#anyways something something loyalty/pity/support

[lupescx]

giving in and starting my doctor!master/yaz playlist. first up is “putting the dog to sleep” by the antlers. second is “I bet on losing dogs”by mitski. still working on the specifics of the dog metaphor

[jamiedc-they-them]

Family (Platonic)

This one is a bit long!!! Nimona was so good, and meant so much to me! Wanted to do this as soon as I saw the film and have finally completed it! Just a quick warning, story contains some mentions of self doubt over lgbt identity, some mentions of Suicidal Ideation, and I think that is all (if I have forgotten anything, please let me know!!!). All my love to my lgbt siblings with everything going on right now <333 you matter so damn much! And this film coming at a time like this (and even more so after I learnt about the author of the graphic novel!) is everything!

Also, all my love to the WGA and SAG-AFTRA, keep fighting the good fight!!! I wouldn’t be here writing this (or really any fanfic) without your incredible writing and work! <333

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Nimona and Y/N are not siblings by blood, but choice, friendship, and loyalty. They find that support and acceptance in each other; but, when they catch wind of a knight who is just has hated as them, they see an opportunity to find someone else to add to their family.

If you had parents, you didn’t know them.

You just remembered always being out in the streets, just about standing by.

You never stole, you just took whatever left others you either found, or were given out of sympathy.

Pity did get you a long way, you had to admit.

People felt sorry for you, but then did nothing else to help you.

While it hurt, it never really put a chip on your shoulder. There was nothing anything you could do anyway. You couldn’t fight. You didn’t have a lot of strength in you.

One time, a group of people decided to leverage that. People like you; left behind and given nothing but scraps. Instead of coming together, however, they saw you as a weak link; something to blame for their issues and lot in life.

Just when you thought that would be it for you, someone called out. The pain stopped, but even if it lingered. You weren’t hit again. Your hearing was fuzzy, eyesight blurry.

You blacked in and out a few times.

When you came to, you are on a couch. You hear someone humming. You sit up, slowly, and see a girl around your age cooking.

“Oh, hey!” She says, turning back to you with a smile on her face, “don’t worry about those guys,” she assures you, “I took care of them.”

She seems almost proud.

Still, you just feel good that they’re gone now.

“You can have some of this, if you want,” she says, gesturing to her food.

“I don’t…I don’t want to be a burden,” you say.

You hear a growl, and see a red tiger in front of you, baring it’s teeth, “who said that?” She demands.

“No one really. Just…just the vibe, I guess?”

You look down, subconsciously; the girl seems to notice this, only watching you as you scramble to find the words you need. Then —

“I’m sorry…for not – for not knowing anymore. Could use someone like you out there.”

You feel something on your leg. Looking down, you see a red cat, rubbing itself on your leg. It looks up at you, before jumping on the couch.

“It’s not your fault, kid,” the cat says, “we’ll find them.”

You stroke the cat again. You feel safe. Sure, it’s a talking cat, but the cat was a girl a minute ago. You’ve seen what the world can hold magic wise. You know different things exist. Some people thrown out for all sorts of things they can’t control; this is that for her.

“‘We’?” You echo back to her, as she changes back to her redheaded form, arms crossed with a smirk on her face.

“Hell yeah, us!” She says, arms now up in the air, “we can watch each others back! Like a –“ her eyes light up, “like a sidekick!”

Something in your eyes brighten; something in hers soften, slightly.

They both do that a bit more as your smile widens, “ok then, where do we start?”

“Well, how about names?” She says, but there’s excitement in her eyes, “I’m Nimona!” She says, holding her hand out.

“I’m…” you say, holding out your hand and then pausing, “oh…”

She seems to catch onto what you mean, “I have a bunch of lists of names if you want to look?” She offers.

You nod, eagerly, and she fetches it – throwing some other items over her shoulder while she looks. She presents it to you. It’s a massive scroll that unfurls, “take your pick!” She says, arms outstretched to it like a ‘ta-da’ like pose. She’s proud of it.

You do pick one, even if it takes a bit of time. Still, you find one that works for you:

Y/N.

“Had a feeling you’d like that one,” she says, “I like it!”

You smile again. She does too, even if hers looks a bit like a snarl in a way; seems she’s already thinking of the damage you’ll do together. For you though, it’s about not being alone anymore.

You do get up to trouble. A lot of trouble. You paint art on walls; you play pranks on the guards so you can get somewhere – or sometimes just for fun.

Nimona’s ability to shapeshift is so damn cool. Internally, she feels a spark of happiness she hasn’t felt in a long time at your genuine acceptance and awe of her ability.

She, in turn, helps you find yourself as well. Your style, clothing wise. She notes things that make you uncomfortable as well. Sometimes that leads to deep chats; like the one you have about your lack of care for anything to do with sex or romance, or gender norms.

All she has to say to that is, “metal. Norms are for losers, anyway. I mean, end of the day, you’re Y/N, and I’m Nimona. That’s all that matters.”

It doesn’t matter if it’s something small or major that changes identity wise, her words are always the same and always true.

Her loyalty to you is the same as yours is to hers. You’re always defending her – despite her not always needing it – and backing her up in fights.

You always assure her she has you. You see her moments of vulnerability. Where the mask sort of drops. She always appreciates it. As while she’s not like you in the way of comforting people, she tries to learn from your softness and comforting manners.

You’re all each other have. At least, for a while anyway. You see the news of the manhunt for a man who killed the queen. Someone almost as hated as you are.

Nimona looks to you, and you know what your best friend is thinking.

So, you track him down. She does the talking; though at one point Ballister does look at you and seem to start implying you’re a monster to, and says, “hey, don’t look at them. Look at me,” he complies as he sees you looking around his room. You’re a curious thing.

“What — um, who are…?”

She raises an eyebrow, “they,” she starts, “are Y/N. My best friend and partner in crime and all things evil,” she then leans forward, “and I’m Nimona.”

“Yes…but, what does that mean?” He asks, trying not to piss her off. In his mind, scared he’ll become one of her – he’s sure – many victims.

A smirk appears on her face as she answers, “whatever we want it to mean.”

“Right. Yes. Ok,” he says, “that’s understandable.”

He sees you fiddling with one of his spare arms, “please be careful with that!” He says in fear. You put it back carefully, backing away from it. Nimona raises an eyebrow, letting you handle this. She knows you’re tougher than you look. Don’t get her wrong, you look better now; both a bit more comfortable in your own skin, but also decently fed.

“What is that?” You ask.

“Oh…it’s one of my spares. Just an old prototype I guess, for this,” he says, gesturing to his arm.

“Hm,” you say, looking at it and then the old version, “it’s always nice to have a spare.”

“Like a sidekick!” Nimona says, adding it one to try and persuade the knight – or ex-knight you guessed.

“No, no! Those things do not match!”

“Oh, come on!” Nimona snaps at Ballister. You just watch the interaction go on. She’s always been a stubborn one.

Still, he leaves on his own. You sigh, looking to your friend, “come on,” you say, opening the door to go to where he will end up.

“Ok, kid. You ok with a quick flight?” Nimona asks you as you look at the scale of the building. It’s intimidating; that, and heights were never your thing.

You gulp, “y-yeah.”

“Alright!” She says, happy you’re trying to put yourself out there more.

So, up you go. Despite the fact that she can shapeshift, she keeps you in mind as well as you sneak into the cells section. You do, however, keep watch, letting her go into the cell and break Ballister out the old fashion way – and the way she more enjoys, violently punching the release.

In the closet, you help keep it closed, finding more items. Out of the two, you’ve always been the more resourceful one.

She gives you a single look after Ballister makes his promise. You know what she’s going to do, so you just pull Ballister back a bit as Nimona shifts once again.

Having had some close calls and only gotten away via her shifting, you’re able to stay on better than Ballister, though you do help him when you can reach him. As for you and Nimona, however, you’re pretty much in synch with each other.

However, then comes the need for an exit. You know Nimona can fly, but she can’t hold both of you. So —

“I’ll lead them away,” you say, not allowing anyone to stop you as you take off in the opposite direction.

“Y/N, no! Come back!” Nimona calls out to you. She knows you are quick on your feet, but this is a bad place to try to be. Don’t get her wrong, she’s having fun causing havoc, but now what she might gain in a boss, she may lose a friend. She won’t do that.

Still, nothing she can do. Boss comes first.

So, off she goes, getting them both to the floor.

“Do you see them?” Nimona asks; and he hears the concern in her voice. She’s violent, but cares a lot. He respects that. Despite being surround and fighting, he tries as much as he can to keep an eye out for you.

“There!” He shouts, pointing up before dodging another strike.

Nimona turns as well, smirking, but concern still in her eyes as she sees you near a ledge. You don’t even think about it, you just jump.

So, with the wings once again, she flies upwards, dodging any attacks, before catching you and bring you down to the ground.

You both roll, before joining the Frey once again. You’ve never been as good in fights as her, but your agility and quick thinking does help. Nimona goes more aggressive once she sees Ballister in trouble. You go around some of the guards to help, but you’re taken down too.

That’s only enrages her further.

After you escape, you both start to bond with him. And, he seems a bit more at ease with you both now. You did break him out after all. So, he lets you help. Being a bit more open to ideas.

You all get down to the subway, seeing your wanted images. Somehow, you had never been photographed, so you were just a question mark. Seemed fitting, in a way, you guessed.

“Hm, no,” your best friend says, looking from you to the question mark you, “I don’t see the semblance.”

You roll your eyes, and she just giggles to herself. Ballister watches you both, eyes softening slightly at your genuine friendship and connection.

On the subway, he asks you guys, “so, how long have you both known each other?”

You share a look; her’s is asking if you want to say it, and also asking if you are ok with it being said; yours is the same.

You both shrug. She goes first with her tale, using it to make fun of Ballister.

He still seems a little disturbed by her ability to shift, even asking her to go back a to the ‘normal’ version of her. You both raise eyebrows at him. Sure, he tries to cover up by saying that it’s for other people, and not him, but you don’t exactly buy it.

“Are some of your best friends, ‘normal’?” You say, having heard that before with some people trying to cover up their hatred for you by saying that they know others. It’s bullshit.

“What? I — I, no… No, that’s not what I meant —“ he says, trying to correct his error.

“Too late,” you say, folding your arms, looking away.

Nimona changes back to her human self, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“I, uh, I’m sorry,” Ballister says. You keep looking away.

“Boss means it, Y/NN,” Nimona says, squeezing your shoulder a bit.

Ballister goes to say something else, but Nimona only holds up a hand. He nods, knowing that this is your moment. You need your own breather.

After a moment, you look up at him, seeing his eyes holding a genuine guilt to it. And a plead to make this all better. It’s the first time someone other than Nimona has looked at you. Like a person. A friend, maybe even.

You look at your best friend, the only person you’ve ever been able to call family, and she gives you a smile. You mirror it, putting your hand on top of hers.

“Thanks, Nim,” you say softly.

She removes her hand, before nudging you with her arm, “course, squirt. You and me, right?” She says, holding out her pinky finger. You link yours to hers.

“You and me. Nimona and Y/N.”

“And that’s all that matters.”

Ballister smiles. Then a thought comes to him about the question he asked but didn’t get answers to.

“Are you guys siblings?”

You look at each other again, and nod in sync.

“Closest we’ll ever get to it.”

“That’s cool,” he says, “seriously. Having a friend is…it must be nice.”

Again, you share a look; your journeys have been rough, and you’ve saved each other more times than you can count, but he’s right.

Nimona changes to a small boy, and you smile at her comment of “I am today,” before she goes off to do her part of this hastily cobbled together plan.

Ballister notices your look, “what’s wrong?”

“Just…it’s weird.”

Ballister chuckles, but not in a mean why; more surprise than anything else, “can’t be, especially not compared to my day so far.”

You nod, only really half listening. But, the words come out of your mouth before you can stop them, “I don’t…I don’t feel a fit in with…all this,” you say, pointing to him and then a random woman across the road, “and Nim…she’s fluid with it, you know? Labels don’t really matter to her. I like them. But…I can’t find the right ones. We do our names, and it works and it…I mean, it’s a statement and I love that, really. I just — I don’t know.”

“We’ll find it,” he says, not catching himself on the first word, “trust me, from what I’ve seen of Nimona, she’d burn it all down for you to find it.”

“We’ve taken up too much time,” you say, clearing your throat, gesturing for him to follow you, as you watch the man Nimona was – well, once distracting, but now chasing, went around the corner, “sorry.”

You don’t give him time to say anything back in return, you just take his hand and lead him out into the street once again, trying to find a getaway.

He recognises someone; the one with the punchable face? Maybe, you can’t quite remember. Either way, Ballister is terrified.

He hastily gets you into the vehicle with him, but you do see Nimona with a giddy smile as she shuts the boot.

Then, off you go, though Nimona does call out to you to get down.

With nothing but blind luck, you make it to an alley way. Ballister freaks out at Nimona being hurt, but she doesn’t show it hurts that much. You’re sure it does, but not as much as what is going on inside of her. You sit on the boot of the vehicle as they talk, though they do make their conversation loud enough to make you feel included.

You watch with soft eyes at the interaction, and how Nimona describes it all. When she jumps down when saying “I just wouldn’t be me,” she puts a hand on your leg too, “just like they wouldn’t be them.”

She then nudges you, “go on, bud,” she says softly, gesturing over to the bench, “go have your lil session. I’ll stay with this guy,” she says, jumping up on the boot, legs swinging.

Silently, you go over to Ballister. He looks at a cut on your arm. You aren’t entirely sure when you got it, but he does what he can to clean it.

“May I try ask again how you met?”

“Sure,” you say, looking to Nimona, she nods, encouraging smile in tow, “not the greatest of origin stories. I was always a street rat,” a crumbled up piece of paper hits your head, thrown by your best friend, “Was just always out on the streets. Never remembered anything from before. Guess either I was abandoned by parents dying, or they just left me.”

Ballister pauses, looking at you with sympathy. Nimona’s eyes are casted down to the floor. Like noted before, your lives weren’t easy, even if you had each other. The chaos was always fun, when you guys controlled it. Rebellion was something you both loved, but you were always focused more on survival than rebellion; even though you tried.

“I’m so sorry.”

You give him a sad smile, “I have my moments where…” you drift off. Nimona’s eyes shoot right up to your figure. She knows where your thoughts are going.

“Your parents were either unlucky, or bad people,” she says, “if it’s the latter, then they lost out on someone awesome.”

“Thanks, Nim.”

“No, she’s right,” Ballister says in support, “you’re a sweet, kid. You’re loyal, and kind.”

“But I don’t know who I am.”

“Well, if it helps, I thought I liked girls when I was around your age,” you chuckle softly at that after he does.

“I don’t think I want that from anyone,” you admit. Nimona smiles, glad you feel safe enough to say it. It’s your own small rebellion; she can’t be prouder of you, even muttering out a small ‘hell yeah’ under her breath.

“That’s cool,” Ballister says; you scrunch your eyes brows up slightly, not expecting him to say that, “we want what we want from life. And…if I may ask, about the other thing?”

“…I – I don’t…I don’t think ‘he’ or ‘she’ fit me. I mean,” you look to Nimona in self consciousness, “I know that’s swapping one label for another, but —”

“Labels can help us find a home in ourselves,” she says, wisely. Ballister looks to her, seeing her gaze soft as she continues, “sometimes they change. But, as long as it’s your choice on it changing, then it’s all cool with me.”

You nod, but Nimona catches the slight guilt in your eyes. She hops off the boot, approaching you as Ballister finishes his work on the cut – having only resumed it after your addition, “I always said I’ll tell ya as many times as you need. And I don’t mind, really,” she says, putting an arm on your good shoulder, “you’re my little buddy. My best friend. You’re Y/N, and who that is may shift and change, but you’re still you at the core of that.”

Emboldened by your friends and the feeling of safety to be honest, you look to the man in the boot, “shall we?”

The two look to the man, who then speaks. Saying he’s happy for you all, but now really just wants to be let go.

“Oh, yeah,” your best friend says, cracking her knuckles.

You get the video evidence that’s you need. This is it, your boss – and maybe even friend at this point – can be free. Sure, it pisses you both off at his want to still believe in this system – this system that is built to hate people like you – but you still go with him. Nimona says she’s in it because everyone hate’s Ballister too; and yes, that is part of your reasoning too – you guys aren’t alone anymore. But…if you’re honest with yourself, it’s mainly the latter part to that. To find your crew, you go by your labels and accept you fully.

The plan goes well, and you all escape together this time. Ballister holding you as you fly away.

“Why didn’t we think of this the first time?” You shout over the wind.

“We’re not very smart!” Nimona says with a chuckle.

“You have your moments, though?” Ballister asks, cheekily.

You both laugh this time, “seems so!” You say in sync.

Back at Ballister’s, the events of everything, including another brawl - this time you were more successful - though Ballister was almost taken in but you guys won, and feeling of safety, allows you to sleep soundly for once. Nimona runs a hand through your hair, head in her lap. Ballister puts a blanket over her.

“Don’t wake them, Boss,” is all Nimona says, quietly.

Ballister chuckles quietly, “I won’t, don’t worry,” he assures, before going to his computer.

Nimona soon falls asleep herself.

When Ballister meets with Ambrosius, nothing on your past comes up. Ambrosius is question on it, and says, “I’m sorry, Bal. I really am. I think that (he/she) —“

“They,” he interjects.

“Ok, sorry, yes,” Ambrosius says, correcting himself, “I think they may of met Nimona and been taken down a path. But,” he reaches out and takes Ballister’s hands in his own, “you can stop this. You can save them. We can.”

When Ballister comes back, Nimona seemingly has a sixth sense about this. She wakes up, happy, but slightly on edge when she sees the look on his face. Carefully, she removes herself from you.

“What are you?” Ballister seethes.

“We aren’t doing this here,” Nimona says, moving to the back of the couch, as if a shield.

“Answer me.”

“You aren’t dragging them into this,” she says, a fiery protectiveness in her gaze, “do you know how much they’ve been –“

“How much as done because of you?” That stings, she won’t lie, “you drag them around with you into your schemes. They’re an innocent pers-“

“Exactly,” Nimona says, keeping her voice quiet, but letting the anger still roll through her words, “so, if you wanna blame someone, which you oh so apparently do, then blame me, ok?”

“What’s going on?” You say, slurred as you still adjust to the world. You blink a few times, before slowly sit up on the sofa. You turn to your friends, and both have angry looks on their faces, “what’s wrong?”

“Gloreth,” Ballister says, “the darkness she was fighting to keep out? It was her,” he says, ripping the bandaid off instantly.

You look to Nimona, eyes wide, but not filled with fear, just shock.

“Y/N…” Nimona says, seemingly only seeing what she wants to.

“Nim,” you say, taking her hands in your own, “it doesn’t matter,” despite the reassurances, her mind is already made up. Those voices that she’s kept at bay for herself, and help you fight – and you have returned the favour in both small and large ways – are back in full force. You can see it on your friend…on your sister’s face. It pains you to no end.

“Get away from her, Y/N,” Ballister advices.

“No,” you say, firmly.

“Y/N, please…” you hate how her voice cracks a bit, looking at you.

“Hey, what was it you always said? We’re all we’ve got. You and me, yeah?”

“Don’t you understand what she is. She’s a —”

“No,” you spit, looking to Ballister, who is a bit taken aback, “it doesn’t matter. It matters who she really is. She’s Nimona. Just like I’m Y/N, and you’re Ballister. You’re the ex-knight. I’m the street rat, and Nimona is the reason this broken system was made in the first place.”

“It’s not broken,” Ballister says, running a hand through his hair.

“It always has been!” You shout, he jumps, “don’t you get that? Someone framed you for power. That power is used to make people like me hate themselves. It turns people against each other. It tears people apart, and you still support it!”

“Because it keeps us safe from monsters who want to destroy it!” He can’t stop the words as they tumble out. But, as soon as he sees you both flinch, he wants to take it back.

Nimona runs first, and as you go to follow, you pause at Ballister’s door, “you know, I really thought you’d be different,” the words strike him just like Ambrosius’ sword did. Then, you’re gone.

He slams his hand onto the table, swiping objects away. One gets his attention, that old arm he’d made. The spare. The useful spare. The one that got him through a lot before this better one.

Sure, he knew the metaphor didn’t completely work, but you were curious being. You just wanted to find safety, and Nimona just wanted to find that as well. You were both just looking for love in a world that hid it from you because of who you were.

He remembered when he first came out, how it was rocky. You were both young (sure, Nimona was old in terms of this story of her, but she was a young girl in physical form) and your lives had been several levels below rocky.

You and Nimona were all you had. He…god he realises, he was part of that too. For a moment, they let someone else in. Let someone else be a lifeline.

The words he’d said…he could see on Nimona’s face when she looked at you that something had changed in your dynamic as soon as he said it. She looked at you like she was a poison, and there was no antidote. He always remembered your words, about how at the beginning you would…oh, oh he knows what you mean now by what you wanted to do.

That pain because you couldn’t be free; you couldn’t completely be you. Oh no. Oh god.

He finds his sword. The thing that started him on this path. A path that led him to you both. Two spirited, loyal people.

He then feels the ground shake. He looks to the tv. He knows who that is. He knows who is on one last run.

“Good Gloreth,” he says, before running out of the door, just hoping that he isn’t too late. That he can make this right. As right as he can, anyway.

As for you, you try all you can to get Nimona’s attention, and she only flies away. God, you hate it; you’ve never really been out to this part of the walled off city before. You don’t know where she would go. You go to the town. There’s an abandoned building you went to one time when at a low. Nimona saved you that day, flying up to you and sitting with you. It must’ve been hours, but she managed to get you down and home. Sure, that location changed. But Nimona was a constant. She was family. She was home. She was security; always there for a pep talk or defence. You were always there with a plan or a way out. She’d always follow them, executing them to a T. You just worked.

You affirmed each other. Any doubts you’d talk about. You’d clean swap clothes, steal some if they didn’t fit or felt wrong. Tag areas with different names, but the same style so everyone knew it’s was you.

You feel a rumble as you reach the top of the building. A dark, shadowy creature, makes its way into town. Stomping over things, but not hitting anything. The only time it does is when it’s shot, screeching out in pain as it falls down.

You know who it is. You recognise a part of the scream.

It’s Nimona.

You look down the building, a hell of a drop. You see more of the flying vehicles going for her. Quickly, you do some calculations. You take a few steps back. Don’t get yourself wrong, you’re not in the healthiest of mindsets right now. If you miss, it’s a big drop, and then…well, whatever comes next. But, you have to try this. You have to try and protect your family as best you can. So, counting down quickly, you run.

You jump.

You land right on one of the vehicles. The guard is too shocked to really do anything. So, you push him with all your might, and he falls, but catches himself. You just focus on the controls of this thing. Not that many. It’s simple, but effective. It works.

So, despite some near crashes, you sort of get the hang of this thing. You use it to shoot at the attackers hurting Nimona. Some fire back at at you, others dodge and keep going at this person they decided needs to be put down for the benefit of the people.

You try your most, even get lucky, but there’s a lot of carnage going on; all their own doing.

You see, however, what Nimona is making a bee line for. The sharp end of a sword that was pointed at her so long ago.

You race forward, not even noticing your previous guard friend managing to climb back up. He wrestles with you for the controls. Once again sending you pretty much into things. However, he then pulls the breaks, but catches you before you fall. He’s not looking at you now, he’s looking at Nimona, who is stood in front of the sword, white, beating heart out.

“NO!” You cry, sending the vehicle forward once again. You get to the sword, jumping off it. The guard tries to stop you, but just misses.

“Stop —“ he calls. But, a new voice stops him.

“They’re with me!” Ballister, “they’re with me.”

He looks at you; so many apologies and silent words being sent at you at once.

You nod, “later,” you say, before running to save your sister. He follows. You both hold her back. She looks down at you.

Ballister apologises to her as well. She looks to you.

“Please don’t,” is all you can say, “I need my sister. I need my sister,” you say, repeating it as your tears finally leak.

She changes back, and you both catch her. She looks a mess, beaten to high hell, but alive.

“I love you too,” she says to you as the three of you hug. You pull back, looking at her with elation -she’d always shown it, never said it; but you did always, sort of selfishly, wanted to hear her say it – and she chuckles tiredly and brings you into a hug of just the two of you, “I need my sibling in my life too. Besides, you rebelled completely against them,” she says, having seen you on the roof and your stunt, “guess I could do something a bit different, yeah?”

You chuckle, tightening the hug. It feels right. Like pieces of a puzzle coming together. Ballister joins, and it mostly feels complete.

A hug of a family. Of people who love and accept each other.

People soon start running again, and you all see a giant cannon aimed directly at you all. You all look at the citizens, knowing it will hurt them as well.

“No –“ you say, looking to Nimona, knowing what she is planning.

She smiles, however; her mind is mind up.

She kisses you on the forehead, “I love you,” she mumbles, before giving Ballister a wink, “take care of them for me, Boss.”

“Nimona,” Ballister says, trying to stop her. To try find another way.

However, “we know I’m fast enough to stop that thing,” she says, “and we’re wasting too much time. I get to punch someone with a punchable face, like really hard,” she then looks back to you, and sees you about to break again, “hey,” she says, cupping your face in her hands, “I’ll always be here,” she puts her hand on your chest, “you’ve got this. You’re gonna build a new, better, world.”

