#and 3 they have always had respect for one another and i think trust one another

[share-the-damn-bed]

JONATHAN & MIKE || then and now

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 3; ghoap x reader) part 1, part 2

-

“What is this anyway—‘bring your girlfriend to work’ day?”

She’s snarky as ever, but with an agitated edge. Nerves prickling when Johnny holds her jacket out for her to slip her arms into. Even that makes her snap—something about not being a toddler that Johnny needs to help dress, but by then his head is in the clouds. In another place altogether. 

The prospect of getting to parade his new girl around leaves him giddy, fox-like grin hard to squash. He doesn’t suppress anything, finds it hard to push things down. When he does, it’s often unconscious. 

She doesn’t like the way he savours her anxiety like a fine wine, sniffs it from the top of her head and groans out his breath, cackling when she tries to stomp on his foot to make him go away. He dances away with her coat, light and nimble on his feet because he’s used to ducking and weaving for her affection. 

“The guys wanna meet ye,” he repeats for the umpteenth time. It’s surprising how many times he’s had to say it. 

“Why? Haven’t they ever met a girl before?” she gripes, swallowing now, her stomach probably cramping and poor bonnie lass, Johnny thinks. His poor, pretty girl is trying to put on a brave face when he knows she prefers being in the backroom of her little flower shop, snipping off stalks and tying pretty bows around pretty bouquets. He wishes he could keep her back there forever—put a lock on the door and come only to smother her in kisses and gorge himself on every inch of her—but there’s a whole wide world demanding his attention. 

“Aye, hen, never a lass as cute and sweet as ye,” he crows, ducking a hand that punches through the sleeve of her jacket in his direction. 

In the car, he drops the facade. Loses his teasing edge. It’s a violent removal, like jolting awake to the sound of someone sawing away at a catalytic converter. If his smile is saccharine, it’s really only a smokescreen concealing the apprehension bubbling away in his belly. 

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel on the drive back to base. Heart in his throat, choking his words and rendering him quiet for once in his life. He hears Ghost’s voice in his head, a low rumbling laugh, tectonic plates shifting beneath his feet. These days, his voice acts as a lodestar, the thing steering Johnny home. 

Months ago, it was the only thing between him and annihilation, the ice cold maelstrom dragging him deeper into its maw. Guiding him through the valley of death. The wound in his arm still aches in the first light of day. His sleep is still wracked by dreams of running down alleys and ducking into houses, the rain pattering against the window panes ominous, a ticking clock, each step having to be precise, calculated, each movement quieter than quiet, fading into the shadows, a cool heart and mind bested by agony from the bulletwound in his shoulder.

And then—Ghost’s voice, low and soothing in his ear, shattering the pain. Ghost’s voice in his ear telling him where to go, how to survive. 

It’s hard to explain. Johnny’s tried. It’s like talking in circles when he opens his mouth and tries to get it out. I trust him with everything in me. He could do anything to me, anything. 

He is no less capable, no less competent. His rank demands respect, and he takes what’s due to him. Since Las Almas, he’s worked across a medley of other teams, even solo a time or two. It changes nothing. He still wakes in a sweat, chasing that voice. It takes him back into the real world. The days burn into the fringes of a memory that he is always living.

“Should I know anyone’s name before we get there?”

Her voice breaks through the noise in his head this time. It’s every bit as precious. 

“What d’ye mean, hen?” he asks, clucking his tongue. Sweats a bit when he realizes how far down the motorway they are now, how long it’s been since he checked out, lost in his thoughts. One hand rests loose on her leg, fingers spread wide and thumb gliding up and down her outer thigh, the other still holding the wheel. 

The pinched look has mostly fallen off from her face, but there’s still a tremble in her lower lip when she says, “Well, I don’t know any of your friends. I wouldn’t introduce you to my friends without telling you their names first.”

“No’ my friends, hen—we’re coworkers.”

She looks over at him from the corner of her eye. “I’m friends with my coworkers.”

Johnny shrugs. “It’s no’ the same with guys. Couldnae tell you fuck all about any of them except their names, to be honest.”

“Oh, don’t give me that—you’re not friends with a single one of them? No one?”

No hunger without resistance. His mouth goes bone dry. He’d be wise to learn that. 

He swallows. “Maybe a few.”

No transaction without accountability. Ghost saves his life and now Johnny has to pay that debt back tenfold. Sinking into the crease of Simon’s voice late at night, clutching it to his chest. Breathing it out. Maybe they are friends. 

He’s a bit show-offy at the base gates, dangling his ID card out the window pinched between two fingers. The civilian guard on duty just waves him on, scanning it only for the sake of the logs. His tires spin in the dirt when he guns it down the stretch of road leading into the base, windows still all the way down. Her hair whips around in the wind until she gathers it all up in her fist and shrieks at him to roll the windows up. 

Johnny enjoys showing off. That’s a core aspect of who he is, his charm. Braggadocious, confident in the way he looks, his physical prowess, his lot in life—so why would that change with his girl? He holds her close with an arm around her waist when he drags her through the rec centre, the building closest to where they parked. 

He gets lost in conversation for longer than expected. Pure gloating about the girl he’s managed to bag. Cooing in her ear when he feels her get a bit uneasy, still timid around the other guys despite having him at her side. He supposes that’s fair. She’s more comfortable around the women on base, a bit freer with her greeting and questions, but there’s still a pinch in her brow that never smooths all the way over.

It takes a while to find anyone that he knows. There are plenty of sergeants and corporals that he’s worked with before, familiar faces and names, but Johnny still glances around the room while they make light conversation with his girl, searching. Looking for something familiar, something that’ll reel him in, make him perk up like a dog catching a scent. 

They cross Gaz in a random hallway on the way to the comm centre, hardly recognizable at first with the darker stubble of his beard grown out. He must’ve just come back from wherever he’d been shipped off to the month previous, no time to shave or clean up. He even smells of old sweat when Johnny leans in for a hug. 

“Is this—?” Gaz glances over at her just once while the question dangles in the air. He looks back over at Johnny. 

They lock eyes. A silent exchange of meaning. 

“Aye,” Johnny nods, steering her in front of him with both hands on her shoulders, showing his girl off like a kid with a new toy. Eyes glinting like, don’t say a word. “Brought her in to meet everyone.”

A molasses slow smile spreads across Gaz’s face. It’s clear why men like him always get the girl. Johnny’s hands tighten on her shoulders. “Nice to meet you—thought John would hide you away forever.”

She glances up at him through her lashes. “You talked about me?”

Gaz shakes his head. “Not as much as you’d think. Took Ghost ages to get it out of him.”

Johnny flushes. “Did no’. Jus’ ‘cause I don’ blab about everything under the fuckin’ sun doesnae mean—”

“John says you’re a florist,” Gaz interrupts, turning the conversation back to her. Her lips split up into a mischievous little grin, delighted at the turnabout, probably delighted at seeing Johnny stumble over his words.

Something about her teasing grin gets his dick hard. More points to the rapidly disintegrating belief that he doesn’t have a humiliation kink. He leans forward, pressing it into her ass, delighted himself when she shoots him a dirty look over her shoulder but doesn’t pull away. 

“So, where’s everybody?” Johnny asks casually, trying not to make it too obvious who he’s referring to. The look Gaz gives him is unimpressed. He keeps running into that brick wall, his thoughts written out on his forehead, obvious to everyone around him. 

“Everyone?” Gaz repeats sceptically. 

“Aye.” His voice is tight, warning. “Everyone.”

“Ghost’s actually on his way here now, I think. We got called over to HQ—s’where I was headed, actually.”

“I dinnae say anything about Ghost, now did I—,” Johnny grumbles, but the words dissolve in his mouth when the man in question comes into the room. 

Sometimes, Johnny has the pleasure of seeing Ghost round a corner. The split second pleasure of being the observer, of dragging his eyes up and over, his chest bursting with a light like dawn cresting behind mountains and splitting the sky. In the field, he’s often deprived of that; becomes used to experiencing the phenomenon of Ghost melting out of the shadows, sometimes scaring the daylights out of him. 

It’s what happens now though. Glancing up on a whim only to see a man round the corner of the hallway leading out of the rec centre, shirt stretched out maddeningly over his arms and chest, muscles bulging like he just came from the gym, still pumped. The shirt’s a little threadbare, something old and worn, and Johnny’s seen it a million and a half times he figures; it leaves so little to the imagination that he’s joked about Ghost busting it at the seams from time to time, only to be met with a steady, aloof stare. 

There’s something to be said about how he’s drawn to people who refuse to scratch him behind the ears until he’s more than proven himself. He works tirelessly for Ghost’s approval, for his girl’s approval. Dogs with their bones, tigers with their stripes. 

He has a balaclava pulled over his face, just a simple black one this time, the underside of his eyes darkened by eyeblack hastily scrubbed off the night before, probably. His eyes scan the crowd, locking on Johnny and Gaz almost instantly. It’s the mark of a good soldier—he doesn’t flounder in the dark. Always finds his target, like a sixth sense for knowing when he’s being watched. 

Ghost course-corrects upon noticing them, crossing the room in a handful of seconds. The curt, “Johnny,” he gets is a bounty, a treasure. He grins back when Ghost glances down at the girl at his side. “That your bird?” 

“Told ye I’d bring her in—s’long as everyone’s on their best behaviour, of course.”

Gaz snorts. “Good luck with that.”

Ghost must cock an eyebrow because he can see the fabric of his mask shift. “Pretty.”

He can’t help the way he preens at that. Tucked away by his side again, Johnny can feel his girl squirm, but he pays it no mind. She’s shy—he’s known that from day one, from the first time she stumbled out from the back of the flower shop and scrunched her nose up at his attempts at flirting. 

Admiration is a smooth, buttery feeling. It keeps him aloft while another couple of servicemen take interest in their conversation and come over, Johnny’s girl at the centre of everyone’s attention. He’d be pricklier about it if he didn’t have a firm hand on her waist, keeping her pressed to his side. 

He soaks up the attention. Drinks it up when someone asks his girl a question and Johnny answers for her or pinches her cheek when she manages to pipe up before him. He knows he’ll get read the riot act when he takes her back home later, but he might be able to convince her to ride him while berating him for talking over her. Might beg her to slap him and spit in his mouth—say it’s the only way he’ll learn his lesson.

Dirty dog.

It strikes him that maybe he’s picked up some bad habits in recent months. He’s never been one to overthink, to worry and fret. Yet, he toils in it now, shovels coals into the furnace of it and gives it life. 

His shoulders go slack, the tension finally ebbing out of him. No longer dogged by the incessant fear that his girl is going to run away, bolt at the first loud noise, or that someone’s going to pluck her up out of his arms. She seems comfortable if anything. 

He’s been overthinking all of this, wrapped up in his head. He can breathe out, unclench. 

When Ghost shifts to stand closer to them, he glances over because that’s where his gaze always goes these days. Seeking Ghost out, finding him in a crowd; looking for his North Star wherever he is, wherever he goes. 

Only to watch in mute horror as, in plain sight, not trying to be discreet or hide it from anyone, Ghost gropes his girlfriend’s ass in front of everyone on base. Just reaches out a big hand and fondles her ass, digging his fingers into the cheek. She freezes, back ramrod straight as she stares ahead, eyes going a bit blank. 

He fails whatever test this is, mouth too dry for any words to come out. Humiliation burns him from the inside out. Another sergeant that he’s worked with before frowns, glancing over at Johnny. Neither of them say a word. 

Ghost tilts his head, staring down at his hand on her ass like he’s contemplating its plushness. Admiring it. With how Johnny stands on one side and Ghost the other, the two of them bracket her, like the soft centre of their trio; nowhere for her to go, a handler on either side. That’s wrong though. Ghost is not her handler—Johnny hardly is, more of a self-appointed one. 

Still he—

He lets it happen.

Contention dies a bloody death in his mouth, massacred. Mangled. He lets Ghost sink his fingers into his girlfriend’s backside and hum a little under his breath before finally pulling his hand away. The others look at him, waiting for Johnny’s reaction with bated breath. A reaction that never comes because it gets strangled in Johnny’s throat. 

“Nice meeting the bird,” Ghost finally says, voice a decibel lower, rough enough to scrape. “Gaz and I’ve got shit to do now. Be ready on the tarmac by oh-seven-hundred tomorrow, Johnny.” 

He grips Johnny by the shoulder before heading off, like he didn’t just grope Johnny’s girlfriend. Like he didn’t just reach down and grab a handful of her ass like it was his to feel up. And Johnny just nods. A placid, docile thing under Ghost’s hand, bobbing his head like a doll. 

Then Ghost leaves, Gaz trailing after him, looking back about a half dozen times to see if Johnny will suddenly follow them until he’s forced to job to catch up to Ghost, the man already yards away, longer legs carrying him fast out of the building. 

They don’t talk on the drive back to her apartment, the inside of the car tense and uncertain. Johnny walks her to the door when he lets her off, but it’s a formality, a chaste kiss at the door instead of the rough fuck that he’d envisioned to send her off. Despite the hard set of her jaw, she doesn’t lambast him like Johnny expected. The silence is worse though, haunting when she shuts the door in his face. 

The drive back to base after the drop off is agonizing in a whole new way. Still pent up, cock heavy in his pants, and fingers drumming over the steering wheel twice as fast now. What do I do, what do I do, what do I do? What he wants to do is turn around at the closest gap between both sides of the motorway and speed all the way back, knock on her door until his knuckles blister and bleed, until she opens the door and lets him in, lets Johnny push her to the floor in the entryway and spread her legs, welcoming him in. 

Until she lets him fit his fingers into the marks left behind by Ghost’s hand. 

Cold fire rising up off his bones, and then something hot. And wet. 

The next day at breakfast in the mess, one of the guys says something like, “If Ghost was into my girl, that’s the last you’d see of me and her,” and his mind goes blank and he goes over the table.

[atrwriting]

kisses and other sweet things (part 2) -- billy the kid x cowgirl!reader

hey party people :) posting this when I should be studying HAHA

send good vibes for my civil procedure final tomorrow many thx <3

I watched the scene where billy and ollinger fight and this very much inspired it lol enjoy

as always, warnings: smuuuut, p in v, unprotected sex (WRAP IT), dom!billy, brat!reader, violence, blood, pussy slapping, overstimulation

thank you all for reading!!! I love you all so much!!!!

ANYWAYS... part two:

neither one of you told… but it didn’t take long for the others to sniff the air and have an inkling for how the wind changed overnight.

in all honesty, it was billy’s fault.

the man found every way to remain close enough to be considered by your side since that night.

he would sit by you at dinner. he wouldn’t touch another woman. he always looked at you when he told a joke. he always looked at you when someone else said something funny. that joyful twinkle in his eye was reserved for you, and only you, and everyone had picked up on it. not to mention — he’d not only check his horse — but yours as well.

everyone knew what was up. everyone. absolutely everyone.

billy made it abundantly clear without even uttering a word that you two had participated in something similar to carnal relationship.

…but, in all honesty, you didn’t mind.

you would’ve preferred to talk about it, sure. what prevented you from bringing that up to billy was that you didn’t have to pry respect and loyalty out of him — the man just did it, and because he wanted to. it was… okay, fuck it — you have to admit it to yourself: it was nice. billy the kid showing you slightly more than common decency and general enjoyment of your company was nice. you were worried about bringing it up to him at the idea of losing the potential staple of someone having your back, and them trusting you enough to have theirs.

you were fucked. totally fucked. absolutely fucked. no way around it.

the man was a mysterious fuck, as well — looked at you like you were an angel, but has fucked you like even the devil would avert its eyes from the debauchery. respected in the streets, and disrespected in the sheets — every woman’s dreams.

the one unfortunate aspect was… the others. you can usually ignore everyone, and anything — only way to get through life. however, the severity of the teasing had begun to worry you.

it first began with a curt up-down look of when billy always found his way to dismount from his horse and walk next to you. it wasn’t like he was guarding you, no… neither was he following you like a puppy. it was like there was a new form of respect there — and given the fact that most of the men still looked at you like you were just a silly girl, they noticed it. for a split second, in your stupid mind, you thought it would maybe make the rest of the men treat you better — but how could you ever think that? you rolled with these guys because their very existence was about disrespect and taking for themselves.

billy had made you bot outsiders — more than you already were.

like… maybe you weren’t together… but you had each other. you weren’t sure if you could count on him yet — but his actions were… well, they confused you. and you weren’t sure if it was a good or bad confusion yet.

there had been very few moments of privacy, so you were not able to catch him alone and speak about what happened. at first, you figured you both would go about your lives as usual… not wanting to expect too much from a man who appeared to live as he wanted when he wanted to. however… you didn’t expect that how he wanted to live his life was, well — apparently by your side.

unfortunately, thinking things over was not a freedom given to you without obstacles. many of them began giving you and him looks — and then the teasing started. instead of being known by name or a nickname, the men could be heard calling you “billy’s girl” in hushed tones.

you feared the day they finally bucked up the jewels and called you his whore. you knew it was coming — you didn't want it to happen, but you knew it was. you couldn't afford to be naive.

if anyone else called you his girl — you might’ve blushed. you almost relished in it. however, when men who barely respected women called you that and you both worked with them — you knew they didn’t mean it fondly. it annoyed you, especially when you hadn’t been able to even talk about it with billy.

were you his girl? were you a fling? would billy fuck another woman if given the chance? and honestly, did he tell anyone?

questions ran through your head with very few conclusions approaching. you thought their teasing would be the worst of the worst — until it wasn’t.

no… the worst was when billy had fought one of them.

a few days after the teasing had begun to get bad, you had finally stopped at another boarding house and bar with the other boys. you figured you would retire early and let them have their fun — but that would not be the case.

when you eventually had drank your share of booze and went upstairs when the girls came around, that was when ollinger had opened his big, fat mouth.

“when billy’s done, can i get a turn?”

you froze in your tracks.

this was your worst fear — losing their respect. you had worked tirelessly to earn it, and there had been times where you felt like you never did. you may never have had their actually respect, the kind they give to men — but they never did something like that. and when all of them laughed, and began to hoot and holler — that’s when you knew where you stood with them.

fucking billy.

but that wouldn't stop you, no. they brought you on because you were a pretty thing with claws — and that's what they were going to get.

“known you longer than i’ve known him. can’t say you’ve ever peaked my interest,” you spat as you turned around to face him from a few feet away. “don’t know if you’re man enough.”

he stood then, eyes wild. he held the neck of a bottle in one hand and immediately took a swig, appearing to ignite the fire in his eyes and the aggression in his steps toward you.

“you want me to show you a real man, sweetheart?”

you took a step forward, afraid to back down. you narrowed your eyes at him. “you want me to show you how i’m a better shot than you, sweetheart?”

he stepped closer to you then. you didn’t budge — you weren’t sure if that was out of pride or fear. when he stepped closer, the stench of liquor leaked from his mouth like smoke from a wildfire. a smirk was plastered on his face, and staying still and silent was the only thing you could do to hold your ground.

“you know what that makes you, right?” he spat in a low tone. “makes you billy’s whore.”

you couldn't help it — your face twisted with shame and anger. your vision was going almost as red as ollinger's, and you weren't sure if both of you would survive the next action that came from you. before you could process the impact of his words, let alone respond — billy spoke up.

“shut your mouth, ollinger.”

your eyes flickered over to where billy stood with his hands balled at his sides.

ollinger took another swig of his bottle before he turned and stalked over to billy. billy didn’t flinch, but simply watched a drunk ollinger try to keep his cool. the entire group watched — and waited.

“you don’t tell me what to do, boy,” ollinger sneered, clutching his bottle. “you ain’t special. i ain’t never seen anything special about you.”

billy reached for his gun, but did not pull it out. billy’s hands were shaky, and that’s when you realized it — he was drunk too. “alright then — let’s fight it out.”

“i ain’t fightin’ you with a gun.” ollinger brushed off billy’s comment with another careless swig of his drink. “you ain’t that important.”

“then let’s fight with our fuckin’ fists.” billy discarded his gun and the belt it was usually kept in. “like men.”

ollinger’s eyes showed a peak of interest.

your eyes… well, they showed terror.

ollinger walked towards billy with a dip of his chin that suggested he would enjoy the aspect of hurting billy more than winning anything over billy. ollinger already thought he was better than billy, he didn’t need to win anything — but that look in his eye? when predator was threatened by another?

without his gun, you were worried for billy. frankly, billy should’ve shown it — or at least you thought he would. ollinger had at least a decade of years, strength, and experience on billy. not to mention — ollinger has also had a vendetta against billy since they met.

ollinger immediately threw of his belt. “i’ll beat your ass any day.”

as ollinger drained the rest of the bottle, you could hear the hollering of the other men around you as they drew closer. ollinger threw the bottle to the ground and stalked towards billy.

as billy was about to start pulling off his vest, you stepped up to intervene.

you’d at least like to talk to him before he died.

however, jesse stepped in front of you. “can’t get in the way of two men fighting, doll.”

you raised your eyebrow at jesse. “ill cut your cock off.”

jesse only laughed, but kept his arm outstretched in front of you.

with years of experience… you thought ollinger would fight fair — but he caught billy with a jab before billy could get his vest off. you lunged for the pair, but jesse and some of the others held you back.

you didn’t know what to do. sure, you believed in billy — but the man had a tendency of getting his shit rocked in hand to hand combat.

ollinger let out an excited battle cry — and your hate sank into your stomach. billy struggled to get up as you fought against jesse.

“come on, billy!” ollinger baited. “come on, billy!”

you watched the look in billy’s eyes then — assessing the threat. billy immediately dodged a punch over his head, came back up, and started slamming ollinger’s head against a wooden post.

the excitement of the men around you slightly died as they realized that billy didn’t fight like other men — he had no interest in punching, or relishing in getting a lick in. he went straight for a possible kill shot, grunting as he hoped to subdue ollinger.

there would be no stopping either of them. you relented against jesse’s arm, staring at the two men. your mouth parted in horror, and your stomach dropped at the sight.

billy eventually threw him over the picnic table like he was nothing more than a sack of flour. his grunts were predatory — powerful and fucking masculine. fighting was fun for ollinger — but this? this? for billy? this was necessity. he didn’t care about asserting dominance — he cared about being left the fuck alone. he needed to make sure ollinger never fucked about him again. dominance was worth nothing if you didn't have survival.

billy, still intoxicated, stumbled over to where he had thrown ollinger — but ollinger was too quick. he grabbed billy by the boot and threw him back. billy landed on his ass, and you watched in fear as ollinger stomped toward him. his eyes were wild and his mouth was curled into a bloody snarl. you wanted to get involved, you knew you should’ve — but what could you do? this was what happened when you rolled with men like this — they had to fight this out themselves, or they would become everyone’s problem. you hated it — every fucking minute of it — because this problem started with ollinger’s disrespect for you and how you could cut his jewels off before he could even get a kiss in. poor billy…

but not poor billy.

no, not poor billy — because when ollinger stood over billy, billy kicked him so far backwards that ollinger then stumbled and fell on his ass.

billy was up in an instant, stumbling, and smacked the absolute shit out of ollinger with an open palm. ollinger flew backwards for a second time that night, and suddenly the men grew more excited watching the fight. all you could do was trail behind them — worried.

billy walked up to the porch and stood above ollinger, but ollinger’s wounded pride had gotten the better of him. he took billy by the cloth of his shoulders, and slammed him repeatedly against the wooden wall of the outside of the house. jesse and his friends were cheering on billy, but all you could hear was his pained grunts. and then, just then — the moonlight had caught billy’s face just right. his eyes were screwed shut as the pain registered from the blow — and blood was pouring down from his nose and into his mouth. billy fell against ollinger in exhaustion, and that was when pat garett started cheering louder and louder.

“please,” you whispered, helpless.

in an instant, billy had gotten his elbows up and clutched the shoulders of ollinger’s shirt. with (basically) a battle cry, he willed himself to push ollinger off of him, in front of him, and then in through the doors of where all of the other men were with their women.

you followed jesse, pat, and the others.

billy and ollinger immediately crashed into the floor of the house with grunts and screams. the men once getting blown or ridden were now cheering on the fight, and the women above them or at their feet were stunned and confused — worried about getting hit.

this time — billy had gotten up before ollinger. ollinger may have had years of experience on billy, but years were years: ollinger was old, and exhausted. billy stood up and began laying overhead punch after overhead punch onto ollinger.

“get up, ollinger!” he yelled, eyes black. “get the fuck up!”

immediately, billy pulled back. like you had thought — he didn’t need the kill shot, but he needed the threat subdued. billy was breathing heavy, he was bleeding… you were so worried for him. jesse pushed past you and grabbed billy’s arm, raising it above his head.

“boys, we got a winner!” jesse cheered before everyone followed in suit.

billy fell back against the nearest bed and sat down. it just so happened that was a bed that your oldest friend was sharing with a woman. stunned, the woman grabbed billy by the shoulders to steady him. she wiped some of the blood off of his face with his shirt. you were thankful — but then her smile turned big when she realized how handsome he was.

your blood boiled.

you watched at his big eyes darted up to her face as he tried to regain his composure. he took one look at her face, your friend, and got up.

he spat once on the floor, cleaning his mouth of any excess blood. over his shoulder, he threw, “no hard feelings, ollinger.”

and started straight towards you.

you stood there, in the back behind everyone, frozen in place. billy was in front of you in as little as five strides. thankfully she had wiped his face — because he only tasted vaguely like blood when he grabbed you by the face and pressed your lips to his.

he cupped your face with one hand, but it held you in place like he was the only thing that mattered in the world. with his finger stroking your cheek, you kissed him with every bit of fear, frustration, and excitement you had in you. your lips folded together like you two were the only ones in the room — and like everyone in the room wasn’t cheering for the clear winner of the fight, and the kiss with the girl the fight was started over.

billy had stood up for you. the one man who had actually ever done that.

against your lips, he whispered. “i know you could handle himself yourself — but you shouldn’t have had to.”

you giggled against his lips, yours stretching into a wide grin. he pecked your lips a couple of times, unable to get enough of being the only one to be able to do this. he replied, “never had much taste for these girls — had a different one in mind.”

“you gonna take her somewhere private, cowboy, or what?” you asked.

billy’s eyes twinkled with mischief before he bent low, and hauled you over his shoulder. your feet kicked in front of him as you struggled to hold your hat in place and keep your balance. you were shouting at him, but nothing could be heard over your giggles or everyone else’s whistling. with one firm arm circling your hips, keeping your ass in place with his massive hand, he kicked open the doors and brought you upstairs.

“billy, if you don’t put me down —“ you laughed, breathlessly. threats were futile. “i swear —“

“shhh, sweetheart — you know i’ll take care of you,” he responded.

billy found an empty bedroom and immediately went to work. he sat you down on a low dresser and immediately started going for your riding pants and shirt. you kicked off your boots and shimmied out of the fabric as billy stood over you.

with one hand pressed to your cheek, he kissed you once more. you pulled away to smile at him. you spoke, “thank you… for what you did.”

