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novemberheart · 17 days

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{overview} Your heat doesn't quite go as planned. Kate provides your pack with a predicament

{warnings} fem reader, poly141, a/b/o dynamics, heat cycles, MDNI, heat cycles, p in v sex, knotting, cursing

Chapter 22 <- Chapter 23 -> Chapter 24

There was a soft knock at the door making John stir.

“Come in,” he groaned, sitting up with you still against his chest. You mumbled something incoherent, drifting right back to sleep. Johnny came in with two takeout containers. John stood up, keeping a firm grip on you as he tossed a few pillows onto the floor, knowing you would throw a fit if your nest got dirtied by food. Johnny set the containers on the ground, grabbing Simon's hoodie off the bed and tugging it over your head.

You were out of it. Just a few hours ago Kyle had come in to make sure the two of you had water and said you were up and chatting, now you were like one of the pillows on the ground. There had been no moans or groans since last night, your first time, making everyone a bit nervous. You should be working through your heat. John threw on a pair of sweats, as Johnny had you propped up against some pillows. You smiled at him softly, wrapping your arms around his bicep. He pressed a kiss against your heated forehead, wanting nothing more than to stay with you.

“You can stay, ‘Tav,” John assured. He didn't seem too out of it. If it wasn't for his dark eyes and flushed appearance he would seem exactly the same. Johnny smiled, pulling you into his lap, and grabbing your lunch to feed you. You purred against him, happy to smell something other than John’s campfire and fog scent.

“Simon wants to call a doctor,” Johnny spoke slowly. John hummed, already knowing what he was speaking about. You should be deep into your heat by now, especially after being sexually active. He should be deep into his rut as well.

“Is a bit concerning isn't it?” John sighed, between bites. “Give her the rest of today. Her body is experiencing a lot of things it hasn't before. Our girl just needs some time to work through it, right pretty?” he questioned looking over at you. Your eyes were nearly closed, staring up at Johnny like you hadn't seen him in months.

“That’s fair,” Johnny agreed, working a spoonful of corn into your mouth. It was quiet for a moment.

“You gonna mark her?” Johnny asked- bordering on a request. It was the thing he hated most about being a beta. He would never be able to see his mark against your skin. At least he would be able to wear yours when the time was right.

“Didn’t quite discuss that too much before. We got a bit heated making out one time and she asked me to do it then. But I want her to have a clear head when she makes that decision,” John explained. His hand reached out, running up and down your leg.

“Would you let her mark you?”

“Absolutely,” John replied without missing a beat.

Kate groaned, trying to balance her coffee and tablet in one hand to fish her phone out of her pocket.

“Laswell,” She spoke, using her elbow to push a pile of papers off the edge of her desk.

“Kyle found something,” She immediately recognized Simon’s voice.

“That’s one of the things he’s good at,” Kate shot back, plopping down on the couch in her office.

“It's about our girl.”

Laswell froze.

“What’s wrong? She alright?” She had just talked to you a few days ago. You were nervous about the situation with your heat but were happy otherwise.

“Kyle was looking at her tracking app a couple of days ago when he noticed another chip under her name popping up under the ‘connect’ list. He clicked it and it knew her location and everything,” Simon explained.

“Did it have another name registered to it? Like how you and John are on hers,” Kate asked.

“Negative,” Simon sighed. “Kyle thinks it disconnected from the owner, that's how we were able to find it.”

“You think the owner is going to want to pursue it?” Kate questioned, her stomach beginning to turn.

“Hope they do,” Simon grunted. “It says it’s located in her leg- the chip.”

“The leg?” Kate mumbled. “It couldn't be a chip then. She would’ve felt it. It would have to be a small wire of some kind. Can you put her on the phone?”

“She’s in lockdown with the old man,” it was vague, but Kate knew what he meant. It also explained why John wasn't blowing up her phone right now. They couldn't discuss it with the two of you in such a vulnerable state. “Me and Kyle were thinking about flying back to base,” Simon added.

“You think it's that serious? Maybe she got it when she was little?”

“She would've known about it by now. They aren't meant to be in more than five years. Besides, we can't take any chances. If we don't pursue this and something happens”- Simon cut himself off.

“Look at L.T. Ghost taking care of his pack,” Kate smiled. She couldn't quite tell if the sound on the other end was a purr or static. “Let me dig through some medical files. If there is danger, you all should be there, especially when they are this vulnerable,” Kate reminded. “I’ll keep you updated.”

“Thank you, Laswell. For everything,” He clicked the red button before she could respond.

She had a feeling you were included in that ‘everything.’

It felt like you were watching yourself from behind a glass screen. You could see everything, hear everything, yet you couldn't take control. Forced to watch from the sidelines. John had eased the ache in your body last night, and the feeling had yet to return. Why hadn't it? What was wrong with you? Why couldn't you just be a normal omega? You couldn't even perform in your heat, or help your alpha with his still lingering rut. What good were you?

A loud whine woke him up, his head quickly shooting up from its resting place against your stomach.

“What pretty girl?” John soothed you, wrapping you tightly in his arms. How could he be so nice- so understanding? He should be out looking for a better omega.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, as he swept the tears away.

“Nothin' for you to be sorry about, love,” he assured instantly. He paused for a moment. “Why are you apologizing?” he asked softly. You hadn't done anything but be a perfect little omega for him, despite the fuzziness in your brain.

“I can’t,” was all you were able to get out, sobs wracking your body.

“Bloody hell, sweetheart,” he cursed softly. “No reason for that,” he used the hem of his shirt to wipe away your tears.

“I’m not a good omega,” you gasped through your sobs. A warning growl rumbled in his chest, making you jump. It was a natural instinct to bare your teeth at someone who talked b about your omega- even if it was the omega themselves.

“There’s definitely no reason for that,” he snarled, pressing a rough kiss against your cheek. He slowly put the pieces together as to what you were getting at. He didn't even think the toll of not completing your heat would have on your self-esteem. That was bullshit though. You were much more than how well you could fuck him in a delirious state and he was a bit surprised you even entertained the idea. His sensitive girl.

“If I can't get into a heat how am I supposed to take a knot, or be marked?” you grumbled sadly, finding the energy to paw at your face.

“You can get into a heat, pretty. Your body is still adjusting to the pack and to me. By this time next year we’ll be laughing about this.”

Next year? He wanted to keep you?

“You still want me?” It was the lowest sentence you had ever uttered, yet it was a blow to him.

His first feeling was that of insult. Did you think that lowly of him? That he would toss you to the curb just because you were having a bit of trouble? Then he saw the look in your eyes. You were so small- beat down and defeated over something he had hardly thought twice about. You weren't the you he was used to, you were the raw, unfiltered, scared version of yourself. The version that had jumped from omega holding house to omega holding house. The version of you that had been let down by so many people in your life. The version of you that had been overlooked and disregarded due to your status.

Now that version of you was his.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

“More than anything,” was all he could manage.

You were relieved when the fire returned in your veins. Your hands patting your alpha’s chest to wake him. He gasped awake, his trained eyes scanning around the room for a threat, relaxing when he just saw your happy face. He smiled softly until your scent hit him.

“There you are, pretty girl. Just needed some time,” He chuckled, rolling over so you were on your back. You nipped at his neck, your hands wandering under his shirt. He lets you do as you please, without rushing or urging you along. The soft pads of your fingers running over scars he had long forgotten about.

“You’re so handsome,” you mumbled, tugging his shirt off the rest of the way. He smiled softly, his beard tickling your cheek as he kissed along your clothed shoulder. The bare skin of your legs against his wasn't enough for him. He tugged Simon’s hoodie off of you, purring as he was finally able to feel you fully.

This time he went slow- as slow as he should've gone for your first time. He was drawing it out, with every drag of his hips you were pushed near the end only to be yanked back. You were a desperate little thing under him. So needy and scratchy that he had to put you on your stomach.

“Only patient girls get kisses,” is what he had told you. You whined, leaning your head back, hoping he was just being a tease. His hand gripped the base of your neck, gently pushing it back into the pillows. He chuckled- a bit cruelly- from behind you, a particularly deep thrust making you cry out.

“Please?” you whined, your bottom lifting off the bed so prettily for him. He hummed, running a hand all the way up your arched back. He leaned over you, his lips pressing against your wet cheek.

“I think the betas spoil you too much,” he mumbled, his hips returning to the slow speed. “Think all you have to do is say please with those pretty eyes and you get whatever you want hmmm?” he half-asked, keeping himself sheathed inside you.

“Yeah,” you agreed softly, making him chuckle. He kissed the small ring on your finger Kyle had bought you. The beta was just supposed to run to the store to get popcorn for movie night and ended up coming back with a ring that cost half a paycheck.

You wiggled your hips, taking it upon yourself to start pushing yourself back on him. He watched as you slowly found your own rhythm. He cursed softly, watching as your cunt swallowed him whole. He gave you soft encouragement, the grit in his voice making the tightness in your stomach swell.

“Can I?” you asked through a strangle moan. Even after all his teasing, you were still his obedient omega. His chest rumbled, causing the vibration to shoot straight through you.

“Course, sweetheart. You earned it,” he praised. That was all you needed, shaking around his cock with a breathy moan. He held your hips in place to keep you from running away, your spasming walls causing his eyes to roll back.

He had hardly a minute to catch his breath before you were pushing yourself back against him again.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he growled, immediately meeting your thrusts. He wrapped an arm around your waist, rolling over onto his back taking you with him. He forced your legs apart, your back against his chest as he drove his hips up into you. The new position hit something inside you that turned you into a purring ragdoll. “Purring from my cock?” he questioned through a groan like he couldn't quite believe it. His hands had a bruising grip on your thighs, the force of his thrusts nothing but mean.

There was swelling between his thighs, and even in his dazed state he could figure out what it was. You seemed to know too- at least instinctually, judging by the way you tried to push yourself down on it. “Think you can take my knot, pretty girl?” he asked softly, his pace beginning to slow so you could talk. You nodded your head eagerly, your face pressing against the side of this neck.

He resumed, his knot slamming against you with every thrust. You came unexpectedly, your cunt gushing around him and over the sheets. You were shaking in his grasp and he began rolling his knot into you, your slick making it a bit easier. Your hips tried to pull away, but he knew it was just from overstimulation. He matched your purrs, the action causing your body to relax enough for him to ease the rest of himself in. Your body stilled as the two of you locked together, John groaning breathlessly.

You could feel his heartbeat against your back, a warm buzz filtering throughout your body.

Your world slowly turned black.

Two days had come and gone. Today marks the fourth day of your heat.

Judging by your smell. Today is the last day. You were in the bathtub, the water too scalding for John’s enjoyment, but your sore body needed it. The alpha taking great pride in scrubbing and massaging you clean.

You hadn't been marked. John had come close numerous times, but was able to hold back. He couldn't do something that drastic without discussing it with you in length. Despite that, you had a large spot on your neck- where he planned to mark you. He couldn't stop running his thumb over it.

“Gonna be ready to see the boys?” He hummed, his fingers scratching against your scalp. You knew he was referring to Simon. Johnny and Kyle snuck in during the pockets of peace between rounds. Johnny to give you food and Kyle just to hold you.

You had missed Simon. When you were feeling extra sensitive just knowing he was outside the door made you feel a hundred times better. You nodded, as he washed the shampoo out of your hair.

“I miss him,” You smiled.

“Distance makes the heart grow fonder - especially with Simon,” he teased, making you giggle.

You put on fresh clothes, grabbing Vernie off the bed. The bed was in rough shape. John came up behind you.

“Don’t worry about that,” he insisted, pressing a kiss against the side of your head. The sheets had been shredded, the headboard practically crushed to bits and you could only imagine what it would look like under a black light. While you were only half of the reason it was in the condition it was, you still felt responsible.

“Go say hello to your boys. They miss you,” John smiled, throwing on a shirt. You beamed, practically bouncing down the hallway. They were still asleep sprawled out on the pull out couch in the living room to keep Simon company. You put Vernie down and she quickly stumbled her way over to Simon. You crawled over Kyle, curling yourself under his chin. He gasped awake, causing the others to jump.

“Still in one piece?” He mumbled, still playful even in his groggy state. He rolled over so you were under him- a position you had grown quite familiar with the past few days- resting his body on top of yours. You could hear Johnny mumble something, scrambling across Simon so he could get his paws on you. He growled as Kyle refused to move, worming his arm between the two of you and pulling you so you were smushed between them. “Can’t even get a minute?” Kyle huffed, burying his face in your hair.

“Her fault for being so pretty,” Johnny grumbled, placing the blame on you. His teeth nipping at the spots covering your neck from John. He swallowed back his disappointment at none of them being a claiming bite. The comfort of being between the betas again made it easy for you to start drifting back off to sleep. You had about five minutes of sleep when Kyle’s phone blared through the living room. You half expected him to deny it, like he usually did. Instead, he peaked at the Caller ID quickly making his way to the backyard, Simon following. You could sense Johnny’s uneasiness.

“Everything alright?” you hummed. The worst thing in your mind is that you would all have to leave and go back to base. You were due to go back in a few days, hopefully things could wait until then.

“Yeah, Bon,” Johnny assured, forcing himself to purr to relax you. “Nothin’ for you to worry about.”

Regardless you watched as John made his way down the hall about to turn into the living room, until he was ushered outside by Simon. You had the sinking feeling it wasn’t about work. Was it because of your heat? Because of how hot and cold it was? Because it didn’t last as long as it should’ve? Because you weren’t marked? Why didn’t he mark you? What if they were calling someone to come pick you up now? What if-

“None of that,” Johnny spoke, making you jump. He ran a hand over your stomach. You whined, rolling over so you could hide in his chest. “What happened?” he hummed, wrapping you up in the blankets. It smelled like your pack. Cinnamon and leather- with a gust of fresh breeze to cut the heaviness.

“It’s about me isn’t it?” You whispered. Johnny tensing was enough to confirm your suspicions. He should’ve known your omega intuition would uncover the truth before any of them were ready to share it.

“It's about work, peaches,” he stood his ground. He couldn't give up any information yet, till they knew the full story.

-outside-

“Hey, Laswell,” Kyle greeted with a sigh. To say he was nervous would be an understatement. He had always been a man of action- so being told to let someone else take the reigns was causing him distress.

“Well, I figured out who it belongs to,” She sighed, equally hard. Kyle and Simon looked at each other. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw John moving towards the living room.

“We need you out here,” he whispered. The alpha furrowed his brows, changing his course to the backyard.

“Her mother,” Laswell said finally. Kyle sucked in a breath through his teeth. John was confused but remained tight-lipped.

“She’s looking for her?” Kyle pressed.

“I don't see any signs of wanting to have contact with her,” Kate said sadly. “Just seems like she was trying to keep an eye out for her,” Kate suggested.

“Do you have her location?” Kyle questioned.

“Her last known location is Palm Springs, California. That was over two years ago and she's not living at that address anymore,” Kate continued. “She isn't registered anywhere else in the U.S. There's no death certificate either. Another thing is the type of chip she used. It lasts about 7-10 years before it gets broken down and absorbed into the bloodstream. It’s nearing the end of its life, that's why it disconnected,” Kate explained.

They felt relieved. You weren't being tracked by some psycho who had it out for you. It was just a last-ditch effort by your mom to be a part of your life.

“Thank you, Laswell,” Kyle breathed.

“Of course. Enjoy the rest of your vacation- oh and John make sure to ice your back. I know it’s sore,” She teased, the call ending. They chuckled dryly, waiting for someone to speak.

“Her mother chipped her before she left?” John clarified, causing them to nod their heads.

“How do we tell her?” Kyle asked.

“We don't,” John said quickly. The two men stared at their alpha. “What are we supposed to say? Your mother chipped you, but doesn't want to reconnect with you? She knows about how you've been thrown around from omega-holding house to omega-holding house, yet she has done nothing to stop it. She's our omega, it's our job to protect her from information like that. Besides, I'm not sure I want her mother around her anyway. Who’s to say she won’t break her heart again?”

No one could oppose.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter!! See you in three days for Chapter 24🧡

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txemptress · 7 months

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𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐔𝐌 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒 𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐈 | 𝐋. 𝐀𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐞

You are the fifth wife of the infamous Lant Agriche. Yes, fifth. This man had four more wives that were unknown to you due to him excluding you out of his estate.

He claims that you were the most special amongst them therefore it'd be best to keep you away. Going on about how his wives could be in jealousy and murder you even.

Though you pretended to believe his word for it. You knew better. If a husband pushes you to the side away from his life, that means dark matters were at hand.

In truth the way you two hit off wasn't the most effective way of doing so. Just to make it simple, he had just decided to come ‘visit’ your father and murdered him and a dozen others in your household whilst keeping you as a trophy of his feat.

A trophy that was later found more useful than others. He had threatened to kill you at first until a night when you unleashed a demon inside of you, quite literally. The demon had swarmed and nearly killed your now husband. All for the sake of protecting you from harm.

That incident caused the entire discussion that was later referred to as a marriage contract. In which he'd provide you everything you wish for and all you have to do was sit, look pretty and bear his children.

To this you agreed. Why bother ruining an opportunity of living a life of near luxury and most likely die in the hands of some human trafficker? Plus he wouldn't be paying attention to you anyway. After all he's got all those wives pent up in his home.

You now stood in the presence of your husband who seemed quite intent in knowing what you or your children had become after the two months he left you alone in. His eyes landed on the children next to you who seemed ever so cold towards their father.

"Good work." A praise that was so hollow anyone could tell so. "Can they do what you can yet?" As expected a question towards their way of things.

"Not yet." A whispered answer came from you as your eyes came to contact with his.

"‘Not yet’?" Lant growled with annoyance. "I thought we agreed to keep working until they manage. It's only a few days left until our sons come to contact and fight against the other children."

‘Our sons’ you almost scoffed at that. He didn't even care about them at all. The audacity of calling them his sons was infuriating. Last thing they'd, so did you, was to call him father or husband and him to call you all sons and wife.

"Steady progression is better than rushing." You responded plainly. "If we rush, the demons may not gain strength and will most likely not hesitate to make the host feel immense pain." It was no lie coming from your mouth. Steady progression was best for taming demons. If the demon is rushed it will not do your bidding. Indeed it'd rather be a menace than other.

A strike at your cheek caused you to stumble as your hand touched the now red side. It burned like hell. Touching it made it worse. You were sure it'd leave a bruise later on.

"I don't care if they feel ‘immense pain’, they are Agriches." Lant was infuriated. "If you don't make them as good by then, the next day you will receive their heads at your doorstep."

Your lips gave a quiver as you realize the danger your children could be in for. "Very well." A hushed response from you made him satisfied.

Days loomed by and your sons were now perfectly using their demons in fighting. The demons were more than one which was shocking for you, for it took you too long to understand or tame such demons. Perhaps that's where Lant's genes went to. It didn't matter. Now it was the day of the special test.

Your husband's blind arse told you not to worry one bit because they'll be alright. Tell that to the others who died years past! You could almost scoff at his excuses.

When your door swung open, your heart pounded with nervousness. In front of you was a masked man. His eyes gleaming at you, he stepped aside to reveal your children practically unscathed. You rushed to them, tears falling as you hugged them.

"Great work." Your eyes lift to see Lant standing there as well. Your fury was triggered upon just hearing his disgusting voice as your body screamed ‘kill him’, you would. If only there was no guard with him much to your annoyance there were loads. "Don't you think they did well, dear?" He brought your children to a situation as the such and expected you to say that they did well? Sure they did do well in finishing the test with flying colors but it was still infuriating when he expected you to enjoy the thought of bringing your children to a dangerous place.

"...yes. i do believe so." You're practically trying your hardest to resist the temptations of releasing a demon to slowly and rather painfully kill the son of a bitch in front of you. But revenge will need to wait. First you must prepare that day and when it happens, you will bathe in the sweet indulgence of vengeance while watching him suffer.

Your children grow amongst the Agriche children to be the greatest. Even surpassing the ugly half-sibling, Fontaine who was undeniably disgusting and troublesome in terms of activities that he keeps up. But that didn't matter since your children advanced him, ranking top in the chain.

Pleased with their wonderful achievements, you made sure to ensure that everyone knew that if they were to lay one single finger on your children with wrong intentions in mind, you'd kill them and enjoy it.

“How are you faring, sweetling?” Your husband inquires while pouring himself and you some wine to celebrate yet another victory of the children you bore; they had fought against Lant's other children whom you'd just recently met as well as his other supposed wives.

You couldn't help but nearly scoff when you saw the women he had wed, all were pathetic in their own ways. But one of them made you wish to protect her in a way. That one unique wife was none other than Sierra. The woman seemed traumatized, unable to form a complete sentence and always seemed closed off.

You admit that you were curious so the only thing you could have done was spoken to the woman. And speak you did, she ie surprisingly cheerful to be with and she is such a sweetheart. It warmed your heart but you were also reminded that you still had a duty as a wife of Lant, that duty being someone who shows no weakness.

"I've been alright." You respond calmly, sipping your tea. Your eyes do not know where to rest, but you knew it would be better if they don't rest on him.

"Are you truly alright?" Lant seems rather suspicious this evening and it's evident. You nod, remaining calm and unbothered by his suspicion. You will not show him anything that could have him questioning everything.

"Very well." Lant returns to drinking his tea which you knew was mixed with some sort of alcoholic drink. You wanted to pour your own tea at him, but you knew that'd make him fly into a terrifying rage. You excuse yourself and head to your chambers for the night.

That was close, your demons grow restless. All are eager to savour him, but you must wait. You're reminded by your conscience. Patience. But why wait when he's right there? Your demons were countering your own thoughts. You take a deep breath, clenching your hands to regain the power between the battle of your mind and the demons that are becoming insufferable by the second.

You enter your chambers and wave aside the maids, asking them to leave. Alone, you massage your head as you continuously hear from them who live inside you. No. You said firmly to the desires of those who were trying to take the reins.

They are angry, but you did not care. You will wait. Until the time has come, they will remain abstain whether they like it or not.

Slowly, the time came at last. Your husband is before you, you had summoned him here. His suggestive remarks were implying that he thinks you've summoned him for other matters.

He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you to him, your bodies pressing close. You close your eyes and count to five then everything went dark, at least, for you.

When you regain control of the vessel known as your body, you're greeted with the sight of Lant on the floor bleeding out. A cruel laugh escapes you. "Did you truly think thay they'd accept you as my husband? That I'd accept you as my husband?" Your smirk towards him earns a strangled noise from him.

"Oh how silly of me, I forget you can't speak when you're choked! But of course you knew that right?" She referenced a time in their life when he had choked her to shut her up and she'd passed out.

She snapped her fingers and the strangling is put to a halt. "Please...Name, don't." Your husband's weak and frail voice was music to your ears. Despite it being a plead to let him live, it only fueled your thirst for his death if anything else.

"Let me think, hmm." You pretend to think and then you gave an all-knowing smile and shake your head. "I'm afraid, no." She says softly as you step away from him. The demons around him stare with hunger in their eyes.

You turn swiftly and leave the room, leaving them to enjoy their snack. There are screams, violent but oh so melodious screams. Then there's an eerie silence afterwards, he is dead. The whole house knows so.

There's a summoning, everyone must come. The crowds of the Agriche family enter in silence. The demons loom in the sides of the room, they leave the children and wives glancing with fear-stricken expressions. The wives were especially horrified at the prospect of you sitting on the dead head's supposed throne.

You sit on what was once his seat, your children coming forth. "Is he dead?" Your eldest son Alexander asks with a soft voice.

You nod. "He's gone now. No one will hurt you anymore." You kiss his brow and then turn to the rest of the wives, a smile tugging on your lips. She meets to Sierra's horror for only a moment's time. "The head of the Black Agriche is dead, I am the one you have to deal with now."

#manhwa #self insert #manhwa x reader #lant agriche #lant agriche x reader #the way to protect the female lead's older brother #the way to protect the female lead's older brother x reader #twtptflob x reader #twtpflob #twtptflob #{ ♡ heartstrings — fics }

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gluion · 3 months

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safe haven (how much longer do we have?) ➵ leehan

leehan x reader, slight sungho x reader

you can only hope for more tomorrows with leehan.

genre/warnings ➵ strangers to lovers, heavy angst with a happy ending, touch of fluff, gender-neutral reader, reader is shorter than leehan and sungho, lowercase intended, apocalypse au, hurt/comfort (both physical and emotional), depictions of grief, descriptions of gore/blood, use of guns, allusions and discussions of suicide, minor character deaths, sungho is your ex, myungjae and taesan appearance :’), elements of the last of us (don’t support neil druckmann!), mostly written in past tense (because u’re remembering!)

word count ➵ 6.2k words

inspired by ➵ “anaheim” by niki, “are you happy?” by wavesmp3, “love wins all” by iu, episode three of hbo’s the last of us, and “you’re gonna carry that weight” quote from cowboy bebop

a/n ➵ i really love this piece with everything in me so i thought i'd release it to bonedoblr as well!! you can check out the jacob & taerae versions as well. if you enjoyed reading, please do reblog and leave feedback!

want to be part of my taglist? send me an ask! masterlist

time was the one thing that occupied everyone’s minds. it held value, something that shouldn’t be wasted, and people revolved their lives around it.

questions flew around with every tick and tock—what day is it today? when’s your next doctor’s appointment? how long has it been since you’ve last seen your friends from high school? until when does this meeting last?

as the hands of the clock continue to rotate, the calendar pages would flip along. birthdays were celebrated with every revolution as candles on cakes were lit up, awaiting the puff of celebrants as they wished for their desires. holidays were ones to look forward to; people dressed up to celebrate periods of the year that mattered to them while others slept in until noon. and days were spent counting down until graduations, where caps with tassels would fly to the expanse of blue and orange as cheers and sobs sound throughout.

but now, no one keeps track of time. clocks stopped moving and calendars weren’t produced annually. once the surge of the infected took over, grabbing on humans—taking them away from the lives they’ve lived—everyone ran like they were running out of time. with every second that passes, people are ridden with possibilities of how they might bid farewell to life itself—would it be through the hands of the infected or their own?

now, only one question echoes within their minds: how long do we have?

yet, the clock continues—tick, tock, tick, tock. it keeps going, and going, and going, like how everyone expects it. while everyone seemed to let time go, you still kept track of it all: birthdays, holidays, a graduation you never had.

the outbreak hit two years ago on the day of sungho’s graduation. cheers turned into screams. white togas and diplomas were splattered with red. the lively became lifeless.

you remember sungho’s hand in yours, fingers gripping you as if you were his life, as you charged out of the gymnasium, legs keeping up with the speed of his. you darted off to nowhere as images of the infected tearing people apart took up every block, all the way from skin to bone.

and while it was a rush of tragedies, sungho was the only hope you had.

“keep your eyes on me,” he glanced at you, “don’t look at them. only look at me.”

it was impossible to ignore the wails that filled your ears, but you would repeat his words—his soft-spoken voice—to drown them out.

by nightfall, you and sungho found yourselves in a motel room, skin cleaned from blood splatters and dressed in clothes that engulfed your figures, and in each other’s arms on a twin-sized bed. the duvet that wrapped around you two is thin, not at all keeping you warm for the night, but the warmth of sungho was enough to provide you a sense of security—stability amidst the ever-changing world.

he whispered into the crown of your head, words meant to dispel your fears, all while you sobbed into his shirt. there was nothing that he could do but stay strong for you.

and for a few days, that room acted as your safe haven. the time spent within those four walls is the life you imagined your future with sungho. it would’ve been in a two-story house with a garden where a singular orange tree stands, lounging on the couch as you played movies to fall asleep to, but all you had was an old room with a carpeted floor with unrecognizable stains and a bathroom unable to fit two.

yet, you would choose this over anything. even if it meant eating instant noodles for every meal or sleeping on a mattress that ruins your backs, you would choose this if it meant sungho would be with you.

still, time continues to move. sungho knew that you both couldn’t stay in that room or else the infected may reach you. so when you both went to bed on that last night, you outlined his features from the space between his eyebrows all the way to his lips, and you spent that time memorizing his warmth to carry with you for the rest of your life. you could only hope that he stays with you until the end.

after a month passed, you and sungho met jaehyun, an injured boy who only wanted to live. at first, sungho was hesitant to take the stranger in, but you wouldn’t allow yourself to live with the idea of abandoning someone in need. in a world where the infected have taken over, it only seemed right to help out others; save them from a fate they’re not ready to meet.

what started off as a pair turned into a trio. you’ve learned more about what it takes to survive in this life. long gone is the need for money to buy necessities; you need to scavenge for supplies if you want to live in an infected-ridden world. thanks to jaehyun, you and sungho got to learn about how to find them in every building that you pass on the journey.

but it’s not enough to know where to find food and bullets. sungho decided that it was only right to teach you how to use a gun. with every morning that came, you two spent hours learning how to hold, reload, and fire.

