. They smile as they walk past you, greeting you and whispering of the day’s important schedule. Their cheeriness brings you sorrows as they surely must picture you as their future empress already — you’re their fraction of hope for a better life. You force yourself to smile back, no sign of real joy as the rmperor’s image doesn’t stir your heart with same admiration as they imagine it does.

You sit on the edge of the bed, the silk sheets falling around you like waves. Outside, the palace garden blooms unnaturally early, flowers coaxed into blossom by alchemists to match the emperor’s vision of a perfect wedding day, not that he cares as much. Trumpets call faintly in the distance, and you recognise the sound instantly. The city below is already alive with celebration for your upcoming wedding. But all you feel is the weight of your duty, heavy as the golden jewellery you’re putting on.

A soft knock at the door echos through the walls of your room, handmaiden entering with a polite bow.

“The emperor sends word, princess. He awaits you in the throne room and then you will be allowed to have a breakfast,” is all she says before she places an ivory stola on the edge of your bed, disappearing with yet another bow. The long gown she brought fails to bubble up any form of excitement. You don’t move, gaze fixed on the horizon beyond the window, where smoke swirls through the air. Too mesmerised by yesterday’s occurrence, the ghost of Satoru’s touch shimmering you, regardless of his absence. The mere fantasy of his proximity sets you on fire.

Your nightly encounters are the only thing pushing you to get up, letting the maidens do their magic on you and slipping into the long gown your soon to be husband picked out specifically for you. You're standing tall, wrapped in the clothing which drapes over your shoulders like liquid moonlight. It’s beautiful, not what you’d choose but it works. The fabric is soft and cool against your skin, flowing down in elegant folds. Every movement feels you’re drowning in fluid, effortless. A delicate golden belt rests at your waist, shaping your figure not too tightly.

The palace buzzes with preparations for your upcoming wedding day as you stroll through the corridors of the palace to reach the throne room — golden silks hung, rose petals thrown across marble floors, laurels placed on the columns, songs rehearsed to honour an empire’s union by perfecting hymns dedicated to Venus and Juno. The goddesses of love and marriage. The sound nearly sickens you, the mere thought of standing in front of the altar with your palms rested in his and giving him your youth for free wrenches your gut. And for a moment, it truly feels like you might throw up. Especially when you reach the throne room, your heart thundering against your ribs like it might give out any second.

The emperor sits on his tremendous throne decorated with reflecting gems at the far end of the room, draped in crimson and gold robes. His presence nothing compared to the vastness of the room — he looks like a boy, a fool pretending to be a ruler and yet, you’re at his mercy. The throne is a masterpiece on its own, carved out of the finest marble. Unlike the ruler, it seems to pulse with the weight of power.

“Ah, there’s my bride,” he coos, eyes sharp and calculating as usual. Fixated on your every move, inviting you closer.

“Come,” his monotone voice lures you in.

Your heart pounds unevenly, caught between the sight unraveled before you and the impossible secret you carry in form of love that belongs to another, to one not too far from this gilded cage. The silence feels heavy, broken only by the distant hushes of courtiers and the soft shuffle of your footsteps on polished stone. As you approach, the emperor’s gaze never ceases.

“Your highness,” you let out softly, bending your body to show him respect in hopes of pleasing to achieve a piece of security for yourself.

“Come here, sit,” he pats his thigh, fingers gesturing for you to take a seat.

His words hang in the air as murmurs of servants ripple softly, awkwardness flushing you. Still, you have no choice, so you walk forward to climb the stairs — each one drawing you closer to the throne and to the man who plays to be the ruler. He extends a hand, guiding you gently onto his lap and cradling you not just with power, but possession. As if he owns you. And in a way he does. You feel overly stiff, unable to loosen and the fact it’s being witnessed by every bowed head in the room adds a sting.

At first, he speaks of your wedding day which is hurrying your way. The tone of his voice low, only meant for your ear. It causes goosebumps to grace your skin, not in a pleasant intimate way your lover would make you feel, but rather in fear and disgust. From time to time, mere sight of him boils your blood and spins your head, therefore sitting in such a close proximity makes you want to tear your hair out.

You loathe him dedicatedly, overflowing with hatred for the one you’re supposed to be wedded to, but you can’t be bothered to feel guilty while you’re seated in his lap. His heinous acts can’t make you.

“I must say I am growing rather bored of the new champion,” a mush of his words reaches your ear, they come unexpectedly and it feels like a punch to the stomach. You instantly recognise who he’s directing his words to and what it could mean, knowing his corrupted ways of thinking.

“How so, my lord?” you speak up for the first time since you sat down onto his lap, voice careful and precise.

“Winning over and over gets repetitive, does it not?” he cocks his head to the side lightly, peaking at you from the corner of his eye, a smirk tugging his lips up. A glint of mischief in his gaze, nearly making you choke on paranoia. There’s no possibility he could somehow find out about my nightly outings, you keep repeating in your head.

“I suppose, your highness,” you agree, not wanting to rile him up beyond recognition, even though it takes everything within you to not push him away.

“I will fight the gladiator,” he announces as if it’s some grant gesture, expecting to earn an encouragement, yet all it does is wake up a raging storm of emotions in your chest. Thousands of thoughts running through your mind, all sort of scenarios overtaking your sense. Each one ending in the favour of your soon to be husband and not the man you’ve grown so fond of, because wealth and power win in the end. Not strength and bravery.

“You have seen how skillful the man is,” your spoken statement is an opposite of what he thought you’d say, earning yourself a tight squeeze on your hip. His fingers digging into the fabric of the gown he picked out for you, into your tender flesh.

“Do you trust the slave more than your own emperor?” you can see it then, the change in his mechanisms. It’s like someone flipped a switch and there’s a whole another person, the action urging you to bolt. Nonetheless, you stay, loyal to the one you’re promised to — discarding your own needs.

“I would not dare, I simply worry too much,” you breathe out shakily, trying to appear genuine. It brings you to hesitantly reach out your hand, the motion slow enough that he could slap it away if he wished to. He doesn’t, he welcomes your touch instead, taking you by a surprise the second your palm comes into contact with the swell of his cheekbone.

“I appreciate it, though suggest you keep your mouth shut, sweets. Worry doesn’t look too good on you,” his lips curve into a malicious smile, hand flying out to grip your wrist tightly. You almost whine aloud, not from the pain, but from how unexpected the action was. You swallow the dry lump building up in your throat, barely visibly nodding your hand. And with that, he jerks your arm away from his face.

“In five days, I will face the champion,”

Your world crashes down, ambers of horror turning into flames. You don’t try to convince him to do otherwise due to his stubbornness, regardless of how unlikely he’s to win honourably in the fight. Your mind only wanders to the white haired gladiator, the worry you feel now incomparable to the one you feel each time he goes out to fight in the arena. It’s far more devouring that he’s ought to be robbed of his life in such a disgusting manner.

His arms untangle from your body, hand patting the side of your thigh to show you you’re no longer welcomed in his lap. He dismisses you, finally. The gruesome time spent in his presence seeming overly time consuming. And as soon as that, you’re on the path to your room, you feel both at ease and horrified. The thought of having breakfast making you sick as reality of what is to come for your heartfelt warrior crashes down on you just, coming your way in full speed. Your footsteps pick speed, flying through the corridors of your new home.

When you reach the inside of your chamber, your words are quick to send the maids away, not caring whether they’re finished with their task or not. The one sensation you can focus on is the burning in the walls of your throat and on the entirety of your chest. You manage to breathe slowly in and our in order to keep your emotions at bay until every single one of your ladies exits the room.

Then it hits you, like an arrow to your heart.

He’s going to die by the hands of your monstrous future spouse.

Tears spill from the corners of your eyes, running down the swell of your cheeks and continuing their way down your neck. Meanwhile, your back remains pressed against the entrance door to the room. You close your orbs shut, thinking that maybe — just maybe — it’d go away if you tried hard enough. However, you can’t stop the reality from dragging you down. And you feel pathetic for allowing your emotions to get the better out of you, because of a man who’s always been bound to be taken away from you. Although, it never occurred to you it could be done by the man you’re betrothed to. It makes you hyperventilate, each cell in your body bursting while trying not to let out a single sound. It’s agonising, all you wish to do is let it out, but with the ladies still lingering behind the closed door to your room, it’s unimaginable.

“In five days, therefore before our wedding,” you mumble out inaudible and in disbelief, piece of hope swallowing you whole as an idea bubbles up to surface.

Seven days to your wedding ceremony, five till the fight.

You’ve still got time to try, try to either talk the emperor into stepping away from the fight or help the gladiator escape before it comes down to it. Either way, you’d then proceed to marry the emperor, be miserable and preform your duty as a princess — bringing the empire a slice of hope for the future. And as great as it sounds, you know you’d regret it till the end of your days. And then there’s the last option, which includes packing up your necessities and losing yourself in the city, sailing away on a boat with Satoru’s hand in your. The fantasy robbing you of any logical way of thinking.

It’s all you wish for, from the marrow in your bones to your fingertips — your whole being years for a chance at a new life, away from the madness of the empire.

Small pieces of ideas begin to form a unit in your mind, and the last thing you need is the agreement of the one you’re so eager to run away with.

It causes you to pick yourself up, each shattered piece, and smile. You smile your way through the day, trying out dresses and answering all the prying questions coming from your court ladies to appear as much in love with the idea of marrying the emperor as they do. You lunch with him in the gardens, you endure each time he picks on you with grace and dodge everything which leads to suggesting being in any shape or form intimate with him. He hasn’t tried anything, but with the wedding date nearing its expiration, he’s certainly growing rather bold with his words and it’s simply a matter of time before he does try. You play out your role of the low maintenance loyal princess who appears to be amazed by what’s happening in her life. All of it just to wake up in the dead of the night, filled with anticipation and anxiety, ready to take on yet another nightly outing. This time being different, tainted by a horrible sense that you’ll soon run out of time for good.