“ollinger needs to know when to shut his mouth,” he spoke, engulfing you in a kiss once more. “should’ve made a move if he was jealous. now i’m the only one who gets to have my face between these pretty thighs.”

he pulled you by the hips so you were almost hanging off the edge, your feet flat against the wood of the dresser. you were breathless as your head began to swim. billy got down on his knees, parted your thighs, and dove for your slit.

your head immediately hit the wall. you wanted to arch your back — keen towards him — but you had limited mobility. you were at the mercy of the man before you who was lapping at your clit like nothing else existed. you should've been worried about his injuries, the dried blood on your face... but you couldn't. you didn't. billy was satisfying every bit of desperation you had felt since that night and you were too strung out to fight him. strained moans left your lips as your hips began to buck into his face.

“billy, stop…” you whined. “i want you inside me…”

he didn’t listen. the man kept his tongue drawing all kinds of messy, wet circles around your sensitive bud that pulled every dirty whine out of you. in an instant, billy pushed two fingers into you and immediately started pumping them. you lost your breath — and your ability to speak coherent sentences as well. he was tapping against your upper wall, pining for that sweet spot that was gonna make you sing for him.

“fuck, fuck, fuck…” you cried. one of your hands found his tangled mess of curls and fisted your fingers through them. billy’s tongue was thick, hot, and the roof of it was rough as he shook his head against your center, increasing the friction. your hips and legs were spasming uncontrollably as a warm feeling spread from your abdomen. “jesus christ — you’re so mean.”

the air seemed to shift in that moment, but you were so lost you couldn’t comprehend. billy wrapped his cracked lips around your clit, and pulled at it and sucked. hard.

your eyes screwed shut as a cry vibrated through your chest and into your throat. it hurt, god it hurt, but in the most bittersweet way you could imagine. it was like pain and comfort all in one, delivered by the same hand, driving you into submission. every blood vessel was throbbing, throbbing, throbbing for billy’s movements and you couldn’t regain control — and you weren't sure you wanted to.

he suddenly pulled away. “you think i’m mean, sweetheart?”

his blue eyes pierced into yours when he picked up his head to face you. his eyes were raised in a manner that suggested he expected a response, but you were still in your daze. your eyes were glossy, your lips were puffy and parted, hoping he'd answer his question for you.

billy didn’t like that. with his free hand, he slapped your clit.

your body jolted, surprised at the sensation. it made your breath catch in your throat as all of your senses were on red alert... but it only made your pussy throb harder.

“billy…” you whispered, tears coming to your eyes. “you’re teasing me.”

his dry thumb began to rub circles around your sensitive clit, and the mixture of your slick and the rough skin of his dumb drew you into his control. in that moment — in that raw, vulnerable moment — you couldn’t think of anything else besides billy, and getting him to make you cum.

“mean, that it, sweetheart?” another slap to your clit. “you want me to show you mean?”

even in your haze, you were a brat at heart. with a smirk, yet shaking from how sensitive you were, you smirked at him. “don’t think you can.”

in an instant, he was on his feet. you struggled to ring out your tense muscles and stand with him, but billy wasn’t having it. he flipped you around so you were on your stomach on the dresser, legs hanging over the edge. billy pulled your hips up for you to stand on your toes, forcing your ass into the perfect position for him.

“slut for only me, huh?” he asked, kneading the skin of your ass in his hands. he slapped it once, twice, thrice — ripping little squeals from your petal pink lips. his thumb found its way into the outer folds of your pussy, barely entering. “won’t throw even a pity glance at anyone down there — but something about me just gets you this wet.”

he pushed his thumb into your sopping wet hole, and you squealed. you held onto the dresser to give yourself leverage to push yourself into his hand, but one of his hands held down your lower back.

“more, please…” you whispered.

“that smirk made me think you don’t deserve it,” he spat, still playing with your pretty pussy.

“billy —!” you screamed with exasperation. “please!”

with his thumb still in your pussy, billy leant down and wrapped an arm around your throat. with your neck in the crook of his elbow, he pulled your back to arch up towards him. billy placed his lips right by your ear, and spoke, “is that who’s got you this worked up, baby? huh? me? be sweet, and maybe i’ll kiss those pretty tears away.”

you hadn’t even noticed it — but he was right. your cheeks were stained with tear streaks that made them damp. with broken breaths, you spoke, “please — i promise.”

he began to pump his thumb into your pussy, while his other fingers worked light circles around your clit. “promise what?”

“that i’m — that i —“ you couldn’t get the words out. you were a struggling mess — clinging to the dresser with the little strength in your hands you could muster, and completely at the mercy of billy’s hold. his breath was hot against your face as heat rose throughout your body. “i —“

“fucked so dumb you can't use your words?”

“fuck —“ you cried, already almost succumbing to the feather light touches on your clit. “you’re the only one, billy — only one — please, just let me cum.”

“yeah?” he grunted. “gonna take what i give you?”

“anything, billy —“ you gasped. “please — just want you.”

billy kept his promise. he pressed his lips against your cheek, pushing your head slightly to the side. every muscle in your body was taut with trying to remain balanced and stay perked for every one of billy’s moments. his fingers in your clit began working faster and harder, and your body began to shake. you were so sensitive to everything around you — his kisses, his chokehold, his heat on your back, his fingers buried deep in your folds. you bucked his hips back into his hand, and everything exploded.

without billy’s hold, you would’ve collapse into the dresser. your knuckles were white as they bent, causing your nails to rip at the wood of the dresser. you back was arched completely towards the ceiling as you tried to remain in position. billy was whispering nasty, nasty, nasty things in your ear that coupled with your delicious moans.

“that’s it, baby, just keep cumming for me,” he rasped, groaning in your ear. “can be such a brat — but she’s got the prettiest pussy. i know what makes my girl tick.“

“yeah, yeah, yes —“ you cried, falling against billy’s shoulder. the world melted before you. your eyes were drifting open and closed. the haze had consumed your brain, and each of billy’s movements made a whine well up behind your closed lips. “fuck, billy, i can’t —“

his fingers didn’t stop, and you felt like you were about to collapse. “oh, sweetheart, too much for you?”

you were practically fucking sobbing at this point. “n-no-no—“

“greedy, baby,” he said, licking at your cheek. “thought you were gonna take everything i gave you?”

“your cock, billy — please —“

“naw, sweetheart,” he said stroking your cheek. “think you’re in over your pretty little head. can’t take anymore.”

“no, no, billy — i want your cock so bad —“ your whines were music to his fucking ears.

“yeah, baby?” he asked, shimmying off his pants. “you want my cock? think you can handle it?”

“i can, i can, i can —“ you chanted, your head swimming. you felt billy’s hands spread your ass, kneading the flesh in his hands. his cock slipped in through your folds until he bottomed out, pressing his hips firmly against your back side.

with billy’s mouth still so close to your ear, he rasped, “sucked my cock into you, doll. couldn’t help yourself, huh?”

you arched your backside into his hips, eagerly hoping to meet every thrust. billy had once hand holding your hips down, and the other was clutching the soft, supple skin of your throat. you could hear every labored breath of his, mixing with your own. this position was unlike any other: from the back was usually reserved for women of the night, but holding you? in such an intimate manner? with his lips dragging across the skin of your cheek? waiting for how you reacted to his touch?

you were a mess. mud in his hands — dirty and messy and everywhere —needing him to keep you together.

“nothin’ feels better than you inside me, billy,” you whined.

“i know, darlin’, i’ll always take care of you,” he groaned, lips pulling at your ear lobe which sent your nerve endings on fire. “don’t know how you do it t’me. y’let me, and i'll always be back in between these pretty thighs.”

the groan you let out was hoarse in the most feminine way. your hair was splayed out all around you, cascading down your back. with every thrust, your nipples, taut, hit the cool wood of the dresser and mirrored the smallest bit of pain you needed to leave reality. your skin was flushed and tainted with every touch and caress from billy he gave you. when he saw the blush on your cheeks, and the tears staining your long lashes — he could’ve come right then.

his girl. his pure, fucked out, sweet and scary girl. all his. a force to be reckoned with, but the prettiest sight to see. and you were all his.

however, he wasn’t through with you yet.

no. he was so mean, and he knew it — but he didn't care.

not when he had finally had you after so long.

it was right then that billy promised himself he would never neglect you for so long ever again. he knew that no one had ever touched, fucked, or loved you like he did. he knew that you never let anyone even get as close to him as you let him that night, and he would never forget that — nor would he be so careless as being ungrateful.

his girl — flushed, pink, and finally being able to know what it means to be so vulnerable with a man that she would never know an orgasm like this. he would set the fires of hell on anyone around you if it meant that you could feel this free, so wild, so yourself for the rest of your life. he knew what he had to do next.

he pulled out, and flipped you over so you were back against the wall and sitting up. he immediately stepped in between you and pushed your thighs and legs up so your calves would rest on his shoulders.

“need to feel how deep that pussy can squeeze me,” he grunted, pressing his cock into your folds.

you moaned at his words and movements, practically sand at this point. your body was numb and on fire and in water all at the same time — leaving you completely out of control. all you needed, no — craved was billy sending you over the edge. over the edge, please, over, over, over, need it billy, a pathetic mess you were, but neither of you would change it for the world.

billy began pistoning his hips into yours and you immediately leaned forward to grab onto his bulging biceps. you felt every hot breath hit your face with every thrust. the room was so hot, stuffy, humid, and yet you didn’t want it to end. all you could feel was your tight, soft walls squeezing the living hell out of billy and his beautiful cock.

“‘m gonna cum, billy,” you cried, squeezing your eyes shut.

“yeah, ‘cause you’re a good girl f’me, huh?” he bit. “always takin’ everything i give her. takes my cock so well.”

“only for you, baby,” you cried again, throwing your head back against the wall.

“oh — i don’t think so, sweetheart.” his thumb immediately went to your clit, drawing rough circles on the overstimulated rosebud. "i get to see those pretty eyes when you cum."

your body immediately went taut, sitting up. the slight shake of your limbs was apparent to both of you, and you let out little gasps because of how far you were driven from reality. his cock was pounding against that one sweet spot that made your knuckles white and your teeth bury themselves into the plump of your bottom lip.

“can’t,” you cried, tears beginning to flow once more. "oh, baby — i can't, i can't..."

“i know this pussy can handle it,” he bit. “what happened to being sweet, sugar? huh? goin’ back on your promise?”

his words were the last thing you heard before your body fell mercy to uncontrollable ecstasy. your mind, numb, was thrown back and forth between the throws of passion and the pull and push of billy’s hands bruising the flesh of your hips. you pressed your forehead to billy’s, sobbing through your gritted teeth. tears were pushing through your shut, wrinkled eyelids, and all you could hear was billy begging — coaxing that last orgasm out of you.

billy had won the fight, and he had earned every fucking orgasm he had given you that night. he needed it, he earned it, and he would not be denied it. testosterone was mixing with his blood, making his veins pound, and all he could think about how the scary and sweet girl he won a fight for was weak and needy for his touch.

desperate for a comfort that she hd only allowed him to give her.

he detached your foreheads so your faces were almost pressed together, sides of your noses touching. his lips were brushing against yours — but they weren't kissing you, no. instead, they were reminding you of exactly who you belonged to.

“sweetest fuckin’ girl i know.”

"luckiest guy in this whole thing — you get that? all fuckin' jealous of me."

“knows exactly what to do to fuckin’ please me.”

“pussy just won’t stop cumming, sugar? bet you hate me so much, huh?”

with one final pull of pleasure in your muscles, you screamed his name with a sob. a fucking sob. you were drenched in sweat, your own slick, and tears. fucking tears. they were everywhere — down your cheeks, your neck, and all over billy. your hands found the hair at the back of his neck, and you weaved your fingers through the tendrils for stability.

that was when billy’s orgasm hit him: when you were so weak you could do nothing but cling to him and cry for his touch.

the throaty groan that rumbled through his chest was unlike anything you ever heard. it was animalistic — a primal need was satisfied and everything in his body was singing at the release. he clutched your body to his and your skin warmed at the embrace. he delivered three final pumps into your puffy, pink pussy, and you couldn’t do anything besides take it. you didn't want to do anything else besides take it. the sound of his moans sent every hair on your body standing at attention and your fingers were stroking his soft skin for comfort.

“that’s it, baby,” you whispered, cockdrunk. “love when you're the only one that gets to use me like this.”

at that, he knew you'd be the death of him. he accepted it, and he was okay with it. — happy, even.

you were peppering kisses all over the side of his face as he was coming down from his high. a sleepy haze settled over his eyes, but instead he captured your lips into one final embrace.

“this is the second time this evening i’ve had my shit rocked tonight, darlin’, all because of you,” he whispered. “no dull moment with you, huh?”

“never, baby,” you whispered, letting your eyes fluttered closed as you leaned against him.

“good thing you’re mine,” he quipped, pressing a long and hard kiss to your cheek. “never could share a sweet thing like you.”

----

im buzzing after that

love u guys hehe

-L oxoxox

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Taste of Sugar (Part 1 of 2)

Alastor x reader (Hazbin Hotel)

Part 1 rated M, Part 2 rated E 18+ for adult content

TW part 1: Light jealousy, trauma related to past food insecurity, trauma recovery.

TW Part 2: Explicate smut, see part 2 for details.

Almost 4k words for part one. Ps- Fuck you Nonny, this is what you get for trying to tell me what I'll write

~<3 Love, Kit.

As you work through the trauma of your life and starving to death, you dismantle your stash of snacks for what you hope will be the final time. Snack cakes, cookies and crackers are given to everyone around you, except one resident in the hotel whom you knew wouldn't enjoy or consume the treats. Then, as the flow of treats tricked to a stop, stash dismantled, small brown boxes containing treats began to appear at your door. Simple, delicious and seemingly homemade treats without so much as a note.

He watched and he waited, each week for your offer. Each week, no offer came and again he left his gift at your door. Why would you not think of him? Why would you not see him? What did he have to do for you to consider him?

~~~~~<3~~~~~<3~~~~~~<3~~~~~<3

A Taste of Sugar

You found yourself in Hell after a rather uneventful death that made of for its lack of excitement with lasting trauma. Now, sitting in a circle in a hotel that functioned more like a rehabilitation center and refuge than actual hotel, you were expected to recount it to the fellow residents that had become more like friends. 

It was Charlie’s latest grand idea of how to build trust and bonds between the group and process negative feelings that could hold each of you back from redemption. You didn’t think that was how redemption worked but whatever, it wasn’t your reputation on the line and it got you a safe room to sleep in and three meals a day. 

The others had grand stories of murders, crimes and addictions that all landed them in the grave, one way or another, often taking others with them. They had spoken of dark indulgences. 

Now they teased you, your crimes amounting to nothing compared to theirs. Damned for the simple crime of being born poor and attempting, rather unsuccessfully, to survive. 

You had died fairly young, having lived most of your life on the streets only to starve to death, alone, cold and in the dark. The shelters were full and the food banks near useless without somewhere to cook the food. Stealing food could only get you so far when you had little to choose from. You died dreaming of a warm meal, cooked at home. You died begging to world for a simple snack cake to quiet the pain in your stomach. You died alone, cold and hungry. 

The divine didn’t seem to care that you only stole what you thought you needed to survive. Really, not even that considering you starved to death. Maybe you didn’t pray enough. Maybe you didn’t go to the right church. Maybe you didn’t give away what little food you had often enough. 

Explaining that felt like shining a spotlight on every way you failed. You failed in life and you failed in death. Not good enough to get into heaven and yet you were also not bad enough to have a respected place in hell. Weak, unless and fueled by fear of once again going without. 

“So, that’s why you’ve always got snacks?” Angel pointed out, making you blush hard in shame. The trauma of your life hand a lasting grip around your actions even in death. 

“I’m trying to be better about it,” You felt shame in how you tended to hoard snacks in your room, rarely actually doing more than a little nibbling at them. Charlie did a great job of ensuring all residents had access to three meals a day, though someone was almost always missing from one meal or another. “I know I don’t have to worry about starving here, it’s just hard.” 

In the shadows of the hall, red eyes watched the group. A smile stretched in the distance as they discussed how the traumas of life leaked into the afterlife and the ways you could move past your traumas. 

He couldn’t say why he was drawn to you. You were little more than a lost doe and yet you plagued his mind. He wanted to cast you out so you’ll leave his thoughts as much as he wanted to keep you as a little pet for his own amusements. There was time enough to figure out what to do about the conflicting urges. For now, he can simply watch from a distance, from the shadows.

Rosie had told him that in her expert opinion he was ‘catching feelings’ when he had lamented his inability to settle on a course of action. That aggravated him more than anything else, well almost. The utter glee at the concept was more annoying by just a touch. 

He was above romantic sentiments just as he was above the carnal desires of the flesh. Rosie was mistaken, Alastor decided as he also made the decision that he would do nothing about you. There was no reason to let you plague him any longer. Simply look away, move on with his days and it would pass. 

Without the desire to do anything about this strange draw to you, Alastor settled on watching you from across the room. He watched as you ate, as you threw out the occasional small package of snacks.Turns out, he wasn’t very good at looking away from you. 

It didn’t escape him how you would frown, discussing your decision with Angel. You had decided you would no longer hoard snacks and oh, how proud of you the group was. 

You were growing. Healing. Blooming. 

If you’d talk to him, he’d tell you that very thing. Yes, he decided as you gave away snacks that he would tell you just how proud he was of you when you presented him with a part of your stash. 

He watched and he waited as you gave out cakes, crackers and cookies to everyone else. 

But never to him. No, it was always Angel and the other residents you shared your spoils with. Not once had you sought him out to offer him a cracker, cake or cookie. Not that he indulged in processed snacks or sweets on anything but the rarest occasion but that didn’t stop his shadow from bristling in annoyance behind him. 

He wanted to be offered. To be recognized. To be thought of. To be noticed. 

But he didn’t have feelings for you, he told himself. And that’s what he kept telling himself as the purging of your stash came to an end, drawer empty and flow of snacks becoming a trickle, an occasional treat purchased with the intention of sharing.

Oh, how you’d healed. 

~~~~~<3

The first time it happened, you nearly stepped on it. Someone had left a simple plain cardboard box in front of your room door without so much as a note attached to it. Inside were two equally simple cookies. Nothing large, nothing fancy. 

Setting them on your desk, you debated eating them or not. They looked good but when you had asked around, no one knew where they had come from. 

“Guess you’ve got a secret admirer,” Angel had teased you. “If the cookies are good, you should date them.” 

You didn’t know how you’d pull that off without knowing who left them though. Surely they were safe to eat, it’s not like random people came and left the hotel.

What’s the worst that could happen, if they were drugged? You were safe in your room. If they made you sick you had a private bathroom. You were already dead so what’s the harm?

The cookies were good, it turned out. You had nibbled on them over a few days, spreading out the treat. It seemed as soon as they were gone though, a new box appeared at the door. This time with a handful of crackers, some sliced cheese, fruit and sliced cured meat.

This continued for months, treats that were simple, modest and only enough to last for a few days. No matter how quickly or slowly you had consumed the gift, the night you discarded the empty box always brought a new box in the morning. 

~~~~~<3 

You leaned against the counter watching Alastor work. It was late and though you were not hungry, you often found yourself in the kitchen. Just being able to go down and look at the food you had access to had been helping you resist the urge to hoard food in your room when ever you felt that anxiety claw at you. 

It helped too, that you had been able to look forward to the small snack boxes that showed up. 

“Something on your mind, Dear?” Alastor didn’t look to you as he spoke, instead keeping his eyes on ingredients he was measuring out. 

You hadn’t expected to find him in the kitchen. It was late and those who didn’t leave to party were asleep. Husk was even passed out at the bar. 

“Not really,” You said after a moment. 

“The food is all here,” Alastor said with a hum, “If that’s what you’re here to check.” 

“Oh, No! I-”

“We’ve all got our quirks.” Alastor cut you off, pouring water into a bowl and adding yeast. 

“What are you making?” You asked rather than face admitting that he was right about what you were there to do.

“Beignets,” Alastor said, mildly annoyed.

“Those are like donuts, right?” You asked, hoping that you had imagined the sound. 

“Indeed, they’re similar.” Alastor kept his words curt. 

“For breakfast tomorrow?” 

“At this hour, it’s today.” Alastor swallowed his annoyance at the endless questions and lied, “Yes, for breakfast.”

“I’ll go, sorry for bothering you.” You stepped backward as you took the hint, smile falling from your face. 

“No,” He answered too fast, bitter sigh huffing through his always present smile, “I’ll need someone to try the test one.” 

“Oh.” 

You sat, watching Alastor work. He mixed flour into the liquid. This was a way you had never seen Alastor before. It crossed your mind that he probably didn’t let many see him with his coat and gloves off, smile turned soft and flour dusting his dark hands. 

But he was letting you. 

His coat was draped over the back of the chair you sat in, brushing against your skin as you shifted positions. His gloves were folded neatly and discarded on the table. He worked with his sleeves rolled up and a tune filling the air as he alternated between humming and softly singing to himself. 

It was beautiful. You were engrossed watching him work. The sound of his voice seemed to wrap around you, caressing you with warmth. 

You’d never spent much time with Alastor. You knew he was a deer, like yourself but until now, you’d thought his only deer trait had been the antlers and ears atop his head. It hadn’t occurred to you that he would have a little fluffy tail to match your own. 

It should have, you had fluffy ears to match his though with your longer hair, it was more obvious that they were indeed ears. You watched as his red and black tail moved with him as he put the dough in the icebox to chill.

“What now?” You asked, leaning back from him. 

“We wait, my little doe,” Alastor sat front of you across the table, leaning into your space across the small table.

“For how long?” You ask, not sure what to make of spending so much time with him. 

“A while,” Alastor said, “But I assure you the wait is well worth it.” 

“But you don’t like sweets.”

“You know what I like?” Alastor’s dark hand, stained by blood that could never be washed away dramatically rose to rest over his heart with a flourish as he leaned forward even more. “I’m ever so flattered.” 

You stuttered, not sure how to backtrack. Alastor laughed at your flustered stuttering before taking pity on you, pointing a long claw tipped finger so close to you that you swore he was going to stab you with his nail. 

“You, my dear, do enjoy sweets however.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, face warm. He knew that you cared for sweets. You were tired but seeing this relaxed side of him was thrilling. That chased away most of the fatigue, driving you to stay and find someway to push the conversation along. 

“I didn’t know you liked to cook,” You struggled to decide how to fill the silence.

“I’ve always found it rather enjoyable.” Alastor cocked his head to the side as he watched you. “My mother taught me.” 

“That must have been nice.” You weren’t sure what to say, having never really gotten to experience the love of a mother yourself. 

“It was.” Alastor watched as you leaned forward, resting your head on your arms. There was something about you that he couldn’t put down. “Did your mother not teach you to cook?” 

Your ears sagged atop your head at the question, earning a raised eyebrow from the man across from you. “She didn’t teach me much of anything. I was on my own since I was fourteen.” 

“Oh, Dear,” Alastor said as if he didn’t know that already, “How dreadful.” 

“I never really had enough food for learning to cook to be a thing.” You shrugged your shoulders, not lifting your head as you stretched out your arm to use it as a pillow. You shifted, allowing you to face him even as you used the side of the table to lounge on. 

“But you do now.” Alastor pointed out as he sat with you in a kitchen full of food.

“Full of Charlie’s and the hotel’s food.” You said, “I couldn’t risk wasting it. It’s enough that everyone shares with me what they make and,” You shake your head awkwardly against your arm, cutting off the thought.

“And?” Alastor pressed. 

“Someone’s been leaving little boxes of treats at my door. I wish I knew who it was.” 

“Why?” Alastor leaned back now, putting distance between the two of you, “Does the origin of a gift matter?” 

“I-” Your eyes teared up as your voice strangled in your throat. You sat up, not sure why you were being so open with him. 

“You~?” Alastor asked in a sing song tone as a tear slipped from your eye and ran down. His eyes followed it as it cut a path down your cheek. It was maddening to him, what you made him feel. How watching that tear captured his attention, yet he raged at the fact that it was born from pain in your heart.

“I’ve never had anyone give me treats like that.” You said, wiping the tear away much to his disappointment. 

“Never? Surely a suiter gifted you treats while courting for your attention.” Oh, why did saying that raise bile in his throat? 

“I’ve never-” You laugh, not sure why the idea of discussing this with Alastor made you feel uneasy. “There was never any suiters. No boys. No one.” 

“I struggle to believe that.” Alastor laughed as he stood from his chair, “Come my dear, wash your hands and join me.” 

You didn’t know what he wanted but Alastor was a man to be obeyed. While you were both deer, he had far more power than you could ever dream to possess. If he wanted to demand your help, you had little choice but to comply. 

Sure, the hotel offered a sense of safety but if Alastor wanted to squash you like a bug, shared demonic traits or not, there was nothing that could stop him. Well, Charlie would but she was asleep. 

Alastor had the counter floured and a small portion of dough out as you joined him, drying your hands. “Where’s the rest?” 

“That’ll be fried up in the morning, if it passes our test.”

He pulled you in front of the counter before stepping close behind you. It was hard to ignore the overwhelming presence of him looming over your shoulder as he reached around to grab the rolling pin only to pass it to you.

“Roll it out until I say,” He directed as he covered the pin in flour only to place it in your hands. 

As you worked, his hands rested on either side of you against the counter, boxing you in from behind while not touching you at all. It was hard for you to ignore how close he was. 

It was like the man was taking over your mind, something you hadn’t expected considering you hadn’t given him much thought in the months before. The smell of his cologne seemed to surround, making your head light. You weren’t sure why you were reacting to him like this but it left your nerves buzzing. 

Now all you could think of was the way his breath caressed over your ears, the way his hands looked without the gloves, dusted with flour, the sound of his voice as he hummed and the smell of his cologne. 

“There.” Alastor said, taking the pin from you and replacing it with a dough cutter. “Squares, about the size of your fist.” 

Cool air swept around you as Alastor moved away, checking the pot of oil heating on the stove. You’d only just begun to relax under his looming presence and now he was gone and damnit, you missed it. 

There was just enough dough to form two squares with some left over. Alastor scooped them up before dropping them in the oil. You stood next to him, watching as the oil came to life around the dough. 

“How long do we cook them?” You asked over the sound of the violently bubbling oil.

“Not long.” Alastor said from too close behind you once again as inky black shadow imps swept up the flour and crumbs, wiping down the counters.

On the counter, he set a plate with a rack over it and next to that was a sifter atop a container of powdered sugar. You were boxed in by Alastor as he rested his hands on either side of the fryer, looking over your shoulder as he once again boxed you in. 

“Now.” He said softly, “Scoop them out and put them on the rack.” 

You were timid, scared of being burned as you fished for the squares with the spoon made of wire. 

“Hurry, hurry!” Alastor cried, voice carrying a musical note as he only made your nerves worse, “You don’t want them to burn!” 

Finally, you got them out. Oil dripped off the puffed up pastries as they quickly drained the excess oil off. Alastor grabbed the sifter only to put it in your hands. He moved you as if you were a puppet, placing the sifter in your hands over the rack, steam wafting up to caress your hand. You stood still as he poured a few spoonfuls of powdered sugar into the basket. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” He teased. “You can manage to turn the handle, can’t you?” 

“Yeah,” You stammered over the word, mind buzzing with the anxiety of having Alastor, the powerful, blood thirsty Radio Demon spending so much time in your immediate space. Your hands shook as you turned the small metal handle, causing the wire bar inside the sifter to spin, agitating the powdered sugar and helping it fall in a smooth, clump free shower over a square. 

Alastor used his hand on your forearm to move the sifter over the other pastry when he had decided there was enough dusting on the first. You didn’t know if there was any science to how much sugar each got or if he was simply measuring with his long dead heart. 

Once both were covered enough for his taste, he plucked the sifter from your fingers and set it aside. 

“What now?” You asked, unsure still of what was going on. 

“Now you try one.” Alastor said, plucking a square up. When you went to grab the other, he roughly shoved the rack out of your reach. 

“What? Why did you do that?!” Your brow furrowed as you looked at the rack, now well out of reach before looking back at the man standing too close to you. “How can I try it if you won’t let me grab it?”

“Open.” Alastor commanded as he ripped the corner off the beignet in his hand. 

“Wha-” Your question was cut off by the soft, warm, sweet taste that invaded your mouth somewhat forcefully. 

It was delicious. 

“Well?” Alastor asked as you swallowed the bite. 

You hadn’t noticed Alastor rip off another chunk of beignet but found it pushed between your lips the moment you attempted to praise the taste. This time, instead of retreating, his thumb rested against your lower lip as you took in the bite. 

His nails were long and pointed claws, not the thick claws that encased the fingertips of his gloves, but still dangerous. The sharp point of his thumbnail poked between your lips as he watched you chew for a few moments. 

You were spellbound by the way he looked down at you. What exactly was happening, you had no fucking clue but the air between you and Alastor was thick with something you couldn’t begin to understand. 

His touch left your lip to rip another chunk off the beignet slowly as you watched him. His dark bloodstained hands were covered in the white powdered sugar and flour, softening their appearance.

“It’s good,” You whispered as he slowly brought another bite to your lips. 

This time he offered it, waiting for you to open your mouth and take what he was offering on your own, knowing full well who was offering it. Somehow, it felt like something far more than a midnight snack was being offered to you but what?

“It’s been you,” You said, not asked as Alastor presented another bite that you took willingly as soon as you spoke. 

His thumb again lingered on your lips, sugar damp with oil and sticky on his skin smearing. 

“Yes,” Alastor said after a pause to toss the remaining portion of the beignet on the counter and wiping the hand that had been holding it on a hand towel on the counter, cleaning it of some of the sugar. Yet his other hand didn’t leave you. His thumb remained on your lower lip, feeling every twitch and breath. 

“Why?” You whispered, his thumb slipping against your lip and coming dangerously close to falling into your mouth. 

“You never offered me anything of your stash,” Alastor spoke softly.

“You don’t like sweets,” You hadn’t wanted to waste his time when you had made the decision to dismantle your stash. It had been a emotionally difficult choice, one that you had made before and never stuck to for long until now. “Or junk food.”

“You ignored me.” Alastor’s thumb slipped, running along her lower lip but never leaving it. “I thought if you had better options…”

“I’d share them with you?” Your voice was coming out so soft now, Alastor’s tall ears cocked forward to better pick up your words. 

“But you didn’t.” 

“I didn’t share them with anyone.” You whispered. “I didn’t want to share them with anyone.”

“Why?” 

“I wanted to keep them all to myself. They were too good to share. I-” 

Alastor’s thumb slipped into your mouth, cutting off whatever you had been about to say. Sticky sweetness exploded across your tongue as his thumb caressed it. You could feel the point of his nail against your tongue, a hint of danger coated in sweet sugar. 

Your mind was numb as you caressed the pad of his thumb, rolling the tip of your tongue under his nail softly. You were not sure what he wanted from you. The idea of overstepping Alastor’s unspoken boundaries was terrifying. This was uncharted waters. A side of Alastor you had never seen or even dared to dream of seeing. 

Alastor watched you as you stood near frozen. “Under some circumstances, I enjoy a sweet.” 

