#I have slipped hints about that mysterious patient let's see if you can guess who it is :D | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

butgilinsky · 4 years ago

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maybe someday you and me can run away // jf

warning; none, i don’t think

summary; one bad pick up line at a bar leads to an odd dynamic between you and joel that somehow works out

word count; 2.5k+

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You can feel the weight on your shoulders fade with every drink you throw back. It’s a Saturday night and while you’re not always one to agree to a round of shots three times in the same night, you’ve had a rough week and let your friends sway you into drinking the stress away. That along with the fact that you’re here for Jess, trying to help her get over her recent break up. If she wanted to take shots, you’re not in a place to deny her that.

The bar is packed, the line outside rolling down the sidewalk, and you’re just happy to be out of the cold. The long sleeve shirt and jeans you have on doesn’t shield you from much more than a light breeze, and with it being October in Philly, being inside seems to be the safest place for you.

You don’t notice the band of rowdy boys spilling into the bar, given that you’re pressed against the bar and waiting patiently for your drink. Your attention’s on one of the screens above the liquor bottles when a boy sidles up beside you and sends you a wide smile.

“Hey Juliet.” you look at him, an unimpressed smile finding its way to your lips as you laugh at his attempt at picking you up. You’d been offered a drink twice tonight alone, and while you planned on denying it, you were just waiting for him to offer another.

“That’s not my name.” your nose scrunches and you shrug, the unimpressed smile turning into a gentle one. “Must have the wrong girl.”

“I think Romeo knows his Juliet.” you mock a gag, one with your finger pointing to the back of your throat that has the stranger bubbling up a laugh that’s strangely melodic in your ears. You smile at the sound and sigh softly.

“I’m flattered, truly, but my name’s not Juliet and I’m sure yours isn’t Romeo.” he cocks his head to the side and adjusts the hat on top of his head. His eyebrows raise and he sucks on his teeth gently.

“Well if you know everything then what is my name, sweetheart?” you sigh and look him up and down a few times, going through various lists of names you have stored in your memory.

“I’m getting a Bryce vibe.” he scoffed then, one from the back of his throat that tells you that you’re way off, but there’s a hint of a smile settling on his lips and you enjoy the view.

“So you think I'm a frat boy who can’t tell the difference between a PBR and a Sam Adams?”

“No, I think you can tell the difference between a PBR and a Sam Adams but for whatever reason, you prefer the PBR.” his smile only widens and another laugh slips past his lips, another melody playing between your ears that you truly don’t think you can get enough of.

“I think you’d be surprised to hear that your reading is a tad off since I don't spend my time doing keg stands in a frat house. I actually play hockey.” you rolled your eyes on instinct, the image of the boy in front of you that currently lived in your head now washed away and replaced with a tainted version.

“What’s the difference?” his tongue clicks, unsure of how that didn’t get you. That usually caught ears and eyes in seconds.

“In the NHL.” he tries to clarify, hoping that your indifference is because you don’t know he’s a Flyer. Maybe you think he plays for a minor league team, or maybe even college.

“Good for you bud.” you smile when the bartender sets a glass in front of you and you turn, a smile dancing on your lips as you grip your drink and give the boy a pat on the back before you turn and leave the bar.

“What’s your name!” you just smile and wave at him over your shoulder.

“Bye Bryce!”

He watches you for the rest of the night, losing for one second when he runs to grab another drink but by the time he gets back to his spot with his friends, you’re gone. Morgan told him you left, knowing all too well that the slump in his shoulders is due to the absence of the girl he’s been gawking at all night long.

The next time he sees you, he has to do a double take. He’s thumbing through racks of clothes at a department store, Nolan and Travis at his side as the three of them talk about something that Joel quickly loses track of when he hears your voice.

“Hi Bryce.” you smile gently, looking over the rack of clothes you stood behind. You were only a few feet from them, and Joel almost wonders how he didn’t see you until now.

“Hi Juliet.” The smile that hangs off of his lips is gentle and you have to ignore the way your heart thumps in your chest. It’s easy to do when there’s two other people there for you to acknowledge. You scoff at the name, though you should’ve expected it at this point.

“Are these your frat brothers?” Travis and Nolan share a look that’s beyond confused. They’re both even further confused at the fact that Joel is acting like this is normal, like you’re not calling him by the wrong name and asking him about a frat he isn’t even in.

“Wanna take a crack at ‘em?” you hum, pausing your browsing for clothes to lean your arm on the rack and thumb through names one more time.

“James,” you point at Travis, “and Grayson.” Nolan smiles at the name that came completely out of left field, and Travis lets out a laugh that’s almost uncontrollable. They’re not sure where that came from, but it’s surely entertaining for them.

“You’re so far off you’re not even in the fairway anymore.” the smile stuck on your lips has Joel’s full attention.

“A baseball reference from a hockey player? Interesting.” you hum softly and Travis’s jaw goes slack. He assumed you had no idea what they did or who they were, given your clueless guesses of what their names would be. Alongside that, you’ve been calling them frat boys the entire time you’ve been in front of them. It was all confusing and he wasn’t sure how Joel was keeping up with it all.

“Well Juliet, you up for a name swap now?” Nolan’s hit with the realization of who you are then, shocked to find out that you went out of your way to speak to Joel first. He was sure that Joel just had someone to look at for the remainder of the night, not one that would acknowledge him outside of a bar on Saturday night. He had no idea that you were the girl Morgan was telling him about the next morning.

“Would you stop calling me Juliet if you knew my name?” the way his nose scrunches has your smile growing, and Travis and Nolan pick up on it quickly. They don’t know you but they know Joel, and he never acts like this with anybody in front of them. It’s always a goofy and confident demeanor that gets him to home plate, not this playful banter in the middle of a department store.

“Probably not.” you hum, plucking the shirt that caught your eye off of the rack and walking to the end of the section.

“Then it looks like you’re still Bryce.” you shrug gently and walk away, leaving Joel with a dazed smile and a far off look in his eyes.

That and two very confused friends that would be demanding an explanation out of him.

It feels like forever passes before he sees you again. He’s caught off guard, almost slammed into the boards when he comes to a screeching halt at the glass in front of you. You’re wearing a Flyers shirt, which is a good start, but he notices it’s not a jersey and it doesn’t have his name or number on it.

Your eyes light up when there’s a knock on the glass that has you looking up from your phone and over to the boy that’s a complete mystery to you. You smile brightly and wave, surprising the people that are sitting around you and your friends. Gage, your best friend since sophomore year of college, looks between you and Joel and can’t believe that you’re waving at him like it’s nothing.

“You know Joel Farabee?” he asks and you shrug gently, about to explain when Joel signals things to you that you have to spell out for yourself.

Wait for me.

You nod and shoot him a thumbs up, a sign that you heard him and would indeed wait for him after the game. You know you’ll have to fight off your friends afterwards, explaining to them how you knew Joel and why he was “infatuated with you” as Gage claimed him to be. Gage is now aware of why you suddenly had an interest in going to a Flyers game with the group, as opposed to all the times he’s asked you to come with him and you’ve denied him.

Joel scores and gets two assists in that game, and you’re on your feet for all of them. He looks up at you after he scores and smiles brightly, nothing but the hope in his mind that you’ll wait for him after the game.

You do, as promised, and he runs down the steps with wet hair and a wide smile before he jumps on the step beside you, plopping down in the seat right next to you.

“Hey Juliet.” you roll your eyes but smile, a smile that Joel’s eyes latch onto and his heart yearns for.

You’re beautiful, that much Joel is sure about. He doesn’t know your name but he knows that this is the third time he’s run into you, though it’s hardly out of nowhere, and he’s sure that he wants to know more about you. He wants to know how you’re wired, what makes you smile and what makes you tick. He wants to know your darkest thoughts and your happiest days. He wants to learn everything there is to know about you, but he knows that he has a lot to go through in order to get there.

“Good game, Bryce.” he laughs gently and lets a soft silence fall over the two of you before turning towards you with a wide grin that has you worried about what’s to come.

“Do you want to go grab a cup of coffee?” you mock a gasp, hand pressed to your chest and feigned offense.

“Are you trying to seduce me, Bryce? Because I hate to break it to you, superstar, but I’m not going home with you tonight.”

“I didn’t expect you to. I do, however, expect you to call me my name now that you obviously know it.” you hummed for a second, pretending to think about it before shaking your head gently.

“I think Bryce suits you, and I know you’re still going to call me Juliet.”

“Only because I still don’t know your name.”

“That’s what makes this so much fun.” you whispered gently, squeezing his thigh before popping up onto your feet and holding your hand out. “Let’s go get coffee.”

He takes you to a 24 hour diner you’ve never seen before, one that he swears is better than any other diner you’ve been to. He only laughs a little when you order a strawberry milkshake instead of a coffee, and you gasp when he orders a chocolate one.

You’re there for a few hours, losing track of time as the two of you dive into random facts and stories that have the other enthralled. You learn about Joel’s upbringing, how he grew up playing hockey and despite always being one of the smaller guys, he made sure he was one of the strongest. You tell him about growing up a football fan, not much interest in hockey due to all of the violence.

The two of you are lost in conversation, not paying attention to either of your phones or any of the clocks on the walls. You find yourself letting down your walls slightly, more than you normally would with someone you hardly know, but that’s the thing. You’ve only met Joel a few times, never calling him by his name and never offering up your own, but you feel like you’ve known him for years.

You feel like he’s important in your life, despite just entering it a few weeks ago. You’re not sure where he fits into it, if he’ll fit into it, but you’re sure you have to try. You’re sure that the feeling in the pit of your stomach isn’t a coincidence, and that the way your heart flutters every time he laughs or smiles is completely brand new and you never want it to stop.

Your bubble is popped when you catch the eyes of someone you went to high school with, someone you barely like and has never given you more than a headache and a coffee stain on your perfectly thought out essay on how the education system fucking sucks.

“Y/n! Hi!” you bite down on your lip and look at Joel for a second, who’s sending you a shit eating grin while he sips on his milkshake.

“Hi.” you turn to Stacy, the girl now standing at the end of your table that’s trying to look interested in seeing you for the first time since graduation. In all reality, you know she’s here for Joel. The way she leans onto the table and pushes her breasts in his face is telling enough.

But Joel doesn’t pay much mind to her. He offers her a gentle greeting and a handshake when she silently sticks her hand in her direction, but he turns to you after that’s over and gives you his undivided attention.

Stacy gets the idea that she’s not entirely welcome and leaves soon after she leaves, but the damage is done. It’s evident that Joel both heard and remembered your name falling from his lips, because as soon as she stalks off and out of the diner, his grin has reached a level of annoyance that has you wanting to smack it right off his face.

“Hi y/n.” you want to be mad, but the way your name falls off his lips has you swooning in ways you didn’t think were possible. You find yourself tripping over yourself while sitting down, and you’re not sure how to handle it.

The sigh that tumbles past your lips is covered by a smile, and the way Joel raises his eyebrows at you shows that he’s waiting for you to return the sentiment.

“Hi Joel.” he’s never smiled so wide, cheeks aching from the movement but he laughs anyways. He dives back into his story about setting off a smoke bomb in the locker room a few months ago, and you’re enthralled all over again.

bee taglist; @extratragic @pierreslucdubois

#joel farabee #joel farabee x reader #joel x reader #beezer #philadelphia flyers #flyers #nhl #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine

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stanzoeywade · 4 years ago

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Dating poly Jackie and Aurora

A/N: before yall come at me, these faceclaim are just what I think looks like their characters okay? You don't have to agree with me, anygays, the lovely Jourdan Dunn is my face claim for Aurora, and as for Jackie, the beautiful Lais Ribeiro.

Taglist: @somewillwin @uhh-the-green-thing @jmojellybae @simp-pony @made-me-deep-blue @uselesslesbianfr @it-lives-in-braidwood-manor @belvoiresqueenbee @alexlabhont @samanthadalton @crazzyplays @sparring-hyena @baexpoppy @cloakanddaggerthings @fujinstorm

● Coming from a medical school in the UK, you moved to America in order to do your internship in Edenbrook hospital. This is due to the fact that Harper Emery was one of the doctors there, and what better way to learn medicine but under the best of the best.

● To your disappointment, it seems that all residents were not going to be taught by Dr Emery herself but two of the senior doctors, who have introduced themselves as Dr Baz and Dr Ines.

● Your very first day was interesting to say the least, as you were about to make your way to the hall for orientation, a patient collapses on the floor, and you spring into action ensuring that the person was alright. It was stressful, but you realise that it's one the things that you will have to deal with as a doctor.

● If anyone said that on your first day as a licensed doctor that you would have to intubate a woman, you would have laughed but that's precisely what occurred on your first day.

● It didn't help that on your very first day that the first thing you saw was Jackie in her underwear, considering you were on your way to change to scrubs, ready to start the day. You would be lying if you said that you didn't enjoy the view considering she didn't seem fazed at all that you were staring for a few seconds too long. The smirk she sent your way certainly didn't help either, causing your cheeks and ears to go a bright shade of crimson.

● This is when you learn that Jackie is from the same department as you. Both of you being interns for Internal medicine.

● Deciding that being shy and bashful will be no use considering the changing rooms are for all interns, you decide to change into something more suitable, fully aware that someone's eyes were on you.

● Jackie's eyes trail over your body, and as far as she can tell, she has no qualms about seeing you getting changed. "You gonna take all day?" she says whilst you retort "The way you're looking at me, it seems that you want me to." This earns a smile from Jackie. "Well played."

● All of the cohorts are welcomed to Edenbrooke by Dr. Harper Emery, the very doctor that you strive to be, and you cannot help but feel giddy and excited about your time at Edenbrooke.

● Meeting the other interns was interesting. There was Sienna Trinh, a sweet and friendly girl, as well as Elijah Greene who was all smiles, excitement visible on his face. There was also Bryce Lahela, who seems calmer than the other two, but also very friendly.

● However, there were two people who particularly caught your attention, one Jackie Varma, as well as one Aurora Emery. They were both the most beautiful thing you have ever seen. Gorgeous even, Jackie had an air of confidence and pride, whilst Aurora gave off an air of mystery and sophistication to her.

● The very first person that you were partnered with was Aurora, and first impressions were quite unfortunate, both of you seemed to want nothing to do with each other. Especially since the other girl seemed so hostile when introducing herself. Understanding the difficulty of how strict her upbringing must have been you sympathise with her. "Growing up must have been difficult."

● To which Aurora seems shocked that you said it, however the surprise is quickly masked. "Let's skip the pleasantries and check on our patients." You're left confused as you mumble "Those were pleasantries?" You give a quick nod of goodbye to Jackie as you follow Aurora to your first patient.

● "Shouldn't we discuss our course of action for our first patient?" Your words seem to fall on deaf ears as she continues to walk ahead of you. "Look Aurora, I understand that you don't like me, but we need to at least be civil and discuss what we need to do. I refuse to have lack of communication be our downfall as partners." Aurora just turns around and soon as she faces you she rolls her eyes. "We don't need to discuss anything, you do your job and I'll do mine."

● You couldn't help the frustrated groan that escapes your lips, as you power through and go to meet your first patient. It's safe to say that you and Aurora are definitely not besties, but even so there's always those weird stares, something akin to longing and sometimes you think you see a hint of apology in Aurora's eyes.

● Meanwhile your relationship will Jackie is the opposite, you two get along. So quickly in fact you would've thought you've known each other for ages. Things start to progress, especially since you move into a share house along with Sienna, Elijah, Jackie and Laundry - ehem - sorry not sorry, Landry.

● The two of you grow closer, as nights out become a group thing, and all of you love together, after all safety in numbers, but there are times where you and Jackie spend time together, but you're not exactly sure considering she's friendly to everyone. (Oh, honey)

● Aurora, as much as she loathes to even think about it, she does respect you. Your unwavering determination to learn more, as well a fight for your patients is something she strives to achieve. She won't tell anyone but she genuinely does think you're good at your job and you're not exactly bad looking? This train of thought is deleted from her memory as soon as it enters her mind.

● It doesn't help that you don't seem to hate her even though she doesn't exactly act civil towards you or anything, so imagine her surprise when you walk in on her upset and instead of mocking or laughing at her, you do that thing where you try and comfort her.

● Due to your awkwardness, you try to crack a joke and Aurora is taken aback, so much so she ends up giggling. "What do you call bread with honours? An honour roll." Aurora just quirks her eyebrows at you as she giggles. "You're an idiot, but that made me laugh so, thanks I guess."

● This is when she knows that she's crushing on you, and so the longing stares begin. She's more civil and the two of you actually start to get along, and you drag her to the nights out with the group.

● Despite your obliviousness, Jackie tries so hard to flirt with you, so that her intentions are clear, but since you're so dense, she just cracks one day. "Goddamnit, I like you, you fucking idiot." You're just standing there confused. "Wait, you were flirting with me?" Jackie just rolls her eyes at you. "I have been for the past few months, thanks for noticing."

● Jackie is the first to ask you out, and Aurora is disappointed when she sees the two of you go out. She knows that she should have tried harder to pursue you but damn, does it hurt.

● Everything changes though when you admit that you have feelings for both of them, and you expected to get laughed at but to your surprise you're met with a kiss from both women.

● You're left a stuttering and blushing mess as you try to process what happened, and the other two just share a laugh, because damn, you're an idiot but you're their idiot.

