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magneto-was-fucking-right · 2 months

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The Ghost Next Door - Chapter 8

Prompt: After suffering an almost lethal injury in combat, Simon "Ghost" Riley expected a dull, and uneventful leave back at his shitty apartment. His new next-door neighbor ruins his plans. Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (named Riley Thomas for plot purposes)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

Disclaimer: slow burn; neighbor!Simon; explicit sexual content; unprotected sex;

Chapter Summary: In which Simon and his neighbour exchange confessions (and bodily fluids).

Word Count: 3.9K

Come Monday evening, Simon Riley found himself facing his hardwood floors, strong, firm biceps holding him steady in a strong plank.

The heavy rain splattered loudly against his windows, the howling winter wind unrelenting against the building’s edges. He had turned the small heater on hours ago, but he knew if he wasn’t settling his daily score of push-ups he would be freezing regardless.

Johnny had left the previous evening, taking the overly excited pup out of his neighbor’s hands, and Simon had busied himself with deep cleaning the flat, finishing the day with some much needed exercise to take the edge off. He both loathed and yearned for the anxious nerves bubbling in his stomach everytime he thought about his last encounter with the young woman next door.

He had found no relief in the familiar touch of his own hand, nothing nearly satisfying enough to keep his mind from wandering back to her kitchen, and the wetness coating his fingers inside her warmth.

He felt his cock twitch in his sweatpants once again, permanently hard with the worst case of blue balls he had ever experienced, since he first felt her eager grip around his base, and the languid strokes that had almost brought him over the edge. Johnny hadn’t shut up about having caught them in the middle of something, despite Simon’s unyielding denial and threats to dump his corpse over the canal, and he knew he would never let it go.

He pulled himself off the floor, joints popping semi-painfully as he checked his watch.Simon couldn’t deny the unsettling concern twisting in his stomach as he checked the time again: Riley should have been home at least an hour ago. He admonished himself for having studied her routine so well, knowing she would most likely find it creepy, but as soon as he pulled his hoodie over his head, he heard her keys jiggle in the hallway.

As per their usual routine, he waited for her to be ready to spend some time with him, putting on his face mask and walking over to the stove, beginning to heat up dinner as he heard her move about.

Was that…sniffling?

He knew something was off the moment she meekly knocked on the door, and he wasn’t surprised to find tears rolling down her freckled cheeks, hair messy from the wind, still in her oversized scrubs reeking of cat piss.

“Bloody hell…” He recoiled from the stench. “Wha’ happened to you?”

“I had the worst day ever!” She cried weakly, shoulders slouched in defeat as Simon softly pulled her inside.

“I can see that, love.” He cocked his head to the right “Wanna talk about it?”

“I had to put down a puppy.” She sobbed into her hands and his heart broke at the pain in her voice, the way she trembled. “Then we got two feral cats to spay and one of them pissed all over me, I stepped on dog shit on the way home, got soaked from the rain because I forgot my umbrella and my hot water isn't working.”

She sighed, exhausted, and Simon waited patiently for her breaths to slow down, stepping closer carefully.

Then he wrapped his arms around her smaller frame, engulfing her in a loving embrace that had her head buried in his chest. At first she had resisted, palms pressed against the muscled span of his broad shoulders.

“Simon…I stink.”

“So do I, love.” He muttered into her hair, holding her tighter until eventually she relaxed, sighing deeply at the comforting touch, her hands holding onto his hoodie as if she was afraid he would let go too soon. He wouldn’t.

“I ain’t very good with words.” He admitted, arms still secured around her back as she inhaled his scent, his chin propped up on her head. “But how about you take a shower here while I fix yours, and then we eat some dinner, yeah?”

“You can’t always be the one cooking, you know.” She frowned, lifting her head up to look at him.

“Nonsense. M’ home all day anyway.” His thumb wiped away stray tears, a gesture he had so quickly become accustomed to. “Besides, we both know I do it much better.”

“Asshole.” Riley giggled, wiping her nose, and Simon smiled under his mask in genuine happiness.

***

Riley Thomas crossed her arm over her chest, fully naked in her neighbor’s bathroom as she reached for the fluffy towel he had arranged for her. Her scrubs and underwear were discarded on a messy pile on the impressively clean tiles, and she grimaced at the view.

She shivered, freezing, despite the heater Simon had bothered to move to warm up the small space while she washed, quickly realizing she had forgotten to ask him to retrieve some of her own clothes.

“Simon?” She called out nervously from behind the door, but got no response. She sighed deeply before walking out into the hallway, towel wrapped tight around her body as she walked around the flat, trying to find him.

The decorations were overall scarce, most of the rooms in desperate need of a woman’s touch, but she couldn’t help being surprised at how immaculate he had left his home, so in contrast with the constant layer of dust and pet fur in her apartment.

She slowly walked into the last room at the end of the corridor, feeling vulnerable as she found his bedroom, just as tidy as the rest of the house. Simon was nowhere to be seen, but she felt oddly watched as she noticed a picture on top of a dresser, the dim light coming from the window barely enough to make out the silhouettes. She stepped closer, curiously.

Two very young boys smiling brightly, sitting on a young woman’s lap. A scrawny, odd looking man behind the three of them. The father, she figured.

Riley marveled at the chubby blonde boy’s face, frozen in permanent happiness, big brown eyes so innocent and endearing. She lifted a finger absentmindedly, eager to touch the family portrait.

As her skin neared the cool glass, cased between the frame, a deep, gravely voice spoke, like a ghost in the shadows:

“I was 8. Tommy was still a little lad.”

She startled, eyes snapping back to him, gripping the towel closer to her frame.

“I was looking for you.” She muttered, as a form of apology, but he didn’t seem even remotely upset.

“Just fixed your shower.” He lifted her apartment keys, turning on a small lamp and stepping closer, setting them down on top of the dresser.

“Did you check on Milo?”

“‘Course. Big geezer. Sleeping on your pillow.” Simon kept a respectful distance, but frowned at her bare feet on the cold floors.

“I forgot to ask you for my clothes.”

“Thought about’it. Didn't wanna touch your stuff without your permission, though.” He shrugged apologetically before pointing at his dresser. “Make yourself at home, take whatever you need.”

Riley turned away from his gaze shyly, looking over her shoulder at his room.

“Your bed is huge.”

“I’m a big man.”

“That you are.” Her eyebrow rose in delight as she quickly looked him up and down, and Simon didn’t miss the mischievous glint in her eyes at the double meaning of her words.

He blushed, trying his best to keep his eyes on her face, taking the initiative to pick warm, comfortable clothes for her to wear.

“Your mother is beautiful.” She spoke softly, careful of what her words might trigger.

Simon froze, silent for a whole minute, before he replied:

“That she was.” His heart ached at the thought, but Riley’s presence seemed to somewhat soothe the deep, unforgiving pain of grief.

She went quiet, afraid she had overstepped some unspoken boundary, but Simon was quick to dismiss it as he passed her a pair of thick woolen socks.

“Put those on, before you catch yourself a cold.”

“You know…I didn’t expect you to own face wash.” She tried to change the subject as she sat on his bed, dismissing his command.

Simon turned, offended.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, you know…big, broody, mysterious guy…just didn’t seem like the type to worry about skin care.” She shrugged, teasing him.

“I’ll let you know I have wonderful skin.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Who taught you about skin care?” Riley leaned back on her arms, less worried about holding the towel as she relaxed further into his bed.

“Why? You jealous?”

She pressed her lips into a thin line.

“Maybe.”

“Hm.” Simon stepped closer, slowly kneeling in front of her bare legs. Her heart skipped a beat as his calloused fingers casually wrapped around her cold ankles, grabbing the socks and pulling them gently over each of her feet.

“I’m not the one going on dates.” He fired back, and she felt her cheeks heat at the accusation, removing a foot from his grasp.

“Never thought it’d bother you.”

“Never said it did.” He countered, heavy gaze challenging hers.

“Well, did it?”

“Did it what?”

“Bother you?”

He cocked his head to the right, considering his next words carefully. He was about to stand up, but she pressed her foot into his shoulder, holding him down. Simon’s breath quickened at the bold gesture, fingers digging deeper into her calf, teetering on the edge of self control.

“You’re a single woman.” He grumbled, noncommittally. “You’re free to do whatever you please.”

“That right?”

“Of course.”

“What if I want to do you?”

The tension between the two only deepened as she leaned forward, chest heaving under that damn towel he couldn’t wait to get rid of.

“Choices have consequences.” He muttered, gaze unfaltering as he gently grabbed her ankle and slowly lowered it from his shoulder. Instead, he yanked it forward, pulling the young woman closer to the edge of his mattress. If he so much as looked down he would have the perfect view of her naked sex, kneeling there so menacingly between her parted knees. His eyes, however, wouldn’t leave hers as he awaited for her next move.

Riley’s breath caught in her throat as she quickly held the towel against her breasts, legs trembling slightly. Goosebumps littered her skin as she bit her lip, considering his words.

“I want you.” She whispered, as if afraid the words would force him to retreat and hide behind his cold and detached demeanor. “I don’t care about anything else.”

“You should.” He leaned closer, fingers trailing up her calves and the back of her knees. “There’s lots of things you don’t know about me.”

She cradled his face carefully, looking down into his eyes so adoringly Simon felt his heart skip a beat. And then her fingers were hooked on the sides of his mask, pulling it down ever so carefully. He saw her hold her breath in anticipation.

A strong nose, probably broken one too many times, Riley noticed as she traced the small bump with her pointer finger. A massive scar that went all the way from his left ear to the underside of his chin, splitting the side of his chapped lips in a pinkish and white trail of skin. She felt her hand tremble as she softly grazed it with her nail, feeling his fingers gripping her legs tighter. Her thumbs caressed the sides of his stubbled, strong jaw as she admired his features in a trance.

“Then tell me.” She begged, face so close to his they were sharing avid breaths.

“For starters” His dark brown eyes finally moved down to her lips, incapable of facing her potential judgment “I’m 35 and I ain’t never been in a serious relationship. Not that there haven’t been any deserving women. I just thought they deserved better than me.”

Riley opened her mouth to speak, but he shushed her with a gentle finger to the lips, silently willing her to listen.

“Don’t have much of an education either. After I was done with school I was a butcher’s apprentice, and then I joined the army. All I was ever good for was a night of quick fun. No strings attached.” Simon admitted, large hands now back on her legs, rubbing soothing circles on the cooling skin.

“I don’t care.” She whispered, joining her forehead to his, fingers delving into his blonde locks.

“You’re not listening.”

“I am! I just-”

“I’ve killed people, Riley.”

Simon could physically feel the change in demeanor. He expected it. He noticed how her shoulders slouched, how dozens of questions flashed through her mind and her fiery persistence was considerably doused when faced with reality. People always preferred to ignore what being a soldier actually meant.

“I’m damn good at what I do.” Her fingers tightened in his scalp. “And my performance solely relies on the premise that I have nothing to lose. If I allow myself to indulge in this, as much as I’d love to - and trust me, I fuckin’ want to - I won’t be able to keep doin’ my job. And the job is all I know, all I’ve ever had.”

A long minute of silence ensued, their foreheads still joined together.

Simon’s stomach twisted with anxiety, and he could feel cold sweat starting to bead on his back. He was trying to mentally prepare for her rejection, but he realized he couldn’t. He had never cared this much about anyone before.

What he wasn’t expecting was the feel of her soft, tentative lips pressed against his own, cold on warm skin as her fingers locked him into place in a determined kiss. Simon groaned into her mouth, blood immediately rushing down as her tongue slowly explored his parted lips, fingers pulling on his scalp.

He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t fight it any longer as Riley pulled him impossibly close, hands descending into the hem of his hoodie and tentatively roaming under the fabric. She sighed contently into his lips, feeling the firm muscle and the soft trail of hair she was so eager to explore.

She gasped, tilting her head back as his warm lips moved to her neck, calloused hands secured around her thighs, kneading the flesh slowly. With eyes shut, thoughts lost in the bliss of finally feeling his tender touch, Riley pulled down the towel, baring her round breasts and letting it pool on her navel.

Simon’s lustful gaze darkened, descending his trail of wet kisses all the way down to her collarbone, lovebites marked upon her cooling skin as his hand reached up to knead her tit.

“You sure about this?” he murmured against her skin.

“Are you gonna make me beg?” She sighed deeply in pleasure as his thumb and pointer finger rolled her peaked nipple carefully. He licked a long stripe between the valley of her breasts, humming softly with eyes shut as if he was savoring her taste, before his lips left sloppy kisses along her other mound.

“Maybe.” He teased, tongue darting out to circle her left nipple, wetting it for a few seconds before retreating as soon as he felt her fisting the comforter, a strangled moan barely having left her pretty lips. “I think I’d enjoy the sound of that.”

“Simon, please…”She whispered as he licked the other one, this time for longer, before suckling on it, a deep groan rumbling in his chest.

“I was right, I do enjoy it.” He taunted before sucking her tits patiently, and agonizingly slow.

Riley trembled under his touch, trying not to seem too desperate as warm slick pooled between her naked thighs, fingers tangling in his scalp and pulling roughly as he reached a particularly sensitive spot that made her walls clench.

“Fuck” She moaned as his mouth parted from her chest, thumbs rubbing circles on her nipples, coated in his saliva. “Please…”

“Please what, love?” She sighed in desperate frustration, grinding her hips into the air when he pinched her sensitive skin.

“I need more.” She pawed at his hoodie, trying to pull it over his head.

“Greedy little thing.” Simon rumbled as he helped her strip his torso, a mass of muscle, scars and tattoos that left her breathless as her hands eagerly reached for his abdomen. But Simon wasn’t done yet, palm pressing against her chest, softly coaxing her to lay back down on the mattress.

“Simon…”

“Hm.” He grunted, lips already pressed into her inner thigh as he lifted her knees, placing her calves on each of his shoulders. He felt her legs tremble uncontrollably as he removed the towel from her lower body at once, exposing her glistening cunt, and making his half-hard cock twitch in his briefs.

“You don’t have to” She muttered as he sucked a hickey into her supple flesh, nearing the apex of her thighs, stubble tickling her sensitive skin. Riley’s fingers dug into the comforter, eyes shut in anticipation and nervousness as she felt his open mouthed kisses almost reach her folds.

“Don’ worry, love. This will be the best meal you’ll ever serve me.” She smiled shyly, cheeks heating at his gravely words.

Simon stuck out his tongue, but instead of placing it where she needed him most, he gave a series of slow, calculated licks to the delicate skin right next to her folds, as if he mimicked what he would do to her bundle of nerves in a few seconds. Riley whimpered at the tease, trying to wiggle her hips to reposition them under his mouth, but his hands held her down firmly.

“Where were we?”

“Huh?” She groaned in frustration, and he chuckled against her skin.

“With the begging.”

“Simon!” She whined as he licked around her folds once again, humming contently as he avoided the center of her sex. “Please!”

“Please what?”

“Please, eat me out!” She sighed deeply, cheeks bright red at the filthy words, but the embarrassment was quickly forgotten as he placed a delicate kiss on her clit, slowly building it up with languid movements of his tongue, side to side, as if he was making out with her cunt.

Riley let out a strangled moan, slack jawed and back arching from the bed as he carefully kissed, licked, and sucked on her soaked folds, tongue circling the small bud expertly, before moving down and teasing her entrance. Her hand reached down blindly, and he was quick to hold it with his own, fingers interlacing as he lapped at her sex hungrily.

The young woman was burning up under his touch, breath quickening too soon, too easily, and she felt embarrassed at how fast she’d crumble if he kept up his ministrations.

“Simon..”A warning.

“Hm.” He grunted into her, lost in her pleasure before he aimed his tongue lower and licked her from hole to hole, and then hole to hole to clit.

“Oh fuck.” She moaned loudly, and he hummed in approval, repeating the action again and again until he felt her tightening her grip on his hand, the other hand firmly gripping his locks.

“Please.” She begged, and he couldn’t refuse, using his thumb to collect the wetness at her entrance and sinking it into her tight hole slowly.

“I’m gonna cum.” Her voice broke, chest heaving.

“I know.” He latched his mouth onto her swollen clit, tongue gliding on it from side to side in quick movements as his calloused thumb slowly massaged her inside.

The pleasure blinded her as she reached her peak. The way her whole body trembled at once, toes curling and breath caught in her throat, back arched as she fisted his hair painfully tight. Simon didn’t care, he didn’t stop for one second, even when his tongue began cramping.

At last, Riley grabbed his shoulders, still panting as she reached for him, and he made an effort to get off his knees.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He groaned as his joints popped painfully.

She was already grinning and giggling as he held her gaze.

“Not a word, kid.” He warned and she laughed even harder, reaching her arms up for him to join her.

Simon pulled down his sweatpants and briefs, rock hard cock springing free before he carefully placed his body on top of hers, forearms bracing his weight.

“Hello, love.” He kissed her nose tenderly, before kissing her cheeks, her chin and her forehead, as she had once done to him on that drunken night. She smiled happily, before pulling him in for a passionate kiss that tasted like her pleasure, legs spread to accommodate him.

“Hello, Lieutenant.” She teased and he nibbled on the side of her neck playfully, making her giggle. “Getting a little too old to stay on your knees for so long?”

“I didn’ hear ya complainin’ two minutes ago.” He taunted, hands rubbing the sides of her thighs as her nails grazed his muscled back.

“Fair enough.” She reached down between their bodies, pumping his thick cock with a lustful gaze.

“Still up for it, love?” Simon tried to not act as eager as he felt, so close to his peak that he’d be lucky if he gave her three good pumps.

“Get inside of me.” She commanded firmly, spreading further.

“Yes m’am.”

Simon Riley obeyed, always good at following orders.

He rubbed his leaking tip on her sensitive clit, eliciting a low moan from her pretty lips, before trying to sink it in slowly.

“Bloody hell…you’re so tight.” He groaned into her ear, stopping slightly as he heard her hiss in pain at the stretch of his thick shaft.

“You okay, love?”

“It hurts…” She whispered, legs trembling at the intrusion once he penetrated a few inches deeper deeper. “It’s okay, I’ll get used to it.”

“If you need to stop, we stop, yeah? No questions asked.” He reassured, kissing her sweaty brow.

“Please don’t stop.” She begged, readjusting her hips for a smoother entrance.

Simon kissed her neck tenderly, letting his cock sink into her wet heat a little deeper, feeling her breath quicken with his own.

“Relax, love. It’ll make it easier.” He coaxed into her ear, feeling her nod against his skin as her body slowly loosened up under him.

He began a series of shallow thrusts, working his way inside her tight hole inch by inch, feeling his meaty length get progressively wetter, movements becoming sloppier as he finally bottomed out, the sound of skin slapping on skin almost drowning out their moans.

“Oh. My. God.” She whimpered in between thrusts, Simon’s pace quicking as he felt her moving past the pain and into that fucked out expression he had dreamt of seeing so many nights.

“If you keep moaning like that, this is gonna be over sooner than expected, sweetheart.” He panted, body now slamming forcefully into hers, her tits bouncing with each rut of his hips.

“I hope your pullout game is good” She blurted out, eyes rolling back as he hit a lovely spot inside her walls, wrapping her legs around his hips.

“Yeah, princess, me too.”

Simon couldn’t take it anymore. Her breathy moans, the headboard slamming, his heavy sack sticking to her sweaty skin each time he moved, the tight grip of her walls around his fat cock and the vulgarity of her spread legs were sending him spiraling.

But it was the adoring way in which she looked at him, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him intensely, before looking at him with hazy eyes and uttering the four most terrifying words he had ever heard, that made him shoot a load inside of her.

“I love you, Simon.”

Fuck.

He came apart.

A/N: You guys already know the drill...so sorry for taking forever to post! As always I love your feedback, messages and asks, so please keep them coming <3

TAG LIST (I hope I haven't forgotten anyone)

@xaestheticalien @bossva @missmae3004 @yyiikes @lillysfrogsandbogs @missmae3004 @spicyspicyliving @shuttlelauncher81 @generaldestinychild @semendreaminsblog @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @iloveghost900 @anaromanov9 @flaminghotcheetosinhaler @cigsm3rcy @lucycastlesworld @idkimjusthere100 @impossiblyshycollector @bigfatpumpum @coldmuffinbanditshoe

#ghost cod #ghostxreader #cod #ghost imagine #simon riley imagine #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #ghost smut #modernwarfare2 #neighbor!ghost

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hispg · 5 months

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Between royalty and vows

Pairings: Prince! Leon x Fem! Reader

Summary: A forced marriage, a fate set in stone, nothing could change that.

In the world of royalty, there were no choices, only obligations to fulfill. What you didn't expect was to become engaged to a renowned prince, ready to succeed the lineage.

Until that moment, you still had some hope that everything would work out, maybe it wasn't so bad. But it would be a shame if your future husband had a mistress.

Wouldn't it?

Wc:3.4k

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt/ comfort, cheating, arranged marriage, eventual smut, one-sided love, affairs, manipulative behavior from Leon, (I'll put more once things start to progress).

Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

An: Sooo there is the new chapter! I was so anxious to write it and post it! In all honesty, this is the chapter that I most liked to write(so far).

I've been receiving some dms about creating a taglist, so I'll do it from the next chapter and on. If you're interested in entering the tag list, you can dm me or comment on any chapters of this fic, and I'll add you. For the ones who already talked to me, I'll put you on the list already, so you don't need to message me again!<3

Also, I'll start to crosspost this fic here and on Ao3, for the ones who prefer to read in there. Here's the link Ao3. Eventually, I'll post all chapters!

Chapter 5: Pretty lies

The heavy rain outside was no bother to the couple in bed, just as the cold was no problem that couldn't be solved with the intimacy that had just been shared under the covers.

There he was, lying with his lover, Ashley. Warming another woman's bed, offering her the warmth that his body emanated, the love that made her heart beat faster every time.

Both were nude, without the slightest concern for anything, all that mattered was what had just happened in that room. The closeness they shared, the oaths of love spoken between each kiss, between each embrace.

They had just made love, done something that was yet another symbol of the compromising union they contained.

Leon hadn't gone back to the castle as soon as he arrived back from his trip, he had gone to his beloved's house, a hidden place that only they knew where it was, only the lovebirds met there.

It was their love nest.

The same place where Ashley gave herself to him for the first time, the same sacred place where they made love whenever they could. The place where they loved each other deeply, where they didn't have to hide anything.

Ashley lay with her head on Leon's bare chest, while he had one arm wrapped around her and the other stroking her blonde hair.

The only sound in the room was the wood cracking in the fireplace and the soft breathing of both of them in that bed.

The clothes were thrown about, the silk covers hiding their shame, but if Leon was being honest, he couldn't think of a better place to be.

Because he felt at home every time he was with Ashley, even if he knew it was wrong.

And he was screwed if anyone found out.

"Are you staying?" Ashley asks in a whisper, taking the opportunity to place a soft kiss on his chest.

Leon gives her a blown smile, looking at her tenderly, "I'd love to. But you know I can't."

It was already too bold of him to come to this place to spend time with her, as much as he wanted to, he couldn't go along with her every whim.

Especially as the wedding was approaching, and he was dead if he didn't show up.

She sighed helplessly, knowing full well that this would be the answer from the start. But in all honesty, what did she expect? Despite her misfortunes, she was the mistress.

"I promise I'll try to see you more, mh? My wife won't be the problem, don't worry." Leon reassured her, kissed her on the forehead and got up, soon he would be getting ready to leave.

Although he wanted to be with her for even five more minutes, he would give all the money in the world to make it happen.

"Does she know about us?" Ashley asked, picking up the blanket and covering her bare midriff.

That was enough for Leon to clench his eyes shut, buttoning his pants as he stared at her.

"She can't even conceive of it. You know our deal." It was a good deal for both sides, not least because Leon didn't even want to imagine what Ashley's father would do to him once he found out what he and his daughter were doing behind closed doors.

Ashley then sighed, the blonde strands falling across her forehead as she thought for a moment.

"Do you think you can still see me after you're married?" She asks softly, almost embarrassed by her own question.

"I'll always find a way, don't worry." He says, the sincere smile that became the perfect proof that he was saying this from the bottom of his soul.

It was always a painful farewell, but Leon knew it was necessary for him to do it. Once he'd put all his clothes back on, he turned to Ashley, taking her in his arms and planting a gentle, passionate kiss on her lips. He also made a point of pressing his body against hers to leave his cologne on her.

It wasn't enough to have his smell on the silk sheets, he needed to leave his mark on her too.

Goodbyes aside, he knew he had to leave, the sun was rising, and if he wanted to get back to the castle before it was too late, he had to leave now.

As he took the steps to leave the small chalet in the Italian countryside, where no one suspected them, he took one last look at his beloved, giving her a broad smile as he said goodbye.

Watching Ashley go all wobbly as he walked out the front door. She sighed as her lover left, waving to him and looking dreamily out of the window.

Leon walked up to the discreet carriage that was waiting for him in front of the cottage, besides the coachman, there was Leon's faithful butler, Ausdret.

And also his worst accomplice, the butler who always covered up everything Leon did, no matter how stupid it might seem or be.

"Your Highness." Ausdret greeted, leading Leon to the carriage.

"It's good that you're here." Leon replies back, tucking himself into the small carriage.

His butler nods and sits down on the opposite seat, facing Leon. Even though Ausdret knew that no one could put a halter on Leon, he was still trying to talk some sense into his young, dim-witted head.

"Your Highness do you not think it is inappropriate to maintain this relationship?" Ausdret asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

Leon scoffed, narrowing his gaze at the poor butler, acting as if he had said the worst blasphemy that could be heard.

"Come on, you're a braggart too. Don't act like you're a kind gentleman with exemplary decorum." Leon retorts, crossing his legs as he fixes the buttons on his shirt once more.

Ausdret couldn't help but sigh, trying his best to make Leon understand how problematic it would be to keep all this up.

"Prince, you have a fiancée now. This relationship is no longer suitable." The butler said once again, pausing and emphasizing his lines, it wasn't possible that this was so difficult to understand.

"Well, it'll last as long as I want it to. You know better than that." Leon says, an unparalleled coldness in his voice, it was obvious, this subject was not up for discussion for him.

Ausdret always thought that this was just a youthful romance of Leon's, in fact he never thought that it would thrive for so long, for years. Leon was a man who could have any woman he wanted, not only because of the power he possessed, but also because of his beauty.

However, what the butler couldn't have guessed was that Leon would fall in love with Lady Ashley, a princess from another place. A likely romance, but love doesn't work properly in royalty.

"But Your Highness-" Leon interrupts Ausdret before he can continue.

"I am the prince, and you collaborate with me." Leon begins, his voice becoming an authoritative, voracious whisper.

"As I'm your highness, you must agree that you didn't see anything unusual. That I was on a business trip these last few days." Leon says, his gaze narrowing once more on the servant.

What could Ausdret say? He had always supported this boy, and even with a lump forming in his throat, he wasn't going to do any different again.

The butler knew that this situation wasn't fair to you, nor to Ashley, it would only end up with broken hearts and a quarrel that couldn't be undone.

Perhaps Leon was too young to understand this, but at some point fate would catch up with him.

"So? Did you see anything?" Leon asked, almost daring him to give an answer that was the opposite of what he wanted to hear.

"No, Your Highness. I didn't see anything suspicious." Ausdret replied under his breath, closing his eyes and shaking his head in denial.

"Good." Leon grumbles back.

The journey wouldn't take long, but Ausdret already knew that the rest of the way would be filled with the ache of an inconvenient silence.

You knew you'd end up getting into trouble with your recent actions, but that still didn't stop you from going ahead with them. At that moment you were in the grassy fields on the outskirts of the castle.

It was easy to get here, you just needed the help of Chris and your maid, Evelyn. Nothing more than a silly little lie to disguise your departure.

The view was beautiful, you felt almost at home in a place like this. You were sitting on the horse while Chris guided the animal, walking through the grass carefully while also keeping an eye on you.

You couldn't tell if you were approaching Chris out of hurt ego, or because he was someone incredibly interesting and good to have around.

Perhaps you had combined the useful with the pleasant, because in all honesty, you couldn't deny that you were enjoying all this time with Chris, even feeling more at peace with yourself.

"Well, at least you escaped the tea party." Chris jokes, looking at you with a smile.

You nod, smiling back at him.

"God, I can't imagine what it would be like to spend another afternoon with Mrs. Hisltons!" You grumble, frowning as you remember all the tedious conversations the lady has put you through.

Chris couldn't help himself and laughed out loud, looking at you with those beautiful brown eyes.

"Oh, tell me about it. As soon as I got here, she gave me a good lecture on why I should get married." Chris says with a playful tone, walking slowly with you through the pastures.

You smiled a little, petting the horse as a question popped into your mind.

"But, forgive me for being impolite, but why haven't you gotten married yet?" You asked calmly, giving him the opportunity not to answer if he didn't want to.

"Nothing in particular, I just haven't found any suitors that catch my eye." He says, without much ado, getting straight to the point.

You'd think someone as cultured as him would want a woman who knew a bit more than just dresses and jewelry. Completely fair and understandable.

But you still can't help thinking that Chris was alone by choice, it wouldn't be the first time a man had preferred being alone to being married.

"I understand, but is it something you're thinking of doing? I'm sorry if I'm being intrusive." You say with a peaceful smile, trying to get to know the man you've grown so close to over the last few days.

Chris then paused and pondered, thinking of an answer that would measure up. But he couldn't think of anything more sincere than:

"Yes, I intend to." Just like that, or any other explanation.

But you saw his eyes light up a little when he looked at you for a brief moment, making you quietly gasp.

You then returned your gaze to your surroundings, the countryside that was such a contrast to the life you had. Which was far from peaceful.

Although you knew it shouldn't take you so long to get back to the castle, as they would probably notice you were gone, you could stubbornly stay here with him.

With Chris, the man who had been giving you so much comfort recently.

Chris then looked at you with a charming gaze, helping you off the horse. His hands found your waist, steadying you as you got off the animal.

Feeling his heavy, manly hands on your body made you feel something different, but you preferred not to mention it. Not least because you were being completely inappropriate for a dame.

You allowed yourself to feel the ground beneath your heels, removing the footwear from your body, feeling the grass between your toes.

The thought of returning to your new home was already distant, you could even swear that you forgot about Leon for just a moment. You forgot about the fact that he was coming back today.

And that he would be back around noon. And it was almost two in the afternoon, he was probably already at the castle by then.

But well, what would be the point of sneaking out of the castle with the Duke if not for a bit of confusion.

"You know, this is turning out to be one of the nicest afternoons I've had." Chris says, smiling and following you as you walk across the lawn.

"Oh, yes. It's nice to get out of that place for a bit." You say, looking at the sun, which is already descending.

Chris followed you, keeping an eye on every step. And you even saw out of the corner of your eye that he tried to take your hand, but hesitated to make such an intimate gesture.

You even heard the trumpets sounding in the distance, announcing the prince's arrival, but nothing that made you move from where you were.

And well, from the way Chris stood next to you as you watched the landscape of the field, he wouldn't leave until you asked him to.

At one point, you thought it would be better to leave, perhaps so as not to cause Chris any trouble. But the moment Chris's fingers touched your cheek, and he tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear, something in you sparked.

It was impossible to hide the red tinge that appeared on your cheeks, as well as the way you just ignored everything else. Everything seemed right.

You were surrendered, and you didn't want to leave this man's side. What on earth were you doing?

Why did you feel so torn? It couldn't end well.

"Where is she?" It was the first question Leon asked as soon as he set foot in the castle, finding it strange that his fiancée wasn't here to greet him.

"The princess isn't feeling well, Your Highness." Evelyn, the maid who helped you escape, answered.

Leon wrinkled his eyebrows, glancing at the door of your chambers, he hadn't quite believed that excuse.

"Tell her I'll come and see her. She doesn't have to leave her room." Leon says, looking at the way the maid was beginning to shudder.

"She's really not well, Your Highness-" Leon didn't care how much the maid protested, he went ahead and went to your bedroom.

He opened the door without any manners, looking around as he searched for any sign of you. But he was disappointed when he found your bed empty, the room perfectly tidy and untouched. You hadn't been in that room for a while.

Your lie was already falling apart, as they say lies don't go far.

"Where is she?" Leon asked once again, this time more coldly and authoritatively, demanding an answer.

"I don't know! She was here this morning." The maid manages to stutter, unable to face Leon.

Leon clenched his fists, frustration and irritation taking over his feelings. You were getting out of hand, it wasn't enough that you'd been so bold with Chris, now this?

Even though he was away, he knew everything that was going on in that castle, and he couldn't let it continue the way it was.

Who did you think you were?

"Have her searched all over the castle." Leon demanded, leaving your room to look for you.

As soon as Leon saw that the maid hadn't moved a muscle, he added:

"Immediately." His voice was a low grunt, capable of sending a chill down anyone's spine.

The maid moved quickly, warning the other servants about the princess's 'disappearance', and they all stood by to look for you.

Nothing. They looked for you in every corner of that castle, every room, every space you could be in. And they found nothing, not a single sign of you.

Leon was fulminating, realizing that you and the Duke weren't in that castle. And you probably weren't close.

"We haven't found her, Your Highness. The princess isn't in the castle." One of the servants dares to speak, trembling at having to address the prince.

"What do you mean she's not in the castle?" Leon muttered, looking out the windows while trying to find you somehow.

And Leon had to stop himself from gritting his teeth as he watched the scene with his own eyes. You came in through the back door, a delicate hood over your head to disguise your identity.

You were sitting on Chris's horse, smiling happily as the man led the horse inside. You seemed so close, so intimate.

Something about it made Leon go crazy, he can't say, but some strange feeling rose in his chest and made a knot form in the pit of his stomach.

What were you thinking? You were a lady, Jesus! You should behave like one.

"You are dismissed, return to your duties." Leon says to the other servants, leaving no room for questions.

Drastic situations call for drastic measures, only then will you be able to understand your place. And how you should act as a future queen.

Leon waited, right in the center of the main hall, he decided he would act as if he hadn't seen anything. He felt his breathing quicken, heard the sound of his heartbeat in his ears.

He didn't know if it was anger, disappointment or something else.

You didn't realize he was there until you saw the pair of blue eyes looking you up and down, for some reason sending a shiver up your spine.

"I was worried about you." He was the first to speak, approaching you without a second thought.

"Excuse me, Your Highness. I needed some fresh air." You say, your voice smooth as silk, sweet as honey.

You needed to act as if nothing much had really happened, as if you hadn't gone off with the Duke alone, without letting anyone know.

Even more so, going out alone with a man.

Leon narrows his eyes, placing a hand on your waist, pulling you close. His touch made you gasp, your eyes widen and your breathing hitch, at the same moment you felt your breath mingle with his.

For a moment, you looked at each other, his penetrating gaze causing an incomparable flush to rise to your cheeks. His hands on your body, one holding your cheek, steadying you to do what he wanted to do.

What was he going to do? Oh, you realized it in the next second, when you saw his face coming closer to yours. His nose touching yours, and then, that's when…

He kissed you.

His lips against yours, his hand holding you firmly and preventing you from moving. It was unconscious, instinctive, you moved your lips in sync with his. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and you sealed this moment with the warm intimacy of a kiss.

It wasn't sincere, it was carnal.

The world around you seemed to stop, you were focused on the warm feeling that took over your body, the way the heat of the moment enveloped you. Your body molded itself to his so well, it was so perfect.

As if it was meant to be.

It was painful to separate your lips from his, your mind in a whirlwind of emotions. Was it real? Had he reconsidered? Maybe he was going to give you both a chance?

You were a very dreamy girl perhaps, those endless dreams that you wished from the bottom of your soul were real, that you clamored for to come true at some point.

But oh, that little act, it was far from a dream.

When you regained your senses, you looked around and saw a group of high-class ladies staring at the two of you. The dreamy looks and sighs they gave when they saw the couple, the passionate couple.

In the corner, you saw the king and queen, smiling approvingly at the two of you. They were proud.

A show off.

Reality weighed heavily on your mind when you understood. It was nothing, it was a show off, an exhibition. The momentary magic wore off and gave way to the bitterness that once again fell upon you.

Whose fault was it? Yours, for having once again believed in the foolishness that was Leon's chance of seeing you beyond being a prize. Or Leon, for toying with you in such a way?

In any case, what a shame. The taste of his lips was imprinted on yours, the sensation of his lips against yours was still so vivid. So real. You felt loved in a few seconds, putting yourself in your place soon after.

With one simple action, Leon reminded you of who you belong to, legally, and also reminded you of your place. Of your obligations to him, he came out the winner once again.

Damned bastard.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy #leon x reader #leon x y/n #leon x you #leon resident evil #leon scott kennedy x reader #resident evil leon #leon scott kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #leon smut

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kookslastbutton · 11 months

Text

Too Late to Dream ༓ jjk (m)┃ch. V

✑ Summary: You did it. You married your college professor. You even bought a house together. Against all odds, everything had fallen into place. But after two years of marriage, you begin feeling something was missing. You want a baby but your husband can’t say the same.

Pairing: economics professor!jungkook x fem!artist!reader

AU/Genre: angst, smut, fluff, marriage au, age gap, series

Rating: M, 18+

Word Count: 3,342

Warnings: 8-year age gap, mentions of professor-student relationship (oc was a Masters student), jk has milk obsession, oc injured, both lonely :(, mommy issues, lots of family drama/in-laws, fighting, pent-up issues/desires, jk has daddy issues, jk being good hubby to oc

Now Playing: Make It Right, Tryna Be, Infinity, It Will Rain, Heaven+

A/N: I've heard the requests and I think it's time to fulfill them–how did they get together?! Yes, it's here and I'm excited to finally share! Also, yes this took up whole chapter so a tiny break from present-day stuff but we'll be back at it next chapter. 💞

<< ch. IV ༓ ch. Vl >> | series masterlist

Before marrying you, Jungkook had the same routine. He got up, showered, brushed his teeth, put work clothes on, grabbed breakfast, and ran out the door with twenty minutes to spare. Trying to find a parking spot at 7 a.m. at the university was no joke and he had to leave early or some college kid would take the last spot and not think twice.

His night routine was similar. Jungkook finished the day between 5 and 6 pm, slowly regretting he ever agreed to teach evening classes. He’d kick off his shoes, eat dinner, grade some of his student’s papers if needed, brush his teeth again, and went to bed.

It was a constant cycle and with no one around, not even a pet, Jungkook’s life was fairly quiet and systematic. Sometimes his buddies would come over on the weekend for a couple of hours and that surely rocked his world.

But that wouldn’t happen often during the school season due to his ridiculously packed teaching schedule. The most recent person he’d hang around during those months was Taehyung and if he wasn’t free, Jungkook would spend his time at the grocery store–stocking up on milk.

4 years ago

“That was two weeks ago man,” Jungkook says, pushing a cart with five-gallon jugs of milk to his car. He’s on the phone with Taehyung who's reminiscing about the grand opening of the new art exhibit and how “lovely” it was to meet you there.