In the stillness of the night, the city transforms and gleams in a strange way under the light of the moon. Each step a defiance to your obligations, betraying your lineage and the ruler himself by plotting against his judgment. The air feels exceptionally thick as you reach the entrance leading to the gladiator’s cells. Your heart heaves with news that threaten to shatter your clandestine fantasy. The emperor, perhaps having caught whispers of your affections, had announced his participation in the upcoming games — not for sport, but for execution. And you’re soon going to be the one to deliver these news.

“I need the keys this time,” you demand, the old man guarding the entrance nearly choking on his own saliva.

“But princess—“

“I said I need the keys,” your voice cuts him off before he can finish, repeating your wish once more and empathising it while reaching into the pocket of your silky robe to pull out a leather sachet, packed with gold and denariuses.

The nameless man scans your hooded figure, arm hesitantly handing you the keys in exchange for your treasure, and then he lets you in without any other words — aware this might not end up well for him. But it doesn’t stop you either like it normally would, you can’t bring yourself to care as you descend down the stairs.

“You are late tonight,” his voice calls out from the darkness of his cell, collected and oh so soothing. Your shoulders loosen up and the speed of your racing heart comes to a halt. You pull your hood down, revealing yourself to him as you inch closer towards the metal bars.

“I am sorry, I had to wait a little longer tonight,” you whisper into the silence, keeping the keys hidden in your pocket as there’s a small uncertainty blooming in you about using them, about stepping inside and that he might run.

“You came, that is what matters,” he exhales with a low hum, stepping out of the darkness to close the overbearing distance between you. Your heart ceases to function at the sight of his beautiful face, each time you see him it grabs you by your throat like it’s the first time and it doesn’t cease to amuse you. The sharp cut of his jawline and cheeks-bones, the delicate curve of his nose and the light sunburn grazing his skin from working in the open sun, but most importantly, the gleam in his eyes — the softness that defies the rest of his muscular frame.

“I am afraid I am not a barer of good news,” you break the silence with a heavy heart, the reality coming together once again as the amusement goes on to pass. Satoru furrows his brows at that, arms sneaking through the metal to touch you.

“The emperor, he is out of his mind, and he wants to fight you before he is to be wedded to me, Satoru,” pure shock paints his face the moment your words make the situation real, his hand gently squeezes your side before his fingers play with the slippery fabric of your gown.

“Let him, then. I will crush him with ease,” he states with confidence and if it were anyone else facing him, you wouldn’t dare to question his skills.

“You are not reading me correctly,” you shake your head slightly, tone cracking, and part of you knew it wouldn’t be easy to convince him of what is building up outside of the walls of the Colosseum.

“He is not to let you win,” you speak slowly and deliberately, allowing him to digest the meaning behind it in hopes that he’ll listen to you.

“He does not need to, I will defeat him,” he copies your way of speaking, trying to convince you to put your faith in him. His palm slides up your body to rest upon your cheek, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

“Do you truly think he is a man of honour? He will cheat his way out,” the words escape your lips in a quiet and desperate way, while you pool your eyes into his. Their shade almost dark blue in the darkness. Like the ocean that threatens to drown sailors on a stormy night.

It makes you realise that there are no torches lit this night which is suspicious.

“I will send him to his own grave, I promise you princess. That you will be free,” your face falls into frustration even though his thumb works in small sensual circles on your skin, it’s still not enough to soothe down the raging ache.

“You cannot possibly think they will let you kill the emperor in an arena full of guards. In front of hundreds, it will be a charade,” you continue, growing more desperate. So much that you might start pleading, it’s what your eyes are doing anyway and it seems to shake him up a little, because you take notice of the way his features soften up.

“They will take your life too, even if you by some miracle will succeed in killing him,” you add, leaning into the security of his touch.

“At least you will be free, I am to take the risk,”

And that is what utterly undoes you, so much you have to pull and step away.

“Please, I beg you to stop,” you plea, clasping your hands together.

“There is no other way,” his voice is calm in comparison to yours, as if he’s already reconciled with his fate and it only deepens the hurt burning through you.

“Satoru, listen,” you start off shakily, but you manage to form it into coherent sentences, “we could board a ship in four days, sail to Greece together at dawn and leave this behind.”

Your hands tremble as you reach for the gladiator before you, but he’s the one to step away now. Your eyes are wide with desperation, searching his face for traces of hope. He remains still, his muscular frame silhouetting against the stone walls of his cell — your lips quiver, breath hitching as you silently plead for escape.

“I cannot strip you off your titles, your birthright,” he speaks up, crushing your build up hope in a fraction of second, making you reel.

“None of it compares to you,”

“I have nothing to offer you,” the gladiator's expression is a tapestry of conflict. His brows knit together, eyes reflecting a storm of love, sorrows and resignation. He gently takes your hands in his, the touch both tender and firm as he slowly shakes his head.

“It matters not, you are worth more than all the jewels they bathe me in and it would be silly to marry someone I would never be able to love, would it not?” you chuckle lightly, expressing the doubts you haven’t spoken out loud before. You squeeze his hands, urging him to give into this.

“I would simply not be able to forgive myself for robbing you of your comfort,” his iridescent globes pierce yours and it’s admirable, the way he so easily gives up what he wants in order for you to be secured. Even as you’re begging him to do the complete opposite, even knowing the marriage would never fulfil you, but he would rather die than to rob you of everything, give you nothing and make you more miserable. It’s better to be miserable in a palace than somewhere God knows where, it’s what he tells himself as he fights to not do what you’re asking him.

“You are not listening to me,” your tone becomes more firm, demanding. And it irks you how much this affects you, nonetheless, you can’t phantom a reality where you stay with the emperor and leave him to die.

“You are not either,” he doesn’t pretend to be calm anymore, the expression on his face a mixture of remorse and frustration.

“I cannot watch you leave your life behind, and for what? A gladiator?” the echo of his sarcastic chuckle rings through the long dungeon, striking your heart right where it hurts the moment. And you realise just how crazy this is, what you’re asking him to do — to steal a princess under the nose of the emperor — but it doesn’t stop you.

For once in your life, you want to be selfish.

“And I cannot lose you, do you not understand? I have fallen in love with you,” you say exactly what you’re thinking, cheeks flushing in the process due to the simple fact you have never felt the need to say those word nor had anyone ever to say them to.

The gladiator looks just as surprised by your confession as you do which unsettles you.

“What?” he mumbles, barely audible as he implores you to repeat what has left your lips.

credits for dividers: [ @zaldritzosrose @cafekitsune @enchanthings ]

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to-the-beginning--the-end-waits · 6 days ago

Text

Accidental Secret

Summary: Your boyfriend's friends seems to be very convinced that you aren't actually dating but are just two close friends. When you both break the news to the crew, chaos ensues.

Pairing: Jung Wooyoung x Reader

Genre: College AU, fluffy, slice of life

Word count: 2.4k~

Warnings: None, just pure fluff and comedy

You’re sitting in the corner of the dance studio, quietly working on your psychology essay on your laptop while the campus dance crew runs through their routine for the upcoming competition. It’s a typical Tuesday afternoon, and you’ve long since mastered the art of tuning out the chaos while still keeping one ear open in case Wooyoung needs you for anything.

“Babe, can you grab my water bottle?” Wooyoung calls out during a break, sweat dripping down his forehead as he shoots you that brilliant smile that made you fall for him in the first place.

Without looking up from your screen, you reach into his backpack and toss the bottle in his direction. He catches it with a grin and blows you a kiss.

“Thanks, you’re the best!”

Seonghwa snorts from across the room. “Wooyoung, you can’t just call everyone ‘babe’ and expect them to be your personal assistant.”

You glance up, raising an eyebrow. “Everyone?”

“Yeah, he calls the barista at the campus café ‘babe’ too,” Yeosang adds helpfully, stretching his arms above his head. “And the lady at the campus bookstore. And that one security guard who always works the night shift.”

Wooyoung looks genuinely confused. “No, I don’t?”

“You literally called Hongjoong ‘babe’ yesterday when you wanted him to buy you lunch at the dining hall,” Jongho points out.

“That’s different!” Wooyoung protests, but he’s already moving on, bounding over to where you’re sitting and dramatically flopping down with his head in your lap. You barely have the time to save your file and put your computer to the side. “Tell them it’s different.”

You absently run your fingers through his damp hair. “It’s different."

“See?” Wooyoung says smugly, though his voice is slightly muffled since he’s now completely sprawled across your lap.

Hongjoong shakes his head. “Y/N, you don’t have to enable his clingy behavior just because you’re nice.”

“I’m not being nice,” you reply mildly, re-checking your save. “I’m being honest.”

“You’re always honest,” Mingi says fondly. “It’s why we trust you to to keep Wooyoung in line.”

Wooyoung tilts his head to look up at you with wide eyes. “You keep me in line?”

“Like a dog on a leash,” you confirm without missing a beat.

The room erupts in laughter while Wooyoung gasps in mock offense. “I am not a dog!”

“You’re right,” you concede, finally closing your laptop screen and looking down at him properly. “Dogs are better behaved.”

“BETRAYAL!” Wooyoung wails, throwing an arm over his eyes dramatically. “My own girlfriend doesn’t believe in me!”

“Girlfriend?” Yunho laughs. “Wooyoung, just because Y/N tolerates your nonsense doesn’t make her your girlfriend.”

There’s a beat of silence. You and Wooyoung exchange glances.

“We’ve been dating for a while.” you say slowly.

“WHAT?”

The collective shout is so loud that it echoes off the dance studio mirrors. Wooyoung sits up abruptly, looking around at his friends’ shocked faces with growing bewilderment.

“Wait,” he says, blinking rapidly. “You guys didn’t know?"

“HOW WERE WE SUPPOSED TO KNOW?” San shrieks, pointing dramatically between the two of you. “You act the same with everyone!”

“I do not!”

“You called our RA ‘sweetheart’ this morning!”

“And you fed Yeosang your cafeteria lunch yesterday,” Jongho adds.

“You literally carried Seonghwa piggyback across campus last week when his ankle was sore,” Mingi chimes in.

Wooyoung looks genuinely distressed. “But… but I kiss Y/N!”

“On the cheek!” Yunho throws his hands up in exasperation. “You kiss all of us on the cheek!”

