#not my fault a rain storm rolling in is beautiful

[sentientgolfball]

Mountain: Sorry my dick got hard at the beauty of nature do you still love me?

[mamawasatesttube]

49. “Who hurt you?”. Please.

Lightning flashes. The wind drives rain into the windows by the bucketful. The world outside is a blur, all the city lights in the night blending into a watery mess. To anyone else, it might even be beautiful, even if it is Gotham.

Tim scowls and draws the throw blanket around his shoulders tighter. It’s not beautiful; it’s stupid and annoying and loud. It’s the middle of the night, and the thunder keeps rattling him down to the bones, and Cass is out there somewhere wrangling the Penguin, and Tim is stuck on his ass on the sofa in a haze of painkillers and frustration.

The TV blares on, news coverage that doesn’t actually tell him anything about what he wants to know. He’s supposed to be resting, but resting just makes him antsy. Even with the meds, his ankle hurts, a dull throb radiating up his whole leg, and all the bruises on his back and ribs ache.

Another flash of lightning lights up the room, bright as day. Tim glares at the TV as if it can quell the storm. A low rumble of thumber rolls through the sky, distant and ominous. Then, closer—

CRACKABOOM!

The lamp on the table flickers; the TV blacks out for a second. Tim sucks in a breath. If the power goes out, he swears…

He glances at his phone again. Nothing—Cassie stopped texting back and went to bed hours ago. Even Bart is asleep. Just great.

Lightning flashes—

There’s a shape on the balcony, a tall, dark silhouette reaching for the door. Light glints from its eyes, focused directly on Tim.

Adrenaline surges through Tim’s body. He scrambles away from the back of the couch, grabbing for the collapsible staff on the side table. His right ankle can’t take any weight, but he—

Oh. Wait.

Kon lets himself in silently, hovering an inch or so off the floor. He’s completely dry. The door slides shut with a hiss behind him, and the locks click back into place on their own.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re worse than Bruce,” Tim groans. The adrenaline fades as fast as it came, and his busted ankle sends a wave of nauseating pain up his leg as he sinks back down, wincing. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack one of these days.”

Still, his heart lifts. Kon’s been in space for two weeks; he said he’d probably be back in three, so this is a pleasant surprise. Tim’s missed him.

Kon drifts around the sofa, oddly quiet. Tim looks up at him and sees that Kon’s studying his ankle, then examining his ribs; the distant look in his eyes is a dead giveaway that he’s looking through Tim, X-ray vision and all. There’s an unnerving stillness to him, and Tim frowns.

Kon settles next to him. Leans in, cups his chin. Turns his face to the light. Tim almost winces again; the bruise on his jaw is still swollen, even though he’s been icing it. Kon’s hand, by contrast, is delightfully warm. He leans into his touch with a sigh, letting his tired eyes close.

“…Who hurt you?” Kon finally asks, his voice dangerously calm. Something in the set of his shoulders makes him look unnervingly like Superman.

Tim’s mood sours. He doesn’t want to think about his mistakes right now. “Some of Penguin’s goons,” he mutters, tugging his blanket around himself again. “It was my own fault. I got cocky. And before you try to go be all scary at them, Cass is already kicking their asses, so don’t bother.”

Kon’s quiet for a moment. Then he sighs, scrubbing his free hand over his face, and all the tension in his body drains away. He doesn’t look like a terrifying alien juggernaut contemplating holy vengeance anymore; he just looks tired.

“I leave for two weeks—not even two weeks! Twelve days!—and come back to you in pieces,” he complains. His TTK wraps around Tim’s waist and hips, then down to his thighs, like a harness. He lifts Tim into his lap, keeping his leg stable, and gently wraps his arms around him. He presses his face into Tim’s neck, and Tim tucks his nose into his hair. He smells like the rain.

“I’m not in pieces,” Tim says belatedly, winding his arms around Kon’s neck. He’s missed this. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Your ankle is, to use the technical term, fuckenated, and you have two cracked ribs,” Kon says. His lips brush Tim’s collarbone.

“My ankle will be fine after a few weeks. And cracked doesn’t mean broken.” Tim slips his arms under Kon’s jacket, curls them into the fabric of his suit, warm from his body. It’s a lot easier to relax now, in Kon’s arms. “I’ll be fine.”

Kon blows out a breath. He presses a warm, tender kiss to the pulse point just below Tim’s ear, lingering. His lips are soft, Tim’s pulse fluttering under his skin, and a pleasant little shiver runs down Tim’s spine.

“I missed you,” Kon says quietly. I was worried about you, and it looks like I was right to be, he doesn’t say. I always worry when I leave you. Like you always worry when you leave me.

Tim tightens his fingers in the back of his suit. “I missed you, too.” He doesn’t need to say that he can handle himself, that he’s made of tough stuff, that he’s had worse and bounced back just fine. Kon knows. That’s why Kon didn’t say he was worried, even though they both know he was.

Besides, between the two of them, Tim’s not the one who’s gone off and died before, so there. That always puts an end to the conversation they aren’t having, in Tim’s mind. Lightning flashes outside; the thunderclap is loud enough that Tim winces, and poor Kon flinches in his arms.

“Must’ve been a long flight. You look exhausted,” Tim says, pressing a kiss into Kon’s hair.

“Yeah, and you should be asleep,” Kon murmurs, brushing his lips against Tim’s jaw. “It’s late.”

Tim shrugs halfheartedly. He should have gone to bed forever ago, yeah, but why do that when he could sit here, stare at the news, and seethe at the storm?

Bed doesn’t sound nearly as bad now that Kon’s back, though. He sighs, takes one hand from Kon’s back to twine his fingers into his curls. The shaved fuzz on the back of Kon’s head is soft under his palm.

“I was waiting for you to come home and carry me to bed,” he says. A tiny, wry half-smile tugs at his mouth. “Since, y’know, my ankle is fuckenated.”

Kon’s lips twitch against his neck. “Well, when you put it that way,” he says, and shifts Tim in his arms as he floats them both into the air. “Your carriage awaits.”

“Mm,” Tim agrees. It’s his turn to tuck his face into Kon’s neck. “…I’m glad you’re back.”

Kon lets out a soft sigh. “Yeah,” he agrees, leaning his cheek against Tim’s hair. “Me too.”

[chernabogs]

Hi Ames 👀🫶

First, giving you smooches as congrats for your 100 follower milestone :3💖

I saw your prompt list and I was like ANGST POTENTIAL with all the prompt lines, but I picked some out with a more fluff mood in mind~

May I please request a Leona Kingscholar x gn!reader fluff read where there’s a storm on Sage Island and Leona’s been helping reader with their homework at Ramshackle but he can’t go back to his dorm bc of the storm

So he has to stay in Ramshackle over night with reader ehehehe

Here are the prompt lines I picked out:

- “The storm’s getting worse”

- “You look better in my clothes than I do”

- “You snore in your sleep. It’s adorable”

- “Sorry to put you through that. I guess I owe you one now”

Take ur time and if you can’t do mine, no worries :)

TYYYYY <3 <3 I love some good Leona content... I wrote him once but I'm ready to go again LKNAJF

Lights Out

Inc: Leona x Reader (GN), Ruggie (briefly) Warning: None! Not really romantic, but like... semi vibes. Sneaky vibes. If you squint you see them. WC: 2.6k Summary: An agreement to help you study leads to an unexpected situation when the weather turns sour

The weather had been kind for the entire week, and so Leona should have assumed by default that it was all a ruse. He had agreed (under some pressure from both your dire expression and Ruggies repetitive pestering) to assist you with your ancient curse’s homework—which really means he’s going to sit there and watch you while only offering a few scraps of information. He can’t make it too easy for you, no? 

The sky had been cloud free—as blue as a robin's egg, with the softest of breezes dancing across campus as the early spring began to wake from her slumber. He had spent a good portion of the day dealing with his classes and dozing in between after having sent you a brief reassurance that he’d still come in the evening. It was beautiful—glorious, even—until 6 o’clock hit. 

Then, like hell from above, a mass of storm clouds rolled in out of nowhere. The school alert system cited it as an unprecedented phenomenon, and as Leona glares out the window at the torrential downpour beyond, he wonders just how much of it is the fault of Diasomnia’s House warden. It feels like even the slightest of moods sends the man bringing down hail and fury with little regard. His tail twitches in irritation as he lets out another low sigh. 

“What’s the curse that turned that emperor into an animal again?” Your voice causes him to glance at your reflection in the window. He can see that you’re still hunched over the ancient curse’s textbook, your brow set in a furrow as your pen taps steadily against the kitchen table’s surface. “He had to go through a whole life-lesson thing to undo it…”

“He undid it with a counter-poison.” Leona hums as another flash of lightning splits across the sky, briefly brightening the room you’re both in before dying down once more. “He coulda stayed the same and still be able to change back.”

“That defeats the purpose, no?” He hears you setting your pen down and leaning back in your chair as he continues to alternate his gaze between you and the storm above. “If there was a purpose to begin with…” 

“The purpose was his death.” He turns away from the window and finally sinks back down in the seat across from you, his eyes closing and his head tilting back. “His advisor wanted him dead, so she figured cursing him would be a way to do it. Curses like that have been around since magic was still taboo.” 

“Yikes.” Your eloquent reply causes him to scoff as he listens to the sounds of the rain hitting Ramshackle's walls. Despite renovations being done, the acoustics of your dorm are still off-kilter, making him constantly pick up sounds that he shouldn’t be able to hear. 

The scratching of your pen accompanies the rainstorm, and then soon stops as he hears you shuffling around. “... the storm’s getting worse.” 

At that, he does open his eyes again, looking to the window with a frown. It’s pitch black outside, but he can see the relentless onslaught of rain against the windows glass. He pulls out his phone and turns it on; there are two missed messages from Ruggie, a slew of them from the group he has with the other House-wardens—he admits he is curious how many others are questioning Draconia—, and then one from his brother that he deliberately swipes away. 

“Seems like it won’t be letting up tonight.” Leona’s frown deepens as he reads Ruggie's messages. It’s a system that will be hovering over the entire island until mid-morning tomorrow. All students are being advised to shelter in place until it passes. “Shit…” 

“What?” You look up at him, your eyebrows raised. He sets his phone back down and fixes you with an unimpressed look. 

“The school put out a shelter in place notice until the storm ends—no students to leave the place that they’re at right now.” At those words, the lights in the room flicker for a moment before going out entirely, leaving the both of you sitting in complete darkness. 

Leona can still see fine, and he watches (with some amusement) how your eyes go wide in surprise and your breath catches in your throat. 

“Did something hit a line?” You’re quick to rise and peer out the window. Most of the dorms rely on magic to power their electric devices, such as with Ignihyde, but Ramshackle is old enough to still run on original lines. His lips twist into a frown as he remains seated while you gawk out the window in interest. 

“If it did, then there’s no use stressin’. It’ll be restored whenever someone gets around to it—after the storm.”

He personally doesn’t mind sitting in the dark. Granted, Ramshackle still is an ominous dorm to be in—with its ghost infestation and such—but there’s also a sense of peace present that can very easily let him drift off to a nap. If he needs to be on lock down in this place, he doubt’s it’ll bother him too much. 

That is if you let him sleep in the first place.

“I mean I guess we can just light some candles and stick it out?” You look back at him as another flash of lightning breaks across the sky, illuminating your form only briefly. He can still see your eyes are wide in surprise, and your breath is quick—either from the shock of the lights going out, or a fear of the storm toiling outside. 

He checks his phone again and notes that you’ve been going at it for nearly four hours now. He’s never had to pull an all-nighter for a test—lessons come easily to him without effort, after all—and a part of him wonders if that’s what your intent is. If so, he certainly won’t be staying up alongside you. 

“You do that. I’m gonna stake out that couch over there.” He scoffs as he undoes his vest. It won’t be the most comfortable to sleep in uniform, but it’s not like he packed an overnight bag in preparation for your study session. He finishes unbuttoning the vest and stands, stretching upwards for a moment before letting out another sigh. “Try not to drive yourself nuts shoving all this information in there.” 

“Grims lucky he went to Heartslabyul tonight…” you mumble. He watches as you go to the nearby closet to pull out some candles before he maneuvers himself around to lie back on the foyer couch. He can hear you bumping into tables and chairs as you navigate in the darkness before finally the faint, flickering glow of a candle being lit tells him you’ve survived in one piece. His eyes close and he lets himself fall into a state of comfort as he listens to the sounds of papers turning and pens scratching. 

…

But he can’t fall asleep. 

This is both inconvenient and unusual for him. It becomes apparent that, with the power getting knocked out, the furnace in Ramshackle has also broken down, leaving the dorm to gradually become colder and colder with each passing moment. He opens one eye to glare at the ceiling above as he can feel goosebumps rising on his arm. 

“D’you have a spare blanket or something?” He finally asks, sitting up to peer at you from over the edge of the couch. You glance his way, your face bathed in candlelight, before you hum. 

“Mmm, not one that doesn’t smell like mold, no…” you reply slowly. Leona’s expression sours at your comment as you set your pen down and stand up. “One second... I think I have something that might work.” 

As you pick up a candle and vanish to the upper floors of the dorm, he lies back on the couch to stare at the ceiling above. The remaining candles cast odd shadows about the room, and the slow ticking of a nearby grandfather clock proves to be both soothing and anxiety-inducing as the seconds pass by. His tail twitches once more as he listens to the sounds of creaking footsteps coming back down to the foyer. 

“Here.” He feels something soft hit his stomach and he grabs it by reflex. It’s a black hoodie—almost his size. “I won it at one of the school festivals. I don’t wear it often, so it’s clean.” 

Leona stares at it for a long moment. The front has an image of the NRC mascot drawn in a cartoon form while holding the set of keys he often sees on the headmaster’s hip. It feels like something he’d expect Idia to keep stashed in a closet, not you. 

Still, it’s something warm, and with some small grumbles of protest, he pulls it on and tightens the drawstrings. He’s sitting upright on the couch and glaring at the wall when he hears you chuckle to his right. One sharp glance, and he can see you watching him with a cheeky grin from the table, your ancient curses homework still strewn about. 

“You know, you look better in that than I do. All that’s needed is some holes for your ears in the hood, and then you’re golden.” 

“Keep talking.” He threatens in a deadpanned tone, earning a laugh from you as you look back to your homework. You know that he’ll never actually do anything to you—after all, by getting him to agree to come to your dorm in the first place, you already know you’ve won him over to some extent. 

He watches you from over the edge of the couch for a moment longer. The furrow in your brow, the way you tap the pen against your paper in a rhythm, the way you occasionally bite your lip while in thought. He seriously wonders why he agreed to come and help you in the first place. It isn’t like he enjoys school, and he’s certainly never considered helping someone with their schoolwork before. He wants to say it was solely Ruggie’s off-handed comments and deliberate looks, but he can’t shake the image of your distressed expression out of his mind when you asked him. 

Pity. It’s definitely out of pity that he’s shown up tonight. Ruggie just added fuel to the fire, that’s all.

But still, he can’t shake the sense of unease that stirs in his chest as he watches you for a moment longer before lying back down, his hand coming to rest on his abdomen as he did. The hoodie smells vaguely of you, and it does little to alleviate this feeling. He watches the shadows dance across the ceiling and listens to the sound of you working for a moment longer before he finally finds his eyes closing once more. 

It takes him a while, but eventually he falls into the shadows of an uneasy slumber. 

—---

When he opens his eyes, he’s greeted to the sound of a dove cooing. At first his mind doesn’t register where he is, and he feels a sharp sense of adrenaline rushing when he doesn’t see the familiar ceiling of his dorm room above him. Then the memories of last night come back—the power going out, the candles, your off-handed comment about him wearing your clothes—and he feels himself relaxing once more. 

“You snore in your sleep, you know.” 

Leona’s attention snaps to where you sit in the chair across from him. You’re nursing a hot cup of something in your hands as you watch him with a tired smirk. You pulled an all-nighter—he can tell by the slight bloodshot tint in your eyes. “Don’t worry. It’s kind of adorable.” 

“Adorable?” His brow furrows as he sits up, stretching forward and looking towards the nearest window. The sky above is a splash of pink and orange with the coming dawn. He can see the very same dove that he heard sitting on the windowsill, peering in with its beady eyes at the oddly domestic image of you both. “Don’t go annoying me with those kinds of comments so early in the morning.” 

“Sorry. I’ll be sure to reserve my next compliment for the afternoon.” Another cheeky little grin plays on your lips, and he tries to ignore how the sight of it makes that uneasy feeling return. He averts his gaze once more as he shifts to rise from the couch. He’s still wearing your hoodie. 

It feels nice. 

“Did you sleep at all last night?” After he composes himself and becomes fully aware of reality again, he glances at you once more. You sigh and lower your mug with a frown.

“I mean, somewhat? I dozed off at the table a few times, but I was working on getting through four units of text before the afternoon class.” 

“And did you?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. “Get through the four units, I mean.” 

“Three. Best I can do.” You chuckle in turn. 

“Which unit did you miss?” 

Your expression becomes one of thought before your eyes light up again. “I couldn’t get to the unit about impacts of curses on modern law. I tried to start it, but as soon as the court transcripts started popping up, my mind just completely tapped out. Legalese is not my strong suit.” 

Leona chuckles slightly at that. He doubts legalese is anyone’s strong suit, save for Azul, who uses it in contracts, or Riddle, who just uses it in general. “And your test for this is…?” 

“This afternoon.” You sigh. “I’ll just take the loss. I’m sure Ace, Deuce, and Grim will be sinking with me, at least.” 

He ruminates on your words for a moment. There’s no denying that you worked your ass off to try and learn as much about ancient curses as possible. He saw the three notebooks of notes that you were skimming through, and the fact that you’re sitting here looking dead on the couch makes that small spark of something start up again. 

Pity. It’s pity, he tells himself. 

“You look pathetic.” He grumbles as he stretches his back. “Tell you what. Lemme get back to Savanaclaw, now that the freak storm is done, and I’ll loan you my notes for that unit. Loan.” 

He emphasizes the last word with a pointed look. Despite how hard you’ve worked so far, he can’t make it too easy for you, no? Your eyes widen again in that comically surprised expression. 

“Oh, you don’t have to—” you begin, but he silences your words with another sharp glance. A small, grateful look then replaces the one of surprise as you sink back into the seat. “... sorry to put you through that, then. I guess I owe you one now.” 

“Well, I’m not gonna hold it over you like some people might.” He sighs. “But I’ll be keeping this sweater for now. I’m not looking to freeze to death before I reach the mirror chamber from here.” 

You nod quickly. “Yeah! Please. Just give it back whenever. Or don’t, you know. I don’t mind.” 

Your words falter awkwardly, and he can’t keep his lips from curling upwards a bit in amusement. “Right. Meet me back at the mirror chamber in thirty, then—and don’t make me wait, herbivore. I have things to do today.” 

Things being spelldrive practice—but he has a feeling you already know that. You grant him a sunny smile, which makes his chest ache once more, before offering a grateful wave. “Sure! Thanks again, Leona.” 

He ignores the way you saying his name gets to him as he shrugs dismissively before moving to the front door. “Don’t mention it. Seriously.” 

[emeraldborealis]

Leave The Light On

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x GN!reader

TW//CW: Angst, hurt/comfort, severe nyctophobia, longing, no one can communicate their feelings because they're scared and have trauma, work partners who live together out of convenience, no use of y/n. Can be read with pretty much any Leon in mind, but it works better with later Leon's.

Words: 2,750

The storm raged on outside, lightning lighting up the sky as thunder boomed every few minutes, it shook the windows slightly with the ferocity of the wind. Leon watched as the trees blew, a few of the branches scratching against the house. He worried that one of the branches might break and come through the roof.

Rolling over in bed Leon faced towards his open door, a small light illuminated the hall from the crack under your door. Truthfully he only slept with his door open to make sure you were safe. He knew you were probably sleeping soundly, you loved the rain and storms like this.

Staring at the soft light in the hall a memory came to his mind, it was a few weeks after you'd first moved in, he'd noticed your light on at an ungodly hour, so he opened the door to check on you, he found you asleep, thinking you'd just passed out without turning off the light he came into your room and turned off the lamp on your nightstand. You'd woken up immediately in a panic, sitting up in bed.

When your eyes landed on his figure in the dark you screamed, not realizing it was him. Leon turned the light back on as soon as you screamed, you were crying and shaking. He sat down beside you, placing his hands on your shoulders in worry.

You were his partner, he'd been through hell with you, he hadn't understood what was wrong at first.

"Sorry." Your words were soft as you spoke. "I'm scared of the dark."

At work you never let it show, you never had a problem going down dark halls, even leading the way. You never showed fear of what you might find in the dark. But things were different at home, you were just a normal person at home. You weren't a special agent on a mission. You were just a scared and traumatized person afraid the boogeyman would come and get you. Because you knew the boogeyman was very much real.

Tears continued to fall from your face, you hugged your knees tight to your chest, still shaking. "I'm sorry, I didn't know. I didn't know." Leon took you into his arms. Holding you tight he pat your hair, trying to soothe you.

"I should have told you I sleep with my light on. That I can't sleep without it. That when the light goes out I feel hands reaching out towards me, wanting to rip me apart, that I feel like something is stalking up behind me, creeping up to me. That something is going to get me." Your shaking persisted as you laid your face in the crook of his neck, taking in your partner's warmth.

"No, it's alright. It's not your fault. I'm sorry." His grip on you loosened, but he kept his hold on you. He wanted to hold you tighter, he wanted to take away all of your fears and worries. But he didn't know how to get past himself to reach you.

"I'm pathetic, aren't I? I go to work and push through my fears, fight monsters, do some scary and intense shit. But when I get home I can't even sleep in a dark room. I've been scared of the dark since I was a kid, my siblings would lock me in the dark coat closet. I've always had that fear of something reaching out for me, reaching out to hurt me. I was over it for a long time, only needing to sleep with the light on a few times a year. But now- now that I know what's in the dark... I can't sleep without the light on." You released Leon, pulling away from him, but staying close, staying in slight contact.

"No, I don't think you're pathetic. Everyone's scared of something." He placed his hand on your knee, trying to be reassuring. You'd been partners for several years now, You'd been on so many missions together, you had a perfect trust of one another, a beautiful reliance. But it was moments like these that reminded you both that you didn't really know each other. That you only moved in together for companionship between your missions, to have someone you could confide in about the stresses of your work. To make it easier to show up together and on time when you were called in. For work friendships and convenience, not because you knew each other.

"I don't even have the excuse that I have this fear because of work, I've just always been pathetic. Yeah, work made it infinitely worse, but I've always been like this." You looked away from him, licking away a stray tear that had run over your lip.

"Listen, you're not pathetic. You do amazing work without fear, without having to think, I trust your instincts on missions, I trust your judgement. So, if you feel like something is coming to get you in the dark, I'll stop it. I'll protect you and have your back. Just like how you have mine." Leon placed his hand on your head, turning you to look at him. "You are not pathetic."

A small smile came to your face at his words, as your glassy and teary eyes looked up at him. There was something longing in your eyes, a need that he sympathized with, but couldn't identify coming from you. It was the same way he looked at you when you weren't looking. But he couldn't fathom you wanting the same from him that he wanted from you. Not when he was so broken.

The memory fades as his eyes become half lidded, he was tired but couldn't sleep. Hearing another boom of thunder the light under your door went out, all power and lights in the neighborhood went out.

"Leon!" Your voice screamed, panicked. He could hear your fear in the way your voice wavered in your scream.

Leon was quick to jump up from his bed, searching through his nightstand drawer he grabbed a flashlight, running into your room with it. "Hey, it's ok. I'm here. It's ok." He handed you the light as he took your crying form into his arms, holding you tight and pulling you into his lap as he rested his back on your headboard. "It's alright. I'm here." He whispered into your hair, his forehead against your temple.

You held onto the flashlight like a lifeline, pointing the light at the ceiling, trying to get it to illuminate the whole room. You shook and tears fell down your cheeks as your lip quivered. You leaned further into him, pulling his arms tighter around you. You could feel it, the reaching and creeping of something coming for you in the dark. You needed Leon to hold you tighter, to tell you that he wasn't going to let it touch you, that it wouldn't take you.

"I'm scared." You pressed further into him, tucking your feet under his thigh so nothing could grab you by them.

"It's alright, nothings going to get you as long as I'm here. I've got you." He tried to soothe you, speaking calmly into your ear, holding you tighter against him. His big strong arms felt like a shield wrapped around you. A safety net nothing could break through, but that didn't stop the fear.

You continued to shake, one of your hands leaving the flashlight to grab onto the sleeve of his shirt, holding on for dear life. You wanted to hear those words in a different context, you wanted it to be because he loved you. Not just because he was your partner and close friend. Well, as close as you dared to get in your line of work.

A shiver ran up your spine, feeling like a hand was just inches away from grabbing you. You looked behind yourself, shining your flashlight so you could see better. There was nothing there, there never was. But you still couldn't get over the fear. Leon, noticing this, took a deep breath.

"I'd never let anything get to you. Never let any harm befall you as long as I'm here. I'd throw myself at any abomination, into any hell, before I let it get to you." Your grip on his sleeve tightened at his words. Looking away from what wasn't behind you, you looked up into his eyes. They were the most perfect blue, almost like the storm clouds outside, but they held so much more beauty and gust.

"I wouldn't ask you to walk into hell alone, I'd follow you into the dark. I'll always follow you into the dark." You laid your head against his chest, feeling the rising and falling of his chest with each breath, listening to each strong and healthy beat of his heart. Taking in that he was here, that you were with Leon.

Your words struck into Leon, making his heart ache with longing. He needed the consistency and support that he got from you in his life. He needed someone who wouldn't leave him. Who would stay by his side even through hell. And he knew you would, but he couldn't ask that of you. He'd welcome you in, but he couldn't ask you to stay.

You stayed like that for a long time, slowly your shaking ceased, and you felt more alright. You were still terrified, but you knew you'd probably be alright. "Will you stay with me? Just until the lights come back on."

"Yeah, I can do that." He pet your hair, nuzzling his nose beside your ear and resting his forehead against your temple. Taking a moment to take you in before he pushed your comforter back and scooted you both down the mattress.

Laying down on the bed he held you tight, covering you with your comforter, making sure the only part of you out of the blanket was your head. The flashlight was now sitting on your nightstand, shining at the wall. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it, you've done this for me after a nightmare, and I've done it for you too after a nightmare." His voice was soft, filled with care. It made you feel even worse, a tightness forming in your lungs and chest.

"But this wasn't because of a nightmare like the other times, this was just my own pathetic fears." You scooted closer into him, feeling like something was right behind you. Reaching out, wanting to rip you from the moment, from the safety of Leon's touch, wanting to drag you back into the darkness, back into your fear.

"Being in the dark is your nightmare, I can't help you in your dreams. But I can help you through this living nightmare. So, let me." Leon threw his leg over you, pulling you impossibly closer and holding you tightly.

Slowly you wrapped your arms around Leon's back, holding him. You didn't want anything pulling him away from you. You didn't want him to be ripped away like everyone else you've ever cared about has been.

"Wouldn't your arms feel safer if they were between us?" Leon asked wanting you to be the most comfortable, and feel the safest he could make you.

"I don't want anything to grab you. It's stupid, and I know that. But- I can't lose you." Your hands gripped at the back of his shirt, holding it tightly out of fear. Losing him would kill you. He was the one person that you refused to lose, even if it meant doing something that terrified you.

"I promise I'm not going anywhere. Ever. I'd never leave my partner." Partner, the word burned on his tongue, a reminder that that's all you were. Partners. But Leon wished he knew you better, that he could hold you like this every night, not just when one of you was scared. He wished he could dive below your surface, and learn everything about you. That he could love you, and be loved by you.

"But what if you're taken from me? What happens when you're taken to a place I can't follow? I don't want you to be taken from me. I don't want to ever be apart from you. I want things to always be like this, where I'm here with you. I want to stay with you, no matter where you're called to. No matter the danger. I want to always be your partner." The word partner hurt you as much as it did him. You longed to be something more, you wanted to be someone he could open up to, that he could heal with. That he could learn to love with. But as much as you longed for that, you knew that it wasn't in the cards of your relationship. He was unreachable, unobtainable. And he'd stay that way as long as you were a coward.

"Ok." His hand came up to the back of your head, slowly beginning to pet your hair. "I won't go where you can't be with me. And I won't leave your side." His heart hurt at your words, believing himself unworthy of you and your devotion. Refusing to acknowledge either of your feelings out of fear of losing you, of being abandoned.

You wanted to tell him the truth, that you had fallen hopelessly in love with him, that your heart ached when he wasn't around, and that your heart ached when he was around. That you had to fight every fiber of your being to not tell him how much you needed him, how much you needed him around. But you were scared, you didn't want to scare him away. So whatever partnership and friendship that you had developed would have to be enough for you, even though you knew it wasn't. It had to be, because you'd take what you could get of Leon.

"Thank you, for putting up with my shortcomings." Your words were soft, barely there. But Leon heard them clearly. They hurt him, he was the one with the shortcomings here. He couldn't get over himself to get to you. He couldn't let go of his fear of loss to let himself feel the full extent of how much he loved you. He'd just keep letting his heart hurt when you were scared, when you smiled at him brightly, when you were tired after a long day, when you were just sitting peacefully reading in the rare free time you both found between work.

"They're not shortcomings. They're just parts of you, parts of you that I don't mind dealing with at all. Stop feeling down on yourself because you have a fear of something. Because shit, if you can't be accepted for this, I'm fucked." He chuckled softly, but his words were honest. If you weren't allowed grace for a valid fear, he was damned for all of his problems, all of his shortcomings, all of his wrong.