● Dating both of them is like yin and yang. Jackie is definitely the one that gets you and Aurora to get out of your comfort zone and try something new which both of you are always appreciative of.

● Aurora is the one that calms both of you down when things get too rough or too tiring, she's there to keep both of you grounded. Also a mediator when you and Jackie clash more often than not.

● Whilst you're just there like, "damn am I lucky or what?" In which the other two just tell their eyes at you. They pretend they hate it but they genuinely adore it when you compliment them both, you're there for Aurora whenever she doubts herself and you're also there for Jackie when she thinks that she is not doing enough.

● Aurora is definitely in the middle when you cuddle, there's just something about her that makes you and Jackie so soft, you're both whipped and you can't even complain since Aurora is perfection, which she vehemently denies but you and Jackie are quick to tell her and remind her.

● Jackie is definitely a blanket hog, and you and Aurora are left cold because god dammit Jackie stop taking all the blankets. In which it is decided that if Jackie can't share a blanket you all get one each, unless you know it's one of those nights. (Wink wonk)

● When it is revealed that Laundry the rat was the one that tried to end your career the two are quick to jump in your defense and they don't hesitate to rip him a new one. "Damn Landry, I didn't think you would stoop that low but what did I expect once a rat always a rat." It's also one of the only times you ever see Aurora get genuinely angry, and not going to lie, she looks hot.

● When things get too rough because Ethane says something to upset one of you, the other two quickly reassures the other that they're doing their best and that Ramsey is just being a prick.

● There's an inside joke between the three of you in regards to Ramsey, let's just say that none of you can look at Dr. Ramsey's neck for a prolonged amount of time without laughing.

● Being with these two is so much fun but it also feels like home. Before you know it, you're in love with them, it's not like it's a big secret considering you can't help but feel that way since they're a constant presence in your life and you can't imagine life without them.

● You're the first to say "I love you." It's nothing dramatic, it just happens naturally and slips out. The other two are quick to respond.

● It's domestic af, but Aurora cannot cook to save her life so you and Jackie make sure she's nowhere near the kitchen.

● Even if Jackie vehemently denies that she likes rom-coms, you know better than to believe her because you've seen cry one too many times when watching 'The Notebook' meanwhile Aurora is a big fan of psychological thrillers and horror and you're always left clinging to one of them when it gets too scary.

● Aurora doesn't have the heart to wake you and Jackie up on some days and she'll never say it but she does let you sleep in a little bit longer. She always wakes up early, even when you have a day off.

● It's rare but when Jackie wakes up earlier than both of you, she actually prepares breakfast with Sienna's help, who can't help but teass Jackie for being whipped.

● All in all you can't help but think that you're the luckiest person for dating the two of them. Bryce always teases you. "You're really lucky, how did you even manage that?" You just shoot Bryce a dopey smile. "Just because I'm dating them doesn't mean I know how." He just laughs and let's you stare at Jackie and Aurora in peace.

NSFW Headcanons

● Jackie is a top, and even when she's bottoming she's going to be a power bottom, she's gonna be the one in control. Aurora is the opposite, she's a bottom, and she's so fucking hot that other bottoms would probably want to top her.

● Jackie definitely leaves hickeys on both of you, sometimes in places where it can be seen, such as the neck, but she's also prone to leaving marks on either of your thighs.

● Aurora is quite shy and reserved and the first time sex happens, she admits that she's never slept with anyone. In which you and Jackie make sure that she enjoys her first time. The attention is definitely focused on her, and although she's quite shy about making noise, you and Jackie quickly tell her that you want to hear her.

● This makes Aurora skin flush. You and Jackie swear that neither of you have seen anything as beautiful as Aurora in this moment.

● Your favourite time is definitely when Aurora sits on your face as Jackie uses a strap on you, the other two definitely agree.

● If Jackie has a shift and it's only you and Aurora, sex is soft, and slow as you both take your time enjoying each other. You usually take the lead but there's times where Aurora does get jealous of Dr. Ramsey and the way he stares at you in which she makes sure to kiss every inch of your body. Who knew sweet, sweet Aurora gets frisky when she's jelly.

● Sex with Jackie is passionate and intense, where Aurora likes it slow and steady Jackie likes it fast and rough. Her hands are all over you, touching every part of your body, anywhere she can reach, she leaves a trail of hickeys in her wake, not really caring where as she's only focused on you.

● When Jackie and Aurora sleep together, it's a mixture of slow and steady as well as fas and rough, it all depends on how their day went, but Jackie's definitely cheeky enough to try and fluster you by sending some risque messages or snaps. Jackie definitely adores hearing Aurora because she just sounds so hot.

● Jackie isn't the type to get jealous but she doesn't really like it when anyone other than her or Aurora stare at you for a prolonged amount of time, in which she doesn't care who sees as she kisses you in front of everyone, same goes for anyone flirting with Aurora.

● The three of you are definitely not against trying new things out, and it's always fun to discover new things.

● Jackie is the type to try and fluster Aurora by sending nudes, and sometimes you can't help it so you play along, and Aurora always comes home bothered and needy, honestly she's super cute and hot at the same time so no complaints.

● However if both of you try the same with Jackie, once she arrives she's going to be frustrated and it has led to either yours or Aurora's underwear being ruined and you have half a mind to tell her off. "Stop ruining our underwear, or else no more nudes for you." Jackie just rolls her eyes as Aurora laughs and nods her head in agreement.

● All in all sex with these two is always something that you live for, considering it's always mind-blowing.

A/N: I hope this did Aurora and Jackie justice. I hope you all enjoy. Please send requests lmao. I promise I will do it as soon as I can lmao.

#playchoices #open heart #oph #op headcanons #jackie x mc #jackie varma #aurora x mc x jackie #aurora x mc #aurora emery #choices fic #choices: stories you play

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eryiss · 4 years ago

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Ship: Freed x Laxus

Rating: Mature [Blackmail]

Prompt: Masters

Summary: Magnolia House was an odd place. Owned by the reclusive madman Dreyar, and run by his supposed lover Freed, getting an invitation was seen as a death sentence. So when the letter arrived at Lucy's door after months of anonymous blackmail, she felt her life was over. How wrong she was.

Notes: This is the seventh submission for Fraxus Week 2021, hope you enjoy it. Check out @fuckyeahfraxus to see lots of other Fraxus content.

Links: Event Masterlist ||| Archive of Our Own, Fanfiction

The Masters Of Magnolia House

Year: 1835

Location: Athens, Greece

When you lived in the upper classes, there were certain unwritten rules that you needed to follow, particularly when you were a lady. You were expected to keep your emotions to yourself, nobody wanted a hysterical woman. You were to flirt with a man to keep his favour, if acting stupid got you there then you did that. You were to do as you're told and keep the equilibrium; sometimes leaving the room was better anyway. Men probably had rules that they had to follow, but Lucy didn't care to learn them. They would hardly help her.

But one rule, unwritten and without explanation, was true for men, women, and children. If you get an invitation to Magnolia House, you attend.

Master Dreyar was a reclusive lord, who had removed himself from polite society and crossed the sea to live on the continent. The stories of his person were ride-ranged and never complimentary. Some claimed him to be a prolific blackmailer, who could bring countries to their knees should the mood strike him. Others called him mad, with manners that could change with the wind and a temper that made him strike first and not apologise.

When the lord had left England, the gentry had held a collective sigh of relief.

That was until the first letter arrived.

Stories were wide spread and perhaps exaggerated. A young lord, known for drunken behaviour and general disrespect to the elders of the country, was invited to stay at Magnolia House in Athens for a week. His declined the request, apparently sending another letter claiming that 'the rule of Dreyar is over' and a multitude of suggestions on what the lord should do to himself; none of them kind. Within a month, a newspaper local to the lord's home had mysteriously gotten wind of the letter sent, as well as written testimonies from barmaids, shop clerks, housemaids and the youngest daughter of a nearby respectable home all showing a pattern of aggressive and forceful behaviour. The scandal was quick to take root, and spread like flames across oil. The lord's reputation was rightfully ruined, and a president was set.

The rule of Dreyar was not over, simply redefined. If Lord Dreyar sent you a letter, you took the trip or suffered the consequences.

Lucy had gotten such a letter, and as such was terrified.

For months, other letters had been arriving at her home. At first they were vague, requesting favours of her father with the hinted suggestions that her life would be in ruins if the orders not followed. She ignored them, but they kept coming. Each time, they were less subtle and more overt with what would happen. Lucy's… affair with the daughter of her father's valet – Cana Alberona– would be made public. And then when the threats became more personal, more vicious, the other letter came. A letter demanding Lucy's presence in Greece for the last two weeks of July. Dread had overtaken her, and she was slightly ashamed to admit she cried that night in her lover's arms, but now her head was held high and her spine straight. She would hold her dignity throughout this if nothing else.

As she approached the front door to the austere, white stoned house, it opened, and a man walked through it. He was tall, had long flowing hair that rested below his waist, and wore a suit Lucy expected to be uncomfortable given the heat. He walked to her with a professional smile, footsteps long and confident.

"Miss Heartfilia, I presume," The man spoke with an accent not quite English, but not quite Greek either. "May I take your bags?"

"Oh, yes, thank you," Lucy spoke a little higher than she normally would, and put on the slightest show of struggling to hand them to him, so he could feel better about himself when he lifted them. She would do this with dignity, yes, but she would not be ashamed of trying to find some solace in the situation. If someone was on her side, that was at least something.

"Thank you ma'am," The man said as he took the bags and turned to the door. "If you'd like to follow me, I can show you to your room."

"Thank you, very much," She smiled, and batted her eyelids.

The man seemed more patient than flattered in his responding smile, and Lucy could guess why. The man was handsome, and no doubt had women fawning over him; all the more reason to flirt, Lucy thought. It was better to flirt with a man uninterested than to not flirt with a man who expected it and would act with anger and a raised hand if he didn't get what he wanted. When he started to walk to the house, Lucy followed in step and kept pace, looking at the admittedly beautiful building that would be her home for two weeks.

"During your stay here, if there's anything you need assistance with, I'll be happy to oblige as best I can," The man spoke again, and Lucy glanced to see him looking forward with a polite smile. "My name is Freed Justine. I am the master of the home."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Lucy said on instinct, then confusedly she continued. "I thought Lord Dreyar was the master of the house."

"He is," Freed nodded. "Perhaps I was misleading, the terminology for my job doesn't exists in polite society. I am the master of this house in the same way a butler is the master of their house. I control what happens, to suit the Master Dreyar's needs. I am his mouthpiece to the staff when needs be, when the master is unavailable or unwilling to make a decision about day-to-day goings on then I will speak in his place, and, as you can tell, I am the personal representative for the house, hence why I'm greeting you today."

"That sounds like a lot of work," Lucy said, blinking as the shadow of the house hit her. "I must admit, I can't quite see how that differs from a butler."

"There are more aspects to my job. I also act as the master's valet, a job with which I take great pride," Freed's smile grew a little, Lucy noticed. "But I suppose the greatest difference between a butler and what I consider myself to do if obedience. A butler follows his master's word to the letter, unquestioningly and without complaint. I do anything but."

"Oh," Lucy said, not entirely sure what to say to that. "That's… agreeable to Master Dreyar?"

"Agreeable? No, not agreeable," Freed laughed a little. "But he's long since stopped trying to argue the matter with me. He knows when I'm right."

Lucy saw no further road for the conversation, though her interest was piqued. Lord Dreyar was someone she knew more by reputation rather than by interaction, and she had made the man into this monolithic beast who would tear others down for his own amusement. That seemed to be what all of England thought of the man, and yet a member of his staff claimed he was accepting of criticism and would amend his ways. Even if untrue – which it probably was – Lucy would have expected anyone working for the Lord Dreyar she believed in would be scared to death of making such a comment. If nothing else, this would be an eye-opening fortnight.

The inside of the building was as beautiful as the outside. It had many large windows that let in the sun, plants were strewn in pots with calculated haphazardness, and it seemed like a conscious rejection of Englishness. It was rather beautiful.

Freed walked to the grand staircase and climbed it, and Lucy kept pace with him, resisting the urge to look around and sate her curiosity about Greek culture. There would be enough time for that during the next two weeks, and she was still making her first impression with the supposed master of the house. If Freed were as close to Master Dreyar as he suggested, the mouthpiece aspects of their relationship may work both ways. Freed might be greeting the guests to get a good sense of them on his master's behalf.

Within a few minutes, Lucy was escorted to what would be her room for the next two weeks. Freed placed her bags beside the bed, and two maids seemed to appear out of nowhere to unpack them. Before her clothing could be seen, Freed stepped out and stood beside the door; perhaps as not to see her underthing's. Lucy joined him, rather than getting under the maids' feet.

"I might need to rely on you to show me around," Lucy laughed falsely. "It's something of a maze."

Freed paused for a moment, and Lucy wondered if she'd made a mistake.

"Miss Heartfilia, if I may speak candidly, you needn't do that here," Freed spoke, the professionally rigid tone slipping a little. "Many people come to Greece to get away from the confines of England. Be that the confines of the people, the culture, or even simply the weather. I suggest you take the chance to shake off the restraints of English culture."

"I'm sorry, I'm not quite sure what you mean."

"It probably won't shock you to know we've looked into you," Freed smiled. "And in our research, we found you to be an incredibly intelligent woman. Well read, intuitive, and quick to solve a puzzle. You're not in England, you're in Greece. For two weeks. It's a grace period for you. For these two weeks, you're an unknown person living with a madman. Prioritize yourself how you wish, not how society wishes."

Was this a test? It felt like a means to an end, not an offer. "I'm still not sure what you mean, Mister Justine."

"You may be whoever you wish to be while you're here, Miss Heartfilia. Batting your eyelids and acting the naïve darling to flatter me isn't as important as it would be at home. If you wish to be intelligent and advertise your intellectual superiority, then do so," Freed smiled, stepping from the door and walking across the hall. "In the spirit of that, you will have free reign to use this room however you wish."

He opened the door, revealing what Lucy could only describe as a library. It was hardly larger than a bedroom, but with high shelves of dust-less books covering almost all the space. A small table and cushioned chair sat by a window, and a teapot and teacup were placed atop it. It was idyllic, with the sun hitting it.

"Goodness," Lucy breathed as she walked inside. "The Lord of the house must enjoy reading. I wouldn't like to intrude on his private space."

"You wouldn't be, he hardly uses the place," Freed said, standing by the door. "These are mainly for me, but I'm happy to share them with you. I've read them all twice over; I should perhaps insist on him buying me something new."

"Are you sure this is okay?" Lucy asked, eyes looking over the spines of books she wanted to attack. "I'm a guest here."

"I chose the room allocations, I put you here so the books would be at your convenience," Freed assured here. "They're yours for your time here."

Lucy found herself inclined to argue the point further, but bit her tongue. This house was already a completely different place to what she had been expecting, as was the Lord's reputation. She had been thrown to the mouth of a beast she could not understand, and she expected her life to be ruined by the end of it all. If she was going to be offered a library of books that she'd never be able to read at home as a consolation prize, then she would damned well make the most of it.

But of course, that could wait. She had eyed three particular books that she would read first – two in English, one in French – and could probably finish them within the first two days. She turned to Freed and smiled.

"Thank you, Mister Justine."

"It's a pleasure, Miss Heartfilia," Freed smiled, though it dropped a little. "I feel it only fair to warn you, we've another guest who will be arriving next week. He's not got the most stellar reputation, I must say."

"Oh?" Lucy asked.

"He'll most likely behave while he's here – he's known to be snivelly, you see – but only to those he sees as his better. To people he sees as inferior, he can be insipid. That includes, unfortunately, every woman but the Queen herself."

"I've met men like that," Lucy admitted.

"I'm sure you have," Freed sighed. "He's rather a dog backed into a corner right now, so he may be unpredictable. If I can offer you advice, don't be alone with him. He won't touch you, but he'd dangerous in other ways."

"Then why is he here?" Lucy asked, wondering if Freed would be offended. He apparently wasn't, so perhaps his request that she not act like the fool was genuine.

"You've heard the stories of this house," Freed smirked a little. "This is where the cruel and untouchable meet their fate. He's here to be brought to heel."

"And what am I here for?" Lucy asked, meeting Freed's eye. Freed smiled.

"I can hardly tell you that," Freed said, voice going professional again. "Think on what I've said. This is an opportunity to put your best foot forward, don't squander it."

"I intend not to."

"I'm delighted," Freed smiled. "I hope you enjoy your stay, Miss Heartfilia."

Freed turned and was walking away, and Lucy could only watch, not entirely sure what to think of the house, the man, or the lord he served.

---

Meeting Lord Dreyar came the next morning, and in the most unexpected of places. The first day in Greece had been spent mainly alone, as Freed had informed Lucy that the Lord had been called away for the day and wouldn't be seen until the late hours of the night. Most of the day had been spent in the library, though she had ventured into the nearby town square and taken supper at a restaurant; she got a thrill at the fact she hadn't even asked if a meal had been prepared in the house for her, and instead had just went.

In the morning, Freed had woken her at the time she'd wanted, given her time to ready herself for the day with less makeup and more comfortable clothes, and had then asked her to accompany him to the kitchen. She had done so unquestioningly, though the oddness of the request did strike her.

When they'd entered, the Lord Dreyar had been sitting at a small table, eating eggs.