“Not like how I kiss Y/N!”

“You’re right,” Yeosang says thoughtfully. “You usually use more tongue with us.”

“YEOSANG!”

You can’t help but snort with laughter, which draws everyone’s attention back to you. They’re all staring like you’re some sort of mystical creature that’s just materialized in their dance studio.

“This explains so much,” Seonghwa says weakly, sliding down the mirror wall to sit on the floor. “I thought you were just really, really good friends.”

“We are really good friends,” you point out. “We just also happen to be dating.”

“Since when?” Hongjoong demands.

“Eight months ago,” Wooyoung says, still looking shell shocked. “I asked her out after the campus festival where she helped us with the booth setup. Remember? I brought her flowers the next day?”

“You bring everyone flowers!” San cries. “You brought ME flowers last week!”

“Those were different flowers!”

“They were literally the same roses from the same flower shop where Seonghwa’s crush works!”

You decide to take pity on your boyfriend, who looks like his entire worldview is crashing down around him. “In Wooyoung’s defense, the flowers he brought me were accompanied by a confession and a request for a first date. I’m assuming yours were not?”

San opens his mouth, then closes it. “Well… no.”

“And I’m assuming he doesn’t take you out for romantic dinners or hold your hand during movie nights or text you good morning every day?”

The room falls silent as the group processes this information.

“Oh my god,” Mingi whispers. “You guys are actually dating.”

“We’ve established this,” you say patiently.

“But you’re so…” Yunho gestures vaguely at you, “…calm. And he’s so…”

“Chaotic,” you finish. “Yes, I’m aware. It works for us.”

Wooyoung, who has been uncharacteristically quiet during this exchange, suddenly springs back to life. “Wait, wait, wait. If you all didn’t know we were dating, what did you think was happening when Y/N started spending every night at my dorm?”

Another moment of silence.

“We thought you were just study buddies who fell asleep doing homework,” Hongjoong says slowly.

“And when she started coming to all our dance competitions?”

“Supportive friend.”

“And when I started wearing her hair tie on my wrist?”

“…Fashion statement?”

Wooyoung looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm. “WHAT ABOUT WHEN WE WENT TO THAT WEEKEND RETREAT? TOGETHER? ALONE?”

“We thought it was for your film studies project!” Seonghwa protests.

“WHAT KIND OF FILM PROJECT INVOLVES COUPLE’S MASSAGES AT A SPA?”

“We thought you got the couple’s massage because it was cheaper than two individual ones!”

You watch this trainwreck of a conversation with detached amusement, occasionally patting Wooyoung’s arm when he looks like he might actually combust from frustration.

“To be fair,” you interject during a lull in the chaos, “you all have a point. Wooyoung is pretty affectionate with everyone.”

“THANK YOU—wait, no, that’s not helping!”

“I mean,” you continue thoughtfully, “just last week you told Hongjoong his eyes sparkled like diamonds in the stage lights.”

“They do!”

“And you carried Yeosang’s dance bag for him when he was tired.”

“He looked exhausted!”

“And you bought San lunch for a whole week when he was broke.”

“There was a buy one get one free promotion at the cafeteria!”

The group is nodding along with your points, looking vindicated, while Wooyoung grows more agitated by the second.

“But,” you add, and everyone perks up, “Wooyoung doesn’t do this with any of you.”

You lean over and kiss him on the lips, soft and sweet and definitely not platonic. When you pull away, Wooyoung is smiling dopily, all his frustration forgotten.

The dance studio is dead silent.

“Oh,” Jongho says faintly. “That’s… that’s definitely not friendly.”

“We’ve been doing that for eight months,” you inform them cheerfully.

“WHERE?” Yunho demands. “When? How did we miss it?”

“Literally everywhere,” Wooyoung says, having regained his composure enough to look smug. “We were making out in the common room yesterday morning.”

“I thought Y/N was helping you get an eyelash out of your eye!” Yeosang wails.

“We were kissing. Very romantically.”

Hongjoong stands up abruptly. “I need to lie down. This is too much information to process.”

“Wait,” Yeosang says suddenly, looking suspicious. “If you’ve been dating for eight months, and we didn’t know… what else don’t we know?”

You and Wooyoung exchange another look.

“Well,” you say slowly, “we have been moving in together off-campus recently.”

“WHAT?”

“And we are adoping a cat when we move in together. She's staying with my sister till we are able to move in completely.”

“YOU HAVE A CAT?”

“And I’m meeting his parents next weekend.”

The silence that follows this revelation is broken only by the sound of Seonghwa’s soul leaving his body.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell us you have a cat,” Mingi says, sounding genuinely hurt.

“I literally have pictures of her on my phone that I show everyone,” Wooyoung protests.

“You said it was your roommate's cat!”

“Y/N is my roommate now!”

“WE THOUGHT YOU MEANT YOUR WEIRD DORM ROOMMATE JAKE!”

“And I invited you all over for a housewarming party!” Wooyoung continues, looking increasingly frazzled. “I thought you knew she was my girlfriend and just didn’t realize we were living together now!”

“We thought you were just excited about having a new roommate!” Mingi protests.

You’re trying very hard not to laugh as the chaos unfolds around you, but you’re fighting a losing battle. The situation is so ridiculous that you can’t help the giggles that start escaping.

“Are you laughing at us?” Hongjoong asks incredulously.

“A little bit,” you admit. “This is the most entertainment I’ve had all week.”

“We’re having an existential crisis and you’re entertained?”

“Very entertained.”

Wooyoung beams at you like you’ve just told him he won the lottery. “This is why I love you.”

“Aw, I love you too.”

“THEY’RE IN LOVE TOO?” Yunho shrieks.

“Have been for about four months now,” you confirm helpfully.

Jongho sits down heavily on the floor. “I don’t understand how we missed this.”

“To be honest,” you say, “I’m not sure how you missed it either. Wooyoung isn’t exactly subtle.”

“I am the most obvious person in the world,” Wooyoung agrees proudly. “I thought you all were just being polite by not commenting on it.”

“We thought we were being polite by not commenting on your friendship!”

“What friendship looks like that?” Wooyoung gestures wildly at the two of you. You’re currently braiding a small section of his hair while he leans against your shoulder.

“A very close one?” Yeosang offers weakly.

“Yeosang, I respect you, but you’re an idiot.”

“We’re all idiots,” Seonghwa says mournfully. “We’ve been idiots for eight months.”

“It’s fine,” you assure them. “It’s not like we were hiding it on purpose. We just didn’t think it needed a formal announcement.”

“We’re literally the most popular dance crew on campus,” Hongjoong points out. “Everything needs a formal announcement.”

“Should we make a statement?” Wooyoung asks excitedly. “I could post something on Instagram!”

“Please don’t,” you say quickly. “I don’t need the entire campus knowing about my love life.”

“But I want to show you off!”

“You show me off plenty. Remember last week when you talked about me for twenty minutes during that study group?”

“How did you heard that?”

“Hyein told me after. Apparently you called me your ‘favorite person in the whole world’ and said I make the best jajangmyeon you’ve ever had.”

“Because you do!”

“And then you spent ten minutes describing my jajangmyeon recipe.”

San perks up. “Oh, that’s why I’ve been craving jajangmyeon all week.”

“I can make some for dinner when we move in completely,” you offer.

“Our dinner,” Wooyoung corrects possessively. “At our apartment. Where we live together. As a couple.”

“Yes, Wooyoung. Our dinner at our apartment where we live together as a couple.”

He grins and kisses your cheek. “I like the sound of that."

“You’ve liked the sound of that for a few weeks now.”

“Yeah, but now everyone knows about it!”

Mingi raises his hand tentatively. “Can we… can we see the car?”

Your expression immediately brightens, and you pull out your phone. “Her name is Luna, and she’s perfect. Look—”

The next twenty minutes are spent showing off pictures of your cat, during which the group seems to forget their existential crisis about your relationship. It’s only when Hongjoong gets a text from their dance teacher asking where they are that reality crashes back down.

“We have practice with Teacher Kim in an hour,” he announces.

Everyone groans and starts gathering their things. You pack up your laptop and get ready to leave, but Wooyoung catches your wrist.

“Where are you going?”

“Home. You have extra practice with Professor Kim.”

“But…” he looks confused and a little hurt. “You’re not staying?”

You pause, then smile softly. “I usually leave so I don’t seem like a clingy girlfriend in front of your friends. But now that they know… I guess I can stay and wait for my boyfriend without it being weird.”

Wooyoung’s entire face lights up like you’ve just given him the sun and the moon. “Say it again.”

“Jung Wooyoung is my boyfriend,” you announce to the room.

“And Y/N is my girlfriend!” Wooyoung adds, spinning you around despite your protests.

“We get it!” San calls out, but he’s smiling. “You’re disgustingly in love!”

“The most disgusting,” you agree solemnly.

You’re still laughing about the situation when you get home to your sister's apartment after their practice ends, where Luna greets you with a judgmental meow that clearly says, “What took you so long?”

“Sorry, baby,” you tell her, scratching behind her ears. “Daddy had to explain to his friends that we’re dating.”

Your phone buzzes with a text from Wooyoung: 'The guys want to know if they can come over for dinner tomorrow to "properly meet their sister-in-law”'

You text back: 'We’ve been dating for 8 months, not married for 8 years'

'Same thing' comes his immediate reply, followed by: 'Also guys said they're sorry for calling you an enabler'

'They are not wrong though'

'That’s what makes you perfect for me 🖤'

You’re still smiling at your phone when it rings. Wooyoung’s contact photo -a ridiculous selfie of him with Luna sitting on his head- fills the screen.

“Missing me already?” you answer.

“Always,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “But I’m calling because San has a very important question.”

“Oh no.”

“He wants to know if Luna is single.”

You hang up on him, but you’re laughing as you do it. Dating Jung Wooyoung might be chaotic, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Even if his friends are apparently the most oblivious people on campus.

THE END

BONUS PART:

"You know, this explains why Wooyoung’s been so much better at actually showing up to morning classes.”

“And why he actually does his assignments now,” Hongjoong adds.

