#And now everyone is spreading rumours that you straight up just killed him

[tinfoil-jones]

Jerk Ford AU: Silliness V

If you mean Watchdog Ford by @nowimjustastranger, whom is sometimes called "Guard Dog Ford" Those two aren't friends. They just happen to run into each other a statistically impossible amount of times in the multiverse.

Any and all reports that they've saved each other skin at least once, and hang out sometimes are just rumours spread by their mutual ally (ALLY not friend) the Anti-Ford.

If you mean Guard Ford from the AU by @skeptiql... it's their AU, I'm not imposing on it.

If there is a cosmic security guard out there monitoring the Fordverse, considering that all Jerk Ford does in the multiverse is be a total jerk to everyone and cause trouble (and then get banned from dimensions for the two aforementioned reasons), I imagine reactions to him are typically going to be:

He's not heinous, malicious, or evil, he's just a really big jerk for no good reason.

---

Me and @nowimjustastranger are in the process of proper crossover, don't worry.

In the meantime...

Pre-Weirdmageddon:

Jerk Ford: Watch, this is Stanley. Stanley, this is Watchdog Ford and Lee.

Watchdog Ford: ...

Lee: ...

Stan: Well heya pal. It's nice to see Stanford's made more friends! I knew he had it in him to be nice and compassionate.

Jerk Ford: Stanley, I swear to God.

Watchdog Ford:...You're-

Lee: You're tall.

Stan: *looks between Watchdog Ford and Jerk Ford in an exaggerated up-and-down to annoy his brother*

Stan: *to Watchdog Ford* So are you.

Lee: *grinning* Oh, we're going to get along just fine. Let's chat.

---

Watchdog Ford: You... You aren't suffering?

Stan: If you don't call grading two hundred student assignments without assistance suffering, then sure.

Lee: ...nothings wrong?

Stan: Right now, no. I did miss my brother for the thirty years he was gone. It wasn't easy... the townsfolk truly believed I murdered him, and thought that was a good thing. And then acted like I was wrong for missing him.

Lee: So everything went okay for you?

Stan: I don't know what to tell you, pal- excluding not having Stanford in my life for thirty years and the issues that comes with that, things are going fine. If I'm having trouble I can just ask someone for help, and if I have problems emotionally I have friends and family that would lend me an ear or two. Also, I am medicated and seeing a therapist for stuff.

Lee: ...

Meanwhile Jerk Ford is in the corner sipping from his #1 Big Brother mug, and Watchdog Ford gets suspiciously misty eyed.

[Dialogue primarily by @tearosepedall]

---

It's a misconception at that Jerk Ford does not experience empathy (or at least not any for anyone besides his twin brother). This misconception is one of the reasons why The Ford Hate Club is always tripped up by him - they don't understand him. They think he's unfeeling with little to no emotional intelligence.

He has a surprising amount of empathy, you can see in this post he even says that most other Fords do not hate their Stanley, what they really have is resentment.

Jerk Ford just uses that empathy to know how to get under peoples skin and really hurt their feelings. Can't hurt feelings very well if you don't know what they are or how they work!

What he does lack is compassion, as in he doesn't help, support, or uplift people. That's a Stanley thing.

---

Jerk Ford: Your attack misses.

Dipper: Misses?! With my bonuses I had a total of twenty-three to hit!

Jerk Ford: That doesn't even touch the monsters THAC0.

Dipper: THAC0? Great Uncle Ford, 3.5 Edition is over! It's armour class now!

Jerk Ford: I'm the DM, and I rule your attack misses.

Dipper: *flips the battlemap, forgetting that the infinity dice is there*

---

Jerk Ford had such a bad habit of getting engrossed into his research and study that he would overlook things like finances (and showering). Stanley managed the finances between himself and and his brother, and he did send money back to the family, not millions but it was something.

Jerk Ford also had most of the money because he had his grant, and also a few patents, but Jerk Ford only cared about anamolies and terrorizing humanity so money wasn't something he thought about very much as long as their basic needs were being met.

When he lived back in Glass Shard Beach with his family, however...

"We should go graffiti Pines Pawns."

"Hell no, dude."

"What, you scared of Old Man Pines?"

"Forget Old Man Pines, don't know know what his son did to Crampelter? We don't need to be on his sh*t list."

[mazuwii]

I really like your royal prompt. Can you write scenario or headcanons for Erwin Smith before and after marriage of this prompt where his s/o is a princess

•Erwin was a knight like no other, he wasn't afraid to speak his opinion and even spoke up in a moment of crisis, the other knights warned him to back down, even seizing him, awaiting for your father to announce an execution.

•But no, instead your father low-key was interested in this man. He told the knights to let him go, asking Erwin to speak some more.

•Idk how but Erwin just has a magic way with his words, it's amazing just what he can do.

•Also just the definition of the original philosopher in your village, but he isn't really self proclaimed, he just has a knack for making his opponents rethink their entire life, their entire existence. Before you know it, the enemy may kill themself

•By the way that isn't a joke, he once made an intruder kill themself just by talking to them once they were cornered. Honestly it was amazing but scary. The whole situation in which Erwin had a knife to his own neck and demanded everyone stay away from him- even though- man's is about to die?! 🗿

•You were awake because of all the commotion and had two knights standing by you just in case. It was like a horror movie, by the time Erwin stopped talking, the knife safely slid past his neck and went straight into the intruders chest. By his own palms. A clean suicide.

•Please even when he dropped dead, Erwin just awkwardly stood there, with a dead bleeding man laying right behind him.

•Of course, everyone was stunned for a good second, some even considering whatever traumatising shit Erwin just spilled. After a good few seconds of staring, the knights gathered around the body to put it away. (That sounds sketchy lmao, my bad.)

•Just because he had no reaction to a literal man dying not even a few centimetres away from him, doesn't mean he doesn't care about you 🥺 his eyes softened when he noticed you were up, staring in horror at what just occurred and came up to you to ask if you were okay.

•He told the other knights he'd escort you to your room. No one really batted an eye, they didn't suspect anything so they just let him go and told you to stay in your room till morning. To stay safe and all that.

•He didn't stay too long since he had duties to tend to, but he didn't leave without tucking you in and giving your forehead a kiss.

•He even reassured you. Kneeling beside your bed and holding your hands, "I don't even know how he managed to get in." He chuckled, remembering just how fast he was held at knifepoint. He could have just flipped him over his back, but there were too many people, that stunt could have ended in disaster.

•"Win... it was a peasant, he's just trying to help his village." You whimpered in pity. The kingdom is too corrupt, so corrupt that you had to witness such a sad death. If this is what you encounter in the palace then what horrors occur outside of it?

"It's okay, the kingdom won't be like this forever, I'm going to help everyone out." He stroked your hand with his palm. "You won't have to worry about anyone else again." He offered you a kind smile, relieved when you reluctantly gave one back.

With one last kiss he took off to his job.

•The king takes Erwin into his meetings after finding out what happened last night, the entire palace maids, butlers, workers were gossiping about it.

•Whatever he says, it's getting the wires to work in your fathers head. It's astounding, keeping in mind, Erwin makes sure to never ever accidentally bruise the kings ego with how intelligent he is.

•He's offered a job as the kings advisor. His reputation was always widely known as a superhuman, I wouldn't be surprised if people spread false rumours that he had powers.

•It's a mystery with all the positive traits. His reputation had come to light to royals and now he was actually working by your fathers side.

•This is perfect for you because now you can lie to your dad, telling him how you want to go on expeditions too, that you miss him so much when he leaves the palace. And he agrees. You and Erwin are always together, even when your father introduces him to you, you giggle at how humble he is.

•Even so, your dad is oblivious. Even when you two show signs of major chemistry. Erwin is so nice though, when he bows down to you, or compliments you, he actually means it, he's not doing it out of fear or to kiss up to the royals.

•After a few months of this job being given to him, the kingdom improves- drastically in a great way. The perfect rule of life is passed down to all the villages, there's no classism or discrimination.

•People know it's all Erwin's doing but they praise the king out of fear that they'll get the blonde killed out of jealousy.

•Anyway, the king wanted to insure Erwin's safety at all times and thought that he'd be able to keep him in the royal family at all times by arranging a marriage with his eldest daughter. You.

•Both of you seemed to get along just fine so why not?

•Honestly it was hilarious to you, getting told at lunch. Your dad broke the news to you as if you'd get up throwing cups at his face, he was expecting you to fight back but you only sighed in pretend disappointment.

•when Erwin was told he had a straight face but obeyed all orders, once it was all over, he began laughing, wondering how you reacted to this since all he heard was: "The princess would be delighted to take your hand in marriage."

•Because this is the oldest daughters wedding, the marriage ceremony was quite huge- more than you'd hope for. It was amazing though, Erwin wore gold and red, you were in a white dress to symbolise purity despite the fact you and him have been everything but 'chaste'

•it took forever to get the vows already done with but by the time it was over the party began and honestly it felt incredible to finally be so open about your relationship with him. You could link arms freely, hug each other, even slow dance.

•Before as a knight, he'd still do it with you, he said that dancing was something that calmed him down after a hectic day or journey, he'd just hug you and maybe sway for a while.

•But your dad was pleased to see you both get along amazingly, not knowing shit.

•Everyone was suspicious- except for your dad 🗿 like shit man I don't think you should be running a kingdom.

•You guys would rule the kingdom equally but it's mostly dominated by Erwin, because he puts in the most ideas and brainwork. I guess a majority of the time, you're there to add onto points.

•Other times though you don't really attend meetings, you'd visit the villages and see what needs to be done in them. Honestly, it's a better place, not quite paradise... but a good place.

[zhongwans]

Today!! I woke up to multiple posts of ZZH's endorsements <3 I can feel all the stress finally washes away. Do you think he should clarify things? Personally I don't mind if he keeps silence indefinitely

I was on the stay silent side, too, but now I think what he just did is even better!

Explanation for everyone else lol:

The rumours and yxh attacks circulated quickly during a time of national crisis (flood in Henan) and if he had clarified things during that time, it will certainly be used against him for "making things about him when there's a national crisis at hand". In China when there are situations like this it can be considered insensitive for celebs to do things that may "overshadow" important news. ZZH stayed silent, but then it was used against him by spinning the narrative that those rumours must be true because he is not trying to refute them. On the other hand, there were already bought hotsearches prepared for when he does make a statement. It was a "damned if you do, damned if you don't" kind of situation.

*yxh accounts = marketing accounts that post mostly gossip for traffic and clicks, can also be paid to post things or spin certain narratives.

For those who don't know what all this is about, recently there was a wave of rumours regarding ZZH. The narratives changed almost everyday, but it consistently involved ZZH's ex-gf. It all started with ZZH and her supposedly getting back together in March, and then turned into them getting engaged, and then evolved into her and ZZH actually being married all this time and are about to have a baby. A more sinister angle is that ZZH is supposedly forcing GJ into performing CP fanservice with him for money and attention, framing it as a scam perpetuated by ZZH and his ex-gf. Mind you, the lady is not a celebrity, and yet her name was exposed and her pictures used. There are many speculations and theories regarding the sudden appearance of these rumours and how quickly they spread, but I won't discuss them since there's no proof. I do have my own suspicions, though.

So yesterday (7/29) ZZH finally acted. His artist studio posted a letter from his lawyer.

Basically he's suing some people on weibo for spreading malicious rumours about him being secretly married, having kids, being a faker, etc. The faker one I'm not sure exactly, but I looked up the posts of the people he's suing and it's likely referring to those rumours of him faking being in a gay relationship for money (卖腐)

There's also a second lawyer letter from another law firm (Beijing XingQuan) and says that he's suing certain weibo users for defamation and derogatory remarks like calling him a scammer.

I think going directly for the kill was smart. By doing this he also avoided the hotsearch traps lying in wait for his studio's denial statement in order to turn it into fodder for more malicious gossip and attacks. This way it's straight to the point, and he's pointedly refusing to engage in their little game.

[rebelwrites]

Restoration

Jax Teller x Daughter Reader

“You gonna actually behave for your father this week?” You mum asked as you packed your bag.

“Maybe, depends if he pisses me off or not” you shrugged.

The thing was your mum and dad split about 4 years ago, a year after Abel was born. They had you at a young age, at 15 to be precise, you was now 18 and had seen their relationship completely fall apart, you saw how he treated your mum towards the end of the relationship and you hated it, you hated how he made your mum feel, how you saw the whole thing. However you were grateful Abel was still too young to understand what was going on.

“Y/N please, I know you don’t get along with him but he is your dad at the end of the day” mum sighed.

“Not gonna change my opinion on him” you laughed.

Even though your parents weren’t together anymore they never actually filed for a divorce.

“Just try” mum said placing her hand on your shoulder “for Abel at least, it’s hard enough on him as it is”

“And it’s not hard for me mum” you spat “try going through school where everyone is obsessed with the sons, constantly badgering me about them, about dad, asking if the fucking rumours are true”

You knew that your mum wasn’t completely innocent in the whole relationship break down. So you had an attitude with them both.

The drive to Teller-Morrow was silent, neither you or your mum spoke because you were your father’s daughter at the end of day, your mum always said it was like having a female Jax in the house, the way you held yourself, your attitude, your temper. So no words were spoken just for Abel’s sake, he didn’t need to see his sister and mum biting each other’s heads off.

Climbing out of the car, you grabbed your bag from the boot, before wandering off to find your uncles, at least you had a good relationship with them, it was just the relationship with your dad that was rocky.

You didn’t get it, he was such a good father to Abel, but with you it was a different story, one of his biggest regrets was you seeing the breakdown happen, all the arguments that happened when you were younger. Since then you saw the man that you once saw as your hero as the bad guy.

“Hey kiddo” Jax grinned, opening his arms to you.

“Whatever dad” you huffed walking by him, dumping your bag on the picnic bench before placing a cigarette in your mouth.

“She’s in a mood, sorry Jax” you heard mum say, making you roll your eyes. “Give her a couple of days and she should calm down”

“She’s so much like me it’s scary” he sighed as he watched you laugh with Tig and Happy.

“If you’re gonna talk about me can you at least go somewhere where I can’t bloody hear you” you snapped not looking at them.

Jax knew that with both his kids being here with him for the week, he was going to try his hardest to mend the bridges that had once been burnt. He wanted nothing more than getting his little girl back.

“I will speak with her” Jax nodded as he took Abel into his arms, who was grinning at the sight of his daddy.

At least one of his kids didn’t hate him.

However he had a plan, he knew you loved bikes, so he had one sat in the garage waiting to be restored and he was hoping it was something you could do together and then he could teach you to ride. He knew it wouldn’t magically fix the relationship but at least it would give you a memory that wasn’t bad.

Your mum had now left, which meant you were stuck with your dad for the next week, no doubt it would be a week of you looking after Abel, it always was when you were here, the club came before you. It always had and always would.

“Table in 5” Jax shouted as he walked into the club, he didn’t miss the eye roll that came from you, he knew what you thought, you had only been here 10 minutes and he was putting the club before you. But this time would be different.

“Okay so everyone knows my relationship with Y/N is very much on the rocks right now” Jax sighed running his hand over his face. “And I know it’s my fault and I want to fix that, so this week I only want to be involved in club business if the shit has hit the fan. Anything else speak to Chibs, I need to fix things with my little girl before it is too late”

Everyone nodded, they knew how much Jax loved you, you was his first born at the end of the day and it killed him knowing that you hated him.

“Anything we can do to help we are here” Happy nodded.

“Thanks Hap but this is something I need to do on my own, I created this mess so I need to fix it” Jax sighed “If it can be fixed”

It was now Wednesday and Jax still hadn’t made any progress, the bike lay untouched in the garage, and you hadn’t spoken more than a few words a day to him.

“Uncle Hap am I being a bitch?” You sighed looking up at him as you lit a smoke.

“Honestly kiddo, I know where you are coming from but he is the only dad you are gonna get” Happy said placing his hand on yours. “I know the reasons you have for hating Jax but he misses his little girl, I’m not saying forgive him straight away but stop shutting him out”

“I miss my dad” you sighed “but you didn’t hear me say that”

“My lips are sealed” Happy nodded “you know he took a step back from the club this week to spend time with you and Abel”

“I didn’t know” you sighed running your hand over your face.

“I think he wants to restore a bike or something with you” Hap smiled kissing your head “he’s in the garage”

Trudging into the garage with your head hung low, you felt guilty about how you went off at dad this morning.

“I’m sorry” you mumbled, not looking up.

You heard him sigh and his footsteps getting closer to you.

Talk about irony, the radio had started playing bad husband, scoffing as dad placed his hand on your shoulder.

You can be a liar and a good father A good dad, but a bad husband

“Guess the song is 90% right” you sighed “you are a good father to Abel at least”

“Hey look at me kiddo” Dad said lifting your chin. “My biggest regret in life was letting you see all the fights between me and your mum. I know that has done so much damage to our relationship but I never stopped loving your or your mum okay”

You stayed silent, you didn’t know what to say.

Forever be a hero in my eyes, But there’s always another side. To a good father. A great dad, but a bad husband

“Look me and your mum still love each other and we probably always will” he sighed “we just don’t work well together okay but that doesn’t mean I stopped loving you”

All I want is for us not to hurt. And it’s been an exhaustive search to find the words

The song was basically saying everything you couldn’t.

But I’m not so sure how to close this. I just don’t know how some people can be so good At one thing and so fucked at a whole ‘nother, shit, it’s no wonder

You both just stood there not saying a word as Jax pulled you into his arms holding you tight.

“I’m not saying we have to go back to being as close as we once were but I want a chance, a chance to mend the bridges I burnt, I want to be in your life and not as someone you hate” Jax whispered.

Nodding your head, you sniffed as a tear fell down your cheek, this was the most you had talked in a year. All you wanted to hear over the past year was that your dad still loved you.

“You don’t have to say anything yet sweetheart” dad whispered kissing your head “now what do you say to helping your old man fix this bike up and then I would like it if you let your old man teach you how to ride”

“I’d like that” you mumbled.

The next few days flew by and your mum had arrived to pick you and Abel up. Pushing yourself off the bench you walked over to her with a slight smile on your face.

“Come on, let’s get you home” mum said.

Glancing over to your dad you smiled softly before turning back to your mum.

“Actually mum, I think I’m gonna stick around here a bit longer” you nodded feeling Jax place his hand on your shoulder squeezing it softly. “I wanna stay with dad, we still have a bike to finish”

-

Your mum stood staring at you, confusion spread all over her face.

“You want to willingly stay?” She questioned

“Yup” you nodded.

“Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?” She laughed before turning to Jax “you okay with her staying?”

“Course I am” he beamed at the fact you wanted to stay with him longer.

As soon as you said bye to your mum, you headed back into the garage leaving Jax stood there in his own world.

“Come on dad the bike isn’t gonna fix its self” you laughed rolling your sleeves up.

The hours flew by and you was both covered in grease, Chibs walked outside hearing all the laughter coming from the garage, a smile formed on his face as he snapped a photo of the two of you before walking back into the club house.

“Okay a know normally a would bring this ta table but no one is to disturb Jackie Boy, a don’t care wha it is, if it’s club business, Ye arms fallen off or Ye are on fire, ye come ta me” Chibs smiled leaning against the bar. “Tha is until further notice, this is wha they both need”

Everyone nodded in agreement, it was nice to see you and Jax not at each other’s throats and they knew that the fact you wanted to stay here meant you really wanted to rebuild the relationship

Standing back from the bike something clicked.

“Why does this bike look so familiar?” You asked.

“Well princess it was your grandads” Jax grinned draping his arm around your shoulder.

“JT’s” you said looking up and he nodded. “Wait and you are just letting me have once we have fixed her up?”

“That’s the plan” Jax laughed “he would have wanted you to have it and it’s better than it sitting gathering dust”

You were in awe, you knew how much this bike meant to him. Wrapping your arms around him you gave him a tight hug.  

Neither of you talked about much other than the bike, outside of the garage you were slowly building things back up, you both knew it would take longer than a week but it was a start.

“So your mum says you’ve been getting into trouble at college?” He asked as you were packing the tools up.

“Meh” you shrugged “someone said something, I didn’t like it so I fucking punched them and broke there nose. No biggie”

Jax couldn’t help but smirk, you were exactly like him, in so many ways.

“You can’t say anything dad you taught me talking was boring when you can fight it out” just as you said it an idea popped into your head. Spinning round on the balls of your feet you grinned at your dad.

“No, nope happening” He laughed when he realised what you was thinking “me and you aren’t going at it in the ring” he chuckled.

“Why do you think you will lose old man” you taunted.

“Nope it’s not that” he said looking up “I am not boxing with my daughter”

“You’re just scared because you know I’m gonna beat your ass” you giggled squaring up to him.

He knew you weren’t gonna back down. You was a Teller at the end of the day.

“Fine but if you get hurt you are telling your mum it was your idea” Jax sighed in defeat.

And with that you ran off into the clubhouse to tell everyone.

It was now 7pm and Tig was wrapping your fists.

“You sure about fighting your dad kiddo?” He asked.

“Uncle Tiggy I’m sure” you nodded “we need this, well I need this. If I’m gonna let go of the past I need to do this”

“Okay then” he smiled kissing your fist “beat the shit out of your old man”

You were now standing face to face with your dad in the ring. He knew what was happening, and he wasn’t going to fight back, he had overheard what you said to Tig. So if beating the shit out of him was what you needed to forgive him then that is what he was going to let you do.

Punch after punch, you felt the anger flow through your fists, you were fuelled by every bad memory, everything he did and he just let the punches keep coming.

Your emotions got the better of you as you scream, pounding your fists against his chest as you burst into tears. As soon as this happened Jax wrapped his arms around you, dropping to his knees holding you tight.

“That’s it princess let it all out, all the anger, all the pain” he whispered rubbing your back. “I’m never gonna leave you okay, no matter what happens with me and your mum, you will always have your old man in your corner. My biggest regret is you saw everything happen, I never wanted you to feel like I loved Abel more than you, you are my little girl, my princess and I love you”

Once you had calmed down, you felt a weight had been lifted off your shoulders, you no longer felt an immense hatred towards your dad.

It had been a couple of days after the ‘fight’ and you had actually started to open up. The bike was finished and you were just putting the tools away.

“I want to drop out of college” you said “it’s really not for me, I struggle with the exams and coursework”

“You know whatever you decide I will support you” Jax smiled softly at you, hee knew where you was coming from, he was exactly the same when it came to tests and the theory behind things. “If you did drop out what would you do?”

“Actually I wanna be a mechanic” you said looking up. “Maybe I could work here”

“Why don’t you sleep on the idea and if you really want to drop out then we will get it all sorted” he said kissing your head. “Now what do you say we take her for a spin?”

“You think I’m ready for the roads” you laughed.

“You are a natural” he grinned tossing you your helmet “it’s in your blood”

The rest of the day was spent riding round the streets charming, a smile on your face and your relationship with your dad well on the road to being what it once was. Never in a million years you would have thought that restoring JT’s bike would actually restore your relationship as well.

[missymurphy1985]

The Medic (Part 8)

Warning - angst

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @peakyciills @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @namelesslosers @misscarolineshelby @screemqueen @cilleveryone @peaky-cillian @misselsbells06 @datewithgianni @heidimoreton

Back in Cillian's hotel room later, the two of you were talking about the messages. Trying to decide what to do, work out who the threat could have come from. Narrowing it down was difficult - every single cast member was on set this afternoon, there was no way of pinpointing who it could have been.

"Paul, Sophie and Tash were in the queue ahead of you, so it can't be them..." He said, sipping a glass of red wine while you stared at the photo on your phone.

"Could it have been Anna?"

"She was sat with Finn by the coffee machine, I remember the death stare she gave me."

"Yeah, about that. Was there anything going on with you two?" You asked, making him laugh.

"She tried. Unsuccessfully. She just wants to up her profile and get more screen time. Fucking an executive producer. She was shit faced at the wrap party last series and tried to kiss me when I took her back to her room. Left her on her own telling her I wasn't interested. She spread rumours around set that we hooked up - I can promise you we did nothing of the sort."

"I believe you. She's so not your type."

"I have a type now do I?"

"Yeah - quiet girls who don't kiss and tell. Non-famous. Low profile. Someone you can come home to at the end of a long day filming and be relaxed around. Someone normal."

"Do you tick all of those boxes y/n?"

"I think I do. I'm sorry I yelled at you earlier.."

"No need. I didn't tell Helen though. She caught us behind the trailers after lunch. She told me off and slapped the back of my head for being a horny little schoolboy!"

You had to laugh - it was like being caught by the teacher snogging behind the bikesheds at school.

"Seriously, what are we going to do?"

"Whoever sent that has clear evidence that would either label me a sex pest at work, or destroy your career. We need to contact whoever it is making the threats. It's clearly someone on set. I have an idea."

*************************************************************

The following morning, Cillian called a mass team meeting for the final day of shooting. The series would be wrapped after this one, and due to everyone's schedules being so busy a wrap party hadn't been arranged until the following month, so he brought the cast and crew together with the illusion of it being a farewell and thank you to everyone. You were sat next to Kate as he delivered his speech.

Kate suddenly reached into her handbag and disappeared out the back, and your heart dropped. Cillian noticed it too but carried on with the end of his speech. Once he'd finished, and the room clapped and cheered, he excused himself and headed out to where Kate had left. You followed him, Helen close behind.

"You... You backstabbing little bitch!" You cried as Helen held you back. You wanted to tear her hair out.

"What?" She cried, backing away.

"Did your phone ring while you were in there?" Helen asked, as Cillian took your hand and held you close to him to stop you killing her.

"Yes..."

"Is it ringing now?" Helen asked, holding her own phone up as it rang the number that had messaged you both the day before. Her phone flashed up with an incoming call.

"Kate? Of all people... Why?" Cillian asked, completely dumbfounded.

"Because of YOU!!" she barked, staring straight at you.

"Me??"

"Yes you!! Perfect little you! Straight A student YOU!!! You always had to be one step ahead of me didn't you? Always had to be better! You know how long I've tried to get into Emergency medicine, and there you go applying for the position I wanted and you fucking got it, didn't you??"

"Kate, you didn't even tell me you'd applied for it!? If you had I'd never have gone for it!"

"Yes you fucking would! Just like everything else - you see something I want and you TAKE IT!" She looked at Cillian and then back at you.

"Kate you're married!"

"To a fucking loser! You KNEW I had a crush on him, and you couldn't resist could you? You said on the way up here that he wasn't even that good looking!! Took you less than 72 hours to fuck him though, didn't it? If I hadn't admitted I liked him you wouldn't have touched him with a bargepole and you fucking know it!"

"Okay well we've established that you're clinically insane at least..." You seethed. Helen took Kate to one side and talked to her alone. You couldn't hear what she was saying.

"Not that good looking huh?" Cillian whispered in your ear.

"Oh be quiet, I'd only ever watched one movie you were in and you were a plane riding terrorist."

Helen came back with Kate who still had a face like thunder.

"Give them the phone." Helen ordered and Kate, surprisingly handed it over. You took it and opened up the message app, deleting the photo. You also deleted it from her gallery. Cillian took the phone from you and threw it to the ground, stomping on it as hard as he could.

"That's what you get for calling the nice guy of Hollywood a fucking sexual predator," he spat. Kate looked at you both and you could see a mix of tears and anger in her eyes.

"Kate... I never once wanted to get one over on you. Never. There was a job coming up at the hospital next month that I was going to recommend you for! I was the one who helped you all the way through uni when you needed it. I was the one who told Dr Taylor to give you the job onset here! You didn't know any of that, did you?"

"You did that?"

"Yeah, I did. Now you've thrown away a perfect friendship because of some petty jealousy issues. Well done you."

"Y/n I'm sorry..."

"Take your 'sorry' and shove it up your arse. You nearly ruined us. Go to hell."

"Any more photos, footage, or stories even come close to the public eye and all three of us will sue you for slander. Understand?" Helen threatened, making Kate back down. She nodded, tears in her eyes as she walked away. Your legs buckled underneath you, Cillian catching you quickly as your emotions spilled out. You sobbed against his chest, nearly 20 years of friendship gone in the click of a camera. You'd never trust her again.

"Friends like that aren't worth it - she gets to live out her life without you in it, and you get to live yours with him in it. I think it's a pretty fair trade, don't you?" Helen soothed. Your tears easing, feeling him kiss the top of your head.

"Oh and I believe you know Doctor Taylor?" She said, making you turn to face her.

"He was my professor in med school.."

"Well he just happened to be my husband's cousin. I spoke to him about your little 'situation'. There's no issue here - you're not his doctor you're an onset medic - there's a big difference. You won't lose your license for this," she smiled.

"Really?"

"Really. He checked with the medical board - it's a non-issue."

With that Cillian scooped you up, and planted the biggest kiss on your lips, spinning you round.

"I don't have to hide now," he grinned as you laughed in his arms.

"Put her down Cill, we've still got a day of filming! And we only have one medic now so try not to hurt anyone, yeah?"

[amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines]

Cheryl//maple syrup

Request: Can you do the secret and sins when Veronica comments on the Cheryl’s twincest and the reader defends Cheryl even though the reader kinda diss likes Cheryl.

hey! how is everyone? i hope you’re all well and good! i may have slightly cheated a bit and copy and pasted a previously written out bit from another request where they’re playing secrets and sins. but that’s only because i didn’t see the point in writing the same dialogue again. anywayyyy enjoy! 

It seems that whenever Cheryl Blossom arrives at a party, the party atmosphere disappears. Maybe it’s her grating personality or overbearing need to be liked, whatever it is, within ten minutes of her and Chuck gate crashing Jughead’s unwanted birthday party, there’s already tension. 

Which is not made any better by the suggestion of secrets & sins. Your friends are gathered in a circle in the living room, while you sit off to the side. You want to eavesdrop, but you don’t want to reveal your deepest, darkest secrets, not to your best friends and definitely not to Cheryl. 

It’s clear everyone that’s been roped into this stupid game doesn’t want to be there. Betty shifts in her seat uncomfortably and stares at you with pleading eyes. You shoot her an unsure smile back before taking a sip of your drink and she drops your gaze, glancing at Archie before staring down at the floor. 

Cheryl is the only one that looks like she’s enjoying herself, but you’re not surprised. Chaos and the chance to get dirt on everyone so she can control them even more than she already does is what Cheryl lives for.