Lucy had been blind sighted, and immediately decided that this was some sort of ambush. Lord Dreyar was an odd man, but he was rich, and the rich never entered the kitchen. He should have spoken to Freed, and Freed would speak to the cooking staff on his behalf. He shouldn't be eating while surrounded by cooks. The Lord was there because it was the last place Lucy would expect her to be, and this would wrongfoot her.

"Master Dreyar," Freed said in greeting, getting the attention of the man. "Your guest is here to take breakfast with you."

"Of course," The man spoke, voice a low grumble. "Please, Miss, take a seat. Freed, your excused."

"Yes, Master," Freed nodded, then he removed himself from the room.

Lucy looked around for a moment. She was slightly shamefaced to admit that she hadn't spent much time in kitchens in her life, and there was something of a spectacle to be in one. There were so many devices scattered around, all for different purposes that she couldn't guess. And the three cooks – two women and a man – scuttled from counter to counter, preparing food with a level of proficiency that Lucy found awe-inspiring. She felt like she could watch them for hours, but a quick glance towards the Lord refocused her attention.

The Lord was younger than she expected, though just as intimidating. He was incredibly tall, incredibly broad and had an impassively mean expression. The scar across his face gave Lucy pause, as did the peaking line of ink that slid up his collarbone. Hardly befitting an English gentleman. She quickly took a seat at the table before she could anger the man.

They sat in silence for a moment, the Lord eating his breakfast and Lucy waiting for hers to be brought to her. Lucy was waiting for him to speak, as a Lord must always speak before a Lady, but no conversation came. It was only when she forced herself to remember Freed's words that she spoke.

"I've never eaten in a kitchen before," She spoke without wavering in her tone. "Is it a Greek custom?"

"It is in this house," The Lord shrugged. "Don't know about the other houses, don't really go to other people's houses if I can avoid it, certainly not for breakfast. But in this house, I always prefer eating in the kitchen."

"Right," Lucy said hesitantly. "May I ask why?"

"You may," The lord shrugged, but said nothing more. He took a bite from his plate, chewed, swallowed, and looked to Lucy again. "Will you?"

"Will I what?"

"Ask me why."

"Oh, that," Lucy frowned. She had asked him; he was being obtuse. "Why do you eat in here, my lord?"

"Blurs the line between my position and there's," He nodded to the staff. "England likes to keep the rich and the regular split, I don't. This is a little way for me to keep everything a little more balanced," He smirked then. "And there's also the fact I know damn well the way I take my eggs is the best way for them to be prepared. Guests aren't as brave about complaining about that when the chefs in the room holding a knife."

He had a slightly manic grin when he said that, and Lucy found herself amused rather than scared. It was an attitude she couldn't have in this place, not when it was likely that the man sitting across from her was the blackmailer. Although, what would the great and powerful Lord Dreyar need from her father of all people?

"That's quite the reason," Lucy said, and the Lord nodded.

They sat in silence again, and Lucy watched as the Lord ate. It was… interesting. A gentleman worth his salt would have been trained from birth how to eat with precision and class. They wouldn't scarf down eggs, then drag a chunk of bread over the plate, cover it in the remaining sauce and then bite into it like a street child.

The Lord didn't seem to care that he was being watched, and raised a glass of orange juice which he finished in a single upturn. Lucy was half disgusted half fascinated, and was quickly coming to understand why the Lord had left England. Everything he'd done since Lucy had entered the room would leave him shunned and outcasted from the polite society of England; no wonder he was quick to leave it.

Around her, the chef's seemed to be cooking her meal, and she found her eyes wandering towards them. Their movements were quick and fluid, and Lucy wondered if she could ever learn to do that. She might have to if Lord Dreyar was going to do what she thought he would.

"Why am I here, Lord Dreyar?" She asked, and the Lord stopped eating for a moment.

"You're here for two weeks, you'll figure it out by the end of it," Was all the Lord said, but Lucy didn't want to finish the conversation there, so he pushed.

"I'd rather know now."

"Sure you would, but that ain't how this house works," The man grinned at her again, and Lucy didn't know if it was amused or malicious. "Two weeks, and it's all over. I'm sure you can wait that long."

Lucy didn't think she could, but she felt no reason to argue the point. She needed the Lord in her favour, and not annoying him would do wonders to help that.

Before she could think of a conversation to bring up, one of the three chefs in the room placed a plate of eggs – prepared as an omelette, placed on toasted bread, garnished with parsley and salt - and a set of simple, inelegant cutlery was put beside the plate. It was hardly how she would have had her breakfast if she'd been given the choice, but an omelette done well could be nice. The glass of juice she had been given was at least fresh and vibrant looking. She picked up the cutlery and cut a small piece of the omelette out for herself. As she brought it to her lips, the Lord spoke again.

"How do you have your eggs?" He asked, apropos of nothing.

"Excuse me?"

"Your eggs, how would you have them if you'd been given the choice," The Lord pushed.

"I thought that you had the art of eggs perfected?" Lucy asked, deciding that a light, joking tone was best to get out of the oddness of the situation. "Why wouldn't I want to try them if that's true."

"Because they've got garlic in them, and you're allergic," The Lord smirked a little, and Lucy halted, dropped the fork, and left the chair, looking at the plate of food that she was, indeed, very allergic to. Laxus kept up the expression as he spoke. "If you ate that, you could've died."

"Yes, I could have," Lucy uttered, anger flashing though her.

"And all because you didn't wanna argue with me," The Lord said, reaching over, taking the fork Lucy had dropped, and ate the egg impaled on it. "See, that's what England does to women. Puts them in fancy dresses and tells 'em to look pretty. Makes 'em impassive and quiet, tells them to shut up because they're weak and don't have anything interesting to say. That's all they get, and even the strong ones eventually start believing it all. Fucking country."

"What's the point of this?" Lucy demanded, still looking at the eggs.

"The point is, you can push back against things sometimes," The Lord sighed. "Everything you did before you became fifteen showed you as a fighter. Then you grew up, your father saw you as a way to expand his empire through marriage, and you became docile," The blonde smirked a little. "But fuck him. Be a fighter, push back against bullshit, and take yer damn eggs how you want 'em."

Oh. That was not at all what Lucy had expected, and she couldn't quite think of what to say to the advice. It was good advice, not entirely practical given her situation in life, but the urge to fight back against English constraints had never really left her. Still, had nearly killing her been necessary for proving his point.

She hadn't smelt the garlic though. Normally her nose was rather good when garlic was involved.

"Was there really garlic?" She asked, and the Lord smirked.

"You think I'm the type of man who'd risk poisoning someone to make a statement?" The lord quirked an eyebrow, and Lucy didn't answer. That made the man laugh. "Call me Laxus from now on, you've earned it," He then looked to one of his chefs. "Get the woman what she wants."

Lucy then smiled, sat back at the table once the plate was taken away, and looked to the waiting chef. "Two poached eggs. With salmon."

---

Four nights into her stay, a ridiculous urge for a glass of milk struck Lucy in the middle of the night. For a few minutes she tried to fight it – she was a grown woman for heaven's sake, not a child with no impulse control – but forcing herself to think of other things just made it worse. Perhaps it was Greece's fault; the heat was making cold drinks seem more refreshing and therefore more appealing.

She tried to make as little noise as she could, the landing of the building's upper floor creaking slightly as she walked down the hallway. She winced a little as the stairs cut through the silence, but she continued on, walking to the kitchen. She quickly found the larder where the milk was stored, poured herself a glass, and began her walk back to her bedroom, hoping she would be quieter.

Apparently, it was a baseless hope, because each creak and squeak was louder than it had been before.

It almost didn't matter, but when she was quietly walking down the hallway and she stood on a particularly loud floor panel, the door to Laxus' office opened, and Freed walked out. He was wearing his usual suit, looking as well put together as always though with slightly heavy breathing and the smallest of flushes on his cheeks. They looked at one another for a moment, Freed closing the office door behind him so the only light illuminating them both was the candle that Lucy was holding. Freed spoke first.

"Miss Heartfilia," He was gentle in his tone, quiet for the time of night. "You're up rather late."

"I was having trouble sleeping; getting accustomed to the new environment I suppose. My throat became dry and, well," She raised her milk in explanation. Freed nodded. "You seem rather awake too, what time do you sleep?"

"Normally, I'd be asleep by now, but Master Dreyar is keeping me up," Freed explained, smile bordering on a smirk. "He's, well, he's a little tied up at the moment. Work gets on top of him, you see, and the stresses sometimes can be overwhelming. I do what I can to keep him sane."

"You really do whatever it is you can to help him, don't you,?" Lucy laughed.

"I take great pleasure in my duties," Freed said enigmatically. "You should get to sleep, Miss Heartfilia. I believe that the lord plans to take you to a nearby village tomorrow, you'll need to be well rested."

"Of course," Lucy agreed. "Goodnight Freed."

"Goodnight Miss Heartfilia," Freed responded.

Lucy walked back to her bedroom, still trying not to be loud as not to distract Laxus from whatever work he was doing. As she climbed into her bed and nestled herself into the covers, she found herself wondering what Freed's odd smiles and slight state of disrepair meant. Were this any other house, she might have believed that Freed was sneaking into Laxus' study to do something illegal – it wasn't unheard of for butlers to turn on their masters – but Magnolia House was different. Freed seemed devoted to his master, and that devotion might go both ways. She didn't think for a second that Freed would betray the man.

Eventually, she would have to leave this house, and she had to wonder if she would understand what the hell was going on in the place. She hoped so; she loved nothing more than a puzzle and everything about this place raised more questions than they answered.

Maybe the other guest would have the answers when he came.

---

"We'll be taking dinner in the dining room today, Miss Heartfilia."

Lucy turned to look at Freed, who had approached her as she walked to the kitchen. She halted slightly; it had been a week since she had arrived at the house and her meals had always been taken in the kitchen, or outside of the house somewhere. She honestly hadn't been sure if the house had a dining room. It would have been in keeping of the week for Laxus to have taken the dining room and replaced it with a horse's stable or something equally absurd.

She followed Freed towards the dining room, deciding not to ask why. Both Freed and Laxus seemed to enjoy giving non-answers to anything she would ask, and ass such she'd given up trying. It was best to just allow herself to be swept up in everything.

The dining room itself was a small place, sparsely decorated but pleasant. Plants bordered the room but didn't encroach on the table itself, and despite being perhaps the most formal room in the house that Lucy had seen, it made every dining room in England seem stuffy in comparison. She walked inside, allowing Freed to pull out a seat for her and taking it. Only when she looked up did she see that not only was Laxus sitting at the table, but another man, someone who Lucy had known very well for most of her life.

Jiemma Orland.

Another member of the aristocracy, their paths had crossed many times. During the dances she'd been forced to attend in her childhood, Lucy had often found his daughter Minerva and they'd spent nights playing and laughing. He had always scared Lucy when she was young – he seemed nasty, vindictive even – and she'd avoided her when she could. It had been years since they'd seen each other, but that chill still ran down her spine.

He must have been Laxus' other guest. Was it a coincidence?

"Lucy," Laxus greeted, sitting at the head of the table. "This is Mister Orland; I believe that you-"

"Lord Orland," Jiemma corrected, and Lucy saw Laxus narrow his eyes slightly. "Not mister."

"Right. As I was saying," Laxus spoke again with a growl. "The great and respectable Lord, Mister Orland, is the guest that I was telling you about. I think you might have met him a few times in your past, your circles seemed to have intertwined."

"They have," Lucy agreed, forcing her fake smile on again. Her cheeks hurt; she hadn't smiled like that for the week she'd been there. "Hello Lord Orland, it's a pleasure to see you again."

"And you, ma'am," Jiemma responded, not even trying to sound polite. He turned towards Laxus, face a scowl. "As I was saying, I hardly see why you want me here, Lord Dreyar. This is quite the imposition."

"I'm glad," Laxus grinned. "And you do know why you're here, I think. But that's for the end of the week, so try not to torture yourself about it now," The grin turned a little nasty for only a moment, but the normal smile returned when he looked back to Lucy. "How's your day been? Freed informed me that the two of you decided to visit the Parthenon toady. Was it what you expected it to be?"

"It was beautiful," Lucy smiled a little. "Freed's very knowledgeable about its history, and quite the storyteller too. I hope you don't mind that I took him away from the house for the day."

"Of course not," Laxus smiled. "What sort of a man would I be if I couldn't survive a day without my manservant. Hardly a man at all."

Laxus looked directly towards Jiemma when he said that, and the older man tensed, and his face became thunderous. He made a wave of his hand and a well-dressed man who Lucy vaguely remembered seeing around Jiemma's house when she'd visited Minerva nodded and left. Lucy was almost certain that he was Jiemma's manservant. She laughed a little too loud, and quickly schooled herself. Jiemma turned his glare to her, but Laxus spoke before he could say anything.

"The city really is a sight to behold this time of year. The tourists can make it a little crowded, but the history seeps through either way," Laxus said, and a plate was placed in front of him. "I typically leave the summer months without having guests so I can better enjoy myself. The two of you should feel quite honoured."

"Hardly," Jiemma muttered almost imperceptibly, but both Lucy and Laxus seemed to have heard him.

"Speak up, man," Laxus demanded, looking into his eyes without wavering. "How can your words be respected if you're not standing with them, but hiding behind them?"

"You don't think I stand by my words?" Jiemma snapped, and Lucy halted slightly, not wanting to make her presence known. She had been aware that Jiemma could be a bully, but never witnessed it. Laxus didn't seem bothered.

"I don't," Laxus grinned. "And I think you should be cordial to your host, no?"

"Cordial. You of all people wish to speak to me about how to act in polite society," Jiemma was shouting, and his anger seemed to come so abruptly that Lucy felt knocked down by it. Freed had mentioned that Jiemma was backed into a corner, of course, but this level of anger bubbling up without much provocation was disconcerting. "You, a man who leaves society for your… your perversions, have the gall to say anything. And not only speak down to others, but to demand the presence of others at your home half way across the world. To hold half the respectable country to ransom for your sick enjoyment. And yet you speak to me of cordiality, Mister Dreyar."

"It's Lord Dreyar, actually," Laxus corrected, grinning.

Jiemma looked ready to storm to Laxus and strike him, and Lucy found herself grabbing the side of the table just for distraction. Laxus and Jiemma were having an argument with their eyes only, Laxus all but goading Jiemma to do anything that might give him cause to attack. Lucy didn't know what to do. Passive aggressive dinners were one thing, but openly yelling was unheard of.

Freed walked into the room holding a plate of light food, and placed it in front of Lucy. She looked to him for reprieve, and he smiled at her handsomely. It was a comfort, and she whispered low enough only for him to hear.

"What's happening between them?"

"Mister Orland's character is being tested," Freed whispered equally quietly, adjusting the plate so to elongate his time near her. "Everyone who comes here undergoes a test of some time. They can get rather explosive, as you can see."

"I wasn't tested," Lucy frowned.

"Not in a way that you noticed, no," Freed smiled again, taking a bottle of wine from a cooler and filling Lucy's glass with it. "If the two of them start to overwhelm you, feel free to dismiss yourself and say you need to powder your nose or something of the like. Laxus won't be offended, and I suspect Mister Orland won't care for you either way."

"Thank you," Lucy whispered, smile a little weak as she wondered what her 'test' had been.

"Of course, though I recommend you see it through to the end," Freed suggested as he placed the wine back into the cooler. "You might regret it if you don't."

Freed was out of the room within a moment, and Lucy was left floundering as to what that meant. The letters she'd received hit her again, and dread filled through her as she remembered all the stories she'd heard from people who had been to this house. This was the house where reputations were ruined, and lives were upended. She had become complacent, but this had been the reminder she needed to know that this house wasn't safe.

Maybe Freed's words had been a threat, or maybe they'd been a warning. Either way, Lucy needed to be careful in this place, and not allow herself to make a mistake.

---

"Why the hell are you here?"

Three days into the second week of her visit, Jiemma hissed the words as he stormed into Lucy's room. He was swaying slightly on his feet, face flushed from alcohol and jaw tight and rigid. Lucy shot up, covering herself with her sheets on instinct as the man thrashed into her bedroom. She looked at him frozen for a moment before she regained her senses and spoke.

"I was invited by Lord Dreyar," She answered, blinking away the remains of sleep.

"He is not a Lord," Jiemma shouted, and Lucy had to flinch back when he stormed to her bed. "He left England and left his title with it! He had no right to call himself that name. Has no right to act like he has power. Like he's too good to be English but still has influence over us. He can't."

"Mister Orland-"

"I am a fucking Lord!" Jiemma roared. "I am a Lord of the realm, woman. Respect me!"

"Lord Orland, I don't know why I have been called here but you need to leave my bedroom this instant," Lucy said firmly, trying not to let her voice waver as he took another step closer. He was a large and brutish man, and drunk out of his mind. "This is most improper and if Laxus or Freed are woken up then I expect they'll not be please."

"You need to leave now," Jiemma demanded. "Get out of this damnable house this instant. It's manageable without you, so leave. Get out of here and don't show your face. Then we can sort this out."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Lucy stammered slightly.