“don’t worry,” he told you as his chin hovered over your shoulder. you both stared at the tin can situated on a stack of boxes only a few meters away. “you won’t have to worry about fighting alone. i’ll be here with you.” as you exhaled, your eyes zeroed in on the target. “now, shoot.”

six months have passed, and you were happy that you were still a trio. jaehyun became your best friend over that time. his laughs were enough to shine glimmers of hope onto you. you were glad that you decided to help him off the ground and tend to his bullet wound that day.

until you found yourselves retreating from the horde of infected.

time moves at a constant speed but it can become swift if it decides to. when you and jaehyun reached the doors leading to safety, you remember seeing sungho fighting off those who were once like you, bullets firing at their heads. you remember your screams, telling him to run to you—go to where it’s safe—so that you can keep having tomorrows with him.

yet, sungho glanced at jaehyun, nodding at him before his eyes met yours. you watched how his mouth moved, a soundless three-word phrase leaving him before the doors shut before you. you would’ve pried them open but jaehyun kept his arms around you, holding you back. from letting the infected reach you. from letting sungho come back to you.

the wails that left you were enough to attract the infected. if only they were to burst through the doors, grab onto you and bring you to sungho, then maybe you would stop crying. yet, jaehyun dragged you away. you never saw him as your best friend after that.

a month passed, and you still refused to talk to him. the boy tried to strike up a conversation with you, trying to earn your laugh like he used to, but he was only met with a cold shoulder. with every brick he put, you smashed your sledgehammer against it, dispelling any hope he had in rekindling his friendship with you.

the two of you learned to live in silence, fighting for survival while dealing with the loss of the one who would always bring you both to safety.

until you came across another boy who pointed his gun toward you. his defensive demeanor reminded you of sungho, and you wondered if this was his doing—his reincarnation. but before he could pull the trigger, jaehyun saved you from meeting your fate.

somehow, the duo had turned into a trio once more. you still refused to talk to jaehyun but would eavesdrop on the conversations he shared with the stranger. you learned that the new addition is named leehan.

but even the stranger wasn’t enough to fill the void that sungho left. with every nightfall, when the soft snores of the two boys filled your ears, tears streamed down your face as sobs threatened to spill out. the palm of your hand wasn’t enough to muffle your weeps. behind your eyelids, sungho’s last words to you play on repeat. the ones he failed to say. the ones you’ll never hear again.

maybe if you didn’t leave that motel room then he would’ve still been with you, arms finding their place around your waist as he trails kisses all over you. if the outbreak didn’t happen, then maybe you would be living in that two-story house with him. maybe you would wake up to a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice by the bedside table and the warmth of his lips on your forehead. and maybe you could finally tell him yes before he slips the silver band on your finger—you could’ve grown with him until your hair turns grey.

the weight you carry never got lighter with time. the void continued to consume you whole with the goal of ripping you apart. as another month passed, another life was lost—not to the infected but to the raiders.

“myungjae, you have to stay with me.” those were the first words you told him since sungho’s death. crimson continued to spill out of his abdomen through the gaps between your fingertips in the same way tears flow out. “leehan! find gauze, betadine, anything!” you never glanced at the stranger, keeping your gaze on your best friend whose eyes continued to droop.

still, jaehyun caressed your face, thumb wiping teardrops. as he slowly entered territories that you both knew he would never escape, he grinned at you one last time. “i missed hearing you. i’m glad you’ll be the last thing i hear.”

but you tried to tell him that you couldn’t be the last voice he heard. it should’ve been with someone he can imagine his future with, maybe in a two-story house or a cramped flat in an apartment complex. he deserves more tomorrows in the same way sungho did.

but time continues to move. it took him away from you in a matter of minutes, slithering away without a second thought and no regard for the value of life, and all you were left with was his temple—still. lifeless. as you sobbed into his shirt, still holding the wound, the warmth of leehan’s hand stayed on your back, moving along with your wails.

now, you carry the loss of two. it never got easier with time.

leehan still sticks with you. it only seemed right. stay strong in numbers as you wander off to nowhere, grasping at the loose ends of survival.

two weeks have passed. you and leehan got used to the new dynamic; while he went hunting and you were tasked with scavenging, you both played your roles in combat, ready for any raid or horde. when night comes, you both took shifts, keeping watch while the other got some shut-eye.

until that one evening.

you recall the sounds of wood crackling from the fire. it stood strong against the breeze—burning, shining—surrounded by greens that latch on browns. hues of amber cascaded over your skin, painting you with warmth—it’ll never compare to the one you craved. your eyes drifted to leehan who sat across from you, his eyes trained on the fire as he rubbed his palms together. perhaps he craved the same type of warmth you longed for.

“we used to be three.” his eyes snapped towards yours. “before you came, we used to be three—jaehyun, me, and—” it rose in you like bile, wanting to escape but never leaving. “we were three then.”

you glanced at the wood that continued to burn. “we met jaehyun a month after the outbreak, spent six months together until—” the claws of the void struck against your throat, holding you back from sharing with the stranger what your life was before he came. while you never found the right words to say, leehan never pushed, letting you say what you wanted to share while filling in the blanks on his own.

“i resented jaehyun after what happened.” you moved your gaze to leehan whose eyes never left you. “refused to talk to him. refused to forgive.” and you remember how you hesitated, taking a deep breath in before sputtering out the next sentence. “refused to accept.”

nine months ago, the outbreak didn’t happen. nine months ago, you were attending sungho’s graduation. nine months ago, you two were imagining your tomorrows together—for eternity.

and those nine months fractured all hopes and dreams; the glass is now littered with cracks, ready to burst into shards.

“but i think about the last time we saw jaehyun,” the image of him sitting in front of you all frail, treading the line between life and death, flashed in front of you; it’s quick but strong to remind you of what’s lost. “and i wish i could’ve learned how to forgive during those two months.”

but it was an impossible request. how could you ever forgive a boy you’ve known for only six months for taking your future away? how could you forgive a world that took him away? how could you forgive and live?

and still, you did.

you left it at that. they were enough. so when you told leehan that you’ll take over tonight’s shift, he never asked to hear more. instead, he laid near the campfire as you kept an eye out.

and once enough hours have passed, you allowed yourself to sob like other nights. the breeze that passed through branches reminded you of jaehyun; rustling leaves imitated the giggles of the boy you’ve only known during the apocalypse.

the wind that grazed against your skin should’ve been a nuisance, but the warmth of the fire wrapped you up like the duvet in that motel room. and you don’t complain—it’s the only part of sungho you have left.

the heat was enough to last you the night, but the chill of reality sent you back to the void.

that night, leehan listened to your sobs. not one of you got enough rest for the journey.

another two weeks went by. you two got into a better groove of the routine; instead of hunting and scavenging in silence, you and leehan found yourselves talking more about your lives before the outbreak. you learned that he’s only a year younger than sungho, and he shared that he had plans to pursue music.

“if the world finds a cure to this mess, you have to promise me that you’ll get me front-row tickets to your first show.” it was a joke. in what world could there be a cure for the infected? but the wishful thinking of what could be—what could’ve been—is all you had left.

still, leehan promised you that.

that night, you two stayed in the living room of an abandoned house. instead of lighting the fireplace, candles were placed on the coffee table. they shined in the middle of you two, you who stayed on the couch and leehan who sat on the mattress lying on the floor.

“where were you?” his eyes met yours. “on the day of the outbreak, i mean.”

he leaned back, hands resting on the mattress before he looked once more at the wax that continued to melt. “i was there for my upperclassmen’s graduation.” it hit you like sudden downpour on a sunny day. “i knew people in the music program and we were going to celebrate after. until the infected came.”

and when you said the name of the university, his gaze met yours as his shoulders stiffened. “m—my sungho.” it’s the first time you spoke of his name, and the sight of leehan’s eyes widening over it was enough to speak for himself.

“i—i didn’t know,” he whispered, but his words were loud enough to shatter glass. “i only spoke to him a few times. he talked about you with so much love.”

your heart skipped beats; it should’ve been enough to send you off into the same territories where sungho and jaehyun now stay. your mouth turned dry as leehan’s voice morphed into radio silence.

before you knew it, the two of you left the information to hang in the air as you tried to drift into slumber.

the clock continues to tick. minutes turned into hours; time moves like it usually does once more.

yet, you were stuck in the same gymnasium, fixing sungho’s toga as you scolded him about how wrinkled it’s become—hey! you’ll go up on stage soon. we can’t take pictures of you like this. despite your words, he smiled at you before grazing his lips on your temple—his silent way of telling you the three-word phrase.

in a split second, you were off the couch. you barged out of the house, clutching your chest as the knot constricted your throat, and your feet dragged you off to nowhere. every sound has turned into a buzz—only the voice of sungho being the one clear thing amidst the hysteria.

before you knew it, you stood before a horizon of green. it takes only one step into the woods, alone with no protection, for you to meet your demise. you would’ve charged into it in the same way you would’ve charged out to save sungho that day.

all it takes is one step, and—

“what are you doing?!” a pair of hands gripped your shoulders, spinning you around until you were face-to-face with the last form of life that you know of. his breaths were short as his fingers dug into your arms. “you can’t just rush out in the middle of the night! i woke up worried sick.” his eyebrows knitted in frustration. confusion. distress. the voice was caught in your throat.

how does one begin to unpack the baggage they’ve learned to carry? when the items they bring are revolting, rotten, repugnant, how does someone not feel shame about showing all the tattered-up objects?

how do you learn to open up to someone you’ve only known for three months?

your hands trembled; you’ve carried the weight of it all for too long.

in that split second, your nose met the juncture between his chin and shoulder. the material of his shirt against your cheek allowed you to bathe in what you miss—the hand of jaehyun that once caressed your face. the lips of sungho that lingered with every kiss. all the moments that you hoped time would freeze just for you lives in the boy you stick with for survival.

all it took were leehan’s hands to rest on the lower side of your back for the tears to begin their stream. the sobs spill out. for once, they weren’t muffled like those other nights. they sounded throughout the space that surrounded you two. you allowed yourself to drop the baggage only for a few minutes.

leehan took you back to the house that night, allowing you to sob about all that you’ve kept under the wraps.

when sunrise came, you found your legs mixed with his as his arms remained wrapped around you and your ear pressed against his chest. the sound of his breathing is the one reminder of what a safe haven is.

half a year went by. leehan still stays by your side. the baggage got lighter.

it should’ve been the same routine; leehan goes off to hunt while you scavenge, and you’ll take turns on the night shifts. but that night shifted something between you two. stolen glances. quiet giggles. linked fingers.

two months have gone by. the moon shined through the trees, their shadows cascading on an abandoned cabin that you and leehan decided to stay in for that night.

it should’ve been the same set-up as other nights spent in abandoned houses; you’ll sleep on the couch while he sleeps on a dragged-out mattress. instead, he sat with you, your back resting on his chest along with his hand staying on your arm.

a lit candle rested on the table; its amber tones painted leehan’s skin—close to the fruit tree that stands in your lost future.

“what would you do if there is a cure to this?” you watched how his fingers danced across your skin, calloused from plucking guitar strings or wielding a gun.

leehan’s chest rumbled against your back as he hummed. “what would you do?”

a giggle left as you looked at the boy. “i was the one who asked you first!”

he shot you a grin as his hand slipped into yours. the candle continued to burn; it did a poor job of giving you light and warmth that night. but he did it all—one smile. one exhale. one indication to show that he lives.

“travel, maybe? or i’ll go back to writing music.” you nodded at his plans before looking back at the light source. “what about you?”

“i don’t know.”

there was no point in going back to university after such a catastrophe. if anything, the year spent surrounded by the infected, fighting for survival, has shown you that there’s more to life than the perpetual cycle of working a nine-to-five.

so…

“i would settle down if i could.” the wax continued to melt. “i think i’ve seen enough of the world. for once, i just want to stay home. indulge in my hobbies. live the life that i want.”

his breath grazed the top of your head. “with someone?” and suddenly, you became aware of it all—the heat that emitted from his palm. the movement of his chest against your back. the gravity of his question.

the words get caught in your throat. your heartbeat rang in your ears. for the first time since sungho’s death, you considered it.

“with someone.”

before you knew it, his hand caressed your cheek. you were forced to meet his eyes which glistened with devotion. he leaned forward, his breath grazing your skin while you held in yours. you didn’t miss how his gaze flickered to your lips before he met your eyes once more.

then, he held back. it’s a choice, one only you can make. but when your eyes shut, it’s a quiet plea—a silent yes.

his lips met yours.

the warmth that blossomed in your chest wasn’t like the one in that motel room. not like the embrace of the one you’ve lost. it was one of all seasons—changing with the weather, bringing comfort throughout the everchanging times.

it’s a perpetual cycle of fighting for survival.

you’ll endure through it all.

a month passed by, and you came across another boy on the journey. he’s named taesan, and he told you of a safe haven located in the town that you and leehan grew up in.

for a moment, it was an internal debate—should you go back to where the downfall started? can you go to where the memory of sungho still lives?

but one glance at leehan was enough to settle it. the three of you embarked on your journey.

you remember that day. it was a walk with the goal of finding a car to make the journey back an easy one. the heat of the sun prickled against your skin but you still kept your arms crossed.

“are you two together?” taesan asked, causing you to whip your head towards him. your eyes met leehan’s for a split second—confusion. dejection—before they landed back at the stranger who kept his eyes on the path you took.

“no, we aren’t.”

for the rest of the journey, it was quiet.

sundown came, and you found yourselves in a convenience store for that night’s shelter. leehan was in charge of taking the night shift, allowing you and taesan to rest up. when the stranger went off to sleep on the makeshift bed, you were left alone with leehan.

you watched how he cleaned his gun with a rag stained with dark splotches. the moon gleamed through the window—it can’t compare to how leehan shines.

you needed to get some sleep, is what you tell yourself. with one spin, you were about to make your way to where you’d sleep for that night.

“are we really not?” you halted in your tracks. “did it mean nothing?”

not a single answer left your mouth. your eyes remained straightforward as you refused to meet his gaze.

the warmth vanished with a lack of an answer. instead, it was replaced once more with the cold—the void—that attempted to consume you whole.

and when a scornful chuckle left leehan, you knew that you’d burnt the bridge. you walked away, leaving him to do his job, bidding farewell to the closest form of a safe haven.

two weeks went by and another goodbye had to be done. taesan stood in front of you two, a grin on his lips while tears streamed down his face. his arm was out, revealing a bite mark. the veins near the wound had already turned black. he would’ve turned in a few hours.

“go out.” those were leehan’s first words to you since that night in the convenience store.

you remember the last thing you told taesan before you left the room—you’ll get to your safe haven. the sobs that spilled out of him are ones you’ll never forget. and when you shut the door behind you, it took 20 seconds until you heard a gunshot.

the weight got heavier once more.

another two weeks went by, and you and leehan found yourselves standing in front of the remains of a safe haven. the fences were torn down. streaks of dark red littered over pavements. not a single sight of a soul lived.

still, you two trudged your way through the town, all the way until you reached leehan’s house. like others, his was abandoned. the cream walls were littered with red strokes and vines. when you both entered, you didn’t miss how leehan’s eyes lingered on a photo hung on the wall—a picture of him and his parents.

you gave him all the time he needed to explore, to sit with the mess, while you stayed in the living room. as you sat on the couch that had gathered dust, you caught sight of a bowl of plastic produce that rested on the coffee table. it held a variety of fruits whose paint had chipped: watermelon, chestnut, and fig.

but amidst the crowd of old, torn-down, plastic fruits, a pear and an orange leaned against each other as grime collected on them. once your hands reached out to the fruits, you pulled them apart—a mess of green and orange stained the two.

he came back to you in 30 minutes, eyes glistening with tears. yet, he only gave you a nod, and you two went to another house.

you then stood in front of your old house with leehan by your side. weeds grew in the front yard, and the wooden exterior has turned a few shades darker. silence settled between you two.

to be back in a place you grew up in, where all your memories live, is a process—a grieving one. being face-to-face with the damage brought by the infected can only remind you of what you had and could’ve had.

and once you made your way to your childhood room, you were reminded of all your hopes and dreams before the outbreak. dust rested on top of books. the laptop on your desk had no charge. potted plants have withered.

when you approached the picture frames found on your table, your hand darted out to a photograph of you and sungho. there was no occasion when that picture was taken—the fact that you two were together was enough for it to be remembered. memorialized.

as you made your way back down the stairs, you saw leehan crouched in front of the console table with eyes trained on photographs. “was this your high school graduation?” you approached him and saw the picture he was referring to, you who stood beside sungho with a big grin as his lips were on your temple.

“yeah,” you said as you crouched beside leehan. “we knew each other back when i was a freshman.” your fingers trailed on the wooden frame, gathering the dust before flicking it away. despite your efforts, it was still covered in grime, but you didn’t mind.

“and you stayed together since?” all you did was hum. “did you find anything up there?”

for the first time since you entered your old house, you looked at leehan and he met your gaze. your eyes trailed his features. the eyes that speak of a thousand words. the lips that once kissed yours.

and it hit you like the gunshot that filled your ears, the breeze that rustled the leaves that one night, the doors that shut close. it was 20 months since the outbreak happened, 13 months since you lost sungho, and 11 months since jaehyun told you his last words.

but it was also 13 months spent with leehan, choosing to survive with him.

“yeah.”

you found a lot of things within those four walls. there were books you once read growing up, stuffed toys you slept with, and the one picture of you and sungho; they’re the remaining pieces you have left of a life that was good.

you would’ve kept it all, rebuilt the life that was ripped away by the hands of the infected—

“but nothing to hold on to.”

they’re memories, ones you’ll carry with you, but ones worth moving on from.

“oh,” he said as his eyes still held your gaze. “okay.”

and with one exhale, you said, “let’s rebuild it, just a place for us two.”

it was a whirlwind of emotions in leehan’s eyes, ones you can’t identify. for a moment, you thought he’d say no. maybe he decided that 13 months was enough. one more day with you would be too much, and—

“okay.” when his hand reached out for yours, linking fingers with you like all other times, you gave him a small smile.

when you and leehan stood up, you made your way out of the house, off to find a place just for you two—a safe haven to last you many tomorrows with him.

a month passed. the safe haven was rebuilt; the fences stood strong with electrical wires and barbed wires, and the town was cleaned of all remnants of grime and blood. the two of you took up different tasks ranging from cleaning, cooking, building, and maintaining the haven.

but while you were okay with a knife, accidents did happen. “fuck!”

“what happened?” you remember how leehan came rushing in, only to see you pressing on the skin around the cut on your finger.

before you knew it, you were sitting down with him as he wrapped gauze around the wound. “leehan, it’s just a cut. i’ll be fine.”

“still, i don’t want you getting hurt.” you watched how his eyes were focused on treating your finger. “i’ll be in charge of cooking now.”

you shook your head. “no, i like to cook. i want to cook for us.” his gaze then met yours, his filled with worry while yours filled with determination. they flickered back to your finger and his hands busied themselves with covering it up.

once he was done, his hand continued to hold yours. you remember the heat of his thumb as it drew patterns on your hand. he’s etched himself onto you.

his eyes met yours once more, and he said, “okay, just let me help out.” all you gave him was a nod.

another month went by, and you woke up to the sound of gunshots. you remember how hazy your vision was that night, fresh from sleep but panic coursing through your veins. and when you looked beside you to only see an empty spot, you didn’t think twice about rushing out of bed.

when you exited the house, you saw leehan holding his gun, firing at the people who attempted to tear down the haven’s fences. “leehan!” he looked back at you and you caught sight of the crimson that poured out of his abdomen.

another gunshot was fired, grazing leehan’s leg, and he fell to his knees. you ran to him, reaching out to rest your hand on the wound as you began to sob. “fuck! you have to stay with me.” with his arm resting around your shoulders, you dragged him back to the house.

you set him on the table and moved his hand to hold where he was shot. “hold it.” you rushed to where the medical supplies were stored and gathered whatever you could hold. when you got back, you saw how blood continued to spill out.

you got to work, focused on trying to patch him up, making sure he stays. “you can’t go. i won’t let it happen.” and while your hands busied themselves with treating the injury, you remember how leehan’s hand caressed your cheek, thumb wiping away the spilled tears.

“in the basement, there’s a piece of paper that has all the codes. if you ever—”

“no, you’ll be okay.”

still, he continued to talk. “if you ever forget the codes, you can always look at the paper. don’t forget that you need to always check the water system every two days, and—”

“leehan!” you croaked out his name in between sobs. “you’ll be okay. you have to, okay?” the more he went on about what to keep in mind, the baggage got heavier. “i can’t do this without you. i won’t allow it.”

because 15 months ago, you would’ve bid farewell to the mayhem. 13 months ago, you hoped for time to drag you away. 12 months ago, you would’ve walked into the forest. but it’s been 22 months, and you were still walking on this earth, choosing to live amidst the chaos—so long as leehan was with you.

and when you leaned your forehead on his, eyes closed, you felt his breath graze against your lips. “i need you.”

all it took were three words from you. “okay.”

it’s been two months since that happened. the safe haven was rebuilt once more. you and leehan fortified the defense system, hoping they’ll be enough to keep any infected and raiders out. all that matters is that you two were protected—safe—from the chaos.

now, you sit on a couch as you flip through the pages of a book you didn’t have time to read before the outbreak. when all responsibilities vanished, you were able to find enough time to do things you couldn’t do then.

you were ready to get yourself sucked into the world of the novel, but leehan came into the living room with his hands behind his back and a small smile on his lips. “do you remember what you made me promise you before?”

you frown at him, confused, until he shows you an acoustic guitar. “oh my god, you found one?” you put the book on the coffee table.

he takes a seat beside you, body facing towards you as he rests the instrument on his lap. “here, front-row tickets to my first show.” you almost laughed because this is no stadium or club, but a home—one you built with him.

it takes only one smile from him for you to hold it back.

“any song requests?” he strums on the guitar strings, perfectly in tune. it’s almost as if he tuned it before coming to you.

a hum leaves you as you rest your head on your hand propped on the couch. “whatever you want to show me.”

it takes him a few seconds, fingers fiddling with the strings, until he figures out what to play. when he sings out the words—dearest, darling, my universe—you melt like the candles you lit up those nights. as he continues to play a song of a world in hysteria but a love that endures, that’s when you realize what you’ve had all this time.

time is the one thing that occupies your mind. it holds value, something that shouldn’t be wasted, and you learned to revolve your life around it.

it takes you two years to figure out that life doesn’t end after the outbreak—and 17 months to realize that your safe haven is not a two-story house with an orange tree in the garden but the boy in front of you.

when you lean closer to him, his fingers falter, messing up the chords. your hand reaches out to caress his face as your eyes flicker to his lips. you don’t miss how leehan holds his breath, how he stops playing the guitar, how his eyes look back at yours—it’s a slurry of warmth. tenderness.

“i love you.”

all it took was a three-word phrase from you for him to close the distance.

the warmth that spreads within you is like the one you experience in the abandoned cabin. but now, you’re full of hope—a reason to stay—in an infected-ridden world.

now, only one question echoes within your mind: how much longer do we have?

an eternity is what you hope.

tag list: @onedoornet @kflixnet @loserlvrss @lionhanie @nicholasluvbot

@blumisiu @0310s @icyminghao @shegotthewoobies

#works of moni #onedoornet #kflixnet #k-labels #leehan #boynextdoor #kim donghyun #boynextdoor imagines #boynextdoor angst #boynextdoor x reader #leehan x reader #leehan angst #leehan fluff #leehan boynextdoor #park sungho #park sungho imagines #park sungho angst #park sungho fluff

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syntheticavenger · 3 months

Text

Splinter - Two

Hehehe. Worlds are COLLIDING.

One

Dark! Alpha! Thor x Omega! Female Reader

Word Count: 2.5K

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, world building, Alpha/Omega dynamics, intimidation. This is probably the last tame part for a while.

Summary | Your dream job provides prestige, security and a chance to shape your future. When one little mistake leads to Thor saving you in a time of crisis, his past promise comes back to haunt you.

“It was a star-studded night as two of the Avengers attended a charity gala for the Omega designation. Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes made their red-carpet debut with Captain Rogers’ ever elusive wife attending. Though she was not pictured alongside her husband, eyewitnesses report that Captain Rogers may just have a new role on the horizon: becoming a dad,” the reporter says with a cheerful smile.

Your slingback heel falls to the ground from your hand when you see Steve Rogers, posing with Bucky Barnes, unable to tear your eyes away from the screen before another clip of the gala is shown, Steve giving a speech.

“It is my duty, my one guiding principle in life, to stick up for those who can’t. I hope that I have done so thus far,” Captain Rogers says, charismatic smile on display.

“Do they know how you found your wife?” you mutter, picking up your shoe and slipping it on your foot, reaching for the remote and turning it off, Steve’s smug face disappearing.

You could never prove it, of course. Little whispers that the most advanced surveillance specialist had just given away her career was unheard of, even in your circles. No one questioning why, to this day, the position had never been filled.

Too many unspoken rules, too many hushed conversations that hid the truth.

Forcing yourself to file it away for later, the notification that the car has arrived pops on your cell, grabbing your purse and coat to head outside, locking the door and verifying that its closed. The half-run, half-walk to the waiting car is purposeful and with good reason.

Your first opening comments as a National Advisory Council Member of Intergalactic Diplomacy. Despite your sweaty palms, you’re prepared, going over your remarks at least five times since you had opened your eyes this morning.

“As a reminder,” your assistant Paloma interjects over the phone. “There will be Asgardians in attendance. I know you probably won’t mind but with the Intergalactic Alliance, there is a chance that he -”

“Thank you, Paloma.” Your hand grips your phone tighter. There’s nothing to worry about. It’s been months since you’ve seen him, since that fateful afternoon when you had ordered him out.

He had obliged, leaving you alone to pick up the pieces, rumors swirling that he and Jane had found their way back together. The nuisances of their relationship did not concern you, throwing yourself headfirst into work, learning all you could for it to lead up to this moment.

Asgardians or not, it doesn’t matter. You’ve worked hard to find a seat at the table and no one, not even an Asgardian God, is going to take that away from you.

“T-minus forty minutes until we go live,” Paloma reminds you. “You’re going to do great.”

⚡️

Paloma was right.

Asgardians clamor to be in attendance in the hall, their eyes on you when you walk past them.

They whisper your name, hushed voices fading once you reach the podium. You’d visited Asgard once in your life, when you were deep into wanting to know everything about Thor and his people. It was a world so much alike and unlike Earth that it unnerved you to think that one day he was planning to come back and rule as king.

You’d never be a queen.

You aren’t even sure if you ever wanted to be one as a child.

The audience quiets, multiple cameras on you, not a hair out of place when you finally lift your head to speak after being announced, applause quieting after a few moments.

“Thank you, Mr. Secretary General, your Excellencies, and ladies and gentlemen in attendance and beyond. I am here today to discuss our worlds and our role in creating an open dialogue of trust,” you begin, taking another breath. “With the newly formed Intergalactic Diplomacy Division, I am pleased to be a part of such an important agency as we recognize that our world is unique. It presents many challenges as we all work toward an understanding of what intergalactic diplomacy looks like in an ever-changing universe. It is crucial that we listen to understand, to listen for solutions and not to listen to react.”

The door opens, Thor strolling in his Asgardian garb, his red cape flowing out behind him, cameras panning to him as you swallow, ignoring him and the delectable scent that reaches your nose.

He keeps his attention on you, the cameras panning back to you.

“It is my hope that we share our strengths, our challenges and our opportunities for a bright future ahead. For us to be strong together, we must first be vulnerable with what we do not know, be willing to be educated and to open our minds and hearts to others that we may not readily understand. Our future is bright and will only become a reality when we work together. Thank you for your time.”

Thunderous applause erupts, with Thor standing up, Asgardians following suit.

Paloma’s voice is in your ear, telling you that you did a fantastic job, multiple people surging forward to shake your hand, the room slightly spinning with how often you have to greet well-wishers.

You try to block Thor’s never fading smile out of your head and his direct eye contact that seemingly burned into your soul when you’re ushered into a conference room for a talk through.

⚡️

“I didn’t expect the future King of Asgard to be in attendance,” Robert chuckles, looking up from his notes. “It’ll do wonders for media. You know Thor can’t be bothered to show up to these events.”

“I think I know why,” Susan says with a wink in your direction. “Did you tell him you were speaking?”

“No,” you reply through gritted teeth. “I did not.”

“Well, it worked out for us. Great job with the pace. I could really feel your passion in the message,” Robert praises, sitting back in his chair. “You aren’t with him anymore, are you? I think he was dating that physicist, Dr. Jane something, I believe? Whatever happened with you and him?”

“I’m sure she doesn’t want us in her business,” Susan answers for you, noting your discomfort. As Omegas go, she’s astute. “You did a great job today. You should be proud.”

“Now that it’s over, I can relax.”

Robert laughs at your comment, shaking his head.

“Not by a longshot. You embody our cause. Your journey is just beginning. I hope you’ve dusted off that passport.”

⚡️

Paloma meets you outside the conference room, beaming with pride as you walk out together.

“The Asgardians being present? That was wild!” she exclaims. “How did you pull that off?”

“I didn’t,” you respond, seeing her confusion.

“So then… Thor…”

“That was all him.”

“Romantic,” she sighs, clutching her clipboard.

“Romantic that he broke up with me months ago to stare me down during my first media spot? I think we differ on what romantic means.”

“Oh, I just, I didn’t,” Paloma mumbles, her cheeks going red. “I didn’t realize how that sounded. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’ll be better when I’m in the car.”

“Then let’s get you there.”

By the time the door opens, Paloma’s steps halt at the sight of Thor, surrounded by throngs of his people.

“Ah,” he says with a wave of his hand. “There she is.”

The Asgardians begin to applaud, Paloma looking over as you force a polite smile,

“I wanted to extend my appreciation for your comments today. It is my hope that we come to a strong understanding of interstellar people and Midgardians as well,” Thor continues, cameras flashing as he smiles, giving you a sly up and down gaze. “We are in your ever capable hands.”

“Thank you,” you respond quickly, Paloma ushering you into the car, seeing Thor watch you as Paloma waves for the driver to take off.

Looking out from the backseat, Paloma picks up her phone, dialing a number.

“I think it might be helpful if you have some security, don’t you?” she asks nervously.

You don’t have the heart to tell her that it’s pointless to fight against a god.

⚡️

Your phone rings twice, enough for you to answer it, a towel wrapped around you when you answer.

“Hi.”

“Thor,” you respond, unable to hide the irritation from your voice.

“I wanted to ask for a truce.”

“We weren’t fighting.”

“Is that the wrong word? Bruce told me to ask for a… branch?”

“Olive branch,” you respond tersely. “You already showed up to my media spot.”

“You needed support. Asgardians are excited for the news. They were happy to come.”

You feel a ripple of guilt for being irritated when he frames it that way, remembering the little children in attendance.

“Well… thank you. I appreciate it.”

“And I wanted to ask about the olive branch. Have dinner with me.”

“Dinner?” you repeat, chewing on your lower lip.

