#there must be some perfectly reasonable explanation for my presence here

[zsugamialba]

That moment when the only person with the power to foil all your carefully laid plans walks through the door.

#classic doctor who #funny #the master #third doctor #colony in space #oh no #there must be some perfectly reasonable explanation for my presence here #the doctor: why are you impersonating the adjudicator? #the master: i am the adjudicator

[kaiwewi]

A Room for Two

Secret Santa gift for @save-the-villainous-cat 🎅💝 I hope this will do your prompt justice!! Bit longer than originally planned, because I got carried away xD

“Get some sleep,” the villain had said.

Like slumber wasn’t some near unattainable, elusive enigma on the best of nights. Like the hero wouldn’t find themself tossing and turning for hours, haunted, even when their sorrows and worries were unfounded.

If they already couldn’t sleep under normal circumstances, how were they supposed to find any rest when they, for once, actually had good reasons to be upset and anxious?

Reasons. Plural.

As if being abducted by Supervillain wasn’t nerve-wracking enough by itself. To add insult to injury, she’d dragged them right off their living room couch, hauled them halfway across the city while offering only the most cryptic of half-explanations for her actions, and then presented them to the villain as a ‘Christmas gift’.

This had to be the most humiliating and terrifying thing that had ever happened to the hero, and all their nemesis had to say to them was to 'get some sleep'.

What were they supposed to do? Let go of their fury and frustration and climb into bed with the villain, pretending the two of them were good friends having a fun sleepover and not enemies sharing a damn prison cell?

Yeah, fat chance.

Besides, the hero hated sleepovers. Sleepovers always ended in darkness and isolation, with the hero lying awake in the early morning hours, forced to listen to their friends’ even breathing ringing through their own sleepless silence like taunts.

But it hardly mattered. They didn’t plan on sticking around anyway.

They stomped through the half-lit room again and tried the door one more time for good measure. Still locked. Of course it was. They muttered a few curses. All right, the window then. Maybe they had missed something. Maybe they could—

“Hero, please.” The villain groaned, face half-buried in a heap of cushions. “Stop pacing round the room like a caged tiger. I’m trying to sleep.”

They were not pacing. Pacing implied aimlessness. They had a purpose. While the villain had plopped down on the stupidly soft-looking, king-sized bed, fluffed their pillows, and turned off their bedside lamp, the hero had been scanning the room, attempting to form an escape plan.

“I’m trying to find a way out,” they hissed. “Because, in case you haven’t noticed, we are trapped. This is a cage.”

“Actually, it’s a suite. Supervillain’s nicest guest-room even.”

“Right. A guest-room with a locked door and barred windows.” The hero scoffed. “What does that make you? Supervillain’s most esteemed guest?”

“It’s a temporary arrangement,” the villain said crossly. “If you must know, Supervillain and I had a disagreement about … work-related issues. I'm only here so I won't get in the way of her plans. Once she’s finalized her current project, she’ll let me go.”

The hero glared into the night beyond the open window and trailed their fingers along the gold-plated ornaments of the, sadly, perfectly solid metal bars. “You’re an idiot,” they said, “if you think a cosy bed, expensive wallpaper, and a fluffy carpet make this any less of a cage.”

“You forgot to mention the flat-screen TV and the gaming console.”

The hero turned their glower on the villain, who sighed.

“Fine,” their nemesis said. “Let it be a cage then. A gilded cage with excellent room service. Which is a million times better than the alternative. So, I’d very much appreciate it if you would kindly behave yourself, be patient, and not get us relocated to the dungeon. Thank you.” The villain rolled their eyes. “Come on. It’s late and I’m tired. If you aren’t going to sleep, can you at least lie down? Please.”

The villain really did sound tired. Despondent almost. It didn’t suit them. Not that the villain’s pitiful state changed anything.

“Don’t do that. Don’t pretend I’m the one being unreasonable. You don’t get to act like my presence here is such an inconvenience to you after you asked Supervillain to kidnap me.”

“You think I wanted her to—” To their credit, the villain seemed genuinely appalled at the notion. “I’d never—”

“Funny.” They spit the word like a threat and felt somewhat gratified when the villain subtly shuffled a bit closer to the headboard with every step the hero took towards the bed. “Because when I asked Supervillain why she’d taken me, she told me, and I quote, ‘Villain wants company’.”

Their nemesis cringed. They averted their gaze and wrapped the covers protectively around themself in a rare display of … remorse? Fear? Vulnerability?

Yep. Something was definitely off about the villain today.

Curious, the hero sat down on the empty side of the bed after all and leaned back against the pillows. Dammit, the stupid things were even cosier than they looked.

“I’m sorry,” the villain said softly. “When I said I didn’t want to be alone on Christmas, I thought Supervillain would send a henchman to play boardgames with me or – I don’t know – get me a cat? I never thought she’d go and kidnap my favourite frenemy.”

Why did the villain have to sound like they were about to cry?

Great. Now the hero was beginning to feel guilty too.

A bit reluctant, they reached across the empty space between the two of them and awkwardly put their hand on the villain’s shoulder.

Their nemesis sucked in a sharp breath, but otherwise made no protest.

“Villain,” the hero said after a moment of tense silence. “How long have you been here?”

“Five weeks,” the villain replied in too matter-of-fact a tone, “two days, and roughly” – there was a bit of shuffling as they turned to throw a glance at the alarm clock on their bedside table – “seven hours now.”

The hero didn’t know what to say to that. They pulled their hand back.

Neither of them spoke for a minute or two.

“So…” the hero said eventually. “I’m your favourite?”

The villain tsked, though not without humour. “Honestly? I would have preferred the cat.”

More silence.

The hero stared at the ceiling. They were beginning to think the villain might have fallen asleep already, when they felt a soft tug on the sleeve of their t-shirt.

“Hey, Hero?” the villain whispered. “Could you touch me again?”

“Excuse me?”

“Not- Not in a weird way! Just, maybe, a hug? … I really miss my friends and family,” the villain added, as if that was explanation enough. Perhaps it was.

The hero sighed, grumbled incoherently, then sighed again. It wasn’t like they’d get any sleep either way. “Okay,” they said. “But if you do anything funny, I’ll smack you.”

The villain chuckled. The mattress dipped as they scooted over and wrapped their arms around the hero with a tentativeness that, given the two of them were technically enemies, bordered on sacrilege.

“Thank you,” the villain murmured, dozing off right then and there. “I was so lonely.”

The hero couldn’t bring themself to push the villain away after that, even if it meant they’d likely remain in this position until the villain woke up again. They closed their eyes, resigned themself to another long night, and let their thoughts drift into reverie.

When the hero blinked their eyes open again, they were met with the disorienting sight of daylight, ruffled sheets, and their bed-headed nemesis still curled up in their arms.

Wow. They’d slept. – Kidnapped, locked up, and cuddling with their enemy, the hero had finally managed to have a good night's sleep. After weeks of restlessness and insomnia in the safety of their own bedroom. What irony…

They lifted their head to get a better look at the small smile on the villain’s sleeping face.

Maybe the hero would delay their escape attempts, stick around for a few nights. They could really use a vacation. And hadn’t the villain said something about excellent room service?

#Secret Santa #Secret Santa snippets #save-the-villainous-cat #heroes and villains #hero x villain #villain x hero #hero/villain #enemies to friends #one bed trope #insomnia #snippet #writing snippet #writing #my writing #creative writing #fiction #writeblr #writers #writers on Tumblr

[philtstone]

Prompts! Sarah/Bucky, “touching foreheads”

i have no idea with this is but i thought it was worth writing. also it 1) turned out much longer than intended and 2) is my weak attempt at a version of this prompt that caters to your interests because my original idea was a lot more romantique. part of this verse, naturally. also, meaning absolutely no disrespect, but the whole time i was writing this i kept hearing catherine as blanche from golden girls in my head. my deepest apologies to blanche. but maybe that'll add a little ambiance to your read of it. enjoy!

The St. Trinity's Shelter Drive is one of those church run events that seems to transcend religious affiliation. According to Cass and AJ's solemn explanations, it started up proper after the Blip and has never seen reason to stop. Bucky’s lived through enough historical crises to understand this. Today is his second time helping out, which speaks to how much this new life of his has become real in a way he still doesn’t always feel he deserves. But. The drive.

He's always good for the heavy lifting, no longer minds standing at the end of the snacks table with Mrs. Pedjrani and helping the kids choose their drinks, and thinks it's probably a decent setting in which to learn how to not feel frightened of himself.

It's good – plain good, in the most mundane possible sense of the word.

Sarah enters and exists in this space, and others like it, with the same kind of mundane obviousness. She's one of those people who does not have the time to run or organize anything but is involved in everything. He thinks at this point half the town would cry rapture and second coming if Sarah Wilson did not roll up to every other community event in her broken down RAM pickup with a bag of old clothes or a pot of creamy mac ready to be leant to the cause.

He’s come to learn that there are some routines in Sarah's life that will include him but not require him, so currently Bucky is respecting her space by devoting his attention to boxing cookware, even as she stands sort of nearby by the far other end of the long fold out table. She is marking garbage bags of childrens' clothes and humming politely at whatever Catherine Whitlaf is saying. They're far enough away that they haven’t deemed fit to notice him; most normal people would not be able to overhear them, and so any polite overtures to including him are irrelevant. Bucky doesn’t quite yet understand the politics of the Southern Baptist church drive -- he was raised Catholic, which doesn’t mean much outside his century-ago three month stint as a piss poor altar boy, one whole month more than Steve managed -- but he knows Catherine’s presence is just as routine as Sarah’s is, if entirely different in the same breath. People expect her and her beautiful ceramic casserole dish and large private donation to be here.

At present, Sarah seems perfectly content barely acknowledging her. He’s spent time in the general proximity of senators’ wives (usually in the hours before something terrible happened to the senator) so Catherine’s persona is a clumsy thing in comparison. She doesn’t have the breeding to bat in the true big leagues. But there also isn’t really anything about her appearance that can be observed and identified as obviously obnoxious, which Cass complained about to him in a whisper once at the school Christmas show; at least her husband has that silly receding hairline of his. Sarah makes fun of it every time Ken tries to bully her out of another contract and then immediately tells the boys in no uncertain terms that they are not to insult folks as a habit.

Now, Bucky inspects a blue Teflon pan that matches Sarah’s blouse for scratches and listens to Catherine’s Southern twang.

"-- keep tellin' Ken, you know, how he ought to cut down on his hours. But we've just sold a large chunk of the business down river and there are so many opportunities to think of -- honey, do you want some of this tupperware for the kids? I know it must be tiring cooking in the evenings ..."

Sarah says that the Whitlafs are the sort of people who do not deem their Whiteness reason to feel entitled but are not entitled in a way entirely devoid of Whiteness. Whatever small concession this makes for their character does not change the fact that Bucky doesn't like them. Nor that Sarah knows fine well he does not like them, and accepts it the way he in turn accepts her way of dealing with them. Privately, he's convinced that it would do them both good to get a little roughed up -- nothing harmful, maybe just enough to self-reflect – which was a thought he had just about the first time he met them. Sarah must have seen something in his expression, because before any words came out she poked him hard in the chest and said, "no Man Violence" with such thin-lipped fervor that Bucky's mouth clamped right back shut.

Sarah takes pride in her ability to deal with Mr. and Mrs. Ken Whitlaf like civil human beings. And usually, she does so with grace, and no true worry for repercussions. He’s seen her snoop through their warehouse with confidence and tell Ken in no uncertain terms to get off her property the last time he sidled 'round to negotiate her out of another source of income.

As though on cue, Sarah’s firm voice cuts through Catherine’s jabbering.

"Thank you, Cathy, but I like cooking for my family."

"But the timing, honey, you just got so much on your plate ..."

"Actually, things are just fine now."

Bucky focuses on writing POTS AND PANS in big block letters across the front of his box.

“Well I was just thinking the other day, wouldn’t it make it so much easier for you to sell? Not the whole thing, of course, but maybe a share or two – and we’re lookin’ to buy, I mean, Sarah, bless your heart you’ve always been independent, but surely those sweet boys of yours would benefit from having their mama around more. Marly tells me you were such a speller in school, but then didn’t I hear AJ is struggling?”

Bucky feels himself still. Catherine has a naturally loud voice that has risen in pitch just deliberately enough this last that heads have turned. They’re surrounded by people. Good people, to be sure, and people who know and love them, but Delacroix is a warm-hearted small town, not a utopia.

Eyes down, he waits for Sarah to put Cathy in her place in the same routine way she always does. Her smile appears after a just beat too long.

“AJ’s doing fine. Thank you for thinking of us, Catherine. I should – I’m gonna take these bags. John’s got the doors open.”

The afternoon being almost over, Sarah gets called on by multiple people to help wrap things up with her easy hand and expertise, so Bucky doesn’t get a minute alone with her for another hour. When he finds her, she’s by the water fountain, behind the gym, staring at something on her phone and chewing on her bottom lip. He slips in front of her in a few easy steps and gives her the kiss he’s been thinking about since nine a.m. that morning, licking gently into her mouth with easy languor he knows improves her mood before pulling away and resting his forehead against hers.

Sarah smiles, instinctive, then falters.

“Hey,” Bucky says, intent on her expression, and waits for a response.

“Hi,” she says. She seems distracted. Enough that she doesn’t catch the quiet anger that’s been simmering under his skin all afternoon, at any rate. “Can you – could you take the boys home? They’re runnin’ on empty and I promised Marly I’d stick around and help with clean up, I always do so there’s a system … oh, Lord, and Catherine Whitlaf left her casserole dish. I’ll have to tell John –”

“I can drop it off,” Bucky says.

“What?” she blinks.

The problem, he thinks, is that he isn’t sure she’ll ever actually tell him. Complain, maybe, about the Whitlafs’ latest round of obnoxious propositioning. But there’s a fragility to her that means Catherine hit a real and still-live insecurity, one which he isn’t sure Sarah even knows how to admit.

“I’ll swing round. We need groceries, anyway, and they’re on the way, right? No problem.”

The smile she gives him is small and tired. He sighs, kisses her forehead, and goes to collect the boys.

The cul-de-sac where the Whitlafs live is well-manicured and in a neighbourhood where the houses are big but nice and close together, very different from home. AJ is asleep in the back, tired out from helping through the day and from the kids’ three games of basketball, but Cass sits up in the passenger seat and gives Bucky an incredulous look.

“This ain’t the grocery store,” he says, peering skeptically at the nice green lawn.

“Nope,” says Bucky, cutting the engine and unbuckling his seatbelt. “Gotta drop something off. I’ll be two minutes, okay?”

“Can we get ice cream from the store?” Cass asks.

“We got ice cream at home.” Bucky picks up the casserole dish and considers the Whitlaf house, then Cass. “But yes. Two minutes. Keep the doors locked.”

Clearly, Cass seems to find this directive funny in such a fancy neighbourhood, because he lets out a snorting kind of giggle through his gapped teeth then grins at the promised treat. Bucky leaves him in the car with a wink and makes his way up to the front door.

The knocker is brassy and ornate. Bucky uses this instead of the doorbell. When the door opens Catherine is still in the skirt and blouse she had worn to the drive, and he’s faced with the unfortunate realization that perhaps his efforts at civility have worked a little too well; rather than inspiring trepidation through presence alone, as he’d maybe hoped for absently on the way here, he seems to be a welcome sight. Catherine’s face lights up behind the screen.

She opens it. Bucky does not miss the way her eyes flick over him and works hard not to set his jaw.

“Mrs. Whitlaf, I’m sorry to bother you. You forgot your dish.”

“Oh! That is so sweet of you – of course I did. I’d forget my own head if it wasn’t screwed onto my neck. You ever feel that way?”

Bucky sucks at his cheek, hopefully covertly, “Oh, sure. All the time.”

Perhaps Catherine picks up on something in his tone, because she meets his eye with a gleam of interest. “So nice to see you participating in these little Delacroix things,” she says. “My, when you first showed up most folks never assumed you would stay.”

At the very least, Catherine’s brand of backhanded compassion is not something she wields only against Sarah. He gets the feeling that with him, though, she’s waiting for a cue.

“Funny how things work out,” Bucky says, slipping his right hand into his jacket pocket so she doesn’t see it clench. “Well, Mrs. Whitlaf, my quest is complete –”

“You oughta call me Cathy! And you’re Bucky. Or do you prefer Sergeant Barnes?”

Bucky grinds his teeth through his smile and stares at the azaleas. When Torres does it it’s sweet. When Sarah does it he feels warm down to his toes. When Rhodey’s trainees do it it’s fucking awkward but not completely terrible.

No Man Violence, says Sarah’s voice in his head.

Bucky’s therapist, to no one’s surprise, loves Sarah.

“Bucky is fine.”

“That’s good to hear. We’re friends, after all.”

Bucky grunts and Catherine does not seem to mind one bit. “I should go. Couple things left to do on the way home.”

“Oh,” she says, “of course. Couldn’t forget how sweet you seem to be on our own Ms. Wilson. Are those the boys in the car?”

“I should go,” Bucky repeats, smiling tightly. He’s still holding the casserole dish.

“You don’t say! Well I am glad as anyone you feel so at home around here, honey. I was even just tellin’ Ken the other day –” She leans in, as though they’re about to share a secret, “sometimes a person can hardly guess you ever did that stuff they say on the Internet. They aren’t exaggerating or anything? Maybe it was someone else. If it weren’t for that metal arm, well … and you get on so well with all the kids.”

There’s very little that’s truly coy about her line of questioning. That clumsiness, he thinks again. Bucky couldn’t care less what she’s looking for – gossip, maybe, or something to satisfy her own morbid sense of thrill.

He’s not sure if he walked up those driveway steps looking for an opportunity. Or even an excuse. But he’s got one.

Bucky says,

“All me.” He makes sure to smile, as sincerely as possible. “Every single thing.”

“Oh, my,” she says, laughing girlishly. It’s not exactly nervous. But when she comes to quickly take the casserole dish from his hand and it doesn’t budge, her expression turns reedy.

“Good for you to know these things,” Bucky says pleasantly.

He remains standing where he is, an easy, respectable distance away from her, arm outstretched in benign offering. Catherine’s smile flickers just slightly at the edge. His right hand is loose in his pocket. His left hand fingers stay tightly curled around the red ceramic. In the long line of analogies Ayo has favoured in the past, there is that of the prey's instinct, and the predator's. Bucky's fingers don’t quite scrape over the dish, but it’s a near thing.

“Oh?”

“Catherine,” says Bucky. “Can I call you Catherine?"

"I -- yes?"

Bucky inclines his chin and lets his pleasant expression drop.

"Great. I am going to ask you and your husband this politely. Once. Leave Sarah Wilson and her family alone.”

Catherine stares at him in open-mouthed shock. He can see the moment her lips twist from nervous flirtation into mortified understanding. He lets go of the casserole dish.

“Ma’am,” he says softly, nodding.

He smiles at her, turns, and walks back to the car.

By the time they get to the Piggly Wiggly’s, the sun has almost set. April’s warm but not too warm; Bucky’s leather jacket is comfortable over his arms and AJ has borrowed Cass’s hoodie. Bucky herds them out of the car and hoists AJ up piggy-back style as he sources a shopping cart and they start making their way through the short list of needed items. He doesn’t know if Sarah’s home yet; hopefully they can make it back on time to get some leftovers warmed up, so they all have one less thing to think about.

They slip into their routine. Bucky leans easily on the cart, AJ’s legs dangle, and Cass announces their different needed items from the list on Bucky’s phone in his hand and begs for novelties at intervals. The ice cream is granted, but Bucky’s no is very firm on the Warheads.

“Those things’ll burn through your intestines, Cass.”

That is, apparently, half the fun. The answer is still no.

They’re in the coffee aisle, with Bucky frowning at the tiny print on their preferred brand that announces a whole five ounces less coffee for the same price, when a familiar voice sounds from the display of cantaloupes at the very far end. Bucky looks up as casually as possible. He can see Randy Baker from the tackle shop with his phone to his ear, round faced and red faced and genial as usual.

“... say. Aw come on, Ken, you’re just making things up now. No. No, you know I’m your friend. We’ve been friends years, now. But – at the door? Yeah.”

Bucky focuses more intently on the coffee and tries not to close his eyes in defeat.

“Man, I say you’re insane ‘cause you ain’t hearing yourself? Threatened your wife. Get outta here. You been drinkin’ that sensationalist kool-aid on YouTube, Ken, there ain’t no way Bucky Barnes threatened your wife. Now are you really gonna -- you know Cathy exaggerates everything, Ken. Everyone around here knows that boy, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

AJ’s voice filters into his ear, somewhere in between sleepy and bemused.

“-- ncle B. Um, Earth to Uncle Bucky. I think you busted the coffee beans.”

Bucky looks down. His thumb has indeed poked a hole through the plastic, right in the middle of nutty and fruity tones.

“Shit,” Bucky mutters. He puts the bag face up in the cart and resigns himself to the horrible toll inflation’s taken on this country.

Their movement has made Randy look up; he spots them over the cantaloupe pile, and sends an unconcerned grin and a wave their way. AJ waves back, swinging his legs. Bucky raises two stiff fingers in greeting.

Randy returns to his conversation, now adding an eye-roll to the mix.

Bucky refocuses on the groceries. They need eggs and bread and something about orange juice. He looks down to ask Cass what’s next on the list only to find Cass looking at him carefully.

Bucky looks back. “You got our list?”

“Uh huh.”

“What’s up, Cass?”

Randy is slowly moving away from them, further into produce. Cass says, “Mike’s mom’s got her whole hair salon thing going downtown now.”

Bucky has indeed met Little Mike, the very tall boy in Cass’s grade, and knows the stories of his mother’s hair-care prowess. “Yeah. Pretty cool.”

“Pretty cool,” Cass echoes. “She did all her bank stuff on her own but Mike’s dad was really supportive of it. So … even when she wasn’t there or like super busy or something, no one ever tried to mess with her. No one messes with Mike at school,” he adds, with only the slightest hint of a question mark slipping in right at the end.

He’s looking at Bucky with that appraising look that seems to come out every so often – like he’s waiting for his theory to be disproved. His eyes are just a touch bigger than usual. Bucky wonders how much of today Cass has overheard without anyone noticing. He hoists AJ higher on his back and holds a hand out for the phone. Cass gives it to him. Then he floats over, in that awkward way teenaged boys can have, and leans his shoulder against Bucky’s arm as they begin to shuffle forward in the aisle.

“Except Shivani,” Cass continues. “But that’s ‘cause she’s in love with him or whatever and girls are weird.”

“I thought Crystal Jenkins was into Little Mike.”

“Everyone’s into Little Mike. He doesn’t really know what to do about it. It’s his burden.”

“Like Aragorn,” says AJ solemnly, from behind Bucky’s ear.

Warm against Bucky’s side, and after a long moment of silence, Cass goes back to reading from their list like nothing has changed. “Lemonade,” he declares.

“We are not getting lemonade,” says Bucky. “I make better lemonade at home.”

“You never make lemonade, Uncle B.”

“If we want lemonade, I’ll make lemonade. We’re gettin' orange juice. With pulp.”

They pass by Randy on their way out of the store, and Bucky smiles at him in greeting with a steady confidence before asking Cass to help him unload the shopping cart. In the car, he calls Sarah, on speaker, and promises a continuation of that nine a.m. dream kiss, loud enough that the boys both groan, and he can hear the smile in her voice when she responds.

#the falcon and the winter soldier #touches prompt meme #bucky barnes #sarah wilson #aj wilson #cass wilson #sarahbucky #sarah x bucky #buckysarah #fleur de louve #tfatws #marvel #i found a dream

[holden-caulfield]

Hatred, you thought.

↪︎ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

SUMMARY: enemies that get trapped in the same room and have no choice but to work together to get out, inevitably leading the two of them to realize their true feelings for each other to lovers.

WARNINGS: is it angsty? i don't think so, fluffy ending tho

WORD COUNT: 1991

A/N: i'm not really sure what this is, but i used my prompt and this came out... i don't think i ever mention draco but i wrote this with him in mind. also, i don't think they are in school, it's an au of some sort and it's very messy :) it will make sense as you read it tho!!

No way out. An empty room. Just you and him.

Oh, how ironic Fate could be, how insensitive, cruel and ironic.

No way out.

You were stuck, how it happened was still a mystery to you. Such a fool for having let yourself be trapped in there.

An empty room.

No windows, just a door, which was now sealed. The only source of lightning was enough to illuminate both of your faces, his features so sharp in the pale light emanated from the dangling lamp above you.

Just you and him.

It could have been anyone, but it had to be him, of course. He wasn't any happier than you, he despised you just as much as you did, if not more.

But there you were, alone together. Words weren't needed because facial expressions were enough to convey each other's feelings: scowls perfectly disclosed any emotion that passed through your minds. Aversion, loathing, abhorrence, hate.

Such a strong word, you never thought you'd have used it to describe someone, but he was worthy of the title. You hated him, so deeply, so violently, so passionately.

He was much more generous with the use of the word, he hated pretty much everyone who didn't agree with him. But with you. Oh, with you it was different. He made sure you knew he actually hated you. It was not playful banter, it was not temporary animosity. It was pure, unfathomable hatred.

Then why did you find yourself there with him? Fate, once more, came into play.

It has such a weird way of playing, Fate. It can conjoin long lost lovers just as easily as it can unite sworn enemies who would happily have nothing to do with each other. And it takes great pleasure in doing the latter; you couldn't help but imagine the Moirai laughing, deriding you as they spun the inexorable thread that was your own Fate. Insensitive and cruel they were as they got their merciless job done.

"What now?" he asked, but he already knew the answer. He didn't want to admit it, admit he needed your help; neither did you.

But the only alternative was waiting, waiting for the inevitable destiny that would have hit you if you hadn't got out of the room. However, that meant more time to share with him, and neither of you was hoping on it.

"We find a way out, isn't it obvious?" you couldn't refrain the sarcasm dripping from your tone. The even deeper scowl decorating his face was worth it.

"How?" it took a lot out of him to stop himself from snapping at you as he analyzed the only object in the chamber, the door.

"Aren't you the one always preaching about his above-average intellect? Put it to good use, then." you knew snarky remarks wouldn't have helped you to find a way out, but they did help improve your mood, even if only in the slightest.

"No lock. No handle. No hinges. What is your great intellect suggesting?" he threw away that last ounce of restraint he had in him and decided to play your game. A challenge, to entertain you while you endured his vile presence.

"Push it. Break it down."

"Ladies first." you took a running start and collided with the door. It didn't budge.

You tried again, this time he joined you. It didn't budge. Useless attempts.

"Great idea." you could feel the smirk in his voice but you didn't give him the satisfaction and stared at the still-closed door instead.

No way out. An empty room. Just you and him.

When suddenly an illumination: while scrutinizing the room, you looked up and, narrowing your eyes, you noticed a square-shaped line, so thin you couldn't have seen it if you hadn't been so focused.

"Give me a hand, quick!" you let of all the hostilities as an opportunity arose and grasped his shoulder, forcing him to look towards the area your finger pointed to.

He joined his hands and helped you reach what you hoped was a trap door.

"God, i thought you were lighter..."

"And i thought you were stronger but look at us." you stretched your arms to reach it but it was still too high up, "Higher!"

"I can't extend myself, you know?" he said, quite irritated.

"Oh woah, something you can't do? Bewildering..." arms still outstretched, you lifted yourself on your toes. A mistake.

You lost balance and could already taste the blood in your mouth from the inevitable contact with the floor, but it never happened.

Because he caught you. You were shocked and from the look in his eyes, he was too.

"Try not to do other stupid things because i won't be there to catch you again." you quickly lifted yourself from his hold and immediately started to study another way to reach the trap door, your only hope, but in your mind thoughts about what had just happened still roamed freely.

There was no explanation other than the fact that he could not work with an injured person; if you had hurt yourself, you would have been weaker and therefore unable to help him get out. Yes, that was the reason.

"Give me a lift again."

"You can't reach it-"

"Give me a lift. Again." your tone was sterner and he complied, but not before scoffing and rolling his eyes.

You climbed on his hands once more, but it was still too high. You lifted your foot tentatively and placed it on his shoulder.

"Woah, are you trying to kill me up there?!"

You didn't answer, instead using the new added height to reach the ledge. You pushed it open and climbed up, successfully exiting the room you had called prison just moments ago.

"Always."

He smirked disapprovingly, a smile that didn't reach his eyes, and signaled for you to help him out now, so you moved to find something, anything to help him.

It was dark, the only light brightening the new corridor that had just appeared was faint and came from the far end of it.

You crossed the entire hallway, looking for a rope or a box strong enough to support your nemesis when it dawned on you: your nemesis. Why were you even helping him? Sure he had helped you, but that was before you were free.

You had now a choice, he didn't have any. If he did, he wouldn't have been so magnanimous. He surely wouldn't.

You kept on going towards the light, strengthening with every step you took when a rope appeared in your way.

The choice was now concrete. You could help him. Or you couldn't.

"Y/l/n! Found anything?" what to do now? He wouldn't have helped you.

"Took you long enough, huh?"

"I was trying to find something, you ungrateful twat." you sneered as you threw him the rope. He grasped it and began climbing, but you had still time. Time to let the thread go and leave him there. Time to save yourself.

But you didn't, an actual reason still missing in your mind. Too much compassion, too much pity, you thought. But you weren't convinced, you couldn't lie to yourself, there was something else.

He climbed all the way up, you offered your hand to finally hoist him on the ledge. He considered it, he refused it.

"We're not friends, y/l/n."

"Believe me, i know. I was just trying to make sure i hadn't to get you up here all over again. I thought you were lighter, you know?" he glowered at you, but it was not the same as before, as always.

One way out. Just you and him.

You treaded that same corridor you had crossed seconds ago, besides him this time. It was narrow and your bodies tried so hard not to touch but it was close to impossible. Shoulders collided, legs bumped, hands grazed. But eyes refused to meet; hatred, you repeated to yourself.

The light seemed to never arrive even as you quickened your step. You were running, striving to reach that light that you so desperately clang to. But then a sudden stop.

The hand that was once ruthlessly brushing against yours, grasped you. It was rushed, it was vital, it was puzzling. But it held you close to him.

He was your enemy, you needed to distance yourself, but you couldn't find the strength in you to do so. Hatred, you repeated in your head and you pushed him away.

"Watch your step." he said, pointing to a hole in the floor, a square one. You were running in circle.

You felt stupid, to think he had forgotten your rivalry so easily, to think things had changed between you.

"Thanks." it came out of your mouth without thinking. Good manners are hard to forget, you reckoned.

A pause.

"You're welcome." could a situation of forced proximity really change the feelings between two people?

Incredibly thin is the line between love and hate.

You didn't love him. You didn't hate him either. Things were evolving, you didn't know whether it was good or bad, but they were.

"We have to find another way." you thought aloud. He agreed with a simple nod, no remarks. The awkward exchange must have had an effect on him just as much as it did on you, or so you thought.

His eyes were lighter than you had ever seen them, his face seemed tense, but it was not a grimace; that was new. He looked quite entrancing when he wasn't too busy glowering at you, his features looked endearing as they attentively surveyed the area.

Sense of guilt took over because you knew you shouldn't have been thinking about such things, but had he always been so tall and captivating? Had you never noticed that sparkle in his eyes that caused the image of crystals glinting in the sun to appear in your mind? Was he thinking the same?

Undecipherable; intriguing. You wanted to know more, was it possible? You pondered no further and returned your gaze to the corridor, unwillingly.

It was his turn to watch you now because when you turned again you caught him staring.

"What are you looking at?" you couldn't help the defensive tone with which you uttered the sentence, but it didn't bother him.

"You saved me. Why?" he was genuine, he was sincere and this had you even more confused than you already were.

"You did too, it's nothing but a temporary truce."

"Is it?" he whispered without missing a beat and suddenly the walls weren't narrow anymore, no, they were far too wide, he was far too distant. As if reading your mind, he took a step closer.

"Of course it is." were you that sure?

"Are you sure?"

"Of course i am."

"But why did you save me?" what game was he playing? Your mind was not able to form any coherent thought as the man in front of you kept on making questions to which you didn't know the answer. You didn't want to admit the answer.

"It's just a truce, we hate each other-"

"Do we?" his questions were quick, it was much simpler making them than answering them.

"Do we?" you repeated.

"You could have left me there..."

"Do we?" you insisted.

"You didn't have to do that, you could have-"

"Do we hate each other?" you were impatient to hear him say it.

He remained silent but his eyes were speaking, only his mouth didn't allow them.

"Do we hate each other or-"

He cut you off, that same mouth that had suddenly become dumb reached yours. Hatred, you repeated in your head.

You kissed him too, logic leaving your mind, hands entangling in his hair, bodies flush against each other.

Love, you admitted.

Maybe Fate wasn't as cruel as you thought.

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#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy #fanfiction #harry potter #fanfic #draco lucius malfoy #draco x reader #draco imagine #draco x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy fluff

[sunlightandsuffering]

Corruption au Eren cockwarms mikasa once they’re together, he says ‘it helps him remember things’ and then every so often he gives her an orgasm just to keep her pliant against him while she plays with her boobs, he doesn’t do it in a cruel kind of way, it just he wants to pleasure her while doing his work

however when they’re not together, he’s such a sadist about it, he refuses to let her come even after he’s done his hw and is just fucking her, he always leaves when he’s done. Until one day when he starts feeling bad, he lets her come and it absolutely ruins him, he becomes obsessed with pleasuring her and seeing her face flushed pink, and hearing the needy sounds she makes and the quiet sighs, and the way her hands frantically move around until he Holds them together

STOP U GUYS KNOW ABOUT MY COCKWARMING OBSESSION STOP IT 😂😂 omg bless corruption Eren tho, this is my favourite kink for him, its so hot and it fits their situation perfectly.

It starts slow for Eren, to be honest he has no fucking idea when it really started. One day he'd been failing calculus, accepting he wasn't going to pass the year and thinking about maybe dealing drugs as a career path over his previous dreams of doctor. The next he was being forced to study three days out of the week with high school princess, Mikasa Ackerman.

At first he'd hated it, hated her really. He'd never been able to stand her, not since they were little and she'd chosen the dark side of Historia Reiss, bully and mean girl if there ever was one. Historia had sweet innocent baby Mikasa under her thumb. Mikasa followed her around like a dumb fucking puppy and Eren hated followers, they were all the same, no personalities, no aspirations of their own. She had no backbone either. She let all the shit Historia did slide, all the bullying, the holier than thou attitude because her family was richer than god. So very typical of the rich kids from the upper class neighbourhood. Eren would know, he used to be that rich kid, used to live that life. That was until his parents died in a brutal car accident, Zeke had inherited half the estate on the condition he'd take care of Eren and the rest was tied up in Eren's trust fund until he was twenty one.

Big surprise, no one had taken care of Eren and he was fucking lucky Armin and his grandpa had been there to help him out.

Everyone else, all his other 'friends' had given him the cold shoulder upon finding out he was no longer rich for the moment, he'd been dropped like a hot potato. So Eren's hatred of the upper class of Shiganshina had begun.

And Mikasa Ackerman was the pinnacle of it all, the worst the rich had to offer. She was beautiful, smart, loaded, had every opportunity in life, completely innocent and sweet, and the cherry on top of it all she volunteered on the weekend at the pound.

She disgusted him, so prim and proper and all around good girl while she was letting her 'friends' bully him for being poor, watching the injustice happen like a fish in a bowl.

He couldn't fucking stand her.

Of course, she would be the person who ended up tutoring him though, Principal Erwin mandating it if he wanted to graduate. So here he was sitting in the computer lab at five on a Wednesday watching her plump lips move as she explained integrals to him for the third time in an hour.

It's been a few months since they've started this little arrangement and he's gotten used to her presence. He wouldn't say he likes her, thats a stretch but he's not quite as cruel as he once was. He'd be lying if he said he didn't get a kick of watching that beautiful mouth part every time he does something mean though, those little gasps when he pinches her thigh or touches her where he shouldn't.

It's probably the highlight of these sessions.

Today he's feeling bold, maybe he'll push his luck. After all, he's done it before and she's never protested. For some reason or another Mikasa Ackerman has a soft spot for him, and no matter how mean, she lets him get away with murder. "Miki, come here I can't hear you properly." "And then you take the-what?" She looks up, pretty dove-grey eyes wide, sparkling as she explains her favourite subject, fucking math.

"You heard me, get over here." As usual, she takes orders so fucking well, it brings out the absolute worst in him. She's standing up and next to him in seconds and he's eye level with her perfect chest, those tits he dreams about every night, ripping her bra off with his teeth and sucking at those pretty pink nipples of hers. He's only seen them a few times, when he convinces her it's okay, when he's sure there's absolutely no one around, but they keep him awake at night. He pats his lap, grinning as she goes easily, settling into her favourite spot, he knows she loves it just as much as he does. Her thighs always shake and she shudders as his hands find their place cupping those beautiful creamy thighs, head tucked into her shoulder.

Mikasa starts talking again, beautiful lilt soothing him as she launches into a renewed explanation of integrals while his hands move up, up, up and to his absolute favourite spot, her panties. Today she's wearing cotton, he can feel it, must be laundry day and he kisses her shoulder as he feels how wet she is. Fucking perfect.

Lately she's been more partial to fancier underwear and he can't help but wonder if it's for him. He has a feeling it is, because the first month of their little arrangement he'd snuck as many peaks as they could and it was always pink or white cotton with polka dots and pretty bows. They were his favourite, so fucking innocent, so untouched by anyone but him.

He watches as she moves her pencil drawing lines and numbers, a little bit of the alphabet too and he ignores it all in favour of watching her chest, her breath hitch as he slides a finger inside her panties, feeling those velvet lips, it's been a while.

He's been on his best behaviour lately since Levi almost caught them at her house that one time, but he's horny and she's wet and he misses being inside her, misses watching her try to talk through him fucking her, how her voice would waver, change pitch. How many times she'd stumble through her sentences, have to start all over again, because she can't handle how big he is, doesn't know how to deal with the all-consuming sensation of him fucking deep within her walls, just sitting there filling her right up to her cervix.

Fuck.

He can't really be blamed for what he does next, and besides it doesn't matter, Eren's not a stupid kid, he allowed himself to get this far behind in calculus. He'd spent an hour last night going over integrals with the sole purpose of knowing what was going on today so he could fuck with his favourite toy.

He moves her a bit so she's resting more heavily on one thigh and slides his joggers and boxers down just enough expose his heavy cock to the air, already rock hard and waiting. Mikasa gasps a little bit, a breathy sound quick and sharp as she sees him, her eyes transfixed on his dick and he grins, sliding her panties to the side and slamming her down on him before she even knows what hit her. The slide is so fucking easy too, it takes almost nothing and he gets a sick sense of satisfaction that even with little to no prep she can take him, probably better than anyone else he's ever fucked. She takes it all no complaints, as deep as she can and he bottoms out.

She lets out a long moan, that pretty sound he wants to record and listen to on his phone over and over again, her head lolling back uselessly against his shoulder as she takes in the sensation.

"Miki baby you know this helps me remember better right, sorry it just wasn't getting through my head I was too distracted, but now I'm all ears, why don't you continue. What's that rule you were talking about, how are derivatives and integrals related again baby, they're opposites?"

She's breathing quick and Eren doesn't blame her, he's struggling to keep his tone level as her walls squeeze him, warm and soft and he wants to stay buried there forever, she's so fucking tight.

"I-Eren-I-yeah, opposites," she finally manages to get the last word out ending a little broken as she struggles to sit up and make herself comfortable on his cock, she should be used to it by now with how often he does this, but it never fails she always reacts like she's taking him for the first time all over again. He fucking loves it.

"Why don't you explain again baby, I don't think I really understand? And make sure you're clear Mikasa." She nods, still squirming around, every movement shooting electricity up through both of them as she accidentally grinds down, she lets out an involuntary moan and Eren smirks.

Eren takes it upon himself to move her up and off his cock a few inches before impaling her back down, biting down on her neck a little bit as punishment and she whines, teeth coming out to bite down on her lip brutally as she tries to keep quiet.

"Stop moving baby, you're distracting me, just take my cock like a good girl and explain for me yeah?" She replies brokenly her voice soft and struggling with her breaths, "Yeah."