“And why he hasn’t tried to steal my dining hall meals in months,” Seonghwa chimes in.

“That’s because Y/N cooks for him now,” Mingi explains.

“She has been cooking for all of us,” Yunho points out.

There’s a pause.

“Do you think she’d adopt us too?” Jongho asks hopefully.

A/N: fun fact in korean buy one get free promotions are called one plus one(원 플러스 원). Also I noticed that I have the most fun when writing lighthearted fun fics but consume more darker fics in general.

#ateez fic #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #kpop fic #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop x reader #ateez fluff #jung wooyoung x reader #wooyoung x reader

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fromdove · 2 months ago

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⁞ 𝓓ICK 𝓖RAYSON ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝓦HEN 𝓗E'S 𝓘N 𝓛OVE 𝓗EADCANONS !

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨୧

— dick grayson when he's in love hcs ᵎᵎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

— dick grayson x fem!reader ᵎᵎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

— count how many times I said "like"..... ⊹ ࣪ ˖

∿　　 . `💭` ㆍ

⤷ he teases you a lot. like. annoying. if you mispronounce a word one (1) time you will never hear the end of it. he’ll bring it up three weeks later like “remember when you said ‘sherbert’ instead of ‘sherbet’ lol dumbass” and you’re like i know where you sleep

⤷ he likes watching you do mundane things. like tying your shoes. or flipping pages. or brushing your teeth. “you always do that little pause before you spit. it’s cute.” <- what are you even supposed to do with that.

⤷ will Not. let you walk on the curb side of the street. ever. like you’ll try and he’ll do that quiet sidestep-switch like no. no. i’m the buffer between you and the world. get behind me baby i’m trained in 47 types of combat

⤷ you sneeze once. ONCE. uno. one. 1 !!!! time. and suddenly he’s Googling “early signs of pneumonia” and wrapping you in three blankets like you’re in an igloo.

⤷ he’s not subtle. not even a little. he’s grinning all the time. like you’re his little secret. except you’re not. because everyone knows. because he talks about you constantly and doesn’t realise it. like someone asks “what do you think of this sandwich place?” and he’s like “oh my partner hates pickles” and you’re like. ok???? who asked???????

⤷ texts like. really badly. "on my way" / "u good?" / "?" / “home safe?” / “did you eat?” / “also here’s a stray cat i found near the precinct it made me think of you bc it was mean but cute”. no punctuation. and then sends you a 3-paragraph message about a book from the 70s that reminded him of you.

⤷ one time you got a papercut and he ACTUALLY KISSED YOUR FINGER. like what is this. a 2003 romcom. who does that. you let him anyway.

⤷ dates are like. chaotic. they range. they VARY. he’ll plan them so carefully and then forget the address. it goes from him taking you rooftop dancing at 2am (he knows the security guard don’t ask). to the fanciest more expensive restaurants. or sometimes its the most random places...like why are we eating cold dumplings on a fire escape at midnight. why am i in your lap. why is this perfect. why r u dancing on the rooftop. pls. i just wanted to eat. it could also be you two literally brushing teeth side by side in pajamas while he talks about some city ordinance that made him mad.

⤷ also he’s like. a hand holder. all the time. especially in crowds. “just so i don’t lose you” ok liar you just like touching me.

⤷ he’s sooooooooooo good with kids it’s disgusting. like you’ll be walking past a playground and suddenly he’s in a full game of tag with a bunch of eight-year-olds like??? ok??? and you’re sitting there like is this what being in love feels like???????? have my babies then??????????

⤷ he gets nervous when you meet bruce. he acts like he doesn’t care but he’s standing straighter. fixing your collar. whispering “you got this”. like. dude. broski. seems like you need that advice a little more than me..

⤷ he brings you little things all the time. dumb things. a keychain. a sticker. he's gotten u a mug that says “i like my boyfriends like i like my coffee: hot and ready to fight crime”. he's like "that describes me perfectly babe!" ok..... just say ur inlove w/urself..

⤷ he loves when you wear his shirts. he pretends to be chill but he deflates when he sees it. “is that mine?” yes dick. it says “haley’s circus” on it. and it smells like crime fighting and your conditioner now. congrats. he’s 70% more handsy. 30% more cuddly. 100% ferocious internally. his caveman brain is like “MINE.”

⤷ he has like. six nicknames for you. three of them are variations of “birdie” and one of them is “hey trouble” and he says it with that little lopsided grin and you melt and throw a pillow at him and he catches it with one hand

⤷ he’s like. stupidly in love. and he’ll kiss your hand when he’s driving. and you’re like. eyes on the road. and he’s like. “i have great reflexes” and you’re like. great. that’s not the point.

⤷ he talks in his sleep. sometimes it’s mission stuff. sometimes it’s your name. once he said “alfred please no more soup” and you almost peed yourself laughing. he was so embarrassed. you bring it up constantly.

⤷ when he’s gone for patrol or a mission longer than expected he always texts. even if it’s just “still alive. miss u. criminals suck.”

⤷ he’s not flashy. but he’s intense. he listens. remembers everything. “didn’t you say you liked this song in april?” yes he has a playlist. yes it’s called “her smile > gotham skyline”

⤷ he acts like you’re a little miracle. like he can’t believe you’re real. he’ll just stare at you sometimes and blink slow like a cat and say “i love you” like it’s a confession every time.

⤷ he’ll tease you but only about dumb things. like how you sometimes stutter when you ramble or how you always leave the cap off the toothpaste. and then he’ll fix it. quietly. every time.

⤷ when he introduces you to his friends. he’s like. so soft. “this is my person. be nice. or i’ll beat you up. lovingly.”

⤷ you catch him looking at you all dreamy sometimes and he just goes “what?” and shrugs and kisses your forehead like it’s no big deal that he’s in constant awe of you

⤷ he’s in love like it’s easy. like it’s gravity. like he’s spent his whole life falling and you’re the first place that ever felt like landing.

⤷ you ask him to hang out and he’s like yeah yeah ofc and then five minutes later you’re on his bike and he's like “is gotham cold or am i crazy” and you're just clinging to him like a lil barnacle while the skyline blurs. he's only thinking about how soft your hands are on his stomach

⤷ he sends you memes. like. actually. they’re dumb. sometimes Nightwing fan edits. he pretends he doesn’t know you know. “someone sent me this” like ok babe sure. "someone" aka your own saved folder. keep lying

⤷ in love dick is like. chaotic neutral trying to be lawful good. he’ll pick you up from school or work and you’re like “you didn’t have to” and he goes “i know” but he’s there every time

⤷ he does this thing where he’ll lean on the counter while you talk. like hand-under-chin. dumb lil smile. he’s not even listening fully sometimes. he’s just watching you like you’re a painting in a gallery he’s been to before but still finds new details in. annoying. beautiful. criminal

⤷ if you’re sleeping over he’s sleeping on the edge of the bed because he moves like a windmill and he’s afraid he’ll knock you out mid-dream. but by morning you’re tangled. always. no exceptions

⤷ ok so. gifts. random. weird. he once gave you a grappling hook keychain and was so smug about it. “just in case you need a quick escape.” sir. from where. my bedroom??

⤷ he talks about you to everyone. not in a gross bragging way. in a like. “yeah (y/n) helped me pick this” or “(y/n) said i’d like this song” or “you’d like them. they’re really funny. and smart. and good. and like. they’re just. yeah.” and then changes the subject aggressively

⤷ he will NEVER say no to you playing with his hair. he’ll act like it’s not a big deal but if you stop he’ll be like “wait. you were doing the— you were playing with my hair—”

⤷ he's the type to check the exits wherever you go but also brings you gum and hand sanitizer like the world's most traumatised dad

⤷ sometimes he zones out while you're talking and you're like hello?? and he's just like “you looked really happy. i wanted to remember it.” AND THEN HE HAS THE NERVE TO SHRUG. ok poetic boy

⤷ he gets weirdly possessive but like. silently. if someone flirts with you at a party he’ll just kind of materialise next to you like “hey babe” and put his arm around you like hello yes i am six feet of jealousy wrapped in kevlar

⤷ he will not admit he cried over you once (more than once, lets be real). even though it’s obvious. even though jason literally heard him sniffling in the batcave. it’s fine. let him pretend

⤷ when you’re upset he gets quiet. not cold. just. steady. he listens. he doesn’t try to fix it unless you ask. he sits next to you and holds your hand and says “i’m here.” and he is. fully. always.

⤷ he’s got scars on scars but he lets you trace them. tells you the stories if you want. lies about the ones he’s not ready to talk about. it’s ok. you know. you wait

⤷ love makes him dumb. he does pushups with you sitting on his back. buys your favorite snacks in bulk. lets you paint his nails and then goes on patrol with them like it’s normal (it is)

⤷ he teaches you how to do flips. or tries. and then laughs when you fall. but then also kisses your scraped elbow like “my bad babe” with zero actual remorse. “you’ll get it next time” he says while still laughing. he’s sososososo annoying. you love him.

⤷ wears your hair tie on his wrist like it’s part of his uniform. you say nothing. he says nothing. but it’s always there.

⤷ teaches you escrima if you ask. but only if you promise not to make fun of the sticks. you make fun of the sticks anyway. he fake pouts. you kiss him mid-fight. he drops one stick. it’s fine.

⤷ carries a picture of you in his wallet and pretends he doesn’t. you find it once and he tries to act like it’s no big deal. “whatever. you look cute. move on.”

⤷ he thinks he's subtle. he's not. the whole batfamily knows. jason makes fun of him. damian gags. tim just leaves the room. bruce is like “don’t get distracted” and dick is like “yes sir 🫡” while actively distracted.

⤷ picks at your food. then acts shocked when you do the same. “you said you weren’t hungry??” yeah ok YOU said you weren’t emotionally available dick now look at us. hypocrites in love.

⤷ gives you nicknames like “hotshot” or “trouble” and then blushes when you call him anything. “dork” makes him literally malfunction. he pretends to be offended but smiles when you’re not looking.