"You need to get the hell away from me and leave my daughter alone," Jiemma growled, lurching forward, and grabbing hold of the sheets Lucy held to her chest. "You're all the same, looking for your next-"

"Mister Orland," A curt voice cut him off, and Lucy looked to see Freed standing at the door, well dressed despite the time of night. Lucy felt safer with him there, and Freed quickly stormed into the room with barely restrained anger. "It is three in the morning, and you are in bedroom of an unmarried woman who clearly does not want you there. There is no justification for such actions, and I won't give you the time to attempt it. You're to return to your room and repent for your actions immediately."

"What," Jiemma turned to Freed and walked into his space. Lucy tried to recover her breath, eyes a little wide. Was Jiemma going to hit Freed? He looked as though he was. "You think you can order me? A houseboy? Not even a man, neither of you are, not with what you do together."

"Return to your bed, Mister Orland," Freed repeated sternly. "If you don't, I'll have no choice but to leave you to the streets tonight, and let me tell you that the authorities here have perfected the art of dealing with an English drunkard and they do so with great enthusiasm."

"Make me," Jiemma taunted, leaning forward, and breathing right into Freed's face. Lucy could only guess how horrid a smell that would be.

Freed placed a hand on Jiemma's shoulder, probably to guide him back to his bedroom. Jiemma immediately shrugged Freed off him, taking a stumbling step back and looking to Freed like he was dirt. Freed kept the man's gaze without blinking, and Lucy watched in panic, not knowing what else to do because Jiemma was angry and drunk.

"Return to your room," Freed spoke firmly. "Or I will do just that."

Jiemma scoffed, but stumbled past Freed while barging his shoulder against Freed's. The door was slammed behind them both, leaving Freed alone with Lucy. She watched as Freed untensed himself, either out of relief or because of dwindling adrenaline. Lucy quickly reached for the candle that lay on the counter, striking a match and lighting it to replace the light lost from the hallway. Freed was looking at her with professional concern when his face was lit again, the moment of anger gone and his impassive looks back again.

"Are you okay, Miss Heartfilia?" He asked, voice calm again. "He didn't touch you, did he?"

"No, just scared me," She admitted, looking down slightly. "Are you okay?"

"Perfectly fine, Miss," Freed dismissed the question without giving a moment to think. "If you'd prefer it, we have a smaller bedroom for you to sleep in for tonight. If you can give me a few moments to make the bed for you, it might be a better fit. It's closer to Lord Dreyar's room and has a bolt on the door, for your safety."

"That won't be necessary," Lucy answered, even if she was tempted. "Those men are all the same. Drunkards like acting strong, but they're not. He'll be stewing about how you stood up against him. He won't bother me again."

"If you insist," Freed nodded. "If you change your mind, just call for me and I'll have the bed ready for you."

"Thank you, Freed," Lucy smiled a little, relaxing as she placed the candle back onto her bedside table. "I must say, you don't seem to ever sleep. This is the second time in as many weeks that you've been ready for an issue in the night."

"It's my job, Miss," Freed dismissed. "I must say, I did expect that Mister Orland might come back in a drunken state and do something regrettable. I thought it would be against Master Dreyar, given their antagonism, but he seemed to focus on you. I'm terribly sorry it took me so long to come to you."

"Don't worry," Lucy assured him. "He just scared me, nothing more."

"As you say," Freed agreed. "I'll leave you to sleep. Master Dreyar might wish to speak with you both tomorrow morning after this. I'll wake up if he does."

"Thank you," Lucy smiled. "Goodnight Freed."

"Goodnight Miss Heartfilia."

---

"So, I think it's time we all have a talk."

Laxus was the first to speak, breaking the silence that had befallen the small office. He was sat behind his large desk in a leather chair, with Freed standing beside him and to his right: they looked every part like the Lord of the House and his ever-present shadow. Lucy was sat at the other side of the desk in one of the smaller chairs provided, nervously fiddling with the lap of her dress, and occasionally glancing towards Jiemma, who sat at her side in another of the chairs.

After the interruption the night before, her sleep had been uneven and broken. She had been half tempted to take Freed's offer for the other room, but by the time the decision had been made it was nearly four, and that wouldn't be fair on the man. She'd instead jammed the door with a chair and done her best to rest.

When she'd been told Lord Dreyar wished to speak with her, she had been happy to oblige. She was less happy when she saw Jiemma sitting there as well.

"I need to leave," Jiemma said in retort. "I don't understand why you dragged me here in the first place. After the way your houseboy spoke to me last night I don't see why I should suffer the indignity of being here a moment more."

"Rather eloquent, aren't you?" Laxus posed the question with a smile. "Not quite as eloquent when you're drunk though, are you? I heard what you were saying last night. I suspect that half the city did the way you were yelling. Hardly behaviour that befits a lord, I don't think."

"What are you implying?" Jiemma demanded.

"That you should shut your mouth because I have something to say," Laxus grinned a nasty grin. "Can you agree to that?"

"I've a hotel booked for the rest of my stay," Jiemma said firmly. "I intend to be there within the hour."

"This won't take too long," Laxus assured him. He looked towards Freed for a moment, who walked to one of the sets of cupboards lining the walls to the room. Lucy followed the man's actions, but turned back to Laxus when he spoke again. "You've both been asking why you were invited here. I don't doubt you both know the reputation that this house has; particularly that I invite people here because I have a problem with them. That's true."

Lucy found her breath caught in her throat. She had known this would happen, of course she did, but had expected it to take place on the last day of the trip. Maybe that was the intention, but Jiemma's activities the night before had pushed them into action.

She was just going to have to deal with it. That's all she could do.

"I believe that this might be enough of an explanation as to why you're both here," Laxus continued, taking a single piece of paper from Freed and placing it on the table. Lucy went to look at it, but Jiemma snatched it away. Laxus didn't seem bothered, and allowed Jiemma to look at it for a moment. "You seeing my point, Mister Orland?" Jiemma didn't react, his grasp on the paper tensing. "You've known from the moment you saw Miss Heartfilia, didn't you, so no need to hoard the letter. Hand it to Lucy, please."

Jiemma looked like he was going to argue, but did as he was told indignantly. Lucy looked down to see a handwritten letter, and frowned. It was apparently Jiemma's response to Laxus' request for his visit. A polite but curt letter than didn't seem important.

It took Lucy a few moments to see the significance, and bile rose in her throat when she did.

The handwriting. It was the same handwriting as the letters she'd been getting threatening to expose her relationship with Cana. Jiemma had been the one doing it.

"You?" She asked, voice quiet. "You're the person who's been harassing me?"

"You're sick, all of you," Jiemma growled, standing up and looming over Lucy. Panic gave way to anger, and she felt her blood rushing throughout her body as she looked at the man who caused her so many sleepless nights. "Queers, perverts. You couldn't even be trusted to do a simple thing, to speak to your father and tell him to sign a damn contract. No, instead you turn to that bastard," He turned to Laxus, who was stone-faced now. "You all work together don't you, it's disgusting. I should have never let my daughter near you!"

Months of fear and anger and looking over her shoulder seemed to strike Lucy at once. This man – this power-hungry brute who drank too much and held his lordship above all else – had been the one to torture her for months. That… that…

Without thinking, she picked up a decorative crystal from Laxus' desk that seemed to be keeping his papers in order. She brought it up and slammed it hard against the man's head. He yelled in pain, and Lucy saw blood spurt from where a jagged edge slashed at his forehead. He staggered back, and she did it again because it had felt good, and it had felt deserved. This man had hurt her, she deserved to hurt him.

He stumbled, and Lucy watched as he crumpled to the ground. She dropped the crystal and began to kick him, leaning on the desk so she could slam her shoe into the man's stomach again and again. It felt good, and she didn't recognise a cathartic scream parting her throat as she did it.

Freed pulled her away after ten or so kicks, and Laxus looked ready to intervene further if Freed needed it. Lucy let it happen, panting as tears she didn't know had fallen fell down her cheeks. The man who had been the tormenter of her life for months was in front of her, crumpled on the floor, struggling to get up, couching and spluttering and bleeding. He was pathetic and yet he had caused so much strife for her.

"What the hell is the point of this?" Jiemma coughed, leaning on the desk to stand up again. "Just to insult me. To have the bitch attack me. I'll have everyone know about you and that barmaid within a week's time. Your life is over."

"No it isn't," Laxus said firmly, and Jiemma glared towards him.

"You can't stop me."

"I can, actually, but I don't need to," Laxus smirked. "You see, if you do it – and you won't – then nobody's going to believe you. I don't waste my time, you understand. The moment we met I knew you were exactly the type of man I thought you'd be. Aggressive, cruel, without restraint nor respect. You think the fact that you've got a lordship to your name gives you permission to take anyone down if it's advantageous to you. So, the moment we finished eating, I sent the word to England to have your true self exposed."

"What does that mean?"

"It means what I said, Mister Orland," Laxus laughed. "Every nasty side of you will be the focus of gossip for weeks to come. Your bullying attitudes towards your staff, to women in general actually. Your failure as a businessman and how you need to blackmail people. I was particular with the latter piece of gossip, not to give names as to whom you've blackmailed. Because there's been a lot of people who you've threatened, and they'll all be happy to back up the gossip if they think it's them being spoken about."

"It won't be believed," Jiemma growled, looking towards Laxus with a glare.

"It will. You throw enough shit at a wall and some sticks," Laxus' glare became particularly nasty at that. "Especially when people want so much to hate you. That's the problem with being cruel; people don't forget it. They'll jump at the chance to hurt you. They have, and it won't end."

Panic flushed over Jiemma's face, and he flushed red with anger. "I'll still tell everyone about her."

"Doesn't matter if you do, nobody's going to believe you," Laxus laughed, sitting back down. Lucy watched with fear, because Jiemma was panicked and angry and would do anything. People would believe him; he was still a lord. "I sent a letter to some of my friends back home, explaining what happened last night. With a few amendments, of course. The respectable and kind Miss Heartfilia, only daughter of the Heartfilia family, politely refused your unwanted advances. You, in a drunken haze, stormed into her room in the dead of night to do who knows what to her. You wouldn't leave her room, were acting aggressive. It took a member of my household staff to drag you away. That's akin to a pot of gold to the gossips of our country, and it will spread like wildfire," Laxus leant back in his chair, smirk nasty and wide. "You saying anything about Lucy will be the words of a stilted, embarrassed old man who got turned down by a young woman who could do better. Who would take anything you say seriously?"

"You… you demon," Jiemma yelled, and Lauxs actually laughed at him. "I should have you thrashed on the streets. You liar. Slanderer! No wonder you left the country, no man like you could exist in a land of honest men."

"Honest men who blackmail women? Who beat them and seclude their children from the world," Lucy snapped, because she felt safe now. Jiemma turned to her, but she didn't cower. "You're not an honest man. You're a parasite."

"Where's this voice come from, girl?"

"It's come from people like you treating me like some doll they can play with to suit their whims," Lucy yelled, and didn't miss when Laxus moved the paperweight out of reach. "I hope you can never show your face in England again, you bastard!"

"How dare you," Jiemma growled and walked towards Lucy. Freed stepped forward, holding a letter opener that caused the man to halt. "What kind of a place is this?"

"A place you should leave," Laxus answered, standing up again and opening the study door. "Freed, escort the man out of the house please."

"No," Jiemma argued, but Freed approached him, holding the knife up and brandishing it. "I won't go."

"You will," Laxus dismissed him. Freed took the old man by the shoulder and pushed him forward with a jerk. Jiemma growled, but when the knife was pushed further into his back, he allowed himself to be pushed. Freed halted when he was at the door, forcing Jiemma to look towards Laxus. "If you do say anything about Miss Heartfilia, and I find out about it, I'll make sure you regret it. Do you understand me?"

"You've already slandered me, what else could you do," Jiemma snarled. "Bitch's affair will be all over the country by August."

"The people I employ will slander, as you put it, the aristocracy for a very small amount of money," Laxus taunted. "What d'you think they'll be willing to do if I offer them something more substantial."

Lucy watched as the knife was pushed further into Jiemma's back, and the man hissed as he was pushed forward again. Lucy only watched as the man who had been her tormenter was marched away, hopefully for good.

---

"How did you know?" Lucy asked Freed as he sat opposite her at the patio. "What he was doing, I mean?"

"Miss Cana Alberona contacted Master Dreyar around a month ago," Freed explained, pouring them both a cup of tea as the evening sun began to set. Lucy took the cup that was offered to her with a confused frown. "She and Laxus used to drink together when he lived in England, I believe. She asked for his assistance in dealing with the problem of your letters. Laxus took some time to discover who was to blame, eventually found a letter with handwriting matching the letter Cana sent to him as an example, and decided that he would settle things himself."

"Cana did it?" Lucy exclaimed, frowning. "Why wouldn't she have told me?"

"I suspect she didn't want you involved if it could be helped. Given Laxus' reputation being somewhat unpalatable, him acting on your behalf could have been unnerving," Freed smiled as he drank his own tea. "Laxus however thought you might want closure, which was partly why he invited you here in the first place."

"Partly?"

"Laxus cares very strongly for the people he loves, and Cana is one such person," Freed looked somewhat wistful about his employer. "He wanted to make sure you're a good enough person for her. He's somewhat cynical about members of polite society, as you can expect, so he wished to see you for himself," He laughed a little. "Why he couldn't trust my judgment on you I don't know, he's rather headstrong, but he's given you his approval."

"He has?"

"He has," Freed parroted. "The first breakfast you shared together was enough for him to be sure of your character. No doubt he'll offer you a permanent room here, should you like to visit with Miss Alberona. The Greek are much more accepting of a relationship such as yours."

"How do you know that?"

"Laxus and I have been seen together multiple times," Freed shrugged, and Lucy turned towards him with shock. "It's why we chose to live here. Much less fuss."

"You and the lord? You're in a relationship."

"Of course," Freed nodded, smiling.

And that, it seemed, was that.

#Fraxus Week #Fraxus #Freed Justine #Laxus Dreyar #Fairy Tail #Fanfic #Writing #One Shot #1800's AU #Aristocracy AU #Word Count: 9.2k

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hookedonapirate · 5 years ago

Text

Beyond a Reasonable Doubt

Summary: Detective Killian Jones took an indefinite leave of absence from SBPD after his brother was murdered in the Line of Duty. Bitter and broken, he resides in a cabin on the beach when his brother's former partner, David Nolan brings him a case he knows the vengeful detective won’t be able to resist. A case involving Liam's killer.

Dr. Emma Swan makes all of her decisions like she operates on her patients—with care, competence and compassion. But when her colleague, Graham Humbert, is murdered in cold blood by the man who was freed because of a decision she made as a juror, she starts second-guessing herself. To make matters worse, her squeaky clean reputation is being questioned when she becomes a suspect for Graham’s murder.

There is one detective who believes she’s innocent, and he has a plan to protect Emma and find his brother's killer at the same time. When Killian finds himself caught between his duties to the SBPD and his need for vengeance, matters are only complicated by the feelings he develops for the woman he's supposed to protect.

He's impulsive and hot-tempered, and she's methodical and cool under pressure. Despite their differences, can they work together to bring the murderer to justice, or will the murderer get to them first?

A/N: Many thanks go to @ultraluckycatnd for her wonderful beta-ing skills and @onceuponaprincessworld as always for her encouragement and letting me bounce ideas off of her.

Posting this a day early because it's my day off. I have the next chapter done, and in the meantime, I'll be working on The Princess and Her Sultan for those who have been patiently waiting and because I miss writing for that universe.

I have to warn you, this chapter is a bit absurd lol, but it's fun, I promise. And the end of the chapter will give you a hint for what's to come in the next chapter.

Rated: Explicit due to mature language, character death, violence, murder and smut. The scenes won’t be too graphic, but I’d rather overrate than underrate it.

Catch up: Pro I Ch 1 I Ch 2 I Ch 3 I Ch 4

Also available on: AO3 I FF.N

Chapter 6

Hans forces a tight smile on his face and hesitantly shakes Killian’s hand, obviously embarrassed he’d invited her to his hotel room. His features contort in pain as if Killian is gripping his hand a little too tightly.

Killian loosens his grip, apology flickering over his face. “Sorry, mate, sometimes I forget my own strength. I once tapped a bloke in the nose and broke several of his nasal bones.”

Unmistakable fear shows in Hans’ eyes and he quickly rips his hand from Killian’s tight clutch and spins around on his stool, returning to his drink and chugs it down.

Emma is still recovering from the initial shock of Killian coming over to… what, rescue her? Or stake his claim even though she’s not his to claim? She’s not entirely sure, but she plays along, flashing a sarcastic smile. “These heels are killing my feet. I had to sit down.”

Killian moves behind her and places both hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently as he sweetly kisses her temple. Her entire skin warms from his touch. “Well, how about I give you a good foot rub when we get home, hmm?” he murmurs in her ear loud enough for Hans to hear as Killian kneads his fingers into her shoulders.

Emma has to swallow the moan rising in her throat as his decadent, silky voice penetrates her ear and his firm hands give her a momentary dose of heaven.

Holy fuck.

He’s not even doing anything to her, and she’s completely turned on. She’s not imagining his hands on her achy feet, giving her a good, thorough rubdown. Certainly not. “Mmmm, that sounds amazing, babe.”

He grins against her earlobe, causing a shiver to skate down her spine. When he removes his hands from her shoulders and extends one to her, she feels the loss of his warmth. “Until then, are your feet rested enough to dance?”

Emma slips her hand in his, interlaces their fingers and stands up, grinning from ear to ear. “I thought you'd never ask. Lead the way.”