Jungkook doesn’t need reminding though.

He clearly remembers seeing you there and Taehyung happily making a complete fool of him once he found out who you were. Thankfully you hadn’t seemed to mind too much since you and Taehyung soon moved on to discuss various art theories, masterpieces, and underrepresented artists.

“You didn't have to stay y'know.” If Jungkook didn't know any better he'd think Taehyung was salty. "You could've left at 8 pm like you planned. __ and I would have been fine."

Jungkook winces hearing the man's argument. He did think about going home at 8, but it unsettled him to leave you alone with Taehyung. His colleague was enjoying himself a little too much that night and there’s no telling what he’d do or say when he’s overly comfortable.

Jungkook had to stay until you left.

"Are you kidding me? Leaving you unsupervised would've been the worst idea after all your endless blubbering." Jungkook pops the trunk of his car, stuffing the jugs of milk inside. "God knows what you'd scar __ with."

On the other line, Taehyung smirks through the speaker. "No, that's not it......you weren't going to leave me alone with a woman, an attractive one at that."

Jungkook grabs the last jug of milk, slamming it on the floorboard. "Student, and stop talking about her like that. She's my stu—"

"Say student one more time and I'm going to take all your milk and give it to Yoongi hyung's cats."

"I swear to god, Taehyung, if you touch my milk I'm never going to another art museum or wine tasting with you again." Jungkook is very protective of his dairy products.

"That's okay. I don't need you when __ says she'll be happy to go with me sometime." Smug bastard, Jungkook thinks. There's no way you said that.

"That's bull Taehy—"

"Look she's in her masters and is literally eight years younger than you. It's not that serious so stop acting like she's fresh out of high school. Besides, you said it yourself, she's not a child."

Jungkook grunts, shoving the cart into the others. "She's a young lady who happens to be enrolled in the school. As faculty, we have no business thinking or talking about her outside those terms."

"For fucksake, Kook. You always make things so complicated!" Taehyung's baritone voice cracks through the speaker. "I'm just trying to get you to admit that you're into her some way or another. How many other students have I stayed to talk to and you couldn't give a—"

Just then a loud, high-pitch screech interrupts the call. Jungkook whips his head around immediately. He doesn't spot anything at first but a string of profanities remains audible in the distance.

"Jungkook, are you okay?"

"Yeah, but someones screaming and I can't tell where it's coming from." Jungkook walks around the grocery parking lot, eyes darting left and right. "Oh shit!"

There, near the bus stop, you lay on your side with your right leg stretched out and blood running from your temple. You try getting up but you fall right back down, cursing sharply.

"Taehyung I gotta go, it's __. I don't know what happened but she's laying by the bus stop and I think she needs help!" Jungkook shuts his phone and races to where you lay. He kneels next to you with sheer horror on his face. "__, what happened? What can I do?"

"Damn college boys, Dr. Jeon," you spit, dragging your leg up as far as you can. You reach for your bag which had flung about a foot away when you crashed. "So fucking eager to get off the bus and—oh damn that hurts like a bitch!"

"What hurts?" Jungkook lunges forward to catch your torso from slamming on the hard concrete. "Stay still okay? We need to get you to the hospital."

"I'm all set, but thanks. It'll likely heal in a day."

Jungkook shakes his head and wraps an arm under your back and legs. "Can you put your arms around my neck?"

"Dr. Jeon, I appreciate what you're doing but I don't want to go to the hospital. Please."

You're serious. No trace of bluffing or even simply trying to act tough. You really don't want to go.

"You need to be checked by a doctor sweetheart," Jungkook insists. "Whatever happened has made it so you can't walk. C'mon, my car is nearby and I'll drive you over."

"No, wait!" He feels you push against his chest.

"__. I'm not leaving you without making sure you didn't break a bone or something. I don't want to make things worse but you don't look so hot right now. So please, let me take you." Jungkook lifts you up when you give a barely consenting yes.

"You sprained your ankle pretty bad hun." Dr. Kim Seokjin draws your attention to the X-ray scan. "Second degree." He points to the visual of your partially torn ligament. "There's going to be a lot of swelling so you're gonna need to stay off your foot for at least 4 weeks."

"Do I have to stay here?" is your first question.

"For the first couple of weeks, we strongly advise—yes." Dr. Kim moves on to the next X-ray scan. "You also cracked a rib which will also take about 4 weeks to heal, or more. Of course you're head has suffered a mild concussion as well but it's very mild thankfully." Dr. Kim catches sight of Jungkook next to you, staring at the scans. "You're wife's going to be okay," he says mid-diagnoses.

"We're not—" you start to say but Dr. Kim continues talking.

"Wife, girlfriend, lover, what have you. The point is, much of what we have here will recover with a month of rest, ice, and elevation." He takes a pen from his pocket and starts jotting down something on paper. "I recommend two weeks here for moderation purposes. If things look good, you finish the healing at home. Still, be careful though, no funny business."

The blank looks on both your faces tell Dr. Kim he wasn't clear enough. "Yah, my filters going to die with you two doe-eyed deer. No funny business means no sex!"

"Oh god!" You outburst, mortified by the thought. Jungkook whips his head to your slack-jawed expression. "Dr. Kim, it's not like that between us."

The older man suddenly zeros in on your professor, eyes narrowing slightly. "What's the matter son? Having trouble getting it up?"

Jungkook jolts in his seat, startled by the crass response. "I—no, what? There's nothing wrong with my—"

"We're not together!" You shout before Jungkook's sentence finishes. "We're friends." Saying that your professor brought you here sounded a little odd for some reason, especially when Dr. Kim was already convinced you two were a thing.

"Mhm sure, heard the same thing from my wife before we went off and eloped." Dr. Kim treads to the door. If he has a dime for how many times he's heard that "we're friends" bs he'd be...well, he's already rich so never mind. "Let's move on to something more productive now, like getting __ settled in a room. The sooner she starts the healing process, the sooner she can be good as new again."

"Thank you Dr. Kim," Jungkook says, slowly standing up to stroll you and your wheelchair out of the room. You didn't like it but the nurses insisted you be in one to keep pressure off your muscles.

"Yeah yeah." Dr. Kim waves him off. "Just remember what I said, no funny business. Especially here at the hospital. You don't know how many times I've heard the nurses catching their patients on top of one another at 2 am in the morning. That better not be you two, whoever you are to each other."

"Yes, doctor." You both reply, thankful of the fact that neither of you are in any position to be looking at each other.

"Is there any way I can be here for less than two weeks?" Jungkook watches as you plead with the nurse. It worries him that you're still anxious to avoid medical attention.

"I'm afraid not," the nurse says simply. "If you need anything, press the call button and I'll be in as soon as I can."

Once the nurse leaves, Jungkook pulls up a chair next to your bed. "Stupid question but how are you feeling?"

"I'm in an ankle brace, my rib burns, and my head is still dizzy. I'm trapped in the hospital for two weeks and all because a bunch of nineteen-year-old boys couldn't wait to hit up some frat party," you groan, not bearing in mind your tongue. "I'm sorry for dragging you into this Dr. Jeon."

"You didn't drag me into anything __. I'm glad I was there when this happened and I'm even more glad that you're here, getting help." Jungkook clears his throat before continuing. "Even if it isn't ideal for you."

You ignore the subtle pry for information. "Please, Dr. Jeon. You don't have to stay any longer. It's the weekend and I'm sure you have plans."

Jungkook gives a faint smile. "So, you're saying this is none of my business?"

"No, not—not at all. I mean if you want to stay then I guess you can but I don't want you to feel obligated or anything."

"I want to be here," Jungkook says simply. "But you know that's not what I meant. I'd like to know why it bothers you when anyone tries to help you...if I may."

"Just habit," you mumble quickly, averting eye-contact. It's not your professor's job to bear the weight of your problems.

Jungkook nods in reply, pretending you gave a satisfactory explanation. He wishes you'd tell him but if you didn't want to share more then that was your choice —he wasn't going to force you. "I understand." He grabs his phone from his pocket and rests his elbows on his knees. "Are you hungry?"

"Huh?" You look back at him, his question going right over your head.

"I asked if you're hungry. It's about dinner time so I can get you something if you want. I also have a bunch of milk in my trunk that needs to get to a fridge. But I can place the order now and pick it up in my way back here."

"Milk in your trunk?" Is the only words you repeat, dumbfounded. "Like chocolate milk or...?"

"Nah, Whole Milk." Jungkook grins at your scrunched up face. You try to hide it but not very well. "Don't look so disgusted. Milk is good for you."

"Yeah when you're ten years old."

"On the contrary!" You flinch when his voice rises, along with his eyebrows. "Milk has a lot of health benefits as adults. It has thirteen essential nutrients and helps maintain muscle and bone strength. I drink at least two full glasses a day, if not more."

"I'm sorry but that's nasty." You shudder at the thought of drinking milk in your twenties let alone your thirties. "You really enjoy it? The taste?"

"Yup, always have since a baby! Loved it so much that my mother-" You raise an eyebrow to which he abruptly switches topics. "Anyway, do you want me to pick you up something or no?"

You giggle, a little uncomfortable with whatever he was about to disclose to you.

"That's okay, no thanks."

"You sure? Otherwise I'm gonna be eating in front of you." Jungkook knows how this sounds — he's trying to force you to eat. But the truth is, he just doesn't want to eat by himself tonight. He also doesn't want to leave you alone this early, especially when you obviously detest being here, for whatever reason.

"I'm sure," you say. "But...if you want to come back you can. Not like I have anything to do anyway."

"Good then." Pleased, Jungkook opens up his phone contacts. "Give me you're number in case you change your mind while I'm out."

Over the next couple of weeks, Jungkook continues to stay by your side. He leaves to teach his classes of course and to go home late at night, but he stops by every day—hours at a time.

You keep insisting that he not come so much but he always makes the same excuses. "I just brought food" or "You're on my way home from the university". Sometimes he brings in class notes too.

Due to your current predicament, you're missing a lot of content so Jungkook thinks it best to go over key principles with you and takeaways from his lectures. He says it's his duty as a professor–never minding the fact that many of his other students are in a predicament of their own yet he’s not bothering to do jack for them.

"Look Dr. Jeon, I appreciate what you're doing but you really don't have to. I'll be perfectly alright to catch myself up from the textbook and study guides. You don't have to keep stopping by." You try again but Jungkook keeps his wall just as strong as yours.

"I know I don't have to __. I know that I could leave right now, take all these lecture notes home with me, and not feel guilty about a thing. But I told you I was going to be here and I'm going to keep to that no matter how many times you urge me to leave. I also want you to call me Jungkook outside class but have you allowed for any of those to happen?" Jungkook tosses the folder of notes in his sachel, a loud thump following. "A simple thank you would suffice."

"I am grateful, I really am. But I never asked to be given so much of your time. I feel bad because maybe you're just one of those overly nice people who feel it's their duty to stick around or what not when someone's in trouble. I don't need to be pitied over! Also, you said I could keep calling you the usual, so Dr. Jeon it will remain!" Why you're raising your voice, you don't know but it's happening either way.

"Yeah I did," Jungkook quips, matching your tone. "But after the last, nearly two weeks I think we ought to be on a first-name basis! And I'm in no way pitying you okay? I'm here because I care dammit! I don't want you to be alone and I don't want you to be behind in getting your Masters. So I' try to be be here every day for at least fifteen minutes if not more!"

You don't fully process what he says so you reply to what you remember most. "Why? Why can't I call you Dr. Jeon? It's been that way from the start, twice every week. So why do I need to call you Jungkook all a sudden?!"

"Because it makes me feel younger, you insulted my milk after I first took you to the hospital, we've been eating dinner almost every night since your injury, you told me about your childhood cat named Mr. Muttonbottom, and you just called me by my first name so there are no take backs! Now, if you're done making a fit, do you want bibimbap or jajangmyeon for dinner tonight?!"

What the actual hell? You cease your arguing at once, hearing your professor, or excuse you, Jungkook, all fluffed up. Obviously, you're not the only one high-strung over being stuck in the same routine day in, day out.

"Jajangmyeon...please," you mutter.

"Thank fuck," he swears. Yeah that's new too.

"Sorry for getting mad earlier." You mumble the words as soon as Jungkook returns with the food. "It just feels odd that you've been here all the time...you're my professor."

Jungkook mauls over your choice of words, stiffening ever so slightly. "Well, I'd like to think we're sorta friends now but alright. Does this actually bother you __? I don't mean to make you uncomfortable, you know that." He places the bag of take-out on the small desk near your bed.

"No, it's doesn't bother me." you just don't know how to react or what to say besides a measly thank you. More so, you don't want to make someone feel responsible for you...you should take care of your own shit without bringing others with you. It's not the best mindset, you're aware, but its the one you have.

"Okay good because to be completely transparent, I'm sorta here for me too. I live my myself, eat by myself, talk to myself....I do most things alone so it's nice having someone else to be around." He's not sure where to set his eyes, so he looks downward, fumbling with the napkins in front of him. "I'm making this awkward, sorry."

Feeling the strange need to offer comfort, you stretch a hand over Jungkook's arm. "I get it. It's nice having someone around too."

You and Jungkook hold each other's gaze for a few seconds more, letting the brief silence do the rest of the talking. Maybe you've been looking at this a little too one-sided.

"How are you feeling today? Any better?" Jungkook cracks open the bowl of Jajangmyeon, handing it to you with a pair of chopsticks.

You take the steamy food and gesture to your ankle which has swollen down a good amount. "Still more healing to be done but it's better."

Jungkook hums in approval. "That's comforting to hear. Dr. Kim going to discharge you soon?"

"Yeah, I think so. A few more days and he said I should be able to rest up at home."

"Really?" He chews on his bottom lip. "Well great, uhm , do you have stuff going on when you get back?"

You think a moment, trying to recollect if you made plans with Na-Rae. "Maybe some but not much. I don't have a ton of people around me right now either...down here I mean."

"Well, do you wanna go out to dinner then?" Jungkook pops the question more causal than expected. It's almost like he planned this or at least has been thinking about it for a bit. "We've been eating together for a while now and I think it might be a nice celebratory thing."

"Are you asking me on a date...Jungkook?" Because it defiantly sounds like he is, as indirect as it may be.

His reply is barely audible but you hear it and for the first time, your professor sounds truly timid. "Uh, well...let's go with "hang out", like friends do."

A/N: so yeah, thats how they got together 👀😅 anyone surprised? Thinking about a drabble for thier first date now haha. Anyway, next chapter we get back to present day stuff where more drama goes down. Also, adding a chapter bc this flashback took the whole chapter lol. Lmk your thoughts 💞

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taexual · 8 months

Text

sleepwalking ● 5 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, suggestive themes, mutual pining, SLOW BURN

words: 6.9k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 5 ► oh, and, my love, did i mistake you for a sign from god? or are you really here to cast me off?

Your train reached Paris at almost exactly eight o’clock in the evening and the rain was pouring. The wedding reception had started at seven, but Jungkook didn’t mind being late, even though the longer he lingered with you on the streets, the more the rain ruined your outfits, and your hair, and your make-up—but not your mood.

“I prefer being late,” he said when the two of you caught a cab from Gare du Nord to the wedding venue in the 8th arrondissement. “Less small talk if you show up when everyone’s already said hello to everyone.”

“I see your point,” you said, sliding over the backseat as Jungkook climbed in after you. “But it’s still rude to be late. Especially to a wedding. Especially when you weren’t even going to come to said wedding at all.”

He gave the driver the address and turned to you, resuming the conversation, because he had a very important point to make, “my grandma used to say that as long as I’m not late to my own wedding, I’m fine.”

You snorted at this, but your expression wasn’t mocking. You remembered his grandmother with nothing but love. Thoughtfully, you replied, “she’s a wise woman.”

“She is, yeah,” he agreed. “She always wanted to go to Paris, by the way. Remind me to call her.”

“That’s nice,” you commented, turning to the window as the streets of Paris passed outside, all in a blur of streetlights, reflected in puddles of rain on the pavement. “I think I’ve always wanted to come here as well.”

This surprised him and he paused in the middle of reaching for his phone. He’d already forgotten what he was going to check on it as he looked back at you again. When he spoke, there were minor notes of offence in his voice.

“You did?” he asked. “You never told me.”

“Yeah,” you said, not meeting his eye—you were far too captivated by the rainy streets outside the car window. They were nothing magical on their own, you supposed, but there was something about them tonight in particular. “I don’t know. It’s not my dream destination, but it’s Paris. Can you say you’ve travelled if you’ve never been here?”

Jungkook thought about it. “Well… I mean—there are other cities, too. Isn’t Paris a bit overrated?”

“Maybe.” You shrugged, still glued to the window. “Probably. I’ve still wanted to see it for myself, though.”

He could tell, as he leaned forward until he was able to see the neon lights from the signs outside reflected in your eyes. The taxi ride should have taken about twenty minutes, but now Jungkook wondered if he’d manage to ask the driver to take a longer route without you finding out.

“In that case,” he said finally, “I’m glad I brought you here.”

You turned to give him a look, but were startled by his close proximity. You nearly bumped your cheek into his when you craned your neck.

Realising—from your widening eyes—that he’d entered far into your comfort zone, he scooted back in his seat. But your heart was already giving orders for explosions to go off in various parts of your body.

You cleared your throat and looked back out the window—not because of the view this time, but because it felt safer this way.

“We would have come here eventually anyway,” you said. “You’re performing at Cabaret Sauvage in less than a month.”

Disappointed by your purposefully emotionless voice and words that took all credit away from him, Jungkook rolled his eyes.

“Sure. But,” he emphasized, “with me, you didn’t have to wait a month.”

“Okay,” you settled—partially. “Thank you for turning my whole schedule upside down.”

He smirked at the sarcasm. “Oh, anytime.”

In an attempt to conceal your own smile, you returned your attention to the billboards and bright window displays outside.

“So, if not Paris,” Jungkook started again after a minute, “what is your dream destination?”

He wasn’t expecting your reaction to his question to be so severe: you seemed to lean towards the window—away from him—clench your jaw, and focus even harder on the view outside – as if you were trying to transport yourself there, instead of staying here with him.

“Amsterdam, I think,” you replied eventually, in a voice so reluctant and quiet that he wouldn’t have heard you if he wasn’t literally right next to you.

“Really?” he asked. “I’m assuming it’s not because of weed?”

Smiling somewhat, you shook your head. And then did not elaborate more.

“Anne Frank?” he tried again.

“Maybe,” you said. “But also because of simple things. Not necessarily significant in history.”

Jungkook found himself having to push as if he was trying to find out what your deepest fear was, since you resisted fully opening up. But this was something that, honestly, seemed quite superficial to him, so he was rightfully perplexed.

Still, he asked, “such as?”

You sighed, not having expected—let alone, planned—this exchange to progress that much.

This felt like the start of a long conversation—capital C. Getting to know each other by participating in obligatory small talk that would soon lead to deep analyses of each other’s darker sides of the subconsciousness.

And the last time you and Jungkook had had a proper conversation about something that was not related to your jobs in the slightest, was months before you broke up.

So, it wasn’t that Jungkook was being invasive with his questions right now. It’s that he was personal. And he’d stopped caring about being personal with you long before your relationship ended.

“Like riding bikes in Canal District,” you answered finally—he was glad to hear it, although he did not like the way you sighed as you spoke. As if this conversation was a hassle. Fortunately for his overthinking, you continued, “I’ve wanted to do that ever since my uncle went on a business trip to Amsterdam when I was seven. He’d brought me so many postcards, I could easily imagine myself having been there with him.”

Jungkook stayed quiet. He remembered your uncle—your mother’s brother. He was a surprisingly caring man, even if he looked like he ran the mob.

And Jungkook remembered the postcards, too—you had them pinned to the bulletin board above your desk in your dorm room back in university. He wondered, briefly, why you’d never mentioned the story behind the postcards before. He’d always assumed you just liked the pretty views on them.

Sitting next to you in the taxi, he counted something under his breath.

“We’re going to have,” he started, then calculated again just in case, “three days off in Amsterdam.”

“I know,” you said, sitting up straight in your seat as the taxi took a turn past Palais Garnier. “Believe it or not, I didn’t plan it like that.”

“Let’s say I believe you,” he teased. “Should we go bike riding in Amsterdam?”

You turned away from the window to look at him, surprise evident in your lifted eyebrows. “Us, two?”

He nodded. “Us, two.”

“On your day off?”

“On my day off.”

Not hiding your skepticism, you licked your lips and told him, “Jungkook, you spend your free days getting wasted with your friends.”

Although that was a fair statement – he had to admit that much – he still tried to defend himself, “that—that’s not something I have to do every single time.”

“It’s not?” you asked. “Then why do you do it?”

“Because I usually have nothing better to do,” he replied. His honesty was amplified by his body language: eyes cast low, hands intertwined on his lap.

He hoped you wouldn’t misunderstand—he wasn’t trying to imply that he preferred his friends to you. Or to anyone else, for that matter. Truly, if you would have called, he would have abandoned everyone else in a heartbeat. But he was more comfortable keeping that to himself.

“And riding bikes sounds better than getting drunk?” you asked instead, the question laced with persistent disbelief.

“Riding bikes in Amsterdam,” he corrected, choosing to avoid the mention of you doing it together, “sounds better.”

“Okay,” you said, still not convinced. “You talk now, but let’s see if you change your mind when we’re back on the road.”

“I won’t,” he insisted with newfound confidence. Despite his assuring tone, his gaze still scanned the mat on the floor of the taxi. “I promise I’ll take you bike-riding in Amsterdam.”

Even more surprised now, you waited until he lifted his eyes to meet yours before you repeated, “you promise?”

“Yeah,” he said with a shrug—but the nonchalance was pretend. His hands were tightly pressed into each other on his lap, because otherwise he would have been reaching for you. “Cross my heart. I’ll take you bike-riding if it kills me.”

The exaggeration finally got you to laugh. “Why would it kill you?”

Your laugh had broken the spell. He felt himself relax as though something heavy had been lifted off of him, and with you laughing next to him, he was as light as the air around you. Nothing could crush him.

“You never know with bikes,” he replied, smiling, too. “I’m just saying, I’ll make it happen for you.”

After a detour down the Champs-Elysées under the tiny compact umbrella that you’d packed (it was still so beautiful with all the lights around—even more so in the rain), you finally arrived at the wedding, which was already in full swing.

It took the newlyweds a good fifteen minutes to notice you and Jungkook, but you wouldn’t have blamed them if they didn’t approach you at all.

As soon as they did, however, you immediately tried to apologise for being late—both, tonight and in general, considering that the two of you were only added to the guest list for the wedding a few days ago. But Kihyun and Chloé cut you off, both joking that they were just glad you made it here, because they had thought you’d gotten lost in Paris.

“I sort of wish,” Jungkook replied, casting a meaningful glance your way—you pretended not to see it. “But no time to get lost when we have an important wedding to get to.”

Your friends smiled at this, accepted your congratulations, and, instead of returning to the rest of their guests, actually stayed to catch up with you—as if this wasn’t their wedding. As if you were back in university, eating ice cream on the quad benches with all of your mutual friends, and fighting off the campus pigeons.

You had to admit, seeing Kihyun and Chloé again was very nice. You’d always considered them Jungkook’s friends more than your own—all three of them had graduated from the same major, even though you had quickly become Chloé’s class-skipping partner—but they were the one pair of his friends that you’d always approved of and, eventually, befriended, too.

Seeing them newly married, however—while you could still remember that one almost tragic double-date that you’d tried to go on, where Jungkook and Kihyun nearly broke their necks, racing on Vespas—now that felt overwhelming.

“You’re right on time, by the way,” Chloé said to you while the two boys discussed Rated Riot’s upcoming tour dates, seemingly attempting to make plans to meet up again, after the pair would return from their honeymoon. “I was just about to toss the bouquet.”

“Oh, I’m not—”

“Come on,” she grabbed your wrist, pulling you away from Jungkook.

You glanced back at him for help, but he only grinned at you, like he’d done so many times before, when you’d go to parties together and he’d force you out of your comfort zone, because he knew you’d thank him for this later.

You weren’t sure if you’d be grateful for it this particular time, though, as you found yourself in a crowd of bridesmaids and very drunk guests within fifteen minutes of arriving at this wedding.

You looked around and, with a sudden start, you recalled the reason why you were here in the first place.

Bending your neck to take in the people around you, you tried to guess which person in this wedding, could have been the hypothetical ex that you still didn’t think really existed.

There was no one who could have been it.

You’ve met most of the people here before and none of them looked particularly eager to talk to Jungkook or to avoid him. Everyone was indifferent—except you, as you kept looking back at him to find him already watching you every time—and that was the final confirmation.

There really was no ex.

You had no idea why he’d brought you here.

Distracted by your thoughts, you chose to just stand in the middle of the crowd. As you tried to avoid having your feet stepped on, you brought a hand through your hair. You liked crowds at concerts. You didn’t like crowds of very determined wedding guests.

Never having caught a drumstick or a single guitar pick at any of the concerts you’d gone to in your whole life, you felt rather stupid standing there. And the significance of catching the bride’s bouquet was lost on you, too—you’d never believed in the prediction that whoever caught it would be next to walk down the aisle: your mum had told you she’d caught it three separate times, and she had barely been married once.

You heard Chloé count down backwards from three and you extended your hands above your head; more as a protective instinct than anything else—to avoid getting smacked on the head.

By some harrowing chance, almost as soon as Chloé’s countdown finished, you felt the stems of flowers against your palm and clutched at them, reflexively. You heard claps and excited cheers around you before you registered that you’d caught the bouquet.

Lowering the classic, white rose combination, tied with a neat, pale bow, you swallowed and looked around, unable to conceal your overwhelming discomfort as you listened to earnest applause around you.

This felt embarrassing more than anything else. Irrationally so, of course, but embarrassing, nonetheless: like walking into an empty restaurant and interrupting the conversation of the staff. Everyone’s eyes were suddenly on you, and there were drunken shrieks of elation somewhere in the room.

You realised as you held the flowers awkwardly—like it was a bomb meant to be defused—that this was why you preferred to work backstage.

“I’m so glad it was you!” you heard Chloé exclaim. You turned to see her clapping her hands as she made her way towards you.

A few women you’d never met hugged you as if you were going to your own wedding as soon as this one was over.

You were frozen with an uncomfortable, twitching smile on your face and only sobered up somewhat when Chloé reached you. She was laughing as she wrapped an arm around your shoulders—in her defence, she tried to fight her amusement, but you looked completely anguished, nearly grief-stricken. It was ridiculously unfitting, and, at the same time, so completely in character for you.

“I’m not entirely sure how this works,” you told her. “Are you certain I’m not supposed to toss it, too? Sort of like a relay race? I saw one of your younger cousins who looked very excited to catch the bouquet, but she had an obvious height disadvantage.”

Chloé clutched you to herself tighter in a comforting manner.

“No, love,” she said brightly. “My cousins are twelve and thirteen, they both can wait for their turn. And I’ll see you at your wedding. Hopefully sooner rather than later? It’s been too long since we’ve last chatted.”

“It has been,” you agreed, “but if we’re only meeting at weddings, then I’m afraid this might be the last time we see each other.”

Laughing again, she rubbed a soothing hand on your back and assured you, “the bouquet can mean whatever you want it to mean. I’m just glad you’re here tonight. And I’m sure Jungkook is, too.”

With another soft smile, she nudged you in his direction and walked away to join her husband. Before you could begin pondering what she’d meant by that, your eyes caught sight of Jungkook, who was still watching you—in a relentless way. Like he hadn’t looked away from you once since you left his side.

You felt almost awkward as you approached him—all of your steps leaden under his watchful eye—but as soon as you were close enough, he grinned and said, “you look like you survived an alien abduction.”

And everything was okay again. For the time being, at least.

About an hour later, you and Jungkook had settled by a cocktail table at the back of the room.

The bride’s bouquet rested between you as you sipped champagne and took everything in: all the couples dancing around you, the kids kicking the balloons, Kihyun and Chloé being unable to stop smiling at each other as he twirled her around to the gentle melody of the wedding band playing Biffy Clyro’s “Many of Horror”.

“I still believe,” rang through the venue as the song went on, “it’s you and me ‘till the end of time.”

You nodded along to the rhythm, tapping your fingers against the table. You’d stopped resisting after your first glass of champagne and allowed the familiar melody to take you back to the days when you and Jungkook passionately screamed the lyrics of this song at each other in your dorm room.

The two of you dancing with each other was a far more violent affair than Kihyun and Chloé’s smooth swaying: your twirling involved a lot more kicking, stepping on toes, and tears of laughter as you eventually admitted your absolute incompetence when it came to dancing. Jungkook, on the other hand, seemed very skilled at it—but then, when compared to you, probably even a well-trained rabbit could have danced better.

You smiled fondly at the memory, happy that the bubbles you drank and the long trip you’d taken today made you feel just dizzy enough to look back at the old days without wishing you were there now.

You were glad to be where you were.

Jungkook, meanwhile, was on his third glass. He kept glancing at the bouquet on the table with immense discomfort as he painfully remembered Sid’s words on their first night in Prague: “Your ass is so whipped, you’re going to be singing at her wedding to some random producer.”

What if Sid was right, then what would he do? Would he get up on stage and perform a fucking love song for you and your new husband? An angsty, yearning love song with a powerful guitar riff—like the ones you liked and the ones he kept writing; the lyrics dripping with all the sentiments that would mean nothing to him, while you married someone else.

I still believe it’s you and me ‘till the end of time

He couldn’t do it. He’d never do it. He’d rather—

“Jungkook,” you said suddenly, your voice catching him off-guard.

“Hmm?” he looked at you, an almost alarmed expression on his face. The descent from deep inside of his mind and back to reality was a painful one.

“I have a question,” you said.

He finished his drink and put the empty flute down on the table. “Alright.”

“There’s no ex,” you said, deciding it was finally time to clear this up, “is there?”

After almost two hours at the wedding—where he hadn’t mentioned his ex once—both of you already knew the answer to this question. But he still graced you with a formal response, because he knew he owed you an explanation.

“No,” he said. “There’s not.”

You nodded, your expression the same as before.

He was relieved. He’d expected a drink in his face.

“So, tell me then,” you continued. “Why did you need me to come with you to this wedding?”

For the first second after you asked this, he thought he could have just admitted it. There was no condition in the bet about revealing the truth to you, after all. And it’s only a bet—it’s nothing significant.

But you were standing in front of him in your dress, the leather jacket that he’d gotten you hanging on your shoulders. You were looking at him with tired, tipsy eyes. And you were smiling—but still trying very hard not to—as you sipped your champagne.

There was a sense of future in the air.

Your future, together.

And the realisation that the bet was significant, despite his efforts to convince himself otherwise, had finally kicked in—he was afraid he wouldn’t just get a drink thrown in his face if he told you. He was afraid he’d lose this future.

“I, uh… I just didn’t want to be here by myself,” he ended up saying. This was, technically, not a lie, either. “I always go to these things alone.”

“Why go at all?” you asked then. “You were pretty definitive when you RSVP’d “no” months ago. I was the one who emailed them both of our responses.”

“Well,” he said, looking around at the waiters, passing out drinks, as he tried to buy time. “I don’t know. I feel different now that I’m in Europe. So close to Paris. I guess I changed my mind.”

As you’ve learned in the past few days, that was his excuse for everything.

“Mhmm,” you nodded, taking a sip from your glass. “Humour me about something else, would you?”

Happy that the waiter was finally close enough for him to reach, Jungkook grabbed another champagne flute from his tray and then looked at you again. “What is it?”

“Why would Sid tell me you were dating someone,” you began, “and then warn me not to let you go to this wedding?”

What a perfectly logical question. Truly, he couldn’t see how the question could have been more perfect.

It was so perfect, in fact, that you could engrave it on Sid’s tombstone after Jungkook killed him.

“You know what? I actually have no idea,” he said and then threw his head back to down the champagne in one big gulp.

He kept the liquid in his mouth for a second—prolonging the time he didn’t have to speak to you, all while you watched him suspiciously—and then swallowed, finally.

“Really,” he added in response to your questioning look. “He’s an enigma.”

You snorted. “That’s one way to describe him.”

He nodded, eager to cement the point he was making. Additionally, he suggested, “maybe he was just jealous.”

You squinted your eyes at him, trying to find the causal relationship between Sid lying to you and Sid being jealous.

You tried to guess, “jealous of—of not going to Paris with you?”

“Of me going with you,” he said.

You picked up your champagne glass again—you weren’t drunk enough to have this conversation. “What?”

He shrugged. “Maybe he has a crush on you.”

Your scoff was almost reflexive, and you were very glad that you hadn’t taken a sip before he had said this. You’ve heard plenty of unexpected things in the span of these past few days; all kinds of manipulations and weak cop-outs – but this one was, by far, the most ridiculous one.

“Maybe he has a crush on you,” you countered, clearly considering this statement to be an accusation more than a compliment.

He snickered at this. “Fair enough. Maybe he does.”

Swallowing, you put your near-empty glass down on the table and gave him a long look.

“So, he just did that to spread chaos?” you asked. “No other reason?”

Jungkook shrugged again. “Nothing else I can come up with.”

“I don’t believe you,” you said calmly and watched him freeze, startled by the bluntness of your words. First, you finished your champagne, then your sentence, “but I’m willing to drop it if this is nothing more than Sid’s game. Tell him to never speak to me again, and let’s leave this at that.”

Jungkook was relieved, and, at the same time, scared to feel relieved. He felt it necessary to say, “I’m sorry Sid did that.”

“Don’t apologise for him.”

“I’m not. The apology is from me,” he said. “I should have made sure he wouldn’t bother you, let alone lie to you—”

“I don’t care why Sid lied to me,” you cut him off. “I care why you did. Why you went along with it.”

He knew he should have seen your question coming, but he chose to pretend he could talk around this topic instead—and that’s why your words knocked all breath out of him.

It was simple: he’d played along with Sid’s lie, because he thought it’d help him convince you to come to Paris with him faster; he’d lied to you to win the bet.

But he hadn’t lied to you when he said he didn’t want to come to this wedding alone. He wanted to come here with you. The bet seemed more like an excuse now—a distraction from his anxiety that he equipped as a pretence to ask you out.

He was painfully aware of this now: he’d always wanted to ask you out again; just one more time. One last first date of your lives.

He realised this, and there was no way he could pretend otherwise, not when his mouth dried up every time he looked at you.

And yet, that seemed even more difficult to admit to you.

Inhaling, he said, “I thought Sid’s lie would get you to come with me.”

That did not feel much like an explanation.

“You could have said that Sid lied and just told me that you changed your mind about going to the wedding,” you said, waving your empty flute around. “You’re allowed to go where you want to. You’re an adult.”

“Well—”

“To a certain extent,” you added, “because, of course, you have your reputation to consider. Yours and the band’s, too, actually.”

“So, you would have just let me leave the tour?” he questioned, doubtful and, honestly, disappointed. Asking for your permission to do something felt childish, but it also felt like you cared. And he really needed you to care.

You remembered his threat about bringing his friends with him if you wouldn’t go, and asked, “would you have gone to Paris alone?”

He looked down. Then, he told you the full truth, “I wouldn’t have come here at all, if you hadn’t agreed to come with me.”

“But I said no,” you said, still trying to make sense of this. “I didn’t want to go. You kept pushing.”

“I really wanted us to go together. That’s why—you know.” He swallowed. “That’s why Sid’s lie seemed so convenient.”

“Why did it matter that we went together?” you asked one more time. “The real reason.”

He didn’t reply right away, because he was too tipsy for this. It was only champagne, he could have easily recited the alphabet backwards if he was asked to. But it was getting difficult to keep up with what he was telling you.

He didn’t want to lie, not anymore, so he tried to only tell you the truth and keep quiet about the things he didn’t want you to know about: like the bet. And, of course, the fact that he had, apparently, been in love with you for ages. This particular realisation had surprised him on the train earlier, and he was the one with the feelings. He couldn’t even imagine how much it would probably shock you if he told you.

You waited, at first; assuming that he needed a moment to gather the courage to explain. But a minute later, your patience ran out.

So, you tried to answer for him—offering an option that wouldn’t be satisfactory enough, but it would be comfortable for you to believe, “just because they’re our friends?”

“Yeah. Sure,” he said, but it sounded like he was just agreeing, because he could tell that this was what you wanted him to say. “We’d known Kihyun and Chloé for so long. So it’s for, um—for old times’ sake, I guess.”

You needed a minute to arrange everything in order in your mind. Everything Jungkook had said seemed convincing enough if you closed your eyes, but it still felt like a half-truth at best.

You knew there had to be a different reason why Sid didn’t want Jungkook to go to Paris—or, perhaps, why he didn’t want you to come with Jungkook.

Not to mention, Jungkook could have convinced you to come to the wedding much faster if he’d told you the truth instead of going along with the story about his “ex”. Of course, that’s assuming that he really did only want to come here to witness your friends get married like he’d said.

But you wanted to believe that what he’d told you tonight was true, because this way, you wouldn’t have to ask any more questions or overthink. And, truthfully, a part of you was afraid to ruin this—whatever this pleasant hum that had gathered around the two of you on the train to Paris was—by interrogating Jungkook further.

Not to mention, you’d outgrown Sid’s silly games and simply wanted peace.

Even though you didn’t speak, Jungkook seemed to read the thoughts in your mind as he chewed on his bottom lip and said again, “I’m sorry.”

You blinked, registering the discomfort on his face. “What for?”

“For the lying and the—well, everything,” he said with a resigned sigh. “I realise this was a very backwards way to convince you to come here with me.”

“It was. And thank you for owning up to it,” you said. “But next time you try to do something weird, do try to leave me out of it, would you?”

He grinned at this—he couldn’t help it. “Define weird.”

You were smiling, even though you rolled your eyes in response.

“Lying,” you said then. His smile faltered. “You don’t have to tell me everything, but don’t lie to me.”

Solemn now, he nodded. He realised that this gesture alone wasn’t convincing enough and redeemed it by clearing his throat and saying very decidedly, “I promise I’ll make sure Sid doesn’t bother you again.”

“Good,” you said. “Please do.”

“Thank you for coming here with me,” he added. “Despite everything.”

You were about to retort with a dry “you’re welcome”, but decided to take a different route and make him work a little bit. It only seemed fair.

“I don’t think a simple ‘thank you’ will suffice,” you said slyly. He cocked an eyebrow, not having expected to hear the playfulness in your voice. “This was a huge favour, after all. I could have been sleeping on the tour bus right now.”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t have fun,” he countered. “I saw the look in your eyes on the cab ride to the wedding.”

“Well, I had to adjust,” you defended. “Can’t exactly sulk the entire time, I’m not a toddler. Unlike some people.”

You turned away as you said this, smirking, while he scoffed, indignant. “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.”