⤷ gets quiet when you’re sad. like real quiet. sits next to you and just waits. doesn’t force you to talk. but if you do talk—he listens. like really listens. remembers every word. brings it up months later. “you said this place makes you feel calm” oh so you remember that ok

⤷ he’s so annoying. in the best way. like. the type of annoying that makes you blush and kick your feet and want to punch a wall. his wall specifically.

⤷ he’s all casual flirty with everyone right?? but when he’s in love with you??? he turns tender. like terrifyingly tender. it’s like he’s trying not to break you by looking too hard. like eye contact might detonate you. but i mean. either way. he still stares at you hard. even when trying not to.

⤷ he does the “can you sit with me while i do paperwork” thing. like you’re a cat. like he just wants you in proximity while he suffers.

⤷ he picks up food for you without asking. every time. "thought you might be hungry." no baby you knew. we have a soul connection. you felt my hunger. don’t play with me

⤷ he touches your back when you cross streets. lets you walk on the inside of the sidewalk. opens the door even when you argue. says "just let me take care of you a little." & now you’re sobbing in the CVS skincare aisle. congrats.

⤷ he lets you braid his hair when it gets too long. he pretends to hate it. you both know he’s lying.

⤷ if you're tired? he's pulling you into his lap before you can blink. he’s like “you rest. i got it.” you don’t even know what “it” is. but he’s got it. apparently.

⤷ "you don't have to do everything alone anymore." <- said in a whisper. at 1:47am. when you tried to sneak out so he wouldn't see you cry. yeah. he saw. and now you're in his arms and he's not letting go until morning.

⤷ when he's in love he’s... warm. like that kind of warm that feels like sunshine on a cold day. or like a bath that runs the perfect temperature.

⤷ he remembers everything. like that one time you said you liked strawberry twizzlers?? there's a pack in your glovebox now. he swears he didn’t put it there. liar.

⤷ you call him in the middle of the night because you had a bad dream and he’s like “i’m coming over” and then he’s actually there. barefoot. in sweatpants. holding two mugs and looking worried

⤷ he loves all of you. not just the good stuff. he loves the mess. the overthinking. the crying. the way you squeak when you laugh. he calls it “his favorite sound.”

⤷ every time you fight. he comes back. every time. he won’t let you sleep mad. he’ll wait on your fire escape all night if he has to. says “i’m not leaving until we’re okay. even if you throw something at me.”

⤷ once tried to not fall in love with you. failed.

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eclipsedechoesofmywords · 4 months ago

Note

idea for joaquin:

i see alot of sushine x grumpy reader when ppl r writing joaquin fics but pls i need more sunshine x sunshine and its joaquin and reader being literal comedic geniuses on missions and flirting over comms 😫

"Ray Of Sunshine"

[Joaquin Torres x fem!reader]

Masterlist

Summary: You and Joaquin are pains in Sam and Bucky's ass.

Warnings: Mild action violence, relentless flirting, and Sam Wilson contemplating a career change

Word Count: 831 words

A/N: I think we can all agree that bucky and sam are officially parents.

"We should get a team dog," you said, thinking out loud.

Three voices answered you at once through the comms. Two were a chorus of "NO!" The other, "YES!" You decided to focus on the latter.

"A small golden one…" you continued, ducking behind a concrete pillar as gunfire sprayed the warehouse wall behind you.

"We could name it Ray," Joaquin suggested. You could hear his grin.

"Ooh, like a Ray of sunshine!"

Sam's groan was so loud it nearly drowned out the sound of Bucky vaulting over a shipping container to your left. "Focus, both of you," Sam barked, his wings slicing through the air as he disarmed a guard. "We're in the middle of a mission!"

"And we are not getting a dog," Bucky added, firing at a henchman sprinting toward you.

"But imagine the morale boost!" you argued, popping up to toss a smoke grenade. The room flooded with gray haze, and you darted toward the server room, Joaquin's laughter in your ear.

"Picture it, Buck—little Ray, tiny vest, teeny goggles," Joaquin said. You could practically see him miming the dog's outfit with his hands, even though he was three rooms away, hacking into the security system. "He'd be the best at fetch. And espionage."

"Espionage?!" Bucky snapped. A grunt, a thud—probably him body-slamming someone into a wall. "It's a dog."

"Exactly! No one suspects the dog!" you chirped, sliding into the server room and slamming the door shut. "Quin, how's that hack coming?"

"Already in," Joaquin said, smug. "You're welcome."

"Show-off."

"Admit it, that's why you love me."

Your cheeks warmed.

"Less flirting, more focusing," Sam cut in. The Captain America voice dialled up to 'I'm two seconds from drowning you both in a lake.' "Torres, any alarms?"

"Nope. Smooth as butter. Also, you do love me, right sunshine?" He didn't need to ask, he already knew the answer.

You rolled your eyes, typing rapidly on the server's interface. "Keep dreaming, flyboy."

"Oh, I will. Vividly. With plot."

Bucky made a sound like a feral cat. "I'm begging you two to take this seriously."

"We are!" you and Joaquin said in unison, then burst into laughter.

The two of you had turned into an art form really: you'd crack a joke, he'd retort back, and somewhere between the banter and the bullets, the bad guys ended up in a pile, thoroughly confused about how they'd been beaten by a duo who argued about pizza toppings during a car chase.

"Got the files!" you announced, yanking the hard drive free.

"Great! Now get out before backup shows up," Joaquin said. "Also, duck."

You dropped to the floor just as a guard burst through the door, his weapon whirring over your head. Joaquin's voice turned sharp, all playfulness gone. "Three o'clock. Disarm and go."

You spun, sweeping the guard's legs out from under him and snatching his gun. "Thanks."

"Anytime. Now when do we get this dog?"

"NO DOG!" Sam and Bucky shouted in unison.

The second you spotted the scruffy golden retriever trotting through the lot on the way back to the quinjet, you froze. "Uh. Joaquin. Look."

He looked over to where you were pointing. "Is that…?"

"A literal ray of sunshine," you whispered, clutching your chest. The dog wagged its tail.

"No," Sam hissed.

"Yes," you and Joaquin breathed.

"Not a chance!" Bucky said.

But the dog padded toward you, cocking its head, and dropped a muddy stick at your boots. You gasped. "It's fate."

"Sam. SAM. They're adopting a street dog," Bucky deadpanned. "This is your problem now."

Joaquin scooped the retriever into his arms. "C'mon, Cap! Look at…his eyes. He's got the heart of a soldier!"

"Leave. The. Dog." Sam said.

"Too late!" you said cheerfully. "Ray's one of us now!"

By the time they got back to the quinjet, with the dog, Sam's eye twitch had reached apocalyptic levels. Bucky stared at the retriever, now sitting happily on your lap, and muttered, "If it pees on my gear, I'm shaving it bald."

Joaquin bounded down the jet's ramp, helmet off and hair adorably windblown. "He’s so cute, look at him!"

"He looks like a menace," Sam said, though the corner of his mouth quirked up as the dog lolled its tongue at him.

You scratched Ray's ears, batting your lashes at Sam. "C'mon, Cap. Every team needs a mascot. We'll train him! He can fetch grenades!"

"He'll fetch lawsuits," Bucky grumbled.

Joaquin plopped beside you, shoulder brushing yours. "Admit it. You love him."

Sam looked at the dog. At Bucky. At the two of you, grinning like idiots.

"...He's not getting a rank."

You and Joaquin whooped, high-fiving as Ray barked as if in victory.

"But he is writing the mission report," Bucky added, his amusement showing.

Joaquin leaned toward you, whispering, "Worth it."

"Next step: matching outfits," You whispered back.

His smile could've powered a city. "Already designing them."

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groovycreatormughoagie · 19 days ago

Text

K-Pop Demon Hunters X Reader 5:

'Earthy and Herby'? Smells like bull-- WOAH!

To paint a picture, Reader will be a head taller than Mira. Can literally rest your chin on her head, but you got the job mostly because of your (forged) records. You’re literally built like a wall (legs especially <3 that’s why you’re so fast, you trained legs for decades— and let’s give the reader some abs too. Not toned like Abby, but it’s definitely there.) Reader is female, okay? You can imagine her what you like, but for me, she'll be more leaning on the masculine scale or style, etc.

-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-

Warning: Explicit Language, Violence, just (Y/N) being (Y/N) AKA guard dog

-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-

Last Time on KPDH-X-R: "Meet your new personal guard! She's here to protect you almost 24/7!" "WHAT?!" "EXCUSE ME?!" "HUH?!" Now Continued:

Inside the Huntr/x Penthouse (AHEM— Avengers Tower).

“A personal bodyguard?!”

“Bobby, you can’t be serious!”

“Yeah, we already have a whole team of security!”

Bobby raised his hands to calm the girls down,

“Alright, alright. Everyone relax, this is just an extra precaution.” He sighs as he types on his phone with a frown, “With how the concert ended so abruptly, thousands of fans are upset— rightfully so, but we’re still handling the backlash of it. We’re only refunding half the ticket’s cost, unfortunately, and with all the chaos outside, I’m worried about all of your well-being.”

He shows the screen to the three and watches as their faces falter with concern at the amount of disappointed fans talking about the cancellation of the ‘Golden’ premiere, but a few are defending Huntrix, who stated how they just ended a world tour and that they could use a break.

“I hope you can see where I’m coming from, girls. I don’t want you three getting jumped by angry fans when you go out in public in disguise. There’s still a chance that people will recognize you all under normal civilian clothes.”

Bobby’s voice was soft yet firm on his decision before grinning bright once more and motioning to you, “Besides, she’s the best there is! Standing like a brick wall with loads of experience that involves safety!”

He gives your arm two gentle knocks with his fist while smiling at the girls. You just looked at Bobby with a very elated smile at the praise that the three didn’t miss.

“Golden Retriever…” the three mused before shaking their heads, Rumi being the first one to speak up.

“We understand, Bobby. Thank you for looking out for us.” The manager giddily waves it off with a gleeful smile. “Great! (Y/N) Here will stick with you three starting today, reporting any incidents and such regarding you girls.”

He turns to you and starts handing you stuff you didn’t even know he had with him. “Here’s your taser, gloves, emergency card, portable radio, and another taser just in case. You can get the rest of your provided security items downstairs to your room.”