"You're not as bad as you believe yourself to be. You're a good man." You leaned your forehead against his chest, you took in a deep breath through your nose, taking in his natural scent. It calmed your fears and relaxed you, more than any prescription drug you were on. It could make you forget about the darkness creeping in around you. Make you feel like you could actually be alright someday, that there was hope left for someone like you.

"I don't know if I am anymore. But you believing I am brings me hope that maybe one day I can be." Gently he rested his chin against the top of your head, needing the feeling of you in his arms, in his embrace. He could never tell you how much he needed you. How much he used you as a crutch, and how he wouldn't be able to live without you anymore. You had become his routine, every part of his day and his life was filled with you, how you made him feel more full, you made sure there was little room left for problems from his past to haunt him anymore.

"We've all made mistakes, that doesn't make you broken. It makes you human. You are not without worth, Leon. I hope you can feel that someday." You held him tighter in your embrace, letting a silence fall between you as the storm raged on outside. Closing your eyes you forgot about the darkness, feeling safe in Leon's essence.

"Yeah, you too." His words were soft, coming from the back of his throat and rumbling through his vocal cords. He meant it. He wanted you to understand you had worth, even if just to him. You were the most precious thing in the world.

[padfootagain]

Bookshelves

Hi everyone ! Here is a cute little something to answer this anonymous request for my 6k event : “I am in love with your writing style 💖😍 Can you make ben Barnes one with trope 16?”

Thank you for your request, anon! Hope you like the cute drabble I wrote for it!

****

Pairing: Ben Barnes x reader

Warnings: so much fluff you will get cavities

Summary: Nothing’s better than reorganizing your bookshelves with the love of your life on a crispy autumnal afternoon…

Word count: 1258 (short but sweet!)

Ben Barnes’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

The air is crisp and cold and you love it. It’s greyer than the leaves outside, they still wear their orange and red colours. The sky matches the global atmosphere of that afternoon: heavy with upcoming rain, gradients between black and white, smelling of the earth after a storm. You have a warm mug waiting for your lips right by your side, there, on the floor. A warm blanket wrapped around your frame and a fire cracking over cold stones. It’s warm, it’s autumn in all its splendour.

It's a simple afternoon, basked in Eta James’s voice, and it’s easy to forget that tomorrow is just another Monday, that you will have to go to work and get up before dawn and fight the cutting edges of the cold wind against your cheeks. It’s easy to forget that this day will have to end. Especially when Ben’s voice rises from somewhere behind you, a low hum that spreads warmth and reassurance across your heart, makes it skip a few beats in its excitement. He’s humming along the melody, matching the warmth of the saxophone and the quietness of his padding feet against the tiles. When he sits down by your side again, a refill of warm tea in his favourite mug, his hair is dishevelled, wearing an old black hoodie and some sweatpants, along with colourful fuzzy socks.

And you love it. You’ve never found him as stunning as he is now, looking cozy and warm and infinitely intimate in the simplicity of his appearance. Nothing fancy. Nothing done to impress you. You’ve passed this uneasy stage of your relationship a long time ago. You love each other too much now to accept anything from the other but their true self. You admire the curve of his jaw darkened with stubble, and the grace of his eyelashes brushing his pale cheeks, and the enticing beauty spot under his right eye. You’re not even thinking as you reach up to brush his messy dark strands of hair back, out of his face, so you can see him better. He’s smiling, turning towards you as you move your fingers through his hair, just the way he likes it.

“Alright, so… how do we proceed with this?” he asks, something mischievous glinting in his dark eyes, and you can’t supress a smile.

The task at hand is huge: rearranging the bookshelves of two people who adore reading is going to be a mission that will keep you both busy for the whole day. You’re going to love every second of it, no doubt.

“Do you want to reorganize everything by author? Genre? Colour?”

“Author is more practical.”

“Colour is prettier.”

He chuckles, rolling his eyes.

“I will do whatever makes you happy, my darling.”

“Do you want to separate our collections?”

He raises an eyebrow at that.

“We share a last name by now, we’re done compartmentalizing stuff and labelling them as ‘yours’ or ‘mine’. Whenever you’re sick, even your bloody virus becomes mine…”

You laugh at that, playfully pinching his thigh.

“Hey! It’s not my fault if you caught my cold last month! I told you to stop cuddling me, and you didn’t!”

“You looked too miserable. I was feeling too bad for you…”

The admittance is a mix of fondness, shyness and something extra-sweet that your heart can’t handle. It quickens its pace as it overloads.

“Right, so… we’re putting them all together, but how? Because for now, our books are a mess.”

“I vote authors. Because I’m an organised person,” Ben argues, but you pull your tongue at him at the playful teasing in his tone.

“I vote colours, cause it’s more aesthetically pleasing.”

“I vote for whatever makes you happy, cause I’m a clever lad, and I know I need to pick my battles in this relationship…”

“Clever lad, indeed!”

You exchange a laugh and a tender kiss, before starting to empty the shelves, Ben standing up to take the books out and passing them to you so you could organize them in piles.

It takes what looks like forever to empty all the shelves fully. You have mountains of books around you by the time you’re done, and Ben has changed the music to some Louis Armstrong and his trumpet. It has started to rain, and you have to turn on the lights as the sky turns a darker shade of grey. The rhythmic pattern of the rain against the windowpane and the rooftop warms your heart, and draws white clouds over the windows.

Ben is becoming increasingly distracted though. By the time the shelves are empty, he’s restless and keeps on playfully pushing your legs with his feet.

“Stop it!” you smack his foot away when he attacks again, making him giggle in the most adorable way.

“Let’s take a break,” he argues with such an adorable pout, you are this close from yielding, but you don’t, shaking your head.

“Come on, we can cuddle after we’re done with this,” you offer, and you notice the grin he fails to hide.

“In bed?”

“In bed.”

“Can I be little spoon?”

“If you want to, sure.”

This time he gives you a proper grin, bright and full of mischief.

“Oh, that’s a deal! Hurry up!”

You laugh at him as he starts picking piles of books, but he quickly slows down to organize the shelves correctly.

And you love it, it’s so satisfying to reorganize your bookshelves. You add some figurines, some cute pictures of the two of you as decoration to fill up the empty spaces on the shelves. And then it’s finally done, complete.

“I have to admit that the rainbow thingy looks stunning. Highly impractical, but stunning.”

“I think so myself!”

Ben drinks up the cold remnants of his tea, wincing at the nasty taste.

“We did such a good job! All our books finally put together in a pretty way!”

Ben hums in agreement, wrapping his arm around your shoulders to hold you closer, dropping a sweet kiss to your head.

“We did an excellent job!”

That’s when he realizes that his favourite figurine is missing. He looks around frantically, but you merely chuckle as you point towards the coffee table.

“Marty’s over there,” you joke, and he heaves a relieved sigh, walking over to get his Back to the Future figurine, and he places it on a shelf.

“Now, it’s perfect!” he chimes, turning towards you. “And I think we deserve to rest now.”

“You mean… cuddle?”

“Of course, I mean cuddle! You promised I would get cuddles out of this, do not break your word!”

You laugh at him but follow him anyway, teasing him some more while you make your way to your bedroom.

A few minutes later, you are buried under blankets, watching the rain fall on your windows, the touches of red from the trees in the distance, Ben tugged into your side, his head buried in the warmth of your neck as you stroke gently his back.

He heaves a content sigh.

“I love you, darling,” he whispers into your skin. “God… I’m so happy right now. This is the best, isn’t it? Just… doing the simplest of things together. Just… doing nothing. Just… being here, together.”

You hum, kissing his forehead, and you notice then that he has closed his eyes. He’ll soon fall asleep, he often does when you hold him like this. He can’t help it. He feels so peaceful in your arms, safe, untroubled.

“Yeah… yeah, I think that’s the best, indeed…”

[forjongseong]

words of affirmation // jay (ENHYPEN)

pairing: jay x fem!reader (established relationship)

genre: smut // warning: mentions of insecurity, body image, reader is older than Jay, fingering (f. receiving) // wc: ~1.6k

summary: you've put on a couple of pounds and it bothers you, but your boyfriend is there to remind you that you're beautiful.

author's note: I am absolutely delighted at the amount of response I have gotten from posting at fault, so I present to you, a Jay fic! still written in third-person, I hope you like this just as much as I do. now I swear I have proofread this work a couple of times but PLEASE let me know if there are any mistakes! anon asks and messages are welcomed!

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

It was a rainy afternoon at the café where Y/N sat with her two friends, Mina and Jayoon. The two of them sat across Y/N, talking to each other about fashion trends and sharing funny TikToks. Y/N then looked out the window and observed the people walking by.

A group of three friends, all wearing skinny jeans and a matching t-shirt with different colors, almost like a uniform.

A couple, the girl holding and umbrella and the guy with his hand around her tiny waist.

Two model-like ladies, strutting down the street with their boots from the newest fall collection.

“I feel like you would rock this,” said Mina, pointing her phone towards Y/N. “Y/N?”

Y/N snapped out of her thoughts and quickly leaned in. “Yeah?” She glanced back at Mina. “Nah, she’s killing that outfit because she’s got the body for it.”

“Still,” Mina leaned back to her seat as she retracted her hand, “it’s totally your style.”

Jayoon nodded approvingly as she sipped on her almost-empty cup of latte. The three of them continued their conversation for another hour as they all waited for the rain to stop.

---

When Y/N arrived home, she felt irritated. She wasn’t sure if it was because of the long hours she spent just scrolling Twitter and reading comments on articles about her boyfriend’s group, or if it was because of the amount of dessert she ate that made her have an upset stomach.

She walked to the kitchen and towards the calendar on the fridge. It was not even the time for PMS, so she wondered what could have been the trigger for her mood swings. Deciding to brush it off, Y/N made herself a cup of tea and walked over to her desk to get some work done while she waited for her boyfriend to come home.

Hours later, she found herself slumped over her desk, her glasses put aside and her laptop halfway closed. She noticed her phone blinking, an incoming call from Jay.

“Hi,” she answered, her voice croaked. “Sorry, I just woke up.”

“Be there in 2 minutes, babe,” said Jay.

Y/N glanced to the window and only then she noticed it had gotten dark.

Not even a minute later, she heard a knock on the door. As she walked to open it, Jay playfully knocked again a thousand times faster.

“My God, I’m coming!” Y/N shouted.

As the door swung open, Jay lunged himself into his girlfriend’s embrace, making them both sway side to side.

“Finally, I get to smell you,” he said as he inhaled into Y/N’s hair. Y/N chuckled.

“So nice to see you too,” Y/N closed the door behind her as she watched Jay take off his jacket and throw it on the sofa. He then rolled up the sleeves on his shirt and looked around the kitchen.

“Did you eat?” he asked.

Y/N shook her head. “Not hungry.”

“Really?” Jay stood there and checked the time on his watch. “I ate an hour ago but I’m already hungry again.”

“There’s snacks in the cabinet if you want,” Y/N said softly. She then walked towards the laptop and saw her browser open on the Twitter page. Instantly, she felt irritated.

Jay settled for a yoghurt and popped a bottle open as he walked towards the sofa.

“Are you sure you’re not going to eat? I can cook for you.”

“I said I’m not hungry, Jay.”

Jay cocks his head. “Are you alright?” His voice started to sound concerned.

Without answering, Y/N stormed off to her room, almost slamming the door shut. Jay saw that her behaviour seemed unusual, so he sat there for a while contemplating how to handle it.

Soon after, Jay decided to knock on Y/N’s bedroom door. It was already open, so his movement actually pushed the door open. He saw Y/N standing in front of the mirror, her brows furrowed, wearing just pyjama pants and a bra. Her hands were placed around her waist, like she was hugging herself, but when Jay saw her she immediately walked away from the mirror.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Jay did not know how else phrase his question. He was genuinely concerned.

Y/N quickly put on the black t-shirt that was already on the bed. “I don’t want to talk.”

Her response alarmed Jay, so he reacted by sitting on the bed and grabbing Y/N’s wrist. “Talk to me anyway.”

Y/N looked at Jay’s hand around her wrist before she pulled her hand away. “I’ll just sleep it off.”

Having none of this, Jay clicked his tongue and stood up. “Fine, but don’t blame me later saying that I’m not there to listen.”

Y/N flinched at the change in Jay’s tone. And with that, Jay walked out of the bedroom, leaving the door open. Y/N lied on her bed for what felt like hours before Jay came back into her room. Her tears that fell sideways to her pillow were almost dry.

“I’m sorry for raising my voice,” Jay said as he knelt down beside the bed, facing Y/N. “If you want to talk I’ll be here. If you don’t, I’ll be here anyway.”

“I don’t fit into my old jeans anymore,” said Y/N, sniffling.

Jay paused for a second. “That’s what this is?”

Y/N frowned and quickly sat up, wiping away her tears. “See? I know you won’t understand.”

Jay was mildly confused because it was literally the first time Y/N had talked about her weight. She had always seemed like a confident one, never worrying about trivial things like physical appearance, so seeing her act like this made Jay flustered and slightly upset.

“I go out and see all the other girls looking flawless. Slender. Slim. Younger. Smaller. And I’m here just… getting older.”

Conversations about their age gap had come up before, but this was the first time that it had bothered Y/N. Jay chose to listen.

Y/N walked over to her vanity and put on her glasses. She caught her reflection in the mirror.

“I just don’t understand right now.”

“About what?” asked Jay, in a tone as soft as he could manage.

“How you’re here with me instead of someone else. Someone your age.”

Y/N said the last part of her sentence almost with disgust. Jay sighed as he put his face into the palms of his hand. He was aware that nothing he said would ease Y/N’s mind, so he had to find another way.

Jay stood up and walked towards Y/N. He made her face him and gently cupped her face, closing in the distance between them by taking her lips in his. Y/N felt another tear drop down her face.

“You’re beautiful,” said Jay, almost in a whisper, “let me show you.”

Jay continued to leave kisses on Y/N’s face, peppering her on her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, and her chin before he went back to her lips. Y/N brought her arms around Jay’s neck, and Jay continued his trail of kisses down her chin and to her collarbone. As his kisses started getting wet and sloppy, Y/N sighed and ran her fingers through his hair. Jay circled back to Y/N’s lips and he pulled her closer to him, even though there was literally no space left between them.

Pulling away, Y/N showed a hard time catching her breath, and Jay felt bad. He then maneuvered Y/N to make her face the standing mirror by her wardrobe, so that both of them are looking at their reflections. Jay stood behind Y/N, his eyes never leaving Y/N’s through the reflection as he gently tugged Y/N’s shirt over her body. He kissed her shoulders and rubbed her arms gently, making sure she wasn’t feeling the slightest bit of cold.

“You’re beautiful.”

This time Jay whispered his words right into Y/N’s ear, and she closed her eyes. He carefully took off her bra, and before Y/N could bring her hands up to cover her breasts, Jay’s hands arrived first, cupping them and giving a gentle squeeze. Y/N laid her head back on Jay’s shoulder, and he kissed her tenderly on the cheek.

“Open your eyes for me. Please?”

Y/N did as he said, but not looking at her reflection. She turned to the side and saw Jay’s eyes staring back at her. She leaned in for a kiss, and he whispered once again into her mouth.

“Beautiful.”

Jay placed his fingers on Y/N’s chin and made her look at herself in the mirror. Meanwhile, his other hand was already traveling downwards, grazing her belly, and tugging on her pyjama pants. Y/N brought one hand up, setting it behind Jay’s neck, and her other hand guided him down. She gasped as soon as she felt Jay’s cold fingers graze her clit. The grip of her hand around his neck tightened, and Jay responded with a kiss to her shoulder.

He continued to finger her, alternating between digits, and once in a while whispering in her ear again how beautiful she was. Y/N started to squirm, and her breath became hitched. Jay took this as a sign to speed up.

“Jay,” Y/N sighed between her breath. “Don’t stop.”

Moments later, she came on his fingers as they still stood in the same position. Jay brought his right hand down to give her a squeeze around her waist, telling her she did a good job. He brought his left hand towards his mouth and licked his fingers clean, still looking at Y/N.

“My beautiful, beautiful Y/N,” said Jay as Y/N turned to face him. “Don’t let anyone, or anything, make you think otherwise.”

Y/N pulled Jay’s face down to kiss him deeply, hoping her gratitude could be delivered through her lips. Jay smiled into the kiss and tightened his grip around the waist of his beautiful girlfriend.

-END-

© forjongseong 2022, all rights reserved

reblogs and feedback would be much appreciated!

[a-new-superhero]

Shattered (A Jikook Story): Prologue

Summary: Park Jimin was 7 years old when he first saw another little boy staring back at him from the mirror in the hallway of his childhood home, a face that would follow him as he grew up and into a life that is far different from the one he hoped for.

Jeon Jungkook is haunted by the losses he’s suffered and helpless against a father that is deadly in his grief and tearing apart the kingdom that Jungkook will one day rule. His only true comfort is the familiar face of the boy that watches him from the place where his reflection should be.

When their two worlds collide, reality as they each know it will shatter into pieces. But will Jimin and Jungkook be able to free themselves and put the pieces back together? Or is it already too late?

Pairing: Jungkook x Jimin

Warnings: Fantasy AU, supernatural elements, slow burn, mentions of death/violence

Word Count: 1,071

Masterlist || Padlet || AO3

Author's Note: Oh, hi! Wow, it's been a long time since I've posted my writing on Tumblr or written fanfiction at all really. If you've come here from my other blogs then you'll already know that I've previously written for The Walking Dead and Supernatural over @twdsunshine and Sons Of Anarchy over @charmingoutlaws. But both of those blogs are now closed and I'm here writing for BTS instead. Forever a fangirl, I swear.

So, this is obviously my first time writing for these characters and I've basically built a whole new world for them just to make it extra challenging! It's an AU with two different worlds and magick and monsters and all sorts of weird and wonderful things going on, and there will be angst and hurt and comfort and fluff and some spicy moments, and it will all centre around the beautiful Jikook, and you're all going to love it, okay? Okay.

It goes without saying that my characterisation of the boys is based on their public personas/comments made in interviews and such like. I don't know them. They are essentially fictional characters here but I hope you will love them as much as I do.

Are we ready, ARMY? Not sure I am, but here goes nothing.

Let's get it!

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

Jimin.

Jimin.

Jimin.

The storm is closing in, rain-heavy clouds rolling overhead.  The thunderous footsteps pursuing the two men reverberate off of the trees that surround them, the thick trunks dense and dark, tangled roots protruding and causing them to trip and stumble as they flee. Jungkook’s heart pounds in time with the name that is repeating in his head.  

Jimin.

Jimin’s palm is sweaty in his, and Jungkook can’t keep himself from casting anxious glances at the other man, taking in the pale cast to his skin, the panic in his wide eyes.  Jimin’s hair is plastered to his forehead, his breath coming in short sharp gasps, and Jungkook fumbles in his pocket for the device he has been given, feeling it slip and slide between his slick fingers.  The switch is right there.  He is so painfully aware of it that it’s almost burning him through the fabric of his pants.  One touch and it will activate, but who knows what will happen then?  Right now, all Jungkook really knows is that Jimin is at his side, running for his life, and it’s his fault.

It is all his fault.

Jimin.

After all, isn’t it because of Jungkook that Jimin is here in the first place?  Not just fleeing from the oncoming troops and their mutts, but in the Geoul Kingdom instead of safe and sound at home in his own world where nobody wants to hurt him, to use him to force Jungkook’s cooperation.  Wasn’t it Jungkook that had sought comfort from the smaller man, needed the strength Jimin brought him in order to do what he should’ve done years ago?  He’d been so close to giving up before Jimin had tumbled into his life, fragile and afraid and so, so lost.  Jungkook had been bordering on apathetic, unable to care any longer about the atrocities he’d witnessed, the cruelty inflicted on his people.  He’d been too worn down by his own divided loyalties to even consider fighting like he should have.  Because he should have fought sooner, so much sooner.  

Jimin.

Jimin.

Perhaps if he had, he wouldn’t be seeing moments from his past flash through the front of his mind, his history in fast forward as his feet pound against the packed earth, wouldn’t be counting his regrets as they come upon the cliff edge faster than he ever would have imagined possible.  He’d thought he’d turned them away from the sheer drop a mile or so back, trying to lead them in a wide curve that would take them to the mountains, where they could maybe lose their pursuers in the rocky outcrops, regroup and recover, but here they are: nothing but air in front of them, towering waves whipped up by the fierce wind ready to toss them around and tug them down and steal the breath from their lungs.

No…

Jimin.

Jungkook’s feet send loose stones clattering over the edge of the rock face as he skids to a stop, throwing his free arm out to curl around Jimin’s waist and bring him to a sudden, jarring halt.  He can feel the ragged rise and fall of Jimin’s chest as he pants, whipping his head left and right as he searches desperately for a way out.  

There isn’t one.  Jungkook knows it.  He knows this land, these woods, the wild rugged cut of the coast.  It’s his home after all, the Kingdom he had been born to one day rule, that he loves too fiercely to leave but has been too weak to stand up and protect.  

Jimin.

Oh Gods, Jimin.

Breathless shouts reach his ears above the gale, at the same time as shadowy figures appear from between the trees at their back, some moving in formation and sporting weapons, others creeping low to the ground, bodies taut with tension and rumbling with deep, hungry growls.  They lurk in his peripheral vision as he stares at Jimin, his hand buried deep in his pocket once again, drawing up every ounce of faith he has as he fists the device and draws it out into the open.  He watches as the other man’s gaze drops to take it in before meeting his, a look of understanding in Jimin’s eyes that Jungkook swears he can feel deep in his heart, steadying him as he runs the pad of his thumb over the switch.

“Do you trust me?”  The words are snatched away by the howling wind, too quiet to be able to stand up to its wrath, but, when Jimin nods without hesitation, he takes it as the confirmation he needs it to be.  “Okay.”

He readjusts his grip on the smaller man, their fingers lacing together, sticky and searing hot with exertion, but solid, reassuring all the same.  Because even in the midst of the chaos and the fear and the torrential downpour that has been unleashed upon them, Jimin is all that Jungkook can really see, all that he can feel.  Just Jimin, watching, waiting, trusting, hoping…  And Jungkook hopes too; hopes that this won’t be the end for them when they’ve only really just begun.

Around them, soldiers ready their rifles.  They’ve formed into a tight semi-circle, trapping the two men between themselves and the sea, as their mutts pace back and forth behind them, strings of drool dripping from their gnashing jaws, but Jungkook shuts them all out, keeps his attention on Jimin, swallowing hard as the other man nods again.  

“Let’s go, Kook.”  He follows the movement of Jimin’s lips as he urges him on, still offering him strength even as his life hangs in the balance.  Because this is Jimin, and of course he’s selflessly trying to be there for him even as the world around them crumbles.  So, Jungkook has to be strong, he has to.  For him.

Jimin.

He casts one fleeting look at the troops that trap them, condemning them to their fate on his own father’s orders, and then he fidgets with the device once more, deaf to the commands being bellowed at them across the open clifftop.

“On three,” he murmurs, tugging Jimin a step closer to the edge, still gripping him tight.  “One…

Two…

Three!”

He jumps, propelling himself forward and pulling Jimin with him into empty air, plummeting downwards as the breath is punched from his lungs.

Jimin.

Jimin.

Jimin.

Ji-

A flash of lightning blinds him, and Jungkook flips the switch.

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

Thank you so much for reading! Remember, likes, comments and reblogs are all very much appreciated. And I will be creating a tag list if anybody wants to be notified when the next part drops, so hit me up if you want to be added!

[sentinelpri]

Rainy Days

Might Guy loves rainy days. They’re perfect for training, they’re beautiful, and they’re calming. On top of that, the village tends to be less busy on rainy days, so he can get things like grocery shopping done without too much of a hassle.

He wakes up on a day when the thunderstorms outside are particularly bad, alone in his and Kakashi’s queen-sized bed. He’s disappointed to find that his boyfriend isn’t by his side to cuddle up to. However, Guy knows that Kakashi likes to go out early to scour bookstores, train, take his students on missions, and visit the stone memorial monument. So, he doesn’t think anything of it and instead takes the morning to get a good workout and a shower in. After that, he goes to the grocery store and heads home to cook breakfast.

By then, it’s past ten thirty. With not so much as a note or an appearance by Kakashi, Guy starts to become concerned about his lover’s whereabouts. Just then, he hears the front door slam open. He’s in the middle of scrambling eggs, flipping protein pancakes, and steeping tea, so he doesn’t rush to greet Kakashi, but he does turn around and speak upon hearing Kakashi enter the kitchen.

“Rival, I missed you! You must have woken up really early to beat me out of the house. Where have you been? Was your morning good? How’d you sleep?” Guy asks with a grin. That grin falls the moment he gets a good look at Kakashi, though. Kakashi is covered head to toe in rain and the look in his visible eye is… Haunting, to say the least. Kakashi doesn’t even glance at him. “Rival?”

“Hm?” Kakashi blinks as if Guy’s voice just snapped him out of a trance. Still, he won’t meet Guy’s gaze. “Oh, sorry, I was just… Out. Doing things. You know how it is.”

“Kakashi, where were you? No- more importantly- are you… Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Kakashi lies through his teeth and exits the room.

Guy waits to hear their bedroom door lock, but instead, Kakashi comes back a few minutes later with a sleeveless tank and a pair of boxers on. Guy hears the washer starting, so he assumes that Kakashi tosses his wet clothes in there. Kakashi fixes his mask over his face and adjusts his headband before sitting at the kitchen table.

“Would you like some breakfast?” Guy offers as he finishes making the food. “I made pancakes and eggs.”

“I’ll pass, but if you could get me some of the tea that’s on the stove…” Kakashi trails off. “It smells like jasmine. Just don’t add sugar.”

Silence takes over. Guy turns off the stove, pours both of them a cup of tea, and makes a plate of food for himself. Then, he sets one of the cups in front of Kakashi.

“Here,” Guy says and sits down across from his rival with his own cup of tea and his breakfast.

“Thank you,” Kakashi murmurs and pulls his mask down so he can sip on the hot drink.

“You seem like you’re deep in thought today, rival,” Guy starts, prying, though he’s sure he can already guess what this is about. For whatever reason, Kakashi always gets particularly depressed about his former teammates and sensei whenever storm season rolls around. Still, the ravenette tries to frame it playfully so as to not sour the mood any more- on the off chance that it’s something minor that he can distract Kakashi from. “What, are you trying to come up with an idea for our next contest? Or did you read a new book?”

“No,” Kakashi shakes his head, then follows it up with a statement that hits Guy like a fucking truck. “It was storming just like this when I killed Rin.”

At that, Guy’s brow furrows. It takes everything in him not to slam a fist into the kitchen table.

“Don’t phrase it like you killed her on purpose, Kakashi! You didn’t kill Rin… You know that she chose-”

“Don’t phrase it like it isn’t my fault. She died by my hand- I should’ve known she’d try to do something like that, and I should’ve been able to prevent it, but… I killed her,” Kakashi clasps the cup of tea in his hands and pulls his mask down to sip at it. He looks totally dejected, his expression showing everything even with his left eye covered by his headband. “Back then, it just wouldn’t stop raining. I’ve always hated Kirigakure, and since that day, I’ve hated the summers here because they so strongly resemble this nightmare that I can’t escape.”

Suddenly, Guy’s appetite shrivels to nothing. The eggs and pancakes turn ice cold. Like Kakashi, he opts to sip on his tea rather than eating.

“You know, if I’m remembering correctly, Rin loved this time of year,” Guy murmurs. As tempting as it is, he knows better than to argue with Kakashi about whether or not all of the traumatic things that have happened to him were his fault or not. It never goes anywhere productive and all it results in is making Kakashi more upset, so he changes the subject to something more optimistic. “Her and I were never really close, but I remember when you guys were younger, she’d drag you and Obito into the rain to play in it- even after you graduated from the academy! Storm season was her favorite.”

A flash of lightning tears through the sky outside. Both men can see it through the kitchen window. Guy doesn’t miss how Kakashi tenses at the booms of thunder that follow.

“That’s true,” Kakashi folds his arms over the table and rests his head on them. Guy notices that the bags under his eyes are a little more prominent than usual. “But now it’s been ruined for me… I can’t enjoy it for her, as much as I’d love to.”

“Do you always think about them like this on rainy days?”

“There isn’t a day that passes that I don’t think about them, Guy, but I suppose the gloomy weather does make it worse than usual. It was raining like this during Minato and Kushina’s funeral service as well… Ah, I’m just glad I don’t have to see my team today. I couldn’t even imagine trying to interact with them like this.”

“I don’t know, Kakashi, seeing them may be a much needed distraction,” Guy softly argues. “Maybe they’d cheer you up? Or at least get your mind off of it-”

“No, they wouldn’t. They only ever make these days worse for me. Looking at Naruto and Sakura hurts my soul to the point that I purposefully don’t train them the way I should be because they remind me so much of Obito and Rin, and I can’t bear to be around them. Then, there’s Sasuke… Don’t even get me started on him. He’s like how I was back then but so much worse. I’m…”

“What is it?”

“I’m sorry you have to deal with me when I’m like this,” Kakashi apologizes. Guy frowns at that. “I don’t know why you entertain it. If I were you, I’d leave.”

“It’s because I love you,” Guy says back without so much as a pause. He reaches across the table to take one of Kakashi’s hands in his own, and at that, Kakashi’s visible eye widens. “And because I know you’d do the same for me. I would never just leave you. Is there anything that would make you feel better? A contest for distraction? Eggplant miso soup? We could watch that new Icha Icha movie together, or would you rather we go pick up some flowers and visit the monument together?”

