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cinnamonest · 3 months

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Beleaguer

"Failed escape attempt" yandere series - Diluc

WARNINGS: dark content, fem reader, noncon, captivity, belting/spanking, manhandling, humiliation, darling has a somewhat defined personality, hair pulling, implied forced impregnation at the end, forced fem/housewifization + thinly veiled if not wholly unveiled misogyny, swearing, there's a lot going on here and none of it is holy

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‘Fill cap to line. Causes intense drowsiness and loss of motor function within 5-10 minutes. Soluble. Do not operate heavy machinery if taken within the last 24 hours.’

You blinked a few times, focusing your vision. Your mind could be deceiving you, after all. But when you looked again, the vial in your hand read the same words as it did moments before.

You'd merely gone to set the oil back into the cabinet when the force of pushing one knocked over another further within, coming across the bottle in the very back in the process of fixing the mishap.

You grasped it firmly in your hand, merely blinking in disbelief as you read over the words again and again.

“Oh my God.”

You spoke aloud to yourself, standing alone in the spacious kitchen, the words slipping out on their own in a low whisper.

Daily life as you now lived it brought a sort of mind-numbing stillness to it. Life was repetitive and uneventful. You woke at the same time, performed the same mindless tasks, the same chores, the same interactions. You said hello and good morning to the same maids every morning (you'd lost the willpower to continue being cold to the staff a long time ago), you came down and went through the same routine, wore the same clothes, had the same conversations.

The only thing that ever changed was a few different foods on rotation from week to week and the names and faces of the strangers that came in and out of the lower rooms - although they were all one and the same to you, their attitudes and the way they treated you and looked at you was as though each was the same individual with merely a different face.

And consequently, you'd reached a state of numbness, you went through the tasks mechanically, without thinking, perhaps intentionally shutting down your mind to make acceptance easier. Disconnected, unreal, everything melted together and the days and the people were all one long continuous sequence of occurrences.

It was easier that way. Resisting brought anger, frustration, tears, misery. Allowing the numbness to take over allowed some escape from the reality itself.

Which was likely why reading the words themselves felt like a shockwave through your body, as if suddenly the world regained its colors, you could feel your heart beating and your lungs fill with air. Like a sharp and sudden awakening from an endless, empty, dreamless sleep.

You felt a sudden wave of shame immediately following the shock, chastising yourself for even allowing that numbness to take over, like you might have felt angry with yourself in the past for oversleeping or spacing out and missing something important.

You recognized the handwritten label stuck to the bottle, having gone to the same place for something or another in the past — the alchemist’s lab in the city. That essentially meant it had to be highly effective.

Not only that — the fact that the seal was broken and about a third of the liquid gone, would mean it was very likely the same substance used on you more than once. If so, “drowsiness” was an understatement — it would knock you out cold for hours at a time.

You heard yourself breathing in ragged, quick breaths, you stumbled and steadied yourself against the counter, looking up and around you, suddenly aware of the world around you, everything felt real. The emotions came flooding back — humiliation, resentment, fury.

This was a way out. A miracle.

In your sudden awakening, your mind, sprung back to function, as if the wheels were once again turning, took only a mere minute to formulate a plan. It wasn't really difficult at all — in fact, there was perhaps not a single moment more perfect for you to have stumbled across this opportunity. You were, after all, just about to fill glasses, the final step in your meal preparation.

You set the vial down and ran over to the other cabinet — wiping your hands on your apron to rid them of any residue from cooking — and opened it up, swiping a bottle of juice and returning to the center of the kitchen. The corners of your mouth pulled upwards beyond your control into a grin as you went about the process.

Have a taste of your own medicine, bastard.

You smirked even wider, practically beaming as you popped a tablet out of the packaging, dropping it into one of the glasses. It made a fizzing sound as it grew smaller and smaller, and you watched with wide eyes as it disappeared. Just to be certain, you bent your head down and gave it a sniff, but there was no distinguishable smell or color that would give it away.

And you were certain that, if this was in fact the same drug that you'd consumed, there was nothing about it that tasted unusual.

And once it was complete, for yet another moment you merely stood, staring, grinning and trembling, processing this sudden turn of events. It would be easy, right? The sun was already about to set, the staff were no longer in the fields except for a few security guards that patrolled here or there. It would be easy to spot and avoid them.

You just had to get Diluc to drink this, wait for him to pass out, and run, right? Sure, traversing the road barefoot might be difficult, but that would probably be the extent of your hardships, provided you could get out.

Get out, get on the road, make a straight shot for Mondstadt, go straight to the knights and tell them everything that had happened to you. Maybe you could steal one of the horses they kept for plowing to make your getaway. Your chest burned at the thought of getting your revenge — no, your justice. You deserved this, you deserved freedom — and he deserved whatever consequences would come his way.

…No. You realized, albeit with frustration, that getting revenge wasn't really an option. He had power and money, and you knew all too well how good such people were at evading consequences.

You would just have to run. Staying in Mondstadt certainly wasn't an option. You'd just go… somewhere. Specifics didn't matter as long as you got away from here.

And sure, you'd made a few attempts to get out before, quickly foiled and harshly punished. But you'd never had an advantage like this before. He couldn't chase you down if he was out cold.

You took deep breaths, trying to calm down. It would all be over soon.

You finally managed to wipe the mischievous grin off your face. You knew you couldn't afford risking him getting suspicious if you were too outwardly giddy. Instead, you tried to maintain only a small smile, the numb, dopey smile you'd trained yourself to wear. Nonetheless, you shook your head and settled the plates and glasses onto a tray, carrying them out to the little table that sat tucked away in an alcove in the hallway connecting the main hall to the kitchen. He preferred to eat here when it was just the two of you, with plain cups and plates, rather than the massive dining room with all its ornate tableware — that was only for formal occasions, you'd discovered, whereas this was out of sight from the constantly-bustling staff.

You set the food and drink out — careful to be mindful of which cup was which — then stood, returned the tray to the kitchen, then the vial to the cabinet and, with a spring in your step, turned and made your way down the hall.

You were careful to make sure everything was as it was supposed to be. Straightened your posture, ran your hands down the front of the dress to smooth it out.

You began the short journey from the kitchen to the study, footsteps light and soft, short steps that slowed your pace. No heavy steps that thumped against the hardwood, no letting your weight fall onto each foot all at once, and no slouching. Nor any other such improper, inappropriate behaviors.

It really was a beautiful building, though, so you thought to yourself as you glanced up at the ornate windows. You'd been here before, on your own volition, back long ago, of your own volition. You'd walked by it plenty of times, and once or twice had taken a moment to stroll around the vineyard, figuring it would do no harm, as you were never noticed.

Now, it was a sort of beautiful prison, such an elegant architecture for such a suffocating place.

Upon reaching one particular door, you raised a hand up and gave a gentle knock. A voice came from behind the door.

"Mm?"

You took another deep breath, calming yourself down, trying to mentally switch the ‘on’ button for your sweet obedient wife act you hoped you had mastered well enough by now, complete with an upward shift in octave and sing-song-y touch to your voice. "It's me."

You heard a chair scoot backwards, heavy footsteps, and the door opened. "...Hey." A hand rested on your head. "Food ready?"

"Yes sir." You gave a soft smile.

"That's good... thanks." He patted your head, and seemed to stifle a yawn. His voice was drained, nearly a mumble.

"Are you ok?" You tried your best to make your voice sound soft and concerned, furrowing your eyebrows in a way you hoped looked worried, pushing your lower lip out a bit.

"Just tired. Lots of work today. I'll just eat and then we'll go to sleep."

Oh yes, you will.

Fighting the urge to grin, you slowly made your way back together down the hall — remembering to keep your footsteps light, forcing a sort of soft, feminine gracefulness to your manner of walking, lest you be reminded to do so.

Every little second, every step, every word was practiced and poised. Now, having reawakened to your resentment and defiance, just acting it out made you feel sick.

There was, nonetheless, a residual sense of dread, a nagging pit in your stomach that went deeper than the surface-level nervousness.

There was a major disadvantage — this would not be the first time you tried something like this. Granted, not with this particular substance, but you had once managed to make him horribly sick for well over a day with rat poison, and once again with liquid pesticide meant for the vineyard. Both incidents were purely for the purpose of amusement and spite, which you’d reveled in despite the unfortunate consequences you’d suffered.

The first time, he'd been totally unsuspecting, and the second time he'd been too distracted and busy to notice anything even if you had let something slip. You could curse yourself now in hindsight — if you hadn't committed those first two offenses out of sheer spite, you'd be able to pull this off much more easily. But now, he’d learned you would do something like that, and if the slightest thing was wrong in the taste or appearance of it, he'd get suspicious immediately. You weren't even sure if a single sip was enough to do anything, considering how diluted the substance now was. You’d just have to hope he’d drink the whole thing.

You did your best to make idle conversation as you walked, talking about whatever you did that day, as if it was ever any different from any other day. Your nerves felt electrified, your body tense and stiff as you sat back down and took a bite of this and that, trying to contain your anticipation, trying to look at him out of the corner of your eye rather than directly. He didn't say much, but that wasn't abnormal, only slowly taking in bites of this and that. It felt like an eternity of waiting.

Come on, get thirsty, drink it...

Finally, his hand reached out to the juice. You felt your breath hitch.

Come on, come on!

You stopped moving, anxiously waiting for him to drink.

So caught up in your excitement that you didn't realize you were letting it show on your face, that you had ceased your own motions to stop and stare intently.

It took him stopping and looking up at you with confusion in his expression, for you to feel a spike of panic as you realized the mistake.

"...Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Hm?" You immediately tried to correct the behavior, going back to cutting at something on your plate with a smile, hoping the way you stiffened wasn't visible. "Sorry, I just… I spaced out a second, what did you say?"

He was silent for a moment.

"...Nothing."

Ok. Good save.

You popped a bite of food into your mouth. Besides, despite being an overall intelligent man, he had a tendency to be rather dense sometimes, surely he wouldn't pick up on something like that.

You were fine for now— what is he doing.

You noticed an odd look spread across his features, eyebrows furrowed a bit, as if thinking something through.

Then, he stood up, glass in one hand, and grabbed yours with the other. He swapped your drinks and sat back down, looking up at you with a neutral, cold stare.

Oh.

His gaze didn't falter. He set his elbows on the table, and rested his head on interlocked fingers. "Is there a problem?"

Oh no.

"N-no, I was just... why did you...?" You felt your body go cold, and try as you might not to, you knew panic must be showing on your face.

"It's the same thing, isn't it? So it's fine."

You couldn't miss the suspicious tone to his voice even if you'd tried to ignore it.

"...Right." You smiled, but you felt your lips tremble a bit. You could save this, for now, even if it didn't work out in your favor. You looked at the food, but you could still feel his gaze on you, so, hoping to pacify his suspicion, you brought the cup up to your mouth and tilted it as if you were drinking, closing your upper lip to the glass so that none of the juice actually got in your mouth. Then, after a moment, you pulled it away, swallowing to further the deceit.

He seemed satisfied by the action — right? It looked like he bought it, right? — and looked back down, resuming eating. There was a tense, awkward silence, so you attempted to fill in the empty space.

"D-did you, um, do anything fun today?"

"I wouldn't call anything I do 'fun,'" he muttered. "Just met with a bunch of people, one after the other... there's lots of business partnership contract renewals around this time of year, so they have to come here for that process."

"Mhm." You couldn't care less, but feigned interest. You knew Diluc well by this point, and knew how to appeal to the things that would soothe him the most. One of the most important factors in that was listening to whatever it was he had to say, no matter how boring (which, really, most things having to do with his work were). He liked to feel listened to, didn't have anyone else to go to, you supposed. Lots of stress, high expectations, and no solid support figure probably was the root of his psychological issues. — said issues were something you had spent a lot of time contemplating and trying to figure out in your spare time, given their now inherent effect on your own life.

But you presumed that most men without stress and some kind of serious issues generally did not go around abducting women they barely knew and forcing them to live in their homes. At least, not to your knowledge.

You had often wondered why someone like him wouldn't choose someone who was already that ideal, someone who already exemplified those traits… but as time went by you began to understand that that simply wasn't good enough.

That there was an allure to someone like you, to someone like him. That your very existence as you were on your own upset the man — you'd noticed that within the first few minutes of interacting with him, back when you first started coming to that damn bar you now wish you’d never set foot in. The displeased expression and dismissive tone at your vulgarity and defiance and aggression. You'd thought, back then, that the man disliked you —and he did, in a way.

But for someone who seemed to have such distaste for you, he sure did fail to ever leave you alone. There was some impulsive need to say something to you at some point in each encounter, as if he couldn't allow you to go about your night without at least one look of disdain or passive-aggressive comment. The only thing that seemed more irksome to him than your existence, was the fact that you always bit back, always said something in return, and thus your interactions had only fueled your and his disdain for each other further and further.

The mistake you'd made in your original assessment of him, that you’d slowly come to understand with time, was that he was not a person who simply avoided things he disliked, like most people — he was hellbent on fixing whatever irked him, remediating whatever was perceived as wrong.

You had not been an exception.

Now in the present, as you tried to focus on maintaining your calm act, he kept on talking about this or that. Some people who came by today, some guy who keeps trying to get him to sign some agreement he doesn't want to, this isn't a particularly good crop this season, but he's seen worse, blah blah, nothing you cared about.

You continued eating, which soon turned out to be a mistake — your throat was dry, food wasn't helping, and you desperately wanted something to drink, but you could do nothing but raise your glass up and pretend you were actually drinking your juice. You thought, for a moment, he seemed to look at the glass, and fear he realized the amount wasn't going down ran through your mind, but you tried to calm yourself. If you started imagining things in your paranoia, you'd only increase the chance of him noticing your panic.

There was obvious suspicion a few minutes ago, sure, but there had been plenty of times he had falsely suspected you of things in the past, and was generally willing to believe you once presented with contrary evidence, even once becoming, albeit reluctantly, apologetic when realizing you'd done nothing wrong.

Finally, although you were suppressing the urge to cough at the dry scratchiness of your throat, you finished eating, and, like you knew you were supposed to, stood with a forced little smile and grabbed your plate, extending a hand for him to give you his as well, and took them both back to the larger kitchen area through the open doorway, barely hearing his ‘thanks’ as you scurried off.

You set the plates down, immediately turning on a faucet and cupping water in your hand, before drinking it down to soothe your throat.

Alright, so things didn't turn out quite like you were hoping, but that was ok. There was plenty of the substance left. Just wait a few days, do it again, and control yourself better next time so as not to strike any suspicion. Easy.

The maids would take care of washing plates off, but you needed to dispose of the remainder of your drugging attempt just in case. There was only droplets of juice left in his, and, of course, yours was full. You washed his — well, originally yours — out first, running some water over it, thinking it would be odd if one was washed out and not the other, and you didn’t want to take any chances.

You heard him walk into the kitchen behind you, and unease creeped back up into your chest. But that wasn’t so bad, right? He’d think you were trying to help the staff out, and he’d think that was good, wouldn’t he?

You hummed a bit, and set his glass upside down in its proper place, reaching out to yours and preparing to pour it down the sink drain, when his hand latched around your wrist. You went stiff.

"You should finish it."

Any confidence that you had successfully eased his suspicions might as well have been poured down the drain as well.

"...Hm?" You forced a smile, albeit twitching. “O-oh, I just didn't... finish all of..." You were painfully aware that your voice trembled, and, in a last effort to appear like you weren't nervous, forced yourself to turn your head and look at him.

"You didn't drink it at all." His face was flat and cold, eyes ever so slightly narrowed, but his voice was dark, quiet, knowing. "It's good for you. Don't let it go to waste."

You couldn't argue that you didn't like it — it was the same thing you drank every single night. Nor could you confess why you didn't want to do so. Of course, drinking it was technically an option. You'd just pass out and be forced to deal with the consequences once you woke up — although the cynical part of your mind thought maybe passing out wouldn't be too bad right about now.

Now, the expression on his face grew darker, fully obvious as a look of accusation, and the tone that followed matched.

“Unless there's something wrong with it.”

Your mind scrambled, unable to think of a way out. Your smile widened and twitched, and your body shivered, trying and failing to force a look of happiness, but the crushing feeling of defeat was beginning to settle in. "I... ah, hah, I, um..."

His expression and voice didn't waver, in contrast to your cowering. Looking down on you with something like frustration, perhaps disappointment. There was the slightest edge of a quietness in it, as he continued, "If there is, then tell me."

The last two words came out firm. A command.

"I... I..." You swallowed, visibly shaking, no longer able to hide the fear on your features. You bit your lower lip, and, feeling your eyes burn, your resolve broke.

You hung your head, and replied in a quiet voice, wavering on the verge of tears.

"...I'm sorry."

He released your hand, but snatched the glass out from it, immediately dumping the mixture down the sink. You reached up, wiping away the watering in your eyes that were threatening to become tears.

"Where is it?"

You stiffened at the firmness in his voice. You tried your best to look up, questioning in a pathetic whimper. "...Hm?"

"The— I don't know, whatever you put in there. Where is it?" There was a rising frustration in his tone.

You hadn't thought about that part. Of course, how could you not realize he'd do that if he found out? There wouldn't be another opportunity to try again. That realization left a sting of despair in your chest, you chastised yourself for not saving a smaller portion hidden away. If you'd been smart, you would have prepared for this possible outcome, and saved some so that he would think he'd taken it all. Dammit.

For a moment, you were silent.

"Tell me."

You tensed up, biting your lip.

You were afraid, but it also made you angry. The commanding, authoritative tone, as if he owned you, as if he had any right to tell you what to do. There was a time where you would have responded to anyone who spoke in such a way to you with equal aggression, if not outright violence. Your pride swelled in your chest, digging its heels in at the thought of being obedient, sickened by the notion of giving in.

At your hesitation, he said your name.

It was a low tone, a clear warning in response to your defiant silence. You jolted, and scurried over to the other side of the kitchen, trying to bite your lip, hands trembling as you opened the cabinet and pulled out the container and turned around, hanging your head and standing stiff with fear and humiliation as he took it from your hand and read the front of the package.

He sighed, but as he did, some of the tension seemed to roll off his frame. "...Oh. That." He caught the confused expression you had at those words, and elaborated. "I thought it would be—” he cut off and took another heavy breath, whether out of exasperation or relief or both, you weren't sure. “I thought you were trying to poison me again… or kill me.”

"No," you shook your head rapidly. “I wouldn't… do that…” Granted, you may have very well have chosen take the chance if it was an option, but such honesty would be ill-advised when your current objective was to deescalate the situation you'd landed yourself in, and hopefully quell any further anger before it emerged.

Yes, this was practical, you told yourself — and more importantly, told your wounded sense of pride. You were just being practical, strategic.

Besides, the sedative was the only thing you had available, anyway… well, had had available, since it was now certainly going to be taken from you.

You stood perfectly still as he moved, pulling a key out of his pocket, mumbling something about how he had no idea how that even got there, as he unlocked what you had come to refer to in your mind as the "forbidden" cabinet — where all the various dangerous things lay, such as knives, skewers, rat poison (moved there after the previous incident), bleach even.

You were aware that he and all the staff members possessed a key, as you'd sometimes catch maids or other workers accessing it for various purposes, so you assumed it was there solely to keep those things out of your reach. It had started out as a few knives, but the collection had slowly built over time due to your creativity with what remained at your disposal.

“And here you were actually starting to improve,” he mumbled. The words were heavily laden with exhaustion, frustration.

You clenched your fists. The words crawled under your skin, bothered you viscerally, knowing there was truth to them. Thinking back, over the past few weeks, you'd become more complacent and behaved than you'd ever been prior — part of it had been an act, sure, but a creeping dense of paranoia made you wonder if you’d been settling into it, if it had been starting to become natural. You rejected the thought, insisting otherwise to both him and yourself.

“That's— that's only because I've been here so long… you're wrong…”

Even though the words were spoken weakly, the mere act of disagreement was not within the boundaries of complacency and acceptable behavior. It was not normal for your good wife act. The defiance was slowly bubbling up to the surface, and you could tell from the way you say you saw his jaw visibly clench, that he noticed that as much as you did.

He narrowed his eyes as he turned his head towards you, before shaking his head and returning to putting the offending substance away. He was moving some of the things around to make space for the new object, placing it inside before locking the doors shut again, back turned to you.

But then, there was only more silence as he reached up to rub at the side of his temple with one of his hands.

You hoped for the best, that perhaps the lack of murderous intent on your part would serve to significantly lessen his anger, or that due to contrast, he would view trying to sedate him as a petty offense. Trivial. Overlookable.

“But why would you even want to knock me out…?” He trailed off, looking to the ground in pensiveness. And then, the worst thing you feared happened — the exact intent seemed to click with him.

Your gaze cast to the floor, you could just see him move out of the corner of your eye, walking back towards you, but in fear, you couldn't bring yourself to look up. You saw his feet facing yours as you looked down, and a shadow cast over your hanging head. He was standing right in front of you, and, perhaps out of pride, or perhaps accepting it was inevitable anyway, you forced yourself to look up, eye-to-eye, his own narrowed with disdain.

“…You were going to put me to sleep so you could run off again.”

You stiffened. “No,” you immediately rushed to your own defense. “I just—”

“Yes, you were. Don't—” he huffed, finishing his sentence with gritted teeth, “don't lie to me.”

“I'm not!” Your words that time came out more angry than fearful, your own frustration with everything beginning to balance our your fear.

“I just said—” he cut his words short and took a deep breath, reaching up to rest his face in his hand in a gesture of exasperation. His next words were not as intensely angered, more of a tired frustration laden in them. “You really never learn, do you.”

The words, simple as they were, had a strong effect.

Your fear and anger dwelled in your heart in a state of coexistence — you’d been tamed enough that avoiding pain and consequence was your usual priority, with the anger, the inherent defiance in your spirit, taking a secondary place. But with the right choice of words, the right circumstances, that same defiant spirit that he so very much hated, that he worked so hard to erase, would come bouncing back. A routine you’d been through more than once by now.

That same spirit of defiance had slowly been rising, had been your whole reason for your attempt, but with that, the switch flipped. Your hands balled into fists at your side.

“Learn what?!” Your voice came out louder than before. “Goddammit, I—”

The irritation on his features grew. “Don't raise your voice. And for the millionth time, watch your mouth.”

“I'll do what I want!” You leaned your upper body forward in exertion. “You’re the one that never lets me go anywhere! I wouldn't have done it if you didn't keep me locked up like an animal!”

His head snapped up fully at your voice, eyes narrowing into a glare.

“Don't get an attitude with me.”

Your eye twitched. That was one of your many rules that you so despised, the one you were most frequently found guilty of violating. Commands you were held to for no other reason than the desires of someone else, a projection of an ideal you were so brutally forced to conform to. Don't raise your voice, don't get a bad attitude, don't walk so loud, don't slouch, don't curse, don't make that face, don't talk back. The “don't” commands were bad enough, but the expectation of the inverse, the image you had to conform to, was even worse. To be nice, to sit there and smile and do whatever was instructed without so much as a complaint. Those were the good traits that you were supposed to have, that you were to be instilled with — as if a wild animal to be caught and domesticated.

