#it's polite but there's distaste barely hidden

[austenpoppy]

Dick and Bette Kane - part 2

Edited to add new panels

Part 1 :

Dick and Bette didn't really run across one another for years after Titans West disbanded. Dick was leader of the New Titans then carried on his solo hero career, while Bette remained at the periphery of the superhero community without truly accomplishing anything, though she put herself in the spotlight. In Guy Gardner : warrior #29, she's seen by other heroes on television as she apparently thanks adoring fans (you'll understand the importance of this later).

Guy Gardner : warrior #29

"He" put them into podes showing them virtual realities that were supposed to be about what they wanted most, according to Dick's files. Dick freed himself, Wally did too, and Dick freed Gar. Then they, along with the soul of Raven, inspected their environment and deduced that all former Titans had been captured.

It's interesting to note, though, that during all that time Bette was still trying to impress Dick, and was still somewhat in contact with the Titans. In "Hawk and Dove - Annual 1", she tried to call Dick to tell her about a tennis match she'd just won. Kory was the one who answered, and though Bette called Kory by her name she had to repeat her name and even spell it for Kory (and she thought of Kory as a bimbo, so I suppose she was jealous).

Dick was apparently "not there" (was he really not there or did he not want to talk to Bette ?), and Bette said it was a shame because she "knew" he liked to follow her matches/career (she was deluding herself).

The call ended when someone knocked at her door. Bette wanted it to be someone "tall, dark and famous", and she couldn't help but fantasize that Dick was there. Later on, after an adventure with former members of Titans West and people like Dove, Dove complimented Bette on her skills, and Bette said "Now if I could only convince a certain Titan !" (meaning Dick).

Months or years after, Dick and Bette were both at a Christmas party thrown by Guy Gardner after Dick left the Titans, but the next time Dick truly saw Bette was in the JLA/Titans crossover. Vic had become this almost thoughtless technological being, and captured anyone who'd ever been a Titan in a misguided quest to find his family again.

Dick saw Bette in her pode, and immediately said : "Bette ? Man...Somedoby was thorough." And the "thorough" isn't just in italics, it's underlined. The level of derision and distaste hidden in that comment is unreal. There are other people who didn't spend much time among the Titans, like Pantha, Leonid (Red Star), or Terra II. But the one whose importance to the Titans Dick decided to undermine was Bette.

"Even her ?... Wow..."

JLA/Titans #2

Dick stayed behind to help free the others from their virtual realities. He was very sympathetic to the people and friends he helped, except for Bette.

It's very funny and a bit creepy that "Vic"'s file for Bette and what was important to her basically had two items : "she's very good at tennis" and "she's obsessed with Dick", so the pode had her playing a tennis match against a rather fawning Dick (in his short pants, since she'd mostly known him as Robin) at her beck and call. I mean, it's truly weird. It could have just shown Dick being interested in her - but no, he had to be at her feet, too.

Even weirder is that Bette was actually engrossed by the virtual fantasy. Like, it'd been years. She could've, should've outgrown her attraction/obsession with him at that point. But nope, instead she was playing along and asking the virtual Dick to "bend over" more so that she could ogle his butt.

Dick came right in the middle of it, and he wasn't impressed. He just deadpanned "Flamebird. Sorry to interrupt your game...". Was Dick chanelling Alfred there ? This is exactly the kind of sarcastic and snide remarks Alfred could've come up with - not that Dick can't do it on his own. Obviously, the point was that there was no true game to interrupt, and that Dick wasn't sorry at all for preventing Bette from enjoying the fawning virtual Dick.

JLA/Titans #2

After the crisis was aborted, Bette was seen talking with Toni and Helena (with whom he'd already slept with and been manipulated by) about what made Dick so physically attractive. Bette was the one who mentioned his butt. Dick passed them by and was uncomfortable again.

JLA/Titans #2

Weeks later, Gar was framed by Madame Rouge's daughter for crimes she'd committed, and was arrested. Bette, arguably at her most likable, wanted to help him (using her "Titans" card to get to him) and tried to bail him out, though to no avail.

Unbeknownst to Bette and Gar, Dick went to L.A. to investigate himself. He deduced who the next victim would be, and went to their address, only to be faced with someone impersonating Gar. A fight erupted, and Dick quickly deduced that it was indeed an impersonator. In the chaos, Bette, who'd just understand with Gar what exactly was going on, had heard that a fight had started at Dick Dickerson's house, and had decided to come over to help (knowing Dick was there mind you), barged in and kicked the impersonator in the face.

I don't know what's funnier. The fact that after all those years Bette couldn't help but still call Dick "handsome" as soon as she saw him, her goofy entrance with the corny line "Flamebird to the rescue!", or Dick's open displeasure at seeing her ("Oh no. Not her..."). The fact that Dick, who values teamwork and is usually the one telling people to let aside their personal conflicts while working with other people would take the time to openly express his distaste for someone in the middle of a fight is hilarious.

Beast Boy #3

When Bette came to land in front of Dick, he begrudgingly acknowledged her (as you can guess from the use of the ellipsis before her name and the discontent look on his face).

Bette started cheerfully explaining the situation to Dick, but he'd already found out all of it on his own, so he tried to tell her that he knew everything already, but she kept going. So he repeated that he did know what was going, only she kept going.

The escalation of Dick's answers is very funny. His first "I know, Bette..." is normal. Then as she kept going his second "I know, Bette..." put an emphasis on the "know". And as she kept talking, he literally put his hand on her mouth to shut her up while loudly exclaiming "I KNOW, Bette" (the letters being written in a bigger size).

Dick remained fairly polite considering the situation, but everything about his behaviour couldn't have been more obvious if he'd screamed at the top of his lungs "BETTE WILL YOU SHUT UP ALREADY ?"

Then he told her to stand aside and protect herself while he finished the fight, showing he didn't trust her abilities as a crimefighter (to be fair, no one did). Of course the impersonator used the distraction provided by Bette's arrival and her conversation with Dick to throw them in the pool and escape.

Beast Boy #3

Dick was not happy about that. He immediately told Bette that he hadn't needed her, implying that if she hadn't been there/hadn't been distracting him, he would've caught the impersonator ("I had him, Bette..."). Honestly it's probably true, but also I'm pretty sure Dick wouldn't have made that comment had it been anyone else - he could've also completely ignored Bette to focus on their enemy, and he generally tends to reassure people about their mistakes... Unless he thinks people aren't truly committed to crimefighting/a team, which is probably what he thought of Bette.

I say that because right after, Dick noticed that the police'd just arrived, and told Bette : "Forget it. We've got company. You're the publicity hound. DEAL WITH IT." And when Bette answered the police officer's question, she tried to turn to Dick for confirmation, only Dick'd already vanished.

So he left her to deal with the police on her own by referring to her appetite for public attention, openly calling her "a publicity hound" (calling her out on her attention-seeking behaviour). Then he told her harshly to "deal with it" (implying that since she wanted publicity so badly and sought it out, she was the one who should have to talk to the police), washing his hands off of her, and disappearing without a word after that.

LMAO

"You keep making publicity stunts. You wanted publicity so badly, Bette ? Well then here comes the police. ALL FOR YOU, Bette, and no goodbye."

Beast Boy #3

After that, Bette and Dick met up to free Gar out of prison. Dick bailed him out while Bette was waiting in a car (she was the driver). She drove Dick, Gar and his cousin to a place they could stay at, Dick and Gar had a conversation while Bette and Gar's cousin waited by the car. Then once Dick and Gar were done, Dick told her he wanted to have a word with her. Below is their conversation.

Not included here is Gar's cousin being interested in Bette, and Gar telling him it was a lost cause because she only had the hots for Nightwing.

Beast Boy #3

As you can see, Bette started the conversation by happily mentioning their previous team-ups, as if they were former partners who'd worked together for a long time but hadn't seen each other for a while. And Dick immediately invalidated that by saying there hadn't been that many "old times", putting a distance between him and Bette.

XD YOU TELL HER DICK

Then Dick said what he'd wanted to tell her : that he didn't think she was made to be a super-heroin, and that she should "hang up" her costume. One could be indignant on Bette's behalf, and say Dick had no right to tell her what she should do.

Personally I think he was right, in that moment at least, that he was doing her a favour. He'd done that job since he was a child, he'd done it over a decade, and much longer than many superheroes. Bette hadn't done anything much as a superheroin, and seemed more preoccupied with her status as a superheroin, what it brought, rather than crimefighting itself. It's a shame, as I said when I presented Bette in part. 1, because Bette was a very competent woman, with a unique talent in tennis (for example).

And Dick was more graceful than I would've been in his place considering the way Bette'd treated him, telling her she had heart and was brave (also "spunk" ? Was that Dick's inner Alfred again ?).

Bette stammered that she did try to do the best she could. Dick went on to say that he was flattered that he'd "inspired" her to do this, but that it'd gone too far.

LIAR LIAR PANTS ON FIRE

It wasn't a sarcastic comment, but Dick wasn't really flattered she'd started crimefighting because of him. That's obvious because of the inverted commas used to frame the word "inspired" (the shade those inverted commas signal). Those inverted commas signal that Dick was doubting Bette's real reasons for becoming a crimefighter, that he had to wonder whether she'd become a hero simply because she had the hots for him and wanted to be closer to him.

He then said "You're a good kid, Bette [NDLA : how much younger than Dick is she supposed to be here ? Is she Gar's age, that is about three years younger ? Seems to me she should be around the same age as Dick; the use of "kid" is strange]. You've got a bright future ahead of you. But it isn't in spandex. Anyway, I've gotta run. Take care of yourself."

Again, it may not seem that way at first glance, but in my opinion Dick's wording couldn't have been much kinder. Being a crimefighter is exceptionally dangerous, and can put others in danger too. Dick recognized Bette's good qualities, told her that she had a "bright" future, but simply not as a hero. And he told her to take care.

Bette's obstinated refusal to quit after Dick left is fascinating for me (interestingly, this mini-series is what made Bette a more compelling character as far as I'm concerned). Did she refuse to quit out of defiance ? Was it a way to prove to Dick she was capable ? Did she simply didn't want to give up on her dream ? Had her ambitions gone past the one who'd inspired her and that she still had a crush on ?

There's still a part three to do, but it's going to be shorter.

Part 3

[prodbymaui]

Oops, Baby (I Love You) — 정재현.

I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover

PAIRING: jeong jaehyun x reader

GENRE: modern royalty ; arranged marriage

WORD COUNT: 12.5k+ words

WARNINGS: heavy alcohol consumption, mentions of sleeping pills, food play, oral sex, dirty talks. (the whole fic is romcom slash very fluffy, the only nasty thing here is the smut scene)

SYNOPSIS: you had been living your life as a rebellious and controversial crown princess, now you must face the consequence of purifying your tainted image; marrying the gentle and infamous crown prince of South Korea.

PLAYLIST: Do you hear my heart?

A/N: after weeks of depression episodes what do you call them), I finally got the strength to finish this bad bitch lmao. I know you guys have been waiting so I hope you'll leave your thoughts after? anyways, happy reading!

Everything is spinning and everyone is either two or three. You don't know how much alcohol you've drank but certainly it was enough for you to stumble your way out of the bar, looking for somewhere to puke your guts out.

The intense nausea is already too much for your fucked up body system to accommodate, but the gods and deities thought it's not enough and it'll be perfect if you trip continuously on your Celine Truffle Pointed Heels, possibly damaging it more than you've done to your other shoes. The mask to hide your face is not helping as well.

Someone bumps your side and due to your drunken state, you lose your balance and break one of the heels, sending you to dive to your side. Your eyes shut close as you brace yourself for a painful slam but it never comes. Instead you meet a firm chest hidden underneath a black dress shirt and 2 layers of silver necklaces.

Looking up, through your hazy vision, you see pursed lips and palms up, as if avoiding touching you anywhere. As you step to regain your balance, you trip once again and like a deja vu, the man only lets you use his shoulders and chest to support yourself but never lets his hands touch you.

''You might want to get off of me, Ms…?''

Hearing that voice, a strange sense of familiarity and longing surge to your heart, engulfing it and squeezing it. As if to say, remember it.

''...heart.'' Why is my heart aching?

The man pulls away and observes you, sighing. He clears his throat. ''Sorry, Heart.''

His figure walking away is the last thing you see before your vision blacks out with no guarantee of you being able to recall the events that took place tonight.

Utmost disappointment. Series of distasteful comments. Disapproving reactions. Surely, these aren't the usual feelings of the people towards the soon-to-be-queen of their country but it has been the weekly routine for the people of yours to criticize their sole princess.

''Strip her off the royal titles–! Are these people out of their mind?!'' Your squeal that comes close to a banshee rings across the whole entirety of the bedroom.

''Excuse them, they take after their princess.'' Hiding her giggles behind a fist, Winter scrambles off the bed as you aim to strangle her fragile neck.

Barely dodging your deathly grips by an inch, Winter's yelps bounces off the walls continuously, followed by your irritated shrieks and threatening hands ready to crush your best friend. The chase eventually dies down with the two of you panting, catching your breaths. You pull her short brown locks one last time before jumping on the bed, face down. Winter does the same and lands next to you, arms draping over each other.

A knock disrupts the peaceful atmosphere that engulfs the room, pulling you out of your slumber trance. You knew the pattern of the knock too well. It is practiced by all royal staff to ensure politeness and great manners whenever they are surrounded by royalties and VIPs. Included in training  as per the Queen's request.

The door opens and it reveals a female servant. This one's not yours, judging by the blue brooch. ''Good evening, Your Highness. Ms. Kang wishes to see you in her office right now and orders me to fetch you.''

''And why is that?''

''She said nothing, Ma'am.''

That earns a boisterous laugh from your best friend, alongside a series of claps. ''Goodluck on hearing an hour of scolding, girl.''

Winter sends you a 'fighting' gesture. You give her your middle finger.

The trip to the advisor's office takes a few minutes as the private chambers of the royal members are at the east wing while gatherings, some royal duties, and part where it is open for the public are dealt with at the west side of the palace. You're still not mentally prepared when the wooden entrance makes its way for you. As your eyes meet the pair of the royal advisor, you know you should've prepared yourself much better.

''Good evening, Your Highness. Please do take a seat.''

Albeit it's probably showing on the courtesy of your eyebrows, you still cover your scoff with a cough under your breath. ''Drop the politeness, Eunhye. I don't need it.''

Eunhye removes the newspaper that serves as a hindrance for you to see her expression, and there you spot the disapproving look on her face. You shrug inwardly. What's new? You suppose people in their late 30s are quite uptight. Or it's just your former babysitter.

Kang Eunhye used to play with you a lot during your childhood whenever you and your friends didn't have a playdate. You should've known she was going to take up her late mother's position when Eunhye often disappeared after the death of the former royal advisor. That was when she started changing and became more strict with you.

''You don't need it, you say? Good. Because I don't perceive it as necessary when I tell you Her Majesty had gone haywire by yet another scandal of her sole heir that she asked me to not let you out of the palace if it's not for your studies or royal duties.''

''–what?! That's absurd!''

''Oh I think it's a light punishment for a scandal involving participating in a brawl, breaking the nose of a commoner and almost ending up in jail. Mind you, this happened in front of a controversial bar! And to top it all off, it hasn't been a week since you were caught sleeping in the streets because your drunk ass couldn't help yourself up!''

You scratch your head. ''...well, if the bodyguards came–''

''They would've if you didn't switch clothes with a random woman and make them follow her thinking it was you! Do you know they got suspended and will not receive a portion of their salary because of what YOU did? It's only because of the King that they were spared from getting fired.''

''Not my fault that the guards you hired were fools and easily deceived. They should've recognized my figure even with different clothes.''

''They are bodyguards. Not your devoted fans–,'' Eunhye sighs. ''Your Highness.''

A moment of silence travels along the soundwaves of the room decorated with blue.

''Okay…? What do you want me to do, then? Public appearances? Press conference?''

Eunhye, knowing her ways, will probably advise you to address the issue, apologize for the things that you don't even regret to pacify the netizen. And because they most likely (definitely) won't buy your fake ass apology statement and continue to terrorize you on social media, your schedule will be packed with attending public events to show your 'genuineness'.

You've done this routine more times than the royal court approves so you know what to expect. In fact, you already have a few suggestions ready on which events will possibly dust bits of dirt on your name. You know this like the back of your hand.

The Queen enters. ''No.''

Apparently, you don't..? 

The moment your mother opens her mouth, you feel as if a myriad of buckets of icy water washes over you.

''You will marry a gentleman with a clean image. By then, you will be seen with great influence and garner people's love.''

Once. Twice. You slap yourself three more times but you don't wake up from this nightmare. Winter only looks at you pitifully while chewing her steak.

''Darling, would you please stop hurting yourself?'' A lovable tone is evident from the King's voice, accompanied by a concerned stare.

You sigh but the stabs of your fork through your own steak doesn't stop. ''Marry a gentleman.. I can't fucking believe this.''

''Language.'' The Queen says firmly. ''I apologize for getting ahead of you. I suppose you don't fancy a gentleman?''

''You apologize for assuming my preference but not for taking away my freedom..?''

''Do you wish to marry a lady, then?''

Silence fills the table. You sigh. ''Honestly? Anything would be fine.''

Your mother mums. ''Very well, then. You will be meeting your fianceé in 3 days–''

''–as long as I get to choose who I am marrying.''

''That won't be possible. The person needs to have the most influence and power among your age. The gender will be the only thing we can let you choose.''

''You don't have problems with having a queer princess?''

The Queen frowns. ''Of course, why would we? It is neither a crime nor a sin.''

Your father then nods. ''The royal court fully supports it since two decades ago.''

''But not the 'choosing your own lover'?'' You can only shake your head. You turn to the maid nearby. ''Please bring this to my room, I'll eat there instead.''

Everyone watches you in silence. No one at the table dares to scold you for your behavior.

''She has the rights to be upset this time.'' The King comments.

''Yes, she does.'' The Queen agrees.

Winter warily looks around, pursing her lips as she raises her hand. ''Uhm.. Your Majesty?''

''Yes, Lady Minjeong?''

Winter winces at the mention of her government name. ''As your daughter's best friend, will it be possible for me to know who she'll be marrying?''

Smiling, the King snaps his finger. ''Ah.. let's see if the future lover would pass the best friend's vibe check.''

His husband sends him a curt glance. ''Don't ever try to use generational phrases, it doesn't suit you. Back to Lady Minjeong, yes, it is possible. Would you like to know now?''

''A-already? I thought you're still looking through the profiles?''

''We have tons of staff, Lady Minjeong.''

''Right, I forgot about that.'' Winter sheepishly smiles.

''I'll excuse myself then. I have an appointment with a VIP in an hour, I have to go.'' Just as the husband and wife head towards the exit of the dining hall, the Queen turns. ''It is Prince Jaehyun of South Korea. A good man and the best one for the princess.''

''None on twitter. Nadda on instagram. Nothing on their official website. Heck, there's not even a single picture on google! Does this Prince Jaehyun even exist?'' Winter exclaims as she continues to scroll on her phone.

Frowning, you throw a pillow in her direction. ''Let the others hear your whining and they'll think you have a crush on my soon-to-be-fianceé. Why are you so interested in him?''

''Well, duh! You're literally marrying him, that's enough reason for me to get curious! The question here is why are YOU not interested?''

''I'm more interested in that man at the bar.''

''You should give some! This is the person you'll be spending your life with we're talking about!''

Scoffing, you tug the ends of her hair. ''Will you stop saying I'll marry him? The engagement will be called off sooner than mom and dad can even realize it's coming.''

Winter gasps dramatically and shots up to sit. ''What if it's some old man with a stinky smell and white hair? Oh my god what if Her Majesty agreed to marry you off to some ugly ass 50 year old man for the sake of the country's betterment?!''

Threatening to punch her if she doesn't stop with the overthinking, Winter zips her mouth as she decides to scroll on her phone once again.

You sigh. ''Pretty sure, Mom wouldn't do that, right? I mean she said something about being the best out of the people among our age so..''

''Huh, look at this.''

Winter crawls to you from the part of the she is lying, hands careful not to swipe her screen and risk refreshing the page. You squint your eyes to see.

PANN:

Crown Prince Jaehyun Once Again Stuns The People Of South Korea With His Amazing Visuals.

[ +217, -5 ] It's a shame that we're not allowed to post a photo of him on the internet. How am I supposed to stare at his face for a long time then? How am I supposed to appreciate and share his beauty?

[ +190, -3 ] Daebak! The royal family just visited our village and the rumors weren't lying when they said Prince Jaehyun is handsome ahwksjskww. He's like a walking statue!

[ +165, -20 ] I would die for a man like Prince Jaehyun. Very gentleman and polite. One time, I was with my niece when I met him and the youngest prince in a mall. My niece really wanted the toy car but Prince Jaehyun and Prince Jaemin got the last one before use but they still gave it to my niece.

[ +132, -56 ] Heol ㅋㅋㅋ Of course he would say that, he has an image to keep up! Royalties would try to polish their personalities in public often because they can't afford to lose the trust of the people. It's so fucking dumb how you think the prince acts that way because that just how he is and not because he has an image to take care of.

[ +122, -13 ] The comment above lolol. You're just jealous that the prince has everything you don't; looks, manners, and brains ㅋㅋㅋ

[ +84, -7 ] I don't think Prince Jaehyun does it because people are watching him. I've seen him lecture Prince Jaemin about how he shouldn't expect to get what he wants every time and mind you no one was inside our store that time as our store isn't quite popular so he couldn't be doing it for his image. I feel like Prince Jaehyun is genuine!

[ +65, -5 ] Didn't a lot of people see him wearing clothes with no brands? And that he has a good relationship with the youngest prince? Idk about you but I'd say that speaks a lot about him.

[ +52, -3 ] I've met Prince Jaehyun a lot of times, the only thing I could say is; 'Ultimately Prince-Like'! Handsome and tall, like he's written by Taylor Swift ㅋㅋㅋ. Prince Jaehyun is a dream *three heart emojis*

As you read over the first comment again, the curve on your forehead only deepens. They are not allowed to post a photo of their prince? Then, that would explain the lack of appearance of the royalty everywhere on social media. This pricks your interest. 

''That's a bit.. odd. They forbid any pictures of that prince from getting uploaded.''

''I know right! It's strange. Why would they hide the prince's face if he's truly handsome like the people said?''

You suck the top of your teeth. ''Maybe he's actually ugly and those that say otherwise were paid people. Or probably royal staffs ordered to spread some good words about their prince.''

''Why are you so hell-bent in making him ugly? Can't accept that your parents actually chose someone handsome, rich, and has good personality?''

Shaking your head, you wave your hand dismissively. Oh how you wish you could swipe off that annoying smirk on Winter's face. Is there a rule saying a princess can escape any law including those that involves unaliving a certain daughter of a duke? Hopefully, there is!

If, miraculously, your parents bring that man from the bar to you and arrange him to a marriage with you, maybe then you'll agree to tie up the knot at such a young age. In fact, you might even drop down to your knees and serve him–

The alcohol, or lack thereof, is definitely not good for you.

With the news of your engagement being released plus the anger from the people that is far from dwindling anytime soon, Winter didn't think twice to join you when the idea of getting drunk comes up. There's nothing better than drowning yourself in alcohol after constantly having to deal with the disappointed people of your country.

However, the night is just near getting young when your personal bodyguards dragged you and your best friend out of the bar. It is said that the royal advisor ordered them to do so but your mother was the root. It angered you to the core. They took your freedom of marrying someone you truly love and now, they're depriving you of coping with it as well? How controlling.

Winter was sent home right after both of you got howled back to the royal car. A couple of warnings from the Duke to his daughter and you know something is off. 

Winter's father isn't one to indulge himself in his daughter's vices. Sure, he keeps tabs on her every now and then but the Duke of Boryeong never attempts to control Minjeong as if some kind of robot, lest he suffers from the wrath of Duchess of Boryeong.

You could only wish your own parents did the same. Maybe they will. If you beg for a couple of days in front of the palace while dawning your white hanbok like those korean historical films that Winter likes to watch.

Shutting the car door close, you pass a whisper of 'thank you' to the driver before striding inside the palace. There aren't many people aside from those guarding the entrance which is why you don't find the need to be extra careful on your way. Being free from the shackles of aches caused by your heels is the only thing on your mind.

Just as you turn a corner, straight down the hall that leads to the dining area– you collide with someone. It'll send you a few steps backwards if it's not for the grip on your blazer. Your vision clearing takes a couple of seconds, courtesy of being tipsy from your previous activity.

''Is everything alright?'' A rather soothing yet deep voice asks you, hands already back on his sides.

Your attention diverts to the man that steadies you. Sharp cheekbones in contrast to the soft jawline, almond eyes, and a slightly chapped lips. You wonder if they're naturally pink or the color comes from cosmetic products.

''Your Highness–'' Eunhye appears out of thin air and your bodies separate right as the royal advisor sets her eyes on you. 

Your Highness? Who could this be?

''Ah, I see, you've met each other already. Shall we take this to the dining..? Her Majesty awaits alongside the King and Queen of South Korea.''

No words are exchange between you. Silence fills the air. Clicking of heels appearing every now and then until they reach where your parents and the leaders of South Korea chatters. Everyone stands before their seats at the sight of two crown heirs.

You might be rebellious but no way you're gonna forget the basic manners each person should possess. Doing a brief curtsy, you earn a loving smile from the Queen of South Korea. It radiates warmth and comfort. 

The man beside you does a bow as well that makes his body fold to a 90 degrees. It was too formal for your liking. Too ancient royalty. Too prince-like. So this is what the mysterious prince of South Korea looks like. Somehow, it irks you to the bones.

Gritting your teeth, you sit at the right side of your father after exchanging pleasantries. Each person that occupies the seats of the table starts to dig in as they begin to discuss the matter which you assume is about your issue.

You thought you could go through this dinner in peace until the conversation, courtesy of your mother, diverts to you.

''I've seen the news but it doesn't bother me at all. The princess is merely having fun, just like those around her age do. I, myself, have gone through that phase. '' Queen Miyoung laughs softly. ''The Crown Princess is only at the wrong place, at the wrong time. We used to get in trouble for sneaking out often before as well, isn't that right?''

With the amount of times you've gotten snapped by the paps and you were caught doing shits that is considered inappropriate behavior for a royalty like you— surely, it's not a coincidence anymore. Ever since your first scandal came up, the media that follows your every step doubles. They are always hungry for a headline. And you cannot deny the fact that you're giving them a reason to use you as one.

Your mother reciprocates her friend's chuckles, shaking her head as they recall their memories during when they were your age. Surprisingly, there's a relief inside you. Well, at least the Queen of South Korea doesn't think you're a defect in the royal family.

''I think the wild-like personality of our dear perfectly contrasts the gentle and tame personality of Prince Jaehyun, which is a charming point that the people will eventually love once they got to know about this marriage.'' Your mother adds. 

Balling up your fist, you had to bite the insides of your cheeks to prevent your eyes from rolling.

''Oh absolutely!'' Queen Miyoung places a hand on her son's shoulder, a smile once again appearing on her captivating features. ''My son here is known in our country as someone who is compassionate, emphatic, and humble. Talented on top of that as well!''

Adoration paints your mother's face. ''So I've heard. I feel assured that someone like Prince Jaehyun will be taking care of my daughter.''

''Please, Your Majesty, you can just call me Jaehyun.''

The velvety voice swoons the hearts of the Queen. ''Alright, alright. My heart is beaming at the thought of having you as my son-in-law soon, Jaehyun.''

What the hell? What did this Jaehyun do for him to gain the favor of those around him? Even your father is nodding and smiling in approval as he shares a conversation with this insufferable prince! 

''Humor me, Jaehyun.'' Your father speaks. ''What do you do as a hobby?''

Probably plan how he can convince everyone with that fake ass personality lol.

Jaehyun pats the napkin on his lips before replying. ''Not much, Sir. I indulge myself in music instruments and sometimes, I also sing for fun.''

Did he do his research? That's your father's favorite pastime!

''Ah, singing! If you didn't know, that's one of the things I like the most especially if I'm consumed with boredom.''

Your mother nods. ''Catch him singing while signing papers at his office. Or while feeding our dogs.''

Chuckles blooms on the table.

''Maybe if we have enough time, you could sing for us?'' Your mother suggests as the others agree. 

Jaehyun shakes his head with a fist hiding his smile. ''I'm not great at singing but I'll make sure to prepare once that time comes.''

Acting humble now, eh? He doesn't have to prepare because you'll make sure that time won't come. The skin on your forehead creases even before you could stop it. This is stressing you out more than you anticipated.

Deciding to release your stress on something else, you proceed to harshly cut your Sole Meuniére with the knife prepared by the kitchen staff all the while pursing your lips. Poor innocent Mr. Fish, suffering from the wrath of a princess.

Operation: Stopping the wedding! Step 1, do things that will turn him off. Forking the sea creature's meat, you make sure to chew extra loudly, looking straight at Jaehyun's eyes as you open your mouth every now and then while munching. Surely, anyone would grimace at the sight of chewed fish meat inside one's mouth and at the sound it makes.

Anyone, Prince Jaehyun not included. You slow down the movement of your jaw when the man only sports a brief squint of his eyes before turning away, as if he didn't see the disgusting view you just showed him. Is he not disgusted? Hah! Maybe this is how he actually chews when there's no people around so he's not bothered by it. That's right!

You nod subtly at the voices in your head, gulping the food down when it starts to feel a little weird on your tongue. Reaching for the glass of water, you sip the liquid to tend your throat.

''So about the wedding next week–''

The people gasp, your father standing up from his seat. Series of coughing sounds emit from you as you pat your chest continuously.

