#besides his melons but that’s nor here nor there

[renohasbigtits]

I could write an essay how I hate Reno being portrayed as an idiot character by the fandom when that’s far from reality.

…

….

…….

……..

………

But I won’t cause I’m lazy :p

[lilac-5ky]

Oh then! Can I request a scenario where Toji eavesdrops on a convo between Reader and Gojo (or whoever) where Reader confesses to having a crush on Toji?

Thank you so much!

Confessions of a Confection Thief (Toji x Teacher!Fem!Reader)

Plot: On a warm summer day, you confess your love for the man once known as the Sorcerer Killer to the man who, twelve years ago, spared his life. What you don't count on is the man in question listening in, nor the consequences of a mere lunch invitation.

Tags: au in which Gojo heals Toji's ass with reverse jujutsu and makes him his bitch, reader is megumi's teacher, parent/teacher relationship, age gap (reader early 30s, toji early 40s), character development!toji, soft!toji, confession, unprotected sex, oral sex (m. receiving), facial, doggy style, petnames (teach', sweetheart, baby, doll), MDNI (obviously)

A/N: You can tell I got inspired since this took me 9k words to develop that feature not only the confession, but the date and the "happy ever after" ehe. Hopefully this was worth the wait!

“Damn machine!” You grunt as you kick at the vending machine’s side, lamenting over the 1,000 yen bill you were just robbed of.

“Let me give it a try.” The man beside you suggests and you clear the stage for him to work his magic. His right hand lifts from his pocket, open fingers coaxing an entire bundle of sodas out without even making contact. What a show-off.

He gathers the cans off the ground and hands you the one that is your favorite, making you wait while he places the rest on top of the vendor for a lucky student to find.

“Isn’t that considered damaging school property?” You raise a brow, yanking the ring close to the tab with a pop.

“Is it?” He chuckles, bringing his refreshment to his lips. “It was already damaged when we got here. Ijichi’s gonna get an earful later.”

“I don’t think that falls under Ijichi’s responsibilities, Satoru. Cut him some slack already.”

“No harm in harassing your cute underclassmen from time to time, Y/N.” He smiles. “You should try it too.”

Right, you mutter under your breath, already regretting your decision to spill your heart’s contents on someone with such little regard for others. Shoko would’ve been a better choice. Utahime, too. You could wait until the weekend, get on the first bullet train to Kyoto, and have a girls’ night out like you used to before life and work got in the way. They’d surely talk you out of the horrible mistake you’re about to commit. Maybe that’s why you chose Satoru. He’s the only one who’d give you the final push down the cliff, and you don’t mind the fall.

“So what is it that you wanted to talk about?” He brings you back to the parching reality of Jujutsu Tech’s grounds, with the sun glinting across every metallic surface and body of water in the perimeter. The heatwave has only begun, and thankfully, the outburst of curses has finally simmered down, or else you’ve no idea how you’d survive abandoned building-hopping with those three rascals.

You take a sip from your soda, the taste of honeydew melon cooling your throat like the sweetest form of redemption. You struggle not to gulp it all down in one go, eyeing the remainder of drinks that have vanished in the horizon—or rather, you have, your steps leading you toward a path of tori gates that itself leads to the school’s Inari shrine. This should be safe. No one comes around these places.

“I have a confession to make.”

Satoru stops in his tracks, awaiting a follow-up that doesn’t come. His sunglasses come off, and a knowing smile slowly creeps up his lips. “I know.”

“Y-You do?” You blink in surprise. What does he know? How does he know? Since when does he know? “Satoru—”

“You’re the one who ate the last Manzu.”

And he couldn’t be any more off the mark.

You sigh. “That’s not it.”

“It’s not? Huh.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his palm after chugging his strawberry-flavored soda. “Guess I’ll have to ask Ijichi about that too.”

“Please don’t torment him for useless things.” You cast your gaze to your feet, kicking a pebble as you speak. “What I want to confess is… my feelings.”

The cicadas come to a stop, leaving space for your words to take root. You are hesitant to move forward, cautiously treading on the shells of emotions you recently began to accept. Almost there, you encourage yourself as Satoru invades your personal space, cornering you against the red gate’s pillar.

“Finally decided to profess your love for me?”

You shove his smug face away and roll your eyes at the notion. “Dream on, Shit-toru.”

He takes a step back, acting as if you just delivered a fatal blow to his heart. You chuckle at his childish antics while shaking your head in disapproval. To think the future of the entire Jujutsu world rests on the shoulders of a conceited guy who makes everything about him.

“Then who’s the lucky guy?”

Your anxiety resumes before it has the chance to fully dissipate. You close your eyes and lean back against the pillar, the familiar name on your tongue feeling foreign. “It’s… Fushiguro.”

“Fushiguro?” You nod. You understand it’s a lot to take in and give him a moment to process it, yet the longer he takes to answer, the more tempted you are to say this was a joke and call things off. “Don’t you think there’s a bit of an age gap?”

“I mean… I suppose there is.” You sound defeated. If even Satoru saw this as an issue, then there’s no reason he wouldn’t. “You think it’s that bad?”

“Bad?” His lips twitch. “The heart wants what it wants, Y/N. Give it a few years, and the difference won’t matter.”

“You think I have a chance?”

“Oh, definitely! I saw Yuji move some of his American-star posters into his room last week, and he didn’t throw any away. Jennifer Lawrence ‘s your age, right?”

Your memory is put to the test as you go through various Jennifers. Is she the one from Friends or the one married to Ben Affleck?

“I think she’s older by a few years.”

“Older?” He snorts. “Well, if it makes you feel younger, then who am I to argue?”

You decide to let his comment slide for the sake of picking on the dissonance in his words. “But what does a Hollywood actress have to do with this? And Itadori—what are you talking about?”

“Y/N, you should get to know him a bit better before confessing, don’t you think?” Satoru says, as he finds your beloved pebble and tosses it in your direction. You catch it with your heel. “The kind of woman he likes; his best friend; the ages of top-paid actors. These things shape up a guy’s adolescence. They’re as crucial.”

By the time he finishes talking, all the puzzle pieces fall into place, and you have to mentally control every joint in your body to prevent it from lashing at him with fury second only to the Curse King’s. Even by Satoru’s dubious standards, this is plain outrageous.

“Are you outta your mind?” You yell, pushing your hair off your sweaty forehead with both palms. “How could you—why would you—what do you take me for?” You fail to put your thoughts in order until you suck in a deep breath. “I would never crush on any of my students, or any other minor, for that matter!” You declare.

Thin white eyebrows furrow in genuine confusion. “But you said—”

“Fushiguro! The man I’m in love with is Fushiguro Toji!”

And not a single soul is left on campus who hasn’t heard your confession, no matter how far and wide or close you think they are scattered.

Toji’s never set foot on these damned grounds without cursing to himself as if the paths his shoes traverse are paved with nothing but shit. Even after all these years, something about marching through the front door just doesn’t feel right. It’s not hatred, that’s for sure. He’s spent more than two-thirds of his life cultivating his loathing for sorcerers to the point where he can tell it apart by taste alone.

No, what’s tainting his palate right now and will continue doing so in the days to come is more akin to chagrin than resentment. It’s failure. A failure that’s branded onto the bare skin of his torso and that he can’t pawn off for as long as he stands, because if a fate worse than death exists, then that’s surviving on a snotty brat’s pity.

Wiping some of his sweat and plenty of his regrets against his pants, Toji remembers his reason for being here has nothing to do with Six-Eyes or his past shortcomings, as he’s here to share the news of his divorce papers finalization with the only person he’s keen on letting know: you.

A decade has passed since he last heard from his wife—his ex-wife who had no qualms about leaving everything behind (her daughter included) and ran back to her parents, never to be seen or heard from again until a hotshot big firm lawyer showed up at his doorstep with a bunch of papers and a platinum-coated Montblanc in hand.

And with that, another overdue chapter was closed, the rest of the pages flipping through the wind. By the end of summer, the goalkeeper in his relationship with his son will be heading off to college, and with Tsumiki gone, Megumi decided he’d grown old enough to slam the door on his face and choose that faux albino sorcerer over his own blood.

It was that very rebellion that roused Toji to reevaluate his lifestyle. He stopped counting the years after the candle with the number 4 became prominent in each birthday cake, but that didn’t stop time from moving forward. He was aging. And while one-night stands do a decent enough job to distract him from searching his scalp for graying hair, the nights he catches himself wishing his bed could stay warm the morning after add up.

None of the silly little girls he fools around with are capable of that, not the way you are. Since that first PT meeting he begrudgingly attended two months ago, a rusty cog in his heart began turning again.

You don’t match any of his previous criteria. You don’t come from a wealthy family and aren’t an airhead either. You live in the dorms because you can’t afford rent in the city, and you are smart enough to have graduated from a big university. You are one of them, but you’re also proof that not all beauty was lost with her.

Toji doesn’t want to screw this up. Just once, he wants to do things right. He waited until he was a free man in the eyes of the law, wore his good jeans on a day when wearing jeans should be considered a criminal offense, and kept enough cash to afford however many side dishes you ordered—assuming you accepted his lunch invitation in the first place.

The jittery, four-eyed guy he ran into on his way to your class pointed him in the direction of the school’s shrine. After a while of wandering around, Toji spots two sets of imprints in the soil, the smaller ones belonging to your heels and the larger ones undoubtedly being that brat’s. Luck isn’t on his side today. His stride overlaps with Gojo’s as he childishly covers the younger man’s tracks, leaving yours intact, and eventually, the sound of clamor confirms his lead.

He strays off the pebbled path and mingles with the shadows of the dense forest, scoffing as Gojo’s shit-eating grin becomes apparent. That beanpole’s standing way too close to you. Toji almost intervenes when you finally push him. A kick to the nuts would do him better, but that’s enough for a tiny smile to rise on his scar. That’s my girl.

There’s no reason to stay hidden anymore. After all, that brat is already aware of his presence. He takes a few steps forward, turning into a pillar of salt at your sudden outburst.

“The man I’m in love with is Fushiguro Toji!”

His hand nearly reaches inside his back pocket to double-check the name on his ID. Looks like some of his luck returned to him. Asking you out just got a whole lot easier.

“Fushiguro Toji?” Gojo twists a finger in his ear. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

Toji hisses, his fist itching to knock some teeth off his face. That ought to jog his memory, but he holds back, realizing that’s all part of Six-Eyes’ plan. To egg him on into a brawl he can’t win.

“He wiped the floor with your face only a few years back, Satoru.” You sound as irritated as he is. “How could you possibly forget?”

The man folds his arms over his chest, sparing a glare in Toji’s direction as he reclines against the tori gate. “Was it at the arcades? Man, no need to rub it in.”

Your lips part, but no sound comes out. You sigh, hogging the unoccupied pillar with no intention to play his game.

“What about Megumi’s old man won you over?” Gojo gives in. “His kart skills?”

“So you do remember, after all.” You murmur in a low voice. “I don’t know. He’s just… nice.”

“Nice?” Gojo asks with utter disgust painted on his face.

Nice?

You nod, fumbling with the hem of your navy-blue dress. “Hey, Satoru. You know what makes for a good parent?” You don’t let either of them consider their answers. “It’s effort. Not success, but effort. Mister Fushiguro hasn’t missed any of his son’s PT meetings, even when the two of them are clearly at odds.”

Toji feels too guilty to step in and correct you that his priority is to see you. Not that Megumi doesn’t matter, but what’s the point of hearing his son excels in everything he never could for the nth time in a month?

“And?”

You glance at the clear sky. “And you remember those forms Yaga gave us for the kids to fill out? Nobara said her dream was to buy out Daikanyama. You can guess what Yuji’s was. As for Megumi, he left his blank, and when I asked him later, he said that he doesn’t have time for dreams; that his goal is to repay his dad the money he lost from the Naobito deal, so he owes him nothing.”

The two men blink in surprise. “Didn’t think he knew about that.”

“You aren’t exactly a quiet speaker, Satoru.” You shrug. “Point is, he doesn’t know. Neither of them do. Megumi doesn’t know his father attends his PT meetings, and Mister Fushiguro doesn’t know about his son’s dream. Isn’t it funny? They both care about each other but are too awkward to admit it.”

“And you call me twisted.” Gojo yawns. “You wanna act like a bridge between them? Is that it?”

You shake your head. “I wouldn’t want to interfere. Megumi placed his trust in me as his teacher when he disclosed that, and Mister Fushiguro… We are nothing to each other.”

Yet, Toji mentally added.

“You might think it’s crazy, but I think Mister Fushiguro’s heart is full of raw emotion he can’t put in order on his own. He’s not taught how to, and I… I think I could help him out with that; be someone he can direct those feelings to. No, I—” You shake your head again, except this time you do so with a little smile of conviction tugging at your lips. “I want to be that person. I want to be his person.”

Gojo doesn’t say anything for a good while, and you end up nearly as flustered as Toji himself. “Of course there are plenty of other things I like about him! He is funny, charming, has his own house,” your voice drops in volume, “he is very attractive, and we have the same taste in seafood.”

“Sounds to me like you’ve got it all figured out.” Gojo let his hand drop after fixing his sunglasses over his nose bridge. “But you should know, Fushiguro, or rather Zen’in Toji, is a lot more than that. He’s killed more sorcerers in his prime than most curses combined. Not sayin’ that to be a buzz kill, but you should be careful around him, or else,” his tone drops a menacing octave as he peers over his shades, “I’ll have to terminate that relationship myself.

“You get it, right?” He switched back to his usual voice with a lighthearted chuckle. “Wouldn’t want to lose another precious friend.”

Silence reigns between you, and that’s Toji’s cue to walk up. He’s heard enough. The few fallen leaves rustle under his weight, caution thrown to the wind as tiny twigs crunch below his sandals. He’s close enough for you to tell someone’s coming, but not close enough to tell that someone is him.

“Got nothin’ better to do than gossip about others, Six-Eyes?” Toji paces in the middle of you two, his eyes flickering in your direction. He has to brace himself not to smile at how red your face has gotten, his resolve giving way to a suggestive smirk. “Teach’.”

“Mister Fushiguro.” Your smile is shaky, but there. Always there for him.

“Yo, it’s been a long time!” Gojo springs forward. “Came for a rematch?” His hand travels up his neck, rolling his shoulder blades one at a time. “Could use the exercise.”

“I’m done fighting kids.” Toji deadpans.

“Is that so?” Gojo scratches the back of his head. “Your hands must be full with all that jell-o they feed you at retirement house,” he chuckled at his own joke. “What then? Remembered to pay the med bills twelve years later?”

“Satoru!” You object.

“Only if you remembered to hand the Star Vessel cash back.”

“Mister Fushiguro!”

“Money belongs to Amanai,” Gojo raises his volume. “I don’t think she’d want you to have it.”

“Really? ‘Cause last time I checked, corpses don’t talk.” Toji grits his teeth and unwillingly finds himself at the end of your right palm, the other one prompting Gojo to maintain his distance.

Your eyes are round, but the look behind them firm. The same look you assume when you reprimand your students, he bets. His gaze is drawn to your fingers, small and slender as they graze his shirt. You’ve never been so close to him before. If it weren’t for the walking parasite to his left, he might’ve been enjoying the proximity.

Perhaps for the first time in his life, Toji is the one to back away first, clearing his throat with a soundless cough. His eyes remain on Gojo’s while he speaks. “I’m here to take her out.” He stops and considers adding “to lunch”, previous occupation and all, but deems that should be obvious enough.

“You got time?” His tone softens, still bearing hints of the annoyance he failed to submerge.

A single finger pad skims over his chest as you withdraw your hand, slower than you did the other. So cute. He promises to give you plenty of opportunities to touch him later.

“I have an afternoon class, but Satoru can cover for me.” You smile sweetly at Toji and click your heel down on Gojo’s foot. “Right, Satoru?”

He’s inclined to agree, his face lightening up behind his shades. “As long as you agree to grade my papers for the next three months.”

“I’m already stuck grading the papers from when you went to Hiroshima,” you mumble under your breath, your nose scrunching in an expression that’s new to Toji. “Fine.”

“Mister Fushiguro?” You turn to him.

Toji shoots Gojo a stunted glare before his large palm finds its place in the small of your back, prodding you to move forward.

On the way to the car you find yourself making small talk about the weather, and on the way to the restaurant, your getaway is Megumi’s recent success in domain creation. This isn’t the first time you’re alone with him, but with every mile you count away from school grounds, you shrink into an ever-growing bundle of nerves that threatens to unravel on his passenger seat.

You’re in the middle of your third recounting of the kids’ excursion in Saitama when a hand moves to your lap and muzzles your every thought.

“Don’t tell me you’re nervous, Teach’.” Toji says once you’re stopped at a red light.

He’s careful to keep his fingers over your dress, only his thumb looming over the bare skin of your knee. Your glance loses momentum as it travels from his knuckles to his wrist and then his elbow, reveling at the sight of muscles bulging underneath his rolled-up white shirt. You’re glad half of his attention remains on the steering wheel, because if you got to see the other side of his lopsided smile, then you might say something that’s unbecoming of an educator—and you almost do, after his hand drops to the gear stick.

“I don’t normally do these things, Mister Fushiguro.” You admit, preserving some of his leftover warmth with your own palm.

“Hmm? What things?”

“Going on dates with parents—it’s a first for me.”

“Oh? So that’s what this is?” He chuckles lowly, as if the notion were new to him. Other than the few visible wrinkles around his eyes, you wouldn’t guess this man was roughly ten years your senior. “You can relax. Got a long way before the main course, sweetheart.”

Embarrassment flares up in your cheeks at the pet name. You can’t remember the last time you were asked out, let alone called something of that volume. You don’t mind it. If anything, you like the ring.

“Ah, and do me a favor, won’t ya?” His head cocks to the side, tousled black strands falling forward. “Quit callin’ me that.”

“Calling you what?”

“Mister Fushiguro.” He grimaces. “It’s ex mister Fushiguro now.”

“What?” You exclaim with more excitement than you’re entitled to.

It doesn’t go unnoticed. “Check the compartment glove.”

You do as you’re told, discovering a bitten-off subway that’s wrapped around at least four layers of napkins. His sloppy eating habits mustn’t be what he’s so eager for you to see. You nudge it to the side and dig out a few crane toys that are too adorable to be his, and then finally, a stack of creased official documents that you have to separate from the massage parlor flyers stuck between the pages.

You quickly go over the lines, the most notable by far being the words “Divorce Agreement” written in all capitals on the front page. “Is this…?”

He nods. “Got ‘em this morning. Thought you’d take proof over my word.”

“That’s amazing, Mister Fushig—” You bite your tongue. “Looks like you got to keep all your assets, too.”

“All, except that name.”

You remember pondering why, even though Toji was born into the main family, both he and his son left the Zen’in surname behind. Others would kill for a chance to be written in their family registry—but then again, it was just like the Zen’ins to keep clan matters private.

“You can call me Toji until I take on a new surname.” He continues, his voice reflecting his lax smile. “Am open to suggestions.”

You return it, piecing a non-existent strand of hair behind your ear. “Already proposing that I should marry you?”

“Better strike while the iron’s hot,” quietly adding, “figured that should give ya enough time to sort my shit out.”

“What was that?”

He grins as he cups your hand with his own. “We’re here.”

Toji’s restaurant of choice turns out to be a cozy little family restaurant by the park in Nerima. He asks if you’ve been there before, but you shake your head. Having no car means you rarely get to go around Tokyo without Ijichi, the kids, or Utahime whenever she decides to pull a surprise visit. You’re a tourist in your own town.

At this time of the day—neither appropriate for lunch nor for dinner—the tables are mostly empty, and you’re free to choose your own seats. He points at the bar, and you point at the window. He pulls your chair and then plops down on his own, chin quick to balance atop his wrist while he stares off at the greenery on the horizon.

You thought sitting closer to the window would be cooler, but the heat is reflected through the glass. You should have listened to him.

A waiter drops off your menus with a tired smile, patting some of the perspiration off his forehead with a napkin. “Sure is hot today, isn’t it?”

You nod politely and start browsing the list of appetizers. All those nights you spent bent over your tiny desk lamp pile up against you as your stomach lets out a low grumble—overjoyed to be presented with something that doesn’t require a microwave.

“You drink?” Toji waves the wine menu in your face.

“If the occasion calls for it.” Your reply paves the way for his next question. “I’d say a glass of champagne is due to celebrate your freedom.”

He flings the menu at the next table. “Don’t have that here. Maybe next time,” he says, and you almost stand in ovation at the prospect of there being a next time.

“You don’t want anything?”

“Not a drinker.” He doesn’t care to elaborate. You go back to scanning the pages, and you must’ve taken long enough for him to grab onto your menu. “I can recommend you some.”

Your stomach gurgles again, and this time he hears it. His stare lowers over your body, and you shift in your seat, offering him the menu to distract him from your issue. His bottom lip curls in amusement.

“The stake’s good here since their stuff’s from Kobe-hmm,” Toji pauses as he zeroes in on an item that he taps with his index. “The barbecue ribs are the real deal.”

His green orbs spin like pinball in his eyes while he flips through the pages, pointing out what’s good and what sucks, as those are the two main phrases he uses to describe the specialties. This is the most you’ve heard him speak in a row, and admittedly, you miss out on most of what he says taking in his mannerisms.

His surprisingly well-trimmed nails drum on the table when they aren’t shifting to a different page, while his cheek prop up his fist. He makes a habit out of licking his slanted scar at every nasal consonant, and there’s a slight drawl whenever he stumbles upon a foreign word, his thin brows furrowing in uncertainty. However, his most distinctive quirk of all remains the unintentional frown his lips shape; a trait shared with your young protege.

Toji might be a little rough around the edges, but still carries some of that boyish charm.

“So?” He slaps the menu shut.

You suck on your teeth, unable to remember a single specialty. “I’ll have what you’re having. You sound like you come here often.”

He gestures for the waiter to come over. “The kids dragged me here all the time. There’s a park here,” he points outside the window, as if that’s self-explanatory. The image of a little Megumi and a little Tsumiki tugging at their father’s pants to play hide-and-seek makes your heart swell.

The waiter arrives approximately a minute later, and Toji places your orders. You’re apparently having the aforementioned ribs, along with a beef bowl, some chashu, and a few standard vegetable dishes that, for some reason, should not contain any red bell peppers. He chose plenty, but he chose smart. None of these break the bank.

“Why not bell peppers?” You ask once the waiter goes off to fetch your water. Toji scratches his jaw as if he’s got no idea what you’re talking about, until the realization hits him on the head.

“Fuck, Megumi’s the one who hates ‘em.” He curses and motions for the waiter again when you catch his hand in mid-air and bring it down onto the table.

“I’m not a big fan either.”

Your eyes lock with his and slowly dart to where your hands meet, watching as his fingers decisively slip between your own. He forces your wrist to prop against the wood, your knuckles hugging, while he tests out what it feels like to be holding hands. Ever since the only woman he let himself cherish passed away, he’s avoided the slightest illusion of romance, and if you could peer into his brain, you’d see him contemplating how your hands are small like hers—how they’re soft like hers.

They’re just hands; he dismisses the stupid notion that hands can be anything beyond what they appear to be, and yet yours feel special to him. He looks back at what you told that asswipe and wonders if those shards you claimed to see could ever amount to love or if you’d be cut like all the others he purposely hurt. He wonders if you are dumb enough to love him. He wonders if he’s smart enough to love you.

“Here’s the seasoned spinach and the chilled tofu—” The waiter cuts in, and the table clatters after you fail to retrieve your hand. The man makes room for the plates and the glasses, standing there with an awestruck smile until Toji harshly orders him to “Scram”.

Another man with a lousy temper.

Metallic chopsticks replace your hand as Toji transfers about half of the spinach to his plate. “Man, I’m starving.” He declares and wastes no time to dig in.

You follow his lead and quickly forget all about his rudeness as your eyes well up at the euphoric taste that floods your taste buds—your insides sincerely thanking him for each bite that makes it down your throat.

The conversation dies down while you share the appetizers unevenly, with him discreetly claiming the last bites under the guise of asking you whether you’re going to eat that. You don’t mind. After all, he is paying, and he’s ordered enough for your belly to gain that five-month pregnancy bump without your stolen share.

However, when the main dishes arrive, he does the unexpected and takes on your plate first, separating the meat from the bones without your asking. It’s a clumsy way to compensate, but you can’t help but think it’s more of a reflex than a tactic, considering all the times he must’ve had the kids slide their plates his way. You thank him by dropping an extra three chunks of meat on his plate, which he gladly accepts—no returns.

The waiter who didn’t dare approach your table after delivering the ribs comes back with the dessert menus and picks up the dishes. You don’t fuss over your choices for long—Toji decides on chocolate chiffon cake and you on coffee jelly. It is then that you realize your impromptu date is coming to an end, and you haven’t asked him one question about himself.

“So what is it that you actually do?”

No sorcerer who hasn’t heard the name “Sorcerer Killer” exists, yet only a select few know the urban legend behind it has retired—a decisive factor in his deal with Satoru.

“You mean when your little friend ain’t tasking me with his dirty business?” Toji shrugs. “Stocks, mostly.”

“Stocks?” That’s not at all what you expected.

“Takes about five minutes of your time, and if ya get lucky, you’re settled for life. Rest is knowing how to read people and the market.”

Judging by the sound his car engine emits, he must be still waiting for his big break.

“Would you say you’re good at reading others?”

“The market? It depends. The people?” Toji smiles confidently. “Yes.”

“What’s your reading on me then?” You take the bite.

“Hmm.” He rubs his chin while sizing you up. “I bet you were one of those four-eyed nerds at school.” His serious tone makes you snort out loud. “Eighty percent of your experience comes from dating shows, and the other twenty from group dates with your gals. Y’are too damn trusting and find good even in rotten apples, but don’t mind losing a shoe if someone gets on your nerves.”

“Oh, really?” You snicker into your palm and shake your head once he asks you if he’s wrong. “I’d say eighty percent right?”

“Heh, told ya I’m good.”

The waiter interrupts you as he drops your dessert in the middle of the table. He apologizes and points at a few tables away, where a little girl is devouring the last piece of chocolate cake available. Toji huffs in annoyance, attempting to bewitch the cake from the girl’s plate with his glare alone.

“We can share if you want.” You offer him a spoon, which he begrudgingly accepts.

A few spoonfuls and half a dessert later, he points the spoon at the family behind you and asks if you want one. “Kids,” he specifies. “You like ‘em?”

You tap your spoon against your lips. “Would you believe me if I said I see them as walking-talking grading papers? Don’t get me wrong, I love my job and lucked out with our first years, but this was supposed to be a co-teaching gig before Satoru offloaded even the second years on my back.”

“Want me to teach that brat a lesson?” Toji flashes a grin.

“I think his confectionery going missing before he gets to try any is enough punishment.” You smile mischievously. “I can save you some. Wagashi or castella?”