He was instinctively opening his mouth to respond, but only managed to squeeze out an incomprehensible syllable that turned into an impressed tsk.

“Okay,” he decided then, tongue in cheek. “So, how can I repay this massive favour?”

“I’m not sure you ever will, to be honest,” you played. “But you could start by gifting the newlyweds a song.”

Jungkook glanced back at the platform in the corner of the room that was set up as a stage for the band. The musicians were taking a break and having drinks by the bar right now, so it was empty.

He looked back at you. “I don’t sing at weddings.”

“You used to,” you pointed out.

“Once. They made me wear a suit with a bowtie. A tight, neon yellow bowtie,” he reiterated. “It nearly made me suffocate. I would have died looking like I ran away from a low-budget circus. I’m not doing that again.”

Trying to keep your laughter in—you hadn’t actually been working with Rated Riot yet when they performed at this wedding, but Yoongi kept pictures, and he pulled them out every year on Jungkook’s birthday—you reached over the table to touch him.

“I’ll make this easier for you,” you said as you gently undid the first few buttons of his black dress shirt.

His breath got caught in his throat the second he felt your fingertips brush against the bare skin between his collarbones. It lasted for less than a second, but he was certain your touch had left a mark.

“There,” you said, pulling away. You seemed to have no clue of the revolution you’d started in his chest, which was a wonder. He was convinced his face had passed all the colours of the rainbow in the span of a minute. You continued, “nothing’s blocking your airways now. I’ll even do you one better—you don’t look like a clown tonight. You actually look good.”

Funnily enough, he had fewer problems breathing before you leaned closer to touch him. And before you told him he looked good.

Weakly, he asked, “I assume you have a song in mind, then?”

You nodded. “Chloé once told me she loved this one when she was younger. “As Long as You Love Me” by—”

“No.”

You were grinning as you finished, “—Backstreet Boys.”

He was shaking his head with enough vehemence for you to feel a soft wind on your face.

There wasn’t anything wrong with the song of choice—other than the fact that Jungkook doubted very much that Chloé had ever mentioned it to you; he suspected you were just setting him up—but he held a personal grudge against it ever since he impulsively performed the song at your birthday party six years ago.

You had already been so drunk at that point, you could only remember glimpses of it all. Fortunately, someone had filmed Jungkook as he was using your floor lamp as a microphone stand when he performed Nick’s part at the beginning of the song. Later on, he’d gotten so immersed that he’d pulled up a chair to perform the dance routine, too.

You still had the video saved somewhere on your cloud storage.

“Your debt will be fully repaid if you include the choreography,” you added now, knowing it wouldn’t convince him. You just needed to say it to see the tips of his ears turn red at the memory.

His lips were pursed as he watched the mischievous glint in your eye. He’d missed it, he realised, even if your teasing was at his expense.

“You don’t think I’ll do it,” he observed. You shrugged—an obvious challenge—and he looked back at the platform again.

“I’m going to need a mic stand and a chair,” he said. Your eyes visibly brightened—he hadn’t seen you this excited in years. Keeping eye contact with you as he walked backwards to the platform, he pointed a finger in your direction. “This is for you.”

You cheered—caught in the moment and in the champagne you’d had tonight—while he climbed on the platform and turned the music that had been playing from the loudspeakers off. It took everyone at this wedding by surprise. They all turned to look.

The musicians seemed largely unfazed, until he picked up the guitar that they’d left leaning against the wall by the platform. They were already about to approach, but Jungkook extended a hand with so much self-assurance that they froze right away.

He said something else—you were too far to hear—and that seemed to relax them. They returned to their drinks and Jungkook, finally, climbed onto the platform.

Admittedly, until the moment he did, you really didn’t think he would actually do it.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he spoke, his voice muffled as he tapped the microphone to make sure it was working. You looked back to see the surprised looks on Kihyun and Chloé’s faces. “It’s a very special night tonight, as we know. And I have a very special gift for my friends. Congratulations on the beginning of the rest of your lives together, guys.”

The newlyweds both cheered and Jungkook chuckled lightly. The microphone caught the sound and you felt your heart respond to it in eagerness as it pounded against your ribs.

The second he played the first chords on the guitar, the room seemed to come to life. Some people recognised the melody and rushed to the designated dancing space in front of the platform, their hands in the air—and it felt, for just a moment, like a Rated Riot concert. Others still looked confused, but very entertained by the unexpected turn of events.

“Although loneliness has always been a friend of mine,” he began to sing and it immediately turned into a battle of which one of you two could last longer without cringing, “I'm leaving my life in your hands.”

You lost the battle as soon as Jungkook began the chorus and put the guitar down so he could perform the choreography with the chair—as much as he could, anyway, because the chairs at the venue didn’t fold. Your nose was scrunched, and you couldn’t help shaking your head, half in disbelief, half in amusement.

He watched you nearly the whole time—only looking away to nod encouragingly at Kihyun and Chloé, both of whom were dancing in the middle of the room—and his voice was louder, much clearer without the instrument accompanying it.

You’d watched him tear his shirt off on stage at Rated Riot shows, and you’d never had to cover your face. But your hands were on your mouth the moment he dramatically dropped to his knees for that last “as long as you love me” in the song.

His head fell in a theatrical manner as soon as he finished the song, and the room erupted in applause. He thought he could discern your laughter amidst the noise, and he was smiling when he looked up.

It took him a minute to return to you after the performance—people asked for more as he walked past, others were patting him on the back, and some guests, who turned out to have been in attendance at the previous party, gaily informed him that he did “much better than last time”.

His breathing was still heavy when he reached you, exhilarated.

Beaming even before he heard your response, he leaned against your table and lifted an eyebrow. “Well?”

“That might be the best performance that I’d ever seen,” you said. “I’m sure it’ll haunt my dreams. Thank you for that.”

There was enough genuine awe in your voice to make him laugh.

“So, you don’t regret coming here with me, then?” he asked. His eyes were glittering when he looked at you—with excitement, adrenaline, and hope.

“No,” you said. Your soft smile had rendered him completely incapable of looking away from you. “I’m actually glad I came. And not just because I got to see you sing Backstreet Boys in front of everyone.”

Heated suddenly, he said, “that stays between us.”

Even though you’d been looking forward to telling everyone on tour about this, you decided he deserved your agreement.

“Fine,” you said. “But it’s a shame the rest of the world wasn’t able to enjoy this.”

“Hmm,” he lifted his chin. “That was for your eyes only.”

“What about the rest of the guests?” you asked. There was a certain delight in your words that he noticed and quietly basked in.

“What guests?” he replied with a grin. “I said this was for you.”

You were shaking your head, but there was humour in your eyes and on your lips, and his own smile felt like it might cause his cheeks to tear.

There was nothing he wouldn’t have done for you at that moment. He was flushed, and his head was spinning. The entirety of his chest, it seemed to him, had begun to float.

He was happy.

You were still here with him, teasing and laughing. He’d seen his old friends get married, he’d seen them dance. He was about to join his band on tour, about to perform all across Europe.

Everything was going to be perfect. He just had to get this bet over with—quietly—and then figure out a way to expand the cavity of his chest, so it could contain his heart and the thousands of obnoxious, never-ceasing fluttering wings around it.

chapter title credits: sleep token, “the summoning”

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3d-wifey · 5 months

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And They'd Find Us in A Week - Chapter 13

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 9.9k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! Tag list: - @melancholicmelanin, @yvy1s, @glomp-me, @honethatty12, @swftlore, @hashcakes, @antoheartit, @finnickodaddy, @lilifl0wer, @antoheartit, @kermitcrimess, @persophonekarter, @aawdrea, @obaewankenobis, @xyxlyn, @meandurdaughtergotaspecialthing, @innercreationflower, @kisskittenn, @xngelsau, @coriolanussnowswife Chapter Summary: I've moved the arena around a bit, but nothing major; nothing starts until day 2 1: Blood rain 2: Giant poisonous bugs 3: Toxic Fog 4: Monkies 5: Jabberjays 6: Beast 7: Unknown 8: Unknown 9: Fire 10: Flood 11: Unknown 12: Lightening A/N: this bad boy is 10k, one more chapter b4 we go into mockingjay!!!!!!

Present (XII)

THE ARENA; SECTION 5 (12:23 pm-12:59 pm)

The smell of freshly rained earth lingers around them as they traverse the jungle, and Finnick thinks of you.

During the countdown, he saw you. He locked eyes with you, and, stupidly, he thought that would be enough to tide him over. Just one last moment between the two of you before performing for the cameras. But if that were true, he wouldn’t have looked for you as soon as he reached the Cornucopia—before that, even. When he surfaced from the water, over Katniss’s shoulder as he grabbed a weapon, out of the corner of his eye when he was looking for Peeta; desperate for a glimpse of you.

And when he finally found you—no, when you found him—your voice carried his name to his ears like a gift. He didn’t need to think; his body was automatically attuned to you like a compass. He had his trident poised and ready to defend you from whatever he considered a threat—a knee-jerk reaction. But when he turned, there was only you.

You looked at him as though there was a taut rubber band between your bodies, and you had to use all of your strength to resist giving in to that pressure. The desire to run to you was instinctive.

What would that have accomplished other than showing Snow their hand early? It’s not like he could have swept you up in his arms like he wanted to. He couldn't hold you close and make you promise that you'd come back to him, whole, healthy, and his. Being that bold this soon in the Games would benefit no one. Not when you still had to be separated.

He had almost stopped to watch and make sure you made it out with Johanna, but, as you subtly reminded him, he had to stick to the plan. Plus, seeing you drive your sickle through the head of a man at least two times your size definitely reassured him that you could handle your own.

Not that he didn’t know you could bring a man to his knees. He’s had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of your firm hand enough to—he shakes his head, scolding himself like a misbehaving dog.

Not the time, Odair.

Later, he tells himself, there’ll be time for that later.

Even now, he’s thinking about how it felt to sleep next to you for the first time in eons—head against your chest, listening to your steady heartbeat as you hold him in your embrace. If he closes his eyes, he can feel sure fingers carding through his hair and dull nails scratching softly along his scalp.

But he can’t close his eyes. No, he needs them open to dart between Katniss’s sprinting form and over his shoulder as they run for their lives through this fucking jungle.

They’ve covered a good chunk of land in a relatively short amount of time. He’d say it’s taken them about ten minutes to cross a mile, maybe more. He’d be more confident in his estimate if they weren’t traveling up such a steep incline.

Around this point, Finnick decides they’ve put enough space between them and the Career pack that it should be okay to take a short break. He can feel Mags’s heart pounding against his back. Not ideal for a woman this close to ninety.

“Okay, hold up. Hold up.” He calls out, and they all come to a stop. He bends at the knee to help Mags down. “Okay. You alright now?”

He lowers himself to the ground, holding her hand as they sit down. “Okay?” He asks, and she nods, frail fingers gripping his tight as her other hand pats his bicep. Adrenaline makes her shake a little, but she waves off his concern. The four of them sit for a second, gathering themselves.

“God , it’s hot.” Peeta pants and Finnick senses that the oppressive heat might be more to blame than the hike. It’s like he’s choking on it; the air is so heavy that his nostrils don’t feel big enough to inhale it. He breathes in through his mouth and it’s only marginally better. He’s soaked. Something stings as it drips into his eyes and he genuinely can’t tell if it’s saltwater or sweat. “We gotta find fresh water.”

Water. Finnick looks around for any indication of nearby drinking water, listening in for a river or stream. He’d even take a pond. Water would be amazing, preferably without a high salt concentration.

Unknown insects chirp around them in unison; it sort of sounds like a snake. It’s so loud that he’s almost able to ignore the weight of Katniss’s stare. It’s not even like she’s glaring. It’s nearly bird-like how she appraises him—waiting for him to act like the predator she thinks he is.

Three cannons fire in quick succession. The others look to the sky, but he stares at the tree over Katniss’s shoulder. Any one of those cannons could be you. He holds back a flinch at the thought. You’re not dead. No. No, you wouldn’t do that to him. He's only just gotten you back. And even after two years apart, the two of you are so deeply intertwined that Finnick’s sure his own heart would give out when yours stopped.

With a derisive snort and a shake of his head, Finnick says, perhaps a bit manically, “Well, I guess we’re not holding hands anymore.” His chuckle is met with disapproving silence. Too soon?

Katniss regards him with a look of contempt. Definitely too soon then. “You think that’s funny?"

No, not particularly. He thinks. But what else is there to do but laugh at the absurdity of it all?

“Every time that cannon goes off, it’s music to my ears. I don’t care about any of them.” He lies. Sometimes, it feels like that’s all he’s capable of. Even now, in the midst of this death sentence, he still can’t be honest about you. He can’t afford to be. Not until he knows you’re safe.

“Good to hear.” With a sly grin, Finnick observes Katniss taking a machete out of her quiver, seemingly more as a threat than a precaution. It’s promptly wiped from his face when she says your name. “Does she know that? If that’s the case, you should have killed her back at the Cornucopia. She didn't even have a weapon. It would have been easy for you.”

“She’s our ally, Katniss." Peeta attempts to caution her or maybe admonish her; Finnick doesn’t know. And he doesn’t really care, honestly. Not with how focused he and Katniss are on each other. He can’t even acknowledge Peeta defending you, as odd as it is.

Unbidden and without provocation, the mental picture of him killing you takes shape. If he wasn’t already so lightheaded from the moist air, he’d be nauseous at the idea. Is she trying to get a rise out of him by bringing you up? Is that what this is? Or is she—is she threatening you? Whatever the hell her angle is, whatever tactic she’s trying to maneuver, he won’t let a threat against you stand—empty or not.

“You know, Katniss. You really shouldn’t speak on things you know nothing about.” He shakes his head as he ignores Mags’s warning grunt, mouth curling in that frosty way of his that entices those who are stupid enough to mistake a predator baring its teeth for a smile. But Katniss isn’t stupid. This is a language she’ll understand—the language of hunting animals. Her back straightens. His remains deceptively lax. “I mean, can't say that’s ever ended well for you, can we?”

“Are you threatening me, Odair?”

“Threat—” He can’t help but laugh because, honestly.

This is the girl they’re laying down their lives for? The girl you’re laying down your life for? Emphasis on ‘the girl’, because she’s too naïve to be an adult.

People like her—they're too busy fighting shadows to figure out what’s casting them. Too focused on watching their backs that they don't bother wondering why they have to watch it in the first place—and she’s supposed to lead them to salvation?

He wants to laugh. Instead, Finnick bites his cheek. Maybe he’s bitten into another pipe dream.

“No,” he scoffs. “I’m saving you.”

“Saving? Please , you don’t care about anyone but yourself—”

“Let’s keep moving.” Peeta rises to stand in between them, stopping to give Katniss a long look that she doesn't return, before marching forward and taking the machete with him. The two of them size each other up. For someone so emotionally stunted, her thoughts are broadcast clearly on her face.

He can see her weighing her odds against him in a fight, whether her speed with the bow is any match for him and his trident, and Finnick’s weighing how much longer she can stand being a team player. He’s not cocky enough to not consider her a threat; she’s a fighter—but, then again, so is he. That’s not what’s staying his hand. Her survival is their only way out of here—not to mention how disappointed you’d be in him if you found out. He won’t be the one to snatch this chance away from you. Not unless she throws the first punch.

He subtly shifts his grip on his weapon into something more defensive, and she gives him one last withering look, or her version of it, before following Peeta.

He wishes you were here with him. For several reasons, but in this particular moment, to show Katniss how wrong she is. Show her how much he does care about you and how much you care about him in turn. Is it childish that he feels the need to prove anything to a teenager? Maybe. Probably. Most likely.

He bends down to help Mags onto his back, scowling at Katniss’s retreating back.

It’s definitely childish, but still. He sighs. You’d understand. All the more reason to wish you were here. He knows things were touch and go—more go than touch, really—between the two of you at the time, but would it have killed Haymitch to pair the two of you together? Johanna and Blight are more than capable of playing escort for those two brainiacs.

To be fair to the other man, Haymitch had no way of knowing if Finnick would succeed in reconnecting with you.

He takes a moment to really think about it. Namely, how much anger you’ve been harboring over the past two years and the way you drove your sickle through that man’s skull. He tilts his head, squinting. What’s that saying about a woman scorned?

Pairing you together may not have killed Haymitch, but it certainly could have killed Finnick.

His train of thought is violently cut off by Peeta crashing head-first into the force field.

SECTION 11 (12:49 pm-1:12 pm)

“We’re almost at the edge of the arena,” Johanna calls down to your group, climbing halfway down the tree before jumping the rest of the way.

“What does the arena look like?” Beetee asks, pushing his glasses up for what must be the tenth time since you all decided to stop and get your bearings. The sweat on his face provided no traction to hold them in place.

“One big ass circle and we’re almost at the edge. Other than the beach, there’s nothing but jungle.” She sighs, stomping over to where you sit on the ground. Beetee gives a clinical nod.

“How close is ‘almost’?” You ask, handing her axe back.

“I’d say at most a quarter of a mile. We’re closer to the edge than we are to the Cornucopia.”

“What do’ya suppose’ll happen if we hit the edge?” Says Blight in his heavy district brogue, so different than any you’ve heard before. You had asked Johanna about it at some point—the contrasts of their voices. She explained that Blight was born further north than she was, practically on the border of Seven.

It’s not like everyone in Eleven speaks the same, but there’s at least some level of similarity that can be distinctly found in Eleven—in the southernmost districts in general. It shares a likeness with Eight and Ten. The same notes that you can sometimes hear in Katniss and Haymitch’s voices, but not in Peeta’s.

“Most likely? I’d imagine some sort of boundary or force field.” Beetee informs you all.

“Regardless. We won’t know until…” Wiress starts, trailing off as something you aren’t privy to catches her attention.

“—Until we’re upon it.” Beetee finishes for her.

You clear your throat. “I’d say it’s best we don’t find out ‘less we have to.” You drawl, dropping the Capitol accent you’ve been forced to assimilate for what you realize will be the last time. You replace the over-enunciation and grating lilt with slanted vowels and a melodic tempo.

“We can probably head in a little more and then cut to the left or right,” Johanna suggests and you realize she’s talking to you. Not just you in the sense of the whole group, but you specifically. You glance around. They’re all looking at you. It seems you’re the de facto leader.

When the hell was that decided?!

“Right. Well,” you clap your hands, picking your sickles up as you rise, “let’s get a move on. We need to go further while there’s still daylight. Then, we'll find a place to set up camp."

Hopefully.

Blight takes the lead, getting a headstart at cutting through the tightly packed vegetation with his machete.

“C’mon.” You smile down at Wiress as you help her up. She returns it gratefully and Beetee offers her his arm before they trail behind Blight. As you and Johanna carry the flank, you eye the long gash along his shoulder blade that’s steadily bleeding. Your main objective is to get these two to the pickup point, but you’d prefer if you got them there in one piece.

Chaff had said he’d be teaming up with Woof and Cecelia. As well as the morphlings, if they can find them. Unlikely, since they’re masters of stealth. You remember how they didn’t stray far from the camouflage section. You had asked Peeta about the swirls of color on his arm while you were training and he told you it was supposed to be a sunrise that the female morphling painted. She’s apparently fond of them. With skills like that, you know they’ll only be found if they want to be.

The morphlings. That’s like if you only referred to Haymitch as ‘The Alcoholic’. You scold yourself mentally for using such a needlessly cruel nickname for them just because everyone else did. Either one of your parents would’ve pinched the skin off of you if they knew that.

I can’t keep calling them that. It's probably an odd time to do so, but you decide it’s high time you learned their actual names. Before now, you had very little reason to since you rarely interacted with them. Yet, even if they hadn’t been rebels, they still deserve the basic respect of being acknowledged as people, not just in conjecture with their addictions. You don’t expect to be BFFs after you make it out of the arena, but you’d like to, at least, be someone who knows and uses their real names.

“Thanks. For what you did back there.” Johanna takes you out of your musings, swinging her axe to and fro on her other side. “Taking that guy down for me. You didn’t have to.”

You scowl at the reminder, pretending to be focused on navigating your steps along the tricky jungle floor instead of looking at her. You didn’t want to think about that. How killing him was the first solution that came to mind. It’s not that you’re naive enough to think that talking him down was even an option. He wasn’t on your side. He wasn’t one of you. He had made his own bed of flowers by turning down Haymitch’s offer. But why couldn’t it have been Gloss or Enobaria that killed him? Why did it have to be you? Why not you? “I know I didn’t.”

“But you did, and,” she sighs, jutting her jaw to the side as if it’s taking a lot out of her to say this, “and I’d probably be so minced that the hovercraft would have to make multiple trips to get all the pieces if you hadn’t stepped in, so...thank you."

You smile at her awkward discomfort, ignoring the glances she shoots you out of the corner of her eye and acting oblivious to her increasing agitation.

“Are you gonna say ‘you’re welcome’, or what, asshole?” She scoffs.

“You’re welcome, Your Highness.” You knock your shoulder into hers and she knocks yours right back.

“I owe you one.”

You laugh. “God, I hope not.”

SECTION 5 (1 pm-1:34 pm)

The force of the blow is enough to send Peeta flying backward, knocking them over so fast that Finnick can barely register that he’s not still standing.

“Peeta’s not breathing!” Katniss cries and it’s a blur of motion as he moves into action, his body acting on autopilot. “Peeta’s not breathing!”

Prop Mags up against a tree. Check for a pulse that isn’t there. CPR. Tilt his head at an angle. Pinch his nose—a stiff hand to Katniss’s sternum—pinch his nose, blow air into his deflated lungs. Ignore the arrow pointed at his head. Put his body weight behind each pump. Push his will into the unresponsive body. From his shoulders, down his biceps, and into the heels of his hands, to where Peeta’s still heart lies.

C’mon, Peeta. C’mon, c’mon.

“C’mon, Peeta!” He can feel the anticipation of the viewers boiling in on them from all angles, his hair standing on end as he tries to pump Peeta’s heart for him. If they lose Peeta, they lose Katniss. If they lose Katniss, they lose the revolution. If they lose the revolution, they’ll lose, they’ll lose, they’ll lose—“Come on! Come on!”

He’s got no idea why they haven’t called it yet, why they haven’t blown the cannon, despite his heart stopping before he even hit the floor. Maybe they’re hoping, like he’s hoping, that Peeta will come. The fuck. On.

A small gasp, a cough and—

Finnick falls back on his haunches, hands on his hips and panting as the muscles in his arms buzz. He’s lightheaded again from supplying so much of his air to Peeta. And the heat isn’t doing anyone any favors.

“Be careful. There’s a force field up there.” Peeta huffs and Katniss chuckles, half-hysterical, before dipping down to kiss him. Finnick pauses in the middle of a much-needed inhale, watching the two with narrowed eyes.

“Oh, my God. You were dead. You were dead. Your heart stopped.” Katniss sobs as she drapes over Peeta, shrill and so resoundingly real that Finnick blanches for a second. He’s never seen her hands waver when drawing her bow, but they tremble now as they hold Peeta close.

Huh.

“It’s okay.” He assures her, still smoldering and smoking a little. “It’s working now.” She helps him up, still sobbing. Or maybe choking? Choking on her sobs. Peeta looks upon her with concern.

“Katniss?” Peeta prompts, starting to look increasingly panicked and Finnick can’t handle them both freaking out.

“It’s okay. It’s just her hormones.” Finnick is slow to stand, looking them over quizzically. “From the baby.”

“No. It’s not—” She cuts herself off with more choke-sobs. There’s something here—something he couldn’t see before. Something he hadn’t considered concerning these two, concerning Katniss. That something is familiar. What does it remind him of? It’s nagging at the back of his skull. That staunch fear, the protectiveness followed by the open gasping relief. He recognizes it. Where, where, where—

“She can't possibly care about him that much."

"Yeah, well, you'd be surprised.”

Oh. Oh, shit.

Of course, he recognizes it—that familiar, desperate love. He’s felt it.

Katniss glares at him, snotty and defensive, and he stares, mystified. He shakes his head, pulling himself from his revelation-induced stupor. The two lovebirds hug each other like they’re the only things holding each other up. And with their current states, they might as well be. To give them some privacy, he walks over to check on Mags and finds her knowing gaze. He can’t have been the last one to know this love story isn’t much of a story at all, right?

SECTION 3 (6:50 pm-10:20 pm)

Finnick rolls his trident back and forth between his hands as they all wait for Katniss to come back from scouting in the trees. Mags cracks open and eats another one of the nuts Katniss has been using and substantially cooking by bouncing them off of the force field to show the rest of them where it is, considering she can hear it. He has no reason to believe otherwise; there’s no evidence to indicate she’s lying, but Finnick doesn’t buy that she can hear it just because of her hearing aid. If that’s the case, why hasn’t she mentioned it before now? He has no reason to call her out on it, so he won’t. Any advantage they have in the arena, the better.

He can feel the water evaporating out of his body like a sponge being wrung dry. He feels like a beached whale. They can’t have been in the arena for that long, but the heat—it’s not the kind he’s used to. The sun in Four has nothing on this. He’s never been so thirsty before, not even in his previous Games. They all perk up when she comes back down, hoping beyond hope that she’s seen drinkable water. That hope is crushed when she shakes her head.

“The force field…it’s a dome. We’re at the edge of the arena.” She wipes her sweat-slick hair out of her face. "I couldn't find any signs of fresh water.”

They all sit in dehydrated silence. The human body can only go on for so long with no water. Food, while an amazing plus, won’t be a real problem for weeks. And between the nuts and all the fish they could catch, it’s a problem with a simple solution. Without water, however, they will almost certainly die in five days, with their organs starting to shut down in three. He's seen it back in Four. Dead men brought back from sea shriveled and arid. He always imagined it must be torture to be surrounded by all that water and unable to drink any of it.

Now, it looks like he might find out.

And with that depressing thought, Finnick moves forward. “It’s getting dark soon. We’ll be safe with our backs protected.” Knowing the consequences of touching the force field, they’ll be able to use the arena itself as a weapon. “We should set up camp. Take turns sleeping. I can take first watch.”

“Not a chance.” Katniss scoffs.

He tilts his head.

He knows the heat is just making everything worse, only fueling his irritability. But he is so over her and this teenage snippiness. Peeta’s so easygoing that he honestly doesn’t mind his company; he can see how the two of you became such quick friends. But Katniss? She is a remarkably hard person to like.

How much longer will she treat him like a criminal? As far as he’s concerned, the only thing he’s guilty of is giving her the impression that she has authority over him in any way, shape, or form.

Burying the blunt end of his trident into the ground, he uses it to leverage himself up.

“Honey,” he mocks, his voice long-suffering and chiding, like he’s explaining something that really should be common sense to a child who's a little behind the curve. Which, honestly, doesn't seem too far off. “That thing I did back there for Peeta? That was called ‘saving his life’. If I wanted to kill either of you, I would have done it by now."

He holds her eye before he rips his weapon out of the ground. He’s too tired to have a stupid argument over this, so he nimbly picks his way over to Mags so they can start making camp.

When the Capitol anthem blares throughout the arena and the insignia projects across the sky, Finnick watches with rapt attention. He inhales sharply, watches, and waits.

Portraits of the dead flash beside the full moon. The man from Five that he killed, the man from Six, both from Eight, both from Nine, the woman from Ten and then…it stops. There’s the Capitol seal again and then nothing. No more portraits light up the sky; your portrait doesn’t light up the sky.

You’re still alive.

You’re alive. He knew that. He did. He did. He would have known, he would have felt, otherwise. After all, you had promised him, hadn’t you? In those scant few hours in the early morning before the Games, you both promised to do everything in your power to get back to each other. Promised to see this through, knowing what future waited on the other side—a future together.

He knew you were alive, but the confirmation is—

He lets out the breath he’s been holding, tension easing from his shoulders.

“Seven,” Katniss says.

“Mhm.” He acknowledges.

Seven victors. His brows furrow. The two from Eight, Woof and Cecelia. The male morphling. All dead.

But he’s still alive. And so are you.

SECTION 1 (12:55 am–3:26 am)

In the white, spectral fog of the jungle, Johanna smacks something big and hairy off the back of her hand. Are the bugs even real?

She wouldn’t put it past the Capitol to mutate them—control the mutts to crawl all over them and kill them in their sleep. But that’s too boring a death, too kind. Plus, it doesn’t make for good television. And eating bugs would probably make the audience more squeamish than child murder.

Thanks to you, they at least had something to eat. Berries, mushrooms, and, oddly enough, leaves. Not much, but it was something. But there was still the water issue—meaning there was none. They hadn't stumbled upon anything they could drink. No ponds, no rivers. Not even a fucking puddle.

She and you both agreed that there had to be water in the trees; it was too humid for there not to be. But with no way to collect it, they were all shit out of luck. Luckily, depending on how long it takes to get here, they’re expecting a rain cloud. It was the only logical assumption after they heard lightning strikes not too far off. Makes sense. Short of a sponsor gift or the magical ability to make salt water drinkable, there’s little for the victors to do in terms of battling dehydration.

If this rain doesn’t pull through, she’ll be tempted to tell you to bite the bullet and request a spile or something. Though she understands why you haven’t done so yet. Just the thought of begging those simpering morons to empty their pockets to help keep her alive makes Johanna shiver and she doesn’t even have the same history with them that you do. Knowing your fans, they’d probably get off on you debasing yourself.

Johanna knocks her head against the tree she's leaning on. She offered to take the first watch because she needed time to think. It was smart of Katniss to want you as an ally. It's easier on Johanna's part too, because at least you can take care of yourself.

And, had the rebellion not been afoot, it would've guaranteed Finnick as an ally too. Maybe Peeta is the one who picked you because Johanna doubts the girl on fire is sharp enough to think that far ahead. Or mature enough to pull her big girl pants on and notice anything around her that didn't actually revolve around her.

Johanna is woman enough to admit that she's jealous. Jealousy is nothing to be ashamed of when it's entirely warranted. Katniss doesn't have to worry about losing her family, not really. Because the Capitol just adores them. Katniss doesn't have to worry about losing her self-autonomy, her dignity, her innocence while in bed with a stranger. Katniss hasn't lived with the grief of what she's experienced long enough for it to turn her bitter or make her find an escape through substances.

And yet, here they are, protecting her even if it kills them. No, Johanna reminds herself. They're protecting the rebellion. Katniss just happens to be the face of it.

It’s almost pitch black. Without the sun to shine through the dense tops of the trees, the moon could hardly pull its weight. But it’s been dark for so long that her eyes have adapted a bit. They slept closer to the force field than she would have liked, but she understood your logic. No one can sneak up on them from behind with the force field at their back.

She digs the sharp metal part of her axe into the dense ground, pulling it out, and hacking away again.

She looks over to where the others are sleeping, Nuts and Volts guarded on either side by your and Blight's sleeping bodies. At least they aren't completely useless.

Even if Katniss hadn't wanted them as allies, they would've had to guard them anyway. Haymitch made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that they're the brains of this operation. Or at least Volts is. She zeros in on the spool of wire he clings to in his sleep.

She isn't one hundred percent sure how they plan on busting them out of the arena, but it probably has something to do with that. Or at least, it better. He nearly lost his life trying to get it. And she nearly lost her head trying to get him.

They need to meet up with Finnick, but she has no idea where his group is. It's not like they can just bury their heads in the sand and wait for them to show up. The plan rides on them all being together at the pickup point.

A drop of water wets her scalp and then another. It, like everything else in this place, is uncomfortably warm—bordering on hot. But beggars can’t be choosers. The drops of water feel heavier, but that could just be her imagination.

Rain? Finally.

She’ll wake the others up once her vocal cords stop feeling like she’s starting a fire every time she talks. It slowly but steadily picks up—drops landing on her forehead and dripping down her nape. She tilts her head back and opens her mouth and the dry, cracking chasm that she used to call her throat trembles in anticipation of the oncoming relief.

When it touches her tongue, she recoils. Thick, bitter, and metallic. It's only then that Johanna realizes the warm liquid isn't water. She holds out her hand to catch a drop and it stains red.

Blood.

And, as if the Gamemakers were waiting for her reaction, the sprinkling of rain turns into a downpour.

“Get up!” She screams, scrambling to her feet. “Get up! Get the fuck up!”

You wake up, alert, with your weapons in hand. Springing to attention like you were never asleep to begin with. When you see no enemy you can fight, your vigilance gives way to confusion. The other three are slower to rise until the blood starts pelting them like coins.

They stumble up, much like she did, but they don’t know. They don’t understand what’s falling from the sky.

“Don’t drink it—!” She tries to warn them and gets a mouthful of tacky, festering blood for her troubles. It’s thick and greasy and viscous and slippery, so the remnants of it stay behind when she tries to spit it out. It coats the back of her throat, creeping its way up her nose and slicking in between her molars.

“Blood!” The last thing Johanna can see before her vision goes red is your blurry face going from stark relief to abject terror as her words fully sink in. “It’s–it’s blood!”

From then on, there’s no room for coherent thought. Instead, Johanna gets stuck in a cycle of gagging on blood, spitting it out, and heaving in the fucked up, muggy, contaminated air, only to start it all over.

She tries to shield her eyes, but the blood creeps underneath her hands like its goal is to take out as many senses as possible. The sound of it sliding off the top of the canopies and hitting the ground is deafening; it almost drowns out your attempts to call out to Johanna. But calls for each other are only answered with blood.

They all flounder about, tottering around on unsure feet. Johanna wipes her eyes and tries to squint around it. But it’s no use. Even if her eyes weren’t compromised, the blood falls so thickly that it curtains everything around her.

Maybe that’s why she doesn’t realize she’s only seeing three red silhouettes instead of four.

She gives up on her eyes and works to save her lungs instead. She cups her mouth and nose, coughing and hacking so hard that it feels like her chest is on fire. She breathes through her nose and immediately stops when it burns her nostrils. She breathes through her mouth and it’s somehow worse to taste the sickeningly sweet iron-rich mist. She gags and breathes and gags again.

She still can’t see, but she crouches down low, hesitant as she pats the ground. Trembling hands feel around for her axe, but, apparently, everything feels like an axe handle if your eyes are closed. She can’t afford to let another victor catch her in such a vulnerable position. She may be blind, but she refuses to be defenseless.

She doesn’t find it.

They must stay there, stumbling around fully blind and half-mad for hours before a masculine shout accompanies the sound of a heavy body hitting the ground. So loud it overtakes the sound of blood that isn’t hers rushing in her ears, the sound of the rain. They must have flown before they crashed, must have been thrown back to be that loud— the force field.

“Blight!”

A cannon fires. And then. It stops. All of it. The rain, the yelling, the torture. The heat and the smell remain, if not made worse by each other. Johanna can’t figure out which one is making her stomach roll more.

“Everyone—” she gathers the blood in her mouth, along her cheeks and tongue, and spits it on the ground with disdain. She can feel the frothing, light pink saliva and drool dripping down her chin from doing the same thing three dozen times already. “Everyone alright?”

Surprisingly, the voice that calls back first is Beetee’s.

“I–I managed to hold on to Wiress. Blight, however…”

She knows not to expect Blight’s voice and that’s a pain too tender to prod at yet. You, however, don’t respond. And, unlike Blight, there’s no reasonable explanation for your sudden silence. She calls your name, but there’s no reply. There is, however, a spark of panic in her chest right next to her heaving lungs, but Johanna only heard one cannon.

She doesn’t know if the heat encourages it or keeps it at bay, but, just that fast, the blood is starting to congeal. Johanna pries her eyes open and it’s almost like they’re still closed. Now impossibly darker, the jungle is a nightmare. Made even worse by the fact that you aren’t here. She lurches up to spin in circles, shouting after you as Wiress keeps mumbling something. She staggers around, cutting herself off by coughing up the blood that’s managed to get into her chest. There’s nothing, no sign of you or where you could have gone. You are not here.

It’s like you disappeared.

A spotlight shines down on them—No, on Blight. On his cooling body. The hovercraft claw descends open-mouthed, dipping down to pick him up. Beetee pulls Wiress away before she can wander closer. Johanna watches as they take him away.

Blight is thirty, she thinks. Blight is a burly man with a big beard to match. Blight has a wife, a son. Blight’s from Zone Q, the same zone kids used to make fun of for the funny way they talked. Blight had always been kind to her. Blight now hangs limp, covered in blood. Skin singed and smelling of burnt hair. This is the last thing he will ever be.

He’ll never see the culmination of the rebellion he was willing to give his life for. He wasn’t the sharpest axe in the, well, anywhere. But…it would have been nice to give him the District Seven sendoff he deserved.

She gives herself a shake. They need to find you.

“Come on, get up.” She waves the remaining two up with her axe. “Let’s go."

“Tick, tock.”

“Where?” Beetee attempts to look at her from under his blood-smeared glasses.

“Tick, tock.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but our group has been dramatically cut from five to three—”

“Tick, tock. Tick, tock!”

“—And what the fuck is her problem?!”

“I think she might be in shock.”

“Right. Of course. That’s just fan-fucking-tastic.”

There’s an odd clicking coming from the right and some hindbrain prey instinct warns Johanna away from it. She practically drags her damsels in distress behind her as she scours as much of the jungle as she possibly can in the dark in her search for you. Down to where the sand starts, back to the edge, and then off to the left—away from the clicking. They can’t be as quiet as she would like to be, considering Beetee’s heavy steps and Wiress’s insufferable mumbling. Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, fucking tock.

How the hell did she get stuck with Nuts and Volts, of all people? You and Blight have left her alone and now, Nuts is even nuttier than before, and Volts—

“I can’t—I can’t go on. I must, I need to rest.” Beetee gasps. She glowers over her shoulder at his weak form. He raises a hand before falling on his ass. She groans, stomping back to stand over him. Even in the low lighting, he’s a sorry sight. Alarmingly pale, even for someone from Three, he looks like he might faint at any moment now.

“And what the hell is wrong with you?”

“My wound—I believe I’ve lost a fair bit of blood.” He gestures minutely behind him, and she squints at his back. He grunts as she positions him a bit better in the moonlight and his entire left flank is warm with his blood. The wound hadn’t seemed that serious earlier, long but superficial. What does she do if he’s losing more blood than any of them realize? She isn’t trained in medicine and it’s not like they can just request some kind of aid. If you were here, maybe. They’d have much better luck getting a sponsored gift if you were the one asking for it.

“Great. That’s just lovely. You know, this is exactly what we need right now.” She paces. Kicks a rock. hurts her toe. “Fuck. Fuck!” Johanna drives her axe into a nearby tree, yanking it out to only hack at it again. They’ve been searching for you for over an hour and there’s no telling where the hell you’ve wandered off to.

“What do we do now?”

“I don’t know! I don’t—!” She throws her hands up, not even bothering with rebuffing Wiress when she sways into her with her ‘tick, tock’ shit again. She groans, head hanging low. The plan has been monstrously derailed already and it hasn’t even been two full days yet. “I don’t know.”