With that, she turns into a phoenix, and flies right into the cannon. The explosion rocks the wall, creating a massive gap in it. What does it show? It shows that the outside world is beautiful, that they had anything to fear. There is danger there, but also beauty. So much beauty.

Ballister and you go down to try and find Nimona, instead you only find red specs flying around.

You curl up into a ball, letting out sobs.

Ambrosius comforts Ballister, but saw how you were with the guardsman above. Granted in glimpses, but given your friendship with Nimona, your distrust of this system that he too is now questioning is understandable. So, he lets Ballister take his time before bringing you into a hug as you both cry for your fallen friend.

Some time passes, and you are all called heroes. You move in with Ballister, and your friendship rebuilds. He becomes this role model to you of perseverance and light. Softness and love. He becomes a sort of parental figure. He supports you when you stumble, and you do the same for him.

Ambrosius respects your boundries. He’s a nice person, even if you have your many issues with the system. He listens, like actually listens to them, and does what he can to set them right. He knows it will take time, but he knows you’ll appreciate the effort.

It’s slow going with him, but he is sweet. He’s kind. So, you are warming up to him. And he’s getting to know you. And, you do have to admit, him and Bal are sweet.

One day, when you’re in home alone, Bal and Ambrosius out on a date, you hear something. It’s like the wind, but that’s not possible as it’s a peaceful day. You then turn, seeing a glare of light. It gets brighter and brighter —

And then it stops. You lower your hand, and drop your bowl of popcorn. It doesn’t break, but the effect is there.

“Hey, champ,” you hear her say.

And you barrel right into Nimona’s awaiting arms. She chuckles, spinning you around before putting you back on the ground, “oh, look at you!” She says, turning your head with her hands, noting the subtle changes to your style and your looks, “you look so good!”

You chuckle, before going in for another hug. She hugs you back just as tightly.

She shuts her eyes, hoping to hold this moment in her mind forever; just as you are as well.

She pulls back, then looks to the TV, “what you watching, squirt?” She asks. You grab her hand, and pull her to it, hopping over it, which she mirrors on the other side, before now sharing the blanket with her and handing her the bowl and filling it up with more popcorn.

You hit play, and both watch the TV.

Bal comes back, and does a double take when he sees you both. It’s like a mirror version of the last time he saw you asleep on her lap, hand going through your hair again.

“Oh, hey, Boss,” she says, “just figured I’d pop in, say ‘hi’ and all that.”

Ballister can only laugh, tears of happiness forming in his eyes.

“Hi,” he says, holding his arms open.

“Hey,” she says, hugging him.

The family is complete.

Y/N and Nimona the siblings; and Balister and Ambrosius the parental/older siblings. The label isn’t exactly exact, but sometimes labels aren’t. They fluctuate.

But the love, just as the person, is still there. Still them. Still have all that love and hope inside of them.

Some people like labels, some don’t.

Either way, you all fit together. You all know what you are.

Family. And a family who aren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

[anundyingfidelity]

MEMORIES LOST — Jareth x ofc/fem reader. Ch. 2.

Summary: A mysterious woman falls into the Underground, claiming she does not have memories and not knowing why she is there. Jareth, who's bored and taking slight pity on her, takes her under his wing to ease some of his own misery. Post Labyrinth (1986).

Warnings: nudity, masturbation, voyeurism, manipulation, corruption, smut in general.

Word counter: 866.

Note: female character is named Leah, but no physical characteristics (such as skin color, hair, eyes, etc.) are described on this story. Feel free to imagine how she looks like.

In this chapter: Just Jareth watching (spying) his visitor. Warnings of voyeurism.

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

This fanfiction is also posted in Ao3 under the name undyingfidelity.

Chapter 1. | Chapter 2. | Chapter 3.

The next time Jareth was sure he would not forget about Leah came soon enough. He would not forget her so easily.

The woman was calm and submissive to him, taking in every order and indication the King was giving, either to her or his goblins. She was a fast learner, something Jareth truly appreciated a lot for sure.

Each day that passed in the Castle, was an exciting day of learning new things from the mind of the new mysterious woman doing her way around the place.

A smirk formed on his lips as he looked over Leah through the crystal in his hand. Jareth used to check on her from time to time using the small crystal, and lately it had become more of a daily habit before going to bed. Was it wrong? Maybe. She could do personal things he wasn't supposed to see, but since when Jareth did care about that? He wasn't very fond of moral and good behavior anyway.

Leah was graceful and phisically beautiful, and Jareth liked that. Her appearance and looks complemented the way she would talk to him, like a scared puppy who was barely rescued from a thunder storm, giving all her loyalty and fear only to him, the Goblin King. He really missed the feeling of being feared and respected at the same time.

She was doing excellent by serving and helping around. Jareth even found out she loved working in the Castle when he read his mind some days back. Anything he asked, she did for him without hesitation. He wondered if that could be useful in some other ways.

He was no fool. When he came around, the woman would certainly feel electricity running through her body. A type of energy that was known and uncertain at the same time - something that was trully exciting to her. Leah didn't know why or how, but the Goblin king slowly created this type of masculine and strong energy around her whenever he entered the room, and she grew up to admit to herself she actually liked it.

That night, Jareth observed the woman around her bedroom, taking her dresses and clean clothes to the wooden closet. Once she finished and organized the place, Leah started to undress in front of the full lenght mirror. She took off the straps of her dress slowly, loosing herself in the reflection of her own body, barely recognizing her own reflection.

Leah wondered what had happened before she fell to the Underground. How her life would have been without her being under the orders and the hands of the Goblin king. She didn't remember a single thing... yet. And Jareth found himself again looking after the woman, trying to get back any memory on her mind. But she did not remember any single thing, as in countless of times she tried before in front of the same mirror before going to bed, and repeat the same routine the next day.

She asked herself if Jareth was guilty of her being trapped in the Goblin city. And her thought made him smirk.

It wasn't part of his plans, but there she was. Questioning her own existence in front of the mirror, half naked, with a hand carresing the skin of her neck and her breasts delicately with one word in mind: Jareth.

Her hand found that sweet, prohibited and slightly wet place between her legs. She didn't remember feeling something like this before, but the sting and excitement felt like the first time Jareth laid his hand on her cheek.

The Goblin king became amazed with the girl, touching herself and discovering her own body on what it looked it was the first time - at least that she was aware of. Jareth read her thoughts, finding out he was the reason of her arousal. The simple thought of him creating that sweet sensation on Leah sent him over the edge. He was ridiculously proud and immediately inflated his ego - and his pants at the same time. But he was also bothered knowing he was only able to see her through a miserable crystal.

Sweat ran down her body as she, gently, worked two of her fingers between her legs. Leah tried to hold back her moans, but small whimpers escaped her lips even if she tried to stop them. Her fingers transitioned their slow and delicate motion to a rather fast one, and a weird, explosive sensation built down her stomach, until it felt like she was almost touching the sky.

Jareth noticed she was close. It filled him with excitement and anticipation. He wanted to keep her face coming down from her high on his mind forever. The way she tried to catch her breath and how she bit her lip while her body trembled was certainly a heavenly view. And again, he felt his dick extremely hard on his tight pants, and disappointed for not being there and give her what he knew she deserved.

"One day, little dove. One day," he mumbled to himself, still looking at Leah through the crystal, coming from her high. "Soon you will give in to me, in body, mind and soul."

[mariethekitten]

The Dragon and the Fish part two

INFORMATION: this is the second part to my first ever fic of the same name. No idea if you wanted this but, you’re having it anyway. Plot is entirely fictional and not cannon.

Nobody x Nobody (this is still not romantic)

The city of Oldtown bustled on as it always does. Lords and ladies arrived every day from their manors and great seats and castles across the realm and its neighbors. Some come to seek a bride or husband, some for commerce, some to learn the ways of the maesters, some as envoys of their lords. It was a place of commerce, of culture, and of politics. It was also the seat of the largest and most powerful faith on the continent. The great Hightower dominated the city, standing as tall as the wall and being said to touch the very stars. It had been 4 months since Evangeline Tully had been spared by Prince Daemon Targaryen, 4 months since he had taken over Oldtown, a clear message to the greens. The Blacks were not going to surrender, Rhaenyra would be crowned Queen, no matter what. Evangeline Tully was currently running through the streets, her heart beating out of her chest, she had delivered Prince Daemon’s message and despite her best efforts her father still refused to acknowledge Rhaenyra as Queen. She had managed to convince nearly the whole of Riverrun but, without the permission of their Lord, they could not support her. And now here she was running to inform the Prince of her failure. Evangeline was out of breath when she reached the Hightower. She had run every step of the way, desperate, determined to find the prince. She collapsed, gulping for air before looking up and seeing the guards at the gates. “I must see Prince Daemon!” She panted, pointing to herself. It was clear she was quite distraught. The guards exchanged a look, one shrugged and nodded to her as they opened both sets of the great gates. Another guard moved to help her to her feet. The girl was a noble, it seemed. Entering the gates and clinging onto the guard for dear life she tried to calm her rapid heart and heavy breathing. She could hope for life imprisonment, anything would be better than death. Still out of breath her eyes widened in fear as the guards led her towards a familiar figure. One with long silver hair.

Daemon saw her almost immediately, the slightest hint of surprise flickering across his face, he was not expecting to see the child. His face returned to that same cold, calm expression however, and his eyes remained stone. His deep purple eyes looked down at her the same as they had last time, those eyes that carried the wisdom of ages, the eyes of an eternal night that could see the deepest truths and darkest lies.

She did have his attention however. “What is it, child? My time is precious.” And so was his mercy, she had learned from the last time. Once he had spoken Evangeline knelt, staring the Prince in his eyes as she did. Then, in the calmest voice she could muster she spoke. “My Prince. I have come to inform you of the state of Riverrun. The whole city, Lords, commoners and servants have agreed to support the Queen Rhaenyra but, I am sorry to report that my fathers mind would not be swayed. He refuses to acknowledge her and without our Lords permission our house is unable to renounce our loyalty to Aegon. In other words…“ she takes in a deep breath. “I have to come to die. I failed you and now, you are going to kill me. I thought it best not to run.”

The prince remained calm and collected, but the stone look in his eyes softened a little as he looked down at her, with sympathy or pity or something else she could not name. He nodded his head slightly, and there was that slight flicker of a smile once again. “It is no crime to fail. Only in refusing to learn from it do we do wrong. And you have not done that.” His face regained its usual calm look. "Rise, lady Tully." Her face scrunches up in confusion, why was this man so strange? Slowly, she rises, her eyes never leaving Daemon’s face.

He looked at her, standing straight and tall. He was a man tall and well built, but he always somehow seemed taller and more imposing. When he spoke, he held himself up with the pride of his name and his line. “Speak honestly, child. Tell me, how do you feel about your father's actions and his choices?” She blinked, the questioning catching her off guard, well, this whole conversation was catching her off guard. She was going to tell the truth, obviously, she only hoped that he believed her. “At first I was confused, I was there the day we swore allegiance to Queen Rhaenyra. When he came to tell me that King Viserys died and Aegon had taken over I thought there had been a mistake, but he told me that the King changed his mind and that Queen Rhaenyra was trying to steal the throne. I did not discover the truth until you kidnapped me and told me of his treason. When I found out I was upset, he was my father, I couldn’t believe that he’d lied to me and betrayed the crown. I am still ashamed of him. I do not understand why he won’t accept Rhaenyra as Queen but in doing so he is putting all those who live in Riverrun in danger. And that, makes me angry.” There was an anger behind his eyes as he listened to her words. An anger that simmered within him like fire. “Your father's betrayal is indeed an awful one. There is no excuse for such... Treason. Nor for lying to his children. But you have done a noble thing, child. Even though it was dangerous and risky you stood by the truth. By the rightful queen. And you came to inform me of all of this.” He did not sound angry, or upset. He only sounded calm. This is a good sign, she thinks. With Daemon Targaryen you never really know. 

“So, what will happen to me? If I am not to die will I be imprisoned?”He took a step closer, towering over her. The confidence he carried himself with was truly impressive…And intimidating, incredibly. The presence he had filled the entire room. “I do not wish to punish the innocent for the crimes of others. You're honest, and you did not hide your father's treason. You came here to inform me yourself out of duty. Not knowing the cost of such a decision. I am impressed. It takes great courage to do something like that.” He reached across and placed a hand on her shoulder. Evangeline looked up at him with a half scared half happy expression. She pondered her fate in her mind. She truly did not know what his plans concerning her were. He squeezed her shoulder with a smirk on his face, the second real smile she had seen from the prince. It wasn’t a half smile like before, or small one. It was a genuine happy smirk. His grip was reassuring but firm and warm. “You're wise and loyal. Such people must be kept close.” His voice was warm now. His purple orbs showed a kindness. Those terrible, cold, dark eyes, they were truly kind for the first time. “You will be a valuable and trusted advisor when I come to rule the seven kingdoms with my Queen. You have a future at our side, do you want it?” Evangeline’s face fell into shock and disbelief. Her, at the side of the future King and Queen of Westeros? Wow! She did not see that one coming. At all.

“It is a generous offer my Prince, I would be glad to accept it.” Her words are filled with gratitude and pride. He looked into her eyes once again, this time with an intense look and for quite a while. His eyes held all the weight of centuries of Valyria, the thousands of Targaryens that had come before, all the weight of his own line. “You will be tested. I am not a merciful man. You will help us win this war. You will serve us well, and in return I will reward you with a seat at our side. Do you understand me, little Tully?” Oh she understood alright. Prove to be disloyal and he’ll have her begging for death. No mistakes. No second chances. Her own face hardened as well, determination settling in her bright green eyes, they shine with purpose as she spoke. “I do my Prince.” He nodded at her, seemingly satisfied with her answer. “Be loyal and you will prosper and bring your people with you. Be disloyal and you will die or wish you had. You understand the stakes. Will you accept them?” One chance, no more. “I will my Prince” His hand fell away. His eyes returned to their cold fury. He spoke quietly, each word uttered with a terrible intensity and meaning, as though every word was a death-knell. His voice was as cold as the deepest winter. “Good. If you prove your loyalty in these coming days then you will have your reward. If you prove disloyal... Then you have already sealed your sentence. Do you understand me, Lady Evangeline?” The intensity was frightening, but the more time she spent around Daemon the better she got a hiding her fear. She would not have a repeat of their first ever meeting. He would not see her cry again.

“I do my Prince. I assume I am to stay here during the test period.” She would expect nothing less from the Prince. He knew who to keep close and who to let go. He thought a moment. The great walls of the Hightower towered above them in the distance, and all the guards in their red cloaks and silver armor seemed to stare from the battlements. Daemon spoke in a low voice at last. “You will. And until I have won the crown for my Queen and our position in the realm is secure, you shall remain my hostage.” His face returned to its usual cold expression, and he looked down at the child with his usual dark eyes. And then, a last grin, not malicious but warm and reassuring, he nodded. “Understood?” She had to stop her face from falling into a look of annoyance. Being a hostage isn’t exactly her dream scenario but, it’s better than being dead so, look on the bright side. She smiled back at him. “Yes my Prince. Wait! What about my belongings? I only brought myself.” He nodded again. “There are chambers within the tower where you will be staying. You are permitted to bring any belongings you need, they will be delivered to you. Any servants you may want to bring with you can come too. You and you alone however, must remain our hostage.” His purple eyes bore into her soul again. She wished he would stop doing that, it’s very unnerving. Makes you feel guilty even if you’ve done nothing wrong. “Until the day comes when you have proved you are worthy of trust and your father's treason is not your own, it must be you who remains in my custody. Only then may you go free. Is this understood?” This man wanted absolute certainty that she was not going to do a runner. She didn’t blame him, but if he kept this up she swore that she was going to have a heart attack and drop dead from fear.

Thinking back to his comment about servants she had to laugh. “Oh those were the days!” His brows furrowed so Evangeline quickly explained herself. “Of course I understand. Sorry for laughing my Prince it’s just, the servants. I lost them long ago. Father took them off me as soon as I began to convince the people of Queen Rhaenyra’s right to rule. Naturally he didn’t approve. Will I be under guard?” His tone was cold but he kept his face calm. And a strange light appeared in his eyes, it was one of curiosity, and there was a certain kind of admiration in it too. “You convinced them on your own? Then you will have no need of servants. You may send for any books or other items at your leisure.” He frowned for a moment but the light had returned to those strange eyes of his. “You will be under constant guard until I win her crown. I will reward you with trust when the war is won. They will not mistreat you child, I will make sure of that.” Ok, constant guard but any objects she wanted from home she could have. Not too bad. Evangeline could live with that. “Thank you my Prince, these are very fair terms.” Her voice was genuine and sincere, she meant what she said. He nodded, satisfied. His tone stayed soft and calm. “You have no idea how valuable an asset you have proven to be. You are an intelligent and resourceful child. Do not throw away these gifts of yours. They are much better than riches or strength or power.” He smiled and leaned down a little to bring himself to her level. “Stay loyal to me Little Tully. And you may prove to be an asset that few others could hope to replace. But if you betray me I will not hesitate. Im glad that our agreement is clear.”

Evangeline smile back at him, “as am I.” She did a small curtesy as a gesture of respect before straitening herself again. The Prince continued to smile. He took her hand and squeezed it softly. “Be careful what choices you make. War is dangerous. Especially for a young lady. I’m shall have my men escort you to your chambers, I’m sure you want to get settled in.” Evangeline nodded preparing to follow the two guards that came forward before a thought popped into her head. “Sorry my Prince but, where may I find the ravens? I want to send a list of things I would like brought back to me. You may approve the letter of course, I don’t wish for you to think I am writing anything else.” Her face remained calm and collected, she felt much more comfortable in his presence now. He nodded. “Of course, you will find the ravens in your chambers. Your list will be reviewed by me personally. I will bring whatever requests you need in good time.” He gave her a faint nod. “Is that all, little Tully? Or is there anything else you need?” He had that half smirk back on his face again. Evangeline thought for a moment before a small smirk crossed her own face. “Could I ask for a glass of wine? The day had been quite stressful.” Daemon then let his smirk grow wider. “I will send a servant up shortly.” He then turned to face the guards speaking in a quieter tone so that Evangeline did not hear. “I assume you will be keeping an eye on our Little Tully? She might need protection too. It will not win her love, but it will win her trust. And that goes a long way as well.” The guard nodded once before moving to stand next to Evangeline, waiting for her to leave. “Goodnight my Prince” she curtesys again before turning and leaving. He gave a curt nod, and gave a meaningful look to the guards. “Good night Little Tully. I'll see you again soon.” 

He turned away, his dark orbs studying her for one last time, his face returning to its usual cold, stony demeanor - but the hint of a smile had returned. He left, the guards closing the gates quickly behind him. 

The next time they'd meet would be many months later, after many battles but finally the blacks were gaining the upper hand. The Prince brought to her a story. A story that should have made her sad but instead it made her happy. Just last week her Lord Father was found dead by the road, a knife through his neck. He spoke of how Some said it was he who killed him, whereas others said it was a rebellious servant. In the end, no-one really knew for sure. Well, none of the Smallfolk did. He did not have to tell her but Evangeline knew that it was in fact Daemon. The look on bus face as he told the story and then meaningful glances was all she needed to know. He deserved it though. Her father was a traitor who endangered his family and his people, he had to go. The story of his death spread quickly like wild fire, and soon all the Riverlords were swearing allegiance to the Targaryens - but it wasn't the death of their Lord that made them choose to side with their rightful Queen, it was the bravery of a young girl whose family had chosen the wrong side.

[quietwingsinthesky]

18 + Castiel/Crowley for the hug prompts

tight and desperate hug huh. there are so many crowstiel eras i could have set this in that made perfect sense. that would be great to write in.

anyway here's endverse.

|| AO3 || DW || FFNet || PF || SW || WC: 500

"High again, are we? It's becoming a pattern." Castiel is on the floor. He can't remember exactly when he got there, but he knows how. He'll always know how. There's nowhere else to end up when your wings get cut. He blinks his eyes open blearily. There's a familiar face staring down at him, and his expression doesn't hold pity or disgust. Only the terrible aching empathy of being the last left.

"Come to ask us to hide you?" Castiel asks, as though he has the power to make that decision. Dean would shoot Crowley where he stands. Crowley's mouth twists into something that could have been a smile, once. It's all ash, now.

"Do I need a reason to visit my favorite angel?" Castiel should probably get off the floor. He's naked, and he's cold, and he was human long enough to love and lose hot showers. Then again, whenever Crowley usually shows up while Castiel is nude, they end up fucking. He stays longer when they have sex. He doesn't taunt Castiel for the way he clings.

"Compared against who? Lucifer?" Crowley stiffens at the name. Castiel doesn't. So goes their mutual senses of self-preservation. "You shouldn't call me that, anyway."

"You are what you are," Crowley argues.

"Until I'm not," Castiel says back, "and I'm not."

He waits for Crowley to snipe at him again. It never comes. Something splintered and horrible as rotting driftwood lodges in Castiel's gut. "Why are you here, Crowley?"

“Like I said, isn’t it enough to want to see you?” Castiel stands up to get a better look at him. He's more well kempt than anyone else in the Apocalypse. All that lingering hellfire in his body has to be good for something other than running away, and Crowley uses it to iron his suits. "You are the one who leaves the devil's trap open." In the very first end days, that invitation had been open to any demon who dared. Now, Crowley's the only one who it would keep out.

Castiel is still alive for the sake of loyalty. Crowley is still alive for- He might call it cleverness. Castiel would call him a coward and mean it as a compliment. Most of the people who made it past the end of the world were cowards. The brave ones all got themselves killed.

He’d never want Crowley to be brave or loyal.

"Don't go." It's a useless thing to ask of him, and so Castiel says it with very little hope. Crowley was never an angel. He's hardly even been a friend. He has been a constant, and even, at times, someone who makes the dying world a little brighter. Now, in his eyes, Castiel sees the same fear he's seen in bitten men before they're shot to spare them the virus.

Crowley says nothing but wraps him in a hug so hard it bruises Castiel's ribs. Castiel holds tight, until he can't, and he doesn't.

He never sees Crowley again.

(Enjoyed it? Any interaction is welcomed. You can even support me on Ko-Fi <3)

[quietwings-fics]

all ash, now

(Other Links: Dreamwidth - FFNet - Pillowfort - SquidgeWorld)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warnings: N/A Fandom: Supernatural Ship: Crowstiel Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse (Supernatural), Angst, End of the World, Hugs, Sad Wordcount: 500 Summary:

The world ends. Castiel is the only angel left, and he's hardly even that. Crowley is the only demon who survived Lucifer, and he won't be that much longer.

Notes:

jackelope-scope asked: 18 + Castiel/Crowley for the hug prompts

"High again, are we? It's becoming a pattern." Castiel is on the floor. He can't remember exactly when he got there, but he knows how. He'll always know how. There's nowhere else to end up when your wings get cut. He blinks his eyes open blearily. There's a familiar face staring down at him, and his expression doesn't hold pity or disgust. Only the terrible aching empathy of being the last left.

"Come to ask us to hide you?" Castiel asks, as though he has the power to make that decision. Dean would shoot Crowley where he stands. Crowley's mouth twists into something that could have been a smile, once. It's all ash, now.

"Do I need a reason to visit my favorite angel?" Castiel should probably get off the floor. He's naked, and he's cold, and he was human long enough to love and lose hot showers. Then again, whenever Crowley usually shows up while Castiel is nude, they end up fucking. He stays longer when they have sex. He doesn't taunt Castiel for the way he clings.

"Compared against who? Lucifer?" Crowley stiffens at the name. Castiel doesn't. So goes their mutual senses of self-preservation. "You shouldn't call me that, anyway."

"You are what you are," Crowley argues.

"Until I'm not," Castiel says back, "and I'm not."

He waits for Crowley to snipe at him again. It never comes. Something splintered and horrible as rotting driftwood lodges in Castiel's gut. "Why are you here, Crowley?"

“Like I said, isn’t it enough to want to see you?” Castiel stands up to get a better look at him. He's more well kempt than anyone else in the Apocalypse. All that lingering hellfire in his body has to be good for something other than running away, and Crowley uses it to iron his suits. "You are the one who leaves the devil's trap open." In the very first end days, that invitation had been open to any demon who dared. Now, Crowley's the only one who it would keep out.

Castiel is still alive for the sake of loyalty. Crowley is still alive for- He might call it cleverness. Castiel would call him a coward and mean it as a compliment. Most of the people who made it past the end of the world were cowards. The brave ones all got themselves killed.

He’d never want Crowley to be brave or loyal.

"Don't go." It's a useless thing to ask of him, and so Castiel says it with very little hope. Crowley was never an angel. He's hardly even been a friend. He has been a constant, and even, at times, someone who makes the dying world a little brighter. Now, in his eyes, Castiel sees the same fear he's seen in bitten men before they're shot to spare them the virus.

Crowley says nothing but wraps him in a hug so hard it bruises Castiel's ribs. Castiel holds tight, until he can't, and he doesn't.

He never sees Crowley again.

(Enjoyed it? Any interaction is welcomed. You can even support me on Ko-Fi <3)

[ktheist]

2 | all yours to enjoy [m]

title inspired by blackpink’s sure thing cover.

⟶ read part one, play me like a toy, here.

muses. heiress!reader x ex-mafia!hoseok

genre. age gap factor. chaebol-mafia au. arranged marriage au. modern au.

warning. implied smut, mentions of gun use and all that mafia shizz

verse. knj. ksj. myg. kth. pjm. jjk. jhs.

synopsis.

“marry me or be killed.”