You glare at the red-head, who’s smiling brightly as she looks around at her victims and when her eyes land on you, her eyes narrow and the smile is replaced by a smirk. 

“What’s wrong Y/n? Did nobody pick you to be on their team?” She asks, her bright red lips forming a perfect pout and you can’t help but stare at them for a few seconds longer than you should. You feel your face heat up and look away, blaming the alcohol for the affects you’re feeling and refusing to believe that you’ve just thought of Cheryl Blossom as attractive. 

A shiver runs up your spine at the thought and you lips pull into a pout as you stare down at the now empty cup in your hands. You scratch at the plastic and listen to the mumbles and whispers of the teenagers stood and sat around you. 

Whoever isn’t partaking in Secrets and Sins, have gathered around to watch and judge, and you can’t help but lean in a little closer, they may be some of your closest friends, but you can’t help wanting to know what they’ve been hiding from one another...you’re only human and at least you’re not as bad as Cheryl. 

Cheryl lives of rumours. Like Gretchen Wieners with smaller and redder hair. 

“What the hell is Secrets and Sins?” Jughead asks, all eyes on Cheryl as she moves around in a circle, eyeing everyone suspiciously as she starts to explain the rules. 

“Its a variation on Truth or Dare…in which we own our truths by telling it like it is. I’ll start the game with…Veronica Lodge.” She smirks and you roll your eyes at her. 

“Naturally.” Veronica sighs and you pat her shoulder. 

“Let’s begin with the day you and your mob wife of a mother came to town for a so-called fresh start.” She says, her eyes filled with accusations and anger before she’s even gotten to her question. 

You really don’t know why so many people like her, well you do, it’s because she’s rich and she bullies people into being her friend because she’s unable to make them any other way. 

She’s snobby, spoilt and just plain mean, but that doesn’t stop you from sometimes staring at her for longer than you want to and definitely should. 

“Tell us Veronica, what’s so fresh about defiling Archie Andrews in a closet?”

“That was your doing.” She replies confused, her arms crossed defensively against her chest.

“Moving on to dear Daddy Lodge…” She interrupts, getting more and more angry by the second. “Isn’t it true that your father, from prison, illegally purchased the drive-in land? Which makes me wonder, what else is he doing behind bars?” She continues and you glance to your side at Joaquin, who shares a very suspicious look with FP

“Well, I can’t speak for my father…but I can think of someone with a very dirty secret. Specifically, Cheryl killing her very own brother.” The tension in the room shifts and your eyes widen. 

As much as you dislike Cheryl, you know how close her and Jason were and you knew how much it hurt and how she’s still hurting now because of his death. You’ve seen her crying underneath the bleachers after school, you see how her eyes are a little more dull than they used to be. They don’t sparkle as much when she talks and when she’s not spreading hate, she’s just not saying anything at all. 

She smiles less when with her friends, and sometimes you think the only reason she’s horrible to people is so she can feel something. But that doesn’t excuse it and so you shake your head and earn a few confused looks as you try to stop yourself from defending Cheryl Majorie Blossom. 

“Everyone knows how much I loved my brother.” Cheryl defends herself.

“Exactly.” Veronica replies. “But did you love him, maybe in ways that a sister shouldn’t love a brother?” She continues and you watch as Cheryl becomes more and more upset. “And as you got older, Jason started to think it was strange, unnatural. So he chose Polly over you. So you shot him between the eyes with one of your father’s many hunting rifles.”

Her shoulders slump a little and her bottom lip quivers as she looks around the room helplessly. The confident look she usually has, has slipped off like a mask, revealing a very sad girl underneath and suddenly you find yourself standing up. 

“That’s enough Veronica.” You say, surprising everyone, including Cheryl. “Just leave her alone, it’s not worth it.” You add quietly and slowly sit back down again. 

Veronica hold her hands up in defence and you force a smile before going back to picking at the plastic of your cup. 

“I don’t need you to defend me.” Cheryl seethes, her eyes full of hatred as she looks at you, and for some reason it stings. You’re used to her not liking you, but her hating you, hurts you for some unknown reason and you have to take a few deep breaths in order to stop the ache in your chest. 

“This game is sick.” Dilton adds and Cheryl uses the distraction to wipe away the tears on her cheek. “I wanna go next.” He adds making everyone look at him.

“Thats the spirit, Doiley. What secrets do you have to reveal to us?” Chuck grins. 

“I saw Ms. Grundy’s car by Sweetwater River the day Jason went missing.” He says and everyone gasps. People mumble and whisper around you and Cheryl stares straight at Dilton, her eyes narrow. “I told Betty and Jughead, and then Ms. Grundy quit her job and left Riverdale, like, two days later. And let’s not forget that Archie was also at Sweetwater River that morning.”

“Oh, my God.” Cheryl whips her head round to look at Archie. “Colour me shocked. Archie Andrews, is that why you became a mediocre musician overnight? Because you and Ms. Four-Eyes were pulling a Mary Kay Letourneau?”

“Don’t say anything. Don’t get in the gutter with them.” Veronica mutters while glaring at Cheryl. 

“Wait, what? Andrews was banging a teacher?” Chuck asks, his tone a mix of surprise and impressed and you roll your eyes at him. “I wish I would’ve known. I would have added you and Ms. Grundy to the book of conquests.”

“Classy, Chuck, as always.”

“Wait a second.” Cheryl interrupts. “That also explains why Archie can’t seem to keep a girlfriend to save his life. He’s got serious mommy issues. Anything to say for yourself Arch? Were you a victim or a perpetrator?”

“Dilton Doiley plays with guns.” Betty tries to change the subject but she’s immediately shut down.

“Big whoop, Betty. So Doiley’s a psychopath. Everyone knows that.”  

“Well, I guess it’s my turn now. Boy, do I have a twisted secret to reveal, starring Betty Cooper.”

“Leave her the hell alone, Chuck.” Archie threatens.

“Shut up, Andrews.” He replies. “Look, you may get a free peep show every night, but you do not know her. Hell, Betty doesn’t even know herself. Everybody knows why I got suspended, but what you don’t know...she dressed up like a hooker, in a God-awful black wig, drugged me, handcuffed me in the Jacuzzi, and well, I almost drowned until she got me to say what she wanted to hear. And then she really lost it. She actually thought she was Polly. But, hey, you knew all about this right, Jughead?” He asks. For a second, the question hangs in the air, everyone trying to figure out what to say next and how to process what they’ve just been told. 

But then Jughead leaps forward at punches Chuck in face causing all hell to break loose. Everyone stands and FP shoves races forward to grab Chuck and throw him outside. 

While everyone else follows them outside, eagerly awaiting a fight, you stay back and watch as Cheryl disappears upstairs, quietly sniffling as she goes. You look at the front door and then at the stairs and sigh, knowing that this is not gonna end well. She’s gonna insult you and tell you to leave her alone, but at least you can say you tried to help and then you won’t feel bad. 

So you glance at the door one more time and pray that at least one person is filming whatever is happening out there, before wandering up the stairs in search for Cheryl. 

The slight scent of maple syrup and the sound of faint cries coming from the bathroom lets you know where she’s hiding and you quietly creep along the slightly creaky floorboards, trying to remember which ones to avoid after years of practice when sneaking into Archie’s room in order to break him out. 

You stop outside of the bathroom, light coming out of the cracks of the door and your hand hovers over the handle. 

“Whoever is out there, go away.” She sniffles and you roll your eyes. 

Turning on your heel, you start to walk away, but then you hear her sob and it makes you freeze. 

You let out a quiet groan and curse the side of you that can’t leave people that are crying alone, before making your way back to the bathroom and slowly opening the door. 

The first thing you see as you duck your hear around the door is Cheryl sat on the side of the bath. Her hands gripping the edges so hard that her knuckles have turned white. He hair has fallen in front of her face and you watch as she her shoulder shake and tears drip onto the bath mat. 

“Cheryl?” You whisper and she looks up, her eyes wide as she quickly scrambles to wipe away the tears that have ruined her makeup. “Are you okay?” You ask and walk into the room. You close the door behind you and lean against it and her expression hardens. 

“I’m having the best time.” She deadpans and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. God is she stubborn. 

“Look, I know we’re not exactly best friends. Most of the time, I don’t really like to be around you-” 

“Is this supposed to be making me feel better?” She asks and you shrug. 

“But you know that if you need someone to talk to that won’t judge you or really know anything about you, you can. I’ll just sit and listen and you can cry or rant or I dunno. Just, know you’re not alone. You may not get along with everyone in this town, but we will all be here for you if you need us, all you have to do is ask.” You say honestly but anxiously while playing with your fingers. 

She looks at you surprised, her lips part as if she’s going to say something and you’re sure she’s going to tell you to shut up and leave her alone, but instead she says thank you and you feel yourself relax a little. 

“It’s okay.” You nod. “And for the record, what Veronica said was out of line. Everyone knows how much Jason meant to you and for her to say that is just wrong. We all know you loved your brother...a normal amount.” You add the last bit quietly and she stares at you for a few seconds before a smile twitches at her lips. “Would you like me to leave you alone now?” You ask and she shakes her head. You look around the small bathroom, trying to figure out the best place to sit and she moves along a little so you can sit beside her. “Would you like me to sit with you until you feel better?” You ask and she nods slowly, her lip wobbling again. 

You sit beside her, place a gentle hand over hers and the two of you fall into a slightly awkward but not as bad as you thought it would be, silence. 

After ten minutes, Cheryl stands and makes her way over to the mirror. She swipes her fingers under her eyes to try and get rid of her ruined mascara before messing with her hair to try and get it back to looking like normal. 

“Do I look okay?” She turns to you and stands with her arms by her side. Your breath hitches when you look at her and you wonder how she looks so pretty even in the most unflattering light that is Archie Andrews’ bathroom. 

You stand in front of her and slowly tuck a piece of hair behind her ear and you watch as she takes a shaky breath. 

“Can I?” You ask, your fingers centimetres away from her cheek and she nods slowly, her eyes locked with yours and you feel yourself growing warm from the intensity. “There.” You smile once you’ve wiped a bit of mascara away from her cheek. 

She grabs her bag and pulls her lipstick from it, but when she goes to apply it, her hands shake and you take it from her gently. 

Your lips darts out between your tongue as you concentrate on keeping the lipstick in the lines, and you can feel her warm breath on your cheek. 

“There!” You smile proudly once your finished, but she grabs your arm before you can pull away properly as her lips connect with yours in an almost frantic kiss.

You gasp a little and then relax and kiss back just as frantically, but she pulls away after a few seconds and the two of you stare at each other wide-eyed and breathless. 

“Your lipstick’s ruined.” You whisper and her lips curl into a smile. 

“Worth it.” She replies before pulling you close to her and kissing you again. 

support my writing! if you want! 

[thelittleplantlover]

Jetlagged buglar - Corpse x reader

Thank you so much @stylistiquements for letting me know about your prompt list. Finally, I am posting my spin on one of your lovely prompts. I really appreciate your patience and support <3

Pronounce: gender neutral

Warnings: none (mention of burglar)

Genre: fluff; platonic

Word count: 1996

Prompt: "I know it's 4 in the morning but ..."

~ A buglar broke into Corpse’s apartment, or at least that’s what he thinks.~

Corpse watches as his beloved green astronaut friend dramatically fell into the pool of lava. He had been, and still is, so sure Sykkuno is not one of the imposters of this round. The boy had also pleaded for his life, claiming his innocence, but to no avail. He had been found standing on top of Emma’s body by Jack. There had been no escape.

The new round began and forced him into action. The last thing he had wanted was to frame Sykkuno for his kill. It did buy him an alibi from Emma, who had met up with him in decontamination. She had not been experienced enough to realise Corpse had come from the direction of the kill to suspect him a little bit. She had quickly covered his ass and now he was free to begin his actual killing spree.

He decided that Emma should be kept alive as she seemed to be trusting him this round. His second kill was Brooke. She had been standing at the tree and it was all too easy to close the doors and hop into the vent. He met up with Emma afterwards again before splitting off to chase Tina into storage for another kill. Just as her little character fell to the floor, another body was reported. Not one he has made.

He listened to Dave describing where he had found the body when loud clattering of metal pulled him out of his concentration. He had heard rumour during this stream before. Soft sounds had distracted him momentarily now and then, making him question whether his neighbours were at it again. They could get pretty loud during arguments or resolving them. This clattering could not have been from his neighbours. It was too loud and not at all a sound he had heard from the other side of the wall before.

His attention was pulled back when someone questioned his location.

“Guys, I think someone is in my apartment.” He cautiously announced. Not wanting to be too loud in case the intruder could hear him.

“Sure! Where were you Corpse?” Rae interrogated him. Her voice strict and accusing. He quickly defended himself. He had not heard anything else, so maybe it did come from the neighbours. His defence, although slightly flawed, was accepted and Leslie was thrown out. The reason unknown to him as he had not listened to their conversation.

One more kill and the game would be won. He did not hesitate to call reactor to avoid one of the crewmates pressing the button. As he walked up to the left reactor, the victory screen played. A choired of no’s filled his ears, while Jack celebrated his win with Corpse. Normally he would join the celebration. This time another loud noise came from his living space.

“Guys. Guys. GUYS.” He whisper-yelled to get everyone’s attention. When only the among us theme came from his headphones he continued. “There is someone in my apartment. If I don’t return in ten minutes presume I am dead.” Without waiting for an answer, Corpse muted himself and took of his headphones. Grabbing a knife just to be sure in case there was indeed an intruder, he quietly stood up from his chair.

He had closed his door as usual. Hopefully, the intruder had not heard him speak. He had not been loud today due to his throat being slightly sore from being on other people’s streams lately. It might have helped him going undetected. Still, he was not fully sure whether or not there was an actual thief in his apartment. In the time he has speculated them being here and Corpse finally getting on the move the unknown presence had not moved from the main space. He was sure it would not take a thief that long to go through all his cabinets and other storage.

Slowly he opened the door to take a peek towards the origin of the loud noises. He could feel his heartbeat. The palm holding the doorknob clam. The lights were on, but he did not remember whether he himself forgot to turn them off or someone else had turned them on.

A thief would not turn the light on if they were on. Or this would have to be a very low experienced burglar.

Hearing no new sounds, he decided it was safe to investigate a little further. Corpse made sure to keep his eyes on the parts of his living room he could see, slowly making his way through the short hallway. When he finally arrived in the largest room, he did not spot anyone. No closets were opened nor was his stuff spread out on the floor. He let out a loud sigh. The loud noise had come from the neighbours after all.

Suddenly a head appeared above the counter, which provoked a loud scream to come out him. His heartbeat sped up again as he held his knife in front of him. He immediately lowered it when he realised who it was that stood in the middle of his kitchen.

The person in question seemed frozen. Eyes wide and arms filled with the snacks that previously housed the cabinets. None of them said anything, just staring at the other. Slowly they unloaded their arms on the counter.

"Look-," they were cut off by Corpse's hysterical laugh. After the initial shock of someone actually being in his house, laughing was all he could do to release the tension that had built inside him. The person behind the counter blinked dumbfounded before starting to whine.

"Corpse! Stop it's not funny!" Corpse on the other hand found the situation hilarious. The state he had found one of his best friends, (y/n), in was not one he would forget soon. It was not often you could find them in a total state of shock. The realisation that they had been busted red handed was imprinted on his retina.

"I thought you were a burglar!" Not that they were not. Except there is still a large difference between stealing a tv from a stranger or candy from your best friend. It was not unusual for Corpse to find (y/n) in his apartment holding a package of food. Sometimes, even his secret stash was raided. He had long topped from finding other placed to hide his special treats. It had always been to no avail.

The fact that he had not thought about the possibility of (y/n) being the one that broke into his home was due their vacation. Corpse had believed they would not be back in the States until later this week. If he had known they would be back already, he would not have assumed some burglar had though he could get anything valuable from this building.

"What? Why- okay. I know it's 4 in the morning, but I am extremely jetlagged, and I saw you go live so I knew you would be awake!” Corpse’s laughing subdued during the hastily explanation of the situation, leaving (y/n) to fiddle with one of the packed goods.

"I am pretty sure those are all the snack I own.” Corpse pointed to the snacks that now littered his counter. It was not much. A bag of potato chips, some candy bars, a pack of nuts he never ate one the plane and a pack of sour patches. (y/n) simply squinted their eyes at him, making him return the favour.

“They are mine now.” They slowly scooped the snacks off the counter into their arms again. He bursts out in laughter again, almost teared up from the look on their face. Snacks pushed flush to their chest, eyes that were squinted so far by now they had almost closed. Their nose and lips crunched. “Mine.” Was the last they said before making their way towards Corpse’s streaming room.

He had almost forgotten he was live due to the initial shock of someone being in this home. Quickly catching up with (y/n) he glided into his chair. The lobby screen was still on display and his chat flew by. All he could make out that he still had a few minutes before his agreed 10. He quickly unmuted to reassure his friend and chat that he was not harmed in anyway.

“I swear on my life Rae that I am fi-,” He failed to finish the sentence due to (y/n)’s facial expression. Dumb was the best way to describe it. They sat in a comfy chair next to him with their legs pulled up and their eyes were fixed on the screen, looking at some of the characters running circles around his. Their lips in a straight line, somehow still smiling.

Hiss laughter had caught their attention away. In response they grabbed one of his pillows of his bed that was just into reach.

"Stop. making. fun. of me!" Hitting Corpse rhythmically with their words. He tried to shield himself with his arms. Seeing as he could not stop his fit of laughter and his stomach started to hurt slightly, he was dubious whether to protect his head to hold is stomach.

The new voice that arose was recognized by two other people that have met up with Corpse in real life before, Dave and Emma.

"Is that (y/n)?" Dave’s English accent came out strong through Corpse’s headphones. He waved at (y/n) to stop hitting him for a second to catch his breath and answer the question he was asked. Dave, knowing more than enough to know the dynamic of these two, waited patiently on his answer. Rae on the other hand became hearable impatient by the long silence from Corpse’s side.

“Corpse. Answer the question!”

He slowly in and out haled to calm himself. A long loud sigh leaving his lips, before he answered the question. "Yes, yes, that's (y/n). Although I was right about the burglar as well. They are trying to raid my kitchen.”

(y/n) immediately sprang into action to react on that statement. Not wanting to be put in a bad light all by themselves. No, they would always happily share that special spot with a good friend. "Correct, TRYING. You literally do not have any food!"

"You dumped your arms full of MY snacks on MY table. Where I need space to actually play this game.” Corpse retorted.

“I think we established they are MY snacks now. Besides this is all you have. And it is not even touching your keyboard!” That statement was true. (y/n) had made sure to place the snack so that they did not hinder Corpse in their movements during his stream. A second reason for the snack to be not in close reach for Corpse was not named.

“I paid for those snacks.” It was a weak response. Corpse knew. But he rather let the bickering end sooner than later. His fans had been waiting anxiously for him to return and did not come to watch only to hear them bickering. However, looking at his chat they did not seem to mind at all. Still, there were more streamers live which audience might have a different opinion on that matter.

“Well, you did not pay for either Emma or me and we are definitely better snacks than I could ever find here.” They pointed to their friend’s little yellow character.  “So, I think I will take these as payment thank you very much.”

Corpse burst out laughing again a few seconds after, clutching his stomach that could barely take any more damage. (y/n) very well knew that whatever they had said was not funny at all. Or at least not this funny.

"What are they saying? Unplug your headphones!” (y/n) demanded while scooting the chair closer to the monitor.

After unplugging his headphones, Corpse asked Emma to repeat herself to share the comment with their mutual friend. He quickly pressed a button to increase the volume when she spoke up.

“We’re only worth five snacks??”

[blu-joons]

When One Of The Members Reveals Your Relationship ~ Exo Reaction

Xiumin:

As soon as the interviewer mentioned relationships the whole group fell silent, expecting the usual questions that came. “Are any of you in love, or is there anyone who wants to spill a few beans for the fans today?”

“Minseok you-“Sehun began.

“No,” Kyungsoo quickly interrupted him, “none of us have anything that we’d like to share with you.”

“Are you sure? Because someone back there seemed like they wanted to say something,” the interviewer pushed, looking between Sehun and Minseok.”

Minseok frowned, shaking his head, “you guys don’t need to protect me, I might as well be honest seeing as Sehun’s thrown me under the bus anyway.”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” he whispered across to the eldest, “is this live? Can we not just cut that bit out?”

Minseok’s head shook, “it’s live, there’s no cutting it now. It doesn’t matter now though. Yes, I’m in love, but that’s all I will share with you right now.”

“That’s more than we expected you all to share,” the interviewer smiled around the group, “you’ve done our viewership a huge favour today.”

“Yeah, but maybe not my relationship.”

Suho:

The boys watched the video closely that was being filmed to go up on their channel for the fans to watch. “What’s that?” Baekhyun questioned, pausing the clip that Kyungsoo had filmed for the video, pointing behind him.

“Is that Y/N?” Junmyeon questioned.

“No,” Kyungsoo quickly protested, but as he inspected further, it was obvious it was the two of you.

“It’s too late to film anything new now,” Junmyeon sighed, “how did no one in the editing department pick up on this, they can’t cut it for us now.”

Kyungsoo’s head sunk, “I’m so sorry, I should have been more careful of my surroundings. I didn’t realise that the two of you were stood behind me.”

“It’s our fault too, we shouldn’t have been like that at work,” Junmyeon comforted, smiling across at Kyungsoo.

The whole group didn’t know how to react. “Maybe we could speak to someone, it won’t take long to edit,” Minseok suggested, but Junmyeon declined.

“Everyone will know sooner or later, maybe this is the time that we just need to start being honest with the fans,” he stated.

“As long as you’re definitely sure.”

Lay:

Chanyeol’s head peered around when he saw that Yixing was alone in his room, stepping in and making himself comfortable. “There’s a lot of Y/N in this room these days, you can tell that she’s staying over a bit more.”

“I’m live,” Yixing mumbled.

“Are you?” Chanyeol chuckled, only to look across and see that Yixing was in fact live with the fans.

“You’ve dropped me in it now,” Yixing frowned, too afraid to look at all the comments. “What are you even doing in here anyway?”

Chanyeol smiled apologetically, “I was just coming to see if you wanted to go over those lyrics, I didn’t realise that you were busy on stream though.”

“How am I going to explain this to Y/N?” Yixing frowned, knowing how annoyed you’d be that you were revealed.

Chanyeol’s eyes rolled, “I think your biggest worry right now should be the thousands of fans who are demanding to know who Y/N is.”

“Don’t remind me,” Yixing whispered, “I’ll come and work on the lyrics once I’ve justified my secret relationship to the fans.”

“I honestly cannot apologise enough.”

Baekhyun:

The two of them were incredibly tipsy as they sat around the dorm with Kyuhyun and Eunhyuk to film for their show. “I heard a rumour that you had someone on the scene,” Kyuhyun smiled across at Baekhyun with intrigue.

“Have you not heard?” Minseok asked.

“Hyung,” Baekhyun snapped from beside him, jabbing into his waist. “Just let me do the talking.”

“Is there something going on?” Eunhyuk quizzed, leaning across the table. “I thought it was just someone trying to joke around with us that you were dating.”

Baekhyun’s head shook, “it’s early days, I didn’t want to tell anyone just yet in case it scared her. But Minseok’s ruined that.”

“They can edit this sort of stuff out,” Minseok tried to assure him, but Kyuhyun’s head shook immediately back at him.

He smiled across the table, “we’re leaving this gossip in, you can blame Minseok for not being able to keep his mouth shut.”

“Just pretend you’re drunk,” Eunhyuk suggested, “pretend that you have no idea who they’re talking abou tomorrow when you’re hungover.”

“That plan will definitely not work.”

Chen:

The cameras all came back on as the interviewer looked to the group of boys that were sat on the sofa altogether. “The fans have mentioned a lot about there being a rumour about a girl being around, is that true at all?”

“Well,” Junmyeon started, but quickly stopped.

“There is?” The interviewer quickly asked, noticing how quickly Junmyeon stopped himself.

“It’s not like that,” Junmyeon sighed, feeling Jongdae’s eyes stare across at him. “We’re young and we’ve dated at times, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Jongdae’s head shook from behind, “there’s no point trying to cover it all up, the fans know that someone has been around, and that’s thanks to me.”

“Can you share anymore details?” The interviewer asked him, desperate to try and push him for a little more information.

Jongdae’s head shook, “I want to be respectful of my relationship, but I also don’t want any rumours being spread about what’s going on.”

“I understand,” she smiled, “I’m sure your fans will be glad that any rumours about you have been cleared up now for them.”

“Me too, I want to be honest.”

Chanyeol:

Sehun switched on the camera to record the group as they run off the stage. “Did you guys see Y/N in the crowd?” Jongin asked straight away, unaware that Sehun was filming until he felt a nudge against his hip.

“Be quiet,” Chanyeol murmured.

“Look,” Sehun pointed out to Jongin that the camera was filming all of them. “Say hi to the fans.”

“Did you just switch that on?” Chanyeol frantically asked, grabbing Sehun’s shoulder, “please tell me that you switched that on after we all started talking.”

Sehun’s shoulders shrugged, “I’m not too sure to be honest, I might have just managed to miss the cut, but I’m really not sure right now.”

“I’m sure it missed it,” Jongin assured him, desperate to rectify his mistake. “They won’t have understood what I was talking about anyway.”

Chanyeol glared across at him, “you’re making it more and more obvious the more you mention her name, so let’s just drop it and hope.”

“We can watch it back later,” Sehun assured him, “I’m sure that if the fans did hear anything, they’d be respectful about it anyway.”

“I hope so, for Y/N’s sake.”

D.O:

Kyungsoo pushed the door open as he saw Baekhyun on his live, quickly mouthing across to him to mute it for a moment. Once he had, Kyungsoo spoke. “Did Y/N leave her phone charger in here from last night?”

“Yeah,” Baekhyun smiled, pointing it out.

“Thank you,” Kyungsoo responded, walking around the back of his life to pick up your phone charger.

“I meant to bring it back to her this afternoon,” Baekhyun pointed out, encouraging Kyungsoo to come over and say hello to the live stream.

As he did, Kyungsoo’s attention was drawn to the comments. “I thought you said you muted it, why are the fans all asking about Y/N?”

“I did mute it,” Baekhyun assured him, until he noticed the button wasn’t clicked on. “I swear I muted it; I don’t understand what’s happened.”

Kyungsoo’s head shook, “I don’t know how I’m supposed to get the two of us out of this one, how did you manage not to mute it Baekhyun?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll fix it,” he quickly assured him, “I don’t know how yet, but I’ll find a way to solve this for you both.”

“Don’t worry too much, it’s alright.”

Kai:

Their eyes lit up when they noticed that Weki Meki were joining them for the interview on Music Bank, shuffling along to make some room for them. “Isn’t Y/N a big fan of these guys?” Jongdae asked from beside Jongin.

“Yeah,” Jongin responded.

“Guys,” Junmyeon mumbled in front of them, “the livestream is still rolling, keep your voices down.”

“No, it’s not, the green light isn’t on,” Jongdae quickly tried to point out, feeling Jongin’s eyes glare across at him. “It’s not live, is it?”

Chanyeol turned back too, “these cameras don’t have the lights on them. And you weren’t quiet earlier, the fans will definitely know about Y/N now.”

“Please tell me you’re joking,” Jongin vented, trying desperately to keep calm, “you’re just winding me up right now, aren’t you?”

Chanyeol’s head shook, “Jongdae wasn’t to know, and hopefully most of the fans weren’t even listening to your conversation just then.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jongdae whispered from beside him, “whatever I can do to make the problem better again I’ll do in a heartbeat.”

“We don’t know if they heard anything yet.”

Sehun:

His smile grew as Yixing peered around the door of his studio, scanning for something particular. “Can I help you with what you’re looking for?” Sehun questioned, turning his camera around so the fans could see Yixing.

“Is Y/N here?” He asked.

“Um,” Sehun stuttered, glancing at the screen to notice that the comments on the live blew up.

“You’re live?” Yixing questioned, suddenly realising what was going on. “She’s a member of staff,” he called out, desperately trying to make up for his mistake.

Sehun’s head shook, “the fans aren’t stupid, they know the staff don’t come by here. Don’t worry, but Y/N’s not here, she’s with Baekhyun working on some stuff.”

“I’m so sorry,” Yixing whispered, mouthing apologies across at Sehun again and again. “I really didn’t realise what was going on.”

Sehun smiled widely, “honestly, don’t worry. Although I think you’ve given me a bit more explaining to do about what’s been going on.”

“I’ll tell Y/N what’s happened when I see her,” Yixing told her, “she’s probably going to kill me once she finds about this.”

“She’ll be alright, don’t worry.”

---

Masterlist

[acourtofsnakes]

Tome - Rogue, Chapter 10| The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader

Summary: You find yourself talking to a mysterious stranger, whom you can’t help but feel a pull towards. Will the Mandalorian get there in time? And what will happen when he shows up?

Warnings: Gonna put this as an 18+ but it’s not SUPER graphic,  Swearing (this is a given by now), a little angst, sexual tension – a lot - &mentions of sex that are kinda detailed, WE GETTING HOT IN HERE TODAY

AN: I was trying to hold off on the sexual tension but I couldn’t wait any longer and I needed to add some of Din’s darker side – I blame all the fanfics and Tik Tok, and i’m not ashamed 

Word count: 6.5k+

As always, credit to whoever owns the gif. I usually find them on Google or Pinterest, so message me if it’s yours ♥︎

Rogue Taglist:

@snipskixandbeskar @weirdowithnobeardo @the-bottom-of-the-abyss @jackgrzs @sarahjkl82-blog @boomtownboy @goldielocks2004 @seninjakitey @what-iwish-you-knew

Rogue Masterlist | Introduction| 1: Solus| 2: Arir | 3: Tor | 4: Gaa'tayl | 5: Kyr’am | 6: Cabur | 7: Ret'urcye Mhi | 8: Haran| 9: E’tad | 10: Tome |

Mando’a translation: Tome – Together

You studied the man as he drew off his hood. 

He had inky black hair, so dark the loose waves caught a blue tone in the light of the cantina, like the wings of a crow or a raven. 

His skin was softly tanned, yet still a little pale, the pallor set off by the darkness of his hair. 

But it was his eyes that drew your attention first. 

They were the colour of melted amber, shockingly bright, like they almost glowed from within. They sparkled with flecks of gold, watching you with a keen interest, seeing what you would make of him and his offer. They glimmered like they already knew the answer before you did yourself. 

