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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 1 year

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Studious IV (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+

You continue reading Aemond's diary. As his true feelings for you become ever more clear, can you decipher your own feelings for him?

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: Aemond in his smut writer era (semi-public sex, p in v sex, tiddy suckin', riding, fingering, oral sex f receiving, bad sex)

Author's Note: So sorry for the delay! But this baby is 11K words, so hopefully that makes up for it! Also, I tried for a long time to format this like the others, but tumblr wouldn't let me post it if I did, so the formatting is a little different here.

Read Part I Here - Read Part II Here - Read Part III Here

My Masterlist

Taglist will be done via reblogs (there are simply too many of you to fit here)

Studious IV

You were never setting foot in the library again.

Not after what you just read. Not when you were sure that the mere memory of it would have you bursting into flames the moment you crossed the threshold.

Good gods, only a few entries ago, Aemond could hardly bring himself to write the word ‘cunt,’ and now this? What in the Seven Hells were his advisors – Grand Maester Orwyle, Lord Jasper Wylde, and Prince Aegon – teaching him?

You weren’t sure whether the odd feeling in your stomach was due to how much you ate – an entire meat pie and five tea cakes, all washed down with a pot and a half of raspberry tea – or what you had just read.

Either way, it was not enough to stop you from glancing about your bedchamber to ensure no one was watching you and then rereading the entry from the beginning.

The 16th day in the 5th moon of the year.

I have just returned from the library. Grand Maester Orwyle suggested that I consult a book on anatomy. Since there was no business of court I was required to attend today, I asked one of the librarians to help me retrieve the title after I finished my training.

I also found a few books Aegon recommended, only after I dismissed the librarian – I did not want him to know that I took those. Or that I even knew what they were. Gossip abounds in the capital, and I do not wish to be the subject of more than I already am.

By the titles alone, I am surprised Mother allows them to remain in the Keep. I likely will not read most of them. Aegon has already traumatised me quite thoroughly. I see no reason to allow him to ruin reading for me, as well. Although one title, ‘A Caution for Young Girls,’ seems innocent enough.

But the books are not why I am writing now, when my usual routine is to write immediately before I retire to bed. I just… I need to commit this to paper before it leaves me entirely.

On my way out of the library, I saw her. My wife – if I die tomorrow or in a hundred years, I shall never tire of calling her that.

She has quickly found the more private areas of the library, it seems. I would never have seen her if I had not been considering going there to read myself.

It must mean something that she did not choose just any of the countless hidden places within the maze of the library, but my favourite – a secluded alcove along the western wall. An indicator of our compatibility, perhaps. Or even a sign from the gods?

Had the books I’d been carrying not been so… unsuitable, I would have asked to join her.

No, I wouldn’t have. That would require far more courage than I can summon when I see her.

I just stared at her, watching her face as she read. From where I stood, I could not see what she was reading. But I could see her, and that was enough.

She is so expressive! I saw her both smile and frown in quick succession, and once, her entire face scrunched in displeasure as if she had just taken a bite of lemon! Gods, how can even such an unpleasant expression be so beautiful?

Perhaps I should not have watched her at all, for the longer I stood there, the further my mind drifted. And then, I heard Aegon’s voice, as clearly as if he were standing beside me.

‘Don’t limit yourself to the bedchamber brother, or even the bed! A wall or a table serves just as well. And there is a certain thrill to knowing you could be discovered…’

Damn him. Why did I ever ask for his assistance? I would have been better off enlisting the help of an actual whore! At least then, the vulgarity would not come from the future King. Damn him to the deepest of the Seven Hells.

But that stupid advice echoed in my mind over and over. And against my will and better judgement, an image began to form. A dream – a waking dream.

Though my feet remained planted on the floor, I imagined setting aside my books and joining her in that alcove. She would look up and smile upon hearing my approach, perhaps even giggle at my attempt at stealth.

I would sit beside her and ask what she was reading. I might even ask her to read to me. But I would not let her read for long.

I would kiss her while she read. Not on her lips but all over her perfect face. Her cheeks, her forehead, on the tip of her nose. All just to distract her, to make her laugh. Only when she made so much noise that I feared discovery would I kiss her lips to quiet her and finally claim my prize.

The kiss would not be like in the Sept, or in her chambers that night. Instead, she would kiss me back and open herself to me. I would kiss her, and kiss her, and kiss her. Until we were both out of breath but still wanting more.

Seeing her like that, with her lips swollen and cheeks flushed… I would not be able to wait until we returned to our chambers. I would lift her onto that very table, books be damned.

Like our wedding night, we would not undress. We would be in too much of a hurry.

But even hurried, I would be gentle. I would take the time to prepare her, as Lord Wylde said I must do every time. Doing so makes the experience more pleasurable for the woman, he says. And Orwyle added that her enjoyment makes it more likely that the coupling will be fruitful.

Gods, I hardly care about that anymore. Of course, I want an heir, or several. But I want her more. I want her to feel as much pleasure as I do. To ‘peak,’ as Wylde and Orwyle put it. Aegon uses other words, but I find them too vulgar.

And in the library, making an heir would be the last thing on my mind. Even finding my own pleasure would be secondary. I would use my fingers to prepare her – perhaps get her to peak once before I even enter her?

Aegon says women can find release much more than men can. According to him, he once made a woman peak ten times in one night. I would be more amenable to believing him if he didn’t also claim he did so five times. But maybe he is right about ‘practising’ increasing stamina. Though he has had years of practice, and I have had only two days…

But in the dream world where I have the courage to approach her at all, and the gall to bed her in the library of all places (can you call it ‘bedding’ if it is not done in an actual bed?), I also have that stamina. And the skill to indeed make her peak with just my fingers.

I do not know what sounds she would make, as she was entirely silent on our wedding night, but I would want her to make them. I would want her to make such noise that I would have no choice but to kiss her to quiet her and keep her from drawing the attention of the rest of the library.

Even when I was buried within her, I would kiss her. With one arm wrapped around her hips to hold her steady as I fucked her so hard the table would shake, and the other hand tangled in her hair so I could kiss her just as hard.

I want to kiss her so badly. When I finally go to her again, that is what I will do first.

Once we had both finished – for I would ensure she peaked again with me inside her – I would kiss her more, softly, until our breathing steadied. Then, we would simply take our seats again, and this time, I would read to her.

By all the Seven, what has become of me? To not only have such thoughts but to revel in them as I do?

You didn’t bother reading the rest of the entry again before clutching the diary to your chest and staring at the bed canopy above you as a thousand questions burned through your mind and set your heart racing.

Had he been thinking about that the day he came to you in the library?

Was it what he intended to do, had you not reacted so poorly to his words?

Were you really wishing that he had?

You turned on your side, cradling his diary as you once did a small stuffed pony, and noticed for the first time that night had fallen – you had spent nearly the entire day reading. For a moment, you considered running to Aemond’s chambers. But when you looked back at the journal, there were still more than a dozen ribbons shut in its pages.

And if you went to him just after reading what you did…

Whatever was becoming of Aemond, no doubt thanks to the men he had asked for help in better bedding you, by reading his diary and the most private thoughts and fantasies contained within, it was becoming of you too. For when your eyes drifted closed, Aemond’s dream of the library became your dream as well.

The next several days of entries were almost identical.

Aemond woke at dawn after a night of dreams filled with you. They were not always of a carnal nature. Sometimes he dreamed simply of holding or kissing you. Once, he dreamed about flying with you atop his dragon. You didn’t know whether the prospect was thrilling or terrifying. Perhaps both.

Each day, he broke his fast, trained, then ate a small meal before joining court.

Before joining you.

When he wrote in the diary after dinner and several hours of studying and ‘practising’ (you still could not determine what that meant), he still remembered every little thing you did. You had never spoken at court – it was not your place to. But he had catalogued your every movement and reaction to the business of the realm. Every raise of your brows, every repressed smile, and every curious tilt of your head.

You thought you were quite proficient at maintaining a regal mask of indifference. Your mother had you practice it on the journey to King’s Landing while she commanded your brothers to shout at you the most outrageous things they could think of (much of which she promptly scolded them for when they were done).

But Aemond saw through the mask. Not only that, but he correctly interpreted every movement you made.

He knew that the twitch of your lip when Lord Bolton made a petition was a sign of your marked distaste for the man. He knew the scrunch of your brow upon the reading of a missive from a Pentosi diplomat was you noticing a contradiction from the previous message and realising the diplomat was lying. And he knew that you stiffened every time he looked at you because you were nervous about what he would say or do.

Aemond knew you. Even then.

And yet you had so dreadfully misunderstood him.

The shame of it was enough to make you set down the diary and call for a bath – a private bath, without any of your maids present even in the adjourning rooms. You gave an excuse that you were exhausted and simply wished to remain alone.

But really?

As part of his study of the anatomy book Orwyle recommended, Aemond had drawn a diagram of what lay between a woman’s legs. And annotated it based on the advice of Lord Wylde and Prince Aegon.

You were curious to see – with the aid of a hand mirror – just how accurate the diagram and annotations were.

You awoke the following morning feeling more refreshed than you had since you came to the palace, from both the welcome break in your courtly duties and the exploration you had conducted in the privacy of your bath. Though you were fairly sure you did not reach a ‘peak,’ as Aemond described it, you felt close to the height of something several times. But each time, you panicked at the intensity of the racing feelings within you and withdrew your hand. Still, those few minutes of pleasure were incredibly relaxing.

And as it was Aemond’s notes that allowed you to discover the feeling that your own clumsy attempts had failed to bring, the prospect that you would – eventually – once more join him in his bed became thrilling beyond reason.

In truth, the only thing that stopped you from rushing across the castle the very moment you emerged from the bath was the unfortunate fact that you were still bleeding, though it was light.

More than that, while your body was more than ready to forgive Aemond, your heart and mind were still hesitant. He had hurt you. He made you cry. Reading his diary helped you understand that it had never been intentional. However, you still needed to understand everything before making a final decision on whether to forgive him and if you could, as Aemond hoped in his note, ‘learn to like’ or even to love him.

So, after breaking your fast, you again settled into the couch and turned to the next green ribbon.

The 23rd day in the 5th moon of the year

Were Aegon not my brother and the heir, I would throw him from the top of the Rookery.

‘A Caution for Young Girls’ is no such thing. It is little more than a manual in promiscuity and sin!

But… damn him. It is quite educational.

Unlike the book Grand Maester Orwyle suggested, it is not focused on the science of anatomy or conception. Rather, it is entirely concerned with the pleasure of women. After all, it is the supposedly true story of a woman’s quest for pleasure.

A Wylde woman, if it is to be believed. I may have to ask Lord Jasper about it. Is this why he’s had such success with his own wives?

But that, and indeed the sinful nature of the book itself, is unimportant. What is important is that it may actually be the key to my learning how to pleasure my wife.

It spoke at length of various methods of using one’s fingers. Crooking the fingers while within seems to be crucial, as is locating a ‘sweet spot’ where her walls feel slightly different. That spot, as well as the ‘pearl’ which lays at the top of her sex, is the epicentre of her pleasure.

And, like the others said, preparation is required. This is where the use of the fingers comes into it – as well as various other methods. For example, the book mentions kissing quite often, and not only on the lips. Or the cheeks. Or even anywhere on the face.

I admit the idea, though it is new to me, is quite appealing. The book mentioned several places where women most like to be kissed. The jaw, the throat, behind the ear, the nape of the neck, the collarbone…

There was a spot of ink, as though Aemond’s pen had been resting on the page without moving for a long moment.

…the breasts, and lower.

I do not understand why. Perhaps it is because of Aegon’s incessant comments about the breasts of every woman in the Keep, save our mother and his wife – would that he would also exclude my wife! – but I find myself thinking about her breasts with startling frequency. I did not get to see them on our wedding night after I foolishly forgot to undress her.

There is a story in the book which… well, I find myself wanting to replicate. One which would provide me ample access to her breasts. But more than that, it carries an intimacy which I crave most of all.

When Lady Coryanne was serving as a handmaid to a warlock in Qarth, she often found herself called to help him ‘relax’ after a long day. On such occasions, she would mount him while he sat at his desk and ‘ride’ him while he buried his face in her breasts.

I… it was easy to imagine my wife and me in a similar, though more loving, position. Likely not at my desk, as I don’t actually use it often. But perhaps, here. On my chair by the hearth, where I read my books and write in this diary before bed.

She would come back – for she would be living here, with me, not across the Holdfast and so far away – after a long day. Maybe she would have been in the gardens, or with Mother, Helaena and the children, or in the library for hours. I would have been stuck away from her all day in meetings, court, or training.

Even apart from her for only a day, I would miss her terribly. As I do every hour I do not see her. And she would miss me too.

When she came in, she would press herself against the door as she locked it, then turn to me with a mischievous grin. I would know what she wanted, but I would not play along. Instead, I’d mutter a greeting and turn back to my book, pretending that my blood was not racing at just the sight of her. For I want her blood to be as heated as mine.

You read the last paragraph again, the realisation finally set in that Aemond was about to narrate another of his fantasies. Fortunately, after his previous entry about the library, you decided to be more cautious and had already dismissed your servants until your afternoon meal. You had suspected that there may be more in the diary that was thoroughly unsuitable for prying eyes.

And, thanks to his diligent notetaking, you knew precisely what to do when the feelings such unsuitable words provoked began to burn through you.

You undoubtedly did not want an audience for that…

I would let her tease me, pretending none of it fazed me. When she brushed her fingers lightly across my shoulders, I would not flinch. When she leaned over me further than she would really need to see what I was reading, but wanting me to see that peek of her breasts nearly spilling out from her dress, I would barely look. And when she pressed a kiss, long and slow, to my neck – gods, would I like that too? – I might even pretend it was an inconvenience.

It would vex her that I did not give her the attention she desperately wanted. Not enough to truly anger her, but only enough to make her pout. So that when she took the book from my hands and dropped it to the floor, then sat atop me in the chair with her thighs straddling mine… I would simply have no choice but to grab her little lip as she stuck it out and push it back into place before kissing her.

I would kiss her in every place the book instructs, taking my time to worship every bit of her. I want to drive her as mad as she does me just by her mere existence.

But I know she would not simply let me tease her. She would return each kiss I gave her and more. Atop me, she would roll her hips slowly, purposefully, as if we were engaged in a dance. I would be able to feel her, hot and wet and as eager as me, but each time I rose to meet her, she would pull away.

Gods, am I really wishing for her to deny me? Perhaps practising as Aegon instructed has conditioned me to crave such delays to my satisfaction.

Either way, I think I would break before she did. She is strong-willed, and with as many brothers as she has, I believe she can be quite patient. So, I would beg. I would apologise for trying to tease her and plead for her forgiveness. And for her to…

She would, I hope, without hesitation. She would rise only long enough for her to remove her smallclothes and for me to do away with my trousers. Then, we would both sit again, together, with me gently guiding her down to mount me – Seven Hells, that makes it sound like I’m a horse.

I’ll be whatever she wants.

Again, and as always, I would give her a moment to adjust and make sure she is comfortable. Orwyle’s book said that with well-endowed partners – which, according to the measurements in the book, I am – women may always need that moment.

But I would be glad to give it to her. For it would allow me to unlace her bodice, and like the warlock from the book, I could bury my face in my beloved’s breasts.

I find it hard to imagine what it would be like, how they would feel. Soft, I think. Warm, as she is. And perhaps, if I pressed close enough, I could hear her heart beating.

When I was fully settled within her, would I hear it beat faster? Or would it slow with contentment, knowing she was safe and loved – oh so dearly loved – within my arms. Perhaps it would be like the stories, and I would hear it skip a beat.

Either way, I would be more than content to just sit there, breathe her in, and let her move at her own pace. We would not need to be fast, as we would in the library. In my own rooms – our rooms – there would be no need for hurry. We could just stay there, entwined, or we could move together.

I think I would prefer it slowly. Not even seeking our releases, really. Just… enjoying each other. Enjoying the connection of our bodies, our minds, and our souls. Knowing that we are one, that the gods have made us one, and that nothing can tear us apart.

Although… I do think her legs would get tired after a while. That is something I should perhaps be worried about. Especially if she did want to move, and fast. To seek release.

If she did, I would help her. The book did not detail how, as Lady Coryanne was a servant at the time, but… I could figure it out. I could move my hips up to meet hers, or even lift her on my own? I think doing so with my hands on her hips would give me the most leverage. Or perhaps her rear?

I am very drawn to the idea of holding her close as we reach our peaks. Of feeling her breath on my skin, being close enough to hear each little noise she makes, and the sensation of her gripping me as tight as she can as she comes. Even the thought of her nails digging into me brings a certain thrill. And if I don’t reach my peak with her – which, I think, is very unlikely – we can always continue. Or move somewhere more comfortable if her legs do get tired.

At this point, I think I am more than ready to practice. Of course, this wasn’t my intention when I started writing, but… yes, I am most definitely ready. And anything else I wanted to write about seems inconsequential now.

You dropped the diary onto your heaving chest, the image Aemond’s words had painted still burning in your mind. Seven Hells, you could practically feel his strong arms wrapped around you, holding you to his chest as you moved together, his breath hot against your neck as he whispered words of praise between desperate kisses.

With a hazy smile, you snuggled further into the couch and beneath your blanket. As exhilarating as the descriptions of his desires were, what truly warmed your heart was the way he wrote about you, the two of you together.

The connection of your souls as one? It was exactly what you’d dreamed of when first told of your betrothal. Aemond was what you dreamed of.

Why did he have to stop writing? What in the name of the Seven was he practising that was more important than that?

Frustrated and with your pleasure now truly over, you closed the diary and turned on your side, resigned to simply stewing in your own thoughts for the few hours left until your maids returned.

After a light, solitary afternoon meal, you again dismissed your maids. By this point, they were more than a little suspicious about the titleless book you were reading. But, you insisted that you simply wanted to be alone, for your moon’s blood still plagued you. It wasn’t entirely a lie. You did still have some cramping and a slight headache.

In truth, it was because you knew what would happen in just a few entries – your second night together.

It surely wouldn’t be as thrilling as some of his other fantasies. You knew that firsthand. But after learning what Aemond felt for you, you were desperate to know his side of that night.

So desperate, in fact, that you barely skimmed the following two entries in your haste to reach it. Both primarily had to do with whatever smut he had read in A Caution for Young Girls. The first was a rather exhaustive list of all the ways he wanted to kiss you – and there were far more ways than you were previously aware of.

The second caused your most intense blushing yet, for it was near treasonous! After reading another story of Coryanne Wylde ‘riding’ a man, he fantasised about you riding him while he sat on the Iron Throne. It was an intriguing idea, but it seemed a little too hazardous to tempt you.

Finally, you reached what you had been waiting for.

The 26th day in the 5th moon of the year.

I had hoped not to make an entry today – for I had every intention of spending tonight in my wife’s chambers. But she is there, and tragically, I am here.

Tonight was almost worse than our wedding night.

When I saw her watching me in the training yard today, I thought… she was almost smiling – at me! She had no obligation to be there, and yet she was! She sought me out! She wanted to see me!

I had to bite back a cry of joy and relief. I immediately abandoned the rest of my training, nearly impaling the poor squire with my sword for how hard I threw it at him, so I could rush to the ramparts and greet her.

But when I got there, she was gone. I asked a few of the other lords and ladies that were there, but no one knew where she went. Even after speaking to her, however briefly, I still do not understand why she left.

You felt your cheeks flush with shame. Aemond hadn’t grimaced at you that day – quite the opposite. He had been so excited to see you there, and as usual, you had misinterpreted his reaction.

Or, based on how frequently these misunderstandings occurred, perhaps his expressions were merely indecipherable to normal people. Or, more likely, maybe just to you.

You set his diary down, careful to use one of your discarded ribbons to mark your place, and picked up your own. By this point, you had filled several pages with your reactions to Aemond’s writing – some of it sincere, some bordering on humour.