#corruption au 🖤 #idk where this came from #😂😂

[honeytae]

Stop running from love.

hey bubs! honestly..i don’t know what this is lol it kind of got away from me. but it’s loosely based off of safety net by ariana grande. which is like one of my favorite songs in existence. i hope you guys like this angsty little piece of nothing?? lmao

tags: @ahgasearmyfan, @hoseokayy, @jjlovr2015 genre: angst, fluff? word count: 2.2k

if you would like to listen, here it is:

You were doing it again.

Sabotaging yourself. Running away. Ghosting a man who had only ever shown you the utmost care and respect.

He’d already called multiple times today, frantic texts showing that he was now beyond worried at the way you’d seemingly dropped off the face of the earth. 

You couldn’t blame him. You’d been exclusively dating for three months. Three beautiful and happy months alongside a great guy whose smile brightened every room he graced with his precious presence. Three months that you’d been able to not go into a panic about that very concept.

Until you fell.

The last time you’d seen Jimin was last week when he’d met with you after work for a quick bite to eat.

It was the same place you always went to; you didn’t even have to ask where you were meeting anymore, already on your way to the booth in the back corner with a stupid grin on your face.

The checker floored diner had become a regular spot for you two to stop at, as it was in the middle of the city and perfectly placed between both of your jobs.

That quick bite to eat had easily turned into a full dinner, along with a dessert that’s whipped cream ended up on the tip of his nose in an instant, your giggles causing him to grin wider as he played dumb.

It was simple, not extravagant or fancy by any means, but that was never needed with him. You always had so much fun with Jimin. He was gentle, sweet, caring. All the right things. 

And it was when he was walking you back up to your apartment, his hand gripping yours in a way that was soft yet secure, sparkling eyes pressing into crescents when he smiled over at you that you came to a stunning realization; you were falling in love with him. 

With a panicked last press of your lips to his cheek, you’d closed your door, leaning back against it as you stared ahead of you, absolutely paralyzed in the silence of your apartment.

You could not be in love. What even is love? Heartbreak, that’s what it is. One way or another, it will always end. You needed to pull back before you got too invested. But, fuck, was it too late?

Erupting into hysterics as you came to terms with what had to be done to protect both yourself and Jimin, you slid your back down the wood, placing your forehead on your knees as you curled up into yourself. 

Since then, you’d made it your mission to put him off, every text going unanswered and each call going to voicemail. 

And now here you were in your bed in the early hours of the afternoon, shades drawn to encase the room in pitch black. It matched your mood, frustrated and angry with yourself as you cried into your pillow. 

You hated yourself for doing this to him. Shutting him out with no explanation; he deserves more than you. In the end, this was to his benefit. He’d go on to find someone worthy of his companionship, someone who didn’t want to disappear at the concept of love. 

Someone with less baggage to drag along with them, someone who had a healthy idea of relationships and wasn’t shattered at their core. 

While it was painful to ignore him without giving a reason, you knew he’d give up on you eventually. Everyone always did, and it was just for the best. 

You hiccuped another sob as your phone buzzed on the table yet again, grabbing the pillow from beside you to sandwich your head between the mattress and the fluffy material, effectively muffling the noise of the vibration as you screwed your sore eyes shut. 

“Love?”

You froze at the sudden unmistakable sound of Jimin’s voice calling for you, head spinning as you shut your eyes tighter. 

Were you imagining Jimin’s voice beside you? Were you that far gone?

You were proven wrong when the blanket was pulled off of your body, cold air hitting the bare skin of your arms as the pillow was removed from atop your head. 

You gasped at the sudden exposure, prying your eyes open to look up at none other than Jimin, the hurt and worried look on his face immediately causing you to sob again. 

“Shit, baby, come here.” He rushed to sit down beside you, you easily crawling onto his lap as he wrapped his arms around your back, palm smoothing up and down your spine as he slowly rocked you back and forth. 

You sat there silently, letting yourself be comforted by him. For some reason, Jimin was harder to push away than the others. His arms felt so nice around you, like home. 

But this had to be done. You wanted him to stay like this in your memory, his image remaining undamaged by any painful breakup. 

“Jimin, I-I can’t see you anymore. We can’t be together.” You forced out, heart twisting in agony at the silence ensuing after your words, Jimin shifting you up his lap to look at you. 

“What do you mean?” He asked in disbelief, eyebrows knitting together as his eyes widened, you shaking your head instead of giving him a verbal answer due to the growing lump in your throat at his undeniably heartbroken expression. 

“We just can’t, Jimin.” You said lamely, your tight grip on his arm contradicting your words as his mouth gaped open at you. 

“Wh- what’s wrong? What did I do?” He asked desperately, causing you to sob harder at him blaming himself for this. 

“It’s not you, Jimin. You’re amazing, you deserve a better person.” You sniffled, Jimin immediately pulling a face of further confusion as he shook his head to dismiss your words. 

“A better- what are you talking about?” He asked, chasing your eyes as you chose to divert them to stare at the blank wall in front of you. 

“You deserve someone amazing just like you, Jimin.” You mumbled, the man sitting there in silence before he shifted off of the bed, making you think you’d finally pushed him away. 

The feeling of his weight being removed from the bed both pained and relieved you, happy for him to be able to move on now, but sad at that same idea. 

But you were taken by surprise when Jimin kneeled on the floor in front of you, forcing you to look at him as he reached up to hold your chin, eyes imploring yours to be more upfront with him. 

“You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met. What are you talking about?” He repeated his question, silence lingering in the air at the words as you sat anxiously plucking the sheets below you with your fingers. 

“Baby.” He called for you, his hurt tone causing your nose to scrunch up with more tears, his thumbs catching the salty water as his expression became more pained by the second. 

“Let me in. Please, just let me in.” He pleaded with you, voice soft yet firm as he watched you break down in front of him, heart pounding in his chest at the mere thought of losing you from his life because of whatever insecurities you were not telling him about. 

“I’m fucking broken, Jimin. You don’t want to be let in, believe me.” You said, voice weak and wavering from the emotions bubbling up in your throat, shaky from the nights of no sleep you'd gotten in the last week. 

“Yes, I do. I’d accept all of you if you just gave me a chance.” He gripped your hands with his, intertwining your fingers to give a reassuring squeeze.

Staring at him, you did not know what to say. Nobody had ever pushed back on your walls like this. They accepted it, moved on, and lived a better life without you in it. You just wished Jimin would do the same.

But he was fighting you on it. Fighting you on something you didn’t even want to do in the first place. 

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. And that fucking terrifies me.” You explained shakily, concentrating on the feeling of Jimin’s palm running up and down your arm. 

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, either. It’s new, of course it’s scary. But I care about you, I want you, I miss you. I don’t want you to shut me out.” He said softly, his honeyed voice soothing you enough to make eye contact with his gentle brown orbs. 

It was silent as you stared at each other, fear in his eyes and the same reflecting in your own. Studying his features, your heart twisted at his uncharacteristically dark circles, realizing he was probably running on the same amount of sleep you were at the moment. 

“I don’t know where to go from here.” You sniffled, Jimin tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as his glassy eyes stared back at you. 

Feeling confident enough to stand from the floor and sit beside you on the bed, he let you guide him up against the headboard, resting your backs on it as you let out a sigh.

“Stop pushing me away. Stop running from love.” He responded, his words sounding so genuine that you nearly burst out into tears again. 

Instead, you wrapped your arms around his neck, placing your temple on his shoulder as his arms encircled your torso. 

“I want to be with you.” You admitted in a hoarse whisper, head throbbing as you rested your weight on Jimin, body giving out in exhaustion as he held you to him, delicate as if you’d break. Hell, maybe you would. 

“Me too.” He said without missing a beat, eagerness evident in his tone as you let your aching eyes fall shut. 

“I just don’t know how.” You sighed, the man humming in response as he threaded his fingers through your hair, rubbing your scalp soothingly as he pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head. 

“We can figure it out together, okay? I don’t want to throw in the towel. Not without at least a little bit of a fight.” He joked, the heavy mood in the room being lightened a bit at the sound of your exhaled laugh. 

You lifted your head to look at him, opening your eyes to meet his own in the dark room, barely able to make out his features as the sun must have gone in behind the clouds outside your bedroom.

“I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into, Jimin. I’m a mess. If you want to run, go now.” You spoke seriously, one corner of the man’s lips lifting as he bit down on his cheek, a habit you’d picked up early on as behavior he exhibited when he was hesitant to say something. 

“Listen, I’m a mess too. This is nothing.” He reassured you, your eyes studying his features as he seemed to express a vulnerability you hadn’t seen before with him. 

“Trying to break up with you because of my own baggage and insecurities? That’s nothing?” You asked with a humorless chuckle, causing the man to reach out for your hand, sighing out a breath of relief when you let him lock his fingers around yours again.

“Well, I guess that in itself is something.” He shrugged, shuffling to hover over you as your red eyes met his. 

“But I will always fight for you. You’re worth fighting for.” He said firmly, your eyes becoming glassed over again before you picked your head up off the pillow to catch his lips in a kiss, your palms sliding to the back of his neck as his plush lips worked over yours. 

Sensing your emotions, he pulled back only slightly to press his lips over your closed eyelids, the tender action causing your frown to deepen as you gazed up at the sweet man. 

“I’m not going to leave you. Whatever’s been done to you in the past, I’m not a repeat of that. I would never do anything to hurt you, I promise.” He said softly, his words seemingly making your heart alive again as it began to pound rapidly in your chest. 

And with that, you threw caution to the wind. Even if he broke your heart, you couldn’t stop that from cutting your experience with him shorter than it had to be. 

Because Jimin was the softest, sweetest, most lovable man you’d ever met. He showed time and time again that he cared about you, that he wasn’t like the others. And to give him up just because of some bad past experiences was just not worth it. 

“I trust you.” You whispered, almost scared to let the words fall from your lips, but relieved when you saw the wide smile on Jimin’s face. 

“I trust you, too.” He said softly, tracing his finger over your cheek as he leaned down to kiss you again, laying down beside you to spoon your body with his, pressing his lips against your shoulder in a soothing action. 

Laying in his arms, you felt more at peace than you’d felt in days. Being back in his embrace, you felt like you could breathe again, easily falling into much needed sleep with his warmth pressed to your back, his arms looped around your body as he pressed tender kisses to the shell of your ear. 

Jimin was your home. And it felt so good to be home. 

#bts #bts writing #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts imagine #bts scenarios #bts scenario #bts angst #bts x reader #bts member x reader #park jimin #park jimin fanfiction #park jimin imagines #park jimin angst #park jimin x reader #jimin #jimin writing #jimin fanfiction #jimin imagines #jimin angst #jimin x reader #writing #fanfiction #angst #x reader

[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding XVI

Part I - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Part XIII - - - - Part XIV - - - - Part XV

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

Masters Aerdo, Koon and Nu lurched forward in distress as Obi-Wan unceremoniously slammed his mental walls into place.

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” He reassured them, smiling weakly and rubbing his temples.

“Cutting yourself off so abruptly from the force after a meditation that deep is dangerous,” Master Aerdo said, alarmed. “Please endeavor to be more gentle with yourself, Master Kenobi.”

“Of course, I simply thought it would be be best to allow for some, ah, uncertainty with my retreat to counteract my... necessary indiscretion.”

“Uncertainty!” Plo scolded. “If I hadn’t been in same room as you I might have thought you were dead!”

“Well, yes, that’s rather-”

Vokara Che burst through the door, followed closely by Bant Eerin.

“PLO KOON! WHAT IN THE GALACTIC CORE HAVE YOU DONE TO MY PATIENT!”

Master Koon took a step back, “Vokara, please-”

“I’m perfectly alright, Master Che,” Obi-Wan interjected, “Master Koon has helped me beyond what I can ever repay. I- Oh dear. You all have.” Obi-Wan looked around, guilt creeping into his voice. “Oh. OH. I am so sorry for what I must have put you all through. I- I assure you, it wasn’t what it looked like. Thank you so much for all you’ve done to save me from...well, my own foolishness, I suppose. Oh that must have been- I deeply apologize for the inconvenience I’ve caused.”

Master Che took a deep breath. “Your good health is repayment enough for whatever debt you feel you might owe. May I take your recent...reaching out to mean that you have begun to regain your sense of where and when you are and no longer feel the need for more...drastic means of escape? Alarming raising of shields notwithstanding?”

Obi-Wan winced. “I am...still confused on a number of points, I admit. But I’ve cleared up most of my important doubts. Its... 7957 by the Centralized Republic Calendar. I’m in the temple Halls of Healing on Couracant. Everyone in this room is a fellow member of Jedi Order.” Obi-Wan hastily wiped away a few tears forming in the corners of his eyes. 

He cleared his throat as the five onlookers watched with a mixture of sympathy and confusion. “It’s going to be difficult, but I owe you all an explanation. Actually I need to explain a few things quite urgently, but first-”

His train of thought was interrupted by the roiling force presence that proceeded Mace Windu’s entrance. Mace paused at the foot of the bed, eyeing Obi-Wan critically as everyone else shuffled slightly out of the way to the edges of the increasingly crowded room. 

“Master Kenobi. You’re looking better.” He finally said.

“I’m feeling better. You really can’t imagine. I’m sure you have questions, but first I must insist- ow!” Obi-Wan jerked back, startled by the sudden rap of a gimer stick on the side of his head.

“Master Yoda!” Che and Aerdo scolded as the Grandmaster suddenly appeared on the nightstand to get a better look at his troublesome great-grand padawan.

 Vokara actually grabbed the wizened elder with both hands, lifting him by the armpits and chastising him like a misbehaving youngling. “That is not an appropriate greeting for any of my patients. Shame on you.”

“Patients, hmm? Shame, shame indeed.” Yoda muttered, dangling in the air. “Gone, my patience is. For making us think he had joined the force too early, shame indeed on Obi-Wan.” 

Obi-Wan bowed his head. “My apologies, grandmaster. I had strong reason to believe that I was trapped in a hallucination. I will explain everything but first we really need to comm-”

“Your suicide attempt, I was not referring to, no. Do such a thing in your right mind, I know you would never. Concerned, we were, of course. Halfway fake your own death, the first thing you did was, after all this! The reason I am hitting you, that is! Too old for this, I am!” 

“I understand, and I had reason for retreating so suddenly. Which I will be happy to explain. But first we really need to do damage control and contact-”

- - - - -

“ANAKIN! Anakin, what’s wrong!” Padme shook her husband’s shoulders as he knelt, collapsed on the floor.

“It’s- Obi-Wan” he choked out. “He was here! He was awake and alive and then he just- stopped.” 

“Oh force. You don’t mean he’s-”

“I don’t know. I can’t sense him. I don’t know.”

“Go. And when you find him, please comm me to let me know if-”

But Anakin was already gone.

- - - - -

"Oh...hm.” Master Tiin shuddered slightly.

“Sir? Is everything alright?” Captain Rex asked.

“Does this have something to do with General Kenobi’s illness?” Boil called out anxiously. A low murmur rippled through the mixed meeting of high-level strategic and logistical officers. 

“His- force presence grew rather strong for a moment. I would have to contact the temple to-”

“He’s dead.”

“Master Krell!” Saesee Tiin chided as the room recoiled in horror. “We don’t know that.”

General Tiin addressed the anxious room, “His force presence did cut out abruptly, but there are a number of explanations for such a thing, and jumping to the worst case scenario prematurely does us no favors.”

“Perhaps we should pause the briefing while you contact the Temple, sir.” Commander Cody offered stiffly.

“Out of line, Clone.” General Krell said, sneering. “Regardless of the status of your former General, we depart at 22:00 hours this evening. This briefing will continue. Interrupt with such a meaningless and insubordinate suggestion again and I will have you put on review for decommissioning.”

“Yes, sir.” Cody replied.

“That’s enough, Master Krell. I realize tensions are running high but please control yourself.” Tiin sighed. “We do need to finish this planning session. I apologize for the disruption, everyone. Now if you will all turn your attention back to map 3a of the Ghost Nebula...”

Command training included modules on compartmentalizing unhelpful emotional responses in order to focus on tactical information, so that’s what Cody did.

- - - - -

“If you have some Sith-related intel to divulge, I think it might be more appropriate to contact the rest of the council first, Master Kenobi,” Mundi said, discarded fluid drip awkwardly jabbing him in the side . 

“I agree, but trust me, first, someone really needs to tell Anakin I’m not dead. If you don’t want to do it, I will,” Obi-Wan announced, trying to get up. 

“You’re not going anywhere,” Bant snapped, pushing him back into bed.

“I- Oh Bant, It’s- some things are fuzzy, but you were one of the medi staff who came to my quarters after I...”

Bant glared in answer. 

“I am so sorry, again I-” 

“Obi-Wan, try not to worry too much about apologies right now. The important thing is you have people who care about you and we are all pleased by your renewed vigor for life.” Healer Aerdo interrupted, maintaining a death grip on Yoda while Che fussed over Obi-Wan’s vital readings. 

“I’ve commed Skywalker but if he’s acting as I suspect, he’s not checking messages” Master Windu said from his place in the corner.

- - - - - 

A Chiss Padawan leaned over to whisper to her Master as the mental flow halted unceremoniously. “Master, you don’t think...”

“Is something wrong, young one?” Chancellor Palpatine called out, smiling warmly at the young apprentice and drawing all eyes in the sub-committee meeting to the cloaked pair standing watch at the door.

“Ah, no, Supreme Chancellor, thank you for your concern. We simply observed a minor disruption in the force,” Her Tholothian Master replied smoothly as the padawan attempted not to fidget. “I’m sure the Council will contact us if it’s anything worth reporting to the Senate.” 

The meeting continued but more than a few senators spent the remainder of the session discretely swapping messages speculating on what could have ruffled the usually silent and stoic guardians. 

- - - - -

Shouted curses and wailing speeder horns followed Anakin as he raced to the temple. 

I swear to all the gods if he’s alive i’ll never kill anyone ever again I should have been there was no warning in the force please help me if he’s dead i’m going to kill everyone on this planet except Padme and then im going to kill Dooku and Grevious and then

- - - - -

“Master Fisto!” Ashoka said, turning anxiously to the Natuolan Master as Obi-Wan’s presence evaporated. “Do you think Master Kenobi is alright?”

“We’re quite a distance away,” Kit replied soothingly. “There’s a very good chance he simply had to withdraw because he was overreaching himself to say hello.” 

Ashoka frowned. “Can we contact the temple to make sure? Please?”

“I’ll send a comm, but we might not get a reply right away. We’re only a few hours out from the planet, so you’ll be able to check in on him yourself soon, alright?”

“Yes, Master.”

- - - - -

“Ah...perhaps we should shift into another room? This one is a little small for the...full Jedi Council. And I wouldn’t mind the opportunity to change out of these patients robes and into something a little more appropriate”

“You’re not going anywhere or changing into anything until I clear you.” Che snapped, elbowing Koth out of the way to jab Obi-Wan with another device.

“If one of the high council is unable to leave this room, than the high council is more than willing to meet here.” Master Gallia said calmly from her perch at the foot of the bed.  

“Well I’m not leaving.” Master Nu announced. “I still haven’t gotten the full explanation Plo promised.”

“As a healer-”

- - - - -

Klicks apart from one another, Sith Assassin Ventress and Knight Vos unknowingly shared identical frowns as Quinlan softly gave voice to what they were both thinking,

“What the fuck, Kenobi.”

- - - - - 

“WATCH OUT!”

“Kriff!”

“...Was that Anakin Skywalker? Did The Hero With No Fear just cut us off?”

“Must be some serious business for him to be flying like that.”

- - - - - 

Count Dooku redirected the Invisible Hand; his plans for Kiros would simply have to wait. Sidious might prefer the Umbaran seige to be a long, protracted affair rather than a decisive win one way or another, but if Tyrannus’s suspicions were correct, than the time for kowtowing to the Sith Master might be near its end. Sidious had long underestimated his Grandpadawan. He suspected that whatever play was going on was less the act of a new player and more the opening move of an experience one now shifting his attention to another arena. 

The ‘attack’ was likely a deliberate ruse to allow Kenobi to slip into the shadows and finally begin addressing the hint he had provided on Genosis long ago. Now, more than ever, Dooku needed to manage Separatist affairs strategically. Kenobi’s search into the force and subsequent rapid withdraw was too deliberate to be anything but the first steps of a larger plot. 

- - - - -

“Ah, Master Mundi?” A young apprentice healer asked the Cerean Master guarding the entranceway to the wing. “There’s a small crowd gathering outside. All very orderly, of course. But they want to know Master Kenobi’s Status. What should I tell them?”

Mundi Sighed. “If they ask, tell them Master Kenobi’s wellbeing is protected under healer client confidentiality and the highest security clearance.” 

Ki-Adi paused. “If Anakin Skywalker, arrives, just- send him this way, as you would a Council Member, understood? Don’t try and stop him.” he added begrudgingly.

“I see.” the padawan replied with impressive professional calm, "Thank you, Master Mundi” She bowed and returned to the front.

- - - - -

Maul staggered out of his cave. Kenobi was taunting him now. Kenobi would pay. Kenobi would see. Kenobi couldn’t die before Maul killed him.

- - - - -

A gap opened in the somber crowd as Anakin sprinted through, heart in his throat.

He should have been here there was no warning he should have been there

“Skywalker!” Mundi barked. “Calm yourself!”

Anakin stared at him with wild eyes and the High Master faltered, frightened for a moment. Before Anakin could say or do anything to the council member, Master Windu appeared. “Over here.”

Anakin blurred past him, mind tormenting him with images of nooses and blood and broken bodies and incomplete-

“Hello there, Anakin.” Obi-Wan sat upright in bed, smiling at him and surrounded by far too many Master’s for anyone’s comfort. Least of all the Masters, now that Mundi and Windu were forcing their back in. 

Anakin took in a strangled gasp, “Obi-Wan- you- i thought you were dead.”

Obi-Wan’s welcoming smile faltered. “Oh Anakin, I’ve really put you through a terrible ordeal the last few days, haven’t I? I am so, so sorry- I- I promise I didn’t intend to leave you like that. Come here, I’ll- its going to sound quite impossible but I can explain everything. There’s so much I have to tell everyone-”

Anakin threw himself forward, ignoring Jedi dignity and who he was knocking over.

He heard a tut of disapproval behind him as he embraced his Master. 

“Oh be quiet” Master Koon chided someone. “Honestly, he’s padawan age, have some compassion.”

Anakin decided to ignore that in favor of crying over Obi-Wan for the fourth time in as many days, utterly exhausted. 

Obi-Wan hesitated for a bare moment before wrapping his arms around his brother and friend for the first time in years (at least for the first time where he was aware that it was real and oh force he was really going to have to meditate to fully understand what he had said and done and what everyone had said in response).

“Perhaps we should give them a moment to collect themselves.” Master Aerdo offered diplomatically. Having largely reached their threshold for open displays of emotion, the Council non-verbally came to an agreement.

“You two have five minutes to pull yourselves together,” Master Windu said severely. 

“Of course, Master Windu. Thank you.” Obi-Wan rasped.

The group shuffled out with remarkable good grace, considering the number of inhabitants in the room, or rather remarkable bad grace, considering they were all supposed to be Jedi Masters.

Plo Koon patted them both on the shoulders before filing out. Master Yoda leapt nimbly out of Bant’s arms to land on the nightstand. He rapped them each lightly on the head before darting out with a chuckle. The door clicked shut.

“Master- I- never do that again.”

“I’m sorry Anakin, I promise, I wasn’t trying to die, I have far, far too much to live for. I’m never going to leave you again, I don’t care what else happens but- I’m not going to abandon you ever again, do you understand. Even if I die, I’ll come back and haunt you for the rest of your life, you’ll barely notice the difference, I swear.”

“...Thank you, but please stop talking now”

“Right, of course. I’m sorry. I’m so, so-”

“I love you, Obi-Wan.”

“...I love you too, Anakin.”

Part XVII

#star wars #my au #suicidal misunderstanding au #star wars au no 27 #time travel fix it #star wars au #potentially triggering #suicide references #violent thoughts

[buckyownsmylife]

daddy issues - chapter ix

The one where Ransom doesn’t feel ready to become a father, but he should have thought about it before sleeping with a complete stranger.

When Ransom’s latest one night stand lets him know that he’s going to become a father, he finds himself looking for the qualities he never believed to have so he can become the parent he never got to witness as a child.

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Can’t believe you invited Ransom Drysdale to come to the bar with us.” I rolled my eyes, already used to Ana’s whining, and turned away from the bar to scoop my surroundings. Still no sign of him. But it was early, and he’d warned me he probably wouldn’t be able to get here until at least 8pm, so really, I shouldn’t be looking for him like some sort of lovesick teenager.

I didn’t even know why I was so eager to see him again.

“He’s the father of my child, what did you expect me to do?” That finally had Ana looking away from her shots to glance at my body, perfectly squeezed in one of my tightest dresses, showing just enough cleavage and legs to make it one of my favorite get-lucky items in my wardrobe.

“You’re right. I keep forgetting the reason he’s in your life is because you’re pregnant. Seriously, I was about to offer you a shot and everything!” I shook my head, chuckling to myself at her ways. “I mean, can you blame me? It’s not like you’ve started showing or anything!”

Well, she had a point there. It was also the reason why 1) I had agreed to come out with her tonight and 2) chose this dress to wear. I had to take advantage of this body while it was still like this. Soon enough, I’d be too heavy to handle high heels or crowded pubs, not to mention the fact that I would most definitely not fit into these already uncomfortably tight outfits.

“I’ll give you that,” I grinned, tapping her hand teasingly, like I was trying to calm her down. “Sometimes I forget it too. What the fuck is he doing here?” I added as a familiar man made his way into the bar, Ana’s head whipping around to look at where I was staring at a blond, well-built guy, grinning widely at me. 

“Who’s that?” I was too busy grinding my teeth together as I watched him approach, but as he came closer and closer to where we were standing, I knew it was better to let her know who he was right off the bat, so she could help me try to keep him away.

“Steven fucking Rogers.” Ana’s exclamation of surprise was cut short by his arrival, his stupidly handsome face going from me to her as if he waited for a formal introduction. “What are you doing here, Rogers?” My usual irritation at his presence was intensified by a thousand, and I had no idea why. Even he seemed surprised, if his eyebrows raised high were any indication.

As much as I made sure to avoid him, I’d never had any reason to be outwardly aggressive towards him before.

“Same as you, minus the dress.” He made a show out of undressing me with his eyes, and I rolled mine while fighting off the urge to dry heave. Why do men just assume our choice in clothing has anything to do with what we actually intend to do for the evening?

“You know, for someone who’s a university professor, you can be pretty daft.” Unfortunately for me, my comment only made the man towering over my smaller frame start to laugh. “Excuse me, I’m gonna see if Ransom texted me,” I told Ana, while giving Steve a side-eye as I made my way towards the back of the bar. 

There was a door to some sort of patio, and so that’s where I went, breathing in relief at the absence of loud music, as the walls made it pretty muted back here. The nice, cold air of the evening was also a blessing. 

I looked at the purse on my shoulder and considered if I actually wanted to reach out to Ransom. It was only half past seven, there was a lot of time for him to get here and absolutely no reason for me to make myself look like a clingy girlfriend. I just needed an excuse to put some distance between Steve and I.

But just as I thought that my mission had been accomplished, the sounds of the bar became louder, indicating someone had opened the door and joined me out here. Lucky as I was, I could imagine who that person might be.

“C’mon, honey…” Steve’s voice had me freezing every single one of my muscles, as I refused to turn around and look at him. “You can’t pretend to be some innocent little thing while you’re wearing a dress like that.”

God, I wish I could puke. It was times like these where my pregnancy sickness didn’t appear and for once, I wanted it to. So maybe then I could paint his pretty face or at the very least, his expensive shoes in a pale yellow color and erase that smug look on his face.

I didn’t even have to look to know it was there.

Ransom’s P.O.V.

“You know, I could get used to seeing your skin this exposed…” I stopped dead on my tracks behind the couple I’d followed into the back exit. I’d looked for her everywhere ever since I arrived, she had to be there or I would start to think she had been playing a prank on me.

But seeing Y/N didn’t bring the relief I was expecting, because there was a man with her. And I didn’t know why the sight made my blood boil, but it did. They hadn’t noticed me yet, and so I stayed back in the shadows, contemplating just turning around and going back to my car, but I wanted to be sure of what was actually going on.

“It makes me think about what you’d look like naked.” I saw her shook her head, back still turned to the man behind her (and to me), but then his hands reached out and captured her waist, and I saw her flinch. 

“You look so hot, I want to take you right here in this back alley…”

“Steve, let me go.” At the sound of the disgust in her voice, I sprung into action, barely processing my own feelings or noticing how she was squirming in his hands as I hauled his body from hers. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I asked the guy, chest already heaving from anger. Beside me, Y/N looked scared, obviously startled at seeing me, and especially in this state. But I was too far gone to care.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” If I wasn’t so angry, maybe I would have considered the next words that fell from my lips. But my track record wasn’t the best, even in a calm mindset, so not even I believed I would have been able to hold back.

“I’m her man. She’s mine and she’s having my baby, so how about you back off?” A cold hand wrapped around my wrist had me snapping back into reality, looking down to see her staring at me with wide eyes. Oh, shit.

“What is he on about?” The man yelled, this time directing his words to Y/N, who very patiently turned to look at him and say, “Would you care to shut up?” Finally, seeing as he truly wasn’t going to have a chance with her, he decided to leave, huffing to himself the entire time.

“Y/N…” I started trying to explain myself, but she cut me off with a simple shake of her head.

“Not here, Ransom. Can you drive me home?” I closed my mouth and stared back at her, a feeling of defeat filling my chest before I finally nodded. It was the least I could do, after all.

We walked back into the bar together, and together we went to say goodbye to her friend, to whom she very quickly introduced me to. I could barely find it in me to smile at the woman, too busy beating myself up for my behavior tonight.

The drive back to her place was silent. I was wrecking my brain for what I could say to justify my behavior, but couldn’t find anything. I’d failed. I’d apologized to her only this morning, and now I’d already screwed up again.

Why should she want me around? I wasn’t even capable of being a good friend, much less an actual co-parent with her. How could she rely on me if I kept letting my most immature instincts take over?

I stopped the car in front of her building, still struggling with what to say, but to my surprise, she didn’t make any immediate movements towards leaving. It seemed as if she was lost in her thoughts too, and the idea that I might have the chance to change this gave me just the push I needed to say something.

“I’m sorry,” I spilled out, and her eyes darted up to meet mine, slightly wider than usual. “For overstepping. I-I don’t know what happened. I just saw you with him and you looked scared and I… God, you must hate me right now.”

I had to cover my face so I could concentrate, I could feel a headache coming. But just when all seemed lost,  I felt a warm hand over my thigh, squeezing the muscle, calling for my attention.

“It’s alright, Ransom. This is new for me too.” I didn’t know relief could feel this relaxing. Finally finding the courage to look her in the eyes again, I chanced a small smile that she quickly reciprocated, her hand still connecting us.

“I- It was actually really nice to hear your voice when I thought I’d have to scream for help. You did good, you were… you were very good back there. Thank you.” Silence fell between us once again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. For my part, I seemed to have forgotten how to speak. But she didn’t remain quiet for long.

“I just think we have to talk about what you said…” And that was all I needed to jump into explanation mode again.

“I know, I know. I don’t know why I said it. I didn’t mean it, obviously.” And to my surprise, she just smiled, not seeming bothered in the slightest by what I had done earlier that night.

“Believe it or not, I understand. I know I seem quick to jump into conclusions and that hasn’t been a good thing for our relationship so far… but this time I understand where you’re coming from.” It was a good thing that she did, I realized as she let go of my thigh to reach out for my hand instead. Because I had absolutely no idea why I’d said that she was mine. “But we do have to set some boundaries.”

I nodded, despite all of the confusing and conflicting emotions inside of me, starting with the feeling of warmth that appeared to be caused by her holding my hand. “You have to control yourself,” she continued, tone making it clear that she wanted me to give any sort of indication of my understanding of her words.

Deciding to hold back on the comment about how it was impossible, considering just the sight of her made me horny, I opted to go with a more mature, if slightly vulnerable response. “It’s not that easy… I don’t know how to keep those feelings in check. I’ve never felt them before.”

She nodded understandingly, and it didn’t seem patronizing. Before I could further clarify what I meant - or put my foot in my mouth, probably -  she filled in the blanks for me. “The feelings of protectiveness.” My mouth opened as I almost let the wrong thing escape, but I reeled it in at the last second.

“Yeah…” I trailed off. “Let’s go with that.” She frowned before her eyes widened in surprise, but then she started laughing, although shaking her head at my antics.

“You’re too much, Ransom Drysdale.” But instead of saying it in a disappointed tone, she just leaned over the console and hugged me, taking me by surprise. I didn’t even have the time to enjoy it, because in seconds she had leaned back and was unbuckling her seatbelt so she could leave.

“Hey,” I called out for her attention, wanting to get one last word in before she left. “You do look extremely hot in that little dress of yours. I didn’t have the opportunity to tell you before.” She narrowed her eyes at my words, but pursed her lips at the same time, like she was trying very hard not to laugh.

“As charming as that is, I think it’s a bit too late for you to try to flirt with me. I’m already carrying your child, aren’t I?” My smile dropped immediately, heart pounding in my chest with fear at her words.

“Shit, that’s not what I meant, I��” but she cleared all of my worries with a single cheeky wink, making me chuckle in relief as I slumped back against the driver’s seat.

“Thanks. I wanted to take advantage of my body while it’s still like this.” I watched as she gathered her stuff to leave, mind travelling to the future and imagining all of the changes she would go through because of this pregnancy.

I decided not to tell her that just the thought of her larger belly and heavier breasts was enough to get me hard. This version of her body, as hot as it was, wouldn’t be missed by me.

“Oh, hey,” she stopped just before closing the door, biting her lower lip as she pondered over something. “I have a doctor’s appointment scheduled for tomorrow. Would you like to come with me?”

The warm feeling that had appeared when she held my hand spread over my chest as I excitedly grinned at the woman before me, taking notice of the way she smiled back just as eagerly. I couldn’t help but notice there was a little bit of relief in the way she let her breathing escape after my affirmative answer, too.

“Text me the details?” She nodded.

“See you tomorrow, then.”

“See you tomorrow.”

I watched as she got safely inside her building, before finally allowing myself to think back on the events of the night - and particularly, on the way I felt seeing her in that dress, being touched by another man, and talking about the changes she feared she’d see in her body. One thing was perfectly clear to me then: being just friends with the mother of my child would be no easy task.

#my series #ransom drysdale fluff #fluff #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale reader #ransom drysdale reader insert #random drysdale reader inserts #ransom drysdale x you

[hanazou]

𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬.

Genre : Comfort, fluff, romance

Word Count : 1.9K

A response to this request.

— 𝙀𝙭𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙚 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙙𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠, 𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙮𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙣 𝙛𝙤𝙧, 𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙞𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩 𝙝𝙞𝙢𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛?

The days when time slows down is the most dangerous, you thought to yourself, because you can feel your soul rotting away, your will and lack of passion eating your bones, and yet the mind musters no good enough reason to pull your pieces back together.

It is a common story, your own. Your days have been cut shorter and your nights lasted much longer. The desire to sleep the sluggishness away monopolizes your energy, leaving none left to have your meals, diverting your eyes from mirrors so you don’t have to be reminded of your buffering state; one that lacks the passion to even stretch an arm.

You no longer drink morning coffee ever since its sweet-bitter taste is lessened to plain, distasteful bitterness, and the smell of your favourite food no longer makes your appetite moist. The insatiable thought of letting your bed suck in your slothful body washes away each wants and needs.

All those explain why you look the way you do now. You had the chance to make your eyes less saggy and to hide the dark circles, you could have pressed cold spoons and applied some concealer, but it was a chore to even toss aside the blanket glued to your body to drag yourself to the shower. You shouldn’t have slept that long, you barely washed your hair off the filth you gathered from sleeping on the same dusty pillow.

Even the possibility of running into Chuuya today wouldn’t get you on your feet. No, that’s inaccurate—it’s because you might meet Chuuya that you don’t want him to see you in this state. Your beloved won’t leave you alone the moment he sees you like this, which in itself isn’t a bad thing, but how will you explain everything to him? This dormant state, this feeling of wanting space and time to swallow you whole?

Your deepest wish is actually to have him around your arms. Just the thought of silently letting his warmth comfort you soothe you more than any blanket could, but you can’t afford to do that today when you’re in the headquarters looking like someone who’s considering starving themselves to eternal sleep.

Your reflection in the bathroom mirror earlier made your lips twist. You did brush your hair and wash your face and yet, you are still far from looking presentable to the Boss. Unfit to see him, unfit as a mafioso, unfit to be here at all. You did pat down your shirt and pants with a pessimistic hope the Boss will only reprimand you and not send you away on a probation period.

You couldn’t recall when your automated legs brought you here, but here you stand, listening to the Boss briefing you today’s agenda. The explanation feels like hazy flowing clouds of words that blow pass you. You can’t rearrange your wandering thoughts, can’t even feel your numbness away. You simply understand that there are vermins trying to intimidate Port Mafia’s weapons dealer and that the Boss is sending you there to give them a good hit on their faces.

Only when he mentions Chuuya’s name do the wires in your brain spark.

“Chuuya?” You blink.

“Chuuya-kun insists that you will need company, he came earlier than you did to convince me that.” The Boss grins, chin on his hand. “I have the same judgement as to him, but that aside, have you looked at yourself in the mirror today?”

Barbells weigh down your shoulders. That was his way of asking, ‘what makes you think you’re fit for a job today?’ The Boss is the personification of logic. How will he accept your explanation if even you don’t know why you’re feeling the way you do, as if you’re a homeless unemployed bum without responsibilities?

“I’m sorry,” You lower your head.

“Not a problem with me, actually, as long as the job is done.” He smiles. “You can go, Chuuya-kun must be waiting for you somewhere.”

After a respectful bow, you leave through the large mahogany doors. The corridor outside, dark and orange as usual, although narrow, feels too large without Chuuya next to you.

You and Chuuya usually walk out of the Boss’s office together, you smiling at the comfort he gives, discussing what you two would be doing after the day’s job. You feel like a forlorn. An abandoned. A lone traveller whose journey is just to get to the end of the corridor when it was you who tossed away the one whose presence is sure to bring recovery.

“Not going to say hi?” The voice you’ve been craving echoes from behind. You jolt. You’re happy. You want him to bask you in his presence. But you’re afraid. How will he react to your condition?

You debate with yourself, should you turn around and face him? You don’t want to make your worry contagious, but you will have to face him either way for the job. The tips of your feet face opposite directions, unsure where to face, but before you come to a decision, Chuuya appears right in front of you.

Your conscience twists like a sponge when Chuuya’s smile abruptly turns to shock as his eyes lay on you. He gapes your name, not sure what to address, and you turn and walk some distance between you.

“I’m okay, I just slept too much,”

Like a wilting flower, you hide your face.

“Are you kidding? Nobody looks like that from sleeping in too long!” Chuuya’s voice escalates just like you feared. You wish your earlobes can curl in to push away the guilt hearing him makes you feel. Oh, alas, he’s approaching—“What the hell’s been going on?”

“Nothing.” You cower away. “I’ve been feeling slow, that’s all.”

You omit the important parts because Chuuya didn’t sign up for them. He didn’t date you for you to become a lousy, disordered sloth. He wants the smiling and comforting you, not the you who needs him to smile and comfort you.

If you could just push him away for enough time for you to put yourself together—

Chuuya seizes the hand that’s about to put some distance. “You don’t think I can help you, is that it?”

You instantaneously look at him. “I never said that!”

“You know, I hate it when people lie to me, and I don’t like being kept in the dark just the same.” He says.

The way his eyes pierce your conscience makes your head avert away but he clenches your hand tighter. When you glance back at him, slowly that is, his hold softens. “But do you know what I’m feeling right now? Something like self-disappointment. For not noticing earlier that you’re having—those kinds of days.”

“Have you had one?” You ask, interest piqued. “Days when you just, don’t know what you want?”

With a distant look, Chuuya makes a noise of affirmation. He pulls on your hand, taking you with him to a deserted corner halfway at the end of the not-so-dark corridor now. In fact, it may feel a bit... warmer. More comforting, more familiar, more grounding with the way Chuuya’s hand has been holding yours. It’s amazing how just his hand helps more than sleeping for a whole day does.

When both of you enter the hidden corner, Chuuya’s pace still pulling you with him, he yanks you onto his body. Your body crashes against his and his arms are quick to trap you in him. There’s no room for you to struggle nor any space for your anxiety to linger. Like a strong wind, his embrace dusts away the cobwebs around your soul. His hand crawls to the back of your head to push you down so your face covers his shoulder.