A dam holding back your emotions seemed to break. You finally raised you voice fully, nearly yelling.

“It's your fault for making me stay in here in the first place, you bastard!” You snarled. “You keep acting like this is normal and it's not! You kidnapped me, dammit! You're mad at me for breaking your stupid rules when you're the one committing a fucking crime!”

You were speaking with such forceful anger you leaned forward with the exertion, panting heavy breaths, hands curled into fists. Your fury reached a peak, throwing aside all regard for whatever line your next words may cross.

"And you know what? I don't belong to you, I'm not your — I'm not anyone's goddamn dainty little fucking housewife! I don’t have to listen to a damn word you say, you bastard, you—”

You hesitated to finish your sentence, about to deliver another onslaught of curses, but stopped short when you tilted your gaze up, and your eyes met.

His eyes narrowed, staring at you with something like abject disgust, irritation, exasperation, but the silence was what amplified your dread the most. A single second of heavy, tense quiet passed, and then you saw him reach down to his waist, grasping at the front of his belt and unfastening it before pulling the other end, rapidly pulling the whole thing out of the loops.

“Come here.”

A very firmly-spoken command. Your stomach felt as if it flipped over on itself, a sudden cold feeling across your flesh, a learned response. You took a step back, drawing your hands up to your chest in a defensive reflex.

You hesitated, feet spread apart as if to move, but in what direction you weren't certain. Your eyes darted to the left and right, and froze as your gaze settled on the arch leading to the hallway.

Which he must have noticed, given the look he shot you. His voice grew quieter, more foreboding. “Don’t you dare run. Come here. Now.”

You had not yet fucked up quite this badly before, not done something to this magnitude — poisoned him, yes, and had outbursts, yes, but never back-to-back, the offenses stacking on top of each other. That outburst just then was the most vicious one you'd had since you woke up here, and you would be given far less lenience now than then. The thoughts of past punishments for even mild transgressions crossed through your mind. The blood drained from your face, your heartrate picked up faster.

It was stupid, really. So, so stupid, so futile, and had you really thought about it, you would know how pointless it was. But in the moment, you weren't operating so much on reason, so much as the dread in your gut and instinct.

For that reason, you turned in the opposite direction, bolted through the door to the hall, and took off running.

"Wh—” You heard the sound in his throat cut off as you bolted, clearly taken aback by the choice of action, but soon followed by a throaty groan of frustration you could hear all too well.

You didn't even really know where you were going. Nor what you planned to accomplish. The building was large, there were plenty of hallways to run down and turns to take — you turned left at the end of the room, then took and immediate right, unable to remember the structure enough to coordinate any plan of action as to where to run, just following the need to run away.

The doors were always locked from the inside and out now, one set of locks to keep intruders out and the other to keep you in. Breaking glass windows was a risk you didn't want to take, and it would alert anyone nearby to your location immediately and would only serve to greatly increase any potential consequence. Thus, for the time being, perhaps you were looking more for a place to hide. Maybe if you could just do that, find a place to cower and wait out the brunt of his anger, he would calm down by the time you came out.

Well, really, you knew that probably wasn’t doable, but it was nice to at least think for a moment.

And a moment was all you got.

You hesitated as you reached a spot where the hall split into two different corridors, and that one moment of hesitation was enough to close the gap between you. You squealed and flailed as a hand forcefully grabbed at your hair, pulling you back.

“Ow!” You squirmed, the balls of your bare feet thumping on the hardwood as they stumbled to regain your balance. “Let—let me go! Ow, ow, that hurts—”

“Hold still.” The command was firm, a foreboding voice that made your heart race.

The fabric around your torso pulled taut against your skin as he took a fistful of the back side of it, other arm harshly wrapping around your waist before you felt your weight lift upward, feet leaving the ground.

You thrashed, but even doing so to the best of your ability had no effect. His grip didn’t budge.

You grunted as you were effectively slung over his shoulder. He started moving forward, footsteps heavy and frustrated. “Gh!” You squirmed, flailed, all to no avail.

Your resistance began to falter in realization of the futility of fighting the now-inevitable, groaning in miserable anger and weakly bringing your clenched fists down on his back as you were, with seemingly little effort, carried down the hall, taking a turn and ascending up the staircase. It was only a short distance from the top to the bedroom door, which opened in a swift, furious motion, likewise slamming shut behind you.

You grunted as you were thrown down onto the mattress. You put your hands down and pushed yourself upward, beginning to try and crawl away, but a hand caught you by the back of your shirt again, pushing your upper body down. You made a rough, irritated noise in the back of your throat as you squirmed, but soon your hands were pinned behind your back, leaving you face down with your hips in the air.

You inhaled a sharp gasp of air and stiffened when you felt the skirt end if the dress hike up, the waistband beneath pulled down, cool air on your bare flesh.

“Wait wait, no, I'm sorry—”

You instinctively jerked forward, squirming, heart beginning to pound in your chest. You had had enough experience to know that this was far more painful on bare skin, as if the humiliation ritual of it all wasn't bad enough.

You felt like a petulant child, begging and whimpering. You tried to move, but the hand pushing down and your knees being positioned right on the edge of the bed effectively forced you into holding the position, with no way to move.

“Then you should have thought about that before you decided to do what you did.” There was no trace of mercy or empathy in his voice. “This is entirely your fault.”

“But I—”

You cut off with a squeal, body lurching forward as sharp pain came down on the sensitive skin on your ass, the smacking sound echoing in your ears. Your jaw clenched, muscles tensing. He wasn't holding back either, one strike was enough to make your eyes begin to water.

“This wouldn't have to keep happening—”

Another strike on the enunciated word. You hissed a sharp breath through clenched teeth and groaned, hips reflexively jerking forward in an attempt to pull away, to no avail.

“—if you could just—”

Another strike. You winced and stiffened, groaning and straining your muscles pulling against the firm hold forcing you in place.

“—give it up—”

And yet another.

“—and learn to behave.”

Another and another and another, three in quick succession. You yelped and jolted at each, a miserable sound coming out of your throat. Unable to maintain enough pride to hold them back, tears streamed down your face.

“Stop, stop…” you whimpered. “It hurts…”

But the only reply you got was calloused and merciless.

“It’s supposed to.”

The next strike was harder than the previous ones. You squealed, taking deep, gasping breaths. Your legs trembled.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please, I won't do it again—”

“You said that last time.”

Your heart sank. You didn't have any reply other than to whimper in misery and anticipation, turning to a throaty cry of pain as you were struck again.

“It's for your own good. You would be happier if you just give in. But you insist—”

The leather came down hard. Your shoulders wracked with a sob, completely breaking the last of your resolve to hold back your reactions.

“—on being stubborn.”

The belt came down again, your body jolting and face contorting with the pain once more.

It was the final strike to drive you over the edge.

"I'm sorry!"

You couldn't speak further for a moment, having to take a few heaving gasps. Your shoulders jerked with a sob, sniffling, tears streaming down your face.

The only thing outweighing the stinging, striking pain itself was the tight feeling in your chest of humiliation and bitterness. It was intended as such, of course, to hurt not only your body, but your pride as well.

Your body trembled, heaving breaths and whimpers filling the following quiet. Perhaps your misery was finally deemed worthy of mercy, as despite your tensing in anticipation, no further sudden pain followed, only the lingering, hot sting on your bare flesh.

There was only a heavy sigh.

“Are you done being a brat?”

You sniffled, nodding your head against the sheets. “Mmhm…”

There was a momentary pause, perhaps giving you the opportunity to catch your mistake on your own. After you failed to do so within a few moments, the hand around your wrists tightened, a wordless threat. A brief panic surged through your mind, but you realized where you'd erred within a second.

Still, even though you opened your mouth, taking a breath to speak, some last little spark of stubborn pride flickered up, bitter and spiteful, and for a moment, you refused to give in to it, the one rule you so deeply resented more than any other.

And then he said your name — a foreboding, low tone, a warning.

Thus the brief moment of dignity was extinguished in a single word. You practically blubbered out the words, distorted by your sniffling and slurring.

“Y-yes sir…”

Finally, the grip on your wrists released.

“Good.”

You slumped forward, trembling hands reaching out to pull yourself further onto the bed before you went limp on your stomach and still, head spinning and exhaustion setting in as you came down from the high of the expense of so much energy and stress. As your head cleared, you became aware of the discomfort of wetness on your face, reaching up wipe your cheeks with the back of your hand. The sting was bad enough that you didn’t even bother pulling your clothes back into place to cover yourself, not wanting the fabric to brush against the now-sensitive skin.

There was a long moment of quiet. You weakly turned your head, seeing the pensive look on his face, eyebrows furrowed and looking at the ground. Something about it felt ominous, made your stomach shaft to churn.

“This keeps happening in a cycle,” he muttered, a low voice, almost as if speaking more to himself than you. “You start to improve, and then you regress again.”

Had you not been so utterly weary, not to mention bearing the lingering sting to your backside, you might have gotten defensive, snapped at him over referring to succumbing to the spiritual torment of your life as improvement. But now, spirit already broken as it could be for one day — at least, so you believed in that moment — you only closed your eyes, trying to ignore him. Maybe you could rest your body, at least a little, before the inevitable disturbance of a different form of exertion.

But when you squeezed your eyes shut, as always, the thoughts came rushing through your mind, emotions and recollections all at once, too intense for you to bear. Thinking through everything over again, your mistakes that led you to where you were now — not so much the events of the last hour, and more the grand scheme of things, how much you regretted ever making eye contact with him, or ever setting foot in that damn tavern.

Each and every day, you replayed the final conversation you two had had, sitting there in his own bar after everyone else had gone home, with you insisting on drinking more until you were content. After so much time — or perhaps due to the effect of the drugs, or the alcohol — you'd forgotten what the whole of the conversation was even about, only your response to one of those half-muttered comments about how this or that behavior of yours was unattractive, how you'd never get married if you kept it up, or any of the other things he said that irked you so.

You'd glared, snapping at him.

What makes you think you get to tell me what to do?

The only other thing you remembered — no, it was perfectly burned into your memory, crystal-clear despite your intoxication at the time — was the way he'd frozen, the look on his face when you'd said it, the glimpse you'd caught of it for a mere second. Slack-jawed, eyebrows furrowed, staring down at you with some amalgamation of disbelief, fury, and pure, unadulterated disgust.

Well, it wasn't the only thing you remembered — he'd walked away for a moment, you'd nearly drifted off in drunken haze, and something was shoved into your hands, you drank it without question (like an idiot, you often reprimanded yourself) and then, the next memory was waking up in his bed.

It played over, and over, and over, as you lay there shivering, cold and exhausted. As much as you resented him, you couldn’t help but feel enraged with yourself, each time you thought back to each interaction. That you didn’t recognize that something was wrong, that the degree of quiet malice he seemed to hold for you was unnatural, obsessive, dangerous. You’d just shrugged it off as just being his nature. Such an idiot, you thought to yourself. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

A heavy sigh pulled you out of your thoughts.

“…”

Whatever he was actually now thinking, though, he didn’t say aloud.

Instead, predictably, his hands grabbed at your thighs, pulling you back across the bed. The same familiar knot of dread began to twist in your chest again.

You groaned, a sound of combined exasperation, pain and exhaustion. Your voice came out weak. “N-no, don’t… it’ll hurt too much…” Despite your verbal protest, you couldn’t actually summon the will to do much more than a weak squirming with your body as the dress was pulled up. Your attempts to hold your arms down proved futile as they were easily grabbed and maneuvered to allow him to pull the clothing off entirely, throwing it onto the mattress.

“It’s not going to hurt you,” was his only reply, an assured and matter-of-fact tone, like it was an objective, predetermined truth that you were foolish to contest. His hands moved to your hips, pulling on them to pull you back into your prior positioning. “It only hurts because you don’t relax enough.”

You might have remarked that the two back-to-back statements were quite the contradiction, but in the moment you were too lost in a combination of daze and panic to be too sarcastic. The pull jolted your mind back into full clarity. You tried to push yourself up on your hands, but his hand pressed to your back again, holding you in place.

“Wait, wait—”

You cut off in a shrill wail, toes curling and legs kicking out reflexively as the sting of the stretch set in. Your back arched in a reactive attempt to get away from the sudden intrusion that felt like it was splitting you apart, cleaving your body in half.

"Just—just hold still," his grip on your wrists tightened as your hands attempted to jerk back. He moved one hand to the other, taking both your wrists in one hand so he could reach down to your hips with the other, grabbing at one with a bruising grip and holding you still in place before sliding out, then back in, a second time, then a third.

You gritted your teeth, tears forming in your eyes anew as your body tensed up. The friction burned, the stretch ached. "It hurts," you whimpered, speaking through your teeth gritted in pain. "You-you're tearing me apart..."

"Just relax. You’re too tense.”

“I can’t just—gh!”

His arm shifted from pressing you down to wrapping around your torso, pulling your upper body back up from behind, while also preventing you from pulling yourself forward, and instead pulling your body closer against his, bouncing you back and forth on his cock. Each movement brought your ass bouncing back against his hips, a harsh sting on still-sensitive flesh.

"A-ah, ah…” you clamped down on reflex, trembling hands reaching behind you to push him back, but you were so weak it did nothing. “Wait, wait…” Your words came out slurred and strained.

Suddenly, to your surprise, the movement actually stopped. There was a moment of pause, and for that moment, you actually believed maybe you were receiving whatever semblance of mercy the man was capable of.

You heard his heavy breathing in your ear, felt him let his head fall downward for a moment, as if in thought.

Then, his hands moved once more — this time, one grasping at your waist, forcing your back into an arch, the other reaching up, palm against your throat and his fingers curling to grasp your jaw.

“Fight me off.”

With that, he pulled back, and slammed forward again. You squealed, every muscle tensing and spasming at the ripples of sensation it sent through your nerves.

“What? I don't— what are you—”

Another harsh, slamming thrust cut you off.

“Remember what you said before? When you first came here?” His words were spoken in a low, dark tone, dripping with vengeful spite. His fingernails dug into the flesh of your face. “You told me you didn't need anyone.”

The hand on your hip tightened its grip as you pulled your hips forward, jerking you back as his own hips snapped forward, the motion ramming into you in full all the way down to the base, the flesh of your ass pressed up against his hip bones.

“You said you were strong, that you didn't need protection.” The grip tightened, painfully pressing down. “You said you could take care of yourself.” His fingers curled further into your skin. “Remember that?”

Even in such a flat tone, his voice felt utterly mocking. The defiance you'd thought he'd already drained from your spirit began to surge back up in full force, a burning rage filling your chest.

“If you're so strong,” he continued, words muddled with heavy panting breaths, bouncing you back and forth with increasing pace, “then you should have no problem—” he took another heavy breath, next words coming out as half-spoken, half-hissed through clenched teeth, “fighting me off.”

You stiffened, eye twitching, a rough throaty sound of fury coming from your mouth as you began to squirm, to no avail.

“Come on. Prove it.” His voice grew more intense, lower, harsher. “Push me off. Do it.”

You practically growled, an animalistic sound, savagely reaching up to claw at the hand gripping your jaw, pulling your body forward with all the strength you could muster.

But it was nothing by comparison. As if fueled by your resistance, he only slammed into you faster and harder. At that point, the fluids leaking from your body lubricated the movements, the pain ebbing away, replaced by a warm, tight sensation, pressing against the spots in your body that made you melt, the sheer stretch becoming pleasurable.

“Or maybe you're wrong.” He jerked your head back to the point that the side of your face touched his, his heavy panting warm against your ear. “Maybe you should accept that you're weak.”

The grip on your jaw caused his palm to dig into your throat, not enough to choke you fully, but enough to cause discomfort.

“You need someone to— you need me.” His head titled ever so slightly downward, his hair brushing against the back of your neck.

Trying to turn your head away proved futile, the iron grip keeping it just as firmly locked in place as your body.

“You're so naive. The weak are supposed to be self-aware.” He spoke through clenched teeth, intense anger seeping into his voice. “But you had to go and act so tough—”

A harsher thrust than any of the ones preceding it, so hard you gagged on air, unable to even scream.

“—and be so goddamn mouthy all the time.”

Your strained, animalistic noises continued, pulling your body forward with every single ounce of strength you were physically capable of.

You didn't move. It felt as if you were trying to pull yourself out of steel chains, pure futility. Your arms trembled with the strain, and yet you didn't budge.

“As if I couldn't just reach over and break you any time I felt like it.”

Your toes curled, muscles tensing in pleasure-pain, each movement ramming into a spot that sent sparks of pleasure up your spine, whilst also causing the flesh of your backside to slap against his hips, sending jolts of pain through your body all at once.

“As if any of those guys you were such a little bitch to couldn’t have done the same.”

Sweat coated your skin, running down your back. The bed creaked, violently slamming against the frame. He pulled you so close that your shoulder blades pressed to his chest.

“Do you have any idea how easy this is? I'm not even trying.”

The words felt like a knife to your chest. In the past, you'd been irritated by you inferior physical strength, but admittedly you hadn't stopped to really think more deeply about the matter of your inability to free yourself, in the bigger picture of things.

A heavy, cold feeling began to seep out of your heart, through your chest, into your blood. A dawning realization of your total powerlessness, of your weakness. It was harrowing, brutal, and unforgiving.

You took heavy, gasping breaths. The intensity of every sensation was too much, driving you to a brink of what felt like madness. The ache in your body, the chill in your blood, the pleasure and the sting and the despair.

Your resolve broke. You went limp, panting, eyes watering with bitterness and fury, hot tears leaking out of the corners of your eyes, weak voice coming out as a blubbering whimper, broken up by the incessant thrusts jerking your body back and forth.

“I-I’m, I'm so, sorr-eee…”

The only reply you got was a single word.

“Good.”

You closed your watery, burning eyes. If you couldn't escape in reality, you could at least escape in your mind, desperately trying to block out the thoughts and the shame and the bitterness, trying to focus on sensation, feeling, the way you trembled at the pleasure. The way the sharp sting and the heat of the pleasure began to blur together, the pain itself only intensifying the rising tight, warm feeling inside.

You threw your head back to rest against his chest, whimpering like an animal. Your hands now only weakly reached behind you, grasping at his torso, neither pulling nor pushing. Each movement grew move intense, somehow even harder and harder still, inhumanly fast, flesh slapping against flesh, the sound amplified by the slick and sweat that coated the skin where your bodies conjoined. Your body began to quiver.

The climax that came over you was not the strongest you'd ever had — your body was far too exhausted and pained to even summon such a thing — but the high shot through your body nonetheless, waves of intensity rushing throughout. You let out a long, high-pitched sound as it peaked and ebbed away, mind slipping into a state of nothingness, a fog so thick you might as well have been unconscious.

You barely felt the motions stop, the way you were lowered down to rest on your stomach. Your attention was only briefly pulled to the surface of your consciousness with the sudden sensation of emptiness, the way your insides spasmed to clench on empty space, the chill that set in as the sweat began to cool over your body, and finally the shifting of the mattress as weight settled onto the other side, sitting beside your limp form.

And then, as your consciousness swayed, one faint little thought kept you from slipping away.

Something was different. You were limp and numb from the stupor, mind lost in a haze, but a faint sense of alarm slowly drug your consciousness back to alertness. Something was different, something was wrong.

You shifted, muscles reflexively clamping down on the now-empty space, and stiffened as you felt something fluid ooze out of your slit, drooling down your flesh and onto your thigh.

“Did… did you… cum… inside me…?”

You turned towards the figure blurred by the residual tears and dizziness. You could make out him sitting there, the bright red hair and the flesh tone of his unclothed upper body, see him running his hand over the top of his head, pushing sweat-drenched strands of hair back.

Your stupor had left your eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, but they immediately snapped back fully open as the next words registered with your ears, spoken in a fully nonchalant, matter-of-fact tone.

“This will be good for you.”

You sat up — a movement that took effort, nearly falling back down on hands still trembling with aftershock, and looked up at him with panicked confusion plastered on your face. “…Huh… what?”

Now you could make out his eyes, looking into yours, continuing on in the same blunt voice, as if speaking of a trivial matter.

“…I was waiting. I thought it would be a bad idea to give you a kid before you showed some improvement.” After a moment of pause as he sat more upright, he continued, “But thinking about it, that could be part of the reason you're so badly behaved to begin with. You're… imbalanced or something.”

He held a hand out palm-up in a casual gesture.

“So, it will calm you down.”

You stared, slack-jawed and wide-eyed in disbelief and horror.

“That's—” you twitched. Your voice was hoarse, each word hurt, as if dragging broken glass down your throat. “You're insane. You can't— you can't do this to me. I can't do that!”

“You're being overdramatic.”

“Overdramatic?!” You pushed the heels of your hands into the mattress to propel yourself backwards, crawling away from him as if it would do any good. “No, you don't understand, I… I can't…!”

Your breathing began to speed up, right alongside your heart rate. Panic consumed your train of thought. The implications of the very notion were, for you, world-ending — it would change everything, it would debilitate you and any hopes you had of ever leaving. Even beyond that, just the mere thought, the mental image the idea created, made you shudder.

You looked down. Between your legs, some of the cum had begun to ooze out onto the sheets.

Right, you could extract it all, to the best of your ability, and hope for the best. Your legs were trembling so badly you weren't certain if you could support your own weight, but nonetheless, you tried to make your way to the edge of the bed.

“No, no, I… I need to go wash off—”

“No, you're not.” His hand latched onto your arm, roughly pulling you back. You fell onto your side with a grunt.

You stiffened and whimpered as you felt two of his fingers wipe the inside of your thigh, collecting the semen that had slipped out with gravity and your movement, and pressed the fingers back inside of you, not wanting any to go to waste.

“Don't move around so much.”

Panic turned into aggression, like a cornered animal. Your nose wrinkled up with the furious expression that crossed your face.

“There is no way in hell I'm—”

Your words cut off once more as his hand latched onto your jaw, eyes narrowing.

“…Do you want to do this over again?” He tilted your head up, forcing you to look him in the eye. “Because I have no problem with that, if you keep mouthing off.”

You froze up again. The despair took hold. You didn't have any more fight left in you. It wasn't worth it, you couldn't handle another round with the belt.

You bit your lip, shaking your head. It wasn't until he sighed, and gave you an irritated look that you recognized your mistake once again.

“…No, sir…”

He closed his eyes, seemingly content with the rectification. “Good.” He pulled you down further, until you were lying on your side. “It's late enough to go to bed. You need sleep.”

You lay motionless, aside from the still-lingering shivering, watching as he shuffled off the remainder of his clothes and turned off the nearby lamp, plunging the room into near-darkness, before laying back down, turning back towards you, pulling you close.

His arm wrapped around your back, keeping your body pressed to his. Your face rested against his collarbones.

He shifted a bit, causing his hand to just barely brush over your backside — you stiffened, sucking a sharp breath in through your teeth.

“Mm, sorry.”