~~~~~<3

See part 2 for the smut.

[beaulesbian]

Every once in a while I think again about the end of Thriller Bark and feel completely insane and ill about Zoro's sacrifice, FOR LUFFY, specifically (you know, the character Kuma's threat was directed at). It wasn't even that long into traveling together, a few months maybe, yet Zoro was ready to give up everything in that moment - in the chapter with Kuma appearing being titled The End of the Dream ! - to protect his crew and Luffy, so he could continue in his journey.

Since Luffy and Zoro met, they always understand how words and promises were imporant to them - with Luffy punching Helmeppo in ch. 3 for lying to Zoro. Zoro learnt how serious Luffy was about his dream, and soon he realized he backed up his words with actions as well - untiying Zoro and giving him his swords back - his biggest treasures. It meant that Zoro could be honest and honor-bound in the same way to Luffy, to gain this mutual respect and trust between them since day 1. To wield his swords to protect both Luffy and later their whole crew, and to step in a way between Luffy and danger.

He was being actually more upset that Sanji got up from the previous Kuma's attack and interrupted their fight - Zoro was trying to keep the whole crew safe by this exchange for Luffy's head - if Sanji was offering his life for Luffy half dead and without much strength left to fight for himself (he started the offering of his own life already believing he woudn't survive, with a "you should find a new cook"), then this very specific sacrifice would be meaningless to the crew (- if this arc was taking place post WCI, then it would turn out very differently, with the strength of Sanji believing in Luffy, but it wasn't his moment during this scene) - it would hurt them more than help them, because as much as Zoro was prepared to die as well, he was prepared to keep fighting until the last breath.

Zoro was thinking he might die - Kuma's words were pretty certain he WOULD die - but he still had the willingness and strength to take on the deal for Luffy, for his captain and his crew. ("if i die here, it just means I wasn't worth much to begin with" this line he says times and times again during the overall story, like in Rogue Town throwing Kitetsu and waiting if it would cut off his arm, up until standing against King in Wano "it's my power that was lacking", and all the other times he was questioning his worth - it's something he tempts the fates he doesn't believe in, to actually harm him, to take his strength away if he doesn't deserve to survive. and it's him saying he knows and accepts his own weaknesses - of not being strong enough (in comparison to Sanji in this example), and always fights through them.)

He threw away his swords, including Wado Ichimonji - literally throwing aside his and Kuina's dream, to compell Kuma into a duel (with the anime playing 'The Very Very Very Strongest' when Zoro bowed down and pleaded Kuma, offering him his head instead of Luffy's) so Kuma wouldn't go after the crew and specifically Luffy later - no matter the outcome if Zoro would surive or not.

And then, he was actually strong enough to survive taking his captain's fatigue, agony and pain! Possibly being the only one who could survive taking Luffy's pain.

Zoro could have back out when Kuma offered him the 'taste' of the pain, with the realization of the scale of the hurt with the very possibility of dying from it. But that wouldn't be Zoro now, would it? He accepted and took all of Luffy's pain so his captain wouldn't have to suffer or die, and when they found him afterwards, he still kept standing, tense with the fatigue but alive! (again, with anime adding the music of 'Luffy's Fierce Attack' to underline the importance between these two).

He was training for this since the beginning - to become stronger to shoulder the pain of his crew if necessary. (And not only that - he was preparing for that so another Kuina incident didn't have to happen). He was the first one to fight one of the Warlords before anything really began: his fight with Mihawk at Baratie really set the tone and his own goals to overcome - a glimpse to see on how much different levels the Warlords actually were in comparison to Zoro, Luffy and the others, and if they were supposed to beat them so Luffy could become the Pirate King, that always meant to be ready and to get even stronger than them.

(small spoiler for egghead, ch. 1102: seeing Kuma (a Warlord at that time) remembering this Thriller Bark event later, during Egghead arc, and thinking that even he might have passed out from the pain, makes it all the more meaningful that it was Zoro who took the pain and withstood it - establishing how high was the strength of his willpower, already before timeskip.)

There could be so many other nuances and details from these last few chapters of this arc, and even what this deal meant for the following arcs! Zoro was still in pain on Sabaody, and because of that the crew wasn't as strong as it could have been (not to say they would have a chance anyway, knowing what all was in the motion).

The next is the tragedy and beauty of LUFFY never finding out about this. Half of the crew knew: Sanji, Brook and Robin knew the details, but would never tell Luffy - and that shows their loyalty to both Luffy and Zoro (and Zoro's decision). Luffy woke up and first thing he did was to jump up and down, excited not to be weighted down by his injuries, and only seeing his swordsman being down with injuries so severe he was out more days afterwards, knowing that something else attacked them (him = Zoro), after he was passed out from the fight against Moria, brought down his mood (even if it's not much noticable, but the change into subtle worry is there in the few next chapters).

"I can't explain it either!" - meaning he was thinking about it too, possibly how weird it was for him to move normally after such long fight. We don't really ever hear/see Luffy thinking about something, except when it's mentioned how he came up with a solution or idea, telling us there's more to Luffy than just being straightforward in his goals and speech. With Luffy being sometimes very emotionally intelligent when he wants to be, he could have figured it out from all these other people in the room asking similar questions and deducing. Even Usopp was putting two and two togehter. We might never find out if Luffy actuallly knows or not. Luffy probably wouldn't ask Zoro directly, especially if Zoro wouldn't tell first and didn't want to talk about it

- because for Zoro, nothing happened! Nothing, that would compromise his and Luffy's first promise. For Zoro to become the Strongest he couldn't back down from the duel with Kuma (just like before with his duel with Mihawk at Baratie. When he's faced with something he swore to overcome, he can't back down or evade. Even back then Luffy understood that as he held back Johnny and Yosaku, but Sanji was perplexed how far Zoro (and Luffy) would go to reach their dreams). When Sanji was asking him in front of Kuma "What about your dream?" Zoro was still thinking about his dream- it was just that the context has changed, it changed into a journey. His dream is the most important thing, but it wouldn't mean much, if, when on his way to accomplish that, he would betray his other words and promises.

[thelionandtheeagle]

Re: Knight Terrors - Robin #2

There is so much here I could talk about, it's hard to even pick/ decide where to start. I guess I'll just say this up front: I really didn't like the first issue, and while I still have some minor gripes with this second one, it was overarchingly damn good and I'm ridiculously excited that Tim and Jason were finally allowed again to have an interaction that makes sense for them, given their past history. It's been 84 years I swear.

Now without further ado:

1)

The way they see themselves and each other.

This excerpt goes perfectly with a different post I was working on, talking about what happened at Titans Tower.

(Jason narrating, referring to Tim; Teen Titans 2003 #29)

Tim chronically suffers from imposter syndrome. He's constantly doubting himself. But Jason has always believed, known, that Tim is good at what he does. And over time his conviction in regards to it has only grown stronger. Jason's high opinion of Tim's capabilities is actually part of the reason he was so hurt about being "replaced" by Tim, specifically.

(Jason talking to Tim during Robin War; Red Hood/Arsenal 2015 #7)

Jason has always seen Tim as better than himself. All the while Tim has struggled to feel capable of living up to Jason's legacy. But Tim still took up the mantle because he cared and he had to try. And Jason recognizes that.

(Tim talking at a portrait of Jason, Secret Origins 2014 #3)

(Red Hood/Arsenal 2015 #37)

(Red Hood and the Outlaws 2011 #8)

In summary for this section: Tim and Jason tend to think lowly of themselves, but highly of each other. There's mutual respect and understanding. That's at the very core of their relationship and Knight Terrors showcases that beautifully.

2)

Another great thing about their dynamic that gets shown off in this issue is that they make a damn good team and enjoy working together.

throughout the issue

(Tim narrating, Teen Titans 2011 #16)

(We are Robin 2015 #7)

3)

Last but not least, we get some delightfully, painfully, tender moments.

Jason wishes for someone to count on. And Tim is right there for him. Which gets heavily doubled down on at the end of the issue:

Tim is always ready to work with Jason, to lend a hand, to be there for him-

- and Jason trusts Tim with his life.

Which, speaking of life...

After waking up, Jason tries to get in contact with Tim and when he can't, we see how devastate he is, thinking something went wrong. Ouch.

In conclusion: I was worried going in, with DC's track record lately, but I can happily say I was beyond pleasantly surprised. This feels like a return to form, and I pray we'll get more content featuring these two in the near future. If you haven't checked it out yourself yet, I highly recommend reading this issue.

Thanks for listening <3 I know this was a lot hah

[aesthetic-babyyy]

The big question- Sam Winchester imagine

Warnings// smut, smut oh and more smut

Word count// 3665

(Gif from Pinterest)

Sam and you had been together for 2 years, you met while in your first day of Stanford, you sat at the back of the lecture hall with not knowing anyone you eddies to take the seat furthest away from the rest of the class, and you say there alone for all of 5 minutes before the seat next to you was being taken by a tall handsome stranger, the handsome man turned to you smiling placing his hand out "hi I'm Sam" you shook his hand returning his smile "I'm Y/N"

"You not much of a people person either?" Sam joked at the difference of where you two were say 4 rows behind you chatting classmates "definitely not, I don't really know anyone here yet other than my roommate" you said taking notes of what the professor had written on the board "well I guess you know me now too" was he flirting?, you turned to face him giving him a small smirk "I guess I do" am thought for a second before speaking again "so now that we're friends, what do you say I take you out for dinner say around 6 o clock? I could even take you to see a movie after" okay he was definitely flirting with you

Your cheeks were burning red, you definitely didn't expect to get a date on your first day of college "yeah it's a date" Sam nodded finding it hard to contain his own smile, he's not usually this straight forward especially when it comes to pretty girls, once the class was over you and Sam walked to exit to head to your next classes which unfortunately were not together as you've discovered "can I have your number? I can call you later so we can meet up tonight?" Sam questioned scratching the back of his neck awkwardly "yea definitely" you said taking out a pen to write on his notebook (xx xxx xxx xxx) "perfect I'll call you after my last class" Sam said tucking his notebook back under his arm

"I gotta get going room 336 is across campus" you said moving to walk to your class "Y/N wait!" Sam jogged slightly over to you "yeah?" Sam looked to the ground suddenly finding the ground very interesting "how about I walk you to your class" you smiled up at him "I'd really like that Sam" needless to say the date went amazing, Sam sweeper you right off your feet, you guys were dating for around a year when he asked you to move in with him, he had his own apartment since his roommate Louis moved out 3 months prior, of course you said yes and you guys couldn't have been happier, getting to wake up to the man you loved everyday as falling asleep next to him was thrilling.

Things has been going great for you guys since you moved in together a year ago, Sam was the perfect roommate and boyfriend, he never left his dirty laundry litter the floor, he never ate the last of your food, something you were very thankful for because your last roommate wasn't so respectful, and even if he did he replaced it before you noticed which wanted your heart and you always made sure to thank him in only a way you could, you guys rarely fought which was great and even when you guys had your stupid arguments that made you give each other the silent treatment, the make up sex made it so worth it,

Lately however, Sam had been acting strange, starting to become more secretive, you trusted Sam immensely so you knew he wasn't cheating on you, however the secrets were getting concerning, deciding to push it to the back of your head and just give him time, Sam would come talk to you when he was ready, like every Friday you finished your last class earlier than sam so you decided to go grocery shopping and head back to the apartment.

You were home an hour later, however Sam still had one more class so he wouldn't be home for another hour at most so once you put the grocery's away you laid down on the couch deciding to watch crappy TV till your boyfriend got home, tonight was takeout night so you  decided to text Sam to see what he was thinking for tonight, surprisingly he replied pretty fast considering he was still in class 'what if we went out to that new restaurant tonight? I was gonna call and make reservations after I get out of professor Xs class' giggling at Sam's attempt to joke you started to feel excited, you guys hadn't been out in a while, loving the company of each other on the comfort of your own couch every night instead

'that sounds incredible baby what time?' You texted back and again within seconds, like it was already typed and ready Sam replied '8:30pm?' Considering it was 4:30pm you decided to take a shower, you sent Sam a quick text of approval before moving to the bathroom and taking a quick everything shower.

Once the clock hit 5:30pm you had finally dried your hair from the shower and curled it, still wearing your shower robe when you heard the front door open and shut "Y/N I'm home" god you didn't think you would ever get tired of hearing that, rushing out to greet your boyfriend, when you got to the kitchen Sam was placing his laptop bag on the kitchen counter, smiling you walk over to him Sam waiting for you with his arms open, wrapping your arms around your giant boyfriends neck to hug him, his own hands wrapping around your waist, now something you have always loved about hugging Sam, he always ended up picking you up and holding you close to him, like his own little koala

This hug was no different, Sam was lifting you off your feet, your legs wrapping around his waist, Sam leaned in the kiss you, you returned the kiss, moaning when moved his hands to the hem of your robe, running them up you legs and straight to your ass, squeezing your ass and pulling you closer to him so your bare heat was pressing against his deliciously cold belt buckle, you moaned rolling your hips to hit your clit either right pressure, Sam's hands squeezed hard as you opened your lips moaning his name, Sam took advantage of this as he slipped his tongue into the kiss, you fought for dominance over the kiss but there's not much Sam's tongue can loose too... especially when he's always practicing with it

Pulling away from the kids and stopping your actions "wait Sammy" you said pressing your hand on his shoulder "everything okay?" He asked panicked, you giggled "of course baby i just think we should save this for later" you smirked kissing his freshly shaven cheek "yeah your right" he said sitting you down on the kitchen counter next to his laptop case "so what's got you wanting to go out all of a sudden?" You were curious, normally you guys talked about dates, unless it's for birthdays or anniversary's "well Matt was talking about it saying the food there was great and I thought I should surprise you with a night out" Sam said kissing you once again, only this time it was a sweet kiss "your the best Sammy I love you so much" Sam have you a final kiss before pulling away giving you a smile "I love you more baby"

While Sam was taking a shower you decided do your make up, keeping it very simple as you were never one to do a bold eye, you put on some red lipstick to finish it off moving to your closet  to pull on a black lace strapless bra and matching panties, you pulled on your red mini dress, you decided to pair the look with a pair of black stilettos and a black leather jacket to match your dress, Sam walked into your shared bedroom a towel gun loosely on his hips, his toned chest still dripping wet from the shower "you look beautiful Y/N" Sam said staring at you completely starstruck

Your turned giving your boyfriend a bright smile "thanks sweetie", Sam got dressed into a paris of black slacks and a dressy shirt, he styled his hair slightly, by the time you guys were finished getting ready it was 8:00pm, you made your way out to Sam's car to go to the restaurant. Sam parked the car and got out the drivers seat rushing over to open your door, extending his arm to you to help you out "what's for you being so gentlemanly  tonight?" You asked linking your arm through his "I just want to make up for not taking you out regularly, your so beautiful I need to be showing you off every damn chance I get"

You giggled as you guys made it to the restaurant doors, Sam held the door open for you and you both walked up to the reception desk "hi we have a reservation for Winchester" the man nodded "of course and Winchester your table is ready, if you and the lovely lady can follow me please", the waiter said leading f you and Sam to your table, Sam pulled your chair out for you and once you were seated Sam sat on his own seat, the waiter placed two large menus on your table "would either of you like to order a drink?" Sam nodded "yes please, can I get a whiskey soda and can my girlfriend get a martini" the waiter nodded writing both drinks orders down "of course sir, they'll be right out" the waiter said walking towards the bar

"Wow Sam this place looks amazing" you said looking around the warm lit room seeing how crowded it was "yeah I've heard great reports from the place, so i though you and I should be the real judges of that" Sam said making you giggle, skimming through the menu you decided to order the chicken Parmesan with a side of fries, Sam decided on the steak, also with a side of fries, Sam and you made small chit chat about each others days as you waited for your food, which didn't take very long.

Both of you had cleared your plates "wow they weren't lying this place is amazing" you said placing your fork back on the empty plate "yeah it was incredible, we'll definitely be back here". "Can I interest you both on our desert menu, our chefs special tonight is the chocolate fudge cake infused with caramel filling and vanilla ice cream" that sounded incredible, Sam who was always able to read your mind was already ordering 2 of the chefs special, "I'm gonna run to the bathroom I'll be right back" Sam said, his voice coming out rushed, before you could ask if he was alright he was already heading to the bathroom's, you decided to brush it off maybe he had to pee really bad?

When Sam came back from the bathroom his demeanour was still the same, he looked around the restaurant anxious, once the waiter had came with your deserts he sat it down in front of both of you, you thanked the waiter, turning back to grab your spoon when you caught a glimpse of shine coming from your cake, confused you took a closer look, that's when you it... there was a ring on your cake a beautiful princess cut ring surrounded by little diamond, you breath hitched in your throat as tears tan down your face, when you looked back to Sam he was in front  of you now, down on his knee, he took your hands in his, by now the whole restaurant was silent just watching you both in the most special moment of your life "Y/N, the second I laid eyes on you I knew you were special, after our first date I knew how right I was, your smart, kind and the most beautiful women in the world, your everything I have ever wanted and more, I could never imagine a life without you, you’re the reason I wake up smiling everyday because I get to wake up to you every morning I love you so much beautiful, will you marry me?” By the end of Sam’s speech you were in tear you let out a shaky breath “hell yeah I’ll marry you!” You cried reaching forward placing both hands on Sam’s face pulling him into a soft kiss

Once Sam pulled away he gently grabbed the ring giving it a quick clean, “you’ll be needing this” Sam chuckled as he took your left hand in his, he gently placed the ring on your finger officially making you an engaged women, the restaurant erupted into cheers for you both in celebrations.

Once you and Sam had left the restaurant you guys were on your way home as fiancés “i can’t stop smiling oh my god” you said holding your left hand in front of you as Sam drove “I’ve had that ring for a couple weeks now I just could figure out how to propose but I couldn’t hold it in anymore” Sam said as he pulled into your apartments parking lot. Walking up to your door Sam was picking you up bridal style making you squeal and grab him for balance “gotta start practicing carrying you over the threshold” Sam opened the door walking you both in before turning to lock up for the night, he started to walk you both to the bedroom playing with his slightly long hair “can’t wait to get you fiancé to bed huh” you joked

Sam chuckled dropping you gently to the bed “I’m so happy I can finally call you my fiancé now” Sam said gently taking your shoes off, his hands running up your legs, he went under the red dress pulling the black lace off your legs, Sam scrunched your dress up under your ass presenting your bare pussy In front him, the air making you clench at nothing, Sam smirked as he snaked his arms around your legs as he roughly pulled you to the end of the bed, you felt his hot breath against your core making you moan softly

Sam leaned in licking a stripe from your entrance to your clit to test the waters, when your body responded with your hand in his hair pushing him closer to you, Sam smirked against you as he got to work, Sam started fucking his tongue in and out of your right hole as his nose pressed against your clit making you see stars, you ran your hand through Sam’s hair your hips rolling against the movements of Sam’s tongue, Sam inserted his long thick finger inside of you, curling to hit your G spot with every thrust as he loved his mouth to your clit flicking it and sucking it into his hot mouth, once Sam added another finger it wasn’t long till you were chanting his name “oh my hod Sammy, I’m gonna come” you croaked out as you came hard on his tongue

Sam worked you through orgasm, pulling away from between your shaky legs he stood pulling his clothes off leaving him complete bare in front of you, you smirked moving to crawl towards him on weak legs, you stopped at his cock, his tip red and pre fun leaking from it, you wrapped your small hand around his big thick shaft moving your hand up and down at a slow pace to tease him, you went to take him into your mouth but Sam stopped you “tonight is all about you Y/N” Sam said grabbing the hem of your dress and pulling it off, leaving you in only your black lace bra, Sam grabbed the front of it tearing it off exposing your bare chest to him “oh fuck” you were dripping at this point wanting him to do something

Sam got the hint getting on top of you, he eased you back down on the bed, he leaned in to kiss you nipping at your bottom lip for entrance which was soon granted, Sam explored every inch of your mouth with his tongue, you moaned at the fact you could still taste yourself on his tongue, Sam moved the kissed down your neck sucking at your pulse point “please fuck me sam” you begged dying to feel the familiar stretch of his cock, sam chuckled moving his kiss down to your breast giving your nipple a playful bite, you arched your back at the feeling wrapping your legs around his hips, sam grabbed his shaft rubbing it up and down your folds coating his in your juices he groaned pressing his tip to your entrance,

Sam started to push his cock inside you inch by inch, not stopping until he bottomed out “you feel so fucking good baby” sam groaned as he started thrusting slowly to get you ready,”faster Sammy please” you begged so Sam grabbed your thighs, pushing them against your chest so your legs were over his shoulders, giving him the perfect angle to but your special spot, Sam pulled almost all the way out before slamming back inside you “oh fuck Sam!” You screamed in pleasure, Sam continued his pace the only sounds on the room that could be heard were moans and skin slapping skin “I’m not gonna last much longer” Sam groaned out “me either baby” Sam moved his hand down to your pussy and started to rub your clit to stimulate you “oh god I’m gonna cum” you screamed your head slamming against the pillow, Sam started to thrust into you even fast than before his fingers still rubbing your clit, you came in an instant, squirting all over Sam’s cock, that sent Sam over the edge as cam in spurts inside you “that was so fucking hot” Sam said his hips finally coming to a stop

he pulled out of you gently as he collapsed beside you pulling your sweaty body against his you leaned your head on his toned chest as you slowed your breathing, you couldn’t stop staring at the beautiful ring that now decorated your hand “I can’t believe we’re engaged” you said looking up at Sam who was already smiling down at you, “I know me either but I’m so glad you said yes” Sam grabbed your newly decorated hand in his as you both drifted to a sound sleep wrapped in your fiancés strong arms

You woke a few hours later to Sam still sound asleep, smirking you moved slowly out of his heaps as not to wake him just yet as you straddled him, his morning wood pressed against your core making you shudder, you leaned forward kissing his neck sucking a deep hickey under his jaw, Sam stirred as he slowly opened his eyes, smiling he wrapped his arms around your waist holding you close to him, pulling away from his neck you leaned in to cover his mouth with your own, sliding your tongue into his mouth, you and Sam continued to make out lazily

You began rubbing your folds over his erect penis, pulling away after a few moments you held his cock in your hand rubbing up and down jerking him off slightly “Y/N please” Sam moaned his hand’s gripping your waist tightly, “you want me to ride you handsome?”