“If I had met you when I was going through what you’re feeling now, you could’ve given me this.” Chuuya’s voice came from behind your head. His chin presses your back, his other hand holding you still against him. “So make sure to do this with me when it’s my turn feeling down.”

You begin to feel his heartbeat, and you wonder, has it always been this therapeutic, having this much influence to thaw your continuously swirling uneasiness? But the thought of letting him do the chore of comforting you doesn’t sit right. You push to put a little distance but his hold around you tightens, trapping your arms at your sides.

“Not yet. Just another 30 seconds since we’re on the clock.”

You’re unsure where to look. The floor in front of you? His hair near your nose? The material of his coat your hands are touching?

You don’t want to think anymore. No more confusing rationalities, no more questions, not in this position, not when he’s here. You want to feel, to finally accept. So you close your eyes, bring your arms around him, and let your breaths slow down.

How you’ve missed this.

This doesn’t solve problems, you think, but why can you feel your worry melting away?

The pressure on your arms becomes lighter. Has it been 30 seconds? You can put some distance between you and Chuuya now, but not to escape or avoid him. You just want to see his face.

But your vision was suddenly obstructed by something dark. A sharp scent of comfort, Chuuya’s scent, fills your nose. Your fingers graze up and down to figure out what it is. There’s a flat surface connected with the perpendicular one, and the texture feels oddly similar as you take it off.

From the upper sides of your eye, you spot that in your hand is Chuuya’s hat as he pushes it down over your face again.

“I’m lending you the hat this once so you can cover your face for the job, then I’ll stay with you for the whole day wherever you want.” His hand lifts off you. “I can come over, bringing some of my own wine. How’s that sound?”

You adjust Chuuya’s hat to sit properly on your head, liking how it fits perfectly on you as you look at him. From the look on his face, you know he thinks so as well.

“Hey, you know what? You don’t look half bad with it.” He smirks, pocketing his hands. “You can wear it for the whole day, if you want, but just give it back and don’t scratch it.”

“What a nagging man,” You chuckle. “I’m holding this hostage till I feel better.”

Chuuya scoffs. “Hostage? Ha! My hat will be the one making you feel better.”

“It’s not just because of the hat, silly,” Your cheeks grow from your smile, giving him a meaningful look to thank him.

Chuuya’s eyes widen and his nostrils flare. He turns away, walking out to the corridor, and you follow. “W-Whatever, just keep it with you.”

“What if it’s not enough?” You pat down the hat, liking the way it presses your head. “What if I want more?”

“If you want more, then ask me! Why do you make it sound complicated?”

You lock your arm by slipping it through his. The fabric of his sleeve on your forearm feels natural as you sigh, your temple against his shoulder. “Can I really?” You mutter.

Chuuya heaves a heavy breath and releases it with a long sigh. You raise your head to apologise but he shoves down his hat to cover your eyes again, obstructing your vision. “Of course you can, stupid. I promise.”

You breathe in his scent again, feeling his hat around your head, his clothes against your skin, and his strong stature on your body.

You see light at the end of these kinds of days if he’s with you.

📜 ; like what you read? visit my bookshop!

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[wendimydarling]

Cover the Mirrors

Summary: Amber is earning a masters degree in mythology and folklore; when a handsome stranger sweeps her off her feet, she’s left wondering how, and struggles to keep up with his lifestyle.

Pairing: Vampire!August Walker x OFC (first person reader)

Word Count: 6826

Warnings: Alright, we ready to get into the menu of delights we will be reading today? Okay but seriously, if you are triggered by anything on this list, it is your responsibility to not read this work of fiction. The warnings are as follows: manipulation, subtle exhibitionism, fingering, penetrative sex, mention of oral (male receiving), biting, clawing, choking, blood, male violence, gore, non-con, rape, spitting, fear play, primal play, breeding, mention of death, torture, and potentially cannibalism, if you squint.

A/N: Okay so this story is based off of this thread where @killjoy-assbutt-1112​ gave me a fic title, but I added another twist to it that I’d been brewing for months; I was excited about it but now I’m not. Whatever, I’ll give it to you anyway. Sources for my vampire lore came from here and here. Cover art was made by me; August was drawn by the amazingly talented @cheyentjj​ and has been used with her permission. Thank you so much to everyone who brainstormed with me, and a special thanks to @agniavateira​ for betaing! 

“If you look at the Slavic region, vampire folklore runs rampant. One especially interesting specimen is the Pijavica. The Pijavica (translated “leech”, or “drinker”) was a rare species of vampire— traditionally male, and a powerfully strong, cold-blooded killer. The potential for conception is most commonly believed to be through the incest of the deceased with his mother during his life, though some believe that one can be created through the exceptionally malicious and evil acts of the deceased before his death. 

The birth of a Pijavica is attributed to many different causes, including suffering an “unnatural” or untimely death such as suicide, excommunication, improper burial rituals, or even simple causes such as an animal jumping or bird flying over either the corpse or the empty grave, being conceived on certain days, or being born with a caul, teeth, or tail.” 

I paused my typing, fingers leaving the keyboard in order to brush loose strands of hair from my face. Around me, the baristas of my favorite coffee shop were buzzing like worker bees in an old hive; they were gearing up for the lunch rush, and I realized I’d been here four hours already. 

This place had long been my go-to study zone. It was small; there was just enough hustle and bustle to keep me from descending too deep into the abyss of studying and yet, it had the respect of the patrons that a library does. The owner, Fred, made sure that conversations were kept in hushed tones, courteous to those of us who needed to work in noise instead of quiet. 

“If ya wanna be loud, go sit at a Starbucks!” He’d huff at those who didn’t heed his warning.

My eyes took in the familiar surroundings as I stretched. An oversized wood-burning fireplace filled the wall next to the vintage cash register; it was sandwiched between two built-in bookcases housing stories of all kinds that were meant to be read and enjoyed. The old stone clackling ran all the way up the wall, and a custom mantle made from an old oak tree that had fallen in Fred’s backyard sat delicately above the firebox. Yes, this shop was magical. It held a special place in my heart, and I’d visited so often that old Fred had deemed the table I sat at as “my table”. It was always kept reserved for me. 

I reached for my coffee without looking; my brain needed more caffeine. I’d spent months on this master thesis, and yet for some reason, the notion of vampires was such a struggle. I didn’t understand the fear of those who lived back then. The origins of bloodsuckers were chaotic, the “treatments” laughable and still, people were willing to kill their own offspring over such nonsensical superstitions. Cold drops of stale roast hit my lips in a harsh reminder that I’d finished my previous dose. I sighed heavily and dropped the cup to the wooden surface of my table. Eyes closed, I laced my fingers around my neck and drew my elbows together to stretch my spine. Coffee. I need more coffee.

“Having trouble?”

A man’s baritone, smooth as whiskey interrupted my thoughts. My body jolted at his leisurely tone, and I nearly tumbled off the chair as my eyes snapped open to view the intruder. Sitting across from me was anything but a man; I was in the presence of divine artistry, two breathtaking orbs of gray-washed sky centered below auburn curls that adorned his perfectly symmetrical face. A sharp nose pointed to his strong jaw, while an amused smirk tugged at the corner of lips that I’m certain could send even a nun to her bedroom for self-maintenance. He wore a crisp, pinstripe suit, the buttons of his dress shirt undone sinfully low, revealing a smattering of additional curls. 

My oversized turtleneck sweater and leggings suddenly felt subpar.

“The name’s Walker,” he mused further, gesturing a large hand toward the empty paper tumbler that was now lying on its side. “What were you drinking?”

“I--I um,” I fumbled with my words, embarrassed by my sudden inability to form a proper sentence. “I had a flat white? With two extra shots of espresso.”

The man named Walker had the cup in his hand and was out of his chair before I could blink; he was already ordering another coffee by the time I managed to process his intentions. I watched him hand the barista a bill I couldn’t see, but by the shocked expression on her face at the man’s declination of the change, it must have been a sizable amount. He sat down at the table again and stared at my chest unabashedly, making it clear he wasn’t just looking but imagining as well.

I should have been offended or felt objectified, but instead I felt drawn into his gaze.

“Having trouble?” He asked again, gesturing this time at my laptop.

“How long were you sitting there?” I blurted out, still too flummoxed to answer his question. Walker laughed and I swear, time stood still. Never in my life had I heard something so beautiful.

“Long enough.”

His reply was short and cryptic, a dismissal of my burgeoning curiosity. The barista chose that moment to bring two orders of coffee to the table, offering both of them to Walker by mistake. I took in her awestruck countenance, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that if my face matched hers I’d sink to the floor and die of shame. That notion shook me from my stupor and I was finally able to address his question.

“It’s my master thesis,” I explained, taking a sip of the scalding liquid he handed me. “I’m a History major, with an emphasis in mythology and folklore.”

I took another sip and tapped my phone, large numbers greeting me on the screen. Numbers that told me I was extremely late.

“Oh my god I have to go, I’m so sorry!” I apologized, scrambling to pack my things. In my haste I knocked my drink off the table. Resignation sunk in deep, submission to the knowledge of further humiliation at the impending spill. None came however, as Walker caught the drink in his hand before it crashed to the dark tiles.

“Thank you,” I murmured, gawking at him in bewilderment. Who was this man?

“It’s my pleasure,” he said, standing to help me collect the remainder of my books. “I’m interested in your thesis, could we perhaps discuss it over dinner? I don’t want to keep you from your next engagement.”

“I—” I stared at him, his face open and inviting. I’d been asked out before, but never this abruptly, and never by someone who looked and behaved like him. It sounded like an adventure…or a good story to tell on girls’ night at least.

“You know what, sure. Why not?”

I scribbled my number onto a napkin and slid it his way, grabbing the rest of my gear and heading toward the door. As I pushed against the hard metal, Walker’s large fingers caught my wrist, wrapping around it like ivy wraps around a lamppost. They were cool to the touch and yet somehow, my entire body immediately felt heated.

“We forgot first names,” he chuckled, “I’m August.”

I grinned sheepishly, pulling my arm from his surprisingly firm grip. The clank of the metal door handle resonated with the introduction I threw over my shoulder as I left the warmth of the shop and the handsome man behind.

“Amber.”

It took August a full week to call me. I felt like a fool; Did I leave on a poor note? Had I offended him somehow? Did he simply decide to change his fucking mind? I was kicking myself for saying yes; how could I have agreed to go on a date with a complete stranger? Now that I was no longer in his flustering presence, I began to see reason again. I knew nothing more than this man’s name, and the fact that he was more than likely rich. He could be a cold-blooded killer for all I knew, and I had every intention of telling him off.

I was in my apartment when he called. Still stuck on my thesis, I was currently unable to determine how best to explain the theory behind the sexual appeal of vampires. In my frustration, I hung upside down over the side of my bed, reading a book that discussed the many different works of literature revolving around vampirical romanticism and hoping the blood rushing to my brain would help me ascertain how to go about my explanation. The book was written by two authors who essentially argue the whole time, one of them convinced that the human fascination with vampires stems from the cannibalistic nature of bloodsucking or that it alluded to other bodily fluids such as semen, whereas the other stood firm in his belief that it held a much simpler cause; it was nothing more than the presence of oral fixation and sadism that caused the fantasy to plant its seed.

My phone vibrated but I ignored it, too engrossed in my book to be bothered with answering. I was so close… the answer was right there, it just continued to escape me. It wasn’t until my phone vibrated a second time to notify me of a voicemail that I put the pages down and picked up the electronic device.

The moment I heard August excusing his delay in calling to a work emergency, I immediately sat up and hit redial. There was something in his voice that made my heart quicken and my pulse race; it made the hair on my arms stand on end. I regretted sitting up so fast as it rang, the blood surrounding my brain draining quickly into the rest of my body. August answered on the second ring.

“Hi, Amber.”

“I—hi.”

I rolled my eyes then flinched in pain, congratulating myself sarcastically on how pathetic that response sounded with a slap of my palm to my forehead.

“Please, allow me to apologize again for waiting so long to call,” August insisted, seemingly unphased by my lack of vocabulary. “I still intend to take you to dinner, that is if you haven’t written me off completely.”

“No it’s fine, I totally get it,” I assured him. I had completely forgotten my earlier annoyance. He had explained it after all, and it could happen to anyone.

“Perfect. I’ll send a car tonight then, at seven. Wear something revealing please, I wasn’t able to see that pretty little neck of yours last time.”

My insides shook with an unexpected pang of shocked arousal at August’s request. The sexual confidence saturating his tone had me instantly reduced to nothing more than a deep desire for him to drag me to my knees by my hair. Why I wasn’t offended by the dominantly abrupt way this man spoke to me, I’ll never know. I put on the best flirty air I could manage in my stupor.

“I think I can manage that. Might have to charge you though.”

August laughed for the second time since I’d known him and I smiled, proud that I’d caused such a melodious sound to grace this earth.

“I like your spirit; you’re gonna be fun. I’ll see you tonight.”

“I—okay bye,” I managed to say before he hung up. I stared at my phone stupidly, as though I thought he was going to call again. Instead, the large clock face glared up at me like it always does, an ever present reminder that I live on a different plane of time than the rest of the world. I fell back on the bed, thinking about the man named August.

He likes my spirit? I hadn’t really shown him much, I’d been unable to do anything but stammer and trip over my words like a schoolgirl would when confronted by the cutest jock at school. What could he possibly see in me? The woman I truly was, the one I knew was underneath the bumbling idiot finally answered me. You’ve got three hours, Amber. Show him what you’re made of.

Resolve set in, and I bounced off the bed and walked toward my closet. For whatever reason, he’d chosen me, so I was going to let my confidence in that thought override all the self-doubt that was threatening to surface. I pulled my favorite dress from the hanger and set out to work. He wanted revealing? Then revealing is what he’d get, but I was going to do it my way.

The car was punctual, though I was less so. I scrambled to put diamond studs in my ears while being driven to some unknown location, my nerves making my hands shake. Once again, the notion that I could be driving to my death crept up my spine, but I brushed it off. Rich men send cars, it’s what they do. And I am an intelligent woman, I wouldn’t let myself be put in that situation.

Would I?

Touching the final stroke of Red Wine lipstick on my lips, I pulled my loose curls over my shoulder to expose my neck and put my things in my vintage black clutch, staring out the window at the ancient building that housed the most expensive club in town. I was suddenly grateful I’d chosen such a fancy dress. I fidgeted with the soft hem of the sleeve at my wrist, drawing it back and forth between my fingers while I waited for the driver to come to a stop.

I saw August there waiting, looking sharp as ever in another expensive three-piece suit, buttons undone just as low as the first time. This time however, I felt much better matched to his attire, and my confidence rose right next to my excitement. August came down the steps to open the door and I took his hand, hiking the burgundy velvet up to my thigh so that I could exit the car smoothly. The heavy fabric dropped to the ground the moment I freed it from my grasp, allowing August to study how I’d chosen to honor his request.

August drank in my covered form, taking in the way my dress hugged my curves and accentuated what it needed to. His eyes darkened as they lingered on the single large triangular section of bare skin that started at my shoulders and came to a point between my breasts, and I watched his tongue dart out of his mouth softly. He looked downright hungry. August stepped closer, fingertips grazing the flesh on my collarbone before he fastened his grip onto my nape and inhaled the hair at my temple deeply, pressing his lips to my ear.

“You are simply mouthwatering,” he growled, low and possessive. His hand released my neck and slid down to the small of my back, sending a shiver down my spine. My insides quivered at his touch, fragrant drops of dew pooling rapidly in the flimsy lace that guarded my mound from potential intruders.

“You wanted to see my ‘pretty little neck’,” I teased his earlier arrogance, lifting my skirt to traverse the steps leading inside, “I thought I’d frame her for you, give her the spotlight.”

August cocked an eyebrow at me in amusement, sensing my challenge. His fingers dug into my hip a little harder than necessary as he guided me through the establishment with nothing more than a nod to the hostesses. Apparent jealousy marred the face of one, and I thought I saw a hint of worry on the other. We were gone before the emotion could register in my mind.

I was escorted to a private booth in the upstairs of the establishment. While the first floor was crowded and full of people, the second floor was empty; August had requested it for our use alone. I could hear the hum of nightlife below, the haunting, non-lyrical melody of a soft alto wafting over the balcony as we walked past, the whispered promise of an enchanting night. A few tables and chairs were strategically placed on the floor, hugged by back-to-back rounded booths on either wall. Light ethereal curtains hung on either side of them, offering privacy from the guests who would typically sit in the next box over. August led me to the corner booth nearest the balcony so that we could look upon the stage if we chose.

“Our table, milady,” he joked, leaving a wet kiss on the back of my hand. Though the charade was seemingly in jest, it could not have been farther from it. His piercing eyes never left mine and I gasped at the feel of his brazen tongue on my skin. The suggestion of what he could do with it hung thick in his gaze, lacing the air with the succulent first tendrils of decadent tension. Playing along, I took a sharp breath and curtsied. I stayed low as August stood to show him the appeal of my figure at this angle, tilting just my head to look up at him. He stood there, head held high like a king, and the smile I received at my display was downright sinful.

“What a treat you are,” he murmured, cupping my chin briefly. My breasts swelled as I stood, consenting August the claim to chivalry by way of settling me into the alcove. He swept my hair over my shoulder again, trailing a single finger down my neck in admiration before taking his own seat. My insides were nothing but a pile of kindling, and every touch he gave was a spark that threatened to ignite the dry leaves into a burning flame of need.

The courses came and went just like those moments, every phrase emphasized with physical intimacy of some kind, whether it be just a gossamer brush of his fingers on my ear or an intentional grasping of my hand. He went as far as to boldly stroke the back of his knuckle along my cleavage, making me dizzy with desire. Each touch was avaricious—like he owned me—and I had zero qualms about letting him.

We ate our fill, but August made no move to leave the comfort of our small corner. With the noise of people below dulled by the far reaches of our seclusion, it was easy to converse. I told him more about my master thesis and the Pijavica, how they could read minds and enjoyed the power of persuasion, how they were impervious to all but decapitation, and how only their offspring could kill them. He listened intently, sharing tales of his own career. It was how I discovered that he was a doctor.

“I don’t practice anymore though, I prefer to study and learn. Specifically, I’m attracted to tears.”

“Tears?” That struck me as odd; it wasn’t often you came across someone who had such a unique field of study. “Why tears?”

August swirled the whiskey in his glass and downed it abruptly. He subtly indicated to our attendant for another before continuing his explanation.

“I’ve always had a fascination for the small things, things that people don’t seem to think matter; the mind-body connection, you know? For example,” he brushed a thumb over my cheekbone, “Did you know that the cellular structure of tears looks different based on the type of tear?”

August cupped my neck with both of his hands, tilting my head this way and that, his calm features set in measured focus as he spoke.

“Basal, reflexive, emotional... they all look different.”

I closed my eyes, letting him caress my skin. August’s touch was intoxicating, addicting. Even his scent was an aphrodisiac to my senses. I couldn’t get enough of it, lured ever closer to his sturdy frame, letting him manipulate my body how he saw fit. He nuzzled my hair, his soft spoken words dripping with lust into my ear.

“In fact,” he went on, “Even among those categories they differ, dependent on the stimuli.”

I could feel his breath on my neck, his lips surrounding the pulsepoint in my veins as he spoke, my jaw his destination. A hand snuck under my skirt, skimming along my trembling skin toward the seeping treasure that awaited him at the end of his journey. I spread my legs willingly, inviting him into my deepest of secrets. August hummed as he went on, sending spirals of tingling vibrations through my chest.

“The sting of onions, the sadness of grief… the satisfaction of overwhelming pleasure.”

“August…” I breathed, but my voice was severed as August simultaneously laid claim to my mouth and my womb. Thick fingers penetrated me in the same moment as his probing tongue, and it was in that moment I knew I was lost; August Walker could pull everything from me and I wouldn’t care; I’d want it, need it. He had spent all night teasing me, testing me, manipulating me and filling me with nothing but a desire for more, leaving me empty and wanting. He had succeeded, I now craved him above all else in this world.

August lifted my skirts, hoisting me with little effort to straddle his lap and I cried out in shock. The sound of my sudden impalement on the thick steel of his manhood was camouflaged by the crowd of people below; no one heard the echo of carnal awakening that sang through the air. When had he undressed? I bit my lip as he sank deeper into my core until the salty bitterness of copper and iron stung my chin. August’s eyes fell to the red droplet, darkening until the only color left in his pale irises was the very absence of light. With a hideous growl he ravaged my mouth, tasting every inch of my bruised lips with the hunger of an animal that’s been caged for far too long.

Thrill and terror tangled themselves in my mind, weaving an intricate web of wanton desire inside of me as August took me right there in the booth. Time itself seemed to halt, the room disappeared. Were we still in the club? Was it still the dead of night? Did I still require oxygen to breathe? Or was my life source now August’s touch, the light in my very soul dependent upon his kiss?

I didn’t notice when we left, nor when we arrived at a house that overlooked the city. I didn’t notice the lock on the basement door, or the fresh garden in the yard. I didn’t notice the continual rising and setting of the sun. I didn’t notice when I grew hungry, nor when I grew tired. I didn’t notice, not anything but passion, need, and desperation.

I didn’t notice.

Sleep drained from my limbs slowly. I awoke to black silk caressing my skin, dim sunlight shining through the wall, diffused by a covering of clouds that hung in the sky. It confused me that it was coming through the entire wall, until I realized that said wall was simply one large window, and the room I found myself in was built into the rock of an obsidian cliff overlooking the city. The room was minimally decorated in dark tones that coordinated with the nature outside, save for a striking, golden painting of a woman crying on the far wall. I clearly wasn’t home, and last night’s events slowly returned to the forefront of my mind.

August.

August was, without a doubt, the most attentive lover I’d ever had. Memories of his lips, his scent, his god-like physique that was surely carved from marble entertained my thoughts, returning my mind to the pleasure I’d never experienced in my life. Chills ran up and down my skin, alighting in wonder as my hand drifted to my sex. My fingers found my petals, swollen from overuse, aching in the dull agony of satisfaction. I stroked them gently, soothing the pleasant tenderness, moaning softly as the blood rushed to swell my clit once more, my other hand slipping beneath the silk to join in the heavenly edging torment.

A sharp, sudden sting at the brush of my inner thigh caused me to cry out, my hands snatching away from their play. I sat up, peering beneath the sheets to discover a semi-circle of divots cut into my leg. Is that a… a bite mark? I pulled at the skin and felt the dried blood crack, a small pinprick of new red seeping through the scab. I lunged from the bed to stand in front of the full-length mirror in the corner and look for other signs or markings, but what I found made me gasp.

Bruises peppered my neck, chest, hips and thighs. A few other crescents were scattered amongst them, standing out against the dark patches that shaded my skin. I took a physical inventory then, feeling the soreness in my jaw from being stretched by his cock, the ache of my neck from having my hair pulled, the shaky feeling of muscular fatigue in my legs from being tensed by orgasm after orgasm. I thought I detected a slight sheen on my skin, but I couldn’t tell if that was from the tremulous bliss of a satisfying fuck, or if it was the sweat and oil caused by said satisfying fuck. Either way, I looked happy and content. I grabbed August’s dress shirt from the floor and threw it on as I left the room to explore.

The bedroom led to a hallway, the wall to my left still nothing but expansive glass that showed off the impressive view. On the other side were large, black and white abstract prints, hung evenly spaced against dark panels. To the left of each was a shadow box with an ornate glass vial inside; each bottle was thin, no longer than my palm and differing in design from the others. Tiny, intricate patterns were painted on the outsides in white, blue, and gold, and gold stoppers sealed each one. When I entered the main room, I discovered a curio cabinet that housed at least a hundred of them, and I leaned in to look at how varied each one was.

“Victorian tear catchers,” August’s voice was suddenly behind me and I whirled sharply, startled. He chuckled at my alarm and I laughed with him, enjoying that glorious sound.

“They’re beautiful,” I murmured, turning back to look at the delicate glass. August pulled me against his naked chest, nosing my hair and kissing my neck.

“Yes you are,” he whispered, earning an eye roll from me. August chuckled and opened the cabinet.

“Would you like one?”

“Really?”

I looked at him, stunned. He simply nodded his head in the direction of the vials and I examined them, selecting one that had a white pattern on it that looked like lace.

“Mmm, a good choice. Perhaps I can collect tears of ecstasy for you,” August whispered. The thrill of what he was implying awakened my senses, and I let him lead us slowly back toward the bedroom. I felt like teasing him, so I delayed a bit by asking about the art on the wall.

“What are those?” I pointed to the first print, a cross-hatching pattern that looked like it was made of sewing pins.

“Those are tears of grief,” he stated, stopping in front of each as he walked me gradually down the hall.

“A yawn,” he said of the next, a white background with dark, fern-looking splatters. August traced his mouth along my jaw, his hand dipping beneath the button of his shirt to play with the sensitive nipples he had rediscovered. I keened as he continued shifting us toward the kitchen, struggling to keep my composure. The next print was a much darker gray, and it looked like it was covered in snowflakes.

“Any guesses?” August asked, mouthing my earlobe in tandem with the flick of his thumbs over my hardened nubs. I whimpered, my knees weak in his lustful embrace.

“Uhm… cold air?” I rasped as he sucked on my neck. August chuckled through his nose, the vibrations of his voice rippling through my chest to connect with his teasing fingers.

“Onions.”

“Yeah okay.”

I tilted my head so that I could kiss him, but suddenly the thought of onions turned my stomach. I lurched, pulling away and gagging slightly. Instead of concern, August smiled knowingly, seemingly unbothered by my retching.

“I see morning sickness has set in. It’s a little early and I had hoped you’d be able to avoid it, but alas, that’s not the case.”

My head swam suddenly, confusion mutilating all thought. I backed away from him.

“Morning what? What are you talking about?”

August took a step toward me, placing a hand on my belly and lacing his fingers in the hair at my nape.

“Women always taste better after they’ve conceived. And I can keep them longer; they make much more blood when they’re host to a fetus.”

I pushed against him, turning away and vainly attempting to process his words. Pregnant? Taste better? Blood? My eyes focused on a card I hadn’t noticed earlier in the shadow box, a single word printed on it.

Bridgette

“Isn’t it ironic,” August mused, tracing my collarbone with a thick finger, “That five weeks ago, you had a chance encounter with the very thing you’ve been studying for months, and now you carry his child.”

The room spun. I couldn’t think; my brain refused to process the nonsense he spoke.

“Five—five weeks?! No that’s not possible, our date was last night!”

“It’s more than possible, sweet morsel. Think about it.”

Bile rose thick and acrid in my throat then, threatening to spill. Memories and time started filtering into my mind, replacing the fog with everything I’d lost. The last puzzle piece clicked into place, confusion all but disappeared and I was left with nothing but the cold, terrifying truth. Pijavica. Vampire. Monster.

I’d fallen into the clutches of a monster.

I did the only thing I could think of; I slapped him as hard as I could and took off through the house, ignoring the sharp pain of a chunk of hair remaining in his hand. My heart pounded in my chest, desperate to be free of this sudden nightmare. I slammed into the front door and grabbed the handle, a strangled sob catching in my throat when it wouldn’t open.

I rattled the door knob, panic consuming every fiber of my being. Suddenly, it wasn’t just my life I was fighting for; apparently there was a life inside of me that needed protecting. The child of a Pijavica that was depending on me to escape, so that he could come back and kill his father. I have to get out. I gave up on the door in anger, spinning around and looking for another way.

“Do you know why I chose you?”

I heard August’s voice again, but he was nowhere to be seen. His voice came louder, penetrating my mind. I have to keep moving.

“It was because of your name; they match your eyes.”

I whimpered at his words, sneaking my head around a corner to survey the living space for some form of an exit.

“Amber has a historical application, you see,” he went on, louder. I dashed over the floor, desperate to be gone from him. Door after door remained locked, and my terror grew with each attempt. Every now and then I could hear August, whether it be a rustle of fabric or the knock of his foot on the wooden floor. The scholar in me knew that it was on purpose, that he was luring his prey, giving chase to his food, and yet my rational mind refused to take charge. I was being led by my flight response, and his jarring monologue wasn’t helping.

“Throughout history, whenever a goddess cried it was typically tears of amber, save for the goddess Freya, who cried gold. You met her in the bedroom.”

His laughter echoed through the dark walls of his lair, and chilled me to my core. It was no longer a beautiful sound, but grating and horrible. I was nothing but a petty human to play with, some toy that he could eat when he tired of me. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I came to the last door. Dear God, please let this one open. To my utter relief, the door swung wide and I was met with stairs. Stairs went down, and we were on a cliff. Down was good. Down meant freedom.

I clambered down the steps and flung open the door at the bottom, stumbling into the room and falling to the floor in horror and fear. There in front of me, was nothing but mirrors. A maze of mirrors, each one showing me my trembling features, mocking me, letting me know just how fucked I was. I turned back, intending to go back up the stairs and try another way, but August’s silhouette stood at the top, preventing me from going back into the house. I heard a scream and realized it was my own.

Scrambling off the floor, I took off into the maze, blinded by my tears.

“Each of those girls made it this far you know,” August taunted. I heard the slam of the door and nearly choked as I ran. “You’ll die in this room, just like they did.”

His nonchalance, his continual unconcern about chasing me, his arrogance that he would no doubt catch me made me so angry. I raced from path to path, growing ever more frantic every time I reached a dead end. I didn’t even know if this room had an exit, I just knew I had to keep moving. I tripped over something as I rounded a corner, screaming when I saw what it was.

“I see you found Bridgette,” August chuckled, and I looked up from the skeleton to see his hideous face marred with a sinful sneer. I gasped and took off again, turning this way and that. Hitting another dead end, I doubled back and ran smack into August’s broad torso. He caught me and held me close as I screamed, ripping his shirt from my body. He spun me around, pinning my wrists between my back and his belly, trailing his fingers languidly over my naked frame in an inspection of his handiwork. My jaw was gripped in an iron vice and August forced my gaze to the mirror.

“Do you see what I see?” he mocked. I could only stare in horror, for nothing but my own terrified expression stared back at me.

August had no reflection.

“Out of all the patterns in the world, do you know which tears are my favorite?” August continued to torment. He inhaled my hair deeply, snaking his tongue along the length of my cheek, tasting the stains my tears had left in their wake.

“Fear.”

I heard August growl as I fought against him, his iron grasp caging me against his cool skin, more of the cursed moisture pooling in my eyes. Glassy drops fell, retracing a new path toward my chin but August just kissed them away, shoving me to the floor when my knees buckled of their own accord. He let go of my hands to fidget with his slacks, pulling me back toward him every time I tried to crawl away as a parent would to a petulant child. On the third attempt he snapped my knee, a scream tearing from my throat in my woeful submission to his desire.

Finally free of his clothes, August lifted my hips, lining his rigid cock up against my sweat-soaked folds. He dove into my treasure without care, forcing his way into the depths of my belly, stretching and tearing my walls until he was fully sheathed. Strong arms wrapped around me again, and I felt two sharp points prick the junction of my neck and shoulder. I cried out and thrashed in fierce protest, knowing that small pinch was just a warning of oncoming pain.

August’s teeth punctured my skin easily, shredding muscle and sinew until they hit bone. I howled in pain as I watched blood drip from the wound, a familiar crescent shape joining its brothers on my body. Searing heat shot through my neck with his first draw of thick plasma; the violent removal of blood causing an intense burn that I felt all the way down to my injured leg. August released my neck and I clapped a hand over the fresh wound.

I looked over my shoulder at him; his head was tilted down, mouth still full of my blood; the lack of a reflection behind him unsettling to my senses. August opened his wicked maw slowly, dark scarlet trickling from his lips onto the junction where my hips met his, run through by his sword. He looked up at me with a nasty grin, bloodstained fangs curdling my stomach. I closed my eyes and turned away as he swiped a hand through the mess. His fingers penetrated my core alongside his cock, deaf to my sobbing objections.

“You’d better open your eyes, pet… This needy little cunt is dripping, I’d hate for you to miss it.”

August emphasized his sick joke by grasping my hair, shoving my head to the floor, forcing me to look once more into the polished glass. My desperate wails for mercy were all that kept me grounded as I watched him thrust, my battered hole be stretched beyond capacity. Nothing but empty space plundered my core, crimson air bruising the very place within me that only just last night had been treated with such tenderness and care. Not last night. His slick fingers found my mouth and violated it effortlessly; no amount of pressure I could apply would break through his tough skin.

“God, you look so beautiful.”

August pulled me up and took to my neck with fervor, latching onto the broken sliver of skin like a leech. The more he drank, the weaker I became, until there was no resistance left within me. I could see the color drain from my bloody face, I could see black slowly creep into my vision, but I was powerless to stop it. August was in charge, he held my entire existence in his hands, and he intended to extinguish it. I closed my eyes again, accepting my fate.

I was going to die.

One of my favorite places to visit is a small outdoor cafe, very near the coffee shop where I met Amber. Mmmm. Amber. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of that tantalizing woman.

She lasted so much longer than all the others, you know. I was able to feed off of her nearly three full months as she hung there in my basement, until the last drop of her tantalizing nectar was finally extracted. She smelled of carraway and saffron, tasted of sweet mulled wine, and with the rich, heady, piquancy of her fertile womb seasoning each sinew, every inch of her opulent flesh begged to be consumed. I must admit, I should have dispatched of her sooner, but fascination overtook my curious mind as her own was consumed by insanity.

First it was freedom she asked for, and then death. Sometimes she would beg to speak to her mother one last time. But by the end, she only asked for one thing.

“Please,” she would whisper, “Please… Cover the mirrors. Just cover the mirrors.”

She asked so nicely, but how on earth could I hide such beauty? Her tears were just as rare, you see. They hold a beauty unmatched by any of the others that hang on my walls. I’ve never seen such a fear pattern like hers; it is more exquisite than the dawn of a misty spring day in the countryside, more beautiful than a woman at the height of euphoria. And they way they sparkled against her skin, lustrous tracks that wound down her temples and through her hair, glinting in the mirrors with each slow rotation of her inverted body... well, it was as if I was living among the stars. Adding her ashes to my garden was such a shame.

I sat at that little cafe, eyes closed, viewing the world through my enhanced scent. Each drop of bitter coffee, the pollen of a nearby bee, the oil in the bike chains of two clumsy humans as they rolled past; each note and fragrance alerting me to its owner. A familiar scent reached my nose and I turned my head sharply, focusing on it.

Carraway… Saffron.

I smiled softly, opening my eyes to greet the woman that now sat at my table. The honey irises that had intrigued me all those months ago met mine and I chuckled low.

“Amber.”

Read on AO3.

#august walker #august walker fanfic #august walker fan fiction #august walker fanfiction #august walker fan fic #august walker smut #vampire!august #non-con tw

[tokyokookmin]

I really loved your explanation regarding vmin it was retable. kanmom51 anon, Im using a little of your ask for @tokyokookmin to explain and narrate a lil about JIMIN shes a JM biased too so I felt that it would be appropriate to ask her.

"Because it’s no secret that JM doesn’t get any praise from the company, the choreographer, and all."

"When it comes to the members it’s a different topic. They hype Jimin up. We have J-Hope constantly praising JM. Jk completely in awe with JM dance. Jin thanking him for helping him rehearse."

"So for me Bighit for some reason doesn’t do anything for JM, no credit in his work, no acknowledgement, nothing."

I felt that every single word that this anon has said is pure truth and this remark deserves much more attention. We all know what's currently going on with JM, the situation is really bad and its getting worse, toxic solo stans are bashing him and they are comparing him to other members from every perspective + even the hate that he's getting bcuz of him "annoying jk" in that memories 2020.

I need you to explain on how a wonderful person JM is. Your impact makes a huge difference on people mindset. tysm keshhh.

Hey there anon!, I deeply understand your emotions. The hate that JM is going through is really bad and I have personally reported those accounts on twt etc. I even took a few snapshots of a tiktok video comment section... I will surely share them some day or another. Well then lets get started! I can't compare J-HOPE TO JM because they are my biases and both of them captivated my eyes, I just can't resist their flawless moves and they make a great dance unit... it would be incomplete without one of them + JK lol.

Most armies would say that JK is the golden maknae or he's the best overall in the team, well y'all took JM for granted, he's capable of doing so many things as well. But before that we need to talk about his dancing skills, I have made one blog about the 3J. Here's the link if you would like to know about their achievements/viral moments https://tokyokookmin.tumblr.com/post/654670945252933632/a-guide-to-the-dance-line..... this blog was mostly just me collecting info's lmao-.

1. DANCE ☝️

Well I found this incredible video from tiktok and I thought that this video would be perfect to describe his contemporary skills. Utmost respect to the creator for creating such a masterpiece!

Jimin Van Fleet Award!

Do we really need to talk about this? We all knew what impact he had given to audience with his remarkable traditional korean fan dance.He is extremely talented, after all he trained in contemporary.

“I received many really big awards today. I sincerely appreciate it, and it was a day when I thought I would like to share it with you with better music and stage in the future. Thank you all for your support. #JIMIN# We have been unclear” #JiminWorldwideLoved 📷📷📷📷

"As emphasized by the ballet dancer, being lifted is not easy, just like in the case of Jimin in the said stage. A strong core, glutes, and chest are vital for the one being lifted." https://youtu.be/3RW91KT3bXw - another review from a japanese dancer.

He is extremely versatile and he can master any sort of genre.He excels in dancing,his moves and fluidity of his body is astonishing they way he moves every tissue in his body to perfectly to complete the cheoreo is just mind blowing, he is truly the embodiment of dancing! Believe me or not, you should pay more attention on his facial expressions... he keeps it graceful. His fingers and angle are on point.

From MAMA 2016 Lie meets Boy meets evil to MMA 2020 black swan 🦢..I wonder what's coming up next.

2. Loving member

Jimin is the member that I connect emotionally to, he's a sentimental person but he just doesn't show it you just have to pay attention on his behaviour and actions. He consoles many of the members and he provides comfort for them. The picture I attached below sets a great example.

1. BTS MAMA 2018... It was a tough year for them. They were close to disbanding, and the members were emotionally drained. My heart sank when I saw hobi breaking down in front of the crowd, you can find tons of fancams but you should take a close look at Jimin. He handled the situation very well and I love the way he gives his subtle touch of love towards the other members.

2. Taehyung grandma death announcement

I don't think that I need to explain the about the situation. Taehyung was really sad and felt guilty as he couldn't mention his grandma name. He broke down and Jimin immediately noticed him and ran towards him and just gave him little pat/huggie.

3. The Final

Even by looking at the picture you can see the comfort. You know that GCF-TOKYO song “there for you’ which implies that Jk means he will be there for jimin but "you gotta be there for me too” which means jimin gotta be there for him too. So yeah, JM just know jungkook well and he comforts Jk pretty well.It was so cute and i wished i was a part of the audience, i would have had a panic attack looking at them being so cute,fluff,intimate ON STAGE . Too bad it’s impossible now .

3.He's a badass [ athletic/ physical ]

Jimin has often talked about his experience in kendo,japanese fencing,Geomdo (검도, 劍道) “Way of the Sword” & hapkido. HAPKIDO: electid korean martial arts .It is a form of self-defense that employs joint locks, grappling, throwing techniques, kicks, punches, and other striking attacks.

https://youtu.be/oUcHghZQxiw - a video you may refer to.

.4.Academic excellence

After Namjoon Jimin has the most remarkable academic achievements in bts. He was one of the top students in junior high and was THE top student in Busan arts high school from ALL the departments. Fun fact Jimin IQ is 128! He was valedictorian too.

"When he was in junior high, he was one of the top students so Jimin's dad thought of enrolling him in a foreign language school. When he decided to go to an arts school, his teachers tried to stop him and were disappointed. He was accepted as the top of his class and attended Busan High School of Arts. He was doing really good. Then he switched to K-pop dancing and decided to be a trainee in Seoul. Teachers also tried to stop him and were disappointed. Park Jimin's life is really something.

36. Our Jimin didn't spend a lot of time preparing for the arts school. He was dancing popping when he decided to go to the arts school. He then learned modern dancing for a little over a year and was accepted at Busan High School of Arts as the top of his class even though he was a dance majorπ TT TT Every member in this group could've been successful at anything. That group is our pride, BTS.