“is there a third option?”

“we fucked but you were too drunk to remember so that option’s invalid.”

x

the carved name above the handle points in wayward angles. as if made by a child.

well, 5 year-old-you lacked tact. and a sense of artistry but nobody dared insult the work of the only daughter of the han group.

the room hoseok stepped in feels familiar yet foreign at the same time. it’s been years, but the pink unicorn plushie still sits on your bed like it’s waiting for you to climb in and cuddle it every night.

the pastel peach walls have been repainted in a deep maroon shade. at your order, hoseok suspects. it’s as if you’ve renounced that childish innocence and took on a blood oath for the han family name.

much of that youthful wander in your eyes has disappeared.

��it was my fault, i shouldn’t have left her all alone in this wretched place,’ hoseok surly thought to himself.

before he can even think about how inappropriate his actions are - to have stepped into a woman’s room without a reason - a surprised voice echoes from the door adjacent to where he’s standing.

“hoseok...” you’re standing there, in front of the ajar bathroom door, with a pristine white towel around your body and another wrapped around your head, water dripping from the stray strand that manages to escape from your towel turban.

perhaps he had a reason, after all.

perhaps he just wants to see you, the person who coerced him to come back to this god forsaken house where he’s seen more deaths than his fingers could count.

“i’m sorry- i didn’t know you were taking a bath-” hoseok didn’t even manage to take a step back when you shake your head, a smile he’s not used to seeing curved on your lips.

“it’s fine, come in. close the door behind you.”

when he remains frozen in his spot, hand on the handle that seems to seep cold, icy frost into his palm - you raise a pair of trimmed brows, “what? we���re getting married, aren’t we? you forgot but you’ve seen all of me,” a coquettish smile on your lips, “don’t tell me you’re getting all shy now after announcing to the entire head of families that they should sleep with one eye open.”

the funeral had been handled by uncle jihoon, your father’s right hand man and most trusted confidant. he probably cleaned up the skeletons in your father’s closet more times than you’d met your own father in your 25 years of living.

your father had enemies and someone had to get rid of them.

such was the ways of the hans.

yeojun was yours and sehun was chanyeol’s.

hoseok was meant to step in once uncle jihoon resigned since at an early age, he’d gathered enough support to ruin the whole nation. his only fault was being loyal to your father, han jiseok.

and it was his loyalty that made your father drive him away.

because no matter when hoseok was and what he was doing, he’d never betray the hans.

“he’s just a kid,” you’d once heard him say to uncle jihoon.

several months later, he’d announced at the annual family gathering that hoseok got into yonsei university as a business major. it also meant that his ties with the han group would cease to orphan student-influential family sponsors. every record of his existence was wiped clean. he was no longer the child uncle jihoon took in because he pitied hoseok’s miserable state of living. he’d come to your house in tattered clothes and a bluing bruise on his cheek.

jung hoseok was meant to carry half of the burden of the head of family until the true heirs grew up and learned the ropes of leading the han group.

in short, hoseok was a proxy. a stand-in who gathered a little too many support that threatened the powers of the actual heirs.

their bow lingered longer, as if they were thanking the gods for bringing him back just as they’d lost a great leader.

you didn’t mind though. you liked hoseok - he was the only one that didn’t look at you like you were a prophecy of death. a child who’d grow up just as wicked as her father.

he’d looked at you like a human.

han jiseok took a liking to hoseok, the loyal dog of the han family that would drive a fist into someone’s gut at the command of the head or any of his heirs. hoseok wouldn’t question it either - why he was beating someone up half-dead, he just... did it.

so when that jung hoseok who got cut off from the han family at chanyeol’s whining over how his succession would not be supported by the branch families if hoseok were to remain as the stand in - came back and announced  first thing after his return, his engagement to the heiress of han group, naturally, all hell broke lose.

hoseok had stood by your side as you’d kept your head low, the black veil covering your eyes and nose did well to hide your dry gaze.

true to his reputation, as soon as he stepped into the mansion with you, the men who swore their loyalty to the han family, one by one, started bowing at hoseok whilst the heads of the vassal families started whispering among themselves.

“hoseok, the loyal dog? that’s him?”

“did the boss ever say who was going to inherit the family business?”

family business was just a white washed term of the commercial front of han group that was meant to blur the eyes of the korean government on what truly goes on underground.

“the attorney hasn’t been found, right? that means nobody here knows the contents of the will.”

“did he ever mention chanyeol would inherit the business?”

“____’s achievements aren’t something to be turned a blind eye on either.”

one of the heads of the branch approached you, he smiled too sweetly on the day of his principal’s passing. rubbed his hands together schemingly as he murmured words of condolences that sounded like congratulations, “the boss suffered for so long from leukemia, the gods must’ve answered his prayer. i’m sorry for your loss, miss ____.”

foolish fiend.

kang sungho was chanyeol’s uncle from his mother’s side. he was the head of one of the closest branch family who’d swore loyalty to the han’s. yet he acted like a stranger who didn’t have anything to do with his brother-in-law’s passing.

“say, hoseok, you’re here too,” sungho didn’t even wait for you to respond - perhaps he thought you were too in shock to say anything, “it’s been a while, thank you for coming even though you have no relation with han group anymore.”

just like that, sungho made a u-turn and spoke on the behalf of han group.

your hand that you didn’t even know was balled up into a fist shook silently - that was, until hoseok slipped and grasped it with his large hand as he lowered his head in a nod.

“it’d always been my intention to come back to serve the new boss,” his hand had left you to wrap his arm around your shoulders, “well, a husband is a slave to his wife, anyway, right?”

it was clear from what hoseok said that he didn’t mean chanyeol was the soon-to-be wife.

you’d sent yeojun to the hospital to confirm your father’s status while you’d met up with an - well, you were holding her son and husband hostage if she didn’t corporate but still - acquaintance who works at the korean embassy to speed up the marriage registration process.

it was when you were walking out of the embassy and to the car that hoseok slips his hand in yours and murmurs to himself.

but you’d heard every word of it, “your hands are trembling. you’ve never shot a man, have you?”

a sense of melancholy paints his face as his grasp tightens on your hand, as if saying ‘sorry i left you all alone in that house.’

you shook it off, heart too dried and withered to ponder on what he’d thought. thoughts of you father filling your heart.

no ceremony, no nothing.

and now you’re married.

the hoseok from just hours ago stood with his back straight and an ease in his aura. yet his presence alone was enough to make even the eldest of the head bow to him.

“are you... are you okay?” this hoseok asks you with hesitance in his voice.

“what makes you think i’m not?” you amble to the bed and drop your towel, letting it pool around your ankle.

there’s no mistaken low breath hoseok let out at the sight of your naked body. as if he’s a teenage school kid who’s never seen the body of a woman.

“do you mind zipping this up for me?” you say, standing with your exposed back on him, damp hair pulled to drape over your shoulder and chest.

hoseok lets out a cough. as if to announce that he was in the room and he was coming closer.

the fingerpads feels callous against your skin. you have to remind yourself to breathe through your nose than hold it in until your lungs feel like they’re about to burst.

hoseok takes his sweet, leisure time tracing down his index finger down your spine to get to the zipper. and when he does, he drags it up in an agonizingly slow pace, the grazing sound it makes causing the hairs on your neck to stand.

“skip the after-reception... you look tired,” he says after his hand falls away from your body and you’re suddenly missing what warmth it provides, like a flame that thaws the ice in your heart.

a dry laugh escapes you, “the elders are finally looking at me as an heiress, you know i can’t afford to slip out of the spotlight on the pretense of fatigue.”

before hoseok can offer any response, you twirl around, arms banding around his waist and bare face buried in his chest.

“hold me like you used to when i woke up from a nightmare and i’ll be fine,” the remnant of your sob threatens to spill from your mouth - true, you didn’t shed a single tear when you arrived late at night at the hospital.

the death of your father had been announced at 1703 hour.

but it’s only ever sunk in that the only family you have is gone - once you’ve left to your own devices to take a bath and change into new clothes before the after reception begins.

it’s then, that the waterworks began to pour over your cheeks without any hints of stopping.

hoseok must have seen the aftermath of your puffed, pink eyes when you stepped out of the bathroom, not expecting for anyone to be there except the silence.

a pair of strong, secure arms wrap around your body wordlessly. hoseok tilts his head so his cheek is pressed against the side of your head.

“you grew a few inches,” his husked voice brushes your ear like a dream you’d never want to wake up from.

a small laugh escapes you, “oh come on, i got more than my height on me but you-”

hoseok groans and you clamp your mouth shut, chuckling.

“i’m sorry,” he confesses, a treasure trove of remorse laced around those two little words.

all of a sudden, guilt gnaws at your conscience for having teased him too many times about forgetting something he couldn’t control, “don’t say sorry,” you mumble, “now i feel bad.”

“i used to tease you a lot about your obsession for ponies and unicorns.” his voice drums in your ears.

“i used to fantasize about finding a unicorn in the forest behind our beach house and beating chanyeol at a race someday,” without you realizing it, your cheeks are hurting from how wide you’re smiling.

silence lapses around you.

but it has no space in between your flushed bodies. you hear hoseok’s unusually fast heartbeat.

“you’ve changed...” you murmur, somber.

“i did?” he sounds melancholic, as if reminiscing about the days in this household.

chasing after the troublemaker daughter that always thinks they’re playing hide-and-seek. beating and threatening any rival members he sees hovering around the han group’s territorial influence.

“i didn’t say i don’t like the new you,” you tear your face off his chest, tilting your chin to gaze up to his warm eyes that appear deep brown under these fluorescent lights.

standing on the tip of your toes, you peck his lips lightly.

a sweet smile plays on your lips.

‘yeah, his lips are as soft as they look,’ you affirm.

it’s the way his eyelids cover his eyes as he blinks. the way his lips part as if surprised at the sudden, unannounced advancement. the way the realization seems to sink in that there was nothing stopping you from kissing him again-

an index finger presses against your pouted lips as you stand on the tips of your toes once again.

“it’s dangerous...” is all he offers.

but with the way his gaze becomes hooded as the chains of self-restraint shackles his hands and ankles, you think you know what he means.

instead of offering an answer, you sweep your tongue over the length of his digit, mouth opening to lightly bite his finger all the while gazing into his stormy eyes.

“guess i’m just a little kitten compared to the wolves in that room full of old wolves to you, huh?”

once the storm passes, his gaze becomes hooded with something - something you can’t pinpoint.

yet you let him slide his finger deeper into your mouth, feeling the soft pink flesh of your tongue on his fingertip.

you flutter your lashes skittishly, hand pushing the hair to the back of your ear as you lick a strip down his finger like you would his other head. but the rap on your door and the “miss ____, it’s yeojun,” coming from the other side almost sends your heart leaping into your throat.

you suck in a deep breath around hoseok’s finger before pulling away and stepping to the side, completely aware of the sexual tension that hovers in the air like thick, dark clouds.

“yeojun, is everyone here?” your gaze is fixed on the handle that your hand’s reaching out for.

“everything’s set, we’re waiting on the priest to arrive,” his voice sounds muffled through the door.

you step out of the door with half-damp hair and a face bare of make up whilst patting down the skirt of your dress.

but it’s not your half-as-acceptable appearance that makes yeojun stare at you for five solid seconds.

rather, he’s staring at something behind you as you feel the warmth of a body heat against your back.

“i’ll be the one escorting my fiance, yeonjun.”

he speaks casually despite yeojun being older than him and yet it felt natural. hoseok holds out his arm for you as yeojun stepped back with a bow, making way for you and hoseok to walk down the hallway leading to the flight of stairs where the main hall would be.

x

“god, i hate ties,” hoseok murmurs under his breath from next to you, nimble fingers pulling on his collar.

“you wear it well for someone who claims to hate going around in crisp button downs and shiny leather loafers,” a smile tugs on the corners of your lips.

chanyeol finally stepped away with the madam for some fresh air. maybe the death glares she’d been shooting you since you arrived - has finally got the world spinning behind her eyes.

“was the only option an orphaned nobody like me had when i was offered to work a nine to five,” he says casually, still fumbling with his tie.

your hand feels like a child’s when you place it on his. he pauses, gazing down at you before letting his hand fall on his side whilst yours remain on the knot of his necktie.

“may i?”

hoseok’s head moves, not quite a nod but not a shake of ‘no’ either. so you take out the pin from your hair that yeojun fetched from your room after your hair started falling into your face with every head bow you made in front of the guest. undoing the knot on hoseok’s tie, you slip the pin between the knot before looping the end over the knot and patting it down once you’re done.

the ‘how did you learn to do that’ look that hoseok shoots you makes you laugh. he’s both impressed and suspicious.

“my mom-” the one who’s confined to the house your father give and can’t even attend her late husband’s memorial service, reception and after reception, “-taught me all the things i needed to know to be the ‘perfect’ wife.”

“never pegged you for someone who’d obediently absorb her teachings,” he comments.

back then, you were as ruthless and spoiled as they come. the fine lines on your mother’s forehead was probably caused by your bursts every time she tried to push her views on you.

“a year after you left the seong’s proposed for our families to join together... they had a son and daddy had a daughter at his disposal... i was preparing to be a bride because that’s all people around me made my life to be until i just... had enough of being treated like a doll. so i cut a deal with seong joongki, got rid of his dad so he could step up as head, we remained engaged until i turned 18 and broke it. now he’s one of the people i know i can count on,” a shrug of your shoulder and you look up to him, locking his gaze with yours.

“seong, huh?” hoseok scanned the faces of the guests behind you, eyes narrowed like a hawk before they paused on something.

his gaze returns to you, an overly sweet smile appearing on his face as his dimples dig into his cheeks, “people like him cut and run when things get messy.”

you laugh, it sounds tired, but it’s still laugh, “if he does, i’d be the one to tell him to.”

“and i’ll put a bullet in his head if you didn’t,” he says words of murder like a romantic confession as he gazes into your eyes like there’s no where he’d rather be.

that is, until an unfamiliar voice calls the husband of the heiress by his name.

x

“namjoon,” hoseok hugs the chairman of kimcorp. for a lingering moment as the man pats his back once, as if unspeakingly consoling him.

kim namjoon, the second child and heir of kimcorp. and hoseok’s college friend and boss who booked a sudden trip back to seoul at the news of the head of the han group’s passing.

though the later generation washed their hands off the dirty work that got them where they are, they still remember their roots.

when they break apart, hoseok turns to you, arm around your waist, “___, this namjoon. namjoon- ___... my wife.”

hearing the word ‘wife’ slip out of hoseok’s mouth warms your heart yet makes your stomach knot painfully. ironic how you’d want to believe the heartrendering way he introduced you to be anything more than the act you told him to put on.

“ah,” kim namjoon narrows his eyes at you, as if shifting through his memories, “the kid hoseok babysat.”

the disparaging regard to your status as heiress tells you enough what this so-called friend of hoseok thinks of you.

“the friendless nerd hobi befriended out of pity,” you state, flashing you best smile.

a nod from his side. as if saying ‘touché’.

“ah, mrs. aera didn’t come?” hoseok asks, eyes searching the crowd until namjoon shakes his head, a meaningful smile playing on his lips.

“she’s too tired so i told her to rest at home,” he says and hoseok nods, as if understanding the underlying reason that kim aera is missing from honoring the master his husband’s family’s served for generations.

the kim’s are one of the oldest families that was tied down to han group by an oath. your great great great grandfather helped his great grandfather build the legacy the kim’s found themselves on now.

though the later generation washed their hands off the dirty work that got them where they are, they still remember their roots.

he steps away, greeting chanyeol and han chohee, your father’s legal wife before meandering away and keeping out of the spotlight for the rest of the night while you amble languidly with your hand on hoseok’s arm, exchanging pleasantries with the guests like it’s a wedding rather than a funeral until it’s time for the head of the family to gather in the boardroom.

everywhere you and hoseok goes, eyes follow. those who you approach tenses up while they wear their best smiles and utter words of sweet saccharine but as soon as the attorney turns up, you have no sliver of doubt that these people will be the first to vote for your head if it turns out the will appoints chanyeol as the next and rightful heir of han group.

those who you pass by end up with twisted faces. they’re the acquaintances of the han group, loyal to no master - the actual people who’d cut and run.

“mr. jee,” the middle aged man with too big of a nose and overbearing personality turns his full attention to you after hoseok was done talking about the stock market he’d been investing in, “a friend of mine, doctor maria wong, is a skin specialist who just received the asan award in medicine for her recent findings, i can introduce you to her, if you’d like.”

the youngest jee suffers from a rare skin condition which is why she never attended any social functions. they claimed she got accepted to a boarding school in europe when she was actually getting treated in one of the most prestigious private hospitals in the world in switzerland.

the situation is kept under wraps. you lost one of your holiday villas for this piece of information.

“o-oh, yes,” it takes a moment of him staring at you like you’re emitting halo from your body before he stammers back to life, “i- we,” he looks at his wife who shares the same hopeful gleam, “would really like that.”

“one down... tens more to go,” hoseok murmurs under his breath when you walk away from the couple, “you’re pretty good this ‘you know whose side you should be on, don’t you’ kind of threat.”

“i threatened the jung hoseok to marry me, this is child’s play,” you shoot him a coquettish smile, not expecting for him to lean down to your ear and whisper lowly.

“the lock was on the whole time,” he chuckles as he straightens his back at the announcement summoning all the heads of the families present, its representative, the children of the han’s and their spouses to the meeting room.

hoseok pulls out a pair of tucson, ariz’s tucked behind him and places them on the metal tray soobin’s holding out. he slips a hand under his suit, pulling out a revolver from his shoulder holster you didn’t even know he had on. then, two grenades from each of his pockets like he’s taking out a piece of candy. a foldup knife from the pocket of his blazer.

red lights go off when he walks past the metal detector, cursing to himself before he shoots you a sheepish look - the one the new hoseok would - and bends down before pulling out two kolibri the size of your palm and appear like toy guns in hoseok’s that was strapped on both his ankles.

one of your father’s men manually hovers a handheld metal detector and scans him from head to toe before giving him the greenlight to walk into the room just as kang sungho screams, “i’m the uncle of the future head, you’ll regret this!”

you roll your eyes at the old man’s outburst, taking out the dagger strapped to your thigh and pretending to not notice hoseok’s ogling at your exposed thighs when the dress rides up.

“bringing a knife to a gun fight - ballsy,” hoseok murmurs under his breath, his words meant only for you as you join his side, both of you stepping into the still-empty boardroom as the heads of the branch families you pass by grumble to themselves, pulling out the weapons they have on them and piling the tray in front of them.

one even pulled out a bandolier wrapped underneath his coat. the others merely have a pile of handguns and revolvers on their tray.

“oh, i brought something better,” you feel your lips stretching into a smirk as hoseok pushes the chair behind you before slipping in the one next to you, inquisitive eyes boring into yours.

a peck lands on his lips as you giggle at the way his eyes go wide for the briefest moment.

“tch,” someone says as they pass you and hoseok. chanyeol sits across from you, glare digging holes into your skull as he looks at you as if you were guM under his sole.

“please, tell me you have a plan that involves me driving my fist in his face,” hoseok’s low voice sends shivers down your spine.

it takes a moment for you to grasp that his statement needs a response.

“even better,” you murmur, head tilted to him, “you’ll get to do whatever you want with him after we walk out of this room.”

x

“we can’t go on without a leader for longer than 48 hours!” kang sungho smacks his pudgy fist against the clear glass surface of the oval table.

“we get your frustrations head family kang, but we need to locate attorney hyeon first,” seong joongki speaks informally to the man 20 years his senior and kang sungho can only grit his teeth.

in this room, no peerage title exists. every head is equal and that means every single person here is below you and chanyeol, the heir and heiress of han group.

“for all we know, attorney hyeon could be dead,” ahn sujin glances around the room, meeting every eye of the head until her gaze rests on you, “they found traces of tires on the road and a wrecked tree trunk a few feet away.”

“are you saying attorney hyeon got into an accident on the way here but someone quickly moved the car and bodies as if they were planned it, auntie sujin?” chanyeol baritone cuts through the tense air.

he throws you a side glance as he sits at the end of the oval table where your father and his father and his father’s father sat, bearing the weight of a legacy as old and majestic as the royal family had they survived all these years. the audacity of this man you call a brother walked straight up to the seat your father used to occupy and plopped down as if he owned it.

“the crash mark in the bark of the tree was still fresh,” ahn sujin nods.

“well...” at the sound of your voice, the whole room falls silent, “let’s ask him shall we?”

soobin, nods at you like he’s known your ways for years. he pulls out a remote and the tv screens tacked behind the leader’s seat.

the screen flashes with a picture of uncle jihoon getting into a sleek black car with the plate number HG that only you, chanyeol, the madam and your father have access to.

a blurred buzzing echoes against the soundproof walls of the boardroom before it gradually becomes clearer.

“...get the names?” a deep voice asks - the owner sitting directly across from you stares with knitted brows as he focuses on the familiar sound.

“a-... -re you... sure about...? ...involve ...your mother’s family...” uncle jihoon’s dialect wrapped around the syllables of the words, giving out who that voice belongs to.

he used to be proud of where he came from and wore his dialect like a medal.

“..-actly, they’re my mom’s family. not mine. ‘sides, kang sungho’s been clinging onto dad like a fucking leech even though he knows there’s nothing he can offer us that we want.”

silence fills the audio.

hoseok’s hand slips over yours, as if reminding you to let out that breath you’ve been holding.

chanyeol’s jaw tightens as he shoots daggers at you with his eyes.

“the names, uncle.” a sense of urgency laces around chanyeol’s voice.

“th-the kang’s, byun’s and ahn’s agreed to get molly to the scorpios in thailand on 23rd of april on flight ka8792 at 2:35 pm.” uncle jihoon says after a heartbeat.

each of the families listed are known for either their couture designs that receive orders from ministers’ wives all over the world, custom made colognes or either owns five star hotels in south korea and overseas.

“this isn’t enough, you think the cops are gonna believe all we have is the names of families involved in some mid level drug smuggling? my reputation’s on the line here.”

“a-and a fishing vessel will be making port at around 3 in the morning five days from now. it’s owned by the cha’s, they’ve been using it to smuggle meth and hide it under the hauls of fish they caught.”

the cha’s hold the monopoly to the wet market business.

“that’ll do for now, get out.”

the audio cuts off and the screens begin to move again, this time showing shots of chanyeol and a man in his 40′s sitting across from each other, having coffee.

shifting your hand so your palm is facing up in hoseok’s, you slip your fingers in the gap of his longer ones.

“that’s detective kim namseok and my beloved brother having brunch together - that’s right, chanyeol with the held of uncle jihoon, sold the kang’s, byun’s, ahn’s and cha’s off in his grand scheme of getting the leader position in exchange for police immunity for the han group... oops?” your lips purse into a mocking pout.

“lies! you know how much this bitch wanted to take over han group!” chanyeol roars, pushing himself off the chair and turning to face the wide-eyed gazes and dropped jaws of the heads of the families.

“i-i was b-blackmailed...” uncle jihoon stares at his reflection in the table, as if in a whole different world, “i-it’s not my fault! the young master threatened me!”

“let’s ask the detective shall we? since it’s been  proven that men from the han group have a hard time believing the women’s words,” you roll your eyes.

the screen flashes with an dark, barren room with nothing but a man tied to a chair in the middle of it. his head is hung low but there’s no mistaking the sight of blood covering his face and shirt.

the ghost scent of the blood makes your stomach churn yet you wear the malicious smile of someone who’s about to grasp the very thing she desires - perfectly.

“he’s a little... tied up. we caught him just in time before he called up his partner and spilled everything your darling heir provided.”

“uh, hello? are we live?” a cautious, brittle-like voice echoes from the intercom as a man with greying hair enters the frame as he adjusts his glasses to sit higher on his nose bridge.

“attorney hyeon, you’re live,” you affirm, smiling tightly.

“ah, good evening,” a light of recognition glints in the man’s eyes as he smiles, bowing deeply before straightening his back and backing up until he’s standing next to the half-conscious detective, “i apologize for not being able to attend the meeting myself. i got into an accident, drugged and would have had my nails pulled out if miss han didn’t come to my rescue and brought me here.”

“argh... a... ah...” the detective interjects, groaning.

attorney hyeon laughs calmly as if he didn’t just hear the bloodied and bruised man asking for help.

“in my hands here, i have the contents of the will which i will now have my... uh, assistant-bodyguard share it to the screen and send to your phones... are you sure... they’re sent?” his voice becomes quieter whilst phones and tablets begin to ding with a notification simultaneously.

“... the three holiday villas in incheon, jeju and daegu will respectively go to the madam...” he begins listing out the properties owned by your late father and the distribution of a portion of it to the madam and your mother.

no one interjects even though attorney hyeon’s voice seems to drone on and one despite the tape and audio that leaves everyone on the edge of their seats.

“...and for matters regarding the succession of the new head, the boss, han jiseok, wishes a fair voting system be used to decide whether mr. han chanyeol or miss han ___ will take the position a starting a month after his death.” by the end of it, the room is deathly silent as if a pin drop would echo like thunder in this spacious room.

“the heir and heiress are given three months for them to prove themselves to the vassals and in the absence of a leader, jung hoseok will be appointed as proxy-”

at that, the whole room breaks out into a roar.

“jung hoseok hasn’t stepped foot in han manor for over fifteen years!”

“miss ___ and hoseok are married! this will lead to unfair results!”

a screech against the floor as a chair falls over.