“I’m beginnin’ to like you more by the minute.” He blurts out and perhaps it’s a slip of the tongue because you catch him cocking his eyebrows upward right after.

“I like you too.” You earnestly say. “God, I sound like a teenager.”

“Nah, pretty sure you’re my dream woman.” You both scoff in unison. “Now that’s lame.”

“Yeah, it was.” You hide your blush by pretending to search for the waiter. “Shall we get the check?”

“Thanks for driving me hom—well, back.” You give a little bow, having yet to unbuckle your seat belt.

“Don’t sweat it.” Toji leans against the steering wheel. He looks even more handsome in the late-afternoon light, the shadows that contour his face bringing out his defined jawline and jade eyes. You aren’t prepared to part with the sight. Not when you were just getting accustomed to it, but every word that follows leads to a quicker parting.

“I had fun today.” He nods.

“Let’s do it again sometime.” He nods again.

“I’ll be going now.” He is reluctant to, but nods a third time.

You open the door and step out of the vehicle, your waving turning into a grip as you tug the car door back open. A perplexed look wanes into a full-blown smirk when you ask him if he’d like to come in for a bit.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Your desk chair looks comically small wobbling beneath Toji’s weight, a long arm draped over the backrest while he gawks at your crouching form, half your body—save for your backside—swallowed by the mini fridge. He hears a lot of rattling. The dorms are quiet after sundown, and with the expulsion of the third years, the sound of empty drawers being flipped inside out (just in case a minuscule bottle of Ramune has slipped between them) echoes throughout the east wing’s desolate floors.

You should’ve grabbed those soda cans when you still had the chance. You consider running outside, but in the unlikely event no one’s gotten to them first, you doubt they’re safe for consumption after boiling under the hot sun for hours on end.

“Damn, kid screwed this one up badly, huh?”

You glance over your shoulder at Toji, who’s going through the scattered papers on your desk, finding the one test Megumi flunked in his entire four-month career at Jujutsu Tech. You close the fridge and pad toward the desk, balancing against the edge to peer at the answer sheets in Toji’s hands.

“Everyone failed that test.” You trace a finger over the bright red 48 mark. “Megumi actually did better than most; rest scored below 20.”

“Of course he did.” Toji scoffs.

He leaves the papers on the desk and quirks a brow as he takes in your image. Your dress has lifted higher up your thighs now that you’re propped on the furniture, revealing a slit that his eyes discreetly follow to where his imagination needs to fill in the blanks. He’s not here to fuck you, he reminds himself. He’s here because you were kind enough to offer him a drink for giving you a lift, but your hands are notably empty.

“What happened to the drinks?” Toji forces himself to look you in the eye, supposing that your eyes existed on the same level as your tits—perfectly delineated under your dress’ square neckline. He hasn’t even kissed you, and he’s already picturing what your nipples would look like sucked between his lips.

He shouldn’t go there. He really isn’t here to fuck you.

“I… forgot to do my shopping this week,” you answer, oblivious to his lewd thoughts. “Sorry, I brought you up here for nothing.”

“It’s fine.” Toji glances at the wall clock. Time’s the greatest excuse. “I should go. It’s getting late.”

And he really thinks he’s made the right call, until your dangling foot pushes against his chest to prevent him from getting up—slowly traveling down his lap while his eyes travel up to your actual ones, picking on a glint he previously missed.

“It’s not right for me to let you leave empty-handed.” Your voice assumes a sultry intonation that contradicts your angelic smile. The spread of your legs widens to reveal a thin white strip that clashes with the dark blue of your dress. He feels a strain in his pants; his conviction is wearing thin. It’s more of a “maybe” now, if anything.

His hand slides from your ankle to your knee, rubbing rough circles that purposely stray away from your sensitive parts. “Whatcha offering, doll?” Toji rasps.

“How’s twenty percent of what you got wrong sound?” Your toes create friction as they curl against his crotch, swaying back and forth. He doesn’t answer. He expects you to go on. “I was a big-time nerd. Got in college with a fully covered scholarship and all.”

His breath hitches as he moves closer to your thighs. “Expected that much.”

“And I did go on a lot of group dates. The girls wanted to meet guys whose names didn’t start and end with Gojo Satoru.” Your heel presses firmly onto his length. He’s big. You can’t tell exactly how big, but you know it won’t take long to have his cock plugged in one of your holes.

“And you didn’t?” Toji asks, rolling the plush flesh in his fingers like play-dough.

“I valued my precious dating shows a lot more.” You feel the stretch of his lips as they lay on your inner thigh, peppering kisses until the lower half of his face disappears past the layers of your dress.

“Seems to me I read ya like an open book,” Toji inhales deeply, growling a low “Shiiit, Y/N” when his nose nudges your dripping cunt, his jade eyes flickering shut while you shiver. You’ve never heard him use your name before—all pretense of respect in the form of his little Teach’s drops the second you start to rut your pussy into his face.

Before his hands can slip into your underwear, you prod him back onto his chair and get off the desk. His glare fades as soon as he watches you kneel in front of him and rest both your elbows on both sides of his knees.

“Skipping dates doesn’t mean I missed out on the experience.” Your smile drips with honey while you palm him on the way to unzipping his jeans.

You tug them down, and his hips wiggle to accommodate you. It’s a lot tougher than you thought, with the tight fabric stubbornly adhering to every muscle of his bulky thighs until it recedes. His boxers come down with greater ease, and your hand finally wraps around his cock, feeling his girth out in your open fist.

“I told you at the restaurant, but I really like you.” You give his length a slow stroke that has him sucking his teeth. “I’ve liked you since the moment I saw you barge into my classroom. I like you so much I think I can love you.”

Toji bends forward and pinches your chin between his thumb and his forefinger, tilting your head until his lips find yours—soft when they fumble around and rough when they part for his tongue to sneak into your mouth. Your delicate fingers insist on pumping his cock as he cups your cheek, ending the kiss with a playful bite across your bottom lip.

“I know,” he grins. “Heard ya talkin’ to that brat earlier.”

You would be shying away if it weren’t for his cock throbbing in your grasp, his swollen tip flushed with the exact same shade of feverish red as your cheeks.

“Eavesdropping isn’t so nice, Toji.”

“I’m not so nice either, but you overlook that.” Toji throws his head back, holding onto his breath, while you drool all over his cock head—clear strings of saliva streaming down the veiny shaft. “Y’know what’d be nice, hah—having that nice little mouth of yours wrapped around me.” Your hand drops to his balls, pink lips eager to fulfill his wish, with your cheeks barely hollowing around the tight fit. “So fucking nice,” he hisses.

His filthy praises are muffled out by his groans, which grow both in volume and in pitch the more inches you manage in your throat, his raspiness fading into the breathiest of moans once your nose tingles his unkempt base. You let go with a plop, air returning to your lungs through heavy pants. Your fists take over instead, appearing beyond puny as they struggle to engulf his hefty girth. Toji’s by far the biggest you’ve had; another of his assets you’re elated to discover.

You steal a lick from the precum that’s glazing his tip and purse your lips together. It’s a bit strong in flavor, but you don’t mind. It’s his.

“I meant everything I said,” you beam. “I still think of you as nice.”

“You’re bound to milk some kindness out of me if ya keep goin’ sweetheart.” Toji jokes, taking hold of his cock. He starts jerking himself to the sight of you, and you may have all your clothes on, but the way you genuinely smile at him, lips glossy from spit, almost sends him over the edge. “You’re so pretty,” he mumbles. “Even thought you were pretty in that—ugh, what was it?”

“Tunic?” You ask, recounting your first meeting.

“Yeah, right. That ridiculous grandma’s tunic you flaunted.” Raven strands flap over his forehead. “Wanted to rip that right off your body and fuck you on the spot.”

His words send pleasurable tingles throughout your body, with the pool in your panties overflowing your thighs. “What stopped you?” Your lips attach to his balls, your wet tongue lapping around until it finds a spot that has him fisting his cock at a faster pace, the tip rhythmically smacking your forehead.

Toji fails to gather his thoughts; his mind is solely focused on chasing after his incoming release. You feel his balls tighten and back away, setting your palms flat against your lap—eyes marveling at how the man who kept you tossing and turning in an empty bed for months on end is about to spill his load all over your face. A man whom you, up until a few hours ago, dreaded would reject you.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he pants out. “Gonna make you even prettier. Gonna make you into my pretty girl—fuck, all mine.”

“All yours, Toji.” You repeat, lulling your tongue out. “Cum on my face, Toji. Please, gimme your cum.”

And it is that please that gets his cock to spurt his milky cum all over your lips and chin, with only a handful of his velvety ropes making it onto your tongue. He grunts, squeezing the final drops from the tip until it stops twitching. He wipes it clean against your lips and helps you to your feet, taking advantage of your imbalance to hold you by the waist.

“Is there something on my face?” You ask, seeing as Toji blatantly drills holes into your skull.

Heavy eyelashes flutter over his low-hooded eyes. A dark chuckle rings against your skin as his mouth presses against your jaw. “Aren’t ya cheeky?” He licks a portion of his cum off your chin and feeds it to your tongue, all nice and slow, in a heady kiss that brings your bodies closer to one another. Your cunt is still soaked, pulsing around nothing, and his cock is still rock-hard, throbbing against your stomach.

Holding turns into groping as Toji gives your ass a squeeze. “Better not fail Megumi from now on.”

Your teeth clash together as you break into a sudden cackle. “Someone might think you’re only doing this to secure his grades.”

“Among other reasons,” he states.

“Is this how you care for your son’s education?” You humor him. “By seducing his teacher?”

“Nah,” Toji pauses to tug at your dress’ strap. He’s going to have to unzip it if he wants to move things forward. “My kid’s plenty smart on his own. Besides, the teacher’s the one doin’ the seducing here.” He caresses your curves and smiles in triumph once he spots the zipper on the side. “Wouldn’t fuck ‘er if she’d let me go back to my car to jerk it like a responsible man would. Would’ve waited until the second date; buy her something good—you like flowers, right?”

You lift your arms for him to strip you. He leaves you to stand in your unmatched underwear, black lace on your tits, and white cotton around your hips. His tongue darts out, wetting his lower lip. “Is it too late to enroll?”

Your eyes perform a full circle. You almost shove his hands away from your bra when you realize it’s already off. He thumbs at your nipples with his palms cupped around your breasts, refusing to let an inch of your soft skin spill from his calloused, practiced fingers.

“I’m afraid you’re behind the rest of the class.” You go along with his game of role-play. “I’d have to give you private lessons.”

“Sign me up.”

Toji steps back to remove his shirt, undoing his buttons so quickly that you’re certain they’ll fly right off. He discards it on the floor, and you take stock of his physique, inevitably gaping at the jagged scars that span from below his left shoulder to the center of his torso. Your fingers carefully trail over them, as if the violence that caused them still lurks beneath.

So that’s what sustaining limitless leaves you with, you momentarily muse, before your sympathy dissolves into a quarter of a smile. You don’t want him to think you’re pitying him—because you aren’t. Both he and Satoru made their choices, and you refuse to be the judge of their decade-long feud.

His hands return to your waist, while yours meet behind his neck. You kiss again and again, the action of mouths stealing each other’s oxygen repeating until the edge of your desk digs into your lower back. His strong arms smother you like he’s never embraced another before; overwhelming you to the point where you’re moaning despite his cock not being in yet.

“Just so you know, this gonna be a regular thing.” Toji mutters, his green eyes confirming his sincerity in the way he pulls your thighs apart. He doesn’t think he’s never said that phrase before. It’s always the opposite.

He dips a hand into your panties, lathering his palm with your slick, and then strokes his dick. “Not ‘ere for the sex only.”

“You’re gonna stay over and buy me breakfast?” You entertain the idea.

“As long as convenience store Onigiri cuts it. A bit tight this month.” Toji leaves you some breathing space, kicking his pants off his ankles. “A’right. Turn around and arch that back for me.”

A wicked smirk rises on his scar as you face away from him. “I was hoping to fuck you on your little classroom desk, but this will do just fine. You can look back on it next time ya feel swamped with papers.”

“I won’t be able to get any work done!” You protest.

The aforementioned papers glue to your breasts when you prop yourself on your elbows. You glance over your shoulder, catching sight of Toji positioning himself between your legs. You feel him run his cock between your now-bare folds, your panties having dropped in a pool around your feet like tasteless anklets.

Toji kneads your ass with one hand, the other stroking himself along your clenching holes. “You can think of this as my confession.” He trails off as he drives his thick cock into your wet pussy, and he does it slowly enough for it not to hurt, but it’s him who ends up needing a good minute to adjust after he bottoms out.

He knows it’ll feel even better once he moves, but it already feels perfect as is. So warm; so tight; so good that he’s afraid he’ll lose composure and jackhammer into you until the desk legs break.

“Haven’t had such perfect pussy in ages.” Toji grunts, his nails digging sharp crescent moons into the fat of your ass.

He’s had his fair share of pretty girls with empty brains and tight cunts, but yours is something else. Yours, he wants it owned. He wants it to lull him to sleep every night, only to wake up the next morning to the mess you’ve made creaming around his cock all night long. He wants to make you into his personal cock warmer, and he nearly cringes at the thought, until he feels you pulse around him and realizes you probably want that too.

“Fuck me, T-Toji.” You stammer, pulling your body forward only to slam it back on his length.

That’s all he needs to get going. His hips mercilessly slap against your own while he drills his cock in and out with such vigor that he feels it kissing your cervix. The desk bangs hard against the wall, almost overpowering the sounds of your soft whimpers. He forces you to meet his tempo, using the leverage on your ass to cut down on the distance between his leaking head and your puffy cunt.

“‘member what I told ya when I first saw ya?” Toji slows down, his fingers reaching between your thighs to swipe at your clit while his hips switch to languid rolls.

“Y-You mean after you—fuck, put your shoes on my desk thinking it was Satoru’s?”

“Brings back memories, doesn’t it?” He huffs and brings your arm behind your back, pressing down on it. “Remember,” he mouths hot kisses down your nape and shoulder, his palm cupping your entire cunt while your walls flutter around him. “Remember how I said you’re too hot to be stuck ‘ere teaching brats manners?”

You fist at the table, desperately searching in your foggy mind for a memory you can’t seem to find or a place to grip, the only answer you can muster being, “You never said that.”

“I didn’t?” Toji flicks the sensitive nub upward. “Well, not every thought’s meant to be shared, mhm?”

He pops your dialogue bubble by nipping at your neck, his cock scratching an itch that has you writhing in pleasure.

“Shhh, baby.” He coos, the warm timbre in his voice soothing the shrill ringing in your head. “Promise I’ll be more vocal now on. Tell ya all about how good that sloppy pussy’s flooding me, or how gorgeous your cute face looks lighting up whenever ya see me.”

The flames in your stomach shoot up to your heart, beating so loud you swear it punctuates his every word.

“How many times was it?” He asks. “Eight PT meetings in two months? Or ten? Ya think I wouldn’t notice I was the only parent called?”

Your head droops forward. “Would’ve been eleven if you didn’t come today. Wanna see more of you, Toji. F-fuck, wanna see you all the time.”

“And you will,” he detaches from your neck and picks up his speed, keen on having you see starts with the way he thumbs your clit. “Gonna make you cum around my cock every day, sweetheart. Just call me and—ugh, I’ll come runnin’. No need for that PT crap.”

Your bitten lips do nothing to contain your unregulated cries as you tighten around him like a vice—the only coherent words among your long-drawn vowels being “I’m cumming, Toji!” that you scream at the top of your lungs.

Toji begrudgingly pulls out, letting you ride your high alone. If he stays in a second longer, he knows you’ll end up with a nine-month trouble that will escalate into a lifelong problem in the form of paychecks for him and test sheets for you.

He plops down on the chair to cool down for a moment, proudly admiring your stupefied expression, eyes blown out with sheer ecstasy, and lips gasping for air.

“Hey. Are you free tomorrow?”

Maybe you are worth the trouble.

The delightful buzzes in your head are replaced with a series of acute knocks against your door. You barely have time to locate your rug of a dress in the corner of the room and zip it up, hoping the fabric’s enough to keep the marks on your body out of your visitor’s field of view.

“Should’ve known,” you groan, wishing you'd shoved your head in the pillows and pretended you were missing—except, there's no hiding from him. You step outside and close the door with your back, folding your arms over your chest. “What brings you here, Satoru?”

“Mornin’ to you too, Y/N.” His mouth is full as he speaks, rice grains framing both sides of his lips. “How was your date?”

“It was…” you pause, focusing on the plastic convenience store bag he’s holding rather than his eyes, “good.”

“Good, huh?” He grimaces. He doesn’t have to tell you he was hoping it’d fail. “Anyway, came to drop these. Someone left them on your doorstep.”

You peer into the contents of the bag, full of onigiri in different flavors—two that are tuna mayo, two with shrimp tempura, two with salted salmon, and lastly, a spare pickled plum.

Your lips curl into a smile as you pick your favorite from the bunch. So that's your answer.

"Thanks, Satoru." He is surprised you didn't scold him, gladly taking his chance to leave before you speak again. "Wait."

"I was the one who stole your Manju."

[bovine-providence]

Comfortable

This is a comfort piece. Long story about that, I just need two supportive boyfriends with Melone and Illuso. Soooo this is a self-insert rather than a Reader insert.

[CWs: suggested toxic family dynamics]

Jacie blinked at the screen, and again. The words remained the same.

We’ve decided to move forward with your application, the email read. Please fill out these forms and we can continue the hiring process.

She should be excited, happy that her months-long job search was at an end. So why did she feel like crying?

Before she knew it, hot tears were running uncomfortably down her cheeks as she wrapped herself in a blanket on the couch; a half-empty bottle of wine sat within reach on the nearby table. In her distress, she didn’t hear the door to the apartment opening, nor her two boyfriends walking in. It wasn’t until warm hands were on her shoulders and a body pressed beside her that she jolted up and found herself face to face with Illuso as Melone wrapped an arm around her.

“Jacie, dolcezza, what’s wrong?” Illuso asked hurriedly. She could only shake her head, uncovering her arms to pull him in. He held her close, shushing her, as Melone cooed reassurances into her ear.

“You’re alright, we’re here,” she distantly heard Melone murmur as she was bundled between him and their other lover.

“Take a deep breath. Can you do that for us?” Following Illuso’s gentle request, she took a gulp of air, feeling less lightheaded. She continued like that until her breathing returned to normal. Exhausted, she nuzzled into Melone’s neck.

“You feeling better?” the lilac-haired man asked softly. Jacie nodded.

“Can you tell us what happened?” Illuso requested. He had relocated to her other side, sitting in such a way that he could almost pull her onto his lap.

“I got the job,” she said quietly.

“That’s great news!” Melone perked up.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Jacie didn’t see her boyfriends trade a concerned glance before Illuso nudged her.

“Hey, you were excited about this job. What happened?”

The brown-haired woman shrugged helplessly.

“I mean, I was, but… my parents have been telling me to get a job for months, and I’ve been trying! Then this job comes along, and it looks fun. Maybe not the greatest, but it looks like I’ll find it fulfilling and enjoy it and I mean, it’s a JOB. It’s better than nothing. But they’re focusing on it not having benefits and that I need to find another and just… I don’t know what they want from me. I feel like they’ve taken the excitement out of this. I know it’s not a terrific job, but it’s something! But it’s like it’s never good enough for them!”

Jacie felt the tears begin to well up in her eyes again.

“Hey now,” Melone said softly. “None of that.” Gently taking her chin in hand, he pulled Jacie’s face to his. “I think it’s a wonderful opportunity. There’s some drawbacks now, but there could be a great payout later. I think you should take it.”

“And there’s plenty of ways to work around a job without benefits,” Illuso added. “Yeah, it’s not fun, but there’s still things you can do about it. It’s not the end of the damn world.”

She quirked her mouth up at their words, still sniffling a little.

“I guess you’re right,” she noted. “But I still can’t bring myself to feel excited. I want to though.”

Melone sighed as he pulled his girlfriend close, wrapping her into a tight hug.

“Listen,” Illuso began. “That’s because of your parents’ influence. You know Mel and I don’t like how they treat you. If you don’t want to take this job, that’s up to you. We’ll support you either way. But think about this.” He reached out to hold both her hands in his own. He gazed up at the woman earnestly. “I remember how excited you were when you came back from that interview. You said it went well, you were excited, you had a sparkle in your eye when you told us you even made the interviewer laugh. How you talked about the possibilities, you were all smiles.” The brunette sighed, looking down before returning to Jacie. “I don’t want you to forget about that.”

“I think you’d be a great fit in the role,” Melone murmured into her hair. “And he’s right, you know. Don’t let your parents bring you down. Make the decision for yourself.”

Jacie nodded. They were right, but she still felt a bit put off about the situation.

Seeing their girlfriend’s state was stabilizing, albeit slowly, Illuso got up and picked up the bottle of wine.

“I’m going to put this away, and when I come back, how about we talk about dinner ideas?” he suggested.

“Let’s focus on the positives tonight,” Melone added. “You’ve finally gotten a job offer. That’s great news! Even if you decide not to accept, let’s at least celebrate that there’s been progress.”

“…Alright,” Jacie nodded. Melone smiled and pecked a kiss to her cheek as Illuso strode off to the kitchen, returning shortly after.

“Any thoughts on what you want to eat?” Illuso asked tenderly as he rejoined his lovers on the couch.

“Could we just cuddle for now?” Jacie whispered.

“Of course,” the brunette hummed. He was quick to wrap his arms around Jacie and pull her into him, laying back on the couch with her pressed against his chest. Melone, who had pulled away from her during this, was quick to settle down with the other two, forming a warm pile of limbs on the couch.

It was maybe a little hot, and definitely didn’t provide a lot of movement, but Jacie wouldn’t have it any other way. In the warm arms of her boyfriends, she felt loved.

[ancestorsofjudah]

1 Kings 13: 6-10. "Intercession."

6 Then the king said to the man of God, “Intercede with the Lord your God and pray for me that my hand may be restored.” So the man of God interceded with the Lord, and the king’s hand was restored and became as it was before.

7 The king said to the man of God, “Come home with me for a meal, and I will give you a gift.”

8 But the man of God answered the king, “Even if you were to give me half your possessions, I would not go with you, nor would I eat bread or drink water here. 

9 For I was commanded by the word of the Lord: ‘You must not eat bread or drink water or return by the way you came.’” 

10 So he took another road and did not return by the way he had come to Bethel.

When a priest intercedes and says "there, there now, old boy," He does not mean things will go back to the way they were before. He can restore the Hand, the Yod, to a fellow pilgrim and resume instruction in the Tanakh, but there are always consequences.

The section above is almost all Gemtria, so we have to decipher that first in order to understand the full implications.

Men of God are the Ordinances in the Torah. Do this, do not do that. We are the children, the Torah is the parent. Men of God have every right to approach all of us and hold us accountable for the statues named in the Torah.

Kings are persons who are trying to master the Sefirot. It is not enough to mind the boundaries, the Religion says we must be possessed of a superior emotional level. This requires full substantiation of the authority of the Crown over the rest of the subjects, which burn like emotional torches in a poorly lit underground corridor through which all of life's decisions pass.

Mastery of the Crown cannot take place through intercession or even the study of the Torah. This requires what is called Kabbalah, "rehearsal" of the various Sefirot. Kings therefore are well-rehearsed emotional beings.

Restoring a hand that shriveled and turned to ash= 518-2, האח, "the brother", האחב, "I love"= Cain, the brother of Abel, whom God sent on to create history's first NYC, Enosh, after he murdered his vain twin.

The king said to the man of God, “Come home with me for a meal, and I will give you a gift.”=duhz, "The gathering of the wolf parent and the sheep."

The parent of the situation was a certain Pharaoh in Egypt who gave Jeroboam refuge when he fled from Solomon's court. We might want to take it for granted that Jeroboam repented, performed a sacrifice on the altar and got his hand restored in the process, but as we learned, leaving the food in Egypt behind was the biggest problem for the Israelites who fled from there after their slavery ended.

see Numbers 11: 4-6:

"We remember the fish, which we did eat in Egypt freely; the cucumbers, and the melons, and the leeks, and the onions, and the garlick: but now our soul is dried away: there is nothing at all, beside this manna, before our eyes."

Slavery, laziness, in government, they are the same. And the real parent of the situation was actually supposed to be Levi.

"The verb לוה (lawa) means to join or to connect things; it's a verb of building and it's also the verb that lies at the heart of intelligence, cognition and logical deduction."

Recall how Jeroboam did not employ Levite Priests in his incense offerings and that is when all the trouble started.

Verse 8: the Gematria is 12752, אבזהב‎, gold. The Hebrew word for gold is zahav: meaning Jeroboam's corruption had to be sacrificed 100%; it had no value in any of its proportions and could not be refined Gold, however, is always pure, and always retains 100% of its value and qualities:

"Gold items were valuable but gold also held an enormous value to the wisdom tradition. Very long ago observers noted that gold is the only substance known to man that doesn't transmute into something else. And since everything else, sooner or later, changes into something else, gold was seen as the ultimate result of all change: perfection, in one word.

Gold held that status until the Word of the Lord came along (or rather: descended from where it had always existed) and surpassed the extent of natural evolution."

Verse 9: 9132, טאג‎ב, tagab, "the supreme tag" or "the mark of the crown of the wise", ie, back to Cain again, "do not go back to Egypt, go forward."

Verse 10: 3759, גזהט‎, gazette, "the writing". According to the Law, the "man of God" follows "good reports" alone to Bethel, the "institute of tribal knowledge."

The Intercession is therefore more of an intersection, as most of life almost always is. In the previous section, Jeroboam was split in half, exposing the errors of his ways which were apparently hidden from him.

God gives him another chance, telling him not to eat the same things, but to change just about everything about himself, and tells him how to do it. "Move on!" He says to the man.

Even still, alas, the story, unlike Cain's does not have a happy ending.

[blackparaderunner]

Morgott X gender neutral reader with some Mohg spice

(Written for @elden-shame to help feed their cravings)

(Part 1 of ?)

You'd never wanted to fight Morgott from the moment you'd seen him. He was too tall, too intimidating and built like a brick fucking house. You could tell that his hands could crush you like an overripe melon in seconds.

And yet for the first few months that's all that would happen. No matter how hard you tried to get around him and into the castle he was just there. Pushing you off ledges, knocking you down the stairs with his stick and even once just stepping on you. Each time he'd call you pathetic for not drawing your weapon and fighting back. Each time you'd see his face outlined with an ever growing darkness before everything faded and you'd awaken just outside.

It was depressing. Just how every time you could get a little further before hearing his voice and knowing the end was coming. But this time was different. This time he had you suspended by one of his strong hands over the edge of the crumbling bridge as the wind whipped around your ankles trying to wrench you free.