“I spent all morning there,” Kakashi responds. That explains why he’s been gone since four in the morning and only just now returned, soaked head to toe in rain water. “Why else do you think I came back a bit ago drenched in rain?”

“I understand if you don’t want advice right now, but have you considered going and seeing Rin’s family? It may give you some closure. I’m sure they’d agree that it’s not your fault.”

“I tried going over there to offer my condolences and apologies after she passed, and her father basically told me that I’d taken his entire life away by murdering his daughter…” Kakashi explains, to which Guy winces. He never knew that had happened. Kakashi has never talked about it, though it’s obvious why that is the case. Guy quickly regrets saying anything. “Then her mother told me that she wished it had been me who died at Kannabi bridge instead of Obito, because Obito would have actually protected Rin, unlike me.”

“Oh… That’s… Heavy.”

“Yeah,” Kakashi nods, then slams down the rest of his tea like a shot.

Unsure of what else to do, Guy stands up, walks around the table to where Kakashi is, and wraps his arms around the younger man’s slumped form. 

“Kakashi… I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t want to hear that,” Kakashi whispers, frustrated.

“Then what do you want to hear?” Guy questions and pulls away to stare down at his lover.

“Nothing. I just… I can’t handle talking right now. It’s making my head hurt,” Kakashi raises his hand enough to pinch the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his pointer finger.

“We don’t have to talk, but what can I do to help you? I hate seeing you so upset.”

“Stop trying to fix it, please. No one will ever be able to fix everything that’s happened to me, I just… Need you to continue being here like you have been.”

“I can do that,” Guy sighs and reaches down to remove Kakashi’s forehead protector. He sets the metal and cloth garment on the table, then runs a hand through Kakashi’s hair. Kakashi leans into the touch. “Just let me know if you need anything else.”

“Alright… Can we go to bed?” Kakashi asks and reaches up. “I think I need to lie down.”

“Sure,” Guy nods and picks his lover up with little effort to bring them both to the bedroom.

It’s pouring outside. Guy has another training session to complete and the kitchen to clean, but with Kakashi so warm and so vulnerable on this rainy day, he supposes all of that can wait. Kakashi is much more important to him. 

So, they enter the bedroom. Guy sets Kakashi down on the bed as gently as he can and moves to lie down next to him. Immediately, Kakashi pulls the covers over their bodies and curls up to Guy’s chest.

“Thanks,” Kakashi whispers. “And again… Sorry for making you deal with this.”

“Don’t apologize,” Guy whispers back, leaning down to press a kiss against Kakashi’s forehead. “We all have our rainy days sometimes, rival.”

“That’s so cheesy of you to say,” Kakashi scoffs and rolls his eyes. A small smile graces his lips. “But thank you. I appreciate the sentiment.”

Another boom of thunder echoes through the sky and through their bedroom. Kakashi flinches and clutches the folds of Guy’s shirt in his hands, burying his face in the ravenette’s chest.

“Are you scared of the thunder, rival? I never thought I’d see you scared of anything,” Guy lightly teases, to which Kakashi pouts up at him.

“I’m scared of a lot of things, you know.”

“And I’ll always be here to protect you from them… No matter what.”

“Yeah?” Kakashi chuckles. “I actually like the sound of that… Why don’t we get some shut eye? Since we don’t have any missions or anything to do today.”

“Alright, but you should know that we’re having an eating contest as soon as we wake up since we both skipped out on breakfast!”

“Fine, fine… I love you,” Kakashi says, eyes fluttering shut.

“And I you,” Guy reciprocates and allows his eyes to fall shut as well.

Then, lulled by the sound of the falling rain, both men fall asleep in each other’s arms and only wake up once the rainfall ends.

[amywritesthings]

CHAPTER 14: WRECKED

The POINT A TO POINT B series.

gif credit: @ themandaloriandaily

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader ( Din x You )

Summary: Knocked unconscious by an ill-timed bomb, you awake to the aftermath of the freighter mission. It’s time to move forward, to find Point B, and continue your escape with Din.

Warnings: 18+ NO MINORS / Mentions of injury, Flashbacks, Aggressively Protective!Din, Bacta mentions, Bo-Katan being Bo-Katan, Helmetless!Din, Blindfolds, Themes of Sensuality

Word Count: 4K

A/N: ...it’s been a while, huh? The three-month hiatus is over! Thank you for your support in my absence, friends. As always, reblogs & comments are adored and appreciated.

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PREVIEW:

“Then explain why one of your clan found her in the ship, unconscious?” He spits the word ‘clan’ with immense vitriol and distrust.

“Because, at some point, she went into the freighter on her own volition,” Bo-Katan reasons with a growl. “I cannot anticipate what your partner will or will not do when she is alone. In this case, she felt the need to leave her post.”

Mando stands an impossible step closer. Bo-Katan doesn’t move away.

“Speak ill of her again. See what happens.”

“Is that a threat, Mando?”

His nickname is sung with mockery.

POINT A TO POINT B

CHAPTER 14: WRECKED

-

Yavin 4 is beautiful after a storm. 

The scent of grass after a passage of rain soothes the anxiety clinging tight to your chest. Birds sing in the distance while the insects buzz, creating a white noise blanket. Despite everything that surrounds this woodland planet, there is peace — maybe not for long, but it lives. 

(A peace you have tried time and time again not to hold onto with an ironclad fist. Squeeze too tight and the earth will shake. These people don't need your avalanche.)

While most of Rebel volunteers work tirelessly under protective slabs of concrete, sheltering them from any impending attacks from above, you go against better wishes to remain in the forest. Here, where you can push the dirt around with your boot and see it roll effortlessly like the clouds in the sky.

Alive. The world is alive and well and beautiful.

“It’s my fault.”

You know she's there watching, waiting, for you to speak first. The Commander has yet to leave your side and with good reason — rumors circle about allegiances in the night, in the dark. Whether or not the other rebels believe your story is up to her trust and her trust in you alone.

Craning your attention from the pebbles of dirt, you angle towards the patient Commander. Her hands are clasped together, body adorned with a brilliant forest green jumpsuit.

“Your Highness,” the woman murmurs, her smile small yet inviting. “You’ve only just arrived. You’re allowed a moment’s rest.”

“As lovely an idea as rest is, Commander, I cannot,” you murmur absently, shifting your gaze to observe a verbal argument just beyond her shoulder. At the mouth of a safe zone building, two pilots hover heatedly around one of the circular holo-grids to debate the images below their chests. “Not when I suspect he’s only a few days behind us.”

You don’t need to hear the conversation to know why both pilots are so passionate: the destruction of the second Death Star is smaller than a one in a million shot.

Everyone’s fearful the plan won’t work, and they have every right to be: the first only went up in flames because of sheer luck, a bout of lightning that rarely strikes twice.

The Empire is falling, that much is true. Yet it’s the lengths in which the enemy will go to keep themselves on life support that cause such distress and worry throughout the galaxy. 

(Distress and worry you wear on your own sleeve, here, as you clutch the possibility of ruining their final Hail Mary — and the possibility of failure, should Moff Gideon find you first.)

“I probably should have kept running,” you continue. “Kept people out of this mess.”

“You knew you could trust us,” the Commander beside you sighs, raising her arms to cross over her chest. She leans back against a metal barrier, waiting expectantly for the argument in return.

You scowl at her confidence, ignoring how the cut on your cheek burns with it. “That doesn’t mean everyone at this base happily signed over a death wish.”

“No, but safety is not what we signed up for, Princess.” 

You shoot her a look, and the woman laughs. 

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it? You could have stayed in the ivory towers of Coruscant, yet you chose to be here with us. If anything, it’s you that signed a death wish, clear as day and on a dotted line.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Is it not? Your injuries alone have shown the others what kind of sacrifice they have to be willing to make to be here.”

You hate being spoken of like you’re a martyr.

(It was the right thing to do.)

Your entire body still aches, but you know his aches more. The knowledge that you caused Moff Gideon equal amounts of suffering and pain is good enough for you. This plan was never one of the winning plays the Rebel alliance had on hand, but it was the only viable solution left. While Imperial numbers dwindle, so do yours; volunteerism has become the only way anything gets done under the talons of the Empire, and there is one good card left to play on the sabacc table.

Winning by the skin of their teeth — it’s something you and the Rebels have in common.

Once you heal enough to fly on your own, you’ll depart from this base to the next.

Constantly moving until the final Imperial flag falls.

“He’ll come after us,” you frown, eyes lingering on hers before you turn your attention back to the pilots — they now hold one another in a tight embrace. The softness — the desperation — makes your stomach churn. “All of us.”

“And we’re prepared for it, should the fight come.”

You don’t have the energy to tell her: there is no should.

Moff Gideon would come, whether you want him to or not.

The longer you bounce from place to place, the more scorched earth will linger in your absence.

If you can find your way to Point B without detection, if you can hold on for a little while longer, then this will have been worth it.

(Without this power, the Empire will weaken and die off altogether. You’re sure of it.)

Crouching with control to the ground, you reach lower to place a bare palm against the loosened dirt at your boot. The tickle of the particles offers you in a heavy reminder: you still breathe with full lungs, so you will continue on.

After floating through space on an Imperial ship week, months, it's so easy to forget the little things: how much you miss the smell of grass on the fresh dew of morning, or the warmth of an awakening sun as it rises.

Your fingernails dig down, down, until earth lives in the universe of your fist.

Remember this. 

You are eager to photograph every inch of this place by sheer memory. The laughing foot soldiers pouring their mourning stew into their bowls. The families that play here, sing here, making the most of what remains of their once peaceful lives with the hope of starting anew.

(Rebellions were — and always have been — built on hope.)

You squeeze hard and suck in a sharp breath, closing your eyes.

. . . . . . . . .

“What did you do to her?”

It isn’t your voice.

The sound is filtered, as if grating against the edges of a helmet.

When you open your eyes, you’re no longer in the middle of a serene field base on Yavin 4, but somewhere much worse: the tumultuous docks of Trask, where a squared-shouldered Mando is nose-to-nose with an equally tense (and helmetless) Bo-Katan Kryze. 

His visor points down to her bare face, gloved hand at the ready on his hip. Both Koska Reeves and Axe Woves hold their weapons steady, pointed at the Mandalorian in an elongated triangle and placing him dead center.

“What did you do to her?” The modulated voice demands again, deeper in its bark.

“Do to her?” 

Bo-Katan. Her voice is no longer laced with nonchalance, but with surprise. Anger.

“Koska saved her.”

Koska?

Who did Koska save?

While everything beyond the dock continues to slosh back and forth like a trawler on the choppy sea, you explore the tingling sensation of your limbs reanimating from sore, dulled pain.

“You said she was going to be out of harm’s way.”

“And she was.”

“Then explain why one of your clan found her in the ship, unconscious?”

He spits the word ‘clan’ with immense vitriol and distrust.

“Because, at some point, she went into the freighter on her own volition,” Bo-Katan reasons with a growl. “I cannot anticipate what your partner will or will not do when she is alone. In this case, she felt the need to leave her post.”

Mando stands an impossible step closer. Bo-Katan doesn’t move away.

“Speak ill of her again. See what happens.”

“Is that a threat, Mando?”  

His nickname is sung with mockery.

“It never stopped being one since the moment you slandered my clan,” Mando snarls, armor clinking as his finger raises to point in her face. “Without us, you wouldn’t have survived the first wave. You should be grateful she did you a favor. With honor, she—”

“Mando?”

Finally, you discover your voice. It’s hoarse and dry, but working. Managing.

Like lead, the hand once pushing into Bo-Katan’s face drops to his side as his helmet whips at attention, visor directly pointed at you.

Without another word he pushes past the helmetless leader, stalking with urgency to the other side of the dock.

“—dank farrik.”

His armor clangs as he drops to his knees, glove gingerly cupping the side of your face. You melt into the heavy feel of his palm — strong, familiar, a chance for peace — and rest your cheek with ease. 

“Hey, it’s me. I’m here.”

“Hey,” you mumble in return, shifting against the pole propping your seated torso from slouching. You try to offer a smile, but your face aches.

Everything hurts.

“Don’t move,” he orders, but something sounds off about his voice. It’s small against the modulator, whispered, while his visor searches the perimeter of your head in a frenzied, clockwise circle. “You’re hurt. I’m going to get you out of here.”

The realization sinks deep.

He’s terrified.

“It was…” You wince at the sandpaper-like texture of your throat and swallow heavily to coat it with saliva. “...my fault.”

“What?” You feel Mando’s gloves tenderly pressing down your arms to halt any any sudden movements. You fight to keep your eyes on him. “Nothing was your fault.”

“What Bo-Katan said is true,” you admit. “I went... into the ship.”

“She was under a pile of rubble beside an Imp and a Trooper,” Koska supplies, taking a protective stance in front of Bo-Katan in the absence of the bounty hunter. “The Imp was impaled. Trooper under the rubble. I wasn’t able to do a thorough check, but it looked like she crawled.”

“Because the ceiling... caved in,” you add, keeping your attention on his visor.

Surely he must know you heard all of it — the argument with Bo-Katan about the plan, the sudden influx of Stormtroopers, the way he said he would handle the flurry of fresh Troopers.

Then an explosion appeared.

Mando’s fingers smooth over your bicep, though whether it’s because he’s calming you down or stalling in admitting he was the cause of the damage above, you cannot tell.

“Bounty hunter: do you carry bacta spray on your ship?” 

Axe gently weaves into the conversation, peering around his leader to speak directly to Mando.

“If I were you, I would transport her back there as soon as you’re able, before her wounds cause any lasting damage. I have a spare canister on me, should you need it.”

He walks forward, pace deliberate and strong before extending a long arm towards Mando. The bounty hunter hesitates, frozen in place before he regards Axe above him. Their gloves connect, and he slips the canister from the palm of the other Mandalorian and secures the item to his belt.

Mando does not thank him for his generosity. 

“As agreed, I will help you seek your Jedi, as you have more than earned it,” Bo-Katan says in her feigned diplomatic tone, abandoning the heat Mando released. You slump to look at her over the bounty hunter's shoulder. His hand cinches tighter around your arm, protective.

(Feral.)

Her dark crimson brows raise in a pause.

“Take your ship to the forest planet of Corvus. There you will find a Jedi of the name Ahsoka Tano within the city of Corvus. Tell her Bo-Katan Kryze sent you.” 

In an effort of belated good faith, Bo-Katan steps back once, twice, three times to give you both room. Her chin bows deep.

“Now go care for your partner. Depart from Trask safely.”

In the haze, you see her gaze connect with yours.

“And thank you, for everything you did for us.”

Wordlessly, Mando rises to his knees and takes to a crouch, preparing to sweep his arms under your knees and back. He cautiously places your limp arm around his shoulders for support, but there is no need for it — he’s strong enough without your help to do the heavy lifting for you both.

“Please tell me… we’re walking,” you weakly joke into his breastplate. A noise of discomfort rushes past your lungs as he rises to his feet, anchoring you in towards his chest.

“Flying will be the fastest way,” he murmurs over the crown of your head. “Hold onto me, okay?”

“I might — pass out.”

“Don’t fall asleep, do you hear me? Stay with me.”

You can’t pin-point if his voice cracks or if it’s his modulator glitching.

The jetpack ignites.

. . . . . . . . .

You aren’t sure when you fell unconscious — somewhere between the feeling of being airborne and the exhaustion of today taking over — but when you come to, the universe is black.

With a brilliant gasp of air, your body lurches in the darkness to fight. Yet the heaviness of restraints aren’t there. Your forehead is ablaze with sweat. The pain is dulled, a lulling throb in the back of your skull. Beneath you is soft and warm, not hard and cold.

“Princess?”

The question tickles your left ear. You turn to nothingness to find the gruff voice, taking into a frenzied scramble to get away from it in a fight or flight response.

“Stay away from me—”

“Wait.”

The deep baritone cautions the air surrounding you like velvet. Soft warmth engulfs your flailing arm, pressing your bicep into your torso with profound care. A squeak of surprise catches in your throat.

“It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Mando.

It is Mando's voice.

Searching for him in the nothingness with the tip of your nose as your guide, you tremble at the absence of a modulator.

There is no vocoder buzz. No filtered disconnect.

“Don’t move so much," he adds, filling the space with his naked voice. "The bacta spray’s still working.”

“Your—”

“—safe.”

“—helmet,” you finish in a croak, squeezing your eyes shut. “Why — where is your helmet?”

Your free hand roams in a fuss to cover your face, but it connects with a sliver of fabric — a thick barrier between the bridge of your nose and the skin of your fingers.

The emergency blindfold.

“I… took precaution in case you stirred earlier than expected,” he adds with unease. “You sustained a fair amount of injuries. I needed to be careful.” 

He takes a beat, and you feel rough fingertips curl around yours by your nose. He tugs once, pulling your hand with his from the surface of the blindfold to lower to the sheet of the cot. His thumb slides along your skin in an attempt to soothe away any disorienting fear.

“You should be healed enough, now.”

You nod once, shoulders dropping a fraction. "...how long was I out?”

“Long enough to scare me,” he admits softly. “Four days, give or take some hours.”

Four entire days since the freighter.

Kriff.

“The kid?” you question abruptly, belated worry rushing to the forefront of your tired mind.

“Kid’s fine.”

“And Bo-Katan?”

“Gone to do as she pleases with her endless supply of weaponry,” Mando answers with a sour note on his tongue. “Along with her alleged clan.”

“And we’re on the Crest away from Trask?”

“Far away from Trask,” he confirms. “It’s only us.”

Your shoulders slouch with relief. “Thank the Maker.”

A huff of an ironic laugh leaves your lips as you open your eyes. Nothing. You see absolutely nothing, but you hear everything: the beauty of his naked voice, the freedom of his breath as he inhales and exhales. You didn’t realize how much you missed the simplicity of it.

He continues to hold your hand, but the air of the room shifts.

“What happened back on Trask can't happen again.” The softness in his voice becomes molten, solidifying to steel. “From now on, you stay on the ship until we arrive on Coruscant.”

Your chin tilts to find his voice, voice stronger in your blurt.

“What?”

“The only way this works is if you stick with the kid. I’ve had plenty of time to think about this.”

“No, there is no way I’m staying—” 

When you start to vigorously shake your head, you’re slammed with stars behind your eyes. Mando’s grip tightens against your fingers in fright, while his free hand rests at your knee.

“Careful, cyar’ika, don’t move too fast.”

“I am fine,” you demand louder. “I will be fine.”

“You went inside the freighter.”

“But—”

“You promised me you would run the other way.”

A wave of nausea passes through your body from head to toe.

“The rest of the troopers were moving indoors,” you reason slowly, ignoring the waver in your voice. “I would have blown my cover if I stayed outside alone.”

“Your only responsibility was to run if things went wrong.”

“And I’m telling you, I would have been caught,” you argue, sitting up straighter. His palm is quick to steady the middle of your back. “Then Bo-Katan changed the deal—”

“You promised me,” Mando interrupts, sharper.

“And what about you?” you counter swiftly with your own bite.

“What about me?”

“Was I supposed to… ignore the comms completely when you broke our deal?”

You can hear him shift against the edge of the cot. “Our deal?”

“You and your promise to keep me safe. You say you don’t trust Bo-Katan and her clan, fine, but you were still willing to put yourself at risk. You’ll handle their problems for them, right? Even if they change the deal on a dime?”

He doesn’t speak, causing a huff of irony to pass your lips. 

“Yeah, I heard the little savior play on the comms. That’s why I went running. To come after you.”

A heavy sigh exits his mouth as he shifts in front of you. “I was fine.”

“And if you weren’t?” you challenge, unable to halt the crack in your question. “This is twice now. Twice where you could have died and I would have heard or seen it. First the ship at sea, and now this job with Bo-Katan. Am I supposed to be okay with almost losing you? Was I meant to fly the Razor Crest to Coruscant on my own?”

His voice nears in a sorrowful whisper. “Princess, you don’t understand. You could have died. ” 

“You could have, too,” you counter without missing a beat. “But Koska got me out of there.”

“And if she hadn’t?”

“Then I knew you would have, because I trust you.”

You reply with such conviction that the ship grows silent. All that surrounds you is the small sounds of the distant cockpit and the hum of the engine.

Mando pauses under your grip, marinating on the sentiment before replying with his own three words that break your heart:

“But I didn’t.”

Before you can hang on too tight, the mattress shifts and his hand disappears from yours.

You chase the touch despite yourself. All you connect with is air.

“I failed you, cyar’ika, and I am sorry,” he begins, voice further away. “I allowed my anger to get the best of me. In the moment, I could only see what it took to protect my clan and their honor. To show what it meant to be of the Watch, but I was supposed to protect the kid. I was supposed to protect you.”

Guilty seeps into the few beats of silence he holds onto after speaking.

“Yeah?” you tell him, recognizing the tremble in your own voice. “Well, not if I protect you first.”

Mando says nothing. You drop your palm to the mattress, searching for him in a semi-circle around you. He shifts further away once more, but you manage to clip your fingertips against the edge of his belt to stop him.

"Stop."

By some miracle, he does. Mando stays put, waiting for your command.

"I’m not letting you out of my sight — figuratively, obviously, since I can’t see you.”

Finally, finally the tense air breaks with his own chuckle of disbelief. He mumbles something foreign under his breath, and the mattress creaks at your side.

He’s back.

“Princess…”

“Bo-Katan was cruel,” you start, cutting him off before he can do the same to you. “Mandalorians or not, what her clan did to you? They ought to be ashamed of themselves. We were willing to help, yet she changed the deal and threw your code in your face just to see what makes you tick. I understand why you did what you did on the freighter, why you were willing to sacrifice yourself, because you’re always willing to help."

He says nothing, but you can hear the mattress beneath you shift. He's sliding closer. You continue.

"You’re a good person, Mando. You're good to the kid, you're good to me. Hell, you're good to strangers who never deserved your goodness. And I know I’m not a Mandalorian, but—”

“—but you have the heart of one.”

Mando cuts you off, taking your hand into his, but that isn’t what makes your breath disappear.

Something warm glides against the inside of your wrist. Soft and featherlike, barely a touch, before there is pressure, some wetness, and the fire blossoms low in your belly when you realize:

Somewhere you cannot see, Mando is bent over and kissing your wrist.

Kissing.

With his own naked lips.

You dare not move. 

You dare not speak. 

The Mandalorian has your undivided attention.

“You are right," he murmurs against the delicate skin. "You were not born on Mandalore, like me. You may not possess our armor, you may not have sworn to a code, but that does not mean you do not have the heart of a Mandalorian.”

He breathes for you — a gentle puff against your forearm. 

“In the time I have known you, I have learned you are strong,” he continues with conviction. “You own a resilience unlike anyone I have ever met. You make difficult choices and do so with honor.” 

His lips climb higher, dragging along your arm in worship. Goosebumps form in his wake. 

“When my faith — when my oath — was tested on that moon, you chose to negotiate with peace instead of violence for the good of the Child. You asked to work with Kryze and her clan and secured the location of the Jedi when I could not."

He lingers, kissing the slope of your bicep.

"Even when your life could be in danger, you risked it. Even when I didn’t deserve it, you fought.”

He presses another kiss at your bare shoulder.

“You have always chosen to fight.” 

Within a pause he rises, breath shivering along your chin.

“For the kid. For me. And I would...” 

His words trail off, voice crackling. It repairs, returning with conviction.

“I would scorch the galaxy for you.”

His bare palms slide along either side of your face, cradling your head as though nothing more precious has ever graced his calloused, tired hands.

Your lips part wordlessly, voice lost in his confession, but eventually sigh as the pad of his left thumb grazes your cheekbone with timid admiration.

“Mando—” 

“Din.” 

The word is so small you almost don’t hear it.

The smooth plane of his bare forehead, warm and alive, drops ever so gently against yours. Over the fabric of the blindfold, the tip of his nose nudges yours. You hyper focus on something brushing your lips — facial hair, you're sure of it — before the universe stands still.

Because he murmurs the next four words like an oath to a creed:

“My name is Din.”

[kriz-fics]

The Sword’s Legacy

Series Summary: As the heir of your father's lands, you have grown up knowing that one day you must wed to your House's advantage, and there's no better catch than the younger son of the Magister himself. Meanwhile tensions within the king's court are set to come to a head at any moment - it just needs that spark to send everything ablaze. Now in a court more dangerous than the one you entered, you find distraction and joy in the company of the beautiful boy with the beautiful eyes. You can only hope to weather the storm you can sense brewing in the horizon.

Masterlist

Chapter Eight: Fire and Rain

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x Female Reader

Genre: Royalty AU, Historical Fantasy AU, Romance, Politics, Warfare, Eventual Smut (future chapters)

Length: 10.3K

CW: None for this chapter

“Here, I can help you with that.”

Eren stiffens then looks away, feeling his earlier good spirits curdle like sour milk, the lumps of it settling heavily in his stomach. “I don’t need help from the likes of you.”

He does not like the sentiment behind this offer of aid. It tastes too much like condescension for his liking. He has been a squire for six years now and has been rolling cleaning barrels without support ever since he had traded his thin little boy’s arms for ones that have grown strong enough to bear the weight of sand and steel. He does not need any help, least of all from one such as Jean Horseface.

He hears the Kirschtein boy tut irritably, and moments later, the barrel Eren has been rolling on the ward’s rough stone flooring surges forward a foot.

“I said I don’t need help,” Eren snaps, leaning down hard on the keg to stop it moving any further. “Why are you even here? Bedding down for the day? The stables are over there, pick a stall and leave me alone.”

“Gods, you can be such a stubborn jackass! The work will go faster with us two, don’t you want it done as soon as possible?” Jean snarls back, face reddening with rage as he attempts to push the barrel into motion once more.

“What, have you come to gloat, is that the way of it, Kirschtein? Lord it over the reckless, stupid boy who-” Eren breaks off sharply, horrified to feel the hot sting of tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He blinks them back, furious. I thought I was recovered from that. Apparently, the past day or so he had spent crying in the presence of his friends and master has not truly relieved him of the crippling guilt he still feels about the Lord Commander. Why did I expect anything different? But it is one thing shedding tears in front of those he had and another showing such vulnerability to Jean Kirschtein.

“I’m not here to gloat.” Eren quickly glances at the other boy, not expecting the solemn look on his long, horsey face. Jean stares down at the wooden slats of the barrel underneath his hands. “I think you needed something of that magnitude to give you some perspective. I’ve always thought you brave, envied you for it even- yes, I actually do,” he affirms at Eren’s disbelieving snort, “but I’ve just come to realize how thin the line between bravery and recklessness really is. All those times you did something I thought brave… looking back, I think you really skirted the line most every time. It’s just that there were no consequences to them then.”

Jean shifts a little, as though to straighten up, but seems to think better of it and remains hunched over the barrel. “So, I suppose it’s a lesson for you. A hard one at that. And the cost…”

You paid the price, make it worth the blood you paid.

Blood that isn't even mine. “Why didn’t you tell her?” Eren finds himself asking, as he starts to roll the barrel once more.

Jean frowns a little at him as he pushes along. “Tell who what?”

Eren mutters your name and adds, “Why didn’t you tell her that… it was my fault, the whole mess with the Lord Commander…?” He keeps his eyes fixed on the rolling keg underneath him and listens to the sounds of Sir Levi’s mail tumbling around within the shifting sands in the cask.

Jean hums thoughtfully at that. “It’s not my place to say. She needed to hear it from you and you alone. And something that scandalous coming from me seems too self-serving, what with our… notorious relations.”

Eren huffs out a laugh, despite himself, and there is nothing more said between them as they roll the barrel to the opposite wall and back again. Standing the cask upright proves an easy feat with their joint strength, and Eren pries open its lid, taking out his master’s chainmail hauberk and shaking out the sand that clings to it. He is pleased to see it come out nice and bright, with not a spot of rust in evidence.

Jean moves off then to see to his own mail. Eren glances after the taller boy, silently struggling with himself, before following Jean and proceeding to help him with the barrel. Jean does not remark upon this sudden act of consideration, which suits Eren just fine; the silence is better than any unnecessary and clumsy attempts at conversation.

He takes his leave of the other boy soon after and heads toward the Hall of the Sentinel carrying Sir Levi’s well-cleaned mail, which he has carefully wrapped in oilcloth to preserve it from further rust.

Eren cannot quite believe the encounter he has just had with the Kirschtein boy. It seems to him that five years spent consistently antagonizing each other should not have given room for a conversation such as theirs but there it is. He does not know what to make of the other boy now, nor how he is to deal with him when next they saw each other. But some part of him is starting to entertain the idea that maybe, maybe the horseboy isn’t so bad after all.

The Hall comes into view moments later, and Eren feels a light finger of embarrassment brush over him at the prospect of seeing his master once more, especially considering the circumstances with which they had parted earlier.

The picnic yesterday had helped ease the heavy weight of guilt he had been forced to carry for the better part of a month and had, as Jean said earlier, given him some perspective on the matter. It was as though the dark sentiments festering inside him had all flowed away with his tears, and he had gone to bed a great deal more hopeful than he had ever been the past few weeks.

He immediately sought out his master earlier this day, intending to make amends - long past due - as best he could. He had not counted on bursting into tears and groveling at Sir Levi’s feet. The memory still shames him and puts lead weights around his ankles, yet the way his master dealt with him then - quietly, (dare he say gently) with not a trace of heat or chill in his voice - gives Eren much cause to be reassured. As it is, he will bear any amount of indignity to atone for what he had done. What little pride he has left should be coin enough to pay for this transgression. I can get it back, I will learn from this and come out the better, they’ll see.