“you still want to support the son of a bitch that’s willing to sell all of us out to the blue bastards?!”

“who’s to say the young master’s not selling out the names of sons of bitches like you who switches sides the first chance you have!”

in the midst of the shouting, chairs screeching and the elderly lawyer trying to gain calm the elders, chanyeol turns to you with the eyes of a man who’s watching his legacy fall right in his very eyes.

“i should’ve left you in the forest when we got lost 15 years ago,” he reaches for something behind his back.

you recall the brother with scratches all over his body, the sun was setting and his back had looked broad for your 8 year old self. you were just two kids who lost their way, slipped and fall in the forest not too far from the family villa.

that same brother is holding a gun to your face.

x

hoseok takes a long whiff of the cigarette that sits in between his index and middle fingers.

“that was a shitstorm,” someone laughs from behind him - your voice sounds oddly free for someone who’s about to either get hexed or get worshipped within three months.

the curve of smile on your lips makes him smile too. he breathes out, laughing, “yeah...”

“do you mind sharing?”

hoseok blinks once. then he regains his senses, looking at the smoldering bud and tapping the middle part of the cigarette with the tip of his index finger to get the ash off so it wouldn’t hurt you if it fell.

“yeah... here.” he pushes down the wince that comes from the slightest strain of passing the cigarette to you.

the way your eyes linger on the clean white bandage on his arm tells him you’re not fooled by his unfazed mask. yet you don’t say anything, your eyes flutter close as your matte burgundy lips wrap around the beige colored bud and inhale.

when chanyeol pulled out the gun, hoseok tried to reason him out of it. promises were made at the expense of his own life. all that, in exchange for yours. in the fleeting moment that chanyeol took to consider pointing the gun at hoseok, you find your opening, shoving his hand upward and hitting that spot in his rib.

the bullet didn’t hit you but it grazed hoseok’s arm. he was standing right next to you.

And hoseok has a brand new pack of cigarettes in his pocket along with an electric lighter - he’d probably grab them both in one grasp if he slipped his hand in his pocket now.

for some reason, he takes the cigarette you pass and takes a good, long whiff out of it.

“did you know?” the puffs of smoke pass through your mouth as you speak and breathe out.

“when i left,  boss told me that i should be ready to drop everything i have... everything i am at any moment... they would have dragged me back one way or another and it’s not gonna be with a gun with its safety lock on if i didn’t walk in on my own accords,” hoseok taps the ashes off a second time, watching them flutter down and settle in between the green blades of grass.

a sense apprehension follows your nod as you stare at your reflection in your polished pumps, “after all this... after i convince the vassals, i’ll make sure you walk out of this alive. heck, i’ll sign the divorce papers today-”

the half of the unsmoked cigarette hits the ground.

hoseok finds himself swallowing the gasp that slips out of your lips at his sudden movement. you freeze underneath his fingertips like the ice you build in your heart but you don’t push him away and hoseok takes that as a maybe.

maybe there’s stability in this chaos.

maybe love does bloom in the most desolate place.

he feels his heart leap into his throat when your arm goes around his neck as you kiss him back just as desperately.

maybe, just maybe, you need him as much as he needs you.

x

the three months fly by with you gathering the majority of the votes by exposing the dirt you have on chanyeol as well as obtaining support from the main branch families by giving them more control over the underground market that was previously monopolized by han group.

though you’re competing with no one, the three month grace period still went on to ease you into the leadership spot.

to keep everything fair, you and hoseok lived apart. him in his apartment he’d been living in up till now and you in one of the holiday villas that your father gifted your mother.

by virtue, you had every right to keep staying in the main mansion as the heiress but chanyeol’s presence was still too strong. his people still lurk behind the mask of the so called loyalty for the han group. he’s locked in one of the safest hideout where only a selected few know where it is. one of them being hoseok. you never asked him what happened with your brother.

that brother of yours was dead to you the moment he pointed a gun at your head.

and with that, you find yourself in a standstill when it comes to your relationship with hoseok.

the last time you mentioned divorce was on the day the will was read. you ended up in one of the empty guest rooms in the mansion because yours was too far away. hoseok fucked you into the silk satin material of the bed like he did that night. as if begging you to keep him - even if it was only for cheap thrills and fleeting passion.

once you stepped out of that room - somewhat presentable and barely any feelings in your leg, so much so, he had to wrap an arm around you to keep you upright - he was whisked away to discuss ground rules of what being the proxy head is entitled.

and that included maintaining a professional - as professional as a mafia leader can be - relationship with the heir and heiress he were to oversee.

once the three months were over, hoseok moved in with you. did all the things married couples would do - attended social functions and established your power as the head and him, the husband of said head. as if saying he had no eye for the position of the head. as if saying if they’d get on their knees and bow down at his will, they better be ready to die for you at his will. only when you’re away on trips overseas, visiting other ruling families in tokyo, hong kong, china and everywhere in asia - would he take over your job.

he kept the men in check and made sure they had a good beating if they went astray. and even then, they’d still follow him to the ends of the earth.

jung hoseok has the full support of the people who swore loyalty to the han family and you have the majority support of the heads of the branch family.

to anyone and everyone, you two make a dangerously powerful couple.

except there’s one problem: you’ve only consummated your marriage once and you can barely kiss your husband without him running away like you’re the literal devil that’s after him.

“h-honey, you’re back,” hoseok stammers, his adam’s apple bobbing as he gazes down at your exposed cleavage that’s pressed up against his body, trapping him between the desk and you.

he looks as if he’s a touch away from losing his mind and fucking you against the table in front of the frames of your predecessors on the wall.

but then his phone vibrates in his pocket and he doesn’t need to take it but he does, a ‘namjoon’ flashing across the screen.

as if seeing a lightbulb go off his head, you shake your head, ‘don’t you dare’.

“i remember taehyun caught the baek’s men in our territory, they’re in the tortu- interrogation room. i was gonna kill them and get rid of their bodies, but since you’re back... i have golf with namjoon, see you tonight.” with that, he kisses you on the corner of your mouth.

in other words, hoseok was saying ‘they’re your problem now, boss.’

“wh-what, jung hoseok, you-!” you manage to yell back but he’s out of the door before you knew it.

hours later, the clock hands strike an hour and a half past midnight as they mock you for making your own husband run away at the sight of you. the door clicks twice as some slips in and shuts it behind them.

you don’t even catch the sound of footsteps as hoseok goes about the room, taking off his shirt and wrapping a towel around his waist. the only indication he’s even here is the body that suddenly freezes up at the sudden flash of light on the nightstand on your side.

“where were you?”

“i was out... golfing... with namjoon...” he drags out the sentence as if his brain short circuited when put in the spotlight in nothing but a flimsy towel around that muscular body of his.

“your wife comes back after two weeks and you decide to go golfing on the very day she touched down?” you say curtly, arms crossed over your lace donned chest.

“i-...” hoseok starts pointing to the open bathroom door behind him that he was about to go in had it not been for your abrupt intervention.

“come here,” you order.

“i just got back and i sweated a lot-” is it the way your eyes bore into his without so much as blinking that makes him clamp his mouth shut?

“yes, ma’am.”

a sigh leaves your lips heartbeats after he comes to stand by the bed, head hanging low like a puppy who knows he’s about to receive a scolding. but you’re not his owner and hoseok’s your husband. your lifetime companion.

“hobi,” the nickname slips out of your mouth without you realizing it as your fingers graze his, tugging on his index finger like a child.

he seems to understand your beckoning, bed dipping when he takes a seat, facing you. it takes everything in you not to let your eyes linger longer than a millisecond at the way the towel ends up stretching, revealing a very noticeable lump protruding in between his thighs.

you clear your throat, mentally chiding yourself for the wave of memories that flood your mind when hoseok is looking at you with attentive eyes. all ears for you.

“for some reason, i feel like you’ve been avoiding me and it’s not just this afternoon. since we started living together... it feels like we’re back to being strangers with memories who happen to have to spend their lives together from now on.” you play with his fingers that you tuck into your lap, heart beating too fast for you to look at him in the eye.

and to think you started off like a lioness prepared for war.

all of a sudden, the temperature of the room drops as you mention the word you promised you’d never utter again since the day of the reading of the will.

“i meant what i said about divorce - monthly alimony until the day you die, a house in gangnam a car with a driver, all expenses paid. and if you find someone and want to start a family with them, i swear on my honor as the head of han group, your family will be protected under our care for as long as i’m alive.”

“i don’t want a divorce.” hoseok says, sounding somewhat hurt.

“then- why-” you begin but he cuts you off with his troubled voice.

“____, i watched over you, i dropped you off and pick you up after school,  taught you how to ride a bicycle-”

this time, it’s you who speaks over him,“-ten years ago. hobi -”

i’m an adult who literally knows how to put a bullet in someone’s head.

but you don’t get to say that when hoseok shakes his head.

“do you remember why you started calling me that? because you came home one day and said you learned a new word- hope. you said i was your hope and you were so excited because you could equate a new word to someone you know... someone who’s been like a brother figure to you- how messed up am i to marry the little girl that i watched over and actually desire her as a woman now?”

“so you do see me as a woman.” is all you say.

“is that all you heard, ___?” hoseok’s wide eyed gaze bore into yours, as if disbelieved by your nonchalance.

“it’s the only thing i care about,” you shrug, the easy arrogance almost costing you another ruined relationship but you sigh a second later, eyes fixed on the motionless hand in your lap before you slip your hand in his, holding it like you’re about to commence a thumb war, “i may have acted like a spoiled brat the majority of the time after we met again which is probably why this whole existential crisis is happening right now,” you laugh, “it’s easier to play the role of a bimbo daughter than a strong overbearing heiress. i guess i acted like that for so long, i started becoming that.

your hand lies still in hoseok’s as you look up, meeting his gaze for what it is, “i admit, it’s my fault if you think that my feelings spurred from the fond memories of the only person who treated me like a human.”

“but i assure you, i didn’t get to where i am now because i’m driven by sentiments like hate for chanyeol and everyone who looked down on me nor the love i had for you as a guardian. in life, there’s only one thing i want and that’s to be the head of han group. you’re a chest piece that helps turn the tables around for me but you’re not my only piece.”

the line of hoseok’s shoulders sag, as if hearing the truth hurt him more than the lie convinced himself of.

“choosing to make you my king is entirely up to me... not because of some childhood memory or dependency on a guardian figure like you thought but...” your thumb grazes hoseok’s knuckles as you lift his hand to your lips, pressing a lingering kiss on his knuckles, “we can take it slow, i won’t tease you anymore and you can see for yourself how true my words are.”

“feels like i should be the one saying that,” the lips on your forehead feels warm, spreading through your body like a mid summer’s night.

arms wrap around your body, hugging you to a strong, tight, unclothed chest as your breath hitches in your throat. you raise your hands to return the embrace but decide against it - it feels like a sin to be drooling over hoseok’s abs and greek god-like body when you’ve just promised to stop jumping the gun.

“you smell nice,” you finally cave, slender hands wrap around his naked torso as you breathe in his scent - a faint trace of musk and sea and masculinity.

at that, the body underneath you seems to freeze up, “i-i think i should take that shower now.”

hoseok’s sudden retreat almost has you falling face first into the sheets. you watch as he covers his face with that large, pretty hands of his while his feet carries him into the bathroom door and closes it shut.

x

the room is silent.

save for the sound of the droplet gathering underneath the tap before hitting the quartz countertop.

hoseok stares at himself in the mirror. lips parted, glazed eyes that are becoming clearer with each passing second as if gradually realizing the sticky situation he found himself in.

the bathroom smells like your favorite floral bath gel but he can still sense the scent of his arousal that, after running the shower head over, finally washed down the drain.

the water was obviously hot. not scalding - hoseok couldn’t take scalding hot showers like you do. but since he’d moved in and after screaming and almost tumbling down to his death if the water didn’t boil him alive first - the next day, he’d found the water to be cooler. warm enough not to make him freeze but not hot enough to have his skin emitting vapor like a half cooked human meat.

but that’s besides the point.

the point is - he’s already had a good, warm shower and jerked himself off but he’s still hard.

it’s the way your delicate frame presses against him when you try to hug him. no- hoseok shakes his head mentally, it’s the way you breathe and compliment his scent which, hoseok is certain, smells like sweat and grass and soil that he rolled over after miserably failing to hit the ball.

he might be well acquainted with riches and luxuries but he’ll get used to these rich people hobby namjoon’s been trying to get him on after his marriage with the head of han group.

these days, it feels like namjoon’s been trying to get hoseok to meet him more than the times they have to actually see each other when he was slaving over his perfectionist ass at work.

before hoseok can even ponder further on namjoon’s unarousing quirks and get his boner down, he hears a rap on the door and a hesitant,“hobi?”

“y-yeah?” ha manages to answer somewhat smoothly.

“i just wanted to say that i can sleep in my old room... if you’re not comfortable sleeping in the same-”

“no!” a rushed rejection, a heart trembling inside a chest.

hands of fear grasps at his wrists and ankles as though if he stayed tight-lipped any longer, he might actually walk out to an empty bedroom with no trace of you at all.

as this is all just one beautiful, tragic dream.

“no, i like sleeping with you.” hoseok slaps himself in the cheek, “i mean i like sleeping next to you... in the same bed.”

the silence seems to stretch on for hours until he hears the giggle coming from the other side of the door - hoseok’s heart warms, you sound like you’re back to yourself, “okay, well, come to bed faster.”

“i will!” he curses himself for that rushed response but you’re probably back in bed with the lights from the nightstand off, probably tired as fuck after a one hour flight back to seoul, having had baek’s men’s territory breach matters shoved into your arms and waiting up on your pitiful husband who was avoiding you over his conflicted conscience.

by the time he’s out of the bathroom, loose pajama pants hanging lowly around his hips, he sees that small lump underneath the blanket, your fetal position telling him you fell asleep facing his side of the bed.

hoseok slips into bed, laying on his side and admiring your pretty lips and thick lashes. his hand clenches and unclenches as if he’s not sure if he should sleep hugging you the way he’s used to.

he caves, hand wrapping around your back as he kisses the top of your head.

unbeknownst to him, you’re still awake. you pretended to be asleep because you didn’t want to make hoseok uncomfortable. but now he’s cuddling you like a child whilst his semi erected head presses against your stomach and it’s kind of too late to say anything.

not to mention, you were a virgin up until awhile ago and you’re not sure if it’s normal for men to be able to hold out this long without fucking their wives or if hoseok’s self-restraint is just over the roof and you’re the one with too high of a libido.

‘damn it, should’ve jumped on his dick before initiating a heart-to-heart.’

[blossom-hwa]

Kingdom |Prologue: Catching Fire|

And so we begin :) please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment if you enjoyed!

Pairing: Juyeon x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, fantasy, royalty!au

Triggers: death, semi-graphic depictions of blood

Word Count: 1.8k

A spark of betrayal lights the flame of a war. 

Tag list [ dm or send an ask to be added! ]: @itsapapisongo​ @dearseungie​ @chrisbahng​ @reverienostalgia​ @wingkkun​ @juyeo-on​

TBZ Masterlist | Kingdom

Changmin can’t breathe. He can’t see, can’t hear, can’t even think over the pounding of his own heart as he strains helplessly against the chains that bind his arms. They dig into the stinging cuts on his skin, iron burning the magic that seeps from his blood.

How could everything have come to this, just days before Juyeon’s coronation, the coronation that was supposed to bring his kingdom to peace?

He struggles in his bonds, chains that bind the remaining magic in his veins, erasing the humming thrum that usually bubbles below his skin. It leaves him cold, empty, helpless as he strains against harsh metal imbued with spells he knows but can’t break.

His magic is gone.

Gone.

And the simmer in his blood isn’t the only thing that’s gone silent.

Bom steps around his kneeling body, her footsteps the only sound in the still air. Changmin raises his head to meet her solemn eyes, gazing down at him with a stony pity flashing in the darkness.

Changmin never liked Bom, never got over the crawling of his skin whenever she brushed by a little too close. She always seemed too cold, too uptight, and several times, he wondered how she was even ordained as a mage. Even now as he stares, refusing to back down even when he knows he can’t escape, his mouth twists into an expression of the faintest disgust, disgust for her single-mindedness that has plagued him, the Board’s gray mage, for the past five years.

“Why?” he finally asks, voice hoarse with remnants of shouts, cries of surprise and betrayal as he tried to fend away the mage standing before him. “Why would you do this?”

She’s opening her mouth, probably about to give some pithy reply to make his blood boil, but the shrine door opens with a crash and a bang before she can start. Another mage walks out, ivory robes stained with red.

High Mage Jung Sungkyu of the Ivory Kingdom. Changmin’s former mentor and a father figure.

Covered in blood.

Changmin blinks once. Twice. 

The red doesn’t disappear.

So none of this is a hallucination, a nightmare he’ll soon wake up from.

Yes, this is the mage from whom he learned, the mage who bound him and his queen together in their promise, the mage whom he looked up to for so long. That kind, powerful mage is the same, the very same as the one walking toward him with bloodstained robes and an expression of pain on his face.

Blood stains.

Changmin doesn’t even want to think about what that means for those who didn’t manage to escape the shrine, for the guards who defended him, for the queen who told him to flee, the queen he left behind.

Oh, my queen…

A mask falls over Changmin’s features, and he stops struggling against the chains now cutting into his skin. His eyes bore into those of the mage walking forward, piercing holes into his skin until the man can’t even hold his gaze anymore and drops his head instead.

“You thought you could escape and warn your friends, didn’t you?” Bom asks, eyes impassive. Her lips curve slightly, coldly, blade-like under the crescent moon. Iron. “Don’t worry, young gray mage. We’ll pass on the message soon enough. We’re just not ready, not quite yet.”

We’re not ready.

We…

“We” doesn’t only include Bom and the high mage. This is something bigger.

We.

Changmin swallows, trying not to go dizzy from the realization. With every word that falls from his lips, he only becomes more certain that he’s right.

“You’re working with the princess.”

Pawns and kings, how can he warn Juyeon and his sister when he’s miles away, stuck in magic-binding chains, and, judging from the knife at Bom’s waist, about to die?

Stall. Stall, keep stalling. “How could you betray the orders like this?” he asks, desperation dripping from his lips. “You swore loyalty to the Board above all, not to your kingdom – why would you do this?”

“I believe the Board’s balance lies in supporting the ivory queen,” Bom says, a faint but manic glint of excitement entering her eyes. It makes Changmin’s skin crawl. “I am sworn to protect the balance, no? This is what I believe is best.”

“The princess is not the queen,” Changmin snaps, brain still running. How can he do anything without his magic? “She has no title other than that of a royal pawn.”

“Oh, she’ll be queen, soon enough.” Bom smiles, a curve of the lips that feels more like a knife blade than a grin.

What does that –

Oh.

Oh, no.

No.

His queen…

His queen must be dead.

Changmin’s head snaps upward, the gold insignia around his neck thumping painfully against his chest. Desperately, he looks at his old mentor.

He wouldn’t have killed his queen, would he? Might have subdued, might have knocked them out, but – he couldn’t have killed –

The mage refuses to meet his eyes.

Red clouds Changmin’s vision, mixes with the black of night and the cold light of the moon overhead. A scream builds in his chest that fights to leaves his lips as his head drops once more.

Lost in pain, barely able to breathe, he almost doesn’t feel the gold at his chest, the carved queen and king that always rest at the base of his throat. As he breathes, though, clearing his mind, the insignia dragging his neck to the ground catches his attention.

It’s charmed as it always has been, never to leave his side until death. The gold symbol, a queen and king standing next to each other on a miniature chessboard, is a gift passed down from one gray mage to another, one of only three keys that exist to unlock a kingdom’s crown jewels. It hasn’t left his neck since the day it was given to him by his predecessor when he was ordained at fifteen, one of the youngest to take on the mantle of gray mage.

They will take it when he dies. Undoubtedly they will – it holds magic, magic they will need for whatever it is they’re planning. At the very least, they wouldn’t leave such a powerful relic to be burned with his body.

So what are they planning?

“What do you plan to do, when your princess is a queen?” Changmin tries to make his voice sound as disbelieving as possible, hopes they can’t hear the shaking in his words. He’s rewarded with a twitch of Bom’s eye. “Surely you don’t think the ivory citizens will accept her, not when their current rulers are so loved?”

“That won’t matter.” Bom’s grin makes her look ghoulish under the moonlight. “Not when the entire Board is under our control.”

Changmin’s heart almost stops. Never, not once in the history of the Board, not even when the high orders had to intervene and send down the current laws of the land, has one kingdom attempted to completely take over the other. There have been revenge plots and assassination plans, even one notable attempt by the former ruby bloodline to murder the onyx royals, but nothing… nothing of this scale.

He needs to warn Juyeon.

“An ambitious plot,” he chokes out, all of his former nonchalance gone. The insignia quivers at his throat, a reminder of what will be lost if the ivory princess succeeds. “I suppose you’ll be going to the Onyx Kingdom next.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Bom dismisses him with a flick of her hand, ready to unsheathe her knife. “You’ll be dead then, anyway.”

But Changmin doesn’t hear her. He focuses on the knowledge that they’ll be going to the Onyx Kingdom, that they’ll probably take his insignia with them.

A plan springs into his mind, fully-formed and wholly impossible. Impossible because he needs magic, magic that’s been stolen from him by the chains that bind his wrists.

Wait.

He closes his eyes, blocks out the sound of Bom’s droning voice and the cold twinkling of stars overhead.

And focuses on the faintest thrumming of magic beneath his skin.

His magic isn’t gone. It’s subdued, yes, but it isn’t gone. There’s some left, simmering in his blood, and if he concentrates it, it will be just enough for…

A smirk threatens to form on Changmin’s lips as he strains, invisibly, against the chains. Magic coalesces under his control, forming a small but warm stream as it travels through his blood, coming to a stop at his chest, just beneath the insignia resting against his skin.

Find Juyeon.

“I see,” Changmin says blandly, not having heard a single word of what Bom just said. “Interesting.”

Find Juyeon.

An eyebrow raises. “Interesting, that I’m about to kill you?”

Changmin blinks. “Hasn’t it been obvious from the start?”

Find Juyeon.

The magic in his chest grows warmer, brighter, as Bom’s face twists into an embarrassed scowl. “Any last words, then?” she snaps.

The bland look stays on Changmin’s face, even though the bejeweled knife in Bom’s hands sends shivers up his spine. “No, not to you.”

Find Juyeon.

The insignia sears against his chest with heat. His skin must be burning – he can’t smell cooking flesh just yet, though it’s probably only a matter of time – but he grits his teeth and bears it. It means it’s working. 

It means it’s working.

Silver flashes down, the knife arcing towards his neck. Changmin shuts his eyes, prays, thinks those two words over and over again, find Juyeon –

“Wait.”

The blade stops at his word. He blinks his eyes open, looking up not at Bom, but at the High Mage who’s frozen to the spot. It’s one question, a question whose answer has only been implied, an answer that he needs to know. “Is my queen alive?”

Silence follows his question, which only confirms what he knew but dreaded. And even though it feels like his heart is tearing apart, even though tears are beginning to in his eyes for the second time tonight, Changmin musters the strength to use that brief silence to speak those two words once more.

Find Juyeon.

“I see,” he finally says, staring fully at the old mage. High Mage Jung, his former mentor, one of the most powerful high mages, looks smaller than Changmin has ever believed him to be – small, weak, helpless as he gazes helplessly at the ground, robes stained with blood. “Well, you may proceed.”

“It’s not a question of whether you’ll permit it,” Bom snarls, bringing his attention back to her. “You’re at our mercy now.”

Find Juyeon.

This time, as the insignia sears its mark into his flesh, Changmin allows a smirk to spread across his face. “I suppose that’s what you might like to think.”

Bom’s snarl only grows harsher in the moonlight, but unlike before, Changmin doesn’t feel fear at the ghoulish twist of her lips. Instead, he takes a last comfort in the harsh burn of the insignia resting against his skin as the knife comes slicing down.

My queen, I’ll see you again, soon.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for changmin and me please don’t kill me)

[remedialpotions]

Relief

It’s my favorite non-holiday today - Ron’s birthday! Happy 41st to my favorite fictional person 🧡

also on AO3

***

The beam of light pierces the room, straight into Hermione’s eyes and through to what feels like the back of her brain. With a wince, she rolls and tries to bury her face in the pillow, seeking the respite of cool linens and darkness, but it’s no use. The headache that had eased in her sleep, though never fully subsided, is back with a vengeance.

England has no business being this sunny this time of year. It’s March; isn’t it meant to be cold and rainy and grey for days on end? Instead, to her great distaste, spring has arrived early.

She tries to sit up, but her limbs are like lead, and for a moment, as the pulsing behind her eyes intensifies, she takes a deep breath and wonders if she should even bother. She’s just in for yet another miserable day, one of struggling to raise her arms enough to wash her hair in the shower, of forcing down dry biscuits to quell the roiling in her stomach, of averting her eyes to avoid the pity in everyone’s gaze. It’s been six straight days of this, and all she wants is to feel better, to be better, and yet she knows that might not happen. She thinks of the Longbottoms in the Janus Thickey Ward, unable to speak or recognize their own child. She knows she’s not that poorly off, not even close. She’s still got her voice, hoarse though it may be, and her mind, and she’s grateful - but what good is her mind if she’s in too much pain to think?