60. Wow! If there's only one dance class, it's really incredible~ It's hard to get a top student from dance department. And it was achieved by a male student and it's Park Jimin TTTT

67. That's what I know too.. I was looking into Busan Arts School before and one class for dance is probably correct. It was mostly music and art classes that I remember. So from Busan Arts School, one out of ten classes and a male student from dance department getting accepted as the top of the class...the percentage is just incredible. I know that the dance class has about 40 students? And male students could be 25:15 or 30:10. Jimin broke through this and became the top.

Namjoon and Jimin really made a huge gamble. They could've went the easier way. Truthfully, if they went their way, they both would have succeeded. But becoming an idol and not knowing what their future will be and BTS not being successful from the beginning must have been really hard for them. But now I'm glad they're successful and they can realize they've made the right choice."

cr @artimitatesjimin

I really respect and idolize him. His personality is unique and its different.He's been through alot. Being kicked from BTS for 8+ times, the members ranking his looks as the last and being called fat and ugly, that's really disturbing. He starved and went on diets just to please the audience and to have a jawline. He works his ass of and he really deserves more. He's obviously cutie,sexy,lovely,sweet guy! He prioritize his career, family and fans before anything. He has absolute heavenly vocals (+crazyyy high notes) and he is the definition of stage presence. PARK JIMIN IS THE STANDARD. Solo toxic fans are definitely going to attack on me but this is the reality.Jimin deserves more and he's such a sweet person. He performs with his whole heart and expresses it wonderfully,he goes all out and each performance comes out from his soul. He loves to perform. I MEAN FOR THE LOOKS, JIMIN IS THE FIRST FOR JUNGKOOK~.

He once even wasn't able to attend THE GRAHAM NORTON SHOW due to his sore muscles.

He went through alot and he deserves the #1 in brand reputation, who doesn't admire his determination?

Each member is unique in their own way. I want no hate or malice on my platform ~

Bits and pieces I collected anon! love ya ~ stay safe.

#bts park jimin #park jimin #tojungkookjiministhethebest #jiminbiased #istilllovejikook #bts jikook #kookmin

[flyinghome-againstthewind]

the best by far is you: chapter 18

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Previous Chapter

For all the things my hands have held, the best by far is you -  Cecilia and the satellite

————

Summary: An exploration of Claire & Jamie’s story if their firstborn had lived and they had the chance to be parents together of wee Faith Fraser before the Battle of Culloden.

Chapter 18

It was half a day’s journey from the port in Le Havre to the Abbey of Ste. Anne de Beaupré. They stayed one night in a tavern before arranging a coach to take them to the abbey. Though the impulse to head straight for Paris to Jared’s home was strong, the abbey was another consideration they couldn’t rule out ‒ and the closest location upon arriving in France.

The carriage rolled to a stop in front of the abbey and the three of them stepped out into the bright sunshine. They approached the abbey with only the faintest flicker of hope. Months on this trail had left them anxious enough not to get their hopes up too soon.

The exterior and grounds of the abbey were lovely ‒ a 12th century Romanesque structure with a large garden that was carefully tended to. Claire’s gaze was inexorably drawn to it as they walked up the path leading to the abbey.

And then she glimpsed a flash of red-gold hair in the sunshine from up ahead in the gardens.

Her breath caught in her throat as her feet refused to move any further. Absently, she registered that Murtagh and Fergus had stilled beside her, puzzled.

Ahead of them, a small red-headed toddler registered the presence of three new visitors and boldly went out to greet them.

Claire’s vision burned with tears. She won’t remember, she reminded herself. And just the same, it didn’t matter. After all those months, Faith was right there in front of her, and she didn’t care if she had her work cut out for her still in winning her child’s heart back.

Her feet moved then of their own volition, unsteady at first and then picking up the pace to close the distance. Claire dropped to her knees as gracefully as she could in her condition and pulled Faith abruptly into her arms as soon as she was within reach.

“Oh, my baby. Oh God. I’m so sorry.” The words spilled out of her in a rush and then it was like a dam breaking open. She clung to Faith and wept.

Claire had her. At last. Faith was alive and real and heavy in Claire’s lap.

She felt the girl squirming in her grasp, her little hands pushing against Claire’s chest, and reluctantly, she let her go. Fergus was at her side, she realized, and he gripped her by the elbow to try and help her to her feet. They managed, a bit awkwardly.

It was only then that she noticed who Faith was with ‒ and who Murtagh was helping ease onto a stone bench after she looked about ready to faint.

“Y-y-y-you’re dead…”

Claire’s gaze flicked over to Murtagh briefly. In all their time searching, they hadn’t given much thought to how they would explain this to Mary ‒ or anyone else who wasn’t Jamie for that matter.

“Whoa, lass!”

The sight of Mary beginning to hyperventilate snapped Claire out of her thoughts. “Easy now. You’re alright.”

She was aware of Faith trying to burrow behind Mary’s skirts, but couldn’t give that her full attention just then. Murtagh stepped aside to let Claire in next to her. “Easy now. Cup your hands together over your mouth and nose and breathe into them. There you go. Try and breathe slowly.”

Faith moved to lean against Mary’s knees, watching anxiously. Claire stifled the impulse to reach for her. God, this was all going so poorly…

“I d-don’t… understand,” Mary said between labored breaths. But she was calming down and a little color was returning to her cheeks, Claire noted.

“I can imagine it’s quite a shock, and I’m sorry for that.” She rubbed Mary’s back lightly. It helped her own nervous state to be able to focus on helping someone else. “It’s a long story, but we’ll tell you it all later. Where’s Jamie? Is he inside?”

“Oh God,” Mary uttered suddenly and she looked as though she might be sick. “Oh I wish you had been here even a day earlier.”

She felt her stomach lurch at Mary’s words and wondered if she would be sick. “What do you mean? Where is Jamie?”

Mary began to tremble. “Th-th-there was an a-accident…”

They had started towards the abbey with Mary leading them, but in their panicked haste, Claire and Murtagh quickly overtook her. Mary shouted directions at them, but it didn’t matter. Once inside, it only took one frantic request to the first monk they ran into before they were brought to Jamie’s room.

Seeing her husband bruised and bandaged, unconscious, Claire didn’t realize at first that she was physically leaning on Murtagh for support, holding tightly to his arm. It was a different time, a different abbey, and yet her mind made the connection to just after Wentworth, when she almost lost him. She felt dizzy and weak.

“What‒” Her gaze took in the leg wrapped in splints and soaked through with dried blood. Whatever had happened, his leg seemed to bear the brunt of it, though the rest of him was covered in scrapes and bruises as well.

One of the brothers had followed them in and was explaining softly in French what had happened and how Jamie was faring. In all the commotion, they attracted a few more residents of the abbey, who filtered into the small room.

She caught enough to understand Jamie had developed an infection, most likely from his leg. Her stomach roiled and her hand came to press high on her pregnant belly out of habit, though it did nothing to help.

It was then her eyes fell to a cut on the inside of his forearm, too perfectly placed and neatly cut to be a coincidence. Still, her mind rebelled against the idea. No, they couldn’t have…

“You bled him!”

Stillness descended on the room following her outburst. She finally tore her gaze away from Jamie to look at the monks for explanation, to Mary who was trembling in the back.

“ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL HIM?”

Just as quickly as the room had fallen silent, it roared back to life with voices raised and overlapping ‒ each person trying to explain or justify or placate. Above them all was Claire, unable to contain her horror. “--already weakened from the accident and trying to fight off an infection and you bled him!”

She was vaguely aware of Murtagh’s tug on her arm, but it wasn’t until he screamed for the rest of them to be quiet that she paid him any attention. Her gaze flew to him, but he wasn’t watching her. And that’s when she heard the hushed, gravely voice of her husband, straining to be heard above the noise.

She caught his fevered gaze and felt her heart tumble in her chest.

“Sassenach?”

Murtagh quietly cleared the room, though in the moment, Claire hardly noticed this kind act.

Claire’s words clogged in her throat but she moved closer to the bed and sat carefully on the edge, taking Jamie’s hand carefully in her own. His skin felt hot to the touch.

“Am I‒ I…” He struggled between labored breaths and his eyes fluttered shut but he seemed to muster the energy to force them open again and find her. “Am I dying then?”

The implication of his words hit her hard, and she shook her head vehemently, feeling silent tears spill down her cheeks. “This isn’t a hallucination. I’m real. I’m here.”

He smiled weakly, his eyes drifting shut again.

God, to find him after all this time and to find him like this…

Murtagh cleared his throat as he re-entered the room. “Ye can save him, Claire.”

It wasn’t a question, but she heard the need for reassurance.

“I’m damn well going to try,” she said as much for her own benefit as for Murtagh’s, but her voice wobbled even as she tried to sound confident. She squeezed Jamie’s hand and brought it to her lips. “I can make a poultice for his infection,” she said with a bit more authority. “And maybe a tea.”

She brushed the hair back from his forehead ‒ faded dark locks with his natural red coming in at the roots. They’d caught on that he had dyed his hair through some of the descriptions they’d heard of him along the way. He must’ve stopped worrying about it once they reached France. He looked ridiculous and she wanted to be able to tease him about it, to see the way his ears turned pink when she did and hear his laugh. Later, she told herself. Get him well.

She pushed herself to her feet and went to examine his leg. Whoever had tended to it had done well ‒ the gash across his thigh had been stitched by a steady hand, and though the wound had become infected, that might not have been avoided even under Claire’s care.

But the bloodletting…

Indignation still fizzled in her veins. He’d already lost some blood from the accident, from the looks of it. And of all the things they could’ve tried to help him once infection set in, this was the worst.

“Where are the children?” she asked suddenly.

“Mary has them.”

“Did Faith see me‒”

Scream like a lunatic at everyone within earshot?

“Nay,” Murtagh said quickly. “She wasna in the room.”

Claire nodded at that. She knew the ground she was on with Faith was shaky at best. And the last thing she wanted was to give Faith any reason to fear her.

“Madame?”

She followed the sound to its source ‒ a frail, kindly-looking monk in the doorway that Claire got the distinct impression was sent in as an intermediary. But behind him stood a stocky figure with black hair and familiar slanted eyes. Jamie’s uncle, Alexander Fraser. Though she’d heard about him, they’d never met even during her time in France two years ago.

“You must be Claire,” he said. His voice had a strange dialect that Claire knew at once to be the result of a born and bred Highlander living so many of his adult years in France. “I must admit it is a shock to meet you at last, given that Jamie told us you were dead.”

“A misunderstanding,” she supplied lamely.

“Un miracle,” said the quiet monk with a kind smile, and Claire decided that she liked him very much, even if he was sent in to placate her.

Abbot Alexander nodded to the man. “This is Brother Thomas. He can assist you with Jamie and bring you anything you need.” His eyes darkened as he added, “It was a terrible shock, what happened. We all want Jamie to be well again.”

She knew this was as close to an apology for the bloodletting as she would get. And that whoever’s call it had been would never be revealed to her. “Thank you, Abbot. I shall be very happy to have Brother Thomas’s assistance.”

  Jamie heard her voice again, and felt his whole body orient toward the sound. Softer this time. Hushed. Bleary-eyed, he looked about and found her right there within reach, though he dared not try to touch her in case doing so would somehow banish the vision of her. No matter ‒ he hardly felt strong enough to turn his head let alone lift his hand.

“Am I dying?” he asked again.

“Not if I have anything to say about that,” she shot back at him, eyes snapping up at his in challenge. He smirked at this, weakly. Even as he neared the end, this part of his soul that Claire occupied and materialized before him was just as fierce and unrelenting as the real woman.

“Do you hear me, James Fraser?” she spoke again, gripping him by the chin as he fought to stay awake. “You do not have my permission to die.”

“Aye, lass…” He couldn’t manage more than that before darkness crept in once more.

  Some time in the evening, Brother Thomas came around with supper for Claire and made her sit and eat. When he tried to encourage her to leave the room for a break and go see the others though, she resisted the idea.

After how she’d found Jamie, she sure as hell wasn’t leaving him unattended.

But at the moment, he was resting and there was nothing immediate that she could do for him ‒ and Brother Thomas swore he wouldn’t leave Jamie until she came back.

With enough prodding and reassurance, Claire left Jamie’s bedside in search of the rest of her family.

She found them in a small library and stood in the doorway watching them. Mary was sitting with them, one hand resting on her rounded belly. She still looked pale and drawn with worry, the poor thing.

And Murtagh had Faith on his knee, bouncing her slightly and talking in a low voice to her. Claire felt her throat clog with emotion, watching the two of them. She knew what that moment meant for Murtagh, having been the one to bring Faith to Culloden three months ago, to hold her again and see Faith’s family restored to her.

Claire stayed frozen in the doorway, a voyeur to this moment, never fully part of it. She had a visceral desire to walk right over to Murtagh and pluck Faith from his lap, to hold her close in her own arms again ‒ oh god, even to look at her and know she was real ‒ and yet that desire was overpowered by one thought that kept Claire in check. That whisper of doubt in her ear telling her that she’d already screwed up. She’d startled Faith out in the gardens and now what did the girl think of her?

She felt the baby kick and her hand went automatically to the spot. Hadn’t been that long ago that Faith was just a little nudge felt from within and now they were nearly strangers to each other.

Fergus noticed her first and raced to her side. “How is Milord?” he asked in a whisper, and she realized her hesitation to join them had come off as being the bearer of bad news.

“He’s alright.” She pulled him to her side and gave him a squeeze. “He’s still fighting.”

“Can I see him?”

She drew in a steep breath, choosing her words carefully. “Well, he’s resting right now, darling. Maybe tomorrow, alright?”

He gave her a half-hearted smile, but she knew she had crushed him. Of course he wanted to see Jamie, but if… if he saw him while he was fevered and weak, heard Jamie’s talk of dying… no, she didn’t want that for Fergus.

He slipped away from her and went to join the others. Claire watched as he bent down to talk to Faith and then as she jumped down from Murtagh’s knee to take Fergus’s hand. Claire’s hand came up to press just below her collarbone where it felt like her heart was splitting open at the seams. To see them together again and slipping easily back into a rapport with each other, as children often did without much difficulty… Her children ‒ Hers and Jamie’s ‒ together again.

The ache was still there for the time that was lost with Faith, the guilt over any unintended pain she’d caused her wee girl. But there was something tender and hopeful in knowing she’d returned Murtagh and Fergus to Faith’s life. They both loved her so, and Faith would know that soon enough. Claire held both things, the hurt and the hope, as she watched Fergus and Faith.

Murtagh saw her then, still standing in the doorway. “Come sit down,” he called out.

She pushed away from the doorway and went in.

  It was later in the night when Murtagh came to check on her and Jamie. With Brother Thomas’s help, she’d made a poultice for Jamie’s leg and also managed a few times to get Jamie to drink some tea for his fever and pain. He slept fitfully, tossing and turning, and the fever hadn’t broken. Every time he spoke to her, it never felt like she was speaking to the real Jamie.

“Take another break,” Murtagh insisted gruffly. “I’m no’ sure all this pacing is good for the bairn.”

Her hand smoothed over the bump. She’d forgotten how everyone treated her as though she was made of glass as soon as the baby was visible. “Baby’s fine. I’m fine.”

Murtagh pulled a face at that and grunted, which she ignored.

“Ye’ve hardly gone near the lass since we’ve been here.” He said this bluntly, and Claire blinked quickly against the burn of oncoming tears. She’d hoped no one had noticed. “She’s awake still, wi’ Mary. Go an’ put the lass tae bed, Claire. I’ll sit wi’ Jamie.”

She chewed the inside of her lip, considering. With Jamie, she knew how to care for him ‒ a little too well, the damn fool. But Faith…

“And if anyone tries tae bleed him, it’ll be the last thing they ever do.”

She chuckled softly at this and her heart swelled with affection for the old grump that loved them all better than they deserved. “Thank you, Murtagh.”

He grunted and dropped into the chair at Jamie’s bedside.

“And where’s Fergus?”

“They gave him a room and he’s gone tae bed.”

“Thank you,” she said again, patting his shoulder as she moved past him, “for everything today. I didn’t expect… well, it’s been a shock, with Jamie. I couldn’t have managed without you.”

Without looking at her, he reached up and squeezed her hand where it rested on his shoulder. “Get some rest, a nighean.”

“I won’t be able to sleep. I’ll be back in an hour or two.”

“Alright,” Murtagh said with a resigned sigh. “Go and see Faith then and dinna hurry back. I’ll find ye if anything happens.”

She slipped quietly out into the hall and turned a corner leading to more sleeping quarters. She knew where Mary’s room was, but she went first in search of Fergus. He was still awake when she found him.

“Your own room, hmm?” She sat on the other small bed across from his, looking about the room. “Haven’t had that luxury in a while.”

Fergus’s mouth twitched slightly, like he was trying not to smile. “If you’re scared, just say so and you can stay in here, Milady. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

She grabbed the pillow on the spare bed and flung it at his head, relishing the sound of his laugh as he ducked and covered his head. Cheeky little arse…

But when his head poked back up, the moment of teasing had passed. She stood and dropped a kiss to the top of his head. “Just wanted to see you before you went to sleep. Have sweet dreams, love.”

“Goodnight, Milady.”

He caught her hand as she was turning away, and gave it a tight squeeze.

“I love you, my boy,” she murmured.

“I know. je t'aime aussi.”

Mary’s door was open and there they were by the fireplace, Mary sitting in one chair and Faith leaning against the other one. She had something small in her hand, some kind of toy, and alternated between moving it along the seat of the chair and turning to talk to Mary.

Faith glanced up and noticed her. Claire forced a smile and took that opportunity to enter the room.

“Claire! Oh, come sit. Here, Faith, let’s make room.”

Faith shuffled backwards until she bumped into Mary’s knees, staring curiously up at Claire as she took the other seat.

Mary asked about Jamie and she gave her the same update she’d given Murtagh and Fergus and any one of the monks who had poked their head into Jamie’s room to ask about him.

“I am sorry for startling you earlier,” Claire added. “I hope it wasn’t… well, I hope you’re feeling alright now.”

Mary exhaled a smile. “You’re actually the second person I’ve thought was dead to show up out of the blue, and both of those instances happened in the last few months…” Mary shook her head at that, and Claire realized with sinking dread that it had been Jack Randall she referred to. She’d all but forgotten… but no, she could see now that Mary didn’t want to discuss that. “Come to that, both times the message came from Jamie that you and‒ and‒”

“It was a terrible misunderstanding,” she said quickly. Firmly. “Jamie had no idea I was… alive.” Still had no idea, really.

Claire took a deep breath, unsure what Jamie might’ve told Mary already. “We knew that we couldn’t win. We knew if we fought the Redcoats in our current state, there was no way the Jacobites would be victorious. So we had Murtagh bring Faith to us and we were going to run. But there was… some confusion on that day. It was chaotic and we were desperate to get out of there. But I got separated from Jamie and Faith. And I think Jamie thought I was taken by the Redcoats and killed. He didn’t lie to you intentionally. He just didn’t know the truth.”

Mary’s gaze drifted towards the fire, still shaking her head slightly, though Claire got the impression it was more to do with the improbability of all that had occurred than any sort of ill feelings. And Claire didn’t blame her one bit.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Mary added shyly. “And that you’re here.” Her hand dropped gently to Faith’s head, stroking her soft red curls in a familiar way. Her gaze flew to Claire suddenly, eyes wide. “Oh I’m so stupid! You’re here for Faith! Of course you are. And here I am chattering away with you.”

“No, no it’s alright,” Claire said swiftly. She had come here for Faith, but… “I did want the chance to speak with you, too. To explain.”

Mary breathed a sigh of relief but she still smiled politely and moved to stand. “She’s slept in here since the accident. You’re welcome to stay in here as well. But I’ll‒ well, I’ll make myself scarce for a bit. Give you two some time together.”

She moved a bit slowly, her much smaller frame balancing a larger belly than Claire, but Mary extricated herself from the room as swiftly as possible, closing the door behind her.

And then it was only Claire and Faith.

With the sound of the door closing, Faith seemed to realize then that no one she knew was with her. Just Claire. Just this odd woman who had wept hysterically at the sight of her earlier today. Claire had already been preparing herself for this ‒ No more tears. Not from herself, at least. She wouldn’t scare Faith again.

Faith stood stock still by the chair Mary had vacated, no longer wide-eyed with curiosity. Instead, she seemed to search the room for something familiar. She made a beeline for the door, which she wasn’t tall enough to open.

“Lovey, it’s alright…” Claire moved to her feet, but hesitated to take a step further. But when she stood, she drew Faith’s gaze and felt something wrench in her chest. The panic in the tiny girl was palpable. “I know you’re frightened and you don’t remember me, but I’m‒”

Faith’s expression pinched with worry and she breathed in deep, and it made Claire pause.

“Want my da,” Faith croaked in her little voice, and then her face scrunched up and she began to howl.

Claire moved in an instant to scoop the girl up. She held Faith close while she cried, the small girl’s body resting above the swell of the baby.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered so quietly that she knew Faith couldn’t hear it over her own wailing. “I’m so sorry. I’ll never leave you again. I promise.” She slowly paced the small room and rubbed circles on Faith’s back, just as she used to when Faith was a baby.

Faith’s howling didn’t let up, that stubborn streak making itself known. But the longer it went on, Faith crying in her arms and allowing Claire to comfort her, the less her tiny girl felt like a stranger to Claire. How many nights in Faith’s life had been spent just like this?

And eventually, her cries became more of a whimper and then ceased altogether.

Her head popped up from Claire’s shoulder with a red face still streaked with tears and her brows still creased together. “Want da,” she tried again, her lips forming a pout.

Claire’s fingers caressed the sweet face, wiping at the tears. It broke her heart that she couldn’t just bring her to him. “He’s still here, but he’s sleeping. You’ll see him as soon as he’s better, I promise.”

“No,” Faith whined half-heartedly. Claire swayed in place with Faith and watched her yawn and then shiver slightly and burrow into Claire’s warmth.

“Shall we sit by the fire?”

“Aye.” Faith murmured, succumbing to another yawn.

“Here,” Claire grabbed a woolen shawl and draped around them both, and sat in one of the chairs by the fire. Faith sat up straight once she was in Claire’s lap, glancing about again. Her gaze turned back to Claire.

“Wha’s yer name?” Faith asked in her sweet little voice. Her head cocked to the side in a familiar way and Claire felt the sting of tears but blinked them away swiftly.

“I’m your mama,” Claire said, feeling her heart clench at saying those words. She delicately traced the sweet face that she longed to smother with kisses, wiping at the last of Faith’s tears and brushing curls off her sweaty forehead. Faith’s brows furrowed together again and Claire wondered what she made of that, what she could understand of the word at the tender age of two.

“My mam?”

Claire made a slight sound, caught between a laugh and a cry. “Yes. Yours. I carried you inside me for several months while you grew. And when you were born, I held you close and I couldn’t believe that you were mine. My baby.”

“Baby.” Faith pointed to her rounded belly and Claire exhaled a soft, surprised laugh at this.

“Well, yes, there is one in there, but I meant you. You were a baby in my belly once, too.” She brushed Faith’s curls back out of her face again and cupped the back of her head to pull her forward, meeting no resistance from the girl. Faith’s head rested on her mother’s chest, a little awkwardly draped over the baby bump. Claire sighed. She was already running out of room in her lap and a desperate feeling gripped her, that she needed to rebuild her relationship with Faith before the next one arrived. “I would hold you here and let you hear my heartbeat as a newborn baby, the same sound you heard from within when I carried you. And you knew who I was from that sound.” Faith stayed quiet and relaxed under Claire’s hands as they cradled her head and slowly rubbed her back. “My baby.”

She wasn’t sure at what point Faith drifted off to sleep, but she stayed in that chair with her girl curled up on her chest much longer than she needed to. She felt Faith’s exhales of breath caressing her skin once more, no longer the quick little puffs from when she was first born, but deeper now. This was how they had started out, the two of them, and this was how they were finding their way back. Claire’s arms went about Faith’s still form, anchoring her there, and she pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, lingering there to breathe her in and know she was real. The tears did come then, spilling fast down her face. She shook slightly with choked-back sobs but didn’t make a sound.

Barely three months ago, Claire had been in 1948 with Frank. It seemed like another lifetime ago ‒ and Culloden with Jamie and Faith, another lifetime before that. She’d searched for months and now that she had this girl back in her arms again, she’d never let her go.

“Faith Elizabeth Janet Beauchamp Fraser,” she addressed her sleeping child slowly, pronouncing each name distinctly as Jamie had done with his own name when he first told her. “I don’t know what your future holds, but I promise to do everything in my power to see you living a long and happy life. And I know you don’t know me anymore, but you will. You’ll always have me from this moment on. I traveled 200 years just to find you… I’m not likely to let anything else stand in the way. And you won’t ever lose me.” Her lower lip trembled and a few rogue tears spilled onto Faith’s head. “You and me, Faith,” Claire rasped, resting her cheek on top of Faith’s head. “We’ll be alright. I’m here. I love you.”

She didn’t want to move for fear of waking Faith ‒ and in doing so, of ruining the moment of being able to hold her baby to her chest ‒ but she couldn’t stay there all night. She needed to check in on Jamie.

So she stood slowly, carefully, and readjusted Faith to rest her head high up on Claire’s shoulder. The girl breathed in sharply during the move, but turned her head into Claire’s neck and let out a sleepy sigh, settling back in.

Faith’s bottom rested just above the swell of the baby, which was almost protruding far enough to sit Faith on top of it, but not quite. “I really will have my hands full in a few months, won’t I?”

Claire sauntered quietly down the hall with Faith and turned into Jamie’s room to find not only Murtagh where she had left him, but Fergus, who had joined him too.

He must’ve snuck in as soon as she went to see Faith, since he was already sound asleep in a chair near the foot of the bed. Murtagh caught her eye as she entered and merely shrugged. “Didna see any harm in letting him stay. Jamie’s been out since ye left.”

“It’s alright.”

She reached over and brushed Fergus’s curls back from his forehead before shifting Faith’s weight higher in her arms. Despite wanting to keep the children from seeing Jamie in a distressing state, she felt strengthened by their presence and by Murtagh’s. They were whole, finally. And as long as Jamie stayed strong, they would remain so.

“Jamie?”

Claire’s voice called to him, and he whined. What punishment was this? He had fought so hard these last few months to give Faith the best life he could, to accept his future as just a father but no longer a husband. And while he was torn between fighting to stay for Faith or give in and be at peace... be with Claire… it felt as though the spirit of Claire was urging him to stay put. Stay with Faith.

“Jamie, don’t give up on me.” Her voice was pinched with worry. “Not now that I’ve got you back.”

But he didn’t know that he was strong enough to keep fighting.

Oh, lass, dinna be pained on my account, he wanted to say, i’ll be wi’ ye soon. But no words came out.

  The gardens provided an escape during the day as well as allowing for Fergus and Faith to run off some of their energy. Even though she’d been slow to walk at first for her age, Faith was quite steady on her feet now and Fergus made a game of chase with her, running at a slow pace to keep her after him. Every now and then, he’d slow down enough to let her catch him and flop dramatically onto the grass, which never failed to make Faith burst into laughter.

It was a short-lived escape from their worry, and inevitably for Claire, something would happen between Fergus and Faith that made her wish Jamie were present to witness it. They’d already lost so much time…

“Want my da!” Faith declared as she sped ahead to Jamie’s room before anyone could stop her. Claire huffed and picked up her pace as best she could.

“See? Da’s sleeping. We have to be quiet.”

Faith stood beside the bed, and her tiny frame shook. She was close to tears, Claire could tell. Nothing about the situation made sense to Faith, and she didn’t need to verbalize her distress for everyone else to know it was deeply upsetting to not have Jamie awake and alert.

“How about some cuddles for Da? You have to be careful of his leg but you can go up here by his shoulder and cuddle with him, if you want.”

It was nearing Faith’s nap time anyway, from what Mary had said. Faith didn’t need further invitation and started to scramble up the side of the bed.

“Easy, love,” Claire laughed, jumping in to help situate Faith to the other side of the bed where there was more room. She moved Jamie’s arm away from his body, creating space for Faith to curl against his side. “There we go. Rest your eyes, sweet girl.”

Jamie muttered softly and shifted in his sleep. Claire reached over and felt his forehead. He was sweaty and didn’t feel too terribly warm, which was promising. Claire tried to keep her hope tempered.

“Fergus, do you know where they keep the herbs for making tea? Could you run and grab me some more?”

Fergus shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I do not know, Milady,” he said regretfully. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

She sighed. Brother Thomas wasn’t around and neither was Mary, but she wanted to make Jamie a fresh cup of tea and see if he would drink some of it the next time he roused.

Faith was still knocked out against Jamie’s shoulder and it was only Claire and Fergus awake in the room. “Come with me. I’ll show you so you know for next time. It won’t take long.”

  Jamie opened his eyes and felt like he was waking for the first time after a very strange dream. Tired and still weak, but his head felt clear. No more chills or aches through his whole body. No, just a dull pain in his thigh when he twitched his leg. He felt too warm and tried to kick his uninjured leg free from the blankets.

The fever was gone and he let out a sigh that was only partly relief. If the fever had left him… then so had Claire.

He became slowly aware of a small, warm weight on his right shoulder and looked to see a head full of wispy, red curls that could only belong to Faith. His arm tightened around her as best as he could and he turned to press a kiss to the crown of her head. “Deo gratias…” He whispered hoarsely into her hair, holding the only remaining testament that he had of his and Claire’s love. I’m sae sorry I almost left ye, a nighean...

She slumbered on, undisturbed by this even as Jamie’s hand came to rest on her head in supplication and he offered up a plea for this child’s safety and a humble request that if he should have to live the rest of his years on this earth without his wife, that he might still live to see this child of theirs grow up…

“Oh thank god!”

He stiffened at the sound of his wife’s voice, knowing it meant he was not as well as he thought, if he was still hearing her. But even as he wouldn’t turn his head to look towards her voice, he was aware that he and Faith were not alone. Out of the corner of his eye, a figure filled the entryway and in his peripheral vision, his sight told him it was Claire. But his head knew better. It wasn’t her. It couldn’t be her.

Then she drew near and her hands framed his face. His eyelids slammed shut in disbelief, pushing tears down his cheeks. “Thank god!” she said again in a tight whisper.

“Claire?” His voice came out ragged. Her hands gently held his face and turned him towards her. His eyes fluttered open and there she was, smiling down at him through her own tears. He breathed in sharply and could only stare because she would always be the most beautiful sight to his eyes ‒ And a sight he thought he would never see again. “How‒”

She leaned down and kissed him, tentatively at first but feeling him respond, she let the kiss unfold, lingering for what seemed like a blissful eternity until she pulled away, leaving them both panting softly. He reached up and touched her, tracing the outline of her face.

She was trembling terribly, almost on the verge of crying, as her eyes slid shut at his touch, and she let out a shuddering sigh. “I thought you were going to die on me.”

His heart felt as though it were trying to march right through his ribcage, it was hammering so fiercely. “I thought… I thought you were a dream. I canna believe ye’re real.”

He shook his head then as the truth set in. “Ye came all the way to France?” He was aghast, still shaken by the very presence of her. She smiled through a fresh wave of tears.

“I came two hundred years and all the way to France,” her hand reached tentatively for Faith, hovering just above the girl’s head before gently making contact, “Just to find you two.”

There was a soft scuffle of feet and Claire glanced over her shoulder, smiling brilliantly. “And I didn’t come alone, Jamie.”

“Milord!”

He’d hardly processed her words before Fergus was there, flinging himself haphazardly at Jamie. Fergus’s head buried itself in Jamie’s chest, and Jamie clutched him close, feeling a sudden, sharp sob tear from his throat. Oh God, his son.

His vision clouded over, but not before he’d noticed his godfather standing in the doorway. One arm tightened around Faith while the other held Fergus to him, and his resolve not to openly weep like a baby finally crumbled.

He had believed for so long now that his family as he once knew it was lost for good… and to have them returned to him in one instant, he felt a brief flicker of doubt. That this was nothing more than a fevered dream, to have everything his heart desired.

But he could feel the weight still of Faith leaning on his shoulder, awake now and sitting up from the sudden bursts of noise around her. He could feel where Fergus held a fistful of his shirt in a clenched fist, refusing to let go, and where the boy's tears were soaking through the fabric to Jamie’s chest. And he could feel Claire’s delicate hand brushing his hair back from his face, the softest touch but unmistakably real, before she framed his face again and kissed him, first on his lips and then peppering soft kisses across his face like she needed to cover every inch of him with her love.

And it was everything and all too much.

His family was here. And they were real. Deo gratias.

#jamie x claire #faith fraser #outlander #outlander fic #tbbfiy #the best by far is you #OL fic #my fic

[chaninfused]

Danse Macabre | Lee Minho

◤“One must always polish a heart made of stone. Until one’s fingers hurt, and no more polishing cleavers remain usable. Until one grows tired of the weight of a stone heart.”

In an attempt to win his fiancée’s heart, a prince journeys across the desert, where lifelong secrets come unraveled and nothing is quite what it seems.

◤Disclaimers: Female reader insert. This story is inspired by Arabian mythology. Descriptive images of violence, killing, and blood are included, please be careful. This is fantasy, with a fair mix of fluff and angst. All places and events are fictional and do not reference real life nations. Find a glossary with all the terms used here. Make sure to read this blurb before proceeding to avoid heavy confusion. Also, view the map and the tale of the lost prince of Tajilmalek to gain a better understanding of this universe (optional, but strongly suggested!).

◤Word count: 26.6K

◤Note: This idea is a 100% mine and any case of similarity with someone else’s is purely coincidental. Events are pure fiction. Please do not take my content without my consent. masterlist.

◤Dedicated to my friends and readers. Thank you for bearing with me, I love you all. Happy reading!

١

"Big day tomorrow, eh?"

Minho looked up from the papers strewn over his desk to find his cousin leaning casually on the embellished wall, an unmistakable gleam of mischief bright in his foxlike eyes. He ignored the flutter erupting in his heart, it seemed to make an appearance whenever his wedding was mentioned, and smiled, "Indeed."

"Don't you find it strange?" Jeongin picked himself off the wall and sauntered toward the desk of dark wood when Minho frowned, "What?"

"Jisung was telling me about this earlier," the younger royal started, "Think of it; all Tallilmalekan princesses married to foreign princes bear no children. It's always a second wife or a concubine."

"Where is this conversation heading?" distaste distorted Minho's features. The nobleman's son, Jisung, had a mouth for spreading rumors and speculations. He wasn't sure why Jeongin continued to sit in his presence.

The latter slumped uncharacteristically on one of the desk's adjacent seats, crossing one leg over the other. "Possible conspiracy?" he shrugged. "It's not as though you don't find the family's stiff behavior odd. Apparently, they've always been like that. Cold, stone-faced, and haughty."

Minho rolled his eyes, "And?"

"And," Jeongin's lips stretched into a knowing smile, "there are rumors.

"I mean, how would you explain the reoccurring cases of princesses unable to conceive, or the peculiar, nonchalant behavior of Tallilmalekan royals? Y/n is not the first one to not smile upon her betrothed."

"What are you implying, Jeongin?" the crown prince sighed, having grown tired of the discussion already. His weariness only seemed to amuse his cousin, who lowered his voice and leaned forward as if he had a secret to whisper. "Well, people say that there is only one reasonable explanation."

Perhaps to add suspense, Jeongin paused, making Minho's brow arch questioningly. "Which is?"

"Jinn."

Silence draped over the two like a velvet curtain, heavy, as the word settled into the air. Demons. Jeongin — or Jisung — was accusing you and your family of dealing with demons.

A loud, ebullient laugh had to escape Minho's lips.

"This isn't funny!" Jeongin exclaimed between held back giggles. "Don't come crying to me when your wife turns out to be a Sahira of some sort!"

"I'd be damned then!" Minho cleared his throat after his laughter died out, shaking his head. You were reserved, some would say too reserved, but Jisung was going overboard by bringing Jinn into the picture. "I should ban Han Jisung from entering the palace, right?"

"Maybe." Jeongin scrunched his nose then stood up, regarding the uninteresting mounds of work before his cousin. He was once more reminded to thank the Aliha he wasn't born an heir to the throne.

"Well, I will be leaving you to your work." He clasped his hands and a brotherly smile found home on his lips, "And let me be the first to congratulate you, cousin. I hope this marriage brings you happiness. May the Aliha grant you their blessings."

Minho grinned, giddiness twinkling in his eyes, "Shukran. Will we see you with a ceremony of your own one day?"

"Hopefully not anytime soon," Jeongin joked before bowing his head lightly. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight." Minho gave him an acknowledging nod but before Jeongin could turn and leave the study, the first scream shook the walls of the palace.

“What was that?” Jeongin’s eyes widened as a hand instinctively latched onto the hilt of his saif. Minho sprung from his seat, alarm wrinkling his forehead. “I don’t know, but whatever it is, it isn’t good.”

The two royals rushed out of the study, finding several guards running across the corridor and shouting orders to each other. Joining them, Minho asked above the ruckus, “What is happening?”

“Unsure, your highness, but the scream of a monster was heard coming from the Amira’s chamber,” a guard responded, and the prince’s heart dropped. Your rooms. Whatever made that sound, it didn’t promise well.

Rounding a corner, Minho finally spotted the group of guards assigned to your chamber clustered together as one of them knocked on the door repeatedly. He wanted to claw his flesh out. If a beast of some sort had managed to slip into your room, you’d be long dead with these foolish guards waiting for permission to enter. Perhaps it was time to re-examine the royal force.

Sheathing his saif, Minho stormed through the group of men, catching them off guard when he swung the door open and barged in. Manners were to be ignored in a life-threatening situation.

His grip was steady, courtesy of his many years of rigorous sword training, as his gaze fell upon the back of a monster twice his size, red skin glistening in the faint moonlight.

The guards grew silent.

The creature seemed to have the build of a man — two arms, two legs, and a head — but it was far from one. Tied hair as black as the eyes of a gazelle cascaded down its back and a pair of ivory horns poked through its head. That was all Minho could make out from the beast giving him its back.

It stood still, which should’ve raised suspicious brows, but the only thoughts on Minho’s mind were getting rid of the creature and finding you safe and sound.

So, without a second thought, he brought his sword down across the beast’s back, slicing it in half as the nauseating sound of metal cutting through wet flesh filled the room. It made no noise of pain as it toppled to the ground, facedown, splattering blood on its way. It was as if its soul were gone and all the Amir did was tear the body down.

You stood on the other side, unharmed, and Minho’s heart lurched in relief before he noticed the dagger between your bloodied fingers. Concern paired with obvious confusion creased his forehead as he sheathed his saif and stepped around the lifeless body toward you. He could hear the guards’ whispers rise in volume and Jeongin shushing them all. What in the name of the Aliha did I just kill and how did it get here?

“Y/n,” he began, voice taking on a softer tone. Your appearance showed no signs of struggle. The circlet holding the silk that fell over your hair was perfectly placed and you looked...indifferent as you regarded him wordlessly. The fact that a monster was lying on the floor of your bedchamber seemed to bother you none.

Minho was at a loss for words. “What...” his gaze gravitated back to the creature before moving to you. “What just happened?”

•؏•

If Minho arrived a moment earlier, he would’ve seen something that would change the course of your life forever. You were silently bursting with relief, for he couldn’t see the gaping hole where the Ifrit’s heart would’ve been before you clawed it out with a single hand.

The dagger in your grip was still pulsing.

You’d let your fiancé claim the kill for now.

“What just happened?” You could see, behind the mask Minho wore, all his bewilderment. How could you explain this without drawing the entire kingdom’s attention? A lie brewed at the tip of your tongue and you opened your mouth to speak, “It’s-”

You were interrupted by a deep wail that seemed to come from the ground beneath you. It shook the walls, making the guards look around in fear, and your eyes widened. There’s more.

You felt them before they crashed into the room and you dropped the dagger, grabbing Minho’s arm instead and running toward the door. “Watch out!”

The last syllable had barely left your lips when five smaller Afarit broke through the ground, sending debris everywhere and making the guards shout in panic. You forced your way through the chaos. The Afarit must not see you whatsoever. You might’ve been able to take down one on your own, but you weren’t very sure about a group of them.

Fortunately, Minho sensed the urgency in your steps and his legs moved faster, becoming the one to guide you through the grand corridors.

A blast of fire missed your head by a breath, and you turned around to find an Ifrit close behind. Seems like one caught up anyway.

The flaming creature of fire was in its natural form, which only you could see, and it was heading toward the two of you at an alarming speed. Minho tugged at your hand, confused as to why you stopped.