He was heartbreakingly beautiful, and he knew it. Almost flawless. 

So, where was his mark, his tell of a dark past, twisted with horrors and darkness that always seemed to follow beautiful people?

There. 

As the light shifted, you saw that he bore two long, wicked scars on his face. 

One began just above his eyebrow, parting through it and narrowly missing the edge of his eye, before coming to a thin point on his high cheekbone. 

The other was smaller, drawn across the plush curve of his lips. It twisted it only slightly, just slightly tugging up one corner, but they did nothing to mar his sheer beauty. 

It was.. almost otherworldly. Disarming. 

That, combined with his watchfulness gave you a distinct feeling that you were dancing the line between prey or… company?

Or maybe it was the way the light seemed to shy away from the planes of his face, whereas the shadows clung to him like a second skin, like they were an extension of him. 

You remained perched on your seat, torn between immediately leaving and putting distance between yourself and this too-beautiful man… or joining him. 

He tilted his head, leaning back in his seat and he motioned gracefully to the stool in from of him, “Join me, love. I won’t bite.” His lips curled up into a wider grin and you swore you could almost see fangs, “Not unless you want me to.” 

You rolled your eyes, but something about the comment made you realise he probably wasn’t going to kill you if he was flirting with you. “Well, since you paid for my drinks.” You shrugged lightly, slid off of your seat and then joined him at his table. “I’m not so easily won over though, just to inform you.” 

The man’s smile turned lazy, feline and he chuckled. The sound of his laugh was like velvet, sliding over your bones and whispering in your ear, “Oh, I don’t doubt that for a second, love. I can tell you need more than a few looks and drinks.” He ran those ridiculous eyes over you, taking in every inch and it felt like was seeing straight into your soul. He made a thoughtful hum in the back of his throat, lifting his eyes to yours again, “No. You strike me as the kind of girl who needs to be truly impressed with more than empty promises.”

Your skin warmed with his gaze, your eyes narrowing a little, but you mirrored his feline smirk, leaning forward and dropping your voice, “And you think you’re the one to impress me, do you?”

He looked over your face, leaning forward and the scent of rain-kissed cedar and thunderstorms washed over you, swirling around your head and filling your lungs, “Maybe. Though something tells me that I might have a contender.”

Unbidden, the thoughts of that night on the Crest came back in a rush, Lori’s bare hands tracing over your skin, your throat and pulling through your hair with utter adoration. 

You tensed, an ache of longing ripping through you and it blew your cocky response out of the water. 

The man blinked a little, his eyes softening as he read your response that was obviously clearer than you’d like it to be, “Apologies. I didn’t mean to step over the line, so forgive me if I have.” He leant back again, raising his drink to you. 

You shook your head softly, giving him a smile that was perhaps only a little forced, “Don’t worry about it, really.” You clinked your glass to his and then sipped your drink, maybe taking a deeper drink than the situation required. “So, what really made you pay for my drinks?”

The man looked a little bashful, gazing at the back of his gloves, “I’ve only been on the planet for the day. I saw you practising with the Marshal earlier and I was impressed. And… wanted to meet the woman who fought like she was dancing.” With his eyelashes lowered, you could see that the scar just tugged at the edge of his eyelid, and you briefly wondered how he managed to walk away with his eye still in his head. 

However, his words had you frowning slightly because… they were the exact same words the Mandalorian had spoken to Greef, in awe of you.  “Mmm-hm…” You raised an eyebrow at him, starting to believe you may have made a mistake in sitting here. “What’s the real reason?”

He lifted his eyes back to you, and had the good grace to look a little awkward, “I…” He sighed, “I fear I’m giving you the worst first impression of myself.” He spread his hands on the table almost in a gesture to show he meant no harm, “There have been rumours that… The Mandalorian who stole the Child had taken off with another bounty. And that…” 

Your gaze was level and hard on him, wanting an answer and wanting it now, “And?”

He bit his lip, that curl of hair still resting over his forehead and making him longer especially with the guilt in his expression, “That there was something between him and his old bounty. Him and… you.” He inclined his head toward you slightly. 

Warning bells began to tinkle in your head. “And where did you hear that?”

He shrugged lightly, lifting a hand, “Oh, one hears many things. Especially about you, my love. You’re famous in planets that don’t even know about the Mandalorian. Everyone knows someone who’s seen your puck.” He was reaching toward the sword on his back, his hand closed around the hilt.

Within a blink, your hand was on your own knife again, “I am going to give you thirty seconds to tell me the truth, or I swear, I will run my knife through that pretty eye of yours so quickly you won’t even have time to breathe.”

He blinked, something flickering in his expression, but he held his hands up further, “Easy.” He pulled his sword free of his holster, setting it on the table between you both. “I’m not here to take you in. I was shown your puck, but I refused. I had heard you were here, and I wanted to warn you.”

Your hand didn’t budge from the knife, “Warn me? Of what? I know that everyone is after me. I don’t need some stranger telling me that.”

The man tilted his head, adjusting the hood of his cloak over his shoulders now that his sword was out of the way, “Don’t you want to know who employed them all? All of the people who have been after you?” 

Is he playing with you?

You were entirely focused on him, ready to fling the knife and bolt should you need to. You knew how to get out of here, how to get up to the rooftops and dart across them. 

Don’t. Don’t ask him, just in case. Get out now.

He knew… He knew who sent everyone after your head.

No. 

This man knew who was responsible for the lives of friends and strangers.  

You shouldn’t ask. This was a mistake. You needed to leave. 

You looked away from his golden stare, drawn to look at the sword lying there on the table. 

Your brows furrowed imperceptibly as you beheld the strange symbols carved onto the sheath. 

Something about them seemed… familiar. Strangely so. They itched at the back of your mind like a forgotten language. 

He lowered his golden eyes to the sword between you, sucking in the light of the room.

“The symbols on this sword… they call to you, don’t they?” He ran a gloved finger along the sheath, tracing delicately over the inscribed symbols. 

You bit your lip, hesitating as you watched him. 

He looked up at your expression, your hesitation and then he slowly unsheathed the sword, revealing the blade to you. 

The blade was made of a deep, dark obsidian coloured material. It was like no metal you’d ever seen. It seemed sheer almost, like a gemstone but it was a rich ebony colour, as endless as space. It pulled in the light around it, sucked it dry and seemed to use it to glow darkly from within. 

Along the centre of the blade, the same symbols were inscribed, but this time in a rich golden gilt. 

With each symbol that was exposed, something rose within you. 

He was right. 

They truly did call to you. You didn’t know how, or why, but you felt like you knew what they meant, that you should understand them. 

The caged power of the Force within you felt it too. 

That’s what they were calling to, what they were connecting with.

The raven-haired man smiled that disarming smile again, his lips twitching up in delight, knowing he was correct. He remained silent for a few seconds, “They call to your power.”

Wait. 

He… knew? 

How the fuck did he know about you?

No one knew. Not even the Mandalorian knew. 

You reached for your blade instinctively again, watching the man in front of you. 

Fear must have registered in your eyes, mixed with a defensive warning, because he held up his hands. 

“Easy, I’m not going to hurt you. I already told you that. I’m not here for you, or the bounty.” He shrugged a little, “Okay, I am here for you, but not like that. You see, my sister was the same. She had the same… gifts, as you.” He mercifully kept his voice low, soft enough that only you could just hear it. 

You didn’t speak, couln’t say anything, only watched him. Waiting. Even if curiosity did spark within you. 

He smiled softly like he saw it, the scars on his lips doing nothing to mar the overwhelming, stunning impact of that simple gesture, “That’s right… she was so incredibly talented, and I adored her to pieces. She was beautiful and had such a light within her. Much like you. And I want to help you… like I tried to do for her.” He tilted his head a little, his molten eyes shimmering with sadness as he spoke about her. IT was etched in every line of his body, the pain of losing a loved one that you held so dear. 

You swallowed, slowly letting go of your knife, “What happened to her? How do you know about me? Who is sending the hunters after me? Who are you?” The questions tumbled form your lips like rain, unable to stop them as you were faced with a man who could.. maybe help you?

He chuckled softly, filling the air with that musical sound again, “Let me answer the easiest one first. My name is Rena and-“

The doors to the cantina opened, letting in a warm, volcanic breeze. 

You felt, rather than heard his presence behind you. You could recognise the almost silent footfalls, the barest scrape of armour as it got closer and closer to you. 

With every step, it felt like you might jump out of your skin. 

He was here. 

He’d come back. 

Had he come back for you?

“Get away from her.” His snarl made the chatter in the cantina drop a few notches, the atmosphere subtly changing as everyone tried not to listen in. 

You could feel his height rising up behind you, and turned around in your seat to greet him, despite the snarl in his voice. Your elation at seeing him, the very way your bones hummed in delight made you miss what he just said. 

“Lori.. you’re here.” You couldn’t deny the way you greedily took in his tall, beskar-clad form. His armour looked… dustier, dirtier than it usually did. Like he hadn’t had time to clean it. There were a few patches smudged over the chest plates, and the fabric beneath looked a little torn. The more rugged look was good on him, giving him that edge that you knew lingered beneath the surface. 

Grogu rested at his side, in his little pouch bag. He cooed delightedly when he saw you, earning himself a grin and a wave. 

And in the Mandalorian’s other hand…

Duru. 

Held in his hand like he normally held the Child. 

You tilted your head, reaching out to take her, “Lori, why are you carrying my cat like a baby?” You laughed, holding her furry body close  

He ignored you, his helmet focused on the figure opposite you. “I said, get away from her.” The rough baritone of his voice held a fierceness you’d never heard before, the promise of a thinly veiled threat should your companion continue to ignore him. 

You blinked in surprise, at the fierceness in his tone. 

You’d expected a ‘Hello’ at least, but here he was, acting like you were invisible and giving a death stare (you presumed) to the man opposite. 

Rena chuckled softly, that laugh like flowing water over smooth stones, “Calm down, friend. I’m not going to hurt her.” He smiled at the Mandalorian, all easy charm and glowing eyes. 

Mando growled, striding forward and he flung his arm out across your body… like he was protecting you? 

“I am not your friend. And you are nothing to her. So back off.”

You frowned, something prickling at the back of your neck, a feeling you couldn’t place. You appreciated the Mandalorian defending you but… from what?

Did he think you couldn’t be trusted to sit and talk to someone? That you were dumb enough to make a foolish mistake with so many after you?

“Mando. Enough. You don’t even know Rena. Neither do I. Calm down.” Your voice was soft, but firm. To tell him you appreciated the defence, but you didn’t need him to save you. 

Besides, you wanted to know more about him, more about how he knew what lingered within you and how he planned to help. 

He barely looked over his shoulder at you, keeping his head turned to Rena, “You’re right in that you don’t know him. But I do. So forgive me, but I’m the one calling the shots in this situation. Take the kid and go back to the Razor Crest. We’re leaving.”

Your shoulders straightened and your eyes flashed as you raised an eyebrow at him, “You’re the one calling the shots?” Your voice was flecked with icy coolness, and disbelief, “I can make my own decisions, Mandalorian. Despite what you may think.” You let acid creep into your tone, let him know you were referring to him decided to dump you here. 

Rena’s amber eyes flicked between the two of you, dancing in amusement as he tilted his head, “I’d listen to her, Mandalorian. I think she knows what she’s doing. She doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who likes to be told what to do.” The light bounced off his dark hair, making the inky curls catch a deep blue. His posture was at ease, leaning back in his chair, his sword within easy reach, should he need it. 

The cantina was silent now, everyone flat out watching or listening to the potential fight that was going to ensue… and whether it would be between Mando and Rena, or Mando and yourself. 

Mando still had his arm across your body and Duru’s too, actually. “And you don’t strike me as the kind of monster that plays with their food for so long. I know you like to have your sick little games, but this isn’t exactly your style is it.” His words were venomous, a tone you’d never ever heard before. 

Anger flashed through you, chasing away the initial delight you had at seeing the Mandalorian. You understood his wariness of strangers, but he was being out of order. You weren’t stupid. You’d been doing this for long enough that your instincts were pretty sharp when it came who to trust and who to run away from. 

You stood up, glaring at the back of his head, “Enough, Lori. This is ridiculous.” 

Mando ignored the cold anger of your voice, finally looking at you over his shoulder. “Just wait outside. Please.” 

His plea stopped you short. He had only ever used that word in such a tone once before.

In the kitchen area, with his hands on your skin and in your hair. 

Please.

And… was there a layer of fear beneath it?

You sighed, looking from him to Rena, reluctant to leave them in case the fight did indeed break out. This man… he said he could help. And he couldn’t very well do that dead, could he? 

You didn’t doubt for a single second that Mando wouldn’t go down without a fight, but you sensed there was something coiled within Rena, a slumbering beast that was waiting to be provoked. It prowled behind his eyes and his smile. 

As if reading this in your eyes, Rena smiled at you, shaking his head a little, “I’m not looking for a fight, love. Your Mandalorian will come back to you in one piece. And I’ll leave here in one piece as well.” His eyes shifted to Mando, something in them shifting, “Won’t I?”

Mando was still, his instincts on trigger mode and just waiting to explode, “I don’t like making promises I can’t keep.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes as you took Grogu from Mando. “Fine. You have five minutes.”

You rested the bag across your body, ignoring the eyes watching you as you stalked out of the cantina. “Men.”

~~

The cantina door opened, and the Mandalorian walked out. 

A quick inspection revealed no damage, so you turned your gaze back to your knife. 

You were perched on a wall, Grogu on your lap and Duru around your shoulders as you waited for the Mandalorian. 

Having spotted you, he walked over, hesitating a few steps away like he was approaching a raging fire. 

Good. Let him hesitate. Let him know how fucking furious I am with him.

You said nothing, continuing to clean the blade of your knife on the edge of your cloak. 

Silence stretched between you, broken only by the soft thump of Duru’s tail, and Grogu’s tiny huff as he looked between you both. 

Mando observed you for a moment, before placing his hands on his hips and sighing, “Come on then.”

You turned over your knife, methodically buffing up the blade, “What the fuck was that? Do you treat all strangers the way you did in there?”

The Mandalorian was still, watching you carefully, “He’s not a stranger. He’s dangerous. Deadly.”

You still hadn’t looked at him, “I am dangerous. And deadly. I’ve killed people and ‘played with my food’. Does that mean I am a monster too?”

He shifted his weight to his other leg, “I didn’t call you a monster. You know I wouldn’t do that. I’m sorry if it stirred anything up, I didn’t think” Your old argument must have flashed through his mind because it did yours. But that wasn’t the issue. 

Grogu looked at you as you shook your head, “Nope. You didn’t think, did you? You waltzed in there. And made a scene.” 

A noise filtered through the vocoder and over to you, “A scene? I would hardly call it making a scene. That guy is a stone-cold killer. He was sitting there, toying with you and no one would have batted an eyelid to help you. There are people after your head, him especially!” 

Fire simmered through your veins. “Oh, for the love of all the stars, grow up! He isn’t deadly. He knew who I was, and he didn’t once raise a hand to hurt me. He said as much himself.”

The Mandalorian laughed, that damn laugh that made your teeth set on edge, “He told you, did he? Oh, forgive me then. Of course, he was telling the truth.” He shook his head, pacing and then coming back to you. 

You frowned, watching him pace, “What is your problem with him? So I was talking to some guy in a bar, that immediately makes him a monster?” 

The Mandalorian made a frustrated noise, raising his hands, “My problem, sweetheart, is that I thought you were smarter than that! Some creep tells you he knows who you are but he ‘isn’t going to hurt you’ and I thought you’d be running the other way and he’d be laying there with a knife in his chest! Not laughing with you over that fucking sword of his.” 

This man was being ridiculous. 

“So, this about my supposed stupidity now too, is it? Because I did something that you didn’t expect me to do?” You shoved your blade back into it’s sheath, nearly slicing your leg as you did. 

Mando made another frustrated noise, “Fucking hell, you’re not listening to me, again!! This is not about you! This is about him!! He cannot be trusted. He is a monster and a murderer. And I don’t care if he was singing you nursery rhymes or telling you about the baby Porgs he adopts, he was lying! He is going to kill you and I am not letting that happen!”  

Jaw clenched, you glared at him still, “Have you seen him do such things? Where’s your proof he was going to kill me. Do you know him?”

“Not exactly. But I-“

“No. You don’t know him at all. You didn’t trust me to be able to handle the situation, even though there wasn’t a situation until you walked in.” 

Mando crossed his arms across his stupidly broad chest, “Like I said. You clearly didn’t know what you were dealing with. Again.”

You slowly looked up at him, eyes blazing and Grogu made a noise, his little body going still. “Oh?”

The Mandalorian kept his gaze firmly on you, oozing that cockiness that grated on you as much as your own grated on him, “Nope.” He tilted his head, “Someone has to keep you safe.”

It was the insinuation on the word, ‘someone’, that had you picking up Grogu and placing him on the wall. He immediately tucked his chin into his tunic, his hands coming up to cover his ears. 

A beat later, your fury exploded. 

“Someone needs to keep me safe?! And I suppose that title oh so graciously falls on you, does it? Because you know everything about everyone who comes into contact with me?” You stalked toward him, poking a finger into his chest, “I was doing just fine before you. I don’t need you to keep saving me. If I remember correctly, it was me who saved you the last time. So don’t come out here on your high and mighty hero argument, you pretentious, shiny, asshole!” You pointed at him, “You can’t just walk in and start accusing people of being murderers when you clearly don’t know them!”

The Mandalorian sighed, “Don’t start this again. You know I didn’t mean it like that. So, don’t start calling me names either. I was trying to protect you, like I keep saying.”

You growled at him, “So you’re allowed to waltz in there and start spewing accusations, but I’m not allowed to call you out for being an asshole?”

Mando walked over to the wall where Grogu and Duru were perched, “I wasn’t spewing accusations, princess. I was telling the truth. When are you going to believe me?” He scooped up the kids, placing Grogu back in his pouch over his shoulder and holding Duru in his arm again. 

For some reason, that fuelled your anger even more, that he took your cat and strolled off. You scrambled off of the wall, “Are you going to explain to me how you know then?” You followed him as he began to walk down the street, winding through the paths. 

He didn’t even look at you just kept walking, “I just know that he went in there to kill you. He was playing with you first.”

You darted around a fruit cart, the setting sun bouncing off his shiny head and getting in your eyes, “And I asked you for your proof. Which I’m still waiting for.” 

Mando stopped, so suddenly you bumped into his back with a soft oof. “Look. I just know, okay. Can’t you leave it at that for once?” You just knew there was a pleading expression underneath the helmet, but you weren’t letting it go. 

You crossed your arms, arching a brow at him, “I’m gonna give you a minute to remember who I am and answer that question for yourself.” 

He groaned, dropping his head back and looking at the darkening sky for a moment. “Fine.” He lowered his head to look at you again, “In Mandalorian culture, there are legends of a creature so foul, he was spat back out of the deepest pits of darkness. A man so cruel that darkness itself shies away from him. They say he has no soul. I didn’t believe in it when I was a Foundling. I thought it was just a story they told us to make sure we stayed in line but… I know that it’s true now. He is true. We call him Haran. It means cosmic annihilation, because that’s what he brings. He kills people for pure pleasure, but he drags it out in the worst way possible first. And he’s after you.”

You said nothing. Simply staring at him. 

He stared back at you, waiting. 

The seconds ticked by, Grogu and Duru looking between you both. 

Finally, you spoke. Your voice was very quiet, very calm, “You mean to tell me. That you walked into that cantina, after over a month of not seeing me, without even saying hello, I might add. And you walked over to this man, accused him of being a murderer and threatened him… because you think he’s a children’s story?!” 

The noise of exasperation that came from the man before you mirrored your own emotions, “For the love of- You’re impossible.” 

“And you’re talking bullshit.” You snapped the words, arms still crossed, and you were just getting madder by the second. But something was suddenly becoming clear in your mind, some dark whisper to play with him. 

Mando almost audibly rolled his eyes, shaking his head before turning around and continuing to walk. “Whatever, princess. You asked, I told you.”

There was no hesitation as you followed him again, “You’re lying.” 

“Am I?” His voice was flat now, bored almost. He weaved through some more corners and streets, the paths getting quieter and some empty buildings rising up around you.  

“Yep. And I think I know why. I know why you suddenly went alpha male protective on me. I know why you made such a scene. And I know why you’re acting like this now.” You were poking at him; sure you knew the truth now. And if you were wrong, hell, maybe you could make him as frustrated as he had made you. 

“Do enlighten me, princess. How do you know such things?” There was an edge to his voice, like he knew where you were going with this. 

“Because to me, it sounds like you walked in there, saw me sitting with someone else and…”

He stopped, putting the kids down on a wall again as he turned to look at you, “And what? Say it.” The visor of his helmet was locked onto you and you had that feeling again that you had locked eyes. 

You stared back at him, crossing your arms, voice dripping with fury and contempt, but now with an edge, “You were jealous.” 

The evening was quiet, this part of town abandoned by the look of the crumbling buildings around you. 

The Mandalorian laughed, but there was no humour in his voice, “Jealous? You think I was jealous of him?”

You bristled at the cocky laugh, eyes flashing again and that hidden part of you shimmered and trembled, “It sure as hell looked like it. You didn’t even say hello to me before you were descending upon us like an alpha male claiming your territory.” You stalked closer to him, two predators dancing around each other again, “I am not your territory, or your property. I am no-ones.”

Mando didn’t move, letting you come closer, “I know that. I never once laid claim to you. But when I walked and saw you sitting there with that.. that..”

You snarled softly, “Don’t say it again.”

He looked at you for a moment, “That creature… I lost it. You shouldn’t be on the same planet as him, let alone across the table.” He dropped his arms to his sides, displaying that restless energy that was so rare for him. 

You couldn’t help but laugh this time, “Because he’s some kind of spooky shadow man from your childhood stories? Please.”

Mando shook his head fiercely, pointing at you, “It’s the truth. Haran is real. And he was sitting opposite you, playing with you and pretending to be some bashful pretty boy.”

You prowled toward him, mimicking the shaking of his head. “No. Not good enough. Stop lying to me, Lori.” 

“I am not lying to you!! Get it through your head, he was going to kill you!!”

You were right in front of him now, peering up at him, “Admit it.”

His voice was tight, but he didn’t back away, “Drop it, princess. I already told you.”

You shook your head, “I don’t believe you. If you wont tell me the truth I’ll help you.” You took a tiny step closer, so close your chest brushed against his as he panted a little. “I think you went to my room, expecting me to be there. You saw that I was gone and Duru was alone. You immediately thought the worst, and came rushing down to the cantina, hoping you’d find me there. And you did. Only it wasn’t what you expected.”

Mando was silent, his hands curling into fists and uncurling again. 

You continued, relentless, “Instead of being on my own, you saw me sitting with another man. A damn good looking one at that.” You cooed the word at hi, dropping your tone to a seductive, needy one.

You wouldn’t have heard the soft growl if you hadn’t been this close, and it only spurred you on. “You saw us laughing, talking. And you didn’t like it.” You tilted your head a little, “You saw us and thought… how well do they know each other?” You lifted your hand, placing your fingertips on his chest, “Maybe we knew each other as friends. Or… maybe we knew each other more than that. Maybe we’d spent nights together...” You began to tap your fingers down the Mandalorian’s chest plate, as you lowered your voice to a seductive purr, “What if we couldn’t wait, couldn’t wait to get to the bed and he threw me against the wall, tearing the buttons off my trousers in his haste.” 

Mando was breathing harder now, his hands curled up tight. You knew you were pushing his buttons, edging him to possible fury but something in you ached to do this, to feel something like that night before. You wanted a reaction out of him, something more than just protectiveness and care. You wanted him to lose his cool, break free of his restraint and just… do something. 

“Maybe I tore off his clothes too, both of us kissing so fiercely we couldn’t breathe, our tongues dancing around each other as we grabbed at each other, pulling away the layers of clothes until…” 

You rose up on tiptoe, your hands resting against his belly for support, and you knew the helmet would pick up your whispers, “Until he sunk into me, pushing me against the wall and fucking me, so hard and so loud that everyone in that building heard, that everyone knew what was happening. They knew his name, they knew my name, and they knew that we did not stop going. That we had sex on every available surface in that room. That I threw him on the bed and rode him until he was clawing at my hips. Do you want to see? Do you want to see the bruises that you think are on my hips?” 

You turned your head, so your lips brushed the edge of his helmet and fire burned through you as he turned his head into your words and his hands twitched, “Do you wish it was you, Lori? Do you wish it was you that was making me scream? That you were the one leaving marks on my body? That you were the one buried so deep within me I could feel you in my belly?” You pushed your body into him, effectively pinning him to the wall with your own body, “Did you think about me whilst I was gone? Alone, in the middle of the night with only your hand to keep you company?”

Your fingers trailed to his clenched fist, curling your hand around it to bring it to your waist. 

Only for him to let out a choked growl that set your bones ablaze. He spun quicker than you’d ever seen him move, switching the position and holding your hand against the wall, his other next your head, effectively creating a cage with his body, “Shut up.” 

You grinned, hearing the rasping tone of his voice, “I knew it, I knew you were jealous. You did think I fucked him, didn’t y-“

Suddenly, his hand had left yours and was over your mouth, “For a girl who acts like a princess, you have a fucking vulgar mouth.” He tilted his head down to yours, his voice rumbly and sparking all sorts of images in your mind. “Maybe I was a little jealous. I’ll admit it.”

Your eyes flared with triumph, even if the hand on your mouth was coiling heat in your belly, making heat flood through your body – and between your legs. 

The Mandalorian leant in closer, surrounding you with his scent again, smokey leather, metal and that distinct woodsy smell. “You asked me if I think about you… but what about you, cyar'ika? Do you think about me when you’re alone?”

By the stars, the way his voice dropped and rolled along your spine like a caress. It opened up the corner of your mind that you tried to ignore, the corner that spilled out every night, into your dreams. 

“Do you think about that night on the Crest? What might have happened if we weren’t interrupted? Would my hands have gone lower? Touched where you wish it was me? Sunk into you and stroked you until your legs shook?” He chuckled lowly, a sound that would have brought you to your knees if he wasn’t caging you to the wall. He was so close you could no longer see your reflection in his visor. His head titled a little and you felt his body push into yours gently, all hard, cold armour, but beneath that… beneath his hips, he pressed into you. 

You could feel the hard length of him, feel that he was turned on by this just as much as you, maybe he wanted this as much as you did. 

Wanted the images searing through your mind, of his hands tearing around your clothes, dropping to your thighs and lifting them around his waist, gripping them so hard he left bruises as he pushed into you..  

Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck. 

Electricity crashed through your veins and your darkened eyes rolled back a little, thighs clenching. You couldn’t help it, your lips parted and a soft moan slipped from them, muffled against the leather of his hand and without thinking, you bit down on his fingers, tasting the leather. 

His hand tensed over your mouth, his body jerking into yours a little as his breath left him in a soft huff. “Fuck, you d-“

“Uh, guys?”

Cara’s voice filtered through the haze of lust that clouded your brain, and immediately, the Mandalorian jumped backward, the two of you parting like you’d been shocked. 

Heat flooded your cheeks and neck, not from embarrassment so much as a response to his words. 

The man made you furious, made you see red but… you couldn’t deny the fire between you. The way you were dancing around each other since you met. You were seemingly in a constant stay of being polite, flirting with each other or being at each other’s throats – either through anger or pure lust. 

“What is it, Cara?” Mando turned to her, his voice coming out a little harsher than intended due to the roughness of his voice, betraying the reactions of his body. 

Her eyes flicked between the two of you, and you just knew she saw it all from the way she was holding back a smirk as she looked at you. “That guy from the cantina asked me to give you this.” She held something out to you. 

You cleared your throat, pushing away from the wall and walking past Mando carefully, like the faintest touch between you both would ignite something. “Thanks, Cara” You took the object she held out and it was a thin metal card with a code embossed onto it. You frowned, flipping it over but all that lay on the other side was a symbol. A two headed snake coiled around a sword that looked a lot like the one that had been sheathed on his back. 

The Mandalorian answered instead, thankfully staying where he was, “It’s a comms code. If you input it, it’ll connect you to him.” His voice was tight, “If he thinks-“

You held up a hand, not looking at him, “Don’t even finish that sentence.” You pocketed the card, letting out a breath, “I’m going to go and sort my things out. I… I’ll meet you all in a bit.” You allowed yourself a glance back at the Mandalorian, skin heating when you found his visor already trained on you. 

You swallowed thickly, your blood simmering again but you made yourself turn around, avoiding Cara’s smirk, “C’mon, Duru.” 

You headed back to your little apartment, relieved when you heard no trailing footsteps behind you. You needed the time alone for a minute, to process what the hell just happened between you both. 

And maybe to cool down. 

He would be the death of you. 

Previous| Next

[backonmybilly]

1,3,5,16,21,22,26,42,49,56,65,76,88

Thank you for so many asks! Hope I haven't messed this up somehow but I think I did it all right.

1: 6 of the songs you listen to most?

(asked before so copy paste)

I think I'll rely on my Spotify on repeat playlist for this one XD.

Star Shopping by Lil Peep, it's been my most listened to song on Spotify for 3 maybe 4 years now. LOVE IT!

Without Me by Halsey ft. Juice WRLD

Sweater Weather by Jade De Mure

Robbery by Juice WRLD

Life Is Beautiful by Lil Peep

Running With The Wolves by Aurora

3: Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 23, give me line 17.

"Do you fear to speak to me?" I asked.

5: What does your latest text message from someone else say?

Super boring answer unfortunately, just my sister messaging saying "dogs were fed, cat wasn't."

16: Simple but extremely complex. Favorite band?

I usually just listen to solo artists so this is pretty tough but simply for how many of their songs I know all the lyrics of I'll say Linkin Park.

22: Have you ever gone skinny dipping?

No I have not, yet.

26: Are you happy with the person you’ve become?

Although my overall answer is no I will say that over the past maybe 2 or 3 years I've definitely made progress towards that goal, I've not become who I want to be yet but I'm closer than I've ever been before.

42: Do you like the smell of gasoline?

Despise it, my work involves moving around a lot of fuel so most days at work the smell will linger about for ages, hate it.

49: Ever had a rumour spread about you?

So many, too many bored idiots back in school, I think everyone had rumors spread about them here.

