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theawkwardterrier · 4 years ago

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An Alliance with an Earl

Here’s one for @lavellenchanted. It’s no Steggy AU of A Song for Summer (although what is?) but maybe Regency Jily will suffice, Sarah...

Read on AO3 here

I am going to have to buy Frank Longbottom a very nice bottle of brandy, Sirius thought to himself as he looked down at the letter in his hand, but what he said casually aloud was, “It seems we’ve been invited to a house party.”

James finished whatever he was scribbling, taking care to sign his name with the full flourish before he looked up. Light from the wonderfully sunny day, the kind they would never have been inside for a mere year ago, caught his spectacles as he did. James had worn a pair from the time he and Sirius first met as boys at Eton, but when light used to flash across them, it paired with the grin he once wore nearly constantly and his foolishly infectious laugh. Now Sirius half expected James to take his glasses off and massage his eyes, the way their old headmaster used to do.

Instead he set down his quill and gestured to the letter in Sirius’s hand. “If it’s any of your cousins, I shall have to respond in the negative. Well, perhaps we should have Lupin draft the letter - he is less likely to phrase it as rudely as either of us might.”

Sirius tossed the letter opener he had been using on the day's post back onto the very edge of James’s stupidly massive mahogany desk and barked out a laugh. “As if any of my cousins would allow me to darken their doorway. No, it’s the Longbottoms - it seems that old Augusta has allowed Frank and Alice use of the country place and they’ve invited us to come for the week after next.”

He tipped his head to the side, slouching further into his chair. He had once only done such things in the parlor of Grimmauld Place, his parents’ London residence, because in their view posture, like wealth and good breeding, was one of those things which mattered and he made a point of not allowing such things to matter to him. But the habit was so ingrained in him now that every time he sat, he tended to perch himself with a leg slung over the chair arm or his back placed on the seat and his head allowed to hang. “Not having access to that all-important family tree of my mother’s, however,” he said, “I really couldn’t promise you that I’m not cousins with either of them somewhere along the way.”

“Aren’t we all? I think between the two of us, we must be related by blood or marriage to half the ton.” James stretched his arms back and above his head, rotating his wrists and making a slight groaning sound. “Not, however, closely related enough to stop plenty of mothers from shoving their most eligible daughters into my path at every turn.”

Sirius nearly responded as he once would have, with a jibe about that sort of thing being unavoidable for such a catch as the future Earl of Gryffindor. Two years ago, however, after the deaths of first his mother and then, weeks later, his father, James actually became the Earl of Gryffindor, and seemed to think nothing in that line of humor at all funny anymore.

Quite a lot had become unfunny to James, actually. Some days, Sirius worried that his friend’s shoulders would simply break from the responsibilities settling there. Oh, James still came out with them in the evenings, still made them laugh and could manage to charm nearly any woman in a given room. But his old self, the one who loved racing on the fastest horse or placing the highest bet, the one who thought duels were daring instead of a measure to be undertaken only under direst circumstance, who snickered with Sirius around the corner after they had placed a tripwire across the school corridor...Sirius suspected that boy to be gone for good. In his place was a nobleman who inherited too early, whose indulgent father had thought to have more time to teach him how to grow into the man he needed to be, and who was now struggling to meet the expected role under the weight of who he had suddenly become.

Which was why, Sirius thought, eyes scanning the invitation from the Longbottoms again, this would be perfect. Balls and parties around London brought with them some degree of diversion if not enjoyment, but also held a reminder of responsibility. A playful lack of interest in marriage had once been the subject of jokes between James and his mother, but finding a wife, having a child, had now become a grim and acute duty. Sirius hoped that this more simple gathering, merely a few friends out in the country air, would allow James some desperately needed socialization with much more limited pressure - not to mention that it would tear him away from the deadly dull work which seemed to pile endlessly upon his desk at Gryffindor House in London and at his estate of Godric’s Hollow.

“Anyway, Longbottom’s always done us a good turn,” Sirius said, forcing a bit of a yawn to keep his manner as informal as possible. James went tense at the littlest things these days, at the merest suggestion that he might lay his duties to the side for just a moment or any hint that Sirius thought he might need to relax. “And Alice is a fine girl from what I remember. It’s only polite for us to join them, since they asked.”

James looked over toward the window, the drapes drawn back to reveal the bright, busy Mayfair street outside. The sunlight caught the lenses of his glasses again so Sirius couldn’t see his eyes; still, something seemed to grab at his mouth for a moment and twist it in pain. But the next second, he was turning back to Sirius looking like himself again, or at least like this new self. He picked up his quill once more and said, “You know that I am only ever polite.”

It was a lie, or at least Sirius hoped that it was. Either way, however, it was an affirmative response, which was exactly what he had hoped for.

“I’ll inform the Longbottoms, then,” he said, still maintaining his nonchalance. “My handwriting has always been better.”

This was true, but he mostly said it because being bested at something always made James a bit disgruntled and this time was no different. Without looking up from whatever document he was currently taking careful notes upon, he crushed a piece of paper with his other hand and tossed it toward Sirius’s head.

So there is something of you left after all, Sirius thought with relief as he caught the crumpled ball. Let us hope that some time in the country is enough to bring you out again.

Having known Alice since her own first season four years previous, Lily was quite familiar with her friend’s sweet, detail-oriented, and slightly nervous personality. She had received numerous letters in the weeks leading up to the house party filled with particulars of the menu, questions regarding the ideal number of guests, or worries that there would not be sufficient entertainment, and had tried to send back her reassurances that Alice’s first instance of hosting such an affair would surely be a resounding success.

Yet, as her carriage came to a halt on the wide drive in front of the house, she was unsurprised to see Alice wriggling a bit and twisting her hands as she stood with her husband’s arm over her shoulder.

She alighted from the carriage and went over to greet them, trying to infuse a bit of levity into the way she said “my lady” to Alice, though it didn’t seem to work. Alice linked her arm with Lily’s under the premise of leading her into the house and whispered, high and trembling, “Frank’s mother insisted on joining us and bringing friends of hers, which has my numbers entirely off, and you know what Lady Longbottom is like besides.”

“You are Lady Longbottom as well,” Lily reminded her, but before she could say something else bracing, she saw, striding across the grounds with Sirius Black at his heels, another person who would apparently - and unfortunately - be joining them.

She successfully avoided him over the next several days, making certain to keep at least five people between them even when they were in company. The odd thing was, however, that he didn’t seem to notice her very much at all. No, that wasn’t right. He clearly noticed her, his chin dipping in recognition if their eyes happened to meet across a room, but he did not pursue her in the way he once had.

He did not, in fact, act similarly to the way she remembered in general: his remarks, when he made them, were astute and his sense of humor not at all mean-spirited, he tended to spend most of his time at the edges of the room rather than the center of it, and every time there was dancing he took at least one turn with Hestia Jones, who everyone know was very nearly on the shelf. The whole thing was the slightest bit confusing, though, Lily reminded herself, it was a perfect relief not to be approached. Their paths had crossed less in the past two years or so, but she remembered sharply their prior interactions.

On the day before they were to return to London, the gentlemen were called to a hunt while the ladies attended to their correspondence. Lily had just finished and sealed a letter to some distant cousins in Sussex when the footman brought the morning's post. It did feel a bit Sisyphean, finishing the last of your responses only to have more required, but Lily was certain that none of it would be for her; Alice had invited most of their close friends, after all, and Lily's family was not large.

However: "Oh, here is one for you, Lily," Mary said, picking it up from the tray and passing it over. "From your sister."

Lily swallowed. "How lucky." She stood, tucking the letter in her pocket with fingers that fumbled despite her best efforts. "Do you know, it looks as if it might begin to rain this afternoon. I would like an opportunity to spend some time out of doors before the weather turns. Would anyone like to join me for a walk through the gardens?"

Though Alice looked as if only her duties as hostess kept her inside, the mention of a potential storm made the rest of the group demur, as Lily knew that it would. Within five minutes, she had her cloak on and was making her way alone into Lady Longbottom's lush and splendid garden. She walked until she found a small seat to perch upon and, after taking in a few deep gulps of the air (it seemed that she had not been wrong: there was a tinge of moist heaviness to it that spoke of an oncoming storm) forced herself to open the letter.

She read it through once, then a second time to see if she had misunderstood. She had not. She wanted to cry.

In person or in writing, Petunia never said anything that Lily wanted to hear. They had been friends of a sort when they were small, but Lily had long since given up on her sister understanding her or even loving her despite not doing so, and she no longer sought her approval. If they could have stuck to basic pleasantries or the dutiful exchange of sentiments, that would be one thing, but in the last year, Petunia had turned nasty, and this latest letter...

"Da-Deuce it," Lily said aloud, leaning over to scoop a handful of pebbles from the ground. She pitched one toward the bushes, then threw the next one harder when it seemed not to alleviate any of her upset. Even that did nothing; she flung the full handful. "Damn it!" she shouted, disregarding all propriety, then placed her palms over her eyes, pressing down as if surrounding herself with darkness might help.

"Lily? Er-My apologies. Miss Evans, are you quite well?"

Her hands flew from her eyes. Standing before her, uncomfortable but certainly there, was the Earl of Gryffindor.

The first time he saw Lily Evans, James Potter was standing on the balcony of Lady McGonagall's home with Sirius and Peter. They had left Remus below distracting their hostess; she had been widowed several times longer than she had been married, but it seemed to suit her well and she ruled every occasion hosted at her home, and in the ton generally, with an iron fist.

"She's quite fine," Peter had said, jabbing a finger toward a lady in a pink gown who was being helped from a recently arrived carriage.

"Too fine for the likes of you, Pettigrew," Sirius said carelessly, though James did not get the sense that he was joking. Peter forced a laugh anyway.

"There's plenty of girls here tonight for all of us," James responded, scanning over the street. Most people seemed to have already arrived. "With the season just starting, no one's begged off for the evening or tired of each other's company yet."

Sirius snorted. "That's your opinion. I believe I tired of the company of most everyone here before I was past my dear father's knee."

"Well, there's always—" James started, but did not even complete his thought, much less his sentence. Instead he said blankly, "Her," leaning forward a bit over the rail as if this would help him take in each detail of the new girl who had just stepped from her carriage. She was followed by a slightly older girl wearing a most unattractive expression and a woman he would guess was her mother, but James did not pay them even a moment's mind. His mouth had slackened as he studied her hair - it looked dark from this height and in the barely lit street, though not dark enough to be brown - as he imagined her eyes, and took in each nuance of her expression, excited and just a bit forward, her shoulders thrown back as she stepped toward the party.

By the time James got downstairs and escaped a lecture about etiquette from Lady McGonagall, her dance card was full, but he at least found out her name. The next day, armed with the largest bouquet from the most expensive florist in the city, he stopped at the house that she, her mother, and her sister were renting for the season. There were several other gentlemen in the room already as he was announced, but he paid them no mind as he walked over to her, knelt, and said, "Miss Evans, I would like nothing more than if you would agree to become my wife."

Later, his father would berate him for this, for going about it without asking permission, for being too hasty, introducing himself and proposing marriage in the same breath. But he knew that this would not have made the difference. Because there was a look in her eye, as if she had been expecting this and had prepared her answer, when Lily Evans said, quite coolly, "No, thank you, my lord."

And now here she was, sitting in the garden before him, looking far less collected than she had that day. She had lost the aspect of the ingenue - she was near his age, making her at least two and twenty - though she was no less lovely for it. The deep red of her hair, the arresting green of her clear eyes, were familiar to him by now, though he did not typically see those eyes looking so startled.

“My apologies, Lord Gryffindor. I had thought you had joined the other gentlemen.” She hastily made as if to stand and curtsy, but he gestured at her to keep her seat.

“I had some business which necessitated my return to the house,” he said, trying to hold himself straight, the way his father would have done, but it did not work. He shrugged his shoulders, sagging a bit back to himself. “Well, that is not the truth of it. It is what I said when I begged off, but to be frank with you, I wanted a moment with my thoughts. And they were planning on shooting deer besides, something I have never quite been able to stomach. The Potter crest features both a doe and a stag, you know, and the deer are truly beautiful when they run - it always seems such a terrible thing to do, killing them.”

Fool, he thought despairingly, refusing to allow himself to collapse with his face in his hands. The first time you have spoken with her in years and you come off as a blibbering fool who is unmanned by the thought of a hunt. Not to mention using her given name - even if it is how you address her in your head.

But, strangely, instead of regarding him with even her usual disdain, she was watching him with a slight smile: the first, he thought, she had ever directed toward him.

“Do you refrain from eating venison then, my lord, in honor of your family crest, and the sight of the deer running?”

The lightly teasing sound of it, as if they were any sort of friends at all, made him grin far wider than the comment meritted. “I’m afraid that by the time I find myself at table, my stomach does not have such high minded ideals.”

She actually laughed now, and it made him comfortable enough to gesture to the place beside her. “May I sit?”

“Oh, of course.” She glanced over and saw her letter still there, crushed at the edge, and snatched it up. All traces of laughter left her face as suddenly as they had come.

“Have you received bad news from home?” he asked as carefully as he could, seating himself a decent distance from her, even on the small bench. “I know that you have a sister - is something amiss with her?”

Her mouth pinched inward, though not, he thought, as if his question had angered her. She swallowed and then said, “I would not say that something is amiss with her, no, though she certainly seems to think something is amiss with me. Or, I suppose, she thinks that I am still too much a miss.”

“I’m sorry?”

“As am I.” Her laugh now held no lightness nor humor, and he valued the true one she had given him all the more for it. She glanced over at him, seeming to examine his face closely; he did not have time to shift his expression, but whatever she found there was apparently correct, for she began, slowly, to speak.

“My mother passed this last autumn and since then I have been living with my sister and her husband, an arrangement which suits none of us. In their view, I should have been long since married and of no concern to them. My sister has hinted before, but she writes now that her husband has determined that I should be married before the end of the season, and if I have not found a match myself by that point, he has selected one for me.”

He watched her sit up straighter, the wind catching a strand of her hair and whipping it from her coiffeur so it lay in beautifully vivid contrast to her pale throat. She stared out into the gray bluster of the day as she said, “It is well known that Lord Snape has expressed his interest in the past. My brother-in-law did not initially view the match as advantageous enough, but it seems that given the lack of other prospects, that avenue has become sufficiently promising.”

James felt his fist clench atop his thigh before he truly thought to clench it himself. Severus Snape had been heir to his nearly insolvent barony through merest coincidence - all closer cousins were female, a fact which had led Sirius to remark that Edward Christian might have had the right of it in Blackstone’s ten years past and perhaps women should be allowed some latitude in inheriting. And yet, those with whom Snape chose to consort closely were the most disagreeable sorts of snobs, people who believed anyone without generations of nobility behind them to be worthless.

He seemed to think it a great compliment that he would single out Lily as someone meriting his particular attention despite her own father having been only Mr. Evans. One of James’s few consolations after Lily had rejected his proposal had been that she had apparently rejected Snape’s as well. He, however, had not taken it with good grace or even James’s own dazed acquiescence; instead, he had stated publicly that it was merely a sign of her low breeding, that someone of a more elevated bloodline would have been happy even to have been approached by him. (James had run into Snape one evening shortly after hearing of this, and would have called him out on Lily’s behalf had Remus not intervened - and had James not already been so foxed he could barely string the words together discernibly.) Still, in the years since, Snape had made it plain that he would be willing to consider her were she to humble herself enough.

“Surely there must be other options,” James said, a bit awkwardly. For the rest of the season following his initial proposal and even into the next, he had arrived at her residence with regularity, though he had not approached her so directly again - too humiliating, and impolite besides to press when he had been so clearly declined. But although it had been some time since then, he knew, even when he did not want to, that she was often called upon by others.

She hesitated, seeming to choose her words carefully. “I was, perhaps, not as wise as I might have been. Not as wise as I thought myself to be.” Her gaze drifted to her lap, where her hands were folded carefully over the letter. “I was not waiting for a love match, I truly was not. I simply hoped to find someone who was not on the hunt merely for looks or for a biddable wife, with whom I might find conversation and companionship, someone who truly saw me. I allowed myself to believe I had time to be selective, and while my mother lived she indulged me, perhaps even enjoyed being able to keep me close for some time longer. But now she is gone, leaving my keeping in the hands of another who is not so lenient, and it seems that I have waited too long. Those who were once interested have moved on to women who are prettier or younger or lighter-hearted, women with larger dowries or who do not seem as fussy as I, and I cannot blame them.”

I have not moved on. It came to his throat readily, nearly voiced before he stopped himself. He did not want a wife right now, he reminded himself, and he especially did not want a wife who was cornered into the marriage, and it did not matter if that wife would be the one woman to whom his eyes turned without his control anytime they were in the same room.

But if he could at least help her, just a bit, even if it would mean tormenting himself, well, it was not as if he were not in torment already.

“I wonder—” He cleared his throat. “That is, I wonder if you would consider...It is rather unconventional, of course, but if you were amenable…”

“Have you something to say, my lord?” she asked, turning to him with just the barest hint of amusement touching her mouth.

“I could, perhaps, affect as if I were courting you,” he finally spat out.

His breath held for a moment in his lungs, and he was certain that she would gasp or dash off or even strike him, but instead, though the humor had gone from her lips, she tipped her head to the side and asked, “And what would be the object of such a ruse?”

“Well,” he said, voice a bit too eager now that she had not reacted with outright negativity. “The season settles into such dull rhythms after a while that any new story always gathers interest. Considering our...history, I suspect that a courtship between us would have tongues wagging, which would certainly remind people of your charms. And of course, not to generalize regarding my sex, but men are always particularly roused by the idea of rivalry. Were I to pose as a serious suitor, it would surely spur others to emerge as alternative contenders for your affections.”

Her eyes narrowed a bit at this last piece, but she only said slowly, “And what would you gain from this arrangement?”

James forced himself not to cross his arms. “My own parents passed not long ago…”

“I had heard,” she said. “My sympathies,” and from her it did not sound at all rote. He nodded.

“Thank you. And mine to you, on your mother. But in any event, it has left me with quite a lot to learn regarding my position, and I have found the continued attention of certain mothers and their unwed daughters to be an extremely inconvenient distraction. Were I to be seen as having my affections already directed toward another young lady, I believe they would leave off, and I would have some reprieve to attend to the management of other things.”

She looked away from him once again, squinting out absently into Lady Longbottom’s hedges. One foot tapped a bit, and her finger ran around the edge of her letter, though he suspected that she did not remember exactly what paper it was. They were the sort of gestures that he would have taken for granted in another male of his acquaintance or in his mother, but young women were always on such perfect behavior around him that simply being allowed to see these common mannerisms made Lily seem filled with an extra bit of color, of brightness. He swallowed, unsure once more that making this offer had been in his best interest; then again, he had never been known to be hesitant or particularly calculating. Diving headfirst was always more his style, and he had rarely looked out for his own interests with any real care.

Finally Lily said, “I would, of course, not want to take you from your other responsibilities, but if this were to work, I would require a certain amount of attention to ensure that others truly believed that you found me of interest. Would three evening occasions and three daytime meetings per week be reasonable to you?”

“Perfectly agreeable,” he said, even as his heart began to pound in a manner so uncontrolled, he might as well have been running. “Let us say two dances together when we are in attendance at the same ball. I believe that expresses the right amount of interest while still indicating that there is a chance for others.” Traitorously, his mind began to slip into wondering about holding Lily’s body against his own in a close dance, how he might feel her laugh rippling over his skin during a more energetic reel, her face alight as she returned her hand to his.

She nodded slowly. “Thank you. That should do quite nicely. And, of course, if I at some point become affianced, I could spread word on your behalf regarding your broken heart if you would like - that should grant you a bit of extra time before the interest begins again in earnest.”

At her mention of becoming engaged to someone else, the wind, which had been pleasantly brisk a moment ago, seemed to cut through his riding coat, his skin, right to his heart. “I would certainly appreciate it,” he managed, keeping his voice as steady as he could.

“Well, I am very appreciative of this,” she returned. “I had not expected...It is most kind of you, my lord, even to offer such a thing.”

“Think nothing of it,” James replied, knowing all the while that he would be able to think of nothing else.

When they returned to London, the talk was all of what a success Alice Longbottom’s house party had been. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mary Macdonald would certainly be announcing a wedding soon; Hestia Jones, several years older even than Lily and practical, was allowing Peter Pettigrew’s attentions; and - pigs might fly - James Potter seemed to have caught Lily Evans at last.

They had agreed to walk together in Hyde Park as a first outing, and for all her thought that a secret might bind them together and smooth over any lingering awkwardness, Lily was hard pressed to think of a more uncomfortable stroll she had taken in her life, and she had certainly been on her share of contenders.

Part of the problem was that she could hardly believe she had even agreed to such a scheme in the first place. It was ridiculous, unheard of, completely foolish of her regardless of the situation Vernon and Petunia might have placed her in. Even more difficult to conceive: she had agreed to it with James Potter of all people. The same James Potter she had rejected without remorse, who she had sniffed at when hearing of his later reckless exploits, counting herself blessed she was not attached to him in any way. Well, there were few people she was attached to more closely now.

“Have you told anyone?” she asked abruptly, the first either of them had spoken in some minutes, after the pleasantries regarding the return journey to London, how they had each fared so far that day, and the state of the weather had been exhausted. “Have you told anyone about our…?”

He cleared his throat, though whether from discomfort or disuse she could not tell; either seemed entirely feasible. “Our arrangement? I’ve told Sirius. Remus and Peter as well.”

“Ah.” She attempted to transform the critical press of her lips into a smile as she nodded to the passing Bertha Jorkins, though she could practically already hear Bertha dashing off to tell whoever was closest that Lily Evans had been walking alongside Lord Gryffindor with a most unattractive expression. “I suppose I might have expected, considering your closeness. I had heard that his lordship, at least, has rooms in your home.”

“Yes, Sirius has had a strained relationship with his family for several years now.” Lily, though no gossip, was aware that this was an understatement. It was well known that, had it not been for the scandalous reflection on the family, the marquess and marchioness would have disowned their elder son years ago for what they considered his lewd behavior and unseemly friendships; as it was, they rarely mentioned each other in public, and pretended the other did not exist when they were present at the same function. “Even when my parents were alive he had free run of Gryffindor House, and the place has only become emptier since so there is plenty of room for even one as untidy as he.”

Lily glanced at him, unable to help hearing the sadness in his voice although he tried to give the words some degree of levity. She did not comment on it, however, saying instead, “It is rather unconventional, though of course utterly reasonable.”

He shrugged. “Were Sirius my brother by blood, he would always have a place in my home. As he is my brother in all but that, I see no reason that he should lack such a place merely because of an accident of parentage. I have offered Remus and Peter as well - there are probably a dozen bedrooms going unused, and perhaps even more which I have not discovered - but they have both declined.”

“The decor is not to their taste?” Lily asked, winning her a laugh.

“No, Peter’s mother still has a residence in London and prefers he stay with her, and Remus…” He sighed, his mouth shifting a bit to the side, as if this were a problem he was well used to mulling over. “He has his pride, and a part of that is insisting on keeping his own lodgings. But he does join us for supper several times a week, and as Mrs. Pomfrey, my housekeeper, nursed him through many a childhood illness and injury, he cannot well refuse when she tells him we have food going spare and he must take some home.”

It was this comment which forced her to fall silent. Somehow it was even more shocking than the way he had seemed to her transformed in the Longbottom’s garden, smaller and more human instead of filled with that overconfident persistence she had remembered and hated, more shocking than when he had suggested this ruse in the first place. She could not help but think that when Lord Gryffindor sat in his office or attended a session of Parliament, some part of his mind was distracted by wondering how he could best take care of those closest to him, even if it made others about the ton think him odd for it. There was not even anything to be gained from his solicitousness: Lupin’s father, if she recalled correctly, was a missionary only distantly related to some minor viscount, and Pettigrew’s hope of becoming a baron rested on two uncles and seven purportedly hale and hearty cousins meeting untimely demises.

“It is most kind of you,” she finally said, but he merely shrugged.

“As I said, Gryffindor House is altogether too large. My father actually decided that two sitting rooms was quite enough and turned the third into a space for experimentation - he was a bit of an amateur natural philosopher.”

“Truly?” The grin taking over her face felt a bit silly, but she found the idea of it a bit silly, and entirely delightful.

“Truly. In fact, he enjoyed having such a room so much that he had one of the bedrooms turned over at our country home as well so he could continue with his discoveries there. He actually was fairly successful at it. His tonics and ointments might remain family recipes, but there is a pomade of his invention which is only growing in popularity.” His smile tinged a bit sad at the edges. “I think he would have been quite tickled to hear that.”

“I’m certain he would have been.” Familiar with the propensity for jollying people away from their remembrances, as if the sorrow of it was too much for polite conversation to bear when perhaps a moment of dwelling would be welcomed by the one grieving, Lily remained silent for several paces and kept her tone neutral when she said, “These experimental rooms of your father’s sound most entertaining. I wish I could see them myself sometime in the future.”

“Of course, why don’t I—” But he was too smart a man, to finely bred, to allow his tongue to run away with him and simply invite her over. They wanted to build a gentle interest in her from suitable parties, not ruin her reputation entirely. Instead he said, “I’m certain I shall entertain at some point during the season. My mother was well known for her gatherings, and I could never let down her reputation. I shall, of course, have an invitation sent for you, and we will make sure that there is a tour.”

“That would be lovely, thank you.” Her arm had been resting on his as they walked, but she allowed her hand to press a bit more heavily against him in gratitude. She had meant it to be a momentary gesture, but he turned to her then, his dark brown eyes catching hers from behind his spectacles, and she found that she could not look away. They were still walking, she was nearly certain, but how many people they were passing, what everyone might be observing, she had no idea.

It was he who cleared his throat and took his gaze from hers. “I suspect that was sufficiently convincing to anyone watching,” he said, and cleared his throat again.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, of course.” Although, if she were truly forced to consider, she thought she might find that it had been somewhat convincing to her as well.

If the training on proper behavior that James’s mother had tried to instill in him had one benefit, it was the ability to keep a brilliant smile on his face even as he asked quietly, “Is there something I can do to make you more comfortable?”

The cotillion offered little chance to speak privately - one was constantly being forced to circle or line up beside other dancers - so it was not until their next brief whirl as partners that she was able to reply. “I am perfectly comfortable.”

“Forgive me for saying so, but you do not seem entirely to be enjoying yourself,” he said hurriedly at the next opportunity. “You have barely smiled.”

Many women of his acquaintance and most of the gentlemen would have lost track of the conversation as they stepped and wove and traded partners before rejoining, but she merely said, “Perhaps you are more accustomed to dancing with those with silly looks on their faces. Here, I shall make you more comfortable.”

The expression she pasted on was of such exaggerated adoration that he nearly burst into laughter straight into the face of his new partner. As it was, he returned to Lily grinning and found her doing the same.

A whisper seemed to start at the edge of the ballroom (they were quite definitely not displaying the usual polite smiles reserved for these events) but James barely noticed that their plan was coming to some success.

“Well played, Miss Evans. Clearly I should have left it all to your capable hands.”

“See that you do next time,” she responded with a regal nod, and the thought of next time filled his mind with such sudden brightness that his grin stretched anew and did not stop when the music did.

“Unacceptable!”

At her sister’s hiss, Lily looked up from the embroidery in her lap, but did not need to ask what was causing Petunia’s upset. She was altogether too familiar with the expression that came with minor household imperfections, and by the glare being leveled at one of the teacups, she suspected that some nigh invisible spot had been detected.

“All our visitors have gone,” Lily hastened to say. “I’m sure there is no need to disturb—”

But it was too late. Petunia had taken the cup and stalked from the room, undoubtedly to berate the poor housekeeper or whichever maid came across her path.

Shaking her head in sympathy, Lily nevertheless allowed her gaze to wander over to the place behind the curtain where she had hidden the novel she had been reading before the callers had started arriving. Petunia barely allowed such pursuits in privacy; reading in front of gentlemen would certainly have earned a reprimand.

There had been a goodly number of callers, enough that Lily found herself hopeful for the first time in a while, but she would be glad to have a chance to relax, a few moments to just be in her own mind. She was standing on soft feet to go retrieve the book when the butler arrived and announced, “Lord Snape.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say that she was not at home. Over this one thing she had control, and it would be so easy to exert it; she could nearly feel the relief of avoiding him. But something, a wisp of remaining affection for a childhood friend or a desire to see whether she would be able to bear him should the worst case scenario come to pass, made her nod and say, “Show him in, and please inform my sister that he has come.”