What finally compels her from the bed is basic, simple thirst. She pulls on a dressing gown, some flimsy, silky thing that Fleur has loaned to her, and creeps silently out the door. Stairs are daunting lately: if she moves slowly, her ravaged muscles ache and burn, but if she hurries, the drop between each step sends a jolt right up her spine into her brain. Today, with her head pounding so intensely that it makes her dizzy, she has no choice but to guide herself slowly down the steps, gripping the guardrail the whole way down, and hope her legs don’t give way.

But she makes it eventually, and when she reaches the kitchen, she finds that she isn’t the only one awake. A tea kettle sits in the center of the worktop, beside a jar of sugar with a spoon plunged into the crystals. There’s only one person in the house who takes his tea with sugar, and the very thought imbues Hermione with enough energy to fix her own cup and walk down to the sitting room.

Ron’s nestled into one of the larger armchairs in the room, feet tangled in the rumpled mess of his sleeping bag on the floor in front of him, with a book open in one hand and his mug of tea in the other. With the exception of Harry and Dean’s muffled snores and the waves crashing outside, all is quiet and peaceful. Right there, in that room, is exactly what she needs.

“You’re up early,” she says, just loudly enough for her voice to carry across the room.

Ron turns at the sound and the corners of his lips curve into a smile. “A little less surprise would be nice.”

Hermione takes a few steps towards him. Everything hurts, still, but it’s lessened somehow with the warmth of his voice, the way his features soften at the sight of her and the knowledge that whatever she’s going through, he’s there with her.

“And you’re reading.”

Ron quirks an eyebrow. “Again, a little less surprise-” His words break off, and he tilts his head. “D’you feel all right?”

Hermione sidesteps Harry’s rucksack and shrugs. “About the same.”

With a sympathetic wince, Ron pats the narrow stretch of cushion beside him. “Come and sit.”

Getting herself anywhere is a challenge, even within the walls of the cottage; only by the power of her desire to pay respects to Dobby and the knowledge that Ron would be there to support her did she make it down the garden walk last week. But he draws her to him now, like a magnet, and soon she’s nestling herself into the space between the arm of the chair and his leg. They fit, but very tightly, and it takes everything Hermione has not to swing her legs into his lap.

Instead, she asks, “what are you reading?”

Ron shows her the cover: A Life of Loyalty: The Unique Bond Between Wizards and Their House Elves. “I didn’t know you’d brought this,” he remarks. “Do you secretly read about house elves when the rest of us are sleeping?”

“Maybe,” replies Hermione, coy, which makes Ron chuckle. “Well, I did think it might be useful, Kreacher was involved with the locket, and that poor elf that belonged to Hepzibah Smith, she was the only witness-”

“I know, I know,” interrupts Ron, still smiling fondly at her.

“So why have you started reading it, anyway? Is it just the least boring of all my books?”

“Well, yeah, but no, I…” He takes a long sip of his tea, like he’s stalling for time. “I just wanted to see if it had anything, on, erm…” He swallows another mouthful. “Y’know… funerals.”

Hermione freezes with her teacup halfway to her mouth. “Oh.”

“Just, my family’s never had house elves, and Harry and Dean grew up with Muggles so they wouldn’t really know either. But I just keep thinking about Dobby, and if we did something wrong when we buried him, like…” He looks down at the cover of the book, lower lip sneaking between his teeth. “What if they have, y’know, customs or traditions or things that you’re supposed to do, that we didn’t do - maybe it’s stupid-”

“No, it’s not-”

“But I had to know.”

“Well,” Hermione begins, careful to keep her voice low to avoid waking the others in the room, “I happen to have done extensive research on house elves-”

“Oh, have you?” Ron feigns surprise. “You’ve really kept that quiet-”

“Do you want to hear this or not?”

“Sorry, sorry.” He reaches over and pats her knee. “Go ahead.”

“House elves live quite a long time, they can outlive the families they’re serving which is why they’re often written into wills, but when they don’t…” She pauses, her train of thought off-track, though not due to the ache behind her eyes; Ron is drawing tiny circles on her knee with his fingertips, and this simple touch fills all the space in her brain. “Erm, when they don’t, it’s up to the family they’ve served to decide what’s best. Dobby was free, but he was deeply loyal to Harry, so I expect that he would have wanted…” She stops and sips her tea to fight the lump building in her throat. “Whatever Harry chose for him.”

“Right.” Ron lifts his hand from her knee and rubs the back of his neck, further mussing his sleep-tousled hair. “Good. ‘Cause I just… I don’t want to mess up again.”

Hermione knows he’s thinking back on the past several months, and that he hasn’t stopped beating himself up for all that’s gone wrong. Even with things that aren’t his fault, he manages to find a way to blame himself. He can’t seem to see how much she needs him… so she decides to show him.

In the cramped space of the armchair, it takes just the slightest shift for her to lean against him and let her weary head drop against his shoulder.

“You haven’t messed up,” she says, craning her neck up to look at him. Normally this would hurt - her neck has been stiff and tense, just like every other bit of her - but when their eyes meet, she decides it isn’t so bad.

His arm eases slowly around her shoulder, and his elbow bends so that his hand rests against her hair.

“This all right?” he asks, words coming out in a breath. “I know your head’s been bothering you.”

“Yeah, it’s - it’s nice, actually.”

His fingertips move through her curls, just barely grazing her scalp, and when they brush over her temple, she can’t help but gasp in shock. She’s so accustomed to pain that she’s forgotten what pleasure is like.

“Sorry! Did that hurt? I’m so-“

Ron pulls his arm away, but Hermione grabs his hand and tugs it back into place.

“No, it felt good,” she assures him, nestling further into his side. “It’s helping, it’s - it’s the only thing that’s helped in days.”

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t stop.”

As he resumes his slow, soft movements, she closes her eyes, but not before catching a glimpse of the contentment on his face.

She’s not better yet… but she knows now that she will be.

[passable-talent]

part 2 for the sith reader plleeeaasee????? im loving it

part one here

I’m aware of the memability of the youngling massacre and i know i promised to not make reader/anakin redeemable but,,, im gonna do it anyway. strategically it doesnt make sense to murder the next generation and also reader is constantly trying to make anakin believe they’re doing the right thing. reader doesn’t have the luxury of saying ‘do it or padme dies’. they’ve got to be smarter than palpatine was. 

Good news: you’re a Sith Lord. Palpatine is gone. Anakin’s on your side. Also, he loves you, that’s good. 

Bad news: you now have so much more on your plate. You’ve got to activate the clones to kill the Jedi, give a speech before the Senate, accompany Anakin to Mustafar to get rid of the Separatists, there was just so much to do, and in so little time. 

So, no matter how you wished to stay in his embrace forever, you pulled from Anakin’s arms, brushing back his hair sweetly. 

“Love, we need to start moving against the Jedi,” you said softly, righting his very disheveled robes. “You have to go to the temple. I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?”

“I can’t kill any Jedi,” he said, breaking your gaze. In response you hugged him tightly, comfortingly. You’d known he would worry about that.

“I know, I know, I’m not asking you to.” His loyalty to you was strong, but you knew it was not yet unbreakable. “The Younglings- they can be saved. I’ll take care of the Jedi, but you need to make sure they’re safe.” He nodded, fixing the last few details of his tousled robes, and kissed you one last time before he left the room.

Which left you alone, with your thoughts, and some very knotted hair. 

It took a moment to clean yourself up as well, but soon enough you could take a seat at Palpatine’s desk, calling up the communications you’d seen under his fingers a thousand times. The Clones’ slave chips would take over their will the moment you gave the order, and you bit your lip for a moment, wishing you could be there in person to see it all. But you had something much more important to do with your time. 

You pulled your hood over your head and opened your communications to all of the Clone Squadron Leaders. 

“Execute Order Sixty Six,” you said, and the words burned on your tongue. 

You didn’t really have time to waste, you see. You had to meet Anakin at the temple, ‘find’ the evidence you’d plant, rush back to the Senate, then make it to Mustafar. You had a very full schedule for the afternoon, and yet- you couldn’t help it. 

You leaned back in the chair, closed your eyes, and opened yourself to the Force. You reached out across the galaxy, feeling into the light, and the dark. Through it, you felt a thousand Jedi dying. And nothing, well, almost nothing, had ever felt so good. 

The Jedi Killer, you’d been, in the Clone Wars. And though the generation of them did not die by your saber, it was your order, your decision, your words, that had brought them down. You weren’t just a killer. You were a crusader. 

Once you’d gotten your breath back, you pulled up a different communication, one wired to a meeting hall on Mustafar, full of people you despised. Nute Gunray, Shu Mai, truly awful people. People who had come to power, and did nothing with it but collect wealth. Disgusting, truly- when one comes to power, they’re meant to wield it, just as you were. But these people only cared about their trade, their capitalism. Pitiful.

“Viceroy,” you said with a dark smile, eyes hidden beneath your cloak. 

“Lord Errar,” Nute acknowledged you with a bit of surprise in his voice, “Where is Lord Sidious?” 

“He has just a bit to take care of in the Senate,” you said with a wicked smile. Nothing made your soul spark like a well-crafted lie. “Once that’s taken care of, I will pay you a visit, to give you your reward for your help. When the night is over, my friends, you’ll be left in peace.” Giving them no time to ask questions, you closed the communication, delivering your last word to an empty office. 

“Pieces.” 

The last thing you needed to do before you left was nice and easy- the press of a button. Hidden away in the far corner of the Chancellor’s desk was a button meant only for emergencies, which is certainly why you used it now, of course. The death of the chancellor was an emergency, wasn’t it?

You called a senate meeting. 

Once that was done, you knew you had only an hour before the senators would be expecting you, so you found your saber and hurried to your speeder. It didn’t take long to get to the Temple, where you had sent Anakin. He had rescued the younglings from their training, in the midst of the battlegrounds that the Temple had become, and gotten them away to their chambers, in the care of droids. He met you in the center of the temple, Jedi and Clones alike scattered around the floor. So caught up in his mission, he hadn’t noticed how long you’d been at the temple, working your way through the files. 

“I told them that I’d come back when it was safe,” he said, “The droids will take care of them.” 

“Good,” you breathed, giving him a quick kiss under the ear. You took his hand, and slowly tugged him toward the communications center of the temple. “I have to show you something.” You pulled up the files you’d been painstakingly preparing for months, crafting them, ensuring they looked as though they were written by Jedi fingers.

On them were plans from the other side of the Clone Wars, supporting the Separatists. They held details about the destruction of the Senate, the assassination of the Chancellor, without even knowing he was a Sith. And of course, your magnum opus, the most perfect thing you could’ve included- the passage that described how the Jedi would allow the Dark Side of the Force, the Sith, to rise in power so that the Jedi could shift the blame for the war to the Sith. This, you knew, would hurt Anakin most of all- that the Jedi had completely ignored their duty to fight the Dark. 

“I just don’t understand,” you said softly, shaking your head, darkness pulsing deep in your chest with a beautiful, well-crafted lie. “I thought- I thought that Sidious was behind the war. But even he was being manipulated by the Jedi, he was going to be gotten rid of so that the Jedi could control the Senate.” Anakin couldn’t look away from the holograms. 

“Anakin, I’m so sorry,” you breathed, lacing your arms around the closest of his, hoping to give him even the slightest comfort, as he accepted that the people who’d raised and trained him were so evil. Apparently.

“There’s some good news, though,” you said, motioning to one of the holograms, “We now know where the Separatist leaders are. You and I- we can go...” you paused, seeming to stumble to find the proper word. “...Remove them.” Finally breaking his eyes away from the holo, he nodded, pulling you just a bit closer. 

You kissed his cheek, giving him a moment to grieve.

“I should inform the Senate,” you said, “They’ve never met me, but I was the Chancellor’s apprentice. They’ll respect me.” His flesh hand came to your face, and you leaned into it, closing your eyes for the briefest of moments to drown in his affection. 

“Be careful,” he told you, and you nodded.

“Can you-” you said, shaking your head briefly, trying to be gentle with him. “Come with me, please. I don’t want you to stay here by yourself.” He nodded, and together you walked to your speeder, taking it to the Senate hall. 

And this- this was to be your masterpiece. 

“Senators-” you began, aligning your shoulders in a way that had you looking powerful enough to command their attention, but nervous enough they wouldn’t suspect you for foul play. “I’m afraid I have some very disturbing news for you.” 

"I was an apprentice to the late Chancellor Palpatine, a gifted and respected leader who guided our republic through the first war in generations. I’m saddened to inform you, though, that this war was not what you’ve been told.” Whispers rippled through the senate’s hall.

“The Jedi, to whom this Senate entrusted the peace of the galaxy, had given power to the Separatists, in order to stir up the war. Earlier this very day, four Jedi masters ambushed myself and the Chancellor in his office...” you trailed away, bringing up emotion to stir their sympathy.

“I only escaped thanks to one young Jedi who still represents what the Jedi Order was meant to. The Chancellor was not so lucky.” You felt it as grief rolled through the room, and fought away a smile. They believed your every word- of course they did.

“On the battlefields, the horror of the Jedi and their plans were realized, and many of them were executed for crimes against the republic, following the Chancellor’s dying wishes. His other...” You shook your head, as though disbelieving what you were about to propose. 

“His other wish on his deathbed was that I carry on his work. That I guide the Republic into a future of peace.” The energy in the room shifted, but not toward the negative. No, they trusted you. They were considering giving your former mentor’s power to you. They just needed a little more. 

“I know you’ve never seen me before, you have no reason to trust me. I implore you, honorable senate, to believe me. I will see it that this Republic is capable of recognizing traitors, as the Jedi had become. I will see to it that the remaining traitorous Jedi are hunted down and executed. I promise to lead this Senate into the future!” 

The cheer went up. 

“I vote to reorganize the Republic, into something stronger, more powerful, more capable of destroying threats to the peace!” 

The energy was beautiful, lifting you to levels of bliss you had never felt before. You were to be the most powerful Sith there had ever been, controlling the Senate, the Republic, the Sith, the Jedi. 

The Republic. Such a name didn’t have quite the ring you wanted. You were to be, what, Chancellor? No, no, that wouldn’t do. 

“Together, we will create the first Galactic Empire- a beacon of hope for the galaxy, the strongest protector of the peace that the galaxy has ever seen!” 

Emperor. Now that was a title you were proud to carry. 

“We have to hurry,” you told Anakin as you strode from the meeting hall, “The Separatists might hear word that we know their location. We’ve got to get to them before they move.” 

They hadn’t- they waited, like the proper pawns they were, for the reward you had promised them. Such a reward came in one of two forms:

Anakin’s saber, or yours. 

You had planned out everything that would happen this day, everywhere you would go, every bit of it. You knew every step, and were never caught off guard. 

Until you discovered Obi-Wan Kenobi waiting outside of your ship.

You had to make a decision fast- how you were going to play this. Obi-Wan was a talented Jedi, and possibly the one person who you’d be incapable of manipulating, thanks to that strong Jedi code. He was also the only person who Anakin might be loyal to, over you. 

So, you let Anakin have his reunion, as though you hadn’t even noticed Obi-Wan. 

You stayed close, but you hadn’t thought to make Anakin realize he’d have to stand opposed to Obi-Wan, so you had to wait for the proper moment to interject yourself. 

“Anakin, are you alright? There’s been so much happening- I was so worried.” You knew Obi-Wan had noticed you, but for all of Obi-Wan’s faults, at least he knew that you were no threat to Anakin. 

“I’m fine,” Anakin told him, and you recognized what he was feeling- he was pushing away his emotions, as the Jedi Order had always told him to. 

“Master Yoda has lost contact with Master Windu- we don’t know what happened. Do you?” 

And there it was. The moment you’d been waiting for.

“Stop,” you groaned, crossing your arms. “You know exactly what Windu was doing. You know exactly where he was today.” You stepped forward, putting yourself almost between Obi-Wan and Anakin. 

“No,” Obi-Wan said, astonished by your presence. He’d known you were there, but something about you now almost reminded him that you were barely an adult, just like Anakin. “No, sith apprentice, I don’t know what happened.” 

“That’s a lie!” you shouted, not yet bringing up your saber. You put your arm in front of Anakin, as though protecting him from Obi-Wan. “You’re done lying to him!”

“Excuse me?”

“Mace Windu along with three other Jedi masters were sent to murder the Chancellor of the Republic so that the Jedi could assume control! Anakin and I found the plans in the Jedi temple ourselves!” Obi-Wan’s expression fell, and he didn’t look away from you.

“What are you talking about?” 

You shared a glance with Anakin, and suddenly, you had an idea. 

“They didn’t even tell you?” You whispered, turning your gaze to the floor as though you were considering. You were, though, honestly- there was no reason why this needed to end with Obi-Wan dead, not if you could reel him in just as cleanly as you did Anakin. And if you failed, then to Anakin it would feel incredibly genuine that Obi-Wan would need to die, ensuring his loyalty either way.

You brought your gaze to Anakin’s, and offered him the slightest pitiful smile.

“Maybe he can be trusted,” you said, offering him the hope that his master was redeemable. Lifting your chin as though gathering your wits, you turned to Obi-Wan, something under your ribcage sparking again with the love of a good plan seeing itself through. 

“I’m sorry to tell you this, Master, but the Jedi had been plotting the death of Chancellor Palpatine, and once he was gone, they were going to assume control of the Senate. Your masters have been behind this war, all along. It’s all very-” You shook your head. “Despicable.” 

“It can’t be true,” Obi-Wan said, his voice stealing air from his lungs, his chest seeming to deflate, and this couldn’t have possibly worked out better. 

“We found the plans, in the Temple,” Anakin said, and Obi-Wan looked at his former Padawan. 

“I assure you, Master,” you said, lowering your head, “I just want the galaxy in peace. I know you aren’t inclined to believe me, I understand...” It occurred to you that if he knew the whole of the story, he might be swayed toward you.

“Anakin and I are a Dyad,” you told him, and Anakin’s entire presence in the Force pulsed with surprise. “I always thought that it meant we were destined to be enemies, but I guess the future is harder to predict than that.” Obi-Wan studied you briefly, looking over your face, trying to find any hint of dishonesty. He underestimated you- you breathed dishonesty, it was in your bloodstream. Why would he be able to see it on you?

“You are a sith, are you not?” Obi-Wan asked, presumably weighing whether or not he could trust you. 

“I was abandoned by my master, because of how I felt for Anakin,” you told him, and none of it was a flat lie. That was your specialty- you were surprisingly honest, if one listened with a close enough ear. You reached out to take Anakin’s hand, an unabashed show of affection that felt quite teenaged. “I just want him to be safe.”

“If I can trust you, (Y/N), which I’m not sure I can,” Obi-Wan said, “I’ll help restore the galaxy in every way I can.” 

-🦌 Roe

part 3

[mrssimply]

Oh my god that angsty silverdyne prompt... It was PERFECT but oh, so painful. Thank you so much for writing it, nobody has ever written Kerry's reaction to Johnny's death and it's such an event... But pls we can't leave it at that, we need the boys being happy and loving each other ;-; So if you could write the prompt “I can never seem to get enough of you.” with Johnny x Kerry pls <3

Hello anon, thank you for prompting me :D !

So, I feel like I broke your heart with that last fill about Johnny and Kerry. I'm more than happy to make it all better!

BUT, happy and loving each other in their case can, in my opinion, only happen if they change. In game, we are clearly shown that it took Kerry more than fifty years to change (and really, he didn't that much until V). As for Johnny, he is shown to be getting desperately radical before dying. I ask you anon, how could they ever be happy together in those circumstances?

If Johnny went to therapy.

This is really my point of view that you can't count on the people you love to help you get better. It's not their roles or responsibility, they are friend and companions, they can support you, but getting better is something you have to do alone, for yourself. It can go faster with professional help though. So this is what will happen here.

But then I wondered, what could make Johnny go to therapy? And settled on the most tragic of my ideas ahah.

AND ONCE AGAIN THIS PROMPT GOT AWAY FROM ME! I really must stop, those are not prompt fills anymore! Anyway. Here it is, and I really hope you'll enjoy it :)

Oh and, it's NSFW ;)

Te voir jouir et mourir.

To see you come and then die.

“Fuck off Ker!”

And Johnny shoved Kerry away from him with force. Distantly, he knew his friend had not done anything wrong, but he was also in such a state of anger that he was past any thinking capacity. He was enraged, burning with acidic violence, blood pumping in his veins with adrenaline.

Kerry stumbled backward with a grunt of pain and rammed into the guardrail harshly. Then there was a moment suspended in time. It stretched into eternity even as it probably lasted only a micro-second. The old and rusted protective barrier ceded under Kerry’s weight.

It should have surprised no one, this was a squat, abandoned for a long time. It was bound to happen.

Kerry gasped as his momentum carried him over the threshold of the balcony and gravity pulled him in. Johnny watched him fall backward like in slow motion. His heart stopped beating, his lungs seized and a strange sound escaped his throat as he jerked forward in a futile attempt to catch Kerry.

His friend’s eyes were huge and panicked as he felt himself drop, inexorably, to the ground.

There was a sickening impact noise a second after. And then silence. Until Johnny screamed.

“KERRY!”

---

Nancy slapped him when she arrived at the hospital, and then for good measure, slammed him against the wall, twice. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her features deformed in a snarl.

“You,” she started, but it seemed her rage had taken her beyond words, “YOU!” she repeated, and spit flew to Johnny’s lips. He let her, feeling strangely detached. He wasn’t sure what he was doing here anyway, but he had been taken in the whirlwind of urgency after the… accident.

“He could have DIED!” she continued. Behind her, Denny was watching the scene unfold with her face set, jaw clenching. She had no pity for Silverhand.

They weren’t his friends anymore, Johnny distantly understood. He had known, but it was still strange to experience it. Their loyalty was to Kerry, first and foremost; he had been tolerated in their attempt at reforming Samurai because Kerry had wanted it. Kerry, who couldn’t help but cling to Johnny, again and again. Kerry, Kerry, Kerry… The name echoed in a loop inside Johnny’s head.

“Now listen to me, you pathetic little piece of shit,” Nancy continued. Had she always been that strong, or was it a by-product of going through prison, or her new journalistic activity? “Either you set yourself straight, or you disappear. I won’t watch him get hurt because of you ever again.”

Johnny’s eyes wandered beyond her, to the white hospital door, behind which Kerry rested, pumped full of pain killers and waiting for surgery.

“You hear me, Silverhand?” Nancy shook him, and her sharp nailed hands gripped his chin. “You need help Johnny, you fuckin need to work on your anger! You nearly killed him! Your only friend.” She spat again, voice dripping with disdain.

He slapped her hand away, and didn’t look at her as he made his way out of the hospital.

---

Johnny had tried time and time to push Kerry away. But first of all, Kerry was very persistent, and second… Second, Johnny reflected, there were few things as pretty as Kerry’s eyes when he smiled. That had always been a constant, since the day they had met: the way his eyes crinkled, how the dimples of his cheeks deepened, how he pinched the tip of his tongue between his teeth when he was teasing or mischievous.

Then, there had been other things: when he had let his hair grow and dark locks would messily fell over his face, clinging to the corner of his lips with sweat. How he would catch them with a finger absently. How his voice got all raw after a concert, dropping an octave and vibrating in his ribcage and against Johnny’s skin as they smoked next to each other. The way his fingers ran over the cords, absent to the world as he dived into his creative trance and focused only on the sounds of his guitar.

One day Johnny had finally ceded, a night when he had felt particularly maudlin and Kerry had been there, cheering him up, calming him down, giving him an outlet for his depression other than drugs and picking fights. He had said, falsely casual and just a hint desperate. “Come on, Johnny, a hole is a hole, fuck me, it will make you feel good, I promise.”

Maybe it had been the pragmatism of the statement, an excuse on which he could fall back on the morrow, a way of keeping this safe. But the moment his cock had been buried inside his friend, Johnny had known that he could never, would never, get enough of Kerry.

And this was exactly what he had feared deep down: attachment, emotions, feelings. A glimpse of happiness, the possibility of an ordinary life, detached from all the violence and the anger he constantly felt. But his anger was everything to Johnny. His lifeline when he had been deployed in New-Mexico, when the NCPD had fired on the homeless riots, when Alt had died… And Kerry was the anti-matter to that very material anger. Johnny couldn’t afford that.

---

Strangely, there was a text from Nancy waiting for Johnny when he turned his phone on after charging it, some hours later. It was a name, an address and a phone number. And a one-line comment “this man can help you get better.”

Get better.

The narcissist part of Johnny scoffed at that: there was nothing to better. But then a flash of Kerry’s face as he fell backward broke through his mind and a sound like broken glass ringed in his head.

The threw the phone away and went down in search of his local dealer.

---

Dr Gayet was a man of about sixty, on the short side of average in height for a male, with clear blue eyes and the perpetual ghost of a smile to the corner of his mouth. Something about him made Johnny relax, or maybe it was something in the air. He breathed shallowly out of suspicion.

The first session had been excruciating. Johnny had sweat like he had run a marathon, battling every instinct inside him that had screamed at him to run. Johnny would never had thought that talking about his emotions would be such a physical feat.

He had vowed not to come back after that, and buried himself in a frankly frightening amount of drugs and alcohol. Of which he had emerged right on time for his second session.

After two months of that strange dance he subjected himself to every week, it became a habit like any other. Johnny went, talked a bit, but mostly Dr Gayet helped him through meditation exercises to learn how to manage the fury that gripped him too often. They also replayed moments of his week where he had felt that famous all-consuming anger and Johnny had to play the scene differently and try to go through the scenario without getting angry.