56: In a relationship?

Not yet and sadly I don't think I'll manage to be in one for a while, lonely boi hours over here.

65: Give me your top 5 favourite blogs on Tumblr.

In no particular order here's the best 5 Tumblrs I follow. A small collection of some of the nicest, coolest, straight up best people I follow.

@chanandchilde

@hopefulwriter101

@eugeliaskintea

@cokebody4

@whit3-monsst3r

Big internet hugs for all these lovely people. (Of course only if they're okay with that)

76: In your opinion, what makes a great relationship?

Time to put my 0 experience into action here, from seeing the relationships of others crash and burn countless times I gotta say trust, commitment, and honesty, all this checking their phones just in case and those fucking people that ask their friends to "test" their significant other by flirting to see if they'll cheat, just stupid immature crap. Trust, commitment, honesty.

88: If you could press a button and make anyone in the world instantaneously explode, who would it be?

I'm not gonna name a guy from school and I don't wanna be vague so let's go with Bezos, honestly I don't really think killing an individual will actually change much but I hate him with a passion so fuck him.

[animemangasoul]

You Are Wanted Obi-Wan Kenobi

Summery: Qui-Gon lives and Mace gets a new Padawan.

[In which Qui-Gon repudiates Obi-Wan and Mace isn't about to let the kid leave the order without a fight.]

Chapter: 3/10

No one gossiped quite like the Jedi. A miniature change, a Knighting, a death, a Trial gone wrong. All of it spread like wildfire and within a blink of an eye, the words were across the Temple, twisting the realities behind said words and painting the walls with new and highly unlikely truths. Breathing in the swirling masses of twittering gossip was just part of every day life of the Coruscanty Jedi.

Qui-Gon of course knew how much Jedi liked to gossip. Knew very well how vicious rumours could get; even if it was never done out of malice, just too much curiosity and the indulging need to share things. He knew, and yet…..

"I heard Kenobi tried to leave the Order again."

"I heard he touched the darkside."

Qui-Gon came to a stuttering halt. Head tilted just so, chin high and gaze fixed on a far away spot as he tried and failed to tune out the Naboo crises that had for the last couple of weeks become the hot topic of the Temple. Why was the refectory three floors too far from his quarters? Was it always like this or was every step suddenly too heavy, too slow, now that Qui-Gon desperately needed to get away.

"He's lucky the council hasn't kicked him out," filtered through to him. Spoken too loud for him to be able to ignore and….

Something foreign, something cruel crawled it's way up his throat. Each whisper of curiosity making him burn. Burn as if the force itself was being ripped from his soul.

Fingers clenching around each tray, one filled with all assortments of dishes; little Ani was all too wide-eyed and adventures with his need to try all types of food now that he realized it wouldn't be withheld from him, and the other with nothing more than the bare essentials.

They shook; both trays vibrating with the unsteadiness of his hands.

"Master Qui-Gon had to stop him from turning into a Sith. At least that's what people are saying."

"Did you know he isn't even a Padawan anymore?"

"Really? I mean, I know Master Qui-Gon has a new Padawan but I thought they'd Knighted Kenobi. Didn't he kill a Sith?!"

'Yes!--' he wanted to scream. A strangled sort of cry dying in his throat as he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other.

'Ignore them. They don't know. They don't understand. Ignore them,' he told himself. But how could he, when all he wanted to do was scream at them. Frayed edges and all. Scream the bloody and raw truth for the entire Temple to hear.

His boy had killed a Sith. Had defended him. Had protected him. His Obi-Wan was a SithKiller. He was an exceptional Padawan. Brilliant and radiant and so so kind. He wasn't….. He wasn't what they thought. With their soft whispers behind lifted hands and flittering glances.

They didn't know the truth.

They could never fully understand the truth.

What did they know….. What did they know.

"Master Qui-Gon most have seen something wrong with him."

He kept walking. Snippet of unwanted conversation filtering through despite his best effort to ignore them.

"My friend told me no Master want to take him."

"But Padaw--- Kenobi is so nice! Why would he-----"

And on and on it went. Anywhere and everywhere in the Temple. Rumours about Obi-Wan and his supposed disgrace kept circulating like month to flame. Padawans, younglings, even Knights scurrying away the second they noticed him walking by, mouths clamming shut and shame clouding their eyes for letting their fantasy run away with them.

Qui-Gon wanted to snap. Shout at the top of his lungs that none of their ridiculous rumours were true. That they were so far of base they might as well be striding across space. That his boy was good. He was kind and gentle, and the truest of Jedi there was. That he saved his life. That he scared him as Qui-Gon's last fading moments were filled with sheer and utter terror that he'd wake up to a dead Padawan that had given too much of himself to save his dying Master's life.

Obi-Wan was good. So good. So how dared they defame him like this. Slate his name…….

He wanted to set them straight. Wanted it so badly it burned. But he couldn't. He wouldn't.

To protect Ani, he couldn't.

Anakin was feeling out of place as it was. Scared and lonely, missing his mom terribly. If people around the Temple realized the truth, that Qui-Gon had let go of his Padawan of ten years to take a kid that was too old….. It would put Ani in a difficult position. And the poor child was already dealing with so much. Missing his mother, learning all these foreign cultural norms, adapting and even worrying about Obi-Wan on top of it all. Qui-Gon couldn't in good consciousness clear up the rumours while also protecting Ani from them.

In the end it was a matter of who needed him more, and right now, that was the Chosen One.

So he clammed his mouth shut, gritted his teeth, pulled the trays closer to his chest and kept walking. Blocking out every curious, hurtful word, and let his emotions fade into the force.

Repudiating Obi-Wan hadn't done his young Padaw-- former Pawadan any good. Especially with the boy's spotty reputation as it was, but Qui-Gon was sure as soon as Obi-Wan got a new Master this would all die down. He just needed to hold on a bit longer. Besides, his former Padawan had been in the Halls these past couple of weeks; and oh, if his heart didn't give a painful tug at the thought, so none of it would have reached him. The Temple gossip wouldn't last much longer.

And maybe when Obi-Wan got a new Master, when the rumours died out, Anakin too wouldn't have to be kept away from the Temple life any longer. Maybe then Qui-Gon wouldn't have to keep little Ani secluded; shielding him from curious eyes and less than flattering opinions of Obi-Wan. Besides few friends the kid had made, Anakin didn't go out much, not even to classes. Qui-Gon having decided it was for the best he homeschooled him for now.

It was for the best.

The gossip wouldn't last forever.

Even if Qui-Gon didn't like it. Even if he wanted to put a stop to it. Even if after killing a Sith and saving his life people were likening Obi-Wan to Xanatos. Even if…….

It was for the best. At least for now.

So Qui-Gon kept walking. Kept his head down and wondered how his boy was doing. How he was healing. If Master Che was taking care of him. If he was smiling or laughing. If he was worried, if he was thinking about him. If, if, if.

"Greeting, Master Jinn."

He didn't startle, but it was close. Qui-Gon blinked slowly, re-entering himself.  "Knight Vos," he said pleasantly. "Back from your mission I see?"

Shadows didn't talk about their missions, even newly assigned Shadows like Vos, so Qui-Gon wasn't surprised when the young man's only response to his question was a careless shrug. "Dinner?" he asked instead, nodding at the trays Qui-Gon was balancing in his hands, one eyebrow arched.

"Yes. Ani is just about done with his homework so I offered to grab us a bite."

Something crackled around them, the force nearly suffocating with emotions Qui-Gon couldn't quite decipher before it vanished just as quick. Vos, for it most have been Vos, clamming down on his emotions as fast as he had let them slip. The Kiffar's shoulders were tense, a tiny grove appearing between his eyebrows darkening his expression. Suddenly Qui-Gon felt as if whatever little regard the Shadow might have had of him, had evaporated.

It felt like he'd failed a test he hadn't even been aware of taking.

"Is that so? How nice." The last word was practically spat at him. "Good to see that you have moved on from the Naboo incident. Content with your new perfect life are you now, Master Jinn?" If looks alone could kill.

Qui-Gon frowned. "We are all making due with the hand we were dealt, Knight Vos. But I can assure you Naboo haunts us all. However as Jedi, we cannot let our emotions get the best of us."

Quinlan stiffened. "Have you even gone to see him? Do you even--" Clenching his fists, Vos's glare was almost too much. "He isn't dead you know. There's no need to act like he is."

And that. No. That was one step too far.

"Knight--" he hissed, trays perfectly still even as his heart shook and his breath hitched. "Know your place."

"My apologies," Quinlan muttered, eyes flashing as he bowed, deep enough to be respectful, shallow enough to put his point across. "I did not mean to overstep."

Giving him a stiff nod in return, Qui-Gon tried not to think of his own hurt, his own anger, of Obi-Wan. "See that you don't."

The Kiffar nodded back, sidestepping to walk past him. Air too tense to continue any meaningful conversation. Qui-Gon listened as the newly Knighted Jedi's presence drew further and further away from him, but just as he was about to make his way back to his quarters; the clawing desperation scrapping against his throat boxed away for another day, Vos spoke up again. His voice distant, but in these empty halls, all the more potent.

"Some Padawan's thrive because of their Master's guidance," came his words, cutting across the distance between them as if he was right next to him, whispering into his ear. "Others thrive despite of it. I pray for Skywalker's sake he follows Obi-Wan's path of the latter."

And, oh….. That was….. That hit harder than Qui-Gon expected it to.

It's as if Vos was suffocating him. As if he'd reached across the hall and squeezed his heart in an unrelenting grip of death.

Years of mastering his emotions is all that prevents Qui-Gon from stumbling back. Quinlan without realizing it having dug up a pain so profound it's scars were still screaming with agony under the shell that was Qui-Gon Jinn. Feemor, Xanatos, now Obi-Wan. He doesn't even notice Quinlan's footsteps fading away, no. All he can focus on is his shortened breath, his pounding heart and the shake. He's shaking. Because……… he'd somehow managed to fail Obi-Wan like he'd failed everyone else and……

He can't breathe.

He can't.

And it's only what feels like hours later that he comes to. Curled at the farthest corner of force knows where. Food nowhere in sight, knees pulled against his chest as he tries to just breathe.

Quinlan Vos's words shouldn't have gotten to him but they had and Qui-Gon hated himself for it. Because….. Because, what did Vos know. What did he know about his struggles. What did he know about the sacrifices Qui-Gon had made. This was the Will of The Force. Why did no one understand that! This wasn't about him or Obi-Wan. This wasn't about the council or hurt feelings. This was about the Chosen One and how he needed training. The force had willed it so, so why was everyone trying to stop him?!

He hadn't failed Obi-Wan.

He hadn't.

Not really.

Obi-Wan was the man he was today because Qui-Gon had done right by him even as he was still recovering from Xanatos. Even with all the scars Xanatos had carved into his heart, he'd let Obi-Wan in, raised that boy like he was his own. And Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan had repaid his devotion by being the light in his otherwise darkened soul. Obi-Wan had saved him. Loved him, respected him and…..

Did they honestly think he would abandon his boy if the force wasn't guiding him?

This wasn't his fault. This was the council's fault. They had forced his hand. Made him choose. If they'd only Knighted Obi-Wan like they were supposed to none of this would have happened. They had changed and twisted tradition before, so why not now?

Qui-Gon knew why.

It was to spite him. They didn't like that he wasn't bending to their every whim and they took it out on his Padawan.

This wasn't his fault. It was the council and their incessant need to punish him for not being a puppet like everyone else.

Now Obi-Wan was Masterless and Qui-Gon couldn't fix it. Couldn't take back what was done. 'And you wouldn't,' his consciousness whispered traitorously. 'Training the Chosen One is more important. Obi-Wan isn't more important than bringing balance to the force.'

And Qui-Gon knew he wasn't and that's why he'd let him go.

It was for the best.

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

"If you really wanna visit Mr. Obi-Wan, you should!" Anakin chirped, stuffing his face with another spoon full of stew; having finally let go of being cross with Qui-Gon for the late dinner. The old Master having gone back to the refectory; after his unexpected breakdown to get them two new plates of food while still not quite knowing what happened to the previous ones.

"Is that so," he muttered, slowly sipping at his tea. "And don't talk with food in your mouth, Ani."

"Sowwy."

Qui-Gon glared and Anakin flushed. Chewing and swallowing quickly, the kid muttered a soft apology under his breath making Qui-Gon smile in satisfaction. "It's ok. Just don't forget it next time."

Nodding and looking a little less enthusiastic now, Anakin fidgeted in his seat. "So are you?"

"Am I what?" He knew he was being difficult and by the tiny frown on Ani's face, the kid knew it too.

"Visit Mr. Obi-Wan," Anakin huffed, crossing his arms. "He's awake you know and he's super good at talking without falling asleep in the middle of it now, and he has all this candy and gifts that he shared with me and maybe he'll share it with you too and he's really nice and he misses you and why don't you go visit?!" The last words were practically shouted at him. Anakin having stood up in the middle of his rant to slam his hands on the table.

"I can't," Qui-Gon said, voice sharp even as he tried to temper down his emotions. "Master Che won't let me."

The surprised little "Oh," Anakin let out, eyes wide and mouth slightly gaped open in disbelief made a flush of jealousy course through Qui-Gon's veins. Because-- "But she lets me visit all the time!"

How was that fair?

The fact that Ani could visit his boy when he was denied. The fact that Vokara didn't think the kid that upended Obi-Wan's life would give him stress but he, Obi-Wan's Master. The man who raised him through his adolescent, somehow would. How everyone from his friends to the council members to even Anakin could visit his Padawan, but all Qui-Gon could do was brush his mind against his son and drink in his presence from afar.

How was any of that fair?

It burned. It curled around his throat and burned. Anakin had just arrived. He hadn't even been here for a full cycle and yet he knew the state Obi-Wan was in better than him. Could eat his breakfast, finish his school work and bounce of to the Halls to go see the one person Qui-Gon wanted to see above all else.

Oh it burned.

Anakin didn't know what he'd taken from him. What the Will of The Force had taken from him….

And just as soon as the jealousy flared up, it died down. Overwhelmed by a sense of shame and embarrassment that Qui-Gon had even let himself entertain such destructive and baseless emotions. This had nothing to do with Anakin. The kid hadn't made his choices for him. Ani was innocent in all of this. How could he even blame him?

"Maybe…. Maybe you can ask again? I'm sure Master Che will let you see him if you ask super nicely?" The lilt of uncertainty in Anakin's side of their bond, pulled the Master back out of his own head. Eyes landing on the small boy sitting across from him; dinner long since abandoned and if that didn't make Qui-Gon feel even worse. Anakin ate with vigor because he still couldn't comprehend that the food would still be there afterwards, and now Qui-Gon had worried him enough to abandon it in hopes of appeasing him.

Sighing deeply, Qui-Gon shook his head. "I'm sure she will Ani." Smiling gently at the poor boy, he was rewarded with a wobbly one in return. "Let's finish eating shall we?" Lifting his fork he clinked it playfully against Anakin's own, which made the kid's uncertain smile bloom into something more real, and that was enough for now. If this was all Qui-Gon could do at the moment, make a little boy smile, that was enough for him.

Especially since he knew deep down; despite the irrational feelings that suffocated him sometimes, that none of this was Anakin's fault. This was all new and scary to the kid as well. He didn't need Qui-Gon's issues on top of his own.

Besides, he mused tiredly, taking a bite out of the Tufkus cake Obi-Wan loved so much. This was his own cowardly fault in the first place.

He was the one who'd broken Obi-Wan's trust. He had been the one to run out of the kid's hospital room after unbraiding his hair because he was too afraid to look him in the eye and tell him what he'd done. Selfishly he'd still wanted Obi-Wan to look at him as if he'd hung the moon, so he couldn't, he wouldn't…….

It had been so much easier to do it while his boy was unconscious. To run his fingers through his hair one last time, file away every little detail of his peaceful face to memory. To never forget. To never let go. Even as his fingers fumbled to untie the braid. The moments, the days, the history.

It had been so incredibly hard.

Putting it all away. Cutting their bond.

And now there was a brown wooden box under his bed were familiar beads and bands once tied to Obi-Wan's bbraid, lay collecting dust.

Yes, it had been…. Hard. But duty rose above all else, and Qui-Gon knew with time, Obi-Wan would come to accept it too.

Still, not all hope was lost. Because no matter how many times Master Yoda had told him to stay out of it, Qui-Gon was going to fix this. He had a last ditch plan if all else failed. There was no way, force wills it, he was going to let his kid be sent away again. Not under his watch.

He'd been keeping an eye on Mace and Yoda's efforts and it was safe to say it wasn't going well. Which wasn't a surprise seeing as Obi-Wan's records were well, not exactly perfect. Leaving the Order left a stain on someone's legacy and while Qui-Gon had already forgiven him for that transgression, not many would be able to do the same.

No, it was definitely not going well. Master Yoda all but admitting it to him when he'd checked in with him for the fifteenth time; Mace unwilling to look at him let alone talk to him after that fated council meeting.

"Looking we are. Little success we are being met with. Have heart you most. Abandon Obi-Wan we will not."

'Unlike you,' had floated between them, unsaid.

But it was Yoda's parting words that had stayed with Qui-Gon. Lingering in his head, days after the wise old Jedi had looked at him with such sadness and regret.

"Hurting, you are. But band-aid to your pain Obi-Wan is not. Band-aid to your pain Obi-Wan should have never been. My mistake it was, assigning him to you."

My mistake. Assigning him to you.

Mistake. Assigning him. Assigning Obi-Wan, to him.

Yoda regretted creating their partnership and Qui-Gon didn't know how to process the absolute devastation and anger that ignited within him.

There was nothing wrong with his partnership with Obi-Wan. Sure they'd had their ups and downs, but the good times far outweighed the bad and for Yoda to say something like that, to hold such conviction in his voice as he said it……

No. Neither Master Yoda or Master Windu knew what was best for Obi-Wan. They wouldn't find him a Master to take him in. They wouldn't succeed, and in the end, his boy would once again end up on a train taking him far away from home.

Qui-Gon would be damned if he let that happen.

In fact, he had the perfect plan to prevent it all and keep his Padawans with him.

"Master Qui-Gon sir?"

"Yes?" he said, momentarily putting a pause on his running thoughts. "You finished your dinner, Ani?"

Nodding eagerly, Anakin pushed his empty plates away and jumped off the chair. "Can I go now?"

Shaking his head a fond smile playing at the corner of his lips, Qui-Gon stood up too, collecting their plates. "Have you finished your reading?"

Anakin moved restlessly. "I wanted to do it tomorrow? But-" he said, giving him a pleading look. "I did all of my other work. I promise! Can I please go?"

Frowning thoughtfully, Qui-Gon made his way into the kitchen, well aware of the hasting footsteps hurrying after him. "Why leave it for tomorrow?"

"Um," looking over his shoulders he watched as Ani twiddled his thumbs.

"Um, what?"

"Well," the kid smiled, uncertainty practically flooding the force. "Obi-Wan said he'd help me with the reading and it's really late right now and Master Che said I couldn't visit when it's late so I can't go and ask him for help. So….. Tomorrow?"

Something lodged itself in Qui-Gon's throat and for a second, it was almost too hard to breathe again. "That's…. Nice," he managed to force out. Not daring to look at the little boy who practically gave him everything while taking away all that mattered to him. "Where are you planning to go?"

"Aayla said she'd show me the hangers and I promised to meet here after dinner! Please?"

Aayla Secura. Quinlan Vos's Padawan. Gritting his teeth, Qui-Gon released his bitterness into the force. Apparently nothing was going his way today.

"So can I go?"

He sighed. "Yes. But--" he called out as Anakin let out a little yeep and darted to the door. "Be home at a reasonable hour this time."

"I will!"

Qui-Gon scoffed. He doubted it.

But Anakin was very independent, not like Obi-Wan. And he didn't want to hamper that independency, especially since the kid was destined to save the world. And with the kid having to stay home and study alone for majority of the day, Qui-Gon didn't think refusing him his nightly outings was fair. So he wished the Chosen One goodbye and settled down for an hour of meditation.

He felt far too restless for mediation these days, but it was only through centering himself that he found that he could get close to Obi-Wan's force signature. And loathe as he was to admit this level of attachment, he did not feel ashamed enough to stop. Being near his boy. To quietly hover around that bright, warm presence. It eased something deep and painful within Qui-Gon.

And it strengthened his determination to carry out his plan all the more.

Dooku, he thought, kneeling. Eyes closed and mind wandering despite his almost desperate need to find that serenity so he could seek out Obi-Wan's presence within the force. Master Yan would arrive back at the Coruscant within a week, and as soon as he got back, Qui-Gon would corner him and somehow convince him to finish Obi-Wan's training.

He didn't get along with his former Master and frankly Qui-Gon was all too willing to carry on with their current norm of never speaking to each other outside of polite greetings, but right now, Dooku was his only option. The right option. After all, Master Yan had shown keen interest in Obi-Wan's education in the child's earlier years; thankfully Qui-Gon had managed to keep his Master away from his very impressionable student, but now he might be his very last triumph card. And Obi-Wan was twenty-three now, he wouldn't be so easily corruptible by Master Yan's distinct interest in Sith history. Besides, Qui-Gon knew how distant the older man was. He could probably convince him to take Obi-Wan as a Padawan and then leave him here, with him. That way Qui-Gon could keep both his Padawans, train them and no one would be sent away.

It was the perfect plan. The perfect idea. And with his former Master being much kinder now that Qui-Gon had barely escaped with his life against a Sith, he was sure it would all work out like it should.

He was sure of it.

Letting himself sink even deeper into the force, he filtered out all the pulsating force signatures around him. Drowning them all out as he sought out the one candle light that was as familiar to him as his own and there. He smiled.

Obi-Wan.

Warm like a crackling campfire in the middle of freezing winter. Comforting like a hug given by a tiny thirteen year old who'd seen too much of the world far too quickly and yet managed to retain his innocence.

His Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon wasn't going to let him down again. Not this time.

Slowly drawing himself back away from his boy, he breathed in and opened his eyes. The loss of the blazing presence that was his former Padawan making his chest ache, but he knew he couldn't linger, less the kid noticed him.

It didn't matter either way. Because it was only matter of time before he would be reunited with him.

Standing up, he brushed imaginary dust of his robes; faintly hearing the echoes of Obi-Wan's laughter at his old man habit.

Today was the day the auburn haired youth would leave the Halls. It should have been yesterday, but according to one of the Padawan's in rotation that he'd coaxed the information out of, a small complication had delayed Obi-Wan's release.

Since no Master had claimed him yet, Obi-Wan Kenobi would be assigned to the Initiate dorms again, and Qui-Gon was not willing to let that happen.

He would go pick him up and surprise him with the good news that he could stay with them. Him and little Ani until they found him a Master; Yan Dooku if Qui-Gon had anything to say about it. And he was sure his boy would be so relieved to know that Qui-Gon still had his back. Maybe that could be their first step in mending what had been broken? Especially since Anakin and he seemed to already get along splendidly.

Of course it might be mildly embarrassing for Obi-Wan for a bit; sharing quarters with the boy who'd replaced him, but he would settle down eventually. Qui-Gon was sure of it. His boy was nothing if not adaptable. And after he heard the effort Qui-Gon had put into keeping them together, he would forgive him. He had to.

If he didn't, Qui-Gon wasn't quite sure what he would do with himself.

Making his way through the living room; ready to grab his boots to go, he stumbled over a box by the sofa and nearly fell. His quick reflexes the only thing keeping him standing.

Frowning down at the scattered boxes of Obi-Wan's things that he'd packed away weeks ago, so Anakin could have more space for his own stuff, Qui-Gon sighed. They'd have to find somewhere new to place them. Maybe Obi-Wan could take his room, since Ani had already moved into the older boy's? And Qui-Gon could take the sofa, just for now. Just until he applied for bigger quarters. Nodding to himself resolutely, he sidestepped the rest. But just as he arrived at the door, there was a knock. Followed by three more rapid bangs.

"Hold on," he called out, reaching for the panel and as the door slide open he came face to face with Muln. Garen Muln. Another of Obi-Wan's delightful friends. And by the sour look on the kid's face, just as delightfully furious with him.

"Knight Muln," he greeted softly followed by a bow.

Garen grinned, all teeth and stormy eyes. "Master Qui-Gon," he said cheerfully, bowing back. "I'm here to pick up Obi's things."

Qui-Gon stiffened, folding his hands under the sleeves of his robe. "Ah, he's being released today," he said. Neither making it a question nor a statement.

The shaggy haired man nodded enthusiastically, his force presence practically swallowing them both up with a sense of coldness that sent chills down Qui-Gon's spine.

"Yeah," he answered, jaw twitching. "He's finally leaving the Halls and I was sent to get his things." Nodding his head at the boxes strewn around the floor behind him. "So if you could just get them for me--" clapping his hands, Muln smiled; his eyes were cold. "That would be wonderful."

Clearing his throat, Qui-Gon gave the clearly resentful Knight a tight smile. "There is no need to take Obi-Wan's things--" He ignored how Muln flinched as the name left his mouth. "To the Initiate dorms. They can stay here until he gets a Master."

Now. Now Muln's eyes were sparkling. There was a sense of vicious glee swirling around them in the force and it made Qui-Gon tense. What was going on?

"Oh you don't understand," Garen smiled back at him and this time, his smile did reach his eyes. But it looked foreign on the face of the otherwise furious man. "I'm not here to take Obi's things to the Initiate dorms." Here he paused, his force signature practically dancing. "He already has a Master and said Master asked me to bring his things. So you see--" a giant grin. "Nothing for you to concern yourself with."

"What?"

"You heard me. Master Jinn." The last two words were dragged out, Garen's lips widening even further into an almost sadistic smile. "His Master sent me to get his things."

But Qui-Gon couldn't quite comprehend it. He couldn't……

A Master? Already?

When, how, why?

"Who?" Was what came out. The burning question that mattered the most…… who?

Garen Muln slid in past him and chuckled. "Believe it or not," he said, voice practically a giggle and tone conversational. He was enjoying this. "Master Windu."

Wi…..

"Mace?"

Qui-Gon could barely keep a lid on his shock. Because…. Mace? Why would he take Obi-Wan.

'Why would he take Obi-Wan away from me?'

The young Knight shrugged. "Yeah. He asked him yesterday and Obi agreed." Lifting his hands he concentrated and before long all the boxes were floating; Qui-Gon couldn't even muster the necessary disapproval to scold him for the improper use of the force.

"Obi-Wan….. Agreed?"

Floating the last mementos of his Padawan past him, Muln smirked. "Yup. The Master of the Order. Isn't that crazy."

It……

Mace…… Mace had taken his Padawan.

But it wasn't supposed to be Mace. It was supposed to be Yan.

Yan Dooku was supposed to take on Obi-Wan and then give him back. So they could all stay together. Here. Like they were supposed to. Not….. Not Mace.

"Now Obi doesn't have to leave, you get to keep your prized Chosen One, Master Jinn. And all will be sunshine and rainbows." Practically skipping out the door, Garen Muln gave him a wink. "All as the force wills it, right?" And with that he was gone. Leaving Qui-Gon in a stupor he couldn't shake. Not even hours later when Anakin snuck his way in, letting out a yelp when he found his Master sitting listless by the door. The poor kid nearly stumbling over him.

"Master, what's wrong!"

'Nothing,' he wanted to say. 'Obi-Wan found himself a Master. Isn't that great!'

But he couldn't. The thought alone made him want to rip his hair out. Because deep down he'd assumed there would be no capable Masters willing to take Obi-Wan, not with his spotty record. And those who might have been willing to see past it, would have already had Padawans or were far too young to train a Padawan as old as Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon had; loathe as he was to admit it, almost counted on it. Subconsciously relieved each and every time he'd heard of another rejection. Even as he felt great sadness for his former Padawan. But he'd known Master Dooku was coming. His Master was coming back to fix everything, help him restore what had been broken. Qui-Gon had been so close to getting his family back. And now it was gone. It was all gone, thanks to Mace Windu.

Mace had stolen his Padawan from him.

"Master, Master! What's wrong?!"

Nothing, nothing at all.

The End

Never have I ever found a character as hard to write as Qui-Gon Jinn. I literally ended up putting on robes, letting my hair down and pretending to be him for a full 24 hours to get his stupid character down. Hopefully he came out ok. I didn't want to make him a 100% bad person but I also knew he wasn't a great person either, so he had to land somewhere in the middle. In character, yet an asshole. So in the end, I have summarized Qui-Gon like this [Everything is about him. Even though he loves Obi-Wan it's about Qui-Gon. His pain, what he needs, his jealousy, trying to keep both Padawan instead of finding any other solution blah blah blah].

He isn't a bad person. He's just a really shitty Mentor. Like imagine telling Obi-Wan he will stay with them, while being an absent mentor's padawan just so Qui-Gon can continue playing at being a dad...... this man needs serious help. And I actually feel kind of bad for him because he does love Obi-Wan. He's just not good at anything else besides that first step. (Sorta reminds me of Bruce Wayne actually lol)--- sorry for the super late update guys! Please enjoy!!!

Qui-Gon: You can stay with us!

Obi-Wan [......]: You gave my room away. You disowned me and you never even looked me in the eye when you did it.

Qui-Gon: Semantics.

Chapter: 1,  2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

[prose-for-hire]

The man behind the monster

Pairing: Spike x reader

Request: Opera Phantom Spike Imagine. And for the side of his face could be the vampire morph side

Requested by: @everlastingartist​

Warning: Blood mention. Biting. Spike pushes the reader.

A/N: I guess this is an amalgamation of scenes loosely inspired by the phantom of the opera. I wanted a comforting moment from the reader to Spike surrounding his vamp face though and there’s no other person. Just spike and reader. This is an au. Hope it’s okay, I give you Spike in the Vampire of the Opera.

You danced and acted in the opera house. You were part of the ensemble, you had been grateful to land such a role especially as you hadn’t been training for as long as the talented people that you worked with. You were in the background most of the time, but you worked hard and decided that one day you would land more central roles.

Little did you know, you were already playing the central role of someone’s affections. You had long since heard the rumours. Of a monster or a spirit that haunted the opera house that you worked in.

He watched every performance you were cast in, from the shadows. There was little else for him to do but he found himself enjoying the way you moved. Held yourself. You weren’t like the others. Stuck up and taking themselves too seriously. You were real. You were going to be his.