The half-hearted, sleepy mutter was all you got — an apology you knew was only for the momentary accidental touch and not the pain itself. That would be deemed deserved and justified, should you ever complain, and would probably earn you the same punishment again.

Your face scrunched up with misery, as if about to cry, but your body couldn't produce any more tears.

“Night.”

You felt the rumbling in his chest against yours. You swallowed the lump in your throat before you replied, voice barely more than a whisper.

“…Goodnight…”

There was still a little bit of light coming in through the window — it wasn't even really fully dark yet, the last few rays of purplish twilight visible in the sky.

You wondered if you'd ever see it from any other view than the estate ever again — but pushed the thought away, as you didn't like what you thought might be the answer, nor the way it made you think of the conversation that transpired moments prior.

You closed your eyes, shifted around a bit and — wincing at the fluid that drooled down your leg — tried your best to rest.

#bro really saw an autonomous female existing and said 'not on my watch'#genshin smut #diluc x reader #.dl

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jesswritesthat · 13 days

Text

Miya Atsumu: Daughters

Fandom: Haikyuu!! — [ Masterlist ]

Summary: ~900, fluff

• Atsumu ponders a question he recently got asked in an interview and drags the whole of MSBY into it.

Warnings: None

>>>>——————————>

"Who would you let your daughter date out of the team?"

It was a question he'd been asked at an interview recently, one he'd skilfully dodged and redirected to his love life with his clever response of 'Well I gotta find the love of ma life before thinkin' 'bout that~’.

Now he had a spare moment, gifted to him by the sheer curiosity of his teammates, he actually gave it some thought.

Bokuto and Hinata stood eagerly beside one another, practically bouncing on the heels of their feet once the faux blondes' analytic gaze landed on them.

"Well definitely not yous' two, that's for sure."

"Omi! I'd let you date my daughter." The pair hadn't a moment to deflate when the blonde instantaneously snapped to Kiyoomi who was as sharp as ever with his response.

"And risk being related to you through marriage? No thank you Miya."

"Oi, ya can't talk to yer father-in-law like that Sakusa Kiyoomi!"

Hinata hummed aloud in thought, surveying the MSBY Jackals before landing on a welcome option.

"What about (L/n)?"

You'd strolled up at this point, wanting to see what all the fuss was about when you heard your name. Atsumu meeting your surprised gaze with an analytic one of his own.

"Hm?"

"Seeing if 'Tsum Tsum would let his daughter date you." A quiet sound of understanding left your lips as response to Bokutos' disclosure, once more darting back to the uncharacteristically silent Setter.

"Ah mean..." Atsumu blanched, fingers darting to the back of his neck as the panic set in. "I would want 'em to but wouldn't like 'em to."

Not only yourself, but Bokuto and Hinata stared at him perplexed, brows raised in curiosity meanwhile Sakusa shook his head with a resigned sigh.

"Wait, what's the age difference? Is (Y/n) still my age or my daughter's age - 'cause that's a whole other story."

"Daughter's age I guess?" Shoyo shrugged, looking to Bokuto for assurance.

"Then what's the age difference between me an' (Y/n)?" Atsumu asked again, mentally calculating in his head before Bokuto jumped in.

"Why so many questions? You never gave anyone else this much thought."

Silence. Likely concocting a lie.

"Yes I did!"

You were certain the team had mentally flashed back to the instant "Not you." they'd received and focused on the severe lack of questions he'd asked regarding them.

"No you didn't."

"Nope, literally was right here when you said it."

You thought he would've come up with a better lie.

"Then— then it's because (Y/n) isn't a teammate."

"Woah! HOW DARE YOU 'TSUM 'TSUM!" Kōtarō clutched you immediately, pointing an accusing finger at his setter. "(Y/n) is apart of the team, just because they don't play on court doesn't make them less important!"

"That's not what I—"

"For the record, I'd treat your daughter amazingly Atsumu! I'd bring her flowers, make her smile, and care for her when she's sick by making dinner. Oh! We could cook together too - maybe she'd like to visit new cities and restaurants with me." You gleamed momentarily, the way he'd crossed his arms and looked away from you with a pout amusing you slightly.

"No not happening, yer a terrible match for ma daughter and I won't allow it."

"Guess it's Sakusa who wins the date." You casually shrugged, Kiyoomi grimacing at the thought.

"I didn't want it in the first place."

"Omi Omi don't be so rude!"

You rolled your eyes as they all went to begin practice with varying farewells, yourself returning to your own role with nothing more than a playful smile.

———

It wasn’t until practice was over did you realise you hadn’t quite escaped their shenanigans for the day regardless of your speedy exit. Atsumu cornering you whilst you collected your belongings.

"Yer in a hurry, ya got plans?"

"Actually I'm eating at home tonight."

"Oh was ma daughter unavailable fer ya to take out to dinner?" It was said pettily, a childish tone in play that only caused you to shoot a snarky remark to the MSBY setter.

"Atsumu, are you jealous of your non-existent daughter?"

There was a moment of pause where he shot you an expression of pure offence that soon morphed into an intense stare off - him breaking far quicker than you'd thought.

"She gets to do all this cool stuff with ya and yer haven't even met! We don't do any of that and I've know ya fer ages!"

"Atsumu... all you gotta do is ask y'know? We can hang out when we’re both free."

“No that’s not what I mean! I don't want my daughter dating you because I wanna date you!" Your eyes widened at the proclamation, so that was why he was acting so weird about this whole thing.

“Date me? Atsumu are you feeling alright?”

You only received a groan mixed with defeat and aggravation, the man carefully linking arms with you and once again bring you to his teammates.

"I've changed my mind on (Y/n). It's all worked out." Though sceptical at Atsumus’ apparent newfound confidence in the previous matter, Hinata was the one to hes Tōya toy question his setter.

"So... you'd let your daughter date (Y/n)?"

"Hell no! My daughter can't date her parent, that's just wrong."

"Atsumu!" Immediately you pushed his proud frame with a shocked and frustrated yelp, the team practically howling at the idiocy you’d both displayed.

"What? We're gonna—"

"Shut up Miya! You're going to say something I'll want to slap you for."

Of course they’d worked out he liked you from earlier, but the last thing they expected was this open chaos - you certainly weren’t going to date him anytime soon now.

<——————————<<<<

#miya atsumu #miya atsumu oneshot #miya atsumu imagines #miya atsumu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #anime x reader #anime imagine #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu oneshot

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dana-chan-the-control-brain · 2 months

Note

Honestly? All your evidence against Ruin is very very true, very very sus, and very very convenient for him.

I think the only reason why I want him to be innocent to some degree (either revealed he's still being controlled and not that just being him) is I don't want Moon's paranoia to be validated. That is literally it. If Moon is right to be suspicious, that he was right in doing everything he did with Ruin-

I just really really do not want that paranoia to be justified. That is literally it.

All your evidence is probably right though, Ruin, please be a better actor you have gained the ability to be subtle but that is really not helping you.

The thing is that, Moon feels he was disproven in his paranoia and that he decided to give Ruin leniency.

Which is why Ruin was able to get away from Moon, and ask for dimensional travel.

I have a feeling Ruin put a lot of things in place to assure that he would infiltrate Sun and Moon near perfectly.

Considering the latest MAFS episode (which I feel is very important considering how Daycare Attendant centric it is)

youtube

"Cured" Ruin and Bloodmoon have not met up yet.

And I have a feeling they will very soon. And Bloodmoon was built with the sole purpose of being Ruin's minion. And Bloodmoon hasn't outgrown that purpose. Right now, Bloodmoon has no directive, and is taking orders from Stitchwraith, but once his maker comes back into the table, I feel all bets are off the table.

Also, lets rewind for a bit... What if Moon's earlier paranoia about Ruin is proven true...

THAT would have MASSIVE benefits that we aren't even thinking about. Like at this point, Moon's paranoia proven right would just help them rather then help them.

They'll trust Eclipse

Eclipse will be taken more seriously and less like a madman or feral child that Moon needs to manage.

Eclipse will get to be something else other then a villain or just an inconvenience for once.

THIS WILL NOT HELP MOON'S EGO AT ALL. For those who think Moon would gloat like "ha! I was right!" I don't think it'll be like that. HE'D FEEL BETRAYED and utterly devastated. It's one thing to be suspicious of someone. But to have those suspicions disproven and not being proven and put your trust into them despite all that and then the evil villain you've built in your head (Eclipse) turned out to be right the whole time and you fucked it all up by not listening to the untrustworthy one.

Remember Eclipsev3 was crying when he was captured because he knew it wouldn't matter what he said, no one would ever trust his word against Ruins? Eclipse would be given trust for the first time ever....

And you know what. AFTER ALL THIS TIME. SUN AND MOON DO NOT KNOW ECLIPSE'S BACKSTORY. As far as Sun and Moon know, Eclipse was a killcode that became sentient and started evil shit for no reason. I hope this will open the door for that conversation to be had.

Not to Mention, Evil Sun today told Moon that he should actually LISTEN to Eclipse. Cause if he doesn't, it just means that this universe will die faster.

I am also surprised that none of the characters call Ruin out specifically for lying. As I have caught him lying several times and none of the characters seem to be wise to it.

Eclipse when he was threatening Ruin did not even think to bring up the Magical Barrier he has encountered twice now. He didn't think to bring up how he was made from Arcade machines either.

All Eclipse thought about was his rage, but if he defused Ruin with logic, he could have easily caught him, other then just going "BUT YOU DID IT! WAH"

Ruin contradicts and changes his story so many times in the span of a few seconds and it has been proven in his Interrogation under the Virus he is a chronic lair. Lie detectors don't work. You have to catch him verbally in a contradiction. Which he has Spouted MANY.

So I always hoped that Moon, Solar or Eclipse would point out these purposeful contradictions but No characters do.

RUIN LEGIT SAID ALOUD "I don't know magic."

Okay. Then he said way earlier: "I constructed this magical barrier to trap you"

....... Okay. YOu can copy a spell, but even COPYING a spell itself is KNOWING magic. The mana has to come from SOMEWHERE. He's not pulling it out of his ass!

Eclipse NOR Moon called this out.

Ruin knows that NewMoon is not as experienced in Magic as OldMoon was. (WHICH MOON ADMITS) and Ruin is taking advantage of that.

Not to mention Eclipse’s magic circle is just an exact copy of Old Moon’s magic circle and wasn’t made by someone knowledgeable in magic.

Ruin being scared of Eclipse almost everytime he encounters him is interesting.

BECAUSE HE IS LEGIT THE ONLY ONE WHO IS. ALMOST LIKE HE'S OVERSELLING HIM.

One moment, Ruin will cower over Eclipse and act traumatized by him, but then he talks about plans about making Star-Powered type Nukes (LEGIT. HE DID.) and then gloat over Eclipse...

Not to mention, Eclipse had never tortured Ruin. He threatened him, sure, but he never physically harmed him. He left before he could do so. But Ruin told Moon and Sun that Eclipse physically tortured him for a long time... BUT THAT'S NOT TRUE. Because Eclipse just threatened torture and the moment Ruin mentioned the Creator, Eclipse went off chasing that wild goose.

So the question comes down to motive... Why do all this with Eclipse.

Well, to accelerate the Death of the Universe. Not just ours.

The Tsams universe is not the main universe. But it's a pillar universe. Meaning if it goes down it takes a few others down with it.

RUIN WANTS TO DESTROY MULTIPLE DIMENTIONS.

Why????

Where did Ruin come from?

What is his dimension?

He has a virus in him that makes him subservient to the Creator in his home world. (if not a little unhinged and bound for destruction and amplifying the violent parts of his personality)

What did the Creator of that dimension want?

He wanted to accelerate the death of the universe by star power so he could study it.

........well.

He already did that with his own dimension.

The creator needs more control samples for multiple dimensions rotting.

And why the hell does the Creator have a cure for the Ruin virus when it's beneficial to him in the long term?

Even Sun said he grabbed something he "thought" was a Cure, and Moon seemed unsure if it was a cure in the first place too.

All Ruin said it did was "cure the fog" from his head. Which makes me think that he's less focused on playing games... (like the Monty of Ruin's dimension thought he was a freakshow) so I think that Ruin is just more focused in long term goals... Also I think his goal was always to pretend to be cured. Looking back in how he acted and what he did when he took over last Halloween.

Ruin, He already knew Bloodmoon was rebelling against him. The protocols he put in bloodmoon to be obedient weren't working how he intended. So he made Eclipse with STRICTER protocols to not make the same mistake and to cause chaos among the Sun and Moon duo.

Eclipse is a distraction so that he can RUIN everything.

#tsams #Ruin is sus squad #danachan's rants

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dwonfilm · 25 days

Text

Come hell or high water. | Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Looming over the Winchesters and [Y/N] is the war between heaven and hell. Dean will ultimately be faced with a choice he’d never be able to make. What will happen?

This will be a multi-part story, not necessarily set in a specific season but around 4-5 would be the best fit.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Mentions: Sam Winchester, Lucifer, John Winchester

Warnings: Lots of angst, sadness, etc, supernatural level violence mentioned, injuries

Here’s Part III if you haven’t read.

Flashbacks are in bold.

Part IV:

“I’m here to inform you, Dean Winchester, that you’ve got an incredible choice on your hands. One that will alter everything you stand for and everything you believe in—a choice that will tear you apart inside until you’re asking to be Michael’s meat suit.” [Y/N]’s stomach dropped hearing this, because that meant it was something bigger than even her intuition could’ve imagined. “Yeah? What’s this ‘important choice’ then huh?” Dean asked, Sam watching from the other side. He had just as bad a feeling about this as [Y/N] did—neither had any chance to speak up though, Lucifer answering immediately. “It’s simple really. You, oh you’ve got the choice of who gets a one way ticket to pain and suffering. Dean Winchester, it’s your decision who gets sent to hell here today. Little Sammy-boy..” he paused, gesturing towards the younger of the Winchester brothers. “or..” Dean’s heart was racing, knowing exactly what was coming but dreading having to hear it said aloud. “..your beautiful, so very beautiful, girlfriend [Y/N].”

It had been several minutes since Lucifer dropped the biggest bombshell imaginable on the three hunters. Dean’s ears were ringing, the only other sound in them was the rapid beating of his heart. Silence had befallen the room and to the devil? This was hilarious. It made it better that despite any worries, truly none of them could’ve seen it coming. Eventually the silence became too much and he couldn’t contain the humor he found in one of the worst situations Dean had ever been put into—bursting out laughing to break the silence. [Y/N]’s heart felt like it was beating once per minute, much like she was dying a slow and agonizing death, when it fact it was racing so fast it would alarm anyone. Sam’s eyes held a mixture between anger and pain, knowing that even asking this question was damning enough.. but all three knew that Lucifer meant it. No, this wasn’t a sick theoretical scenario to throw off the hunters. It wasn’t a bluff, this was a very real situation that none of them could’ve expected. It wasn’t something that even crossed their minds to happen today, or ever if honesty was in question. “Oh c’mon, why the long faces?! I mean, at least one of you will always be nice and toasty warm!” Lucifer was having a blast, finding even more humor in the reactions of the humans standing before him. Sam was the first to react, the anger taking the forefront. “What even is the endgame here Lucifer? Why would this need to happen?” He asked, eyes glancing towards his older brother and his sister-in-law by principle. He felt his heart breaking for all of them, himself included. Again this had Lucifer tilting his head back in laughter.

“I already told you, Sammy-boy. You two are far too resistant to your true purpose. A lot of your brother’s resistance is found in that beautiful [Y/H/C] haired girl standing next to him, so, I offered the choice to cut one of those lifelines because I am insanely generous.” Dean instinctively moved to stand in front of her when she was referenced by the fallen angel, not wanting Lucifer to even glance at [Y/N]. She grabbed the back of Dean’s suit jacket to steady herself and also as a way to confirm this wasn’t a nightmare. Which, unfortunately, wasn’t happening because when she grabbed the fabric nothing around her shifted. Squeezing her eyelids closed trying to hold the emotion inside, she didn’t need Lucifer seeing any kind of breakage. “I’ll go.” Dean said, almost quietly. Sam and [Y/N] opened their eyes widely at this and a silence hung in the air again for a moment. “Mmm.. no. See we’ve already had you Deany, and since your little angel on speed dial busted you free.. we don’t want you. You also can’t say yes to my idiot of a brother if you’re in the cage.” Lucifer explained. “And I can?” Sam instantly fired back, venom dripping from his words. “I mean.. you could because I would be oh-so close. Torturing you until your mind broke and you finally gave into the truth—you need to say yes and so does Dean.” Now the devil was getting irritated, eyes dancing along the three hunters in front of him. “I’m not doing this shit, this is bullshit.” Dean said, getting a little louder probably due to the irritation levels rising within him. “Oh but you have to, see this isn’t just a theoretic questionnaire. If you don’t choose, I will.” Lucifer replied, staring directly into the eldest Winchester’s eyes.

Silence again fell over the room, tension and emotion threatening to spill at any second. “Tick Tock, Winchester. I don’t have all day.” It was clear despite any form of annoyance that Lucifer was loving this entire situation. [Y/N] grips his jacket still, so tightly that her knuckles are turning white. Every bit of her is willing this to be someone kind of dream. Whether she’s asleep, whether they’ve been captured, she just needs this to be anything but reality. “You can’t just sling these kinds of things around Lucifer.” Sam thought aloud, which drew a dry laugh from the fallen angel’s lips. “I can’t? Who exactly is gonna stop me? You three?” He replied, wearing a shit-eating grin because all three hunters knew that they couldn’t stop this. No one could. It was the biggest abuse of power in a world where god couldn’t care less about what happened. “You really want to go to war with your brother that badly?” Sam pushed, taking a step towards the devil himself. “Why? What is that war gonna change? Even if you win, you really think the rest of the angels are gonna let you walk out freely?” Sam continued, emotion in every piece of his tone. Almost pleading to the humanity in Lucifer that he knew probably didn’t exist but he needed to try something. Dean couldn’t do this, it would tear him apart from the inside just like Lucifer wanted it to do.

“It’s the fate of the world and it’s the fate of the both of you—you think bargaining with the fucking devil is gonna change anything? You think that’s gonna work? Whether the three of you like it or not, this is exactly how the world works. There’s no fighting against the machine. There’s no changing fate—there’s simply delaying it and the more you delay it the more it’s gonna hurt when you lose everything and everyone that you’ve ever loved.” Lucifer had taken a step closer to Sam and they were practically face-to-face. “We don’t believe that! You can’t deny we’ve changed outcomes already, you think we’re gonna just stop there and submit to you?! Submit to this bullshit fate that you stand here preaching?!” Sam’s emotional side was spilling over into the angry side and he felt the tears welling up in his eyes. Lucifer had anger dancing in his own, staring a hole into Sam’s face when all of a sudden.. breaking the tension he.. laughed? “I see what you’re doing Sammy-boy, ah, you almost got me.” He laughed harder and shook his head. “No more distractions, no more dragging it out.” Lucifer now shifted his attention back onto Dean. “Now, back to the task at hand. Spotlight is on you Deany! Make your selection.” He teased, the enjoyment now finding its way back to the fallen angel’s facial features.

There was that uncomfortable silence again, settling over the musty room. Dean’s heart hadn’t stopped its heavy beating since Lucifer’s plan had been revealed to them. Now his palms felt a little sweaty, knowing that this was something that likely was happening. None of them seemed to have any kind of plan to weasel outta this one—which only meant one thing: someone was going to hell alongside Lucifer. Dean swallowed harshly, slowly looking between his brother and the love of his life. How was he supposed to make a decision between the two people who meant the most to him? Choose one of the two people that kept him going to face the torture, pain and suffering that he’d endured not too long ago? Said pain and suffering that he hadn’t even fully processed yet. Subtly his gaze moved between Sam and [Y/N], sighing as his brain was trying to compute having to make such a choice. He knew that’s why Lucifer had chosen this, because there was no way this kind of decision would be anything other than cataclysmic to his psyche. [Y/N] turned towards her boyfriend and saw the pain in his eyes—that one glance into his green hues and she was feeling every bit of agony that was swimming between his ears.

No matter the wits that the trio shared, it didn’t appear that they’d find a way out of this sick game Lucifer was playing. All of them were stressed and frustrated to levels that they’d likely never been before now. Maybe ones they’d never reach again. “I’m waaaaaaaaaaaaaiting.” Lucifer sang out to them. All three glared towards the fallen angel but that only made him chuckle more. “Ooooh so scary! Whatever will the Devil do?!” He spoke, tone mocking them and their situation. “Dude, shut up.” Sam spoke, exhausted. [Y/N]’s eyes had moved back to her boyfriend rather quickly after leaving Lucifer and they’d stayed there. Minutes had passed by and once again the dark, musty room had fallen into silence. Of course she couldn’t read minds but it wasn’t difficult for her to tell just how much pain this thought process was causing Dean. She knew he couldn’t make this call, he couldn’t choose between her and Sam. Nor should he have to choose. So, sighing, she knew exactly what she had to do. It wasn’t going to be easy, it was going to quite literally take everything she had.. but for Dean she would give it all twenty times over.

“I’ll go.” Her voice was quiet but the words echoed in Dean’s mind like they’d been blasted through surround sound. “What?” Sam asked, pain in his voice as he turned toward [Y/N]. Dean’s heart was beating even louder and he didn’t think that was possible. “Baby..” he finally spoke, his voice barely audible. Dean wasn’t even sure if he said it out loud until she met his gaze with an utterly broken look reflecting within her eyes. [Y/N] took the steps necessary to close all space between she and Dean, tears spilling from her eyes. Cupping his face within her hands and just staring deeply into the beauty of his green eyes that she always loved so much. [Y/N] wished that she could take all of his pain away in this moment, but she knew she couldn’t. No matter what went down today things would be altered for Dean for the rest of his life. “You can’t..” He spoke, hands clutching her blazer so hard that his knuckles were turning white. Now tears had begun slipping from his own eyes as he gazed at the woman he loved. [Y/N] wished there was something she could say to fix this, her heart being ripped from her chest would feel less painful than seeing this look in Dean’s eyes.

“Dean.. I’m not gonna let you make a choice between me and your brother. You’ve spent your entire life protecting Sam, you raised Sam, I know you wouldn’t send him to hell and I’m not mad at that. It’s one of the reasons I fell so hard for you.” She spoke, brushing her thumbs underneath of Dean’s eyes to wipe the tears away. “I love you, more than I have ever loved anyone on this earth. I know this isn’t what we wanted..” She sighed, trying to shake how utterly broken she was away from her voice. “I don’t want you to go..” Dean cried out, somehow gripping the fabric of [Y/N]’s top harder than he was before. “I know, my love.. I know. I don’t wanna go either but there’s no other way out of this.” She cooed, tears streaming down her face. “Please don’t forget me. Think of me and how much I love you every day. I’ll always be in your heart, okay? They can never take that away from you. I know this is gonna hurt baby, but you’ve gotta keep pushing for me too. Hey..” she cried, leaning her forehead directly against her boyfriend’s. “I believe in you, I have always believed in you. I will never stop believing in you, Dean Winchester.” She sobbed, the eldest Winchester’s hands finally releasing their grip upon the fabric of her blazer and coming upward to cup her face now. “Promise me you won’t give up. Promise me you and Sam will keep fighting this, keep saying no to this bullshit.”