"Foul tresspasser. Time and time again ye have attempted to cross this bridge to the castle beyond. Each time to be stopped by your betters." He seemed to sigh as if this game between the two of you had grown tiresome. "Time and time again ye continue to return like the rats when the cat is not looking. Is that what you are little pest? A rat come to feast upon the refuse of a tired lord and his decaying castle?"

You swallowed hard and clung to his hairy hand like a lifeline. You didn't want to fall, not again, just to wake up outside all over again. "No disrespect sir but if you'd notice I have no weapons to my name. This whole time I've been trying to find shelter and maybe some sanctuary in the castle beyond. Have you seen the lands and the beasts who walk upon it? Surely you can tell just by looking at me that I'd last no longer out there than I do in here."

Morgott looked at you as if you'd suddenly turned into something vile. Eyes narrowing and lips puckered you were sure he'd do more than just drop you this time. But it was to be expected. What were you besides an annoying pest biting at his ankles to get past?

"This castle belongs to Godrick the grafted. All ye will find inside is death. If ye are lucky ye might keep all your appendages but when have ye ever been lucky?" He tossed you down onto the bridge as if you'd soiled his hand. Flexing it and staring at his fingers he seemed lost in thought for a moment. "Ye will never pass these ramparts nor set foot inside the castle alive. Turn back while mercy is shown to ye."

You couldn't go back out there. To the mass of guards and wolves falling from the skies. Dropping to your knees you figured if all else failed you could beg. Worst that could happen is he stepped on you again.

"Please sir." You began as you searched for the words. "If these towers are empty I'd gladly live within them. Let me hide in the cellars with the rats and the dark if you must. Just please..."

"Enough." His voice boomed as if you'd offended him. Looking up you saw the pathetic way he stared at you as if realizing what kind of being you truely were. "If ye want to live and die in the towers than so be it." Grabbing you by the scruff you found yourself drug to the highest platform. Dropped like a bag of potatoes he just ignored you to return to his place overlooking the bridge from above.

And that is how you spent the next several months surviving. Rainwater and scraps he brought you were all that kept you going. He hardly spoke but would amswer your questions if pressed enough. It was as if you'd become a part of his routine without knowing it. Sure when he jumped down to fight other tarnished you'd cry out as the force would attempt to pull you dowm after him, but everytime you would be the only survivor of his attacks.

Time seemed to speed up as soon the season of falling petal like leaves covered the lands from the Erdtree. Usually around this time people would gather in their crops and prepare for the coming winter. The nights grew colder and far too often you could see your breath once the sun went down.

You asked for a blanket exactly once. Morgott mumbled something under his breath but gave you no defining answer. The next morning you awoke to a plush comforter wrapped around you carefully. As if he'd been afraid to wake you up during the night. Of course he'd never actually be that gentle with you. Right?

Day in and day out you watched him fight and win against countless tarnished who would come trying to pass into the castle. He'd told you that grace was leading them here to die. That their path to the elden ring was a suicidal endeavor. And yet there never seemed to be an end to them.

After one particularly rough fight you had seen to wrapping his arm to stop the bleeding. He, of course, merely watched as if you were doing something unneeded. Once finished you just hunkered down in your blanket before an extra warmth wrapped around you. His tail was now curled around you like a snake. As if he were silently putting worth upon you after so many months of companionship.

And so it would go until the days melted together. When it would rain he'd shelter you under his arm. Which wasn't quite pleasant as the smell of wet fur clung to you for days afterwards. When it snowed you'd be wrapped in his tail for warmth. One day the winds whipped past you like hungry beasts and he'd kept hold of you as if to keep you to himself. Never once giving you the answers you needed.

"What am I to you?" Finally after one night of particularly rought fights and countless bandages later. You never expected an answer; why would he give you one?

"Ye have become a flea in mine fur." His voice rumbled in the dark. "Embedding yourself deep and bleeding me of my very wits." You could see him watching you out of the corner of his eye.

"Are you saying it's time to be rid of me?" The thought of leaving the ramparts to wander the lands terrified you. After so long of comfort and protection you couldn't imagine being alone again.

"Did I say anything about tossing ye back to the wolves?" Voice stern it was obvious you'd offended him. Maybe he expected you to know more about this silent bond between the both of you?

"Please don't. It's getting colder and your tail is so warm." You began before one large hand silenced you. Grabbing you by your scruff he lifted you until your noses nearly touched. His breath was warm on your face and smelled faintly of the honeyed beer he drank.

"Ye believe mine tail a commodity? Something offered to all who ask?"

"No sir. Merely have grown attached..." You began before he dropped you at his feet. With a mighty sigh the appendage was wrapped around you once more.

"Thoughtless tarnished. Blind to everything around ye." His voice rumbled, softer, as if he'd written you off as being some foolish child. "Ye won't be leaving my side anytime soon. So prepare for the seasons for they will be many and we will face them together."

[maomao-words]

Here is another self-indulgent piece of writing!  (✿´‿`)

I binged Blue Lock’s manga in 3 days and I am now left with an empty void that I’m trying to fill by writing about my favorite characters in it.

On a side-note, I always seem to think of them as 18-19 years old. 

Contains few spoilers on some characters’ ranks after the Third Selection!

Being their Personal Manager at Blue Lock: (Itoshi Rin, Seishiro Nagi, Hyoma Chigiri)

Rin Itoshi:

Being assigned to the 1st ranker in all of Blue Lock immediately after your adaptability test barely shocked anyone. At this point in time where the whole existence of Blue Lock centered around Itoshi Rin, it was more than obvious that Rin would only receive the utmost care and the very best of the candidates as his manager.

Ranking first in the agonizingly harsh Entrance Exam and managing to out best all 600 other candidates from over the country, you were always the sole choice for Itoshi Rin’s personal manager.

You were already familiar with Rin’s character, preferences, weaknesses, strengths, diet and overall living style. You even had his body measurements down to the millimeter engraved in your brain. You thought yourself as perfectly ready to assist him in his endeavor, but reality soon proved you slightly wrong.

Meeting the genius called Itoshi Rin for the first time, you swore your blood ran cold within your veins the minute his eyes locked with yours. An oppressive aura, suffocating enough to send shivers down your back, surrounded you immediately the minute you stepped into his room. It took all of your willpower not to tremble in front of him.

Rin’s gaze did not move from yours for what seemed like an eternity, but noticing no visible signs of fear or submission on you, his lips slightly curved in a smirk and he finally stood up from his chair, discarding your test results on the table nearby.

“Not bad. She’ll do for now.”

Once you gained Rin’s initial approval, you started your mission as his closest aid. From the moment Rin opened his eyes to the minute he closed his door at night to sleep, you never left his side. You calculated his calories intake and planned his meals accordingly. You carefully reserved the training field and machines to Rin’s own wishes, making absolute sure they are available for Rin to use without any interruption or interference from other players. You planned, ran around, filled up water bottles and picked up emergency kits more quickly than you have ever did back in your own school’s competitive soccer club. You did that over and over again, to the point that you felt like dying. Until you finally broke down.

But being Itoshi Rin’s personal aid did not even offer you the privilege of breaking down in public. You waited until the day’s clamor and chaos was over. You meticulously prepared Rin’s lunch and reminded him to take the few tablets of vitamins afterwards before finally excusing yourself.

Rin raised a brow in faint confusion, as you have never willingly separated yourself from his side, even during meals. But the wound within your chest has finally festered to the point of no return, and you were unable to provide him with a convincing explanation before you gathered your papers and left.

The empty hallway located far from the center cafeteria soon echoed with your faint sobs. You gathered up your knees close to your chest and slowly rocked yourself in hopes of easing your pain. Weeks of harsh labor, zero communication with the outside world as well as the stress that came with handling all of Rin’s demanding responsibilities finally bled over.

You were not giving up. ‘Make no mistake,’ you whispered to yourself between sobs. You were just taking a much earned break before drying up your tears and returning to work.

But just as you began to feel frustrated at the tears still falling on your cheeks, you felt a heavy cloth fall on top of your head accompanied with an extremely familiar fragrance.

You jolted, hand coming up to clutch at Rin’s jacket before glancing up at the tall figure standing by your side. You opened your mouth but a round package slammed into your face next, leaving you to wince in pain.

“Eat that and let’s hurry back. I can’t find my black cleats.”

Rin’s voice echoed in the empty hall, forcing you to bring your attention to the melon bread he threw at you. Sounds of clothes rustling beside you made you look up again, only to find that Rin has sat down beside you, hand coming up to tug you closer to him.

Placing his palm on top of your eyes, Rin’s voice sounded as soft as ever as he whispered.

“Rest. I’m here.”

Seishiro Nagi:

As you stared down at your test results that have finally arrived after a long wait, you suddenly had the urge to cry out. 

Why him of all people?

Having extensively studied all of Blue Lock’s key players prior to passing the Entrance Exam as a manager, you were filled with admiration and respect to them and thus felt ready to be assigned to any of them. Any of them but Nagi Seishiro.

A beginning who did not even know the most basic of the basics on football yet somehow blessed enough to be labeled as a genius even among Blue Lock’s outstanding participants. That was Nagi Seichiro.

You abhorred geniuses. You abhorred how easily they reached their goals, how effortlessly they achieved their desires and how the entire world seemed to bow down in front of them. Becoming the personal manager of a hard working individual, like Isagi Yoichi for example, would have made you the happiest woman on the planet. To watch that individual sweat and toil, think and plan all of his minor actions in order to reach the pinnacle of his dreams through both talent and hard work and get to assist him in that process was the reason behind your entrance to Blue Lock.

So when the day where the eleven chosen managers entered the isolated towering building to meet the elite players ranking at the top of the whole project came, all you could taste was bitterness and rage in your mouth.

After Ego finished the basic introductions between managers and players, he gave the green light for you all to start performing your duties. As you began to collect your belongings that were delivered to you by the staff, you could see the tall figure of a young man approaching you from behind.

Without allowing Nagi the faintest chance to offer his help, you hoisted your luggage up with both hands and started walking towards the managers’’ sleeping quarters with only “I will be back shortly” thrown behind your back at the frozen Nagi.

A job was a job after all and you had no intention to slack off because of your personal dislikes. But you will be sure to maintain a professional distance from Blue Lock’s 6th ranker to avoid any unnecessary trouble.

Being Nagi’s personal manager was as hard as you have expected. Having to support a monster who does not cease to evolve with each passing day at a frightening pace would be considered had by anyone’s standards. But you were already aware of the heavy duties imposed on you from the start so you grinded your teeth and bared the pain. The only issue you seemed to have was, unsurprisingly, Nagi himself.

You have intended for your cold treatment the day you both met to be enough warning for the player. You wanted to perform your duties. Nothing less, nothing more. But Nagi seemed to have another idea on the relationship between you. 

He did not hinder your tasks nor act difficult on purpose to harm you, but he also made sure to greet you warmly each morning before plopping his large hand on top of your head and gently pat your hair for a few minutes before leaving.

He made sure to stick close to you during meal time, pushing off whatever he deemed not-tasty to your own plate, and innocently smiling when your try to scold him. He always shared his dessert with you, no matter how many times you tried to lie and tell him you disliked sweets. He constantly tried his best not to overburden you with questions on players and tactics and carefully chose the times where you were free enough to answer him.

In short, Nagi Seichiro was a weirdo. A weirdo you wanted to choke.

As the time went by, your perspective on Nagi was entirely transformed, despite yourself. You started to put extra care into his meals, go beyond what is required of you when it came to taking care of his training schedule and treatment and even sacrifice some of your free time in order to answer as much of his questions as you can.

One morning, as Nagi stepped in the room and smiled brightly at you, you found yourself moving in closer to him before raising your arms and catching him in a tight hug. Nagi almost stumbled in surprise, but managed to stable you both as he wrapped his hands behind your back. But before he could even utter a word, your mouth opened and a joyful, “Good morning Sei-chan!” came out.

Hyoma Chigiri:

“Are you sure you wish to be assigned to Chigiri?” Ego’s detached voice echoed in the almost empty hall, stopping you in your tracks. The results of the Blue Lock Entrance Exam for managers were just announced and the chosen eleven were asked to pack up and be ready to leave in a two-hours frame.

“You do realize that your rank actually qualifies you to become Itoshi’s Rin support, don’t you?” Ego’s fingers tapped on the table in a rhythmic manner, not stopping even as you glared at him.

“Yes, sir, I am well aware of that fact. But my decision will not change.” Your voice, calm and steady, caused Blue Lock’s host to grin, his raven locks falling to the side as he tilted his head to inspect you closely. “A calculative, rational and logical tactician as you, who managed to outrank all 600 other participants in a six hour long exam, is moved by mere personal emotions?”

It was hard for any regular person to detect the mockery dripping from each of Ego’s words and not feel their blood boiling within their veins. Only you slightly smirked at Ego, eyes curving in genuine mirth as you joyfully answered: “Yes! Is there any problem?”

All the struggles you have faced so far in order to reach this point were, after all, done for the sake of one person: Hyoma Chigiri. Specializing in medical treatment and athletic injuries as a manager was not a coincidence. You have long became aware of your intense desire to support Chigiri and aid him in his journey to achieve his dreams. No matter how many people laughed at you both, no matter how many criticized your choices and claimed you could do much, much better than an injured boy, playing on borrowed time, your resolve never shook.

As you finally locked eyes with Chigiri after your arrival at Blue Lock, you saw how his shoulders slightly trembled and his eyes widened, and your resolve was instantly renewed. Not many words were needed as you playfully extended your hand to shake Chigiri’s own. He was aware that you were there for him and that you will not change your mind no matter what he says or does.

Your duties at Blue Lock were slightly easier than your fellow managers simply due to the fact that you were already familiar with Chigiri’s routine. Needing no time to adjust, you dove head first into taking care of Chigiri, putting the well-being of his knee as your utmost priority. You tried your best not to bite your lips each time you bent down to take a look at the previously injured area, fully knowing that Chigiri has made his peace with the incident and was now focusing on moving on with no regrets.

Your favorite task to perform was, and still is, taking care of Chigiri’s silky hair. You were faced with his slightly damaged locks the day you arrived at Blue Lock’s building and Chigiri had to apologize a couple of times for ruining the hair you treasured the most. Ever since then, you returned to your usual task of picking hair products for him, drying and styling his hair depending on Chigiri’s schedule for the day. Braids were your go-to style but you also enjoyed changing things up, knowing that it made Chigiri happy each time you tried to come up with a new hairdo.

Now that you were finally reunited with your childhood friend and lover, you were ready to give it your all and see it all to its final end.

[waywardsummoner46]

(Un)Pleasantville

A/N: Second one shot, yay! Definitely toying with expanding this as well as my Lucifer!Sam and Michael!Dean fic. I’m open to requests and let me know if you want to be added to my tag list (never had one before, oo this is exciting). As ever enjoy the fic and let me know what you think!

Word count ~ 1620

______________________________________________________________

Alright so, not to sugar coat anything but this was an absolute nightmare.

  You, Sam and Castiel had gotten word of a hunt - well more Sam but that’s besides the point - and had left yesterday. You’d paused at a gas station outside of a place called Charming Acres but the dude at the counter said something was off about the place… so naturally (or supernaturally) you all went to check it out. And a dude’s head just completely blew up out of the blue after he came in for his phone?

  Pulling into the town itself, now that was something. You felt as though you’d walked into a 1950s sitcom about some cheesy, lovesick marriage story. Something that you’d like to stay well away from. Consequently, you met a cheesy, lovesick couple called Justin and Cindy Smith who said they’d heard absolute zilch about any deaths and “this is a very close-knit community, nothing goes on here without everyone knowing” blah blah blah.

  Anyway, the strangest thing for you wasn’t the clothes, nor was it the 1950s behaviour, no, it was the fact Justin didn’t seem to recognise what a phone was. You silently ogled at him but he paid no attention to you. So now you definitely thought something was off about this place. 

  After that fateful encounter, you all stumbled upon the local diner “Harrington’s” who was run by the Mayor Chip Harrington and his daughter Sunny. You thought Sunny was a very sweet young woman who honestly looked like someone you’d get along with, however you noticed her head perked up once conversation about Conrad (watermelon head guy) started. Castiel so delicately stated, “Oh no! His head exploded” rendering everyone in the diner speechless.

  The Mayor stuttered for a moment then questioned “Excuse me?”

  “Like a ripe melon in the sun.”

  Whilst this confrontation was happening, Sunny gave you and Sam milkshakes, as Cas had refused earlier, so you were busy trying not to spit it out as you found that conversation hilarious. Chippy boy gave you the information where Conrad was last seen and then you all took off but not before Sam abruptly said “Alright, you know what? We’re leaving, bye.” And that was that.

  When you’d all arrived at the boarding house, a too cheerful Ms. Dowling greeted you at the door, and creepily said she knew you were coming because it’s a small town and things travel fast. Honestly, what is it with these people? From there, and after a brief explanation on why you all were there, she showed you to Conrad’s room and said he moved in a few weeks ago.

  Being your observant self, you came to the conclusion that the bed had been barely used but there were passionate and just plain disgusting letters under the mattress addressed from Sunny (so maybe she wasn’t so innocent, neither were you).

   At the same time Sam suggested you all stay overnight and divulge and investigate more thoroughly in the morning and yet his almost desperate tone of voice put you on edge. Obviously, you were all tired and weary but Sam was just on a whole new level of “oh this is amazing, we should stay here because it’s so cool”. So reluctantly, you and Cas agreed but not before exchanging an uncertain glance with each other, the intuition of a teenager and an angel right?

  Sam and you were sharing a room since Cas had insisted on his own, and instantly something changed with how he addressed you. “(Y/N), please take your shoes off, you’ll ruin this lovely carpet,” and “(Y/N), sweetheart, don’t you think wearing something a little more lady-like would be more appropriate, hm?” 

 All you could do what was sit and stare because not once had Sam ever been this pedantic or pathetic and he certainly had never called you “sweetheart”, so too baffled to engage in intelligent conversation, you went to bed just after Sam as you were too busy burning incredulous holes into the back if his hairy head. Struggling to grasp sleep, you softly whispered a “What the fuck?” and thank god Sam didn’t hear you because you would’ve absolutely hated the outcome.

  The next morning you were woken up quite rudely by an angel banging on your door. Blearily you struggled out of bed and opened the door, rubbing your eyes. “What time is it?” You said.

 “Time to get up, get dressed and Sam-Sam?”

 Noting Castiel’s confusion, you turned quickly in what was once Sam’s direction only to find your lovable older brother had disappeared to Chuck knows where. Great, man hunt at ridiculous o’clock in the morning. Cas immediately raced down to the stairs to seemingly find Ms. Dowling leaving you rushing to change into something more appropriate that pyjamas.

 Descending the stairs you notice the front door open and a frantic looking Castiel waiting in the Impala, waving for you to get in. Shouting a quick “thank you!” to Ms. Dowling, you sprant for the car and sat in Sam’s seat.

 Castiel started the car and you asked “So? We know where he went?” 

  “I’ve been told he left this morning saying he was going on a walk to the diner and wanted a milkshake, but only after screaming at Ms. Dowling who had her eardrums blocked with ear plugs,” he said. You nodded, absorbing the information and pondered why Sam would just up and leave for a milkshake.

  “Cas, you don’t think that there’s something wrong with the milkshake? Or like, this town in general? Because I do and Sam was being a real overbearing douchebag after you left yesterday and acting completely out of character.”

 He didn’t hesitate to nod his head, “I must admit, the strange customs have piqued my interest and Sam did drink quite a lot of that milkshake yesterday so it might be a possibility that there is a supernatural force going on here.”

  He looked like he wanted to say more, but you’d turned a corner and arrived just before the diner. Castiel left the car and went to inspect whilst you decided a smart move would be to ring Sam’s phone… only to find it ringing in the back of the car. Typical frustrating Winchester. 

  Placing your hands on your head, you massaged your temples and tried to think of any reasonable explanation as to what on earth was going on. 

 You heard the driver’s door being opened and looked over to see Castiel already turning the keys in the ignition. “He’s gone to Mr and Mrs. Smith's house,” was the only explanation you received.

  Suddenly determined, you nodded and said, “Alright, we’re getting somewhere, onward!” So, the car started and picked up speed, as you made your way to the Smith’s house you took a chance to observe the area a bit more.

  It was definitely something outdated and old-fashioned but the people did look happy, even if the shops were called something despicable like “The Rainbow Restaurant". It was very bright and colourful and you didn’t doubt that even if a thunderstorm hit, these people would still be acting on top of the world.

  Upon finally reaching your destination, you took notice of the white-picket fence and the massive garden. The house was huge and definitely unnecessary for only two people. Regardless, you and Cas sauntered up to the door and knocked three times respectively. On the third Cindy opened the door with a clear smile on her face and a very pleasant scent of lavender perfume. “Hello, can I help you?”

 You and Cas glanced at each other before he answered, “First of all, I’d like to offer my condolences for your husband's death but we really need to know-”

  He was cut off by a very confused Cindy Smith who said, “My husband? Honey, I think you might be mistaken. My darling husband is in the kitchen, fetching his newspaper. Justin, dear, come say hello!” 

 Again, Cas looked like he wanted to continue but a very familiar, moose-like voice interrupted “Coming darling! Won’t take two slices  of a carrot cake!” It was, unmistakably, Sam.  You gaped and stared questioningly at Cas in silent question. He merely returned your look.

  Moments later, Sam appeared in the doorway. Wearing a pair of glasses. A ponytail. And a fucking cardigan. A cardigan, because why the hell not? He wrapped his hands around Cindy’s waist and looked at us in confusion. Or sorry, at Cas in confusion, but when his gaze landed on you his face went more stern. 

 “Young lady, do you not remember what I said about un lady-like clothing? Because those denim jeans and that ridiculous jumper are hardly suitable for my daughter, little miss. I suggest you get in this house right now and put on that lovely dress your mother bought you,” he basically seethed.

  Now you were definitely the equivalent of a fish, with your wide mouth and wide eyes. You managed to compose yourself a bit before stuttering “Sam?”

 His eye twitched and there was no warning before he grabbed your arm and pulled you in the house then promptly dragged you into the sitting area. He guided you to the sofa on the left of the fireplace and very softly explained, “My sweet honey, I know that this is hard for you, but your mother and I want what’s best for you. Now, be a good girl and wait here until your mother and I have finished our pleasant conversation with our new neighbour, hm?” Then he planted a kiss on your forehead and returned to Cindy’s side to continue conversing with Cas.

  All you could think was: what the fuck?

[thewritetofreespeech]

Words: 5000+

Rating: M

Pairing: Benimaru (TSSK) x Reader

Summary: You were husband & wife in name only.

AO3

The moon was bright & crisp in the sky over Rimuru. Even without your candle light, you would probably be able to see clearly into your mirror as you brushed out your hair, preparing for bed. It had been a challenging day.

Keeping Shion and Shuna from destroying their Lord with their love was a full-time job sometimes. Being the buffer between them was sometimes more than your poor human body could take; a fact Rimuru-sama was often concerned about. You usually brushed it off with a ‘better me than you’ remark as his peril would be far more of a detriment to others than you, but appreciated his concern. Besides, neither ogre-ess would intentionally hurt you. Worst you’d ever come away with before was a good goose egg from Shion swinging around Hercules’s willy-nilly and caught you in the back of the head. It was an accident, and she could have easily crushed your head like a melon, but Shion still cried for almost 3 days after every time she saw you in apology.

You chuckle a little at the memory. How wonderfully problematic your life had become in this past year. You wouldn’t call it ‘blissful’. It had it’s challenges like most. But your life taken an interest, wonderful turn that had led you to this life you wouldn’t trade anything for. You were safe. You were loved. You were a respected person when just some months ago you were nobody and nothing. How quickly the world turns.

A knock at your door halted the comb in your tresses and you look up surprised by the sound. “Who is it?” You ask. Curious who would be at your door so late at night.

“It’s me.” Your eyes blink in surprise as you hear the familiar deep timber of Benimaru behind the frame. “May I come in?”

You stammer out a reply of ‘one moment’ as you adjust yourself to make your appearance more presentable and told him to come in. It was embarrassing to have him see you in your night clothes. But if he was coming here so late at night, it must be important. Your husband never came to your chambers this late at night.

The title of ‘husband’ was in name only. You and Benimaru were not romantically involved, nor had you chosen each other completely of your own free will. He had saved you, along with Rimuru-sama and the rest of the Kijin, when they defeated the great bandit army that had been sweeping the east. Once just thugs of human and monsters alike, they had grown into a real threat in the land taking anything they please. Money. Goods. Women. When they came to your small village, they had burned it down and had taken you with them when they left. You were their prisoner and slave for nearly two months before Rimuru-sama and his band had come along.

You still remember seeing them for the first time. Bright and regal. A peasant before being a slave, you had never seen such fine strange clothes before. Nor the impending presence of the man in front of you when he’d come upon you.

“I claim this woman as my own.” They were the first words he’d ever said to you. Then he picked you up over his shoulder and carried you away with his band while the smoldering embers of the great bandit army died out in the distance.

 At first, you thought it was all going to be the same. One capture was no different than the last; though you were a little concerned about an ogre being your master than a human. But how much worse could it be? The last human captor you had had been a true monster. Being owned by a real one could not be that different. Or at least that was what you thought at first.

The ogres and Rimuru-sama had been impossibly kind. They tended to your wounds from your long capture. Gave you a place to sleep. Clothes. Fed you, although there was some debate on which ogre-ess’s cooking would ‘best suit you’, and treated you as an equal. You were incredibly moved by their generosity. They were even willing to take you home. And when you told them “I have no home” they seemed genuinely hurt by that.

You of course explained to them what happened, and realized now that you really had no place to go. You thought you would die in the bandit camp. So the thought had never crossed your mind where you would go should your imprisonment be over. You were lost and alone in the world. No money. No home. No family. Even if you left, who was to say you wouldn’t be taken up by another group who found your helplessness easy pickings? Or worse, going to that life on your own because you had no other choices…..

“You’re staying here.” Benimaru had announced, much to the surprise of everyone. “You’re my woman now, remember? I defeated those fools and claimed you as my prize. This is your home now. You’re staying here.”

There was a loud commotion from the group as they all thought he had been joking but, apparently, he wasn’t. While the energetic group argued, you looked at Benimaru critically and realized what he was doing. He knew that if you didn’t belong to someone, you could easily be taken by another. If not the remanences of the great bandit army, but someone else; as you feared. Being his woman, letting him lay claim, offered you protection you couldn’t afford on your own. “Ok,” you’d told him. Your soft voice somehow ringing out over the crowd.

Rimuru-sama had of course forbade his general from ‘keeping’ a woman. He said if he wanted to do this, he would have to do the honorable thing and marry you. It had been surprising how quickly he agreed. Then asked if you would be alright with it and you’d said yes. You had been married the next day, and were then husband & wife, and that was the end of it.