When he dared to glance at the other end of the corridor, color drained from his face like a wash of water on ink. It was burning, guards were fleeing, and smoke was slowly spreading through the air. Creatures he didn’t know the name of were pouncing upon the walls, leaving bright flames behind. They didn’t attack — they looked like they were looking for someone.

Which you knew. They were looking for you, or to be precise, they were looking for something you obtained.

Minho turned to face you, frantic, “What are you doing? What is happening— what are they?!”

You avoided his question, keeping your eyes on the Ifrit invisible to him. “Give me your saif.”

“What? This is not the time—”

“Give me your saif or we’ll both die.”

This time, he gave in and handed you his sword, unease dancing on his brows. A surge of energy left your fingertips when they came in contact with the leathered hilt, binding and fusing into the saif.

To Minho, you appeared to be glaring at air, but you were waiting for the moment the Ifrit shifted forms to attack. Not that you couldn’t strike it in its real form, but you’d rather not expose your identity so soon.

Just as you expected, the form of pure fire sprouted discernible legs and arms, a horned head, and snarling teeth. You didn’t miss the noise of panic that came from the prince. You almost felt bad for him. He was supposed to have a peaceful night before the next day’s festivities, not have his palace attacked by Afarit.

More guards streamed into the corridor as you raised the saif, just in time to slice it across the Ifrit’s middle. Normal weapons don’t kill them, but one infused with Jinn powers did.

The Ifrit crumpled to the ground with a spasm and a howl of agony, and the sword glowed red with an energy only you could see.

You turned to Minho, handing him his sword back and disregarding the way his eyes seemed close to popping out. “There you go. You can kill with it now.”

He only stared at you, and you were sure it’d be funny to know what went on his mind at that moment. “K-Kill?”

“Yes, well,” you inhaled, looking at the Afarit that noticed the commotion and were rushing to join the party, “We’ve attracted everyone’s attention. There’s no point in running now.”

٢

Minho took three seconds to snap back into reality and fix his stance into something more appropriate for a skilled swordsman like himself. “Stay back!”

You did what you were told, not to raise suspicions, and stepped behind him. Bringing a hand to rest on your chest, you felt the large emerald hanging from a thin chain around your neck. The Zumurruda. This is what the Afarit were after, and you’d die fighting to keep it in your hands, in one piece.

You’d seen Minho in duels before, you trusted his skills. He was renown across the three kingdoms for one thing besides his looks, and it was his swordsmanship. Yet, you couldn’t help but worry. What if all went astray and you had to brandish claws and horns to get out alive?

The shriek of an Ifrit pulled you out of your thoughts. It seemed to be leading the other three toward the two of you, finally sensing the presence of the Zumurruda. The prince was quick to slash his sword through its chest, but this gave another Ifrit the chance to pounce on him. You couldn’t see Minho’s struggle to fight it off because you had a problem to deal with on your own.

While he was distracted, the remaining two Afarit decided to go for the Zumurruda. For you.

You looked around, hastily making sure no one was watching before stabbing a hand forward and watching your fingers grow into blackened, sharp claws. They plunged straight into the first Ifrit’s chest, now that you let your magic take over, and grasped its heart. You pulled it out unthinkingly, making blood vessels stretch and snap violently, spilling blood where the two of you stood. The beating heart in your clutch should’ve repulsed you, but you couldn’t quite feel anything in that state. Evil Jinn didn’t feel.

The other Ifrit didn’t seem to see what happened to its companion and lunged at you with a snarl. As one toppled to the ground lifelessly, you felt the heart transform into a small blade and prepared to bury it in the next Ifrit’s guts, ignoring the faint pulse of the makeshift weapon. You raised the dagger, claws gone, but didn’t get to use it when a flash of metal cut through the approaching monster and brought it down. Temporarily.

Jeongin’s familiar face came into your vision. Half of the young royal’s face was covered in blood, and his once fine attire had lost a sleeve to the flames. He asked with a heaving breath, “Are you okay?”

You eyed the Ifrit that began to stand back up, answering him dismissively, “I’m fine.”

You crouched, letting your dagger cut through the Ifrit’s throat and feeling a rush of energy flow from your fingers and through the blade into its body. Simply, to kill it.

“These things,” Jeongin paused to stare at the dead Afarit, “they don’t die. How did you—”

“What are they to begin with?” Minho’s question came through labored breaths and you turned your gaze in his direction, seeing him push a lifeless Ifrit off. You convinced yourself that the flutter of relief your heart made was for the Zumurruda.

The prince sheathed his bloodied sword, eyes trailing across the corridor littered with blood, Ifrit corpses, and injured soldiers before resting on your face, as if you were the answer to a riddle he’d longed to solve. His features trembled with distress. “What’s happening, y/n? Why are there monsters in the palace— What brought them here? What kind of sorcery is this?!”

A cohort of guards ran into the corridor, stopping short in sight of the monstrous creatures, dying fire, and blood. You could feel a different kind of tension permeate the air and you sighed, glancing at your fiancé then at his cousin. They deserve an explanation.

You gulped, lowering your voice just so the conversation remained between the three of you, “Do you believe in Jinn?”

•؏•

“So, let me get this straight,” Minho ran a hand through his hair, disheveling it as he tried to take in all what you’d explained. “Someone is sending these monsters called Afarit to obtain the emerald you have, and you can’t let them have it whatsoever. No one can know about this.”

“Na’am,” you nodded for the millionth time, bored. The three of you were now at the library. Jeongin had wiped the blood off his face with a wet cloth, but Minho didn’t seem to bother with the patch of red blooming on his shoulder as he bombarded you with questions.

You never thought this was going to be easy, but it was becoming tiresome.

“Then why...didn’t this attack happen in Tallilmalek? Why here?” Jeongin frowned and you suppressed a sigh. “Tallilmalek is protected by a spell that prevents supernatural creatures like Afarit or Jinn from sensing the Zumurruda’s presence. Now that it’s out of Tallilmalek, everyone can feel it, everyone wants it for themselves.”

“You know this,” the prince shook his head, “You know this... Why would you take the Zumurruda out of the kingdom? What’s so special about it that it attracts creatures from the fires of hell?”

“I didn’t know they would detect it so soon, I’ve arrived here two days ago. Besides, I need the Zumurruda with me,” you stated, dreading the following question.

A pause.

“Why?”

You fell silent. Why? To find the Sahira’s Heart and free myself from the Jinni in me. To break the damned curse that has been ruining my family’s life for the last century. “I need it to...” but you couldn’t tell the truth yet, could you? “I need to return it to where it really belongs. The Zumurruda is a gemstone of great magic. It can’t fall in the hands of bandits or Jinn because it will grant them a power they shouldn’t have. This is my only chance.”

Half the truth will do for now.

Minho slumped on a seat with an exasperated sigh. “But it was safe in Tallilmalek!”

“Safe from Sahara and Jinn but not from humans! What do you think people would do with a gemstone of unimaginable power?” You snapped and Jeongin’s eyes widened. He looked at Minho then at you and felt as though he shouldn’t be witnessing this argument.

“Does Tallilmalek know?”

“No! This is why I don’t have much time to return it.”

“And when were you planning to do this?”

“I don’t know, tomorrow, perhaps?”

“What? You can’t do that!”

“What do you suggest then? Stay here and let more monsters have their go—”

“Tomorrow’s our wedding day!”

Minho’s voice rang through the air, bouncing off the walls to slam into your face and make you inhale sharply. The wedding.

You didn’t forget, but it was the perfect chance for you to sneak out and find the Sahira’s Heart. An arranged marriage ceremony wasn’t going to stand in your way.

Minho had stood now, glaring before he realized what he’d done. His eyes widened and waters of panic rippled in them. “Asif, I didn’t mean to—”

You shook your head. An argument was the last thing you needed in your brittle, dry relationship and you turned around to exit the library, leaving a troubled prince behind.

Perhaps you were being selfish, but there was no place for giving in, not when you’d gotten this close to fixing everything. Fiancé or not, Minho could do nothing to stop you.

•؏•

“Your Highness!” a guard barged into the king’s study, where he was discussing the previous night’s strange attack with his only son. “I apologize, Your Highness, but we have an emergency!”

The king raised his gaze to look at the uneasy guard. “What is it?”

Minho regarded the man curiously. What could it be at this early hour, and on this day?

He’d woken up with memories of the argument he had with you at the library. The image of you walking out wordlessly seemed to taunt him whenever he let his thoughts stray, and a feeling of dread settled in his heart ever since.

The guard bowed then straightened his posture, inhaling deeply before letting the terrible news hail on the royals. “The Amira cannot be found in her bedchamber.”

٣

If you are reading this, one of two things must’ve happened. I’ve died and a guard managed to return my journal home, or I’ve managed to do what the rest couldn’t and find the Sahira’s Heart.

I’m writing this on the first evening of our journey, and I suppose this is where it starts: reaching Al Mamsha.

The Zumurruda is pulling me toward it, a thin strip of land crossing Al Shaqq in Darilmalek. According to previous journals, it is guarded by Zarqa’a Al Yamama, an all-knowing woman with sharp sight and intuition. I am unsure about the encounter, but I’ve read al Amir Jinyoung’s report on crossing Al Mamsha which states that the traveler will be given a riddle to solve. Three wrong guesses and one will be forever trapped in the waters of Al Shaqq. All the past princes who chose to follow the Zumurruda took this path, so it seems that there is no other option. We’ll see how it plays out.

Al Amir Chan of Tallilmalek.

You closed the journal with a sigh. One of two things happened for sure. Prince Chan, who would’ve been a distant cousin, died in a thunderstorm while crossing Arrimal Azzarqa’a. Few crewmen survived the shipwreck, but his body was never found. He, too, sought the Sahira’s Heart.

Perhaps this was the fate of those who wished to the lift the curse and live freely. All the princes who dared to dream failed in the end, and the Zumurruda returned to Tallilmalek along with a story of their short journeys.

Perhaps it was a threat. A warning to force your parents, siblings, and all who came before them into accepting a life where love only brought misery. A curse that did nothing but make them fear what their sentiments could do.

You were raised to suppress the demon in you, a Jinni of pure evil, just like how the former royals did. For once upon a time, the most powerful Sahira known to the Alliance cursed your family with demon kids who murdered their beloved ones in cold blood.

Mages from across the land tried to break the curse, but none succeeded.

The only solution was to not have loved ones. One must not love, smile, or allow the tiniest affection to seep into their heart. Mother, father, sister, brother, husband, wife, friend — it didn’t matter. One must always polish a heart made of stone.

Until one’s fingers hurt, and no more polishing cleavers remain useable. Until one grows tired of the weight of a stone heart.

The pounding of hooves caught your attention and you looked in the direction of the noise, spotting a royal regiment cutting through the town. Leading them, you were quick to note, was the crown prince, Minho, your unfortunate fiancé.

Right, they would’ve noticed your disappearance by now.

Slipping out of the palace was easy, considering that the walls weren’t enchanted to repel Jinni powers like those back in Tallilmalek. You were gone by sunrise.

You felt the whisper of the Zumurruda, a foreign urge to travel east, and pulled your hood lower. The sooner you left the crown city, the sooner you’ll be able to use your powers freely.

As you made your way through the crowded streets of the city, you heard a shout coming from the soldiers, an order to put the city on lockdown. No one leaves. No one enters.

They’re taking the search seriously, you thought with a grimace. That would make things harder. You didn’t blame them, however. Relations between the kingdoms of the Arshilmalek Alliance had become shaky in the past years. A lost princess was a reason valid enough for Tallilmalek to wage war. A younger kingdom like Darilmalek would not survive.

You could almost sympathize with Minho. He seemed to truly care about the engagement, had always seemed to, yet you couldn’t show the smallest regard. For his safety, more than anything else.

He was another reason you wanted to break the curse.

Your steps quickened, hoping to reach the city’s borders before the guards did, but also trying to raise no suspicions. For a fleeting moment, you considered using your powers, but that thought was quickly thrown out of the window. There were too many witnesses. The last thing you’d want is to get accused of practicing forbidden magic and recreating the tale of the Lost Prince.

You could see the barren sahra’a ahead, just a few houses far, and hope blossomed in your heart. There it is, just an arm’s length away.

Then a shout accompanied by the terrible sound of hooves pounding the ground filled your ears and people began to clear the road in a panicked rush. You found yourself roughly shoved and uncomfortably squeezed between the people who moved to make way for the group of guards on horseback. You could barely move through them, and just like that, your chance slipped away right in front of you.

They’d reached the borders.

You muttered a curse under your breath and made your way through the people rather aggressively, earning a few strange looks that didn’t concern you. When you neared the set of guards, who were immersed in discussion, you pretended to be a foreign traveler and wandered off to the other, emptier side of the border.

Your first few steps went unnoticed, but soon enough, you heard a familiar voice command, “Qif!”

Too familiar. You halted but refused to turn around. The odds were all against you, you came to conclude when Minho arrived at your side, pulling the reins of his horse.

“You are not allowed to leave the city,” he said in a tone you never heard him use before, one that seemed to say my word is law.

You didn’t move or respond, which prompted the prince to speak once more, “Show your face. State your name, tribe, and your business leaving the city at this time.”

You bit your lip, although it couldn’t be seen under the shade of your hood, and thought to yourself, why did I not work on my disguise earlier today?

You wanted to slap yourself for being so foolish. Perhaps you were too...excited.

No guards joined the two of you, and after a few beats of silence, you decided to run for it. You might not be able to outrun a trained warhorse, but that would force Minho away from the rest, giving you a better chance at reasoning with him.

So, you did. You picked up your skirts and ran as fast as you could, past a startled prince and into the endless sahra’a. You heard Minho shout behind you, followed by a neigh of a horse, and you knew they were following you.

Running on sand was hard, and you were sure you were going to trip at some point. Although your lungs burned with each breath, you kept pushing yourself forward. Perhaps you weren’t made for such physical activity, you thought.

It felt like forever until Minho caught up to you — you guessed you had your powers to thank for that. His saif glinted under the harsh sun, and you were lucky to stop a few inches from the edge of the blade aimed at your neck. A chilling warning fell on your ears. “One more step, and I’ll chop your head off.”

You inhaled, waiting for someone to follow and letting your heart relax before shaking your head with a breath of a chuckle. “Chop my head off, eh?”

You didn’t see the way Minho’s grip stiffened, but you didn’t need to. You knew he recognized your voice.

Stepping away from the blade, you raised a hand to push your hood back and meet his surprised gaze. “I’d like to see you try.”

•؏•

Minho knew he’d made a terrible mistake when you were nowhere to be found in the palace. He thought it was his fault, and reasonably, he led the search the king ordered.

Although he hated to admit it, maybe the wedding wasn’t at all important in comparison to your mission. If you could prioritize it over an event that had been in planning for months, he could do the same.

After all, all the prince wanted was to show you that he cared. Just another meager attempt to try and make you dislike him less.

So, it seemed to be a complete strike of luck when you pushed off your hood to hold his gaze firmly. “I’d like to see you try.”

“I— La, I wouldn’t—” Minho stammered, quickly retracting his blade and dismounting the horse. He came to stand before you, silent as his gaze roamed over your features. Truth to be said, the prince didn’t know what he’d do if any harm befell you. When the guard shared the dismaying news, his heart dropped once more.

You seemed to like giving him a scare.

It was a relief to find you safe and unscathed, but unease still nagged at his chest. With an exhale, he muttered, “Asif. Forgive me.”

Your expression didn’t change, and he didn’t know what to take it as so he continued, “I realize now that the Zumurruda must be of high importance, considering that you were ready to escape the city to return it.

“I-I suppose the wedding ceremony pales in comparison,” he concluded and considered rambling on had you not nodded with a quiet exhale, “I apologize, as well.”

Oh? His brows shot up.

“It was selfish of me to disregard everyone’s work for my personal endeavors. But I hope you know that I cannot wait any longer now that the attack happened.”

“Of course—”

The prince was interrupted by a shout of his name, coming from an approaching figure behind you. “Minho!”

Not a guard, he remarked, noting the informality. Only then did he notice how far the two of you were from the city. He could see it, but it was a fair distance away.

You were a fast runner, he mused.

“There you are!” Jeongin’s voice became more discernible as he neared. “Someone saw you running off after a traveler. You were taking long.”

The younger royal didn’t notice you, almost trampling you over when he pulled the reins of his horse. He didn’t seem to notice Minho’s glare either. “Some claim that they spotted the Amira somewhere along the center of the city— What’s with the glare?” he frowned in confusion and looked around, finally spotting you, arms crossed and brow raised. You could practically hear his thoughts as his eyes expanded. “Oh.”

“Oh!” he repeated, this time surer, and lowered his head in embarrassment, realizing what he’d almost done. “My deepest apologies, y/n. I didn’t see you there.”

You bit back a retort and moved your head in the merest nod, “All’s fine.”

“You have to be more careful,” Minho tutted and Jeongin chewed on his bottom lip sheepishly, “Na’am.” His gaze ricocheted between the two of you before lighting up, “I suppose I should tell the soldiers to stop the search, then?”

“La,” the prince raised a hand, making his cousin look at him strangely, and turned to face you. You rarely showed interest in anything. The Zumurruda was something new. Perhaps this was his chance to improve things between the two of you. By taking interest in what mattered to you and joining you on this journey, he might be able to step a little closer to your heart. Or so he thought.

He might’ve anticipated the wedding, but he wanted to help you return the Zumurruda to where it belonged. “Let me join you.”

“What?” the question came from you and Jeongin, although he was a little louder with it. Minho only gave you a small smile, “I want to help you deliver the Zumurruda, if you’d allow me.”

You were careful not to gape at him. What changed over a night? You couldn’t help but ask, mindlessly, “But…what about the wedding?”

“If you can put other things before it, then so can I. The Zumurruda is more important, no?” a part of Minho was bursting with happiness. This is the most the two of you have talked away from the eyes of the court, without unnecessary formalities and stiff words. What seemed like a nightmare in a suit of flame was turning to be a blessing in disguise.

You nodded slowly, “You’re right.” You’d be lying to say you didn’t like the sound of Minho’s request. The princes that took this journey before you had all traveled with scouts, you didn’t expect to have the smoothest adventure alone.

Minho’s heart seemed to hammer in his chest as you thought over his suggestion. It wasn’t a decision he made in the spur of the moment – it was rather something he’d been contemplating all morning. There was no guarantee you’d agree, and he wouldn’t object if that were your choice, but he prayed to the Aliha for the opposite response.

He hoped he didn’t look too giddy when you finally made up your mind, letting out a breath as if the decision were a task that had worn you out. “I suppose I would appreciate some company along the way.”

A genuine smile broke on the prince’s face, and he looked at his cousin, “You have to come with us as well.”

“What– why?” the younger male did a terrible job of hiding his astonishment, but that didn’t seem to affect Minho. “I’m sure we need as many people on this journey as possible. Besides, I can’t have you returning to the palace now that you know about this ordeal.

Jeongin sighed, with undertones of a groan, “So, I have no choice.”

“Somewhat.”

You watched the two, slightly amused, before clearing your throat, “It’s the three of us, then?”

“Yes,” Minho nodded firmly then clasped his hands, “Where are we heading?”

You guessed if a citizen of the crown city looked far enough, they’d spot the three of you gathered in the middle of the desert and think it was an oddity of the current times. Silly or not, you began explaining the details of your journey. The details you knew of, that is, excluding the parts about the Sahira’s Heart and the curse. “We will be following the Zumurruda.”

“The gemstone makes its bearer feel a pull toward its home. No one has managed to reach it yet, but some have been remarkably close,” you pulled out the Zumurruda from beneath your tunic, laying it on your open palm for them to see. “As of now, it’s telling me to travel east, toward Al Mamsha.”

“Then east we shall go,” Minho announced. “Do we have all we need?”

“Do you have money with you?” you remembered to grab a heavy pouch of coins before escaping the palace, you wouldn’t need more with your powers anyway. Now that you had two more people with you, the money might not be enough.

“We do,” the Amir glanced at Jeongin, as if to make sure. “But is that all?”

“It should be enough. It’s better to travel light and stay the night in villages along the way.”

Your answer didn’t seem to convince the two, and you added with an awkward cough, “Either way, we cannot return to the palace to bring tents and food without raising questions. No one can know about this.”

Even if Minho wanted to let his hesitancy take over, you were the one who knew the most about the journey, not him. If you’d left the palace with the merest belongings for the trip, he would trust to do the same.

A beat of silence allowed your words to sink in the sand. That’s when Minho realized the kind of adventure he was sauntering into. Unpredictable. Perilous. Secret. Something that would challenge the very skills he’d spent all his years honing. It would either make him or break him.

He was oddly excited.

“We should get going, then. Day is only too long.”

You didn’t respond — you didn’t have to. The hood now pulled over your head was enough to say, “follow me,” and Minho thought he’d imagined the ghost of a smile on your lips.

•؏•

You began seeing the shimmering blue of Al Shaqq when the sun became hazy and low. The trip was exhausting at best, in the blazing heat and the dry air, and you quickly sympathized with the many messengers and trade caravans cutting through these sands for a living. You were beyond relieved when the thin strip of land became visible.

Although, if you thought you were tired, you couldn’t imagine the tiredness Minho was going through. Before you began your trek, he offered you his horse to ride and he continued on foot from there. Sometimes, he’d switch places with Jeongin, never for too long, however, and never with you. You supposed it was only expected. He was a prince, after all, and what was a prince without shining manners?

That didn’t stop you from offering your place repeatedly.

The three of you stopped at a small village some hours prior to satisfy your hunger and buy any necessities for what’s left of the journey. You were grateful no one outside the crown city recognized royals without their grand escorts.

This allowed Minho and Jeongin to trade their rich silks for less distinctive and more appropriate attire, as well as an additional handful of coins and two camels in exchange for their fine breed stallions with the promise to return them.

No one asked when you loaded your small caravan with food and water and resumed trudging through the golden grains.

Along the way, you’d explained to the two Darilmalekan royals why you decided to go on this journey without your family knowing. The repetitive pattern of princes trying to find the Sahira’s Heart wasn’t a coincidence. Only princes seemed strong enough to handle such a task and your parents would never let you, a princess, dirty your delicate hands with such an atrocious feat.

You’d explored your Jinni powers enough to know you wouldn’t have to dirty your hands, at least not until they became clawed and monster-like. And in that case, it would be your assailant’s concern, not yours.

Al Mamsha was a curious strip of land, one cursed with many legends by heat-struck travelers. It stretched across a rip in the desert filled with seawater, as though it were a bridge to the mountainous province of Darilmalek. Not many villagers settled nearby, as there was no use to be made of seawater and a land haunted by myths.

Only few dared to cross Al Mamsha. Only those few knew what really inhabited that piece of land.

You were about to become one of them, but you knew what, or who, guarded Al Mamsha. And you dreaded your meeting.

“Is that it?” Jeongin squinted at the enormous body of water before you. It was almost intimidating. It didn’t look this big on the maps.

On the dune where you observed, you could see the sandy line called Al Mamsha. It was empty, to your surprise. Your answer came coarse with nervousness, “Yes.”

“Should we cross it?” Minho seemed dubious, almost afraid when he asked, and you gulped. You will cross it, just like Chan and the other princes did before you. “The Zumurruda is urging us forward.”

Yet none of you moved for some moments of quiet anxiousness. Al Shaqq looked unreal, and its infamous Al Mamsha only reminded you of the many wonders you were yet to see, the many giants you were insignificant in comparison to.

Glancing west, Minho exhaled and patted the neck of the camel that carried you, “We must continue.”

But even the animal’s steps seemed reluctant.

As the three of you approached Al Mamsha, you kept an eye out for something to appear and stop you from advancing on to the sandy road. There was nothing but a clear, lifeless path, and you continued forward.

The camels halted to a stop at the mouth of Al Mamsha, making you frown in confusion as you patted the animal, “Why did you stop?”

It didn’t answer you, but your answer came from beneath the sand.

You wouldn’t believe it if you hadn’t seen it with your own eyes. A woman emerged from the sand, fair and young, dressed in a fine white kaftan with a matching turban crowning her head. Perhaps what stunned you the most was the bright, striking blue of her eyes, a shade you’ve only seen in sketches of her. Her aura was eerie, and she was looking right at you.

When she spoke, her voice seemed to come from the depths of the earth. “You shall not pass.”

You weren’t afraid, but rather in mute awe. This was her. This was—

“Zarqa’a Al Yamama,” you breathed, ignoring the petrified stares Minho and Jeongin were giving you and making the woman shake her head solemnly. “That would be my great grandmother. I am Lia, the Guardian of Al Mamsha.”

Strange, that was not mentioned in the journals. You cleared your throat, pushing your thoughts back. “Pardon me, Sayeda Lia, but we need to move forward.”

She did not miss a beat. “You shall not pass.”

The prince then swallowed his shock and stepped forward, finding his best regal voice, “As the Crown Prince of Darilmalek, I ask of you to grant us passage.”

“You shall not pass.” Lia did not spare him a glance, her crystal blue eyes fixed on you.

You saw Minho’s hand reach for the hilt of his saif from your peripheral vision and you asked again with urgency, “Please. Is there anything we can give you in exchange for our clear passage?”

“I need not your mortal gifts.” Her voice boomed around you, despite being in the open, wide sahra’a.

At that, Minho grabbed his sword and you held your breath, waiting for those words to fall out of her dainty lips like in every journal.

Lia crossed her arms, and her eyes blazed like blue flames. “You shall only pass if you solve my riddle.”

There is it, you hoped your satisfaction didn’t take form on your face. “We will solve your riddle.”

Beyond what you thought was possible, her eyes glowed brighter, almost white in their brilliance. You had to squint and look away.

For a short while, there was silence, then her words came out grim and haunting, “Solve my riddle and you shall pass. Fail thrice and you shall perish.”

You held your breath, rummaging through all the riddles you’ve read or heard and kept for this critical moment.

“I can only be kept once I have been given. What am I?”

You haven’t heard that one before.

Inhaling stilly, you turned your head to look at Minho, meeting his worried gaze just as it fell on you. He rubbed the camel’s neck, making it sit for you to dismount.

Off the mammal’s back, you swallowed a lump of anxiousness and asked, “Any ideas?”

The prince shook his head and his cousin mimicked, finally dismounting to stand with the two of you. It seemed as though they were too afraid to speak.

Your gaze wandered to the sand beneath you as a whirlwind of thought took over your mind. Something that can only be kept if given…but that’s contradictive!

The paradox helped you rule out all material things, since things like coin cannot be kept after being given away. That left all things abstract — emotions, thoughts, bonds.  

“Give…” you muttered then a guess sparked in your mind and you blurted, “Kindness?”

Lia frowned, and you could’ve sworn the ground trembled. “Incorrect.”

Foolish move, you scolded yourself mentally and avoided the concerned looks coming from the Darilmalekan royals. Think, y/n!

Something to be kept. Something to keep…keep your…keep my— your eyes widened when it struck you. It only makes sense!

“I think…I think I know the answer,” you whispered, and Minho questioned carefully, “What is it?”

Jeongin stepped closer and you made sure to keep your voice low. “One’s word.”

You knew you were right when realization lightened their expressions. An encouraging look from your fiancé made you step forward and speak, this time confidently. “The answer is one’s word. One can only keep their word once they’ve given it.”

When the blue-eyed woman remained silent, you waited for the ground to rumble and her to declare your second failure. Yet, nothing happened.

Lia nodded after several moments of silence, and you thought you imagined her subtle smile, “Very well. You have succeeded and therefor, you shall pass. But be warned, brave travelers, for the journey ahead is perilous, and the Isle of the Damned is no place for those of weak will.”

“Shukran.” You didn’t try to hide your relief, turning to mount your ride before she spoke again, “Your animals cannot move any farther into the Isle of the Damned. You are to travel on foot.”

You didn’t question her, recalling a statement you’ve read in a journal some months ago. The Sahira’s Heart left corruption in its wake, breathed chaos into its air, and spread malice in the land it rested in. Animals from the pure land will never venture near.

“Without them we travel, then,” you adjusted the clasp of your cloak as Minho shook his head, “We can’t leave them behind. We promised to return them.”

“Worry not, ya Amir, the animals will return on their own,” Lia informed. “Go on, travelers, before night awakens the beast resting in Al Shaqq.”

The beast resting in Al Shaqq. Many legends were told about the unnatural body of water, most known was the myth of the Falak, the great serpent that carries the world. It has been said that its child sleeps at the bottom of Al Shaqq. Any travelers crossing Al Mamsha at night would be its next live toy. Although, no travelers have dared to approach that land during the night yet.

You didn’t want to be the first.

A wordless exchange of glances darted between the three of you, and with a long exhale, you took your first step unto Al Mamsha.

•؏•

“This is absolutely preposterous!” the Tallilmalekan Crown Prince threw his arms in the air, frustrated. Changbin had been enjoying a Finjan of coffee when he overheard the news of your disappearance from a pair of oblivious guards, and it riled up the Jinni in him instantly.

Your brother stormed into the Darilmalekan King’s study, forcing the panicked advisors to leave when they noticed the frown etched on his handsome face. But before he could voice out his anger, a guard barged in, carrying news of Minho’s and Jeongin’s disappearance as well.

It made perfect sense in his mind. The had prince taken you and run away.

Changbin disliked your fiancé, but now, he seethed with aversion toward him.

“I am sure you know what this means for both kingdoms,” he said through gritted teeth. This marriage was your parents’ last hope at mending the deteriorating ties between Darilmalek and Tallilmalek. It seemed like Minho had other plans, however.

“If they are not found soon, I am afraid Darilmalek’s end would be two hundred years of independence.”

The king stood from his seat abruptly, recognizing the threat but being unable to acknowledge it. The fate of his people’s freedom relied on his meager words, and his hands were tied on the matter. The old king kept his tone firm and regal, “I trust my son, and I am sure no harm will befall the Amira with him. He will return, or we will find them.”

Changbin wanted to scoff but he settled with muttering spitefully before exiting the study. “Well, I don’t trust him.”

When he left, the king fell back on his chair, helpless. Oh, ya waladi, what have you done?

•؏•

They call it the Isle of the Damned, yet I believe it is unfair to the villagers settled between its mountains and dunes. We have crossed Al Mamsha and spared an hour of sunlight to find a place and raise camp for the night.

To my utter surprise, we found an unmarked village a little over an hour’s walk away. Its villagers offered to house us in their homes and serve us dinner. Such is the fine hospitality of the people of these sandy lands.

When the sun rises, we will be continuing east. I am unsure of the journey’s path after this step. No surviving journals clearly state where the Zumurruda leads after Al Mamsha.

Nevertheless, some speculate we are heading toward—

You quickly shut the journal when you heard a rustle from the other side of the partition. It was almost as though you were performing a play and Chan’s journal was the script. You crossed Al Mamsha safely and found a small village not too far away. Seeing that the three of you were travelers, the villagers welcomed you into their homes unhesitatingly. They sat you for a hearty feast then showed you to a place they’d prepared.

Their generosity wasn’t surprising. The three kingdoms maintained strict traditions in hospitality, no matter the guest’s origins or story. This was your first time experiencing it firsthand.

A partition was placed for your comfort between your bed and Minho’s and Jeongin’s beds. It was helpful when you wanted to read without them asking questions, but you could never be too carefree.

The rustling stopped, and you thought it simply was one of them shifting in bed before a faint sound caught your attention. “Y/n?”

You held your breath. Why is he not asleep?

For a couple of beats, you said nothing, thinking that if you remained silent, the prince would return to sleep and you to reading in the dark — one of the gifts you were born with. Perhaps it was guilt that made you finally whisper back, you owed him at least that. “Yes?”

“Oh…you’re still awake.” he was muttering, but you were sure you heard a hint of relief in his words. Hope. You couldn’t pinpoint the reason, but it made your heart clench uncomfortably.

There was silence again before he murmured, sounding almost defeated, “You should try to sleep.”

“You should, too,” you said after hesitating. “Who knows what awaits us tomorrow.”

Minho hummed then, and with a few rustles, he said nothing more. You assumed he’d fallen asleep.

A silent sigh left your lips and you looked at the journal between your hands. What am I doing?

This journey was one you’d wanted to take for a while. You’d barely begun, but unease was quickly creeping into your heart.

If this were a play and you were following a script, would it end with the same tragedy that befell Chan and the many princes before him? Were you only inching closer to your doom?

La. You forced the voice in your head silent and tucked the journal away. You were not going to fail because you had one thing these princes were too scared to use. You had a Jinni inside you, and you were not afraid to use your powers when needed.

This journey will not end up in failure.

Finally lying down, you let your eyelids drop, exhaustion taking over easily. But just when you were ready to surrender to sleep, another sound startled you awake. Not a whisper or a rustle of sheets, but the unmistakable unsheathing of a sword.

٤

Hyunjin could feel it in his bones. He could smell it in the air, that sickeningly sweet scent of power. The Zumurruda was close.

He’d been alerted a few days ago when the Isle breathed with life once more. Someone had taken the Zumurruda out of Tallilmalek, again.

This time, he was getting his hands on it.

Finding the bearers of the gemstone wasn’t hard. They didn’t travel with an enormous escort like those ridiculous princes. Just that mere trio of them, with little baggage and a mysterious aura.

One of them caught his attention. A young lady whom his spies of Afarit reported to have a strange energy surrounding her. He’d assumed it was a spell of protection casted on her by a relative’s request, or that she was a magic meddler. Only now, as he stood in a room of sleeping people, did he realize what that restless energy was.

Jinn.

She was half Jinni, and her companions knew no better.

She carried the Zumurruda.

What a short, sad tale, he wanted to chuckle as he unsheathed his sword and prepared to strike her sleeping figure.

What he didn’t prepare for, however, was for her to spring up at the sound and shout, “Qif!”

This successfully awakened the rest and before Hyunjin could react, the edge of a saif was pressed under his chin.

“How did you get in here?”

A male’s voice, but it sounded nothing like a sleeping man’s. A terrible realization dawned on him. None of them were asleep.

Did she feel his presence like he felt hers? Was he walking right into a trap?

La, Hyunjin was far too powerful a Sahir to fall into mundane traps.

“You shouldn’t be asking me this question,” he answered and tossed his saif to the ground. There will be no need for it anymore.

In the dark, he could see her expression change as realization dawned on her too. A faint smirk drew itself on his lips when she whispered urgently, “Be careful. He’s a Sahir.”

“Be careful indeed,” he mused, “Spill a single droplet of my blood and your family shall be damned for eternity.”

“What brought you here?” even if he had understood the warning, the young man did not retract his sword.

Hyunjin could see things a regular human couldn’t see, and he could clearly make out his assailant’s features. Sharp yet dainty and undeniably handsome. He could pass as an Amir. Once upon a time, he would’ve been someone Hyunjin rivaled against.

The Sahir shrugged. “I’m here for the Zumurruda.”

A hush of silence befell the room and Hyunjin knew they knew.

When the young lady spoke, the red aura around her shook angrily. “We do not have what you seek.”

“Is that so?” he raised a brow. “That’s odd because I–”

“Kafa! You will leave or I’ll cut you down where you stand,” the young man holding the saif threatened. Hyunjin wanted to laugh. “And risk centuries of bad luck and misery on you and those who succeed you? You’re one brave young man.”

“We don’t have the Zumurruda,” the girl repeated, this time with more emphasis, “but we know where to find it.”

At this, the two other individuals in the room seemed taken aback. The saif even lowered a little bit.

Foolish humans, Hyunjin mocked inwardly. That was a lie and he knew it. “Oh, really?”

“Na’am.”

He would play along, that was more fun.

“Then take me to it.”

He saw how her pupils trembled. She felt something, he was sure. She knew that he spotted the lie, but she continued with it. Foolish, foolish human.

“You can join us.” Her proposal was met with a sound of protest from the back of the room, but it was not acknowledged. “Whatever your intentions are for seeking the Zumurruda, we can settle them when we find it.”

“But, y–”

Perhaps it was for his personal entertainment did Hyunjin agree. The young man’s almost-objection was a bonus. “I’ll join you.”

•؏•

“Dead? All six of them?!” The man glared at his subordinates angrily. A lord of thieves like him shouldn’t be facing such adversities, he believed, yet his good for nothing underlings couldn’t even retrieve a simple gemstone.

He let out an exaggerated sigh and rolled his eyes, “I shouldn’t be surprised. If one wants anything done around here, one must do it themselves.”

He reached for the lower compartment in his desk and pulled out a book as old as the world. A cloud of dust rose in the air when he placed it on the surface before him. “This one’s tough, huh?”

“Very much, sir–”

“What are you two imbeciles doing still standing here? Move!” his outburst made his two henchmen scurry out of the study, barely avoiding tripping over their own feet on their way.

He rolled his eyes after them for the nth time, wondering why he couldn’t find better minions. Right, these two idiots are the only ones who remained alive.

Flipping through the worn-out pages of the book, his eyes scanned the titles until he found what he needed. “There.”

His lips stretched into an ugly grin as he read over the lines of the summoning spell. “You might’ve been able to defeat the Afarit, but let’s see how well you can handle this one, bearer of the Zumurruda.”

•؏•

“Well, then, I’ll see the three of you by sunrise,” the strange Sahir remarked and before you could say anything, strong wind broke through your temporary home. You turned your face away from the harsh winds but when you looked back up, he was gone. As though he never stood there.

What...was that?

“What just happened?” you heard Jeongin whisper-exclaim and you reached up for the nearby mishkah, lighting it up and watching as its brilliance washed over the room.

You had no idea yourself.

“I don’t know.”

“Y/n— were you not in your right mind? How can you offer to let a stranger, and a dangerous one at that, accompany us?” Minho was baffled, to say the least. Didn’t you say this journey was extremely dangerous and secretive? When did you start letting strangers unto your plans?

The partition that stood in between hid the distressed look on your face. How would you explain it to them? That stranger had a bizarre aura, something was off with him. Too much power, something similar to the energy that radiates off your siblings and off you. Something not entirely human.

“He’s dangerous, Minho,” you resorted to saying, failing to realize how his name rolled off your tongue easily, almost naturally. “He knows we have the Zumurruda. Sharing it is the only solution that doesn’t include bloodshed or eternal damnation.”

“But you can’t trust him, can you? Can we?”

“That’s why we have you.”

Perhaps it was exhaustion that made you say something so…unguarded. For a fleeting moment, the real you peeked at the world. No Jinn to be concerned with, no curses, just what you really wished to say.

You knew you appeared to dislike the prince, it was a façade made to fool your Jinni half. You tried to ingrain that in your mind through your actions and speech, everything you did was planned and calculated to keep the monster at bay.

But some rare times, the closed off bit of your heart would speak. You didn’t trust the Sahir, but you trusted Minho. That would be enough.

When you received no response, you lay back down, clutching the Zumurruda as you murmured goodnight. You’d rather not hear an answer to that.

On the other side of the partition, Jeongin looked at his cousin with a raised brow. This is new.

If he knew no better, he’d assume the prince had forgotten how to speak. The saif in his hand hung limply at his side as he stared at the makeshift wall made of palm tree fronds. An unexplainable expression illuminated his features.

What did you mean? He didn’t want to believe what his mind told him. Why would he give himself such hope?

Sighing, he shook his head and dropped his sword on the side of the bed. It was too late in the night and his thoughts had been strained enough. “Goodnight, Jeongin.”

“Goodnight.” The younger royal continued to watch him, curious but also sympathetic. In a way, he didn’t understand the manner in which his cousin thought; why he kept trying to make you see him as someone other than an unlikable betrothed. But in another way, he understood completely.

Minho loved you, and it was something almost magical. No matter what you did, the feelings he’d garnered over the years only burned brighter. And although Jeongin complained about how hopeless your case was, he was almost sorry for the prince.

Hundreds were ready to dedicate their lives for him, yet the only life he cared about was one with you.

•؏•

The sun brought a new day with it despite your weary limbs’ complaints. You rose with an unusual sense of unease in your heart. You dreaded what this day held for you.

The Sahir was indeed there when the sun rose, looking as though he didn’t plan an ambush at the dead of night. He introduced himself as Hyunjin, and you ignored the uncanny familiarity of the name.

That morning, the Zumurruda’s pull directed you south, away from the mountains. It came as a surprise, considering that in Chan’s journal, he mentioned moving east. You don’t remember reading about the Zumurruda changing routes…

“Do we know where we’re heading?” you felt his presence before you heard his voice, dark, corrupt. It made all your senses perk up.

Hyunjin fell in step beside you, and you didn’t have to steal a glance at Minho to know that a scowl was beginning to form on his face. The three of you were walking side by side while the Sahir trailed a few steps behind. What made him join, you guessed, was to bother you.