The last sentence caught everyone’s attention: “I’m staying here?” ”She’s staying here?” ”Downstairs?” ”Can I have the other taser?”

“She’ll be a few floors below. She has to be on the call, ready to fight and protect if anything happens! Like a fire, she can guide you all out safely without problems, right?”

He turned to you with pride like you just lifted several tons of weight from his worrying shoulders.

‘Ah, I forgot I added that in my records…’

“Uh- yes. I’m a former firefighter, though not enough to reach high ranks like a chief.” You stuttered out awkwardly from being put on the spot so suddenly.

“I’m experienced in multiple occasions of safety, trained to help in many situations— even unexpected or mundane ones.”

“See, isn’t she great? This way you can be safe and still be able to go out in public!” Bobby claps his hands in delight before typing on his phone as he walks back to the elevator, “Now, I’ll be busy with our team doing crowd control. See you girls soon!”

“Bye, Bobby!” He waved as the elevator doors closed before it carried him down the floors of the penthouse.

A few awkward moments later, the trio turned to you.

“So you’re just going to follow us around?”

You shrug with a nonchalant smile, “That’s my job, but I won’t always be following you three like in a bathroom or something. That’s just an invasion of privacy.”

Mira squints and whispers at the two, “What do we do? We can’t let anyone know about Rumi’s voice. Especially someone whose job requires them to report what’s going on with us.” Zoey tries to think of a plan while they eye you suspiciously.

“By the way, are you okay now?” You motion to Rumi while gearing yourself up with the stuff Bobby gave you.

“You were quite a mess when I saw—“ Rumi tried stopping you quietly behind Mira and Zoey, making aggressive motions at you to shut up. “—you… last.. night…”

Mira and Zoey looked between you two, “You two know each other?”

“HA-HA! I think Bobby forgot to give you your ID pass, (Y/N)!” She speed walked over to you, grabbing your arm with surprising strength and dragging you to the elevator. “Let’s go get that for you so it won’t be a hassle later! Give us a minute, you guys!”

The two just stared lost and dumbfounded by Rumi’s odd behavior with the new bodyguard as the elevator doors closed.

“…well, she seems nice though.” Zoey broke the silence, looking at Mira’s reaction.

“More like suspicious. We’re definitely interrogating them once they come back.” She crossed her arms as she glared at the elevator you two left in.

“Right… did you see the tiny shark in her hoodie’s chest pocket?”

========= In The Elevator =========

“What the hell was that?” You blurt out, blinking to bring yourself back to reality, and look down at Rumi beside you in the elevator.

“They don’t know, okay?” She groaned, rubbing her temple, “The markings, I mean, they just know my voice is in trouble that night, and we’re planning on fixing it today. They don’t even know about you.”

You gasped with dramatic offense, hand on your chest clutching your pearls, “You’re gatekeeping me from your friends?!”

“I can’t exactly tell them that you— some sort of hybrid demon—tried killing me on the rooftop last night!” She threw back with the same sass that left you pouting and crossing your arms.

“…fair enough,” you grumbled before shaking it off, “but seriously? Couldn’t you just- make up a story? They already know we know each other from last night, might as well make up a story about that.”

“That’s because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut. I was practically miming you to stop.”

“That’s bad on my part, but I didn’t know that you told them nothing about last night. Can you blame me for that?” You let out a curt huff before your gaze softens at Rumi, “Are you okay though? Better than last night?”

She sighs, hand touching her throat, “The marks are...messing with my voice.”

“It’s not just the marks, but yeah let’s go with that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing… workaholic..” you coughed under your breath, looking away to avoid Rumi’s glare.

The ride was quiet, but you couldn’t stand much of it with the awkward tension in the lift.

“Ooookay, so let’s get our story straight before your friends jump us with questions.” Letting out a breath, you pat Bubby on your front pocket and begin thinking of a valid story.

Rumi stared curiously at you, more so the toy in your shirt pocket peeking out and staring at her. Her hand finds the bell in her pocket and begins fidgeting with it while you build a story in your head.

Ding~

You two exit the elevator to grab the ID from Bobby, so you weren’t technically lying to Mira and Zoey when Rumi said you’re missing a required ID access card to bypass heavy security.

“Alright, Twilight Sparkle, here’s the plan.” Rumi gave you an incredulous look. “Twilight, what?”

You wave her off with a sigh, “Aaissshh, I’ll tell you some other time. I know you’re strictly taught by Celine to be demon hunters, but no cartoons? Seriously? Not even your cute Mak-nae told you about this? Didn’t she grow up in America?”

Your barrage of questions made her dumbfounded, speechless as you let loose before backtracking and going back to the topic.

“Ah, wait, back to the topic. AHEM— just tell them I helped you fight off a few demons when you ran out of the venue that night.”

“And if they asked questions about how you can see demons?”

“You let me handle that.” A grin plastered on your face as you gave her a thumbs-up.

“Fine, but I have questions too. Just don’t tell them about my marks or else—“ her threat was cut off. “Of course I won’t, that’s your choice to say or keep.”

The two of you reached Bobby, who quickly assisted you to be registered in the system and handed you the ID you came for, waving at the manager before leaving back to the elevator and back up to her bandmates.

“So how old are you really? Being a demon and all, were you also born like that?” Rumi questioned as she leaned close, circling you as if to catch any demon features out in the open.

“Human, I think I’m a tad older than you. Demon, on the other hand, uhhh…” You squint at the ceiling, trying to recall the memory of your existence, “…a thousand or something? I don’t remember when exactly I was ‘born’, just- POOF!” You gave a cheeky smile and did jazz hands. “A tiny wisp wandering around aimlessly in limbo.”

“So you’re… not born human?” The hunter was definitely confused.

“I am human, just not fully human. I’m like a quarter human, and I’m guessing you’re half demon?” Rumi’s face soured at that, “I’m a hunter, not a demon.”

“There’s nothing wrong with what you are.” You pat her head, then pinched her cheek like a doting grandma in a teasing way, to which she grunted and smacked your hand away. “Stop that.”

“Sorry. Let’s just get through the questions your friends are gonna ask us— the majority of it is going to be aimed at me anyway.”

The elevator rings, and before you could step out, the two hunters snatched both you and Rumi before tossing your asses on the white couch. Already sitting across the two of you with seriousness on their faces.

“Alright, spill. Who are you, and what are you two hiding from us?” Mira started, glaring at you before turning to Rumi with the same stern expression.

“Woah, never sat on something so soft in forever.” You muttered under your breath, eyes sparkling as you ran your palm on the soft cushion of the couch you’re thrown onto.

“Hey! No distractions. You have to answer our questions.” Zoey exclaimed as she pointed a pencil at your face, “Like, how do you know Rumi? And why is there a little guy in your shirt pocket?”

“Zoey, focus,” Mira whispered, gently nudging the younger.

Ah, good cop, bad cop. Got it.

You sit up straight on the sofa you wish you could melt into, “Like I said, we met last night,” giving Rumi a glance to which she took the hint and spoke her part of the story.

“After what happened, I couldn’t come back and face the fact that my voice was in trouble. So I ran to get some air… but then saw some demons lurking around—“ she gulped, trying to weave this fake story perfectly, “she got there before me. I caught her when she tried to run away, and then we talked. I couldn’t wrap my head around it and was stressed out about… everything, that I forgot to tell you guys… I’m sorry.”

The duo listened, reaching over to rest their hands on her shoulder. Giving it a reassuring squeeze before smiling at her.

“Don’t worry, we get it. We’re just worried.” “Yeah, we forgive you, Rumi.”

They then turn to you, “So you can see demons?”

“Yes, I know for a fact those weren’t magicians crawling out of walls or floors.”

“So you’re a demon hunter?”

“Oh! I’m half, but thank you for the compliment.”

The two looked with confused disbelief, Rumi playing along to avoid suspicion. “‘Half’?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rumi looked tense and stressed out, thinking you’re going to reveal yourself to her friends as a demon.

“Well, I’m not that trained at slaying demons efficiently like you three. I just pick up the messy pieces you hunters left behind, mending the ruined parts of the Honmoon, even making sure your plane didn’t cause any damage, which by the way, I feel like I should be paid for taking care of that whole mess.” You gave them an unamused look and gave them a scolding look. The three had enough decency to grimace with guilt at that incident.

“Sorry…” they all murmured.

“Wait, so you ‘fix’ the Honmoon? How?”

“I tie it up, like sewing each rip from the demons that come out.” You pinch both of your index and thumbs close together, pulling them apart to reveal a sparkling thread manifested between your fingers.

“My family helped the hunters on the sidelines, keeping under the radar and cleaning up the seams while every trio focused on their goal, sealing the Honmoon gold.”

Three pairs of eyes watched in amazement as the thread gently flowed like smoke before it dispersed into tiny particles.

“Hold on, if you’re part hunter, how come Celine never mentioned anything about it?” The question made you tense for a moment before controlling your nerves and hiding behind your crafted persona of being nonchalantly chill.

“My mom was the Sunlight Sisters’ bodyguard back when the trio were still together. She and Celine had a falling out apparently— or at least that’s what my mom always told me.” An awkward chuckle left your lips, adding to the whole ‘tense-about-my-family-history’ bit quite well.

“Do you know why?” Zoey asked softly, the three were already sympathizing with you. Rumi has a different reason for it.

You shook your head, “nah, not really. The media said my mom retired— how her contract with them ended, but all of that wasn’t true. Mom said she tried staying by their side to protect them, but the rift between her and the last hunters was too big that even she couldn’t stitch back up. An argument happened and she just left for everyone’s sake.”

Everything was silent which prompted you to look up and see the three staring at you with shock and empathy at the reveal of your connected destiny. You held up your hands and chuckled to ease the solemn atmosphere, “b-but that’s all in the past now. Mom lived somewhere more peaceful, had me, and lived happily and fulfilled even at the end! And now I’m just fulfilling my role like the rest of my family did for generations, helping you girls.”

“This is a lot to take in.”

“Yeah, can’t believe Celine never mentioned this before.”