Your married life was that of about the same as anyone else in the close group. You weren’t intimate. You didn’t share secrets or stories. You didn’t even sleep in the same quarters of the estate. Aside from a few group outings, communal meals, and when he popped in on Shuna when you were around, you honestly rarely saw your ‘husband’.

Which was why it was so surprising he was here now, at this late hour.

“What is it Benimaru-sama? Is something wrong?” You ask, looking up at him from where you’d been sitting on the floor before he sat down too. His expression was placid, so it was hard to tell if something was going on.

“The envoy from Blumund is leaving tomorrow.” His eyes fixed on the hardwood under your knees.

“Yes, I know. He told me. He’s a little hard to miss.” You reply with a soft chuckle.

The envoy in question was a nice man. Tall, lean. A little bit older than you, but still a jovial person. Rimuru-sama had set you with the important task of keeping him company and being his escort during his stay. His immediate council in the Kijin were nice, but they sometimes lack the social grace or understanding of human culture. He didn’t want to offend the man and trusted you could keep him company during his stay.

“He’s rather taken with you.” Benimaru then stated. Taking you a bit by surprise. “He wants to take you back to Blumund with him.”

Your bit of surprise turned into full blown shock. “W…What are you talking about??”

“He wants to take you back to Blumund with him.” He repeated. As if somehow that made you understand completely. “He said he thinks you’re very beautiful, and charming, and that it would be a better fit for you to live among humans, rather than here in Rimuru with none of them. He talked to Rimuru-sama about this.”

“And Rimuru-sama told you about this?”

“I was there.” Benimaru stated after he shook his head. “He asked for us to severe our bond so you could go with him. So you could marry him.”

Your eyes probably bug out of your head now. Were you being proposed to by proxy by your own husband?!?

“How could he ask such a thing?!”

“Like I said, he’s taken with you.”

“That’s not the point! How am I supposed to marry someone else when I’m already married?!”

“He knows our marriage isn’t consummated.” His eyes finally look up to catch yours.

You feel your whole body turn red. Now you have to look away to stare at the floor. It was true. Your marriage wasn’t consummated. It had been something done to offer you protection and stability. It had never been about love. So you have never laid with your husband as he wished to respect your virtue. “How crude.” You mutter. Embarrassed, more than anything, as you were sure people knew about your unclaimed marriage, but no one would dare bring it up until now.

“Do you want to go with him?”

You look up again and offer a soft noise of surprise at the question. “Do you want to go with him?” He repeated. “As you said, he’s a good man. He has fortune, and power. You’d be a respected woman among your people. You’d be among your people.” Maybe you imagined it, but you thought you saw Benimaru wince at that. “You don’t have to stay here anymore. You don’t have to stay with me. You’re established enough now to make your own choices. You can be free.”

Free? The word played over in your head for a moment. The sheer concept completely foreign to you at the moment.

You’d never been free. First you belonged to your family. Then the bandits. Then Benimaru. Though you had freedom on occasion, you had never been truly free. And now that you had it, you found the idea ironically suffocating. You could choose to leave. Leave Rimuru City and start a new life as a woman of prominence in Blumund. But what if you didn’t want to leave?

“D…Do you want me to leave?” The kijin looked up at you again with a confused expression at your soft words. “If you want me to leave I will. But…I don’t want to leave all of you. I love being here, and being with Shion, and Shura, Rimuru-sama and….you. My ‘people’ have never been kind to me, so I really don’t want to go back to them. I want to stay here. We don’t have to be married anymore, if that’s the problem. We can still break our bond, if that’s what you want. But I’d like to – “That’s not what I want!”

Your eyes flicker up. Startled by the red Kijin’s roar and the burning fire resting in his eyes. “I don’t want to break our bond! I don’t want you to go with him! Do you have any idea how hard it was not to tear that man’s head off at the table when he said that?! I wanted to gouge his eyes out for saying you were beautiful! I wanted to rip out his heart out for ever letting you rest in it! You’re my woman, and my wife, and he thinks he can just say those things to me and live! He should kiss Rimuru-sama’s feet before he leaves because he’s the only reason that wretch is still breathing!”

Silence passed between you for a moment as you were completely stunted into speechlessness by Benimaru’s words. You had never expected such a passionate response out of the man. Until now, you were sure his only feelings toward you were ambivalence and mild friendship. The way he just ‘my wife’ to you, however, let you know that he had thought of this more than just a marriage of convenience. Your body flushed hot again as your heart beat hammered in your chest. “Benimaru….sama?”

“Don’t go with him.” The kijin repeated. Calmer this time as his expression seemed to morph into sadness at the thought of you leaving. “I can’t stand the idea of you leaving with him. When we first met, and I took you as my woman & wife, I will admit that I did it out of pity for you. You lost everything, and had nothing. I know what that’s like and wished to spare you. I thought that, after a few months, you would have a good enough reputation as the former wife of the Ogre Prince, Commander of the Jura forces, that we could break our bond honorably and you could make your own path in the world without fear. But, as time went on, I became more and more attached to you. Your kindness in spite of everything you endured. Your determination. Your desire to work hard to make things better for everyone here. I grew to fall in love with you and I couldn’t let you go. I know it was selfish, and that I’m being selfish now, but please don’t go.”

Your heart was still hammering so hard in your chest that you were scared you might faint. You felt like you could swoon at any moment. “Why didn’t you ever tell me this before?”

He looked down and started to fidget. “I was afraid you wouldn’t feel the same.” His confession less confident this time. “You weren’t really given much of a choice in our marriage. I was afraid that you thought of me as just another man who had taken you. If you didn’t feel the same I could live with it, but knowing was – “That’s not true!”

It was Benimaru’s turn for his eyes to flicker up and be stunned by your confession. Apparently you had more in common than you thought. “I’ve never thought of you that way! If anything, I’ve only ever seen you as my rescuer. You saved me from a horrible existence as a slave. You gave this life that is so wonderful. With friends, and people I can’t live without anymore. I can’t begin to repay you.  Or tell you how I feel….”

All these feelings and emotions were rushing to the surface now the more you spoke. You had always been fond of Benimaru. Your strong, brave protector. You just assumed that he wanted nothing to do with you. The distance he put between you making it very clear. So you had pushed your feelings toward the back of your heart. Forgetting them until now, where they crashed to the front like a dam had burst.

“[Y/N]….” You look up into the red head’s eyes when he said your name. Whispered it, really, like it was some secret plea. His hand then reached out slowly to cup your cheek. Those battle calloused hands incredibly gentle against your skin. You really might swoon at the juxtaposition.

Those burning red orbs look at you in earnest before they flicker down to your lips. A silent request. One you eagerly receive.

The only time you had kissed your husband before this was at your wedding. To seal your bond. That, however, had been just a simple peck on the lips to meet the contract. This was a real kiss. Your lips pressing together in committed passion. Intense, but both of you still too shy it seemed to go past pressing your lips soundly together.

“[Y/N],” Benimaru said again as you press your foreheads together after your kiss. You don’t ever think you’ve heard your name sound so sweet. “Become my woman and my wife. Truly. You didn’t get a choice when we first met, but I ask you this now to make your own decision. Will you be mine?”

Your heart swelled unbearably tight in your chest before you nodded against his forehead. “Yes. Yes, I want to be your woman and your wife. Truly.”

You can feel the smile on his lips when he kissed you again. More deeply this time. His tongue snaked into your mouth against yours. The way he was kissing you making your legs feel weak to the point that you were happy you were sitting down. However, if they had buckled, your strong husband could easily pick you up in his arms. A shiver racing down your spine at the lewd thought that had just passed through you.

“Aah…I knew it. This is why I stayed away from you.” Benimaru said, finally letting you go. Your lips were kiss swollen now, and you were having a hard time understanding what he was talk about. “Every time I was near you, I wanted to claim you.” He explained. His expression looking deliriously happy as he examined his handiwork on your lips. “It was so hard to even be in the same room as you with your scent always hounding me every moment I was near. I had to stay away so I wouldn’t do anything horrible to you. But then that was its own torture as well. Near, apart. Both were an agony I couldn’t face somedays. Now that I have you though, I’ll never let you away from my side. You’ve summoned the beast in me. I hope you’re prepared.”

A loud squeak left your lips as the sneaky ogre flipped you. Instantly going from sitting on your ankles to flat on your back. Your world righted again and was filled with Benimaru as he leaned on top of you. His expression soft but heated, making you blush, before he kissed you again. His weight on top of you now making you moan wanton into the kiss this time.

Your world was filled with passionate kisses. They steal your breath away and make you squirm under your husband. You then feel his hands on your side. Touching you. Caressing your curves. You feel them fumbling around for your kimono tie, unwilling to let your lips go for even a moment to get to it properly, and place your hand on his chest.

“Benimaru, wait.”

The kijin stopped instantly and sat back off you. His eyes questing into your own to see what was wrong.

“I just….I thought I should…I mean we never…I’m not…” You stumble over the words to say to him. To explain that you weren’t the maiden he might have hoped for. The words cling in your throat as images of your former life flash across your mind. You feel unworthy. Dirty. Then his hand reached out to you brush your cheek again. Causing one of the tears that were welling up in your eyes to fall against it.

“That doesn’t matter to me.” He said with assurity and a softness that could only be described as love. “It doesn’t change how I feel about you. I love you as you are now. Not who you could be. My only regret is that I couldn’t kill those bastards 100 times more over for ever having hurt you.”

You scoff out a chuckle at the violent decree said so sweetly. You hand came up to clasp his own. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“You could never disappointment.” He replied, almost instantly. Then kissed your hand as he brought it to his lips once he removed it from your cheek. “Do you wish to stop? We don’t have to do this now. I can be satisfied with you declaring you want to be my woman and my wife. Well….contented.”

You chuckle again, more light hearted this time, and leaned in to initiate your kiss this time. “I meant what I said. I want to be your woman and your wife truly. I don’t want to stop.”

A sigh of relief left Benimaru. The prince willing to stop if you wanted but clearly so glad you didn’t. You giggle and let him take you in his arms.

The momentary pause in your kissing afforded Benimaru the chance to undo your kimono tie. Loosening it and letting it fall, but not pushing the thin material of your actual robe off your body yet. You reach out for him as well to undo the clasp of his overcoat. The heavy material immediately falling of his shoulders, in contrast, once the hold was released. He seemed fascinated with your work as your hands untie his under coat as well.

“Your touch is like fire.”

“Is that a joke?” You ask when Benimaru growled those words at you. Your apex quivering at the sound, but still curious if he was making a joke.

He chuckled. Another shiver at your core. “No. But I guess I can see how it would be. I mean it though. Everywhere you touch me sets a fire in me.” His hand came up to take yours and slip it under his loose top now. Guiding it over the hard planes of his chest over to his heart. “I can’t get enough of it.”

You kiss again and continue stripping. There wasn’t much to let go of for you, as just before now you were preparing for bed, so you were quickly naked in front of him. He talked about your touch being fire, but his was burning you up inside. His hands were hot. They left a lingering heat in your body everywhere he touched, to the point that you wonder if he had activated his magic. You were helpless against his soft touches. Your body aching already before he even properly touched.

Then, when he did, your body became a livewire.

Your limbs immediately went taunt when his fingers touched your core. “Please try to relax.” He whispered to you in your hair. His own long, hard body nestled beside you. Holding you close.

You try to do as he said and relax. It wasn’t difficult after the initial shock as the pleasure made it easy to succumb to him. Those hands so skilled at fighting working your body with similar expertise. “Mmmm…Benimaru….”

“Ah…say that again.” His deep voice was in your ear again. This time sounding elated, before his tongue reached out to lick the shell of it. “Say my name again. Please.”

“Benimaru…” You repeat his name over and over again. His precious name he held so dear. The name Rimuru-sama had given to him. It fell from your lips like a prayer chant as his fingers brought you closer and closer to climax. When you did, it fell from your lips again in a shout. “Benimaru!”

He continued to touch you until your walls stopped clamping around his digits. Finally setting them free. Your spent body laid against him, and you open your eyes tiredly just in time to see him cleaning your juices from his fingers. “Ah…my love tastes so sweet. I could get addicted to your flavor.”

If you body wasn’t already flushed from orgasm, you would have blushed completely. Benimaru seemed pretty proud of himself, however, before he leaned in to kiss you. You don’t think you taste sweet at all. But the taste of yourself on his lips was something you could get addicted to too. When had you become so perverted?

He let you go for a moment and shuffled around to pull out of his pants. You watched him, in the soft light. His handsome body bare to you. Not a mark on him thanks to his skill and healing. Your eyes travel down and find the proof of his love for you staring back proudly at your face. You gulp at his size. That was going to be inside you.

“Don’t worry. I know it’s a bit bigger than a human’s, but I’ll try not to hurt you.”

“I-It’s alright.” You reply back at his concern. He had mistaken your gulp for a concern about his size. How shameful he would probably find you if he found out that it wasn’t from concern, but excitement, that had caused you to gulp. Again, when had you become so perverted? “I trust you. And I want to be with you.”

“[Y/N]….” He spoke your name softly again before he leaned in to kiss you. Guiding you back down on your back. You feel his weight press on top of you. Your legs spread wide around his pelvis to let him mount you. You can feel the tip of his erection pressing against your entrance and shiver a little at the lower kiss. “Please tell me if I’m hurting you.” Benimaru urged as he started to press into you.

You let out a wordless cry at the initial invasion into your most private place. You can feel your entrance stretch to accommodate him. The sensation a duality of pleasure and pain. And it was only the first few inches. Finally, agonizingly slowly, he was fully inside you. The kijin raining kisses down over your face and neck and everywhere else his lips could get to as you held on to him. His back tight under your fingers as he was very clearly straining to wait for you. “I’m alright, Benimaru. Please. Continue.”

You felt him nod against your shoulder before his hips pull back away from yours, then forward back into you. You both moan at the initial slow thrust. The feeling indescribable and compounding with each shallow thrust. “[Y/N]….”

“Mmmm…Benimaru….” You moan back when he said your name. “You can…go faster….” Not that you weren’t enjoying this slow entanglement, one could only describe as love making, you could tell that he was holding back and it was hard for him. “I..I want you. Please….Make me your woman.”

“I did warn you.” His voice sounded hard now, in comparison to the soft words he’d whispered to you earlier, and you think you hear the sound of nails scratching against the floor mat by your head.

His hips pull back again, this time practically pulling out of you, before they slam back in. You let out a loud cry. One readily identified as one not of pain. Then all you can do is hold on. Your arms wrap tight around Benimaru’s neck as he pounded into you. Before, where you had tried to roll your hips up to meet his thrusts when they had been soft & gentle, all you can do now is lay under him and take it. And become a babbling mess it seemed.

“Ah~! B-Benimaruuu! S-So good! Don’t stop!”

“I have no intention of stopping.” His words were stern. The cool seriousness of his intention to keep claiming you made your walls quake around him. “You’re my woman now. This body is mine. I’ll remind you of it every day if I have to. You’ve possessed me to the point of madness with this love. I can never let you go.” His tongue laved at the sweat collecting on the skin of your neck. Following it up to the back of your ear before his teeth bit into the soft flesh there. You let out a yelp, and call his name again, before you were cumming. Your nails biting him back into his shoulder.

“Ah! [Y/N]! Too tight. It’s too tight. I’m gonna-!” His hard thrusts come to a staggering halt as he spilled his seed inside you. Holding there before his hips roll softly against you as his cock continued to twitch its release.

He collapsed on top of you once it was finished. Your bliss worn body not seeming to care about the extra weight as you held him against your bosom and both tried to catch your breath. Rested, but not to say recovered, the ogre lifted himself up off your body and pulled out. You wince as he did. Those hard thrusts catching up to you, and suddenly feeling at a loss without him inside you. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You look over to Benimaru, who had apparently seen you flinch, and was looking concerned. “No. Just a little sore.” He looked a little ashamed at that and muttered an apology to you. “Don’t,” you tell him. Reaching on to touch his chest. “It’s not as if I was really complaining.”

You both blush, despite everything you’d just done, still apparently shy about intimacy, before he slid over to you. “Are you sure you’re alright? About everything?”

You nod. Both of you laying on your side to face each other. His fingers caressing your cheek before moving down to the love mark he’d nipped into your skin. “Yes. I meant what I said. I don’t regret it.” You weren’t foolish enough to think that you were going to be instantly happy as husband and wife now. You were basically starting fresh. Starting anew. Though you knew a lot about each other, you had to relearn things and uncover new things as only a spouse would know. It would take time. But you were happy enough for now to at least try to start this new chapter with Benimaru. “You’re not going to kill the envoy before he leaves tomorrow, are you?”

The man let out a boisterous laugh and wrapped his arms tight around you in a hug. “No. I would never disrespect Rimuru-sama like that. As long as he leaves, I’m satisfied. But if he touches you between now and then, I make no promise on the guarantee he will leave with all his limbs.”

“Benimaru….”

The envoy, it seemed, was clever enough to take the hint in not touching you. The murderous aura & killing intent of the red kijin seemingly always just behind you making that clear. You decline his invitation to join him in Blumund. Telling him that the only time you would come to the city to visit him was with your husband. He again took the hint and left without comment. Rimuru-sama gave Benimaru a stern talking to about scaring their allies and ambassadors to their country, but you could also see that he wasn’t very serious about it. He seemed pleased enough that things had worked out, that you were staying, and his beloved friends were happy.

Ever the wonderfully problematic life in Rimuru City.

[seimeinotaka]

Rêverie (An OberonXGudako fic)

MASSIVE LOSTBELT 6 SPOILERS INCLUDING OBERON'S PROFILE AND BOND CE

Summary: Oberon has been unexpectedly summoned to Chaldea. He wonders why he is even there as he reminisces what happened in Avalon Le Fae. But it seems Ritsuka isn't leaving him alone, much to his annoyance.

Thanks to jellyfishy for beta-reading this!

Once again, the story has major spoilers for LB6, Oberon's profile and Bond CE, as well as important plot points of Solomon, LB1 and LB5.

There's implied one-sided love, mentions of heavy topics such as loss, and mentions of deceased characters.

"Master, Master, you've gotten better at this!"

"Thank you, Gogh! I've been practicing a lot using the tips you and Oui gave me. Even Jeanne Alter praised my background, hehe!"

"Hey, I said it was passable. Pas-sa-ble!"

Ritsuka Fujimaru has been drawing something in the cafeteria, surrounded by many servants that come and go. No one asks what she is doing, they all seem to know or if they don’t, they don’t bother to ask.

It is so bothersome. Annoying.

So many people surrounding her, like an ultraviolet lamp that attracts all the bugs. Never mind that they end up getting zapped the moment they ever dare to touch it.

The people, the sound, the merriment, it all annoys Oberon, who only watches in silence as he eats some ice cream with melon.

To be able to smile like that, even after discarding all of those stories...Oberon doesn't hide a crooked smile. In the end, the lostbelts are no more than faint dreams doomed to end, forgotten by the winners, the panhuman history citizens. Ritsuka Fujimaru isn't different. For her, it's like reading the doujin the swimsuit berserker is making. Once the pages are closed, the story ends and it ceases to exist. She can choose to forget.

Truly detestable.

-

Oberon stares and then walks away, just as Ritsuka lifts her face. She looks around, the feeling of being watched faintly breaking her concentration.

But in the end he doesn't say a word as he leaves.

-

“Hey, you keep looking at Master!” Jeanne Alter slams her hands on the table where Oberon is sitting. Said Master is working again, too enthralled talking with Gogh to notice Jeanne Alter slipping away to talk to him.

“Does it bother if I do?” He gives her a crooked smile as she huffs and scowls. Though of course her face turns slightly pink.

“Tch, of course not! It's just your stare is getting on my nerves! Wouldn't you get distracted if someone is looking at you intensely?”

“I am a creation, not a creator. I wouldn't understand what you're saying. Besides, I wasn’t looking at her or you anyway,” he says mockingly.

“Hmph, whatever you say. Leave when Master is drawing, what she is doing is very important and I won't let you make it messy.”

“Hah, a page of your little comic? As if you need a lot of care. But fret not, I am certain that with your keen insight and guidance it will be something so memorable, up to the level of the famous writers here in Chaldea.”

“You bug...Bring it, I will burn you to a crisp! Moths do like fire, don't they? Surely you will feel at home then!” Jeanne Alter laughs. “I'll let you know that it is something so impressive that it would make you cry, if you're capable of that anyway.”

Though her Saint Graph right now is one of a Berserker, it seems the insight of the Avenger still exists deep within. After all, only those who are similar can recognize each other. Fake recognizes fake. Emptiness recognizes emptiness. Hate can only recognize hate.

Though come to think about it, Ritsuka has always been writing, he noticed she kept a small book on her, during quiet times. Perhaps a diary of sorts. It wouldn’t be surprising, to record everything she has experienced, as the writer of the winning history.

-

When we die, we'll become like those stories. Our lives are stories that might be discussed and forgotten, so it's not that different from your midsummer night dream.

A dream you forget once you wake up from your slumber.

“You're a tsundere,” Ritsuka says flatly as she rests her chin on her hand. She even dares to give Oberon a shrug and a smile, as if she can tell the truth between the lies.

“Ah, you're annoying.”

“That's exactly what I'm talking about, hehe!”

An obnoxious smile continues to be on her face, and he simply looks at her with unveiled disgust and apathy.

“Why am I even here?”

“Well, you answered the call, so you can only blame yourself for that.”

“What.”

“The rayshift system call can be refused. That's an inescapable truth. You lie a lot but there are some truths in your words. Or actions in this case. You wanted to be in Chaldea, even if you don’t want to admit it.”

“Ah there it is, your virtuous nature shining through. One day you'll be fooled by someone who is pretending to be your ally...ah, my bad, that has already happened, isn't that right? Maybe you should learn your lesson.”

“Ah, yes. But it doesn't change that you are here. And because you lie often, that means I can just take it whatever way I like. You'll just deny it even if I'm right. But you can't deny we get along pretty well!”

“We do not!”

“See, that's a lie!”

“Ah, I'm going to the cafeteria! Don't follow me!”

Yet we thrive on dreams, don’t we?

“How long do you think I've been in this business? Have you interacted already with some of the servants here? I can tell you don’t mind my company.”

“I quit, I'll break the contract!”

“So, one cube or two?” Ritsuka dares to offer him the sugar cube container, even holding some tongs, just to put the amount he requests in his cup.

“You really want a poisoned tea, right, wonderful Master?~”

Even if they are something that doesn’t exist, we yearn for them, even to make them a reality. No matter how impossible. No matter how painful.

That is why we can never get rid of them.

Even if we forget once the veil of dawn has ended, something of it remains.

-

“There's so much that is subjective. For example, you were Artoria's Merlin, weren't you? For a moment you were Merlin, that was her truth. There's different Merlins, I mean we have different Artorias here from different eras and classes. You were a different Merlin than the one I know.”

Ritsuka is busy trying different colors. Oui and Gogh got into a discussion on how to best get the tones she was aiming for, and they even went to do some research on their own. The reds of a forest seem familiar yet not quite right, not that Oberon was looking at the notebook.

It has to have a dreamlike feeling, that’s what she wanted, but that’s not easy to pour into a painting.

“What we see as a lie or as truth, it changes with our perception. Your lies and my truths might be different, but it's ok. In the end we have only one perspective. That's why lies and truths can mix, that's why contradictions exist. I mean, that is why you are here.”

“Here's some advice from the bottom of my heart, don't quit your day job, Master. Stick to the world saving and leave the philosophical dissertation to virtually anyone else.”

In the end, does the truth really matter?

Something that can change when you close your eyes. Something that is as fleeting as a moth's life.

Would anything change in the grand scheme of things?

To protect Ritsuka, Chaldea forged a story, one where Romani Archaman was at fault for everything that happened.

To the world that is on the verge of disappearing, that became the truth.

To everyone in Chaldea, the truth is that this girl worked harder than anyone to protect this world.

That was what Sherlock Holmes said once they met. Oberon didn’t like him, but in a way he seems familiar. Holmes is a great detective, but since he keeps everything to himself, he might be wrong the entire time until the last minute.

So it’s not like Oberon can take him that seriously.

Even so, he told him the story of the great journey before Panhuman History was at risk by the Alien God. A story of which he was somehow aware, but it seems different when it is told by someone else.

To Oberon, it was a story of selfish survival. A fitting story of those who fight in the mud to continue existing.

To Holmes, it was a story of humanity bravely fighting to avoid destruction. An unlikely event that might have inspired others. Or rather, that is how the Leonardo Da Vinci from that time would have framed it, since Holmes isn’t an author and the current Da Vinci is someone different now.

The events are there, what changes is our perception of them. Perhaps this is where truths and lies take root, the lie of today becomes the truth of tomorrow.

The lie allows the fake existence to continue even when the dream has already ended.

But in the end, everything will fade, so nothing really matters.

-

"Well, I don't know if it has a meaning, but doesn't that mean you can give it your own? Just like how I can take your lies the way I want."

"Aren't you a simplistic one? No, perhaps it is that kind of thinking that has let you get this far. What a naive Master Chaldea has. Though it helps you accomplish your goals. "

He is not sure why they are taking tea while chatting, but here he is. Perhaps it is to hide his annoyance, the Master won’t stop until she gets what she wants anyway, so he is just avoiding a pointless squabble.

"You can think whatever you want~ and in any case, even if the feelings of today will be nothing in the future, that doesn't mean they are worthless. Because they affect the you of today and that is the moment when you are alive.”

The joy of living, that is something Oberon can’t understand nor tolerate. It angers him.

Of course, he is an entity of the abyss so how could he comprehend that?

The will of self-destruction, the cessation of existence. That something is so fundamentally wrong that it must wiped out, for there is no way to fix something that crooked.

Faerie Britain wished for him because it had to be wiped away from all records, because it had no way of being salvaged.

Therefore, he can only listen to those words.

(Perhaps it is the envy of not having something? Perhaps it is the bitterness of no longer having something to do, to dream for? Or simple ennui that no matter what, in the end it doesn’t matter?)

Ritsuka ignores his silence, as she continues.

“I don't know but for someone who likes stories you don't seem like you're actually enjoying them.”

“Would you enjoy a story where you fade away like everyone in the lostbelts you have erased? Ah, my bad. Surely, as the winner you can afford to disregard those stories. Silly me, of course you would be able to believe that as the victor you can claim to be the true history. Panhuman history is in the end mankind's right path, after all, and everything else can fade into the abyss.”

Her smile is complex, almost a facade. From one angle it looks like a forlorn frown, from the other a faint smile. She plays with the spoon on her table.

"Hmmm, I wonder..."

 Dr. Roman, we finally beat the British Lostbelt. It was unlike any other places we were, and I keep thinking of Percival's words...

   I wish you were still here.

The sacrifice of someone can mean the whole world for a single person. The sacrifices of millions can become a mere statistic, a simple cold number to show how bad an event was. In the end, it doesn't matter.

What was once lost will never come back.

The void left in one's soul will never heal, it only becomes more bearable with time.