Dinner means a chance to relive the memories – good and bad – and make small talk about things you know either of you won’t care about. He’s moved on and you have too, in your own way. Dating hasn’t been an option, neither has even thinking about uploading a picture of a dating site, let alone signing up for one.

It seems harmless, this ask, to have one dinner and have it be done. Your confidence from the media event makes you wonder if you’re allowed to ask him questions about things you’ve only wondered about.

Maybe you shouldn’t wonder anymore.

Maybe you should demand.

“Okay,” you reply.

“Perfect. I’ll meet you around seven? I’ll give the details to your assistant.”

“Seven sounds fine.”

“See you then.”

⚡️

Gone is the red cape, replaced with a black sweater and black pants, his blond hair tied in a loose bun as he listens intently on what you’ve been working on.

You’ve tried to keep it light, ignoring the ways he sneaks in comments of how he misses you.

“I saw Steve on TV,” you continue, trying to change the subject. “The news says his wife is pregnant.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm?” you press gently, Thor taking a bite of his dinner.

“Hmm as in… hmm. Interesting.”

“So you will not confirm or deny.”

“It is not my business to share. That is Steve’s.”

He has a point. You try another angle, hoping to get some traction from it.

“I’m sure you’ve seen her. Does she ever miss her old job?”

Thor sighs, looking at you as he swallows.

“Why does she interest you so much all of a sudden?”

“All of a sudden? She was on TV, they mentioned her.”

“She’s Steve’s wife, why wouldn’t they?”

“She allegedly gave up her job for him? She was the surveillance director! That’s a big deal.”

“Is it?” he asks. “Or was it that she rearranged her priorities? Maybe Steve came first and then work fell to wayside.”

Frowning at his assumption, you shake your head.

“Didn’t seem like the sort.”

“Well, she was.”

You both eat in silence for a moment, background conversations taking over while you seemingly retreat from asking any additional questions about her. There’s no point if Thor is going to be so tight lipped, which only makes you more suspicious.

After a moment, he sighs, placing his knife and fork down.

“I want to talk about us.”

You sit still, waiting for him to continue.

“I don’t like being apart. I know I hurt you and I hurt myself in the process. I think we need a fresh start.”

“A fresh start,” you repeat, nodding at his words. “A fresh start before or after you were seeing Jane?”

“I wasn’t seeing Jane until we were completely done.”

“And what changed?”

“She’s a Beta, for Gods’ sakes. We were incompatible, you know that.”

“Didn’t exactly stop you from dumping me.”

You can see the flash of anger in his eyes, quick but palatable. He doesn’t like your tone – you can tell that by the tick in his jaw – but that doesn’t stop you from feeling free enough to speak your mind. You aren’t his anymore and there are no boundaries you need to be mindful of.

“I didn’t dump you, you left me no choice but to leave a once fulfilling relationship because you wanted to chase a dream. A dream that has come true and while I am happy for you, you know that you and I belong together.”

“You could have thought about that before you cleared out your things.”

“I need you to listen and understand me clearly,” Thor counters, his tone low. “Listen to me very carefully.”

At your silence and the set of your jaw, he lifts his head with a smile.

“You have made your point. I hear you loud and clear. I want a reconciliation. You and I make sense. You need me, especially with this job you’ve decided to take on.”

“I did need you, once,” you agree meekly. “I appreciate the dinner, Thor, I really do. I’m glad we had a chance to catch up and I wish it was under a better circumstance. But I can’t go through that again. I’m sorry.”

You can see his eyes darken when you stand, placing your napkin on the table.

“Goodnight,” he bids tersely, seeing you walk away.

Smiling to himself, he cuts into his steak, popping a piece of meat into his mouth.

“As if you have a choice in the matter,” he muses to himself.

⚡️

Paloma seems pleased with herself when she enters your hotel room with a paper drink tray filled with coffees.

“You’ll never guess what I managed to do,” she greets you excitedly, plopping down on a chair.

Packing the last of your things, you stop for a moment.

“What?”

“I got you twenty-four seven, around the clock security.”

“From where?”

“After you left, I was able to talk with some security agencies and before I knew it, they were able to offer three names. I have them on retainer but we can move onto a contract since it’s covered. They’re on their way up to be interviewed. I figured you’d want to have the final say.”

The knock at the door sends Paloma running, looking through the peephole before she flings the door open.

Your phone rings at the same time, Thor’s number popping up as something tells you to answer it.

“I was hoping to catch you before they arrived,” Thor says, your eyes going to the opened door. “But I forgot to tell you. Inked a security detail for you. Robert and Susan were overjoyed to know you would be in such great hands.”

You recognize them, the burly and massive men standing in a straight line.

Fandral, Volgstagg and Hogun.

“I trust you won’t be looking for any additional security since they know how important their job is to protect you by any means necessary.”

Paloma turns around, nodding her head excitedly as you swallow hard.

“What do you think? They’re great, right?”

#thor x you #thor x female reader #thor x reader #alpha! thor #dark alpha! thor #fragile au #dark a/b/o #alpha/omega

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sirjaketkiszka · 26 days

Text

Silver Springs: Chapter Four

Early 20s!Jake Kiszka x Fem!Reader

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

I know I could have loved you but you would not let me…

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Josh invites you to an impromptu lake day. You and Jake come to a mutual agreement. Kinda.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Word Count: 6,707

Warnings: 18+!!, sexual content, lying, cursing, angst, secrecy, dialogue-heavy, kissing, fingering, oral f!receiving, oral m!receiving, fast-paced, quickie, and extremely poor writing.

Disclaimer: apologies for any potential spelling errors or grammar mistakes.

Silver Springs Masterpost

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

The persistent buzzing of your phone vibrates your pillow as you blindly search for it, eyes still shut from your interrupted deep sleep. Sliding your hand beneath the plush fabric, you grab the noisy device, looking at the screen. Immediately, your eyes squeeze shut, the brightness violating and piercing in contrast to your dim room.

The time reads “6 a.m.” and the caller I.D. shows “Josh 🤍.” With a grumbled noise, you press the “answer” button, bringing the phone to your ear and letting out a deep sigh.

“Hello?”

“Mornin’, sleepy head!” Josh’s chipper voice rings through the speaker, penetrating your ear. You instinctively pull the phone away momentarily, bringing it back when he finishes his short greeting.

“Morning.” You mutter back, free hand rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you sit up, legs swinging over the edge of your bed and hovering over the carpeted floor. When you open your eyes again, you can hardly make out a coherent shape in your room, the only lighting being provided by the rising sun, still making its journey over the surrounding hills.

“Did I wake you?” He asks with faux sincerity, knowing damn well what the answer is.

“What do you think?” Sarcasm is heavily present in your question, on account of your inability to be a morning person. It’s a trait you and Josh never quite shared, despite your long-term friendship, as well as his countless attempts to convert you. While you loved experiencing the way the warm morning sun blanketed over your chilled skin, and the way hues of blush pink and pastel orange transitioned into a powder blue sky, you just loved your bed more.

“Well, I’m sorry,” His insincere apology makes you huff out a laugh and slowly shake your head, your eyes closing as you listen to him talk, “But, we’re picking you up in an hour.”

“What?” Sliding off of the bed, your feet hit the soft carpet beneath you, nearly stumbling from the quickness of your movements, “Where are we going? Who’s we?”

“The lake!” The tone of his voice makes you believe you should’ve known these plans already, and yet, you have no idea what he’s talking about, “Me, you, my brothers, and Danny are all going!”

“Did we discuss this?” You ask, beginning to pace your room as memories of the night before come flooding in. The haziness of your groggy state washes off, and you sober up, the heat creeping up your neck causing you to pull at the neckline of your shirt absently. Trying to mask the slight tremble in your voice, you clear your throat, trying to listen to Josh over the sound of your own climbing pulse.

“Not technically, no,” He chuckles, aware that he’s caught you off guard, but not for the reason he thinks, “But we did say we’re spending the summer together, so I’ll see you in an hour!” His voice trails off into silence before you can respond, and you blankly stare at the “call ended” screen for a moment longer.

Tossing your phone on the bed, you continue to pace your room, hands finding their way into the roots of your hair and tugging. Fuck! Echoes of last night’s argument shout at you; the way venom flicked off his hateful tongue, and the way honey oozed from it just moments before.

Your eyes squeeze shut, shaking away every thought pertaining to Jake. What about Josh? You thought to yourself. Based on your short conversation with him, you figure he doesn’t know about what happened last night. Confliction and pure guilt settle like a brick in your stomach, sinking into you and weighing heavily on your conscience. You hadn’t planned the events of yesterday, and ironically enough, it was in the heat of the moment.

How were you supposed to spend the day with Josh and Jake, knowing what you did? You and Jake never did come to an agreement last night, so what if he stayed true to his word and was going to tell Josh? He would forgive Jake, but you? Probably not. Jake’s his twin. You’re a girl he met not even a decade ago.

“You’ll be partnered with Josh,” The English teacher’s monotone voice pointed you in the direction of a joyous boy. His long, frizzy hair was pulled back into a low ponytail and he sported a bright smile, flashing the gap between his front teeth.

His welcoming stare was already on you, waving a hand for you to come sit next to him. The tables were set up in pairs, and he was the only one without a tablemate, so you were his by default. You walked past tables of whispering teens, taking note of how they realized you were a new student. The murmured words brought a tint to your cheeks, embarrassed by the unwanted attention.

You were already nervous about high school, but now that you were in a completely different town, you were horrified. Though, when you took a seat next to this Josh guy, you were surprisingly calm. His excited demeanor soothed your anxiety, and you whispered a short greeting, introducing yourself by your first and last name.

“I’m Joshua Kiszka, but you can just call me Josh,” He whispered back, his wide smile reaching his eyes. He held out his hand for you, and you gently took it, the two of you shaking each other’s hand before aiming your attention on the now-talking teacher.

“Why are you back here all by yourself?” You asked, leaning over to him, but your eyes stayed glued on the whiteboard.

“Teacher said I talk too much,” He responded, his body language mimicking yours. “You’re new here?” He knew the answer to that question, it seemed like everyone knew the answer to that question. When your parents said you’d be moving to a smaller town, you didn’t quite anticipate how small.

“Is it obvious?” You chuckled, pulling out your notebook and multitasking as you listened to Josh and the teacher at the front of the class.

“Well…” He trailed off, also grabbing his notebook, “I wouldn’t say obvious, but– Yeah, it’s obvious.” He stifled a laugh at his poor attempt at lying.

“Great,” You grumbled, though you didn’t know why you expected anything different. In a town with a population of barely 5,000, you knew you’d stand out. You were a new face, and everyone was so familiar with each other. You hated feeling like an outsider. A feeling you were well acquainted with.

“What if you sat with me at lunch?” He must’ve noticed the discouraged look on your face, and his question made you perk up.

“Really? Is that okay?”

“Don’t be silly, of course it’s okay!” His voice rang a little too loud, and the teacher whipped her head around to look at us, fury flaming around her pin-pointed pupils.

“That’s enough, Josh,” Her words were harsh, but it didn’t seem to phase him one bit, “Don’t make me regret seating her with you.” You flinched at her sharp tone as she turned back around, resuming her previous writing on the board.

“Won’t happen again,” Josh’s voice was serious, deeper than the voice he had been using before. You looked over at him, expecting to see a sense of shame, but instead he fought a smile, his eyes drifting to you and making you smile in return.

The racing thoughts and dread-inducing memories cause your body temperature to rise at an uncomfortable rate; your palms sweating profusely and the surrounding air suddenly becoming thick and hard to breathe. Doing your best to level your heavy breathing, you’re on autopilot as you pick out an outfit; one that covers your bathing suit, and is easy to slip in and out of. You ultimately decide a flowy, loose-fitting dress will do.

Time seems to be ticking by quickly as you finish getting ready, wrapping up your morning routine, and packing the bag you always take to the lake. Your eyes continue looking over at the clock on your bedside table, watching the minutes waste away, and the unnerving feeling in your gut only growing heavier.

“It’s never going to happen again,” Jake’s voice from last night rings in your ears, followed by the deafening pounding of your heartbeat. You’re okay with the thought of last night’s events never happening again, in fact, they should’ve never happened in the first place. So why’d you do it?

“Shut up,” You whisper to yourself, ignoring your own thoughts as you trek down the steep stairs with your bag in hand. Tossing the bag into the living room, you go into the kitchen to grab a water bottle, but regret is quick to replace guilt.

The puddle of soda has completely dried, the can is lying in the sticky syrup, and a nauseated feeling bubbles in your throat. Swallowing thickly, you step further into the kitchen, kneeling beside the mess to pick up the can. You stand up, setting the can on the counter, and flickers of last night invade your mind.

The counter– where he caged you in, his fingers gripping the back of your neck as his other hand–

No.

His watchful eyes as he encouraged you to look at him, and the warm, delicious feeling that pooled in your gut–

Stop.

Your hands desperately grasping at his waist and forearm, digging crescent moons into the tan skin–

Knock! Knock! Knock!

The sound of banging on your front door rips you away from the intruding thoughts, your eyes lingering on the counter before hurrying to the front door. Swinging the aged oak door open, you’re met with Josh, who’s wearing his swim shorts and an open button-up shirt. Behind him is Jake’s car; Sam and Danny are sat in the back and the passenger seat is empty, most likely for Josh.

“You weren’t answering your phone,” He points out, his interrogating eyes taking in your disheveled appearance.

“Right, sorry,” Letting out a breathless chuckle, you point over your shoulder, “My phone’s in my bag– I was in the kitchen.” You explain, scurrying to grab it and rush out the door, prompting Josh to step aside as you lock it. He steps off the porch before you, instinctively grabbing your bag and carrying it for you.

Walking to the car, you take notice of how the cool morning air nips at the tip of your nose, signaling that fall is coming soon. The sunrise is over, and bright white cartoonish clouds litter the baby blue sky. Birds chirp from the surrounding trees and the smell of dewy grass carries in the gentle breeze.

When you approach the car, Josh throws your bag into the trunk, rounds the vehicle, and takes his seat beside his twin. Jake’s eyes are set forward, but you silently beg them to look at you, and you’re not sure why. Opening the back door, Sam steps out, making you take the middle seat in between him and Danny. Great.

“M’lady,” Sam acknowledges you with a terrible English accent, holding his hand out to let you slide into the car.

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” You answer back in an equally terrible English accent, earning a quiet laugh from him. You whisper a greeting to Danny, who just smiles and makes himself as small as possible, allowing you enough room between the two taller boys.

“Everyone ready?” Josh asks, twisting in the passenger seat and looking between the three of you.

“Yep!” The three of you simultaneously answer, and Josh claps Jake’s bare shoulder.

“You heard ‘em,” His words prompt Jake to turn the car back on without him uttering a word, and you notice the way the rearview mirror is perfectly eye-level with him. His gaze flashes in the rectangular mirror, catching yours for a moment before focusing on the road again. Peeling off the curb, he drives in the direction of the nearest lake, where most Frankenmuth residents spend the majority of their summer.

The drive is short, only twenty minutes, and the scenery on the way is breathtaking. Small bavarian-style buildings fade into lanky trees that tower over the passing cars, taking residence along the edge of the two-lane road. While you’ve lived here for quite some time now, you would never quite get used to Frankenmuth’s beauty. The town’s character grew accustomed to you, and the resentment you once held for your parents slowly melted away. Josh was, and still is, a huge part of that.

It isn’t long before the lake is in view; the rising sun glistens over the soft ripples of water, reflecting off of any nearby surfaces and lighting up the surrounding area. Since it’s still relatively early, there is no one else in sight and we’re the only ones in the lake’s parking lot. As soon as Jake puts the car in park, we file out of the vehicle and quickly grab our bags from the trunk.

Danny and Sam rush to the sandy shore, claiming a spot near the dock, where they plan to jump off any second now. Holding your bag again, you and Josh take your time walking to the lake, the grass transitioning to rough sand underneath your sandals. Jake lingers behind you two, his eyes fixed on the ground he walks on.

You fight the urge to look at him; the way his shirt is bunched at his shoulders, creating a mock-tank top. He and Josh are wearing similar swim trunks with vertical stripes, but different color schemes. Josh wears shorts with black and white stripes while Jake is sporting a multi-color pair, though you would think they’d wear the opposite considering their opposing aesthetics and overall personalities.

Josh sets both his and your bag beside Sam and Danny’s, walking over to the nearest shared beach chairs and dragging them to your setup. For a moment, you and Jake are left alone, and every nerve in your body screams at you to say something– anything– to him. There is nothing to say, though. You both agreed that last night was a mistake. An accident. It was never going to happen again. Jesus, did you have to repeat it so many times like it was hard to remember? Or is that not what you want? Shut up.

“You okay?” Josh’s concerned voice pulls you from your unwanted thoughts once again, and his brows scrunch in worry.

“Um, yeah, sorry,” You rush out, frowning to yourself and catching a glimpse of Jake, who glances over at you while setting up another beach chair nearby. As always, he’s unreadable, his brows in a permanent furrow, as if he’s deep in thought, but never any that you can decipher.

“Last one in is a rotten egg?” Josh asks, his voice cheerful as he tangles himself out of his shirt. Before you can respond, he’s booking it for the lengthy dock, his legs carrying him at an alarming speed.

“Wait! That’s not fair!” You yell back, your hands desperately pulling at the fabric of your dress. When you’ve stripped down to your bathing suit, you sprint to catch up to Josh and run past Jake, whose head slowly turns in the direction of where you run. Not bothering to spare him a glance, you watch as Josh makes it to the edge of the dock, and looks back at you, laughing when he sees how much distance there is between the two of you. “You cheated!”

“I certainly did n– Agh!” His voice is cut off by the sheer force of you tackling him into the lake, your arms wrapping around his waist as you both fall off the wooden structure. The cold water closes around you, seeping into the thick material of your bathing suit, and dousing your hair in freshwater.

The two of you rise from the water, gasping for air as you laugh at his drenched state and inevitable payback. His curly hair is weighed down, covering his features, making him violently shake his head to rid himself of the soaked strands.

“That’s what you get,” You breathe out, letting yourself float on the surface, soaking in the morning sun.

“Yeah?” His taunting voice causes you to lift your head from the water, and his devious smirk makes you swim away altogether. You leave behind splashes of cold waves in your wake as you aim for the shore, Josh not far behind you. Unsure of what his angle is, you don’t plan to find out. That is, until his hand wraps around your ankle, pulling you toward him and he immediately begins splashing you.

Wave after wave, your face is flooded with each splash, and you have no choice but to reciprocate. Although, he seems unphased as you push back weak droplets of water, and you’re sure it’s a losing battle.

“Incoming!” Sam yells from the deck, halting your movements as a giant wave engulfs Josh and pushes you away from him. When Sam bobs up from the water, he immediately wraps himself around Josh, “I’ll save you!”

Laughter bubbles from your chest as you watch the youngest and oldest Kiszka siblings wrestle in the water. Sam’s lengthy limbs hug Josh’s torso as Josh struggles to rip him off, and when he does, playful rage is fierce in his glare.

“Hey, what’s going on–” Danny appears out of nowhere, joining the pure mayhem.

“Swim away!” Sam yells to his best friend, as he darts past him and Josh chases after him. The three of them ensue in a three-person brawl involving splashing, dramatic screaming, and the sound of a hand aggressively slapping wet skin. Ouch. “OW!” Sam’s shrill voice rings through the quiet atmosphere, and you can’t help but cackle.

Your breathless laugh fades into a content sigh, and you turn to the shore, where Jake observes. His legs carry him closer to the edge of the water, where tiny waves flick and lick at the smooth pebbles beneath his feet. His swim trunks snugly hug the mid of his thigh and rest low on his hips as he roughly grabs the bottom hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head. Diverting your eyes, you still behold his impressive physique.

The faint outline of his v-line disappears just underneath the waistband of his shorts, and your eyes unintentionally rake over his visible bulge, causing your face to heat at the observation. Like his v-line, his abs are soft, flexing reflexively as his feet touch the cold water. If it were possible, you could feel your pupils double in size, and your mouth goes dry at the mere sight of him. Sensing your gawking, he locks eyes with you, a smug smirk pulling at his defined lips.

Cheeks flush with a crimson tint, you turn around, facing away from him as he descends into the water. He walks past you, a little too close for comfort, and you catch a whiff of his masculine scent; musky, woodsy, and just Jake. With a perfect view of his back, you allow yourself a moment to shamelessly admire it; droplets of water gather along his shoulder blades, soaking the ends of his long hair, and accentuating the smooth, tan skin. The tips of his hair dance and float beautifully along the surface of clear water, becoming consumed by the lake when he dunks himself further, joining his brothers.

When he stands back up, the water rushes off the curves of his shoulders in a waterfall effect, pouring down the middle of his back and flowing over his ass. Huh, nice ass.

“Let’s play Chicken Fight!” Josh yells excitedly, bouncing fluidly in the water.

“Who’s first?” Jake finally speaks, his mood slightly lifted when interacting with his brothers, and completely ignoring you.

“I’ll be the referee,” Danny calls out, raising his hand.

“Fine,” Josh pauses, considering the partners, “You and me,” He points to you, “Versus Sam and Jake.” Pointing to the two brothers, they shrug.

“Who’s on top?” You question.

“You and Jake on top first,” Josh answers without hesitation, and you groan, knowing this is his way of getting the two of you to interact. “The loser carries the winner on the next round.” So, that means you’re either going to carry Jake or he was going to carry you. You can’t decide which is worse.

“Are those the actual rules?” You ask, attitude lacing your tone.

“No idea!” He responds, blowing off your question and clapping his hands, “Okay, let’s play!”

As you’re propped on Josh’s shoulder, Jake begrudgingly balances on Sam’s shoulders, his face mirroring his own embarrassment and frustration. Sam and Josh slowly walk toward each other, waiting for Danny to initiate the game.

“This is so stupid,” You whisper to yourself.

“Agreed.” Jake’s murmur catches you off guard.

“Go!” Danny’s voice yells out, prompting Josh and Sam to step face-to-face. Without thinking, your hands immediately grip Jake’s as the both of you push against each other, attempting to throw the other off balance. Josh’s hands grip your shins, keeping you in place on his shoulders, and Sam struggles to keep hold of Jake.

You’re surprised when Jake doesn’t put up much of a fight, his rough hands weakly closing around yours and hardly resisting. The fight is short, only lasting seconds before you forcefully push Jake back, making him and Sam lose balance. The two siblings sink into the water as you and Josh rejoice, his hands coming up to high-five you.

“Next round!” Josh yells, throwing you off his shoulders without warning. You let out a surprised yelp when you hit the water, and nearly let out another one when Jake is beside you as you rise to the surface.

“Get on my shoulders,” His demanding voice surprises you, and your breath hitches. Rolling his eyes and biting back a smirk, he crouches into the water and spreads your legs, his head taking its place between them and lifting you, the buoyancy allowing him to lift you without much effort.

“Oh my,” You breathe out, your hands resting on his as they grip your knees, keeping you from falling off. Your thighs wrap around his head, his ears pressing into the pillowy flesh, and your cunt rests against the back of his neck. Maybe you are glad you won.

You’re face to face with Josh now, who’s propped on Sam’s slim shoulders, and has a determined look on his face.

“Be prepared to carry me,” He threatens, flashing a cocky smirk.

“You’re on.”

“Go!” Danny repeats, and the fighting ensues. Josh puts up a good fight, his strength making an appearance when the situation calls for it. That doesn’t intimidate you, though, as you pull out as much strength as him. Sam and Jake visibly struggle to hold the two of you on their shoulders as the friendly battle turns competitive.

You and Josh are terrible when it comes to competing. He needs to win. You need to win.

You are close to winning before you feel Jake’s hands trail up your knees, ghosting over the tops of your thighs, and gripping your inner thighs, his fingers resting just centimeters from your now-aching cunt. The feeling shocks you, a small gasp pulling into your parted lips as your core heats and your mind wanders elsewhere.

“Come on my fingers,” Jake’s husky voice echoes in your mind, and your movements falter, giving Josh the upper hand.

A single squeak exits you before you hit the water, taking Jake down with you. Below the surface, you hear the muffled cheers of Josh and Sam and feel Jake’s hands wrap around your waist, pulling you up with him. For a moment, they linger, and the two of you hold gazes, quiet breaths pushing past partially open lips.

“Next round?” Josh asks, making Jake rip his hands away from you.

“Um, I’m going to sit this one out,” You say, flustered, earning a frown from Josh.

“Why?” His voice is slightly whiny, and it makes you chuckle.

“Gonna tan,” You explain, swimming away from the group and walking up the shore. When you plop down onto the beach chair, you watch the four boys initiate another game of chicken. The feeling of Jake’s hands on your inner thighs remains, and you instinctively rub them together to rid the feeling. Damnit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Did you have fun?” Josh asks, loading your bags into the trunk.

“Of course, I did,” You respond truthfully, but your limbs carry a dull ache with them from the hours of swimming. The sun is past its peak by now, and a soft orange tint blankets itself across the horizon, motioning the nearing sunset. The afternoon heat melts into a gentle, warm breeze that covers your arms in goosebumps and causes a chill to run up your bare spine.

“You take shotgun,” Josh offers, already heading for the backseat.

“What? Why?” You follow him, talking to him through the open door.

“I was shotgun on the way here,” He shrugs.

“Josh, if this is another one of your attempts to–” You try to chew him out through a hushed whisper, being mindful of the approaching company.

“It’s not!” He throws his hands up in a defensive stance, folding himself into the backseat and settling in the middle seat. Huffing out a groan, you sit in the front, feeling the car sway as Danny and Sam sandwich Josh. You guess you could’ve just taken the seat beside Josh, but you felt obligated to take him up on his offer. Did you, or did you do so willingly?

Your extremely irritating inner monologue is interrupted by Jake’s presence as his half-naked body slides into the driver’s seat and stiffens when he notices you. Flashing a nervous smile, you reach over to buckle yourself in, your hands awkwardly fidgeting in your lap as he reaches for his seatbelt. Without a word, he starts the car and reverses out of the parking lot, his hand finding its place on the headrest behind you. Your eyes wander down his bare side, and the way his wet, tangled hair swoops over his shoulders. His bicep flexes when he pulls away from the headrest and puts the gear in “drive,” and you have to physically turn your head away to quit your ogling.

The drive is silent, each passenger wiped out from the long day, and you can hear soft snoring from the backseat. While the drive is short, they’re heavily knocked out the entire time. Within the journey, you and Jake share mutual glances; his eyes darting from the road to your bare thighs, and yours greedily soaking in his side profile, his rising and falling chest, and clenching stomach.

What am I doing? You ask yourself, your eyes peeling away from him and focusing on the approaching neighborhood. Reminders of last night’s argument play like a broken record, clouding every other thought, and yet, when you’re around Jake, they’re forgotten. You know you shouldn’t do anything with him. You even voiced it.

But when you arrive at the Kiszka house, their parents nowhere in sight, you announce that you need to freshen up, secretly hoping Jake will follow you up those damned stairs, and come knocking on the bathroom door.

Staring at yourself in the mirror, your hair is frizzy, your eyes are bloodshot from the blistering sun, and a soft red hue covers your skin.

Knock. Knock.

The quiet knocks still startle you, making you jump slightly when you hear them. Patting your hands over the lumps and bumps in your hair, your hand hesitantly hovers over the doorknob, and slowly grips it. Turning it, you open the door to reveal an eager Jake, who looks at both ends of the hall before stepping in and pulling you in by the waist.

The door quietly shuts behind the two of you, and he reaches over to lock it, his hand resting on your waist again. His fingers sink into the soft flesh as he leans in, capturing your lips in a haste kiss. Eyes fluttering close, your lips move fluidly against his, and a low moan lingers in your throat as your hands travel up his bare chest and rest on his shoulders.

When he steps forward, pushing you against the cold granite counter, you pull apart with eyes wide and parted lips.

“Are you going to tell me we shouldn’t do this?” He asks, his chest heaving and his voice on the verge of desperation.

“No,” You rush out, shaking your head fervently and strengthening your grip on his shoulders, afraid he’ll disappear.

“Good,” He whispers, leaning back in and groaning when his tongue swipes along yours, intoxicating you with his taste; minty, smokey, and addictive. He wastes no time lifting you onto the bathroom counter, the chilly surface piercing your bare skin, and legs opening to let him stand between them.

Breaking the kiss, he leaves open-mouth kisses along your jawline, traveling down to your neck, and sucking lightly, but not enough to leave any marks. Small pants exit your kiss-plump lips, blowing directly into his ear, and earning a nip on the side of your neck. Your thighs squeeze around him, and you feel his grinning teeth graze your sensitive skin.

“We have to be quick,” His words are muffled against your neck, and you nod, eyes opening and watching as his hands slide from your waist to your spread thighs. Grazing thumbs lift the flimsy fabric of your dress, and he sucks in a sharp breath when he lays eyes on your bathing suit-covered cunt, his forehead resting on your shoulder.

“Please,” Your voice is hushed, aware of the company downstairs.

His bottom lip catches between his teeth as his thumbs hook into the waistband of your bottoms, pulling them down, and making you shift to allow him to take them off completely. His breathing halts when he discards the damp material, his pupils melting into the irises when he sees your naked cunt.

“Fuck,” He grits, grazing a hand over the plush skin of your thigh, and stopping when he’s met with the warmth of your aching core. Your hips absently buck onto his hand and his eyes dart to yours, pure lust glazing over them. Gently, the tips of his fingers run along your soaking slit, and your legs spread wider in response.

Like the night before, his fingers circle your swollen clit, and you bite back a whimper, your hips writhing against the solid counter. The pads of his fingers against the bundle of nerves cause warmth to spread in your gut, sending waves of pleasure to your cunt and coating itself on the circling digits.

Moving quickly, his middle and ring finger push into your weeping entrance, your walls stretching over them, and earning a sharp gasp from you.

