#i just have a lot of feelings about this au

[netherfeildren]

FABLE OF THE DOG : 1. The Two Headed Calf

Pairing: Joel Miller x FMC

Summary: Welcome home and buck up, cowgirl.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Cowboy/Heiress AU; Slowburn(ish); Original Characters; Alcohol & Drug Use; Discussions of Grief; Daddy Issues; Graphic Descriptions of Vomiting; Description of a Dead Body; Death of a Parent; Parental Neglect; Older Man/Younger Woman; Jealousy; Past Teenage Crush; Unrequited Pinning; Yearning and Longing Galore; Boss’s Daughter; Complicated Family Relationships; A Home is a Place but ALSO a Person!; Found Family

A/N: Disclaimer, I know nothing about Wyoming and it’s geography, ranching, or being a cowboy and just made all this up. Any and all misrepresentations are fallacy of my laziness.

The FMC tag was decided because she has a last name. It was just too difficult for me to speak in depth about her father without giving him a name, and thus her one too. After that decision was made, she kind of went away from me and devolved into her own person who I have come to be quite obsessed with. It’s still written in ‘you’ format, anyhow.

I’ve been having a whole lot of fun with this, I hope you do too.

Word Count: 10K

Read on AO3

1: The Two Headed Calf

“She’s been shut up in that house for goin’ on three days now, Joel,” Tommy says as the two brothers make their way across the lawn. 

The ride had been long and hard, and Joel is tired—he levels a dark look at him. “Just sayin’. Nothin’ you find in there’s gonna be pretty to look at.” He raises his hands in surrender at the brooding glare, that non-confrontational shrug that’s set Joel on edge since they were boys. 

“One of you’s should’a gone in there. Made sure she’s okay.”

“The housekeepers’ve been keepin’ an eye. And Frank tried to go in there and check on her himself, but she’s angry as a barn cat. Hissin’ ‘nd yowlin’, and just bein’ downright scary as hell, to be honest. You should be prepared is all I’m tryin’ to say.”

“Her father just died, Tommy. I’m not expectin’ pretty sights right now,” Joel gruffs, trying to swallow the panic that flutters in his throat as they crest the final hill up to the big house. 

The beautiful stone, oak, glass monstrosity that’s stood as monument to this place, this home that is not truly his, for over a decade now. The Kelly Ranch. The sky above is still a sultry, yawning blue, deep and tired, basking in the throes of dawn as the sun just now makes its way over the crest of the Tetons in the distance so that the house sits for just a moment longer in its pool of shadowed blues. 

Joel pauses on the border of that somber darkness, afraid suddenly of what awaits him inside; boots glued to the ground with the gum of cowardice. He doesn’t want to see her broken. He doesn’t want to see her hurting. But there’s no other recourse, he knows this. The death of the estranged father she’d fought with all her life, the inheritance of this world that seems suddenly too big for just one orphaned girl, all alone now. 

He’s afraid that he’ll walk into that house he’s always seen as other and home all wrapped into one—that Olympus that was so far removed and out of reach even when he walked through it’s halls to the man who’d given him sanctuary and salvation, to the man he knew mistreated her sometimes, didn’t love her enough—and not have the capacity to recognize her, this girl who’d always been familiar and stranger all in one also. 

Joel Miller suddenly feels afraid of the memory she exists as in his mind, in the face of the woman he knows she is now. 

When he lets himself in the back kitchen door, it’s still nighttime within. The cool dryness of the AC cranked up to inhuman temperatures makes him shiver once while sprouting a damp sweat along his nape. He should’ve showered before coming, should’ve washed the ride and the days of camp off his skin before walking into her presence, but all he’d managed were his hands and face. There’d been panic to make sure she was well, if not then alive, at least. But he should be more presentable for her. 

Hell, he should’ve been here for her when she came home for the first time in two years to the house where her father had died. He should’ve been here when the man died. 

But the herd had needed moving. He hadn’t thought it’d all happen so quickly, thought he had more time, that they all had more time. He’d hoped she wouldn’t return at all, if he was being honest. There was nothing here for her. Nothing except memories of a gilded and loveless, already motherless childhood. The reality of all she was set to inherit. The truth of an aloneness Joel didn’t know if she was prepared for. 

He moves through the house slowly, afraid to disturb the ghosts and the silence. The interior, immaculate and beautiful and solemn. Something out of a movie picture or the gloss of a magazine. Something covered not in dust but in sadness. The stairs are silent as his spinning mind makes up for the creak, the boots she’d sent him on his last birthday hit the richly piled rug at the top, and the hallway to the bedrooms yawns long and frightening in front of him. Two grand a pop, the boots—Lucchese, he’d looked them up on the iPhone she’d sent him the year before. A gift giver, generous to a fault, kind to a detriment. She sent something to all the ranch hands that’d worked for her father since she was a girl. Something for the entire ranch at Christmas. And all he managed each time was a perfunctory thank you card, like he did every year because he remembered, years ago, in her little voice, polite people send thank you notes, Joel, my grandmother told me so. Last year he’d written that they were too much, that she shouldn’t have, that he was grateful. There wasn’t much else to say. 

That was the extent of their communication, familiar and stranger in one, the far removed golden child of the Kelly. They’d all called him that, the Kelly, for as long as he’d known the man. As if he was some Scottish laird of old, ruling over his clan and half the world. Egotistical, was what it really was. He’d thought himself a god among men, in the face of his only child. Ridiculous was what Joel saw it all for, a put on play, a farce.

And wonder of wonders, she was entirely unlike him because of course she would be. Of course a man ruled by nothing more than ego and narcissism had been sent his polar opposite in the form of his only child. Kind hearted, was what she was—sending him a birthday gift every year. Remembering them all here always no matter how far she’d gone. He sent her a thank you note for each benevolence in return, a word of respectful gratitude for the fact that a person like her could ever remember a dog like him. 

Sometimes, Joel had wanted to go to him, the old man, Oswald Kelly, and ask him where his daughter was, why he wasn’t looking for her, keeping her closer, caring for her. He wasn’t the sort of man that could’ve ever understood such callous behavior towards one’s child.

The last time she’d been here, over two years ago: less than forty eight hours that had ended in screaming so terrible they’d all heard it down from the barn, sitting in uncomfortable, swollen silence, the spinning of tires ringing as she yelled at her father that he was never going to see her again, the man’s echoing laugh as she’d fled him. 

Joel hadn’t seen her on that visit, it’d been so quick and angry. Flying down on the jet from New Haven for her father’s seventieth birthday and not even making it long enough for the festivities. This was what her life was, as he’d observed it from a distance for all these years, the singular daughter of this great house, coming to her father, attempting joy and finding nothing but disappointment at the end of him. 

She’d been right, a knowing streak running through her. Kelly had never seen her again, and Joel didn’t know if the old man had regretted it or not, the anger and the estrangement and the lack of love. But the last time he’d spoken to him, hours before setting off on their move, the herd always came before everything else, the ranch was all that mattered is what the man had always said, with death scratching at the window, his frail and withered body licked down to almost nothing from the austere and imposing figure Joel had always known him as, he’d asked for her. His only child. Do you think she’ll come, Joel? The dying man had asked him. My daughter, do you think she’ll come see me? Joel had lied a lie he hadn’t known was one, said she would, that he’d call her as soon as he was back. 

In the end, he hadn’t even afforded her that decency, a personal call.

He comes to her open bedroom door now, pitch dark as grief within, and the stench of sorrow and liquor seeping from the living grave. He looks down the long and empty hall for a brief second, wishing it didn’t have to be him, that again, he didn't have to see her any way other than okay. And he realizes that there’s something about her, as she will exist now, that makes him cowardly. Something about this house without the man who’d granted him the absolution of a hiding place all those years ago, who’d understood and sheltered Joel in the midst of his own past grief, that makes him cowardly. The house feels wrong without Kelly within it, wrong with only her as its holder now. 

Joel steps into her dark, and it’s a battleground—

—You are silent and motionless in the blue room. 

Nothing of the gleaming splendor that dresses the rest of the home sleeps in here. There are clothes everywhere, an exploded suitcase lies open and massacred in the middle of the plush white rug, a turned over bottle of red wine bleeding into your clothes. Shredded pages with scratched on writing slashed across them, the dusted white mounds of crushed pills, as if you’d smashed each one individually beneath the thumb of your grief. The sight makes him more afraid, the scent of weed and cigarettes heavy in the air, as he takes the final step towards the wrecked bed, and a single small foot hangs limply from the edge.

He stares at it long and hard for a second, afraid, afraid again, still, of what he’ll find. He says your name once, short and gruff like a dog’s bark. It’s what he feels like. Animal, bestial, lacking any sort of cognizance amidst this minefield. His heart beats against his spine, and he thinks he should do something else, shake you, check for a pulse, his bones throb inside his skin. He needs to fucking move, but the smell of smoke is so cloying he’s choking on his own tongue. 

Your ankle twitches.

And Joel sucks in a sigh of relieved air without panic, saying your name again. His voice is level now, maybe gentle, no more barking dog. His eyes move up the length of one pretty leg, and then quickly, he averts his gaze when he gets high up enough he’s met with soft-creased asscheek covered in silk. Swallowing his tongue, his eyes roll in their sockets, looking for anything else to look at besides the sight of panty clad ass. He steps closer again, gripping the edge of the sheet to pull it over your scantily clad body, eyes flitting to the silver spun clock on the nightstand, the warm glow of the hall light shows that they have two hours to get you sober and presentable before the funeral. 

Joel should have been here. He does not feel that he is even here now. And the guilt eats at him like acid. The fear too. 

“Darlin’, you’ve gotta get up now,” he says softly, taking hold of your shoulder, scalded by the feel of fragile skin, realizing with the suddenness of a gunshot that you’ll be the Kelly now. He gives you a gentle shake, “We’ve gotta get you ready,” and his heart pumps blood like a machine. The sight of the dry liquor bottle toppled on the nightstand, the shattered glass glittering the floor in crystal, the empty pill bottles, it all taunts him. His guilt is a cacophony in his mind. He knows he’s going to have to stick his fingers down your throat, make you spit it all up, that you’ll hate him for all of this afterwards, but when his gaze meets streaked rust, dark and shocking against the white sheets, he’s kicked into terrified action. 

He turns you over, your head lolling sickeningly in unconscious stupor, hair a tangled mess strewn about your face so that he has to dig for your eyes, parting the curtains of your fringe to uncover you. He focuses on your closed eyes, the too long lashes clumped together, lips cracked and parched. 

He should’ve fucking been here. 

Smoothing his fingers along the lengths of your arms, he keeps his eyes on your face and averted from all the skin that keeps peeking out below, searching the divots and slopes of your arms for hurts. When he gets to your right hand, battleground of a long ago broken hurt, he finds the drying crust of blood, the ragged split in the soft, small palm, thankfully shallow.

 His eyes smart, looking down at the broken glass, feeling the tear in you. 

Gripping you gently below the elbows he pulls you into his arms, cradled like a child, light as loss. Your head lolls again, neck crooked at an unnatural angle as he carries you into the restroom, careful of your head, knocking the lights on and putting you down in front of the toilet bowl. He pulls your camisole to rights, making sure everything is covered, and gathers your mess of hair as carefully as he can, trying his best to not snag the fragile strands in his too rough hands, but gripping you firmly in position. And ignoring the sound of your awakening cry, he sticks two fingers into your slack jawed mouth and down your throat until he feels the hot rush of vomit. 

Crouching behind you, his thighs bracket you, keeping your form from slumping over as you empty the poison from your belly, flushing the alcohol soaked bile as you struggle. He wipes his messy hand on the leg of his jeans and rubs soothing circles on your back, his fingers woven through the soft silk of your hair to keep your head in place and your face clear. His heart thumps in rhythm with your heaves, your too quick, panicked breathing. There seems to be not enough oxygen for the two of you and your grief in the too small room of the commode, and Joel gasps like a dying fish, trying to swallow calm breaths. 

When you finally stop your heaving, you rest your arms at the edge of the gleaming porcelain, head hung low, defeated, wracked with shivers or silent sobs, he isn’t sure, a strange and horrible keening noise, so small he barely catches it, held in your throat. There’s the finest down of peach fuzz that covers the tender slope of your vulnerable nape, and it makes Joel feel suddenly, just as vulnerable, just as unprotected. At a complete loss for how to help you. 

“Finally decided to show your face,” you croak, voice ragged with your sick. 

His fingers tighten once around your shoulder, a panicked tick of reminder that he’s here now, that he’s him. “I was moving the herd. It had to be done. Your father, he—” he stutters, trying explain, tripping over his own guilt ridden words. “I didn’t think it’d happen now, so fast, that you’d get here so soon. I thought we had more time.” 

We. 

Your skin seems to cool by the second beneath his fingertips, and then you’re shrugging his touch away, huddling closer to the porcelain bowl, further away from him. 

“Get out.”

“Let me explain. I—” And he’s begging now. He can hear the note of it in his voice. Begging for forgiveness. For a chance. 

“I don’t want to see you.” You don’t say his name. “Get out.” It feels worse than anything. 

“I’m here now. I didn’t know— I didn’t think.” He reaches to grab for you again, but you turn to face him suddenly. Wiping the back of your hand against your mouth, pushing your heels at his shins to kick him away. Your eyes are red rimmed, the hollows beneath bruised with lack of sleep. But fire spits from the deep color, all anger and hurt. 

“Go deal with your fucking ranch,” you fling the words at him. “It’s all you care about anyways.” And they weren’t shivers, he sees now, they’re tears tracked as proof of all his guilt, all his lacking, along the slopes of your fine grained cheeks. 

Your, you say. As if this place and anything in it has ever been his. He’s never wanted any of it like that, only ever seen a thing that needed taking care of, and him, with the ability to care for it. 

“I needed you,” you whisper as if the thought comes along on a second wind of anger, a realization that sends your voice breaking, hitching, your chest caving in on itself as the tears come faster and faster now. “He’s dead, and I needed you.”

“I’m sorry,” he begs. “I’m so sorry.” His voice breaks now too. He thinks he’ll cry now too, for the man who he also lost, who despite it all meant something to him, as well. For you, who’s lost even more. For Joel’s own guilt. 

But he doesn’t think you see any of that, not his apology, not his regret, not his own grief. You turn away from him again, laying your temple down again on your forearm. “Get out. I’ll be ready soon.”

And so he goes.

-

Your father is made small and withered in death. 

One of the wealthiest men in the entire world. A stranger, a titan, a nightmare of a man. 

It wasn’t something you’d ever considered, that a human body could look so colorless and frigid and not alive. Like a shock or a ringing bell, it’s a realization that you’re an orphan now. That you’re all alone. 

You feel something like a memory of regret. Or something that’s like the idea that you should feel regret, that you should feel guilt for how it was between the two of you. But all that is overshadowed by the reality of what you weren’t. All you feel even more, or in actual reality, is the old loss of what you’d never been to each other. That, you realize, is the seed of your grief. That long ago wound, that child’s understanding that he wasn’t like all the other fathers, that he’d never care for you the way other children were cared for. 

Looking down at the frozen face that looks nothing like the one he’d worn the last time you’d seen him, the wispy thatch of hair that hadn’t been so jarringly white before sickness had ravaged his body, you realize that this is no new loss, it is only a continuation, a reopening of a very old one. 

The cavernous cathedral at your back is silent, vacated by the sea of people that had congregated here earlier. And with sickening curiosity, you uncoil an arm from where you’ve got it wrapped around yourself, reaching out to press a finger against the ice cold back of his hand. Shockingly not alive; he feels made of rubber. 

Everyone that’d been here to bid farewell to this behemoth turned slip of a man, to catch a glimpse of you, packed like teeth into Jackson’s grandest cathedral; business men and heads of state from around the world, the oldest family names in the country, figures of the highest echelons of wealth and society, vipers circling the barrel—half the world here to see this person who was supposed to have been your father but was really only a stranger. 

You take your hand back, and you don’t say goodbye as you turn away from his body. There’s no farewell to really tell. 

And at the back of the church, hiding in a bright ream of sunlight, Joel stands propped against the face of a saint. Dark and silent and maybe even more far removed than your dead dad. Watching sentinel. Oswald Kelly’s hovering man—come to watch over him one last time. 

The silk of your stockings slide against each other at the junction of your thighs, the hiss of your skirt around your calves as your reed thin heels click against the stone, and you pull your armor as tightly around yourself as you can. There’s a hollow echo inside of everywhere and everything, your mind like a gong, reverberating, and his gaze is so steady, hazel bright, deeply shaded by the lip of his dark hat, beckoning you towards him from beneath the brim. 

Large and strong and steadfast, your heart gives a painful, longing thump—stupid, writhing thing—and you can only bear to look him in the eye for a second, and if you were to really think about saying goodbye to that father that never really was, lying behind you, slipping further and further away, you’d say it to the man that always stood as his shadow before the world, before you ever said it to the man himself. 

-

The drive back home is cast in frigid silence and made all the more uncomfortable because you can practically hear Joel’s brain clicking and ticking away with worry. 

He’d sent your car and driver away with a harsh word while you collected your final goodbyes and words of respect from the last smattering of people congregated and waiting for the newly birthed heir to one of the greatest fortunes in the world. 

Hovering over your shoulder, he’d kept anyone from stepping too close or getting too friendly, so close you could feel the heat of his chest through the silk of your blouse, and then going suddenly full on aggressive when a reporter from the New York Times had approached, fishing for a quote on the future of the Kelly empire. Ushering you away with a hovering hand at the small of your back before the man could get half a question out, he’s opening the truck’s door for you as a haze descends over your eyes, the distant shutter and flash of cameras bursting in your peripherals, a latent hangover and sleep deprivation and not enough to eat in the last forty eight hours causing you to sag in his hold. Then it’s only his big fist wrapping around the span of your wrist as he lifts you into the truck, your eyes downcast and unable to take in sight or sound, vision all a blur. You murmur a barely there thank you with his hand fitting at the dip of your waist, big body blocking yours entirely from prying eyes trying to catch a glimpse or a stumble, and for a single second, your entire weight is suspended in his hold, allowing you to bypass the struggle of balancing your high heel on the step up, and then you’re sliding onto the leather of the seat, the whisper of your cashmere and silk rustling around you as he handles you like a child being spirited away from the scene of a crime. 

The door shuts gently behind you, face turned away from the flashing lights, the watchful eyes of the whole world, and worst of all, the assessment of his concerned gaze. All you’re afforded are thirty seconds of privacy to let out a single gasping sob. 

And now, an hour and a half of silent purgatory. 

You slip your heels off, flexing your smarting toes against the damp of your stockings and tuck your folded legs beneath you on the seat. Paying the frantic energy of his anxiety and lodged words no mind, you consider instead: your new reality. The burden of it all means very little to you now. The last of your worries is being readied for entombing as the two of you speed down the eighty nine, zinging past the bright Wyoming green. The thrum of his truck drowns out your thoughts, brand new, probably over a hundred grand, only the best for your father’s right hand man, and the Kelly Ranch insignia emblazoned proudly on the sides. A brand for the whole world to see just who exactly is being whisked away to her old home turned brand spanking new grave. 

You might be feeling a little bit dramatic. But then again— you’d just put your last remaining parent in an actual grave, surely that provides you some allowances. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his big paw gripping the leathered steering wheel in a death clutch, knuckles white with his frustration at the dilemma you pose, his own discomfort. You’re sure if he thought you wouldn’t catch him, he’d be squirming in his seat. 

You do something to him sometimes, you know this. Not in any way you’d like, not in any interesting way, that of a woman affecting a man, but something respectfully harrowing. Maybe something a little bit like fear. 

There has existed between the two of you, always, that strange intimacy of two people who’ve known each other for a very long time, and yet, have always remained at a far removed, arms length distance from one another. 

A professional intimacy of sorts. Your father’s foreman, shadow, fixer. The man who guarded that treasure trove you’d inherit one day, today; the thing your father loved most in the world. Two people who’ve known each other a long time, and yet, don’t really know each other at all. 

There has always been, however, the fact of the birthday. 

The birthday. Your birthday.

The way you’d latched onto that small, immense, detail when you’d first discovered it at fourteen, when he’d newly arrived at the ranch and the true weight of your first real crush had really hit you, it was probably not entirely healthy. But you’d thought yourself in love with your father’s man, the first figure of the male species who’d ever drawn your attention in such a way. 

He’d never paid you any mind; you were the boss's daughter, a figurehead or a responsibility, maybe a nuisance, although he’d never ever treated you as one. But the day someone had let slip it was his birthday, on the same day as yours, your teenage heart had swelled with the naive hope of fate. It was meant to be, the two of you were connected, so on and so forth, swallowed by girlish innocence and made buoyant by fantasy. 

But you’d had something to share with someone, which was what really mattered. Something tangible, even if only in your inexperienced little mind, something to wield as comfort so that the first time your father had forgotten your special day, fifteen, and what a tender age it had been, you’d had something to cling to. That's when your gifts to him had started. It was your way of making sure there was at least one person in the whole world who’d remember that was your day too. That you were alive, that you mattered. A reminder of yourself. And as the years and birthdays passed, sometimes, when he sent those coldly gracious notes of his, you’d wished you could’ve written back with honesty. Said something like, I’m so lonely, wish you were here, wherever it was in the world you’d found yourself at the time. 

And of course, he was gorgeous and older, strong and patient and capable, entirely unattainable. Impossible to forget. You’d gone so far, traveled wide, gotten yourself an overpriced education that would probably serve you for nothing, had lovers and parties and splendor, and always, you remembered your gifts for him, you remembered him. It was the single most important detail of your birthday every year. 

The leather creaks beneath his fist again, chapped knuckles set to burst before he flexes his fingers out, long and straight. Thickly built hands, strong, made for working or hurting, on a man who you’ve never seen be anything but stoically patient. 

He was strange in that way, neither wholly impulsive nor purposefully premeditated in his mannerisms. More so, it was that there was something extremely neutral about him, a middle buoyancy of personality. Strict with the cowboys, exacting, wielding his title as ranch foreman with an iron fist and your father’s blessing, and yet still, quiet, serious, with that patient gentleness about him. You’d seen it in the way he’d handled Ellie when she’d first come to the ranch, young and skinny with that hollow look of trauma kids who’d seen things they shouldn’t have shamed adults with. She’d been a little older than you, and with an air you’d not understood, a sort of lived past you’d been naive to the existence of, frightened when confronted by it, and yet inevitably, the two of you’d become fast friends eventually.

You’d even experienced it yourself, on two treasured occasions, that gentleness that you’d held onto for years. Nurturing the memory of him in your mind like a delusional bloom. 

He stretches his hand again, wheel caught between his thumb and forefinger, cinching it there, back and forth. His nails are meticulously clean, cut to the quick, and you imagine he must spend a great deal of time cleaning himself up when he works so hard at getting himself so dirty most days. 

You can see him sneaking glances at you, and he coughs once, a clearing of his nervous throat. Averting your gaze, you turn your face away so that you’ll be able to watch him through the reflection in the window. He monopolizes the space in the cabin of the truck, broad shoulders and hulking form, all the fine leather smell washed away in the scent of him. That bay rum aftershave he’s always worn, the one with the distinctive notes of bay leaf, cloves and citrus. An old fashioned scent, masculine and crisp. 

You’d snuck into the bunk once with Ellie, before he’d moved into the foreman’s cabin, before Switzerland, when the two of you were still girls running rampant and free through the ranch, clutching desperately at the last vestiges of any sort of happy childhood you could scrounge up for one another. You’d peeked in his things, found a whole world of Joel shaped curiosities. The glass etched bottle of aftershave, a hole spotted t-shirt with a burnt orange longhorn across the front, Flannery O’Connor’s The Complete Stories—something you found comforting, knowing he could read about the small, the freakish, real life; thinking that perhaps he was homesick for the comfort of the South, hungering for a taste of the life he’d had then, through books. And then, in a spine cracked copy of Suttree, the pages almost falling apart beneath your fingertips, dog eared and well loved, her picture tucked between the pages.

It had been the first time you’d done something you knew you shouldn’t have and actually regretted it, looking down at that green eyed photograph. 

You’d run back to your room after that, ashamed and something a little bit like jealous, desperate to know who she was, desperate for someone to keep a picture of you like that—as if they loved you. And years later, you’d found the scent for yourself. The little molasses glass bottle you still have and pull out on occasion, when you’re feeling extra bad, extra lonesome, extra far away from the whole world, just for a reminding of home. 

Beside you, he sighs again, coughs again, brings you back to himself and the present. Just spit it out already, you think exasperatedly, say something, anything else besides how sorry you are. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he starts, and you roll your eyes, scoffing quietly. 

“You already said that.” Sullen. Mullish. You wish you were a child who could still throw a tantrum and get away with it. Letting your eyes go unfocused from his reflection in the window, you brood at the sight of everything that’s yours now as he turns off the highway, passing below the iron eave of the Kelly Ranch entrance. Eight hundred thousand acres of pristine Wyoming land nestled into the deep valley surrounded by the Grand Tetons mountain range. 

“Well, I’m sayin’ it again.” He’s driving too fast, and you refuse to turn and look at his face. Your heart beats blood in your ears, and you screw your eyes shut to the dizzying blur of green legacy, not wanting to see any of it—him. 

Your belly swoops, going slightly nauseous and gurgling. 

“I didn’t think you’d get here so quick.” He swallows, “Hell, I didn’t think it’d all happen so damn fast.”

“I was already in New York,” you tell him, voice clipped with breathlessness. “I left Paris last week.”

“What? I didn’t know— I—”

“Why would you?”

“I would’ve called you. I would’ve gotten you out here quicker.”

“Ellie called. It’s better like this, Joel.” Finally letting yourself say his name out loud, it feels wrong and molten on your tongue, a heaviness being spit up from the depths of your stomach. “We don’t have to pretend anymore. He’s dead now.”

“There’s no pretending. He wanted to see you—”

“Please, stop.”

But he urges on unheeded: “He told me so before I left. Told me—”

“Stop,” you snap. Finally turning to look at him and hating him for it. For how gorgeous he is, for all the things he’s always made you feel for as long as you can remember what it was to feel something for a man, for all he did or did not have with your father when you had none of it or so much of an entirely different thing. “Stop. I don’t want to hear any of it. It doesn't matter anymore, Joel.”

“But you should know. You deserve to know that—”

“What?” Because that one hurts. “I deserve to know what?” That he actually had loved you but had just never been able to show it? That now it was too late? That the only person the great Oswald Kelly had ever been able to speak to of the supposed care he had for his only daughter was the hired help? You’d read once that one should never let their parents anywhere near their real humiliations. You’d tried your damndest to follow that as soon as you’d grown up. “It’s not your place,” you seethe with teeth bared, an animal shoved into a corner and made to fight for its life, deciding you won’t ever let Joel near them either.  

He spits a cursing, growled sound of frustration, but doesn’t continue. The two of you find yourselves at an impasse, and you turn back to your windowed mirror of him, eyes pinching hot, filling with tears. One of the things your father disliked most about you, your easy tears, and a single salt marred inadequacy tracks down the slope of your cheek, dripping off the edge of your jaw into the bandaged cup of your palm, and you breathe slow and measured through your open mouth, watching the fog cloud grow and shrink against the glass obscuring your vision of him. 

-

The last time you’d missed your mother, the one you’d never known, in any sort of real and true way, you’d been eighteen. Returning to an empty house after celebrating your high school graduation in a far off school, alone. 

In the midst of your sophomore year, you’d been sent away to a Swiss boarding school. It had been something worse than devastating, losing your life in Wyoming, the only home you’d ever know, Ellie, the other people on the ranch… But it was far removed enough that you couldn’t bother, where you couldn’t ask for things like attention or consideration. The education had been excellent, the upbringing desperately lonely ending on a whimpering sigh despite your many accomplishments. You’d wanted her very badly then indeed, your mother. To have been there, to have helped you pick your dress, kissed your cheek after watching you walk across the stage. To have wiped your tears when she told you that your father wasn’t there because he was busy managing the whole world, but that he was proud of you, that he’d have been there if he could. You’d wished she could’ve been there to lie to you so that you wouldn’t have needed to lie to yourself. 

Peering down from your balanced perch atop the deck’s bannister, you survey the deep bed of Lily of the Valley, destroyed beneath the vindictive soles of your bare feet. He’d planted them for her all around the house after she’d died, her favorite flower. 

You’d always hated them. 

And that was the thing of it all, which you’d learned when you grew old enough to recognize such things like disdain. He couldn't stand you because you reminded him of her. Clichéd and old and tired. An excuse for being a neglectful father. The daughter who was too much like her dead mother, and thus did not deserve to be loved. 

You tip your head back, nursing at the lip of fine aged Macallan, and the sky is a glass mirror of blackened silver streaks. You’re almost positive that all the stars in the Milky Way are visible from right here at this very spot in the heart of Wyoming. The sight makes your broken heart feel full and falsely mended. 

You’re certain you’re painting a pretty picture right now: tipsy on a bottle of your dead dad’s sacredly hoarded whiskey that probably cost as much as someone’s house, staring up at the stars in your newly inherited home with a whole unappreciated life full of possibilities ahead of you. Basking in the title of your newly minted— orphan-hood? Orphan-ness? A peer of the orphans. 

You snort softly, sucking on the bottle again, letting the heat of it settle in your belly, smolder in your heart. Your head feels full of bubbles and sugar and sad. 

There’s a part of you that feels a little ridiculous, despite the circumstances. You’re good at compartmentalizing, good at being objective of your realities. Obviously: sad because your father is now dead, and it’d been nine months and eleven days since you’d last spoken to him. Sad because he’d never given a shit about you. Sad because you’re alone, dumped by the stupid French jockey boyfriend who you’d not even liked very much, just a few days before this whole pathetic ordeal of acquiring your orphan-hood, yeah, that’s what you’re sticking with, had occurred. Not to mention the army of looming lawyers and financial advisors and various heads of business vying for your attention, waiting for the what next?

And Joel.

A one man army of looming Joel. 

So you’re feeling morose, blue, maybe a little spoiled, but brought low and cut short. Depressed and unsatisfied with your life thus far. 

Poor little rich girl. Poor little orphan. Poor little me.

What you want? 

Someone to care. 

Someone to love you. 

Hard to come by. Impossible to buy. 

The stars gleam purple silver, winking at you. The bracketing black so dark it swallows the eye. Another taste of the nutty bouquet of smoked apple oranges, and soon you’ll be tipsy enough you won’t be able to balance your butt on the bannister’s ledge anymore. Maybe you’ll go humpty dumpty over the edge and crack your skull against your mother’s valley of destroyed Lily’s. 

You laugh again with sound now, not crazy, only an orphan, ha, but you think that it’s only that it feels shockingly as if you’ve fallen through the surface of your life. As if you are still falling with nothing and no one to grab on to, to help stabilize you. A really terrible, shit-out-of-luck feeling. 

Your eyes continue their infernal leaking, and you blow your nose loudly on the inside of your sweater. You’ve given yourself three days to do whatever the hell you want, be as disgusting as you may. When the three days are up you’ll plan to get your act together, take responsibility and hold of your life and become the woman you should be. 

Who that is? Still being decided. 

You think that maybe you’ll buy another jet before that time’s up. Or an island. Something ridiculous. Maybe you’ll sell the goddamn ranch. 

You eye the dark rolling hills of the valley with seething suspicion. Let’s see what Joel says about that. You, marching up to the highway entrance and spearing a For Sale sign in the dirt of the largest privately owned cattle ranch in the continental United States. Way more than that God forsaken surly frown is what you’d get. 

So long, Joel, it’s been swell. I’m done with this place. It’s time to pack it up and find some new hunk of land to care about more than you care about me or anything else. 

Maybe you’ll be real funny and put up a Craigslist ad. 

And it isn’t that you don’t love this place, the only home you’ve ever known. You do. In a way that is passionate and consuming and irreconcilable. Everything about it, the serenity, the guarding mountains and the deep woods, the home you’d been born in, that both your parents had died in. You do love it in your way. 