Yet you had no words to express how sorry you were that you had so thoroughly misjudged him. So you wrote nothing and just kept reading.

When I went to her chambers to check on her, I encountered one of her maids, who told me she had retired early with a headache and would not be joining the family for dinner.

Perhaps I should have gone into her chambers then and asked what was wrong. I knew – or at least suspected – that the headache was a lie. An excuse to allow her privacy. I often do the same, citing my scar. Which, as I told her, is not always a lie.

But if I had gone to her, as I wished. I would not have known what to say. Ask her why she ran from the training yard without speaking to me? Or why she wanted to avoid me and the family? Tell her I’m sorry for the disappointment of our wedding night? Ask Beg for a second chance?

I could not do it. I was tired from training and admittedly still somewhat discombobulated from realising she had been watching me. Though I did make it to her door, I merely touched the handle for a moment before retiring to my own chambers.

Now, after yet another disastrous visit… I should have gone to her earlier. I should have trusted my instincts (as Aegon often encourages me to do) instead of allowing my mind to think itself into an inescapable hole.

As I bathed and redressed, and even while attending court and dinner, I could not stop thinking about her. Agonising over what I may have done to make her flee from me?

I never even considered that she may actually have a headache until I was again at her door after dinner. The fear that I was disturbing her, perhaps making her pain worse, was nearly enough to make me turn and flee.

But then, her voice came, soft and light and so enticing. Of course, I somehow managed to answer idiotically when she asked who it was. Though she lessened the sting of embarrassment with a small joke. She is so achingly clever!

I asked her how she was, and her answer made it evident that the headache was a ruse. I am trying not to be too proud that my deduction was correct. She is not used to lying, nor is she good at it. And it is yet another thing I admire about her.

For hours, I planned what I would say to her. It was eloquent and thoughtful – practically poetry.

The tail of the last ‘y’ extended nearly an inch, and you imagined Aemond just staring at the page, consumed by his thoughts for a moment.

But her room looked different tonight. She finally unpacked.

There is a large tapestry above her hearth depicting her home keep, the field below filled with vibrant pink flowers with bright yellow centres. The same flowers appear nearly everywhere. On framed examples of embroidery, on her curtains, pillows, and even the blanket strewn over the back of her couch.

I must find out what they are, for they are clearly very important to her.

You looked up from the diary, glancing about your room. Indeed, you had not realised how many dog roses decorated your possessions. It was no wonder he guessed they were your favourite.

‘I was quite impressed when you brought me my favourite flower,’ you wrote in your diary. ‘I thought you had somehow read my thoughts. I suppose I made it easy for you.’

She also has a large bookcase in her sitting room, which was specifically requested when her father sent word accepting the betrothal. Since the last time I was in her chambers, she has begun to fill the shelves with books and trinkets. I spotted a small silver bell, a wooden box carved with various birds, and a little glass flower. It was not the same flower that is so prevalent elsewhere in her chambers (this one was a pale purple rather than pink), but still quite pretty.

While pondering that flower, I returned to the couch to compare it to the pink flower on her blanket and saw what she had been reading – “The Last Dragonlords,” my first, and still favourite, history of my house. It is not a particularly rigorous academic work, but I prefer it for the sense of wonder it has for the story of my ancestors.

If, at that point, I remembered any of what I wanted to say to her, the sight of that book, and the knowledge that she was somehow reading my favourite… I lost all words. I fear I fell silent for an uncomfortably long time, for she spoke next.

She wanted to know the reason for my visit. I asked her directly about the ruse of her headache. She seemed nervous, so I told her I do the same and that I often experience lingering pain. I was tempted to remove my patch and show her, but… she was already quite nervous. I did not want to make her more so, or frighten her so thoroughly that she will never warm to me.

What lay beneath his eyepatch that would frighten you so? You had heard many rumours. That his lost eye was nothing more than a pit of darkness. That he had replaced it with a jewel. That an ever-burning fire, fueled by his hatred and rage, burned within.

Despite the stories, you felt a twinge of shame and hurt that, despite his love for you, he did not trust you with seeing him truly bare. He thought you could be frightened away.

Somehow, that shame far overshadowed any curiosity or fear about what lay beneath the brown leather of his eyepatch.

I could already tell it wasn’t going to go how I wanted – she would not meet my eye. So, I offered to leave. I would not impose myself on her when she did not want me to. That is not how I want to start this. Or, start it again.

But she did want me to go! At least, that is what I thought she meant. I am not so sure anymore. She said something about my right to be there as her husband. At the time, I thought it was her shy way of asking me to stay. Now… I think she may have just been repeating something her mother or a Septa taught her.

There was another small patch of angry scribbles.

I’m so stupid! And hardly better than Aegon. No – she may not have been particularly enthusiastic, but I am sure if she genuinely did not want me there, she would have said so. And I would have obeyed. After all, she was quick to ask me to stop some of the other things I tried to do.

She did not like the kissing.

When I first mentioned that I would like to lie with her – which I foolishly reasoned was out of my desire for an heir instead of my desire for her – she simply laid on the bed like on our wedding night. But that is not what I want. I do not want this to simply be a union of duty! At least, not anymore. And I so wanted to kiss her.

So, I beckoned her to me, and she obeyed. My hopes that this would be different were still relatively high. I got closer, touched her face, and asked if I could kiss her.

And she asked, ‘Why?’

I swear that one little word hurt more than any pain I’ve felt in the training yard. Almost more than… well, not quite more than that. But close.

I could not think of any reason other than that she is my wife, and I love her and want more than anything to kiss her. I only told her the former and the latter, for I think if I told her I loved her, she would have been more afraid than if she had seen me without my patch. And the gods must be good, for she said yes.

Then I kissed her. I held her close, and I kissed her.

It was the most wonderful thing! She was soft and warm. And when I laced my hand through her hair, she made the most delightful sound! I could have just kissed her forever.

But then it was over. She shouted and pushed me away. It was… it was just after I tried to use my tongue. I don’t think she liked it.

She asked me why I ‘needed’ to kiss her. She must have disliked it very much.

I had no other explanation than what I had already offered. At least, none that I could tell her without sending her running from me forever. So I stopped and told her I did not need it – the first lie I’ve ever told her.

When she moved back to the bed, I could not help myself. I could not let us be in a marriage where we lie together out of nothing more than duty, fully clothed and anxious to get it over with. It was foolish, and I probably scared her with the request, but I asked her to remove her nightgown. She had already taken off her robe – a massive thing in her house colours that practically drowns her.

You allowed a brief kernel of anger to spark within you, enough for you to pick up your pen and write him another little message in your diary.

‘That robe is dear to me, thank you very much. What is it that makes you hate it so?’

There is nothing more beautiful in the world than her. She puts even the Maiden to shame. I would have been happy to stare at her, to take in that beauty until I had my fill – if I would ever get my fill.

She got on the bed and positioned herself exactly how she was on our wedding night. Not quite how I pictured it, but considering her hesitancy, I did not want to push her.

It took all my control to stop myself from kissing her again when I undressed and joined her. But I did. I also resisted doing anything more than just looking at her breasts.

I sat between her legs and stared at her. While I was more than ready to begin, she was not. At all. Of course, I knew I would have to prepare her, but I hoped she would have had at least some desire for me already.

I started with gentle touches, drawing circles on her thighs. She shivered a bit when I began, but she didn’t ask me to stop. From where I was sitting, I could tell she enjoyed it, even if she didn’t understand it. She did ask me to explain, and my answer was probably lacking – how does one explain why he was so inadequate? – but she gave a small nod when I promised that tonight would be better.

Then I finally touched her where I really wanted to and was delighted to find her… well, not as wet as I’d hoped, but it was an improvement upon our wedding night! I ran my fingers over her entrance, hoping to coax more wetness from her before I truly began. And when I looked at her again to ensure I wasn’t hurting her, she smiled at me!

Encouraged, I kept my fingers at her entrance, not venturing inside yet, but continuing my preparations there while I began to seek her pearl. As the books said, I only had to draw a straight line upward from her entrance to find it.

And, oh, when I found it! Her eyes snapped shut, her back arched off the bed, and the most glorious whine escaped her! It was everything I had imagined and more. Gods, I think I could have peaked just from watching her as I circled her pearl again and again, faster and faster.

But then, she asked me to stop – begged me to.

I thought I must have done something wrong, but she shook her head when I asked if it hurt. And when I asked if it felt good, she would not answer. She merely requested that I get on with what I needed to do and leave, for she was tired. This wound cut even deeper than before with the kissing.

I wanted to prepare her more – I was going to use my mouth on her. To show her how dearly I wish to please her, how much I want to worship and love her, if only she’d let me.

In anticipation of that act, I have been consulting Coryanne Wylde’s various accounts and expert critiques of the act in order to form the perfect strategy.

To begin, I would undress her, as I planned to do on our wedding night, laying gentle, nearly chaste kisses on each new bit of skin I revealed. Once she was bare, I would kiss her. Deeply. To give her a taste of what is to come. Then, I would kiss my way down. Her jaw, her throat, her collarbone, her breasts, and the plane of her stomach.

Once I made it past her navel, I would take her leg in my hand and begin a new trail of kisses upwards. The book says to start at the ankle, but I am too impatient for that – I will begin at the knee instead.

Just when she thought I was finally about to give her what she craved more than anything, I would once again change course to kiss her lips one final time. Then, I would descend.

I would start slowly, experimenting with different tactics to determine what drives her deliciously mad. Once I knew, I would feast. I would devour her like her pleasure was the air I needed to breathe. Like her cries of pleasure were beautiful music, and I would die if it ever stopped.

I would bring her to peak once with my mouth on her entrance. Again on her pearl. Then again and again in whichever way made her scream the loudest.

Only when she was so drunk with pleasure that she could no longer rise to meet my mouth or grasp at my hair would I relent. I would make my way back up to her mouth and soothe her with gentle kisses until she had regained herself and was begging for me to finally fuck her.

But I didn’t get to do any of that.

She asked me to stop, so I did. I pumped myself a little to ensure the disappointment hadn’t rendered me incapable of performing my duty and entered her.

The preparation did help. Entering her was easier, and she did not wince as much as the first time. And she felt even more heavenly somehow. The feeling was so intense that I had to take a moment to remind myself that she only wanted me to finish quickly so she would not have to endure me any longer.

So, I fucked her. I did not make love to her, as is my true desire. I just fucked her, like she was just any woman and not the love of my life.

And then, a miracle! I thrust into her, something about the angle allowing me in quite deep, and she reacted. She gasped, breathless, and her hips snapped up to meet mine. I froze in surprise and elation. I found her ‘sweet spot!’

But when I smiled at her, she turned away and refused to look at me again.

I just kept going. I did not try to hit that spot again, so as to not upset her further. I finished as quickly as I could and left the bed.

It was stupid of me, but I turned back to her after dressing. Everything had gone so horribly, but I still love her. I still need her. So I could not just leave her like that.

I asked if I could kiss her again. She let me. I was quick, as promised.

Then I came back here, once again alone and no closer to earning her love than I was before.

I must meet with my advisors again tomorrow. Perhaps they can help me understand why I keep fucking this up so badly when all I want is for her to let me love her the way I want to and for her to love me in return.

Your heart ached so severely that you thought there might be bruises when you looked down at your chest. But there was just skin – skin that Aemond would have happily kissed, had you let him.

As horrible and confusing as that night had been for you, it had been so tenfold for Aemond. He had wanted a grand, romantic evening, and you had greeted him with only coldness and suspicion.

He called you ‘the love of his life.’ You ran your finger over those words so many times that they became smudged, then went to write something in your diary but halted with your pen hovering over the paper.

What could you write to match what he’d said about you? Even if you could, would it really be true? How many times could you say, ‘I’m sorry?’

Well, at least one more time. ‘I’m so sorry, Aemond,’ you wrote, ‘I didn’t know, and I was still scared. Not of you, but of what I thought my life was to be. If you had only told me… I do not blame you, I swear. I just wish the both of us had been more honest with each other.’

You were far too exhausted to continue. It was not yet midafternoon, and you had already been from the near-heights of carnal pleasure to the depths of your despair that the unfortunate state of your marriage was, in actuality, mostly your fault.

So, after setting Aemond’s diary aside, you picked up your embroidery basket and began to work while your mind wandered.

It was only when your maids arrived to bring you dinner that you realised that, somehow, the dog roses you intended to make had become a sprawling wisteria vine.

You dreamed of the castle garden in late spring when all the flowers were in bloom. As you walked down the garden path, you saw every colour imaginable amongst the vibrant greens. But there was only one flower you really wanted to see – and the man you knew would be waiting for you beneath them.

Just as the first purple tendrils came into view, the dream faded, and you woke to see the first hints of dawn still beneath the horizon.

Drawing your blankets over your head, you squeezed your eyes shut and stubbornly tried to fall back asleep and return to your dream – to no avail. You were well and truly awake. And it would be some time before your maids came to dress you for the day.

So, dragging the blanket from your bed with you, you trudged back into your solar and settled into the couch before picking up Aemond’s diary again.

The 27th day in the 5th moon of the year

I met with Lord Wylde, Grand Maester Orwyle, and Aegon this morning. They had advice, but it was not as… straightforward as I had hoped. There is no simple trick to get her to love me. Nothing I can study from a book and then implement with assured success.

I have to woo her. I have to be witty and pleasant and charming and… romantic.

I do not think this is going to work.

Especially not after my first attempt was so disastrous.

Lord Wylde asked that I tell him about her, so I did. When he learned she enjoys reading as much as I do, he suggested I try to find common ground there. So, I went to try and find her in the library.

She was exactly where she was the last time I saw her there, still reading “The Last Dragonlords.” I watched her for a moment, savouring the look of contentment on her face as she read, as well as a few quick reactions to the book. How I love it when her nose scrunches in displeasure!

‘That is quite the odd thing to fixate on,’ you wrote in your diary. It seemed a decent night’s sleep had helped recover some of your humour. ‘What is it, in particular, that you like about my scrunched nose?’

She did smile at me when I approached, but I think she thought I was a Maester, for her smile faltered when I greeted her. And she was so shy. Usually, when I struggle to find the right words, she breaks the silence. Today, she did not.

At least it gave me time to remember why I came to the library. She was still reading “The Last Dragonlords,” so I told her it was my favourite and asked if I could join her. I think she was somewhat embarrassed about reading a children’s book, but I assured her it was no matter and that I would nonetheless enjoy reading it with her, and she allowed me to sit with her.

My plan was to sit with her, discuss the histories, and perhaps, in time, hold her hand as a first step toward genuine affection. But the plan quickly went awry.

It all happened so fast that I don’t even remember exactly what I said. But somehow, I insinuated that she was not intelligent enough to understand the book. The book meant for children – young children.

She was very upset with me. Rightfully so! Still upset enough that she stormed out of the library after making several cutting remarks that proved that she is, in fact, quite intelligent.

After several minutes and a brief reprimand from one of the Maesters, I finally gathered myself enough to realise that she had left the book there. As well as several pages of notes.

Of course, the noble thing would have been to not look and ask a servant to return them to her. But in that moment, I was desperate, not noble. So, I looked.

Her notes were beautifully organised and remarkably thorough – the work of a true scholar! She even crafted a beautiful family tree all the way through Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters. Had I not fumbled our initial interaction so entirely, we would have had a wonderful discussion.

You had feared him finding the notes, but you had never considered that he would be impressed rather than arrogantly amused. It made sense now that you knew his true nature. Perhaps, once whatever was between you was resolved, you could have that discussion.

In all honesty, there were a few questions you had that you hoped he would be able to answer. Not least of which being why in more than a thousand years, Targaryens had only come up with a dozen names that they repeated over and over again. You wrote as much in your diary.

It was useless for me to sulk in the library, agonising over what I should have said, so I gathered the book and her notes and left the library.

An apology was more than necessary, so I went to Aegon’s rooms. After all, there is perhaps no one with more experience apologising to women. Even if his apologies are self-serving.

When I arrived, I found Mother had already found Aegon first, and was well into another tirade about his behaviour. Normally, I would be happy to watch Mother yelling at him, but I did not feel I had time to. And Aegon was glad that I granted him a reprieve.

Admittedly, I had not wanted to admit to Mother that my wife and I were… not as close as I wanted. But, as she always is, she was eminently understanding, and far more helpful than Aegon was. His only suggestion was to bring her something nice – jewels, silks, or the like.

On the other hand, Mother gave me sage advice on what to say when I go to her. As my words have been my primary point of failure, I was very grateful for this. She did also say that a gift would not be amiss. An ‘offering of peace,’ she called it. But she advised something personal, not luxurious. If the gift is too valuable, she says, it will seem as if I am trying to buy her forgiveness rather than earn it.

I knew immediately what I should get her. I thanked Mother (and Aegon) and left at once for the gardens.

I found them – the flowers she loves so dearly. Dog roses, they are called. Unfortunately, they do not grow well in our climate, but the Maester’s managed to coax a few to bloom with their various potions and other horticultural creations.

They are almost as beautiful as her.

The Maester I spoke to said that it would be best if I had them cut just before I brought them to her, to preserve their beauty. So that is what I will do.

I will not practice tonight. At least… not that kind of practice. Instead, I will rehearse my apology. I cannot fail tomorrow.

You winced slightly, knowing that the next day would not go as Aemond planned and feeling as though it was your fault. But there was no changing that now. And you had already apologised – often and profusely.

So, you wrote only a simple note: ‘I don’t recall seeing dog roses on our tour of the gardens. Did you pluck them all?’

Looking back at his diary, you took a deep, steadying breath. Only two ribbons left.

The 28th day in the 5th moon of the year

I am the stupidest, most idiotic man in all the seven fucking kingdoms.

All I was trying to do was apologise to her for my unkind – though unintentionally so! – words in the library, but somehow it ended with her crying and me fleeing from her chambers yet again.

You cringed at the memory, almost not wanting to read on.

Aegon gladly offered his explanation, even after I told him I did not want it. He insists that I have so thoroughly repulsed her that she cannot help but burst into tears at the sight of me.

Mother thinks that she is just missing her family and her home, as she said. That she is overwhelmed by being alone in a strange place, and the familiar sight of the flowers – dog roses, as I have learned – brought those feelings to bursting.

Perhaps Mother is right. But her parents left a fortnight ago, and she has shown no other signs of homesickness. And she is not alone! She has the other ladies of the court to talk to, and Helaena and Mother adore her. And me.

If she came to me, I would do anything to cheer her. Not that she would seek comfort from me, no matter how dearly I wish she would. She certainly won’t after today.

After the disaster in the library yesterday and the scolding I received from Grand Maester Orwyle after my training this morning, I knew beyond a doubt that I needed to apologise. I… the shame I feel for having played any part in the state Orwyle described her in is unbearable.

So, I went to the gardens and had a Maester cut the flowers for me and arrange them in a simple bouquet.

She was on her couch when I arrived in her rooms – still in her nightgown and that robe. And again, she did not look at me. She had eyes only for the flowers. I thought then that they had been the right choice.

I apologised, but she did not react. She still just stared at the bouquet. So, I went ahead with the rest of my apology.

Then she touched my hand. It startled me, and I pulled away from her on instinct, dropping the bouquet in her lap. She looked at them like I had dropped a helpless kitten rather than flowers!

And she started crying. Softly, the tears welling in her eyes for a long moment before spilling over. I do not understand what I did to upset her. I said only what I had planned last night. It was so hard to resist brushing the tears away, but she seemed nearly volatile, and I did not want to make things worse.

‘I miss home,’ she said, finally.

It did sting that she does not consider King’s Landing and her life with me her home – it still does. But she is hundreds of miles away from the family of her birth, from the people who have undoubtedly treated her better than I have. I cannot blame her.

I apologised again for upsetting her and left.

At dinner, I had planned to ask Mother and Grandsire if we could find a way to send her home, at least for a little while. So she could be happy. Perhaps I could even go with her. I might have an easier time talking to her without the pressures of my family and the capital upon me.