She looks over at Hans to catch his reaction as they walk past him, holding hands. Even from behind, she can tell he’s sulking.

When she realizes Killian is actually leading her to the dance floor, panic rises in her chest, and she tugs on his hand to stop him. “Wait, are we actually dancing?”

Killian turns his head around to look past her and nods. “Aye, love. Hans still has his eyes on us.” His jaw twitches as he shoots daggers at him. “Or rather, his eyes are still on you. So it’s best we keep up the ruse.” He moves again, pulling her through the crowd.

“But I don’t know how to dance,” she confesses, slightly ashamed. Her cousins took dance classes when they were younger and loved dancing but Emma mostly stuck to her books and simply listened to music rather than danced to it.

When they reach an appropriate spot on the dance floor, Killian stops and pulls her to him, placing her free hand on his shoulder and his open palm on her back. “There’s only one rule, love.” His eyes lift from their joined hands, and a breath escapes her when his face is only inches away, those baby blues boring into hers. “Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

Emma’s heart flutters as their bodies are pressed closely together. A hint of a smile curves her lips as she follows his lead, and soon they’re moving with the rhythm of the music like they’re at a fancy royal ball. But somehow she manages to replace her smile with a small scowl. “I didn’t need a dashing rescue, you know. I can take care of myself.”

He smirks knowingly. “I don’t doubt that, love, but I was saving you from getting scolded by the bride for causing a scene at her wedding.”

Emma wrinkles her brows in confusion. “Causing a scene? What scene?”

“Oh, come on, Emma, you were about two seconds away from giving that bloke a bloody nose.”

“I was not,” she argues defensively.

He lifts both brows. “Oh really? Because it sounded like he was inviting you back to his hotel room. If I were you, I would’ve kicked him in the bollocks.”

“With the way you were staring at him and had that death grip on his hand, I’m surprised you didn’t. Talk about causing a scene,” she scoffs. “By the way, a nose only has two bones, not several.”

“I know that, but judging by the scared shitless look on his face, he either didn’t know or didn't care,” Killian chuckles.

She tilts her head slightly, narrowing her eyes at him. “You weren’t jealous of him, were you?”

He almost laughs. “Jealous of that wanker? In order to be jealous, I’d have to be threatened by him. But he’s not capable of snagging someone of your caliber.”

Emma’s eyes widen in bemusement. “Someone of my caliber? And what caliber might that be?”

“I told you, love, you’re the prettiest surgeon I’ve ever met.” He leans closer to whisper in her ear. “And you cut quite the figure in that dress.”

Her face flushes as she cocks a brow. “So you’re saying you are capable?”

Blush paints his cheeks, his lips giving into a smirk. “A man can dream, can’t he?”

She doesn’t comment, and instead just stares into his eyes, which she’s beginning to think is a monumental mistake because she soon gets lost in those forget-me-not blues. Everything else around them disappears as they move across the dance floor, and all she can see is this gorgeous man who seems to be just as intrigued by her as she is by him. “Thank you,” she manages in a breathy whisper, her eyes still locked with his.

His pointy ears actually perk up. “What was that? I don’t believe I heard you right because it sounded like you were actually thanking me instead of yelling at me.”

She laughs. “That's because I was. You were right, I was two seconds from either punching Hans in the nose or giving him a swift kick in the balls. So thank you for stepping in... and for saving me from that asshole.”

He chuckles and lifts his hand to stroke her cheek. “You’re very welcome, love.”

The song ends, and the DJ plays something slow, but Emma has to admit she’s not ready to let him go yet. And she can tell he feels the same. It’s written all over his face. Which is confirmed when he releases her hand and wraps both arms around her waist. She curls her hands around the back of his neck and is so close to him, she can feel his heart beating against hers. She has to admit, he is very charming. Any woman would be a fool not to notice. Guilt stabs her when she recalls the mean things she’d said to him earlier, which definitely weren’t true. “I’m sorry for what I said before about a woman having to be either naive or desperate to fall for your charm.”

To that, he pulls back slightly, astounded by her apology. Then his brows furrow. “Did the bartender spike your drink?”

She giggles in his arms. “No, it was just… it was harsh… what I said.”

He smiles warmly. “No need to apologize. I came onto you a little too strongly.”

She scoffs playfully. “A little?”

He blushes, his smile widening. “Okay, a lot too strongly.”

“Not as strongly as Hans,” she points out.

“That’s true. Now there’s a guy you’d have to be either naïve and desperate to date.”

Emma nods in wholehearted agreement.

Killian breaks their trance to look over her shoulder. He smirks and whispers in her ear. “Don’t look now but we have an audience.”

Emma glances behind her, seeing Anna, Elsa and Ingrid staring at them and smiling, obviously enjoying the show; they might as well be watching a rom-com while munching on popcorn from one of those giant movie theater tubs.

“I told you not to look,” he chuckles.

She turns her head to face him again and laughs. “I’m glad we could entertain them.”

“Aye. It’s not even our wedding and yet we seem to be the stars of the show for the moment.”

She nods and stares at him for a moment, trying to figure out how they hadn’t met before. She’s heard about him, and he used to live in the same town as her, but somehow they had never crossed paths.

“What, love?” he inquires, noticing her staring at him thoughtfully.

She shakes her head. “Nothing, you’re just… you’re a mystery to me. I can’t figure you out.”

He cocks a brow, intrigued by her statement. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you act all cocky and smug, yet the way you were dancing with Camila was…”

“Was what?” he asks when she doesn’t finish her sentence.

“It was freaking adorable,” she admits with a smile. “You weren’t trying to impress anyone, you were just being you.”

He shrugs. “I’m good with kids. What about you, love?”

“What about me?”

“You seem so confident in your own skin, yet I look into your eyes and see someone who’s emotionally armored. Like you’re trying to protect yourself from something. Perhaps someone?”

“Oh really? You can see that about me?” she asks with an amused grin.

“You’re somewhat of an open book,” he says with a confident smirk.

“Or maybe you’ve just heard my back story.”

He chuckles. “You caught me.” Killian takes her hands and steps back, spinning her around and dipping her. She loses a breath as she looks up into his eyes. “I’ve heard we’re opposites, but we’re actually not so different, you and I.” He brings her back up and draws her into his arms again.

“Oh? And how’s that?”

“I grew up without parents as well.”

Emma’s heart tightens when his eyes darken with sorrow. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she says sincerely. “But how does that make us similar?”

“Because we both know far too much what it’s like to be alone.”

She knows he’s not only referring to losing his parents but also his brother. She wants to argue and tell him she’s not alone, but who is she kidding? She lost one of her few friends, and the only guy who’s confessed his affection for her is a psychotic killer. Well, she can’t say he’s the only guy because while Killian hasn’t announced he has a crush on her through an anonymous card, she can see how attracted he is to her. She can see it in his eyes. In fact, she wonders if she laid one on him, would he kiss her back?

Emma’s eyes fall to his lips as she ponders the thought. Her gaze flickers back to his, and she loses a breath when she catches him staring at her lips. She wonders what his mouth tastes like, wonders what it would hurt if she kissed him just once. Her eyes return to his mouth and she leans in, aching to feel those pretty lips pressed against hers.

A drum roll draws their attention to the center of the room, and they separate, looking to see what’s going on. They were so lost in their own little world and forgot they were at a wedding.

Anna prepares to toss her bouquet to a group of eager bachelorettes who shout and jostle for the best position to catch it. Emma wants no part in the bouquet toss, but Elsa seems to disagree when she grabs Emma’s hand and pulls her toward the group.

“Come on, Em, you’re single too!”

When Elsa releases her hand, Emma slinks to the back of the group and can’t wait for this to be over with. She looks over at Killian who’s gazing back at her longingly, and she can’t believe she almost kissed him. Well, she can—he’s fucking gorgeous—but at her cousin’s wedding? In front of all the guests? What was she thinking?

Anna tosses the bouquet behind her, and all the bachelorettes—except for Emma—spring for it. But Anna's throw is much stronger than expected and the bouquet goes far above their heads, aiming directly at Emma, and ends up in her hands after she instinctively catches it.

Damn it.

Emma holds it up, forcing a smile as the other ladies scream in excitement. She glances at Killian, who is laughing with Kristoff and drinking a glass of what she assumes is rum based on the color and what he'd ordered prior. Her eyes move to Anna who squeezes her into a hug.

Next, a chair is placed in the center of the room and the single men are called to gather around as Anna sits down, grinning from ear to ear. Emma stands off to the side, her eyes dancing between Killian and the newlyweds. Suddenly she’s nervous again, her heart pounding erratically against her breastbone, and she forces herself to look away from him to give her attention to the bride and groom.

Kristoff gets on all fours and pushes back Anna's skirt, his hand moving up her leg before his head disappears under her dress. Anna is squealing and blushing profusely, the crowd erupting with giggles and chants of encouragement. In a quick motion, Kristoff is out from under her skirts, his teeth pulling the frilly white garter down her leg and over her heel. When he stands up, he slingshots the garter over his shoulder toward the bachelors, and while the men aren’t as enthusiastic as the ladies were, Hans springs for it.

But when he misses it and falls to the floor, the man behind him—who of course happens to be Killian—lifts the garter into the air, grinning like an idiot as everyone cheers. His eyes find Emma’s through the crowd and he tosses her a wink as he twirls the garter belt around his finger. She responds with an eye roll and smiles at him, her cheeks warming with blush.

The next thing she knows, Emma is being prompted to sit on the chair as she holds onto the bouquet, and Killian still has that stupid grin on his face as he makes his way to her, holding up the garter belt. Emma bites her bottom lip, anticipation coiled in her gut.

The DJ plays Pour Some Sugar On Me as Killian circles around her like an animal circling its prey, eagerly awaiting its meal. When he’s behind her, he bends over to whisper in her ear. “I have to warn you, love, I’m a biter, too.”

Emma gulps, quite certain she knows his meaning.

Killian appears in front of her, and as he kneels on the floor, she extends her right foot to him, her heart suddenly pounding in her ear. She’s relieved when he uses his hands to pull it over her stiletto, and her skin tingles when she feels his fingertips on her ankle. Then he steals the air from her lungs when he gets on all fours, takes the lace of the garter between his teeth and starts dragging it up her leg with his mouth. Emma’s cheeks are on fire so she briefly buries her face in her hands, laughing in embarrassment as everyone whistles and screams and snaps photos. But the sounds and flashing lights are quickly drowned out because the man who’s moving up her leg with his lips and warm breath brushing her skin demands all of her attention.

Fuck.

She clenches her thighs together, trying not to envision his face in her lap for other reasons. He gets the garter belt past her knee, but then it gets snagged by her dress. So, with both hands, he pushes up the offending material and moves his face to the side of her outer thigh for a better angle, his hand brushing her other leg as he brings it back to the floor to use only his mouth again. She can’t imagine what this might look like to the guests. Well, she can, and she hopes the young ones aren’t watching. She can’t seem to take her eyes off Killian’s to check though.

The garter gets caught again, so he lifts her dress once more using his hands. His face inches closer to where she is definitely imagining him to be right now and with one final drag, he gets the garter where he wants it—mid-thigh—and backs away, taking all of his warmth and intoxicating scent with him. All the men are cheering for him, and he grins and blushes, his eyes locked with hers.

~*~

Killian hadn't meant to take it that far. When he caught the garter belt, he hadn’t planned on using his teeth—he was certainly envisioning it—but he knew it was definitely too much. If he weren’t working on the case and if she weren’t a suspect, and they were just two guests at the wedding, he would still be intrigued by her. He would still be attracted to her. And yes, then he wouldn’t have thought twice about using his teeth. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. But when she sat in the chair, biting her bottom lip, her eyes glinting with anticipation as she gazed over at him, he almost lost himself and consequently threw all rational thinking out the window.

When he’d whispered in her ear, he’d seen her flush and heard her gasp. When he’d knelt down in front of her, he’d witnessed those luminous green eyes sparkle, those pupils dilate as she offered her foot to him. He could feel the heat radiating off of her. And he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist using his mouth to drag that dainty piece of lace up her leg. Every inch of her was so extremely sexy, even her unpainted toenails were sexy, he had to use all the willpower in him to not touch her. And when he accidentally grazed his hand over her leg after he’d pushed the skirt of her dress out of the way, his heart rate sped up. But somehow he’d managed to place the garter belt around her thigh without completely molesting her.

The first part of his plan had been to crack open her shell, make her feel more comfortable with him, and now he’s afraid he’s screwed that up. And David of course was quick to point that out. While Emma was surrounded by her cousins and other females, probably commenting on Killian’s performance, David was pulling him outside and giving him an earful about how he should’ve let someone else catch the garter belt and how he definitely shouldn’t have used his mouth. David was so furious, Killian was sure he would send him back to Port Lavaca, but Killian assured him his behavior wouldn’t affect the second part of his plan. In fact, it would probably make it even more possible. David muttered a “You better hope so,” before storming back inside, pouting.

Killian downs his fourth glass of apple juice as he gazes across the room, his eyes connecting with hers. She blushes and looks away as she’s chatting with Elsa. He’s pretty sure they’re talking about him if the way they keep glancing over his way is any indication. He would definitely put his money on it.

~*~

“Okay, spill it, Emma. And don’t leave anything out,” Anna encourages with a big, toothy grin, her eyes glinting with intrigue.

Emma's eyebrows furrow. “Spill what?”

“Don't play dumb with me, you know exactly what I’m talking about.” She looks across the room, and Emma follows her gaze, seeing Killian on the other end of it as he's drinking another glass of rum.

“You mean, Killian? What about him?”

Anna sighs dramatically and looks like she's about to burst.

“Is it true, you two are a couple?”

That question was from Elsa, who's just as eager as her sister to expunge the juicy details. Well, maybe not quite as eager, but still very interested.

“No, of course not,” Emma answers, her eyes wide with shock. “We just met.”

Anna’s eyebrows are knitted in confusion. “But my husband said Killian was your boyfriend.” Anna blushes and giggles. “Oh my God, it feels good to finally be able to call him that! My husband, I mean,” she clarifies, as though they didn’t already know who she meant. “But back to Killian, why did Hans yell at my husband for not telling him you were already taken?”

Emma frowns at the mention of that creep. “Oh that. Killian told him he was my boyfriend because he saw Hans making me uncomfortable. He was trying to save me from punching Hans in the face and ruining your wedding.”

“Awwwww, that’s so sweet,” both cousins gush.

“By the way, who invited Hans?” Emma demands sharply. “He invited me to his hotel room, and before that, I made it very clear I didn't even want to engage in conversation with him.”

Anna’s eyes go wild. “He did what?!” she gasps. “Oh no, that is not okay. I told Kristoff we never should have invited him.” Fueled with anger, she spins around, lifts her skirts from the floor and marches over to Kristoff, who’s chatting with the groomsmen.

“Anna, wait, I don’t want to make a big deal about it,” Emma calls after her, but her auburn-haired cousin ignores her and continues her trek. Emma sighs and turns to look at Elsa who’s always been the calm, rational one of the two sisters. At any rate, she can’t say she’d be sad to see Hans kicked out.

“I’m so sorry about Hans. He’s such a creep,” Elsa comments before sipping her punch.

Emma dismisses Elsa’s words with a wave of her hand. “It’s fine. I can handle myself.”

“I know you can.” A slow smirk pulls at her lips. “So tell me, what exactly is going on with you and Killian? And don’t you dare say 'nothing'. He just used his mouth to get the garter belt on you when he could’ve easily used his hands. And you were…”

“I was what?” Emma asks, trying to contain the smile threatening her lips.

“You were pretty into it,” she teases, swatting Emma's shoulder.

Emma rolls her eyes. “Okay, maybe he's a little cute, but as I said, we just met. I know nothing about him, except that he’s cocky and a compulsive flirt.”

Elsa nods in agreement. “You’re not wrong about that, he can be cocky but in a charming, boyish sort of way. And yes, he can be a bit of a flirt, but he’s mostly bark and no bite.” She laughs at her own remark. “Okay, well as we all saw, he is a little bit of a biter.”

Emma flushes at the comment and wonders if he’s a biter in the sack because she definitely wouldn’t mind it if he were. Not that she plans on getting him in the sack. Because she definitely doesn't. She snaps her eyes shut briefly, chastising herself for having those thoughts.

“But don’t worry, I won’t badger you about him.”

“Thank you,” Emma murmurs before imbibing her water. She thinks about it for a moment though. Elsa knows Killian pretty well, so this might be an opportunity to find out whether she's wasting her time on him or not. She wants to say she’s not even considering the possibility of dating him, or anyone for that matter, but Elsa can easily squash any or all of Emma’s musings about the man. “So, tell me…” Emma gnaws on her bottom lip, deciding on the right question.

Based on Elsa's knowing smile, she seems to be onto her. “Yes?”

“Is Killian a good guy? I mean honestly? You know I don’t date because I have my trust issues. So am I just wasting my time by lowering my guard around him or—”

“He’s a great guy, Emma. I promise. I wouldn’t lie to you about that. I’ve spent some time with him, and we were pretty close before Liam died. He can be a little rough around the edges and hot-headed at times, but he’s honest, has a good heart and can be very sweet. We had a rough patch for a while but now I hope we can be close again. And I know it’s difficult for you to open up, Emma, but you can’t keep people out forever. Besides when is the last time you’ve gone on a date and just had some good old-fashioned fun? You work so damn much, I bet you can’t even remember.”