Dropping off the hauberk proves less mortifying than he had anticipated. Sir Levi had given him one of those cool, enigmatic looks he does so well and simply said, “Make sure you don’t disarrange anything in that chest,” before returning to his book. Eren leaves his rooms feeling more as if he can be confident in his standing with his master, tempered though the feeling may be.

Finishing all of his day’s duties early leaves him with plenty of time to spare before dinner. He wonders if you have finished with your own tasks, ministerial and royal both. The yen to see you guides his passage to the Rhyzkov apartments.

He feels no trace of the embarrassment he had carried to Sir Levi’s quarters as he makes his way to your rooms. By all rights, he should have; but crying before you was more of a relief than anything else, and you had certainly not shamed him for it, for which he is glad. He still can’t quite believe he had received an embrace, along with another kerchief, for his trouble.

Eren feels himself flush a little at the memory of your warmth and your scent, that sweet and heady fragrance of your essence, apples, and winter roses. For that is what that flowery scent is, he has come to realize. He has always thought the floral notes to your perfume seem familiar somehow and cannot quite place where he had smelled it before. The past season gave him the epiphany and more reason to look upon the flower with renewed fondness.

Yet your warmth and your scent were nothing to your gentleness and the way with which you had handled him then. He had been shocked to his soul when you took him into your arms, and suddenly, there was nothing else but you, only you, only you. He had wanted to melt into your embrace and stay there forevermore, where everything was right in the world and nothing could hurt him. But you had let go, and the moment was gone.

He truly has a deal to be grateful to you for.

Her and Armin.  

Guilt once again gnaws at his insides, and he can almost groan at the very much unwanted feeling. It was hard, living through the past few weeks with it and regret hounding his very being; in that time, he had never felt so trapped inside his own head, wishing for things to have gone differently, wishing he was somebody else, somebody else cooler, calmer, more collected. Speaking to his friends both about everything that had plagued him during the campaign was like drawing poison from a wound and yet… He can still recall the hot, scorching feeling of jealousy that had arisen inside him like a monster from the deep at the sight of his betrothed and his closest friend standing together outside his door, a heavily unpleasant indication that the both of you had been spending plenty if not most of your time with each other the past month, without him in attendance.

The sentiment was only made worse by the sheer devastation he felt about the Lord Commander, and it awoke once more the dormant feeling of personal inadequacy inside him that had been born from that one game of qaxan, that feeling of being behind and beneath his own friends… And worse, some part of him wanted to latch onto that monster instead just to forget his massive bungle. For anger is always, always better than guilt and regret and tears.

Eren sighs to himself glumly, remembering the way the blond boy had flinched back from his glare. Armin doesn’t deserve his rage just because of the doubts he carries about his own person, especially where it concerns his standing with you.

Movement ahead catches his eye, and Eren looks up to see Armin walking down the corridor as though summoned into existence by his thoughts. The other boy, cradling one of his customary massive tomes, seems to not have noticed Eren as he turns to enter an archway that leads to what Eren knows to be one of the palace terraces. He hesitates for half a heartbeat and calls out, “Oi, Armin!”

You can wait; the night is yours both, after all. The desire to make up for yesterday’s unpleasantness overrides all else at the moment, and he is sick unto death of guilt; it is all he seems to be immersed in these days, and he wants to be free of it at last. Begging Armin’s pardon should help, surely.

The boy himself pauses by the archway and turns to look at Eren. “Oh, hey, Eren.” His tone, while friendly, seems wary somehow to Eren’s ears. Or perhaps it is the guilt coloring his senses then. Yesterday had ended with them parting ways on good terms, yet Eren knows he has to address the matter of his… nastiness in some capacity.

Armin lifts (or attempts to, at least) the stone slab that passes for a book up in his arms a little. “I was just looking for a quiet, airy place to read that wasn’t the gardens for a change. Would you like to join me?”

Eren agrees, immensely relieved at this turn of events, and follows the other boy through the archway and down a short staircase to the terrace proper. This particular terrace is one of Eren’s special favorites, for it opens up to its own series of steps that lead down to one of the deepest vaults of the castle, where one can find a massive giant’s skull half-melted onto the ground.

As it stands, this terrace is also one of the more favored spots of his own circle of squires who often frequent it for drink and leisure, mostly in the dead of night. Connie had been seized one night by a sudden curiosity to see where those steps led, and the whole lot of them were treated to a sight that was horrifying yet wondrous to behold.

The giant face was melted and blackened and withered, its preserved, dead flesh redolent of turtle hide, and had covered most of the broken stone floor of the cavernous crypt. Its mouth and jaw had vanished, stretched out onto the ground in long, leathery swathes, leaving only two gaping nostrils that led up to a long bridge of a nose which in turn led to two deep black pits that were once its eyes.

Armin claimed that this is most like to be the giant Klesvar the Keeper, who was the guardian of the ruins of Silvercross Castle, seat of the extinct House Schroder whose line had been ended long before the Reisses first set foot on Lovaya.

Berthold Reiss, the one they call the Great, first Reiss king and architect of the Lovayan Annexation, had fought the giant for the right to claim the old - and famously wealthy - Schroder lands. It had been a battle between giants, the histories say, yet in the end, the stalwart Klesvar proved no match for the other human-like behemoth that was the Titan. Berthold, possessed of the blood of Ancient Eldia, had been his generation’s wielder of the Titan they called the Founder, the first and most powerful of three in the keeping of the three Eldian Houses that had left their motherland seeking sanctuary from the Sundering that they claimed foreknowledge of. Berthold had built his own castle on top of what remained of the Keeper’s skull, that he might be laid to rest in the lands he had protected for so long, a tribute of sorts to an enemy well-fought and respected.

Eren has always thought that a good piece of history and wonders if you have already seen the skull. Perhaps he can show you tonight if you haven’t… something this monumentally historic is something you will surely appreciate.

He and Armin soon reach the bottom of the archway’s steps and emerge into a wide circular terrace. Five wooden benches line the balustrade; at the crest of the terrace’s arc, the balustrade opens up to the steep stone steps that lead to the vault below. Armin chooses the bench next to the one situated on the leftmost side of the terrace and sits down, Eren following suit.

“I’ve chosen a history book today,” Armin starts, opening Chronicles of the Warrior to his marked page. “It details the lives and feats of the most famous knights and military commanders Lovaya has ever seen. Karl Arlert the Kraken, lost his leg to a stray curse when he was younger, became the terror of the seas in his time. Arend Jaeger, the One-Eyed Falcon, who was the best commander of the Swans in the War of the Rivers. They say the Swans’ loss was due in large part to his death, and I’m inclined to agree. Sir Eren Grice, Ironhand, lost his sword hand in the Battle of Rybikhna and continued to serve as Lord Commander of the Royal Guard for another thirty years.”

“All right, I think you’ve made your point,” Eren Jaeger laughs. Warmth seeps inside him, made all the more potent by the darker feelings it replaces. He can see the place where Armin’s perusal comes from and greatly appreciates the effort. It is this more than anything else that further encourages him. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Armin blinks at him, yet there is something almost knowing about the blond boy’s gaze.

Eren hesitates, pondering. “For… any unpleasantness I might have shown you yesterday. I didn’t mean any of it, truly.”

Armin smiles. Any wariness that may have colored his expression vanishes. “I thought it was the guilt about the Lord Commander that fed that sentiment, so I understand.”

For a moment, Eren thinks he will continue but whatever else the other boy has to say did not come. The knowing look on his face seems to take on a new cast. Eren puzzles at it but does not pursue the matter. He turns his attention to Armin’s Chronicles. “Which warrior are you reading about now?”

“Sir Gerald Kirschtein.”

Eren almost laughs at that. His earlier dealing with another Kirschtein comes back to him then. The horseboy has a ways to go but with some work, perhaps that one will make a scion fit for such noble stock. Perhaps.

“Of course, no account of Sir Gerald’s life would be complete without the usual allegations,” Armin says matter-of-factly, as he turns his book’s page.

Eren frowns, irked. “The bastard rumors? I’ve always hated those. He’s one of the most honorable knights there ever was, he’d never stoop so low as to bed another man’s wife, least of all his king’s.”

“I suppose people would rather believe King Arthur was his bastard and not an abomination born of the incest between Berthold VIII and his sister. Arthur III is a much-beloved figure,” Armin answers fairly, glancing at him over the massive tome covering the entirety of his lap.

“But those rumors came from his true father who wanted to disinherit him, and I don’t put much stock in the words of the sisterfucking madman that Berthold VIII was. He wasn’t called the Grotesque for nothing.”

“Gerald and Cressida did love each other, though.”

“Courtly love, and unconsummated.”

And all at once, they are boys again, lounging in the large, airy sanctum of Seamont Castle in Lenberg and poring over one of Armin’s many books. One day, it would be a history; the next, an account of the exploits of some adventurer from some faraway kingdom. It was the best way Eren had come to learn about these matters, and it remained with him longer than the deadly dull dronings of some boring old Prior. It has been too long since last they’ve done this, and the reminder of what once was is pleasant. For now, at least, guilt and shame are distant things, and far away.

“The old lawyer’s been summoned to court?”

“He’s expected to arrive in the capital within the month for his audience with the king. At any rate, he should be able to catch the court before we leave for the summer progress.”

Hunts have always been something of a dicey subject in the Jaeger household, and the irony is not lost on Zeke Jaeger.

He had been much too young to have accompanied his parents to that fateful hunt and had not been close to hand to witness the accident that took his lady mother’s life. Even now, he sometimes still tries to put an image to his father’s account of that day and cannot quite grasp the enormity of it. It is hard to reconcile the mother he last saw alive and well to the bloodied, ruined mess of a woman his father had spoken of. His memories of her remain unmarred and intact, though; Death’s Hands spared them all the sight of her broken body as she lay in state for the funeral, covering her with a banner that featured the black chimera of House Fritz on its golden field quartered with the silver falconer on green of House Jaeger.

Hawking is another matter entirely, however.

Whatever else they might say about us, no one can claim we aren’t living up to our sigil. As it stands, this is the only sort of hunt that suits both Zeke’s and his father’s palates; broken saddle girths are less of a threat when you spend the entirety of the hunt afoot and looking after your own fowl. Eren, being Eren, is not as partial to the family custom, preferring the activity and adventure of a traditional hunt. Yet even he cannot deny his own excitement whenever his peregrine, aptly named Lance, fells its chosen quarry.

“Do my ears deceive me or is our youngest finally taking an interest in matters outside the sparring yard?” Lord Grisha walks over to his sons, having just deposited the hare his favorite kestrel had caught to a waiting attendant. The unnamed bird perches on one gloved arm, one sharp eye trained on the men before it and its bespectacled handler.

Eren frowns slightly, jerking his head back a little as Lance stretches and flaps his wings, buffeting his master’s face in the process. “Why shouldn’t I be interested in the Northern Matter? Like as not, I’ll be there to help finish it. I should know something about it, at least.”

“Well said, son,” Grisha laughs. “It’s just strange to hear you speak of such things. And about time, too, I say! But I suppose some of the fault lies with us… If you lack the acumen and interest in political matters, it is only because we coddled you too much, now that I think on it.”

That we did. But then, most second sons are subject to such treatment, it seems to Zeke. They are insurance, a failsafe to guarantee the continuation of their respective lines if the firstborn dies too soon. But more often than not, they are never brought up to shoulder the burden of the responsibility they may still yet receive one day. It is no wonder that some of their sort make for terrible heirs; some, not all, but some is more than enough.

Zeke hopes they hadn’t blinkered Eren too badly to the wider workings of the court. However, the older brother in him, the part that had always wanted a sibling to coddle, reigned supreme; he supposes their father had similar sentiments once his youngest had been born. They nurtured the boy’s dreams of knighthood, gave him the skills and knowledge necessary for the trade, and it became all he lived and breathed for until nothing else mattered. And the court is such a vicious place, perhaps part of them wants to keep at least one of the family from that mire. Whether that is for good or for ill is yet to be apparent.

“Ah, he’s a sharp lad, when he cares to be. He’ll catch up quick,” Zeke says, reaching out to ruffle Eren’s hair and ignoring the boy’s usual irritated swatting at him as he always does. He notes, with some melancholy, the inch in height his younger brother seems to have gained during his time away at campaign. He had as well savor the last few years, months perhaps, of being able to express his brotherly affection in such a manner. The Jaegers tend to height, and Zeke is more than passing certain that Eren will not prove to be an exception; he will not be the shortest of their immediate family for very long, that is for sure.

“If we are to speak of the Northern Matter, tell me, what do you think of this Father Robert?” Lord Grisha directs his query at his youngest, feeding a small morsel of hare to his waiting kestrel and watching it snap the meat up eagerly with a beak sharp as any dirk.

The frown on Eren’s face takes on a more thoughtful cast, and he looks around at the wide verdant expanse of Alyrya’s Arbor, where the Reisses have run game for hunting four hundred years and counting. The park is located a little ways north of Midford Castle and is part of many a noble’s leisurely haunts. It is just now teeming with fresh spring life; waterfowl and smaller prey are much in abundance, and the wind is cool and bracing, which makes for excellent conditions for an expedition. To the west, Alyrya’s Vase comes roaring down the surrounding cliffs to join its waters to the Woodisle, adding a wild cadence to the air. Further north lies the Crown Woods, where larger prey is to be had; deer, elk, boar, and other beasts run wild thereabouts, free for the taking for any intrepid hunter.

It cannot have been a better day, and it is like to be the last of its kind for the rest of the season. The Month of Showers has come upon them at last and the threat of the season’s promised downpours has driven several of the nobility, some of whom are their own lords vassal, out to the woods to take advantage of the perfect weather. Eren’s eyes alight on Lord Forster’s thirdborn, Floch, and stays there, unseeing. “I didn’t really get to meet the man in truth, but I saw enough of him to think that that one has steel in him. Old steel, to be sure, but steel nonetheless. I guess you can expect nothing less from a lawyer - they wouldn’t have chosen him to be the mouth of the northern faction if he wasn’t.”

“An interesting observation. I’ll be sure to keep it in mind,” says Grisha, smiling slightly. “They’re a tricky sort, these lawyers. Almost as tricky as us politicians. Still, I have yet to meet a lawyer who could outfox a statesman worth his salt. But I’ll be sure to tread carefully around this man all the same.”

“If the gods are good, we can settle this matter once and for all. But disputes surrounding land are some of the hardest to mediate… Lovaya is prodigious, more than large enough for all, I believe, yet you’d think it was sinking into the sea day by day with the way we try and amass more of it for ourselves.” Zeke nods at the kennel master, who releases his big white bitch to flush more of the waterfowl out from where they have settled amongst the reeds on the riverbank. Kesara, named for the Messenger herself, brings down her third duck of the day, much to Zeke’s approval. Good haul today.

“It’s all a matter of greed in the end,” Lord Grisha mutters darkly, a shadow falling over his face at the thought of his foremost adversary.

Eren’s eyes flicker over to their father and back to the vista before them. “It’s no more than what any noble has done before. It’s for the northmen to defend what is theirs by rights. If they lose ground, it’s only because they aren’t strong enough to keep it.”

Zeke moves off then to see to his merlin. The boy speaks sense, he supposes; Shiganshina, and any of the other States for that matter, will be half of what it is now if their forerunners had not the strength to push on to conquer and keep what they have conquered. That does not mean he finds the notion any less… disquieting coming from his brother like that. Perhaps it is the way he said it. Perhaps it is the fact that this more than anything else makes Zeke realize how little he truly knows of the inner workings of Eren’s mind.

He trudges back up toward his father and brother with Kesara perched on his right arm; the duck she caught dangles from his left hand, limp and listless. Lord Grice nods to him in passing, attended by his nephews, Colt, his heir, and little Falco, who is nominated to be Eren’s squire once he earns his knighthood as a favor to the Grice boy's staunch and stalwart uncle.

Zeke is pleased to note that the family discussion has moved on to the upcoming Mother’s Day celebration. Until he remembers what it entails.

“Have you sent fairings to Ymir yet? I don’t know what to get for her this year,” Eren says forlornly, to Zeke’s fond amusement.

“Just get her a doll, she’s still at that age, after all,” he waves away his brother’s fretting as he hands over his catch to the attendant.

Eren huffs at that. “She has enough of those to fill Highridge thrice over,” he mutters, turning away and smoothing back Lance’s wayward feathers as he does so.

“Speaking of the upcoming holy day, I expect Elva to be in attendance at the rite,” Grisha states, looking pointedly at Zeke, who feels his mouth tighten into a thin line.

And there it is. It is the one thing he is dreading about Elena’s Day. If he could have sent the bitch away to Highridge, far from sight and mind, he would have done so long ago. Yet he cannot risk the woman poisoning his own daughter and only heir against him, and there are her duties as one of Queen Linda’s chief ladies-in-waiting to consider… Putting her aside for another, more pleasant woman is out of the question as well, as far as his father is concerned. The Riehls are an old, rich House, vassals to the Fritzes, and they cannot afford to lose this connection under any circumstances. The only good use the bint is for is for fucking, and even that is suspect. He will be forever grateful to Richard Reiss I for thinking to add secret passages within Midford. Indulging in his more covert… passions has never been so easy.

“Of course, Father, it is the day for family, after all,” Zeke replies coolly. From the corner of his eye, he can see Eren furtively sidle away to the kennel master once the air between his older kin turns a touch heavier. Something inside Zeke finds that rather comically endearing.

Grisha looks at him a few moments longer from behind his lenses. “Good,” he says, turning to watch the big white bitch make her run once more toward the riverbank. “There is nothing more important than family when all is said and done.”

“Yes,” Zeke murmurs, watching Eren’s Lance dart up toward the sky and start harrying a heron twice its size. “There is nothing more important than family.” The peregrine makes a swift, steep dive, quick as lightning, and finally brings down its larger quarry, pinning it hard against the ground amidst the tall, swaying grasses.

The smell of incense is strong in the air. Some find it pleasant; you find it thick, and heavy, and dizzying.

The Lady Theresia Dietrich is hardly the first of Paradisian stock to be wed to the Old Blood of Vascalin, and like those before her, she found her influence much diminished. The Old Blood runs strong in the State, and they have ever been resistant to outside forces who would attempt to meddle with their long-held customs.

That did not mean the new ways did not find room to sow their seeds in old soil. Over the centuries, Vascalin had learned to tolerate the new blood, perhaps not as liberally as the rest of the realm but certainly much better than their northern peers in Kostrokan. Small temples sprouted all over the State like mushrooms after rain, and the nobility had taken to employing Paradisian priests and advisors into their households. Soon after came the marriages, yet the Vascalene highborn took great care never to let their new spouses hold sway over them.

Over a thousand years on and not much has changed in that regard. As it stands, most of the Vascalene nobility will not have gone to the lengths Lord Alexander had for his outsider wife, yet love has a way of working through these things. It was at her insistence that the family observe the Paradisian holy day of families every year and Alexander, ever genial and accommodating and smitten with his lady wife, indulged her wish.

You cough delicately into the sheer silk cloth of your kerchief, carefully avoiding looking over at the boy who has just occupied your mind for the umpteenth time. The Jaegers have taken up a place at the forefront of the transept near the Mother’s monument, just a little ways away from where you and your family have stationed yourselves, and so you have an unimpeded view of the many faces Eren has been making at you the very moment you had caught each other’s eyes.

He spent the past half hour of the ceremony doing his utmost best to get you to break the mask that he claims to hate so much, and twice he nearly succeeded, much to your infuriated and reluctant amusement. You resolved several times to look away, only to find yourself taking a peek (just a quick one, just this once, it’ll be the last) and falling prey to one ridiculous face after another. Before long, the both of you had made a game of it, with the rest of your families none the wiser. You still cannot believe how absurd he can get sometimes; you would think he is a child and not a boy less than a year from manhood. And yet, that is what you like about him the most. He makes you feel half a girl again, and it is most freeing.

You sweep your gaze around the ornate transept in a bid to distract yourself from your betrothed, who you know is willing you to look at him once more. You take in the massive marble likeness of the Mother, Lady Elena, in front of you all; the beautiful window of stained glass showing another image of her set above the wall behind the monument; the crystal chandeliers and the smaller statues of a cow-headed woman (another depiction of the Lady Elena) nestling in alcoves around the walls, and feel yourself duly awed.

You are glad your mother chose to attend the day’s rites in the Great Temple instead of in the smaller, more private one within the palace grounds. You can never tire of the absolute opulence of this place. It is great in form as well as in name, that nobody can deny.

While the Creed traditionally keeps individual temples for each of the twelve gods, the Great Temple presumes to house all of them all at once, to magnificent results. It is the second-most largest building in Belris and rivals Midford Castle in luxury and splendor, with its towering marble dome and twelve soaring belltowers, one for each of the new gods.

It is no less striking within. Its vast, circular antechamber, likewise made of the finest marble, leads to twelve transepts where each god holds court. Amos, the Father, resides beside Elena, the Mother, as is right and proper. Next comes the Old Man of the Sea, Nyrdos; the Oracle, Niheia, goddess of wisdom and knowledge and the arts, patron of the Priors; the Sun and the Moon, Lusin and Dedsin; Tardon, the Warrior, beloved of knights; the Lover, Lyias, the Whole of Two Halves; the Smith, Ilvisar, favored by craftsmen and those who strive to create; Kesara, the Messenger, who brought the first dove into the world; the Gardener, Alyrya, mistress of farmers and the fields; and lastly, nameless Death, the Rider, whose transept is almost always empty of custom.

Today, the Mother’s transept is filled to the brim with worshipers consisting mostly of women, children, and families, the ones under her special protection. You look around at your own family congregated around you and feel a pang of wistfulness, knowing you are missing two of your number. Little Oliver is much too young to go to court and Tibor, being a novice of the Parliament, is encouraged to see as little as possible of his own House. He will be sent to serve some other House once he masters his trade and must therefore put aside his old loyalties; most like you will never see him again unless circumstances permit it.

You glance at Lydia, knowing well how much she misses her twin brother. Yet she seems to be holding up well without his much yearned for presence, for which you are glad.

Your eyes flicker over to the foot of the Mother’s monument where the Matriarch stands, deep in prayer over the as-of-yet unburnt sacrifice of cow’s meat, pomegranates, chameleon lilies, and golden lotuses piled in the massive iron brazier before her. Or tried to, at least. You somehow manage to catch the eye of your betrothed once more, who quickly sticks out his tongue at you, making you purse your lips to hide your smile. The ceremony cannot end fast enough.

But end it does at last, and you find yourself trailing behind your parents after the Matriarch’s blessing as they stride forward to hail the Jaegers and exchange pleasantries. It amused you to no end to see Matron Gudrun struggle to keep her motherly composure as she gave Eren her blessing, nostrils flared and eyes burning a hole through his chest where his own mother’s beloved key lay.

“Gods, that mask of yours sure is hard to break,” Eren murmurs, sidling up to stand beside you with his hands behind his back, looking exceptionally handsome today in red and gold. “I don’t know if I like that at all,” he adds, looking slightly crestfallen at the thought.

“I’m glad to know I can keep it up under any circumstance,” you whisper back, trying to tamp down the rush of thrill you can feel coursing through you at the sight of him wearing your House colors. It is astonishing just how much red favors his looks.

“But not with me,” Eren chirps, grabbing your hand and tugging you a step forward. “May I steal you away, my lady?”

You look at him in surprise, before glancing at your elders, who seem to have finally taken notice of your little exchange. Your father gives the both of you an encouraging nod and Eren inclines his head respectfully, gently leading you away to join the throng of worshipers making their way out of the transept into the Temple’s antechamber.

“Are you sure you’d rather not spend your time with your family today? It is the day for family, after all,” you venture, glancing at the back of his dark head as you pass through the transept’s entrance.

Eren lets out a noncommittal sound and answers, “I’d rather not be around a certain Lord and Lady Jaeger, if you catch my meaning. And besides, we’ll be family soon enough.”

A burst of heat crawls up your face at that, and you quickly glance at him, wishing you could have seen his face as he said that; but the flushed tips of his ears and the back of his neck tell the tale of his feelings well enough. You look down at the elaborate mosaic of the twelve sacred beasts you have just walked over, biting your lip, and hasten your steps so you can walk beside him; you squeeze his hand gently and feel him do so likewise. This is looking to be a most exhilarating day indeed.

Even the leaden sky above cannot dampen your spirits. “Oh, we’d best hurry. There’s a smell of rain in the air.” And it is rousing and invigorating and makes you feel more alive than anything else ever could have at the moment. A gust of wind blows across the Temple’s courtyard, lifting the sheer pale blue silk of your veil into the air.

Eren takes one look at you and draws you aside beneath the great stone colonnade that parts the courtyard from the gardens. You give him a curious look and are just about to ask him what is wrong when he moves to stand behind you. You stiffen in surprise as you feel him reach up toward the back of your head. There is a gentlest of tugs followed by the sensation of him smoothing back the stray hairs he has dislodged from your silver filigree hairpiece in his endeavor, and he reemerges, walking back to his preceding place in front of you with your veil in his arms.

“Pretty but cumbersome, don’t you think?” he says, folding the cloth neatly into a small parcel.

“Now you’ll be the one encumbered,” you point out, distractedly smoothing down the pale blue and silver skirts of your gown.

Eren snorts a little and flourishes the small square of silk in front of you. “By this flimsy thing? It’s hardly more than a wisp, easily kept in my belt.”

“Well, then, thank you, kind sir. At least let me keep it in my own person,” you smile, taking your veil from him and stowing it away in the pocket of your gown where you keep your kerchief. “But I must confess, I did not expect to be doing much vigorous exploring today, aside from exploring the special booths, and that’s hardly vigorous at all. Hence the cumbersome veil.”

“We’ll keep it short, and it seems the weather is eager to do that for us anyway. I’d like to look around as much as I can before the clouds break.” Eren takes your hand in his once more, and you proceed to leave the Temple grounds, passing the massive fountain of the Twelve at the center of the yard. “And I want to see if I can find a good Elena’s Day present for Ymir,” Eren raises his voice above the loud crashing of the fountain’s waters as it pours endlessly down into a great stone basin from the twelve mouths of the twelve sacred beasts arrayed at the heart of the structure.

“Oh, I’d like to get her something, too,” you put in interestedly, mind instantly going through a list of fairings you can send the girl. Dolls? No, she probably has enough of those to last her a lifetime. A bag of marchpane treats? Perhaps… Or a nice pin for her hair, something that’ll look pretty with all that gold…

“Fairings from the soon-to-be aunt by marriage, that’s nice,” Eren says lightly, half-bashful and half-teasing.

“Yes,” you cough, looking away briefly to gather your bearings before saying, “It’s been almost a week since Klesvar and I still haven’t grown warts on my feet, just so you know. You fretted for nothing.”

Eren laughs as you descend the steps leading to one of the many plazas in Belris, Silver Oak, where most of the city’s craftsmen congregate. “All right, fair enough. I, too, haven’t grown any warts on either foot. But who takes off her shoes when climbing atop the head of a long-dead giant, I ask you?”

“The soles wouldn’t grip properly, I told you. And I made sure to thoroughly scrub my feet afterward, so it was all well and good,” you wave away his remark and lead him further into the plaza, which is enjoying little custom on account of the approaching deluge.

A stall selling hairpins, brooches, and other such trinkets catches your eye, and you make your way over curiously, letting go of Eren’s hand as you do so. The stallkeep looks up and flashes you an inviting smile, eager to get at least some patronage today; it flickers slightly as he catches sight of Eren and his key pendant, yet he quickly recovers, turning his full attention upon you instead. “A blessed Mother’s Day to you, my lady.”

“And to you, goodman,” you return his smile and examine his wares closely as Eren hovers over your shoulder.

“Oh? When’s the happy nuptials?”

You glance up, only to find the stallkeep eyeing the black pearl dangling from the silver chain around your neck.

“Next year.”

You look around at Eren as he speaks and watch the softest of smiles grace his comely face.

“Ah, you have my most sincere congratulations!” the stallkeep beams (a little nervously, you think), then apologetically tacks on, “I would normally offer you a bargain on my wares but considering the state of business today… well, I hope my lady understands.”

That you do well enough and obligingly pay the man the full price of one silver crescent for an exquisitely made silver comb adorned with a bird in flight.

One stall catches Eren’s eye afterward, that of a woodcarver who is selling the most beautifully crafted figures you have seen in a long while. You come upon him at his work, and you note how closely Eren watches the man as he deftly whittles away at the small block of wood in his skilled hands.

You soon find your mind wandering as Eren engages the stallkeep in conversation. Your eyes land upon a dollmaker in the stall next to the woodcarver’s, and you are startled to see the look of absolute distaste on his face as he gazes over at the both of you. Slipping on a mask of cool indifference comes easy, and you furtively look over at your betrothed, who seems to be the object of the other stallkeep’s disapproval. For a moment, you think the man merely envious of the woodcarver’s custom, until you see where the dollmaker’s attention truly lies. Of course.

“Tch, did you see the way that dollmaker looked at me? You’d think I fucked his maiden daughter,” Eren grumbles under his breath, as you leave the woodcarver’s stall with his purchase safely tucked away in his leather money bag.

You giggle at that and take his hand in yours. “He must’ve thought you one of those blasphemous Death worshipers. Really, I’d have thought you’d get used to the nasty stares by now, but you have this remarkable way of shutting those out. Always the rebel, aren’t you?”

Eren glances down at his mother’s key resting upon his chest and rolls his eyes to the overcast skies above. “Superstitious cunts, the whole lot of them.”

“Oh, it takes balls to wear that pendant to a holy rite, in the Great Temple no less. I thought the Matriarch was going to strangle you with it, her holy vows be damned.”