You were in his dreams, in his every thought. Every evening he would look forward to the curtain call. To seeing your face once again from the box he reserved next to the stage. He loved the way your voice would carry, a melodic confession of love straight into his ears. He could pick your voice out above anyone else’s.

There had long since been rumours of the vampire of the opera. A demon that haunted the opera house. Hidden away from the rest of the world for reasons unknown. He used the audience as people he could feed from, his life blood. With the occasional rat if there was a quiet period. He lived in the underground dungeons, only coming out to catch a glimpse of you.

He would often leave you his handwritten poetry in your dressing room. The only contact you had with him throughout the last year. Describing the way you would glow. His affection growing every second he saw you. The way he watched you onstage, his eyes never able to move from your form.

One evening, you were feeling lonely. You heart aching for something you couldn’t yet put into words. You had no plans or anywhere to go after the performance. You absentmindedly looked towards the mirror and it was the first time you saw his face. There he was. Slicked back white blonde hair, a mask covering one half of his face and a long, cloak-like leather duster. He took your hand, through the mirror, bringing you below. To the place he called home. You were stood taking in your surroundings. It was an underground cave and you found yourself feeling at home. Because he was there. You were drawn to him, like a moth to a flame. Knowing you could get burnt at any moment. The potential danger rolling off him in waves. But the desire for his touch, his love was too strong.

Spike had now moved behind you, gripping your hips. His strong hands were now roaming over you. Your hips. Your thighs. He ran his hands over the material of your outfit, his body flush against yours as he spoke. You closed your eyes, relishing his touch. Leaning back, pressing your body into his as he whispered a string of hushed confessions into your ear, “Touch me, love. I need you to trust me… to devour this. The touch we share” You nodded, sighing at his words. Words you felt within your very soul. The words that had been written in the poetry left in your dressing room. It was him. His words. His love.

You were drawn to him. Your feelings bubbling towards the surface as his passionate embrace swelled your affections further. He spoke lowly in your ear, “I’ve seen you, where your heart lies. I know you now, you belong here in the dark with me” he insisted, “Let your darker side give in, love” He pressed this into your skin with a kiss against your pulse point. You shivered, leaning your head back against him. Leaning the side of your face against his.

The sensual touch making you bite back a moan. You reach up to the side of his face with one hand, his form still behind you. You moved your hands, resting on your body and he swiftly moved both of his hands to rest over yours. His eyes closing briefly at the pure pleasure he felt at having you here, responding to his pleas. His passionate demonstration of his feelings. He felt so deeply for you. Would kill for you.

You felt yourself wanting to stay with him. Wanting to embrace the darkness, so long as it meant being by his side. You nodded softly and his undead heart rose. His eyes widened slightly in wonder, searching your face to confirm this further. You gave him a tight-lipped smile and moved from his hold slightly. You walked around, with him closely following, exploring the underground that he had now made into a home.

You moved the curtain as he spoke lowly, telling you of the affection he had held for you since he had seen your face. When you opened the curtain, you were staring back at you. A doll with your face. A life-like figure. He had designed a version of you. To keep him company. You didn’t know whether to weep or embrace him once more. Instead, you merely gasped in shock, falling back against him. Fainting. He pulled you into him, carrying you toward his bed. It was grand, but you didn’t see it until you woke.

He stroked the side of your face as you slept, his blue eyes scanning your form. He had dreamt of you in his bed, longed to see you this way. He lingered for a moment before he left you to rest, drinking from his bottle of liquor and moving away to a different part of the dungeon to give you some space.

 When you woke and walked towards him, he was hunched over his desk, feverishly writing. He could sense your movement and he relaxed when he heard that your footsteps were slowly coming towards him rather than running away. You run your hands along his shoulders, he closed his eyes at your touch. He had dreamt of you for so long. You pressed your face against his once more. This time, it was the side that held the mask. You frowned, moving back slightly and peeling away the mask. You slowly take the mask from the side of his face. He snarled, almost overturning the desk. Turning swiftly and pushing you from his face, the mask still in your hand. He growls as he pushes you away. You land on the floor, eyes widened in horror at his temper.

“You stupid-! You bloody horrible– is this what you wanted? To laugh? To jeer at the monster?” He shouted, “Oh yeah that’s right, everyone look at Spike and his hideous demon half” he continued, kicking at the metal gates in the corner of the room. He was covering one side of his face as he spoke, but you could see the fangs now on that side of his face.

You pulled yourself back to your feet, the mask still in your hand. You could see that his eyes cast towards you, pain in his features as he saw what you did. He expected you to turn and walk away, although he wasn’t sure he would be able to let you walk off. Instead, you surprised him. You move back to his side instantly, willing him to feel your comfort.

“You’re not a monster, you could never be a monster to me” You say softly, swept up in the passion that never dissipated, “Your words are so beautiful, no doubt your heart is too. I can feel it”

“Oh yeah?” He raised his eyebrow, moving his hand away to prove you wrong. You saw his face, one half of his face had been twisted. He was paler, with purple veins lightly showing on the side of his face. Contorted at the forehead that was ridged and textured in a way that stuck out. There was also a piercing yellow eye now evident where you hadn’t noticed one before.

You reached to touch the roughly textured but he grabbed your wrist, a firm grip keeping your hand in mid-air. You take an intake of breath, shuddering at his cold touch only in temperature. But the warmth that spread through you from this action was one that couldn’t be denied. You shook your head softly and he released your wrist, allowing you to continue.

To anyone else, it may be shocking, grotesque even. But you stared in a way that could only be described as lovingly. He had cowered slightly, waiting for you to laugh. To begin to make fun of him for both his affection and his form. His insecurity had gotten the better of him again.

You reached to stroke his face and this time he let you. Your hand contacted his face, running gently over his forehead. You had expected it to be rough, but it was smooth like the rest of his face. You stroked him softly your touch feather-light. The adoration evident to him. 

“I love you, y/n”

“I love you too, Spike. I’ll never stop” you confirmed. Everything had moved so fast but if this was what love was you wanted more of it. You wished to drown in it by his side. You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead, to that side of his face.

As you leaned in again, he moved so that his lips were now hungrily on yours. Parting your lips, moving urgently against you. His lips felt so good you never wanted to break apart from him. It was a revelation, his love pouring into you. His hold on you tightening as your emotional attachment grew further. Your lips on his feverishly, willing him to feel the honesty of your love. The intimacy that both of you had longed for for what felt like your whole lives. The amorous exchange becoming increasingly desperate. Both of you swept in the passion of the moment. In the attraction you couldn’t escape.

He pressed you against the wall, pulled you to the side. Moving your head so your neck exposed to him. He landed a kiss along your neck before he moved back. His fangs more visible as he held you in place, his hand firmly in the crook of your neck. You gasped and he gripped you tighter. Pulling you into him as he pierced your skin. His fangs sinking into the side of your neck. He drank deep. Your blood slowly dripped down your neck as he tasted you.

Now you would be his, forever.

[agwitow]

(Inspired by this prompt, and a quasi sequel to my laundress fic...)

There were vague rumours about the Duke --mostly mutterings from the elderly in town-- though the few times he had visited Fallholt, he had seemed to be a quiet but kind lord. Younger than expected, given the elders mutterings, though most assumed whatever dark rumours were half-remembered had been about the Duke's father or grandfather.

Those who worked at the Duke's castle had little more information about him. He mostly kept to himself, only interacting with a few elderly servants who had to have started working for his grandparents. Rarely did he even entertain other nobles.

Some said he was nursing a broken heart. That the one he'd intended to make his Duchess had left one day, without so much as a farewell. But no one had any recollections of such a person. Perhaps, like the other odd rumours, it was a story about a previous Duke. Perhaps it was just a fanciful tale invented by bored maids wanting to cast the Duke as some sort of tragic prince.

Whatever the truth, the invitations received by each family were met with a mix of excitement, confusion, and more than a little bit of suspicion.

His Grace, Lord Robyn de Nikoi, Duke of Fallholt, requests the presence of one person from each household for an evening of celebration and entertainment.

Those accepting, must be above the age of majority, and should be in good health.

The seal at the bottom of the letter depicted a stag with brambles wreathed around its neck. This, too, added to the confusion since the Duke's flag was a black rose against a field of green and yellow.

Some chose not to attend, even going so far as to offer their invitations to those houses where they couldn't settle on who would go. In the end, almost 150 people attended the Duke's celebration.

Distant though the castle was, lights and faint strains of music lingered long into the night. So long that no one was too surprised that none of the attendees had returned by morning.

By that evening though, with still no sign of their loved ones, the townsfolk began to whisper the old rumours to each other. Those who worked at the castle were questioned as soon as they returned to their homes that night.

Yes, there had been a grand party with much food and drink. No, they hadn't seen any of the missing townsfolk. No, there hadn't been anything strange about the post-party mess they'd had to clean. Yes, they would look around the castle the next day for some sign or clue about what might have happened.

The entire next day was full of worry and tension, as everyone waited for their loved ones to return, or for some answers from the castle servants.

At long last, the servants returned, though they had little enough to report.

There was still no sign of the missing people, but there was also no sign of the Duke. The elderly steward had seemed unconcerned when questioned, though he'd had no answers either.

The townsfolk decided enough was enough. They would march to the castle at first light and demand answers. Were their loved ones still alive? Where were they? Why were they being kept away?

Though it wasn't ever discussed, each person who volunteered to go on that march made sure to find a weapon and ready it for the morning. Just in case the worst had come to pass.

Whether word of the impending mob had reached the Duke, or if it was simply a coincidence, the missing townsfolk slipped back into town in the pre-dawn haze. Screams and shouts of joy, surprise, and fear rang in the new day as the townsfolk found their missing loved ones sleeping in their beds as if nothing had been amiss.

There was much rejoicing, though by midday it had died back into confusion.

The missing men, women, and people had very little memory beyond enjoying rich food and drink. They hadn't even realized that they'd been gone for more than a single evening.

Worse, still, was that not everyone who'd gone had returned. Eight people never came home.

When asked, the returned ones couldn't say what had happened, or where they might be, but each knew that those eight would never return.

This only fed the reinvigorated rumours about the Duke.

Slowly, life settled back into its old routine.

So what if, on occasion, one of those who'd gone would stop and stare off into the distance with a frown? Or be unable to sleep for days at a time? Was it really so strange that they were changed somehow?

Not until the blacksmith pulled a white-hot iron from the forge with her bare hands, did anyone say anything about the changes.

How the baker's son had broken a solid oak table while kneading bread. Or how one of the clerks had eyes which glowed a soft amber I'm the dark. How a cleric's skin had become rough and cold, like stone. Or a tailor's skin glittered like scales whenever wet.

Suddenly, the changes were the only thing everyone could talk about.

Some thought it a sign of evil magic and wanted to drive those affected out of town, before the corruption could spread.

Others worried that their loved ones had never actually returned and these people who looked and sounded and acted like them were little more than constructs.

A few wondered just how far the changes went.

But everyone agreed it was the Duke's fault.

He had done something to them. Something they hadn't asked for, or agreed to. Something beyond their control.

None were more angry than those affected.

They decided the Duke owed them answers, and a few volunteered to go to the castle and get them. One way or another.

The next day, the blacksmith, baker's son, a trapper whose touch could burn, and the stone-skinned cleric returned to the castle.

The elderly steward met them at the gates. "His Grace has been expecting you. Follow me, please."

They exchanged looks, but followed along to a small audience room. An oval table with twelve chairs took up much of the space, and tapestries depicting a variety of forest scenes covered most of the walls.

The Duke was already seated at the head of the table, with a banner on the wall behind his chair displaying the stag-and-brambles. In colour, and with carefully embroidered detail, it became clear that each thorn on the bramble wreath had drawn blood.

"I was beginning to wonder if any of you would ever come back," he said. "It would have been better if you'd come sooner, but we will make do. Ask your questions."

This was certainly not what any of them had expected, and it took a moment before the cleric asked, "What did you do to us?"

"Straight to the complicated ones, I see." He gave them a small smile before gesturing for them to take a seat. "Allow me to tell you a story about a young girl and a magic pond."

The baker's son frowned. "You mean the old fairy tale where she wishes to be a princess and the pond summons a fairy prince who kidnaps her?"

"Is that the version being told now? Fascinating how it changes over the years. Yes. That story. Though my version is... rather different from what you know."

"We didn't come here for bedtime stories," the trapper grumbled.

"Humour me, please. It will all make sense after."

When there were no other objections, the Duke began his tale.

"Once upon a time, there was a young girl. The daughter of a minor lord with no money and no land. She traveled from one place to another with her father, who was forever looking for a way to rise in wealth and status.

"Though there was no money for a dowry, the lord made a deal with a Duke. In exchange for his daughter, he would be given a bit of land to oversee. The Duke was old and cruel, and none of his previous wives had provided him with an heir. Most were rescued by family when his temper left bruises that couldn't be hidden. The others had died.

"A father who cared more for status than his daughter's wellbeing was the type of inlaw who suited the Duke best. So a date was set and the girl --a young woman, by this point-- was sent to the Duke's castle.

"Her life was not pleasant, in the weeks leading up to the wedding, and her only solace was in exploring the untamed woods around the castle. Whether through luck, fate, or mischief, she found a hidden pond deep within the forest.

"Things might have gone very differently if she hadn't seen the Duke before he saw her.

"She hid and watched as he stripped his clothes off and waded into the pool. Red, angry looking sores covered much of his flesh, and they spread further as the water touched them.

"The Duke called out, demanding fair trade.

"'Fair trade?' a fae said with a laugh, appearing at the other end of the pond. 'You have traded virility for strength, the life of one of your wives for money and power, and now think to bargain for your virility back without giving up your strength. That is no fair trade.'

"'I will not be weak. Name another price,' he demanded.

"The fae shook its head. 'You must trade something of equal, or greater value, to receive my gifts.'

"'The life of my next bride,' the Duke offered. 'Or my best hunting hound.'

"'I will not be fooled by you again. You place no value on the lives of your wives, and you are no hunter. Both a wife and a hound are no more than accessories to you. Neither is a fair trade.'

"The Duke raged and screamed, but his anger had no effect.

"When his tirade ended, the fae yawned. 'How many more times do you think you can enter my waters with ill-intent in your heart? Soon you will have little flesh untouched by the mark of your greed.'

"The Duke didn't bother to answer. He simply climbed out and put his clothes back on. Though the sores would have hurt a lot, the young woman had no sympathy for him.

"Once he was gone, the fae called for her. She crept out and stood at the edge of the pool.

"'Hello, young one,' they said. 'There is much you wish for. Would you care to make a deal?'

"She shook her head.

"'Come now. Surely there is something you wouldn't mind giving up in exchange to be free of the Duke? Even if he doesn't spill your blood as payment, he will kill you in some other way.'

"She shook her head again. 'I will not trade away my future or memories simply to be free of my present.'

"The fae nodded. 'Perhaps a different sort of deal would suit you then? And before you shake your head at me, let me show you what the future holds.'

"They swept their hand through the water and as the ripples spread, images formed depicting war, chaos, and death. In many, the Duke laughed as the ground turned dark with the blood of innocents.

"'What trickery is this?' she asked.

"The fae sighed, sounding tired. 'No trickery. This is the most likely future, as things stand right now. While the squabbles of mortals would not normally concern me, the consequences of this... it will drain the magic from the land.'

"'What does that have to do with me?'

"'I need a champion. Someone who can change the course of things.'

"'Why me?'

"The fae sighed again, this time in frustration. 'I am bound to this forest, and this pond. I can not leave, and the Duke has made sure most people avoid the forest. You are the first person, other than the Duke, I have spoke to in more than a decade.'

"'And what would being your champion mean?' she asked, still wary.

"The fae grinned. 'A bit of skill, a dash of luck, and a vow to protect the magic of the forest.'

"'Where is the trick? The part that makes the hero regret such a hasty bargain in all the stories.'

"They shrugged. 'Not much of a trick. If you fail to keep the magic strong, your life is forfeit. Though I suspect if that happens, you will be dead already.'

"Perhaps it was arrogance, or desperation to avoid marrying the Duke, but the young woman agreed. And true to their word, the fae provided skill and luck. Enough to rescue a kidnapped princess. Enough to stop an assassin. Enough to replace the Duke."

As the Duke's words faded into silence, the four townspeople frowned.

The cleric shook his head. "The first Duke of Fallholt was given this land after rescuing the Emperor's daughter and uncovering a plot against him by several of his nobles --one of whom had been the Duke ruling these lands before."

"Yes."

"But you're claiming it was a young woman who did those things."

The Duke scratched his chin. "Shortly after rescuing the princess, I realized that despite being born a 'girl,' I was not actually one. People were more willing to believe it was a young man doing all the heroics anyway."

"Wait. What? No. That doesn't make sense," the blacksmith said. "You can't have done any of those things. They happened over a hundred years ago."

The Duke laughed, sharp teeth flashing for a moment. "Yes, they did. And perhaps ten years after them, I met a peculiar laundress who offered my a unique gift."

The trapper's fists clenched, tiny flames licking across their knuckles. "What does all that have to do with us?"

The Duke sighed. "The war Vyrnaed saw was only delayed by my actions. It is still coming. And this time I cannot prevent it from starting. But, with help, I can keep these lands safe."

"What did you do to us?" the cleric repeated.

"I took you to see Vyrnaed. They showed each of you what the future holds and offered a choice. Be slaughtered as the war rolls over us, or be changed so that we can defend our homes." He grimaced and glanced down. "I had expected them to grant you all skills and luck, like they did for me, but... I suppose they thought it fitting that I should lead non-humans, since I haven't been one in a very long time."

The baker's son shook his head vehemently. "No. We should remember it, if what you're saying is true. We remember nothing. And what of the eight who didn't return home? What did you do to them?"

The Duke shrugged helplessly. "As powerful as Vyrnaed is, there is a limit to how much they can do in a night. In order to have enough power to affect all of you a trade had to be made."

"You traded our memories of the evening." The blacksmith's voice was cold and flat.

"No," the Duke said gently. "Each of you agreed. It was your trade to make."

"And the others?"

"I had specified in good health... they did not survive the change."

The four townsfolk stared. It was too fantastical. But they couldn't deny that none of them were quite human anymore.

The cleric broke the silence. "When is this war supposedly coming?"

"If Vyrnaed is right, we have a fortnight."

[moondustaeil]

anaphora ⧜ nakamoto yuta

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ✧☾.·:·. a n a p h o r a   

⠀ ⠀⠀ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ  

⁖ genre : royalty au - fluff , angst , very light suggestive content

⁖ pairing : yuta x reader (both royals)

⁖ word count : 15k

⁖ warning : badmouthing , light suggestive content , attempted thievery , family drama , mentions of a forbidden relationship , broken kingdoms , character deaths , poisoning , toxic plants , based on oneus’ performance of “be mine” in road to kingdom

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀ ⠀⠀ ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ

⁖ Rather than living without your love, Yuta would prefer to die out of hatred. Once at a banquet the man you were willing to devote yourself to but due the split of the kingdoms, you can no longer promise forever to him like you did that night under the moonlight in the conservatory.

〚 I ; ūnus 〛

"This might be the death of fashion diplomacy, look at that attire," A woman of somewhere at the end of her forties interrupts Yuta's path. It isn't physically that she interrupts him, but his footsteps halt as soon as he hears the words. The two silver chains that circle from his left shoulder to the right side of his waist soundlessly move along as he turns his body back.

He looks straight into her eyes, his head cocking to the side as he wants to confront her in the sweetest way possible. Revenge is on the tip of his tongue but the guard could be quick to snatch the symbolic entrance ticket from between his fingers if he caused a stir.

"Are you talking about me?" He decides to ask her, letting go of his lower lip to flash her a smile. His smile nearly shines as bright as the glittering silver parallel-running lines upon his black blazer. But his smile doesn't catch as much attention as his outfit does, and yet, he doesn't feel ashamed about his attire.

"If you feel addressed then it must be about you, right?" She asks in return, her lips curling until she's able to imitate his smile. While he looks for revenge, she just tries to overpower him with the sugary sweet and yet snarky comments. Yuta can't help but hum in approval "I guess that's accurate, you have a point there."

He isn't afraid to show how she has a point because after all, he feels like he won even though the minuscule passage of words wasn't part of a contest. "Now, I would like to talk about having an excellent sense of fashion all night but seems like I should not waste time on people who don't have such things from the start," he shrugs his shoulders to hide the prideful words that slip from his lips. After giving her attire one last shameless glance, he turns on his heel and walks away from her.

Somewhere in the distance people are either way spreading their half-opinionated gossip or looking at him like he just killed an evil authority. Whether it's a good or bad thing isn't something that bothers Yuta, his footsteps don't get any heavier as he steps between the crowd on his own.

The potion has been stirred but not enough for his entrance ticket to be snatched away, yet enough for his father to walk up to him with disappointed eyes.

"What was that about?" His father asks in a quiet shout, pulling Yuta by the tight cupp of his puffed blazer. Merely by the button as the fabric is tightly resting around his wrist, too tight for his father to hook his fingers on the inside of it. "Nothing, she was just inquiring about my outfit," Yuta answers simply.

It's not hard to pull from the barely-existing grip, the undamaged button rests against the cupp again. "You know these sorts of people, you are supposed to nod your head and agree to all they want you to agree on, understood?" His father starts the real lecture in the middle of the crowd-filled room. Watched or not watched, Yuta has no care for it, and apparently, his father doesn't mind giving free lectures.

"Said no one, father. Jaehyun, Mark, or any of the others don't want to be treated like this either and they are in a way higher position than that twat," He tells his father but is aware of the answer that he will receive to his words, of course, he will get the response that he's not supposed to involve his stupid friends in serious matters like this. "Do I need to remind you that Jaehyun, or Yoonoh as you should say, nearly lost his position when he shared the sheets with a lady he had never seen before?"

Yuta clenches his thumb between his balled fist, creating the cracking sound as he only grows more assertive when hearing the words. "Oh father, please stop believing human newspapers, they're no good ass wipers," he mentions lightly but the consequences aren't as smooth as his words are.

He's willing to get scolded for protecting one of his friends: yes Jeong Jaehyun nearly lost his position when he shared the sheets with a woman. But added to the false story should be the truth, that Jaehyun had been sharing a secret life with the woman for more than half a year. The scandal was only a scandal because the woman was just an inhabitant who didn't occupy herself with kingdoms, authorities or wealthy cowards.

"This is the first and last thing I am hearing from you today, Yuta, if I hear one more thing, you can forget coming to events like this."

Yuta just carelessly nods his head before he walks away from his father, not caring whether the words would come true or not. He doesn't see why he would need to attend banquets, balls or any other formalities: it only cost him time and money as his outfits weren't exactly bought on a weekly market, neither were his exact body sizes measured by a randomly generated number.

"As if I care," he mumbles as soon as he is far enough from his father, he wouldn't have minded if his father heard the words but still protected the last bit of image that he had left. His footsteps were slow but not slow enough to match the still ones of everyone around him: curious ladies that were staring at him with either distrust or lust, men that tried to keep their wives from starting a vicious circle of rumours. Yuta pushes his body through the empty space that everyone left for him until he is standing near one of the large windows.

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

Yuta grasps his cake fork between his thumb and index finger as soon as a plate with a large piece of cake is presented to him. He's about to dig in and scoop the point of the cake onto his fork but the voice of the person next to him momentarily stops him from doing so.

"Did any of you hear something about marriage already?" Mark Lee asks out loud to everyone who is sitting on the same part of the table as him, obviously, he only finds himself around people of the same age with a few years minus or plus that is. Yuta expects Jaehyun to let out a quiet huff but realises his friend isn't there to complain about the matter of a wedding. Yet, enough people around him are willing to take over.

"My parents are trying to find me a partner, it almost seems like one of those contests of who the most beautiful person is but only if they're rich enough," Mark answers his own question before anyone else can, clearly he just needs someone to listen to him even though no one can fix his situation.

Opposite of Yuta is the eldest of the group, Moon Taeil. As relaxed as Taeil is, there is also a part of him that values tradition and rules over anything else. Perhaps he doesn't follow them as much as Doyoung does, but as he's the eldest, people are more likely to listen to him than to Doyoung. "It's the way it is, we all have to get married someday soon."

"Well it's you who should go first then, you're the oldest here," Yuta says in a teasing way to rub the fact in a little more, he knows it wouldn't affect Taeil because Taeil follows his tradition and has been preparing himself for the important moment to come. "I will," Taeil answers simply, it's simple but seemingly a hidden message hides behind the words.

Yuta glances at Mark who started the talk about marriage but didn't find relief as no one really picked up on his words with a sense of empathy. He doesn't really feel bad for his friend, with the simple reason that he has to undergo the same, and probably even earlier than Mark does.

"What about you y/n?" Taeil asks you as he drifts away from his group of friends for a little moment, not that you're not a part of his friend group, you simply never informally met Yuta or Mark which was why he decided to try and involve you in their conversation right now. You were listening anyway so it might be a good moment to bring you into his group of friends.

"My parents truly organised this for me to possibly find a fiance but instead of allowing me to talk to possible candidates, they claim me," you explained to Taeil with a soft sigh leaving your lips. You had no idea whether you sighed because you were forced to find a future husband or because your parents had claimed you until the moment you were seated at the table.

Taeil nods in response as he is actively listening to what you're saying, yet, Yuta can't help but let out a soft snort as he is amused by your story. Not because you're the starring role in the confusing wishes of your parents, but because parents will always be parents. "That's what all parents do. If you didn't see earlier, my father still tries to grab me by the sleeve like I'm a little boy who is about to cross a busy street," he tells you and the rest of the group.

The words make everyone want to change the subject to what happened earlier, a little moment everyone had seen: Taeil had seen it even if he only made his entrance at that moment, Mark had been able to see it whilst conversing with some wealthy people and you had seen it from your position as your parents lectured you about who was going to be present at the banquet.

"Yeah that was a wild scenario, man," Mark says as he can't help but think back, it's nothing unfamiliar as he had seen Yuta with his father before. Yuta was just too free-spirited to always listen and obey to everything that others tell him and he's not afraid to make a scene out of it.

"All because some lady made fun of my attire. She called it the death of fashion or something," Yuta says as he once again snorts at the short memory of the gossip he heard barely a couple of minutes after making his entrance. He would admit he was salty about it but didn't think about it longer than five seconds as it wasn't important.

You can't help but look at Yuta as he's saying the words: first you start at the features of his face but the moment he mentions his attire, you can't help but stare at his upper body. The black blazer has puffed sleeves that tighten around his wrist and is decorated with parallel silver glittering lines, then there is a chain that splits in two as it goes from his shoulder to his waist, to finish the outfit there are some silver bands that coat his left upper arm and shoulder. It's more than a handful and you're sure that there is more that you're not seeing.

"It looks very unique," you say about his outfit and smile slightly at your own words, you're being genuine as his outfit looks like something you never saw before. Even though he got bashed for the attire he's wearing, it makes him look more expensive than anyone else in the big room. The lace on the long dresses, the fake fur on the men's clothing, they don't compare to glittering lines on Yuta's blazer.

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

"Get home well"

You wave your hand to Taeil as he leaves the location, you're aware that he can't see what you're doing because it's too dark outside, but you still feel like saying goodbye to him in some way. Next to you is Yuta who made the excuse that he needed some fresh air just so that he could say goodbye to his friends and stay around you for a little bit longer. It didn't look like his father was leaving anytime soon which is why he took the chance to escape for as long as he could.

"So have you found your future husband?" Yuta inquires curiously as he stands next to you, waving his hand at Taeil just like you did despite also realising it wouldn't be shown in the dark. Soon his eyes go to you as he sees you shaking your head from the corner of his eye "I don't think I did. I'm not planning on marrying Taeil, I've known him for so long," you say honestly.

"What about Mark?" Yuta asks, giving you the option to admit if you found someone to your liking. Even though you said you didn't but Yuta just wants to know for sure before he continues to talk to you and perhaps flirt with you a little bit more than he did already.

"Nice but not as my brother, he seems like a little brother."

Yuta can't help but laugh out loud to your words because he felt the exact way. He wasn't ever going to marry Mark but did see Mark as his little brother more than anything else: there was just something about him that made him the perfect little brother compared to real little siblings.

"Sounds like I'm the last candidate then," he says in a joking tone as the two of you start taking awfully slow steps in no particular direction. It's automatically that your feet take steps without your mind wondering where your feet are wandering off to.

You softly laugh along to his words for a few seconds, letting your laugh fade out when your mind tries to see an image of you getting married to Nakamoto Yuta. He's attractive and perhaps he's from a family that your family would appreciate, but the man himself is something people would be against.

"Sounds like it," you respond finally as you stare ahead and notice the conservatory coming into view. It's not an unfamiliar place but it's not like you find yourself there on a daily basis. Still, right now it seems like a fitting space to walk to together with Yuta.

Yuta can't help but smile at your words even if he doesn't see himself getting married anytime soon, perhaps in a few years when he feels ready to settle down, especially knowing marriage must also mean starting a family. "Did you expect to find a future husband tonight?" he asks curiously as he sees where you're going and mindlessly allows his footsteps to imitate yours.

"Far from yes," you answer his question as honest as you can, still staring ahead of you towards the conservatory. It's not a long walk but you're anticipating the moment you can open the door and explore the greenery in the darkness together with Yuta. Both of you seem to need some minutes away from the heavily decorated banquet, and now that dessert had been eaten, there were plenty of chances to sneak away. "How about you? Your parents must be looking to find you a spouse too?"

Yuta hums in approval, signalling that you're absolutely right when you assume that. "They don't force me but obviously try to stimulate me into finding someone to marry but how will I ever love someone that only meets up to their requirements but not mine?"

"You don't. We don't marry out of love, my parents were kind enough to at least tell me the truth about that"

Your words open a new dimension for Yuta, just like the door to the greenhouse is opened before the two of you walk inside. It's pure darkness and yet your eyes can easily recognise the different shades of green and the forms of leaves and other plants.

"Your parents might be right about that," Yuta admits as he walks behind you, giving the greenery a brief look before he tries to follow your figure with his eyes. He is very interested in nature and would love to go on endless walks and hikes in unexplored green masterpieces, but right now, his attention shifts to you.

Minding your steps to not accidentally step on a plant, you make your path through the greenhouse to the place where you usually take a seat to be away from everyone and everything. But being in the darkness, the path doesn't seem clear enough to walk on without accidentally hurting a fallen leaf.