It was dumb. It wasn’t working. He continued to go. There was some sort of morbid curiosity at seeing himself go through therapy and see it fail. Like everything else he had tried.

---

They still hadn’t talked about Kerry. He hadn’t talked to Kerry for that matter. And the man himself had not reached out to him. Johnny had learned through Henry, who had decided on a neutral stance on the subject, that the surgery had gone well, that Kerry would walk again with no problem. It would take time, but he would recover completely.

Strangely, that didn’t change anything for Johnny. He continued to go to therapy each week.

His dealer saluted him from afar, saying he had the usual for him if he wanted. Johnny passed; his stash was still half-full.

---

After about six months, Johnny finally uttered: “There is that… Friend. I’ve known him for a long time. He was always here for me. I treated him like shit but he kept coming back. He is in love with me.”

And there, Johnny stopped, eyes defiantly daring Dr. Gayet to ask if this was reciprocated. But the man said nothing, only smiled and cocked his head to the side a fraction. It was, Johnny knew, a signal to go on.

“One night, we fucked. I wasn’t really even into guys. Well, I… A body is a body. I have preferences but…” he shrugged, “he wasn’t really my type, honestly. And I knew he wanted more than that. But after a while he… wore me down and I…”

Dr Gayet stayed silent. It was, Johnny had discovered, a fucking efficient weapon. Every time, the rocker vowed not to say anything, and every time…

“We slept together. I said it would only happen once.” He snorted, “it happened again and again. More and more frequently and I… I couldn’t… stay away. Get enough… I can’t get enough.” He finished in a breath, looking out of the large tinted window. The office was in a rather nice part of Little China, it had a view over the river.

“One night, we were at that party. It was in a squat. We fought. I don’t remember what about. I think he had been looking at me funny.”

“Funny how,” Dr Gayet asked. He always seemed to ask questions about things that Johnny thought were of little significance, and let silence stretch when the patient was sure he would comment.

“Funny like he was pitying me. It made me mad.”

“Why was he looking at you like that?”

“Because I had just come out of one of the rooms. I had just fucked a girl, I think. He always does that when I go with other people. Get all jealous.”

“You said pity, not jealousy.”

“He does that to hide that he is hurt.”

“Ah. So you know it hurts him to see you with other people.”

“He would love for us to be… Together. Boyfriends. Partners.” Johnny amended because the term boyfriend made him cringe.

“But aren’t you? Partners?”

“What? No!” Johnny scoffed.

“Well, you are part of the same band, he is your friend, by your own words, and you even have intercourse. What more would you do, if you were partners, as you said?”

Johnny stayed silent for a minute before he crossed his arms.

“I can’t be exclusive.” He said instead. It was important to state this, he felt, not really knowing why.

“Would he ask that of you?”

“No.” Johnny breathed. “Not if he knew I would come back to him, always.”

“Would you?”

Yes. I did. I do. I will.

Johnny clenched his hands over his knees and shifted, lips firmly closed.

“Actually, this is not what I wanted to talk about.” The rocker pronounced with difficulty after a long moment. “What I wanted to say is… That he made me mad, and I pushed him. He hit the guardrail but it broke. And he fell. Two stories high.”

Dr. Gayet raised an eyebrow, and his eyes clouded with something that Johnny didn’t want to name. He would have preferred judgement or pity, but it wasn’t either. It was empathy. Like Johnny had done nothing wrong, like it was understandable that he had nearly killed his best-friend. His partner.

“I…” Johnny started, lips trembling. But his throat closed up, and sweat covered his skin as a terrible internal battle took place. Something wanted to come out, but Johnny was sure as hell not letting it. He clamped his mouth shut tightly, teeth grinding. He breathed shallowly as he pushed it back but it still ringed in his head.

I was fucking scared. I thought I had lost him. Like Alt.

And he was not talking about Alt.

But then he opened his mouth.

“Nearly ten years ago, I had a girlfriend,” he started and if Dr. Gayet was surprised by the change of subject, he didn’t show it. He only repositioned himself, like he knew this was going to take time. And that he was ready for it.

---

A week later, he stood in front of Kerry’s door, unannounced. He raised his hand to knock, but the door opened before he could. A man with a charming smile stood in the doorframe, head half-turned back as he said “Bye, Ker, see you next week.”

They nearly collided, and Mister Charm froze for a second before the smile was back full force.

“Hey buddy, you looking for someone?”

Johnny breathed in, held for five seconds like Dr. Gayet had taught him before he released. And felt the anger recede. It had filled him at the sight of a strange man in Kerry’s home before he remembered that Kerry could do whatever he wanted. But fuck if it didn’t leave a trail of acid deep inside his belly.

“Kerry,” Johnny pronounced, jaw rigid with the effort not to bite the man’s head off.

His voice had carried over it seemed, for a second later said man appeared in the short corridor. He was limping, but stood on his own. The sight brought a strange mix of feeling to the visitor.

“Johnny?”

There was a stalemate moment before the unknown man broke the silence.

“Anyone you know, Ker?” he asked, his tone was a tad too protective for Johnny’s liking. And what right did he have to call Kerry like that? Maybe Johnny wasn’t ready to see his friend. A strong part of him was on the verge of turning heel and strategically retreat, when Kerry’s voice declared:

“Yeah. Old friend of mine.”

But his tone well indicated that friend was a very generous term at the moment.

“Okayyy…” the man trailed, “Should I – ”

“You can go,” both Kerry and Johnny said at the same moment and the guy took the hint. The rocker watched with vicious satisfaction as he frowned and his eyes reflected his disappointment at being so readily dismissed.

With a last moment of hesitation, he exited the living unit and brushed past Johnny, glancing at him unhappily.

“See you,” he said, but Kerry didn’t even bother replying as his eyes were still fixed on Johnny.

They waited until he was down to the elevator before Kerry turned his back and retreated inside his flat. The other man followed, the door hissing close behind him.

“Who was that?” Johnny barked the moment Kerry was seated on his couch, getting the supplies to roll a joint. His friend stopped moving and slowly lifted his face to look at him with an already fed-up expression.

“My PT.”

“Does he fuck all his patients?”

And the room filled with such tension that a knife could have cut right through it. Kerry opened his mouth, expression deformed by a mounting rage, but Johnny stalled him.

“No, sorry, I… Sorry.” He said, voice trailing off to a whisper. Kerry closed his mouth and his frown turned quizzical.

With a sigh, Johnny crossed the remaining distance and sat on the couch, close to the other man. He pushed his metal hand in his hair, grimaced slightly and took a deep breath. During all that, Kerry hadn’t moved and was looking at Johnny with a cautious expression.

“How are you?” the rocker asked and after a second of stunned silence, Kerry laughed out loud.

“What the fuck?! Who are you and what have you done with Johnny?”

But the man in question saw it for what it was: protection. He snorted and shrugged.

“Need help with that?” he changed course, pointing to the blunt still half-prepared in Kerry’s hand. With a little jolt, the recovering man started to roll it again and they stayed in silence until it was ready. Kerry lighted it, taking deep puffs before passing it to Johnny without a word.

“Why are you here, Johnny?” Kerry finally asked after the joint was nearly halfway through.

A million possible answers rattled inside Johnny mouth, but the one that won out surprised even himself.

“I’ve started seeing someone.”

Kerry blinked before his expression soured.

“No, I mean, a therapist…” but when that didn’t clear Kerry’s expression, Johnny amended again: “I’m going to therapy.”

And the second man gazed at him with a strange expression. He stood up and went to open the balcony door, but didn’t get out. He stayed by the opening, smoking silently.

“Ok, and?” he prompted after a while.

Johnny leaned back on the couch, at loss as to how he wanted this discussion to go. It wasn’t how he had planned it. When nothing came, a frown passed over Kerry’s features before he schooled it.

“It’s been six months, Johnny. Where were you? Where were you when I woke up with both legs broken, and multiple fractures, all because of you? Where were you when I went to surgery? When I woke up again and I couldn’t move at all? Where were you through all these months of fucking PT?!”

His voice had risen as he said it, until he had worked himself to panting breaths.

“You didn’t write, or call,” Johnny replied in a neutral voice. That statement stunned his friend into more silence. And then:

“Get the fuck out.”

When Johnny didn’t move an iota, Kerry advanced over him, gaze thunderous.

“GET THE FUCK OUT!”

“I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT TO DO!” Johnny screamed back, getting to his feet too, frustrated with all his answers. “I…” he started before clamping down again. Taking a deep breath and counting to five once again, he forced himself to relax. “Nancy told me to either disappear or get my shit straight so I… I went to therapy.” He finished lamely.

“SO WHAT?!” Kerry screamed again, “WHY THE FUCK SHOULD I CARE?”

This was getting out of hand, and Johnny found himself completely at loss about what to do. So he went back to his oldest strategy when dealing with hysterical inputs: derail them with sex.

He caught Kerry’s wrist in his metal hand to pull him in, and kissed him. The man made a muffled sound and started pushing Johnny away with all his strength. But even when Kerry had been on top of his game, he’d never stood a chance against Johnny in that department. He struggled, even thumped his fist against Johnny’s shoulder, to no avail. For his part, Johnny was forcefully tilting his head to the side with his free hand and walking them backward until they hit the wall leading to the bedroom. He thrusted his hips against Kerry, which made him gasp.

People always talked about how crazy Johnny was, and how much he needed therapy. But really, between the two of them it was a tight competition, because Kerry was just as fucked in the head. He only ever fell in love with toxic people, liked it too rough in the bedroom, and had absolutely no-sense of preservation. But right now it suited Johnny just fine because it meant that Kerry was not fighting him anymore, but grinding back against him.

The kiss gentled a fraction, if only because it was no longer a battle. Johnny took the opportunity to deepen it, brushing his tongue against Kerry’s lips until the man opened and welcomed him in, like always.

There, Johnny thought, this he knew, this he understood. He knew how to make it good for Kerry, he understood how to drive him crazy, but in a good sense this time. Kerry’s arms went around Johnny’s shoulders as he moaned softly and thrusted against his friend lazily.

Then he sighed, relaxed further against the wall before he put a silver of space between them.

“I’m still mad at you.”

“I know,” Johnny whispered back, “You’re right to be.”

“I’ve not forgiven you,”

“Yeah, ok.”

“Now, fuck me.” Kerry concluded with a corner smile.

Johnny closed his eyes and let his forehead rest against Kerry, feeling like a coil inside him had been released. Tension flew from his body, one he hadn’t even realized had been hampering him. Softly, his hands trailed along Kerry’s sides and he hoisted his companion up, who obediently laced his legs behind his back.

Holding him like this, Johnny walked them to the bed, where he deposited Kerry before leaning over him, starting to kiss him again. Slowly, he let his lips trail along Kerry’s chin, then his neck, nipping at the tendon. Bellow, the other man was strangely silent. He responded to the kisses, the touches, but it was like something was off. With a frown, Johnny retreated and their gazes crossed.

“What are you doing, Johnny?” Kerry murmured, and his tone was cautious.

“Fucking you?” the other man replied with irony. He could tell where this was going but he really didn’t want to talk about it. Kerry snorted, a disbelieving sound like he was seeing right through Johnny’s bullshit.

“This is not fucking,” he felt the need to inform the man above him.

“Shut-up, Ker.” And for good measure, Johnny covered his mouth with his once more. At the same time, he pushed his partner’s shirt up, until Kerry had to sat-up to remove it.

Johnny paused.

Kerry’s body was covered in new scars. Some were clearly faded, other were still too red for Johnny’s liking. There was one, nearly perfectly round to the left of his belly button and Johnny had a flash of the metal tube that had transpierced Kerry. He looked downward. It had been Kerry’s saving grace that he had fallen in a pile of soft trash. But among the pile had been that fucking metallic tube.

“Overseeing your work?” Kerry taunted in a biting tone that badly hid his nervousness. Eyes flickering up, Johnny bent to kiss the scars and Kerry shivered, relaxing back in the bed. Johnny mouthed at all the healing wounds, the old that he knew well, and the new that he was discovering.

Until he found another type of marks. This one was not from the accident. It clearly was a love bite, right next to Kerry’s right nipple. And as he rid Kerry of his pants too, he found others: faint traces of fingers around his hips, and two twin marks on his left thigh. His eyes clouded with anger once again, turning his touches possessive.

“Jealous?” Kerry taunted. Anger was shimmering again in his eyes, and he was just waiting for an occasion to fight Johnny.

“Yes,” said man replied simply and that made the anger in Kerry’s eyes evaporate, leaving space for more confusion. Johnny didn’t leave him more room to think and slithered against Kerry to cover the love-bites with his own.

“You’re a fucking slut, Ker. My little slut.” He added as his finger pushed into the marks on Kerry’s thigh, making him groan and arch back softly. Johnny tongued at the juncture between leg and pelvis, his cheek rubbing against Kerry’s hardening cock, and leaving beard burns on the smooth dark skin. Fuck he had missed this.

Kerry was thrusting up shallowly, hands fisting in his pillow as he watched Johnny get closer to his dick with baited breath. He groaned long and deep when at least, his friend took him between his lips.

Johnny sucked him off in long and lazy strokes of tongue, using his hand to reach the base of Kerry’s cock, twisting on the rise and each time, Kerry’s hips trembled and inched up, like he couldn’t stop himself.

Johnny let him go after a while and kissed right above the patch of pubes.

“Lube and condom, Ker,” he asked. And as a testament to the previous activities having taken place in this bed, both items were right by the pillows. Although he tried to contain it, the thought that another man had fucked Kerry maybe less than an hour ago had Johnny’s blood boiling. He opened the bottle jerkily and was less delicate than he had initially wanted when he pushed his first finger into Kerry. But the man only moaned and arched back, pushing against the finger with abandon. He was still wet and a bit lose, so Johnny rammed his second finger in, letting his anger guide his gesture. He crocked both digits, massaging Kerry’s prostate with no warning and no finesse.

“Huh, fuck, no, Johnny,” Kerry babbled as his legs fell open and he fucked himself on Johnny’s fingers like there was no tomorrow.

“No? Can’t take it? Too much?” Johnny couldn’t help but taunt. He didn’t leave Kerry any occasion to respond, taking his cock back into his mouth and indeed, only a long groan made it out of Kerry’s throat.

Johnny was merciless, letting the habitual anger simmer inside him, pushing him to get rougher with his partner. Suddenly he wanted to make Kerry come like this before taking him, forcing him to withstand the hypersensitivity that came with orgasm as he would ram his cock in.

With a low growl, he tightened his metal hand over Kerry’s hips, gripping his skin until he was sure it would bruise and cover the PT’s own marks.

“Ah, Johnny, Johnny stop, I’ll come, I’ll…” the man bellow stuttered and at the price of great effort, Johnny stilled, letting go of Kerry’s cock.

They were both panting but for different reasons. Kerry was coming back from his near orgasm while Johnny tried to reign in his violent want. He watched Kerry’s eyes shimmer in the half dark before the musician covered them with his arm. Tutting, Johnny caught the elbow and forced Kerry to look at him.

Slowly, he started moving his fingers inside again, but gentler, as he concentrated on Kerry’s face to drink all the mictro-expressions of pleasure flickering over his features. Eyes half lidded, Kerry threw his head back and opened his lips.

“Johnny, please. I want you, need you, inside me, now.” He whispered.

“How is it best for you?” Johnny asked as he breached Kerry with a third finger. Between pants and soft mewls, Kerry barely heard his question, and it took ten good seconds before it registered. Looking at Johnny with a strange expression, he turned gingerly on his belly and put a pillow under his hips.

“Like this.”

Johnny kissed his shoulders, and once again, discovered the canvas of Kerry’s skin, marred by scars, and yet other love-bites. Johnny didn’t even blame the guy, he knew how intense fucking Kerry could get, and how by the end, anyone would want to sink his teeth into his skin and mark him. But he hated the bruises all the same.

While Kerry got comfortable, he pulled the condom on and generously added lube over it. Then he trailed his lips down Kerry’s spine and back up again, before he gently lowered himself on his friend and guided his heavy cock between Kerry’s ass cheeks.

“Alright?”

“Fuckin get on with it,” Kerry growled, but his voice was trembling with emotion. Johnny nuzzled his neck and gently bit his earlobe as he pushed inside. They groaned in unison and Johnny would have been ashamed of the sound that left his throat, nearly a sob, if Kerry hadn’t uttered the same wrecked moan.

He thrusted inside the other man in small increments, legs bracketing Kerry’s, whole body covering the caramel skin of his friend.

Panting softly, he pushed Kerry’s hair out of the way and licked his sweaty nape before nipping and finally biting the skin as he started moving in long lascivious pushes and pulls. Under him, Kerry sagged, opened his legs more and tilted his pelvis back to maximize the penetration.

Johnny went very slow, pausing between his thrusts to continue kissing Kerry’s skin. And the man below was letting out the softest keens, a far cry from how loud he could get when roughly fucked, but all the more honest for it. His face was cocked to the side, allowing Johnny to see part of his expression of pleasure. Eyes scrunched, lips open and his tongue pushing against the bottom teeth. He was so, so beautiful.

“Fuck,” Johnny cursed low, as the sight had him snapping his hips a bit more powerfully, and it made Kerry moan in a high-pitched voice and utter: “there, please.”

So Johnny shifted and took a handful of Kerry’s hair in one hand, forcing him to arch back more, and curled his hand around Kerry’s chest, metal hand splayed over his throat. And like this, he snapped his hips forward and relished in the wrecked groan that hurtled out of Kerry’s mouth.

He kept at it, abs contracting with the effort, and maintained the cadence purposefully slow. And watched Kerry unravel under him: eyes opened, full of tears and imploring as his breath left him each time Johnny pushed in with pinpoint accuracy.

When Kerry let out a long keen, Johnny stopped and instead undulated his hips in a circle that ended with yet another thrust forward. And he felt it, how Kerry was contracting around him, how his whole body started shaking, how his lips trembled but no sound came out.

“Please don’t stop, please, please, please,” Kerry started uttering after another minute of this slow rhythm. He continued to chant such pleas while his hips jerked, trying to enhance Johnny’s movements. The rocker accelerated just a bit, unable to stop himself anyway because the pleasure was too great with Kerry’s ass literally sucking him in with every push. He landed wet and open kisses between his partner’s shoulders, mouthing at his spin.

“Fuck,” he cursed as Kerry really started to shake with a series of low moans that turned desperate.

“I…” the man bellow tried, but too late anyway, because suddenly his whole body tensed and Johnny felt the orgasm zap through his partner: Kerry fluttered around him, squeezing rhythmically and the shaking completely overcame him. He was utterly silent for the first five seconds before an absolutely ecstatic moan escaped him. It was all Johnny needed to trigger himself.

“Shit, I can’t get enough of you, can’t fucking get enough of you, ah!” he muttered then cried out against Kerry’s spine as his hips lost all coordination and he came in three deep thrusts.

With a last grunt, he stilled and tightened his hold over Kerry, so hard the man whimpered in slight pain. But Johnny couldn’t let him go as tremors ran through his body, ersatz of his orgasm pumping in his veins.

“Johnny,” Kerry murmured in the silence that followed, “Johnny get off, can’t breathe.”

With a wet sigh, and slow movements, Johnny got off him and sagged on his back to the left. Kerry hummed and lifted his hips to retrieve the soiled pillow, throwing it away. He pushed on one elbow to look at his friend with a puzzled expression. But he didn’t say anything, which was a small blessing, because Johnny really wanted to have one more minute of fucking bliss before it all came crashing down and they would need to talk.

They looked at each other in silence for a long minute, before Kerry huffed and fell on the bed again.

“You are a fucking asshole.” He hissed. “I fuckin nearly died,” he added and his voice broke.

Johnny closed his eyes, counted to five, and opened them again. He scooted closer, gently taking Kerry in his arms.

“I’m sorry.”

“It can’t go on like this.”

“I know.”

“You need to get better.”

“I’m trying.”

A pause.

“I still fuckin love you.” Kerry confessed. “Not sure I could stop.”

“I don’t want you to stop.”

Kerry closed his eyes, a painful expression marring his features. Johnny pushed his forehead against the other man’s.

“I can never seem to get enough of you.” He repeated in a low voice and Kerry’s eyes opened. He breathed out a trembling sigh and Johnny closed the inch separating their lips softly, stroking Kerry’s hair.

It would have to be enough, for now. Kerry kissed back with a small moan and wrapped one arm around Johnny, bringing him closer. They settled like this, and the rocker started to feel the sirens of sleep at the edge of his mind. For the first time in six months he thought he might sleep well.

“Johnny?”

“What?” he grunted.

“Did you just make love to me?”

Johnny snorted.

“Did you like it?”

Kerry huffed a short, raw laugh, but didn’t reply.

There was no need anyway.

Note: Next prompt is also Kerry x Johnny I believe, so I'll probably write something that's consistent with this one, as a sequel.

As always, here is the link to the masterpost about the prompts I filled. Still not taking new prompts at the moment though.

And, if you want another take on how they could be happy together, I did write a whole fiction about that, which is the first installement of my Johnny/V/Kerry fic, but the first part is only Johnny/Kerry.

[funjoushi]

Miki/Souma is a perfect ship don’t @ me

This ship has taken me on one of those journeys that feels like it has just lashed me against the rocks and left me stranded. So bet prepared for a little bit of some slightly messy but extremely passionate meta.

I started out with “haha, Hakuouki keeps making rival pairs with blistering sexual tension” to “maybe this could be a tasty fucked up ship” to “oh no they are husbands” which is always a wild ride to go on let me tell you.

In general I tend to only get attached to an mlm ship once every ten thousand years. From my observations these ships tend to have a lot of intertwined personal history and themes of loyalty/sacrifice/self-loathing and idealism

However souma/Miki has some particular aspects that really stick out to me

As mentioned before, Hakuouki has a habit of setting up rival and antagonist relationships with a lot of sexual tension wether intended or not. The most notable being Shiranui/Harada and Kazama/Hijikata.

Kazama/Hijikata is only nominally similar as it is much more of genuine enmity but I do believe that the ultimate source of that rivalry is in personal weakness and seeing that weakness reflected in the other. Hijikata whole struggles with the loss of his humanity, and Kazama who rejects humanity altogether.

Shiranui/Harada is one much closer to Miki/Souma in that they are two very similarly motivated men who just happen to be on opposing sides. Shiranui and Harada are both motivated by loyalty to their friends and by love(you cannot convince me that Shiranui wasn’t in love with Takasugi).

Miki being Souma’s rival specifically never made sense to begin with and still doesn’t really, but as a result it leads to a much more fascinating dynamic. They aren’t sworn to kill one another nor obsessed with the other, but instead just two guys caught up in their own stories and cause them to clash.

The fact that they are not directly antagonistic to one another is something that is key to their potential dynamic. Yes, they started out at odds due to the factional divides, and Miki did accost Chizuru which earned Souma’s dislike, but on a personal level, it’s never more than a surface level dislike. Miki thinks Souma to be foolish and wasting his potential while Souma thinks Miki to be nothing but a brute.

However, in reality, they are far more similar than either of them first realise.

During most of their interactions, they appear to be pretty starkly contrasted. Souma is earnest, hardworking and incredibly humble. Meanwhile Miki is prideful, blunt, and distrustful.

However, if you recall...Souma was very different when he first met the Shinsengumi. When Souma was still employed by his domain, he was ashamed of his clan’s neutrality and disgusted of the general state of the country and of the bushi class. He at first views the Shinsengumi as nothing but violent wolves, but eventually comes to learn and understand them and want to be counted among them.

Which is to say that Souma in himself has some similar idealistic, judgemental and spiteful tendencies that Miki ends up displaying during his time in the Shinsengumi. Miki overall appears to view the Shinsengumi as similarly foolish and misguided

This viewpoint of Souma’s I view to be not all too different than how Miki views things, he simply has a different set of base values and puts a lot more value on birth station while Souma values action and conduct. At their core, both are unshakeably loyal which eventually leads to their actual clash.

Another major factor in my like for this ship came in one of the ginsei no shou episodes.

In a scene directly after Souma, Chizuru and Nomura escape Edo after Kondou’s execution, Souma reflects on how he now feels that he can understand how Miki feels. Looking back on how Miki became unhinged and obsessed with revenge after his brother was killed. Itou was like Miki’s sun, he states. Something that illuminated the path that he followed and made everything make sense. And Souma viewed Kondou in a similar way and in that moment feels blinding rage and a desire for vengeance towards those who killed Kondou. But then essentially Souma insinuates that the only thing keeping him from a path of bloodshed is his remaining friends. And so in that way he does not at all blame Miki for his revenge quest.

This section directly highlights how Miki and Souma mirror one another and hold within them very deep similarities.

Souma’s main character flaw is that he is deeply self-critical and has basically no self-esteem. He constantly pushes himself too far out of a desire to improve himself but without support that will only lead to ruin.

We can extrapolate some similar points from Miki, based on how over the course of Souma’s route he becomes increasingly more suicidal as his quest for revenge sends him to deeper and deeper depths, which culminates in him trying to die upon Souma’s sword in the final chapter.

However, Souma notices this. Souma could have easily chosen to just end it all there, but again. Souma has no particular grudge against Miki. And in truth, he pities and identifies with Miki. 

It really just gets me, man. Like, I know that it’s because Miki survives historically, but despite that, they managed to make it so completely and utterly in character. It absolutely makes sense that Souma would show mercy. But what is truly beautiful to me is that said mercy is not out of any sort of pride or high morals, but out of pure and simple empathy.