You asked continuing to jerk him off “fuck yes!” You smirked as you hovered your dripping hole over Sam’s cock moaning Sam’s name as you say on him

Once Sam was fully inside of you, you began to bounce on his cock Sam groaned his hands moved to your ass gripping hard as helped you move up and down his length “oh god Sammy” you moaned as your breast bounced along with your motions, Sam was in a trance as he leaned forward taking your breast into his mouth sucking and biting before moving to your next breast repeating his actions

You soon felt your orgasms approaching “you gonna come Sammy” you teased knowing he was holding back, Sam took you by surprise gently pulling you off his shaft, he turned you around so you were on your hands and knees, Sam was behind you in seconds pushing his length inside you once more, he bottomed out against your ass, he was always able get deeper inside you when he took you from behind, Sam started to trust inside you at fast punishing pace “harder please” you begged your hands clenching the bedsheets so hard your knuckles were turning white

Sam obeyed instantly, he leaned forward his chest pressed against your back his hands moving to hold your breasts in his big hands as he started slamming his length inside your pussy, you screamed as Sam continued to thrust inside you as hard as he could until he was about to finish “cum with me gorgeous” Sam said as he squeezed your breasts his hips still going as hard as before, you obeyed and came with a scream of your fiancés name, clenching your pussy around his length pushing Sam to his end unleashing hot sports of cum inside you, Sam eventually pulled out and pulled you back to your previous position from last night, wrapped in his arms

Sam leaned over to kiss the top of your head, “well that was quite the wake up call” Sam joked smiling against your hair, giggling you place you ring hand on his chest “I wanted to wake my future husband up with a bang” you joked “well you certainly succeeded… i can’t wait to call you my wife Y/n” Sam said holding you closer to him “me either Sammy” you said closing your eyes and falling into a peaceful morning nap with your new fiancé, soon to be husband.

[cipheramnesia]

This is the process my brain goes through every time I see anything about Netflix Avatar The Last Airbender.

My first reaction is always: Why? The original, although not without flaws, doesn't leave a lot of room to improve. A good remake or adaptation usually involves an updated context or change in perspective that adds to the original work and gives it new meaning. It's a risky undertaking because it usually involves wanting to take on something established as iconic and make it your own. But Netflix is a corporation and seems very risk averse for the most part. Its only investment is in the name recognition of AtLA. It's hard to visualize Netflix deliberately taking a big risk on an expensive show.

My second reaction is: How? The original series is about 1400 minutes over 61 episodes, and it still had to rush the ending. We're looking at 8 episodes of roughly 45-60 minutes per episode for season 1, which would require Netflix to let it run more than 3 seasons, if the series has similar pacing. Historically however Netflix shows have glacial pacing, and rarely make three seasons. Not really sure how they plan to tell the story if the series is anything like the average Netflix series, meaning it either needs to undercut the story or let the series breathe for at least five seasons. But nothing Netflix has done makes me want to watch anything they make as an ongoing series? Why bother, they cancel everything I enjoy. So I wonder how. What's the hook to say "this will be able to provide something new and interesting compared to the original, and will be allowed to tell the complete story."

Which leads me to think, but you can't judge if something is good without seeing it. Except none of this is about whether it's good, I just find myself wondering what are the odds it's worth the effort? They're low, and it has nothing to do with whether or not it's even any good on its own merits.

Following this, I ask myself, what would a good version of this be. Imagine you are making a live action series with eight hour long episodes per season based on a children's cartoon with 20 thirty minute episodes per season. You are trying to encompass a story which was presented over three seasons as a cartoon, and you do not know if you will have more than those eight episodes. It's made for Netflix which, in terms of a company which will protect the hard earned fruits of your artistic labor, is the fox guarding the henhouse. What do you do?

If you are looking to make something good, that respects your audience investment and your own work, you make radical changes to the story. You change the pacing, the character arcs, the plot arcs. You make sure you deliver a complete story in those episodes with as much respect for the original work and as many new ideas as you can.

Except, at that point, what is even the point of a remake. The only way to work with it is either to trust Netflix allowing you to finish the story (which you'd need to be incredibly naive to do), or tell a story so different it may as well be wholly original. And that's where I always end up. Like, it'll probably be fine, but what's the point of it all? Another vanishing digital property to get canceled because of some undefinable failure to return on investment.

I think about it a lot because the two ends of the spectrum seem to be "dunk on every new piece of information" or "wait and see" but the only conclusion I can ever reach is "why even care?" That's been the lesson to take home from digital streaming in general when it comes to series, but Netflix in particular, and honestly for movie series too. If it can't be self contained, the companies who produce and release these kinds of series just cannot be trusted with it, and there are too many good original stories being put out to care anymore about big budget promises that one day they will definitely for sure deliver a finished story, this time for real.

I care enough to think about why I don't feel anything at all about Netflix Avatar. It'll be fine, whatever else. Just fine.

[rainylana]

“I’ll think about it.”

Eddie Munson x female reader

summary: your sexual desires finally come to light.

warnings: very dark fic with very dark topics. topics include; rape, rape fantasies, fantasies of being beaten and abused, unhealed trauma, language, breakdowns and some smut. please do not read if you are triggered by these topics. this speaks heavily to me and i poured my heart into it. please let me know what you think>3

There’s a way he makes you feel like no other man has before. It’s a new level of trust, loyalty and desire. There’s a way he makes your body ache for things that you’ve never dreamt of before. This new love with him, though you would not trade it for anything ihn the world, makes you sick with your own guilt. These scenarios your brain puts him in with you, these desires you have. It eats you up, because how can you ask your partner, who you love and respect, to do such horrible things to you. You don’t know. Maybe you’re sick. Well, you have to be.

It started a few months after you started having sex. That was nearly a year ago. You came so close to asking him what you wanted from him, but you were petrified. It wasn’t that you weren’t satisfied in your sex life, it wasn’t that you couldn’t get off with him, but there were many times after he fell asleep you would sneak off and cry.

Eddie knew of your assault back during your childhood. You’d told him about it early on and he had listened. He did what everyone else did, apologized and offered his ear if you were to ever need it. You would like to think you recovered well from it, but if you had, would you be thinking this way?

This had to be the way to heal you, just one night of what you wanted and all of it would go away. You needed it. It consumed you. It was all you thought about, what you dreamed of and desired most. You wouldn’t ever admit it to yourself, but because you loved Eddie so much, because you trusted him, you wanted it to be with someone you felt safe with. You wanted to take it back. You wanted to be raped by your own rules.

There were many of times the single thought made you throw up and want to slit your wrists. You could never ask it of Eddie, but small steps. Yes, you could definitely start small.

“Y/n?”

His voice startled you, snapping you out of a daze at the dinner table.

“You alright?” He chuckled. “Seem a little out of it there.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “Fine. Just daydreaming, is all. Is the spaghetti good?”

“Oh, yeah, babe,” He said, scooping up another bite. “Always is. You’re the best at cooking. I don’t know how you do it! I thought Wayne was a master chef till I met you.” He laughed.

“Don’t diss Wayne.” You defended the man with a smile. “He can somehow manage to make a frozen pizza better than anyone.”

“That’s true.” He agreed, your eyes locked in a shared moment of bliss. You liked these moments, moments when you could forget your own mind.

“So tell me how your day was?”

You both talked about your days, what you had for lunch, what your coworkers were up to. You talked and talked, but your mind would not stop twisting and pulling at the curtains of what you kept back and away from your mouth.

Your stomach was hot, the space between your legs throbbing and ready to be played with. You were ready all the time, always sexually driven and ready for Eddie to touch you. At work, during sleep. You needed these things and you weren’t getting them.

An hour later you and Eddie were on the couch, cuddled up and watching the game show channel. You were kissing softly, passionately, little nips here and there that made you stifle a moan. Eddie’s hand moved to run up your thigh and down to your ankle, caressing your leg.

Your hair was let loose from your pony tail, tossed to the floor and forgotten. Your shoes kicked off along with them. Eddie kissed your neck, biting at it, switching up the tempo.

He pulled you atop of his lap, pants off and panties discarded. He sunk into you, and you both sang out in a satisfied moan of relief. You rocked back and forth slowly, then faster. Eddie sucked at your chest, moaning out joyfully as you road him.

“Ah,” He pushed out between his pink, plump lips.

You were screaming vulgar things inside yourself, the horrible things you wanted him to do to you. You focused on the pleasure building inside your stomach, the idea of his hands slapping you, holding you down. It brought you so close to the edge.

“Y/n? Hey, what’s wrong?” Eddie stopped his thrusts, concern etching his voice.

You opened your confused eyes. “What? Why’d did you stop?”

“You’re crying.” He said, sitting up, his cock still buried inside of you. “Am I- did I hurt you?”

“No, I’m-” You brought up a hand to your face to prove that you were doing just that. “Oh.”

“Are you alright?” He was slightly panting, tilting his head. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” You shook your head, not knowing why you were crying. Well, you did. You wanted him to take you in the cruelest way possible. “I’m fine. I’m sorry I ruined the moment.”

It was clear you were not fine. Your voice broke. Eddie looked at you oddly. “Honey,” He gently lifted you off of him. “What’s goin’ on, huh?”

“I’m alright.” You smiled through your tears, laughing awkwardly. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying.”

He stared at you like you were crazy before he eventually nodded. “Okay.” He placed a hand on your shoulder. “We won’t do anything tonight, alright, honey?”

“No, no,” You rushed. “I want to! Please, let’s keep going.”

“But your crying.” He said dumbfounded. “Something’s wrong.”

“I’m fine, Eddie!” You stressed, throwing your hands up in the air. “I just want to fuck, okay?”

You were going crazy, that’s what he assumed, but he wasn’t going to turn down sex. He fought the urge to roll his eyes and scoff, nodded and reached up to kiss you. You moaned loudly into his mouth, trying to prove to him that you were okay.

He brought you back down on his cock, hard and frustrated. You could feel it. It filled you with adrenaline. It became messy, the thrusts, the kisses and noises. “Spank me.” You begged.

He did as you asked and smacked your ass, but not hard enough for what you wanted. He never did. Eddie sure did think he was heavy into the bdsm, but to you, he wasn’t.

“Stop.” Eddie again, quickly pulled you off of him, lifting you with both hands to sit you down beside him. “Y/n, what’s the matter with you?”

You were sobbing, naked and embarrassed of your behavior. You couldn’t possibly tell him. He’d never understand. You’d scare him. You’d only been dating for a year. Was this something your relationship could handle so early on? You weren’t sure.

He wanted to shake you. He was scared and worried he’d been hurting you. “Sweetheart,” Eddie cooed, grabbing your shoulders. “Look at me. Take a deep breath and look at me.”

You did as he asked and looked at him through tears and snot, taking a deep breath.

“Angel, you’re scaring me.” He laughed without humor. “Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

You shook your head, pulled away and buried your face in your hands. “I can’t.” You blubbered. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?” He tried to be gentle with you. You had breakdowns like this before. He knew you were sensitive to things, and one of those things was sex, that’s why he tried to be gentle with you. He hadn’t realized that was the problem. “You tell me everything. What’s changed? Is it me?”

“No.” You whimpered, not looking at him. You didn’t realize you were wearing a blanket over your shoulders now. “It’s me. I’m fucked up.”

He didn’t know what to do. You’d be ready to talk to him if he gave you time. He scooted closer to you and wrapped and arm around your back, pulling you to his chest and leaning back into the couch. You cried like a baby. He knew there was something wrong. You hadn’t gotten this upset in quite some time.

“I don’t want to scare you.” You sniffled. “I’m afraid…of what you’ll think of me.”

He pulled away to grab your face. “Listen to me, baby. We’ve been through hell. Apart and together. Nothing is going to change the way I feel for you, understand? Nothing. That’s crazy talk. Now you don’t have to tell me what’s wrong if you really don’t want to, but you can okay? I’m here and I want to be.”

God he was perfect. When he talked like this, it made you feel as though you were the only girl in the world. You could trust him.

You stared at him before nodding slowly. “Okay.”

He kissed your forehead, then your cheek and your hand. “I love you, sweetheart. I wish you knew how much.”

You nodded. “I do. I wish you knew how much I love you.”

He smiled. “I do.”

You hugged him, arms folding around his back, perfectly fit. You both held each other for many minutes. He was giving you time and you knew he was.

“Please, don’t be scared of me, Eddie.” You begged. “I can’t stop thinking about it. I want you to— I want…I-no, no, I can’t do this!” You panicked, quickly darting up and running across the room to gather your clothes.

“Y/n!” He pounced up with you. “Calm down-”

“No!” You quickly pulled up your shorts and threw on your shirt. “Forget everything I said! Just forget it! I’m sorry!”

“Baby,” Eddie pulled on his boxers, keeping eye contact with you. “You need to calm down and just tell me what’s bothering you so bad, okay? Please? You’re scaring the hell out of me? Did someone hurt you?”

“No!” You practically screamed. “No one hurt me! You didn’t hurt me! That’s the problem! I need you to hurt me!”

“What?” He said confused, watching you break down right in front of him. “Y/n, I don’t understand.”

“I know you don’t.” You cried. “I don’t either. I’m sick in the head, Eddie. I have these needs that aren’t…they’re just sick! I can’t ask you to do them!”

And maybe that was the case. Maybe you couldn’t ask him to do these things. But you could still talk about them. As upset as you were, you were spilling the load off your chest that you’d been carrying for months.

“Do what?” He took a step toward you. “Just tell me what it is, y/n. Just tell me so we can talk about it. I want to help.” He held out a hand like he was training a wild animal.

He was so sweet and innocent. This would ruin him. You couldn’t ask him of this. You couldn’t.

“I want you to rape me, Eddie!” You sobbed, throwing down your hands to lock eyes with him. “I want you to beat me! I want you cut me and hurt me and make me cry and bleed and-and,” You cried hysterically, hugging your stomach in the middle of the trailer kitchen. If Wayne were to walk in, he’d surely loose his mind.

“I don’t understand why!” You continued through tears. “I guess….maybe it’s because of back then! With…him. I don’t know! I just know I want you to do it! I want to be raped by someone I trust! I trust you and love you, Eddie. I need you to do this for me, please!” You were so loud. You didn’t realize how loud you were being. You couldn’t help.

“God, I’m crazy!” You scoffed through tears, pacing around and completely forgetting your boyfriends existence. “This is insane! I’m insane! I think about it all the time and I can’t stop!”

Eddie felt like he was going into shock. He was watching you, taking it all in. He tried to be calm and collected, trying to be relaxed so he could help the situation, help you, but how could he understand what you were saying? He couldn’t. It didn’t make sense.

“You- want me to,” His voice was eerily quiet, bringing your clouded daze back over to him. “To rape you?” He shook his head. “Y/n, I don’t understand.”

“I know.” You sobbed. “I’m sick.”

“Beat you?” He said aloud, testing the words on his tongue. “Cut- rape you?” He gave you an incredulous look. “No. No, we are not having this conversation.” He went to turn away, but you wouldn’t let him.

“No! No, Eddie, please, don’t leave!” You hyperventilated out your words. You grabbed at his arms, doubled over and fell to your knees. He caught you as you fell, shushing you with a shaky voice. “Y/n, please.” He begged. “Take a breath and calm down. I’m here, okay? I’m not leaving. Just breath for me, alright, sweetheart?”

He held your face and helped you breath.He repeated it over and over. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, or maybe it was yours. Maybe both. You both looks at each other, and right when he thought you’d calmed down, you squeaked out a cry that broke his heart.

“I’m so sorry.” You shook your head in disgust.

“Shh, it’s alright.” He tried to keep you calm. “Just keep breathing, okay?”

“I don’t wanna be like this, I don’t.” You cried in his hands. “I don’t, I don’t.”

“Shh, shh, baby, come here.” He pulled you to his chest, lifting you up to lay in his lap like a baby. It was too much for his heart. Everything was finally catching up to him, and funny enough, it was making sense. Eddie wasn’t stupid, he knew this was because of your past assault, these….sexual desires you were speaking of.

He knew there were dark corners that were like cobwebs in your mind. They did in everyone’s. Everyone had their skeletons, and who was he to judge. No, Eddie wasn’t judging you. He was afraid for you. He thought you had healed. He had watched you heal with him. It was your first time being in love, having consensual sex. It was your first big, so of course all of these feelings were coming to light. He had to be understanding.

But at the same time, under no circumstances, would he rape you. He would not beat you. Cut you. He couldn’t. He would help you in every way he could, but rape? That wasn’t something he could do. Of course, he knew of rape fantasies, but if it hadn’t meant as much to you as it did, you wouldn’t have been carrying on so.

“Sweetheart, why didn’t you tell me?” He said after a few minutes is silence, apart from your hiccups and sniffles.

“Because I didn’t want you to think I was crazy.” Your voice was hoarse and dry.

“I don’t think you’re crazy, honey.” He sighed, kissing the top of your head. “I think you’re trying to survive in a world that’s done you wrong. That doesn’t make you crazy, y/n.”

“Can we just forget about it?” You looked up at him. “About everything I said?”

He looked down to you, watching as fat tears fell down your face. “I don’t think we should. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

You looked down to the floor and cried. “I just want to feel normal. I feel like it would help me.”

“I don’t think you realize just what you’re asking me.” He husked, already aching with guilt. “You’re asking me to rape you, y/n, just like that scumbag fuck did to you when you were a kid. I won’t ever do anything like that to you ever.” He could see the disappointment in your eyes, the way they welled up with fresh tears and stared off into the space of nothing. It made him want to vomit.

“Y/n,” He grabbed your face. “We can have rough sex. I can slap you around a little, that’s one thing. There’s nothing regrettable about that. But what you’re asking is a completely different ball park. I’m not going to do it.”

“But,” You sat up. “What if we start small?”

He sighed heavily. He didn’t want to entertain the idea, but he also wanted to help you. You thought this would help you, but there was no way he could—

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” You began. “How about you just hit me more? We can roleplay maybe? You could choke me or spank me? Is that okay?” You sounded so enthusiastic, so happy at the idea.

It wasn’t a terrible idea, going slow, increasing the speed to sexually satisfy you. “We can do that.” He nodded.

“We can go slow. Work up to it. We can-”

“Y/n,” He interrupted you, shaking his head. “Don’t misunderstand what I’m saying. I’m not going to do that. I can’t. It’s just not right.”

You were going to crying again, he could see it.

“Please, Eddie.” You begged silently through bright eyes. “Just think about, please? Please?”

He would start slow, baby steps to “help you”, but he worried in his gut that he would be making a terrible mistake. He sighed.

“I’ll think about it.”

[turtletaubwrites]

One Shots & Requests Masterlist

18+ ONLY. MDNI. SOME FICS CONTAIN DARK CONTENT. Currently writing for One Piece. All of these fics are NSFW and Fem!Reader unless marked otherwise. Content warnings and Ao3 links can be found on each post. This post updates frequently! Check out the main masterlist for completed and ongoing series, as well as WIP updates and announcements! One shots related to the poly fic We've All Got Needs can be read on their own, and are marked with a 💜

Ace 

The Only One I Want ~ (1657) ~ You have a delicious dream about a certain swordsman. Your boyfriend, Ace, is not pleased when you wake up. (Brief Zoro x Fem!Reader in a dream.)

My Pretty Little Thief ~ (2004) ~ Ace knows where he left his hat. But when it's not there, he hunts it down, only to discover the culprit. How can he convince the thief to return his precious hat?

Buggy 

You’d Do Anything For Me, Wouldn’t Ya, Doll? ~ (2104) ~ You are Captain Buggy’s Vicious Dagger, his blade tossing beauty that recently became his lover. You’d do anything for him, and tonight you prove it.

Crocodile

Wrong Side of the Bars ~ (3990) ~ Your promotion landed you in hell, otherwise known as Level 6 of Impel Down. All you wanted to do was work this shit job so you could move on up, but there's one prisoner that won't leave you alone. It turns out those long nights go by faster with a bit of company.

Cross Guild 

Numbers Game ~ Masterlist ~ (Oops. Turned into a series.) ~ You left your stable/boring life as an investment banker to have some adventure. Unfortunately, that sweet Warlord of the Sea didn't follow your financial advice, and now you and your clown are at the mercy of his biggest lender and his new business partner.

Katakuri

Sweet Abduction ~ (4084) ~ Part 2 ~ (2175) ~ Part 3 (End) ~ (3781) ~ Times are tough, and you're afraid you'll have to give up the family business, until you find people who cherish your work. Who knew making doughnuts would gain you the attention of an Emperor of the Sea, and her second son? Will your new life be as sweet as it seemed?

More fics below the cut 🖤

Law 

See How You Like It ~ (1927) ~ Law is back from another fiasco with the Straw Hats. You think he's cute when he's grumpy. He thinks you should have some more respect for your captain.

Bend Until You Break ~ Masterlist ~ (Oops. Turned into a series. Completed) ~ !! YANDERE!Law x Fem!Reader !! DARK CONTENT !! ~ You have struggled with mystery pains and injuries for most of your life, and had resigned yourself to suffer after every doctor told you there was nothing wrong. But when a world renowned doctor/pirate comes to town to offer aid in exchange for supplies, you decide to give hope one more chance. Maybe you'll finally find a doctor you can trust.

Misty Eyes ~ Masterlist ~ (Oops. Turned into a series. Ongoing) ~ (Includes Doflamingo x Fem!Reader in the past & flashbacks) !! DARK CONTENT !! ~ You were the weakest member of the Donquixote Family, so Doflamingo found another way you could serve him. Until your childhood crush found you, freeing you from those chains. What will Law expect in return?

Such a Softie ~ (461 ~ Drabble) (SFW) (GN!Reader) ~ Law is struggling to help you with your pain, until he has an idea. This is the coziest treatment you've ever received.

Luffy

My Favorite Kinds of Nights 💜 ~ (2375) ~ Part 2 ~ (3625) ~ You are enjoying a quiet moment away from the feast while the crew celebrates another victory. Your three partners, Robin, Sanji, and Zoro are occupied for the evening, so you take time to relax. Until you receive an unexpected request from your captain.

Multi and/or Character x Character

Same Time ~ (1123) ~ Zoro x Fem!Reader x Sanji ~ Your boyfriends are always arguing, but sometimes you're the one that wins the fight. Tonight the battle is for who gets to go first.

So What? ~ (SFW) ~ (1096) ~ Zoro x Sanji ~ An enemy catches Zoro eying Sanji in the middle of a fight. Zoro doesn't care, until they make the mistake of threatening the cook.

One Piece x Introverted!Reader (SFW) ~ Headcanons & Drabbles ~ Zoro, Sanji, and Robin

The Sounds You Made 💜 ~ (1422) ~ Sanji x Fem!Reader, Zoro x Fem!Reader ~ Sanji overhears you discussing and enjoying your casual arrangement with Zoro. He doesn't like the way Zoro talks to you, so he listens in to make sure you're okay.

Lucky Boy 💜 ~ (2561) ~ Sanji x Robin ~ Robin and Sanji have been dating you for a while, but tonight is their first date together. How will the cook and the archaeologist get along?

In Control ~ 💜 (2599) ~ Zoro x Robin ~ Robin and Zoro have been dating you for a while, but tonight is their first date together. How will the swordsman and the archaeologist get along?

You Never Shut Up, Do You? 💜 ~ (1323) ~ Zoro x Nami ~ Nami has watched you enjoy your poly relationships with Zoro and Sanji for a while. She's got an itch that needs scratching, and she decides to see if Zoro can help her out.

I Saw You First 💜 ~ (1451) ~ Part 2 ~ (1309) ~ Zoro x Fem!Reader, Sanji x Fem!Reader ~ You have a casual arrangement with Zoro, but he isn't happy that you'll be seeing Sanji tonight. He tries to get his mind off of things, but overhears you enjoying your time with the cook. Can he control his anger?

Touching What's Yours 💜 ~ (815) ~ Part 2 ~ (2344) ~ Part 3 ~ (6048) ~ Zoro x Sanji, Zoro x Fem!Reader x Sanji ~ You have a casual arrangement with Zoro, but he isn't happy that you had your first night with Sanji tonight. Zoro overheard some of your time together, and his rage kept him from sleeping. Instead, Zoro has gone to confront the cook for taking what's his.

Sanji 

Sleeping Beauty 💜 ~ (2646) ~ Your boyfriend has yet another kink he'd like to explore with you. You tell Sanji that you trust him to take care of you, even while you're sleeping.

Filthy Little Angel 💜 ~ (1323) ~ Sanji requests to try a new way to worship your body. You know your boyfriend will take good care of you.

Parted Lips (SFW) ~ (1734) ~ Sanji has made another meal just for you, but it's still too painful to eat. You open up to Sanji about your jaw pain, and he offers to help you work through it.

Sanji's Super Birthday Present 💜 ~ (988) ~ Part 2 (End) ~ (1105) ~ You work up the nerve to ask Franky for help with a gift for Sanji. You hope your birthday boy will like his new toy.

Gag Order ~ (3268) ~ You catch your boyfriend flirting with another woman, and you can't stop your worries. Until you decide to use your talents as a hypnotist to make sure you're the only one Sanji flirts with. He told you he only wants to be with you, so what's the harm in helping him keep that promise?

Shanks

A Good Catch ~ (4367) ~ Part 2 ~ (5030) ~ Part 3 ~ (4613) ~ Part 4 (End) ~ (4275) ~ You are an unlucky fisherwoman having a bad day, until a red haired pirate captain offers to help you out. You're pretty sure he only makes it worse.

Zeff

My Lovely Patron ~ (1300) ~ Part 2 ~ (1922) ~ You are a journalist following a story about fishmen attacking a floating restaurant. You try to ply the head chef with wine for some details, but end up getting something else instead.

Zoro

Just a Dream ~ (1288) ~ You have a delicious dream about your captain's brother. Your boyfriend, the first mate, is not pleased when you wake up. (Brief Ace x Fem!Reader in a dream)

Hogging the Blankets 💜 ~ (1210) ~ Zoro hogged the blankets, so you try to wake him. He tells you what you need to do now that you've woken him up.

Fighting Dirty 💜 ~ (2341) ~ You can’t help it when you get distracted by Zoro during training sessions, so he brings the sparring mats to the bedroom to teach you a lesson.

Mama Bear ~ (2606) ~ (Modern AU) ~ You're a gogo dancer, and you bring Zoro to a rave on your night off, wanting to show your boyfriend what that part of your life is like. Zoro can't help but notice how much you like to take care of people, and he has some thoughts on the matter.

Zoro x GN!Swordsman!Reader (with a powerful/unique sword) (SFW) ~ Headcanons & Drabble

A Swordsman's Shame ~ (SFW) (GN!Reader) ~ (1530) ~ You and Zoro have the same dream, and it's built a passion between you. But something has been holding you back, keeping you from opening yourself up to your crewmate, your rival, your fellow swordsman.

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 | ko-fi |

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

hey y'all, i pretty much know that i'm the asshole big time- but i'm not sure what to do about it. i know i need to shift my perspective, especially because i'm not sure what to do going forward... or how to meaningfully apologize, so I think i need some outside judgement.