It’s only that every man you’ve ever loved—loved—had always cared more about the place than he’d ever cared about you. 

For the longest time, most of your youth until you’d decided that you officially felt an adult, you’d thought you’d hated your father. There was just so much anger and resentment and the resound of his ever furious words and insults and endless disappointment. The echo of no mother ringing so loudly in your ears that the confounding feelings had all been mistaken for hatred. But with age and distance and life, you’d realized you didn't hate him. You never had. You thought, actually, and this was a very good and mature thought of yours, that you were the only person in the whole world that had ever seen him as only a man and not a god. 

He was only a man, full of greed and grief and missing the mother of the child he’d probably never wanted. Nothing more or less. 

Maybe it was that you felt sorry for him. Not in the way of pity, but in the way of one person feeling empathy for another in a clinical and helpless sort of manner. And a numb, detached sort of sadness. A longing for something that you’d never had and had always wanted but eventually learned to live without. 

Ultimately, his disappointment had turned on him, and now it was all you felt you had for him at the end of it all. 

But, for some reason, and an annoying one at that, you do think that, if you try very, very hard, you could bring yourself to hate Joel Miller. There’s satisfaction in that possibility, vindication—resentment that even now, as practically strangers, you know he’d be able to pull that sort of feeling out of you which could result in hatred. Something strong and overwhelming and not easily escaped. 

Your stomach rumbles, and you smile blithely at all your inherited legacy, filling the hollow with more drink. Three days to behave very badly, as badly as you can. The whiskey is so good, and swishing it around in your mouth, you tip your head back further, gurgling it loudly at the back of your throat. 

“What the hell are you doing?”

You jerk, scrambling to keep your balance, choking a little on smokey apples and your own spit. A trickle of the golden amber liquor drips out of the corner of your mouth as you find him hiding in the dark across the deck. Accustomed to drooling over him, you wipe it away with the back of your hand. 

“Having a party. Would you like to join?”

“Are you drunk again?”

Tough crowd. Ugh.  “Never mind. You’re not invited. Go away.”

“You need to go inside and go to bed.”

You tip your chin at him, putting on doe eyes. “Alright. And are you going to be my new daddy also?” You say in a baby voice.

Fucking Christ, you hear him whisper under his breath, turning away to run an exasperated palm over his mouth. Frustration seethes off of him like sulfur. He’s tired. Of you maybe. Of the whole circus this place has become in the past few days—and rightfully so. 

“What do you want? I’m extremely busy, if you can’t tell.”

“Just thought I’d check on ya.” Courteous, always the gentleman, bullshit. You roll your eyes at him. 

“I don’t need you to check on me.” And you, ever the child. One day you swear you’ll grow up. 

But it can’t be said that you’re entirely selfish either. You have considered the fact of Joel’s own grief at the loss of your father. After all, they’d been much closer than you’d ever been to him for many years. And maybe, in his own cold and removed and superior way, your father had seen this man who you’ve thought yourself in love with since you were a teenager, as something like a son. 

Probably, that’s just your own wishful thinking: that Oswald Kelly had ever been capable of such tender feelings.

Maybe the fact of Joel’s own grief is the thorn beneath your nail bed that’s making you so angry with him, so needing of his attention. Maybe it’s that he’d failed to fulfill your silly and girlish fantasy that upon receiving the news of your only remaining parents death, he’d have been here waiting for you, at this home he’d guarded for you for so long, ready to take you into his arms and console and care for you. 

When instead, he’d been off doing what he’d always done for as long as you’d known him. Protecting your father’s interests, his legacy. 

“Is this how it’s going to be?”

“How?”

“You, being difficult.” Driving me fuckin’ crazy— he adds again under his breath. 

“I’m an orphan now, Joel.” You’re becoming quickly addicted to the word. “I think I should be afforded a tiny bit of leeway to drive people fuckin’ crazy,” you mock his Southern drawl. Enough of your time has been spent in Europe over the past two years, kissing Europeans, that you’d sloughed off the last of your America twang; something of a vaguely European lilt peppering your words every now and then that Ellie likes to tease you for whenever the two of you speak on occasion. 

A muscle under his left eye twitches at the jab, and you take another deep swig of the bottle, provoking him with your gaze. Wishing you had whatever it is a woman needs to entice this man. Like the fucking vet. Fucking world renowned, brilliant, highly coveted, beautiful veterinarian. You know about her. You’re sure he thinks he’s been discreet over the years with their whatever they’ve had, Tess, but you know. 

Maybe you’ll be insane and irrational and possessive, taking advantage of your three crazy days, and fire her with your new found power. See what he has to say about that. Ha.

Ha. Ha. Ha. 

Obviously not. 

Despite your current hysteria, your goal is not to send the ranch head over heels into a tailspin.

But the imagining is soothing. 

“Want some?” You hold the heavy crystal out towards him in a peace offering, held precariously between two sweaty knuckles. “It’s probably worth as much as your truck. Would be a waste for me to finish on my own.” You eye what’s left of it, about half, and give him a sheepish grin. It really is very good. 

He looks at you for one long, solemn moment, always so silent and pensive, this strange enigma of a man. You get to watch in real time as he loses whatever fight it is he’s trying to fight against you, victorious when he shrugs and comes over slowly, resting his butt against the bannister—a carefully respectful distance away from you. 

When he takes the bottle from your swinging clutch, gripped from the base, careful not to touch you in any way, you see the real sad in his eyes. The dim lights bleeding out through the big windows of the family room without a family shine on his face in strips and bursts. A shadow here, golden warmth there. He’s got more lines around his eyes than you remember from the last time you’d been this close to him. Smile lines made bright white in the center and gold burnished at the edges from too much sun. There’s little bursts of silver threaded at his temples now too, a gleam here and there in his dark beard. Forty four years old, he’d turned on your last birthday. 

You dig your nails into the soft meat of your palms, and your belly smolders as he brings the bottle to his lips, tasting the exact place your own mouth had just been moments ago. You press your knees together as hard as you can, head a little woozy with the color of his eyes; the most gorgeous green, caramel hazel. 

You’d graduated two years ago with a degree in art history and had done absolutely nothing with it since. It was just that everything appeared boring and pointless and shallow. Your whole life had one day suddenly seemed just a little silly. Useless, overpriced degree, nothing to be done with extensive knowledge in color theory when your world is expecting such different things from you now. 

But you sure as hell can appreciate the color of his eyes in extensive and meticulous detail. There is that. 

Watching the slow slide of the amber liquor down the bottle-neck, the long pull of his lush mouth, the ripple of his strong throat, and the way his eyes go a little wider, shocked at how good it is. You laugh soft: “I know, right.”

He takes another pull, another swallow. That’s what you want to be—swallowed just like that. “Damn, that’s good.” His mouth is a little wet, bottom lip shiny with thousands of dollars worth of your father’s favorite whiskey, and his eyes are sad. 

You’d said you were going to be bad, but you don’t want to be bad to him. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

He swallows again, tipping his head towards you, trying to catch your too soft words—he’s got a bad ear, you know why—and turns to peer at you from beneath his low pulled brow, the tip of his tongue peeking out to swipe at the drop of liquor you wish you could suck off his tongue. 

“You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for.”

The first time he’d shown you that gentleness of his: You’d fallen from your horse at school in your junior year. Something had frightened the beast, and she’d bucked you, sent you flying ten feet in the air, ragdoll-like, before you’d landed badly on your right arm, a comminuted fracture in your radius that you’d needed surgery to fix. At your insistence, and with only a few weeks left to spare, you’d been sent home for the remainder of the semester. Your father had been incensed but eventually allowed it. He’d been away from the ranch on business, after all, at no risk of being truly disturbed by you. But when you’d been readying to return to Switzerland at the end of the summer, arm healed, courage not, you’d not been able to get back on a horse no matter what you tried. Joel had helped you, before they’d shipped you off again. Trotted the corral with you for hours and hours before you’d finally been able to relax and sit on your own without tears and vertigo. No questions or admonishments, nothing but the quiet burr of his deep voice, guiding you and the mare along. 

It had been a kindness unlike any you’d experienced in maybe your whole life. 

“I’ve been bad.”

“Nah. You couldn’t ever be.”

The second time: “Did today make you think of Sarah?” Years after you’d found that green eyed photograph, he’d shared her with you. 

His gaze turns suddenly sharp, but you’re not worried you’ve stepped in unbreachable territory. “Yeah.” The echo of her name rings around the two of you. 

“In a bad way or a good way?” He takes another long swig, a low whistle through his teeth and a shake of his head before he’s handing the bottle back to you—again, carefully. 

“Both.”

You take your own swallow, slicking your tongue all around where his just was, and you’re drunk for real now. Drunk on a man. 

“Do you ever regret telling me about her?”

“Nah.” He tips his head back, looking up at the thick beams of the deck’s awning. He’s got the longest lashes you’ve ever seen on a man, thick and curling. The deepest voice you’ve ever heard too, sultry, a bedroom voice. A voice for fucking. Your belly swirls and dips, and you want so much you’re dizzy with it. 

Heart beating like it’s about to burst, out of breath on the verge of hyperventilating, you can taste his mouth in your mouth, the imagination flavor of it. This is what it must feel like to die. This is what your father must have felt like three days ago, this agony. 

His Adam’s apple bobs, and it’s so pronounced, the skin of his throat sun pebbled. There isn’t an inch of him that isn’t all rough-hewn man. “You needed to hear about her then, I s’pose.” 

Yes. “You told me when I needed you to.” After that lonely graduation, the last time you’d missed her really very badly, longed for a mother. Alone, alone, alone little girl. 

“You were missin’ your momma somethin’ fierce. Needed to know you weren’t the only one that felt like that sometimes.”

You laugh a not-laugh, butt scraping against the railing, slipping off your perch, socked-feet thudding beside his gifted boots. The pleasure you feel whenever you see him use one of the things you’ve given him is indescribable. 

“Silly,” you say with barely any sound, his bad ear reaches for your voice again. “At the time it felt like I was the only person in the whole world that had ever felt like that.”

“We all feel like that at one point or another, I reckon.”

“Will you miss him a lot?” You ask looking up at him, the beautiful profile, the strong jaw. You’ve always wondered how he sees you. If he’s ever thought you were beautiful. Other men do, it’s a common thing, a nothing sort of thing. There are always men, there will always be men. But this singular man—this one is not like the rest. 

“Maybe. Can’t tell yet, don’t think. But it felt wrong earlier, walking through his house without him in it.” His house, not yours. 

“Do you wish he’d been your father?” And he turns to look down at you at that, gaze snapping, and you can tell you’ve shocked him with the question. But you’d always wondered. 

“No. Never,” he says with such assuredness, an uncompromising shake of his head. 

And the answer doesn't necessarily shock you in turn. You don't think anyone could have ever wanted a father like that. But it also doesn't help you understand what it was that lived between them either. 

He sighs, perhaps reading the confusion in your gaze. “He helped me at a time when I needed it real bad. Gave me a place and a purpose and a thing to do and take care of. You get me? It was gratitude—maybe. He saved me in a way, after Sarah. Nothing more.” He thinks for a moment, and then, “Perhaps it was that we understood each other about certain things.”

You gaze across the sprawl of dark land as far as the eye reaches, that point of no return where the earth shoots up into the sky, purple blue behemoths in the shape of mountains. 

From this spot, rooted to the deck of your family home, it seems like the whole world is yours to keep. Also, like you’ll never be able to touch any of it with fingers or taste or meaning. 

Your love for this place is complicated—tied up in the people, the memories, the could’ves and should’ves, the whole dreamscape idea of the monument of childhood and all it’d really never been. The time away had felt eternal, like you’d never really been here to begin with, like the young girl who’d grown up on this land had never really existed. But you’d not forgotten them, this, despite your distance. Your home, the father that wouldn’t want you, Wyoming and all its splendor, the people you’d left behind, Joel and Ellie and shared birthdays that meant a secret world to you. Morsels of small happinesses interloped amidst a largely lonely and sad childhood. That’s what it was at its core. 

“Would you be angry with me if I gave it all away?”

He thinks for a moment, maybe you’re making him sadder, but then finally says with a swallow, “No. It’s yours to do with as you please.”

You eye the quarter of whiskey left, but your belly isn’t hungry for its warmth anymore. You want something heavier now. 

“Could you even do that—legally—sell it or somethin’?”

“Probably not. He probably tied it to my fucking life. Sell and die.” You mime your name in an imitation of your fathers deep voice, frowning at yourself the way he’d always frowned when he looked at you, but it pulls a laugh from him, and the painful memory is worth it. “But I have a billion dollars to spend now. More?” You tap your chin—you want to make him laugh again. “Gotta think of something interesting to do with it all.”

His mouth slides into an easy half grin. Like the moon—that beautiful. And he turns to face you fully. “You’re gonna be just fine. You know that, right?”

You turn to face him too, gripping the bannister for dear life. “What? Will you make sure of it?”

“That’s my plan.”

“How’re you gonna do that, d’you reckon?” The American twang bleeds back into your voice, and you’re all swollen lush on the inside, heart a beating fist in your chest. 

“Haven’t gotten that far, if I’m bein’ honest with you.” God. His eyes, the strong bridge of his nose, his mouth. He’s so tall your head has to crook back to look up at him. “I’ll figure something out.” And after another pensive second, and still with that soft, sloped eye smile, he asks, and nicely, “Will you stop drinking now—for me?”

“Maybe tomorrow,” you say with the same sort of smile in return. 

And then suddenly, like vomit again but maybe more humiliating this time: “Did you respect him?” Because you don’t know all the things about him that there are to know, but you do know that Joel Miller’s respect is a thing hard earned. 

He clicks his tongue, and you hear the pop of his jaw as he shifts it like he’s chewing on an honesty. His eyes, his eyes, they’re serious, mercurial, warm and deep also. You worry he won’t answer, that he wouldn’t want to disappoint you or something, but then: “No,” said real simple like.

“Why not?”

And the way he looks down at you, you know already, and it makes that falling through the surface of your own life feeling rise up inside you again, makes your ears pop with embarrassment. Ah. “He never did a very good job of hiding the way he treated you, sweetheart. I couldn’t ever respect a man like that.” 

This is reality right here, this is you falling through your life, this is the realization that it wasn’t only you imposing yourself, your existence, on someone with gifts they didn’t want or ask for. Joel had seen. Joel had understood. 

Someone else had noticed that you exist, and it had been him. 

What else had you ever wanted?

And in the blink of a desperate, yearning eye, drunk on a man still, you’re throwing yourself at him, pressing your mouth hot and heavy to his, kissing him full on the way you’d dreamt of since you knew to dream of such things.

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#fable of the dog fic #vic fic #joel miller fanfiction #Joel Miller x FMC #joel miller smut #Joel miller angst #the last of us AU

[miserycanary]

MISSION: LOVE KILL  ᡣ𐭩 [trailer]

pairings: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & fem!reader

synopsis: the trailer to my very first full-length series set in a soulmate AU. 

pairings: (applies to future parts) angst, smut, fluff, mutual pining, misunderstandings, rivals to lovers to rivals, featuring Ghost's inability to communicate, graphic mentions of violence, might hint to sexual violence, BARELY PUT TOGETHER, torture, one bed trope, i-will-wait-for-you trope, loving-you-is-like-breathing trope, slowburn (unless I get bored and rush this), poor poor attempt in crack, will add more as we go on

The subtle searing pain on the back of his neck is enough reason for Ghost to hate the idea of soulmates existing. It wasn’t just the fact that he has lived up to his 30s feeling like a fire wasp is buzzing under his skin, it was that the government fully developed their system with pairs in mind. You mean to tell him that he has to have found his partner—who’s probably cities or even continents away—just so that he could fucking own property? Utter fucking bullshit, he calls it. 

‘Nutjobs! The lot of them’

It was also the fact he had to watch his mum’s so-called soulmate almost beat them up to death each day. How could someone whose single purpose in life is to torment them be his mother’s soulmate? Fate either has a weird take on the concept of love and the whole shenanigan or it’s fucking wicked. Either way, the S-word has left a bad taste in his mouth—and memory. He would rather die, not having property—or anything really—to his name if it means that he wouldn’t comply to the fucking standards of pairs. 

Or so he thought because, once again, life is fucking wicked like that. 

When he first broke the news that he would be retiring from the army, he expected his future days ahead full of smooth-sailing lounging. Maybe a cup of tea in hand or even some biscuits if he was feeling fancy. Imagine his shocked face when he inquired with a real-estate agent to finally have something to call home, no longer needing to stay by some cheap hotel with what his little pay could afford, that he cannot fucking do that! 

“Yeah, this would be good. Really nice stuff here,” Ghost gruffs. “Yeah? Well, let’s get started then. Um, here are the paperworks that you need to fill out. Uhh, you just need to input your government code and your partner’s. It is policy that you bring your pair in with you when it comes to legal documents, but I’m sure that we could make an exception for our veteran here,” the agent smiles; one that Ghost did not reciprocate. “I ain’t got a missus with me. Haven’t found them yet.” 

It was a simple explanation, not wanting to dwell too much on his reasons. Before he could even take the papers in his hand, the man retracts. Confusion etched on Ghost’s face while pity is on the man’s. “Oh, I am really sorry but you are legally required to have a partner before you could own property—or anything for that matter.” Ghost looked this agent for a good few minutes, anticipating the ‘sike’ that he desperately wishes to hear but only dead silence echoes. “Surely you could, say, make an except for a veteran?” he nervously chuckles out, trying to weasel his way into a fucking home. Nothing. Dead fucking silence that’s heavy with pity. Ghost loathes it.

Without even saying a word, he turns his back and starts walking towards the car he rented today, because you can’t even own a car in this government! He should have flagged it as weird when the lady in the car shop insists that he should rent first before buying something. So, now he sits in the dingy bar that Soap has dragged him into after he informed the force that he would not be settling anytime soon. After explaining his circumstance, he expected them to react like he did before, but no. They all replied like they knew this. Even saying stuff like, “you didn’t know?” Of course he didn’t! It wasn’t like Ghost was invested in property or anything for that matter while he was serving. All he cared about was surviving each day, and that is it. 

“Aye, cheer up, lad. Life ain’ that bad. Ya’ just gotta get them lassie, and all yer problems would go away,” the Scot on his right drunkenly offers advice—a shit one at that. Did he really think Ghost hasn’t stepped foot on every land they got deployed with heavy hopes that he’ll find whoever he needs to find there? He fucking hates it here. He should have not retired this early if he knew this would happen. Now he needs to go around the world and search for the lassie whose presence—or her lack thereof—is the root of all his problems. 

If finding a needle in a haystack is hard, imagine finding a lady that’s probably moving countries as he speaks with Soap. “Yeah, like that’s fucking easy,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes before lifting his mask just enough to down his shot of whiskey. The fiery burn of the alcohol down his throat is nothing compared to the one on his neck. He would rather have it cut at this point than to go on about this miserable lifetime any longer.

“Should I just cut and peel it off?” he mumbles to no one in particular; probably to Fate if that shit is listening. Seeing that no one else in the rundown bar is really paying attention to him, Soap takes the honour in replying to him instead. “According tae what I’ve seen, jobby pain is hee haw compared tae th' pain ye will feel in yer heart. Doctors say that th' pain goes tae th' heart instead while tripling”. Unprompted, Ghost curses like a fucking sailor. Saying stuff that will probably get him on the government's watchlist if he wasn’t part of the military serving this goddamn country. He risks his life daily and this is what he gets? Ungrateful bastards.

With a slam of the glass on the mahogany table, he stands up with a new profound determination. “Fuck it, I’m finding that missus if it’s the last thing that I do”. “Eyy, that’s the spirit, matie,” Soap drunkenly encourages him, which should have been the first red flag on this idea. Any idea supported by Soap is an immediate botch.

Well, what could go wrong? He’s retired anyway. 

Turns out, many could go wrong. Well, here’s to the fucking shit-show of his life.

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: please give this love!!

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!! Ask is open!

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check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!

#canary’s melodies #cod x reader #cod modern warfare #simon ghost x reader #simon riley call of duty #simon riley x you #simon riley cod #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost riley #simon riley smut #ghost angst #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #cod #cod fanfic #soulmates #one bed trope #angst #ghost smut #cod smut #miscommunication #call of duty

[pink-nubes]

HI NUBE. Eating ur au every day for breakfast lunch and dinner. When/how does Angeal talk things through with Sephiroth? 🥺🥺 Was Sephiroth angry at him too at first?

Thank you for the ask Bubby!! It really took me 10 days to answer this I'm so sorry 😭

So! Unlike Genesis, Angeal actually knows how to make a decent apology. This is actually before they even reach Banora, I feel like Angeal wanted to apologize as quickly as possible, he was carrying a lot of guilt to just keep it in.

After they have Sephiroth and the babies secured they start their way back to Genesis' home. I believe Genesis would have some contacts with people who exported Banora White juice, so they went back on a ship. This should be the first day after they found Sephiroth, they are still processing the whole thing. Genesis is probably staying over in another room, mostly because he feels a bit too overwhelmed to face Sephiroth now, he too also feels guilty, but he and Angeal deal with it in different ways.

I feel like Angeal has grown tired of running away too, he has seen how things turn out when you do that. So I think he decided to face the problem head-on, even if it was difficult for him to do so. He knew that he would regret every second he delayed it.

Sephiroth doesn't respond in such a negative way as he did with Genesis' attempt of an "apology". Even if he was still hurt by Angeal, he doesn't hold such a strong resentment, because well... last thing he remembered Angeal was dead.

He certainly trusts Angeal a bit quicker than he does Genesis, but he doesn't really feel different about them, he really loves them both, even if he is too scared to admit it. He is just afraid to get hurt again.

(And Genesis cares too, Sephiroth is actually wearing his jacket in this c: )

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #final fantasy vii #ff7 crisis core #ff7 rebirth #ff7 remake #sephiroth #ff7 au #genesis rhapsodos #angeal hewley #ags

[themoonchildwhofell]

the elevator

pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

content/warnings: fluff!!, soulmate!au

summary: an AU where you'll see color once you meet your soulmate.

note: hey!!! really wanted to have this written since I've been obsessed with Lizzy Mcalpine's recent album.

"Fuck!" You curse at yourself for sleeping off the 5 alarms you set today. You we're set to meet the head of the Behavioral Analysis Unit for a job opportunity. I mean it wasn't everyday the FBI would offer you a job especially since all you did was login to their server. Okay. I guess "logging in" was a better way of saying it. More like you hacked your way in to gather some information about this weird unsolved crime you listened to in a true crime podcast. It's not your fault you we're wickedly good at coding and that their firewall was ass.

You ran as fast as you can, navigating your way through the horde of people coming and going. Since the world started having soulmates, it was kind of a bummer for you. It started when you just got a pretty mini cooper that you bought with your own savings and was so excited to drive it. Suddenly, the world turned black and white. Everything was dull. You we're kinda expecting it to come when you turn 18 and was shocked that it was 3 years early. Your mom had already told you what will happen and what you needed to do to get back the colors. Since this was an established thing now, a lot of laws were also placed to make sure everyone is safe. One of that would be driving. Since you're now not able to see color, you we're not allowed to drive until you see your soulmate. 10 years later, you still have to push your way through the horde of soulmate-less people the same as you are.

You finally get to the FBI Building in Quantico. As you open the doors, you notice that the elevator was slowly closing in. "Wait!" You shout. Trying to see if the person inside the elevator would stop the doors and wait for you. You sigh a breath of relief as you see the elevator slowly open. You quickly grab your things that you didn't notice fell on the floor when you ran towards the elevator. And ran inside the elevator. You check your phone for the time and see that you still have at least 5 minutes before the meeting starts. You breathe out the air stuck in your lungs not noticing you were holding your breath. You turn to the person who stopped the elevator to thank them.

As soon as you look at the guy beside you, you feel warmth surrounding your whole body. Everything felt like a blur however you didn't feel dizzy. Your eyes start to focus on the most beautiful shade of brown eyes you've ever seen. You try to look around to see if you we're just having a stroke or if this was just a dream. But everything seems to be a lot more vibrant. You we're seeing color again.

"Hi." The man greets you. You turn your head towards him to see the prettiest man you've ever laid your eyes on. He had light brown wavy hair, beautiful eyes, and the nicest smile. "I'm Spencer. I guess we're souimates?"

You smiled back at him and introduce yourself. I guess this wasn't such a bad day after all.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #soulmate au #Spotify

[outromoony]

Love confession

@wolfstarmicrofic | Soulmate AU | Word Count: 683

"Do you believe in soulmates?" The moment those words escaped Sirius's lips, he knew he must have said something wrong. Remus was looking at him with an expression of surprise, his eyes wider than usual. He tried to take back his words. "I mean... of course soulmates exist. Look at James and Lily. They are soulmates, without a doubt."

"Why question the existence of soulmates when you've already found yours?" Remus finally spoke, clearly swallowing the emotions that had gripped him just moments before.

"It's just... I don't know. Aren't soulmates supposed to be reciprocal? If someone matches your soul, aren't you supposed to match theirs as well?"

"You don't think you match Mary's soul?" Remus was looking at him with something like a mix of confusion and pity. "And... no. Soulmates are not always reciprocal. Souls aren't perfect, just like their owners. Nothing in the world is perfect—not magic, not humans, not wizards, and certainly not souls."

"I found my soulmate, but they haven't found me."

"What are you talking about? You've had your tattoo since first year. And then dated the one who caused it years later. You broke up with her, yeah, so what? That doesn't mean she isn't the one for you. Just like soulmates, time isn't perfect either. You will find the right time, Sirius; you always do."

Why was Remus always so good with words? It only made him feel even guiltier when he spoke again.

"Mary... she isn't my soulmate."

"What?" Remus's eyes widened, as if he were just looking at him properly for the very first time. "What do you mean?"

"Mary isn't my soulmate; she isn't my permanent tattoo."

"I-" Remus had to shake the surprise out of his face. "But why would you lie about something like that?"

"Maybe because I barely knew you lot at that time?" Sirius laughed with obvious sarcasm. "I just saw the first pretty girl and said it was her. But it wasn't; I never even spoke to her once all first year."

"Then your tattoo..." Remus began, but Sirius cut him off.

"I didn't lie about that. I did get my tattoo at eleven."

"Then why lie about who it was?" Remus was waiting for an answer, and Sirius wanted to give it to him, he always had. But fuck, it was so hard, to look at him in those gorgeous brown eyes and say the words he should have said a long time ago.

So he didn't; instead, he just lifted the sleeve of his shirt until the black ink was exposed.

Sirius could still remember it as if it were yesterday—the first time he met Remus Lupin. The quiet boy had been annoyed with him and James for causing a rampage on the train. He never said anything, but he would shoot them annoyed glances from behind the book he was reading every five minutes.

When all of them were sorted into Gryffindor, Remus was the last one to join them at the table. There was something about him, from the very first moment, that made Sirius want to be close to him forever. He recalled shoving James out of the chair next to him, making it the only available seat so Remus would have to sit beside him.

The first time Remus ever spoke to him was when he realized where and with whom he had ended up. He sat next to Sirius, avoiding eye contact at first. But then he smirked—a malicious, playful smirk that left Sirius feeling breathless and weak. Then he spoke.

"Ah, the universe has a sense of humor, I see."

Those were the exact same words that were now tattooed on his skin. The same words that had been there since the moment Remus met his gaze for the very first time. Sirius looked up to see Remus's reaction after seeing the tattoo. It was one of shock and disbelief, but as he recovered, Remus rolled up his own sleeve as well, revealing a fresh tattoo still red around the edges:

Do you believe in soulmates?

#wolfstar microfic #wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #remus loves sirius #sirius x lupin #sirius and remus #remus x sirius #sirius being sirius #remus john lupin #sirius orion black #moony x padfoot #moony and padfoot #sirius o black #remus j lupin #marauders microfic #marauders #the marauders #marauders fandom #marauders era #the marauders era #moony #padfoot #dead gay wizards #dead gay wizards from the 70s

[worldweaveralicya]

Fics vs. Original Work

Hello there, keep reading if you want to know the main differences between writing fan fiction and writing completely original works!

First of all, fic writers are writers. There's not a single reason to look down on anyone who uses their words to create something new in this world.

That said, let's get to the main part of this post!

World-building

Of course, that can highly differ if you're writing a fan fic without utilizing the locations from the source material (cough cough AUs cough cough), but usually, you don't have to start at zero when writing a fic. The reader already knows a lot about your story's world and is therefore easily immersed in it.

In completely original works, you'll have to consider world-building way more. Even if your story doesn't take place in a fictional world, you'll have to introduce your readers to the locations/cultures in your story. They won't know what exactly to expect going into the story.

Characters

One of the main reasons for writing or reading fan fiction is to see more of our beloved characters. Therefore, here you don't have to start at zero either. Readers already bonded with the characters. That makes it more important to be consistent with writing the characters because readers already have expectations of them.

With original works, you'll have to introduce the reader to completely new characters - And make them interesting. But you'll have more freedom and won't have to worry about straying too far from the source material.

Plot

While writing fan fiction, part of the fun is exploring "what if" scenarios. But you'll always have the source material to fall back on if you're stuck. You'll know where the story starts and how it'll develop, you'll have an outline of sorts on which you can build.

If you're writing something completely original, you don't have that outline from the get-go. Heck, you'll probably discover new things about your story while you're writing it! Which is a pretty cool thing, but it can get disorienting quickly.

Sooo, should you write fan fiction or original stories?

Eh, depends. I personally think writing fan fiction before writing completely original work might be good for some aspiring writers, because:

You don't have to focus on every single aspect of a story to make your writing functional, so you can improve your writing skills without getting overwhelmed.

There's less pressure to immediately succeed and publish a whole novel, and you can get feedback from fan fic communities online.

You and the reader are already familiar with aspects of your story, which can make writing feel more natural.

However, that's just how it works for me personally, and you might feel differently about writing fan fiction/original works. You can be a veteran writer and still mainly/only write fan fiction. You can be a beginner and write original works to practice. No matter the case, you should do what feels right to you and what you're passionate about.

Until next time, keep weaving words!

#writeblr #writing #fan fiction #fan fiction vs original works #this is my first freaking post and I'm scared pls send help

[lovebittenbyevans]

Mystery Girl

Summary: The press finally found out about you and Toji

Pairing: F1driver! Toji Fushiguro x friend! Female Reader

Warnings: cursed words

Author note: Welcome to Toji world. The continue AU series Life In The Spotlight. Enjoy reading!!

– I don’t do taglist at all

Everyday there is always a new headline about Toji Fushiguro. Everyone loves talking about him a lot. The fans love the formula one driver a lot even though sometimes fans can be a bit much.

As of lately the press all they could talk about is him being a formula one driver but soon enough his career was not the only thing everyone is talking about.

Toji Fushiguro spotted out at tea shop with mystery girl

The Formula One driver was seen with his fifth girl this week at a tea shop. These two seems to be looking a bit cozy with one another

You somehow knew eventually the press would catch you and him together. You have always lived a private life while being friends with Toji but now everything changes.

Toji and you have been in a situationship for a few years now but a part of you wants to call it off. You can already tell Toji will never be committed to you fully but you never told him how you actually feel about him.

You stepped out of your hotel room, pulling your hoodie over your head. You quickly got inside the car, closing the door while cameras were flashing nonstop.

It didn’t take the paparazzi that long to find out what hotel you were staying at. You take off your hoodie and sigh. “It will die down in a few days.” Toji says.

You let out a fake laugh. “If you say so.”

Toji wanted to keep you hidden from the world a little bit longer. He wanted to still lay low with you without the press finding out but it was already too late for that.

“Are you coming to my race this weekend?” He asks.

You glance away from the window and glance at him. “I can’t. I fly back today.”

“What? I thought you were leaving Tuesday.” Toji frowned a bit.

You sigh and mumbles. “I changed my flight.” Getting away from London is exactly what you need right now. You wanted to stay and support him but you just can’t right now.