“I promise.” He sobbed, keeping his eyes on her and not moving them for a second. [Y/N] immediately crashed her lips into his, the rest of the world melting away. Nothing surrounding them but empty space and their love. Each of them clinging to the closeness they shared, hands on their lover’s face and keeping them for the longest time they could. “Alright, let’s go. I’m bored.” Lucifer spoke up with annoyance in his tone and that broke the magic of their kiss. Heaviness was surrounding the group now, Sam approaching the two of them. “Love you, Sammy. Please take care of him.” [Y/N] sobbed out, reaching one hand towards her brother-in-law’s face. “I promise I will, [Y/N/N.] Love you too.” Sadness was seeping through the younger Winchester’s voice too. Tears slowly running down his cheeks. “I said hurry up.” Lucifer ordered to which she snapped. “You’re dragging me to hell for no good fucking reason, I’m going willingly so shut the fuck up and let me say goodbye.” Dean sobbed and hearing that word. Sam backed up again, letting his brother and [Y/N] have their final moment. “I love you, Dean Winchester.” She spoke, looking directly into his pained emerald eyes. “I love you more, [Y/N] [L/N].” He cried out, knowing this was the end. Slowly they let each other go. She turned towards Lucifer with a scowl and took one step, but immediately turned back to Dean. Quickly her hand flicked to the back of her neck and she unclasped the necklace that Dean had given her for their three year anniversary. Inside the locket attached to the chain were two photographs. One was the first photo they’d ever taken together, which was inside when he’d gifted it to her—the second was one they added not too long ago. It was after Dean had come back from hell and they’d begun cherishing every moment more than they already had. No one could’ve predicted that such a short time later, they’d be here. That they’d have to be saying another forced goodbye. Slowly [Y/N] slipped it into his hand and closed it into a fist so he wouldn’t drop it.

Sam had taken a couple steps to his brother and placed his own hand on his shoulder, squeezing in an attempt to ground him. He wasn’t sure that would even help, but he needed to try and do something. He needed to make sure that Dean knew he was there for him, which of course he would, but in the moment things were going to get ugly. Emotions would fly and Sam needed Dean to know that he wasn’t alone. Lucifer grabbed [Y/N] by the wrist and within the blink of an eye they were both gone. Dean clutched that locket tight and fell to his knees, screaming and crying out the most heart wrenching noises that Sam had ever heard. It was very similar to when Sam had died in his arms, but of course, the younger Winchester didn’t witness that.. [Y/N] did. Slowly, Sam lowered himself to the ground and got on his knees too, pulling Dean into a hug while all the elder of the two could do was sob violently. They stayed there for what felt like years, until Dean couldn’t physically sob anymore. Now? He was just silent. Sam had managed to drag his brother out of the building, they walked a little ways and finally Castiel could get to them. Naturally the angel was confused when there was only two, Sam having to explain what had happened. Cas just looked at Dean with sadness, but Dean’s gaze hadn’t left the ground. After figuring out where they’d been, Cas zapped the brothers and the impala back to the motel.

Sam had entered the room first, just wanting to lay down but his heart sunk again. There, just where they’d been left, sitting all across the room were [Y/N]’s things. Dean, who’d been quiet the whole time, began sobbing again seeing the remnants of their life before Lucifer had torn it apart. He didn’t care about what he was wearing or how long he’d been in it, he just crawled into the bed and grabbed his favorite flannel—well his second favorite. [Y/N] had stolen this one and wore it all the time so he needed to find a new favorite but god, it smelled just like her and he needed it right now. Laying down and putting it between his arms, he began silently crying and thinking about the day he met her.

“Hi, I’m Detective Bonham. Can I ask you a couple questions?” He’d approached the victims daughter. “Son that’s not necessary.” John spoke, which caused the young woman to turn around. “John?” She asked, clearly distraught since it was her father that had been the victim of murder. “Hey kiddo. I’m sorry about your dad.” He replied, approaching the young lady and giving her a gentle hug. “Thanks..” her voice was soft and emotional. John pulled away and Dean’s heart stopped then and there. His eyes finally saw the young woman and she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. “This is your son?” She asked, he nodded and blinked a couple of times before snapping out of it. “Oh, yeah, hi.. I’m Dean.” He smiled, which made her smile too. Dean had extended his hand toward her and she took it, shaking it firmly enough. “I’m [Y/N].” John coughed, which worked to snap his son out of the daze he’d clearly been in since laying eyes on the woman. “I met her dad on a hunt years back. We weren’t overly close, most people in this life aren’t. However, whenever I’d have to come out to Arizona.. [Y/F/N] would help me out. I was always thankful, so when I heard what happened..” John trailed off, not needing to rehash the details. Dean’s face fell. “I’m sorry about your dad.” He’d said, gazing into her eyes with a softness reflecting in his own. “I appreciate it.” She replied and while she was obviously sad, there was a softness in her eyes too. John himself could tell that they’d felt their hearts sing that day, smiling just a little at how they were lost in each other.

Dean had known from the day he laid eyes on [Y/N] that he was in love. Sure, he’d fought it for a little while, mostly because he didn’t think he was worthy of anyone’s love and partly because he was young, dumb and needed to explore—least that was what he told himself. However that all changed when they’d been working a case without his dad and it had gone wrong.

“[Y/N]!! [Y/N] where are you?!” Dean yelled. He’d just successfully salted and burned the bones of a ghost that was killing people with family secrets, but not before it had launched [Y/N] against the wall. However she wasn’t where she’d hit, or where he thought she’d hit the wall, so he was frantically trying to find her. “[Y/N] I’m serious where the hell are you?!” He called after her, worried that it was the worst case scenario. “D-Dean.. I’m here.” She croaked out, holding her ribcage. Dean would’ve felt relief if he hadn’t noticed blood on her hand. “What happened?!” He asked, rushing to her side and kneeling in the grass. Dean gently pulled her hand away from her side so he could get a better look, immediately noticing the gash in her side that was bleeding. “Must’ve hit a part of the wall with some shit sticking out or something.” She replied, Dean ripping one of his extra shirts and quickly tying it around [Y/N]’s ribs. Without saying anything else, he picked her up bridal style and began walking towards the impala. “I’ve got you, babe.” He froze internally for a moment when he realized what he said, but instead of reacting negatively, she managed a smile. “I know you do.” [Y/N] replied.

Dean had stayed with her the entire time she was at the hospital, which had been a couple of days. After that? They were inseparable. At first there was no official label but soon enough, after that fight about him flirting with people for information, they’d been as official as official gets. Now he was alone in the romantic sense and it was already killing him. Sam just watched over his older brother, sadness written in every bit of his facial expression. He wanted to say something, anything to help his brother but he knew there was nothing that he could say. Right now, Dean needed to wallow and feel all of his sadness. It was something that broke Sam’s heart, both because of his personal relationship with [Y/N] and obviously for his brother. Mourning the person he loved more than anything in the world, he never expected he’d have to leave her side again.. or vice versa. When Dean was ready? They’d start looking for a way to bring [Y/N] back.

• —– ٠ tag list: @roseblue373 ✤ ٠ —– • ·

#dean winchester #dean x reader #fanfic #supernatural #dean winchester imagines #spn #spn imagines #dean winchester x reader #fanfics #dean winchester x female!reader

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mint-yooxgi · 1 year

Text

{3} - Written in the Stars - Yandere!Idol!Yeosang X Tall!Chubby!Reader

Soft Yandere AU & Idol AU

Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst, Fluff, Slight Humor, Slow Burn

Pairing: Yeosang X Reader (ft. platonic Ateez ensemble)

Words: 11,000

Warnings: Slow burn. Mentions of Jonghyun. Brief conversation to start about past insecurities. I think that's all. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.

A/n: So, this chapter we get to see a little bit of how our dear Yeosangie is feeling. I'm doing my best not to make it a super sudden infatuation, but the feelings are there. Boy just doesn't want to admit it yet. That being said, I am super excited for a scene I have planned next chapter, so I hope you'll all look forward to it!! On a side note, I finally got my glasses!! Yay!! Anyways, as always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy~

Also, gentle reminder that I don’t do tag lists.

Disclaimer: It's not often this chapter where this applies, but the following is important to note:

"This represents a line spoken in Korean."

"Bolded represents a line spoken in English."

"Bolded and italics represents a line spoken in Japanese."

Mini Masterlist - Part One - Part Two

Yeosang is not jealous.

He doesn’t get jealous when Atiny comment to him that San’s arms are more muscular than his are. Nor does he get jealous when other fans tell him that their bias is someone else, or would prefer a selfie with a different member other than him during fansigns.

Knowing whether people like him or not is none of his business.

So, when he notices that you seem to be messaging Hongjoong all day today leading up to the award’s ceremony instead of the group chat at first, he most certainly is not jealous. It definitely doesn’t bother him that the Captain of Ateez gets the fun, close-up pictures of your face while you’re getting ready for tonight. The kind one would normally only send to close friends. Nor does it irritate him that you only start sending those same selfies to the group chat once Hongjoong suggests it.

Jongho’s and Wooyoung’s whining also has nothing to do with it, of course.

Most of all, he doesn’t care that the guys all compliment you before he does when you send them all a proper photo of your face once you’re ready for tonight. It’s not like he wanted the honour of praising you first, or anything.

Yes, Kang Yeosang is certainly not jealous.

“I wonder what type of outfit she’s going to wear.” Jongho wonders aloud, managing to pull Yeosang out of his much too loud thoughts for the moment. He can see the younger flipping through all of the photos of your face that you sent them this afternoon, seemingly deciding between the two he likes the most.

“Does she usually get super dressed up for events?” Seonghwa asks, not even bothering to shift his gaze from the window.

“I think I’ve only ever seen her in dresses for formal events like the Writer’s Guild awards.” Hongjoong comments, gazing down at his phone.

He must still be chatting with you.

Yeosang’s jaw twitches. He blinks.

“I think I remember watching a clip from a question’s panel where someone asked her about it once,” Yunho hums, tapping his fingers over his knee as they make their way towards the venue. “From what I recall, she doesn’t necessarily like wearing skirts or shorts all that much.”

“Why?” The question is out of Yeosang’s mouth before he can stop it.

“If I recall, she gave a two parted answers.” Yunho replies.

“Oh, I think Bin sent me this clip before!” Wooyoung pipes up from the back seat. “I think she said something about a lot of clothing always being a bit too short for her height. She said something about being more comfortable in male styled clothing because of it. It’s also why she doesn’t wear a lot of short dresses.”

“The struggle is real,” Mingi sighs, shaking his head in understanding.

A comforting pat is given to his arm from San who sits beside the taller male for the moment.

“And the other?” It’s Seonghwa who asks, and Yeosang feels a subtle weight lift off of his shoulders at not having to ask again himself.

A frown pulls at Jongho’s features as he looks down at his lap.

“What?” San tilts his head, curious as to the sudden silence in the car. “What is it?”

“She said she just doesn’t like the way she looks in them.” Hongjoong voices from the front seat, a subtle downturn of his lips.

“I’m pretty sure she used different words that that, cause I remember Bin going off about it.” Wooyoung chuckles. “Give me two hours between them and she’ll never feel insecure about her thighs again.”

“Wooyoung!” Seonghwa’s eyes look about ready to fall out of his head.

“What?” He complains. “It wasn’t me that said it! It was Changbin!”

“Doesn’t mean you have to tell us.” San smacks the male sitting on his opposite side.

“Like Jongho isn’t always thinking it.” Yunho teases, receiving his own harsh smack from the aforementioned male.

“He’s not the only one.” Mingi mutters, but not lowly enough.

“We’re about to arrive at the venue.” Hongjoong’s sharp gaze turns to look at all of them. “Keep it in your pants, and control yourselves.”

San sighs. “Just another casual day.”

Turning onto the street that will lead them directly to the red carpet set up at the venue, Yeosang remains quiet. Again, his jaw twitches, focussing his gaze on the passing scenery outside of the vehicle. He doesn’t know why the other’s comments bother him so much, but they do. Yet, he does whatever he can to not let it show.

“Her makeup still looks really pretty.” Jongho sighs, somewhat wistfully as he looks out his own window.

“Oh, will you ask her out already?” Yunho nearly rolls his eyes.

Jongho’s whole face begins to turn red as he sputters out a response.

“We all know you want to.” Hongjoong joins in on the teasing now, brow quirking in amusement as he sees Jongho avoiding his gaze.

“Nah, Jongho won’t be able to ask her out.” Wooyoung shakes his head.

“And why’s that?” Seonghwa shifts his body towards Wooyoung in the backseat.

“Cause Mingi or I will do it first.” Wooyoung states, rather proudly.

The tips of Mingi’s ears burn bright red as he begins to chuckle nervously, leaning back in his seat when he notices the death glare sent his way by the youngest. However, before any one of them can comment more on the matter, the car stops.

“We’re here.” Yeosang states, rather pointedly, as he nearly flings open the door to exit the vehicle, leaving the others stunned in silence behind him.

The second his foot makes contact with the carpet, screams and cheers erupt from the surrounding fans. Some go as far to start calling his name, hoping for him to spare a glimpse in their direction. Of course, he smiles politely, bowing to everyone around him as cameras flash periodically.

A minute later, and all of Ateez make their way down the carpet, stopping to pose for the cameras every now and then. The second they make it to the designated picture area, even more cameras start going off.

Through the thicket, Yeosang spots a few of his fansites. Though, with how the official photographers of the show quickly shout directions at the eight of them, he quickly forgets all about them. That is, until a small hush settles over the crowd.

The screaming fans seem to go silent as another car pulls up to the venue. The confusion as to why becomes apparent as soon as the person steps out of the vehicle.

The moment you step out of the vehicle, Yeosang cannot take his eyes off of you. Yet, it seems, neither can anyone else.

You seem to be wearing a sort of overcoat, reminiscent of a cloak. It’s deep red in colour, hiding whatever outfit you’ve chosen to wear tonight. All except for the black lace sleeves adorning your arms that poke out of the slits in the fabric. Yet still, the cloak suits you, and it matches the sinful shade of red painted elegantly on your lips.

Briefly, you make eye contact, and Yeosang swears his heart is about to burst out of his chest. The smile you send his way only confirms it.

The palms of his hands begin to sweat. A feeling of which he hasn’t experienced since their debut stages.

Just what are you doing to him?

An organizer approaches, walking beside you and whispering lowly in your ear. You seem to nod quickly to whatever she says, for in the next minute, you’re pausing in your steps to scan the crowd. It seems as if the call of your name has drawn your attention.

There, standing next to some Atiny’s he noticed earlier, is a small group of fans that seem to be completely awestruck by you. A few hold copies of your books in hand, smiles wide on their faces as you approach. The way he notices one of the males say something to you, only for you to turn your face away for the moment bashfully has an uncomfortable feeling settling in his chest.

Why does he want that to be him?

Yeosang only wishes he knew what you were saying, but from the way the fan’s faces light up, he can just tell that you’re probably making their entire evening. When you go so far as to sign the copies of their books and take a photo, he knows that you do. Though, that same male that complimented you seemed to be getting a little too touchy with you, in his opinion.

The feeling of someone gently nudging his side pulls him out of his thoughts of you. Blinking, his vision clears to see Wooyoung motion for him to continue down the line towards the red carpet interviewers that are now ready for them.

Just as Yeosang goes to take a step, they get told to wait once more.

“We’d love to get a few photos of you with that author for public relations.” A few photographers say, already having talked it over with the event’s staff.

The eight of them share a brief look before nodding, and Yeosang knows he’s not the only one that cannot control the upturn of his lips.

A kind greeting is the first thing that escapes your lips when you walk up to all of them. You bow politely, to which they bow and greet you back. A moment later, and the photographers have instructed you to stand in the centre of all of them, having four males on your either side.

Mingi and Yunho get told to stand directly beside you to offset the height, causing both Wooyoung and Hongjoong to get shifted to the ends. The fact that you stand just a smidge taller than Yunho signifies that you must be wearing some type of heels. From the way Jongho is staring at you like you’ve hung all of the stars in the night sky, Yeosang knows he’s probably right.

His brow twitches, his smile suddenly looking a little forced.

Soon, the photographers get you to shift poses slightly so that him, San, Hongjoong, and Wooyoung are crouched in front of the five of you behind them. While doing so, Yeosang manages to school his face back into that neutral expression everyone is used to from him. A moment later, and he’s posing for the cameras.

The minute you get told to place your hand onto Yeosang’s shoulder, he can feel the tips of his ears turning red. He just hopes people assume it’s from the chill gracing the night air. A stark contrast to the sudden way that he can feel his skin burning beneath your gentle touch.

A few more photos are taken like this until all of Ateez are finally told to move on to the interview portion of the night. Besides, the photographers want to get a few shots of you by yourself. Apparently, there’s going to be a big Naver article written about you attending these awards tonight, and the company wants as many photos as possible to choose from. The more they can get with you interacting with the other celebrities in attendance, the better.

Stepping up onto the little platform that they have set up for the interview, Yeosang follows wordlessly behind San. Three microphones gets passed to the group, one assigned to Hongjoong, one to Yunho, and one to Jongho. Though, with how they’re positioned, Yeosang knows that both Yunho and Jongho were just the unlucky ones to get stuck with the talking bits.

A few questions get asked, and he vaguely registers answers being given from his group mates beside him. He gives nods here and there in agreement, and that seems to suffice for now. That is, until one question draws his attention back to the two interviewers.

“We’ve been asking all of the artists here tonight, and some of their answers have shocked us.” The female host begins.

“There seems to be a common answer among certain groups, so we’d like to ask the members of Ateez now that same question.” The male host continues.

“Who’s performance are you looking forward to the most tonight?” The female host asks, looking between all of them.

As always, Hongjoong answers first.

“Ah, well, as Captain of Ateez, I’d say most of us are hoping Atiny will be looking forward to our special performance tonight.” Hongjoong begins with a smile, his eyes shining. “So, I will say I’m most looking forward to our stage.”

“Spoken like a true leader,” the male host nods in approval before turning his head to the member standing beside Hongjoong.

Mingi takes the mic Hongjoong offers him. “For me, I would have to say that I am most looking forward to Stray Kids performance tonight.”

Seonghwa is next, a soft smile painting his features. “Twice.”

Raising the mic back to his lips, Jongho is quick to answer. “Ah, well, I’m very much looking forward to hearing a particular speech from my favourite author.”

A few ‘oh’s and ‘aw’s are heard from the hosts and surrounding crowd.

“Yes, she seems to be a very popular choice in response tonight.” The male host notes. “Stray Kids’ Bang Chan said something that her performance is something he wishes he wrote himself after hearing it in rehearsals yesterday.”

“I cannot wait to see what it is!” The female host smiles, her eyes crinkling at the sides. “What about you, San?”

The mic in Jongho’s hands gets passed to the aforementioned male.

“Well, I’m personally excited for Seventeen’s performance.” He smiles.

“Ah, yes, a few members of Seventeen also said that they were excited to watch you all perform tonight, too!” The female host comments, nodding her head.

Wooyoung is next, but San already sees him holding onto a mic, so he passes his back to Jongho.

“My mind is telling me Stray Kids, but my gut is telling me NCT.” Wooyoung says, and the hosts share a chuckle.

“Changbin of Stray Kids said the same for your group.” The female host chuckles, a subtle blush rising to her features.

A blink, and the mic is back in Yunho’s hands.

“I would have to say that the performance I’m looking forward to the most is ours.” A wink is sent to the camera. “Atiny, we have a very special stage planned for you tonight. Please support and cheer us on!”

A roar erupts from the crowd, and the eight men all smile.

Finally, it’s time for Yeosang’s turn to answer, but again, he finds himself distracted by you. It looks like you’ve just finished up with the photographers who had made you take some photos with all of NCT just shortly after they had arrived.

The feeling of a microphone being shoved into his hands draws his attention back to the present, the hosts blinking at him expectantly.

Raising the mic to his lips, he has his prepared response ready, and on the tip of his tongue. Only, when he opens his mouth to speak, the answer that comes out shocks even him.

“Seems as if that author is a hot topic tonight!” The male host chuckles. “I certainly hope that she can live up to everyone’s expectations.”

“Speaking of, look who is coming to join us!” The female host motions for you to join all of them after being prompted by the staff.

Slowly, you begin to ascend the side steps, and all Yeosang can do is stare. His mind screams at him to move, to offer you his hand as you step towards him, but it seems as if he’s frozen in his spot. What only makes it worse is when he sees Yunho eagerly hop passed him and help you the rest of the way up onto the platform.

A polite ‘hello’ escapes you as you bow to both of the hosts, and all of Ateez again. A moment later, and they’re bowing back.

“You look absolutely stunning tonight, doesn’t she, boys?” The female host comments, a large smile on her face. Though, in the next moment, she leans into her co-host. “Oh, I forgot, can she speak Korean?”

“Yes, I can speak Korean.” You confirm, but only the people on stage hear you. You notice both host’s eyes going wide before the female motions for you to take a microphone in hand.

Yeosang graciously passes you the one in his hands, seeing as he stands on one side of you, while Yunho stands on the other. The moment you repeat the phrase, both hosts smile at you.

“It’s lovely to have you here with us this evening.” The female continues.

“It’s lovely to be here amongst such admirable people.” You reply, a soft smile painting your features.

“Kind, and beautiful,” the male comments, a small twitch to his brow upwards. “You must be very popular.”

Something about the host’s tone rubs Yeosang the wrong way.

A bashful look crosses your features. “Ah, thank you.”

“We were just chatting with the members of Ateez about who they’re most looking forward to seeing perform tonight,” the female host begins. “You seem to be a very popular answer amongst all idols.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet!” You place a hand onto your cheek. “I certainly do hope to live up to everyone’s expectations.”

The male host lets out a small puff in amusement.

“We talked with SHINee earlier in the night, and they informed us that you personally spoke with them about an aspect of your speech.” The male says. “Would you please divulge that with us now?”

“Unfortunately, that was a matter between myself and those four wonderful men.” You reply calmly. “Besides, I think I would rather let my words speak for themselves. You’ll all find out soon enough why, anyways.”

“Understandable!” The female continues. “Anyways, one final question for you before we bid farewell to Ateez for now.”

You nod, eagerly.

“Who are you most looking forward to seeing perform tonight?” She asks, leaning in slightly to catch your answer.

“Oh, excellent question!” You chuckle. “You see, I’m very indecisive, so my immediate response is everybody. This truly is a dream come true for me. However, if I have to choose, other than these fine gentlemen here,” you motion slightly to the Ateez members around you, “I would always have to say SHINee. Though, I think my one friend might have something to say if I don’t add NCT in there, as well.”

The hosts laugh along with you, though the male’s seems a little strained.

Yeosang frowns, but not even a millisecond later, his expression is neutral once more.

“Well, thank you so much for stopping to answer our questions!” The female smiles. “We have a few more for the lovely author here, but the Ateez members are free to head inside.”