“J–” Your surprised exclamation is muffled by the clasping of Jake’s hand over your mouth, his wild eyes silently begging you to be quiet. His fingers work against your G-spot effortlessly and vigorously as your thighs tremble around his hips. It’s not long before you’re on the brink of orgasm, your heavy breathing causing your chest to heave and nostrils to flare.

The walls of your cunt pulse around his fingers, signaling your near release. You’re almost there, the blistering heat in your gut rushing to your core, before he pulls his fingers out swiftly. Your hips buck at the loss of contact, and a muffled cry vibrates against his palm.

“Want to taste you come on my tongue,” He says lowly, his hand still keeping you quiet, “Can you be quiet?” He asks, looking at his hand then at you, and you slowly nod, unsure if you actually can be.

Your eyes follow him as he kneels in front of you, his head level with your soaked cunt. Holding your breath, you watch as he places both hands on your thighs, pushing them further apart and leaning in. The fabric of your dress drapes over his head, blocking your view. Before you can lift the material away, his tongue swipes along your slit, and your held breath shakily blows out.

His pointed tongue toys with your entrance, lapping up the juices that leak from your cunt. He hums at the taste, the vibrations shooting straight to your clit. Struggling to remain quiet, you bunch your dress up, exposing his position between your legs and you bite down on the fabric, holding it in place and muffling your moans in return. Looking up at you, his eyes lock with yours, your brows scrunching in pleasure as his tongue flicks on your clit. When he sucks harshly, your head throws back against the bathroom mirror, and your frustrated groan is swallowed by the bunched fabric.

Squeezing your thighs, he pulls your attention back on him, your hooded eyes falling on him as he nuzzles his sucking lips onto your cunt, pulling a whine from you. He continues the attention on your clit, and that familiar feeling returns, causing your hips to grind against his mouth. Chasing release, your hands drop into his scalp, gathering his damp hair and tugging him closer.

“Please, Jake,” His name on your muffled tongue encourages him, prompting him to suck in a pulsing pattern, his tongue alternating between flicking and sucking. Your stomach clenches, and your walls squeeze around nothing. Reaching your climax, your teeth bite down harder on the material, creating a dull ache in your jaw. Your hips sputter against him as your walls spasm and a rush of release spreads on his open tongue, soaking up every drop, and pushing into your sensitive cunt for good measure.

When he pulls away, a stretch of release and his spit connects him to you, and his shiny plump lips sport a deep shade of crimson. Your walls contract at the sight of him; your release dripping down his chin, the tip of his nose scarlet from the friction, and his hair still bunched in your clenched fists. The desire within you doesn’t fade away, regret is nowhere to be found, and you discover you need more.

As he stands up, your hands release him, but they quickly pull him in by the elastic waistband of his swim trunks. Releasing your dress from between your teeth, your lips crash onto his and you moan when you taste yourself. A noise of surprise catches in his throat as his hands come up and grip your waist once again, pulling you into him.

Nudging yourself to the edge, you push him back, and land on your feet, your dress falling back into place. Pulling away, you tug at his waistband, wanting them to come off.

“You don’t have to–” He assures you.

“I want to,” You urge, and he grins, letting you spin the two of you around and push him against the counter. Small grunts push past his plump lips as you trail open-mouth kisses along his bare chest, to his stomach, and peppering kisses along the hem of his shorts. Lowering yourself to your knees, your fingers tug at the elastic, pulling it down just enough to free his impressive erection.

Eager eyes watch as you lick your lips, your eyes widening at his bare cock as precum leaks from the tip. You hadn’t ever imagined yourself in this scenario before, but you certainly weren’t complaining.

Holding eye contact with him, one of your free hands comes up and grips the base as you flatten and run your tongue along his sensitive tip. His stomach clenches in response, a choked groan dangling in the back of his throat. Circling the tip, the faint salty taste of precum invades your tastebuds, and you hum as you enclose his tip with your lips. His hips jerk and a hand flies into your hair, his palm resting against the back of your head.

Speeding up the process, unaware of how much time you’ve already wasted, you push his member into your parted lips, your jaw falling slack as his tip grazes the back of your tongue. Restraint is present in his stature as he keeps himself from pushing his hips forward, his other hand gripping the edge of the counter. Your eyes water as you push deeper, and the fingers tangled in your hair encourage you to pull off.

His hand absentmindedly guides you up and down his member, and your cheeks hollow as you suck, pulling more rushes of precum onto your eager tongue. With every poke of his tip in the back of your throat, tears sting your furrowed eyes, and you hum to distract yourself from the nagging feeling.

Though, Jake thoroughly enjoys this as his hips sputter, and a whispered, “Fuck,” fills the otherwise silent bathroom.

“I’m gonna come,” He chokes out between held breaths, and his grip on your hair tightens as his words encourage you to go faster, sucking harshly and bobbing up and down his erection quickly. “Keep doing– Fuck– Shit!” He gasps out, slapping his hand over his mouth as spurts of hot cum coat your tongue. His stomach twitches, and his legs slightly tremble in front of you as quiet groans are muffled by his hand.

Milking his orgasm, you slowly move your head, sucking every last drop as his hand releases your hair and grips the counter, like his previous hand. The salty taste lingers on your tongue when you swallow, your gazes on each other as his hand lowers from his mouth and caresses your cheek.

Slowly rising from your position, he looks at you in awe, and his heavy breathing levels, his hand still on your cheek.

“You should go,” You break the silence, and his face falters, anger painting itself on his features.

“Are you–”

“No!” You rush out, “Not like that– We’ve been in here a while.” His shoulders visibly relax, and a smile tugs at his lips.

“You’re not going to say it shouldn’t happen again?” He teases.

“Well, I mean…” You trail off, thinking of what could happen if you continue whatever the hell this thing is, “Do we tell Josh?”

“Why? We’re just having fun.” He shrugs, bending down to pull up his shorts, “What he doesn’t know won’t kill him, right?”

“Right,” You repeat, slowly nodding, and trying to ignore the nagging feeling of faint disappointment at his answer. You’re sure the disappointment derives from the excruciating fact that you’re keeping a secret from Josh. Not just any secret either. One that could destroy the foundation of your very friendship.

“I’m going to hide out in my room,” Jake’s words pull you from your silent spiral.

Without another word, you nod, watching him exit the bathroom and rush to his room down the hall. Rummaging through your bag, you pull out the change of clothes you packed earlier and quickly put them on, not wanting to waste any more time. Your fingers roughly work through the kinks and knots in your hair as you take one last look in the mirror. Good enough.

As you rush down the stairs, Josh is sprawled out on the couch in his bathing suit, his eyes closed and mouth parted. Relief washes over you realizing he’s been asleep this whole time, and as far as you know, Sam and Danny are elsewhere; either in the garage or in the kitchen.

“Josh,” You whisper, gently judging his shoulder, “Wake up.”

“Huh?” He jolts awake, his tired eyes slightly puffy and lips smacking from his dry mouth, “How long was I out?”

“Not long,” You respond, but you’re not entirely sure yourself.

“You’re staying for dinner, right?” He asks, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“Of course,” Plopping down beside him, you stretch your legs over his lap and lay back.

“Jake still upstairs?”

“Maybe– I didn’t even know he was up there,” You lie, and you’re a little surprised when it sounds genuine.

“Well, I’m glad you two got along pretty well today,” He points out as his hands rest on your shins, and that familiar guilt-ridden brick settles back into your gut. Without the presence of Jake, the weight of the situation dawns on you, and regret seeps into your pores.

“Yeah…”

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Again, I am so sorry for the delay on this chapter, and I’m sorry if it seems rushed in some places. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed.

Also, please don’t hesitate to inform me of any missed warnings. Thank you!!

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Taglist:

@aflame4goinghome @peaceloveunitygvf @dilflover-4ever @hollyco @dayumclarizzel @jakesbeloved @fleetingjake @anythingforjtk @emojakekiszka @mar-rein12 @musicislove3389 @do-it-jakey-baby @jenniferkiszka @theweightofjake

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

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ofallthingsnasty · 4 months

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Okay, okay - I have to elaborate on the whole ‘your fave discovers you spank yourself’ thoughts because I’ve been rotating them in my mind for the last few days. It’s just too perfect… So. Some little thoughts.

tw: spanking, dubious consent & bad dom/sub dynamics for Crocodile and Doflamingo (Buggy is okay though), gn reader characters: Buggy, Crocodile, Doflamingo word count: 1.2k

I feel like Buggy is the type to catch you in the act. Probably doesn’t even know what he’s looking at for a hot second - and then he simply gapes and promptly walks out of the room again, not believing his eyes. It’s not that it’s that scandalous or that he’s a prude (he very much isn’t, we all know that) - he just really didn’t expect to walk in on you doing that. Pretty much everything else would have been okay, maybe even met with a stupid, saucy comment. But you giving yourself a thorough spanking with his wooden hairbrush out of all things is just something that never crossed his mind, and it leaves the clown entirely speechless. You’re probably just as mortified as him - but the worst thing about it all is that he simply won’t talk about it with you for days. No, the moment you see your boyfriend afterwards, he turns as red as his nose, sputters and flees the other way.

It’s not really mature, it’s really, really silly - but it’s Buggy in a nutshell. At least him avoiding you quickly turns your embarrassment into irritation, which certainly is one way to deal with those feelings. You simply want to talk it out instead of playing cat and mouse as a grown-ass adults and even though you should probably feel ashamed a little bit (or should you? Is this really worse than knowing that Buggy has blown himself at least once?), you soon find yourself grabbing him by the scruff of his neck to finally address it. It’s then that he confesses - stammering, sweating, avoiding eye contact entirely - that he hasn’t been able to get the mental image of you punishing yourself out of his head, hell, that he’s been fucking his fists to it (but you didn’t hear that part, is that clear!?)- Well, that explains a lot of his odd behavior. Caught somewhere between relief, embarrassment and that familiar flicker of heat in your belly, it’s now your turn to stutter as you answer. Tell him you don’t even need some corny roleplay to go along with it (or do, he’ll be giddy with excitement either way) and he’ll happily but shakily provide. Tell him to go all out and use you as a stress relief and when he really, really needs it and he’ll do just that. Whatever it is you seek, you’ll get it from him - but don’t forget, Buggy isn't someone who only gives, he’s curious about taking, too. So humor him and treat him just as he does you and you’ll both be happy with this little discovery.

Crocodile is nothing if not attentive. Gray eyes notice the way you shift while you sit yourself down, rake over the hand that you put on your still-hot skin to soothe any remaining stings, and register that you’re wearing briefs instead of shorter options when all he’s ever known you in are more risque pieces. A sports injury, a strain, any other harmless bruise that could have you in pain for a little bit, his brain comes up with a dozen answers to the question as to why your ass is tender - that you’ve doled out a generous punishment on yourself the night before is nothing that crosses his mind. He’s more than willing to let it slide, to let you escape into the night with a sore ass and him none the wiser but when you refuse to let him dress you down fully - that’s when he gets suspicious. Crocodile doesn’t like it when others are in on something he isn’t, and it’s even worse when that ‘other’ is you, his most prized possession. So he’ll demand an answer - and when you sputter and fidget underneath his watchful gaze, he’s not above asking you to strip in that tone you know very well, the one that doesn’t leave any room for discussions; just like the two of you agreed on when you started this relationship. And once he spots the reason (or more like reasons, because there are multiple of them almost splattered across your ass) for your out of line behavior- he has his answer. The revelation certainly raises an eyebrow. Or two. But most importantly, it begs the question: why didn’t you just tell him, ask him to implement it into the already existing dynamic? The more he thinks about it, the more he comes to the conclusion that this has been nothing but an incredibly big case of misbehavior on your part. He’s almost disappointed in you, little old always-so-good-for-him you, who never as much as blinks without his permission. Maybe there are remnants of brattiness in that thick head of yours, he muses. Remnants he’ll have to carefully scrape out, it seems. No matter; he’ll have to punish you now, anyways - because you harmed what’s his without his permission and he’ll have to show you just how unpleasant a thorough spanking can be. Your measly little hairbrush might leave you sore - his belt will leave you bloody and crying.

Doflamingo, however, is the one to spot the marks on you. That man has no sense for privacy or personal space - try as you might, he’ll barge in after you’ve taken a shower, straight up rips your underwear apart, gives you a wedgie just to get to the globes of your ass or grabs a full hand of your fat and laughs as you wince- There are a million ways for him to literally stick his nose where it doesn’t belong and they all end up with you beyond embarrassed and him laughing something awful at the revelation that his little favorite has a hang for masochism. My, why didn’t you tell him? He could have given you the beating of your life by now, if only he had known what desires you harbor. It’s cute to him, cute and hilarious and utterly tantalizing. The discovery makes his hands itch - the moment you fess up to your little ‘self made’ escapades, you’ll find the world spinning and you propped up rather uncomfortably right over his lap, his right hand already raised to deliver a just punishment. Doflamingo isn’t a man to ask for permission - you admitting that you like getting spanked is enough consent to him - and he isn’t afraid of rushing into things, either. You’ll get the most unorthodox, breathtaking punishment of your life right then and there, without any count, any broken rules or sobbing about anything you’ve done wrong. He just beats your ass as if it’s the most entertaining thing in the world, laughs like a maniac and all you can do is flail underneath him, never knowing when he’ll stop. If you were able to look at his face, you’d see nothing but unbridled joy, almost boyish amusement as he brings his palm down again and again, with varying degrees of intensity and strength. He loves surprises, loves entertainment more than anything - and you providing him with such a gift delights him, shows him just how perfect you are. You might be wailing and sobbing, begging him to stop, to give you a break - but he’s lost in those little sounds and jerks coming from you, in his imagination that is running wild with pictures of you spanking yourself while he didn't know all this time. How rotten you truly are, deep down to the core… He’ll make sure that your interior matches your exterior, don’t worry about it.

#tw.spanking #idk doffy's part could be read as dark - interpret however you want haha #crocodile x reader #doflamingo x reader #buggy x reader #one piece x reader #/buggy #/crocodile #/doflamingo #/one piece

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bad-appl · 5 months

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hiiii, could you write something fluffy (you can pick the scenario) for ging? he’s so underrated

HII YES I LOVED WRITING THIS. Sory it took so long to get back to you!! I had a really busy day but here you go :3

You sat at a rather large table, the other 11 zodiacs surrounding you. They were discussing something that didn’t seem all that important to you right now, not that you could focus anyway, you hadn’t gotten much the night beforehand and it was noticeable. Pariston had already pulled you aside to ask if you were doing alright, and you had to make up a poor excuse that he could see right through. He told you to take it easy but it was hard to do that while running on thirty minutes of sleep, it felt like you would pass out any minute now.

You we’re zoned all the way out until a tap on your shoulder made you jump out of it, you whipped your head over to your right side to be met with the face of Ging, he stared at you for a second before taking your hand and leading you out near the door, “Me and Y/N will be excused from now on.” He said in a stern tone, you just accepted it, not wanting to be in the room with 10 other chattering robots mixed in with the bright lights which gave you migraines.

He gave no time for the others to argue before pulling you out into the hallway, he stopped and turned you towards him, “How much sleep did you get last night?” he questioned sternly, you stayed silent for a moment before speaking up “A few hours..why?” you said obviously lying. He scoffed at you before dragging you once again “I’m not stupid, don’t lie to me.” he pulled you around a few corners before eventually bringing you into a room which contained a small couch, and other things such as a mini fridge and so on.

He sat down on the couch and pulled you down to it with him, you were shocked by his oddly affectionate behavior, had he always been like this? He was as stern as always, but something in his eyes seemed to soften for a moment, as he pulled you to lay down on him “Sleep.” he spoke up once again, this time he wasn’t asking. You accepted it and laid your head down on his lap as you closed your eyes, drifting off to sleep almost immediately.

He looked down at you occasionally as he moved your hair out of your face while you slept, rubbing your shoulders to provide a sense of safety and comfort. He scoffed at himself, why was he being so affectionate towards someone that he barely knew? Only god knows what softened him that day, but from then on he would always have an eye on you no matter what, always watching and observing your behaviors to make sure you were doing alright, and you appreciated the fact you had someone looking out for you.

+ a small typo while writing up some rough draft ideas of this ask ….. we love gingerbread!..

#hxh #hxh x reader #ging freecss #ging hxh #ging x reader #he’s so cute #silly ass #sleepy reader #go to sleep smh #I LOVE GING #not gingers though.

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darkserenity24 · 4 months

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𝑭𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒐𝒎 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒐𝒔 - 𝑪𝒉. 4

Loki x Reader

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘓𝘰𝘬𝘪 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘴.

𝘈/𝘕: 𝘛𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘵 𝘶𝘱. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘴 𝘵𝘰 @aintnooooway 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 💚. 𝘓𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 {𝘐 𝘣𝘦𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 🥺}

𝑵𝒆𝒘 𝒀𝒐𝒓𝒌 🏙️

You walked down the corridor with a pep in your step, feeling much better than you had in a long while. Loki fell into step beside you, looking the complete opposite of how you felt. His dark brows were low on his forehead and his lips were thinned. He looked as if he was ready to turn back around at any moment.

You glanced over at him with raised brows. “If you keep this up I’m afraid you’re going to be the one blowing a gasket soon.”

Your comment had its intended effect, his displeased expression instantly morphed into one of utter confusion.

Green eyes squinted in your direction. “I beg your pardon?”

I knew that would work, you thought to yourself.

“Listen, I know this is the last thing you want to do, but since you can’t go back to Asgard yet the plan is to get you accustomed to life here on Earth. Or at least, the city of New York.”

He made an unimpressed face at that before opening his mouth to speak.

“And yes, it’s necessary,” you added before he could ask that exact question in his petulant princely manner.

A week had passed since you and Loki had reunited in your bedroom, the night ending with you in tears as you peacefully fell asleep in his arms. When you awoke the next morning, he was gone, only leaving a note placed on your nightstand stating that he did not want to scare you when you woke up and discovered that he was still there in your room, so he had left.

Strangely, you felt a pang of disappointment and loneliness surge through your chest at the knowledge that he was gone, but you understood why he had left. If you were being honest, you didn’t know what you would have said if you woke to him still in your bed with you. Tell him sorry that I cried like a five-year-old and blubbered all over you?

Maybe you would’ve thanked him for providing you with the much-needed comfort you didn’t know you needed until he was there. Who knows.

You had dressed and went about your day, deciding to reach out to Loki yourself and ask to meet so you could discuss things further. Tony had given him an iPhone, which you could tell he was not a fan of but it did come in handy when you needed to contact him and had no idea where he was.

When you got the chance to meet with him again (in a setting that was not your bedroom), you informed him about the details of his image rehabilitation and how you were going to go about it, but not without thanking him for what he did for you the night before.

Maybe he expected that you’d be upset with him for some reason, but to be relieved at your more relaxed state around him. The news that he’d have to actually participate in making himself look more personable to humanity fully didn’t sink in until a bit later. Hence why he was currently in the grumpy state he was in at this moment in time as you both walked through the tower’s lobby.

“I know it’s your favorite pastime but unfortunately you can’t continue to stalk around the tower brooding and hissing at people all anymore. We need to make you more likable to the people here just as much as we want you to have a better public image.”

Loki raised a dark brow in challenge. “Firstly, I do not brood or hiss, and secondly I am an exceptionally likable being. Do you not agree?”

“Yes, I know you can be very charming when you allow yourself to be, but unfortunately other people don’t get to see that. We have to make you seem more approachable to others. If not the team, the average person needs to see you as friendly and harmless.”

“I am not friendly,” he grumbled. “Nor harmless for that matter.”

“Well, you’ll learn to be because today we’re taking you out of the tower so you can be around other people. It’ll just be a day trip around the city but eventually, I’ll bring you to some cool events so you can make friends and stuff like that.”

“This is needless. I don’t want friends.”

You shook your head, lightly touching the back of his arm as you continued the trek to your destination. “You may not want them, but you need them. Everyone needs friends, silly.”

You nodded your head at the two heavily armed S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who were waiting for you at the entrance of the tower before glancing over at Loki.

“I know you’ve um, sort of visited before but your view of the place was kind of obscured by everything that was going on back then,”

The agents opened the doors and you peered out at the blue skies and crowed sidewalks, smiling in excitement.

“Now, let me show you the real New York.”

Loki’s first outing had been interesting, to say the least. You wanted to catch the subway but realized on second thought that would be a bad idea since you didn’t know how people would act around him yet in such a jam-packed space. You doubted that they’d immediately recognized him but you didn’t want to take any chances. Thankfully Tony provided you with a driver and you took the town car instead.

You decided to take him on a tour around the city to introduce him to its wonderful infrastructure and historical sites. Unfortunately, he did not seem to be impressed. He came from a place where they were probably way more technologically advanced than humans were even a millennium ago.

Still, you decided to drag him around to your favorite spots, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents trailing not too far behind you. There were more than a couple of times (several, actually) when you had to pivot Loki’s attention away from the many people who were staring at him. He didn’t seem to like the idea of practicing smiling at them, instead producing something akin to a grimace.

You stopped by an old greasy food truck to get some lunch when noon hit. As you got closer to the truck, Loki twisted his face in disgust, asking you if this was what Midgardians ate in this city and you nodded with a smile.

“Yeah! I know it’s not the healthiest but if you’re out and about and in need of a quick bite, food trucks are the way to go.”

You offered to buy him a sandwich to try which he quickly declined.

He seemed to be even more disturbed when walking on the crowded and messy sidewalks filled to the brim with bustling New Yorkers. He did not want anyone touching him, instead, deciding to charge through the crowd while dragging you along by your wrist. You stumbled past the annoyed onlookers, apologizing profusely as you tried to get Loki to slow down.

Needless to say, the S.H.I.E.L.D agents had a hard time catching up with you both, eventually pulling you to the side and giving you a warning that Loki had to be within their sight at all times or he wouldn’t be allowed to leave the tower anymore.

Taking them at their word, you kindly asked Loki if he could slow down a little, empathizing with him that you knew this was a lot to handle all at once. However, he had to work with you at least a little bit in order to make any progress that the team (and Nick Fury by extension) would find acceptable.

He stared at you with a blank face until his gaze finally dropped, sighing heavily and nodding his acquiescence. You didn’t expect for him to listen to you so quickly, but to his credit, he did behave in a more acceptable manner for the remainder of the outing. That was until you visited your favorite local bodega.

You sent Loki to the checkout counter to purchase a few items while you continued to look around the store to see if there was anything else you needed. A minute barely passed by before you heard a commotion coming from the front of the shop, one of the agents swinging by to get your attention.

When you arrived at the checkout counter, Loki was glaring menacingly at the nervous-looking cashier who looked as if he was ready to duck under the counter.

“What’s going on?” You asked, glancing from Loki to the shaking middle-aged man.

Loki spoke first, an irritated growl shrouding his voice. “This mongrel is insisting that I provide him with more payment than I deem necessary for such a small amount of items we are purchasing.”

You frowned in confusion, looking at the calculated total on the cash register. It appeared to be at a normal rate. Was it still a bit pricey? Yes, but that was just the average inflated NYC prices.

“I-It's the right amount man, I promise. I ain’t trying to swindle you or nothin’.” The man stammered, causing Loki to scowl at him even more.

You placed a hand on his arm and backed away. “Loki, he’s right. That’s the correct cost,” You mumbled, wondering if you should have spent more time explaining to him how currency worked on this planet. “We have to give him the money or we won’t be able to buy anything.”

“What? That’s preposterous,” He voiced out, “Am I not to bargain with him until he concedes? That is how we operate on Asgard. He was close to yielding under my gaze until you interrupted us.”

You actually slapped a hand to your forehead, not knowing whether to laugh or be taken aback by his unusual shopping methods.

“No, that’s not how that works here. If we don’t give him the correct amount of money he could probably ban us from coming back here, or worse, call the police on us.”

Loki smirked conceitedly. “I have never been one to back down from a challenge.”

You crossed your arms, giving him a somewhat stern look. “Yeah? Well, you will today. I know you can’t help but be mischievous and all but I do not want to have to explain to the team how we ended up in jail on your very first outing. That wouldn’t be a very good track record for either of us.”

He had the nerve to look disappointed at your words, pouting like a child. “Fine. If I must.”

He reluctantly handed over the cash to the man, who accepted it with trembling hands before whispering for you both to have a good day.

You had no doubt that both you and the cashier shared the same amount of relief when you and Loki left the bodega with no one getting hurt in the process.

You returned to the tower after that, deciding that was enough of an adventure for one day. Loki looked absolutely worn out. When you gave Tony a report of the outing later that night, he seemed to be pleased with the turn of events, only raising a skeptical eyebrow when you mentioned having only a “minor misunderstanding” at the local convenience store.

It was a few days later when you decided to take Loki on his second outing. You were planning on waiting until at least a week later to take him out again, but the team was still being extremely standoffish with him and it was not helping anyone. They didn’t include Loki in any activities or even attempt to have any meaningful conversation with him.

Besides Thor, Wanda seemed to be the only one who made any attempt to interact with Loki, though he only seemed to hum and grunt in response to her questions.

He appeared to be just as uncomfortable inside the tower despite your best efforts. He had even snapped at you once when you simply asked him a question about Asgard, to which you only raised a brow at him in response.

He quickly apologized but he didn’t really need to. You understood how he felt. Loki was homesick, and being stuck on Earth for so long was really getting to him.

So you decided to get him out of the tower again as soon as possible.

The next outing went similarly. This time, you took him to a grocery store. He looked appalled at how large it was inside and asked if every human in the city came to this one place for food.

“No, silly. There are lots of supermarkets around the city. This isn’t the only one.” You laughed at him and he appeared to be both confused and offended at the same time.

“There are more?” He questioned in an incredulous tone. “Humans do consume quite a lot.”

You nodded. “Food is life. Literally.”

Later that day you ended up at a nice little cafe located in Brooklyn which you thought Loki would enjoy a bit more. He liked drinking tea and the occasional coffee which the cafe had plentiful brews of both. He appeared to be more relaxed and a bit more in his element as you both sat at a table in the corner, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents idling right outside of the shop’s exit.

“How’s your tea?” you asked, taking a careful sip of your oat milk latte.

He averted his gaze away from something behind you and eyed the drink that had been placed in front of him. “Subpar.” He sniffed and you scoffed at his answer.

“Let me guess, it’s not up to Asgardian standards.”

He smiled at you. “Your words, not mine.”

“I don’t know,” you state skeptically, “You seem to have been enjoying yourself a little more today. See, living on Earth isn’t that bad.”

It was his turn to scoff. “Those words will never be uttered from my mouth.”

“Never say never.” You grinned. “Don’t worry, you’ll be having tons of fun by the end of your stay here, whenever that will be. I’m planning on taking you to other-.”

“What does that mortal want?” Loki groused, eyes narrowing just past you on something you couldn’t see. You blinked, turning around to see one of the baristas behind the counter looking your way. He looked to be around your age, shaggy brown hair falling into his face.

He smiled politely when he caught your eye, and you smiled back awkwardly before turning back around to see Loki still focused on the boy.

“Maybe he’s just curious,” you guess with a shrug. Loki’s disguise was good but it wasn’t that full proof. The guy was probably just intrigued by him.

“Curious? About me, or you?”

“What?” you laugh. “Why would be be curious about me?”

“He has been ogling you the entire time we have remained in this establishment,” Loki stated with annoyance in his tone.

“Oh. Maybe he recognizes me from school or something. There are so many people in my classes that I can never remember what they all look like.” You explained with a small chortle.

“I suppose.”

The boy behind the counter finally noticed Loki’s not-so-friendly gaze, and quickly looked away, focusing his eyes on the espresso machine he was currently operating.

“Don’t scowl at him, Loki. Remember, you want to come off as nice and approachable, not suspecting and accusatory.” You reminded him. “Plus, he hasn’t done anything wrong. People stare sometimes. It’s normal.”

“I do not like it.” He said tersely.

“Yeah, I don’t like when people stare either. I know it makes you uncomfortable but eventually you’ll get used to it and the looks will stop soon enough.”

He focused his gaze back on you. “That is not what I meant. I do not care if I am being observed. After all, I am a prince.”

You raised a brow in amusement. “Then what do you mean?”

He was quiet for a moment before speaking. “I have an aversion to other humans observing you.”

You blinked in surprise, leaning back in your chair. “Huh? How come?”

“I do not trust them. Especially the male species.” He gritted his teeth.

You still didn’t quite understand what he meant by that before it finally hit you. As much as you were both trying to move on from what happened in his cell, what Jacob had done was still pretty fresh for the both of you.

Of course Loki didn’t trust other people. This was evident by the way he worried for you in the safest of places. He saw what Jacob and those two guards had done to you and it still was affecting him. You weren’t the only one who had been traumatized by that incident, and you couldn’t expect him to be okay so soon after.

However, the objective was to get him familiarized with human life, and if he didn’t trust anyone then he wouldn’t be making any progress. You couldn’t let that happen.

You both sat in silence, him likely mulling over his confession and you reflecting on your new revelation. It appeared that you had your work cut out for you more than you originally thought.

You placed your hand over his on top of the round table. “It’s okay. I understand.” You said softly, meeting his troubled green eyes. His gaze softened, and he slipped his much larger hand from under yours only to place his on top, his thumb brushing your skin softly.

“I’m glad you do.” was his simple response.

You eyed the countless people dressed in fancy gowns and tuxes like they were attending cocktail hour at the MET.

Tonight was Tony’s and Pepper’s anniversary party and apparently, every person that they knew seemed to have been invited. Surprisingly, this also included Loki, but something told you he wouldn’t show up. He’d rather be anywhere else than at a gathering for Tony Stark, is what you remember him saying when he received the very last-minute invitation.

You bit your lip as you entered the ballroom, smoothing down your silky spaghetti-strapped lavender dress and wiggling your toes in your strappy black heels, all courtesy of Wanda’s desire to dress you up like a doll tonight. You were a little self-conscious about how the material fit on your body but Wanda was insistent that it looked perfect on you so you just went with it.