Guilt rises in Emma’s cheeks, and she nods, considering Elsa’s words. “You’re right. It’s been far too long since I've been with a guy. But he hasn’t even asked me out. How do I know he’s even interested?” She already knows how ridiculous the question sounds when she asks it.

Elsa lifts a brow that says, really, Emma? “With the way he was dancing with you, giving you those doe eyes and the way he put that garter belt on you, do you really need any more proof that he’s completely into you?”

Emma sighs. “But how do I know he doesn't act like that around every woman he meets?”

“He doesn't, only with women he's interested in. And that's rare for him. He caught the garter at mine and Liam’s wedding, but he didn’t use his teeth, and the bachelorette was much more flirty than he is with you. It was more of an obligation for him then,” Elsa ends the statement with a smirk. “But with you, I could tell—hell everyone in the room could tell he was into you.”

Emma laughs, her cheeks flooding with blush. “Okay, okay, I get your point. So... I should just ask him out then?”

Elsa’s face lights up in excitement. “Yes, you should!”

Emma inhales a deep breath, her heart pounding at the possibility of approaching him. She doesn’t really have a plan yet, but maybe it’s better to just wing it. No, on second thought, she has to have a plan. “Women can ask men out, right?”

“Are you kidding? Yes, they can! Go for it, Em,” she chants encouragingly.

Okay, here goes nothing.

Emma turns around and straightens her shoulders, determined to march over to Killian. Instead, she freezes, her eyes widening in surprise when he’s standing in front of her with a drink in his hand. His hair is carelessly disheveled, his eyes are a dull shade of blue and he’s still wearing his jacket, but his tie is hanging loosely around his neck and his dress shirt is halfway unbuttoned, allowing a patch of dark chest hair to poke out. He's obviously been drinking a little too much. But he still looks delicious.

“Hi there, love,” he greets with a smirk, his words slurred. He stumbles forward and Emma grabs onto him and catches a whiff of him. Okay, he’s been drinking way too much.

Her eyes sting from the smell of rum as she helps over to the nearest chair. “Easy tiger, I think you’ve had too much to drink.” As she helps him sit in the chair, she glances at Elsa, her cousin’s features donning a mixture of concern and apology.

“He doesn’t normally drink this much.”

Emma looks around, seeing the kids on the other side of the room playing and running around.

“We should probably get him home. I don’t want Camila or his nephews to see him like this,” Elsa says in a worried tone.

“I’m fine, really.” Killian lazily waves off her words and tries to stand, but almost falls over again before Elsa and Emma catch him.

“I guess I should take him home. Will you watch Camila while I’m gone?” Elsa asks her.

“Why don’t I just take him?” Emma suggests. “You should stay and spend time with your sister before she goes off on her honeymoon.”

“But you don’t have your car with you,” Elsa points out.

“Did he drive here himself?”

“Yeah, he came in his truck.”

“Okay, so I can just drive him home in his vehicle and catch an Uber home. Where’s he staying?”

Elsa shakes her head. “I’m not sure. A motel I think.”

Emma kneels in front of him like she’s speaking to a child. “Where are you staying, Killian?”

“Wherever you want me to stay,” he drawls with a cheeky grin.

Emma rolls her eyes and reaches into the inside of his suit jacket, searching for his wallet.

He smirks. “If you wanted to feel me up, all you had to do was ask.”

Emma can’t help but blush, his face inches from hers as she grabs his wallet. God, he’s wasted. Rifling through his wallet, she finds a key card from Pinn Road Inn, which is on the other side of town.

She informs Ingrid what’s going on, and after she hugs the newlyweds and wishes them a fantastic honeymoon, she and Elsa help Killian to his truck and buckle him up in the passenger seat. Elsa apologizes profusely as though she’s responsible for her brother-in-law, but Emma waves off her words and hugs her goodbye. She promises to have lunch with her and Anna after the honeymoon and climbs into the truck.

The drive to the motel is mostly silent until Killian suddenly starts cursing like a sailor. She looks over to see him pulling at a thread that's hanging from the cuff of his jacket.

“Don’t pull at it, you’ll ruin the jacket,” Emma warns, returning her eyes to the road. “Just take it back to the haberdashery you got it from.”

“Royal tuxedos, my arse. More like royal crap,” he bleats, reclining in his seat to reach into his pants pocket.

Too late.

Glancing over at him, she sees him using a Stanely knife to cut off the string. Her eyes widen in horror. “Don't do that, you'll—”

Killian’s groaning in pain, his left hand is covered in blood and the blood is dripping all over his suit.

“...cut yourself,” she finishes with a sigh.

A/N: So you probably have a lot of questions about what exactly is up Killian's sleeve, but I promise that will be covered in the next chapter. And yes, I couldn't make either Emma or Killian a doctor without injuring the other one at least once and having some doctor/patient scenes. I promise Killian will be in good hands though :-)

@itsfabianadocarmo @snowbellewells @ilovemesomekillianjones @nikkiemms @teamhook @xhookswenchx @xsajx @julesep3026 @hookedmom @biefaless @cluttermind @yasbio2015 @kmomof4 @lfh1226-linda @harshini01 @noensnaringnet @xarandomdreamx @onceuponaprincessworld @annastasiarinaldiva @royalswan @brustudyblog @officerrogers @gingerchangeling @melly326 @singersdd @mzbossyboots @unworried-corsair @iamemmaswanjones @authorarsinoe @kingofmyheart14 @nightskylover @jamif @resident-of-storybrooke @iam2307 @winterbaby89 @chinawoodfan @mormonkryptonite @ultraluckycatnd @captainswan-shipper88 @killianswanjones @bethdacattfm @andiirivera

#cs ff #captain swan #beyond a reasonable doubt #my fic

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cheezritsu · 4 years ago

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Atsumu Miya || Unravelling

[Uhn•rav•uhl] verb, informal. to take apart; undo; destroy

Warnings: implied sex, mentions of sex, quick depiction of self harming behaviors (not explicit.) Inspired by SZA’s Supermodel

It must be considered deviant and demonic how the constant the thud thud THUD! Rings out with an even pace in the hallway of Tokyo’s finest apartment complexes. If it weren’t for the fact that calling the police would no doubt result in a press field day none of the residents of Park Mansion Akasaka wanted, someone would have filed a noise complaint. It’s a shame they did not—perhaps there might be a certain clout that comes with exposing MSBY setter Miya Atsumu’s intimate life, but it would also have saved time, money, and tears in the long run.

But, the residents of the 9th floor could not see into the future. They were instead, attempting to mind their business and not be bothered by Miya trying to make back beats by fucking someone into a mattress.

That little comparison was Osamu’s first scathing critique, until he froze completely. The disgust melted into horror as he turned his head to his companion.

“Hey-,” he starts, but as he catches the expression, the words dry up.

Yes, it would have been nicer—no, merciful—if the residents of the 9th floor had called the police when this happened, if only to spare you from witnessing it yourself.

Your hands get so clammy, the plastic bag in your hand nearly slips out. You catch yourself before the beer bottles can shatter on the marble floor that costs more than your entire block. It’s an easy clean up, but it would probably be very sticky, and disastrous, you think. Almost as disastrous as—

It starts up again, rhythmic and constant like an orchestrated performance. You and Osamu are mere steps outside the apartment, and you can hear the manic, frayed screams coming from the walls. It sounds like they’re in pain; just the way Atsumu likes it.

“Y/N,” Osamu tries once again to get your attention. The pity in his voice is unmistakable, and you hate that of all the emotions the usually stoic twin shows you, this is the one he’s chosen. Pity. Sympathy.

“Guess that’s why he didn’t pick up the phone,” you remark casually, refusing to look Osamu in the eye. “I’ll just leave it by his door with a note.”

Osamu says your name, this time with a firm edge that demands attention. You don’t give it to him. You’re too busy trying not to actively throw the takeout and beer you bought out of your measly paycheck to help your friend (attachment, entanglement, dick appointment, are all better words than friend) feel better after a crushing defeat at the hands of the Saitama Spears. (Crushing, like his hands must be around her neck for the moans to sound so strangled.) No matter, you say to yourself, hands shaking as you send him a text. Something cute and sweet with a properly sickening amount of heart emojis, like any good (not quite) girlfriend would do. Whatever it takes.

Ignoring how the click of your heels mesh with the steady thrum of Atsumu’s two thousand yen headboard against his 100 million yen walls, you march back the exact way you came; down the white, sterile hallway and passed the doors that housed the rest of the 9th floor, who would, unknowingly, pay for the mistake of not asking the shameless Atsumu Miya to please, please keep his fucking at a tolerable volume. Fame and infamy come with perks, one supposes, but they also come with karma.

You’re not thinking of revenge, though. You’re wondering how you’ll make it to the elevator without completely coming apart at the seams. Something in you unravels, much like it might if Atsumu were playing you like the fool you were; perfectly manicured setter hands curling, scratching, plucking at all the right places. No, this unravelling is much slower, much more painful, as if the single thread that creates your existence is being snipped in half. When you push the call button for the elevator, you think the thread is severed completely, because you have to lean your head on the cold steel to steady yourself.

Osamu’s approaching footsteps really only register in the very depths of your mind. The heavy breathing doesn’t really sound like yours—how could it be anyways, when you were miles away from your body, floating in the ether like a ghost; forgotten, discarded, alone. Untethered.

You lift your head up only to bang it against the wall. The soft thud is reminiscent of the moment that just transpired, and you—subconsciously, like you were possessed—start bashing your forehead to the same piledriver waltz Atsumu had played.

“Y/N!” Pity. Bang! Worry. Bang! Sympathy. Bang! Could you crush your skull this way? The mystery woman’s screams tangle in your brain like an earworm, the salacious sounds on repeat. Bang!

When Osamu’s hand lands on your shoulders, it feels like he’s tethered your soul back into your body. You wrench yourself out of his grip.

“Don’t!-” you begin to scream, but you catch the look he gives you. His grey-brown eyes are wet with concern, darting between the growing red spot on your forehead to the watery snarl on your lips. You take a shuddering breath to keep the hysteria from bubbling into your tone. “Don’t touch me. I’m fine.”

Osamu doesn’t even raise an eyebrow in pretence. His mask of neutrality and sarcasm is completely gone, replaced with anger. “You were banging your head into the wall like a patient in a psych ward.”

“That’s unnecessarily stereotypical, Osamu. I thought you were better than that.”

Crossed arms. He’s seconds away from blowing his lid. “Yer not funny.”

You wonder what would happen if Osamu blanked on you in here. Would these good-for-nothing neighbors actually call the police then? What a headline: Miya twins apprehended in two separate noise complaints. Kita would probably stop sending Osamu rice out of embarrassment.

You don’t want to fight Osamu anyways. It’s not his fault that the bearer of his face is fucking another girl as you speak.

The elevator dings, and you step inside. It’s fortunately empty. Osamu stands right next to you, hovering like an overprotective parent. The chrome doors of the elevator slide shut and you’re face to face with your own reflection: hollow, sunken eyes the most expensive concealer can’t fix; posture hunched from years of slaving over work and school; nails short and busted from part time jobs that barely pay the bills. Nails that have been raked down the chiseled, marble back of a man who didn’t belong to you, and never did.

Her nails were probably nicer. Probably manicured. Maybe he paid for it. You can’t even see your nails anymore, because your head is in your hands, shielding your ugly cries from Osamu, who bears the face of the man who doesn’t love you.

“I should have just taken the fucking hint,” you sniffle, wiping the running eyeliner from the corner of your eye. “Shoulda left him alone.”

Osamu just hums. You wished it was anyone else but him. Osamu isn’t bad at a lot of things, but comfort was one of them. He just stares vacantly at the doors, a grimace replacing his usual thin lipped look, but other than that he appears unbothered.

And then, like he’s reading condolences off a list, he says: “I’m sorry.”

The words in their sincerity sound foreign on his tongue. With one big sniff you pull the thread keeping you together tightly, gathering yourself. “What’re you apologising for? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Sorry my brother is a complete piece of shit.”

“Well, we both knew that, didn’t we.”

Osamu can’t place what he dislikes about that phrase, but the elevator interrupts his thought process. The doors open to reveal one of the security guards eying you two up and down. His eyes narrow for a moment on Osamu’s face, and then dip down to yours.

“There a problem here, Miya-san?”

On any other day he might have pulled a fast one on this guard, but you promptly walk out of the elevator, leaving Osamu to follow your lead wordlessly. The world outside the Park Mansion Akasaka is still turning, still bustling with people catching trains home from work, their patent leather shoes from office jobs clicking on the sidewalk to a rhythm you can’t match. The thud of the salarymen’s briefcases hitting their legs echo like the headboard off Atsumu’s walls. It’s everywhere, everywhere, and your insides churn sickeningly.

You stop, one hand leaning against the glass. Osamu catches up, hands halting just before they reach your back. “Stop running away from me, name,” he says softly, exasperated. “I’m trying to help.”

“How long.”

Osamu blinks. “What?”

You’re nearly doubled over with nausea, your free hand pressed flat against your chest to keep your lungs compressing. “How long has he been with her?”

“I don’t know.”

“I swear to god, if you’re lying to me-“

“(Name) I would never do that to you.”

The promise doesn’t reassure you. Osamu runs a hand through his hair. “Look, I know this is a lot to take in right now. And I’m not going to say anything—“

“Like what?” You look at him over your shoulder, eyes squinted in malice. “Like I told you so?”

Your insolence is wearing out Osamu’s sliver of empathy. You’re unbearable like this, you know that, and Osamu is less tolerable than most. “Your words, not mine.”

“Your brother is cheating on me.”

“You’re not together.”

“There it is!” You let your head fall back in rumbling, humorless laughter. “I was waiting for that.”

“I don’t want to be a dick right now.”

“Too late, ‘Samu.” You haul yourself up, buttoning the front of your coat. “Go home, work on your winter menu. I’ll be fine.”

The statement is met with rightful skepticism, but when you start to walk away, Osamu doesn’t follow. You can’t decide whether or not this hurts, because the all encompassing pain finally registers to the rest of your body. You try to numb yourself, dissociating as every step towards home becomes a blur. Akasaka’s beautiful lights and towers fade into lesser Tokyo’s decrepit neighborhoods, with sketchy alleys and dimly lit streets. Your apartment complex is a shoebox to Atsumu’s tower residence, and it feels just as claustrophobic when you step into your crowded, tiny apartment.

It’s nicer than what your friends can afford, but that doesn’t make it any better. Your couch is also your bed, and your desk faces the window even though you can’t properly study this way. The kitchen is perpetually clean because you can’t cook anything in it. You’re sure the fridge is empty, but it’s fine, because you simply peel off your clothing and curl into a ball on your bed.

It’s not even late. You have work and assignments to do, but as you check the time on your phone, you’re immediately taken to your camera roll, where a picture from several days ago stares back at you mockingly.

It’s from his bathroom, the one that has a television screen by the bathtub, the one with hotel lighting that makes you look glowy and ethereal no matter what. You’re half dressed, in the middle of putting on your morning skincare when Atsumu comes up behind you, arms around your waist. Your face is obscured, but you remember how happy and loved you felt to have his lips pressed against your temple, the heat of his body in your side. How surrounded and safe and warm you felt.

But moments are as fleeting and fragile as glass. The illusion has been shattered, and you’re left in a cocoon of blankets nowhere near as satisfactory as his body heat, in a dark and dingy apartment you will probably stay in for the rest of your life.

Just as you’re about to set your alarm for the morning, a notification pops up. The sparkles around his name indicate that Atsumu has finally, finally texted you back.

✨T’sumu✨: sorry I missed you babe I was not in a good place

✨T’sumu✨: you got work tmrrw? You always know how to cheer me up

It’s as if your heart has been snatched out of your rib cage; your chest hollows and collapses as a sob hiccups in your throat. Something wet slides across your temple. It’s not Atsumu’s lips, not even close. You wipe the tears with the back of your hand, and throw your phone across the room.

It shatters.

#atsumu miya #miya atsumu #this makes him seem shitty and hes not #This was hoing to be a very long and spiralling fic where the reader slowly descends into hysteria over being cast aside #i wanted to illustrate how compleltly devastating and upending this is #and i love the word unravelling #haikyuu!!#hq!!#atsumu miya x reader #miya atsumu x reader #reader x miya atsumu #reader x atsumu miya

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duckbeater · 4 years ago

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Courtship, pt. 2

Writing about happiness is very difficult and boring. The below are some small attempts I’ve made to write through my happiness. My small, important readership deserves an update, says my brother, whose sensibilities have only rarely steered me catastrophically wrong.

I AM BUYING CHAMPAGNE TO CELEBRATE MY LOVER

Today’s the last day of his job and he’s throwing himself a little party. In September he begins med school and in the next month he’ll put his affairs in order, readying for the big move. I have the sense that tonight begins our diminuendo, despite his staying over last night and spit-fucking me, and I’ll surely stay over tonight, after the many champagne toasts to his prosperous life ahead.