Reluctantly, Yeosang begins to follow the other guys inside the venue, only catching little snippets of the hosts beginning to ask you some more questions. The way he looks back to see some NCT members waiting at the side of the stage, Mark at the forefront of the group and looking up at you in awe, twists his stomach.

“Didn’t realize you were looking forward to her speech that much, Yeosangie,” Wooyoung teases as soon as they’re out of earshot from the press.

“Shut up,” the male grumbles, rolling his eyes slightly.

“I wonder what type of outfit she’s wearing under that cloak,” Jongho wonders aloud, almost absentmindedly as they all make their way towards the green rooms to drop off their coats.

Luckily for them, there seem to be a few screens in the backstage area playing the interviews taking place outside. One of the hosts must have just asked you that same question, for you chuckle fondly.

“Well, avid fans of my first published series will certainly be very pleased.” You wink at the camera, and the female host pretends to swoon.

“I absolutely adore those books!” She says. “I can’t wait to see what you have in store for us tonight!”

Unfortunately for Yeosang, the members get ushered away from the screen to prepare for the beginning of the show. Well, at least Hongjoong does since he’s participating in your speech.

The crew had everyone rehearse in reverse show order yesterday, which means you’re the opener. You’ve already expressed your slight nerves to the group chat, them all reassuring you that you’ll do great. From how well rehearsal went yesterday, Yeosang has no doubt in his mind that everyone will love what you have planned.

Walking out into the artist area after dropping off their coats, the boys (minus Hongjoong) move to their designated seats. Yeosang waves to a few fans that call his name, as do the other members, bowing politely to their seniors and smiling at their juniors. The second they sit at their designated couches, Changbin is leaning over from the one beside theirs.

“Heard staff muttering you got to take photos with everyone’s favourite author tonight.” He meets Wooyoung’s gaze, and Yeosang notices Felix also looking their way. “We are so jealous.”

“We got told Chan commented on her speech during the interview.” Yunho hums, leaning back comfortably in his seat.

“Minho had to subtly elbow him to prevent him from taking things further.” Jisung grins knowingly.

“The way he was praising her might draw some unwanted attention from dispatch.” Minho shrugs casually.

“Not that our Channie Boy would mind.” Seungmin grins teasingly, a wiggle to his brows.

“Says you!” Jeongin cuts in. “Who’s the one that started lamenting about serenading her first at karaoke, and then asking her to sing a duet with him?”

Yeosang shifts in his seat, somewhat unknowingly.

“Like hell I’m letting you serenade her first!” Jongho frowns, meeting Seungmin’s gaze from across the two tables.

“Bring it on, Apple Boy.” Seungmin quirks a brow in challenge as the others simply look on in amusement.

“Careful, he might threaten to split you in half like one.” Yeosang comments, tone a little firmer than he intends. A fact which does not go unnoticed by his group mates.

“What? Speaking from experience?” Changbin laughs.

“I think you’ll have to fight Hyunjin asking her to learn Red Lights with him first.” Jisung casually adds, taking a sip from a water bottle provided for each of the members at the couches.

“Hyunjin wants her to learn Red Lights with him?” Mingi’s eyes nearly bulge right out of his head.

“He said he’d also be willing to perform Red Velvet’s Psycho again with her if she asked.” Seungmin hums.

Another cheer from the crowd erupts as NCT enters the area, and Yeosang notices how one-two-seven ends up being assigned the couches on the opposite side of them. Polite bows and greetings are sent their way, and Yeosang cannot help but notice that Mark sits the closest to their own seats.

“That’s not to mention how both Felix and Hyunjin both want to teach her Taste.” Minho huffs out a laugh, leaning back in his seat.

“We told you that you’re welcome to join us,” Felix comments, a chuckle falling from his lips. “Man’s too proud to say that he was impressed by her dancing skills.”

“She might feel too crowded having three males teaching her that type of dance.” Minho replies with a shrug, but he cannot hide the way he averts his gaze to the floor somewhat bashfully. “I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, is all.”

“That won’t stop Changbin.” Jisung teases.

“Hey!” The aforementioned male whines.

“Aww, does our little Lee Know have a crush, too?” Seungmin teases, Jeongin joining in quickly at the way the elder male’s cheeks flare.

“Hey!” He smacks the both of them on their thighs.

“Should we start that ‘simp squad’ now?” Wooyoung leans over to Changbin, hands gripping the armrest of the couch.

“What do you mean ‘start’?” Changbin laughs. “Felix and I have already been members for months.”

“And you didn’t invite me?” Wooyoung gasps, absolutely appalled by this turn of events.

“Oh, make sure you go around to all of the groups with the sign up list.” Johnny’s voice from their opposite side draws their attention. “I know plenty who would gladly join. Right, Mark?”

At the way they all turn to face NCT now, Johnny chuckles. Even Mark’s face begins to go bright red.

Yeosang exhales a deep sigh through his nose, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans further back into the couch. It appears that Twice has just arrived, the females taking their seats on the couches in front of them. Again, more polite bows and greetings are sent to the other artists, to which they are given back.

“Actually, I think combining them would be better.” Jungwoo joins in on teasing his bandmate. “Mark’s already president, vice-president, and head of his own. A merger might incite better relations in the simp community.”

“This is a completely casual conversation.” San nods, blinking a few times in earnest. A moment later, he’s nodding to himself. “Everyday, normal topics.”

Laughter erupts from around him.

“Just because you and Yeosang don’t read her books, doesn’t mean we don’t.” Jongho grumbles.

“Believe me,” Seonghwa leans back, crossing his one leg over the other. “We know.”

More laughter erupts around them.

“Not my fault you all don’t have taste.” Mingi huffs, a slight pout pulling at his lips as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“You know, as a curtesy, I think you should read at least one of her books now.” Yunho hums, looking between both San and Yeosang. “You’re both technically friends with her.”

“How come you’re not harping on Hwa for not reading her books?” San whines, motioning to the aforementioned male with a jerk of his chin.

“Because unlike some people, I actually borrowed her first series from Joong after we met.” Seonghwa snorts, amusement dancing in his gaze. “Never thought I would like that type of genre, but she writes it quite well. I just wish she would mention Star Wars more.”

The pout that pulls onto his lips is almost comical, and Yeosang nearly rolls his eyes.

“It’s not her favourite series.” He replies, somewhat bluntly.

All heads turn to him, some with quirked eyebrows.

“Then, what is her favourite series?” Jongho quirks a brow almost smugly, appearing ready to correct the elder and prove how much more he knows about you.

“Lord of the Rings.” Yeosang states, blinking as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Wait, how do you know that?” Wooyoung frowns, and Yeosang notices he’s not the only fan of yours that does so.

“She told me on the plane.” There’s a subtle quirk to the corner of his lips as he says this. A certain undertone of smugness that causes him to sit a little straighter in his spot.

However, before any of them can respond, the lights are dimming throughout the venue, and a hush settles over the crowd. An opening VCR begins to play, introducing the acts that will be performing tonight, interspersed with live shots from all of the artists sitting in their designated seats. Cheers erupt from the crowd as certain groups appear on screen, a grand instrumental accompanying the visuals.

Turning his head slightly, Yeosang can spot multiple varying lightsticks throughout the crowd, shining brightly in the darkness. The way the little glowing orbs shake along with the fan’s cheers makes him smile softly, and he knows he’s not the only one.

A voice booms through the speakers at the end of the video, announcing the start to the ceremonies, and outlining the safety procedures for the evening should they be needed. Once it has finished, another hush settles over the crowd as the stage is revealed, only for a loud roar to erupt in anticipation.

From the back of the stage, you begin to walk forward towards the lone microphone standing at the front. You seem to be holding a small notebook and pen in your hands, clutching them close to your body as you step forward slowly.

The moment the spotlight hits you, the crowd goes silent. Then, it’s as if many share a collective gasp as your full form takes centre stage. Finally, your outfit for the evening has been revealed, and from the way he can hear the sharp intake of breaths from your self-proclaimed biggest fans, he knows that what you’re wearing holds some sort of significance to you.

The dress is beautiful. The black lace starts with an off the shoulder neckline, trailing all the way down to your wrists in an intricate design. The material flares slightly at the waist, reaching all the way down to the floor, dragging elegantly over the stage as you walk forward. Gradually, the black material fades into a navy blue, until it bleeds into a vibrant royal blue at the bottom. The design is slightly form fitting, too.

Yes, there is no question about it. The dress is stunning. Yet, even more so, the person wearing it.

From his vantage point, Yeosang can practically see you glowing up on stage. The smile you wear is radiant, those sinful red lips of yours pulling across your features as your eyes shine. The screens projecting your image to the audience only serve to accent every little thing about you, and Yeosang can feel his heart skip a beat in his chest.

He swallows thickly.

“Holy shit.” Jongho gasps, and the elder male swears the younger has stopped breathing for the moment.

“What?” Yeosang frowns, noting all of the awed stares you’re receiving from the idols around him. Hell, even the way some of the Twice members squeal lowly in front of him only causes his brow to furrow even more. “What is it?”

“She’s wearing that dress.” Yunho breathes, blinking in awe as he leans forward in his spot to get a better glimpse of you on stage.

“What dress?” His brow furrows deeper, eyes scanning over your figure once more.

From in front of him, he can vaguely hear the Twice members muttering about how you look absolutely divine.

The corner of Jongho’s lips quirk upwards, a small puff of air escaping his nose. “Read her books.”

Yeosang shoots a pointed side-eyed look the younger’s way, jaw twitching as he clenches his teeth in annoyance. Why does Jongho always feel the need to gatekeeper everything about you that Yeosang asks about? It’s not fair. He wants to know you, too.

A still silence settles over the entire venue.

“Hello, everyone,” your voice comes out smooth and steady as you address the crowd, welcoming all to the ceremony and introducing yourself all the while. “Tonight, a celebration will be taking place. A celebration of life, beauty, and music. A celebration I am honoured to be apart of, and am grateful to be experiencing with all of you.”

Soft smiles paint the faces of the people around him, but none are as proud as Mark’s looks right now. The special gleam Yeosang can see shining within the males’ eyes has him huffing out a small breath, focussing back on you in the next second.

“Tonight, we are all here for one common purpose,” you state, eyes staring into the camera before you. “To celebrate art.”

The screens light up behind you, the words appearing in golden writing upon a pure black background.

“Art comes in many different shapes and forms, but to many,” you smile softly, “art is life.”

A brief pause as the screens begin to play a video showcasing different forms of art.

“It fills a room with music.” A new voice - Bang Chan - says.

The lights on the composers come up and a collective gasp is heard from the audience as both him and Jihoon are revealed. A montage of both Jihoon and Bang Chan working in their studios appear on screen.

“With vibrance.” Seulgi’s voice is heard cutting through the silence as the lights come up on the three visual artists.

Images of Renjun’s, Hyunjin’s, and Seulgi’s art are displayed on screen. A few pictures and silent clips of them working on said items or presenting them with smiles on their faces appear as well.

“And elegance.” Momo is the next to speak, Ten and Taemin flanking her on either side as the dancers are highlighted.

Clips of all three of them dancing in their respective practice studios flash across the screen, and even some of the collaborations between artists. Momo’s cover of Taemin’s Move appears, and even some different Super M performances focussing on both Ten and Taemin are displayed briefly.

“It showcases one’s highs,” Key’s voice is heard after a moment, Onew standing right beside him with a smile on his face.

Live performances of each male during concerts and comeback stages are shown, and even a short, silent clip of Onew performing Nessun Dorma.

“And their lows.” The lights on the rappers come up, Dahyun grinning widely at the crowd as Taeyong smiles beside her.

Performances of both NCT and Twice flash on screen, both idols in the midst of rapping their verses for their respective songs.

“It allows us to express who we are in different ways.” The idols you have chosen to represent fashion are showcased next, and Yeosang immediate recognizes Hongjoong’s own voice coming through the speakers.

Behind them, a montage of Baekhyun at his Privé Alliance premiers are combined with clips of Hongjoong refashioning clothing. Even a few shots of Hongjoong attending Paris Fashion Week for Balmain are shown.

“And even become who we are not, even if just for a short while.” The actors are brought into the spotlight, Minho standing proudly beside Kyungsoo as the former finishes speaking.

Multiple shots from each male’s respective dramas are shown, showcasing their versatility in the acting field. Even a few interviews and behind the scenes footage are shown wherein the two speak about their various roles they have performed over the years.

“Art encompass all aspects of a person’s life, and lives in collaboration with the artist, just as we do with one another.” Your voice draws everyone’s attention back to you for the moment, still standing at the front of the stage. “It has many angles, just as we as people do. When you change your perspective, it can become many different things. For art is not defined by one, single thing, nor will it ever be.”

“However, it does not do well to forget that despite all of its joys, art can be lonely.” You say, and Yeosang notices quite a few nodding along with your words, especially the idols on stage. “It allows us to channel our inner thoughts and feelings into a process so that others never have to feel as alone as we do. It is there for us in our darkest times, and shines with us in the light. For, even when we are alone, we always have art. It is constant and reassuring. It allows us to all express our fears, and our vulnerability. It allows for others to observe such pieces ands say, ‘I understand, for I have felt this way, too.’ Most importantly, it says, ‘you are not alone.’”

Clips of personal hardships are shown of the various idols standing on stage with you. Tears of joy, of pain, and of sorrow are shed, along with demonstrations of all of the hard work, time, and effort that go into each different art form.

Pages upon pages are edited together, showing scribbles and writings across them. Some end up torn out of the notebook, while others are shown being crumpled up and tossed aside.

That’s when Yeosang realizes, that this is your portion of the video. Your own art form taking shape in writing as a blank page with a cursor blinking almost ominously overhead is shown.

“Art can be simple, and it can also be complex.” You say. “Yet, always. Always, always, always, it starts with a single idea.”

A stereotypical ‘Once upon a time…” is seen being typed out onto the blank document showcased onscreen.

“Art starts with a vision, and a dream.” You say, and your fingers tighten the slightest bit on that pen and notebook clutched in your hand. “For me, it starts with a blank page, and a pen. All it takes is a single spark. A moment of clarity through the chaos that is life to help guide us in a way that we wish to experience with other people. Yet, at the core of all of this, is one binding factor.”

Quickly, you flip open that notebook and scribble something onto a page. Turning it around to show the camera reveals a close up shot of your writing spelling out the word that immediately appears on screen.

The word for ‘love’ appears in big golden letters above your head, and a collective gasp is heard from the audience. A fact which is only emphasized when each idol standing on stage with you pulls out a piece of paper of their own, the word love written in their mother tongue in their own handwriting on each.

“Every artist is passionate in what they do; art encompasses the mind, body, and soul of the person who creates it. Art is meant to be shared in all of its forms, and it is you who allow us to continue to be our authentic selves through such self expression.” You continue, voice strong as you stand tall. “The amount of love, time, dedication, and energy put into a single piece always shines through. I can think of no better example for this that the late Kim Jonghyun, who’s artistic views have not only inspired me, but so many of my fellow artists around the globe. His dedication and love for his craft was clear in everything that he did, and continues to be a guiding light for many artists still struggling in the dark.”

Behind you, the camera picks up a single tear trailing down the side of Minho’s cheek. Though, from the looks of things, some of the other idols sharing the stage with you do not fare any better.

“No matter what type of life we lead as individuals, we are all bound by a common love for art.” The soft smile is back on your face. You take the time to look around at the artists before you sitting in the couches, along with many of the staff continuing to work to keep the show running. You briefly meet Yeosang’s gaze. “It is what connects us, for art is eternal. Love inspires art, and art inspires love. It is apparent in everything that we do, the people we are, and who we are meant to become.”

“Tonight, we are all here on common purpose,” your gaze is back on the camera before you, bars of music appearing on the screen behind you as notes begin to form on the sheet music. “Tonight, it is our love of music which connects us all.”

More nods are seen all around, a few even already shedding tears along with your words.

“As a beautiful poet, and artist once said, "Even though we can’t communicate using the same language, we use music instead.””

Both Key and Onew swallow thickly. Tears now trail a path down both of their faces as the quote appears on screen, Jonghyun being cited beneath as the speaker of such words.

Many sniffles are heard from the surrounding crowd, many openly sobbing along to your final words as you begin to wrap up your speech for the evening.

“Art is timeless, and knows no bounds. It transcends cultures, languages, and even memory. For even after an artist has passed, their legacy lives on. It lives on in their work, yes, but it also lives on in all of us. Each of us carries that passion, that drive, to strive to be our best selves, and produce art that we can all be proud of. We as artists pour our blood, sweat, and tears into everything that we do, in hopes to share it with you. For art is love, and without love, there would be no art.”

“After all, a heart without art is just eh.”

A few chuckles are heard throughout the crowd as you speak those words in English, shrugging along to them lightly. The video behind you demonstrates the word ‘Heart’ failing as the ‘Art’ portion is removed.

“I would like to end now, with a final quote from Jonghyun which has inspired me, even in my darkest times. For more than everything I have said here tonight, it is always important to remember this: we, as individuals, are all priceless pieces of artwork in our own rights.” Your eyes begin to shine with unshed tears, your breath hitching in your throat momentarily as you look out into the crowd one final time. Taking a deep breath in, you begin to speak once more, the quote appearing in perfect time with each word you go on to say, “The most beautiful thing in all the world is right now. This moment. You. Don’t ever forget that.”

A brief pause where you swallow thickly, a single tear sliding down the side of your cheek.

You bow deeply. “Thank you very much.”

The moment you straighten back to your full height on stage, a tremendous applause greets you. Yeosang hasn’t even realized he’s started crying until he feels the first of his tears land on the skin of his hands, yet he knows he’s not the only one. Inside that venue, he’s pretty sure that there’s almost no dry eye in sight. Besides, the response from the crowd is too authentic and loud to suggest otherwise.

A blink, and Mark Lee is standing to his feet, followed immediately by all of the NCT members present at the event. Twice is the next group to stand, Jongho springing up as well before any of the members can stop him.

The crowd seems to follow the idol’s lead, for a moment later, the entire venue is giving you a standing ovation. Even both Irene and Wendy are reluctantly on their feet, tears falling freely down their faces despite their attempts to hide them.

What makes this moment even more special, is that on stage, the idols you have chosen to help you all step towards you. However, it is the four members of SHINee that approach you, bowing to you in tandem as you bow back. A moment later, a staff member hands something to Taemin onstage.

It takes a few moments for the applause to die down and for everyone to settle back into their seats. Once they do, it’s like a new sense of calm and understanding has passed over the entire crowd as the members of SHINee address you.

“You have once again proven your elegance with words here tonight in front of all of us,” Jinki begins, a fond smile gracing his features.

“You have reminded us all of why we are here, and why each and every one of us continues to strive for perfection in everything that we do.” Minho is the next to speak, standing tall as he looks upon you with pride.

“We would like to now thank you for your hard work and dedication to your own craft which you have shared with all of us tonight.” Key tilts his head in acknowledgement at you, eyes shining as Taemin approaches you with an award held in his hands.

“In honour of this ceremony tonight, we would like to present you with this artists award for the written word.” Taemin speaks lowly, handing the little statuette to you as a few more tears escape your eyes. He leans in, the cameras catching the way his own tears continue to fall freely down his face. “Thank you for honouring our brother.”

Another round of applause is heard from the audience.

“May this award solidify the relationship between artists, and the bond of love that we all share towards a common craft.” Minho smiles at you as you bow once more, thanking each one of them earnestly without a moment’s hesitation.

The transitional instrumental begins to play over the speakers as you all exit the stage. Most of the idols around you begin to congratulate you on your way out, you inclining your head to them in time and smiling widely.

Yeosang only wishes he could be up there, too, celebrating in your own victory.

A minute later, and the first idol performance kicks off, the crowd cheering along with the music. It takes a few minutes before most of the idols return to their groups after helping you with your performance, but still, you do not appear.

No, you do not appear in the artist’s area for over twenty minutes. Twenty painstakingly long minutes where Yeosang subtly keeps glancing towards the side, hoping that you’ll appear at any moment.

Once you do, though, it’s as if all eyes are drawn to you.

Walking with a staff member to your designated seat, you get stopped lightly by a few groups. Congratulations are heard all around, some idols going so far as to stand and bow to you, mumbles of gratitude falling from their lips. Of course, you immediately smile and bow back, talking lightly to those that wish to converse with you during the small interludes between performances.

Finally, you reach your seat, and it looks las if they’ve seated you right next to Twice, but in front of NCT for the show. A fact that normally Yeosang wouldn’t take much notice of, were you anyone else. However, the fact that it’s you, and that you’re so far away bothers him.

It’s not like he wants to congratulate you himself or anything.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he notices both Jongho and Wooyoung stand to their feet. Both Felix and Changbin do as well. Not that Yeosang is keeping tabs, or anything.

“Where are you two going?” His gaze narrows at them suspiciously.

“To congratulate our friend,” Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “What does it look like we’re doing?”

“Joong already did, though.” Seonghwa frowns, a hint of worry on his features as he glances around at all of the cameras watching their every move.

“We know.” Jongho hums, shrugging nonchalantly. “So, if anyone asks, we’ve just gone to the washroom.”

“Let them go,” Hongjoong huffs out a laugh. “I certainly don’t want to listen to them whining about it the whole show.”

“They’ll be a few seats away, and it’s not like idols haven’t switched couches before during shows.” Yunho hums, amusement dancing in his gaze.

Yeosang can only watch, frozen to his spot as the two youngest members make their way over to you with both Felix and Changbin shortly after that.

Currently, you appear to be talking lightly to both Sana and Mina for the moment. The three of you lean closer in to one another as a small break is taken as the stage gets set for the next performance.

The second you see Felix, Changbin, Jongho, and Wooyoung appear, you smile. However, due to the angle Yeosang is sitting in, he cannot tell what you’re saying. Instead, he opts to lean back onto the couch, a huff escaping him as his lips tug downwards in the corners.

“If it bothers you that much, go with them.” Hongjoong chuckles, taking notice of the pout Yeosang seems to wear.

“I’m not bothered.” Yeosang is quick to reply, diverting his gaze to the men sitting beside him.

“Mmhmm,” Yunho hums, a knowing quirk to his brow. “And Jongho isn’t on his knees proposing as we speak.”

Yeosang’s head whips in your direction.

A boisterous laugh greets his ears as he sees you continuing to casually converse with the four other idols. None of them are on their knees, nor have they even moved a single inch.

If looks could kill, Yunho would be ten feet under.

“Oh yeah, definitely not bothered.” San quirks a brow, the corner of his lips quirked upwards smugly.

“Shut up.” Yeosang grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Just admit you’re starting to like her, and be done with it.” Mingi shrugs, patting the male beside him lightly on the knee.

“It’s not like that.” Yeosang shakes his head lightly, eyes catching on the way you seem to throw your head back in laughter at something Wooyoung has just said. His jaw twitches in annoyance.

“Sure, it’s not.” Seonghwa grins.

“It’s not!” Yeosang can feel his face heating beneath their knowing stares. “I haven’t even known her for a month!”