The orb of light in the sky was lathering the golden grains of sand with formidable heat, and the blows of wind were doing very little to help any of you cool off. You were not in a state to be bothered.

“Shamal.” Your response should’ve showed that you didn’t want to talk, but it seemed that Hyunjin couldn’t take the hint. “Yes, but to where? We can’t just be traveling south blindly.”

“To a place, that’s for sure.” You let out an exasperated breath.

“Your vagueness is quite–”

“You should learn to understand people’s tones,” Minho cut him off, sounding uncharacteristically hostile, not unreasonably though.

“Ah, it’s the angry saif man,” a sickeningly sweet smile drew itself on Hyunjin’s lips. “I haven’t forgiven you yet for threatening to kill me.”

The Amir only glared in response and you began to regret the moment you offered to let the Sahir join you on this trek.

“It honestly baffles me. What is someone like you doing with them?” he reminded you of some ladies at court. Those who only yapped gossip and rumors. Maybe you should’ve let Minho kill him when he had the chance.

Your silence only prompted him to continue, enjoying the way his words made the energy around you crackle angrily. “Really, what need do you have of two common swordsmen? Are they guards of some sort? Or are you perhaps…” his gaze traveled between the three of you before a knowing smirk made an appearance, “Ah, I see now.”

At that point, you were sure he was purposely riling you up. Stopping short, you turned to glare at him and for a blink, his eyes glowed red. You thought you’d imagined the face of the Devil in his, a terrifying sneer and evil eyes.

Hallucinations, you pushed your worrying thoughts back. “I don’t appreciate you speaking that way– What in the…” you trailed away when a shadow fell over the four of you, blocking out sunlight completely. Even Hyunjin grew silent.

Daring to look up, you were met with the silhouette of an enormous bird, circling over you like a predator.

“Um...what is that?”

You were too scared to answer Jeongin’s question, you weren’t even sure you wanted to know the answer. “I-I don’t know but it doesn’t—”

The ginormous bird stopped circling the air, and with heart-stopping realization on your behalf, dived headfirst toward you. A shout was leaving your lips before you could process what was happening. “Run!”

A Rokh. You’ve read about the mystical bird in ancient books. It lived in the highest mountains, at the very peak, and summoning it required a forgotten and forbidden spell. Fear, for a reason other than the beast trying to have you for lunch, flooded your heart.

Someone was trying to stop you.

The squawk that rang at your ears was deafening, and you found yourself falling to your knees while pressing the palms of your hands against them in pain. A violent blow of sandy wind resulting from the Rokh swooping in was almost enough to push you off the ground. You would’ve lost all sense of the world had that unsettling feeling not made an appearance. The same warning that came from the depths of the earth before the Afarit attacked at the palace.

You stood with a start, wobbling a little as you tried to blink the sand out of your eyes. Something was coming.

The Rokh was back in the sky, putting you in the inconvenience of darkness. Alone. You tried to find the rest, tried to find Minho, but the sand obscuring your vision made it an impossible feat. Panic quickened your breaths. Where are they?

You thought you saw a figure approach you and you called hopefully, “Minho? Is that you?”

The howling wind responded instead. You tried to walk closer. “Jeongin?”

Then you began noticing something weird about the figure’s walk. It wasn’t a walk, you realized when you squinted at it. It was a hop. And at that, you noticed that no matter how close the figure got, only one half of its body was visible. One leg, one arm, half a head, and half a torso.

That was when you became convinced you were living a nightmare.

Before you could attempt to run away from the Nasnas, it pounced on you, sinking its single clawed hand through the layers of cloth and into your shoulder. The scream that left your lips wasn’t entirely yours, but of the other soul sharing your body. Feral, as it tore through the bonds you’ve trapped it with.

Pain had blanked your mind out, so you didn’t quite understand what you were doing when you reached for the monster’s only shoulder with a clawed hand. The Nasnas let out a terrible shriek when your claws sunk into its skin, making it lose hold of you and reel back. You didn’t stop there.

Power came in immense amounts when you let your Jinni half make an appearance, but so was the hunger for bloodshed. You pulled, dislodging the arm and tearing it from the body. The spray of blood that fell over you sizzled, but that was the least of your concerns. The limb turned itself into a sword in your grip and you spun to slash it through the agonized Nasnas. Its tortured screams came to a choked stop.

Your heart should’ve hurt you from the strength and frequency of its beats, but you were instead staring at the mutilated body of the monster that attacked you. Its pale skin was splattered with gruesome red, the same shade dirtying the precious yellow of the sand. A strange sign on its forehead caught your attention and you leaned closer to examine it before a shout came from the distance. “Y/n!”

Cold dread prickled your skin as you straightened up instantly, praying no one saw you kill the Nasnas.

You were quickly assured that no one saw you, simply because they were all being attacked too. The wind had settled, and you were able to find your companions each stuck in a throng of bloodthirsty Nasanees. The sight made the Jinni inside you feverish. More to kill.

La, this wasn’t you. You weren’t a cruel killer, the secret sword training sessions you’d have with your brother didn’t make you one. But it only made sense to curse a family with the most violent Jinn there was, no?

You spotted a few monsters hopping toward you and Minho not too far away, who was cutting through the beasts as he ran to you. This is going to be an ugly fight, you thought with a grimace when you noticed the bleeding scratch on Minho’s cheek. You forgot you were almost completely covered in blood, both yours and the Nasnas’.

Just don’t get too carried away, you reminded yourself, looking up to find the Rokh still flying above you. Or just get out of this alive.

The Nasanees reached you first, but you were ready this time. Fighting wasn’t something you did regularly beyond the quiet training court, but it was almost second nature when you let your powers take over.

Your saif stabbed through the first Nasnas’ middle and you pulled it sideways, cutting a clean line through. This seemed to be a distraction because the second monster decided to lunge at you while the former one toppled to the ground. The force of the impact drove you to the ground, making it a struggle to push the Nasnas off you. A struggle, but it was not impossible.

You managed to roll out of its grip, sparing no time to plunge your sword into its back to kill it. Standing back up, you expected another monster to attack, but the one that was reaching for you had the bloodied tip of a saif poking through its chest.

It crumpled to the ground when the sword was aggressively retracted to reveal Minho standing on the other side. The erratic rise and fall of his chest was very visible as his gaze trailed over the lifeless bodies sprawled between the two of you. A delirious grin stretched his lips when he looked back at you. “Where did you learn to fight so impeccably?”

“Changbin taught me.” that small smile was yours. “Are you okay?”

You didn’t miss the way he faltered for a moment at your question before answering, “I’m okay. Are you?”

It was an ironic question, considering the blood that tinted your skin and filled the air with that nauseating stench. “I’m good.” The wounds on your shoulder would heal in no time.

Your gaze moved to where you thought you saw Jeongin, skillfully countering all the attacks aimed at him. It seemed to be a Darilmalekan thing. “We should help him.”

Minho nodded and immediately rushed to where his cousin fought. You followed, gaze gravitating back to the Rokh in the sky. You had enough trouble on the ground, the threat up above was only adding to the tension.

Some Nasanees came in your way but taking them down was easy. You’d never found yourself in a fight until recently, and you realized how different it felt to fight alongside someone. There was a wordless, mutual understanding between you and Minho; protect each other’s backs, simply.

Maybe you liked the way it felt.

From the corner of your eye, you could see Hyunjin, standing with his hands clasped before him and eyes a hellish red. Any Nasnas that approached him would either drive its claws into its own guts, chew off its hand, or attack one of its kind. He was controlling them, manipulating them, and an angry thought crossed your mind. He could help the three of you, but he had chosen to stand aside and watch you get killed.

Because he knows we have the Zumurruda. What good does he gain from saving us?

You gripped your sword tighter, slashing it across a snarling monster. We’ll survive just to spite him, then.

“What are these creatures?” Jeongin asked with a shout when he spotted the two of you near. Your saif sliced through a Nasnas’s throat and you came to stand beside him, heaving a breath, “These are the kind of offspring you get when a Jinni and a human are the parents.”

“They keep coming!” Minho’s desperate exclamation made your stomach flip. They kept coming, indeed. No matter how many you killed, there was always more to surround you. You doubted any of you would be able to last long enough.

You can finish them all, a voice in your head suggested, wicked and sinister. Just let go. Let me in. Let your true self show.

La! You pushed the voice back, but it was of no use. You saw blood wherever you looked, pale corpses wherever you stepped, cries of aggression wherever you listened. Next to you, Jeongin’s left sleeve was torn away, exposing an ugly gash across his upper arm. Minho, a few monsters away, was suffering more than a single scratch. Your shoulder pulsed with a numbing ache.

Too much.

It was too much.

You could no longer keep track of the swings of your saif or the creatures falling lifeless at your feet. This ambush was bound to destroy you.

And perhaps what finally snapped the cord was the ear-splitting squawk coming from above. Daring to look up and finding the Rokh heading straight toward you, you lost all awareness of the world.

It felt as though something was tearing through your guts, burning, boiling. Your voice was no longer yours as a wrangled scream left your lips. It might’ve been pain from the Nasanees that pounced on your doubled over body or what was rising within you, but when you opened your eyes again, you only saw red.

Standing up, you felt almost weightless. The monsters that came in your way were like sticks to snap with your clawed hands. Your sword flashed between the masses until you were standing alone. They’d all been killed or had escaped; you didn’t care. Your attention was fixed on the Rokh.

To any onlooker, you supposed you looked deranged, standing in the way of the giant bird. But maybe that mattered little compared to your appearance. Red, blazing eyes, dark, horrifying horns, and bloodied, blackened fists. You were still human, but not quite.

In the background, someone called your name. The voice made your head pound with pain, but you ignored it, raising your saif and flinging it right at the approaching Rokh. The action took no effort, but the sword swiveled through the air with unhuman force, landing in the narrow joint between the bird’s wing and body. Any regular weapon would do it no harm, but this was a cursed sword, surging with Jinni powers.

The Rokh’s wings flailed with a thunderous squawk as you felt your powers bleed into its body, leaving a trail of havoc and corruption. You watched as it thrashed in the air, hurtling toward the ground at an alarming speed, but you didn’t run away. The giant bird fought against the venomous magic, you felt it, but it was losing the fight, easily. It wasn’t long before it crashed into the ground, limbs folded in awkward positions, sending a great puff of sand into the air and forcing you to shield your eyes.

Finally, there was silence.

The wind was quiet as the enormous creature spent its last, excruciating moments. It was as though the universe had held its breath, and only the untamed beating of your heart was apathetic enough to make any noise.

The nightmare was over.

A tingle ran across your skin as you eyed the destruction around you, the chilling bloodshed. Repulsion, disgust, or horror were nowhere to be found in your heart, and you knew why. The sight only made the little voice in your head quiver in exhilaration.

But then, even that voice went silent. “Y-Y/n?”

You spun around in a beat, and a crushing realization struck when your gaze fell upon the Darilmalekan prince, his cousin, and the Sahir. Oh, no.

The reality of the situation dawned on you as your conscious rushed back in. You’ve made a terrible, horrible mistake. The flames in your eyes died out as you returned to your normal form, horns and claws disappearing like illusions.

Hyunjin looked oddly amused, Jeongin was blatantly petrified, but what hurt you was the expression of pure fear distorting Minho’s features. Great going, a voice in your head mocked, you’ve crushed whatever crumbling bond the two of you had.

No, what hurt you the most was the fact that his fear was directed at you, caused by you.

A demon in human skin.

٥

“I-I can explain— I—” the stutter in your voice made you feel small and vulnerable. It felt foreign, wrong. You weren’t a weakling, never were.

Yet, you had never been more helpless.

Minho’s expression changed very little, but he managed to blink once, twice, and thrice before forcing his gaze to the sandy ground. The pulsing ache on his cheek was long forgotten as he inhaled shakily. What he had seen couldn’t be real. It didn’t make sense at all. Yet it happened. Horns erupted from your forehead and claws extended from your fingers, he saw it happen right before his eyes.

For a moment, the monsters were pouncing on you, but in the next moment, you were cutting your way through them with utter ease and terrible violence. Killing, you made it seem easy and simple. There was no remorse on your face.

That wasn’t you.

But...it was.

Daring to look back at your distraught face, he felt his throat run dry. He didn’t know what to say.

Sensing the awkward, still tension, Hyunjin sighed, “Are we waiting for another attack? We should get going and leave explanations for later.”

“R-Right,” you mumbled, letting your gaze fall to the ground and turning southward to resume your long trek wordlessly. Hyunjin followed you instantly, disregarding the bodies scattered across the ground and the large, lifeless bird lying nearby.

You avoided looking at the carcasses as you trudged ahead, finding that one worry was more than enough to keep your mind occupied. The two royals soon followed, but they stayed back — not that you were paying attention, of course.

The wound on your shoulder was almost healed, courtesy of your Jinni powers, but Minho and Jeongin had injuries that should be tended to. They were slightly deep scratches which they cleaned along the way, unwilling to interrupt the walk. Their silence hurt you more than it should’ve.

You’re being sensitive. Get ahold of yourself! A voice scolded inwardly.

The journey was appropriately silent this time, even the Sahir remained quiet as you crossed the sands. You stopped a few times to rest and reenergize, but no words were exchanged. At least not between you and anyone else. You thought you heard Jeongin mutter something to the prince a few times.

That was better. You had more time to think about the reasonable explanation you’d give them later. But even the slow hours of sunlight didn’t seem to be enough, and night befell the desert sooner than you liked.

You reached another village by then, just as you calculated earlier that day, and seeing your bloodied attire and terrible states, the villagers ushered you into their homes quickly.

They offered your group the change of clothing you needed, a place to wash up, and some medical supplies — you didn’t have to pretend to clean your healed wound.

Then, you were sat for dinner in the isolated guest house of the village. The suffocating tension only increased then, and none of you found the will to satisfy your pleading stomachs.

Seated in a small circle around the food, quiet much like the previous hours of the day had been, you dared to be the first one to break the unbearable silence with a sigh. “I think it’s time for an explanation.”

At your hushed words, Minho’s head snapped up, and a similar look of hesitant curiosity illuminated his cousin’s face. Hyunjin, however, smiled, eyes twinkling red when you thought you were hallucinating. “Ah, finally. Go on, demon girl, tell us.”

You caught the dark look Minho threw his way but decided to ignore his words, collecting your thoughts with a deep inhale. The food will be getting cold. “This story is a long one.”

“My family,” you paused, remembering that Hyunjin didn’t know of your royal status, “has been cursed for around a century.”

The prince’s eyebrow arched at this and you took that as a sign to continue your tale. “During the first century of the Arshilmalek Alliance, internal conflict was wreaking havoc across Tallilmalek. The royal forces were in a state of war with the citizens of the kingdom, many were lost due to those attacks. One...of my ancestors fought in a minor battle against the citizen-made forces. The fight took them near the mountains, where the house of one of the most powerful Sahirat was built. The fight was brutal and violent, and it unfortunately killed many innocent children and women. The Sahira’s child was one of them.

“The child and his mother were heading toward their home when they got caught up midst the fight. The mother tried to escape and protect him, but one soldier suspected her of being a threat and shot an arrow in her direction. The soldier...was my ancestor, and his arrow went into the child’s heart.”

Deadly silence settled in the room when you stopped talking. Your story wasn’t over, it had barely begun, but you gave a moment of silence for the innocent soul lost to the raging fires of war. Not a breath was heard, even the wind outside seemed to hush down and listen to your dark secret. An echo of the Sahira’s cry of agony many, many years ago.

“The Sahira caught the bleeding child in her arms with a cry of distress,” you gulped, hating how vivid the scene seemed in your head, “When her eyes landed on the culprit she screamed at him, a curse that would haunt him and his successors forever. May you never forget the pain of loss.

“The soldier thought nothing of her shouts, and while he felt a pang of guilt in his heart, he returned to the fight. Some weeks later, the war ended with the victory of the crown. The soldier went back to his wife, who was pregnant with his son at the time and nearing labor. It wasn’t long before the couple welcomed a new member to their family.

“At first, their son seemed like the other kids. He played with his cousins, he studied with his elders, and he loved his parents very much. But on his sixth birthday, the first incident took place. His mother had gone to tuck him into bed, but never returned to her room. When...the husband went to look for her, he found her in his son’s room, lying in a pool of her own blood. The hole where her heart had been gaped at him, while his son cried over his mother’s body, hands bloody.

“When asked, the son would say he didn’t know what had happened. His mother was there, then she was dying on the floor of his room. It made no sense for a child, only six years of age, to commit such a heartless crime! So, the man decided that an assassin had slipped into his house and murdered his wife, and the boy was put back to bed.

“Some weeks later, in the darkest hour of the night, a scream was heard in the man’s house. He woke with a start and rushed to the source of the sound, which led him to the stables. There, he found his son hunched over the disfigured body of a pony. His pony, he realized, but that didn’t matter as much as the horns erupting from the boy’s forehead and the claws stretching from his fingers.

“His eyes glowed like fire when he snapped his head to look at his father. Something pulsed in the child’s grip, but the man was too terrified to try to know what it was. His son looked like an Ifrit.

“Luckily then, the little boy snapped out of it and dropped to the ground with a sob when he saw his dead pony. The terrible truth had revealed itself to the man, and he found himself remembering the Sahira’s words that day. The first Jinni child had been born.

“Devastated, the man installed extra protection in his house, sent his son to all the Atiba’a and Sahara in the city, and tried to find a way to reverse the curse. But it was all in vain. Many tried to exorcise the Jinni inside the little boy, but none succeeded. No spell nor medication helped. The man gave up then, but the nightmare didn’t end there.

“News reached him that his niece, a few years younger than his son, had murdered her sleeping father and attempted to kill her mother too. The curse had spread to the entirety of the family. Every child born after the war had a Jinni inside them, thirsty for their loved ones’ blood.

“The family denied the curse in the beginning, but when the attacks increased in frequency, they knew they had to find a way to live with it. The parents began to treat their children coldly, to spark dislike and detest in their hearts and protect themselves. When the new generation of half-Jinn took over, they took the liberty to understand the Jinn inside them and develop ways to keep them in check.

“My family became known for their lack of emotions. Generation after generation was taught to carry no feelings to avoid waking the Jinn up. But to replace that hole in their hearts, they began to discover what having a Jinni inside oneself gives from power.”

You dared to tear your gaze from the carpet, sighing as though telling that story was a wearying effort. Quite literally, it was. “What you’ve seen earlier was only some of it.”

“Some of it? There’s— there’s more?” Jeongin’s disbelief didn’t mask the fear in his tone. You couldn’t blame him. You’d be scared of yourself too. “Na’am.”

“And you have full control of the Jinni?” the Sahir seemed intrigued, which didn’t soothe the unease you felt near him. You avoided his eyes when you answered, “Most of the time. It would awaken on its own due to the curse if I’m not careful with my feelings.”

“So, we are all in danger of your Jinni waking up and slaughtering us in our sleep?”

The question shouldn’t have made your chest tighten, especially coming from Hyunjin, but you could feel Minho’s intense gaze on you. Somehow, it made the words coming out of your mouth hurt.

“La, I have no feelings for any of you.”

At this, the prince stood up, excusing himself in an incoherent whisper before rushing out of the room. His cousin soon followed after giving you a confused look, which left you alone with the Sahir.

You knew it would be impolite to leave the food untouched, but you had no will to eat. If anything, you wanted to throw up. Perhaps it was how exposed you felt. No one outside the Tallilmalekan palaces knew of the curse, and no one should.

You’d just broken that, and to none other than your betrothed.

Why were you frustrated?

“You know,” Hyunjin sighed and you looked at him with your lips pressed in a straight line. The Darilmalekan royals were no longer around, you could finally confront him freely. You had much to say. “What?”

“You and I...we’re the same.” You noticed that his hand was closed over a charm he wore around his neck. It wasn’t there before.

“How so?”

“You felt it, didn’t you? That strange energy.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you denied. What did this stranger know?

When his eyes began to glow red, you wanted to look away, but it was as though something in them pulled you in. The other soul in you stirred, almost in recognition. Or repulsion.

Something was wrong with the Sahir.

“You felt my presence that night, that’s why you warned Minho, right?” when you didn’t respond, he pressed, “You felt the Nasanees before they came. Don’t you see? Our souls speak the same language.”

You had to get away. This Sahir wasn’t a normal one, something was very wrong. “Pardon me—”

“It’s the whisper of corruption, bloodlust, hell. Like calls to like—”

“Kafa! What do you know about the curse?” you snapped, letting your eyes blaze red threateningly. It only made Hyunjin smile, slow and cryptic. “Oh, I know more than you could imagine, demon girl.”

•؏•

“It seems that Han Jisung was right, for once in his life,” Minho remarked when he sensed his cousin’s presence nearby. He’d left the guest house for a breath of fresh air; it was becoming suffocating inside.

The moon had hidden that night, as if it knew of the events that would unfold and preferred to not witness them. The prince wished he could hide too, return to his palace and his normal life, and forget everything. No magic gemstones, no hellish monsters, and no half-Jinni princesses.

Was he frightened by what you had confessed? Not much. Overwhelmed could be a better word. He didn’t know what to make of this new information. You, who he thought he’d known throughout his life, turned out to be someone else.

Or not.

It conflicted him. You were still you, still his Amira, right? That had always been you, claws and horns, even if he’d never seen them before.

Then why did his heart hurt so much?

“I have no feelings for any of you,” Jeongin repeated your words with a shake of his head. He could almost sense the moment his cousin’s heart collapsed. “I’m sorry, Minho.”

Right, that.

It made perfect sense to the Amir, and he despised it. Your never-changing indifference toward him, your stiff behavior, his useless efforts — you were protecting him from yourself.

No matter what he did, you’d never open your heart to him. You couldn’t risk it.

What did you mean the previous night, then?

It was...unfair, and Minho knew it was silly of him to say. What were the odds of helplessly falling in love with a half-Jinni princess?

The prince sighed, letting his shoulders sag dejectedly, “La ba’as. I suppose we...were never meant to be.”

“Don’t say that...” Jeongin pursed his lips while giving him a sharp look. His cousin was never one to give up, not after a hundred dry smiles and nonchalant words. Something had always pushed him to return those smiles sincerely, to not let rejection bring his spirits down. But the light in his eyes dimmed, and for the first time ever, he looked truly defeated. He knew how much this certain defeat affected him.

“I’m sure there’s a way to fix this.”

Minho gave him a small, sad smile. It was visible despite the darkness of the night. “I’m not sure anymore, Jeongin.”

“But—”

“I think...I need some time to think about it.”

“Alright. I’ll give you some space then.” Jeongin gave in, biting his bottom lip as if keeping in anything he wanted to add. With one last look at Minho, he turned around to return to the guest house. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” the prince mumbled after him. He wasn’t sure if space was what he needed because it seemed to make his thoughts double in loudness.

Not meant for each other, the voice in his mocked. Should’ve lost hope long ago.

Perhaps it was time to lose hope and move on. Better now than wait for his heart to be crushed further.

Minho didn’t want to, but he would try to disregard his feelings.

You seemed to do a great job of that. It shouldn’t be too hard, right?

•؏•

It was impossible.

When Minho awakened the next day and caught sight of you, none of the previous night’s sentiments mattered. He knew he was being a fool, but he couldn’t leave his heart behind. At least, not so soon.

Who was he without loving you?

So, Minho carried his saif and resumed the journey, following you to wherever the Zumurruda guided you.

The sun wasn’t any kinder that day, but no enormous birds were to be seen and for that, you were grateful. You led your companions south, as the Zumurruda continued to compel you. It was a little worrying, as there were no marked villages along your way. You might have to spend the night in the open desert if no solutions came across your minds.

“Can’t you use your...powers to set camp when it’s time?” Jeongin wondered and you shook your head, “La. I can’t transform sand into a house.” It wasn’t a body part you could make weapons out of...

“Oh, well.” He puffed out his cheeks, slightly disappointed. You suppressed a smile. The tension from the previous day had lessened, which was a great relief. You weren’t sure you would be able to handle another suffocatingly silent walk. Although, Minho still didn’t say much.

“What’s the worst that could happen? Have none of you slept under the moon before?” Hyunjin rolled his eyes, missing the look exchanged between you and Jeongin. Royals don’t sleep in the open.

“No, we haven’t. But I suppose there’s nothing to worry about,” the younger royal said. “Y/n, you’ve got Minho, and I have my pouch to sleep on... It wouldn’t be so bad.”

You glared, and an embarrassed cough came from where Minho walked. It only made a mischievous grin grow on Jeongin’s lips.

Rolling your eyes dismissively, you shut your thoughts out before they became dangerous. “We might find a Waha along the way. There’s still a long day ahead of us.”

“Pray to the Aliha we do,” Jeongin muttered, raising his head to squint at the sun, “It’s formidably cold during the night.”

And you did. You wished in your heart for somewhere safe to spend the night at before lapsing into comfortable silence. The four of you traveled undisturbed for several hours, stopping to rest before continuing your seemingly endless route.

No signs of life crossed your path as the sun inched westward. No villages or caravans, not even a tree or a well. You’d begun to worry when the sky’s blue poured into a light purple, until a dark bush in the distance caught your attention. “There’s something ahead!”

It was too late for a mirage to fool you, and the closer you got, the clearer it became. The dark bush rose to become the tips of a cluster of palm trees. You’d found an oasis.

You found yourself rushing toward it as if it would slip away like a fragment of your imagination. Your prayers were answered after all. You wouldn’t have to sleep the night in the cruel cold.

The oasis wasn’t big, but neither was it small. You walked through several rows of trees before reaching the heart keeping them alive, a spring of water. It was more than you could’ve asked for.

Running to the water, Jeongin was the first to plunge his hands in and splash his face with it. Hyunjin disregarded him and found a palm tree to lean on while Minho stayed back, looking around before announcing, “I’ll gather tinder to light a fire.”

“I’ll join you.” Jeongin stood and unsheathed his saif. If Minho had given him a discouraging look, he didn’t see it before following him deeper into the oasis.

You were once more left alone with Hyunjin.

You decided to sit at the base of a tree a little away from the Sahir, still unsettled by his presence. Bringing out a bundle of tamir, you chewed on a piece to recharge when Hyunjin asked, “What kind of tinder are those two planning to collect with their suyoof?”

You took your time before swallowing your food and answering him nonchalantly, “I suppose they’ll be cutting some fronds from a low nakhla.”

The Sahir nodded wistfully before shaking his head as if in disbelief. “It still strikes me as a wonder why the two of them are accompanying you on this journey. You clearly don’t depend on them.”

You ignored him, instead taking notice of the thin crescent moon smiling at you from its reflection on the water. There’s some light tonight, you thought, mind wandering off to Minho’s and Jeongin’s whereabouts. You could hear the sound of branches being chopped off not too far away.

“Ignoring my questions only confirms my assumptions, y/n. You’re using them, aren’t you? What else would a half-Jinni want with useless humans?” Hyunjin pressed, almost as if desperately trying to dig out an evil plan from you. It was beginning to become annoying.

A ‘tsk’ left your lips as you rolled your eyes at him, knowing that he could clearly see you. “I am not using them, Hyunjin. They are my companions.”

“Companions? Pathetic,” the Sahir chuckled dryly. “Jeongin, I think I can understand, but the other one? What company does he provide exactly? All he does is brandish his saif around and glare. Or is it the face you’re keeping him around for?”

You didn’t understand it completely, but something about Hyunjin speaking about Minho that way bothered you. What did the Sahir know about him to talk like that?

You knew you were letting your emotions have the best of you when you replied bitterly, “He has a name, you know. And he’s my fiancé.”

You didn’t have to look at him to know he was lifting an eyebrow. His uncanny interest sent a chill up your spine.

The conversation was fortunately cut short when Minho arrived along with Jeongin, each carrying a few branches. They set on kindling the fire in no time, and a bright flame soon lit up the area. The shadows that danced on the palm trees were almost eerie, but that didn’t bother Jeongin as he plopped on the sand wearily, dropping his bag and sighing tiredly. He didn’t care to eat something before wishing you all a good night and dozing off almost immediately. You didn’t question his behavior, finding yourself eager to do just the same. If only the ever so faint ache in your heart would quiet down.

The cause of that ache, you knew, but found no courage to confront.

You weren’t a fool to deny that Minho’s silence bothered you more than it should’ve. It was as if he were purposely avoiding you, and if you were to be honest, you missed the meager talk you’d share with him.

You might never be able to talk to him normally again, just when things began to better. With that thought, you gave up on trying to fall asleep and took on gazing at the dotted sky. It had become so beguilingly silent that you would’ve missed the faint rustle of a sword running through sand. Almost.

You snapped your head in the direction of the sound, and that was when you noticed that on the other side of the spring, someone was awake.

Perhaps just as conflicted with thought as you were, Minho had chosen to lean on a tree away from the three of you. He, too, had trouble falling asleep.

He couldn’t see you like you’d seen him, clear and beautiful despite the dark. As he’d always been.

Looking around, you found that the Sahir was asleep, or at least seemed to be. You held your breath. That was your chance.

Gulping anxiously, you pushed yourself to your feet and walked carefully through the sand and around the glimmering eye of the spring. It didn’t take long for the prince to notice you, for he stopped playing with his saif and laid it on the ground gently. Something flashed in his eyes, unexplainable, when they rose to regard your approaching figure.

For a moment there, you hesitated. What if I’m doing the wrong thing? But that thought was shoved away by the words that fell out of your lips thoughtlessly. “May I sit?”

Minho’s response came in a whisper after a few beats of silence, as though he was in disbelief. “Of course.”

You mustered a weak smile, which went unseen, before sitting beside him on the hardened sand. You could see the fire flicker and wave at you from across the spring as if it were wishing you good luck. You needed it.

“Have you eaten?”

Your question was met with a shrug. “La... I’m not hungry.”

You hummed in acknowledgement before letting silence take you into its suffocating embrace. You’d run out of things to say, and you dreaded delving into the topic. But you knew that there was no escaping it, that this might be the only chance you’d get to talk in privacy, so you inhaled deeply and pushed down your worries.

What’s the worst that could happen anyway? You’d tried all what the universe had to offer.

“Do you remember Changmin?”

Minho was slightly taken aback by your question, but he nodded nonetheless, “Na’am. Why?”

He remembered your little brother. He was only a few months old when he was announced dead in an assassination. It was said that mourning over his death killed the Tallilmalekan Queen.

Your gaze was trained on the crescent in the sky as you spoke, letting yet another family secret free. “Ummi had done a great job with raising the three of us. She’d repressed her Jinni excellently. But with his birth...her biggest fear lived.”

The air stopped in Minho’s lungs when a ghastly realization struck about what you were telling him. Your little brother was not assassinated but rather—

“Perhaps she’d thought she was safe, so she let her heart loose,” you paused with a heavy sigh, “It was only a few months before we found her wailing over his lifeless body, covered in his blood. It...killed her.”

The Amir couldn’t speak. His tongue felt too heavy to lift. When you’d first explained the curse, he thought he’d encompassed the horror of it. He was wrong.

You sighed again, knowing that your story must’ve been unpleasant to hear. “I-I suppose what I’m trying to say is...asifa. I owe you an explanation for all that’s happening.”

When he remained quiet, you continued, “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors, and there is some truth to them. We’ve kept the curse in our family for as long as we can remember and as a result, people began to take notice of our outside relations and political marriages. We can’t afford to torment more innocent people with the crimes of our ancestors. I-I know I can’t ask this of you, but I hope you would keep some understanding in your heart. I don’t want you to be hurt— I don’t want to hurt you.”

Minho would’ve thought he imagined the last few words had they not repeated in his head like a prayer. Suddenly, he felt like the most selfish prince to walk upon the land. There you were, worried that you’d hurt him, while he was letting his own heartbreak blind him. You didn’t choose to live that way, why was he putting the blame on you?

“You don’t have to apologize,” he spoke, startled by the strange rawness in his voice. “It’s not— it’s not your fault.”

You wanted to laugh as you brought your gaze down, but a shiny object caught your attention instead. The ring encircling the prince’s fourth finger reflected the thin moonlight elegantly, almost mocking in its pride. You didn’t recall seeing him without it ever since your engagement ceremony a couple of years ago. It made your heart lurch weirdly.

Looking back at your bare fingers, guilt crumbled like a brittle statue in your chest. La, you had a lot to apologize for. “It’s not that.

“Ever throughout our lives, I’ve made you feel unwanted for no apparent reason. You deserve much better than that, had fate not been so cruel. Asifa, for despite all my efforts, you are still in danger.”

“What do you mean?” Minho gulped, making you chuckle sardonically, “Have you tried fighting your heart before?”

You didn’t expect an answer, but you still paused before continuing, “It’s not easy... You don’t make it any easier either.”

When you’d spent your life cutting your conversations as short as can be, it felt almost liberating to speak with the prince for that long. You decided that maybe, you’d let your guard down for the night. Just this once.

But while you savored the sweetness of that momentary freedom, Minho felt as though he was running out of air. Was that a slight confession, or was exhaustion finally getting into his mind? He was glad you didn’t push for any responses from him, or else he might’ve said something undeniably foolish.

You had too much power over him, and he doubted you even knew.

“S-So,” the prince cleared his throat. He shouldn’t get too happy, not with the curse still holding you down. “that’s how it’ll stay?”

You didn’t have to ask to know that he meant the odd relationship the two of you had; hidden feelings and unrequited love. You smiled weakly, “La. There’s something...you should know.”

At that, Minho hummed, prompting you to proceed. And you did, with an undertone of excitement. “There is a way to break the curse.”

“The Sahira who created the curse had enchanted a stone heart to absorb all her magic when she dies. It is called the Sahira’s Heart, and it is hidden somewhere in the Isle of the damned.

“Shattering the Sahira’s Heart would destroy all the curses she’d laid. To find it, the Sahira created the Zumurruda.”

Minho was quick to put the pieces together and he concluded with newfound hope, “And the Zumurruda actually leads to the Sahira’s Heart.”

“Correct,” you nodded. “Many princes have tried finding it before me, but as you can see, none succeeded.”

“Why?”

“It’s a dangerous journey.”

“Why are you taking it then? Aren’t you...afraid?”

His question caught you off guard. Following the Zumurruda had always been a purpose you ran after. Never had you stopped to think about fear. Sure, you knew that the journey wasn’t a passing breeze, but were you afraid?

You shrugged, “La.”

“And I know you might be thinking that if the princes before me failed, I should know better than to follow the same route. But you must know that unlike those princes, I am willing to use my powers,” you exhaled, voice dropping to a murmur, “even if it costs me dearly.”

It was at that moment Minho knew that he would follow you to hell and back unhesitatingly. He was bound to you until the sky falls, and a curse won’t be changing that anytime. “I’ll be with you then, Amirati.”

You smiled, swiftly calming the ripple of flutters in your heart. “Shukran—”

The word stuck in your throat like pebbles in mud when a gust of unease slammed into you. Something was wrong.

No, something was approaching.

You stood with a start, eyes darting from one side to another in suffocating anticipation. This was different. Unlike the Afarit or the Nasanees, it felt big, and far more dangerous. Untamed.

Like calls to like, Hyunjin had said. That thing wasn’t your like.

It felt more like the complete opposite. The Jinni in you seemed almost...afraid.

Your sudden actions made Minho frown in concern, “Is something wrong—” he didn’t get to ask because right then, the ground rumbled, and you reached for him with an exclamation, “Look out!”

٦

The onyx horn appeared to glow in the night. You would’ve been in awe had it not been connected to a terrifying creature, and had it not made you feel lightheaded. This is not good.

The Mi’raj. None of the sketches you’d seen of it prepared you for the sheer horror of the monster. What seemed like an enormous rabbit had fur the color of Qahwa, claws that ripped from darkened paws, eyes that pulsed red, and a magnificent horn that crowned its head. It had an appearance that was so abominable that the Jinni in you repulsed in disgust...or fear.

The beast grunted as it lunged at the two of you, not sparing a moment for you to catch your breath. Pushing Minho out of the way, you threw yourself to the other side and scrambled to your feet when the Mi’raj halted to a stop.

You tasted sand, and Minho shouted above the commotion, “What’s happening?”

“I don’t know. Wake the rest!” You cried as you avoided a stab from the beast’s horn by a hair. You tried calling on to your powers, but it was like lighting a fire midst heartless wind.

It was of no use.

You resorted to running for your life when it caught the bottom of your cloak and ripped it apart. It followed you relentlessly as you stumbled along your way through the palm trees. But you could only run away for so long, and you knew that eventually, it would catch you. Desperation was beginning to savage your heart as helplessness closed in on you.

Why can’t you summon your powers? You opened the doors for your Jinni to take over, but it stayed hidden. It refused to make an appearance.

You were to deal with that monster alone.

That was the first time you’d felt genuine, raw fear, and you never wanted to experience it again. How ironic.

You thought you heard shouts coming from behind, but you couldn’t distinguish them from those in your mind. The Mi’raj seemed to target you alone, and you didn’t have to guess to know why. It, too, came for the Zumurruda.

The Zumurruda.

Oh.

An idea struck you like a splash of water under the blazing sun and you fidgeted to pull the gemstone out of your tunic. You made an abrupt turn, which resulted in the Mi’raj crashing into a few trees. This bought you a few seconds to hold the Zumurruda and call on to your powers again.

The Zumurruda was a relic of great power, and you thought that if you could pull its magic into yourself, you might be able to defeat the Mi’raj. You only had to figure out how to do that.

Your muscles burned from running in the sand, but you couldn’t give in to the pain. The Mi’raj was back on your trail sooner than you wished, but that didn’t matter because you found an opening in the Zumurruda’s pull. A loose thread, and you pulled at it eagerly.

You opened your soul to it, much like you did to welcome your Jinni powers. The Zumurruda’s magic felt cold, corrupt, and it would’ve made you shy away had you not been desperate for anything to save yourself.

You didn’t know if your hands had gotten cold, but the gemstone was suddenly too warm. Magic, so corrupted and viscous, seeped into your system. For a beat there, you realized the mistake you’d committed.

This was the same magic that cursed you and your family. The same magic that damned this land. It was evil. What had you taken in?

A terrible squeak behind you snapped you out of your thoughts and you lost your footing, tripping and twisting your ankle as you came face to face with the sand. But you had no time to dwell over the sharp pain, for the Mi’raj pounced on you with a haunting growl and you were plunged into numbness.

The Zumurruda was still in your hand when you shielded your face with your arms, ready to surrender to your cruel fate with closed eyes. Right then, you thought of home, of your mother and father, of your brother and sister.

You’d tried. You’d tried to end their misery once and for all, for them and for yourself. But that was the end of it all. You thought of Minho, and how heartless fate had been toward the two of you.

Perhaps that was it. That was the last act in the play of your fates.

It felt like an incomplete ending.

A ring of white light exploded from the Zumurruda upon contact with the tip of the Mi’raj’s horn, engulfing you in pure brilliance. For a moment there, you felt light, weightless, as though you were floating amid the clouds before falling back to the hard ground. You felt heavy then. Something pressed on your chest, narrowing your breaths to choked gasps.

Alive or dead, you couldn’t tell, but you caught the shouts that surrounded you before losing yourself to the forbidding darkness.

•؏•

Minho was sure his soul had left his body when he found you lying still under the lifeless body of the Mi’raj. He dropped the torch in his hand and fell to your side, helplessly trying to push off the monster and pull you out. Jeongin rushed to his aid instantly, while Hyunjin observed apathetically.

The three had been following you when a flash of light caught their attention. To the two royals, it was a clear indicator of your whereabouts, but to the Sahir, it was different news. A familiar energy was released with that light, and he was dreadfully aware of its source.

The Zumurruda.

You did something and it cost great magic.

After much struggling, Minho and Jeongin managed to drag your body away from the beast. That’s when Minho noticed something horribly wrong. A curse left his lips as his hands rested on your face in worried pats. “She’s cold— too cold. Bring the torch or anything, we need fire!”

Jeongin stood and hurried to the torch Minho had dropped earlier. It was dying out quickly, but he supposed that was better than nothing.

He brought it back to Minho, who had a hand placed on the side of your neck. There was a pulse, and he released a breath he’d been holding for too long. You’re alive.

Taking the torch from Jeongin, the prince noticed that the flame was getting smaller. It was barely enough to warm you up.

“What are you doing?” Jeongin eyed his cousin weirdly when he unraveled his litham, piled it on the ground, and dropped the flaming torch over it. The fire rose, and Minho responded casually, “We don’t have time to collect more tinder.”