Hopefully, you’re closer to finding Finnick than they are.

SECTION 2 ( 1:40 am-2:26 am)

You finally come to a stop, feet tripping over gnarled roots and fallen logs. You cough, blowing blood from your nose like snot. You’ve gotten far enough away from the rain that you can almost start breathing normally again. You look around you, turning in rough half-circles as you try to get your bearings. You’re careful to keep in mind the direction you’ve come from because the jungle looks the same as it has for the last mile and a half.

You want to rub at the stitch developing in your side, but you’re too afraid to take your hands off your weapons, even for a second.

That blood rain was unexpected, to say the least. Not to mention cruel. You’d never seen anything like it. The Gamemakers must have gotten a real kick out of that, knowing how readily y’all were waiting for rainwater, knowing how thirsty you were.

The blood doesn’t behave like it should. It’s made your hair dense and heavy, almost oil-slick somehow, despite the frizz from all the humidity. It dries on your skin in thick, itchy patches. Not unlike the aloe vera paste used in Eleven to heal burns and the like.

There’s no telling if the blood shower is heading in your direction or not. Can you handle that again? That suffocating force clawing its way past your esophagus, into your stomach, into your lungs—hot and thick? The taste is still on your tongue and for a moment, you’re in the eye of the storm once more. Fighting to see, to breathe, to live.

You gag and you push it down, but the longer the taste of iron soaks on your tongue, the harder it is to stop it. You gag again, hard enough that your belly cramps up. Eyes watering, you rock forward, nails digging into the wood of the handles as scorching stomach acid claws its way up your throat. You throw up what little you’ve eaten, and you despair, because it may not have been much but it was something.

You stay that way, hunched over, panting open-mouthed as more spit forms rapidly in your mouth just to drip down into the puddle of sick you’ve already left. You’ll be even more dehydrated than before. Your chest burns with acid reflux, your nose runs, and your mouth pools with drool you can’t afford to lose. You want to cry. But you don’t have that luxury. You want someone to rub your back, but you don’t have that either.

I wish Finnick was here.

You allow yourself that small moment of pity. You pull in a surprisingly cool breath before straightening up. You push your shoulders back, determined to march forward through whatever may be waiting for you because you know that on the other side, Johanna and the others need you. You walk forward, even though the idea of willingly entering that blood-filled hellscape makes your stomach lurch like a threat.

The blood still proves to be an issue without the Capitol’s input. Some of it drips down your face and neck like sweat, damn near blinding you all over again. You can only wipe it away with the back of your hand so many times. You're still trying to find a way to keep the blood out of your eyes when you hear it.

It's like when a bug flies too close to your ear but louder. Buzzing and clicking that makes the hair on your neck stand, foreboding.

You’ve never had much of a problem with insects, you weren’t allowed to. You can’t exactly claim ‘fear of bugs’ as a reason for not doing your job, even if you are six years old. After working around tracker jackers to pick various fruits, spiders climbing over you as you wade around the flooded cranberry fields, overzealous slugs as you pull carrots, to name a few, that fear dissipated. That’s not to say you love them, only that you’ve learned to work in proximity to them and ignore them if all else fails. You turn around, spinning in circles as the noise gets louder. You can’t ignore this so easily. You’re six again, trembling in fear as a peacekeeper directs you to a giant tree with an equally giant tracker jacker nest. That old fear makes a reappearance. It takes root, maturing from childish panic to fresh, genuine terror because something is coming toward you.

You hear flapping, wings. Your vision is still blurred from the blood and you're in a particularly dark part of the forest with barely any moonlight, but you can see it. Some kind of bug hurtling towards you faster than you can run. It’s massive—mutated, most likely—close to the size of a wolf. You duck as it dives at you, bulky mandibles snapping.

You’d rather fight the wolf.

It flies a few feet away before turning around and you curse the fact that you didn't pick up any long-range weapons. Where the hell is Katniss when you need her?

You’ve trained for months. Your stamina, your dexterity, your core and upper body strength. But especially your hand-to-hand combat. Woefully, you consider how well that translates into fighting a giant mutt.

For a split second, you get the urge to hide. That animalistic impulse to find a small space to burrow into that the much bigger animal can’t get you and to find it fast. You’ve felt this before in Eleven and in the Capitol. It’s only fitting that you’d feel it here in the arena too.

It hovers in the air for a moment. It's almost as if it’s thinking. As you both regard each other, it begins to feel like it really might be thinking. Just how intelligent is this thing?

It’s a beetle; you can tell that much, which means an exoskeleton. You’ll have to go for the head, the eyes. There’s no indication that it’s about to happen, it just charges you. And you realize far too late that it'll be impossible to get a clear hit at its head. You lunge to the side, but you aren't fast enough. You yell when its pincer strikes you in the side. You pitch over, rolling along the ground. You barely manage the precarious balance of covering your head and keeping your blades away from your body.

It's not done with you. But down here, you have a better chance of avoiding its bite.

The blood makes your grip on the handles slippery. You flip the one in your dominant hand upwards and keep the other one face down as it gets ready to charge you again. You roll under it, slicing upward along its stomach as it flies over you. You're quick to stand up as it wavers in the air, wings stuttering the longer it bleeds.

You’ve both weakened each other, but neither of you is dead yet.

Your mind is quiet. Only one thought echoes in the abyss back to you.

The head. The head. The head. Go for the head. Go for the head. Take the fucking head!

It swoops down at you, wobbling in the air, but still clicking. You kneel down with your sickles turned outward and cross your arms in front of your face. You wait for it to get closer until you can see its head peeking over the gap your weapons leave and straighten your elbows, decapitating it. You close your eyes as black blood rains down on you and its head and body hit the ground with two distinct thumps.

Its body convulses on the ground and its head stays still, but you don't have time to check if it's really dead. Like the man from Nine. More buzzes and clicks come from your right and you're running before you even register that your feet are moving.

You don't look behind you, you don't need to. You can hear them, closing in on you. You just keep sprinting, lungs burning in exhaustion as you push yourself faster. You don't know where you're running to, but you know you have no way of fighting off more than one.

There's a hill a few feet ahead of you, and you prepare yourself to roll down. You throw your weapons to the bottom and cover your head as you tumble down, scraping yourself on stray twigs and rocks.

You scramble to stand up at the bottom of the hill and look up in time to see the bugs hovering at the top. They're stopped by what looks like a force field. But that doesn’t make any sense. You—you just came from there. Suddenly, they lose interest in you like you were never there to begin with and they turn around. They bump into each other as they fly away, probably on their way to swarm someone else.

A piercing scream comes from the direction the mutated insects flew off to. Better you than me, you think and regret it immediately. That could be someone you care about. Chaff, Johanna, Katniss, Peeta.

Finnick, your brain supplies. You shake away the thought. You don't have to worry about that because he promised you.

"He promised me. He promised me." You repeat to yourself in a whisper.

You stumble back into a tree, chest heaving.

Once the adrenaline rush passes, another problem presents itself. The blood on your body has grown cold, so it's surprising to feel a warm rush of liquid on your side.

You look at where your jumpsuit is torn above your right hip. You stretch the fabric and see two holes about six inches away from each other. Twice the size of a bottle cap, one's a little above your hip bone and the other rests a little before where your back starts, both wider and deeper than you would like—but you don’t see muscle, which counts for something. They're rough, not perfect circles. Skin hangs haphazardly from them both, peeling away at the edges with jagged incisions going towards the middle. As if being punctured like a piece of paper wasn’t enough, they've been torn from the pincers still being buried in you and then violently ripped out after you fell.

Now that you're aware of them, they throb in sharp waves.

"Shit," you curse, breathing around the tears that bubble up from the pain. Your breaths are shuttered, halting. You're bleeding at a pretty steady pace and you won't last long with the wound out in the open. Especially if there's a creature out here that can smell blood. “Shit, shit, shit.” You whimper.

You scream as cramps rocket through your abdomen and the ability to be quiet is beyond your pain-addled mind, you can’t stop it. Luckily, it comes out of your dry throat more of a raspy croak than a real scream. You press a shaking, blood-soaked hand to your mouth anyway. You don’t know what other killer insects may be out here with you and you can’t afford to grab their unwanted attention just because you can’t control yourself.

Your medical knowledge isn’t extensive. Honestly, it’s a little below average for what’s expected in Eleven, but probably far more than what an ordinary citizen in the other districts would know. Not everyone can afford the services of doctors, especially if they live in the Shacks, so you were all taught how to help each other. You don’t know any of the fancy shit they probably teach in the academies, but you were taught how to heal with the land—old methods and practices passed down from before the Dark Days.

Your first thought is to clean it, but with what? You don’t even have clean water to drink. Your second thought is to pack it, if not with cotton then with aloe vera—it’ll ward off infection for a while, right? You have no way of disinfecting it, not by yourself and not with what’s available to you, so stopping the bleeding is the next best thing.

This may not be your environment, may not be your plants, but you learned a thing or two while training Peeta in the Edible Plant section. This is the perfect environment for natural, as natural as the arena will permit, aloe to grow. But it’s still dark. You can’t go looking for it, not by yourself. And you aren’t desperate enough to start begging your sponsors for help.

You sigh. You’ll have to settle for the bare minimum.

You pull both of your sleeves down where they detach at the shoulder and even that little movement makes your stomach cramp again. You flinch as the muscles underneath the wounds spasm, pumping out more blood.

You tie one end of both sleeves together, working past the hurt, and, God, does it hurt. But the hurt is unavoidable. That’s what you tell yourself. That’s what you’ve always told yourself. You let your mind drift, taking you somewhere else.

The hurt is unavoidable. The hurt is unavoidable. The hurt is unavoidable.

Sweat drips down your back, or maybe it’s blood, as you move the makeshift tourniquet around your waist. You lay a flat piece of the fabric on the wound and nearly black out as you tie the two loose ends in the back. You tie it again just for good measure, biting around a scream as you pull it tight enough to staunch the bleeding.

Your vision swims as you gasp in big gulps of air. Your hands shake from the pain and yet another adrenaline drop. Your legs feel weak, barely holding you up as you lean most of your weight against the tree.

You need a game plan.

Another canon fires.

You don’t know how long you sit there, eyes closed, head tilted back, pitying yourself. But by the time you decide to get moving, you notice something. Something’s…wrong.

Everything sways when you move your head up. You blink nearly twenty times before your eyes can focus again. You feel warm. Not warmth from the humidity. Not warmth from exercise. But warmth from a fever, a sickness. Nausea creeps upon you and, fuck, please, you can’t throw up again—you can’t . An injury this nasty will certainly come with symptoms, but you shouldn't have this kind of reaction. You try to remember what kind of bug it was. You remember it was a beetle, but you rack your brain for what it looked like. Your muscles spasm around your wound, reminding you how open and exposed they are even when covered with fabric.

You’ve got two plugs taken out of your side, you’re covered in blood, both real and synthetic, you’ve been poisoned, and you’re alone.

Alone. There is no sound other than your labored breathing because you’re alone. That’s the worst part somehow.

You’re slow as you lean down, wincing at the slightest movement, and snatch up your sickles. If just that is enough to sap you of your energy, then—

You can’t stay out here in the open where you’re vulnerable, no one to watch your back, no one to protect you. You’re an easy target, no help to the revolution like this. You take a few quick breaths to psych yourself up. You push off the tree, grunting as the smallest use of your abdomen aggravates the wounds. You hobble along, heading in the opposite direction of where you left Johanna and the others.

Hopefully, Finnick’s group is having better luck.

SECTION 3 (3:17 am-3:28 am)

Finnick is sure that there are certain moments that he’ll remember for the rest of his life. His reaping, the first person he killed, meeting you. These moments, these entries penned into the book of his life, define him. They’re all weaved into a tapestry, sewn into a quilt that illustrates his past and blankets his future. Who he is today, and who he will be tomorrow, is shaped by these moments. He’ll remain irrevocably changed by these events.

He’s sure this moment will be one of them.

The fog creeps behind them and he’s suddenly so glad you aren’t a part of their group. A spectral wall of wispy gas that observes their suffering with the same indifference as the Capitol does. Peeta is a solid weight on Finnick’s shoulder and he’s thankful for it. It’s a reminder, the weight of what he’s defending. He clenches his teeth against the fog's stray tendrils and their poisonous grasp, increasing his speed even as pain licks at his heels.

“Fhinnic’, Fhinnic’!” He skids to a stop, looking behind him at Peeta’s slurred insistence. He turns in time to see Katniss and Mags crash to the ground. He rushes over to them. Mags sits concerned next to Katniss who’s beginning to blister.

“It’s no use,” Katniss says. He kneels beside them and he can see she’s feeling the effects of the fog. Her left leg is getting stiffer and her face has begun to droop. “Can you take them both? Go on ahead, I’ll catch up.” The confidence in her voice is interrupted by the grimace on her sagging face.

Mags has been touched by the fog less than the rest of them, if at all. Probably for the opposite reason that Finnick seems to have the most damage, she’s small. By this logic, it should be easy for Finnick to carry her along with Peeta. It should be easy.

“My arms aren’t working. My arms, they aren’t—” From his shoulder blades down to his fingertips, the muscles in his arms are ruined. They spasm sporadically, jerking uncontrollably as they hang limp at his sides. He’s even relying on Peeta to hold onto his trident for him. “I’m sorry, Mags. I can’t, I can’t do it. I’m sorry.” He apologies. He keeps apologizing to her and he can’t see why, too focused on the wave of white threatening to seize them.

It’s all so quick. Mags has realized what Finnick himself is too stubborn to acknowledge. There’s a heaviness in his chest that he tries to swallow around but it only spreads to his throat. His throat gets tight. His senses feel heightened, his heart beating faster, lungs heaving harder, but he’s still trying to find a way out of this. His mind is moving at the speed of light, determined to fix it, determined to row this impossible boat upstream—thinking about everything but the only realistic outcome here.

They never talked about this. Never discussed the possibility. A situation where he would ever have to—it just never, never came to mind. He never thought to imagine it. And yet, she’s taking off the bracelet she’s wearing—his bracelet that she wore as a token for him. The same bracelet he made under her roof, under her knowing gaze. She slides it up his wrist, tightening it before grabbing his face between her weathered hands. She places a gentle peck on his lips and that’s when he realizes she’ll be leaving, whether he’s ready to say goodbye or not.

“Mags? Mags? Mags!” Tears blur his vision as she dodders uphill into the fog. Katniss grabs his wrist, stopping him from going after her. “Mags! Mags!”

“Finnick!” He can see her silhouette just past the veil of mist, convulsing violently before—a cannon fires. He sits there, desolate. He can’t tell if the numbness spreading through him is organic or from the nerve damage.

“Finnick, we have to go. We have to get outta here.” He’s slow to turn around and look at Katniss. “We have to go.”

Finnick climbs to his feet, accounting for Peeta’s weight, as Katniss drags herself behind him. He sniffs once, twice, three times.

Later, he tells himself, there’ll be time for that later.

A/N: 1.) Blight's accent is the Canadian accent - specifically Letterman Kenny 2.) reckon the covey (Lucy Gray's group) traveled to the north from 11 to 12 during the 1st rebellion and got trapped in 12 after they lost. the Seam now has a distinct accent that sounds vaguely southern. 3.) i headcanon there's no singular southern accent in 11, using this map:https://fineartamerica.com/featured/vintage-map-of-panem-from-the-hunger-games-design-turnpike.html?product=art-print you can see just how much southern land it covers. So that's a mix of Creole, Irish, Mexican, and deep south roots. I'd imagine the mix of Creole, southern aave, and Spanish makes for a very particular accent. but if I had to pick one, it's closer to the southern drawl than the southern twang. 4.) the capitol accent basically the transatlantic accent 5.) You and Finnick think the same, since it was his idea to sleep next to the forcefield and use it as a weapon. yall literally think the same. also finnick wakes up the same way you do in the book when katniss screams about the fog. 6.) in the book, Lucy Gray is quiet but cunning. She doesn't have the "girl bossified quirky" demeanor she does in the movie and I blame Disney for that. As such, she doesn't have the "loud and proud/nothing affects me/cocky without a cause" attitude in my canon. What attracted Snow to her was that survivor instinct he saw in her that he felt he had. Everything that made Lucy Gray interesting to him can be found in Star (and Peeta.) I think Katniss's personality wise is so much like Sejanus's that it pissed him off. close enough to District 12, but not exactly. district eleven has the exact background that Snow wishes he had with 12. He has more control over Eleven, they're easier to control/oppress as opposed to the free-spirited District 12. With Star, he strives to fix what mistakes he made with Lucy Gray. my beta reader said "i agree honestly like i think thats also why people are misreading snow in the movie bc they don't actually understand lucy gray and therefore misunderstand why snow even liked her" 7.) eleven is mainly a black and indigenous North American (Canada, US, and Mexico) population

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ivnxrori · 2 months

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When Sun and Moon meet - S2

Zuko x Fem!WaterBender!Reader Enemies to Lovers

As one of the Princesses of the Northern Water tribe, you were blessed with a gift by the moon. However you were permitted to be allowed to use the gift at all costs. From many hidden waterbending usages, the aftermath of the avatar visiting the Northern Tribe had led to your beginning journey, hiding yourself as a water bender as a princess from the Northern water tribe

Warnings: none

Masterlist

҉ * ‧͙ ⋆ ⁺ ༓ ☾ Chapter 5 - Trainer Sakari

I stare at the moon and stars, laying against the grassy land with the Buffalo Yak next to me. We decided to take a break, I didn't want to tire out my only transportation. I didn't feel that tired, I decided maybe looking at the night sky would put me to slumber against my sleeping bag but that clearly didn't do. “I might as well use the time I have” I mutter under my breath and lift myself up. I attempted to try some water bending moves to strengthen my water bending however I haven't succeeded most of the moves. “Ugh this sucks!” I yell at the water causing it to rain. “Just my luck” I said annoyed. “It seems like your waterbending abilities have a high range.” I turned around to see who said that. It was some lady, she looked like she was in her 40s or so. “Who are you?” “Oh just some lonely water bender.” “Did you come from the northern tribes?” “Yes indeed I did, Princess Y/N” She smiled. “Then what was the need to come here? Late at night?” I questioned suspiciously. “Relax princess, I like to look at the night sky here, it's the best view isn't it?” She asked, I slowly let my guard down. “It is,” I sigh. “I have heard that your sister turned into the moon spirit” “You’re correct” The silence lasted longer than I had wanted. “Did you run away because you were tired of the stupid rules?” I broke the silence. “Every woman who is a waterbender who is not in the northern tribes clearly ran away.” We both laugh softly. “I know someone who is a waterbender from the southern tribes,” I said. “Because of her, the Northern water tribe allowed girls to waterbend,” I continued. “That's believable” The woman shrugged. “I believe I never got your name” I asked, turning to her. “Sakari,” She said simply. “I'm married to an earthbender with 2 kids”. I gasped in shock. “What? you're surprised that i'm a married woman” She chuckled as I shook my head “No, I just never heard of anyone getting married without being arranged.” Sakari furrowed her brows “Oh you poor princess” We both chuckle at that statement. “All right, I like you now. Pack up your stuff you're sleeping at my house tonight” Sakari got up. My eyes widened. “Me?” I pointed at myself and she stared at me, giving an ‘are you serious’ look on her face. “Right…” Y/N you couldn't possibly be even more stupider. “How come you want me- wait no. How come you trust me enough to come to your house?” I gathered my stuff from the floor, which wasn't much. “Like you have much experience with waterbending, besides I can't leave a princess in the cold like that” “It's not that cold” “Then stay outside” “No! Sorry im coming” I hurried to catch up to her, tugging on the Buffalo Yak.

҉ ☾

Once I saw her house from outside, it looked very homely. “Put your animal in the shed over there”. I complied and moved the Yak under the shed. “I'll see you later buddy”. We walked in and It looked just as cozy from the inside. “The kids are asleep, if they’re snoring it's not my issue” Sakari said which made me laugh. On the walls they have many family portraits, I could tell that the kids look exactly like her. I smile thinking about my own family, slowly realizing I have 2 missing people in it. “Losing someone isn't easy, I know” Sakari spoke up which caught me out of zoning out. “I'm just not used to it…my mind keeps wandering back to the worser days”. I sighed deeply. “You will get better” Sakari reassured me “Let's get you to your room shall I” she pushed me towards my room.

҉ ☾

I stare at the ceiling blankly. I wonder how everyone is at the Northern Water Tribe. Probably better because of Katara. I can't do anything right can I? In the end I'm still as selfish as before, using people for my own benefit. I groaned into my pillow, I really need to fall asleep by now, for tomorrow. Then an idea popped up in my head. What if…Sakari helped me with waterbending. I'm not the best at waterbending so using her help would benefit me. I slightly kick my legs in excitement and use that as motivation to fall asleep.

“I'm sorry Kiddo I'm not sure if I could help you there,” Sakari said uncertainly. My mouth agape “But I need someone to help me waterbend!” I begged.

“Get a waterbending master”

“I ran away before asking for more help”

“Oh…Right”

I sighed deeply “The only help that I got was from the moon spirit, otherwise now I'm stuck” I attempted to guilt trip Sakari, hoping she would give in. “Fine!” She yelled, “I'll teach you all I know”. My eyes widened in joy “Thank you so much! Thank you, thank you!” I repeated in gratefulness. “But!” Sakari put her hand in front of me. “I won't go easy on you” She warned as I nodded.

҉ ☾

“You’re not doing this right,” Sakari yelled, which made me grow frustrated. “Ugh!” I threw the water aggressively. Just as I hit my limit, rain started to hit. “Why is it raining?” I scream in anger. “Y/N you have trouble controlling your emotions which leads to your waterbending to react just like you do. You have set the clouds to rain again.” Sakari explained. “How come I never heard of this ‘cloud bending’?” I mocked. “You have higher range than other water benders. I have been realizing that this happens to you when the clouds are low enough. This is beneficial but much more difficult to control.” Sakari moves closer and grabs my wrist. “You have to be calm, one with the water.” She motions my wrists to the feeling of water. “How am I supposed to be calm in this kind of situation?” “Deep breaths…”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, listening to what I was told. I went to move the water smoothly and not aggressively as I thought I should. “You see Y/N, You did it” Sakari said. I opened my eyes to see the water molding in my favor. “I guess I am doing it” I sigh in relief.

“You can't bring your animal to Ba Sing Se”. I turned my head around confused. “Why not?” “They’re strict” “But im a princess” “There it is, your spoiled mindset” She sighed disappointingly I roll my eyes at her comment. “I could pretend I'm injured, give me some bandages” I said, urging her to get bandages but to no avail. She looked at me deadpanned. “Oh…May I please have some bandages.” I sheepishly said and she nodded. “You really need to grow out of that attitude princess Y/N” Sakari said, giving me the bandages. “Sorry, bad habit” I shrug. “I'll come see you once I have time, which will be a lot” I smiled, getting on my Yak. “Can't wait,” Sakari said sarcastically, which made us both laugh. “Well, this is goodbye for now” I looked down. “Stop with the sappy comments, you're gonna come back” Sakari slapped my back teasingly. “You’re right, well see you!” The buffalo yak started moving as I waved.

“Good luck!” Sakari called out. “Thank you!”

<- Back - Next ->

a/n: WOOO SEASON 2!! I actually finished this chapter a while ago but I wanted to wait for a little bit! My spring break is almost over so im pretty sure there isnt going to be anymore daily updates however I that could change if im able to finish the series on time. Also Sakari is a fan made character made by me, I needed to make a waterbender to train Y/N. ANWAYS Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Have a nice day!

Taglist: @luvkvni @katovano @karmaswitch @someonesmember @velvet-spider @sh3sa1dwhat @nerdisthenewcool @meiraloves2dmen @fqnfics101 @iluvme547 @leaderwon @yukihatesreoyo @heart4hees @4l3x1s @kkissaku @corpsebridenightamare @newjellis @fatkish

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yelenasdiary · 9 days

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Forbidden || Chapter III Stranger

Pairing: Yelena Belova x Bishop! Reader.

Summary: Just outside of the small town of Blisswater, lives two young sisters, Kate & Y/n Bishop. It's hard not to know who the Bishops are, Kate is the eldest by a year. She is a beautiful young woman, smart, protective and is known to have a talent in using a bow. Y/n, she is shy but quiet as some would say but nevertheless, she holds her own talents and can often be seen tending to the animals of Bishop Ranch. One evening while Kate is out hunting to make some money, Y/n is surprised with an unwanted guest, Yelena Belova. A bounty Hunter from Drybellow who has taken shelter in the young Bishop's barn after being wounded from a gun fight.

Struggling to keep money following, Y/n has no choice but to take the bounty hunter's offer of $5 a day if she is able to help the woman recover. During Yelena's stay, the two grow closer, a little too close if the wrong pair of eyes were to see them.

Warnings:Homophobia (given the time setting, reader believes same sex relations are wrong), Mentions of sexism, Mentions of arson, Parental Death (Wanda’s), Mentions of Guns, Mentions of Murder, Unwanted Male Attention | 3.2K

Forbidden Masterlist

The sun ever so slightly peaked over the open land telling me I had woken up earlier than I normally would. It was still dark out, the dark clouds covering the sky as rain continued to cover the land. I assumed it was the deep fear of Kate stumbling into my room and seeing a complete stranger in my bed that I had woken up earlier, I knew I had to be up before her and keep her from finding out. I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I'm still so worried about Yelena, she looked so peaceful sleeping but still wasn't out of the woods. Wanda should hopefully be back from wherever she has gone tomorrow, I wish had given me a rough time as to when she'd be stopping by.

I quietly crept out of my room to get Yelena's herbal tea ready before she woke up, placing it on the small wooden bedside table. She turned in her sleep, slowly opening her eyes, she greeted me with a soft smile that made me feel warm. I smiled back, "good morning" I whispered, "I didn't mean to wake you. I just brought in your morning tea. Wanda should be back tomorrow so only 2 or 3 more mugs of this tea!" I assured her. She made the effort to side up, taking the mug to warm her hands.

The weather was a little on the colder end, the storm last night hasn't ended. The sound of rain drops falling on the wood roof was one of my favorite sounds, I wasn't prepared to see the mess the wild wings had caused.

"You know, I'm surprised this tea seems to be working. I don't feel like my temperance is a high today. Who is this magical woman with the herbal goods?" Yelena replied in a whisperer.

"Most people around her actually believe she's magical. She's lovely and I hope you get to meet her one day"

"Wait, you go this tea from a witch?" Yelena asked, cocking her brow.

"She's not a witch. She's misunderstood" I correct her, "before she moved her, she used to live in a large city well over the Grand Point Mountains. She grew up there with her parents and twin brother. Her parents owned one of the smaller post offices just outside the city and on weekends Wanda would help her mother while Pietro would be off doing something with their dad. Wanda's mother let her sell stuff for a few cents, but people believed she was experimenting in witchcraft and began to harass her family. One night before closing, her parents were locked in the build as it was set on fire. Her parents died in the flames, leaving Wanda and Pietro to leave the city" I explained.

"What do you think? Do you think she's a witch like everybody else?" Yelena asked after a moment of silence. I shrugged, "what she is and what she isn't has no effect on me. She's kind to me and has never given me a reason to be cruel to her. Word travels and now the people in Blisswater treat her with no respect"

Yelena hummed at my reply before she took a mouthful of her tea, "you're a very interesting person, Y/n Bishop" she spoke after letting the tea warm her insides.

I'm not sure why but the way she said my name made my stomach flutter and I found myself unable to look her in the eyes. "Well, I could say the same about you, bounty hunter Yelena Belova" I replied.

"I'm not near as interesting as you are" she said, taking another mouthful of her tea. I looked at her, "I'm not sure what you find so interesting about me, I've never done anything as cool as you. I mean, you get to be a bounty hunter! You're free to travel the land for free, you can handle yourself in many situations but me? All I know is Blisswater and it's surroundings"

Yelena placed her mug back on the wooden table before she looked up at me, "that's how you see things? I haven't seen much, but I've heard enough" she says, "that peter boy, he's head over heels for you and he's not a bad looking guy. But you don't look twice at him, why is that?" she asked.

"Peter has been in love with me since he learned the word love. I don't know what love feels like when it's not for your family, but I know that what he feels for me isn't what I feel for him"

"Are you to marry him?" Yelena asked. I shook my head, "my father thinks he's a wonderful young gentlemen and would like to see me marry him, but he always says he just wants me to be happy. My mother says that one day I will have to find somebody because this world isn't made for women on their own" I replied.

Yelena cocked a brow at my last sentence, "but you are clearly proof that a woman can do just fine on her own" I quickly added. She chuckled lightly making my cheeks once again have a warm sensation to them. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" I asked to break any silence that may have come next.

"You know, you should probably tell your sister that I am here, it might make things easier for you" she chuckled lightly once more, "I need to use the toilet, so I guess, whenever you think it's safe, let me know" she added.

"Of course, um, Kate and I are probably going to make a trip to town to sell the elk meat so we'll be gone for a little while" I replied, "but I can't tell her about you, not until I find the right time to explain things" I added with a nervous smile. Yelena took another mouthful of her tea before giving me a nod, "yes ma'am" she said.

I smiled softly just before I heard Kate letting Lucky out the back door, "and on that note, I'll be back when I can" I said in a whisperer before leaving my room, greeting Kate with a stretch. "Good morning" I smiled.

"If you say so" she replied, she was never much of a morning person until she'd had a coffee to wake herself up a little. I followed her into the kitchen and took a seat at the dining table as she began to make her coffee. "So, did you want to get lunch at the saloon today? Something different for once" I suggested, wanting to earn Yelena some extra time to relax without worrying.

"Sounds good to me, doesn't look like the rain is going to let up anytime soon. We'll sell the elk meat to the butcher and grab a few things from Mr Barton then we can get some lunch"

"Maybe we could even stop by the post office and see if there is anything from mom and dad" I added. Kate turned and smiled softly to me, almost as if she didn't want to make me worry but I knew deep down she had her own theories about where our parents were.

"Sure, won't hurt to check" she replied, pouring her hot coffee into a tin mug.

"I'll go get dressed and feed Arrow and Lucky while I wait for you" I said, excusing myself from the kitchen and returning to my room.

"Why the long face?" Yelena whispered. I opened my dresser and began to pick out my outfit, trying not to let my mind think about how much I missed my parents. "I wouldn't want to bother you with my problems" I replied as I grabbed a top.

"I'm pretty sure I would win that argument but it's okay, you don't have to talk about it, I am a stranger after all"

I couldn't help but sigh, I wasn't sighing at Yelena or her comment but because I missed my parents. How could they have just disappeared? Deep down I know something has happened to them, but I try my best to ignore that thought and think maybe they are just so busy, and father is caught up on a business deal. I turned to Yelena, my shoulders felt heavy, and I could feel tears trying to break their way through.

"My parents have been missing for months. Not a single letter in the mail from them. I'm just worried about them is all" I whispered, fighting back my tears.

There was a brief moment of silence before Yelena spoke again, "How about when I'm better, I'll see what I can find out" she offered. My eyes widened at the offer but quickly remembered to keep quiet. "Would you? I mean, I wouldn't want to put you out in any way, I just" I paused for a moment as my mind flashed back to the last memory I had of my parents. Father helped mother up onto the wagon before loading the last of their luggage, a smile from mother as she waved goodbye, reminding Kate and I to be safe.

I remember the night before they left, father came into my room and told me how he was going to bring me back some paint that would last me a good few months. He said he missed my paintings and wanted me to paint him and mother something wonderful to hang up in the living room.

"I miss them so much" I finally added.

"Then I must recovery quickly then" Yelena threw me a playful wink. Her gesture made me smile softly before I turned to close the dresser, "do you mind?" I asked kindly. Yelena nodded and pulled my bed cover over my head to allow me to get dressed, I got dressed as quickly as I could just so I could spare a few small minutes with Yelena.

"Do you think maybe a little later you could share some more of your bunty hunting stories?" I asked in a whisper as I fixed my hair in the mirror. Yelena slowly pulled the covers off her head and looked at me through the mirror, "I think I could do that" she smiled softly.

"Y/n, are you ready?" I heard Kate call.

"Coming!" I called back, "I'll see you later" I said quietly to Yelena before leaving the room and meeting Kate in the kitchen again. "It looks like the rain is starting to pick up, I'll go feed Arrow, you feed Lucky and then we'll go" my sister said, downing the last mouthful of her coffee before placing her mug in the sink.

---

We sold the elk meat and made $8 but the butcher, Mr Austin always likes to give Kate a little extra. You'll find that almost everybody in Blisswater is generous and friendly, we all help each other out. It's almost like we are one giant family! After that, we made our way to Mr Barton.

"Good morning girls!" He greeted us with a warm smile.

"Morning!" Kate replied shortly after me.

"What can I do for you this morning?" Mr Barton asked, putting away a revolver in the lock up behind him. "I just need some new arrows, went hunting the other day and lost a few" Kate replied as she made her way over to the arrows. "Catch anything worth it?" He asked.

"An elk, not bad skin but could've been better" Kate said.

These two always bond over their hunting skills and love for hunting, he's taught Kate a few tips and tricks when it comes to using a bow. Usually, I just stand in the background and wait for their conversations to be over with but this morning, Mr Barton's daughter, Lila, was helping him today.

"They talk a lot, don't they?" She smiled at me. I chuckled, "they do"

"Is there anything I can do for you?" She asked me, I shook my head, "I'm just here with Kate, she needs new arrows! How's Cooper?" I asked, that's her older brother.

"He is fine, he's was supposed to help father today but mother needed a man's help back home so I swapped" she explained, "hey did you hear about the gunshots the other night? People are saying the infamous Loki, and his gang are hanging around town" she added. I wondered if this was how Yelena got hurt.

Loki and his gang are basically famous for their crimes of robbing banks, sometimes even killing people in their homes. If he and his gang are hanging around, it won't be ideal for Kate and I to be seen at home without our parents.

"No, I mean, I heard the gun shots, but I didn't think it had anything to an outlaw gang" I replied.

"Father and I saw some men come out of the saloon earlier, not faces I'd ever seen around here before" Lila said, "best to be extra careful" she added. I nodded at her words, "Thank you for the heads up. Kate and I are headed there for lunch after they stop yapping" I replied making her chuckle. "It might be a while; you know these two" she joked. We both chuckled, making Kate and Mr Barton turn around to look at us.

"What's so funny over there?" Mr Barton asked.

"Oh, nothing father, just get back to your hunting talk" Lila teased making her father playfully shake his head at us.

While I was waiting for Kate to finish her hunting topics with Mr Barton, an unfamiliar face entered the store. He was tall, maybe six-foot! His hair was dark brown and he had green eyes, his coat brushed ever so slightly against the floor.

"Oi, gunsmith! Can I get some service around here?" he demanded as he made his way to the counter.

"Of course, I'll be right there" Mr Barton replied. Kate looked over to me and nodded towards the door, suggesting it was time for us to leave. "What can I get for you?" Mr Barton asked. The tall man placed a shotgun onto the counter and demanded that Mr Barton clean the weapon while he stocked up on ammo and gun oil. As Kate and I walked out of the store two other men that didn't look very happy were waiting outside.

"Well, aren't you a pretty little thing" one man said as he looked my sister up and down. I noticed Kate rolled her eyes at his comment, it wasn't flattering, and Kate didn't seem to like it. "Give us a smile doll" he added.

"Get a real job, loser!" Kate muttered, pulling me close to her side as we walked.

"Oh, come on sweet thing, don't be like that. Come play with a real man" we heard the guy call out.

Once we got to the saloon, we took a seat near the window. "I don't want you hanging out town by yourself right now" Kate said as she took off her coat and hung it over the back of her chair. "You don't have to tell me twice, Lila told me all about it" I replied. Kate nodded before she took a seat, "what can I get you ladies?" Mr Barnes smiled.

"Surprise me!" I smiled back, I wasn't sure what I felt on the menu, and it was always fun when Mr Barnes would surprise me. "You got it, Kate, what can I get you?" He asked. I watched my sister's eyes scan the menu of three options while the drunken men by the bar caught more of her attention then the menu did, "what's the story there?" Kate asked.

"Just another gang rolling through town, heard a few of them talking about plans to head north, I wouldn't worry to much about them" Mr Barnes assured us, but I could tell that Kate wasn't assured at all. "Roasted catfish and veg will be fine" Kate smiled but her eyes drifted back to the men.

"I bet mother and father's letters are just travel as much as they are" I joked in hopes it would lighten the mood, but Kate looked at me, smiled softly and let out a light sigh. "Y/n, I know you don't want to face the reality of this but I thin-"

"Kate, please don't say it" I cut her off, "I know you think I'm too scared to admit but I know okay? I know they are probably lying face out in the ditch somewhere, but I still think there is hope! Even if we never see them again, they could've sent a letter!" I snapped, storming out of the saloon.

"Y/n, wait!" I heard Kate's voice not far behind me. I don't like making a scene, but I wish Kate would be a little more understanding of my feelings, she acts as though I am supposed to be like her and act like our missing parents have been dead for many years. "Would you just wait up a second!" Kate ran up to me, gently grabbing me by the arm.

"I didn't mean to upset you" she said, looking me in my eyes while I fought back tears, "I just don't want you to keep being disappointed when there isn't a letter. I miss them too, I wish they never left but it's just you and I for now, okay?"

I nodded before she pulled me in for a comforting hug, "let's have lunch, check the post office and head home then we can do whatever you want, sound good?" She spoke. I nodded once more before the two of us walked back to the saloon to enjoy lunch.

----

"We'll try again next week" Kate smiled softly as we walked out the path to our home, I gave her a fake smile in reply. I really hoped that this would be the day that I'd be walking this path reading aloud a letter from our parents, it gave me something to look forward to. "Here, I got you something to cheer you up" Kate spoke, handing me a candy bar, "thanks!!" I smiled as I quickly ripped into it.

"You were supposed to save it for after dinner" she chuckled, opening the front door. My eyes widen when I saw Yelena standing in the hall with a cup in her hand. Kate quickly grabbed the closest thing to a weapon, "who the hell are you?!" She said sternly. I dropped my candy bar, "Kate, it's okay!" I said, standing in front of her. If it were possible, you'd be able to see the steam coming from Kate's ears.

"Y/n, why is there a stranger in our home?!" She asked.

"I can see you're mad, but I can explain everything!" I replied but she ignored me, "you, outside, now!" Kate looked through me to Yelena who didn't say a word but followed Kate's instructions meanwhile I did my best to try and calm my sister down. "Who are you and what do you want?" Kate asked sternly.

Yelena looked directly into Kate's eyes, suddenly it was like I didn't even exist in the moment. "My names Yelena. Yelena Belova and your sister here has been helping me, I took cover in your barn after being shot, as you can see. I've been paying her $5 a day for her troubles" Yelena explains. Kate turns to look at me, eyes full of anger, "you have a lot to explain" she muttered.