You smiled at the thought of Aemond at your home keep. Of him in all his black leather among the fields of dog roses. Talking with your father in the library. Him training with your brothers – you were confident he could defeat any one of them alone, but knowing your brothers, they would absolutely gang up on him.

‘One day,’ you wrote, ‘I would love to show you my home.’

I was waiting for the opportunity to ask when she arrived! After this afternoon, I did not think she would come to dinner, but she did! I could have wept for my relief.

And when I offered my hand to her, she took it. Not only that, but she squeezed it – hard. I think believe it was her way of accepting my apology.

She did not speak during dinner, nor did anyone ask her too many questions. Aegon was his typically infuriating self, silently encouraging me to do something with her. What he expects me to do when in front of the entire family, I do not know.

After the meal, I offered to escort her back to her chambers, which she accepted. And once we were alone, she thanked me for the flowers!

It was going unusually well. That is, until I decided to open my mouth. I only meant to compliment her, as she did look quite beautiful, but… I just kept talking. And then I had suddenly insulted her gown from yesterday and her robe.

She closed herself off from me then, shoving away my arm. Why could I not just shut up? I know my words are the source of so many of our misunderstandings, yet I keep talking! At this point, I am strongly considering a vow of silence.

‘Please don’t take a vow of silence!’ you wrote, scrambling for your diary as if it mattered how quickly you got the words down. ‘Your voice is far too lovely for me to never hear it again.’

Tomorrow, I am going to try a suggestion from Lord Wylde. Show her that I am not a failure in everything I do. I pray it works.

You turned the page, expecting to find the entry for the next day, but there was none. There had been a page between the entries for the 28th and the 30th, but it had been sloppily torn out. All that remained was the beginnings of the date in the upper corner.

It was entirely against what you knew of Aemond. The man who had dutifully started his journal on the first day of the year and began each entry on a new page would not do something like this.

What had upset him so? Had you said something to him?

No, of course not. The only time you had seen him that day was in the training yard, and you hadn’t spoken to each other, not after… not after he stormed off. Had he actually been hurt in his fight with the Kingsguard? Or was he just embarrassed that you had witnessed him fall?

Gods, how you wished you had gone to him that night. But perhaps you could make up for it now.

‘After you were absent for dinner,’ you wrote to him in your diary, ‘I almost came to your rooms. I was worried for you. Though I confess, that was the only reason I found myself walking toward you… I missed you, at dinner. I missed you helping me into my chair. I missed your smile. I missed the way you’d hold the plates for me. Most of all, I missed your voice, and your presence next to me.’

You sniffled slightly, staring at a lamp on your wall to dry the tears that were forming before finishing the entry, ‘I’ve missed you these past days, as well. But I’m almost done. I’ll see you soon.’

The 30th day in the 5th moon of the year

I have made my gravest sin yet. And my most foolish.

We had the perfect morning together in the gardens. Silent, mostly, but perfect. She smiled at me! She allowed me to lead her through the gardens on my arm. It was… precisely what I had hoped for.

Until I once again acted like an absolute fucking fool.

Before I had to leave for court, I asked if I could come to her rooms that night. And for one perfect moment, I really believed she was going to say yes.

But then she mentioned her moon’s blood, and I just… panicked. I am not entirely an idiot (though I become less sure of that declaration with each passing moment), I know what that means.

It means that I’ve failed her. In even more ways than I knew.

I have made her miserable. I have made her cry. I have failed in every duty of a good husband, including the most basic of tasks – I have not given her a child.

I cannot go on like this – trapped in an endless cycle of misery where I can do nothing but hurt the both of us. I must do something to free us from this.

It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t love or even like me. I just want her to be happy. If that means that I never get to see her or love her again, I will make myself accept that.

First, she needs to know why I’ve acted this way. To know my true feelings so she can decide what she wants me to do. Gods, if she wanted me to go to Essos and never return, I would.

A blot of ink covered half the page, as though he had simply set his pen down while he thought.

I know what to do. I just pray she understands.

“I understand,” you said aloud, as though Aemond were before you. But, of course, he wasn’t. He was halfway across the castle, a distance that suddenly felt like the Narrow Sea itself. Throwing down your blanket, you shouted for your maids to dress you at once, your morning meal be damned. The moment finished tying off the last lace of your gown, you ran.

You had only been shown where Aemond’s chambers were once – on your first tour of the Holdfast. Then, you did not know whether to be disappointed or thankful that they were far from yours. Now, as your nervousness flooded through every part of your body, you hated the distance more than anything.

Each step was an effort, as with every one, your legs felt heavier and heavier, as if they were made of iron. Your blood felt as though it was rushing dangerously fast, carrying with it a marked chill. Despite feeling frozen within, sweat still somehow beaded at your brow. Yet you could not wipe it away, for your hands were all but stitched to the two diaries you carried.

Was this a terrible idea? Would Aemond laugh at you for all your silly little notes? Would he be angry with you for taking days to fulfil his request? You came to a halt in the middle of the corridor, tears prickling in your eyes as you considered so many horrible possibilities.

No, you thought, the word echoed by the impact of your foot on stone as you took a heavy, sure step forward.

The Aemond you thought you knew would do those things. But that Aemond wasn’t real – and never was. He had only ever lived in your terrified imagination.

The real Aemond was the one who had been so awestruck upon first seeing you that he could not say anything other than your name. Who had fallen for you so quickly and with such intensity that he forgot how to act like a proper person and instead stumbled over his words and actions like a drunk man through a crowded alley. Who had been so desperate for you to return his affections that he swallowed his pride to seek help. And who had finally given you his diary when he could think of no other way to show you how he really felt and who he truly was.

It was the thought of finally meeting that Aemond that made you put one foot in front of the other, faster and faster, until you were sprinting down the halls, only stopping when you came to the door you had seen only once before – his door.

You did not understand how you had found it again after only seeing it only once before. Nor did you remember knocking on the smooth, dark wood.

But then you heard footsteps approaching.

Hastily, you transferred the diaries to one hand and wiped the sweat from your brow with the sleeve of the other. You wanted to straighten your hair, for it had surely come loose from its braid after running so fast. But there was no time for that.

There was the dull, metallic sound of the door being unlatched, and then there he was.

Aemond stood before you, breathing heavily himself as though he, too, had been running. His silver hair was mussed, and there were smudges of purple beneath his widened eyes – his eyes.

He was not wearing his eyepatch.

Your mouth fell open at the sight. At least one of the rumours had been true. Beneath the raised, rough skin of his scar, in place of his lost eye, was a brilliant blue sapphire. It suited him perfectly and was perhaps the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

He looked at you for a moment, the corners of his mouth lifting in a hesitant smile before realising what had caught your attention so thoroughly.

“Oh gods,” he whispered, covering the sapphire with his hands and turning away. He took a few steps into the room before speaking again. “I did not mean for you to see this. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. Please…”

You said nothing. Silently, you moved into the room and shut the door. Aemond stared at you, his good eye watering as you approached him.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again. “You should not have had to – ” He startled when you brought your free hand up to his wrist and started trying to tug his hand away from his face. “What are you…?”

When your only response was to continue tugging, he relented, allowing you to lower his hand. He swallowed thickly, fixing his good eye on the wall behind you instead of at you. Seeing his shyness, and now knowing it for what it was, almost made you smile.

But your own shyness took hold of you as you guided his hand down and wrapped it around the spines of the twin journals you held. When you looked back up at Aemond, he was staring at them and the green ribbon that now marked a page within your diary.

“I don’t understand,” he breathed, tightening his hold on the books.

With a slight smirk, you gazed up at him and dropped your hand from the diaries. “It’s your turn.”

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halfvalid · 8 months

Text

the blade daughter, pt. 2

ABOUT

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3

alternate title: dracule mihawk cures your daddy issues!

rating: mature

characters: live action!roronoa zoro | fem!reader | live action!dracule mihawk | live action!straw hat ensemble

pairing: live action!roronoa zoro x fem!reader

word count: 23.6k total | 8k this part

description: after joining the straw hats on board the going merry, you're confused as to what to do with your life from now—and you can't help but get closer to zoro.

tags: mihawk's daughter!reader, female reader, canon-typical violence, cursing, no use of 'y/n', pet names per mihawk ('dear', 'darling', 'sweetheart', 'little hawk'), emotional hurt/comfort, slow burn, patching of wounds

author’s note: second chapter! i hope you like it <3 out of the three this one's probably my favorite personally, i really like the wound-stitching scene & i think it's one of the best scenes ive ever written. i'm suchhh a slut for the patching up of wounds trope.

You rose before the sun, careful to pack your belongings all in one sack. Considering the very little amount you’d brought, it was a relatively easy task—leaving the sloop would be fine, too, as you paid for the slip for a few months longer at least. Your father had so many ships across so many seas it hardly mattered much anymore.

You double-checked that you had all of your things before shutting down and leaving the sloop, consulting some of the dock men to transfer a boat lift under the berth. You moved carefully across the east port, making quick time as you returned to the Straw Hats’ ship in slip fifty-two.

There were apparent signs of life when you reached the ship, even with the sky cast over in dark hues of navy. All of the dead bodies had been removed, for one, and dock men were loading barrels up on the deck while Sanji watched over them. His expression brightened as his gaze fell across you.

“Lady Dracule!” he called out, slipping off from the barrel on which he’d been perched to meet you at the pier. You gave him an unimpressed look.

“I have a name, you know.”

“Oh, I wasn’t aware of that,” Sanji answered, a lopsided grin pulling up the side of his face. You rolled his eyes and introduced yourself, which only prompted a brighter smile and a steady pat of his hand on your back. “A fine name, for a fine woman.”

“Sanji, stop flirting with the crew.” You glanced up to see Nami, one hip cocked to the side with her hand on her waist, staring down with an exasperated glint in her eye. “Welcome aboard the Going Merry. Sorry I was a little grouchy last night. I don’t like having my sleep interrupted.” She leaned down to offer you her hand, and you took it, climbing aboard the ship.

“The Going Merry?”

“Fits it, don’t you think?” Sanji asked from behind you. Nami eyed him again, volume dropping as she tilted her head towards yours.

“He’ll quit with the sweet talk eventually. I’ll give you a tour once we’ve cast off. We’re just waiting for Zoro to get back from town, and then we’re all set.” She turned to bark out another few orders to Sanji— “Finish up with the crates already!”

“Anything you want, madam,” Sanji said with a little bow. Nami let out a long-suffering sigh.

“Luffy already prepared a room for you. I’ll show you to it.” She led you below deck, back towards the ship’s aft. There was a collection of rooms all crammed together, one beside the other. “These are the women’s quarters. Men’s’ are all the way at the front of the ship.” She nodded behind her. “You get this one here. Sorry, it’s small.”

She opened the door to the very last room, and you stepped inside, surveying your surroundings. It wasn’t much; the cabin barely scraped by as a room, consisting of only a wardrobe, a hanging bed, and a small table and chair stuck in the corner. A round window at the very edge of the room revealed the water just a mere few feet below.

“It’ll do fine, thank you,” you said. Your room back at home was far more ornate, but you’d never been picky.

“You can sleep for a few more hours,” Nami said, lingering by the cabin mouth. “Come find me when you’re ready for a tour. We should be setting off in a few moments, if Zoro’s back.”

You gave her a smile, and she left, the patter of her footsteps dying off as she walked further and further away.

It didn’t take you long to get arranged, and afterwards, you gingerly sat down on the bed, the rope tied to the ceiling causing it to sway under you. You were still uncertain about boarding the ship, but you couldn't exactly return to your sloop now. And it wasn’t the worst idea in the world, you tried to convince yourself.

You felt the ship start moving just a few moments later, and you stood up, walking across the rocking ship to get up to the deck. You were making fast time, Loguetown’s silhouette rapidly getting swallowed in the gulp of the horizon.

Nami was bickering with Zoro and Luffy when you found her. “What even took you so long? We were due to leave a half-hour ago.”

“I was getting new swords,” Zoro said calmly. Nami eyed him, then yanked something out of his hand. A wallet, it looked like, stuffed with bills of berry. “You can’t be mad at me. I spent less than half of your budget.”

“They scammed you,” Nami scoffed, eyeing the katanas at Zoro’s hip. Zoro simply shrugged. “A sword for free? It’s probably made of plastic.”

Zoro snorted. “I’d be able to tell.”

Nami cast him a look, gaze unimpressed under the line of her eyelashes. “You can’t tell the difference between a ship mast and a tree.”

“Yeah, but I know swords.”

“Oh, hey!” Luffy, who’d seemed tuned out of his crewmates’ conversation, said as he spotted you. “Glad to see you here. Officially part of the crew.”

“Oh, well…” you hesitated. “Not so sure if I’ll be joining you forever.” Luffy looked confused by that, but not particularly offended—Nami and Zoro had turned to watch you, too, argument dying on trembling legs. “Right now the plan is to help you get to the Grand Line. From there you can drop me home. And then we’ll part ways.”

“If you change your mind…” Luffy trailed off, then patted you on the shoulder. “Nami, were you going to show her around?”

“I was, but I’ve got some mapping to do.” Nami glanced over at Zoro. “Hey. Make yourself useful.”

“I hate you,” Zoro muttered. He brushed past you, just barely motioning with his head for you to follow. “Afterdeck.”

You stepped into the small space. It was easily the most secluded place on the ship deck, decorated with three young tangerine trees in white boxy planters. “I like your trees.”

“They’re Nami’s trees.” Zoro gestured with his head again, and you followed him. The tour was brief; Zoro didn’t have much to say, generally just showing you a room before telling you what it was and departing for the next area.

You were about halfway through the tour when Zoro spoke again, the words abrupt in his throat. He spat them out rather than spoke them, and you got the impression he’d been mulling over talking for a while— “You ever beat your dad in combat?”

You snorted. “No.”

Zoro didn’t look at you, opting instead to push through the next doorway and gesture vaguely around him to show you the surroundings. “Gotten close?”

“Never.” You shrugged. “He taught me the basics, but I wasn’t the best student. He’d try to be strict and everything, but… sword fighting isn’t really my thing. You’re probably better than me.”

Zoro gazed at you skeptically. “He taught you.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you—” He paused, mouth open for a moment before resuming his sentence. He didn’t sound particularly hesitant, but the pause had you stifling a smile anyway, knowing he was at least a little bit flustered. “We should train together.”

“Was that a question?”

“Not really.” Zoro’s lip quirked, one side of his mouth tugging upwards in an odd semblance of a smile. He didn’t seem the type to smile often, though, so it didn’t look out of ordinary on his face. “Have you seen enough of the ship yet, or do you want me to show you the bilge too?”

“I’m good, thanks,” you answered primly. “Now did you want to fight me or not?”

Zoro actually smiled at that.

You decided to train on the main deck, in an area wide enough to not bump into anyone else. You shed your jacket, pulling Hiru out of its scabbard. Zoro winced as the sun hit the silver blade, reflecting a blinding gleam off its surface. “That a stylistic choice?”

“I polish things when I get anxious,” you answered. “So not really.”

“Right.” Zoro untied a black bandana from where it was fixed on his bicep, fingers working fluidly against the knot. Once he got it untied, he wrapped it around his head, tying it carefully around his head. Afterwards, he slid one of his swords out of its scabbard, holding it with his fingers to follow with the other. “How low should my expectations be?”

“I don’t know, you tell me,” you answered. Zoro let a soft sound out through his mouth, but he said no more, transferring one sword to each hand. He moved carefully, arms arching over his head to lower to each of his sides. You lifted Hiru up, more casual in your movements than Zoro was.

You paid more attention to Zoro than the actual fight when you started moving. You figured you’d have time to genuinely practice later—you hadn’t kept a close eye on the swordsman in the battle against the pirate hunters, and your curiosity was eating at you. Zoro was all angles when he fought, elbows lifted and limbs pin-straight. That wasn’t to say there was no flexibility in his movements, though—he dodged your oncoming attacks easily, sidestepping with a light twist of the torso so your blade cut air instead of flesh.

Just a few seconds in you could tell Zoro was far, far better than you. You parried one of his attacks, gasp ripping from your throat as you just barely managed to block off a slash from his katana with Hiru. He spun towards you, careful not to actually cut as his blade came for the throat. You managed to dodge just in time, moving backwards with a quick patter of your feet against the wooden deck.

There was barely anything skewed in his motions, you were soon to realize. He was perfect in every sense of the word. Your styles were vastly different, of course—Zoro mainly relied on his blades, and his physicality was carefully practiced, no curves or bends apparent in the straight lines and slants of his body. In comparison, you were much more slippery, focusing mainly on your agility to carry you throughout a fight rather than your strength.

“Your elbow,” Zoro said. You barely managed to respond, letting out a grunt of effort as you blocked Zoro’s oncoming attack.

“Hm?”

Zoro’s katana came from the left. He used the other one to knock your arm up, nearly gentle in his movements, and you were reminded of how Mihawk used to train you—stopping mid-fight to reposition your limbs, using his sword to carefully push your hands in the right places. “You’re dropping it.”

“I don’t care much for angles,” you answered, ducking under Zoro’s incoming blade and sliding off to the side instead of trying to shove against it. Zoro seemed startled by that, struck off-balance as he stumbled, turning to face you.

You jerked your sword towards him, one leg coming up to shove against his torso whilst doing so. You managed to knock him fully off-balance then, and he staggered against his feet, teetering precariously backwards. “Your center of gravity is screwed.”

“You dad kept flinging me around the pier,” Zoro said. You raised your brows, the phrase nonsensical to your ears. But it did sound like Mihawk. “It run in the family?”

“Very funny.” You dodged another slash of Zoro’s swords. “The only thing I picked up well in our lessons was about keeping balance.”

“And dodging, apparently.” You snickered at that, parrying another one of Zoro’s attacks—but it was getting harder and harder, what with the immense strength of his body you simply couldn’t keep up with. As flexible as you were, you weren’t quick enough this time, and Zoro swept you off your feet so you fell to the ground, wind bursting out of your chest all in one rush. Hiru clattered a few feet away, your fingers unfolding from their grip and letting it move freely.

Zoro slid his swords back in their sheaths, letting them close with a satisfying click. “You fight too defensively.”

You lay there for a moment, trying to gather air back into your lungs. “Never found a point in attacking others, really.” You got up, straightening your shirt before bending over to pick Hiru up from the floor. “Good fight.”

“Yeah,” Zoro said, but his voice was weak, tapering off to blend in with the wind. He had an uncertain look on his face, big brown eyes all fuzzy around the edges, like there was some cloudlike film covering him from seeing properly. You frowned at him.

“Is that because I’m worse or better than you expected?” you asked, gesturing vaguely up at his expression. Zoro blinked, the fog over his eyes clearing as he glanced down to meet your gaze. You waited expectantly, but he didn’t say anything. “Zoro?” you prompted.

“Sorry,” Zoro said. “I’m—I’m going to go to my cabin.”

You watched him leave, growing more quizzical by the second. Well, you’d gotten what you’d come there for, anyway. Roronoa Zoro was a great swordsman. And he certainly had the potential to be the greatest in the world, too—a realization that shook you a little, heart trembling from where it was fixed in your chest cavity. You swallowed hard, mind replaying the firm motions of his body from the fight. He’d been confident, sure of himself. You had even forgotten he still hosted Yoru’s slash along his torso from just a week or so prior, he’d been so… perfect.

“He’s good, huh?”

You startled, turning to see Usopp sitting atop a pile of crates like a king on a throne. He was picking at his fingernails. “Zoro,” he clarified. “Best swordsman in the East Blue.”

“Yeah,” you said, glancing over at where Zoro had left. “He is.”

Usopp eyed you for a moment. “Your shell phone is ringing.”

You startled, patting down your figure before finally unearthing your phone from where it was tucked safely away in your pocket. You opened it, pushing the den den mushi in your ear as it vibrated, little mouth making soft rumbling sounds to catch your attention. Usopp clearly didn’t know a thing about privacy, though, because he kept watching even as you picked up— “Hello?”