But even so, that lingering pain is the proof that someone was alive, that they left a mark on the others they met as one looks at the twinkling stars and reminisces of the never-happening-again past.

“Did you know the true opposite of love isn't hate but indifference?”

“Haaah? Perhaps you didn't think so but I was being honest about my suggestion. Thinking too much will only hurt your head. You should only focus on what's in front of you.”

“Whether you love or hate, you end up putting a lot of attention to the object of your affections, but if you're indifferent to it, it ceases to exist. Perhaps your hatred of everything is because there's something you cannot afford to lose.”

Titania was the wife of Oberon in Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream. She was the only one who could accept the king's eccentric personality.

But in reality, she was just a creation for the story, a being who was never real.

Of course, there isn't a person like that in the world.

Someone who accepts a hollow entity like me.

“I don’t know, if Arjuna Alter was able to come to terms with his own humanity, well...nevermind. I was just thinking aloud.”

(Ideals are just that.

A concept not belonging to this world.

It is when you reconcile with the flawed reality that you can grasp your happiness, the one you have.)

“Heh-Hahahaha, that's rich, Master!”

This is so sickening.

Only Titania could have loved(tolerated) such an unpleasant existence. Only Titania could have loved(tolerated) a being born of hate, a destructive force whose only purpose is to rend everything to ashes.

But the fact is, Titania doesn't exist. This means no one could accept someone like him.

That is the unpleasant truth.

That is why people are entranced(poisoned) by falsehoods, lies to sweeten the body and protect the soul. It's a sweet elixir to hide from the harsh reality, the ultimate end of the journey of everyone, a pointless, worthless life. Because at the end of the dream, no matter what one has accomplished, it doesn't change the finale of this story and it is doomed to be forgotten. 

Just as the one princess from before, who also fell in love with the Fairy King. The one who tried to give fire to his cold body. But he didn't notice this, not even when her snow body had ceased to move, a protection of love.

So in the end, if it's not acknowledged, it is the same as it never had happened.

“Tell me, does it matter to you? Are you going to tell me you know how I feel? That you understand what I'm going through? Come on, tell me your important story, that everything is going to be alright as long as I'm not alone-”

“I can't. I don't know how you feel. Even if we had suffered the same, I wouldn't know how you feel.”

Her words or her smile, the same as before. He doesn’t know which but it cuts him short.

“All I know is the pain of losing someone important to me, but that's not what you're feeling, right?”

The Titania I wish for doesn't exist in this world. The Faerie Britain that gave birth to me no longer exists, even if I have accomplished my goal. 

I am merely a dream whose purpose has been fulfilled and thus, the curtain shall be down as I exit the stage.

The things I yearn for are merely dreams. Even so, I hope, because I saw it existed for someone else. For another Oberon, not the one I am.

The illusion of happiness, the hope of a love.

I don't know how it is to not be Oberon, the lying king. The king without any other purpose. The villain that has exited the stage having won, but now even that victory is pointless.

Then, why am I still here? 

“For what it's worth, I like you. You're nice company, lies and all.”

“You’re an odd one.”

“I've been told that often.”

“It's not a compliment, you have no taste.”

“You know, for Panhuman history I am the hero, ensuring our world survives. But to everyone else from every lostbelt erased...I am the worst of the worst, the villain that destroys their world.”

Ritsuka traces the notebook on her hands. The contents of the rest could be disclosed but Oberon doesn’t open any of the other pile of notebooks, so they all lie on her bed.

“Patxi cursed me for showing him a world that he thought was happier than his.”

Tears fell from her eyes as she smiled weakly. “I wonder if that was ever the right choice.”

“Panhuman history isn't the perfect utopia you can imagine. Humans seek hatred and war, there's suffering and agony. While some can lead happy lives, there's so many who can't even enjoy a warm meal or think of a future. Kirshtaria saw that, he wanted to make a better world because ours was so imperfect.”

“Why are we still going?”

“Why was ours the correct one?”

“Even now, I don't know. And I'm not sure if I'll ever know. Any justification might seem a rationalization, something to feel less guilty for killing all those people.”

“That is why I cannot forget, I cannot let the history of those lostbelts be erased. Even if I'm the only one who remembers,” her grip on the notebook tightened, “I can never forget them.”

Like a dream, one time Oberon caught sight of what she was drawing, finally reaching the dreamy red hue she long sought, depicting the autumn forest Oberon knew and hated.

The words depicting what happened in Faerie Britain, the stories of Artoria, Morgan, of Barghest, Baobhan Sith and Melusine, of Aurora, of Mike, of Ector, of Knocknarea, of him.

“Even if the rest of the world forgets, I cannot. That's why I want to record as much as I can. I caused them to disappear, remembering all of them is the least I can do.”

“That's guilt for you.”

“...Yes, I can't deny that. I've caused many people to suffer, that is why I cannot stop.”

“You're an idiot. Pursuing a fleeting dream that will only cause you to hurt, as your heart tears itself apart with these thorns you surround yourself with.”

“I guess. But someone has to do it right? But even so…

“I enjoy the moments with everyone here in Chaldea and I can say I'm happy.

But I also feel deep sadness for everything that I have done and continue to do.”

There are many contradicting truths, woven into each other.

Like overlapping threads in a beautiful(horrible) story.

“I could think Panhuman history is the correct one because it was there. There was a reason why it was chosen.”

“And if there isn't? If there is truly no meaning to your journey? That the reason your world was chosen was a mere whim of fate, a sudden lucky roll of the dice? That there is nothing special to your world that makes you worthy of the title of proper human history?”

“Then I guess I will have to make it so that there is one.”

“And if you can't?”

“Just because I can't doesn't mean I shouldn't try.”

“Trying doesn't mean you will succeed. Morgan tried her hardest, but in the end, she still failed, crumbling in despair as her Faerie kingdom burnt to ashes.”

“Well, that will come bite me when the time comes, but for now, that’s all I can do, right?”

In the end, as long as it entertains, does it matter?

What is the purpose of a story? To bring joy(tears)? To break one from that moment of boredom, of despair, and heal the soul even if just a little?

And in the end, does it even matter?

-

“I like this Saint Graph more.”

It’s been a long time since he has donned the clothes as King Oberon. Once the façade was over, once he could ascend, he has never worn anything but the colors of the depths of the abyss. Anyone else would think they are unsightly, hateful, depressing.

After all, the warmth of King Oberon’s butterfly wings makes children smile, makes people trust him. His monstruous limbs right now are not enchanting.

“I thought you were a butterfly girl. And I have been wearing these ever since, why are you even saying this up until now?”

“I just wanted to say that. I like the fluffy cape and the butterfly wings, but you sound less pained right now. And this outfit is cool too.”

In the end, perhaps Titania isn't meant to be someone who brings the sun to your eyes, with laughter so contagious that she makes the bitterness of a day go away. She's not a neverending warmth on a cold winter, nor a guiding bright star up in the dark sky. She's not the simple to your complicated, the light to your dark, the smile to your frown, the opposite of your miserable existence that brings joy to your life. An illogical being that accepts you in spite of your incompatibility. 

Was I wrong all along? 

A companion when watching a wonderful(decadent) play.

Someone who walks by your side in a crumbling world.

Someone whose company makes the poison more bearable and hell, tolerable.

Someone who simply loves me for who I am. Who gazed at the abyss, saw the void yet didn't run away.

Ah, this is so laughable, an amateur terrible tragicomedy, a hideous play with no sickeningly sweet ending.

(Perhaps it is because Titania is a wretched creature herself. Or perhaps because Titania's wings have been torn off that she understands a small fragment of you. Even if true understanding is a lie, a pipe dream. Titania has seen her own hell and can sympathize with yours, with the emptiness and resentment you hold. Not fearing it, not judging it. Just accepting you as the flawed existence you are.

If that is the case, then there is nothing beautiful about Titania.)

But even so...

"...You are..."

"Did you say something?"

"No, nevermind."

Ritsuka smiles as Oberon looks away. He grumbles about the cramped space as he hoards the bed, swatting a mosquito away while she writes in her diary. The boring stories she writes that he doesn't care about even if his fingers have traced those letters.

But even so, he stays.

Ah, love is a bothersome thing.

-

Thank you for reading!

Now, OH BOY WHERE TO BEGIN. Title comes from Debussy's Rêverie. I wanted to play with it, seeing that Oberon's Bond CE is called Pavane for a Dead Princess, which is the title of a melody by Ravel. I am sure it is no coincidence. Both Ravel and Debussy were considered the cornerstones of Impressionism in music, however, they both HATED being labeled like that.

Pavane for a Dead Princess is one of Ravel's solo compositions for the piano. However, unlike what the title implies, Ravel specifically said that it wasn't meant to be a melody of a funeral, but he wanted to evoke the idea of a princess dancing to the pavane. However, some people didn't really listen to him. So in this case, I think that rather than to see Oberon's CE as a funeral to Blanca, it is a way to celebrate her story, even if it didn't end on the happier note we would have wished. You can listen to it here

Now Rêverie is by Debussy and it's meant to feel like a dream, hence the name. The melody became a massive hit, though Debussy later hated this piece because he felt that he had written better pieces but this one was the one that made him famous. Since it was written when he was young, he felt he was still lacking a lot, but the melody became one of his most popular compositions nonetheless. I think that story ties nicely with what we perceive vs what others perceive. You can listen to it here

Now onto the actual fic, I had this vague idea when part 3 was released, especially after all the spoilers about Oberon's true identity. I really wanted to get him, and I was super lucky. In between getting him, his profile and bond lines being translated, I just got possessed to write this as a way to honor and thank him for coming home AND to give him a sort of happy ending after Avalon.

Oberon in that bed is thanks to that comic on Twitter where he is eating chips without any care and the kind reminder of his voice lines that in spite of him constantly complaining, he spends an awful lot of time on our room. Hehehe.

Best of luck if you are pulling for him! And once again, thank you for reading!

[abbynx]

Juliet and Ophelia (Trish Una X Reader)

Like I said I can't pass up an opportunity to simp for this girl.

So this is a continuation of 'How would the La Squadra family react to you having a crush on the former boss' daughter, Trish Una?'

So yes, this series will be called, "Juliet and Ophelia" A Trish Una X Reader with a dash of found family with La Squadra and the Bucci gang so stay tuned!

Genre: Romance, fluff, wholesome

School. Nothing else to say, the certain word can emit a certain reaction from every individual. Some recoil and wince from the sudden flashbacks rushing into them, embarrassment and shame from all of the stunts they pulled. Some react with a certain fondness within them, lips slightly tugged to the side as the sudden nostalgia just soaks them up. Some, indifference. It's just an establishment wherein an individual attended for a quarter of their life and held nothing against it. To you, it didn't really emit anything from you. As a person who has never attended school, you looked at in an indifferent manner. You've been homeschooled all your life, relying on the knowledge your tutor Melone or sometimes Ghiaccio teaching you. They're good mentors, always took the time to make you feel like they aren't dumping overwhelming amounts of data on you. Additionally, they were extremely mindful of your well-being and made sure to not over-work La Squadra's adopted child. You thought of school as something as that, a school. You have nothing against it at all, nor you feel any sorts of things to it but you can certainly empathize those young people who struggle against it, tiring themselves to no end and are unsatisfied until their unmeetable standards are met. So that's what sums it, you were indifferent towards it... Until you yourself have began to attend it and all you can associate it with would be utmost regret. You didn't know what came up to you when Risotto asked of you if you wanted to live normally, he clarified that again; would you like to start attending school, like any other normal teens your age? Admittedly, home schooling is the norm too, but do you really want assassins educating you all your life instead of spending times with people your age, just enjoying the wonders of life? Ohhh, the entirety of La Squadra does not want you to emulate the same misery they've live to get to this, dear no. Risotto was kind enough to give you time to think about it, his right hand man Prosciutto taking the time to also explain its benefits and negatives. They offered to enroll you to a boarding school, attain a certain normalcy in your life for once. Although it was a boarding school, you can always go home every weekend to see them again. They can try to play it smooth and casual, but you know that they'd be too clingy to let you go. And by that, you accepted for some reason and now you've come to regret it, and can never take it back. You remain unmoving from your desk for the remainder of lunch break, head tilted down and interacted at the most interesting specimen to you, that were the pair of polished black shoes Prosciutto bought you. They were ridiculously expensive for a pair of shoes, but they are durable and pretty to look at, I guess. Just the perks of having a fashionable guy around. It was a dumb sight in hindsight and in an outsider's point of view, but you liked the way it gave out a glimmer when directed in light. Not only that, it's not like you can do anything about your crippling isolation in school. Everyone seems to despise your guts in this damned institution for some reason. You really don't know what they problems were, nor were they willing to confront you about it and instead opted to whisper and laugh at you from behind as you tread pass them. It was so damn unfair that you were one of the most fierce assassins La Squadra Esecuzione has to offer and yet you were easily taken down by a bunch of high schoolers who talked behind your back. You loathed this place. You regretted accepting the offer to study in this god forsaken hell and just wanted to go home. Melone's home education was more than enough, heck his teachings were more advance than the school curriculum has to offer and yet Risotto has insisted for you to experience this period of life for some reason. You've grown up from them, raised by assassins and have experienced the weirdest shit as a Stand User and they still think you need to have a normal high school life? And for what? It's not like there's an underground

organisation ran by students at school where you were needed to play double agent but no-- they insisted you to study things you already knew and compete among students apparently. The lunch packed with food remained untouched in your bag, wherein you planned to just give it to the stray cats and dogs just as you wait for one of La Squadra to pick you up from this damned institution. It's not like you were starving yourself, you were just uninterested to eat at the moment and you really didn't want it to go to waste so why not give it to those who are more in need? You weren't really accustomed to eating alone, as there would always be a member of La Squadra eating with you. These past few weeks felt so full without them that now it's made imminent to you that without them— life can be so colourless, so monochrome, so damn boring. Your crippling sense of loneliness, in addition to your utter unaccustomed self in a new environment made life hell for you in here. It would only be a few, agonising hours until you would be picked up by one of the assassins. At least there you'd get some actual slumber that won't require you to wake up at five o'clock to practically rush towards the school shower rooms and bathe in ice cold water in the middle of dawn for another day in hell. The teacher's lectures remained audible to you, and yet you couldn't seem to properly understand what she was going on about. It was a mere noise, as your eyes would impatiently dart up to meet with the hands of ticking clock, idly zooming by, as your legs bounced at the anticipation of the bell ringing. It was only a matter of a few more hours and yet, you just can't wait to ditch this hellhole for two days. "L/N, are you paying attention?" You jerk your head up from your daydreams with a slight yelp. Your teacher stood indignant, hands on her hips as she raised a questioning brow at you. "Well?" She waits. "Yes, Madam." You nodded. "Then pray tell, what is the common misconception about Mary Shelley's Frankenstein?" She challenged, shifting her weight on one side and awaits for your answer. It was then you noticed all eyes were on you. You knew the answer very well, it was simple really and yet being the centre of attention certainly hindered you from answering as soon as you can. "See? This is why--" "The common misconception regarding the Gothic novel Frankenstein is that often they refer the monster as Frankenstein, when in reality it's the name of the creator of the creature, Doctor Victor Frankenstein." You once remembered Ghiaccio's outburst about that, his shrill voice just ranting on and on about referencing the name incorrectly in modern pop culture. For a moment the teacher looks at you from the tip of her nose, as if to say 'I'll get you next time', before returning to the lesson Well, that was a relief. You released a breathe you've been harbouring, before turning your head yet again to watch the ticking hands of the clock go by and finally have the day done. ~•~ Similarly to your situation, it has come to her attention that she deeply regretted transferring back to school after a year of her absence. It was as if nothing changed, she was the same ol' Trish no one paid attention to, nor cared about. She only existed amidst their faint breathes whispering amongst each other behind her back as she passes by; "Whoop, there is she is again. I don't get why she returned." "Maybe she was pregnant last year." "Omg, really?" And she despises it. She couldn't have a single shit about their thoughts about her, but if they ever dared to spread rumours she wouldn't hesitate to use her connection with the mafia. She tries not to abuse this power, but come on, who wouldn't? At least now, they knew they wouldn't dare to land a hand on her, she has her own Stand now and not only that, her new family wouldn't stand something such as this to happen to her. All she wanted to do was to leave to godforsaken hell hole for two days for the weekend but alas, her pickup person was taking way too long. As much as she wants to stand up,

march forward to her new home with Bruno and the others, she was strictly told to wait for one of them to pick her up. But alas, they were taking too long and the roof of the waiting shed wasn't ideal for a rainy day either, not with its leaky roof, that is. All she can do was to sit on the metallic bench, and dodge dripping water leaking from the roof of the waiting shed. Seated at arm's length away from her, was a classmate of hers. A memory implanted itself on her brain after that one lecture in class, impressed at their quick wit to respond to the teacher's question, even if they paid little to no attention to the lesson apparently. And not to mention, their nonchalance response after proving the teacher correct was admirable. If only she can do something similar of that, she knew she'd be more proud of herself. The pinkette looks up in anticipation at the sound of a vehicle pulling over in front of a waiting shed, but frowned once she sees it wasn't the usual van Bruno rents. It was a black van, with pure black tinted windows and honestly, she'd think it was one of those vans that you'd be afraid of when you see it approaching. The student beside her let out a relieved sigh, and practically skipped off before boarding the van. Trish couldn't help but to sigh out as well, as she was now left alone to wait under the leaky roof. Trish shivered from the cold, before she decided to gather her knees in front of her chest to provide herself warmth from the rain. If only she brought with her the pink umbrella Giorno gifted to her, but alas, she forgot and left it back in the villa they currently reside in. She wanted to disobey them, and just walk home but she had no umbrella and doesn't really want to spend the weekend with her nose clogged and throat sealed with pain, as much as she wants to stay and rest within the villa with her new found family. She wanted to go home, she hated the hell hole and regretted her decision going back to it. As she wallows from her regrettable decision, the van door opens and the students steps out of it. Trish was confused for a moment, but didn't reacted to it, as her gaze remains directed down. For all she knew they don't left something behind, but apparently she was wrong. "Hey, it's pretty cold and you might catch a fever. You can borrow my jacket, here," Trish looked up, shocked to see you holding a black jacket and a light blue umbrella. She was shocked to say the least, but graciously accepts it. "The umbrella is a bit broken, sorry about that—" "N-no, it's enough... T-Thank you..." "You're welcome," they were quick to interact with, before they run towards the van once again and drove off. Trish watches the black van disappear into a turn, before she looks back at the jacket, subconsciously smiling fondly at it. She shrugs the jacket on, as it was slightly loose around her frame, before opening the umbrella above her head. After glancing at the direction from whence your van drove off, the smile on her face never wavered despite her impatience for her pick up person to arrive. ~•~ "So how was school, Y/N?" Risotto asks after a cheery round of laughter at the dinner table. You halted for a moment upon hearing the dreaded s-word being spoken. Thankfully, no one took notice of your reluctant pause and cleared your throat. You went on as normal, as you poke with your food in front of you. "It's good." You hoped that it wouldn't come up but alas, it was inevitable they'd ask that like any other adult talking to a young adolescent.  "Anyone got your attention~?" Illuso teases with his usual lopsided grin, with a mock crone. "Not really." You deadpanned, as you mentally rolled at the idea of liking someone in that school when everyone's been mean to you. "Your asking the wrong question, did you get someone's attention, though?" Melone chimes in. Once again, you mentally scoff at the idea of someone liking you. "Nuh uh." Oh if only they knew. Well now that you think about it, it was better for them not to know. They're highly capable people with strings to

pull and honestly, your classmates hasn't done anything physical to you yet. "Enough about the lovey dovey crap, what's important is that they're learning crap in school like they're supposed to be!" Ghiaccio retorts towards the two. "We're just glad you're enjoying yourself at school." Pesci adds with a warm smile. Another reason you can't tell them about your hatred for school. They were happy for you having that normalcy in your life, something they've never experienced pleasantly. As much as yours wasn't that ideal of a usual high school teen drama in one of those novels, but at least it wasn't as worst as their experience. And honestly, you would do just about anything to see them smile. "OHHH SHIT, Y/N'S SCHEDULED TO WASH THE DISHES!" Formaggio shouts from the kitchen in joy, prompting you to jerk up your seat in shock. The man has the tendancy to trick you into washing dishes sometimes and now that you've grown and realised how naïve you were, you grew more wary of his tricks. "SHUT THE HELL UP, NO WAY—" "YES WAY!" Formaggio returns from the kitchen, holding up the chart of dish washing schedule, before sticking his tongue out at you. "SUCKER!" Truly, you've missed the rampant chaos within your family, a stark contrast against the repetitive schedule in school. It was sheer chaos there too, not gonna lie, but this is a different type. This was the type wherein you felt at home, just smiling as the villa becomes frosted with a thin layer of ice unlike the one in school. You wanted to stay with them, but of course, their main priority was for you to have some sort of normalcy in your life and honestly, if that's what makes them happy you'd be happy to oblige. You are certainly doing great at school, and they're proud of it, it shows... If only Gelato and Sorbet were to see you as well. They may be gone, but you can just imagine them smiling and encouraging you. ~•~ Of course happy days would pass swiftly than its duller counterpart. Happy days were over once Monday hits and you were once again strapped to your seat for the next eight hours, another three hours by the library to get the Mount Everest high school work due to tomorrow, before curling up against the corner of your bed staring off into the abyss until slumber has taken a liking to you and claim you within its embrace and then somehow, someway, you would be then pulled from your sweet escape by a shrill bell from your bedside table, before you would inevitably glare at the blaring alarm clock, slam your hand against it before attempting to regain about five more minutes of sleep— only then to remember how things function in this seventh circle of hell as it was enough to convince you to get up and march towards your dresser with your stuff and head to the shower room. Needless to say, you've got the school schedule memorised by now. Even the usual discord occurring from time to time began to bore you. Nothing much really happened in school, you were just slowly deteriorating from boredom and by home sickness... Once gain, just goes to show how much you missed your chaotic little assassin family. You set yourself by your desk with a sigh, just wanting to get through this place without wanting to wreak havoc within the school premises that will prompt a bad mark on your pristine records. Not that you cared, it's just that Prosciutto will surely bitch about once he catches a glimpse of it and make an hour-long lecture about it. You let out an exhausted sigh for the umpteenth time, slumping against your desk with your eyes closed when suddenly a figure stands in front of your table. You immediately straightened your back and tried your best to look alive, before glancing up at her. "Oh hey, what's up?" You instinctively asked to swerve yourself away from the awkward silence, smiling up to the pinkette. "Hi, thank you for lending me you cost and umbrella. If it weren't for them I would've caught a cold back there." She hands you your jacket and umbrella back, in which you graciously accepted. "You're welcome, Miss Una— I-um—" you

stammered, your hands brushing against hers once you've reached to collect your neatly folded, pressed and newly washed jacket, along with your light blue umbrella. It was the heat of the moment when you gave her those following items and felt sorry for the girl, concerned about the dripping rain and the cold, humid air. "It's no problem." "Please no need for formalities, we're the same age. Just call me Trish." She insists. "There's the cafe in front of campus. I'll see you there after classes, my treat. It's the least I can do to show you my gratitude." "Uhhh, of course." For a moment it didn't process that the café she was referring to was an expensive one. The posh, fancy, the Prosciutto's to-go-to type of thing that charges an arm and a leg just to buy a shot of espresso, and they'd charge you your pair of kidneys if you asked for sugar and cream. Money wasn't a problem now that the boss was actually considerate, but why in all nine circle's of hell did you not insist her not to treat you? Well now's too late, as class has started and she's trudged back to her desk. Aside from the expensive coffee shop... Wow, you never thought that your encounter with her would expand to this type of interaction. At the back of your mind screamed wary, but something stronger in you just found this as a perfect opportunity for a friendship to bloom. She seems like a nice girl and quite frankly, she'd be lovely to spend time with. Like the weeks before spending your time in school, you gaze up to the clock as always, excited for something new other than weekends to go back to the La Squadra villa. This time, you were excitedly anticipating the time after class to meet with the lovely pinkette. Something good will happen, I just feel it!

[imomomi]

Extra: 

Atsumu wasn’t sure what he was expecting when Y/N said she was bringing her friends. Hell, if he was being honest, he’d never even expected her and Suna to get along as well as they did. But, the two girls that arrived were vaguely familiar and leveled him with glares so deadly, he instantly worried that he’d rejected them at some point. Y/N was oblivious to the stare off, searching the ground for the spot with the most grass. Atsumu rolled his eyes and tossed her his blazer. She didn’t say thank you and he didn’t really care to hear it.

Her friends tossed their things onto the ground as Y/N made a blanket out of his blazer and sat down. Iwanuma and Ota greeted him, bitingly adding that they were cheerleaders and that they hoped that Inarizaki would make it farther along this year.

“It’s not like you’d have anything else to cheer for if we don’t,” he said and then winced. Y/N frowned and raised a brow. Her eyebrows were usually the best indication of what kind of doom would follow. Once and only once, when he’d spilled a whole bottle of Pocari Sweat on her after winning a game in middle school, had her brows gone so high that he feared for his life.

“I’m here because no one else could stand to be in your presence, so shut up,” Y/N said. He rolled his eyes and stuffed the last of his onigiri into his mouth. The rice was bland in his mouth.

“Oh, no worries! We know he’s just joking,” said Ota with a cheery grin on her face. “Besides we never cheer for Atsumu-senpai.”

Atsumu blinked, head lolling to the side. He shook his head and laughed lightly. Guess Y/N had found more friends. The thought rung hollowly in his chest. It’s not like he cared much or needed that kind of shit anyway. He had Osamu, his teammates—even though some of them hated him—and volleyball. His brow furrowed and he fell strangely quiet, not noticing the three girls exchanging glances.

“Eat,” said Y/N and shoved a melon-pan into his hands. “It’s creepy if you’re watching us.” Her bento was freakishly neat, something Ota took delight in photographing.

“It’s always creepy. He has a pervert’s face,” said Iwanuma.

“Osamu has this face,” he defended. Y/N laughed sharply and shook her head. A tiny grin played at the corners of her mouth; eyes wrinkled at the corners.

“He wears it better,” she said, “I wish one of you had kept the black hair. It was nicer.”

“I look good! Everyone thinks so.”

“Who is everyone? The fangirls only want you because they think you’re going to be rich,” Y/N paused, turning to him with sharp eyes, “They haven’t heard you speak yet.”

“That’s not fair,” he whined, “I’m the older twin. I’m better looking. Come on, admit it.”

“What does being older have to do with looks? Won’t you just die faster?” asked Ota.

“That’s not the point,” he cried. The girls laughed together, the sound neither mocking nor scornful, but warm. Atsumu risked a glance at Y/N surprised to see that she was smiling freely. Though she wore her mask less often than she had in middle school, her face always carried an eerie calm that made it impossible to determine what she was feeling. Maybe it was because he’d know her for so long and spent summer’s figuring out what each twitch meant, but there was something comforting in being able to read her face.