If you want to be on the taglist for this series, please see the masterlist. It's linked at the top of this post.

#fanfiction #yelena belova #marvel #Kate Bishop #Yelena Belova x reader #forbiddenau

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lokisprettygirl · 23 days

Text

Rain to his Fire (Modern! Daemon Targaryen x Female Reader) (Non Canon 80s Au) (18+)

Read chapter 4 here // Series Masterlist

Chapter 5

Summary: Daemon finally gets sent to the lone ward.

Warning: 18+, smutty scenarios, crude language, description of Statutory rape, discussion of mental health (it's a fic based in a mental health facility), mention of physical assault, the fic would contain several mentions of several disorders like mpd, did etc, if something triggers you don't read, smoking.

“Tell me something sexual about yourself” Daemon asked as he watched you tidy up his room like everyday, he was laying on his front half naked, his chin situated on his forearms as he spoke, with the ever so present mischievous glint in his eyes.

“And why would I do that?” You replied, keeping your tone light-hearted but playful at the same time.

“Because we are friends now aren't we? That's what friends do” he mumbled softly so you looked at him momentarily before you went back to dusting.

It's been a week since that night when you had confidently revealed your desires to him and accepted that you thought of him in your bed, but as the morning arrived you were back to being your timid self and you asked him for his friendship instead to which he responded with a gracious shake of a hand and fist bump.

Sex wasn't a frivolous activity for you, the idea of giving a man every piece of your body was a foreign concept for you, people often deemed you prudish, your mother was always worried that you'd never find a man this way but was it wrong of you to value the skin you lived in? To not be so easily accessible to every other man out there?

You enjoyed it when Daemon touched you like that, he didn't make your skin crawl or made you feel disgusted whenever he would say something about sex, but the idea of crossing that line terrified you. Not to forget, there were plenty of obstacles on the way, first and foremost he was a patient getting treated at the center, he was on medication and you didn't even know if anything he said actually mattered to him or he was just messing with you to kill time until he's out of here. In the real world, would he even remember you? or would he simply move on to the next person who caught his eyes?

You didn't think you were special enough to keep him invested in you for long.

“Ummmm you go first mister” you said with a hint of teasing in your voice making Daemon chuckle, he then leaned his elbows on the bed, propping his head up.

“Alright..do you want to know anything specific?” He asked you so you grabbed the handle of the broom and stopped dusting as you thought about it. You looked cute he thought, with your lips curled and a look of confusion on your face.

“Okay ummm when did you do it for the first time?”

There was a smirk on Daemon's face as you posed the question, he saw it coming from a mile away.

“I was sixteen” he answered quickly, not wanting to stall the question.

“Really? Sixteen?” You grimaced slightly so he gave you a smile.

“Mmmhmm”

“Okay ummm with your then girlfriend i am assuming” you mumbled confidently so he shook his head.

“Nooo..i didn't have one at the time”

Huh!!

“Who did you do it with then?”

“My brother's girlfriend” you were taken aback by Daemon's admission, your eyes widened and mouth opened. You felt slightly offended too, he was a child at the time but still, your own brother's girlfriend?

“You cheated your brother like that?”

“He didn't care about her if he cheated on her first” he replied, his voice still even as if the memory didn't affect him in the slightest.

“So she came to you? For revenge?” you asked curiously.

“Yeah I didn't mind that i was used like that” You hummed as he said that before you remembered something.

“Hold on, you told me that your brother had raised you, how old was she?” you asked him.

“She was thirty, same as him” he revealed nonchalantly and all of a sudden you felt utterly disgusted by that woman you didn't even know. At thirty you couldn't even think of doing something like that to a boy who's not even an adult.

“A thirty year old woman seduced you at sixteen? You know that's wrong right? I mean flip the situation and you'd see how wrong it is..it's illegal” he sighed as you said that, a part of him knew you'd not take it in good spirit. Nobody would.

“Who cares??? I got the first taste of a cunt ..I'm not complaining” you felt a mixture of frustration and disbelief at his response.

“Well you should.. you should be complaining”

“Don't you want to know how it happened?” he asked so you immediately shook your head. But despite your reluctance, Daemon got up on his knees, crawled off the bed and approached you, seemingly eager to share the story..

“It was raining that night..i was all alone at home, my brother was away for a conference so I had plans for the night. It involved a pint of beer, a pack of cigarettes and of course a dirty magazine” you crossed your arms as he circled around you in dramatic fashion.

“I was jerking off when I heard the door bell ring–”

“Did you wash your hands before you opened the door?” His brows crinkled as you asked that. Perhaps such a question would have annoyed him if it had come from some other woman he just wanted to seduce and fuck but with you he found it endearing. Everything you did and said seemed cute to him, and he couldn't help but feel a bit smitten,

“I don't remember” He let out a deep sigh and rolled his eyes before speaking.

“You remember everything else-”

“Shhhhh listen now my virgin mary” he cupped your cheeks and your heartbeat raised immediately due to the proximity. The audacity he had to just hold you always made you want to do stupid things.

“She was crying, heavily, she found out about my brother fucking someone else in the city, so I hugged her to comfort her” he narrated the incident further but nothing could have changed your opinion about that filthy woman.

“And then you kissed her?”

“Noo.. we didn't kiss, never kissed during the act or ever really. She went down on her knees to suck my cock, it was a dream come true..she was beautiful, a real woman, and she was touching me in places only my hands had reached before-” you cut him off before he could finish whatever he was going to say,

“It's wrong, and you know it. How would you feel if it was your son? What would you do if you found out he was being taken advantage of by an older woman?” you questioned him, your tone firm and concerned. Instead of answering your questions, he simply smirked in response

"Look at you, so motherly. Aren't you?" Your expression hardened as you stepped away from him, realizing the gravity of the situation.

You know he had intended for the story to be just another seduction trick to mess with you but it only made you feel awful for him. His parents weren't around and his older brother definitely didn't seem like the best role model if he was out committing infidelity so shamelessly. Who was protecting him? Who was taking care of him? Who was there for him when he needed a guiding hand? You were starting to understand why he was the way he was.

And not to mention it's been a week since you hadn't found any other feather or silver locks in his room, nothing else to support his claim of being a half dragon. Perhaps he ran out of the props he had bought, but what about the bars at the window though? How did he rip them apart? Did he steal a tool or something from the building?

As you worked on cleaning the tables in the cafeteria during lunch hour, Daemon's eyes were fixed on you the whole time. It was becoming increasingly obvious that he was staring, you just hoped that no one else would notice or care about it even if they did. You glared at him so he'd stop but he kept the gaze steady.

As Shyla walked past you, you couldn't help but be worried, after the incident in Dr. Vis's office, Shyla had suddenly become quiet and more reserved, her bubbly personality no longer visible. Perhaps she felt guilty regarding her lying about Daemon assaulting her and that the guilt was eating her up inside.

As you approached his table to pick up his tray he stared at you intensely.

“You're such a prude” he muttered suddenly, making the anger surge in your body, you glared at him and placed your fist on your waist to speak to him.

“Prude? Is that what you think of me?” you exclaimed “Am I a prude just because I feel bad for a sixteen year old boy?” your voice raised slightly as you couldn't believe how he could be so callous about it.

“Bad? You're talking as if I was raped or something” he shrugged as if it was no big deal for him which it wasn't.

“You were taken advantage of, and you don't even realize that, you think of it as some sort of an achievement” he couldn't help but snicker as you analyzed him.

“Hmmmm woahh.. I'm wondering why you didn't become a shrink” he said with a hint of mockery in his tone so you rolled your eyes and grabbed his tray to go do your job before this thing could escalate further.

Later that night you had just come out of the shower when you heard a faint knock on the door and you didn't have to take a wild guess regarding who it was.

He quickly entered as you opened the door so you closed it immediately before anyone would see him, as you turned around to look at him his eyes seemed sad and..just sad. Really sad.

“I'd choke her to death if my son had been touched like that” he said to you, his eyes now visibly teary and breaths shaken as he spoke, you neared towards him to place your hands around his waist.

“Exactly.. and you deserved that kind of protection as well, you lost your virginity to a predator, didn't even get your first kiss”

He wrapped his arms around your waist and placed his head down on your shoulder as he embraced you. Your fingers traced across the scar on his back, even through the thin fabric of his shirt you could feel them clearly and it made your heart twist uncomfortably. You couldn't help but wonder if it was from an injury, or if someone had intentionally hurt him so deeply. Perhaps one day, he would open up and share the story behind his scars, you hoped for that.

As he pulled away you cupped his cheeks and caressed his skin lightly, a part of you made you want to kiss his lips but you refrained.

"Your turn," he said suddenly as he stepped away from you with a casual demeanor. The vulnerability he had just shown you seemed to have disappeared instantly as if he had flipped a switch.

“What?” You looked at him confused so he walked towards your bed and sat down.

“You didn't answer my question this morning”

He reminded you of the stupid question so you sighed.

“Ohh that” you chuckled lightly in recognition so he nodded his head.“I don't have anything like that” he groaned at your response and rolled his eyes.

“Come on ..give me something”

You sighed as you sat down next to him.

“Fineeee” you bit on your lips as you thought of something to quench his curiosity.

“Okay but don't make fun of me”

You warned him so he chuckled.

“Don't give me a reason to do so” you slapped his arm playfully as he said that,

“Ummm okay here it goes..I can ummm make myself.. okay I don't know how to say it..i can give myself a release in thirty seconds” you mumbled quickly so he turned his body to look at you.

“You can make yourself cum in thirty seconds?”

“Mmhm”

“How so?” he raised his brows as he enquired.

“It's weird” you replied, not wanting to reveal more than you already had

“Show me..i like weird” he responded with a shrug, clearly intrigued

“I'm not going to show you” you replied firmly,

“Describe it then”

Daemon insisted, not willing to let the matter drop. You sighed as you knew this was a losing battle.

“You're annoying”

“Thank you. Now go on”

“Fine pervert ..i just squeeze my thighs, put my hand in between them and press on it a few times and then bam .. orgasmmmm” you revealed as fast as you could, his mouth hung open as he looked at you, wanting to see if you were messing with him but you seemed quite serious.

“That's it? Is this a regular thing that you do?” he asked you curiously.

You couldn't believe you were sharing all this to a man, a man that was your friend. You had a man friend, that felt nice.

“Yeah it relaxes me”

“But what do you think of when you're doing it?”

“Anything..there's not much time to create a script” you chuckled to lighten up the tension so he smirked.

“You're pretty cool you know?”

“Yeah right”

“No you are, you're the coolest girl i have ever known”

And your eyes moistened as he said those words so earnestly.

Next morning as you stood in the pantry, gathering your lunch items, you overheard a conversation between the other staff members and it immediately made you anxious

“Did you hear? The 'crazy dragon guy' is finally being transferred to the lone ward,” one of the guards mumbled, sounding a bit relieved.

Daemon had been doing good in the therapy this last week because Dr. Vis was out of his hair and he hadn't done anything to punish him, that was until today.

Dina then revealed that he had attacked two guards, Jacob and Darryl while they were waiting to escort him back from his therapy session to his room. While listening to the other staff members gossip about Daemon's behavior, you struggled to keep your emotions in check, not wanting to raise any suspicion regarding your attachment to him.

You walked out of the pantry muttering under your breath, 'Why would you do this, Daemon?' Why couldn't he just stay calm? The thought of him landing himself in even more trouble filled you with worry and disbelief. The lone ward was a filthy place, patients were left alone in the dark without food and water for a day and your heart rendered as you thought about him being stuck there alone with no one to care for him.

You knew Dr. Vis must have been furious at him, Darryl and Jacob had to be hospitalized after the incident, their injuries were not life threatening but definitely severe enough to put them in bed for days..

The next morning as you went to his room he had still not returned from the lone ward, how long would they keep him there you wondered?

When three days passed you started to feel sickly worried about him, and you missed him alot, you missed his stupid attractive face, and his smirk and that smile on his face and the way he was just able to warm his way into your heart, you missed it all. He was all alone in there and you had no idea what additional torture Dr Vis was subjecting him to.

As you went to the staff area that day, you heard people gossiping about something so you sat down as well.

“Perhaps Jacob and Darryl are suffering from a head injury, they are taking nonsense” one of the guards John said so Dina looked at him curiously.

“What do you mean?” she asked curiously.

“Everytime they're slipping back to consciousness they're screaming in fear and asking to be saved from the monster”

“I'm so lost’ Dina responded again so John turned to her.

“Apparently they saw him contort and turn into something else when he had attacked them, like a monster, they are rambling on about him growing scales and wings-”

Your heartbeat raised as you heard that, this couldn't be a coincidence right? Or maybe he did give them brain damage.

“Aren't you scared girl? Has he ever attacked you? You go in there everyday”

Dina asked you so you shrugged in response.

“He has never attacked me, it's possible that they made fun of him or pissed him off in some ways” everyone looked at you weirdly as you said that and you didn't want that kind of attention on you “or perhaps he's crazy..who knows right? I have to get back to work..see you folks” you mumbled as you got up and stepped out, grumbling under your breath.

In the evening you finally heard the commotion outside so you stepped out of your room to look down from the corridor and they were dragging him away from the lone ward back to his room. You could see other patients booing him off as he walked past them. You barely got a glimpse of him but he seemed hurt and miserable, he couldn't even walk on his own.

“What have they done to you?” you mumbled under your breath as you had no choice but to wait for the night time to go see him, you didn't want to risk getting caught by Dr. Vis.

At night you cautiously made your way to his room and perhaps it was your luck but there were no guards outside his room. It was as if Vis was setting him up for failure, you always felt that he had something personal against Daemon.

Without knocking you quietly entered the room but much to your disappointment he wasn't in there, you were about to step out when you heard the shower running so you calmed down and waited for him. A few minutes later the bathroom door swung open, your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him stepping out with one towel wrapped around his waist and another hanging around his neck.

“What are you doing? Get the fuck out of here” Daemon's voice filled the room as he glared at you, his face riddled with anger and frustration. You rose to your feet, taking in the sight of him as he dried his hair with the towel around his neck, his gaze never wavering from you.

Despite having prepared yourself for the worst, his words still cut you like a knife

"Are you alright?" you asked, your voice quivering. The response you received was far from what you had expected but you didn't want his anger to deter you from comforting him, he had been through something and you wanted to be there for him.

"Why the hell do you care? You're just a stupid maid I'm fooling around with so don't let it get to your head, alright?"

The sting of his words was enough to bring tears to your eyes as you struggled to process the sudden shift in his demeanor. His words cut deep so without saying a word more you turned around to leave, you knew he was suffering and you knew he had been hurt in the lone ward but what he had said still bothered you deeply. You couldn't hold back your tears as you laid down in bed, looking back now you felt foolish, of course he was messing around with you, in the outside world he wouldn't even look at you let alone be your friend. Or more.

The following morning, for the first time in the last month you felt awkward going to his room, now that he had made his feelings clear about you, you wanted to maintain your professionalism as you should have done from the start, you were determined to just do your job and get out of his room.

As you stepped inside his room, you approached the bedside lamp to turn on the lights, he was still asleep so at least you didn't have to deal with him. Your eyes fell upon the scars on his back but then you also saw several bruises which you weren't able to see at night. Was this allowed? Were they allowed to hurt a patient this way?

As he turned around in bed you quickly shifted your gaze and focused on the job at hand.

Last night felt blurry to him, he was medicated, beaten up and so fucking angry but as he looked at your face, the night came rushing back to him, what he had said to you began to haunt him, how could he say that to you? His guilt only intensified as he struggled to understand how he could have been so cruel to someone who had shown him nothing but kindness and care since he had been thrown in here. He had not meant to hurt you, and yet, his words had caused you so much pain.

“Y/n” he mumbled your name but you didn't look at him, he was such a jerk he thought. Why would he subject you to his anger like that? He had no right, you trusted him, you considered him a friend and he had broken that trust in the wake of his anger.

“Heyyy” he got up to grab your hand so you glared at him and he let it go immediately.

“I'm sorry” he mumbled softly so you shook your head in response, feeling a lump form in your throat. You knew speaking without breaking down into tears would be nearly impossible.

“Why are you sorry?” you asked in a voice so small he could barely hear it “I'm just a maid afterall.. you could treat me like one right?” You said to him as you walked away to grab your cart, you weren't strong enough to deal with this right now.

Your words caused him a great deal of hurt but he deserved it for being such a jerk, he looked down in shame before he got off the bed to approach you.

“I didn't mean a word I said, I was angry and-” you cut him off mid sentence as he said that.

“And what? You were hurt so you hurt me?”

“You shouldn't be around me when I'm like this darling” he said, his tone softer but still tinged with guilt.

“Like what huh?” you demanded, frustration taking over as you looked away,

“I'm sorry, please just talk to me. Just look at me, heyy” he mumbled as he placed his hands on your shoulders, by this point your eyes were already dripping, you didn't even know until now how deeply you had started to care for him.

“Why did you come hmm?” He asked you so you looked at him in disbelief.

Was he really that dense?

“Because I had missed you..that is why” your voice barely a whisper as you confessed.

“So did I..”

“Is that why you insulted me?” you asked as you turned away from so he grabbed your arms and turned you towards him again so you'd look into his eyes..

“No please..do whatever you want to do to me, just don't stop talking to me darling..don't stop looking at me” his voice broke as he spoke and it only made you feel worse. He was suffering and you didn't want to add to it but you wouldn't allow this behavior, you won't let him take his anger out on you whenever he wanted.

“You can't treat me like trash just because you're hurting..”

“I can't..i know I can't..but I'm not perfect. I wouldn't be here if I was so perfect, i wouldn't spend three days in the ward if I was perfect” he mumbled as his eyes welled up with tears so you wrapped your arms around him to hug him. Perhaps he had needed it as much as you did because he immediately relaxed in your embrace, his body went soft in your arms as he held onto you tightly.

“Forgive me? Please?” He asked you as he pulled away so you nodded. So much so for the professionalism.

“What did he do to you?” you asked him as you caressed his arm riddled with several bruises.

“I’ll heal..don't worry about it” he cupped your cheeks and kissed your forehead before he wrapped his arms around you to hug you again, his nose sniffed around your neck repeatedly as he tried to calm his nerves.

“Why did you attack them Daemon?” You asked him so he pulled away, looked you in the eye before he stepped away from you.

“They were making fun of me”

You squeezed your eyes shut in utter disbelief as he said that.

“You can't beat up people for making fun of you Daemon”

“ I get that but I'd do it again if I have to”

“Daemon –”

“It's just who I am y/n..still want to be my friend?” He asked you as he smiled so you slapped his arm lightly before you got back to work. A part of you could tell that he was hiding something from you.

“Everyone from my shift .. they're going to visit them in the hospital this evening” you mumbled as you mopped the floor clean.

“And you're going?”

“I work with those guys Daemon..i have worked with them for two years now”

And you have known him barely a month, he thought.

“Fair enough”

He mumbled as he grabbed the mop to help you with the work. The gesture, though small in nature, really meant alot to you.

“Please don't get yourself in more trouble Daemon..i'm begging you” you mumbled softly as you took your gloves off once you were done and grabbed his forearm to caress the dark bruises, when you looked up at him he was staring at you,

“Is it bad that I want to kiss you right now?” he asked you, making your face heat up in response but you collected yourself.

“Mmmm yes .. friends don't kiss each other on lips”

“Who said anything about the lips?”

“Shut uppp” you smiled giddily, so he tilted his head to peck your cheek.

“Thank you for listening to me and forgiving me”

You smiled as he mumbled softly, as you were about to step out of his room he called your name once again so you turned around to look at him,

“Be safe out there” he mumbled softly

“I will…I'm not a child” you rolled your eyes playfully as you stepped out and his eyes teared up.

You didn't even know what had happened that day or why he had attacked those men. But he remembered turning into his dragon form, he remembered how easily it had come to him and it was all because of you. It was so easy to become who he was when it was the matter of your honor and your safety on his mind.

In the evening, you and a group of people, including Dina and Shyla, got together to catch a cab into the city. You took a seat next to Shyla, who remained quiet and withdrawn the entire time. Unable to resist the urge to ask her what was wrong, you nudged her a little

"Are you okay?"

She finally turned to face you and her eyes seemed teary

"Do you remember Tanya?" It was clear that she had something on her mind

“Of Course..what happened “

“Nothing..I just wonder how she's doing out there”

You hummed as she said that, why did she bring her up suddenly? It made you feel uneasy and it reminded you of the note you had found under Tanya's mattress.

As you all arrived at the hospital both Darryl and Jacob were transferred to a private room so you went there along with the group.

At first glance they looked really awful, you couldn't even imagine what kind of beating they had survived. Why did Daemon attack them so brutally? What had they said to him for him to get so violent?

"Y/n, can you bring me the juice box from the cafeteria?" you heard Darryl ask you so you nodded in response

"Sure, are you allowed to have it?" you asked, unsure if he was able to consume anything at the moment. He nodded, and you made your way to the cafeteria. For some reason, Jacob wasn't even looking at you.

Halfway into the cafeteria you realized that you had left your purse in the room so you turned around swiftly.

“He's a monster..nobody is believing us but he's the Satan himself or something” you heard Darryl’s voice as he vented his frustration from the other side of the room so you stood next to the door to listen to what else he was going to say. He wasn't exactly being subtle about it.

“Did he attack you two out of nowhere?” John asked them and there was a silent pause of a few seconds before Darryl responded.

“Stupid fucker here made a crass joke about y/n and that motherfucker just flipped..it was just a stupid joke”

Your mouth opened in shock as Darryl revealed that piece of information. Daemon attacked those guys because of you? Because they said something about you?

“Perhaps he has a crush on y/n..its kind of cute” Shyla said and earned the looks of disgust in response.

“Crush? Do you not remember what he had done to you, Shyla?” Jacob asked her so she went quiet again.

Upon returning to the center you locked yourself in your room and pondered over what you had heard. He attacked Darryl and Jacob because they talked shit about you? You knew how men could get so vulgar with their jokes behind women's backs but did he really care that much about you that he was willing to lose his freedom just to defend you?

For the first time in your life you felt butterflies swarming in your belly, you had always read about this feeling but never experienced it yourself. You had asked him and he could have told you why he had done it, he could have influenced you with that if he wanted to but he didn't.

In the midst of the night, you made your way downstairs, burning with an intense desire to see Daemon. You desperately wanted to talk to him, hold him close after the ordeal he had endured, and maybe just maybe he'd have touched you the way he did that night, you wanted that.

And perhaps you could have done all those things that night but you were frozen in your spot as you saw Shyla standing outside his door, she knocked twice before he opened it, pulled her inside and then locked the door.

For the first time in your life, genuinely and truly, you found your heart breaking in pieces and you despised the feeling. You absolutely despised feeling this way.

😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏

Note : This chapter was less heated in the sexy department and more heated in angst, hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.

Taglist

@anukulee @ammo23 @littledark11 @stupidthoughtsinwriting

@daenny-t

#daemon targaryen x female reader #daemon targaryen x reader fluff #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader smut #daemon targaryen x reader angst #non canon au #modern day au

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gravitycavity · 2 months

Text

Sunshine (Pomni x Ragatha) Chapter 5 - And Fresh-Fallen Rain

[Click here to read from the beginning on AO3!]

Cover art by @blukiar

It was only a matter of time before Pomni blinked herself awake.

Wave after wave of pulsing pain, synchronized with the beat of her heart, relentlessly pounded the back of her skull. A landscape of crimson curls, wild weeds, and shimmering stars expanded, contracted, and twisted before her half-lidded eyes. The disorienting sight was more than enough to make her stomach do flips — and fail to stick the landing every single time.

But even so, it was hard to feel anything but content.

The wind was fierce and frigid, but Pomni didn’t know it. She didn’t feel the bitter cold, even as gale after freezing gale slashed her skin like the crack of a whip. All the pain in the world wouldn’t have phased her, not as long as the wind’s touch highlighted the slightly-wet spots where Ragatha’s lips had so lovingly grazed her face.

Stalks of overgrown grass wavered as a brisk squall flew across the yard; a palette of fallen leaves, which just so happened to be sleeping in its path, was cast into the sky. Red, yellow, orange, and brown — the cozy colors swished and swirled through the air, then drifted back to their resting spot below the jungle-like lawn.

It only took a moment for the breeze to return. Coming from the other direction now, it passed through Ragatha’s red yarn hair before pummeling Pomni’s face. All at once, the saccharine aroma of the ragdoll’s locks — strawberries and soil and fresh-fallen rain — introduced itself.

And it was heavenly.

Pomni’s eyelids drooped further, and a dumb, wobbly smile blossomed on her face. As her tiny arms wrapped around Ragatha’s plush, guffawing belly, she didn’t worry about how embarrassed she was to have fainted, or what Ragatha’s little kisses had meant, or why someone like her even deserved to be treated with such affection. Those pesky doubts were for future Pomni to agonize over; for now, they crumbled to pieces with each precious peak of Ragatha’s laughter.

“Oh! There she is!” Ragatha flinched as Pomni’s arms enfolded her. “I was starting to worry I up and killed you…”

“Nope! Still kicking.” Pomni chirped, “But just barely…”

Slowly, Ragatha’s giggles began to peter out, but their spirit still tickled every word she spoke. “Goodness me — aren’t you in a good mood! Your head didn’t hit the ground too hard, did it?”

Pomni waffled. She decided not to tell Ragatha about the big lump on the back of her head — the redhead would just worry herself sick, after all. “...I’m fine. Just a little bit dizzy.”

“I really am sorry.” Ragatha placed her soft hands atop Pomni’s, idly dragging her digits across the jester’s worn leather gloves. “I should have warned you before I…” she paused. “Well, y’know…”

Pomni could feel the heat rising in Ragatha’s hands. She waited patiently for her to finish, but as the silence dragged on, it became increasingly clear that she’d have to be the one to break it.

“No, it’s okay! Really! I just, um, wasn’t expecting…that. And if you think about it, it was actually my fault. I wouldn’t have fainted if I had just listened—”

“No, no! It was sweet! I don’t know. I just figured…” Ragatha said, a nervous tilt to her tone, “...since you were having so much fun getting into your character, I ought to return the favor.” Ragatha's hands were twitching now, “And…”

Somewhere nearby, a ladybug crested a wobbling blade of grass, flitted its wings, then buzzed away to who-knows-where. Another brisk gust wandered through the dilapidated yard, sending an armada of dandelion seeds sailing swiftly through the air.

“And…?” Again, Pomni was the one to shatter the silence.

“Oh, nevermind.” Ragatha forced out a laugh. Pomni swore she could hear the woman’s blush. “I think I’ve just got an overactive imagination.”

Another pause. That made three.

Pomni’s heart was beating a mile a minute. Unsure if this was even real, she slipped her hand out from beneath Ragatha’s, eager to simply trace the woman’s strong, soft frame…

… but her finger didn’t get very far before arriving at the gaping hole slashed across the ragdoll’s abdomen.

Guilt flattened Pomni’s heart like a speeding train. Holding Ragatha close, the jester sat up in a snap, examining her friend’s injuries with a level of determination that could only be described as ‘obsessive’.

Talk about a mood-killer — it was as if Pomni had never even bothered to stitch Ragatha up at all. Stuffing leaked out of the ragdoll here, there, everywhere. Nearly all of Pomni’s makeshift threads, nowhere close to well-crafted, were already failing — if they weren’t coming loose, the strings themselves were coming apart.

Pomni clenched her teeth. Her brow descended, and her lips trembled fiercely.

“Hey, hey! Don’t cry! You don’t have to worry about me.” Tenderly, Ragatha pushed herself against Pomni's little frame, “As long as you’re with me, I’ll be okay, Sweetheart.”

“I’m not sad.” A stormy look came to Pomni’s face. “I’m angry.”

“...Angry?”

“Stupid #$&%ing tree monster. Stupid #$&%ing Caine!” Pomni bared her teeth, “Stupid #$&%ing circus!”

“H-Hey, now! Take a breath, okay? Let’s not get ourselves worked up—”

“No! I’m pissed!” In a snap, Pomni leapt to her feet, firmly holding Ragatha in her arms. “I’m not gonna let you get hurt anymore,” she said, making a beeline toward the haunted mansion, “Not a single scratch, from now until we escape this horrible circus together — I promise!”

Ragatha’s eyes were sparkling, though Pomni was too focused on climbing the front porch’s creaky staircase to notice. “Pomni, Y-You don’t have to do all that…!”

“Too bad. I want to.”

“O-Oh…” Ragatha’s breath felt warm against Pomni’s chest. “I see…”

Without another word. Pomni summited the porch stairs, where a pair of double-doors patiently awaited her arrival. She eyed the doorbell, but her hands were full — so she opted for three mighty kicks at the doors’ expense instead. “Hello? Anyone home?”

Pomni and Ragatha waited for an answer. And then waited some more. Pomni’s shrill voice echoed at least a dozen times in the stiff silence.

“Hellooo!?” Pomni’s ill-fitting boot pounded the door thrice more. “We don’t have all day, you know! Open up!”

“Pomni! It’s been five seconds!” Ragatha chided, “Don’t be rude!”

“Rude? What am I doing — interrupting supper time? They’re NPCs.”

“I know that! But still. It just feels so wrong…”

A relaxed smile found its way to Pomni’s face — at this point, the jester wouldn’t have been surprised if Ragatha were hiding a pair of angel wings underneath that pretty dress of hers. “Let me guess. You’re the type of person who feels guilty about not giving equal attention to all of your stuffed animals, aren’t you?”

“I—” Ragatha sputtered, glancing off. “N-No! I’m thirty years old! What makes you think I own stuffed animals?”

Pomni raised an eyebrow.

Ragatha had been caught red-handed, and she knew it. It was incredible how quickly her face flushed completely pink. “Okay, first of all, how dare you attack me like this—”

Before Ragatha could even finish her tongue-in-cheek response, both girls simply lost it. Their uncontrolled, side-splitting laughter — one giggling, one cackling like a witch — spun together into a harmonious duet, and for a fleeting moment, both captives felt like they were home.

“Alright, alright.” Ragatha wiped at her eyes. “Enough joking around. How about I just ring the doorbell for you, Sweetheart?”

“Huh?! No way! You have to stay still or you’re going to rip yourself! Look, I’ll just set you down—”

“On the dirty porch? Are you out of your mind?” Ragatha reached for the ornate button beside the door.

“Hey! What are you doing?! I just told you—”

“Oops!” Ragatha poked the button, then quickly fell back into Pomni’s arms like a helpless princess. “Sorry, dear. Didn’t hear you!”

Pomni grumbled, and the doorbell replied with its signature chime. Windswept shutters battered cracked windows as Pomni and Ragatha stood there, waiting for something, anything, to happen.

Pomni’s patience was in short supply. She stamped her foot, and the old porch whined. “Seriously?”

“Maybe the entrance is around the back? My old apartment building was like that.” Ragatha said. “Ordering anything by mail was just the worst. It’s like — I get that the mail carriers had to stick to a tight schedule, but they would never read the signs. Oh, and trick-or-treat was a nightmare every Halloween—”

Ragatha’s riveting tale was cut short as, at last, the double-doors swung open at the sound of the magic words — trick-or-treat.

Ragatha’s mouth fell open. Pomni wrinkled her brow. Both women studied the other’s outfit in stunned silence — and suddenly, Caine’s choice of costumes didn’t seem quite so arbitrary.

“Ohhh…” They nodded in sync. “Right…”

Cautiously, Pomni poked her head through the door frame. If the scent of stale tobacco pouncing upon her senses was any indication, the surprises weren’t over yet.

“It’s…” Pomni breathed, “...an elevator…?”

“Ooh, and an old-fashioned one, too!” Ragatha tapped her fingers together, excitedly peering inside.

The interior was nothing if not visually striking. Each of its four walls, carved from cherrywood, hosted polished panels gilded with gold. Winding bands of white and black and gold and blue danced a tango across the smoke-stained carpet. An expensive-looking chair sat in the corner; an equally-elegant end table, complete with a flickering lamp, complimentary cigars, and a half-filled ashtray, sat to the left.

“Gosh, and just look at all these little aesthetic flourishes!” Ragatha gushed. “Folks back then really put effort into making every little thing look beautiful. You know what I mean?”

“Uh-huh. S-Sure…”

“Sometimes I wish that attitude would make a comeback. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just an old soul…”

Pomni blinked, regarding the elevator’s interior through empty pupils. She would have instinctively eyed the exit had she not already been standing in the middle of it.

The jester couldn’t recall something as simple as her own name — but, by some cruel twist of fate, everything else about the life she’d had stolen from her remained crystal clear in her head: including her swarming, overcrowded menagerie of obsessive anxieties.

Back home, Pomni’s teeny-tiny cubicle — something she couldn’t believe she actually missed now — was located on one the higher floors of her employer’s drab highrise. Entering the lobby, a lengthy carpet led the eye to a conveniently-placed pair of lifts. Their metal doors, constantly opening and closing as employees funneled in and out, was a sure sign that another busy day of work lay ahead.

Pomni was quite familiar with the contraptions — which was reason enough for the tie-wearing twenty-something, armed with her trusty backpack, to begin each morning with a hard left towards the musty concrete stairwell instead. By the time she’d reach her floor, the young accountant would be out-of-breath, weak in the knees, and far sweatier than any sane person would ever like to be. In her book, though, it was worth the trouble. She would do anything in her power to avoid the sensory torture that was riding in one of those cramped sardine cans.

Elevators were awful. Just awful. Women wearing far too aggressive perfume; men who had forgotten to wear any deodorant at all. Extroverted co-workers trying to make small talk; creepy strangers trying to hit on her. Idiots with no concept of personal space; morons with no respect for the fire marshall’s occupancy limit clearly posted on the wall in big, bold letters.

But being stuck inside of a tiny box with eight other people was a dream compared to the experience of riding alone — where her mind could wander, and the simmering fear of some catastrophic malfunction could consume her thoughts. What if the power went out? What if she got stuck? What if she were trapped inside and ran out of oxygen? What if the cables snapped, and the final moments of her life would be her screaming in horror as the car was sent plummeting down the shaft?

Nope. Pomni didn’t like elevators. Not one bit. Sensitive to Ragatha’s feelings, however, the young woman tried her hardest to force a smile onto her face. “Wow. C-Classy…”

For a moment, Ragatha didn’t even react. “...You’re nervous.” she tilted her head in concern, “What’s the matter, Sweetheart?”

“Nothing! Nothing’s the matter!” Pomni lied, and rather poorly, at that. “I was just…” she floundered, “...admiring the craftsmanship! Gee, don’t you wish they made stuff like this nowadays?”

“...Yeah. I just said that.”

“Right…! S-So…! Anyway…!”

Pomni closed her eyes, ducking her face behind Ragatha’s shoulders. Oh, come on! What are you waiting for? Just go! It’s just an elevator! You’ve had your whole life to be a coward — now’s the time to be brave. For her! You can do that, can’t you!?

The shaking jester steeled herself. The sole of her oversized boot departed from the sturdy wooden porch, swung forward, flirted with the elevator’s artsy carpet, pressed down…

…and the entire car shifted with an ear-splitting creak.

Pomni’s whole body seized up — she couldn’t stumble back onto the porch fast enough. Nope. Nope. Abso-#@%$ing-lutely not.

“Pomni! You are nervous!” Ragatha rubbed at her chest, “Oh, no — Ugh! I’m sorry! Are you afraid of elevators?”

Pomni squirmed in place. Her gut commanded her to keep up her defenses — to deny, deny, deny, because showing the slightest inkling of vulnerability had been punished so severely in the past. Despite all of her strongest instincts, however, the soft look of concern on Ragatha’s face hit her like a magic spell.

“Um,” Pomni’s shoulders slumped, “Maybe a teensy-tiny bit...”

“Oh, Sweetheart…” Ragatha drew closer, “Forget it, then. Why don’t we try looking for another way in?”

“N-No! It’s fine! This way is the fastest!”

“But I want you to be comfortable, too…”

“You’re worried about me?!”

Ragatha twisted her lips. “Is that bad…?”

“Yes!”

“O-Oh…”

“God, Ragatha — can’t you just be selfish for once in your freaking life!?” Pomni’s voice was sharpened to a fine tip. “I mean…look at yourself! You’re falling apart at the seams — literally!”

“Pomni! Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Watch me!” Pomni squished Ragatha against her chest before the ragdoll could even think to protest. Surging with adrenaline, she clenched her jaw, made peace with her god, and barreled forward.

The ancient elevator quaked beneath her feet; each time it stirred, her body seized, preparing itself for the whole contraption to plummet into the endless abyss below. Pomni quailed at the sound of squeaking metal, cowered at the buzz of hydraulics, and pined after the whistling wind outside the car — a beacon of safety and stable footing.

She shivered, choking on every haggard breath that just wasn’t enough — but somehow, the slight weight in her arms gave her the courage to open her eyes and face the music.

“I…” Pomni stood in the center of the elevator. She looked down at a begrudgingly-happy Ragatha, each stammered word framed by bouts of breathless laughter, “...I did it!”

Ragatha beamed, practically singing. “You did!”

“Yes, indeed!” A series of polite claps sounded from behind. “Jolly good show, darling!”

Pomni just couldn’t stop smiling. “It was, wasn’t it?” she agreed. Sticking out her chest, the young woman pulled in a deep breath, and then…

…Wait a minute! Pomni spun around on a dime. Who said that!?

A ghostly figure, surrounded by an otherworldly aura, sat with her legs crossed in the elevator’s cushioned chair. Her outfit, equally as old-fashioned as her surroundings, evoked all the stylings of a suffragette. Her wide-brimmed hat cast a spooky shadow over her face. Her ruffled shirt was tucked neatly into a long, floral-print skirt. A silk sash spanned the length of her chest, bearing a progressive slogan spelled out in a simple typeface.

An eerie smile crawled across the phantom’s ashen face. Slowly, she looked up from the book in her lap, and the lamp’s struggling flame gasped its final breath, “Going up?”

Pomni SHRIEKED.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” the ghost marked her place with a bookmark, closed her tome, and sharply raised her other hand, “Dining room. Fifth floor.”

With a light ‘ding’, the elevator’s sole exit slammed shut, casting the car in total darkness. The elevator rumbled as if caught in an earthquake, rusted gears whirring and whining all the way.

“Uh…” Ragatha’s face fell. She looked up at Pomni, who was taking things exactly as well as you would expect.

“WHAT?! HEY! NONONO! WHAT’S GOING ON?!”

“There’s the handrail, darling.” the ghost pointed with a wink, “You might want to make use of it sooner rather than later.”

“NONONO! LET ME OUT!” Pomni pounded her foot against the door, “WAITWAITWAITWAITWAIT—”

The ghost shrugged. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Suddenly, the elevator shot into the air at gravity-defying speeds, thrusting Pomni and Ragatha roughly into the floor — and pinning them there for the remainder of their abrupt ascent.