''I'm sorry– the water went down the wrong pipe.'' You face towards the other way while massaging your throat, your back getting tapped by your father.

What were they thinking, mentioning that fucking wedding while eating? What if you die from choking? Far-fetched, but you don't cross out the possibilities anyway.

Clearing your throat, you give them a smile after fixing yourself. ''Did I hear it right? The wedding is next week? Isn't that quite fast? We're not chasing a due date here. Plus, we haven't even announced an engagement yet. I'm sure the people will be shocked if I'm suddenly married or engaged in just a matter of days. I suggest prolonging the engagement for– let's say.. a month? I think that would be realistic enough.''

King Jaekyung sends you a grin. ''Dear, your engagement is trending on social media platforms as we speak.''

''W-what?''

You quickly fish out your phone. You don't even have to search either your name or Jaehyun's because an article about your engagement pops up the moment the app loads.

JUST IN: The Crown Princess Revealed To Be Engaged To The Crown Prince of South Korea

After getting involved in numerous issues, the Crown Princess had dropped off the limelight for a few days only to surprise us with an amazing news. According to the exclusive interview held two days ago, Her Highness shyly reveals that the reason for her disappearance on the radar is because a certain man snatches her focus with a shiny ring!

The princess happily shares that she and Prince Jaehyun, Crown Prince of South Korea, have been in a healthy relationship for 4 years now and still going strong. During the early months of dating, the two royalties express their worries about causing an unnecessary ruckus and heartbreaks if they ever go through a break up. According to Her Highness, a stable relationship wasn't exactly guaranteed as they live in different countries and have heavy responsibilities as the future leaders which is why they avoided letting the people know about their romance until they are sure that they can handle the consequences all at once.

''The country had been experiencing some serious issues back then so when Jaehyun and I started to get in touch, we decided not to make it public immediately. Not only were we just starting but we also didn't want to stir another headline if we ever broke up. We were teenagers 4 years ago, we were kids. We know that we are bound to make mistakes but as the future leaders of our countries, adding our childish break up to the countries' problems isn't something that we desire. Thankfully though, our relationship stayed strong and sturdy. There were a few fights here and there, of course, but Jaehyun and I remained understanding with each other. Those years were the reason why I didn't hesitate to say yes when he proposed to me. It was just the two of us, no cameras, no media, no other people. Saying this might be off to some but I was glad that only the both of us got to witness it. As someone who lives in front of the camera and prying eyes, we enjoyed the privacy and intimacy we had during the proposal. We initially didn't plan to have our wedding soon but we figured that there's no point in prolonging what's been a long time coming. Our love kept us intact throughout the years and until now, I could say that I'm still very much and deeply falling in love with him.'' said the Crown Princess.

Furthermore, Prince Jaehyun also shared that one of the reasons that he hid his face was to protect his relationship with his future lover, now Crown Princess. Show more…

''I don't– I don't remember getting interviewed for this...''

The Queen massages your shoulder. ''That's the power of influence, love.''

A shrieking scream jostles Winter in her bed despite being on the other line. Rubbing her ears, Winter felt as if her eardrums got busted just now. She munches on her cookies while she waits for you to be finished with all your screaming and throwing angry punches at the poor teddy bear beside your pillows.

The screeching stops. You look at Winter through the screen of your phone. ''Humor me.''

Eyes boring to you, she didn't stop licking the crumbs that were left on her fingers. ''What is it?''

''Making up stories about my supposed relationship with that man was one thing, but seriously? Telling the whole country I'm still fucking falling in love? Deeply even!''

You hear your bestfriend giggle. ''You think them making everyone think you're smitten with a man is worse than creating fake ass stories about your love life?''

''Well, Isn't it?''

''You're unbelievable.''

''Tell me something I don't know.'' Getting off your bed, you head out of the room. ''Anyways, text you later.'' Blowing her a kiss, the call ended just as you jog down the stairs.

It's been three days since you last saw that prince and those days might be the happiest of your entire life, sans the nags from your mom to get closer with that twat. For a few suns, you've surprisingly experienced peace.

However, it didn't last a long time. It seems like when God precipitated a rain of misfortunes, you were in the middle– swimming in it. Instead of peacefully staying at the palace just like you had always done, you received the news saying you'll move to a place– an apartment. And you received it through waking up one day and seeing them packing your things without even asking your permission. You were asking yourself whether it's real, or it's just a figment of your imagination as sleep still buzzed in your veins.

Now, what's so unfortunate about having your own place? Jeong Jaehyun, is what's unfortunate. You won't forget that infuriating smirk that he sports as he watches you glare at the boxes in the living room, boring holes in them. Complaints start to spill out of your mouth in a whisper despite being in the same space with him in just a matter of an hour.

Dividing the closet and choosing bedrooms is a nightmare. Everyone knows you've got things enough for 3 people, including your heels collection. Storing your possessions requires a big space, but Jeong Jaehyun thought it was a great idea to upped you and place his stupid rubber shoes (or sneakers) collections first without leaving any space for your heels.

Jaehyun stands by the door, leaning on the frame with his arms crossed as he witnesses you turn into some kind of witch, casting different spells, desperate to cast his annoying ass away. It's so comical that it had Jaehyun's shoulder shake as he stifles his laugh. A witch with a collection of heels? Truly, one of a kind.

''Let's split them, Jeong. You take the right side, I'll take the left.''

''No can do.''

''The fuck? Are you expecting me to leave my babies on the floor?''

Jaehyun quirks a brow. ''What's so bad about that? I'm sure your 'babies' will not mind where they are placed, nonetheless.''

''Well, I do!''

The prince turns his heels, but before walking away, he looks at you over his shoulder. ''Learn to take a no, witch.''

''W–what? A fucking what? Hey! Jeong, you jerk– get back here and repeat what you said! Oh you piece of– you did not just say what I heard you said.''

Needless to say, the night ended with you cackling like the devil you are in your room while Jaehyun stays at the kitchen, pressing a cold compress to his skin, hissing. This should go away by tomorrow, or he wouldn't be able to explain how he got a faint mark of slippers on his forehead. Prepare a protective gear if he wants to taunt a witch, Jaehyun notes.

Operation: Stopping the wedding! Step 2, piss the fuck out of him like he does to you.

Being the menace that he is, Jeong made it his daily errand to annoy the hell out of you. His day wouldn't go by without doing things that ticks you off so much you just wish something important would come up in Korea so Jaehyun would be obligated to leave your country and magically stay there for good. 

Example no.1, the cookies you baked for yourself.

''Jeong, where's the cookies?''

''What cookies?''

''The ones in the tray. On the countertop.''

''I don't know no cookies.''

The crumbs on the corner of his lips says otherwise. You waited for half an hour to eat that!

''You– Jeong!!''

Example no.2 followed not long after. You were running late for a hang out with Winter as you couldn't find your today's pick of pair of heels. No, you wouldn't leave this apartment until you find that very pair. Your outfit won't look put together if you wear a different one.

A quarter before 9 PM, you still haven't found the shoes. Did you perhaps leave it at the palace? That couldn't be! You swear you saw it yesterday. Going back and forth to the walk-in closet, living room, and your bedroom– you're this close to tearing your hair apart and turning the whole apartment upside down.

Your phone pings and displays Winter's message. ''Fuuuck, where did I put that?''

Washing your hands over your face, you tilt your head upwards as you let out an exasperated sigh, stomping your feet in annoyance. When you open your eyes, you see the shoes you had been looking for the past 30 minutes. At the ceiling. Where the broken ceiling fan used to be.

How the hell did that even get— You recall seeing Jaehyun standing on a ladder this morning, saying something about fixing the fan.

''JEONG JAEHYUN, YOU FUCKER!!''

Boisterous laughter echoes from the bastard's room.

You still haven't recovered from the heels incident when example no.3 shows itself.

Hammered from drinking all night long after getting your hands on your shoes, you are swaying and tripping as you reach the apartment, slurring your nonsensical words. You don't know how, but you got home safely anyway. A hangover was expected yet it is harsher than you thought it would be.

''Ah fuck..'' You hold your pounding head.

Heading towards the kitchen, you fend your drying throat some water. Washing yourself is not on the list as you change out of your black bodycon dress and fit yourself into an oversized hoodie and sweatpants. You jog out of the building after fighting the urge to throw up the elevator and arrive at the convenience store in no time, your breath that reeks of alcohol be damned.

Picking up a few items for your hangover didn't take long, the cashier is already punching them a few minutes upon your arrival.

''You..''

You bore your eyes to the cashier. ''Yes?''

''...Nothing, Ma'am.'' He then proceeds to tell you the total of what you bought.

There's no further exchange between the two of you after that, so when you get your plastic bag, you walk back to your apartment. As you prepare yourself some cup noodles, you tilt your head, tsking.

Is it just you or the cashier has been giving you some looks? You might be suffering from a headache but pretty sure, you're sober enough to notice the subtle glances the cashier has been giving you. Did you do something stupid again last night? But Eunhye would be calling you first in the morning if you did. Maybe he recognizes your face? The country's princess' face is plastered everywhere. 

''Whatever. Why am I even thinking about it?'' Ever since the engagement, you noticed that you became more cautious in your actions. The streets say the lioness got tamed by a prince. You say you just learned your lesson not to underestimate your mother's punishments.

Staring at your food, your bladder got triggered at the sight of the soup. Peeing what's probably the alcohol in your system, you stand before the sink to wash your hands. And when you look up, you feel an overwhelming surge of emotion.

You are shocked. You are angry. You want to hide yourself from embarrassment. You want to punch the wall. And on top of that, you desire to unalive a royalty, preferably a crown prince that comes from South Korea.

A smile that appears to stretch the ends of your lips. A massive black dot on your nose and cheeks. Two big horns at the top of your eyebrows.

''JEONG JAEHYUN YOU ARE FUCKING DEAD!!''

There were a lot of pranks that Jaehyun had played, with big ones not failing to show up each week. Hiding your charger. Stealing your snacks. Mismatching your socks. And many more that ruin your day so often that the second thing you'd do after waking up is checking for the prank that the prince had done for the day. You are frustrated. And it's not like you to let these kinds of things pass without getting back. This time, you're making sure he'll order to stop the wedding and regret messing with you.

Shuffling in her bed, Winter huffs. ''What do you want?''

''Help me curate a list of the most infuriating pranks.''

Your best friend frowns. ''What for? Are you turning to a kid now? Or perhaps, you're..'' Then she gasps. ''You're carrying a kid?!''

''..The fuck?'' How did she even come up with that conclusion?

''Isn't that what happens when two people who hate each other's guts live under the same roof? Like enemies to lovers!''

You scoff. ''I told you to stop watching kdramas.''

''I'm Korean, duh!'' Winter rolls her eyes. ''Don't forget I'm still upset you took a long time before telling me you literally moved in with your fianceé.''

''Well now you know, and I'm asking for help so I could escape this hellhole.''

''Wait– so you're telling me to suggest pranks in order for you to move out? How does pranking even equals to that?''

Giving her a bored stare, you click your tongue. ''I'll piss the hell of out him, he won't be able to sleep properly at night.''

Winter squeaks. ''You're pranking the prince–?!''

''Yeah, no shit. Who else would it be?''

''Never thought I'd to live the day I'll see you getting on prank wars with your fianceé.''

''Yadda yadda. Just help me with it, please.'' Winter fake gags as she watches you bat your eyes at her.

''Promise me when you get in trouble, my name won't get drag.''

''You're my ride or die, though..''

''...''

''...''

''...Fine.''

''Yay!!''

Jaehyun passes the clock a glance. He's up early so he doesn't have to worry about getting late to his appointment for the day. His footsteps ring from his bedroom, eventually transfering to the kitchen. Just as Jaehyun reaches out for a mug, a container catches his attention.

''Made too much, you can eat it if you want.'' The sticker on it says.

His eyes must be playing with him. What has gone to the witch? Should he be scared? Although overthinking aside, you mentioned that you only made more than enough for one person, hence giving it to him. Welp, free breakfast for him then.

Sitting down, Jaehyun takes off his coat lest he stains it minutes before he attends an appointment. The lid clicks open and his nostrils hit with an appetizing scent of eggs and bacons. There's some rice and tomatoes on the side as well.

Biting the bacon along with rice, Jaehyun chews slowly, checking out the taste. He then hums, figuring out there's nothing to be afraid of. They taste like what they should've been. Strangely, Jaehyun thinks it tastes more delicious.

Today, you are not at the unit as it is the start of your 'redeeming reputation' era. Jaehyun ponders what you're doing right now. Are you sleepy? He heard you talking to your friend at 2am. Have you eaten breakfast properly? You eat a little in the morning. Are you having fun? Or you're just pretending to be? You don't fancy gatherings unless it's with people you are close to.

Jaehyun doesn't know when he started thinking of you, he just catches himself wondering what you're up to often. Is he catching feelings? Is he getting infatuated? Jaehyun doesn't think much of it. If he's developing feelings, then so be it. Would it be bad for him to harbor romantic feelings for his–

Saliva lands everywhere on the counter as Jaehyun launches forward, spitting what he ate at the empty spot of his plate. ''What the fuck..?''

Using a fork, he pokes the egg, turning it sideways, up and down. The food breaks down with all the movement, revealing the receipt that left an overly salty taste on Jaehyun's buds.

Fishing out his phone, he snaps a picture of the devil food in front of him before sending it to you, uncaring if it looks disgusting and all chewed up.

JH: What the hell is this?

Not even a minute, you reply. As if you've been waiting for him to message you.

You: Uh.. egg? Duh.

Jaehyun clicks his tongue.

JH: I know it's a goddamn egg. Why the fuck does it have clumps of rock salts in it? We put iodized, not the huge ones.

You: Heh. *Tongue out and eyes shut closed tightly emoji*

Jaehyun gulps down his water alongside his irritation, eyebrows meeting each other. He tries to settle for the bacon and rice but the demonic egg fucked up his taste buds and now, he can't enjoy his breakfast. Jaehyun should've known his fate was written the moment he decided to prank you.

Little did the royalty know, it was just the start of his road to slow death. Starting from the salty as fuck eggs, Jaehyun soon finds out you took the remote of the TV and so he couldn't watch the movie he had been waiting for since the announcement of its release date, unfortunately Jaehyun is not one to remember his passwords– he couldn't log in on his mobile phone.

What comes next is the kitchen sprinklers. You must've noticed Jaehyun cooks his own food from thereon (the egg incident) and figures out it'll be a good idea to use it against him. Jaehyun didn't see the lack of labels on the sprinklers, and with his hands already memorizing the placement of herbs and spices, Jaehyun grabs what he knows is the right one. Long story short, the prince opts for food delivery as his kimchi jjigae was for the ants. It was like the demon egg all over again, except this time, it was fucking sweet.

3 days later, when Jaehyun's favorite sneakers went missing, he knew he hadn't misplaced them. Is he unlucky that you're out of the city to do your princess duties? Maybe. Is he gonna let this piss him off? No, that means satisfying your goals. This is nothing, Jaehyun can search for it, surely it's somewhere in the house.

Wrong. Well, it is in the area of the house but it's not in the house. Guess where Jaehyun found his fucking sneakers? On the fucking rooftop. How did you even put that there, he doesn't have a clue. In the end, Jaehyun had to climb a ladder and fell once at the third step (he's quite clumsy, yes) before retrieving his shoes.

As Jaehyun sits through a meeting in a stained white (or should he say pink) dress shirt, he is surely determined to get that win back

Acting civil with your fianceé is something you didn't expect after a constant back and forth of ruining each other's day, but you suppose it's only appropriate in a dinner with the family of both sides. Royals like meals as family bonding it seems, not that you know. Or do your parents consider discussing country matters on dinners as one?

Sipping your champagne, you hum quietly at the taste, too busy in your own world to listen to whatever conversation they are having at the other side of the table. That is until your father softly calls your name. You turn to him and pay attention.

''How's your appearances doing so far?''

''Good, I guess..? If it's not, Eunhye won't let me rest for a day or two.''

It's not like the King and Queen only orders you to help in charities and orphanages solely for building a good reputation for you, they also genuinely care about the unfortunate.

''That's great to hear then.'' Queen Miyoung smiles. And even though you're once struck by her beauty, it doesn't sit well with you.

''Hmm?''

What your mother says next emits a confused look from you. ''Prince Jaehyun will be accompanying you in every schedule, especially those that involves the media.''

You frown. ''But I thought it was for my image? Why would I need him to come with me?''

''Because once people see you getting along with your husband, moreover someone known for his kind and compassionate personality, it'll be easier to convince them that you've changed. Prince Jaehyun will be a great help to you.''

Seeing the grin that the man in front of you is not-so trying to hide, you clench your fist around the cutleries. How irritating.

''It was all thanks to the Prince for he voluntarily comes forward to join you on your appearances including those that does not involve medias.''

So the suffering you'll experience for the following weeks was his idea?

Squinting your eyes at the prince, you reach your foot forward, your face remains unchanging. You observe Jaehyun who's happily eating his food for a few seconds before smirking and stomping down on his foot hard enough to make it hard for him to hide his pathetic whimper.

Concern and worries are thrown at him but he dismisses them with his usual flower smile. Jaehyun then looks at you, his eyes diverting your subtly hidden fist, gesturing to punch him as a representative for your irritation at him. Jaehyun tongues his cheek and chuckles. He dares to fucking chuckle?!

Why is he smiling as if he won the olympics? Why is he so smug about this? And more importantly, why is your heart racing as you stare at the dimples shyly peeking out?

You yelp as you accidentally bite your tongue. Before you could even reach for yours, Jaehyun shoves his glass of water to your hands. Everyone is looking at the exchange, you have no choice but to accept his offer. You wanted them to believe this marriage fell apart naturally, and not because you sabotaged it. Though, you plan on doing the latter.

King Jaekyung's snicker rings on your ears. ''Ah, it seems like the two have been getting along. Perhaps the shared apartment was indeed a great idea.''

Your mother follows right after, clapping lightly. ''Right, right. Look at them, treating each other like real lovers. I'm not gonna be surprised if they themselves request for the wedding to be done soon.''

''How lovely. Are you alright though, darling? What has caused you to bite your tongue?'' Queen Miyoung worries.

''It's noth–''

''She was too busy staring at my face, Mom.'' Now, what the flying fuck is this motherfuck trying to play?

Queen Miyoung squeaks. ''Is that so?''

''Yes– my fianceé here even once said I'm too handsome, I could be up as an exhibit in Louvre.''

You give Jaehyun a smile so sarcastic he will know to run for his life the moment you two get out of here. The other people in the room thought it was a smile fondness instead. While Jaehyun sends you a finger heart, you itch to send him the middle finger.

Your mother shares a giggle with Mrs. Jung. ''Ah.. young love.''

Jaehyun earns another stomp.

Days after the dinner with the Kings and Queens sees you and Jaehyun in a kindergarten wearing pink white polka dots aprons. The little humans cheer as their teacher announces that they'll be designing their own cakes today with the help of the visitors. Visitors being you and Jaehyun.

Raising a piece of fruit, you snatch the kids' attention. ''Who wants some strawberries?'' 

''I want to! I want–!'' Little Seol-a makes grabby hands to you, making you chuckle.

''Okay, okay. Say ah..'' Popping the strawberry in Seol-a's mouth, you receive a cute giggle and 'thank you' from the little girl.

As the teacher announces the start of the making, everyone quickly gets to work, eager to create their most beautiful versions of cakes. Since you also have a cake to decorate, you only look at the kids every now and then, checking up on them. So far, everyone's doing good.

A high-pitched voice calls you. ''Can you please help me with the icing..?''

Smiling, you leave your seat and transfer beside Mina. ''What should we do?''

''I want it pink like Seol-a's, it's so pretty!''

Mina's words pull Seol-a out of her focus, turning to the two of you. Seol-a purses her lips. ''But I'm making it for my mommy. Does your mommy likes pink too?''

Mina looks down and her eyebrows crease in thinking. ''No. My mama likes blue, I think..''

Watching the exchange, you could tell that Seol-a doesn't want to tell Mina off but at the same time, she doesn't want her friend to do exactly the same as she's decorating hers specifically at the thought of her mom.

You decide to step up. ''Then, Mina, would you like yours to be blue?''

Mina ponders for a second before nodding, smiling a bit. ''Okay..''

Seol-a perks up. ''Mina! I'll be pink and yours will be blue, and then let's decorate it the same so our mommies would get matching cakes!''

Mina lights up at what she heard. She will have a matching cake with Seol-a, yet also have her own version. The two girls squeals at the cute teddy bears and gushes over the pastel colors their cakes will be. You smile in adoration.

Minutes pass, little humans ask for your assistance until almost everyone at your table is finished. You feel a tap on your back.

''Hi, Rowoon!''

The chubby boy smiles cutely at you, hugging you. ''Teacher, can you come help me please? Teacher Jaehyun is a bit busy with the others.''

Glancing at Jaehyun, a bunch of kids flock around him, calling his name and asking for his help. It has no sign of dwindling down so you nod, heading towards the boy's place after telling your own group that you'll be at the other table. As you help Rowoon with his cakes, you fail to ignore the conversations he's having with the kids due to the proximity.

''I love chocolates, I eat them everyday! Teacher, do you like chocolates?''

''Yes, of course. Chocolates is one of my favorites.''

''I like chocolate too but my mom won't let me eat more than three. Does your mom let you eat a lot of chocolate, Teacher?''

Jaehyun laughs, shaking his head at the core memory of Queen Miyoung scolding him for eating too much sweets. ''No, she doesn't. Your teeth will turn bad if you eat a lot of it and mommies are just taking care of you.''

''Turn bad? Like fall out–?!'' 

''Most likely.'' The little boy covers his mouth dramatically, earning another laugh from Jaehyun.

''Teacher! Your cake is so pretty!''

''Why, thank you, Yuna.'' Jaehyun boops her nose with a clean finger.

''You should get an award for having a pretty cake.''

One kid appears. ''My mommy gives me kisses as an award!''

''Me too!''

''Does your mommy gives you kisses too, Teacher?''

What's with these kids and questions about mommies?

''No, she doesn't.''

''Oh no.. is she mad at you?''

Jaehyun giggles. ''She's not. She used to give me kisses but not anymore because I'm a big boy now.''

''Ah, you don't want kisses anymore?''

Thinking he will earn kisses from the little kids if he says no, Jaehyun tells them he loves kisses. Humming, one of them then points a finger.

''Teacher will give you kisses as a reward if your cake is the prettiest!''

Jaehyun follows the path where the kid is pointing at. ''Really?'' His eyes landed on you, still and unmoving. Jaehyun bites his lower lip to stop the laugh rumbling on his chest.

Jaehyun grins. ''Then I should work on making this the prettiest cake ever made.''

You almost choke on your own spit.

Articles after articles, headlines after headlines. Old people gush about how pure your interactions are. Adults nudge each other at how you sweetly stare. Teenagers envies how Jaehyun performs all love language at you. It seems like everything now revolves around the Crown Princess and her lover.

The crowd certainly loves the contrasts between you and Jaehyun whereas you're more carefree and casual while Jaehyun sticks to his formal attitude. One thing that became popular amongst your supporters, or 'shippers', is the picture of you– like the diva that you are– wearing a pink miniskirt, corset top, socks with ribbons on top, mary jane pumps, and a cream loose cardigan sits beside Jaehyun who is dawned in his usual dress shirt, slacks, and blazer. You cannot forget that fanfic you found wherein Jaehyun is a CEO and you're a supermodel. Shippers are imaginative and delusional at the same time.

It's been 2 months since you've started attending events with the prince and it wasn't as hellish as you thought. Maybe because Jaehyun can't cause a problem in public, or maybe he just doesn't find the need to. Nonetheless, that didn't cease the fire that is the prank war. It goes on and on that even Winter finds it hilarious at this point. Who knew the lovely couple searched for a list of pranks to do in their free time so they could piss each other off?

Lately though, you've noticed (actually it was Winter) that your pranks have been getting less harmful to your daily lives and had just become something to enlighten the mood. Like the clown that pops up when you open the fridge and the snake balloon hidden in the tin can. Very uncharacteristically, you even find yourselves posting each other's reactions on your stories. And if Jaehyun created an instagram account just to upload videos and pictures of you, you're not so sure. A thing you're certain though is that the dislike for Jaehyun had faded away and was replaced by something else. Something you're yet to find out.

''A penny for your thoughts?'' A finger snaps you out of your thoughts. Jaehyun grins.

You shake your head and continue looking for the best quality of vegetables as Jaehyun follows you around, pushing your cart. Another thing that you've grown to get used to is doing groceries with Jaehyun. Very domestic, isn't it?

''Can we buy this one?'' Jaehyun points at the packs of big marshmallows.

Frowning, you shake your head. ''What're you gonna need it for? It'll just expired at the cabinet.''

''No, it won't.''

''How so?''

''I'll eat it before you can even say chubby bunny.''

''No, Jeong.''

''But we have a mini chocolate fountain machine at home!''

''Yes, a fountain machine you, may I say–'' You face him. ''–unnecessarily bought. Literally no reason to buy one.''

''Well now I can finally use it and it won't be useless anymore..?''

Tsking, you walk away to look at the meat. In the end, Jaehyun huffs, staring longingly at his marshmallows before tailing you, steps heavy.

After shopping for at most 2 weeks worth of food, you type on your phone while Jaehyun carries all those bags. So much for being a macho man. Winter sends an atrocious idea and forces a laugh out of you.

''What's funny?'' Jaehyun asks like a curious cat, peeking at your phone.

''Winter says we should announce that all of this is fake at the upcoming press conference and film Eunhye's reaction. God, that would be hilarious honestly.''

''Oh..'' And curiosity finally kills the cat. Jaehyun mums. Are you faking it all this time? Are you not enjoying your time with him? Are you faking having fun whenever you're with him, even now?

You are about to ask Jaehyun for the car keys but as someone who spends their entire life under the spotlight, you know a camera when you see one. Pocketing your phone, you stride towards the man at the car beside Jaehyun's. Said man tries to run away but you are quicker with your feet and grab him by his collar, you hear Jaehyun's call of your name.

''What's wro–''

''Give me the phone.''

''Why– what's happeni–''

''Give me the fucking phone!'' Shoving the man to a car, he winces at the pain in his back. When he surrenders his phone, you delete his video and throw it on the ground before stomping on it, crashing it.

Jaehyun calls your name again. ''Why did you do that? Stop, you're choking him.''' Though obviously wanting to calm you down, Jaehyun doesn't touch you anywhere, opting to wash his palm over his face.

You ignore him and focus on the man shivering in your hold. ''Tell me, what the fuck do want?''

''Nothing–''

You dig your forearm deeper to his neck. ''I'm only gonna ask this twice, you fucking twig. What do you want?''

The man struggles to breathe but attempts to answer anyway. ''I–I was.. paid to–'' He wheezes. ''To prove t-that.. Prince Jaehyun isn't what– what he pretends to be.'' The man coughs.

Raising a brow at what you hear, you wrap your hand around his throat and lean closer to his ear. ''Listen here, fucking microphallus. I know this fucker here looks like he's a worldwide known actor but in reality, he can't act for his fucking life. This man doesn't have a fucking future in acting. He can't fake anything, he's too goody shoes. This prince can't do a thing except entertaining the fucking crowd.''

He is genuine and is not pretending in front of the cameras. Is what Jaehyun can hear between your lines.

''So if you're thinking of exposing him and shit– too bad for you, Jeong lives his life by the books.''

Sighing, Jaehyun tugs at your shirt. ''Let's.. let's let him go. He said he was just paid to do it, didn't he?''

Glancing at the prince, you could see the stress on his irritatingly handsome face and annoyingly, you find yourself to hate the foreign emotion on it. Clicking your tongue, you let go of the man but grips his collar again before he can get away. ''Spread misinformations about my fianceé again, you'll be caressing metal bars the next day.''

Jaehyun holds your hand to take it away from the man and fixes his mask. ''Sir, you can send your resumé at the palace and you should be offered a job with monthly payment. Please don't ever damage someone for the sake of quick money. Money wears off in time, but the damage doesn't.''

With that, Jaehyun tugs you away from the scene. During the ride, silence fills the car and as you arrive at the apartment, that's when you realize Jaehyun's hand is still intertwined with you from the moment he holds it until you reach the flat. Why does Jaehyun look like it's the most normal thing? Why is your heart doing the fucking rabbity pumps?

Jaehyun heaves a sigh. ''Damn.. that's actually crazy– I can't even believe it happened. It went by so fast, my brain couldn't process the fact that someone believes I fake my personality and manners in front of the camera. Like–''

You plop to the couch.

''–what did I even do? Did I upset them? Did they say hi to me one time and I didn't say it back? Did they–''

''I punched the guy because I wanted to protect my friend.''

Jaehyun stops arranging the items you bought. ''What–?''

Hugging your knees, you keep your eyes on Jaehyun's. ''It was my friend's birthday and she wanted to celebrate it in this bar, it was called gangbang. Controversial, I know. We were having fun just like we planned to. But a group of guys at the other table starts joining in. We weren't paying attention to them– or at least, I wasn't. But one of my friends starts complaining about how one of the guys 'accidentally' brushes his hand on her ass too many times. Accidental, my ass. No one wants to come forward so I did, being the hero that I am. I talked to the guy calmly and asked what's wrong. Said guy told me my friend was lying but fuck– my friend was this close to crying about it. And then I got pissed at how his friends defends him when the CCTV clearly shows the incident so I fucking punched him and broke his nose.''

''Next thing I know, news outlets reports me getting involved in a brawl and ruining a fucking commoner's nose without including the reason why I did it.'' You scoff. ''Said friend I protected refused a statement and left the country without defending me.''