“Back home yet, darling?” Mihawk asked over the line, and you relaxed, your entire body going slack with comfort as you heard the familiar low hum of your father’s voice. “I figured you’d go back as quickly as possible.”

“No, actually,” you said. “Luffy roped me into coming aboard his ship.”

You could practically see Mihawk’s brows lift up in surprise. “You joined the Straw Hat pirate’s crew?”

“No. They’re bringing me home. I’m helping them get to the Grand Line,” you corrected. Mihawk hummed, the sound a crackle of monotony through the den den mushi’s mouth.

“And why, pray tell, would you do that?”

You chewed at your bottom lip, glancing off the side of the Going Merry to the East Blue. The sun had risen fully, fixing itself in a warm beam in the sky. “I was curious about Roronoa Zoro. You never told me why you left him alive. Or why you let Luffy go.” You could still feel Usopp’s gaze on you while you spoke, and you just knew he’d be telling the rest of his crew this after your conversation finished. “So I wanted to figure out your reasoning.”

“Ah,” Mihawk said. “Has he healed from Yoru’s wound yet?”

“It’s not like I tore off his shirt to check, dad,” you muttered. Mihawk barked out a laugh, and you startled at the sound before settling down again. “He walks fine. I saw bandages.”

Mihawk seemed pleased by that. “Wonderful. He’s a hardy one. You should fight him.”

“Already did,” you answered. “He beat me.”

Mihawk considered that for a moment. “Eh, I saw that coming.”

You scoffed. “You have no faith in me. Where are you now?”

“South Blue, still,” Mihawk replied. “Are you at least enjoying yourself there? It’ll be good for you to make friends, sweetheart. You don’t get much social interaction other than me and the villagers, after all.”

“I’m not here to make friends, I’m here to get a ride home,” you said insistently, but your voice was weak, and Mihawk clearly didn’t believe you. Your mind wandered back to Zoro—the firm muscle of his body, the hushed tone he spoke in, and you found your face pinkening. “One of them—one of them wants to kill you. That’s his entire life’s purpose. To murder you.”

“I think you’re being a tad bit broad, darling,” Mihawk said with a click of his tongue. “You seem rather enamored with this particular young swordsman. Something to say?”

“I—” your words fumbled in your mouth, and you were certain you were entirely pink now, the sun’s glowing rays only making your face warmer than it was rapidly turning. “Stop. I’m hanging up now.”

Mihawk’s voice was tastefully dry when he responded. “I’m sure.”

“Shut up, old man,” you grumbled.

“Right. Remember the rule, dear,” Mihawk trilled, and despite his voice being as monotone as ever, you could still identify the undertones of it—laced with syrupy mocking, all teasing and dramatic. “No dating unless he can beat you in combat!”

You actually did hang up this time, practically tearing the den den mushi out of your ear. You huffed out an irritated breath, rubbing a circle into the shell of your snail as an apology just a moment later. “Sorry,” you murmured. “My dad’s a bitch.”

The snail just let out a little grumble in response. You tucked it back into its case and snapped the phone shut.

“Aw, we’re not allowed to say hi?” You spun around at the new voice, glaring upon seeing Sanji and Luffy having joined Usopp in his eavesdropping. Sanji bore a gigantic grin on his face. “Sounded like an interesting conversation.”

“None of you know what boundaries are,” you muttered, but it was light-hearted.

You didn’t see Zoro until suppertime, a fact that rang odd in your head. It seemed like he’d completely evaporated from the ship, disappearing around every corner as you spent the rest of the day getting to know the rest of the crew better. Something had happened, but you weren’t exactly sure what—and you weren’t exactly sure if you were close enough to him to even ask, yet.

Sanji had cooked up a dinner so fine you doubted it could even quality as ship food. From your time traveling with your father, rations on-board hadn’t been much of anything—a few scraps of bread or dried meat, old apples, perhaps some fish if you were lucky. Mihawk hadn’t the biggest priority on eating well, but the Straw Hat crew seemed to have the exact opposite opinion. You were served a bowl of miso soup along with a bowl of rice, and dishes of tofu and oyster sauce stir-fried vegetables were carefully laid out all across the table.

“Bon appétit,” Sanji said, taking a half-bow before slipping into the last seat around the table. “I hope it’s to your liking. Yours especially, Lady Dracule.” He gave you a little wink at that. You just stared at him.

“I thought I told you my name.”

“Well, you did, but I thought Lady Dracule had a nice ring to it.”

“It doesn’t,” you said. Nami stifled a snort, the hand not holding her chopsticks coming up to cover her mouth. Sanji didn’t look the slightest bit dissuaded. You turned your attention on Zoro, who hadn’t spoken a word throughout the whole meal. He was rather studiously focused on his bowl, eyes picking apart the grains of rice like they’d reveal the world’s greatest secrets.

Carefully, you leaned towards Nami, voice coming out in a hushed whisper. “Is he okay?”

“He gets like that sometimes,” Nami answered, her words drowned out by Usopp and Luffy’s cheerful conversation. “Nobody can crack him except for Luffy. I’d just leave him be.”

“You don’t know why?”

Nami just shrugged. “Hell, we’re all depressed sometimes. Not within my rights to question him.”

You nodded, but your gaze didn’t move away from Zoro’s figure. There was a particular squeezing sensation deep in your chest—a little flip-flop thing, a sort of panging you couldn’t quite place. He glanced up, dark eyes meeting yours for just a fraction of a second. But he didn’t flinch away. He just returned your gaze, strong and unblinking.

To your surprise, Zoro was the first to look away, craning his neck to study his bowl again and continuing on like your extended bout of eye contact hadn’t even happened. You watched him, dumbstruck, until Nami nudged you in the shoulder. The rest of the group’s idle chatter had died down, and Usopp and Sanji were staring at you, low murmurs falling out of their mouths. You cleared your throat, finally dropping your gaze from the green-haired swordsman and attempting to ignore the fact everyone had caught you staring.

You didn’t do much of anything after supper—you just returned to your cabin, carefully walking across the creaking boards of the ship. Luffy assigned you mid watch, so you had a few hours to sleep before waking up at midnight to look out for any enemies.

You couldn’t find yourself falling asleep even after you’d slipped into bed. You’d changed, a loose blouse light against your skin, black silk shorts grazing your thighs. It was cold out, so you shrugged on a robe as you headed out into the darkness of the Going Merry. You emerged out on the deck, taking in a breath of the night air as you glanced to see who had the night watch.

Just your luck. It was Zoro.

He seemed tranquil, lounging across a hammock with his white sword—the Wado Ichimonji—cradled in his arms. In the dim light you couldn’t see if his eyes were open or closed, but as you got closer, he cracked one of them open, a gleam reflecting off his right iris. “Hi,” you said, moving over to the side of the ship to watch the waves on the water.

Zoro didn’t deign to respond, so you just stood there, watching the sea lap at the side of the ship until eventually the hour struck twelve. Zoro left soundlessly. You stayed awake all throughout your watch until Usopp came to relieve you of your duties.

Zoro was avoiding you.

A few days had passed since you first boarded the Going Merry. They hadn’t been of much interest—just days of practicing with your sword and chatting with the crew, for the most part. You helped around the ship, completing various tasks apparently none of the members knew or cared enough to do. You were just emerging from the bilge, having done basic maintenance to ensure everything was working properly, when you bumped into him. The man was apparently taking a nap, though you couldn’t figure out why the storage area was a very good place to sleep. Still, he seemed comfortable enough, long body splayed along a grouping of crates.

“Hi,” you said, for what seemed like the hundredth time over a few days. Zoro just averted his gaze and let out a little grunt in response. You stared at him for a moment. The realization had dawned on you ever since the first day, but it was growing more and more apparent, and you were baffled as to what you’d done to incur the silent treatment.

“Hi,” you repeated, more purposefully this time.

“Hey,” Zoro said, though the word was clearly bitter in his mouth. You propped your hands on your hips and stared down at him.

“You’re avoiding me.”

Zoro closed his eyes, expression not even changing. “You’re not that special.”

“Ever since we fought that one time, you’ve been ignoring me,” you barreled on, entirely ignoring his quip. Zoro cocked a brow, eyes still closed, and you glared down at it. “I’d like to know why.”

“Why do you care? We’re not friends.”

“Isn’t it natural to want to know why someone is mad at you?” you demanded, perplexed. Zoro sighed then, shifting around on his boxes.

“I’m not mad at you.” You heaved out a sigh even more irritated than Zoro’s. Your experience in the realm of dealing with close-lipped men’s personal issues was, unfortunately, rather well-seasoned. You’d had to coax situations out of your father, one hand pressed against Yoru’s hilt to prevent Mihawk from lashing out his frustrations rather than explaining them. But that didn’t mean you were all too fond of it.

“Okay, well, why else would you be ignoring me then?”

Zoro’s response was annoyingly frank. “It’s not really any of your business.”

You pursed your lips, trying to suppress the irritated noise that threatened to burst from your throat. “I don’t like being on bad terms with people,” you started. “If I did something to piss you off, I’d very much like it if you—”

The floor slipped out from underneath you before you could finish your sentence. You fell with a graceless clatter, lurching forward into the stack of crates Zoro was leaning on, words dying on your tongue. The entire boat trembled, quivering from side to side as if the ocean waves had suddenly propelled a thousand more ripples at its surface.

Zoro sat immediately up, one hand pushing you off of him as he scrambled off the crates. “What was that?”

“I don’t—” Just a moment after regaining your balance, there was another dull thud and a row of quivers. You remained steady this time, glancing carefully around you before you and Zoro were both hurrying up towards the ship deck. The Going Merry was in chaos when you emerged, Nami at the helm while Sanji was firing up a cannon beside her.

“What’s going on?” you demanded, the tails of your coat lapping around your calves as you hurried up besides Luffy.

“Pirates,” Luffy said grimly, nodding towards a ship that was quickly gaining on you. “They blew through the stern railing. Do any of you recognize the jolly roger?”

You glanced up, taking in the billowing sail boasting a pure-white jolly roger with a top hat and mustache. “Nope. These things are getting more and more ridiculous,” you muttered.

“Yeah,” Luffy agreed, affronted. “Ours is way better.”

You turned your gaze up at the Straw Hat crew’s aforementioned jolly roger. “...No comment.”

“We can’t outrun them!” Nami shouted from her place at the helm. Sanji had successfully nailed a cannonball into the railing of the oncoming ship, but they had a dozen more men. “I’m going to try to get closer. Best chance we have is one-on-one combat.” She turned to fix the small grouping with a glare. “Don’t just stand there. Get to it!”

You launched into action, hurrying to climb up the rigging to get a better view as Nami veered hard to starboard. The enemy ship had dropped their cannons, and you could see them preparing to board the Merry, grabbing onto loose ropes of rigging. “They’re going to swing over,” you reported, watching as the ship tilted in your direction, gaining on you. “I see maybe two or three dozen men.”

You hesitated, glancing around at the rather stationary crew around you. Your lip tugged between your teeth, and you stood there for a moment, unspoken words heavy on your tongue. You could see the captain yelling out orders on the ship across from you, and you turned abruptly, fixing Sanji with a look.

“Sanji, trade with Usopp. I want you to nail a cannon at their port stern.”

“W—What? Me?” Usopp stuttered. You nodded.

“I want Sanji on the frontlines. That should be close enough now.” You gazed out at the rapidly thinning gap between the two ships. One final cannonball whizzed towards, and you ducked, watching as it just brushed the side of the Merry. The ship rocked, and you tightened your grip on the rigging, satisfied to see it’d barely left a mark.

“They’re coming over,” Sanji reported, and you nodded, sliding Hiru out from your scabbard as enemy pirates started swinging over on ropes. Luffy was the first to react, an arching, rubbery limb catching one of them midair and yanking them down into the ocean. Boots thudded on the ground as the enemy pirates landed aboard the Going Merry.

“Time for a fight,” Zoro murmured, barely audible from your left. You jumped down from the rigging, sword coming down to crash against one of the enemy pirates. He reacted slowly, pistol cocking towards your chest—but you just brushed it to the side with Hiru, cutting it straight out his hand and following up with a flurry of sword thrusts.

Besides you, you saw Sanji sliding into battle, spinning on his palms to deliver a mean right hook to someone’s jawbone. An audible crack pierced the air, and you winced, breezing backwards on your feet as two pirates closed in on you.

Luffy seemed to have engaged in a one-on-one with the enemy captain, who was easily identifiable due to the gigantic top hat perched upon his head. He had thick black hair tied neatly back in a ponytail, and a mustache and beard to match. A thick cutlass was tightened in one fist, thrusted towards Luffy—but every sweep was dodged with unbelievable bends of the torso.

You turned your attention away, whipping your sword at the pirates that surrounded you. Hiru clashed with their blades, gleaming silver scraping against theirs. You leaned forward, and the blade before you broke with the pressure, sword snapping under Hiru’s will.

The sword dropped out of the pirate’s hand, and you took the opportunity to pull your leg up, kicking him squarely in the jaw. The other lunged for you, and your fist dug into their torso, hands gripping tight to their belt. You bent over, twisting into his body to push him over your shoulder in a sweeping throw.

He fell to the floor all in one, and you landed a kick to his chest just to ensure he wouldn’t get up again. Another man—bigger, this time, probably half your width and inches taller—gunned for you.

You sidestepped him easily, agility tilting in your favor as you escaped his grasp. It was harder to take this one down—while you could dodge him well enough, and parry his oncoming attacks, he was simply too strong to compete with. Strength isn’t everything, little hawk, Mihawk would always tell you. Everyone has a weakness. Get them off balance. Use your points.

The man delivered a stinging left hook to your torso, and you gasped. He took the opportunity to grab onto your wrist, grip so tight you couldn’t move your hand. Hiru clattered out from between your fingers. You directed a hit with your elbow towards the pirate’s sternum, but it was oddly-placed, and he just sneered down at you.

One of his large fists rose to thud against your skull, and you braced for impact, but the blow never landed. A warm squishing sound of a sword against skin made your entire body shudder, and you turned to stare as your assailant’s head slid cleanly off of his neck.

Zoro was behind him when his body collapsed, sword slick with blood as he spun it lazily around in a hand. “Careful,” he said.

You gaped up at him for merely a second more before you realized your jaw was ajar. You flushed, bending over to fish Hiru up from the floor. “I was fine.”

Zoro just thrust his sword cleanly into the torso of an incoming pirate, eyes not breaking away from yours. He slid it out with a sickening sound, flicking the blood off the blade with a motion of his hand. “A thank you might be nice.”

“Behind you,” you said instead, but Zoro was already reacting. You watched him, an incurable sigh perched on the tip of your tongue. He was good. He was really, really good, and you didn’t know how to feel about it. “Is that most of them?”

“I think—” Zoro cut himself off, glancing over his shoulder as you both hear the familiar yell of Luffy’s voice screaming out one of his final moves. You both watched, soundless, as his foot smashed into the top hat pirate’s face, flinging him all the way across the water straight into the mast of his own ship. Only mere seconds later did the mast crack, the wooden pole falling down in a glorious, wooden heap.

“...Yeah, we’re fine.” Zoro said. He leaned down, grabbing the shirt of one of the fallen pirates to wipe his blade with before sliding it back in its scabbard. “Let’s get out of here.”

“On it.” Nami snapped her bo staff closed—when she’d jumped down into the battle, you were unsure, but she was already returning to her place at the helm. “Toss these bodies off our boat, would you, Zoro?”

“Right.” Zoro bent over, easily picking up the fallen pirate and chucking the corpse overboard without another thought. You watched him the entire time, the strain of his biceps against his skin forming solid ridges up his arms.

“I can clean your swords,” you said, words a bit too late out of your mouth. Zoro glanced up, brow creased. “While you’re doing that.”

Zoro looked uncertain, but he unstrapped the scabbards from his hip, handing the twin katanas to you. You took them, glancing over his figure again. He moved with difficulty, and while you’d originally thought that was because of the bodies’ weight, you now saw the real reason. Lines of crimson were seeping through his shirt, a pool by the left side of his lower abdomen the biggest injured site. You took an involuntary step forward. “You’re hurt.”

“I can treat them later,” Zoro said dismissively. “Gotta clean up the Merry first.”

“No, mosshead, the lady is right,” Sanji said. You startled, not having noticed him slip up beside you. “Usopp and I can manage with waste control, eh?” He winked. “Go clean up.”

Zoro glared at him, the look dripping with malice, but he didn’t argue past that. “Fine,” he said, chucking another body—this one alive—off the side of the ship before straightening. You heard the hitch in his breath as he spoke, along with the near-imperceptible wince of his face. “You good, Luffy?”

“A little hungry,” Luffy responded truthfully. He was still watching the other ship. Fire had started aboard it, and soft billows of black smoke drifted in the air. “Can you cook something up later, Sanji?”

“Got it,” Sanji said. “Tell your first mate to patch up his wound before he bleeds out all over our beautiful deck.”

“The deck isn’t beautiful, it’s got blood and guts all over it,” Zoro muttered.

“Well, have a little respect and don’t add to the mess.” Sanji fixed him with a stern look. Zoro bared his teeth at him in a grimace, extracting a sharp little laugh out of your throat. His eyes brushed over yours, a glimmer of surprise dancing in his irises, before he ducked inside.

“Why are you following me?” Zoro asked flatly, as you entered the cabin he’d gone into. You’d hastened to keep up with him, only a few steps behind before finding the room he’d gone into. Zoro had propped himself up on the hanging bed, loosening the ties of his wrap shirt to expose his bare chest.

“I was wondering if you needed any help with your wounds.” You deposited Zoro’s swords, along with Hiru, on the table in the room, moving closer to him to survey the scene. “If you wanted it.”

Zoro’s gaze met yours, and he said nothing for a moment. “First aid kit’s over there,” he finally said, nodding to the table. You moved towards it, opening up the small box to expose supplies of bandages, needles, stitch string, and disinfectant inside. You carried the box over to the bed, sanitizing your hands before carefully parting the folds of Zoro’s shirt. The cloth stuck to skin, coagulating blood making the shirt peel rather than move. Now that his entire torso was bared, though, you could fully inspect his wounds. There were still bandages from Yoru’s cut, all dirtied up now from his other injuries—you’d have to take them off and re-dress them, so he’d be in the bed for thirty minutes at least.

You turned your attention to the cut by Zoro’s abdomen, deciding it was the most important thing to focus on. The cut wasn’t too deep, but it was gushing a steady flow of blood, and you picked up a towel to press against the wound. “Hold,” you instructed, and Zoro’s fingers brushed against yours as he took a hold of the cloth. “Thanks. I’ve got to take your bandages off, then I’ll clean and dress all the wounds. That one down there might need stitches.”

“How do you know how to do this?” Zoro asked, watching as you unwrapped the previous bandages from around his chest. You were careful to touch his skin as little as possible, distracting yourself with the blood and gauze.

“My dad,” you answered. You’d spent too many late nights patching up a wound Mihawk had brushed off as unimportant, only to wind up bleeding out on your couch. Zoro raised a brow.

“Dracule Mihawk gets injured?”

“Of course he does,” you said with a huff. “Don’t be stupid. He’s a man, just like the rest of you.” The gash from Yoru had fully scabbed over, revealing a long, trembling crust of dark ochre. You finished peeling off all the bandages, and cast them to the side.

“You know a lot.”

“Jack of all trades, master of none,” you quipped. You moved away from the desk to fill a bucket with warm water, dipping a cloth into it and squeezing out the excess. You dabbed around Yoru’s scab with the cloth, careful not to break the shell while still cleaning it of any extra gunk. Then you focused on flushing out the other wounds, wiping across his skin and getting all the little nicks on his chest and arms. Zoro didn’t say a word, but you could feel his eyes boring into your skull, watching you with a hardened intensity that made your insides churn.