“It doesn’t take long to start developing feelings for someone.” Hongjoong comments casually, turning his attention back to the stage as the next group walks into position.

“You guys are making a mountain out of a mole hill.” Yeosang huffs, turning back to face forward as well.

Even though the guys all choose to say nothing as both Jongho and Wooyoung return to join them, Yeosang can just tell that they still don’t believe him.

No, there’s nothing there. Just like how Yeosang is not jealous, he doesn’t have any other feelings towards you other than friendly. You don’t even know each other all that well, especially not like that.

Yet.

Yeosang blinks, surprising himself with that small voice that sounds at the back of his head. He should be used to it by now, but he finds that everything about you throws him off. In a good way, of course. You’re just never what he expects, and for some reason, the thought of growing closer to you, even just as friends, warms his heart more than anything. He wants to support you, just as you’ve incurred that you’ve been supporting him all of this time.

Why then, does the thought of you with anyone else, or even the sight of you getting along so well with another male, bother him so? Why is it when even his closest friends make you smile, his heart hurts?

Yeosang gets so lost in his thoughts, that he barely registers the time passing by. The only two things that manage to snap him out of his daze of staring longingly in your direction half of the time is when Ateez wins an award and has to go up on stage to accept it, and when they are finally taken backstage to get ready for their performance.

In the back of his mind, Yeosang hopes that you’ll be focussed on him.

Standing in the wings, he cannot help but smile to himself. From his vantage point backstage, he can just make out your figure sitting on the couches, dancing along to Stray Kids’ performance right now. The way you excitedly mouth along to the words, potentially even singing along to them has the infectious joy on your features flooding his veins. He cannot help but get lost in the way you move, captivating him with something as simple as nodding your head and shifting your shoulders along to the beat.

Will you do the same for Ateez? Will you be just as content to sing along to the lyrics and music that he is about to perform? Will you, and he silently hopes this beyond everything, be as captivated by him as he is by you?

“Ateez, standby.” A crew member says, headset blinking periodically as they finish guiding the members to their entrance spots.

A large roar is heard from the crowd in response to Stray Kids wrapping up their set, the members rushing passed Ateez as they exit the stage.

Brief congratulations and praises are shared, Wooyoung and Changbin playfully teasing each other about who is going to win their bet of having your gaze on them more when performing. Though Bang Chan and Hongjoong chuckle fondly, Yeosang cannot help the irritated twitch of his jaw.

A minute later, Ateez is entering the stage.

The crowd once more erupts in cheers as their intro begins playing, their names being introduced onscreen as their opening VCR plays in the background. Yeosang can feel that typical rush of adrenaline flooding his veins, taking a deep breath in and getting into his starting position.

The music begins.

Each move is precise, the dance flowing between all of them just as every time they both practice and perform. Not a single error is seen from any of them, and the energy from the audience feeds into each of their movements, giving them motivation to continue and perform even better than before. Of course, it helps when certain close ups of the members cause cheers to erupt, or certain parts of the song.

The moment Yeosang steps to the front to do his part, the movements second nature to him by now, he spares a glance in your direction.

There you sit, completely mesmerized by him. Your eyes are wide, hand resting over your heart as you lean back into the couch as if you’re swooning.

Yeosang smirks, putting even more effort into his every movement. He needs to continue to feel your eyes on him every second of this performance, because it motivates him to do even better than before.

If your touch is fire, then your gaze is electricity, setting his whole body alight in the best ways possible.

The minute the stage ends, Yeosang darts his gaze over to you once more. The fact that he can see you cheering loudly causes his already racing heart to stutter, a smile pulling at his features all the while. There’s a sense of pride building in his chest, more so than usual, and he absolutely revels in it.

It takes them about ten minutes to cool down backstage. Each male takes the time to change out of their performance outfits, allowing the staff to wipe the sweat from their faces before heading back to their seats.

The minute they return to the couches, they see you smiling widely at them. The added fact that you send them two enthusiastic thumbs up, mouthing ‘great job’ towards them, has them all smiling and bowing at you in thanks.

Yeosang’s heart absolutely soars, but he can tell that he’s not the only one. Even both San and Seonghwa look absolutely thrilled to be receiving your praise, giddy grins tugging onto their features as they walk passed. It’s only when Jongho sits on the couch directly beside yours that Yeosang realizes that the Twice members have all been brought backstage for their own performance.

Wooyoung is the next to sit on that same couch, and soon, all of Ateez takes over the spot where Twice had once been. You talk lowly with them, congratulating them again on an excellent performance while talking excitedly about your favourite parts. A fact of which makes all of them nod along eagerly, for you have something to praise about all of them.

The moment Yeosang’s name slips passed your lips, his eyes are on you.

“I know for a fact I wasn’t the only one captivated by your part tonight.” You say, eyes shining as you meet his gaze. “You should have heard the way Itzy squealed beside me. It was so validating to know I wasn’t the only one who felt that way.”

Sure enough, when his gaze darts passed your head, he can see Itzy smiling and waving at him from the couch to the left of your own.

He turns back to you.

Lowly, he thanks you, and again, he can feel a vibrant warmth spreading onto his cheeks. Yet, all too soon, you’re moving on.

“And that high note!” You turn to Jongho, fingers squeezing the arm of the couch beside you. “God, I always love watching your live stages cause you guys don’t just perform, you perform.”

The way you emphasize that word has smiles rising to all of their faces, especially when they watch you lean forward slightly as you say such a thing. This is the first time they’ve ever truly experienced you talking like this about them, and each male wants to enjoy it. Though, some are definitely enjoying it more than others. Including Yeosang.

“I could literally go on forever about this, but I’ll spare you guys from my rant beforehand.” You chuckle, shifting back into your original position.

“Really, I don’t think any of us would mind.” Hongjoong grins at you, but the way his eyes flash suggests he knows something that the others don’t.

“Yeah, okay, captain of the stage demons,” you snort. “You’re really not slick in still trying to figure out my bias to your group. You ask me more times than the Iron Lung over here.”

At the way you motion to Jongho with your thumb, the guys and you all share a laugh.

“Didn’t realize Captain was that interested in learning your bias,” Wooyoung’s eyebrow quirks mischievously. “And after that huge ass lecture on the way home from rehearsals yesterday about giving you space about it.”

Hongjoong looks about ready to leap across the couch and start smacking Wooyoung upside the head.

“I honestly don’t mind not knowing.” Hongjoong says, though the fact that he forces a tight smile suggests otherwise.

“Really?” You grin, tilting your head forward knowingly. “Mister ‘don’t look at other idols’ doesn’t care whether or not my bias to his group is actually him or not?”

“I don’t say that!” His mouth falls open in shock.

All heads in Ateez turn to look at Hongjoong, blinking in disbelief.

“Okay, maybe like, once,” he grumbles.

Yunho snorts out a laugh, “yeah, maybe once today.”

A playful smack is given to the younger male, who pretends to rub his side in pain.

“Whatever,” Hongjoong mumbles. “You help a friend out with their presentation, and they won’t even tell you their Ateez bias afterwards.”

You laugh.

“As long as I’m your wrecker, that’s all that matters.” Wooyoung chimes in, a firm nod to his head.

“Given up on the notion that you’re her bias already?” San asks, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Where’d that confidence from the plane ride go?”

“Didn’t you know, a person’s bias is most like them, and their wrecker is their ideal type?” Wooyoung proudly repeats the words you told him yesterday.

All eyes are instantly on you.

“Okay, so, who’s your Ateez bias wrecker?” Mingi asks eagerly, leaning forward slightly in his seat.

Again, you laugh. “If I’m not telling you my bias, I’m most certainly not telling you my wreckers.”

Yeosang’s brow quirks, but his face remains neutral for the most part.

“It has to be one of us,” Seonghwa frowns, attempting to figure it all out from everything that you’ve told them so far.

“Oh, I never said there was only one.” You hum, a teasing quirk to your lips. “Oh no, one of you was very adamant about wrecking me in the end.”

“You like multiple of us?” Yeosang’s lips part, ignoring the way his heart leaps hopefully in his chest.

“Of course I like more than one of you,” you giggle. “There are eight of you, after all. It’s quite hard for someone to choose only one. You’re all very beautiful men.”

Quirked eyebrows greet you all around, and your eyes seem to widen in embarrassment. The fact that they all smile at you giddily only makes it worse.

“Wait, please don’t think I’m super shallow and am only talking about your looks when I say that.” You’re quick to add. “Yes, I think you’re all handsome, but I mainly base my decisions on what is known about your personalities and what you show your fans.”

“You think I’m handsome?” Jongho’s eyes absolutely shine beneath the dim lighting of the venue, nothing but awe in his gaze as he looks at you.

“Of course I do.” You smile, and red begins to slowly creep up Jongho’s neck. “Beauty is also very subjective, so who I might find the most visually appealing might not be another person’s answer.”

“As long as you think I’m the most handsome, we shouldn’t have a problem.” A voice from the left side catches your attention, and you turn to see Johnny, Mark, and Yuta moving to sit beside you on the couch.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, John.” You grin, bowing your head politely in greeting to Yuta who smiles back.

“Every day I know you, you break my heart even more.” Johnny sighs dramatically, placing a hand over his chest as he falls backwards on the couch.

“I’ve known you for a day and a half, John.” You blink blankly, somewhat teasingly, causing laughter to erupt around you.

“You’ve only known Mark for that time, too!” He counters.

“Technically speaking, I’ve been talking with Mark for over eight months now.” You reply, fixing the skirt of your dress as you cross your one leg over the other beneath the material.

Yeosang’s eyebrow twitches, leaning forward slightly in his seat to see you better.

“Yeah, she’s my best friend!” Mark grins widely, puffing out his chest slightly as he looks at Johnny. Were it not for the cameras, Yeosang bets anything that the male would have slung an arm around your shoulders by now.

“Yeah, cause you won’t share her contact details with anyone else.” Johnny mutters, rolling his eyes.

“Mark! Right in front of your number one stan?” You gasp dramatically, extending your hand outwards and motioning towards Yuta.

“Normally, I would have to agree with you.” Yuta smirks, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he looks at you. “However, I think I can make an exception for our favourite author.”

Your whole body freezes, eyes sparkling as you look towards Yuta. “Favourite author?”

“Yes.” Yuta nods once in confirmation. “And might I just say, you look divine.”

The way your breath hitches in your throat does not go unnoticed by any of them. The fact that you avert your gaze so bashfully while muttering out a small ‘thank you’ has Yeosang’s heart squeezing painfully in his chest. He can hardly prevent the way his lips purse the slightest bit, fingers digging into the skin of his thighs as he grounds himself to his spot for the moment.

Yeosang may not have fully understood what Yuta has just told you, but from the bits he picked up, he’s understood enough. Besides, the bashful way you respond says it all.

A second later, and you’re clearing your throat. “Wait, Mark won’t share my contact details with you? I told him it was fine when he first asked. I just didn’t bring it up again because I thought none of you were interested in talking with me. I didn’t want to push or come across as some weird, obsessed fan who was using connections to get what she wants.”

A pointed look is sent towards Mark by both Johnny and Yuta as the former male begins to shrink in his spot.

“Ah, so Markie Boy has been gatekeeping his pretty author friend this whole time.” Johnny hums, a tight smile pulling across his features.

“I think I need to reassess how much I stan Mark now,” Yuta adds, a teasing grin pulling on his features.

“I’m telling Ten!” Johnny jumps up from the couch, moving back off to where all of NCT is sitting. “And Taeyong! And Kun, and Chenle, and Renjun, and Jeno, and-“

His voice begins to fade as he walks away, but he continues to list off names, nonetheless.

“Get back here!” Mark immediately chases after him, though with the cameras around, it’s more of a speed walking competition as they head back to their own seats for the moment.

Your eyes widen, a snort of amusement escaping you as you watch Johnny slowly going around to each couch to inform the Neos about this recent discovery. Mark attempts in vain to stutter out excuses, but the moment Doyoung pulls him back down onto the couch beside him, it’s clear his efforts are futile.

“Didn’t realize how many Neos wanted to talk to me.” You mumble, turning back around to face the front with a soft smile on your face.

“I know for a fact that it’s more than just the Neos.” Yunho chuckles, motioning back towards both Stray Kids and Seventeen with his head. Two groups of which that sit off to the right of them all right now.

“I still can’t believe it,” you comment, somewhat breathlessly as your eyes are drawn back to the stage in front of you.

Yeosang wants to wipe that flirty smile right off of Yuta’s face as the elder male shifts closer to you on the couch. The second Yeosang sees Yuta take your hands in his own, Yeosang can feel his nails biting into the skin of his legs even harsher than before. Why does he so badly wish that were him?

More than all of that, why do you look so awestruck?

The words Yuta speaks to you are nothing but a loud ringing in Yeosang’s ears, only getting worse when he watches you smile and nod back enthusiastically. You reply something, but that damn white noise drowns everything out. He only wishes he could actually hear what’s being said, but before he knows it, the next performance is starting.

It’s just not fair.

Yeosang is forced to watch as you settle onto the couch with Yuta beside you, a large smile painting your features as you relax into your spot. He really wishes he could enjoy the music, just as you seem to be. Only, he finds that the dull ache of his heart demands to be felt.

Why, suddenly, is it so difficult for him to breathe?

#yandere yeosang #yandere ateez #yandere kpop #yandere au #ateez scenario #ateez imagines #yeosang scenarios #ateez x y/n #ateez x you #ateez x reader #chubby reader #tall reader #kpop scenario #kpop imagines #kpop au

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fanficfanattic · 7 months

Text

I was supposed to be finishing Boots & Bottles. But instead, a vision came to me.

Season 1 Jamie, at a bar with the team, trying to figure out why Colin, Isaac, Declan, and Roy were hiding behind a wall and spying on someone in the dining room bar.

If that doesn’t make sense, ignore it. It’s all a thin plot to get to Jamie offering to seduce the guy. He’s Declan’s sister’s boyfriend, she’s out of town, he’s at a bar, they think he’s trying to cheat on her.

This isn’t a fic. It’s barely a story. Mostly just sentences strung along with a few descriptions to give an idea lmao.

“No one’s ever accused me of being subtle afore.”

-•-

“What are you lot doing hiding behind a wall?”

“Shh, Jamie. We’re watching someone.”

“Watchin em do what?”

“Can it Tartt.”

“Roy? Isn’t it past your bedtime??”

“Shut it, your loud grating voice is gonna make him look over and then Cockburn won’t be able to find out if his sister’s boyfriend is cheating on her.”

He finally quiets and asks Declan if he means his sister Angelica. At his nod, Jamie looks incredulous.

“No way, she’s mad fit man. Why would he step out on her?”

Roy acidly asks why Jamie would step out on Keeley. He didn’t deign to answer to such slander.

“Why d’ya think he’s cheating?” He asked Declan instead.

“Well he’s at this bar while Angie’s out of town. We think he’s trying to pull.”

“Well then why haven’t one of you gone over then?”

“Cause none of us could pass for a woman, Jamie,” Colin snarked.

“Sure but he’s bi so that don’t matter none do it?”

“What?!”

“Shh, Colin. We’re supposed to be being quiet.”

“Jesus, Tartt. You’re the loud one! Also I wanna know how you came to that conclusion?”

“Uh, Roy, his shoes? Duh.”

“Oh, his shoes do look pretty posh.” And Jamie nodded at Colin finally seeing sense.

“And I’ve seen him around Gay.”

“Gay?” Isaac said it, but all four of the players at the table looked confused.

“You know, the bar. G-A-Y?”

“You don’t say the word. The name is G, and A, and Y. You cannot possibly be that dumb, Tartt. You’re just being a prick.”

“Ohh, no. No I thought people were being, like, circumference?”

“What?”

“Saying it but not saying it?”

“Did you mean circumspect?”

“Nah, circumference? Where you say it in a round about way?”

“Roy!” Colin managed to grit out through his teeth. He sounded pained by not being aloud to yell about their rapid fire back and forth. “Not the important part of what he said!”

“Why were you at a gay bar, bruv?” Isaac asked before Roy could take over the whole interrogation.

“You just said you weren’t supposed to say the word!”

“Tartt!”

“Jesus. Sorry. It’s where Keeley likes to go to pull women. She’s bi too.”

“He could be going there without being gay?” Colin asked. Declan was suspiciously quiet on these questions.

“Sure, that’s why I said he’s bi.”

“I meant-”

“Look,” Jamie said, finally showing his impatience. “if none of you wanna do it, I’ll go seduce him.”

“You?”

“Roy, have you seen me hipbones? No one even passably interested in men can resist them.”

“You are such a vain mo-“

“Colin, give us your phone,” Jamie cut Roy off again.

“Why?”

“So you can listen in to get your proof.”

Jamie calls himself, answers before it can ring, and puts Colin’s back in his hand. Then he stands there motionless.

“Well, aren’t you-“

“Waiting for the right time.” And before Roy could yell at him some more, he’s off.

-•-

Walks right beside the man at the bar, puts his hands on the polished wood, and leans up on his tiptoes. It puts his ass right in the man’s sightline and when Jamie turns a bit the man can see Jamie’s ass flex.

“Just me luck. Get here and the barman’s run off.”

“Oh, well, he’s been pretty efficient. Will probably be back soon.”

“Cheers. Mind if I sit?”

“Not at all. Hey. Listen. You look familiar?”

“Oh? You might have seen me on the telly. You a football fan?”

“Not much but I bet that’s it. What team are you on?”

“Man City? The accent didn’t give me away?”

“Dunno. But your accent is beautiful.”

“Oh well, now I know you’re chatting me up. Not many can hear the beauty in a Manc accent.”

“Then a lot of people are fools. You know, I didn’t really think footballers were so…”

“So what? Charming?”

“That too. But I was going to say obvious.”

Jamie’s giggle came clearly through Colin’s speaker. Roy thought Jamie was apparently going for even more air-headed than normal.

“No one’s ever accused me of being subtle afore. I know what I like when I see it so I say it.”

With that, he finally caught the barman’s eye to ask about drinks.

“How comfortable are you with exotic shots, mate? I wanna give me friend here a blowjob.”

Said man spluttered while Colin tried to swallow down a shriek. Roy watched in horror as Jamie leaned closer and whispered to the man.

“You like amaretto? And Irish cream? Those are the secret ingredients. One of my favs. Love blowjobs, I do.”

Jamie hands over one of the two shots and then says “Now we can each have a blow job!” Clinks his shot glass against the other’s, downs it, and then whispers to him again. “Excuse me, do you know where the toilets are? I’ve never been here. Want to show me?”

-•-

As they walked past, Jamie called attention to the other players, though luckily by that point they had rushed to seem like they were just normally sat at a table.

“Hey lads, think I’ll be headed home soon. Oh, and I made a new friend!”

Declan looked up to lock eyes with the man. Who recognized Declan and then slowly realized exactly what that sounded like.

“Hey, Declan, my man! Just showing this guy to the gents. Then heading home. Your sister gets back from her trip tomorrow. Gotta be up early to pick her up!”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Was just having an after work drink when your friend here asked for directions.”

“Right. After work. At 9pm. And you needed to walk him over rather than just point at the neon sign over the door?”

“Yup!”

“I gave him a blowjob earlier!”

“He! That is. A shot!”

“Yeah, I’m giving you a shot. To get with me! You’re lucky, you know. I only hook up with cute boys, don’t I?” Only Colin played along, nodding in answer.

“What. No. This is a misunderstanding. I’m not gay, man.”

“Sure, sure, neither am I. Right boys?” And he wiggled his eyebrows at Roy, Declan, Colin, and Isaac. Slowly turning to each one to make it as painful to watch as possible. Jamie liked Angelica, she was fit like he said but more than that she was really nice. Making her smarmy ex squirm was a treat.

The man fled, missing the smirk that spread across Jamie’s face before he leaned up against the player’s table. Flaunting his ass again just like before.

“If your sister thinks he’s actually just confused, you should tell her that he was showing me the way with his hand on me ass.” He then pulled a condom from his back pocket, and held it out to him. “And see if she recognizes the brand. He slipped it into the back pocket real smooth like.”

Declan snorted, then elbowed his ribs. “Apparently he’s more subtle than you, eh?”

“Bout as subtle as a brick to the face. Thought he was gonna cum in his pants when I said I wanted to give him a blowjob.”

“How did you think of that shot?”

“Told you I’ve been to G-A-Y with Keeley. It’s how the men there check to see if I’m straight. Apparently how you react can tell a lot about yourself.” He didn’t give them a chance to ask more about it though.

“Well, this has been fun, lads. But I’m gonna head out shortly. Just gotta settle up me tab. Oh, and Declan?”

“Yeah?”

“He left without doing that himself. I’m gonna pay it, and tell the barman that he ran off after I rocked his world. Pout a bit about getting me poor heart broke. Ask if I can leave a note for ‘whenever that fit bloke comes back for his abandoned credit card.’

If your sister still doesn’t believe ya, tell her to swing by for it. Cause whoever hands it over to her will be happy to tell her the hot gossip around it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like I said. Not known for being subtle, am I?”

“Cheers.”

#jamie tartt #roy kent #isaac mcadoo #colin hughes #declan cockburn #implied keeley jones #ted lasso #it ain’t queerbaiting just because the lads don’t yet know Jamie is bi

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3mcwriting · 1 year

Text

She Said Yes!

Warnings: none

Peter and you had been best friends since middle school, always riding the bus together and buying comic books together every week. Sleepovers all the time at his place, binging the Star Wars movies, and pulling 3 AM snack raids in his kitchen.

Recently though, he's been acting...wierd.

You and him don't hang out as often anymore and he always seems to have trouble talking to you. The sleepovers stopped and the 3 am snack raids became nothing but a memory.

And then, he dropped a bomb.

He told you he's Spider-Man.

You were shocked at first, who wouldn't be? But afterward you were just proud, and a little relieved. You had thought, well he told me his big secret so now maybe things can go back to how they were?

But no, there were still no late night talks, no more blushing and grinning like a fool at Peter when he'd shoot you that adorable, dorky, little smile. No more Star Wars marathons. Just a void in our friendship that continued to grow.

And then one day you got a message from him, surprising you since you stopped texting often a while ago.

Spidy-boy: Hey, wanna meet up at Jasmines Cafe 2morrow after school??

Me: Uh sure?

Spidy-boy: great! See u then :))

The next day you went to the cafe, staring expectantly at Peter as the two of you sat down.

"So, why are we meeting up?" you questioned him.

He furrowed his brows. "Am I not aloud to hang out with my best friend?"

You snorted, disbelief evident. "'Best friend,' is that what I am?"

His forehead got all crinkle-y at your words. "What do you mean?"

"Seriously Peter? You don't know what I'm talking about?" you asked him, both incredulous and a little hurt.

"No?"

"How about the fact that we haven't hung out at all in 2 months, or that we text each other like once every 2 weeks? Have you really not noticed this bullshit gap growing between us?"

He frowned, looking both concerned and guilty. "I'm sorry, (y/n). I promise I never meant to hurt you. I just thought-" he stopped himself.