They settled into light conversation, talking about school and their classes. They touched briefly on entrance exams, attempting to skim past the conversation when Ota voiced her displeasure at being the younger of the group. Atsumu knew that Y/N had her heart set on Tokyo, but he’s surprised to learn that it was because of her cousins.

“Volleyball,” he answered when they turn to him.

“Any team?” Iwanuma asked.

“The Jackals.”

“Holy shit,” Ota exclaimed and immediately covered her mouth with her hands. “You’re like good good.”

“Duh, he got called up to Youth Japan,” hissed Iwanuma, “What did you think? He’s dramatic, but it’s not without anything to back it up.”

“Dramatic?” asked Atsumu. He leaned back and rested on his elbows, grass digging into his white button down. Y/N made a noise between a squeak and a hiccup as he did and lurched forward. He swatted her away, smiling at the scowl that instantly formed on her face.

“THE SERVE ROUTINE,” Ota shouted. She stood up instantly and backed away a few paces. He groaned as she took four steps forward and thrust a fist in the air.

“No, no,” said Y/N to his surprise. His eyes widened as she stood too. What alternate universe had he walked into? Y/N mimicked his actions perfectly, down to the way he walked, and when Iwanuma started laughing, she leveled a heavy glare at her that was all too familiar. Atsumu choked and laughed so hard, tears sprung to his yes.

“Oi, sit down,” he ordered, “You’re all a bunch of scrubs.”

“What the hell does that even mean?” asked Ota.

“Doesn’t matter. Just don’t try that on M-1, you’re awful,” he shook his head. Ota jumped on Y/N’s back, pressing a sloppy kiss to her cheek that was immediately wiped off.

When they’re done eating, he helped them clean up their stuff, not because he wanted to, but it felt like something Kita might have done and he’s all about channeling his ex-captain these days. Y/N lingered in the hall, letting her friends run off before her. Iwanuma dragged away a shouting Ota, who screeched the names of some boybands down the hall until she was no longer in sight.

“Where’d you meet those two clowns?” he asked. His blazer is tucked her arm with a promise to be washed and returned.

“Haru went to middle school with us,” she rolled her eyes at the look of confusion that crossed his face, “I tutored Mirai when she was a freshman.”

“You know, you’re kinda cute around them. A total tsundere.”

“Oh, shut up,” she huffed, cheeks turning a light pink, “I don’t need your inane flirting-“

“So, you admit it’s flirting. That seems like a step in the right direction.”

“Atsumu.”

“Y/N,” he mocked. She sighed and ran a hand over her face, staring at him with deeply ingrained exhaustion.

“We have practice later?”

“You can skip if you want. I’m pretty sure they deserve a break from their demon manager.”

“Your sets to Riseki need work. You’re the same height, but you keep tossing too high. He’s not playing on a trampoline; he can’t jump the way you want him to. Also, I think Osam-”

“Stop using your brain for a second. It’s stressing me out,” he breathed in deeply, putting a hand on her shoulder to force her to do the same, “Put it on paper and give it to me later. I’ll look at it.”

“Can you even read? You got a 10 on your last Japanese Literature exam.”

“I swear to god,” said Atsumu and inhaled sharply, “I’m this close to kissing you.”

“You demented pervert! This is why I don’t speak to you,” she shoved him away in an instant. The scent of her peach shampoo filed the air as she turned on her heel and stomped away. It was way too easy to rile her up, but somehow the thrill he got from doing it hadn’t gone away. Instead, he found himself looking for new reactions: little blushes, the way she ignored certain texts for hours, but would respond to others right away, sometimes he’d push just the right button and she’d throw something at him, usually her books, but once she’d pulled off a shoe and tossed it with a enough force to have given him a concussion had he not caught it.  

Masterlist

Previous || Next

TAGLIST: @qunibunisartblog @nerdyphantomlady @yeet-these-hoez @akakuzumo @kiyoojima @bringmelily @renee1414 @zaizaihntai @ynjimenez @oikawalmart-hq @kiyoomile @of-heroes-and-dreams @fairsumu @alyssasteaparty @anime-simp @cherryonigiri @iloveanime691 @fangirling-25-8 @sakuzaddy  @mx-minxx @cactuski6 @iikiag @imuziawi @rinnieee @keiijiis @iwaizluv @hamsterfan17 @svtbitch @suna-allie​​ @kylalily​​ @kneecotinee​​ @midnightsky17​​ @raenebalgaire​​ @wishingcomet​​ @lilacshouko​​ @momo-has-a-gun​​ @breathandrun​​ @akaashimp​​ @ochabby​​ @sakusakymi​​ @ravioliplease​​ @bap-kingdom​​ @sweetfntsii​​ @roiana-mustang​​ @keijination​​ @otomefan @gyubit17 @laughingismorefun @starfleetakaashi @keiyoomi​

[raevenlywrites]

Ties That Bind 22 of ???

Of course the first person I encountered upon waking was Adelina.

Rei was long gone from the tent, if the chill of the bedroll was any indication. I’d expected to find him just outside the tent flap. Instead I was met by the long, lean body of Zane’s primary guard.

And lover.

My cheeks immediately flamed in spite of myself, knowing what she must think. My mouth worked uselessly as my mind offered no words to explain. I couldn’t exactly claim it wasn’t what it looked like, though Rei and I certainly hadn’t spent our time together in the way I knew a serpiente would assume.

But surprise followed surprise, as Adelina ushered me back into the tent with a conspiratorial air.

“We don’t have much time,” she whispered, nearly knocking me over in her rush to get us back under cover. “Our men will only keep each other busy for so long.”

“I-- what?”

I couldn’t begin to parse it. Adelina didn’t seem to mind my clueless state. She rushed on, eager to say her piece.

“I need to know how we’re meant to play this. Is Zane to be your lover or not?”

I could only blink.

“I know how the serpiente would read this, but I just want to be sure. You’ve taken his hand before you mother, you danced with him last night before the crowd. But when its just us, you’ve made no overtures. So I just want to know what role I—I mean he—is meant to play before you people. Are you two seriously planning to join our kingdoms?”

I stumbled to a seat, sitting before my wobbling legs made the choice for me. Did they really think--

“Danica, please. We don’t have much time.”

I felt like I was missing something, great swaths of something. I suddenly wished I’d stayed behind to walk and talk with them more as the serpiente had made their way here.

“I… honestly have no idea.”

It was the best I could give her. I felt this woman deserved the truth, but Zane and I hadn’t really discussed it. Mostly because I hadn’t thought either of us had taken the suggestion seriously. But looking back on all our conversations--

“What do you mean you have no idea?” Adelina snapped, but even without a serpent’s ability to read emotions I knew she wasn’t cross with me. The tense, pent up energy that so often drove me to pace was obvious in her posture, her tone, her entire being. I realized suddenly that if the serpiente could sense emotion anyways, there was no reason not to wear their hearts out on their sleeves. Or lack thereof, as was often the case.

I was getting side tracked. My mind was working furiously, but not in any useful direction. Adelina, like a dog among sheep, was not having it.

“Sweet Anhamirak, Danica are you listening to me? How will we be presenting Zane to your people?”

“I had wondered that myself.”

Adelina’s head whipped around as the man himself pulled back the flap of the tent. Rei scowled just over Zane’s shoulder. But amazingly, he didn’t pull the serpiente away from me to make sure I was unharmed. Adelina, at least, it seemed he trusted.

“Shall we have this conversation out in the open?”

The question was ostensibly for me, but his eyes remained locked with Adelina’s.

“You were never going to ask--” she began, tone pleading.

“I was biding my time,” her prince asserted. “Neither I nor Danica appreciate being rushed.”

“We’re at the bleeding gate!” she countered. “If not now, then when?”

“If we could maybe refrain from shouting?” Rei suggested. “And maybe come out of the tent? We’re making a scene.”

Zane nodded and backed up, holding the tent flap with a magnanimous sweep of his arm.

“Ladies.”

The last thing I wanted to do was face a mixed assemblage of curious serpiente and avians, but I didn’t think hiding in the bedroll with a blanket over my head was an option. I let Adelina help me to my feet, drawing the coolness of her hand into my demeanor. I hoped that maybe, some small of my reserve went to her as well. The shaken woman looked like she needed it.

The sun was well and truly risen, slanting sharply through the trees. It was mid, maybe late morning, but any sleepiness I might have felt was burned away by the singing of my nerves. Time to face the day.

Adelina, to my surprise, stayed on my far side, keeping myself between her and Zane. Rei fell into step on Zane’s other side, the four of us making the short walk to the main central fire and the breakfasts cooking there. Food suddenly sounded wonderful, and not just because it would present further delay. That was simply an added bonus.

Zane handed me down onto a log with as much grace and decorum as he would if it were a dining room chair. The absurdity of it made me smile, which I realized was the goal when he rewarded me with one of his own. I was learning to tell the difference between his pleasantly bland, haughtily mocking, and genuinely pleased smiled. I hoped I got to see the latter one more. It looked good on him, turning an inhumanly beautiful sculpture into something warm and soft and touchable.

And just like that I was blushing again, with merely the hint of thoughts of intimacy.

Zane laughed. It wasn’t a nice sound.

“And here I thought I was being on my best behavior. Courtly manners too forward for you, pretty Danica? You didn’t seem to mind my hands on yours last night.”

I scowled at the abrupt shift in his tone, the venomous suggestion I knew was meant to wound. Was he really mad at me for showing genuine emotion? Well, too bad. He was about to get even more.

“That’s petty, Zane. Don’t threaten my reputation just because you’re unhappy with something.”

Zane blinked, and Adelina laughed. She reached down and squeezed my shoulder, startling me, Zane, and Rei all. That only made her laugh harder.

“Well done, Dani. You’ll handle him just fine.”

“That’s Shardae, to you,” Rei bristled.

Zane opened his mouth, and whatever was going to come out of it was not going to be good. I gave a sharp pierce of a whistle, not thinking, just determined to cut this off before it got any worse.

“Alright! That’s enough.”

Adelina removed her hand, which I was surprised to find I missed, but it was time for me to take the reins while I could. I could invite her to be more informal with me later, if there was a later.

“Adelina brought up a valid point with me Zane; we need to sort out what kind of impression we intend to make.”

For a moment, Zane looked pained, almost like he would plead with me. But he straightened, put his feelings aside, and just like that, I was talking with the Arami of the serpiente, the man who would be king. Like Adelina’s hand, I missed seeing the genuine him, but appreciated his cooperation.

One ego down—and another immediately took its place. Rei fidgeted beside me, and without even making a sound, he was throwing just as much a fit as Zane had. I could ignore him—I should ignore him—but I’d had enough.

“Yes, Andreios?”

“Nothing, Shardae.”

“No, no. Speak your piece. You obviously disapprove of something.”

I watched him pull away from me, drawing his emotions deep inside--only to come rushing back in an even larger wave.

“I do. As your alastair, I take offense to serpents barging into your tent, and taking liberties with your person.”

My mouth dropped open, eyes as wide as the moon. I absolutely could not believe my ears. This was not my Rei. It was so utterly unlike him to be speaking of such personal things in front of company. Had one single evening of kissing really changed him so?

I was suddenly more glad than ever that I’d not let my mother bully me into an announcement last night. I had some reevaluating to do.

“The man I name as my alastair will have to be comfortable with the serpiente way of doing things. I don’t need a hoverhawk. I need a partner, who understands me.”

It pained me to have to speak so bluntly with others listening. I’d have much rather had this discussion in private—or better yet, not at all. This was not my Rei. Unfortunately, I did not have time to deal with him now. And if he really intended to be my alastair, he needed to understand that my people and this peace would have to come first.

Rei’s face went stony, then empty. This time, it was no retreating tide. It was a frozen glacier, his hurt feelings behind a wall of ice for good.

“Of course, Shardae. I don’t approve of it as a guard, either. But Adelina is hand picked by the Arami, and its not my place to question her.”

Just as my words were meant to subtly remind him that he was not yet my mate, his were intended to throw Zane and Adelina’s relationship in my face. It steeled me against pity I might have been feeling before. I had neither time nor patience for this.

“Quite right, Captain.”

I turned my back on him, and my own hurt, and gave all my attention to Zane.

“Please pardon our rudeness, Arami. Now, let’s discuss introducing you to my people.”

The Ties That Bind Tag list: @thehellinsideyourhead @therecouldbecolorsandlove @adventuresofacreesty @writing-with-melon @rainydaydarling @faithfire

Raev’s Gen Tag List (should I tag you guys in this? It IS a thing I wrote. I’m gonna say yes unless you guys are like “no of course not we’re sick of hearing about your stupid fic for a twenty year old book XD)

No one has complained yet so yall gonna keep getting tagged :P

List is currently: @lordkingsmith @writinglyra @drbibliophile @mperialscribe @adie-dee @lexiklecksi @theramwrites @writinginslowmotion @raenawrites @apollon-arium @anika-writes @faithfire @thehellinsideyourhead @adventuresofacreesty

[expensiveglasses]

Charming Chapter One

Summary: Prince Jungkook was as infuriating as he was beautiful. In line to one day be king, he requested your guidance in the ways of his people. In turn he will make you laugh, give your family fine gifts, and become an invaluable friend. Unfortunately, he will also make you fall in love with him. But the most unfortunate thing of all was his betrothal…to Snow White

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Fantasy, Angst, Snow white/au

Rating: NC-17

Word Count: 4538

Warnings: None for this chapter. Future warnings are TW: Major character “death” TW: Thoughts of suicide TW: Attempted suicide. Nothing is graphically described. Chapters will be noted when these things take place.

.

.

It was during the spring that you felt the most content. Everything was reborn, blossoming from the frozen winter. The village came to life with music, new animals, and the sweet smell of fresh bread.

It had been this way since you were a child, no taller than your mother’s hip and only aware of how acutely you spurned the winter. With chapped fingers and lips, you watched bitterly as your friends, Peter and Else, played, squealing loudly as they threw snow at one another.

The three of you, friends since you could remember, filled to the brim with laughter, scraped knees, and all as plain looking as could be. This suited you fine, and there was little to disappoint you but short moments of impassioned arguments with your two best friends and a brief encounter with the very silly king and his very silly son.

As the only daughter (and indeed, the only child) of the villages master tailor, you found yourself often around the regal and ridiculous. So it was of no surprise when the king himself requested your father’s services and you were required to help him carry his materials to the castle where the king greeted you with his only heir, a son, wearing the silliest hat you’d ever laid eyes upon, a red feather sticking from the top.

You were as different as two people could be and with your simple manners and upbringing, you could not begin to understand the pomp and circumstance of such a silly little boy with rounded cheeks and a chest puffed much too high.

He strutted and flounced about the castle as a peacock would its park and the sight was all together ridiculous for your 9 year old eyes to behold. He’d called you peasant girl and remarked on your general lack of beauty and at 13 years old himself, you felt he had little to offer either, aside from a sizeable kingdom to trump the bed of straw and sheep’s skin you called your own.

For his 13th birthday, Prince Jungkook of Löhrenstein, would have a party, in which all the nobility and sovereigns of the land would be in attendance with their young princesses, and little duchesses, hoping to secure a treaty with his father, a contract between two kingdoms; a betrothal of a prince and a princess.

Of course, you would know nothing of this sort of formality or indeed the contracts of marriage. Your education was as broad as tending a home, carrying your father’s supplies, making flower crowns, and helping to herd the cows during the Viehscheid.

So, while the prince was living in a castle and throwing parties and sneering down his nose at near everybody, you were busy helping your father to sew his clothes. At least you could still play in the fields when the sun was high and warm and the flowers were just beginning to bloom.

And this was how you spent your years, watching as Else became beautiful and elegant, long brown hair thick and wavy, tied back in braids as she went to work in the village at her father’s bakery and you watched in quiet envy as all the boys took notice, bringing her fine milks and cheeses as tokens of their affection while you stayed plain. Even Peter had become mildly handsome as he grew into his gangly limbs, erasing the once mousy appearance for a broad shouldered, sun freckled young man.

You told yourself you didn’t mind so much that you were still plain while she was beautiful, but of course you did a little. To be poor but beautiful afforded you more than being poor and plain. Peter often told you that you were just as beautiful as Else, and while you were happy with the compliment, you knew it was because of his childhood love and devotion to you.

You believed that was why he chose to become apprentice to your father, to someday seek your fathers blessing for your hand. While you did not love Peter the way that he loved you, you could not deny the appeal of continuing with the comforts that you were already accustomed to. After all, you were the only daughter to the king’s tailor…that did afford you some small comforts. You supposed someday when he asked for your hand, as he inevitably would, that you would accept.

When you turned 18, however; there was a small gift from the gods, in the form of a late blooming. A glow to your cheeks and a blossoming of beauty. You were, of course, no Else, but you could certainly hold your own and found that you had more than just Peter as an admirer; much to his chagrin.

Perhaps that’s why you feared that any day now he would ask for your father’s permission to court you because then your path as his future wife would be decided. You were in a strange position as the daughter of the king’s master tailor. You were neither peasant nor nobility so while your ability to choose your spouse was more under your control, you were still held to the standard of your father and who he deemed fit to represent his family, and in turn, the kings.

.

.

The sun had just risen to its fullest height, waxing hot as it commandeered the sky, blue and shivering with the heat. It was sweltering and crowded in the square; noisy with life. The baker’s wife was out shouting, calling attention to the freshly baked rolls sitting just passed the door of the bakery. Else stood beside him, batting her eyelashes and looking pretty; using charms her father could not to entice more customers and you smiled.

The sheep were drinking from the water trough in the center, surrounded by red and yellow poppies in full bloom. The clock tower struck one and you glanced up, eyeing the time wearily. You stood under the archway of a building painted green as a melon, hoping to escape some of the day’s heat.

A woman chased a boy from her garden, chickens flying around in aggravation and you peered after the child as he sulked down the lane, feet dirty and bare. “You hungry, boy?” You called and he looked to you, face caked with dirt from playing and a nod as answer. “Here.” You tossed him the apple you held in your hand and he thanked you, running back into the bustling of the town.

The crowd quivered with conversation and your attention was suddenly captured by the gossip of two young ladies as they passed you. “Yes, the king’s carriage has already left the castle. Apparently, the prince is to be fitted for a ball.”

“I wonder if we shall see him.” The other remarked and your eyes swung to the road, spotting the carriage, scarlet curtains billowing from the windows as it made its descent into town. You gasped, grabbing the skirts of your dress and dashing mad towards your home.

Your father would whip you if you were late. You ran through the fields, cutting through tall shrubs and across dirt paths. A childhood spent playing in this winding village afforded you the intimate knowledge of all its byways.  

You arrived at your home, gasping and covered in dirt and your mother came out, fussing loudly over your appearance, bustling you into the home and towards your room. Your father sighed loudly as you passed, eyes scanning your dress, soiled with the toil of your morning.

“This is no way to greet your king.” He remarks as your mother pulls you behind the wooden room divider, helping you to strip from your clothing and wiping you down quickly with a wet wash cloth.

“My dear, you are not fit to be seen!” Your mother scolded, washing roughly at your face and you grimaced, shivering in the chill of the room. “You knew they were coming today.”

“They are early.” You complained and your mother’s lips smacked in irritation.

“A king is never early. He always arrives exactly when he means to. You would do well to remember that, Y/N.”

Your mother helped you to dress in something new quickly, repining the last piece of your hair just as the crunch of gravel from the royal carriage wheels could be heard rounding the corner and the two of you rushed from the room and to the front door to wait with your father.

You took a deep breath, head bowed into your chest as you heard the carriage come to a stop in front of you. It was abnormal for the king to come to your home, far too busy with his royal duties to condescend to see a peasant, but his son and only heir had recently returned from…well, to be sure, you did not know where he actually had been, but rumor said he was poorly behaved and had gone somewhere far away to teach him the ways of a king.

This would not surprise you, were it true; he’d been a ghastly child. You could only imagine him now, in adulthood. Upon his return, his father had announced his desire to reacquaint his son with their kingdom and your father being his master tailor would receive the special privilege of his presence, it seemed.

The king stepped from the carriage first, and you watched his feet move towards your family.

“Your majesty!” Your father bowed and pleasantries were exchanged as the prince himself disembarked from the carriage.

You kept your eyes trained fast on the ground; the bottom of your dress already smudged with dirt from where you stood.

“My son,” The king announced and your father bowed once more, both your mother and yourself curtsying deep.

“You remember my wife and my daughter?” Your father said and it was now that you felt it was safe to lift your eyes from the ground.

“My, yes,” Said the king turning his gaze towards you, “you have grown well, girl.”

“Thank you, your majesty.” You replied, soft; bowing your head and he smiled, pleased.

“You remember my son?” He asked, pointing his hand to the figure by his side and you allowed your eyes to slide over to him.

It is unfortunate, in this life; that some people are just born with everything the heart could desire. Good fortune, health, money and comfort and to have all that and still be handsome? Well, truly life was unfair.

He stood tall, face angular with deep set brown eyes and rounded lips. You were under no illusion that he was anything but blessed by the gods. They must have looked upon him very favorably, indeed.

“Yes, your highness.”

The prince looked at you curiously, head curved to the side as your father beckoned them into your home and you watched the king and prince follow after him. You heated with shame as you entered after, watching the prince survey your home while your father and the king conversed.

He must think this was so beneath him; to stand in the home of a pauper. The floor, though it had been swept, was still covered in a layer of dirt and the furniture was old and matted, worn with use. You had more than others in your village, but compared to a king, this was true poverty. It must have seemed you had nothing at all.

“Florian, come look at these colors.” The king beckoned and the prince was quick to walk to his side, looking over the fabric your father had assembled as options for his ball.

“These are exquisite.” He remarked, voice low and serious. “I wonder, sir, my father says you will come to the castle tomorrow to prepare my clothing.”

“Yes, your highness, with my apprentice in training, Peter.”

The prince’s eyes flickered to you in surprise and you looked back down at the floor. “Not your daughter? I remember she used to join you when I was a boy.”

“Yes, my daughter would come to help me carry my things, but since I have acquired an apprentice, I have found that quite unnecessary.”

“I would very much like if you would bring her tomorrow, along with your apprentice, of course.” The prince smiled and you couldn’t help but look up in surprise.

“A woman?” The king laughed, loud and joyful and you bowed your head once more, flushed with shame. “What purpose would a woman have in a man’s business? She should stay here and help tend the home, Florian. Don’t be unreasonable.”

“I should very much like to have her return to the castle, for reminiscence sake, father. That is, if her mother can spare her.”

“Of course, your majesty.” She bowed.

“She can carry some of the fabric.” The prince smiled, eyes flickering to your bowed head, “like when she was a child.”

“You have a very strange sense of humor.” The king chortled and you closed your eyes, willing the humiliation from you. “Very well then, we shall see you on the morrow with your apprentice and your daughter. You know the time, I presume?”

“Yes, of course, your majesty.” Your father smiled, escorting them out the door and your mother and you stood in the kitchen, eyes trained on the floor.

So, it would seem he had not changed. Like a dog at his table, you had been summoned. So amusing, was it, to watch a woman carry fabric and needles for a man and stand in the background. Always to be seen, but never to be heard.

Your heart bled with the thought and you listened carefully as the carriage resumed its journey. Your father stepped through the threshold of your home and you could feel his eyes on the crown of your head.

“Now come, girl, there is no need to be so downtrodden.” Your father remarked lightly and your throat burned with emotion.

“Y/N.” Your mother said softly and you shook your head, turning to walk away.

“I wish to be alone.” You murmured, fleeing to your room.

The window was open, soft breeze fluttering through the soft white curtains, now dirtied from the dust of the road. You closed your bedroom door softly behind you, walking towards the window where you sat at your stool.

Laying your arm across the lip of your window, you rested your chin in the palm of your hand and sighed. To feel like a bartering chip in the world of men was difficult. To never be in charge of your own destiny. Destiny, for you, was to be nice to look at and the ability to spread your legs. You wanted more than that; wanted to be heard, wanted your thoughts and feelings to be considered.

A knock at your door called your attention and your mother stepped through the door, smiling softly. “It is an honor to be called back to the castle.” She remarked and you sighed once again, returning your gaze back out the window.

“Mother.” You frowned and she sat down on your bed. “You should understand…as a woman. We’re not objects to be played with.”

“My dear,” she tutted and you looked over at her. “Men are simple creatures, if they’ve nothing to look at, they don’t know what to do with themselves.”

You chuckled, sitting up straighter, hands dropping into your lap. “Then what are we to do with them, mother?”

“We guide them, darling. They like to feel useful, so we help them feel so. We know our worth, we don’t need to be reminded. Men, they need to feel powerful; what else do they have? They may be the head of the family, but we are the neck and they turn where we will it.”

“I have the feeling a prince would be harder to guide.” You smiled and she shrugged.

“Perhaps. It just makes it more fun; more of a challenge.”

You frowned, staring back out the window and into the forest just beyond your gate. The air rippled with heat and you watched as a rabbit hopped from your garden and into the shade. “I don’t want to go, mother.” You admitted.

Your mother’s fingers closed around your hand at the window and you turned to look at her. “My dear…I’m afraid you’ve no choice.”

.

.

The morning was hotter than usual and your dress stuck uncomfortable to your back. Peter was thrilled at the prospect of meeting the king and you realized belatedly that he’d never met him before. As the daughter of the king’s master tailor, you were in a unique position within society; neither pauper nor noble.

You’d had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting both the king and his son and you didn’t particularly care for either. “Imagine the palace, Y/N.” Peter sighed, eyes distant and smile pleasant as he threw an arm around your shoulder.

“I don’t need to imagine it.” You huffed, pushing his arm from your shoulder and readjusting the wrappings of fabric in your arms. “I’ve been there, remember?”

“Yes, I do. You never told me much about it, though. Always so secretive.”

You watched as he paused, tucking the edges of the tarp back around the rest of the fabric on the cart before resuming the journey. Your father walked steadily in front of the two of you.

“It was never a secret; I just didn’t particularly enjoy my time there.” You said carefully, eyes focused on the back of your father’s head. He’d beat you if you misspoke of the king.

“Yes, you did mention the prince was rather…interesting.”

“It seems nothing has changed.” You hummed softly, staring down at your feet, dusted yellow from the road.

“Then why are you coming today? If you dislike the prince, why come?” Peter questioned. The castle came into view, large and imposing against the backdrop of the mountains. White brick stood tall, the spires topped with a deep blue and for a moment you allowed yourself to admire the view.

Though the people within the castle were not to your taste, the palace itself was beautiful. Draped on every side by the mountain range and a large lake nestled in its cove, it was one of life’s true pleasures, gazing at its majesty.

“I think you will find, Peter, that I don’t have much of a choice. The prince requested his dancing monkey.” You replied, the words bitter on your tongue.