Toji nods while listening to you. He didn’t know what to say. He thought he would have you here in London much longer.

The driver stopped the car and said. “We are here, Y/N.”

Toji looked out the window for a second and noticed he was at the airport. “I thought you would spend time with me on Tuesday before you leave.”

You started to open the door as you looked at him over your shoulder. “Look, good luck on your race Toji. I appreciate London.” Toji attempted to take your hand, but you pushed the car door shut and exited.

The driver closed the trunk and handed your suitcase to you. “It was great to see you again Roger.” He nodded as you walked inside the airport.

Toji sat in the car watching you walk inside the airport when his phone began to ring. He cleared his throat and answered his phone. “Hello?”

“For someone who is so hard headed sure doesn’t listen to me.” His publicist Ryan said through the phone.

Toji rolled his eyes. “What is it Ryan?”

“Shall we make the statement now about you two or–” Toji hung up the phone feeling his heart race.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

Toji knew this was about to become the new topic of his life besides his career.

#toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro x female reader #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x fem!reader #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #toji x reader #toji x you #toji x female reader #toji x y/n

[dragon-kazansky]

Heart of the Dreaming

Morpheus x Female Reader

Soulmate AU

You are the daughter of Rodrick Burgess. You find out about the "demon" in the basement and decide you want to see it. Things take an unexpected turn when your soulmate connection is made with the man you find down there. You are the one he has been waiting for, and you're being taken away from. Not for long. Dream will protect his soulmate.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Chapter Ten - Our two hearts

☆☆☆

You stand beside Dream while he fixes up some more lf his realm. He had mended quite a lot of it over the last few days, and the residents were starting to return. You had been introduced to many of them by Lucienne.

Dream had chosen this as a good place to start teaching you about the power he has given you.

He was creating more dreams and nightmares, but it was a slow process. It took a lot of concentration from him to do this. He explained everything to you as he worked, but it was still a lot to take in all at once.

He could see at one point that you were growing weary and came to stand in front of you. "Hold out your hand."

You look at him and then hold out your hand. He takes your hand gently in his, cupping it in his palm. His skin is pale against yours. He looks at you with a small smile. You feel something soft in the palm of your hand and look to see something beginning to take shape. A stem. Long and green, full of life. A bud began to take form. Pale pink petals began to bloom. He lets go of your hand as you look at the flower in your hand.

"You made that."

"What?" You look at him.

"I helped, but you made it." He smiles softly. "I didn't even tell you what to make, you did that all yourself. In fact, you have given me an idea."

"Um... what kind of idea?" You ask, looking up at him.

"I want to give you a gift."

You stare at him, hoping he will elaborate, but he doesn't. He just gives you a little grin and then returns back to his work on the dreams and nightmares.

You look at the flower in your hand and bring it to your nose. It smells heavenly. You smile.

☆☆☆

You walk through the palace with Matthew as your guide. Lucienne had called Dream to speak with him privately about something. He told you he would join you again later, so Matthew brought you back to the palace.

You were still holding your flower, admiring it. They way it smelled, the way it looked, the way it felt. You had made this very special little flower.

"Uh, your room is this way." Matthew caws.

You look up and see that you had stopped paying attention and were now veering away from your location.

"Oh, sorry."

You turn around and follow Matthew down the correct hall. You return to your room. Matthew perches on the end of your bed and watches you put your flower in a vase next to your bed.

"You made that?"

"Yes." You smile. "Isn't it pretty?"

You take a seat on your bed and turn to Matthew. He looks up at you with those big black eyes of his.

"Is he a good man?" You ask.

"Who? Dream? To be honest, I haven't known him that long. You should ask Lucienne, though. She's known him a long time." He cocks his head from side to side every so often. "But I think so, yeah."

You smile softly.

"So, are you two married?" He asks.

"What? No! I've known literally days." You look shocked by his question. "Haven't you been following us around all that time?"

"Well, yeah, but... you two seem kind of close."

"Do we?"

"Well, I've seen the way he's been looking at you recently." Matthew tells you that so causally.

"Oh? How does he look at me?"

Matthew is about to tell you, but someone comes into your room unannounced. You look up to find what looks like a scarecrow with a pumpkin for a head. He turns and sees you and then stares at you.

"Oh, uh, I wasn't aware you were in here, lady."

"Merv!" Matthew caws.

"Oh, right, um. Mervyn, at your service."

"Hello," you greet him.

"He's kind of the handyman around here. Which brings the question, what are you doing in here?" Matthew looks up at Merv.

"Uh, well, you see, his highness is working on something, and asked me to come see what kind of things you like. I just didn't think you were in here. Thought I'd coke snoop through your stuff and get some ideas..."

You chuckle softly and look at him. "You came to snoop?"

"Yeah..."

"That's considered rude. Why not just ask me?"

"Uh... I don't know."

You laugh and stand up. "What do you want to know?"

The next fifteen minutes were spent in a game of 20 questions. Mervyn asked you about your favourite colours, favourite animals, favourite flowers, favourite music, favourite foods, what you liked to wear, what you liked to do.

You told him everything.

He was doing this because Dream had asked him to. You were certain if he wasn't so busy with whatever it is Lucienne needed him for, he would have come to ask you all this himself. It made you feel warm inside.

Once Merv had all the answers he needed, he left. You chuckled as he went.

"You'll get used to him." Matthew said to you.

"I'm sure."

"So, you are staying?"

"I am." You smiled. "The Dreaming is my home now."

☆☆☆

Dream sat on his throne with a thoughtful expression on his face. In his lap was a big red book with your name on it. It contained your life history. Lucienne had brought it to him and stated he should read it.

He saw your childhood on these pages. He saw everything Rodrick Burgess did to you. More the lack of what he did for you. His only daughter cast aside. It infuriated Dream how poorly you were treated by that family. Now you were safe within his realm.

Also in the book was the moment you both met. He looks down at the scar as he reads that part. His soulmate. There was hope in his heart that you would see him differently in the future.

He certainly saw you in a different light.

Dream hoped his gift would be the first step to winning you over. He had concluded business with Lucienne ages ago and then gone to start on your gift. However, he was curious to read what was in your book, so here he was.

As he nears the part where he took you away, he heard footsteps entering the grand throne room. He lifted his eyes from the page he was on and found you walking over to him.

His heart skipped a beat.

Dream closed the book and put it down carefully to the side. He stood and made his way down the steps to meet you halfway. He was pleased to see you.

"Hello," he greeted you softly.

"Hello." You smiled. "Have you been busy?"

"Quite."

There was a slight eagerness to him. You could see it in his eyes and his smile as he stood there in front of you. He almost, almost, childlike.

"What's up with you?" You ask softly.

"Why should anything be up with me?" He asks, smiling.

"Because you're smiling. You don't exactly do that." You pointed out.

"Oh?"

You roll your eyes. "Just tell me."

"Come with me." He starts to walk away. You follow him, trying to keep up with his lkng strides. Wherever he was taking you, he was determined to get there quickly.

He led you out of the palace round the back. You had gone past your room, and down a hall, you were certain hadn't been there before. He took you through a door that led outside into a courtyard. Around the courtyard were empty flowers beds. In the centre was a fountain. Opposite the door, you came out of was an arch covered in flowers that led to more flowerbeds.

You look around you. "What's this?"

"Your garden."

You snap your head towards him and state at him in confusion. "My garden?"

He looks at you in amusement. "Yes."

"What do you mean my garden?"

"Exactly that. I've made you a garden," he says proudly.

"When did you have time to do this?" You knew it took a while for him to build his residents in the Dreaming, so a whole garden would have taken hours, you're certain.

"I can create places quite easily. A garden was simple enough. Once Lucienne left my side, I began this for you."

"You have gifted me a garden?"

"Yes."

You take another look around and smile softly. No one has ever given you something so wonderful before.

"Where are the flowers?" You ask softly.

"Ah, well, that's your job," he states.

"My job?"

Dream guides you over to the closest flowerbed and looks down at the rich soil below. He gestures to it with one hand as he raises his eyes to look at you. "You grew one flower with a little bit of help, so I figured gifting you a garden to practise in would help you."

You look at him on awe. "You did this for me?"

"Of course."

"You didn't have to," you say softly.

"I wanted to."

You feel your heart skip. A warmth settles in your chest. He did this for you. He made this gift for you.

"Thank you."

He smiles at you. His blue eyes seem to brighten. He's certainly handsome. You smile.

"I'll practise. I promise. No more gifts, though. You've given me enough."

He chuckles deeply. "No promises."

You can't help but chuckle, too.

Dream leaves you in your garden to tend to other matters for a while. You're kind of glad because you had a lot to think about. You had him to think about.

Suddenly, everything felt like it was in a new light, and you needed to know what it meant.

☆☆☆

@deniixlovezelda - @missdreamofendless - @kpopgirlbtssvt - @meganlpie - @thoughtsfromlayla - @ladyjbrekker

@mwaaaaaugh - @bluespecs14 - @intothesoul - @lady-violet - @navs-bhat - @krahk - @oldsoulmagic

@rubyrose2014 - @lorkai - @roxytheimmortal - @star-maker-rain-dancer - @intothesoul - @gemini-mama - @whotperlinda

@dreamingblueberries - @the-shadow-of-aurora - @novavida - @blackgirlmagicforever

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 - @hopshusushi - @sloppyzengarden - @thecraziestcrayon -

#heart of the dreaming #morpheus x reader #dream x reader #the sandman #female reader #soulmate au #dragon writes

[bloodyshadow1]

Adaine's Furious Fists part 1

Or

Porter takes Adaine under his wing au Day 1

Just a quick story/summary of how things would go if Porter took Adaine under his wing throughout the series. I made a post about how she is the perfect candidate for him with her anger throughout the series and this happened on a whim. Adaine and Porter actually could have had a really interesting story given how their lives actually intertwine a lot if you think about it. So Regardless, read this if you want, I just thought it might be a fun idea.

First day of freshman year porter is scoping out potential prospects in the courtyard not coming up with much.

Puts a maybe down for fabian, he seems more like a grandstander, but he did punch a kid bigger than him without provocation. Still more ropey than strong, but there are dexy barbarians. Gorgug is a likely candidate, he seems soft, but was able to go into a rage and pummel his attacker, Porter could work with that if he had to. But the metal flower and the singing ticks Porter off. Riz is a low maybe to a no, kids being bullied on the first day are usually a good source of rage, but the goblin kid just seems to take it. Fig he doesn't have a chance to see since she sneaks into the teacher's lounge so early. Kirsten is a hard no, religious trauma can bring out a lot of sweet rage, but with Daybreak breathing down her neck it would be hard to get close to her without alerting suspicion. Adaine is a hard no. A tiny trembling high elf wizard with a huge orb she could barely carry, wearing the uniform of the prissy magic school? No way, no how, Porter doesn't even bother to learn her name.

Later that day he sees Adaine have a panic attack over being given detention and he writes her off even harder because it's pathetic. But seeing Fig stand up for her, she's not the ideal barbarian, but she is a young tiefling girl full of rage and Porter see's his opportunity.

Even later he's called to the cafeteria and sees Doreen, Arthur, and Mr. Gibbons dead with corn everywhere. Goldenhorde explains vaguely what happened and tells them to watch. It would be a horrific scene for a bunch of freshman, but Porter has seen and done worse. Still, he doesn't want to talk to Jace right now. The guy is powerful, but too much of a talker for Porter's liking. He knows some of the kids died and were brought back, that's why Arthur and Mr. Gibbons are dead, but little else. He does notice that Doreen's skull is caved in. He thinks of what little he knows about the kids, of the maybes, only fig has a weapon that deals bludgeoning damage so he assumes it was her and now intends to take her under his wing now that she got her first kill.

Once the cops come, he and Jace leave, Porter goes to observe the kids. They all seems broken and beaten, and about to be sick, not surprising. Porter doesn't have any sympathy for them, but he does understand so it's not enough to write any of them off. They're clean enough but the blood on your hands doesn't wash out as easily.

Porter is intent on Fig, because he thinks she's the one who killed Doreen. When Sandra Lynn comes to pick her up he notices that she's an elf, and Fig was dropped off at school by a different elf, yet their daughter's a tiefling. That might explain why she's so angry the first day since she seems like a newly presenting tiefling. Trouble at home can be juicy, especially when fell blood is involved.

Last to leave is the pathetic little high elf girl, you could use her spine like a meter stick with how straight the girl is standing. Porter can understand being sick or scared after your first battle, but he feels like he's within his rights to mock this little elf girl when no one else is around. He has enough of stuck up high elves to deal with as it is, it's good to see them scared.

But speak of the devil, Arianwen fucking Abernant shows up to pick her daughter up and clearly doesn't want to be seen at Aguefort of all places. Porter knows Arianwen and hates her, she's another teacher and their town only has two so they're bound to run into each other from time to time. They're also technically allies through the Shadowcat, who Arianwen is the main liaison. They don't work together exactly, but there's no reason they all can't exchange favors when working on their own evil plans. Arianwen is a cold, stuck up bitch, but she's a powerful stuck up bitch.

The fact that she's hear means the little elf girl is her daughter, now Porter actually feels a bit sorry for the child. It's one thing to be scared after your first battle when you watched people, including your..., 'friends,' might be to early for that since it's the first day, but people your own age die. It's another to be forced to deal with Arianwen afterwards. Porter still finds it pathetic, but is more lenient since he knows what Arianwen is like, especially if the girl is here instead of at the magic school her mother teaches at. that explains the uniform at least.

Then something happens he's too far away to hear, but Arianwen says something to her, likely to berate her. Porter expects the little elf girl to flinch and cower, but to his surprise, she snaps back at her mother despite her fear. It's not much, but despite how afraid she looked only moments ago Porter can see the fury in her eyes when she snaps back at her mother and it's something that Porter wants to see more of.

Later on Goldenhorde/Kalvaxus is given the faculty the full rundown of what happened. Porter knows more than most of his fellow teachers, but when Kalvaxus mentions Doreen being killed he talks about how she was bludgeoned to death by her own ladle. Not Fig's bass like Porter assumed. One of the other members of the faculty, one of the casters that Porter didn't bother to learn the name of, asks which of the kids did it.

Goldenhorde says it was Adaine, for a moment Porter almost asks 'who the fuck is that' out loud. Since he didn't really learn the names of most of them yet. But Tiberia Runestaff, another frigid wizard bitch, chimes in as always 'Adaine Abernant beat Doreen to death with her own ladle? The girl is ten pounds soaking wet and a wizard, why did she use a ladle" clearly angry that one of her wizards would pop their kill cherry with a martial weapon instead of her arcane abilities, but Porter doesn't care.

Learning that Arianwen's daughter was the one who murdered Doreen, and with a ladle is interesting. And moves Adaine from a hard no to a solid maybe in his rage book.

Part 2

#fantasy high #fantasy high spoilers #fantasy high junior year #fhjy #porter cliffbreaker #adaine abernant #the bad kids

[brucewaynehater101]

Just a warning, this au strays a bit close to NSFW territory in that it does talk about Sex Workers, but it does not mention or describe anything specific, mostly just discussing how they operate and some dangers they may face working in Gothem.

So, we all know that Tim would do a lot for the mission right? More than most people would. I mean, just look at Brucequest or the fact he came back after his 16th birthday or his first few months as Robin when he was basically Bruce's nanny. He also has many false life's he can slip into at the drop of a hat such as Alvin Draper or Caroline Hill. So why not add one more to those personas? A woman named Jane Doe, a sex worker who works just outside Crime Alley who everyone knows and knows everyone, but no one truly knows her nor have they ever seen her face, if she even is a woman as she uses all pronouns to get just a little more mystery added to them. Their outfit is constantly changing but also very specific, a short and highly attractive dress that doesn't look cheap and a full face mask in the style of Venetian Carnival Masks, Volto design specifically so that it covers his full face but shows striking blue eyes. Those he has colored contacts that he switches around constantly.

The reason that Tim does this is simple. Information. While Jason may be able to ask the sex workers under his protection questions, they wouldn't be as open with him as they would another sex worker. Tim can get information from them, the clients, the shop owners of the area, the homeless, anyone and everyone who is often on the street or connected to it that none of the other Bats would ever be able to get. And through his... services he gets a lot of information about up coming things thanks to a special discount everyone knows about. If you tell Jane a secret they don't already know, you get 10% off his services. Tell him 2 and you get 20%. So on and so forth, but it has to be things that Tim didn't already know and he's more than happy to hear about which rouges are hiring at the moment and when they stop hiring, after all, what easier way to predict when they are gunna do stuff than by when they get new henchmen?

A lot is known about Jane Doe, yet also nothing is known. Jane doesn't keep any of the money he makes, giving it to the other girls and often extra as well. No one knows where she keeps getting 100s of dollars to just *give* them but she does. Jane has three brothers, a sister, and a father but no mother. They don't know their names, simply knowing them as N, H, C, R, and B. Whoever they are, they're a well off family but they aren't good to Jane, bad enough that Jane feels safer on the corners of Gothem than the comfort of her home. They know from "funny" stories he tells about his family or via them asking about scars he forgets misses when he covers himself in makeup (there are so many, what have they done to you child?) And him always telling something close to the truth.

They know that N is his oldest brother and the only one who cared about him for a long time, who helped him and was the first person who ever made him feel truly happy. They also know that N took something very precious from Jane Doe without Jane's permission and shattered their trust in N. Tim never told them what was taken or that it was Robin, but in a profession like the one he shares with them, they all come to the same conclusion about what was taken and why Jane might seek comfort in this line of work.

They know that H is also his older brother and has hurt Jane often. They know that the slight scar on his neck he covers with a choker or makeup was made by H, as was the bullet scar in his leg. He laughed about that one, telling his friends how H had set down one of his guns after cleaning it, R picked it up and accidentally fired it, and it bounced twice before going clean through Tim's leg. He laughs about how mad H was at both of them and how he yelled at them to not tell B or else, using a mocking tone and laughter that only causes the others to glance at eachother in worry over their friend. Tim makes sure to reassure them that he got to the blood before it dried so it wasn't to hard to clean up. Tim may have read it as anger in Jason's voice when he said to not tell, but actually it was panic and worry about Tim's wound and how Bruce would react.

They don't know much about C, only that she managed to escape the hell hole known as Gothem and lives in another country. Sometimes she comes back for visits and Jane is always very excited when she does.

The other Sex Workers don't like R. They know that R has either threatened Jane with sharp objects or actually harmed her with them many times but has never gotten in trouble for it. Any time Tim has some left over injuries from patrol, he plays it off as either R or H getting agressive with him again and tries to calm them by saying, "oh come on. Both of them have only tried to *actually* kill me twice! It's fine guys, they won't seriously injure me." While having 5 stitches in his arm.

Jane doesn't talk about their Dad much, always getting quiet and looking away when he's brought up. They ask if B has ever hit him and Jane says, "he doesn't hit me anymore." And all of them want to kill him. They want to kill all of them (except maybe C) and bury their bodies where they'll never be found.

Of course, none of the Bats know about Tim's other nightly activities and where he gets his info from, simply shrugging and moving along. Tim is terrified of any of them accidentally finding out. But unfortunately that day could be coming soon as one of the workers goes to The Red Hood and grabs him by the jacket saying, "you're supposed to protect us right? That's what you promised us, isn't it? Saftey? Well one of the others, Jane, is in deep trouble. Their family is gunna *kill* them. Do whatever you need to do to keep Jane safe from those monsters, we'll tell you what we know, but stop them before she's just another dead body in Gothem Harbor. Do we need to pay you? We'll pay you however much it takes for you to make them pay."

This does remind me of a few fics that go over Tim's "Caroline" identity combined with the idea that Bruce was worse to Tim during his Robin years. Some fics do go into Tim having to go so far as actually having sex with people while some don't.

There are also a few fics of Tim going undercover in Crime Alley as a stripper, cocktail server, sex worker, or other when Red Hood finds out and loses his shit.

The idea of Tim using a fake identity to vent about his family issues is a really cool concept! It would allow him to see how the actions done against him were shit and not okay. He may have the mindset that his trauma is fine because it happened to him, but the separation of identities may help start that realization process. I'm also all here for the identity shenanigans of someone trying to save Jane from her family and accidentally going to one of the people who's hurt them. Lovely amounts of mixed emotions there.

This fic/AU would need to be careful to address both the trauma of Tim selling himself at such a young age as well as still treat sex workers with respect, individuality, and care. It would also be cool to see how the inner workings of the sex industry may be affected by Gotham (such as rogues, toxins, corruption, wealth disparity/poverty, etc).

But yeah! Lots to explore in this AU. I wonder if Tim, in this one, cares about pronouns or gender identity. Does he enjoy crossdressing, does he experiment with his gender identity, and does he make distinctions? I think it would be cool to indicate he's closer agender but is fine with whatever. I like to imagine, in this AU, that he simply doesn't care what gender identity he's perceived as unless that identity needs a specific gender.

Anyways, I am curious about how Red Hood reacts to his characterization by Jane. I wonder if she seems to be wary or distant from him before he finds out that's Tim. Hopefully, Jason tries not to take Jane's hesitance personally. Just because Red Hood is established as a protector doesn't mean that Jane would trust him. They may have their own reasons/experiences not to that has nothing to do with the anti-hero.

#dc comics #tim drake #dc universe #thank you for the ask!!!! #jason todd #dc au #caroline hill

[yuri-is-online]

Okay so Trey in the Blotpocalypse timeline or where Yutu comes from also Overblotted right??

And I like to imagine he became an extreme sadist or really really evil once he overbloted, and his Yutu does NOT buy the stories of Trey being actually a very chill and “I don’t want problems, don’t involve me with whatever shenanigans you have” guy.

And when goes to the timeline of now he just.

“Wait, this guy fr??? I saw this guy overbloted and being a sadist maniac, the FUCK you mean he is just the son of the baker”

¬‿¬ you read my mind camrastuff. Overblot Trey is a sadistic bastard, and his children are three of his favorite people to pick on... because yeah the original idea for Trey! Yutu passed peer review, and Furubatsu was kind enough to give us the names Yutres and Yushi for the other two triplets. You will regret giving me this power because I am going to use it to hurt you ψ(｀∇´)ψ

notes: they/them used for Yuu, for context on the fyuuture kid au can be found here and here. This post is heavier on the angst than the other Yutu posts and contains references to gore, depression, and major character death. Please engage responsibly.

They grew up associating home with violets.

Yuu would always keep a few plants on their bedroom windowsill, but the violets spilled all over the house. "They remind me of your father." They would always say, with a gentle look in their eyes that turns sad when they reach for the memories that just aren't there. As the triplets grow, they take turns caring for them so Yuu can rest and wonder about what that man was like and how Yuu came to associate him with the flowers. Yutres is the one who brings up their association with newlyweds and wonders if they were planning a wedding.

"There would be a record of it if they got married." Yushi says it like she's searched for the license already, and knowing his sister like he does Yutu is pretty sure she has. Yutres pulls her blanket around herself in embarrassment and Yutu finds himself speaking up before she can feel any worse.

"She was just saying it's romantic." Yutu doesn't like fighting with his sisters. He likes it even less when they fight with each other, everyone who isn't the two of them says it's because he's the oldest. That he has an instinctive need to protect them as their big brother, . "A lot of the things they say about dad are very romantic." Yushi rolls her eyes, but doesn't disagree. Domestic is the word Yutu would prefer to use for how Yuu talks about his father. They think about him most when they're cooking or taking care of him and his siblings. It's not enough to give him a clear picture of the man, but it's enough to feel like he might have loved him. He's willing to go with what Yushi theorized after looking far harder than he or Yutres, that Yuu ran away from home and settled down with their dad, only for him to die and ruin the good future they were trying to build with each other. It does nothing to dissuade Yutres from seeing it as romantic, or Yushi from blaming him for all their problems. Yutu refuses to take sides, forever the peacemaker destined to drown his own opinion under the weight of not wanting to make anyone mad. Deep down though, he doesn't care about what his dad was like. He just wishes someone was there to help, to make things less financially strained so he could play a sport at school and maybe make some friends.

When he meets his father he takes it all back. He wishes he never met the man at all.

Yutu per tradition is the oldest sibling, Yutres is the second born and Yushi the third. I like to think they have darker colored hair since Trey's green hair is rather dark, their eyes are "normal" for Yuu's world but turn yellow when they arrive in Twisted Wonderland. Yutres inherits Trey's height and poor eyesight, and she's deeply insecure about both due to the large amount of bullying she received growing up. Yutu is also tall, just not as tall as his sister while Yushi is at least a half foot shorter than her siblings and enjoys complaining about it. She accuses her siblings of stealing her height in the womb, but says it's ok because she got all the brains.

The kids grew up extremely poor. Three kids on a single parent's salary is no joke, Yuu was deeply stressed for a lot of their younger years. None of the fyuuture kids like Yuu's home town but the triplets especially hated it there. They felt like animals in a zoo or cast members of a freak show with how acceptable it was to point and stare at them. When they moved away once Yuu managed to secure a place with a better middle school for them to attend they were ecstatic. It was a nice change of pace to just be bullied for being poor.

They spent a lot of time as children playing made up games with each other, a lot of them revolved around cooking since Yuu seemed to really like doing that. They used to run pretend restaurants, or ice cream parlors, or cafes, anything that served food really. They always colored the menus together and asked Yuu to give them good reviews (5 stars for the babies obviously, yuu has a bunch of them in a folder somewhere they look at when things get rough)

I really like the idea of Trey being with a Yuu who has a vague interest in candy making? Because it's a similar interest to baking but still very different and I really like the idea of one of the triplets being interested in it. As the three get older, Yutu and Yutres learn as much about cooking and baking as they can, from Yuu, from the internet and the local library while Yushi applies herself more to experimenting with making things like taffy and caramel. She convinces her siblings to sell their product on the down low at school to bring in some money they can hopefully use to start a business someday. She's the most business minded of the three of them, Yutu privately thinks she has the biggest personality in an effort to make up for being the shortest.

The three of them are obviously major sweet tooths, but they disagree about what desert is best. Yutu loves custards and ice creams, Yutres thinks cake is best especially if it's fluffy, and Yushi likes things made with jams and candied fruits. It made trying to do something for their birthday a nightmare until Yuu realized they all loved hot chocolate and was able to convince them to have a "tea party" for their birthday where they got copious amounts of hot chocolate and some homemade cookies. It's a memory they all treasure and recreate when they arrive in Twisted Wonderland.

That arrival is much easier on the three of them than it is on a lot of the other Yutus. It helps having two other siblings you're deeply connected to when learning you're from another world, your parent is dying from a curse, and that magic is real but only two of you have it. NRC has ceased to be a boys only or even a mage's only school at this point, but it's still hurts for Yutres to learn that her siblings have something special about them while she's still just her. Crewel takes her aside to speak with her as the ceremony goes on without him, asking her if she thinks poorly of Yuu for just being themselves and Yutres can't fathom why she would do that. "Because that's what you're doing to yourself. Your siblings won't love you any less and you won't be of any less help. You are your parent's child after all." Something that Crewel sees as being made all the more true when two first year Heartslabyul students burst through the door and start whining for their sister to do their make up.

Yutres draws a Spade on Yutu to represent a knight's spear, because she thinks of her brother as someone who wants to protect people, and she's deeply grateful for all of the times he's stuck up for her. Yushi gets a diamond because Yutres thinks her sister is very classy and well put together, "diamonds are a girl's best friend or something" is how she words it, but that trademark Clover smirk is there to suggest there's more to it than that. She settles in to Ramshackle almost immediately after meeting the ghosts, who are overjoyed to have another Yuu in their happy haunt.

Heartslabyul suits her siblings well enough. Yutu thinks all these rules are exhausting but he tries his best to do his best so as not to rock the boat. Yushi is more or less the same, but she sort of wants to become Dorm Leader so she can throw a bunch of Unbirthday Parties because those sound fun. The lack of fresh food available to cook with is a drag sure, but she's sure she can at least find some good teas to serve... she just feels like the people around her could use some hope and she drags Yutu into figuring out how to find it.

That journey is long, at the end of it are six known phantoms wreaking havoc on their father's world and one that so few people know about they aren't sure he exists. At some point, all three triplets join a mission to the Queendom and debriefed by S.T.Y.X. about the phantom that roams there.

"Your quest is not to kill the Queen or her mini boss level minions." Idia is a strange person, Yutu can tell he's on the same page as his sisters without bothering to look. "You're just there as support for the front line mages and to get a realistic idea of what they're fighting against." He lets his hands fall to his sides and drops eye contact, chewing on his lower lip as he hesitates. Finally he takes a deep breath and turns towards the display, flicking through footage of the various monsters he had been talking about earlier. "A phantom is a husk using what's left of an overblotted mage to find and feed off of new magic sources. They can get very creative in how they do that." He focuses on a video of the Phantom Hatter, enlarging it so the triplets can get an uncomfortable look at it's facial features and know why Idia was struggling to talk to them. The monster is tall, with glasses and a top hat that would be sort of comical if he wasn't overseeing a table filled with rotting cakes and pastires for a party attended by corpses in varying states of decay. "This one talks. Don't listen to a word it says."

Trey has lines during lessons and in various other places suggesting he could never obey the Queen, and since Riddle is more Queen now than himself Trey has a degree of independence when compared to the other card soldiers. The S.T.Y.X. staff classify him as a rogue phantom and highly dangerous. He can talk, he uses his unique magic to make people confused about their surroundings, to mimic the voices of their loved ones and lure them towards packs of monsters where he'll watch silently as they die. He's picky about who he "invites" to his mad tea party, it's difficult to get a drone close enough to his base to analyze who the victims are.

Idia was vehemently against sending the Clover triplets anywhere near an area that the Hatter could be. That's beyond cruel to them and extremely dangerous, he just knows that Trey will find them and that it won't go well. Phantoms corrupt the natural instinct of the person they're feeding off of, and while Idia thinks Trey was always a sketchy bastard he knows that he was a domestic one too. If there's enough of him left to recognize his children... his worries are soothed by Ortho promising to keep an eye on them and the fact the mission isn't in Trey's usual territory.

It doesn't help. A familiar sees the strange looking children and speeds off to fetch its master. The Phantom Hatter doesn't show himself immediately, he watches, waits for everyone to relax just a little bit before he strikes, chasing everyone into one of the Queendom's many hedge mazes and isolating them from one another. The stress causes Yushi to discover her unique magic as she desperately tries to feel for her siblings, she is able to form a brief telepathic connection with someone she knows and see things as they are. She can tell that Yutu and Yutres are in danger, and decides to run for her brother first. She's sure he'll be half way to their sister by the time she finds him, he's the oldest. He always knows what to do. And while she's right she's also wrong, by the time she finds Yutu he's already found Yutres, but someone else has too. The Hatter doesn't blink. He doesn't breathe either she notices, but her sister still shrinks back, pulling an injured Yutu closer to her.

"Well that's just rude." It's not a voice they've heard before, but he's somehow so familiar. Like they heard this voice before, sometime long ago, whispered into the warmth that existed before they were torn from this world to be born in another one. "I'm just trying to say hello." Yushi doesn't think he's noticed her yet, she focuses on holding her breath and looking for a way out. Yutres maintains eye contact with the monster as she applies a potion to Yutu's wound and prays, to who or what she doesn't know, that he heals. "Have we met before? You seem awfully familiar." The monster summons bones up from the ground, closing in around the triplets and knocking Yushi out of hiding as the phantom looks over his shoulder to tip his hat and wink. It's an opening Yutres immediately takes, throwing Yutu behind her and jumping to hit at the monster's rib cage, landing a blow that causes a sickening crunch.

"RUN!" Yushi screams, she thinks she grabs her sister and brother's hands and drags them on instinct and adrenaline back to the base camp until a senior smites down the phantom the Hatter had mimic her sister and takes an unconscious Yutu to the medical tent.