Jaehyun sits at the carpeted floor, facing you, looking with worry in his eyes. Something in your eyes flashes but disappears before Jaehyun could even determine what it is.

''And the pictures of me sleeping on the streets?''

Jaehyun hums, caressing your hands.

''They told everyone I was so fucking drunk I couldn't even bring myself home and showed videos of me chugging vodkas, whiskeys, beers straight from their bottle. But why didn't they show the part where all those fucking people around me gangs up on me and calls me a fucking pussy, a no fun, and a fucking killjoy. They didn't stop until I agreed on drinking all those fucking liqours.'' You sniffs, you didn't even know when you started tearing up.

''And that video where my bodyguard had to carry me because I wouldn't wake up? The palace was on emergency alert at that time– why? Because alcohol and sleeping pills were mixed inside me. When I tried to explain what happened, no one fucking believed someone slipped me a fucking bunch of sleeping pills– my heartbeat was fucking slowing down and I was over-sedated, Jaehyun. There's no point of telling them the truth when they already decided I was fucking lying. For fuck's sake, I was near to dying that fucking night– god!'' You bury your head in your knees, shoulders shaking as you sob, fist continuously knocking your head hard.

Jaehyun hugs your quivering figure, whispering words that he knows best that'll comfort and calm you. ''I understand you. I believe you. It's okay, love. You're gonna be okay. I'm here, alright? I'm here, love. Everything's gonna be okay.''

Your cries haven't even died down when you look at him. Jaehyun thinks vulnerability was the flickering emotions behind your eyes these past minutes that he failed to catch on.

''Aside from the people who did those shits, Winter is the only one who knows about the truth. Because she's important to me.'' You hiccup, tears streaming down your face. ''Do you get why I'm telling you this, Jeong?''

There's a clue, but Jaehyun doesn't want to get ahead of you. ''..why?''

You chuckle while crying, more tears roll down your cheeks. ''God, you're so fucking stupid, aren't you? Winter is important to me so she knows the truth. I told you the truth because–'' You bow your head down and hold Jaehyun's hands. ''–you're more than just important to me.''

Jaehyun's breath hitches, and the world stops. ''Oh baby..'' He kisses the back of your hands and the top of your head before hugging you tightly.

He attempts to say the words that have been at the tip of his tongue since you decorated cakes with the kids but you cut him off.

''I will hurt you, Jeong, accidentally. I don't communicate. I don't open up. I find it hard to trust people easily despite sharing a close bond with them. I curse more than I say affectionate and loving words. I push away more than I pull. I'm violent. I am broken, I'm a mess.''

Jaehyun smiles, so handsomely it makes your heart ache. ''You don't communicate and open up? That's fine, I can read between your lines. You find it hard to trust people? That's alright, trusts are earned, not bought. You curse more than being lovey dovey? Well, I'm lovey dovey more than cursing. You push more than you pull? Isn't it great that I'm the exact opposite. You're violent? I could do the talking, you could do the punching. You're broken? I will patch you up again and again. You're a mess? So what, you're a beautiful kind of mess. And if you hurt me and wound my heart.. well then– Sorry, Heart.''

Right there and then, the faceless man that you saw at the bar and had a crush on morphs with Jaehyun's. You chuckle. ''Fate is playing with us, isn't it?''

Jaehyun cradles your face. ''And I'm glad it did. Because I met you.''

''You're such a sap.''

''Oh shush, you love it.''

''Maybe, maybe not.''

''Pfft, wait– does this mean we stop the pranks now?''

''Do what the hell you want, but you'll continuing to be pissed off first thing in the morning.''

Operation: Stop the wedding! Step 3, fall in love with your soon-to-be-groom.

A shudder electrifies the fibers of your body as Jaehyun spreads the cold juices of peaches along the lines of your collarbone, his tongue dips in next, easing to freezing temperature with his warmth. He sucks where the sticky liquid lays previously, his cravings of sweetness beaming in glee as the flavor slowly seeps in him.

Your breath heavy, hands moving to caress your boyfriend's blond strands as his kisses travel to your breasts. The flesh of the fruit circles your nipples before Jaehyun dives in, sucking the hard nubs all the while fondling and playing with the other. Quiet moans of pleasure finally escape your lips after minutes of holding back, your head lolls back and your eyes close shut, sighing from the pleasure slowly building up. Slurping sounds bounces off the four walls of your shared bedroom, it's so obscene that anyone who could hear it could certainly feel how hungry Jaehyun is for the mixture of the peach's sweetness and the bits of saltiness coming from your sweat. It's disgusting to think but Jaehyun's cock gets only harder with each taste.

The surface of his hand palms your clothed core, thumbing where he's sure your clit settles and gives the area a slight pressure, he makes circles around the button that elicits a series of whimpers from you.

Fuck. How he wishes to see this image of you everytime. Your glossy eyes, puckered swollen slips, and whole face scrunched up as your body shivers in his hold, back arching as pleas of having him inside you draws out. 

Break me, wreck me, ruin me. Those are everything your body screams. 

Oh, he will ruin you, alright.

Jaehyun rips the remaining pieces of clothing off of you, gripping your legs apart, wide and open just for him. The way your pussy glistens under the dim lights of the room, the prince's lust fuels up until he could no longer bear the desire of devouring you. 

His mouth, his tongue, his body, his mind -- screams for your taste, it craves the feeling of you thrashing against his embrace as you fall apart. And Jaehyun.. he's just a man. One who could only do much to control himself from drowning his face in the sea of tempting your slick.

''Ooh, Jaehyun, please..'''

From the alley your legs created, you are able to see Jaehyun's face and how his brow quirks in question to your plea. He's so fucking cruel, unlike the gentleman and polite prince everyone in your country had loved since the beginning. If they only know.

The pad of his tongue follows the traces of your juice, squeezing the last bits of the peach and lets it trickle down on your pussy. Dipping the tip of his tongue, he wiggles it until he's deep inside your warm tight walls, clenching on his muscle as he fucks you with it.

''Jaehyun–! Fuck!''

Your hips jerks upwards, practically offering your core to Jaehyun's face. That, Jaehyun accepts. Gripping each thigh, he pins you to the bed as he sucks, licks, and devours more than you offer.

Jaehyun's fingers join his tongue, squelches emitting from your soaked pussy as Jaehyun's digits continuously penetrate it. By the time Jaehyun is about to add the fourth finger, he sees your eyes rolling and notices the constant clenches of your walls– a telltale sign of your climax. And Jaehyun isn't Jaehyun if not a bastard in bed.

He pulls away before walking away to fetch something, all the while unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants. Jaehyun reaches the foot of your bed, he tugs his pants and boxers down, revealing a girthy and lengthy dick with an angry tip.

Jaehyun pumps his cock, staring at your sore pussy and fucked out face. Your breathlessness is music to his ears.

''Jaehyun, please..''

''Please?''

You open your legs wider, hands dipping between your legs to spread the cheeks of your pussy. ''It's all yours. Please, fuck me.''

''Fucking hell..'' Jaehyun nudges your legs open as you both moan in unison as his cock pushes past your entrance, veins rubbing against the tight velvet walls. Jaehyun plans to wait for you to adjust, but you shake your head. He smirks, and starts fucking.

''My girl is getting brave, huh? Let's how much you can fucking take.''

God, this is why you love Jaehyun in bed. This is the only time you hear him curse, be rough, and manhandle you in positions you didn't even know you're capable of doing.

You ask for it hard, and Jaehyun gives it every time. Wrapping his hand under your knee, he folds your body until it touches your chest as Jaehyun slides deeper, reaching deep inside you that a bump appears every now and then on your stomach.

''Fuck– do you see that, baby? Look at your stomach, shit, it's bulging. Am I too big for your tight pussy, baby?''

Jaehyun pins you against the headboard with his weight as drools escape the corners of your lips, dribbling down your neck. You grip the top of the headboard for support.

''Ah ah ah! S-so good.. so good!''

Jaehyun chuckles lowly. ''Does it, baby? Tell me what makes you feel good.''

''Y–your big–big cock! Fuck, i-it's so, haahh, so big!''

''That's right. My big fat cock is making my girl feel so good; she can't even construct a proper sentence. Do you know how that makes me fucking feel, baby? I feel like a fucking king, you know. Crown Princess, fucking feisty and always hissing at everyone, crumbling down at the feeling of my cock at her guts.''

Jaehyun plows into you deliciously, white spots showing themselves at different parts of your vision as pleasure takes over your body. ''You're so fucking tight, baby. You're choking me.''

Yelping, you hold onto Jaehyun as he withdraws from your pussy, carrying you as he transfers you to the glass window near the bed, pushing you against it before he starts pounding vigorously once again, teeth sinking to break your skin, lapping the droplets of blood. Lewd moans knock out of your throat. Seeing your reflection from the window, you're reminded of those pornos you've watched as a curious teen.

''Jaehyun– uh, uh, Jaehyun! You're gonna make me come!''

''Then come. Come for me, darling.''

You white out, shuddering in Jaehyun's hold as you clamp down on his cock, white ring appearing around his length. Jaehyun buries his head in the crook of your neck as he chases his own high, groaning as he finally reaches it, pulling out to finish himself on your back.

As a minute passes, you both regain the air your lungs have been desperately needing. Jaehyun makes you face him and kisses your lips full of gentleness, so in contrast to the rough pounding earlier.

And of course, Jaehyun isn't Jaehyun if not a sap after sex.

''I love you so much, baby.''

You snort. ''I do too, idiot. Now clean me up.''

Operation: Stop the wedding! Step 4, abort mission.

Come morning, the sunlight seeps through the curtains and shines on your bed beautifully. Jaehyun wakes up, his day already made at the sight of you sleeping peacefully in his arms. You look adorable, like you couldn't harm a fly. You wouldn't if said fly doesn't harm any of your loved ones.

God, Jaehyun is so fucking in love with you. You smile, his day is made. You breathe, suddenly the weather is perfect. You exist, Jaehyun finds every reason to live. You are the water that keeps Jaehyun tethered.

''What the fuck do you want, Jeong?''

The prince chuckles. 8am in the morning and you're already so grumpy. It confuses a few staff members how Jaehyun fell in love with you. If he won't get in trouble, he'll tell them you're a witch and make him drink some irreversible love potion or what.

''Nothing. You're pretty.''

''... Shut up. Just because you look fucking good in the morning.''

''Thank you, baby. I love you.''

''Ugh, you're too in love with me.''

Jaehyun giggles. ''I am. Will you marry me?''

You stop yawning and look at him as though he grew a second head (or third..?). ''The fuck did you say?''

''Will you marry me, baby?''

You scoff. ''Ask that again if you have a ring to out around me.'' The words are mumbled but Jaehyun manages to hear it.

''What?''

''I said your breath stinks, Jeong.''

Shaking his head in disbelief, Jaehyun laughs deeply, caused by his morning voice. You find that hot but you won't te him because he'll use it against you everytime.

Jaehyun reaches for something behind him, inside the drawer, and faces you again. There you see a small red box on his palm, Jaehyun opens it and reveals the ring you've once mentioned to be your dream ring. Wordlessly, he slips the ring on your finger after taking off the fake one.

''But we're already engaged though.''

''Eh.. that was fake, baby. This one's real.''

You raise a brow. ''I haven't even said yes.''

''You'll say no to me?''

''Pfft, you're getting too cocky. I don't like that.''

''Hmm, sure, love.'' Jaehyun smiles warmly and takes you in his arms again. You bury your head in his chest.

''Jeong,''

Jaehyun hums.

''I hate you for making me feel this way.''

Jaehyun settles his hands on the sides of your face and caresses your cheeks with his thumbs. ''I love you too, witch.''

''Psst,''

''What now, baby?''

''I love you, Jaehyun.''

Operation: Stop the wedding! Step 5 and the last step, be in love and marry each other for real.

[lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks]

part 3 of #FreeRei (temporary title) with a Rei POV! and I finally get to explore my favourite flavour of Rei Todoroki, completely fucking unhinged and absolutely determined to make it Endeavor's problem

(you can read from the beginning here)

She felt a little silly, practically vibrating with glee over a bit of basic shopping, but it had been so long, even just the feel and sound of the money jingling in her hands was almost nostalgic, like something from a long ago dream. It almost didn't feel real.

The woman behind the counter was tilted back on a tall stool, a braided tendril of dark brown hair streaked with grey lifted a can of coffee to her lips as she flipped through a gossip rag. There were was a photo of two heroes on the cover that Rei vaguely recognised, one with long white ears and one with red wings, she was pretty sure they were both in the top ten, but it was hard to keep up with current hero rankings when she wasn't allowed to watch the news. They were covered in obnoxious yellow text declaring something about a secret relationship, they just looked like friends having coffee together to her.

If only they knew of the scandal sitting right beneath everyone's noses, she wondered what kind of mockery the bright yellow text would make about her husband's misdeeds, had they not been covered up at every turn. Something outrageous and distasteful probably.

'No. 1 Hero or No Good Husband?'

'Flame Hero's Marriage up in Smoke!'

'Endeavor Beats Villains in the Streets and his Wife in the Sheets!'

Rei put her items on the counter and tried to hold back the giddy grin she could feel pulling at her lips, she failed to keep from bouncing on her toes. The woman put her magazine down and shifted her seat back onto all fours, she paused as tired eyes tracked Rei's constant motion.

"Someone's in a good mood this morning." she commented in a husky monotone, her hair grabbing the items to scan them. "What's got you so excited?"

"Oh you know," Rei laughed nervously. "It's just nice to be out of the house, I'm not normally allow- I don't get out much." she clamped her lips shut with an airy little chuckle.

Be careful be careful don't be suspicious don't get caught can't go back can't go back-

"Right," the woman said, gaze flitting over Rei as if looking for something, Rei tugged her sleeve down, making sure her hospital grade quirk cancelling cuff was well hidden beneath her hoodie, the woman's keen eyes tracked the motion before quickly glancing to the side. "He got something to do with that?" she asked, jerking her head toward the window where Touya was pacing back and forth on the phone.

"Oh, no! No no that's just my son, he's a good boy, he's nothing like his- he's just helping me with my shopping!" Rei could feel her legs trembling, she'd barely been out of the hospital for a few hours and she was already fucking everything up, shit she shouldn't have said he was her son shit shit shit.

Won'tgobackwon'tgobackwon'tgoback-

"Alright then," the woman's narrowed eyes shifted back down as she bagged the items, ringing up the total and counting the scattered change Rei's trembling hands dropped onto the counter.

"Sorry, but you're 100¥ short." The woman shrugged, frowning at the bag, a tendril of hair fidgeted with one of her earrings.

"Oh," Touya had scrounged through all of his pockets to gather that change, she was pretty sure it was the last of his money. "Um, you can take out the toothbrush then."

"So just the face masks and hair dye?" the woman asked in a carefully neutral tone, her braids curled over on themselves in the air behind her. "Going for a new look?"

"Haha, yeah I just figured it was time to do something different you know?" Rei tilted her head innocently, putting on her best unassuming polite smile, the one she'd learned could keep the new nurses from checking under her tongue after giving her sedatives at night.

The woman kept staring at the bag as she chewed at the inside of her cheek. Rei could feel sweat beading at her hairline, she glanced around at anything she could potentially use as a weapon should it come to that, she didn't particularly want to bludgeon this woman's head in but-

I won't go back I won't I won't I won't I won't I won't I won't I won't I won't I won't I won't I WON'T-

The woman sighed heavily and pushed the plastic bag toward Rei, the toothbrush still inside.

"I'll overlook the 100¥, if you answer a question for me," she said, eyes locking onto Rei's, her expression sank into something softer, concerned. "If someone comes in here later asking if I've seen a woman with white hair, should I keep my mouth shut?"

Rei's stomach did an odd little swoop, her heart was beating in her throat. "I would... I would be very very grateful if you did." she said in a small, trembling voice.

The woman nodded, her smile melancholy, a braided tendril picked up the bag and dropped it into Rei's hands before going lax against her back, the rest stopped their antsy fidgeting to follow suit. "Good luck girl, stay safe alright?"

Rei's hands and feet tingled as she walked out of the store, as soon as the cool early morning air hit her face she took in a deep and desperate lungful, her chest ached like she couldn't get enough in.

Touya seemed to have finished his phone call as he was simply lounging low on a public bench just outside. His head was tilted back as he stared up at a nearby streetlight, eyebrows furrowed, lost in thought, his pale, almost translucent eyelashes practically glowed under the yellow tinted light. Despite all of his scars his face still looked so... gentle, so unlike Natsuo who'd inherited Enji's squared jaw and broad shoulders, Touya was all soft edges and elegant curves.

He looks like me.

The thought lightened her chest and her breathing slowed back down to a regular pace. A different emotion climbed up her throat, something warm and pleasant, this was her son, all grown up. Even after everything Enji had done, after he tried to mould Touya into a monster like him, after he left her baby boy to burn alive alone on that mountaintop, he was here, right in front of her, alive.

And he looks like me.

Touya lifted his head, whatever thoughts were ghosting behind his eyes cleared as he stood up and offered her his arm, Rei took it, and they walked out into the early morning, the barest hint of light seeping into the dark sky.

You tried to take him from me but he isn't yours anymore, he's mine mine mine mine and I will rip you apart with my bare hands before I ever let you come between me and my son again Enji I swear it on my breath and my bones I will never let you have him you don't deserve him you don't deserve any of us.

The distant sounds of birds and traffic began to wake the sleeping streets, as the edge of sunlight peeked at them between buildings, Touya pulled one of the medical facemasks from the plastic bag hanging from Rei's wrist and handed it to her. He tugged her dark blue hoodie over her head before the light could catch on the bright white strands of her hair, she always loved seeing her children play at dawn and dusk, especially in the winter, the angled sunshine from the snow making their hair practically glow, they looked almost ethereal, otherworldly.

You were right to be afraid of letting me out, I spent years pretending I wasn't clawing at the walls, fooling the doctors, fooling my own children, but I couldn't fool you, you knew you broke me beyond repair, you knew I wasn't going to forget what I promised you the last time you dared look me in the eye.

Sometimes she would hope that some spirit of light would realise it had left its children down on earth where they didn't belong, she would hope that one day when they played out in the late afternoon they would chase those sunlit snowflakes up up up into the sky, far away from the house that had wrongfully trapped them within its walls, far away from her husband's burning cruelty and blistering neglect, she would hope that when the sun finally set and took its light away from her garden, it would take her children home with it. Some days, the bad days after the fire on Sekoto, she would forget that it was only a daydream, she would sit in the yard with Shouto held up to the sky, and with tears in her eyes she would beg those sunlit snowflakes to take her baby away somewhere safe, to take him to wherever they took Touya.

Mark my fucking words Enji Todoroki I will bathe myself in your blood I will carve your hollow heart from your chest and crush it in my fist as I watch the light die in your eyes and I'm going to laugh and laugh and laugh and LAUGH-

"What's so funny?" Touya smiled gently down at her, his eyes as blue as his father's but utterly void of the terrifying cold indifference that once haunted her daily waking life.

"Oh it's nothing," she assured him, hysterical giggles still fighting their way up her throat, her cheeks ached but she couldn't stop smiling. "I'm just so happy to have you back sweetheart."

Touya was quiet for a few moments, when he finally spoke his voice was thick with something close to melancholy.

"I... yeah... me too."

edit: continued on AO3!

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

A Court of Fire & Masks

Eris Vanserra x OC

Chapter 5

A Court of Fire and Masks Master List

Summary

Penelope enters the glamorous yet treacherous world of Autumn Court life, where appearances are everything, and even the slightest misstep could ruin her families reputation. As the youngest daughter of a noble family, she's expected to smile, nod, and blend in - just like her older sister. But when Penelope's curiosity about inter-court politics leads to a forbidden mention of unrest, she quickly realizes she may not have the weaponry for the brutal battle of social court, especially when she runs up against heir to the court, Eris Vanserra.

Content Warnings:

Emotional manipulation

Verbal and emotional abuse

Power imbalances

Anxiety and panic

Mentions of sexism & misogyny

Dark themes of cruelty

PHYSICAL ABUSE

Word Count: 6,864

Her father never mentioned what had transpired in the study. Penelope had waited long after Lord Aiden’s departure to return to the manor, slipping through the back gardens in an effort to remain unseen. Even when her sisters called for her from the edge of the orchards, their voices filled with concern, she stayed hidden, the weight of everything pressing down onto her chest like a heavy stone.

Days passed and still her father said nothing. The house moved along with its usual rhythm, the halls filled with the chatter of her sisters, the maids bustling about, and her mother directing the household with her militaristic precision. Whatever had been discussed between her father and Lord Aiden hadn’t shifted her parents’ opinion in the slightest. Her father’s pride in Aiden’s boldness remained unwavering, a smug satisfaction glinting in his eyes whenever the young lord’s name was mentioned. And her mother’s quiet approval hung like a subtle, unspoken command in the air, an expectation that continued to press down on Penelope day in, and day out.

A week later, Penelope found herself sitting in her chambers, wearing only her dressing gown, her fingers fumbling as they attempted to untangle the stubborn knots in her hair. The early morning light had barely begun to creep through the curtains, the sky still painted with the soft hues of dawn, though it felt like an oppressive weight against her eyelids. Sleep had been elusive to her, her mind too full of thoughts and emotions she hadn’t quite been able to sort through.

Today marked the start of the hunting season in the Autumn Court, and as tradition dictated, the High Lord had invited the nobility to attend the first hunt of the season. It was a grand event, steeped in the court’s history and customs, and one that Penelope had always viewed with quiet distaste. There was something barbaric about it, the way they slaughtered innocent animals for sport when the court itself was already drowning in luxury. they had no need for more game, no need for the spectacle of the hunt when their pantries were already stocked with food and delicacies. To her, the whole affair felt primitive and cruel, a show of dominance over nature that seemed unnecessary.

But this year, it was different. This would be her first hunt, the first time she would be expected to attend, to stand among the nobles in the cold morning air, her presence noted and scrutinized by the sharp eyes of the court. To not show up would be seen as an insult, an act of defiance that could not be overlooked.

Penelope yanked at a particularly stubborn knot in her hair, the brush tearing through the tangles, sending a sharp twinge of pain radiating across her scalp as the strands finally loosened. The door to her chambers opened with a soft creak, then clicked shut again, and she glanced in the mirror, expecting to see a maid with her breakfast. But instead, the cold, stoic reflection staring back at her was that of her mother.

Already dressed for the morning, Lady Estelle wore her traditional floor-length gown of deep forest green, the heavy fabric draping elegantly in the chill of early autumn. The high collar, lined with rabbit fur, only emphasized the sharpness of her features, her hair pulled back so tightly into a bun that it seemed to draw her face even tauter.

“Good morning, Mother,” Penelope greeted her, still watching the reflection as she continued to work the brush through another knot in her hair.

Her mother didn’t acknowledge the greeting, not even a flicker of warmth crossing her face. She moved across the room with silent, measured steps, her fingers grazing over the rich fabric of the gown and cloak laid out for Penelope. Lady Estelle rarely came to Penelope’s chambers alone, and as her mother’s presence filled the room, a knot of anxiety settled low in Penelope’s stomach. She gripped the brush tighter but said nothing, knowing from experience that addressing her mother’s unexpected visit before she was ready to speak would only invite her displeasure.

Her mother finished her silent appraisal of Penelope’s outfit and moved toward the vanity, appearing behind her daughter’s reflection like a stern shadow, her gaze sharp yet unreadable. “Here,” Lady Estelle said, extending her hand for the brush. “Let me.”

Penelope hesitated but handed over the brush, feeling a knot of uncertainty tighten in her chest. Her mother rarely showed affection—especially not in the form of something as intimate as brushing her hair. As Lady Estelle ran the bristles through the ends of her daughter’s dark locks, the room fell into a thick, weighted silence. The only sound was the soft whisper of the brush working through the tangles, smooth strokes, deliberate and slow.

Lady Estelle’s gaze remained fixed on her task, never meeting Penelope’s in the mirror, but her voice broke the silence. “How are you feeling about today?”

Penelope blinked, startled. Her mother never asked such personal questions, never showed interest in her emotions beyond the practicalities of court behavior. It was odd enough that she had offered to brush her hair—something Penelope couldn’t remember ever happening—but this inquiry put her even more on edge. She swallowed down the instinct to question it and answered quickly, “Fine.”

Her mother’s hands didn’t falter, but her eyes flicked up, locking with Penelope’s in the reflection. “Are you excited?” she asked, her tone deceptively casual, as though the weight of the question wasn’t pressing heavily between them.

Penelope hesitated, her voice faltering as she replied, “Yes.” It came out more as a question than an answer, and she instantly regretted the uncertainty.

Penelope’s mother let out a low chuckle, the sound almost foreign, almost unsettling as she looked down at her daughter. “I was so nervous before the first hunt I attended,” she mused, her voice softer than usual. “I was terrified they would slaughter the animals right in front of us. I nearly vomited as soon as I stepped into the viewing tent.”

Penelope’s hands swilled in her lap. Shocked didn’t begin to cover it. Lady Estelle never spoke about her feelings — especially not moments of vulnerability like this. The act of brushing her hair was strange enough, but now this revelation felt like an even more jarring intimacy.

“You know, I was first introduced to your father at a hunt,” her mother continued, her tone almost becoming wistful. “He was riding with the High family. When his father approached mine to request my hand on his son’s behalf, I was elated. To finally have a place in court.”

Penelope’s fingers curled slightly around the silk fabric of her dressing gown, her gaze fixed on her mother’s reflection. Her mother’s face seemed distant, as if she were staring into a memory long tucked away.

“And when your father returned from the hunt, all muddy and covered in dirt, smelling of animal and horse,” Lady Estelle’s lips twisted into a small, reluctant smile, “I had to stop myself from turning away in disgust. But that’s how things were then. Courtships were much shorter, more formal. Your generation gets far more time to be with one another before such arrangements are finalized.”

Penelope swallowed hard, her throat tightening as if she were trying to force down the weight of her own apprehension. The way her mother spoke about courtship was so … detached, as though love or desire were never part of the equation — just duty and expectation.

The brush tugged at the stubborn knot, pulling Penelope’s head back slightly, and she hissed softly in pain. Her mother’s eyes flicked up, catching Penelope’s gaze in the mirror with that sharp, discerning look she always wore.

“Lord Aiden is a fine male,” Lady Estelle said, her words pointed, as though testing for a reaction.

“He is,” Penelope replied, her voice tight, the words automatic.

Her mother made a small sound of approval as she continued brushing, smoothing out the tangles. “He would make a fine husband,” she added, her eyes narrowing slightly as they flicked back to Penelope, watching her closely.

“He would,” Penelope replied again, trying to keep eye contact with her mother.

Lady Estelle continued brushing her daughter’s hair, her movements measured but the tension radiating from her was palpable. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the only sound in the room the soft rasp of bristles against tangled strands. Penelope could feel her mother watching her in the mirror, her gaze as sharp as the pull of the brush.

“Lord Aiden is a fine male,” her mother repeated, her voice lower this time, laced with expectation.

Penelope’s mouth felt dry. “Yes, he is,” she murmured, her hands continuing to tighten in the fabric of her gown.

Her mother’s lips pursed, the brush gliding down her hair a little harder now, snagging on another knot. Penelope winced as Lady Estelle tugged, the pressure increasing just enough to make her scalp sting.

“You’ve spent enough time with him, haven’t you?” her mother asked lightly, though there was an edge beneath the surface of her words. “Enough to know of his interests and how fortunate this match would be. It’s not everyday a lord with such status and wealth shows genuine interest.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “I know,” Penelope replied softly, her eyes fixed on her reflection, though she didn’t recognize the girl staring back at her. “It’s… it’s all a lot to consider.”

The brush froze mid-stroke, and her mother's eyes turned to ice. "Consider?" she hissed, the word dripping with venom. "Penelope, this is not a matter you can ponder over. Lord Aiden has made his intentions clear. This is a rare opportunity that must not be taken lightly."

Penelope's throat tightened as she shifted in her seat, her fingers trembling in her lap. "I understand, but-"

But her mother cut her off with a swift tug on the brush, yanking at a particularly stubborn knot. Penelope bit her lip to stop from crying out as pain shot through her scalp.

"You understand, but what?" Lady Estelle demanded, her voice sharp and controlled. "Do you think opportunities like this come knocking often? Are you so foolish to believe that if you reject this offer, another one will come along for someone like you? Lord Aiden is willing to bring our family respect and security. Your father and I have been waiting for a match like this for years, Penelope. And I have tried to let you handle it yourself, but now I see that you are not taking this seriously or perhaps are just too naïve to understand the consequences of turning it down."

A feeling of suffocation overwhelmed Penelope as her mother's hand moved faster and harsher, the brush tugging at her hair without any regard for her discomfort. Each pull felt like a warning.

"Your father has sacrificed so much for us and we cannot let an opportunity like this slip away," Lady Estelle continued, her voice unwavering but pointed. "Especially with Persimmons' failures to find a husband. It would be unforgivable for our family to decline such an offer. Do you understand?"

The brush caught on another knot and this time, Lady Estelle ripped through it, causing Penelope's head to snap back with a painful jolt. Tears welled in her eyes, not from the physical pain but from the overwhelming pressure in the room.

"I won't stand by and let you make foolish mistakes," her mother added, her voice laced with disappointment. "This is not just about you. It's about our entire family. Your sisters. Your father. We need one of our daughters to secure our future and Lord Aiden is offering it to you. I don't know what has made you so selfish as to not see this opportunity, but I will put a stop to it."