The butler stayed after bringing Severus in, standing guard beside the doorway for the sake of propriety in a way which made Lily feel protected rather than surveilled.

“Won’t you take a seat?” she asked as she did the same, but he did not seem even to take heed of her words.

“You danced with Lord Gryffindor last night,” he said. His riding gloves, held as a pair in one hand, smacked lightly against his thigh, and Lily held herself back from flinching.

“Yes, we recently discovered that we have much in common with each other, despite past differences. I found him a most amiable partner,” she responded, her tone not as cold as his but not particularly warm either. She reclaimed her embroidery and began to work on it as she added, “I had not realized that you were in attendance at the ball.”

He gave a short, sharp laugh, and she could not help but notice the difference between it and the one Gryffindor had given the night before. “It was not the sort of affair that I would take interest in. I was in attendance at the Selwyns. The company was a bit less...mixed.”

And there it was once again, this idea that could not seem to be purged from him, this idea her old friend seemed to have no interest in overcoming. “I find that with such an attitude, I cannot regret not having received an invitation,” she said, making three flawless and focused stitches in quick succession.

“But—” He began to surge forward, until the butler let out a loud and pointed cough. Jaw tight, he stepped back once again and said, “As my wife, you would have received such an invitation and would have no fear as to the attitudes shown you. There would be only deference. You would be under my protection.”

Her hands fell still in her lap. She looked up at him directly and spoke with precision. “I have no interest in engaging with people who would only tolerate me were I under your protection, and I have equally little interest in marrying a man who believes that it is deference and a shield from petty remarks which I seek in a marriage.”

There was a twitch of anger in his face which he covered over quickly. Severus had always masked things so easily; it had once seemed natural to her, a part of him, but now she found it slightly frightening, not being able to tell his true thoughts or feelings.

“Very well,” he said. “That is your opinion. Only remember when Gryffindor has thrown you over for the next pretty thing which comes his way, that I will still be here.”

Lily swallowed. Steadfastness was an admirable trait, but being the sole focus of someone like this felt more like being a hunted animal, a butterfly trapped behind glass, only meant to flutter prettily at the one who had caught it and locked it away, stolen from nature.

“Ah, Lord Snape,” Petunia said from behind him. Her voice was not pleasant - she and Severus had never liked each other - but it was polite, and Lily realized how much her sister and brother-in-law were depending on Snape to take her if no one else did. “May I offer you some refreshment?”

“I shan’t be staying, Mrs. Dursley,” he said, with equally cold politeness. “I merely wanted to ensure that Miss Evans is well. Good day to you both.” He gave a short, sharp bow, and walked past the butler out the door.

Lily rested her hands on her lap for a moment, then forced herself to pick up her embroidery. Even if Snape were no longer in the room to see, she did not want to give him the power of her anxiety.

She cast her mind once again to the plan. It had seemed a longshot at the time, slightly foolish, but she needed it to work. Unbelievable as it seemed, she had placed her trust in the Earl of Gryffindor, and she needed him to have been worthy of it.

“I must say, Miss Evans,” James said, “that you are quite the most stubborn woman of my acquaintance, possibly the most stubborn in the whole of England.” He kept his tone fairly low in deference to the fact that they were surrounded by dozens of other pairs of dancers, but he knew that his amusement came through regardless. She was arguing her point with the focus and diligence of an experienced barrister, which was entirely annoying while also being entirely too much fun.

“Well, England is not particularly large, so I shan’t worry overmuch,” she responded pertly.

“I rescind the comment. You are surely the most stubborn woman in all the world.”

“Merely disagreeing with you regarding the best type of pie does not make me the most stubborn woman in the world, my lord. It only makes me someone who knows her own mind, and I should hope you would be aware of that.” He thought that she might break away from him to place her hands on her hips and wag her finger in the scolding so familiar to him from his time in the nursery, and he held on just a bit tighter, not out of any ridiculous concern for propriety, but simply because these moments when he was allowed to touch her were outlined with such care and detail that he did not want to miss a single second.

She did not even attempt to move from him, however, a smile breaking its way across her face instead. “And regardless, I have complete certainty in the superiority of the apple pie, as any right-thinking person would.”

“Lemon pie,” James responded staunchly, nearly gritting his teeth even as he grinned back. “On the day that you try the lemon pie we eat at home, you shall eat your words along with it and beg my forgiveness.”

“I shall certainly sample it when offered, if only in the spirit of open inquiry and because I am absolutely secure in my own opinion, although I’m doubtful that I would ever beg anything from you.”

“Expect one at your home tomorrow afternoon, then. I do not retreat from a challenge any more than you.”

They were standing close enough that he could see the precise way her eyes flashed as she said, ��I take your challenge gladly.”

“I say, is there to be a duel?” Benjy Fenwick, a longtime friend of James’s, seemed taken aback as he came alongside them. James felt similarly taken aback, shocked that the outside world had managed to intrude, shocked that it even still existed; without their having realized it, they had completed the steps of the dance and the next set was starting.

“Of course not.” Lily blinked, then adjusted her tone. It was not precisely fawning, James decided, nor coy, but there was a polite feeling to it, as if she had tucked away some of her warmth or her particular character. He wanted to bring it back, to make certain that the world did not lose that sparking magic of hers, but at the same time he found himself oddly relieved that Fenwick, who she had been so excited to add to her dance card, was not worthy of her true self. “A simple debate between myself and Lord Gryffindor. My apologies, my lord. It is terribly good to see you. Shall we rejoin the floor?”

Fenwick offered his arm and they took their places for the quadrille, while James retreated to the corner where Sirius was observing everything.

“Fenwick’s a nice fellow,” said the man who had only a moment ago been James’s best friend.

“Hmm.”

Sirius sipped at his cup, which James doubted contained only lemonade. “I’m certain Miss Evans would be delighted if he were to further his attentions toward her.”

“He isn’t—Fenwick is fine. He never excelled in a single class to my knowledge nor has he grasped sarcasm, he seems entirely content to be an unassuming third son without particular purpose, and I have beaten him handily every time we have fenced, but he is fine. However, Lily—Miss Evans needs more than fine. She needs more than nice,” James said, exasperated. “We’ll simply have to keep this up until she finds someone else. Someone better.”

“Indeed.” Sirius sipped again, a damnably amused shimmer in his eye. “I suppose keeping up your arrangement would be the only way of achieving that.”

“Of course it is,” James said.

“Of course it is,” Sirius echoed, but he was smiling, almost as if in relief. James turned away, even though he was fairly certain that he did not want to watch Lily dancing with someone else, smiling at someone else.

No, not fairly certain, absolutely certain. But if she was the most stubborn woman in the world, he was the most stubborn man, and he forced himself to keep on. The whole point of this was to find Lily a husband, and she had made it perfectly clear that she did not consider him to be a contender. He would have to become accustomed to seeing her with someone else. He would simply have to.

“Not only pie but ice cream as well?” James asked, licking chocolate from his spoon. “How does one manage to have so many wrong opinions?”

“Unbelievable as it might seem to you, an opinion is not wrong simply because it is not yours,” she responded, taking a dainty bite from her own dish. “Although, to tell you the truth…” She looked this way and that before leaning across the table just slightly. He mirrored her at once; apparently it was lucky that he was a part of the plan because he seemed more eager for gossip than any ten ladies of Lily’s acquaintance. “I actually only order the maple because it seems the least popular. It’s terribly sad to think of it simply melting away for lack of interested customers.”

He gaped at her for a moment. “But then you miss out on the chocolate,” he said, with a sort of implacably simple logic that belonged in childhood. She laughed.

“The maple isn’t actually bad. It simply isn’t as popular because it is overshadowed by the other flavors. Even the lavender gains an audience simply because it sounds sophisticated. But…” Her voice lowered even further. “Sometimes I finish my serving and then ask for a dish of chocolate as well.”

“Gluttony, Miss Evans?” he said, eyes glinting. But where she might have once reminded him sharply that he certainly had more experience in deadly sinning than she, now she merely raised an amused eyebrow and said, “Enjoyment, my lord,” before sitting back and picking her spoon up once more.

He seemed to watch her more closely than the simple movement deserved. “Enjoyment indeed,” he said, and his low voice was not as one telling a secret, but one who had forgotten he was speaking aloud. She glanced up at him sharply, but before she could say anything more, he too had started on his ice cream again.

“One thing I do miss from my travels is getting to try the local delicacies,” he remarked. “There is quite a bit more to the world than the traditional menu would lead you to believe - although I will confess that I was glad to come home to lemon pie and chocolate ice cream.”

“Oh, yes, you mentioned that you had traveled. Where did you go?”

He waved his spoon. “All sorts of places.”

“Please, you must give me something more particular than that. I have never been even to Scotland and might never, and so I may only read about other places in books and listen jealously to stories such as yours.”

“Well, most people start off in Paris, but we - Sirius and I - went to the Netherlands first, then throughout Prussia, then down to Italy and Greece, and across the water to the Ottoman Empire. We even got a chance to see Egypt and some of North Africa before…” His mouth had clearly been coming up with the words before his mind was ready for them. When he realized what he would have to say next, he seemed to take a steadying breath, sliding the ice cream away from himself as if it no longer held appeal. “Word reached me that my mother had taken ill. We cut things short.” He swallowed. “Unfortunately, it made no difference.”

The urge to reach across the table and touch his hand came to her quite suddenly; she was nearly surprised into giving into the impulse. Instead she folded her hands on the table and said softly, "That must have been quite difficult, moving so quickly from a time meant for freedom and adventure and frivolity to one of urgency and then of mourning.”

“I wonder if mourning should always feel sudden, even if one were expecting it,” he said. Once she would have thought it shocking if not impossible for this man to take such a serious tone or speak such a profound thought aloud, but she was finding that there was quite a lot about him which was unexpected for her but no less true.

He cleared his throat. “Regardless, you needn’t be jealous: our travels were not as full of frivolity as all that even before we received the news from home.”

Perhaps if she had not spent the last several weeks so often in his company, with such an awareness of his every expression and how it would be perceived, she would have mistaken the charming smile he gave for a true one. As it was, she said simply, “Oh?” and waited with patiently folded hands for him to continue.

His eyes observed her keenly for a moment before dropping to his lap. Slowly, he said, “I thought that merely reading in the newspapers about the ruin Bonaparte made of things on the continent was enough. I thought I understood. But it was nothing to actually seeing everything that people needed to rebuild, hearing from the locals all that they had lost.” His expression turned self-deprecating. “I had once thought that had I not been the eldest and only of my family, I might have been a soldier, but I could barely stomach even the aftermath years later.”

“I think you could have been a soldier had you the opportunity,” she said. “I believe it can only be for the good to have soldiers who fight not because they enjoy the battle or out of a desire for glory, but to bring peace, to protect the innocent. And of course we have determined that you can come up with an innovative strategy with haste, a quality I’m certain would have served you well.”

That actually made him smile truly, and she could nearly see him trying to brush away his unfortunate mood. “I thank you for your compliments,” he said. “And of course, all of that was no more painful than what you had to bear. You have lost your mother more recently than I did my parents. If anything, I should be comforting you.”

“There needn’t be a competition between us regarding our suffering,” she pointed out. “And taking a turn at being comforted simply because I am next in the queue is not how I like to remember my mother.”

“How do you like to remember her? I confess, we—” He gave an uncomfortable cough. “We had little opportunity to speak.”

She wondered if he remembered that, although they had indeed spoken little on the occasion, it had been her mother who had guided him gently from the room after his ill-fated proposal. She suspected not - he had seemed quite dazed in the moment.

“I have rarely enjoyed simply being in company with someone as I did her,” Lily said instead. “Our minds seemed to work quite similarly. I miss so many things about her - her quiet humor, her independence although even as a girl I could tell that she wished my father had not passed so young, and how she always seemed to know exactly the solution to any problem in the household, any social faux pas - but more than anything, I don’t know that I will ever find someone who seemed so often to echo my same thoughts. I’m afraid it left my sister a bit isolated at times. She engages with the world so differently. It was Mama who always encouraged me to continue reaching out to her, trying to allow some understanding between us.”

Now it was her turn to glance down at her lap, although she forced her eyes back up toward him mere seconds later. “I imagine these last months would have been easier if Petunia and I did have some sort of understanding, even an imperfect one. I am not speaking of my...situation, although I am certain that would have been different had we been closer. But there are so many memories which only we two now share, and I wish we had closeness enough to recall them together.”

He nodded. “I was lucky to be able to spend a few weeks remembering my mother beside my father before his passing. Perhaps that time would have been better spent in discussion of our holdings or my responsibilities, and had he known what was to come he might have insisted upon it, but I find that I cannot make myself regret those times. And now I have been lucky to have Sirius nearby to share with me his memories. He spent so much time in our home, with my parents, that he can easily recall to my mind things I did not even realize I had forgotten: the way my mother ordered a new perfume for each season, or how my father would sit alone with a cup of hot milk when he was particularly pensive.”

His throat seemed nearly to catch as he swallowed. “I suspect it is always easiest to bear these sorts of things when you are with people who will listen, even if they cannot share experiences with you. I am sorry that you do not have the same.”

“Well,” she said, “I wonder if perhaps I do.”

She had not known she would say the words until she did, but she had felt them all the same. She had her own friends, it was true, and yet no one seemed to want to discuss her mother’s passing the way he did, no one even seemed willing to try beyond platitudes or small embraces. And he seemed overwhelmed by the comment, his lips falling open just a touch, eyes large and bright behind his spectacles as they caught hers.

“Miss Evans.”

She very nearly fell from her chair, and her only consolation was that he nearly did as well, although he recovered more quickly, his from-the-cradle training pushing him to rise and bow smartly. She had forgotten, somehow, that they were in the middle of Gunter’s, that their object for the day was to be seen in public laughing together and enjoying each other’s company in order to rouse the notice of others, that being with him - pretending to be with him - was only meant as a waystation on the path to the man with whom she would actually spend the rest of her life.

Somehow, as she sat at their small corner table, she had only been seeing him.

“Miss Lily Evans,” Lady McGonagall said again, and Lily remembered to stand and curtsy. The countess looked her over closely, then turned and said, "You could hardly do better, my boy."

In their limited interactions, Lily had rather liked Lady McGonagall and she suspected that she was liked in return, but she was still surprised at her warm and roundly approving tone.

The countess continued: "And James Potter. Earl of Gryffindor, Viscount Peverell, cousin to the king, heir to the Potter fortune..:” She glanced him over and tilted her head to speak directly to Lily. “I suppose you could have done worse." She turned back. "See that you're worthy of her," she said, in that way of someone accustomed to being obeyed without question.

And while Lily could feel her eyebrows practically springing into her hair, he merely smiled and said, "I am trying my best.”

He really was remarkably good at pretending - for a moment, even Lily nearly believed him.

Having already attended the agreed upon number of occasions for the week, James could easily have begged off of the Weasley’s supper party and spent the evening at home or at his club or out with his friends (up to less savory pursuits, if Sirius was allowed to be in charge). He told himself that his reason for accepting the invitation was simply because he liked Molly and Arthur - regardless of their financial status, they were actually enjoyable company, unlike many in the ton - but that did not explain why he had not cited another engagement following the meal instead of sitting through the gentlemen’s retreat and then their return for cards and socializing. Overall, as he watched Lily set her face fiercely across from him at the whist table, he found any excuse less and less convincing by the moment.

Sirius elbowed him. “It seems as if you have a tiger for a partner,” he remarked in a low tone, somehow managing to lounge in his chair while holding his cards properly before him.

“If you are referring to my demeanor, you should well address me directly so that I may tell you just as directly that I have rarely lost and do not intend to do so tonight,” Lily interrupted, running a fingernail casually across the top of one of her cards. She faced Sirius directly, and James suspected that he was the only one who would be able to detect the hints of humor in her face. “And if you were referring to my hair, my lord, well, perhaps you should retire once again in order to refresh your arsenal with more creative comparisons.”

Grinning, James watched Sirius and Remus staring at her in astonishment. They had exchanged pleasantries before, but this was the first time his friends were spending time with Lily, and she was certainly leaving an impression.

“Goodness, Sirius,” Lupin finally said, a chuckle building in his throat. “If you do need to retire after such a carefully aimed attack, I can certainly replace you as a partner.”

“No need.” Sirius sat up straighter, staring Lily down with good-natured ruthlessness. “I have talent enough to come up with my riposte as we play.”

Lily said, “One might say that if there has not been a response within the first moment, there is not one forthcoming,” then bowed her head politely to Sirius, adding, “Not, of course, that I am referring to anyone in particular.” She faced across the table once more and said, “Now then, shall we play, my lord?”

“James,” he blurted before he could think better of it. "You should call me James."

It meant something, giving her leave to call him by his given name, and he wondered if he had been holding himself back from this particular development, one which now felt inevitable, as some sort of protection. The thought of it felt quite tangled about in his mind, but regardless, he needn't have said it in front of his friends.

He could tell that they were gaping at him - well, Remus had his eyebrows raised so high that they were practically on the moon and Sirius's expression had defaulted to arch surprise - and he even thought that Molly Weasley might have looked over instinctively from her own whist table to ensure that nothing was amiss, but his eyes were for Lily alone.

"James, then," she murmured comfortably, though he seemed to see a touch of something like nervousness, even fear, in her eyes as she said, "And you may call me Lily, of course." But it was gone the next second as she said to the group at large, "Shall we play, then?"

"I like her," Sirius declared as they sat in James's study later that night having a brandy together. "I like her quite a lot."

"As do I." James tapped a fingernail absently against his glass. Lily was indeed a champion whist player - he was willing to lay the lion’s share of their team’s victory at her feet - and her dress tonight had been a most fetching shade of blue which offset her hair quite startlingly. Obviously she wore green beautifully, and he had once seen her in a gown of deep purple which redefined the shade for him, but the blue in the candlelight as she laughed and schemed over her cards…

"I can tell," Sirius said, and his voice was sober enough to break James from his thoughts and look over at him. "I can tell that you like her. It has been some time since I saw you smile with such frequency." His own smile returned and he said, "Although I would wonder if she would consider you worthwhile after tonight. You should call me James, indeed." He repeated it, voice lower and more pompous than James believed his to be, then in an oily, seductive way, then with a shy blink through his lashes, until his impressions were apparently so hilarious that he fell into laughter and could not continue.

Dear Miss Evans,

Dear Lily,

Madam,

I hope this note finds you well, and my apologies for leaving without a proper goodbye - or truly any goodbye. I had an early letter regarding a fire near one of my estates which necessitated a speedy departure. Luckily the damage appears to be less serious than feared: there are no severe injuries, it seems that only minimal repairs will be required, and the harvest will not be affected.

I spent the morning helping to clear some of the wreckage, and then was deemed competent enough to swing a hammer and so was able to help with some repairs. In the afternoon, I assisted with a foaling, although to be frank, I'm not certain that I was truly any help at all. If I recall, I mostly spent the time asking the farmer whether it would truly work and flinching away as I wondered whether that amount of fluid was normal - which it apparently is. (If any of this should happen to make its way to Sirius, I'd like it to be impressed upon him that he would certainly have done no better in the circumstances, and if he doubts it, he may come try next spring.)

I shall likely be staying another two weeks at least - now that I am here, there is some business it would be wise to take care of - but I hope that my absence gives opportunity to those perhaps not bold enough to come forward while I am about. Only recall, of course, that you do not have to give in to such gentlemens’ attentions if you do not want to...unless you desire a husband over whom you can take charge. It would, after all, be only natural for you to desire someone whose stubbornness will not outmatch your own. But if you are waiting for something else in a man, please recall that you are a most excellent catch and quite eligible on your own, and someone with the highest qualities to recommend him will see that in due course.

In the meantime I remain,

Yrs &c

James Potter

Dear Gryffindor,

It is quite a relief to hear that things were less dire than initially believed - although I suspect that they might be a bit dire still if they are allowing you near hammers or any other tools. I shall, however, refrain from sharing my opinion on that with any of your friends or acquaintances, as it would likely spoil the illusion of our deep affection for one another (to my knowledge, most ladies do not express their ardor by pointing out the flaws of their supposed beloved). Nor will I mention the incident with the foal - unless I am severely provoked to it.

Since you bring up potential suitors who might be suffering from attacks of nerves at the thought of crossing the formidable Lord Gryffindor, I did dance twice with Mr. Davey Gudgeon at the Abbott ball evening last. In the first dance he was anxious but quite sweet, but in the second he mistimed his cross-step during the Duchess of Devonshire's Reel, knocked into Miss Vance (or as he put it “nearly had his eye taken out by her!”), and seemed to desire me to spend the rest of the evening fetching him cool cloths and telling him that the redness was not visible. It depressed things quite considerably, I must say.

I shall be waiting with bated breath for these gentlemen of highest quality who you allege to be on the horizon. My criteria remain, I believe, modest: kindness, someone who will be a friend to me, and who will be open to conversation. (Degree of stubbornness matters not at all, regardless of your inferences to the contrary...) Hope with me that they come soon: if my need for air becomes too pressing, I shall be left gasping at the feet of Lord Snape, and there is more than one reason I have worked for many years to avoid such a fate.

With best and most sincere wishes,

Lily

Dear Lily,

I shall keep in mind not to provoke you, although I should ask that you grant me some amount of latitude in what is meant by provoking lest I blunder into it and you are forced to cast aspersions on my reputation as an iron stomached lord of the domain.

Although by your description, Mr. Gudgeon has set the standards quite low in this regard. If these are the men of the ton, I believe my reputation would remain intact even should my inability to assist in live animal births be revealed. (My reputation with Sirius in specific would, of course, never recover.)

I hope that whoever you partner with at the next occasion is more suitable, and that it is certainly not Snape. Forgive me for asking, but I wonder if I misunderstand your comment regarding him. Has he caused you insult or injury further than is commonly known? I give you my assurance that I shall refrain from rash behavior, regardless of your answer - although you must know that I might countenance a considered, planful vengeance upon my return.

James

Dear James,

Your reputation remains intact here in town, although Lady Bones did frown most ominously upon your absence at her party two nights past, even with your other friends present. (Mr. Pettigrew seemed a bit downcast, despite my efforts to cheer him; it seems that Miss Jones has been engaged to another.) Apparently you have a habit of slipping from your promises of attendance. It is a lucky thing for you that it was I with whom you entrusted your secrets, or she might be casting aspersions in revenge even now without you here to defend yourself. (I suspect, however, that she would not, regardless of her pique - she is quite dignified.)

Regarding your own revenge, there is no need. Lord Snape and I were acquainted as children, prior to his inheritance, and he believed that our past friendship and certain areas of mutual interest were enough to assure his suit. However, in the intervening years, I found his choice of friends to be quite reprehensible and his values not to match with my own. I care little regarding his insults toward me, but he was similarly disparaging to those for whom I care, or stood by and listened while others acted similarly. For those reasons I refused him, and while I have the choice, I will refuse him still. You are already doing quite enough in allowing me to continue to have such choices, and for that I must thank you once again.

Yours,

Lily

Dear Lily,

I avoid Lady Bones because she is so intimidating that I perpetually fear that simply being near her will result in unintentional confessions. Even Lady McGonagall, who is quite shrewd and can devastate with her tongue lashing, has a sense of humor beneath it all; Lady Bones seems all mind and sharp eyes.

Perhaps this observation is another which can remain between us? Although if I encounter her again, I might find myself revealing it regardless.

As for Lord Snape, I still find that I would rather confront than avoid him, but as this is your battle, I shall defer to you. (If his path and mine were to cross, however, I wonder at my own control.)

I am to journey home in two days’ time, and while I do not find myself anticipating my arrival back in the social whirl, I hope that you will have some time free to walk with me at least. We must remind everyone of our affections most publicly, after all, as the attention of the ton is short - and besides, it has been quite too long since last I saw you.

Yours,

James

Her drawing room did not lack for suitors these days, her dance card rarely had an empty place, and surely someone would offer for her soon, but as they walked through the park together, even given the gloomy weather, Lily found herself overwhelmingly glad that James had returned.

He was speaking of a visit he had taken to the school in the village, his manner proud as he described the recitation that the students had performed for him - although he turned sheepish as he described how, when one boy had asked him to show them his own skill, he had needed to make up an excuse and flee in order to avoid embarrassment.

“Truly, you could not have been such a terrible student that you cannot remember a single thing,” she admonished, laughing slightly. He really was quite intelligent, as determined as he sometimes seemed to act otherwise; they conversed often on literature and current events, and his friend Lupin had once let slip that James had received a first at university.

James tapped his head. “I’m certain there is some passage or poem lurking around up here, but what if I had erred in front of them? I could never have endured the shame. And, being frank with you, I was never a particularly engaged student. That crop I saw was all much better and they deserve the credit for it.”

“I had not realized that you would be so involved in the education of your tenants,” Lily commented, lifting her skirt a bit to avoid a puddle which had collected in a dip in the path.

“Many are not, but my family has seen it as a responsibility of ours for some time. Not everyone will find themselves at university, but there is no reason that we cannot help to ensure that there is instruction beyond the most basic of reading and sums.” He said this all very staunchly, brow furrowed, but he relaxed a bit as he added, “My father would often send books down for the schooling of the boys.”

“And what of the girls?” she asked before she could stop herself.

Her sister would have hissed at her in shock and shame, both for the impertinent tone and for even bothering to ask the question, but James just grinned. “That was my mother’s pet project, actually, a schoolhouse educating the village girls. Whenever she had heard that my father had provided more materials or hired on a new schoolmaster, she would do the same for them. She was quite an admirer of Wollstonecraft.”

“Really? I had not heard,” Lily said. It was not altogether surprising, as she had never interacted with James’s mother in life, but gossip did travel far and fast. And Lily was sure that if she had known this about the late Lady Gryffindor, she would not have forgotten; although she had hidden it from not only Petunia but their mother as well for fear they would be scandalized, Lily had read both Thoughts on the Education of Daughters and Vindication of the Rights of Woman and considered the ideas within them often.

“It’s likely fairly common knowledge in that corner of the country but she kept it a bit quiet in London. She always said that it was easier to change people’s minds when they did not know your opinions well enough to start bracing themselves and preparing their counterattacks without having even heard your points.” Strangely, it was not the smile on his face which spoke more to Lily of his love for his mother, but the gruff clearing of his throat as he said, “She could likely have worked for the War Office, my mother. Napoleon would have been dispatched much sooner.”

“I wish I could have met her,” Lily said honestly. “I wish I could have met both of them. They both sound quite lovely, quite special.” She had one arm resting in his, but she drew up her other hand and covered his fingers lightly, trying to communicate the truth of her sentiment.

James nodded. “They were, to me and to each other. I was terribly lucky to be able to watch their partnership for as long as I did.” He squeezed her fingers back.

His hand, Lily realized, was warm beneath hers, warm and very strong and somehow comfortable. She did not know how it had happened or when, but she had grown to adore walking alongside him, hearing his thoughts and having him listen to hers, watching the way his face crumpled a bit with concern over his friends or his tenants or news from the continent or some issue in Parliament, seeing his concern turn into determination, registering the degree of his every smile and laugh, especially when they were for her.

She thought of the things she had told him she wished for in a husband, comfort and companionship, someone who truly saw her, and she knew that she had that in James, and that she had more too. He had told her that he had arrived back in London near twilight the previous evening, and that after so long in the carriage he had wanted to stretch his legs so he had walked part of the way to Gryffindor House. She had not mentioned that she had been at her window as he passed, that she had involuntarily drawn in a breath at the sight of his undone cravat, of the leanly muscled forearms beneath his rolled up sleeves, of the hair that she once thought foolishly messy but which now seemed dashing as he brushed it carelessly from his eyes.

Neither had she told him that she had run down to receive the post each morning that he had been away, and not only because she had feared Petunia withholding his letters from her if she got to them first. She did not mention that she had read them over more than once, conjuring up his awkward little gestures and his seriousness and his enthusiasm, imagining him swinging a hammer beside his tenants, rubbing a finger against his lips as he read her own correspondence the way he did when he was particularly engrossed in something. She did not speak of the way, when she lay in bed, she thought of his eyes lighting up behind his glasses as he returned to see her, nor of the way she would fall asleep smiling just from the thought of being with him once again.