You nudged his hand away, examining the big cut. The rag he was holding had filled up with blood, white cotton dyed red and sodden with liquid. Thankfully, the bleeding seemed to have lessened. You wiped up all the last of it with your towel, swiping it against the pills of blood that had caught along the waistband of his trousers. Zoro hissed as you came into contact with the wound. “Sorry,” you murmured.

“Why are you apologizing?”

You frowned at that. “Because it hurt?”

“I thought you were mad at me,” Zoro said stiffly. You raised your brows. “Since… you thought I was annoyed at you, or whatever.”

“Just because you feel a certain kind of way towards me doesn’t mean I reciprocate the same feelings,” you answered, setting aside your towel after deciding everything had been cleaned out well enough. You picked up another cloth, dabbing this one with some alcohol to disinfect the wound. “This is going to sting,” you warned.

Zoro’s jaw clenched, teeth grinding against each other as you flushed out the wound. His torso clenched, and your eyes fell across his exposed midriff, watching the tight skin that was seemingly sculpted into muscles. You glanced away just a moment later, a dusting of warmth brushing over your cheeks. “On that topic,” you hastened to say, trying to distract yourself from the half-naked man in front of you, “Why were you avoiding me?”

Zoro let out a sigh, the sound stuttered as he clenched his jaw again when you brushed your towel against his wound. You waited, taking out a fresh cloth to dab at the other nicks on his body. You examined the wound near his left side again. “Stitches.”

“Great,” Zoro muttered. You ignored him, searching in the kit for some needle and thread. “Can you take the stitches out from your dad’s yet?”

“Ha ha. You’re going to need those for a few more weeks,” you said, without even looking at the scab to check. “Ask me again later. Yoru cuts are deadly.”

Zoro let his eyes flutter closed. “It’s a great sword.”

“Yeah, it is,” you said. You paused from where you were threading the needle, glancing up at Zoro’s face now that you knew he couldn’t catch you staring. He looked so peaceful in this state, eyelashes splayed along his cheeks, dark umber freckles that you hadn’t noticed before splattered across his face. There were dozens of them, skin sun-worn and bearing the marks as proof—constellations of dark brown stars, so similar to his warm, glowing skin it was easy to miss. A five-o’-clock shadow traced around his mouth, and at his left ear, his golden earrings gleamed bright.

“I don’t feel anything,” Zoro said, and you snapped out of your reverie, fingers fumbling to finish threading your needle.

“Patience is a virtue, you know,” you hissed. Zoro snorted.

“Yeah, one I don’t have.” You rolled your eyes, tying off the string and bending down to examine the cut again. It wasn’t too wide—maybe five or six stitches at most. You gave Zoro no warning except for the light brush of your fingers against the wound, and he hissed again.

You glanced up. “Do you want something to bite on?”

“I’m not a toddler,” Zoro sneered. You mouthed his words mockingly, though you didn’t actually speak them, not wanting him to catch you doing such an immature action. You fixed your gaze back on the wound, free hand resting flat against Zoro’s abdomen to steady you—his skin was warm under your palm, and you expected him to say something, but to your surprise, he didn’t even flinch.

The first puncture came carefully. Zoro hissed, the sound of a low rumble in his throat as you felt his abdomen clench under your palm. You forced yourself to continue, pulling the thread fully through the skin before moving onto the other side of the wound. You did it again, carefully to keep the string untangled as it ran through Zoro’s flesh.

“It wasn’t because I was mad at you,” Zoro said abruptly, and you paused, glancing up to look at Zoro’s face. His eyes were still closed, brows contorted tight and mouth bared down into a grimace. “Don’t stop. I wasn’t avoiding you because I was angry. Or because of anything you did.”

“Why, then?” you asked, lowering your head to continue with your stitches. Zoro took in a sharp breath at the next one, the edges of a scream cutting into his breath but not fully escaping from his throat. You were rubbing a comforting circle into his stomach before you could stop yourself—muscle memory from patching up your dad’s wounds. You swallowed hard, but didn’t stop the motions—Zoro didn’t seem offended by them.

His voice was raggedy when he spoke again. “Fighting against you. It reminded me of—my friend, from back then. I told you about her.”

Your lips pursed, but you didn’t stall your actions, running the thread through the hole you’d pricked. “The one you made the promise to?”

“Yeah,” Zoro said, the word falling out all in one breath. You fixed the string tight along the wound, fingers splayed across his stomach warning him for the next puncture. He continued speaking despite it, and your needle hovered over his skin. “We were training together—fuck.”

“Sorry,” you said again, still running your thread through his skin as he heaved out a long, ragged groan from low in his throat.

“We were training together,” he repeated. “Haven’t done that in a while with a girl. So it—” His voice tapered off in another breathy groan. “Reminded me of her. I got bitchy.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” you said. You were getting close to the end of the wound now, but your actions slowed, just to keep him talking—the words came out all harsh and hesitant, and you got the feeling speaking about his past was a laborious task. Might as well let him have the safety of avoiding your eyes like this while he spoke. “Do I look like her or something?”

Zoro huffed out a laugh. “Ha. No.”

“Okay,” you said. You pierced his skin again—he took this one better, muscles clenching as he sucked in hard. You waited until you finished the stitch to speak again. “Are you going to keep avoiding me?”

“No,” Zoro said. His words pierced the air, weighed heavy with a gasp of pain and a hiss, but it still rang sharp in your ears. He eased out a breath, long and soft. “It was unfair. Can’t help it sometimes, that’s all.”

“That’s fine,” you answered carefully. You threaded one last stitch, both of you mute as you tightened the wound closed with the suture and tied it off. You snipped the string with a pocketknife, using another damp towel to clean up any of the excess blood. “I’m going to dress everything with bandages now. Almost done.”

“Okay,” Zoro said. You reorganized your supplies, tucking away your stitching things to replace with bandages and dressing pads. You washed your hands again, then returned to bend over Zoro’s torso. When you did, you were surprised to see Zoro’s eyes had opened, soft brown irises boring into yours. You swallowed, feeling the burn of his gaze into your skin as you stared at the skin of his midsection.

“I’ll do the big one first, then everything else,” you said carefully. You worked in silence, pressing a dressing pad along the wound and tying it off with some gauze to fix it in place. You moved around his body, bandaging up any cuts you deemed worthy until you finally were left with Yoru’s cut.

It stretched the entire expanse of his torso, from shoulder to hip. It’d been well done, the cut deep but not deep enough to kill as long as someone was fast enough with treatment. You recognized the shape of the cut, the very tip of it thin before Yoru’s mouth caught the skin with the center of his blade. “He did it like this on purpose?” Zoro asked.

“Yeah,” you said. “He’s methodical with most things.” You wrapped gauze around the scab, tightening it up and then finally tying it off by his hip. “I’d keep that on for a few days before replacing it. Keep dressing it for another two weeks or so. It’ll probably start swelling soon, so I can help you drain whatever fluid develops.”

“I’ll let you know,” Zoro said. He was still watching you with those big brown eyes, and a soft shiver traced down your spine. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for saving me from that pirate earlier,” you said. You surveyed him again, though you were careful not to meet his eyes. A long silence filled the space, heavy with something you couldn’t quite place. You ducked your head, busying yourself with putting away the first aid kit. The words fell from your mouth before you could stop them— “I like your earrings.”

“Oh,” Zoro said. Nothing else.

You were pretty sure you liked more than the earrings. You liked the way he fought, even if it scared you sometimes—even if you knew one day he’d probably be able to beat your father. You liked his face; those big brown eyes, soulless at times but holding the world in those glistening irises at others. Those freckles, adorned with the entire galaxy, stars and planets and constellations dotting his cheeks like a mural of life. The way he talked, soft-spoken but utterly real, voice low in his throat, words disturbingly honest.

You didn’t say so, though. You stuck with the earrings, because those were safer.

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3

taglist: @untoldshortsofthefandoms @ellisaworld @yeonieesss @sarcastic-sourwolf @rouzuchan @dashcrashbash @blossomedfloweroflove @ fangeekkk @winuvs @katiemrty @asexualimmortal @fayetheenthusiast @freedom-kitty @ren-ni @je4nc4tb0y @dwcode @albedosfiance @13-09-01 @dimplewonie @cellgore @ shabzy1644 @applepie972 @mayo0ma @smoochesfromlevi @ csmbrainrot @intoanothermind @junieloonie @yourlocalgoose @swthrxrry @lovefooi @dailybrekker @taeriffic @xxemmarldxx @alastorswife63 @butterfliesinthenightsky @mukeovernetflix @wonuskie @mysingularitybts @sorasolarium @chaitea-69 @wishyouwere-sober @mchlist @bibi-bieber-winchester @prowkarma @loveyluv7 @hhighkey @jesssssmaybankk @threadofdestiny @hinata7346 @thevampiricprincess @wreckmyimage @prettyinsatiable @fairygirl18 @idcalol @bangtannie7 @carav4l @kookie-doughs @bluesiebirdie @endeaz @q8852p @addisonwilkins1 @louweasleymalfoy @alelovesmitski

#opla zoro #opla roronoa zoro #opla #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x you #reader insert #x reader #one piece live action #one piece netflix #one piece live action x you #one piece live action x reader #opla fanfic #opla fanfiction #dracule mihawk #opla zoro x reader #kiki writes!

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wrathofrats · 18 days

Text

Mushy May Day 10- quiet nights

Aethers overwhelmed in the infirmary. Omega and delta calm him down.

Thanks to @forlorn-crows for the prompts this month!

Aethers eyes stung.

He stared at the speckled white countertop while delta whizzed past him once again to check someone’s beeping iv. His head felt fuzzy, his vision felt far away. A pressure behind his eyes he could only hope wasn’t any real tears, just exhaustion. The sterility of the air made his stomach turn, an absent thought granted to wonder when the last time he ate was.

“Hey, are you doing alright?”

A large hand rested on aethers back. Omegas voice was comforting, almost too much so. Enough that the pressure behind aethers eyes only deepened as he attempted to blink away whatever tears were forming. It shouldn’t be overwhelming, just the knowledge that omega recognized his emotions and cared, but aether can barely speak beyond the handful of napkins that felt wadded in his throat to express that he was ok.

The silence was enough for omega. He remembers his first couple months topside. Always either touring, practicing, or attempting to tend to any sick or wounded siblings. A constant rotation of activity and need. Delta also barely held it together as well when he was first thrown into the rotation of being a quint, mostly being sent down to help in the morgue. Hes always been better with them anyways.

But staff was short, and something was going around the abbey. It was just a couple minutes past midnight before they all had even gotten the chance to breathe. Aether felt as if he was holding constant pressure on a wound. Enough attention and force to hold the blood in, until it eventually stopped. The moment to calm down leaving it to bleed freely.

The beeping from down the hall stopped. Silence fell over the wing as static rushed to fill the space in aethers head.

“Just take a second aether, sit down” omega pulled out a chair and lightly pushed on his shoulder to get him to sit. Aether played with his hands nervously in his lap. He feels like he had forgotten something, like there was a mistake he missed, like there had to be something else to do.

Delta soon walked back to take his own seat in the nurses station, giving omega a concerned look over aether state.

“Jellyfish, can you grab aether some water?” Omega said quietly over his shoulder “and maybe one of the expired granola bars”

“I’m fine omega” aether finally spoke, looking up at the older ghoul. “Just a long night, I can handle it”

“It’s ok if you can’t”

Omega pulled up another chair into their little triangle when delta handed him the small snacks. It was a nice peaceful moment between them, omega wondered how many times they’d been able to sit together without it being band or work related.

“You haven’t drank any water in 5 hours. You’re upset because you’re dehydrated and hungry” delta mentioned matter of factly. Aether had to snort at the bluntness, taking a small swig of his water.

“Again, I’ll be ok. I’ll get used to it, a lot happened tonight but it’s fine” the granola bar made him cringe. The spoiled plastic taste on his tongue making him take another larger drink of water. He would have to tell papa later they needed a better supply of food back here, though he’s sure the others have mentioned it.

“Even delta still can’t handle it aeth, that’s why we banish him to the morgue. So we definitely don’t expect you to be ok with everything so soon” omega joked, sending a lighthearted smile to delta.

“I thought they sent delta to the morgue because he made the siblings uncomfortable?”

“They did” delta said

They couldn’t help but all giggle with each other, half a joke and half a truth, but delta never minded.

“You’re doing great, kid, just know that. I’m proud to have you here with us. Besides, the siblings love you”

“They do?” Aether asked

“Yeah, one earlier said that she wanted you to take her temperature with your-“

“Delta” omega warned

#@ghuleh-recs for the divider!#I love delta #mushy may #delta au where he’s fine just a bit off putting #he’s a fucking creature I need to write regular delta more #the band ghost #ghost #nameless ghouls #ghost bc #fanfic #wrath writes #omega ghoul #delta ghoul #aether ghoul #mushy may 2024

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cassieoz · 8 months

Text

Emergency

Erica wailed in total agony as she was rushed into the extreme birthing unit. The pounding pressure between her thighs was constant and excruciating. Her suffering had been heard as she was wheeled down the long corridor between the labor suite and the delivery room. The pain was blinding! Erica couldn't stop crying from the severity of the rapid labor.

"Contractions less than a minute apart, Doctors. Head rapidly crowning. Contraction intensity is 90 and still increasing. Abnormally large fetus. Ultrasound indicated at least 22 pounds."

Erica was trembling as medical staff attached monitor pads and injected her with several syringes as the brutality of her birthing ordeal continued to rage through her laboring ordeal. IV tubes pumped fluids and drugs into her system as doctors and nurses adjusted their white masks and pulled on long white surgical gloves. The room was chaotic with members of staff dressed in dark green scrubs prepared to deliver her humongous infant.

"Contraction intensity is still rising, Doctors! 95 on the main vital monitor. Extreme pressure! The head is measuring much larger than in the labor room. Fetal weight registering at 25 pounds."

"Oh God, get it out of me! I can't take the pain. It's far too big! I can't push this baby out naturally. Oh the pain! Please make it stop!"

Erica thrashed wildly against the birthing table as the need to push completely controlled her. Despite her protests, she began to bear down on the crowning head. The stretching was incredible. The fire storm was nothing she had ever experienced before in her life. She pushed and howled out at the top of her lungs.

"Contraction intensity has reached the extreme range. 100 and over! This is the biggest head ever. The director will be impressed. Page him so he can be present!"

Within minutes, a tall dark green figure entered the delivery room and hurried to the end of the birthing table.

"Sir, the head is humongous. The baby is the biggest ever. The size of the fetus is causing extreme contractions. The patient is pushing with the endless conteactions!"

Erica roared and bore down as the tremendously large crown pressed her wider and wider. She shook as her hands went cold. Her body was damp. Her mind spun. She lost all sense of time. Her whole world became consumed by the raging contractions exploding between at her swelling opening.

The director smiled behind his mask as he watched the birther fought with all her strength to push the super large head free of her red, swollen entrance.

His program had finally produced the biggest baby ever. The birth went onto record the most extreme contractions ever in the maternity hospital. After hours of strenuous pushing, Erica delivered a 25 pound healthy baby. Completely exhausted but surprisingly still strong, she was transferred to recovery.

Later that day, the director sat in his office and watched the final stages of pushing over and over again on his laptop.

Erica was shaking wildly, covered on a thick layer of sweat, hair soaked and was endlessly screaming as the head erupted with full force from her pregnant frame.

This birther would be asked to continue her contact. Her successful delivery ensured her future service in the program. The director would secure her services as soon as possible. This was the beginning of many future mega births!

#giving birth #labor and delivery

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hollyhomburg · 8 months

Text

Before I Leave You (Pt. 60)

(sneek peak)(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Life changes come in many many forms; courting gifts, leaving jobs, and...Murder

Tags: Slow burn getting warmer, Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, Trans! Tae, Transphobia, gender thoughts, workplace discrimination, flashbacks, murder, graphic violence blood, suicidal actions

W/c: 11.5k

A/n: ah i'm hoping i'll finish this in time! if not T-T i'll be attending my cousins wedding at the time this is posted so! give me lots of love when you read it cuz i'm so nervous~ i've never been around so many fancy people before. also that photo of hobi? in the moodboard? tell me why it makes my heart FLUTTER!!!

Previous part ~ Masterlist

~-~

Chapter 60: Glass Slippers

Your breath goes just a little bit rapid, just a little, hitching when you think of it.

“Did Jin tell you anything?”

“He didn’t. Although my secretary did inform me that he filled out the paperwork for you.” The air in the therapist’s office is cold. Cold enough that it has you wrapping your sweater sleeves over your knuckles.

Your cheeks heat “My pack they- get a bit- protective.” Your fingers circle your wrist. You’re glad that Hobi convinced you to take one of his sweatshirts. He'd had a strange look on his face while he zipped it up, and you'd had to worry and wonder about it the whole morning. You'd worried more once he texted, just after he must have gotten to work.

“I have kind of a history of self-destructive behavior and I- I kind fell into bad habits a few days ago and blew up. It was all kind of triggered by this like- thing that happened with me and my other packmate.” It’s surprisingly easy to tell the truth.

You’re a right side better than you have been the last few weeks, now. A little bit more present, less foggy. The doctor just looks at her screen and not at you. What is it with her asking questions that make you not want to lie? Why does it feel like you should anyway?

Dr. Rima reads between the lines, what you're trying to say without saying it. “Is there a possibility of you hurting yourself again?” She clicks at the screen a little rapidly.

“No.”

The truth is you have no idea. It seems best to lie in this situation. But you consider it; one of your packmates making the call that you are too much to handle, that you need more help than they can offer. You imagine what it would be like to be in inpatient care. Grippy socks and group therapy and probably observed mealtimes. Maybe Iv's and feeding tubes if it came to that. Away from the pack and away from Yoongi.

He’s just downstairs, but that feels too far. There was no way that he was going to let you do this alone, you wouldn't be surprised if he never left the waiting room.

It’s just a therapy session. The very thing that you once refused. But now that you're here you might as well heal, you might as well work to stop this endless train of brief highs and endless lows. you'll give it a go, why not? What do you have to lose?

And yet, the texts from Hobi remain unanswered:

Ho-🐝 (9:48): Hey, I’m really proud of you.

Ho-🐝 (9:48): I’m really happy I get to be your packmate. In case you ever worry.

Ho-🐝 (9:49): And your best friend too <3

Ho-🐝 (9:51): Just so you knowwww

Coming Saturday September 23rd at 5pm EST (Time Zone Adjustment Below)

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skiiyoomin · 9 months

Note

I feel like there isn't enough for Newt from The Maze Runner Series. Could you please write for him?

I´m sooo sorry I took so long to answer but it´s finally here!! (ive been having huge writers block so i hope this is good enough) I totally think there's not enough tmr ff!! we have to revive the fandom 🥹

my friends helped think of the story so props to them!! :D

warnings: slight violence? swearing, gn reader! oblivious reader

RULES !! DO NOT COPY OR REPOST MY WORK PLEASE

⤑Back to navigation

Summary: You were a Runner who had the unfortunate luck of getting bitten by a Griever. You had assumed your death, but when you woke up, you were in a completely different Glade, surrounded by completely different people, by boys.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

From afar | Newt

Your feet pounded on the hard ground, your heavy pants echoing through the hard rock walls. You turned your head back every so often, the sound of screeching of metal on rock not much further behind you, forcing you to quicken your pace.

A mere few minutes ago, you were peacefully resting on one of the many walls inside the maze, you were unaware of the Griever close by until it was too late. You could have run straight back to the Glade, but you couldn't risk letting the Griever close to the doors and putting in danger the rest of the girls.

Your lungs burned, terribly so, but you didn't stop. You couldn't. It all backfired when you turned the corner and found yourself in a dead end. You heard the roar of the Griever too close for comfort and without thinking, you ran straight to the end wall, grabbing onto one of the many vines and pulling yourself upward.

You looked down when you deemed yourself to be high enough, a mistake really, because in a flash, the Griever snapped the vine you were holding onto. The fall felt like it went by in slow motion, and in those few seconds, you quickly assumed your death. You felt a sharp sting on your side. Did the Griever sting you? Well, you were a goner anyway, what did it matter. Your vision began to blur, black spots engulfing your sight until all you saw was pitch black, and then, unconsciousness.