Just about all of Miki’s former fellow Goryoueiji members are dead, his beloved older brother is dead. And on top of that he is estranged from both his birth family and adoptive family(historical detail not brought up in the game but it SHOULD BE). And while Souma has lost a lot, he still at the very least has Chizuru, and Souma’s humility also compels him not to take that for granted and reach out a hand to someone who wasn’t so lucky.

And considering that they do both survive, and as Souma says they “do not know what the future has in store” :) who knows! Maybe their paths may cross again.

Yes, I fully understand that the fact that Miki did try to kill Souma and Chizuru at one point might be a turn off to some people, which is fine. But also Chizuru was about to be killed by the Shinsengumi upon first meeting them. That’s just kinda how it goes in the world of samurai! And because the grudges aren’t specifc, that’s why I can still find them so compelling. Also I do find it so fascinating that Souma’s kyoto winds bad ending only occurs if Chizuru lets him kill Miki. Hmm! Funny that!

Anyway, in conclusion. This ship is good and no, I will not shut up about them. Thank you for reading and pls ready my fic--

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

CALI COAST.

Filip “Chibs” Telford x Reader

Anon asked: Hiya, love your writing!! I’d like to request a chibs Imagine about a him falling for a female mechanic at TM. Thank you 😊

Word Count: 3.6k

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @chibsytelford 💘

Author comments: I hope you all enjoy. Gif credits to the author.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​ @sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

Driving the car crane, carrying a blue sedan that you were trying to seize for three days, but the owner was such a dickhead till he finally pissed you off and you had to point him with a gun. Tig told you to do it, even if you've never fired one. His face was worth the risk of being reprimanded by Hale. Danny claps at you, when getting off of the crane, you point your new acquisition with both hands and a huge smile on the corner of your lips.

“Tada!” You say with a melodic voice, jumping one time.

“Good job, rookie”. He says urging you to high-five, giving you the ‘seized’ sticker. 

Very proud of your work, you take it to stick it on the front glass, crossing your arms after it to admire your piece of art.

“Ok, let's pull down this big guy”. Danny palms your back, ready to drop the tow and park the car with the rest.

“Ya’, man, who's that lass?” Chibs steps slow down, some meters away from you, hitting Tig's chest with his palm, actually hurting him.

“What the fuck?!” He yells rubbing himself over the kutt.

“She's (Y/N), the new Teller-Morrow mechanic”. Happy comes from nowhere, scaring both men, with no gesture in his face. “She's like a Pop Tart. Sweet and crunchy”.

“Did you already fuck her?” Tig sighs staring at him.

“No”.

“Then, how 'you know she's crunchy?”

“She broke Juice's nose yesterday”.

The men break in laughter, now understanding why his face looks like shit.

“Wha' happened?” Chibs tries to talk, starting to cough because of the loud laughs.

“She just got scared, 'cause he was behind her in silence”. Happy turns at them, narrowing on of his shoulder, making a move with his head to follow him.

The SOA president has been out of Charming for two weeks, taking care of the gun's business at southern Cali. For you, he was just traveling. The guys talked about him a lot in his absence of the club and you were pretty excited to meet him. At least, he's also your boss. So, when Tig shouts your new nickname making you turn, you go immediately with the same smile on your face.

“What's'ap, boss?” You say placing your hands behind your back, covered by the green jumpsuit of the workshop.

“The president”. He says pushing the man into you, with a singsong voice, making the scottish clicks his tongue.

“Just Chibs”. He adds, offering you a hand in somewhat formal greeting.

“Finally!” You say excited narrowing it, actually feeling a little nervous. “I'm (Y/N), but they call me ‘rookie’”.

“Rooke'”?

“Yeah, like a prospect for the club”. You explain then, getting back your hand with the own other.

“And she likes whisky”. Happy puts a forearm on one of the president's shoulder, taking off the toothbrush of his lips. 

“Really? Ya' wan' one? So ya' can tell me where did ya' come from”. The man offers then, turning an arm to the club entrance, and you obviously can't say ‘no’ even if it's ten am and you just finished the first coffee of the day. You nod in silence. 

Tig and Happy continue their way to the workshop, whilst you're walking by the scottish side with the nerves running through your whole anatomy. Everybody knows the Sons of Anarchy, everybody knows what they do even if they didn't see it. You know you don't have to be afraid, nor scared, but you can't help feeling it anyway. In a gentle gesture, the president holds the door for you, smiling slightly coming in. The club is empty, not even music is being played and it's kinda strange. Maybe they prepared before this meeting, so no one could bother you. 

Even if you have been working for the last two weeks, if Filip decides to fire you 'cause you're not what he was looking for Teller-Morrow, he can do it without needing the support of anyone. You like your job and they pay you quite well, having a very flexible schedule, and treating you like another one of the family. So losing it, it's not an option.

You can see the man turning around towards the bar, grabbing two glasses to serve a whisky from an old bottle. You can recognize it. An special edition of Blue Label of Johnnie Walker. You have never tasted before, but you heard about it. Honey and vanilla are the first nuances you can taste having a sip. Chibs is staring at you with a raised eyebrow, waiting for an opinion. Snapping 

“It's sweet, but bitter because of the citrics”.

“Dammet', lass!” He yells excited, hitting the bar, provoking you a chill. “Its true ya' like wheske'”.

“Yea', I... do”. You nod with pursed lips, seeing him walk towards the sofa.

Sitting there, you doubt for a second carrying a chair next to him and leaving your drink on the table, looking around for a second expecting what he wants to know.

“So tel'me. Where 'ya from, where ya' worken'... All thes' thengs'”. Chibs finally says, placing his whisky above the table, leaning towards you with his forearm supported on his lap.

“I'm from Los Angeles, my father had a workshop too, so it's family business”. You explain yourself, not sure what more you can say about your life. “When he died thr—”.

“'Am sorre'bout that”. The president holds your right hand for a while, narrowing it.

“Yea', life's things, I guess”. His touch is firm, looking at both hands sideway, before continue. “Well, ah... It was three years ago. He left me the workshop, but I was alone and I couldn't do it without help, so I had to sell it. I was working with my uncle, till I decided to move on. And... a friend told me about yours and I said... Why not? So, here I am”.

“Hm...” Chibs nods thoughtful resting his back on the sofa, moving his gaze from one side to another in nowhere.

“Listen, ah... I know it took me three days to seize that sedan, and I have no excuses, but I really like this job. I mean, work here”. You look desperate licking your lips and gesticulating more than necessary, not trying to give pity, but asking for another chance.

“Relax, rooke', I'm not gonna keck'yar ass”. His loud laughter, shaking his chin, infects you chuckling. Not sure if because you want, or because you're doing it to please him. “The bike in the backyard, is yars'?”

“It was my father's. He used to run Cali with it, till he couldn't do it anymore. But it's not working. I have to fix it”.

“You wan'me to help ye'?”

The question takes you by surprise, twisting your neck as a dog would do when he's confused. Until now, you have been doing it by yourself, even though you can take her to a workshop and not worry about it. But someone offering himself to help you it's something new. Not actually ‘someone’, but the Sons of Anarchy president. And your boss.

“Yes, yes... I mean, sure. If you have time”.

“Aye! 'Course, lass. Wha' ya' have is a fuckin' gem! Wha'bout tonigh'?”

You don't say anything, but it sounds like a date. And it doesn't surprised you by the way he had to greeting you, when you two met minutes ago. His fingers were a little shaky and you can swear that even his hand was somewhat sweaty. Finally, you nod before he could start to think that you're kinda dumb, having a sip of your whiskey.

“Ya ken'? I had one simila' when I was younga'”. He comments, seeming like the man wants to continue your talk, but doesn't knows how to do it. “I toured Scotlan' whet'et'”.

“I've never been there, but I saw it in photographs. It's an amazing country”. 

“Aye! Et'e—

Some yells outside call your attention, and you recognize the voice by heart, 'cause you have been hearing it for the last three days. Rolling your eyes and getting up, down by the scottish's gaze following you, you walk towards the workshop with a serious gesture on your face and your arms crossed above your chest. The sedan' owner is there, with Hale by his side. You're fucked. 

“She was! She was!” The blonde man is pointing at you accusatory, seeing how the sheriff rubs his eyes. “That bitch pointed me with a gun!”

“Did you?” Hale asks you with a hand resting in the butt of his own gun, hanging from his belt, and the other hanging by a side of his body.

“No, sir. I did—”.

“You, fucking liar!” The man practically jumps to you, being blocked by the SOA president, hitting him straight to his face.

Everything goes so fast that you can't even react. But the scottish is putting you behind his body, after punch the sedan' owner, with a hand thrown back slightly touching your abdomen. Hale is handcuffing him, growling and cursing at you lying on the ground by the sheriff.

“If you say anything else, I'm gonna accuse you of obstruction, do you hear me?” The cop says putting him down, starting to walk next to the car so his co-worker can sit him inside the car. “Do you want to file a complaint?”

This time is coming back towards you, with a sigh on his lips rolling his eyes. You shake your head, hiding out from Chib's back, frowning at the blonde man.

“Don' worry, sir, it's ok”. You say then.

“Tel'im fi' me that he won't get his car back”.

And without saying anything else, he turns at you placing an arm on your shoulders to urge you start to walking back to the workshop.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

When your turn is already finish, you drive back home the enough time to have a shower and changing your clothes for something more comfy taking into account the plan you are going to have. You're also trying to not think that it's a date, even if it was like it sounded. And you can't help but feeling nervous parking by a side of the yard, frowning missed when you notice the fact that there's only a bike. So, your suspicions get confirmed. Actually it's not something that bothers you, after all you've heard about him. Loyalty, strength, sincerity, self-confidence, kind and polite. And an accent pretty funny. So, why not? 

“Wha' ya' thenken'?” Chibs comes from nowhere, scaring you and making you scream. 

The man starts to laugh loud, while your face becomes rude with pursed lips and a hand on your chest trying to calm your heart beat.

“Jesus Christ...”

“Dammet, rooke', it's true ya're ease' to scare!” You sigh rolling your eyes because of his words. “Com'ere, I've alrede' brought yar' bike”.

“DaMmEt, RoOkE”. You joke on him with a high-pitched tone, whilst he's laughing louder.

“Ya' amaze me, lassie. Dinnae' know you talk scottesh'”.

“What the...?” You find yourself laughing too in a relaxed way after a long time, shaking your head with a sigh, going to the workshop illuminated by some lights.

Turning over your steps you notice that the place is practically empty, guessing that Juice took off all the cars by Chibs' petition, playing fool when you find with your gaze two cardboard boxes from your favorite burger joint. Hiding your curiosity and moving your feet next to the old Harley Davidson, you let your fingers travel over the metallic handlebar. Memories crowd your head, one on top of the other, until you collapse. You still haven't driven it, because your father kept it for almost eight years on his garage, till he left. And it doesn't need a lot of fixes, but you haven't been able to get started before. You couldn't, 'cause it's the only thing you have of him.

“When was the... fers' time ya' ride't?”

Turning to the man, finding him supporting his back against the wall with a big cup of coke in his left hand, sipping from the straw. You shrugs your shoulders, taking the other drink to imitate him with your gaze on the matt black motorbike.

“I didn', yet. Alone, I mean... But by my father's back”. You say almost in a whisper. “I was five years old. We toured Cali coast”.

“Cali coast amaze me, et's a good ferst' ride”. He says then, after some seconds in silence. “Ded'ya by night?”

“Dawn, actually”. You answer with a goofy smile on your lips and your eyes on the drink between your hands, playing with the straw. “I... remember that... my father came to my room, to wake me up saying ‘let's go, bunny, adventure time’! He was very excited”.

It's the first time in years that you're talking about him and Chibs looks pretty curious about it, but you're trying not to break your voice. Smiling sideways, you stare at the scottish man, shrugging your shoulders again, not knowing how continue.

“Why ‘bunny’?”

“I like velocity”.

“Oh, realle'? Wha' bike ded'ya have before et'?”

Your cheeks turning red and your lips pursuing second by second, containing a laugh, makes him raises both eyebrows with curiosity.

“A Vespa...?” You mutters biting the straw, while Chibs laughs again. You're starting to love his laugh, no regrets. “Ah, ah, but...! I have a Mustang, so, boom!”

Your left hand imitates the typical gesture of dropping a mic, getting up from the wall to walk towards the food with innocent air, opening one of the bags with your forefinger and having a quickly look.

“Ya'hungre?” He asks then, following your steps to grab boths bags, twisting his neck in a soft gesture to tell you without words about to have a seat.

So you do, on one of the cair placed on the front yard, next to a corner.

“So, what et' needs?”

“Brakes. I need to change them. Now it has ones that are obsolete and I was thinking to put an ABS”. Leaving your drink between your feet, you take the burger Chibs is offering you to unwrap it on your lap.

“Sounds good. Do ya' have them?”

“Yea', I bought them in LA. And I think could be good change the tires, the oil and the handlebar grips, they're a little worn”.

“Tha's'ease fo' ya'”.

“Yeah, but... I didn't want to fix it, actually?”

“Why?”

“I'm scared to have an accident or something, and destroy it. I don' have anything of my father, but his bike”. Having a bite with your gaze on him, you cover your mouth to keep talking. “So, I just... was telling... myself that I didn't have time... to fix it”.

“But we're gonna do 'et!” Chibs exclaim excitedly, opening his arms for a second and holding the burger and the beer in each hand. “I know yar' father prefers to fac'ap his bike, than keep'et in a garage with dust on 'et”.

“Yea', I think so...”.

━━━━━━ ﹅ ━━━━━━

First, knocks on your door. Then your bell ringing. Palming the mattress till you find your phone to watch the clock, you read all the notifications in the locked screen. There are almost eleven lost calls from Chibs and a lot of messages. And it in silence. You practically jump off of your bed, running as never before to the main door, opening it.

“Finally! Jesus Christ, I thought ya' were dead!” 

“What happened? It's everything ok? Sorry, I just fell asleep an—”. You're talking so fast that your tongue ends up making a mess.

Chibs enraptured looking at you from top to down with a goofy smile on his lips, very interested in the Black Sabbath' shirt you're wearing. Clearing his throat, while your gaze travels to the dark van parked in front of your house. Tig and Juice are taking off of it your motorbike. Pushing him away from you, with your left hand on his chest, you take some steps barefoot above the cesped. You're face shows surprise and confusion, believing for a while that you're dreaming or something like that. 

One of his hands wrap your left wrist, urging you to look at him. You're legs shaking for a second. 

“Ya're prette' with messy hair and tha' shirt, but I wanna ride with ya'”. He says then, trying to hide his excitement.

And you want to hide yours, but you can't. You hug him, but not with a normal one. You're rousing and thankful, surrounding his neck with yours arms leaning on your toes. You know he wasn't expecting by the “oh” he mutters kinda surprised, taking some seconds till he finally is able to wrap your back and your waist pushing you closer into him, resting his forehead on your shoulder. Then, Chibs understands why Happy said like you're like a Pop Tart. He knows it tooks you just one second to make him fall in love with you and that the fact of worrying about your favorite take away restaurant, it wasn't only 'cause you're ‘the rookie’. 

The scottish have a deep breathe from your hair, starting to wish he hadn't, because he's falling a little more. And he can't watch his mouth.

“Ya' smell really good”. He tells you with a husky tone on his voice that bristles the skin of your arms.

“Honey and vanilla”. You mutter with pursed lips, before the man making you a gesture to come in your house.

You nod in a hurry, running back to your room looking for the perfect clothes to drive. A comfy pair of jeans, a vaporous shirt, your boots and a leather jacket. Keeping your principal stuff in a bag and grabbing your helmet, you walk towards the main door sooner as you can. The van isn't there anymore but your bike and Chib's one, close to yours, are parked on the sidewalk. He's already waiting sitting on his, turning on the engine when you're wearing the black helmet before keep the bag under the seat, the scottish stares at you with a hug smile and a dearly gesture on his face.

It has been eight years since you heard your father's Harley roaring, and feeling how your body vibrates on it it's simply amazing. You can't even describe how you feel right now, looking at Chibs with that gesture mixing incredulity and surprise. Pressing the brake, but also the gas, the back wheel squeaks without caring if you wake up your neighbors. 

“Let's go, lass!” 

You release the brake, letting your motorbike rolls above the road with a hoarse growl flying off from the engine, being followed by the scottish. He didn't tell you where you're going, but after five days talking about your childhood in Cali, it's pretty clear that he wants to ride the coast with you after seeing the emotions that provokes you the memories doing it with your father. You know well he wants to be part of it, part of your routine and part of your life. And you're letting him come in 'cause, why not?

You know the road by heart, touring it with the fresh dawn's air hitting your face, till it turns with a salty smell after some hours driving in silence, enjoying the landscape views. You're closer to the ocean and you can feel it inside your lungs, closing your eyes for second. Time enough to make you fly back to your childhood. The sound of the engine, the seagull, the waves breaking. Everything is the same as you remember. But you're not a child anymore, you're ridding California with Filip Telford by your side, who can say that? Only you. And it's not because who he is, but because of who you want him to be for you.

It's sunrising. In the horizon, the sky is mixed with blue, orange and soft pink. It's your favorite part of the day, but now it's different. You're /living/ it, breathing it, enjoying it totally relaxed as never before, with Chibs' eyes on you for a ephemeral instant, fully spellbound. And that's what makes it special this time.

“Don'ya thenk' it's time fo' a coffee?” He asks loud enough for you to hear him. You nod laughing, 'cause you really need it after sleeping for just four hours.

Some mills away, you finally stop in a rest area on top of a small cliff. Taking off your helmet, you walk towards the wooden railings looking down. You're too close of the sea that almost some salty drops splash your face interspersed with the sea breeze. You couldn't get tired of a place like that. The smell of hot coffee pushes you into reality, turning to Chibs so you can hold the metallic mug.

“Maybe I put some Cardhu in'et”.

“Maybe?” You break in laugh, leaning your nose over it.

“When I say ‘maybe’, et's because I alrede' ded'et”.

“So... the other night, at the workshop, maybe it was a date?”

“Maybe”. He nods, blowing his drink, before taking a drink. “Maybe that's the second one”.

“Maybe you already won me, fixing my bike and bringing me here”. Giving him your most smooth smile, you drink too, turning to the ocean while he puts an arm on your shoulders letting you rest your cheek on his. “Maybe you put a lot of Cardhu”.

“Yea', maybe”. 

[effymaybe]

hello, author! deathbyjenlisa on wattpad has this prompt: future post-disbandment au where they live in a tiny little apartment in the middle of nowhere in Paris together with their cats and dogs, and they own like a flower shop or something. and finally, FINALLY doing a vlive together where they announce their relationship to the world. (may we have this piece from u? u r one of the best rpf writers i know. thank u in advance!)

deathbyjenlisa on wattpad I love you and I’m SO SORRY IT TOOK ME SO LONG I KNOW SUCK also here it goes!

Warnings: Fluffy fluffity fluff

Jennie closes her eyes as the faint afternoon sun caresses her glowing skin throughout the window.

She breathes slowly, content. Inside the just-conveniently-sized apartment, the atmosphere is still nice and warm despite the first bites of winter cooling down the air of the city.

The brunette is enjoying of a pleasant break after a few hours of frankly successful designing, and her previous artistic buzz has left place to a nice, tickly feeling still twitching in the pad of her fingers.

She sighs just as a fluffy warmth gazes against her legs earnestly.

“Hello, Lily. Miss mommy already?”

The cat looks up at her almost as if in agreement. Jennie leans down to pet her behind her ears, just as she likes it the most.

“I miss her, too. Maybe Jisoo is right. We might be a little bit needy”.

Lily keeps purring under Jennie’s soft hand, clearly happy with the attention she is given. The brunette smiles to herself. She figures that the kitten would actually hesitate if she had to choose between her two moms.

Thankfully, she doesn’t have to.

“Okay, baby. Let’s get you an afternoon treat, yeah? Don’t tell the others”.

Lily’s silent vow of trust is pointless, really. As soon as Jennie shakes the so-secret pack of treats hidden at the very bottom of the kitchen counter, the whole feline family plus an equally excited Kuma enter the room with bright eyes and a grumbling stomach.

The brunette is unfazed. She’s been dealing with this routine for almost three years already, and despite she likes to complain to her girlfriend about her unmeasured need for adopting cats, she wouldn’t change the daily, often overcrowded cuddles for anything in the word.

“There”, she mumbles, filling her pets’ plates with practiced patience, “so that you know that I can be the cool mom, too”.

She stands straight again, glancing at the different furs engaging in their eating. A giddy feeling starts to bloom in her heart suddenly, a sense of happiness mixed with a now unfamiliar pang of uncertainty that weakens her limbs.

They are definitely taking a gigantic step today.

A very much needed, absolutely wanted step.

She runs her fingers through her rich chocolate hair, glancing around with a critical, designer eye as she moves to the living room. It’s small, really, like the rest of the place, but so fantastically decorated –according to a proud Lisa staring at a flattered but shy Jennie- that it often features a big bunch of house décor Instagram accounts.

The brunette puts her hands on her hips.

It’s beautiful. She loves her house. She loves the size, the shape, the colors, the fact that she can have a modest yet quite impressive sight of the Eiffel tower only by opening the French door to the balcony. She loves the city, the accent, the passion. She loves the people, who have taken her and her family wholeheartedly, without questions. She loves her sons and her daughter and she loves, loves, loves her girlfriend with every beat buzzing in her chest.

What she does not love so much right now are those yellowish pillows, that-

“Hello, love”.

An instant smile plasters itself in Jennie’s expression. Steady arms circle her waist tenderly, and plump lips kiss the column of her neck in a tender motion.

“Mmm, hi”.

God, she really behaves like a teenager whenever her girlfriend is around.

“Brought you flowers, baby”, she hears against her ear, and just then she glances down to catch the sight of daisies and red tulips contrasting against each other in a big, gorgeous bouquet.

“Thank you”, she mumbles back, taking the gift with pointed care, “but you are going to empty our shop if you keep taking flowers”.

Lisa chuckles lowly, pure affection dancing in her eyes.

“You know I always order extra just for you”.

The tallest girl lets her girlfriend spin around in her arms. Her expression softens even further at the sight of sharp, stunning features. Lisa’s right hand naturally drifts up to grasp Jennie’s nape in an unconscious attempt to keep her close.

It’s not that Jennie would like to leave, anyway. The shortest girl leans up, gleeful, and her girlfriend meets her in the middle to wrap her up in a soft, welcoming kiss. They spend a few delightful seconds just like that, enjoying each other. It’s unlikely, Jennie thinks sometimes, to adore someone with such strength month after month, year after year. And their love has changed, actually.

It has gotten better. Stronger.

So it’s time to take the next big step.

“I’m ready”, Jennie murmurs against Lisa’s lips, and feels a smile shaping against her own mouth.

“Okay”. The tallest brunette takes a step back to take in her girlfriend’s figure, feeling a soft warmth spreading in her chest. “You look amazing. I love the shirt. It’s a pity they’ll only get to see a half of you”.

Jennie chuckles a breathless thank you, pulling fully away from her lover to look for a standee where to place her phone. In the meantime, Lisa takes her time to greet the rest of her wide family, already full and half-asleep on their respective beds. When she comes back to the living room, her girlfriend is already sitting cross-legged on the wide, greyish couch, figuring out the best angle to gather the afternoon light. On top of the coffee table lies the bouquet she got from the small flower shop they decided to put up mainly as a hobby after their successful careers as Blackpink members.

Lisa can’t help the grin that stretches across her face.

She’s just so, so happy.

“Baby”, she murmurs, moving slowly to sit beside the brunette.

Jennie looks at her and tilts her head in a sign of attention.

“I love you so much”.

Lisa’s unprompted sincerity is rewarded with a gummy smile and a soft peck.

“I love you, too, beautiful”.

A message travels across their joined gazes. A renewed vow of loyalty, love, and support. It’s their way to letting each other know that they are ready, no stepping back. The time and their own effort have prompted the building of a bond that lasts beyond obstacles, beyond fear.

When Jennie presses the screen to start the live, they are both leaning comfortably against each other.

“Hi”, the shortest brunette mumbles after a few seconds. Against her skin, the soft vibration of Lisa’s muffled laughter makes her blush in a rush of shy joy. “This is Jennie”.

The tallest girl grins at her girlfriend’s soft tone. “And Lisa”, she adds cheerfully. “We are here… to talk…”

Jennie’s right hand moves unconsciously to caress her lover’s arm up and down, just as she does each time a bitter hint of anxiety threatens to deprive her from fresh air. In exchange, as a caring reflex, Lisa embraces her narrow shoulders with her arm, keeping the brunette’s body flushed against her own.

“…to talk about us… We’ve seen some theories on the internet since… well, even before Blackpink stopped making… official music”, Jennie adds, eyeing the rising number of viewers at the corner of the screen.

It’s amazing. It’s been years already, and their fans are as many and as supportive as they were before.

“By the way, we might have a surprise coming soon!”, Lisa intervenes, and watches with silent amusement as her girlfriend crunches her nose just slightly besides her.

“Lili, no spoilers!”, Jennie complains only half-heartedly, melting inwards as the tallest brunette pouts just slightly.

“Mmh, sorry, babe”, she hears against her ear then, and all her fake annoyance disappears as soon as it started.