Oh, she thought with polite surprise, even as it felt as if a rock were sinking into her belly. Oh, God. I’ve fallen in love with him.

She had never questioned her refusal of his proposal all those years ago. There was no doubt that he would not have suited her at the time, that after a short time he would have realized that she did not suit him. Only, if they had turned into who they were now and they had already been married…

She allowed herself a moment to imagine it, being married to James, being a friend to him over the years not only at a distance or because of some scheme but in true partnership as his parents had been. To have all that they did now, but also to be able to touch each other, to be alone together.

But she could allow herself only that moment. He had made it more than clear at the outset that he was uninterested in marriage at present, that he now found the idea a bothersome distraction. She had missed her chance, and she would simply have to live with it. Fenwick had danced with her thrice two nights past, tantamount to a proposal. She would live a fine life with him, and James would be happy, one day, with someone else.

Swallowing against the tears in her throat, she squeezed his hand once more and let him go.

When Remus came running into the room two days later, James thought he must be falling ill once more. His friend kept his condition quiet, but he had developed malaria as a child after time spent abroad due to his father’s work; attacks of the illness came on periodically, bringing with them terrible fevers and pain which James hated to watch and could do little to stop.

“Shall I call for the doctor?” he asked desperately, forcing his thoughts straight as he rose from the table where he had been having a late breakfast and shoved out a chair for Remus to collapse into. “You’re meant to have that quinine remedy, aren’t you? Have you run out?”

But Remus only shook his head frantically, finally rasping out, “A drink, please.”

James hastily poured him tea, remembering only after he had handed it over that it would likely be cold by now. He had come down to breakfast late already, and then had lingered quite a long time absently eating through progressively more tepid eggs and fish as he read over reports from his solicitors. But Remus took it down in a gulp, making a face only after he had finished and returned the cup to the table.

“You’ve been found out,” was the first thing he said.

James slowly regained his seat. He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I was at the stationers,” Remus continued as his breathing calmed slightly and his color began returning to normal. “And I was approached by Lucius Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange - those bounders married to Sirius’s dreadful cousins, you remember.”

“Of course.” If James had not already known and disliked the men in question, he would have pitied them, Lestrange especially. “But I don’t see—”

“They said that they knew that Lily had been having one over on everyone,” said Remus grimly. “And they know of your part in it too. It’s apparently already being spread all over town. According to them, as soon as Snape found out, he went to go see Lily’s brother-in-law: he seems to think that Dursley will simply give Lily over now that there are even rumors about her being duplicitous or what have you, and having only met the man once I’m inclined to think he’s right.”

James stood from the table so quickly that he didn’t unbend his legs in time, hitting both knees on the tabletop and needing a moment to straighten himself. Fingers fumbling with his cravat, he called for his coat and hat, only pausing after he had done so to ask, “Did they say how they found out in the first place? I don’t expect that Lily was spreading it around, and I only told you three.” There was an unpleasant turn in his stomach at the thought of Sirius’s unbound tongue when he was in his cups. But surely even then, he would not have revealed the information? If Lily’s life was ruined because of this…

“It was Peter,” Remus said.

“What?” James said, his thoughts still on how Sirius would have to grovel, but then the words made it through. “What?” he said again, so shocked that he sank back into his chair. “Peter?”

Remus said, with the air of a doctor giving a fatal diagnosis, “He was trying to ingratiate himself to them, I think, but they kept needling him about Hestia Jones throwing him over. So he struck back by letting them in on the most sensational secret that he had.”

“I’ll have to—” James began weakly, but then his anger took over. “I’ll speak with him later,” he said, rage bristling through him, pushing his shoulders back. He found himself wishing that the morning had never started, but it was too late for that. He took a fortifying breath as the butler returned and set his jaw. He would need to handle things regarding Peter, but for now he had somewhere else to be.

Fifteen minutes later, he was nipping at the heels of another butler as he walked through the hall to the drawing room of the Dursley house.

“No callers all morning?” came the voice of Lily’s entirely unpleasant sister. “It seems that the bloom has quite come off the rose. I caught Vernon in my second season, you know. It seems that once again you will not be so lucky.”

“The bloom coming off the lily would have been the more apt reference, Tuney,” Lily replied. “And I am quite grateful that you were the one to catch Vernon. But regardless, perhaps everyone somehow divined that I would prefer some quiet time with my thoughts this morning.”

“And what thoughts are—”

“The Earl of Gryffindor, madam,” the butler announced, mere seconds before James entered the room.

Petunia Dursley rose and curtsied. “My lord,” she said, although with a turn of her lip as if she would prefer to call him something else, or even to comment on his lack of manners in barging into their home. If James had not been so distracted, he might have even appreciated her lack of ingratiation: too many people began positively groveling as soon as they heard the title. As it was, he was distracted by the sudden realization of the flaw in his plan. For all that the ton relied on rules and propriety, Mrs. Dursley clung to the concepts with a martial gleam that put most others to shame. She would never leave them alone and unchaperoned, not for a moment. Perhaps he could trip her, and in the chaos, whisper something to Lily…?

“Would you like to sit down?” That was Lily now; he focused enough to watch her gesture to a chair across from the sofa which she and Petunia shared, and even to follow her direction, although he was still distracted by the necessity now of coming up with a plan.

“Would you like something to eat or drink, my lord?” Lily again. She had set her embroidery aside and was eyeing him oddly. He had the feeling that this was not the first time he had been offered a refreshment.

“Tea would be lovely,” he managed. Maybe her sister would go to arrange it…

But no, Petunia Dursley simply rang for a maid, then picked up her own embroidery and began conversing about the weather as if she were being forced into niceties with a pistol at her back. He was able to manage answers for several minutes, sipping tea occasionally, even as Lily looked at him in a way which clearly showed she thought him mad.

“The weather is indeed lovely,” he finally interrupted a bit desperately, although he knew that firstly, it was not, and secondly, Mrs. Dursley had been asking whether he believed that there would be more rain this month than the same time last year. “Perhaps I might take Miss Evans on a walk?”

“Fresh air would certainly be wonderful,” Lily said swiftly.

Petunia glanced between both of them suspiciously. “You walked only yesterday, Lily, with Mr. Fenwick. I’m afraid you will become too dark and hearty-looking if you step out so often.”

James Potter had never even considered being rattled by an exam, a fight with a fellow gentleman, or an upbraiding by his mother. The slightest sweat broke out on the back of his neck now.

And then, several things happened, if not at once, then in very close succession: the front door burst open followed by a stream of unintelligible invective; Petunia rose, calling, “Vernon, is there some trouble, darling?” and began to cross the room; and James, spotting an opportunity, upended his teacup onto her skirt with a barely believable, “Oh, my apologies!”

Instead of causing her to leave the room at once to put herself to rights, this clearly non-accidental dousing simply made Petunia eye him stonily, mouth agape. James ignored her, turning and starting, “Lily—” before being cut off.

“Thought you could pull one over on us, eh?” Vernon Dursley had arrived in the room, impressively red in the face. The color became even more impressive as he spotted James, and he barked out a “You!”

“We’ve been found out,” James said rapidly, returning to face Lily alone. “It was my error. I should not have—In any case, I have heard that Lord Snape has already tried to finalize things, but if you were to marry me, I believe that you would be…”

She was looking at him with the same vaguely curious expression that she had all the way back in the garden at the Longbottom house party. The arguments he was about to make - that the power of his title and standing would offer protection to her reputation, that it was only honorable that he make amends in this way considering it was his lack of discretion which had allowed their secret to be known, that he would trouble her as little as she liked within their marriage - died on his tongue.

All he could remember was Lily making conciliatory faces to Alice Longbottom behind the back of the redoubtable Lady Longbottom, Lily’s small and capable hand against his arm as they walked, the feeling of her assured steps, of her warmth against him when they danced. Lily’s look of concentration as he explained something dull regarding crop rotations, her careful gestures as she offered some solution. The gleam in her eye when she won at cards, the way she gave Sirius as good as she got and spoke with Remus about literature and was kind to Peter even when he stepped on her toes. Lily, choosing the maple ice cream because it was the least liked, looking fascinated at the idea of his father’s old work rooms, conceding a point only after he had presented his best arguments, teasing him that he allowed his hair to stay in such disarray because he did not want to seem shorter than Sirius, speaking so lovingly of her mother and tilting her head in welcome as he spoke of his own parents. Lily’s smile, her laugh, her mind, the way he felt such joy whenever they spent time together…

He had thought himself in love with her years earlier, but that had been mere infatuation, an enjoyment of her appearance, her outward manner. He had been drawn to this one woman who had not been charmed by him, who had offered novelty through her rejection, but that was not love. This, knowing her and wanting to be known by her, always, this was love.

The teacup was empty, but he placed it politely on the side table before he slid from his chair and knelt before Lily. He took both of her hands in his and held them near his mouth. Surely this was allowed? Hands were allowed, he had kissed many of them, although not ungloved like this and not with this precise level of intimacy. The Dursleys certainly seemed to take offense: Petunia gasped in nearly all the air in the room, although she left enough for Vernon to bellow out an “I say!” James ignored them both, watching those spectacularly green eyes of Lily’s instead.

“I have no flowers,” he said softly, “and I have no ring, although I can obtain both very soon, but if you would have me, I should like to marry you. Not because you must, and not because of what my name can offer, but because you are my friend, because I adore you, because I want you to be my partner in every dance, today and for the rest of my life, because my favorite times are when I am with you, because I want to spend each one of my days with you beside me.” He swallowed. “Will you have me?”

And just as he had known the first time he had asked what her answer would be before she said it, he knew now too.

Two years later…

Sirius was not certain whether it was his sighing or his constant checking out the carriage window, but a few miles from Godric’s Hollow, Remus had apparently had enough.

“Please,” he said, faintly begging. “Borrow a horse and ride ahead.”

“It would not be polite to leave you alone,” Sirius pointed out dutifully, glad that his mother was not there to see him acting in such a manner.

Remus countered, “It would, in fact, be more polite than what you are doing now.” He gestured to the manuscript atop the travel desk on his lap. “I have much to keep me occupied, and you are merely a distraction from it. Now go.”

And so, less than an hour later, Sirius directed his commandeered horse up the neatly maintained path to the house. A servant was already hurrying out as he swerved to a stop by the front door (Lily had been welcomed easily as countess, and her staff always rose to exceed her expectations), and Sirius tossed over the reins and bounded up the steps two at a time.

He was recognized immediately by the butler and footmen and maids, but he only nodded in acknowledgment of their bows and curtsies as he strode through the entrance hall and made his way to the main staircase.

Barely had he reached the upstairs landing when he heard a door thrown open and saw James barrelling toward him.

“Sirius,” his best friend shouted, nearly knocking him over when he couldn’t manage to come to a stop quickly enough. Without apology, he grabbed Sirius’s hand and hauled him further down the hall. “The baby’s here.”

“I know,” Sirius said, laughing. “You wrote to us, that’s why we came.”

But James didn’t seem to hear him. “Come see the baby,” he said, words nearly toppling over each other in his excitement. “Come see Lily. Come meet my son!”

His spectacles were falling down his nose and he looked as though he hadn’t slept in the days since the baby was born and there was a large, unpleasant looking stain on his waistcoat over his ribcage, but Sirius had never seen him so happy.

And as he allowed himself to be dragged for his first glimpse of the future Earl of Gryffindor, Sirius realized that the best friend of his childhood was well and truly gone. Or perhaps not gone, he decided, but transformed. James had left behind old habits and made way for new. He had laid aside the roles of rake and man about town and had taken on others, earl and husband and now father. They would no longer challenge each other dangerously or act below their age and rank, and that was no pity. James had happiness here, a different kind than Sirius had once expected, but no less true for it.

“Let’s go see your son,” Sirius said, and James laughed a wholly exhilarated sort of laugh, running his hand through his hair and beginning to describe the baby as though Sirius wouldn’t see himself in only a moment.

Two weeks later, Frank Longbottom received two bottles of extremely fine brandy alongside a note from Sirius Black.

Congratulations on the birth of your son, and my belated thanks for the invitation.

“What invitation?” Alice said, rocking their new baby Neville as he read the card aloud to her. “I should hope that you have no intention of inviting people around for months yet.”

“Not even—”

“Especially not your mother,” Alice said with exhausted vehemence.

“Well, I have no idea what he’s talking about, regardless,” Frank said, hefting one bottle to eye level. “But it’s a jolly nice gift anyway.”

“I would have preferred some chocolates, and Neville might have liked another blanket, but I suppose we shall make do.”

“Oh, Nev will like this perfectly well one day.”

“One day quite a long time from now,” Alice remarked, but she smiled as she did.

#Jily #Jily AU #James Potter #Lily Evans #long post #too much Bridgerton can't cope

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highqueenofelfhame · 5 years ago

Text

if i had a soul to steal/4.21/fourteen.

WARNING: IIHASTS Contains descriptions of graphic violence and explicit sexual content. Some parts may not be suitable for readers under 18. Reader discretion is advised.

“You’re fussing,” Aelin said, one brow quirked at Rowan while he checked the wound that was mostly healed and had been for a few days. On the table, a fresh pot of tea was steeping next to a teacup, ready for her to sip as soon as he was content. He had also gone into town again for supplies. Rowan had spent the last forty-five minutes in the kitchen working on toasting a baguette and making her a delicious soup that she’d already finished a bowl of.

“I’m not fussing.”

“You’re fussing,” Fenrys agreed from across the room, not taking his eyes off the TV.

It had been a long two weeks. Fenrys had been in and out, bringing them as much information he was able to gather, but it wasn’t much. There was no new information on the case, no new information on Aelin. Nobody seemed to know where they had disappeared to, and nobody seemed to suspect Fenrys. If they did, they weren’t saying anything.

“You were shot -”

“And now I’m fine! It’s been weeks since it happened. The wound is closed, it doesn’t look or feel infected. You’re going berserk for no reason.” Rowan sighed and sat down next to her, pulling her feet into his lap. Absently, he began to rub the soles of her feet and it felt so good that she couldn’t help the moan that fell from her lips. A moan that had Rowan tensing. He hadn’t heard her make that sort of sound since the night weeks ago when he’d awoken from a nightmare and sprinted across town to feel her body against his.

Aelin sat up and crawled onto his lap, ran her fingers through his hair. Her eyes followed the silver strands as they shifted and twined through her fingers, the color like moonlight spilling over onto her skin. Rowan tilted his head back, Adam’s apple bobbing as she leaned down to kiss the corner of his mouth. “I’m okay,” she said softly, kissing the other corner, alternating sides until she was pressing a soft but firm kiss to the center of his lips.

“I can show you just how fine I am,” she whispered, the tension between them a string pulled taut.

“Well I’m fucking starving,” Fenrys said, eliciting a laugh from both Aelin and Rowan. Aelin’s hands fell to rest on either side of Rowan’s neck. “And as much as I’d love a threesome, one with you two isn’t on my list.” And then he was leaving, mumbling about how gross they were under his breath as he closed the door.

Rowan’s hands ran up and down her sides and he leaned forward to kiss her again. It was a teasing kiss, one where he pulled away just as she tried to melt against his hard chest.

“Rowan,” she whispered, a frown tugging her lips down. Her finger traced the shape of his mouth, ran along the sharp shape of his jaw. “You were the only thing keeping me going when I thought I was lost to the world.” Her words were barely a whisper, her lips tracing poems over his cheek, his jaw, his neck. Against her thighs, his hands tightened to grip the pajama shorts she wore.

Rowan didn’t have to say anything. He didn’t have to say anything because she was going to show him that she was fine, he was going to show her how much he loved her, missed her with his hands and his mouth all over her body.

He lifted her with ease, carrying her to the bedroom and kicking the door shut behind him. He laid her down on the bed with heartbreaking tenderness and immediately caught her mouth with his own, letting the hard press of his body against hers surround her, protect her, keep her safe.

He spent hours worshiping her. Hours with his lips and teeth and tongue tracing the shapes of every single scar that she bore. He kissed up and down those on her back, the ones around her wrists. He kissed scars from childhood trips and from her time when she was captured and tortured all the same. He spent extra time kissing around the gunshot wound he had sewed together, soft kisses all around before laying one directly on the raised skin. Everywhere that she hurt, he hurt, and he wanted to make it abundantly clear that she was never alone. Not now, not ever again.

When he finally rolled his hips against hers and pushed inside her, both of them had wet cheeks full of words neither of them needed to say. It was slow, both of them wanting to take their time together. Last time it had been rushed and quick, but this time they had all the time in the world to explore each others bodies like it was the very first time. In a lot of ways it was.

It was the first time Rowan ran his fingers down her back and felt warped, tarnished and rough skin. The first time she hadn’t felt smooth as marble while he pressed his fingers into her between gasps of pleasure. It was the first time he had half a mind to worry about hurting her, had half a mind to worry if she was more delicate than she let on. He knew her, though. Knew her body, knew her mind. Knew that every single touch was breaking and healing all at once.

With her head dropped back while she rode atop him, his rough and calloused hands leaving tiny mountains and hills over her body. Everywhere he touched, little bumps raised and followed. The sight drove him insane - that he did this to the woman in his arms. That only he drew these sounds out, that only he made her moan.

He flipped them, pushing into her harder and faster but the intimacy was not lost. Her hands held his face carefully, brushing away the tears that slipped free while he kissed her and gave her everything he had.

When they came to a final climax together, he was ruined. Every part of him belonged to her, every part of him would always be hers. There was no one else who could compare. If everyone had a great love story, she was his. If everyone had an Achilles heel, she was his. And he would spend the rest of his life showing it to her, proving it to her. That she was loved above all else, and that he would never let her go.

~*~

“Don’t go to work today,” she had murmured against his lips, doing everything in her power to seduce him back to bed like a siren luring a sailor into murky waters. He hummed against her lips, leaning over her perfect body. Rowan braced one hand on the bed beside her head, his other running down her side. Aelin’s fingers started to unbutton his shirt, and it was at that moment that he had to groan and pull away, leaving his wife with a pout on her foul, beautiful mouth.

“I wish I could stay home with you,” he sighed, dropping another kiss to her lips that was so quick she didn’t have time to suck him back down into her clutches. Aelin had been graced with an empty Saturday while Rowan had paperwork to wrap up from a case they’d closed two days ago.

“Will you at least come home early? Have dinner with me before Willow gets back from Gavriel and Aerin’s. I’ll…order takeout,” she laughed then, the sound bright and full of pure joy. It made Rowan’s heart swell and soar so much that he leaned down to kiss her again.

“I’ll be out of the office at four and back in your arms before five.” Aelin bit her lip and held up her pinky finger, the emerald on her left hand glistening in the early morning sunlight. He hooked his pinky around hers and pressed a final kiss to her lips. “I’m so godsdamn in love with you.”

“I love you the same,” she had replied, grinning widely at him as she lay her head back down on her pillows, settling to go back to sleep.

“I love you the same,” he could hear her saying it as clear as day.

When he woke up, the gasp crawling out of his throat, he felt like he was outside of his body. His limbs were heavy like someone had filled his bones with lead. There was a part of his neck that hurt, but he couldn’t pinpoint the exact feeling. With his head so fuzzy it was hard for him to focus on anything but the struggle to sit up.

One hand reached across an empty bed that was plagued with cold sheets and, despite knowing she was likely in the kitchen, his heart began to hammer in his chest at a rate that almost hurt. It shot enough adrenaline through him that he sat up and called her name.

She didn’t answer.

“Aelin!” His entire body was screaming as he thrust to his feet and stumbled through the bedroom. He knocked into the dresser so hard he let out a grunt of pain but everything so groggy and foggy, the edges of his vision still black.

In the main room, on the floor, Fenrys was laying with blood leaking from his nose. The skin over his knuckles was split like he’d been in some sort of a fight but it didn’t stop Rowan from surging at him and throwing a hit of his own straight to his unconscious face.

“What the fuck did you do with her?” He growled as soon as Fenrys’ eyes cracked open. Rowan’s teeth bared as he hovered inches from his face.

“You stupid asshole,” Fenrys hissed, trying and failing to shove Rowan off. It seemed like his limbs were made of sand, too. “I tried to stop him but someone else came up behind me and stuck a needle in my godsdamn neck. I barely got a hit in before I hit the floor.”

Rowan’s blood was boiling in his body, his body that was so heavy, so full of lead and stones that he struggling to reach the kitchen.

It was like coming home all those years ago all over again.

~*~

“Oh, come on, Laena! I was only kidding!” Archer was a few years older than she was and one of the oldest in the orphanage. He was constantly teasing her, constantly pulling at her braids. Constantly telling her that she didn’t have family anymore so she should stop hoping. It didn’t stop the stupid crush she had on him, though.

Her eyes opened, then rolled shut.

“Laena?” A soft knock at her bedroom door, a boy with brown hair and brown eyes lingering in the space and waiting for her to say he could come in.

“What do you want?” Her tone wasn’t pleasant but why would it be? He and Archer had always been so awful — teasing her until she hit them most of the time. They were the reason she ended up in trouble usually, scrubbing pans on double kitchen duty until her fingers were raw and red.

Again, her eyes rolled open but they it felt like someone was tugging them closed with strings. Taking deep breaths and trying not to let panic take over, she gripped at the coarse bed sheets that she knew were not her own as she was dragged back down into a dark abyss.

A veil was dropped over her face, Nehemia next to her straightening her dress. It was all ivory and gold with heavy beading. She never did anything half way.

Nehemia, beaming at her as she shed tears of joy for her friend. Nehemia, who had been shot on the job and not survived. This was not real.

Eyes roll shut.

A blood curdling scream while a knife carved up her back, while her skin was peeled from her body. Pain so white hot and terrible that she passed out, blood running down her sides and over her shoulders. Blood dripping onto the concrete floor.

This was not real.

This time when her eyes opened, she forced them to stay that way, will the invisible threads to hold them open versus keeping them closed. The first words that climbed out of her throat was Rowan’s name, hoarse and barely even a whisper. She tried again to no avail, no sound coming out loud enough for anyone but her to hear.

When the black, foggy veil lifted from her vision she was able to truly focus on where she was, the familiarity of it cleaving her heart in two. She had spent one year, four months, and twenty one days here before the Ashryvers tracked her down. A year where the government had so hopelessly failed her, a year where she had been beaten and abused.

She was laying on a rusty bed with a too-hard mattress that didn’t provide any comfort. It was dark out, but she could make out the vague details of the simply decorated room.

The floor was falling in some places, the ceiling caved in others. The door hung halfway off its hinges and the knob dangled from its hole. It was eerie. But she supposed it wasn’t as bad as the cabin, where she’d been tortured. Again, she tried to say his name, only for —

“Your beloved Rowan isn’t here. There’s no use in trying to to yell for him.” That voice — so familiar yet not because of how much he had grown. Archer Finn stepped out of the shadows, half of his form bathed in moonlight. Aelin's Heart was running at full throttle, working overtime to pump whatever drug out of her system but it wasn’t fast enough. She knew if she tried to fight him right now, she would lose.

And then there was the matter of her arms tied so tightly with a thick, scratchy rope that she hadn’t even registered until now. Archer opened his mouth to speak, but there was a crashing downstairs and Aelin’s eyes flew wide open.

Rowan. It had to be.

In an instant, Archer was behind Aelin, yanking her to her feet with a knife at her throat, the blade pricking her skin uncomfortably. Feet stormed through the orphanage until a body burst into the room, knocking the door from the hinges entirely.

Not Rowan, but Detective Sam Cortland.

“EVERYBODY FREEZE!”

@starseternalnighttriumphant @musicmaam @city-of-fae @kandasboi @the-regal-warrior @empire-of-wildfire @tangledraysofsunshine @nalgenewhore @lorcansalvaterree @valarian-trash @aniniop @booksstorm @shyvioletcat @standbislytherin @rowaelinforeverworld @tangledrayofsunshine @lights-of-stars @http-itsrebecca @princess-galathynius @wifeofchrishemsworth @charincharge @amren-rhyssecond @gigglinggummybears @mskaterinablack @because-i-am-lost @hey-its-grey @sleeping-and-books @thephilosophyofblank @breezyfreezey @westofmoon @tonystarksbish @mariamuses @thereaderandfangirl @silvermindedwarrior @rosesandglass @xxhopelesspeachesxx @maraadyyer @flowerspringsea @the-bookloving-girl @vartinehd @mis-lil-red @but-she-was-aelin-galathynius @dreamcatchersimss

#iihasts #iihasts14 #if i had a soul to steal #421 #rowaelin #tog #throne of glass #throne of glass au #rowaelin au

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danetobelieve · 4 years ago

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Eye Eye Cap’n || Miriam and Winston

When: early August Who: @meflemming & @danetobelieve Where: Miriam’s store. Summary: Miriam discover’s Winston’s third eye. Warnings: N/A

Winston wasn’t sure that going to see Miriam was really the best idea. But recently there had been a few too many close calls with people potentially noticing their hand or spotting the eye beneath the RSI brace that they wore. If Miriam could make them something bespoke, then Winston was sure that they would be able to keep everything hidden. Hopefully. They had found the address to her shop online and had made their way over at the time she’d requested. Pressing the doorbell outside the front, Winston looked over their shoulder and tried not to grimace too much at what they were about to do. It was hard not to be afraid of Miriam with everything they knew about her, but despite that, they couldn’t help but find themselves slowly warming to her.

Between the fucking Alexa constantly playing music (80s pop was fine… in moderation… and in the 80s) and the sometimes intrusive thoughts of vegan meat, Miriam was having a time of it, to say the least. She was glad that Winston was coming over, not just because they could hopefully help her with the Alexa problem. It had been some time since she’d seen them, and that hadn’t gone particularly well. Between the mime and outing herself as a vampire, she wanted to make sure that the two of them were still alright. She thought that Winston was an outstanding person, and she cared for them a great deal. They were kind and helpful and very brave. More people could stand to be like Winston. At the sound of the doorbell, Miriam left her office and headed to the front of the shop, grateful that the sun had set. Seeing Winston, she smiled, though her eyes narrowed in on the brace around their arm. “Hi, darling. Lovely to see you.”

Frowning gently, Winston tried to ignore the long hmmm that they heard in their head. There were many different tones to these hmms that they were hearing. Some of them somber, some of them more placid and some of them even confused. It just made focussing really difficult. Ever since their bizarre dream about the beach and their parents, Winston felt like there was someone else in their head. The bright smile that the witch hunter flashed their way was enough to send a shiver down Winston’s spine. But they returned it as best they could. “Hi Miriam,” they replied with a nod, “nice to see you too, especially sans your evil mime twin.” Winston gave another nervous smile. “I hear you’re having some alexa problems?”

“It’s nice to see you without my miming counterpart, as well,” Miriam said. “Stripes aren’t my thing, I don’t believe, and I’d never do my makeup so garish in real life.” She brushed a bit of hair out of her face, determined to set strangely intrusive thoughts aside and to focus on the tasks at hand. “Indeed I do, but let’s see about your brace first, shall we? My technological problems are rather minor in comparison. What’s going on?” Miriam led them towards the back, just so she could get her materials in the comfort of her office. She wondered if she should have invited them to her workshop at home, but she hadn’t cleaned up in a bit. This was better. She opened the office door and cleared off her desk, paperwork and pens moved to the side as she grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil. She eyed the thing on WInston’s wrist, figuring out just how she was going to make something that was both functional and attractive. She could do it. She could.

“What would you prefer? Polka dots?” Winston wasn’t sure why they were choosing to tease someone who could rip their windpipe out with less effort then it would take her to snap her fingers, but here they were, anyway. “I will say that you dress much better, not that that is hard, not that you dress badly, I’ll stop digging my hole before I can’t get out of it. I’m glad there are no mimes present. “Nothing is going on … at least not yet, but if I keep working 14 hours a day on screens and keyboards then there is a real possibility of repetitive strain injury and I just want to make sure that my wrists are supported as best they can be to you know avoid that.” Not to mention the eyeball that was clearly visible underneath the brace, which … they would probably have to take off. Fuck. They’d really not thought this through. Try not to sweat Winston. Try not to sweat. Just fix the Alexa and get out. “But you know, it’s not like a big deal or anything.”