You glanced around at the hundreds of bodies that filled the space, looking for two particular people while gripping the box you held in your hand. You traipsed around until you finally found who you were looking for.

“Black bean!” Tony exclaimed before waving you over towards him and his beautiful wife. You smiled and greeted them both, giving him and Pepper a quick hug.

“I see someone dressed to impress. I almost didn’t recognize you without that old hoodie covering half of your body. Good job!” Tony grinned and you shook your head at him.

“Not like I had much of a choice. Security probably wouldn’t have let me in here if I pulled up in jeans and a sweater like I originally planned to.” You joked. “I got something for you guys.”

You pushed the small box you held in your hands towards them with a small smile.

“Oh, that’s so sweet of you! You shouldn’t have.” Pepper replied with a kind smile and Tony scoffed dramatically.

“What? Yes, she should have! Don’t mind if I do.” He said, plucking the box out of your grasp.

Pepper lightly rolled her eyes at him and gave you a look that caused you to giggle. You spoke to the lovely couple for a few more minutes until you were distracted by the sound of your name being called out from behind you.

Your body instantly froze in place, blood running cold at the sound of the high-pitched bubbly timbre. Slowly, you turned around, meeting a familiar pair of blue eyes. Eyes too alike her older brother’s.

“OMG! I missed you so much!” Kayla ran up to you and wrapped you into a tight hug. You gasped quietly, body still stiff as a board before lightly wrapping your arms around her in return.

She eventually released you, pulling back with a blinding smile. She looked even taller than before, which was saying a lot because you were also wearing heels.

“It’s been forever. What have you been up to?” She asked with genuine curiosity in her voice.

“Oh, um, just working like usual. Nothing crazy really, waiting for school to start again soon… yep.”

You knew you sounded so awkward but you couldn’t help it. You were practically shaking around her. To your knowledge, Kayla had no clue about the incident with her brother that landed you in the hospital for weeks. She didn’t know what actually happened with Jacob, and the thought of her ever finding out put you on edge around her.

“Wow, it’s been like, ages since we last saw each other. We need to hang out soon!” She twirled a piece of her perfectly curled golden locks. “I feel a bit guilty for kind of ghosting for a while. It’s just that Jake left the country and my parents haven’t been taking it very well. I don’t know what’s gotten into him but he needs to come back ASAP. I cannot handle them on my own. It’s been complete hell.” She sighed.

You nodded, letting out a nervous laugh. “Oh, yeah? I-I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, it’s been totally crazy. The last person who saw him was my dad, and he said that Jake had seemed really upset about something, saying that he was quitting his job here at the tower. He took a bunch of money from the family account and left town overnight. I don’t know what’s going on with him but I hope he’s okay. He can be a complete ass sometimes but he’s my big brother, you know?”

“Yeah, of course you’d care about him. He’s your family after all.” You inwardly cringed at your own words, the reminder of the situation being a bit too much for you at the moment.

“Yeah, it’s a lot to handle.” She remarked with a pout before shooting you an odd look. “Although, I think you know something that I don’t.”

The blood instantly drained from your face. “I do?”

“Yeah, you do. You can’t hide it from me.”

Your palms became sweaty.

“I-I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about-.”

One perfectly sculpted brow rose on her forehead. “The alien prisoner, duh!” She proclaimed with a shake of her head. “You didn’t tell me that they released him a few weeks ago and that he’s still here in the tower. I had to hear it by eavesdropping on one of my dad’s “secret” conversations.”

The amount of relief that filled your body at her accusation was substantial. You truly thought that she was going down another path. A darker one that you didn’t want any light to shine on. Ever.

You rubbed your bare shoulders, granting her a look of pretend guilt with a light chuckle. “Oh, that! Yes, Loki’s out of his cell now but he’s still on sort of a probation so no need to worry.”

She didn’t look totally convinced, brows scrunching up in fear. “So you’re telling me that he’s just been let loose around the tower? Oh my god, what if I run into him? What do I do?” She fretted.

“Say hi? He’s not that bad, I promise you. He can seem a little… daunting at times but that’s just him. He’s not out to hurt you or anything like that.” Her constant worrying about Loki was not doing her any favors.

She crossed her arms and adjusted her stance. “I don’t know. I think I’ll just try my best to stay away from him. Avoid him at all costs. My dad says that he’s a complete psycho terrorist who would be better off back on his own planet- oh!” She interrupted herself, looking highly interested in something, or at someone over your shoulder. “Hottie alert!”

You turned around to look through the crowd, attempting to see what she was looking at. There were too many people in your way, she could’ve been looking at anyone.

“That man is a beautiful piece of specimen if I’ve ever seen one. I’m gonna go introduce myself. Follow my lead.”

She fussed over her already flawlessly styled and fitted gown before strutting through the crowd. Your brows twitched in confusion but you trailed after her anyway, slipping between chattering groups of guests as you tried to keep up with Kayla’s long strides across the room. You were just about to give up when she suddenly stopped in her tracks with an elegant practiced pose.

You stumbled in your heels, stopping just in time in order not to run into her from behind.

Placing a hand on her hip, she began speaking to the mystery person. A sickeningly sweet tone emanated from her. “Hey gorgeous, my name is Kayla, and you are?” She inquired sultrily.

You didn’t know why you followed her only to witness her flirt with some random stranger. You couldn’t see who she was talking to as you were still behind her, trapped between people on almost all sides of you. The person wasn’t very quick at responding, as she stood expectantly waiting for his return greeting for a brief moment.

It was extremely awkward, and you were not going to stick around much longer to dwell in the discomforting scene. You were preparing to turn around and go back where you came from before you heard the dark, silky tone that granted her a response.

“I know exactly who you are.” The man said in a guarded and slightly aggressive tone.

Your eyes widened in absolute horror and disbelief as you stepped beside her to get a good look at her acquired target.

It was Loki.

Story Masterlist

✦ 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘥𝘰. 𝘙𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 ;)

✦ 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘒𝘰-𝘧𝘪 ✨: 𝘩𝘵𝘵𝘱𝘴://𝘬𝘰-𝘧𝘪.𝘤𝘰𝘮/𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺24

𝘛𝘢𝘨 𝘓𝘪𝘴𝘵: @aintnooooway @mischief2sarawr @talesofadragon @cass0419 @lcolumbia1988 @timeladyrikaofgallifrey @echo-is-worth-more-than-2000

#loki x reader #freedom and chaos #loki fanfic #loki x female reader #loki x y/n #loki x you

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bookish-whore · 2 years

Text

Exile Pt.II

Azriel x Reader

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: in a shocking surprise to everyone I have more angst

A/N: SURPRISE!! I never actually revealed the poll results (oops my bad) but this was the winner! I know this chapter is kind of short but it sets up where our characters are mentally/emotionally plus has some interesting details for the future. Enjoy lovelies (and the next part is in progress don't even worry) ❤️

Part One -> Here

My Masterlist -> Here

Join my Taglist -> Here

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Gods it’s still dark outside I thought as I ran to the bathroom.

I hadn’t been sleeping that great since my departure from Velaris, and while I told myself it was a symptom of this pregnancy, I couldn’t help but feel it was a culmination of guilt, anxiety, and sadness. I pulled my hair back as I emptied the contents of my stomach into the toilet. This had been happening every day at least once and I was dreading the next nine months if this is what I would be looking forward to.

Once I was finished, I brushed my teeth, rinsing out my mouth thoroughly before making my way downstairs for a snack.

The cottage was cozy and intimate and completely not what I had pictured when Feyre said she had just the place in mind for me to escape to. It was located on the outskirts of the palace grounds of the day court, but the cottage itself was warded against all prying eyes. The wards had been put in place by Helion so none but his closest confidants had access to the home. I felt safe but mostly I felt alone.

Well mostly alone.

Lucien had been staying in the day court, learning the responsibilities required of a high lord, learning spells and wards and how to break them from Helion and he had been frequenting the cottage delivering food, supplies, books, and his company.

Helion had also been helpful, he had made sure the wards were strong enough to hide me from Azriel and he had provided me everything I needed to be comfortable here. He had even secured me a healer, he said it would be good to have someone I trusted, especially this early on to answer my questions and make sure I was prepared for this.

I couldn’t deny that I was terrified of being pregnant. Helion had an extensive library and in my free time I found myself wandering through the tomes looking for information on half Illyrian children, on the difficulty of pregnancy for fae women who mated with Illyrians. I also communicated a lot with Feyre about it. Considering that she knew the dangers firsthand of what having an Illyrian child could do to one’s body. She wrote me letters practically every day soothing my nerves with comforting words of encouragement and although my heart was aching for updates on Azriel, I never once asked. Mostly because I couldn’t bear to hear the answer.

Knowing that sleep was useless at this point I made my way to the main room which contained the kitchen, living, and dining area. I put some water on to make some tea and sat on the couch opening the book I had discarded last night.

I had only managed a few pages before the kettle began whistling. I bookmarked my page and stood, grabbing a mug from one of the shelves and throwing a tea bag into it, filling it to the brim with the bubbling water. I carefully grabbed the handle setting the mug on the table in front of the couch. I would wait a few minutes for it to cool before attempting to drink and in the meantime, I would continue with some light reading.

As I scanned the page, the words in front of me seemed to blur together as my eyes drifted closed and I fell into a dreamless sleep.

-----

“We have discussed this at length now. I don’t know what you expect from me” Rhysand said, his tone gentle but firm.

“I expect you to support me” Azriel exclaimed “For fuck’s sake we’re brothers”

“You think this isn’t hard for me Az? Having to go to this length because you didn’t stay away from Elain like I fucking told you to?”

“I already told you what happened Rhys” the shadowsinger said, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. He had been having the same conversation for the last week trying to get any information out of the high lord and lady about your whereabouts.

“Yeah, I know what you told me, but I also know what y/n heard. I know what she felt and how she processed it, and I promised her I would protect her.” Rhys said “god damnit Az…what the fuck do you expect me to do?”

“Tell me where she is” Azriel begged “that’s all I’ve been asking you for the last week.”

“You know I can’t” The high lord said firmly. “You know I’m doing this for you.”

Azriel paced in front of the fireplace before sitting on one of the chairs of the high lords office, resting his head in his hands. “What if our roles were reversed. W-what if it was Feyre when she was pregnant? You know how long I’ve waited for this Rhys, waited for a family…for a baby” his voice cracked “and now I-I’m missing it”

“I know Az.” He said clasping a hand to Azriel’s shoulder “I fucking know okay, you know how feral I was, h-how protective I was of them both during the beginning. But until I can understand why Elain would lie, why she would manipulate the situation this way it keeps y/n safe. It keeps your child safe. We don’t know why you were targeted and until Elain comes out of it, we only know half of what happened.”

“I know. Just…p-promise me that they are both safe” Azriel said wiping away a tear, because he knew that Rhysand was right, and he wouldn’t dare put you in danger.

The night you fled is fragmented in Azriel’s mind, in fact he can’t even remember most of it. He definitely doesn’t remember a conversation with Elain and the more he thinks about it there are all these gaps in his memory. Nights he can’t recall and whole days where his actions are blurred like he was a completely different person.

He was determined to get to the bottom of this, He and Rhysand were already putting the evidence together figuring out why Azriel would be a target and who would gain from his downfall.

Azriel had made a promise to himself that he would get his family back it was only a matter of time, and he had to hold on to hope that when the time came you would understand, that you would listen to him, and that eventually you would forgive him.

-----

I woke to the smell of food cooking and the familiar aroma of mahogany and crackling embers which told me that I was not alone.

I rubbed my eyes, sitting up and stretching my limbs before padding to the kitchen where Lucien was.

“How are we feeling today mama?” Lucien asked over his shoulder as he his attention was fixed on the stove.

“Nauseous, tired, bloated, over-emotional…just the usual” I said opening the refrigerator for a drink.

“Well, according to my father that is all completely normal at this stage considering what you’re going through” he said with a smirk as he shoveled the contents of the pan onto two plates, placing one of them in front of me.

“What’s on your mind.” He asked “you seem particularly distracted this morning.”

I shook my head, taking a bite of the eggs and toast he had made for me.

“What are you an expert on my body language now?” I snapped “I’ve only been here a week.”

He nodded, drinking his coffee. “Look, I know you’re struggling to deal with all of this” he said softly “and you can’t push me away no matter how much you may want to.”

“I know” I said solemnly “I’m sorry it’s just that I-” I paused, taking a shaky breath. He nodded at me to continue.

“I don’t know how I’m going to do this alone” I said, my voice cracking as I struggled to hold back my tears but the words just kept pouring out of my mouth “I thought that we would do this together. Azriel and I and then he- he- cheated on me with her and now I’m here and I’m alone and I-I’m pregnant and I am scared and the one person who I thought I could count on is the person I have to hide from and my life is falling apart and I just- I feel so fucking alone”

“Y/n you are not alone- I am here for you and though you can’t see them your other friends are here for you too” he said pulling me into his broad chest tucking my head under his chin and he simply held me, allowing me to cry.

He held my face in his hands, wiping away my tears “If anyone can understand the heartbreak of the mating bond it’s me- you know the guy who has been rejected countless times by his mate” he finished it with a sweet smile and I couldn’t help but smile back

“Thanks Lucien” I said softly “for being here and checking on me, for everything.”

“Always darling” he said “now finish your breakfast, its important that you are eating well and often.”

“I know, I know” I said taking another bite of my breakfast “are there any letters for me today?” I asked.

He pulled a small bundle out of thin air, one of his many tricks, and handed it to me. There were three envelopes, on top was Feyre’s delicate script, followed by Nesta’s and as I looked at the last one my heart skipped a beat. I recognized his handwriting in an instant. Azriel.

But how did it get here?

“You don’t have to read it if you aren’t ready” Lucien said “Feyre sent it with hers, apparently he begged her to and you know how much of a sap she is sometimes”

I simply looked at it, debating the pros and cons of it. Could I handle his apologies right now? Did I even want to hear them? Did he deserve that? the answer to them all, at least right now was simple.

I handed his letter to Lucien “Hold on to this for me, until I ask for it” I said.

He grabbed it and it vanished into thin air without another word.

“So, what’s on your agenda today” Lucien asked changing the subject

“I wanted to do a little more research in the library, and I think I have an appointment with the healer later. Can you come over for that?” I asked “I don’t know if I can handle it alone.”

“Of course” he said “like I said, you’re not alone in this”

Lucien stood to collect the dishes, cleaning up from breakfast while I read the letters from Feyre and Nesta. There wasn’t much to report but it was nice to stay informed, it was nice that they thought to write even about the mundane happenings back home.

I wrote some replies, telling them I would have more information after the healer tonight and to give everyone my love. Once satisfied I handed them off to Lucien and changed clothes for the day, Lucien helped put on the glamour I was wearing to go out in the court so I could move about without being recognized and we went to the library.

I would never get over the view of the library. It was a towering structure, so many tall spires that were filled with books, all the knowledge of Prythian. The carvings in the stone so intricate and the greenery growing around the building entombing the sides with vines, flowers, and moss. Lucien and I entered immediately going to the medical section to return a scroll I had borrowed yesterday about Illyrian anatomy. I had been keeping questions for the healer about my body and whether the delivery would be safe. I pulled another from the shelf it was on medical breakthroughs of the second age. I also walked around the romance section pulling some leisure reading for later when I undoubtedly couldn’t sleep. Lucien took care of transporting them to the cottage.

Before I knew it the sun was setting, and Lucien winnowed us back to the cottage to meet the healer.

Her name was Mila. She was a woodland nymph who moved to the Day Court to study under Helion. She had spent a time working with Madja in Velaris and with high lord Thesan in the Dawn Court. She was exceptionally gifted and was kind, answering all my questions calmly and encouraging me to keep asking questions through this process.

“So, I know your biggest concern is the birth” Mila said “I have been studying various alternatives to a traditional delivery that we can discuss as the time gets closer so we have a plan in place. I would like to try for a traditional delivery because it is much less stressful on the body but yours and the babes health come first always so we can be flexible”

I nodded my head with her “and everything is okay so far?” I asked

“as far as I can tell” Mila said “babe is strong, they have a strong heartbeat and seem to be growing at a normal rate. I would say you are about 4 months along or around 16 weeks.”

“That fits the timeline” I said with a smile

“Do you want to know the sex?” Mila asked

“You can tell that now?” Lucien said. I had almost forgotten he was here and I was grateful now to have a friend.

“Well, it’s a mixture of magic and a little faith” Mila said

“I don’t know” I said looking to Lucien for support.

“Why don’t you write it down and if she wants to open it she can when she’s ready” Lucien offered

Mila nodded moving over to me and whispering a series of words while holding a pendant above my womb. She smiled and wrote something on a scrap of paper tucking it inside an envelope before handing it to me.

“I’ll be back in two weeks’ time for another checkup” she said before walking out the front door and winnowing away.

I grabbed the envelope tucking it into the book I was reading.

Lucien bid me a goodnight, leaving me with a warm dinner and headed off to the palace.

As I sat on the couch once again alone in the cottage, I felt a faint flutter in my lower stomach, I had read that at this point in the pregnancy you could sometimes feel the baby move.

I took it as a sign.

A sign that I could do this.

--------------------------------------------------

Thanks for Reading ❤️

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wordsandrobots · 2 months

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IBO reference notes on . . . the lie of Agnika Kaieru

This is a post about McGillis Fareed.

Originally presented as an antagonist ala the Gundam franchise's 'Char clone' archetype (named after Char Aznable, an expy of the Red Baron by way of the Last of the Romanovs), McGillis turns out to be one of Iron-Blooded Orphans' key protagonists, his initial appearances reframed by an eventual alliance with Martian mercenary group Tekkadan, home to the more obvious lead characters. In large part, it is his story we watch unfold, as he attempts to secure control over Gjallarhorn, the repressive extra-national military in which he serves.

And it's hard to discuss that story without reference to Agnika Kaieru, the man credited with founding Gjallarhorn to counter AI-controlled 'mobile armours' three hundred years earlier. The apocalyptic conflict between humanity and the armours known as the Calamity War is the source of the current social order, not to mention the titular Gundam mecha. Agnika is responsible for leading Gjallarhorn to victory, an achievement for which McGillis idolises him. He is also a non-character, haunting events solely through McGillis' commentary, at once vitally important and entirely absent.

I thought it would be interesting to examine how that works. I ended up writing 7000 words about it. Spoilers for everything and content warnings for mentions of child sexual abuse.

The character who wasn't there

If we take McGillis at his word, his personal philosophy was defined by reading a biography of Gjallarhorn's founder at a young age. More specifically, at a young age, while being sexually abused by his adoptive father, Iznario Fareed, who had extricated him from working at a brothel, a situation he was previously forced into after being abducted while homeless on the streets. The Life of Agnika Kaieru was a light in this darkness, offering a path out of a situation that, though seemingly improved from his original impoverishment, continued to be highly coercive and harmful. McGillis was made heir to a powerful family, yet had to sneak out of his patron's bed in the middle of the night, naked, with visible bruises across his body. He was desperately in need of hope.

The abuse appears to have been baked into this plot-beat from the start, with hints to it provided at multiple points during Season 1. Iznario being accompanied by a blonde boy and blonde young man (echoing the excesses of Carta Issue, a character who surrounds herself with McGillis lookalikes owing to an unrequited crush), McGillis' reluctance to spend the night at the Fareed estate, and the questions of legitimacy surrounding his inheritance all take on darker significance when the truth is revealed in Season 2. We may safely assume he was always planned to be reacting to this form of exploitation.

I suspect Agnika was a later creation. Comparing the outline of the Calamity War provided at the very start of the show to the ways it later becomes relevant suggests a considerable amount of fleshing-out in the interim. There are few outright contradictions, or at least, few we cannot explained by assuming in-fiction ignorance. Nevertheless, the importance of Agnika as a historical figure, the myths surrounding his mobile suit, and the very existence of the mobile armours each enter without previous set-up. This is inelegant, in the manner of much of IBO's exposition: workmanlike additions to propel the plot along, extending exactly as far as required and no more. But we cannot discount their importance to the final result and since McGillis aspires, in a very real sense, to become his hero, it is instructive to consider what the show tells us about Agnika.

Immediately we run into the fact we know nothing at all about him as a person. The only 'canonical' description of his personality was provided by the series' director, who compared him to 'the hero in a shonen manga': a charismatic character who always saves his friends. Apart from reinforcing my belief any spin-off set during the Calamity War would be more typical fare than Iron-Blooded Orphans turned out to be, this tells us little. Within the story as it plays out, Agnika is blank space. Being three hundred years dead, it does not actually matter what he was like – itself a statement about how people can be forgotten even when their names reverberate through history. Indeed, the thematic parallel to the fates of a large chunk of the cast is a potent one. Time has rendered Agnika a cipher, subject to the judgement of distant strangers, his exact morals and intentions long-since stripped away.

What remains are his legacy and beliefs. That we must speak of these separately is telling. The Seven Stars, descendants of Agnika's fellow Gundam pilots and Gjallarhorn's present-day leadership, show little deference to the man who commanded their ancestors. There are no statues memorialising him and though Gundam Bael has its attendant ghost stories, of Agnika's spirit living on inside and how it will only awake for his true inheritor, it is shuttered away, a monument nobody ever goes to see. One gets the strong impression McGillis is the only person to pay him more than lips service in centuries.

Consequently, McGillis' personal interpretation of Agnika's philosophy is the only window we get on his beliefs, and the most thorough explanation of that interpretation is given to his eleven-year-old child-bride, Almiria Bauduin.

Fairy tales told by a pied piper

From what we see on screen, McGillis is never overtly abusive towards Almiria, to whom he becomes engaged as part of a political scheme. He is pushed into the arrangement by Iznario and in the side-story covering its commencement, he goes out of his way to provide Almiria with the choice he lacks – something that spurs Almiria to form a genuine attachment to him. However, the engagement also serves his personal ambitions extremely well and he unquestionably manipulates her over the course of it (hard to think of another term to describe comforting her on the loss of her brother Gaelio, for which McGillis is himself responsible). We could and probably should label his apparent concern for her emotional wellbeing and indulgence of her desire to be seen as a grown-up as an attempt at grooming her, not in the sexual sense, but to make her a more amenable chess-piece. On the other hand, McGillis prevents Almiria from killing herself when the truth comes out, at the cost of an injury that severely disadvantages him in battle shortly thereafter – a notable action when her political utility has just evaporated. On the other other hand, this incident prompts him to describe her, quite disdainfully, as 'troublesome'.

What I'm saying is, the question of whether McGillis sees Almiria as a tool or somebody he truly cares for is thorny, as it is for virtually every single character with whom he has a meaningful relationship. Nevertheless, I think we are meant to believe he is being honest when he talks to Almiria about The Life of Agnika Kaieru. What he says fits his actions elsewhere and there are no on-screen indications he isn't being truthful – at least from his perspective – when he credits Agnika's principles with 'saving him'.

McGillis states Agnika wanted a world where “humans could live as humans”; that is, where humans of all backgrounds could compete fairly to achieve their dreams. To a child of low-birth, abused behind closed doors, this is an enticing prospect. McGillis goes on to entice Almiria in turn with the promise of 'loving whomever you wish' and of neither of them being mocked for the age imbalance between them. He concludes the scene by saying it is time to “pry open the door to that world with my own two hands.”

A few episodes later, in an internal monologue, he refers to Agnika as the “greatest symbol of power the world had ever seen. Authority, vigour, might, capability, vitality, influence, as well as brute force.” Inspired by this man's life story, he is determined to usurp rule over Gjallarhorn and finally address the want of power that had defined his own life since birth.

Like everything to do with Agnika, what this tells us about his principles is somewhat vague. Quite literally the child-friendly version (sort of; McGillis openly tells Almiria he contemplated suicide prior to reading the book and is likely a poor judge of age-appropriateness). Still, the philosophy described combines individualism with egalitarianism. The stated goal is a level playing field, free of artificial advantages like wealth or social status, where everyone can pursue their dreams as far as they are each able. This is implied to be a natural state for humanity, such that achieving it would be a form of reclamation. Further, the kinds of power McGillis lists are personal – physical strength, intelligence, charisma – and he works obsessively to cultivate them. We don't get confirmation that self-improvement is another of Agnika's ideals, but it would fit from what is presented.

If you are anything like me, your brain will have turned to all sorts of weird capitalism fans and their buzzwords for justifying frantic competition between people at every level of society. Phrases like 'personal responsibility', 'rugged individualism', and 'rational self-interest', possibly with a side-helping of – gods help us – libertarianism. You may also be asking, if this is what Gjallarhorn's founder espoused, how did it end up enforcing disparities between different populations, oppressing workers and maintaining social hierarchies, at large and within its own walls?

To which I might reply, have you looked at what all those weird capitalism fans get up to, recently? This is an unsatisfying answer, though, and to properly examine how Agnika's legacy intersects with the dreaded c-word, we need to take a couple of side-steps, starting with why it should be a natural connection to make within the context of this show.

A digression into narratives about capitalism

Iron-Blooded Orphans is one of the few entries in the franchise to directly engage with capitalism as a major source of global problems. That probably sounds a little strange if you're aware of the the reputation Gundam has as a whole, so let me explain.

[Also, let me remind everyone the definition of capitalism is “an economic system based on the private ownership of the means of production and their operation for profit.” (Wikipedia; emphasis mine). It's worth being exact.]

When the concept of space colonies is introduced in 1979's Mobile Suit Gundam, they are framed as a response to global overpopulation and the consequent ecological decline of the Earth (pause to appreciate the massive fuck-off dog-whistle; we'll come back to that in a second). The war the show depicts is presented as a matter of sovereignty, whereby those offloaded into orbit rise up against rule by an indifferent terrestrial government. The colonies themselves are cities built within artificially landscaped environments inside O'Neil cylinders. They do not appear to serve any commercial purpose in and of themselves; when we see labour happening in space, it is in service to the colonies, rather than something they are for (the Zeon miners in sequel series ZZ; there is also the fuel-collecting Jupiter Fleet but they are a very odd entity and not fleshed out).

Contrast this to IBO where Mars' utility as a source of 'half-metal' is of paramount importance to its political and economic position, and the space colonies are explicitly shown to be factory complexes, company towns, resorts, and prisons. The middle arc of Season 1 is focused on a workers' revolt against the corporation running a particular group of colonies, the Dorts, while the impetus behind spin-off game Urdr Hunt is the lead character's desire to transform his home's fortunes by making it a popular tourist destination. There are also mentions of 'resource satellites' and glimpses of what appear to be colonies built to mine asteroids. And true, it isn't stated whether all the colonies originate as extractive operations and production centres. But those purposes are depicted the reason they are maintained to the present day, removing such dirty businesses far above the 'precious', 'unsullied' Earth (cue 'The Lightship', played with maximum irony).

[Side-note: the Dort Company runs its colonies as a 'public enterprise on behalf of the African Union', implying state ownership. However there are multiple references to 'rich factory owners from Earth', suggesting private control. Best I can figure, the colonies are state-owned while the production facilities inside them belong to private companies? Since everyone appears to work for Dort (every worker we see wears the same green jacket), I'm not certain how that functions. Perhaps the workforce is leased to private factories via the Company? That would be fittingly grim.]

Now to be clear, I am not claiming Gundam as a whole doesn't tackle problems caused or exacerbated by capitalism. The introduction of Anaheim Electronics into the original Gundam timeline marks clear interest in exploring the influence of corporate entities on warfare. We may also – from the outside – interrogate overpopulation concerns as deflecting blame from capital's destructive activities, going hand-in-hand with racism over migration, and obfuscating who exactly gets sent to 'colonise the unknown' (spoilers: it's the poor and vulnerable). I'm unconvinced the original run from Mobile Suit Gundam to Char's Counterattack is intended as commentary in this manner; equally, I don't think it's hard to get there (as Gundam Unicorn somewhat demonstrates).

What I'm trying to articulate is a distinction between 'being about a problem' and 'naming capitalism as the cause'. Most Gundam series tend to depict capital as part of an amorphous blob of 'Earth-sphere corruption' or 'greedy elites'. Even Anaheim acts as a third party in the Earth/space conflict, taking advantage of the war rather than shaping the fault-lines along which it occurs. Additionally, actual money very rarely tends to be a factor in the plot. Groups like Celestial Being from Gundam 00 appear to possess near-infinite budget; Gundam Wing's itinerant teenage terrorists have only erratic and arbitrary issues obtaining supplies (where are you getting the damn ammo, Trowa?!); and even in The Witch From Mercury, where you'd really expect expenditure to matter, it… doesn't. G-Witch toys with access to funds and the requirement to be profitable early on, but overall is more a courtly drama in business drag, unconcerned with why corporations work the way they do. Issues such as the exploitation of vulnerable populations for the sake of driving down costs are gestured to without becoming strictly plot-relevant.

Meanwhile over in IBO, the poverty of the Martian characters is an ever-present threat and come the denouement, whether they have any money left is of paramount importance. The show tells us bullets have a price-tag, using this to drive actions inside a world run for the sake of profit. It is mentioned that productivity in the African Union's colonies is expected to drop following the Dort labourers wining better working conditions, a boon to the competing economic blocs that leads to one of them sheltering Tekkadan in gratitude for helping bring this change about. The reason co-main character Orga Itsuka does not survive episode 48 is because arms-dealer Nobliss Gordon thinks it will be financially advantageous to have him killed. That fellow businessman McMurdo Barriston extends limited aid to Tekkadan after publicly cutting them loose for the sake of the Teiwaz conglomerate's reputation and revenue is highly relevant to his characterisation. And Teiwaz itself is run like a mafia, a riff on yakuza practices that erases the line between big business and organised crime – a hell of claim to make in a story where another of the leads' entire goal is uplifting Mars by playing the economic system.