"Thought what?" you questioned.

"I thought you didn't need me anymore," he admitted, looking at his hands that were fiddling with a napkin on the table.

"You thought I didn't need you anymore," you echoed, relief flowing through you. "Well, damn. We're both idiots."

"Yeah I know I've been an idiot- wait what do you mean both of us?" he asked, confusion all over his face.

"I had thought we had stopped hanging out because you didn't want to be friends with me anymore, you have all your amazing, cool new superhero friends," you admitted sheepishly, feeling more and more stupid as you realized this all could've been solved if you'd just communicated better. "And I'm just that girl from Queens who's never done anything heroic or amazing in her life. So...I just felt like I wasn't good enough for you anymore?"

Somehow he managed to look even more confused. "What're you talking about? I mean the Avengers are cool, but (y/n)-you're one of the most important people in the world to me. You're intelligent, brave, beautiful, and just downright awesome. I stayed away because I thought that was what you wanted."

"You don't understand how good that is to hear," you let out a breath. "I'm sorry, Peter. I should've just told you how I felt about our lack of hanging out."

"You don't need to apologize, we both made a mistake." He shot you a soft smile. "But as long as you stay in my life I'll be good. So what do you say we head back to my place, put on Star Wars and catch up with each other?"

You grinned. "Sounds amazing, let's go."

•••••

The next couple of weeks were awesome, the two of you hanging out more than ever. He even taught you some basic self-defense, and you taught him how to play the guitar.

But there was something new, a tension in the air when the two of you would be all alone watching movies with each other. And your eyes would meet for a long moment, eventually looking away with a bright blush on Peter face and your own cheeks growing rather hot. Or when you'd hug, and the embrace much last much longer than a normal hug.

And then you realized it, you had a crush on your best friend.

Sure, you've always thought he was adorable, but now it was like he wasn't just adorable. When he was in his Spiderman suit and you'd catch yourself staring at his 6-pack that was outlined with the tight suit. And afterward you'd silently berate yourself for ogling a boy you'd known since you still thought the opposite gender had cooties.

You never told him though- not because you worried he'd hurt you. Oh no, Peter Parker was the sweetest person in the universe. If you told him he might be a little awkward but he would probably just blush and say how much that meant to him that you liked him like that. Then he'd give you a hug, tell you that even if he didn't like you that way he still loved you because you were his best friend.

You chose not to tell him because if you did and got rejected that would mean no hope. You, choosing to be a little cowardly, thought that as long as there was no definite answer, you could still have hope.

Peter nervously paced, being careful that the flowers stayed perfect.

Everything had to be perfect.

He had timed it so that when you walked in a favorite song of yours would play, one that was romantic enough to make him bush. Then he'd give you the flowers and tell you how he felt.

Then he'd ask you out.

The door opened, the song gently playing out on the speakers as you stepped in. He watched as a smile full of wonder lit up your face. He stepped in front of you, apparently startling you because you jumped. Trying to stop yourself from falling, you grabbed onto him.

Peter steadied you, making sure you were alright.

In the process, he managed to knock over a candle and light his shirt sleeve on fire.

He patted it out quickly. Then he looked around, the flowers were on the floor, all rumpled and petals everywhere, the music had died and the candle on the table next to the two of you had spilled wax everywhere.

He sighed, the whole setup ruined.

Oh, well. Might as well go for it.

"(y/n), for a long time you've been my best friend, always supporting me and always right beside me. And I really hope this doesn't ruin our friendship but would you like to go out with me?" He squeezed his eyes shut, words rushing out of his mouth quickly.

"Yes!"

"Ok, well I hope it isn't awkw-wait, what? You said yes?" Peter didn't- couldn't believe his ears.

"Of course I said yes, I've had a crush on you for a little while and no one has ever done anything this sweet for me."

"Sweet?" The confusion in his voice almost made you laugh. "But I messed it up? The flowers are broken and my shirt was on fire."

"So? It was adorable, plus it's the thought that counts right? "

He just nodded, barely comprehending what has happened.

She said yes!

#peter parker x reader #peter parker fluff #tom holland x reader #mcu x reader #mcu #reader insert

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misscrawfords · 3 months

Text

No sooner had Susan and her cousins left their box at the intermission than they came face to face with Miss Crawford and a gentleman exiting another box a few doors down. The gentleman was a stranger to Susan but the similarity of his appearance to the lady was such as made his identity as obvious as it was unanticipated.

Julia stopped dead and even Miss Crawford, usually so self-possessed, blushed and hesitated. Her brother too seemed struck by astonishment at the sight of the party. Only Mr. Yates, whose happy disposition did not admit of any embarrassment, was unperturbed.

“Crawford!” he boomed. “This is capital! No idea you were in the country, let alone in town! It's been years! But of course we should meet at the theatre - where else? You remember my wife, of course? And this is her cousin, Miss Price. Susan, this is the famous Mr. Crawford.”

Susan was as surprised as the others but for different reasons. This was the infamous Mr. Crawford? Her cousin had ruined herself and plunged her family into disgrace for him? Why, he was such a short and slight man! Susan was on the taller side of average for her sex but she was nevertheless unaccustomed to stand eye to eye with a man in the way she was able to with Mr. Crawford. And those expressive, dark features - so elegant and pretty on his sister - were not so attractive on the gentleman. He cut an insignificant sort of figure, especially when put next to the broad bulk of Mr. Yates, who loomed over them all in his usual way. She had only met him briefly many years ago but he had seemed taller and more impressive in her memory.

What was she to say to him? She did not desire an introduction; indeed, Yates probably ought not to have done it. She could not see Julia’s expression but her silence was speech enough. Perhaps she could cut him, she could give him the cut direct and walk straight past him with her head held high and Fanny in her heart… except of course that she did not dare.

In the event, he was the first to speak. The awkwardness and evident embarrassment of his address as well as its obvious insincerity as he reacquainted himself with Mrs. Yates and professed a delight to meet Miss Price gave Susan the courage to respond with a clear and direct look, “How do you do, Mr. Crawford? But we have met before in Portsmouth five years ago; perhaps you do not recall.”

Surprise crossed his face. “I do recall our meeting. How could I forget?”

How indeed? Later, she would think of many retorts, albeit none of them suitable to be spoken aloud. Instead she found herself asking if was enjoying the play.

“With reservations,” he replied, his gaze never straying from hers. “And yourself, Miss Price?”

“Tolerably,” said Susan at the same time as Mr. Yates jumped in to inform them that this was Miss Price’s first ever visit to the theatre and how important it was that it was to such a wonderful production as The Distress’d Mother and had they ever seen anything so touching as Andromache’s tragic devotion?

“I find her a little too pious for my own taste,” interjected Miss Crawford. “I find myself drawn to Hermione and I cannot feel ashamed of it. But you have a very fine performance in Orestes for your first play, Miss Price. You have chosen well.”

Susan acknowledged that it was so and that she was very much looking forward to seeing him go mad in the final act. Yates declared there was no better actor anywhere in Europe and seemed on the point of anticipating the mad scene itself in the corridor when Julia finally roused herself to insist that the performance must be starting soon and hurried Susan back into the box, leaving the Crawfords behind to make of Mr. Yates’ paroxysms of dramatic enthusiasm what they would.

As for Susan, her spirit was disturbed by the meeting but she was determined that Mr. Crawford should not have any power over her - he had done quite enough damage by the Bertrams already for her to wish to give him any further satisfaction. Her attention should be devoted solely to the progress of the drama on stage before her. Nevertheless, it was strange to think that such a man should have been so captivating to both her cousins - he was not even handsome! And his address, well, there was nothing extraordinary about it. She could not understand it at all. And as for his view of the play, she could not help wondering over his reservations. What a very curious way to respond to her question which she had only asked out of politeness! Really, if he had reservations, he should at the least have said what they were! And so it was that at the end of several hours, when the play finally drew to a close, mad scene and all, having vowed that Mr. Crawford’s name should not even cross her mind, she found to her consternation she had thought of little else.

#the second miss price #rose writes #mansfield park #fanfiction #susan price #henry crawford #mary crawford #john yates #julia bertram

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ladywindmasterr · 1 year

Text

Jiang Cheng did his best to not press his fingertips together, something he did when he was nervous but had to avoid in order to appear more serious, especially at that moment, when he was discussing something important.

“That's why I came to see you, Daozhang. I don't know why this is happening to me, but I hope that you know what is happening to my core…” The he sect leader said, looking at Xiao XingChen's blind and covered eyes. As if he was going to realize...

"It has come to my knowledge that you are-... that you were the shidi of Wei WuXian, my martial nephew. Please, you don't have to act so polite with me" Xiao XingChen smiled, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Jiang Cheng closed his eyes momentarily when the cultivator mentioned his brother-… Wei WuXian. An indescribable feeling flooded his chest, and he couldn't exactly determine if it was negative or positive.

It had been two years since his death, but Jiang Cheng could see his blood-smeared body disappear over the edge of the cliff every time he closed his eyes. With clarity. Especially his expression.

No.

“As you wish, Daozhang. So, do you have any ideas?"

XingChen only moved his face so that his eyes were facing the ground.

“I don't know, Sect Leader. Those symptoms could mean many things… There really are many possibilities,” the cultivator wandered aloud.

Jiang Cheng's brow furrowed .

"Many possibilities"

...So there was for sure at least one with a bad ending.

"But since you've come to see me specifically, I think you have an idea of what could be happening. Am I wrong?" Xiao XingChen carried on.

He, in fact, wasn't wrong.

Jiang Cheng had been searching, relentlessly searching every library he could set foot on. Although he had found several possibilities, there was one that, although it did not seem very likely, was the most accurate due to his symptoms.

“Daozhang, I think it has something to do with the legacy of Baoshan Sanren's students. I came looking for you because you are one of the few that are still out there, and also are quite famous in the cultivation world for it.

Xiao XingChen nodded gravely.

"I supposed. Everything you've told me... The energy full episodes, the burning feeling inside you, the crashes that follow... Sounds very similar ike what I had to endure"

"I have a question, Daozhang" Jiang Cheng couldn't contain his doubt "It's just that I've never been a student of Baoshan Sanren nor am I a descendant of any.

Xiao XingChen seemed curious about it, which was good for Jiang Cheng. If he was curious, he would help him sort it all out.

"Well, Sect Leader, it is not necessary to study with the Master or descend from someone who has done it... There are cases, very rare, in which she manipulated a Core that later had that reaction. Had your ever...?"

The question was hanging in the air. Had he ever been injured so badly that he had been taken to none other than Baoshan Sanren?

“During the Sunshot Campaign…” Jiang Cheng began. It was going to be complicated. He sighed

"You may have heard about the annihilation of my clan in the hands of the Wen. They kidnapped me, and in an attempt to extract information, they ripped my Core out."

"Oh"

Even with the top of his face covered, surprise was visible on Xiao XingChen's face.

"Wei WuXian took me to see Baoshan Sanren. We pretended that I was him and asked her to restore my core. It went well, so that's probably it."

Jiang Cheng relaxed as he connected all the dots. He finally knew where it all came from, apart from the fact that if Xiao XingChen, who had also suffered from it, was in front of him, it meant that he would not die or anything worse

However, the aforementioned did not seem to be very sure about anything. Instead, he seemed even more curious.

"Are you completely sure that the one who helped you was my Master? I don't mean to call you a liar, but..."

The tranquility that had been in Jiang Cheng's mind was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

"But?" He allowed himself to get a little impatient.

Xiao XingChen moved his head to the side.

"Well, I think Baoshan Sanren is not capable of doing that."

Jiang Cheng's impatience turned into disbelief.

"What?"

"That's right, Sect Leader. I'm sorry, but my master is not capable of such a feat. What's more, she is incapable of even doing slightly easier things. For example, when I asked her to heal my dear Song Lan's eyes, she couldn't. She could only exchange my... Oh."

Xiao XingChen suddenly went completely still. He pursed his lips, as if trying not to say something. That only angered Jiang Cheng, who just wanted to hear about his strange condition.

"What's happening?"

Xiao XingChen did not reply.

"Daozhang?"

Nothing.

Jiang Cheng could feel his frown growing more pronounced

“Xiao XingChen!” he yelled, forgetting all etiquette. The rising anxiety in his chest was about to burst.

"Jiang Wanyin, are you in a headspace where I could give you information that could possibly hurt you?"

'What kind of question is that?'

The change from formal title to courtesy name had not gone unnoticed by Jiang Cheng, who could only imagine the severity of the situation or the circumstances that had provoked such a change.

"Right now, the only thing I want is to know what is happening to me. If I have to get a bit scared to achieve it, then so be it."

Xiao XingChen sighed. He didn't seem to know how to put whatever thoughts he was having into words.

"Just to make sure, before saying anything to you, could you let me touch your wrist for a moment?"

Jiang Cheng was even more confused.

"Of course?" The sect leader stretched out his arm, wrist up, in the direction of the cultivator.

Xiao XingChen just grabbed it without another word and spent a few seconds with his fingers sliding over his wrist.

He withdrew them, an indescribable expression on his face.

"Sect Leader, are you completely sure that it was Baoshan Sanren that you saw?“

"What's the point of asking that question again!?”

Jiang Cheng had already totally lost his patience, and his fists were clenched tightly. Xiao XingChen seemed not to want to mince words.

"I'm not asking just because I want to. From what I can feel... Jiang Cheng, the golden core inside you is that of your brother's"

Jiang Cheng was about to respond with the "I don't have a brother" he was used to when he realized.

Wei Wuxian.

...

No. There was no way.

Jiang Cheng herad himself muttering a weak "What?" to the man in front of him, who only repeated what he had previously stated.

"You have Wei WuXian's golden core"

Jiang Cheng looked at him, with a shadow in his eyes and his whole body shaking.

"It's a lie. It's a lie. It's a lie. No one can rip out a golden core and stuff it inside another person. There were no doctors with Wei Wuxian, it couldn't have happened, without any…"

A female face framed by soft dark hair and a Wen robe appeared in his mind.

Wen Qing.

No. No. No. It isn't true. Everything is a lie. You are making it up.

Wei WuXian wouldn't have done that, never. He was so proud of his cultivation. There was no way, he wouldn't have been able to use suibian!

Another image appeared in his mind. Wei WuXian, in his last months of life.

With not even a sword scabbard dangling at his hip.

Jiang Cheng heard himself scream, and felt his trembling hands cover his wet eyes.

He felt someone touching his shoulder and speaking to him, but he paid no attention.

He only thought of everything that Wei WuXian had sacrificed for him.

Everything that his brother had sacrificed for him.

And now it was gone. He didn't have his brother, his sister, not even the peacock or his parents. Only a baby nephew that would grow without parents.

He was alone.

SO. UM. YEAH.

Credit for this amazing idea goes to @mikkeneko

I'm so glad I was able to write this!! Even thought it's a bit ooc mainly because I've never written any mzds fics or anything lol.

Also, keep in mind english isn't my first language and excuse any weird grammar/spelling

#Luz writes sometimes #mzds #Mo dao zu Shi #Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation #Jiang Cheng #xiao xingchen #Mzds #Mzds fic #writing #Luz rambling

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dreambigdreamz · 4 months

Text

On Our Own | Éomer Éadig (part two)

Summary : Lothíriel braves through her wedding ceremony, trying to suppress her fears.

Author's note : I was having a bit of trouble posting this until I realised I had written over the maximum word count for a text block in one paragraph, now it's solved and I'm so heavened that I don't have to chop this up into several little more parts! Hope you enjoy Lothíriel!

Part One if you have not read it.

"I am Lothíriel, daughter of Imrahil. I am not afraid of anything — I have never been afraid of anything. And if I, a princess of Dol Amroth, can be made to suffer through this much humiliation, and still survive the ordeal, so can you."

None of the ladies spoke a word.

"I am not afraid — I have never been afraid of anything. I know this must be done, and I will see it done. This is my destiny; this is my duty. This is my calling, to serve my father and my family, to change this nation, this world into a better place. And when they call my name, I will always step forward, ready to face anything. And I will face this martyrdom like a proper, dignified Princess."

A silent sniff escaped the girl, and she saw her own lips quiver in the mirror. She took a deep breath, gathering all her strength to keep her shaking shoulders back. She turned to her silent ladies standing behind.

"And I certainly don't want any complaints from any of you."

"We did not say anything, my lady." The calm voice came from the elderly lady whose head was lowered in a small bow. She raised it now for just a few seconds, her dark eyes sweeping over the frame of the younger lady. "It must only be the jitters, princess. Nothing to worry about. You had better get ready. This King obviously does not like waiting."

A hardly pretty scowl overcame the Princess's face. She did not like to be reminded of the first meeting she had with her husband-to-be. Only Lady Saelwen alone witnessed what had happened, when the King strode into her tent. And, the Valar knows, nobody would ever understand what Lothíriel was feeling then.

Despite her eagerness to fulfill her duty as best as she could, the process was not without any setbacks. There had been several, in fact. The need for getting hot water to her room being one of the dire requirements. "You're right. Tell them to fetch the bath, please, Lady Saelwen."

The older lady immediately set about ordering the others with their different duties. Lothíriel, watching her lady-in-waiting masterfully distributing orders to everybody, recalled what she had said about her to King Éomer. She couldn't suppress a smile at that: Lady Saelwen was anything but easily agitated. She was highly and miraculously stubborn, and that had been the actual case when she refused to let the King inside the Princess's tent. But Lothíriel knew she had to patch up what she could to gain the King's goodwill. A task she knew she had to carry out enduringly, and one she awfully hated. She never liked having to please others to save face.

Lady Saelwen had always been in charge of everything — except when they had to deal with the fuming King the first evening, and Lothíriel brushed her aside as someone who could not help her any more. Indeed she then knew nobody could; she was on her own.

"It is all right," the Princess now wondered aloud again as she sat down at the vanity desk, staring at her reflection that seemed like a stranger to her. "Father and Mother will pass away one day, though, the Valar be praised, it may not be for many long years. Elphir has his own family to take care of, and Erchirion and Amrothos will in time find their own families, tread their own paths, and live their own lives. Nobody would have been able to remain with me, anyway. The important thing is, I still have me. I will always have me, myself, and that is all that matters." She quickly took a swallow of her trembling voice, blinked away the silver beads of tears forming at the corner of her eyelashes. Yes, she still had Lothíriel even if she felt completely deserted by all others.

In this distant land, so strange, so foreign to her. And so entirely abnormal.

"If only we had a proper bath-house," Lothíriel mourned, "with steam and a tepidarium and a proper clean marble floor! Hot water on tap and somewhere for us to sit and be properly scrubbed. I should not mind anything at all if only there was a proper bath-house."

"Don't fuss," Lady Saelwen cooed. "When you are Queen, you can have a hundred bath-houses built, my sweet."

Lady Saelwen had commanded a great tureen from the flesh kitchen which was usually deployed to scald beast carcasses, had it scoured by three scullions, lined it with linen sheets and filled it to the brim with hot water scattered with rose petals and scented with oil of roses brought from Dol Amroth. She lovingly supervised the washing of Lothíriel's long white limbs, the manicuring of her toes, the filing of her fingernails, the brushing of her teeth, and finally the three-rinse washing of her hair. The lady-in-waiting had insisted that Lothíriel should bathe like a Princess of Dol Amroth though all the cooks in the kitchen have had to stop what they were doing to boil the water.

This was one thing Lothíriel had decided she must learn to endure. The servants of Meduseld had been amazed that she was going to wash on her wedding day and most of them probably thought that she was risking her life in this wintry weather. Lothíriel, brought up in the liveliest court in Middle-earth, Dol Amroth where the bath-houses were the most beautiful suite of rooms in the palace, centres of gossip, laughter, and scented water, was equally amazed to hear that the Rohirrim thought it perfectly adequate to bathe only occasionally during the winter and that the poor people would bathe only two or three times a year. She had seen it as part of her destiny, her duty, to endure as a Maia from Valinor endures the privations of this world. She had come from Swansong by the Sea — the paradise, the heaven — to the ordinary world. She had anticipated some disagreeable changes.

"Everything will be fine. I had to come to Dol Amroth from Minas Tirith to marry your brother. Life adjusts easily to Change as Time passes by. And better, if you can learn to love your husband." That was what her sister-in-law told her.

"Yes, but you had the luck to come to the best of places. I am not as fortunate — I have to leave the best place in Middle-earth to go to who-knows-where buried under the grass." Lothíriel had retorted. As for the part about loving her husband, she had omitted.

But truth be told, her husband-to-be had made a very different first impression. He was so handsome — she did not expect him to be so handsome! He was fair and broad, like a knight in shining armour from one of the old romances. She could imagine him waking all night in a vigil, or singing up to a castle window as was usual for a courtship in Dol Amroth. He had pale, almost silvery skin only roughened by the weather, he had fine golden hair, and yet it looked untidy and unkempt, so was his beard which Lothíriel had disliked in any man except now when it was him. He was much taller than her, and she could just feel herself melting away like butter whenever she dared to look up at his face.

He had a rare smile, one that would come reluctantly and then shine. And he was kind. That was a great thing in a husband. He was kind when he took the glass of wine from her: he saw that she was trembling, and he tried to reassure her. But at times he seemed so distant, and he would even sound angry, though naturally his voice was low and deep and that alone could make her heart skip a beat. But Lothíriel could not make out the character of this foreign King. She wondered what he thought of her — she did so wonder!

Time after time, the incredulous maids of Rohan toiled to the door to receive another ewer of hot water from exhausted page boys and tipped it into the tub to keep the temperature of the bath hot.

"Your parents would be so proud of you," Lady Saelwen said dreamily as they helped the Princess from the bath and patted her all over with scented towels. One maid took her dark mass of hair, squeezed out the water, and gently rubbed it with a cloth of silk soaked in oil to give it shine and lustre. They led her towards the wardrobe and started to dress her in the layer after layer of shifts and gowns. "Pull that lace tighter, girl, so that the skirt lies flat. This is all of Dol Amroth's day as well as yours, Lothíriel. This is your father's victory, and he said that you would marry the King of Rohan, whatever it costs him."

"Hush. You make me sound like a parcel." Truly, that was what she felt like sometimes. As if she had been shipped off because she was unwanted. Of course, Lothíriel understood her father wanted the best for her, and this match was the best for her. But still.

"Of course not! Your father did this all for your sake although, quite frankly, it amazes me how he happened to choose such a person — I mean, he is King and all, but what a coarse and unrefined—"

"Hush!" Lothíriel repeated, now raising her voice slightly, her brows furrowed in distress. "He is kind, almost sweet, if it weren't for that rude incident." She didn't know why, but she found herself wanting to defend this man, the King of Rohan, who would soon be her husband. But she hardly knew him, and was terrified to speak to him when they were face to face. So Lothíriel was often led to her imaginations of what he might really be like. She hoped he was kind like her father had assured her. She didn't know about that, she had yet to learn about him to form her own opinion. And of opinions, there were so many different ones thrown about Éomer that she hardly knew what to make of him.