“I look quite good in houndstooth,” Miriam joked, adding a bit of a wink. Truthfully, she cared less about patterns and more about the material of her clothing. She laughed at the way Winston stumbled over their words. “I do dress quite a bit better than she did, yes, thank you, darling.” She twirled her pencil a bit in her hand, thinking over their words. “That sounds quite serious. We’ll worry about Alexa later.” The distant sound of Hall and Oates played in the background, and Miriam’s eye twitched. “She’s annoyed me for the better part of several weeks, I can hold out a bit longer.” And, well, she could. It was clearly cursed. Somehow, surely, a witch had contacted her poor, innocent assistant and gave her a cursed object designed to annoy the shit out of Miriam for the rest of her many, many days. If she wasn’t fearful that it’d end up in her crypt, serenading her as she dessicated, she’d probably attempt to go to ground once more. “Let me see the brace and I’ll see what I can do.”

Grinning in return, Winston chuckled, “I’m sure you do.” It was difficult not to find her charming, even knowing what Winston did they were pretty sure that she was winning them over. It was weird being sympathetic towards someone who killed for fun. Or whatever the reason. Just killed because they could? Winston wasn’t sure. Either way. Weird. “Uh, I don’t know if it is that serious, I’m not in pain or anything. I guess more just worrying about something that may or may not happen but better safe then sorry.” Winston flipped their hand over so that their palm was facing the floor. Pulling the brace off and keeping the eye facing away from Miriam. They had to hope she wouldn’t notice. “If you’re sure that you can last,” Winston tried to act natural, using their spare hand to pass the brace over. As they passed it over, they slipped their hand away. The familiar buzz of their phone vibrating in their pocket instinctually drew their hand to their pocket, fishing it out they weren’t sure what happened or why they dropped the phone, but a second later it was tumbling to the floor. Winston’s other hand clumsily tried to catch it in it’s fall, but missed, and Winston was left with their eye looking directly in Miriam’s.

“Safe rather than sorry is smart, Winston,” Miriam said seriously. “It’s important to catch things before they become serious, even if they might not.” She had taken the braze and begun to analyze it closely, figuring out the best ways to create something similar but more stylish and functional. When Winston’s phone fell on the floor, she saw them reach down to catch it, and Miriam reached down as well, her vampiric reflexes making her far quicker and more agile. As she looked up, she was looking into an eye. Just one, singular, and on the wrong part of the body. Vaguely, Miriam recalled when an errant eye also appeared on her own body, though she’d cut and clawed it out multiple times. Her stomach sank as she saw it, but she didn’t look away. “Winston,” she said to it, calmly, “There’s an eye. Where there decidedly shouldn’t be an eye.” She ran through the possibilities of what could have caused it. If her own disappeared, then they shouldn’t have one, that was a fact. “Who-- What-- Who--” She pinched the bridge of her nose, leaning up and back in her chair. “What caused this. Are you cursed? Did someone curse you?” The thought of a spellcaster hurting her young friend made Miriam’s mouth taste like iron. Absentmindedly, she realized she’d bit the inside of her mouth.

“Oh … no that’s not an eye, it’s just a hyper … realistic … … … tattoo?” Winston knew before they even finished speaking that it wasn’t a lie which would convince Miriam. Anyone could see that the eye on their hand was definitely not a hyper realistic tattoo. That would be some wild tattoo work but Winston wasn’t sure that even Luce could do that for them. Swallowing, they felt sweat bead on their forehead and hurriedly wiped it away. “Okay, yeah, it’s an eye, I …” they tried to think of the best way to explain this, Miriam thought that they had been cursed and technically they had been, “... I don’t know if it is technically a curse or if it is something else entirely, that sort of thing - I’ve only just found out about you know magic, vampires … werewolves, all the things that some people in this town have no idea about, so I don’t really know if it is a curse or something else entirely.” Their pulse was racing, blood roaring in their ears as they struggled to think of a way out of this. Miriam didn’t seem to realise that they could use magic, maybe they’d be dead if she could’ve worked that out, Winston wasn’t honestly sure. “Do you - how do you tell if you’re cursed?” Winston knew, they just had to pretend they didn’t right?

Miriam raised an eyebrow at Winston’s words, grateful that they backtracked almost immediately. She didn’t want to have to scold them about this, nor did she appreciate the offense to her intelligence. Anyone with human eyes could see that the eye clearly wasn’t a tattoo, and Miriam’s eyes were far better than a human’s. She could tell how stressed Winston was by all of this, though, and she couldn’t blame them for wanting to keep this a secret. She couldn’t imagine how terrifying this all must be. For all her hatred of magic, she’d been introduced to it in beautiful ways: rocks being turned into rubies, flowers blooming out of season, snow suspending itself in air. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have something as terrible as an eyeball cursed into one’s hand being one of the first experiences to ever have with magic. “Truthfully, darling, if you wanted to tell if you were cursed or not, you’d need someone with some sort of magical persuasion,” she gritted her teeth, “to help you. Or perhaps you could retrace your steps? Have you been in contact with anyone or anything that could have done this? I do believe I heard there was some sort of monster in the lake.” She kept her expression sincere and sympathetic. “I assure you though, WInston, if someone did this to you, you only have to let me know who, and they’ll no longer be a problem.”

Winston wondered if there was some level of moral culpability that they were giving to themselves by playing along with this. They could’ve just left Miriam well enough alone. But there was just something about her, about her charm, about the way that she seemed to flow from one thing to another as effortlessly and gracefully as the currents of the ocean. “No, I don’t ... “ Winston shook their head, “I work for the WCPD I can’t just have people be no longer a problem Miriam….” Their heart was pounding. She’d just offered to kill someone for them. Winston was 100% sure of at least that. “I know, I know how I got the eye, I was kind of part of the solution to deal with the monster in the lake but dealing with the monster in the lake had it’s own draw backs,” Winston raised their palm and gave it a wiggle, “but it was my choice and I’d make the same choice to keep people safe again if I had to.”

“Oh, darling, it’d never get back to you,” Miriam said gently. And it wouldn’t. She was good at what she did. The only reason people knew anything about a witch hunter is because she had a bit of a flare for the dramatic, and she wanted them to know. She liked the fear, the panic, from a spellcaster who figured out just who caught them. She wasn’t getting any pleasure from the panic on Winston’s face, though. “Alright, though.” She looked at them closely, taking in their words. “You were a part of the solution to get rid of the monster in the lake, and that’s how you got the hand in your eye.” She repeated the words slowly. Miriam had no idea what had been necessary to get the monster out of the lake, if it had even gotten out of the lake. She didn’t particularly care, either, since it no longer affected her. But it was affecting her friend. “What were you needed for? Technological help?”

“Whether or not it gets back to me isn’t really why I’m not a fan of the idea,” Winston replied, “I just, I’m not sure I’m down for killing people willy nilly just because they’ve done something to me.” This was surreal. They were pretty sure that Miriam wouldn’t be as sympathetic if she knew the truth. Which Winston wasn’t about to tell her. Because she could snap their spine like a twig and use it as a tooth pick for her sharp vampire fangs without a moment’s hesitation. Swallowing, Winston felt their heart race. Her fangs had been so sharp and the way she’d staked her vampire mime counterpart had been ruthless and without remorse. Winston had dealt with their own mime and cried about it every night for a week. Not that there was anything wrong with that. It was just that there were different strokes for different blokes and Winston wasn’t sure that they had the ruthless killer stroke that Miriam did. Winston’s mind raced. “Sort of. I’m kind of digitising a big archive of supernatural information with my boyfriend and we were approached by someone trying to solve it so that’s how I got involved. So I guess tech help? Somehow I always end up being IT support.”

“Of course,” Miriam said easily, though the smile she gave Winston was a bit pained. She sometimes forgot what it was like for death and killing to not be… normal. Which, her life, unlife, whatever the hell she could call it, was hardly normal. She was simply forgetting, occasionally, what it was like to not know the taste of blood, to not know the feeling of a knife in her hands, to not feel enjoyment at another’s pain. She missed the not knowing, sometimes. This was one of those times. “You shouldn’t be getting involved with such things, Winston,” she reprimanded them gently. It took her a second to realize what she sounded like. She backtracked a bit, making her voice lighter, less concerned. “Eyeballs in hands don’t seem particularly fun, and if you’re to be helping anyone with technical difficulties, darling, I’d like it to be me over any other supernatural. Unless you’ve replaced me with some other vampire.” She put her hand over her unbeating heart dramatically before she got back to business. Picking up the brace, she said, “We can work on the Alexa some other time, though. Why don’t I get started working on something for you to hide that eye with. And, perhaps,” begrudgingly, she thought of Morgan and whether or not it would be possible to see about if the zombie knew of anyone who could help Winston, “we can eventually see about finding a way to do something about that.” She paused. “Unless you like it, of course.”

Once upon a time, the idea of taking someone’s life made Winston’s stomach crawl. They remembered when the topic of Miriam, a vampire witch hunter, had come up. Everyone had been dead set on killing her, but Winston hadn’t been sure. Then they had slowly come around to the idea as they had realised that the supernatural world didn’t play by the rules that they expected it to. Winston had been forced to kill others now. Had taken lives themselves out of necessity but never pleasure. They’d even brought someone back to life. The screams of August would never cease to ring inside of the empty caverns of their psyche but despite that Winston constantly came back to the fact that taking Miriam’s life … unlife, was not something they wanted to do. “It’s not that,” Winston replied, “I just wanted to help…” It hadn’t been a lie. Winston’s whole life had been working towards helping White Crest and they weren’t about to stop now. “Don’t worry though, I don’t think I’d be looking to replace you with another vampire … well ever. I don’t know if all vampires are as … gregarious as you are.” They swallowed and raised their eyebrows at Miriam’s reply. “Thank you, I really appreciate the help … is there, do you know a lot about magic?”

“Helping is good,” Miriam said, seeing the war play out in Winston’s mind. “Your desire to help people is what makes you such a good person, a kind person, and I think kindness and helpfulness go a long way.” She also thought that kindness and helpfulness could get exploited by the wrong people. If whoever Winston was trying to help was merely using them, Miriam would hurt them, spellcaster or not. It, perhaps, would not be as satisfying of a meal, but it would do the job. She’d simply wait and allow them to tell her more if they wanted to. If not, she’d find out on her own. Sitting back, Miriam smiled. “Well, I’d certainly hope you wouldn’t replace me with another vampire.” She gave them a wink. “I like to think I’m one of a kind.” The only one of her kind that she knew of, whatever that may be. “Of course, darling. Whatever you need me for, you only have to ask.” She paused, thinking. “I never practiced magic myself. My husband did. His family were apart of an old coven. Respected in name, but… lacking in resources to hone their craft. I came for a wealthy family.” She looked around her office, which was once her father’s office, at all the fine things that showed off that wealth. Sometimes she hated it. “Plenty of resources. He loved my money far more than me.” Miriam gave them a tense smile. “It’s fine. I’ve moved on. But being with him and without him has taught me quite a lot about magic.”

“The more I learn about this … world, as in, everything that it includes, everything that goes on, all the stuff with hunters and slayers and wardens, the more convinced I am that if everyone just helped each other and tried to be a bit kinder then maybe we’d all be in a better position.” Winston swallowed thoughtfully, trying to think if there would ever, if there could ever be a way that they could tell Miriam about all of this, about what they really were. “I was about to say, I don’t think that there are any vampires that have your … flair.” This was an odd game to be playing with someone who could and would very happily end Winston’s life if they made one misstep. “Thats… to be honest that’s just really shit. You deserve better then someone using you for what you have instead of just being with you for who you are, I mean obviously no one deserves to be just used for the sake of it but you of all people don’t strike me as someone who deserves it for any other reason then material gain. I just … god I’m not doing a good job at saying that’s really terrible and I’m sorry it happened to you. I guess it doesn’t matter if you can do magic or if you grow fur on the full moon or if you drink blood, sometimes people can just be dicks.”

“I can’t disagree with you,” Miriam said carefully. She was one of those people who sometimes wasn’t kind. “But I can also say that things aren’t so simple. I wish they were. I wish we lived in a world where hurting and killing wasn’t necessary, but somethings are simply impossible.” She sighed. Maybe if the world was a better place, she could find peace. “I like to think I have a certain ‘flair’ as you put it that other vampires just can’t compete with.” Whatever Winston thought of her, she was glad they hadn’t taken off or ratted her out when they found out what she was. “It’s… It happened. It was quite some time ago.” She flexed her fingers a bit. “But thank you, Winston. Truly. Sometimes, people are monsters. Humans are monster. As you say, it’s not just limited to werewolves or vampires or zombies.” Talking to Winston, who was little more than a child, Miriam felt more vulnerable than she had in quite some time. Even with Morgan, despite the fact that she’d grown to enjoy talking to the zombie, she tried to be cautious. Morgan seemed to still be under the impression that Miriam could change, and Miriam couldn’t let those thoughts affect her. But, with Winston, it was so easy to want to be a bit better. “I can be… quite a dick, sometimes, Winston. A bit of a monster, really. I often wonder if it was the way my husband treated me that made me like this, or if I was simply like this all along.” She took a breath that she did not need and attempted a smile. “But, enough about me. Let’s get you fixed up, hm?”

“Oh don’t worry, I’ve begun to realise that the morally idealistic world that I thought we all lived in is not the same world as this one. Which was a shock to the system, but, probably the good kind of shock.” Winston replied with a shrug. The shrug was replaced by a smirk at Miriam. Nodding they sighed. “You definitely have good taste in fashion.” That probably came from the whole working in the fashion industry. “Yeah, I’m starting to realise that although someone might not be a human, that doesn’t mean anything. What matters is people’s actions, the way people behave rather then applying a standard to everyone just because of who they were. “Nobody is perfect, even if you were like this all along that justify the way that he behaved, but his mistakes don’t have to colour your life forever.” Winston knew what she was talking about even if she didn’t know that they knew that, it didn’t matter. Winston wasn’t sure that Miriam could change, but they were hoping that they could at least help her realise that there was the potential for it.

“I can certainly imagine that it wasn’t the best in the beginning,” Miriam said, sighing. Magic, the supernatural, it is all so lovely until it isn’t. It’s all good and perfect until it ruins your life. “You get used to it, being surprised but the greyscale with which we base our morals off of.” She fingered the sleeve of the jacket hanging behind her. “I’d certainly hope so.” Though her clothes had been a bit outdated when she first woke up, she was slowly getting used to things again. It helped that so many styles were coming back. She shifted a bit. “I used to think that striving for perfection was the only option. I like being… good at everything that I do. I get that no one is perfect. He wasn’t, I’m far from it… I wanted perfection desperately. As for his mistakes, well, I’m afraid they define my whole existence. Most of it.” She gently stroked the jacket again. “My own actions tie in a little.” Perhaps, with this, she could balance out some of her worst actions with good ones. She turned her attention back to the brace, taking in the separate components of it and figuring out how to best transfer that to something while keeping it stylish. She scrutinized it closely before she started working on a sketch.

“Yeah, well I’ve managed to get over the initial shock of learning that the world isn’t entirely black and white, getting used to the greyscale is it’s own challenge in it’s own way,” Winston had been ready to sign the proverbial death warrant on Miriam just a few months ago and yet they couldn’t think of anything worse then ending her unlife now. “Maybe you can’t be perfect, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t be good….” Winston hoped and prayed that she would realise, “it doesn’t even have to be good in anyone elses eyes, ultimately I guess that your own perception of yourself is the most important because it is the perception of yourself that you have to live with, or not in your case, I don’t really, do you call it like .. unlife? I guess it doesn’t matter. Just don’t let someone else’s short comings force you to live a life that you wouldn’t choose for yourself. If his mistakes define you then hasn’t he won?” Winston wanted to scream that not all spellcasters were bad but somehow they doubted that would convince her of the error of her ways.

“It certainly isn’t always fun.” Though, it was the gray areas that Miriam seemed to thrive in. If she could keep her actions just gray enough, perhaps she wasn’t the great evil that she’s been called. She will never forget Gillian Wildes staring at her from across the town line and cursing her name. But Miriam knew, she knew that she was in the right for ridding the world of witches. She knew it. Sometimes, evil things had to be done for the right reasons. It’s what she told herself. She looked up and gave Winston a soft smile, one that didn’t meet her eyes. “I appreciate that, darling. Truly. I suppose as long as I’m good in my own eyes, that’s all that matters.” She wasn’t though, and perhaps that’s what was most damning. “It’d be a bit foolish of me to let him win.” Finally, after a bit of time, she handed them a sketch for a leather bracer that would ensure the eye didn’t get damaged while also keeping it covered. “How’s this?”

Somehow, Winston got the impression that Miriam wasn’t convinced by their little speech. Which meant that Winston wasn’t about to tell her the truth. Swallowing, Winston tried to forget about the fact that she’d probably rip their throat out with her teeth if she ever found out why they had they eye, like why they REALLY had it. “That looks really really good.” Miriam was clearly good at what she did because she had in her own way done several things that Winston would’ve never considered otherwise. “Thank you, how much do you think this is gonna cost?” Obviously they were going to pay her for her work.

“Thank you,” Miriam said, though she knew it looked good. It looked good, and it would be efficient. It was something that she knew she could design quickly, too. Days were long and monotonous since she couldn’t go outside, so this would give her something to do. “Don’t worry about the price. This is a gift for a friend.” She looked off to her bookshelf, where the Alexa was sitting, seeming to mind its own business, but Miriam knew better. She took it down from the shelf and put it in front of Winston. “Though, if you’d like, you can take this infernal device off my hands. I don’t want to deal with it anymore.” It was cursed. Someone had cursed it, given it to her assistant, and had it sent to her. There was no other explanation. “But, otherwise, this is free of charge.”

#p: miriam #para #chatzy para #wickedswriting #eye eye cap'n #chatzy #winston's so fucked when miriam learns the truth lolololololollooolololol

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lynelovespopculture · 5 years ago

Text

CHILLING ADVENTURES OF ZELDA CHAPTER 2-SECRETS AND CURSES

Turns out that telling Hilda about her pregnancy was the easy part. The hard part? Getting Hilda off her back! Zelda submitted to a complete physical exam and she and the babe passed with flying colors. Zelda knew she would, she was an experienced mid-wife as well so, of course, she would take extra care of herself when it came to her own baby. Yet, try to tell Hilda that! From the time they completed her exam until it was time for bed, Hilda constantly fussed over her. Yet, the sisters both agreed on a family meeting tomorrow evening in order to tell Sabrina and Ambrose the news. Zelda added that they should invite Prudence to join them because, despite her and Ambrose being in a weird place now, Zelda cared deeply for her stepdaughter and understood the babe she now carried was her half-sibling. Hilda’s fussing began again the moment Zelda opened her eyes the next morning and continued all through breakfast. At one point, it got so bad that Zelda thought about killing Hilda and tossing her in the Cain Pit. On 2nd thought, maybe not. The last time Hilda was in the Cain pit was terrifying, it was the first time Zelda prayed to Hecate, with all their sister witches, for Hilda’s safe return. The moment it seemed that Hilda was gone forever was the longest and scariest moment of Zelda’s life. Zelda swore that before Hilda’s hand pushed through the dirt, Zelda was 1 second away from digging up the grave by her fingernails. Anyway, Hilda had ever suggested that Zelda stay home today. What for?! Zelda wanted to yell at her baby sister. She had 6 months left of this pregnancy, surely the Academy couldn’t do without its headmistress for half a year! Still, Zelda found herself reassuring Hilda that she would walk to school rather than teleporting. It took her much longer than she originally thought. When Zelda finally got there, she found herself turning left rather than to the right and to her office. Zelda stopped by the school’s infirmity where she found Prudence tending to Dorcus. Dorcus had been killed by Blackwood 3 months ago and although the Cain pit had worked its magic on both her and Elspeth, for some unknown reason, recovery was always much so for witches that weren’t Spellmans.

Zelda approached the girls and greeted them with a big smile. “Good morning, Dorcus. Hello Prudence. How are you ladies today?”

“We’re fine, Mistress Spellman.” Prudence answered for herself and the other weird sister.

“We were just talking about Agatha.” Added Dorcus. “We’re worried about our sister, Mistress Spellman. Is there any news?”

Zelda frowned. “I’m sorry, girls, but no. There is no news, no one has seen any of them in months.” Zelda was sorry to have be the bearer of such bad news she changed the subject, fast. “Dorcus, sit up please, I’ll like to see how you’re healing.”

Dorcus obeyed and Zelda was pleased to see the girl pulled herself up with very little effort. The oldest witch moved to sit behind Dorcus and gently pulled the nightgown up to look at the wound then Zelda stood. “Getting smaller every day. I won’t be surprised if you were up and walking around by next week.” Papers appeared magically in Zelda’s hand. “Plus, if your work continues like this, you may be able to graduate earlier than planned.” She handed Dorcus her corrected assignment and turned to Prudence. “May I have a quick word with you, out in the hall?”

“Of course.” Prudence nodded. “Be right back, sister.”

“Take care, Dorcus,” Zelda said.

As soon as they stepped into the hallway, Prudence wore a worried look. “Did you lie? Is it my father? The twins? Agatha?”

“No, there’s no new information.” Zelda reassured her. “I simply wanted to ask you if you had any plans for this evening?”

“Oh.” Prudence wasn’t expecting this. “Nothing, really. Why?”

“Hilda and I are holding a family meeting tonight and I would like you to join us.”

Prudence was confused again. “You want me at a family meeting? But I’m not a Spellman.”

“You may not be a Spellman,” Zelda said slowly. “But you are still my stepdaughter, and in my book, that makes you family.”

Prudence smiled but still seemed anxious. She looked up at Zelda though her lashes. “Will Ambrose be there?”

“Yes, he will,” Zelda answered, her tone only slightly shaper, “but don’t worry. My announcement has nothing to do with the two of you, I promise. You don’t have to sit or speak with him if you don’t wish to. It’s just that it took me the entire day yesterday to summon the courage to tell my sister my news. I rather not waste the rest of the week chasing down you, children one by one.”

Prudence now looked amused. “Alright, I’ll be there.”

“Wonderful. 7 o’clock? My place?”

The younger witch nodded as a bell rung.

Zelda was startled. “Why on earth is that bell ringing? It’s far too early for morning assembly!”

“No, Mistress Spellman. The bell is right on time. See?” Prudence pointed at a nearby clock.

Zelda sighed. “Walking takes too damn long. I don’t know why mortals do it.”

That afternoon found Zelda working at her desk. After correcting classwork, Zelda wanted to work on the school’s budget. She searched for the ledger all around her desk then groaned when she realized that she had forgotten it at home. Secure in the knowledge that Hilda was in class, Zelda stood up and said the words that teleported her home. She found the dumb book and was to leave again when the doorbell rang.

Zelda slung her head back. Unbelievable! “Could someone get the door, please?” Silence. “Sabrina? Ambrose?” After even more silence, she even tried, “Hilda!” Nothing. “What is even the point of keeping the funeral home open if no one is home during the day to run it?” Zelda muttered to herself as she walked through the front parlor and opened the door. On the other side stood a harmless old lady who smiled up at Zelda.

“Hello, dear, “ The old lady said. “I’m afraid I’m having a bit of car trouble. I was wondering if I could use your phone, just for a moment?”

Zelda sighed. “Come in.” Zelda backed up to allow the old woman to pass by her. “Please make it quick,” Zelda said as she shuts the door. “I’m in a hurry.” As soon as she turned, Zelda could feel rough hands pushing her up against the door as well as cold steel against her throat as Zelda looks into the eyes of Blackwood.

“I can’t believe you actually fell for that! I mean, it’s the oldest trick in the book!” Blackwood laughed. “You stupid, Spellman whore!”

“I’m not a whore!” Zelda spat. “As much as I regret it, every single day, I’m your wife and I’m going to have your child!” Zelda gasped. The moment the words left her lips, she regretted them, wished with all her heart she could take them back, but it was far too late for that.

Blackwood seems dazed and lowered the knife from her throat. “You’re pregnant?”

Zelda was unsure of what to do or say next. Should she lie? Just kidding? Deny he was the father? Shove him away? Kneel him in the groin? Before she could decide what to do, Blackwood let out a cry of pain. Zelda looked down and saw that his left wrist, the one that held the knife, was being twisted, but by who? They were alone and Zelda hadn’t spelled him. Yet, the twisting continued until he had to drop the knife. He looked at Zelda and just before his nose started to bleed massively. Blackwood tried to stop the nosebleed with his hands, and he turned his back to Zelda.

“Not now, you pathetic little weakling! If you were stupid enough to make another Spellman, it’s just one more for me to kill!”

“I’ve told you before to stay away from Zelda and her family!”

Who is he talking to? Zelda wondered.

When he had cleaned up the blood and turned back to Zelda, he smiled at her and his eyes were soft. “A child, Zelda. Our child, do you know how long I’ve waited for this?”

Zelda had just enough time to return his smile before Faustus groaned and grabbed his head as if he suddenly had a massive headache. “Run, Zelda. I can’t hold him off for long.”

She touched his arm. “Faustus, what’s wrong with you? What’s happening?”

“Just go, Zelda.”

“I won’t leave you like this.” She objected.

“JUST GO!” He spoke in Latin and suddenly Zelda was back in the office at the academy.

“What was that?” She wondered out loud to no one.

“Maybe we should do this other night.”

“Maybe you should learn to trust the children and stop putting things off.”

They had just finished supper and both Spellman sisters were huddled at the sink, washing dishes. It was nearly 7 o’clock and Zelda was feeling anxious about sharing her news again.

“Apparently, you feel anxious sharing news of this pregnancy with anyone.” Commented Hilda.

Anyone but the mad father. Zelda thought. She had replayed her bizarre meeting with Faustus this afternoon a million times in her head and still had no idea what to make of it. Zelda finally decided that until she knew what it meant; she would keep it to herself.

“Well, we’re all done here,” Hilda announced as she placed the last plate in the cupboard. “Shall we call them down?”

Zelda sighed but nodded her head. Hilda left the kitchen briefly.

“Sabrina! Ambrose! Could you come down here, please? It’s time for a family meeting!”

Meanwhile, Zelda braced herself and lit up a cigarette. Soon, all Spellman family members were sitting around the kitchen table.

For a long time, Zelda said nothing, so Hilda took the lead. “You see, my loves, we have news.” Sabrina leaned forward but Hilda saw this and raised a hand. “Before you ask, it’s not Father Blackwood or anyone else who is with him. This is good news for bloody once.” Hilda smiled at Zelda as a knock was heard and Prudence appeared in the doorway.

“Hello?”

“Why is she here?” Asked Ambrose.

Prudence got defensive. “I was invited!”

Ambrose shrugged. “Fine, then, I’ll go!”

“Sit down! Both of you!” Zelda proclaimed, standing up. “This news is hard enough to tell you at all! You can at least give me 5 minutes of your time.”

Ambrose and Prudence both sat down across from each other as Sabrina held Zelda’s hand.

“So, what is this news, Aunt Z?”

Zelda sat back down, took a break and said it. “Children, I’m going to have a baby.”

“That wonderful!” Sabrina cried out.

Zelda tried not to make a face. “It is?”

“Of course,” Sabrina seemed excited. “So, when are you and Mambo Marie going to adopt?”

Suddenly, Zelda felt like banging her head on the table, repeatedly. “No niece, you don’t understand. This has nothing to do with Mambo Marie, in fact, we broke up yesterday. I was actually referring to the fact that…I’m currently 7 months pregnant.”

Ambrose was the first one to put it together. “7 months?! Then Father Blackwood is”

“the father, yes.” Zelda finished for him.

Ambrose was silent, but only for a moment. “How are you feeling, auntie? Are you healthy?”

Zelda smiled. “I am. Thank you, Ambrose.”

Sabrina was confused. “How can you be having a healthy pregnancy? You drink regularly, I mean, you’re smoking right now and how are you in your 7th month? You’re not even showing.”

“Sabrina, love,” Hilda answered. “I think you’re confusing this pregnancy with a human one. Alcohol and smoking is not harmful to a witch’s body, before, during or after pregnancy and a witch pregnancy is 13 months so it’s rare to start showing before the middle of the 8th month, even later for a lean woman like your Aunt Zelda.”

“But she’s healthy?”

“Completely.” Hilda nodded. “I gave her and the baby a complete physical and I’ m happy with the results.”

“What about the shooting?” Ambrose asked.