Penelope clenched her jaw, trying to steady her breathing. She felt trapped, as if every word her mother spoke pushed her further into a corner. "I'm not trying to throw it away," she managed, her voice strained. "I just...I don't know if-"

"If what?" Lady Estelle cut in, her hand stilling on the brush once more as she stared at Penelope through the mirror. "If you don't want to marry him?"

The words hung between them like a loaded weapon, ready to strike at any moment.

Penelope hesitated, her throat closing up as she struggled to find the right words. But her mother didn't wait for an answer, her expression turning hard. "Do you think I haven't noticed your behavior at court? Sneaking off into dark corners? Flaunting yourself in front of males with your indecency?" Her voice rose with each accusation. "I have kept quiet, hoping that Lord Aiden's interest would temper some of your wildness, but enough is enough. Your infatuation with male attention is disgusting and eventually, even Lord Aiden will tire of it. He will not be seen chasing after a harlot like you. So either fix yourself and satisfy him now, or your father and I will do it for you."

Penelope's expression twisted in bewilderment as her mother accused her of flirting with other men. She knew she hadn't been intentionally trying to garner attention, but a small part of her wondered if she had been too absorbed in her own thoughts and unaware of how she may have been perceived by others. Could it be possible that she had unwittingly given off the wrong impression? “Mother I-”

Lady Estelle’s grip on the brush tightened, her jaw set as she pulled through another knot with little regard for the sharp wince that flashed across Penelope’s face. “Do you think this is a game?” her mother hissed, her voice sharp and unforgiving. “Do you think you can toy with these males and then turn away when you feel like it? You have no idea the damage you are capable of doing to this family with your recklessness.”

Penelope’s heart pounded against her ribs, her mind whirling in confusion. She turned in her chair to face her mother, “I’m not—” she began, her voice small and strained, but before she could even speak, her mother's hand struck her across the cheek with a ringing slap. The force of it nearly knocked her out of her chair, and she instinctively pressed a hand to her burning skin.

“You are!” Lady Estelle snapped, her eyes narrowing down at her daughter. “I have watched you at court, Penelope. You think you may be clever, hiding behind your smiles and stolen glances, but others are watching too. And they won’t be kind. And you’re a fool if you believe Lord Aiden will tolerate that behavior much longer.”

Tears stung at Penelope’s eyes, her face flushed. “I wasn’t… I didn’t mean—” she stammered, struggling to find her footing while also trying to soothe the blinding pain radiating from her cheek.

Lady Estelle merely glared down at her. “You didn’t mean to? That’s no excuse. Intentions don’t matter when your actions speak louder. And now you stand on the edge of ruining everything your father and I have built!”

The cold accusation stung more than her cheek. “Mother, I swear, I haven’t—” she tried to defend herself, her voice trembling, but her mother’s hard stare silenced her.

“You’re lucky Lord Aiden has shown interest in you at all,” her mother continued, her voice lower but no less venomous. “But make no mistake, if you continue down this path — if you continue to act like a foolish, desperate girl ��� your father and I will have no choice but to take matters into our own hands.”

Penelope’s breath caught in her throat. She stared up at her mother, into those piercing eyes, her chest tightening with panic. “What do you mean?”

Lady Estelle’s eyes flickered with something dark and resolute. “We will betroth you to whomever we see fit,” she said coldly. “You will marry, Penelope. Whether it’s Lord Aiden or another suitable match, you will marry, and you will do it for this family. If you can’t control yourself, we will control it for you.”

The weight of her mother’s words crashed down on her like a tidal way. It wasn’t a threat — it was a promise.

“You have one chance,” Lady Estelle said, her voice quieter now, as though the decision had already been made. “One chance to prove you can do this. To prove you are capable of securing this family’s future without our intervention.”

Penelope felt the burning sting of tears continuing to gather at the corner of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “And if I don’t?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Lady Estelle leaned back, but her face remained hardened. “If you don’t,” she said flatly, “your father and I will choose your future for you.”

Her mother set the brush down on the vanity with a slam of cold finality. “Now,” Lady Estelle said, stepping back, her voice once again cool and composed, “you will attend the hunt today. You will conduct yourself with dignity and grace. And you will secure your future with Lord Aiden. I expect nothing less.”

With that, Lady Estelle turned on her heel and strode out of the room, leaving her daughter alone with the crushing weight of the ultimatum she had been handed. The room seemed too small, the air too thin, and as the door closed behind her mother, the tears Penelope had fought so hard to hold back finally slipped free.

—

The carriage ride from the warmth of Penelope’s home to the edge of the hunting grounds was silent. Her mother sat across from her, peering out the window, not looking at her while her sister sat next to her, sleep still clinging to her heavy eyes. Their father had left before them, eager to get out onto the hunting grounds for an early morning drink with his partners. When they finally arrived, and they stepped out of the carriage, the crisp morning air bit at Penelope’s cheeks. A layer of frost had settled over the grass glistening beneath the early morning light like shards of crystal, while droplets of dew clung to the edges of the leaves, waiting to melt under the sun’s rise. The sky above was a pale blue, streaked with the faint blush of dawn as the first rays began to stretch across the horizon.

Around her, the gathering nobles bustled quietly, their breath visible in the cold as they stood in small clusters on the frost covered field. The males participating in the hunt were outfitted in their finest hunting attire — sturdy leather boots and dark cloaks lined with fur, their tunics embroidered with intricate patterns of autumn leaves, mirroring the fiery colors of the forest around them. Some work high-collared jackets, the buttons gleaming in the faint light while others adorned themselves with feathered caps or leather gloves, marking themselves as seasoned hunters.

The females who were not participating in the hunt stood apart, wrapped in layers of opulent furs and velvet cloaks, their gowns made of thick, richly colored fabrics — deep burgundies, emerald greens, and russets that reflected the turning of the season. Jewels glimmered at their throats and wrists, and their hair was pinned up beneath delicate caps, lined with fur to ward off the morning chill. They spoke in hushed tones, their gloved hands clutching steaming cups of spiced cider or mulled wine as they gathered in the warmth of the viewing tent, which was already buzzing with excitement.

In the distance, the hounds barked and whined eagerly, their tails wagging in anticipation as they were lined up beside their masters. The horses, too, stamped their hooves, their breaths puffing out in clouds of mist as they waited for the signal to begin. The air was thick with the energy of the hunt, the stillness of the morning only broken by the occasional bark of a dog or the clatter of hooves on the frozen ground.

The fur-lined cloak Penelope wore did little to warm the ice creeping up her spine as she approached the viewing tent, her sister just a few steps beside her. Persimmon kept glancing at her, though she said nothing, her earlier attempts at conversation in the carriage having gone ignored. Penelope had kept her responses short, too wary to say much after her mother’s harsh reprimand that morning. Her cheek still stung from the slap, and with the cold biting at her skin, she feared the outline of her mother’s fingers might be visible in red across her face.

Their mother marched ahead, unbothered, her demeanor polished and calm, already being beckoned by the other ladies in the tent. A warm cup was pressed into her hand as she seamlessly blended into the crowd, smiling and laughing as though nothing had happened—no trace of the harsh words or the slap she’d delivered to Penelope just hours before. Penelope couldn’t help but wonder if her mother felt the sting in her hand as keenly as she felt it on her cheek.

As they finally crossed into the tent, its warmth a stark contrast to the icy air outside, Penelope’s thoughts were interrupted by the familiar drawl of Leda’s voice, curling over the chatter of the crowd. “Penelope, Persimmon!”

Persimmon straightened at once, a smooth smile appearing on her face as she adjusted her posture, effortlessly pushing through the sea of richly-dressed ladies with polite remarks about their gowns and cloaks.

Penelope followed quietly, her heart pounding as they wove through small groups of women until they stood face-to-face with Leda, the embodiment of Autumn Court opulence. Her golden hair was pinned back in a braided bun, a striking contrast against the deep velvet green of her cloak, which was lined with luxurious fox fur. The rich red hues of the fur perfectly matched the dark crimson gown she wore beneath, a display of wealth and status that was hard to miss.

Leda’s eyes gleamed as she took them both in, immediately grasping Penelope’s hands in her own. “You two look stunning!” she exclaimed, her voice carrying an air of superiority.

Penelope offered a polite smile, attempting to pull her hands free from Leda's grip, but Leda held on, her hands firm. “Thank the gods you’re here,” Leda continued, her tone laced with relief. “I was beginning to think I’d be the only one of our group here. The boys are all off joining the hunt.”

Our group. Penelope mentally scoffed, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. Leda, who had once been an intimidating predator upon their first meeting, now acted as though Penelope had become part of her inner circle, a fellow lioness in her pride. Perhaps this was what assimilation into court life truly felt like.

“We would never let you suffer alone,” Persimmon chimed in with a knowing wink.

At last, Leda released Penelope’s hands, laughing as though they shared some private joke. “If I had to hear them prattle on about slaughtering some poor creature one more time, I swear I would’ve slaughtered them myself!”

Persimmon and Leda erupted into peals of laughter, the sound high and fake, designed to please the ears of the nearby ladies. Penelope, however, couldn’t summon the same false lightheartedness. She simply smiled, her eyes drifting to the floor below as her mind wandered elsewhere, seeking an escape from the forced gaiety.

From outside the tent, Penelope could hear the raucous laughter of the males drawing closer, the first few appeared at the entrance, their eyes scanning the crowd for their wives or betrothed. It was clear most had been drinking long before the sun had risen, giggling and stumbling as they navigated the crowd of elegantly dressed ladies, their muddy boots dirtying the trains of gowns. Each of the ladies softly scolded them for their foolish behavior through quiet giggles and smiles. All the males carried a small token, a tradition as old as the Autumn Court itself.

Penelope watched as velvet pouches, silver charms, and other trinkets were offered in turn, each gesture a subtle mark of continued commitment, health, and good fortune in the hunt. She had always been told that, in ancient times, the males bestowed the key to the manor or home upon their wives before the hunt, a symbol of power and responsibility should they fall or be wounded. Now, with the hunt little more than a controlled social event, the tokens had shifted to gifts of jewelry, charms, and other small trinkets, gestures more ornamental than functional.

The unmarried ladies looked on with admiration, yearning for the day their own husbands or mates would present them with such tokens of affection. Penelope and Persimmon stood together, watching as their father drunkenly stumbled toward their mother. Lady Estelle maintained a tight, practiced smile as he handed her a midnight blue velvet bag. Inside was an emerald necklace, which immediately drew the admiration and envious whispers of the other ladies gathered around her.

“Lady Penelope,” a voice called from behind. Penelope, her sister, and Leda all turned to see Lord Aiden, dressed in the traditional hunting attire, a finely tailored tunic of rich russet brown and deep forest green, embroidered with golden accents along the cuffs and collar. The weight of his leather riding boots made his steps deliberate and strong, his movements purposeful even as he navigated the crowd with ease.

His blond hair, slightly tousled from the brisk morning air, was pushed back, revealing a flush in his cheeks from the excitement of the hunt and perhaps the remnants of a pre-hunt drink. His cloudy blue eyes seemed to gleam with warmth as he locked his gaze with Penelope’s.

As he approached, Aiden wore a genuine, almost boyish smile that softened his otherwise rugged appearance. There was a calm confidence in his stride, his attention undivided on her.

Penelope’s heart thudded in her chest as Aiden approached. His expression was soft, almost private, she could feel the weight of eyes on them — the quiet whispers of ladies nearby, the subtle glances of the other nobles, and most pressing of all, the sharp gaze of her mother across the tent.

Aiden reached her, his presence warm and steady, a sharp contrast to the knot of tension twisting inside her stomach. He smiled down at her, his voice low, intimate, seemingly meant only for her ears.

“I wanted to give you this,” he said quietly, holding out a burgundy velvet pouch, his eyes pointed to it as he rubbed the soft fabric in his hand. “A small token of luck… for today.”

Penelope felt the heat of the attention surrounding them, the curious eyes watching their every move as she forced her lips into a bright beaming smile. “Oh, Lord Aiden,” she said, her voice carrying a delicate, lilting tone that felt foreign to her even as it left her mouth, “How thoughtful of you.”

She took the pouch from his hand, her fingers brushing against his, and she made a deliberate show of untwisting the ribbon and peering inside. Her breath caught for a moment, not because of what was inside, but because of the tightness building in her chest. She pulled out a finely crafted silver bracelet, simple but elegant, with an intricate design of leaves and vines weaving around the band.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, letting her voice sound soft with gratitude, though a strange detachment lingered behind her words. Her fingers traced the cool metal as she lifted her eyes to meet his. “Thank you, truly. This is more than I deserve.”

Aiden smiled back, a hint of relief in his eyes. “I had noticed you only wore silver jewelry so I hope this is the right color to match what you already have.”

Penelope’s heart clenched at his sincerity, the warmth in his voice, and the ease in which he spoke to her. He had known enough of her to ensure he gave her something he knew she would like, something that would match the pieces she already had. She wished she could feel something other than the heavy obligation and burden that clung to her. Lord Aiden deserved a lady who would swoon over such a small yet measured gesture. But instead, she glanced subtly towards her mother, who stood a few paces away, watching them with hawk-like precision. Penelope knew she had no choice. She had to make it believable.

She glanced up at him, under thick lashes. “It’s perfect, Lord Aiden. Thank you, thank you so much.”

“It’s the least I could do,” Aiden replied, his eyes warm. “I wanted you to have something to remember today,” he murmured. “To remind you that no matter when I am during the hunt, my thoughts are always with you.”

With practiced grace, she allowed herself to lean into the moment. “I’ll treasure it,” she said, her voice laced with what she hoped sounded like earnestness. “I couldn’t ask for a more thoughtful gift.” She slipped the bracelet onto her wrist, turning it slightly as though admiring it, and then let her eyes return to Aiden’s face, her own lighting up with what looked like girlish glee.

She reached for his hand and squeezed it gently. Bringing it up between them. “I feel so lucky to have you,” she said, her voice louder than necessary, just enough to make sure those within earshot, especially her mother, heard every word. “Thank you, Aiden.”

The smile on Aiden’s face widened, his gaze softening at her words. He squeezed her hand in return, bringing it to his lips as he pressed a long kiss into the cold skin. “It’s my honor,” he replied quietly, before leaning in slightly, his voice dropping even lower. “And I mean it, Penelope. You’re never far from my thoughts.”

Penelope’s stomach twisted, though she kept a smile fixed in place, letting out a light, almost musical laugh, as though his words had filled her with warmth. “You’re much too kind,” she replied.

A chilled breeze made its way through the tent, pushing a strand of Penelope’s hair across her face. Aiden reached a hand up to brush it back behind her ear, his touch almost making her recoil. But as he did, a loud horn blast echoed across the grounds. The deep sound rippled through the tent signaling the start of the hunt. Almost immediately, the males began to gather, their easy laughter and drunken joviality now transforming into something more focused and determined.

Aiden, still holding Penelope’s hand, gave her one last lingering look, his smile softening. “Wish me luck,” he said with a teasing gleam in his eye.

“Good luck,” Penelope replied, her voice measured, though the warmth of her earlier smile had already faded. She watched the other males, who crossed the field and began mounting their horses or exchanging brief words of encouragement with each other.

Aiden crossed out of the tent, and Penelope watched as her father clapped his hand on his shoulder and led him to their mounts, standing beside one another. Like father and son. The sight made Penelope’s stomach turn.

Before she even had time to collect herself, Leda and Persimmon descended on her.

Leda’s eyes widened as she reached for Penelope’s wrist, her fingers tracing over the delicate craftsmanship of the bracelet Aiden had just bestowed upon her. The morning sunlight streaming through the tent caught in the intricate details, the silver so polished it shone light diamonds.

“Penelope,” Leda breathed, her voice dripping with awe. “This is absolutely stunning!” She turned Penelope’s wrist to admire it from every angle, her lips curving into a smile. “The detail, the design — it must have been made for you personally, it even has your initials engraved on it. The cost of something like this… I can’t even imagine.”

Penelope offered a polite smile, but the weight of Leda’s admiration only weighed her down heavier.

Leda tilted her head, still grazing the bracelet as if reluctant to let it go. “I mean, I’ve seen gifts from the hunt before, but this?” She laughed, though there was a sharp edge to the sound. “This is in a league of its own, isn’t it? This isn’t just a luck charm — it’s a statement. The metal work alone… you’re a very lucky girl, Penelope.”

Leda sighed dramatically, finally releasing Penelope’s wrist with a wistful look in her eye. “I only wish I could get something this beautiful.” She glanced down at her own bracelet, a delicate silver piece that now seemed dull and insignificant next to Penelope’s. “Not that I’m jealous.” She turned her nose up slightly. “I’m sure come next season I’ll be sporting my own charm. But it is rare to see something this fine. It suits you.”

The compliment felt hollow, a sharp contrast to the way Leda’s gaze lingered on the carvings on the bracelet, her jealousy barely concealed behind her sweet words.

“I supposed it’s what you deserve,” Leda added, her smile tight. “To have something so perfect made just for you. If only the rest of us could be so fortunate.” She winked, but Penelope could feel the unspoken envy behind each syllable. "You’re truly set the standard for us all,” she said. Then, she turned towards Persimmon.

“Tell me, Sim,” Leda continued, linking arms with her, “did you see Lady Alandra’s cloak? It’s practically drowning her — no shape, no style. She looks like she’s being eaten alive by fur!”

Persimmon laughed, shaking her head as they shifted into their own conversation, their voices lowering into whispers, the topics quickly turning to trivial matters. The pair seemed to lose themselves in their own little world of courtly critiques, Leda’s fingers constantly twirling a strand of her golden hair that framed her face as Persimmon nodded along, her laughter bright and fake.

Penelope, now distanced from their conversation and more than glad to no longer be the center of attention, let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She stole a glance around the tent, trying to ground herself in the moment, the weight of the bracelet still pressing cold against her wrist.

She caught onto the gaze of her mother, her breath instinctively catching and the burn in her cheek quickly returning. Lady Estelle’s expression was unreadable for a long beat, her face a mask of stoic authority. But then, ever so subtly, her lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile — a gesture of approval.

Penelope’s heart stuttered in her chest. The knot of tension that had been twisting inside of her seemed to loosen ever so slightly. Her mother’s silent approval was something she had always sought, even though she hated it still held such power over her. For a brief moment, she felt reassured, as if all the careful choices she had made in public — the smiles, the polite gestures, the girly show of affection towards Aiden — had been the right ones.

But with that approval came something heavier. Her heart sank as the realization hit her with full force: this moment, this approval, had sealed her fate.

Her mother’s eyes lingered on her for a second longer, satisfied, and then Lady Estelle turned back to her conversation, leaving her daughter standing there in a crowded tent, feeling both reassured and trapped all at once.

As Penelope lowered her gaze from her mother, a subtle shift at the edge of the tent caught her attention. Her heart stuttered slightly again as she spotted Lord Eris, standing off to the side, separated from the clusters of laughing nobles. He stood tall, his russet cloak draped over his broad shoulders, the intricate gold embroidery catching the faint light from the fires burning in the tent.

He wasn’t mingling. He wasn’t engaging in the rowdy camaraderie of the other males who were preparing for the hunt. Instead, his sharp amber eyes were locked on her.

Penelope froze, the weight of his gaze settling uncomfortably against her skin. His expression, usually so carefully composed into a mask of superiority or wry amusement, was unreadable now — perhaps tinged with something that felt uncomfortably like disapproval. His eyes flicked down to the bracelet she hadn’t realized she was twirling on her wrist for a brief moment before returning to meet her gaze once more.

For a heartbeat, the air between them seemed to thicken. There was something in the way he looked at her — something that made her feel so exposed, as if he could always see through the polished performance she put on for everyone else. It was as though he had seen through her facade.

Her pulse quickened under the weight of that stare, a gnawing unease settling deep within her chest. Did he know how hollow her display had been? Was he silently judging her for how she had given in, had bent to the expectations of her family, her court?

Before she could gather her thoughts or even begin to understand, Eris broke the moment. His lips pressed together in a thin line, and he gave her one last unreadable look, something fleeting and elusive passing over his features. Then, without a word, he turned sharply on his heel, his cloak sweeping behind him as he strode toward the group of males preparing for the hunt.

Penelope watched him go, her heart still pounding in her chest. She wasn’t sure how much of that brief exchange had been real or imagined, but the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach lingered long after he disappeared from her sight.

Why did it matter so much what he thought? She barely knew him and she certainly didn’t like him. And yet, the weight of his gaze, the unspoken judgment in his eyes, gnawed at her.

She shook her head slightly, trying to dispel the growing storm inside her. Eris Vanserra, heir to the Autumn Court, had no bearing on her life. She should view him as another male of court, one who enjoyed his games and provocations. She had no reason to think about this strange, creeping sense of shame that had lodged itself beneath her ribs.

She had played the part of a dutiful daughter and potential wife. She had worked and molded herself to fit into this world. And yet, all it had taken was a single glance from Eris to unravel the carefully constructed mask she had put on. The mask she was supposed to wear for her family, for Aiden, for herself.

Why does it matter what he thinks?

Penelope clenched her jaw, frustration mixing with the uncomfortable vulnerability. Eris’s silent disapproval — whether real or imagined — cut deeper than it should have. And the worst part was, she couldn’t understand why. What did it matter if he thought she was a willing participant in the world of court politics? What did it matter if he saw her as just another female bowing to duty?

But somewhere deep inside, it did matter. More than she wanted to admit.

The sharp blast of a hunting horn again echoed through the crisp morning air, signaling the beginning of the hunt. The sound rippled through the tent, drawing everyone’s attention as the final moments of conversation and laughter hushed in anticipation.

Around her, the ladies began to move, some toward the edge of the viewing tent where they would watch the riders take off into the frost-covered forest, others settled themselves near the fires for warmth. Persimmon and Leda were still absorbed in their discussion, their voices soft with excitement as they speculated about who would return with the finest kill.

Penelope still felt the weight of her mother's approving glance from across the tent. A glance that reassured her but also solidified the sinking feeling in her stomach, a subtle but undeniable confirmation of her sealed fate. She forced a tight smile in return, though her heart was far from calm.

Outside, the hunting party gathered—males laughing and adjusting their saddles, preparing to ride into the forest with the promise of triumph or sport. Penelope’s eyes drifted, scanning the crowd as her gaze once again fell on Eris, standing at the edge of the group. His horse pawed the ground beneath him, steam rising from its flared nostrils as if sensing the tension in the air. Eris sat tall in the saddle, his amber eyes briefly locking with hers from across the field.

That same unreadable expression. Disapproving? Disappointed? She couldn’t tell.

For a fleeting moment, neither of them moved—Eris’s gaze lingering just long enough to stir something in her chest, something she didn’t have the time or the courage to acknowledge. Then, without a word, he broke the connection, turning his attention forward and spurring his horse toward the forest, disappearing into the misty morning as the hunting party charged ahead.

The tent buzzed with renewed energy as the ladies gathered to watch the riders, the thrill of the hunt palpable in the air. But Penelope remained rooted to the spot, torn between the world she had chosen and the one that felt like it was slipping away from her.

A Court of Fire and Masks Master List

Tagged: @mrsjna @lilah-asteria @ambivalence-is-me @rcarbo1 @aaliyahmorielle

[lemonberryshortcake]

Welcome my dear.

“YOU ARE KEEPING THINGS FROM ME VESSEL! I AM NOT ONE OF YOUR STUPID FOLLOWERS!” The clear distaste echoed around the graveyard, his anger flared within him. Sentient chains jutted from the ground, the sharpened blades pointed directly at his vessel.

They did not move as the sharp metal presses against her skin, their own agitation growing apparent from their furrowed brows, a huff leaving her lips. Lifting her hand to their brow, attempting to rub away the forming migraine, but as he continued to shout angered her hand flicked out.

“Do you not hear yourself Narinder?” The harsh tone falling from her lips causes him to halt in his shouting, shocked by her sudden lack of politeness. “Do you truly not know why I may not desire to tell you about myself?”

Silence filled the air for a moment before Narinder let out a scoff, his arms crossed against his chest, eyes rolling in annoyance. “I am your EQUAL need I remind you? We share the powers of the crown due to your idiotic decisions, you are not to treat me as though we are not!”

The Lamb merely turns their back to him, kneeling before the freshly dug grave, wiping some dirt off the skull she found hidden amongst the beet roots in the farm. Narinder stared her down, his blades remained pressed to her back, until with a grunt the chains dissipated into the ground.

“Why do you even have that thing? It’s useless.” He grumbled out, watching her place the skull down once again.

“Because it’s the dead, they are to be- Hey!” She gasps when Narinder swiped at the skull, knocking it off her lap into the grave.

“Good.” His fangs flashed as he smirked. “It’s where it belongs.”

The Lamb opens their mouth but before they could find time to retort the ground shook beneath the two of them, smoke rising from the grave. A pool of black liquid filled the hole to the very top, a mass formed amongst the darkness, a hand grabbing ahold of the lamb’s wrist, pulling against it.

“Clover!”

Within seconds Narinder grabbed ahold of her hand, tugging her up to his side, dragging the smoke along with them. His scythe formed in front of him, aimed at the neck of whatever had grabbed the Lamb, Clover, pulling them behind him.

“What in the five hells are you-!” His words were swiftly interrupted by a child’s cry, loud and fearful.

They both stared in disbelief as the smoke faded from the area, leaving only a tiny spider at the end of Narinder’s scythe, crying. His scythe vanishes into the air while Clover quickly moved forward, offering their arms for the child who gladly accepts, finding solace in her arms.

“There there, it’s okay sweetie.” Clover coos, scooping the child up into her arms.

“Lamb.” His voice was stern. “Don’t.”

Swaying softly against the winds, she glances down to the child in her arms. Barely over eight years old, she noted. Softly humming when the child tucks their head beneath their neck, trembling in her hold. Her gaze shifts when Narinder moved, his head hovering over their shoulder. Hiccups fill the mostly quiet air, alongside a song lacking words, a sign that the spider was calming down.

“I’m Clover, or the lamb. What’s your name sweetie?” Her voice remains soft, giving space for them to answer her. Listening carefully when they speak.

“Clover.”

“We’ll be having lessons in the morning.” With that she turns to leave, still holding the child close.

“You can’t be serious.” He follows her, already growing annoyed, glaring down at her.

“I am.”

He groans out, throwing his head back in annoyance, but then reached out a sleeved hand to stroke the child’s head.

“What’s their name?” Finally he asks, the child leaning into his hand.

“Webber.” Leaning forward, gently pressing her head against the spider’s, smiling warmly. “Welcome, my dear.”

[fangedcinnamonroll]

Day 19 of Writemas! I hope you enjoy! Thanks again to @agirlandherquill for hosting the game!

Prompts used:

A feast.

He lost himself in the moment. He lost all thoughts of logic, of warning, of danger, and let himself be, living only for the moment. (Modified slightly)

"Will you run away with me?"

Deren's face ached from the fixed smile. Being trapped in conversation with Baron Westmere was a slow death, but at least his rotund figure offered him shelter from the incessant stares of the attendees.

Every year was the same. The winds blew colder, ice and snow covered the land, and the nobility descended on the Winter Feast. While the weather raged on outside, the nobles whipped up a storm of their own with idle gossip and false pleasantries.

One side of the hall featured a lengthy wooden table, laden with all manner of luxurious foods. There were hogs, roasted and shining with glaze, stuffed birds of all sizes garnished with berries and slices of orange. Patés and sweet tarts and rich desserts littered the surface until there was very little of the table left spare.

Deren found it distasteful - such a boastful display of decadence at a time when the common people were starved and frozen. And here he was, listening as Baron Westmere lay out in detail exactly how he planned to screw the poor bastards even further.

"Well, it's clearly not enough if the taverns are doing well, is that not right, my Lord?" The Baron blustered on, more interested in imparting his dubious wisdom to the green Count than in hearing his reply. The man had been fawning around him ever since he came of age and donned the mantle of Count or Erenden. His efforts were exhausting.

"Exactly," He continued, taking Deren's silence as agreement. "if they have coin to spend on ale, they have coin spare for his Majest-"

"Forgive the intrusion, but would you honour me with a dance, my Lord?"

Deren turned to the owner of that low, silky voice. A young man stood beside him, dressed from head to toe in gentle autumn hues that suited his long brown hair. Unlike most others in the room, his skin was sun-kissed and unmarred by the powders and tints favoured by the more vain of the nobility. He caught Deren's gaze with dazzling brown eyes and smiled, and Deren could have sworn the storm outside paused for a moment.

The young man stooped slightly in a polite bow, one large bare hand offered out for Deren to take.

All evening he had avoided the dance floor, never having been one for attracting too much attention, but... that hand, with those long fingers, it did look awfully tempting.

And good god, anything would be better than one more minute in the company of the Baron.

He took the offered hand with his gloved one.

"Of course! Baron Westmere, a pleasure as always."

Before the Baron could bluster out a protest, the man whisked Deren away to the floor. They stopped in a small space on the perimeter. Heat prickled his neck as he felt eyes fall on him again. The press of bodies and the noise and smells were all the stronger here in the centre, and it had Deren longing to find a corner to hide in.

"I apologise, my Lord." A gentle squeeze on his palm brought Deren back to his senses. His dance partner looked down at him with those warm brown eyes. "You are probably tired of dancing, but you looked as though you could do with an excuse to escape."

Deren felt himself blush and cleared his throat.

"I had thought I'd hidden it well." He admitted.

"Oh, you did, my Lord. I am just a little more observant than most." He motioned to the dancing couples around them. "Would you like to lead?"

Deren held back an undignified snort. The man was easily a foot taller than him, and broad where Deren was slender. He had the physique of a Knight, or soldier, and the thought of leading him around the room nearly had him doubled over laughing.