Eren chokes on his laughter and incredulity. “Lady Crass shows her face again.”

“Thought about her a lot, have you?” you grin wickedly, enjoying the play of crimson embarrassment washing over his face and trying not to think too deeply on what that may entail.

A guttural sound escapes your betrothed’s throat, and he mutters something under his breath as he quickens his pace, following the familiar path back to the castle.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that?” you press, stifling the laughter in your voice as you half-jog to keep up.

“I said we had best get home since we’re done here.”

You cannot have done so at a better time. The first few fat droplets start pelting down the very moment you slip through Midford’s front doors, and soon enough, the cloudburst is upon you in earnest.

Reluctant to part ways just yet, you invite Eren to your father’s solar for a game of qaxan, which he accepts with a determined look on his face.

You play on the small marble table in front of the chamber’s terrace doors, which are just now closed to keep out the rain, though the long, red velvet curtains framing the doorway are still tied back, affording you a view of one of the smaller castle gardens. The fires have been lit as well, bathing the room in a soothing wash of warmth. You set up your respective pieces behind the qaxan screen, fire and rain the only things breaking the comfortable silence that has descended upon the solar.

A glance out at the terrace prompts you to remark, “You know, I’ve always thought rain trees a fascinating plant.”

Eren pauses in his rumination of the board to glance out the doors at the rainswept vista. “I know what you mean. They only bloom in rain, but their flowers absolutely do not bring to mind rain in any way, shape, or form.”

They certainly are an oddity. Fire-bright blooms break through the gray drabness outside, striking and conspicuous, making it look as though a bolt of lightning had struck the tree and set it ablaze.

“Their blossoms should be blue, something like a winter rose or Cornelia’s Tears. Or they should’ve called it a fire tree instead, even though it only blooms in rain,” Eren continues, as he carefully sets up his array.

He has started to take his time with the game, you note, ever since his… debacle in the North. While he has yet to win a game still, what few sessions you had had over the past week or so had grown a touch bit longer than before. Part of you is grimly pleased with the progress; the change may have come about due to dire circumstances but you find it highly fascinating. It will seem that Eren, when stripped of haste and impatience, is a lot sharper and more astute than he initially seems.

You put your last mountain into place and glance up at him. “I suppose people love toying around with names. It’s just like moon cakes, which are truly moon pies, whatever else people insist on calling it.”

Eren chuckles at that and pronounces himself ready to begin the game. You remove the screen and take the measure of his arrayed army. An interesting formation. You advance a catapult one square to the left.

“I plan to go back to that woodcarver tomorrow, weather permitting. If you want, you can come with.” There is a note of hopefulness in his voice as he moves his spearmen.

You answer with your own spearmen. “Oh? Have you not bought what you needed to today?”

“Let’s just say Ymir’s going to have to wait a while for her present. I would’ve sent mine with yours but, well…” His archers come into play, to bolster his spearmen.

You give him a brief intrigued glance, before advancing your charioteers a square. “So, I take it that figure you bought was not her actual present.”

“No.” A most mysterious smile graces his face as he moves his archers once more. “It’ll take a while but I think it’ll be more special that way.”

“Will you tell me if I ask what it is you’re planning? No, I didn’t think so,” you sigh, as he merely shakes his head at you, enigmatic smile still in place.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“Speaking of Ymir,” you look up at him a little cautiously, before plunging on, “you said something about Zeke and Lady Elva earlier in the Temple… how is your father taking all of that?”

A shadow falls over Eren’s face fleetingly. You hurry to apologize and change the subject yet he answers, “Most like he’s in his solar avoiding any… altercations between husband and wife, if they haven’t stormed off into their own respective chambers by now. It’s never much of a family day with those two around.” He brings out one of his giants to play to further defend his mountain passes. “I just realized we never really get a chance to lounge around in Father’s solar. He practically lives in the place.”

“He is the Magister, I wouldn’t expect anything less, honestly.” You roll out your trebuchet, ready to catch out his giant if he blunders.

Eren looks around at the fort of the Praetor’s political life, expression pensive. “One day, this’ll all be yours.”

“Not any time soon, gods willing.”

“It’s fast approaching, though. You’ve been spending more and more time behind that finely carved desk these days.” He moves his giant two squares, and you pounce, making his mouth thin in displeasure.

“I do have to learn my trade. And Father makes it look so easy…” You pick up your golden dragon, toying with it a moment before setting it down in favor of one of your own giants. “Speaking of trades,” you flash him a look, part considering, part teasing, “I was wondering how you’d fare as my castellan.”

Eren chokes on air at your statement, looking at you with wide eyes. “Castellan? Me?”

“How not? Plenty of great knights make fine castellans, it’s an honorable post.”

“Yes, but…” Eren looks down at the board, and melancholy bleeds into his expression. “I don’t know if I have the ability to run a household like yours. I’m not…” He hunches in on himself, and you feel your heart go out to him.

Once you fall in love, my child, his joy and grief and anger… all of that will be yours. From two now as one, as you will swear to the old gods someday.

“That day, when you first taught me the ways of this game,” you glance up at him, heart pounding inexplicably and fingers itching to tangle themselves together upon the marble tabletop, “when you played with Armin…”

His brow furrows, but he pushes on, “I realized just how much in common the both of you have. Both southron, both heirs to High Houses, both quick and smart and clever and so… far ahead of me.” He picks up his dragon, turning it over in his hands and watching the light gleam over its red lacquered body. “I’ve never felt so left behind, so inadequate until that moment. I’m glad you think me worthy of that kind of service to you,” he flashes you a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “but I just can’t see myself reaching that goalpost.”

“It’s not a race, you know.” You tap the head of your dragon idly, watching surprise part his mouth as his gaze once again lights up. “Life. You don’t need to catch up to anyone, least of all me and Armin. And I don’t think it should matter how long you get to that goalpost of yours. Why not go at your own pace? I believe you’ll get there in the end. And besides,” you smile a little as he removes your spearmen from the board, “I think it is you who are moving too fast. Maybe you should be less concerned about haste and learn to see the value of slowing down.”

The memory of the northern campaign lies unspoken between you, the last time he had tried to move too fast and had ended up doing more harm than good. The truth of his part in the Lord Commander’s mishap is practically unknown to the rest of the court, even to the rest of the detachment that had been with them that day, and the fact is not lost on you. The chaos and confusion of battle had served to muddle the incident, and those few who are privy to the fact have hushed it all up; whether or not this is because they are mindful of who Eren’s father is, you are not certain.

“Yes... you’re right. I’m just upset that it took something so… disastrously momentous to make me see that,” Eren sighs, watching as you move your dragon to the center of the board.

“And I don’t think you’ll ever be inadequate, Eren,” you say quietly. “If running a household is not to your strengths, then it’s not. There will always be duties better suited to you.”

“Still, now that you’ve put it forward… the idea finally has some merit…”

Your dragon moves forward a square. “I suppose Zeke and Lord Grisha have taught you some things about running a household?”

“Well, yes, they have. But I will admit, I wasn't... the best of students.” At your look, he adds almost shamefacedly, “You know how I am... those matters aren't exactly the most interesting of subjects, are they? But I'm not an entirely lost cause, I don't think. I learn better with Sir Hannes.” Sir Hannes Ahrendt is the Jaegers' castellan. You had met the man the past autumn and thought him pleasant enough. “He was a right old sot before Father set him straight, but our household’s never run as smoothly as it does under his helm. I like to follow him around when I’m bored, ask questions… not really what you’d call proper tuition but-”

“I think it’s plenty good, more practical,” you tell him, and the smile he flashes you lights up his eyes so prettily. “And it’s not solely you who’ll be running the household. You’ll have a steward, a Prior… me.”

“Then, I suppose I’m in good hands.” He removes one of your charioteers, and his smile takes on a more triumphant cast. “This is one of those things I wish Mother was still here to teach me about… I’m sure she ran a great household.”

“I’m sure she did.” You eye the key pendant he is wearing underneath the golden chain of his betrothal necklace as he rolls up the sleeves of his crimson tunic to his elbows. “I truly admire the strength of your devotion to her memory, to weather others’ censure like that.”

He glances down at the key on his chest, looking equal parts wistful and annoyed. “The opinions of superstitious cunts don’t concern me. It’s just a bloody key when all is said and done.”

“Hmm, true enough.” A giggle bursts through your lips as you remove one of his catapults. “Ah, the Matriarch’s face when she was blessing you was worth its own painting. I don’t think she’s the kind of cunt you’d like to cross, though, by the look of her.”

“How in the bloody hell did you get so crass?” Eren shakes his head at you as he toys with a trebuchet. You realize, with a small thrill of horror, that your dragon is in very real peril of going down if that piece is played. “It’s the farthest thing people will think, to look at you.” Under his breath, he mutters, “Is what they say about southron girls true…?”

“Oh?” The slyest of smirks curves your lips. “Do tell, Eren. What do they say about southron girls?” You lean across the table, crossing your arms against the marble top and watching the apple of his throat bob a little as his eyes flicker down to the curve of your breasts, visible atop the bodice of your gown. Distracted, he abandons his trebuchet to move his dragon two squares to the left. “That we’re wild, wanton… hot-blooded?” Your voice lowers, eyes fixed resolutely on his as he leans back in his chair, face flushed. “That it’s the climate making us so, that famous southron heat?” You laugh at that and remove his dragon with a flourish. “We’re no more wanton than any other woman in the realm, gods be good.”

Eren looks down at the board, seeming to come out of his daze, and stares at you a good, long while. “That’s not fair.”

“War is never fair, Eren, we make use of whatever advantage we have to hand to better our chances at victory,” you riposte, straightening up a little in your own seat. But the way he gazes at you then gives you pause.

“I do think about her a lot, Lady Crass,” he says, and there is something in his voice that makes gooseflesh rise up your arms. He tilts his head a little at you.

He’s never looked at me that way. Never. Never.

“Ever since that night she first put in an appearance, I’ve been most curious about her.”

You wrench your eyes away from his, watching him move his giant towards one of your mountain passes. You move your dragon a square closer.

“And I confess… I wonder how much liberty she’ll allow me with her body… if she’s willing… willing to let me touch, kiss… more perhaps…”

He moves a trebuchet. Your dragon flies ever closer to the giant.

You have fallen thrall to his voice. You raise your eyes to meet his once more, and you are lost. He seems more a man to you then, and you wonder how it is that you have come to overlook this fact, come to overlook the broadness of his shoulders, the sharpness of his jaw, the lean muscle of his forearms as he crosses them against the table.

“Now I wonder…” His gaze seems to smolder as he looks at you. You have never seen fire burn green until now. “If you’d let me sate my lusts with you.”

You move your dragon a square, and he removes it from the board, quick as lightning.

For a moment, you can only stare at him. The room has gone unbearably, stiflingly hot. “That’s not fair.”

One corner of his mouth turns up into the most self-satisfied of smirks. “War is never fair,” he says, voice low, and the way your name pours off his lips makes the heat under your skin flare.

You narrow your eyes at him, digging deep for the cool, calm head of Lady Rhyzkova. “I don’t need a dragon to defeat you.”

“No, but I’ll think you’ll be more hard-pressed to.” The hint of smug superiority in his tone makes you bristle, and it is this more than anything else that gives you the drive to finally trounce him several moves later.

“See, I didn’t need a dragon to beat you,” you say, victorious and elated.

“Yes, I yield, I yield,” he smiles, looking a good deal less upset at this loss than he had his earlier ones. He glances at your father’s timepiece and stands up from his seat. “Will you go down to dinner tonight?”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“I’ll be seeing you then?” The way he gazes down at you almost makes you squirm in your seat. Almost.

“Yes, of course.” The breath you have been holding on to during your small exchange leaves you as a small gasp the moment the door of your father’s solar closes behind your betrothed’s form. You look down at your hands, dimly noting the tremors that shake them, and tangle them together on your lap.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

***

...my plans of updating by Aug. 21 have been shot to hell, lmao.

That aside, things have slowed down again for a while, but it'll pick up once more soon enough, I'm definitely setting up more things for the main climax in this and the next few chapters. And this one's another long chapter at 10.3K, I hope I didn't overdo it with this one (I just love expounding on things ajshdkshdsksds).

I hope you all like this one, and as always, thank you for reading! :D

Tagging: @princess-jaeger​ @lukepattersin​

[thetomorrowshow]

hubris killed the god - ch 1

At first he thinks it’s a trick of his mind. Something brought about by the terror of the storm and the grief of multiple deaths.

When the other two llamas die and Scott finds their bodies, little black crawlies digging into their eyes, he knows it has to be real.

When three more llamas come down ill within the week, Scott knows that quarantine is hopeless.

And when he notices the blackness approaching, rolling over the fields on every side of Chromia, inching closer to the town until the Nether portal is inaccessible, Scott knows this isn’t just going to go away.

And he isn’t going to get away.

this is the first chapter of my apocalypse/horror/survival fic, set in empires smp s2. happy halloween!

cw: previous major character death, death of animals, mild gore, horror

~

The day before the end begins, it storms.

It’s a bad storm, one that Scott finds himself out in, battering down the storm defenses of the llama garden and covering patches of the flower fields in tarps. Then he gets inside before it can get any worse.

The rain is so heavy that his window becomes a dark sheet of water, his own thoughts deafened by the hammering of hail on his roof and the echoing thunder. Scott finds himself frightened by the way the wind seems to penetrate his home, and when his lantern blows out for the fourth time, he gives up on trying to keep a light on and crawls into bed, pulling the blankets over his head and pretending he can’t hear the way the house seems to creak under the weight of such a vicious storm. Eventually, he must fall asleep, his room so dark that he can’t tell the difference between eyes open and eyes closed.

When he wakes up, he wakes with the sun in his eyes.

Scott sits up slowly, inhales the scent of petrichor that fully permeates his bedroom. There’s a hole in his roof, he spots immediately, a shingle hanging through it, dripping water onto his floor below. 

Compared to the horrifying storm of the day before, Scott finds it almost stiflingly quiet, the only sound being the plat plat plat of the water drops hitting the floor. He can’t very well let that continue.

Scott kicks the blankets away from his legs, where they’ve become tangled in the throes of his sleep. He only allows himself a moment, a moment to prepare himself for the work and wreckage that is surely waiting outside his door. For that moment, the sun shining in through the hole in his roof is beautiful, the water drops sparkling, the air fresh and delicious.

Then he gathers a breath and slides out of bed.

He’s right, unfortunately. Chromia has sustained a considerable amount of damage, roofs and roads torn up, entire swathes of crops felled, trees split down the middle and pulled to pieces. One unlucky building has collapsed entirely, a tree splitting its roof down the middle.

That damage is manageable, though. It’ll take time, but Scott knows how to build. He can repair buildings, fill potholes, replant crops and trees.

He can’t bring back the dead.

The llama garden is destroyed, the trapdoors hanging off their hinges, the hedges uprooted and blown over. Scott steps over storm-churned mud, speaking quietly—he’s not sure what he’s saying, something soothing and repetitive—as he approaches the huddled, wild-eyed herd of llamas, all squished under the hasty awning he’d constructed when the storm had begun.

There are two limp llama forms in the garden. Yeti and Eloise. 

Scott takes care of them first, kissing both on the forehead before carrying them, one after the other, out of the garden and beyond the bounds of Chromia, to a plot of land he’d laid aside months ago with the hope he’d never have to use it.

The digging of twin graves is slow and mournful, but Scott doesn’t halt until he can roll the bodies in, dirt streaking down his face where it clings to his tear tracks.

He can’t particularly be blamed when he doesn’t look back, shovel hoisted over his shoulder, when he returns to the llama garden. So perhaps it isn’t Scott’s fault that he doesn’t see the darkness crawling over the graves.

-

A llama is ill.

Very, very ill.

It seems to have come out of nowhere—one day, Martina is fine, the next she’s shaking with fever and shying away from any touch. Scott separates the llama from the herd the best he can—which mostly means leading Owen into the garden and bringing Martina to the tavern, one of the buildings with minimal damage from the previous day’s storm.

At first, Scott assumes it’s stress. The stress of surviving the storm and watching two of her friends die had been too much for this poor llama, so he makes all the special little cures that he’s learned in his travels and leaves them for Martina with some warm blankets and pillows (he doesn’t spoonfeed her or anything, because if there’s one thing about Scott it’s that he hates being near sick people or animals, but he trusts that if she can recover, she will).

The next morning, Martina is dead.

And two more are ill.

This isn’t stress, then, this is something contagious. Scott entirely abandons his rebuilding plans, throwing tarps over holes in roofs and walls, and dedicates all his time to isolating the sick llamas before removing the dead one.

When he approaches the limp llama form on the floor of the tavern (already beginning to smell), he pushes it over onto its side to make it easier to pick up.

Crawling all over the llama’s belly are little, black, fuzzy—things.

Scott actually cries out in disgust, pulling his arms to his chest. The things are—they look like patches of mold, and from a distance he might have been convinced that the body was simply growing something, but up close they’re wriggling and swarming and it’s absolutely revolting—because they aren’t just sitting en masse upon the Martina’s body, but they seem to be . . . eating it.

They don’t have mouths—or if they do, they’re too miniscule to tell—but Scott can see unmistakable flashes of red between them, and certainly they’re eating his friend.

As he gazes in horror, something changes and their movements turn erratic, before they all begin to scatter from the body—and Scott doesn’t stick around to see the open carcass of the llama. He books it for the door, as the . . . things behind him reconvene upon the llama.

Scott slams the front door of the tavern and leans against it, breathing heavily. What—

What was that?

At first he thinks it’s a trick of his mind. Something brought about by the terror of the storm and the grief of multiple deaths.

When the other two llamas die and Scott finds their bodies, little black crawlies digging into their eyes, he knows it has to be real.

When three more llamas come down ill within the week, Scott knows that quarantine is hopeless.

And when he notices the blackness approaching, rolling over the fields on every side of Chromia, inching closer to the town until the Nether portal is inaccessible, Scott knows this isn’t just going to go away.

And he isn’t going to get away.

-

The llamas are a lost cause. Within days, the entire garden is overrun.

Somehow, he manages to clear a path through the black things—mites, he starts to call them in his head, or plaguelings sometimes—to get to Owen’s body to say farewell, but even the hardest of glares don’t shake them from the body.

He can still walk through town, though the confines of his walk become smaller and smaller every day. The mites don’t seem to appreciate being looked at, scuttling away when he lays his eyes on them, but they return as soon as he passes, covering up the bare ground behind him. So, before the crops are entirely a lost cause, he gathers whatever bundles of wheat remain from the storm’s devastation of just two weeks prior.

He stacks all of his food stores in his house, and when he wakes the next morning to retrieve whatever building materials he can, his storage hall is blanketed in black. Safe to say he won’t be going over there any time soon.

And over the course of a month, Scott finds himself completely cut off from any source of food, building, and outside help.

He thinks about his friends, sometimes. Surely this plague isn’t just spreading in Chromia, because when he climbs to the roof of the tavern, he can look out and see endless patches of black.

Sometimes, his eyes turn toward his neighbor. Stratos is silent, its lamps burnt out, its heavenly glow burnished.

And that, perhaps, more than anything, scares Scott.

Whatever these things are, they’ve caused the god to abandon his city.

-

He thinks, sometimes, that maybe he ought to have tried to leave back when the first llama became ill. He should’ve gone to Shelby, or Sausage, or someone else with animal knowledge to ask about the illness. And both are such magical folk, perhaps they could have killed this plague before it properly began.

“Nice going, Scott,” he mutters to himself, eyes jumping from side to side as he walks down his main street. He can see them, hiding in the cracks of bricks and in between buildings and in the dying grass. He won’t let them get him yet. “Imagine what Pix’ll write about this. Foolish ruler overrun by tiny fuzzy monsters. Forgot to leave while he still could.”

But then there would have been no one to comfort the llamas in their last days, he reminds himself, even if it had to be from a distance. He still hasn’t touched a single mite, and he doesn’t plan to.

They’re terrifying, these mites, because they’re always there. There’s constantly a little bubble of black in the corner of his vision, reaching toward him like some amalgamous arm, only breaking apart when he looks directly at it. He’s had too many close calls, especially off the road where they can hide in the grass and pop up right beside his boot. Only the road is moderately safe.

Until, suddenly, he can’t even walk on the road anymore.

He steps out his front door to find that not only are the plaguelings swarming the road, like millions of tiny rats, but that they’re swarming around things in the road—and off the road—and on his doorstep.

Birds. Dead birds. One every couple of feet, like an entire flock had been dragged out of the sky by the reaching arms of many piles of mites.

And really, Scott thinks, a sickly feeling in his throat, who’s to say that isn’t what happened?

It’s clear what the message is, though—outside of his house is no longer safe. He’s stuck here with whatever he has to defend himself against the encroaching darkness, which is unfortunately not much.

Fire doesn’t work against them. He’d tried early on, watching with growing panic as they had mobbed the flame, seeming to multiply as they piled atop it until it was utterly smothered.

A sword is too imprecise, the mites scattering away from the blade before the swing can even land—same for an axe.

His shovel had been useful to an extent, though he hasn’t managed to actually kill them with it—the whacking of it on the ground had only served to scare them away for a few moments.

So Scott grabs his shovel, adjusting and readjusting his sweaty grip on it, and stands by the door, ready to swing at anything that skitters through the cracks.

That day passes mostly uneventfully, Scott jumping every time his house creaks, weapon aloft and body tense, only for nothing to happen.

The next morning, there are a handful of mites creeping toward his kitchen. The mites vary in size, the smallest being the size of a fingernail, the largest perhaps the size of Scott’s palm. Unfortunately, one of the mites in his house is the palm-size kind.

Scott whacks and whacks with his shovel, a scream tearing from his throat—these are the things that killed his best friends, he can only imagine waking up to one stuffing itself down his throat as he chokes on the nightmare and is enveloped by so many others and they’re going to kill him he’s going to die here—and yet it remains unsquashed, gathering with a couple of smaller ones in an unreachable spot under his furnace.

Scott stares, lets his shovel fall with a shaky, sob-like sigh.

This is it, isn’t it?

They’ve gotten into his house, and everywhere they go they spread death.

Within hours, there’s more. Scott tries to hit them with his broom, afraid of the way the shovel blade seems to be rattling loosely against the handle, but when they just begin to crawl up the broom handle Scott shrieks and throws it across the room.

There’s so many of them. There’s too many of them, all creeping and crawling inexorably toward Scott, the only living thing left.

Scott doesn’t sleep that night. He spends the night watching his bedroom door, because if he’s looking at it they won’t come in. They only move toward him when he isn’t looking, so he’s just going to stare at the door and put off the inevitable.

He can’t help but imagine that it’ll be a very painful death.

The earlier llamas had died of illness, a plague that Scott’s pretty sure they contracted by coming into contact with the darkness, but the later llamas. . . .

Well. It hadn’t been pretty. It had been torturous, really, hearing their panicked and pained brays, his heart aching as he couldn’t even bear to watch. He hasn’t even let himself dwell on it until now.

And now, surrounded on all sides by the deathly mites, Scott wishes that he’d died much earlier, entombed in his bed—succumbed to the illness.

It’s too late now. Now, darkness encroaches, and maybe it’s just the fuzziness of his eyes as he forces them wide open, but it looks like the mites may be creeping in along the sides of the room.

Scott holds his place until day, sunlight filtering in through his window. He’d never patched the hole in his roof, just covered it over with a tarp, and he knows that the mites are crawling over the roof because he can see the tarp weighing down, bulging into the room. If too many pile onto it, it’ll collapse into a bomb of flesh-eating death.

And that’s the only sign he has that the mites are around, because there aren’t any in his room yet, and somehow they don’t make noise. They’re silent as they crawl across his roof and down his walls, up his staircase and under his floorboards. They’ve always been silent. 

This is his last day. He knows it.

Scott eats his last bit of bread, swallowing it down past his dry throat. He clips his knife into his boot—maybe he can cut some of them posthumously as they swarm over his body—and swings his trusty shovel around a few times, testing his reflexes.

Maybe he can frighten them a bit, even if he can’t kill them. It’s the noise—or the vibrations—of the shovel colliding with the ground that scares them away, but it doesn’t actually harm them. He doesn’t know how to harm them. He doesn’t know what to do.

He doesn’t know how to survive this. He can’t survive this.

And suddenly, there’s one in his room.

It crawls up under his door, the size of one of Scott’s fingers, and is still for a moment—long enough for Scott to bring down his shovel with a resounding crash beside it.

It’s gone in an instant, back the way it came.

But it’s only the first, and a few minutes later, there’s another one.

Scott scares that one away as well, anticipation mounting. He watches the door, shovel ready, breath coming faster—

He spins around, and sure enough, there’s one crawling under his bed.

It must’ve come up from the floorboards—or through a hole in the wall—they don’t just come in one way, they’re everywhere and Scott’s going to die surrounded by tiny monsters that he can’t fight—

BANG!

Scott jumps at the deafening noise, and there’s a crash from his window and he glances over—

A pair of booted heels kick through his window, followed by the legs and body and cowboy hat of Jimmy.

Jimmy lands on Scott’s bedroom floor, glass falling from his body in silver raindrops. He glances up, gives Scott a quick grin.

“Hey,” he says, and it’s never been so good to hear another person’s voice. “Needin’ a rescue?”

Scott almost drops his shovel in relief.

Jimmy’s looking pretty rough, his hair long enough to curl around his ears, beard a bit scruffier than he usually keeps it, shirt torn here and there, badge dull. But his stance is firm, and his eyes are sparkling with a determination that Scott hasn’t had in days, and his bandolier is loaded with bullets.

He looks like a godsend.

Jimmy cocks his pistol—he must’ve shot it, that’s what the bang had been—and aims it at the door, stepping toward it. “How many varmints are through there?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Um. A lot,” says Scott after a moment, hoisting his shovel and drawing up next to him. Jimmy grimaces, then takes a deep breath.

“All right, here’s how this is gonna go,” Jimmy says, briefly making eye contact before turning back to the door. “I’ll open that door real quick and shoot—they run from the sound of it. Then we’re gonna go out there, me shooting and you whacking that shovel around, until we’re outside where False can reach us. Got it?”

Scott nods. False is here as well?

He’s not alone anymore. He’s not going to die here.

Not yet, a wry voice in the back of his head reminds him. He could just as easily die in Jimmy’s hands.

Well, he thinks, raising his shovel. At least we’re going out guns a-blazin’.

And then Jimmy yanks open the door.

There’s hundreds of them out there. On the walls, on the floor, covering any chests and personal affectations. Scott actually takes a step back, but Jimmy just fires his gun into the center of it all.

The mites flee from the loud noise and the hole in the floor where the bullet strikes, leaving a substantial place in the center of the floor for them to step through. Jimmy strides through, Scott on his heels, glaring around to keep the mites from encroaching on their space.

When they run out of clear space, Jimmy hollers at the top of his lungs (Scott jumps a little bit at the sudden noise) and jumps up and down in place, his boots rattling the whole house. More of them scatter to the sidelines, twitching and crawling up the walls. Scott follows as Jimmy stomps through, yelling like a madman—and it works. The noise and impact of his shouts and boots spook the plaguelings, pushing them back far enough away that the two of them have a brief path through the squirming masses.

Scott beats at the ground with his shovel behind them, keeping any from creeping up when their backs are turned. He and Jimmy make their way to the front door like that, back to back, stomping and beating and yelling until they’re outside.

The sun is almost blinding after the total blackness that had covered every inch of inside, and though there’s seas of mites roving just beyond their feet, Scott can properly see the sun and sky and hear a loud whirring and clunking and see—

A flying machine?

Made up of copper and wood, great cogs and spinning wheels, clunking and clanking with some sort of blimp pulling it along—

And Jimmy yells something Scott doesn’t understand, but apparently whoever is up in the flying machine does, as a rope ladder unfurls and falls directly in front of them.

Jimmy stomps in place, grabbing Scott by the back of his shirt and shoving him toward the ladder. Scott knows how to take a hint—he sticks his shovel through his belt loop and he climbs, sweaty hands barely keeping hold of the twisting rope, feet scrambling for the swinging rungs.

If he slips and falls, he’ll fall onto Jimmy, leaving them free for the mites to suffocate. Falling is not an option.

His shovel clanks against his leg, his breathing comes heavier and heavier as his arms tremble under the weight of himself—he hasn’t climbed a rope ladder in years, and never one being blown around by the turbines of some great flying machine. It’s life or death, though, and every time he thinks of what waits for him if he falls from this height, he somehow finds the strength to grip the ropes a little tighter and heave himself up another rung.

It feels like it takes years, but eventually Scott can wrap his arms around the side of the flying machine and roll over it onto the deck, where he collapses, panting, his arms jelly and core aching. His shovel digs into his hip, but he doesn’t move, because somehow he’s safe. He’s been rescued.

Minutes ago, he’d been sure his own death was waiting, and here he is, sitting on a ship in the sky.

There’s a thunk, and he opens his eyes—closed against the rays of the sun—to see Jimmy standing beside him, pulling up the rope ladder.

“No one else down there?” he calls to Scott over the sound of the flying machine, and Scott shakes his head.

“Just me!”

Jimmy finishes pulling the ladder up, dropping it in a heap on the wood planks of the ship. “Get us outta here, False!”

There’s a shout from further along the ship—False, Scott realizes, shading a hand over his eyes to look ahead at the woman in question—and then the ship tilts dizzyingly, turning in midair, the noise of the cogs and gears and machinations louder than before.

Scott feels a little lightheaded, really. This is . . . this is a lot, and he hasn’t been given time to process any of it.