“The fact that Zelda and her baby both survived the shooting is nothing short of a miracle.” Hilda continued.

Zelda was happy that her family was more worried about her and the baby’s health than who the father was. Yet she was still worried about 1 thing.

“Prudence? You haven’t said anything yet. Are you alright?”

Wordlessly, Prudence got up, stalked out and a moment later, they all heard the door slammed. Hilda started to rise, but Zelda placed a hand on her sister’s arm. “No, I’ll go.”

Zelda found Prudence on the far side of the deck, arms folded and staring up at the moon. Zelda placed herself beside her slowly. “I’m sorry if the news came as a shock.”

Prudence turned her head to look at her stepmother. “No, Sister Zelda, I’m sorry. It was a stupid, childish way to react.”

“And why did you react that way?” Zelda questioned slowly, gently.

“I just thought I didn’t protect my sisters; I didn’t protect the twins and what if this baby is another sibling I can’t protect. I’m so angry and I’m taking it out on the world, especially poor Ambrose but the fact remains that it’s all my fault!”

“I’m sorry. I’m a bit lost. What’s your fault?”

“Everything!” Prudence pounded on the railing. “If I hadn’t betrayed you and told my father that Leticia was alive and where she was, who knows where we be? The twins could still be babies, Dorcus wouldn’t have died and Agatha wouldn’t be lost or-“

“Or we could all be locked away in the dungeons or we could all be dead,” Zelda said sternly. “We will get the twins and Agatha back 1 day, I promise you. You know that I love the twins like they were my very own, but I had a hard time holding on to them because I have no blood claim to them.” Zelda placed a hand over her middle. “With this baby, it’s completely different.”

“I know, and I also know that you’ll be a wonderful mother to my new baby brother or sister.”

Zelda smiled. “Thank you, child. That means a lot.”

Prudence gave a short, bitter little laugh. “You want to know something completely crazy? Sometimes, I still miss him. I miss my father. Not that raving lunatic that would kill anyone of us on sight but the man he was before, from earlier. I remember that when I was little, even before I knew he was my father, he used to give me piggybacks rides, day or night, no matter how busy he was. He used me to sneak me in treats, chocolates or little candies, always 4 at a time. 1 for me, 1 for both my sisters and 1 to save for later and-“ Prudence drew a breath as if forcing herself to stop. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. That man is gone now. Crazy, right.”

“No, dear child, not so crazy. In fact, something happened today that-“

“Who is that?”

Zelda turned so she could see what Prudence was seeing. Standing right before the Spellman house was an odd little man who appeared to be dressed in a grey bellhop suit.

“I don’t know who that is,” Zelda responded. “But I’ll deal with him. Get back inside the house.”

“Actually, I want to go back to check on Dorcas.”

“Fine, just take the backstairs.”

Prudence nodded and the 2 women went in opposite directions. The bellhop guy came closer as Zelda came down the front steps.

“Are you Zelda Blackwood?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s actually Zelda Spellman, but yes.”

“Hi, I’ve come to bring you to hell.” He said cheerfully.

“Oh, really?” Zelda couldn’t tell if he was supernatural or an insane mortal.

“You are Lilith’s midwife, right?” Zelda nodded, even with everything going on, she couldn’t believe she almost forgot about Lilith and the dark lord.

“You need to come with me, now.”

“Alright, just let me go get my medical bag.”

Without warning, the bellhop reached out and grabbed Zelda’s wrist in a death grip. “If you ‘re not back in 5 minutes, I have my orders to hunt you down, drag you to hell and you will not return with any of the information you seek!” He hissed unexpectedly.

“I’ll be right back,” Zelda said firmly and shook herself free. When she was out of the bellhop’s sight, Zelda ran into the house and straight to the kitchen. “Hilda! Hilda has Sabrina and Ambrose went back upstairs?”

“Yeah.” Hilda nodded. “How’s Prudence?”

“What? Oh, she’s fine but right now, we have more pressing issues to attend to. Outside is Lucifer’s minion is outside. I’ll apparently start attending to Lilith tonight.”

“What? Now?”

Zelda nodded as she went to get her medical bag out of the hallway closet.

“You know Zelds,” Hilda said. “I’ve been thinking, with your condition and everything, maybe I should go be Lilith’s midwife in your place.”

Zelda stopped and looked at her sister. “That’s a kind offer, Hildy, but you know how tricky the dark lord can be. If he asked for me, there must be a reason.

Hilda nodded. “You’re right.”

Zelda sighed. “I hope I won’t be long and just in case they ask; please tell the children I’m just doing bed check at the school. We shouldn’t bother them until we know more.”

Hilda nodded. “Okay.” Zelda started to walk away. “Oh, and Sister? Be careful.”

Zelda nodded and was gone.

She let the bellhop lead her to hell. It was funny how if only a year ago Zelda would be wide-eyed, trying to take in every single detail of the kingdom of the dark lord she had worshipped since childhood. Now, Zelda kept her head down as she followed the bellhop into hell’s palace and into Lilith’s bedroom.

“Zelda Spellman?” Lilith shrieked as Zelda rounded the corner. “Of all the witches in all the realms, you asked Zelda Spellman, to be my midwife?”

“Calm yourself, Lilith. Remember, I know best.” Lucifer then noticed that Zelda in the doorway. “Aw, Lady Blackwood! Right on time. I’ll just leave you ladies to check on the welfare of my son in peace.”

“I feel the need to remind you that I’m only doing this to get that information about my brother you promised me.” Zelda said. “Be ready.”

Lucifer bowed out of the room mockingly. For the next hour, Zelda carried out her midwife duties with as little conversation as possible.

Lilith broke the silence. “Are you scared of me?”

Zelda looked up. “I’m not scared of anything or anyone.”

“Well, thank you for doing this for me.”

“I’m not doing this for you. Your master has information that could affect my family and I need to know what it is.”

Lilith rolled her eyes. “Your family. You really would do anything for them?”

“Yes. I would kill or die for any one of them.”

“Even your baby? Oh, don’t look so shocked. You know the dark lord knows everything. Frankly, I was shocked that you agreed to do this, considering Blackwood’s role in this.”

“What does any of this have to do with Blackwood?” Zelda asked.

Right on cue, the bellhop showed up. “All finished?”

Zelda stood up. “Yes, we’re finished.”

The bellhop told Zelda she would see Lilith once every month until the baby was born. He led Zelda to the dining room where Lucifer sat waiting.

“Aw, Lady Blackwood! How is my son?”

“The baby is fine,” Zelda explained, putting her bag down and sat down. “Yet, Lilith is not far along enough to determined gender. She’s 4 months,3 weeks and 5 days pregnant. The date sticks in my mind for that was the very night I was shot. But I’m done talking.” Zelda sat back. “It’s your turn.”

Lucifer smiled calmly and sat back. “So, our deal was prenatal care for information, right?”

“Right but not just information. You said that my brother, Edward was keeping yet another secret from our family and I’m so ready to know what that secret is.”

“Years ago,” Lucifer started, “Edward came to me begging to marry the mortal, Diana. To gain my permission, Edward agreed to sign the book of the beast on behalf of his firstborn child.”

Zelda was unimpressed. “I know all this! I was Edward’s witness when he did sign Sabrina’s name in your book. You have to do better.”

“Really, Lady Blackwood. You need to learn some patience. I was about to say that signing Sabrina’s name in my book was Edward’s idea. Since all my followers sign their names when they’re 16 anyway I thought Edward’s idea was a little weak; so, I added my own 2nd condition and Edward agreed to it.

“There was a 2nd condition to marry Diana?” Zelda suddenly found it hard to breathe.

“Indeed.” Lucifer waved his hand and an open book appeared on the table before Zelda. “Read the last entry of the page.”

Zelda sighed and read out loud. “In order to marry the mortal, Diana Sawyer, I, Edward Theodore Spellman, do agree and vow to do the following; to sign my firstborn child’s name in the book of the beast and to condemn the marriage of a close relative. Wait, this makes no sense. Edward never mentioned a 2nd condition and ‘condemn the marriage of a close relative’, what does that mean? Who’s the close relative?” Zelda looked up to find herself sitting in a chair at the table inside her own kitchen. “What?” Zelda looked to see the book she was just looking at was gone. “Damn it!” Zelda closed her eyes and held her head in her palm.

“Aunt Zelda?” Zelda looked up to see Sabrina near the kitchen entrance. “Are you okay? I didn’t hear you come home from the academy.”

“I just teleported home,” Zelda answered as she watched Sabrina get herself a glass of water. “Sabrina, where is your Aunt Hilda?” Zelda tried to keep her tone as calm as she could.

“She went down to Dr. C’s a while ago. Well, back to homework.” Sabrina sighed and started to exit the room. Then she turned back. “Oh, Aunt Hilda did call an hour ago. Something about eloping.”

“Eloping?!” Now Zelda couldn’t hide her panic.

“Relax, Aunt Z, I’m sure she was kidding.”

“Of course.” Zelda smiled and kept it in place until Sabrina went upstairs. When Sabrina was out of sight, Zelda raced outside and down the stairs. Once in the yard, Zelda took great care not to be seen by any of the house windows before she teleported herself downtown and right in front of the bookstore. Zelda rushed in the door.

“Hilda?! Dr. Cerberus?! Hecate, please be here!”

“Zelds?” Hilda came up from the back, Dr. C right behind her.

Zelda put her hand on her chest. “Hildy, you are here! You called Sabrina and told her you were eloping. Please tell me you were joking.”

Hilda smiled. “Of course, we were joking. Zelds, calm down. Think of the baby.”

Zelda closed her eyes and let out a breath of relief. “Sister, we have a problem. My 1st instinct was right. Edward was keeping a big secret from us.”

“I’ll go make some tea.” Dr. C offered.

“So, let me this straight,” Hilda said 20 minutes later over tea and cookies. “In order to marry Diana, Edward agreed not only to sign Sabrina’s name but also to condemn the marriage of a close relative.”

“Yes.” Her sister nodded.

“Well, maybe it’s not true,” Hilda suggested. “The dark lord isn’t exactly known for his honesty.”

“Oh, it’s real,” Zelda assured her. “I saw the book; it was definitely Edward’s handwriting. Plus, if it was a lie, Lucifer would’ve drowned me in details but he basically just gave me one sentence for one appointment. I won’t know more for an entire month.”

“Well, you know what they say. The devil’s in the details.” Dr. C said.

Hilda smiled at his bad pun while Zelda just rolled her eyes.

It was those exact details that drove Zelda crazy. Over the next few days, as much as she tried to busy herself with school and family, her mind was filled with questions. Which marriage had Edward condemned? Was it a marriage that already happened or was it one that was, yet to be? If so, could it be prevented? Condemn the marriage how and how close a relative would it have to be? The Spellmans were an ancient family with many, many distant cousins. Maybe Edward somehow tricked Lucifer by making sure that marriage never took place. No, Satan never would bring something utterly useless to her attention, and Edward would have said something! These thoughts went round and round in Zelda’s mind like a hamster on a wheel.

By the 4th night, Zelda was dressing for bed. Her mind was desperate for answers but, she had none, and she was searching. Yesterday, she invented an excuse to borrow Edward’s journal from Sabrina. She read half of it last night and the other half in the morning and found no even a clue about a condemned marriage. Zelda and Hilda bid goodnight to each other and turned off the light. As Zelda got comfortable in her bed, Zelda found herself thinking about hiding places that could hold Edward’s secret. She knew every secret hiding place in the Spellman house and would have found any of Edward’s secrets long ago. That’s left the school, maybe, the office…

The office! Zelda’s eyes snapped open. Zelda’s mind went back a week when she and Mambo Marie stumbled across a secret button that loosens a panel. Life got busy and Zelda forgot all about it, until now. Zelda looked over her shoulder to find Hilda asleep. Zelda whispered the words and teleported herself to her office. Wearing nothing but her nightgown and bare feet, Zelda tiptoed to the door and looked in the hallway. All was silent and dark, it seemed like everyone was asleep. Zelda closed her door and switched on her desk lamp. Zelda then moved the globe statue, bent down and found the small button. She watched the panel that moved just like the last time it was pressed as she pressed the button and the panel moved once again.

“Now, let’s see what you’re hiding, Edward.”

Zelda pushed the loose panel aside and pulled a small stainless steel box out.

She bought the locked box to her desk and sat down. Locks to witches are child’s play. Zelda stared at the lock for 5 seconds before it popped open. She opened the lid and found a photo of a black panther, a pearl necklace and some plain black notebooks labeled from 1 to 10. Zelda took the 1st notebook, opened it and found that the handwriting wasn’t Edward’s. It was Faustus’s.

Once Zelda had started reading Faustus’s old journals, she just couldn’t stop. It was like finding a really good book, a page-turner that she just found impossible to put down. Even when she was supposed to be doing other things like teaching class, saying mass, preparing lessons or doing anything else, Zelda found herself thinking about the journals and when she could read more. The fact that Faustus was the author of all this only made it more compelling. Faustus had told Zelda he had a difficult relationship with his father, but the more Zelda read from the first journal, the more Zelda realized how much he downplayed it…a lot. Zelda was horrified as she read about the serious level of mental and physical abuse a young Faustus suffered from both his parents. Zelda was also very touched as she read on and discovered how Faustus’s schoolboy crush developed into genuine mature love and respect of a young man for his sweetheart. Zelda remembered how angry and annoyed she felt that Faustus wouldn’t propose to her when they were young. Last year, he confessed that he had asked Edward for her hand and the entire conversation was recorded in 1 of the journals and Edward’s reply was downright cruel. Zelda was so consumed with the writing of the journals, that the days blended and before she knew it, 2 weeks had passed and one day, after mass, Zelda summoned all her courage and announced her pregnancy to the entire coven. Sure, she got a few evil looks, but most were supportive and happy for her, most.

“You’re pregnant? How are you pregnant?! You should have told me yourself!”

It was Monday morning and Zelda was sitting at her desk, in the middle of yet another journal when she looked up and saw a very angry Mambo Marie. “Is something wrong?” Zelda asked.

“Yes, something is wrong! I walk into the staff room, this morning and everyone but I knew you were pregnant! You should have told me yourself!”

Zelda stood up. “First of all, if you insist on yelling at me, you can at least close the door. Secondly, other than my family, I told everyone in the coven at the same time, yesterday at mass.”

“But I don’t go to your mass. I have a different faith than you.” Marie called over her shoulder as she went to close the door. “Could you have told me yourself?”

“I’m sorry, Marie. I forgot.”

“You forgot? You forgot?!”

“Yes, I forgot! On top of this baby, I have a million and 1 things to do! Between running this school, caring for my family and not to mention breaking my head over trying to figure out Edward’s latest secret.”

“You at least owe me-“

“I’m 8 months pregnant and we only met 5 months ago. I don’t owe you a damn thing!” Zelda snapped.

“They’re laughing at you, you know, the coven, this school. There are already whisperings everywhere that Blackwood is the father!” When Zelda looked down, Marie’s eyes bulged. “You mean, he really is! Wait until I tell the others that their leader, their high priestess and the headmistress is sleeping with the very man who wants us all dead!”

“It’s not like that!” Zelda growled. “Faustus is, he has changed. For 16 years, he was this coven’s high priest, even before that he was a respected and gifted teacher here at this academy and even before that he was a brilliant student here, always flipping back and forth for top grades with 1 other student and I was that student!”

“Then what changed?”

“I don’t know!” Zelda rushed to the fireplace. An excuse to turn her back to the other woman before Marie could see the tears in her eyes. “You have no idea how badly I want the answer that question,” Zelda continued once she composed herself. “Granted, Faustus never was perfect by any means, but I never expected him to turn into a raving lunatic literally overnight.”

Marie softly placed her hand on Zelda’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Cherie, truly I am. I shouldn’t have stormed in here and started yelling at you. I came in here to ask you something. Do you break up with me to protect me from Blackwood?”

“Yes,” Zelda confessed.

Marie nodded. “I thought so, my poor baby. But I have something that can help.” Marie pressed something small into Zelda’s palm. “I thought you might be afraid to get rid of this mistake on your own, I figured that’s why you let this get so far so I’ll aid you.” Marie whispered and kissed Zelda.

Zelda looked down at the tiny vital of blood-red liquid in her hand. Zelda thought she knew what this was but, for Marie’s sake, she had better be wrong. “What is this?” Zelda demanded.

“It’s easy, ma Cherie. All you do is put this, all of it, into the tea you have with your dinner tonight, have a deep, long sleep and by sunrise, there will be no more baby, and we can resume our romance.”

Zelda nodded knowingly, as her anger returned 100 times hotter. Zelda gripped the vital before she tossed it into the fireplace. Then Zelda had to walk away because of the temptation to slap the voodoo witch was just too great.

“Hey!” Marie objected.

“How dare you?!” Zelda hissed. “You walked in here, after talking to some of the staff, not to talk to me, not to support me, but you just start screaming at me and when we finally calm down, you say that your original intention for coming in here was to slip me an abortion potion?”

“I am supporting you. I’m trying to help you. Like I said, I thought you might be afraid to get rid of this mistake on your own. That is why you kept this to yourself for so long, yes?”

“No!” Zelda objected. “The reason I kept this to myself was that I knew that the witch’s council has no say about this pregnancy after the 7th month, even if the father is a wanted criminal. That should tell you how much I want this child. For Hecate’s sake, I’m a trained mid-wife, Marie. I know how to end a pregnancy and if I wanted to end this one, I would’ve done it months ago and not made it common knowledge to the entire coven.”

Marie looked confused. “Wait, you’re a midwife? I thought you were a teacher.”

“I’m both, actually.” Zelda was just now realizing how little she and Marie knew each other.

“Whatever.” Marie shook her head. “If you have this child, you’ll be bound to Blackwood forever.”

“I don’t care.”

“We had a good thing starting between us. You are willing to turn your back on that and for what? To raise Blackwood’s bastard!”

Zelda took a step forward. “I realize that having Blackwood blood will give my child problems down the line but being a bastard won’t be 1 of them.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m married, Marie, for almost 10 months now.”

“But you said you had almost no experience-“

“I lied!” Zelda snapped. “Just like I lied when I told you that the kids were mocking me when they called me Lady Blackwood, it actually my true legal name. I’m 8 months along with my husband’s child and I swear that no one in the world will harm my baby!”

Mambo Marie crossed her arms. “I can’t be with someone who would keep a murder’s child.”

“I can’t be with someone who would blame an innocent child for the sins of the father!”

“Fine!”

Fine! Unless you have any school matters to discuss, get out of my office.” Zelda watched her go, knowing she had made the decision. She then returned to her desk and the journal she was reading. Turns out, Zelda announced her pregnancy just in time. For 2 nights later, she toweled off from a bath, Zelda discovered a tiny, yet growing baby bump. In wonder, she touched it and smiled.

“Hello, in there. I don’t want you to worry. Mommy loves you so much already. Your aunt Hilda, your sister and your cousins all are excited to meet you and I will never let anyone hurt you.”

“Zelda Spellman, get to bed!”

“I told you, Hilda, 5 more minutes.”

Hilda put out a chair and sat down at the kitchen table with her sister. “You told me that 2 bloody hours ago. It’s 2:20 AM.“

It was only then that Zelda finally looked up. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.” Hilda nodded. “I know I told you at your check-up this morning that you and the babe are still doing great, but you still need to sleep. You’re at the school all day and you’ve fallen into this habit of reading all night. When are you supposed to get your rest?” Zelda's only reply was to drop the book she was holding and stretch. Hilda glanced at the notebook on the table. “Which journal are you on now? Number 6?”

“Number 7,” Zelda corrected “I gave 6 to Prudence, for some passages, concerned her mother and I felt it was only right for her to have it.”

Hilda nodded understandingly. “At least, are you finding answers? Do you know whose marriage Edward doomed?”

“No,” Zelda sighed, getting up from the table to get herself a glass of milk. “If anything, I’m more confused than ever.” Zelda sat back at the table. “Hilda, what did Edward tell you about Faustus and Constance’s courtship?”

“Not much, why?”

“Please, humor me.”

“I think Edward told me that they were pen pals and over a year, the letters turned romantic and they were married less than a month after Constance moved to Greendale.”

Zelda nodded. “That’s always the story I was told too.” Zelda picked up the journal. “But this paints a very different picture. Faustus writes that he didn’t even know Constance when she moved here and that Edward blackmailed him into that marriage.”

“ Blackmailed him? How?”

“Faustus wrote a senior thesis, an article about demonology,” Zelda explained. “I knew that it took him years to perfected it, to get it just right, and when it was finally ready, Edward threatened not to publish it unless he married Constance. This was Faustus’s life work, not publishing it would have been career suicide. Edward had no right to hold it over his head. And it’s not only that, when it to Faustus, Edward only told us half-truths if not complete lies.”

“Yeah, but Zelds, these journals were written by Father Blackwood. Are you sure that you can trust any of these writings?”

“Faustus’s official journal is in the academy’s archive, just like all the other high priests. I found these in a hidden place in the office,” Zelda told Hilda. “Along with the journals, I found a picture of a black panther, which I learned from reading the journals, is Faustus’s familiar. I also found a pearl necklace which I still don’t know who the owner is. He had no reasons to lie in these journals, the writings are way too personal.”

Hilda made a face. “Sounds like a lot of wondering for a man who wants to kill us.”

“I’m not even sure about that anymore since-“

“Since what?”

Zelda could’ve kicked herself. “I wasn’t going to tell you this until I knew what it means, but the night we told the children about my pregnancy, I-I saw Blackwood.”

“What?! Where?!”

“Here, at the house. He used the glamour of an old woman; I was in a hurry and not paying attention, so I let him in and he did attack me but when I told him about the pregnancy”

“You told him about the pregnancy?!”

Zelda shrugged. “It just slipped out. But it turned out to be a blessing because he tried to stop himself.”

“Tried?”

“It was so odd, Hildy. He was arguing with himself and it was like he was fighting with himself from the inside. It was Faustus who teleported me to safety.”

Hilda sighed as both sisters got up from the table. “A condemned marriage, secret journals and 2 sides of Father Blackwood. What does it all mean?”

“I don’t know.” Zelda switched off the light. “But I fully intend to find out.”

Nearly 3 weeks later, Lucifer summoned the bellhop. “It’s time for an update on my son. Go fetch Lady Blackwood.”

“No need, gentlemen.” Zelda came into view. “Here I am.”

Lucifer smiled. “Lady Blackwood, right on time. Edger to serve me again?”

“Edger for my next payment. Shall we?”

The bellhop led Zelda to Lilith’s room and the 2nd appointment was underway. It went just as well and as quick as the 1st time.

“How’s the baby?” Lilith asked.

“Fine,” Zelda replied, anxious to get back to Lucifer to shed light on Edward’s secret.

“Could you pass me my dress, please? You’re closer to it.”

Zelda looked behind her where Lilith’s dress was hanging on the back of a chair. Zelda sighed as she went to get it. However, as soon as Zelda touched the dress, the room changed around her, and she was somewhere else. Zelda blinked; she was in what appeared to be a narrow hallway. The sound of dripping water made Zelda’s head turned left. She saw a bathroom, in the middle of the room was a standalone bathtub. Nobody was in the tub, but it was filled with murky water.

“Demoness, are you sure this will work?”

“What do you care? I promised you the mark of Cain either way.”

Zelda couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Zelda’s heart was in her throat as she turned her head right. The room was a bedroom and at that exact moment, there was a couple having sex but not just any couple. Zelda could see Lilith’s head on the pillow. She couldn’t see the man’s face, but she knew those tattoos anywhere.

“Faustus?”

A clock rang out and Zelda noticed the time and because there was a calendar under the clock, Zelda also knew the date.

“No!”

“Hey, where is my dress?” Zelda felt a hand on her shoulder, and as suddenly as she left hell, she was back. As soon as she saw Lilith, Zelda grabbed the other woman’s arm roughly, backing her against the wall, pinning her thereby putting her arm against Lilith’s throat.

“What game are you playing at?” Zelda demanded.

“What? I just asked you to pass me my dress?”

“Oh? Did you spell it for the moment I touched it, I was set up that I knew that the mortal that shares your face shot me at the exact moment you were in bed with my husband!”

The bellhop showed up just then. “Lady Blackwood, are you done? The dark lord will see you now.”

“Good. There’s something important to tell him.” Fuming, Zelda followed the bellhop to the same room where she met Lucifer the 1st time. As soon as she saw him, she dropped a bombshell. “It’s not your baby.”

“What?”

“Lilith showed me the night she conceived, and it wasn’t you in her bed.”

“Oh.” Lucifer dismissed easily. “It’s my child. I was just wearing Blackwood’s skin when it happened.”

Zelda was confused. “Wait, if you were still using Faustus’s body when the child was made, wouldn’t Faustus’s sperm have to-“ Zelda stopped herself and held up her hand. “Never mind. I really don’t want to know.”

“I’m impressed, Lady Blackwood. Most wives would have stomped off in a jealous rage.”

His smug smile told Zelda everything. “It was you who spelled the dress, to test me.” His smile only grew bigger making Zelda extremely annoyed. “Whatever, I don’t have time to play games. The babe and its mother are doing well. Now, I’ve come to collect payment. Tell me whose marriage Edward condemned and how.”

Lucifer shook his head, “No, no, no. Those are too many juicy details for 1 visit.”

“What if I could sweeten the deal?” Zelda pulled out a small envelope from her pocket. “This has the child’s first picture as well as the gender.”

“Lilith has already assured me that it’s a boy.”

“Do you trust Lilith then? The same Lilith who betrayed you, trapped you and tried to take over your kingdom. The same Lilith who has every reason to tell you that she’s carrying your son and heir?”

Lucifer said nothing; he just snapped his fingers and a book appeared on the table and he held out his hand for the information. He took it greedily when Zelda passed it to him before Zelda sat down and read what was in the book. Zelda gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.

“No! I don’t believe you! You’re lying! Edward would never do this!”

“I’m sorry, do you not know your own brother’s handwriting?” Lucifer sounded bored. “It’s right after signing an infant Sabrina’s name in the book of the beast and you know that’s true.”

Zelda read the passage again, out loud as if that would make it more real. “I, Edward Spellman, do hereby condemn the marriage of my sister, Zelda Spellman to Faustus Blackwood. Should this marriage ever come into being the groom will suffer from insaniam maledictum spell. This curse will come into effect as soon as they are pronounced husband and wife.”

Lucifer was done with her. Zelda could feel herself being teleported. She ripped the page out of the book. A second later, she was home and still holding the page. Zelda saw that her sister was nearby.

“Hilda, I think it’s time we told the children what’s going on.”

#chilling adventures of sabrina #caos #fanfic #caoz #chapter 2 #zelda spellman #faustus blackwood #spellwood #hilda spellman #sabrina spellman #ambrose spellman #prudence blackwood #mambo marie #lilth #dr. cerberus

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hardyimagines · 6 years ago

Text

Foreign

Drabble!

———————————————————————

“Not how you do it, pet.” Alfie grumbled out beneath his breath. His sudden words made your ears twitch before you craned your neck around to eye him. He was sat at the sturdy, wooden desk in the center of the room. You were stood in front of the tall bookcase, dusting the spine of his various books, stacked high above your head. Unbeknownst to you, your boss was watching your every move out of his peripheral. The glasses on his face had slid down the bridge of his nose and were now, no doubt, agitating him. He kept wrinkling his nose and scrunching his brows together, as if the constant movements would magically nudge the glasses back up and into their rightful place.

Without saying anything, you merely cocked a brow and resumed your task. The rag in your hand was coated in dust, filthy pieces, wads that were very visible as they fell from the vanity and floated to the floor to join the sticky contents that was spilled alcohol. There was a lengthy moment of silence before you spoke up. Alfie assumed you were pondering a comeback.

“Mr. Solomons,” a lengthy, drawn out silence followed, one that lured him in so that you were sure you had his attention. “If you’re so picky about the way your books are cleaned, why don’t you clean them yourself.” The twitch of your brows and curl of your lips made him feel as if you were mocking him. Silently teasing him in a ‘you don’t know what you’re doing either sort of way.’ He almost smirked visibly at the thought. He’d taken care of the novels for years and he didn’t plan on letting them waste away now.