But that would not even matter once they were married, nothing could be changed even if she found him not at all agreeable. Again, she wished their period of courtship hadn't been only a year of correspondence and a couple of days in person.

"That was most certainly rude of him," Lady Saelwen remarked, sniffing her nose in disdain as she began to rearrange Lothíriel's hair. She did not answer to that anymore, wishing to drop the subject.

There would be no persuading the lady to any other opinion. She did have a right to feel bitter against the King: he had demanded to meet the Princess of Dol Amroth in front of his travelling party, without ceremony, without dignity, like a scramble of peasants. Lothíriel herself had been so embarrassed, horrified, but she gritted her teeth, and stood up her ground like a fighting soldier meeting the battle head-on. But she couldn't smile like her Mother told her to.

There was a knock on the door. One of her maids, Mylaela, rushed inside with her round face flushed. "It is the King. And he says he wishes to see the Princess."

Lothíriel immediately locked eyes with Lady Saelwen, the older woman raising her eyebrow. It seems this was another one of the traditions of Rohan, unlike Dol Amroth where it was absolutely forbidden for the wedding couple to see each other before the ceremony. Of course, in the same case, the bride would have also been secluded from the sight of every other man as well, but Lothíriel was pretty sure all the people in Rohan, all the pigs, geese and, of course, horses must have seen her face already by now.

"I will see him," said she, silencing her lady-in-waiting with a significant look. She put on a cloak, a dark blue one with lighter hue interwoven like ripples of water, and walked slowly and steadily towards the door.

She was, once again, surprised to see just how tall he was, but hid any emotion well behind her mask of serenity. She curtseyed, but did not say anything, waiting for him to start.

"I am sorry for this inconvenience, my lady."

She nodded her head once, not knowing how else to respond. She couldn't possibly pretend to say it was no inconvenience at all, because it really was. Who would want to meet her husband-to-be, hair drenched in water and face so bare?

"But I came to give you these," he held out a red velvet purse, and almost shoving it to her, immediately withdrew his hands to his back after she received it. She took it politely, with an inclination of her head, but she did not open it. She waited for him to say something more, but they stood silently for a while longer until he cleared his throat and continued, "They are the jewellery of the Queens of Rohan, heirlooms of the family, and it would be kind of you to wear them to the wedding ceremony."

Kind? She was going to be, she was already all but, Queen of Rohan — it wouldn't be a matter of kindness, it was duty, appearance, tradition.

"My lord honours me," she said with a small curtsey, and he took it as a sign to leave, and bowed stiffly. She opened the door behind her, and slid in carefully, feeling quite nervous as she always did whenever in his presence.

Her ladies-in-waiting were eager to see what was inside the small purse, and they wasted no time in taking out the contents, displaying them carefully on the desk. There were golden bracelets, and a necklace strewn with little rubies, and brooches. But what stood out particularly was the coronet. It was wreathed like golden flowers, and the light glistened off its surface like golden rays of sunlight. Lothíriel held it up, examining it in detail.

"Then I cannot wear my tiara," said she, with a hint of despair in her voice.

"You need not wear the coronet today. Perhaps later. You can wear your tiara, for the last time. It is the tradition, he will not object, surely," Lady Saelwen suggested.

"For the last time," Lothíriel murmured. She put down the coronet, pushed the jewellery a little bit aside, and took out her tiara. It had two endearingly lovely swans, and Lothíriel loved it dearly. It was like her own personal badge, her worth, her rank as the eldest unmarried lady of the royal house of Dol Amroth. It had been hers since she was 10, when her cousin Ariellë had married.

She put it on now, looked into the mirror with a close look as she never looked before. She searched for the traces of that little girl who had first tried it on secretly, before Ariellë's wedding day, enthusiastically waiting for that day which would make this invaluable treasure all hers, solely hers.

Now, it was time to let it go.

"Well, take one last look, Lothíriel. Nothing's ever permanent, anyways, and you've had your share of joy these years past." She didn't know what was ahead of her now. She couldn't think of it.

"Oh! darling," Lady Saelwen cried, flinging her arms around her. "I tell you, you need not put it away just yet, not today."

"But I will have to do it sooner or later," she replied determinedly, trying to be strong and not weep. And I had better make the King happy, she did not add this silent thought. She truly wanted to see him smile, though she will most probably be too busy looking at the ground to see even if he did. "It must be this way."

Slowly, she put the tiara down, and beckoned them to continue what they were doing. When they had finished, she looked a most stunning picture — her black hair let down in a thick wave down in front of one shoulder, the golden coronet round her smooth forehead, her silver mantle gleaming with a faint glow of blue as she moved, and to perfect it all, a sure, steady smile that could win any heart. She knew this. She knew she must look something beautiful. King Éomer had even said she looked prettier than her portrait! Of course, Lothíriel knew flattery was to be expected from him, he could just have been doing it out of politeness, the way he said it grudgingly.

She had been raised to feel confident in her looks, she had learned to love the way she looked, everybody always said how lovely she looked. And though Lothíriel did not necessarily believe it much herself — it would be wrong and quite vain — she believed it must be a bit true, at least, because others said so. She had long, dark hair that was often compared to the nightsky, and her skin was perfectly unblemished, and she knew she carried herself gracefully enough, thanks to the years of supervision under her Mother, Aunt Ivriniel, and Lady Saelwen.

But what if Éomer's taste wasn't like all the 'others' who praised her beauty?

What if he liked his women lighter-haired?

That would be a misfortune, indeed, since nothing could be done about it. He would just have to put up with it, probably regretting his foreign dark-haired Queen. But that would be really unfortunate, Lothíriel couldn't help despairing over it.

What was it that her Aunt had told her?

"Consider your husband carefully. He will own all your property, your good name will be in his keeping, and the happiness of your life will be decided by him. If you cannot be a loving wife, then be at least a wife of whom he can make no complaint. That is the best advice I can give to you, Lothíriel: be a wife of whom he can make no complaint. You will be his wife, that is to be his servant, his possession. He will be your master. You had better please him."

The words still echoed in her mind like some sort of prophecy. She had put up a smile, thanked her Aunt archly that it gladdened her heart to be reminded of it, while secretly she scorned and said to herself sarcastically, "No wonder she is a spinster!"

But Lothíriel had held that advice close to her heart, subconsciously, trying to be pleasing to this stranger on whose goodwill her fate, the rest of her life, depended.

She wondered whether he would make a complaint against how she looked. She wouldn't be able to help that. She might be sent back, and the business of searching a husband for her would have to be done all over again — except she would then bear the shame of having been rejected by the King of Rohan.

At least she would get to spend a couple more years in Dol Amroth, before being sent away again.

These different thoughts made her eyes leak somehow, and suddenly she was crying full on.

"La! What is the matter, dear?"

A hiccup escaped before Lothíriel took a gulp of air. "I — I don't really know? It's just — it's just happening by itself and I can't stop it? May—maybe it's what you said, the jitters, the wibber-gibbers like Alphie would say — and, oh! my darling boy, I have forgotten my darling boy, how shall I live without him? And Elphir, and Andrídha, and Erchirion, I miss him already — I admit it! I know I swore I won't but I do! And, and I miss Gwyneth, that dairymaid who ruined my blue-ribboned shoes, Cael the stableboy, even though I always made a point to glare at him whenever he winked at me, and, and everybody!" Lady Saelwen was the only one whose face was still calm and composed, others already baffled by this outburst of the Princess. Lady Saelwen did not speak, and she continued to pat Lothíriel's heaving shoulders in a loving embrace, silently. The words now poured out of her mouth, and suddenly there was no stopping anymore. "I think he doesn't like me very much, this King Éomer, he doesn't talk to me, and he is probably disappointed with how I look. What if he sends me back? Or worse, what if I disappoint him even as Queen of Rohan? What if I am terrible at it? What if I bankrupt the country and ruin everything? — I always forget my numbers, you know that."

"Now, now," Lady Saelwen soothed her, gently rubbing her back, "you are getting too carried away. It's just not possible for you to bankrupt an entire country, and you probably won't be burdened with those crazy duties. You'll just have to keep the accounts in order, the household in order, like your dear Mother does. The rest—" At this, Lothíriel let out a wail, for she could not possibly strive to be anywhere near her Mother's efficiency. "Don't distress yourself like this, dear. It will happen by and by, and you won't even notice it — you'll be such a beloved queen. And as for the King not liking you, why, I never heard such an abominable thing! He would say something about it, wouldn't he, if he didn't like you? That is absurd. And anyways, the men of our court can teach him a thing or two, perhaps a black eye if you request, you see if he doesn't like you then. And today, when you go in with your long, dark hair falling over your white gown, looking like Elbereth herself, the Star-queen, you'll see if there's a soul in the whole of this country, wretched enough to not fall in love with you!

"Now, stop this silly nonsense. You are going to look a mess."

"Well," Lothíriel swallowed a hiccup, now feeling foolish when Lady Saelwen pointed out things that way, and wiping her runny nose feeling like a wayward child, "I suppose I am being silly. There's no point in worrying over things that I cannot change. I will do my best, and leave the rest in the hands of the Valar. But, wouldn't it be more natural to look the blushing bride?"

"Yes, but you are going to get a red nose and red eyes, not alluring, red cheeks." She pinched Lothíriel's cheek lovingly, and again they set to work.

When the bells started to toll, Lothíriel stood up from where she sat, ready and secretly nervous, and said,

"Well, ladies, we have got a wedding to attend."

"Only, you're the bride this time," one girl teased boldly.

Lothíriel mustered all her courage, and strength, and smiled graciously and gaily and giggled, "All the more reason for me to look dazzling!" But a sudden gloom seized her heart, remembering that the joys of childhood would be denied to her after this day onward. And she would not be a maiden any more . . . She shook herself out of that train of thoughts.

She found to her pleasant surprise that her brother Amrothos was waiting outside the door.

"Ready?" He asked with a lopsided grin that made her laugh despite her heavy heart.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, amazed.

"Why, to escort you, of course. We can't risk you being attacked by some ambushing savages, can we?"

She gave him a look of caution.

He chose to ignore it, and remarked with a comical look, "You are so beautiful, I fear I may go blind from your dazzling-ness."

"So do you, dear brother," she said generously.

"Ah, but all the rest of us are only stars and stars cannot be as dazzling as the Moon, no matter how bright they shine."

"I thought dazzling was used to describe the Sun?"

"Spare me the poetry lesson for this once, love." He then asked again light-heartedly, "So, is the beautiful bride ready to mesmerise these petty people?"

"I was born ready, brother."

"Oh I don't know about that — you had such a terrible cry when you were born, I wept for days, terrified of your cries. I remember Auntie soothing me, saying you must be very mad about being brought into the world so early."

Lothíriel couldn't help smiling, a little sadly, at the mention of them as children. It didn't seem that long ago, and yet at the same time it felt so very long ago. Amrothos noticed her half-hearted smile, and turned her round to face him fully, and pulled her into a tight embrace.

"You've come so far, Thiri. I still can't believe you survived that terrible drowning when you were four. To think, we could have lost you then! I am glad we did not, sincerely." He placed his hand upon his chest soberly.

"I will survive anything, beloved brother, you need not worry about me," she said coolly, her eyebrow raised.

"Of course, my sweet sister," Amrothos smirked back. "I believe all this is just a piece of cake for you as well?"

A whole bakery, Lothíriel thought, but she answered anyways, "It is."

Amrothos studied her face carefully, saying slowly, "You know we love you."

"I do."

"And this is probably for the best."

"It is."

"Then why looking hang-dog?" He slapped her arm playfully.

She rolled her eyes, scoffing unbelievingly. "Every bride needs to look a bit hang-dog before the wedding."

"Not Andrídha, she did not. She was beaming enough for the both of them."

"That's because she's a fool half-sodden in love." She was pretty sure she failed to keep out the bitterness in her voice.

"And you are not?" Amrothos was looking as if he was trying so hard not to laugh out loud. "Hmm, you probably are not."

She didn't answer, because she didn't know. She was drowning in a sea of worries.

When they reached the door, beyond which was the Hall where all the guests were assembled, a guard bowed at the siblings but told them that the Lady must walk in alone, as was the custom.

"What! This is strange indeed, and if I weren't so nice as I am, I would call this exceedingly stu—"

Lothíriel tugged at her brother's elbow, hissing, "Mind what you say, Amrothos." Already she could feel the terseness of the lords since her arrival, and while Amrothos may not need to care about them, she was to remain here for the rest of her life and she knew she wouldn't survive long if she didn't make herself liked. Another inward sigh. "And really, you couldn't have stuck with me all the way through this marriage anyways, it's all on me." On my own. She tried to smile brightly, and hoped it was convincing enough. "So off you go now, my little star. Go twinkle somewhere else."

"It'll be all right. I know you'll be all right," and with a warm kiss on both cheeks, and one last concerned look, her brother left ahead.

She turned to the guard again, and ordered coolly, "Announce me."

He nodded, knowing this particular about the new Lady, as did many of Rohan by now.

"The Lady Lothíriel, Princess of Dol Amroth, and Queen of Rohan!"

The heavy, wooden doors creaked open. Lothíriel, daughter of Imrahil, armoured only with steely determination, stepped forward, her head held high and her footsteps unfalteringly in-beat.

Only she could hear her heart hammering in her eardrums.

Nobody must ever find a Princess of Dol Amroth falling back for fear.

No one will ever know what it cost her to smile, what it cost her to stand before all these people and not tremble.

She was not yet twenty-two, she was far from her Mother, she was in a strange country, she cannot speak the language, and she knew nobody here. She had no friends but the party of companions and servants that she had brought with her, and they looked to her to protect them. They did not think to help her. They could not help her.

Nobody could help her.

No one would ever know that she had to pretend to ease, pretend to confidence, pretend to grace. Of course she was afraid. But she will never, never show it. And, when they called her name, she would always step forward.

Amidst her own heartbeats, she could faintly hear the whisper of voices around her. She could not understand them, nor did she want to. Her eyes, fixated straightforward, fell onto the tall figure of the King. He stood proud and regal, like a pillar of strength. He wore the great woven cloak of gold and green, with the sigil of the horse, and on his head was the heavy crown wrought majestically in gold and white jewels. His face, Lothíriel stole a quick glance as she reached up to him and he took her hand in his, was solemn, almost even stern she would imagine.

She listened attentively, and repeated the vows in her best manner, but heard little. Her thoughts were busy elsewhere. She only registered dimly the voice of the King beside her, standing close by. In fact, she realised, they were so close she could almost discern the faint smell of musk and ambergris wafting around with the underlying notes of sweat, leather, and horses. She remembered it from the first evening when he barged into her tent.

Other than the thud-thud of her heart, she could not acknowledge his presence beside her. Neither did he seem to.

She knew what she had to do. She had to be a princess of Dol Amroth for Rohan and a queen of Rohan for Dol Amroth. She had to seem at ease where she was not and assume confidence when she was afraid.

Éomer may be her husband, but she could hardly see him, she had no sense of him yet. She had no time to consider him. She was absorbed in being the princess that he had bought, the princess that her father had delivered, the princess that will fulfill the bargain and secure the friendship between Rohan and Dol Amroth.

Every now and again, she glanced very briefly at his face, but he stood as still as a statue to reveal any answers to her incessant, whirling, silent questions of what he was like. He stood so still, she could not even tell whether he was breathing or not. Both his hands held her right hand between them, as if ensuring safety and comfort. But Lothíriel was uneasy, wondering if this was one of Rohan's different traditions as well; in Dol Amroth, the bride only held on to the man's arm.

The only thing that disconcerted her throughout the process happened when it was time for them to exchange the rings.

The ring-bearer was a man whom Lothíriel remembered to be one of Éomer's near-kin, but all these lords and Riders had the same bearded faces, the same fair hair, the same silence. If she hadn't mentally prepared herself for it months before she came to Rohan, Lothíriel was pretty sure she'd have gone insane by this unfamiliarity in the strange, foreign land. She wished she could see somebody from home, somebody who hadn't followed hither — she would even be glad to see Wat the groom who sang bawdy songs with his obnoxious voice.

The rings were brought on a small pillow-cushion while she was meditating these worrisome thoughts. When she saw Éomer taking the smaller one, she dutifully held out her hand for him to put it on her finger.

But he didn't.

Éomer took her hand, and turned it so her palm was held upward, and placed the small golden band on it. Confused, Lothíriel looked up at him, and her cheeks flushed warmly when she saw him smiling gently.

"In Rohan, we exchange the rings and wear it ourselves, my lady."

He explained kindly, but suddenly the former warmth in her cheeks grew hotter and she looked down at her palm, possibly looking furiously crimson.

"Oh," was all that she could say, blinking nervously as she reached for the other one and placed it in his upturned hand. Embarrassed, and wishing the wooden floorboards would open up to swallow her, she hastily put her ring onto her finger. Only after that was she able to recollect herself, braced herself, and looked up with a positively bright smile to say, "I wish I had thought to learn of it beforehand. But no matter. It is done."

He smiled again, and Lothíriel noticed, for the first time, the little crinkles near his eyes when he did so. For some reason, the discovery made her feel somehow light-hearted, and she found that she could return his smile with equal sincerity, without at all feeling the tiresome stretch in her cheeks when she had to remind herself to properly regulate even the degree of her smile. "It is done," he echoed, and in her natural maidenly reserve, she lowered her eyes. She felt him leaning down, felt his rough hand under her chin, felt her head being raised up to look at him. Only, she didn't want to look yet, and closed her eyes tightly. Then she felt his lips on hers, the warm kiss making her head spin around in circles, and she felt his hand brushing against her cheek, all in a daze. She only felt, and knew nothing of what was going on. It was done. When Éomer stepped back, she saw the timid smile on his face, as if he wasn't sure how much he should be smiling as well. When she looked around, she saw the smiling faces stretching from her feet to the doors of the Hall. And when they went down the aisle together, past the rows of benches and guests, to the bright wintry sunlight outside and heard the roar of the crowd for Éomer and his bride, the King and Queen of Rohan, Lothíriel started to realise that she had done her duty finally and completely. She had been promised to Éomer for more than two years, and now, at last, they were married. She had been named Queen of Rohan since she was twenty years old, and now, at last, she had taken her name and taken her place in the world. It had felt impossible until it was finally done. She looked up and smiled, not as shy as one might expect of a blushing bride on her wedding day, but a real confident smile of a queen that promised strength and courage to the people she was now to call hers, her own; and the crowd, delighted with the free wine and ale, with the prettiness of the young princess, with the promise of safety from threats both internal and external that could only come with a settled royal succession, roared their approval. They were husband and wife; but they did not speak more than a few words to each other for the rest of the long day. There was a formal banquet, and though they were seated side by side, there were healths to be drunk and speeches to be attended to and the musicians playing. No one had ever seen so much money flung at a single occasion. It was a greater celebration even than the King's own coronation — it was a redefinition of the Rohan kingly state. Lothíriel was perfectly at ease with everything, having expected this all her life since she learned her duty and destiny as a princess, a woman in a largely male-dominated world, where she could only ever amount to be a bridge to the next generation of great men.

But perhaps it wasn't exactly as she had always thought it should be. Given that she was not marrying a lord or knight of Gondor. The people of Rohan obviously did not like talking much, and after the formal ordeals were done, everybody sat down to eating and drinking by themselves. Truth be told, Lothíriel was looking forward to poems composed for her and recited in her honour, like they did for the brides in Dol Amroth; she would have been disappointed about the lack of attention, if it were not for the dreadful prospect of the night's end looming over her head for almost the entire time. That was the chief occupying thought of her mind, and since nobody paid much heed to her except now and then to drink her health, and the members of her own party being a bit distantly placed, and her own lord husband scarcely turning his head towards her, Lothíriel was left to ponder her own dread and dismay. She was brought back to reality by a voice addressing her from below the board. "It would be a great pleasure for us all if the queen would give us a dance. Or is that not allowed in Dol Amroth either?" The boldness of the question startled her. She noticed that it was one of the highl lords of the King's council, an elderly man who particularly was frosty in his manners to her since her arrival. Lothíriel turned her head to Éomer, and asked cautiously, "Since I am now Queen of Rohan, I must learn your customs. Would a Queen of Rohan get up during her wedding and dance for everyone like she is at a village fair?" She saw that Éomer's face was broody, and uneasy. He shifted in his seat before answering her shortly in that deep, gruff voice of his, "If she would like." This was enough for Lothíriel, who had grown up in the court of Dol Amroth where conspiracies and gossips went around like bees buzzing from flower to flower, and she immediately understood his answer as an hesitant yes. She did not yet know the ongoings of this court and the country, but she knew it was her duty to please the King first and foremost, and she had to learn later on of his affiliations and animosities alike. So, for the present, she decided to oblige the possibly harmless request. She threw a small, demure smile to the other lord, and said, "Then I will dance," and rose from her seat at the high table. She was expecting the King to follow suit, but he did not; she realised they meant dancing as in all by herself, like some performer, and not a proper courtly dance with her new husband. She stood still for a second there, feeling very much embarrassed and whacking her mind wondering what to do next, before she finally added with some recovered grace, "With my ladies."

She beckoned towards where they were grouped nicely, a little apart from the men, called out to them by their names. Four young women, dark-haired girls of youth and beauty, pretending shyness but eager to show themselves off, came forwards. The Princess Consort of Dol Amroth, Lady Anarïen, herself had personally selected the ladies, not very willingly acceding to her lord husband's blunt but well-founded request that all his daughter's companions should be pretty. The party of Dol Amroth could not appear in any less honourable manner or fashionable style — except King Éomer had jeopardized the whole plan by forcing his way rudely into the Princess's tent. But nonetheless, all the girls were good-looking, well-mannered, and perfectly suited to be considered close companions of a royal princess of Dol Amroth, but none of them outshone the Princess, who stood composed and confident and then raised her hands and clapped, to order the musicians to play. The dance was a pavane, a slow ceremonial dance, and Lothíriel moved with her hips swaying and her eyes heavy-lidded, a little smile on her face. She had been well schooled. Any princess would be taught how to dance in the courtly world where dancing, singing, music and poetry mattered more than anything else; but she danced like a young woman who let the music move her naturally. She was doing all her best to prove everybody watching that she would be the greatest ornament to this court where they only discussed war-strategies and the meal-times were, simply, for eating meals and not for civilised conversation. She stopped as the music came to its last note, and swept a curtsey at the King, and came up smiling. "Do I please you?" She demanded, flushed and a little breathless. "Immensely," a faint smile was lingering on his lips as he said so, and Lothíriel found herself smiling back with gratitude at his praise and wonder, wonder at what kind of a man he was. When, later on, she was sitting in front of the mirror in her new room, the Queen's room — which, Lothíriel sniffed inwardly, should have been hers since her arrival — she was still left wondering about the mystery of his smile that had stayed in her mind for the rest of that evening.

Sincerely Snow,

19th April — 8th June 2023

#lord of the rings #lotr movies #eomer x lothiriel #eomer eadig #lothiriel #the lord of the rings #arranged marriage #oneshot #light angst #hope you enjoy #lothiriel being an internal mess #dreambigdreamz

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