“Maybe it’s for the best,” you interjected, “my mother always states just how nasty their falling out was. Harsh words were said and feelings were hurt deeply.”

Everyone murmured and nodded in agreement.

“Well anyway, I look forward to protecting and supporting you three. Let’s hope it’s going to be better than the previous generation’s history.”

The joke received soft laughs and giggles as everyone stood up.

“So, I heard something about you three going out today?”

“Yup, Zoey’s got an idea on how to help with Rumi’s voice,” Mira smirks, looking at the bouncing Mak-nae.

“It’s our best bet. Let’s go change and head out already! The sooner we get there, the sooner we can heal Rumi’s voice!” Zoey squeals as she skips over to the elevator with the rest in tow.

========== Outdoors ==========

“He’s got these special tonics!” Zoey beamed, eyes glued on her phone to track the direction for this ‘clinic’, “Apparently, it can heal anything from sore throats and relationship problems.”

You’re behind the group, practically towering over the three like a brick wall. Sunglasses on your face and hands in your pockets, not really concealing your identity since you’re not known to the public like the three idols.

“That doesn’t sound— augh!” Mira cut you off with an unexpected elbow to your side, making you hunch over and give her a look of pained betrayal, while she just gave you a reprimanding side eye. The act didn’t hurt, but you gotta act soft to pull off being human.

“Shh! Quietly, Zoey,” Rumi whispered, blocking her own face with her hand in an attempt to conceal more of her identity.

“Why are there so many people today?” Mira comments, looking at the crowd gathered in public.

“Maybe a sale is happening to one of the stores or something, I’d be attending if it were food sales.” You quipped with a shrug, smiling to yourself at the thought of discounted foods.

“Of course you would.” Rumi sighed and threw a smirk back at you.

“Ooh! It’s down that alleyway.” Zoey chirped, already skipping ahead while the rest of you followed.

Your ears caught a few civilians curious about a ‘free concert at noon’ and ‘who are the Saja Boys?’ before you shook your head and continued walking.

The trio stood in front of a small clinic, Mira deadpanning at the ad on the front entrance. “Yep, about as legit as I expected.”

“‘Earthy and herby’… Smells legit yo me.” Rumi shrugged with a chuckle, Zoey beamed with excitement, and clapped her hands before swooping Rumi into a big hug.

“Yay! That’s the spirit! Gajagajagaja(가자)!”

“Hurry, before someone sees us.”

You scowled at the clinic sign, your disdain for the establishment clear even with your sunglasses, and Mira took notice and pulled you in by the sleeve of your hoodie.

“Come on, you’re like a dog being sent to a vet.” She points out with a smirk to which you just scoffed, “This is obviously a scam…”

The tall girl raises her brow at you, throwing a thumb behind her where Zoey is bouncing with joy. “You gonna tell her that?” She asked with a challenging smirk.

You look past her and to Zoey before deflating into a sulk. You couldn’t burst the young girl’s bubble, so you kept your mouth shut.

The girls sat waiting in the clinic office. They tried giving you a seat, but you stubbornly refused and leaned on the wall with your arms crossed next to Mira. Your eyes caught the framed pictures on the wall just as Rumi’s did, turning to Zoey, where the Mak-nae just gave her two thumbs up and a beaming smile. Rumi returned the gesture with her own forced grin.

“Please tell me you three have more ideas on how to help with Rumi’s voice than this…” You leaned down to whisper to the hunter reading the magazine she got somewhere.

“It’s Zoey’s idea. Besides, it’s not the worst option out of the 57 options.”

“57?! An actual doctor would have been a greater option!” Your whisper turned into a hiss of disbelief, actually dragging a hand down your face at their way of handling medical issues with a clear quack!

“(Y/N)? Are you okay? You sound odd. Do you want the doctor to check on your voice, too?” Zoey turned with worry that you just cleared your throat, gently waved off her offer with a smile while you stood upright against the wall again.

“No thanks, Zoey. I’m okay, this is normal for me. I appreciate the concern.”

She shrugged and brushed it off with a ‘okay, suit yourself.’ before going back to her phone to watch… turtles?

Both Rumi and Mira gave you a knowing smirk that teased how even you didn’t have the heart to call out their third member of this ridiculous idea. Your face flushed red and you just gave them a motion to cut it out, the silent teasing getting cut off with the doctor coming in.

“Rumi Nim.” He called as we bowed when he entered, “Sit, sit. You need no introduction.” The three sat back down, but while you leaned against the wall, your eyes glared at the man behind your sunglasses.

“So, a problem with your voice.”

“Yes! So we need one of your awesome tonics. Something that will work super fast.” Zoey spoke with so much admiration for this man’s supposed ‘miracle’ tonics.

“Okay, let me see…” he lowers his glasses and looks at Rumi. The girl opens her mouth so he can check her throat.

“Ahhhh.”

“Uh-uh-uh.” He stopped her with a hand raised, “In order to heal a part, we must understand the whole.” Rumi just stared at him with confusion while her mouth was still open.

He took a deep breath before grunting out an odd noise and intensely stared at the pop star, who leaned back with a bewildered expression. Eyes so wide you would’ve jumped the man if it wasn’t for Mira holding you by your belt and a warning glare.

Okay- you were definitely traumatized with your years of protecting generations of hunters, maybe a tad too overprotective ever since your long hiatus of being their shield.

“Uhh…”

“I see…” he points, leaning closer with his intense eyes.

“I seeeee….” Rumi just kept leaning back, quite scared at this very unusual medical practice.

“No. Actually, I don’t see.” He spoke with interest and confusion, pushing his glasses back up, then leaning back away from her, “Very strange. You have lots of walls up.”

“Woah! He’s so good, right?” Zoey fawned at the man’s analysis of their leader. You just rolled your eyes behind the shades and stood quietly with your arms crossed over your chest, Bubby firmly squished behind your biceps. Sorry, Bubby.

“So many walls.” The doctor repeated as if in disbelief at how closed off Rumi is.

“Walls?” Rumi scoffs with a confidence only you could wish to have when people point out your weird tendencies, talking to the air. “I don’t have walls.”

“Uh, yeah, you do.” Mira peeks at the magazine before whispering to Zoey, “he is kind of good…”

You’re now busying yourself by peeking into the magazine the tall girl is reading, interested by the contents of branded products the trio are seen advertising on a page.

‘Wonder if I have enough money for earrings…’

“I’m just trying to stay focused.” Rumi defended with her hands out. “Hmm…” She stiffened when the doctor got close again.

“Focus is good,” he nods before standing back upright, “but focusing on one part leads to ignoring other parts, making you separate, isolated.”

“Ooh, ooh! Emotionally closed off?” Zoey pitched in with her hand raised like she’s in a classroom recitation.

“Yes! Yes!” He chuckles at her enthusiasm,

“She’s also a workaholic, doesn’t know how to relax,” Mira added, putting the magazine down. Rumi’s forehead subtly creased in disbelief that her team is literally exposing her to the doctor.

You opened your mouth to say something, but a glare from the idol made your jaw snap shut.

“I know how to relax!” She pouts, “I bet she refuses to go to the bathhouse with you.” The doctor teased with a smirk beside Rumi as he pointed at the three of you.

“Oh my gosh, yes!” Zoey exclaimed with elation.

“How did you even—“

“Dude, we’ve been trying to take her to the bathhouse— Forever!” Zoey, Mira, and the doctor laugh lightheartedly while Rumi’s face flushed with embarrassment at the harmless jab of the bathhouse situation.

You thankfully noticed her suffering and helped out of the amusing situation, “Okay, enough teasing. How is this helpful?”

“It’s helping me a lot,” Mira responded with a delighted smirk.

“Woah, I can’t believe you got all that wisdom just from looking at her.” With naively placed admiration, Zoey spoke like the doctor was a miracle himself.

The doctor squints his eyes at the Mak-nae before walking close and surveying her with the same intense eyes he did with Rumi. It bristled you, though you just sank further into your crossed arms, desperately trying so hard not to lunge at the man like a feral guard dog.

“I see….”

“Wait, why are you looking at me?” She nervously asked while her eyes darted between the three of you before smiling awkwardly at the doctor.

“Eagerness to please.” He read the girl like an open book, “maybe a little too eager.”

“What?” She squeaked before letting out an airy giggle, brushing it off with a wave of her hand, “I’m not like that. You guys would tell me if I was really like that, right?!” Her behavior immediately turned anxious and panicked, turning to you guys, where Mira and Rumi gave each other a look. “Um…”

“Hmmm….” He turns to Mira, and she’s immediately straight-faced at the unsolicited scanning, “I see…”

“Hrrmg..”

“Hmm…”

“HRGMMH…”

“HMMM!!”

“…RAH!”

The doctor gasped, flinching back with a whimper of a bitten puppy.

“Yeah, that’s right.” She smugly said as she won the ‘battle’.

The doctor regained his composure when his gaze turned to you, about to do the same analysis.

“Try and I’ll have you analyzing pieces of your glasses up your a—“ “WOAH! Okay! Calm down.” Rumi stood up, already blocking your path as she faced him.

“How does this help me get my voice back?”

“As I said, to treat the part, we must understand the wholeeee…” he drawls out all ‘namaste’ that got you already done with his bullshit, but he did have a decent wisdom about understanding the whole picture thing to fix he problem.

Rumi slumps with a groan, “That’s great and all, but I thought we were just here for your tonics?” Her patience was already wearing thin, but not close enough, she’d have you go for the guy.

“Just give us the voice juice.” Mira demands, also done with his whole shenanigans.

“Mm… I know just the tonics you need.” He smiled, escorting you four out of his office and to the front desk.

Zoey and Mira went to wait outside, saying it was too cold in the clinic. You nodded and stayed behind with Rumi, still keeping an eye on the two through the glass.

“Don’t you want to sit? You’ve been standing since we got here.” Rumi asked, patting the bench she’s relaxed on.

“Nope. I hate it here.” You scowled, almost pouting as you kept being stubborn about not wanting to touch anything in the building.

“What, scared of clinics?” She snickered, finding it amusing how a large person like you could be scared of something so… average.