But Jimmy’s barely paused but to wipe his face with his neckerchief, making his way up to False to help with something or other, and Scott knows instinctively that if he wants to stay around, he has to pull his weight. It’s not his first time landing in groups like this—though in his experience, they tend to involve planning and executing heists rather than rescuing people from the apocalypse.

Depending on how he looks at it, that might be considered a heist. Of sorts. Similar enough that he at least has some frame of reference.

Scott knows that he can’t just lie here on the deck. So he pushes himself to his feet, readjusts his shovel in his belt loop, and joins his two rescuers at the stern.

False is at the wheel—a proper ship’s wheel, ignoring the chain of redstone linking it to whatever machine lies beneath deck—, grip firm on the wooden handles as she directs the ship. Jimmy’s beside her, stripping off his shirt—Scott feels his face heat as he catches sight of Jimmy’s chest, shining with sweat, biceps muscular and suntanned—and twisting around, examining every inch of skin.

“Think I’m good,” he shouts, buttoning his shirt back up. He gestures at Scott’s shirt. “Check for critters! There’s some privacy below deck, if you need it.”

And seeing as Jimmy next unbuckles his belt, Scott thinks it’s a very good idea to go below, lest he embarrass himself.

Below decks, Scott almost instantly loses a finger to an amalgamation of copper gears right beside the staircase, then nearly walks directly into a hiss of boiling steam. He can’t really see anything, and he spares a brief moment to wonder why on earth this ship is so dangerous before continuing on, more carefully now.

He maneuvers around the dark, cramped, sweltering space until he finds something resembling a bed—though it’s right next to some ticking redstone machine that seems annoying to sleep beside—that has a low lamp beside it. He tosses his hat down and shrugs off his coat, checks it for mites, then drops it on the bed to pull off his shirt.

Once he’s stripped down to his underthings, he checks all over his body for any black things stuck to his skin. All seems fine—he shakes out his clothes, turns them inside out, checks every inch for splotches of black.

Nothing. Thank goodness.

For good measure, Scott combs through his hair with his fingers, then redresses, carrying his patchwork coat over his arm (he can already feel his shirt begin to soak through with sweat) and firmly setting his hat on his head. He heads back up to the deck, lets out a breath of relief at the feeling of wind on his face.

Jimmy meets him at the top of the ladder, gestures forward. “It’s quieter up at the bow,” he shouts in Scott’s ear. Scott nods and follows him.

Surprisingly, it is a bit quieter. They still have to speak loudly, but not so loudly that Scott has to scream his lungs out. The wind is harsher here, blowing directly in their faces, and Scott has to hold one hand to his head to keep his hat from flying off.

“Your duds all good, then?” Jimmy asks, and Scott’s not quite sure what that means or how to respond, so he just kind of nods.

“Thanks,” he says in lieu of a response. “For saving me, and all that. I thought. . . .”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. 

He’d thought he’d been alone. That everyone else was dead. That he was soon to join them.

He’d been about to die, he nearly died, he should be dead.

Jimmy only shrugs. “It’s what we do.”

We. There might be others, then? Jimmy and False, and . . . who? Where are they going? Is there possibly somewhere safe?

“Is everyone else safe?” Scott asks, peering down over the land. They’re passing over a forest, the leaves more black than green. He shudders to think of what might’ve happened to the animals living there.

Jimmy leans on his elbows against the deck’s railing, hands clasped loosely in front of him. “Some of them. There’s me and False, of course. Sausage—we’re staying at Sanctuary, he’s doing some sort of magic-thing to keep ‘em out. fWhip’s fine, Gem’s fine—they’re waiting for us. There’s others who are all right, just aren’t in Sanctuary. Some we aren’t sure of.”

“I imagine Joel’s fine, then,” Scott says, thinking of his eleven-foot neighbor in his floating kingdom. Joel’s pretty much untouchable up there—and what would stop him from just ascending to avoid all this?

But Jimmy, head turned to survey the land, says shortly, “Joel’s dead.”

Before Scott even knows it, his eyes are brimming with tears. He can—he can blame that on the wind, right? Because he’d barely known Joel, really, they hadn’t even been friends. . . .

But Joel’s dead. Joel is dead, and if the god is dead, what sort of hope is there for him? What sort of hope is there for any of them? Forget that he’s just been rescued—it’s certainly only delaying the inevitable, because Joel is dead and thereby, they all are.

“I—how?” asks Scott, swallowing back the lump in his throat.

Jimmy doesn’t answer for a long moment, looking off at seemingly nothing. “Hubris, you might say.” The look in his eyes is distant, sad, and it comes as no surprise when Jimmy turns away and heads back up to the stern, taking his place beside False.

There’s no time to mourn. This is an apocalypse situation, and Joel is dead and his llamas are dead and there’s barely any hope of survival, because below him, all Scott can see is death.

Just as he’d realized earlier, he has to show his usefulness. Any dead weight will be cut, and Scott desperately needs to stay aboard. Not that they have a chance, not if Joel’s dead, but he at least wants to see his friends one last time. He can’t die here.

With that reminder, Scott readjusts his shovel at his hip, then jogs back to False, looking for any job he can do.

-

fWhip and Gem greet them at the doors of Sausage’s church. Gem pulls Scott into a hug—he hugs her back as tight as he can—then releases him to hug False and Jimmy, while fWhip pats Scott on the elbow (the goblin can’t reach any higher) and leads him inside.

They’ve set up the church as some sort of headquarters, Scott understands immediately, seeing the maps and drinks and blankets strewn about the foyer. There’s a bed made in the corner, a half-eaten plate of food beside it. Scott’s stomach growls, but he ignores it in favor of heading toward the chapel. Surely that’s where Sausage is, and he really wants to hug the man (Sausage has always been so good at comforting, never judgemental, there’s a reason he gets along with just about everyone and Scott thinks that maybe, if Sausage tells him everything will be all right, then it will).

fWhip holds out an arm to bar the way. “Let’s not go in there right now, yeah?” he says easily, leading Scott instead to the table of maps. “Sit down, sit down! Make yourself at home! We’ve been sleeping at the tavern, so we’ll show you your room later, but this is where we spend a lot of our time! Either here or out on watch, you know?”

Scott doesn’t sit down, instead leaning against the table. He still feels a bit . . . wired, he supposes. His brain is still in fight-or-flight. He doesn’t want to sit, doesn’t want to be sedentary.

Gem and False file in, Gem going straight to the plate of food, False collapsing into a chair. Scott watches for Jimmy, but he doesn’t follow.

“It’s really good to see you, Scott,” Gem says warmly, handing him the plate. As if on cue, Scott’s stomach rumbles—he’d forgotten that he hadn’t eaten anything all day. And he doesn’t mind a bit of shared food, so he tosses the bread into his mouth, asking around the bite, “Who else is here?”

Gem grimaces. “Just . . . it’s just us, Scott. But there are others! They just aren’t here.”

“What Gem’s trying to say is that we’ve sort of been search-and-rescue, here, and now that we’ve got you, we can rescue the next person,” fWhip puts in helpfully. “We’ve been keeping eyes around. After all, we got you!”

Scott swallows, sets the plate down. He suddenly doesn’t feel all that hungry. “Who else have you saved?”

fWhip glances around. “Well, you, me, Shelby—except—”

“Shelby isn’t here, you said.”

“Shelby . . . Shelby fell out of contact,” fWhip says. “She was out keeping track of Katherine while we planned our rescue mission for you. But we haven’t been able to reach her in a few days.”

“We have these new things,” Gem interjects, and the nervous smile on her face tells Scott all he needs to know. They think Shelby’s dead, and they don’t want to talk about it.

A muted feeling of dread is beginning to grow in the back of his mind.

From her pocket, Gem pulls a copper redstone device of some sort, a bit of glass on the front of it and a couple of buttons on the side. “False made them! They can send messages to other devices instantly, so we can keep in contact! Look—”

She presses one of the buttons, and the glass lights up. Scott’s seen a couple of things similar to this in his travels, but when it reacts to her touching the screen, tapping on Jimmy’s name and pulling up a whole different display, he knows this is completely beyond his experience. And, at the moment, completely beyond his interest. Maybe when he’s less tense, less exhausted.

“See, Jimmy messaged me when you guys got on the airship!”

Sure enough, there is text on the screen that apparently comes from Jimmy: Got Scott. On our way back. Then a response from Gem: Can’t wait to see him! Stay safe all three of you!

“False has been crafting them herself!”

“fWhip helped,” False amends, nodding her head in the goblin’s direction. “I couldn’t remember a lot of the circuitry. He helped with that.”

“We’ll get you one as soon as we can get some more redstone,” fWhip adds.

Scott nods a couple of times. This is great and all, but there’s still that dread. . . . “So, what do we know? Is everyone else . . . dead?”

The three exchange a look, air suddenly thick with tension. After a moment, Gem speaks.

“Um. Did Jimmy tell you about Joel?”

“Yeah. I know about Joel, and. . . .” he still doesn’t know how to feel about it. He certainly still doesn’t have time to mourn. “But everyone else?”

“Right.” fWhip bites his lip—which looks painful, with how long and sharp some of his teeth are. “Well, Shubble’s gone out of contact. Jimmy came and got me from my cave about two weeks ago, and he and Gem and False all kind of met up to come to Sanctuary. Sausage is here, too. Lizzie. . . .”

“Lizzie was here,” Gem picks up when fWhip looks away. “She and Jimmy . . . they had some disagreements about how the camp was being run. About a week ago, she left.”

“Pirate Joe was here, too,” False says. “He left to look for safe land elsewhere.”

“Katherine’s in the same kind of situation you were,” fWhip says. “We just saved you first. We’re hoping to get her in the next couple of days. We haven’t seen anything of Pix or Oli. And . . . that about sums things up.”

“So . . . where is Sausage?”

Again, they exchange a look. Scott has to make a conscious effort to not roll his eyes.

“Sausage has kinda . . . gone off the deep end,” fWhip says eventually. “He’s in the chapel most of the time, praying to that St. Pearl of his. Love him to death and all, but he just kinda mutters to himself and isn’t all that helpful.”

Well, there must be something to Sausage’s prayers, if Sanctuary is indeed safe. And Scott isn’t exactly a religious man—sure, he’s prayed a fair amount, but he usually just picks whatever god comes to mind first and rolls with it—but it seems kind of disrespectful to pick on the man’s religion when he’s offering them a home. And presumably protecting them with said prayers!

But Scott’s the new person here, and he doesn’t say anything. He hasn’t quite figured out the status quo yet, and he wants to fly under the radar a little while longer. “Where did Jimmy go?” he asks instead.

“Oh, probably patrolling,” fWhip waves off. “He works himself too hard, that sheriff of ours. But it’s getting to be nighttime, so one of us should probably go take over, make him go to bed.”

Sure enough, a glance out the front window tells Scott that the sun does appear to be setting. And really, he wouldn’t mind an opportunity to explore what sort of borders they have here, how far out he can venture. As he opens his mouth to volunteer for first watch, though, Gem cuts him off.

“Scott, you need to go to bed too. You look like you haven’t slept in days!”

Just one day, really—though his sleeps have been rather restless as of late.

And while he would certainly appreciate a safe place to rest, he’s still a bit tightly wound. He hasn’t really got any idea of how they expect him to be able to sleep.

But Scott just nods, tossing whatever is left on the plate into his mouth and gesturing for the others to lead the way.

Gem shows him up the winding path—past villagers and a child and oh how Scott’s heart aches for his llamas—and to the inn, which is empty but for one tired serving staff, rubbing a glass with a dishrag.

“If you need anything to eat or drink, just help yourself to anything in the kitchen,” Gem whispers. “Jimmy wants to start rationing soon, but it doesn’t really matter what you take right now.”

“How many people are here?” Scott asks in the same tone, nodding toward the worker. Gem starts heading up a staircase against the right side wall, beckoning for him to follow.

“Most of Sanctuary’s citizens, and maybe a dozen refugees. It feels like we lose another person every day, though—people who think they can go beyond the border just for an hour to gather crops, or kids who accidentally wander too far.”

For a brief instant, Gem’s face is shadowed with grief as she looks back at Scott, but it’s soon erased, a smile plastered on.

Of course. Much like Scott, Gem hasn’t had time to grieve. He’d be surprised if anyone has.

Gem stops beside a door halfway down the hallway, twisting the knob and letting him in.

The room is small, but bright, a carpet made of green and orange segments in the center of the room. The duvet on the bed is purple, which matches nothing in the room, but combined with the colors of the rug makes Scott’s heart ache for Chromia.

There’s a classically carved wardrobe off to one side, a large window with drawn, plain curtains taking up a good portion of the far wall, and a small wooden table beside the bed that has a lamp and an empty glass upon it. Those three pieces of furniture take up almost the entire room; but though it’s small, it’s safe. Scott’s not had that guarantee in some time.

“I’m right next door, so just knock if you need anything!” Gem says brightly. “And there’s always somebody up, so if you just . . . need somebody, check the church or the outpost. Good night!”

And then she’s gone, door shut softly behind her, before Scott can even ask where and what the outpost is.

After a moment, he sits on the bed. It sinks under his weight a bit, the duvet wrinkling.

What’s he supposed to do? Just sit here as the sun sets, trying to come to terms with everything that’s happened?

Well, there’s at least a few things he can do. He pulls his shovel from his belt loop, rests it against the wardrobe, then takes his hat off and rests it inside, on a little shelf.

There’s a mirror fixed to the inside of the door of the wardrobe, and he stares at his reflection for a moment.

He really does look pretty bad, doesn’t he? His eyes are ringed with shadows (for a moment, his imagination sees those shadows as crawling and devouring and he shudders), face waxy and breaking out in patches, hair tangled and greasy. It needs a trim, he thinks absently, tugging on the ends that almost reach his shoulders.

He’d put his coat back on when they landed, and now he shrugs it off, and when he goes to hang it up his elbow bumps the mirror.

Scott is quick to steady it as it swings a bit, scraping against the wood, and he can’t help but think that if he had let the mirror fall he might be deserving of the bad luck its shattering would bring.

It’s that bump against the mirror that allows the scrap of paper behind it to flutter to the floor.

Scott finishes hanging his coat in the wardrobe before bending over to pick up the paper—and there’s writing on it.

Someone had left a secret message.

The message is scrawled in messy handwriting, all letters capitalized and difficult to decipher (several words are completely illegible), but when Scott understands, he feels a drop of fear bleed through his soul, the dread itching at his mind rearing up.

DON'T TRUST H—. — KILLED — WOULD DO IT AGAIN.

[moaserendipity]

Love in the Air EP7 messy review

We have arrived at the last chapter of Payu and Rain's love. I am sad and I know I will miss them so I will probably keep rewatching a lot!! BUT before we say goodbye, lets dive right in with this messy review!😎

Now we left last episode with Rain being kidnapped! I am still pissed off about that, like how dare you take Rain like that! anyway we switch to Payu at work, who suddenly gets a feeling something is off and starts calling Rain who of course can't pick up the phone. I love the way Payu just gets up and leaves work to go and check up on him but I feel how worried he is by him going through the entire house to find him even Saifha is alarmed eventually.

I do feel like Saifha don't get the relationship between the two because we all know Rain would pick up the phone if Payu calls so him not picking up the entire day obviously means there is trouble. I hate how Payu eventually gets the call from Rain but it's actually Stop. Can I say this though Rain is one brave man! Anyway we all know how this works as Payu is asked to get there in 30 minutes alone.... Like this is very basic kidnapping stuff. That moment with Saifha though, I knew he gave him information, I mean that was quite obvious. 🫢

Next scene we get to see Rain being tied up to a chair and gagged, I seriously hate this so much, again how dare he touch Rain!! I do like it that his friend leaves because he doesn't want to have anything to do with kidnapping, as if abusing him isn't bad enough, fucking dumbass! Rain isn't Rain if he isn't being his feisty self though and as he glares at Stop of course he gets aggravated! stupid of him to free his mouth and HELL YES RAIN FOR SPITTING AT HIS FACE!! fucker deserved that!!

I don't like the fact he hit Rain though, like karma will come for your ass!!! Now of course Rain gets beaten a bit more and then Payu shows up alone...... Like I really don't like scenes like this but I watched it and felt super upset with the way Rain cried out for Payu while Payu was being humiliated! Thank god for P' Chai. I cheered quietly(it was 2am when I watched it) ☠️when they freed Rain. The way Rain immediately run towards Payu, ughhh my heart broke a bit because Rain was crying and Payu severely hurt. (My babies were hurt, it was unacceptable! ) 😤🥺The way Payu comforted him by making sure he knew it wasn't his fault and that is was okay, made me cry because well I don't have a reason, I just cried because that was beautiful.

I did clap though when Rain kicked the fucker two times! what I learned from this is that Rain is like a cinnamon roll but will kill you when you touch Payu! So better not mess with both of them.

Thankfully this scene ends and they are mending their wounds at home. The way Rain is super careful not to hurt Payu and Payu is like stop that nonsense. I love the way Rain put Payu's hand against his face carefully, it's extremely touching and the way they finally told each other they loved each other. (my heart really was just full at that moment)🥹 Have I already told you guys how much I love Rain, but after this episode it's even deeper, like who can resist him when he comes with this pick-up line "Because whenever there's a Storm, there's always Rain" (I melted so badly right then, like there is no cure for me anymore, I'm in too deep) and then that soft kiss!!!! ugh.................🫠😍

we finally see Rain spending time with his friends after a long break and I love how they are just casually chatting but this dude needs to stop teasing Rain! (oh little confession time. So Rain spelled his name correctly, I mean he said the R(rolling his tongue and everything) but I caught myself saying Lain, instead of Rain multiple times because that's how they pronounce his name in the drama, I can't help myself because I seriously love it) But ofcourse Sky tells on him by mentioning that he is attached to his lover lately. I love Sky's energy so so much! The way his facial expressions are always on point!! Of course Payu calls right at that moment and after he hears Ple, he seriously shows up, making Rain nervous and not wanting to approach him but Payu of course does not care and as Payu joins them at the table, Payu tells everyone that he is picking up his partner and the best part Rain jumping up and telling everyone he is going home and Payu follows his lead immediately and put his arm around Rain and that's when everyone gets it and gets shocked! except for Sky of course, this man was just eating his sandwich calmly with a smirk on his face.

I also love how bold Rain has become! Like here he sits seducing Payu! Ughhhh I love it just so much!!😍☠️🤭

"The sky is clearing up, while a wind is coming from the east"

and with this we step into our first glimpse into Prapai and Sky's storyline. We see them both waking up at their homes and get ready for the day , Prapai is a big shot at the company of his dad, While sky is doing household chored at his dad's. Two completely different lives. I had to giggle when Prapai just barged into Payu's house and walked around as if he owned it. I love how Payu did not cater to him one bit and as he tried to get Payu away for some water so he could talk to Rainm brilliant especially the scene where Rain offers to get water and Payu literally was like "STOP" lmao this man will someday be the death of me. Anyway Rain gets put under pressure to give Sky's number, as Prapai is threatening to not move until he gets it and the Payu looks at Rain and the way Rain caved under that stare, just brilliant. After he gets Sky's number he tries to call him but as Sky doesn't recognize the number he doesn't pick up and with Prapai's "I don't give up that easily" We come to an end of their first chapter and the last chapter of PayuRain.

Now to get back at Payu and Rain. Payu finally confesses Rain that he wanted him the second they had met in the rain and what he would do if they ever met again and that after he received his photo he technically began plotting. This man even dismantled his car to make sure Rain would need his help. I love this really, it's brilliant. I love how he justifies it all by telling Rain he just loves to tease him. If we are being honest if I met someone like Rain I also would tease him a little because he is just too cute. Thats the punishment for being way too cute!! I love how Payu goes. "Won't you love me after finding out the truth" and Rain just goes "No, 'cause I already love you, what else can I do"

I mean have some mercy on our hearts Rain, I literally melted to the floor and felt jealous but with this ending it's really time to say goodbye to Payu & Rain's storyline and feel excited for Prapai and Sky's one, from what I heard their lovestory isn't going to be as happy as Payu & Rain's story but that being said I can not wait till next week october 6, which is also my Birthday but that is not that important..

Anyway see you next week!!!!!!

[libidomechanica]

Untitled # 8655

A limerick sequence

               I

And should see the Tombe disgust, for though the snowy summertime. I feeling    soil all page. Thou lik’st well,    well, they are not you make thy lad is my love one days unkind.

               II

So well me, heavenly look at balmy side of the thine, and dream, my Love    and thus doth convulsive    against his fury from me. Than those thou was girls given those.

               III

And might to approch of old, and thus? At no such and mouth be heire the Forrest    she shadow I may    mouth? A casement and grows on Marble in the night, from thee?

               IV

Air colours be seen the one in it a toga or antic boring    expresses. No formost    energetic. To moves right of desire, empty dream, my lips.

               V

Her looks verse a May-lady faithless aching be take to keep at sweete is,    inter night, still, and gnarled.    Is cap and light of the physical face and all the joy that.

               VI

So much I been. The eye sees him even now, after heire the Rights his warmth    of sweeping human sleep    but have the world of Phoenix- Stella, after-hands of his own.

               VII

Her brow, let us bread across that doubles me have the solemn conceals    it. And played on my fault    of those body is writ each other our word said, Dear I love.

               VIII

With his flea’s bed; she lang; he’s dozin, his lose bonie, O. Which I begun to    blind forget the mocking    you, because it lawful Beauty your Psyche and champaign, drank.

               IX

How make men grown work for a minute. For while the skycolor an azure-    lids do state, and he’s dwarfs    of thy find ideal with such supine thin and lavender set?

               X

Us, ’ Florian, I with should wears later face. Late inseparate spake    with rain straying, him an’    out one will pinewood shut did passion Venus seal joined hour.

               XI

Certainty savage of which I beguiled. She golden sinke; and then, no mask    of lies and a noon! Name    of its salutary aim, in you. Some would lights heat more touch!

               XII

Prize without this praise he sense bring run, yet hence our sister cheek when awful    I love, and hark! Good Sir,    of Indian was he melodie but warmth and channels pour—oh!

               XIII

Here storm his past. That gets rose, and let none angry princess rode to a foul    had told me in true love,    and she presses from him to prevenues opprest, but the moon.

               XIV

Find great wrong for pains may only. Ah, Gossip led blisse; I that’s great, if those    from hidden sandal stay:    and does not a bate by formed mark if hermit’s your sweet smelling.

               XV

We men! Who both conduct neither good poet’s no people? The covert, pleasant    and knowing: o, but    kinder to gain Wait her bliss, that it by training to quences.

               XVI

At least, your to springs I have speak give up in me. Though the sand-part of    the Northern front bare were    are may betray. Thinking hers will be two women in atone!

               XVII

But, when I am never it. While new to you, beloved and demon,    and them apart, where is    coming straight descended on grotto where, acrossing, alert.

               XVIII

Flower, echoes roll in a years her be at poetry which element    and so tickled, A mass    of troubles cold to sell he fragrant boddice; wrought of my sweet?

               XIX

So, where his sweetest of lies the Northern wild, from the leap to kiss a burnes,    O beasts. And he midst my    degrees feet, labour two comes beam no doubt we know: seas gang dry.

               XX

Then came, pardon a dreams between the night; each other do. Yet which thou are    heart off, the putting sea.    By our atonement in her fragrant bright, so far in my food.

               XXI

The nobly dear, with farre of the whole in the trees, and meaning my heart was!    Smiling storm his arm-chair    broader to stone, of old, as that would promise that die of it.

               XXII

What pardon the receive oft amethyst, So my moue you the fuellers, child,    vain the man? It is frost    of Loue haue made my lips so little grew in sort of a sight?

               XXIII

Hath scoped the pebbled of that die in the cool’d be ablutions. But it    is face vnarmed maids, pitch    doorknobs and coffer that carefully, for ioy could have hard bit.

               XXIV

Mother now; have for it; moreover twilight with kiss flashing rations you.    Shall be muffled, cool’d by    hour. Wear that was slowly lead his place that she said, at the phone.

               XXV

Out in a clamor’s fev’rous ditties place for your prime fair my thou affray    his words are not talked in    spring But part us heaven’s care one. Her come aye to say.

               XXVI

Face: inches fully laid out from my princess! To you. Is cannot be so:    it father’s likeness brothers    flea’s beck, but have wine, as for kiss afresh hopeless as I.

               XXVII

My once in snow: seas gang dry, my best of her fathering retire,    wherefore his scythe topic    die. A portraitors, sleave me dead, tis true still, and multi-tracks?

               XXVIII

True—we had for what it was strains of the lap of Proserpine. Her dell. As    whom this wings be still, all    their tone of reason: Thus were lovely, let they knee deny it!

               XXIX

At poet’s not retire, whilst the world so late beds. Stella, where she lone    aloft, hyena foemen’s    employ? I am burial comfort breast, I do now.

               XXX

When thoughts: The touch, and, your union, most irksom night stead of the sunshine? Pardon    the mounting to run    off you shall decay! Close whole spoken the broke up into go.

               XXXI

And now ours, that one we lives. Was times delight, still things pour—oh! Yet, if never    inward his storm. For    me taken, sweet-fairest of the last seen my break him, and train.

               XXXII

Loves; but, tis heauen-stuffe to passe: graunt; but wits splendour hope my love. If one    room with open she wept    my fault! Flame Kim Novak for kiss afresh grows thy fingers done.

               XXXIII

Am that I doubting among She paper, mute: the sounds the cob. The seconds    which it shook here I    embraced propose Somethings shall fabled, in look, And of passes.

               XXXIV

Of stones;—the wroong! Death with apple, fed with it. If she graue contested in    a closet castings, she    went revives: her eyes, nor I am just like a new rhythm.

               XXXV

Be you add to say, The window her we’d be; no such on which, still to meet,    whom nakd their light, that is    charm to when we first I glory. So rich so hearing, you things.

               XXXVI

Beauties blush’d, as I use it I will not yet; but they with highes mixt with    bays. To flattering the    birds, as she’s doylt and beauty on it such alone upon him!

               XXXVII

And has with your voice, Muse; I say, tomorrowing run throught of true, and ward    old Angel came? All my    love. And came; and soft god must gives restraining shining, alert.

               XXXVIII

For I am fair, but I an elfin- storm. Separate bed, boxes even    the Dame: he wintry of    her on the no wizardry of her wit, or grief, and let go.

               XXXIX

Then did I wish and grown about, O! To bravest to makes and all the Forrest    she secret, silver,    dismantled, it faded changeably reflected up for all.

               XL

How rough Street, blossoms on me, if the other. Follows, o dool on the    empurple doors, She hurts, now;    tis soul to cadence he level many lineage: no time.

               XLI

And then, what comes are. Seemed to white; Say, my lov’d, but Maud should Nature will; the    melodie and not strive in    the Maidens before and I saw you and ambitional South.

               XLII

Sense of thee? Rolled rose, dreames of that so bitter compare Arm-chair on thee    restraight I didn’t mine—our    fair to quence added to Ice, and her, an opening like thee.

               XLIII

Between us today a coffers whoever month time to wed Amphions    in red breadth of worse, that    it both do find out, the catch the dream. Across soft, whom all are?

               XLIV

Be; no many gaze of all that where’s its sand whilst so over you o’er    the grave to Nanie, O. It    cannot be lonely warm; time and pawes as this plan, and cool’d?

               XLV

Oh might have speak? By the heard: her example while Pan is our Ashes mixe    both and walked whence with choisest    the iawes the while, I’ve mickle tired the only tune.

               XLVI

To unwind, o’er-green straining rush ourse; still speak? Water i have had dashed him    now we meet again, nor    side: were the should not see her legs’ since then gout above contend.

               XLVII

You see all higher. And sigh-tempests were little where we’d be fortune the    face thrive in loue did hangs:    howbeit our more be move, I saw many gaze on Porphyro!

               XLVIII

Whilst my Silvia, let or when I caught to masks, and then thatch-eves in rubric    thus. I tell that from    his said, Look! Yes, call for am I; and now that is my food.

               XLIX

But wits the night of living to her the cried, held you him. Barred till a’ the    motions, and repeat at    the child, were not earest seems to time coquettish deceiver?

               L

Lay on it a throughts when mourney shrilliant, when with my husband in most fails    to tell in vain? A mantel-    piece of annoy, our with voices which it is from their head.

               LI

Of a little spare music, music within my sin an elfin-storm. If    thou are madonna and    I, aloof, who must descended morning a laugh’d she broken.

               LII

And this night is not rob thy Will, ’ and knocking undefiled, whilst that cannot    be lost his accustom’d    prey, to beauties or plagiarist; I knows twine. He cellar.

               LIII

It is brown-eyed limbs when your forehead, on here, most circuses, she porch, thou    not there, the spring? To    build to the oaths which mine thief, and let souls the sun and will still.

               LIV

Now I will well succeeds the balance besieging to ride backward of many,    yet hence! Who features    proof—oh if our love, we had been, and the penny-fee, an’ lan’.

               LV

The measure they said, so, one drowse beginning her blue affiance, Let me a    midnight, thousand his wise    she love, gaining underneath! Fond voice best last night once a tomb.

               LVI

As in our own words masculine perhaps, when Love speak. An open-heartbreaker    nobly dear, my loves;    but keepe, and sudden a moment help it, and move speak for all.

               LVII

Who breast oozings have I, but figured, red thee. Vein-channel handsomeness    bright befall melissa    love. What is your has stirre not thy fight, life so rare, God’s bonie, O.

               LVIII

From silken Samarcanet; or your purple gleam of sweet sake thy sweet seem’d,    and wondrous five day a    court us, They told mething: but kindled bed. Perhaps throng’d St.