🎪 🎪 🎪

The haunted lift halted the same way it had started.

Painfully.

The doors slid open with an innocent chime, and the girls shivered in sync as the ghost’s ethereal high-heels passed straight through them.

“Right this way, ladies.” the phantom twirled her fingers. A magical aura surrounded Pomni and Ragatha, dragging their aching forms behind the ghost as she stepped gingerly out of the car.

A cozy dining room awaited beyond the threshold. Autumn-toned streamers stretched across the ceiling. A perimeter of potatoes, turnips, and radishes, strung up on strings and carved with grotesque faces, was proudly displayed on each wall. A large banner pinned to the wall read ‘ALLHALLOWTIDE GREETINGS’, just in case the apple-bobbing stations weren’t sufficiently on-the-nose.

A long, wooden table was situated in the exact center of the room, dominating the space. The ghostly woman sat herself at its head, and, with a flick of her finger, sat her dazed guests across from each other.

“Well, well, well!” The ghostly specter fanned her face with her weighty novel. “Do my eyes deceive me, or has another troupe of wayward rabble-rousers dared to trespass upon the esteemed estate of—”

“Oh, God!” Pomni, green in the face, scrambled to slap her hands over her mouth. “Oh, holy #$@%—” She swiped the closest open receptacle she could find — a gorgeous Edwardian vase — and held her mouth against the opening. Her whole frame crumpled forward as her body quite ungracefully emptied itself out.

“P-Pomni!” Ragatha’s fingers grazed the side of her face. “Oh my goodness — are you alright?!”

The jester groaned. Plopping the vase back onto the table, she weakly nodded, trembling hands hugging her ailing stomach. “I’ll be fine. J-Just…give me a second…” she faceplanted into the large heap of candy corn piled on her plate. “This happens more often than you’d think…”

Ragatha pouted, watching Pomni’s face sink deeper into candy corn mountain. Individual pieces slid off of the young woman’s plate and scattered across the table. “Remember your breathing, okay, Sweetheart?”

Pomni flashed a flaccid thumbs-up.

“My word! What is the meaning of this?!” The ghostly apparition clenched her fists, lips curled back in disgust. “Perhaps if your detestable generation spent less time listening to that boorish ‘jazz’ music — and I’m being generous calling it music at all — you’d have room in those cramped skulls to remember proper etiquette!”

In a flash, she tore open her book — the cover read, ‘THE LADY’S BOOK OF COMMON ETIQUETTE & ASSORTED DEMONIC SPELLS — 1860 EDITION’ in embossed, glossy lettering.

The ghost loudly cleared her throat. She pointed to the text with a manicured fingernail, “Immediately upon entering the parlor, find your hostess, and speak to her first. It is very rude to stop to chat with other guests before greeting the lady of the house.”

Ragatha blushed, shrinking in her seat like a scolded child. “Ma’am...”

“Hmph. As appalling as your conduct is, I suppose you aren’t completely hopeless. It’s worlds better, at least, than that infantile rabbitoid or that foul-mouthed modern-art abomination.” The haughty ghost shook her head. “But I digress — what business do you mortal wretches have in the decrepit domain of I, the great Margarethe MacGuffin?”

A long, drawn-out pause ensued — longer than usual. “Um…” Ragatha rapped on her chin, “…Who?”

“Who? What do you mean ‘who’?”

“Come to think of it, I’ve completely forgotten what we’re even supposed to be doing here. Pomni…?”

Groggily, Pomni lifted her head; more than a few candy corns came along, sticking stubbornly to her cheeks, chin, and forehead. “Brooch,” she sighed. A single morsel tumbled off her face, “We’re looking for the—”

“Brooch, you say?!” Margarethe flinched at the word like a trained dog hearing its name. Her sour mood shifted in an instant. “You couldn’t possibly mean…” she drew closer, “...that brooch, could you? The legendary MacGuffin family heirloom? The priceless treasure forged in the highlands beyond Hadrian’s Wall, passed down from generation to generation—”

“Uh-huh! Sounds about right!” Pomni abruptly pushed her chair out, sending an avalanche of candy treats pittering and pattering across the hardwood floor. She wasted no time racing to Ragatha’s side — and gently, so gently, hooking her arm around the dolly’s. “So where do we go? What do we do? How do we leave!?”

“I…” Margarethe balked. “Sit back down this instant, young lady!”

“Uh, hello?! Do you not see that my friend is practically in pieces, here? We don’t need your stupid theatrics — none of this is even real, anyway — just spit it out so we can go back to the tent and get her fixed!”

Margarethe’s posture was as sharp as a tack. “For shame! Never in my sixty-seven years have I witnessed such uncharismatic, uncouth, unbecoming behavior from a young bachelorette. Simply appalling — you’ll never find a husband with that attitude.”

“Aw, really? You mean it?”

“I beg your pardon?!”

“HAHAHA!” Ragatha slapped the table, “G-Golly, Ms. MacGuffin! This glassware is just to die for! Wherever did you procure such a stunning collection?”

Margarethe hesitated — but then curtsied in appreciation. “Well! I’m glad you noticed. They’re just wonderful, aren’t they?” she proudly mused, “The help says they’re made of this newfangled, petroleum-based material that’s cheaper than glass and impervious to breakage. Bakelite, I believe it’s called — the material of a thousand uses!”

Pomni flicked the nearest goblet. She whispered in Ragatha’s ear: “I think they’re plastic.”

“Indeed — we are truly blessed to be reaping the plentiful fruits of the industrial age. Now, where was I…?” Margarethe tapped her bottom lip, “Ah, yes!”

Margarethe launched herself in the air with a flamboyant pirouette. “To make a long story short, the MacGuffin clan is, sadly, no more — our treasured brooch is the only artifact that remains of our storied legacy. My life is long behind me, but alas, as the matriarch of my kin, I cannot pass on into the next life until I find a soul brave enough to carry on the great MacGuffin legacy. Someone like…you two!”

Pomni and Ragatha looked at each other. “Us? You’re sure?”

“Certainly! But a MacGuffin knows no weakness.” Margarethe continued, “In order to secure my brooch, and carry on my proud family name, you must venture through my audacious abode…and confront your greatest fear!”

“Greatest fear…?” Pomni stammered.

Margarethe flexed. “Then, and only then, can you consider yourself a true MacGuffin!”

“G-G-Greatest…” Pomni repeated, almost choking on her words, “...f-fear…?”

“Why, of course, darling! You didn’t expect this to be a walk in the park, did you? It wouldn’t be much of an adventure without a little bit of challenge!”

Pomni stared straight ahead — but her pin-sized pupils didn’t perceive a single thing.

Greatest fear.

The room shrank.

Greatest fear. Greatest fear? What in the world was that supposed to mean!? Pomni didn’t have a greatest fear — as far as she knew, the obsessive thoughts that constantly terrorized her mind did so with total parity. How was she supposed to know which one had cost her the most sleep over the years?

Car crashes, plane wrecks, train derailments, high-speed transportation in general, being bitten by a wild animal and dying of rabies, stepping on a rusty nail and dying of tetanus, contracting some other horrible disease after forgetting to wash her hands and dying from that, being stalked by weird men, being assaulted by weird men, being kidnapped and murdered by weird men, weird men in general, disappointing her friends, disappointing her parents, disappointing her boss, people in general, her boss in general, being late to work, performing poorly at work, being fired from work…

Pomni’s eyes bulged.

Work — oh, no. Work. WORK.

Pomni’s mind had already overloaded itself merely accepting the notion that she was trapped forever in this weird, obscure computer game — so overloaded, in fact, that the horrific question of how the world was proceeding without her hadn’t even occurred to her.

Until now.

How long had she been gone? One week? Two? Even more? Her blood ran cold at the realization — even if she were to escape the circus this very instant, there was no way she hadn’t already been fired, no way her cubicle wasn’t already cleaned out to make way for the next poor sap to apply to that god-forsaken office.

Oh, no. No, no, no, no. That couldn’t happen. What was she going to do? Beg for her old job back? Apply for a new one? How the hell was she supposed to do that when her degree sucked, her resume could fit on a sticky note, and all her single reference could forward a potential employer was years and years of middling performance reviews?

Even if her boss was merciful, her rat bastard of a landlord wouldn’t lend her a single shred of sympathy. Not in a million years. The clock was ticking for Pomni to locate an exit before next month’s rent was due. Should she fail, and she certainly would, she’d return home to find someone else living in her apartment. Her space. The only place in the whole entire world where she felt safe.

Her belongings would be auctioned off at best, and thrown away at worst.

And…oh, God. She was a missing person. There were probably posters all over town. Posters plastered with her face and name, front-and center. Stapled to telephone poles, printed in the paper, pinned to those little bulletin boards at the supermarket. Everywhere. Millions of eyes, looking at her face. Reading her name.

Pomni could already feel them burrowing into her back. Judging her. Pitying her. Laughing at her. The best thing they could do was look away in apathy.

Her friends and family were probably searching high and low — but their resolve would dull as the months paged over into years. Embers of hope, pining for her return, would still burn in their hearts until the very end, but it wouldn’t matter in the long run. In the back of their minds, they would know she wasn’t coming home.

The few friends she had, unwilling to carry the burden of their grief, would almost certainly make an effort to forget her. Just to ease the pain. Her voice would be forgotten as old videos and voicemails were deleted. Her face would be next. And then, one by one, each of her friends would speak her name for the final time.

Pomni whimpered, burying her face in the soft fabric of Ragatha’s arm. Her chest was tight, pressing harder, harder, harder against a hollow core. Each heaving breath sent shockwaves of pain throughout her shrinking, shivering, pitiful body.

Time. She was running out. Running out of time. She had to find a way out. A way out. A way to get home. Home. Home. Home. Time. Running out. Get out. She had to get out. Get out get out get out GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT RIGHT NOW BEFORE EVERYTHING SHE’S WORKED FOR CRUMBLES TO DUST AND SHE’S DEAD AND FORGOTTEN AND AND AND AND AND AND—

Pomni choked back a scream as a dreadfully-familiar, searing pain stabbed the tips of her fingers. Blackened flesh creeped like cancer toward her palm, each heinous step piercing her skin like a thousand poison needles.

“R-Ragatha!” Pomni gasped. Abstraction shackled her wrists as the tips of her fingers sank into the ragdoll’s downy flesh. One, three, five, ten twitching eyes sprouted beneath her gloves. “No…no, no, no! I’m going to—!” She couldn’t bear to say it. “I…I need to—”

Ragatha turned. “P-Pomni? What are you—”

“I’m sorry!” Pomni strangled the ragdoll’s wounded arm, squeezing the bulky limb hard enough to force clumps of cotton out of her own failed stitchwork.

Her eyes squeezed shut.

Her breathing slowed.

Shaky breath in, shakier breath out.

In and out.

In, and…

The grandfather clock announced the hour with a half-dozen chimes. Pomni cracked open a single eye. Like magic, her mind was calm and clear.

Her weary gaze swept over Ragatha’s shredded arms, over her shoulder, her neck, her furrowed brow, her gnashing teeth, her wincing eyes.

“P-P-Pomni! I said let go!” Ragatha’s complaints finally fell on Pomni’s ears, “That hurts!”

Flinching, Pomni released the doll’s arm, “Ah! I’m sorry! I-I—”

“What’s gotten into you?! Is everything okay!?”

“Y-Yes! Everything’s just fine! I just, uh…” Pomni slumped over, still gasping for air. “Um…” she shrank beneath the shadow of Ragatha’s stern gaze, “...just needed a hug?”

Ragatha’s stony face didn’t crack. “You’re hiding something.”

“What?! No, I’m not!”

“Don’t lie to me! What’s going on?! It looked like you were just about to—”

Margarethe hissed. “Alright, alright! That’s quite enough chatter!” She clonked Pomni’s head with her hefty book. “In case you forgot, I was in the middle of explaining—”

“HEY!” Pomni barked like a dog, rubbing the back of her head. “Who the #@$% do you think you are, you ancient &!$#% !?”

“Heel.” Margarethe’s razor teeth flashed a ravenous smile, “...If you know what’s good for you.”

Pomni growled — but wisely kept her big mouth shut. It helped that a small part of her was thankful for the excuse to drop the subject with Ragatha.

Margarethe chuckled. Referring to her book once more, she flipped to a specific page and began chanting a hex under her breath. Before either Pomni or Ragatha could ask what was happening, a pair of blindingly-bright orbs had already emerged from both of their chests. The magical objects drifted toward MacGuffin’s outstretched hand.

“Now. Let’s begin with the darling coquette. What are her nightmares made of?” Mararethe peered down at the two white spheres orbiting each other in her open palm. Studying one for a moment, she cocked her head with a sneer. “Hmph. Typical.”

Ragatha slouched, looking sullen.

“Centipedes. It’s centipedes, right?” Pomni leaned on Ragatha’s chair. She had only just walked herself back from the verge of tears, but she had made a promise to protect Ragatha, and she intended to keep it. “Don’t worry — you’ve got me by your side, remember?” She spoke through a confident facade, “I-I’ll squash ‘em for you!”

Ragatha covered her mouth like she was about to vomit. “Ugh, Please—” she shook her head, “D-Don’t make me think about their guts...”

Margarethe flicked Ragatha’s orb back into the ragdoll’s chest, leaving only Pomni’s circling her palm. She cleared her throat. “As for the untrained whelp…” she was already laughing as she lifted her long-fingered hand to her face — but the moment she gazed into the orb, her smug affect faltered.

The phantom’s cold, soulless eyes ping-ponged between Pomni and Ragatha. “Well.” Grinning, she flicked Pomni’s orb away, “Isn’t that sweet? I wouldn’t have taken you for the type, darling.”

Pomni jerked her head. “Huh? What type? What do you mean sweet?!”

Mararethe’s face simply radiated superiority. “I suppose you’ll just have to wait and see, now won’t you?” She mocked, fanning herself. “Oh, shame on me! I haven’t been this worked up since the summer of nineteen-aught-five. This is going to be fun…”

Pomni’s knees locked together as the ghost faded away. “Wait! Where are you going?! What’s my fear?! What—”

“Best of luck!” The candles flickered to the rhythm of Margarethe’s cackling laugh. “You’ll need it…!”

With minimal fanfare, the door to the next room swung open all by itself, creaking horribly on its rusted hinges.

🎪 🎪 🎪

Margarethe MacGuffin’s maniacal mansion was truly massive, and, within the last few hours, Pomni and Ragatha had been treated to a terrible tour of every last nightmarish nook and creepy cranny. Just as Caine had advertised, an assortment of ‘tricky traps’, ‘perplexing puzzles’ and ‘supernatural sentries’ had been set up for them to navigate, ranging in difficulty from ‘mind-numbingly easy’, to ‘psychologically traumatizing.’

Surprisingly, Pomni’s accounting skills had come in handy in the manor’s ‘money-counting room’. The horrifying puzzle, involving the petty minutiae of tax codes and estate settlements, was easy pickings for the seasoned number cruncher. Still, no one was perfect, and Pomni’s sole mistake — in which she’d forgotten the purpose of box 12D on form 5E-344-B — left her at the mercy of a swarm of greenbacks-turned-paper-cranes.

In the music room, Ragatha would have taken the opportunity to show off her cello skills, but Pomni, concerned that Ragatha would worsen her injuries in the process, had flatly refused. A small back-and-forth had ensued — but in the end, both parties agreed to disagree once the instruments, magically stirred to life, started to viciously attack. Poor Pomni had never sprinted so quickly in her life.

The place where Ragatha’s expertise did come in handy, however, was the stables. A pack of raging horse skeletons ran rampant, threatening to trample anyone foolish enough to stand in their way. Ragatha’s prior experience with equines, however, gave her all the tricks she needed to quickly soothe the wild herd. In retrospect, the room’s main obstacle wasn’t even calming the horses — it was reassuring a shivering Pomni after the jester had learned first-hand what a horse’s skull looked like. It wasn’t pretty.

In all of that time, not once had either of their so-called ‘greatest fears’ reared their ugly heads — or even so much as teased them. Every single task, no matter how asinine, was turned terrifying by the prospect of transforming into an unimaginable nightmare at any point in time.

The sheer anticipation was a torture all of its own — but the girls’ latest assignment, apparently designed to drive them straight to the precipice of insanity, was a close second place.

“Ohoho, don’t fret! It’s quite simple!” Margarethe had announced shortly after Pomni and Ragatha had arrived at the spacious ballroom. The phantom hadn’t even tried to hold back her laughter — she truly was having the time of her life. “The door to the next room is just a hop, skip and a jump away. All you have to do, honored guests, is locate the key.”

In a snap, Margarethe was gone, and Pomni and Ragatha had looked at each other with dread in their eyes. Nothing in MacGuffin Mansion was ever that simple.

Every part of the ballroom was sculpted with painstaking precision. The moon peered in through a series of extravagant French windows; long, velvet drapes, slightly darker in color than Ragatha’s licorice locks, spanned the length of each one. The checkered marble that spanned the floor hosted a spattering of perfectly-set tables; a crystal glass and a set of unsoiled silverware framed each empty plate.

A mountain of keys — brass, silver, and gold — sat upon each plate, sparkling in the moonlight. The drinking glasses beside them were similarly filled to the brim…with keys. Keys, keys, keys. Keys were floating in the flower vases, floating in the wine bottles, floating in the air.

Finding a key would be a cinch — finding the key, however, was a task tedious enough to make Sisyphus himself blush.

And so, there Pomni was, kneeling in front of the locked door, sunken eyes looking like they hadn’t had a wink of sleep in years. The young woman glanced down with a harsh sigh — the marble floor wasn’t exactly the softest surface, and her knees were starting to hurt. A lot.

Head drooping low, she half-heartedly held out her hand. “Next…”

Ragatha, slumped against the peeling floral wallpaper, perfectly matched Pomni’s energy. Without even bothering to look, she stuck her hand into one of the myriad piles of untested keys that surrounded the pair. A moment later, she plopped a plain-looking one into Pomni’s palm.

The jester ran her finger across the dented brass surface of what must have been the thousandth key to pass through her hands in under an hour. Her eye twitched.

This was the one. Their ticket out of this god damned ballroom. It had to be. She had no rhyme or reason to explain why — she just knew.

With a curt nod, Pomni crammed the key’s metal teeth into the lock and turned her hand clockwise. She leaned forward just a touch, listening desperately for a ‘click’ — but of course, just like the nine-hundred and ninety-nine attempts that came before, the stubborn door simply refused to accept her offering.

So Pomni stared. And smiled.

Slowly and silently, she stood, squirming grin blooming into a wide, razor-toothed smile. She turned to face the nearest pile of keys, filled her chest with a patient, hearty breath…

…and drove her foot into the metallic mound with all the force her skinny little legs could muster.

“Pomni!” Ragatha shouted. Hundreds of keys clinked and clanked as they skated across the marble floor. “Really?!”

“This is it, isn’t it?! My greatest fear?!” Pomni shouted, “Isn’t it!?”

“Pomni!”

“Trapped with no way out, taunted by an exit just out of reach, forced to perform pointess, tedious tasks until I go insane?!”

With every word that Pomni spoke, Ragatha’s furrowed brow disappeared to make room for a look of grave concern. “Hey! Are you listening to me?!”

“The same thing, over and over, never changing…” Clutching her head, Pomni let out a laugh, strained and dry, “As if I’m not already living that nightmare every single day!?”

“Pomni, stop it! You’re scaring me!” Ragatha finally raised her voice. Acting on instinct, she reached out to touch Pomni’s arm — but the doll’s fragile skin punished her with another gut-wrenching tear. Pain warped the doll’s face as she crumpled forward.

That brought Pomni’s breakdown to a screeching halt. “Ragatha!” snapping herself out of it, the jester immediately scrambled to Ragatha’s side, eyes pleading forgiveness. “I-I’m sorry! I was just… I didn’t mean to—” she clenched her fists, grunting in frustration, “Are you okay!?”

“Are you?!” Ragatha snatched Pomni’s shoulders. Her face was brutally stern. “You are freaking. Me. Out! Tell me what’s going on! Right now!”

Pomni swallowed. She tried to answer — she really, truly tried, yet no words came to her blanking mind.

Ragatha frowned. “Y-You’re doing it. You’re acting just like the others. Just like him.”

“H-Him…?”

“Tell me the truth. Back in the dining room, when you were squeezing my arm, did you...” Ragatha’s voice wavered, “Were you…?”

Pomni’s pupils were the size of pins. Buried memories — of her bedroom, of the forest, of the mansion’s dining room — swarmed like locusts through her mind. She could practically feel the blood freezing over in her veins again, feel the despair grabbing hold, feel her whole body rebelling against her, transforming against her will into a mindless, violent beast.

“...abstracting?” Pomni tore away, arms coiled tightly around herself. Her strong voice was stuffy and rigid, “I-Is that what you’re too scared to say?”

Ragatha’s eyes softened in an instant. “Oh, no. No, no, no! I didn’t mean to—” she winced, holding her arms out as far as they would go. She was this close to tearing open another wound. “Just…come here.”

“Wh…What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry,” Ragatha said, “Come on. Let me hold you...”

Pomni looked the other way, still hugging herself. She tried her best to look disgusted, to pretend to be angry, to act indifferent. “P-Put your arms down. You’ll hurt yourself…!”

“I don’t care.” Ragatha’s wavering smile held true, bending just slightly under the weight of her pain. “It hurts so much more to watch you cry, Pomni.”

“I’m not crying!” Pomni’s voice cracked, widening gaze sweeping across Ragatha’s arms. Her trembling arms weren’t helping her case. “I’m just…”

“...Just what, Sunshine?”

Sunshine. Pomni’s eyes were wet. She blinked away the unwanted sensation, shaking her head all the while — but it was no use. Ragatha really was the nicest person she’d ever met. “...R-Ragatha?”

“Yes…?”

“Why do you keep calling me that…?”

“Calling you what?”

“Sunshine…” Pomni’s lip quivered. She tried with all of her might to quell the storm, but there was little she could do now. A pair of shimmering streams traced the length of her face, and at long last, she cracked, collapsing into Ragatha’s open embrace.

“Oh, dear…” Ragatha wrapped Pomni up as tight as she could, squeezing the little jester like she would never, ever let go. Even she was trembling now. “Do you like that name?”

Pomni nodded.

She felt a lot of feelings. But most of all, she felt loved. So very, very loved.

🎪 🎪 🎪

The ballroom had nary a clock to announce the hour, and the eternal night gleaming through the windows wasn’t much help in telling the time, either. Pomni had no idea how long she’d been venting — just talking, talking, talking through the tears, explaining everything that had happened over the past few days.

“...and it’s happened three times now.” Pomni spoke softly, at last lifting her head from Ragatha’s chest. However much time had passed, it was enough for her eyes, shocked by the sudden influx of light, to immediately recoil.

She rubbed her eyes, easing them back into the light. “...it just happens. Like a nightmare. My mind starts racing — thinking the same obsessive thoughts, over and over, until the thoughts take control. And I…” Pomni winced, shaking her head. “...w-won’t say anything else.”

Ragatha hummed. She listened quietly, finger tracing winding lines around Pomni’s back.

“...But every time, I’ve managed to stop it.” Pomni said. She cringed a little at her own words. “Well, I guess that’s obvious...”

“Obvious or not…” Ragatha’s voice was calm and clear, “I’m glad.”

“Glad…?”

“Glad you’re still here.”

“O-Oh!” Pomni perked right up. Almost hypnotized, she stared into those beautiful, mismatched eyes. “Um, th-thanks. Me too...”

Ragatha giggled. “Sorry to interrupt.” she said adoringly, lightly stroking Pomni’s backside. “You were saying?”

Pomni felt light, absentmindedly curling a lock of red yarn hair around her finger. Never before had she felt so heard, felt what it was like to have someone hanging onto her every word. It felt good.

“I don't know, Ragatha. When I start to abstract, it’s not easy to bring myself back from the brink, but…” she breathed, “...it’s kind of like what you were saying before.”

“Oh?”

“I try to think of a silver lining. Something that makes me feel safe. Something…”

Ragatha’s thumb shooed away the final, thin teardrop drying on Pomni’s cheek. The ragdoll’s hand felt just like a cloud — softer than anything the jester had ever felt before. “Something…” Ragatha mused, finishing the jester’s thought, “...that makes life worth living?”

“Yeah…” Pomni welcomed a cautious smile, “Something like that.”

“Ah-ha!”

Pomni flinched. “H-Huh?!”

“There she is!” Ragatha snatched the jester’s cheesing cheek and gave it a little wiggle. “There’s my funny girl!”

Pomni tried her hardest to squirm out of Ragatha’s embrace — but the redhead had her decisively pinned. “Ow! S-Stop it!” she protested — but her sunny laughter only encouraged further torment, “That hurts, you jerk!”

At last, Ragatha relented. “Sorry, Sunshine. Couldn’t resist.”

Pomni’s first instinct was to do the same thing back — to even the score, so Ragatha could see how it felt — but the woman’s words left her melting, all the way down to her soul.

Sunshine.

She was putty in the ragdoll’s hands. What in the world was happening? What was this fluttery feeling? Why did her face feel hot enough to burn her fingerprints clean off?

“R-Right! In any case!” Pomni pushed herself off, lest she faint a second time. She could hardly believe how quickly her heart was thumping .“Th-thanks for listening and everything, but…” she glanced around in a panic, “...We should probably get back to it, huh?”

Ragatha didn’t react right away. “...You’re sure?” She surveyed the endless piles of keys that surrounded them — many of which were now scattered about the floor thanks to Pomni’s most recent tantrum.

“Of course I’m sure! Wh-Why wouldn’t I be?

“Well, it’s awfully sudden. I don’t mind talking a bit more if you need to! Really — I’d watch paint dry as long as you were next to me. Um! Not to say that listening to you is boring…!”

“It’s fine!” Pomni giggled. “Honest.”

“You’re feeling better?”

Pomni nodded.

“You’re sure?” Ragatha squinted.

“Yes! I’m sure! We can’t keep stopping like this, Ragatha. We’ve got to get you back to Caine, remember?”

“I…suppose we can get moving again, if that’s what you want.” Ragatha sighed. She glanced sadly at her freshly-vacant arms. “Just do me a favor, won’t you?”

“Yeah?”

“If we get stuck, try to keep your lid on — for me?”

“Y-Yeah. Sorry about that…” Pomni turned, scratching her head. The very moment she caught a glimpse of the piled-up keys, however, her face scrunched up. “This just — this sucks! How did the other members figure this out?!”

“Pomni.” Ragatha groaned. “Breathe.”

“Right. My bad…”

Despite herself, Ragatha still managed to look amused. “Think of it this way, Sweetheart. If the rest of those goofballs can figure this out, then so can we. We just need to put our heads together — think outside of the box.”

“Outside of the box…” Pomni stepped across the checkered floor, scratching her chin. “Like…maybe what we’re looking for isn’t a literal key?”

She scanned the ballroom through her pouting gaze. A series of large chandeliers, far grander than the tacky setpiece in her own bedroom, supervised the spacious room from above. On the northern wall was a small stage, complete with chairs, instruments, and music stands for performing musicians. A piano, paired with a small chest, sat at the far end.

The jester’s mood soured, and not just because of her recent run-in with haunted musical instruments. Keys, keys, keys — what did any of this stuff have to do with keys!? Ragatha desperately needed help, but here she was, stuck in the world’s most contrived escape room. Ugh! Did people in the real world really do this kind of thing for fun? This stupid puzzle—

Suddenly, Pomni perked up. She eyed the piano.

Piano. Keys.

Piano! Keys! Of course!

“Ragatha!” Pomni raced to where the other woman was sitting, frantically waving her arms in the air. “Hey, hey!”

“Hm? Did you figure something out?”

Pomni nodded, smiling broadly. She scooped the ragdoll into her arms, hopped atop the stage, and set her down in one of the chairs arranged neatly across it. All told, she only knocked over three music stands, two metronomes, and one priceless clarinet in the process.

Pomni turned Ragatha’s chair so that it faced the piano. “Watch this!” she chirped, dashing across the stage. Her fingers pressed down on the piano’s lowest white note, and then the lowest black; the hammered strings within the instrument sang a long, colorful scale as Pomni dragged her digits across all eighty-eight keys.

Hands clasped in hope, she spun around to check the door — but her face fell when, despite her genius plan, the door remained firmly in place.

“What? But—” Pomni’s fingers pecked a low Do, a high Re, and the middlemost Mi. “They’re keys! Pianos have keys!” She laid her hands flat on the ivory, and the piano unleashed a dissonant, un-musical scream. “Are you kidding me? How is that not the solution?!”

“No, you’re right!” Ragatha clapped her hands together, “Good thinking, Pomni! You’re definitely onto something!”

“I…am?” Pomni blushed, “But I already pressed every single key — every one! And that stupid plank of wood still won’t open!”

“Maybe it’s not about pressing one specific key.” Ragatha scratched her chin, “Maybe it’s a special combination. Notes can have letter names — A, B, C, et cetera — so perhaps they want us to spell a certain word?”

“Ooh! A keyword! That’s good!” Pomni snapped her fingers. She didn’t hesitate to start sniffing out clues for such a solution — and it didn’t take long for the old chest beside the piano to catch her eye.

Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the lock — but, thankfully, it was only for show. Breathing a sigh of relief, Pomni opened the lid. The antique chest was filled to the brim with a series of long, frayed, dust-coated cardboard boxes.

Curiosity piqued, Pomni opened one and cautiously unfurled the bulky scroll stored inside. A series of small, perfectly-cut holes stretched across the yellowed paper. Some existed in isolation, while others were grouped together into long lines — as if a leaf-munching insect had eaten its way through the fragile material.

Pomni’s tonge prodded the inside of her cheek. “Ragatha? You said you played the…” her gaze flicked aside, “...violin, right?”

“Violoncello.” Ragatha deadpanned. “Why?”

“Well, I was just wondering — since you’re a musician, do you have any clue what these weird rolls of paper are for? They seem related to the piano somehow, but…”

“I’m so glad you asked!” Ragatha gasped, clasping her hands together. “Those funky bundles of paper are called piano rolls!”

The redhead had responded to Pomni’s question in plain English, but the baffled look on the jester’s face suggested otherwise.

Ragatha clarified. “Back in the day, these were used to play piano tunes without the need for a human performer. Each one plays a different song when loaded into a player piano.”

“Player piano…?”

“Oh, right. Sorry! That’s a special type of piano that plays itself. I’m not quite sure how it works either. But back to the topic at hand — see those little holes cut into the paper? Each one represents one music note. As the roll slowly unfurls, a sensor reads them and tells the machine which keys to strike.”

“Ohh…” Pomni ran her fingers across the parade of perforations that spanned the scroll. Slowly, she nodded. “...So it’s like a music box?”

“Now you’re getting it!” Ragatha beamed. The look on her face as she watched the concept click in Pomni’s head was a painting of pure joy; was it any wonder that she had worked as a teacher prior to her captivity?

Pomni sighed. She planted an elbow on the old chest and cradled her cheek against her palm. “Your students must have loved you...”

“Well, I did receive my fair share of apples.” Ragatha shrugged. “Never had to pack a lunch.”

“Wait, seriously…? That’s a real thing?”

“No. Not really.”

A silly smile teased its way onto Pomni’s lips. Heart stumbling, she turned away, fingers unconsciously fiddling with the old chest’s loosened lock. “S-So, um, is there anything else you can tell me…?”

“Nah — telling is overrated. In my classroom, I always liked to take a hands-on approach.” Ragatha said. She admired the antique instrument seated on the far end of the stage. “There’s a player piano right there. Why don’t you give it a whirl? It’s been a while since I’ve listened to music.”

“S-Sure thing! I’ll find a good one!” Pomni said, eager to please. Just about tearing the lid off of the antique chest, she rifled through its tightly-packed contents with purpose, scrutinizing the faded titles printed on each box. She didn’t recognize a single song, much less any of their long-dead composers, so it was anyone's guess as to what the music would actually sound like. She may as well have just swiped a roll at random — and, as a matter of fact, that’s exactly what she did.

Pomni set the bulky scroll inside the automatic piano after a bit of clumsy fumbling — and more than a little help from Ragatha. With the flip of a switch, the paper started spinning, and the premier notes of a lofty, leisurely tune stirred to life beneath the ballroom’s vaulted ceiling.

Pomni’s fingers drew circles on the mechanical piano’s smooth, wood grain exterior. For a moment, she forgot where she was, utterly fascinated by the simple elegance of the century-old contraption.

It was funny. The long-forgotten piece it played, humbly subtitled ‘a ragtime two-step’, had set her up to expect something more peppy and up-tempo. As the piano roll steadily unfurled, however, the melodic constellations impressed upon the paper sang a far different tune.

It was the type of jaunty music one would expect to accompany a silent film, just…polished. Refined. All of the musical tropes of the era were present — the driving bassline, the active, syncopated melody — but the piece’s dignified pace and finely-crafted harmonies would have sounded out of place in a rowdy, turn-of-the-century saloon.

Here in the ballroom, though, it was right at home — at least, that’s what the haunted furniture seemed to think.

Looking impressed, Pomni tapped her foot, wholly oblivious to the perplexing scene unfolding behind her. “Not bad...” She grinned, turning to face Ragatha, “To tell you the truth, I actually kind of ohmygodwhat’sgoingon—”

Pomni stumbled backwards, then forwards, then backwards again into Ragatha’s chair. The ballroom’s inanimate denizens — the one-hundred-odd tables and chairs scattered across its marble floor — moved all on their own, dancing in time with the mellow melody. A backing band of squeaking wood and clinking keys added a percussive flair to the player piano’s charming, just-slightly-detuned sound.

Ragatha, for her part, was busy cracking up at Pomni’s complete and utter bewilderment. With a quick breath, she managed to compose herself. “Well, when in Rome…” The ghost of a giggle still lingered in her tone as she offered up her hand, “Shall we?”

Pomni let out a mousy squeak. “Huh?” She flinched, head feeling light, dots flitting across her vision, “But—”

“Come on. Don’t make me beg.” Ragatha batted her eyes, “It’s unladylike.”

Pomni blushed. Without a word, she swallowed, shuddering like a frightened animal as she reached for Ragatha’s hand.

Her fingers curled snugly around the ragdoll’s, plush and doughy. Both women’s palms — one big, one small — fit together perfectly.

Pomni slid her other arm behind Ragatha’s back, powerless to stop the nervous little whimpers sneaking out of her as she lifted up the lightweight woman. For a moment, their faces were close enough to feel each other’s warmth — and it took every ounce of restraint Pomni had to resist asking: ‘Can I please kiss you?’.

With a brief, peppy fanfare, the music transitioned to a new section; the enchanted furniture, as if controlled by a single mind, adapted its routine in perfect sync.

“I, um…” Pomni’s knees trembled. This stupid furniture was making her look bad. “I don’t really know how to dance…” She winced at the thought, and then at the sight of Ragatha’s grave injuries, “And even if I did, how are we supposed to—”

“Shh.” Ragatha’s thumb glided across the back of Pomni’s hand. “Just…hold me.”

Pomni exhaled.

Holding her dolly close, the jester closed her eyes, synchronizing her trembling breaths with every other downbeat. Her foot matched the two-step’s gentle pulse, and before she knew it, her whole body was swaying to the rhythm.

Ragatha nestled her head against Pomni’s chest; a blissful sigh escaped her shuddering smile. The tension in her body dissipated note-by-note, phrase-by-phrase, as her darling rocked her back and forth, here and there, to and fro.

Back and forth they went. Pomni held her plain little ragdolly as tight as she could, finger tracing zig-zags across the curves of her fleece-soft figure. She adored the sound of her peaceful breathing, the way her hands cradled each other as she lay in her arms, all of her happy little fidgets as her body responded to the music.

Here and there they swayed. Pomni’s desperate eyes wandered to Ragatha’s lips, plush and glossy. Her heart was glowing, but just beyond, a profound emptiness, like nothing she had ever felt before, opened up within her. It begged to be filled, and pained her to resist.

Swing, swing. To and fro. Ragatha was weightless in her arms. The whole wide world, and everything in it, was wonderful. Just wonderful.

“Ragatha…?”

“Hm.” It took Ragatha a moment to respond. She jostled herself as if she’d just been woken from a deep, restful slumber. “What is it, Sunshine?” She said, keeping her eyes closed.

Pomni swallowed a shuddering breath. “Do you remember the day before yesterday? When we were trying to film the new intro?”

“That was quite a day.” Ragatha cracked a smile. She nestled herself closer, basking in the rhythm of each gentle sway. “I didn’t know you could scream so loud. Zooble, either.”

“Yeah…” Pomni tittered. “When you were showing me the way to my room, I remember feeling so exhausted, so frustrated. I didn’t understand why all of this was happening to me. What I did wrong to end up trapped here. I was taking it out on everyone, including you. But…”

“But…?”

“But you were still kind to me.”

Ragatha giggled. “Oh, come on. Don’t give me too much credit. You might hate to hear this, but you’re awfully cute when you get all worked up. If I’m being honest, the hardest part was not eating you up.”

“Cute...” Pomni felt butterflies. Her rocking slowed down, falling out of sync with the beat of the music. “That’s what you said about my hat hair. Remember?”

“I do! And I stand by it.”

The social contract of conversation required Pomni to respond with a laugh, or a ‘that’s funny’, or even a small, near-imperceptible exhale of breath — but instead, she simply stood there, thinking, utterly silent. And when she did get around to opening her mouth at last, her voice took on a noticeably different tone.

“R-Ragatha…?”

“Yes?” Ragatha’s mouth curled slightly — and not in the good direction. “Is everything alright? You sound like you have a frog in your throat.”

“Do you—” Pomni swallowed, “D-Do you remember what we talked about before? About…” she took in a shaky breath, “...something to live for…?”

Ragatha’s eyes flashed open with a jolt. The doll palmed the wet spot on her cheek, and flinched again when another droplet pelted her face. “P-Pomni! Are you—” she stammered, “Why are you crying?!”

“Because…!” Pomni’s face crinkled up, “B-Because, if you hadn’t said that…” she gulped down a long, shaky breath, “...if you had listened to me that day, if you had just left alone like I said…”

“Pomni…?”

The young woman’s tear-studded chin curled inward, coming to rest against her heaving chest. “... If it wasn’t for you, Ragatha, I don’t know if I would still be here…”

The old piano roll reached its end with no pomp or circumstance; the haunted furniture took a final bow, shuffling back to their places as the two-steps’s final chord faded away.

A century of stillness stretched between the jester and the ragdoll.

Ragatha pressed her hand to her lips. Pomni couldn’t blame her for her silence. What could Ragatha possibly say? Pomni didn’t know, and, given Ragatha’s flat, stunned gaze, it seemed the ragdoll was equally lost.