Ortho tries to track down Yutres, but he's unsuccessful. It's months later when Idia finally thinks to send drones to check what's left of the Clover family bakery and finally finds her body. She's been laid in a children's bed, covered with a blanket. He can't tell if what's left of Trey couldn't bear to look at his dead daughter or if the phantom thought he was just putting her to sleep. It's too much even for Idia, he personally retrieves her and helps the surviving kids plan the funeral. It's not the first time he's felt responsible for getting someone's child killed, but it's the most personal.

Yutu's numb. Yushi is looking to him for guidance, and he doesn't know what to say to comfort her or to make it better. They're missing a part of themselves and are much too quick to agree to Idia's plan to send them back in time, their parents are the last thing on their minds they just want their sister back. When Yushi arrives in the Queendom she's able to tell where everyone is and go searching for them. When Yutu arrives at NRC he's terrified he's lost his only remaining sister, and that's before he has to deal with his dad.

Trey is a freak, but he's a domesticated freak. A domesticated freak who is deeply in denial about being in love with you or anything other than normal. He appreciates that Riddle feels comfortable enough to invite you to Heartsabyul, whether it's for a casual tea or for an Unbirthday party since it saves him the trouble of having to do it himself and you're always so eager to help... but then Yutu arrives and suddenly your attentions are a bit split. You still come around for the parties, but casual teas are becoming less and less. He tries to tease you about it, asking where else you're going to get your cakes from and that's when you mention it. "Oh Yutu bakes a lot and he's really good at it. I always feel bad for bothering you so, it's nice to not have to do it so much anymore." Oh? Well isn't that just cute, Trey isn't bothered by this at all. He might not think there's a difference between something bought from a store or something "made with love" but he certainly thinks there's a difference between him and another guy. And he wants you to choose him.

Yutu is terrified of his father. He still has nightmares of what happened to Yutres, and he's afraid he's lost Yushi now too. No one had much to say about Trey in the future, most all of his friends were either dead or phantoms and while Grandpa Crewel was enthusiastic in describing his interest in science he didn't give them much backstory. Idia never spoke poorly of him, and tried to impress on him that what killed his sister was a monster using his dad's magic and not actually his dad but when that thing kills your sister...

He doesn't know what to make of him. Trey's extremely chill so long as no one is causing trouble, he convinces himself to keep an eye on the Phantom Hatter, but he doesn't see any signs of that. The guy is really weird about teeth, and definitely in denial about his feelings for his parent but he is, weirdly enough, closer to that word Yutu would have associated with him before he came to Twisted Wonderland than he is anything that would describe that monster. He's domestic, a guy who looks like he'd be more at home in socks and sandals than surrounded by corpses. He overworks himself and takes naps on the Guest Room couch, he confesses that he was hoping to join some sort of cooking club but settled for the science one, and the way he looks at Yuu when he thinks no one is looking is so soft Yutu wants to choke. Idia's original warning, that a phantom isn't a person anymore and that the monster will do anything to convince you otherwise. But what would his sisters think if he ever thought about forgiving him?

"Is there a specific reason you wanted to grow violets?" Trey tries to keep his voice down, but Yutu still starts when he hears him. He didn't jump 10 feet in the air this time, so he likes to think he's making progress, though towards what he doesn't know. Yutu looks at the flowers, Trey can't see his eyes, but his grip on the watering can is tense. "Not judging, just curious." He tries to soothe him in the same tone of voice he would one of his younger siblings, and it does seem to work somewhat. "I really like them myself."

"My sister..." Yutu chokes on what sounds like a half sob, and Trey immediately regrets trying to help. "My sister really liked them she... she always thought they were romantic." The past tense catches Trey's attention immediately and something in him aches, he couldn't imagine what it would be like to lose one of his own siblings and he does talk about them a lot... was he being insensitive? Did he hurt Yutu by reminding him of his sister?

"Are they?" He isolates a few particularly well tended blooms and snips them to add to his basket next to Riddle's strawberries. "I'm not really good with those sorts of things." Yutu snorts, and Trey can't help but feel slighted somehow. "To me they just taste good."

"They taste good?" Yutu squeaks. He sounds indignant and Trey just shrugs.

"Yeah, candied flowers are really popular in the Queendom of Roses. I really like candied violets, ha when I was a kid I didn't realize you needed to cook them first and my parents had to stop me from eating them off the ground." There's quiet for a moment, Trey wonders if he's pushed it too far but Yutu's mouth finally lets out a small noise before he breaks into loud peels of laughter that sound like a weight is lifting off of Yutu's shoulders.

The first thing Yutu thinks when he hears about his father eating flowers is how Yushi tried to do the same thing when she was little. The second is how funny Yutres had thought that was, how she had smiled and laughed and Yutu cannot keep himself from laughing as well. How did this man become that creature? Did the loss of his home hit him that hard? Yutu doesn't know, but he's not afraid anymore. Some of his tension lifts, Yuu tells Trey during one of their hang outs that he's started speaking about his sisters more and that they now know he's a triplet (trey: wow those poor parents yuu: i know right? i could never). He starts getting into lighthearted (from his perspective anyway) spats with Trey over who can bake better. Trey says he has no complaints because he doesn't have to make as much for Unbirthday Party's now but ooooooh he'll be so upset if you say you think Yutu is better than him. If that was the case why's the little shit so interested in listening to what he has to say huh? And how did he pick up on Trey's feelings enough to reassure him he's got nothing to worry about?

The truth about Yutu is revealed during another monster attack. It happens during a science club trip to Crane Port, the sky grows eerily dark, and Yutu tenses out of instinct. Everyone else is confused, is it going to rain? And why is Yutu sprinting away from the group like a bloodhound with a scent? Rook is the one to give chase, Trey tagging along begrudgingly determined to keep the two of them from causing more trouble. But a bunch of trouble is exactly what they find, a monster that resembles an undead, overblotted version of Yuu is thrashing about as a group of... mages they don't recognize attack them. Trey and Rook prepare to help when Yuu notices them and their eyes narrow onto Trey and two of the unfamiliar looking mages absolutely lose it.

Yutu's disguise is knocked off, and Yushi was never wearing one to begin with so it's difficult to deny the similarity between the two now that Trey has a look at them. It's the eyes that he notices first, yellow just like his but bereft of glasses. Yuu's story about Yutu being a triplet rings dully in his mind as the fake Yuu fades from view, banished back to wherever it came from and Trey closes his eyes to do some math.

"There's one of you missing." It's not the statement they're expecting clearly, all justifications for their existence die on their tongues as they exchange a painful glance. Yushi was able to use her magic to see some of what Yutu's life was like at NRC, and she warmed up to what she saw of her dad much faster than Yutu did. Yutu doesn't want to be the one to tell Trey he killed their sister, but he also doesn't want to push that burden onto Yushi so he steels himself, and explains his story. Trey listens and he thinks. He's silent, arms folded as Yutu stumbles through his story before he interrupts his grief by pulling both of his children into his arms. He's a big guy, but they're big kids and he can barely get his arms around them both but he still feels empty.

Trey hates doing work he isn't responsible for, but he loves his family and doesn't see them as constant work. Three children? That Yuu was forced to raise by themselves? Unacceptable, the closer he has been getting to Yuu the more plans he's made for the future he wants with them. He knows what he wanted for these kids, and none of it is what they're describing. Trey might not want to be the best of all time, but he still wants to be the best he can be. Changing the future sounds like a big ask, something that Trey Clover should see as none of his business and easy to ignore. But it's not, it's different when it's his own family. If Idia thinks he's scary now just wait until three Clovers show up on his doorstep demanding he get in their party and stop the apocalypse. Four technically if you count yourself, something they really hope you do.

#<3 asks #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #trey clover x reader #trey clover x yuu

[mins-fins]

AUDERE EST FACERE. — [Z.CL]

❝to dare is to do..❞

SYNOPSIS: where crown prince zhong chenle, forced into a marriage with a woman he doesn't like and riddled with complicated feelings, finds solace in the palace's very own medic, you.

PAIRING: zhong chenle x male!reader

GENRE: royalty au, not really modern but not really medieval time period either, childhood friends to lovers, fluff, angst, kinda humorous, prince!chenle x medic!reader, kinda forbidden relationship, ambiguous/open ending

WARNINGS: might not be accurate to medieval times, death, blood & gore, forced marriage, mentions of disease, unhealthy ways of grieving, a lot of mentions of violence

WORD COUNT: 22.7k

NOTES: woah woah woah!!! this whole fic broke a whole bunch of isa records…….. hiiii jj 😊 hi chenle stans 😊 hello nct male reader community 😊😊😊 i hope im serving the isanator nation well (consists of 2 ppl) ANYWAY this is one of the works i am genuinely most proud of because for one, it's my longest ever work, and for two, i'm just so happy with how it turned out!! this was originally meant to be like 16k words but then i got carried away and now this is here 🙁 i truly apologize for how long this is but PLEASEEE dont get bored i swear it gets good 😞😞 and i did write ambiguous ending but it does seem pretty straightforward so um… im sorry for that, this fic would've been MUCH MUCH LONGER than 22k words but i already beat my former wc record so i just cut a bunch of other unnecessary scenes 😶 alright thats enough of my yapping!! ily jj my bsf ever ty for listening to me ramble abt this endlessly in ur inbox 😊😊💗

CHENLE REMEMBERS IT LIKE IT WAS YESTERDAY. his little feet sneakily took him away from the huge meeting room full of intimidating adults talking about gibberish, and slowly, they lead him to a much more enjoyable place. at the time, seven year old chenle couldn't figure out why his parents needed such a big meeting room, or why all of these important people came to the castle every few months, to him, those strangers were nothing but tryhards, greedy men and women who were never pleased no matter how much they were offered.

seven year old chenle could never truly figure out why his parents insisted on having him sit around with these other important adults, listening to them talk about the economy, kingdom relations, marriage, all this stuff that isn't interesting to seven year old boys.

the young prince found his feet leading him to a place of familiar comfort, the palace's own rose garden. he could never truly explain why the air surrounding the abundance of roses ever became of comfort to him, because roses are anything but comfortable to hold, but whenever he felt like father and mothers fights were getting too aggressive, he could just come here and everything would be okay.

the gardener, a woman by the name of mrs. qian, was always sweet to chenle, much sweeter than his father usually was. her son, qian kun, is basically chenle's older brother, the older boy often comes around whenever his mothers in work, and he tells chenle stories of what goes on at the village schools, the newest gossip and adventures he's gone on with his friends.

chenle often finds himself interested in the life of a commoner, they're all just so intriguing.. he can't believe the stories most of the time, but he is homeschooled, and has been holed up in this castle for as long as he can remember, so how he can prove or debunk any of these things? he just thinks that non-royals are some of the most entertaining people he knows, they're all so hilarious.

as soon as the seven year old chenle stepped into the rose garden, a feeling of relief seeps into his body. he takes in a deep breath, and finally allowed for his shoulders to slump, much too tired of having to keep his back straight all this time.

he lets himself relax into the atmosphere, finally away from the suffocated room full of adults seemingly speaking a language he could not understand. if that's what kings and queens have to do, chenle thinks he'd rather not take the throne.

the seven year old prince allowed for his eyes to scan the garden, it's empty. well that makes sense, mrs. qian isn't in today and neither is her son, they went on a holiday. he sighs to himself, he misses kun's company, but alas, no one is around.

chenle makes his way around to a specific rose bush, it has the most roses out of the bunch. seven year old chenle used to think the rose bushes were magic, the roses always grew so quickly, one day there'd be none and the next there'd be hundreds, it was purely shocking to the young prince.

chenle, as always, began tracing the shape of the roses with his finger. he finds them pretty, as he does all flowers. it might sound like he's being basic, but roses are probably his favorite of the bunch. they're just so beautiful, and most importantly— they're sharp.

but the seven year old chenle is startled out of his rose admiring due to a shout.

"hey! don't touch those!"

the young prince furrowed his eyebrows at the words, what's wrong with touching the roses? it's not like there are garden rules or anything. when chenle turned to the source of the shout, that's when he sees the person.

you, it was you. adorable seven year old you who ran up to him as quickly as you could, you stopped as soon as you made it his way, panting like you had just run a marathon. "don't touch the roses".

the young chenle blinked, puzzled. "why can't i touch them? i'm the prince you can't tell me what to do—"

"they're sharp! you're gonna hurt yourself see?" you pointed at chenle's hand, and he looked down, eyes widening as he came across the sight. his finger was bleeding, oh that's bad. "roses have thorns, you have to be careful".

chenle had no idea who you were then, but all he knew was that you were worried. your eyes were watering, as if you were going to burst into tears at any moment, and you took a deep breath as you slowly began freaking out over the small cut on the prince's index finger. "oh uh— i didn't even notice".

"it's okay really, god i have a bandaid don't i? hold on.." you mumbled, worried as ever as you began rummaging through your pockets, trying to find a bandaid to patch up the prince with.

"it's fine it's just a small cut i.." chenle paused in between his words, clearing his throat. "who are you?"

right, you were still a stranger, chenle had no idea who you were then, for all he could know, you had broken into the palace or something. you finally stopped looking through your pocket, your face went a bright red as you faced the prince again. "um my name is y/n, i'm the—"

"y/n honey? where did you run off to?"

now chenle recognized that voice, that was the voice of the palace's sweet medic. mrs. l/n had a voice that was like honey, she was easily one of chenle's favorite staff members, not only because she would always be there to wipe his tears when he scraped his knee, but she always offered him delicious candy. "oh! there you are!"

"good afternoon mrs. l/n" chenle politely greeted, and you let out a small sigh of relief at the sight of your mother, though that look of worry was still prominent in your eyes.

"chenle, how are you doing?" she reached over to ruffle the young prince's hair, which he accepted happily, giggling at the gesture. "i'm doing good, ma'am".

"he has a cut on his finger" you muttered to her, and a small 'ah' leaves her lips as she finally realized what was going on. "i wanted to help him but i didn't have any bandaids" you seemed disappointed in yourself, as your gaze immediately lowered to the floor.

"oh sweetie, it's okay" your mother shook your shoulder, reassuring you. "just remember to call me before running off".

"i'll remember, sorry".

the young prince blinked at the sight before him, though he continued to smile at the sight of your mother. "sorry for yelling at you, your highness" you muttered in your low voice, and all chenle did was shake his head, waving you off.

"it's alright you were just trying to help" chenle replied, he finds seven year old you to be the epitome of adorable, just the cutest person in the world.

"let's get you that bandaid yeah?"

chenle nodded, you nodded, and the two of you proceeded to follow your mother out of the garden and to her office.

when chenle thinks back to this moment, the moment he first met you, he likes to compare it to an explosive, just waiting to be lit, just waiting to be set off and destroy everything. when he thinks back to the first moment he met you, chenle can't help but reminisce about it.

after your mother helped him with his cut, the two of you.. talked. you talked about things all seven year old boys talk about, and it was one of the highlights of chenle's day, though he kept trying to make you drop the formalities and call him by his first name, you vehemently disagreed.

the two of you became friends (and just chenle calling the two of you "friends" was enough to almost send seven year old you into cardiac arrest), a royal and a commoner, but chenle never saw it that way, chenle has never seen it that way. a friend is a friend, regardless of status or their economic situation. yes chenle is at a great advantage, being the prince of the kingdom you lived in, but he never held it over you, he isn't like that.

you were— are a special friend to chenle. sometimes, it feels like the two of you have known each other your whole lives. you mean much more to him than he actually lets slip, but he'll never let that be known, even under kun's watchful eye and jisung's insistence on knowing if you two really are just "friends".

chenle spends a lot of time thinking about the day you two first met, it's like a looping episode of a show in his head.

"chenle? did you even hear me?"

no response.

a grunt of frustration is sounded in the room, but the prince doesn't react, much too busy zoned out as a specific memory replays in his head for the seventh time that hour.

"chenle! pay attention!"

the slam of a hand against the table, paired with the loud shout is enough to snap the now twenty one year old crown prince out of his little dazed memory recalling session. chenle startles, but he quickly lets his face relax, sighing as he rejoins the conversation he'd previously zoned out on. "what?"

chenle's mother pinches the bridge of her nose, an exasperated sigh escaping her lips. "marriage, chenle, that's what were talking about".

oh god, chenle resists the urge to groan. he isn't exactly on board with this whole marriage thing, but then again, he has no other choice, his father is gone and he's next in line for the throne, this is how it goes for each royal family, he should just suck it up and deal with it head on. "yeah yeah, sorry, i didn't sleep much last night".

it's not exactly a lie, these days usually have chenle plagued with some sort of sleeplessness, but that isn't the main reason he was zoned out, obviously. "alright.. anyway, i talked with the zhu's, we agreed that you and their daughter, yinuo, are to marry".

chenle recognizes the family name, unfortunately, he doesn't exactly recognize their daughter. "you're marrying me off to a stranger? what about the girls i actually know, suyin? jia? mingxia? they're actually my friends, i'd be much more comfortable with them than a princess i've never met".

"marriage doesn't work like that, chenle" the words are enough to make chenle grit his teeth, he bites his tongue, though. "all you have to do is merely get along with her enough that it looks like you're in love at the wedding, rule the kingdom, and have children".

chenle raises an eyebrow, rocking back and forth in his chair. "that sounds a tad bit dystopian, mother".

the older woman does nothing but narrow her eyes at chenle, a look he's become used to receiving from her at this point. "it's just how everything goes, le, i don't know what to tell you".

chenle bites his inner cheek, looking everywhere else in the room. he always knew marriage was a custom, if not out of true love, it would be out of convenience. chenle had been given so much time to go find a woman to fall in love with, but he didn't find it that easy, maybe he just has too many requirements when it comes to love. he doesn't exactly support the whole thing about creating new heirs, but he was born into this family for this reason, what is the point of being a king if not sacrificing his freedom for the happiness of others?

chenle has always known that he wouldn't exactly enjoy this part of his life, and his father just had to go early, he is very much upset, but he doesn't disclose those feelings to anyone. after his long minutes of silence, chenle stands up from the table, again facing his mother. "yes yes i get it, mother" he mutters, making his way over to his mother and pressing a kiss to her cheek, realizing that she was trembling in anxiousness. "don't worry about me, i'll be fine".

but would he really? chenle can't exactly determine that.

"HOW DID YOUR LITTLE MARRIAGE CONVERSATION GO?" QIAN KUN cannot contain his interest, immediately finding chenle and inquiring about his upcoming marriage. chenle can always go to kun to talk about things troubling his mind, the older is a person of solace for him, a comfort in this big castle that seems to be swallowing him whole. chenle is glad he has kun, even with how much he does tease him, he's truly grateful for the older. "whose the lucky lady?" the words are enough to get a groan out of chenle, who shoved his nose into his book.

"zhu yinuo".

kun's eyes widen, clearly he recognizes that name. "of azerene?"

chenle clicks his tongue, not sparing the older a glance. "yes, that one".

the older male hums, merely glancing at the crown prince. "why do you sound so uninterested? marriage should be a fun topic for you".

his teasing tone doesn't breeze past chenle, but the younger doesn't comment on it, focusing on the topic of the novel in his hands. "not when it's with a women i don't know, i'm just being placed into a union with a stranger, a stranger who i'm then going to have make babies with so that the treasurable zhong family lives on for generations and generations".

"well isn't that the whole point of royal families, though?" kun asks absentmindedly, it seems he meant to say that in his head, seeing as how he slaps a hand over his mouth immediately after the question escapes his lips, but chenle doesn't mind, getting offended over such a question is the last of his worries. "..sorry".

"it's alright" chenle responds, his voice a low echo in the expanse of a room. "it's how most things go anyway, i should know better than to question it".

"i just don't think it's fair" chenle only gives a mere hum, though he notices kun's tone of concern. "yeah you're supposed to create heirs at the end of the day, but not even with someone you love?"

"you ask too many questions".

kun scoffs, turning to chenle with a look of betrayal in his eyes. "i'm just saying what your thinking, chenle, i worry about you".

chenle, who sighs silently, finally closes his book and gives the older an indistinguishable look. "you don't have to worry about me, i'll be fine, i always am".

a lie, one as clear as day too. chenle doesn't exactly know how to explain what he feels, sometimes it feels like everything is bubbling up slowly, closing in on him and suffocating him to death. he assumes it's normal to feel like this, especially with people who don't talk about how they feel, but chenle doesn't know how to bring it up to people without making everything weird.

it's all just complicated.

chenle finally stands up, running a hand through his hair and folding the page of his book as to not lose his page. he makes his way over to kun, whose mindlessly folding his own clothes as he admires the butterfly tank before him.

the butterflies were an installment chenle begged for his father to get for him after he read a book on metamorphosis once, it was a gift for his twelfth birthday, though he wanted a room to be a whole conservatory for him, his father said that would be "unnecessary" (and as an adult, chenle is inclined to agree with that statement). he finds the winged beings to be beautiful, a kind of striking that only specific animals can replicate.

yes, chenle is a huge fan of butterflies, his love for them runs deep. he lightly taps the glass encasing the creatures with his nail, gaze laser focused on the flying insects and their bright colored wings.

"you say that all the time, but i can never truly tell if you are" kun finally responds after letting his answer wither in the silence of the room, his eyes wander over to chenle, who does nothing but admire the trapped butterflies before him.

the words get a small smile out of chenle, but he's not sure why, though they do make him smile. "i am fine, there's no need to look in further".

"you know me, i'm always going to look further".

chenle allows for himself to chuckle at the response. he's right about that.

he stares at the butterflies encased in the glass box, practically trapped against their own will. his mind wanders, the butterflies remind him of something very familiar.

but he pretends to have no idea what it is.

CHENLE OFTEN FINDS HIMSELF SLEEPLESS THESE DAYS. after the first two hours of insomnia took over, the crown prince decided to entertain himself by reading that book he's left off at earlier that day, but by the time he looked at the clock again, two more hours had passed, and he had finished the book which he once thought would enthrall him until his body gave into it's exhaustion. he lets his arm fall, placing the copy of strange case of dr. jekyll and mr. hyde onto his desk. he's still not tired, for some unknown reason. 

maybe another book will do the trick, chenle's mind tells him, and he agrees with that statement enough that he swings out of his bed and his feet grace the cold floor. it's cold, it's always cold at night, but chenle thinks it's always extra cold at night on purpose.

the crown prince tries his best to shake off the freezing temperature of the room, slipping on a fuzzy sweater and grabbing the lamp from his desk. if sleep isn't going to come him, he could at least spend some of the night in the library, it'll be a good way to pass time.

the library is a nice place of comfort, chenle has always been able to relax his mind the most when he's reading. reading is one of the easiest hobbies to have, because you're not tiring yourself out, but your also doing something fun (but chenle has learned that some people don't really describe reading as their idea of 'fun').

when chenle was younger, reading was really all he did. he was homeschooled, so the most lessons he got were three a day, mother and father never cared about what he had to tell them, dismissing his words as just idiotic child talk. no one ever gave him the time of day if they weren't forced to, so chenle quickly found comfort in the many books which littered the library.

by the time chenle was fourteen, he had already read most of the books in the library, and that includes the unnecessarily huge dictionary. he could almost always be found in the library if not in his room or the rose garden, immersing himself in another world of fiction or nonfiction.

the library is basically his second home, he's there all the time, engrossed in the literature which is all he can see.

the constant creaking of the old structure is all chenle can hear as he makes his way over to the library. at one in the morning, the palace is truly creepy, like one of those haunted buildings full of spirits that suddenly scare you in the night.

now, chenle isn't one to believe in the supernatural, but some of these nightly events in the castle truly can't be explained away. sometimes, he almost gives in to believing all of stories about paranormal activity happening in the castle, something about an old king going haywire and murdering his whole entire family.

father and mother would tell him the stories to scare him out of staying up late, saying that old king chen was gonna come out of the walls late at night and scare him if he ever tried to roam the palace halls past his bedtimes.

but chenle's an adult now, much too grown to be believing in some make believe ghost stories.

back to his mission of getting to the library with nothing but his tiny lamp, chenle sighs in the darkness of the empty halls, his sigh seemingly echoing in the silence and bouncing off the walls. he pauses to observe his barely lit surroundings, and he feels his stomach drop when he hears the sound of faint footsteps across the hall.

who else could be awake at this time?

"hello?"

chenle pauses again as he listens to the greeting. he recognizes that voice, it's you, chenle thinks he could recognize your voice from miles away. "y/n?" he calls out, he doesn't mean to do that, he just really wanted to say your name, is that such a crime? he doesn't think it is.

when you finally come into his like of vision, chenle lets out a sigh of relief, the pit in his stomach will hopefully go away now. for some reason, he feels much more safe with you here. "oh god you scared me ch— your highness".

ah, it's still the same, despite your long friendship, you still don't usually address chenle by his name. you always say it's because you have to "respect his title", but chenle doesn't really like it. he likes it more when you call him by his first name, even if it is disrespectful for a commoner to do such a thing.

chenle never cares when it's with you.

"you scared me" chenle emphasizes, taking in a deep breath. "my apologies".

"it's fine, uh.. why are you awake exactly?" you ask, though chenle wanted to ask you that, it seems you beat him to it. how funny. "if you don't mind me asking of course".

of course, all you ever really do is look after people, you take after your mother, it's evident to chenle that being a medic was your calling. "oh i can't sleep, i'm heading to the library to get a book that'll hopefully tire me".

you chuckle at the words, your laughter is pretty, chenle notes. "of course, you're always in that library, seems you spend most of your time reading" chenle laughs at your tone of voice, your teasing him, you talk like how your mother used to talk about him when you were children.

"reading is..fun".

those words seem to confuse you, and you blink, lightly tilting your head to the side. "i have never heard someone describe reading as fun, but i guess it makes sense for you".

chenle wants to ask about the meaning of those words, because they seem to have so many layers, but you begin again before he can even try to ask. "i heard about your new marriage" there's a certain distaste in your voice chenle can't exactly pinpoint. "congratulations".

chenle allows for himself to frown, his stomach curling in an uncomfortable way at just the thought of his new marriage. he doesn't want to talk about it, because it's just going to make him upset. "oh yeah it's quiet.. exciting news".

you pick up on his tone of disgust, his gritted teeth, and the way his eyes quickly cast around the room, but you stay silent. "anyway, i should be heading to the library, find a nice book, have any recommendations?"

you blink at the sudden question, scouring your mind for books you think the crown prince might be charmed by. "frenchman's creek by daphne du maurier".

chenle raises an eyebrow. "that's in the library?"

"yeah i uh— i read it a couple weeks ago, it was amazing" you mutter, trying to keep eye contact with the prince who was clearly trying to not look you in the eye. "i think you'll like it, i mean— i hope you do".

chenle hums, noting down your recommendation in his mind. "i'll make sure to read it then, thank you y/n, good night".

your eyes widen as you realize that it is indeed the middle of the night, and your conversation has to end eventually. "right right, it's no problem, good night your highness".

chenle frowns again at the sound of his title escaping your lips, but he doesn't say anything, just gives you a small smile and walks past you and towards the library.

he doesn't see you watch him walk away, he's much too busy thinking about how much he wants you to say his name.

"ARE YOU ALRIGHT? YOU LOOK TIRED" THE WORRYING tone in his fiancée's voice doesn't breeze past chenle, but he pays it no mind, ignoring the question. yinuo blinks, clearly expecting the silence, chenle's mother did say he's prone to giving people the "cold shoulder". she sighs, reaching out to touch his shoulder but immediately pulling back, he probably wouldn't like that. "chenle.."

"i'm fine" chenle replies faster than he intends, he brushes off any dust that might be on his shoulder and rubs his right eye. "i just lost a few hours of sleep that's all" he states rather unconvincingly, but yinuo doesn't comment more, just sighs again.

chenle holds out his arm, which the princess quickly links with hers, an indescribable emotion in his eyes. "let's just get this over with.." he shakes his head, feeling a hand of support from his future wife run up and down his back. "the faster we get through with this the faster we both get out of here".

yinuo is happy to know chenle doesn't despise her, he's just not comfortable with her, and chenle, he really is trying his best, he might be coming off as rude, but he just isn't on board with this whole thing. "they're all so extra, making us do this.."

"right, the least they could do is make us enter at different times but no, we have to do this walk in together like were walking down the aisle".

chenle glances down at their linked arms, letting a sigh escape his lips as the two of them finally exit the room they had been put into together. starting their way off to the meeting room down the hall, chenle allows for his mind to wander, he can't be focused on his fiancée or upcoming marriage, he's much too focused on other things.

you, namely.

the crown prince can't focus on what's going on when the only thing prominent in his mind is you. yeah your exchange last night was a short one, but it was also a memorable one. after weeks of going back and forth with things that just didn't make sense, and a mind that was in a frenzy, just talking to you in the middle of the night was enough to relax chenle.

you two haven't been able to talk in the past few weeks.. evidently, chenle is a prince to be king who has to focus on ruling a kingdom and your a medic who has to focus on taking care of others. you two have no time to be friends now that you're adults, it doesn't help that chenle now has all this added pressure on him, and you clearly feel like he's become a stranger.

chenle guesses the.. power imbalance is what's driving this. he's apart of the royal family, a crown prince, set to take the crown and become king, your a commoner, someone who lives just above the poverty line, the only reason you're able to stay afloat is because you took up your mothers position as the palace's medic, but even then, you can almost barely take care of her.

chenle hates thinking about it, because the two of you used to be so close, an unbreakable pair, two boys who couldn't be separated even with the differences between you two. your ranks in society never bothered you, never disturbed your friendship, never disturbed you as a pair, it never mattered. he often finds himself reminiscing on those times, the times where he could see you without his mind listing everything he had to do after that.

"chenle? are you listening?"

chenle blinks out of his daze, arm still linked with yinuo's as he gazes at his future father in law. he pretends to not see the look of worry the woman on his arm sends him, clearing his throat. "yeah, my apologies".

"uh huh, my regards to you, i know the sudden.. passing of the king was hard on you, and we hope your grieving well".

so your throwing your daughter at me, how great. chenle laughs in his mind, tongue poking through his inner cheek, he already knew he wasn't going to like where this was going. "now, about the marriage—"

chenle tunes him out easily, letting out a silent sigh which his mother hears, sending him a glare from across the room as the breath escapes his lips. he doesn't pay any mind to the look from his mother, though he knows she's quickly getting annoyed with how he isn't paying attention.

the discussion is exactly how chenle thought it'd be, the parents discuss everything and just assume their children agree from the get go, they don't even bother asking them their thoughts, or even how they felt, they just threw them into this like they were some baby making machines.

chenle guesses it's just how the cycle goes, his parents had to go through this, and so did their parents before them, and their parents before them, and so on. this is how things work, chenle can't run away from his fate, even with how much he opposes this arrangement.

"and for children.." just the mention of children is enough to make both chenle and yinuo tense, but they both play it off as the cold of the room making them flinch. "you can decide how many you want, but more than one would be nice, and especially a son would be nice".

of course, chenle sings in his head. he wonders how much they'll have to drill that into their heads, some stupid importance men have or something. he glances at his fiancée, whose trembling in her place beside him. he places a gentle hand on her back. "it's alright, calm down" he whispers enough so that she can hear it over the chatter of her father and mother.

"this is not fun".

"yeah, tell me about it" the crown prince grits his teeth, his comment eliciting a small laugh out of the woman beside him. he has to admit, he does enjoy her company.

"ah, i see you two are getting along!"

upon hearing the remark, the two pause, an awkward silence spreading between them. they exchange a small glance before chenle clears his throat, speaking up. "yeah um.. this was a nice meeting, we can continue chatting about the marriage another time, we thank you for coming, the guards will escort you out".

though chenle smiles at his future in laws, he feels nothing but nauseous the whole time.

"WHERE ARE YOU HEADING, YOUR HIGHNESS?" THE QUESTION from kun isn't enough to make chenle stop in his tracks, and he continues his way down the hall. kun blinks as the younger ignores him, furrowing his eyebrows. he then lets out a sigh, letting his hands drop as his eyes stay pointed at the crown prince. "chenle? where are you going?" chenle still doesn't stop, but he seems to acknowledge the older this time.