The sound your feet make when they come in contact with greenery is the only thing that keeps the silence from comfortably walking between the two of you, there's distance enough for it to sneak in and almost third-wheel unnoticed.

Your steps align once you see the carved marble bench right in front of you, empty like each time you come to this place, though this time both spots on it will be occupied. On the seat of the bench is a carved satyr but you can't make out the little details since only darkness flows through the glass roofing.

"Let's sit for a bit," you suggest as you sit on the side that you automatically always take, leaving the other spot free for your companion, Yuta. Yuta does as you suggest and immediately plants himself on the cold bench next to you, his eyes staring at the window that can only show him the darkness of the outside world.

"Is this where you take party victims?" He playfully asks you as he turns his gaze to you instead, watching as your eyes are on the same spot that he was looking at seconds ago, not that there is much to see as the night seems close to an unrecognisable shade of black. Before you laugh, he observes how your mouth lightly parts before the sound escapes.

"If I can be a victim as well then you could say I take party victims here," you tell him after your soft laugh dies down against the air. Yuta's own laugh of slight amusement dies soon after yours even if it threatens to stay for a bit longer because of your confession.

It's not funny but without laughter, the oxygen-filled air would feel as heavy as it was in reality and right now both of you prefer to keep it light in the greenery-filled glasshouse.

"I'll be one of your victims, you should invite me more."

〚 II ; duo 〛

Yuta's boot-clad feet skillfully avoid the fallen leaves on the ground as he walks into the greenhouse, even though it's his third or even fourth time, he's not accustomed to the path he has to follow just yet. Luckily the ground already drew out the path by decarmating the stones that led him towards the bench.

The bench is still empty when he arrives and he takes that as an opportunity to explore a little further in the maze of greenery. Even though he follows the laid out ground, he doesn't exactly follow any path, his eyes are fixated on his surroundings as he walks.

Even though the endless windows lock him up in the glasshouse, he feels like he is taking a stroll in nature. A place that is yet to be discovered by some, a place where he doesn't have to remind himself of his manners towards the wealthy and treasured of the country.

The greenery greets him without words which is quite something else compared to the endless badmouthing that ordinarily happens when he walks into the ballroom of an overly decorated event. The plants don't have critical feedback on his attire, his manners, his slightly longer hair, his personality or his wealth. Yet, the plants are alive and growing, just like most humans.

Some more living examples of people that do not badmouth are you and his small group of close friends. His friends for starters don't act as wealthy as they truly are and he's grateful that they don't act like that, they are just normal like any human that walks through the streets. Then there is you, who never judges him and listens to the many things he wants to tell while also trying to have a good time at the same time. Does that mean he appreciates you more than just an acquaintance?

The answer to the question he speechlessly asks himself is probably yes, you would use the words 'far from no' to answer the question because you seem to like giving that response more than just a yes or no. Perhaps he sees you as more than an acquaintance, even more than friends: his feelings for you are in bloom just like some of the flowers in this greenhouse.

Having those feelings means that he no longer wants you to find a spouse, neither does he want his parents to find one for him. Independency led to this moment, where he can make his own choices in his lifeline and end up with the one he might just truly love. Yet, what holds him back is that he has never been in love before, doesn't have any knowledge as he never saw the genuine love between two people, and he simply has no faint idea of what he wants to achieve in the future.

"I'm sorry I kept you waiting so long, my parents suddenly decided it was a good idea if they educated me on trading materials."

Your voice makes Yuta look up from the point that he was staring at, he doesn't have a clue what point he's exactly staring at and before he's about to find out, his body is already spun towards you.

"Hello," He greets you with a smile, ignoring your previous words because he simply did not hear them while being one with his thoughts. His eyes greet you as well: without judging going from your facial features to the outfit that you're wearing to cover your skin. The colour of your attire compliments you: midnight blue might just become his new preferred colour if you continue to look as magical in it.

"You didn't get lost whilst waiting for me right?" you ask with a smile on your lips as you let your eyes move in the same circle that a clock makes, just to get familiar with the greenery around both of you, perhaps it could explain what Yuta was staring at for as long as you had been watching him from a not-so-far distance.

Yuta shakes his head in response and slowly walks up to you "no, of course not. I stopped by the bench not long ago but seeing you were not there yet, I decided to explore a little," he explains even though there is no need for him to do so. You don't seem enraged by his exploration so you probably don't mind it when he lets his eyes wander and his feet explore.

"We can walk around here some more if you would like, there is much more greenery than you see now. Perhaps we could even water some of the plants together, even if it's unexciting," you suggest and smile at your own idea. It reminds you of a date even though it's not much different from sitting on the bench: after all, it's the same location and there hasn't been a confirmation that this was a date. "I would really like that," Yuta answers.

Before you are able to take off on your own, Yuta takes initiative to link your arms together as you walk. You're surprised by the sudden display of affection as you are aware that only those who are lovers are known to hold one another like that. It's a large step in the outing of affection but neither of you try to separate your arms from one another.

"So I assume you enjoy nature," You say to Yuta, not using a questioning tone despite your will to find out if he actually enjoys nature as much as he seems to, after all, who would agree to meet up in a greenhouse time after time without complaining about the green-coloured surroundings or scent of blooming flowers. Yuta briefly nods in response to your words, a smile coating his lips but you're too busy staring ahead of you to notice. "I love nature, nature compares to freedom for me. No one judges but everyone listens."

His explanation is what makes you look at him, there is no questioning look in your eyes as you seem to understand without further explanation. "Because nature is alive too," you say as you partially agree to his words. There aren't many opportunities for you to discover nature unless it's in the greenhouse, but you can imagine the feeling of walking on an undiscovered land, only filled with grass and large trees of which leaves slowly dwindle to the ground.

"precisely."

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

The quiet whispers of the wind easily dwindle down the glass walls that kept you from truly experiencing freedom. Despite not being able to feel an unlimited amount of freedom: the wind wasn't present to disturb the small stream of water that collapsed on the tightly-patted loam.

"Do you ever receive flower bouquets?"

It is a question that should not make you flabbergasted because the never-ending supply of flower bouquets that you're given are no longer gifts that take you by surprise. Yet, rather than to be given a bouquet, Yuta is thoughtful enough to ask whether you ever receive them before he sets up his plan.

"I do," you answer his question simply. You don't say it to brag or for his plans to fall in the pond, but for the reason that you do get a lot of them. Every person that visits the gigantic place you call home takes at least one flower along, handing it over to you whilst pride reflects from their eyes onto yours. But your eyes don't resemble a mirror: they shine with a dull glow as you thank them for the friendly gesture but internally scold them.

"And?" Yuta asks as he looks over at you whilst you water the following plant, his grip tightening around the gardening tool that you pushed into his hand before starting to do a task that wasn't yours. "And that is it. Why would I need a bouquet of flowers that will wither merely a week after its been given?" You reason.

"As well as how this conservatory consisting mostly of flowers and other sorts of greenery? Because they don't wither as rapidly as the ones you receive?"

The questioning undertone in Yuta's voice momentarily makes you suspect if you are obligated to answer with yes or no to either of the times he used it. Momentarily truly lasts momentarily, the moment you find out he has been looking at you, you realise he was only trying to complete the answer to your question before you had to do the effort.

"Precisely."

You smile once the word leaves your lips, even if you contemplated him just a few seconds ago, you can't help but think of yourself as an idiot who nearly misinterpreted the words. Luckily you watered the symbolic flower before its petals started to dwindle down from the disk.

"But you still enjoy flowers?" Yuta asks curiously as he watches how you finish off watering every plant that comes in your reach. The endless refills of water make it possible for the flowers to bloom or for Yuta to stay by your side a little longer.

You nod your head in confirmation before giving him a brief but suitable statement. "I do, I just dislike like receiving them as a gift. Specifically when they are just an excuse to not come empty-handed."

Yuta senses how honest you are when you say the words, it's not only that as he understands what you mean from experience. It was impolite to request someone's company and not have anything in return, to the most when it was about a possible romantic encounter.

"Now I know that I should not bring flowers with me next time," he eventually answers but the smile is evident in his voice, but even more on his lips. They're curved upwards from nerves as he awaits your response.

"I won't accept any gifts from you, Yuta. I have warned you and I expect you to remember for as long as you're able to," you order Yuta in a rather playful manner. You meant the words, they were genuine despite the playful hue in them but you weren't able to give him a scolding for something that didn't occur yet.

"What if I accidentally forget?" He asks you in the same playful way, wanting to continue the conversation so that he could see your reaction. He didn't know what reaction to expect, there was a wide variety of emotions you could display in response. Soon it was proven to be his lucky day when a smile made its way onto your lips at his words. You shook your head in disbelief "perhaps it is time for me to find a new love interest in that case, and my mother will have a lovely flower bouquet to make my father jealous with."

"Love interest?"

Yuta's lips can't take control, allow him to slip out the words that laid on the tip of his tongue. By the way his eyes are widened, you can see that he is astonished. "Love interest," he repeats again: this time not to question you but to test how the words sound when he's saying them out loud.

You love the way the mixture of letters leaves his lips, you love the two words that you have been able to use for personal preference for the first time in your life. The way Yuta says them only makes them sound better, when he says them, it almost makes you believe he feels the same way about you without officially confessing.

"In that case, I shall not forget, you will not be receiving any flower bouquets from me," Yuta finally answers even though it should have been you who completed the cycle of feedback. Your first – and genuine – reaction is a smile that graces your lips from one minute into the other. From his words, you could dissect that he would have a fancy for being your love interest, or so you thought that was what he meant.

Briefly, you glance at Yuta before looking towards the large windows that lock you up in the glasshouse. Yuta is quick to follow your gaze towards the outside world: his eyes following the direction of the tree twigs that get swayed along with the wind. "Is there something else you could offer me, you know, to compensate for the flowers?"

Your words make Yuta laugh soft, his breath almost simultaneously blowing like the wind does outside the window. "What would you fancy?" He asks you even though he knows you are kidding. It became clear before that you don't waste words on people who bring you gifts in return for a bit of your attention.

"Anything you are willing to offer," you begin as you bend down to put down the watering can, leaving it on the ground before you stand up to face Yuta again. The smile that you carry on your lips the moment you look at Yuta gets reflected to his. "What do you think about love?" He asks you as the smile minimizes a little bit when his lips move to speak but that doesn't make it less impactful.

You freeze momentarily when you hear the suggestion, along with your body, your mind also takes a halt for a couple of seconds. Your ears correctly heard the question, as did your mind process the words before going in short lockdown. "I would enjoy that," you murmur whilst slowly dragging yourself back into reality.

A soft embrace around your hand instantly pulls you back into the real world, the hand closes around yours and keeps a gentle grip on it. "I will be looking forward to it," Yuta says as he gives your hand a little squeeze, immediately gaining your nod-filled reaction.

"Me too, Yuta."

〚 III ; trēs 〛

Hundreds of questions collect on your tongue as tastebuds: when one disappears, it simply gets replaced by a new one. Their flavours are dissimilar: some taste bitter, others taste free, and on the tip are many fear-tasting buds.

"How do you know they will walk by without seeing us?"

Yuta can only let out a soft laugh at the sixth question that slips from your tastebuds onto your moving lips. It's an adorable and wholesome sight to see so you worried, he misses the realisation how either of you two must be aware of the risks this takes along.

"It is very early, y/n. Most people out on this hour are on their way for duties and the children won't be able to catch who we are," Yuta tries to ease your uneasiness. The fine line between freedom and getting caught is what your feet seem to be walking on rather than the neatly stoned ground.

In response to his words, you nod, but the anxiety only grows with every step taken towards the civil world. "People on their way might still see us," you say in a complaining tone even though you only try to make Yuta see it in the way you see it. He has done this countless times whilst you rarely came here, and if you did, then it was not supposed to be a casual stroll with your love interest. "They are always rushing, they don't have time to look for people like us before they have to do their daily tasks."

You believe his words as this time, the little bundle of nerves in your stomach disappears but another knot is waiting in queue to get untied. "That must be true," you admit silently before staring at the barely-filled street in front of you. People like you and Yuta aren't as customised to a regular life, hence the reason why you still fear running into people at 7 am. But Yuta seems to know the case well and you can only make up from that, that he does these things more often than you know.

"How often do you come here?" You ask him upon realising how he also seems to know which way he has to take. It's obviously something people habituated here should know but you are still unfamiliar with the little alleys between buildings, unlike Yuta who took your hand and pulled you along, reaching the destination in a shorter amount of time than you estimated. "Maybe weekly, usually I come here at night to take a stroll. People sometimes get drunk so there will not be evidence if they catch me walking," he reasons.

Before a soft response in the shape of a sigh escapes your lips, you purse them together and opt to consider your words. The way Yuta mentions people and getting caught brings a high wave of anxiety to your stomach: the wild sea almost reaching to your heart. "So you did get caught?" your question stays unanswered for the first few seconds and once you look over at Yuta, you notice that he seems to be heavily considering his next move. "Someone saw me but as there has been so much gossip and the man was drunk, no one really believed his story."

This time you opt to not respond at all, you don't even have to purse your lips in order to stay quiet. You try to understand the prequel of the situation you find yourself in: allowing your love to bloom in another place than the greenhouse but the unwritten sequel might not be filled with blooming or freedom. You have to do things differently in the present in order to change the future but you don't take that opportunity. You only hold Yuta's hand tighter as your feet are aligned with his with each step you take further into the homeworld of humanity.

"It is a good thing to escape from the greenhouse for a bit. It doesn't give you the freedom you need even if you think it does," Yuta says. He notices you've gone completely mute by now, purposely not speaking because you are distrustful towards him or the surroundings. You nod your head as you're aware: you act like the greenhouse gives you an immeasurable amount of freedom but still, you find yourself between four walls that keep you secured in place.

"I am aware," you tell Yuta. Subjectively, it sounds like a way to make him stop talking because you're only getting more stressed but from the objective perspective, you're only answering to his previous words. Just like roses naturally grow thorns, you naturally grew the thought that you will never experience true freedom because even in this situation, you feel far from free.

"Shall we continue our walk? It looks beautiful so far."

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

Inquisitive thinking such as exploration, investigation, and learning. It can be observed by anyone who is able to keep an eye on you despite Yuta making it clear that you were safe from the eye of the public. Your urge to explore and investigate could easily be called: curiosity. It's not something you can be blamed for because even Yuta is still curious about the real outside world after coming here on a weekly basis. You are not only curious about what the eye meets but also things you cannot observe: like the inhabitants that must lead their lives in this area or how it must feel to be able to lead a life in this context. Houses aren't overly large and there seems to be a lack of space due to the buildings not having gaps between one another.

Every couple of minutes you have been able to quietly observe as people passed by. You stared at them and wondered what it was like to randomly walk over the street and not tease a future drama about it. Luckily for you, you don't think people saw you staring at them which hopefully also meant that they didn't see you at all.

"Are you hungry? You must be, we left so early you probably didn't get breakfast served yet. Am I right?" Yuta asks you as soon as the street once again is empty enough for his regular voice to come through. Normally he could not care less about it but knowing you are a bit uneasy with the entire situation, he pours some water into the wine to make it taste less bitter.

Your eyes scan around before you choose to reply to his words with a small hum. You are quite hopeful to think that the end of your adventure is near but that story seems to unfold itself differently. "We should get some bread by the bakery," he carelessly suggests. With those words being said, you're left more than speechless. Do you want to decline? Yes, you do, but you dismiss the words and your heap of thoughts. Perhaps if you don't respond, you won't get food and Yuta will take the hint.

"How about that, y/n?"

Internally you use foul language to express your feelings but those words don't come to an official outing because it would be highly impolite. "How about what?" you ask him even though you know what he is asking you about, and acting like you didn't hear what he said might just give you an extra few seconds to decide whether that's a good idea or not. "How about getting bread at the bakery?" he repeats his words from before in a slightly different hue but they still mean the same.

"We can't do that, Yuta," you tell him before you're able to stop your mouth from opening. The sigh that leaves your lips once the words had escaped was one you had been keeping in for a couple of minutes too long: it's a long one that draws out the feelings you've been silently experiencing.

"Why not?" Yuta asks as he tries to discreetly point towards one of the buildings that you already passed by, a bakery where you could smell fresh bread and other related pastries but had passed by without giving it a glance as the owner stood outside of his shop to promote mouth-to-mouth. "The bakery is right there, we can just get some bread and eat it before I bring you home again."

"For starters, we did not bring any money to hand the man and I would still like to keep it quiet that we are here," you tell Yuta just in case he forgot the obvious. There are some extra excuses you could come up with but that would make things only less believable when the truth already escaped from your parted lips. "How did you want to get bread?" You ask as you await to hear his plan. With that, you only confuse yourself more: first, you decline his idea before you ask how he was planning on doing it. Were you just tolerable because Yuta and you shared a little more than just hand-holding?

"Either of us can distract him," Yuta simply stated, his fabric-covered shoulders moving up and down in a matter of seconds as he shrugged. The plan was clear in his head but the words made you only more confused. He noticed the look on your face and leaned closer to your face, his face tilting as he moved forward a bit more to speak to you. "And the other one can just take the bread."

Two reactions occur at the same time: either way you widen your eyes and at the same time, you shake your head rapidly. The ridiculous idea leaves you to have a moment of distrust in Yuta.

"Absolutely not, we're not going to steal. You can eat along with us tonight," you say instantly before you are able to process that it is not close to dinnertime. Though they would still serve you food if you asked for it. "Where did you even get that idea?" you ask as you stop your feet abruptly and turn your body towards Yuta.

Even though the regret kicks in, he doesn't back away and turns his body towards yours. A scolding is what he expects, perhaps because his parents would even be capable of killing him if they knew he suggested stealing from a baker.

He sighs and brings his left hand up to rub over his face, his fingertips harshly pressing against his skin and cheekbones. "Sorry," he apologises to you, wrapping his mind around the reality of the situation. He never stole anything before and suddenly he suggests stealing some fresh bread, something he did with a blank mind despite the setup he made a few seconds prior to telling you.

"It should be time to head back," you change the subject in order to once more buy more time for yourself. You try not to be judgemental because you know Yuta well enough by now: he's not the average wealthy man that you meet at a banquet. He's the rebellious young man that intrigues you and pulls you into his world. There don't seem to be risks in his life and if there are then he simply ignores the possible consequences: it doesn't give a great first impression but is like the sweetest song, sung by angels and it only pulls you in more.

The way back is filled with silence even though the surroundings seem extra loud, it's just the silence that makes the rest increase in volume. There's only one commonly shared word now that you're on the way back: it's Yuta who has his one-end conversation of saying "sorry." but you opt to give a soft breath and silence as a response.

Instead of Yuta dragging you along like earlier in the morning, it's you who marches towards your home. Yuta follows behind you, his fingers twitching now that he's unable to hold onto your hand. His eyes meet with the ground many times as he fears to see you going up the steps and inside without saying your goodbye to him.

Upon the ground and through the grass, his feet walk on the exact same spots that you walk but in relay. One little glance up and he notices that your property is already under his feet but you're not marching towards the home, instead, you're leading him towards the greenhouse. It makes him want to smile but he's unable to, his lips form in a thin line as he perplexes himself with the many different emotions.

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

"Why did you suggest stealing the bread?"

The question doesn't catch Yuta off guard as he expected it sooner or later but at the same time, he's at a loss for words and doesn't know which excuse would be accepted. No excuse should be accepted and he's aware of that: which is why he stays silent and considers his words for a decent amount of time. You're not impatient, even kind enough to give him time to reflect on himself. In the meantime, you keep yourself busy organising some of the gardening tools: that way the workers don't have to put effort into it and you have some wasted time that goes by just a little faster than when you're not doing anything.

"I don't know, I really don't know. But I regret even thinking about it or imagining it," Yuta tells you as an answer, you could tell he genuinely thought but ended up concluding nothing because it perhaps was something that happened without him realising. His fingertips trace over the carved Satyr on the bench, it feels empty enough without you sitting next to him.

He eyes you as you are busy organising different tools, it's no use but you still do so. "I hope you are being truthful," you mumble as you drop the pair of gardening gloves next to the other materials before looking at him. Still, you don't look with judging eyes but you try to look through the facade to see whether he is truthful. You ask yourself whether you doubt him or not: you didn't doubt his truthfulness but his intention of stealing the bread. A selfish thought in your head tells you he wanted to steal it so that you could be fed, and it's a good assumption but you try not to fall for your misleading mind.

"I mean it y/n, I truly don't know"

There's no such thing as a correct answer in this given context but you're willing to take the answer because you trust Yuta and he sounds genuine when he says that he doesn't know. You wish you could hear a proper set of words but you could also wish that the situation hadn't occurred at all: that would be a much better wish to make. But there was no genie to grant your wishes, especially not when the situation already passed by.

"I'm sorry," Yuta says when he thinks you're not going to grant him forgiveness. You are so quiet that Yuta can't help but drown in guilt whilst you are watching from afar.

The seconds continue to tick by, they seem to get lengthier as you don't immediately respond to the apology. Eventually, you have no other option than to give him an honest response. "It's not me that deserves an apology."

Yuta nods as a signal he understands what you mean, he should be apologising to the baker for the things that almost happened. "I know," he murmurs in an almost inaudible tone, his eyes on the bench on which his fingertips endlessly trace over the carved figures.

After letting out a sigh that withheld mixed emotions, you sat down on the bench next to Yuta. In the end, you decide to forgive him because you can't blame him for things that didn't happen yet. "We should indeed buy some bread there next time, the scent was heavenly," you say with a small smile on your lips as you rest your hand upon Yuta's shoulder. Slowly, you let that hand creep up to his hair to gently comb through the locks.

"It did and I knew we were both hungry," he starts his reply, relaxation slowly dawns on him as he feels your gentle touch through his hair. It nearly makes him miss the moral of your words, nearly. "Did you say next time? Do you want to go there again?"

You smile once his realisation comes, or perhaps because you think back about the good time you had despite the anxious feeling and Yuta's dumb mistake. "I do, I enjoyed it. Not weekly but perhaps every once in a while," you say honestly.

The freedom you felt outside seemed unreal: there had been moments where anxiety filled your body to the brim but at the same time, looking at the world whilst walking around in it was positively different from looking at it through large windows.

Your hand slips from Yuta's brown locks when he turns his head towards you. "I think I am in love," he whispers a second after you look back at him, your head tilted to see his healing smile from a different point of view.

"With me?" You question hopefully as you feel bumblebees buzzing in your stomach, the sweet honey nearly edible on the tip of your tongue. A laugh falls from Yuta's lips but he rapidly reacts by nodding his head "of course with you, there has been one person that makes my heart swell. And that person is you," he explains, his eyes widening slightly as he confesses his romantic attachment to you.

There is a quiet second, interrupted by a sound of surprise aligned with Yuta's laughter. By your reaction, Yuta senses that you feel the same and is quick to make his next move. He inches himself closer to you before placing an unexpected and soft peck against your lips. Before you have the opportunity to return the kiss, your lips are distanced and smiles are unconsciously appearing.

"I might just be in love with you too."

〚 IV ; quattuor 〛

"Were you aware that the moonlight changes every day?"

Your head that has been tilted upwards towards the glass roofing slowly lowers itself for you to properly look at Yuta as he speaks. In response, you shake your head and twitch your fingers subconsciously as a sign for him to explain his random particle of information.

"The intensity of moonlight varies greatly, as stated, it depends on the lunar phase," Yuta explains to you as he notices your light motion and the interest on your face. You continue to look at him as he speaks, together with nodding, those two things make it obvious that you are listening actively to every word he says.

"Does it not depend on our eyes as well?" You ask as you silently wondered about it when he was speaking. You think your eyes are not always prepared to see the same amounts of light: especially not very bright hues. Yuta shows the same interest that you showed him not long ago and nods his head when you finish your question "hm, I think it does."

After that, a moment of silence settles down. Both of you occupied by the subject of moonlight and its daily-changing intensity. To speak honestly, there is no need to ponder about it for much longer, and yet, you two seem silently captivated by the subject. Perhaps because the moonlight is currently bringing a hint of its brightness into the nightfall.

You are the first one to break the silence because you feel how your head automatically moves upwards to look at the source of light and the acquaintance of darkness in the sky. "The moon is so beautiful," is what you tell Yuta who can't help but hum in agreement. His mind is only partially on the moon, as are his eyes because other things steal his attention.

"It is, sometimes I watch the moon from my room but watching it here makes it so much more pleasant," he answers as he not-so-gently throws his head back to look through the glass roof. The moon might be pulchritudinous but the true beauty comes from you. Yet, his words aren't complete nonsense. He watches the moon when he is alone in his room but while doing so, he thinks about you which makes him stare without being able to see much.

You smile at the words, your fingertips running over the back of his hand in a relaxed manner. "Me too," you say simply, your lower lip painlessly tucked between your teeth before you decide on confessing the other half of the story. "When I do, I think about you. That you must be in your room: asleep or watching the moon too."

It's awfully cliché but that is a side effect of lovers who have not been sharing a romance for longer than six months. Yuta doesn't show a negative reaction, he thinks it's wholesome that you feel that way, he feels the same way but does not admit it yet because he loves imagining that you think about him at night.

"Is that why we are here together tonight? For you to secretly stare at me instead of the moon?" Yuta playfully asks you as he inches closer to you, it's a playful moment even if he's guilty to the things he is teasing you with. "That was the plan, but I got caught," you answer with a smile as your own body moves closer.

"You know what happens to those who sin," Yuta mentions with a small smirk, his hands moving away from yours to instead embrace your waist. It's an easy way to pull you closer and have some physical contact at the same time, and he takes advantage of the moment do to both of those. His fingertips press against your covered skin as he runs slow and steady circles in an attempt to explore more of you.

You hum soft, an act that you do not care about the consequences of those who sin. In reality, you do care because the consequences are far from pleasant. Being in the contextual element, you know this is not about the harsh punishments people receive upon committing a true sin. Both of you are young enough to modernise the meaning of sin.

"Tell me what happens to those who sin?" You ask as your head wants to lower once more, but Yuta's lips press against the side of your neck, requiring you to keep your head upwards for a little longer.

Yuta's teeth gently nip at your skin when he hears your question, soothing the gnaw with the tip of his tongue. "Why should I explain, it seems like you're about to find out for yourself," he says before he clicks his tongue in a cocky way. Confidence and pride fight for the lead in his heart but lust takes the crown mercilessly.

The first sigh of pleasure leaves your lips after a soft hiss does, but the slight pain of his teeth brings you towards an unexpected amount of pleasure.

"Be mine," Yuta mumbles, the words not far from inaudible because his lips are hastily pressing kisses against your neck while he speaks. "I will be the one who loves you," he continues as now, between every word, the kisses seem to increase their lustful intentions.

You want to respond to the words, tell him you're his and his only but the forming drive to pleasure prevents you from wasting time on explanations. As if his kisses are not satisfying enough, his fingertips go underneath the attire that covers your bare skin. Due to the warmth of your clothing and the coldness of his fingertips, you shiver when his fingertips patch over your thighs.

"Yuta," the way you breathe out his name signals that you're asking for his attention. Your body is fighting against it and wants to beg for more but those words do not articulate on your lips, something holds you back from asking for more intimacy. "This is not right, imagine what would happen if they found out," you reason despite your body urging you to get closer so that his fingertips trail to more sensitive spots. The consequences wouldn't be mild if anyone found out, it's not Yuta who makes the situation problematic, but the authorities and religion that decides that the closest form of intimacy should not occur until marriage.

"Hence why I said I would make you mine, y/n, and trust me…," Yuta starts as his lips trace upwards, leaving the trail of hot kisses to go from the side of your neck towards your ear. His breathing is deep, driven by lust as even your scent is enough to make him want more. "…I will make you mine," he whispers.

The decisive whisper is answered by a solemn nod from you: you trust Yuta but it's mostly your own senses that tell you to stop protesting against it. Yuta's eyes let you undergo an examination, just to check whether you were okay with this. "I'm yours," you whisper as you connect your lips with his for a heated kiss.

The words "I'm yours," seem to split in two as both of you take the words in a different way, and you are yet to find out Yuta's true meaning behind the words. In your eyes, you had been his the second you went from acquaintances to love interests and it still was now that you officially were hidden lovers.

“Only the united beat of sex and heart together can create ecstasy.”

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

Dawn. The first appearance of light in the sky before sunrise.

Dawn. The beginning of a phenomenon or period of time, especially one considered favourable.

Three minutes before there were only ten minutes left until the clock pointed its smallest hand at five. That was dawn. The way you silently laid against Yuta's side on a marble bench, your head resting against the area where you could listen to his heartbeat. That was dawn.

Moonlight chased away the shadows of the night and replaced it with the first light of a new day.

Your eyes are closed but that doesn't mean that you're asleep, for a few hours you have been dozing in and out of catnaps. None of the short amounts of time long enough for a dream, but you feel like you're living in one, so it's not needed to live in a visual world with your eyes closed.

Yuta seems asleep, you can hear by the way he breathes and you can feel by the slow beat of his heart. Sixty-one beats per minute is what you observed on a moment that you were sure he was in dreamland, but keeping track of the number of heartbeats and seconds was a difficult combination. Thus, it could have been a little bit more or some less.

After letting out a soft sound of tiredness, you open your eyes and greet the greenery with a small smile. Though it's mostly the memories that make you smile: memories of the nightfall and its nocturnal ventures. Your mind still holds on to the momentum: the patches of Yuta's fingertips on your skin, the whispers of naughty and nice, the swelling of your heart out of love and the ecstasy that mixed itself due to the heart and sex combining.

A red-pink-coloured flower greets you in its full bloom, it stands out next to the few pastel purple flowers. You can imagine the scent, or you think you can, but you realise you are lying between nothing but greenery and flowers that bloom.

The peaceful moment gets interrupted by deafening noises outside the glasshouse, they aren't extremely loud but the many different audible triggers are blaring. Yet, you're too far away from the window to properly look through it and the bloomed red roses are in front of the nearest window. It's not unusual for these noises to be heard, the time is what makes it strange. But you don't pay attention to it, not more than needed, or so you like to think.

"What are those noises?"

Your eyes shift from the red roses that cover the window towards your lover, it means that you have to turn your body slightly so that you can comfortably look at him. Once you're in a comfortable position, you smile at the sight.

Yuta looks tired and well-rested at the same time, his smile is small but the corners of his lips are twitched upwards the moment he sees your face. "I think someone just left or arrived, usually it is when they are looking for something or about transport," you answer his question so that you have more time to look at him without having to interrupt the moment.