Your father called Peter forward and you spent the rest of the walk in silence, listening to the creak of the cart’s wheels as they cracked over rubble and dirt. Your mother had attempted to make you look pretty today, though you could not think why; presentable should be good enough for any man who wasn’t looking to choose a wife.

Your hair had been done and pinned beautifully, your most beautiful dress resting against your skin. It was certainly nothing to a noble, to be sure, but it was not unpleasant to look at and flattered the shape of your body.

It was hot, though, unbearably so, and you suffered dearly under the harsh rays of the late spring sun. Your mother insisted beauty had a price, but you weren’t quite sure why you were being asked to pay it.

The shade of the drawbridge was a welcome relief and you pulled a handkerchief from your bag and mopped at your face and neck. You didn’t need to offer the prince anymore reason to mock you.

You were escorted to the kings fitting rooms where you gently placed the fabric from your arms on top of what your father and Peter had carried from the cart. You patted at your neck once more as you watched Peter’s eyes scan the room excitedly. Absently you wondered if your father had taught him how to behave when the king was in the room.

Your father motioned you over and you slipped your handkerchief back in your bag and went to stand by his side. It wasn’t long before the king entered and you curtseyed deep, eyes trained on the floor.

He and your father spoke loudly as introductions were made and you could practically feel Peter vibrating from where he stood. He was excited, at least. You resisted the urge to pat at your cheeks, flushed with heat from the walk. Your throat felt like sand, dry as you swallowed and you wished more than anything for some water.

The men spoke noisily as they congregated around the fabric and it was decided that the king would be fitted first. You waited quietly as your father began his measurements, your fingers bunching tight in the fabric of your dress.

The room was overly warm, large windows allowing the sun to enter liberally and you felt yourself wilting in the heat. Voices muffling like you were under water, you watched as the gold, cerulean and cobalt of the room became nothing more than puddles of grey before fading into black.

.

.

Your brow felt cool, wet with the brush of a damp cloth and your eyelashes fluttered open, taking in the surrounding room.

Deep mahogany filled your vision, blue and white canopy drapes traveling the length of the rail. Walls painted in beautiful scenery drew your gaze and you reached up to feel the cloth against your brow.

“You’re awake.”

You inhaled sharp, turning to find the source of the voice. You were surprised to find the prince sat beside you, a basin of water resting on a table next to him and a small smile as greeting.

“I’m sorry to have startled you.” He said softly and you lowered your hand, attempting to sit up. “Please remain as you are, Y/N. You need just a moment to recover.”

“What happened? Where am I?”

“You are in one of the spare bedrooms in the palace. It seems you over heated and became faint.”

You closed your eyes tight, shame filling your breast. It was one thing to faint in general, but in front of the king and his son. Mortification was a bitter friend.

“Where is the doctor?” You asked carefully, peaking one eye open and glancing around the room. The prince smiled watching as your gaze flittered everywhere but him.

“I asked him to step outside for a moment. I wanted to make sure for myself that you were well.” He replied, watching your brows furrow in thought.

“Why is that, your majesty?” You pondered, looking up at him and he removed the cloth from your head, soaking it back in the basin before wringing it anew and placing it back against your brow.

“We are old friends, are we not?”

He stared down at his lap, seemingly unsure himself of his statement and your mouth parted in surprise. “You would consider us friends, your highness?”

The prince smiled, wry, before chuckling with a shrug. “Perhaps friends is too liberal of a word. I know I wasn’t the most…pleasant to be around when I was a child. I was selfish and cruel and it’s why my father sent me away. I’m very sorry to have ever been cause for discomfort.”

He paused to gauge your reaction but at the moment you weren’t sure what to think. It had seemed so unlikely to ever receive an apology and now that you had it, you weren’t quite sure what to make of it.

“I was hoping we could begin again…become real friends.” He admitted.

“Please pardon my confusion, but I find myself very surprised. Why would you wish to be friends with a pauper, your majesty?” You finally asked, looking over at him and his smile was gentle, gaze shifting to the open window, the afternoon’s breeze composing a dance among the curtains.

“You are not a pauper, YN” He said, watching as a small starling landed on the balcony, head twisting side to side as it chattered excitedly. “But even if you were, I would still wish to have your friendship. It is my father’s intention to make me king someday and after so many years as a selfish child, I am ashamed to admit that I know nothing of the people in my kingdom. The sorrows, the trials, the joys…I want to be a good king. I want people to know they can depend on me to help, even if I’m not perfect or don’t always have the answers. I want my people to trust me.”

You watched the starling yourself now, hopping across the wood of the balcony, a song puffing his chest wide. “And you think I can help you with that?” You asked softly, watching as the bird resumed flight and soared into the distance.

The prince looked back down at you, reaching his hand out to press against your cheek and you flinched. “My apologies, I only meant to see if your skin was still flushed. May I?”

You nodded, watching as his fingers extended back to your face, the back of his hand pressing gently across your cheek and neck. He hummed, retracting his hand and smiled. “Your temperature has reduced. How are you feeling?”

“Better.” You admitted, “Though I would love to have some water.”

“Yes, of course, I will have some fetched for you. Can I help you sit up?”

He held his hands out for you and you allowed him to pull you gently into an upright position. The world spun for a moment before settling and he moved to the door, calling for a water.

“As an answer to your earlier question,” he said, coming to sit across from you once again and you watched as he set the cloth and basin further away from the bed, “Not only do I wish to make amends, but I want to learn about my people and my kingdom and I believe that spending time with someone who knows the kingdom so well could only benefit that cause.”

“Spending time with me?” You questioned before pausing as a maid entered the room, handing the prince the water before leaving the room once more, door closed tightly behind her.

“Here,” he said, handing you the water which you took happily, clear and cool to the taste. “Yes, spending time with you. Getting to know all about you and my people.”

He paused to allow you a moment to think and you took the opportunity to finish your water, staring down into the cup once you’d allowed it to settle in your lap. It seemed unreasonable to refuse his offer if he really was trying to make a change.

The kingdom could only benefit from having their future king know them and care for their wellbeing. Perhaps the prince would make a very decent king after all, not the tyrant you’d assumed as a child.

“What say you?” He asked gently, holding his hand out for your glass and setting it on the table with the basin.

You looked up at him with a nod, smile tucked in the corner of your lips. “Very well. I can’t see how it would hurt. I will do as you request, your majesty.”

“Wonderful.” He smiled. “And please, call me Jungkook.”

.

.

You guys! Welcome to my page. I’m so happy you’re here and I’d absolutely love to know what you think of my new series! Go ahead and leave a cheeky comment, my loves   😘 See you soon!

Chapter 2

Copyright © 2021 by ExpensiveGlasses. All rights reserved.

[taeken-my-heart]

Charming Chapter 1

(Banner by the incredible @xjoonchildx​ ! Thank you so, so much. I love it!)

Summary: Prince Seokjin was as infuriating as he was beautiful. In line to one day be king, he requested your guidance in the ways of his people. In turn he will make you laugh, give your family fine gifts, and become an invaluable friend. Unfortunately, he will also make you fall in love with him. But the most unfortunate thing of all was his betrothal...to Snow White

Pairing: Seokjin x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Fantasy, Angst, Snow white/au

Rating: NC-17

Word Count: 4538

Warnings: None for this chapter. Future warnings are TW: Major character “death” TW: Thoughts of suicide TW: Attempted suicide. Nothing is graphically described. Chapters will be noted when these things take place. 

~~</3~~

It was during the spring that you felt the most content. Everything was reborn, blossoming from the frozen winter. The village came to life with music, new animals, and the sweet smell of fresh bread.

It had been this way since you were a child, no taller than your mother’s hip and only aware of how acutely you spurned the winter. With chapped fingers and lips, you watched bitterly as your friends, Peter and Else, played, squealing loudly as they threw snow at one another.

The three of you, friends since you could remember, filled to the brim with laughter, scraped knees, and all as plain looking as could be. This suited you fine, and there was little to disappoint you but short moments of impassioned arguments with your two best friends and a brief encounter with the very silly king and his very silly son.

As the only daughter (and indeed, the only child) of the villages master tailor, you found yourself often around the regal and ridiculous. So it was of no surprise when the king himself requested your father’s services and you were required to help him carry his materials to the castle where the king greeted you with his only heir, a son, wearing the silliest hat you’d ever laid eyes upon, a red feather sticking from the top.

You were as different as two people could be and with your simple manners and upbringing, you could not begin to understand the pomp and circumstance of such a silly little boy with rounded cheeks and a chest puffed much too high.

He strutted and flounced about the castle as a peacock would its park and the sight was all together ridiculous for your 9 year old eyes to behold. He’d called you peasant girl and remarked on your general lack of beauty and at 13 years old himself, you felt he had little to offer either, aside from a sizeable kingdom to trump the bed of straw and sheep’s skin you called your own.

For his 13th birthday, Prince Seokjin of Löhrenstein, would have a party, in which all the nobility and sovereigns of the land would be in attendance with their young princesses, and little duchesses, hoping to secure a treaty with his father, a contract between two kingdoms; a betrothal of a prince and a princess.

Of course, you would know nothing of this sort of formality or indeed the contracts of marriage. Your education was as broad as tending a home, carrying your father’s supplies, making flower crowns, and helping to herd the cows during the Viehscheid.

So while the prince was living in a castle and throwing parties and sneering down his nose at near everybody, you were busy helping your father to sew his clothes. At least you could still play in the fields when the sun was high and warm and the flowers were just beginning to bloom.

And this was how you spent your years, watching as Else became beautiful and elegant, long brown hair thick and wavy, tied back in braids as she went to work in the village at her father’s bakery and you watched in quiet envy as all the boys took notice, bringing her fine milks and cheeses as tokens of their affection while you stayed plain. Even Peter had become mildly handsome as he grew into his gangly limbs, erasing the once mousy appearance for a broad shouldered, sun freckled young man.

You told yourself you didn’t mind so much that you were still plain while she was beautiful, but of course you did a little. To be poor but beautiful afforded you more than being poor and plain. Peter often told you that you were just as beautiful as Else, and while you were happy with the compliment, you knew it was because of his childhood love and devotion to you.

You believed that was why he chose to become apprentice to your father, to someday seek your fathers blessing for your hand. While you did not love Peter the way that he loved you, you could not deny the appeal of continuing with the comforts that you were already accustomed to. After all, you were the only daughter to the king’s tailor…that did afford you some small comforts. You supposed someday when he asked for your hand, as he inevitably would, that you would accept.

When you turned 18, however; there was a small gift from the gods, in the form of a late blooming. A glow to your cheeks and a blossoming of beauty. You were, of course, no Else, but you could certainly hold your own and found that you had more than just Peter as an admirer; much to his chagrin.

Perhaps that’s why you feared that any day now he would ask for your father’s permission to court you because then your path as his future wife would be decided. You were in a strange position as the daughter of the king’s master tailor. You were neither peasant nor nobility so while your ability to choose your spouse was more under your control, you were still held to the standard of your father and who he deemed fit to represent his family, and in turn, the kings.

~~</3~~

The sun had just risen to its fullest height, waxing hot as it commandeered the sky, blue and shivering with the heat. It was sweltering and crowded in the square; noisy with life. The baker’s wife was out shouting, calling attention to the freshly baked rolls sitting just passed the door of the bakery. Else stood beside her father, batting her eyelashes and looking pretty; using charms her father could not to entice more customers and you smiled.

The sheep were drinking from the water trough in the center, surrounded by red and yellow poppies in full bloom. The clock tower struck one and you glanced up, eyeing the time wearily. You stood under the archway of a building painted green as a melon, hoping to escape some of the day’s heat.

A woman chased a boy from her garden, chickens flying around in aggravation and you peered after the child as he sulked down the lane, feet dirty and bare. “You hungry, boy?” You called and he looked to you, face caked with dirt from playing and a nod as answer. “Here.” You tossed him the apple you held in your hand and he thanked you, running back into the bustling of the town.

The crowd quivered with conversation and your attention was suddenly captured by the gossip of two young ladies as they passed you. “Yes, the king’s carriage has already left the castle. Apparently, the prince is to be fitted for a ball.”

“I wonder if we shall see him.” The other remarked and your eyes swung to the road, spotting the carriage, scarlet curtains billowing from the windows as it made its descent into town. You gasped, grabbing the skirts of your dress and dashing mad towards your home.

Your father would whip you if you were late. You ran through the fields, cutting through tall shrubs and across dirt paths. A childhood spent playing in this winding village afforded you the intimate knowledge of all its byways.  

You arrived at your home, gasping and covered in dirt and your mother came out, fussing loudly over your appearance, bustling you into the home and towards your room. Your father sighed loudly as you passed, eyes scanning your dress, soiled with the toil of your morning.

“This is no way to greet your king.” He remarks as your mother pulls you behind the wooden room divider, helping you to strip from your clothing and wiping you down quickly with a wet wash cloth.

“My dear, you are not fit to be seen!” Your mother scolded, washing roughly at your face and you grimaced, shivering in the chill of the room. “You knew they were coming today.”

“They are early.” You complained and your mother’s lips smacked in irritation.

“A king is never early. He always arrives exactly when he means to. You would do well to remember that, Y/N.”

Your mother helped you to dress in something new quickly, repinning the last piece of your hair just as the crunch of gravel from the royal carriage wheels could be heard rounding the corner and the two of you rushed from the room and to the front door to wait with your father.

You took a deep breath, head bowed into your chest as you heard the carriage come to a stop in front of you. It was abnormal for the king to come to your home, far too busy with his royal duties to condescend to see a peasant, but his son and only heir had recently returned from…well, to be sure, you did not know where he actually had been, but rumor said he was poorly behaved and had gone somewhere far away to teach him the ways of a king.

This would not surprise you, were it true; he’d been a ghastly child. You could only imagine him now, in adulthood. Upon his return, his father had announced his desire to reacquaint his son with their kingdom and your father being his master tailor would receive the special privilege of his presence, it seemed.

The king stepped from the carriage first, and you watched his feet move towards your family.

“Your majesty!” Your father bowed and pleasantries were exchanged as the prince himself disembarked from the carriage.

You kept your eyes trained fast on the ground; the bottom of your dress already smudged with dirt from where you stood.

“My son,” The king announced and your father bowed once more, both your mother and yourself curtsying deep.

“You remember my wife and my daughter?” Your father said and it was now that you felt it was safe to lift your eyes from the ground.

“My, yes,” Said the king turning his gaze towards you, “you have grown well, girl.”

“Thank you, your majesty.” You replied, soft; bowing your head and he smiled, pleased.

“You remember my son?” He asked, pointing his hand to the figure by his side and you allowed your eyes to slide over to him.

It is unfortunate, in this life; that some people are just born with everything the heart could desire. Good fortune, health, money and comfort and to have all that and still be handsome? Well, truly life was unfair.

He stood tall, face angular with deep set brown eyes and rounded lips. You were under no illusion that he was anything but blessed by the gods. They must have looked upon him very favorably, indeed.

“Yes, your highness.”

The prince looked at you curiously, head curved to the side as your father beckoned them into your home and you watched the king and prince follow after him. You heated with shame as you entered after, watching the prince survey your home while your father and the king conversed.

He must think this was so beneath him; to stand in the home of a pauper. The floor, though it had been swept, was still covered in a layer of dirt and the furniture was old and matted, worn with use. You had more than others in your village, but compared to a king, this was true poverty. It must have seemed you had nothing at all.

“Seokjin, come look at these colors.” The king beckoned and the prince was quick to walk to his side, looking over the fabric your father had assembled as options for his ball.

“These are exquisite.” He remarked, voice low and serious. “I wonder, sir, my father says you will come to the castle tomorrow to prepare my clothing.”

“Yes, your highness, with my apprentice in training, Peter.”

The prince’s eyes flickered to you in surprise and you looked back down at the floor. “Not your daughter? I remember she used to join you when I was a boy.”

“Yes, my daughter would come to help me carry my things, but since I have acquired an apprentice, I have found that quite unnecessary.”

“I would very much like if you would bring her tomorrow, along with your apprentice, of course.” The prince smiled and you couldn’t help but look up in surprise.

“A woman?” The king laughed, loud and joyful and you bowed your head once more, flushed with shame. “What purpose would a woman have in a man’s business? She should stay here and help tend the home, Seokjin. Don’t be unreasonable.”

“I should very much like to have her return to the castle, for reminiscence sake, father. That is, if her mother can spare her.”

“Of course, your majesty.” She bowed.

“She can carry some of the fabric.” The prince smiled, eyes flickering to your bowed head, “like when she was a child.”

“You have a very strange sense of humor.” The king chortled and you closed your eyes, willing the humiliation from you. “Very well then, we shall see you on the morrow with your apprentice and your daughter. You know the time, I presume?”

“Yes, of course, your majesty.” Your father smiled, escorting them out the door and your mother and you stood in the kitchen, eyes trained on the floor.

So, it would seem he had not changed. Like a dog at his table, you had been summoned. So amusing, was it, to watch a woman carry fabric and needles for a man and stand in the background. Always to be seen, but never to be heard.

Your heart bled with the thought and you listened carefully as the carriage resumed its journey. Your father stepped through the threshold of your home and you could feel his eyes on the crown of your head.

“Now come, girl, there is no need to be so downtrodden.” Your father remarked lightly and your throat burned with emotion.

“Y/N.” Your mother said softly and you shook your head, turning to walk away.

“I wish to be alone.” You murmured, fleeing to your room.

The window was open, soft breeze fluttering through the soft white curtains, now dirtied from the dust of the road. You closed your bedroom door softly behind you, walking towards the window where you sat at your stool.

Laying your arm across the lip of your window, you rested your chin in the palm of your hand and sighed. To feel like a bartering chip in the world of men was difficult. To never be in charge of your own destiny. Destiny, for you, was to be nice to look at and the ability to spread your legs. You wanted more than that; wanted to be heard, wanted your thoughts and feelings to be considered.

A knock at your door called your attention and your mother stepped through the door, smiling softly. “It is an honor to be called back to the castle.” She remarked and you sighed once again, returning your gaze back out the window.

“Mother.” You frowned and she sat down on your bed. “You should understand…as a woman. We’re not objects to be played with.”

“My dear,” she tutted and you looked over at her. “Men are simple creatures, if they’ve nothing to look at, they don’t know what to do with themselves.”

You chuckled, sitting up straighter, hands dropping into your lap. “Then what are we to do with them, mother?”

“We guide them, darling. They like to feel useful, so we help them feel so. We know our worth, we don’t need to be reminded. Men, they need to feel powerful; what else do they have? They may be the head of the family, but we are the neck and they turn where we will it.”

“I have the feeling a prince would be harder to guide.” You smiled and she shrugged.

“Perhaps. It just makes it more fun; more of a challenge.”

You frowned, staring back out the window and into the forest just beyond your gate. The air rippled with heat and you watched as a rabbit hopped from your garden and into the shade. “I don’t want to go, mother.” You admitted.

Your mother’s fingers closed around your hand at the window and you turned to look at her. “My dear…I’m afraid you’ve no choice.”

~~</3~~

The morning was hotter than usual and your dress stuck uncomfortable to your back. Peter was thrilled at the prospect of meeting the king and you realized belatedly that he’d never met him before. As the daughter of the king’s master tailor, you were in a unique position within society; neither pauper nor noble.

You’d had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting both the king and his son and you didn’t particularly care for either. “Imagine the palace, Y/N.” Peter sighed, eyes distant and smile pleasant as he threw an arm around your shoulder.

“I don’t need to imagine it.” You huffed, pushing his arm from your shoulder and readjusting the wrappings of fabric in your arms. “I’ve been there, remember?”

“Yes, I do. You never told me much about it, though. Always so secretive.”

You watched as he paused, tucking the edges of the tarp back around the rest of the fabric on the cart before resuming the journey. Your father walked steadily in front of the two of you.

“It was never a secret, I just didn’t particularly enjoy my time there.” You said carefully, eyes focused on the back of your fathers head. He’d beat you if you misspoke of the king.

“Yes, you did mention the prince was rather…interesting.”

“It seems nothing has changed.” You hummed softly, staring down at your feet, dusted yellow from the road.

“Then why are you coming today? If you dislike the prince, why come?” Peter questioned. The castle came into view, large and imposing against the backdrop of the mountains. White brick stood tall, the spires topped with a deep blue and for a moment you allowed yourself to admire the view.

Though the people within the castle were not to your taste, the palace itself was beautiful. Draped on every side by the mountain range and a large lake nestled in its cove, it was one of life’s true pleasures, gazing at its majesty.

“I think you will find, Peter, that I don’t have much of a choice. The prince requested his jester.” You replied, the words bitter on your tongue.

Your father called Peter forward and you spent the rest of the walk in silence, listening to the creak of the cart’s wheels as they cracked over rubble and dirt. Your mother had attempted to make you look pretty today, though you could not think why; presentable should be good enough for any man who wasn’t looking to choose a wife.

Your hair had been done and pinned beautifully, your most beautiful dress resting against your skin. It was certainly nothing to a noble, to be sure, but it was not unpleasant to look at and flattered the shape of your body.

It was hot, though, unbearably so, and you suffered dearly under the harsh rays of the late spring sun. Your mother insisted beauty had a price, but you weren’t quite sure why you were being asked to pay it.

The shade of the drawbridge was a welcome relief and you pulled a handkerchief from your bag and mopped at your face and neck. You didn’t need to offer the prince anymore reason to mock you.

You were escorted to the kings fitting rooms where you gently placed the fabric from your arms on top of what your father and Peter had carried from the cart. You patted at your neck once more as you watched Peter’s eyes scan the room excitedly. Absently you wondered if your father had taught him how to behave when the king was in the room.

Your father motioned you over and you slipped your handkerchief back in your bag and went to stand by his side. It wasn’t long before the king entered and you curtseyed deep, eyes trained on the floor.

He and your father spoke loudly as introductions were made and you could practically feel Peter vibrating from where he stood. He was excited, at least. You resisted the urge to pat at your cheeks, flushed with heat from the walk. Your throat felt like sand, dry as you swallowed and you wished more than anything for some water.

The men spoke noisily as they congregated around the fabric and it was decided that the king would be fitted first. You waited quietly as your father began his measurements, your fingers bunching tight in the fabric of your dress.

The room was overly warm, large windows allowing the sun to enter liberally and you felt yourself wilting in the heat. Voices muffling like you were under water, you watched as the gold, cerulean and cobalt of the room became nothing more than puddles of grey before fading into black.

~~</3~~

Your brow felt cool, wet with the brush of a damp cloth and your eyelashes fluttered open, taking in the surrounding room.

Deep mahogany filled your vision, blue and white canopy drapes traveling the length of the rail. Walls painted in beautiful scenery drew your gaze and you reached up to feel the cloth against your brow.

“You’re awake.”

You inhaled sharp, turning to find the source of the voice. You were surprised to find the prince sat beside you, a basin of water resting on a table next to him and a small smile as greeting.

“I’m sorry to have startled you.” He said softly and you lowered your hand, attempting to sit up. “Please remain as you are, Y/N. You need just a moment to recover.”

“What happened? Where am I?”

“You are in one of the spare bedrooms in the palace. It seems you over heated and became faint.”

You closed your eyes tight, shame filling your breast. It was one thing to faint in general, but in front of the king and his son. Mortification was a bitter friend.

“Where is the doctor?” You asked carefully, peaking one eye open and glancing around the room. The prince smiled, watching as your gaze flitted everywhere but him.

“I asked him to step outside for a moment. I wanted to make sure for myself that you were well.” He replied, watching your brows furrow in thought.

“Why is that, your majesty?” You pondered, looking up at him and he removed the cloth from your head, soaking it back in the basin before wringing it anew and placing it back against your brow.

“We are old friends, are we not?”

He stared down at his lap, seemingly unsure himself of his statement and your mouth parted in surprise. “You would consider us friends, your highness?”

The prince smiled, wry, before chuckling with a shrug. “Perhaps friends is too liberal of a word. I know I wasn’t the most…pleasant to be around when I was a child. I was selfish and cruel and it’s why my father sent me away. I’m very sorry to have ever been cause for discomfort.”

He paused to gauge your reaction but at the moment you weren’t sure what to think. It had seemed so unlikely to ever receive an apology and now that you had it, you weren’t quite sure what to make of it.

“I was hoping we could begin again…become real friends.” He admitted.

“Please pardon my confusion, but I find myself very surprised. Why would you wish to be friends with a pauper, your majesty?” You finally asked, looking over at him and his smile was gentle, gaze shifting to the open window, the afternoon’s breeze composing a dance among the curtains.

“You are not a pauper, Y/N” He said, watching as a small starling landed on the balcony, head twisting side to side as it chattered excitedly. “But even if you were, I would still wish to have your friendship. It is my father’s intention to make me king someday and after so many years as a selfish child, I am ashamed to admit that I know nothing of the people in my kingdom. The sorrows, the trials, the joys…I want to be a good king. I want people to know they can depend on me to help, even if I’m not perfect or don’t always have the answers. I want my people to trust me.”

You watched the starling yourself now, hopping across the wood of the balcony, a song puffing his chest wide. “And you think I can help you with that?” You asked softly, watching as the bird resumed flight and soared into the distance.

The prince looked back down at you, reaching his hand out to press against your cheek and you flinched. “My apologies, I only meant to see if your skin was still flushed. May I?”

You nodded, watching as his fingers extended back to your face, the back of his hand pressing gently across your cheek and neck. He hummed, retracting his hand and smiled. “Your temperature has reduced. How are you feeling?”

“Better.” You admitted, “Though I would love to have some water.”

“Yes, of course, I will have some fetched for you. Can I help you sit up?”

He held his hands out for you and you allowed him to pull you gently into an upright position. The world spun for a moment before settling and he moved to the door, calling for a water.

“As an answer to your earlier question,” he said, coming to sit across from you once again and you watched as he set the cloth and basin further away from the bed, “Not only do I wish to make amends, but I want to learn about my people and my kingdom and I believe that spending time with someone who knows the kingdom so well could only benefit that cause.”

“Spending time with me?” You questioned before pausing as a maid entered the room, handing the prince the water before leaving the room once more, door closed tightly behind her.

“Here,” he said, handing you the water which you took happily, clear and cool to the taste. “Yes, spending time with you. Getting to know all about you and my people.”

He paused to allow you a moment to think and you took the opportunity to finish your water, staring down into the cup once you’d allowed it to settle in your lap. It seemed unreasonable to refuse his offer if he really was trying to make a change.

The kingdom could only benefit from having their future king know them and care for their well being. Perhaps the prince would make a very decent king after all, not the tyrant you’d assumed as a child.

“What say you?” He asked gently, holding his hand out for your glass and setting it on the table with the basin.

You looked up at him with a nod, smile tucked in the corner of your lips. “Very well. I can’t see how it would hurt. I will do as you request, your majesty.”

“Wonderful.” He smiled. “And please, call me Jin.”