The leather seat he was perched on moaned out as his weight was lifted up and off of the thing. He nudged it lightly to the side, palm falling to his trousers so he could lazily pick at the fabric and pull it off of his skin. The room was hot so the fabric he wore was clinging to him like a wet rag. Ruffling his brown locks, sweaty and a bit messy from the hat he’d worn all day, he stepped up behind you. His arm was longer than yours. His legs were the same. He stood taller than you, capable of reaching the high places that were too far for you. You’d had intentions to use a step-stool, but clearly your height wasn’t what he was complaining about.

The space was small. The book case was wedged in between two walls, a perfect fit for the costly piece. Alfie gripped your wrist, fingers still clamped around the rag you’d been using to flick at the dust. His chest, broad and tight, pressed against your back in the slightest, warm breaths tickling the side of your neck as he spoke.

“Right, pet, i, yeah, have got more important fucking matters to tend to, haven’t I? Yeah, I do, right, so you, yeah, you’re gonna have to learn how to do this fucking properly, ain’t ya?” His words seemed to blend together when he spoke. Your ears constantly twitched and burned as you strained to catch every word, because of his thick cockney accent. His fingertips were rough to the touch as they grazed your warm, soft flesh. He adjusted the way that you held the rag. Instead of balling it up in your fist, he angled it to where the cloth circled your fingers instead of vice verse. “Up and down, yeah, along the spines.” His voice seemed so much huskier when he spoke quietly. His hips accidentally brushed against your own, delicate touches as he showed you how it was done. “Not side to side, pet, right, that just smears the mites.” Focusing on his words was impossible to do. His voice, low in your ear, mixed with the tingles and goosebumps on your skin caused from his hot breaths, and his hand enclosed around you wrist, guiding your arm as his front brushed against your back made it entirely too difficult to concentrate.

It was thrilling to say the least. Alfie Solomons was a very attractive man. Gentleman was pushing it. Kind, protective, possessive, defensive. He’d hold a door open for you, but he’s not the type of man a mother would swoon over. You had it bad for Alfie anyway. No approval was needed. No conversations or inquiries with family members for their opinion because he was older and it was just a clear assumption that nothing would progress between the two of you.

Eye-sex, brief little touches, a skim of the fingers, a brush of your chest against his back when you hunched over him to point at the papers on his desk — that was all fine. All innocent. Too impossible to tell if it was just simple or something more. It just left unanswered questions.

But Alfie, chest grazing your back and hips rubbing against yours each time he leaned in to get a better, firmer wipe on the books, made your eyes flutter and your heart thump noisily. You were sure he could hear it. It was involuntary as you swallowed thickly. Your lengthy lashed fluttered closed and the room tripled in temperature within seconds. Your hips pushed backwards as you simultaneously took over cleaning the books. “Like that?” Your voice held entirely too much seduction.

Alfie, with no expectations of what you’d just done, let his hand fall away from your wrist, but only so he could cradle your hip. Neither of you expected the slight — but very noticeable movement, but neither of you said anything about it either. Alfie drew his bottom lip in and lazily suckled on the pink flesh before he slowly moved his gaze back to the books. He could see your hand shaking. The twitch of your fingers. He bit his cheek before pushing his hips, just as firmly as you had, back into your own. Your hipbones pressed against the vanity, sharp against your tender flesh, but too good to be true and too good to stop. Your free hand fell to the desk, steadying yourself, as the other tried lazily to skim the covers. It was so pointless. Every time he moved. Every time he breathed. You crumbled more and more. “Just like that, pet.” Before you knew it, his palm lifted to the center of your back and without warning, he pushed you down so that you were laid on it, flat, belly pressed against the wood and head turned to the side so your warm cheek could cool, pressed just as firmly against the surface.

He watched you daily as you did your duties. Scrutinizing, silently correcting, pleading with you to notice what you were doing was wrong. And yet, you never did. He inhaled deeply, lengthily, eyes squinted and features hardened as he stared down at your arched back. Another part of him hardened as well, especially as you innocently wiggled in front of him, ass rubbing his crotch with every little twitch of your hips. There was no question about what was to come. He wouldn’t have shoved you, face-first, down on the table unless he had intentions of having his way with you.

And as you felt those fingers, those hot fingers clad in cold jewelry, slip inside the back of your dress, you knew he was about to do just that. The dress you wore was rolled up swiftly, far too easy. He fisted his hand in the material and held it around your waist, squeezing it roughly in order to prevent himself from doing it to you and leaving a bruise. All this time.

Watching. Waiting. Waiting. Watching. Wandering. Examining. He’d paid such close attention to you and you were oblivious. The sound of his belt, leather scraping cloth, filled the room before the thing thudded to the floor. You sealed your eyes shut and adjusted your body on the table before moaning out your response. “Mr. Solomons.” The professional means to address him made him harden further. He loved the control. “Mr. Solomons.. I need this.”

Alfie’s free hand ran along your leg before up to your hip. He tugged your naked hips backwards and rubbed his clothed crotch against your bare one, eyes fluttering. The sensation was so nice. You moaned out pleadingly, so desperate for him. “I need this too, yeah, I fucking do..” His eyes fluttered. “You’d best brace yourself, yeah, it’s been a while for me, innit?” Your arms opened before extending across the table so you could grip the back of the bookcase. Clutching on to it, you let your eyes slide shut.

“Don’t hold back.” Your plea was clear. “I can take it, Alfie.”

And take it you did. Like a champ. Hips were no doubt bruised, lower back surely sore. Your mouth was swollen from his sloppy, but the blame was on the position, eager kisses and your eyes hadn’t stopped watering since your orgasm — Alfie Solomons knew exactly what he was doing.

———————————————————————

PSA: IM HALF ASLEEPX, WROTE THIS IN 10-15 MINUTES AND JUST HAD THE IDEA SO I JOTTED IT DOWN ): HOPE YOU ENJOY IT❤️

Tagged: @peakblogbecauseimweak @bsotstory @mollybegger-blog @morphoportis @ghost-of-student-sufferings @drippydownes2002 @ellar21 @sovereigngoth @willowick13 @xxxxxeroxxxxx @wheresthewater @anrm1 @pansexualginger @marvelgirl7 @evilspretty-dead @heyitscam99 @wow-he-cute @haroldpain @justrepostandlove @sparklyreaderx @emerald-bijou @multireality @innerpaperexpertcloud @giftofdreams @ihclipse @meer0rauschen @inkedfandom @thatsamegirl @doct0rstrange @jakechillenhaal @shanty-lol @centerhabit @clevertheoristpainter @jamierdr @favouritereadings @badmaax @thephuonganh @wewillfindourwaythere @uhhhemilyrose @scarrasco1325 @matoki-darkpanda @bignastyfan-nz

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breziarchive · 6 years ago

Note

beach majimako plz ty ilu!!!!

just for you, after i said “catch me never writing this”. superficial typos remain because i didn’t have time to edit asdflj

toying around with extending requests since I couldn’t work on them for almost a full day due to being sick, so stay tuned!

valentine’s day boogaloo - guidelines - ko-fi - majimako zine

“Stopfidgeting,” Makoto implored with a smile as she brushed a straystreak of sunscreen on Majima’s cheek, “No one can see anything,”

“Sure,” Majima grumbled, clearly upset, “But, what if—,”

“It’ll be fine. Just enjoy the summer day,”

Majimahuffed, glancing around the array of colorful towels, umbrellas, andswimsuits as families relaxed, played, and wandered about the beach.The sun was warm but not oppressive, the breeze brisk and refreshing,and the water clear and calm. Makotowas wearing the swimsuit they had bought together, simple and paleblue. He wore trunks and a white button down shirt, all long enoughto cover the tattoos that would ban him from so friendly a beach.Frowning at her from behind sunglasses that barely concealed hisruined eye, he sighed and flopped back on the towel.

“Fine. Ya win this round.”

“Do I?” Makoto asked, amused as she rummaged in their bag, “Tothink, Majima Goro admitting defeat so easily!”

“Oi,watch it,” Majima grunted, “Or I’m gonna start keepin’ scoreand then you’ll be in trouble!”

“WillI be, I wonder,” Makoto mused under her breath as she finally foundthe book she had brought to read. Majima made a noise that suggestedhe had heard her but ultimately the conversation ended in favor ofthe playful sounds of kids running about the beach with the undertoneof the rhythmic waves. Majimadozed. Makoto read.

Thespray of kicked sand jolted Majima awake.

Rowdy, drunk youths cackled as they passed by, carelessly kickingmore sand onto him as they went. Makoto yelped, first in shock thenin worry as Majima started coughing and heaving, curling in panic.

“Goro? Goro!” she brushed sand off his shoulders as he tore hissunglasses off and pawed at his eyes. Taking one of his wrists as herother hand dove into the bag, she started to coo as he cussed andhissed.

“Don’t scratch! Don’t scratch at it, just blink!”

“Blink,”Majima rasped, angry but not at her, “Itfuckin’ burns!!”

“Iknow,” she pulled a water bottle out and frantically twisted thecap off, “I know, I know, here—,”

Takinghis cheek to turn him to her, she frowned, watching him blinking inpanic and pain as tears rolled down his face. Pouring the water overhis eyes and trying to avoid his shirt as much as possible, Makotocontinued to coo and help him rid the sand from his face. She brushedher thumbs as gently as possible along his eyelids, taking care tonote his ruined side once he regained his sight. As she coaxed grainsof sand out of the scar tissue, he scowled.

“Fuckin’shitbags,”Majima spat to the side, “See them get away with that on a tatbeach, I fuckin’ bet they’ll be cryin’ between their ass cheeksin two seconds flat! Whereare they?!”

“No, don’t,” Makoto said quietly, “Let them be, they’ll gettheir own soon enough,”

Grumblingand cussing, Majima still scanned the beach for them, locating themnot too far away causing havoc in their own little circle.Disgruntled, he slouched asMakoto started petting sand off of other areas.

“GuessI wasn’t so different, back then,” he muttered. Makoto chuckled.

“I bet you were a terror,”

“Were?”he pinched her cheek and she playfully swatted him away.

Hehelped Makoto brush the rest of the sand off, slowly building hismood back as they idly chatted about the more innocent parts of theirpast that weren’t too dark for whatever ears could be listening.All the while, though,Majima kept his one eye constantly glancing back to the rowdy youth.Makoto noticed, but didn’tsay anything until she tapped his arm.

“Goro,that family—,”

“Yeah,”he confirmed, low. The youths had started picking at a grandmotherand her two young grandchildren, harassing and kicking apart whatevercastles the youngest was trying to build. Anyprotest was met with the reasoning that they were simply playingGojira despiteabsolutely no invitation. Majimasnarled, snatched hissunglasses back up, and gotto his feet, “Fuck that! If nobody’s gonna give ‘em their ownthen I will!”

Makotodidn’t stop him.

“Oi!One bad turn deservesanother, you punks want sand kicked in yer face?!” Majima toweredover them but they were too drunk on their own might to care.

“Huh? You got a problem, old man?” one challenged, swinging astill-full bottle of booze. The others all turned towards him, whichwas good, since it gave the grandmother a chance to pull her kidsaway from the tension.

Majima grit his teeth, wanting so very badly to escalate farther—hecould pull all the real insults from every orifice and make them crybefore he beat their faces to the dunes. But the round and scaredfaces of the grandkids behind the punks forced him to reel it in andhe swallowed. Summoning a state of mind he hadn’t had to use in avery long time, he adopted the patience of a cabaret manager.

“Listen,guys, if yer gonna cause trouble, do it somewhere else, yer ruinin’some kids’ day fer nothin’, a’ight?”

“What’samatter, can’t take a little excitement in your life?” one of theskinnier ones prodded.

Thecomment roused a chorus of nasty chuckles with compliments to thechef of such a lame insult. Majima narrowed his eye, thinking of allthe many, many, manythings he had done inthe past several years of his life just for the fuck of it only tocome out of them (surprisingly) alive—not that Makoto had to knowhalf of them, but regardless. It popped a smirk on his face.

“What’re you laughin’ at, huh?” the booze-swinger steamed. Atfirst his friends laughed but then they shied away when he, angerclearly triggered, stormed up to Majima, “Somethin’ funny toyou?!”

“Actually, I feel like cryin’,” Majima supplied calmly, “Y’allare just so sad to look at.”

“Youtryin’ to start a fight?!”

“On this beach?” Majima feigned innocence, “I would never. So,listen to yer elder and haul ass outta here if yer feelin’ likethrowin’ down,”

“Idon’t have to listen to anyone!” the youth raged, swinging thebottle wildly.

“F-Furukawa, hey, maybe—,”

“Shutit!!” Furukawacommanded, causing the only dissenting youth to flinch. Majimasniffed.

“Yer friend’s got the right idea. Blow yer steam off somewhereelse, kid.”

“Youcan’t tell me what to do, old man!!”Furukawa roared, swinging the bottle down hard. Caught off guard byhow quickly the kid snapped, Majima grunted as the bottle shatteredover his head, scraping his brow and knocking his glasses off. Hestared at where the sunglasses landed in the sand nextto the bottle’s shards,sake dripping from his harsh features. For a moment he almost wishedit was champagne again, if only because that smelled better. Raisinga calloused thumb to wipe his upper lip, he inhaled, loosening hisshoulders on the exhale. The sake soaked into his white shirt andMajima looked up.

Theeyes of everyone in front of him, from the youths to the grandmotherbehind them, widened until the whites shone in the sun. Majimadidn’t have to look down to know that his tattoo bled through thewet fabric, having hemmed and hawed over it with Makoto some hoursprior.

“C’mon,kid,” Majima said, low and dark and edging on dangerous, “Whatare ya, 21? 20?”

Theyouths huddled together behind Furukawa who was too frozen to cower.The more his tattoo bled through the more anxious they became.

“Ain’tya a little old to be pullin’ thisshit?”

Furukawa’sjaw hung open, staggered, then shut.

“Ifya don’t want a little excitement in your life…,” Majima woundhis leg back and kicked sand at the youths, “Fuckin’beat it!”

They scrambled over each other, tripping and faltering in their hasteto leave the scrutiny of the unveiled yakuza. Majima would’vewatched them go, but the faces of the family in front of him stolehis attention. What must he have looked like? Hiding a tattoo wasterror for the grandma, but for the kids? They couldn’t stopstaring at the hole in his face. Frozen and awkward, he gulped andgave a little bow, earning a flinch from the grandmother. Shit.

“Goro!” Makoto called. Turning on his heel to see herrunning, Majima called back.

“Wait, don’t, don’t! There’s—,”

An ear-splitting shriek left Majima’s throat as he stepped on theshards of glass he was trying to warn her about. Hopping erraticallyon one foot, he attempted to go in her direction. Makoto braced hisshoulders when she reached him, guiding him back to their towel asgracefully as they could manage.

“Shit,” Majima expunged as he collapsed on the towel, “I’dalmost rather get another foot massage from ya,”

“Don’t tempt me,” Makoto said as she pulled his bleeding footonto her lap. Majima groaned, covering his face as she went to workcleaning the wound.

“Makoto?”

“Hm?”

Majima’s voice was defeated like a kid that had lost thechampionship little league game, “Where’s my eyepatch?”

In turn, her voice was gentler than normal, taking time to brush athumb along his shin, “Front pocket of the bag.

“’Kay…,” he mumbled. Keeping one hand covering his face, heblindly pawed around until he found the front pocket. Pulling thepatch out, he sullenly put it back on, wincing whenever Makoto hit aparticularly sensitive spot.

“Call me unprepared…,” She frowned, “But I didn’t bringanything to bandage you up…,”

“Naw,” he dismissed, “I can’t blame ya. This wasn’tsupposed to happen,”

A pause. Makoto rinsed her hands with the rest of the water.

“I’m sorry, Makoto,”

“Don’t be,” she assured quietly, “You did the right thing.”

Majima sighed, then started unbuttoning his shirt. Makoto eyed himwarily.

“You sure?” she asked. He sighed again.

“Cat’s already outta the bag. Plus it’s soaked with booze.Can’t hurt.”

Makoto didn’t argue and simply wrapped the shirt until his foot wasnothing but a bulk of soaked fabric. He seethed, somehow managing tokeep his ticklish foot in place for her. Makoto finally sat back,sighing with him.

“Well.”

She reached up and ran her hand up his arm, soothing with her firmgrip. Majima, his arm over his eye, started mouthing off a countdownas Makoto kept massaging him.

“You there! Sir!” an authoritative but painfully local voicecalled.

“Aaaand right on time,” he grumbled as the policeman jogged up.

Already intimidated by his appearance the policeman was trying coverup any stammering by standing straight. Majima only gave himattention by moving his arm so his eye could peek out.

“S-Sir, this is...This is a public beach,”

“Haw?”

“A family beach,”

“Uh-huh.”

“Tattoos aren’t allowed,”

“Ya.”

The policeman shifted, becoming as annoyed as he was nervous. Majimasqueezed whatever enjoyment he could by watching him struggle.

“Please lea—,”

“Wait, Officer,” an old and sweet voice interrupted. Majimajolted, looking up in utter bewilderment with Makoto. There stood thegrandmother, granddaughter in one hand and grandson in the other.

“Let him stay here for the day,”

“Sorry, ma’am,” the officer shook his head, “But I was toldthat this man assaulted several youths just now, I can’t allow suchbehavior here.”

The grandmother shook her head, her floppy sunhat following hermovements, “They were lying. This man took it upon himself tointervene and chase those ruffians away. They caused the violencefirst,” she gestured at his foot and brow, “Just look at whatthey did to him!”

“Self-defense?” the officer guessed. The grandmother narrowed hereyes, her voice turning into a harsh scold like he should’ve knownbetter. The officer winced, confused.

“No, those boys attacked first. I’m just thankful he washere to stop them,”

The policeman stammered, trying to bolster his defense. Rules arerules, so on and so forth. But the grandmother wouldn’t budge,resorting to shouting until the officer relented and allowed Majimaon the beach for that day only.

“Oh…,” Makoto said when the officer finally left them alone,“Thank you, really, thank you!”

“Granny,” Majima propped himself on his elbows, “Ya reallydidn’t have to, we can take a little beatin’ here and there,”

“And?” The grandmother turned her scolding to Majima in aninstant, much to Makoto’s giggling, “It’s a beautiful summerday and you deserve a good rest. Come now.”

The grandmother allowed the two of them to entertain her twingrandchildren, Makoto walking the boy into the shallows and pluckingsea shells with him while Majima (injured as he was) stayed on thebeach while the girl dug in the sand. Majima’s leering hannyaglared out at all the rest of the families, but the grandmother wasnever far away to sit and smile, diminishing the fierceness of thetattoo.

“Hohh? Whatchu got there, scamp?” he asked as the girl flinchedbut started poking curiously around a moat she had built. The girlwas much quieter than her twin brother, and simply looked at Majimabefore pointing down. He craned his neck, seeing a small crabscuttling about.

“Ohh yah, got some creatures in yer moat to guard it, huh? Nothin’to sneeze at either. Look,” he reached down and picked the tinything up, “See these claws?”

The girl nodded. Majima grinned, then stuck his finger square in thecrab’s claw to be pinched.

Gasping, the girl brought her sand-covered hands to her mouth. Majimacringed, biting his lip so as not to cuss—the little sucker pinchedfar harder than he had imagined. But still he stuck it out and kepthis wonky smile on for the girl.

“Goro!” Makoto called from the water, “What are youdoing?”

“Important stuff! You ain’t invited!”

“Would you stop hurting yourself at least?”

“Hurtin’? Ow—,” Majima flinched as the crab’s other clawfound the flesh of his palm, “This ain’t hurtin’, it’splaying, there’s a difference!”

The girl giggled. Makoto rolled her eyes so forcefully he could seeit from where he was sitting, and he started to giggle too as the sunbeat warmly on his back.

#majimako #valentine's day boogaloo #majima goro #makimura makoto #yakuza #ryu ga gotoku #BEACH. HEAVEN. NOW.#bunbii

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manggojooz · 6 years ago

Text

Sugar & the Beast (Part 2)

pairing: Suga/Yoongi x Jin (not yet) x OC

word count: 1,580-ish

genre: drama, sageuk (Joseon dynasty stuff)

summary: A very loose Joseon adaptation of Beauty and the Beast. There’s a rumour about the Prime Minister’s son, that he sometimes act like a human and sometimes acts like a beast. Dang Seol’s only family, Myeongjo, left for Hanyang one day and never came back. Seol finds out that Myeongjo was taken to the Prime Minister’s house and seeks to find her only family back but ends up coming face to face with a human-beast.

warnings: none

previous parts: Part 1

“Min Yoongi!”, bellowed the dignified-looking nobleman who wore a long beard and a tall elaborate hat. The dozen swordsmen following him moved to surround the younger nobleman and the woman crouched on the ground.

The young man couldn’t look any more apathetic, aura unflinching. “Hate it when he calls me that...”, Seol could hear him muttering under his breath.

The older man sauntered up to him demanding as calm as the seas before a storm, “Are you going to cause a scene or should we go back quietly?”

There was a moment as intensity pounced between father and son.

“I’ve already found her”, Prime Minister Min declared.

---

Myeongjo sits in a dark chamber surrounded by scrolls of books. The only light filtering in was through the paper windows that were unusually thick. The room wasn’t too shabby but she knew this was nonetheless a form of captivity.

Despite the humongous amounts of books she had in front of her, she constantly worried whether Seol was safe, whether Seol would be wondering why she hasn’t returned, whether Seol will stubbornly try to look for her.

But her thoughts were snapped when the next page she flips to catches her attention. It recorded a case of a woman who had been cursed by a skilled shaman and was marked with a mysterious tattoo. Myeongjo flips to the next page wanting more information, but it was blank, causing her to frantically flip through the remaining pages, but they were all empty.

---

Seol tailed the entourage of Minister Min back to their mansion. She loitered around the entrance, hiding amongst the street vendors.

After what must have been an hour or so, she saw a man walked up to the mansion carrying a wooden box and a small silk bag. The wooden box clearly looked like what Myeongjo used to carry when she would go out to treat the villager’s illnesses, Seol deduces that the man must be a physician. A group of house maids walked up the steps leading to the door of the mansion close behind the doctor and Seol quickly followed behind them, granting her own entrance into the Min family’s yard.

A servant approaches the doctor and offers to take his belongings. Seol watches closely from behind a pillar and notices the doctor putting down the wooden box. Their attention was focused on the silk baggage that the doctor still held in his hand. As the two of man hastened away with the silk bag towards a side room, Seol snuck over, picks up the doctor’s wooden box aiding her physician disguise. She started sneaking her way deeper into the mansion.

If they took Myeongjo they would definitely keep her hidden somewhere. Seol spots a random house maid sweeping the yard. She braces herself, putting on an air of confidence, she walks up to the young girl.

“Excuse me, I think I am lost. They asked me to come over because they said a woman was sick.”

“A woman?”

“Yes, they told me she is only recently came to the mansion. She wears a hair pin that has a gold flower...”

“Ah yes, there was a woman who have been staying here for the past few days but her room is on the other side of the yard, just follow that corridor all the way down and you should see it. It should be easy to spot since they stationed two men outside her room all the time.”

“Thanks”, Seol smiled sweetly at her. On one hand she wanted to finally locate Myeongjo but on the other she really hoped that the woman they spoke about was not Myeongjo. What was Myeongjo doing here and how will she get Myeongjo out?

As she walks through the long corridor towards the east side of the mansion, a man who was patrolling spots her and shouts after her “Hey! What are you doing here? Where are you going to?”

Seol pretends not to hear him, ignoring the loudness of his voice and the minor pause in her steps. She hastens her pace and her ears could pick up that the man had started to run towards her. She brisk-walks the remaining length of the corridor and as she turned the corner her head thumps against a man’s chest, causing him to fall backwards and Seol loses her balance and trips, falling on top of him.

She apologises hastily and moves to get up but her body froze from the face she saw. It was that same pale face; the son of Prime Minister Min. He scowled in pain as she was still lying on top of him. She quickly scrambles off him and he managed to stand up.

He was still straightening his clothes when the guard who had chased Seol down came running around the corner. He sees Yoongi and bows to him, apologising for alarming the young master of the house.

“Get up now! What are you doing in this part of the compounds?”, the guard exclaimed at Seol, bending down to hoist her to her feet.

“I lost my way... I am looking for the... the...”, Seol was pretending to be lost while she raced to make up a story.

“She must be the physician I just called in”, Yoongi suddenly said.

The guard looked back at Seol and she stammers, “Uhh... Yes I am... the doctor... he called.”

“Sorry to alarm you, young master”, the guard apologises again.

Yoongi stares at him with a stern expression, “Then why don’t you let go of her now...”

The guard belatedly realises he was still holding onto Seol and lets go of her, bowing once more before leaving.

Yoongi starts to walk towards his room but Seol stood shell-shocked and glued to her spot. He turned around before asking, “What are you waiting for? Follow me.” There was something subtly different in his voice.

Seol jolts back to her senses and follows Yoongi, but her heart was pounding against her chest in fear, scenes from earlier flashing back to her mind. Why did he not expose her? Or does he actually think she is the doctor? Could it be that he doesn’t remember her from just now?

Yoongi enters his room and sits down at his table, turning his attention menacingly towards Seol. Seol shuffles in as inconspicuously as she can, trying her best to keep up the disguise. Good thing she has some pretty solid medical knowledge acquired from following Myeongjo around when she treated the villagers.

Yoongi stared at Seol, waiting for her to approach him but Seol stood awkwardly near the door of his room.

He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, “I haven’t seen you before, but you seem to be afraid of me.”

Seol was confused, so he really doesn’t remember her from just now... she barely managed to utter a word, “Huh?”

He laughs a little and Seol’s expression turns even more fearful. He waves at her with his huge sleeves, “It’s nothing, I’m not laughing at you. It’s just that it never fails to amuse me. But where is Doctor Kim? How come they sent you today instead? Doctor Kim is the one who usually takes care of me. Are you new?”

“Ummm... yes... it’s my first time...”

“It’s your first time here?”, he cuts in in disbelief. “So... did Doctor Kim tell you about my condition before you came?”

Seol blinked a few times, trying to wreck her brains for a generic answer that could save her.

“Not exactly... I was only told that you weren’t feeling that well... umm and that I should come and figure it out...”

“Oh right... so you can figure it out? Right here right now?”, he asked curiously.

“I will try... my best...”, Seol attempted her best to sound like the real deal without stammering too much.

“Go ahead... do what you need to...”, Yoongi said with an expression that showed great interest in this conversation.

Seol carefully walked up to where Yoongi sat and took hold of his wrist, trying to get a reading on his pulse signatures.

Yoongi put his free arm’s elbow onto the table and rested his face in his propped up hands. “So? What’s wrong with me?” He was looking at Seol’s face that was illuminated by the light.

“You seem fine... but umm... do you tend to forget things often?”, Seol asked the question as if it was part of the diagnostic procedure.

“Wow... you are good... how did you know that?”, he sat up straight and answered with a face looking like he was impressed with her.

“Does your mood change a lot during the day?”, she continued asking.

“Not really... I’m usually ok... but I’m not so sure about him...”

Who’s him?

Seol wanted to back out of this as fast as she can and so she took out a bottle of pills from the wooden box, generally used for improving one’s mood. “Take this, once a day, and get lots of rest... for now. If it doesn’t work then we will try something else.”

Yoongi nodded silently and took over the tiny porcelain bottle. He watches Seol as she tries to make her retreat.

Seol reaches out her hand to push open the door when suddenly she was forcefully turned around. Yoongi’s face was inches away from hers and he looked at her with a smile. This time around, seeing his face at such a close distance has made Seol realised, there was an indescribable difference in him. His skin was still pale, features still dainty but his eyes... they reflected light. Her heart probably skipped many beats.

“Hey doctor, game’s over... now tell me, what are you really here for?”

#sugar & the beast #suga fanfic #yoongi fanfic #series: s&tb #suga fan fiction #yoongi fan fiction #bts fanfic #bts fan fiction #bts #yoongi #suga #kpop fanfic #kpop fan fiction #yoongi scenarios #suga scenarios #yoongi drama #suga drama #drama #min yoongi

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ikesenhell · 6 years ago

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Lightning Prompts 10/5

Hey everyone! Thanks for coming out for this LIVEWRITE! We had a great time with so many different puns, me constantly consulting my lawyer (@a-shout-to-the-void) and the usual couch-vaulting. We also did a round of prompts! I took suggestions from the lovely audience and wrote mini-fics to it. They’re too short to have their own entries, so here they are!