Minho ran around the maze, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, as per usual. When he turned a corner, his feet abruptly stopped.

"What the..."

A few steps in front of him laid a body, a female body. As he slowly stepped closer, he immediately took note of your sickly looking skin. His eyes landed on a spot on your arm, or rather a bite. There were dark protruding veins going up your arm, the sight bad enough to make anyone grimace.

That's when Minho snapped out of it and came to a quick realizations. You were stung by a Griever. But how did you get here? Where did you come from? Who are you?

Despite the thousands of questions flying through his mind, he knew if he didn't take you back to the Glade you'd be a goner. He gently lifted you in his arms and raced back as fast as he could.

As expected, he got a lot of stares and was asked many questions he simply could not answer.

"For the last time Alby, I don't know. I found her laying on the ground, what was i supposed to do, leave her there?"

Under all the sudden chaos, Newt, a natural diplomat in these situations, was uncharacteristically quiet. He simply did not know how to feel about any of it.

Eventually you recovered, gave your side of the story to Alby and began your new life in a new place. Undoubtedly it was hard. Recovering from the sting was a process filled with agony and confusing thoughts. Settling down in a place full of boys whose horomones skyrocketed was just as hard. Despite the uncomfortableness of it all, you began to befriend the right people and soon enough you had gained your place as a Runner.

Through all of this, Newt had made sure to stay far far away from you, watching you without making a move.

"You're gonna scare her off if you keep looking at her so much"

Frypans voice had startled him out of his daze, his eyes moving from you to him in bewilderment.

"What are you on about"

Frypan shrugs at this "You keep staring at her, if you like her that much you should just talk to her"

Now he was bewildered for sure, like you?? How is that even possible. He debated in his mind, Frypans words leaving him in a confused state. He was sure he didn't like you, yet why is your smile so heart warming, your hair looks especially nice today too.

Crap, maybe he does like you after all.

Little did he know, you were having a similar conversation in one of the many tables.

"He totally makes eyes at you, I don't know what you're talking about!"

Minho exclaims, rather loudly at that, making you slap your hands over his mouth to shut him up.

"Shut it you slinthead, he's gonna hear if you talk so loud"

Minho simply rolls his eyes before saying "Good, maybe that'll have you make a move"

You scoff "He probably doesn't even like me, he barely talks to me!!

And just like that, you were both in a never ending spiral of confusion and overthinking thoughts. And obviously, everyone noticed, with how obvious you two were how could they not?

And obviously Minho decided the best thing to do was to set up a plan.....for everyones sake.

Your days had started off normal. You got to work, went out to the Maze, came back and jotted down what you had seen. Nothing out of the ordinary.

As you were finishing up in the Map Room, Minho had bursted in, making you jump and look at him in surprise.

"I need you to help me, come quick"

Without much of a question, you followed him until you reached the Homestead. As you walked up the stairs, you stopped in front of a small unfamiliar room. Minho pushed open the door, holding on to the door knob and waving his hand, motioning you to walk inside. Before you even realized what was going on, he had slammed the door shut, locking you inside the room.

You whirled around to face the door, a look of perplexion on your face. You heard Minhos loud voice boom from the other side

"I´m not letting you out until you talk to each other!!"

If possible, your confusion only grew as you mumbled "Each other?"

"He means us"

You heard a voice from behind, the British accent all too familiar. Turning around, you were met with the sight of Newt sitting on the floor with an unimpressed look on his face. You felt the all too familiar feeling of your heart hammering in your chest. Taking a deep breathe, you sigh shakily as you sit down beside him.

You rest your head on the wall behind you, your thoughts wandering and your brows furrowing more and more.

"What do you think he meant by talking to each other?"

Newt glanced at you for a second, then, unexpectedly, he leaned forward and placed his thumb between your brows, gently rubbing the area until your frown completely disappeared.

"I don´t know but what I do know is that you´re gonna get wrinkles if you frown so much"

In a dazed like motion, he traced his thumb over your brow and down your temple until his entire hand was cupping your cheek. Your cheeks flushed under his hand, wide eyes staring deep into his brown ones.

However, as soon as the moment was there it was gone just as quickly as Newt backed away, apologies flying his mouth.

Your hands moved before you could even process what you were doing. You cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you.

"Stop apologizing you idiot! I don´t mind..."

You mumbled the last part in embarrasement, your eyes trained on the floor underneath you. The feeling of his rough calloused hands pulling yours away from his cheeks made your eyes shoot back up at him in surprise. You thought he would push you away, instead, he pulled you close until your head was resting on his shoulder, his long arms wrapping around your waist.

"Then...do you mind if I do this?"

When he felt you shake your head, he breathed out a sigh of relief, his tense muscles relaxing, letting you nuzzle your face deeper against the crook of his neck. You were in that position for what felt like ages when Newt called out your name. Moving your head so you could look at him better, he took this as a sign to continue.

"I- I don´t know how to say this without making it awkward, but...well I always get this feeling around you, like my hearts going to fly out of my chest...or how I get all jittery"

As he rambles, you push your head back to fully look at him, your cheeks flaring up at his words.

"What I´m trying to say is I really really like you"

In a flash, you had cupped his face with your hands and slammed your lips to his. Whatever words he had were gone once he felt your soft lips on his. When air called, you pulled away, breathing deeply.

"I like you too Newt"

You´ve never seen someone smile as much as he did in that moment, dazzling smile taking your breath away. This time it was him who leaned in for a kiss, deeper this time and full of passion.

If you had known it would be like this you would have kissed him long long ago. Guess you have Minho to thank now.

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

BONUS!!

"You think he asked her out already?" Asked Minho.

"They´ve been in there for a while that´s for sure" Was Albys reply.

"Do you think they´re-"

"DON´T finish that sentence Minho"

"I don´t think I would´ve wanted to know anyway" He says with a grimace.

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scoobysnakz · 6 months

Text

Hard Luck

Chap iv

It’s hard finding love when your sole reason to live is your daughter, but when her best friends dad is annoyingly attractive and might have something to do with your rent randomly getting paid, who can blame you for being a little curious?

||* mostly fluff, Raya being an undiagnosed autistic child bc I'm plotting something evil, domestic Miguel if you squint, slightly pervy reader, mentions of oral reader receiving, reader being a silly fan-girl, cliff hanger bc why not.

Guilt. It's an overwhelming feeling that sits in the pit of his stomach in a way he's far too familiar with.

Miguel can name all the good and bad things about guilt. The way it allows you to be held accountable for your actions makes, your mind fray with culpability. How it can prevent someone- him- from doing something that will drive them- him- insane and remind them- him- that they have to have morals that keep them- him- grounded. Or else… or else.

There have been plenty of times Miguel has felt culpability and they have all been about something much more drastic than this. He's lost people, a family, so, so many versions of his family.

He needs to get this universe right. The thought of losing Gabi again makes his gut clench and that ticking in his jaw form again.

The first time it had happened, people had been upset for him, Peter had left him alone without being asked more than once and Jess was just the right amount of critical and loving. They were his guilt.

Then it happened again. And again. And again. And then people were becoming concerned for him, but the kind where they scolded and questioned him so he stopped telling people each time he found a universe he could live in. That first universe was the only one he destroyed he's made sure of that.

And yet he's feeling so intensely guilty for his stalker-like tendencies when he's done much worse.

He knows he shouldn't have followed you, waited for you to enter the shop and prayed to anyone above that your card would cancel. But he needed to get your number- for parental reasons of course. And now he has it.

“I can't do that again,” Miguel groans, hand sliding down his face as he slumps into his chair.

Lyla snickers at him, hands covering her face while her legs kick in the air. Miguel looks over at her, expression unamused.

“It was a complete betrayal of her trust,” his fingers drum on the smooth wood of his desk.

“Don’t think the two of you had a trusting relationship, considering you only just got her number.” her teasing earns her a wave of dismissal.

“I’m this close,” he holds his hand in the air, thumb and index finger millimetres away, “from replacing you.” His leg bounces up and down, jaw tightened and lips pursed.

She scoffs at him and waves a blurred-out finger at him before slumping down on his desk. “But if you replace me how will you watch your girlfriend?”

“You aren't funny. I was watching her because I needed… her daughter is Gabi’s friend I can't have her being some scumbag.” his tone is harsh, fed up, and irritated, but he can't bite back the grin that forms at her teasing.

“She isn't a scumbag…”

Lyla hums in feigned disagreement, her minute pixelated frame now perched on his shoulder as she smirks up at him.

“She’s nice… to me, and old people.”

He glances out the window, dark clouds threatening rain as they swarm the grey sky. He sighs and looks back over at Lyla. He came to this universe for Gabi.

But he can't stop himself from thinking back to the way you smelt. The faint coconut and the mellowness of your washing powder settled gently against his skin like a thin, taunting mist, teasing his stiffening cock.

He relishes the way you let him pull you near. How easily you submitted to the man who hasn't even had a proper conversation with you and pretended to be his partner- his wife. How you put up such a lazy fight against it that it felt almost playful. How your eyes softened the moment you saw him. How you allowed him to help you despite the embarrassment that followed it.

“When you’ve finished being hopeless lover boy,” Lyla chirps, “you might want to y’know be Spiderman.”

***

Miguel didn't expect his offer to go so well. He just assumed that being stuck with two nine-year-old girls for a few hours would be hell but it's surprisingly entertaining.

He knows Gabi inside and out, yet when she's with Raya she's different. And it doesn't feel forced.

The two of them spent ages trying to figure out a flavour because they obviously had to have the same one. They both ended up choosing chocolate, much to Miguel’s distaste. And then when Gabi wanted a sprinkle cone but Raya wanted a plain one they ended up getting tubs.

“It's because she's my best friend, papá,” Gabi had stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Which had made him chuckle.

“How was school?” he asks, feeling a little left out of the conversation.

Raya’d attention is immediately diverted towards him, wide eyes following each movement of his face. “It was fun,” she says quietly- shyly, making sure to swallow before speaking. It’s good table manners

“Papá, we’re talking!” Gabi whines with a pout, “Raya doesn't want to tell you about her day because you're boring.”

So he sits there, practically spilling out of the tiny metal chair, watching them laugh at him and whatever else makes girls their age giggle the way they are. He keeps a smile on his face and his phone on vibrate, waiting for you to reply to his text, or read it at least.

***

Your back arches with ecstasy, hips jolting upwards towards the source of your pleasure. You can feel your gummy walls clenching and when you look down to see what it is that's sliding inside your cunt, you’re met with the sight of the top of someone's head.

Thick, brown curls, all unfurled as you slide your fingers away. They look familiar in a way that makes you feel giddy.

Desperate to see who’s providing this bliss, you push their head away. You’re left with an achy, empty feeling as they pull their fingers out of you and drag their tongue off your puffy folds but you'll have to push past it. Maybe whine a little, but you'll manage.

You look down, brain too fuzzy with arousal to even process Miguel’s deep, chocolatey eyes gazing up at you. He's smiling boyishly, fangs poking over the tops of his perfectly formed, lips that are coated in a deliciously thick layer of your arousal.

“Can I keep going, Hermosa?” his velvety voice rumbles, sending chills down your spine.

Before you get a chance to beg for more than his skilled fingers and soft tongue, the sound of a traumatic radar sound blares and you’re forced awake.

You lie there for a moment, one hand lazily slung across your forehead while the other grips your mouth.

You can't tell if it's guilt or arousal but you can't think straight. All you know is that you just had a painfully realistic dream of a man you barely know eating you out. Part of you wishes it lasted longer but that's beside the point.

There's an uncomfortable slickness between your thighs and you're slightly tempted to do something about it but the constant ringing of your alarm reminds you that you do, in fact, have some form of common sense.

Ignoring the guilt that's swimming in your gut, you sit upright, legs dangling over the edge of the sofa. You sit there for a moment, trying to figure out if you should be feeling that guilt or if it's your brain’s fault. You settle for the latter.

Yawning, you pick up your phone, scanning for notifications you know aren't there. A few from the weather app, another from a period tracking app that says your ovulating (that explains the dream- hopefully) and then… a text from Miguel.

It's one of those texts that you don't know how to reply to, it's got a simple answer but that's rude and all of the emojis are far too informal for someone you have saved as ‘Gabi’s dad’

You stare at Miguel’s text. Let the letter jumble up and scramble into unintelligible blobs as your eyes start to sting with tears before you allow yourself to blink.

I’ve got the girls. Could you text me your address so I can drop Raya off later?

He’s got the girls and now he wants your address. That's the part that makes it so hard to reply.

You don't live in the nicest of areas, graffiti in the stairwell that you have to use because the lift stinks of piss, loud neighbours and a possibly dead cat stuffed into one of the bins at the entrance.

It's embarrassing.

Miguel’s a tailored man, with slicked-back hair and freshly ironed clothes. You contemplated lying about your address, tell him it's some random house, meet him outside before quickly running off with Raya to get the bus.

But you don't want her growing up ashamed of not having money. You can't have her becoming a pompous brat who whines about not getting things. Because that's not who is she now, nor will she ever be.

You tap the smooth glass of your phone screen over and over again with your thumb before forcing yourself to reply. And almost immediately you get a reply

‘👍’

You can't stop the smile that forms on your lips at how fast his response is, he was probably on his phone or coincidentally looking checking his notifications when you sent the text.

But now you have nothing to do. You couldn't pick up an extra shift because- thanks to your stupidity- you somehow forgot that you can't randomly change your hours as a carer. And apparently, you can't even sleep without being a pervert.

Sleep sounds nice though. Your eyes are heavy with countless nights of single-digited hours of sleep. It's pulling at your brain in a way that makes your thoughts fuzzy and your body slowly sinks back into the sofa again.

A loud thudding noise startles you from your sleep. It's repetitive and loud so your first instinct is to slam off your alarm but when you see a blank screen you divert your fatigued brain to the front door.

Completely forgetting about Raya being out with Miguel and Gabi, you pull the door open. You look a mess, mascara smudged and eyes heavier than the weights he probably lifts with those delicious arms…

“Mum,” Raya mumbles, her face buried in her chest as pulls you close.

You stumble back, fighting back a yawn, and nearly fall onto the sofa but Raya pulls you forward. “Hey, baby,” you smile down at her, laughing awkwardly at nearly making a complete fool of yourself.

You drag your gaze up to Miguel, his board shoulders filling out the doorway while his hand clutches onto Gabi’s.

“Miguel,” your voice is groggy but cute and it makes him feel safe on the inside, “Thank you for having her.” You go to playfully nudge Raya but she's no longer next to you, now shyly hidden behind you, clutching into your shirt.

“She has beautiful manners,” his voice is like velvet that's been melted by a log fire and poured on top of Valentine's chocolates.

He looks down at you, eyes briefly tearing away from you to discreetly inspect your apartment. It's cute, homely, you. Lots of blankets and cushions, picture frames dotted around, and a random coat stand that stands bare.

“Would you like to come in?” you offer, attempting to stifle another yawn, failing to succeed as pleasantly the last time.

Miguel opens his mouth, pretty lips parted so perfectly that your half-awake brain might just fall for him on the spot.

“Please, papá! Raya said she has a bunch of teddies!” Gabi pleads, her accent bearing a striking resemblance to Miguel’s.

Before he gets a chance to decline, she pushes past him and skips over to Raya. She grabs her hand and almost immediately her awkwardness melts away as they run into her room.

“Sorry, she's really-”

“Bold?” you offer, head cocked to the side.

“Yeah... Let's go with that version.”

The two of you share an awkwardly dry chuckle before you both look away.

“Coffee?” you break the silence.

“Would be nice,” he finishes for you.

Nervously, you lead him to your minute kitchen island, kicking random toys out of the way before he gets a chance to see them.

As he walks through your apartment, your home, Miguel can't help but feel at ease. It's messy but not in an unhygienic way, you can just tell it's lived in happily.

The waterrings on the countertops, a random bag of bouncy balls left on the floor for someone to trip on. Miguel can imagine himself here, not living, but staying.

Maybe his shoes lazily kicked off in a slobbish pile on the sofa, Gabi’s coat slung on the unused coat rack next to Raya’s and yours.

“Sorry it's a mess, I was going to tidy up but I got… sidetracked. But I promise it's not normally this messy, just today. Which is strangely coincidental but it really isn't. And-”

“It's nice in here,” he cuts you off as if he couldn't hear what you'd just said.

His small slither of praise makes you smile. That toothrottingly sweet smile that makes every fibre of his being burn with arousal.

“Thanks.”

You turn your back to him, searching for your coffee before you grab a small glass jar that has instant coffee in it.

“Fuck,” you grumble, “its empty. So… no coffee for us,” you laugh.

He shrugs his shoulders and takes the jar from you.

“Bin?” he asks.

“There,” you point, “left side is recyclable and right is the other stuff.”

He opens the bin and drops the jar, smiling in satisfaction as it lands with a soft third. He lifts his foot from the pedal before catching a glimpse of red. Curious, he presses down on the pedal again and reads the block writing.

EVICTION NOTICE

#atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel x you #spider man 2099 #spiderman 2099 #miguel fluff #fluff #hard luck #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut

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jjunsolos · 2 months

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11. ; the new friend

synopsis - when your best friend dahyun offers to let you stay at her house, you really can’t say no. especially with how things are at the moment. what she didn’t mention is that her little brother lives with her too…

warnings - written, profanity, mentions of food, implied jealousy. lmk if i missed anything !!

wc - 1.5k

author’s note - srry this took so long😭 this chapter is so messy imo but ive done too much to go back and redo it sooo i hope u guys enjoy anyways, srry if u dont🙏🏽😞

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(story under the cut)

(Y/n’s POV)

‘Blessed’ by Daniel Caesar plays through my headphones as I sit silently on my bus seat. The warm sun shines through the window and lays softly onto my face. My eyes start to feel heavy as the warmth of the sun calms my nerves. But as soon as my eyes start to close, I feel a tap on my right shoulder.

My eyes flutter open and I’m met with a familiar face. It takes me a second to truly process who is standing in front of me. And then it hits me…

It’s the fucking guy I bumped into.

I quickly sit up from my comfortable position and slide the headphones off my head. The guy chuckles.

“Sorry if I startled you. I just recognized you from a few days ago and decided to say hi.” he explains. I awkwardly smile, but appreciate his kindness nonetheless.

“Yeah… sorry again for bumping into you that day. I wasn’t looking but… I should’ve been.” I say guiltily. He just laughs and waves it off with his hand.

“It’s all good. Can I sit with you?” I nod and scootch over to the side, leaving him some space to sit. Once he does, he pushes his hair back with his left hand and looks at me.

“My name’s Cha Eunwoo. What’s yours?”

“Y/n, nice to meet you.”

We shake hands and continue conversating.

Eunwoo was actually really fun to talk to. He somehow managed to make every word come out of his mouth sound hilarious. His laugh is pretty admirable, too. It’s contagious and I can’t help but laugh along.

Time flew by really quickly as we continued to converse. We didn’t even realize that we’ve already reached the bakery.

“Next stop!” the driver announces. Fortunately, it’s only me and Eunwoo that have to exit the bus so we do so fairly quickly.

As the bus drives away, Eunwoo turns to me with a soft smile.

“It was nice getting to know you, Y/n. I’ll see you around!” he says. I look at him, confusion visible on my face.

“What do you mean?”

He tilts his head and his right eyebrow shoots up.

“We’re parting ways now…?” he explains. He looks just as confused as I am.

It takes me a minute to realize what he was talking about. And when I do, I smile. Ohhhh.

“Oh! We’re going to the same place, Eunwoo,” I say with a giggle, “I’m going to start working at the bakery.”

Eunwoo’s face brightens and a sound of excitement erupts from his throat. He then links my arm with his.

“Then c’mon! Let’s go together.”