"I think," He replied, keeping his tone as neutral as possible. "given your impressive stature, you would be better suited to the role."

Deren watched in fascination as colour crept up the man's neck.

"T-then please, allow me."

Deren nodded his assent, and the man delicately pulled Deren towards him. Pleasant heat seeped through the back of his jacket as the man's firm hand embraced him.

They began to move, and Deren was surprised to find the man was very light on his feet. Years of grooming for the endless balls and banquets meant Deren didn't have trouble keeping up, but he found himself barely having to try - the man simply moved him to where they needed to be and made it seem effortless.

"Did I embarrass you?" Deren asked, wanting to hear his partner speak some more, to hear his thoughts. It was the first time he'd wanted to do so at any of these events.

"Aha... I'm not used to receiving such compliments, my Lord." His grin was timid but wide. "Besides, you are far prettier than I."

They whirled past couples in their matching finery, turning the world into a blur of colour as they twirled in lazy circles.

"Looks and a silver tongue. A blessed man indeed." Deren took immene satisfaction in watching the man's neck flush again. "What is your name?"

"You may call me Blane, my Lord."

Deren blinked in suprise.

"So familiar on a first meeting?" He held himself taut for the familiar sharp turn, then relaxed into the flow again. "Personally, I've no objection, but others might frown if you drop your titles so swiftly."

"Truth be told my lord, I have none." The man - Blane - glanced down at him, a glint of something in his eye that had Deren intrigued.

"And yet you're here?"

They slowed, and Blane drew him closer as they turned. Deren could feel his breath, hot against the curves of his ear as he spoke in a hushed tone.

"I snuck in."

That did it. Deren barked out a laugh that surprised them both - perhaps his first honest laugh of the evening, maybe even the season.

"How bold!" He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure but not quite manging to shake the spreading grin. "And how did you manage that?"

"You can do anything with enough determination, my lord. And it helps to know the vices of the staff." He winked, and Deren missed a step, stumbling before Blane steadied him, his eyes darting away even as he smiled.

"That's a dangerous game to play."

"Well, what's life without a little danger?" Blane shrugged. "And who wouldn't want to play the mysterious noble, shrouded in secrecy, my lord?"

"Deren."

Blane's brow rose. "My lord?"

"You may call me Deren." He said softly, relishing the thrill this little bit of social disobedience afforded him. "But quietly. This hall is full of eyes and ears, and few are friendly. "

Blane spared a glance around the room. Countless eyes were on them, whispers passing behind raised glasses and fans. The dance floor had largely cleared while they had been dancing - Deren hadn't even noticed. He'd been so captivated by Blane that the world around them had melted away.

"Well, if that is the case..." Blane pulled them to a stop in front of the grand doorway, brought Deren's gloved hand up to his lips, and laid a gentle kiss on his knuckle. Those brown eyes gleamed as they caught Deren's, and he ginned with the promise of a thousand mischiefs. "Will you run away with me?"

Deren lost himself in the moment. He lost all thoughts of logic, of warning, of danger, and let himself be, living only for this moment.

"Yes."

Thanks for reading!

[im-quite-happy-44]

salt, silver & iron... act one, part two masterlist

10th February 2024                         12:01am

The lift dinged, and I could hear a low whistle. "Straight into the office." They said, glasses reflecting the tall windows on floor twenty. "That's a classy move."

They were absolutely right. The open-plan space was the classiest I had ever seen, by far. A little divider in a straight little pattern matched the lamps, and the table legs : all silver.

"This is Sir John Fairfax's office." (He wore a suit, and a rapier hung from the top of his leg. Lockwood.) No shit, Captain Obvious. It's on the top floor, isn't it?

"This doesn't make sense. John Fairfax doesn't need us. He's famous, he's rich. He built Fairfax Iron-" He looked ready to go on but the other man interrupted before he could.

"He built this whole building." It was his foot (and longer strides) which reached the rug beneath the seats in the middle of the floor first.

"Don't you think it's a bit grim that -" Her steps were light, even on the hard wooden floor of Sir John Fairfax's office. None of the metal on her belt jingled as she walked. She was silent. Unnoticeable. "-someone's made this much money off the problem?"

"I deserve something for keeping the world safe at night." Sir John Fairfax turned out to be right behind them. They swung around, the person I was half sure was Lockwood in the middle. "Don't I?"

"Oh God, I'm so sorry." Lucy something? (I should've checked the files.)

"No, you're right, it is grim." He sighed, staring at them. "The problem has disfigured the whole world." Then, in the same tone, "You can come out now, Niki."

I pulled away from my hiding place. Lockwood took in his stride the fact there was a hidden spy there the whole time (the girl looked a little shocked, and if the other was much surprised he hid it quite well, just looking the slightest... resigned) and held out his hand.

"A pleasure. To meet you, sir."

John took his hand with small distaste.

"Anthony Lockwood." Eh, guessed. "Ah, George Karim and Lucy Carlyle." He said, nodding his head to each of them, respectively. "We are Lockwood & Co."

"Ah, of course." (He already knew they were coming, DEPRAC had warned him.) "The infamous." Lockwood puffed up a little -- perhaps he thought that was a good thing. "Well, take a seat. Under the sprinklers."

Lockwood looked up and laughed a little -- just to be polite, I guessed. He seemed to be the face -- and voice -- of Lockwood & Co. Makes sense.

༻🕱༺

"I have to say, we didn't expect to be dealing with you personally when we answered your ad." Says Lockwood, after they had all sat down on the one sofa (indeed beneath the sprinklers).

"We know." I said, standing straight beside Fairfax's chair (eyes turned to me as I had not yet spoken). I waved vaguely at Lockwood's crisp suit and tie. "You're underdressed."

Fairfax smiled underneath his hand (his eyes barely crinkled, but I could tell). He carried on. "It's a delicate situation." A pause. "Best handled discreetly." I could see Lockwood filing away that information -- putting together the pieces. I felt a little like he was the kind of person to be paid for their silence. "I have decided to... let go of a few properties, including Combe Carey Hall in Berkshire.

"Nice enough place, but it has a rather stubborn collection of visitors."

Eleanor brought a water jug and five cups to the little coffee table in the middle of the seats.

"Something I've worked very hard to keep out of the papers and about which my prospective buyer knows nothing."

I thanked Eleanor quietly, eyes still on the conversation.

"So you need it made safe before the buyer visits." (It wasn't a question, rather a confirmation.) Lucy's voice was soft and light, and didn't ring out across the room in quite the same way as Lockwood or Fairfax's did. The slightest bit of firmness with.. curiosity -- I must admit I'm not completely used to that tone, but I can spot the lilt.

Fairfax didn't smile. "Exactly. And I cannot risk damage, so there can be no flares or explosives."

As Fairfax continued, looking at Lockwood, I saw Lucy and George share glances. (Were they dependent on explosives? I hope not, didn't they burn a house down with a flare? That would certainly be a bummer).

"It's a dangerous job, to be done quickly and under the radar." He narrowed his eyes. It was time to hear the pitch. "I'm getting quotes from every significant outfit in London. So, to be frank, the only way an agency of your stature could get it is by underbidding."

I could see protectiveness brewing behind Lockwood's eyes. Strange, Lockwood was someone I felt I knew, perhaps in a past life. Maybe he was just easy to read. "Our service is just as good as our larger competitors, and we don't need to chase down cut rate jobs." Eh. No sense of smartness could hide that big of a feint.

"You lie like a politician." Fairfax said immediately. He saw it too, it seemed. "But I started out in casinos, Mr. Lockwood." He paused again, looking straight at Lockwood. (Drama queen) "I can always spot a bluff."

George seemed uncomfortable. Eyes turned to him as he leaned forward. "Do you think you'll get discretion from Fitz and Rotwell? Every decision they make gets debated by the committee."

"And you need something more..." Lucy trailed off, a little overwhelmed, I guessed.

"Nimble?"

"Yes," She said, giving me a grateful look, finding her voice once more. "Like us. A small independent."

"We are the only agency who can do this job the way you need it doing." That's a claim. (His eyes are very pretty in the light of the floor to ceiling windows)

Fairfax smiles (predatorily) "Nice pitch." The smile's gone. "But I work very closely with DEPRAC, and I don't think this is a job they'll let you do."

Lockwood shifts uncomfortably. "That's... why it's probably best they don't hear about it." I smile, a little mischievously.

"Rotwell just quoted me ninety grand. I won't pay you a penny more than the fine you owe DEPRAC. What is it? 40? 50?"

"60." Lockwood corrected him. "Actually. You're obviously a busy man, Sir John, so let's keep it simple." He crossed his legs, left over right, and put his pale hands delicately in his lap. "You pay our fine, and we'll fix your house. So... Do we have a deal?"

I looked at Fairfax's face. I went over to the cabinet, and pulled out a check. "20-40?" I said. He nodded.

I passed it to Lockwood, twenty whole grand on it, and his hand shook at little as he took it. I smiled at him. "Take the money and run."

༻🕱༺

"You seemed very... helpful, Niki." Fairfax sat, sipping the water as the ice slowly melted. (there was no lemon, I remember when Eleanor was first appointed, she put lemon in his water, and she was almost fired before you could tell Fairfax truthfully that you thought that unfair. Thank God he listened. It would be a very different job if he hadn't, that first time)

"You know I like an underdog, sir." I stood straight. He nodded.

"This is a delicate matter, as I'm sure you heard."

"I did, sir."

"Good. Then you will understand why you are being appointed to Lockwood & Co."

I paused. "Sir?"

"You will stay with them as much as possible. You will accompany them on the visitation to Combe Carey Hall."

I didn't really mind. I don't have any plans. You nodded. "Yes, sir."

He looked at you. "Dismissed." You walked to the elevator. "Oh, and, Niki?"

"Yes, sir?"

"If they can't fix this particular problem... Well. Clean up the loose ends?"

[simp4wom3n]

Hidden Jealousy

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x Reader

Requested: Yes/No ~ request @madullaoblangata

Summary: Y/n and Jenna's relationship was a secret to the public meaning as far as everyone else knew, you were both free game. At the Wednesday premiere, a reporter gets a bit too flirtatious causing Jenna to feel... Jealous? ~ Word Count: 1.167k ~ Warnings: jealousy?? otherwise none

A/N: Hi!! the first of MANY jealousy related requests is hereee. Let me know what you guys think of it so I can hopefully perfect my jealousy writing skills <3

As much as you hated large and public events, you had a soft spot for premieres, especially this one. Working on Wednesday was easily the best 8 months of your life. It was without a doubt the favourite cast you’ve ever worked with, making so many wholesome memories on and off set. And of course the highlight, you met your girlfriend Jenna. The two of you haven't gone public with your relationship yet, wanting to keep it within friends and family for now, which sadly meant as much as you disliked it, at events like these you had to keep your affection to a minimum. It also meant that as far as everyone else was aware, you were single and up for grabs, much to Jenna's dismay.

Despite both of you getting ready in your shared apartment, the two of you arrived in seperate cars in order to avoid speculation. Arriving just before Jenna, whilst posing for a few photos you heard the crowd go absolutely nuts as she walked into the premiere looking absolutely breathtaking. Trying your best now to gawk at her, you watched with a pleasant smile as she approached you, pulling you into a small hug as if it were two friends reuniting.

To your disappointment her touch didn’t linger as she pulled away promptly, giving you a sympathetic smile as she returned her focus to the press. Before joining the rest of the cast, you two stood for a few pictures with your arms around each other's waists. You all eventually split off for interviews after taking some pictures with the whole cast, with you and Jenna appearing next to each other in separate interviews.

"Hi Y/n! You look absolutely stunning thank you for taking the time to talk to us" the young interviewer smiles as you approach her. "Of course! and thank you I love your outfit as well". You notice the warmth of her cheeks as she adoringly smiles at you. "Aw thank you that's so sweet of you", she replies giddily earning a tight lipped smile in return.

"So, your character in Wednesday is very unique" she explains as you nod along. "Do you think that is the reason for everyone being so in love with your character? Because talking from experience there is just something so enchanting about her, like I fell in love in the first episode." You chuckle politely as you bite your lip in contemplation. "I mean... I think a person being undeniably themselves is quite an attractive attribute, so in that way I guess I could see where the fans are coming from."

"And don't forget your looks! I mean I can barely take my eyes off of you". You gave her a polite smile despite starting to feel a little uncomfortable with all the compliments coming your way, but you knew you had to be friendly and respectful to the reporter, even if you've had enough. "Thank you". As you tried to compose yourself you couldn’t stop thinking about your girlfriend next to you, 'Jenna's not going to be happy when I tell her about this'.

Jenna was in fact not happy at all. Participating in her own interview adjacent to you, she had to contain herself from showing her distaste for what was going on. Standing next to you allowed her to hear everything the interviewer was throwing at you, all the compliments about being 'in love with your character’ and how she can ‘barely take her eyes off of you'.

Jenna felt sick to her stomach and assumed you would feel the same, but when she glanced over at you, you appeared to be having a great time. The kind smile on your face said it all. Her heart sunk a little when she saw your expression. A random interviewer who was clearly interested in you had the pleasure of seeing a smile that was usually reserved for her. Her sadness was quickly replaced by an unfamiliar feeling… Jealousy? No, she doesn't get jealous, that's ridiculous. All she knew was that she'd had enough of seeing you being shamelessly flirted with.

"So I noticed that both you and your character are currently single," your eyes widening slightly in surprise as you gave an uncertain nod. "Give us a rundown on your love life and the love life of you character". Chuckling to fill in the awkward silence as you tried to think of a response to the intrusive question. "Um... well I guess my chara..." "Hey honey" Jenna suddenly interrupts, leaning into your side and slipping her hand into yours, squeezing it tightly. You turn to her in shock, innocence written all over her face.

"Hey" you look at her with furrowed brows, confused by her interruption and her use of the endearing term considering you weren’t public yet. Jenna ignores your gaze as she turns to the reporter, "What was the question?" she asks with a smile. "Oh I was just asking Y/n about their love life in and out of the show." she replies innocently. "Oh that's a good question. Well I'm personally routing for her character and Wednesday to get together. As for in real life, well..." she turns her head to look at you with a cheeky smirk, to which you look at her with an amused yet puzzled smile. "She's taken" she states assertively, pressing a kiss on your cheek as she pulls you away.

You mouth a 'Sorry' to the reporter as you let Jenna drag you away. As soon as the two of you are out of sight, Jenna pulls you into a tight embrace and you can't help but laugh. "What was that about?" you chuckle. "I didn't like the questions she was asking you! She wouldn't shut up about how you were so attractive and how everyone is in love with you." she mocks as she pulls back from the embrace. "Your my girlfriend and she was obviously flirting with you and you were enjoying it." your face drops at her confession. "Hey" you comfort, tilting her chin up so her eyes meet yours, "I wasn't enjoying it I promise". "But you were smiling" she retorts "Only because I have to Jenna. I didn't want to seem rude. Also why would I have eyes for anyone else… I love you and you only" you apologise placing a soft kiss on her forehead. "Besides..." you look at at her cheekily, "you look hot when your jealous"

"I was not jealous!" she quipped, feigning offence. You smirk at her rejection a let out a small chuckle. "Mhm. Whatever you say". "Oh shush" she shoves you jokingly before walking past you back into the premiere. You stand there for a moment, you lips upturned in a gentle smile. 'I made Jenna Ortega jealous. Huh.' you giggled in disbelief before turning on your heals and catching up with your girlfriend, instantly intertwining your fingers, the position in which they remained for the remainder of the night.

Tag-list: @nitchxhdc @emeraldevan @looseheartedlady @the-night-owl-blr @badassjaguar @txmxav @oh-thats-cute @blckrwidow @cacciatricediartemide @flaiire1805 @rainbow-love4ever

[thewayyoosmile]

taeten, PG13 arranged marriage, fantasy au

Ten puts the last earring on and turns to Hendery.

“So? How do I look?” 

Hendery looks him up and down, expression pensive as he takes Ten in, dressed in tight leather pants and a black blazer with nothing underneath it.

“Well… It depends. What is our goal tonight again?”

“To establish dominance, of course.” Ten rolls his eyes at him.

“By looking like you are dressed for the night out and not for the engagement?”

Ten barely resist rolling his eyes again as he looks pointedly at Hendery’s beige shirt and chequered vest, lips twisted in mild distaste.

“That’s strategic planning.”

“I think you underestimate your future betrothal. They are not animals and the guy is a clan’s leader, so I guess he has to have more than two braincells.” Hendery reasons, knowing it will fall on deaf ears. He doesn’t dare say anything else. After all, he is not the one getting engaged to a total stranger to give relationship advices.

“We’ll see.” Ten checks himself in the mirror once again and walks out of the room.

Everyone else has already gathered in the living room by the time Ten and Hendery make it downstairs.

“What the hell are you wearing? Go change. Our guests will be here any minute now,” Kun says as soon as he sees Ten’s outfit.

Ten just scoffs at him and doesn’t move from his spot. The rest of his clan members are wearing formal clothes in light colours, except Yangyang, who’s sporting his usual grey hoodie.

Kun doesn’t have time to nag him further, as the doorbell signals their guests’ arrival. Ten braces himself, slipping a cold, polite mask on that looks more predatory than welcoming as their guests step in the room.

For a second, Ten think they had the wrong house. He doesn’t know what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t a fashion show. He notes with surprise designer jackets and jewellery, stylish haircuts and expensive perfume. Intrigued, he watches the tallest man greeting everyone enthusiastically as they enter, then mutters to Hendery, “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.”

They wait until Kun finishes with the pleasantries, so he can be introduced properly as the main reason they all gathered here today. Ten scans the room again when he sees another man approaching him.

“Taeyong, the clan’s leader,” he says as he looks Ten in the eyes.

Ten freezes for a second, caught of guard, but then puts on his best smile, shaking his outstretched hand, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet. Name is Ten.”

As they sit down to discuss the arrangement, Ten tunes them out, knowing Kun will tell him the details later.

He chooses to focus his attention on the leader instead.

He's got short grey hair, sharp features and big round eyes, that make him deceptively innocuous. Ten doesn’t know how he managed to skip him in the crowd. He has that calm, unassuming presence about him, that comes with power. He carries himself so calm and sure, suggesting depths of hidden strength.

It definitely makes Ten curious. He wants to know more about him, about his mismatched clan, because they don’t look like a typical pack of wolves Ten has met before. He ignores Hendery’s ‘told you so’ face at the end of the visit and makes a mental note to be more prepared for their next meeting.

[soulmate-game]

part 2 (of that new bio!dad fic)

Dick whipped his head over to Bruce, who could feel the heavy gazes of all his children as if they were physical. If they had had heat vision like Clark, he would have already been reduced to a puddle of mush. Bruce shifted, the only sign of his discomfort, but he recognized that the middle of a gala was no place for this discussion. There were too many busybodies trying to listen in for the latest gossip. So he plastered on a smile that he couldn’t quite feel, and held a hand out to Marinette. He was careful to keep a good distance though, and left the choice for contant purely up to her.

The young woman looked down at his hand, then back to his face. Damian had been shocked silent by what she had to say, and perhaps even more by the all too telling way that Bruce hadn’t so much as implied that she was lying, and the look he was giving her was making her a little uncomfortable. Yes, she hadn’t planned on interacting with her father more than just the years-overdue confrontation she had just done, at least not while at the gala… but her plans always left room for improvisation. She could make this work.

With a soft sigh, Marinette extended her own hand— half the size of Bruce’s, he noted almost immediately with a rush of illogical fondness— and grasped his lightly. She couldn’t help but notice the way his impossibly blue eyes brightened, no different than her own when she was particularly happy, or the way his mouth twitched with a barely suppressed beam. Instead, he controlled himself enough so that the only smile he gave would look professional and entirely in character to the nosy socialites still spying on them, and led them out onto the dance floor.

What everyone else saw was the unfairly charming Bruce Wayne giving his young guest of honor a simple dance. Just a basic swirl around the floor that every other social elite had learned when they were five. Clearly he was taking it easy on the self-made girl, who probably didn’t have experience with such dances. Humoring the accomplished young woman with his approval for a moment before he would slink back to his family or patrol the crowds and make the necessary greetings and meaningless chatter.

What his family saw was Bruce taking time to slow his steps, not for Marinette to keep up but rather to prolong the event. What they saw was the grace in Marinette’s steps as she never once faltered, and that Bruce was careful to take his cues from her instead of the other way around. He only led the dance in technicality, Marinette had all the real control.

What they saw was a father’s first dance with his daughter.

“Eighteen,” Dick whispered, eyebrows drawn low. “She said she’s almost eighteen.”

“Well, that lines up doesn’t it?” Jason asked gruffly, his own gaze never leaving the dancing duo. “We were planning on doubling up your big thirtieth birthday party as your eighteenth adoption anniversary,” he reminded his brother, who just made a slightly distressed noise in the back of his throat. Whether it was at the reinforcement of his adoption coming only months after Marinette being put up for adoption, or the fact that he was turning thirty, nobody could really tell.

“Hurt,” Cassandra spoke up from behind them, looking incredibly concerned as she watched the dance. “Uncertain.”

Stephany rolled her eyes, fidgeting from her quickly building energy. Anger was making her restless. “Of course she’s hurt. Bruce replaced her, with a boy he knew virtually nothing about, not even that long after she was born. How do you think that made her feel, when she found out?” Stephany let out a little growl, grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing server and downing it in one gulp. She ignored Dick protesting that she wasn’t of age yet, which made her wrinkle her nose. “Only one more year, Dickhead. Get over it, I need the buzz.”

“Well,” Barbara sighed and maneuvered her wheelchair around the group so that everyone could see her. “Nothing we can do right now but be supportive and watch Bruce like a hawk so he doesn’t make this worse,” she stated easily, not looking even the least bit ruffled by the news despite the disturbed glitter in her eyes.

“... Guys,” Tim spoke up, not looking at any of them. “Who wants to volunteer for Damian duty?” At first glance, it might seem like Tim was thinking about his own first disastrous meeting with the younger boy. Once everyone paid attention though, they could see that the truth was that Damian had snuck away and Tim was pointedly looking at a slightly hidden-away staircase to the second floor.

“Shit,” Dick muttered, but before he could say another word Jason shoved him back and started towards the stairs.

“No, not this time Dicky. I’ll talk to the brat.”

Back on the dancefloor, Bruce and Marinette broke away without any fanfare at the end of the song. If Bruce tried to hold her eyes for a moment too long, nobody noticed besides his observant children, and two of Marinette’s protective friends.

Then, just to make sure that nobody caught on with the help of hindsight, Bruce said something vaguely polite and praising, which Marinette accepted with flawless, distant poise. And they went back to their own groups, Bruce quickly noting that two of his sons were missing. He raised an eyebrow, about to ask why when a presence behind him caught his attention. Unlike Marinette and Chloe, this newcomer was not at all trying to hide their approach or be sneaky about it, even though Bruce couldn’t hear any footsteps that were close enough to belong to the mysterious entity. Closing his mouth, Bruce turned around only to be greeted by yet another vaguely familiar face. Bright green eyes bore into his, unreadable.

“Mister Wayne,” the newcomer greeted, voice warm but stiff. If the Waynes hadn’t all had years of recognizing when a person was only pretending to be cordial, they never would have suspected that the boy was anything but pure-heartedly happy to be there. But they did have that experience, and thus they instantly honed in on the very well-hidden fact that he had a bone to pick with them. Or, more probably, with Bruce.

He cut an impressive figure, for all that he was lithe muscle instead of bulk. Hair that was lighter than Chloe’s, less like cloth-of-gold and more like sunlight glinting off of wheatfields. It somehow hung in gravity-defying tufts, yet perfectly arranged to evoke a calming aesthetic. Like the fluff of a long-haired cat, almost, and it looked just as fluffy and hypnotizing. It contrasted with his emerald eyes, impossibly vibrant in their gleam. And the suit he wore was decidedly top-notch, much like the other two they had met from his class. He was daring, in a dark silver suit that slightly shifted in the light, green accents that matched his eyes standing out strikingly against the collars and trim, and coiling in tantalizing swirls at the cuffs. The lining of the suit jacket was done in a dark green that could almost pass for black in the right lighting, adding a layer of both drama and mystery as it peeked out at the back of his collar, the insides of his sleeves if he moved just the right way, at the bottom hem of the jacket when he turned or bent just so. And with his notoriety in the modeling world? He always knew exactly how to move or place himself to get the reactions he wanted. And he was clearly showing off the craftsmanship of his suit just then as he faked adjusting his cufflinks and lifted his head just the right amount to both look challenging and let the dark green on the back of his collar flash in the light in such a way that Bruce and those nearest him wouldn’t be able to miss the brief reveal of color.

“Adrien Agreste,” Bruce greeted back, eyebrows pulling down in slight confusion. Normally the topic of clothing was far from his genuine interest, but in this particular case it was an intriguing, and possibly even concerning, observation. So he said next; “That suit is not of your father’s usual style of design.”

Adrien scoffed, straightening out his suit’s jacket and making the obsidian buttons glint. “Of course not. I’ve started my rebellious phase— or, well, I finally started being blatant enough about it that my father noticed anyway,” the way his lips curled was decidedly not very attractive, but painted a vivid picture of a son who despised the way he was treated. Adrien quickly wiped the distasteful expression away and replaced it with a camera-ready smile. “I’m wearing one of Marinette’s designs, much to his chagrin. She insisted on making this for me as soon as she heard that my father was planning on sending me in a white suit.”

Bruce quickly caught on, and sighed. How long would the gala go on for, again? He didn’t remember what time it was anymore. “Your friend Chloe already got a pretty clear warning in. I suppose you know as well?”

Adrien’s grin darkened with mischief, and he nodded all too happily. “Of course! Marinette told me almost as soon as she found out, a few years ago. You see, we had to put down a very solid rule about secrets between the two of us. She has a bad habit of trying to shoulder the entire world’s problems and not tell anyone about it, if you don’t pay close enough attention,” his voice was deceptively light but his eyes were hard, warning. “And let’s just say, I have a lot of experience with bad father figures. I can recognize them a mile away by now. The signs of neglect, of apathy,” his eyes suddenly lightened when he saw how Bruce’s throat visibly caught, how the man didn’t seem to realize he had stopped breathing. Maybe he was being a little to mean, Adrien thought. So he let the dark slip out of his eyes, and his smile turned more genuine. “You don’t have those signs. You looked at Marinette like you were both the happiest and most miserable man in the world at the same time. But you can’t change what you did to her, Mister Wayne. If you want some advice from Marinette’s oldest friend?” Adrien held out a closed fist.

Bruce took a second to realize what was happening, too busy trying to recover from his situational whiplash and wave of relief. Once he caught back up to the present, however, he held out his open palm and let Adrien drop something into his hand.

To his shock, it was a pen, engraved with the name he recognized as Marinette’s biological mother. He also recognized it as a popular model of pen-knife. He raised his eyes to Adrien, who winked.

“Marinette doesn’t know I had this made. And she has a lot of tricks that might surprise you, but what she wants more than anything is stability. If you try to give her that, show that you care and you want her safe— and then prove that you’re gonna stay— then maybe you can repair the damage you’ve done. It won’t be easy though, Mari is the single most stubborn person I’ve ever met. And I grew up with Chloe.”

Bruce closed his hand around the pen, swallowing a lump in his throat. He couldn’t quite figure out why, but Adrien’s faith in him and his help… somehow felt significant. He nodded to the young model.

“Not to worry, I have experience with stubborn,” he glanced back at his other kids with a small smirk. None of them were the least bit repentant. “And I do want to stay. Thank you for the advice.”

Adrien shrugged. “Don’t thank me. If you hurt her again, you’ll never see my revenge coming. It can be rather… catastrophic,” with that ominous threat, Adrien bowed dramatically and turned to leave and do some rounds charming the elites. Bruce tucked the pen in one of his hidden pockets, but stayed silent after that. He had a lot to mull over.

—*—*—*—*—*

Damian leaned on the railing of the balcony, looking out over the gardens behind the gala’s venue. He was glaring at nothing, and his hands trembled from where they gripped the rail. It was five minutes, a little longer than he had expected but not that odd considering everyone’s distraction over Marinette, before he heard the glass doors behind him creak open.

“Yo,” Jason greeted, knowing it was better not to catch the boy off guard. None of them were good with surprises anymore, for good reason. It was always best to announce their presence before they made someone react violently on accident. Damian’s shoulders relaxed a little— not a lot, but enough for Jason to notice. The older man sighed, walking up and leaning on the rail next to his little brother. “What’s on your mind, kid?”

“That could have been me,” he almost instantly blurted. It was still hard talking about his feelings, but certain things were easier with Todd. This was, apparently, one of them. “If Mother hadn’t kept me a secret.”

“I don’t think so,” Jason disagreed, shrugging. “There are several big differences here. For one, Marinette was born three years before you were. By the time you were born, he already had Dick and he would have only been a year, max, away from taking me in. Which means he already had built up his problem with taking in kids, and nothing would have gotten him to give up a chance at raising you. With or without Batman getting in the way.”

“But then why—” Damian growled. “Why did he give her up?”

“Because he’s an idiot,” Jason remarked bluntly. “You know how he is. He didn’t have a kid at the time. Hell, Bruce would have only been twenty-two back then. He only adopted Dick on impulse because Dick reminded him of himself, but before all of that shit? He probably made a million excuses about not being able to raise a baby and be Batman at the same time. About his life being too dangerous for a kid. Which, yes it is, but that clearly didn’t stop him later.”

“She’s older,” Damian muttered, this time softer.

“Yup.”

“Her mother wasn’t an assassin, probably. She designs. I hate to admit it, and you are never to repeat it to anybody, but her work that we’ve seen so far is impressive. She can clearly charm even the most stuck-up of gotham’s upper crust.”