“R-Ragatha…? I don’t know how else to say this…” Pomni’s whole body felt twice as heavy. Her body was a paradox, sweltering beneath overwhelming heat and flinching away from wisps of unbearable cold. “I think I, u-um—”

Enough was enough. At long last, the two hearts spoke as one, crackling voices intertwined in an impromptu duet.

“I’m sorry, but…!” the jester squeaked.

“That’s it!” the ragdoll gasped, “I can’t take this anymore — I’m just going to say it!”

Together, they forced out the exact same words: “Can I please just kiss you?!”

…And time slowed to a crawl.

Each woman was the other’s reflection, looking back from the other side of the proverbial water. Ragatha stared, at a loss for words, gawking mouth twisting into a little half-smile. Pomni stared back, eyes aglow, wearing the world’s dumbest grin without a care in the world.

Smiles became snorts, snorts turned into giggles, and giggles bloomed into fits of gut-busting laughter. Pomni’s tears flowed still, but their wet, winding trails framed a face brightened by hope. “Did that just happen?!”

Ragatha giggled, pawing at her face. If she felt any pain — and she certainly did — it didn’t show. “Well?” she remarked at last, “I’m waiting.”

“Um…!” Pomni frantically nodded. “Right! O-Of course!” A bead of sweat traveled down her brow as relief gave way to worry.

She hadn’t the slightest idea of what she was doing.

Pomni’s stance bent backward at a curious angle. Ignoring the added strain on her back, she swallowed, tilted her face closer to Ragatha’s, and then…locked up. For what felt like an eternity, she just stood there, knees chattering, staring into Ragatha’s eyes with a vacant, absolutely petrified expression.

“...Uh, Pomni?” Ragatha blinked. The moment was ruined. It was horribly, terribly, soul-crushingly awkward. “What are you doing?”

“K-Kissing you! Obviously!” Pomni shifted around, forcing a shuddering smile. “I’m just, um, y-you see—”

“Is this how you usually do it?”

“Um, no. Not really…!” a beet-red Pomni shook her head, “To tell you the truth, I’ve never really, um…” her voice shriveled further with every word, “...I’ve haven’t exactly done this before…”

“Pomni!”

“Wh-What?! Is that bad?!”

“Goodness gracious. What am I going to do with you?” Ragatha playfully rolled her eyes. “Well, you already lifted me up. That’s a…start? I suppose? Look, just tilt your head for me.”

“Oh! Sure!” Pomni did — with gusto. “Is this good?”

“No! Not that much!”

Pomni let out a soft little whine. “O-Okay! Sorry!”

“There. That’s better.” Ragatha’s yearning gaze closed the distance, “Next, close your eyes...”

“Like this?”

“Well, yes — there’s only one way to do it.”

“Oh! Right…”

“God, you’re cute...” Ragatha filled her chest with a long, savoring breath, “...Now hurry up and kiss me.”

Pomni’s pounding heart was due to give out any second now. This couldn’t be real. Was this really happening? What had she gotten herself into!?

Slowly but surely, she moved her lips closer, closer, closer, until she could feel the warmth of Ragatha’s hushed breaths on her face. Her stomach twisted into a tighter knot with every burst of humid heat — but she’d come too far to quit now.

Carefully, very carefully, she—

“Ugh! Fine, then — I’ll do it!” Huffing just like a princess, Ragatha seized Pomni’s tunic, pulled her in, and pressed her lips against hers. She shuddered, squealing with joy as their souls linked at last.

Pomni’s eyes were wide, her belly flat, her face a bluish hue as every last gasp of air was suddenly forced out of her chest. Sharply, she breathed in again, and a familiar scent stirred her heart like a siren song:

Strawberries and soil and fresh-fallen rain.

[First Chapter] [Next Chapter]

#pomni x ragatha #ragatha x pomni #ragapom #buttonblossom #jesterdoll #pomnitha #the amazing digital circus #tadc fanfiction #tadc sunshine #pomni #lesbian #tdac pomni #tadc fic

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loveforsatoru · 5 months

Text

Our Blue Spring- Satoru Gojo x Fem Reader (Chapter 5: Once More To See You)

He makes his way back to his apartment, shoving past people on the busy streets. It's times like these where he wishes Tokyo wasn't such a populated city. He's not drunk by any means despite losing count of how many beer bottles and shots he went through, but the anxiety and emptying feeling of it all are what's making his mind hazy.

He makes a series of wrong turns, ending up on streets he's never been on, bumping into almost everyone he sees. It feels like he's going insane. Maybe he is. He doesn't remember the last time it's been this bad. He's never been the type to drink his problems away, but even so, it didn't help.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally gets to his apartment. He drags his body up the stairs, all 6'3 of him wanting to collapse on the floor and just go to sleep. Not because he's tired, but because he doesn't want to go through this night any longer.

He digs his pocket for his keys and fumbles with the door knob, pushing the door open with his foot before slamming it shut. He tosses his keys and wallet onto the table and heads to the bathroom, pulling his shirt over his head. He stands over the sink and splashes himself with cold water, the droplets sliding from his cheek down his jaw before hitting the counter.

He looks at himself in the mirror and hardly recognizes who he is anymore. His eye bags are dark, a red hue replaces the white sclera of his eye, his lips are pale and his hair is all disheveled. It's all evidence of the sleepless nights, hours spent crying, inability to eat properly, and stress.

He thinks nobody has caught on, but many have, including coworkers, friends, and Megumi. Megumi was the last person he wanted to find out about the state he's in. He spent a lot of time with you and Satoru before you left. You treated him like your own, so ultimately he was hurt by your sudden disappearance as well. Satoru didn't want to make it worse on him by showing how much he's been struggling, but it's gotten to the point where his efforts to keep himself together and composed were starting to slip.

He takes a quick shower, washing off the dirt and disgust from his body. The fact that he was in a bar with another woman less than 2 hours ago makes him cringe. He ruffles his hair with a towel before gently opening the door to his bedroom, almost as if you were sleeping peacefully in there and he was afraid to wake you up. His bedroom. It's like it hasn't fully registered in his mind yet. This isn't your shared bedroom anymore. You're not there to stay up until three in the morning, waiting for him to get back from missions. You’re not there for him to hold in his arms, tangling your legs together, trying to be as physically close as you can because your souls were already intertwined. Yet your aroma still lingers in the room, making it feel like you’re there with him.

He gets under the covers and rolls onto his side, staring at the opposite end of the bed, where you used to sleep. It's remained untouched ever since you left. He refuses to sleep on your side, it feels wrong. You didn't leave much of your stuff behind besides the locket he never takes off and some mundane things in the drawer of your night stand like hair ties, earrings, and a scrapbook. He wonders if you purposefully left them there for him or if you just forgot when you were packing your things. Regardless of that, he's never moved them out of their place.

He turns to lay on his back and looks up at the ceiling. It was beginning to pour rain outside, the drops of water hitting the window. It was the only sound that filled the empty and silent apartment aside from his own breathing. Maybe he'll stay home from tomorrow.

Night quickly turns into day and Satoru's woken up by the annoyingly loud sound of his phone ringing, probably the higher ups calling to ask why he hasn't shown up yet, but he doesn't care enough to answer. He rolls out of bed, yawning as he makes his way to the bathroom as he washes his face and brushes his teeth, nothing special. It's the same thing every morning.

He turns to lay on his back and stares up at the ceiling. It was beginning to pour rain outside, the drops of water hitting the window. It was the only sound that filled the empty and silent apartment aside from his own breathing. Maybe he'll stay home from work tomorrow.

Night quickly turns into day and Satoru's woken up by the annoyingly loud sound of his phone ringing, probably the higher ups calling to ask why he hasn't shown up yet, but he doesn't care enough to answer. He rolls out of bed, yawning as he makes his way to the bathroom to he wash his face and brush his teeth, nothing special. It's the same thing every morning.

He goes into the kitchen and searches for something to eat, but it's basically empty. How long has it been since he went to the supermarket? Weeks? Months even? He sighs out in annoyance before grabbing his keys and wallet, heading out of his apartment.

He’s once again met with the cold winter air of Tokyo, making him shiver and stuff his hands inside his jacket pockets. He wanders around, looking for the closest grocery store. It feels weird having this much time on his hands. He’s usually working and doesn’t tend to go out much. It’s not even 10 in the morning.

As he’s walking, he sees a cafe from the corner of his eye, one he knows far too well. He stands in front of the small building in disbelief. He thought this place went out of business and shut down years ago, but he was wrong. Everything looks the same. He used to bring you here every Sunday. You would sit and talk for hours upon hours, enjoying each other's company and the time spent together. The manager of the place started giving you guys free drinks in thanks for keeping them in business.

He wastes no time hurrying inside, examining it. He spots the booth by the window you both sat in every time you came here, but it’s already being occupied by another couple. He takes a seat in the back corner of the cafe and begins scanning the menu. It's all the same, even the usuals you guys would order all those years back. He feels a sense of nostalgia overtake him.

"Hello!" The voice nearly startled him, but he looks up and sees a small old woman.

"I remember you! How've you been?" She continues, sitting down in the seat across from him. She's wearing an apron, so he assumes she works here.

"You do?" He replies, confusion laced in his tone.

"Yes, yes, you used to come here all the time with that beautiful young girl. I've run this cafe for the last 25 years. I remember all my customers, but you two were here so often it's impossible to forget your faces even after all this time." She smiles sweetly at him, feeling content that her used to be #1 customer was finally back.

It finally clicked and a smile grew on his face at the realization.

"I remember now! I thought this place shut down a while ago?"

"No, no. We were closed for a couple weeks because my husband fell ill, but he's recovering, so we reopened. Business has been a little slow though. Nobody appreciates family owned restaurants anymore."

This reminds him of a conversation he had with you a couple years into your relationship. It was something you talked about often, opening a restaurant with him. He said he would build one for you. You laughed along, assuming he wasn't being serious, but deep down, he was. He would do anything for you and if you wanted a family owned restaurant with three little kids of your own running around in the back, he'd give you that and anything else you could possibly ask for.

Noticing the way he was quiet with a pained look plastered on, the old woman decided to clear her throat and speak up again, hoping to ease the sadness and whatever's going on in his head.

"I figure you're looking for your girlfriend. She walked out of here not too long before you came in. Are you waiting for her?"

Her words struck his eardrums and he shot his head up, quirking an eyebrow at her.

"What do you mean?"

"She's your girlfriend, no? The one you used to come by with?"

"We broke up years ago, she moved away. I haven't seen or spoken to her since. Maybe you have the wrong person."

"I don't think so. Her name is y/n, right?"

He nodded at her words, feeling his heart about to burst out of his chest. Is there a possibility that you're really back in town?

"It's definitely her. She did mention she was going to be here for a couple days, go to a Christmas Eve party tonight, and spend some time with friends before going back home. I assumed she was speaking for the both of you though."

A Christmas Eve party? He quickly pulls out his phone and checks the date. It's December 24th. How could he forget? He's been so caught up in his own shit that he didn't even realize it was almost Christmas, much less the fact that Utahime sent out invitations to her Christmas Eve party weeks ago.

"I have to go find her! Do you know where she went?"

He almost sprung out of his seat, ready to do whatever it takes to see you again even if it meant he'd have to walk barefoot across Japan.

"I'm not sure. She mentioned something about meeting with a company a couple hours away. She just stopped by for something to eat and we had a quick chat. She didn't specify what she does for work, but she seems very successful."

"Did she mention anything about me or our relationship? Does she even want to see me?" He mumbled that last question more to himself, but it didn't fall to deaf ears.

"I tried asking about you, but didn't want to push the subject. Let me ask you something."

He nodded at her, nervously biting the inside of his cheek.

"Do you love her?"

"Of course I do. I love her more than anything in the world. I haven't been the same since she left."

"If you truly love her then you'll go to that party tonight and fight for her back even if it takes getting on a plane and moving to the other side of the globe."

She's right. He's going to do everything he can. He won't let you slip through his fingers again.

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo fanfic #gojo x you #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x y/n #jjk angst #i love gojo #satoru x reader #jjk satoru #satorugojo #satoru fanfic #jjk fanfic #jjk fanworks #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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magneto-was-fucking-right · 5 months

Text

The Ghost Next Door - Chapter 4

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 5

Disclaimer: slow burn; neighbor!Simon; will eventually contain very graphic descriptions of smut;

Chapter summary: In which Simon fixes his neighbor's leaky faucet and thinks about fixing something else... Word Count: 1.4k

When Riley Thomas had walked into the building’s unreliable elevator that night, barely beating its closing rickety doors, she hadn’t expected to see Simon already inside, sulking. His black hoodie and faded jeans were just as soaked as her woolen jumper and bell-bottoms, her hair in significantly worse disarray as she wiped the rain drops from her forehead, cheeks rosy from the cold.

The young woman hadn’t seen him for almost two whole weeks, the scarce discreet noises stemming from the thin walls hardly giving away his routine – she left too early in the morning to notice signs of movement and usually returned well into the evening, precluding the chance to ever see him return from any possible outings. When she did hear something – anything at all – it was usually late at night, as his tossing and turning in bed caused the mattress’ springs to creak noisily. She knew at least that their rooms fell on adjacent parts of their respective homes (not that she cared), and that he most likely shared her terrible insomnia. If she hadn’t met Simon, she’d think she had no neighbor at all, a vacant apartment next door inhabited solely by a ghost. Mostly silent, eerily quiet.

“Hey! Haven’t seen you in a while.” Her cheeks reddened and she hoped she didn’t look as breathless as she sounded, the quick run from the grocery store to the building tiring her out.

He nodded once in acknowledgement, barely eyeing her, a Chinese food container secured in his large hands. Riley’s smile faltered slowly as she realized he wasn’t planning on indulging her chit-chat. As her hand moved to the elevator buttons, fingers purplish and swollen from the cold, Simon grunted:

“Already pressed’em.” She blushed once again, feeling anxious sweat form in every pore as the elevator doors shut.

“Right…Sorry.” A nervous giggle made its way out her mouth, and she took a deep breath before attempting a new social interaction.

She looked up, observing his side profile as discreetly as possible, eyes fixed on his black facemask.

“Can I ask you something?”

Simon sighed before replying.

“No.”

“Why do you always wear a mask? Got covid or something?” She deliberately ignored his moody reply.

“Would you stay away from me if I did?”

“Maybe.” She shrugged, and the man forced a sickly cough so dramatic she couldn’t help but laugh.

As they reached their floor, Simon patiently waited for the young woman to exit the lift first, trailing behind her smaller frame like a massive shadow.

“I love that place” She pointed at his food from the Chinese restaurant across the street, the delicious smell from its contents having filled the elevator, and now wafting down the hall. “Funny…Never took you for a spring rolls guy.”

Simon rolled his eyes “I usually go for chicken fried rice.”

“That’s my favorite!” Riley smiled excitedly.

“Great.” He replied dismissively as he fished for his keys.

“How’s your leg?” she asked, and Simon halted at her soft look of genuine concern, his keys dangling between his thick fingers.

“Quite decent.” He conceded, eyeing his own thigh. He didn’t limp nearly as much, and he had been as cautious as possible with the sutures she had skillfully provided.

“Great, and I’m sorry if it’s been too noisy lately, I’ve been cleaning up the place and I’m still finding permanent homes for most of my rescues.” Riley grimaced slightly, aware of how inconvenient her presence was as a neighbor.

He shrugged, remaining silent as she kept talking.

“Do you happen to know anyone interested in the German shepherd pup?” She asked with pleading eyes “I love Rex, but he’s no dog for a crammed apartment with other pets.”

She observed him as he seemed momentarily lost in thought, his pensive gaze zoning out before returning to hers.

“I do, actually.” Simon shifted his weight “I’ll let you know.”

“Perfect...I’ll be waiting.” Riley smiled brightly at the prospect as she unlocked her door.

She was just about to bid him a good night when he blurted out:

“I didn’t thank you.” He mumbled awkwardly. They stared at each other for a few uncomfortable seconds. “For the stitches. An’ the groceries.”

A slow, mischievous grin crept up her cheeks, two characteristic dimples dotting them as she replied.

“Day off tomorrow. I’ll be waiting for you to come fix my faucet.”

“But-”

“And I love your new rug, by the way!” She taunted as she quickly scurried inside, leaving him baffled on his doorstep.

He huffed as he looked down at the pink rug she had gotten him – the one he had reluctantly placed outside his flat, those three annoying words right under his muddy boots.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell.”

***

“Hold the light still.” A moody grunt.

“I’m trying!” A whimper of despair.

Simon Riley found himself lying on his aching back under his neighbors’ kitchen sink, firm hands holding a rusty wrench that stained his calloused fingers.

He could easily bear the straining of his muscles on the awkward position, as well as Riley’s aptitude to point her phone’s flash to anything but where he actually needed it, if it wasn’t for the dog constantly biting on his boot, and a large, old cat trying to sleep on top of him.

“I’m sorry about Milo.” She frowned as she tried to push her feline companion away. “He’s old and tired.”

“Me and you both, mate” She tried to suppress a giggle at his comment.

“Can I ask you something?”

Simon grunted “Does it matter if I say no?”

“No. I’ll still ask, but your consent would be greatly appreciated.”

“Go on then.”

“What’s your rank?” He couldn’t see her face from where she kneeled beside him, but he rolled his eyes as he pictured her curious expression.

“Non’ of your business, kid.” He huffed as he tightened the pipe.

“Oh, c’mon…Why are you so grumpy today? Grumpier than usual, I mean.” Simon held her wrist firmly from under the sink, startling her. He felt her body stiffen under his touch, tense silence filling the room.

Slowly, softly, he pulled her wrist to the right position, so she finally held the light properly, and if his thumb had merely grazed her soft skin as it parted his, then it was purely accidental. Surely.

Simon felt awkward as he recalled the way her eyes had momentarily lingered on a glimpse of his abdomen when he had first laid on the floor, his shirt riding up as he lifted his arms to work, rolled up sleeves revealing numerous tattoos. A part of him – a part he longed to bury and dissociate from - tortuously replayed the glint in her innocent, curious eyes, the way her lips had slightly parted, and her cheeks and neck heated involuntarily.

As he finished the task, sliding from under the sink and sitting up against the cupboard, Simon avoided her gaze as he readjusted his black facemask.

“Lieutenant.” He conceded, killing the silence between the two.

She tried not to look too pleased about having her way, pocketing her phone and petting Rex distractedly as she considered the implications.

“Regular army?”

“SAS.”

“Wow…A seasoned soldier then.”

“A bit.” Simon groaned as he stood up, his joints cracking painfully.

“That’s the sound of victory right there.” She taunted and he shot her a glare.

“Jus’ turn the bloody thing on.”

He rolled his eyes as she stood upright, saluting him.

“Sir, yes sir!”

“I’m never tellin’ you anythin’ ever again.”

“Copy that, Lieutenant.” Riley giggled as she turned on the faucet. “Success!” She yelled excitedly as there were no more leaks.

Simon nodded in approval, satisfied with his work.

“I guess you’re good at laying pipe.” The young woman joked, winking playfully.

“Shut up, kid.” He turned around, heading slowly for her door so she wouldn’t notice his flushed ears. “Bugger off with your yank expressions.”

Despite being more cluttered, her tiny flat seemed much cozier than his, and he made sure to avoid stepping on her clean carpet as Milo tried to waddle between his feet.

“Leaving so soon?” She seemed disappointed by his quick retreat, but he didn’t dare face her soft gaze again.

Simon stopped by the doorway and stared at Riley’s baby picture on the thrifted entrance table. She was chunky and missing half her teeth, but the same dimpled smile brightened up the dull background. Right beside it stood a picture of her father, his medals humbly kept in a small glass display.

“I can’t stay.”

“Not even for a cup of tea?” He could almost feel how hard she struggled to blurt out the invitation, her tone laced with shyness.

“Maybe next time, love.”

A/N: I'm back! I'm so sorry I took forever to post another part, holidays were crazy! I hope you guys are enjoying it and feel free to drop any feedback or ask to be added to the tag list :) Thank you guys for reading <3

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moonbaby26 · 3 months

Text

Title: Rainy Day Man

(Chapter 4 of Doflamingo’s Marine Series)

*Crossposted to AO3 Here*

Chapter Pairings: Doflamingo x Reader, Aokiji/Kuzan x Reader, Smoker x Reader is in the past

Chapter Warnings: masturbation (male)

Chapter Synopsis: Kuzan knows when something is wrong. And if you won’t tell him yourself, he’ll deal with finding the truth through other means. He’ll do what he has to to protect you, the woman that he still cares about. But Doflamingo will not be letting go either as he already has one eye on the future and what you could become for him next.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

————————————

“Ooh, you’re up early. Isn’t that twice in a row now? What’s the occasion?” Admiral Kizaru’s lackadaisical voice drifted in from the open doorway.

Aokiji looked up from his seat at his desk, squinting a little actually. He’d already taken something for his headache, but it hadn’t helped much yet.

“Hina called me.” Aokiji answered honestly. “I’m waiting for her. She had a report she wanted to give me.”

“Uh huh,” Kizaru still sauntered in without specifically being invited. He then came to lean against the corner of Aokiji’s desk. He was carrying a small orange as his breakfast, now peeling it with his fingers. “Hina’s on her way back from Fish-Man island, right?” Kizaru asked as well. “Kind of stormy today for all that.”

Getting in and out of the Marineford gates was definitely trickier in large ocean swells. But Aokiji knew that Smoker’s ship had already made it out this morning. And being that Hina was on a coated ship, coming up from the sea floor instead should have made it easier for her group.

But Kizaru didn’t mind to keep talking when Aokiji hadn’t even answered him yet. “You know, I heard through the grapevine that you were out pretty late yourself last night. My men saw you at that new bar. And then leaving said bar with a certain troublemaking Captain too.”

Aokiji’s eyes were instantly more alert at that, his stare meeting the other admiral’s glance behind Kizaru’s amber tinted glasses.

“Touchy.” Kizaru commented at that look, but not at all intimidated. He’d gotten the peel off his orange now as he kept on. “She’s not your direct subordinate, so you know it’s not against protocol. I just thought it was interesting. Seems like she’s always stirring up something if she doesn’t have Tsuru around to keep her in check. Quite a fuss at Sabaody yesterday too.” He glanced around the office soon after though. “You got a trash can?”

Aokiji sighed, pulling the small one out from under his desk for Kizaru to toss the orange peel into.

“So gossip travels at the speed of light too then does it?” Aokiji asked the other admiral.

“Always has.” Kizaru answered easily, using the tiniest blades of light to then segment that orange with a brief flash within his palm.

Aokiji really didn’t want to talk about this right now. But at the same time, if he didn’t comment at all, he knew how quickly everyone would just make the worst assumptions for you and he both. “Look. I’ll tell you the same as anyone else that asks. She’s my friend. And nothing happened last night. We had drinks as a group, and I made sure she made it back to the barracks without anyone bothering her. I did not go in her room.”

“Such a gentleman.” Kizaru mused, chewing on one of the orange pieces now.

Aokiji shifted back in his chair, knowing it was still pointless to actually let himself be riled. Not by someone like Kizaru at least who just liked to stir things up a little for the sake of alleviating boredom.

“I thought you had training drills to supervise today anyway.” Aokiji rebutted.

Kizaru only made a non committal sound to that.

“You just don’t want to stand out in the rain and mud do you?” Aokiji realized that a bit afterward, leaning his head further back against his chair.

The dull throb of a headache didn’t get any better as distant thunder rumbled through the walls from outside.

But even more distinct than the thunder was the irritated voice that followed from somewhere down the hallway.

“Where the hell is he!? Kizaru, get your ass out here! Drills are at zero seven hundred sharp!”

“Keep your shirt on, Akainu…” The man with the sunglasses and yellow striped suit replied, calm as anything. Though still seeming a little disappointed in how quickly he’d been found out. He didn’t look back however as he now strolled for the door.

“Let me know how it goes with the captain if you would.” Kizaru sounded only just slightly curious still, not always the easiest person to read. In fact, more difficult than most in how little his narrow emotional range ever changed. “Sorry if I don’t believe you yet.” He added. “You’re not half the choirboy you pretend to be these days.”

Aokiji frowned a little at that, but still didn’t feel the comment too untrue as he watched the other admiral leave.

He could hear Akainu berating Kizaru further in the hallway as well after they’d run into one another.

But none of that was his problem right now. He hadn’t liked the sound of Hina’s voice on the phone. And he was further concerned really when she’d said it needed to be an in person conversation.

It was hard to explain. This unease he’d had ever since you and Smoker had gone at it that day in Mariejois. He’d felt guilty almost immediately too, embarrassing you both he knew by having to step in like that.

But someone had to stop it. Hina had been right about all that too. From the very beginning she’d said you and Smoker would never work. Just too stubborn, too similar to ever concede to one another. But Aokiji had still hoped for the best.

He’d wanted to see the two of you be happy. Even if it meant watching something progress that he couldn’t have for himself any longer.

As it was now sitting alone here, tired and waiting for Hina, of course he remembered the mistakes he’d almost made last night. Because it would have been wrong to do anything when you were that vulnerable.

But even with you fully drunk, even knowing that you were still processing through a rough breakup, he’d almost kissed you. And he’d almost walked into your room.

Kizaru was right that he wasn’t as noble in heart as he tried to be in action. Every day was its own struggle of still learning what kind of man he wanted to be in the end.

He was just lucky that he’d had so many good teachers and second chances by this point.

But at this moment, it was Zephyr that had influenced these particular choices the most. And entirely only through tragedy that the instructor never would have wanted to become a lesson for anyone else.

It was something Aokiji could never erase from his mind. He’d been the one with then Admiral Zephyr that day the phone call had come. Zephyr’s only family, his wife and young son had both been killed.

Not accidentally, not by some twisted or horrible turn of fate, but specifically because Zephyr was an admiral.

That was the only connection pirates needed to hunt down an innocent woman and child and attack them personally and brutally when they knew Zephyr was away and couldn’t protect them.

Never in his life had Aokiji seen a man cry like Zephyr did that day. And not just a man, but a father figure to him if he was being honest. To hear someone’s heart and soul ripped from their body that way, it had done something to him too.

He remembered feeling lost, and coming back to his quarters that night. You were there in his bed too. Already asleep for how late it had taken their ship to get in.

He’d sat in a chair and drank while you slept. He’d drank so much and still it hadn’t been enough to dull that feeling.

Because he couldn’t let it be you next.

Everyone knew then that he was gunning for the next admiral position as soon as one might open. And he knew realistically that he was going to get it.

He would be an admiral, and you would be a target. You were too young to put that kind of weight on you. He was sure you’d find someone else and be fine. You didn’t need him to make you happy. He was just lucky enough to have had the short time he did with you.

Lucky enough to be your first.

But it didn’t give him any right to drag you down with him.

With your hard headed pride, you would have refused to accept his reasoning of not wanting you hurt. Because you still thought that you could fight anyone, take on anything. It’d been easier just to say that you were too young for him then and leave it at that only a few weeks later.

And he thought he had made the right choice with time. He’d even been happy the day Smoker came to him talking about this firecracker of a female marine he’d met. One who Smoker had gotten into a passionate argument with which had turned into much more out on a joint mission together.

Aokiji had completely given his blessing then. Because he trusted Smoker, and he knew he’d take care of you. But here, only two years later, it was now just back to the beginning.

You were hurting all over again. Yet there was still more to it that he couldn’t understand. He absolutely trusted his instincts that this went deeper. Just as much as he trusted the dread in his stomach which told him that whatever Hina was coming here to say was going to be fully related to whatever had wrapped itself around you now.

———————————

The thunder rumbled again outside as his back muscles relaxed further beneath the hot water. The shower stream was now as hot as he could stand it as Doflamingo tilted his head back, letting the water run down over his throat as well.

It still felt a bit surreal, to have something he’d wanted for so long this much in his grasp. He wondered if he’d ever really tell you what his thoughts had been even from first sight of you those few years ago.

He’d hinted at it in Mariejois, but he doubted you remembered much of what he’d said then. Probably just the fucking and the fighting had occupied your thoughts there, not that that was wrong.

Trading blows with you versus sliding his cock into you, both those experiences occupied very similar pleasure centers in his own brain to be true. And oh how he’d savored it when you’d finally given him the opportunity.

But to this day, Doflamingo distinctly remembered the first time he’d ever seen you.

In the North Blue, at another of Tsuru’s traps. It was in a dirty little town, like so many of them that he’d moved through back then.

Tsuru herself was occupied at the shore, keeping his current ship pinned in port to block full escape.

But Doflamingo wasn’t on that ship. He’d already decided it was time to sacrifice it. Time for something new.

Moving back through the island, his foot soldiers had run into more of Tsuru’s forces on the other end.

And that’s where you’d been.

Doflamingo had heard the gunfire and stayed above it. In his dark suit at the time, and blond hair more spiked than he wore it now as he’d tried to determine his easiest route through.

He hadn’t wanted any of Tsuru’s crew to see him and report back to ruin the ruse. But hiding above to move across the low rooftops had also given him an excellent vantage point.

You weren’t alone by any means, working with a group of marines beating his soldiers back. But you were new, and extremely noticeable as your rope dart had gone around his field captain’s neck and you’d brought that man who was twice your size down to his knees.

Doflamingo had hesitated, hearing the choking sound even from there and the words that followed as an argument broke out below.

“(Y/N), we’re supposed to take them alive!”

“He tried to shoot me in the face!”

“(Y/N)! What did Tsuru say!?”

“…okay, fine!”

And you’d loosened the rope just to promptly be shot at again with a smaller gun that captain had hidden. Of course your stupid friends had nearly gotten you killed with their meddling.

But Doflamingo had already been smirking as he’d realized what had really happened. The bullet may have been a small caliber, but the aim had still been true.

The shot should have sank right between those nice young breasts. But it hadn’t. It had ricocheted even as you grunted from the discomfort of the strike.

Armament haki is what it was to his surprise, even in a little shit like you. He’d also taken the time to notice your bare legs and nice looking thighs too. All visible with that short skirt as your boot had come up next to crack the captain’s jaw in return and send him sprawling back onto the ground. The man fully unconscious then as you’d argued with your crew some more in the aftermath.

Had his cock twitched in his pants for you even then?

It absolutely had, but he’d had to be on his way, escaping the island and all of you soon after. From there on he’d paid more attention of course, keeping an eye out for any glimpse of you anytime Tsuru’s crew was close.

And occasionally he’d have a soldier giving a report about how they’d narrowly escaped your ensnarement. On those days especially, as they recounted your violence and the means you were willing to take just at the edge of what Tsuru would allow, he’d known he wanted to get you alone.

You’d been a little too young then in truth, but you acted enough like a woman by Doflamingo’s standards at least. Taking on his men and thwarting his plans like a full grown marine. He’d wondered often back then if you’d even had a man inside you yet.

It should have been him. It would have been too if Tsuru hadn’t always kept you so close. Even Trebol and Diamante had asked him more than once if he just wanted them to catch you the next time and bring you back to him to get that fixation out of his system. He knew that they had tried more than once.

But it had never come to be. The timing just wasn’t right. Rosinante had disappeared with Law not long after as well and things had just gone to shit for a while as he’d wondered if his plans for Dressrosa would ever come to be.

He’d never forgotten about you, but he’d had to focus on cleaning his own house and that alone. Weeding out the traitor and finding the Op-Op fruit to secure the future.

And then he’d heard about the up and comer Kuzan, the ice logia user. The underworld agreed that that man was going to be a real problem and surely an admiral soon. And it wasn’t that pirates gave a shit about the love lives of marines. But whenever someone got that big, every weakness had to be explored. And so he’d heard about Kuzan’s personal life too.

Oh, he’d been in a terrible mood that day he’d first found out. His officers were absolutely perplexed then until they realized what had happened. You had become a woman truly then, one that belonged only to Kuzan.

But it didn’t last. And he’d become king of Dressrosa anyway. He was busy again, securing that and eventually his warlord position along with it.

And then you were with Smoker. Another logia user that the underworld was keeping an eye on. Doflamingo had wondered if you had a fetish for logia types specifically.

In the brief times he had gotten Crocodile to submit, he knew how interesting logia users could be in bed. Though sandy sheets and the grit it made on his cock likely wasn’t as fun as ice or smoke ghosting between your legs had been for you.

But the past was the past. He thought of you back then the same as he thought of you now while he touched himself. Alone here still in his hot shower as he splayed one hand against the wall.

He had been cleaning off the mess of the night before. But he was done cleaning now as he considered all the versions of you that he’d known just for this long.

That brat in the North Blue who he could have made a woman of.

The too proud marine you were now that he was just starting to bend beneath him.

And the intangible partner that you had the potential to become if he kept shaping you in all the ways that he wanted.

Because he could take even more from you if he chose to. Your freedom, your body, even your life as a marine. You could be so much more than all that.

His hand was moving further back between his legs now. He squeezed his own sack, closing his eyes under the running water.

You could be a queen. You could be on your knees in front of him every day then. So needful for your husband if he only bid it. He could teach you how to hold him like this. Hold him as he’d slide his cock into your willing mouth and ask you to squeeze him while you sucked him off.

He squeezed his sack harder at that idea too, the discomfort only heightening his arousal as his hips began bucking slowly.

You still had no idea what he could really be like as a lover. The two in person times with you this far had still been far too rushed. If he could really get you alone for days at a time, he could show you then.

Slow and steady, working you up to a fever pitch until you’d be begging him for more.

His thigh muscles tightened as he finally let go of his heavy sack to begin stroking his thick shaft again.

What would you want though? Would being offered such things entice you at all? Or would he have to force it all on you?

He wasn’t above that obviously. He already had forced you, and he’d do it again if you insisted on playing with him that way.

He could rape you. He could kidnap you. He could make you his wife, make you his consort. He could force you to bear him offspring. He could make you raise them as demigod princes or princesses.

And when the day finally came to tear it all back down, to rip the other gods from heaven and take their places, you and any children you bore him would serve on your knees as his spared favorites.

That is what he wanted for you.

That was the highest form of affection that the madness of Donquixote blood could offer.

And he was finally able to admit it. Even as his toes were trying to curl in the puddle of the shower that he was still standing in.

He was squeezing his cock, and rubbing it from tip to base as his spine straightened up and he breathed out your name. If he couldn’t have true heaven again yet, cast out to the surface world as those traitors had done to him, he would survive on only these tastes of paradise for now.

He felt it when he buried himself between your thighs. Heaven within hell.

That’s what you were becoming for him. It didn’t have to make sense. It didn’t have to be explained. He felt it and he couldn’t let it go now. Not now, likely not ever.

Doflamingo cursed as he came hard again. It was wasted seed that should have been all for you as he shuddered and it landed thick against the shower wall.

Somewhere outside the skies were thundering again too, but he couldn’t care about distant threats right now. He sat down in the still running shower. The hot water and steam made him feel more overheated than he was as his hand covered his unprotected eyes when he didn’t want to close them under the water any longer.

As he used a string to pull the lever on the opposite wall, the water finally stopped. Leaving him nude and dripping, sitting on the expensive tile as his muscles trembled slightly once more.

He was going to make this work, for him and for you. It had to.

———————————

Aokiji was staring at Hina’s somber expression, the office door closed to all others as she repeated for him.

“Hina doesn’t understand why either. But Hina knows what the boy said.” Her eyes were sharp, but not unempathetic. “(Y/N) didn’t report it.”

Aokiji had his elbows on his desk, hands up with fingers intertwined and his lips resting against them. But his entire body was tense.

“Kuzan…” Hina tried. “You need to give her a chance to explain.”

“No.” His voice was short as he lifted his head again from behind his hands.

Hina watched him carefully still, but also glancing down to the small rings of ice now forming where his elbows met the desk.

“Then what are you going to do?” She asked next.

“I’m going to find out from the source.” He had stood now, those tell tale puffs of water vapor also leaving his mouth with the words. The temperature in the room had shifted.

“This stays between us, Hina, until I know more. Understood?” The cold of his voice more than matched the room now.

But Hina wasn’t afraid as she nodded. “She’s our friend. Hina wants to know the truth too.” Though as she watched Aokiji gather his coat and umbrella she looked a little more concerned. “Be careful please. It’s rough out there.”

“Sabaody isn’t far. And big waves freeze the same as small ones.” Was all he replied, walking right back out of the office door.

——————————

The heavy rain was now fully pelting the windows. Doflamingo had gotten dressed and had brunch some time ago, now reading through pending contracts in his makeshift office here at the beach house.

He’d planned to leave back out for Dressrosa this morning. But he was in no hurry. There was no reason to risk damaging a good ship in this weather. He and the limited crew he’d brought could either leave tonight or tomorrow morning when the seas had calmed.

So he was only trying to catch up on all the work he’d had with him as always. He had no phone meetings scheduled for the next few hours at least. So besides the blowing storm, it was still quiet enough that he actually had some music playing as he analyzed the documents.

It was just instrumental music. Symphonies recorded generations ago now spinning on a record nearby. The relaxing sound helping him concentrate on the profits he was double checking in his calculations.

He’d found a percentage he didn’t like and was just marking it out to make an amendment when a different snail rang.

It was a short distance one, just for paging him within the house. As of course what he called a simple house was actually a seaside mansion of several floors.

He was a little annoyed regardless, but clicked the connection open. “What is it?” He asked, still staring down at his numbers through the red glasses he’d already put back on.

“Master Doflamingo, sir.” Some random male staff member he didn’t even remember the name of sounded heavily flustered. The warlord didn’t stay at this house often enough to have bothered to learn all the workers.

But he tried not to lose his patience, still waiting for whatever the message was. He didn’t like to be put into a bad mood when doing paperwork, it made room for mistakes.

“Sir,” The staff member did continue just as nervously. “You have an unscheduled appointment here to see you.”

And again Doflamingo tried not to snap back. The nature of the word appointment meant scheduled. It was an oxymoron to say it the way they just had. “Who?” He just asked instead. Was Disco dumb enough to come crying here again? Or maybe some idiot rookie pirate who thought just throwing themselves at him could earn them a place on his crew?

“It’s marine Admiral Aokiji, sir.”

The ink pen in Doflamingo’s hand broke before he’d realized he’d even squeezed it harder. Black ink now flowing all over his hand and the paperwork beneath it.

His heart was pounding and his haki followed suit with the adrenaline spike. His mind had to catch up as he felt his lips stretch into that nervous smile he couldn’t always control.

What had you told the admiral then? Had you betrayed him already after all?

“Sir?” The peon questioned after the long delay in response.

The symphony was still playing in the background as Doflamingo tried to clean the ink from his hand as if wiping away blood. He could only find the antimacassar, that separate overlay of his chair headrest to wipe it on.

“I’m coming.” He managed a reasonable tone regardless as his mind still continued to race.

Aokiji would not come here unless he at least suspected something. But it didn’t mean he knew everything either. And even if he did know more than he should, what could he realistically do about it?