Now, in my reading the major theme running through Iron-Blooded Orphans is exploitation. An acute depiction of how capitalist societies operate – the amorality of the profit motive, the colonial underpinnings, the sheer, monstrous cost – is a subset of this. I don't feel it's any surprise that an attempt to realistically depict child soldiers and other exploited groups should lead to a detailed rendering of the gears in which the world is currently caught. Equally, I don't think it fair to reduce IBO to being about capitalism, full-stop. Patriarchy, slavery and repressive class structures all have older roots and there is an argument to be made that where it touches those things, the show cares less about them as artefacts of modern economic arrangements than as evils in their own right.

It still manages to say stuff about the functioning of capitalism with more bluntness than most pieces of fiction I've encountered and, speaking as an Englishman, the thing that strikes me most is the decision to make the lynchpin of its world an aristocratically-led military force.

A further digression into aristocratic fables

Aristocracy means 'government by a hereditary elite'. It is sustained via wealth passed down through generations of a small group of families and was one of the key mechanisms by which the feudal system operated, prior to the slow capitalist revolution of the 16th to 18th Centuries. It is often treated as obsolete, having been superseded by more modern forms of 'being rich'. Certainly it seems quaint in these days of tech billionaires and oligarchs to talk of descendents of feudal lords who prize family trees traced back to William the Conqueror.

What you have to understand about the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland (official name used with illustrative intent) is that this country never properly rid itself of its aristocracy. We are a monarchy. Our parliament includes a House of Lords. And while these are both vestiges of earlier systems, they are neither of them ceremonial. The Lords and the Crown possess actual power that can affect decisions made by the House of Commons, our democratically-elected governing body. The Lords (who are not elected and include those appointed for life alongside ninety-two hereditary positions [this was a compromise]) can review and send back certain types of bills passed in the Commons, delaying their introduction into law. Meanwhile the Crown technically still holds an absolute veto at the end of the legislative process, which only by convention do they not use (royal assent is required for any bill to become law; apparently the last time it was withheld was 1708, but the threat remains and the Crown continues to interfere in proposals affecting their interests).

As you might expect, there have been murmurings for years about replacing the Lords with elected officials and we all like to pretend the King just exists for show. Regardless, these institutions – hundreds of years old and holdovers from a completely different social and economic order – persist because the aristocracy remains a useful tool of the modern British state. The Royal Family can be said to be its advertising wing, not in the sense of attracting tourism but of going around shoring up foreign relations, to help keep Britain the fifth richest country in the world. These diplomatic efforts are a key reason why they are worth the maintenance costs (and the noxious scandals). However it goes deeper than that.

Kings and queens don't make sense without the idea of hereditary superiority, and even with its overt political power reduced by changing times, the British aristocracy continues to shape our upper classes. We have an entire parallel school system preparing the children of the wealthy for life running the country. Our public schools (fee-paying schools open to all who can afford them; we call the free ones 'state schools') have been educating the sons of the 'best families' for centuries. They were the source of the officers and administrators who maintained the British Empire and they continue to be where a massive proportion of our diplomats, politicians, journalists, civil servants, and military leadership receive their education.

This system, funnelling kids through schools like Eaton and Harrow to Oxford and Cambridge Universities, is a factory for class solidarity. It allows students to network and, just as importantly, instils in them the signifiers of being 'the proper kind of person'. Ways of speaking. Ways of dressing. An awareness of who they should defer to and who they can look down on, so that they can be recognised by other alumni as 'correct'. Trustworthy. Reliable.

Above all, it reinforces the notion they have both a right and a responsibility to lead.

Because that's the heart of the lie nobility tells: 'there is something about us that means we must rule over them.' If Britain no longer entirely subscribes to this quality being inborn, it can at least be taught to those of the right stock, bringing them a little closer to the true aristocracy. They can elevate themselves above the plebs, as diligent servants of the Crown, who remains the untouchable pinnacle of quality. [Translation note: 'the Crown' refers to both the reigning monarch and the state. They are functionally the same thing. That's what being a monarchy means.]

Thus, the Empire was able to send its younger, weirder sons out to plunder far-off lands, and produced many an honourable sort to lead thousands against machine guns in Europe, and, in a post-imperial age, Britain can still present an impeccably polite face to the world, to negotiate better deals. Diminished as it is, the aristocracy's shambling husk continues on, manufacturing not the capitalists per se (although the successors to the original land-lords are hardly above enriching themselves and plenty of our lifetime peers are people who've run successful businesses), but the supporting apparatus for capitalist operations. The grease on the wheels and a permanent roadblock along the road to meaningful social change.

You literally cannot have equality if there's a guy at the top who gets a stupid hat and ungodly amounts of influence just for who his parents were.

The wrong story, at the right time

It isn't hard to imagine about how it happened.

Gjallarhorn is the only significant military force left standing after a quarter of a solar-system-spanning human race has been exterminated. Faced with the task of reconstructing civilisation, it splits the world into four blocs for easier administration, abolishing the old national borders. At those blocs' request, it then applies the same reorganisation to Mars and Jupiter, the better to funnel resources towards restoring the Earth. Throughout, it maintains the position of a neutral arbiter; Gjallarhorn was formed to stop the War; now it must ensure there will never be another.

To this end, the tools that allowed it to triumph – the Alaya-Vijnana augmentation technology and the Gundam frames that meant flesh and blood could out-compete tireless machinery – are buried. Victory is instead attributed to the resilience of pure, unadulterated humanity. The pilots slew the monsters not thanks to their equipment but their innate ability. The greatest among them are heralded as champions and natural leaders.

It is a small step to decreeing that their children will inherit their positions. Innate qualities can be passed down and heirs, raised in the image of their parents. Maybe this is an extension of those traditions from which sprang duellists bearing red flags. Maybe it is merely a result of the new-born legends. What matters is, Gjallarhorn endures, guided by its seven stars.

Over the following centuries, the system embeds. The ethos of human purity takes hold, measured by distance from the homeworld. Unfortunates born to space or on distant, dusty worlds posses utility for digging up half-metal or labouring in orbital factories but have no place inside Earth's atmosphere. They would make the place untidy, now the scars of the War are scrubbed away. Those who seek to upset this situation are dissuaded. Those subjected to augmentation, dismissed as subhuman. The peace is kept.

Sadly, new generations of the ennobled families lack the moral fibre of their forebears, accepting bribes, pushing the boundaries of Gjallarhorn's neutrality. There are rules and those tasked with enforcing the rules and yet still the rot spreads. These younger generations lack the moral fibre of their vaunted forebears. A sad decline.

Or perhaps that is bullshit and they are exactly the same: people come into power, who will justify anything for the sake of never giving it up and ensuring that all things flow towards the centre.

Gjallarhorn is the armed wing of the Earth super-state, operating for the benefit of the whole despite competition between the individual blocs. That is to say, it is the army of a capitalist state writ large, in the usual manner of sci-fi magnifying things across time and space. Broadly, a state's purpose under capitalism is to facilitate the smooth running of private enterprise by maintaining infrastructure, providing a workforce, and destroying anything that gets in the way of expansion. Tradition, upper-class solidarity and ideological frameworks all help hold the arrangement together. It is useful, after all, to train people to believe they're supporting a grand cause when they are in fact facilitating exploitation and theft for the benefit of someone else.

And it is here we must turn our attention back to The Life of Agnika Kaieru. Above, I glibly compared the things McGillis says Agnika stood for to capitalistic propaganda. What I mean is that it reads as the ideology surrounding free-market capitalism, where companies are released from all restraint and allowed to compete irrespective of consequence. This is often said to fuel innovation and create a healthy market that will – somehow – benefit everyone, despite observably driving owners to increase profits at the expense of large numbers of people, including their customers.

In that context, claiming you want to ensure everyone competes 'fairly' is disingenuous, since it entails the removal of both limitations and safety nets. No artificial advantages and reliance solely on personal strengths means those who are old, disabled, or otherwise lacking Agnika's stated virtues will automatically be left behind. This is not hypothetical; I see it around me everyday, as a result of policies predicated on exactly this basis, just as we see it represented in IBO by a wide-scale absence of social support and characters too vulnerable to survive a free-for-all (Atra, Builth, the Turbines, in flashback). But the ideological statement elides such problems.

Given the title of the biography, I assume it dates from after Agnika died. Any impression derived from it must therefore be suspected of being what Gjallarhorn required him to have believed. Historically, both aristocracy and capitalism alike have benefited from this kind of distortion, so it would be no great surprise if the book turned out to be more PR than honest report. While Agnika's principles are incompatible with the hereditary advantages enjoyed by the Seven Stars, there are ways to read them as being aligned with the wider social and economic arrangements. As such, it is entirely plausible the way he is remembered was designed to support those arrangements.

The right story, at the wrong time

The rhetoric of McGillis' attempted coup centres Gjallarhorn's failure to adhere to its original values, citing unwarranted attacks against civilians and inference in Earth politics. The Seven Stars must be replaced with sincere believers to correct a drift away from what Agnika intended. McGillis outright proclaims his 'revolutionaries' have the truth of Gjallarhorn on their side.

Even if this is a calculated stance designed to rile younger officers into being the army he requires, McGillis' internal monologues reveal a commitment to the ideal of the individual seizing their dreams through sheer personal strength. He seeks not only to prove this is possible, but also to inspire those who cower because “they don't know how to use their fangs” into following his example. From what we see, he has taken Agnika's words – as they were relayed to him – as gospel.

Is his interpretation correct? And if it is, was it what Agnika believed, or simply what it was useful for him to say? McGillis is manipulative, spinning tales to make others do what he wants. Was his idol the same, pre-empting biographical distortions by espousing a finely-tuned message that would reassure the masses while he built a system geared toward curtailing the power of all but a few?

Trick question. There's no answer in the text. As I said, Agnika isn't a character; what he really intended is irrelevant and therefore not present. Yet a distinction must be drawn between what is said publicly and what is said behind the scenes. This is a layering IBO captures via Rustal Elion, McGillis' rival for control of Gjallarhorn, who out-manoeuvres and defeats him. Rustal is a pragmatist unencumbered by quasi-mystic belief in Agnika or some 'true purpose' to Gjallarhorn. He does whatever it takes to best McGillis, casually breaking centuries-old weaponry restrictions and even provoking a fresh war to undermine his opponent's plans – all while presenting as a bastion of lawful rule. Privately, he admits to being 'shady', willing to deal with whomsoever furthers his goals (e.g. Nobliss Gordon, who starts violent uprisings to spur sales of his merchandise). It is this capacity for realpolitik that means Rustal comes out on top.

The narrative does gesture at motivations beyond self-interest. When Rustal reforms Gjallarhorn in the wake of the Seven Stars decimation at McGillis' hand, he abolishes the aristocratic council (of which he is also a member) and replaces it with a more democratic form of governance. That he is immediately elected to the role of supreme commander gives us some reason to doubt his sincerity. Offsetting this, he is also shown to be working towards the abolishment of slavery in his society.

Regardless of his exact degree of progressiveness, however, Rustal appears entirely uninterested in changing what Gjallarhorn is for. See, institutions and social structures have specific purposes, which need not be the ones they claim, via statements or appearances. A capitalist business may claim to exist to provide a product or service, but its actual purpose is the generation of profit. The police may claim to be an institution of citizen protection, but their purpose is the enforcement of the law, which can be detrimental to some or all of those selfsame citizens.

Gjallarhorn's purpose is to control the colonial holdings of the Earth and maintain the current division of the world. They administrate the extraction of resources, quash attempts at social change, and crush resistance to exploitative business practices. Moreover, Rustal is certainly well-aware this is what his job entails. It is his fleet that carries out a calculated massacre of the Dort workers' unions when they push for better conditions and he personally orders an orbital strike on defeated child-soldiers as an exercise in image management. His reforms thus smack more than a little of an army or a weapons manufacturer improving its hiring policies: sure, they now employ women and members of minority groups; they still exist to kill people.

For these kinds of entities, purpose is all-important. You can dress them up however you want, so long as their function continues to be carried out. I bet, when I described my country's persisting aristocratic elements, you immediately went, “that sounds like [mechanics of regional upper class and attendant justifications for social division].” Yes. Precisely. We don't have feudal system holdovers at the centre of our society because they're the most efficient or only means of fulfilling those roles. They're simply the ones that make the most sense at this point in our history. A different environment would necessitate a different form, but the function would remain.

[I am glossing over the mutability of function here – the power of the king has reduced greatly via political and economic shifts, so he's no longer performing quite the same role as his ancestors – but hopefully you get what I mean.]

Rustal's reforms are an illustration of purpose superseding form. At the end of the show, the narration informs us trust in Gjallarhorn has been restored, indicating an end to meaningful opposition to what we have seen it do. Similarly, when Rustal states that the organisation's history matters more than its mythology, he is saying it has largely been operating correctly and should continue to do so in the future. The public claims can be altered, the set-dressing reworked. The function remains.

Poor delusions

Like the British state and its equivalents, Gjallarhorn is draped in heroic, mythological imagery. From uniforms to equipment naming conventions, it presents as grand and noble, even possessing heraldry, as if originating in a gathering of brave knights. We, the audience, know that this is a veneer plastered atop the material reality. Scenes of its foundation are comparatively mundane: sober men wearing drab suits, shaping the future with the stroke of a pen. The dress-up played since is pure embellishment.

McGillis, however, takes the imagery seriously.

His plan hinges on 'awakening' Gundam Bael and being 'accepted' as its new pilot, fulfilling an old rule/tradition whereby whoever possesses this particular mobile suit is the undisputed leader of Gjallarhorn. By taking a disgraced Iznario's place among the Seven Stars, augmenting himself with an Alaya-Vijnana system, and capturing the facility containing Bael, McGillis intends to anoint himself the new Agnika. At a stroke, he believes he will gain the loyalty of all Gjallarhorn forces on Earth and thus the military strength necessary to defeat Rustal's Moon-based Arianrhod Fleet.

For reasons I'll detail another time, I don't think his strategy is necessarily ridiculous. But it doesn't work. The other Seven Stars do not automatically bow down to Bael's new pilot, instead adopting a neutral position awaiting the outcome of the impending battle, and there is no mass uprising among the ranks below them. Since Rustal otherwise commands an overwhelming number of troops, this turns the conclusion into a foregone one. The few who do join McGillis' cause are annihilated and he is forced to retreat, eventually dying in a one-man attack on the Arianrhod flagship.

It must be stressed that McGillis isn't stupid. He is a canny political operator who correctly identifies the biggest obstacles to success, and while his analysis of Gjallarhorn's corruption is deployed principally as a rhetorical tool, he's not wrong. The leadership are complicit in a lot of extremely shady activity, including experimentation with Alaya-Vijnana technology, contravening the taboo against augmentation their ancestors propagated. They do act against their publicly-stated values, to the detriment of ordinary people and in the interests of those who benefit from a hideously exploitative system.

His mistake is to treat this as a bug, rather than the feature we might more correctly diagnose it to be. Within The Life of Agnika Kaieru, McGillis believes he has discovered the hidden truth about Gjallarhorn. He imagines by setting Agnika aside, the Seven Stars obfuscated mechanisms to curtail their authority and an ethos more welcoming to people like him. (There is a lot we could discuss about the ways McGillis is immunised against some forms of bigotry by his station, despite his illegitimate status, and how he exploits more disadvantaged soldiers like Ein Dalton and Isurugi Camice for his own ends. It's just, that'd be another two thousand words and I really need to wrap this up.)

Yet if we follow Rustal's advice and heed history, the timeline shown in Season 1 has Gjallarhorn dolling out sections of Mars to the blocs a mere three years after the Calamity War ended. Among the many things we don't know about Agnika is if he survived the War, but whether he did or not, his organisation pretty instantly became a tool of social division and exploitation. The most we may allow is that its original purpose was truly noble. Its actions once the apocalypse had been averted speak for themselves.

This has been long walk, I suppose, for the fairly succinct summary of McGillis as a character who rejects private truth in favour of embracing a public, propagandising lie. I am compelled by the idea even so. Capitalism is far from the only system to have claimed universal virtue while benefitting merely a select few, but it has gone uniquely hard on the idea 'you can make it too'. Given IBO's uncluttered depictions of a world run for profit (with the complicity of ostensibly non-capitalistic institutions), taking a cynical read on Agnika's supposed ideology is trivial. Human triumphalism and Gjallarhorn conceptualised as the arbiter of fair competition dovetail into the show's unjust present in a manner too neat to discount. More than anything else, the choice McGillis makes is a common one in real life.

Sometimes, that's a positive thing, pushing people to insist on making promises come true to the detriment of the swindler proffering them. Others, it is a source of profound disorientation, leading in very dark directions as blame for the dissonance is attributed to anything but the root cause.

[This seems is as good a juncture as any to remark that McGillis is not a proponent of anything we can easily label fascistic. He focuses on individual freedom irrespective of national identity; he is attacking people genuinely perpetuating his world's ills; and he definitely doesn't bother courting a disaffected public by playing to middle-class anxieties. He doesn't need to. His plan is to enact a coup from high up inside a military hierarchy, while promising to lessen the force exerted against society. Though there are links to be traced between his ideology and fascist rhetoric, it isn't the avenue his circumstances compel him to go down.]

[I am 100% certain he would've gone in that direction if they had, but that's a counterfactual, not what the show actually presents.]

How McGillis got to where he did is another of IBO's many examples of adaptations to extremis that look utterly bonkers when seen at a remove. An outsider, thrust into the realm of a vicious upper class, he accurately declared the whole thing a nest of lies and hypocrisy. He could never buy the pretences it sold, to others and to itself. His very existence was damning disproof. Then, at his lowest ebb, he found a story about what it should be and that – that he bought, hook, line and sinker.

Already primed to consider power the be-all and end-all of life, he took Agnika's story as a guide to gaining the upper-hand, going so far as to tell Rustal (then a young adult) that the only thing he now desired was Bael. Though it seems he lapsed into a wait-and-see approach between prepubescence and his mid-twenties, witnessing children from Mars fighting using Gundams makes him believe destiny is taking a hand in events and the time has come to act. He betrays Carta and Gaelio, his two closest friends, both heirs to other Seven Star families, for the sake of clearing his path forwards. These were the first people to treat him like a normal child and he admits with his dying breath that he reciprocated their affection. This was part of why he killed/attempted to kill them: in their company, he started losing the will to pursue his dream, put off guard by finally having something positive in his life. So he chose to violently reject them, unable to give up on what he'd started.

That could easily be McGillis' epitaph. He is characterised by an overwhelming commitment to seeing through his power-grab, even if it means fighting an entire fleet to go personally kill Rustal. This is very far from a sane response and we might say likewise about everything he does prior. From his gleeful divinations at the sight of ancient relics, to his rapturous exultation on activating a machine he knows just required the appropriate brain/computer interface, the personality lurking beneath his habitually polite mask is little short of unhinged.

Which is of a piece with a group of teenage orphans clinging tight to the idea a good life lies just beyond the next battle, having internalised that proving their strength is the only way to survive. McGillis has to think taking on Agnika's mantle will bring him what he wishes, because otherwise his actions have been for nought, nothing can be changed, and the misery he endured is inescapable. It's the same self-reinforcing spiral, turned up to eleven.

(Re)imagining the world

In the final outcome, Iron-Blooded Orphans refutes McGillis' individualism, albeit not without caveat. Destabilising the Seven Stars creates space for incremental change and self-interestedly assisting independence activists lays the groundwork for Mars' eventual freedom from Earth. McGillis does create a “storm in this stagnant world,” with lasting consequences regardless of how swiftly it subsides. Nonetheless, his death is a futile one compared to the other causalities during the finale, who all manage to make their last acts count for something. Where Tekkadan share a mutually-supporting community – they are a 'pack of wolves' – he stands alone and saves nothing of what mattered to him.

As I said above, I don't want to treat IBO as a story solely and absolutely about capitalism. In a similar vein, I'm not trying to position an interpretation of Agnika as a vector for capitalist propaganda as the intended one. There are multiple moving parts here, spinning out from that serious consideration of child-soldiers as more than just a trope in fiction aimed at teenagers. My read on those parts is contextualised by my cultural background (I do now want to look into how Japan's own aristocracy mutated with their forced induction into global capitalism).

At the same time, McGillis indisputably misapprehends how a structure within a capitalist environment works because he wants to believe a version of what says about itself. And The Life of Agnika Kaieru is an artefact of that environment. Even without knowing more about its authorship, publication or veracity, and setting aside what McGillis brings to the table (his desire for power was set years before he'd heard of Agnika), the fact he finds it in Iznario's library speaks volumes. Biographies are not neutral objects. As alluded to above, the act of public remembrance shapes culture and hence society. I think it both reasonable and interesting to look at McGillis' arc with the assumption the book is ultimately commensurate with everything he was reacting against.

What would have happened had McGillis won is another moot question when the narrative hinges specifically on his failure. But a land of competition, overseen by the supreme authority of Gjallarhorn, where the only moral law derives from the dreams of the strong?

Perhaps the most damning thing to be said of McGillis' principles – of Agnika's principles – is that they would produce a world functionally identical to the one we started with.

———

Postscript:

For the sake of absolute clarity, I do not believe whether a story is about capitalism or not has any bearing on its quality. My discussion of the other Gundam shows is intended purely to highlight what I see as a fundamental difference between what they are doing and what IBO is. I don't think it is a problem that G-Witch is a personal/courtly drama, or that Wing is focused on fighting in a more philosophical than material sense, or that the franchise has overall tended towards addressing conflict per se, without any serious interrogation from an economic angle.

Stories can only fail at what they attempt, not at what they don't.

I nevertheless stand by what I said. A piece of fiction concerned merely with some generalised notion of 'human greed' is not about capitalism in any meaningful sense, and I fear that's where most Gundam shows land, one way or another, when they touch on corporate interests.

[Index of other writing]

#gundam iron blooded orphans #gundam ibo #g tekketsu #tekketsu no orphans #gundam #mcgillis fareed #agnika kaieru #gjallarhorn #capitalism #reference #notes

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nik-the-bik · 9 months

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One thing I love about this book is that you're allowed to sit there and question literally everything Stevenson presents us.

We know Jekyll is not a reliable narrator when we finally start to get his side of the story. But how much blind faith can we put in Lanyon's perspective?

Not to say I don't trust Lanyon! His tale is presented like an accurate assessment of what happened the night Jekyll revealed the truth to Lanyon. He transcribes Jekyll's letter, notes his own opinions and actions, and provides detailed observations of his first impressions of Hyde.

But then, once the truth is revealed, once Lanyon finally puts to paper the truth of Jekyll & Hyde so that Utterson may one day know, he cuts his narrative off.

In the last paragraph, he refuses to tell us what was discussed with Jekyll following the transformation. Maybe from trauma, maybe from some protective urge towards his old colleague, or maybe to spare poor, unsuspecting Utterson from any further horrors.

Stevenson purposely leaves this all unsaid, and we move on to Jekyll's attempt to defend himself.

But how much of his story did Lanyon leave out?

And how damning would the full truth be towards Jekyll?

#jekyll and hyde weekly #the strange case of dr jekyll and mr hyde #jekyll and hyde #hastie lanyon #dr lanyon #henry jekyll #dr jekyll and mr hyde #I just!!!!!!!!!!!! the gaps!!!!!!!!!!!! the gaps left in this book!!!!!!!!!!#so much room for interpretation and playing with the implications and aaaahhhh

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gluion · 4 months

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safe haven (how much longer do we have?) ➵ kim taerae

kim taerae x reader, slight sung hanbin x reader

you can only hope for more tomorrows with taerae.

genre/warnings ➵ strangers to lovers, heavy angst with a happy ending, touch of fluff, afab reader (no gendered terms), lowercase intended, apocalypse au, hurt/comfort (both physical and emotional), depictions of grief, descriptions of gore/blood, use of guns, allusions and discussions of suicide, minor character deaths, hanbin is your ex, zhanghao and matthew appearance :’), elements of the last of us (don’t support neil druckmann!), mostly written in past tense (because u’re remembering!)

word count ➵ 6.2k words

a/n ➵ thought i'd make my official debut to zeroseblr with this lil piece that i absolutely love!! i hope you guys look forward to more zb1 fics from me :DD here's the original one if you're interested! if you enjoyed reading, please do reblog and leave feedback!

want to be part of my taglist? send me an ask! masterlist

time was the one thing that occupied everyone’s minds. it held value, something that shouldn’t be wasted, and people revolved their lives around it.

but now, no one keeps track of time. clocks stopped moving and calendars weren’t produced annually. once the surge of the infected took over, grabbing on humans, taking them away from the lives they’ve lived, everyone ran like they were running out of time. with every second that passes, people are ridden with possibilities of how they might bid farewell to life itself—would it be through the hands of the infected or their own?

now, only one question echoes within their minds: how long do we have?

the outbreak hit two years ago on the day of hanbin’s graduation. cheers turned into screams. white togas and diplomas were splattered with red. the lively became lifeless.

you remember hanbin’s hand in yours, fingers gripping you as if you were his life, as you charged out of the gymnasium, legs keeping up with the speed of his. you darted off to nowhere as images of the infected tearing people apart took up every block, all the way from skin to bone.

and while it was a rush of tragedies, hanbin was the only hope you had.

“keep your eyes on me,” he glanced at you, eyes off the path as he met your gaze. “don’t look at them. only look at me.”

it was impossible to ignore the wails that filled your ears, but you would repeat his words—his soft-spoken voice—to drown them out.

by nightfall, you and hanbin found yourselves in a motel room, skin cleaned from blood splatters and dressed in clothes that engulfed your figures, and in each other’s arms on a twin-sized bed. the duvet that wrapped around you two is thin, not at all keeping you warm for the night, but the warmth of hanbin was enough to provide you a sense of security—stability amidst the ever-changing world.

he whispered into the crown of your head, words meant to dispel your fears, all while you sobbed into his shirt. there was nothing that he could do but stay strong for you.

and for a few days, that room acted as your safe haven. the time spent within those four walls is the life you imagined your future with hanbin. it would’ve been in a two-story house with a garden where a singular orange tree stands, lounging on the couch as you played movies to fall asleep to, but all you had was an old room with a carpeted floor with unrecognizable stains and a bathroom unable to fit two.

yet, you would choose this over anything. even if it meant eating instant noodles for every meal or sleeping on a mattress that ruins your backs, you would choose this if it meant hanbin would be with you.

still, time continues to move. hanbin knew that you both couldn’t stay in that room or else the infected may reach you. so when you both went to bed on that last night, you outlined his features from the space between his eyebrows all the way to his lips, and you spent that time memorizing his warmth to carry with you for the rest of your life. you could only hope that he stays with you until the end.

after a month passed, you and hanbin met zhanghao, an injured boy who only wanted to live. at first, hanbin was hesitant to take the stranger in, but you wouldn’t allow yourself to live with the idea of abandoning someone in need. in a world where the infected have taken over, it only seemed right to help out others, save them from a fate they’re not ready to meet.

what started off as a pair turned into a trio. you’ve learned more about what it takes to survive in this life. long gone is the need for money to buy necessities; you need to scavenge if you want to live in an infected-ridden world. thanks to zhanghao, you and hanbin got to learn about how to find supplies in every building that you pass on the journey.

but it’s not enough to know where to find food and bullets. hanbin decided that it was only right to teach you how to use a gun. with every morning that came, you two spent hours learning how to hold, reload, and fire.

six months have passed, and you were happy that you were still a trio. zhanghao became your best friend over that time. his laughs were enough to shine glimmers of hope onto you. you were glad that you decided to help him off the ground and tend his bullet wound that day.

until you found yourselves retreating from the horde of infected.

time moves at a constant speed but it can become swift if it decides to. when you and zhanghao reached the doors leading to safety, you remember seeing hanbin fighting off those who were once like you, bullets firing at their heads. you remember your screams, telling him to run to you—go to where it’s safe—so that you can keep having tomorrows with him.

yet, hanbin glanced at zhanghao, nodding at him before his eyes met yours. you watched how his mouth moved, a soundless three-word phrase leaving him before the doors shut before you. you would’ve pried them open but zhanghao kept his arms around you, holding you back. from letting the infected reach you. from letting hanbin come back to you.

the wails that left you are enough to attract the infected. if only the infected were to burst through the doors, grab onto you and bring you to hanbin, then maybe you would stop crying. yet, zhanghao dragged you away. you never saw him as your best friend after that.

the two of you learned to live in silence, fighting for survival while dealing with the loss of the one who would always bring you both to safety.

until you came across another boy who pointed his gun toward you. his defensive demeanor reminded you of hanbin, and you wondered if this was his doing—his reincarnation. but before he could pull the trigger, zhanghao saved you from meeting your fate.

somehow, the duo had turned into a trio once more. you still refused to talk to zhanghao, but would eavesdrop on the conversations he shared with the stranger. you learned that the new addition is named taerae.

but even the stranger wasn’t enough to fill the void that hanbin left. with every nightfall, when the soft snores of the two boys filled your ears, tears streamed down your face as sobs threatened to spill out of your mouth. the palm of your hand wasn’t enough to muffle your weeps. behind your eyelids, hanbin’s last words to you play on repeat. the ones he failed to say. the ones you’ll never hear again.

“hao, you have to stay with me.” those were the first words you told him since hanbin’s death. crimson continued to spill out of his abdomen through the gaps between your fingertips in the same way tears flow out. “taerae! find gauze, betadine, anything!” you never glanced at the stranger, keeping your gaze on your best friend whose eyes continued to droop.

still, zhanghao caressed your face, thumb wiping teardrops. as he slowly entered territories that you both knew he would never escape, he grinned at you one last time. “i missed hearing you. i’m glad you’ll be the last thing i hear.”

but time continues to move. it took him away from you in a matter of minutes, slithering away without a second thought and no regard for the value of life, and all you were left with was his temple—still. lifeless. as you sobbed into his shirt, still holding the wound, the warmth of taerae’s hand stayed on your back, moving along with your wails.

now, you carry the loss of two. it never got easier with time.

taerae still sticks with you. it only seemed right. stay strong in numbers as you wander off to nowhere, grasping at the loose ends of survival.

two weeks have passed. you and taerae got used to the new dynamic; while he went hunting and you were tasked with scavenging, you both played your roles in combat, ready for any raid or horde. when night came, you both took shifts, keeping watch while the other got some shut-eye.

until that one evening.

you recall the sounds of wood crackling from the fire. it stood strong against the breeze—burning, shining—surrounded by greens that latch on browns. hues of amber cascaded over your skin, painting you with warmth—it’ll never compare to the one you craved. your eyes drifted to taerae who sat across from you, his eyes trained on the fire as he rubbed his palms together. perhaps he craved the same type of warmth you longed for.