“Yeah,” Jason agreed neutrally, his eyes never leaving Damian.

“Father won’t need me. He already doesn’t have much patience—” Damian was cut off by a flick to the nose. “Hey!”

“Not my fault you’re being stupid,” Jason defended himself. “Look, B’s actually been real patient with you these past few years. I mean, when was the last time he yelled at you? Or told you that stupid ‘justice not vengeance’ line?”

Damian opened his mouth, then closed it. After another moment, he replied; “Almost two years.”

Jason nodded. “It might take him way too long, but he can still learn new tricks. Especially after that mess with Heretic, he’s been trying really hard to be better to you. He still screws up, because I think we all know by now that he’s a bigger mess than any of the rest of us and that’s an accomplishment, but he’s trying. He doesn’t keep you around because he needs you. He’s got plenty of us around if all he wanted was soldiers— though none of us would stick around if we thought that’s all he wanted.”

Damian flexed his jaw. He was still the most violent of the kids, besides Jason. He saw Bruce rubbing his forehead or pinching his nose far too often at some of his decisions or comments. He was stubborn, impatient, reckless.

But hadn’t Bruce himself told him on several occasions that he wasn’t trying to make him a perfect soldier? Hadn’t Bruce himself said that he just wanted Damian to grow into himself?

It was just really hard to swat away those stupid voices in Damian’s head. Voices of the past, mostly, old dialogue he had never actually forgotten. That he merely pretended had never affected him. The “you’re too violent”s, the “that’s not how we behave, Damian”s. All the old lectures, the old fights. They echoed like stupid little gremlins of doubt.

“...Marinette has his eyes.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over something like that,” Jason’s voice was soft, but gruff at the same time as he cuffed Damian over the head. “You didn’t choose to be born, idiot. And despite being a little demon, none of us would reverse it, You’ve saved all our skins at least once. And besides,” he nudged Damian a little with a grin. “You’re not half bad, nowadays.”

Damian chuckled. “That makes one of us.”

“Hey!”

@peterxwade24 @mizzy-pop @maskedpainter @ladybug-182 @khneltea @itsmeevie01 @fusser90 @woe-is-me0 @lolieg @moonlightstar64 @jayjayspixiepop

[rainbowbutterfrosting]

If My Kingdom Falls, I’ll Lose it All

A birthday gift to the lovely @aidensm8. Ty so much @dramaticsnakes for beta-reading <33333

Cws: minor angst, feeling of not being good enough, implied overworking, neglecting self-care

Summary: "A good king takes care of himself."

"I'm not a king yet."

---

Roman was a prince. A prince who would soon become a king. There were too many things to do and the golden-eyed guard kept on getting in his way.

AO3

The Sanders Kingdom received the provocative letter that detailed the new laws set for their neighboring kingdoms that would soon fit their own as well. The King had discussed the arrangement, focusing on the inflation or artisan goods and rations provided to the people. The meetings took place over several months with no changes made in favor of the Sanders Kingdom. The nation soon declared war, providing that regulations were detrimental to-

“-no no, you should have seen him last night. He was a complete mess.”

Roman let out an exhale. The guards were socializing by his door again. When would they learn that they were getting paid to stand there and not go around pretending the castle was the local pub? He harshly stood up from his chair, not minding how it made a semi-loud sound as it moved across the floor. He made a few quick steps to open the door, glaring with the first guard he saw. 

A walking stereotype. Muscles, dark hair, and a straightened-up posture once he saw Roman’s presence. Roman took in a small breath. Kings were polite with their people. He had to be kind and civil. He slipped a small smile on his face, making the edges of his eyes crinkle slightly, “Gentlemen.”

The guard looked at Roman’s eyes for a moment, but the eye contact seemed uncomfortable for the man. The guard slipped on a smile but it was filled with apprehension and hesitation.  “Prince- Prince Roman. I hope we didn’t disturb you.”

Well, you did, he bitterly thought. He let a small chuckle escape him, one that wasn’t out of personal enjoyment but to rather relieve the tension. “You didn’t, but could you two tell the guards by hallway C to rotate their positions with you?” He didn’t know which guards he was swapping out, but they must have been better than these two. 

He looked over at the other guard, almost forgetting he existed. His eyes were slightly narrowed as a tight smile rested on his face. His eyes were peculiar. Roman barely had time to dissect the distaste painted over the man’s face as he noticed a golden eye staring back at him. It seemed to stare through his soul and assert that he was the royal one there. 

Roman swallowed the feeling down his throat as the original guard spoke, “As you wish, Prince Roman.” The guard made a few steps away from the door, the armor clinking quietly around him. He took a look back, noticing that the guard positioned next to him hadn’t moved. 

“Sir Deceit?” The guard with the golden eye- who was apparently Sir Deceit- looked away from Roman and to the other guard. 

He took a quiet exhale as he nodded at Roman. “As you wish, Prince Roman.” There might have been another moment where Sir Deceit lingered there for a second longer than he should have, but the time flew by Roman as the guard soon walked away. 

Deceit. It was an odd name for a guard. A guard that’s supposed to be honest and truthful to his kingdom was going by Deceit. Roman momentarily wondered what Sir Deceit’s real name was before he shook his head to himself and retreated back into his room. Names were kept secret out of safety. Something about how it lowered assassination attempts or perhaps just general threats.

A part of his mind kept returning back to the guard as he sat down and tried to continue reading about their foreign affairs. He shouldn’t care about the guard, he just had a weird eye and name and that was the end of it. He had a kingdom that would fall into his hands within a matter of months. He didn’t have time to focus on the insignificant details of his workers.

---

Roman moved his hands around as the book suggested. One around an imaginary waist and the other holding an invisible hand. He slowly stepped forward while holding the pose, then moving to the right as he turned around to end up in the starting position. He took a small breath as he proceeded to widen his stance. The book reminded him how important it was, but he kept on forgetting.

A warm voice called out from behind him. “Prince Roman, permission to speak freely?”

Roman turned around. He was about to decline the permission to the guard when he noticed his eyes. Golden-eyed boy was guarding him again. He wished the guard’s name didn’t feel familiar on his mind. “Permission granted.”

“You’re doing horribly.”

Roman felt his body become tense as he forced his posture to vaguely loosen up, but the confusion on his face was evidence of his initial reaction. Rule one- a guard should never insult royalty. Roman felt any confidence he could’ve had leave him as he turned away from him. “I’m still learning, Sir Deceit.”

Footsteps made their way behind him as warm hands gently fell onto his body. Sir Deceit’s chest was pressed against his back as he slowly pushed Roman’s arms to be more curved and open. He whispered into his ear, “You can’t learn such a fluid dance from a book. The pages are so rigid, it’s practically incorrect to learn that way.”

Before Roman could’ve made any comment, Sir Deceit walked around him, interlocking their fingers in his left hand and placing Roman’s other hand onto his waist. Roman looked Sir Deceit up and down. The guard seemed to know what he was doing with how calmly he looked up at Roman. Warmness was present on him, gently reminding him that he needed to do something. “S- Sir Deceit, this is quite unprofessional of you. I’ll have to ask you to remove your hands from me.”

Roman almost wished that they stayed together a bit longer, but they were separated as soon as they were joined. “As you wish, my prince.”

He could feel the phantom warmth on his skin. He looked away from Sir Deceit and to the book. “You’re dismissed, Sir Deceit.”

Sir Deceit let out a small hum. It was one of approval, but it was so… wrong. There wasn’t a witty remark that Roman knew was in the back of his mind or a protest to stay. There wasn’t even a statement of agreement. Just a small noise.

But what was Roman doing? His coronation was coming close and he had to know the kingdom’s traditional dances by heart to not look a fool. Yet, he somehow felt like one already. With warmness tingling on his waist and hand, he repositioned his body into the starting position.

---

Roman faced the mirror, critically eyeing the man he saw in it. While it was him in the mirror, it wasn’t him. He wore a newer outfit, but it was still in the same style as his wardrobe. He carefully moved a few hairs to lay slightly on his face. Enough to look casual, but not enough to look messy. 

He tensed at the muffled snicker behind him. He turned around, almost expecting his brother there but he only saw a gua- Sir Deceit. The man held a hand to his mouth, but Roman could still see how his eyes crinkled. Roman raised an eyebrow, “Is something funny?”

Sir Deceit shook his head before he dropped his hand to reveal the smile on his face, “Prince Roman, permission to speak freely?”

Roman let out a short breath as he held a tensed smile. The words were too light-hearted. As if he wasn’t a guard who worked for him and instead as if they were friends for many years. “Permission granted.”

Sir Deceit took a few small steps towards him. Roman found himself looking away and towards the mirror, but even that still held his the guard’s reflection. He could luckily see that the man’s eyes lingered on his outfit instead of him. “It’s ridiculous,” Sir Deceit quietly said, almost as if it was to himself. “You spend so much time on everything that’s already perfect that you fail to acknowledge what actually needs to be fixed.”

Roman scoffed, “If you’re so fashionably gifted then please let me know what needs to be ‘fixed.’” The last word was sarcastic as Roman resisted rolling his eyes.

“Your collar,” Sir Deceit responded without hesitation. “It’s a bit crooked.”

Roman looked into the mirror. His collar seemed normal to him- perfect even. Perhaps Sir Deceit was just a liar trying to get a rise out of Roman to finally prove that he shouldn’t be king. Maybe even point out that learning what kings should know shouldn’t be so difficult for him. “My collar is fine.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Roman took his gaze away from his collar and towards Sir Deceit. “You’re dismissed, Sir Deceit.”

Sir Deceit stood there for a moment before he took the smallest step towards Roman. He gently grabbed Roman’s collar, making a few tugs that Roman caught in the mirror before the guard pulled away. “I didn’t hear you, what did you say?” There was a hidden smugness behind the words that made Roman smile.

“My collar was fine, but-” thank you. He shouldn’t thank a guard, he was simply doing his job. Guards didn't get thanked for the bare minimum, only if they saved a life or did something else heroic. “You’re dismissed, Sir Deceit.”

Janus nodded once, apparently pleased with Roman’s response. “As you wish, my prince.”

---

Roman let out a long breath as he tried to read over the words again. They only seemed blurrier as more tears filled his vision. It was simple, he shouldn’t be acting so stupid about it. Although the laws contradicted each other, he was sure they made sense. He just wasn’t trying hard enough. 

He let out a slow, shaky breath, as he leaned back in his chair. He gently blinked the tears out, willing himself not to sob in the library. He carefully wiped the shed tears away, making sure not to rub them so his face wouldn’t be splotchy. A good king didn't cry over something so easy.

A moment too long passed with only more emotion brewing inside him. He looked down at his book again, his gaze momentarily catching a guard’s, but he quickly focused his mind on the book. 

The words were still blurry, but he tried to make himself focus on the content. Perhaps he wasn’t even reading the words anymore, only scanning the page in case it would randomly start to make sense. Somewhere between seconds and minutes, he felt a warm presence on his shoulder that made him want to curl up in hopes that it surrounded him. Through a quick glance, he spotted a gloved hand resting there. “Prince Roman, permission to speak freely?”

It was Sir Deceit. He didn’t remember that the man wore gloves. Roman nodded to the guard’s question, not trusting his voice with a confident answer.

“You should rest, my prince.” The sympathetic voice dripped into Roman’s ears, filling them with pity and kind-hearted melancholy.

Roman weakly shook his head. He didn’t need a break. He needed to understand. He blinked as a tear slid down his face and silently fell onto the page. He shouldn’t be this pathetic, it was simple. All the other kings understood it with ease- perhaps he didn’t deserve the role so graciously given to him.

Sir Deceit gave a gentle squeeze to Roman’s shoulder. The direct action made him wilt, any confidence he held fading away. When the book was removed from him, he followed it with his vision. He saw gloves holding it, dabbing the part of the page wetted by Roman’s tear.

Roman let out a quiet sigh as Sir Deceit closed the book. “You won’t get anywhere tonight and it’ll be here tomorrow.” The words were too gentle to reject, turning painfully in Roman’s chest. He stood up, but the feeling still lingered when he turned away. He took a step away from Sir Deceit, feeling the hand slowly slip off him. 

“You’re dismissed, Sir Deceit.” He couldn’t find himself to care that his voice broke or how he felt a sob breaking through him that he managed to quiet at the last moment. There was something hesitant said to him. Perhaps a farewell, goodbye, or another phrase for departure.

Or perhaps it was confirmation that he shouldn’t be king.

---

Roman stood in the mirror as he adjusted his collar. He cringed at the sight of himself as he tried to focus on anything else, but it all seemed so wrong. Flat hair accompanied with too-pale skin didn’t compliment the slight frown on his face. He tried to flash himself a smile, but it seemed far too flimsy. A small breath left him. He didn’t have anything to do, so he might just keep himself in the library. 

Not for long of course. Only an hour or two to refresh his mind. The steps there were easy after all. Sir Deceit trailed close behind. Roman would’ve complained about his constant presence, but a small part of him liked the familiarity of the golden eye accompanied by a warm voice. There was nothing personal about the attachment. The traits would have been nice on anyone.

The library brought a vague feeling of dread that he pushed down as he inhaled the calm scent of books. He walked to a table and sat down. A pile of books rested next to the chair. He quietly picked one up as he opened it to where he last was. 

The pages seemed kinder to him today. There was still minor frustration embedded into the words, but he still turned the page after a minute or two of processing what he read. He sat straight up, leaning to the side as he heard a few cracks from his back as he stretched. After a moment of letting his body move, he refocused his eyes onto the book. 

A warm voice welcomed him away from the text, “Prince Roman, permission to speak freely?”

Roman looked up from the book and to Sir Deceit. “Of course.” A soft smile found a way onto his face, but it felt the slightest bit strained. 

“Have you eaten breakfast yet?”

Roman frowned as he noticed an appetite that had appeared at random. He shook his head.

Sir Deceit continued where he didn’t, “Do you plan to eat soon?”

Roman shrugged. “I’m not sure how you view ‘soon,’ but I’ll eat eventually.”

The conversation quieted in a way Roman found himself comfortable with. He settled back into his book, only making it a few pages before Sir Deceit spoke again, “I can bring you something from the kitchen.” The words dipped into a concern that made Roman shift slightly in his chair. 

“Food isn’t allowed into the library.” It was odd that Sir Deceit apparently seemed to not know the rules of the castle, speaking so casually and making improper requests. 

“There’s more than rules in life, my prince.”

Roman tensed as he looked away from his book and up at Sir Deceit. He didn’t spend months if not years learning what the rules were for himself and the kingdom just for a guard to say that they weren’t important. “Rules define who a person is, Sir Deceit.” His voice was laced with bitterness he didn’t have the patience to apologize for.

Yet, Sir Deceit seemed oblivious to it as he shook his head. “They might define social norms and common courtesy, but they don’t do much more than that.”

Roman looked down at his book. He didn’t have time for this. Janus quietly sighed. “Would you like me to bring you something from the kitchen, Prince Roman?”

Roman didn’t bother to look up at the guard. “You’re dismissed, Sir Deceit.”

---

The uprising was ineluctable yet unscrupulous. Their power contended the sovereignty of their time with the insistence of their previous-

The sound of the plate in front of him brought him out of the pages and into the library. He blinked up at the food as his stomach let out a quiet growl. “I’m-” fine. His sentence was cut off by the sight of a yellow glove gently hanging at the side of the plate. He looked up, spotting Sir Deceit himself standing there. “I didn’t request this.”

Sir Deceit nodded once, the action too quick and smug for any possible hesitance to slip through. “I’m aware of that, Prince Roman.”

Roman let his shoulders drop slightly as he fiddled with one of the pages. “You can take that back to the kitchen,” he said through an exhale.

“A good king takes care of himself.”

Then I won’t be a good king. “I’m not king yet.”

“You’re practicing to become one, no?” Roman rolled his eyes. Even through his practices, most of the time he failed at the simplest traditions and memorization. “Roman, you have to take care of yourself. Even if you’re excited about your new position, you’re still… human.”

“I’m not excited about any of this,” the words were his own, but they left him without permission, only weighing heavily as he continued to talk, “I never asked to be a prince. I- I know I should be grateful, but…” He let his voice drift off with a long exhale picking up its place. His eyes drifted back to the book.

“Stand up.”

Roman chuckled as he looked up at Sir Deceit. “You’re a guard, you’re in no position to command a prince.”

Sir Deceit rolled his eyes with a faux smile on his face. “I would like to request you to stand up, my prince.” He held out a gloved hand out to Roman. Hesitation shined from the interaction, but Roman gently held Sir Deceit’s hand as he stood up.

Sir Deceit began walking as Roman followed along. They wandered through the old library, the silence stretching between them finding a comfortable place through their echoing footsteps. The guard turned around corners and hallways Roman had never seen, leading him to a wooden door that Sir Deceit opened with ease. 

Roman quietly gasped at the cold air that hit him. It was a door that led outside. Sir Deceit gently tugged for him to go further, but Roman stood where he was. “I’m not allowed to go outside after dark.” He looked through the door with admiration. The sky was dark as he saw glimpses of tall spruce trees and small specks of stars. 

Sir Deceit turned to him, a gentle smile on his face. Not one tinted with compassion, but one of adventure. “There’s more to life than social boundaries.”

And with a tug of his hand, Roman started slowly walking outside with his guard. The grass moved underneath his shoes. It would have done that in the day too, but it seemed so different with the quiet secretiveness.

It only took a few steps for Roman to stare at the stars. He saw them in old books and paintings hung across the walls, but he never saw them before. “What would have happened if I never brought you out here?” The question was quiet in a way that seemed rhetorical but it didn’t stop Roman from wondering. 

He looked down from the stars and into Sir Deceit’s eyes. The golden one seemed to oddly glow. “I would’ve stayed in the library.”

“No, I mean long-term.” Roman found himself taking glances away from Sir Deceit’s eyes and towards the stars behind him. “You would’ve missed this.”

Roman shook his head. “I would’ve eventually seen them.”

Sir Deceit shrugged. “I’ve looked through the rules. You’re only allowed out this late a few times a year.”

“So you do know what the rules are.”

Sir Deceit shook his head slightly, a silent laugh of sorts. “I’m well aware of what they are. I just know they aren’t worth paying attention to. Especially compared to moments like this.”

Roman found himself nodding to the words as he looked at his fingers interlocked with Sir Deceit’s. He tested the waters, giving the hand a small squeeze. He received one in return without a response.

He barely thought before he pressed his lips onto Sir Deceit’s. His eyes closed, but he could still feel the stars. He took his free hand to cup Sir Deceit’s cheek, keeping him close into the kiss. A slow moment passed before he pulled away with a smile. “You’re something different, Sir Deceit.”

“It’s Janus.”

Roman’s smile faltered for a brief moment. “You aren’t supposed to say your real name. You could be permanently dismissed- if not exiled for such a thing.” Something set uncomfortably in his chest at the idea of not seeing Sir Dec- Janus’ golden eye again. Or to hear how a question dripped in sarcasm and politeness at the same time.

Janus pressed a quick kiss onto Roman’s lips. “Maybe I don’t care anymore, prince Roman.”

“Just Roman.”

A small smile fell onto Janus. “Your name reveal was a little less dramatic.”

Roman let a chuckle escape him. “It’s not my fault I wasn’t given a secret name.”

Janus gave Roman’s hand a light squeeze. “You don’t need one, I’ll just call you mine.”

[feysandfeels]

Little Lucien Headcanon

Right so this is the first time I’ve done this in years years years, but since the only talent I can claim besides acting (and I can hardly post a Lucien monologue) is an appreciation for words, this is how I can participate in Lucien’s week. 

Here is my little headcanon @lucienvanserraweek. 

Lucien kept his eyes to the fire burning, his hand around a glass with hard liquor, Vassa and Jurien were off doing what between themselves - the only ones who thought they were stealth were both of them-. He cherished the silence right now, nothing but the fire burning to accompany his thoughts. It was not unusual for him to visit Velaris, after he still worked for them, and why deny it he enjoyed seeing The Cursebreaker and his mate -  stalemate filled with longing-.

Velaris always sat on his shoulders for a time after each visit, sometimes he could shake it off after a few hours, sometimes, sometimes it took longer. The mortal queens, Vassa’s curse, Koshei, Hybern, uniting Prythian, court politics, his mate, his friend, secrets, alliances, power, Nesta Archeron: no wonder he needed that drink. However the fire suggested only another topic of conversation.

Cauldron! it had been ages since he thought of his name without feeling distaste and anger coming only from deep sense of betrayal. The last few months he thought of him as an ally, which was indeed a step forward, but ally did little to add warmth to his name when he thought about centuries past when his name could only bring forth a secrete smile and eagerness, maybe even love if he let himself be truthful about him for a change. 

Rhysand

Mother be dammed Rhysand! And a smile crept up on his face. Lucien wondered what their earlier versions would think of their situation now. He was going to be a father, mated with the one who saved them all, and he himself, mated to her sister. The Cauldron certainly had an odd sense of humor. 

The fire took him to paths he had not walked on for more time than he can actually remember. Nonetheless the memories were waiting for him as bright as the day they had been made. Dancing through his mind, the first meeting when his father brought him along to stay with the Lord of the Night and his court in an effort to make amends and strengthen an alliance based solely on a power fed only by a wicked ruthelesness.

There he was, seeing him had been like stepping off a cliff.

Rhysand the first born of the High Lord of the Night Court. Rhysand in his black clothes staring at him across from the table during the feast. Rhysand smiling as a challenge when he entered the meetings. Rhysand with eyes dancing in starlight. The fire to the night, a hand brushing past the other. The court inviting him further and further. A challenge, one that came in a purple gaze. A challenge met, returned in a bright red agains the dark pillows. 

Had it only been the nights, but the days too. Days in libraries, in treasure rooms. Hours of conversation laced with drinks. Lucien putting Rhysand against the bookshelves when no one was looking, eyes falling to the lips, hand traversing low low lower. Careful prince of autumn, you cannot treat an heir like this. Should i kneel before you then you highness?. 

A week gone by in a haze and it all had his name. Confusion laced with expectation because no agreement, no further promise had been made, but Lucien knew and so did Rhysand. Their eyes could not shine like this if they had not known. 

Lucien remembered all then. He remembered Rhys.

Rhys who taught him about astrology, Rhys who had read the same books as him; Rhys whose fascination with history was thankful for Lucien’s long talks about wars and emperors gone by; Rhys with the curiosity to learn the Autumn Court’s dialect; Rhys who listened, Rhys who understood; Rhys who would meet him up in his own court, in the the woods, in the Day Court, Winter Court; Rhys who had tried and failed miserably to braid his hair; Rhys who started wearing suits with a subtle golden and deep red embroidery; Rhys who always held something back; Rhys who always danced between a mask and bare skin; Rhys who couldn’t simply be with Lucien; Rhys who could only offer him stolen moments. 

What’s a week when you’re immortal. What’s a year of hidden weeks, hidden hours. Had it only been the nights, but it had also been the days. 

Maybe he wanted more or at least the possibility of more, more than weeks, more than the masks, more than double meaning. Maybe he had wanted it all. To see where no one else could, to catch more than just the glimpses of what lay underneath the wicked game Rhysand played. He had known it, in his heart he had known that Rhys was more and he wanted it all to be his present. 

It was hard to hold on to an ethereal proof when after it all ended the masked settled in, the borders tightened and the performance picked up. When rumors started flying about the new High Lord of the Night Court; when whatever performance Rhys loved to put on for everyone else became the only face Lucien saw of him. Cauldron it had been hard to believe who he had known. It had stung. Deep betrayal: now Lucien was part of the charade, part of the audience. 

The fire crackled startling Lucien. The Cauldron certainly has an odd sense of humor because now, Lucien admitted, now he had seen all of the picture he had craved to see centuries ago even without knowing exactly what the brushes would create: Velaris, his wings, his true court, his house, his library, his unrestrained smile, his morning look when he has breakfast, hell he even had seen him celebrate solstice and starfall. Now Lucien had seen and understood everything he ever wished during those years of his youth.  

There you are, Lucien thought allowing the smile to claim his face again. There you fucking are... better late than never. 

Still he could not help but wonder, had he arrived on time, had Rhys shown this when it would have made a difference for them...well who knows. They certainly never will. Time, he knew, was wicked like that. But never as wicked as the first time Rhys looked him in the eyes. 

[cherrywoes]

dark sun. (ryoumen sukuna x fem!reader x oc)

xiv. boketto.

— the act of gazing vacantly into the distance without thinking.

You came back into your body with a quiet crackling of the air around you. You could feel the way you acclimated back to your own body, having been pulled from it without Shion to occupy it while you were gone. You were stationary, your fingers still gently pressed to Yuuji’s forehead, and it took you a few moments of blurry vision and confused thoughts for you to realize the boy was very much awake and staring at you with a wide, surprised gaze. You lowered your hand from his face cautiously, wary of earning some sort of lash back for invading his mind, but all he did was look at you with slow, even blinks to convey his mental game of confusion.

“Um… What’s going on here?” He questioned, eyes flicking from you to Gojo and back again, as if his teacher had an answer for what you had just done. He watched you reach up and gently touch the baby at your chest, frowning for a moment. “Shiraishi-s...san?”

“I apologize for invading your mind without permission.” You smiled and bowed your head, trying to resist the way Shion was attempting to work your connection back. It seemed he was struggling more than usual and it was causing your chest to twist and ache unpleasantly; likely a result of his leftover anger. He was still likely angry, you knew, but he couldn’t resist staying away from you for too long. At least an hour was his record, at least, you believed it was an hour—you couldn’t be sure when domains worked differently in terms of time. It was probably longer, you supposed, but you couldn’t stand around and wait to see how long it would take him to establish that connection. “And I also apologize for… hurting you, before. You must know I didn’t mean it, Itadori-san.”

He looked more befuddled than before, eyebrows shooting upwards in surprise. You wondered if Sukuna was talking to him somehow, telling him to befriend you—or something along those lines. “Oh, uh… Yeah. The god in your body did it, right? Not you? So, consider it water under the bridge, I guess.”

You couldn’t blame him for his hesitance. He was, after all, a vessel, the same as you, and he knew as well as you did that sometimes the actions of vessel and curse aligned at times. You weren’t sure about Sukuna in Yuuji’s case, but Shion’s actions aligned with your beliefs and wants perfectly. He didn’t doubt you for a second, and nor did you him—except for recently, perhaps.

The tampering with your connection was growing too irritating for you to bear and you could feel bile cresting in your throat. It wasn’t much, but you were going to purge you stomach’s meagre contents, and soon, so you fixed Gojo with a grateful smile; one that was laced with warning for him not to stop you.

“I’m afraid I have to go now,” you said, bowing low to Yuuji and Gojo separately. It was only the polite thing to do, and well, it didn’t help settle your nerves in the least. Shion twisted at the connection again and your smile became a little more pained, a little more tenuous. “I apologize for the intrusion, Satoru-san. Thank you for bringing me here.”

With little else to spur you on than the pinpricks of pain crawling up your belly and chest, you breezed past Gojo and up the stairs, slamming the door when the wind vacated the space behind you. The basement was silent for a few moments, maybe more, with Yuuji and Gojo staring up the staircase where you had vanished, as if you had never been there to begin with.

“What was that all about?” Yuuji asked, reaching for a half drank can of soda. He grimaced at the flat taste and the sickly sweet artificial aftertaste that came after, putting it down on the table with an audible clink. “Oh, gross.”

Gojo hummed and declined to answer, pulling another move from the generous pile he had donated to the cause, and cracked open the case. He spun the disc around the holder a few times, thoughts whirling as he considered your words from before, about the higher ups. The distaste in your tone as you spoke. He didn’t think you would have been one to be loyal to the higher ups in the first place, of course, seeing as you had been hidden from the world for almost your entire life—it wasn’t such an issue to assume that you were, in fact, harboring the same ideals he was: get rid of the higher ups. Your views, however, might be inherently more selfish; you had no care for any of the other sorcerers, not even for the woman who had been at your side since you became a vessel. You seemed entirely focused on escaping the confinement, the pressing holds, of the old crones that made up the circle of higher ups; at least, that was what he was able to read from you. Without that god hovering over you like a ghost, you were surprisingly human, and vulnerable—not that he had expected anything less. Yuuji was much the same in that regard. However, while parallel in origin, you and Yuuji were not the same, not really; your curse would protect you until the day you died, that much was obvious. Sukuna was much more malicious in intention, without a doubt.

“Gojo-sensei,” Yuuji whined, drawing his attention back to his student. He huffed and slumped over on the sofa, almost knocking over a stray can. “Are you even listening?”

“Of course,” he laughed, inserting the CD into the disc drive. It was a low budget horror film, he recognized, but he didn’t watch it personally. He had scooped up the cheapest selections he could find, with some more widely known titles like Lord of the Rings, but Yuuji didn’t seem to mind them as much as he thought. “I was just thinking about our new ally.”

“Ally?” the pink haired male gawked. “Who?”

Gojo tipped his head to the side, a large grin on his face. “You just met her.”

While Gojo shoved his student back to the test, you were worse off—perhaps even more so—your eyes darting across buildings and streetlights to gauge your location. Your stomach rumbled unpleasantly and you almost swore Shion was doing it to you on purpose, but you could feel his anger preventing him from unraveling the block completely; or he was conflicted, and was going back and forth on his decisions. It was wreaking havoc on your body, that was for certain, and you almost wanted to reach into his domain and pull him out yourself. If that was possible, you didn’t know, but for now, you could be content with a toilet.