"to the rose garden" he responds quickly, only getting another eyebrow furrow from the older. he finally stops, turning towards the other with a look that kun cannot exactly pinpoint at the current moment. "if you need me, i'll be there".

"is something wrong?"

chenle takes in a breath, gritting his teeth. curse qian kun for being so caring, curse him for always knowing when something's up. he's quick to shake his head, mustering the fakest of fake smiles. "nothing's wrong! i just need fresh air!"

kun blinks, totally not buying that horrible lie, but he doesn't say anything about it, just mutters a small "okay" and lets chenle be on his way. chenle didn't mean to lie to kun, he just doesn't know how to explain his feelings at the current moment.

so, he gives the older a small smile, turning on his heel and making a beeline towards the titular rose garden, the one that's given him so much comfort over these past few years. he doesn't know why just the presence of everyone in that room was enough to make him want to throw up, but his anxieties wouldn't settle, he can't bear to stay inside this castle much longer.

chenle has no idea why the feeling of suffocation is constantly overtaking him these days, but the walls are slowly pushing in on him, leaving him breathless and nothing more than a weak human vessel.

when chenle does finally step outside, met by a plethora of roses and the smell of pollen in the air, the pit in his stomach doesn't settle. instead of letting out a sigh of relief, he pauses in his tracks, allowing for his eyes to roam the area he'd grown to love as a child.

chenle sighs, not of relief, but sighs with another indescribable feeling he can't explain, walking up to a display of white roses. he knows they're sharp, your old warnings flash in his head as he stares at the pretty flowers before him, tracing them with his fingers as he's always done when in the rose garden.

"don't hurt yourself again, your highness".

it's when chenle hears you that he immediately jumps, but then he relaxes, slowly. what were the odds of this happening again? you seem to read his mind, because you chuckle at the expression which graces his features. chenle raises an eyebrow, a humored smile coming to his face. "you sure you actually have bandaids this time?"

the reference makes you snicker, looking down at the floor as you turn away from your childhood friend. you rummage through your pocket, finally pulling out a bandaid, one which wasn't present when you were seven and yelling for chenle to not touch the roses. "there you go, now you won't cut your finger".

for once today, chenle suddenly feels relaxed, it's always with you, isn't it? his mind notes that down, he'll remember it for later. he takes the bandaid from you, a smile coming to his face as the nostalgia settles on him. "thank you, you're always looking after everyone, you sure know how to do your job".

the words make you pause, but you don't look at chenle as you think of a response, instead turning to the white roses displayed in front of you. you lightly poke them, letting out a small hum of affirmation. "well, what kind of medic would i be if i didn't look out for others? i'd be an idiot to ever let our highness get hurt".

chenle's lips turn up, and he laughs in just the slightest, but he isn't sure why he laughs. there's just something about you that makes chenle feel at ease, you calm his worries without even having to do anything, it's not like he's even telling you about these worries either, but the anxiety he once felt seems to be nothing now.

spending time with you calms chenle, he wants to preserve as much of this time as possible.

"i started reading your recommendation" chenle suddenly blurts out, wanting to continue a conversation with you. he doesn't know how limited your time will be. "frenchman's creek.. i like it so far, it's an interesting choice, though".

you raise an eyebrow. "why's that?"

"i didn't peg you for an enjoyer of pirate romances" chenle shrugs, and he quickly looks away, not wanting to stare at you for too long, because he doesn't think he'd be able to look away.

"well i don't like limiting my interests to one genre, you'd know about that".

chenle blinks, the words striking him in a way only the words you say can. how do you always manage to do that? it's not really the words, it's just how you say them, even if you don't make your intentions clear, chenle always knows what you mean. "it always manages to surprise me, i'm not sure what's gonna happen next".

you click your tongue, a small smile coming to your face. "just so you know, it doesn't have a happy ending".

chenle gasps, overdramatizing the volume of his voice. "you're giving me spoilers? in the rose garden?" his words make you snicker, and you pick a white rose from the bush, unfazed by the thorns which slowly sink into your fingers.

"i didn't spoil anything specific" you finally turn back to chenle, twirling the rose between your fingers. "just told how it was gonna end up.." you mutter, stepping closer to chenle unconsciously. you look at up, suddenly anxious as ever. "may i?" you ask, motioning towards the rose with your eyes.

chenle blinks, his mind going blank for a few seconds. what do you want to do exactly? he gazes at your hands fidgeting on the stem of the flower, and the pieces slowly put themselves together in his brain. are you going to..? "i— yes, sure.."

you raise an eyebrow, not really trusting the seemingly hesitant consent chenle had given, but he clears his throat, reiterating it for you; "yes, you can".

upon hearing the answer, you step closer once again, placing the rose into his hair, your careful to not hurt chenle, and especially careful because you don't want the stem to get tangled in chenle's hair. "i.. i thought it'd look nice on you, and it does, you look— you look great".

chenle blinks, a sudden red hue coloring his cheeks. it's such a basic compliment, one he's been given many times by other people, but it feels different coming from you.

it's always different when it's with you.

chenle clears his throat, unable to prevent a smile from crossing his face. you don't look at him anymore, looking away to prevent yourself from burning up, but you allow for a smile to come to your face as you think about the action you just performed.

you have no idea why you're so giddy about this.

"oh um.." chenle pauses, laughing awkwardly. "thank you, that's very sweet".

"oh it's no problem i just— i uh, it compliments your hair".

chenle hums, looking down at the floor. he hopes you don't see his face burning, and you hope he doesn't see your face burning, it's such a hilarious thing, but you both are much too flustered to find your current circumstances amusing. "you have an eye for those things too?"

"well i have an eye for many things".

i can see that, chenle doesn't say that, though, just smiles at you. you only give him a mere glance, and a small smile yourself. "it was nice seeing you, ch— your highness" you notice how your correction makes chenle frown, but you continue. "i'll be off now, have a good day".

chenle only frowns again when he realizes your time together is over, he wants to continue the conversation, wants to try to use an excuse, wants to use his power to order you to stay, but he doesn't give into the desires he wants so badly, just nods. "oh uh, don't let me keep you here".

you chuckle. "i wouldn't really mind if you did".

the words have an unspoken affect on chenle, an affect that he can't exactly explain, but he can feel. he can feel it in the way his ears heat up and his stomach flips. "alright then, bye y/n".

"bye".

and as chenle watches you leave, the feeling of anxiety he'd entered the garden with seemed to wither away, dissolving away like it was nothing.

he thinks about your 'bye' for hours, unable to get the sound of your voice out of his bed.

"HOW HAVE YOU BEEN THESE DAYS?" CHENLE doesn't answer immediately, as always these days. he skims the row of books before him, fidgeting with the one in his hands. he's not ignoring his friend, he's just focused on other things. "fine" he responds, grunting as he lightly struggles to pull the book from the shelf, but he doesn't ask for help. he doesn't need help. "what's with that look?"

park jisung blinks at his longtime friend, raising a suspicious eyebrow at him. "you don't look fine".

chenle scoffs, suddenly feeling super defensive. he doesn't look at jisung anymore, the other is going to begin to annoy him if he keeps staring at him. "what do you know about looking fine?"

he hears jisung's sigh of defeat. "well i'm just concerned for you, we haven't talked in a while, you've been so busy preparing for your coronation and.. marriage".

chenle resists the urge to roll his eyes. "my coronation isn't for another three months, preparations have all been lackluster".

"and the marriage?"

chenle snaps his head towards jisung, giving him an indescribable look. jisung is quick to shut his mouth, not wanting to face chenle's terrifying wrath. the older prince glares dangerously at the younger, who chuckles awkwardly and scratches his hand. he doesn't have to say anything, but jisung knows he should probably change the subject.

"uh.. um, are you still friends with that medic kid?"

now that is a question chenle wasn't expecting. a question about you? when he snaps his head over at jisung for the second time, the younger almost freezes, noticing the pointed look in his eyes. "what?"

"y/n, the medic kid!" jisung reiterates, clearly thinking the issue is that chenle didn't hear him the first time. "his mom used to work here, right? is he still around?"

chenle narrows his eyes, puzzled at where jisung is trying to go with this.. question. he'd been dealt with a fair amount of teasing from his friend because of how much closer the two of you seemed, jisung often questioned how much of a "friend" you really were to chenle, but the older would always combat it with a glare and snappy insult as a response.

"yes he's still around.. he took over mrs. l/n's position".

jisung blinks dumbly. "oh? what happened to her?"

just the question is enough to put a sour taste in chenle's mouth. "she just couldn't go on any longer one day, she retired a few years ago and he took over her position".

"you don't know what happened to her?"

"y/n didn't tell me anything specific" chenle is beginning to get annoyed. he knows it's in jisung's nature to be curious like this but god, if he wanted to know these things so bad he could've just asked you. "just go ask him if you're so curious".

he hears a small "hmph" sound from jisung before the younger prince sounds again. "i will then! y/n! hey!"

chenle didn't actually think you'd be passing by the library at that exact moment, but you were. you pause, backtracking as you look into the library, blinking at the jumping prince before you. "uh— hi, your highness, what do you need me for?"

jisung is quick to chuckle, waving off your use of formalities. "please, there's no need to be so formal, were friends after all!"

you only respond with a small smile, giving chenle a mere glance. "i'm just doing what i'm supposed to, i can't call you by your name.."

"well right now, you're going to call me by my name" jisung demands, which makes you snicker. he really hasn't changed. you look down at the floor, hands picking at your nails. "your allowed to, right chenle?"

chenle was not expecting to be included in this conversation. is jisung reading his mind or something? how could he seem to tell exactly what chenle wanted to say? he feels his face heat up, but he isn't exactly sure why it does that. "i mean— yeah, yes, were friends".

jisung then turns back to you, a clear 'see?' expression on his face as he smiles in victory at chenle proving him right. you chuckle at chenle's response, smiling again, but it's much more directed at chenle this time. "fine then, jisung, what do you need me for?"

jisung then walks towards you, placing a hand on your shoulder (a hand chenle is suddenly laser focused on) almost as if to reassure you. "how have you been?"

your eyebrows furrow. it's not a weird question to ask, you just weren't expecting for him to ask a question. you share another confused glance with chenle, then snickering lightly. "fine.. i uh— i've just been trying my best, as always".

jisung hums, his finger going up to caress your cheek lightly, a finger which chenle again laser focuses on, he can't help but narrow his eyes at jisung, wondering what the hell is he doing?

"uh huh, and how's your mother?"

at the mere mention of your mother, you seem to go still, pausing as you let jisung's question simmer into the air. you try your best to collect your words, opening your mouth to speak, but then you close it, as if wanting to keep your thoughts to yourself.

chenle picks up on your sudden silence, as if he could feel your heightened anxieties, he speaks up; "are you alright, y/n?" he asks, concern lacing his tone as he sees the worry in your eyes as you think about your mother.

you snap out of your little daze, clearing your throat as you nod. "yeah yeah, i uh— i'm fine, mom is.. she's doing okay".

"okay?"

"she's sick" you blurt quickly, fingers fidgeting at shirt collar. "but she's doing much better now, i'm taking care of her and everything.." you look away from the two royals, scratching your cheek out of habit.

"oh, oh my god i didn't know she was sick" jisung realizes how awkward he made the situation. "um, i wish her the best".

chenle doesn't say anything, he sees the way you glance around the room, desperately trying to think about everything else. "yeah, tell her i said hi" he states immediately, and you finally stop looking around the room to look at chenle, he notices that look in your eyes, the one where it seems like your about to cry, but you're holding in your tears.

even with all that, you smile at chenle, as if his words had healed you in some way. "i'll make sure to do that, i uh.. i have to go now, i don't want for anyone to die while i stand here".

jisung's eyes widen, and he gasps. "right! go go, you have a job to do, sorry for holding you up" you dismiss his words with a wave, jisung is still so cute, as cute as he was when you were children.

"it's fine really, you actually kind of made my day".

"well i'm happy that i could!"

you smile again at jisung, then smile lightly at chenle, who almost wants to jump towards you and trap you in a tight hug. "thank you, your hi— jisung" you quickly correct yourself, clearing your throat. "i'll see you some other time, and you chenle, i'll see you later".

chenle allows for himself to go red at the words, what do you mean by later? he tries his best to register the words, and the fact that you just called him by his name after what seems like forever, but he doesn't say anything, even though he feels jisung's gaze burning holes into his head. "later? yeah, later".

chenle has no idea why he agreed.

it's you, that's why he agreed.

WHEN CHENLE FINDS HIMSELF SLEEPLESS AGAIN that very night, he doesn't even think before raising out of his bed and deciding he was going to go to the library. he stares at the copy of frenchman's creek on his desk, mind immediately flashing with thoughts of you. he feels the structure of the book cover with his finger, blinking as he weighs his options for a moment. he could go back to sleep, but he could also go to the library and entertain himself with more literature.

"i already got up anyway.." chenle mutters to himself, grabbing the book on his desk and the situated lamp on his desk. he doesn't mind the chills which course through his body, though it's cold, the cold is no longer a bother to him, he's much too busy thinking about books (and you) anyway..

when chenle leaves his room, he notices the halls aren't as dark as they were the other time he walked them when he went to the library the other night. he blinks into the halls, the air practically pushing against him the moment he leaves his room. chenle allows for himself to let out a weary breath, no one is around to watch him be vulnerable anyway.

as he steps out of his room, the floor of the old structure creaking under his feet, he feels a breeze of cold air rush past him, but for some unknown reason, he doesn't shiver.

chenle doesn't allow for himself to stand by and simply breath any longer, so, he takes himself down the hallway, his feet leading him to his familiar place of solace (well second most at least). he notices how the hallway seems to be more lit, he could see torches as he passed through the long corridors, eyes trained on the paintings which situated themselves on the walls.

there have always been paintings decorating the walls, paintings which dictate the many generations of the zhong family. chenle watched as a kid as an artist was appointed to paint him, father, and mother, a new painting to place on the timeline of the zhong dynasty which would extend across the entire palace.

as chenle spends more time thinking about it, it dawns on him, he's going to be displayed on the wall in a painting one day as the king. one day he's going to have to sit down with yinuo and their inevitable child as an artist uses several colors on a canvas to create a painting of the next zhong generation, and his eventual child is going to have to walk past it every time they make it through this expanse of a hallway.

chenle used to enjoy staring at the paintings, used to love watching the process of paintings being created, but now, with father gone, chenle can't bring himself to glance at the painting situated on the wall without feeling nauseous. every time he tries to look at it, a silent breath has to escape his lips, or else he feels like he's going to collapse onto the floor.

he developed a habit of speed walking past the final portrait in the hallway after fathers passing, he could never look at his face again after having to watch the life slowly fade away from his eyes. he can't even look at a photograph of his father anymore without wanting to throw up everywhere.

when chenle makes it to the library, having walked very fast past the last painting in the hallway, he pushes open the doors immediately, wanting so badly to escape the suffocating hallway.

when chenle does make it into the room, he's quick to close the door behind him, but he startles when he notices that someone else is in the room. he blinks and narrows his eyes at the figure in the room, then, he relaxes as he quickly realizes who it is.

it's you.

chenle feels himself calm in just the slightest upon knowing it's you in the room and not some other staff member. it's not that chenle has anything against the other staff, it's just.. it's different with you.

how many times does his mind have to conjure that up as an excuse?

chenle ignores the reprimanding voice, it's one he vaguely recognizes, it's not his voice, it's a distant voice that he thinks he could recognize if he focused hard enough.

but he can't, because you notice him, seemingly reading his thoughts as you turn back to make eye contact with the crown prince. "hi".

"hi" chenle replies easily, it's awkward, of course it's awkward, it's the middle of the night. his eyes dart away from yours, immediately scouring the library. you allow for yourself to snicker at his lack of attention on you, and he notices, now staring dead at you. "what?"

"nothing nothing" you mutter, dismissing it with a wave of your hand. chenle wants to ask about it, but he doesn't, just looks down at the floor. "how was it?"

"huh?"

"the book" you clarify, glancing down at the copy of frenchman's creek chenle has in his hands. chenle quickly feels his face heat up, of course you were referring to the book, what else would you be talking about? the air in the room? his walk down the halls? how he's doing? you patiently wait for his answer, flipping through a book in your hands as you let out a sigh.

"oh uh— it's a surprise, that's for sure, i didn't expect to enjoy it as much as i did, i didn't enjoy the ending, though".

you raise an eyebrow, but a smile comes to your face. "why not?"

chenle finally unfreezes and steps closer to you, the book tucked in his arms as he stands beside you, your shoulders lightly brushing against each other. your eyes finally gaze over at his, and when the two of you make eye contact, it's brief. chenle blinks, and he allows for his lips to turn up, he thinks you look very pretty in this moment, the lighting of the library emphasizing your features.

beautiful, he's beautiful, chenle, a voice sings in his head, a voice which is, again, familiar, but he can't exactly determine who it is.

"i wanted dona and jean to get their happy ending, i was rooting for them".

you hum, seemingly expecting that answer, your eyes shift towards the shelf before you, focused on the books which litter it. "well, i like to think it's realistic, it's not often that people get their happy endings, even if they do deserve it".

chenle takes in your words, it seems like such a you thing to say. "i would've preferred if they did have a happy ending, though, it's why i read fiction in the first place".

"you read fiction because..?"

"it's like an escape from reality".

the words make you pause, and for a second, chenle thinks he must've said something wrong, he can't read the look on your face. he blinks up at you, your silence taking him off guard. "i mean, i guess that makes sense".

you seem to want to say something else, you seem to have a lot of thoughts on your mind, but you don't disclose any of them, just smile. "so, did you like the book?..your highness".

you hesitated before saying it, and chenle knows you wanted to say his name, but you stopped yourself, as always. he feels his gut curl in an uncomfortable way, and he clears his throat.

"y/n?"

"yes?"

chenle takes a deep breath. "were friends" he states immediately, and he notices the way you begin to avoid his eyes, looking everywhere but at him. "were friends, we've known each other since we were seven, you can call me by my name".

the truthful statement makes you pause, and you begin to scour your mind for excuses. "i can't call you by your name, your a noble and i'm a—"

"that's an order".

your mouth closes immediately, you can't argue with that, you can't really argue with anything chenle says. chenle seems pleased by his victory, a small smile showing on his face. you quickly scoff, turning your head away from your childhood friend. "of course you can just do that".

"i just.. it doesn't matter if you work here, your my friend, you can call me by my name".

"alright then, your— chenle, did you like the book?"

chenle chuckles lightly, oh he loves the way you say his name. he remembers when you were younger, you'd always pronounce his name wrong, it frustrated you so much that you would just call him 'le' instead of his full name.

"i did, it was an enjoyable book, the plot made me crave more, i just.. i can't believe it ended like that".

"your still mad about it?"

"yes i'm mad about it! i need my happy ending for my pirate love story!"

you giggle at his words, you giggle, chenle can't believe it. he just made you giggle, in the dead of night, in the palace library, he made you giggle. you take the book away from his hands, placing it back between the other books in the romance section. "sadly, most love stories don't end that way".

chenle sighs, clicking his tongue. "i hate when that happens, i'd like to have just a little hope that true love actually works in the end.."

you chuckle again, shaking your head. "i never thought you'd be a fan of happy endings and stuff like that".

chenle raises an eyebrow, puzzled by the words. "why's that?" he asks, sounding just the slightest bit offended at the statement. you blink, and he guesses that you notice his tone of offense. you find it humorous, and chenle furrows his eyebrows this time.

"i don't know, i guess you struck me as the kind of person who'd enjoy bittersweet endings, you know, you seem to enjoy tragic love stories".

"i do enjoy tragic love stories" chenle makes sure to emphasize his point, and he quickly looks away from you. "but i also like when they have good endings, sometimes, love stories need their happy endings".

"that's cute" you comment, and chenle allows for a smile to come to his face. you didn't call him cute, per se, but it's still enough to make his cheeks go red. he should not be flustered, that's ridiculous, that's— he can't be flustered.

you don't mind his silence, instead walking over to another shelf to see what other books are there. chenle pokes his tongue against his inner cheek, watching you intently. the red dusting his cheeks doesn't go away, it just seems to amplify as you have your back towards him. "it's cute?"

"yeah, i can see where you're coming from, not all love stories need to be.. realistic, if it makes you feel better when the lovers have a happy ending, than who am i to judge?"

chenle rocks back and forth on his heels, letting out a small hum at your words. "so you're the kind of guy who enjoys tragic love stories with horrible endings?"

"on most occasions, yes".

you seem to finally find a book that you'll enjoy, because you pick one from the shelf and turn back to chenle. "so how are you feeling?"

"what?"

you merely glance at chenle, than glance back down at the book in your hands and read the synopsis on the back of it. "how are you feeling these days? you have a lot of new things being stacked on you now, you must be stressed out".

chenle allows for his jaw to drop in just the slightest, it's not like people don't ask him about how he feels, it's that he can't believe you noticed the mini battle he was having with himself. he can't believe you would even be concerned about how he was feeling, he felt like most people wouldn't care about what he was going through anyway.

"oh it's.." chenle pauses, truly not being able to actual formulate coherent words. "well it's a lot, but nothing i haven't been taught how to handle by father".

your face forms into an unreadable expression, one chenle hates because he doesn't exactly know what kind of expression it is. "they prepare you for things like this?"

"well.. mostly, but even with all the excessive lessons, it all kinds of goes to my head and makes my head spin, sometimes it feels like the palace is suffocating me, taking the air out of my lungs and leaving me helpless, sometimes— i don't know, i feel like i'm being swallowed by some horrible force which just wants to make me suffer, i'm not sure why i feel like this really but—"

chenle stops, clearing his throat as he quickly averts his gaze from yours. he has no idea where that vomit of words came from, but he feels if he continues talking, he's going to say something that he'll regret. you don't answer immediately, so chenle decides to speak up once again. "i'm sorry, i have no idea where that came from it's just.. i don't know, pretend i didn't say anything".

"don't apologize, it's good to talk about things like that once in a while, bottling everything up will just overwhelm you even more".

"it's just, i don't talk to people about things like this".

"why not?"

chenle shrugs, not really sure how to answer that question. "i feel they're sort of..unnecessary, i know i can't control how i feel but my feelings have never really felt important in most situations".

"they're important to me".

the words make chenle pause, his ears reddening and a sputter in his voice as he tries his best to respond to that statement. the words are so simple, but they have such a lasting effect on the crown prince that he can't really respond to them. you care, you care, he cares! that one inner voice screams in his head. he feels his heart begin beating sporadically, it's.. god he's so grateful for you. "oh.. uh, really?"

you smile, chuckling softly. "yeah they are, you shouldn't ever feel like they aren't".

chenle feels his stomach flip, you're so sweet. "i.. thank you, y/n".

chenle hopes you don't notice his red face as you spend the rest of the night conversing about several kinds of literature.

"ARE YOU NERVOUS?" CHENLE MAKES THE MISTAKE OF taking a weary breath when that question is asked. he hears the chuckle of amusement sound from his fiancée's lips, and he allows for a small smile to show on his face. "no" he responds, clearly lying, but yinuo doesn't seem to catch it, as he begins to pick at the fabric of her dress. he turns to her, noticing the clear anxiety she displays.

"i am" she responds, putting on her gloves and rubbing a scar on her knuckles. "i've never really been a big fan of.. crowds" she states, her tone exhibiting disgust as she says the word 'crowds'. chenle has been able to pick up on her habits pretty easily, he has spent much more time with her these days after all.

chenle hums at the response, he gets it, even as he grew up having to get used to these kinds of events, it never got easier. the pit in his stomach would often never cease, that nauseating feeling only heightened, and he could just barely mask the anxious expression on his face. "i get that, they're all too loud".

"i mean, do they really care about us that much? they can't just wait until the wedding.."

the sentence makes chenle snicker as he notices the mere irritation in her tone. "they all just want something to do, i guess" he mutters, pulling his sleeve over his wrist and repeating a reassuring mantra in his head.

it's nothing you haven't done before, chenle, just get it over with, and you'll be fine. chenle thinks if he focuses enough, he can hear his father's voice repeating the mantra to him in his head.

he caresses his wrist lightly, settling in the air of the room. he can hear the faint sound of people cheering outside, and just the sound is enough to make his stomach begin flipping, the anxiety is already heightening. "all that just to see us?"

"they want to see how in love we can look".

"seems unnecessary".

"it is unnecessary".

chenle laughs again, finally walking over to his fiancée and linking their arms together. he sighs, looking down at the floor. "you sure you're not nervous?" she asks once again, raising a curious eyebrow as she notices chenle's change in behavior.

"okay maybe i am a little nervous but that's besides the point".

yinuo laughs, humored by chenle's blatant honesty. he simply gives a small smile, turning to the door of the room and letting out another small breath. they have to face a crowd, a crowd of people who are here to see them and celebrate their totally real love, a crowd who are there to watch as they are confirmed future husband and wife, they're going to get married and have children that go on to take the throne, they have to look in love, they have to.. act in love.

chenle doesn't know how in love he can look, he might get too overwhelmed and throw up right then and there. just the idea of having to do all of this is enough to make him want to cry, and he never thought he'd ever think that, because he doesn't cry, he shouldn't cry, father taught him that enough through ear shattering yells and broken glass.

he hates feeling vulnerable, but in a moment like this, having to mask his feelings in front of a crowd of people who don't know any better, who probably don't care, vulnerability is his one true feeling.

he closes his eyes, taking another deep breath as he tries his best to ignore the anxiety settling upon him.

"chenle!"

chenle snaps out his anxious daze at the shout of his name, recognizing the voice as kun, who he remembers he forgot to greet this morning, as he was in a rush.

but it's not just kun, it's also you, and chenle almost falls to the floor and dies right then and there. kun has his fingers wrapped around your wrist, there's a smile on his face (and yours, chenle thinks your smile is so so pretty). "oh, hi kun, y/n".

look at both of them, chenle, not just y/n.

but for once, chenle doesn't listen to the reprimanding voice in his head.

he doesn't even check how in love with you he must look, just a few seconds ago he was freaking out over how he was supposed to look in love with the woman beside him, but he has no problem looking in love with you.

but he doesn't exactly realize that, too busy admiring you clear as day.

"i— we just wanted to wish you good luck" kun nudges you lightly, and you let out a small laugh as you look away nervously, a red hue tinting your cheeks as you avoid chenle's eyes. "both of you, your highness" he adds, bowing lightly at yinuo and nudging you so you can do the same.

yinuo just smiles, lightly laughing, but chenle is stuck in place, mesmerized by you and.. just you. "thank you, i have to say, everyone here is insanely sweet, i feel welcome".

"well that's my job, i can't have any future queens feeling uncomfortable".

the statement from kun makes you snort, and you shove him in the shoulder. you look away from him to glance at chenle, who is still lost in his mind, you furrow your eyebrows as you watch the cogs in his brains turn, what is he thinking so hard about?

"chenle" you call out.

seemingly snapping out of the trip inside of his mind, chenle looks up at you, hoping it isn't obvious that he's affected by your soft calling of his name. "good luck" you reiterate, a small whisper seemingly shared between only the two of you.

chenle feels his face heat up immediately, eyes widening at the sight of your pretty smile. "thank you, both of you, thank you".

chenle doesn't look over at yinuo when she gives him a weird look.

"right! again, good luck! y/n and i have to go do something right y/n?"

you seem to be puzzled by that comment, chenle determines that by the way your eyebrows furrow. "what? but i thought we were supposed to—"

"alright! good luck you two come on y/n let's go!" kun gives a quick smile and grabs your wrist again to drag you away from the newly engaged couple, who watch as you two make your way down the hall towards another part of the palace.

"weird.." chenle mutters.

"so what was that?" yinuo is quick to ask, making chenle snap his head towards her, clearly not expecting for her to ask him a question.

"what was what?"

"that, chenle" she reiterates, alluding to the little (not so little) lovesick gaze chenle had trained on you for that whole interaction. it's clear that, even with how chenle didn't check the adoration he was staring at you with, she definitely did. "you looked so smitten".

chenle allows for his expression to form into one of shock, what does she mean by that? what the fuck does she mean by that? that makes no sense, it's not like he's in love with you or anything, that would be absurd! that would be—

that wouldn't be entirely out of the picture, think about yourself chenle, the most shocking thing here would be you having no romantic feelings for him.

chenle is about to punch himself in the face for having such thoughts.

"i have no idea what your talking about".

"chenle, i know i don't know you personally like that, but i have never seen you look at someone like you look at him! what is his name? y/n? he has to have you under a spell or something, you were mesmerized".

chenle wants to say that those words are stupid, he wants to spit out some quick rebuttal and have them be on their way, but he can't muster up a coherent excuse for what she just described. how is he supposed to argue with that?

"well, y/n does know how to keep people on the hook".

"seems you enjoy being kept on the hook".

the statement makes chenle pause, and he feels his face burn once again, not at the words, but just at the thought of you, god he misses your presence already, is that weird to say? he's glad he doesn't say it out loud.

"it doesn't matter anyway, what am i supposed to do? tell him about it? not with how everything is turning out.. were getting married in a few months".

"but you're not in love with me" yinuo replies, she's sure of her words, she just knows, chenle almost feels like she's reading his mind. "you want him".

"i can't have him" chenle states as if it's a matter of fact, and it's true, he can't have you. it makes his heart hurt, the idea that even with how much he feels for you, how different it is with you, and how he's had these indescribable feelings for you since he was like eleven, he can't have you.

chenle can't run from his fate, the last thing he wants to do is break the rules, challenge a system that's been in place for pretty much decades at this point.

"you're not going to break the rules for true love?"

chenle just lets a disappointed sigh escape his lips, his stomach flips uncomfortably and he feels his head begin spinning, this topic makes him want to die in the worst way possible. "true love doesn't exist" he states rather harshly. god, he sounds like father, if seven year old chenle heard himself now, he'd grimace at the words and scowl at his new nature.

his heart aches as he utters those words, he can't help but think about you as he says those words.

good god, he feels so helpless.

"MOTHER, CAN I ASK YOU A QUESTION?" NINE YEAR OLD CHENLE liked to ask questions. chenle has always liked to ask questions, being curious is in his nature, it's just that unlike jisung, he's less annoying about it. when this question popped into his nine year old brain, he knew there was no way he could ever ask father about it, he'd never be able to come back from it. mother has always been much more understanding, even with the stubborn statements she often spouted.

"yes you can, chenle".

"are.. well, can a noble and a commoner ever end up together?"

the question received silence from his mother, who, though she had previously been humming to a pleasant tune, seemed to freeze at even the idea of that question. the nine year old prince watched as his mother's face did at least seven expression changes in a matter of seconds. "could you elaborate on that question, dear?"

"can royalty marry non-royalty? could i ever be with someone who isn't royal like me?"

the reason nine year old chenle was so interested in asking this question was because of something kun had mentioned to him, about one of his cousins marrying into a royal family far far away. it got his mind turning in ways only a child's mind can, he never knew that could happen, he had grown to think that he would just end up with any other princess but could he really have a different fate? could he really change his future?

seeing as how things have gone now.. no, he couldn't.

"it depends on how it goes down, chenle".

"has it ever happened before?"

"of course it has happened" his mother finally answered, and the curious young prince allowed for his eyes to widen comically. oh he was so interested now. "in most scenarios when it does happen the commoner becomes a royal".

"i thought that was outlawed".

that statement got a laugh out of his mother, which made the nine year old blink dumbly. "it can't be outlawed, chenle, that would be ridiculous".

"so could i be with someone of a different class?"

"well, it depends on how it all works out".

chenle blinked again, the wording of the sentence confusing the young prince even more. "would father ever approve of something like that?"

she then went silent again, turning away from chenle to gaze at the bright blue sky. "i'm.. not sure, you know how unpredictable he is".