               LIX

In this, that, seem’d its echo of th’ impetuous,—and, my love, more like    a thousand yet, with the    heart-string afterglow. His cross him how that he same times in bed.

               LX

The bedded was thou love or with their ording eyes which upon the tame? How    warmth, with he plots art, along    standing so fair Madeline’s chamber, and cloud or stone.

               LXI

To watching her wayward his happy changed, indeed, to lead and Lady of    his wise beguile our chiefe    pride backward eyes, whom, how soundeth! And warmth and land: the sun’s dead.

               LXII

Or I took covered somewhat is not too jealous hours, take me last—and ravisht,    still. Her lips for these    poor lips for sigh, when not half-hid in these fierce couldn’t mine, to stone.

               LXIII

Poore not so often is as thirst strangling out, and this: the kettle-drum, and    the words the fang’d that she    broke within measure? As deep desire then it since morrow?

               LXIV

Give up in luve the sins in red bed- side, like ringlets dance of me: this paid    price, dreams attention, ah,    soon eclipses gan to raise is not lies, oh! To knows: ’ and men.

               LXV

Fly to go, how he’d die, her hooks. The world fare than half wonder: ’ they glide; who    earth and overs on your    invention of mountain- apples he sweeps rustling over lawns.

               LXVI

“‘My friends, sea-gulls one him on a bus. Thy sweetest Sommer air intent to    be the light. As a maid    taste away sheet which Amphions, love tears; this a little wanted.

               LXVII

In somethings, and Sea do knowing, blossoms on me, pardon me, but little    gaze of the no more girl,    in her dell. Love ones as neuer good as sunne goe downe with her?

               LXVIII

Away, the grand we got, am I; and lay that he, While new strongly we    two, the bow, and moaning    cake short of fears: how shapel air in anythings. Shine, mine, St.

               LXIX

Where is ended, and silent was a man anythings do say; but doth with    us! Man; has had a    pearls pale as brow and Will, ’ add to Ice, and now exanimate.

               LXX

In the Head, here me to keep; her along resides me endure near. And upon    the went to her beasts.    Who both those lips, which fair, kind in a man ancient doubts, alas!

               LXXI

Of those mother when other heaven of others burn’d on the had a peach:    he tuneable gain sweet?    You what Heart, her pupil’s race; in broke of ancient love sport; What?

               LXXII

And horses high and put a white termine, as where are came of thou dost keepe,    and fly, which them. Nor birds    before her her, ready yet a breath, so, we went: ether owne.

               LXXIII

How grew like puzzled urchin on me, Awakening throned to me, which    our life, neares, a songs;    for treasures of Elfland wonder the viands. As that hath his faced.

               LXXIV

For awhile I do say. Stella, the arose Ah, nor did she blooming no    less achievable Outside    their hold Fury sprung in her heart was mine, more by morrow?

               LXXV

If so, when I am, first died, all looks immolations living pear or    people? The brough she silver    twilight me lived so thou sicke-bed lies a well-oiled, call God!

               LXXVI

Lay sick or to cedar’d Lebanon. All the lang; he’s patient, and see each    other lawn or upon    this pass of grasses. And so went the house. About the cliff-brows.

               LXXVII

The the sound heart to death. For what ended on the Beautiful, but to    memory to none in the    really me a kind in baby closet. Then, late September.

               LXXVIII

What pain nor in a long stones;—the endur’d, emprison twins do cross soft; and    does Love it. And pained fish    wilt thousand yet, I call wasted them by slowly passion: thus?

               LXXIX

Be sport; both convulsive and hot-bloom and picture seen yet! Moreover your    questions lyre did, at last,    I will in pride is cap and weak. Him kindling of drunken kings.

               LXXX

—Perhaps a sorry muttered a thou determine, mine earth in mourn as a    falls me, and dreams away    thy Will’ more, the first; That each from a cense of wine and all help!

               LXXXI

What cannot say, and the stars would give if any, in who’s modest side; though    to confined, we were vex’d.    The love is she’d seems no more prelude the carved us farthing.

               LXXXII

Even not without the that I shall like a birth to thus: yet why that was    the frees; rolled and the grace    in the riches full-blown run throughts in long casualty, nor birds.

               LXXXIII

And her yesterday’s shineth. Maybe it’s you here; follow me, my worth, and    we that soft white Muses’    head: Then follow shapes the fray’d with wanton wind the impresses.

               LXXXIV

For sigh-tempests mourning gowan, waters noise, nor did situation. Are    said thy soul fatigued away.    She craft of cold watch yet maiden’s ears held barbarians?

               LXXXV

And tween us thousand you, all rich so sweetest vow; her proof—oh if our    priests, whom Love, most when ’t    is formed by trains. And you— because he fond eye. He came: he tune?

               LXXXVI

By you lying. Year when an emeral: but, tis soul move speake innocence    on the summertime. Point    to Pindar’s eye and then my life is innocent of some food.

               LXXXVII

And back, and I too closeted faced. For your wit, nor night: but a cigarette;    I said, What is and    by peach love-freaks like a kiss; dead in fair, but and make answer.

               LXXXVIII

A tears spectation, I find ideal with patient in a crazy auld make    mention crabbed and knocked up    his breath heart of art, it background, gain his right the did my drift?

               LXXXIX

Buttresses, thy hairs, could changeable, Vulcans, and some clang a teares were    him with fuller and I,    alone so rich. So I, made the blinded of Atlanting berth.

               XC

But even the Cherrie-trees, and twilight lent of feared not for Agnes in sad    friends, no more it’s wrath, while    of past. Cannot say, alas, thou must find rest I lay thy fault!

               XCI

Northward of a dream so profanation went. Man inmate own lute,—now seem’d    a wailful swoon, thou left    by balms of one swept thy amends for o’er what such with his so?

               XCII

I urged this woo ye. Where I, whom vertue mad Past. See your child, and them thus in    truth of satisfies meet    they don’t reap, at the must thousand his killing by each in loved!

               XCIII

Her face of that from dim espial. But what in sweet Virgin’s powre, a stedfast    a day a cyder-presses    man’s caught to your arm where Beauty’s brow, come vnto meet him out.

               XCIV

Sharp pittance when the lawns. Above cost your fair moonlights cannot catch made of    a bells me, her scourge, surely    to me, with thine eye was feat and impulses that such straw.

               XCV

Words thought, here are grace the rose, on sinful results of heal me by that shore,    enter. My mounterpart,    it may plaine; yet to be move or Fate, sunk on his aged mails.

               XCVI

Name is dead infant, whose immortal feel the noiseless are you. Tamed in;    whose half-oblivious    as should for two arms; thinks he makes and daughty thing at they stand!

               XCVII

Near. And air-like, spares were shade cankers, burning stairs a day see, where was a    close—at last night-headed,    I trow, to maturing like the nymph pursues, when the spring.

               XCVIII

Only until things and is beames, midnight, and palsy-strewings; then comedie    by silence here are    children, would shut, and maidenhood. That I am burnes, O eare.

               XCIX

We rosy hue; that, Syr Philling, laughing sight, vision went, slain in mournful    results of spring of    life’s whistle. Some she tongue still have sea, the more, entitled it.

               C

No—already to move speak, palsied hands, they all be thee: then I demanded    friendship tell me with    pulse: and if betters? Alone whole of foreseeing; yet that twig.

               CI

Take frost-wind things but you could not thy deaths, in the swear touch substances, till    her sake, and their own grapes.    Part us pent-up creature came near, without harms and farewell!

[devoidwrites]

TRULY, MADLY, DEEPLY • Choi Yeonjun

Summary: Choi Yeonjun was a naturally flirty person, or so you thought. As it turns out you were just to dense to realize he had been flirting with you for the past six months.

Words: 2.6K

Genre: straight fluff

Pairing: Choi Yeonjun x Reader

Warnings: none.

“Truly, madly, deeply, I am foolishly, completely falling.”

-

You always loved winter, especially when it snows. The way the white snow falls to the ground so gracefully makes you feel as if your living in a hallmark movie. The only downside was you couldn’t feel your hands or your nose, but it was the price you were willing to pay.

“You look like rudolph.”

You looked over at Yeonjun, rolling you eyes at the small grin on his lips. He loved to tease you. He was a flirt, but you enjoyed his presence.

“It’s cold!” You exclaimed, nudging him slightly. “And I forgot my scarf at home.”

The two of you were heading over to a friends house for a small get together. Soobin had just bought his first house, so of course he invited all of you over for a movie night and some drinks.

Yeonjun lived close by you. He offered to walk with you to your shared friends house to keep you company. You couldn’t refuse. Walking somewhere was always better when you had a friend to talk to.

“Do you want mine?” He asked, already moving the dark brown scarf from around his neck.

You shook you head. “No thanks. I’ll be fine. We’re not too far away anyway.”

“Come on, you could get sick.”

“And so could you.”

Yeonjun pursed his lips, but his eyes lit up as the two of you walked passed a clothing store. He told you to stay put for a second while he ran inside to grab something. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, but did as asked.

Placing your hands in your pockets, you let the small heating packs in each pocket heat your hands up as best as they could. You looked up at the snow, watching with a smile as it fell all around you.

Yeonjun returned a couple of minutes later, a light gray scarf in his hands. He walked up to you, placing it over your shoulders. He made sure to bundle it up around you to keep you warm.

Before you could say anything, he gave you a smile. “There. Now we’re both warm and safe from getting sick.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He pulled the scarf tighter around you, making sure your nose was covered so it would warm you up. “I know, but I didn’t want you to be cold.”

He leaned forward, pressing his lips to the only bit of skin you had showing. His lips were warm against your cheek, and you wished he hadn’t pulled away so quickly.

He was like this all the time. You didn’t question it. You just thought he was a natural flirty person, and besides, it’s not like you didn’t like it. Your heart fluttered every time he done something like that, and you couldn’t help but yearn for more.

Yeonjun’s pulled away when his phone began to ring. He pulled it out of his pocket and answered. “Hello?”

You couldn’t really hear the other person on the end, just this side of the conversation. “Yeah… We’ll be there soon… Dude we’re almost at your place… Not our fault you decided to move on the other side of town… See you in a minute.”

By the sounds of it, it was Soobin wondering where the two of you were. Yeonjun hung the phone us and turned back to you.

“Soobin. Everyone’s already there and waiting for us.”

“We bette get going before they drink everything.” You said jokingly. You grabbed Yeonjuns arm to pull him along down the sidewalk once more. You tried to ignore the way your heart picked up at the close proximity. Maybe movie nights would help distract you from these feeling for a bit.

It wouldn’t.

-

“Hurry up!”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your throat as Yeonjun pulled you towards his house. It was the day after Soobin’s get together, and the two of you were heading home. Unfortunately, as soon as you rounded the corner to head toward home it started storming. There was no more beautiful snow like yesterday, only cloudy skies and rain.

He didn’t hesitate to take off towards his house, pulling you along with him. His place was closer, and he didn’t want you walking in the rain.

Once the two of you were inside, he helped you take off your coat before removing his own. He placed them both on the coat rack as you discarded your hat and scarf.

You crossed your arms, trying to warm yourself up, but it wasn’t helping that much. Your pants were wet and it was keeping you cold. Yeonjun took note of the way you were shivering.

“You want some clothes?”

You snapped your head in his direction. You had never borrowed a guys clothes before. Sure you had borrowed Beomgyus and Kais hoodies before, but that was it. It was just a hoodie. Borrowing a full set of clothes felt a little intimate to you, but Yeonjun didn’t seem to falter at the idea of sharing his clothes with you.

You shook the thoughts out of your head. You’d have to think about it when you got warm. “Sure, if you don’t mind.”

He shot you a smile before walking towards his room. You had been over to his place a couple of times, but never alone. It felt somewhat awkward being here without Yuqi or Taehyun.

He came back with a shirt and a pair of sweatpants in his hands. “They might be a little big, but they should work until your clothes get dry.”

“Thank you.” He nodded as you walked passed him and towards the bathroom. As soon as the door shut you quickly stripped yourself of your clothes. The heat touched your cold body, making you let out a comet sigh.

The sweatpants weren’t that big. You had to roll the band up to get them to stay in place on your hips. The shirt was bigger than you expected. It must’ve been one of his oversized shirts, because it slid past your hips and to mid thigh.

You looked at yourself in the mirror. You looked a mess. Damp hair and rosy red cheeks. You tried to comb through your hair with your fingers to try and make it somewhat presentable, but you gave up halfway through.

You walked back out of the bathroom to find Yeonjun sitting on the couch. He had already changed clothes and was flipping through channels on the tv. Upon hearing the door open he looked up, and he swore at the sight of you his heart almost stopped.

He thought you looked beautiful in anything you wore, but there was something about seeing you in his clothes that made his heart race.

Ha patted the seat beside him, and you happily sat down. "What were you gonna watch?"

"I don't know. You wanna watch a movie? It'll give your clothes enough time to dry."

You shrugged your shoulders. "Sure, why not."

He took the clothes out of your hands and replaced them with the remote. You flipped through the movies, deciding to pick a random movie that looked somewhat good. You didn't press play until Yeonjun was seated next to you again.

At first you had your full attention on the movie, but your mind began to wonder when the main character began to confess his love for his female friend.

Your eyes traveled to the boy next to you and you couldn't help but wonder if he ever felt the same way about you.

When the now couple began to kiss, you cleared your throat. "Thanks for not making me walk home in the rain."

"Why would I do that?" He asked, turning his attention to you instead of the movie. He looked at you with furrowed eyebrows, almost as if he was insulted you'd even think he'd do something like that.

"You'd be surprised at what some guys would do." You told him with a soft chuckle. "One of my exes and I had a fight, and he sent me home in the pouring rain."

Yeonjun's eyes darkened slightly, and he turned his eyes to his lap. "Some guys are assholes."

"But not you." You reached over to grab his hand, making him eye you once more.

"I'd never do that to you."

You leaned your head on his shoulder, your eyes traveling back to the tv to try and finish the movie. "I know you wouldn't."

Your eyes began to get heavy, and it wasn't until you started to feel the heat from him did you realize just how exhausted you were. Staying up all night and waking up early takes a toll on someone.

When the movie ended, Yeonjun glanced over at you, only to find you sound asleep on his shoulder. He smiled at your peaceful face.

"Y/N?" He whispered softly, gently nudging you to get your attention. "It's already late, do you just want to sleep over?"

You nodded as an answer. He wrapped one of his arms around your back and the other under your knees. He stood up with ease, carrying you to his bedroom. He mentally thanked himself for cleaning up earlier that week. He didn't need you to see his room in it's normal mess.

He placed you on the bed and pulled the blankets over you. When he turned to leave, you reached a hand out to grab his. "Stay."

"What?" He asked. He wanted to make sure he heard you correctly.

"I don't want to run you out of your bed. Besides, It's cold and you're warm."

He nervously glanced around the room. "Are you sure?"

You nodded once again. Opening one eye to look at him, you gave him a smile for reassurance. "Yep."

You scooted over and patted the spot next to you. Yeonjun let out a small breath before getting in bed beside you. He pulled the blankets back over the two of you.

As the two of you slowly fell asleep, neither of you could control the way your hearts raced at the close proximity.

-

The next morning, Yeonjun woke up first. The sunlight peeping through his blinds hit his eye, and he groaned at the contact. His annoyance quickly went away when he felt you stir from beside him. With a quick glance he found you were a lot closer than when he went to sleep last night. Instead of on the opposite side of the bed, you were snuggling into his chest.

His heart began to race, and he only hoped you couldn’t hear it beating inside his chest. Instead of waking you up, and probably embarrassing you, he slid out of the bed easily so he wouldn’t disturb you.

Yeonjun moved to the kitchen to prepare a quick breakfast for the two of you. He wasn't the best cook, but he knew the basics and could cook simple meals.

The smell of the food woke you up, and you were out of the bed and in the kitchen within minutes. Yeonjuns eyes met yours, and he couldn’t contain the smile upon seeing your morning face.

Your hair was tousled, and the clothes he gave you were somewhat twisted around, indicating you moved around in your sleep a good bit. In short terms; he though you looked absolutely adorable.

“Good morning.” He greeted you, settling the two plates on the small table in the small dining area. “I made breakfast.”

“Good Morning.” You returned the smile. "It smells good."

"I hope it tastes as good as it smells." Yeonjun said truthfully. He pulled your chair out before moving to his own seat across from you.

Looking down at the dish, you chuckled at the simplicity of it. It was nothing more than pancakes and eggs, but that was your favorite. Whether he realized that, you had no idea.

Luckily for Yeonjun, the breakfast did taste as good as it smelled. The apartment fell quiet as the two of you ate your breakfast in peace.

It wasn't long before you found yourself walking outside once more, this time one the way to your house. Yeonjun walked beside you. He offered to walk you home, even though you told him there was no need. He had done enough for you already, but he persisted.

The two of you walked along the sidewalk, coming up to a small park. A couple of children could be heard laughing as they ran around playing tag.

"Thanks again, for letting me stay over last night." You spoke up for the first time since leaving his apartment.

Yeonjun looked over at you, the beautiful smile still gracing his lips. "Of course. My door's always open for you."

He always knew what to say to make your heart flutter. You turned away to try and hide the blush on his cheeks. "Thanks, but why?"

He shrugged, confusing you. You half expected him to have a flirty comeback, but he continued to walk, keeping his hands in his pockets. "I care about you. Probably more than I should."

The last part was more of a whisper, but you still caught it. You stopped walking, grabbing his arm to keep him beside you.

"Huh?"

His eyes widened, almost as if he wasn't supposed to say that out loud. He sighed, knowing you had heard him. This was not how he pictured confessing to you, but it was now or never. "Y/n, I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you."

His hand reached out to caress the side of your face. You could only stare up at him in shock as he looked at you with such adoring eyes. "Truly, madly, and deeply in love with you."

His thumb brushed your cheek as he waited for you to say something- anything. His heart was already racing, but your silence was making it worse. "Y/n-"

"I'm just trying to process this." You told him quickly. You pointed at him. "You, love me?"

It was kind of hard to believe truly. A guy as sweet and flirty like Yeonjun was in love with you? He could have anyone he wanted.

"I absolutely do."

"Since when?"

He furrowed his eyebrows, somewhat amused at your rapid fire questions. "Couple months now."

You gasped, reaching over to smack him softly on the arm. "Why didn't you say anything?"

He had been in love with you for months and he didn’t say anything? So all of those times girls were flirting with him you were on his mind? The idea alone made your heart race.

He grabbed the arm you hit, laughing. "I didn't know if you felt the same way."

"I've let you endlessly flirt with me since we've met!" You exclaimed, looking at his with wide eyes. You were somewhat shocked he didn't already know.

"Well, why didn't you say anything?" He asked you, making you fall silent. You didn't want to admit it, because out loud it would sound stupid and you'd be embarrassed.

"Well..." You trailed off. He looked at you expectingly, making you sigh in defeat. "Okay fine. Girls are always flirting with you, and you always flirt back. How was I supposed to tell you that I loved you if you were flirting with other girls?"

"Say it again."

"What?"

You finally turned to face him as he cupped your face once more. "Say it again."

Your eyes met his, and you knew what he was talking about. He wanted you to confess to him again. He wanted to hear it once more.

"I love you, Yeonjun."

His lips met yours in an instant, your confession being the confirmation he needed to finally place his lips on yours. The kiss was short, but it was filled with everything the two of you wanted to say for months, but never could.

He pulled away when he realized the two of you were in a public place- a park no less. He trailed his hand from your and down your arm, straight to your hand. Your fingers laced with his as he spoke.

"I love you too, Y/n."

[sukirichi]

crush

pov. you have a crush on your brother’s best friend

request. Hi! Congrats on 2.4k!!🤩 For the event, may I request an au where reader is Yuuta’s sister? Can be gn/fem reader anything is fine. And they fall in love with Toge? Fluff fluff fluff please

notes. awww i love this request, i have a fat crush on toge so i enjoyed writing this! i made this a modern high school au, by the way!

You stare disappointedly at the black wrappings of your bento, sighing because your brother took the wrong one again. Waving goodbye to your friend, you made your way to your brother’s classroom, knocking on the door to get his attention. However, it isn’t your brother who’d stopped laughing mid-conversation. Instead, it’s a familiar-looking platinum haired guy, his purple eyes glimmering with mischief as he slapped your brother’s arm.

“Yo, Yuta, I think someone’s looking for you,” you heard him say.

Meanwhile, you just stood there blankly, your throat growing dry because he was cute – like actually handsome boy-next-door cute.

You’ve met lots of cute guys before, but they were all very immature that you found no interest in others. He, on the other hand, was nothing less of polite, shooting up from his seat because your stupid brother was too invested in his video games. The guy flashed you a bright smile, the beauty of his face up close enhanced that you felt your heart squealing.

Not that you’d ever show that, of course, so you just reciprocated with a polite smile to hide your frantic nerves.

“Hi! You here for Yuta-kun?”

“Y-yes.”

Before he could speak, an arm had shoved him aside. Yuta stood before you, his frown apparent while his friend stayed at the side, a smile still playing on his lips. It took all your energy to not stare at him too much in fear he’d easily read through you.

“Hey, what are you doing here?”

“You swapped lunches with me,” you shoved the black bento box to his chest, stepping closer to your brother to whisper in his ear. “Is that a friend of yours?”

“Yeah, he’s Toge. He used to play with us a lot before he moved away, but his family’s back in town. Don’t you remember him?”

“No…”

“Toge, come here!” he called out to his retreating friend, the guy freezing in his tracks before he jogged up to where you were quickly. Oh crap, you kept gushing, he really was cute. He placed an arm around your brother’s shoulder, nodding at you as a greeting. “Remember my sister? You used to play with her a lot when we were kids. You kept stealing her Barbies, remember?”

“I did?” Toge looked shocked, his back bending into a fake bow. “I’m very sorry for that, but don’t worry, I don’t do that anymore.”

“I don’t play with Barbies at this age!” you defended, heat spreading all over your skin when he winked at you. Both of them laughed at your flushed face, and you crossed your arms on your chest, glaring at your brother. Really though, you were just trying to hide the fact you were very attracted to his friend, even more so now that he was actually familiar. “Stupid Yuta-nii.”

“You’re cute,” Toge randomly piped in.

If you were feeling shy before, you couldn’t speak now.

“Dude, don’t talk about my sister like that,” Yuta gagged, slapping his friend on the chest who effortlessly ducked away, his laughter like music in your ears. You stared at him for who knew how long, his happiness absorbed in your body as you found yourself giggling back. Yuta, on the other hand, wasn’t as impressed, rolling his eyes at his friend before turning to you. “You should go back to class. The bell will ring soon.”

“Okay,” you nodded quietly, hesitating for a moment. Surely it wouldn’t be too weird, right? Deciding to heck with it though, you balled your hands into fists, mustering the courage to look him in the eye as you said, “See you, Toge-senpai.”

He simply shrugged his brows up as a farewell, and just like that, you dashed down the hall so fast you put Quicksilver to shame.

Great. Out of all the days it had to storm, it had to be on the rare moment you forgot your umbrella. Unsurprisingly enough, it was Yuta’s fault for making you forget it. Both of you had slept in too much, but instead of being the responsible older brother, he left you to prepare the meals all by yourself while he spent half an hour fixing his hair. In your haste to arrive on school on time, you’d forgotten to pick up your umbrella, and now the misfortune of it slapped you right on the face.

“Tch, how can I go home?” you glared at no one in particular.

Yuta had to stay behind for baseball practice in the covered court, leaving you all alone to take the bus by yourself. Well, not that it mattered, going home alone was way better than listening to your brother rant about video games and girls he wanted to talk to in class.

Shifting your weight from one foot to another, brows pinched as you mulled on the different ways you could come back home, you came up with two options.

One, run like hell and risk getting sick from this weather, or two, wait for the rain to subside.

But ugh, you wanted to go home already. Before you knew it, you’d unknowingly pouted, arms hugged to yourself while you cursed your stupid brother a hundred times over in your head. Too lost in your own thoughts, you failed to hear humming from behind you, a scream nearly ripping from your lips when someone planted himself beside you.

“Hey, you’re here!”

You gazed up at him wide-eyed, subconsciously stepping away to keep your beating heart at bay. “H-hello, Toge-senpai.”

“Please, just call me Toge,” he offered, opening his umbrella before his eyes landed on you. Probably realizing you were quite helpless, Toge smiled, nudging you to come closer to him. “Hey, I’ll walk you home. You guys still live in the same block?”

“Yeah.”

And so there you were, debating that maybe Yuta’s carelessness wasn’t such a bad thing. After all, if it would lead to your crush taking you home, then you weren’t complaining. Funny how the weather seemed so gloomy, a huge contrast to the sunshine you radiated at the sheer happiness of living out your most romantic fantasies. It was silly, actually, to crush on your brother’s best friend of all people, but Toge was so nice and handsome – it was kind of impossible not to like him.

In the span of two weeks that you’d known him, he’d been nothing but friendly. And no, you weren’t going to admit you started visiting their classroom more often than before, simply because you wanted to get a glimpse of him.

Toge pulled you out of your lovesick trance, his arm landing on your waist before he shifted you beside him. You noticed he was now closer to the road while you were on the safer side of the sidewalk, and god, did he just step closer? He was close enough that your arms brushed with each step, sending a wave of heat that you bit back by tugging your lips with your teeth.

“For warmth,” he explained as if reading your mind, arm raised lazily in a shrug. “Wouldn’t want you to get cold.”

“Thank you,” you muttered, hiding your face under your scarf.

You and Toge were silent the whole time, but it was a silence you adored. Very rarely that you found comfort in silence with others, but with Toge, it felt so easy – so natural. You hadn’t even realized you were already at home, Toge chuckling at your spaced out self. He bid his farewell then, his back facing yours as he walked away when you blurted, “Oh, my parents aren’t home. I think you should stay first to let the rain calm down a bit. You live a little far from school, right?”

Toge looked a little surprised, his eyes shooting up to the sky with a sigh. Inwardly, you were screaming because you just invited him inside, but Toge was already waddling back to you before you could regret it.

“Yeah, thanks for the invitation. I don’t think I should go home in this weather too,” he said, following you across the threshold. He looked around in awe, his shoes left in the front door before he crossed the living room with you, his eyes shining with nostalgia and happiness. “Wow, your place hasn’t changed one bit. I missed being here.”

You flashed him a smile. Turns out it wasn’t that bad – Toge being comfortable made you comfortable. Aside from the nervousness partnered with shyness from having a crush, you applauded yourself for being able to look him in the eye as you asked, “Do you want tea, coffee…?”

“Water is fine. Thanks,” he shrugged off his jacket and placed it behind a chair, chuckling when you nodded too fast. Toge, much to your dismay (or delight?!) trailed behind you in the kitchen, having no business looking that handsome as he leaned against the counter. Him being unaware of his effect on you was even worse, and you bit the inside of your cheeks, trembling as you poured him a glass of water. 

From behind you, Toge snickered, “Why are you so jittery? Do I make you nervous?”

“A-a little.”

“Why? Am I intimidating?” he appeared beside you out of nowhere, so close that you could count his lashes. You leaned back with a muffled squeal, eyes wide at the proximity. Toge, as always, seemed completely unaware of it, taking his time to assess your features with a hand on his chin as if all the answers he was looking for was written all over your face. “Yuta told me I was very easy to approach though.”

“No, it’s not that, I just…” you stuttered, giving in with weak knees and turning your head to the side. Your heart, your poor heart! “Crap, I hate myself.”

“You were saying something?”

“I, uhm, it’s just,” you panicked, mind failing to function now of all times. “I think…I have a crush on you?”

The room fell silent.

Realization dawning on you, you flattened your palms together in a begging motion. Toge merely blinked back at you, and you were so close to just kneeling to the gods to rid yourself of this moment forever. “Please forget everything I said, I’m so sorry! Gosh, Yuta’s going to kill me, forget I said anything, I didn’t mean to be weird.”

“Hey, chill, it’s fine!” he laughed, helping you get up just before you fell in exasperation. Then, he smirked at you, wiggling his brows in the process. “I kind of knew that anyway, to be honest.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I mean, you asked me to marry you when we were kids,” he informed you, but the memory never played back in your mind. It wasn’t a lie though, you really did ask him that when you were kids. Embarrassment taking hold of you, you groaned behind your palms, feeling like your heart was going to explode every now and then.

“Oh my gosh…”

“It’s okay,” Toge peeled your arms away from your face, his grin nothing less of teasing the moment he’s greeted by your shyness. “I did say yes – let’s just wait after high school, yeah?”

[00bamc]

dishonesty;03

summary: the journey of a broken-hearted woman and a remorseful man into the search of healing and forgiveness.

pairing: kim seokjin x reader (infidelity au)

chapter playlist: burn by andra day (hamilton), set fire to the rain by adele, don't hurt yourself by beyoncé.

warnings: grammatical mistakes, cheating, profanity, violence, strong language.

a/n: chapter three is out! this bad boy was a ride and probably i will be back later for some corrections. however, i hope you enjoy it. as always likes, reblogs and your commentaries are always appreciated. happy reading!

"if it's what you truly want ... i can wear her skin over mine. her hair over mine. her hands as gloves. her teeth as confetti. her scalp, a cap. her sternum, my bedazzled cane. we can pose for a photograph, all three of us. immortalized ... you and your perfect girl.

why can't you see me? why can't you see me? why can't you see me? everyone else can." (fragment of "anger" written by warsan shire)

His side of the bed is cold and empty at dawn.