AITA for wanting to possibly return to speaking terms with someone i cheated with?

about 1.5 years ago one of my best friends (i'll call him R, we're all 20 now) confessed to me while I had a bf- R said he knew i wasn't into him but asked me to kiss him once. i felt really bad and didn't feel anything for him, so i said yes and we briefly kissed. I didn't think it was going to be a big deal until I told my boyfriend right afterwards and he got really upset in a way i now see i was really understandable. i've come to see the situation as cheating, but I think fundamentally we had a different view of it at first. my bf asked me to not be alone with him anymore or talk to him outside of groupchats (i was in a friend group of 3 people, R me and another guy). I tried really hard to follow through on this but in reality- i just didn't want to cut off one of my best friends- there were times I went against my boyfriend's wishes and slowly I let up and saw him/talked alone more. I would tell my boyfriend about it and he would be hurt by it and I would feel horrible, but I didn't put up a hard boundary. I hated myself for it, but I didn't feel like R was actually a problem, rather that the problem was my lack of respect for my bf. A month or two later, all of us moved away to different colleges. After two months of long distance and continuing to talk to R on the phone sometimes, my boyfriend left me citing that as one of the reasons.

I realized I should have valued my bf more and I stopped talking to R (basically ghosted him), but he contacted me on another platform and asked if I was okay and I realized that he was a true friend in a lot of ways. When we hung out on winter break at home, we were chilling and he kind of made a joke asking me to sleep with him. I said no very loudly because I'm not into him like that and I was still hung up on my bf. Meanwhile, after 2 months of no contact, me and my bf had started to talk again very tentatively (i had tried really hard to instigate it which, sometimes i feel bad about not leaving him in his peace- but I was having a really hard time accepting the breakup). I realized there was something I really needed to do to show him I was serious and I sent R a text saying we couldn't be friends anymore citing some lame reasons and the whole 'sleep together' thing.

After that, R didn't contact me and I felt like it was sad, but kind of a blessing because I got to focus on building trust between my bf and I and we eventually got back together.

Anyways, in the past year, the relationship has been steadily getting more comfortable and I hadn't had any contact with R or cheated since (I kind of believe once a cheater always a cheater, so this is an accomplishment. I really don't want to hurt my bf like that again.)

Okay here's the sucky part though (as if the rest wasn't already sucky of me) i was posting tiktoks for the first time this week and, little did i know, the algorithm was showing them to people who had my number. I got a call from an unknown number and a text that said "can we talk." I realized from the chat history it was R, whose number i deleted. I didn't answer, but a part of me really wanted to.

I missed him and I felt bad for leaving the friendship the way it was, I was also really curious as to why he was contacting me now?? But I knew I needed to tell my bf before I did anything. He said he would feel more comfortable if I didn't respond and I kind of agreed- but I said I was going to think about it and that I would tell him explicitly before I did anything.

Then the next day I got another call from a random number with my hometown area code- I thought there was a possibility it was R and decided to just act in the moment and let fate decide- I answered and it was him. It was kind of scary, but also exciting and didn't feel wrong in my body. He was weirdly casual just saying hi and that he saw my tiktoks and missed me, we ended up talking like old friends- like the time that had passed had healed some of that old stuff. He told me i was the best friend he ever had, and I remembered all kind of good things about our friendship. I also was able to apologize for ghosting him- if not super well. I knew while we were talking that my bf was not going to be comfortable with this and that I was unsure about what to do going forward and I think R kind of knew that was the case too, so it was also very awkward. when we hung up, it was clear I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to be his friend again.

When I told my bf as soon as i got off the phone, he was understandably very upset, even more so when I said I wasn't sure if I wanted to keep talking to R in the future. I feel really bad for hurting him, I was really mainly thinking about my own feelings. Now he and I are trying to resolve things, but I'm ashamed to say I don't know how I can make it better. I've told him that, even though it's not necessarily what I want, I'm willing to block R again, but I don't think it feels satisfying to either of us. my bf and I have been dating for 4 years now (with that break at 3 yrs) and he means so much to me, I don't want to bring us back to a place of distrust, but part of me feels like this was kind of pent up while I had R blocked. i've never ended a friendship with anyone before or blocked someone, so it all feels really weird to me, but I can imagine that my bf must feel really betrayed by my continued unsureness.

also R and my bf used to be friends for like 5 yrs- then R and I were close for 1 yr. my bf has said he felt left out by that and that he felt like R was a jerk to him while they were friends, so that's an element of it as well.

if you've read this far, thanks so much- advice? AITA? I've spent so much time feeling like scum for the way I handled the situation and while I have to love myself through it- I don't want to keep mishandling it- was answering the call all that bad, do I need to totally forget about talking to R?

What are these acronyms?

[inalandofsadclowns]

Aight, who wants to talk about the theoretically most optimal occasion for Merlin to come out about his magic to Arthur?

I'll go first: 1x10, Ealdor.

In the prior episodes Merlin was basically still getting to know Arthur. For eight episodes he was the brave and noble prince that Merlin had grown to respect, because Arthur apparently did not value his own life any higher than that of a servant, but who was also the son of Uther Pendragon. Arthur would save Merlin at any price, he got to learn that multiple times. But would he save a sorcerer? He couldn't know. (This question remained even when Arthur had lifted Merlin's sorcery allegations.)

But in 1x08 Arthur knowingly broke the law saving Mordred, a druid; he was in fact more devoted to the cause than Merlin himself.

For Merlin to reveal his secret he needs three prerequisites to exist:

To trust Arthur

The opportunity

To be prepared to leave Arthur forever

The Moment of Truth might just be the only episode where all these exist?

Let's look through these points one by one.

1.Merlin had been wanting for Arthur to know since forever. There's nothing he wants more desperately than to know if they're really, truly friends. Once he says to Will, he does trust him.

Will: Friends don't lord it over one another.

Merlin: He isn't like that.

Will: Really? Well, let's wait until the fighting begins and see who he sends in to die first. I guarantee you, it won't be him.

Merlin: I trust Arthur with my life.

And this gem here. The first time Merlin doesn't promise Hunith to keep Arthur in the dark.

Hunith: You can't let Arthur know about your gift.

Merlin: Why not? Maybe it's meant to be this way. And if he doesn't accept me for who I really am, then he's not the friend I hoped he was.

2. Opportunity. They have these several times throughout the series: fights for survival, heated arguments, quiet moments of vulnerability. There are several brilliant opportunities in this very episode.

The armor scene:

Merlin: Whatever happens out there today, please don't think any differently of me.

Arthur: I won't. It's alright to be scared, Merlin.

Merlin: That's not what I meant.

Arthur: What is it? If you've got something to say, now's the time to say it.

Oh. He tried. My boy tried, he was so close...My heart bleeds for him here.

Then, obviously, right after the battle.

Arthur: Wind like that doesn't just appear from nowhere. I know magic when I see it. One of you made that happen.

Merlin: Arthur...

Merlin just so manages to exhale Arthur's name with a so-so painful look in his eyes. Arthur knows what Merlin was about to say. Just for a moment, because Will gets shot saving Arthur.

He even tries to stop Will from taking the responsibility on his deathbed, even though Arthur knew, that the windstorm was conjured by one of them; if it wasn't Will, than that leaves only Merlin.

Will: Yeah, it was me. I'm the one that used the magic.

Merlin: Will, don't.

[Arthur looks at Merlin.]

3. The most important part. The greatest issue for Merlin has always been the threat of having to leave Arthur. But in this episode there is a cause just as important to him as Arthur - his village and his mother.

The first Merlin and Arthur exchange of the episode is Merlin saying goodbye to Arthur.

Merlin: It's been an honour serving you.

Arthur: You'll be coming back.

Merlin: Well, she's my mother. I have got to look after her before anyone else. You understand?

Then he was prepared to come clean for Ealdor's sake several times that day. Merlin is going to fight for his village, he's well prepared to use magic if needed - in front of Arthur, if needed, knowing full well that might be the last time they ever speak or meet. Whether Arthur forbids Merlin from returning to Camelot for Camelot's sake or Merlin's own sake, the result would be the same.

At the very end, even with his magic still a secret, he was going to stay in Ealdor with Hunith, had she not sent him after the others, so he really was prepared to part from Arthur.

[Arthur walks over to Morgana and Gwen. Hunith walks over to Merlin.]

Hunith: You better be going.

Merlin: I don't have to go.

Hunith: Yes, you do.

Merlin: If anything were to happen to you...

Hunith: I know where to find you. You have to go, Merlin. You belong at Arthur's side. I've seen how much he needs you. How much you need him. You're like two sides of the same coin.

That whole episode was Merlin attempting and failing to come out to Arthur.

After this, though, Merlin was too close to Arthur to ever consider prerequisite 3., other than in the form of dying for Arthur.

[miguelswifey04]

hello!! :3

i was wondering if u could write miguel o’hara x wife!reader who is also in spider society who is a complete badass like miguel literally worships the ground she walks on and he always agrees with anything she says cause he’s so whipped for her and usually they go on missions together and he loves watching her fight HE JUST LOVES HER TOO MUCH

i would love to see what you do with this :33

have an amazing day/night <3333

I GOT YOU

miguel o’hara x wife!spider-woman! reader

warnings: none; pure fluff

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

how you met miguel was the fact that he miraculously stumbled upon your dimension when he began to travel through the multiverse. you were the first spider-woman he had encountered and it was love at first sight for miguel. he had fallen for you first then you fell in love with him over the course of being by his side during inter-dimensional travels. miguel confessed his love for you and you reciprocated his feelings, and sooner rather than later you both tied the knot—it was a small but a very pretty ceremony. together, you and miguel founded the spider society.

miguel made you his wife and his partner in missions always having you by his side…he never wanted anything bad to happen to you. he felt more at ease that as his wife you could be with him 24/7 and keep an eye out for you. miguel is completely enamored by your strength, skill, and fierce nature, admiring your abilities as a complete badass. he idolizes and worships the ground you walk on, always agreeing with you and standing by your side, completely whipped for you. you were his girl and his darling, of course he would never want to lose you. he’d do anything to make you happy.

“i love you so much, sweetheart.”

“i love you more, miguel.”

it would be moments like those were you both exchanges words of love for one another during missions or when you both work along side each other at the spider society. he’s captivated by your fluid movements, your strategic thinking, and the sheer power you exude. he feels an overwhelming surge of pride and love as he witnesses the intense battles that you fearlessly dive into.

miguel never misses an opportunity to support you and ensure your safety during these missions. he’ll have your back without hesitation, utilizing his own unique abilities to provide cover or diversion, always placing you well-being as his top priority.

as you fight side by side, miguel can't help but feel a mix of emotions: admiration for your strength, pride in your accomplishments, and an overpowering love that permeates every aspect of your partnership. he considers himself blessed to share his life and collaborate with someone as capable and extraordinary as his wife.

your shared experiences and your unwavering dedication to one another have forged a bond that surpasses any obstacle in your path. it’s a connection built on trust, respect, and an unbreakable love that miguel cherishes deeply.

in the dynamic between the two of you, miguel’s admiration for you as his wife is boundless, extending beyond just your fighting skills. he views you as his equal, his partner, and his inspiration. he respects your opinions and values your thoughts, often finding himself agreeing with your perspective because he has complete faith in your better judgment.

your relationship is a balance of intense passion, unwavering support, and a profound love that shapes your every interaction. together, you both navigate the intricacies of your missions, driven by a shared purpose and an unbreakable bond that allows both of you to face any challenge that comes their way.

miguel’s love for you as his wife knows no bounds, and he takes every opportunity to express it in his actions, his words, and the way he reveres you as you both embark on their joint journey within the spider society. miguel and you are unstoppable and nobody will threaten to come between the two of you.

[valentine-ofthe-ghostwiththemost]

Adam and the abandonment issues and the negligence of heaven

Hello hello folks, I've been thinking and searching a little lately about Adam and deep questions about his personality, and also because a person (a person who has caused me a lot of harm) came to fight with me because I like Adam and today I'm going to talk a little more about this, I hope you like it.<3

TW: Mentions of trauma,heavy subjects,negligence,profanity,and mention of sex.

Firstly, I want to address his creation, Adam the first man, the perfect creation by the hands of God, molded and sculpted in his own image, the one who would be responsible for the earth's settlement betrayed by the two woman he was forced to love because they had been created for him.

And yes, I know that Adam tried to command Lilith and try to subject her to her unwillingness, but then I think, no one had ever told him that it was wrong, from the first moment he was created was told that he was God's perfect creation, so he probably felt so "special" that he thought he could boss Lilith around. And then, the first betrayal...knowing that the person he loved hated him and betrayed him with an angel and then falling to hell with him.

And then came Eve...made from a piece of his flesh, his rib, the one made from his own being that he would love just as Lilith did. And then again another betrayal, Lucifer again, but this time not only taking his wife's fidelity but also betraying his trust by trusting Eve and eating the forbidden fruit.

So I think, guys, how much did all of this must have hurt? What is the pain of being betrayed by the people you swore your love to and having your trust betrayed?

Adam all the time in the series he always seems to reassert himself to himself and to people, he look needs that, I just think how insufficient and useless he felt after everything he's been through, to the point of creating a false narcissistic and arrogant personality to hide the broken man deep within himself. Inside all that facade of "Dick Master" and "The First Man" there is only Adam, only a betrayed and hurt man.

The pain of betrayal, I know what it's like, the fear of being deceived and abandoned again by someone better than you, Adam knows what it's like, he knows what it's like to go through it twice. Hiding your real self for fear of being abandoned again, being ridiculed, being seen as weak, try to feel enough by reaffirming to yourself that he is the best, he is the most badass, that he is the first man like a little boy.

I have in my mind that Adam also wears that mask due to low self-esteem because he never takes it off, not even in heaven, unlike Lute who takes off the mask to walk freely in the heaven, but Adam keeps the mask on all the time even though he doesn't need to. I imagine when he got to heaven he was the only one with human appearance, all other angels and winners (Human souls going to heaven) had different appearances, such as animal appearances, so I think he may have made that mask with horns to feel more integrated into that society and less different, and uses it all the time because he feels insecure about his appearance, because of the trauma of being abandoned in the past, not feeling that his appearance was enough, that he wasn't good enough and then just like his false personality he keeps the mask as part of it.

But the question of all this is: did he realize most of it? Everyone thinks that Adam's actions were born out of conscious hatred and malice, like many villains in the series, but I see that more than his choices came out of ignorance and years of incompetent molding by others, pride manifested in negative ways like vanity and arrogance. , while Charlie was raised with limits, pride manifested in more reasonable things like self-respect. To make a long story short, Adam has always been an idiot since he was created, there are lines where he says without sarcasm or hesitation that he has never made a mistake in his entire life, sounding as if he sincerely thinks he has never made a mistake, the fact that he can say that with sincerity and a clear conscience despite being guilty of almost every sin in the book so far really sets him up for a question that makes you wonder what's going on in his head.

And then this line from him in the trial episode: "Well, yeah, they have me here, right, Sera?"

And there it is, the tone and voice of an insecure and confused boy who doesn't know what he preached seeking approval, that's another reason why you can't be mad at Adam, he never had proper guidance or teaching in his entire existence both in the garden of Eden and both in heaven.

In the final episode Adam then gives his final speech, and the way it was presented sounds less like a villain asserting, showing dominance one last time, it's more like genuine confusion, as if this isn't how he was told that things are supposed to be, this isn't how things are supposed to work, which feels a lot like his first dialogue when he's introduced, his understanding seems like such a soft thing and he believes it with all his might, as if he needed something to believe in.

All of us living beings we are generated in our mothers' wombs and then we are born and protected and taught by our fathers, taught what is right and wrong, protected and safe. But Adam, he was just raised as an adult and with a purpose behind him, so I think "Could it be that Adam was just a confused little boy in an adult's body with a big obligation on his hands?"

Adam was barely created and already had a purpose to fulfill, he was barely born and already came face to face with someone different from his physiognomy (different between male and female) and kind of practically forced to love her since he barely knew her (Lilith).

I'm not trying to rub Adam's head (I'd really like to stroke his hair) and put him in the position of victim, but guys, he is also a victim! He had never been taught that it was wrong, God, the Seraphim and all of heaven never lifted a finger to give him advice or try to teach him, no one consoled him after he was betrayed, no one was there for him, no one.

So I assert, that Adam is just protecting himself with his big ego and arrogant narcissism and obeying what he thought was right for the seraphim is all he knows.

I also want to highlight, about the first episode of the series, where the meeting with Charlie takes place. Man, he was practically having to have a face-to-face meeting with the DAUGHTER of his first wife's betrayal with Lucifer, and having to hear her say that what he was doing was wrong (not that it really wasn't, but it was the only way to balance the population of hell since most sinners refuse to redeem themselves), I'm honestly not impressed or surprised by Adam's rude reaction, practically having the living embodiment of his first wife's betrayal in front of him telling him what he was taught and allowed to do was wrong.

Adam is not an idiot without feelings, in the scene of his death you can see this, in the moment he looks at Lute and gives her one last smile as consolation to her because he knew she was little by little dying but this time forever, and also as said before in the court scene where he seeks approval from Sera, like a confused boy looking for approval.

Now moving on to Adam's abandonment issues, as I said before in a headcanons post, Adam reaffirms himself by saying that he hooked up with and had sex with several girls, an example of this is him bragging to Charlie during the meeting that he says he had sex with a girl who was interested in the drummer of his band, but honestly, I think that's all a lie, It may be true but I doubt he felt any connection with any of them, I doubt he took off the mask and showed his true self to them, and besides the fact of his fear of being abandoned again, fear of falling in love again and then being betrayed again, as someone who has been through this, I know how the fear of it continues to haunt you and how it hinders your relationships.

In short, I think that Adam was a victim of the negligent system of heaven, but he was also evil, killing demons en masse and causing genocides in hell in the days of extermination, but here comes a question...

"What would happen if there was no extermination?"

We have already been shown that hell ends up with an overpopulation due to the amount of sinners that go there, if I could guess I would say that more people go to hell than to heaven, and it is well shown that most people in hell don't listen to Charlie and her idea of ​​redemption, so I ask you, Were the exterminations necessary or not?

Well, a while ago I was watching a very good YouTube channel and I found an incredible video where he talked about Adam and whether he deserved to die or not, that's the video if you want to see it, he gave me some inspiration for this post. ��🏻🤓

Adam was actually a tragic character, in essence I believe Adam was someone who had a lot of insecurities and doubts about himself and hid all of this behind his facade, he built this idiotic bad boy and Dick Master persona around him, with the intention of keeping people at a distance and asserting oneself, thus avoiding more hurt and heartbreak.

When he was about to die, he saw that despite his idiotic facade and his best efforts to keep people away, someone (Lute) still cared about him. And in the end, I think that's all he ever wanted, someone who truly cared about him despite the rude way he treated her, and so he died with a smile on his face. Someone really liked him...(I would also love him regardless of his personality, I would try to understand why he is like that, the famous "I can fix him")

Returning to the subject of neglecting of the heaven, from the same channel I mentioned before I found a very good video that talks about this, addressing Adam, heaven and the history.

In my view, Adam was and was not a victim, he was the antagonist of the first season, of course, but we also have to see that he was also one of the victims and one of the most affected due to the lack of responsibility and negligence of heaven in not having disciplined him or at least taught him that it was wrong, I know that Adam is not a child but for me deep down he was just a confused boy in the body of an adult who had no reception or teaching and was betrayed and abandoned by those he loved and trusted more.

Well guys, that's all for now at least, for me Adam is a deep character, full of hidden pain and confusion, honestly I love Adam, I love him very much, he is one of my comfort characters and one that I identify with a little (As for being neglected, I didn't have very good parents and I paid my price for that and nowadays I have some emotional problems because of that).

I wish more people could see the good in Adam and not just fight me and lecture me like how "you wish I talked about my dick all the time and had sex with all the girls he saw in front of me? Do you will like it?" , this was someone's comment during an argument with me and honestly I was hurt by it, yes I'm a slightly sensitive person, but man, it was hard to try to understand the character a little? not even a bit?

Well, thank you very much for your attention, I really enjoyed writing about Adam, it's always very good, kisses in your hearts, bye bye. 💗🎸

[mentallyisekaid]

「 ✦ Fatui Harbingers x Signora's Sister! Reader, PART 2 ✦ 」

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Part 1 [Part 2] Part 2.5 Part 3

It's highly recommended to read the parts in order, otherwise few things will make sense!

Author's note ~ From this chapter forward, Y/N will develop a strong, somewhat intimate bond with her fellow Harbingers, but it's still, essentially, platonic. After coming up with the full storyline for this series, I figured it'd best to keep romance to a minimum, so it won't distract me or the readers from what's happening plotwise. But make no mistake - all of them care quite fiercely about you... it's not labelled "Harbingers x Reader" for nothing :) And of course, you're free to interpret their relationship in any kind of way you prefer <3

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Featured in this chapter, we have (drum roll, if you please)... Scaramouche, Childe and Columbina!

Warnings: brief/indirect spoilers regarding Sumeru's Archon quest and Scaramouche's lore

Word count: 3k

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A month had passed since the funeral, and the day you'd become the 12th of the Fatui Harbingers at Pierro's request. Truth to be told, you hardly cared whether such a dubious position had been offered to you out of respect for Rosalyne's legacy, or merely because they'd wanted to keep an eye on the immortal girl who possessed two Visions.

For the past five centuries, your life had lacked any clear purpose - perhaps this new title could change things to something a bit more... colorful?

Perhaps they could be the change.

On that note, there was something quite peculiar you'd come to notice about the infamous Harbingers.

Despite joining their ranks, you had kept the reason behind your questionable situation as a secret, so on a very essential level they still knew next to nothing about you (except for the Director who definitely knew enough to make you very uncomfortable!) In this regard, shouldn't they have considered you a stranger, or at least a high security risk?

Yes, yes they should have.

Yet not only did they treat you as one of their own, but it appeared that for some reason, these people cared about you to an extent beyond just professional relationships, always looking out for you in weird ways, like making sure you didn't overwork yourself, stayed healthy and never lacked any weird luxuries like expensive bath salts - that, and the fact that they were almost constantly lingering around you...

As someone who'd grown used to getting by on their own, you didn't really know what to make of their behavior. Or how to return it.

But did you dislike it? Not really. Why? Well, you were still sort of figuring that out.

You were currently sitting in Pantalone's office, looking through some financial reports while the Regrator himself was away on a business trip. As things stood, this was pretty much all that your title as a Harbinger was good for - assisting your colleagues by handling the less direct approaches to their duties as diplomats of Snezhnaya. It was only natural that you weren't yet expected, or trusted, to do any actual fieldwork.

So, your days were mostly spent being surrounded by endless piles of documents...

*knock, knock!*

...and them, as you might have guessed.

You sighed, placing the papers down on the desk when another round of impatient knocks came in. Clearly, that someone was going to invite themselves in regardless of your answer, and it wasn't hard to narrow down the list of possible suspects since only the highest ranking members of the Fatui were allowed in this part of the headquarters - frankly, the doors here tended not to be Harbinger-proof?

But it's not as if you really minded, breaktime was due anyway. Also, their company was always vastly more entertaining than work!

"It's not locked, you know" you commented, leaning back on your chair.

A scoff was heard before the door was rudely pushed open, and an unfamiliar character marched with such arrogance you'd think they owned the place. This made you raise an eyebrow; what an admirable sense of superiority? It wasn't someone you'd met before, but judging from the way they carried themselves, you recognized them nonetheless.

The man with child-like features (and a rather beautiful face) stopped in the middle of the room, staring curiously, though somewhat condescendingly, at the girl behind the desk.

"Are you," he started, "perchance the Director's newest recruit?"

"It's already been a month, but I suppose... in any case, what can I do for you, mister?"

"Mister?" The Harbinger crossed his arms, both amused and irked by your way of addressing him. "Ha, do you not know who I am?"

"Oh, no, I'm fairly certain I do," you sighed. "A presumptuous attitude, and a strikingly non-traditional kasa hat... the Balladeer, I presume? I heard you were busy playing a god in Sumeru with one of Dottore's segments, so I thought it might be a while before I get to meet the last one of my colleagues. But here you are - Scaramouche, was it? To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He was being rude too, you were just returning the discourtesy.

Scaramouche held back a chuckle, the bells from his hat jingling.

"Ah, yes, that would be me. And as to why I bothered coming all the way from Sumeru just to meet you, miss Twelfth..."

"I have a name. It's Y/N."

He clicked his tongue, taking a step closer.

"Yes, yes, whatever. Now, sit there and listen. I was in the middle of my little experiment on blasphemy when I suddenly heard that the Jester had recruited a new Harbinger, who, incidentally, has two Visions and is supposedly immortal - but she blatantly refuses to reveal anything about herself. Surely, you can imagine my slight annoyance at this, seeing as you, on the other hand, seem to know an awful lot about us."

You smiled a bit, fiddling with the quill pen in your hand.

"Yes, I don't exactly go around advertising my past to others. But aren't you same in that regard, Scaramouche?"

"I won't amuse you by answering that." He smiled eerily. "The point is, I don't like being kept in the dark - it gives people the chance to stab me in the back, and that's not something I'm particularly fond of."

"Ask the Director, then. I can assure you he knows all kinds of scandalous things about me - about all of us, no doubt."

He shrugged. "That won't be necessary."

In the blink of an eye, Scaramouche was no longer where he'd been standing before. The Sixth Harbinger had suddenly jumped on top of your desk, scattering the paperwork you'd spent hours organizing. He leaned forward with a smug look on his face, grabbing your chin between his delicate fingers.

"So, our little miss Harbinger refuses to reveal her secrets? We'll get those out of you, don't you worry~"

"My goodness?" Your previously dull eyes sparkled a bit. "What a bold move - it's certainly... something. I must say, I find your character quite fascinating, Balladeer."

"Likewise."

Behind that ruthless, indigo gaze, was a forlorn soul that had faced so much injustice...

When travelling around Teyvat for the past centuries, you'd caught bits and pieces of hearsay about Scaramouche's tragic past - most of it probably accurate. But it wouldn't have been wise to bring up such matters when you'd only just met him, especially since the Balladeer was widely known for his foul temper.

Though, judging from the way was looking at you, he probably knew what you were thinking. Even so, there was no ill intent in his eyes.

A new voice suddenly interrupted your odd encounter.

"I hope you're not harrassing our princess, dearest Scara!"

Tartaglia waltzed in to the office with an ominous smile. Scaramouche jumped down from your desk, scoffing at the sight of his ginger colleague.

"Ha, barely! I just happen to find her very intriguing."

Childe laughed a bit, stepping forward to pat your head.

"Well, I did tell you she was special, comrade. And to think you didn't believe me? Yet, here I find you. It seems Y/N Lohefalter is capable of drawing the attention of even the Balladeer himself, ahahhah~"

You followed their interaction, thoroughly entertained - compared to your previous uneventful life, this was certainly refreshing.

"Foolish boys," yet another familiar voice was heard, and Columbina strode in gracefully. "Avoiding your work to disturb Y/N with these shameful antics? Pierro would be quite displeased. Now, perish."

Damselette then turned her attention on you, smiling sweetly.