TUMBLR USERNAME: @rainylune. PROMPT: Insufferable mother in law comes for a visit to Yukimura and MC.

Frankly, he hadn’t quite wrapped his mind around the concept of wormholes in general. Sasuke had patiently explained it to him at least five times, but none of the lectures ended with any better understanding. And really, it didn’t exactly matter this time.

Either way, understanding or not, her mother was coming to visit.

“She really likes things…” His wife’s eyes glazed over in a way that Yukimura usually saw with battle-hardened soldiers. “...tidy.”

Hells.

He was disciplined and minimalist, for certain, but that didn’t mean he was strictly clean. What did tidy even mean? He went back and forth on trying to scrub the place himself, panicking, and having his vassals join him in turns.

Put him on a battlefield? Sure. Put him in the crosshairs of a mother in law with exacting standards? Yukimura was very certain he’d prefer the battlefield.

When Sasuke finally picked her up, Yukimura made sure to have his retainers greet her befitting a great lady. He wore his best clothes and threw a feast for her, and by the end of it she was still frowning. What was he supposed to do? Beads of sweat collected at the back of his neck as he went to guide her to her room.

“This is your castle, correct?”

“Yes… my lady.” Yukimura staggered over the honorific. “Err, is something wrong?”

But the woman peered at him over that deep set frown, observing him for one long, harrowing moment--and started laughing.

“This has been priceless. She told me you’d sweat.”

“What?” Yukimura fumbled for clarity. “What?”

“It’s been lovely.” And his mother in law smiled bright at him, checking his shoulder with hers. “I’ve been giving you a hard time. She said you’d sweat a little.”

“Oh.” He rolled that over and over in his head, nodding intently. “I see. Have a good night, my lady.”

Oh, he was going to make her pay for that one.

----

TUMBLR USERNAME: @darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts. PROMPT: Explaining something modern to Kenshin. (Author’s note: I picked ‘Dada’ cause memes)

It started one day because she dropped an expensive teacup on her foot. Kenshin rushed to her side to check for any scratches, but she just stared off into the distance and deadpanned, “Well, I might as well die.”

“What?” Kenshin asked, horrified. “No, never--”

“--Oh, no, no honey, I don’t mean that literally.” His love laughed as if it were nothing at all. “No, that’s a pretty common joke in my time.”

What? He just stared at her, a hand full of ceramic shards. “How is that a joke?”

“Uh, so…” She lifted the hem of her kimono and scooped the rest of them up. “It all came from this thing called ‘Dada’.”

“‘Dada’,” he echoed solemnly, and the bizarre word apparently was funny enough in his mouth that she laughed outright at him. “What is that?”

“It’s an art movement? Basically after a very large world war, people were so traumatized that they decided nothing really was secure, sacred, or really mattered anymore? So they just started throwing things together and calling it ‘art’. A lot of it was usually pretty dark. So my generation kind of made their own version of it. There’s things like a picture of one of our presidents in red that says ‘then perish’, and things like that…” She giggled and added, “They’re called ‘memes’. One of them is ‘Well, I guess I’ll just die’.”

“Is that what Sasuke is forever quoting at you that you laugh so much at?”

“Yeah, but he’s mostly just doing vines. I’ll explain that one later.”

“Hmm.” Kenshin dumped the shards into a wastebin and clapped off his hands. “Teach me more of these ‘memes’.”

The next time he used his newfound knowledge, he was in battle. The blade of his lesser sword snapped, and without hesitation he turned and waved the hilt at Sasuke. “Ninja!”

“Yes, my lord?” Sasuke called back, fending off another oncoming samurai.

Kenshin lifted his broken hilt, deadpan. “This bitch empty. Yeet!”

Sasuke collapsed to the ground in laughter when his lord flung the shattered hilt into the crowd of enemies. Dada. He could get used to it.

---

TUMBLR USERNAME: @unstoppablelinda. PROMPT: Nobunaga and Kenshin in a bout of Wii Fencing.

“You do realize that no one can challenge my prowess in swordsmanship, correct?” Kenshin’s drawl was smooth as a winter day in spite of all the sake they’d put down. “You can’t win.”

“Fine words from you.” Nobunaga chuckled, haughty as ever. “They’ll go well on your tombstone.”

“Oh my god,” the chatelaine muttered, face in her hands. “Sasuke, what have you done.”

“Sped up the inevitable.” Her best friend looked unphased, but the flush in his cheeks betrayed just how drunk he had to be. “Besides, maybe in doing this we can keep them from having an actual sword fight.”

“Doubt it,” Yukimura huffed.

The two men latched the safety wristbands on with characteristic seriousness, both mouths set in a severe frown. Sasuke casually switched their Wii avatars to the closest representation of each man (which slowed the proceedings significantly as Kenshin kept insisting that his did not look like him, both of the eyes were the same color and it was almost insulting to think that it resembled him), but in the end, they both faced off against each other in a fencing match.

“Alright,” Sasuke slurred unsteadily. “You face--face the screen, not each other--”

“We can’t fight if we’re facing away from each other,” Kenshin pouted.

“No fighting happens adjacent to your opponent,” Nobunaga agreed.

“No, you do it at the screen. See?” Sasuke reached out and shook Nobunaga’s Wiimote to demonstrate, accidentally scoring a point against Kenshin. The buzzer went off; Yukimura shouted, Shingen bellowed a laugh, and Masamune cheered.

“You’re my ninja,” Kenshin stated, utterly offended. “Aiding the enemy, I see?”

“Come then, Kenshin.” Nobunaga soothed expertly. “It would be unsportsmanlike of me to not allow you a free point back.”

“That’s insulting. I don’t need that.”

“Then come, and stop your whining.”

“Whining? I won’t be the one whining when you lose--”

“Uh oh,” Shingen chuckled.

Kenshin charged at Nobunaga with his wiimote. Nobunaga parried just in time, the two of them suddenly in full blown duel. Sasuke shouted something like ‘not the equipment!’ but it was too late. The avatars on the screen floundered as the two men moved faster than the machine could pick up.

At the same time, both of the wrist bands snapped off the wiimotes and the two controllers went flying, one of them through a window and another straight into the TV. Yukimura and Masamune dove for the flat screen, bracing it before it shattered.

“Hmm.” Nobunaga hummed.

“I’ll go get it,” Kenshin huffed, taking the stairs two at a time to retrieve the one he’d flung into the street. “And afterward, you and I will finish this.”

“Please don’t,” Yukimura groaned. “And to think I just wanted to play bowling.”

#Lightning Prompts 4 #Livewrite #Ikesen #Ikesen Kenshin #Ikesen Nobunaga #Ikesen Yukimura #Ikesen Shingen #Ikesen Sasuke #Ikesen Masamune #tw: alcohol #alcohol tw #kenshin uesugi #nobunaga oda #yukimura sanada #shingen takeda #sasuke sarutobi #masamune date #memes

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shinewithalltheuntold · 6 years ago

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Wonder Woman in the MCU

In an effort to jump start my muse, I pulled out an old writing meme from the LJ days in which you take a playlist and write for as long as each song plays. I was hoping to get something started on one of my OUaT fics so of course my brain said “Hey, you remember that time ages ago when some internet idiot asked who would win in a fight - Okoye or Wonder Woman - and you rolled your eyes because of course they wouldn’t fight each other they would meet and respect each other immensely and fight side by side and also they would be actually be a really badass ship and OMG wouldn’t Diana in Wakanda and the MCU be fricking amazing? Remember that? You should totally let that idea take over your brain right now.” And it did and here we are. And it wouldn’t have seen the light of day except I was talking about it with @holdouttrout last night and now I’m thinking about it again also yes I saw the posters for Endgame and fuck them I am ignoring them Shuri is FINE so I’m posting it in the hope that it will either purge it from my head or help it become something more than random snippets.

So...have some Diana of Themyscira hanging out in Wakanda post-Infinity War. Other than finishing the final sentence and correcting grammar/spelling issues, these were written entirely within the time the songs were playing (which are listed after each snippet.)

1. “You are free.”

Okoye unlocked the door to his cell, her face impassive, her eyes fixed on the wall behind him.

W’Kabi stood, slowly making his way to the threshold. He knew it was coming – after the culling, there were too few to defend Wakanda. Queen Shuri had no choice but to trust his word that those of the border tribe that had been imprisoned for their treason would stand once more in protection of their country.

He knew she was coming. She would allow no else to complete this task. He half expected some sort of threat, a promise of retribution if he betrayed the Queen’s trust. But there was nothing, nothing behind those hooded eyes.

(Burden Down, Jennifer Hudson)

2. Diana stood to the side as the remaining Dora moved through the ritual moves that began all training. The training was more for comfort than necessity at this point, a chance to strengthen and maintain the bond between the remaining warriors standing between Wakanda and the chaos that was the rest of the world.

Okoye was there as always, nudging elbows, praising those who corrected their stances without prompting. Always standing. Always leading. Always the General.

Until the day ended. Until she returned to her quarters. Stripped herself of her armor and trudged quietly over to the bed. The first days, she lay on her side with her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her body rigid until it finally succumbed to the exhaustion. And even in her sleep, the lines on her face did not completely fade.

But as the days passed and the burdens grew, she found she could no longer maintain her shield in this private space. This sanctuary that Diana tried so hard to make for her. Now, she shed her armor completely and moved with surer if no less weary steps to where Diana lay waiting. Draped herself across the other woman, her head resting on Diana’s breast, letting Diana stroke the lines and the stress and the grief away with gentle fingers and silent understanding. Helping her find some measure of peace in the night so she could wake up in the morning and don her armor once more.

(Hold on, Sarah MacLachlan)

3. Diana spent her last day in Wakanda walking through the streets, absorbing as much as she could of its beauty and strength and love. She wore the traditional robes that her status as daughter of the Queen of the Amazons had demanded and she had always shirked. But here, in this place that was so different from Themyscira but not so different at all, she could finally admit who she was. Diana, princess of Themyscira, warrior and leader. And she could finally accept her purpose. Not to simply fight for justice, but to lead others to fight for it as well.

(Ol’ 55, Sarah MacLachlan)

4. Through the haze that surrounded her constantly these days, she could hear the buzzing sounds of Nakia and Diana arguing. It was the same argument every day – Nakia urging Diana to return to the outside world, to take her place on the world stage. And Diana insisting that she could not leave Wakanda. Okoye was too busy leading the warriors in protecting their home. M’Baku was working to integrate what was left of the Jabari people into the lives of what was left of the rest of Wakanda. Not to mention keeping a watchful and distrusting eye on the newly freed members of the border tribe. And Nakia was trying to negotiate a peace with the chaotic outside world. Only Diana was left to protect her.

Protect the Queen.

The Queen. Leader of Wakanda. But not Black Panther. No, there was no Black Panther now that her brother was gone. Brother, please come back. I can’t do this. I DON’T KNOW HOW TO DO THIS.

But there was no one else. Her brother gone, ashes on the wind. Just like her mother. Like so many of their people. There was only her. Shuri. The unwilling queen trying to keep her people safe. Trying to salvage what was left of their way of life. Without T’Challa. Without mother and Baba and Ayo. Without half her team. Without half her people.

She was trying. She was trying to do what was best, what was right. And she knew Nakia was right. The world needed Diana. But Shuri needed her as well. That constant reassuring strength at her back as she maneuvered her way through the ever-shifting landscape of this new world. Rarely speaking, but always ready with a bracing hand or gentle embrace when it all became too much and the weight of duty and grief threatened to crush her. Okoye was the Queen’s left hand. Nakia her right. M’Baku her armor. As such, they were often away, carrying out their duties. But Diana was here. Diana was her shield.

You cannot hide forever behind a shield, little sister.

You are Queen now, my daughter. You cannot think of yourself. You must think of your people.

They are all your people now Shuri.

The haze was lifting. Or perhaps she was finally pushing it away. Pushing away Shuri. Embracing the Queen.

“Nakia is right, Diana.” Don’t slouch Shuri. A queen must always stand tall and proud. She straightened her spine, and if her hands clenched a bit too tightly to the arms of the her throne, no one was cruel enough to notice. Her voice echoed in the vastness of the room. “Wakanda is strong. We stand. We will continue to stand. But the rest of the world is falling into darkness and despair. They need your light.”

Diana said nothing, just stood for long moments with her eyes fixed on the Queen and on Shuri underneath. She was so like T’Challa that way, T’Challa. My brother, seeing all the parts of her whether she showed them or not. But Shuri did not flinch. She was young. She was scared. But she was Queen of Wakanda. She would not think of herself. She would think of her people.

All her people.

Diana still did not speak. But she finally moved, slipping first one then the other gauntlet from her wrists and passing them to Nakia before crossing her arms and lowering her head.

“It shall be as you wish, your Majesty.”

(I grieve, Peter Gabriel)

The world was on fire.

Three and a half billion people gone, but three and a half billion remained. And they were lost and frightened and full of rage.

Thor was on fire. As lost and afraid and angry as the rest of this world. The rest of the universe. A king without a kingdom. A leader without a people. A man without a purpose.

Oh, he had the Avengers. But they were as fractured as the galaxy itself. Full of grief and frustration, they spent more time arguing than planning. He rarely lasted more than an hour in their presence before he could take no more. Eyes flashing, electric fire coursing through him and sparking around him, he would stalk through the halls of the palace and make his way outside, bringing lightning from the sky.

And this was where Diana found him.

(An Angry Blade, Iron & Wine)

#annie writes #seriously guys #if my muse would cooperate #and just stick with ONE idea #my life would be so much easier #on the other hand #I really really really really love the idea of Diana/Okoye #so maybe my muse is onto something

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zhuzhengtingting · 7 years ago

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From Onscreen to Off

Member: Cai Xukun

Genre: angst, fluff

Word Count: 5282 (this somehow got super long rip)

Summary: there came a time where the chemistry between you and Xukun didn’t end when the director called “Cut!”

(my gif)

Sweaty blond bangs plastered to his forehead, rain threatening to fall, and no jacket in sight, Cai Xukun sees you sitting alone, trembling, on the wooden park bench.

You, with your canvas school bag and your hands wrung at your knees. You, with your eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly and your eyes cast on your shoes, you, you, you you you.

You.

He takes a step forward on the cobble, your name tumbling from his lips.

“Xiaodan?”

Your gaze seems to lift in steps, terraces, and when he sees your red-rimmed eyes, his heart...seizes.

“Xiaodan?” he repeats, fainter, unable to do anything else. He watches you softly, wishing to do something, anything, to help you.

A fat raindrop falls on his cheek the same moment the tears finally roll down yours, and he can’t help but kneel at your feet, nevermind the wet street, nevermind the fact that he barely knows you. “Hey,” he says, hesitantly reaching up to touch your cheek.

His thumb brushes away the tears almost tenderly as you stammer, "W-weiyuan?”

“Cut!

"That was fantastic," the director calls, and you and Xukun simultaneously sigh in relief.

As the crew begins clearing up the set, Xukun offers his hand, and you take it gratefully, letting him help hoist you up. "Great work today," he smiles, and you nod in return.

"You too." And because you're unsure of what to say next, you say nothing at all. Instead, you walk with him over to the director and the crew, and nod again when he asks if there's anything you two can do to help clean up.

You're tasked with talking to each other—seriously—as you pick up random sodden trash around the area, but you don't perform very. It's silent, a bit uncomfortably so, for about five minutes of bending over and plucking random whatevers off the street and into a little plastic bag until Xukun almost falls because of the wet stone.

Somehow, a split second later, you're falling backwards too, Xukun's wrist in your tight grip, and there's a strange see-saw effect as you both teeter, trying to offset the other from jamming their tailbone straight onto the cobble. It’s ultimately ineffective, when the balance ends in a splash! and two silly, soaked costars.

Xukun giggles, and you marvel at the strange juxtaposition between the sound and the image he constantly tries to project on set.

It stops abruptly. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks.

You tilt your head. “Like what?”

He’s strangely expressionless when he answers, “like you’re constipated mixed with me having something on my face.”

It isn’t until you, too, burst out laughing that he realizes what he just said, and he quickly tries to cover it up with an “oh my god I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to say that I can’t believe I just said that to you.”

Now snorting, you shush him with a few flaps from your hand. “No, it was just weird hearing you giggle like that. You always make yourself seem rather serious and manly .”

“Always? Wait. Did you know who I was before we were cast?”

You squint at him, careful not to be too disrespectful as you’re still a bit younger than him, when you reply, “of course. Did you think I was living under a rock?”

He gasps, pausing all movement. “But you’re so well renowned.”

“I guess?” you say with a sheepish smile. “I’ve just been in the business for a long time, it’s not like I’m spectacular or anything.”

He frowns, but lets it go. “Are you okay, though?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. You?”

“Me too.”

♡

The first week of filming wraps up with a cast party at a bar.

Xukun, surprisingly, sits alone with a soda and a black satin bomber jacket slung over his shoulders, and you approach him, taking silent note of how his back straightens immediately. You stop next to him.

"Hey, we almost match."

And you do. You're both wearing jeans, a fitted t-shirt, and a satin bomber jacket, woth the only differences being that your jacket and his shirt are white, while his jacket and your shirt are black.

“You don’t have to be so formal,” you tell him when he doesn't respond, pushing over the plate of mini jianbang. “You’re still older than me.”

He stares at it before fixing you with the same intensity as he says, “yes. I do.”

You roll your eyes, wondering why you aren’t used to this already. “Please, don’t. Besides you, I’m the youngest on this set by at least ten years, so it’s both uncomfortable and lonely.” Sticking out your hand, you tack on, “plus, it was fun earlier.”

He takes it cautiously, before inviting you to sit next to him. "You're not drinking alcohol either?"

You shake your head. "I have to shoot a commercial tomorrow. You have a program, right? With your group."

"Yes—yeah," he corrects himself. "How did you know?"

"Lucky guess? I'm a bit smarter than most people tend to think," you laugh.

"You're smart," he says.

"Thanks, but I don't need the validation. What I do need, however, is your phone number if I'm ever going to be able to communicate with you. What's your Wechat username?"

♡

The text you get from him the next morning keeps you noticeably warmer and more alert during the shoot.

He, however, has already left to wait backstage when your reply comes through.

[Cai Xukun → you] good luck today

[You → Cai Xukun] thanks ^.^ you too

♡

Shooting continues to be awkward.

Despite greeting each other much more frequently now, both over text and in person, Xukun keeps his distance. It, thankfully, doesn’t translate over film, but you can’t help but feel a bit hurt and outcast.

You’re used to it, unfortunately. People either find you intimidating or annoying, and, despite your friendliness, you only have about two friends. Maybe three.

Honestly, who cares about awards and fame when you don’t have anyone to celebrate with. You’ve been living on your own for years already, having bought your parents a nice house in an unpopulated and beautiful part of the mid-coast, where they, though peaceful, have rather limited access to wifi.

This time, however, instead of confiding in your few friends about this, you take strength from a fan who’s been with you since you were a toddler. She was a toddler then, too, and you have a binder solely designated for her fan letters and drawings from then until now.

(Sometimes you wish she would leave her SNS information, because she always does bring you great comfort.)

Good luck in filming! I saw you wore the necklace I sent in my last letter to an interview and I really couldn’t help squealing!!! I’m so glad you like it. But... I couldn’t help but notice that you seemed kind of sad, especially when he asked about your social life and your Weibo. It’s kind of desolate, if I may be so honest, but it’s always like that. I just hope you’re making friends. If you’re not—go do that! You can do it! I believe in you! ♥♥

Her encouragement in mind, you eat lunch with Xukun every chance you can, trying to get him to open up with conversation. His replies, though, are always polite, but short, and almost afraid of getting closer.

You always brace yourself for another try.

♡

It takes you pulling Xukun's cheek in an improvised bout of inspiration during a scene for him to finally stop treating you like you're fifty.

“That was uncalled for,” he whines once you’re both done filming for the day.

“Was it, though? I dunno. They looked so plump and inviting, and I think it’s unfair for you to be the only one to be able to poke and touch them.” You then proceed to make him flustered further when you reach up to ruffle his hair.

“Hey!” A second later, his tongue sticks out at you, and you positively cackle.

“What???”

“You’re acting like we’re equals.”

He sighs, but you grin. “Finally.”

“I mean—”

“No. Shut up. Unless you’re going to treat me like a friend, and not a senior, you don’t have permission to speak.”

He groans in frustration. “You’re a tough one.”

“Perfect,” you tell him. “I’m trying to be.”

He looks up at you through his lashes, almost guilty.

“You seem tired,” you say, and that guilty look immediately deepens. “Is it alright for me to ask about it?”

He looks at you full on for a few seconds, before shaking his head and smiling. Just as you’re about to scramble and apologize for intruding, he tells you, “yeah. I’ve had a bunch of legal proceedings to deal with.”

You grimace sympathetically. “With your old company? Don’t look so shocked—I barely don’t live under a rock.”

His next words are directed at his thumbs rather than at you, tumbling out of him like he’s in character. “It’s a bit tiring, to be honest. And I feel as though I can’t really talk about it with the others.”

You sit down next to him, elbow on your knee. “This life tends to be like that. Honestly, I’ve lived most of it alone, so when I saw you, I thought I should try and reach out a bit.”

“Thank you.”

“No need. You’d be helping me more, I think.”

♡

“Hah! Take that, Cai Xukun!”

He falls to his knees dramatically, hands flying to his ears. “I can’t believe I just lost at air hockey. I never lose in air hockey.”

Your replying grin is a bit more mischievous than Xukun has ever seen—albeit a bit ruined by your panting from just going at it—, and when he tells you so, it grows to liken the Cheshire Cat. Corners of the mouth to the ears, wide eyes shifting side to side, and all strangely coincidentally completed with a purple (horizontally) striped shirt.

This is the third time you two have hung out alone. Each time, you both picked a relatively uncrowded area so your masks and disguises wouldn’t invariably end up drawing more attention. An arcade during school and class hours, as you’ve picked this time, fulfills the need of privacy and light hearted fun.

“You destroyed me in basketball an hour ago, though,” you offer as you stretch out a hand to help him up.

“True,” he agrees, and as he takes your hand, he says, “this is a familiar scene.”

Chortling, you dig your heels into the diamond rugged floor and bring him up. It requires much less effort than you would have expected. “At least we’re inside and dry this time.”

“We can change that,” Xukun begins, something sly spreading across his face. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his gray joggers, lifting his t-shirt clad shoulders. “What about going swimming next time?”

You snort in a way much unlike your public image. “Are you going to turn it into a contest, or is this an excuse to see me in a swimsuit?”

“No, no, no, I just like swimming,” he tries to explain quickly, but—

“The glint in your eyes and your red ears say otherwise,” you sing-song, and he laughs awkwardly.

“Okay, maybe it crossed my mind,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck, still somehow looking down to meet you in the eyes. “But that wasn’t the sole—I mean main—reason. I promise.”

♡

Xukun is unhappily surprised when you show up in a swim shirt.

“Sucks to be you,” you tell him, leaning over the edge of the pool to bop him on his (admittedly, much too cute) nose. You’re about to ruffle his wet hair too, when he beats you to it.

“Nope. I’m winning this time.”

“Hm. Maybe,” you say, leaning over further, using his shoulder as support. “Are you wearing colored contacts right now? What, trying to impress all the girls who are not in the pool?”

“Yes,” he deadpans. “All of them—oh my god.”

You.... Well you’ve lost your balance, hand sliding up and past his whole being, nose heading straight for Xukun’s jaw, and are abruptly, and almost violently, stabilized by the heel of his palm under your collarbone. You nearly collapse, choking enough on your own spit to be uncomfortable, but not enough for it to be serious.

Some random guy only a few years older than you walks out the door, but not before whistling.

Xukun stumbles back as you push him in mortification, sliding from the wall of the pool to the actual pool, curling into yourself, before being pulled back up to the surface. Facing you is a concerned Xukun, who quickly turns to a disgruntles Xukun when you dissolve in laughter.

“Oh my god,” you say. “I can’t believe that just happened.”

He shakes his head disapprovingly at you. “Now we have to race. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“What? No. Ew. Exercise.”

He puffs his chest up. “I am older than you.”

“Wow, I cannot believe you,” you begin, but he’s already started. Cheater, you think, sorely tempted to pull on his exposed, but quickly disappearing heel.

You gear up, pushing your feet off the wall and torpedoing to the center of the pool, finally making use of that swim training you received about two years ago for a movie. Unfortunately, due to a lack of... keeping up, you gasp every time you come up for air.

As someone constantly on both big and small screens, and even more frequently being photographed, you stay in shape. You have to.

But “for the love of god, competitive swimming is really something else,” you tell Xukun after he (inevitably) wins.

“Yeah,” he answers. “But, since I won, I should get a prize.”

You raise your eyebrows to the ceiling. “Hm? After cheating, you mean?”

“No, after winning,” he emphasizes. “After all, you did say competitive swimming is something else, which means I’m something else, which means I deserve a prize.”

The look in his eyes is too much and you relent, visibly hunching over. “Okay, fine.”

♡

“You know, when you told me that we were going to watch your favorite movie, I did not expect it to me one of mine,” you tell Xukun, settling on the couch in his dorm.

“I kind of... forgot? I’ve been comfortable around you lately and it somehow slipped my mind,” he explains.

“Comfortable, huh?”

He quickly backtracks. “In a good way.”

“I wasn’t saying it wasn’t,” you laugh. “Good to know.”

He sits next to you, careful not to sit too far, but also not to sit too close as to make it seem like he’s trying to pull anything. “Good.”

“So where are the others?” you ask, looking around. “It’s quiet.”

He shrugs. “I kicked them out.”

You gasp dramatically. “Just for me? What’s a person to do when Cai Xukun—mmmmffffff.” You claw at the pillow he shoves in front of your face.

“Just... shush. Let’s watch the movie.”

He points the remote at the TV, slinging his right elbow on your left shoulder, in a weird, vaguely uncomfortable, vaguely fraternistic gesture.

“You know,” he murmurs about half an hour in, “when I was trying to study for this role, I kept going back to your work. Whenever you act—it’s so believable. Your gestures, your expressions, your tone... Zhang PD would commend you on your balance.”

You stiffen. “Well that was unexpected,” you say, unsure of what else to say.

“I mean,” he stumbles. “Sorry. I know what it’s like to be in the spotlight all the time but, I just wanted to say it’s well deserved. It’s also why I was so... scared to talk to you. Because you’re someone I admire, but it’s different because you aren’t older.”

You inhale, faintly aware of his cinnamon-y scent, more so aware of the cool air going through your body as you watch yourself pick strawberries with bloody hands. “Thank you,” you whisper. “You’re someone to be admired, too.”

He shifts to face towards you. “Is it okay if I hug you?”

The abruptness of it makes you splutter. “I mean, sure.”

His hug is warm, and soft, and your odd focus on the calming sound of his slightly unsteady breathing drowns out the movie in front of you. You pat him on the back, but he moves your hands to rest squarely on his broad back.

It’s nice. Much like the hugs your father gave you as a child, but also much like what you’ve always imagined the perfect hug would be like. Your heart swells, and you can’t help sighing.

Unbeknownst to you, he smiles over your head.

You end up falling asleep like that. Rocked by rhythmic the rise and fall of his chest, snuggled by the warmth of his knit sweater, comforted by his mere presence. He strokes the back of your neck with his thumb, ready to fall asleep himself.

The door creaks open, letting in a storm of noisy boys, an hour after the movie ends, and you’re still face down in Xukun’s arms.

The stare he pins them with is enough to shut them up, and Zhengting sends them scurrying to their rooms with a glance at you and a nod at Xukun.

They don’t shut up quickly enough, though, and you stir, blinking heavily up at Xukun.

You’re bleary eyed, with crazy hair, and suddenly Xukun is hit by how fond he is of you. “Heya, sleepy head,” he hums, and you blink vaguely.

“Hi,” you say, tempted to snuggle your face back into his sweater. “What time is it?”

“Late?” His voice is soft, washing over you. “Probably late.” He sighs. “You should get home.”

“Mmm.” You smack your lips. “I live in this apartment building. Walk me?”

He chuckles. “Okay.”

♡

You wake up to three texts from Xukun.

[Cai Xukun → you] can we hang out again?