“But what about your head—”

“I’ll be okay. Bring some water and bandages,” Minho dismissed his worries and knelt beside you again, pushing you to lie a little closer to the small fire. He checked for any obvious injuries and noticed that your left hand was bleeding profusely from a wound across your palm.

When he examined it closely, he noticed the shards of a green gemstone poking through the cut and with a grimace, he carefully removed them. The pieces were covered in blood, but they weren’t hard to recognize. They were pieces of—

“The Zumurruda.”

Minho snapped his head in the direction of the voice to find Hyunjin standing behind him, an unsettling expression illuminating his face as he peered at the broken pieces of the gemstone. Gripping the hilt of his sword, the prince stood to face him threateningly, “Stand back.”

“Oh, look who’s becoming angry,” Hyunjin raised a brow, “You know, you are in no place to pretend as though I am the villain here. You lied to me about the Zumurruda and now your fiancée broke it.”

The Sahir’s eyes began to glow red as his voice grew in depth. “If anyone were to be angry here it should be me, and you should’ve known better than to meddle around in—”

A sharp gasp followed by a coarse cough interrupted him, and Minho spent no time to return to your side and help you into a sitting position.

“It’s okay, you’re safe now,” he muttered, although it sounded as though he was reassuring himself instead. He had an arm wrapped around your shoulders to support you, while gently massaging your shoulders to encourage your body to relax. It was a method he’d learned from the royal medic.

Jeongin arrived right then, carrying a waterskin and the necessary supplies. The Sahir watched, silently seething, as the prince offered you water and his cousin tended to your wounded hand. You were mumbling incoherently, refusing water and treatment, but Minho was not giving in. “Y/n, please, you need to drink water.”

“B-But...” your words were slurred, as though the mere act of speech was a grueling effort you weren’t capable of. The prince’s tone was gentle, and it made Hyunjin’s skin crawl in disgust. Or envy. “You can say all you want, just have a sip of water first.”

You remained still for a moment, limply leaning on Minho for support, before weakly reaching out for the waterskin. Quickly noticing your efforts, your fiancé helped you lift the pouch to your lips.

The world slowly blinked into clarity after you took a long sip of water. It took you several moments to realize that Minho was almost holding you in an embrace, and while it made the Jinni inside you recoil, you didn’t wish to move. It was comfortable in ways you forbade yourself from indulging in.

Jeongin had finished bandaging your hand when you noticed shiny, green bits in the ground. Your weariness didn’t hinder you from recognizing it and you whispered, almost in disbelief, “The Zumurruda...”

“Yes, the Zumurruda,” came a voice, so dark and beguiling. The Sahir picked a shard from the ground and let it rest in the palm of his hand. “You broke it.”

At his words, you took in a breath that felt like doom. You’d broken the Zumurruda.

What had you done?

“I knew you had it, but I didn’t expect you to break it. If I’d known, I would’ve taken it from you, you foolish human!” Hyunjin’s fist curled over the green shard and the air began to crackle dangerously. The prince didn’t seem to notice that as he scowled. “Be quiet.”

“No, h-he’s right,” you managed to murmur. “I...broke it.”

“I’m sure there’s another explanation.”

“No, there is not!” Hyunjin advanced threateningly, eyes blazing red as though he was going to lay a deadly curse on the three of you. At that moment, Jeongin swiftly unsheathed his saif and held it against the Sahir’s neck. “I presume we told you to be quiet.”

Hyunjin glared at the young royal before rolling his eyes, “I suppose there is no point in arguing now, is there?”

A weak whisper came from you. “But how...will we find the Sahira’s Heart now?”

Jeongin frowned in confusion, “What?”

“See! It is truly a dilemma,” Hyunjin stepped away from the edge of the sword and clasped his hands behind his back. “How will we find the Sahira’s Heart?”

“Why do you care?” Minho scoffed, to which Hyunjin tutted, “We’ve been in this perilous journey together, I suppose I feel an obligation to finish it with you.”

You would’ve laughed at the prince’s exaggerated eye roll had you not been half conscious. “There’s...no point in resuming this journey...there is no Zumurruda t-to guide us...”

“Right, right,” the Sahir paused, pondering, before he smiled knowingly, “I might know of a way...”

“There’s a cave on the Isle of the Damned fabled to hide riches beyond one’s imagination.” Hyunjin’s tone was that of wonder as he spoke. “It is said that a Marid is trapped there, and it could grant its freer three wishes.”

Jeongin raised an eyebrow, “Isn’t that a mere legend?”

“Yes, but so are the Nasanees and the Rokh. It might as well be true.”

“Are we going to resume this journey relying on a legend?” Minho interjected, skepticism clear in his voice. “Are we sure this wouldn’t be a great waste of time?”

“Do you want to find the Sahira’s Heart or not?” Hyunjin argued. “You’ve already wasted time coming here then breaking the Zumurruda.”

“I don’t like repeating myself, ya Sahir,” the prince narrowed his eyes when Hyunjin brought up the broken gemstone once more. The latter ignored him, and you found it would be better to speak before an argument broke out. “The Sahir might be right. If we can...find this cave, then we might be able to wish for the Sahira’s Heart...”

“I suppose there’s something I am unaware of,” Jeongin cleared his throat, “What is this ‘Sahira’s Heart’?”

“I’ll explain to you later,” Minho answered him before turning his attention to you, “Are you sure you want to do this? We can also return home...”

You took in a quiet breath. After all that had happened in the past few days, you knew you weren’t ready to give up yet. “I still want...to try.”

“It is set then!” Hyunjin clasped his hands, appearing a tad bit too enthusiastic in comparison to his outburst a short while ago. “I’ll be seeing you by sunrise.”

The three of you gave him no response as he strode away, back to the heart of the oasis. Jeongin soon followed, after asking if his help was needed and gathering the supplies he brought. You found yourself alone with Minho again, much like you were an hour ago. Silence had finally settled around the two of you.

Your soul was at peace, which you thought was odd, considering the disaster dawning on you. You didn’t know what happened after you blacked out. The Zumurruda was broken, and months of planning were gone in a blink.

All you had left was faith in Hyunjin’s plan. Who would’ve thought you’d be trusting the Sahir after all?

Close to you, Minho found himself at peace too. Concern still nagged at the back of his mind, but with you alive and breathing in his arms, it became a hushed whisper. His heart didn’t hammer in his chest, as he’d expected it to if he were to ever hold you. Instead, it was calm, blissful. And selfishly, he wished that moment would last.

It wouldn’t, he knew.

A sigh left your lips, “Minho, I have to tell you...something.”

A hum encouraged you to continue. “I think...I absorbed the Zumurruda’s power.”

“What do you mean?” the prince sounded almost afraid.

“The Mi’raj, I couldn’t use my powers near it,” you recalled, “I...thought that if I could use the Zumurruda’s power I might be able to defeat it somehow. I-I don’t know what happened next but that broke it.”

You finally turned your gaze to where the Mi’raj lay. Only then did you take a good look at it and notice the substance of which its horn was made.

Abarmout Stone.

Things began to make sense suddenly. The precious stone was used to ward off evil, and it could only be found in the depths of Bahr Abarmout. Evils, such as your Jinni powers, were useless against it.

But not the Zumurruda. The Sahira’s powers were beyond hell and its devilry.

“I’ve made a big...mistake.”

“That was not a mistake,” Minho asserted. “You had to do anything to save yourself and if a meager rock was the cost, then so be it.”

“Well, whatever was in that meager rock is in my blood now.” A ghost of a laugh danced in your voice, though you hadn’t the heart to laugh. “I don’t know what this might mean but...you have the right to know what happened to the Zumurruda.”

“It’s alright. It doesn’t matter to me as it matters to others. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Asifa,” that was the only response you could utter, and it seemed to confuse the prince just as much. “Why?”

“For dragging you along this...aimless, perilous trek. I should’ve been doing this alone.”

At that moment, Minho was convinced you were rambling off due to exhaustion. Why else would you say something like that?

“Y/n,” he sighed, “I suggested to join you, and I wouldn’t take back my words for anything.”

“But—”

“I promise.”

You fell silent at that. There was no changing his mind.

“Can you walk?” Minho asked after a beat, and you brought your knees close to your body with a whisper, “I think so.”

Your shoulders felt cold when Minho removed his arm from around you to stand. He held a hand out for you, and you grabbed it reluctantly as you pushed yourself to your feet. The fire near you was dying out, but that didn’t explain the formidable cold you felt at your fingertips.

Nor the chill that pumped out of your heart.

•؏•

You reached Kahif Al Ghareeb after two days of wearying travel. The cave was situated at the base of one of the Isle’s great mountains, and Hyunjin claimed it was the fabled place.

You couldn’t deny the eeriness of the cave. There was magic inside, indeed. Perhaps, your journey won’t end in vain after all...

“This is the entrance?” Jeongin remarked loudly, raising an eyebrow at the enormous rock blocking the cave’s opening.

“Na’am. Does it not look like an entrance to you?” Hyunjin retorted, stepping toward the rocky barrier.

The three of you followed him. “Well, you can’t enter through it.”

“Not unless you say the magic words.”

“The what?”

“The magic words— have none of you heard the tale of Ali Baba?” the Sahir was both baffled and disappointed. You caught his low murmur of ‘people of this age’ and decided not to comment on it. “It’s a tale for a reason.”

“You, out of all people, shouldn’t be saying this,” Hyunjin shook his head. “You breathe magic.”

You disregarded him as Jeongin frowned, “So you’re implying that if we simply say ‘Iftah ya simsim’ the rock would miraculously mo—”

A rumble coming from within the mountain cut him off, and you wanted to laugh when the entrance cleared slowly as though the rock were a simple door. You’ve seen enough magic in the past days, a moving boulder shouldn’t have been a surprise.

Hyunjin’s expression was strangely smug as he strode into the dark cave. From your place, you could see mounds of what seemed to be gold and jewelry, strewn across the cave. It was unreal, even for a royal like you.

The Sahir stopped short and clasped his hands, muttering something before throwing them outward and illuminating the cave in the light of a thousand flames. You could hear Minho’s slow inhale of wonder when his gaze fell upon the treasures inside. “It’s real.”

“Everything is real,” Hyunjin shrugged. “Now will you continue to stand there like fools, or will you step in?”

“Right,” the prince muttered before walking toward the Sahir. You and Jeongin followed.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” you hid your awe as you came to stand beside Hyunjin. The unnerving energy around him had become less unsettling in the past couple of days. He gave you a cryptic smile, “You could do anything if you stop trying to be so human.”

Before you could respond to that, Minho questioned, “What do we do now?”

“We look for the Marid’s lamp,” the Sahir answered matter-of-factly.

“Amid all this? That would be impossible.”

“Well, not impossible per se,” Hyunjin crossed his arms, pondering for a short while before announcing, “My instincts tell me we should look in the far left corner of the cave.”

Minho rolled his eyes sarcastically and directed his attention toward you, “What do you say?”

“I don’t know. I suppose we look wherever Hyunjin says to begin,” you shrugged, and so the four of you began the long search.

It was almost impossible, as the prince complained, for there was much to sift through and you had no map to guide you.

Almost.

You noticed the strange pull the closer you neared the corner at which Hyunjin pointed. Magic. And you could feel it like you felt the approach of the Afarit and the Nasanees. You relied on that inner compass.

Your search was approaching no advancements when you heard commotion by the entrance of the cave. You noticed it first, the sound of loud conversation and the thumping of hooves.

You weren’t alone.

Soon enough, Minho and Jeongin noticed it too and shared alarmed looks. The Sahir seemed unbothered.

“What do you mean the Zumurruda is gone too? First the Rokh, then the Mi’raj, and now this?!” you could make out an angry exclamation and your heart dropped in realization. They must be the people who sent all those monsters to attack you and retrieve the Zumurruda. They jeopardized your life, Minho’s, and Jeongin’s throughout the past days.

The coincidence was perturbing, and you truly weren’t prepared for another fight.

“Wait!” the shout was closer. “The entrance is open— someone’s here!”

Minho unsheathed his saif, “I’ll go settle this—”

You placed a hand on his arm to keep him from moving. “Stay here. I don’t know what they are capable of.”

“Oh, stop worrying. It’s probably a band of harmless thieves,” Hyunjin said with a dismissive wave of his hand, to which you scowled, whispering, “These “thieves” are the same people who sent that Rokh to attack us! Didn’t you hear?”

He spared you a second-long glance and shrugged, continuing to look through a treasure chest.

You wished you could smack him.

“Quick! Search the cave!” a command from who you assumed was the leader sounded across the cave and Minho gave you a desperate look, “I can’t just sit here, they’ll find us eventually!”

When you didn’t budge, he reasoned, “Let me and Jeongin distract them while you search for the lamp. Them finding the two of us is better than finding us all.”

“He’s right,” Jeongin interjected and you had to sigh in exasperation. “What if they outnumber you and your distraction doesn’t help us? These people are dangerous.”

“More dangerous than the Nasanees?” the prince suggested.

“I don’t know, maybe!”

“Trust us, y/n,” he paused, as if contemplating his next words before sighing, “Just focus on finding the lamp, and we’ll get out of here.”

Your heart screamed at you to deny his request, but your mind propelled you otherwise. Minho’s plan did seem like the best thing to do. Though, you had a feeling you would regret the words that fell from your mouth. “Fine. Be safe.”

٧

It wasn’t long after Minho and Jeongin snuck away did you hear a stranger shout, “I’ve found them!”

You forced yourself to focus on the task at hand and find the lamp, but it proved to be impossible. With the shouts and the clashing of swords invading every comprehensible thought of yours, you couldn’t keep your mind off the prince and his cousin. If those thieves had the means to summon a Rokh, then you were justifiably concerned for the safety of your companions.

Concerned enough to miss the growing pull of magic that was tugging at your soul.

“I think— y/n!” the Sahir brought you out of your thoughts and you blinked at him distractedly, “Na’am?”

“Focus, will you? Can’t you feel where the lamp lies?”

“I think so,” you drawled.

“Then what is it telling you? Why aren’t you doing anything?!”

“I—” you turned to face him, eyes wide in fear. “Asifa. I have to help them.”

“La! We need to find the lamp!” Hyunjin called after you, but you couldn’t hear him as you made your way toward the commotion. You found them, a large group of bandits teamed against the two Darilmalekan royals. It wasn’t an ordinary fight, for they appeared to want to kill with each swing of their swords. They were like a pack of wild hounds.

A familiar presence within you awakened at the scene, bloodthirsty.

From the corner of your eye, you caught a man wrapped in black advance on a distracted Jeongin with his saif raised. To your sheer horror, he brought his sword down on the unsuspecting royal’s head, eliciting a chilling cry from him. It reverberated within your bones, numbing your limbs, stealing your voice, and throwing your world into mayhem. In a moment of weakness, Minho turned toward his fallen cousin. His assailants were quick to take advantage of his distraction.

The flash of swords was the last you saw before your vision dipped into blood and you found yourself tearing through the bandits in a haze.

Your clawed hands burned with bright flames as they ravaged anything and everything within their reach. You couldn’t discern your enemies from your friends, all were the same in the eyes of your Jinni. Prey.

You didn’t feel it, but the cave shook with the fury that pulsed in your heart. Your blind carnage didn’t last long, for many escaped or hid. Most, but one.

He stood, saif in hand, as he called on his bandits, “You fools! You’ve seen worse monsters!”

A flicker of thought crossed your mind. He must be their leader.

A new spark of rage ignited in your soul, and in a beat, you were grabbing his neck and throwing him into a pile of gold. Blisters were appearing on his neck in place of your blazing grip, but you felt no remorse as you proceeded toward him again.

His scream of horror went unheard when your clawed hand covered his face, digging into the skin mercilessly. When you spoke, it wasn’t your voice. “Y-You.”

You dragged your hand downward, slow and torturous. This time, his screams were loud enough to pierce the veil of bloodlust clouding your mind, but what stopped you was the arm that swung against your neck and pulled you backward. Instinctively, you pushed your attacker off, sending him hurtling across the clearing. You’d let go of the bandits’ leader and turned around to look at who you pushed, locking gazes.

You saw it then.

Fear.

And your senses crashed back into you with a horrified gasp. Blood had lathered your arms and tinted your clothes, but you only cared to rush to his side. “Minho!”

He didn’t struggle to sit upright, although you noticed he clutched his right arm with a grimace. His eyes were glazed over when you dropped to your knees beside him, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

Minho shook his head, seemingly elsewhere, “Where’s Jeongin?”

Jeongin. You stood with a start, looking around frantically and praying to all the Aliha he didn’t fall victim to your Jinni’s violence. You spotted him lying on the ground, limbs sprawled lifelessly, resting on a blanket of his own blood. Minho trailed behind you, and when he saw his dear cousin, he fell to his side with a choked sob. His hands roamed his face, trying, searching for some hope.

You didn’t find it in you to stand any closer. Death was looming around you, and you refused to let it take Jeongin away. There must be a way to fix this. There must be something—

“Well, at least some of us did something useful while you hooligans wasted your time brawling with bandits,” came Hyunjin’s voice from behind. You snapped around to face him, noticing the golden lamp he tossed between his hands. Hope burst through your heart. “You found it.”

Minho let his attention wander to the Sahir at your words. He, too, recognized the shiny artifact.

Hyunjin shrugged, tossing it toward an attentive Minho, “Of course I did. Now do with it what you please, we haven’t gotten all day.”

You were too elated by the discovery to question the Sahir’s words or intentions, urging the prince to summon the Marid instead, “Go on, we can save him!”

Minho didn’t think twice before rubbing the side of the lamp, desperate for anything to save his cousin. You watched as smoke swirled out of the mouth of the lamp, circling the air until it formed the torso and the head of a man. Tinged purple, the Marid with great dark hair and golden cuffs bowed to its freer. “Shubbaek Lubbaek. You, who has summoned me, are granted three wishes of your heart’s true desire.”

There was no time to marvel at the magnificence of the magical being, not when Jeongin was dying before the prince’s eyes. He cried to the Marid, “Please, save him! Bring him back to us!”

“Is that your first wish?” The Marid’s voice boomed throughout the cave as though it came from the depths of the ground.

“Yes!”

“Your wish is my command.”

When you looked back at Jeongin, the bleeding cut across his head had disappeared, almost like it never was there. His wounds, gone, and instead of lifeless, he seemed to be peacefully asleep.

You didn’t miss the tears brimming Minho’s eyes as a sigh tangled with a chuckle left his lips, “I-It’s real he’s—!”

Minho halted mid-sentence, letting out a strangled noise as his eyes widened in shock and his world lapsed into eerie silence. His gaze drifted downward slowly until it met the tip of the saif poking out of his chest, scarlet with his blood.

٨

“It has been five days!” Changbin slammed a hand on the table, where many advisors and the Darilmalekan King sat. They were feeding him more empty promises, he knew, and the Tallilmalekan Crown Prince had had quite enough. “Five days and there’s not a single trace of them!”

The King narrowed his eyes. He, too, had enough of your brother’s stubbornness. “We are aware. Our scouts—”

“Your scouts are doing an unsatisfactory job,” Changbin remarked. “They shouldn’t be taking this long to find them.”

“Pardon us, then. This is the most we can do.”

“Fine,” the prince threw his hands in the air, “we’ll be bringing our own forces to search for them.”

The Darilmalekan King sighed, “Please, be reasonable.”

“Reasonable? After your Crown Prince ran away with the Amira? That’s quite ambitious of you to request—”

“Your Highness!” a guard barged into the meeting room, gasping for air. “Apologies, but we’ve received important news.”

“Proceed,” the king nodded to him.

“A traveler claimed to have spotted the crown prince, along with prince Jeongin and the princess in a village in the Isle of the Damned,” he informed, and Changbin hoped he masked his surprise well.

“The Isle of the Damned? Whatever brought them there?” the King questioned. Changbin knew just why.

You were seeking the Sahira’s Heart. He shook his head inwardly, though he couldn’t suppress the faint pride he felt. Never knew you had it in you, little sister.

•؏•

“I’ll take that.” Hyunjin leaned to grab the lamp in Minho’s loose grip before pulling out the saif forcefully and tossing it to the side. That action made the prince double over and almost collapse on Jeongin’s body, had you not caught him in time. It all happened too quickly, and you found yourself lost amid confusion, betrayal, and anger.

Your breaths shook as you felt Minho become weaker in your arms. He tried to push himself up, but his efforts were to no avail. The blood gushing out of the wound was enough to determine his cruel fate.

Your gaze snapped toward the Sahir and you cried in a blur of emotions, “Why would you do that?!”

He gave you a scornful glance, “For what reasons beyond the obvious?”

“You gave him the lamp!”

“You really aren’t as smart as you appear,” he turned to fully face you, and you thought you imagined the sneer of a demon in his face. “Good magic doesn’t respond to us, spawns of the Devil.”

“You—” you paused when you caught Minho’s frail murmur, “Let...me down.”

You could only oblige, even though you didn’t want to let him go. Helping him rest his head on the rocky ground, anger began to invade your heart, stronger than ever.

You stood to face Hyunjin again, and he shook his head at your appearance, “Would you look at yourself...lathered in blood and desperate to kill. When will you learn to stop chasing human desires?”

“What do you want with the lamp? You said it wouldn’t respond to your magic, and the Marid will only listen to its master,” you ignored his question, having grown tired of his cryptic speech. Human desires?

“It wouldn’t respond to my magic if I were to summon the Marid. Fortunately, your fiancé did the job. Manipulation is an easy feat after that.” Hyunjin was apathetic, you’d noticed that days ago, and you’d finally decided you’d had enough of the Sahir. “And?”

“And,” he scowled, “since you’ve broken the Zumurruda, this is my only means of getting what I truly want! Revenge on all those who killed her!”

You raised a brow, “Revenge?”

He seemed to have said something you weren’t supposed to know, but he dismissed it quickly, “It matters not. I was planning to kill the three of you anyway. It’s too bad you had to save the meddling one, but it shouldn’t be too hard to undo your wish.”

“You will not lay a single finger on them,” you warned, eyes beginning to blaze red. The Sahir noticed and shook his head once more, “I truly don’t understand what you want with them. Why are you doing this? Love? You’ve got more power than to care about something so human and weak.”

You didn’t miss the scorn in his tone. He seemed offended, hurt, and you couldn’t tell why. Why would a powerful Sahir have a personal grudge against...love?

Then you remembered his previous remarks. People of this age. It’s the whisper of corruption, bloodlust, hell. Like calls to like...

It seemed like a stray guess, but you blurted, “You’ve lost a lover, haven’t you?”

Hyunjin froze at your words, then his expression darkened as he spat, “I didn’t lose her, they took her from me! They killed her. But I’ve sought the Sahira’s Heart for too long. Nothing you can do will stop me, demon girl. I know all your tricks.”

Too long, his words echoed in your head, and various instances came rushing to you, forming one, big, clue. I know more than you could imagine.

A killed lover, magic, the Devil, and unsettling energy. The strange feeling you’ve had about him. His presence had always felt wrong, off.

Then it clicked.

The charm.

As though responding to your thoughts, a surge of cold magic rushed to your fingertips and you dared to meet the Sahir’s gaze. “You don’t know all my tricks.”

You thrust a hand forward and pulled the precious pendant to yourself. You didn’t know where that power came from, cold in comparison to the burning wrath of your Jinni, but it flowed through your blood with ease. As though it was yours, and you were always meant to have it.

The necklace moved at your will, and with a tug, it snapped from around Hyunjin’s neck and flew into your open hand.

This drew an immediate gasp from the Sahir, who wasted no time to shout, “Give it back!”

You examined the heavy pendant in your hand. It was made of glass, and a strand of hair was trapped inside. You shook your head in disbelief at the discovery. Hyunjin... Prince Hyunjin. The Lost Prince of Tajilmalek…

You looked back at him, “Two hundred years...”

“Return the pendant, or else I’ll have to retrieve it myself,” he threatened, but it didn’t faze you. “You, too, are doing this for love. You’ve been so for two long centuries.”

If the tales were true, then what you held encompassed the Sahir’s soul. It seemed to be, for he was adamant on having it back. You felt some sympathy for him. “You shouldn’t be alive.”

“Drop the pendant,” he enunciated, though his desperation was clawing its way through his words.

Two hundred years of nurturing his anger and despair, of living with the pain of loss. No, you felt great sympathy for him. “You should rest, now.”

“La—!” Hyunjin’s face morphed into an expression of horror and distress, but it was too late. You’d closed your fist on the pendant, and with newfound power, crushed it in your grasp.

A cry that shook the ground left the Sahir as he visibly crumbled before you, delicate features deepening into age worn wrinkles, an elegant figure declining to crookedness, until all what remained of him was a pile of rubble.

You mustered a weak smile, stepping toward the mass and dropping the broken pieces of the pendant over it. “May you find peace.”

Perhaps you should’ve felt some guilt for defeating the Sahir, but any guilt in your heart was not regarding him. You picked up the lamp that fell beside the rubble and shook it, calling, “Ya Marid!”

The Marid materialized before you. “Shubbaek Lubbaek.”

You didn’t spare a moment to plead, gesturing toward the dying prince, “You have to save him!”

“Apologies, for I only grant my master’s wishes.”

“Well, he is your master, and he is dying. If you don’t save him, the wishes will never be said, and you will never be freed!”

The Marid contemplated your words, but it didn’t take long for him to nod in approval, “Very well. You make an excellent plea.”

You assumed that meant the prince was saved, so you rushed to his side. The tinge of blood remained on your hands and you didn’t dare to touch him, resorting to examining his face and asking the Marid, “Is he okay now?”

“He is asleep, as is your friend. They must rest, so do you,” the Marid responded and you shook your head, “I cannot rest. Not now.”

How could you rest after what had happened?

The Marid seemed to think otherwise. He rose in the air, basking the cave in dim violet light. When he spoke, your eyelids began to droop dangerously. “Rest, troubled soul. No harm shall reach you.”

You wanted to argue, but your head felt heavy, and the doors of slumber were wide open for you to give in. A strange sense of peace washed over you, and you knew it was the Marid’s work. Too weak to fight it, you lowered your head to the ground, bloodied attire and limbs, and allowed yourself a short retirement from the chaos of your world. Just that once.

•؏•

You woke to the incessant scratch of metal against rock and low murmuring. You cracked an eye open to spot a figure sitting some distance away, fiddling with a sword. When you pushed yourself up, your muscles cried in excruciation. Only when you felt the stickiness of blood on your hands did you remember the happenings before your slumber. Finding the cave, searching for a magical lamp, fighting bandits, defeating Hyunjin, Minho almost—

“You’re up.”

His voice snapped you out of your thoughts and you looked up to meet his eyes, sighing in relief when you found him unharmed. A presence within you wasn’t as appreciative of the news. “You’re alive.”

“I am,” the prince looked away, and you didn’t have to follow his gaze to know that it was trailing over the dismembered, disfigured bodies of the victims of your blind rage. Your Jinni’s rage.

The word left your lips before you could process it, “Asifa. I-I lost control.”

“They wanted to kill us,” the prince shook his head, repulsed by the events of the past hours. It felt like a nightmare, from Jeongin’s fatal injury, to you ripping apart anyone within your range, to the sword that stabbed him through the chest, he was unsure how he remained alive. He remembered falling into your arms, and Hyunjin’s voice as he took the lamp from him, but that was all.

He was reluctant to know what happened to the Sahir, but he couldn’t find his body wherever he looked. “What happened to Hyunjin?”

You took moments to answer him, and he knew that was a story you didn’t want to tell. “He’s gone.”

Truth to be said, Minho was not appalled by your actions, for he knew that it wasn’t you. It was yet another day you’d saved him and his cousin with your powers. He couldn’t bring himself to show aversion to the decisions you had to make.

After all, there was no heart in war.

“Where’s Jeongin?” you asked when you noticed that the young royal wasn’t nearby. Minho responded almost immediately, “He went outside for a breath of fresh air.”

A breath of fresh air, of course. Why would anyone in their right mind stay in a cave that felt like death? You sighed, “You should return to the palace.”

“What?” the prince snapped his gaze toward you, both shocked and confused. You took a deep breath and shook your head in dismay, “After what happened, I think...I think it’s best for you and Jeongin to return to the palace.”

“We can’t do that...”

“You were almost killed, Minho!” you couldn’t help your outburst. “I can’t do this knowing that the two of you are in constant danger of death for the sake of breaking a curse.”

“What about you, then?” the prince argued, “You’re in constant danger too.”

“La. You and I are different. I can do this alone.”

“But— we’ve come this far together! We survived all those attacks and we even have the lamp with us!”

“I just don’t want this to happen again,” you gestured at your surroundings, and Minho was quick to assure you, “It won’t happen again.”

He picked up the lamp and placed it before you, holding your gaze firmly when you gave him a dubious look. “We have two wishes left. We finish this now. Together.”

٩

“This is the closest I can take you to the Sahira’s Heart,” the Marid announced after the smoke surrounding the three of you cleared up. You found yourselves standing before an ancient temple, surrounded by the sea on all sides. “The temple is guarded by magic I cannot surpass.”

“Where are we?” Jeongin wondered out loud to be answered by the Marid, “You are on an island south of the Isle of the Damned known as Al Qa’a.”

“This is the place, then,” Minho let out a breath and turned to look at you, taking notice of your silence. His tone dropped many levels gentler. “Ready?”

You took in a breath. This was the place many have died to reach. This was where you would finally regain freedom from your curse. Truthfully, you didn’t know if you were ready. “I think so.”

“You have one wish remaining,” the Marid reminded before slipping back into the lamp Minho had looped through his sheath belt.

The three of you stood still, perhaps waiting, or preparing, to make the first step toward the end of this journey. The prince dared to move forward, but once he did, the ground rumbled and quaked, and you sensed the arrival of something dangerous.

From the sand, two magnificent Afarit emerged. They were unlike the ones you encountered in the palace. Their skin glistened grey, and they were fairly larger in size, but not too tough of a match.

The Darilmalekan royals unsheathed their swords instantly, and a plan had formed in Minho’s head as he examined the monsters. “We’ll hold them back. You slip past them and find the Sahira’s Heart.”

“But don’t you think I should help you instead—” your suggestion was interrupted by a shake of his head, “La. You have to find the Sahira’s Heart and break the curse, not me nor Jeongin. This is your part—”

A howl from one of the Afarit pierced your ears as it brought its axe down on the two of you. You were lucky to dodge the attack, but it was clear the Afarit were not planning to be patient with the three of you. You caught Minho’s shout above the commotion, “Go on! We’ll distract them!”

You knew that every second of hesitation was crucial time wasted, so you ran past the occupied Afarit toward the open doors of the temple. You dared to glance back one last time, finding your fiancé and his cousin true to their promise of holding the Afarit back. You wouldn’t let their efforts fall in vain.

With newfound will, you ran through the open doors into a dark corridor. You saw light on the other side, and you took off running toward it. Exhilaration mixed with hope and pinch of anxiety overwhelmed your mind. Will you find the Sahira’s Heart by the end of the corridor? The end to it all was terrifyingly close.

You reached a roofless clearing where the corridor led. It was empty, and moss had overrun its walls, but all you could see was the stone plinth, and the stone heart resting atop it.

Sounds of the fight outside drowned out as you stepped toward the artifact cautiously. This was the fabled Sahira’s Heart. This held all the corruption on the Isle. This held your family’s curse.

Finally.

You placed your palms on either side of the heart and lifted it, bracing yourself for whatever might happen in the following moments. You’d prepared to do it for countless hours, but breaking the Sahira’s Heart felt unreal when you stood there.

Shutting your thoughts out, you closed your eyes and focused on channeling all your power into the stone, just as you’d practiced under the gaze of the nonchalant moon. You forced it to flow through your fingertips and into the rock heart, then expand and push against the walls of the stone.

It seemed like forever until you heard the first crack, followed by a second and a third, and suddenly, your world exploded into blinding brilliance.

•؏•

Minho knew, he felt it in his heart, when white light exploded from the temple. You’d done it.

The Afarit halted, axes raised, and dropped to the ground lifelessly before disappearing into grains of sand. As though they’d never been there.

The prince sheathed his saif while attempting to calm his erratic breaths. Not too far, his cousin was doubled over a wound on his side, trying to tighten a piece of his attire over it. Minho called over to him, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” came his response. “We should go see y/n!”

And so, the two walked up to the temple and through its long corridor to reach the sunlit chamber, where they found you lying on the ground. Still. Pieces of broken stone lay scattered around you.

Panic rose in Minho’s heart, but it was quickly erased when he noticed the steady rise and fall of your chest. You were alive.

He came to sit beside you, smiling to himself as he murmured, “You’ve done it, Amirati. You really did.”

Jeongin rested a hand on his cousin’s shoulder, “Let’s go home.”

“Right.” Minho reached for the lamp, patting it and watching as the purple smoke swirled in the air to form the Marid’s body. “Shubbaek Lubbaek. Are you ready to make your last wish?”

The prince smiled, “Yes. Take us to the Darilmalekan palace...and let everyone there but us forget we were ever gone.”

“Is that your wish?”

He did not hesitate. “Na’am.”

The Marid bowed his head, and with a wave of his hands, the three of you were engulfed in the same purple smoke. “Your wish is my command.”

After.

“Big day today, eh?” Jeongin stepped up from behind his cousin, who gave him a small grin, “It sure is.”

It was a big day, indeed, for it was the day your caravan from Tallilmalek arrives, after two long months of absence.

When the Marid transported the three of you into the royal garden, you quickly parted ways. With the curse broken, you had to return to Tallilmalek along with your brother. Royals, nobles, and palace staff were confused about your sudden departure, but a scroll from the Tallilmalekan palace was enough justification.

While you were gone, you made sure to keep Minho updated on your state of wellbeing. It was an obligation neither asserted, but both of you committed to. The journey had undoubtedly brought you closer, and being finally free, you thought you must make up for the lost time.

Healing and learning to live without the curse was tough, as you’d written to the prince. Old habits were hard to kill, especially when they’d been the basis of life for your family for decades. But you were getting there, a small step at a time.

Two months later, the Tallilmalekan royal family sent a messenger carrying news that brought life to the palace once more. You were ready to carry on with the wedding.

It was a big day. The kind that made Minho’s heart flutter in excitement and dance in joy. It felt like a Deja Vu, standing in the throne room to welcome you to Darilmalek. Only this time, your arrival carried true promises to be kept.

“Still haughty as ever,” Jeongin commented once the Tallilmalekan King stepped in, followed by you and your brother. Minho rolled his eyes in response, masking a smile, “Shut up.”

Jeongin might’ve been right, your family loved to display their riches, but it wasn’t the jewelry nor the pearls that shone with your entrance. It was the little smile adorning your lips. As gentle as the night breeze, but as breathtaking as a starry sky.

When you came to stand before him, offering your hand, that smile grew, ever so faintly. And that was enough for the prince, who mirrored your expression, only many times brighter. “Welcome back, Amirati.”

•؏•

People do strange things for love...

You stared at your journal, unsure of what to conclude with, when a voice came from behind. “Thought I’d find you here.”

“Minho,” you shut your journal carefully, turning your head to watch as he stepped toward the balustrade, “what are you doing here, up this late?”

“The same question goes to you,” his lips stretched into a soft smile when you came to stand beside him. It was the only time you’d had for yourself that day. Preparations for the wedding were consuming every moment of daylight, from the very second you woke until the blanket of night covered the land. You were lucky to be able to enjoy one last night in the palace garden before the ceremony. “I’m finishing my journal.”

Minho hummed in acknowledgement. You were documenting your journey to the Sahira’s Heart, and all that came after. It was a very confidential journal, as you’d told him, and the prince had long given up on trying to have a peek at it.

A gentle breeze blew past the two of you, complementing the tranquility of the night. A few moments of peace prompted you to speak, “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Right,” the prince exhaled quietly as though preparing himself for a speech or an important event of such sort. He turned to face you fully, and only then did you notice the small golden box in his hands. Under the timid shine of the moon, he appeared almost shy. “I have something for you.”

When you gave him a curious look, he placed the case on the balustrade and opened it, clearing his throat, “I know our beginning wasn’t exactly...ideal, and for the longest time, uncontrollable circumstances stood between us.”

“But tomorrow,” he met your gaze, “things...change.”

Your gaze followed his movements attentively, every anxious bite of his lip and fidgety gesture of his hand. A quiet part of you wanted to ease his nervousness, but you were yet to learn how. All you could do was give him an encouraging smile.

But your smile did wonders, as Minho had come to discover, and a bigger smile found home on his lips in turn. The thin thread between nervousness and excitement snapped, and he dared to present to you a gift he’d longed to give. “I just wanted you to know this before our wedding...”

He held a delicate diadem made of gracefully laced strands of gold encircling dainty pearls. Even in the dark of night, its beauty glowed. It brought the stars above to shame.

Your gaze was fixed on him when he placed the circlet on your head and smiled to himself. La, you thought it was his beauty that brought the stars to shame. There, in that fleeting moment, you spotted the gleam of pure joy and adoration in his eyes. It was the most stunning thing you’d ever seen. 

His hands found yours, and with a gentle squeeze, he spoke his promise for the heavens above to hear. “No matter how long it takes you to adjust to this life, I’ll wait for you, my queen. Always.”

People did strange things for love, though I can’t blame them.

In the end, it proved to be worth it.

Al Amira y/n of Tallilmalek.

If you have read this far then you are contractually obligated to tell me your thoughts! Well, not really, but do drop by sometime! Thank you for reading and I hope you have a lovely day! ♡

#stray kids #lee minho #lee minho imagines #minho imagines #skzwritersclub #lee minho scenarios #minho scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #bang chan #seo changbin #hwang hyunjin #han jisung #lee felix #kim seungmin #yang jeongin #skz #source: -Kyutips chaninfused #yay 🥳🥳

[miracle-sham]

Stitch Your Ragged Wings and Hope to Soar.

| {Jasonette July 2021, Week 1, Day 5: Fairytales} |

| [Ao3 Link] | | [Masterlist Link] | | [Spotify Playlist Link] |

| The folk tales always speak of those destined for greatness. Heroes alongside their faithful dragons, fighting the ever turning tides against evil. But they're just that, folk tales. After all, what are the chances a border-town apprentice seamstress like Marinette, would ever be offered a different vocation by the recruitment guild. |

| Word Count: 3,428. |

| Warnings/Tags: Kingdom/Fantasy/No Miraculous/Dragon Riders Au, Minor Lila & Adrien salt, Canon Typical lies and manipulation from Lila, Explicit Language/Swearing, and Some Fluff. |

———

| A/N: First things first, the word 'Dragoon' will be used multiple times in this piece and it is spelled that way on purpose (see end notes for further explanation). Secondly, yep! It's a dragon riding/academy au. This is the first piece of the series, which I'm really excited for because I've spent ages worldbuilding for! And for anyone worried about salt mention, it is addressed in this piece but the tag is there because of canon-typical Lila manipulation and lies, plus no Miraculous means no reason for Adrien with his sheltered upbringing to realise she's lying. |

| Also side note, Don’t Like? Don’t Read. Also also, please do not criticise any of my writing. This was written for fun and receiving criticism, even in a compliment/criticism sandwich, is the exact opposite of fun. |

———

It's been a few days of tense stagecoach travel. And to be fair to Marinette, even she hadn't expected to be declared in the middle of the town square as showing aptitude for a position within the Justice League's armée volante—specifically the dragoon squadrons—thanks to the recruitment guild no less.

Unfortunately, Adrien and Lila had also shown an aptitude. Which, seeing as they all come from the same border-town of Paris, meant they were all trapped inside the same cramped coach space for the excruciating four days journey to reach Gotham Town; the place where they are being sent to attend the dragoon academy, which is technically outside the bounds of the town proper. Seeing as the Gotham Dragoon Academy and Somerset Dragon Range are on the opposite shores of the Gotham river to the town itself.

There's only another half-day until they reach the Mooney bridge and then the Somerset

Dragon Ranges. And luckily, Adrien and Lila have taken to sitting on the same bench, the one facing forwards. Leaving the opposite bench all for Marinette.

Not that having a whole bench to myself for this time will help with whether I can continue to survive as a captive audience for Lila. Marinette thinks to herself, rather disgruntled about this whole situation she's unwillingly ended up in. She was perfectly happily remaining an apprentice seamstress, sewing commissions for Jagged Stone, Clara Nightingale, and the rest of her famous or otherwise clientele, not that fate seemed to care though. Of course, a part of her stipulation she fought the recruiters for, is that along with her studies she can continue her commissions for current and prior clientele alone. Which is to say, better than being completely unable to continue her main hobby and form of stress relief.