"Would you like to have an afternoon snack with me? I hope you've been eating enough, my dove."

"Now, now, don't be greedy..." Scaramouche taunted. "It's rather obvious that she and I were having a conversation."

You smiled a bit, pointing at each one of them with your pen.

"Technically, you're all are here equally uninvited. And on that note - as much as I'd rather do anything else right now - I really should continue with these documents or they're going to pile up..."

"Hey now, you know Pantalone doesn't like it when you overwork yourself, Y/N," Childe pointed out, crossing his arms.

Columbina smiled gently. "Yes, how about we go and have some tea instead?~"

Scaramouche raised an eyebrow at this.

"You sure speak to this girl in an unprofessional manner, Tartaglia, Damselette - if I didn't know better, I'd say it sounds almost intimate. Trying to snatch her away from me, perhaps? But you've already known her for a month; it ought to be my turn to get acquainted with our new little Harbinger. Y/N and I have some things to discuss, after all..."

"Oh?" Childe raised an eyebrow. "Then what exactly were you and her chatting so intimately about before I came?"

"Enlighten us, Balladeer," Columbina chuckled.

You shook your head a bit.

"Let's not go down that rabbit hole-"

"No." Scaramouche cut you off with a smug expression. "These two, and the rest of them... would agree with the opinion I shared with you, don't you think? Surely it's something that we've all been wondering about."

Columbina and Childe shared a brief but knowing look - it wasn't hard to guess what the Balladeer had said to you, and though he should have gone about it a more discreet manner, they couldn't deny their curiosity either.

The angel-like Harbinger walked next to you, brushing back a loose strand of hair from your face.

"I'd rather hear this from you," she hummed.

Her touch was a little cold but gentle, not at all unpleasant. You just weren't used to this kind of physical intimacy, or rather, it had been so long since you'd experienced any kind of intimacy, that it caught you a bit off-guard whenever your co-workers offered these weird gestures. It's not like you... really minded this. But it did make it hard to refuse when they the asked you for something.

You sighed, leaning back on the chair.

"Of course, I... know you're all somewhat displeased that I'm keeping these secrets from you, about my past, that is - how I've lived for this long, and how it's possible that have two Visions. It might be difficult for you to trust me because of this, but even so, I am not obliged to reveal anything. And you know as well as I do that the Jester already knows what there is to be known; he wouldn't have let me join otherwise."

Scaramouche narrowed his eyes, not content with your answer.

"Yes, but I also know that the Director is a man of his principles - either those secrets are shared of your own accord, or not at all."

"Then maybe you don't need to know? Maybe you're better off not knowing?"

Tartaglia frowned, leaning against the wall next you.

"Being a part of the Fatui already means that we're in way over our heads when it comes to anything questionable that's going on in Teyvat. Your... situation, is included in that, even more so because you're one of us now. And in case it's not clear yet, we do care about our own, even if that often gets a bit lost behind our agendas and differences." He put a hand on your shoulder and offered a reassuring smile. "So, we'd like to know more about you, Y/N. I'm sure that's what Scaramouche has been trying to tell you too, albeit he has a weird way of choosing his words."

The Balladeer crossed his arms. "What a speech, Childe." It sounded like a snide remark, you somehow sensed that he didn't mean it as one.

"For once, I agree with these two," Columbina said. "Though both are going about this in a rather thoughtless manner. Regardless of her past and whether or not she chooses to disclose it, she is a Harbinger - and that does not necessarily mean we should know all these things about her. Her only responsibility is to serve the Tsaritsa, after all."

She smiled at you. "But it is a shame you don't seem to trust us very much, Y/N."

Reverse psychology? Smooth.

"I think you've misunderstood me, though. It's not about trust."

You stood up from Pantalone's fancy office chair, stretching a bit.

"At this point, revealing those things might or might not cost me, but I'm pretty sure I won't gain anything from it either. If that's the case - well, is survival not about keeping the trump cards you have, or at least not giving them away for free? And information is often more valuable than Mora."

"You sound like the Regrator, though I'm sure he would disagree about the Mora part." Tartaglia chuckled. "But I like the way you think! So, what is it that you'd like in return for those secrets?"

"I'd be happy to arrange whatever it is~" Columbina singsonged. "Within the bounds of good taste, of course."

Scaramouche clicked his tongue. "What an insufferable girl - what is it you want, then?"

You tilted your head, wondering why these people were so invested in you. One day, you'd surely understand... but in this moment, you could only think about their offer and how it was just slightly too tempting to refuse.

"Well, right now, I'm craving for some excitement. Something more thrilling than this paperwork I'm drowning in day after day. I don't suppose one of you has a solution for that?"

Columbina's soft laughter jingled in the air.

Scaramouche was glaring at you.

Childe's eyes were sparkling.

"Excitement, you say?!" the ginger exclaimed. "Oh, that won't be a problem. How about we make a little bet, Y/N?"

"I'm listening."

"Let's fight a bit~ I've been wanting to see what you're capable of, and a match against the Eleventh Harbinger is far from playing around, so I'm sure it would prove exciting enough for you." He nodded toward the two gemstones hanging from your belt. "Use those Visions, any weapons and all the shenanigans you can possibly come up with - if you think you can. I promise to make it worth your while. Naturally, you'd have to share some of your past in exchange..."

You raised an eyebrow at his suggestion. "...if you manage to win, that is?"

Columbina chuckled. "Careful, Y/N. You'll get Tartaglia too excited~"

Scaramouche rolled his eyes.

"I'm not sure you understand what you're agreeing to, miss Twelfth. But by all means, go play with this idiot - I'll gladly come and watch, it ought to be entertaining. The next phase of my mission in Sumeru is not due in a while anyway." (And if by some miracle you do manage to beat Childe, I'll come up with other ways of discovering those secrets.)

The Balladeer as well had grown quite captivated by you.

Childe smiled innocently. "How about it, Y/N? Are you in?"

"You bet."

---

...who in their right mind had recruited this maniac?

Sure, the Harbingers had inhuman abilities, but this was pure madness. Tartaglia had yet to even demonstrate his Hydro powers, much less a Delusion, but merely by using his agility and a pair of escrima sticks he had already brought you to your knees.

It's not as if you considered yourself to be a particularly skilled fighter, but you did have five centuries' worth more experience than him, and quite a few tricks up in your sleeve. But Childe only ever gave you the time to use your polearm - no Visions, no shenanigans - and even so, you didn't manage to land a single hit on him.

You lay on the floor of the training grounds, breathlessly gazing up at Tartaglia who was pinning you down with his knee.

"Ready to yield, girlie?"

"Ha... I'm not, *huff*, giving up that easily..."

He smiled, putting a bit more pressure on your chest - not in a painful way, but it was still enough to diminish your remaining fighting spirit rather quickly.

"Alright, alright, fine... please, *huff*... stop, Tartaglia... I, *huff*... give... up..."

"You can call me Ajax, by the way."

The ginger stood up, gazing down at you with a grin on his face. Well, at least now you knew that the rumors about his martial arts prowess weren't exaggerated? Neither was the fact that whenever he did fight, there was this euphoric (honestly a bit scary) aura around him. Reminder - think twice before you accept a challenge from this guy in the future!

That said, you had quite enjoyed yourself...

Ajax offered his hand to you, and you meekly took it, allowing him to pull you up from the ground.

Columbina and Scaramouche, who had been silently observing from the sidelines, appeared slightly amused and certainly pleased by the end of your struggle. This outcome had been more or less expected, but ever so welcome. A Harbinger never backed on their word, after all~

"Now then, my angel..."

"...you better keep that promise."

The three of them led you to a small lounge, dimly lit by a fireplace and deserted from any members of Fatui. Exhausted, you slouched down on a couch and closed your eyes.

Damselette came next to you wordlessly, laying down and letting her head rest on your lap. This was a habit of hers that you didn't mind; while admittedly rather intimate, it was something like this that you had long yearned for.

Childe leaned against a nearby wall, smiling at you encouragingly. For some reason, you always felt at ease around him. He was like an "older" sibling - more than she ever was, the one you'd already lost before her death.

The Balladeer was sitting on an armchair, observing you with an unreadable expression. The slight softness in those cold eyes was perhaps only noticed by you; an abandoned soul recognizes its own kind.

"Now then, Ajax, Scaramouche and Columbina. Allow me to tell you a story - one that discloses how my first Vision came to be. While I'm at it, I suppose I might as well reveal why Rosalyne and I shared such a difficult relationship..."

(to be continued)

[the7thcrow]

Not all that Glitters is Gold -> 10

series pairing: (fem) princess!reader x seonghwa x san x wooyoung. eventual polyamory.

series masterlist | previous chapter

Part Ten: a relic from the past, confession, and dark magic.

series rating: 16+

series genre: action and adventure. romance. angst. fluff. suggestive. fantasy au.

series warnings: character death, blood and violence, weaponry, injury, suggestive content, mxm content, elements of misogyny, language, monsters. (will only be using chapter specific warnings for things not included on this list.)

summary: as a princess fleeing a royal assassination attempt, you have no choice but to put your trust in a band of three thieves in order to reach the kingdom of kuroku alive. however, amongst magic, deceit, and the bounty hunters that are hot on your trail, you realize that you might have stumbled upon a relationship far more complicated than what meets the eye.

chapter details beneath the cut ->

wc: 15.3k

extra chapter warnings: panic attack, a non-consensual kiss, non-consensual drug use (but magical? idk?).

chapter summary:

“It is you!” The stranger exclaims, their voice light and feminine.

Feminine and familiar. You narrow your eyes.

“Do I…” You start, swallowing down the bile that has arisen in your throat, as well as the tremble of fear in your voice. “Do I know you?”

a/n: guess who’s back :3 sorry this took me a million years to write, hopefully i can be a bit more consistent in the next coming months. hope you enjoy, and don’t be shy to let me know what you think! love y’all, thanks to everyone who has not abandoned this story after this massive hiatus LMAO <3

Seonghwa has never believed anger to suit him.

While Woo wears his anger like a loaded cannon, and San - like most other things - buries it until it inevitably rises to the surface, Seonghwa has tried to avoid fury when he can.

After all, anger is often the replacement of a different emotion. It comes easier than understanding, quicker than resolution. It’s the nasty, winding short-cut off the high road, and Seonghwa has learned that the high road is almost always the safer path in the long term.

Anger is ugly. It’s nonsensical and he doesn’t like how it looks on him. It’s why he prefers the cold shoulder to blind rage, sorting out his feelings on his own rather than lashing out on others. It’s the kind thing to do. The empathetic thing to do.

It’s never been overly difficult for him to settle this rage until now.

It festers in his mind every morning, as well as in the night before he falls asleep. Everytime he accidentally catches your eye over breakfast, letting his gaze drift away in hopes that you will think that his eyes were trailing by rather than staring.

He is so unbelievably angry with you, and he hates it.

From the moment the truth was revealed in the forest, it’s as if someone wrapped a hand around his lungs and began to squeeze, then never let go. A hot, burning fire in his chest that’s smoke rises up his throat, choking him with rage. It stings his eyes, fogs his senses. It feels unbeatable, indestructible. Blinding.

He knows that anger is just an emotion. A bad one, one that he’s had to expel from others countless times before. From San, after The Desert Lotus. It’s just another entity, another plague on the body. Settle down, feel it, think better of it, then let it be gone.

And yet now that feels an impossible task. Seonghwa doesn’t know the last time he was so angry. Perhaps it was the night in the kitchen with his mother, learning of the heights of human greed, the one he relives every time he uses his gift to expel the anger from someone else.

He supposes this memory may replace that one.

When he found out the truth about you it was like the last few weeks came crashing down around him. The closeness, the trust and understanding, the mutual respect and admiration.

All lies. All of it. And he feels like such a fucking idiot.

There was no trust, and by the gods, there was certainly no respect. He was a mere pawn in your game, a part of the plan, and all he can do is beat himself up about being too naive to not see it earlier. Woo has always harped on him for being too nice to people, or as the elemental would put it, “not behaving like an actual person, but more like a rock on a walkway that people like to kick around”. Seonghwa thought that Woo was just being grouchy, the pessimist he always is. But hell, maybe he was right.

After all, Seonghwa should have seen it coming. There was so much he could have done. If he had questioned why a beautiful stranger would have so much immediate interest in him in the first place, or why you constantly asked him questions while dismissing any deeper ones about yourself. If he wasn’t so passive about the parasitic emotions practically radiating off of you. If he looked past the ideal he so desperately wanted and dared to dig up the reality of what was underneath.

He’s not an idiot. The reality is that for you, it was never about him. It was about getting to Kuroku. For him it was about the journey, but for you it was always in the name of the destination.

And well, he certainly did his part in getting you there. He shared his gift with you as a token of trust, he took your pain away and made it his own, he vouched for you against Woo’s constant doubt.

All for a girl who’s name he didn’t even know.

The thought makes more anger - ugly, volatile, and oh-so-unflattering - surge within his chest, and he throws a rock into the lake before him. It doesn’t skip as he intended, and instead sinks with a loud plunk.

Seonghwa frowns. He grabs another rock to throw.

After being met with an even louder plunk, he groans, before creeping further up onto the shoreline to grab a flatter rock. His toes dip in the water, which feels colder than yesterday now that he’s no longer fueled by sheer terror and adrenaline.

The coolness brings him back to Maralya, when he and Yunho would sit on the fishing dock. Feet in the water, even though Seonghwa was older, Yunho was the one who had taught him to skip rocks. His half-brother always had a knack for things like that, or well, for everything it seemed. From medical skills, to scaling buildings, to setting a fishing line; Yunho could master whatever he picked up. He must have inherited it from his father, a man Seonghwa doesn’t really remember, as he died when they were young.

Seonghwa doesn’t remember his own father either, as he disappeared on an escapade to The Mainland directly after he was born. His mother told him that his ship was lost at sea, but Seonghwa is pretty sure he just left and never came back.

It doesn’t really matter, he’s never had much of a desire to know the man. After all, the only thing Seonghwa inherited from him was his foolishness. And maybe his nose.

Seonghwa sighs. Picking up another rock, this one flat and polished, he recalls the steps in his mind. Yunho's voice runs through his head as he goes through the form, before bringing his hand back and letting it fly.

Plunk.

He stares at the ripples surrounding the sinking stone for a moment, before sitting down. He must have forgotten a step. It was a long time ago.

He lays back so that his head presses into the sand, the little grains cold and damp against his scalp. It’s familiar. It’s a little like the shore at home, although the sand isn’t as white, and the water’s colder, nor as blue. There’s no sound of hustle and bustle from back in the village, or his mother yelling at him to take a dip in the ocean before coming back inside because he’s covered in sand and he can’t track that into the house.

So maybe it’s not so similar, but he will pretend.

Seonghwa sighs, grabbing a handful of sand, letting it fall between his fingers. It’s times like these, ones where he’s dejected, broken-down, and lonely, that he wants nothing more than to go home. Only then does he remember that there’s no home for him to return to.

He sighs, his anger drifting to sadness, and yet he doesn’t mind. He believes that at the very least, it suits him better.

Footsteps approach from far off behind him, and he knows that it’s you. Woo walks faster, heavier footed, and he likely wouldn’t have heard San until he was closer. Besides, you’ve been walking with a slight limp since the fall, and he can hear it in the thump of every second step.

A part of him wants to ask what happened, what hurts. If you’re okay.

The angry part of him won’t let the other speak.

He hears your steps stutter, coming to a sudden halt from what he assumes is about a dozen feet off. Silence follows, and he wonders what you’re thinking. If you’re nervous to approach him, taking the time to contemplate your words before you say them.

Eventually, you do come closer. “San and Woo want to head towards Bebbanburg,” you call out from behind him. “I said that I’d come get you.”

“Thanks,” Seonghwa says flatly, making no motion to move. He will, of course, but not until you head back to camp. He’d like to avoid the awkwardness of walking in a strained silence, pretending not to notice as you try to meet his eye.

Although when he doesn’t hear you leave, it seems as if he doesn’t have much of a choice.

Sighing, he pushes himself up into a seated position. Glancing back at you, he has to place a hand over his forehead to block out the rising sun blinding his vision.

You stand with your arms wrapped around yourself, watching him with a dampened expression. Your tunic billows in the wind, torn around the waist and covered in dirt and dust. Chewing on your bottom lip as your fingers tap along your arm, you appear on edge. As if you wish to say something.

Seonghwa hates the way he wishes to know what it is. He hates how he wants to smooth your hair that is violently blown by the wind and wipe away the smudge of mud that has hardened against your cheek.

He hates how even now, after everything, he yearns for you.

Perhaps this is how it always would have ended, anyway. Having grown more attached then he ever should, not ready to lose what he knew was never his.

“Seonghwa,” you say finally, although it’s a little strained. Rigid. “About yesterday, by the fire.”

Ah yes, that. You and San hadn’t noticed him at the time, but when neither he or Woo came back to the fire, the two of you went out looking for them. It only took a moment, finding them sitting against the caves outer wall. Quiet and avoidant. Woo had fallen asleep, but Seonghwa had met your gaze. He held it for only a moment, watching your own eyes widen as you realized he’d seen the whole thing. He looked away when your lips parted to speak.

“With San. I hadn’t expected it to happen,” you say, calling loudly over the wind, and yet somehow your voice still seems quiet. Trapped and tight. “I… I don’t regret it. But after everything, it feels unfair to you-”

“I don’t care about you and San,” Seonghwa butts in. Not aggressively, or overly angry, merely factual. After all, that’s not what he’s angry about. He doesn’t care about you and San. That’s your business.

He wants San to be happy. Whatever it takes, the swordsman deserves a bit of peace.

Besides, now that he will not, perhaps San will wipe the mud from your cheek.

“Oh,” you say, followed by a pause. “You just seem upset.”

“I’m not angry about that,” Seonghwa replies, lips pursing together. He swallows hard. “Just about everything you did before it.”

Your expression falls. Mouth dropping open into a small part, your eyes fill with a sudden sense of shame and hurt. Your hands grip your elbows, hugging yourself tighter, even if only slightly.

Your expression settles like stone in his gut, and he knows that what he said has made you hurt. He has made you feel that same pain that tightens in his chest and floods up his throat.

Seonghwa wishes he hadn’t said that.

No matter his anger, no matter the pain, Seonghwa has never wished to pass an entity on to another.

“I’ll meet you back at the cave in a moment,” he says, because he doesn’t want to say anything else that he’ll regret. He doesn’t want to force his gaze from yours while at the same time feeling a pull towards you like a beacon, begging him to take it away. Take it all away. All the horrible entities that radiate from you like a plague, a blackened sickness.

Turning back towards the lake, he waits. When he hears the sound of your footsteps - fading away, not growing louder - he lets out a sigh of relief.

He doesn’t like what this has made him into. The anger that has filled him, strangles him, stops him from drifting towards you like a moth to a flame. Sure to be burned, but the glow will be glorious.

No, anger doesn’t suit him. And yet he wears it, draping over him, akin to a stranger’s jacket.

If there is any luck to be found following your fall from the cliff, it’s in that at least you’ve found yourselves closer to Bebbanburg.

The journey to the small kingdom only took a few hours, the fact that you had nothing to carry but the clothes on your back having sped up the trek. It was spent in silence.

You know there’s certain to be some of the black-clad men poking around in such a populous city, so upon reaching the kingdom, the first order of business was to purchase you a cloak, as Mingi’s own had remained within a satchel on the horse’s back.

It weighs down on your shoulders, knowing that it’s gone, the final piece of him you had left. You’ve tried to view it as for the better, as the cloak of a Libaiyan Royal Guard could have attracted the attention of the wrong pair of eyes.

Even so, it hurts.

The cloak you wear now isn’t nearly as nice, a tattered brown fabric that’s itchy in the spots where it touches your bare skin, but it only cost a few bronze pieces. Considering that all the group of you have to your name is the pouch of coins attached to San’s waste, you have to know where to ration your spendings.

This is only on the necessities. San is trying to locate a cheap blacksmith to fashion him a new sword. Meanwhile, Woo and Seonghwa are searching if there’s anywhere for your group to stay that doesn’t cost an arm and a leg. Bebbanburg is an expensive kingdom, and so long as you find a place with a roof and walls that doesn’t blow through all of your savings, you’ll consider yourselves lucky.

With all the men on their own errands and a new cloak purchased, you’ve had about an hour to kill before now, as you currently make your way to meet them back at the city center. You’ve spent it wandering, peering into shop windows but never making your way inside. You don’t have the money to spend, nor do you want the undivided attention of a shop-keeper when you’re trying to lay low.

You’ve passed a few of your wanted posters strown up about the town, plastered to bulletin boards, poles, and shop windows alike. On top of being newly adorned with a far more accurate portrait of yourself, they’ve also added the detail of your recent scars. Printed along the bottom is the following: “Last spotted travelling with three young men. Potentially dangerous. Approach with caution.”

As an incentive due to what you assume is the elevated danger risk, they’ve increased the reward for your capture or demise to 300,000 gold pieces.

Apparently, someone at the tavern ratted the group of you out. Likely Yeosang and his band of not-so-merry men, or perhaps the poor shop-keeper desperate for a bribe.

Either way, someone is on your tail. Considering the new addition to the posters, that someone is in this city.

You haven’t seen them yet, but you know that it’s the black-clad men. They have to be lurking around here somewhere, they’re just being quiet about it.

You swallow hard, pulling the hood of your cloak further down.

Fortunately, the street’s are bustling with people. Bebbanburg, while not quite as big as the four major kingdoms, is still a hub for tourism. With money to spend, the streets are clean, the buildings well-kept. Despite being a narrow path in the merchant’s district in town, the air smells fresh.

It doesn’t feel quite right, in your opinion. Between the few towns you’ve visited these past few weeks, there was a certain scent to the air that felt more…natural. A strange concoction of smells as different taverns and homes didn’t agree on a pre-set menu for the night, dirt and pebbles aligning the trails as hunters dragged home their latest catch, or the muddy hoof-prints left by horses that stick to the bottoms of your shoes.

Bebbanburg feels too polished. The sort of polished that takes an effort, that works extra hard to rid itself of anything it deems unclean.

Trying not to obsess too much over the fact, you do your best to retrace your steps in order to return to the city center, taking a turn down another street. A slight limp to your step, ankle still not having fully recovered from your fall off the cliff, you count the shop doors that you pass along the alley’s stone wall. You kept count on your way here in order to know which alley to take back.

Counting down the doors, you pass by a butcher’s shop, cafe, and Zarian boutique for rare gems, all of which you’d passed along the way here. Gaze fluttering passively over the alley next to the boutique, you nearly miss the pair of eyes that lock on your own. Cat-like gaze fixated on yours, the bottom half of the figure's face is covered by a black cloth, their head shrouded in a dark cloak.

You pause. Hesitant, you retrace your last few steps, peering back down the alley.

The figure’s cloak follows behind them as they disappear behind a winding turn.

Swallowing down the bile that arises in your throat as an unsettled chill creeps down your spine, you keep moving along your original route. It was just a stranger. You’re paranoid, on edge, searching to find shadows and enemies in places in which they are not there.

Nevermind how something about the stranger's gaze felt oddly…familiar. Although you cannot place from where.

You continue along your original path, turning down the alley that will take you back to the city center. Glancing over your shoulder, you see nobody behind you, just the bustle of people continuing their way down the mainstreet. You mentally scold yourself. You’re being ridiculous, and casting lingering glances as you loiter in one place for too long is only going to attract attention.

When you turn forward, you catch a glimpse of movement, as something disappears behind a wall up ahead of you. “Shit,” you think to yourself, rushing forward as you place your back against the stone wall, peeking an eye out to see if you can spot them.

All you can manage is the tail end of the dark cloak disappearing down another alleyway. You wait a moment, as if contemplating how daring - or foolish - you’re willing to be, before heading after them.

“This is a bad idea,” you whisper to yourself, hand drifting to the hilt of the sword at your waist as you follow after the mysterious figure. However, even if unwise, you’d rather know your enemy and have them right in front of you compared to being stalked like prey. You’ll get slain in a fair fight any day before getting your throat slit from behind.

It’s a morbid thought, something San would likely say during combat practice, and you wonder if you’ve been spending too much time with these men.

Following the stranger, you keep quiet on your feet. Pulling the sword out from its sheath, you tread carefully, slowing your pace as you near the corner that the cloak had disappeared behind. Holding the sword firm in your grasp, you take a deep and shaky breath, before jumping to face your attacker.

Only to find there is nobody there, just another barren alleyway. Another alleyway that leads to nothing but a dead end, a stone wall looming tall before you.

You frown, confused at how this is possible. Your gaze darts around the narrow alleyway, searching for a cloaked figure, but it remains entirely empty.

Letting out a troubled sigh, you resheath your sword and turn back around.

Only to be met face first with the masked stranger.

Your breath dies in your throat, and you instinctively pull an arm back, aiming to strike them. However, as you swing forward, they narrowly dodge your strike, managing to grab your wrist instead. They twist it, not so hard as to dislodge anything, but enough that it disarms you. Then, using their free hand to push you backwards, they press you up against the stone wall. Elbow against your chest and hand gripping your upper arm, their spare hand grips tightly around your other wrist, rending you immobile.

Your chest heaves, not from tiredness but scheer panic. They’ve got you. Your gaze flickers up, to scan the face of your assailant. The person that will turn you in to the black-clad men, or is perhaps one themself.

The strangers' dark eyes meet yours from beneath their thick cloak, black orbs dancing as they move to scan over your face. Cat-like in their shape, with thick eye-lashes and brows.

Then the stranger laughs.

It’s not a menacing laugh, nor one you would expect from someone who is about to kill you. Instead it’s joyous, almost disbelieving.

“It is you!” The stranger exclaims, their voice light and feminine.

Feminine and familiar. You narrow your eyes.

“Do I…” You start, swallowing down the bile that has arisen in your throat, as well as the tremble of fear in your voice. “Do I know you?”

The stranger’s eyebrows furrow together into a look of confusion, before lighting up in realization. “Oh!” They say, before doing the last thing you would have ever expected of removing their hands from you entirely. “Of course!”

The stranger pulls off the hood of their cloak, revealing a head of long, thick red hair. They follow the removal of their hood by doing the same with their mask, and with it, you are hit with a wave of not only relief, but scheer and unadulterated joy.

“Yeji!” You nearly shout, pulling your back from the wall and wrapping your arms around your old laundress.

She chuckles, and then you are both laughing. In happiness, in relief, in sheer and utter disbelief. You pull away, placing both of your hands along her jaw to cup her face. You scan every detail, to ensure that she is real and actually standing before you, not some sort of trick or illusion.

But is her, just as you had seen her last at the castle. Maybe not exactly the same, wearing far different clothes than the modest beige dress she had adorned as your laundress, hair worn loosely, and eyes holding more of an edge than they ever had before.

Still, it is Yeji.

Yeji with the shimmering grin and freckle on her nose. Yeji who you know, and knows you in return. Yeji from your castle. Your home.