"well that's why i didn't ask him this".

another chuckle sounded from his mother, and at nine years old, chenle didn't know what was more shocking, knowing that he could possibly not have to be forced into a marriage with a princess from a faraway kingdom, or knowing that his mother didn't really have an issue with that.

too bad he didn't try to use any of that childlike courage to get his point about this marriage across.

when the little parade celebrating his marriage is over, chenle finds himself immediately on his way somewhere. he doesn't know exactly where he was going, his feet seem to have control over themselves, and he can't exactly stop himself from walking.

oh, he knows where he's going.

his feet lead him to a familiar place, your office. throughout that whole.. gathering thing or whatever, he couldn't stop thinking about you. he usually can't stop thinking about you these days, just talking to you is enough to entertain his mind for weeks, surely that can't be normal, right?

"y/n?"

chenle's sudden call startles you, seeing as how you jump from your previous position at the sound of it. he just sort of stands there awkwardly, allowing for you to compose yourself as you smile at him. oh you're smile is so pretty, chenle could stare at it for hours. "oh lord, you scared me! your highness".

chenle doesn't even register the title, just gives a small smile. "sorry i'm just.." he pauses, trying to collect his words. "i don't know, actually, i just kind of came here on a whim" he shrugs, looking down at the floor and not straight at you.

you simply let out a silent chuckle, turning back to your desk and going back to packing. chenle blinks, biting down on his bottom lip as he clears his throat. "oh really? is something bothering you?"

chenle allows for himself to look up again, your back is turned now anyway, so you can't see his rapidly reddening face. "a lot is bothering me, really, it feels like i can't do anything these days without feeling like the world is slowly tearing me apart limb by limb".

"well that's certainly a way to explain your feelings" chenle can't tell how you feel about the whole thing from the tone of your voice, it's something that makes him worry, because he's anxious your making fun of him and he won't be able to tell.

much to his own surprise, you turn around and step towards him. "are you feeling alright? like— physically at least?" you ask, tilting your head to the side to get a better look at him. just your eyes on him is enough to have chenle's stomach doing cartwheels, he hopes you don't notice how flustered he is, that would be extremely embarrassing.

"yeah i'm not dying or anything i'm just.. i'm overwhelmed".

well you'd expect that from someone like chenle, someone in such a position of power. chenle is a crown prince set to be king, he's getting married in a few months (that fact makes your heart hurt for a reason you can't explain), he's the next ruler of the zhong dynasty, of course he is feeling overwhelmed.

"ah well that's expected" you laugh lightly. "you have no symptoms though?"

is my clearly reddening face a symptom? my fluttering stomach? my seemingly labored breathing? why can't you tell i'm madly in love with you yet!?

the screaming voice in his head is just as annoyed as chenle is at his current circumstances. you narrow your eyes as you stare at him, and for a moment, chenle thinks you might be reading his mind, but he quickly dismisses such thoughts because that's ridiculous.

"no, no symptoms, i'm alright".

you seem to want to ask for more reassurance, but you don't, instead shutting your mouth and smiling at chenle. "good, i can't have you dying".

"you'd never let me die".

"you're right about that".

chenle looks down at the floor, determined to not make eye contact with you. "where are you heading?"

chenle only realizes then that you're packing your stuff, he didn't even note it down when he stepped into the room and saw that you were doing it, he was much more focused on just beginning a conversation with you, he was much more focused on talking than observing.

you hum, giving him a mere glance then looking back down to the small set of items you were packing. "i'm going to visit my mother".

chenle blinks, the words coming as a small surprise to him. "why? is she alright?"

you quickly glance back up to give him a reassuring smile. "just doing a routine check up, and it's nice to visit your mother once in a while, i need to make sure she's doing well".

chenle responds with a small 'ah', watching as you continue to pack, he feels his stomach churn uncomfortably once again, if he stays in this castle any longer, he might die from the walls which seem to slowly be pushing the air out of his lungs.

"can i come?"

chenle has no idea where that came from, it's like he had no control over his own thoughts or words, he blurted that out in a moment of vulnerability, a moment of.. wanting. he can't stay here any longer, he might die. you now fully look at him and furrow your eyebrows, clearly as puzzled as chenle is by the words. "what?" you chuckle lightly, and chenle feels his face burn immediately.

"i'm sorry, i don't even know where that came from i'll g—"

"no no you can.." you pause for a moment, collecting your words. "you can tag along if you want to i just— i don't know, you can leave the castle?"

"well yeah, but that doesn't mean you have to take me with you i don't even know why i asked that in the first place".

"chenle" you say softly, and just you saying his name like that has chenle's knees feeling weak. how did he deny his feelings for you for so long when you have him feeling like this? he's almost positive you can notice how flustered he is now. "if you want to come visit her with me, you can".

chenle stares at you for what seems like years (in his eyes), contemplating whether he should take your offer. your basically holding your hand out to him, begging for him to take it, for him to intertwine his fingers with yours. how could he ever turn down such a proposition?

"i— okay".

"okay? so you'll accompany me?"

"yeah, yes yes! i will" he replies much too enthusiastically for his own liking, you seem to catch on, as you laugh at his sudden shout. if your laugh wasn't so pretty chenle would've immediately turned away and replied with some snappy rebuttal.

"nice" you whisper, finally finishing your packing. chenle watches you intently, he can't exactly speak at the moment. luckily, you speak up once again. "we have to do something, though".

"what?"

you catch chenle's puzzled expression, and you laugh once again. "a disguise, just so you don't cause an uproar while we go visit my mother".

for the first time this whole entire day, chenle lets out a small laugh, amused by the words which escape your lips. "were gonna sneak around?"

you snicker, looking down at the floor. oh you're adorable, chenle shouts it out in his head, he can't tell you face to face so he'll shout it there.

"yeah, guess you could say that".

though he's just the slightest bit skeptical, chenle trusts you, and a smile crosses his face.

CHENLE DIDN'T REALLY THINK HE'D HAVE as much fun as he does sneaking into the village with you. well it's not really sneaking, you live here, you've grown up here, you just had to put him in some totally not suspicious cloak so that he doesn't draw attention when you make it outside of the castle. he almost fell on his face when you dragged him out of the palace gates, because of the way you dragged him, and because you started holding his hand.

chenle feels like a girl obsessing over a boy crush, just you holding his hand is enough to make him begin overthinking the whole thing in his head. according to you, you had to hold his hand to make things seem more natural, but he suspects that you're lying because of how red your face is as you try to avoid eye contact with him.

chenle has only really been to the village a few times in his whole life, though he's had his fair share of experiences here as a child, he never got to stop and observe his surroundings, much too busy trying to settle his anxiety while watching all of the people in the crowd burn holes into his head with their stares.

chenle has always been fascinated by the lives of others, whether it be the stories kun told of the urban legends village kids would spread, or the many times he begged the staff to take him on carriage rides throughout the kingdom as a child. he likes seeing situations through other people's eyes, the life of citizens who don't live as royalty seems like nothing far from the fictional stories he reads in the books in the library.

"you almost pulled off my arm, that was totally suspicious!" chenle whisper-yells, but it's not a shout of seriousness, it's playful, the beginning of a banter.

"oh i'm sorry your highness! do you need medical attention?"

chenle feigns an offensive gasp at the sarcastic comment from you, which results in nothing but a snicker from you as you nudge him with your shoulder. he caresses the back of your hand with his thumb unconsciously, ignoring his clearly heating cheeks as he performs the action.

"do you still live in the same place you grew up?"

"hm? oh yeah, we could never really afford to get another place, it's become a super comforting place for me.."

"ah, i see".

chenle admires your face for much longer than he was supposed to, and if you notice, you don't seem to care enough to comment on it.

chenle allows for his eyes to roam freely around the expanse of a town. it's a pretty place, even with how tiny it seems, he feels much more relaxed here than in the large palace he grew to know as a home, the palace was really in the middle of nowhere, no fellow citizens around for him to make connections with or whatever. this town is the clear definition of community, the kind of place where everyone knows everyone.

"oh y/n! y/n!"

chenle startles from his thoughts when a shout rings in his ears, you snap your head towards the figure, a figure chenle can tell you recognize because you give them a smile, he opts to stay silent in this interaction. "hi tao, how is ying doing?"

the man smiles brightly at you, pulling you into an abrupt hug, making your fingers slip from chenle's. you squeak as he squeezes you in his arm, but you manage a smile, resisting the urge to glare at chenle as he silently snickers at your suffering. "she's recovering well! thank you so much, i don't know how i could ever repay you!"

"there's no need to" you smile softly again, finally able to remove yourself from his crushing grip, you rub your aching arm and awkwardly chuckle. "i just enjoy helping others, i'm glad she's feeling better, tell her i said hi".

"will do! thank you so much!"

the guy gives one last smack on your shoulder before walking off, and chenle has to resist the urge to laugh loudly as you wince from the strong grip who had been squeezing you to death with that hug.

"are you enjoying my misery, your highness?"

chenle can barely contain his laugh as he looks over at you, being met with your deadpanned gaze. he looks down at the floor to stop his giggling, making you frown. "no, it was just too hilarious not to laugh at".

"uh huh, you're sooo funny".

though you were clearly irritated by chenle's laughing fit, you only softly smiled at him trying to hide his laughter. you reach over to take his hand once again, just playfully glaring at him. "yeah continue laughing at my suffering, we still have to make it to my mother's house".

chenle, again, gets jolted forward by a strong tug on his hand, but he doesn't say anything more, just snickers as he sees the pure dedication in your eyes. he smiles as he sees the look in your eye, you're just so adorable.

when you abruptly stop, chenle bumps into you, and your fingers slip from his, an action which makes him frown in just the slightest. he likes holding your hand, he has no idea why, but he does.

you begin digging through your bag for your house key, and chenle simply watches, listening to you hum the tune of a song, one you always hum the tune to whenever you find yourself bored. "here" you whisper, victorious in your search for your keys. you quickly unlock the door and gesture for chenle to follow you in with nothing but the tilt of your head, he silently steps into your childhood home, a comforting feeling in the air as he closes the door behind him.

while you drop your bag onto a nearby table and begin looking through it again, chenle slowly removes the cloak he had been wearing as he observes his surroundings.

the place is nice, small, but nice. it has a comfortable sort of air that makes chenle want to immediately relax, it's not the fanciest place, or the biggest place, but it's a home, a comfortable, quiet home. chenle would love to live here, maybe in another life, a life where he doesn't end up born into a highly respected royal family, he just gets to live like this, it's a place that seems to bring a feeling of solace.

chenle glances over at you, your eyebrows furrowed as you continue going through your bag. you seem to sense his eyes, because you glance up at him and you meet his eyes. you blink, then glance over at a door across the room. "you can go see her if you want".

chenle awkwardly chuckles as he glances at the door your eyes were on, he then glances back at you. "i— can you come with me?"

chenle just wants to stay around you.

you stare puzzled for a moment, but you don't question it, you leave your bag alone and gesture for chenle to follow you to your mother's room. chenle stays silent the whole way there, noticing the way your mood changes as you step closer to the door.

you knock on the door. "mom?"

when you open the door, you peak your head through, a small chuckle escaping your lips as you hear her say something. "yes yes i know, i'll remember to tell her, i brought a guest".

chenle slowly peaks from behind you, giving your mother a small smile. "hello" he greets softly.

your mother gasps, sitting up in her bed. "zhong chenle?"

chenle lightly chuckles, looking down at the floor, you nudge him with your shoulder. "oh my goodness, you've grown so much! come here give me a hug!"

chenle is almost surprised, he was afraid she was going to have a bad reaction to his presence, but she was much more excited to see him than he thought she would be. you push chenle into her room, motioning for him to fulfill your mothers wish.

she quickly wrapped her arms around him when he got close enough to her. her hugs are still as warm as he remembers, he almost wants to hug her forever and never let go. "how are things going these days? i wanted to go to that little parade of yours but y/n forbid me from doing so!"

"because you were vomiting all morning, i wasn't going to risk it".

she pulls away from the hug to grab both of chenle's hand, smiling softly at him. the smile reminiscent of the smiles she would share with him in the hallways of the palace when she used to work there. "you always worry so much" she raises an eyebrow at you before turning back to chenle. "how have you been these days?"

chenle smiles at her, noticing you leave the room, but too focused on answering the question from your mother to follow you. "i've been good, just a little stressed from everything happening lately".

her eyes widen again, and she nods excessively. "right! your getting married soon! how are you feeling about the whole thing?"

chenle's face falls just a little bit, but he quickly reverts back to a smile, not wanting to worry her with a random frown crossing his face. "it's all.. new, it'll take some time to get used to but i know i can get through it".

the older woman smiles at him, seemingly liking those words. "that's good, i'm glad you're still friends with y/n, he missed you".

chenle blinks, the words surprising him. "he missed me?"

your mother chuckles at the question. "yes he did, i remember watching the two of you run around the castle together as children, i was afraid the friendship wouldn't last, when i first resigned, y/n said he feared you two would drift apart".

chenle almost gasps at the information he receives. were you really worried about that? for the longest time he felt like such a bad friend because he began having no time for you as the two of you grew up, yeah that's what happens as people get older but he'd always see the flash of disappointment in your eyes when he had to be dragged away for another stupid royal meeting.

"i didn't know he felt that way, it's getting much more difficult to get him alone with everything going on".

"i heard you two are beginning to talk more, he always comes to me so giddy about it these days".

chenle is again surprised by the information he hears, a small laugh of disbelief escapes his lips at the words. "really?"

"yeah, he came freaking out over you two talking about books, books! you make him so happy, chenle".

the words strike chenle like a slap in the face, it's just so shocking to him he stands with his mouth agape for much longer than he'd like to admit. his face burns at the fact, at the idea that pops into his brain.

the idea that you might feel the same.. that you might reciprocate his feelings.

he swears smoke is going to begin pouring out of his ears from how heated his face has become.

"i'm glad i could do that, y/n is truly a blessing, i don't know what i'd do without him".

chenle thinks those must've been his truest words today, a look into what's really going on in his head, a look into how he really feels.

god it's always with you isn't it?

"it was nice seeing you again, mrs. l/n, i'm glad your recovering well".

at the word 'recovering', the older woman suddenly tenses, an anxious look in her eye as she looks away from the crown prince. "right, yes, thank you for visiting, chenle, it was nice seeing you too".

chenle smiles at your mother, nodding. "i'll leave you be now".

chenle slips his hands from hers, smiling one more time before leaving her room, gently closing the door behind him. he turns around and looks over at you, your still rummaging through your back, but chenle can tell you aren't looking for something, you seem to be trying to distract yourself.

"y/n?" chenle calls out, seemingly against his own will, because he's surprised by the sound of his own voice. you simply hum in response, not wanting to look him in the eye for some unknown reason. he quickly makes his way over to you, standing beside you and accidentally bumping your shoulders.

"is she really sick? i mean she looks fine! much finer than any sick people i've seen—"

"it's her kidneys".

you cut into chenle's sentence with a shaky tone of voice, you look over at chenle, sighing as you see the confusion cross his face. "her kidneys are failing, chenle".

chenle feels his heart drop upon hearing that, and you look away as you see his reaction to the news. "what? but how did that even happen—"

you let out a distressed sigh, gritting your teeth and closing your eyes. "she contracted lupus, right before she took that break back a few years ago, she recovered and we thought everything was fine but then she started vomiting every other day and i couldn't figure out what was wrong so we went to a doctor outside of the kingdom and.."

you look like you're about to cry, and you take in a deep breath to blink away the oncoming tears, but you persist, not wanting to break down in front of the crown prince. "she got diagnosed with chronic kidney disease, by that point she had been suffering from it for a whole five months! and what can i do? it's.."

incurable.

the word simmers into the air, it's unsaid, but both of you know what's truly going on. your both silent, none of you saying a word as silence quickly takes over the room. chenle finally takes the initiative and glances over at you, the tears brimming in your eyes threatening to fall at any moment.

still, you don't allow for yourself to become vulnerable in front of chenle, wiping the tears that haven't fallen from your eyes. "it's a lot to try and digest at once i'm just.. i'm not ready to see her go".

chenle gets it, anyone would get it, he stays silent, afraid of not being able to do the comforting as well as you do. "i'm sorry".

"there's no need to apologize, i mean— this is just how life works!"

"i hate that it works that way" chenle responds, fathers dying eyes flash in his mind, and he bites into his bottom lip so hard that it begins bleeding. god, he hates that memory, father only passed away no less than a year ago, and the image of his lifeless face still haunts chenle in his nightmares.

"yeah, but what can i do?" your clearly trying to be positive, but it's difficult for you to. "i'm just worried that one day i'll come home and she'll be gone.. i already had to go through it with dad and now— i don't know how i'll deal with it".

chenle stares at you, a small smile comes to your face as you glance back at him. chenle wants to cry just seeing you try to hold back your own tears, so he looks away from you quickly.

he then looks back at you, moving closer to you and taking your hand. "if you ever need someone to talk to, to vent to, to— yell and cry at.. i'm here".

you chuckle at the words, tears again welling up in your eyes. chenle feels you squeeze his hand, and he smiles softly at the sight of you. "really? you'll listen to my stupid ramblings?"

"yeah" chenle responds, nodding a little bit too enthusiastically, but he doesn't care. "i will, your feelings are just as important as mine, and you're my friend, it's what friends do".

you squeeze his hand, laughing softly again as you let a small tear slip down your face. "thank you, chenle".

"it's no problem, y/n".

CHENLE IS GENUINELY GOING INSANE, AND ITS ALL because of you. he can't focus on anything but you, and it's literally driving him crazy. he has never, never in his 21 years of living on this earth ever felt so much for just one person, what is it with you? he can't even think about you without his face turning a bright shade of red, his palms easily get sweaty and his words become nothing but a jumbled mess.

chenle finds it hilarious, how he was raised to be poised and proper, never swear, never talk when you don't have to, never interrupt others, sit like this sit like that, speak like this, speak like that, but right now, he's acting like a psycho more than anything.

he's pacing around his room like he just lost his mind or something, completely distracted from everything else as his mind is focused on you and you only.

he must look crazy, hair messy, clothes in disarray, pacing back and forth as he tries to figure out if feeling like this is normal, or even allowed here.

"chenle? could you explain to me why your mother wants— oh dear".

kun walks in midway through chenle's strange breakdown thingy, and the younger isn't even paying attention to him because he's screaming into the pillow on his king sized bed. the older watches in concern, and the breath chenle lets out is a mix of weary and frustrated. "chenle? what's wrong?"

kun drops the clipboard he'd previously been holding to rush over to the younger's side, if he focuses hard enough, he swears he can see tears welling up in chenle's eyes. "chenle.."

chenle sniffles, looking down at the pillow in his lap. "i'm in love with him, kun".

kun blinks, dumbfounded. "with who?"

"with y/n! i can't— oh my god i'm so stupid!" the crown prince grabs his pillow again and lets out a well needed scream of agony, a scream that makes kun sigh as he stares at the sight before him. "i don't get it! why does he make me feel like this!? everything is so complicated and i can't even do anything about it because i get married in two months—!"

"okay okay, calm down" kun is quick to cut in, pressing a quick thumb to his cheek to wipe away the tears. "take a deep breath, talk coherently".

chenle sniffles again, taking in another breath and then exhaling, collecting himself as he tries his best to think coherently. "i don't know, kun, it's all getting to my head, i want him so bad yet i can't have him".

and just the fact makes chenle stomach drop, he wants to start sobbing once again, but he contains his tears. "it's stupid i know—"

"it's not stupid, chenle, it's totally fine to have complicated feelings about things, and people, but you'll never have closure if you don't tell him how you feel".

"but what's the point, kun?" chenle doesn't see why it would matter anyway, what would you even do when he told you how he felt? would you grimace and push him away? would you accept his confession? what would you do? it's all he can think about. "what difference does it make?"

"it gets the pressure off your back.. and, if it's any consolation for you, both you and y/n can finally come to terms with your feelings".

chenle's eyes widen at the words, they settle a new emotion on him he can't exactly explain. "what the hell do you mean by that?"

"language, your highness" kun jokingly reprimands, his tone reminiscent of his mothers scoldings whenever chenle would mess up the garden of roses on occasions. "y/n might've.. told me some things, but you'll have to ask him about that".

"that isn't fair!"

"it is! you have to ask him yourself, it's the only way to get yourself in order!"

chenle deadpans at his older friend, but kun just snickers at his expression, lightly shoving his shoulder. "don't look at me like that, you know i'm right".

chenle would roll his eyes, but kun does have a point. "maybe i'll listen to you.."

"you should".

chenle has to resist the urge to roll his eyes at that response too.

CHENLE THINKS YOU LOOK EXCEPTIONALLY PRETTY when you read. it's not that you're not usually exceptionally pretty, it's just that he enjoys admiring your profile as you read, eyes narrowed, eyebrows furrowed, lips occasionally parting in shock, he could stare for hours. he might look creepy on a few certain occasions, but you rarely ever notice.

chenle doesn't know how many times the two of you have been up together late in the night, just sitting in the library talking about literature. he doesn't even remember what your talking about most of the time, but he loves talking to you about bullshit pertaining to the books your both into.

for the both of you, books are sort of an escape in a way. chenle enjoys indulging himself in worlds of fiction to distract himself from his mess of a life, and you enjoy indulging yourself in messy love stories with terrible endings to distract yourself from your own issues in life.

it's all truly a coping mechanism for you two.

you both are a coping mechanism for each other, chenle finds it all simpler around you, and you feel as if you don't have to be so professional around him anymore.

chenle doesn't sleep much these days, but that's because he's spending most of his nights in the library with you. he likes listening to you talk, the way you simply piece together your words is amazing.

"and it was so sad! i cried my eyes out for weeks after reading that!"

chenle snickers at your whining, and you caress the material of the book in your hands. "i mean.. the book is literally called, they both die in the end".

"i know! i know! but that doesn't mean it's still not sad" you frown, recalling the ending of the book you were rambling about.

you quickly stop your pouting and make your way over to another part of the library, the section including romance books. chenle doesn't follow you, but his eyes surely do, he makes sure to keep them trained on you, as if you'd disappear if he even looked away from you for just a moment.

"do you want any more recommendations? or..?"

"oh, no no no" chenle shakes his head. "i just—" he pauses, having no idea how to say the words without sounding like some weirdo who totally has a crush on you.

well he is a weirdo who totally has a crush on you, how hypocritical.

"i like listening to you talk".

you blink at his words, noticeably flustered at the way they came out. chenle takes your silence as you judging him, so he's quick to chuckle awkwardly and begin waving dismissing hands. "i didn't mean to say that i know it was weird and stuff—!"

"no no! it wasn't weird i'm just.. i'm not used to being told things like that, you're so unique with your words and i never know how to respond to them".

"oh.."

"yeah".

you click your tongue, and chenle simply stares. oh you affect him so much without doing anything, what is up with you? his ears are burning, he might collapse at the very moment.

what was that kun said again? you'll never get any closure if you don't just tell him how you feel. yeah, he isn't sure if he'll be able to do it.

"can i show you something?"

chenle's breath hitches against his will, he has no idea why he's nervous, why the hell is he nervous? it's just you, it's you, his friend since he was a child, his oldest friend, you probably know him better than he thinks you do.

you wouldn't do anything bad.

"is it terrible?" he raises an eyebrow, and you laugh. your laughter is pretty, so pretty. "well? is it?"

"no, just come here" you beckon chenle over to you with your hand, a hand he almost shies away from, but he can't shy away from you, so he steps closer, following you. he feels like a mind controlled puppet, your a magnet attracting him closer and closer until he presses into you.

you smile as you see chenle in your peripheral vision, your fiddling with something in your fingers. chenle furrows his eyebrows, having no idea what it is, he tries to look over your shoulder, but you quickly block his eyesight, much to his own dismay. "why are you hiding?"

"i'm not hiding! be patient, your highness".

your teasing tone of voice doesn't make it past chenle, but he doesn't stay anything, just keeps his mouth shut. you hum as you turn back to chenle, still fiddling with your fingers as you smile at the crown prince, who is puzzled by what you're doing exactly.

you then open your palm, extending it forward towards chenle, and his eyes widen at what he sees.

"what is..?"

"we— um.. remember that friendship bracelet i made for you when we were ten? the one you broke?"

chenle laughs lightly, his face burning. "yes i remember.."

"well, i kept mine, and because were.. you know, friends again, i remade it for you, if you want it of course!"

chenle stares at you, then he stares at the bracelet in your hand, and he can't resist the urge to smile. you're absolutely adorable, sweet, chenle really really really likes you. his silence makes you anxious, and you want to begin picking your fingers until they bleed.

chenle must realize it, because he immediately laughs, a hearty laugh, a lovely laugh. "y/n, i love it, it's so.. cute i can't— how long did it take you to make this?"

"well i was thinking about it for a while and i just barely finished this last night i just.. i don't know, i missed you, a lot" you say, your words a vomit of adoration, oh you're so adorable. "it was a brash decision really".

"you're so—"—cute—"sweet, really".

you again step closer to chenle, silently asking to have his wrist with the extension of your hand. he doesn't even think before placing his hand into yours, allowing for you to slip the bracelet onto his wrist. it fits perfectly. of course it does, chenle can barely stifle his giggle.

he feels so giddy.

you don't let go of his hand, and chenle doesn't move his hand either. he stares at the indirect act of affection, his hand gently placed upon your palm, a palm that you aren't moving. what are you two doing? what the hell is going on?

"y/n" chenle calls out, his voice barely elevated as he avoids eye contact with you. "what is.. what are we doing?"

"i don't know" you mutter, blinking. you don't even think before taking your free hand and intertwining it with chenle's other free hand, now your holding both of his hands, an action that has chenle's face reddening to amazing heights. "your hands are warm".

chenle simply looks away, basking in the feeling of your fingers laced with his. he likes holding your hand, it just feels right, your fingers intertwined with his, your hands placed on his.

"yours are cold".

the words are nothing but your observations of each other whispered into the air. it's a strangely intimate moment, you two are just staring at each other in the library, your short breaths can be heard in the silence of the huge room around you.

you sink your teeth into your bottom lip, then stare at chenle's. chenle blinks, he sees you, he sees what you're doing, but it doesn't seem like you're trying to be slick, you don't care, you are unashamed in your decision.

he isn't really sure how to feel about that.

you lean closer, much closer than chenle thinks he could ever handle. you give a small smile, and chenle wants to faint. he's holding your hands, your leaning close to him, and you look you want to kiss him.

and he wants to kiss you.

oh he wants to do it so bad.

"may i?" you ask, but you aren't looking chenle in the eyes, your staring directly at his lips. chenle almost chokes on his spit, are you really asking him if you can kiss him? do you really like him as much as he likes you? is he dreaming?

he stares like an idiot for so long that he almost looks frozen.

chenle nods wordlessly, but that's not good enough of an answer for you.

"verbal consent, chenle".

chenle wants to pull you into a kiss by force right now.

"yes! yes, you may".

you note his enthusiasm, enthusiasm that makes his face redden, he looks away from you, clearly embarrassed.

you chuckle silently, letting go of his left hand to take his jaw and turn him back towards you. then, you lean forward and press a kiss to his lips.

it's short, sweet, and ends in pretty much two seconds.

your cheeks are dusted red, and you immediately look away from chenle upon finishing your action. "that was stupid, right? i'm sorry! i don't know why i did that i jus—"

chenle doesn't let you finish, he grabs the back of your neck and smashes your lips together. you let out a small squeak of surprise, clearly not expecting the action, but you quickly relax into the kiss, sighing softly as you let an arm wrap around his waist, pulling him closer with your hand on his back.

it's.. nice, it feels right, chenle is relaxed. his heart isn't pounding uncomfortably, he doesn't feel that anxious pit in his stomach, his chest isn't tight, he feels like he can breath (ironic, really), and he doesn't want to burst into tears at his circumstances.

he feels good, he feels content.

god, it's always with you isn't it?

"wait wait, hold on" you pull away for air, pressing your forehead against chenle's as you gather your words. you chuckle awkwardly, looking down at the floor instead of at the crown prince in front of you. "sorry, i don't know how to feel about this".

chenle blinks up at you, and all you can see are his pretty eyes staring at you. you fumble through your speech, trying your best to be coherent even with the way he was staring. "i'm just.. i don't know, i have to check up on my heart levels and shit—"

chenle gasps loudly. "language, y/nie".

"you can't just say that after you literally took away my breath you.." you stop in your speech, snickering at the way you're acting, the red on your cheeks doesn't disappear, but chenle thinks he likes it that way.

"y/n" you look up as chenle calls your name again, now completely focused on him. "i.. i don't really know how to say this but i— i like you, okay? like a lot, not even just that i'm in love with you! it's.. complicated".

wow, so much for a smooth confession, chenle.

chenle narrows his eyes at the voice in his mind, it sounds like.. you?

you freeze at the confession, your whole body paralyzed as you try your best to process the words in your head.

"oh".

chenle can't tell how you feel by your tone of voice, but to him, it doesn't sound good.

CHENLE USED TO BE AFRAID OF ASKING HIS FATHER certain questions. he was unpredictable in the sense that chenle never knew how he'd react if he asked him a question as simple as what 1+1 was. when father was alive, chenle feared him, not because he was physically violent or anything, but because he was intimidating. the air temperature would lower whenever he stepped into the room, and the way his voice boomed when he talked was enough to have chenle shivering for weeks.

"father, may i ask you a question?"

"is it a stupid question?"

at thirteen years old, chenle was still as fearful of his father as he was back when he was seven, and he almost wanted to cry the moment his father responded to his question with another question. he swallowed his own spit, a feeling of anxiety immediately settling onto him. "well— i'm not sure.."

his fathers shoulders relaxed, and he hummed. "what is it, chenle?"

"why do i have to get married?"

the question was much more abrupt than chenle wanted it to be, and he clamped his mouth shut as soon as the words escaped his lips. his father stayed silent at the question, which didn't lessen his worries, it worried him much more than it should've.

his father then chuckled, he chuckled, and chenle almost let out a gasp upon seeing the sight. when was the last time he'd seen that happen? the sight was truly one to behold, he was amused, amused!!

"why are you so curious about that? you're way too young to be interested in stuff like marriage".

"i'm not that interested i just— i heard mother say something about it and i.. i don't know! i just want an answer".

his father turned back to him, an unintelligible expression on his face that chenle still doesn't understand even to this day. "let me ask you a question, chenle, do you want to get married?"

the question struck chenle as odd, but judging by his father's smile in the moment, the question was very much needed. the thirteen year old prince blinked, puzzled, but he didn't let the question linger in the air for too long, afraid of upsetting his father with his silence.

"maybe, in the future, when the time is right, with someone who i like, and know is a good.. person to me".

"person?"

chenle nodded, wordless as he tried his best not to shrink under his father's gaze.

"ah, i see".

chenle had no idea where he was trying to go with that question and statement.

"what kind of person?"

chenle was once again speechless at the question, he allowed for his eyes to roam around the room as he scoured his brain for an answer to his father's question. then, he spotted his answer, it was you, giggling with kun about a dumb joke as your mother rummaged through her work bag for something.

you caught his eye in the moment, smiling the sight of him as you waved, mouthing a small hi from where you were across the room.

chenle giggled at the sight, waving as well as he returned your greeting.

unfortunately for him, father noticed everything.

"oh? someone like y/n?"

chenle immediately snapped his head towards his father, beginning to sputter at the assertion from him. "y/n? what do you mean by that?"

his father merely glanced over at you, his lips unconsciously quirking up into a smile. "you seem to like y/n, the two of you are friends right?"

"yes, yeah we are".