~~</3~~

OK, here’s the latest series! I’m unsure of how many parts this will have, at least three. I hope you enjoy it and please send in your feedback, I’d love to hear your thoughts <3

Next

Copyright © 2019 by Taeken-My-Heart. All rights reserved.

[bmsunra]

BMS Red Thirst Chapter 0

Prologue

The examiner stared at his eyes as Kil fixed his eyes a the blood in the bowl. It sat inside a glass box that sat on a table, and Kil was made to sit on the chair five metres from it.

Kil knew the proctor was looking for any abnormal alteration in his eyes, nose, and lips. Any sign that showed he want to consume the human blood, the examiner would fail him the test and mark him leech on the Arinyr Card.

But Kil knew the bald headed, pumpkin belly middle aged man would get nothing from him. He felt no craving nor the thirst. If anything he thought he was repelled by the sight of the human blood.

The examiner waved a hand, and his assistant, a slim young girl, walked over, threw a creamy shroud over the glass box, cutting the sight of the blood.

“Turn right,” the examiner said, who was sitting behind the table, playing with a pen.

Kil’s brown Arinyr Card was on the table in front of him.

Any unwanted suggestion Kil gave him, he would punch a seal and sign the second slot of the card as ‘leech’. The next day, BLC officials from Kuve would come and take him to the Asyl of the leech.

Kil swivelled right.

In the same distance as the glass box was a bulky monitor ontop a similar iron table. Currently its display was black, but Kil knew what was coming for he had taken this test before when he was only twelve.

The display flickered and something gory replaced the blackness; A man dying, his gut was opened by some ragged blade, its entails was spilled out over chest and the asphalt.

Kil flinced.

“Eyes on the screen,” the examiner said.

The next video was more grisly. It looked as if it was caught on hidden camera. A little girl of not more than twelve was sawing her wrist a razor, blood spurting all over as she did. Kil had to endure five more similar videos, which he went throug with peeled eyes. He had to. One of them had nothing do with sharp razor or entails, but just a young boy feeding blood by his mother from a glass bowl. The boy drank it as if were milk. Kil knew he would take some days forgetting it.

He found himself wondering how his twelve years old self manage to forget all these.

By the time the monitor went black again, Kil’s stomach had been twisted to uncountable knots. This was what the examiner wanted. He wanted to see how he react. Kil only reacted like a normal human would.

The BLC should come up with a less grim method to filter out leech. Maybe a blood taste or by studing a tissue of something. People with the thirst must surely have different biochemistry than normal human.

The examiner leaned over his Arinyr Card and scribbled pass in the second slot, stamped the BLC seal and signed over it. The pretty assitant ushered him outside.

Kil was sure she wink at him at the door way.

Jiyu and Jie were waiting outside. Kil sat down next to Jiyu. Jie turned twelve this year, so she was taking the test as well. She shivered visibly. Her big sister, Jiyu was tying to calm her down. “It’s gonna be alright.”

Jiyu was fourteen. She had to wait for her fifteen for her second Arinyr test.

There were around dozen kids in the waiting room. All of them had either their mother or father or both with them to quell theri anxiety. Kil, Jiyu and Jie had only themselves.

“I heard the new examiner is creepy?” Jiyu asked in a low voice. On hearing her sister question, Jie shirvelled and displayed fear in her eyes.

To Kil’s eyes the examiner wasn’t scary. If anything he was funny looking, with the melon belly and the bald and the bushy moustache.

“I don’t know about that but he got a super hot assistan,.” Kil said, which earned him a stern look from Jiyu.

Jie seemed she didn’t heard his respose, staring at the floor and shaking uncontrollable.

“You have a girlfriend remember?” Jiyu said pointing at herself, a slender silver bracelet glinted around her tiny dainty wrist.

“I do,” Kil shrugged.

“Jie Tsuyo,” the pretty assitant annouced.

Jie got to her feet.

“Be strong, sister,” Jiyu said.

Jie made her way inside without a word.

Kil remembered drenched in sweat from nervouseness on his frist test. His father there that day to comfort him though.

The pretty assitant came out again and headed for the washroom, but not without flashing a smile at three boys in the waiting room. Kil included. But Jiyu hadn’t noticed that he wasn’t alone. Like the rest of the boys who received the smile, Kil grinned dreamily. That earned him a elbow from his girlfriend.

“Ouch.” Kil let out little too loud.

Few turned their heads, but linger their gaze not more than two seconds. They had their own worries. If their child failed the test they would them. Kil heard not many return from the Asyl in Rachi, and he never knew or see anyone who came back in his life. He also heard they came back crazy. So naturally, none like the idea of room in the eerie building in the east Island of Akerin.

The kids were truly frightened too. Specially the twelve years. At least they had a parent. Kil’s was pretty carefree about the test, and Kil knew he had nothing to worry, so he told him to rest at home. Jie’s parents had a reason too; they forgot.

“You scare for Jie?” Kil asked Jiyu.

Jiyu’s scowling vanished, replaced by a face of worried.

“I’m scare a little bit,” she said. “They won’t take away a twevel years old girl, will they? They should seperate a child from their parents how irresponsible they are.”

Kil fully knew BLC take leech of any age, as young as seven, to the Asyl for correction, to get rid of the thirst. He also knew he shouldn’t share this information with Jiyu right now. He put an arm around her, and drew her closer.

“I’m sure Jie is strong.”

Ten minutes later Jie came out, which meant she passed lest they woud’ve taken her through the back door and kept her locked in a room.

Jiyu dashed to her little sister and hugged her. But was more scared than ever. She shivered harder as she hugged her sister back. She was teary.

Kil did’t understand how people are easily frighten.

“Let’s get away from this creepy place,” Jiyu said. “You hungry Jie?”

Jie bobbed her head. She still looked nervous.

Kil peddled the bike hard and drove away fast from the Senggu’s clinic where they set up Arinyr test centre for the year. Jie clung to her sister from behind on a seperate bike. They raced to the nearest foodstall. They bought currywursts. Kil didn’t have money, so Jiyu paid for three of them. She sometime worked at the town’s market when needed money. She accept whatever work was available.

They parked their bikes beside the road, flopped down on the grasses, ate their food and watched the sunset. A grass field spread in front of them. Five kids were flying kites in the windy sky. It was late summer, and the heat had abated heralding autumn. The sun was bright red and lonely, casting its last light on the green field and the mountain ranges. It’s Kil’s favorite part of the day.

“I hate this,” Jiyu said, holding out the food in front of her.

“Then why did you order it?” Kil asked.

“I only did because you two did. I don’t want to be left out.”

Jie munched her food in silence. Her eyes in the distance, as if her mind was somewhere else.

“Nobody forced you.” Kil said.

Jie finished her food, and ran into the field toward the kid. She asked one of the kid to allow her fly the kite. Once she hold the strong she looked happy for the first time of the day.

“In the city,” Jiyu said after a while, “I heard they have the greatest food. And one can easily find work.”

“I heard the cities are dangerous, specially in the capital,” Kil said. “Plus I thought you want to become a writer. Why are you so interest in working part time?”

“My part-time money bought this,” she shook her food in front of Kil. Kil bit a moutful at his. “It’s also the reason why I need to leave this Senggu,” Jiyu said. “In city I could easily find a mentor, and work to pay for the mentor.”

“Leave then,” Kil said. “My father and me are staying here for a while. Father loves Senggu, so do I.”

“Yes, it’s a good town for farmer and florist and the likes.” she said. “But not for someone like me with dreams. My parents were born in Senggu, so did their parents. I don’t want to end my life here. You won’t understand anyway. You don’t have a dream. You and your father came here to rot and perish.”

“Father said, we never have home before we settled here,” Kil said. “He always said how lucky we were that his friend gave us a place we could call home.”

“You are at your destination. I’m at my beggining. You’ve left your cage, I’m still in mine.”

“Leave Senggu then,” Kil said again.

“I CAN’T,” Jiyu said. “I can’t leave Jie with my parents. Father came drunk yesterday and fought with mother. We hid in the closet again.”

Jiyu sniffed. There was silence for a while.

“And I can’t leave you too,” Jiyu said after composing herself. “You are my boyfriend now, aren’t you. You promised to my maiden promise.”

Jiyu held her silver braclet in front of him. Kil remembered she made him promise to stay with her forever one year ago when she got her maiden bracelet when she turned thirteen.

“Let say I’ve a dream,” Kil said. “What if I left town in persue for it. What will do you do then?”

“I’ll come with you. We promise to stay together. That’s what we will do, right.”

“Right.”

The sun had set, the twilight had settled. Jie was flying kite in the field. A kid, probably the owner of the kid, was tugging at her skirt. But she wouldn’t let go of the thread reel.

“Let’s fly kite,” Kil said to Jiyu.

“No. It’s getting dark. Let’s go home.”

But Kil had already started running down toward the field. Jiyu was calling his name behind him.

“Come,” he yelled back, “let’s see who fly hi…”

Kil stumbled on a hard stone and tumbled forward headfirst. He dove headlong to the field filled with pebbles and gravels, and slid for a whole metre before he stopped. He flipped over, saw the blue sky. He saw two kites in his vision. His forehead hurt. He reached it with his hand. “Ouch!” he jerked it back as the pain double when touch. Little blood came on the tips of his fingers.

“Kil brother,” Kil heard Jie’s voice. And a loud laugher of Jiyu’s voice.

Jie’s head appeared in his vision, looking down at him.

“You okay?”

Kil sat up on the damp and rough surface. Somehow his bad luch had brough him to a grass free, but stony area. Jiyu was few metres away. She doubled over and guffawed. Kil started to snickered to at his own folly. Three kite runners who had seen him diving were cackling too, pointing there hands at him.

The only one who truly worried about him was Jie. But Jiyu also stopped laughing when she saw the blood trickling down his face. The sisters pulled him up, and they came home.

On the way, Jiyu bought a bottle of water, and cleaned the injury, and his face.

“Take a stick as soon as you get home,” Jiyu said. “Don’t worry there won’t be any scar. It’s minor.”

Kil wasn’t worried much. They drove merrily as before back home. It was almost completely dark when they reached their gate.

“See you tomorrow, Killian brother,” Jie said. Jiyu simply smiled a goodbye of the day.

The two sisters went through their wooden fence gate. Next to Tsuyo’s gate was Kil’s iron fence gate. He pushed his bike inside, and parked the bike in the shed near the gate. He saw shadow of his father through the semi-transperant glass of the greenhouse. He must be watering his flowers. He went in the house quickly to look at a mirror.

A thin red line one-and-half inch, started from the corner of his forhead and slanted toward his left eyebrow. He must’ve grazed sharp edge of a stone. The blood had dried up. It was a minor cut, nevertheless it would leave a scar if he didn’t take a healing serum within twent-four hour. From the cupboard, he took out the small metallic box in which they kept their serums. He set it down the round eating table and flopped himself down on a chair.

He picked out the syringe first, and started looking for vial that content pale yellow fluid. But all he found was tiny empty glass vial.

“We’ve ran out of serum a week ago.”

Father came in limply, supporting by a walking stick. His father was in his sixties, but he looked much older, with all his hair gone white, and the walking stick to help his impaired leg.

Father limped over, squinted his eyes at his son’s temple, studying the shallow cut.

“Hmm,” he said, displaying little concern. “I’ll get one or two tomorrow morning. Does it hurt? Sleep on painkiller.”

Kil had a reason not to believe his father’s word. And he would need a healing serum in twelve-hour if he wish to avoid scar.

The healing serum or SOMA serum could heal any wounds and injuries, given one inject it everyday until it completely heal. It also healed faster than normal human healing speed. It could even grow a severed limb if the person could afford a vial everyday for at least ten months. And the best thing about SOMA is that the wound wouldn’t leave any scars.

“You’ll get it tomorrow morning!,” he couldn’t hide the frustration in his voice. “Where woud you get money to buy it?”

Kill pulled his left sleeve to his elbow, revealing seven old scars in his forearm. It marred his rather smooth skin, “Remember when you made the same promise?” Kil said.

In Akerin, in the era of SOMA serum, the beggars and urchins had visible scars. And those who were so poor that they couldn’t buy a vials of healing serum. A scars on his brow was tantamount to saying, ‘I’m poor. I’m poor.’ Kil could hide the scars on his arm, even if he had to wear long sleeve everytime. But he couldn’t walk into school campus with one on the brow.

“I have some flowers I could see,” father said.

“Your stupid flower couldn’t fetch five-hundred ged let alone hundred ged for a nice meal.”

His father knew he was right.

“I’ll get a vial, I promise,” father said. “Let me put this bandage over it for now.”

He let him.

Kil knew the predicament his father was in. He had jobs before the accident that crippled his left leg. But he couldn’t help but mad at him.

“How’s the test?” father asked cleaning the cut the skin around it.

“Nothing.”

“Jie’s?” father asked again, putting the adhesive bandage over the cut.

Father didn’t asked about Jiyu last year when she gave her test. But he was always fond of little Jie. Kil found himself wishing his father like Jiyu as much as he like Jie. Then he immediately realized how childish the thought was.

“Nothing,” Kil said.

“Let’s eat dinner.” father said. “I’ve prepared your favorite …”

“I’m not hungry,” Kil said, still mad at his father. “I’m off to bed.”

Kil left his poor father alone and came to his room.

👾👽👼👻👺👹💣✌😈💩😷👀💀

On the bed

Kil found himself recalling Jiyu’s desire to live in the city. If he were in the city, he could find a part job. Money of a week work might be enough to buy a vial of serum.

Father dressed his bruises and scar once again, and put on adhesive bandage over it, and medicine to the bruised and cuts.

At dinner there was silence. A simple dinner of rice, and vegetable stew.

After dinner, when he was in his room, father came to give him a the painkiller. He gulped it down with a glass of water. Then he lay on the bed. But he couldn’t rest.

He had enough trouble trying to hide the scars on his hand. They only person who wasn’t disgusted by it was his mother, but she wasn’t with him now. Only the homeless and beggars in the streeth had scars in Akerin.

He almost gone to sleep when the sound of fighting came from the neighbour. Jiyu’s father and mother. It’s late. She must be unable to sleep as well. Her parents fought all the time. If it wasn’t night she would come to Kil’s house, and his father would keep the two sisters company until the fight was over.

Kil distracted the screaming and shouting with his own thought. Father had no money to buy serum, even though he said he would. Father only sold two to three flower pot a day, which wasn’t enough even for food. He didn’t have saving. This could like before.

There was a way though. Kil knew a way to get money instantly. If he go out, he could buy the serum early morning tomorrow.

He could bleed.

Selling blood was illegal in Akerin. It had been for many years.

One could sell to a govt. Medical fecily, but they didn’t pay much. But selling to blood dealer pay thrice the money. Kil knew the dealer of Senggu.

In Akerin, selling blood to a leech was the second most hated sin, the first one was being a leech and drinking blood. Since the bood dealer were selling the blood the collected to the leech, almost exclusively the citizen loathed them, and the police would without delay shove them into prison, if caught.

Near midnight, the fighting from Jiyu’s house had died.

At was near midnight, Kil put on his shoes and jacket and jumped out of the window, careful not to wake up father when he land. Not long after he waking down the street toward the town market. It was just a ten minutes walk. Most of the shops had been closed, and an eeri quietness had settled the area. Sounds of night insects had replaced the clamour and din of the crowd that was normal in the morning and day.

Blood dealing was ban in all over Akerin. The one in Senggu was ran by a nameless man, he can only be summoned from the bar. Kil, underage, so he went to the backdoor. As he heard the rumour, he told the big man there he wanted the blood dealer.

I’m looking for Sinner’s Door,

Not long after he was led through a dark corridor inside the building. The guard left him in a small room. Kil took a chair. The room strangely smelt of strong perfume. The dealer came after five minutes. He asked his name.

“Killian Vidar,” he said.

The man seemed taken aback by his name. But it was brief. Then explain the amount of blood Kil had to bleed, and the price, and how long it would take. Kil was more than happy to learn that for 500 grams of blood he could buy two vials. Which would be enough in his case.

The dealer was about to take him away from the room, when another man showed up. The man was tall and thin, had long red hair under a leather hat. He wore a long coat that matched the color of his hat.

“I’m here.”

The dealer stole a glance at Kil before he answer, “And your promise.”

The stranger reached into his coat and pulled out a thick envelope. It was easy to guess the money inside. The dealer took it, told Kil to wait for a while and led the stranger out of the room. Kil was certain he man was here to buy blood. That meants he was a leech. It’s scary to remind the leech who drink human blood and human look the same. There was no way to distinguish the two by merely obsering or looking. They coould be anyone in the Senggu. Kil wodnered how many leech were there in the town, secretly buying blood from the dealer to drink at dinner, like a premium wine.

The dealer came back alone after a while, asked Kil to follow and he did.

Kil followed him down another the dim corridor. Red bulbs lit from the ceiling, and it smelt the same perfume in the small room. This corridor had doors on the side, Some of them were opened ajar, Kil peeked inside as he passed them. He saw people on strechable couch with tube in the arm pumping blood. Bleeding. There were at least four chair in each room and six such rooms in this corridor. They turned right and headed down another similiar corridor. This one had single bleeder in a single smaller bleeding room. More private. Toward the end he passed a room inwhjich he saw the man from earlier with the hat. His back was on him blocking the view of the bleeder.

The dealer asked Kil to enter the room at the end. Kil almost enter in when heard it ...

“I know what you want of me. I’ll never become one of you.” It came from the room the man in hat was in and Kil didn’t had to see the speaker. He knew instantly.

Father. Kil tracked back and peered inside the room.

There he was, stretching on the chair, tube in his arm, blood ranning from his system into a plastic package under the chair. His walking stick propped up against it.

“I’ll get it from your dead body if I have to,” the man in hat said to his father.

His father cursed.

“Father.” The word escaped from Kil.

The man in hat turned.

Father was obviously shocked to see him here. His eyes went wide, glancing between him and the man in hat. It took a long moment until he spoke. “What are you doing here?”

“Father,” Kil’s voice came in low and with trace of sadness that grew inside him on realising his father was selling his own blood to buy serum for him, for the scar he got trying to fly a stupid kite.

The dealer came up behind him, grabbed his arm, and tried to drag him away. “We are sorry Mr. …”

The man in hat waved his hand, “Hold on,” he said, studied Kil. “Son?”

“I didn’t know.” said the dealer.

“Father why are you here?” Kil asked his father.

“You shouldn’t be here. Run.”

A knife appeared in the hand of the man in hat, silencing Kil and his father. He gestured to the dealer, and Kil was grabbe from behind, immobolised him.

“Don’t touch my son,” his father’s weak voice said.

The man in hat proceed anyway. “Let see if you’ve have the same thing as you old pop.” Then he reacched out and grabed Kil’s scarred left arm.

Kil tried to wriggel free, but the man too strong for a boy of fifteen.

Then the man slice Kil’s palm. Blood started to creep out of the cut. Pain shot though his hand. Kil cried out in pain. Then man in hat brough his hand to his mouth and suck the blood of his palm.

The man swalllowed. Grimaced, and spat to the side. Disgusted by the taste of it. He shool his head in disappointemnet. “Take his away,” he said to the dealer, and stood and turned toward his fatherm his knife gleamed in front of his father’s face. His father was frightened, Kil could tell.

The dealer grabbed Kil by the shoulders and started pulling him away from the room.

The man in hat was going to kill his father for his blood, Kil thought. His heart start to pung heavily agaisnt his chest, audibly. Line of sweat ran down from his temple to his face, and he could feel his whole body stated to perspire.

“FATHER,” Kil screamed. “DON’T KIL MY FATHER.”

“He won’t,” said the dealer from behind.

The man in hat turned back around. “Shut him up,” tha man in hat commanded the dealer.

“DON’T KIL HIM,” Kil yelled, trying to free from the dealer’s grab.

Father looked Kil in his eyes, “Find your mother,” he said.

The man in hat took a step toward Kil, and backhanded him hard in his face. It was so powerful, instantly knock Kil out.

When Kil opened his eyes, the man in hat wasn’t in the room, nor the blood dealer. His father was still in the chair, but he wasn’t moving. Not moving at all. His throat was sliced open, blood from the opening drenched his entire bodice. His skin was ghastly, almost as white as paper. They had drained his blood.

Kil pushed himself up, his right cheek hurt like hell.

His father’s eyes had been closed. How considerate of the killer. The man in hat. Kil looked at his soulless father, laying there like a baby, unaware of the rage burning inside his son. He cried holding his dead father. He cried, gritted his teeth, clenched his fist and vowed.

Nine months later, Kil slit the throat of his first leech victim.

Three months later from his first victim, he stabbed the 30th leech to death.

Eight months later from his 30th kill, he gored the guts out of the 60th leech.

Soon every leeches in Akerin heard his name. Kill rejoiced hearing his reputation. Yet he wasn’t done. Until he avenged his father.

Jie saw his blood, and drew her in. she looked away. Missing handkerchief, piece whic Jiyu gave it tomm him.

His father wasn’t happy either. He had his own scars, multiple, in his chest, thigh, forarms and back, that he got from working in multiple jobs. He did his best, Kil knew.

He got that when he was five playing with a harvesting machine. His hand stuck in it for half an hour. Father didn’t have the money to buy serum, so he left it to his own natural healing which did a fine job healing completely in three months, but the the scars remained.

[lolas-writings]

Adopted Touya AU Part 8! Ft. A surprise appearance from a top hero (reposted to test if tags will work this time)

[Part 1] [Previous]

Touya is in the middle of lunch when a villain attacks. He’s just across the street from his job, having only just finished his shift, and he was only able to relax for maybe ten minutes, max, before the poor cafe he’s eating at gets caught up in the fight. It could have been easily avoided, but whichever hero that showed up decided throwing the villain through the window would somehow help them in their fight. And now, Touya was staring down at said villain while the other patrons dashed out of the cafe in fright. 

“You rob something?” You see, Touya has seen a lot of things throughout his life, so at this point he fears very little. And villains with a measly mouse mutation quirk is not one of them. So while the villain jumps to his feet and acts as if he’s going to attack, Touya just breaks another piece of his melon bread off and pops it into his mouth. “So?” 

Touya never gets an answer, because a blur of red shoots across Touya’s line of vision and pins the villain to the nearby wall. The owner of said red projectile soon follows, flying in through the broken window and landing in front of the villain, who is soon apprehended and handed off to the waiting police just outside. It’s only when the man returns that Touya is noticed. 

“Oh! Uh, how long have you been there?” This man has a cheery smile and wings that take up more space than necessary, with how they’re currently fanning out to appear bigger, but Touya isn’t the least bit deterred, simply taking another bite of his bread. 

“The entire time. Imagine if I was a villain, you’d probably be dead by now with your lack of spacial awareness.” Another bite of bread. 

“What? Wait, why didn’t you leave? A villain appears right in front of you and you just continue eating?” Those wings twitch as if they’re agitated, which they may as well be because their owner seems to be. But that just fuels Touya’s “being a little shit” meter to the brim and he shrugs. 

“There’s nothing more terrifying than your kid brother who was previously quirkless suddenly awakening his supposed ‘dormant quirk’ that’s so powerful he absolutely destroys three of his limbs in UA’s entrance exam.” Another bite of bread. “I’m also not too fond of fish.” Maybe Touya has no sense of self preservation when he’s alone, or maybe he’s just lazy and didn’t want to leave just yet. Maybe an odd mixture of both. 

“Who are you, anyway?” Touya may be a natural asshole, but even he couldn’t have guessed such a simple question would ruffle the other man’s feathers so violently -- quite literally. 

“W-What? Oh, come on man. Winged Hero Hawks? Fastest man alive?” Touya just shakes his head in response, he never paid attention to heroes anymore. “Man, I’m already the number three hero? Nothing?!” 

“I don’t keep up with hero business. Besides,” Touya leans back in his seat and looks the man up and down, “there’s only two heroes I even care for.” As if being summoned by the mere mention, Touya feels a smack against the back of his head and when he turns to look at his assailant, Izuku is standing there with wide eyes. 

“What are you doing here?! Mom’s gonna freak out if she knew you were here during a villain attack.” Touya doesn’t even bother responding. Instead, he looks down at the white envelope Izuku is clutching like a lifeline and raises his brows in question. Like flipping a switch, Izuku looks down at the letter and beams, turning it to show Touya that it’s from UA. 

“It just came today!! Mom’s still at work, but I at least wanted to find out with you.” Touya scoots further inside the booth he’s currently sitting in to allow Izuku space, and without further ado Izuku plops down beside him and nervously tears open the envelope. Izuku is wringing his hands together throughout the entire video (really, video?) and Touya feels the booth shaking from how viciously he’s shaking his own leg in anticipation. He knows how much Izuku wants this, has watched him train until he couldn’t walk for months on end in order to live his dream. This is it... 

He gets accepted, and while Izuku bursts into tears of join Touya smacks the back of his head in a mirror of earlier events. “You owe me 1000 yen.” That’s enough to stop the tears. 

“What? No way!! Why-” 

“I told you you’d make it, you dolt. It’s you’re fault for doubting yourself.” They’re in the middle of arguing when someone clears their throat, and only then does Touya remember the hero present, the hero who was chastising him earlier for not leaving when a villain attacked. He’s smiling now, an award winning, 1000 watt smile directed at Izuku. 

“Congrats on your acceptance little dude, but I’m still gonna have to advise you to leave. I can’t have any civilians remain on-” and it’s then that Izuku finally realizes he’s mere feet away from a pro hero. 

“Pro Hero Hawks?!” The intensity of his yell startles the hero, but his smile returns and his wings fluff up in... some kind of positive emotion, Touya can’t really tell (nor does he really care). 

“The one and only!” He turns to glance at Touya. “See, the kid knows who I am.” Touya scoffs and takes another bite of his bread. 

“He knows every pro hero, even the underground ones. Don’t flatter yourself there, little bird.” Touya can’t help but smirk in a subtle challenge, feeling accomplished when the hero blushes and turns his attention away to focus on Izuku. Does that mean Touya is done being a little shit? Never. That job is never finished. “You should give him your autograph. You know, as a proper congratulations.” It’s Izuku who blushes now, but he doesn’t even care to hide it when he sees Hawks smile and hold out his hand for Izuku to hand something of his choosing to be signed. (Touya may be a little shit, but he still finds his own way to spoil his brother. He has no shame.) 

The two chat for a bit, allowing Touya the time he needs to finish his melon bread, and by the time Hawks reiterates his earlier point of needing them to leave, Izuku is bouncing on his feet in barely concealed excitement for the day’s turn of events. And with nothing keeping him there, Touya stands to leave, ruffling Izuku’s hair with a smile they both know means “I’m proud of you” before throwing his trash away. He places his hand on Izuku’s head and turns him towards the exit, lightly pushing him to walk forward but before they leave, he turns to the hero one last time with a wink. 

“See you later, hero.” Then they’re gone, and Hawks has no idea how to comprehend what happened.