Yeji, a relic from the past that has not been destroyed.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack, following me around like that,” you laugh, taking one of your hands and giving her a slap on the shoulder, playful and not hard enough to actually hurt.

“Sorry,” she grins. “I didn’t want to attract any attention on the street. Figured it would be safer to lure you somewhere quiet, and you know, I also wanted to make sure it was actually you first.”

She then scoffs, returning the slap onto your own shoulder. “I didn’t expect you to pull out a sword on me! Where did you even get one of those?”

You consider answering, but a heavy cloud of unanswered questions hangs over the two of you, its presence loud and rattling like thunder. The jovial nature to your reunion cannot last long, not when there’s so much at stake, not when your world has crumbled to ash since you last spoke.

“What are you doing in Bebbanburg?” You ask, before realizing there’s a far more pressing question at hand. “How did you get out of the castle?”

Yeji smiles, placing her hand over one of your own along her cheek. “After what happened with the king in the ball-room, it was chaos,” she explains. “The Dark Army were rounding up and capturing all those who worked in the castle and may have been close to you.”

Your heart seizes at the statement, and your voice is quiet as you speak again. “Did they hurt them?”

“I don’t know,” Yeji replies, tone equally as somber. “A group of us laundresses escaped together using the underground tunnel system. I didn’t see what happened to those they had rounded up, but…”

She swallows hard, eyes pitiful as they meet your own. “But with how The Dark Army were talking, and the screams that followed behind us…I don’t think it would have ended well for them, Princess.”

Your throat swells at her admission, and it becomes more difficult to breathe as your eyes fill with the remnants of tears. Your mind is flooded with the unwelcome image of all of your old servants - your friends, as they had far surpassed their job description - tortured to try and probe them for information regarding you.

You wipe at your eyes with your hands, stuffing down the rising guilt and pain, placing a lid on these horrible thoughts. You will mourn later, when you have the time to properly grieve and honour all that they have lost because of you. For now, you must keep moving, deal with what is right in front of you.

“You keep calling them The Dark Army,” you begin, changing the subject. “Is that a made up title, or something they’ve defined themselves as? Do we know who they are?”

Yeji shakes her head. “Nobody knows who they are, it’s just what we’ve been calling them because of their armour. Not to mention the fact that they are about the sourest men I’ve ever met.”

“You’ve spoken to them?” You ask, scolding yourself for the fear that seizes in your chest at the thought of it. Of them being anywhere near her, or anyone you care about, for that matter.

She nods. “They’re poking around the city. Trying to keep a low profile, because Bebbanburg doesn’t like any semblance of war or conflict contaminating their streets, but they’re here. We try to keep to ourselves by not causing any trouble or disturbances and they mostly leave us alone.”

Your head buzzes at the confirmation that they are here, within the walls and perhaps a mere alley-way over, which is far, far too close.

“You keep saying we,” you note. “There’s more of you?”

Yeji nods, a soft smile grazing her lips. “Lot’s of us. We’ve set up a refugee camp on the outskirts of the city. Bebbanburg doesn’t want us here, because of course they don’t, but at least it’s safe. Not much crime or Anti-Libaiyan extremists in the city, so even if it’s not much, it’s all that we can really ask for.”

If she had told you this a couple weeks ago, you’d have been startled to know that there were Anti-Libaiyan extremists at all. However, having been given insight into the monstrosities your father was capable of, this no longer comes as a surprise, but rather expected.

“Can you take me to them?” You ask, and Yeji nods.

“Of course,” she says, grabbing your hand as she begins to walk back up the alley-way. “Although, I’d recommend keeping a low-profile, seeing that you're alive might cause a little too much excitement. Draw attention.”

You nod in agreement, following behind her through the winding alley-ways. It’s not until you’re almost back on the main city street that you remember why exactly you were trekking through the alleyways in the first place.

“Wait,” you say, stopping. Yeji turns to face you, raising a quizzical eyebrow. “There’s some people I need you to meet first.”

“Where have you been?” Woo asks as you approach. The three men have gathered around the fountain within the center of the city square, water spouting from the tall and golden statue into a small pond embedded with various coloured jewels along its rim. The falling water casts a veil of mist around them, as well as the various other groups gathered beside it. Many of them are tourists from different kingdoms, which you can recognize by the various types of clothing they wear, such as the vibrant coloured patchwork of the group next to you that is distinctly Zarian. It seems a prime spot to talk, the definition of hiding in plain sight.

“You were supposed to meet us here a half-hour ago,” Woo says with a scowl, before he notices Yeji beside you. His gaze flickers up and down, as if assessing her potential danger. “Who is this?”

You take a deep breath, preparing yourself, before motioning to her. “You guys, this is Yeji.”

She gives them a smile to which none of the men return, and for a moment you stand in silence.

“We’ve heard that one before,” Woo says.

Your face warms with embarrassment, and you clear your throat before beginning to explain. “This is the real Yeji, the girl whose name I used. She was one of my laundresses back at the castle, as well as a close friend.”

Another moment of silence follows, as none of the men appear to know what to say, or how to approach the appearance of a stranger.

Eventually, Seonghwa speaks, tone polite. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says, to which Yeji returns the sentiment. Although he isn’t looking at you to see it, you cast Seonghwa a grateful smile all the same.

“This is Seonghwa, San, and Woo,” you say, pointing to each of them in turn. “They have been helping me get to Kuroku.”

“Thank you for aiding Her Highness,” Yeji says, placing a hand on her chest while delivering a curtsy. A sign of respect. Although…exceedingly formal respect.

San’s lips pull together into a stifled smile, and Woo raises an eyebrow.

“You, um, don’t have to do that,” you say, placing a hand on Yeji’s shoulder and gently tugging her upwards. “It’s not really like that.”

“Oh,” she says, straightening herself as her eyebrows raise in surprise. There’s a silence that follows, as well as a sense of discomfort that hangs in the air, as Yeji chews nervously on her lower lip.

And for all the love that you have for her, you know exactly what she’s thinking, as it’s been drilled into her since the moment she began to work at the castle: The demands of Libaiyan proprietary.

She ponders that if the relationship with this group of men escorting you is not formal, then what is it, and how far have you stretched the rules of etiquette that bind you?

You wouldn’t even know how to answer that question even if she asked.

Instead of dwelling on the subject and the lingering discomfort, you turn to Woo and Seonghwa. “Did the two of you find a place for us to stay the night?”

Woo scoffs in annoyance while Seonghwa shakes his head, defeated.

“Not anywhere reasonable,” Seonghwa says. “There’s a few places we can go if nightfall comes, but we honestly might be better off sleeping in the woods. It should be a clear night, and at least it won’t cost us an arm and a leg.”

You frown, not fond of the idea of spending yet another night on the ground, especially without a tarp or blanket to shield you from the elements.

Fortunately, Yeji pipes up from beside you. “If you’re looking for a place to stay, we’ve formed a refuge on the outskirts of the city. I believe we have an extra tent to spare.”

Now this finally causes the men’s expression to shift, the discomfort and wariness on each of their faces replaced with a glimpse of relief.

“Alright,” San says, gaze shifting over to you even as he speaks to Yeji, and his expression is difficult to read. He appears almost bemused. “Lead the way.”

The refuge, while about as bleak as you expected it to be, fills you with an undeniable sense of glee. Mostly due to how big it is, meaning that even if the mass size of the refuge indicates that there have been hundreds driven from the Libaiyan kingdom, there are also far more people who survived and escaped the castle than you’d originally thought.

Gathered just outside of Bebbanburg’s walls, dozens of the beige and tattered fabric tents are clumped together, creating a sort of maze as people make their way between the narrow passages. Head shrouded beneath your hood, the five of you pass through the different camps, ducking beneath laundry lines hanging between tent poles and maneuvering through the small groups gathered around make-shift fire pits as they roast small rodents and birds for dinner.

You watch their faces, searching amidst them for anger, for loss and resentment. While some are quiet, dark circles of tiredness hanging beneath their eyes, others are not so beaten down. There is the sound of laughter in the air, and a group of children nearly bump into you as they recklessly chase each other through the labyrinth of tents.

You smile. All is not lost.

You’d been so focused on your own survival, of getting to Kuroku alive and fighting to give your kingdom a chance, that you hadn’t realized the fear you had of there being no kingdom to fight for. Of not only the castle being besieged, but the entire kingdom being left in ashes.

Yet, even if this is so, there are still Libaiyans left. There is still a nation, full of life, that will not let themselves be stripped of their pride so easily.

“This way,” Yeji says softly, trying not to draw too much attention to your party. A group of girls wave to her as you pass by, and you recognize some of them as your kitchen maids, although you were never close enough to have learned their names.

The women are seated around a small fire. With the setting sun, they gather closed together, a blanket stretched over them. Or, upon closer look, a Libaiyan flag, its golden sun bright against its stark white background.

There is a man playing the lute sitting beside them. He has light eyes and a soft voice, fingers dancing as he strums the small wooden instrument in tune with his voice.

The man sings a Libaiyan folk song, one about a man arriving home to a small Libaiyan village after fighting many long years at war. The song doesn’t make clear which war exactly, centuries old and deriving from a time of high conflict, but it doesn’t really matter.

After all, the song is less about the war, and more about coming home. The ghosts of his fallen comrades following him, cane in hand to support his leg that will never heal, and his love having left the village to marry another man from the kingdom city.

The song is normally sung in a minor chord. It’s sad and melancholic, painting a tale of loss and grief.

However, the man currently singing has changed its tune to a major chord.

A message of triumph. Of defiance. Of the man’s survival, even after all else is lost and destroyed.

A song of hope.

You want to join them. To listen to this man sing your nation's song, to let his tune of triumph fill not only the air, but your entire body. Your heart, even your soul. Reignite the reason you started this journey, why you couldn’t give up.

These people need you. Your people need you.

Yeji wraps her arm around your wrist, giving you a gentle tug forward as you linger near the fire for a little too long.

“Don’t worry,” she whispers. “You’ll be able to hear his voice late into the night, even from your tent.”

You aren’t sure how to respond, how to depict your gratitude for all of this. For her taking you in and letting you hear these songs that you weren’t so sure you’d ever hear again, for being alive and granting you hope.

All you can do is reach to give her hand a soft squeeze, and hope she understands.

Yeji stops before a small tent, one that doesn’t seem big enough for two men, let alone three. “I know it isn’t much, but I hope it will do.”

“It’ll do,” Seonghwa answers with a smile.

“Especially considering we have no luggage,” Woo grumbles.

If Yeji hears the dissatisfaction in his voice, she doesn’t show it. “My own tent is just over there,” she says, pointing to what is only a few tents over. It’s a bit larger than the one before you, although not by much. She turns to you. “You can stay with me.”

You’re grateful for the sentiment, considering none of the men - except maybe San - would enjoy being forced to share such close quarters with you.

“There’s a table inside, if you’d all like to sit and regroup. I can catch you up on all that has happened since the siege,” Yeji says.

Her gaze flickers over to the three men, and it is hesitant. Curious, as it returns to you. “And you can do the same.”

“Scorpion beasts, a mimic, and a dragon-basilisk hybrid all in just a few weeks?” Yeji gapes, hands clutching tight around her mug of hot tea, as if she needs something to hold onto. “And you’re alive?”

“I take it your journey here wasn’t so exciting?” San asks, sipping his own mug. He seems in good spirits today, as he willingly engages in conversation with Yeji. Especially compared to Seonghwa - who is more hesitant, likely less willing to jump the gun on trusting a new stranger - and Woo, who sits with his eyes bearing down into the table, not touching his mug even as the tea inside grows cold.

“No, we took the main path down the Arila River, so far less rural,” Yeji explains. “Although it was a good thing you didn’t do the same. There were Dark Army ports all along its bank. We were stopped and searched at every one of them.”

If there’s one thing you’ve learnt from Yeji’s recollection of the besiegement and the time that followed, it’s that the black-clad men are relentless in their pursuit. They want you, at any cost. You only wish you knew who they were, so at least then you’d know why.

“I really am glad you’re alive, Princess,” Yeji says suddenly, hand drifting to rest on your own atop the table. “Libaiya has a chance to be strong again, so long as your blood sits on the throne. You’ll make the perfect Queen.”

You open your mouth to thank her, albeit bashfully, but are cut off as Woo pushes himself from the table. It rattles in protest, although the elemental does not seem to care, as he stomps towards the tent-flap. He does not meet any of your eyes as he disappears beneath it.

“I’m sorry,” Yeji says, tone worried. “Did I say something to-”

“It’s not you,” San reassures her. “He’s just been dealing with a lot lately.”

“I’ll go talk to him,” you say, because you have a feeling about what may be bothering him. Your blood, as Yeji had said. Although to him, it’s more like poison.

“No,” Seonghwa cuts you off, already rising to his feet. “You shouldn’t, I don’t think he’d take it well. I’ll go.”

You want to protest, as Seonghwa does not know about Woo’s past, about the orphanage. The Libaiyan orphanage, and all the horrors that happened there. But the empath is already heading towards the tent flap, and the words die on your lips.

Even so, maybe he is right. Woo is upset, upset about you and your nation, perhaps you are not the one who should attempt to console him. Besides, Seonghwa has always been far better at that.

Yet, as you watch Seonghwa disappear after Woo, you have the sinking feeling it may not go as the empath plans.

Wooyoung cannot breathe.

Making his way blindly through the darkness of the refuge, the sun having set over the horizon, he pushes past Libaiyan’s as he heads for the exit. They turn and look at him as he shoves past, and he wonders if they know. If they can smell it on him.

“You were his,” they whisper as he walks by, or is that just in his head? “One of his dogs. Our dogs. A machine for use. Worthless.”

The last word is in Warden’s voice, and Wooyoung places a hand over his ears to try and tune it out. The other clutching his chest.

He can’t breathe. By the god’s, he really can’t breathe.

Each short pant is as unsatisfying as the next. He feels dizzy, wanting to summon a ball of flame to guide him, but he can’t seem to move his hands in front of him. He pushes forward, searching for an exit through the mazes of tents.

Then he’s covered in something. It’s thin, engulfing him, and panic rises hot in his chest. They’ve gotten him. Again. It’s happening again. He opens his mouth to scream, but no sound comes out.

It’s only after nobody attempts to drag him away and he gets a whiff of soap that he realizes that what covers him is not a bag, but someone's laundry. With shaky hands, he untangles himself from the fabric, before glancing down at his captor.

It’s a Libaiyan flag.

The bright, golden, and horrible sun stares back at him. The same one hung in the cafeteria, the one he pledged allegiance to three times a day. The one plastered atop the ceiling of his bedroom, watching him every night. The one deckled on Warden’s shoulder, as he tortured them relentlessly, as he murdered Yeonjun.

Wooyoung throws it to the ground, hands still shaking as he walks over it, the dirt on the bottom of his shoe stark against the flag’s white background.

“Woo!” A voice calls from behind him, but it sounds far away. Maybe it’s also just in his head. He keeps walking.

He can hear the sound of the same man singing as when you’d all entered the camp. He has a nice voice as he sings Libaiyan songs. Songs he’s never heard. Songs that were reserved for Libaiyan citizens, not slaves.

Wooyoung’s throat burns with the taste of Libaiyan tea. Only one sip, and it will not leave his tongue.

It tasted like the infirmary tent after Assessment Day in the orphanage. Before Warden got there, but not before Wooyoung got beaten within the sparring ring. They’d given him the tea to calm him down, try and make him forget the burns lacing up and down his arms.

With the taste on his tongue it’s as if he can feel them again, the searing pain starting in his mind and seeping into his skin.

“Woo, hold on!” The voice calls again, closer than the last. This time Wooyoung knows it’s not in his head, as he recognizes it to be Seonghwa. The sound of foot-steps follows behind him, as the empath chases after him.

He does not turn around. He needs to get out of this place.

Wooyoung begins to run.

Tearing through the refuge, he sees Bebbenburg’s outer walls appear ahead of him, the light emitted from the lanterns hung on the outside fortress drawing him in like a beacon.

When he reaches the wall, he makes sure to take a few steps inside and past the gates, to ensure that he is no longer within Libaiyan territory. Here, he is within the Kuroken realm. Safe.

He pauses to catch his breath, less from the running and more from the panic that has seized him. Hands placed on his knees, Wooyoung lets the foggy haze fade from his mind, although it does not relinquish control so easily. His heart continues to race, ears ringing with a constant buzz.

Wooyoung doesn’t know why this is affecting him so horribly. He’s been to the Libaiyan castle since entering the orphanage, having stolen plenty of Libaiyan treasures and heirlooms on their heists within the castle.

Then again, that was in the dark of the night, when there were no songs to be sung or tea to be drunk. When the flags were shrouded in pure shadow, not wrapped around him like bonds of rope.

That was when he was in control. That was when he was taking from them. That was revenge.

That was before he entangled himself with their princess.

“Woo, what the hell?” Seonghwa asks as he approaches, slightly out of breath from chasing down the elemental. “Where are you going?”

“Away,” Wooyoung says, because it is all he can manage. He doesn’t look up at Seonghwa, instead staring at the cobblestone beneath his shoes, blinking blearily as he tries to direct his focus to its stone patch-work.

“Why did you just storm out of there?” Seonghwa asks. He’s not mad. Not yet. He genuinely wishes to know.

“Because of what that woman said,'' Wooyoung answers in his mind. “Because it’s true, she is the Libaiyan throne. Because it is her blood that’s done all of this. That did this to me.”

Wooyoung, of course, does not actually say any of this out loud. Seonghwa won’t understand. He doesn’t know, not only about Wooyoung’s past, but the orphanages in general. He’s from a small town within Zaria’s realm, far away from any news about Libaiyan political treachery.

He won’t get it, and Wooyoung isn’t going to even bother to try and explain it to him, especially when his tongue feels three sizes too large and his heart beats at a million times per minute.

“Leave me alone, Hwa,” he mutters, turning away from Seonghwa and heading deeper into Bebbanburg, hoping the empath will take the hint and piss off.

But he doesn’t, because after all, it’s Seonghwa. The blonde follows after him. “Where are you going to go, Woo? You saw the poster, it’s better to stay together, keep a low profile.”

“Leave me alone, Hwa,” Wooyoung repeats, beginning to walk faster, tone a little more pointed.

“Is this about her?” Seonghwa asks, and now his own tone is rising, annoyed as has to jog to catch up to the elemental. “Look I know you’re mad, I am too. But can’t you just push that aside? We’re almost to Kuroku, then we’ll be past it. We can move on.”

“Right. We’ll get to Kuroku. She’ll leave. San will leave. And then inevitably, you will too.”

After being met with silence, Seonghwa lets out a groan of annoyance, continuing to chase after him.

“Woo, stop!” He calls, reaching out to grab Wooyoung’s arm. Wooyoung slaps his hand away, perhaps a little harder than he should have. “Can’t we just talk about this? Can’t we have an actual conversation for once instead of you shoving me away?”

Wooyoung keeps moving, because no, they can’t. Not right now. Not like this. Not when he can’t think straight.

“I don’t get what you have to be so mad about anyway!”

Wooyoung stops at this, finally turning around to face Seonghwa. “What?”

Seonghwa stares at him for a moment, eyes wide and mouth parted with surprise that Wooyoung actually stopped. Then he frowns, eyebrows furrowing together, as if remembering his annoyance.

“Yes, she lied to you,” Seonghwa starts. “And I know it sucks. But it’s San’s money on the line, and clearly he’s been able to forgive her.”

Seonghwa swallows hard. “And even if I haven’t been able to do the same, even after all she’s done to me I’m willing to swallow my own feelings to get this journey done. For them.”

Them. By that Seonghwa means San and you. You, after all that you have done - to Seonghwa, to San, to Wooyoung himself - he’s still choosing you.

“Well maybe you shouldn’t, Hwa!” Wooyoung says, and now he’s shouting. It’s good. The anger provides him comfort, something familiar to latch onto. “She used you! She used all of us! I know you have this deep-seeded issue of thinking everyone and everything has good in them, but open your eyes! Not all that glitters is fucking gold! A pair of pretty eyes doesn’t repair what she’s done, it doesn’t mean that she isn’t rotten inside!”

“Just as you are too,” a voice reminds him within his mind, but he ignores it.

Seonghwa opens his mouth to cut back, but Wooyoung is not finished. “She lied through her teeth, and you’re really just going to let it slide?  Keep quiet because it’ll make things easier for her? For the sake of the gods, grow a spine!”

“Why do you care so much about what I do?” Seonghwa yells back, taking a step towards Wooyoung. Seonghwa’s fist is clenched at his side, and for a moment Wooyoung thinks that Seonghwa might actually hit him. He almost wishes he would.

“Why do you care if I forgive her? Why do you care so much about whether I let people walk all over me? Why do you care?”

Wooyoung doesn’t know why he does it.

Maybe it’s the way his mind still buzzes from moments prior, hazy and foggy and unable to think of anything beyond his anger. Anything beyond the way his heart pounds rapidly and vision blurs with an anxious haze.

Maybe it’s the way Seonghwa’s words sting, more than Wooyoung wants to admit, and he wishes to prove the man wrong. Show him that it’s not so simple. Win, in a strange and possibly fucked up way, but win nonetheless.

Or maybe, more than anything, it’s the way Seonghwa is looking at him. Big brown eyes scanning his face, full of anger, but also passion. Desperately searching for an answer, as if there will be a solution to the enigma that is Wooyoung hidden somewhere on the elemental’s face.

Wooyoung knows what the answer is that Seonghwa seeks.

It’s the part of himself that Wooyoung has never admitted exists. The part that he has shoved down, smothered, pretended wasn’t there. The part that flutters at the sound of Seonghwa whining at his teasing. The part that stalls when Seonghwa lets his hand fall onto Wooyoung’s shoulder, thinking nothing of it, simply trying to get the elemental's attention or leaning in to point out something in the distance.  

The part that broke the first night you and Seonghwa spent together. Defeated, angry, and beaten down, crawling into his bed that night in a drunken stooper, aching at the thought of the elemental being intimate with someone. Well, someone else.

The part that he once again shoved away the next morning, and had every day before and has every day since.

It’s that part of himself that he’s dejected and ignored that now comes crawling to the surface, invited by Seonghwa’s searching eyes, that unleashes its presence in a way that will make itself known. That will ensure it will no longer be forgotten, that it cannot be ignored or subdued again.

That part of Wooyoung unleashes itself in the form of a kiss.

It’s a horrible one, teeth smashing into teeth as Wooyoung grabs onto the collar of Seonghwa’s tunic and roughly pulls the man into him. In fact, it’s less of a kiss compared to two faces smashing together, Seonghwa clearly not prepared for it, but the message is sent all the same.

Wooyoung holds him there for three seconds, which feel far more like an eternity as they pass by.

Then Wooyoung pushes Seonghwa off of him, letting go of the man’s collar as the blonde stumbles back.

For a moment they stand in silence, and it’s a deafening one. Seonghwa’s hand drifts up to his lips, grazing them, eyes wide as he stares at Wooyoung. He’s clearly in a state of shock, as he says nothing, just stares with his mouth parted open in disbelief.

“There,” Wooyoung breathes. “Do you get it?”

Seonghwa continues to stare at him. Then his eyebrows furrow together, and when he begins to speak, Seonghwa’s tone is incredulous. “Woo, what are you-”

“Forget it,” Wooyoung cuts him off, because he doesn’t want to know what Seonghwa is going to say. He doesn’t want to hear the empath call him crazy, ask him what the hell he’s thinking.

Because Wooyoung doesn’t know the answer to that either. The mind-numbing fog has returned to his head, his heart racing even faster than it had before.

He needs to get out of here.

“Just go back to the tent, Hwa,” Wooyoung says, and then his feet are set in motion. He heads deeper into Bebbanburg, away from the Libaiyan tent. Away from you and San. Away from what he’s done, the irreversible mistake he just made.

He runs away, and this time Seonghwa doesn’t follow him.

“What were you thinking, what were you thinking, what were you thinking?” Wooyoung repeats the question to himself over and over again in his head, trying to make sense of what he’s done.

The look of bewilderment on Seonghwa’s face, followed by incredulity. Shock, then disbelief. Almost angry, and why shouldn’t he be? How could Wooyoung do something like this? Something so blatantly stupid and thoughtless?

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

Wooyoung still cannot come up with an answer, because frankly, he wasn’t thinking. And he still can’t.

He turns down one of the many alley’s surrounding him, head buzzing, not a clue of where he’s going. All he knows is that it’s away, and for now, that is enough for him.

Wooyoung closes his eyes, hand trailing along the wall beside him as he runs. He feels silly, running with his eyes closed, but he cannot bring himself to keep them open. This way, the world around him fades. He can simply be moving, feel the air rush past him, and pretend that nothing happened.

There are no Libaiyan refugees a few alleyways over. He does not care for the Liabiyan princess, nor did he lose San a mere night ago. He did not reveal his feelings to a man he loves and ruin their entire friendship in one fell swoop.

He is merely running in the darkness, chest heaving for air, fingers scraping along the cobblestone wall.

Maybe, if he keeps running like this, he’ll actually have escaped it all.

Or maybe, running like this is not such an acceptable option, as it stops him from noticing the figure that has been following after him.

Wooyoung does not notice he is being followed until it is too late. Until he’s already been shoved sideways, face smacking into the stone wall beside him.

At the very least, the blows knock him from his stupor, and his eyes fly open as he stumbles. Whirling to face his attacker, fire ignites immediately within his hand, dancing in between his fingers.

However, the second he turns, he’s met with a swift punch to the jaw that catches him off guard. Mostly because it does not come from where he can feel the man beside him - who now pins Wooyoung’s wrist to the alley-wall - but from the other side.

It’s not one attacker, but many.

“Shit,” Wooyoung thinks to himself, spitting out the blood that fills his mouth, the metallic taste thick on his tongue and gritty between his teeth. Eyes searching the darkness around him, his attackers are nothing more than blurs within the night, and he gives the one in front of him a swift kick to the groin. The man lets out a long string of curses, and Wooyoung uses the opportunity to try and rush forward.

It’s of no use, as another man (or two, maybe even three?) pins his wrists to the wall.

It’s not the most efficient way to capture a person, as it leaves their legs functional to kick and mouth free to spit, bite, or scream for help.

Unless, of course, you’re capturing an elemental.

Wooyoung tries to summon fire into his hands, and while it manages to dance around his fingers, the inability to move his arms stops him from managing anything greater. He tries to summon the flame with only his mind, staring at his hand with sheer determination. He knows it’s possible, he’s done it before. Once. The night Yeonjun died.

Of course, he didn’t exactly mean to, and apparently it isn’t the sort of thing he can do by will, as his hands remain barren of flame.

Instead, he’s left helpless, pulling against the grips of the men that bind him. His eyes dart amongst the shadows that surround them, and he tally’s roughly ten of them, although he’s certain that there’s more as he hears shouts from down the alley-way.