I sigh as I continue rolling the dough in front of me. It’s been a few hours since I’ve started my shift and things have been going pretty well. Though, I somehow didn’t realize that baking was such hard work. I’ve rolled and kneaded so many doughs, my hands felt like they were going to snap off.

I look up at the clock above me. It’s 12:09, break time. I ding the bell on the wall, indicating that I’m taking a break. That’s when my co-worker, Delilah, walks in with a smile. Delilah is a friend I’ve made today. She’s been keeping me company while I made all the pastries. She talked to me, laughed with me, and even helped me when I needed it.

I shoot her a smile back, mouthing a quick ‘thank you’ as I make my way to the sink.

As I’m scrubbing my hands, someone walks in.

“Oh, hey Y/n!” It was Eunwoo. I smile at him as I dry my hands.

“How’s your first day going so far?” he asks.

“Pretty good! I was just about to take a break.” I explain. He smiles widely and pushes his hair back.

“So was I! …Can I join you?”

I roll my eyes playfully as I drag him to the front of the bakery, our giggles echoing through the room as I do.

Hours have passed and now my shift has ended. I slip my apron off and hang it on the hook. That’s when Delilah comes up next to me.

“You’re leaving?” she asks, a pout displayed on her lips. I giggle and nod.

“Yeah my shift’s over.”

She sighs dramatically and slumps. I chuckle at her silly behavior. She suddenly shoots up and takes her phone out from her jean pocket.

“Here, put your number in.” she says. She sticks her phone out for me to take and so I do, punching in my number.

As I’m typing in my number, I notice Delilah looking at me with teasing eyes. I recognize those eyes. Those are the eyes that Dahyun gives me when I glance at a guy for even a second. I squint my eyes at her.

“What?”

She shrugs.

“Nothing… so… you and Eunwoo.” I knew it.

I whine as she laughs, ignoring the way I’m sulking.

“We’re just friends! Just like you and I are.” I explain, typing in my contact name as ‘Y/n🧸’. She rolls her eyes.

“Whatever you say…”

I hand her phone back with a playful glare before exiting the room.

“Come back tomorrow!” she yells out behind me. I chuckle while shaking my head.

My smile fades, however, when I collide into something, causing me to fall on my ass.

“Shit- are you okay?”

Eunwoo.

I look up and I’m met with his concerned face. I’m completely fine, but I let him pull me up anyways.

The second I’m back on my feet, I swing my arm at him. A loud smack echoes through the bakery as Eunwoo’s mouth hangs open.

“OWW! What was that for?!” he exclaims, rubbing his arm with his other hand. I roll my eyes.

“Why are you always bumping into me?!” I yell. I hold my hand up as if I’m threatening to hit him again. I’m assuming it works because both his hands immediately shoot up to defend himself.

“Me?! Why are you always bumping into me!”

Eunwoo’s eyes roll as he finishes his sentence which makes me laugh. He soon joins me in my laughter.

After a few seconds, I wipe the tears that come out my eyes and sigh.

“Well I should get going, my best friend will be here anytime soon.” I say, swinging my bag onto my left arm. Eunwoo nods.

“Let me walk you out.”

Before I could even reply, he walks to the door, holding it open for me. I smile as I quickly make my way to the door.

Eunwoo and I talk as I continue to keep an eye out for Dahyun’s car. She still isn’t here.

I pull my phone out and check the time, lowkey worried. 3:56. That’s way past when Dahyun is off of work. Where is she?

“You good? You look worried…” Eunwoo asks, a soft concerned look on his face. I smile softly.

“I’m fine… my friend should be here but she’s taking forever…” I explain. I look as far down the streets as I can, hoping to spot her car. But nothing.

Eunwoo clears his throat.

“…I could give you a ride? Only if you want!” he says as his ears turn a shade of red.

“No no no! It’s okay. I’m sure she’s just running late.” I say, “I’ll shoot her a text right now.”

“Y/n it’s fine,” he says with a chuckle. The soft sound makes me look up at his face, “I’m seriously okay with driving you home! …Plus, it could give me an opportunity to get to know you better.”

Eunwoo looks shy as he says that, not even able to look into my eyes. I think for a while. It would be better to go with him right now instead of waiting on Dahyun for who knows how long. Plus, I also wouldn’t mind getting to know him better (could help me get my mind off Jungkook for a while)…

But before I can even agree, a loud honk is heard on my left. I snap my head toward the sound. Dahyun’s car!

The car doesn’t stop moving until it’s right in front of the bakery. But when the window rolls down, it’s not Dahyun in the car…

It’s Jungkook.

My eyes widen and my heartbeat accelerates as I get a good look at his face. His hair looks shorter than it did when I saw him this morning, meaning he just got a haircut. But I’m not complaining. It suits him really well. He’s wearing a white tank top with a gray sweater over it, and his tongue is poking the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t look directly at me, but that’s honestly good because holy shit,

he looks so hot.

“Who’s that?” Eunwoo whispers to me, bringing me back to reality. I look at him with a sheepish smile.

“He’s my best friend’s little brother. Got to go, bye!”

I quickly make my way to the car. The closer I get, the more I notice Jungkook’s facial expression. He kinda looks… pissed? I ignore it anyway and open the door.

“Hi, Jungkook!” I say with a smile. I buckle myself in and wait for him to say something.

“Hm.” Is all he says. I look at him confused, but he just drives off.

Weird.

[permanent taglist]

@forever-in-the-sky2 @lil0u0

taglist [open] - (bold = couldnt mention)

@httpjeonlicious @parkinglot-nights @goldenjeonkoo @kissyfacekoo @heartjiminie @coralmusicblaze @ma2893828 @taelattecookie @kekerrreke @teenyfinds @yuayooncrayoon @gigiiiiislife @gimeow

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rd0265667 · 1 year

Text

Eunchae x Reader: Savior

TW!Bullying

(NOTE: The depictions of IVE in this story are NOT ACCURATE)

Stream Unforgiven yall

"Will you stop looking? You're so creepy." Kazuha teased, lightly nudging Eunchae on the shoulder, who slowly shook herself back to attention, her focus straying away from the conversation her unniess were having, ending up elsewhere.

"Aigoo, does Eunchae have a crush?" Yunjin giggled, patting Eunchae on the back who shook her head in exasperation, trying to dispel the notion, to no avail

"Aish, they all grow up too fast..." Sakura sighed, before Chaewon began laughing

"I mean, time passes faster when you're as old as you." Sakura and Chaewon began bickering, Kazuha and Yunjin joining in as Eunchae smiled, shaking her head at her unnies antics.

Her gaze went back to where it was previously, as her eyebrows furrowed.

'What are they doing?'

Eunchae gritted her teeth, this wasn't an uncommon sight, and they had been a pest for far too long.

"Y/N!" You sighed, the voice all too familiar to you. Great, I was already having a bad day, what's worse. "What do you want Yujin..." You replied monotonously, looking up to see 6 girls who have made your life in school, interesting "Aish, Y/N, is that anyway to speak to your friends?" Wonyoung questioned, a slight mocking tone on her voice "Friends don't bully their friends now, do they?" You slowly went back to your food, before Gaeul snatched the bowl in front of you, slowly slurping up your noodles You clenched your fist, glaring at them but exercising your self control to the best of your ability. With a content sigh, Gaeul set the bowl on the table "Besides, Y/N, we're here to help you!" She pulled out a bouquet from behind her back, as you cringed at the sight of it "See, we found this in your locker just now, and we were just thinking, hmm, what happened to poor Y/N?" Gaeul asked mockingly, throwing the bouquet in your face. "Which rejection is this?" Yujin asked out loud "Hmm, Karina, Chaeryoung, Hikaru, Yeji, Minju, 6th one this year then." "Aish, that's so pathetic, seems you like so many people, if only there were someone who liked you, so who is the new one?" Gaeul taunted, as you turned away, anger seething but calming yourself down. Gaeul was right though, you had a bad habit of falling too easily. They'd just help you out, smile at you, and you'd fall, just like that, following them like a lovesick puppy, till you eventually get rejected.

Haewon was the recent one you fell for, you worked up the courage to tell her, only to get rapidly friend-zoned. Turns out, You have many many friends. Infatuation often hit you hard, but honestly, all you wanted was to love someone who loved you back "Leave me alone, Gaeul, please." You groaned, grabbing about your pockets to see if you could get something else, your hunger not yet sated. Nothing. Great. "Aww, but why? We're friends Y/N, we're hanging out with you!" She laughed, roughly pushing you towards the other girls, as you stumbled, struggling to catch your balance, the bouquet nearly slipping out of your hand. "Hey, you found it!" You turned your head in confusion as you saw a girl from your homeroom running to you. Hong Eunchae, you think to yourself. She quickly wrested the bouquet from your hands, before clinging onto your arm, taking a deep whiff of it. "Why haven't you texted me! I've been waiting for your text for so long!" She tugged at your shoulder, pouting as she stared at you, your heart's pace quickening "I'm sorry, who are you?" Gaeul questioned, a little confused at what was going on. "I'm Hong Eunchae, Y/N's girlfriend." She explained, as the cogs in your head started to slowly spin, if this was going to get the 6 of them off your back, you'd be more than willing to play along. "Sorry, Eunchae-ah, I'll be with you soon, I need to go get some money from my bag to get some food." You said, as you walked towards the locker, the 6 girls in front of you rolling their eyes, walking away, their fun ruined. You smiled to the girl still clinging onto your arm as the 6 girls walked out of your sight, silently thanking the gods for a saviour. Kudos for sending such an adorable one too. "Thank you, Eunchae-Ssi." You bowed, as she waved her hands. "No worries, and you can just call me Eunchae!" She said, smiling brightly as she still clung onto your shoulder "Sure! I need to go get my money now, so..." You slowly tried to withdraw your hand, skinship with someone you had few interactions with wasn't something you were used to, but Eunchae refused to budge. "Nonsense. I saw Gaeul take your food just now, I'll get you another bowl, you just get seated at with my unnies alright?" She insisted, tugging at your arm as she walked you to the table, seating you next to her vacant seat as she walked over to the food shop. You smiled awkwardly at the 4 girls at the table, 3 of them smiling at you, one not as much. You recognised one of the smiling girls to be Yunjin, you have Literature together, and you partnered with her for a project once. "Hey Yunjin!" You greeted, the girl lighting up at the fact that you still remembered her. "Hey Y/N! It's nice to see you again. Just a quick introduction, this is Kazuha, Chaewon and Sakura." You bowed to each of them, as they all greeted you, Chaewon doing so a little monotonously. Sitting at the table awkwardly, you smiled at the girls, before Chaewon whispered ominously to you, "Break her heart and I break you." Before you could ask what that was about, Eunchae quickly set the bowl down, beckoning you to eat, though in your periphery, you noticed Sakura lightly nudging Chaewon. Hmm, wonder what that's about? Regardless, you had 5 minutes before class started, so you wolved the meal down, as the 6 of you got up from the table, ready to head to class, before you stopped Eunchae, who beckoned the rest to go to class

"Thank you for earlier Eunchae, I owe you one." You thanked, as Eunchae smiled back. 'She's cute' "How bout I cash that in now?" Eunchae questioned, as you tilted your head in confusion "Let's go out, together." Eunchae took a deep breath, looking nervously at you "You mean like a date?" "I guess?" Eunchae asked, her nervous tone not lost upon you. "Umm, sure!" You said, as Eunchae's face lit up, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she giggled. "Give me your phone?" She stuck her hand out, before keying her number into your phone, before handing it back to you. "Now close your eyes!" A little suspicious, you still obliged, before feeling Eunchae taking your hand in hers, lifting it, before kissing the back of your hand "I'll see you around Y/N!" Eunchae shouted out, before running to her room Still stunned, you took your phone out, seeing Eunchae's number, saved as "Girlfriend hopefully?"

You chuckled to yourself, perhaps your savior could be the one for you

#fluff #rd0265667 #eunchae #eunchae x reader #hong eunchae x reader #le sserafim x reader #le sserafim eunchae #eunchae fanfic #hong eunchae fanfic

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pinazee · 24 days

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First season wrap up:

Okay, to start, i should mention my general opinion on first seasons for shows, especially cable shows, is not to read too much of it as canon. The writers, producers, actors- everyone- are all trying to figure out what works and what doesn’t, so i give them latitude, particularly when it conflicts with later seasons. That being said, i do enjoy jumping through the hoops to make it all fit haha

So heres a few leftover notes i had as i revisited the eps to rank them:

I bet part of Lassie was craving the father figure in Henry, since we find out later his own father passed away when he was quite young. I wonder if thats part of the reason why he became a cop, as they are portrayed as the protectors and in the 80’s they were mainly men (i don’t really remember if he states his reason later, i suspect he did and im just not remembering). So when Henry didn’t meet up to the expectation he had in his mind, i bet it hurt a little more as it reminded him of what he lost :/

I think the other reason Shawn plays dumb so much, besides hiding his genius so ppl believe hes psychic, or for laughs, is because its how he gets people talking. Like in Shawn vs. the red phantom, he purposely guessed the wrong room number so the boys would correct him. My apologies if someones pointed this out before, i haven’t combed through the internet for everyone’s theories 😬 i only now noticed. I’m not the quickest at picking these things up lol

If i had to guess, Shawn didn’t want to be a cop for halloween, he probably wanted to be something star wars related to go with Gus’s Lando. So i wonder at what age Shawn stopped trying to please his dad. But also, why didn’t his mother ever stand up for him?? I’ll come back to her later -_-

I somehow missed it the first time, but shawn clearly asked Gus to come to the dinner and Gus even points out that it was a big deal for henry to reach out. Soo, yeah, shawn obviously didn’t wanna be alone with his dad, and even henry seemed nervous about it as hes pretty drunk.

Shawn has a right to be afraid of pointy things, his dad hid his easter eggs under glass when he was 6! Not to mention he later gets stabbed 3 times! (Also its just a legitimate fear???)

So far the list of Shawns knowledge (things i wouldn’t expect an average person to know) includes (beyond the obvious observational skills, deductive reasoning, reading people (poker), and all things police (marksmanship, police codes, etc.)):

Incredible spatial and physical reasoning skills (knowing how much money could fit in the duffle bag, knowing to rotate the water pitcher to catch the reflection from the tv)

Kurt Vonnegut (well, I didn’t know who he was at least)

How to spell aggiornamento (and probably all words because of his photographic memory)

Handwriting expert

Casually spoke and understood german

Has every road he’s driven mapped in his brain, and likely all of Santa Barbara

Familiar with paint (enough to know to mix latex enamel for no messy drips)

Animal tracks (i went back and forth on this but ultimately decided he must have known what to look for)

And heres a list of Gus’s niche interests:

Forensics

Spelling bee

Safe cracking

Historic rifles

Comic books

Astronomy (even though he was going to the planetarium for the girl)

Law

Local tennis

Online poker

Lastly, Ive decided instead of ranking them, im putting them in tiers. I feel like too many of them are hitting at the same level and I can’t differentiate:

Sweetest, Juiciest Golden Pineapple Tier

Scary Sherry, Biancas toast (ohmygod i just got the biancas toast 🤦🏽‍♀️)

Blue Psych Logo Tier

Weekend warriors

Forget me not

From the earth to starbucks

Poker? I hardly know her! (Sorry @pineapple-psychic!)

Pepto Bismo Pink Tier

Spelling bee

Pilot

She loves me, she loves me not, she loves me oops hes dead

Who ya gonna call?

Shawn vs the red phantom

Oops Canadian Flag Tier

Cloudy with a chance of murder

9 lives

Game set muuurder

Speak now or forever hold your piece

Woman seeking dead husband, smokers okay, no pets

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dreadsuitsamus · 6 months

Text

Crazed | Sōsuke Aizen x Reader |

author's note: blame @yeowangies for this, idk 🙈

pairing: sōsuke aizen x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, explicit smut, dubcon, sex pollen, thigh riding, humiliation and a bit of degradation

You lost track of how many days have passed since that last day in Soul Society. Has it been months, or just a few weeks? Mealtimes once kept you on track, though Sōsuke Aizen is the craftiest bastard you've ever met and as such, you can't trust the timeline you once gave yourself— not to mention, you stopped eating sometime ago. Your eyes are tired, the life drained of you from this imprisonment in Hueco Mundo; the memory of Tōsen flanking and kidnapping you during a mission in the World of the Living blurs now.

Why did they take you? You haven't had the chance to ask. You've yet to see Aizen at all since the day he betrayed Soul Society, though your trust in him was quite minimal long before that. He had always seemed a little too put together and perfect; perhaps you should've said something. Not that anyone would've believed you— could anything have even been done if you were heard?

Light floods your room and dread creeps at your senses. The Arrancar is back for yet another experiment to levy on you, and this time he's got the cruel, blue-haired Espada with him. Having long lost the ability to speak, you approach the scientist and the muscle.

Sexta’s grin is unbearably wide as he taps your chin up with his knuckle, forcing the dead look in your eye to meet with the crazed, monstrous look in his. He forces a pitiful, played-up pout on his lips. “Poor thing… We should let her out of the cage more often. See how far she can run.”

The spirit of your zanpakutō, while the weapon has been long lost in this hellish dimension, cries out in agony to light the briefest flicker of a fire in your eyes, surprising Grimmjow and replacing the smirk on his lips once more. He doesn't speak further, however, and instead grabs your arm with more force than is needed these days— much to Szayelaporro’s chagrin, as the lack of strength in you compared to his previous experiments has thrown quite the wrench into his data. He'll have to fix an IV drip on you; forcing you to eat isn't particularly his style, and he'd rather not worry about the things you could do in retaliation that would stain any of the white clothes he wears.

Sexta doesn't stick around once you're in the lab again, strapped to your usual chair as the bright lights feel like piercing needles to your growing migraine. Szayelaporro is quick to set up a drip and address the dehydration; you'll be no good to test the latest drug on if you aren't lucid. His blood itches within him, so ready to spray you with the mixture— he nearly growls at the irritation you’ve caused to bubble in his chest. How dare you alter his control like this?

Your eyes slip shut, unable to withstand the urge to sleep anymore. Maybe one day the sabotage to your basic health will win you the battle of freedom, but today very clearly won't be the day.

Unfortunately, you're feeling much better when you've come back to consciousness. Szayelaporro grins, fulfilling the stereotype he's most proud of as he instantly spritzes your face, the liquid inside it a deep pink color reminiscent of the flurries of Senbonzakura. Instantly you sneeze, though the sounds of Szayelaporro’s disgust soon fade out as the concoction forms a haze on your mind, glazing your eyes with a cloud as the temperature in the room seems to rise.

Fingers fumbling for the glass of water sitting nearby, you desperately gulp it down to ease the heat growing— it doesn't work, however. Your chest rises and falls as the heat focuses between your legs; what the hell did he spray on you? Pressing your thighs together, a soft little sound escapes you at the minimal pleasure the friction provides.

“Interesting…” The Espada hums, notating the entirely unintended side effects down onto a notepad, and you sit there humiliated by the feelings he's forced upon you as he shoves a thermometer in your mouth to test for fever.

You're unbearably horny, the slick between your legs pooling into your panties while your nipples, as sensitive as you've ever felt them, harden into little peaks that can be seen through the fabric of your clothes. Your brain hardly has the ability to be thankful that Grimmjow is long gone and unable to see such a display from you; you'd never, ever live it down if he witnessed this.

“This is… Hmmm…” The Arrancar hums to himself, rubbing his chin in thought. This certainly has no place in his research— the plan isn't to make Aizen's enemies so horny they're incapacitated, despite how successful the potion’s effect is. Certainly he'll have to shelve this and his curiosity on just how far this goes, but there's still certainly some work to be done.

Will it wear off with time? Or… Must you achieve orgasm for it to go away? There's always the chance of lethal happenings if you don't cum, but without data and further research, Szayelaporro can't know.

This is above his pay grade, so to speak.

“Come.” Szayelaporro unstraps you from the bonds of the chair, hesitating to touch you and force you out of it. Somehow, he wishes the Sexta Espada hadn't left. If nothing else, he could certainly help with the research…

But something tells him that Aizen would rather deal with this personally.