We’ve started sleeping as two spoons embracing chest to chest, with our faces tucked awkwardly in a neck or an armpit. Of course I wake up gasping, my mouth sucking after a less hot pocket of air, and turn, and enjoy that he pulls me tightly back to him. He’s a heavy sleeper and I’m a light sleeper, and our bedding situation resembles something like a rock in a tumbler with my rolling over and over and over again, arising too early, wildly underslept, shining with sweat, but ecstatic that we’ve touched all night long. I’m attending his celebration in a sleep deficit that I’ve covered with caffeine and a long, soulful run beside the lake. I’ve been thinking about us a lot.

He wouldn’t call himself my lover, I think, but I’m hoping the expensiveness of the champagne I’m bringing will convince friends in attendance that that’s what we are. I’m hoping my largesse goes noticed and commented on—that it’s interpreted as my being in love with him, and that his peers compel him, by either fretting over my largesse, or pitying me for it, or anyway finding it impressive or amusing or tender or charming—that they tell this young man I’m adoring him and I’m adoring him well. That my adoration seems steadfast and considered. And despite the riskiness of the circumstances (our differences in age, the widening gulf in distance, a sometimes depleting lack of shared cultural references), when we are together I feel comfort and joy. This must be obvious to him without the expensive champagne. I’m always saying it out loud, or anyway variants on the theme of “comfort and joy,” like a seasonal blessing, a profusion of blessings, needing remarked upon. I’m seriously afraid I mother him.

“Let us take in the scene,” I have said before, “let us only observe for the moment my sitting in your lap, your hands on my neck, my constant kisses. What joy!”

He’s done something to my sense of my proportion, and also my prose style. I can’t seem to describe our relationship without slipping into the sardonic, recursive, mildly-institutionalized voice of Robert Walser, a writer I find too cute by half. I’m finding my life too cute by half, I fear. If this is what happiness feels like, I don’t really want much more of it. It’s making me stupid. “People will think that pain has made you stupid,” wrote Walser, a statement that comes back to me when I can’t distinguish between the good times and bad times making me an idiot.

AFTER THE SPIT-FUCKING

We stayed up late talking about what it means to say goodbye to people who don’t know you’ve cared for them. I don’t pretend this conversation had subtext. For the last two years, he’s worked with profoundly disabled people, first as a case worker and then, after the pandemic closed the campus and made that job “nonessential,” as a nursing assistant on the same floor.

He spent months feeding, changing, bathing and bedding non-ambulatory children and adults. Most cannot speak, a few cannot see, and none can walk, of course. It is a world I’ve rarely thought about—indeed, a world many of us rarely consider, because in its theater of human need are scenes of unremitting hopelessness. It is a languageless suffering and it perdures. I can become very mystified, very shallow-breathed thinking about his care for these souls, however quick he’s been to dissuade me from romanticizing or elevating his ministrations. “One of my verbal residents tells me to fuck myself all the time,” he’s noted. Still, I would point out that birth defects and accidents account for a small percentage of his caseloads’ impairments, and that active neglect and abuse perpetrated intentionally by former guardians (or unwittingly by the American healthcare complex) have hobbled his charges for life. I don’t like hearing stories about choked babies and toddlers left so long in beds their soft bones grow slab-wise, so I’ve asked him, coward that I am, to please skip origins if he’s entering an otherwise benign workaday anecdote.

His most patient complaint: using his iPhone to FaceTime parents who want to see their son, then listening to one-sided conversations, burbling, giggles, tears, even story-time. His campus closed to all guardians—a devastating precaution. “Don’t send anything xrated today,” he’d text, and I’d know he was hosting a reunion. So I’d keep my clothes on. And he’d answer the phone from an immediately weeping seventy-year-old mother saying, to her forty-year-old son, “Why good evening, Max, good evening. This is your mother. Hi, baby. Hi. I love you. I am your mother. I will always be your mother. I am sorry I cannot touch you, I cannot hold you, I cannot be with you in this time, but you are my Max, and I am your mother. And I love you always. You can hear me and I’m gonna tell you all about my week, okay? And then I’m gonna ask Scotty here how you’ve spent your week, okay?” He said he usually cries on these calls and when I asked why, he said, “Because it seems polite?” And I pressed harder and he said, “Because I get to—I get to connect these people who have missed each other so much, and it’s so sad. They haven’t touched in months. They might not touch this year. My phone sometimes runs out of battery. It’s so weird.”

I’ve asked him whether families are happy to be rid of their incredible dependents and he said that by and large families are miserable to give over members to the institution: that age arbitrates the giving. “A mother and father have a baby at twenty-five. They can care for him well into their fifties—their twenty-five-year-old, their thirty-year-old son. But when these parents enter their sixties? Their seventies? They can’t lift an adult male. They can’t bathe him or change him. Even basic nutrition gets hard. Meal prep is tiring. It’s long. They start to lose track of medications, and they have medications themselves, you know? So the situation gets very difficult and if they want to live, and if they want him to live, they feel like they have to give him up.”

We’re at the point now where intimacy is a given. He doesn’t swallow, but brings me to orgasm, taking me in his mouth and then dribbles it, I guess, my cum, back onto my stomach, apologizing with a flushed red smirk. “I hate that,” he says, “I really hate it.”

“Go ahead, eat it,” I say, joking.

He gives me dark eyes and showily palms the wad into the black pillowcase behind my head.

“Holy Christ!” I yell. “The nerve! The pluck! The audacity!”

There must be a phase in relationships when extracting intimacies—not only of the “terrible things I did in high school”-vein, or the “times I cheated”-vein, or the “unwittingly right wing ideologies I support”-vein—that close couples endeavor. Where you’re always compulsively revelatory, to seem as interesting as you did in early courtship, as erotically forward and emotionally captivating. We’re in that moment and we surprise one another with small tributes as befits that level of affection.

One of the intimacies I proffered is that I’m going through a religious re-awakening, a need for ritual and sacraments. He finds this funny. (I find it embarrassing.) Yet one of his duties has been wheeling charges to his building’s Tuesday Mass, and then helping to administer the Eucharist. I don’t think he in fact touches the host (I don’t think many in his care can safely take of the host; “I’m mostly there in case anyone seizes,” he said), but he did slip a large wafer away for me and now it’s in my apartment, among my candles, possibly growing mold. He asks me when I’m going to eat it and I tell him around Christmas.

(That was a lie. I’ll eat it when our romance is over, to consecrate the time we had.)

“I eat it,” I say, and he glowers.

I TOLD HIM ABOUT A MYSTERY SURROUNDING MY FAVORITE AUTHOR

Norman Rush. For a decade and better I’ve wondered about the long dedication in Mating, whose last lines read, “...and to the memory of my father, and to my lost child, Liza.” The novel, set in Botswana and borrowing heavily from Rush’s time there as director in the Peace Corps, suggests that perhaps Liza died in Africa or was born still. She goes unmentioned in his Paris Review interview, in subsequent novels, short stories, and reviews. There’s no hint of Liza’s fate. (As I edit this, I recall a phrase in Mortals, the narrator’s idea that “children exposed you to hellmouth, which was the opening of the mouth of hell right in front of you.” Explaining further: “[I]t was the grandmother, the daughter, the granddaughter tumbling through the air, blown out of the airplane by a bomb, the three generations falling and seeing one another fall, down, down, onto the Argolid mountains. With children you created more thin places in the world for hellmouth to break through.” And then, in Subtle Bodies, Rush describes a wayward teen boy, whose angry and aggressive behavior corresponds exactly to Rush’s own troubled teen son. In fact, Subtle Bodies is about the decision to have children at all. Nina follows Ned to a funeral, to fuck him. So, Rush has indeed remarked on children and strife, as he has lived it. Anyhow—) Yet by accident I listened to an old Fresh Air interview where Rush is asked to comment on the aspect of family in his novels, and to clarify that inscription.

“I have a daughter who is now thirty,” he says, “who was born with diffuse brain atrophy and has been institutionalized for many years. Um. But I think the rest is pretty self-explanatory.”

“What was her condition?” presses his interlocutor.

“She is uh profoundly retarded,” pauses, “and will be so.”

“So you feel she is lost to you?”

“Yes. There is no recognition possible between her and us.”

I reproduced this exchange from notes on my phone. Scotty replied, “I don’t think that’s right, actually. Maybe between her and—who—who was it?”

“Norman Rush and his daughter Liza.”

He said, “Maybe between Liza and her dad—yeah, maybe she was so disabled she couldn’t recognize him. I take care of men like that. But I recognize them.”

We were talking about important books at all (I mean that semi-seriously) because his co-worker had gifted him three works, including a volume of Yeats’ complete poetry.

“Why did Paco give you Yeats?” I asked.

“He thinks I need more poetry,” said Scotty.

(Frankly I have felt and still feel sexual jealousy against Paco, who recently got brilliant red and black knee tattoos of spider webs. Like, Spider-Man spiderwebs, covering both kneecaps. Every few weeks he cooks a large meal for Scotty, and they talk about life until 4 A.M. drunk on bourbon, immobilized by edibles, full and warm and caring, and it makes me mad. It makes me mad, because I can’t really see the point of staying up until the uncomfortable small hours between 2 and 5 unless there is sex involved, but Paco is straight, a father, an excellent chef, a dedicated friend, and so my grousing is a kind of unwarranted possession that baffles me into silence on the matter.)

I didn’t have anything intelligent left to say about Norman Rush. I groped along a narrow thought, however, a thin ledge. “You know—a novelist, especially a novelist as concerned with language and comprehension as Norman Rush, would feel particularly devastated by the condition of his daughter. He would see it as ironic and then as punitive and again as senseless—supporting his comforting regime of a militant atheism.”

Although very sober, I recited the first stanza of The Second Coming, tripping over two lines (but the best lines), saying, “The worst lack all conviction, while the best/Are full of passionate intensity.”

“What?” said Scotty.

“I just—that was Yeats.”

“Who?”

“Go ahead and tell your boy Paco that your hot fuck gave you a teach on William. Butler. Yeats.”

“What?” said Scotty. He grinned at me. He got up and ate a yogurt.

#norman rush

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raelly-writing · 4 years ago

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Prompt 19: Where the heart lies - FFXIV Write 2020

Ahah, uh, yeah, this idea made me sort of feel the pain of having a Thancred/WoL ship that’s ‘can’t spit it out and stubbornly pines for each other until late Shadowbringers’, so I wanted to try and keep the time sort of vague like it’s been a while since then. But then what felt like the natural way to end it tied it pretty hard to 5.3. I dunno, I liked the mood and flow so maybe I’ll revisit when I have a few more patches’ distance.

Hints towards NSFW themes, but nothing explicitly stated.

---

The sound of his shower was a lulling drone in the background as Thancred dozed, content and relaxed after eagerly welcoming her back from her latest adventures. Sweat was cooling on his skin, the covers merely haphazardly gathered around his waist, though he did not feel all too bothered by the slight nip of the evening air.

They were precious to him, these private reunions of theirs. Especially after they had been apart for a long time - the reassurance of seeing each other alive, even if there were always that twinge of guilt when he saw the traces of one injury or another on her skin, accompanied by the wish that he could have been with her. It was a look he often saw reflected in her own expression when it was his skin that had been marked and bruised by a foe.

For all of their agreement that their duties came first, it never made parting any easier.

It took him a moment to realise that the sound of water had ceased and that a comfortable silence had instead settled over the room. Absently, he listened for the sound of her bare feet against the stone floor, his cue to stir from his comfortable spot and take his own turn in the shower.

Instead, the silence stretched on. Stirring a bit more from his doze, he felt a tickle at the back of his neck, a familiar, well-honed instinct telling him he was being watched.

Thancred cracked his eyes open and found Viana leaning against the doorframe to his washroom, her arms loosely crossed and a small smile on her lips as she watched him. The thoughtful look in her eyes was tinged with affection, so soft and unguarded despite all the hardship she’d been through. His breath caught, and for a few brief seconds he was able to soak in the sight of her, before she realised that he’d noticed her.

A flicker of embarrassment instantly passed over her features as she straightened back up while clearing her throat. “Sorry, my thoughts wandered,” she said softly, as if not wanting to speak too loudly into the silence of the room.

He gave her a charming smile. “It’s alright, I know these handsome features can be cause for distraction.”

As expected, Viana laughed and gave him a familiar, mock flat look that he, despite all these many years, still remembered so well from the time before the Monetarists’ coup in Ul’dah, when their suggestive banter had been a mere facet of the friendship they’d struck up. “It truly is a mystery how you do not leave a trail of distracted, injured people in your wake.”

She shifted her weight to one foot, and his gaze momentarily dropped to the hemline of the shirt she wore - his, he realised with a familiar sense of delight - that barely reached the top of her thighs. “I know,” he drawled as he looked up at her once more. “It’s a testament to people’s strength of will.”

Viana snorted, a fond smile on her lips as she crossed the short distance back to his bed. Thancred caught one of her hands in his, a small tug and light touch to her hip enough to guide her to straddle him.

“Jokes aside,” he hummed before brushing a kiss to her knuckles, “what were you thinking about? Not the next errand you need to run, I hope?”

With a small shake of her head, she caressed his cheek. “I just thought about… this. How we got here.”

Thancred slowly slid his fingers down over her arm, eyes still on her. “Quite the long and winded road we took,” he replied as he gently took hold of her other hand too and laced their fingers together.

She made a quiet sound of agreement, then tilted her head to the side. “I don’t think I ever have asked you… when did you feel like things changed between us? When did you realise you felt something for me?”

The questions took him by surprise. Raising an eyebrow, he found no ready answer on the tip of his tongue. He would never deny that he had found her attractive from the moment she’d stepped into the Solar in the Waking Sands. Even as far back as then, he would gladly have taken her to his bed and helped her unwind after they had her chase primals all over the realm - something undefined, without strings or expectations, like all his physical relationships had been back then. But when had the physical attraction shifted into something more?

Viana remained quiet, patiently waiting for him to sort through his thoughts while one of her thumbs slowly rubbed over his.

Sighing, he closed his eyes and pressed another kiss to her fingers. “I’m not sure,” he finally responded. “You were there with me after Minfilia…” He paused, the words catching in his throat even after all these years.

After she had given up her life for Hydaelyn, and it’d felt like his heart had been shattered. And then she had departed their world entirely to save another, taking with her the piece of his heart that he’d left with her so long ago, when she’d been just a girl bearing another name, crying over her father’s unmoving body. The old, dull sorrow made his chest tighten.

It was hard to think back on those years after they’d found him in Dravania, how dark his mindset had been through the war until he had, under a foreign Light filled sky, finally been able to let go of his old guilt and grief, and move on for the sake of another young girl’s future. To this day, he was not sure when one of those jagged little shards of his heart had found its way into Viana’s hand and been safely tucked away beneath her breastbone.

He felt her weight shift atop him and then the warm press of her lips against his, the damp fringes of her hair a tickle against his cheek and forehead, while her hands squeezed his in reassurance.

“Forgive me, I didn't mean to dig up painful memories,” Viana said softly.

Thancred opened his eyes to see the same sense of loss and pain in hers. Smiling faintly, he let go of her hands to cup her jaw. “It’s alright,” he replied while brushing his thumbs over her cheeks. Her expression softened as she rested her hands on his wrists, still watching him.

“I’m not sure when I began to love you,” he continued. “But I think I realised it when you first returned from Othard, and I felt it in my bones how much I had missed you.” He paused, eyes roaming over her face. “It felt like a piece of my heart had returned to me at last.”

A bashful smile spread on her lips as she laughed under her breath, her cheeks suddenly stained with a blush. “How poetic.”

“Can’t let those bardic skills rust completely,” he hummed with a sly grin. “How else am I supposed to make you laugh and blush so prettily?”

“You’re hopeless.”

“Perhaps.” He pulled her down again, slipping an arm around her waist as they met in a slow, lingering kiss that made his body feel warm and fuzzy. Despite that it melted into a series of kisses, it seemed far too soon that they finally parted. “How about you?”

Viana peered at him from beneath her lashes as she rested her weight on her elbows. “Remember when you packed my gunblade and gear, and sent it to me before I left for Othard?”

Thancred nodded, giving her a curious look. “Couldn’t have been that, surely.”

She chuckled and shook her head. “No, but you packed one of my books as well, and slipped a note into it.” His brow furrowed and it took him a moment, but he could vaguely recall doing such a thing. It’d seemed like such a small, random thing to him. Her expression softened, as if she knew what he was thinking. “I didn’t see it until I unpacked it all on the ship. It was a short note, just you wishing me to stay safe. But that’s when I realised what I felt for you.”

He was unsure what to say in response, hadn’t thought that it’d been a simple gesture that had been the cause. Grabbing her, he rolled them both over, smothering her surprised laugh with a firm kiss, as if it would somehow make up for what he felt had been lost time. His hand wandered over her, pushing up the shirt she wore to feel her skin beneath his palm and tracing the waistline of her smalls.

“Thancred, I just showered,” she laughed against his lips, even as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Guess you can shower again with me then,” he replied, his voice low and raspy. “Later.”

Though time and space may separate them, part of his heart would forever remain across the Rift, below a crystal wall in a desert region in another world where Minfilia, who he’d loved so dearly like the younger sibling he had never known, had saved one world from entire annihilation and spoken her final words to him. Another with Ryne, who he had watched grow and come into her own, stirring a paternal pride and love in him, as she walked under the night sky they had fought so hard for side-by-side, striving as she did to heal that world’s wounds. Other pieces lay tucked into the pockets and hands of the rest of his found family, smaller, but no less potent.