She turns around, keeping up with her admonishing from just to see her girlfriend pouting deeper, and her wish is immediately granted. They look at each other for a moment, their expressions turning into soft, dizzy smiles dripping pure adoration, and it takes both of them a moment to realize that there are about a million people watching them interact at the moment.

“So, huh, us!”, Jennie states, turning towards the camera once again. “Us… so… where do we even start”, she giggles, somehow lost. There is so much to tell. So many tears, so many victories.

“Well… to answer the basics… yes, we are girlfriends”, Lisa speaks then, loud and clear, smiling brightly, almost as if illuminated by her own love.

Jennie feels a burst of pride striking against her heart. She knows that her lover is being so, so brave.

“Girlfriends”, the shortest brunette affirms, and her sharp stare meets Lisa’s open doe eyes. “As in dating, hand-holding, kissing girlfriends, not the best-friends-forever type”.

The tallest girl chuckles brightly, both because rambling Jennie is funny and adorable and also because the tension of the moment makes her chest feel tickly.

Well, it’s there now.

The world knows that Jennie is her girlfriend.

The sudden, pleasing thought of their truth being outwardly spoken makes her feel lighter, elevated as she stares at Jennie with an expression that even herself knows that screams whipped.

It doesn’t matter, really, because her lover’s eyes distillates a feeling of the same fashion.

They tear their gazes apart from each other only when the enrapturing sensation starts to die down in a soft giddiness. They glance at the appearing messages almost with fear, but sunned smiles bright up their features when they read –mostly- comments both congratulating them and asking a billion questions about their relationship.

“’Oh my god this is so shocking… who would say that two rich, adult women choosing to live together raising each other’s’ pets would be dating!’. Well, thanks for the sarcasm, Lisa’shoe… also, careful with that username”, Jennie murmurs. She rolls her eyes in feign annoyance, but her dopey grin stays in place. At her side, still embracing her shoulders in a protective side-hug, Lisa chuckles again, so visibly content, shining, that the shortest girl has to make an effort not to stare at her throughout the mirrored screen.

“Oh, ‘when did you start dating?’ I don’t think we can say exactly when, but...” Jennie begins, her eyes falling on her girlfriend as if searching for help.

“Some years after all the… shipping started, actually. It took us some time…”

“It took you some time if I remember correctly...”, Jennie plays, her sharp expression both softening and growing more electric.

Lisa smiles, all teeth and happiness, and gives in the need of squeezing her girlfriend against her just a little bit tighter.

“But I’ve always liked you! You know it!”, she complains, a slight whine tangling in her voice.

“Of course! I’m amazing!”, Jennie bites back, brushing her long hair past her shoulders in a mocking gesture.

“You are”, Lisa murmurs, staring deep into chocolate without a care in the world, and the sincerity in her words makes Jennie’s pulse speed up crazily.

She leans in for a soft, quick peck, unable to stop herself, and is greeted by such an elated expression when she pulls away that she has to kiss her girlfriend once more, just to steady her soaring heart.

She’s so, so ridiculously in love.

“Charmer”, she mumbles, blushing deeply, and turns around to read another thousands of totally-freaking-out-because-of-their-cuteness messages. “Thank you guys. Really. This truly means a lot for us... The girls know, of course”, she chuckles, “They knew before us, probably. Yes, we are working on something. Nope, no spoilers!”, she winks.

Lisa reads the comments as well, absent-mindedly tangling her long fingers in her girlfriend’s soft chocolate locks, perfectly warm in the familiarity of their home.

“Yes, we are still in Paris. We love it here. The flower business is going well”, she grins, “Yes, I am the best girlfriend ever, right, babe?”

Jennie raises a single eyebrow, but gives in anyways.

“Maybe. You are the only one I’ve ever had”, she teases, gifting her girlfriend a slight shrug.

“And the only you will have!”, Lisa answers back, a playful growl playing with her deep voice in a way that makes Jennie’s stomach tingle in a quite particular way.

“Likewise, Manoban. Ah, yes, our parents know. Lisa’s parents were supportive since day one. My mom… well, it took her some time. Now she calls her whenever she needs anything. Can you believe it?”

They continue the late afternoon like that, leaning against the comfort of each other, answering some of the million questions people over the world have about their relationship.

They knew it will be like that. The sheer support, however, left them truly stunned. They were told so many times that what they were doing was wrong, immoral, dangerous, that the almost absolute acceptance of the people that surrounds them hit them like a soft, fluffy pillow in a dizzy night.

When Jennie finally turns off the live –promising to make another one soon, and yes, to give away more details, and maybe to talk about the possibility of a wedding-, the hint of the pale moonlight is already creeping past their open windows.

Jennie and Lisa stare at each other with twinning grins playing in their lips.

“So, we just did that”, the brunette mumbles.

The apartment is almost silent. Their pets are still sleeping. Only the faint sound of the never-asleep city tangles with the mute electricity of the aftermath of their bravery.

Lisa’s bright eyes darken suddenly, urged by a rush of passionate love.

“We did that. And it went really, really well”.

Jennie smiles openly, her gums nicely on display. The tallest girl feels her heart growing three sizes against her chest. Her hands lock on her girlfriend’s waist, tugging, begging her to find a way to be even closer to her body, downing in affection.

The shortest girl does not disappoint. She moves to sit down on her lap.

“Baby, we did it”, she murmurs again, in a happy awe.

Lisa starts to giggle, and the soft sounds are mirrored by her lover.

“You were incredible”, she mumbles, then, locking her stare with her girlfriend’s once again. A strong feeling, an unspoken declaration moves through them, sparkling. With the corner of her eyes, unfocused as she favors the marvelous sight of her girlfriend’s face, Lisa can see the lights of their phones going off –probably some messages from their friends and family- but the girls stay put in their delightful bubble, nevertheless.

“So did you, love. Can you believe it?”, Jennie begins, letting her feelings pour out, both soft and heavy in her words, “Now they know that you are mine and I’m yours.”

Lisa swoons.

That’s something they’ve talked about. The need to be with each other freely, to shout out their hidden love at the top of their lungs, proud, shattering.

Lisa leans up for a deep, toe-curling kiss. When Jennie pulls out to draw in a happy breath, the tallest girl turns both their phones off.

The rest of their lives can wait. Right then, however, Jennie and Lisa are set to celebrate their thorough love in the way they like it the most.

[ibijau]

Hey, it’s been a long while, but here’s another extra for the Worst Engagement AU!

as Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng swear brotherhood, Lan Xichen is reminded of a secret he's been keeping from his husband (also on AO3)

It's unnerving to be in Lotus Piers and see its buildings nearly untouched, knowing what devastation has occurred here. It makes Lan Xichen feel almost lucky, in a twisted way. The Cloud Recesses suffered, but aside from his father, there was no loss of life. Wounded people, and the library which they partly lost, but… They were lucky. 

Lan Xichen would never say that out loud to anyone, of course. Not even to his husband, not yet. They both avoid talking about the war if they can. What happened then… 

But this is not the time for sombre memories. Their visit to Lotus Piers is a happy one, the occasion to celebrate a much awaited vow of brotherhood between Nie Huaisang and Jiang Wanyin. These two have been throwing the idea around since before the Sunshot Campaign, although it was half a joke back then, but never got around to it until now. Nie Huaisang wanted to be married first, so the gesture would carry political weight as well as an emotional one. Since all the Great Sect have such young leaders now, Nie Huaisang made the argument that they needed to make it clear they all stood together.

Mostly though, Nie Huaisang loves Jiang Cheng more than anyone in the world save his brother and husband, and he wants everyone to know that.

Also, he’s never one to say no to a party.

Jiang Cheng is, of course, very polite as he welcomes them in. He asks how the trip was, if they need refreshments before being shown their room. And yet, the way he glares at Lan Xichen every time Nie Huaisang isn’t looking makes it clear that he still has suspicions about the nature of their marriage. Of course it’s only been a few weeks. With time, things will get easier between them.

Or so Lan Xichen hopes.

At least, Nie Huaisang doesn’t notice this animosity for the moment. When they get to the room given to them for their stay, all Nie Huaisang can talk about is how great it is to be in Lotus Piers again, and how many things he wants to share with Lan Xichen in Yunmeng. Restaurants, shops, places to visit around… the list is endless, as is his enthusiasm. They’ll never have time to check all that in the few days they’re staying.

When morning comes, Lan Xichen helps Nie Huaisang braid his hair in the elaborate fashion he favours for important events. Lan Xichen has had to practice when they were still home, because his husband treats his hair very seriously, but Nie Huaisang has been a surprisingly patient teacher. It helps that he likes having his hair played with anyway. Nie Huaisang also puts on ornate robes in a shameless effort to outshine Jiang Cheng, since they apparently have a friendly competition about being well dressed. Lan Xichen doesn’t really understand that, but he is always happy to see the man he loves looking his best and having fun.

The ceremony is a very emotional affair, for all that it tries to be formal. Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang promise loyalty to one another, as well as mutual aid and support. This last part is one Nie Huaisang insisted on, so that he can bully his friend, now his sworn brother, into accepting help from Gusu Lan in rebuilding his sect. Jiang Cheng probably knows, but he also knows how futile it is to try to stop Nie Huaisang once he has decided on something, and so he apparently gave in to that particular part of the oath quite easily.

After, when the ceremony is over, a banquet is held, with all the luxury that Yunmeng Jiang can afford (more than they can afford perhaps, but the Jiang siblings are well loved by the people of the area, and Wei Wuxian can be quite silver tongued when he wants). The new sworn brothers sit side by side of course, with Jiang Yanli next to her brother, and Lan Xichen next to his husband. Nie Huaisang is in excellent mood, and divides his time between chatting with Jiang Cheng about this or that, and carefully selecting dishes that Lan Xichen can actually eat among everything offered to them. Yunmeng’s cuisine is spicier and meatier than he is used to and while Lan Xichen could very well handle this if needed, he enjoys the effort.

A few times he catches Jiang Cheng frowning as Nie Huaisang drops vegetables into his bowl, which Lan Xichen almost finds amusing. He half hopes that when Jiang Cheng too marries, it is with someone he is ridiculously fond of so Nie Huaisang will be able to tease him about it.

“Why don’t you have that nice fan of yours?” Jiang Cheng suddenly asks, glaring at the one Nie Huaisang has in hand after accidentally biting into something spicier than expected. “Didn’t you use to say you wanted to have it the day we’d swear brotherhood?”

“This is my nicest fan!” Nie Huaisang gasps, outraged that anyone might accuse him of not looking his best on such a day. “Xichen bought it for me from an artist in…”

“I mean that one you had in the Cloud Recesses,” Jiang Cheng interrupts with an impatient gesture. “With the mountains painted on it. I haven’t seen you with it in ages, actually.”

Nie Huaisang freezes for a second, as does his husband when he realises exactly what fan Jiang Cheng must mean. Nie Huaisang shoots a worried glance at Lan Xichen before forcing his features into a careless pout.

“Oh, I don’t use that one anymore,” he explains. “It was pretty good for a child, but I’m a grown, married man now.”

Jiang Cheng scoffs. “You’re not even twenty yet.”

“Well, neither are you,” Nie Huaisang grumbles. “And don’t talk to me so carelessly, I’m your older brother now! You’re supposed to respect me. Didi, be good to your gege!”

“No, I’m the older brother here,” Jiang Cheng retorts. “Age doesn’t matter, you’re too much of a brat to be anything else but my didi.”

Nie Huaisang gasps theatrically, and closes his fan to tap it on the side of Jiang Cheng's head in mock punishment. Before long, Wei Wuxian gets dragged into that argument about seniority and age, and the fan that sparked the dispute is entirely forgotten. 

Nearly entirely. 

That secret sits in a corner of Lan Xichen's mind the whole day, spoiling his enjoyment of the celebration. He hasn't thought about that fan in a long while because, as Jiang Cheng said, Nie Huaisang stopped carrying it around a while ago, even though he never used another while studying in the Cloud Recesses. It probably doesn't mean anything. Lan Xichen knows that the fan wasn't that good in the first place, and so Nie Huaisang must simply have abandoned it once he went home and had access again to better ones. 

It doesn’t mean anything.

And Lan Xichen is on the verge of forgetting it again when they get in bed that night. It is difficult to think about anything unpleasant when Nie Huaisang plasters himself against him, wearing nothing but under robes that do not hide the heat radiating from his body. Even though the day has been long and tiring, and it would be unbecoming to start anything here, Lan Xichen feels desire stir in him. He can’t help it, Nie Huaisang just has that effect on him.

"So, what's wrong?" Nie Huaisang asks, curling against his side. "No, don't lie," he adds before Lan Xichen can say anything. "You've been distracted all day. Did Jiang Cheng say something to you?" 

Lan Xichen grimaces, and shakes his head. 

"Good. Don't let him bully you again, husband," Nie Huaisang orders, nuzzling against his neck. "I'm here with you because I chose to be."

"I know. And I chose you too." 

"Excellent," Nie Huaisang yawns, dropping a small kiss on his throat. "So if it's not Jiang Cheng, what is it?" 

Lan Xichen hums in answer, unsure he wants to deal with this now, and risk ruining Nie Huaisang’s good mood. It's something they probably should have discussed before, but with everything that happened those last few years, Lan Xichen just never found the chance.

A pitiful excuse, he knows, but he’ll stick to it if needed.

"I was thinking about that fan of yours," Lan Xichen says at last.

Immediately he feels his husband tense against his side. 

"What about it?" Nie Huaisang snaps, before quickly adding: "Please don't ask me to get rid of it. I know I should, but it's so pretty, I just can't bring myself to throw it away or to gift it." 

"You still have it?"

"I shouldn't," Nie Huaisang sighs, curling up on himself, trying to pull away from Lan Xichen who doesn't allow it and pulls him back closer. "It's stupid, I've never even found out who gave it to me, but… A-Chen, does it matter that I still have it? I would never use it now, it'd be wrong but… It really is so pretty. I wasn't just trying to annoy you, back then. I really thought it was so nice. I've tried to copy it, but I can never do a good job."

Lan Xichen's heart goes racing against his ribs. He can't help feeling half amused to hear that, however much he suffered trying to copy Nie Huaisang’s paintings, the opposite has happened as well. Mostly though, he is amazed to find how much his gift found its mark. He remembers agonising over the best way to paint that landscape, and then later the certainty that Nie Huaisang would hate the fan if he knew who it came from. 

That fear is gone now. 

"We can try again together," Lan Xichen offers. Nie Huaisang, predictably, raises his head and throws him a puzzled look. "I made that fan for you," he confesses. "I just never knew how to tell you." 

Hearing this, Nie Huaisang tears himself away from his husband and sits up to look at him with wide eyes. For a moment Lan Xichen fears he might be accused of lying, or that Nie Huaisang might be upset at the deception after all. He opens his mouth, ready to defend himself, but before he can say a word Nie Huaisang is laughing and bending over him to kiss every inch of his face. 

"Xichen, you wonderful, ridiculous… I should have guessed it was you!" he huffs, kissing his husband's lips. "Nobody else could have done such a good job. You never said you painted fans too!" 

"I don't, it was just that one," Lan Xichen explains, relaxing again now that it's clear Nie Huaisang isn't angry. "I had noticed you did, and I was hoping we might have something to talk about, but…" 

"But I was a horrid little brat and you realised that wouldn't work," Nie Huaisang laughs, kissing him again. "My poor husband, how I've made you suffer!" 

"It was deserved. I've…" 

Nie Huaisang silences him with another kiss, his smile turning playful. 

"Hush, husband !" He orders in a voice that fails to convey any authority. "I've made you suffer, even when you were trying to be good, so now I must make it up to you… and I have a few ideas for that." 

"I don't think it's a good idea to do this here," Lan Xichen weakly protests, even as his body already starts to react to the proposition. "We are Wanyin's guests, and…"

"And he'll never know, as long as you're quiet," Nie Huaisang teases, kissing the corner of his jaw. “Do you think you can?”

Lan Xichen knows he cannot, but he promises to try his best anyway.

[kythed]

when we were young

oikawa tooru x reader

author’s note: this is pretty angsty! Read at your own risk :’)

--

You looked just as he remembered you, but more… vivid, if that made any sense. Your hair was more lustrous, your eyes glimmered brightly under the ballroom lights. Had your lips always been so soft and pink? Had you always looked so good in white? Had you always been this beautiful?

As he stared at you from across the floor, loosely cradling a stemmed glass of prosecco in one hand and wiping the sweat on the palm of the other, you laughed. He couldn’t hear you over the chatter of the crowd, but nonetheless your giggle resounded in his mind as if it were being projected by a sound system. You used to laugh at his jokes that way. You used to smile at him the way you smiled at someone else now. He had an old picture of you grinning like that back in his apartment in Argentina, tucked in between the books on his shelf-- he couldn’t bear to have it out in the open, reminding him of what he let go, but he also couldn’t bring himself to throw it away.

God, he wished he could take a picture of you now. He hadn’t seen you that happy in ages. You were still laughing, playfully gripping someone’s arm and tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. In the last days of his relationship with you, you had been so… gray. So lifeless. So different from the girl he’d fallen in love with as a second year high school student.

He’d come to realize it was his fault, of course. He hadn’t been treating you like you deserved. If he could turn back time, though… he would never have let you leave his side. He would never have let any of your tears go unwiped, never let you struggle on your own while he wrapped himself in his own problems and refused to face the reality of your unhappiness. He would have treasured you.

He recalled one evening back in high school. The two of you were deeply in love, as in love as one can be at eighteen years old. The night air was cold and biting, but seeing you wrapped up in his coat made him feel so warm inside. April in Miyagi was always lovely, but he thought it had never been as lovely as it had been that night, with you dancing in between the streetlamps and tugging on his sleeve to dance with you. There was no music but your laughter and no dance floor but the gravel road. You danced until you were breathless, and he smiled softly at your flushed cheeks and mussed hair and kissed you under a flurry of sakura petals. It was as close to movie magic as he could have ever possibly imagined. You were better than perfect, sweeter than fiction. So why, why had he let you go?

He had been so selfish. You had invested so constantly into him, supported him unconditionally, accepted his shortcomings and failures, and in return, he had gotten bored. At least, that’s what he had told you. He cringed as he remembered that last day. You’d looked up into his face, unshed tears glimmering on your lower lash line, nervously chewing on your inner cheek.

“Tooru,” you whispered. “You’ve been so distant. I… am I doing something wrong?”

He’d looked down at you coldly, and it felt like a shard of metal lodged itself in his chest but he let the words fall from his lips anyways: “I’m just bored of you.”

You flinched as if you’d been slapped, and the last thing he’d heard from you was “Goodbye, Oikawa” as you grabbed your book bag and left.

He hadn’t really been bored of you. You’d remained as spontaneous as the day he first met you, fresh as a daisy and enthusiastic as a puppy the entire year and a half he dated you. But you were always so honest, always so straightforward… it forced him to confront himself, to own up to his actions, and that’s what he began to hate. He began to hate himself. He couldn’t stand you continuing to look up to him when he couldn’t see himself as anything but a failure. You would never let him wallow in his self pity and spoil him like all the other girls did. You would try to pick him up, clean his face and help him improve. And he knew that’s what he really needed. He knew he didn’t need someone to stroke his ego and carry him when he was weak, he needed someone to teach him to save himself.

Seeing his weaknesses so plainly bothered him. So he pushed you away… he just never imagined you would stay away. Half of him was still waiting for you to come back, to knock on his door and shove a new book you thought he would enjoy into his hand, or to go rifle through his fridge for a snack. And even now, five years after graduation, after he joined Club Atletico San Juan and moved across the globe, a tiny part of his heart still belonged to you.

He had been surprised, to say the least, when he found the invitation in his mail. To Oikawa Tooru. You have been invited to celebrate the union of (L/N) (F/N) and Iwaizumi Hajime. Please RSVP to secure a seat. At the bottom of the invitation, you’d drawn a little smiley face. He could tell it was you who had drawn it because you’d doodled the same one in the margins of his homework countless times before during study dates. That little face taunted him, laughed at his regret. He deserved it.

Now, he watched you slow dance with his best friend in the middle of the floor, staring lovingly into your new husband’s eyes while he murmured into your ear. Had you ever looked at Oikawa that tenderly? Had you ever cupped the back of his neck so gently? He wasn’t sure. Probably not. It had been Iwaizumi who comforted you after Oikawa had cast you aside so cruelly, and it had been Iwaizumi you’d sworn loyalty to thenceforth. Oikawa had known you and Iwaizumi were together, but he hadn’t known it was so serious. Briefly, he imagined what it would be like to be in Iwa’s place right now, holding your body flush against his, inhaling the scent of your hair.

God, he needed to dance with you. Just once more, he needed to dance with you like he did that night under the sakura tree.

The song segued into another, and you and Iwaizumi stepped off the dance floor as another couple took your place. Oikawa placed his glass on the table, stood up, and moved across the room swiftly until he stood just feet behind you and Iwaizumi.

He cleared his throat. “Congratulations to the happy couple.”

You turned and Oikawa swore he saw a breath catch in your throat as you gazed at him unblinkingly, lips slightly parted. Suddenly, your face broke into a broad smile.

“Tooru!” You leaned forward and enveloped him in a tight embrace. Oikawa froze briefly before wrapping his arms around you lightly-- you hadn’t called him by his first name in ages and you hadn’t hugged him for even longer. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

“Glad I could come,” he said with a terse smile. He turned to Iwaizumi and clapped him on the back goodnaturedly. “Iwa-chan! Look at you! A married man, finally. Never thought I’d live to see the day.”

Iwaizumi gave a rare smile. “Nice to see you too, Shittykawa.”

“Still gotta bully me after all these years, huh?” joked Oikawa, even though he felt his heart breaking to pieces. He turned back to you, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Hey, listen, I know it’s your wedding and all, but I was wondering… could I have this dance?”

Your eyes widened just barely and you turned to Iwaizumi, who nodded.

“Go ahead, darling,” he said. “I have to go greet some of my relatives anyways. Just find me when you’re done.”

He gave Oikawa one last pat on the back before slipping into the crowd.

Gently, Oikawa took your hand and led you onto the floor, resting his hands on your waist. You rested yours on his shoulders, and he felt his muscles relax at your touch. The two of you swayed slowly to the music, a song he didn’t know.

Everybody loves the things you do

From the way you talk, to the way you move

“You look lovely, (L/N),” he said quietly. “Or should I say Iwaizumi-san?”

“Oh, call me (F/N),” you said, smiling. “I think we owe each other at least that.”

Oikawa smiled back sadly. He spun you around and caught you in his arms. “Yeah, at least.”

Everybody here is watching you

‘Cause you feel like home, you’re like a dream come true

You laughed that beautiful, beautiful laugh of yours. To him, it sounded like all his favorite songs wrapped up in one. God, he’d missed you.

But if by chance you’re here alone

Can I have a moment before I go

“This reminds me of when we were young,” you said softly, as you returned to swaying to the beat. “That night--”

“Under the sakura tree,” Oikawa finished. “Yeah, I remember.” I dream about it every other night.

“Yeah, that night,” you said, smiling fondly at the memory. “I had a lot of fun. I think we had just gotten out of a late night viewing of some silly romantic movie. You said you hated it, but I noticed you wiping tears away during that one kiss scene.”

Cause I’ve been by myself all night long

Hoping you’re someone I used to know

“Ah, I’d forgotten we’d even watched a movie that night.” Oikawa pulled you a little closer. “I only remember how cute you looked in my jacket.”

“It was two sizes too large,” you said, leaning into him. “But it was certainly warm.”

Let me photograph you in this light

In case this is the last time that we might

Be exactly like we were before we realized

“You’ve changed your perfume,” he said, suddenly. “I like this one better.”

“You still remember the perfume I used to wear?” You raised an eyebrow. “You creep.”

We were sad of getting old, it made us restless

Oikawa laughed-- a real laugh, not a fake one. “How could I not? You sprayed it on all the sweatshirts you borrowed.”

“I needed to give you something to remember me by,” you teased. Oikawa mumbled something unintelligible.

“What was that?”

“I said,” Oikawa breathed. “I could never forget you, (F/N).”

You still look like a movie

You still sound like a song

You swallowed thickly, heat crawling up your cheeks and old wounds throbbing. “Tooru…”

“I know, I know,” he said with a small smile. “It’s your wedding. I’m not here to win you back, and I’m glad you’re happy with Iwa-chan. Just… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

My God, this reminds me

“I forgive you, Tooru,” you said, burying your face in his chest before the tears spilled over. “I forgive you.”

Of when we were young

The song ended, fading into some generic jazzy tune. You and Oikawa stopped dancing, but you still stood there in the middle of the floor, staring at one another.

“You should tend to the rest of your guests,” Oikawa said finally, and you nodded. “Thanks for the dance.”

You squeezed his hand one last time, and turned to leave, but he didn’t let go. You looked back over your shoulder. “Tooru?”

“(F/N)...” Oikawa took out his phone. “Can we take a picture?”

You laughed. “Always so sentimental. Of course we can.”

The two of you posed for the selfie, and for once, Oikawa didn’t make some stupid face or stick out his tongue. He smiled and snapped the picture before tucking his phone away again. “Thank you.”

“Goodbye, Tooru,” you said. It was the same thing you said all those years ago, but this time it was warmer, kinder.

“Goodbye, (F/N).”

---

When he got back to Argentina, Oikawa took out the picture of you he had stowed in his bookshelf. He looked at it one last time, drinking in your youthful beauty. Then he threw it away. He didn’t need that one anymore.