"huh" his father clicked his tongue. "if you ever do get to decide who you want to marry in the future, let it be someone like him".

chenle choked on his spit, he had no idea how to respond to that. the words have stuck with him forever, even after father's death, even after his marriage to yinuo was confirmed, the words ring in his head whenever chenle does as much as look at you anymore.

it's been a week, a week, a whole entire seven days, and you have been avoiding chenle like the plague. literally. you see him in the halls and make a break for the nearest door, you catch his eyes randomly and you immediately look away. you don't smile, you don't stop to make small talk, you just turn your back and run away.

did he do something wrong? did you really not return his feelings? (no! that can't be true! why would you kiss him back if you didn't feel at least something for him?). chenle has no idea why you're suddenly avoiding him, but you are, and he has to figure out why.

so, when chenle finishes having a totally fun conversation with his mother, he makes a beeline towards your office, he knows your there, because you aren't anywhere else during the day usually. you don't visit your mother on tuesdays, chenle knows that very well.

he stops in front of the door of your office, a sudden anxious feeling taking over him. he raises his fist to knock, but then lets it fall, he instead turns the knob and opens the door to your office.

you don't perk up immediately at the sound of the door opening, mainly because your back is turned and your focused on cleaning up a rubbing alcohol spill. chenle doesn't say anything, the silence in the room practically swallowing him whole.

you still don't look back, simply humming. "did you leave something here, kun? are you going to nag me about cuts again?"

chenle keeps silent.

when you finally do turn back to look at chenle, expecting kun, you pause, an unreadable expression crossing your face. you clear your throat, smiling awkwardly as you tucked your hair behind your ear. "hi, your highness".

chenle's jaw clenches, what's with the sudden switch up? why aren't you calling him by his name anymore?

"hi, y/n".

another uncomfortable silence takes over the room, and chenle wants to die in that very moment. there's no playful banter, there's no snickering, you two aren't talking, this is one of the strangest things to ever happen to the both of you in your whole entire friendship.

you two always talk, even if it's just small talk, this random silence makes chenle anxious.

"did i do something wrong?"

judging by your reaction, that wasn't the question to ask. you simply chuckle, going back over to the spilled rubbing alcohol and finishing up with your business. "no".

"so what happened?"

"nothing happened".

"it doesn't seem that way, you've been avoiding me ever since.." chenle looks down at the floor, picking at his nails as he tries not to stare at you. "you know".

you hum, finally turning back to chenle again with the intention of making eye contact. chenle looks over at you, but not directly in your eyes, just at your face. "we can't, chenle".

"what?"

"we can't be.. we just can't, chenle".

chenle's eyebrows furrow. "you could at least elaborate on that".

"you know what i'm talking about, chenle" you grit your teeth, but you aren't frustrated by chenle, no, you seem frustrated by yourself. "you're getting married soon and i'm.. i'm nothing like you, this isn't right—"

"what makes you think that?" chenle cuts in, what is wrong with you? what the hell is wrong with you? is that really what you think? he's about to kill you. "are you embarrassed?"

"embarrassed? what? no! no! i'm literally the one who offered to kiss you i just.." you cover your face with your hand, letting a distressed groan escape your lips. "i don't want to be the reason everything goes wrong for you".

"is that really how you feel? is that really how you think i feel..?"

"chenle" you begin softly, your tone of voice making chenle's stomach flip. you close your eyes and clasping your own hands together. "i do like you too, i— love you, even, but we just can't be together".

oh. that's what it's about.

chenle sucks in a breath, he wants to shout at you, not because your making him mad, but because your right, and he knows it. he wants— no, he needs to break something, throw something against the wall in frustration, break a glass window. just anything to keep himself from having a full on mental breakdown from your very words.

"of course you would say that".

you scoff at his petty tone, but you sound more disappointed than frustrated. "your acting like i'm doing this on purpose, if things were different then maybe—"

"why can't we make it work now? huh? why does it have to be if things were different?"

"because you're getting married chenle! you— you're going to become king and i don't want to hold this over your head".

"you're so.. stupid! how is that all you've gotten from this situation?" now chenle is getting desperate, he wants you to change your mind, even if he knows it's unlikely that will actually ever happen. "you're not holding anything over my head and you're not going to make anything go wrong, i don't get it!"

"i'm being realistic.."

"how is that realistic?"

"because it's better than potentially losing my job! chenle! i have to take care of my mother, i can't afford to risk my position because someone thinks you're cheating on your fiancée with me".

your words sting, but they don't sting chenle, they sting you. your chest hurts, so you simply shake your head, sighing in defeat. your arms drop to your side and you turn away from chenle, gritting your teeth.

all chenle can do is give you a look of sympathy. "y/n—"

"chenle, leave it alone" you snap, yet you don't come off as annoyed, more upset. "i'd prefer if you'd leave".

you really just need to think, you just need to peacefully gather your thoughts without chenle in the room.

chenle wants to argue with you, to walk forward and take you by your arm, to grab you by your face and kiss you senselessly whilst telling you that he doesn't care about what anyone thinks.

but chenle obeys your wish, turning around and leaving the room.

KUN KNOWS CHENLE ALL TOO WELL AT THIS point that the younger is convinced that he's a mind reader. from his narrowed eyes to his silent snickers, he can always tell what chenle's feeling before chenle himself even does. back when they were younger, chenle assumed kun had to be some sort of supernatural being, possessing some kind of telepathic power or something, but as he's grown up, he realizes the older is just that observent.

case in point: chenle's current attitude.

"why do you keep sulking? they teach you not to do that at like.. age ten?"

kun's comment doesn't receive it's usual rebuttal from chenle, it simply gets silence, silence that kun hums at. he resists the urge to roll his eyes, standing beside the stubborn crown prince. "okay, tell me what happened".

"what?"

"there's no use in pretending that you don't know what i'm talking about, chenle, what happened?"

kun has always been assertive in this sense, chenle finds his power to be absolutely shocking. maybe, in another universe, their roles are reversed, kun would make a better ruler than chenle ever could anyway.

"i'm an idiot, kun".

the statement results in kun letting out a strange sound, a sound of complete confusion. he then raises an eyebrow, one that makes chenle want to dig a hole and die in it forever. "what is that supposed to mean?"

chenle scowls, covering his face with his hands as he resists the urge to claw his own eyes out. he lets out a groan as your face flashes in his mind, oh he is so stupid, why couldn't he just be fearless? why does he have to be such a coward?

why couldn't he be brave for you?

"i— god, i confessed to y/n but i even managed to mess that up and now we're on bad terms.."

kun goes through seven expression changes as he processes the information. "what? what are you saying?"

"he just told me the situation like how it is" he grits his teeth, looking away from the older. "we can't be together no matter how much we want to, i'm getting married and he can't risk losing his job and.. i have to go through with the marriage".

"who says that?"

"my mother, kun" chenle sighs, feeling as if he just got punched in the gut. "i don't want to put too much on her shoulders, a marriage like this has been planned for me for who knows how long and she's clearly not her best considering father didn't pass that long ago and.." a groan leaves his lips, a sour taste in his mouth. "this will make her happy, i just want her to be happy".

kun stares in silence, clicking his tongue. "have you ever tried to prioritize your happiness?"

chenle sighs. "we're not starting this again kun—"

"no, we are going to start this again, you have to think about if you're happy before ever going through with a marriage, marriage is a legally binding thing! you're gonna be in a union with this woman until you die! are you really happy with that?"

chenle opens his mouth to speak again, but it falls shut. he can't really respond to that. 

all of his life he grew to believe that he'd eventually get used to arranged marriages and the idea of having to warm up to his partner. all royalty have to do it, it's just apart of the process. heck, chenle is the result of an arranged marriage himself, why would he ever challenge it when it was always the most likely outcome?

it's different because it's you. chenle can't possibly think about going through this marriage at all now that he's realized how he truly feels for you, it's not right, he shouldn't, he can't.

you're a terrible liar, chenle. at the end of the day, you will go through with this marriage, it's all too risky to not.

"i.. no, i'm not" chenle finally responds, his voice a mix of disgusted and frustrated. "i just— i always thought it was supposed to be this way, i don't want to just.. do it differently".

"well why not?"

"because this is for the good of my future, for yinuo, for my mother, to test if i can live up to the ruler my father was".

chenle bites his inner cheek, suddenly feeling nauseous. he closes his eyes, not wanting to face kun's gaze.

the older simply sighs. "i can't make you do anything you don't want to, chenle, but don't make a decision you know is going to leave you unhappy, i'd hate for you to be stuck in an uncomfortable position for the rest of your life".

and with that, kun turns and walks out of the room. chenle doesn't open his eyes until he knows kun has left the room.

the words ring in his head all day.

WHEN CHENLE WAS ELEVEN, YOU TAUGHT HIM about the several constellations that appear in the night sky. you taught him their names, how they form, what they represented, and your thoughts on them. you always had a thing for those luminous balls of gas in the sky, something about them always left you so intrigued, waiting for the next time they would show up so you could drag chenle out in the middle of the night to see them with you.

tonight, andromeda is in the sky.

it's never been a favorite of yours, more one of chenle's favorites, but he knows you'll be outside, staring at the aligned stars in the sky. he takes kun's words into account, and wishes his mother a good night before turning on his heel to make his way towards a familiar place of comfort.

the rose garden, of course.

the best thing about the rose garden is that it has the cool glass roof you can see the sky through. it was an addition that was only made a few years ago, one last hurrah for mrs. qian before her eventual retirement.

chenle spent a lot of time reading about constellations, all the information he learned he would relay to you. he loved seeing how interested you were in the information you already didn't know, your eyes would widen comically and then they would light up.

constellations have always been special to me, you told chenle once. they remind me of dad, he's the one who taught me about them, i like to think that he's now become apart of cygnus.

chenle was surprised by your way of grieving, but he couldn't exactly blame you. you liked to think your father became one with the stars, and you'd always be especially excited when cygnus appeared in the sky.

when chenle steps into the rose garden, he isn't surprised to see you already there, lips parted in surprise as you stare up at the sky through the glass rooftop. you don't notice him immediately, but when you do, you smile. "hi".

chenle bites down on his bottom lip, but he steps forward anyway. "hi".

you put your head down, then turn to chenle with an unreadable expression on your face. "i missed you".

chenle allows for himself to lightly chuckle at the fact. "you're the one whose been ignoring me all this time".

your shoulder slump, a small sigh leaving your lips as you rock back and forth on your heels. "i do realize that was pretty.. rude of me, i just needed time to think, i was probably going to have a breakdown if i didn't collect my thoughts".

chenle nods, pressing his lips together in a thin line. an uncomfortable silence passes through the air in the room, and you glance up again to examine andromeda once again.

"i'm sorry".

you snap your head over at chenle. "for what?"

"for yelling, and for calling you stupid" chenle looks away from you, ashamed of himself. "you were just being realistic and i was.. i wasn't thinking clearly, like an idiot".

"don't say that" your voice is so soft, it probably feels like clouds. "i get where you're coming from, just saying those words made me sick.." you pinch the bridge of her nose, and chenle can't stop his head from turning so that he can stare at you. oh your side profile is so pretty, chenle could admire it for hours. "i'm sorry, chenle, you probably felt like your feelings didn't matter in the moment and that was so terrible of me to do, romantic feelings or not, you're my friend, and i care about how you feel, i shouldn't have dismissed you like that".

chenle can't resist the urge to smile, his lips turn up much too quickly, but of course they do, because it's you, it's always with you. chenle has never felt such a way for another human being in his life, but he guesses your whole relationship must've been planned by the universe or something.

"you're so.. stupid" chenle reiterates, but it's said much more affectionately than the last time. "you have always considered my feelings, you are literally one of the sweetest people i know, don't apologize for thinking about yourself for once, your job is much more important than our.. relationship thing".

you pause at the words, shaking your head as a small snicker falls from your lips. "i love you, chenle".

oh.

if chenle didn't have any self control, he would've done a trust fall right then and there. he wants to faint onto the floor and never get up. hearing the words from you makes him exceptionally giddy, you make him happy, you make him so happy, oh chenle is so glad to have you in his life.

happy ending or not, at least he finally knows what you feel for him.

"i love you too" he whispers, his voice getting stuck in his throat, the shock doesn't wear off that quickly, unfortunately. you reach over for his hands, intertwining your fingers with his. it feels so right, chenle could just be like this forever, and everything would be fine.

as long as he's with you, everything will be fine.

you hum at the response, a red color dusting your cheeks. you could just barely stifle your giggle, and it's simply amazing to chenle. you're just as giddy about him as he is about you.

oh chenle loves you so much.

you look up at the sky once again, eyes lighting up at the sight of the aligned stars. "andromeda has always been your favorite, right?"

chenle wants to faint, you remembered. "yeah".

you smile, your smile is beautiful.

you're a desperate man, zhong chenle.

he can't exactly disagree with that.

"you have good taste".

"you flatter me too much".

you finally looks back down, snickering as you squeeze chenle's hands. you lean forward and press a kiss to chenle's lips, it's simply a peck, but chenle loves it. "you deserve it".

chenle wants to squeal like a teenage girl with a crush, you're so cute, you're so adorable, he loves you, he loves you so much.

maybe you can't make it work now, not in this universe at least, but there could be another universe, another timeline where it does work, where it doesn't have to end like this.

chenle is upset it can't be this universe, but this is just how life works. knowing that he can't change his fate, knowing that he will go through with this marriage, knowing that he probably has no true shot with you is all upsetting, but he'll learn how to deal with it, at least you're still by his side.

at least your still in his life, he's grateful for that.

and when he sees you giggle once again, his heart warms. as long as you're happy, that's all that matters.

#zhong chenle #chenle #nct #nct dream #nct u #chenle nct #chenle nct dream #nct dream imagines #nct dream drabbles #nct dream scenarios #chenle imagines #chenle scenarios #nct x reader #nct x male reader #nct dream x reader #nct dream x male reader #zhong chenle x reader #zhong chenle x male reader #𑁍 ࣪˖ 𓂃 isa's works!

[amethystfairy1]

Hey, sorry if this is a bit to dark or perhaps even triggering for you, or too much. You're free to just delete this or keep it or whatever you want to.

I just. I had one of the worst breakdowns I've ever had. An identity crisis, I suppose, that I was a terrible person and that everyone needs to leave me or they'll get hurt and burned. That I was merely placing on a mask and I was nothing underneath. I guess this is what happens if I spiral too much into my thoughts after the sun goes down (one piece of advice is to never listen to your brain after the sun goes down. I usually listen to it, but, tonight was just rough, I guess)

It was near the apex of this breakdown that I checked my Tumblr. For a distraction, a sign, I don't know. You posted the link for "Inkblot Lovely". I decided to go check it out, stay up to date to your series and all.

Scott's entry, I don't think it was the first time I saw it, but it was similar enough to my situation that I had to switch apps to calm down for a second.

It was me, in a sense. It was Jimmy's affection and sure belief in Scott that I was drawn to. I anonymously had a bit of a breakdown in a server I have with some real life friends. A friend anonymously responded that I'm not all of the things I think I am. That I'm not secretly a terrible person that needs to be cleansed.

I don't think that if it wasn't for your fic, I would've accepted the objections to my conclusions so quickly.

I want to thank you for helping me tonight. Thank you, truly. You showed me that I can be loved.

Take breaks, drink water, and eat and sleep well.

This is not dark or triggering or anything like that to me whatsoever! I promise you that! I am so happy and honored to hear that Inkblot Lovely went up at a moment where you needed it.

I'm so happy that Jimmy's affection for Scott in this AU and in this scenario helped you find the courage to talk to some friends in that server, even anonymously. I know sometimes it feels like we're all wearing masks, because we've gotten hurt, or maybe even done some harm in the past, but that doesn't define who are now, and it doesn't make us terrible. Scott's gonna have to learn that in TTSBC, and if in some way reading about him doing that has helped you feel like you can be loved, then that is the greatest and more wonderful thing I could possible hope to hear as a writer, that my stories meant something like this to someone and helped you somehow, because they've helped me a lot this past year as I've been working on them, too.

I am taking breaks, drinking water, and all those other good things, I wish the same to you and very much all the best. All the love in the world, because all of us need to see that we deserve that. 💖

#fanfic #ao3 fanfic #through the sky blue cracks #ttsbc #ttsbc au #flower husbands #amethyst rambles

[steddieunderdogfics]

This week’s writer spotlight feature is:  Sidekick_Hero! @sidekick-hero has 82 works on AO3 in the Stranger Things fandom and 80 of them are in the Steddie tag!

@steddieas-shegoes recommends the following works by Sidekick_Hero:

I wore his jacket for the longest time

Suitcase of Memories

to the rhythm of eternity

Will you cleanse me with pleasure?

Sandy is an incredible writer and always manages to paint beautiful scenes regardless of rating or situation. She was one of the first authors I found in the fandom who really captured so many things about Steve and Eddie that I love. She continues to inspire me constantly! -- @steddieas-shegoes

Below the cut, @sidekick-hero answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

Great question! I'd been out of fandom and on a writing hiatus since 2016, the spark had just left me. Until early 2023, when I wanted to give Tumblr and fandom another try, but nothing really clicked until late summer when this wild-haired, bambi-eyed guy started popping up on my dash more and more. I fell in love with Eddie first, looked him up, and found that people were shipping him with this Steve character. I've never seen Stranger Things. I went to AO3 looking for some fic and the rest, as they say, is history. I fell in love with this ship the way you fall asleep, slowly, imperceptibly, and then all at once. I think what drew me in is these two characters who are so different from each other on the outside that you'd never think they'd work, but the closer you look, the more you can see how well they would fit, how good they could be for each other, bringing out the best in each other.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

Wow, so many. I actually love the range of tropes this fandom offers. I'm a big fan of modern aus, especially ones where one or both are famous. If it's canon-based, I'm a sucker for Kas!Eddie. In general, I love it when one or both are creatures of any kind. I also love friends with benefits fics because they are idiots. Enemies to Lovers and Fake Dating are also high on my list. Last but not least: Porn with feelings and hurt/comfort.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

That's tough. I enjoy writing all kinds of smutty tropes as one-shots. When there's more plot going on, I really enjoy the "exes to friends to lovers" trope, just because as someone in their 30s, I look back on past relationships and hookups and realize what went wrong and how it could be different today, and I think that's something I can relate to a lot when I'm writing it for Steddie. I also love writing about second chances in general.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

It’s impossible to pick just one, sorry. I give you three with the disclaimer that there are so many more I could - and probably would - have picked on a different day. But I wanted to share some older ones in the spirit of what this blog is all about. the most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway is that it’s you by greatunironic Keep it Steady, Eddie by outofmygourd Love blooms, love hurts, love prevails by corrodedbisexual (mishabawlins)

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

Yes! I definitely want to explore some fantasy/creature fics (more outside of a pwp I wrote with Lake Creature Eddie), I already have the idea for Werewolf!Steve, and I really want to try my hand at Vampire!Eddie. I'm also super excited to finally get to work on a fake-dating trope fic for the summer exchange, I've been dying to do that. Last but not least, I really want to try writing an omega!verse at some point, I just don't have an idea yet.

What is your writing process like?

Pretty straightforward, I guess? It never really feels like a process, to be honest. I have an idea and I let it grow in my head (daydreaming, my beloved) until it has grown enough to become an actual fic, and then I sit down and write it out chronologically. Before I start writing, I need to know a few things about the story. I don't usually work with outlines or anything like that, but in my head I know where it starts, what the emotional beats and major plot points are, and how I want it to end. The rest I let unfold as I write. That's why I'm not the fastest writer (plus the whole not-native-English thing). Often the story tells me where it wants to go, so as long as I have the cornerstones, I let it flow.

Do you have any writing quirks?

Not sure if these are quirks, but my sentences tend to be very wordy. My dear friend @yournowheregirl used to comment on my fics when she beta-read them, "Another Sandy sentence. Make it multiple sentences." Also, I only write in present tense, even though I know most people prefer past tense, but it's too hard for me. Other than that, I can't have too many WIPs, I have to finish one story before I can start another.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

Post when I'm done writing, for sure. I hate waiting, I have the patience of a toddler.

Which fic are you most proud of?

I wore his jacket for the longest time, no question.  It's still so precious to me, especially because I got to write it with my platonic writing soulmate @legitcookie, but also because I got to really explore these characters and their growth in this story. It has so much of me in it and I'm really proud of how it turned out.

How did you get the idea for I wore his jacket for the longest time?

Actually, it wasn't all me. I just had this idea of them being kind of friends with benefits, but Eddie wants more than Steve is willing to give him, so they hook up one last time before Eddie sends Steve away for good. That was the original idea that inspired the prequel "we pass the ghosts that haunt us later". The idea for that actually came from a song, "we can never be friends" by mgk. Jen (legitcookie) would not accept the ambiguous (sad) ending, so she demanded that we fix it. So we decided to find a way to let them both grow as people apart and then rebuild their friendship, because only then would they have a real foundation for their second chance.

When writing I wore his jacket for the longest time, what was something you didn’t expect?

How much fun it would be to develop those OC side-characters, especially Mrs. Horowitz but also fucking Tom or even Fritz. It was also the very first time I collaborated with someone on a fic and I was a bit apprehensive if this would work out so I was surprised when I discovered how much I love writing with someone else.

What inspired to the rhythm of eternity?

My love for London, really. I am madly in love with this city and have explored it a lot, so I wanted to use my experiences in a fic. And when @tboygareth asked for a long distance relationship fic for our server holiday exchange, I knew this was my chance. Their meeting as well as the ending is heavily based on my own experiences.

What was your favorite part to write from Suitcase of Memories?

The dreams! They were so much fun to explore because there's a certain mood I wanted to set with them, that dreamy feeling mixed with events from another time period. Their first date and especially their first kiss is a close second, though, because the swing set scene is something I've been thinking about since I saw 13 going on 30 as a teenager.

How do/did you feel writing Suitcase of Memories?

To be totally honest, a bit stressed 😀 It was my first big bang and I was so glad to have Jen by my side, but then real life happened and I realized it's hard to write on deadline. BUT I still love this fic. Especially the theme of love as a choice, even if some cosmic interference gives you a second chance, you still have to WANT it, you still have to work for it and choose it, over and over again. I feel like we nailed that pretty well and I'm proud of us and this story.

What was the most difficult part of writing Will you cleanse me with pleasure??

The emotional setup, because it was a gift for Ger (@steves-strapcollection) and he wanted them to be disgustingly in love, but I also needed Eddie's condition to be something he kept from Steve at first for fear of losing him. Besides that, the logistics, really. So many tentacles, man. So many.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

Okay, some very, very self-indulgent scenes I wrote are for my Runner!Steve verse. I am a passionate runner, and it was so much fun to write that love for Steve and to geek out about it in my writing. Another scene I'm very fond of is from my very first ST fic, "I'm tired of asking to settle the debt," and it's a scene where they're both kids and meeting for the first time, it's winter, and Eddie is doing an impression of a dragon with his breath.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

Well, by the time this comes out, I will have posted my reverse big bang fic "Emotional Motion Sickness" with art by the amazing @arimakes. There's also the summer exchange, in which I was lucky enough to claim my dear friend @starryeyedjanai's prompt, and the steddie big bang 2024. I'm also finishing the last chapter of "hold me close (I'm shaking apart)" and hope to post it soon. 

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

Yes, I want to thank everyone for making this project possible! This fandom has grown so much and there is so much amazing fic that easily gets buried under all the content, so having this project to give the writers of this fandom some visibility and love is precious to me. Thank you, really 💜🙏 Also, all my love to every single writer out there - you make my life and the lives of so many better by sharing your gift with us.

Thank you to our author,  Sidekick_Hero, and our nominator,  @steddieas-shegoes on tumblr! See more of Sidekick_Hero's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

#writer's spotlight #writer's wednesday #ao3 writer #steddie writers #steddie #steddie fic recs #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things

[a018233]

my english sucks a lot sry😔 and it’s not like request, but more of a question???

i was thinking about which yanderes would be willing to share their darling with another yandere (pairs like naib and norton, both had very traumatic past, both very protective and closed off, maybe andrew and luca (i love them they are so silly🤭))

absolutely in love with your rental-gf/bf-au it’s just chef’s kiss🤌🤌 can’t wait for another part!💓

I'm assuming this is for the rent-a-gf/bf au so I'll start:

Xie and Fan. They already share you on their dates. Taking turns with you sitting on their laps and spoon feeding you, taking you on shopping sprees. Instead of being their boyfriend, it feels like you're more of a domesticated kitten in their grasp that they want to spoil.

You hit the spot on Andrew and Luca. The two are already roommates. They might as share you since neither of them are willing to back down. I honestly think because of how delusional Andrew is, Luca manages to convince him to kidnap you. You can live with them, and since they have different work schedules, someone will always be home with you. That is if they come to an agreement first..

I don't think Norton would share, he alr regrets introducing Eli to you because now Eli talks as if you two are in a relationship. Norton is kicking himself in the face, all he wanted was for Eli to get out of bed, and now he's trying to court you to? C'mon.. Norton wishes he left Eli alone instead.

Not only that, but Naib is totally into you too!! Now he has two people to actively compete against. One is ex military who probsbly has a high killcount, and the other is delusional nutcase who believes that he's your boyfriend.

#idv x reader #yandere identity v #yandere idv #identity v x reader #ᯓᡣ𐭩 rent-a-partner #ೀ. asks #wu chang x reader #wuchang x reader #yandere wu chang #norton campbell x reader #yandere eli clark #eli clark x reader #Yandere norton campbell #yandere andrew kreiss #yandere luca balsa

[wttcsms]

excerpts;

i have over 100k+ words in unfinished drafts/wips in my google docs. yikes.

in an attempt to gauge general interest + also to motivate myself in attempting to at least finish half of the projects i've started, i'm going to share some of the fics i think y'all will be most interested in 🤍 (and also because these are my usual first rough draft attempts, so these are just the best of the worst LOL)

as always, lmk what you think, what you're most excited for, and i'm always open to chatting about any of my concepts in depth 🤭

featuring keiji akaashi, atsumu miya, sae itoshi, tobio kageyama, naoya zenin, satoru gojo, + a plot that's still open for any character so tell me why ur fave deserves it (all with fem reader)

— brace for impact, keiji akaashi elevator pitch: rich college girl with daddy issues is roommates/put under the care of old-time family friend, 20-something y/o keiji akaashi

“I just don’t want you to waste your life away.” He answers, which is the truth. He really hates picking you up when you’re drunk off your ass, unable to defend yourself against the swarms of sleazy college guys that are attending the same party as you. He hates the fact that you’ve been raised — if the dozen father-daughter interactions you had with your dad counts as him “raising” you — to believe that money can solve all your problems. Because, sure, having money has gotten you out of many tight spots, but it wasn’t money that drove to a college on the other side of the city to pick you up, it was him. He has to stand here and watch you push the universe’s boundaries, trying to test your luck, to see if there’s a problem or a bad situation that you can’t get out of this time. You’re reckless and privileged and insecure and rich — the deadliest combination for any college age girl to be. You’re going to ruin your life before it even fully begins. It’s like your default mode is self destruction. 

“Not this speech again.” You sigh, shifting your body so that your knees are turned towards the door instead of him. “Y’know, Akaashi, you’re not my dad.” 

“Yeah, because unlike him, I actually care about you.”

You’re silent now, still staring out the window. He’s usually better at keeping his mouth shut, but it’s hard to do whenever you’re constantly pushing and pushing and testing his patience and he’s just so—

“—sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” His knuckles are white from how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel. It’s a wonder how the words leave his mouth; you think the way he’s clenching his teeth acts as a formidable enough boundary. 

Actually, you think, it’s entirely justifiable. You’re coy, not dumb. You know when you’ve pushed Akaashi too far, and this is one of those times. And, really, you kind of — scratch that — you do deserve it. All of it. And then some. You’re irresponsible, and you drag him out to the other side of the city so he can act as your guardian, your protector, even though that is most certainly not the role he planned on playing. Honestly, you’re just surprised that he hasn’t left you out to rot like everyone else, and you’re thankful, you really are. But what are you supposed to say? That? The truth? Probably. 

You don’t, though. You just mutter some weak ass retort that sounds an awful lot like “you need to get laid” before staring out the window for the rest of the ride. 

— devil on my shoulder tellin' me i'll die soon (i don't really want that to impact you), atsumu miya elevator pitch: yakuza au but a healthy amount of porn and plot. sequel to this.

The first time Osamu Miya meets you, you’re unconscious, and he has a feeling you’d be grateful about this fact considering the state you’re in. 

Atsumu’s carrying you bridal style, and even in your sleep, you still cling to him. The sight would be almost sweet, but Osamu’s not an idiot. There can never be anything sweet in his dear older brother’s life. Even in the pale moonlight, Osamu can see the bruises and hickeys lining your neck, a trail of them that seem to disappear underneath your clothes (he wouldn’t be shocked if there’s a map of hickeys littering your skin). Your hair is sticking up at odd angles, your lips are swollen, and you are knocked out in every sense of the word. 

If the situation wasn’t serious (even without verbal confirmation, he’s well aware of how dire this situation is right now; Atsumu wouldn’t have visited him if it weren’t), Osamu thinks he would have made a comment about his brother’s rough handling. 

(He doesn’t, though, because Osamu knows all about just how rough his brother can get — after all, they both had the same upbringing.) 

“‘Samu,” Atsumu says, and his voice makes him sound like he’s worse for wear. He sounds like when he was fourteen and had his first taste of initiation, when a group of the strongest men would beat him relentlessly for thirty seconds and he wasn’t allowed to fight back. The crack in his voice is subtle, and even though Osamu rarely speaks to his brother anymore, he’s still a master at reading him. 

“Who’s the girl?” Osamu nods to your sleeping form, trying not to focus on the purple and red marks. God, he can’t tell if he, Atsumu, you, or all three of you are lucky it’s so dark. Osamu can’t really believe it’s possible to go out in public after a night with his brother; not without being on the receiving end of a few concerned looks. 

“I need a favor.” Atsumu ignores his question, which is typical behavior for him, so Osamu’s not entirely too surprised or annoyed. “She’s in danger, and it’s—” 

Atsumu grimaces like the next words he’s about to say are going to leave a bitter taste in his mouth. And maybe it’s because that’s his brother and they grew up together, or maybe it’s because ‘Tsumu’s always been a little predictable (or has Osamu just always been good at predicting?), but Osamu can almost mouth what his brother’s about to say.

“—my fault.” 

So, you must be someone awfully important to his brother then. Important enough that Atsumu would finally visit him in person after all these years (with barely any warning beforehand, too). Important enough that Atsumu would treat you so roughly (if the marks on your body are any indication of what you’ve been through) and still care about you so deeply. Important enough that he’s finally taking accountability, finally taking the blame for his actions.

He didn’t think it was possible, but Atsumu’s left him genuinely speechless for a moment. 

“Please, ‘Samu.” Atsumu Miya is not the type of person who breaks down easily. He does not beg, he commands. But right now, Atsumu sounds like he’s this close to getting down on his knees and clasping his hands together if that’s what it’ll take to get Osamu to help him. “You told me you would owe me after what I did for you. Consider this your repayment.” 

Apparently, you’re someone so important to Atsumu, he’s cashing in a favor that’s worth his life just to ensure your safety. Osamu can’t tell if that’s true idiocy or true love — then again, there’s hardly a difference between the two, is there? 

“Idiot. I would have helped ya regardless, y’know.” He means it. Every word. 

“I know.” And Atsumu means it, too. Because even if they’ve went years with little to no contact, even though they both belong to two completely different worlds, they’re still brothers. Which means that they also know each other as well as they know themselves, and Atsumu knows that Osamu can never truly be at peace until he feels like the completely imaginary debt he owes is paid back in full. 

The universe must have a taste for irony, though, because Atsumu thought that ensuring your safety and bringing his brother peace would make him feel good. Instead, transferring you to his brother’s arms allows the weight of the world to rest more comfortably on his shoulders. 

Osamu takes one last look at his older brother, and he’s not entirely surprised to see that his attention is on you, dark eyes staring so intensely at your sleeping figure, he wonders if he’s trying to commit your face to his memory. He’s worried about Atsumu. Sure, he’s got a whole entire gang on his side, a rather powerful one too, but ‘Tsumu’s never been the greatest at being left alone to his devices, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. 

But then Atsumu looks up at him, and Osamu feels like they’re both fourteen again. Trapped, vulnerable, in immense pain… But not alone, never alone. 

“Thanks, ‘Samu.” 