You had to sprint to make it to your building before your stomach betrayed you. You had sense enough to lean over in a group of shrubs and hide your evidence, heaving your stomach’s contents onto the grass, and when you opened your eyes, spent, tears glazing your eyes, you noticed that it was entirely black; as black as ink, as black as the night sky in full midnight. You didn’t think you had eaten anything that color and when you rolled your tongue in your mouth, you tasted something sickly sweet and with the tang of iron.

Blood.

You wiped your mouth with the back of your sleeve, feeling it smear across your cheek. You couldn’t be bothered with it now; you had to get back into your room and make sure Shion was none the wiser to what you had been up to. Your stomach cramped painfully and you barely made it up the tree and across the roof, biting the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from groaning at the pain. You wern’t certain if it was Shion or the blood you had vomited up that made you feel so awful, but you could attribute it to both if you wanted, and you did. You slipped through the window once more and locked it behind you, snatching up a book and cradling Ayako to your chest despite wanting nothing touching you at the moment.

Cold sweat dripped down the back of your neck and you were certain it had nothing to do with Shion now. You felt… ill. Sick. Diseased. Your heart was beating a little too fast; your pulse pounded in your ears; you felt anxious, panicky; you half wondered if you were having a panic attack, but pushed it aside when the connection finally unraveled like the petals of a lotus—slowly, and then all at once.

“Shion,” you croaked, breathy and light. You sensed his alarm at the growing pain in your body and a flush of energy breezed through you, dulling the pain bit not completely suffocating it. “Thanks.”

What happened? He materialized almost instantly afterwards. His hair was haphazardly put into a knot at the back of his head and stuck up in a million different places, as if he’d spent hours running his hands through it before tying it back up and leaving it as was. His horns even protruded from his skull, longer than you recalled them being, and he had dark circles under his eyes, deep and ominous against the pallor of his skin. He looked almost as sickly as you did, if not worse. Your gut told you that something more was going on here, something deeper. “[Name]?”

His vocalization of your name ripped you out of your thoughts and you looked up at him, sweat beading your brow. “I… I don’t know. I threw up, and then my stomach started—then the sweating…”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, gathering you into his arms. Your book flopped to the floor, uncared for, even as the page fluttered open to the ‘A’ section, the name ‘Ayako’ highlighted by a streak of moonlight. “If I had known my anger would make you so ill, I would have never cut off our connection. I could have stopped this.”

Your own guilt overpowered his. You patted his arm, just above the crook of his elbow, and grimaced at the way your skin stuck to his with the cooling sweat. “It’s alright, Shion. It isn’t your fault—your emotions, while new, aren’t something to be brushed aside. You can’t just ignore them for me. You have to overcome them. I think not sharing them is… making it worse every time.” You silently omitted the fact that his failed attempts at unraveling the connection had started it in the first place. You deserved this pain for betraying him. You deserved everything he gave you, even if it was unintentional. It was the only way you would succeed. “... Help me up?”

When you were safely tucked away in your bed, your clothes changed into something more cooler to deal with the sweat, you allowed Shion to sequester Ayako away in a pillow barricade and steal her side for himself, likely having learned it from passively observing you. He was careful not to jostle you too much, highly aware of the way your stomach was still churning, and rested his ear against your heart, tapping his fingers to the rhythm on your hip. You didn’t fight him off, no matter how uncomfortable you might have been, and played idly with his hair, pulling it from the knot and twisting it around his horns. Other than your breathing and Ayako’s quiet sounds of grunting and squeaking, the room was quiet. You could feel him gearing up to speak in the way his jaw was working.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you reassured him, throat flexing over the gag reflex you were trying to repress. A moment later it was gone, magically repressed—but you could still feel it resisting his power, strangely. “I don’t expect you to explain everything to—”

“But I want to,” Shion interrupted you. He never looked up at you, but continued to tap to your heartbeat still, even noting the slight stutter when your thoughts came to a screeching halt. “That was a… sensitive time in my existence. I admit that. But… I don’t believe I’m ready to speak of it just yet. When I’m ready, I’ll let you know.”

You waited for a moment to see if he would say anything more, to even hint that he was as angry as he was before, but all you felt from him was guilt, guilt, and more guilt, which made no sense; you were the only one who had to feel guilty about anything. His secrets didn’t have the ability to break hearts and fragile trust, after all.

“Alright,” you said, once it was clear he had nothing else to say. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Shion.”

“And if one day, I want to?”

You frowned slightly at his change in tone. Something was different. Something had… shifted. You couldn’t put your finger on it and shifted uncomfortably, reaching up to thumb the prongs of his horns thoughtfully. “Then that’s your decision, not mine.”

A pause. Then,”I see.”

“Are you alright?” You asked, finally, when waiting became too much. He looked up at you then, green and gold eyes flashing in the moonlight, and though his gaze was gentle, every instinct in you warned you to flee. But like a lamb to a lion, you were doomed to a careful existence with him. “You look, well, awful. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sick before.”

He frowned, almost similarly to how you did, and his eyebrows drew down. “I’m not sure.”

“I’m sure it'll be fine then.” You yawned, pressing your fist against your mouth to smother it. You snuggled into your pillow and shifted Shion to be a little more comfy, eyes flicking to Ayako, who was as placid as ever. Shion turned his head again and pressed his ear to your heart once more, obscuring your view of Ayako completely. You were blissfully unaware at the way his eyes narrowed at the child when you slipped into a deep sleep, mumbling,”Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Shion whispered. “[Name].”

Ayako froze underneath his stare, dark eyes wide, and remained that way until the god finally vanished upon the first rays of the sun.

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[binniesthighs]

two tails | reader x minho |

Two 

Pairing: self insert, female reader x lee minho 

Genre: strangers to lovers, neighbors to lovers, fluff 

Tags:  neighbors au, comfort fic, catowner!minho, catowner!reader, author!reader, bestfriend!seungmin, coworker!hyunjin, florist!jisung, punk!jisung (yeah boiiii), agedup!skz, slow burn, plot-driven, gradual romance, lil bit of angst, strained parental relationship, explicit language, mentions of food, passive body shaming 

Word count: 5.5k (y e e t we love self indulgence) 

Tagging: @lauraneuuh​

Chapters 

P | ONE | TWO | THREE

busybody noun 

:an officious or inquisitive person. 

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There are a couple things that your mother is known for--or rather, a couple things that she has been deemed. 

Mother, wife, friend, matriarch, socialite, unofficial event planner, gossip, show off, professional nagger, and, to certain people, bitch. 

And yet, somehow your mother was intertwined with some of the most prominent circles within the city, and she knew everything about everyone’s business. Frankly, she often didn’t have anything better to to with her time. ” If she had any job at all, it would be calling you every weekend to give her opinions on your rather “less than auspicious” life choices. 

To her, another one of your “less than auspicious” life choices had to do with the way that you had dressed yourself; however little sense this made. 

Your mother sipped at her tea with dainty fingers, barely cracking with age due to her expensive hand creams. 

“Quickly. Go get changed. We don’t have much more time and you’re dallying. It should fit you, just as long as you haven’t put on any more weight.” Her hawk-like gaze inspected your hips and thighs. “Hmm. I think you’ll be fine.” 

Seungmin, where he sat on the couch with perfect posture tapped his feet up and down with discomfort. 

I hate you for doing this to me, he glared at you with despair, hiding it behind the wide smile he performed for your mother. 

“What? Do you not trust me to be alone with your friend here?” 

Your best friend nervously chuckled out in that little puppy-like way that he would. “What? Ahh no, I’ll be fine, go on Y/n, I should be leaving soon anyway, I was just stopping by.” 

Your mother’s eyes followed you up your staircase, watching for the very moment that you closed your bedroom door. The second you did, her snide voice hissed out loud whispers, undoubtedly drilling Seungmin about the usual questions: are you married, where do you live, what’s your profession, what does your family do etc. 

The little metal zipper of the pencil skirt pinched your fingertips as you attacked it up your body. Once again, your mother had underestimated your clothing size. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes looking at the tags for the designer matching skirt and blazer ensemble. There was nothing in your mother’s life that didn’t denote the status that she “worked so hard for.” 

In a way, you hated that you had done this to Seungmin as well. Initially you had thought that having some kind of male presence over when your mother arrived would deter her stabbing remarks about your singledom, but in fact, it has just made it worse. For once in your life, you just wanted to hold something over her. Now, you’d likely traumatized the best friend that you had. 

You nearly slipped on the carpeted stairs in your nylon stockings on the way down, but held fast the the banister, looking a bit like some kind of sad, business-casual, plastic-looking prom queen. 

Seungmin’s eyes widened seeing you in the toning skirt. Likely you knew that he must’ve been keeping his jokes to himself the very best that he could--you wouldn’t hear the end of it later. 

“Wonderful. Let’s get going.” Your mother set down her teacup with a clink. “I’ve got some cosmetics in the car that you can use as well. We’ll be stopping off at the flower shop before we get to the venue. I’ve ordered an arrangement for the bride-to-be.” 

“I feel like a China doll.” You muttered under your breath, catching a little laugh from your friend. Your eyes met as if to ask him if he was okay, which he rolled his eyes as his answer. 

You put on the only pair of kitten heels that you owned: they were brown, banged up and the pleather was cracking a little at the edges. Of course, your mother let out an exasperated sigh upon seeing them. 

“I’ll bring shoes next time.” 

Seungmin politely opened the door for the both of you and the spring morning’s sun washed your face in it’s warmth. The morning was perfect: the exact kind of day that you would spend in your garden writing or reading on the single-person porch swing you had just installed. Dew still held to the Kelly green blades of grass and your cherry blossom tree bowed a little in the breeze. 

“Well, it was nice meeting and speaking with you Seungmin--” 

“--We’ve met before thou--” 

“--You seem to be a strapping and organized young man. I do hope that you consider what we discussed.” 

Seungmin appeared to flush a little, “I-I’ll think about it.” 

You tugged at your friend’s shirt, pulling him in to whisper, “What the hell did she talk to you about?” 

“Don’t worry about it.” His eyes fluttered around nervously. “She just kept going on about how she wanted me to--”  

“--Oh, Y/n!” 

From your mother’s surprised expression on the other side of the car, to the way that Seungmin stopped dead in his sentence, you knew exactly who that voice belonged to. 

Your body turned around in slow-motion, hoping that this must have been some kind of nightmare, and that you hadn’t woken up that morning yet and were cozily still tucked in bed. 

If it would have been socially acceptable, you would have hidden behind that car until he walked away, but it was too late considering he already knew you were there. 

Your mother let out some kind of ungodly squeal before rushing towards Minho and taking his hand in hers to shake. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you! I take it that you know my daughter? And who might you be, such a handsome man as yourself???” 

You really did contemplate hiding behind that car. 

It was unfair how you had to run him into at a time when he looked like that. Your mother was nearly eating him with her eyes while Minho looked to you in his confusion. 

Of course when your mother had to see him, he was fresh off of his morning run: white cotton sleeveless shirt, running joggers, a thick headband with sweat dripping down his body in rivets from his forehead to the curves of his toned arms. 

Life was just too fucking unfair.  

“Minho!” Internally, you crawled so far into yourself it was like you were barely there. You squeaked out the words coupled with a poorly-timed voice crack, “I didn’t plan on seeing YOu here!” 

“Minho?!” Seungmin echoed your phrase, grabbing onto your arm with force. 

“Uh, hello, nice to meet you I’m Lee Minho. And yes, I do know Y/n, I actually live a couple doors down--” 

“--A neighbor! How wonderful! I know she doesn’t leave the house that much, but I’m so glad that the two of you have met. Do you live your family..? Or...your wife...?” 

He smiled warmly, polite as always, “No Ma’am, I’m not married, I live with my mother.” 

“Your mother? Well, that’s very honorable.” 

You and your best friend locked eyes upon hearing the answer to the question that both of you had been silently wondering. 

With a little eyebrow raised, he gave you a smirk, before braiding his hand through his locks strung with sweat. “I also live with my cats too.” 

“Cats?” Your mother tried her best to hide the distaste in her mouth. “That’s...honorable as well. Taking care of animals is...hm, well, Y/n get in the car, time is ticking!!” 

Your mother’s shrill voice was clipped by the sound of the car door closing behind her. You and your best friend choked in silent laughter together. 

“Are you sure I don’t look ridiculous?” You patted down your itchy grey blazer. 

Seungmin nodded, “Do you want me to tell you the truth? Not your colors. But, you’ll just have to live with it.” 

“I think that you look nice.” Minho’s compliment melted into your skin like honey. “But I agree, the colors don’t work the best. Sorry.” 

“Oh. Thank you...” Your cheeks warmed, “Sorry! God, I’m-this is Seungmin, my-my friend Seungmin, sorry I didn’t introduce you both, my head is just--” 

“--Nice to meet you. Finally.” Seungmin’s expression turned a bit more stoic, a stark contrast to his softer features. 

“Nice to meet you as well.” 

“Okayyyy, well, I’ll just...get going then. See you both...later.” 

Seungmin slammed the door behind you, leaving you with your huffing mother in the car. 

“All of these handsome men around you and you can’t lock down one? I can’t believe you...” She threw her makeup bag on your lap. “I’ll play matchmaker if you want me to, I don’t mind, but you know that I have a lot going on already--” 

“--Haven’t you already started? Don’t pretend like you didn’t tell Seungmin something. Seungmin is my friend, mom.” 

“I just don’t get you. Aren’t you ever a bit sad that you don’t get invited to things like this since you have no female friends...?” 

“Honestly? I don’t really care--” 

“--You should. Thank God that you have me.” 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

The front windows to the floral shop winked in the morning sun and the gold lettering of the signage glistened with a similar glow. On the display, there were several dozens of different types of flowers all arranged into different glass vases, tied with bows or swaddled in burlap. The arrangements of roses, chrysanthemums, peonies, daises, sunflowers and other wildflowers appeared to be freshly cut, and beaded with water droplets. 

“Here. Take my card. If any of them seem to be brown at all, tell them that you won’t pay until they fix it.” 

You took the little plastic card from her red painted nails. “Will do.” 

There was a little bell hung over the shop door, and it tinkled when you entered like fairy chimes. The entire place seemed a little magical: the kind of place that you would find yourself reiterating in your writings. On the marble tiled floors, flecks of dirt seemed to gather in the grout. 

The golden brass counter stretched on for nearly the whole length of the shop, and held a display case which doubled as a cooler holding smaller things like corsages and boutonnières. 

“Can I help you?” 

The man approached you wiping the dirt off of his hands onto his canvas apron which was stained with smudges of green and brown. Your eyes were immediately drawn to the tattoos adorning his arms in beautiful patterns of black with muted colors of yellow, lavender and pink. They were nearly all floral in design and reminded you of the drawings from a botany book. His shaggy dark hair had a bit of a curl to it that tasseled over his eyes. His smile too was devastatingly charming, decorating it was a black hooped lip ring. 

“Here to pick up an order?” 

“Y-yes, for L/n.” 

“I just finished that one up, lucky for you.” He palmed through the little stack of receipts near the register. “I’ll go get it real quick.” 

It was criminal how fast you found your heart beating after hearing how strikingly soothing his voice had sounded. You also found your head spinning over how familiar he seemed, like someone you had met before, but couldn’t place where. 

He had brought the sizeable arrangement over, and upon seeing it, you knew that your mother must’ve asked them to pull out all the works. Not only were flowers like this a bit of an unusual bridal shower gift, but it was just one more way for her to show off. The moment that the two of you would arrive with that, heads would turn, and that was exactly what she wanted. It was so large, you had to crane a little to see the florist behind it. 

“That’ll be 360.” 

Never had you been more thankful to pay for a gift with someone else’s money. 

When you passed him the card, you noted the little scrapes up and down his hands and forearms, looking a bit like cat scratches.

“It’s the roses.” He chuckled. “This job is a lot more dangerous than you would think.” 

“Oh.” A heat in your cheeks rose along with his observation of you. 

“Beautiful day isn’t it?” He tapped at the register, then nodded to the sunlight streamlining in from the windows. There were little rainbows speckling the store from the prisms hung above the displays. 

“I-it really is.” 

Your eyes wandered to his nametag which looked like he had decorated with hand-drawn stars. Jisung. Once again, he caught your eyes, slyly rolling his tongue over that black hoop. 

“It’s the kind of day that makes me wish I wasn’t cooped up in here and doing something else; going somewhere else. You seen the cherry blossoms yet?” 

“I-I have one in my yard.” 

“Oh really? It’s my favorite time of year because of them.” 

His smile was a bit in the shape of a heart, and the way that his eyes smiled along with it was just as charming as the rest of him. 

Blaze. 

He was Blaze. 

Quite literally, never in your life could you have said that you had felt your heart skip a beat, but, you imagined that there’s a first time for everything. 

He scribbled down something down on the receipt, handing you both the card and the slip. 

“Have a good one, ‘kay?” 

Had it been socially acceptable, you would have slapped yourself square in the face, right then and there, to snap yourself out of your awe. 

“Yo-you as well.” 

It was a miracle you didn’t drop that expensive-ass floral arrangement getting out of there as fast as you did. 

“What took you so long? People will start wondering where we are.” 

Your mother said a couple more chastising remarks, but they faded away once you looked at the crinkled piece of paper on your hand: 

I hope to see you again, Blossom. 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

“Y/n!!! Oh my god, I am so happy to see you. I’ve been decaying, simply drying out in this office all by myself.” 

You swatted your melodramatic friend by the backside of his head, subsequently ruffling up his perfectly primped long, blond hair. 

“Shut up. You’re surviving just fine without me.” 

Hyunjin lowered his voice into a rather loud whisper, “Everyone here is just so boring.” 

“I don’t know what you’re expecting ‘Jin. It’s a publishing company, all we do is read here. You kind of did it to yourself too. Hell, you edit the children’s books!! You don’t have a thing to complain about.” 

“Are you sure that you can’t take an office here? We could eat lunch together, make coffee together from that broken-ass coffee machine, and bitch about Mr. Yoon together. By the way, what are you doing here anyway besides not seeing me?” 

“Picking up a couple manuscripts. I finished the ones from before.” 

“You’re inhuman. I don’t know how you get through 300+ pages over a weekend.” 

You shrugged, “It’s just what I like to do, that’s all. And, no, I will not be taking an office here, not when I have my classes too.” 

“Aren’t you the perfect symbol of adulthood.” Hyunjin pulled up for you the creaky plastic office chair from the empty desk next to his.

“Tell that to my mother, I think she’d have a different oponion.” 

“Screw your mother--and you can tell her that I said that too.” Your coworker fiddled with his white collar, pulling it from his neck. You knew how much he hated those and would have much rather preferred the silky low-cut ones which had become his trademark. 

“If only it were that easy.” 

“How’s Princess Bomi doing?” 

“My cat or the story?” 

“I was talking about the story, but sure, tell me about your cat too.” 

Hyunjin was a sarcastic little shit, but that was why you loved him. Seungmin tended to be the same sometimes--you surmised that perhaps you made the same type of people gravitate towards you. 

“It’s been pretty well received actually, and I think I’m just about done with the first book, there’s probably only a few chapters left. I just passed 8,000 reads.” 

“Wow, that’s actually...really impressive. I mean it.” 

When he wasn’t being a sarcastic little shit, Hyunjin was actually a genuine friend. He had been supportive of your writing ever since he forced the information out of you a few months ago after seeing a your chaotic notes mixed in with your manuscript ones. Of course, he had laughed at the prospect of you naming your main character after your cat, but he understood otherwise. 

“You’ve been getting good feedback?” 

“Mmhm! They really like Bomi as a character, that, and it seems like Blaze has some fans too...” 

Upon saying the same, the boy from the flower shop sneakily crept back into your head along with that stupidly Blaze-like smile of his--or at least, the smile that you had always pictured Blaze to have. 

Hyunjin snapped his fingers in front of your face. “Earth to Y/n? Where did you go?” 

“Huh? Oh sorry, I think I just got...lost in thought.” 

“I said I think that you should really consider brining it to the company. What if they want to publish it? I think that it’s worth a shot. You said yourself that its successful online. What makes you think that people wouldn’t be interested in the print version?”

“I--Hyunjin, Princess Bomi is kind of a personal thing...” 

“--Why do I even bother!” In his mock disgust, Hyunjin crossed his flabbergast arms against his chest. “I’m only trying to give you a helpful suggestion.” 

Above the two of you, the florescent white lights bore down on you with a harsh luminescence. 

“But--” You shyly picked at the hem of your blouse, “I could use your help with something else.” 

“What?” 

“What do you suggest that I wear...to meet someone’s mom?” 

Hyunjin practically leapt out of his chair and three feet into the air. 

“YOU’RE MEETING SOMEONE’S MOTHER?! I’M SO PROUD OF YOU!!” 

“Get your ass back down in your seat.” You whipped your head around to see your coworkers concerned glances. “Yes, I am.” 

“Thank God that you asked me. This is a serious matter.” 

“I can’t exactly ask Seungmin...so...” 

“Don’t you worry! I know exactly what you can do. So,” His voice turned sing-songy, “~What’s he like~ And how come you didn’t tell me about this sooner??” 

“-Because I knew that you would have this exact same reaction.” 

“I promise I’ll calm down, okay, go:” 

“Well, he’s my neighbor, and I’ve only met him a few weeks ago, and he’s got cats, and he’s really sweet and not to mention hot as well but in like kind of a... cozy, librarian kind of way? Anyway, he wears cardigans--and you know that I’m a sucker for a good cardigan--and I’m convinced that the universe is trying to get me to destroy him but, that’s beside the point--” 

“Slow down slow down! Literally all of the words you said just now don’t make sense together.” 

You wheeled your chair closer to the man across from you, “And then he asked me to meet his cats and his mom or maybe just his cats or his mom, he was kinda unclear about that now that I think about it...” 

“So he’s hot and has cats, hmm, sounds right up your alley.” 

“I-I guess.” 

“Are you sure he’s not, you know, trying to be neighborly?” 

You punched Hyunjin’s arm so hard you jiggled your glasses on your face. “Don’t ruin this for me.” 

“Sorry I brought it up! Ok, ok, I think I know what you should do. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t help you bag this sexy librarian man?” 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

“I sure as hell hope that you’re not trying to be neighborly.” 

You smoothed down your freshly ironed blouse: a floral pattern with birds, something “light and springy” just as Hyunjin had recommended. The pleats in your trousers were in shape as well. He had suggested too that you tied your hair up, something about it being professional and “dateable.” 

Bomi sauntered up to you while you inspected your outfit in the full-length mirror. Her gorgeous green eyes were squinted after her day-long nap, and she yawned while she brushed up against your leg. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure Bomi?” You bent down to pat her head, which she promptly shied away from. “You think that this looks good? Mother-worthy?” 

Bomi blinked. 

“Thanks for your input Bo.” 

Another yawn. 

Your nightstand held your little jewelry tree, and from it you took a dainty silver necklace that hung just above the neckline of your blouse, as well as the thin tan wristwatch that you wore once in a blue moon. 

The watch face read 5 o’clock exactly.  

“Shit! Shit shit shit shit!.” 

Bomi scrambled out of your way as you flew around the room trying to find a matching pair of socks. You stopped one more in front of the mirror. Your mother’s words always did find a way of seeping back into your skin like poison. Even if you had looked “nice” a nagging voice deep down echoed: “you’ve only ever been less than auspicious. Why don’t you ever change that?” 

“Screw your mother.” Hyunjin had said. 

If it only was that easy. 

Your footsteps clomped down the stairs, and you threw on the same pair of kitten heels. 

“Shit. The gift.” You slapped your forehead, cursing your horrid memory. 

“And don’t forget to bring his mother something. A gift. Something small but thoughtful. Something that she can use. Mothers eat shit up like that.” 

You frantically searched your entire home for something that resembled a gift. After a few moments of searching, you had resolved to go without it--you’d explain that it was in the mail, or misplaced, or anything but the fact that you didn’t have one. You grabbed your humorous amount of keychains on your keys, eyes catching that little box of complimentary chocolates from the bridal shower.  

“Good enough.” 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

One more time, you checked your reflection in the glass door leading to Minho’s mother’s townhouse. 

“This is fine, you can do this. Don’t screw this up, you’re fine, you’re fine.” 

Minho opened the door, looking as confusingly adorable and downright gorgeous as you had grown to know him as. This time, he had ditched the cardigan for a sky blue sweater that still pooled at his palms. Seeing how casually he had dressed, you instantly felt overdressed, and made a mental reminder to cuss out Hyunjin when you got the chance later. 

“Come in,” He gently ushered you to the spot where you switched on shoes for slippers.

“You-um, look really nice.” Minho pushed up his glasses up his nose bridge, “Really pretty.” 

“Th-thank you, um, you too.” 

He snickered, “No one has called me pretty before.” 

“Shit, Sorry, that was weird, sorry, I’m just kinda...nervous.” 

“No, not at all, I don’t mind. I appreciate the compliment.” 

You stood at the doorway, awkward silence permeating the air. Suddenly, you remembered the chocolates in your hands. 

“Oh, this is for you and your mother, I thought I might as well bring something over...” 

Minho took it from you, and you prayed that he wouldn’t think too much of the packaging that just looked a little too wedding-y. 

“Thank you for this.” He popped the box open excitedly, “What kind are they?” 

It took a couple seconds, but you watched in horror as his expression turned from thrilled to deeply confused. 

“What is it?” You craned your neck over to see.

“Are they...supposed to look like that?” 

Inside of the little plastic compartments, each of the chocolates had melted into blobs pathetically and swirled together making one huge, brown, melted--and then solidified again--chocolate mess. 

“Oh my god.” Your throat felt as tight as a knot in your embarrassment. “They’ve...” 

Minho hurriedly closed the box. “It’s okay! Don’t worry about it.” He tried the best he could to suppress his laughter. “It’s still about the same.” 

“No it’s not.” You whined out the words. “Don’t let your mother can’t see them, oh shit, oh shit.” 

“What happened to them?” 

Your horrid memory suddenly let you remember the fact that those chocolates had stayed in the car after the bridal shower when you had gone to visit your mother’s home. 

“Nothing good, just-hide them--” 

“Minho? Is that Y/n? Is she here?”

“--Hide it, quick!!!” 

Minho shoved the box behind a large houseplant, still hiding his laughter caught in his throat. 

“Ahhh Y/n! It’s so good to meet you at last! I’ve heard so much about you!” 

You greeted Minho’s mother with a bow, throwing the box of chocolates a disdainful glare. She was a gentle looking woman who appeared to be a little older than your own, or,  perhaps the same age. You wouldn’t be surprised if your mother had paid enough to procure the elixir of life; sounds like something she would have done. 

“I’m so happy to meet you as well. Thank you for inviting me in.” 

“Minho!!” His mother nudged his arm, “You didn’t tell me how pretty she was.” 

Your cheeks flushed with heat when you gave another little bow in thanks. “Your home is really lovely too.” 

“Oh, it was all Minho’s idea, I’m just the one that did the cooking. I’m always happy to cook for a neighbor.” 

“Thank you.” 

“I’ve got a couple more things to prepare, Minho, you go show her the cats, I’m sure that she’d like that--I hear that you have a cat too?” 

You nodded. “Are you sure that you don’t need any help?” 

“No no, you both go on, I’ll handle this.” 

By each passing moment, this all started to feel a bit more like a playdate than an official meeting of one’s mother. Here you were, a grown woman, and you had gone over to someone’s house to play with their cats. Maybe you weren’t as much of a grown woman as you thought you were. 

“Over here.” Minho guided you to the living room: it was a modest one with furniture that looked to be very old, with beautiful traditional pictures of landscapes with assorted baby photos hanging on the walls. Everywhere, there was little pieces of evidence of the residence of cats: cat toys, scratching pads, a couple cat carriers and the cat tree nearest the window. At the top tier of the structure, there was a white and orange cat lazing with a foot slung over the side. 

“Doongie?” You carefully approached the furball to pet it’s tiny paw. 

“That one is Soonie, I have two cats that look a bit similar. Doongie is probably somewhere strange. You never know cats. Mine really like hopping on top of the china cabinet; it scares my mother half to death” 

“I can imagine.” 

Soonie remained unbothered, little cat body peacefully sleeping. 

“Over here is Dori, the youngest one.” 

Dori was a bit striped, with a grey body and a white belly. The smaller cat was rolled up into a perfect cinnamon roll on the loveseat. The cat stirred hearing it’s name, and keened into Minho’s touch when he scratched its head. You copied the touch, and Dori granted you the same permission. 

“You cats are so sweet...wanna trade?” 

“I...think that I’m good with the cat’s I’ve got. But that is a tempting offer.” 

Making a rather loud appearance was Doongie, who ambled into the room with a series of loud yowls and meows, looking up to both you and Minho with striking yellow eyes.  

“Doongie!” You crouched down to give the cat scratches under it’s chin, making it purr slightly. “Did you miss me? I hope that you’ve been staying out of trouble.” 

Minho’s gentle brown eyes observed your interactions with his cats, simply letting you play around with them as you wished. Every once and a while, you could catch his eyes following you with a contented little grin on his face.

There was something so domestic and comforting about the whole scene. Inside the townhouse that felt well loved and with the smell of a homecooked meal in the air, there was something so peaceful about it all that was a little foreign to you. 

“Minho! Please come help me with the bowls!” 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎ 

Crickets chirped along the pathway and into the spring’s chilly nighttime air. Minho had offered to walk you home, even though you were just two houses down. Because of this, it seemed as if the two of you were walking in slow motion, taking one step after the other as slowly and carefully as you could. Absentmindedly, you both wanted just a little more time. 