His tired lips press a soft kiss on the corner of your mouth before he draws your body closer to his. "Good morning, by the way," he whispers as he distances his lips from yours properly. "Good morning."

Momentarily, you see Yuta disappearing from the real world and towards his own forest of thoughts. The thought about the shared intimacy come back to life there together with each minuscule aspect that he was able to observe with his five basic senses.

"I meant it yesterday."

You look at him while confusion is written on your face, rather than it's written on your features, there's a ceramic stamp all over your face. "You meant what," you ask and once more turn yourself more towards him so that it's easier to communicate. Before he speaks up, you try to recall everything that has been said yesterday but only two kinds of words come to mind: the sinful words and the outings of genuine love.

"I will make you mine," Yuta answers, quoting them as he said them yesterday. Yesterday or today, the words were still confusing. You already considered yourself as his, but he seemed to wander on a different part there.

Due to the sweetness of the words, you display a small smile but it doesn't fully replace the confusion that primarily outed itself. "I'm yours, Yuta," you tell him in case he suspects you might think otherwise. Perhaps he only saw you as a love interest until now, or perhaps he thinks you see him as nothing but a love interest.

"I mean, truly make you mine. I will love you, worry about you, and be responsible for you," he starts explaining before he stops talking, something rests on the tip of his tongue and he's not going to withhold himself from saying it. The set of critical words are more grand and they leave his mouth once his lips part.

"I want to marry you."

〚 V ; quīnque 〛

Yuta's fingertips are circled up against the palm of his hand, clenched in an angry fist. His footsteps are quick as he makes his way through the formation - that just like him is on the move - , harshly speaking he seems like a soldier marching towards the enemy with a loaded gun between his fingers. He doesn't get distracted by the walking of the people that try to hold him back without using the direct signals that they are trying to stop him.

Perhaps if his wardrobe would have allowed it, he would have been able to fit in with the crowd without getting caught in the act. But his clothes were surprisingly different from their attire: his black coat draped over his shoulders and the gold-coloured details on each visible border are shaped as non-existent flowers.

In his brain, he can clearly recall when you said a situation like this was not completely unusual. Still, the situation was unexplainable to him. It seemed like they were after him: not to chase him and get him off the property but almost leading him inside your home. The place where he had only been once to attend the banquet. Fairly speaking, he did not want to go inside because he would probably see your parents but if he wanted to find you, he would have to go inside

"Would you let my son in without those bastards circling him like he is a prey."

Yuta slowly looks up when he hears the familiar voice saying the words that only make his suspicion turn into facts. His eyes fall on his own father standing next to yours: while your father looks overly satisfied with his arrival, his own father looks slightly disappointed and his pokerface shows a lot more emotion than it should.

"What is going on?" Yuta asks as he glances between the two men for an answer, he knows he's being led by an army of people around him but he wants a clear answer of the things that are going on. When your father only motions for him to follow inside, he roughly marches forward, perhaps a little bit too unrestrained as people are no longer forcing him in direction of the door. "You may come in, Yuta."

Doing as he's asked, Yuta starts to walk up the steps towards the door before following his and your father further inside the place. With each step, he feels a heavy weight being added onto his shoulder and it is almost as if he left his courage at the lowest step of the stairs. Despite already feeling anxious, he makes it worse by starting to look around: not to claim furniture that your father would gift when feeling generous but to check if he could see any traces of you.

Whilst observing he can almost say that he doesn't know whether this family has children, there are no traces of you or something that reminds him of you. It's not even the lack of cohort portraits, it is the lack of personality that this place holds.

"Why don't you sit here with us?" Your father suggests as he walks into the room where he had been with Yuta's father minutes earlier, discussing merely one subject with a filled liquor glass in their hands. The seat where his father sat was still pulled out, signalling it had not been time to bid each other farewell yet. Once his own father takes a seat and your father does too, he sits on the leftover seat.

"I would like to ask why you came here? Or why you have been here almost every day for the past time…" Your father asks but the words suggest for Yuta to speak up so that they don't have to pull the words out of his lips. He doesn't feel like they just caught him in the act but manages to feel the astonishment.

Yuta clears his throat, swallowing the saliva-filled nerves before he speaks up. "I come here for y/n, we enjoy spending time together," the word he tells don't lie but he keeps all of the details behind for as long as he can. Not because he's ashamed or doesn't want to admit to your relationship, but because he feels the urge to protect you.

"And you lure y/n with you into town?"

That is the moment where he feels like he got caught, simply because of you, who had been so scared to get caught whilst walking on the most regular streets in town. He wonders how they found out he took you to town but also considered inhabitants possibly recognising him or you.

"For a simple walk, I had no intention of luring her to town with bad consequences," Yuta explains. But by the expression on your father's face, he can recognise that his explanation didn't add much positivity to the story.

"That is what they all claim, young man. But I hope you realise that y/n will not be at hand to marry you," your father says and before he can comment, saying that that will happen even if your father says no, his father takes the wheel. "If you do not allow my son to marry y/n, I demand us to nullify our exchanges."

The protection from his father gives him courage, he had never expected his father to give protection in this context but misses the clue that his father is only trying to protect future exchanges and deals. Perhaps he misses the clue because they say love makes people blind and he is deeply in love with you. Without suspecting the next step, he waits for your father to give his comment.

"Consider them nullified."

Yuta's father raises from his chair soon after the words are spoken out loud. "I suggest we return homewards, Yuta," he says to his son as he clears his throat uncomfortably. Yuta is unable to perform anything, staring at your father but he is left speechless and frozen in his spot. "Yuta," his father calls out for him again, this time successfully receiving Yuta's attention.

"I will not leave, not until you give me a fair chance to marry y/n. We have a lot in common and both of us want to take the following step," Yuta claims, his voice getting louder as he feels misunderstood. He wasn't just a young man who lured you into town for his own pleasure, he was a young man who wanted to spend the rest of his life together with you. "y/n and I are in love."

Your father is the second one to raise from his chair, marching the short distance between his and Yuta's chair. "Listen to me, Nakamoto Yuta," he starts before he presses his hand against Yuta's shoulder blade. It's not a light touch but Yuta is too stubborn to show his usual strong reactions. "We do not marry out of love, we marry for money and profit. But I require my son in law to have manners, and that is something your parents never taught you."

"I love y/n, and you cannot stop me from doing so," Yuta says as he pushes away your father's hand from his shoulder, he stands up from his chair and turns towards your father. Due to the height difference, it seems like Yuta is in charge but that's only an illusion.

"You are right, I can't stop you from loving y/n," your father admits. Once again Yuta fails to see a detail, this time blinded by his pride when he hears the words. It's a calm moment before the storm, and the storm is only a few seconds away. "Too bad I can stop you from getting married to y/n, and I will do anything. Even if it costs you your life."

Minutes later, the three of them are walking the large hallway in order to get Yuta and his father out of the building. Yuta's fists are clenched as he only states in front of him while walking: angry with the world, disappointed in himself.

An employé opens the large front door for Yuta and his father to for the last time leave this place without ever returning. Exchanges and money-related deals are officially unchained the moment his father walks out of the door. "I suggest you leave now," your father says as he motions his hand towards the outside world, an impolite gesture in Yuta's eyes.

"Allow me to do one more thing before I leave," Yuta says as his feet step closer to the wall, plucking the only decoration from its designated location. The flag's fabric is rich in texture and feels soft under his rough fingerprints, but the feeling in Yuta's hands is too bitter to botire the softness. "As a last gift to you."

A smirk displays on his lips as he glances between his own father and your father. He knows he will get scolded by his own father for playing a dirty trick like this, but he cannot care less about that. His pride and love are on the line and he will not allow anyone to touch either of the two.

"You see this flag right?" Yuta asks as his hand smoothes over the details of the flag before he grips the flag at two of the corners with his hands. The flag is fully stretched between his hands: showing the coat of arms to who he now considered as the enemy. One harsh movement and the flag showed its first rip: the start of something grander than separation. "I would be careful with your words, my life could be spared but yours not," he says to your father before he ceremonially rips the flag in two separate pieces.

The two pieces sadly dwindle onto the ground but Yuta is the only one looking at them with a proud smile on his lips. He momentarily doesn't think of the consequences this has for you: pride takes over his senses. He steps over the piece that holds the coat of arms of your family while he steps out of the door.

"Farewell for now."

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

Unlike Yuta is told, he doesn't exactly leave the property. Told his father that he was going to walk home because he was in need of time alone to reflect on himself. Walked towards the greenhouse in order to meet you.

Seeing you in the greenhouse had been his intention from the moment he arrived but without a chance had lost his non-physical fight against the people that worked for your father. Now he probably was over an hour late to see you, perhaps you even left because you thought he tricked you.

There is a lump in his throat as he walks into the greenhouse and immediately closes the glass door behind him. The greenery doesn't tell him whether you are still here waiting for him but he doesn't ask about it either. His footsteps are quick and headed towards the bench where the two of you usually sit. More than just sitting had happened on the bench but lustful thoughts are not priority.

"y/n?" He calls out your name through the greenhouse but in the meanwhile doesn't stop his footsteps towards the familiar bench. His eyes are busy, wandering around the available space with the hope of you still being here. Soon enough his eyes meet with the red roses that cover the glass window, a sign that he is close to the bench. His body turns, almost dramatically as he knows he will, either way, see you or the empty bench now.

Despite the situation, a smile appears on his lips as he sees you sitting on the bench. "I missed you," he says as he walks towards you and plops himself down on the other side of the bench.

His words are left unanswered and after glancing at you, Yuta realises you look far from happy. "Is something wrong?" He asks you, his hand moving to your thigh, softly stroking over the fabric-covered skin. Deep inside, he knows why you stay quiet but he tries to convince himself that his thoughts are incorrect. "I bet you already know," you whisper.

Your whisper allows Yuta to let out a breath, his nostrils moving as the air is blown out. Momentarily, he doesn't know what to say because what he's supposed to say conflicts with what he wants to say. He needs to say that he is not allowed to marry you but he wants to tell you to run away with him and marry in secret.

"I am not allowed to wed you," you say softly. The heartbreak when you say those words intensifies: first it seemed mere cracks but now that you say the words, your heart is ripped in two pieces. Yuta nods his head, silencing himself by tugging his lip between his teeth. Yet, he can't help but speak "flee. We can do it together and marry without anyone finding out who we are and where we are."

The tempting words are like poison: appealing to you but there is no way back once you took a sip. "What will happen to us? We have nowhere to go, we won't have anyone but each other," you clarify as you once again are afraid to get caught like the time in town. At first, it seemed like no one found out, until today when your father stated the facts.

"Having each other is plenty. I will make up a plan and then we can run together," Yuta says as he takes both of your hands in his. The moment is intense because you're expected to say yes or no: you would say no because of your families and not having anything when you flee, but yes because you promised forever to Yuta and you don't want anything more than having that forever.

Without waiting for your answer, Yuta stands up and pulls you up on your feet gently. "Five days, we leave in exactly five days. Midnight and I will pick you up here, on the bench, in the glasshouse," he clearly states the words so that you'll remember them. You rest your hand against his chest, gripping the expensive fabric of his blazer before your grip loosens.

"I will be waiting for you,"

〚 VI ; sex 〛

Five days consisting of one hundred twenty hours.

One hundred twenty hours consisting of seven thousand two hundred minutes.

Seven thousand two hundred minutes consisting of four hundred thirty-two thousand seconds.

For you, time delays more than normal. Over recent days, you had a speed course on levelling up your provisional skills: lying to your father that you ground yourself in your room because you're heartbroken while you're plotting freedom with the love of your life. It's not an easy task but your father allows it, as long as he can lodge a complaint about Yuta and his family during dinner. You don't talk back to your father because you don't want him to suspect a thing: you simply listen and fraud your tears once or twice.

Yuta journals time in a different way. The hours tick by without difficulty even though he mainly stays in his bedchamber as well: he quietly coats his walls with removable ink that he's been given and draws shapes of patches of land or writes possible destinations as well as a list of things that need to be purchased in advance. Each dinner he will show up for a short amount of time, aside from the day that he stays in the common room until his father goes to bed, that night he lets his hand wander to a treasure of capital and hastily hides it in his blazer's pocket. Stolen money that he wordlessly promises to return one day, but the day would never come.

Whenever the nightfall takes place, both you and Yuta look out of the window: greeting the darkness as you wordlessly wish for one another: thoughts of the night where forever has been a given and received promise tend to come back. It's a coincidence that your desire of Yuta doing the same comes true, but he's simply so in love with you and can't stop himself from thinking about you.

With a little less than four hours to go, Yuta permanently leaves his room. His clothes are deftly hanging in his wardrobe and there's no doubt that dust will coat the exorbitant fabrics. The walls that had been scribbled full are now empty, not a trace of the plans revealed upon the wall. Just like they creatively appeared, they disappeared when Yuta washed them off. Something he takes along with him, is, money and the outfit that is wrapped around his body right now: primarily he is only in need of you and the rest belongs to an unnecessary subordinate.

Once his bedroom has been left, the rest follows minutes after. His father is left the moment Yuta soundlessly passes by his office. His entire home is left behind the moment he steps outside and pulls the door shut. Naturally, those things happen and he doesn't feel any remorse for doing so, he is willing to do anything for the person he loves.

From his property, his first destination is the town. If there is something that might make the flight more serene, it's food to keep both of you alive in the first days of survival. He goes to the bakery that he almost stole from once: a memory he can't help but relive because, despite its negative undertone, the memory consists of you.

The queue at the bakery is not overly long, a handful of people seem willing to buy the fresh-smelling bread. Just as willing as he is, perhaps they need it for survival purposes as well. Two women are in front of him and either of them is accompanied by a child that doesn't look older than five: it's not their turn yet hence why they spent their time being a human newspaper. "Did you hear? Apparently, y/n has been found dead," the words flow from her mouth.

For the first time, Yuta heard what they are talking about. Normally he isn't interested in news brought by human newspapers: what they tell us usually something sugar-coated or filled with a spoonful of sea salt. Your name is the trigger for him to listen, but what follows after, completely triggers him.

"When?" The other woman asks to keep the conversation running and Yuta can't help but allow all of his senses to work together. His ears have to listen as he tries to use his eyes for their body language, on the tip of his tongue is a bitter taste and he can feel tears forming in his eyes. "Last night they say, she was caught and murdered by someone that works for their family."

The words leave Yuta frozen in his spot, the coins that were resting in the palm of his hand are clenched between his fingertips as they form into a tight but sad fist. "Excuse me," he quickly mutters after his body is turned towards the exit, pushing through the few people that are lined up behind him.

Without bread, he leaves the bakery. His footsteps don't match up with the pace he wants to reach: sloppily walking as his mind is as mushy as porridge even though in his mind, he is running as fast as he can towards you.

"I need to get there," he ends up muttering to himself. Realisation of his hindered pace comes after he realises that the past ten steps didn't take him further than to the corner of the street. In that critical moment, his feet finally set off to a faster running pace.

Even if the past five days had gone by rapidly, time now went slower than it ever did before. His footsteps didn't change the pace of time, because no matter how fast he went, it seemed like he didn't reach much further. Tirelessly, his feet continued to run until the first changes in scenery were noticeable.

The streets from town slowly started to disappear, replaced by an uncountable amount of greenery. The only real street was in the form of a path that led him only further into the greenery.

Due to the fast running, his feet tend to oversee the details of the greenery underneath. The first time he stumbles it's over his own clumsy feet. The second time he stumbles and falls it's due to the roots of the tree that cross his path. His black-clothed pants are dirt covered when he sits up on his knees before standing up on his feet again.

"I will take responsibility for you till the end"

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

The rose as red as blood is the only visible factor as he glances through the window of the greenhouse. His hands are pressed on the glass for a direct look upon the bench that's inside: but the red flower prevents him from seeing anything. Now that he thinks about it, he remembers how the roses shielded anyone from seeing the pureness of your bodies as you made love underneath the light of the moon.

Silence drapes a symbolic flag over the property. It's eerily quiet for a long time but Yuta is too busy to notice the silence until finally, a sound drags him out of his observation process. In surprise due to the sound, his hand flatly places against the glass before his body wildly spins around. The large doors are opened and less than a dozen men walk out: dressed formally as they carry outside a variety of objects that Yuta can't make out in of the near distance.

He can recognise the colours printed on the flag, by the things he's been taught, he concludes that this will be the raised flag for the upcoming time. A time of mourning hence the monochrome colour of the flag. He thickly swallows before letting out a cough when the saliva collects at the back of his throat.

Unable to withhold himself from performing sentiments, he screams out of wretchedness. Knees colliding with the ground for the fifth time that day, but the pain is zilch compared to the heartache that burns through his shirt. When he thought his heart would no longer beat, the pace quickened due to one of the men signalling another by pointing near the source of sound. On his knees, Yuta crawled to the large door, letting himself in after he reached up to pull the handle.

⋅ ⋅ ⋅

"J'aime tes pleurs. C'est la rosée qui sied aux fleurs"

Rather than the passionate red roses, blue colourized roses are plucked by Yuta's fingertips. Like you once tutored him: red roses symbolise passionate love and blue roses symbolise unrequited and unreachable love. His promise of never giving you flowers is disintegrated.

In front of Yuta's blurry vision are continuous drips. One drop, two drops and still going. His teardrops landing on top of the sadly fallen flower petals, withering together as a sign of grief.

Memories fall like rain at dawn with each blue rose that Yuta plucks: one for the banquet where you two met for the first time, one for your first shared kiss, one for the endless talks in this greenhouse, one for the intimacy under the moonlight, and the last one for forever that will never come but always be yours.

Five roses are clenched between his fingertips, strongly held as the thorns press into the thin skin. The spring shower of memories stops the moment he spins his body towards he bench, a loud sob wrecking his vocal cords.

"y/n," he calls out to you as he walks up to the bench, his knees willingly giving out right in front of the bench. The place where your body was laid to rest until further notice: the place where you would be at peace, the place where love bloomed much like flowers. Your parted lips almost indicate you want to call out to him too, but your body is still and so are your non-existing words.

"I brought you these flowers," Yuta says softly as he places the five bundled flowers between your folded hands, the coldness of your fingers lingering against his skin until he backs away. "I know you explicitly told me to not gift you flowers but these will not wither, they will bloom," he whispers as his twitching fingertips ache to touch you, but out of fear, he can only let them caress over the rose petals.

His head comes to rest against the edge of the bench. "I hope you like them," he whispers as he can only look at the ground in sadness, shame, heartbreak. His blurry vision detects coral beads on the floor next to something that looks like a brown bean.

Abrus precatorius.

From another memory together with you he remembers the flowering plan out of the bean family. The plant is best known for its seeds, or better said beads that are toxic due to the presence of abrin. Ingestion of a single seed can be fatal to both adults and children.

An old symbol of love in China, which they call "相思豆" or "mutual love bean". A deadly love bean is what humans would tend to call it within the town, simply because they had no idea of official wordings or the dangers of the plant.

Yuta swallows thickly, almost like one of the seeds is on the tip of his tongue and he needs to swallow it. But the bitter feeling on his tongue is due to the realisation of what truly happened.

"I understand y/n. Even if fate separates us, all your tear-drenched memories will die in my embrace," He whispers. The fingertips of his right hand move towards your cheek, stroking over the skin daintily. The tender touch is cold but the warmth of love fills his blind heart. Beneath the bench, his left hand clutches a handful of coral beads.

The decorational plant beads rest in his hand as he brings them up to his mouth. A mutual love bean: cause of death for the love of his life, and soon to be his own as well.

Well-chewed, he swallows the seeds all at once. A breath escapes from his lips as he soon allows his head to lay against your shoulder, your stiff and cold body, pillowed by a thin layer of white lace that covers your skin.

His brown eyes eternally stare towards the love of his life. His broken heart swallows the tears for the deep pierced scars to get healed by the droplets, as a consequence, death starts blooming from the cracks of his heart. Before nightfall spreads over the glasshouse, his solitary serenade is heard.

"Rather than living without your love, I'll die with hatred. When we meet again, I hope we bloom as flowers."

[gellavonhamster]

ghost of a lady in furs

Frontier || characters: Elizabeth Carruthers, Douglas Brown, Josephette DaCosta, Malcolm Brown, Michael Smyth; ships: Elizabeth Carruthers/Douglas Brown || AU after 2x05, rated M (?)

ao3 link eng || ao3 link rus

It’s a long way back from the dead.

At first, Elizabeth stays in bed all day – just as for weeks before, only now conscious. It hurts to speak, it’s hard to look at bright light, it’s necessary to lie down as soon as possible after each meal – liquid, as if already chewed by someone else, for her jaw still aches – because staying seated for a long time, even in a bastion of pillows, is hard too. Josephette tries to visit her as often as she can, to keep her up to date on all news pertaining to the company and not only. Sometimes she brushes Elizabeth’s hair or helps her wash herself. Sometimes Elizabeth allows herself to rest her head on her friend’s shoulder, close her eyes, and not think of anything for a while.

Not to think of what happened to her, not to try to remember how exactly it happened – all that took place after her arrival at Grant’s mansion and the arrest of Pond is covered by fog.  

Not to think of the fact that Samuel Grant presently must be sure that he’s won.

Not to think of the fact that if the one who beat her – Pond or anyone else, or Grant himself, which, however, is hard to believe – hit her harder or a couple more times, maybe just once more, he really would have won.

Douglas also spends a lot of time with her. Evenings, when he comes home from the factory, they dine together. Not in the dining room, of course – she in bed, he in an armchair beside it. Occasionally, when Elizabeth wakes up, she finds him drowsing in that very armchair. His presence in her bedroom strangely doesn’t bother her. Most of the time when they’re not discussing the affairs of Carruthers and Co. or Elizabeth’s health is spent in awkward silence; Elizabeth feels it physically that he has an urge to tell her something important, or maybe to touch her, only he doesn’t dare to. She cannot figure out if his hesitance is making her angry or, quite the opposite, glad that it gives her time to contemplate. Perhaps it is rather the second; what happened wasn’t simply not provided for in their marriage contract, it is something of the in-sickness-and-in-health kind, and so on, and so forth. She wasn’t ready for this, and she doesn’t know what to make of it.      

Besides, she has much more pressing problems now, and she’d rather ponder over them.

“I am going to destroy Samuel Grant,” she announces to Josephette and Douglas one evening when both of them come to check up on her. By that point her jaw has ceased to ache so much, which means she is able to speak in longer sentences. She’s been looking forward to this.

Her friend and her husband exchange glances.

“Elizabeth…” Douglas begins.

“Yes, I know,” she cuts him short. The day she almost died is only fragmentary in her memory, as a series of disjointed images; one of them is him by her writing desk, naked, frowning at the freshly signed confession in his hands. She’s aware that he has warned her, but she would still prefer him not to remind her of it. “I underestimated him. I hadn’t second-guessed what he might go for when scared. Every time I think a man cannot sink even lower, I am proven wrong.”

Douglas wisely chooses not to comment in any way on her pronouncement about men.

“Then what is going to stop him from trying to kill you again since he’s already crossed that line?” he asks instead.

Josephette takes her hand.

“Elizabeth,” she says carefully. “You are still in no condition to confront him.”

Elizabeth heaves an exasperated sigh.

“I can see that both of you have become too keen on fussing over me,” she says, displeased, but doesn’t take her hand away. “Well, I am grateful. But do both of you really think me as stupid as to go the same way? I am going to act behind his back. And you are going to help me.”  

Douglas looks like he’s going to object, but Josephette, who has known Elizabeth for a longer time and better – and who knows that she cannot be persuaded to step back from a desired goal – is quicker to answer.  

“Tell us what you have in mind,” she says.

 ***

 Elizabeth Carruthers becomes a ghost.

After so many weeks in bed, she can’t and she won’t make herself lie down. At night, she waits impatiently for sleep to take over, so as not to be aware that once again she is in the same bed in which she has spent more than a month. For days on end, she keeps wandering back and forth through the house, leaning on the walls, wandering and wandering until the inevitable dizziness sets in. The servants flinch reflexively now and again when she emerges towards them from a scantily lit hallway.    

Only thing she’s missing are some shackles to rattle.

Her excuse is doctor’s orders – she has to move to stir her muscles, weakened and numb due to the time spent bedridden. Yet this is just part of the truth – not even half of it, a third at best. The lion’s share of the truth is that there’s an unappeasable rage inside her, howling, growling, thrashing around, and this rage wouldn’t even let her sit at the table for a long time – she studies the company’s documents standing or perched on an armrest, she reads books as she walks around in the living room. She is a cage where a wolf is pacing in circles, and she herself is caged in that house, far from noise, meetings, deals, negotiations, life.

A couple of times, soon after she regained consciousness and became strong enough to sit in bed and even get up sometimes for a while, she let the wolf out. A couple of times were enough – she wouldn’t break down anymore. No, she couldn’t care less about the dishes, all the more about the ridiculous statuette of a shepherdess that was a gift to her and her first husband from – whom? Doesn’t matter in any case. It brought much more joy when it shattered than when it was collecting dust on the mantelpiece. Still, each such outburst is a display of weakness, which only makes Elizabeth angry at herself later. She has spent far too much time proving to the world that she is sensible, rational, and cool-headed. The world – replete with disdain, superficial, and annoyingly male – refused to believe her: she is a woman, after all, and what should one expect from women but hysterics and tears? And even if those living in this house or visiting it have seen her even weaker, they haven’t seen her pathetic – and they won’t. Not the servants, though they won’t utter a word for fear of losing their jobs, not Josephette, though she wouldn’t judge, not Douglas, who might think whatever but wouldn’t judge her openly either. If she loses her temper in front of them, it will be more difficult to keep it in check in front of the others.            

She couldn’t hold back the desire to gloat when she went to mock Grant in person, and look what came of it.  

And so she keeps her rage locked. Or rather remolds it, reforges it, and uses it wisely. Instead of wasting time and energy on yelling and breaking the china, she’d rather put more effort into planning her revenge on Grant – and to bringing these plans to fruition.  

If he isn’t afraid of ghosts, soon he will be.

 ***

 Few people know she’s awake. Many people don’t even know if she’s alive. By a fortunate coincidence, the passerby who found her used to work on Carruthers and Co. He went straight to Josephette, who paid him handsomely for his help and for keeping his mouth shut about his discovery. The onlookers never got a chance to amass, but someone must still have seen her, because rumours started spreading in Montreal that Elizabeth Carruthers was found dead in a ditch. No, not dead, but beaten up. No, not beaten up, just drunk. The latter in particular made her blood boil; even at the dreariest moments of her confinement, when the wolf inside urged her to lunge at the walls and at anyone who comes her way, she didn’t get drunk, not even once. A sip of brandy at dinner, and that’s all. The memories of what Peter was like when plastered are too fresh. He was pathetic when sober and so much the more when inebriated. She grimaces as she remembers. She doesn’t want to resemble him in any way.            

One of the few upsides of marriage to Peter was meeting Josephette, who proves herself indispensable once again.

Few people know she’s awake. Yet Josephette, who has perfect knowledge of the factory and everyone who works there, selects some trustworthy and discreet girls among the workers, girls who own some debt of gratitude to her or to Elizabeth, and lets them into this secret. These girls sometimes enlist the help of their fiancés or brothers, just as trustworthy and discreet. And so acquaintances begin to be struck up between them and the workers from Grant’s company, so begin the casual inquiries about what it’s like to work there and what the news are, and the passing mentions of how it’s pretty good to work for Widow Carruthers (she may have got married for the second time, but most of them still think of her as of Widow Carruthers). Sometimes they spice it up with a bit or two of gossip that might make one doubt just how fair Grant is with his men. Sometimes these seeds take root. Sometimes they don’t. No one is forcing anything on anyone – just offering food for thought.

All the obtained intelligence goes to Josephette, who then passes it to Elizabeth, and together they figure out how to use it. Most of it is not too valuable – one must give the devil his due, Grant’s employees don’t complain much. However, sometimes they get to learn which suppliers have voiced dissatisfaction with the terms of bargains lately, or which potential buyers have visited the factory. Those are approached by Douglas, who offers them better terms and makes them believe that Carruthers and Co. has exactly what they need. First by playing along and then by twisting their words, he convinces Grant’s partners that it is they who want what is offered to them.    

He used to be the face of the company while Elizabeth was its true head, and Josephette was the secret power unknown even to those aware that the company was run by the wife, not by the husband. Now Elizabeth herself has receded into the shadows even deeper than Josephette. Behind Douglas Brown, the figurehead of Carruthers and Co., is a Black former servant, and behind her, there is a ghost.  

Perhaps Samuel Grant’s enterprise is haunted as well, since workers and suppliers start leaving it slowly but surely.      

 ***

 “Miss Dolan came by the factory today,” Douglas tells her one evening as they’re having dinner together – not in the bedroom, now that Elizabeth, thankfully, is feeling much better, but in the dining room. It takes some time for Elizabeth to remember who he is referring to: right, the Irish girl. The little traitor. In fairness, Elizabeth can see that the girl is just trying to survive, but she still cannot think of her without dislike.  

“And what was she after? Surely she didn’t come to visit her former workmates?”  

“Well, first of all, she wanted to return the hat you gave her.”

“I hope you told her she is free to choke on it.”

“I told her you would’ve preferred her to keep it.” Douglas fumbles with his glass that still has some brandy in it. They’re sitting at the opposite sides of the table, like a king and a queen in an empty castle – a haunted one, naturally. One day, as she was lying in bed and obsessively thinking out her vengeance on Grant, it occurred to her that she was turning into a sort of Lady Macbeth, plotting and scheming and slowly going insane. The next thought amused her: how fitting of her to have married a Scotsman. “She asked after your health, for she remembers how kind you were to her…”  

Elizabeth snorts.

“…and she also asked in passing if it’s true that Deschamps and Moreau are now supplying their goods to us. Said she couldn’t help wonderin’ because she’d seen them at Grant’s before.”  

“How observant of her.”  

“You understand what that means, right? They suspect something, Elizabeth. And they won’t leave it like that.”  

Elizabeth slams her glass on the table.

“If you are going to say that it’s time to stop, save your breath,” she tells him, voice ringing with indignation. “Because it’s too late to stop. Afraid, Mr. Brown, aren’t you?”