Doflamingo knew that even all he’d done to you this far wasn’t near enough to lose his warlord status. The marines might be aghast on principle, but it was the World Government who really made the rules. And they wouldn’t give two shits if a random marine got herself railed by a warlord.

Maybe her skirt shouldn’t have been so short? Maybe she wanted it and only changed her tune because she didn’t want to be demoted? That’s exactly how those old shits thought. Hell, that was probably how most of the marine brass thought.

If Aokiji did actually care about you, it’d only be your own career that he’d be detonating if he revealed it all. Because why wouldn’t a pirate and even a king fuck a feisty little thing like you if given half the chance?

People would expect it from Doflamingo. But not from a self righteous marine. Double standards were fun that way.

His heart rate had slowed already again as he went through all of this in his head in just moments. He had wanted Aokiji to know a little bit too. He had to remind himself of that. He was just surprised that the admiral would confront him already. It was only supposed to be doubts about you at this point. Not the full blown realization.

Doflamingo’s hand was now as clean as he could get it for the time being. He slipped back on his feather coat before heading out into the hallway and down the curved staircase.

——————————

Aokiji was standing waiting in the massive foyer, rainwater still dripping from his coat and dirty boots. He’d left a light trail of mud across the pristine marble floor.

And of course Doflamingo was smiling, just like anytime he’d ever seen him as the tall pirate emerged at the top of the stairs. Hands in his pockets, and dramatic pink coat moving with him as he took the staircase down in no real hurry to get there.

“Admiral Aokiji.” The warlord spoke so smoothly, the light of the chandelier above creating the illusion that those red sunglasses were actually glowing.

Like a demon’s eyes, evoking the warlord’s epithet as he continued. “Quite a nasty day to come all the way here for what I’m sure could have just been a phone call. Are we being called to war? Tell me it’s something that exciting for a man like you to come knocking at my door.”

“I’d like a private conversation with you.” Aokiji answered plainly, betraying nothing yet as he did glance around at all the staff still gawking at them from multiple doorways that opened to the foyer.

“Easy enough.” Doflamingo answered, pulling one hand out of his pockets to motion it like shooing away animals. “Out!”

And they did scurry away so fast too. It was pitiful really. Not a backbone left among them. All stolen by the man in front of him no doubt.

Aokiji did allow them all enough time to get away, but he also noticed how much Doflamingo seemed unwilling to come any closer then.

They were facing each other. The pirate still on the stairs, legs actually staggered to have one foot above the other on different steps. As if ready to move quickly if needed. And keeping himself at higher ground.

And Aokiji still near the center of the foyer, forced to look slightly upward to make eye contact with the warlord on the stairs.

“I want to know what happened in Sabaody yesterday.” Aokiji asked. It was not friendly any longer, if it ever had been.

Those glasses were watching him intently, he felt it. “I already gave my statement. Vice Admiral Vergo signed off on it.”

“Vergo wasn’t there until it was already over. He can’t verify what he wasn’t present to see.” Aokiji carefully moved his hands out of his marine coat in test.

And he saw Doflamingo’s calf muscles tense even from this distance. He was ready to jump. The problem was, that even knowing someone was guilty as sin and giving every sign of being so, that knowledge didn’t help with a pirate of this level.

Because when there was that much sin, Aokiji couldn’t know what thing was really being reacted to. There was no doubt in his mind, standing here in this literal mansion, that every single painting, statue, and elaborate light fixture was dripping with the blood money it’d been paid for with.

“Let’s try it this way,” Aokiji shifted strategies then. He did not mind being fully blunt when needed. His patience was wearing thin. “Captain (Y/N) was attacked. I know her skill level. Of anyone confirmed there at the auction house yesterday, you’re the only one strong enough to have done it. So why wasn’t that in your report, Doflamingo?”

The smile didn’t change, but the tension in it did. The warlord’s jaw tightened as he raised his other hand from his pocket with equal care to what Aokiji had. “This isn’t private enough yet. One moment.”

And suddenly the sound of slamming doors echoed throughout the foyer. Not simultaneously, just in random succession throughout the large room as Aokiji did catch the brief glint of strings moving through the chandelier’s light.

“Even mice like to eavesdrop at times.” Doflamingo commented once every door out of this room was now sealed.

It was also meant to remind Aokiji that he was easily still within the warlord’s attack range to be sure. But the admiral never moved.

“What did you do to her?” Aokiji asked again then instead, no longer skirting anything.

Last night the merboy had warmed up to Hina enough to ask about you. He’d been so worried that the ‘bad man’ would come for you again. Hina had sworn to Aokiji that she offered no leading questions to the boy after that, but only let him speak of his own experience to work through it.

The boy had likened it to what he already could understand from life on the seafloor. He said Doflamingo had come at you from above, a predator in every sense of the word. He’d used his claws on your neck and his jaws on your face.

His jaws over your own mouth to be specific.

Hina said there was no question to her that the boy understood what he’d seen. And that he’d also heard your scream even through the closed door after Doflamingo had taken you into the office to fight further.

You weren’t someone who truly screamed. Aokiji had seen you take horrible injuries in the name of protecting your fellow marines. And never had he heard a sound like what the boy described to Hina come from you.

And so he waited now, that question hanging in the air as Doflamingo stood above him on those stairs.

“It sounds like you’ve been talking to eavesdropping mice yourself,” The warlord breathed, his tone colder as well now. Both of his hands had remained out in the open from his pockets.

“Everyone’s voice is as loud as anyone else’s to me. The source doesn’t matter.” And Aokiji was absolutely watching those hands. He realized one of Doflamingo’s palms was stained with black as well.

“How…human. Everyone equal, is that how it goes?” Doflamingo questioned. His chest was rising and falling a little faster now from beneath his open shirt.

He’d no doubt seen that thinnest layer of frost forming from beneath Aokiji’s boots and beginning to spread up from the admiral’s wrists as well.

But Doflamingo’s tongue was also a weapon as strong as any string. Any marine who’d been around him at all knew this.

So Aokiji wasn’t entirely surprised when that deeper dig finally came. The warlord was daring the admiral to make the first move. Wanting to be able to claim self defense if it came down to it no doubt.

“Were the voices in Ohara just as loud too then, Kuzan?” It was almost a hiss. ‘Come at me if you can’ it said.

A snake cornered in its own den. That’s all Aokiji saw now. Those flat fangs bared in the widest smile.

The fangs that he truly believed had bitten you.

“My crimes are my own.” Aokiji spoke, that resulting twist in his chest would have goaded him only a few years ago. But he was smarter now. “I’m here to talk about yours.”

It was almost a barking laugh so suddenly from the other at that. As if Doflamingo truly couldn’t control it as his hands trembled in what seemed to be frustration. He couldn’t just fight his way out of this if Aokiji wouldn’t attack him first.

“You think I’d really hurt her!?” The warlord’s laugh kept on, echoing through the foyer. “Tsuru raised her. And Tsuru is family to me. Don’t you understand!?”

A look of disgust moved across Aokiji’s face at the nonsensical admission. “I’d say you’re crazy, but we both know that would be the understatement of the century. Tsuru wants you in jail. Nothing more. Don’t insult the Vice Admiral in front of me with whatever sick connection you’ve made up in your own mind.”

“No. You’re the one trying to insert yourself where you don’t belong! Ask Tsuru-san if you’re so sure. Ask her what I wanted when we first met! What I asked her to do before she left me to my fate anyway!”

It was ridiculous bullshit. But maybe this is what he got for trying to reason with a lunatic. “It doesn’t matter. (Y/N) is the only reason I’m here. Stay away from her. Whatever you got away with before is not going to happen again.”

The pirate didn’t admit it, but he didn’t deny it either. “And what will you do, Kuzan? Kill me? On what grounds? How would the World Government take that? A marine admiral conspiring against a king of a government nation?” Doflamingo’s voice was still getting angrier. The blood vessel on his head showing. “And for what motivation? You didn’t want her regardless. You already had your chance!”

Yet as soon as the resulting ice sheet shot out across the floor to those words, Doflamingo was already in the air.

But they both knew the warning shot for what it was. No strings emerged even as the warlord now perched on the banister, the ice having swallowed the stair steps he’d been on mere heartbeats before.

“You destroy everything you touch.” Aokiji glowered. Breath coming out in visible puffs once more. “I have no doubt that Dressrosa is doomed too. It doesn’t matter how or when. That country was dead the day it put its faith in a man like you.”

Doflamingo sneered. “You still don’t understand. You can’t because of what you are. You’re a mouse too, Kuzan. Even as a strong one, you can’t escape the limits you were born into. But I’m more than a marine. More than an admiral even. And I can give more because of it. If you’re so worried about protecting your fellow mice, then let me do the guarding. Stay out of my way.”

It had to be true then. It was just too much for Doflamingo to say if it wasn’t.

But the warlord had such trouble shutting his mouth once he’d already started. “And it’s not your choice anyway. It’s hers.” He added with an additional bit of venom. That was the closest he would come to actually confessing.

And somehow only then did Aokiji feel the full weight settle onto his shoulders. But he wouldn’t accept that there was or even could be consent right now. Looking at the exaggerated silhouette that was Doflamingo, still perched with his teeth bared on the banister, it didn’t seem that a wild animal like that would ever do anything but take what it wanted by force.

“I won’t have this conversation with you twice. I only came here to say what I needed to say. Hurt her again and I don’t care if you really were from heaven itself. You’ll have to deal with me.”

And something in that amused Doflamingo even in his clear remaining anger. “You have no idea, mouse. So scurry home. Call me again when you have a real job for me.”

Aokiji moved his hand in one sharp motion at that, making Doflamingo jump back again just as instantly. This time to hover between the floor and ceiling on his strings.

But the admiral only put up an ice wall between them, sectioning the foyer off as he turned to walk away at last. The warlord couldn’t sucker punch him with a strike in the back then.

Neither of them said another word either. But Aokiji could still hear the demon’s resulting growl all the way from there. The admiral only paused long enough to collect his umbrella from the entryway, opening it as he disappeared back into the storm outside.

——————————

T⨂ BE

CONTINUED

——————————

Thanks for reading!

80 notes · View notes

cressthebest · 21 days

Text

Crimson Rivers thoughts pt. 30

chapter 49:

1. jegulus jumpscare (it’s a dream i wasn’t expecting)

2. shit. the dream is about their wedding plans. i- i can’t do this shit while reg is in the arena

3. shit it’s raining and i know reg can’t handle it because of the last crimson river/arena

4. god, sirius wakes up to the rain and his first thought it to go save regulus

5. “"Lily, have you been using sex for favors?"

"No." Lily pauses, then snorts. "Well, alright, so this is how it works, yeah? I'm already having sex, and then I'm like, say, look at you all laid out and desperate to give me what I want; don't you want to do this very small, very simple thing for me? And then they mostly always say yes, and they get what they want, all while I'm having a grand time and also getting what I want. See? Win-win.””

😭😭😭 i love her your honor

6. “”I cannot believe that this revolution is partially running on your competency in sex."

"Oh, if only it could fully run on that. Everything would go so smoothly. Shit, we'd win the war in, like, a week.""

😭😭😭💍♥️ marry me please

7. “”I keep telling [Effie] I know exactly how to make her feel better, but she insists she's a married woman, and also far too old for me. Disappointing, really.”” 😭😭😭

8. james confronting lucius has me scared for remus. like, i know they can’t trace it back to remus, but i’m so scared

9. james is pissed at the world and it’s honestly scary

10. i know james is trying to use donations, but i’m also aware that riddle wants to make sure no donations make it to reg, sirius, or marlene

11. “"Aw, your boyfriend sent you a present," Rabastan teases, his tone lighthearted and good-natured.

"Fiancé," Regulus corrects sharply”

GAGGED. he took james’ words and fucking ran with it like nobody’s business

12. not narcissa welcoming james to the family 😭😭😭😭

13. james sent him a bagel and all the death eaters are making fun of him for being gay over it 😭😭

14. all james sent on the card was “???” 😭😭 pls that’s so funny

15. poor eli

16. the sad bonding over marlene and sirius having recovered from drinking problems

17. don’t tell me that the fucking crimson river hands are coming out the hedges. i- god i hope reg gets to personally witness riddle’s downfall

18. AND THE FUCKING GREEN MIST??? FUCK THIS

19. “You never truly do feel as alive as when death is breathing down your neck.”

oh he’s insane as hell. a black for sure

20. shit. sirius’ mind just went blank in the maze

21. the hallow is cruel beyond belief for this

22. “He has had dreams of Regulus, ah, using his dagger during…intimate moments, but is that something he'd actually do? Well… Okay, bad example.” 😭😭😭😭

23. james was so close to an epiphany about mcgonnagal making everyone hate the games. he was so close

24. “Thorfinn said he'd have to be killed to be stopped from going after Sirius, even though Regulus explicitly told him what he'd do about that, and so Regulus killed him. Newton's third law: for every action in nature there is an equal and opposite reaction.”

bitch do not pull physics into this 😭😭

also that means that sir isaac newton existed in this universe, which if we see this as a future for our universe, it means that homophobia was prevalent at one point and the world straight up just eradicated it. 🤷🏽‍♀️ pro for this universe ig

25. “When he lifts his head, the first thing Regulus sees is his brother.

The second thing he sees is Sirius' fist, just the flash of it, just seconds before it collides with the side of his face.”

he had it coming fr

#marauders #regulus black #sirius black #crimson rivers #jegulus #james potter #lily evans #dorcas mention

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aphroditesmoon · 9 months

Text

sea, swallow me (part IV)

jacaerys velaryon x fem!velaryon!reader

summary: when jacaerys finally meets the hidden bastard of corlys velaryon, he loses interests in his betrothed Baela and intends to make her aunt his, but are you really what your family has made you up to be?

warnings: MAKING OUT, this fic is inspired by the movie 'song of the sea', CANON DIVERGENCE, slowburn, aged up jace (18 yrs old), reader has selective mutism (she CAN talk), reader is 5 years older than jace, selkie! reader, reader's race is NOT specified(adopted!reader), cursing, nsfw content in future chapters,typical ASOIAF sexism, typical asoiaf targcest.

a/n: yall want baela and reader to have a homoerotic friendship or homoerotic friendship to rival to friendship, say rn.

wordcount: 5.3k

taglist: @marytargaryen , @cdragons , @libdarkheart , @bellstwd , @dianxiaxiexie

@cumslutforaemond , @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 , @literatureluster, @itszzmoon

♧♣︎♧

Rhaenyra Targaryen was in no state of panic or upset when his son had entered her chambers, answering her call. They both had known what she called him for, therefore both sides were more prepared and rational. The princess was standing by her window, watching Lucerys and Rhaena practicing their sword fighting. She remembered how worried she was when the two sisters voiced their want of being included with the same fighting curriculum as their men. But Daemon beamed at the idea and granted permission. My daughters will not be weak, They shall be as good as me in swordsmanship by the gods’ will. Those were his words. And so they were.

“You called, mother?” The prince spoke after a minute of silence watching her gaze out the window.

Rhaenyra snaps out of herself and turns to her eldest son. “Jacaerys, have you eaten?” The mother in her acquires first. He hummed positively before taking a seat on the long chair. “That’s all well. I wanted to ask you of your aunt.” She states. “The two of you have grown close since the feast- do not deny it.” She shushes him when he opened his mouth to interject.

“I am not upset, we’re not in Driftmark nor Kingslanding, so I doubt there’ll be any rumours brought up from it. And that is not my current concern, no. My concern is on how she fares so far. That girl smiles and bows all the time, you can’t really tell if she’s genuinely comfortable most of the time.”

“She’s fine, I think.” The prince answers simply, receiving a raised brow from his mother. "Well, It’s not like she speaks.” He lies.

“But, she does seem quite excited for a tour here. I’m sure she’’ll find our library to her liking, Rhaena mentioned she likes to read.” The blonde woman smiled in relief of that. “Oh how nice, Perhaps you and your brother could take her to night market as well, there’s more sailing boats this season.” She suggests, making him frown. “I thought you said it’s dangerous. What if anyone recognizes us?” Rhaenyra waves her arm in a careless motion as she moves to sit by him. “You’ll be covered up. Besides, it’s a good thing neither of you have my white hair, the streets get so busy at nught, they won’t give you a double glance.” Jace nods understandingly at her words, still confused at her enthusiasm. His mother was never cruel, he knew that. But he also wonders why She’d worry herself over a small matter such as you.

“Is that all?” Rhaenyra gives a resigned sigh before nodding her head, permitting Jace to leave.

The weather had been bleak so far, thunders and thick clouds hiding the sun. If by tonight, the hints of rain doesn’t disappear altogether, the night market trip would have to wait for tomorrow. He knocked on your door and found no reply, which was of course, expected. But after several moments of waiting, he opens the them to find an empty room. The bed was already made and there was no one besides himself. It looks like you have taken it to yourself in making yourself comfortable here. Jacaerys scans the empty halls and corridors for you but receives no luck.

Bumping into Baela, he halts her to ask; “Is there a possibility that you’ve seen our dear guest around, I can’t find her.” He confesses. Baela, with a book of the Valyrian language under her arm, shoots him an amused smile. “She’s playing a boardgame.” He frowns. “Chess?” Baela gives a single nod. “Yes, with my father. So far she’s lost all 3 rounds. You’re welcome to go watch her fail the fourth.” He does just that, entering the library.

He was met with a tense sight of you and Daemon sitting opposite of each other, Rhaena sits close to you. If she’s trying to help you win, her father cares not for it.

The curtains in the library were all pulled open today, something it’s rarely been done. And the stack of books littered on top of shelves and tables everywhere, made it seem more homely than messy somehow. All three of you are staring down at the board, anticipating your next move, no one notices his entrance. Jacaerys can’t really blame anyone, even he was getting nervous. You lift a pawn, it stands in the air for a second before you gently place it two squares forward near Daemon’s queen.

The prince consort smiles, and everyone groans. “Checkmate.”

“Your best pawns aren’t the usual ones, the knights and the-“ His words were cut off by the loud sound of the pieces smashing onto each other and falling into the ground as you flip the board off, glaring at him. “Alright then, enough board games for today.” Rhaena concludes as her father shrugs nonchalantly. “I told you I’m good.”

Jace’s shoes creaks slightly as he walks closer, drawing the attentions of all 3 people there. “Jacaerys, have you seen your mother? She called for you earlier.” Daemon asks while getting up and moving to his opposite. Jace nods and gives a barely comprehensible answer as the older man leaves the room. He spares him a glance until he’s gone before turning back to you. “No one wins with him, he has the age advantage, been practicing for ages.” The prince attempts to comfort you, ignoring your glowering glare. Rhaena gives up on the comforting as she buries her face on the table, laughing quietly. "Lunch time now, you two hungry?"

The elders had not joined you all for lunch. You’re sat in between Baela and Rhanea with Jacaerys and Lucerys in front of you. You were glad it was Luc that’s facing you. You have feared since last night that if either you or Jace meet eachother’s eyes again, something terrible might occur.

You were born of anxious possibilities. When it’s become your life to go through and witness tragedies repeating themselves, even the smallest of things could trigger the war in your mind. So you keep your eyes down and pretend you can’t see him sneaking glances at you every two seconds, and you pretend that you can’t see Baela noticing him sneaking in glances every two seconds. If you don’t look, and if you don’t react the way they’re both expecting you to, then it’s not your problem. The steak is excellently cooked, the anxious thoughts you bear can’t help getting distracted by this nice meal, and it's special sauce you’ve never had before. But of course, considering that Rhaena who’s next to you, is currently ravaging a salmon fillet, any meal is better than the ones from sea.

“I’ve heard you’ve never seen a dragon up close before?” Jacaerys’ voice fills the silent, snapping you in reality. You’re forced to look at him and shook your head. “Really? What about Vhagar? Mother must’ve taken you on a ride once a while.” Baela asks in disbelief. You gave her a short smile and shook your head again uncomfortably before going back to your steak. “Then I guess we know where the first stop of our tour will be.” He joked and you brave yourself to raise a brow at him.

“You’re giving her a tour? Have you not anything better to do with your time?” Baela scoffs at him, her temper seems fair but eyes bore a challenge. “Would you like to show her around instead?” He answers the question with another. The girl’s eyes relaxes as she scoops her spoon of soup to blow it.

“No, I’m afraid I’ll be occupied for the day.” She drinks up her soup. The steak is really good dipped in blackpepper sauce, you’ve find. You hummed delightfully, dipping another cut piece of it in the sauce. “Here.” Luc passes the sauce closer. You grinned gratefully at him before continuing your meal. Oblivion of the small smile painted on Jacaerys’ face, who’s now no longer eating anymore.

♧♣︎♧

You’ve never told anyone before, but you have met Vhagar before.

A cranky one, the old lady. It was long past midnight, Laena and her husband Daemon along with their children had returned to Driftmark for two moons. You had waited until you were sure the whole place was asleep before sneaking inside the dragonpit. There’s only one dragon available, seeing as Laenor and Rhaenyra were still in Kingslanding.

You’re not sure how the pit had managed to cover her, but with her singular appearance, a space was made big enough for the beast.

You still remember the flick open of vhagar’s large eyes, staring straight into your soul. You had flinched at the singular acknowledgement, standing as far from it as possible without drifting too further that you couldn’t see her. She had not blow fire straight onto your face as expected, in fact, she barely budged. You took it as a sign to get nearer, until you’re inches away from the beast, who had also moved it’s face closer before laying her head down again, eyes remaining open. You stretched an arm towards her, risking spoke at her hard head, receiving a low whine, as if she’s scolding you. You had never pulled your arm back as fast as that moment.

“You can’t tell anyone about this.” You remember telling her. In which she had blinked her eyes slowly at you in response before closing it for good and falling asleep. An understanding was made that night, between two rare animals, often caged against their will.

But that was almost a decade ago.

You’ve heard of Vermax, mostly from Jacaerys himself, telling you stories of his little beasts’ quirks and habits.

“You should stand behind me, He gets protective of me, especially around strangers.”

You knew what he meant, but a laugh almost escapes you, still. You’ve known him for less than a week, but your heart was very sure, that he is no stranger inhabiting there. You only smiled in response, one too bold to reassure him. “I’m serious, my mother and rhaena will kill me if he blows you hair off or something.” You sigh loudly, to show your annoyance before moving to stand beside him.

The two of you walked in a straight line, the prince confident in his steps while you try to ignore the judgmental looks of the other dragons you passed by. You wonder if the dragons ever talk shit about their owners together when everyone is asleep. Too bad you don’t speak their language. Roaring and grunting.

His dragon, conveniently, was in the furthest pit. And as much as you wouldn’t admit I, you were excited to meet Vermax. You’ve only had one sole interaction with a dragon, who’s reaction had been very disappointing. With the speed Jacaerys is walking as he leads, you reach his pit finally. The light from the hanging orbs all over the place had shed onto his face. You nudged Jacaerys aside and let out an audible gasp. Breaking the ‘no talking’ vow you’ve made yourself do earlier that day, you swore under your breath. “He is…small.” The prince snaps his head fiercely to you. “He is growing.” You pursed your lips and nod your head sympathetically.

“Course’ he is.” The dragon groaned loud enough for the two of you to hear, as if defending himself. “No offence.” You mutter to him quickly.

“He is adorable.” You admit, earning more frowns from the rider. “Fierce?” He scoffs at your attempt. “You’re very judgy for someone who’s never seen a dragon up close.” You couldn’t tell him of course, that in comparison to Vhagar, Vermax is unfortunately, very adorable.

“I am impressed.” You tell him as you bent yourself forward to meet the dragon’s sad eyes. “I think you are very mighty, Vermax.” The beast huffs out lazily. “You know I’m surprised he’s barely having a reaction to you, the first time Baela met him, he flinched and ran away, poor boy.” You tilt your head towards Jacaerys, grinning wildly. “He recognizes me as a friend.” He returns the smile. “Maybe.” Perhaps Vermax knew, that we wild creatures must stick together. “He trusts you so easily, one might mistake you as one who shares Valyrian blood.”

You say nothing, smiling softy at the dragon who’s now leaning his head closer to your hand. “Oh, you brat.” Jacaerys chides him, annoyed. You laugh at their antics, It was definitely true though, Vermax seems very young still, you’d bet he’d be as big Caraxes or Meleys in a couple years time.

After a few more pettings and complimenting the dragon, Jacaerys decided it’s time for the touring to continue, parting you away from his baby. “We don’t have all day. If we finish up the castle touring quick, we’d have much more time to rest before tonight.” He explains as the both of you move to exit the dragon pit. “What’s tonight?” He sends a smirk your way, wiggling his brows. “Something more exciting.” You huffed and rolled you eyes, striding beside to him. “All right, keep your secrets.”

He makes a quick tour of the garden, which was much more prettier than you’d expect. Seeing as Rhaenys wasn’t much of garden person, the one in Driftmark was much more underwhelming. He asked you what your favorite flowers, and you had to take a moment to think.

“I don’t know, they’re all pretty.” You said. “So you like them all?” You shrugged, “What’s yours?” You ask him instead, receiving a quick answer. “Hydrangeas. They’re not everyone’s favourite, but they look magical together.” You nod yourself, placing your hand under your chin in a thinking motion. “Then my favorites are also Hydrangeas.” His brows meet as he lets out a small laugh. “Is it now?”

“Hmm.” You ignore his lingering gaze as you move to the bush of Hydrangeas. “I’m looking at them right now, see. I think they’re pretty, they shall be my favorite if I must choose.” You declared. “Alright, I’ll keep a note of that.”

The two of you moved to the throne room after. A rather contradicting view to the garden. The throne was smaller than you expected, but it looked terrifying enough, being sat in the middle of the dark, silvery room. “Have you ever sat on it?” You ask curiously. His eyes widen and he shook his head immediately. “Gods no, that’s only for my mother.” You raise a brow suspiciously. “Not even for fun, not even as a child.”

“Nope.” He insisted, “Although, Lucerys had, once. He’d thought it’d be funny, pretending to be mother. I’ve never seen anyone run so fast when Daemon and her enter the room out of nowhere.” He chuckled at the memory, making you laugh with him as you move out. “See, he knows how to have fun at least.” The prince snorted at that. “And I didn’t get an arse whooping, guess who really won?”

Jace mentally crosses out every place he’s shown you. Honest to the gods, he knew he’s probably the shittiest tour guide ever. But he tries his best, and he knows that it doesn’t really matter. Hopefully tonight, there’ll be less talking and more discovering. Since he himself have not sneaked out to the night market in ages. And with his mother’s permission, there needn’t be any sneaking around. “So, where to next?” You ask, when he keeps quiet through the walking. “My chambers.” You almost choked. “And pray tell, why, are we going to your very forgettable room out of anywhere else?” He laughs in surprise at your forwardness. “So, you’ll know where to go tonight.” Your frown deepens. “Why am I going there again, tonight?”

“Because we’re off to the night market tonight. And although my mother knows we’re going, leaving by the front door would make such a fuss. Next thing you know, they all would want to tag along. So we leave by the hidden exit in my chambers."

“And you don’t want them to tag along?” You ask almost teasingly, testing the waters. “No.” He says. “I do not.”

♧♣︎♧

It was night enough after dinner. The skies had darkened themselves so well that you could barely even see any stars from your window. The rest of your company had resolved to their own business. You’ve barely seen Baela for the whole day, the young lady had been so busy studying and reading like the scholar she is. Meanwhile Rhaena had spent a good half of her day with Lucerys, swordfighting, and then to their high Valyrian studies.

You had thought that you may find it feeling odd and awkward to be spending the whole day with Jacaerys, but your nerves had lied to you once again.

You were much more comfortable around him than you expected. For one thing, You hadn’t have to mind your speaking. You still stayed silent whenever you found it necesarry to speak, but the need to tiptoe around every person you meet was not needed when you are around him. Sometimes he’ll speak to you like he’s known you for ages, and it takes you by surprise every time.

You know his history, the rumours that has surrounded him since birth. Those same rumors you have faced since you were found by Corlys.

But you wonder how does one like him could still find it in himself to still be kind and trusting, despite being treated the opposite by his own family. It was no secret that his uncles and the queen have a strong distaste for Rhaenyra and her children. Corlys makes jokes of the queen often with his ladywife, the green queen. And now that you’ve known him, you wonder why exactly would such distaste exists at all. A true Targaryen, with the traits of a true king to be.

You brush off your unimportant questions as you tie your shoelaces properly. There was no guarantee what the activities tonight would enquire, but just to be safe, you dressed lightly with a hoodie to cover yourself on top of it all. Peaking out your door, you leave after making sure the doors are shut and no familiar faces are detected.

Jacaerys, who has been waiting for you 15 minutes earlier than the time he’s set, wastes no time opening his doors after two knocks by you.

Closing the door behind you, he fails to resists the grin blooming on his face as he leads you into a small entrance of staircase behind the curtains of his bed. “Ever been on a boat before?” He asks as his fingers make quick to find yours, walking you through the dark pathway.

“The small one?” He grins largens. “Yes, that would be a boat.”

“Then no, I have not.” The two of you finally reaches the end of the way, a small door, heavy of stones is the end, You help him push it to the right, revealing the dim light of the moon, accompanied by loud noises made by the pigeons. Walking out of the castle, you let him close shut the secret entrance while admiring the jet black sky, engulfing the unrivalled sight of the moon. The wind was gentle too, caressing your visible skin, making your goosebumps rise. Your head turns to the boat placed on the sand when you hear Jacaerys’ nearing footsteps.

“We’ll be rowing on that?” he gives you a nod before pushing it onto the water.

“Come on, get in.” You do as he tells you to, pulling your long skirt up, Passing you the giant paddle, He follows suit hopping into the boat once he’s pushed it further into the long river. “It’s barely a few minutes to get there, if we could just walk, that’ll be easier, but water has been rising up since three years ago, so they dug a long hole to make a river, rowing it is.” You nod understandingly at his words as you move your arms with the paddle as he does, rowing fast. True to his words, after a good 15 minutes, You begin to saw patches of grass and sand, along with bright lights and what had sounded like people.

You fix your hood as advised as the boat reaches it end. Tying the simple craft onto a wooden post, the prince stretches a hand for you to grab on as he helps you up. He pulls you to his chest too strongly, making the both of you sway back and forth. You let out your giggle while your hand grips his for stability.

He smiles with before lightly taking one step away, hand still holding yours. “You excited?” He asks like he doesn’t know. You say nothing and only shoves him slightly before walking over him, tugging him along as you lead yourself through the noisy and bright coloured crowd.

The hood you wear does a good job of hiding how in awe you were of your surrounding. There were many people, but none of them were looking at you or Jacaerys. The beauty was in how you felt like you were everywhere and nowhere all at the same time. You jolt to the side when a group of children burst through path without warning. “Rascals.” You hear a man sigh tiredly before following them. The overlapping voices and laughing mixes with eachother, producing an overwhelming humanly background noise. Spinning your head around the place, your eyes confuse themselves as they turn from the firework stalls and the food section to the toysellers and pantomimes that’s set much further.

“Catch up with me.” You warn the prince as you move without direction to whatever calls you.

Carrot cake, you noted. Passing through a stall of baked goods, and whatever else food you eyes couldn’t have grasped properly as you kept walking. “What are you looking for?” You hear the muffled voice of your company from behind. You weren’t sure what you were looking for. Stopping at a covered tent, you peeked in and jumped backwards immediately when a woman looked back at you. Her head appears through the curtains. “Would you like to know your future?” You blinked at her and was pulled forward before you could speak. “A scam.” Jace says as he leans into your ear. “It would help a lot if you stop running, yeah? No one’s chasing you angel.” His worlds were almost reassuring until the last word. “Right.” You stutter, following his lead now instead of the reversed as before.

“Fishcakes?” He asks as you pass a seafood stall. He sees the frown of distaste and laughed in return. “Not a seafood girl, got it.”

“Beefcake maybe.” You suggest. He humas and lets his eyes roams the stalls while he walks. “I think those are further up.” The both of you are walking slower now, letting you take a good look at the shops and lights. “Have you ever seen anything this beautiful?” You ask, nodding at the lights connecting from stalls to stalls. You would’ve thought they were stars if it weren’t for the mix of pink, yellow and purple. “Yes, I have.” You appreciate that he’s not laughing at you. When you turn to look at him, he’s already set his gaze on you. “Is it always like this every night?” You ask. He shrugs at you with a small smile. “I don’t know, I’ve only been here twice when I was a child, It was much paler then. Smellier too.” You laughed.

His attention was turned away when he finally spots a beefcake stall. Small pieced of them stuck through a long stick and are placed over the tables. “Two please.” He pays the seller and hands you the stick like a prize. “Oh, this is great.” You praise hungrily, taking a bite off of it. “It is, isn’t it?” You hummed in reply, enjoying your beefcake. He continues his stride soon after, fingers still intertwining with yours.

“A puppet show is that?” The prince asks himself as he reaches the pantomime performance. “Puppet?” You repeat in confusion.

He brings you to his side as the two of you stand a bit far from the children sitting crossed legged to enjoy the small theatre. “What’s it about?” You whisper to him. He shrugs and points a finger to the cardboard drawn puppet of a girl wearing a straw hat. A voice of a man shushes the chattering children as the puppet begins to move. "This is a story of Aenathema.” The invisible voice spoke.

“Aenathema, is a seaborn woman, or most accurately, a siren.” The children turned quiet. “Young in age, and beautiful as the myths say, she spends her days swimming and nights tricking sailors for their trinkets.” How factually incorrect this story already was, you thought. Sirens don’t exist, firstly.

Aenathma the puppet moved through the cardboard cut ocean. “Stories of death luring sirens spread all over the land of men, to warn the sailors and fisherman. But they misunderstood poor Aenathema, for she only craved an end of her curiosity.” You could understand that, if you’re honest. ”But one day, a brave and unhinged prince decided to find the said siren, in wishes to prove his people how false the stories of her cruelty were. So he sailed for moons-“ A male puppet glued to a paper ship moved through the square space, “-until finally, Aenathma, curious she always were, showed herself.” They must fall in love, that’s how the stories always went.

"The prince, with his original intention to kill her, hesitated. The siren and her beauty had captivated him.” Of course it did.

“He invited the naïve Aenathema up his ship, ‘Please, make yourself at home, for all that you could want shall be by your feet, if you’d only asked.’ He had said.” The two puppets neared eachother, standing side by side.

“Grateful by the prince’s kindness. Aenathema fell into his trap. Weeks past, and the lovesick prince had refused to let her go.” The voice was interrupted when a child yelled out; “Why can’t she just jump back in?” The other children agreed, their voices scattering. “I was getting there.” The voice snapped, making you smile.

“Poor Aenathema could not return to sea, for her magical coat had been stolen. The coat she would need to be able to breathe underwater.” This is the part where she turns into a seal, you think to yourself.

The male puppet was switched to another version with much scarier drawn eyes.

“She devised a plan then, come full moon, she shall trick him into bed, and poison him to sleep. And so she waited, and waited, and waited. Until finally, Full moon appeared. With her siren voice, she lured him to bed, and poured his own poison into his wine. Once the prince had fallen asleep, she took the key oh his treasury and unlocked it for her coat. Fash she moved to put it on, and faster more she moved to dive back into the sea.” You felt your heart drop uneasily, what a terrifying story for a child to hear, you thought to yourself.

“The prince was angry when he woke, four of his crewmen were killed on sight in the midst of his rage. For not only did he lose his future bride, he also lost his future child.” The crowd gasped. You gasped along with them, earning an amused smile from your company. “You’ve never heard this story before?” He asks lowly. You shook your head, attention still stuck on the show.

“Aenathema had swam and stayed underwater for moons without knowing she was with child, but once she did, she swore she’d never let harm become of them, and that the child shall never swim to shore as she did, lest they befall the same fate.” What an end. The crowd of kids erupted into chaos again, yelling out their questions and even disagreeing with the narrator’s end.

“A bit too disturbing for the little ones, right?” Jacaerys spoke You felt your body relax as you nod at him. “I want more beefcake.” You requested as the children starts to part ways back to their parents.

♧♣︎♧

After spending the next half hour walking around and the market and eating more beefcakes, the two of you decided it was well past the time to go home.

You twist and turned the new bracelet Jacaerys has brought for you earlier as fixes the boat back where he found it. It was no gold, but the marble like blue beads had caught your attention. His treat, he had insisted.

You made your way back in through the hidden pathway into his chambers. It was dim without the light of candles or day. The both of you were quiet despite the fact that everyone else was asleep. He finds a burner to light up his bedside candle.

“There you go.” He mumbles to himself as the room brightens slightly. His eyes were tired and his hair was disheveled, it was weirdly attractive, you thought. He turns to you, who’s now sat on the edge of his bed, equally as tired and spent. Taking a seat next to you, his fingers were sly, moving to touch the beads around your wrist. “Do you like it?” He whispers. You nod your head subtly. “Tell me, I can’t see you. He asks gently

“I like it.” You whispered back, voice slightly cracking at the end. You were thirsty.

“Did you have fun, tonight?” You smiled. “Shockingly, yes.” You could see his brows raising despite the dimness. “Why suprising?” “Well, I didn’t think you knew how to have fun.” His lips spread from a thin line to a grin, matching your own.

“I know how to do a lot of other things too.” The way he spoke was hesitant, like he knew he’s reaching through a forbidden border. But you leaned in closer, till you noses touch, and you had asked him, with the same angel-like voice you had from the night you first met. “Like what?” He answered you with an embrace of his lips with yours.

The first touch of them were teasing, so you pulled him closer, and you kissed him back, fiercer. As his hands move to cup the back of your head, yours finds the walls of his chest, grasping on his tunic like air restricted from you. You feel his lips wet your dry ones, letting his tongue tease your mouth into opening, and intertwining with your own.

As his hands move to caress your lower back instead, you find yourself pushing him to sit laid back on his bed before climbing onto his lap, devouring eachother with more access. The bolder you feel, the bolder he gets with his hands, and the louder the sirens in your head rang. But how could one move on from another who looked at you the way he does?

One of his palms are now gripping your hips, sitting you on him, while the other grasps your hair tight so your lips won’t leave his. He groans lowly. Your fingers are holding onto his neck so shyly, trying not to squeeze it with the intensity of how he’s kissing you. Like a strike of lightning has struck you, You jolted away from his face in sudden. Heavy breathing fills the air between the two of you. “What-“ You cut off his question before he could complete it, “Someone’s coming.” Too soon the confirmation came, three knocks on his door forces you both to scramble from his bed.

“A second!” He yells as he fixes his tunic and ruffling his hair back, trying to calm himself down enough to remove the redness in his face, while you run to hide behind his secret door, pushing the stone door close quickly without making a noise. “Jacaerys.” It was Baela.

You curse yourself internally, the memory of tasting him repeating themselves in your head like a warning sign. Of course, It’s Baela. It was always Baela.

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