You scratched your cheek and glanced at the man behind the reception before huffing at her. “Sure, we’ll go with that.”

“If it helps, you don’t need to act all professional with us. Just call us by our names like we’re friends. You did say you’re in our age range.” It gave you time to think, nodding at the idol and mumbling, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You two wait, and her eyes land on another set of photos hung up on the wall. This time, it was a recognizable picture as it was their photo. A Huntr/x promotional ad for drinks.

“Is that… us?” She observes the photo closely, not recalling ever meeting this man at any event, much less a sponsorship.

The photo was clearly cut out from promotional magazines. The falling sticker of the doctor was proof enough that this was fake.

You snort, pressing a hand up your face to cover your amusement while Rumi groans, pressing a finger on her brow, “Zoey…”

The doctor came back holding a box, “Your tonics are readyyy!” He grins brightly as he places it on the counter, calculating the cost behind the computer.

Before you could speak, Rumi paid and took the box in her arms. You just stood there frozen, the corner of your lip twitching before you gave the pop star a tense smile.

“You can go ahead. I have questions to ask the doctor if he has tonics to cure my headache.” Your tense and weird behavior didn’t get caught by her, so she just nodded, “Okay, we’ll wait for you outside. Be quick.”

The moment she’s out the door, you drop your ‘nicer’ bodyguard act and turn to the quack doctor like a shark who smelled blood. He flinched and gave a nervous smile, “s-so.. headache..?”

“Definitely a headache. Let’s chat.”

=== With Huntr/x ===

“We got the tonics!” “—wooh!”

“We got the tonics!”

Mira and Zoey chant as Rumi walks out, Zoey jumping with joy with her hands up, “Yay! Once your voice is fixed, we can get back to the important stuff, like the fans.”

“Where’s our new bodyguard?”

“She said something about a headache and that she’s going to get some tonics for that.”

Mira’s face falls in disbelief that you, of all people, fell for this quack doctor’s scam. Especially not after your display of displeasure towards the doctor. “What?”

“We can wait for a minute or so. Barely anyone is walking this way anyway.”

Just as she said that, they noticed shadows ahead of them signaled people coming in their direction.

“Fans!” Zoey yelps, the three panicking like cartoon squirrels as they looked for a place to hide.

“We can’t let them see us!”

“Our bodyguard would’ve been a real helpful wall to hide behind right now!”

Zoey jumps behind Rumi, Mira following in suit and pulling the leader’s hood up before pushing her head down behind the box of tonics she’s carrying. “Be cool. Look normal.”

===( Cue Music lol )===

===(Now playing: Love me right - EXO)===

Four vastly attractive males walked around the corner, all wearing colorful attire as they conversed with each other.

Zoey and Mira peeked out behind Rumi with curiosity, just in time to see the group do a synchronized hair flick. Both girls were now standing beside their leader, eyes turned into hearts, while Rumi looked weirded out.

The muscular one of the group stretched his arms out over his head. His shirt was just barely flying upwards that exposing his taut muscles underneath, which immediately caught Zoey’s gaze, her eyes comically turning into… abs?

His shirt button strained as he stretched his arms to the sides. Zoey drooled while her eyes turned to… corn? Girl, what is happening with you—

One button gave out and shot at the Mak-nae. Apparently, it's equivalent to adding butter to her corn eyes while her face heated up as she bit her bottom lip.

The man’s shirt finally gave out, shirt flying open for his toned body to be revealed to the world— or in this case, the girls.

“B— AHHHH!!!”

Zoey screams, all flustered as her eyes produce popcorn into her bucket hat serving as a bowl. Mira also produces popcorn out of her eyes through her glasses, snacking on them with Zoey’s bucket hat as they gawk at the group of men.

“So…. *munch* hot… *munch*”

Rumi rolls her eyes with a scoff, “You guys are so gro….” The words died on her lips when her gaze met the male behind the four.

The music faded from the playful beat to a soft piano romance scale.

===( Cue Music 2 )===

===(Now playing: Love, Maybe - MeloMance)===

The sunlight brightened, and the wind blew abruptly at her face like the start of a K-Drama meeting, making her squint.

The pretty boy walked past Rumi while her eyes were glued to his face, his shoulder bumping into her, and everything went into slow motion. Their eyes met when he swiveled around from impact, the pop star already falling back. She accidentally tossed the box of tonics in the air, which opened quite concerningly easy, then fell with her hands up and an absurd expression on her face. The tonics rained down onto the ground just as Rumi hit the ground, the bell in her pocket slipping out and ringing on the asphalt.

The man was holding his hand out as if to help her up, Rumi reaching to grab his hand with sparkling eyes as the music seemed to get louder…

The music slid off track when he took his hand and just brushed his shoulder.

== (Music slides off the track) ==

The hunter furrowed her brows with a perplexed expression, still with her hand out.

He gives an annoyed hiss and glares at the girl, “Watch yourself.” Arrogantly as he came, he began walking away, leaving the trio flabbergasted at their attitude.

Before he could walk away, a heavy arm latched over his shoulders and pulled him back to a solid form. “And where do you think you’re going, pretty boy?”

He grunts, hand gripping the arm trapping him around his neck, and looks up to see you tensely grinning down at him with a pissed off expression.

“You’re going to apologize for that disrespectful manner, buddy. Didn’t your mom teach you respect?” Condescendingly patting his cheek, his friends were about to jump in before you held your hand out to them.

“Uh-uh. You four stay there.” The warning left your lips as your head slowly turned towards them, “I’m sure your leader here can do a simple apology himself.”

You shove the man towards the girls and follow behind, grabbing his nape and forcing him to bow. “What do we say?”

He looked humiliated and sputtered out a meek— “I- I-I’m sorry.”

“Good. Wasn’t that so hard?” You cooed like you’re praising a baby before tossing him back to his group. The baby face and Casanova catching him as he stumbled back, the big man glaring at you.

You just pulled your sunglasses down and looked at him blankly, sizing him up before a scoff left your lips. “Watch yourself, big guy. I can bench all five of you and can absolutely out-squat you with those toothpick ass legs.”

The group gave baffled, timid, and irritated reactions as they collected themselves and strolled out of the alleyway.

You turned around, face instantly slipping to a soft, welcoming expression as you crouched in front of Rumi with your hand out to help her up.

“Everything okay? Nothing broken?” You asked with a radiant smile, the girls could only visualize you as a dog with its tail wagging, like it's waiting for treats.

‘…the duality of this woman.’ The three thought synchronously before shaking their heads, Rumi being thankful that you assisted her up.

“Nothing broken. Just a small fall. Look at this mess.” She brushes her clothes off dust, already crouched down to pick up the tonic pouches scattered on the floor, the rest of you helping clean up the mess.

“Yeah! They’re not even that cute.”

“They’re so…blerg!”

“They’re so.. ug-ough-argh!”

“No, they’re…U-uwoorgh-!” “Blaah!” “Blerghh!”

The trio began to pretend to gag, burying their attractions deep down. You just watched like they’re possessed or something.

“I’m gonna throw up…” Mira mumbled that you took seriously and already handed her a bag to throw up into.

“What- no. I was being sarcastic.” She pushes it back to you, “Where did you even get this?”

“Like I said before, I’m prepared most of the time. No one’s dying on my watch! Unless they already died, you know?”

“Oh! How’d you even know we’re in trouble? Well, not ‘trouble’ trouble, but like dignity trouble.”

“Uhh….” The trio stared at you.

=+++={ Flashback }=+++=

You were staring Dr. Han down with a heavy glare as he prescribed you a list for your ‘headache’, though it’s actually an ingredients list for sore throats.

“If those expensive tonics are not what you claim to be, I’m coming back here, and you don’t want that. I’ll make sure authorities take a closer eye on those ‘degrees’ on your wall.” The threat leaves your mouth with a firm warning, the intern and doctor nodding in fear. Dr. Han was sweating bullets at the thought.

“A-actually, let me grab you a free box— TWO for the inconvenience!” He ushered his intern, who ran off to fetch the promised goods. The guy returns and hands the boxes to you like it was a peace offering, to which you just huffed and snatched the list and boxes, being decent enough to respectfully pay a decent sum for the products.

“Don’t even think about scamming other—“ Your ears caught the ring of your bell that made you leave just in time to see Rumi on the ground and a male who disrespected her with humiliation.

=+++={ End of Flashback }=+++=

“Uhhh…. Coincidence. I was already out the door.” You lied smoothly with an innocent grin.

The three gave you suspicious looks before shrugging it off, until Mira found something interesting near the tonics.

“What is this? Like a lost bell, the guy packed in here?” She asked as she held up the bell you gave to Rumi. She rang it twice, which made your eye twitch at the noise from this close proximity.

“That’s mine!” Rumi yelped, snatching the bell and shoving it in her pockets, “Um, (Y/N) gave it to me that night. Helped me calm down, is all!”

You, Mira, and Zoey all stared at the frantic girl with wide eyes at her reaction.

“Oookay… we’re not trying to take it.” Zoey held her hands up.

“Why a bell?” Mira inquired, turning to face you. You pull out Bubby from your chest pocket and hold him up in front of you.

“It came from Bubby! Always helped me when I’m freaking out.” You smiled, moving Bubby’s fins to have him wave ‘hello’. Zoey awwed and greeted the shark with coos and baby talk about how cute he is, despite being dirty, she could tell Bubby is very loved.

The four of you stood up after cleaning the whole mess and walked out of the alleyway,

“Wait, what is that?” Rumi questioned, as all of you hear faint music.

'I have a bad feeling...' The thought lingered in your mind as the four of you left the alleyway. Rumi insists she carries the box of tonics because you already have two in your hands.

-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-×-

Hoorayy! It's here! I apologize for the wait. My ancient laptop is clinging to dear life and couldn't handle 10k words of work. I hope you guys enjoy the chapter and bear with the side stories I'll continue to put out if the main series is taking me longer than it should. For the record, I write the stories while I watch the movie again and again. (Just saying it again because my friend found me here lol) As always, feel free to let me know any mistakes and need corrections, comments are open for anything but bad intentions. The comments often make my day, thank you <3

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