“we used to be three.” his eyes snapped towards yours. “before you came, we used to be three—zhanghao, me, and—” it rose in you like bile, wanting to escape but never leaving. “we were three then.”

you glanced at the fire that continued to burn. “we met zhanghao a month after the outbreak, spent six months together until—” the claws of the void struck against your throat, holding you back from sharing with the stranger what your life was before he came. while you never found the right words to say, taerae never pushed, letting you say what you wanted to share while filling in the blanks on his own.

“i resented zhanghao after what happened.” you moved your gaze to taerae whose eyes never left you. “refused to talk to him. refused to forgive.” and you remember how you hesitated, taking a deep breath in before sputtering out the next sentence. “refused to accept.”

nine months ago, the outbreak didn’t happen. nine months ago, you were attending hanbin’s graduation. nine months ago, you two were imagining your tomorrows—together, for eternity.

and those nine months fractured all hopes and dreams; the glass is now littered with cracks, ready to burst into shards.

“but i think about the last time we saw zhanghao,” the image of him sitting in front of you all frail, treading the line between life and death, flashed in front of you; it’s quick but strong to remind you of what’s lost. “and i wish i could’ve learned how to forgive during those two months.”

and still, you did.

you left it at that. they were enough. so when you told taerae that you’ll take over tonight’s shift, he never asked to hear more. instead, he laid near the campfire as you keep an eye out.

and once enough hours have passed, you allowed yourself to sob like other nights. the breeze that passed through branches reminded you of zhanghao; rustling leaves imitated the giggles of the boy you’ve only known during the apocalypse.

the heat was enough to last you the night, but the chill of reality sent you back to the void.

that night, taerae listened to your sobs. not one of you got enough rest for the journey.

another two weeks went by. you two got into a better groove of the routine; instead of hunting and scavenging in silence, you and taerae found yourselves talking more about your lives before the outbreak. you learned that he’s only a year younger than hanbin, and he shared that he had plans to pursue music.

still, taerae promised you that.

“where were you?” his eyes met yours. “on the day of the outbreak, i mean.”

he leaned back, hands resting on the mattress before he looked once more at the wax that continued to melt. “i was there for my upperclassmen’s graduation.” it hit you like a sudden downpour on a sunny day. “i knew the people in the music program and we were going to celebrate after. until the infected came.”

and when you said the name of the university, his gaze met yours as his shoulders stiffened. “m—my hanbin.” it’s the first time you spoke of his name, and the sight of taerae’s eyes widening over it was enough to speak for himself.

“i—i didn’t know,” he whispered, but his words were loud enough to shatter glass. “i only spoke to him a few times. he spoke of you with so much love.”

your heart skipped beats; it should’ve been enough to send you off into the same territories where hanbin and zhanghao now stay. your mouth turned dry as taerae’s voice morphed into radio silence.

before you knew it, the two of you left the information to hang in the air as you tried to drift into slumber. the clock continues to tick. minutes turned into hours; time moves like it usually does once more.

yet, you were stuck in the same gymnasium, fixing hanbin’s toga as you scolded him about how wrinkled it’s become—hey! you’ll go up on stage soon. we can’t take pictures of you like this. despite your words, he smiled at you before grazing his lips on your temple—his silent way of telling you the three-word phrase.

in a split second, you were off the couch. you barged out of the house, clutching your chest as the knot constricted your throat, and your feet dragged you off to nowhere. every sound has turned into a buzz—only the voice of hanbin being the one clear thing amidst the hysteria.

all it takes is one step, and—

the voice was caught in your throat. how does one begin to unpack the baggage they’ve learned to carry? when the items they bring are revolting, rotten, repugnant, how does someone not feel shame about showing all the tattered-up objects?

how do you learn to open up to someone you’ve only known for three months?

your hands trembled; you’ve carried the weight of it all for too long.

in that split second, your nose met the juncture between his chin and shoulder. the material of his shirt against your cheek allowed you to bathe in what you miss—the hand of zhanghao that once caressed your face. the lips of hanbin that lingered with every kiss. all the moments that you hoped time would freeze just for you lives in the boy you stick with for survival.

all it took were taerae’s hands to rest on the lower side of your back for the tears to begin their stream. the sobs spill out. for once, they weren’t muffled like those other nights. they sounded throughout the space that surrounded you two. you allowed yourself to drop the baggage only for a few minutes.

taerae took you back to the house that night, allowing you to sob about all that you’ve kept under the wraps. when sunrise came, you found your legs mixed with his as his arms remained wrapped around you, and your ear pressed against his chest. the sound of his breathing is the one reminder of what a safe haven is.

half a year went by. taerae still stays by your side. the baggage got lighter.

it should’ve been the same routine; taerae goes off to hunt while you scavenge, and you’ll take turns on the night shifts. but that night shifted something between you two—stolen glances, quiet giggles, linked fingers.

two months have gone by. the moon shined through the trees, their shadows cascading on an abandoned cabin that you and taerae decided to stay in for that night.

a lit candle rested on the table; its amber tones painted the taerae’s skin—close to the fruit tree that stands in your lost future.

“what would you do if there is a cure to this?” you watched how his fingers danced across your skin, calloused from plucking guitar strings or wielding a gun.

taerae’s chest rumbled against your back as he hummed. “what would you do?”

a giggle left as you looked at the boy. “i was the one who asked you first!”

“travel, maybe? or i’ll go back to writing music.” you nodded at his plans before looking back at the light source. “what about you?”

“i don’t know.”

so…

“i would settle down if i could.” the wax continued to melt. “i think i’ve seen enough of the world. for once, i just want to stay home, indulge in my hobbies, live the life that i want.”

his breath grazed the top of your head. “with someone?” and suddenly, you became aware of it all—the heat that emitted from his palm, the movement of his chest against your back, the gravity of his question.

the words get caught in your throat. your heartbeat rang in your ears. for the first time since hanbin’s death, you considered it.

“with someone.”

then, he held back. it’s a choice, one only you can make. but when your eyes shut, it’s a quiet plea—a silent yes.

his lips met yours.

it’s a perpetual cycle of fighting for survival. you’ll endure through it all.

a month passed by, and you came across another boy on the journey. he’s named matthew, and he told you of a safe haven located in the town that you and taerae grew up in.

for a moment, it was an internal debate—should you go back to where the downfall started? can you go to where the memory of hanbin still lives?

but one glance at taerae was enough to settle it. the three of you embarked on your journey.

you remember that day. it was a walk with the goal of finding a car to make the journey back an easy one. the heat of the sun prickled against your skin, but you still kept your arms crossed.

“are you two together?” matthew asked, causing you to whip your head towards him. your eyes met taerae’s for a split second—confusion, dejection—before they landed back at the stranger who kept his eyes on the path you took.

“no, we aren’t.”

for the rest of the journey, it was quiet.

sundown came, and you found yourselves in a convenience store for that night’s shelter. taerae was in charge of taking the night shift, allowing you and matthew to rest up. when the stranger went off to sleep on the makeshift bed, you were left alone with taerae.

you watched how he cleaned his gun with a rag stained with dark splotches. the moon gleamed through the window—it cannot compare to how taerae shines.

you needed to get some sleep, is what you tell yourself. with one spin, you were about to make your way to where you’d sleep for that night.

“are we really not?” you halted in your tracks. you couldn’t look at him. “did it mean nothing?”

not a single answer left your mouth. your eyes remained straightforward, refusing to meet his gaze.

the warmth vanished with a lack of an answer. instead, it was replaced once more with the cold—the void—that attempted to consume you whole.

and when a scornful chuckle left taerae, you knew that you’d burnt the bridge. you walked away, leaving him to do his job, bidding farewell to the closest form of a safe haven.

two weeks went by and another goodbye had to be done. matthew stood in front of you two, a grin on his lips while tears streamed down his face. his arm was out, revealing a bite mark. the veins near the wound had already turned black. he would’ve turned in a few hours.

“go out.” those were taerae’s first words to you since that night in the convenience store.

you remember the last thing you told matthew before you left the room—you’ll get to your safe haven. the sobs that spilled out of him are ones you’ll never forget. and when you shut the door behind you, it took 20 seconds until you heard a gunshot.

the weight got heavier once more.

another two weeks went by, and you and taerae found yourselves standing in front of the remains of a safe haven. the fences were torn down. streaks of dark red littered over pavements. not a single sight of a soul lived.

still, you two trudged your way through the town, all the way until you reached taerae’s house. like others, his was abandoned. the cream walls were littered with red strokes and vines. when you both entered, you didn’t miss how taerae’s eyes lingered on a photo hung on the wall—a picture of him, his sister, and his parents.

but amidst the crowd of old, torn-down, plastic fruits, a strawberry and an orange leaned against each other as grime collected on them. once your hands reached out to the fruits, you pulled them apart—a mess of red and orange stained the two.

he came back to you in 30 minutes, eyes glistening with tears. yet, he only gave you a nod, and you two went to another house.

you then stood in front of your old house with taerae by your side. weeds grew in the front yard, and the wooden exterior has turned a few shades darker. silence settled between you two.

when you approached the picture frames found on your table, your hand darted out to a photograph of you and hanbin. there was no occasion when that picture was taken—the fact that you two were together was enough for it to be remembered. memorialized.

as you made your way back down the stairs, you saw taerae crouched in front of the console table with eyes trained on photographs. “was this your high school graduation?” you approached him and saw the picture he was referring to, you who stood beside hanbin with a big grin as his lips were on your temple.

“yeah,” you said as you crouched beside taerae. “we knew each other back when i was a freshman.” your fingers trailed on the wooden frame, gathering the dust before flicking it away. despite your efforts, it was still covered in grime, but you didn’t mind.

“and you stayed together since?” all you did was hum. “did you find anything up there?”

for the first time since you entered your old house, you looked at taerae and he met your gaze. your eyes trailed his features. the eyes that speak of a thousand words. the lips that once kissed yours.

and it hit you like the gunshot that filled your ears, the breeze that rustled the leaves that one night, the doors that shut close. it was 20 months since the outbreak happened, 13 months since you lost hanbin, and 11 months since zhanghao told you his last words—but it was also 13 months spent with taerae, choosing to survive with him.

“yeah.”

you found a lot of things within those four walls. there were books you once read growing up, stuffed toys you slept with, and the one picture of you and hanbin; they’re the remaining pieces you have left of a life that was good.

you would’ve kept it all, rebuilt the life that was ripped away by the hands of the infected—

“but nothing to hold on to.”

they’re memories, ones you’ll carry with you, but ones worth moving on from.

“oh,” he said as his eyes still held your gaze. “okay.”

and with one exhale, you said, “let’s rebuild it, just a place for us two.”

it was a whirlwind of emotions in taerae’s eyes, ones you can’t identify. for a moment, you thought he’d say no. maybe he decided that 13 months was enough. one more day with you would be too much, and—

“okay.” when his hand reached out for yours, linking fingers with you like all other times, you gave him a small smile.

when you and taerae stood up, you made your way out of the house, off to find a place just for you two—a safe haven to last you many tomorrows with him.

but while you were okay with a knife, accidents did happen. “fuck!”

“what happened?” you remember how taerae came rushing in, only to see you pressing on the skin around the cut on your finger.

before you knew it, you were sitting down with him as he wrapped gauze around the wound. “taerae, it’s just a cut. i’ll be fine.”

“still, i don’t want you getting hurt.” you watched how his eyes were focused on treating your finger. “i’ll be in charge of cooking now.”

you shook your head. “no, i like to cook. i want to cook for us.” his gaze then met yours, his filled with worry while yours filled with determination. they flickered back to your finger, and his hands busied themselves with covering it up.

once he was done, his hand continued to hold yours. you remember the heat of his thumb as it drew patterns on your hand. he’s etched himself onto you.

his eyes met yours once more, and he said, “okay, just let me help out.” all you gave him was a nod.

when you exited the house, you saw taerae holding his gun, firing at the people who attempted to tear down the haven’s fences. “taerae!” when he looked back at you, you caught sight of the crimson that poured out of his abdomen.

another gunshot was fired, grazing taerae’s leg, and he fell to his knees. you ran to him, reaching out to rest your hand on the wound as you began to sob. “fuck! you have to stay with me.” with his arm resting around your shoulders, you dragged him back to the house.

you got to work, focused on trying to patch him up. making sure he stays. “you can’t go. i won’t let it happen.” and while your hands busied themselves with treating the injury, you remember how taerae’s hand caressed your cheek, thumb wiping away the spilled tears.

“in the basement, there’s a piece of paper that has all the codes. if you ever—”

“no, you’ll be okay.”

still, he continued to talk. “if you ever forget the codes, you can always look at the paper. don’t forget that you need to always check the water system every two days, and—”

“taerae!” you croaked out his name in between sobs. “you’ll be okay. you have to, okay?” the more he went on about what to keep in mind, the baggage got heavier. “i can’t do this without you. i won’t allow it.”

and when you leaned your forehead on his, eyes closed, you felt his breath graze against your lips. “i need you.”

all it took were three words from you. “okay.”

it’s been two months since that happened. the safe haven was rebuilt once more. you and taerae fortified the defense system, hoping they’ll be enough to keep any infected and raiders out. all that matters is that you two were protected—safe—from the chaos.

you were ready to get yourself sucked into the world of the novel, but taerae came into the living room with his hands behind his back and a small smile on his lips. “do you remember what you made me promise you before?”

you frown at him, confused, until he shows you an acoustic guitar. “oh my god, you found one?” you put the book on the coffee table.

it takes only one smile from him for you to hold it back.

“any song requests?” he strums on the guitar strings, perfectly in tune. it’s almost as if he tuned it before coming to you.

a hum leaves you as you rest your head on your hand propped on the couch. “whatever you want to show me.”

time is the one thing that occupies your mind. it holds value, something that shouldn’t be wasted, and you learned to revolve your life around it.

when you lean closer to him, his fingers falter, messing up the chords. your hand reaches out to caress his face as your eyes flicker to his lips. you don’t miss how taerae holds his breath, how he stops playing the guitar, how his eyes look back at yours—it’s a slurry of warmth, tenderness.

“i love you.”

all it took was a three-word phrase from you for him to close the distance.

the warmth that spreads within you is like the one you experience in the abandoned cabin. but now, you’re full of hope—a reason to stay—in an infected-ridden world.

now, only one question echoes within your mind: how much longer do we have?

an eternity is what you hope.

taglist ➵ @kflixnet @blankjournal

#works of moni #kflixnet #bjnet #k-labels #zerobaseone #zb1 #zb1 x reader #kim taerae #zb1 imagines #kim taerae imagines #zb1 angst #kim taerae angst #zb1 fluff #kim taerae fluff #sung hanbin #sung habin fluff #sung hanbin angst #sung hanbin x reader #sung hanbin imagines

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firewasabeast · 4 months

Text

You Provide Strength

(Part 2 of my wedding series, part one here)

Summary:

After finding out his parents won't be attending his wedding, Buck asks Bobby and Athena for a big favor.

Note: Read here or on ao3. There will probably be more parts, but each part can be read as a oneshot.

It's six days to the wedding and Buck is in hour nine of a twelve hour shift. Both he and Tommy wanted to work right up until the day before the wedding, saving up to enjoy a nice honeymoon. Bobby had insisted on half-shifts for Buck, which he had tried to protest, but after last night he was eternally grateful. He wasn't sure he could handle a full shift of emergencies after the phone call last night.

“Why are you being so somber?” Chim asked, looking directly at Buck. They were all sitting around the TV, a commercial playing quietly in the background. They hadn't really been watching anything. Everyone, except Buck, had been chatting away, discussing their weekend and the plans they had leading up to the wedding.

And Buck knew what Chimney was really asking. Why are you so quiet? But they didn't use that word- in any context.

He hadn't told anyone the news. They were all already on shift when he heard from his parents, and it wasn't really something he wanted to announce in the first place.

His head had been hurting all day. He had stayed up late, talking to Tommy about all the times his parents failed to show up for him. It was stories Tommy already knew, but he listened anyway. He listened, and responded, and asked questions.

He had apologized for the pity party, but Tommy had reassured him that talking about legitimate trauma that had impacted his life was not a pity party.

They hadn't fallen asleep until half past one, then Buck was up by five to make his six o'clock shift. Tommy didn't have to be at work until an hour later, but he got up with Buck anyway and made him a breakfast burrito to go, making Buck promise that he'd actually eat it.

Ever since then, Tommy had been sending regular texts, and even called a couple of times just to check in.

“I'm not being somber,” Buck replied, slumping further into his chair.

“You're being very somber. It's weird.”

“Chim's right, Buck,” Hen agreed. “You haven't shut up about the wedding this year, but now- silence. Got pre-wedding jitters?”

Buck sighed. “No,” he replied, staring at TV. “Marrying Tommy is the one thing I'm sure about.”

“Then what's up?” Chim asked. “Worried Jee won't throw the flowers right? We've been working all month,” he smiled, “she's a natural.”

“I'm not worried about that.” God, he wished they'd shut up. He knew they meant well, he was simply in no mood to deal with questions.

“Did someone steal your clipboard again?” Chimney continued lightheartedly. “I swear it wasn't me this time.”

“Don't look at me!” Hen countered. “I learned my lesson.”

“Guys,” Eddie started, having been quiet up until now. “Why don't we chill for a second? Give the almost-newlywed some breathing room.”

Eddie always knew when Buck wanted to talk, and when he really, really didn't. For that, Buck was endlessly grateful.

“Well, I'm sorry,” Chimney replied, his tone showing he was still oblivious to the gravity of the situation. “I'd like to know what made our Buckaroo go from nonstop chatterbox to the qu- silentest,” he quickly fixed, “boy in the world.”

“I really don't wanna talk about it,” Buck said, shooting up from his seat. He could feel his face getting red. He didn't want to get angry with them, he knew they meant no harm, but he couldn't handle the talking anymore. “Please, leave me alone.”

He didn't wait around to see their faces after his little outburst. He quickly walked off and began making his way to Bobby's office.

Hen and Chimney's eyes fell to Eddie, who gave a nod before getting up and following behind Buck.

“Hey, Buck, wait a sec.”

Buck stopped, and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before turning around. “Eddie, I-”

“I know; you don't wanna talk about it,” Eddie replied, holding his hands up in surrender. “I just wanna make sure you're okay. I do feel it's my duty as your best man,” he added with a smile, concern still showing in his eyes.

Buck felt bad. He knew he could just tell them. They'd understand. They'd be pissed, but they'd understand. But something was stopping him. Almost a feeling of embarrassment. Embarrassed that his own parents wouldn't be at his wedding because, of all things, a previously planned cruise.

“I just- I need to talk to Bobby about something first. I promise i-it's not anything bad. Wedding plans are fine, Tommy's fine, we're... we're great, actually. I'm just stressing about stuff.”

Eddie nodded, letting that answer be sufficient. For now, at least.

“Okay.” He gave Buck a pat on the shoulder. “I'm here when you're ready.”

“I know,” Buck replied. “Thanks for that.”

----------------

Buck paused before walking into Bobby's office. He needed to settle himself. He felt on edge already, and he needed to make sure he didn't burst into tears the second he walked into the office.

Hesitantly, he knocked, entering once he heard Bobby's, “Come in.”

“Am I bothering you, Cap?” he asked.

“Not at all, Buck. What's up?”

“I was just, um, I was actually wondering if I could talk to you, and Athena, tonight, uh, if that's okay?”

“Sure,” Bobby replied, giving Buck a quizzical look. “Are you okay?”

Buck sighed. “Um, I think I- well, that's kind of a loaded question,” he let out a humorless laugh, “but I will be, I think.”

“You wanna come have a seat, Buck?” Bobby motioned to the empty chair across from him.

“No, I, uh, as long as tonight's okay, I'm good. I won't take too much time-”

“Don't worry about that,” Bobby interrupted. “We're having lamb stew tonight, there will be plenty for ya, so come on over. Seven-thirty good?”

“That's perfect. Thanks, Cap.”

“Of course, Kid.”

--------------

After going home to shower and change, Buck arrived at Bobby and Athena's place.

They exchanged hellos, then Buck headed into the living room to sit.

“Dinner should be ready in about ten minutes,” Athena said. “Can I fix you something to drink while we wait.”

“Oh, no thanks, Athena. I'm good. I need to talk to you about something,” he started, looking from Athena to Bobby.

“I can leave you two to it.”

“A- Actually, I need to speak to you both.”

Buck wanted to get this over with now. He was tired of the anxiety that kept building up inside of him. If he didn't say something now, he wouldn't be able to eat.

“Okay,” Athena said with a nod, taking a seat on the couch. Bobby sat beside her, while Buck sat across from them in a chair.

“Are you sure everything's okay, Buck?” Bobby asked. “You haven't been yourself today.”

“No, I- I know I haven't. Yesterday was actually pretty stressful and I haven't- I wasn't ready to really get into it with everyone at the station.”

“Planning a wedding can be stressful,” Athena said, figuring that was the cause for concern. “That's why I highly recommend going to the courthouse.” She and Bobby exchanged smily glances at one another.

Buck nervously rubbed his hands together. “That was an option at one point,” he replied. “But everything with the wedding is mostly ready. Actually, once I talk to you two tonight, it will be completely ready.”

“Alright,” Bobby said. He could tell this was serious. “You've got our attention, Buck. What do you need?”

“Well, you know how, um, Tommy's mom is gonna walk him down the aisle?”

They both nodded in response.

“And my parents were walking me. And we know that's not traditional, but what even r- really is traditional, you know? We wanted them to be a part of it because they're a part of us and like it or not they made us who we are.” He was rambling. He knew he was rambling. He knew they knew he was rambling. But he couldn't seem to stop himself. “I mean, I know it means a lot to Tommy to have h- his mom walk with him and I-”

“Buck, Buck,” Bobby interrupted, raising a hand to stop him. “What's up?”

Buck took a deep breath. “My parents aren't coming to the wedding and I'd like you two to walk with me,” he let out quickly.

“W- Wait a minute,” Athena started, scooting closer to the edge of the couch. “Your parents aren't coming to the wedding?”

Buck could feel the embarrassment on his face. “Uh, no. They're not.”

“Why not?” She asked pointedly.

God, he felt so small. “They have a cruise.” His voice was quiet, defeated.

Athena raised an eyebrow. If Buck had the courage to maintain eye contact, he would have been able to see the fire in her eyes. “They have a cruise?”

“Yeah, they have a cruise.”

“They have a cruise. Bobby, did you hear this? They have a cruise!” Her voice was rising now, concern being overtaken by anger.

“Yes, yes, I heard, Athena.” Bobby placed a hand on Athena's back to try and calm her, or at least keep her seated. “Buck, I don't know what to say.”

“It's okay,” Buck assured them, however weak the assurance was. “Really. I- I found out last night and it was a shock, for sure, but I need to not dwell on that.”

“Surely they gave some sort of legitimate reasoning beyond the cruise?” Athena continued.

“Honey, did you hear what Buck asked us?” Bobby asked, trying to get back on topic. He knew Athena. How fierce she could be when someone she loves is wronged. But that wasn't what Buck needed right now.

Athena paused for a moment before relaxing her posture. “Yes, yes of course, Buck, I'm so sorry.”

“It's alright,” Buck replied, letting out a laugh. He didn't say it, but he always wished he had a mom like Athena. Someone to straighten him out when he was wrong, but fight for him all the same.

“Are you sure you want us to walk with you, Buck?” Bobby asked.

Buck nodded. “I'm sure. It was actually Tommy who brought you guys up, and I- I really couldn't think of two better people to walk with me... my actual parents included.”

Bobby and Athena glanced at each other, giving a little nod before Bobby responded. “We'd be honored, Buck.”

Buck let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, allowing himself to smile as a wave of relief washed over him. “Thank you guys, so much.”

Athena got up, holding out her arms for a hug. Buck stood, allowing himself to be held, tears prickling at his eyes. A beeping sound from the kitchen pulled Athena away.

“I'll go check the bread,” she said, trying to hide it as she wiped a hand across her own cheek.

Bobby knew she was still livid. She'd probably be talking about this for most of the night. But he also knew she loved Buck, and would let her anger subside until he was gone.

“We can probably head into the dining room now,” Bobby said, getting up as well.

Buck went to head that way, but Bobby stopped before they reached the room. “Hey, Kid,” he said, Buck turning to face him.

“Yeah?”

“Is there anything else you need? Anything at all?” There was so much more behind those words. You want me to call your parents? You want the rest of the week off? You want to sleep in the spare room so you're not alone tonight? You want us to rearrange the wedding?

Buck smiled, shaking his head as the tears stung his eyes again. “Just show up. J- Just be there.”

Bobby pulled Buck into a tight hug. “That we can do.”

#911 #evan buckley #tommy kinard #buck x bobby #buck x tommy #bucktommy #tevan #buck and tommy #bobby nash #athena grant

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clubdionysus · 2 months

Text

[BAD DECISION #53] Imposter Syndrome

warnings: namseok aka the starluvrs biggest supporters!!, gallery date <33 starluvrs playing pretend <333 oh they luv each other soooo much :( disgusting! so lovely!

notes: remains to be one of my fave bd doodles hehe. the is the last chapter tonight bc it leads us into a lil treat tomorrow <3

wc: 5.7K

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

So used to chasing stars, Jeongguk had almost forgotten how much he enjoys chasing sunsets, too. Sky clear, save for a few wispy, high-altitude clouds, it fades through blue, clementine, pink - until, eventually, it's overwhelmingly mauve. Has him thinking about that time on your apartment roof.

A few canvases and far too much paint, he remembers it fondly - and knows that you were right to implement that five-date rule, no matter how spectacularly you both failed at it.

"This doesn't feel like home," you say with a coy smile, Jeongguk taking a wrong turn as you enter your city.

Leaving it up to him to implement the bird, you're sort of surprised that he hasn't mentioned it for the entire drive. Hasn't even been a little provocative in his jokes or the placement of his hand on your thigh. Has behaved himself well.

It's very confusing, by all measures.

"No?" He replies, as if he isn't responsible for it.

"No," you insist. "You never go this way."

You'll still be able to make it home, it just adds a fair distance onto the journey. You live across the other side of the city; Jeongguk centrally. You haven't been out this way since Taehyung's last showing at the Ryu, but you know the area well. All the galleries worth noting in the city are in this district.

"First time for everything," Jeongguk says softly, as if he isn't taking another left turn further away from the roads that would lead you home. It dawns on you that perhaps he has a place in mind to complete the bird - but you know your surroundings. Know that there's one place this particular road leads. Can see it in the distance.

Brutalist in its architecture, the cluster of concrete ahead of you looks out of place and yet totally at home against the striking mountains that shadow your city. Coming into summer, their green leaves obscure the rocky terrain that presents itself during the colder months.

You always thought there was beauty to be found in the brutal. Have had endless discussions about the building and how it's the epitome of what a gallery should be: imposing, unwelcome, and impossible to ignore, no matter how much you dislike it.

The largest gallery in the entire city, it's home to a rotation of exhibitions, hosting both heritage and contemporary showings for local artists, as well as international showcases. That's what really sets it apart. Gets people talking. You've a yearly membership, but haven't been in months. Have been too preoccupied with your own showcase organisations for Taehyung, or busy tending to your origami children with their father.

"Gguk," you gingerly question, glancing across to find a charming smile settling on his pretty lips. "What are we doing here?"

Lights spill from the large glass windows of the entrance lobby, and the parking lot is packed. Unusual for this time of night, for it closes by dusk most evenings. Only ever stays open late for special events - of which working in an art cafe has never provided you with the privilege of attending.

With a shrug of his shoulders, Jeongguk is a terrible, gorgeous liar. "Dunno. Just thought I'd see if anything was going on."

And as you spy an incredibly animated Hoseok enthusing with Namjoon out by the front of the building, dressed far more formally than either you or Jeongguk currently are, you know for certain Jeon Jeongguk will never stop with the white lies - but you also realise that perhaps it's okay to let them slide.

Pulling into a parking spot, Jeongguk's grin persists.

"Your nose'll grow," you tell him of his Pinocchio-adjacent tendencies.

Glancing across to you, Jeongguk licks his lips. "Don't act like you'd hate it if I had a bigger nose."

The way your lips part satisfies Jeongguk like nothing else. Knows he's got you thinking about his nose in a capacity that very few people will ever get to think about his nose in. Knows you're reliving the way it feels. Doesn't help with the way his cock is ready and willing to step into action at any given moment. Has been dying for the entire day.

"I'm not dressed for a gallery," you whisper, looking over to the building, ignoring his suggestive comment.

"I've got a spare blazer in my boot," Jeongguk says. It's on a hanger with a crisp black shirt, of which he knows he'll quickly change into. "And there's like, three pairs of your shoes in there, too. I'm certain there's some heels."

An oversized blazer with heels won't look terrible with the jeans you're wearing, but you're sure it will be far more casual than the rest of the punters.

Twisting his key in his ignition, Jeongguk tells you to wait where you are as he heads out to the boot. Returns quickly with the hanger for his clothes and a pair of heels looped over his fingers.

"Here," he says, passing the shoes over to you, then rids himself of his casual wear. Is thankfully parked far enough away from the gallery that he's obscured in the settling dusk of the evening. Strips the white vest that had been clinging to his skin. Tosses that towards you, too, then begins to thread his arms through the black shirt. "For under the blazer."

Credit where it's due, he really does think about the fine details. Staying in his passenger seat, you're a little restricted, but manage to get out of your sweater and pull the fabric of his vest over your body.