The recruiters had also said that baking and cooking would be no problem to practice, as apparently there'll be free reign to "student kitchens" alongside cooking classes so any use of either skill will be "undoubtedly encouraged". Dangerous words, Marinette muses to herself once more, because if I get claimed by a dragon the first thing I'm doing is baking all the dragon dietary-safe treats I can!

“Marinette! What do you think?” Lila asks, voice as cloying as ever.

Marinette startles and half-heartedly smiles awkwardly across at her, “ah, I'm really sorry Lila! I got distracted wondering what kind all of our dragons might end up being and how they might look!” Not, I'm going to love mine regardless of appearance unlike you.

Smiling faux-sweetly, Lila shakes her head. “Don't worry Marinette, I was only saying how we're just like those local fairytales of your town! Three close-knit friends who become powerful and famous dragoon guardians and save the world from the evil destruction of Hawkmoth and his army of shadow dragons! Out of the three of us, I would be our leader, obviously. Since I'm the only one here descended from a dragoon guardian! My grandmother even gave me a token that once belonged to my dragoon guardian ancestor!”

“Wow, you've said it before but I still can't believe how incredible you are Lila! It's going to be amazing training besides you at the academy!” Adrien gushes, gazing at Lila with adoration.

Lila preens at his words. “Thank you, Adrien! But Marinette, since you mentioned what our dragons will be, did you know my ancestor's dragon was said to be the most beautiful of all the dragons in the Justice League squadrons! My ancestor's dragon had orange scales that glimmered red and yellow like flames, and pearlescent white scales along the underbelly. Oh, and the horns were pearlescent white too! Obviously, the dragon I'll get is sure to be a descendant of that dragon and just as beautiful.”

“Wow, no wonder your ancestor's dragon was the most beautiful, they sound absolutely gorgeous! What kind of dragon do you think I'll get, Lila?” Adrien asks, eyes shining with awe and curiosity.

She puts on a show of holding her chin and humming. “Hmm, probably a golden dragon, with shiny scales as bright as the sun!”

“I hope you're right!” Adrien chuckles, “the fairy tales really would be coming true if we both get the dragons you think we will! One with scales of fire, another with scales of gold!”

“It really would.” Marinette echoes weakly, not really believing in her own words.

Lila laughs, “awww don't sound so worried Marinette, your dragon will probably be a plain and drab dragon with some sort of shade of brown, or maybe even grey. But at least it won't be attention-grabbing. So you won't need to worry about people staring and judging or dragons-forbid trying to hurt you for having a prettier dragon than any nobles!”

Marinette smiles, though it turns out far more grimace-like than intended, whoops. “Yeah… that'd be awful. Haha, I'd be really lucky to get a dragon like you described for me, Lila.”

“Oh, I'm so glad you understand, Marinette! Then again, all three of us are besties so of course you'd understand!” Lila titters, crossing her fingers, “we're just like this!”

Screaming internally, Marinette nods and keeps smiling. Dragons-almighty, I'm at the end of my thread here. Hopefully, I'll be able to leave Lila's "friendship" behind at the academy without fear of mine and my parent's reputations being ruined by Lila's mother.

Her attention is briefly taken by the rolling view outside the stagecoach, unable to help herself she mumbles to herself, “the landscape here is so pretty.”

“It is pretty I guess, but not as pretty as my home country!” Lila pipes up, jumping on the new conversation—like a shadow dragon on a sheep.

Marinette shuts her eyes for a second and breathes deeply, chanting internally. The academy will be my fresh start.

———

The academy is not in fact Marinette's fresh start.

It is well past evenfall by the time their stagecoach passes through the gates of the imposing academy. It rounds a large fountain in the centre of the courtyard with a statue of a person encircled by a large dragon. However, due to the darkness and the movements of the stagecoach, any attempts at recognising whom the statue was dedicated after are thoroughly hampered. They roll to a stop before the great stone staircase—where a figure with a smaller giant rat-like creature beside them, is waiting at the top—which clearly leads to the grand front doors of the academy.

Even with the darkness obscuring the view, it's obvious that the academy is a repurposed castle. High stone walls with crenellations and littered towers, a main keep with a multitude of buildings surrounding the inner courtyard. And the most eye-catching of all, the shadowy draconic gargoyles that seem to cling and lurk upon every building.

It's impressive to say the least, certainly the most well-fortified building Marinette has ever stepped foot in her life. Impressive enough that it has her practically clawing to pull out a sketching journal and start creating. However, she's not stupid enough to do that within Lila's presence. No, that'd undoubtedly lead to honey-coated lies and being forced to listen to her prattle on about her wondrous skills and connections to the most prestigious fashion guild in the country.

Marinette startles as the stagecoach door is opened by a footman. She doesn't fuss as Lila exits first, followed by Adrien. As she steps outside last, she nods and smiles at the footman. Whispering as audibly as she can without the other two hearing, she adds, “thank you, sir.”

The footman simply glances at her attire and nods back stiffly.

In the time it's taken to all leave the stagecoach, the figure from the stairs has walked over—a woman with long blonde hair dressed in a casual black leather riding coat, and a not-dog following behind loyally. “Good evening, you must be the potential students from the town of Paris?”

Marinette hesitates for a second before nodding along with Adrien and Lila.

Lila takes a step forwards, towards the woman. “Yes, we are! I'm Lila Rossi.”

The woman nods slowly, “and the other two must be Adrien Agreste and Marinette Dupain-Cheng, correct?”

“That's correct!” Adrien responds with a bright smile.

Marinette nods and makes an affirmative squeak instead.

“Great.” The woman says, clapping her hands. “I'm Dinah Lance and I'll be one of your instructors during your attendance here. And this,” She pauses to point to the weird giant not-rat with its yellow flecked greyish-brown fur, “is Drake, he's my Ichneumon. You'll learn all about Ichneumon and why they're used within the dragoon squadron during your time here, so don't worry if you've never heard or seen of them before.”

Drake makes a high pitched trill and takes a few steps forward, sniffing the air in front of the three of them. Before scampering in a circle around Dinah Lance.

She smiles fondly at Drake before continuing. “Unfortunately it's a little late to give you the tour of the grounds now, so we'll cover that tomorrow. Tonight we'll guide you to the dining hall for a late night's meal since it's been a long journey for you three or so I've heard, and you must be starving. Then we'll discuss the main details of your attendance, and afterwards, we will show you to the temporary rooms you will be staying in, to begin with. Any questions?”

Lila rocks on the heels of her boots before shaking her head, “no, we've got no questions!”

Adrien copies with a shake of his head too.

Marinette opens her mouth to protest, were you waiting out in the cold for us long? Will the tour teach us about the different places within the academy? Will it take long? What do you mean by the main details? Why are we staying in temporary rooms to begin with? When do our lessons start? Do we need to purchase any uniforms or schooling supplies? When will we meet our dragons? Questions bubbling in her mind like a kettle over the fire, but closes her mouth just as quickly, as she catches a glare from Lila out of the corner of her eye. With that, she also briefly and nervously shakes her head. “N–no, no questions here either, Mlle Lance.”

Internally, Marinette hopes that display is enough to tide over Lila's irritation for now.

Mlle Lance glances over the three of them, seeming to stare at Marinette a little longer than the other two. “Well then, since there are no questions, let us head to the dining hall. And don't worry about your belongings, the footman will bring them to your lodgings.”

“Oh, Mlle Lance, I'd–uh… I'd rather not hassle the staff here, I can manage bringing my belongings up on my own.” Marinette admits, wringing her hands slightly.

Mlle Lance shakes her head, “that's very polite of you but I'm afraid, as you'll be having dinner and we'll be discussing details, it'll be a little while before you head to your temporary rooms. So it'll be far easier on both you and the staff here, if you allow them to do their job.”

“Okay…” Marinette relents easily, trying to ignore Lila rolling her eyes at her.

“If there are no more further questions, then follow after me please, the academy can be rather labyrinthine for those unfamiliar with its halls.” Mlle Lance instructs, already turning around and walking back towards the great stone staircase, Drake on her heels.

———

The journey through the hallways and various anterooms of the academy takes far longer than Marinette could have anticipated. On more than one occasion, she ends up falling behind due to getting distracted by the sheer amount of luxury, art, and finery everywhere. Forcing her to frantically scurry after Mlle Lance, Lila, and Adrien—all three who seem completely at home and unperturbed or uninterested by the décor, unlike her.

By the time they reach the large and ornately carved wooden doors leading to the dining hall, Marinette is flushed bright red from the embarrassment of having fallen behind so many times.

The heavy doors creak loudly as they slowly swing open at Mlle Lance's push, revealing a large dining hall—far larger than any Marinette has seen—with seemingly hundreds of wooden tables and benches. Startlingly enough, there's a boy already seated at one of the nearer benches—eating away at a trencher of hunter's stew.

No Ichneumon in sight, Marinette notes, a fellow student perhaps?

“Good evening, Jason, I wasn't expecting anyone else to be in here at the moment.” Mlle Lance greeted, nodding her head to him.

Jason squints at Mlle Lance and hunches his shoulders defensively. “B said I could grab food from here whenever I wanted.”

Mlle Lance smiles, “and that's perfectly fine. These are new arrivals, so I was just hoping to let them have some dinner without the usual chaos before going over the main details they'll need to know about attending here.” She paused for a moment. “You don't have to stay and listen if you don't want to, since you've heard this spiel many times now. But equally, feel free to stay, I'm sure it'd be nice for you and the new arrivals to get to know each other before meeting the rest of the class tomorrow.”

Jason slowly eyes Lila, Adrien, and Marinette. He places an arm in front of his trencher. “Might as well stay then I guess.”

Mlle Lance nods at him again before guiding the three of them over to the back of the dining hall where the kitchen was connected to. A few cooks were tending to various meals and pots of hunter's stew, as well as prepping trenchers or cleaning wooden bowls, and wood or horn spoons.

Marinette is still half processing everything so receiving a trencher full of hunter's stew from the cooks barely registers in her mind. And next thing she knows, she is seated next to Lila on the end of the bench and table next to Jason, with Mlle Lance sitting opposite her, Lila, and Adrien. The other two have already started tucking into the food, so cautiously Marinette takes a few sips of the stew broth with a horn spoon.

Mlle Lance clasps her hands together and rests them on the table. “Let's start with what you three already know regarding the dragoon squadrons and this academy.”

Pausing in his eating, Adrien grins. “This is the longest standing dragoon academy, and we'll be taught everything from dragon history, to the language of the dragons, to what is known of Hawkmoth and his shadow dragon army!”

“And,” Lila pipes up, “we'll pick our dragons that we'll train alongside and eventually become fully-fledged Dragoon Guardians with.”

Jason snorts, “sorry to break it you two but this isn't some fucking fairytale.”

Before Lila or Adrien could respond, Mlle Lance cleared her throat. “Right well firstly, Dragoon Guardians is somewhat of an archaic term I'm afraid. But you're not too far off with what you know.”

Rolling his eyes, Jason pretends to be suddenly interested in his trencher of stew.

Though, Marinette does catch him briefly glancing up at her with a curious but also disbelieving look in his eyes. She can't help but instinctively curl her shoulders in and make herself as small as possible.

“And Marinette, what do you know about the academy?” Mlle Lance adds.

Marinette hesitates, trembling slightly and licks her lips. “Uh, well I know roughly the same as Lila and Adrien, so nothing that hasn't been said already…”

She catches Jason squinting at her, and she curls up even more.

Mlle Lance nods thoughtfully, “to start with, Adrien, you are correct in that this is the longest standing dragoon academy. You're also correct that we teach our students dragon history—including the history of the dragoons—as well as teaching the language of the dragon. We also do teach regarding Hawkmoth and his shadow dragon army. However, that will be taught across multiple different subjects as it isn't quite as simple as it may currently seem to you.”

Adrien beams at having been mostly correct. “My father hoped I would be chosen to attend a dragoon academy so he made sure I was taught a general overview.”

“And that's more than most know to begin with, so well done.” Mlle Lance praises, before continuing. “However, Lila, here students do not pick their dragons. The process of meeting the dragon who will be raised and trained beside you, is not what most people think of when they first hear about dragoon human and dragon pairs meeting.”

Lila's lips twitch downwards in dissatisfaction and narrows her eyes slightly at Mlle Lance.

Before anything else can be said, Mlle Lance furrows her brows, “one moment students, a matter has just arisen that I need to quickly take care of.”

With that, she rises from the bench and strides out of the dining hall, shutting the door behind her as she exits.

As soon as the door shuts, Jason, with a concerned look on his face, gets up as well and walks the few steps over to Marinette's bench. Quietly, he asks, “Hey, you okay?”

Marinette swallows a breath of air thickly, and still visibly trembling, laughs nervously. “W-well I'm a little over-overwhelmed, I suppose… What with every—”

Only to slam her mouth shut as Lila wraps her arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close to her side.

“She's fine thank you,” Lila coos, “just not used to all the displays of wealth in the castle, here, isn't that right, Marinette.”

Marinette pales, eyes widening with panic and frantically nods her head. “Y-yep!”

Jason raises an eyebrow at Lila, unable to keep the slight sneer off his face as he turns ever so slightly to stare at her, “and you are?”

Lila perks up at his attention, flipping her hair back over her shoulder with one hand. “Didn't you hear Mlle Lance there, I'm Lila.” She smiles cloyingly at him and flutters her eyelashes. “I'm the daughter of a very important diplomat and one of my ancestors was an incredibly powerful Dragoon Guardian.”

Jason snorts, and rolls his eyes once more. “Right. Whatever.” He turns his attention back to Marinette and gives her a sharp nod. “What shit has the rich brat got hanging over your head?”

It clearly takes all of Lila's self-control to not immediately switch from her faux sweetness to fury. Her smile turns wooden and her gaze sharpens at Jason. “Excuse me?”

“You're excused,” Jason responds smugly.

“W-what do you mean?” Marinette asks, struggling to process the conversation after the slight cannonball that Jason just casually asked her.

He tilts his head at her, not unlike a bird. “She looks, sounds, and acts exactly like the kinda rich bastards that hold shit above kids who aren't rich, and you're clearly fucking petrified of her. So is she blackmailing you or something?”

Marinette mouths yes at him whilst shaking her head.

Jason raises an eyebrow at her for a second before shrugging with one shoulder, “alright.” He turns on his heel and heads back to his table and bench where his trencher of stew is waiting.

Lila gapes at him.

Adrien rises from his seat and stares at Jason, flabbergasted. “Aren't you going to apologise to Lila, now? You were wrong.”

Lifting his chin, Jason gives Adrien an unimpressed look then flips the bird at him. A few seconds pass before he shrugs and makes a non-committal noise of disinterest, then he starts spooning stew into his mouth.

Lila huffs and scowls at Jason. She turns to glare at Marinette, faux concern practically dripping from her words despite the evident fury on her face. “You should avoid him from now on, wouldn't want the teachers to think you're a delinquent and get kicked out before you even get to meet your dragon.”

Marinette nods slowly and keeps her attention very carefully on her food.

Her patience is rewarded as a few dozen seconds later, Lila loses interest in her and starts eating her trencher of stew whilst starting a new conversation with just Adrien.

Taking her chances, Marinette sneaks a glance up at Jason with a small smile on her lips.

To her surprise, he also happens to be looking over at her. He flashes her a cheeky grin, winks, before going back to eating.

Maybe, she muses to herself as her grin turns giddy, I was wrong about the academy not being my fresh start. Because this definitely feels like a fresh start now, it almost feels like I'm in a fairytale.

———

| Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated! |

| The dragon riders are called Dragoons in reference to the mounted cavalry called Dragoons who used guns/firearms known as Dragons hence the name. And so I decided it only makes sense for these dragon riders to also be called Dragoons. Armée volante means flying army and was what the historical dragoons were sometimes known as, because of how mobile they were. |

| Ichneumon, also known as Echinemon in Medieval Zoology are enemies of dragons (and snakes and crocodiles in some accounts) and defeated them by covering themselves in armour made from mud before attacking. They are also one the only creatures (the other being weasels) that are immune to the Cockatrices' petrifying sight. |

| Fun fact: Trenchers are flat round (often stale) bread "plates" used during the medieval era. They are cut in half and sometimes the fluffy bread innards are scooped out (like pumpkins) so that the loaf's crust forms a bowl instead. Usually the bowls are used to hold stews or soups, though they were also used for non-liquid based food (which is why they later evolved into our modern day plates and cheese boards). |

| Also feel free to send me any comments with any questions you have regarding this fic, I'll be more than happy to answer! |

| @jasonette-july-event |

#Maribat #MLB x DC #DC x MLB #Jasonette #Jasonette July #Jasonette July 2021 #JasonetteJuly2021 #JasMari #MariJay #Marinette x Jason #Jason x Marinette #Jasonette July Week 1 #Jasonette July Day 5 #Jasonette July Fairytales #Stitch Your Ragged Wings and Hope to Soar #SYRWaHtS #Sham's Posts #Sham's Writing #Sham's Fics

[nillabeam]

FLUFFVEMBER TWO: fake dating  

synopsis: tsukki agrees to be your fake boyfriend, how he ends up your actual boyfriend still baffles him 

warnings: fluff!! a little bit of language, some mild spiciness at the end, it gets a bit suggestive but nothing too crazy!! tsukki being a brat but also not a brat, probably bad grammar! forgive me! third year tsukki and reader! 

characters: tsukishima kei 

a/n: hi this little silly idea that nobody asked for has been in my head for a while now, i just can’t help how much i like this big dumb jerk!! >:( anyway hope you enjoy it!! <33 thanks for reading!! <33

“stop looking at me like that—just answer the question,” you mumble, your gaze settling on the floor, focused on a small scuff on the front of your right shoe.

“let me see if i heard you correctly: you want me to be your fake boyfriend for a week?” he asks, a smirk painted devilishly on his features.

you kick your foot into the ground, a nervous tick really, you shove your hands deep into your coat pockets. “not the whole week, just the weekend,” you correct him, cheeks still tinted pink, lips still pouting.

“i know it’s a weird thing to ask, you don’t have to say yes, i can ask kageyama-“ you start to add but he is quick to interupt, the mere mention of the setters name igniting his unrelenting will to beat him at everything and anything, including this.

“alright, if you’re this desperate, i’ll do it.”

you look at him, eyes widening in surprise, then narrowing in irritation, he was half right but he didn’t have to rub it in.

“thank you,” you grumble through gritted teeth.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t quite catch that, one more time,” he mocks, leaning down slightly, his hand cupping his ear.

“thank you!” you yell, he doesn’t even flinch, instead he chuckles.

he ruffles your hair a bit too aggressively to be sweet, “see you this weekend,” he says with a curt wave, you try to straighten out your hair, scowling at him until he’s out of sight.

the weekend arrives much too quickly for your liking. the train ride to your dad’s house in the city is long but thankfully tsukki was there to keep you absolutely no company at all, instead opting to wear his headphones the whole entire time. only taking them off when you’re tugging on his coat sleeve, mouthing something, trying to get his attention.

“did you say something?” he asks, and you stare at him, an irritated smile graces your lips.

“this is our stop,” you repeat, a little too loudly, he stands up, slinging his bag over his shoulder, shooting you a disapproving glance. “no need you yell, i’m standing right next to you.”

you follow him off the train and the first part of the walk is silent. which doesn’t help your nerves. your gripping the strap of your bag so tightly your knuckles are white, brows knitting together tightly, lips pressed into a hard line. tsukki does his best to ignore it but your anxious energy was starting to annoy him.

“so do you want to tell me why we’re doing this?” he says, you whip your head up to look at him and he meets your gaze with an easy glance. your features have softened, mouth falling open in surprise, he feels his chest tighten, his stomach flutters and he hates how easily you effect him. even if he’s an absolute professional when it comes to hiding it.

you take a moment to mull over his question, worry claiming your pretty features once again. “i may have told my dad i had a boyfriend and he may have invited you, my fake boyfriend, over for the weekend to get to know you better or whatever,” you explain quickly, shrugging hard at the end, “i think he suspected i was lying to him, and i am, but that’s why it’s up to us to convince him,” you finish puncuating the explanation with a defeated laugh.

“sounds perfectly reasonable,” tsukki replies easily, a familiar sarcastic edge to his tone, he almost smiles at you, but he doesn’t have to you can tell he’s trying his best to help you. the thought alone is enough to make you smile.

“it’s just around the corner,” you say walking ahead. after a few more minutes and the two of you arrive at the apartment complex, it’s bigger than tsukki expected and you have to take an elevator just to get there. eventually you reach the apartment, you take a sharp breath, trying to steel your nerves before knocking on the door.

a woman opens it, tsukki notes her age, she’s younger than he thought your mother would be, she seems excited enough to see you. the woman lunges forward and latches onto you, hugging you tightly.

“y/n!” you don’t really have the chance to hug back before she’s pulling away, a smile plastered on her features. her gaze shifts to tsukki, he notes the way she seems shocked by his height. “you must be the boyfriend y/n has told us so much about!”

he can’t help the smug smirk that finds his lips, he bows politely, “tsukishima kei,” he introduces himself and you almost laugh at how well he’s behaving. “it’s a pleasure to meet you i’m l/n emiko! but call me emi!” she takes a step back to wave you both inside. “please come in, come in!”

you step in first, tsukki right behind you, emi shuts the door behind all of you and ushers you both to follow her, “let me show you where you can put your things,” you and tsukki share a confused glance, but you follow her down the hall, “tsukki you can keep your things in our guest room but i hope you don’t mind sleeping in the living room, since y/n will be sleeping here,” emi explains.

“he can sleep here!” you interject, “i can sleep on the couch,” he looks down at you clicking his tongue, “how sweet! always thinking of me,” he muses, pretending to be touched, “but as your boyfriend i insist you take the guest bedroom,” he guides you into the room by the small of your back, and you do your best not to make a face.

“what a gentleman!” emi remarks, clasping her hand to her chest. a ding from the kitchen catches her attention, “oh! i have dinner going so i’ll let you two get settled in,” and with that she hurries out to the kitchen.

“you’re overselling it already,” you comment, setting your bag onto the floor and tossing yourself onto the mattress rubbing your face into the comforter. tsukki forces out a laugh, “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” he sets his own bag down next to yours before sitting on the foot of the bed.

you roll over onto your back, a heavy sigh falls from your lips, “i don’t know if this is going to work, what if we can’t convince them?” you mumble, tsukki straightens his glasses. 

“convincing them won’t be an issue,” he replies cooly, standing up.

you let out a huff of a laugh, “you sound so sure,” you reply absently, you close your eyes, wondering why in the hell you every thought you could pull this off. the sudden shift of weight forces you to open your eyes. tsukishima is crawling on top of you, he presses his knee between your legs, your first reaction is to sit up but he pins your down by your wrists without much effort. 

“w-w-what are you doing?” you stammer out.

“convincing them,” he says quietly, but his tone is matter-of-fact. he leans down, his lips graze the soft skin on your neck, you turn your head away in embarrassment. you open your mouth to object but a shocked squeek alerts you to emi’s presence in the doorway. you both turn to look at her, tsukishima moves away from you, and you sit up immediately.

emi looks almosts as embarrassed as you do, “p-please try and be respectful in your father’s home,” she says, you can tell she’s trying to be stern but she just looks flustered. tsukki offers another polite bow, “my apologies ma’am, it won’t happen again,” he sounds sincere enough, and emi seems satisfied with it.

“a-alright, good, thank you, i know what it’s like to be young and in love so i won’t tell your father about this but p-promise you’ll be more responsible in the future!” she says with a small huff, “we promise don’t we, y/n?” he says looking down at you. you spring up from the bed, bowing in shame, “we promise! sorry! thank you for understanding!”

she nods, satisfied, “your father will be home soon and dinner is almost ready!” she adds before heading back to the kitchen.

you land a stiff jab to tsukishima’s arm, he flinches, moving to get away from another angry jab. “you bastard, what was that??” you yell, in the quietest way possible. “i told you what i was doing,” he replies, smirk already present on his face. “she seemed pretty convinced,” he adds and you bury your face in your hands, groaning.

you both make your way to the kitchen, and tsukki keeps emi entertained until your father finally walks through the door. emi is quick to greet him, tsukki notices the way your lips perse ever so slightly when she kisses your father. “you must be tsukishima,” he father greets, tsukki manages his most polite greeting yet, “pleasure to finally meet you, sir,”

“isn’t he tall?” emi muses, squeezing her husbands arm eagerly. “he really is, y/n told us you were but she wasn’t specific,” he agrees and emi chimes back in, “how tall are you tsukishima?”

tsukki glances over at you, you look mortified and he thinks it’s absolutely adorable how embarrassed you are. “193cm, the last time i measured,” he says cooly and emi gasps.

the next few hours is spent eatting dinner with your parents, somehow convincing them that you two are a legitimate couple and trying your best to answer all their questions. when did you meet? how long have you been seeing each other? not to mention the way your dad was prying into tsukki’s personal life, asking his long term plans, what university he was planning on attending, what he was going to school for.

to your surprise tsukki handled every question with a grace you didn’t know he possessed, he seemed so unbothered, it looked easy, honestly you were having a harder time keeping up the act than he was.

eventually your dad noticed the time, “it’s quite late, we should get to bed now, honey,” he said with a yawn, “it was nice to have dinner like this,” emi says dreamily, “a real treat,” she sighs happily. tsukki notices the way your gaze falls to the floor.

“well we better get this old man to bed,” emi teases, and you and your dad both make the same face, lips persed, brows furrowed, tsukki covers his mouth with the back of his hand, he manages to keep himself from laughing.

you wish them a goodnight and there’s a thick silence between you and tsukki. “time for bed?” he offers and you shake your head, “i’m not tired,” you take a second to pause, “d-do you want to watch a movie or something?” you finally suggest. tsukki takes his glasses off to clean them on his shirt, “fine but i get to decide what we watch.”

by the time you’re done changing into your pj’s, an oversized hoodie and some sleep shorts, and make your way back to the living room, tsukki is already on the couch, dressed in his own sleep clothes, a white t-shirt, grey sweatpants. you fumble with the hem of your hoodie, he looks up from the tv screen to watch you fidget.

“stop doing that, you’re making me anxious,” he pats the seat beside him. you let out a sharp huff before marching over to the couch, you sink into the seat beside him. he spends a few minutes deciding what to watch, with you sulking beside him. he finally decides on a horror film, nothing too crazy, something cheezy enough for you both to make fun of. something to make you sleepy.

“is emi your step-mom?” tsukishima’s voice snaps you out of your daze, and you stiffen at the sudden question. “yeah, my dad married her a few years ago,” your answer is flat.

“you don’t like her?” he presses and you sit up a little, leaning into the arm rest, “it’s fine, she’s fine, she’s just-” you trail off, eyes glazing over, he can tell you’re overthinking, maybe a little overwhelmed.

the flick of the lightswitch and the sudden brightness has you both squinting in the direction of the light source. “sorry! just grabbing a glass of water!” emi apologies moving to fill an empty glass. “what are you watchin’?” her gaze shifts to the tv, “something scary?”

“yeah, but it’s not really that scary though,” you reply absently and tsukki scoops you up into his arms, “how cute you are trying to act tough,” you tense up and emi giggles, “it’s okay i’ll keep you safe,” he teases and emi giggles even more, “don’t stay up too late!” she adds before turning off the light and heading back to her bedroom.

you try and break free from tsukki’s vice grip, “stop teasing me,” you complain, and his grip loosens a bit. “you were the one so worried about convincing them,” he reminds you. you feel the blood rush to your face, painting your cheeks red. 

“you’re confusing me,” you whisper, he barely hears it.

he stiffens a little and you look up at him, “what did you say?” he questions, his gaze is intense, and it makes you nervous. “nothing, i didn’t say anything,” you lie, his grip loosens even more, but he doesn’t stop staring. “you said something, don’t act cute just say it,” he insists, there’s a familiar irritated edge to his tone.

“i said..” you trail off, distracted by the soft glow of the tv on his face, which was so very close to your own, you bite your lip, your gaze flickering between his lips and his intense amber eyes. “i said—stop teasing me,” you mumble, leaning forward to place a chaste kiss against his lips.

he looks genuinely stunned for a second, you furrow your brows, worried that you made a mistake, “you’re confusi—mfph—!” you can’t finish your explanation, his lips are on yours, a few short seconds later he’s pulling away. you both share a look, the tension between the two of you thick enough to cut with a knife. he leans in again, hesitating briefly before his lips capture yours in a surprisingly desperate kiss.

his hands are just as eager as they move to pull you closer, your hands find either side of his face, deepening the kiss.

he’s big. you already knew that, but the way he’s kissing you, his body pressed against yours makes it impossible to stay upright. it only takes a few seconds before your back is pressed against the couch his slender fingers ghosting under the hem of your hoodie, his lips moving to your jaw, peppering kisses down the length of your neck. he pulls away for a moment, he takes off his glasses, setting them on the coffee table beside the couch.

his hands slide over your thighs, squeezing when he reaches the hem of your shorts, he slides them apart, settling into the space between them. you wrap your legs around his waist, his lips meet yours, it’s greedy the way he kisses you, possessive even, the way his large hand is firm on your jaw, keeping you right where he wants you. “tsukki—“ you groan into his mouth, he rocks his hips against you, the stiffness in his sweats suddenly very apparent.

“w-wait!” you stammer out and he pulls away quickly, 

“what?” he questions, a little out of breath. you cover your mouth to keep from laughing, “what?” he repeats, his tone stiffening.

“you’re so hard,” you manage between stifled laughter. he freezes, you can see him blush even in the dark room, “of course i’m hard you idiot,” he says covering his eyes with one hand.

“wait—are we actually dating now?” you ask, a teasing lilt to your tone. he eyes you suspiciously, “what happens if i say yes?”

you bite your lip, a smirk finds your features, “well, i guess you’ll just have to find out.” 

#haikyuu imagines #hq imagines #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu fluffvember #haikyu!! imagine #haikyu!! fluff #tsukki imagines #tsukki fluff #tsukishima fluff #tsukishima imagine #hq fluff #hq fluffvember #nillabeamwrites

[hajimewhore]

Body Swap 👫 (Iwaizumi Hajime/Reader) ➸Rated T, fem!Reader, 1.8k words   ➷Humor, awkwardness, lots of swearing, more d*ck talk but mild mild nothing goes on, just very uncomfy, the secondhand embarrassment is real in there (like every part honestly)   ➷ Masterlist, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, ✈Part 4, Part 5

“Uh, this… isn’t what it looks like?” 

Come’s your kneejerk response to Tooru’s exaggeratedly disgusted expression, you can tell he’s about 0.2 seconds away from throwing a fit.

“I went out of my way to wait for you, because I’m that good of a friend, you’re welcome. But you were taking so long, I figured I’d come in and drag you guys out. So. can someone please explain,” he shoots you (Hajime in his perception) a hard look, “What the hell is this?!”

Tooru is flushed in the face, and though his stellar performance and comical gestures were entertaining, you balk a bit at his outburst.

It’s a bit intense, and you feel a nervous sweat down your back. You can seldom say you’ve been on the receiving end of Tooru’s anger, and your struggling to come up with the right words to save face.

“I can explain?”

And what you came up with turned out to be excruciatingly underwhelming, and the baffled look Hajime sends you tells you that he also found your response pathetic.

Being in Hajime’s body with your hands clutched at his skirt, pulling away as if the garment was crafted using hot coals the second Tooru made an entrance, You’ll admit... it looked highly incriminating, and you’re going have some painful explaining to do.

“Well it looks like you’ve got your dirty hands on my bestfriend,” Tooru opts to refer to your actual self as his bestfriend, “What, Iwa-chan, can’t get any action? Trying to cop a feel before school? I didn’t think you were like that!”

He finishes the first segment of his rant with a huff. Under normal circumstances, you’d be appreciative of the rank up on his bestfriend list. Currently though, Tooru is getting under your skin, and as young man, you’re a little offended that he’s talking to you like that.

Tooru takes two strides (curse his long legs) across the threshold of your house, eyes narrowing in on you.

You glances to Hajime to ease the situation, he’s the only one that can say anything to help alleviate the situation.

Tooru follows your gaze, eyeing skeptically for an explanation. Hajime clears his throat, and you think you just might be saved. He’s always been quick to resolve altercations, whether its verbally or physically.

“....Hajime wanted me to wear my skirt shorter, but I said it was against school dress code.”

Hajime states as a matter of fact, and you gasp, what the fuck Hajime, but Tooru’s absolutely scandalized gasp overshadows your own.

“You asshole, that’s not—” 

Tooru is quick to interrupt you,

“You absolute heathen Iwa-chan! Who knew you’d turn out to be such a dog!”

Tooru snags your collar with a tight fist, and you instinctively wrap your hand around his.

Uh... you’re not gonna have to fight Tooru, are you? It’s Hajime’s body, so you’d gladly let him get bruised up as retribution for that comment, but you’re not too keen on getting punched in the face by Tooru protecting your own dignity.

“It’s not like that!”

You scramble for a way to dig yourself out of this one. Tooru’s locked his glare on you, exuding pressure.

“Then what is it like Iwa-chan?”

You glance from Tooru’s scowl to see Hajime’s smug expression behind him, your brow ticks at the sight of it. 

‘That little...’

Weren’t you just saying last night how excellent of an actress you were? Time to put that to the test.

You forcefully remove Tooru’s fist from your collar, adjusting your tie. Tooru allows you to gather yourself for a moment, scorn still etched across his features.

Averting your eyes to the side with a serious, contemplative gaze, you muster all the dramatics you can to pull off your next line. Internally, you think smugly that you must appear picture perfect for a drama noir film. If only it were raining too, that would set the atmosphere ideally. But an actress must work with what she’s got. 

Tooru seems decently invested in your dramatics, and Hajime is looking at you with contempt, as if he drank sour milk. Now that a pregnant pause has settled in and you’ve garnered the crowd’s interest, you sigh, long and wistfully,

“She never wears her skirt like that... I thought she might be struggling with her self confidence, so I was just trying to make her feel comfortable with herself. I’m such a brute though, I guess I got carried away.”

You cast your gaze sheepishly to Tooru, rapping your knuckles lightly against the top of your head to emphasize your point.

Tooru blinks at the explanation, takes in the information, considers the evidence in his mind.

His eyes begin to water, as expected, tears brimming at his long lashes as he spins around to pull Hajime (AKA you) into a bone crushing hug. He’s got a suffocating grip on him, all the while crying about ‘Hajime’s’ reasoning.

“I didn’t even notice! Forgive your stupid bestfriend, I should’ve said something too! How did I miss that?!” his dramatics always seem to up yours, Tooru is currently stealing best-in-show from you, “Waaaah, I’m sorry, you’re perfect the way you are!”

He cries into what he thinks is your shoulder, no doubt using the fabric to wipe his face, much to Hajime’s disdain. Meanwhile, Hajime is glaring hard and venomously at you for that bullshit display.

‘Are you fucking kidding me?’

He mouths, and you stick your tongue out, giving him the cheekiest expression he’d never want to see on his own face.

“Whew, alright,” Tooru straightens, clearing his throat and flicking his last tear off with the swipe of a hand, “Now we really have to go. Hike that skirt up and let’s get on with our day.”

He’s back to picture perfect Oikawa Tooru, no evidence of his outburst to be seen (asides from the wet spot on Hajime’s shoulder).

You try to grunt in agreement as casual and Hajime-like as you can.

For the sake of getting to school on time without any further incidents, Hajime pulls the uniform skirt up a tad higher, vowing to lower it when you fucking nuisances are out of the picture.

Your final class is almost over, and you’re feeling.... extremely uncomfortable.

Not because the school day went bad, no, you found it easy to converse with his classmates and teachers. Notetaking was relatively simple, you’re learning the same material as Hajime anyways.

You’re physically uncomfortable, and the pressure of your bladder about to burst is driving you crazy.

‘I can’t take it any more!’

You shoot your hand up, and your teacher gives you an odd look before you excuse yourself to the restroom.

You head to the furthest end of the building, the women’s restroom is generally vacant so the men’s should be the same, yeah? And you definitely don’t want to be caught in the women’s, despite how empty it could possibly be. So with a heavy sense of shame, you waddle into the men’s room.

If someone’s in there, it’ll be fine. Just be in, and out. No big deal.

Oh. 

Oh fuck no.

“Iwaizumi, hey.”

Matsukawa fucking Issei glances up to the door you just waltzed through. Matsukawa Issei, middle for the Seijou men’s team, tall and messy haired flirt, the same Matsukawa Issei that helps you with your blocks and techniques, friend of Tooru and Hajime... and he’s staring straight at you with a casual nod of his head. 

You try to return it as casually as possible, despite your bones and every being shaking in you. 

‘Fuck, I forgot men I actually know use the men’s room.’

“...Mattsu–” nope not Mattsun (so much for being casual, you almost fucked up the way Hajime refers to Matsukawa), “–kawa.”

He raises an eyebrow for the briefest second, before returning his attention to the urinal, unzipping his pants. Un. Zipping. His. Pants.

He doesn’t give you much time to dwell on the slip up, already entering conversation about how your day is, to which you give short response to, trying not to shuffle your feet to the urinal. You really don’t want him to catch on to your discomfort.

You heavily contemplate just going into a stall, but you think that might be weird for guys to do. Now that you think about it, isn’t it weird to piss in the urinal directly next to the other guy? If you chose one spaced out would he get offended? Goddamnit, you never learned men’s room etiquette. Screw this whole situation, and screw Matsukawa Issei for needing to relieve himself at this exact time. 

Well, it’s too late now, you’re already standing at the one directly next to Mattsun. You can’t exactly take your sweet time picking another urinal and shuffling about while Mattsun is here engaging you in conversation about his fucking math class.

If it was weird to choose the spot beside him, Mattsun doesn’t say anything about it, going about his business. 

Thankfully, if you could even be thankful for a situation like this, you’re so overwhelmed by Mattsun’s unexpected presence that it’s keeping your mind off the having-Hajime’s-dick thing. The discomfort is still there, but you have to pee so badly, you’re not too bothered by it at the moment. You’re also intently focusing on not blushing, willing the blood flow to your cheeks to cooperate with you for once.

Simultaneously, you’re concentrating on not looking at Matsukawa fucking Issei’s junk. You’re getting good at multitasking.

But apparently, not good enough. Your willpower wasn’t as strong as you thought, and your focus slips for a moment as you gaze down and–was someone going to tell you that Matsukawa fucking Issei was HUNG?

“Is there something wrong with my dick?”

You shoot your eyes back up to Mattsun, who’s tilting his head with a thick brow raised. 

‘Hajime, if you hear about this, I am so sorry.’

“Nope, it’s perfectly fine,” you respond curtly, before coming to the realization that Hajime probably wouldn’t like you telling his friends that their dicks are ‘perfectly fine’, “I mean, no. It’s seriously ugly.”

You cringe at your save, if you could call it that, and Mattsun (finally) zips up. He casts a momentarily offended look at you.

“I think you mean ‘seriously huge’.” 

He laughs deeply, heading to the sink. You completely agree with that sentiment, and you’re glad he knows he’s well endowed, but it’s best to keep those thoughts to yourself.

You follow suit, laughing as sarcastically as you can without letting your voice crack. 

“Whatever, man.”

You proceed to have awkward sink talk with Mattsun, and upon exiting the restroom you thank the gods when you see his class is the opposite way to yours. 

“See you at practice.”

He waves, and when Mattsun is out of sight, you sigh in immense relief. 

Just how many dicks are you going to see before you swap back? You sob internally, returning to your class.

But that does bring up a point, Men’s Volleyball Practice. 

You’re marginally grateful for that encounter with Mattsun, because now you’re acutely aware of the locker room changing time before and after practice. 

You bury your face in your arms, taking note to sprint like hell and get to practice early. You’ll be damned if you have to spend any amount of time struggling to avoid eye contact with your friends’ abs, as well as Hajime’s other teammates'.

A/N: AHAHA the CHAOS. Anyways, we all know Matsukawa got that horsec*ck. Thanks for tuning in for this week’s episode of y/n’s awkward panic. Iwaizumi Is So Done. 

taglist: @cybergovl​ @thatoneoddgirl8 @keijikunn 

Masterlist, Part 5

#haikyuu!! #hq!! #haikyuu fic #haikyuu reader insert #haikyuu x reader #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi hajime x reader