One of the men’s hands digs into Wooyoung’s hair, pulling his head forward before slamming it back into the stone-wall. Hard.

Stars dance before Wooyoung, and a darkness creeps into the corners of his vision. He continues to kick out in front of him, although each swing is far weaker than the last, as the pain leaves him sluggish.

The man yanks on his hair again, before slamming his head back into the wall once more, and suddenly Wooyoung is on the ground.

He doesn’t remember crumpling, but the stone pathway is cold against his back, so he must have passed out for a moment. He opens his eyes, vision swaying as he tries to make out the men surrounding him.

He can vaguely spot the face of the man above him. Middle-aged, with a dark beard and intense eyes. He speaks to someone beside him, although Wooyoung’s mind is too muddled to make out the actual words.

Likely not thugs then, as they aren’t even bothering to hide their identities. Besides, there’s too many of them to be a regular mugging. Too conspicuous, so it must be targeted.

But if it’s targeted, then who are they?

“W-who?” He asks, because the full sentence is far too much effort. His words are slurred and he sounds drunk. Which to be fair is an awful lot like how he feels.

The man above him doesn’t answer, but instead places a hand on Wooyoung’s throat, silencing him. With his other two hands, the man pins Wooyoung’s wrists to the ground.

No, no, that doesn’t make any sense. He can't have three hands. Which means it must be somebody else pinning his wrists to the ground, as well as another that slips the cloth bag over his head. How many were there again?

By the god’s Wooyoung really can’t think right now.

“Knock him out,” one of the men speaks from above him. Now that Wooyoung can make out.

Then the world goes black.

“And he seriously didn’t tell you where he was going?” San asks, arms crossed as he leans against the training post outside of the men’s tent. It’s covered in grooves, clearly crafted by a sword, and one in the hands of someone not too pleased. A testament to San’s opinion on Woo not returning to the refuge last night.

“I already told you,” Seonghwa replies. His tone is also frustrated as he sits at an outside table, fingers tapping anxiously in rhythm with his jittering leg. “No. He didn’t.”

“He just took off?” San repeats, and you can understand why Seonghwa is becoming a bit annoyed. It’s also the third time you’ve heard San ask, although you have a feeling the swordsman isn’t actually expecting the answer to change. He simply wants to hear it again, to let him fuel the flame of his annoyance. “Without a word? Without a reason? Out into a city we’re currently being hunted in?”

Seonghwa’s eyes shift to the ground. “Yes.”

“And you let him?”

Seonghwa scowls at this. “What did you want me to do? You know Woo, he’s going to do what he wants no matter what anyone says or thinks.”

Seonghwa has been in a sour mood all morning, and something tells you there may be a little more to Woo leaving than he may be letting on. However, now is not the time to ponder what it might be, nor is it the time to start a fight. You simply need to find him.

“Let’s not start bickering with one another just because Woo’s not around to start it,” you say, attempting to remedy the argument before it can start. Fortunately, neither of the men are overly confrontational, at least not with each other.

“You’re right,” San sighs, turning to Seonghwa. “I’m sorry. I’m just stressed, I know it’s not your fault.”

Seonghwa gives San a sort of half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes before staring back down at his shoes. He appears to immediately lose himself in thought, knee bouncing anxiously.

Yeah, something definitely happened last night.

“This isn’t like him,” San says, pulling his sword out from his sheath and spinning it around in his hand. A nervous habit. “Staying out for the night, sure. But he’s always back by the next day. Always.”

With morning long past, the sun high in the sky with the arrival of late noon, San’s statement of “always” is replaced with “until today”, and a sense of uneasiness passes through you.

Something is wrong. You can feel it.

And with both San’s sword spinning in his hand and the sound of Seonghwa’s fingers tapping the table, you know that they can feel it too.

“I think we should go looking for him,” you say, expecting immediate approval. Instead both men look at you, and San shoots Seonghwa a side glance, to which the empath returns.

“What?” You ask, uncomfortable at the fact that it appears they’re both in on something you’re not.

San sighs. “You shouldn’t come.”

“What?” You say, this time with far more anger than confusion. “If Woo’s in danger then of course I’m going to come-”

“If Woo’s in danger then it’s likely because of the men who are looking for you,” San cuts you off, and while his tone is not accusatory, it is pointed.

You prepare a rebuttal, but it dies on your lips. San is right.

If the black-clad men have done something to Woo, then you going looking for him is likely exactly what they would want for you to do. While the stubborn part of you wants to go anyway, put Woo’s safety before your own. Be daring, bold, and perhaps a little stupid, just as Woo is in the face of danger, you know that this is not an option.

You need to get to Kuroku, and if you aren’t yet certain of the danger Woo may be in, you cannot afford to take such blatant risks.

“Alright,” you say, tone defeated as Seonghwa rises to his feet, San making his way towards the path leading outside of the refuge.

You don’t manage the next words until they’ve already left. Leaving you alone, face shrouded by your hood, suddenly aware of the wind’s chill nipping at your skin. The seasons are turning.

“Good luck.”

They are back sooner than you expected.

You sit at a table with Yeji, playing a game of Skirmish. A traditional Libaiyan game meant for children, due to the fact it has few rules and never really ends, so it can keep them occupied for hours. You didn’t particularly want to play, but Yeji said it might help to keep your mind distracted. You figured it was worth a shot.

It didn’t work.

However, it doesn’t matter, as when both San and Seonghwa approach from down the refuge’s path, the cards are forgotten. Tossing your deck to the side, you give San a look, one that asks: “Any luck?”. Although, you’re fairly certain of the answer, as there is no Woo in tow behind them.

San does not give you a look of his own. In fact, he does nothing. He simply stares back at you, a dead look to his eye.

It’s that look, the emptiness of it, that tells you something has gone wrong.

“What happened?” You ask as he approaches, although San does not reply. Instead he gives Seonghwa a fleeting glance, and the blonde meets it. His own expression is not as empty as San’s. In fact, it is the opposite. Brimming with emotion, Seonghwa’s eyes hold worry, mouth drawn tight, jaw clenched. A look of nothing less than pure fear.

“Seonghwa?” You ask, your own worry settling deep in your chest. Something has gone wrong, but what, and how badly?

The blonde doesn’t answer you with words, instead he moves towards the table. You hadn’t noticed before, but he holds something in his hands. The paper is a light tan colour, the size also familiar, and you recognize it to be one of your wanted posters. Immediately you're confused, as why would Seonghwa show you one of these? You’ve already seen dozens of them plastered all over Bebbanburg.

However, as he lays it down onto the table, the answer is blatantly obvious.

The paper is smeared with blood. The red stark against its light colouring, it doesn’t coat the poster fully, but is rather smothered haphazardly, the semblance of fingerprints notable. It’s testament to a job done quickly, as whoever did this did so with one purpose: to get a message across.

The message is made even more clear by the thick, dark lock of hair tied to the corner of the page.

Woo’s.

Beneath the lock of hair is writing, scrawled in black ink.

The Concursos Mountain Pass.

Three Days.

Wooyoung awakens to the back of his head pounding in a violent, aching fashion. The world sways in front of him, and it takes him a moment to remember where he is exactly.

However, at the sight of tarps on all sides of him, the tent coated in darkness as only the light of the setting evening sun is able to get through, he remembers.

Right, the Libaiyan refuge.

Wooyoung groans, blinking as he tries to get his eyes to focus, his pounding head making his thoughts difficult to string together.

He moves his hand, attempting to wipe the sweat beading along his forehead, only to realize that he can’t.

His hands are tied.

Eyebrows furrowing together, he looks over his shoulder. The chains that tie his wrists to the chair that he sits in are thick and made of iron. If he tried to melt his bonds with the fire between his fingers, rather than catching fire like rope, they’d heat up and burn his wrists.

“What the…” He croaks out, throat raspy. Who would have tied him to a chair? Surely not Seonghwa or San. Not very likely you, as he couldn't see what good that would do you. Maybe your friend, the Libaiyan patriot? But why?

Wait.

Wooyoung’s brain pauses, mind doing a double-take as he stares at his bonds, noting bruising along his wrist. The massive purple marks are dark against his bronzed skin, and are almost line-shaped, as if someone had been holding him.

No, he’s not in the Libaiyan refuge, he’s somewhere else.

The memories of last night come rushing back to him. Running from the tent. The fight with Seonghwa. The subsequent kiss with Seonghwa.

His capture.

The shock of it is enough to cause Wooyoung to jolt awake, mind finally clearing even if the pain at the back of his head does not subside.

As if sensing Wooyoung’s realization, a man appears from under the tent-flap. He’s older, his face like a worn-glove, leathery and wrinkled in its places most used. His dark hair is cropped short, although his beard remains long, as well as scruffy.

Most notably, he’s dressed entirely in black armour. One of your predators.

“Ah, good. You’re awake,” the man says, and his voice is not as deep as Wooyoung expected.

“Who are you and-”

“Don’t speak. Not everyone has arrived yet,” the man cuts him off dismissively. “Besides, we’ll be the ones asking the questions.”

“Oh, my mistake, I thought-”

Wooyoung doesn’t know why he is surprised by the slap, but he is. Maybe because he hadn’t even had the chance to say the insult he was planning yet. Usually the hit would at least come afterwards.

These men, they aren’t playing around, that is clear.

His cheek stings, and he can imagine the bright red mark appearing along his skin as more men in dark armour appear from under the tent-flap. Wooyoung is surprised by the amount of them that manage to crowd into the space, almost a dozen.Then again, it is a big tent. Mostly empty, other than a small table in the corner, scattered with a variety of knick-knacks and spices that seem non-sensensical. Lunadore pollen, silver beads, Alagor Root, and a bunch of other rare ingredients the Wooyoung does not have time to make sense of, although set him on edge nonetheless.

If they plan to torture him, the table should be full of knives. Hammers. Maybe a few pliers to pull off his fingernails. Not plants.

The man who slapped him - their leader, it seems - clears his throat, and the group of men fall silent. Each of them turn to face Wooyoung, eyes glinting with something dark, something that says that they know more than he does.

Wooyoung makes sure to give each of them in turn a glare.

“I’m sure you know who we are by now,” the man says.

Wooyoung considers playing dumb, maybe earning himself a matching slap on the other cheek. However, he needs information, which means at least for now he must play along.

“You attacked the Libaiyan castle. Killed their king,” Wooyoung answers, meeting the man’s gaze. His eyes are sharp, intimidating, and Wooyoung makes sure not to look away. Not to show any fragility. Even if he has been made into the weakest in the room, he need not show it.

“People have been calling you The Dark Army,” Wooyoung says, and then because he can’t help himself, adds: “Cute name. Very scary. Did you come up with it yourselves?”

The man doesn’t answer his question, but instead smirks. “If you know who we are, I’m sure you also know what we’re looking for.”

You. That’s the answer the man wants. But Wooyoung won’t give that to him. “Power?” He ventures instead. “Glory? Access to the king’s many bejeweled robes?”

The man steps forward, grabbing Wooyoung's face in his hand. His fingers squeeze Wooyoung’s jaw, so much so that it not only hurts, but prevents him from speaking.

“Enough playing coy,” the man says. He still does not seem angry, face blank and tone almost bored as he grips Wooyoung’s face between his fingers. “Tell me where she is.”

He eases his grip just enough to let Wooyoung speak. “Where who is?”

The man’s grip tightens once again, fingernails digging into the elemental’s skin, and Wooyoung forces himself not to wince. “The girl you’ve been running all over Burovia with. The princess turned convict. Ring any bells?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wooyoung manages. At this the man lets go of his jaw, but it’s only to deliver another slap that burns along his cheek. The man grips his jaw again, and Wooyoung struggles to focus on the man’s face, blinking away the stars that dance across his vision.

“Yes, you do,” the man says, and this time his tone is almost soft, gentle as he attempts to coax out an answer. Somehow it’s far more unsettling than the blankness. “Is she with the refugees? At one of the hostels, or even a tavern?”

“I told you, I don’t know,” Wooyoung says through gritted teeth. This time the man does not slap him, but instead grips his hair as he brings Wooyoung face down into his knee. Pain radiates from his nose through the rest of his face, and when the man lifts him back up, it takes Wooyoung a moment to register the man’s face before him through the blurriness.

It’s not until now that Wooyoung realizes the severity of the danger that he is in.

They want him to hand you over to them, and Wooyoung can’t do that.

But why can’t he do that? It would be the easiest thing to do. Nobody would blame him, after everything that you’ve done, especially if it came down to choosing between his own life or yours. San and Seonghwa would understand.

You are the Libaiyan Princess. Your family sent him to the orphanage. Turning you in would rid himself of the volatile confusion that has plagued him, it would fulfill the dream that his younger self wished for every night and morning. So why can’t he do it?

He knows the answer. How he feels towards you has grown beyond hatred. It’s grown beyond mere toleration for San and Seonghwa’s sake. It’s grown beyond the excuses he’s been telling himself for weeks.

He’s not going to hand you over to them to die, no matter what that may mean for himself. Unfortunately, what that may mean for himself is not looking good.

“You’re going to tell us,” the man states, not to persuade, but to simply state as fact. “It’s just a matter of how much you’re willing to put yourself through before you do.”

“Well I have nothing but time,” Wooyoung answers, grinning, and he knows his teeth are bloody. Can feel the grittiness on his teeth, or maybe that’s still from the night before.

The man smiles back. “You have three days.”

Wooyoung raises an eyebrow. “Because I’m just such lovely company?”

“Because that’s how long we’ve given her to come find you.”

Wooyoung pauses at this, and he knows he’s shown a glimpse of weakness. How did they get a message to you? Is he bluffing?

Would you really be stupid enough to come after him?

“Nobody will come,” Wooyoung says, and even he can hear the uncertainty in his voice. Surely you wouldn’t come after him. Not when you’re so close to Kuroku, to San’s freedom. You have to keep going, there’s no way you, San, and Seonghwa could take on a dozen armed and highly trained men, especially considering there’s more of them out there somewhere. It would be pointless, a suicide mission.

But Wooyoung also knows that none of you would leave him behind to die.

“That’s fine,” the man says with a shrug. “Either she comes to us, or we go to her with the information you’ll give us. It doesn’t matter.”

“You aren’t going to be able to torture anything out of me,” Wooyoung says with a scoff, tilting his chin up, defiant. “Pain? Yeah, I’ve been through my share.”

The corner of the man’s lip curves upward, eyes gleaming. “I know. That’s what they told me.”

Wooyoung frowns. They?

The man chuckles at Wooyoung’s weary expression, finally letting go of his hold on the elemental’s jaw. The group of soldiers step back, creating a pathway for him as the man heads over to the table covered with rare ingredients and spices.

The man begins to fiddle around with them, although what exactly he’s doing Wooyoung can’t make out, his vision obscured by the other men standing before him.

“Do you know what they say about those whose body cannot be broken?” The man calls over his shoulder, and Wooyoung catches a glimpse of what is in his hand: a small bowl and mallet, which he uses to grind down the Alagor Root.

“No,” Wooyoung answers, wary.

“Break their mind instead,” the man states, holding up a small vial of purple liquid that Wooyoung cannot identify, before pouring into the bowl. A strange, dark and odorous smoke wafts up from the concoction. It smells like something burning, although what exactly Wooyoung cannot place. That is, until he can. It’s burnt flesh. It reminds him of the infirmary tent, of his scorched arms.

An inkling of fear settles into Wooyoung’s chest as he becomes increasingly aware of the bonds on his wrist. He can’t move, run, fight back, or do anything, really.

For a man with so much power, he’s grown accustomed to never feeling powerless. For a moment, it’s like he’s thirteen again. At Warden’s disposal and no fire to call his own.

The man places the empty vile back down on the table, before grabbing something else Wooyoung cannot see, although he can hear the sizzling noise it makes as he adds it to the bowl.

Wooyoung cannot take the silence any longer, his curiosity - or better, fear - overtaking him. “What are you doing?” He asks.

Instead of answering him, the man begins to mutter something beneath his breath, making a strange circular motion with his hand above the bowl, which he has set back down on the table. Wooyoung cannot make out what he is saying, but the way the words leave his lips is almost rhythmic, like a priest delivering a chant.

Wooyoung scowls, opening his mouth to interrogate the other men around him as to what the hell is going on, but the words die on his tongue. He knows what the man is doing.

It’s part of the Old Faith. Old Magic.

Dark magic.

Wooyoung has never been a devoted servant to the gods. In fact, for all of his life he’s hated them. He hated them as a child for giving him a gift he could not use. He hated them as a teenager for cursing him with the power to destroy everything he held dear. He hates them as an adult for idly standing by as all of the horrible events of his childhood tumbled down one after the other.

However, even with his hatred towards the gods, he’s always considered worshiping them to be far more understandable than the Old Faith. More particularly, the Old Magic aspect.

It’s a breach of order. If the gods blessed the gifted with their powers, then Old Magic defies that. It’s taking from the earth what was not given to you. It’s blasphemous. Immoral and unnatural. At its very core wrong.

Wooyoung tugs at the chains around his wrists, which clatter in protest. Panic begins to rise in his chest, as one thought fills his head: “What the fuck are they going to do to me?”

The man finishes his chant, before digging into his pocket and pulling out a miniature knife. He uses it to create a small cut along the tip of his finger, holding it above the bowl as a drop of blood collects around the wound, before dropping into the potion.

Smiling to himself in satisfaction, the man takes the bowl with him as he heads back towards Wooyoung. Stopping before him, the man takes a moment to meet the elemental’s eyes, that glimmer of darkness potent within his gaze.

Wooyoung does not look away, but by the gods, he wants to.

“Well,” the man says. “Open up.”

Wooyoung keeps his mouth shut, lips pursing together. He can hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, feeling its thump throughout his entire body. He can’t drink that. He isn’t sure what it will do, but he knows that its something horrible.

It will break his mind. That is what the man had said.

And while Wooyoung has always had confidence in his abilities, perhaps even relied on himself more than he should, for the first time that confidence falters.

“So this is what it takes for you to be quiet,” the man jests, earning a few chuckles from the others around him. “Good to know.”

When Wooyoung doesn’t reply, the man nods to a couple of the soldiers beside him. “Open his mouth.”

Four of the men approach him, and Wooyoung fights against the bonds of his chair, even if he knows it’ll be pointless. The chains against his wrists and ankles hold him still, and as two of the men grab his shoulders to stop the chair from rattling, he’s left with nothing but twisting his face away from the men who grab at him.

Hands blur across his vision as he feels one of the men press an arm to his throat. Another digs into his scalp, pulling his hair in order to bring his head back and face upwards. Fingers claw at the crevices of his face, digging beneath his cheekbones, into his ears, scratching along his lips.

It’s overwhelming, but Wooyoung stays focused, repeating over and over again in his mind, “Don’t open your mouth, don’t open your mouth, don’t open your mouth.”

It’s not until the elbow pressing into his throat has been there for a little too long that Wooyoung registers that he needs to breathe. Black lines creeping into the corners of his vision, head beginning to feel foggy, he does his best to ignore it.

Until he can’t any longer. Against his mind’s will, when the man removes his elbow from the elemental’s throat, Wooyoung gasps for air.

The men do not waste the opportunity.

Fingers dig themselves into his mouth, and while he attempts to bite down on them, their force is too strong as the many hands pull back his cheeks. Limbs bound, hair pinned, and face pulled back, he’s left helpless as the man with the bowl approaches him.

As the man lifts the bowl above the elemental’s face, a smile grazes over his lips, and Wooyoung knows that he is enjoying this.

The liquid burns as it pours down his throat, rubbing like sand-paper along his tongue. It tastes familiar. Like stale bread, but worse. Rotten with mold. Wooyoung gags but the man does not stop, not until the final drops fall from the bowl and into his open mouth.

The men do not release him until he swallows the concoction, and he feels it as it settles down into his gut, twisting and turning like cheap whiskey.

Wooyoung attempts to catch his breath, chest heaving and sweat beading along his forehead as he looks at the man before him. He continues to smile that awful, wretched grin, empty bowl in hand.

“See? Now that wasn’t so hard,” the man says, for no other reason but to rub salt in the wound.

Wooyoung spits on his shoes.

The man does nothing, merely takes a few steps back as he continues to watch Wooyoung with an analytical gaze, as if observing whatever the hell is supposed to happen. For a few moments, Wooyoung feels nothing but the tension that hangs in the room as all of the men stare at him. He feels like a monster in a cage, like one of those griffin’s from a traveling circus he saw passing through Gloria many years ago. Undeniably dangerous, but stripped down to a mere display for people to gawk at.

Then he notices it. It doesn’t start as much, more of a feeling in the back of his mind than anything else. An uncomfortable tingling sensation creeping through him, like an itch beneath his skin, little prickles of worry like ants tunneling through his veins.

He blinks, and his vision goes blurry.

The men in front of him transform into foggy statues and he blinks again, but instead of focusing it only gets worse. He swallows hard, only to find his throat has gone dry, the saliva refusing to go down.

Heat settles itself in his gut, rising into his chest as an aching sensation washes through him. Wooyoung lets out a low whine, one that under any other circumstances would humiliate him, but he can’t bring himself to worry about that right now. Not when his body feels as if it’s rejecting him.

“What did you do to me?” Wooyoung asks, and it comes out as a hoarse whisper. The man hums softly, reaching forward to hold Wooyoung’s chin. This time his grip is gentle, and Wooyoung wants to slap it away, but he doesn’t have the strength. In fact, if it weren’t for the man holding his head up, he’s certain his chin would have fallen down to his chest. Maybe it already had, Wooyoung doesn’t remember.

“This is the easy part, Jung Wooyoung,” the man says, and Wooyoung swears that that is the first time the man has said his name. Although the worry is replaced by agony as another ripple of pain rattles through him.

“Remember. You tell me what I want to know, I’ll make it stop,” the man says. “You’d be wise to accept that offer.”

Wooyoung blinks up at him, and he thinks thaf tears stain his eyes, although his vision is too foggy to notice a difference. “And if I don’t?”

“I don’t know,” the man says, giving a soft, condescending thumb-stroke along his cheek. “They always tend to comply.”

You cannot sleep.

The tent feels crammed, even though you’re well aware that there’s more than enough space. Yeji sleeps soundly, a few feet away and face turned from you as the peaceful sighs of deep slumber escape her lips. It is dark, only the faintest hint of moonlight seeping through the tent’s thin fabric, and yet it feels too bright.

You do not wish to sleep. There are things to be done. This is no time for rest.

They have Woo.

The men you’ve been fearing this entire journey. The ones that ambushed your father, that killed Mingi, that besieged your castle and robbed your life right out from under your feet. The men that have made you paranoid, always keeping one eye over your shoulder, creating wariness with each new city and step you have taken.

The men you have feared would kill you, they have taken him instead.

And somehow that is so much worse.

It’s not something you’d anticipated, always having assumed that if the black-clad men were to find you, you would be the one to face the consequences. The idea that travelling with the three men was putting them in the crossfire of the mysterious army hadn’t occurred to you. After all, it’s your wanted posters on every city street, not theirs.

How stupid you had been, and now Woo is gone. Captured by your family’s assassins, and only the god’s know what sort of danger he is in.

It’s your fault. It’s you they really want, he is just a pawn in their greater game. You’ve been outplayed, and Woo is the one forced to pay the price of your failure.

They could be torturing him for information. You know the sorts of things powerful men do to prisoners, having heard whispers about it in your halls, the dungeons located deep beneath the castle. Using a whip to lash the back until there's more blood left than flesh, spending hours drowning them within a bucket of water, pouring vials of liquid metal along the skin. Maybe one of them is a sadist, and Woo’s face is blistered and burnt beyond repair.

Maybe he’s already dead.

You roll over, eyes accustomed enough to the darkness that you can make out the ceiling of the tent above you. Although really, what you see is Woo, pleading for mercy as one of the black-clad men delivers the final blow. Woo goes silent, his eyes still open, and you know that it is over. He is gone.

Another person you care for, dead.

You cannot just sit here like this and let that happen. However, while you were prepared to head to the Concursos Mountain Pass the moment Seonghwa placed the message down in front of you, both he and San urged caution.

“This is clearly a trap,” San had said, wrapping a hand around your wrist to stop you from heading down the path towards the refuge’s exit. “They’re going to be prepared, which means we need to be. We need to come up with a plan before we do anything.”

“We have three days,” you snapped back, frustrated. “Yeji said the journey is at the very least a full day’s ride. We don’t have the time to sit here and twiddle our thumbs.”

“Then we have a day and a half to come up with something,” San replied, tone calm but also curt. He was not entertaining the possibility of going now, no matter how much anger you added to your glare. “Maybe we can form a group of some of the other refugees and leave together.”

“There’s only two horse’s between the entire refuge,” you cut back. “We cannot make it in time by foot. There’s no chance of us building our own army, if that’s what you're implying.”

“We’ll figure it out,” San said, still not budging. However, beneath his steady gaze, you could see the faintest hint of worry. Of doubt. Of knowing that there may have been no other option but to go alone, although he was not ready to admit it. Not ready to acknowledge the truth that weighed down on each of your shoulders.

The fact that it may come down to Woo’s life, or your own.

Thus, a second truth sat just as heavy. He would choose Woo. They both would.

It’s not until this moment, staring up at the ceiling of the tent, that you realize you would choose Woo too.

You will not have him die for you. You will not have the black-clad men take anything else from you. Not him. Not like this.

If they are to kill you, let it be your own doing. Not ambushed for the money they have placed on your head, or killed silently in an alley-way along the streets of Bebbanburg. You will not be your father, stabbed at his own celebration, unaware of what was coming. If you are to die, let you come to them with your sword in hand, fighting for a man who - even when you haven’t deserved it - fought for you.

Rising to your feet, you pull the blanket off of you, heading towards the tent flap. Stopping in place, you turn back, watching Yeji’s sleeping silhouette, chest rising and falling peacefully.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, and it is not only to her, but to all of them. All of the Libaiyan’s uprooted from their homes, left to wander Burovia with no kingdom to call home. They had finally been reunited with their princess, only for you to leave them once more. It is selfish. It is what your father would consider an abandonment of responsibility.

Maybe you are abandoning your royal duty, or perhaps you are fulfilling your duty to another.

Either way, it must be done.

Slipping out from under the tent flap, you can hear San and Seonghwa talking within their own tent, though you cannot make out what they are saying. Good, they're busy. They will likely not notice you’re gone until morning.

Scanning the field, the man continues to sing by the fire, and it is the same song as before. Lute in hand, he serenades the men and women surrounding him, although the number has depleted under the blanket of the night.

As you approach the horse tied to a nearby tent-pole, you sing along quietly beneath your breath, to the words you have known your entire life.

“My love for whom I do come home,”

“I’ve been bathed in scars, both body and soul,”

“And while I’ve returned beneath darkened gloam,”

“Without you this place may never be whole.”

Although, while you may sing his words, unlike the man within the song you will not be so passive.

You will find Woo, and you will bring him home. Even if you do not come back with him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

next chapter.