Douglas sighs, takes off his glasses, sighs again, and puts them back. In the light of the melting candles he looks older than he is, and very tired.

“A wee bit,” he admits. “But not for myself.”

His words produce a strange feeling in her chest, as if a ruffled bird is stirring underneath her ribs.  

Elizabeth gets up and approaches him at a swift pace, and he rises too, eyes fixed on her. She rests one hand on the table – she shouldn’t have stood up so briskly, her head still spins a little at times – and tries to figure out what to say to a man who dared to care about her.  

He’s waiting, and only the cracking of the firewood disturbs the silence.

“I can take care of myself,” Elizabeth finally says. “I’ve told you before: I won’t go the same way. I won’t make myself an easy target. You won’t have to nurse me back to health again, don’t worry.”

“I would’ve done it again if I had to. I’d rather it wasn’t necessary, though.”  

For a change, Elizabeth Carruthers doesn’t know what to say, so she just kisses him.  

When Douglas pulls away, he’s looking at her with a mixture of longing and wariness.  

“I thought you didn’t remember this either,” he says quietly.

“I would’ve done it again if I didn’t,” replies Elizabeth. She doesn’t want to decipher what she means by these words. She made him marry her so that Carruthers and Co. had a representative that these small-minded pigs who don’t trust a businesswoman would agree to deal with. She slept with him, and it felt good. He took care of her while she was unconscious, and then was tactful enough during her recovery not to make her feel humiliated by his help. All of it adds up to something, but she prefers not to reflect on it. She doesn’t want to decipher what she means by these words – but she knows she’s speaking from her heart. “Otherwise I’d have to wait till doomsday for you to be done suffering in silence.”

“Frankly speaking, I… wasn’t sure that back then it didn’t happen because you wanted me to sign that bloody confession.”  

“Well, I wanted you to sign it. I also wanted you. These two were not related,” shrugs Elizabeth. She cannot blame him for the lack of trust: she did use him, and he, in turn, planned together with Malcolm to go against her – what kind of trust could there be? “If you thought I was playing you, why didn’t you leave while I was as good as dead? Why did you stay?”  

He responds by kissing her – not on the lips, but on the cheek right under the scar, very carefully. Again, a little higher. Again, moving along the outline of the scar but not touching her skin where it recently was too new and delicate. His moustache is tickling her face; the bird underneath her ribs is picking at her heart. And she’s mad at him because she’s addled and defenseless in the face of this unbearable tenderness, and she’s mad at herself because she is starting to suspect in horror that she might cry if he touches her like this again, this was not in their marriage contract, this was not in her scheme of things, and how dare he…  

She grabs him by his curls, pushes him lower, makes him press his lips to hers – makes him do something she can comprehend. The urge to tear up subsides. She pulls him closer, one hand still in his hair, the other on the lapel of his waistcoat. Then she lets go for a moment to move the dinnerware aside without even looking (one glass must have fallen – to hell with it, to hell with everything) before sitting down on the edge of the table.  

“The servants might come in,” Douglas reminds her when she runs her hand over his shoulder, his hip, his crotch, like she owns him, but his voice is husky and hot, and his hands are peeling off her dressing gown.  

“So what?” she breaths out. “They are my servants. This is my house. Everything here is mine. And if I want my husband to fuck me on my table in my dining room… I don’t see what must be stopping me.”  

When he lifts her nightdress and kneels between her spread legs, she doesn’t feel like a ghost.  

***

 One of the factory girls who were being friendly with Grant’s workers on Josephette’s orders is found with her throat cut. There is no purse with earnings on her, so it might have been just a robbery. A coincidence. Or maybe not.  

That night Elizabeth sees Grant’s face hanging over her, his eyes wide with terror as he keeps delivering blow after blow to her head with something heavy.

“I’m a good man,” she hears his frantic voice. “I’m a good man.”  

Upon another blow she wakes, and sits up in bed with a jerk. Something that is neither a sob nor a cry escapes her throat – a shrill animal sound. She cannot catch her breath. She cannot believe she can breathe.

“Elizabeth,” Douglas says worriedly, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Some part of her mind that has either already calmed down or never had time to get scared tells her that she must have elbowed him in the face when she jerked up. “Elizabeth, what’s the matter?”  

“It was Grant,” she whispers. She’s shaking, and even Douglas’s comforting warmth by her side doesn’t help. Pathetic, she’s so pathetic now. “It was Grant who beat me up. I remembered.”  

“Elizabeth, it might’ve been just a dream…”

“And I am telling you I remembered!” snaps Elizabeth. She put her hand to her forehead and wipes off the sweat. “I take it you know better than I what’s happening in my head, don’t you?”  

“I mean, it is quite possible that after the news about that poor lass…”

“No. No, no, no,” she frees herself from his embrace and climbs off the bed. It is his bedroom, not hers, and the unusual surroundings are disorienting: the window is too small, the door is on the wrong side. Perhaps she’d calm down sooner if she lay down again, but presently she doesn’t want to have anything in common with the unmoving body on the floor of Samuel Grant’s mansion.  

She tenses up when Douglas approaches her, but he doesn’t try to persuade her to go back to bed, just throws a shawl over her shoulders.  

She closes her eyes and thinks. And thinks, and thinks, and thinks.

“You know,” she finally says, “I cannot believe I am proposing this myself, but I’m going to need to chat with your brother.”

 ***

 This time, instead of Declan Harp, Malcolm brings her some disheveled boy.

“Michael Smyth of the Black Wolf Company… ma’am,” he announces, indicating the guest with a nod. “Michael, let me introduce you to Mrs. Elizabeth Carruthers.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” says Smyth. The beard and the overall rough-hewn appearance of a seasoned hunter are unable to conceal how young he is. He reminds Elizabeth of a small animal – a ferret or a raccoon – that has somehow managed to sneak into her house from the forest.  

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Smyth,” Elizabeth replies coldly, not bothering to stand up and offer her hand to him. “Although, in truth, I would’ve been much more pleased if Mr. Brown did what I asked and organized me a meeting with Mr. Harp, not with his errand boy. Who is also to blame, as far as I know, for the supply that I’ve arranged with Mr. Harp going down the drain.”  

Malcolm opens his mouth, but Michael Smyth beats him to it.

“Declan Harp is in Scotland now,” he says calmer than could be expected after her remark; well done. “As to the supply, I had no other choice. Your people didn’t come to collect the pelts. Cobbs Pond told me you’re…”  

“Dead? As you can see, it is unwise to believe everything Cobbs Pond says,” even the name of that man seems to taste rotten. Elizabeth cannot help screwing up her face as she pronounces it. “But I admit: my people didn’t come indeed – they were too busy keeping me alive.”  

“Well, I was busy keeping my people alive,” retorts Smyth. “We had to dispose of the pelts before the redcoats caught up with us. Pond was there, and he had the silver. I am sure, Mrs. Carruthers, that you would’ve done the same if you were in my place.”

“Sureness is a fine thing. The trick is not to overdo it. Trust me, Mr. Smyth, I am speaking from my own bitter experience,” Elizabeth replies with a sweet smile. The boy is staring hard at her, waiting for what she’s going to say next. Malcolm, hands in pockets, is observing their one-on-one leaning against the door frame. “Anyway, enough of the past. This is not why I asked my most kind brother-in-law,” she makes a pause, which Malcolm fills with a loud sneering chuckle, “to bring me a representative of the Black Wolf Company.”  

“Then why, Mrs. Carruthers?”

Elizabeth leans back in her chair. Today, for the first time after a month and a half in nightdresses and dressing gowns, she is wearing a proper dress – one of her best – which makes her feel splendid. As if nothing had changed. As if Michael Smyth, her first visitor in a long time who isn’t one of her household, doctors, or family (regrettably, the latter technically includes Malcolm), isn’t currently making every effort not to look inadvertently at the right side of her face – the ugly prominent scars, the greenish yellow of her bruises. And he’s making it; she can feel it.  

“Your company has already stolen for me once, Mr. Smyth,” she says. “I didn’t get to have the results, but still. I need you to do it again.”

“You want us to steal the furs of the HBC?”

Elizabeth cannot hold back a vicious smile.

“I want you to steal the furs of Samuel Grant”.

 ***

 “All right, that was not quite what I required of you, Mr. Brown,” she tells Malcolm after Smyth leaves, “but thank you just the same.”

Malcolm makes a helpless gesture dramatically.

“Well, sorry for not havin’ enough damn time to dart off to Scotland and back.”  

“What business does Harp even have in Scotland?”

“Michael didn’t go into detail, so I guess it must be either something really important or something really personal.”

“Or both,” Elizabeth says thoughtfully. It wouldn’t hurt to learn what it is all about: you never know what information may turn out useful. “Let’s hope this… young man can be trusted.”

“He’s a thief. You need a thief. I don’t see why not,” shrugs Malcolm. “Besides, I warned him that you’re a witch, so if anything goes wrong, you’ll turn him into a mouse and eat him like it’s nothing.”

“Why a mouse, Mr. Brown? That’s not much to eat. Why not into a nice, fat goose, for example?”  

“Not enough meat for a goose in that one,” Malcolm grins, and Elizabeth cannot help grinning back. This nonsense must be the first time in history when something resembling a friendly conversation is happening between them.  

So, she used to be a ghost, and now she’s become a witch.

Or has always been one, as many people certainly wouldn’t fail to point out.

 ***

Josephette makes her a patch that covers half her face. The broad band of black velvet is covered in tiny embroidery – leaves, stems, bees. It looks unusual, but it matches most of Elizabeth’s dresses, and looks a little bit like a carnival mask. Someone uninitiated, upon seeing her wearing this strange accessory, might well conclude she’s going to attend a masked ball.  

“If it’s too tight, it can be fastened by another hook. Or altered altogether,” says Josephette. Elizabeth looks at Josephette’s face in the mirror behind her shoulder, and shakes her head.  

“It’s perfect. Really, you didn’t have to…”

Josephette gestures her to stop.

“I did,” she says. Her face, always so reserved, lights up. “Consider it a gift on the occasion of your return to the world of the living.”

Elizabeth turns around and takes Josephette’s hands in hers.

‘Thank you,” she tells her, meaning much more than just the patch, and she can read it in her friend’s gaze that she understands.

Together they descend the stairs – the queen and her éminence grise. Douglas is waiting for them below, by the door.  

“Very… elegant,” he remarks, taking a look at his wife’s half-concealed face.

“Oh, I intend to bring it into fashion. Soon all ladies in Montreal will be wearing this. I’d love to look at Miss Dolan in it,” Elizabeth says with a sinister smile, and passes her arm through his. “Shall we?”

She can’t wait to return to the factory. To check personally if everything is in order, to examine the equipment, to hear how things are going in the workers’ own words. But first she has to visit the market, the very beating heart of the town. Let people see that she is back. As she passes the stalls of vendors and craftsmen, she can feel the prying eyes on her. Some start whispering as soon as they see her, some elbow their companions to draw their attention, some greet her awkwardly – those she honours with a regal nod.  

She hopes to run into a certain man – and she does.

Samuel Grant is alone today, without the loyal Pond at his side. He’s talking to a couple of trappers whom Elizabeth hasn’t met before, and when he catches sight of her, he almost drops the beaver pelt he was inspecting.

Elizabeth stops and meets his gaze.

The whole market – possibly the whole world – seems to have stopped with them.

She feels ill at ease in his presence. She would never admit that – not even to Josephette, not even to Douglas – but the sight of the man who almost smashed her skull makes some sort of a cold well open inside her. But when he looks at her, he’s dumbfounded too, even scared. She is the witness of his crime. The witness of him being far from “a good man”, as he kept saying back then, trying in vain to make himself believe it.  

Yet another blow, just after a large parcel of furs he was to receive was dragged into the night by black wolves.

Elizabeth forces a smile.

“Mr. Grant,” she says loudly and cordially. She is the first to break the silence, and it feels like a victory. Which is silly, of course: the real victory is a long way off. The real war has just begun. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

It’s a long way back from the dead, but she’s made it.

[sweetiejunie]

Fantasy

Summary: You’re the not-so-typical girl next door

Genre: Slight fluff, smut «60-70% is just smut»

Beomgyu x reader

—.*•—

A/n: this was the smut i was hesistant about posting. I thought about it for a couple weeks and decided to just post it •_•

[Note: If ure only int in the ‘smut’ part, it roughly starts at the —.✿ฺ— till the end]

=====================================

Beomgyu knew he recognised you from somewhere. He just couldn’t figure out where. The way you smirked, the way you played with your hair, all seemed familiar to him. But where?

That night soobin had invited him and yeonjun out to a diner with him and this girl he had been seeing, soyu. Apparently, and he quoted, soyu had ‘two hot friends that she met recently and thought a night out with everyone would be fun’. So in case you hadn’t figured it out yet, soobin invited them to some triple-date deal.

At first, beomgyu was reluctant to go. He didn’t like the idea of blind dating. The previous time someone had set him up with a girl they claimed to be ‘his perfect match’, the girl turned out to be the exact opposite of what he liked. She was loud, ill-mannered and overall just too childish. Honestly, he had no idea how anyone could have thought he would like her. Since then, beomgyu always preferred to choose the people he dated. But for some odd reason, he agreed to soobin’s proposal. Not sure why, but something told him he was going to regret it if he didn’t.

That’s how he ended up here, in a ‘U’ shaped booth with two of his closest friends and three, admittedly, really good looking girls. Aside from soyu, the other two girls were you and your coworker, Zoe. As these things would typically go, everyone would be paired up. In this case it was of course, soobin and soyu, yeonjun and you, leaving beomgyu with Zoe. Not that Beomgyu had anything against zoe, it was just that as the group started talking more, the contrast between you and Zoe’s personalities started to become more noticeable. Zoe was sweet, your typical girl-next-door, while you were more sly, mysterious. You were the girl every mother feared their son dating. Yet, something about you drew beomgyu in, something seemed like déjà vu.

Yeonjun was the first to point out this difference. “You know, you and zoe are pretty different, it’s kind of surprising you two are friends.”

“Y/N just started working at my salon recently and i dont know, the three of us just cliqued,” zoe stated.

“Where did you work before that?” Beomgyu asked you, hoping your answer could give some clues to his mystery.

“I just moved here from London last month,” you replied.

London, that’s one clue. Beomgyu made a mental note. You continued on about your story, telling them about, when you a teenager, how you had moved in with your grandparents and studied in korea until you graduated high school. How your parents thought your behaviour was getting out of hand and how they thought sending you abroad would someone solve that problem. In all honesty, they probably just didn’t want to have to deal with you anymore and sending you to an overseas dormitory seemed like a liable option. You were never a bad student, in fact you actually scored straight A’s and was always the too in your class. Your behaviour was what drew the line with your family, always getting caught skipping classes and trespassing on school property during the night. They were just done with it and sent you packing.

As beomgyu picked up each clue you dropped, he started to remember his neighbour when he was about 17. A girl that moved in with the elderly couple that lived next door and went to the same school as him. Rumours eventually spread about that girl. At school, he heard the students gossiping about her, saying her parents had threw her to live with her grandparents cause they didn’t want to deal with her. That in her previous school she seduced boys and slept around. Breaking school rules to the point of suspension, leading her here. Parents, including his own, were instructing their children not to befriend her and to stay away from her. The more beomgyu heard about the girl, the more intrigued he became.

Even though beomgyu was in a different class from her, just from all the talking, it felt as if he knew her. He saw her pretty regularly, in the cafeteria, in the halls and even at the bus stop, most of the time, if not always, she was alone. He felt bad seeing someone he ‘knew’ on their own but being the good child he was, he listened to his mother and stayed away. Of course, this made her an easy target for bullies, or so they thought. Every time they tried to pull a cruel prank on her, she never reacted the way they wanted. When they poured something over her head she would simple shrug and go to clean herself off.

When another girl talked behind her back, or straight up tried to insult her, instead of getting embarrassed or mad, she would laugh and reply with, “i know I’m a bitch. I never tried to hide it.”

Eventually, the bullying stopped and boys started wanting to get closer to her, something about her pulling them in. She however, never really showed much interest in any of the boys that threw themselves at her. Through her time in there, she never had any trouble getting one of the boys to be her ‘little assistant’ for the day, be it running to the nearest convenient store for her snacks or kneeling on the ground and tying her shoe laces. Any boy would have killed to be in that position, wanting to test their luck with her.

Throughout her time there, beomgyu never spoke to her. He never so much as asked for her name. But since they were neighbours, beomgyu saw her often, mostly on the bus, but he always kept his distance. Every now and then, students approached him asking for information about the mysterious girl, but he could never give them any, saying he didn’t know anything. People found it hard to believe, beomgyu was one of the most charming and best looking guys in the school, if he wanted to, he could get someone falling head over heels for him in minutes. But he knew better than to get involved with her.

She wasn’t the prettiest, maybe slightly above average at best. But her attitude automatically attracted people’s attention. The aura she possessed, one of power and manipulation. From what beomgyu had observed, she was a kind and friendly person and would have probably even made a good friend. But she had a strange way of figuring out what people wanted from her and then using it against them to do her bidding.

—.✿ฺ—

Beomgyu’s bedroom window faced out overlooking hers. On occasion, she would fail to shut her curtains all the way and beomgyu would look in, seeing a small section of her room, her figure walking past every so often.

One evening however, while beomgyu was studying, he suddenly heard a soft noise from across alley. Shocked, he snapped his head up. Only to see the curtains were still drawn. Looking out to the driveway, he realised the car that was normally parked there was replaced by a new black one. Thinking back, he couldn’t recall ever seeing the elderly couple driving it. It wasn’t their car. Intrigued, he continued to listen, hearing more noise which eventually he identified to be moaning. And suddenly they stopped, ending with a long sigh. Soon after, he saw her walking out from her house, in a plain tshirt, as she lead someone to the mystery car. It was a boy, one that he may have seen around campus before but never acknowledged. The boy placed a kiss on her forehead and entered the car, driving away.

At that moment, beomgyu knew. He cheeks grew red as he felt his pants tighten just at the thought. Shaking his head to rid himself of the thought, he looked back down, only met by her gaze. She had turned around and saw his silhouette at his window. Quickly crouching down to hide, he clutched his chest. He was screwed.

That morning, he feared having to face her again. She saw him, he was one hundred percent certain about it. He stood at the bus stop, his mind still a complete mess. Hitting his head with his hand until he noticed her walking out of her house. Immediately he froze, expecting her to accuse him of his deed. But to his surprise, she didn’t. She didnt so much as spare him a single glance. Part of him was relieved, but the rest of him was starting to panic more, overthinking what it could possibly mean. But maybe she didn’t see him afterall. At school, beomgyu never muttered a single word about it to the others. The thought of having o share what he knew wasn’t something he was very fond of.

That night, beomgyu laid at his usual spot on his bed, reading. Interrupted when the sudden light from her bedroom lit up the otherwise dark alley. Looking across, she had just taken a shower, she was in nothing but a towel, her hair wet and skin sprinkled with water droplets. He couldn’t help but stare at the sight in front of him. No matter how perverted he knew he was being, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. He watched as she entered her room, closing the door behind her. He figured next she would approach her window and draw the curtains, like usual. But instead, she sat on her bed, her back facing him. Placing her clothes next to her, she unravelled the towel around her, letting it drop and gather around her hip. Her bare back, now exposed to him. He knew it wasn’t much, but combined with the thought from the previous day, it was enough to get him worked up.

Not wanting to be seen again, he ran to turn his room lights off. He sat the edge of his bed, still facing her, as he started to palm himself. He studied her actions carefully, taking in the way she carefully dried herself with the towel, using a hairdryer to lightly blow dry her hair. He felt himself get harder in his sweats, just imagining what a front view would look like. Just as the thought came to mind, she stood up, towel falling on the floor, her rear end now on show to him. He wished how he could reach out and squeeze her with his hands. Sliding his hand into his boxers, he started moving his hand on his length. He felt as if he had a front row seat to the show that is your life. He continued jerking himself off as she continued on with her nighttime routine, struggling to keep himself silent. Eventually, she turned around to put her clothes on, allowing beomgyu to see her body clearly while she dressed herself. That alone got him to come undone, ruining his boxers as he continued to ride out his high. His hand lazily running along his now softened dick.

Again, the next morning beomgyu was terrified to see her. But once again, she acted as if nothing had happened. Whenever he passed her on the streets or in school, she always acted as if she didn’t know him. At this point, beomgyu thought he had gotten away with it. Cause he couldn’t think of any reason why someone would leave their curtains open, knowing that their neighbour is spying on then.

With the third night rolling around, beomgyu kept his lights off, using only his table lamp to study. Once again, he looked over, her curtains were open but today, she was just sitting on her bed, dressed only in an oversized shirt and panties, reading a book with her bedside lamp on. The lamp wasn’t the brightest, but it was enough for beomgyu to see what she was doing. He sat staring at her for nearly an hour, watching her switch between her book and her phone. Finally, she put her book down beside her. Beomgyu assumed she was probably going to bed until he saw her pull her panties off, throwing them on the floor.

He watched as she slowly slid one of her hand under her shirt, massaging her breast as small high pitched moans left her lips. His eyes widen, his mouth falling open. Immediately, beomgyu felt himself getting aroused. Moving closer to his window, as if one feet could get him any better of a view, his forehead was pressed against the glass. Her other hand moving down to touch herself. Beomgyu’s hand shamelessly moving to his own pants as she started pumping her fingers in and out slowly, as if she was teasing him intentionally. After a few minutes, she stopped, pulling off her shirt, exposing her body to him. Her hands going back to what they were originally doing. Only this time, he could see her kneading and playing with her breast as her fingers rubbed her clit. Beomgyu began stroking himself, eventually completely ridding himself of his pants and boxers, leaving himself bare for anyone to see.

Beomgyu closed his eyes, imagining that it was her hands around him instead of his own, the feeling of her small, fragile hands around his dick, pleasuring him. Suddenly, another moan escape her lips, causing him to shoot his eyes open, he stare falling back on her and how her back arched as she got closer to her high. Fuck, how much he wished he could jump over the alley and take care of it for her. The thought of roughly fucking her against her bedroom door, making her regret torturing him like this, even if she didn’t know it.

Beomgyu admired as her moans got louder, echoing across the alley, filling his ears, letting him bask in the sound. As he watched her fingers pumped faster, his hand speeding up its movement. His leaned against the window, not wanting to miss a second. Soon, he had to use his free hand to muffle to sounds of his own grunts, feeling himself coming as soon as she did, finishing at the same time. Streams of his cum dripping down the wall he leaned against. He was still panting for air as he stayed focus on her. Her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath.

Up till graduation, beomgyu would spend his evenings looking out his window, his hands down his pants at whatever she gave. Most days, it was nothing, just her studying or watching netflix shows. Some days it was her naked in front of the mirror, preparing for bed. But on the days he got lucky, he would be able to see her pleasuring herself. And on rare days, he would even be able to see her get fucked by other men. How he wished he could be one on top of her, but he knew that wouldn’t happen.

Beomgyu would admit that, within those months, what he did was wrong, but it just felt so right. Every evening he looked forward to the show she was going to perform. However one day, a few weeks after graduation, it all just stopped. Her blinds where drawn once again and all he could remember was overhearing his parents talking about how the elderly couple next door was sending their granddaughter to study in the UK.

For some reason, it stung. Even though they didn’t even know each other, beomgyu felt as if he had been abandoned. Now and then, he found himself checking out his window, in hopes she would suddenly appear again, but it never happened.

This brings us back to the present. Beomgyu sat in the booth next to zoe, unaware that she had been talking to him for the past few minutes.

Was it really you? What were you doing back so soon? Was all that was going through beomgyu’s mind.

“Beomgyu!” Yeonjun called, snapping his fingers in front of his face to get his attention. “Zoe’s talking to you.”

“What? Oh, sorry i spaced out. You were saying, zoe?” Beomgyu apologised, trying to keep his focus on the girl he was supposed to be giving his attention to.

But as she continued talking, he still found himself stealing glances at you. The way you laughed at something yeonjun told you. And the way you lightly hit his shoulder when he made a joke.

Just as zoe was about to say something else, beomgyu interrupted her, “yeonjun, let’s go order some milkshakes for everyone.”

“What-,” before yeonjun could reply, beomgyu grabbed his arm, forcing him to get up and follow him.

When he was sure they were far enough away, beomgyu spoke again, “listen, dont ask any questions. We need to trade.”

“What why? Aren’t you and zoe having a good time?”

“I- we are,” beomgyu started, “it’s just, i need to talk to y/n. I think she used to be my neighbour.”

“Then why dont you just asked her like this? There’s no way im trading. Zoe is cool and all but y/n is cool,” yeonjun replied, putting emphasis on the last part.

With that, yeonjun walked back to the table, leaving beomgyu to sigh in frustration. There was no way he could just ask you like that in front of everyone. Going to order a couple milkshakes, he returned to the table. This time, he noticed Yeonjun’s arm around the back of the booth. It was his usual, eventually, his arm would end up around you, pulling you closer to him. It was infuriating, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Some ways through the night, you had excused yourself to go answer a phone call. Seeing this as the perfect opportunity, beomgyu excused himself after you. Following you to an empty hallway that connected with the bathrooms. An emergency exit at the end. He waited around the corner, calling your name the moment he saw you put down the phone.

“Y/n, hey.”

“Oh hi beomgyu, where you waiting for me?” You asked, perking an eyebrow at him.

“No-,” he considered lying for a second, but saw no point for it. “Actually, i was. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Well what is it that you couldn’t say in front of the others?” You asked, folding your arms and leaning against the wall. After all these years, you still had the same powerful aura that left him speechless and flustered.

“I- er. I don’t think you would remember but... i think we used to be neighbours... We went to the same school.”

You chuckled at his hesitation, “i do remember you, beomgyu. The moment i saw you even.”

“Oh, why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“Probably the same reason you couldn’t. Dont think I didnt know about you jerking off, watching me every night. I’m not blind beomgyu,” you smirked.

Beomgyu swallowed hard, looking at the ground as face turned a shade of red, “you knew? I’m sorry. But if you knew, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Where’s the fun in that? Knowing that i got my hot neighbour jerking off to the sight of me was thrilling. Teasing you every now and then, my poor boy,” you leaned in closer to him before practically whispering the rest, “got me so damn turned on.”

Once again, beomgyu was at a loss for words. He felt the blood from his head rush to between his legs. The thought of him jerking off to you turned you on?

“I only wish you would have let me watch you as well,” you said out of the blue, causing beomgyu’s head to snap up in shock.

“I think you owe me. Don’t you, baby boy?”

By just listening to your words, beomgyu was getting harder by the second. Looking down, it was blatantly obvious to everyone.

“Poor thing. Do you want help with that?” You asked, you hand ghosting over his clothed dick.

Beomgyu tried to keep his cool but ended up frantically nodded at your statement, “why dont we go somewhere else?”

“You dirty boy. We’re in a public place and all you can think about is getting off. Tsk. I think you should take care of it yourself, don’t you?” This time, you walked towards the exit door, leaning against it and got beomgyu to face you. “I want you to jerk off. Right here. I think you owe me, after months of watching me do it.”

“But-“

“Or you know what, im just going back to join the others,” you quickly said, cutting off beomgyu’s argument.

“No!” He said, a bit too eagerly, clearing his throat immediately after.

“I knew you weren’t as innocent as your portrayed,” you shot him a smirk, palming him through his jeans and watched as beomgyu’s eyes shot open.

Undoing his zipper, you pulled his dick out, leaving beomgyu to savour that short moment of having your hands on him. He was almost completely hard by this point, the tip red, pointing slightly upwards. Slowly, he grabbed himself and started pumping his length.

Leaning closer to him, you put your arms around his neck and whispered, “have you ever fantasied about this before? You jerking yourself off in front of me in a public place.”

Shaking his head as a response, he started working himself faster, feeling himself get more turned on by your words, using the precum that was leaking out as lubricant. He felt embarrassed you could have this kind of an effect on him but he couldn’t care right now.

“Fuck, you know baby boy, since high school, ive always found you really attractive. And seeing you like this right now is actually really hot. I’m actually staring to wonder how you would feel.”

“Then let’s go somewhere more private. I swear ill take really good care of you,” beomgyu suggested, hoping it would convince you, losing his breath as he felt his dick start to twitch in his hand.

“No, i think i like it here. Do you remember how i looked back then? I always made sure to be within your view so you could see me.”

Beomgyu shut his eyes as he listened to you speak. He remembered those days as clear as crystal. Right now, he wondered if anyone walked by, would they know exactly what you two were doing? He felt nervous getting caught. But at the same time, the though thrilled him. He couldn’t remember the last time he was so turned on, excited and worried at the same time.

“Look at me baby. I can’t wait to see the look on your face when you come. I bet it must be so hot right? I wonder what your friends would think if they knew what you did. Would they think you’re a pervert? Would they think you’re so lucky right now? While they’re stuck back there being good boys with their dates, you’re here, getting off.”

Looking up at you, beomgyu saw your signature smirk as you watched his hand moving up and down his length. His hand moved faster as he got closer got coming. Never in a million years would he have thought he would be in this situation. The girl of all this teenage fantasies watching him jerk off in a public hallway. The more he thought about his, the closer he got. A struggled groan coming from his throat.

“Fuck, im- im cumming.”

Taking a step aside, you watched him spill his cum onto the back door. You gaze never leaving beomgyu’s face until he relaxed. He looked down, tucking himself back into his pants and laughed.

“Well, fuck. I never thought i would do that,” he stated, “so what do you want to do now? I’ll go anywhere with you.”

“I’m going back to the table,” you shrugged.

“Wha- I’m sorry, what? Why?”

“I left yeonjun alone. In case you forgot, he was supposed to be my date for the night.”

“You’re still planning to spend the night with him?” Beomgyu asked, completely shocked by your answer.

“Of course i am. It’s rude to leave halfway.”

“I was really hoping this wouldn’t be a one time thing,” he admitted, a different look in eyes.

“Trust me, it wont be,” with that you started to walk away from beomgyu, leaving him on his own to make himself decent again before joining you and the others back at the table.

Sure, it hurt seeing you still with yeonjun, his arm around your shoulders, whispering things into your ear that made you laugh. But the thought of being able to meet you again was enough the keep beomgyus’s head up. It felt as if all his teenage fantasies were coming through.

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Ahhhh i freaked out about posting this. Hope u liked this!!! Inspo from smt i read a few years back (i dont rly remember what cause its been so long).-.

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