You can hardly move on your own as the burning ache of your cunt grows. Desperation plagues every thought, each one more perverse than the last and god you couldn't be any more disgusted with yourself if you tried. You'd allow anyone to touch your depraved body at this point, even the disgusting Szayelaporro, the one who'd done this and plenty other horrible things, and no doubt with plans to do worse, himself.

Your eyes widen soon— this pressure, this aura… he's been this close the entire time? As long as you've been here, you've never felt the strong Spiritual Pressure of Sōsuke Aizen, despite knowing there's no other place he'd be. But feeling him, being absolutely certain that he's close by and really and truly here…

Pitifully, more slick is produced from your heated core.

You stumble to your knees, hardly strong enough to brace yourself against the smooth floor beneath you. Aizen's presence, his heavy Reiatsu nearly crushes you as Szayelaporro leaves you on the floor in favor of approaching Aizen's throne.

Aizen's chocolate-toned eyes slide to your direction, nearly tuning out his Espada entirely as a thrill tickles his chest, traveling lower as his blood makes his cock twitch. It's not often he feels such a way; and it's not often he's presented with such a sweet gift either. As much as his Arrancars throw themselves at him, he's never once desired them.

You, the one that always hated him? Such an opportunity won't be wasted.

Aizen waves his hand, dismissing Szayelaporro and any other Arrancar that lingers. His pink tongue swipes over his lips before he speaks. “Are you able to stand?”

A shudder runs through you at the sound of his deep voice; never once have you been attracted to him, not even when almost all of Soul Society wanted in his bed. But now, under this stupid poison, he's everything all the others swooned over. Against your will, you shake as you slowly look up to meet his gaze. “No.” You whisper, fever warming you thoroughly as your eyes meet his— was Sōsuke always so striking without his glasses?

Aizen slouches in the throne just a bit and rests his cheek against his fist. “Hmm…”

His hum practically vibrates against your clit, the echo in the room bouncing the sound around in your sex-addled brain. Your pussy clenches at all the filth that floods your mind, each idea producing a dribble of slick that further ruins your panties and stickys your soft inner thighs. The pace of your heart’s beating slams against your breast, nervous under Aizen's stare.

“Tell me what you need, and I’ll give it to you.” He can't stop the slow rising smirk on his lips, doesn't even want to fight the sick pleasure he gains from this position he's in. His words can convey all the benevolence in the world— you both know what lies beneath them, cradling his heart in the inky swaths of evil.

Your cheeks flush with a fresh burst of heat, from anger, humiliation or from being so turned on, you're not sure. Sweat pours from your pounding forehead, dripping onto the tile beneath you. The room is scorching, absolutely burning your skin beneath all the layers of fabric Ulquiorra brought you this morning. No amount of washing or drycleaning can salvage the bottoms from the slickness of your salivating cunt, and further embarrassment sinks into your skin.

Aizen leans forward in his throne, resting a large palm on his thigh and rubbing the length of it slowly. “Don't be stubborn. I'll help you, but you've got to ask for it.”

Tears pool in your eyes as the desperation begins to swallow you— it's getting hard to breathe with how humid you feel. It's absolutely sweltering in this room and the cool tile beneath you means absolutely nothing now. Squeezing your eyes shut stubbornly, your fists curl up. “To cum.”

“I did say to ask me, didn't I?”

Rage burns in your, causing your fist to slam to the floor. “God dammit, Aizen, when I get the chance to slaughter you I will!”

Your proclamation loses its punch when, after Aizen’s condescending chuckle, goosebumps litter your skin. “Come here, pet.”

Why am I listening to him?

You're far too weak to stand, let alone walk, so you're merely left to pathetically crawl to the stairs before his throne. It's a slow, humiliating journey and all you can do is pray a trail of wetness doesn't follow. Shakes wrack your body by the time you've made it up the steps, and a harsh gasp tears out of your throat as Aizen's rather delicate palm meets your face, gently, guiding your face close enough to his that his breath fans along your cheek.

“Ask me to help you.” He croons, the evil in his eyes absolutely sick with glee.

Closing your eyes does no good, as Aizen squeezes your cheeks harshly until you open them once more. Biting harshly on your tongue, you finally speak. “Please… h-help me.”

“With?”

Oh, he's such a prick! “I need to cum. Please… Please help me cum.” The tears in your eyes pour over your cheeks, leaving beautiful stains behind on your skin. Aizen wipes one away with his thumb, his lips rather close to yours as he speaks.

“You see that wasn't as difficult as you made it, hm? Just this once, your wish is my command.” In a display of his well-hidden strength, Aizen plucks the buttons of your uniform enough to tear them off completely, cool air soothing your skin as the layers are slowly peeled away until all that remains is your bra and utterly destroyed panties.

Aizen leans back into his throne again once you're stripped, jutting his leg out and patting his thigh. Your pussy throbs in anticipation and lust has plagued your mind entirely now— nothing will stop you from chasing your high now, not with your sensibilities long tossed out the window. Strength finds you when you need it most, jolting you to your feet long enough to straddle your enemy's awaiting thigh, and a loud moan is ripped from deep within your chest as the contact alone makes you cum. It's so fast it nearly hurts, the pleasure coursing through you like lightning as your fist feebly finds purchase in Aizen's shirt, just for you to stay upright.

It was good and fast, but the heat, the lust, the willingness to degrade yourself in front of Aizen doesn't subside. If anything, it's much worse now.

Your hips rock without permission from your brain, smearing Aizen’s pant leg with the slick desire you've produced. Your hole, aching and unfathomably wet, throbs and clenches in demand for a cock to fill it. Aizen allows your hold on him, merely staring at you, fist to his cheek as always, as you pleasure yourself on his thigh. It's humiliating, so perfectly in line with his intentions, but you can't stop. The friction is too good now to possibly consider stopping.

You'll kill Szayelaporro for this.

You grind faster, breasts bouncing a bit in your bra as you work your body. Another orgasm approaches quickly and you take it without hesitation, cumming harshly again and then again soon after. Finally, the air clears enough for each intake to feel fresh again, and you collapse against Aizen's solid body with heavy, ragged breaths.

Aizen smirks as you try to collect yourself. He'll be sure to have his dear scientist create more of this potion— it holds far too much value to let it go to waste.

It will be the thing that breaks you.

#aizen sosuke x reader #aizen x reader #aizen sosuke x you #aizen x you #bleach x you #bleach x reader #bleach imagine #nsft #cw dubcon #fic #reader insert #x reader

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dapperrokyuu · 6 months

Note

Alright now that I’ve seen the end Slay the Princess, who’s your favorite princess?

Ill do you even better and give you my top 5/the ones Id love to get if I played the game, just to see their sequences in the end and how itd reflect on that version of the player (literally made a list for fun just before you sent this ask, hehe).

Admittedly, a lot of this is informed by aesthetic and then enjoyment of their routes because I came into (watching Manlybadasshero play) the game after some fandom osmosis–thus, understanding I wouldnt have all my thoughts together within one playthrough. So I cant say Ive devoted my satisfactory amount of attention to speak on the princesses’ narrative presence... But I did rewatch their routes and “Thoughts on this vessel?” sections a bit to formulate a stronger opinion. Here we go...! (Buckle in, fellas, haha ha h a…)

1. Adversary/Eye of the Needle

The Adversary and the Eye of the Needle are very hand in hand imo, and I love the progression into a dragon-like appearance for the latter, especially in combination with the cabin becoming akin to a dragon’s den. This (combination of) routes stands out the most to me (as far as Manly has played) because I personally feel its the one where the princess is the most active and engaged. Whether its being beaten to death or running for one’s life, the route was very exciting for me! And it was intriguing how the princess and player felt the most on equal ground because they are both intent on pursuing some objective. Its just that in this case–and this is how this princess exceeds and is an overwhelming presence compared to the player–the princess is set on a choice they dont care to deny and the player is a creature of the habit called “deliberation,” as narrator aside, in-universe reasons aside, the very structure of Slay the Princess has taught you to constantly pause and consider your choices.

It contributes to the tone of the routes so well! Even if you can sit forever in the Outside World, the game progresses like a split second decision and/or that any time given to you is at the princess’s turbulent discretion. In a game where your choices tend to matter most (which, frankly, they do, its kind of the whole point, but you may not know that your choices are what caused this situation yet, lol), the princess seeming to supercede you and the narrative and the concept of death is!!! Powerful and quite something, lol. And poignant, considering *gestures vaguely but particularly at the Narrator*.

Otherwise, I love how theres apparently many more and amusing divergences in this route (that Manly did not showcase) and the ending is pretty cathartic. And to keep this a bit short, yadda yadda, dragon dens is where they store and protect their treasure and in this case, the treasure is fighting you, yadda yadda, as the vessel of growth, the princess’s embracing of the cycle of violence between you two is her latching onto the only avenue of growth she can perceive (as opposed to escaping–since you didnt offer that option prior–and dying since thats tend to be the stop to the concept of growth), yadda yadda-

2. Spectre

This princess’s voicework is probably my favorite! The whispering under the regular voice acting is just really neat, doing a great job setting a tone of something delicate, chilling, and unnerving. The princess’s design shifts between cute and scary very well too! Her personality is probably my fave overall; while her “thoughts on this vessel?” section highlights her embodying kindness and understanding, they only exist to an extent that is fair. Which is, well. Fair. And I think it extra emphasizes the understanding aspect, with how the princess is aware of her circumstances and the injustices that have occurred yet is willing to let bygones be bygones. Shes coy, sincere, and pragmatically deadly, which is a full spectrum of delight for me!

The moment that really gets me regarding her character is when you say youre gonna leave her. Other decisions lead you to working together or demonstrating you have no intention to with some form of violence–both resulting in the Spectre just responding fairly. But the “leave” option truly shows that the Spectre doesnt/never intends to act out in malice, since Spectre responds out of desperation to avoid perpetual loneliness, pain, and emptiness. Theres an aspect of “fairness” here too (youre abandoning and hurting her more after having murdered her), but the choice comes after a breakdown and deliberation as opposed to an immediate retaliation. Even then, Spectre laments that she didnt want things to be this way but youve made her worse. Other stand out moments are when Spectre goes, “Youre funny when youre confused. But I didnt give you permission to touch me,” and the player’s moment of patheticness, lol.

This route really hints onto the meta aspects of Slay the Princess too, which is neat! The whole “want to end the world” convo, Spectre just wanting to go home, reality being what is in front of us vs. static truth/objectivity, whether destruction being one thing leading into another vs. the same thing reborn, glass on the floor, and the narrator being like Spectre as a memory of a person…I dont have much to say here currently–still need to ponder, itd be a whole other conversation, Im a bit tired, lol–but its tons of food for thought that I enjoy! Yay, Spectre!

3. Prisoner

Fun fact: this is a rewriting of the extreme word vomit that was me lamenting over how I was kind of confused about the Prisoner but chose her for the sake of a 5th (note the placing change) and then discovering the absolute genius she is!!! Basically, my only exposure to the Prisoner I had was Manly’s recent playthrough, which contained (what Ill call) the Chained Together variation and didnt even have her “thoughts on this vessel?” section due to the game going into the final sequence immediately after. The Prisoner’s section in that final sequence befuddled me because I couldnt connect much other than a theme of “inevitable change,” and even when I dug up the Prisoner’s “thoughts on this vessel?” elsewhere, I couldnt put it all together…until I watched (what Ill call) the Head Trophy variation in the middle of my initial writeup.

Regarding what I enjoyed prior to recognizing genius, I really enjoyed how the Prisoner conducted herself–her curtness and resignation was very unique. Her form was created as a result of the player cutting off her arm, instilling a matter of fact-ness to her that allows her to slit the player’s throat later (got this from the Wiki, Manly didnt show this part). Upon waking up once again chained and chained even more, I interpreted the cleverness aspect from the Prisoner’s “thoughts on this vessel?” section as being able to come to terms with her situation, play along, and bid her time in hopes that her patience (that she emphasizes) would eventually reward her. After all, the Prisoner was willing to pretend she and the player met for the first time until the player prompts otherwise, even saying they dropped “playing the game”--very meta of her! Thus, I interpreted the Prisoner as the princess completely embodying/accepting her role in the game; she couldnt leave when she defied her role last time, so she was fine continuing to wait this time. As a character who realized they were a character and systematically changed their behavior to attempt a new avenue of escape, I thought that was the extent of the Prisoner’s cleverness and was satisfied…enough.

AND I WAS WRONG. DELIGHTFULLY WRONG. I assumed the Prisoner was completely fine with her potentially only means of escape becoming not one, since she didnt seem upset or disappointed. Which was frankly incorrect, as her rude curtness is a result of her being miffed with you. Why? Because her cleverness actually alludes to the fact she had a plan for escape the entire time, and you utterly fucked it up! Which, tbf, she shouldve shown more reaction than curiosity to dissuade the player, but I digress- During the Head Trophy variation, you realize that the Prisoner had a plan this entire time to deceive the Narrator and she succeeds so well because she also got me and got the player. How often do I get got? It was amazing! From the stare as the Prisoner takes the knife away from the player, to the smile before That All Happens, to the wink as it occurs and after, it may speak to an underestimation thats set up due to the Prisoner’s appearance and behavior, but reflecting on all the signs that She Planned This dismantles that perception and reaffirms that the Prisoner is a person with depth beyond what you expect from her and those in her role. As I viewed the Prisoner as a caricature of the princess’s role in the first place (the whole point is that the Prisoner is exactly like the princess in appearance except the chained/locked up aspect is exaggerated), this route is so striking for me with its interrogation of victimhood, how victims are treated/viewed, and how that may be unintentionally stripped of their personhood and reduced (into a caricature of solely “a victim”). The Prisoner puts it quite nicely when the player attacks and she “suddenly” has a ton of fight in her, stating, “Im not a damsel to be helplessly murdered!” …Im not sure if I put it into words the best, but I hope this is understandable. To top off the topic of Prisoner’s cleverness, its a neat detail (I dont know if this is intentional) that the Prisoner does the opposite of what her prior princess form did: the player cut her arm to free her last time, she cut herself out this time and the player “died” the last time, she “died” this time. Beyond recognizing there was a Narrator beyond them she should fool, the Prisoner also reasoned that since having the player kill her is likely not favorable, dying by her own hand might just be fine! The Head Trophy variation is just more poignant when you note that her “thoughts on this vessel?” section talks about how the Prisoner protected herself when others could not but for her plan to work, she has to put complete faith in another.

As 1000% better the Head Trophy variation is in the Prisoner’s route, I do have a soft spot for the Chained Together variation since, from both the Prisoner and the Narrator’s perspective, it must be a hilarious emotional rollercoaster. The Prisoner’s plan failed and shes now stuck with the loser who made it so…for potentially forever! The Narrator probably oscillates between an uneasy concession that while both gods are not dead, they are locked up forever and an utter dread that things may fall apart at any time and thus, the world is practically doomed with no way to change that. The Prisoner doesnt have to decapitate herself, which makes her freedom extra cathartic in the relief she likely felt and didnt expect…and also extra sad in how she found it was nothing but cold and is quickly taken away. Theres also something to be said about how the player joins the princess in her perspective by chaining himself up and that they both inform each other’s perspective, leading to their escape together: (1) since the princess isnt starving to death, the player also doesnt, which is a surprise to the Voices and (2) the player showing up again signaled that change is indeed possible to the princess, perhaps causing the ability for the world to erode around them. Maybe the latter is the Voices informing the player, causing the change…? But I like to think its the initial thought since the cabin could and shouldve have eroded prior to the player’s arrival, assuming the Prisoner understands the concept of erosion…which, I assume she does- Anyways, the route is as emotional as it is kind of wacky, which is up my alley!

4. Witch

This princess is the one I enjoy the most aesthetically. Im a sucker for both witches and cats, what can I say? The allusion to the fable The Scorpion and the Frog really tickles me, and ultimately, whatever decisions made in this chapter are some form of hilarious. Whether we’re both dying on the floor with broken backs or handing a blade to someone who immediately stabs you, its great. I do enjoy the progression into the Thorn chapter, especially with the immediate regret from the Witch and the following reconciliation in Thorn’s chapter, but Thorn is not as funny and aesthetically pleasing as Witch princess for me, which is why she is not here, haha.

Her “Thoughts on this vessel?” section adds a lot of depth to her, since the way the Witch presents herself is very superficial and guarded. Particularly the statement about the Witch making for a “righteous” heart, in combination with her ability to just slip out of her chains. She couldve freed herself at any time, but chose to stay and confront you. Which I feel speaks to the bitterness aspect, as the Witch feels its only “right” to pursue an answer to her pain–whether it be the player’s penance or punishment. The game’s thoughts on bitterness are made even more poignant when you realize the Witch’s ends are either death (hers and/or yours) or a transformation into another state.

5. Tower

This route is just incredibly cool in how she takes over the narrator and the little divergences of the narration’s phrasing to be in her perspective in the voiceover. The progression into that route was amusing for me to think about because I think the shift of perspective that transforms the princess boils down to either “the princess had the might of a god to have defeated you,” “your sudden stop during the fight was a blessing from god to the princess,” and/or “your sudden stop was because your recognized the value of the princess’s life as larger than your own (‘larger than life,’ referring to her bigger form as the Tower and godhood itself).” The Tower calling you disappointing is funny, but what also sticks out is how she said she wanted company before turning into the Tower. Even as the Tower with the ability to just free herself, she chose to wait for you because thats what she wanted, and I think that plays on the relational idea of “What is a god without a believer?” since she’s willing to have the player as a priest or pet, lol.

How this route differs from the Adversary route is interesting, as the Tower is indeed also an overwhelming presence whose decisions matter more than yours not because her single minded relentless pursuit of it but because of the power to overwrite yours. Its a twist on the player’s and princess’s roles until now, but instead of making them equal like in the Adversary, the roles were reversed on who decides and who is forcefully changed as a result of that decision. Of course, you cant take the ability to choose from us, as a player completely, but its about the best you can do, I imagine. And not to mention the “defiling” aspect when you slay the Tower, dragging her down from godhood to an equal (humanity?) or perhaps her original state of someone who responds to your decision as usual… I think this route connects deeply to the meta aspect of Slay the Princess, since this state is where the princess is closest to the “concept of change” and the concept of their true self as a god. It makes the “thoughts on this vessel?” section very poignant because change in itself is indeed a constantly dominant, terrifying, and arguably divine force in its inevitability.

Honorable Mention to...the Damsel!

I really like the deconstruction of her concept, but that also means I feel that liking her is completely counterintuitive to that very deconstruction, lol. Her route is very straightforward in what it does, but it kind of has to be. Meaning it does what it set out to do very well.

This took a bit and is so much more than you asked for, so thank you for your patience and acceptance. Im just bonkers and bananas, so if I have it partially done, I might as well go all the way instead of going in depth on only one, lol. It was a fun exercise in pondering deeper about the princesses and dipping my toes in the ~meta~, but I will also readily say that Im not at all nearly deep enough into Slay the Princess as a whole to be confident on my takes, so this may have just been a session of Talking Out Of My Booty. Nonetheless, I hope this was enjoyable and thank you for prompting me to think about it! The order of the princesses changed throughout this answer, and it may be fun to guess what order they were written in, lol. Id love to hear about your fave/faves if youre interested in sharing as well~! And please, have a lovely day too!!! c:

#a wild ask appeared!#thanks and also Im so sorry adnbladkj #but also maybe not and youre welcome??? I dunno boss #a showcase of how theres tons of thoughts up there theyre just in a dam constantly threatening to spill out and it either manages to stay #there forever or is a FLOODDDDD- anyways #slay the princess #I guess. in case anyone would find this an enjoyable read- gotta think on the game a ton more but bandwidth mayhaps Ill get there someday #*shrugs* I still gotta get into my cha*ns*w m*n thoughts... <- so I dont spam/mistag lol

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