[Cai Xukun → you] that was fun

[Cai Xukun → you] btw, you’re cute when you sleep

You groan into your pillow.

[You → Cai Xukun] oh my god

[You → Cai Xukun] I didn’t drool, right

[You → Cai Xukun] wait there’s no way I did you would’ve teased me relentlessly for it

[You → Cai Xukun] I can’t today :/ I have to shoot some solo scenes

[Cai Xukun → you] omg I totally forgot

[Cai Xukun → you] we can hang another time?

[You → Cai Xukun] how about Saturday? I’m free all day and you don’t have any shows

[Cai Xukun → you] wow you keep really up to date

[Cai Xukun → you] Saturday’s good! Good luck! Text me when you get to set.

You smile to yourself.

♡

Xukun comes into your apartment, arms full of vegetables, fish cakes, dumplings, and everything else you told him to get for the hotpot.

“When you suggested getting dinner, this isn’t what I was expecting,” he informs you, slipping off his sneakers and slipping on the blue monkey king slippers you’ve left out for him in the foyer. “But it’ll probably be better.”

“I literally thrive off of hotpot. It’s how I survive every winter.”

He nods sympathetically, pushing up the sleeves of his jean jacket—to which you are almost tempted to ask why, before he ends up taking the thing off to reveal a white sweater. “Beijing can get really cold.”

You shiver. “Yeah.”

When the broth boils and you have both heaped in bunches vegetables and fishcakes, swirling the thin slices of meat just like how you’re supposed to.

Xukun demands that you let him take a picture of you and the food. “I have you,” he says. “Maybe make it my home screen.”

Flustered, you try to move out of frame, but he’s too quick, making sure to send the picture to his email before brandishing it at you.

You’re pink and barefaced, but cozy looking, and you have to admit that Xukun’s photography skills paired with the lighting makes the photo look amazing.

Three seconds later, you’re his home screen, and you can’t tell what that tumbling is in your gut.

“Let me see your home screen,” he says, reaching his hand out expectantly.

You scoff. “No?”

“I am older than you, little bear.”

With a heave of great suffering and mild embarrassment, you give him your phone. Locked.

“Try that....” You trail off. “How do you know my passcode?”

He’s in a stunned sort of silence, before saying, “why’s there a picture of Fan Chengcheng in a face mask and a onesie as your background?”

You blink. “That.”

“It looks like you took it, too,” he continues, baffled, and oddly hurt. “Are you guys together? Why... would you both keep this from me?”

The absurdity shocks you into laughing. “Me? Date Fan Chengcheng?”

Xukun continues to watch you with that mixed expression, much like a kicked puppy.

“No. No, wow, no. Never. I’ve known him since forever, but he’s more like a brother than a potential romantic interest.”

“Then...”

“Why haven’t I mentioned it?”

Xukun nods.

You turn down the heat of the hotpot. “I thought it was unnecessary. I didn’t want to force you into being my friend because we had a mutual friend.”

He’s silent.

“I worked with Bingbing in my first role. Granted, I was about seven, and she was a grown woman, but she was beautiful and kind and ethereal and I adored her. She invited me over to her house to have dinner, and Chengcheng attacked me because he was jealous of how much attention I was receiving.” You sit back. “Somehow, we became friends. Maybe even best friends—but certainly close. That’s why I know your schedule too,” you tack on. “Chengcheng’s almost obsessive in keeping me up to date.”

“I’ve literally never heard him mention you,” Xukun replies slowly.

You shrug. “We’re both capable of having friendships with other people without feeling the need to bring others into it. Xukun, I promise, it wasn’t like we were trying to exclude you.”

“Yeah. You wouldn’t do that to me.”

He puts on a smile. “This beef’s burnt.”

♡

“So? How’d it go? Did you confess?” Chengcheng nearly tackles Xukun as soon as he gets through the door, but composes himself.

Xukun eyes Chengcheng. “Why did you tell me you two knew each other?” he asks.

Chengcheng shrugs, but looks much more concerned than you did. “It didn’t seem—”

“Important,” Xukun finishes. He sighs. “Okay. Also, I don’t have a crush, so there’s nothing to confess.”

“What are you talking about?” Chengcheng shouts at Xukun’s receding figure. “We talked about it this morning!”

“I’m going to bed, Chengcheng. Good night.”

♡

There is no good morning text when you wake up the next day.

Or the next.

You try to catch Xukun after filming, but he runs off as soon as he can, before you even have so much a chance to thank him for working hard, and you’re left wounded and wondering what went wrong.

♡

“Xukun—” you start at the cast gathering that weekend, but he gets up and leaves after murmuring your name in acknowledgement.

“Don’t drink too much,” he adds quietly, clapping his hand on your shoulder.

♡

You show up at his apartment the next morning, visibly agitated.

[You → Cai Xukun] open up

No response.

You’re tempted to bang on the door, but it swings open, and you’re faced with a puffy face Chengcheng. “Come inside,” he says. “Xukun’s in our room.”

You nod at him. “Thanks, little bro.”

You shuffle to their room—you didn’t even bother putting on proper shoes when you left your apartment, just your own pink monkey king slippers.

“Cai Xukun,” you state to the mass on the bed. “Stop avoiding me. You’re acting like you’re twelve.”

The mass curls up even smaller.

“Xukun... you’re hurting me like this. Look, I know that your court case just seems to be getting longer and longer, but I don’t think I deserve to be lashed out at. I at least deserve to be told what I did wrong, if I did something wrong.”

There’s no response, but you continue.

“You are, honestly, one of my first close friends ever, and—. It hurts because I don’t know what I did wrong, and I just feel so lost?” Your voice cracks, and you fight back a tear. A real one, unlike the ones you have to shed for your roles.

“It’s like I’ve been abandoned, and it just hurts.... I can’t breathe properly because of you, because you’re suddenly so cold, and I thought better of you than this—”

There’s a warm hand on your cheek, and you look up to chocolate eyes swimming in something unreadable. “I’m sorry,” Xukun says. “And I really don’t mean to, but I don’t know if I can help it anymore, but... is that really all you think of me as? A friend?”

When you realize what he means by that, you stand, almost in scorn. “No. Fuck you. You don’t get to do that to me. You can’t just play with my emotions like that, and then drop a bomb.” You rip your hand from his, turn on your heel, and stalk out of the room, thoroughly pissed off.

Chengcheng furrows his eyebrows when he sees you even more distressed than before. “What the hell happened?”

“Your center is an immature asshole,” you spit, vindictive, and leave Chengcheng alone in the kitchen, confused.

♡

The next day, you are not happy when you find Cai Xukun sitting across the table from you.

“I thought you said hot chocolate,” you tell Chengcheng.

He lifts up the jar of mix. “And I brought.”

“Alone,” is your pointed reply.

Chengcheng nods. “You two will be.”

“With you, you conniving imp.”

“I never specified,” Chengcheng answers. “I’ll be back in an hour. Try not to bite each others’ heads off.”

You glare at the back of his head like you can shoot lasers into him if you try hard enough as he lets himself out of your apartment.

“I—” Xukun says, but you give a terse shake of your head, not even looking at him.

Instead, you stare at the ice cream, and then the calligraphy on your wall, listening to the ticking and tocking of your grandfather clock.

You are wealthy.

Years and years devoted to your craft, going to school ten five-day-straight weeks a year max, your every heart, body, and soul thrown into each role you are given. Countless romantic stars, a zombie, the mentally ill, physically handicapped, each with a backstory that, if wasn’t already provided, is made vibrant by your own mind and acting.

You have been forty kilos for a role. You have been seventy.

You have gone literal days without any sleep at all.

But none of it compares to your friends—or rather, lack thereof.

“Just meet people online,” they say. It’s not so easy when you’ve become a household celebrity before you even hit puberty.

“Date someone!” That’s risky and unwise, when you don’t even have friends to grow emotionally with, to lean on for support.

The clock chimes on the hour, and Xukun’s eyes are still boring holes into your skull.

Your turn your head to face him.

“Why did you come here?”

“To apologize,” he says, and he’s so small in that moment you’re sure he could fit in a cabinet. “The way I treated you... Well, your words were like a slap in the face, and I swear, I’m usually not like this, but I guess I’m a lot more susceptible to stress than I thought.”

You nod cautiously, making it somewhat clear that he can go on.

“And my— my changing feelings for you didn’t help. Especially seeing that picture of Chengcheng, I just. I don’t know. Something snapped, even though it was dumb and perfectly reasonable. It kind of felt like you didn’t trust me enough with knowing of your and his friendship, or as if you were both hiding something, and I know that wasn’t what you meant to do, but it still felt that way. Especially because... I like you.

“But I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shut you out like that. That was completely my fault.”

You say nothing, simply getting up from the table to get two mugs, pour milk into your steamer, and wait for it to heat up. Once it is, you add in the hot chocolate mix and a sprinkle of

Cinnamon.

“I shouldn’t have cursed at you,” you say, and he nods, eyes lighting up because you’re talking to him at all.

You put the mug in front of him. When he takes it from your hands, his fingers touch yours.

The pain in those eyes is easily visible when you can’t help yourself from recoiling.

“Sorry,” you croak.

“It’s okay.” But it clearly isn’t.

You gaze at him, softening just a bit. “Look, Kun. You hurt me. Not only because you’re my friend. But because—” You laugh at your own foolishness. “Because I think I liked you too. Like. I don’t know. But—we need to work this out first.”

“Okay.”

♡

News breaks out a year and a half later that Cai Xukun and China’s most recognizable young celebrity are dating.

You’re caught by paparazzi strolling together on your one-year anniversary trip to Japan, where you and Xukun decided to visit the famed sakura trees and try literally every food you can.

Weibo is a mess, emails are a mess, your companies are messes, and everything is being denied, denied, denied, until a photo comes out of you two holding hands—hands with clear couple rings on them.

Things are fine now between you two, and you worked on your friendship for months, making sure to build foundations of trust and communication before even thinking about taking it further. He can rely on you, and you on him.

But your fans are divided. Most are, while quiet, supportive of your relationship. Many had already liked you two as a hypothetical couple when your movie came out, and were excited to see the real thing.

Some, while few, are loud and disapproving, or rude, or even hateful.

These your company decides to take legal action against if the harassment continues after being blocked.

But you and Xukun are still in Japan. He has no promotional duties, and you’re on a long-awaited break, so there is no reason to hurry back.

“Hey, what are you thinking about?” he asks you as you climb down the stairs from the temple.

“Nothing, just... you?” You laugh. “Everything still feels new, and I can’t believe that for a whole two weeks I have been doing, and I get to wake up to your handsome face in your warms arms every morning.”

He grins, squeezing your hand. “I think that deserves a kiss.”

“No,” you squeal, running down the stairs before he catches you.

You’re breathless as he plants a big one on your forehead, and then a gentler one on your nose, before finally reaching your lips.

“I can’t believe you’re all mine— What is that?”

“What? Oh, that’s Chengcheng’s ringtone.”

“Do not pick up, please, oh my god—”

“Hey, Chengcheng. Yeah, he’s right here.”

Xukun takes the phone, pouting. “Fan Chengcheng, if you don’t have a good reason for interrupting, I’m hanging up. Not good enough. You have three seconds to come up with something better. Three. Two. One. Bye.”

“Wow, so rude to my little bro,” you say.

“He was interrupting,” Xukun answers simply, before picking you up. “Let’s go get something to eat.”

“Okay,” you agree, hanging around his neck tightly, squeezing your knees into his elbow. “Let’s.”

♡

FIN

#yuu #cai xukun #idol producer #cai xukun scenarios #idol producer scenarios #cai xukun fics #i hope this is good gfffjkdcd #enjoy!!#rip end of ip ;;;#idk who's in the top nine bc i'm finishing this before the live but!! this is my guess

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pinksausageduo · 7 years ago

Text

park jihoon|enemies to lovers

member: park jihoon genre: fluffy w a bit of angst summary: school au! enemies to lovers au! you got publicly turned down and humiliated by jihoon in middle school but what happens when you see him again in high school especially with him giving a sincere apology and doing stuff like giving you 50 roses to get you to forgive him and maybe even fall for him. will you? requested: yes enemies to lovers series: bae jinyoung | ong seongwoo | park jihoon | kim jaehwan | lai guanlin | ha sungwoon | hwang minhyun | yoon jisung

it was your first day at high school and it was going pretty smoothly

but you couldn’t fight down the little bit of nagging at the back of your mind

“what if he was here”

you were hoping and praying he wasn’t

but your prayers were bloody useless

because as you walked into maths class

there he was with all his new friends

looking even more handsome then when you last saw him

park jihoon

and before you knew it your mind flashbacked all the way too middle school

in the middle school you didn’t look so good

you hadn’t gone through the good part of puberty, your braces looked bad, and the glasses you wore didn’t suit your face

you wore baggy comfy clothing and you constantly broke out

the only thing you did was study super hard and stay in the library all recess and lunch

nobody wanted to be friends with you

you didn’t let it get to you much you just wanted someone to be there for you

you know?

so when you got assigned to tutor the most good looking guy in school park jihoon in maths

you were excited but also terrified

at first it was a bit awkward

but after a while you learnt jihoon was more than just a pretty face

he was sweet and caring and worked hard

he treated you the same even though you weren’t in the same “league” as him

after a few months of tutoring

spending time together laughing joking

basically becoming best friends

you realised you liked him a lot

jihoon would remember every small thing about you

“hey i got you your favorite drink” he would say smiling sweetly handing it to you in the morning

you’d blush back and reply with a thanks

jihoon would compliment you

when you wore something nice he’d be like

“wow you look really nice today” with a bit of an awe struck expression

making you feel all giddy and thanking him with a hug

and every time he would smile at you your heart fluttered

he’d give you cheeky winks during class making you smirk or laugh

and after months of after school tutoring at your favourite cafe

with heart warming smiles and funny faces in class

texting every single night about the deepest subjects or the most random things

you thought that jihoon liked you too

so your idiotic self decided to ask him out when he was sitting with all of his friends during lunch

“uhhh hey jihoon could i talk to you” you shyly asked blushing

“um sure” he replied glancing at his friends

but his friends were complete dicks and teased you

“oh come on just tell him right here”

“yeah don’t be a pussy”

“spit it out”

with all the pressure you took a deep breath and quickly said

“jihoon i like you so will you go out with me?”

your heart was hammering and you were fidgeting and you could not look at him in the eye

you were super hopeful but all that died as quickly as you asked him

before he could even answer all his friends burst out laughing

“you and jihoon??!! are you crazy??”

“you might be his tutor but you’re definitely not girlfriend material”

“look at you! you’re disgusting”

“you have pimples everywhere, you’re fat, your braces and glasses don’t suit you at all”

“right jihoon right??!!”

the whole school was looking at the scene

and you were about to burst into tears damn you tried to not let what they said get to you but hearing that it hurt a lot

a small bit of you thought jihoon might defend you right?

but no he made it so much more worse

“yeah the guys are right, you can leave now” he said coldly

but jihoon internally was screaming to himself to bash his friends up for saying that shit

and to say yes to you but he couldn’t

his stupid self cared more about what his friends thought and his reputation than you

and when he met your eyes which was filled with unshed tears

he wanted to kill him self for hurting you this much

he knew you he fell for you a long time ago

yeah your appearance might not be perfect but you were the sweetest girl he’s ever met

and you cared about him for his personality not his appearance or popularity

you guys could have actual conversations and joke around the whole time you were together

you made him laugh and have a good time

one smile from you could make his whole day

but he cared about his stupid reputation more

and when he looked at you in the eye he knew he completely lost you

your heart shattered as he told you to leave

you thought you meant something to him and you were so wrong

you ran out of there crying not caring about missing the rest of school

you ran all the way home and broke down into tears as you got to your bedroom

but that was years ago after that incident you moved schools

and you never heard the name or saw park jihoon again

until that day

with his gorgeous brown eyes and pink lips and his neat but slightly messy hair

his smile fuck you’re sure heart fluttered a bit

BUT HELL NO after what he did

you could never like him again you hate him right?

with your head held high you walked straight past him

he didn’t recognize you

if he did you’d be surprised

you glowed up A LOT

your acne cleared, you wore contacts, braces off, you didn’t wear baggy clothes, you looked like a different person

but as the teacher called your name out on the roll he frantically searched around the room

his eyes landed on you

and shit the tension

jihoon knew it was you, you might be stunningly gorgeous now

but those eyes

the eyes which made him fall so deeply for you

the ones which made him leave his shitty friends after you left and actually grow up

he knew you must hate him but old habits die hard

and he gave you his signature wink and a cheeky smile like he always did when maths class started in middle school

your stomach did backflips

and you remembered when he used to do that back in middle school

you couldn’t help but smile a little

he saw the small smile and he couldn’t help but grin like a lunatic

he might have a chance with you after all

when the bell rung you tried to dash out of there as fast as possible

but jihoon was already standing in the doorway waiting for probably you

and your mind was saying SHIT SHIT SHIT ABORT ABORT NOW!!

you were literally contemplating jumping out the window

but you couldn’t really do that as much as you tempted to

so you took a deep breath and tried to walk as gracefully out of the classroom as possible

that failed

you ended up tripping on one of the desks

and guess what you ended up falling straight into who’s arms

jihoon’s arms

he caught you easily and you automatically gripped his toned arms making you blush

he couldn't help but smirk at your clumsiness

“hey i got you princess” he said soothingly

you got chills as you heard his deeper more attractive voice

and your heart couldn’t help but flutter at the old nickname

he always called you princess and every time he did you couldn't help but feel a little better

but damn he got taller and even more good looking if that was even possible

“thanks” you mumbled and tried to run away like literally you started sprinting

but jihoon was faster and he grabbed your wrist and pleaded

“please y/n just listen to me”

you knew you couldn’t say no to those gorgeous chocolate eyes and that voice

“fine you have 5 minutes” you said coldly

jihoon was slightly taken aback by your cold tone but said as sincerely as possible

“i’m so so sorry for that incident in middle school i was a complete jerk who cared more about his friends then the girl he was completely and madly in love with. gosh i should of defended you, and said yes, not cared about my stupid social life. the moment you left i knew how much i fucked up and i left my friends and actually grew up. i know you must still hate me but i just wanted you to know that.”

you were completely shocked was an understatement

your head was spinning at THE GIRL HE WAS COMPLETELY AND MADLY IN LOVE WITH BIT??!!!

like is he lying is he being truthful??

and the fact how fast your heart was beating was PISSING YOU OFF

you were supposed to hate this this....completely utterly sweet gorgeous guy in front you HES SUPPOSED TO BE A JERK

not a bloody sweetheart

but you couldn’t let your heart give in that easily, and before you could stop yourself

you said to him half sweetly half bitchily conflicted much “you said you changed huh? prove it. you have once chance park jihoon.”

jihoon was actually so happy that you’re giving him a chance and already thinking about the flowers you liked and which food you liked to eat

“i’ll prove you wrong” he said with a sweet smile

and in your head you did secretly hope he did

but instead you raised an eyebrow and turned around and walked as fast as you could out of that corridor controlling the urge to sprint the fuck out of there

and when jihoon said he’d prove you oh boy he did

even though he was a pretty shy and private person

with the help of woojin, jinyoung, daehwi and guanlin his best friends they made sure everyday was a new opportunity for a hella overtop and dramatic gesture

like jihoon was like “i should get her a single rose right?”

“JIHOON NO you’re getting her at least 12″ woojin would say rolling his eyes

“12′s too little like maybe 20??” jinyoung would suggest

“nah 20′s a weird number of roses, 24 is better” guanlin would say

“NUH NUH PEOPLE you need to get her 50 ROSES jihoon you were a complete and utter asshole and that. is. final.” daehwi said sassily ending the conversation

making jihoon groan and whine

mentally calculating how much money he’ll have to spend in the next few weeks if this keeps up

so the next day

you found 50 roses on your desk during maths

you rolled your eyes at the overtop and huge bouquet but could help but think the roses looked gorgeous

you knew it was jihoon who sent them

so you shouted across the classroom to the boys “NOT GOOD ENOUGH”

which all led them to groan and you just smirked

but damn ALL THE GIRLS were fangirling

the next few days you made sure to bring an extra bag

one day it was a huge teddy bear

another was your favourite cake

then was like 7 boxes of pizza

and it kept on going for like 2 whole entire weeks

you couldn’t help it but your heart soften at how hard jihoon was trying to prove he changed

he would still bring you your favourite drink every morning with a sweet “good morning! hope you slept well!” even though you didn’t say a word to him and mostly glared

he would keep making silly faces in class like he used to

and for the first few weeks you actually didn’t react

but after a while you couldn’t help but giggle

and damn his face lit up as you did and he had the most heart melting smile on

all the guys were teasing about how whipped he was

he never denied it though

the teacher assigned you to tutor a maths student since miraculously you’re actually good at the subject tf no not me

you secretly hoped it was jihoon but at the same time you DID NOT want it to be him

so when your teacher told you it was jihoon you weren’t surprised she said your tutoring sessions started this afternoon in the library

but when you got to the library you were surprised to only see kang daniel there who was not in your class but still a pretty good friend

“uhh hey daniel?? i’m not supposed to tutor you right?” you ask a bit confused

“wait what tutoring?? nope it’s not me but keep me company while i wait for seongwoo” he said casually

“okay sure” you said while taking a seat across from him

“so what’s happening between you and jihoon?” he asked smirking

“uh nothing??” you say trying to act dumb

“nothing sureee the whole school’s seen you carrying his gifts” he said disbelievingly

“plus the SEXUAL CHEMISTRY DAMN and also how much you stare at each other” he added

“WE DO NOT!!” you exclaim protesting

“uh huh sure you don’t” seongwoo said sarcastically slipping in the seat next to daniel

“ayyyeee bro you’re here” daniel said putting an arm around seongwoo

“how are you not together yet???” you question trying to change the subject

“uh cause we both have girlfriends” seongwoo said

“mhmm sure you guys do probably covers for your secret relationship” you say

“you might have a point there” daniel says cheekily while giving you a wink

“we gotta go have fun with mr pretty boy” seongwoo says smirking giving a nod at jihoon who gives a nod back

IM SORRY BUT WHAT IS THE NOD GREETING W BOYS LIKE I NEED AN EXPLANATION??

you spin around to spot jihoon who's dashing into library all sweaty and puffed

he pants out “i-i’m s-sorry i’m l-late i thought we started n-next week”

you can’t help but laugh at him and say “wow you really need to work out”

“hey! i have abs!” he protests and he couldn’t help but smile at the fact he made you laugh even though he had to run from the other end of school for it

he’d probably run a marathon for you

you bursted out laughing and poked his stomach

“UH HUH SUREEEEEEEE YOU HAVE ABS” you said still laughing

“I WILL!!” he exclaims

because of your loud laughing and his exclaims

you guys get kicked out by the librarian and you both laughed the whole entire way out

“well where do we go now?” you ask

“our old cafe is still open what about there??”

you remember it as clear as day and gosh you missed those afternoons with jihoon there

“sure i’d like that” you said sweetly

you slowly realised as you kept joking around and talking with jihoon as you got to the cafe

he really did change and damn those butterflies were coming back again

and to be honest you really did not want to stop it

as you go to the cafe

jihoon told you to get a seat and he’d pay and order

and hey free drinks you ain’t gonna complain

he came back with his drink and your favourite drink from the cafe

you couldn’t help but melt into a puddle of goo and you said in awe

“you remembered??”

“of course i did” he said sincerely

and you knew right there and then

you were going to fall for jihoon again

let’s hope this time you didn’t get heartbroken

in the next 3 months you and jihoon became super close

every week you’d go to the cafe and he’d buy the drinks and you guys would joke around and talk but also do maths work

you guys would text every night

the winks and funny faces in class became a regular

and he’d still get you a crazy over the top gift every 2 weeks making you laugh and smile

with your heart beating like crazy

you were falling for him HARD so much more than you did before

which is why you were so much more scared of getting hurt

jihoon always knew he was never over you and he was right

and if it was even possible he was even more in love with you then you were with him

you also weirdly became best friends with seongwoo and daniel

they would always tease you two A LOT

along with daehwi, woojin, jinyoung and guanlin

but they also secretly threatened jihoon about you

“jihoon i like you i really do but if you make her cry i will personally make sure you’ll never be able to reproduce ever again” seongwoo said nicely threatening him

“seongwoo’s being too nice i’ll make sure you don’t live to like another girl okay??” daniel says with a bit more edge

“you promise not to hurt her right??” seongwoo asked

jihoon was so taken aback but also quickly reassured them

“of course of course i’m completely in love with y/n i promise i won’t hurt her ever again especially like the way i did before”

“okay good if you make her happy we’ll be the nicest people you’ll ever know” daniel says with a relieved smile

even daehwi, woojin, jinyoung and guanlin who you also became really close with were like

“dude if you hurt her like you’re my friend but i will beat you up” woojin said

“count me in” jinyoung added

“like i really do love you jihoon but y/n damn don’t know how she even gave you a chance but if you mess it up i won’t hesitate to mess you up” guanlin casually said

“just don’t hurt her and you won’t have to deal with the consequences” daehwi finished with a warning tone

jihoon was like slightly scared of like his friends turning on him but he quickly reassured them that he would never want to hurt you

gosh i want these guys in my life sooo bad

jihoon finally decided after one study date session to ask you out

he decided to do it infront of everyone like you did years ago

he hated being this public but he felt this is the only way his guilt will finally go away

he knew there as possibility you wanted revenge and would reject him in front of EVERYONE but he didn’t care

he deserved it for hurting you

he deserved so much more than that for hurting you

so the next day he got a beautiful bouquet of your favourite flowers

and as everyone settled down in the cafeteria

he came up to you everyone quieted down hoping he was asking you out

since the whole school has been waiting for it to happen

jihoon came up to you shaking at how nervous he was with the flowers in one hand

and your eyes widened as he kept on approaching

your heart started beating super duper fast

and your stomach was doing backflips

jihoon came up to you with that adorable smile of him and nervously said “uhh y/n so years ago you were in this position and i was complete utter immature idiot and rejected you so here i am in the same vulnerable position hoping for the complete opposite of what happened before”

your eyes widened at every word and you knew what he was about to ask and you knew your answer

jihoon took a deep breath before asking

“y/n, i have loved you for years and i love you more and more every day so will you go out with me?”

you were shocked but you were so so happy

but a mischievous grin settled on your face

hey he rejected you in front of your school years ago sooo he should have a little taste of his own medicine

“no” you shortly reply and his face fell and he looked so sad that you couldn’t help but

burst out into a huge grin and said “nah i’m just kidding i’d love to jihoon”

“wait really??!!” jihoon exclaimed as a grin broke out on his face

“yeah i really do” you say giggling as you felt the happiest you ever felt

you wrapped your arms around him and he instantly hugged you tightly back

you felt so loved in his arms and the fact you knew he loved you back made his hugs a 100 times better

you look at each other and you heart kept beating faster and faster

and then he leaned in slowly and as your lips met

there were fireworks everywhere in both of your minds

you part after a little while from the sweet kiss

everyone was cheering and wolf whistling

with a “WOW JIHOON IS ACTUALLY NOT GAY” from daehwi

“i wish he was” guanlin said jokingly not

but neither of you payed attention to them

his face is in the most love struck smile you’ve ever seen

he gave you THAT smile where he ends up getting a bit embarrassed and looks down but still can’t help the huge smile on his face

and gosh your heart died

he whispered to you with you guys still hugging each other

and you knew that you finally got your happy ending when he said

“i love you MY princess”

IM SORRY FOR NOT ADDING ALL THE WANNA ONE MEMBERS UGH it bothers me when i add most of them but not all bUT WHatEVer anywaysssss 3rd instalment of enemies to lovers series!!! yayyyyy i originally had the plot soooo different like a fashionista thing but i changed it which is why it took me so long to post whoopssss BUT HOPE YALL LIKE IT

also special thanks to everyone in everyong who gave me motivation to actually start and finish this fic and to joy hope anon who i love heaps and my first regular anon hope you like it!!!

#wanna one #wanna one scenarios #wanna one imagines #produce 101 #produce 101 scenarios #produce 101 imagines #produce 101 season 2 #park jihoon #jihoon #park jihoon scenarios #park jihoon imagines #park jihoon fluff #park jihoon enemies to lovers #lee daehwi #park woojin #bae jinyoung #lai guanlin #ong seongwoo #kang daniel

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