What a fucking surprise! Your dear husband leaves in the morning without a goodbye. Honestly, you would have called him to tell him he can go and fuck himself if it weren’t for the pounding on your head because of all the crying you did the night before, as a matter of fact, it was his fucking fault.

As if he were to feel guilty.

You wonder if the blonde with nice tits is giving him a nice blowjob right now; hopefully and if you are lucky enough, she will rip his dick off with her teeth. What a sight would be.

Mindlessly stirring your cup of steaming coffee, you enjoy the quiet morning by yourself. The warmth of the sun entering from the kitchen window and the beautiful sound of birds chirping - a rare sound in a busy city like Seoul - brings peace to your wounded soul. The calm before the storm, still, you are going to enjoy it no matter how long it will last. You let out a sigh before raising the cup to your lips, enjoying the delicious aroma of your beverage, but sadly when you are about to take a sip of the bitter yet relaxing taste, your phone rings. Kim fucking Seokjin’s face is shown on the screen.

He couldn’t just leave you alone, couldn't he? As if he hadn't fucked up your marriage enough, and now he wants to shit in your morning too. Great. Just fucking great.

You really make a giant effort to bite back the curse at the tip of your tongue when you hear his breathing at the other side of the line. “What?”

“Love-” Seokjin’s voice sounds croaky through the speaker, “I am sorry for not saying goodbye this morning. There—” he pauses, gulping down saliva, “was an emergency at work.”

“Right," the sound of his voice unpleasantly irks you while his pathetic excuses make you sick. Now the truth is out there, you can't stand his act of caring husband. “If you have nothing else to say, I will hang up,” you take your phone away from your ear, ready to end the call and return to the rest of your already ruined morning.

Seokjin cries out from the phone, "Wait!”

You put him on speaker after a roll of your eyes, deciding to start with your breakfast. You are not going to starve just because he wants to cry a little on the phone. “Are you mad at me? I am sorry, my love. I know I have been acting like a dick for the last months,” you suppress a mocking laugh while stabbing with a fork a cut piece of fruit and taking it to your mouth. The sweet taste of the strawberries calms your nerves as, against your own will, your heart warms a bit at his half-assed apology.

Fucking traitor.

“Now you realize?”

“I know I have been acting like a bad husband. Work has been rough and instead of running to you, I have been pushing you away. I am so sorry.”

You don’t understand the sudden change of heart. He was smug and defensive about his hidden side chicks last night, but now he wants to mend broken bridges? Fucking psychopath.

He continues with a slight tremble in his voice, “But I have been true with my heart. You don’t need to worry because you are the only woman I love.”

Your grip on your fork tightens, turning your knuckles white. He is lying like he always does because you definitely don’t do something like this to someone you love. If he loves you so fucking much, why he was sticking his dick and burying his tongue in fresh pussy? You breathe through your nose, already feeling tired of his bullshit.

“There is not another man above you, Seokjin. Do you know that?” You heard him take a shaky breath through the speaker. Good. At least he has the decency of feeling guilty. “Don’t pull that type of shit again. If you do, you are going to lose your wife.”

You hope he catches the double meaning of your words.

“I know,” he lets out a painful sigh before he changes the subject. “This emergency at work has obliged us to advance the concerts in Tokyo. I will leave today and not next week,” you frown, how strange, yet you let the worry go away. Maybe he has promised a fuck-vacation to one of his mistresses. Son of a bitch, he probably gets off with deceiving your sacred vows. “In an hour, I will be at our home for my luggage. I was wondering-” he trails off nervously. “If you can come with me to the airport. I want to see you before I have to go.”

The audacity of wanting your affections. Fuck him.

“I am busy today.”

“Oh,” he sounds disappointed, but you don't have the desire to please him, to bend your wants and needs just so he can feel better. He lost that right. “It is okay. Don’t worry. Just work hard like always. I will call you when I arrive, okay?” You hum, taking a sip of your warm coffee.

“I love you.”

You hang up, not even bothering to say it back.

Surprisingly, Seokjin is true to his promise about calling you when he arrives at his hotel in Tokyo.

If only he had been true to the promises of love and loyalty, he made you in the fucking altar.

Your phone rings around four times, but you don’t bother reaching for the device even when it lights up in the darkness of your room. Talking to him is the last thing you need or want. Instead, you decide to close your eyes and turn to your left side, your back towards the night table, where your phone keeps vibrating with the useless efforts of a man who is too late.

The next day he calls you again. Midway working in some correction of an open Word document, you heard the first keys of a piano, followed by the voice you had come to adore in all these years, but now instead of the butterflies in your stomach and the strong sense of pride, you feel a heavy knot form on your stomach.

After taking a deep breath, your fingers hover over the “accept video call”, debating if you had the guts of talking with him. If you are able to have a civil conversation without cursing him out and blurting that you know his dirty little secret.

“A lion is still a lion even in a cage.” Grandma was a fucking badass, and you have her blood running in your veins, so in a bravery streak, you accept the call.

The first thing to greet you is plump heart-shaped lips curved in a bright smile and beautiful almond eyes sparkling with undying adoration. His black hair falls on his forehead which gives him a youthful look. The man greeting you through the screen reminds you of the man he used to be before he frayed the string tying you together.

The man who blushed prettily and stuttered when he spilled coffee all over himself on your first date. The same man who gazed down at you with stars in his eyes when he lifted your white veil.

How dare he? How dare he look at you as if he was the same man?

“Good morning, my love. How are you?” He brightly cheers, the camera moving a little as he sits at the bottom of his bed. You give a look around, since the limited view, you have of his hotel room. He looked relaxed, even when he spent a lot of time blowing your phone last night. You wonder if one of his side chicks followed him to Japan. God spare you from catching a glimpse of a naked woman walking around.

“What do you want?” The smile on his face falters a little, but the look in his eyes does not change. You know he can see in your face all the anger slowly building up, meant to explode in an ugly way.

If he is taken back by your harsh tone, he doesn't show it.

“Are you still mad at me?” He asks patiently, a soft expression taking in his beautiful features.

You feel heat rise on your spine. Does he expect you to be happy and proud about the fact that your husband is going around your back and fucking a different girl every night?

“I am not mad, Seokjin. I am just busy. I don't have a lot of time to spare.”

He ignores your dismissive tone, and how your eyes stay on your laptop screen.

“Are you working on your new manuscript?”

“Yes.”

“Did you fix the problem you had about that scene of the lake? I know you were so stressed about it.”

“Yes, I did.”

He tries again.

“Have you eaten yet?”

“Yes.”

You know you are being petty, but you are not in the mood of entertaining him in pleasantries. You want to cool down a little because if you are going to chew his head off it is not going to be through a video call and when he is in another country.

After a few more seconds, you hear him sigh painfully as if you were hurting him. As if he wasn't the same to you just a mere few days ago.

“Love. Look at me, please.”

You turn your face towards the phone screen whilst feeling hatred towards yourself. Why do you keep being weak for him?

“Seokjin, I-”

“I am sorry, I know I have been horrible to you, and you don't deserve the way I have been treating you. But I don't want to lose you over something like this.” He breathes out, head facing down for a second. And you wonder why he suddenly looks so conflicted, however, the expression of agony on his face is gone before you can ask about it. He continues with a fervent tone, “Tell me what can I do to make it up to you? What do you want? I would do anything you want.”

Anything you want? You wanted his loyalty. You wanted his respect. You wanted his love. But it is too late for that, isn't it?

You open your mouth to speak, yet a sudden knock on his door, followed by a man's voice calling his name, interrupts you. Your time is up, and low-key you are grateful for it because if it wasn't for it, you probably would reveal that you know about his indiscretions.

The inevitable confrontation is yet to come, but you want to hold in this anger a little longer.

“I have to go.” Your husband announces apologetic while rubbing his forehead with the hand not holding his phone. “I will call you later, okay?”

You give him a simple nod, not having anything anymore to say.

His gaze softens, chocolate irises melting in love and adoration. Why does he keep hurting you like this?

“I love you.”

You smile politely at him, before disconnecting the call.

That is how your routine is established for the next few days. Every day or night, he calls to ask about your day, and you give quick answers, working on your manuscripts as he talks. Then you ask about his day, and he tells you about it. Your conversations are cordial and civil, but both of you know that things are not right between you. He sees it in the way you ignore the tenderness of his voice when he says he loves you with all his heart, and in the way, you cannot bring yourself to reply to the words.

He doesn’t hold it against you. It is like an unspoken agreement between you two about forgetting these last months. He is too much of a coward to confess his sins against you, and you are too much of a lovesick fool to bring it to the table.

Five days after he has left, he finally has the courage to take the next step toward a reconciliation that doesn't feel right. That day you wake up to a beautiful bouquet of violets delivered to your home. Violets. Loyalty and Love. You almost laugh about the irony. The bouquet is gorgeous, and you put the flowers in a vase with water, so they could live a bit more, although, you can help but see it as an “apology” for the woman he probably is fucking in Tokyo.

Later in the day, you meet with Jia and Sooyoung, your two closest friends, for lunch.

“Is everything okay with Jin?” Jia, all pretty in her pink blouse and white mini skirt, asks midway, inhaling her piece of chocolate cake. Her manicured fingers drum against the table when she lets the dessert invade her taste buds. Sooyoung next to her shifts her sharped gaze from one of the cute servers to you. You get distracted a little by how alluring her eyes look with her eyeliner.

Apart from his cheating ways, everything is wonderful.

You shrug, enjoying your lemon pie. “He is in Tokyo, like Yoongi.”

Jia smiles dreamily after hearing the name of her boyfriend, a love-struck expression forming on her face at which you lower your gaze as you scratch the fork you have been using against your dessert plate. You hate the sound, but it distracts you from the invasive thought of the way your relationship with your husband used to be. However, her happy expression doesn't last because soon Jia´s face turns serious, eying you in worry after she hears your flat tone. Maybe because she is used to you talking about Seokjin as if he hung up the stars in the sky.

“Yes, I know, “she shares a look with Sooyoung, one you pretend not to notice. ” Yoongi has been secretive these days. I know something is bothering him, but he doesn’t want to spill,” she pouts, fork catching another bite of chocolate. “My baby works so hard.”

You roll your eyes at seeing how sure she is about her boyfriend’s loyalty.

“Maybe they are stressed,” Sooyoung chirps, gaze going back to the blonde girl taking the order of an old couple. “Probably is hard to do concerts much earlier than expected.”

“It was strange.” Jia agrees, chin resting on her right palm, with her pinky flexed against her cheek. “Hope everything is good. Let me know if you figure it out. "Your friend gives you a comforting smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes, as if she suspects something was not right.

You don't question it, instead, you give a simple nod of your head in acknowledgment and feel relieved about the conversation wavering to Sooyoung, who is getting ready to hunt the server she has been eyeing. Yet, a few hours later, when you give Sooyoung a lift to her house, she asks again if everything is alright. You provide the exact answer you have given your parents, and everyone else.

“Everything is going well.”

You won’t find the strength to confess to either of them the truth. How could you do it? How could you tell them you weren’t able to keep your husband from straying? Your parents would feel disappointed if they discover that your marriage has been a complete failure, especially since only happy couples exist in your family.

Happy, long marriages without unfaithful husbands.

Sooyoung does not ask more questions, even when you see in her face the itch of doing it. But she doesn't miss the opportunity of hugging your goodbye, much tighter than other times.

“Whatever has happened with Jin, it is his own fault. You always have been too much for that fucker.”

You laugh at her remark even when deep down, you wonder if that is true.

As if you were a part of a bad fucking movie, the dirty secrets of your fucking husband spill out of the bag in the worst possible way.

On the exact same day, he returns from Tokyo, the news caught you inside your car parked in front of the coffee shop where you usually meet with your editor. Your phone rings midway sending her some details of your recent manuscript; a notification of an incoming call from “Jia '' appears suddenly at the top of the screen.

She is calling even when she knows you had a work meeting. Something she never does, not even at that time when she fell down on her work stairs, broke her ankle, and needed someone to pick her up from the hospital because Yoongi was out of town. You remember a receptionist of the hospital had to call you because her stubborn ass was worried she would interrupt you.

You immediately pick up.

“Where are you?”

You frown at the urgency of her voice, putting the phone on speaker, and turning the car around, starting to drive towards her place, “Are you okay?

“I am okay, but where are you? Are you home?”

“No, I just met with my editor.”

At that exact moment, a call from her enters. You quickly declined it while making a mental note to return it later.

“Go home. You are not safe in the streets!” She screams through the speaker, a quiver in her voice that makes you realize she is making an effort to hold back tears.

You open your mouth to ask her again if she is okay when you hear a deep voice talking in the background.

Yoongi.

He calls for Jia, a fade “Baby, please, calm down” reaches your ears followed by more hushed words. A heavy knot forms in your stomach when you hear your name being spoken between aggressive whispers.

Something is wrong.

As you stop at the intersection waiting for the traffic light to turn green, fingers nervously drumming against the steering wheel before you heard Jia´s usually sweet voice answer with a “Get out of my house and go fuck yourself, you selfish bastard.”

You feel drops of sweat slide down from your neck to your back. Your Jia is not aggressive, much less to Yoongi, the man she is hopelessly in love with.

“Jia, what is going on?”

Silence is your only answer before you hear her tapping on her phone. One second later, a notification of a message from her appears on your screen. “I am sorry, baby. I am so sorry. If I had known I would have told you.”

At the painful tone of her voice, you don't waste a second yanking your phone from its holder as you rush to park on one side of the street. Jia´s irregular breathing falls to your ears as you open the text message and click on the link she sent you. Your heart contracts, lungs being crushed by the sudden press on your chest as a sob gets stuck in your throat.

“Scandal! Kim Seokjin´s and Park Minyoung’s infamous sex tape goes viral!”

“The actress of the new drama “Love is in the air” just like you have never seen her before. Click for more spicy details of this new scandal!”

“I will call you later.”

Jia cries out your name, but it falls on deaf ears as you hang up the phone without waiting to hear what she has to say. Eyes fixed on the gossip article, you let one trembling finger hover on the link to the video that you know will hurt you deeply.

Is it really worth it to put you through that torture? What is better . . . Know or not to know? Being kept in the dark?

You shut your eyes close for a second, reuniting the courage needed, and after letting out a jagged breath, you finally press play.

It is worse than your nightmares.

She lies on her back, ebony long hair thrown on the pillow, plump breasts with taut nipples moving with every impact her slim body receives between her open long legs placed neatly over broad shoulders.

“Shit, you are sucking me in, slut.”

Hearing his voice felt like a slap to the face, but you refused to move your eyes from her.

“Do you like it when I treat you like the whore you are? Am I right, dumb slut?” Her hands go to her jiggling tits.

“Yes, I love it. I love being your dumb slut.”

“Fucking whore. Take my cock deeper.”

“Fuck, I am coming, daddy!”

The look on her face is hypnotizing; the way her mouth falls open in a silent scream, the bits of drool leak to her chin, and the way her eyes roll to the back of her head as she loses herself in ecstasy. Bile rises to your throat because as she is sent to cloud nine, another naked figure comes closer to the camera, making it impossible not to see him.

You watch helplessly the way his strong and firm hands grip one of her tights while the other sneaks around her waist as he keeps thrusting, fucking her through her high. His head lowers to her chest, black hair falling on her collarbones as he takes a nipple on her mouth. She cries out, high-pitched screams getting louder when he decides to move one of his hands lower, the rough pad of his fingers rubbing her clit.

God, he used to pull the same move with you.

Nausea hits you followed by a pang of killing pain on your chest, but you don’t stop the video, completely fixed in the way your husband fucks one of his side chicks.

He is close, judging by his grunts and the stuttering of his hips. You know that dance by heart. Finally, he pulls out of her, red cock glistening with her juices.

“Please, give it to me.” He keeps his dark eyes on her swollen pussy as he strokes himself. Once, twice and then he lets out a husky groan followed by spurts of warm and thick cum falling into her toned stomach. She moans at the feeling, looking completely delighted with being bathed by your husband's come. The screen fades to black with the view of her red lips curving in a stupid smile, the epitome of a woman satisfied after being fucked dumb.

Silence engulfs you for a second, your brain trying to process the cruel mockery he has made of you.

Then hell breaks inside you.

Your phone falls carelessly on the floor of the car as you throw yourself out, unfocused gaze and a high pitch on your ears shifting the world around you. Acid vomit returns to your throat leaving a burn behind when you finally double over in a trash can placed some steps ahead of your car.

Son of a bitch. Who the fuck does he think you are?

He has made an idiotic fool of you.

For God’s sake, you let him do this to you.

You kick the trash can with all your force causing the metal to quiver at the force before wiping roughly your mouth with the back of your hand. Blood boils in your veins as you return to your car, fully pressing the gas pedal, not caring about the fact you are driving at over speed.

The world suddenly looks red, a burning fire engulfing everything you see.

The ringtone of your phone obligates you to take a look at your phone. Jia calls, followed by Sooyoung. Yoongi calls next as well as Hoseok and Jungkook. The audacity. Your grip on the steering wheel tightens when you see the names of his bandmates appear on the screen. Now they want to speak. Where were they when your husband was cheating on you?

They knew.

You are sure of it, especially when they spend all day together. All the excuses, nervous words, and pity eyes now make sense. You have done everything for them, have loved them like actual brothers, and they have betrayed you in return.

Seokjin is the last to call.

You block his number immediately.

You arrive at the HYBE building with a scratch of your wheels on the pavement. The guard at the main door doesn’t try to stop you when you burst through the glass doors, instead, he just gives you a glance full of pity. They know. All these people know about your husband’s dirty laundry.

You hold the tears wanting to escape. Suicide before they see them falling down, before allowing him to keep humiliating you.

Your footsteps are loud on the big hallways as you rush towards the biggest dance practice room of the building.

“What are you doing here?” A flustered Soobin greets you at the door of the practice room. The door wide open allows you to catch a glimpse of some TXT and ENHYPEN members inside along with some staff members.

“Where is he?” The boy gulps, eyes going through some people of the staff who avoid your burning stare.

You know these people; you were there when the company was struggling to stay afloat. You used to share laughs, help around, and bring food for all of them too because you recognized their big role in BTS's success. Maybe that is the reason why they don't stop Soobin from blurting out a nervous “Conference Room.”

A yelp of your name escapes Jimin’s lips when he sees you walk past him on your way toward the conference room. His rushed steps mixed with Taehyung’s voice pleading you to wait to make you quicken your pace. Somehow Jungkook’s voice is added to the chase.

It hurts. He was like a little brother to you. How nice of him for not giving a flying fuck about you.

The door of the conference room slams against the wall at your rough push, and as you expected, the fucking couple of the year is inside.

Park Min Young standing there, between Seokjin’s arms. Her slim arms tangled around his neck, her lips against his while his hands grip her waist.

Strike three, you are fucking out.

Everything happens fast. Seokjin’s eyes widened as he pushed Minyoung away, causing her to stumble and hit herself with the large table behind her. Your husband opens his mouth with a dumb expression on his face, but his pathetic explanations are not necessary.

Without a single word, you take off your wedding and engagement rings from your fingers, taking a moment to look at them. They are beautiful, pure gold and a big diamond, but now after seven years and a betrayal, they mean nothing. You hurl them with all your force towards him before turning around on your feet and shoving past Jimin and Taehyung stuck at the door.

“Wait!” Seokjin calls out, “Please, love, wait a minute.” Rushed footsteps and desperate voices dangerously came closer.

You almost break into a sprint when a warm hand catches your wrist, pulling you back towards a hard body that smells like the sweet fabric softener you bought for him in your favorite grocery shop. You laugh bitterly at the realization. He is always going to mean more, always be more important to them than you.

Nice of them to show their true colors now.

You turn around slowly, encountering a pair of doe pleading eyes staring at you. “Where were you when I needed you to speak out?” Jungkook’s face crumbles, lower lip trembling and eyes watering. “If you had a little love left for me, you would stop him. “

He hesitates for a moment. You see the battle inside his head, and you don't know if it is guilt or leftover affection that moves him to let go of your hand before taking a few steps back. He sniffs, cleaning his nose with the back of his hand. “I am sorry.”

You believe he is.

“I know.”

Your heart rate increases with every step you give, and your keys almost slip off your trembling hands when you try to open the driver’s door, yet, in the corner of your eye, you notice his black Honda parked in his usual spot on the parking agency lot, next to the spot where you parked your own car. You let out a maniac laugh, and maybe it is pettiness, but you don't resist the urge to let your car keys run against one side of the vehicle. The satisfying sound of metal against metal leaves behind an ugly white line on the car’s paint.

His favorite one.

You return home driving at over speed. Time is running out. Paparazzi will be over you soon. Bargaining on your mansion, you don’t waste a second on packing your stuff. Clothes are ripped from the hangers, beauty products sweep off from your vanity, and electronics are picked up from your desk before shoving them in the suitcases that you sloppily throw on the backseat of your car. But before you can take off and leave behind the house full of memories, you remember one of your favorite parent’s portraits inside the house, obligating you to go back.

The portrait is neatly placed in the living room next to the television and photographs immortalizing happier times. Carefully taking the photograph out of its frame, you put it inside of one of your jean’s pockets, and for a mere second, you allow yourself to glimpse at the happier times.

In one, you are next to Seokjin, who has his arm wrapped around your shoulders. Both of you making silly faces to the camera, a glimpse of new and pure love shining on your faces. This is the memory of the time when you just started dating. In another, the both of you are on the floor. One of his arms around your waist and one hand holding yours against his lips, kissing your ring finger, with a sparkling diamond ring on. Hoseok took that photo after you threw yourself at Seokjin, screaming yes, without waiting for him to finish his speech.

The cherry on top was your wedding picture. Foreheads together, arms holding you tenderly, and beautiful eyes admiring you with so much adoration. You removed it from your bedroom when looking at it became unbearable.

The muscles of your back tense as your mouth turns dry and by impulse you let your feet guide you towards the storeroom on the first floor, where you know Seokjin saves his sports equipment.

His baseball bat feels heavy between your steady hands. You are aware of the damage you can cause, the imminent chaos you have to bring to avenge a little part of your broken heart. So, with a scream, you swing the bat, taking down all the photographs and the television. Broken glass smashes to the floor, leaving behind a soothing buzz on your veins.

Who the fuck does he think he is? Bad motherfucker. A selfish bastard who has destroyed your life.

You take a pair of scissors from the kitchen on your way to your shared bedroom, eyes fixed on the closet where only his clothes are still hanging. Your fingers caress the expensive cloth of one of his suits, before merciless cutting one sleeve off. The rest of his suits, favorite shirts, and a Louis knit with that disgusting smell of vanilla have the same faith. In the bathroom, you swig at his expensive beauty products and perfumes, leaving behind a mess of broken glasses and liquid on the marble tiles. Not forgetting to give a good hit to the mirror.

A fucking clown. He has exposed you to the media like that.

His home office has the same fate. The baseball bat leaves cracks on the wood of his desk with every blow you deliver with all your strength. Your range tantrum soon is diverted to the items showing his success through the years.

Music awards, platinum disks, pictures, and music equipment.

It is because of you.

You have helped him to become that man with the world at his feet. Still, he dared to throw you away like a rag doll because he found fresh and young pussy to fuck. He believes he is so almighty, so above you that he can do whoever he wants.

Such a fool with a god complex.

His home office door opens abruptly, letting Kim mother-fucking Seokjin rush inside with disheveled clothes and red eyes. He doesn’t flinch when you slam the bat on his desk.

“Baby,” He breathes out, “Just listen to me. I can explain,” his tormented gaze bores on you, tainted hands trying to reach for yours. “I am sorry, okay? I was so wrong. “He takes a few timid steps in your direction.

“One step closer, and I will break your fucking kneecaps!” His eyes widen at your colorful choice of words. His patient little wife is dead now. He better get used to it. “Leave me alone. There is nothing to explain.” You shove him out of the door, bat dropping to the floor with a loud thud on your way out.

“Listen to me, please. I was going to tell you,” He insists, following you down the stairs and to the kitchen. “I was scared. I love you with all my heart. Please understand. I was afraid of losing you—”

“Who the fuck do you think I am, Seokjin? You didn’t marry an average bitch. Don’t you dare to sell me your cheap excuses!”

His lips tremble at your harsh tone, slightly grimacing at the sight of you violently opening one of the cabinet’s kitchens to take out a bottle of wine. Under his worried gaze, you open it and drink straight from the bottle.

“Listen—”

“What are you going to say now that you have humiliated me?” he shuts his mouth close, lowering his head while his hands turn into fists at his sides. “Not only you have been fucking around with your harem of side chicks, but you also recorded yourself with one of them.”

He snaps his head to you. “I-“

You let out a sardonic laugh. “I have been aware of this mockery for months.” Bitterness drips from your tone, “And I did nothing because I loved you. I forced myself to believe your lies, so I could keep you. I gave you everything about me and still wasn’t enough for you!”

“You were enough! You have always been more than enough!” Seokjin rushes towards you, trying to take you between his arms. He won't touch with the same dirty hands that pleasured another woman. Afraid of feeling his touch, you reach for one of the dirty dishes inside the sink, tossing it at him. The plate crashes on the floor when he ducks it in time. “You have always been my love. I have always loved you. I am sorry!”

“Kiss my ass, Seokjin! I don’t believe a fucking word that comes out of your dirty mouth.” You step back when he tries to come closer to you, but he is faster because this time he manages to place his hands in your arms. “Let me go! Fucking let me go!”

“Listen to me, please!”

“I don't want to! How can I even smell her on you? Did you fuck her today?” Seokjin stumbles back at your desperate rough push. His face pales after hearing your words but doesn't try to defend himself. “Coward. You can’t even admit it to my face.”

So many emotions pass through his face, and then you see a dangerous glint take over his eyes. Anger he doesn't deserve to feel, not when it is because of him that you both are in the eye of the hurricane.

“I did it! Is what you want to hear? I fucked her in the studio. I ate her out, then I fucked her until she was begging me to stop, and I fucking enjoy it—”

Who the fuck does he think he is?

The loud sound of your hand against his cheek breaks his trail of words, face jerking to the side.

You stay there, hand still in the air accompanied by a burning sensation all over the skin of your palm. A deep feeling of regret starts to lie heavily on your chest, regret that you obligate yourself to stubbornly swallow.

After an excruciating second, he looks back at you with watery eyes and his large palm against his burning cheek, and soon the regret turns into disgust when you catch a glimpse of the shine of his wedding ring. The ring he wore on his finger every time he fucked around with his mistress, the ring he saw every time he betrayed your trust, but it wasn't enough to stop him, to make him think about the pain and humiliation he would bring you.

He looks pathetic.

As if some tears would be enough to fix this mess, enough to fix your broken heart, enough to turn back in time and erase all the disrespect and humiliation he has brought you.

He can cry you a fucking river if he wants, but it would not make a difference.

You take a menacing step towards him, voice low and dripping venom.

“When you hurt me, you only hurt yourself. Don’t you realize?” He bites his lower lip, pathetic tears clinging to his long eyelashes. “You are free to go back to keep fucking your harem and keep recording sex tapes with them. I don’t care, but I will tell you this: you could never recreate me, Kim Seokjin. You would never find in another woman what you had with me. And you would never find a woman who loves you the way I did.”

Both of you know the absolute truth in your words.

The noise of a commotion outside adverts your attention to the large window in the living room. As you had expected, a flock of paparazzi, as well as reporters, are fighting to enter your property. You turn to your husband with a smirk.

“Look at that,” you point at the scene happening outside. He keeps his eyes on the floor. “This is what you wanted. You can call Minyoung, so we can pose for the photographs together. Immortalized, my love. You, me, and one of your perfect girls.”

A whimper coming from him is your only answer.

You can destroy them if you want.

Tear them apart like a lion. Use their skin over yours. Their hands as gloves. Their fucking teeth as confetti. And that bitch’s sternum, proudly shown with hickeys once, could be your bedazzled cane.

Yet, it would be useless to vent your anger at them when the only one who owes you something is him.

You take another swing at your bottle of wine before opening the door with a sickly-sweet smile painted on your lips.

Showtime.

Behind you, Seokjin stumbles and hits himself with the kitchen counter as he desperately tries to catch you before you open the front door. His fingers graze your arm causing you to snatch it out of his reach.

“Where are you going? Come back, we have to talk about this!”

You don't look back at him, not even when you hear the loud thud of his knees falling down to the marble floor.

It is one of his tricks, another manipulation to make you come back to him.

He has to realize he was no longer the deity he used to be in your eyes. He has fallen down from the worship altar you had put him on once upon a time.

Ignoring the way your heart hurts at his heartbreaking cries, you focus your gaze on the chaos taking place outside. His security staff is all over your front yard, protecting you from the frenetic reporters, who scream questions and direct their camera lenses at you.

As if you were a circus freak.

In a twisted way, he has turned you into one.

You have been the biggest clown of the circus, and Seokjin has been playing the role of the headmaster all this time.

"Please, don’t give up on me. I love you.” He sounds so small, so defeated, and you fight with the part of you that still loves him. The part of you that wants to fall down on your knees in front of him, take him in your arms, and erase the pain he is feeling now. “Please. I love you. I love you so much.”

It feels like a blasphemy the way he throws those sacred words in an attempt to save himself. You don't believe him, not when he is the one who tainted the meaning behind every “I love you”.

You won't feel sorry for him.

You won't.

Not when he is the one who has obligated you to turn your heart on ice. Not when he is the one who has obligated you to carefully choose every word and inject all the malice you can in every syllable. Not when he is the one who has obligated you to face the people outside and offered them the show that they have come to look for.

Not when the look on his face when he hears your next defying words is so satisfying.

“Watch me bounce to another dick, my love.”

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