Tight to your chest, it definitely wasn't made for your body, but it's warm, and it smells like him, so you think that perhaps it was. You quickly switch shoes. Are pleasantly surprised, because you've been looking for these heels for weeks, unaware they were hanging out in his boot. Left them there after Pohang. Was worried you'd left them at the vacation house.

Blazer on, as you step out of the car to smooth yourself out, you're pleasantly surprised by the switch-up of your outfit. Make a note to seriously steal his clothes in the future, instead of settling for shirts.

A whistle pierces from Jeongguk's pouty lips. "Damn."

Walking around the car to meet you, he just can't help himself. Hooks an arm around your waist. Pulls you closer to his body, and steals a kiss. Mumbles into your lips. "I changed my mind. Back in the car. You're too hot. Gotta fuck you."

"Mmm, your self-control... so sexy," you joke, so amused with how weak he gets whenever he's a little horny.

"You forget I've seen you naked," he husks. "Self-control around you is impossible."

Gently pushing him away, you glance across to Namjoon and Hoseok, who are pretending like they aren't talking about you, when you know for a fact they most definitely are.

"We've got eyes on us," you say in regard to your friends.

"Good," Jeongguk huffs as you clasp his hand, pulling him towards the gallery. "Maybe they could learn a thing or two."

"Such as?"

"How to stop beating around the bush and actually date."

"Gguk," you can't help but laugh at his sheer audacity. "Took you, like, a year, a million birds, and what? Like, four hundred non-date-dates for you to actually ask me out. And I had to tell you to do it."

"Still did it."

"You're just as bad as they are," you insist. "Worse, even."

"How?!" He protests, quite positively affronted by such a claim.

"You were shagging me for months-"

"That's neither here nor there."

"-and still didn't ask me out."

"You didn't want to be asked out!" He defends himself with a mischievous grin.

"Doesn't matter!" You laugh. Neither of you are taking this conversation seriously - which is just as well, because you're coming within earshot of your friends.

"What doesn't matter?" Hoseok asks, a brow raised. Dressed in all black, there's a sleekness to his understated formalwear. It's classy. Sophisticated. The slicked-back hair, and menacing grin on his lips, too.

"How I managed to wrangle entry for tonight's exhibition," Jeongguk replies, finally giving you a little context on why you're here, 'cause he knows it'll shut you up.

By the entryway behind Namjoon and Hoseok are vertical banners advertising the seasonal exhibition that launches tomorrow morning. Brilliant and metallic as they flow in the light breeze, the signage reads: Golden Rage - in association with Amsterdam Museum.

Anyone with a pinprick of art history proficiency will understand the reference to the Dutch Golden Age, a term now abandoned by Amsterdam Museum to be more reflective of the darkness surrounding the seventeenth century. Still, the artwork produced at the time tells stories of everyday people often forgotten about in time. Moments of history were captured in a way that reminds you of your photo booth pictures with Jeongguk. Names and identities lost, but evidence of love and desire remaining for centuries.

Namjoon just raises a brow. Smiles. "You didn't wrangle fuck all. You're committing fraud."

"And you're assisting," Jeongguk playfully banters, as Namjoon unclips his PRESS badge from his breast pocket and passes it over to Jeongguk. Hoseok does the same, but his badge simply reads GUEST .

"If anyone asks, you're giving it five stars," Namjoon tells Jeongguk. Had been invited to the exhibition as a member of the press. Mentioned it to Jeongguk in passing, and had subsequently been roped into an elaborate scheme involving identity theft and the need to ask Hoseok to come along, just so he could get a guest pass, too. Swings and roundabouts, Namjoon thought when he agreed to it all. "Don't get me fired."

Jeongguk tells Namjoon to fuck off, but also promises he won't. You bid your friends farewell, smiles all round, and slip into the ease of what it's like to have Jeongguk's hand on the small of your back. Though his blazer obscures the touch and removes some of the intimacy, it doesn't make it any less endearing.

"Head up," he whispers as you stroll past the reception area. "Pretend like we're supposed to be here."

You've badges that prove credentials, and very few people (if any) would even think to check them. You're fine, and you know it, but there is a little adrenaline that comes with sneaking in somewhere you know you shouldn't. It excites you. Makes you feel all giddy, as if you're getting a glimpse into the life you want to build for yourself.

The gallery's white walls and marble flooring are clean and sleek in a way that feels like a far cry from the cafe you work in. The Ryu offers a nice middle ground between the two, admittedly - but you've spent so many hours there now that it doesn't have the same overwhelming essence that the gallery you're in now has.

In fact, you feel somewhat at home at The Ryu.

Jina's assistant, who's filling in for her during her maternity leave, is perfectly nice, but also far too keen on taking the credit for the showcases you plan and prepare for Taehyung. There's another one in the works, two weeks from now.

It's a little different from all the others. There's a lot riding on it. In fact, it's probably the most important and ambitious exhibition you've helped organise so far. Whenever Jeongguk asks about it, you downplay it - but as you glance across to him, and slip your hand into his, you know you need to be honest with him about it all.

And you will be.

Just not tonight.

The world can wait a little longer. You wanna stay in this dream with him while you still can.

"We are supposed to be here," you sweetly hum, playing into the role you're taking on for the night. "What's our story?"

Jeongguk chirps a slight hum of confusion, his warm grip on your hand tightening, then contemplates your question momentarily. Smiles, when he thinks of that first trip to Busan, and how you had decided to be versions of yourselves that don't exist. Realises that you're wanting to do it again; to make some pretend life for yourselves.

It's not 'cause this life isn't satisfying. Quite the opposite.

It's just 'cause you like playing make-believe with the man who makes you feel unreal in the most intrinsic of ways.

He likes it when you're playful. Likes what it leads to, yes, but likes the ridiculousness that comes before it. Safe and secure, he's allowed to be a fool with you without feeling foolish.

Rounding the corner, into the hustle and the bustle of the gallery lobby, he quietly weaves a tall tale of your lives.

"I'm disgraced art critic," he tells you with conviction, and is pleased when you gasp.

The chatter and laughter of galleryists obscures your conversation. Your lowered tones can't be heard above the pianist playing in the corner of the ample open space, champagne flowing and lofty laughter echoing from wall to wall.

You've privacy in the most public of spaces; a shared intimacy never to be shared with anyone else.

"Disgraced?!" You whisper with surprise, playing into his dramatics.

"Disgraced," he confirms with a cloying smile and a thump in his chest. There's an effortlessness to your back and forth; an understanding that you can indulge in such fivotly without fear.

And so you implore a little further. "What did you do?"

"It's not what I did." Jeongguk leans a little closer to your ear, so he can really whisper, "It's what you did."

You gasp, pulling away from him to turn your head in surprise. "Me?!"

"You," he nods, looking down towards with such affection you forget there are other people in the room. Don't care for the art, nor for the networking. You care for him, and little else. The feeling is mutual. "You're an old money heiress. The bird around your neck? Tiffany. The blazer? Gucci."

You're pretty sure it's Uniqlo.

Still, he continues with his lies of such grandeur that anyone would be enthralled to hear him speak. There's a magic to Jeongguk's mayhem, a sparkle in his eyes whenever he indulges in these little fallacies with you.

He's cosmic in your company.

"You were a muse," he tells you. He thinks it should be true. Thinks artists would be mad to look at you and not paint a masterpiece. "To some of the finest artists of our time. So many of the greats wanted to paint you - and so many did."

There's lore to this little life Jeongguk is making up for you. In his head, you're way back in the Golden Age. The 1600's. Europe, maybe. He's not sure. Has let the banners advertising the exhibition inform his delusions.

You're imagining the 1920s. Opulence and indulgence at the very heart of it all. He'd mentioned Gucci after all - but your art history is far better than your fashion history. You're thinking a good forty-odd years ahead of the first clothing pieces made by the designer brand.

Accuracy isn't important here, though. You're colouring outside the lines, and are damn well having fun doing so.

"So what did I do to disgrace you?"

"Well, I became infatuated," he states all rather plainly, with a simple shrug of his shoulders.

"Dangerous."

"You were too gorgeous," He says, then presses a kiss to your hair. Reinforces, "Too damn pretty. Out of my league and out of my tax bracket. Wouldn't even look in my direction-"

"But what if I did?" You suggest a revision to his story. "But you never noticed because you were always too concerned with other people also admiring the artworks of me?"

"Well, then it proves I was right to be disgraced for my actions," he assures you.

There are large archways around the lobby, all leading off into different exhibition halls. While you could make your way into one of them, you find yourselves walking around the spacious white lobby, weaving in and out of people.

"Tell me what you did," you giggle, your spare hand coming to clasp his wrist. It's an enthusiastic display of affection; reinforcement for the holding of hands. Jeongguk bites down on his bottom lip. Tilts his head to the side and then shakes it gently to rid himself of his giddiness.

"Collected art," he says, still smiling. "So much. I'd put a gallery of this size to shame - but the issue? They were all artworks of you. Lined the walls. Had run out of space. Different angles, different colours, different styles. Had every version of you imaginable. Bordered on perverse, actually."

You picture it now, Jeongguk standing in a gallery full of your reimagined portraits, bereft at the idea of never being able to have you. Perverse in his eyes, but pure in his heart - and you find the scenario far more erotic than you should. The obsession. The yearning. The desire. The make-believe that you know is rooted in something authentic. There's a reason that painting is still up in his living room. He gets off on it. Not sexually, but mentally. His ego inflates when he looks at it.

Admittedly, he does often end up a little horny, but that's thanks to the memories. Thanks to you.

"All portraits?" You clarify.

He nods, continuing to guide you around the room even when you reach your starting point once more. "All until the one that sent me mad."

"Which was?"

"You had a lover," he tells you - and finds that his stomach does a pathetic little churn at the mere thought of it. "Some asshole, sleazebag in the upper classes. A shitty artist, but one that kept getting shows because his daddy had the money to fund it and no fucks to give about his kid."

"Your contempt sounds personal."

And it is.

In Jeongguk's head, this asshole looks a lot like Seokjin. Prick.

"I'm an art critic, baby," he reasons, as if he's not just called you baby outside of the bedroom. Your heart is in your throat. Might just throw it up onto your sleeve. Give it to him. Let him eat it up. "Just being... critical."

"Okay, so go on," you smile. "Why did you hate his work so much?"

"They were sketches," he eventually says. "Charcoal, or something like that. No larger than A4."

"But?"

"But you were nude in every single one of them."

You gasp. "Jeongguk!"

"Hey!" He defends. "Wasn't me. Blame your asshole lover."

"Was it a scandal?" You pout.

"Not really. The sketches weren't known about really, not amongst the wider audience of art appreciators," Jeongguk reassures you. "But within the circles your shitbag lover frequented?"

"Oh, what an asshole," you say, understanding immediately what he's getting at.

An old-fashioned case of revenge porn. A strange thing to think about.

"God, everyone wanted you."

"And so how did it disgrace you?"

"One was delivered to me," he says. "To the place I housed my collection, attached with the note: Look, because you'll never get to touch. I knew the asshole himself must have sent it. Something came over me. A fit of rage. So, I went to his seedy little studio and burnt the place down."

"Jeongguk!"

"What?!" He protests. "I was defending your honour."

"How?!"

"I was burning all of the nudes!"

"Okay, so fast forward," you laugh. "We're here together - how did we get from nude burning to attending galleries together?"

"Well, it caused quite the commotion within the art circles of the time. Everyone knew it was me, but it couldn't be proven at trial, so I went home a free man - and when I arrived home, who was there waiting for me?"

"Me?"

He nods. "You. You were fascinated by my obsession," he says. "As if you're not a totally reasonable obsession to have. Anyways, during the trial, you'd become just as infatuated with me as I was with you, desperately trying to understand my mind."

"Did I ever?"

"In a way, yes," he smiles. "We both just fell into this state of mutual obsession. You were ostracised for associating with me, and ever since, the rooms we walk into fall silent at the mere sight of us."

"Do we care?"

"Not in the slightest," he says. "In fact, we revel in it."

There's a certain truth to this, no matter how absurd and whimsical the story may be. You do like it when people catch glimpses of you and Jeongguk. A woman across the room has turned her head three times within the first fifteen minutes of you entering the building. Likely just checking Jeongguk out - but how can you blame her? Face like an angel, body built for sin.

Much like Jeongguk's fantasy version of himself, you're convinced that the people who gawp at Jeongguk are perverse. That they want in him in the worst of ways. The best of ways, too - though you suppose they're one and the same.

Picking up gallery guide pamphlets as you walk on by the stand, you know that you probably look out of place.

Admittedly, Jeongguk's clothes look effortless on you, thanks to the proportions. The skin-tight vest and the oversized blazer seem intentional. Tucked into your jeans, the white fabric is thick enough not to go entirely sheer over your bra, but you're a little conscious of it regardless.

Jeongguk's black shirt is formal enough for him to blend right in - but you both know you're a little out of place.

Part of him regrets not planning this aspect of his evening - but he also hadn't planned on visiting his parents when setting the wheels in motion. Had forgotten he needed to swing by with the trophies when he'd arranged all this with Namjoon.

Nodding to a dark entrance towards the rear, Jeongguk says, "The exhibition I wanna show you the most is through there."

Dark and imposing, it's a large curved arch that appears almost black beyond it.

"Y'know, we could have just come on the weekend," you say softly, so beautifully in awe of the effort he's gone to.

Sure, it's just a few pulled strings here and there, but you don't think anyone has ever done something so considerate for you.

Silly as it may be, you feel like an imposter; as if things like this don't happen for people like you. Not that you've done anything not to deserve it, but because you've never really had someone care like this before.

Jeongguk, at the root of your relationship, is your best friend. He knows you like the back of his hand. Every vein. Every freckle. Every scar; what caused them, and what had to be endured in order to heal.

Attentive in his nature, you shouldn't really be surprised by such a gentle act. If you'd have heard a similar story relayed from his time with Jiyeong, and the art gallery was replaced by something she was particularly interested in, you'd have thought: Yes. That sounds like something he'd do.

You've imposter syndrome in the silliest of ways. Feel out of place - but you're surrounded by art. Know you're right at home.

Though if you were to think about it, it's really not the art that makes you feel that way.

Jeon Jeongguk is like the first bite of a strawberry in the chill of winter.

You wait all year for the mart refrigerators to be lined in pristine punnets of crimson and cadmium. Will pay a small fortune for those early-season pickings. A little underripe, and far too much white beneath the lush green leaves, you don't care for imperfections.

By the time strawberry season rolls around, you'll have spent so long without the delicacy that every single one of them will be perfect. Bruised skin, blackened seeds, it matters not. The flaws only make them sweeter.

"C'mon," he encourages, a saccharine smile on his soft pink lips, eyes adorned with stars as he looks at you. The warmth of his hand in yours only intensifies. You're not an imposter, his touch whispers. You're right where you're supposed to be. "We'll get distracted and miss it if we don't make the effort to actually go in there."

That's the thing about you and Jeongguk. Time wasted together is never a waste, but letting it slip from you is just so easy. Rough grains of sand; hours, minutes, seconds tumble through your fingers - but just like its honey hue, it'll stick to you, too. Will forever tarnish your skin.

Lasting, is the impact of Jeongguk. On you. On your life. On the very fabric of your world.

"Us?" You grin, taking the lead, pulling on his hand as you head towards the entrance. "Get distracted? Since when have we ever done that?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

You say no. There's no need. Will natter about nonsense as you amble over to the archway, instead.

Both laughing, you're in such good spirits that it's hard to remember a time when happiness didn't sit on your shoulders like an old friend; an imp with devilish horns that you know are the result of a clumsily broken halo. No malice, just mischief.

Above the entryway, thick black text boldly declares the intention set out by the curator: Common Skies . A play on the term 'common ground', you raise a brow as you look at Jeongguk. He isn't looking at you, but he is biting down on his bottom lip as if he knows you're putting it all together.

"What?" He sheepishly mumbles through an incredibly pleased, suppressed laugh.

"Skies?" You question the choice of word.

"Common ones, apparently."

Rolling your eyes, you decide to take the plunge and enter the exhibition - and are pouting instantly .

On a central pillar is the focal point of the small gallery room: Verschuier's Tailstar over Rotterdam.

Deep, burnt oranges illuminate a nightscape of the titular city, where townsfolk watch on in awe as the great comet of 1680 passes over it. Though children are crying in the foreground - fear of the unknown, you suppose - the piece has an overwhelming sense of wonder. People stare towards the sky with navigational tools. You wonder what they were aiming for, and decide that maybe it's better not to know.

How human it is, you think, to wonder. To marvel. To fawn and theorise over the things you can't explain, and the possibilities this world could have.

When you glance over to Jeongguk, there's a depletion to your heart rate. A calmness. Contentedness. The promise that for as long as he shall live, you will always have a man who marvels at you like you're a comet worthy of the history books.

Just like the subjects of the painting, he'll fawn and theorise over you. Won't be able to explain a damn thing about you, 'cause he'll spend the entire time fighting smiles and being at war with himself over what to talk about first.

"So," Jeongguk begins, recalling the research he'd done on the topic just so that he could talk you through the exhibition. "In Europe, historically, comets were signs of huge catastrophes. People thought they were a warning. Apocalyptic, kind of."

"Same as here," you muse, connecting the dots together and understanding the concept of the exhibition as a whole. "A common ground."

"Common ground over common skies," Jeongguk smiles with a nod. "This section of the exhibition is all about stars and comets. How different cultures reacted to them. Europe and the Joseon dynasty were worlds apart during the time period, yet they shared the same sentiments. Feared what they didn't understand. Still romanticised it."

Turning on the spot, keeping a tight grip on his hand, your eyes scan over the collection - and sure enough, you're surrounded by celestial events that must have shocked worlds and changed the trajectory of lives.

Despite the volume of work, it's curious how the most stellar depiction of a cosmic entity exists not on parchment nor on canvas. It's not etched into wooden plinths or carefully traced onto ancient moon jars that sit upon them.

Instead, they reside in your eyes and his; beaming at one another like lunar lighthouses in the midst of a tidal storm. The waves glitter and glow around you both, but your light will prevail, always.

Antares, is the way you feel for one another. The heart of the Azure Dragon. A red supergiant. Twenty-five million years in the making.

No piece of art strung up on these walls could ever compare. There are stars in abundance, of oil and acrylic, charcoal and calligraphy ink, but they don't capture the beauty of the sparks that fly whenever Jeongguk is by your side.

Strangers notice it. Do double takes. Whisper to their companions, do we know them? Are they famous? There's something familiar about them...

It won't be until they're on their way home, speckled skies twinkling in delight, that they'll realise they must have seen incarnations of shooting stars with their very own eyes. Manifestations of magic only ever seen in fantasy novels, or whispered around campfires.

Your evening is spent in an amaranthine haze of whimsical stories and unfiltered laughter. There truly is no better person to be around than Jeongguk. From hypothetic stories behind artwork that neither of you recognise, to the genuine, considered thoughts he puts into analysing the works you're keen on with you, he's the best gallery partner you've ever had.

The only one you've had, really. Seokjin never cared much for art, only for the superficial monetary value of mundane canvases. You've had a handful of museum dates over the years, but they were always awkward and forced.

And so galleries have been a place for you to indulge in introversion; a recharge for your batteries.

Something about Jeongguk stems your batteries from ever running low. He's like Duracell bunny. Go, go, go. The conversation never needs to cease - and it doesn't, or at least not until you're back in Jeongguk's car.

He's driven a little further into the city. Parked up at his favourite vantage spot on a small mountain not too far from the centre. The starlovers playlist hums quietly in the background, lights from the city glistening beneath you.

With your back to the door, heels off, your foot rests on the pad of the passenger seat. Anyone else, and he'd tell them off. Say something about how you should be more careful with the upholstery. Would reach over. Knock your foot down.

But he's too dumbstruck to muster any words. Just giggles when he looks at you. Bites his lip. Lets his piercing do the thing. Shakes his head. Eventually, tenderly says, "This is so stupid."

"What is?" You beam right back, so pretty in your shared happiness.

He shrugs. "All of this. You. Me. The fact we're a couple . What we're about to do. So stupid."

Not stupid bad. Not even stupid good. Just stupid in how giddy it makes him feel.

"You're thinking too much," you tell him with unbridled fondness. Know exactly what he means. Feel it too; foolish in the frivolity of it all. "But a word to the wise, Gguk - most girls wouldn't take too kindly to being called stupid."

"You know I didn't mean it like that," he assures you - and he's right. You do know. You just like winding him up.

"Too late," you feign over-dramatic insult. Pout. Wipe away a faux tear from your sparkly cheek. "Can't believe my boyfriend just called me stupid ."

Boyfriend .

Yep. He's still not used to it. Still gets ridiculous butterflies. Confirmed.

"I would never," he protests, reaching out to pull on your wrists. Drags you closer. Ignores the awkwardness of leaning over the centre console, as his hands find your cheeks. Faces no objection when he presses dumb, nonsensical kisses against your lips. Is dopey and obtuse and ever so simple in the way he giggles, even now. Doesn't stop smiling. Not once. "Not stupid."

Deep down, you know you both are, even if just a little bit. It really doesn't matter if you're a bit ditzy in each other's company, for you still managed to work out that all of your puzzle pieces perfectly align. Pretty smart, if you do say so yourself.

"Know what is stupid?" You hum against his lips, not pulling away. He punctuates your question with a tender kiss.

"I'm sure you're gonna tell me."

You smile. Punctuate his sentence, now, with dainty acts of devotion. Whisper, "The fact we're not on the backseats right now."

And while Jeongguk will gladly be a fool for you, he knows better than to keep up the dense facade.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" He smirks, pulling away. Is arrogant as he cocks a brow, back inclined up against his door. He knocks his head to the side, indicating where he wants you. "Ladies first."

"On one condition," you bargain, playing into his flirt. Will give him what he wants, but won't give it to him easily.

"I'm listening."

"Ladies first in all aspects of what we're about to do."

"Is that not always the case?" He ribs, using his tongue to toy with his lip ring. Knows exactly what you're insinuating. "Do I not always make sure ladies come first? In all aspects."

You shrug. Flirt. "Just a friendly reminder."

But Jeongguk has spent a day thinking about all the things he wishes he had done to ruin that damn friendship with you months before he mustered up the courage to actually do so.

"There's nothing friendly about what I'm gonna do to you, B," he assures with a cocky grin, then corrects himself. "Do with you. Now, get that pretty ass of yours in the backseat."

"Say please ."

He shakes his head. Presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek. Smirks. "Don't make me ask again."

"Say please," you reinforce, just to rile him up a little more.

But Jeongguk is in no mood to let you take control of the situation. You're in his clothes, and he wants to be in you. Thinks it's a fair trade. Knows you'd agree.

"Backseat, baby," he instructs, jaw sharp, eyes dark, determination unwavering - and how can you refuse? "Now."

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devildom-moss · 11 months

Text

Roses for You (15)

This had all started when you noticed a link between a book on the language of flowers you had borrowed from Satan’s room and the current lessons from your Seductive Speechcraft and Magical Potions classes.

In Seductive Speechcraft, you had just reached a section on the effectiveness of spells using non-verbal communication: enchanting glances, dance, and offerings. Meanwhile, in Magical Potions, the professor had been discussing the significance of using specific quantities when concocting potions; they had spent fifteen minutes just providing examples – including adding petals from two different flowers when using them for a love spell.

You couldn’t resist discussing the use of flower language – utilizing the type, color, and quantity of the flowers – to specify the magical intent of an offering as a form of seductive speechcraft. Asmo and Solomon listened intently. The same idea popped into both of their minds, and before you knew it, everyone was looking into color and number meanings, searching for the perfect combination to convey their feelings for you and try to put you under their spell. The only rule for their little competition to charm you? Only roses are allowed.

Will you be charmed by their attempts?

Fifteen Roses - Mephistopheles

Word Count: +1,100

I'm so sorry / Forgive me

You received an unexpected text from Mephisto last night extending an invitation to his home this afternoon. It was rare for him to ask you over – not that you were complaining. The last time he was kind enough to request your presence, you had a wonderful time. You also drank one of the best bottles of Demonus you had ever tried. It was an exciting offer, and you could barely contain your joy as you got ready to leave.

Solomon caught you before you headed out the door. “You’re looking cute. Did we have a date planned that I’m forgetting about?”

“No, sorry Solomon. I’m visiting Mephisto today. He asked me to come over.”

“What for?”

“I don’t know. I’m not going to ruin an invite from Mephisto by asking questions.”

“Do you know when you’ll be back?”

“Afraid not.” You pat Solomon’s cheek playfully. “You’ll be okay until I get back, right? There are leftovers in the fridge if you get hungry. If you try to cook while I’m gone, I won’t come home for two days, got it?”

“Yes, yes. I’ll keep myself entertained outside of the kitchen – all by myself. Maybe I’ll finish up that bottle of bourbon we got the last time we were in the human world.”

“Drink responsibly, please.” You shook your head and double checked that you had your D.D.D., wallet, and house keys.

“Well,” Solomon sighed, “if you’re going to leave me all alone for Mephisto, at least put in a good word for me about forging a pact. He keeps giving me the slip.”

You intentionally ignored him and headed out, offering him a sing-song goodbye as you locked the door behind you.

When you arrived at Mephisto’s home, he was quick to answer the door – almost as if he had been eagerly awaiting your arrival. Mephisto stared at you for a second, appraising you, before he stepped aside and motioned for you to enter.

“Nice of you to make it. Although, I’m surprised you didn’t already have plans.” Mephisto led you through a long, extravagant hallway – one which you knew led to his private sitting room.

“I don’t fill my schedule up with dates, you know? That would be exhausting. Still, even if I had plans, I might have been willing to cancel for you, Mephisto,” you admitted.

Mephisto was grateful that his pace had set him a few steps ahead of you. He would be mortified if you caught the flash of a smile and the blush that painted his cheeks. You had an awful habit of flustering him, and although he had grown more receptive to your flirting, it hurt his pride to be so charmed by you.

Gathering himself and trying to cool his burning face, Mephisto forced out an arrogant huff. “Of course, you would. The invitation itself is an honor.”

“Do you send all of your honorable invites over a text?” You teased, affectionately mocking his attempt to maintain decorum. What was so wrong with wanting to casually spend time with you?

Mephisto remained silent until he reached the double doors that separated the hall from the sitting room. He cleared his throat and added, “I should mention, I prepared a small gift for you.”

With that, Mephisto opened the doors and ushered you inside. The only noticeable potential present was a vase of roses on the coffee table. You pointed to them wordlessly, and Mephisto responded with a quick nod, causing you to break into a grin. It should have been obvious that Mephisto’s pride and competitive nature would encourage him to join in once he heard what everyone was up to, but he was the last person you expected roses from. His tsundere performance had always been the best.

You got closer, examining the vibrant yellow roses with their deep red tips. The color was mesmerizing – reminiscent of fire, like the one burning in Mephisto’s fireplace, but it lacked the distinctive, overwhelming orange hues. Instinctively, your hand reached out to gently trace the ostentatious display, each soft cluster of petals held firm against your caress. Yellow roses with red tips were the most easily recognizable bi-color combination. He was falling in love with you. Your smile widened.

As you continued to admire the roses, you counted fifteen of them, causing the smile to drop. Fifteen was not a number of roses you wanted to receive – least of all when you weren’t expecting them. You turned to look at Mephisto. The combination of meanings left you confused, and you had all but forgotten the color when you asked him, “Why are you apologizing to me?”

Mephisto brought his knuckles firm against his lips, wondering if he could force himself to say it. He dropped his hand and crossed his arms indignantly. Heat rose in his cheeks. “I’m sorry I was cruel to you before – when we first met and for a while after. You didn’t deserve that. It’s just – you were always hanging out with the brothers. With Lucifer. I was still so hurt and lonely back then – it’s not an excuse, but I thought you were going to make everything worse. But then, you didn’t. I don’t feel so lonely or pushed aside anymore. So, I wanted to apologize for everything I put you through.”

“Oh.” Your eyes softened, and your shoulders slumped. It was written all over Mephisto’s face: none of that had been easy to own up to. You had always understood why he seemed to have thorns, and you never expected an apology for it. His treatment of you had changed so much that you assumed it was all bygone. The fact that Mephisto had been holding onto his guilt for so long carved a deep crack into your heart. To keep it from coming apart that very moment, you walked over to Mephisto and wrapped your arms around him, hugging him so tightly that he let out a small noise – although perhaps it was also from surprise.

Mephisto made no move to hug you back. It was as if he had frozen. The room was still and quiet, save from the low crackling of his fireplace. Maybe the heat from the fire slowly reached him, thawing him out. Maybe your body heat helped, too. With trembling hands, Mephisto raised his arms and wrapped them around your back, pulling you closer until he felt that no one but the future king himself might have the power to pry your bodies apart.

A slow, shaky breath escaped Mephisto. He whispered against your skin, “And I’m sorry I didn’t realize I was falling in love with you sooner.”

You knew he loved you. As everyone else had seemed to do, you pushed him away ever so slightly. That short distance was only maintained long enough for you to stare at the embarrassed, wanting look on Mephisto’s face. You pulled him back to you, crashing your lips against his with a desire you hoped would soothe his need. However, when you parted, panting and flushed, that need had only grown.

Mephisto pressed his forehead to yours and extended another invitation: “Stay the night.”

A/N: And that's a wrap on this mini series. Ending on little taste of resolved angst. I hope you all had fun along the way. If you feel like it, let me know which one(s) were your favorite. Can y'all believe I wrote +13k words this month already? I'm working on the October poll fic now - fingers crossed. Anyway, anticipate that. Requests also open on Halloween (check the request guidelines - found through the pinned masterlist - for more information). Have a good, spooky Halloween~

#mephistopheles #gn!mc #obey me series #obey me #I think this series just proves how much I love writing Solomon banter?#obey me mephistopheles #mephistopheles x reader

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