After spending the night being on your best behavior, you felt as if you could finally breathe. Granted, you had grandly spilled soup all over Minho’s mother, but this seemed to diffuse quickly once she had laughed raucously at the event. She was a sweet woman, with a kind soul, much like Minho. Her lightly wrinkled face shone like the sun and made you feel loved even without knowing her much. 

In many ways, you wondered what it would be like having a mother as such. It was likely however, maybe you just weren’t supposed to know. 

Minho cast his gaze up to the sprinkling of stars spread out over the vast sky: most of them invisible due to the closeness to the city. 

“You know, I’m starting to really like living out here, in the suburbs I mean. Everything in the city was so fast and chaotic, it’s nice to sit back and let things be still for a while.” 

“You don’t miss it?” 

“Not as much as I did. The city...holds a lot of memories for me; some of them I’d rather forget. Being out here feels like a new start.” 

The two of you stopped near the light coming from your porch. In the soft glow of yellow, coupled with the gentle navy blue tint of the night, Minho looked ethereal--perhaps even a little fairy-like. 

You cursed out your writer brain for thinking of your little made up world at a time like this when you had this boy, real, in front of you. 

“I had a nice time with you tonight.” Minho shoved his hands into his pants pockets with a cute little smirk. “I think my cats are a fan of you as well, so, that puts a good word in for you in my book.” 

“Me too. Thank-thank you for inviting me.” 

“Next time, we should do something different, I heard actually that there’s a meteor shower in a couple weeks.” 

“Wait, next time?” 

“Or, we could do something sooner if you’d like.” 

“You want to do something else? With me?” 

“Yes you, who else would I be talking about?” Minho capped his sentence with a little snicker. 

“S-sorry, I just...don’t understand...why would you... I mean, I don’t do too much besides kinda hide in my house with my cat...there isn’t really a lot of things interesting about--” 

Minho squatted down, sweeping something off of the sidewalk. It wasn’t until he had put it in your hair that you had realized he had taken one of the cherry blossoms from your tree to tuck it behind your ear. His head titled slightly as he admired the decoration, fingers lingering by the side of your cheek for a moment. 

“I disagree.” He hushed, barely saying the words louder than a whisper. “Even though you you tent to get yourself into...situations--not that I mind anyway, you are special. Hell, and I haven’t even known you that long. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.” 

Had it been socially acceptable, you would’ve kissed him right then and there. 

If only it were that easy. 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

Chapter 25 

There Blaze was, standing, simple, cuts on his face and that little scar on his eyebrow twitching. The campfire illuminated his eyes with the flames, creating that brazen fire that he had gotten his name from. 

Bomi knew him well. In fact, she thought she had known him better than most--a fact which she selfishly kept to herself. Blaze was everything she had known for the past year or so, and the time had interwoven their paths in ways that she had never expected. Before her was a person who knew her too, perhaps better than she knew herself. 

Blaze’s callused hand rose to cup her cheek, thumb rubbing over her own battle scars. 

“If you’ll not have me, please know Princess, you are the strongest warrior, bravest leader, and wisest friend that I have had the pleasure of knowing. I’ll stay by your side until I breathe my last breath.” 

With a shaking hand, Bomi took Blaze’s hand resting on her cheek. She memorized the way that his skin felt on hers, making a million silent wishes that she knew would never come true. 

“You and I, we both know that fate would have other plans for us...I’m sorry.” 

Bomi turned from the warmth of the campfire, and the way that his eyes held hers. 

She wished a million wishes, and he was nearly every one one of them. 

[waatermelon-sugaar]

Under My Skin: Chapter 2

Series Masterlist

Words = 4.3k

Chapter warnings = swearing, bad words, let me know if I missed anything!

Summary = Despite the explosive argument that resulted on your last mission with Poe, Leia decides another is in order

A/N = I made up the planet that they go to, as far as I’m aware it doesn’t exist in the Star Wars canon, but when I wrote the first draft I had no wifi to research a planet and then I couldn’t be bothered to change it. Also I know nothing about flying, nor about physics, I have based this on my (limited) experience of driving and therefore taken a lot of artistic license - I am sure what I have made these characters do is not actually possible. 

Edit = Cross posted to AO3

Chapter 1

***

Poe Dameron was irritating on a normal day. A grounded Poe Dameron was worse. Like a caged fathier with no outlet for his excessive levels of energy it felt like he was pacing the length of the base multiple times a day, making it almost impossible to avoid him.

Not that that stopped you from trying. To complicate matters, you were doing your best to not think about him at all. So far, it was going well. You hadn’t even talked to him since the debrief, making a special effort to not even look at him when he was in the same room as you.

The debrief had taken place a couple of days after you’d shouted at Dameron, and had been unbelievably awkward. Leia and General Holden had been polite, running through any spare details of information gathered in the compound, what type of books there were, what they were about, what languages they’d been in.

After you’d talked, it was Dameron’s turn, answering questions about the objects in their cases, what planets they were from, how old they were, if they formed a collection. It felt like it went on forever, finally making it onto questions about your shooter, was it the suspected owner, how many droids appeared, was the security system as expected?

You were sure Dameron would be sneering at you, so you avoided looking at him, and didn’t dare directly address him. Keeping your hands clasped in your lap had helped prevent visible shaking.

Saying as little as possible, you’d escaped at the first opportunity, ignoring how Poe stood up, and desperately pretending that you couldn’t hear how he immediately started to talk, more animated than he’d been the entire time you’d been there.  

Both of you had been in trouble; Dameron for hiding his injuries, and you for shouting at him. And while he’d been the one officially grounded, it was of little comfort, knowing that it was no doubt due to him failing his physical. And now Dameron had been able to defend himself and probably slag you off in the same sentence while you had left, feeling like a child sent to their room.  

But unable to fly it felt like he was all over base, just where and when you didn’t want him to be.

Like now. You were working on a mission report with a bar of chocolate to keep you going, lying nearly horizontal on a couch. Background music was playing in your headphones and your datapad was open with a number of tabs and the mission report was there, right in front of you, half written - and yet your eyes kept flicking over to Dameron sat by the center table.

You weren’t sure he’d seen you when he walked in, hidden as you were behind the shelves in the corner. You liked this nook, it always made you feel protected and the idea of Dameron finding this corner and no doubt ruining your sense of security vaguely irritated you. Looking through the gaps you could see his legs resting on the chair opposite him, and if you sat up a bit, you saw that his back was to you, facing the door, his shoulders tight.

Ignoring him, you tried to get back to work, and you would never have admitted it, but the noises as he worked was...nice enough, in it’s own way. Little growls of frustration that you could barely hear over your music, the occasional sentence read aloud, BB-8’s reassuring little beeps. They made you feel less alone.

Finally, finally, you finished. Dameron didn’t look like he was any closer to getting up and leaving, and you took your time shutting down your pad. You’d have to pass him. It had to be done, you wanted to have a shower and go to bed, but...still.

You intended on ignoring him, but it felt excessive to leave without even a - “Goodnight, Dameron.” It was short as you passed and you resisted the weird urges inside of you that wanted to insult him and make sure he was ok at the same time.

He didn’t say anything at first, and you exhaled heavily in relief, and...something else which you didn’t want to unpack.

Until he said your name. Your first name.

You stopped walking, jaw clicking in annoyance as your back tensed. “I’m sorry.” His voice floated from out behind you, strong but quiet. You looked at the door in front of you. It was probably about 4 steps away - you couldn’t have walked a little faster?

“In the medbay, what I said… it was out of order. It was too harsh and I’m sorry.” He paused and you still didn’t move, frozen to the spot. “I didn’t mean it. Any of it, sweetheart. I-” he paused again and changed his mind. “I’m sorry.”

Finally you turned around, a strange trembling rising from your stomach to your chest. Your eyes narrowed, mouth turning up in distaste.

“You’re sorry?” you spat, taking care not to look at his face. “You were only too happy to badmouth me to Leia and General Holden afterwards though!” You took a step backwards, conscious of how far the door was. Your eyes rose from the floor to his face, ignoring the slight signs of tiredness around his eyes, the first time you’d looked directly at him since the medbay.

Shaking your head, you glanced away, the reminder sending hot embarrassment through you, still.

Dameron’s head has dropped into his hands and he’s pulling slightly at his curls. Your breath quickens in annoyance as you start talking again. “Whatever, I-” The slamming of his hands on the table interrupts what you’d been about to say. His hands are clenched into fists, knuckles white, and the look on his face scares you.

“You don’t have a clue! You’re determined to think badly of me aren’t you?”

For the first time, words escape you. Dameron walks towards you, quick paced and you back away until you reach the wall. There’s something poking into the small of your back, but the physical discomfort is less than the discomfort you feel radiating off Dameron.

He’s close to you now, close enough that you can smell him, a deep rich smell, one that smells like a man, and why do you like it? His hands are clenching and unclenching at his sides, like he wants to reach forwards and shake you.

You match his glare, finally finding your words, “I’m determined to think of you based on your actions, Commander.” He stiffens at the use of his title, but you continue. “I know you’re a better pilot than I am, but you need to learn not to look down on people who are a lower rank than you!”

Dameron’s mouth opens...and then shuts without comment. As you continue glaring at him, you realise this is the first time he’s been speechless around you. And it’s now, his body so close he’s nearly pressing you into the wall and what the hell is poking you? You can feel your heart beating quickly and you hope he doesn’t notice it in your neck.

“Well, maybe I do, but you need to learn not to judge others. Not everything’s as simple as it seems!” He’s not shouting anymore, but his voice still feels dangerous.

Whatever. You don’t want to be a part of this anymore. You push roughly past him, hitting his shoulder as you do and mumbling a “Fuck off” under your breath as you finally make your escape.

***

No sooner had you rejected Poe’s apology than you wished you had accepted. It had been an automatic reaction, snapping back at him in your hurt. You’d never been close to Poe, the snub he’d given you when you met preventing you from ever seeing him in a favourable light.

And Poe’s apology was causing an annoying thought to run through your mind. One you had absolutely no business thinking about, and you didn’t know what had brought it about.

But still. What had you missed out on by not being Poe’s friend?

The answer was, of course, absolutely nothing.

Especially now.

It would no longer be enough to bicker like siblings with a rivalry. Regret made you clench your jaw and your heart around Poe Dameron, a physical remainder of the damage you’d done.

This was a new feeling. This was proper anger, real hurt. It was unfamiliar and you weren’t quite sure what to do with it.

You didn’t walk around the base unless you had too now, preferring the isolation of your room to the fear that would shoot through you every time you saw someone with curly hair.

Instead, you found people came to you. Rose was a frequent visitor and you were always happy to see her, even if she didn’t quite understand your reluctance to leave. Members of your squadron came to catch you up on what you missed and after a couple of days you began to think maybe you were being ridiculous. Would it really be so bad if you saw him again?

The decision was taken out of your hands when Kare knocked on your door. She was holding her helmet, with her orange flight suit zipped up. She had a pretty bad case of helmet hair, blonde strands flopping into her face contrasting brilliantly with her brown skin. Dameron stood behind her, determinedly not looking into your room, looking slightly at odds in a normal shirt.  

Great. You couldn’t even avoid him by not going anywhere.

“Hi!” she started, pausing, “Are you alright?”

You hum gently at her, tiredness scratching at your eyes, despite the amount of sleeping you’ve been doing. “What’s going on? Where are you off to?”

“I just got back from a recon mission,” she tells you, and sleep is still pulling at you. “General Organa asked me to tell both of you that she wants to see you for a briefing tomorrow.”

You look again at Poe, as he nods stiffly.

“Is that everything?” He’s not even looking at Kare, and you shoot her a questioning glance.

“It’s at 8 in her office,” Kare says, shaking her head, silently telling you not now. You bit back an irrational laugh as Dameron nods again, leaving as fast as he can. “You’ve pissed him off!”

You’ve not managed to shut the door as she says this, and you shush her desperately as the two of you dissolve into giggles. “So it’s true?” Kare’s taken Rose’s usual seat at your desk, spinning round with the soles of her feet scraping on the floor. “You shouted at him?”

You sigh. That.

“I - yes. He did something stupid,” you tell her and she lets out a chuckle.

“When doesn’t he?” And maybe it’s something about her expression, and the contrast with her dry tone, but it makes you laugh again as she continues, “Don’t worry, everyone thinks he deserved it.”

“Really?” you ask, surprised. “They do?”

She nods, “Yeah. You’ll have to work with him on this mission though.” She’s picking up objects on your desk, and haphazardly returning them to the wrong place. You huff a little at the idea but change the topic.

***

Walking into Leia’s office the next day, you immediately rolled your eyes when you saw Dameron pulling a face as he made eye contact with you.

“Ok this stops right now.” Leia’s voice is sharp and to the point as she glares at the two of you. “This is ridiculous. The two of you are on the same side, fighting the same fight and you can’t even be in the same room?”

“With all due respect General, the enemy of my enemy is not my friend,” you say, not looking away from Dameron. He looks better than usual, wearing a black t-shirt that somehow makes his hair look darker, his arms stronger, his face fresher.

Leia huffs, and gestures to the seat next to Dameron which you take ungraciously, as she continues. “Perhaps not, but you are on the same side. I would like to ask for at least civility towards each other.” Dameron’s wearing tac gear, you realise, scanning up and down his body. Knee pads blend into the black of his trousers, which are tucked into a hefty pair of boots. Your eyes keep catching on the smoothness of his jaw and throat, he must have just had a shave. “Shake hands.”

Your mouth drops open, finally looking away. “What?!” Both of you speak at the same time. You look back at him to see him smiling gently at you. You frown, but stick your hand out, breaching the gap.

“Truce?”

You’re acting annoyed, but there’s a thrumming excitement rising again in you. A mission is a mission, even if it means working with someone you don’t really want to.

You ignore the very small part of you that does want to be friends with him.

Dameron’s hand is warm when it grasps yours, strong in his conviction, and there’s something unreadable in face as he replies. “Truce.”

Leia smiles at you when you turn back to face her, and you have to squash down your own, wanting to remain annoyed at Dameron. Clicking a button on her desk, she starts playing a hologram. It’s a video replay of a number of ships - 2 distinctly First Order TIE fighters, and 3 Resistance X-wings. The TIE fighters are moving in a way you’ve never seen before, unprecedented skill allowing them to miss Resistance shots that should have been hits.

Leia allows the video to play a number of times before waving her hand to freeze the image. You can only gape at her, not quite sure what she wants you and Poe to do about it. Dameron’s hands are already twitching in your peripheral vision, like he’s imagining how he would manipulate the controls to achieve the same effect.

“This was supposed to be a simple recon mission, which was not supposed to have any engagement,” Leia starts, “but the First Order showed up, and our pilots decided to shoot first, but couldn’t make a hit. I want the two of you to work out how they managed to do this. And I’ve arranged for the two of you to practice on Greplimin, which is a largely empty planet two parsecs from here.” Sighing, she leaned on the desk, giving Dameron the holo stick. “Can I trust you not to kill each other?”

Dameron leaves as fast as he can, muttering something about finding BB-8, but you hang back, waiting by the door to ask Leia something.

“Why have you asked me?” You still feel too vulnerable when you look at her, and in the back of your mind you wonder if you’ll ever get over this.

Leia only raises an eyebrow, asking you to elaborate.

“I’m not the best pilot.” You start desperately. “I know I’m not. I would never tell him-,” you throw your arm at the door, “-that, but it’s true. I’m not the best person to ask and if you want someone who gets on with Dameron, I don’t - why, why did you choose me?”

Leia sits down and you stand there, feeling weirdly lanky.

“You’re right.” How is she so confident? “You’re not the best pilot. But you have an unconventional way of flying and the First Order didn’t manage to pull that stunt by being conventional.”

“Figure it out, Lieutenant,” she dismisses you, attention already on some papers on her desk.

***

Dameron had begun to make dinner by the time you’d finished setting up the tent. You’d grumbled under your breath as you worked to construct the two camp beds, sure that the Resistance could afford two tents. Outside, Dameron’s quiet conversation with BB-8 was muffled, indistinct words floating to you under the chirping sounds of the birds and insects.

Even in your grumpy mood as you’d flown out, you could appreciate the beauty of Greplimin. Green had stretched out as far as you could see, circling until you’d found a good place to make camp. A large clearing surrounded by trees, a lake not too far of a walk for water, which was now set alight with the glow of the three suns as they began to set.

The food, cooked by Dameron over an open fire, was nice enough, but something had risen to the back of your throat, making it hard to swallow. You don’t talk much, saying the bare minimum in order to resist snapping at Dameron unnecessarily. As much as you don’t want to admit it, Leia is right - you are on the same side of the war. Conversation is stilted and unnatural, so you take the cowards way out, feigning tiredness to escape.

But that doesn’t mean Dameron has any business being as attractive as he is on this mission. It’s as though ever since your argument in the common room, his attractiveness has increased dramatically and you hate it.  

By the next morning, a slight stubble had started to grow, darkening his jaw and making your heart beat a little faster as the two of you eat in silence, lit by the glow of the sun rise. Out of annoyance, you told yourself, after all, it’s unprofessional to have stubble. And anyway, who can grow facial hair that fast? From the look of him yesterday, he’d freshly shaved.

And he’d started to look at you differently too. You’re just not sure what the difference is.

The next day is spent flying. Both you and Dameron are a little rusty, having both been grounded for a month now. You have to focus on breathing calmly when you first sit back in the cockpit, the image of Poe near to collapse in the seat behind you sending you back to your last mission. You have to turn around to convince yourself that he’s sat in the other X-wing.

Turning on your comm link, the two of you run through pre-flight checks together, methodical and reassuring, before running through the normal exercises, switching between who is acting as First Order and who is Resistance.

It’s nice. Comforting, even, the familiar routines you could do in your sleep, muscle memory taking over when your brain stumbles.

And even though neither you or Poe say a whole lot, it’s a nice safety net, knowing that there’s someone on the other end of the line. It’s the odd little phrases that he uses, praising you or himself, with the occasional swear word or whoop of delight thrown in. He’s playing music, because of course he is, but you can only catch the odd bar, not enough to recognise any songs.  

Not for the first time, you recognise the intimacy of comm’s, how talking directly to the other’s ears feels...more personal, somehow. So you bite back any quick replies you think of, pushing down any breathless laughter at his comments.

You love flying too. There’s nothing quite like the feeling of floating in the sky, taking turns at a ridiculous pace, and feeling adrenaline burn you up on the inside.

The usual exercises end up taking over the whole day, you and Dameron blasting them until they’re perfect. Briefly you wonder if this is what it would be like to be in Black Squadron, perfection expected rather than a nice added bonus. He doesn’t seem surprised though, when you manage them. You frown, you’d expected some kind of taunt about how you’d done better than he’d thought...but the comms were silent to your expectations, just the odd, respectful, “Well done.”

On the third day, you give the First Order’s new moves a go. Neither you nor Dameron are quite brave enough to fully twist the way they did, and you’re not sure what his worry is, but the idea of overheating your engine mid-flight is enough to stop you.

Lunch is spent with the two of you eating together and poring over the video, stopping and starting it at different moments to talk over the best ways to fall out of the spin. Having a goal, a problem to solve makes conversation flow much easier and you’re grateful for it. It’s something else to concentrate on and you can ignore sparks of irritation as he scratches his stubble, the noise swooping low in your chest.

After lunch, Dameron acts as First Order, and it’s a surprise when his voice crackles through the comm links.

“I’m going for it.”

He’s determined, and you know there’s not much you can say to stop him, especially because you’re out here to solve this, but you still yelp out a “What!”

“If I can get enough height I reckon I could do it.” Comes the reply and you can only sigh and watch as Dameron’s ship starts to climb. Switching gears, you start to follow, circling round to imitate how the Resistance would catch up.

Poe starts to twirl as he descends, copying the way the First Order pilots had gained speed and unpredictability, and you struggle to hold your ship steady in his airstream.

He starts to spin faster and faster, cutting his engine and throwing the X-wing to the left. You’re miles behind now, having been unable to reach the same speed and you can only listen to his steady swearing as he struggles to start the engines back up again.

As he reaches closer to the tree line you start shouting. “Deploy! Deploy now!” Desperation laces your voice, “Poe deploy your parachute NOW!”

And he does.

A plume of fabric billows out from the back of his X-wing, slowing him down enough that you can see the exact moment when Poe restarts the engines. It doesn’t last for long though, and all Poe can do is control his landing, skidding through the trees.

You careen after him, bruising your landing and scrambling to get out of the cockpit to go and help clear the door to get Poe out. “Are you alright?” You ask, looking into his eyes to check for signs of a concussion. He was wearing his helmet, but that was a rough landing.

And his eyes are a really pretty shade of brown, swoons a voice inside of you, which you try and squash with a few choice swear words. Now is definitely not the time. There is never a good time for noticing Dameron’s eyes.

Poe seems alright though, accepting your hand of help to jump out. “I never knew you cared, sweetheart” he grins, and then groans. “Could do with some water though.”

So you help him back to your campsite, giving him a glass and sitting next to him in silence. Except, for the second time that day, it’s comfortable.

“The spinning was good,” you offer after a moment.

You’re not looking at him, the water glimmering as a distraction. He only hmphs in return.

“It was!” And are you trying to convince Poe Dameron of all people that he did a good job? You take a quick glance at him out of the corner of your eye.

He’s looking in the same direction as you and you note that the colour has returned to his cheeks again.

“You got good speed up,” you continue, “faster than I could and we just need to figure out how to cool our engines down - especially when we’re in hyperspace.”

“I want to know how they didn’t crash into each other.” You look at him again, his voice thoughtful. “There’s just so little control, once you cut the engine after spinning like that, you’re subject to airflow but they knew where the other would be.”

“Do you think it’s possible they’re better than us?” If you hadn’t watched Poe talk, you’d have thought you hallucinated.

Grinning, you shove your shoulder against his. “Better than you and me? You’re having a laugh.”

“Yeah that’s not it.”

There’s not much to say after that, the occasional huff of laughter bubbling out.

***

You do eventually have to go back to the X-wings, both of which need patching up. The hull of yours is damaged where you hit some trees when landing, while Poe has to start with packing up his chute before even thinking about the wiring and his engines.

Once you’ve done all you can for yours, you clamber into Poe’s cockpit. Thankfully he doesn't notice at first, allowing you a moment to compose yourself. His sleeves are rolled up, exposing his forearms as he grips together some wiring. BB-8 is sat in the pilot's chair, beeping some instructions at him.

Meanwhile there’s a tool sticking out of his mouth, and something about that is insanely sexy, but you clear your throat before your mind can go anywhere. Poe looks up and oh maker this man is going to destroy me.

You scowl at him as you speak, as though scowling can undo your traitorous thoughts. “Do you need a hand?” Poe looks like he’s going to say no, but then something sparks out, hitting his hand, and he drops the wires, mouthing a swear in pain, although he keeps his teeth clenched around the screwdriver.

Oh shit. Oh shit, shit, shitshitshitshit.

You can’t look away from his mouth and you need to reset, to go back to square one, base level, because your heart has stopped in your chest and you know what this means. Instead you whack Poe over the head as you push your way into his space, stepping over the wires on the floor.

“Do you want my help or not?” you ask again, and maker you’re rude. Your parents would be disappointed. But Poe looks surprised that you’re offering again.

His eyes meet yours when he replies, steady and unwavering. “Yeah that would be nice.” The tension gradually dissipates as the two of you work together, rewiring and melding your way through the underneath of the control panel.

You do your best to ignore the touches, telling yourself that it’s inevitable in such a small space as your hands brush together as you lean over him, or how close he is when he peers over your shoulder to instruct you which piece to hold while he adjusts them back to their proper place.

***

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Chapter 1<----->Chapter 3

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[kazcosmo]

when sin tastes like sugar

sugawara koushi x reader

❥ warning(s); drinking of alcohol, cheating, implied nsfw

❥ word count; 1,263 words

synopsis: you’ve always been told that there are some things that are supposed to be forbidden. and you’ve heard that what isn’t allowed tasted like saccharine. you’ve always known this to be true to the extent of alcohol and cigarettes. but when you meet sugawara koushi, you realized you never really knew just how good forbidden things can taste like.

the liquid burns your throat, its bittersweet taste lingering on your tongue. the drink is a distraction and you savor the sharp tang of citrus and bourbon. you haven't had a good drink in months. a time span far too long for your sanity. all those forced sweetness and politeness has had you wanting to curl your hands around your neck and fucking rip your flesh apart. it was destroying you, all this pretending. you danced around people's suspicions day by day and reassured them with lies you've rehearsed a thousand times. and yet, you get a grim satisfaction upon dodging their prying questions and doubtful eyes. sometimes you wanted to laugh at their faces for how utterly easy they were to fool. you should've been an actress instead of working as a nurse with countless late-night shifts that had you waking up at ungodly hours. your work yet another reason why you relished each sip and cradled the burn and flavor of the alcohol. but that wasn't all. a grimace makes its way onto your pretty face, curling your drunk features into a look of distaste. no, it wasn't the drink-- the thing was practically liquid heaven-- it was something else. or rather, someone else. the drink sloshes almost lazily as you twirl the glass with your hand in a circular motion, ice cubes making a soft noise as it clinks with your cup. your mind wanders into a hazy daydream filled with hazel-brown eyes and soft gray hair that bordered on white paired with a seemingly innocent smile. facial features better suited to an angel. your thoughts go uninterrupted even as the music blares across the packed room filled with bodies dancing to the rhythm of the music and to the melody of each other. you continue twirling your drink dreamily, soft sighs slipping past your lips. hands ghost along your back, sending shivers down your spine. your vivid dreams fall and you turn to see the very face stuck to your mind just seconds ago. "koushi." you breathe, mouth tilting into a small smile. he sits down on the stool beside you, a similar smile on his face as the two of you ignore the thrum of music across the bar. this part of the place was rarely occupied by anybody who wanted to immerse themselves into the beat, they wouldn't be able to, really. considering that the speakers were a good distance away from the spot, the music low enough for both of you to hear each other without yelling at the top of your lungs. a few linger in the farthest corner of the club, either making out or doing business you know better than to stick your nose to. your eyes scan his appearance, mouth going dry as he graces you with his presence, body fitted into a long-sleeved shirt, two buttons undone. he wore black pants hanging loosely off his hips, looking like a goddamned meal in the process. you squirm in your seat, disguising the action as you trying to pull the skintight dress further below your thighs. "it's been a while," he says, gesturing for the bored bartender for a drink. you try hard for your eyes not to linger too long at his figure, staring at the glass of forgotten alcoholic drink like it was the most fascinating thing you've seen in weeks. you let loose of the tension on your shoulders, acting nonchalantly, sipping at the drink which now tasted bland on your tongue. "We don't exactly have the most flexible schedules koushi." you remind him, your statement eliciting a small chuckle from him. you whip your head towards him and drink in the image as he receives the drink from the bartender who is happy to move away from your conversation. you take everything in before he looks up and catches you staring. he had the habit of moving the glass in a circular motion just like what you did before, the action originally from him which you've mimicked during the numerous times the two of you had gone out for a drink. your gaze moves from his lips down to the exposed skin of his neck and you stiffen slightly. barely hidden underneath the collar of his shirt was a mark of red; lipstick stains, you echo in your head. a scoff nearly escaped from your mouth. of course, how could you ever forget? this angelic man in front of you wasn't yours. nor were you his. the feeling of guilt settles into your stomach, its presence no longer bothering you. you were used to it anyways. you turn away from him as he looks up, "and yet somehow we make it work better than we do with our beloved significant others." he lets out and you can't help but snicker at his words. whereas you could barely make time for your boyfriend, you manage to sneak a meeting with sugawara koushi into your already tight schedule. whereas he could barely remember the exact date of their anniversary, he could remember every little insignificant detail about that night you spent with him, driving around town and doing nothing at all. there was just something so beautifully sinful the way you two lied to everybody, safe behind the fog of false words and even faker smiles. alone, unbothered, unburdened- whole. "god, sometimes I forget you're not mine." you sigh, a slow smirk spreading across your face. there was something in your eyes, a flicker of sadness that pierced through your mask of indifference. the emotion so fleeting he barely catches sight of it. his chest tightens, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. but if there was anyone better at lying than you, it was him. so he matches your smirk and drops his voice to a playful drawl. "that's what this is for, y/n, for forgetting everything for one night."

your eyes flutter open, your vision greeted by his face. still sleeping. there’s affection in your smile, something you barely let him see, then your eyes flicker downwards, meeting toned chest pressed against yours. and still naked, apparently. you roll your eyes, having long outgrown being embarrassed after countless times of waking up to this.

and even if you lost count of exactly how many times the same face has greeted you as you woke up, you know you’ll never get tired of it. why else would you keep coming back for more even when you knew you shouldn’t be?

to you, sugawara koushi was a drug.

and you were the addict incapable of doing anything but to want-- no, need-- more of him.

and so you do. even if it was in secret. hushed meet-ups with the seconds counted and constantly running down to zero, always running out of time, fleeting gazes in public, and the rare brush of a hand around others was what you could afford without risking anything more than what you’re both already putting in line.

in his case, a close friend.

in yours, an engagement.

when his own eyes open he’s never greeted by your sleeping features. it’s always you picking up the purse you brought with you last night to his apartment, fitted in the same clothes he’d taken off of your body hours ago. he's never been given a "good morning". it was always, always a chaste kiss to his lips, a bittersweet goodbye, and one that he'll never get used to, a goodbye that still brings him a plethora of pain that mirrored your own.

but he doesn't stop you, and you don't stay.

as you turn the doorknob behind you, you let out a weary sigh,

daichi really shouldn’t have introduced who he said he was gonna make his best man.

❥ a/n; sorry this was rushed! i have a massive case of writer’s block so i’m probably gonna revisit this and rewrite it bcs it just ain’t it for me atm