“Any time, ‘Tsumu.” 

(It’s the same words exchanged by their teenage selves years ago, whenever Osamu would help him clean his cuts and sloppily stitch him up.

To them, it was another way of saying “I love you”.)

— it always leads to you [chapter one], sae itoshi elevator pitch: literally the long ass, long awaited start to this series. if you listened to taylor's new album (ttpd)... yeah, that's basically the new soundtrack for this fic. do what u will with that info <3

A hard pill to swallow is that people never get over their first loves. 

It’s like, scientifically proven, or something. There’s been studies, you think. Not to mention that you belong to the group of people who have never gotten over their first loves. 

You’re aware that it’s probably embarrassing and should be something that brings you shame, but when Sae comes knocking on your door, infrequent, surprise visits that always catch you off-guard, you find yourself opening the door for him. 

(He has a key. He can let himself in any time he wants. You think he must forget.)

This time, he’s not knocking on your door, but he is waiting in the stairwell near the entrance to the floor of your apartment. He’s got a baseball cap on and a dark sweatshirt, and you want to tell him that everyone who lives here is most definitely getting shitfaced at the college bar you just left (the one whose only redeeming qualities are that it’s by campus and the drinks are cheap). He doesn’t have to worry about hiding his identity. 

You frown when he approaches you. 

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” you pout and complain about this halfheartedly, but it’s all for nothing. Sae never tells you when he’s coming; it’s almost like you’re just a spur-of-the-moment decision to him, which doesn’t feel right since the Sae you grew up with was always meticulous and purposeful with his actions. Granted, the Sae you grew up with left on a plane to an entirely different continent four years ago, and the one you have standing next to you now sometimes feels more like a doppelganger than your ex-boyfriend. 

He doesn’t answer, because of course he fucking wouldn’t. He waits for you to fumble with your keys; if you knew he was coming, you wouldn’t have let Akane convince you to take as many shots as you did. Now everything is kind of blurry and hazy, and your hands shake despite the lack of coldness you’re feeling. 

You delude yourself into thinking that there’s something of the old Sae left inside of him as he gently pries the keys from your fumbling fingers and unlocks the door to your apartment himself. 

Entering your apartment feels like traveling in a time machine, only instead of traveling back in time or to the future, Sae is entering a present-day parallel universe. This apartment, with its best (and only) amenity being a short distance from campus, could have been his. Could have been shared by the two of you, even. 

If he had stayed, that is.

Sometimes Sae ponders what his life would be like if he stuck around. If he had never had the ego or the audacity to want to see more of the world. You know better than to ask him why he never visits you when you’re on a holiday break from school, and he thinks it’s because you still know him the best out of anybody, even Rin. The truth is, Sae is too uncomfortable to come crawling back to his childhood home that he grew up in, the one he’s spent years determined to grow out of. He only comes back home when absolutely necessary — out of eldest son/family obligation. 

This college apartment, seeing remnants of a life you’re living that he doesn’t know much about (even though all he has to do is ask, and you would gladly tell), feels wrongly nostalgic. Like, the sweatshirt lying haphazardly on the couch displaying a big, fat Tokyo U logo on its front could have been his instead of your roommate’s. He could have played college ball instead of trying to get recruited directly to the big leagues. Sae’s good enough to get a scholarship. Even received a letter informing him that Tokyo U would be more than glad to have him, full-ride. 

(The letter resides in the back of his closet, crumpled up but never forgotten.) 

And, most importantly, you wouldn’t be looking at him like this. 

Even drunk off of cheap alcohol, you sober up startlingly fast when you see him. You shouldn’t give him so much power over your life, but he’d be a damn liar if he said he didn’t relish in the overwhelming relief that you still love him just the same. Nothing ever changes back home, and he says this with disdain, but when it comes to your unshifting affection for him, he figures staying the same can’t be all bad.

“Y’know, it always feels like you’re judging me when you just stand there and look at everything.” An intoxicated you is an honest you. If he wasn’t so determined to mask everything about himself, he would have smiled at your admittance. 

He doesn’t smile, though. He just continues to let his cold eyes roam across the entirety of your cramped, college apartment.

— an indentation in the shape of you, tobio kageyama elevator pitch: idol!reader who goes into hiding after a major scandal despite being the victim x pro!tobio who's been hopelessly pining after you since forever. now you're in hiding, but also living in the apartment right across from his.

SEARCH NEWS: [NAME] [SURNAME] > TOP RESULTS (SORTED FROM MOST TO LEAST RECENT)

WHERE DID [NAME] [SURNAME] GO? *INCLUDES EXCLUSIVE PHOTO OF HER MOST RECENT SIGHTING!*Posted on March 10, 2019

[NAME]’S SOCIAL MEDIA ACCOUNTS HAVE BEEN TAKEN DOWN, IDOL HAS NOT BEEN SPOTTED IN A WEEK Posted on January 4, 2019   BREAKING: [NAME] [SURNAME] GOES SOLO! LEAVES IDOL GROUP TO START HER OWN CAREER! Posted November 6, 2018

KENTARO TANAKA NOW DATING J-POP IDOL AYAME MATSUMOTO, [NAME]’S FELLOW GIRL GROUP MEMBER!Posted on November 1, 2018

AFTER RECEIVING BACKLASH FROM ANNOUNCEMENT OF HER RELATIONSHIP, [NAME] [SURNAME] ISSUES AN APOLOGY ON ALL SOCIAL MEDIA ACCOUNTS Posted on September 3, 2018

NEW COUPLE ALERT! IDOL [NAME] AND HER RECORD LABEL’S EXECUTIVE, KENTARO TANAKA, SPARK DATING RUMORS Posted on August 16, 2018

When you spend most of your adolescent and young adult years standing in front of a camera, constantly served on a platter for the masses to scrutinize during your most formative years, you get used to being seen. People’s eyes locked in on you isn’t a comfortable feeling, but it’s one you’re very well acquainted with. Watchful, judging gazes cling to you like a second skin. 

It comes with the job is what your personal manager, Fumiko Gima, tells you, right before she tells you to toughen up. You had been fifteen at the time and saw a blogger discussing how you were the least attractive cast member on the children’s ensemble show you starred in. 

All eyes are on you from this point forward. You really going to let them see you cry? Fumiko is not a nice person, but she is incredibly kind, in her own way. She’s the type of person who believes in tough love, all while claiming that she doesn’t even think love exists. 

You think about the disapproving frown on her face when you revealed your relationship with Kentaro Tanaka. 

“You think you’re in love with him?” Sometimes it’s hard to believe that Fumiko is barely seven years older than you. Her youth is evident in her flawless skin and shiny hair (both of which are maintained by very meticulous routines), but the flat expression she wears on her face makes her seem like a woman who found out the hard way that her thirties are not going the way she planned. You’re eighteen when she asks you this question, and you don’t know how a twenty-five year old woman can have such an intimidating aura, but you think that only adds to her beauty. 

“He told me he loves me.” 

“People like him and I don’t believe in love.” Fumiko makes a face; sometimes, she lets her poker face drop in favor of making a face of disgust, annoyance, irritation, or extreme smugness. Right now, she looks disgusted. “Well, I wouldn’t normally place myself in the same group as him, but our industries are pretty much the same. You don’t get to where we’re at because of love, that’s for damn certain.” 

At this point in time, you’re adamant that it’s love because that’s what he says it is, and you’ve never been in love before, but you know that it’s something great. You’re eighteen, and insecure, and he’s in such a powerful position — he could have anyone he wants, and he loves you, so he picks you. Maybe Fumiko is just bitter because no one’s ever chosen her. 

— angel of the morning, atsumu miya elevator pitch: historical, ambiguous war au ft. soldier!atsumu x the civilian sweetheart reader who nurses him back to health

It’s the thunder that wakes you first. 

Lately, you’ve been a light sleeper. Paranoia is a good companion whenever you’re a young, pitifully unmarried lady who lives alone. You keep a chair propped under the knob of the front door, and you no longer open any windows, scared that you’ll forget to lock them at night. 

Normally, it’s the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer, or the creaks that come and interrupt the silence of the night (your parents used to swear that old houses just make those noises) that keeps you up. Sometimes it’s the neighbors next door; they like to get into screaming matches that seem to be so loud, they shake the walls of your home. 

It’s not your neighbors’ arguing that rattles the walls tonight. It’s the thunderstorm that the sweet old man at the farmer’s market warned you about. You be safe out, miss. Take some extra apples. It might be too flooded for you to go out like you normally do. 

You pull your blanket over your head, enveloping yourself in darkness but doing very little to block out the noise outside. The thunder seems to only grow louder, each boom punctuating the lightning that you’re certain is striking through the sky. It’s too loud. 

And rhythmic. 

You listen closer… Three booms in succession. A pause. Three more booms. After a minute of this pattern, the sound only comes more rapidly — louder than before, too. 

The loud booms — it’s not from the storm, then. 

There’s someone knocking at your door. 

You debate hiding under the blanket forever. Maybe this stranger will go away and leave once they realize that no one is going to answer the door. Besides, no one trustworthy is roaming the area at this time of night, right? What possible explanation could there be for someone to be stranded outside at midnight during a major thunderstorm? 

But the knocking persists. Whoever this stranger is, they don’t know when to quit. You’d be annoyed if you weren’t so paralyzed with fear. 

“Open up!” A muffled voice still manages to cut through the front door, traveling all the way to your bedroom. It only serves to make you more afraid; what sort of monster is waiting for you outside? The storm rages on, and the knocking won’t stop. 

What happens if this person is in genuine trouble? Would a murderer truly be going through such lengths to kill someone? A thief? 

Well, you rationalize, it’s not as if you have many items worth stealing. Besides, you have no family, no marriage prospects, and a dwindling stash of money with no means to make more. You’re just existing at this point, and you’re surviving on limited time.

So you make your way to the front door, cringing as one section of the floor creaks as you tiptoe through the darkness of your home. You highly doubt the stranger outside can hear you, but you still hold your breath as you peek through the curtains. It’s too dark inside and out for anyone to notice the movement, and all you can make out is a large figure. There’s a knapsack by their feet and hanging off their shoulder is a gun. 

The knocks shouldn’t catch you off guard by now, but one particular hard bang against the door has you jumping in surprise, away from the window. 

This stranger must be a soldier. 

There’s not a lot of fighting to be done down here. The southern towns have mostly been unaffected. Most of the war is being fought up north. All the southern soldiers write back home, telling stories about the cities they visited, careful not to mention the red that runs through the streets and the way the citizens will have to update the population count on the sign outside their City Hall. 

But still, you know what everyone knows — when a soldier, especially one from your side, shows up on your front step, you better let him know that this home is now his. 

You slide the deadbolt with shaky hands, turn the lock on the doorknob, and only hesitate for a few seconds before removing the chair that serves as your last barrier. He’s a soldier, you remind yourself, hoping that you’re not wrong. The least you can do for him is offer him a hot bath for leaving him outside for so long. 

You open the door, revealing a blond-haired soldier weighed down from the weight of his sopping wet uniform, his hair sticking to his forehead because his face is also covered in rainwater, and it’s now that you notice that he’s got one arm wrapped around his abdomen. His hand is pressing down on his side, and you don’t think the dark liquid coating his fingers is water. 

“Finally.” He says. “I’m First Lieutenant Miya, and I fight for the south. I am seeking temporary refuge in your home, and I require only what you can afford to give me. I–“ Before he can finish rattling off what he’s been forced to memorize for times like these, First Lieutenant Miya falls forward, his body crashing into yours. 

It’s been a rough day. 

A rough week. 

A rough month.

A rough life, really, but Atsumu Miya’s long past the days of whining and complaining about things he can’t control. For example, he no longer dwells on his father abandoning his mother right before she gave birth to him and Osamu. There’s still a bitter taste that gets left on his tongue when he mentions dear old pa, which is why, for the most part, he chooses not to discuss him at all. He can’t control the way the north and the south view each other; sure, the mandatory draft isn’t his definition of a fun time, but he honestly didn’t have many plans after school, anyway. He probably would’ve joined the cause, regardless of the law or not. It’s just… A choice is nice to have, y’know? 

Like, if he had it his way, he wouldn’t have gotten caught up in some ambush tonight. If only he weren’t just a lieutenant. If only his captain weren’t such a dumbass.

If he had a group to command, Atsumu’s certain that he wouldn’t lead his men into obvious traps, unlike some captains. But newly promoted Brigadier General Kita isn’t here to force people to listen to what Atsumu has to say. Kita has bigger problems to worry about, bigger troops to organize. 

Atsumu’s morning starts off bright and early with a five mile trek in the woods. The sky is overcast, and anyone with eyes is capable of predicting the storm that’s coming. Atsumu suggests building temporary shelter before the rain makes it too hard to walk; it’s already hard enough to navigate now, but Atsumu’s visited this town before, when he was a little boy. It floods easily, too easily. 

His captain doesn’t listen. Typical.

Around noon, they take a short break to eat. Rations are getting lower. Atsumu suggests that two or three soldiers turn around and head towards town to get supplies. His captain argues that their group is already small enough and sneers that Atsumu must be a northie lover since he’s trying so hard to sabotage this plan. 

The plan is shit, by the way. The captain swears his intel is good, that he’s just oh so certain that a troop of northern soldiers are planning to invade a series of small southern towns. They’re supposedly cutting through the woods to be discreet, and they plan on striking at night.

Atsumu thinks that the captain is just falling into their trap (spoiler: he’s right). There’s no way anyone would bother capturing small towns, just like there’s no way people ever want to listen to someone who’s just a lieutenant. Nobody thinks they have anything to offer, so it’s not worth the time to even pretend to care. These towns aren’t loaded with resources. They aren’t located in any coveted areas. There are only a couple of farms, but even then, they’re not big enough to justify wasting troops to terrorize the townspeople. 

But First Lieutenant Miya follows his orders anyway because what else is he supposed to do? Unfortunately, talking back comes to bite him in the ass because as nighttime starts to settle and the first drops of rain start to fall, his captain gives him a slimy smile before telling him, “Since you have such great ideas, Lieutenant, why don’t you go ahead and turn back into town to get us some of those supplies we needed?”

Well, Atsumu has a few choice words in reply, none of which will get him back into his captain’s good graces (not like he cares to be anyway). Atsumu can argue that it’s dark out, and no one in their right mind is going to be up at night. Atsumu can throw back his captain’s words and remind him that their measly team is already lacking in numbers. He can make the captain look dumb and ask him where the supposed enemy troops are at, since apparently they’re supposed to be capturing the town right about now. He can abandon the men, go back home, and enjoy a homecooked meal from ma. She wouldn’t care enough to scold him for being a dirty deserter; the lecture will come, surely, but she wouldn’t be too harsh with him. Atsumu misses home. He misses his brother, who belongs to a different troop. He misses Shinsuke, his former captain. He misses his mom. 

What he does end up doing, though, is biting back his tongue. He barely nods, clenches his teeth as he reluctantly says yes, sir, and treks off on his own. 

He’s about three miles in when the bullets start flying. 

Isn’t this just a lovely way to finish off the night, he thinks, before sprinting through the trees, weaving between them, trying to ignore how loud and how close the shots sound. He thinks he’ll probably go deaf by the time this damn war is over. A bullet narrowly misses his face, and then he starts to think he’ll probably be dead before then.

He can’t see. If he can’t see, he doubts the enemies can, either. That’s when he gets an idea. His legs are sore, he’s thirsty, and every step he takes is punctuated by a sloshing sound because the area is flooding, just like he predicted it would.

(Sometimes it’s a pain being right all the time.)

The shots are still coming at him in rapid succession, and he believes maybe it’s because they still think they have to shoot at him. If they think they got him, maybe they’ll leave him alone. It didn’t sound like anyone was bothering to chase after him, meaning they’re all probably perched in trees or hiding in bushes, shooting blindly into the night, hoping to land a lucky shot on a target. 

Before he can pretend to be hit, though, some bastard does get a lucky shot on him.

“Fuck!” He can’t help but yell out, the bullet piercing the side of his abdomen. A burning sensation begins to form on the spot where the bullet decided to make its happy home, and Atsumu can’t help but fall to the ground, clutching at the bottom half of his body. 

A minute goes by with no more shooting, and he’s glad he’s in enough pain not to realize that had he thought of his little plan of pretending to be shot sooner, he probably wouldn’t be in this predicament right now. 

It’d be so easy just to lie down and die. It’d be a slow death, sure. Painful, very much so. But no more fighting. No more captains belittling him. 

But if you die, a tiny voice in his head reminds him, it wouldn’t just be you that dies. It’d kill ma. It would ruin Osamu. Don’t be a selfish bastard. 

He allows himself only one more minute to stay absolutely still. He thinks the adrenaline pumping in his system helps to numb the pain, which is saying a lot, considering the fact that death would be preferable over this excruciating sensation. When he’s certain the coast is clear, he struggles to stand and keep himself steady.

He cannot die like this. 

Atsumu Miya knows better than to get upset at things he can’t control. He can’t control flying bullets aimed at him. He can’t control enemy soldiers; hell, he doesn’t even have soldiers he can control, enemy or ally. He can’t control a lot of shitty things that seem to happen to him, but as long as his heart is still beating, Atsumu Miya controls his own fate. He decides what happens next. 

It’s only a matter of putting one foot in front of the other, he rationalizes. He walks all the time. It’s not such a hard task. The storm continues to rage on, and Atsumu pretends he doesn’t even mind the water. He pretends that he’s not freezing. He pretends that he doesn’t care that his uniform is sticking to his body, making the dirty fabric cling onto him as if to act as a second skin. 

There’s a white flag in his knapsack. During training, they said to use it as a last resort. Die before you wave it, or something like that. 

He knows the intended use for it, but right now, he needs it as a tourniquet. He tightens the flag around his waist, using all his diminishing strength to get it as tight as possible. He can trick himself into thinking it’ll stop the flow of blood leaving his body, but at least it’ll slow it down. It’ll grant him enough time to make it into town and get help. 

He doesn’t choose the first house he sees; he chooses the one he likes the best. It’s nothing all too impressive — certainly not the biggest, but from what he can make out in the dark, it looks quaint. It reminds him of home, almost. There’s a porch with a bench outside and flowers on a window sill. It seems to glow in the darkness of the town, its paint a much brighter shade than the surrounding houses. A nice family must live here then. 

He knocks on the door, and there is no answer. Atsumu Miya did not walk this far with his life literally draining out of him to only make it this far. He knocks and knocks, and because he is too stubborn, even to the very end, he doesn’t quit. Someone must answer the door. It doesn’t cross his mind that perhaps this lovely family he’s envisioning might not even be home. It feels like ages since he first started banging on this door, and he thinks this might be it.

And then the door swings open, revealing a young lady with a certain glow about her. Maybe it’s the blood loss talking, but right now, you look like an absolute angel. His bright beacon of hope. 

“Finally.” He swallows hard, trying to remember what he’s supposed to tell you. The proper words are evading him right now. Honestly, even standing is a struggle now. He thinks he does a good enough job, but then he blinks, and his eyes don’t open back up after that.

— to the victor belong the spoils, naoya zenin elevator pitch: the dark longfic i mentioned abt borderline yandere naoya + how he basically slaughtered your whole entire clan and is going to force you to marry him because you have a cursed technique that will basically grant him invincibility

“Who did this?” You’ve seen Naoya so angry that his words seemed to shake the very interior of the room he was shouting in. You’ve seen Naoya so furious that he had everyone in his vicinity cowering in fear, scared to face his merciless wrath. Never have you seen him so enraged that he can hardly speak, the sentence coming out from between bared teeth; they’re discernible growls more than they are words, but his message doesn’t need to be understood in order to know his intent. 

Naoya Zenin is out for blood. 

“Tell me who did this.” He demands, hand gripping your chin, forcing you to tilt your head up and stare him directly in the eyes. You know why he does this; he can read you like a fucking book. He’ll know if you’re lying before you can even finish whatever fabricated story you’ve spent forever formulating. There’s no point in trying to trick him because it’ll cause him to get angrier, and then what? Then, you’ll have the whole entire room’s blood on your hands. A massacre dedicated just for you. 

You hadn’t cried when he had taken you from your home. You hadn’t cried when you were about to be killed by that curse. You hadn’t shed a single tear despite the unfamiliarity of the Zenin Estate, despite the fact that you were forced into a marriage with a man you did not know, despite the fact that you’ve never been this far from home, suffering silently in feelings of isolation and despair. You hadn’t cried after all of that, yet now you’re sobbing? Now you’re here, struggling to stand on your own, clutching onto the material of his shirt as if he’s your only lifeline, dangerously close to burying your face in his chest and crying your little eyes out. He’s been angry more times than he’s ever felt any other emotion. He’s numb to the feeling of his blood rising, of his vision being tainted with red, of having nothing but sick thoughts and vivid memories of torn flesh and severed limbs surrounding him. This emotion isn’t foreign to him; it’s a part ofhim. And he’s angry, yes, but there’s something else that he feels when he looks down and sees you making yourself smaller, as if trying to use him as your own personal shield.

— balancing act [chapter one], satoru gojo elevator pitch: the first month of your bet will you and gojo inevitably get together <3 the start of this series.

You have what you order down to a T. You first started your tried and true method of restaurant ordering when you were but a wee little intern, too shy to go to town on a rack of ribs in front of your peers and bosses. Once you entered the city’s dating scene (which is actually Dante’s tenth circle of hell — it’s just never discussed because that’s truly how vile trying to find a good man in a big city is), you realized that there’s not much difference between lunch dates and client lunches. 

You have the obligatory greeting exchanges (“hi,” “hello,” “how are you,” etc.), the awkward smiles, the mental countdown going off in your head as you wait for the perfect moment to get right into business (“what do you expect to gain from this partnership?” — a line surprisingly used more often in your meetings with potential investors and clients). There’s the pained professionalism, the tight-lipped smiles, the napkin resting in your lap, the battle to maintain constant eye-contact. When you sit across from someone at a table, date or client, you don’t see the person; you see a goal. 

And you’re good at working towards a goal. It’s why you’ve always been the analyst your managers rely on, why you’ve morphed into the senior associate that all your juniors look up to at G&G Capital, and why you automatically figure that if you set your sights on a man only to have him end things, it’s not you who was at fault. It has to be him. You’ve charmed the toughest clients and built fantastic working relationships with the most well-connected M&A lawyers; if you’re this good at professional relationships, why wouldn’t you also be fan-fucking-tastic at a romantic one? 

All the men who have taken you out on dates before wanted to sweep you off your feet. An ex-boyfriend once admitted to you that you appeared so unimpressed at everything, it had become this fun, twisted competition with himself to see what he had to do to get a look of amazement on your face. 

“I can tell by the look on your face that you’re impressed.” Gojo says gleefully, holding open the dirty glass door so you and Utahime can walk in. 

Utahime looks like Gojo just slid open the backdoor to a white van and told her to get in. There’s shock with a hint of disgust evident on her pretty, doll-like features, and you know you’ve got a similar expression, too. 

The floors inside this restaurant — if the dingy, dimly lit shack crammed with small tables and rickety chairs can even be considered a restaurant — are sticky with decades’ worth of mystery liquids that have congealed into the half-inch thick residue that coats the floorboards. You have to purposely think about moving one foot in front of the other in order to walk because actual pressure needs to be applied if you don’t want your heels to become glued to the floor. You’re walking in front of Utahime and Gojo, and you end up choosing a table in the far back; it looks the cleanest. Briefly, you wonder if you’re allowed to be here, then think better of it as Utahime takes the seat next to you, and Gojo takes the one across. You highly doubt there’s a hostess here that’s dictating where the customers sit.

Especially since, upon one glance of the whole place, you realize that it’s empty save for you three. 

“Gojo, if we get killed, I hope they murder you in front of us first,” Utahime hisses. Her family’s so rich (and traditional), she’s never willingly been to a restaurant that doesn’t have a Michelin star. Before college, she’s never even eaten out at a chain restaurant. Being caught in a place like this has Utahime mentally spiraling towards rock bottom. 

“I hope they would, too. I don’t think I have the stomach to watch you meet your grisly end.” Gojo says serenely. Usually, he says things loudly, teasingly, gets all up in your face. When it comes to Utahime, he likes to play at being nonchalant. He’s been doing this to her for over a decade now, and it still grates her. 

Before Utahime can reply, the shaky voice of an older woman is exclaiming, “Oh! Welcome in! Have you gotten a chance to look over the menu?” The voice belongs to a short, plump woman with gray hair, a wrinkly face, but a kind smile that reveals yellowing teeth. She’s got a slight hunch to her back and nails with overgrown cuticles. You try to do a mental calculation of what you could buy this building for, to ensure that this sweet old lady never has to work a day in her life ever again. 

“You know what I want, Mrs. Kimura.” Gojo is giving her one of his signature dazzling smiles. “You can just double the portions today since my friend Utahime here eats enough for a family of five.” 

Mrs. Kimura lets out a throaty laugh. Utahime kicks Gojo in the shin from underneath the table. You’re wondering what Gojo orders from this place, and why does he order here so often to the point of them memorizing his meals? 

“I’m glad you brought friends with you today, Satoru. Meals always taste better when shared with loved ones!” She directs a warm smile in your direction, and you feel bad for returning it with your normal polite one. Tiny and brief. It’s more muscle memory than born from any real emotion. She’s shuffling away to the kitchen before you can try to summon a genuine smile for her, and Utahime’s phone is ringing, filling this near empty space with the tinny, anxiety-inducing sound of an iPhone ringer. 

She doesn’t excuse herself; just looks down at the glowing screen, grabs her phone, and heads outside to take the call.

Which leaves you sitting across from Gojo. Just the two of you. Just the two of you in a dingy restaurant seemingly run by only one old woman. The table looks older than you. The chair you’re sitting on makes a weird squeaky noise with any slight movement of your body. There’s no decor on the walls, no windows either. Nothing to distract you, nothing for you to feign interest in as you wait for Utahime to come back. 

You straighten your posture, try to discreetly look out the front door to gauge how close Utahime is to wrapping up her conversation, and find yourself with no choice but to look in front of you. All you see is Gojo.

He’s tall, you know that. Broad shoulders. Definitely not hideous, you can give him that much. You just feel shocked at how much space he takes up, how it feels like your eyes have to stretch to try to accommodate all of him. 

You don’t know why you feel so awkward, almost like a teenager going on her very first date with a boy she barely knows but still, for some inexplicable reason, wants so badly to impress. You can’t remember the last time you’ve ever felt this way, and you definitely don’t like this feeling at all. 

“How’d you find this place?” You ask him.

“I like to support small businesses.” He’s not teasing you, but Gojo has this bad habit of always adding a playful inflection to his words. 

“I hope you tip well. You look like their only supporter.” It’s not meant to be an insult to the painfully empty restaurant. You know how much Gojo is worth; when Itadori Googled “Satoru Gojo net worth” and showed the results to everyone, Gojo caught him in the act, looked at the top result, and threw his head back in laughter as he told Itadori to “add an extra zero and triple the number.” You think back to your calculation and assessment of the place. “Might as well buy the business.” 

“You make capitalism so cute.” He has to be teasing you now. You scowl. 

(He means it.)

— i wish to know the fatal flaw that makes you long to be magnificently cursed, satoru gojo elevator pitch: yandere gojo, royal au, nanny!reader... yeah idk what happened to this fic either, just that it was depraved and i wish i wrote more to share LOL

You’re acutely aware of the noise you’re making, every huff and small, desperate gasp for breath only further betraying your location, but you can’t find it in you to care.

You know, deep inside your pounding, frightened heart, that it doesn’t really matter how fast or how far you run. 

I will always find you.

Just the mere thought of him is enough for you to ignore the ache in your legs and push forward. If you can find the exit, if you can just see the daylight, surely you’d be able to—

You stop in your tracks.

There are two paths: one right, one wrong. Left or right? Freedom or imprisonment? 

There’s no time to waste, but you can’t make a choice. Which decision would be the right one? Surely either route would still be able to lead you to the exit, right? The sharp snap! of a branch being trampled on leaves you even more frightened. Without thinking, you take a left.

— i think you're too divine for my human mind, undecided elevator pitch: rough around the edges but w a heart of gold underground fighter!character x ring girl!reader. i think this was gonna be for bakugo LMAO but i do not have bnha brain rot so maybe a bllk or jjk or hq boy... NO ONE SAY ATSUMU I DON'T WANNA GIVE IT TO ATSUMU

The couch seems to shift with his weight, and you swallow hard, staring straight ahead at the same cement wall you’ve been staring at for the last ten minutes because you’re still too much of a fucking wimp to navigate this area by yourself. 

Despite the two of you sitting at opposite ends of the couch, there’s only about one foot of space separating his knee from yours. You suppose that he gets away with the manspreading since he probably has no qualms with punching anyone who voices their offense. After witnessing just how brutal the infamous [ring name nickname] can get, you know that you’re definitely not going to be the one to say shit to him. You can’t even look at him.

Where the fuck is your sister? You have your arms crossed, covering your torso, and you think you must have subconsciously pressed yourself as far back into the couch as you possibly could. Everything about you must scream out “she wants to disappear!!!”, and the worst part of it all would be the fact that it’s the truth. You knew coming down here would be a bad idea, and the sinking feeling of regret is practically solidifying itself into your stomach. You think you could throw up. 

“Hey,” a voice — a deep voice, scratchy and low and so scarily close to you — breaks the silence. “You must be…”

Of course, you’re used to it by now. Always being referred to as “Akemi’s little sister” no matter the situation, the person, the setting. It makes sense, you rationalize. Everyone knows Akemi. And so, by extension, they must know you — her shadow, her little sister. 

“...helped out Sakura.” 

“What?” You don’t know anyone named Sakura, but you finally turn your head to properly look at him as you answer. He’s got on a white shirt now, incredibly form-fitting, and he’s staring right back at you. You're quick to meet his eyes before getting too nervous and focusing on the space just below his eyes. Then, that becomes too close to eye contact for comfort, so you settle for staring at his jaw. It’s a nice jaw. Sharp. He could probably cut you with it if you contradict any of his statements, so maybe you should pretend to know this Sakura girl. 

“You must be the girl that helped out Sakura.” He repeats. He says it slow and almost carefully, like he thinks you must be some sort of idiot who can’t comprehend the most basic of statements. “Gave her your jacket.” He clarifies, and it makes sense. The girl with the hot pink colored hair must have been Sakura. 

“Yeah.” You nod. 

“So why are you here?” 

“Huh?”

“Y’know… Pretty girls like you don’t normally end up here without a reason. So what’s your reason?”

He says it so casually, throwing it out there as easily as a punch. He probably means nothing deep by it, probably doesn’t even realize the fact that it is a compliment. 

He called you pretty.

“My sister.” You answer, finally looking away at him to look down at your hands that have settled nicely into your lap. Your cheeks feel a lot warmer than they did a second ago. You decide to blame this as a result of too many sweaty people in one basement. 

“She a ring girl?” 

“She’s dating a fighter here.”

“And you?”

“What about me?” 

“Are you dating a fighter here, too?” 

You look him properly in his face after that comment, almost resisting the urge to laugh. Fear that he’ll get offended and smack you into the floor stops that reaction. Instead, you stare at him, slightly surprised, lips almost curled up into an amused smile at just how unbelievable it would be for you to date anyone like him. 

“You finally did it.” 

“Did what?” 

“Look at me.” He holds eye contact, almost as if he’s trying to challenge you into looking away. “I don’t bite, y’know.” He smiles, showing off a surprisingly straight row of white teeth, not a single tooth missing despite the nature of his… job. “It’s against the rules.”

Yeah. Because [character], the fucking [ring name nickname], looks like the type of man who follows the rules.

#atsumu miya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #satoru gojo x reader #keiji akaashi x reader #sae itoshi x reader #tobio kageyama x reader #UGH i hate going thru my drafts #bc im like damn why didn't i finish writing these #anyway lmk ur thoughts. i have to work on comms so no plans to release these this month but perhaps june