Another, no longer sharp and jagged with sorrow and despair as when he first may have inadvertently given her it, lay nestled next to the heart of the woman in his arms.

Just like he knew, he carried a piece of hers with him.

A home, with each other.

#ffxivwrite2020 #thancred waters #thancred x wol #my writing #one day I'll learn to write kisses #today is not that day

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sevenseasofrog · 6 years ago

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Lads ‘n Lasses Chapter 4

single sex schools are never boring

high school!ben x fem!reader

2.7k words

a/n: lol hi, Me for the first time in about 10 billion years. I kind of hate this Chapter?? But I’ll put the next part up tomorrow which should be better :-)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

As the autumn colours became deeper and the summer temperatures began to fade, you began to feel as though you were dragging yourself through each day, the thought of your plush duvet at the end of it keeping you motivated. Luckily enough though, it wasn’t just you who the changing seasons effected, and your friends were also beginning to look a little more disheveled with each morning that passed by, and it soon became clear that everyone was desperately in need of a break from the school routine. By the final week of term, motivation to even get out of bed each morning was severely lacking, and it seemed to be the same for Ben. Some mornings the pair of you didn’t even have the energy to speak, still content in each others company though, leaning on each other when you finally flopped down on the tram’s plastic seats.

You hadn’t forgotten that you were supposed to be coordinating your friend’s costumes for the mysterious Halloween party you knew very little about, but it definitely wasn’t your top priority- especially since your workload in and out of school had increased rapidly only a few weeks after the start of the new term. Since the gathering was set to take place on Friday, it was Tuesday that you figured you had to at least start thinking about how terrible you wanted your four closest friends to look. After a few hours of careful consideration and research you found yourself rather impressed with what you had come up with. If they wanted a group costume, a group costume they were going to get. It was perfect, inducing childhood nostalgia and characters which seemed to parallel your friends personalities, the five of you were going as none other than the Scooby-Doo gang. You couldn’t help but feel at least a bit proud of your master plan, but decided to keep it under wraps, just to add to the suspense. You spent the rest of that night drawing out meticulous plans, giving yourself Thursday and Friday to finish them. Out of instinct however you left the next day free, knowing that it was highly likely you would be spending the evening out somewhere to celebrate the beginning of the short break from school.

As he had done for the past five weeks or so, Ben had waited patiently outside your house for you to stumble out the front door, usually looking a little disheveled. Believe it or not, this was one of the things he had begun to admire most about you, little to your knowledge. The fact that your hair sometimes fell across your face, still messy from the previous nights sleep, and more often than not you would have acrylic paint splodged over you like some form of radioactive dalmatian. Both of these were the little things Ben had started to pay more and more attention to, and he couldn’t help but find himself smile whenever he thought of you.

“Last day of your first half term then Benny boy” you spoke with a grin. “Ready to go back down South yet or can you handle a little more of this?”

He couldn’t help but let out a laugh, “I think I’ll cope y’know, maybe a little longer, might even make it to Christmas!”

“You bloody better Jones! otherwise I’ll have no reason to even leave the house in the morning, then I’ll drop out of school, adopt a load of cats and drink cheap wine every day because I never got any a levels.”

“What a pity that would be” He retorted, with blatant sarcasm. You rolled your eyes and gave a gentle shove before the pair of you continued the walk to the tram stop in a content silence.

Eventually, you made your way onto a tram and flopped down on each other. You closed your eyes, enjoying the warmth of the autumn sun and found yourself dozing a little, this didn’t last long however.

Ben flicked your cheek before he spoke, “y/n, wake up you big loser, what are we doing after school?”

“I was wondering how long it would be before you asked, I don’t really care though. Won’t it just be easier to wait till the others get on and ask them?”

“We’re seeing them on Friday though, and Saturday I guess, and probably most of next week too”

“You have a most interesting way of thinking Jonsey. But you’re not wrong. What are you suggesting?” You spoke, followed by a smirk, “Won’t you be seeing me today, tomorrow, the day after that and next week however?”

“Shutup and come to mine tonight okay? We can have a takeaway from wherever you want and we can make up shitty excuses as to why we can’t do anything with the others because right now I can’t really be bothered with anyone else.”

You felt a little taken aback, but unsure as to why. Ben had spoken with a twinge of emotion in his voice, and suddenly seemed a little wound up- most out of character.

“Alright. You got me, but only if we’re having a chinese?

“Suits me”, he spoke with a smile, seeming somewhat relieved, before you both sank into each other in the seats. Even making the cold plastic seem a little more comfortable.

School has been productive. Well, as productive as you could have made it given that you only had some art coursework to finish and given that Ben’s sudden decision that he didn’t want to see anyone else that evening was playing on your mind. You had scrubbed the last of the dried acrylic paint off the battered brushes you had kept for god knows how long and were about to put them back into your bag before being interrupted by the lunch bell. Figuring you should reconvene with Maria and Niamh, you began to head towards the common room so that you could grab some lunch before heading to the library for the rest of the afternoon.

“y/n! hello? care to join us here on planet earth?” Niamh waved a hand in front of you, you had forgotten about your mediocre salad and had started daydreaming mid-conversation.

“shit yeah, sorry, just tired, i was sorting out the outfits for friday until like 2 this morning or something like that”

Maria chimed in too at mention of Friday, “oh yeah! the costumes, I’d forgotten about those, they’d better be-“

You felt your phone buzz in your pocket, undoubtedly your mum checking if you were staying in school or leaving after lunch. “One sec, let me just check this”

Benny:

Call me when you can. i’m going home.

You couldn’t help but wonder whad gotten into the boy, shocked by the sudden character change, you figured this was your call to leave and find out what the hell was going on with Ben. Now all you needed was an excuse to leave.

“Shit, sorry, erm… it’s my mum…she’s locked herself out and needs me to let her back into the house…” You scrambled to pack your bag and put your blazer back on “duty calls… I’ll see you on Friday night yeah?” You signed out at student services and began to walk towards the met stop.

benny: incoming call

“Ben what the hell are you playing at? where the fuck are you?” You heard the frustration in your own voice and couldn’t help but regret it.

“Why do you sound like your running a marathon?” Because I’m speed walking like a lunatic to come and find you thank you. “I’m nearly at the tram stop.”

“Right, ok… wait for me… I’m nearly there”

“see you then.” He hung up.

You continued the walk, thoughts racing, surely someone had just said something to wind him up? Nothing worth overthinking really? You eventually found Ben after what seemed like an eternity of walking and he stank of smoke, he had a cigarette between his lips and it was certainly not the first one of the day. “You going to tell me why I had to up and leave or are we going to pretend it never happened?” You demanded.

“We’re not talking about it until we get home” He said, slightly muffled. As if on queue, one of the yellow trams pulled into the station and Ben put out his smoke before dragging himself onto the empty tram, you followed, still feeling slightly bedraggled. The boy threw himself onto one of the chairs, visibly frustrated, you sat on the row behind and began digging through your bag, simply looking for something to do.

The tram ride was long, painfully so. The silence between the two of you was deafening, something you never expected to happen, but it was clear that Ben needed space from the moment you met back with him. You reached your stop and the two of you stood up, briefly making eye contact with each other.

“I need to erm, get some fresh clothes from mine if that’s okay...on the way to yours..These aren’t exactly.. y’know.. comfortable” You spoke, gesturing at the suit you had worn the past two days.

He gave a curt nod, and you continued the walk away from the platform. You quickly unlocked your front door and shoved a few essentials in a bag, along with an oversized shirt and some joggers, well aware that this would be a long night. Ben has waited downstairs, waiting to head back out again a little further down the road to his house.

It was definitely bigger than yours, and much more modern. It wasn’t that you disliked newer houses, you just felt a somewhat alienated stepping into something that felt more like a spaceship than a house. Each to their own though- that’s what you had always figured.

“Gonna tell me what’s got you in a tizz or do I get the joy of guessing?” Desperate for some hint of the Ben you knew to return.

“We’ll go upstairs first yeah, then we can get changed or whatever” He began to trudge up the stairs and you followed. By the time you caught up with him in his room, Ben already had half of his clothes off, and although now definitely wasn’t the best time, you had to admit to yourself that topless Ben certainly wasn’t a sorry sight as you slipped into the marble en-suite.

“You’re killing me Ben. What’s happened for the love of God?”

“People happened.”

You checked yourself over before unlatching the bathroom door again. For the record, the old grey pants paired with the extra large shirt you had brought at some past gig certainly wasn’t your best look, but it was going to have to do for now.

“C’mon grumpy you can tell me all about it like i’m your very own agony aunt” You grabbed his wrist and flopped onto the bed,causing Ben to follow with a thud.

“So what have people done to you to cause such a commotion Benny? You’ve never been like this and you’ve got me proper fussing about you” He rolled onto his back and began to speak.

“They’ll do anything to drag you through the dirt. I haven’t put a foot out of line and half of the idiots at school have decided they don’t like me for it. It’s so fucking stupid I don’t know why it’s bothering me...It just is and I could honestly-“

“Ben it’s probably pissing you off because that’s a normal human emotion I’m afraid…”

“But it’s not just that and it’s another stupid thing honestly I don’t know what my problem is because it’s got nothing to do with me and-“

“One thing at a time okay? Start at the beginning and then if you want, you can tell me what else is getting to you.”

You felt bad for Ben, you really did, he hadn’t done anything wrong and it was clear he didn’t have much experience in handling his emotions. You threw a packet if tissues at him after he began to snivel and kept brushing his face. It was clear he trust you, this was something which brought a strange relief over you that you couldn’t quite explain. The main thing you could do do help Ben was to listen to him, and boy was he glad that the pair of you had all night.

You had migrated downstairs at around 8pm to order food, normally you would have both sprawled out separately over two of the three sofas in the front room, but when you came back from a trip to the kitchen for glasses of water, Ben had parked himself at the end of where you were sat.

“I was cold.” He looked up at you, as if trying to read your thoughts.

“I never said anything Jones! If it was anyone else I’d have told them to move but I think you can be an acception” You had honestly been expecting some sort of reply, and it came as a bit of a shock to you when you looked up to find Ben staring at the t.v. absentmindedly.

“Ben? what’s up?”

“Sorry it’s just, it’s not worth it don’t worry..” he trailed off

You have a stern look, “Anything you think or say is worth my time Ben, I really mean it.”

“It’s just. Jones. that’s what they call me, at school and, I don’t really know why it bothers me but… I’m not Jones, I’m Ben and, it bothers me-“ His eyes had gone slightly glassy again, “It bothers me because they don’t care about me, they care that I score tries and bring the team up the leaderboard. That’s Jones. I don’t even think Ben likes rugby, but what else can you do when it’s expected of you.”

“One thing at a time yeah?”

“I told you it’s stupid”

“yeah you did, and I completely disagree, it’s Benny from now on”

“No one's ever really called me that to be honest..”

“Does it bother you?”

“I think I like it.. but only you can get away with it from now on”

You leaned back onto him as the pair of you waited for the takeaway to arrive, you had sincerely hoped that Ben felt a little better at least, it was glaringly clear that he was more worried that unloading his problems would simply pass them onto you, and you had taken the opportunity to reassure him that you weren’t there to judge him at several opportunities.

You had been talking about this and that until a wave of fatigue hit you at what must have been around half one in the morning, Ben had insisted that you should go upstairs and sleep in his bed and he would take the sofa.

“Ben you’re my best friend I’m pretty sure I can cope with sharing a bed with you, we’ll both be out like lights when we get up there anyway”

You both made your way up the stairs, leaving the remainder of the takeaway to deal with in the morning, and fell onto the the mountain of crisp white pillows. You burrowed your way under the duvet, waiting for Ben to follow. “Y’know.. this is really comfy. Makes my bed feel like a fabulous pile of rocks.”

“Does the job I suppose”

“à le matin mon aimie”

“à demain”

You felt yourself drifting into a deep slumber, unsure as to weather or not Ben was still talking. “I know it’s late but are you awake?” You gave a grunt, which the boy opposite you took as a response.

“At school right.. well where else would it be.. and I don’t know if it’s true but I thought I’d tell you just in case but erm.. People were saying Lewis has a thing for you and I know you’re supposed to be my best mate but it bothers me because-“ he gave a sigh. “It bothers me because I think I like you, and I know it’s only been two months, but you’re more than I could ask for in a friend and-“ He realised that he had been greeted with silence. “y/n” Ben had to admit to himself that he was a little disappointed when he realised you hadn’t heard a word he said, already fast asleep. He wasn’t sure if he’d tell you again in the morning, or if it would ruin what he felt was one of the best things he had in a long time.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

@fatbottomedbitch , @crazyweirdocalledfriday , @borhapandshawn , @benhardyjones , @simplyvictoria-93 , @virtualsheepeat

Sorry that my tag list is a bit dodgey, pretty sure that usernames have changed so let me know if you want adding :) xoxo

#bohemian rhapsody #ben hardy #brian may #queen #roger taylor #bo rhap #queen band #freddie mercury #joe mazzello #john deacon #ben!roger imagine #ben!roger x reader #ben hardy!roger x reader #ben!roger taylor #ben hardy! roger taylor #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy imagine #lads ‘n lasses

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whisker-biscuit · 6 years ago

Text

Silent as The Grave Chapter 3: Five Mysterious Figures

Fandom: Sly Cooper

Summary: The Interpol Inspectors finally get an answer out of young Sly, but it’s not good news.

Inspector Francine Pennington doesn’t have a lot of tolerance for wasting time.

She’s been an Interpol inspector for over twelve years; been at Interpol itself for nearly twenty. She was assigned the Cooper case nine years ago, four years before it went cold. Before Connor Cooper decided to disappear into obscurity and made her job and her life that much more difficult.

Knowing now that he was married, that he had a child, has done little to temper the longstanding frustration she’s been holding at the outside forces that prevent her from doing her job.

Currently, the forces preventing her from her job are a children’s nurse and a locked door.

On Francine’s left, the American rhino policeman wavers awkwardly, standing there with his bulk taking up half the hallway. Across from her, Inspector Bodie Singh leans against a wall and plays with something in his pocket. The elephant herself is practically pacing in front of the hospital door.

She stops only once to try and peer through the tiny window, then swears as she realizes that the nurse has pulled a blind down from inside.

“Calm down, Francine.” Inspector Singh doesn’t even look her way. “We’ll be back in there in no time, that guy just needs to get the kid to stop freaking out.”

“Don’t lecture me!” She snaps. “You know how I feel about having my time wasted.”

“Oh I’m well aware,” he chuckles, pulling the thing out of his pocket. It’s an unlit cigarette. “Ever thought about taking up the habit? It might help calm your nerves.”

The inspector takes a lighter out of his other pocket, lights the stick, and drags out a single breath. Smoke puffs and curls around his snout. The American officer stares with his mouth open.

“You’re – you’re smoking in a hospital!” He whispers angrily. Inspector Singh smiles good-naturedly and grey vapor escapes the gaps in his teeth.

“It’s not smoking if it’s prescribed, friend. I’m just calming my nerves after that kid almost blew out my eardrums. Does wonders for my mental health, working in the field that I do. You want one?” He offers the cigarette to Francine.

“Put it away, Inspector.” She crosses her arms. “You’re going against protocol.”

“Fine, fine,” Bodie snuffs the flame out against his belt and brushes it off; ashes trickle to the tiled floor. He tucks the cigarette back into his pocket. “Just trying to pass the time. We might be here a while.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” the elephant mutters. She turns to the rhino, who’s still staring at them. “Why are you still here?”

He blinks like the oaf she knows he is. “What do you mean?”

“We informed you that your assistance was no longer needed. And it’s a confidential investigation, and I could have you fired for interfering like you did.”

The American officer’s face gets red and blotchy. “Now hang on, I helped you when you scared the kid, you can’t just threaten me like that!”

“I can and I will if you continue to ignore your superiors.”

“What my partner means to say,” Bodie steps between the two and gives an easy smile, “is that it’s been a taxing night for all of us and we’d rather you not have to worry about such a horrific situation any longer than necessary.”

“I don’t know.” The rhino squints suspiciously. “He really didn’t seem to like you, and I don’t want him to get hurt anymore. I don’t –”

“I know,” Inspector Singh’s eyes soften and his silver tongue waggles easily. “You’re an incredible man, worrying about a child that’s not your own. A remarkable trait needed in a good officer. But just like you’re worried about him, there are people worried about you. We’ve lost too many good men to stress and PTSD. Don’t let yourself be one of them. Please, take some time off. Go visit your family.”

Francine sees the hesitation warring in the American’s eyes, as well as the moment it loses to relinquishment.

“Okay,” he says reluctantly, glancing at the door one more time. “But can you promise me he’ll be alright?”

Bodie smiles sympathetically. “Cross my heart.”

Both inspectors wait until the rhino officer disappears from the hall completely; when he’s gone, Francine sighs and rubs her trunk.

“I hate having to play games like that, feels like I’m talking to children.”

“Ah, but you’re not the one playing games, silly,” her partner looks mightily pleased with himself. “And you weren’t very good at talking to that brat either.”

“It was just as much your fault!” She grumbles, irritated. “Now we’re just having more of our time wasted while Cooper’s killers are long gone.”

“Nothing to do about it but wait for now.” Bodie sticks his hand back in his pocket but doesn’t pull out the cigarette. “Will you stop pacing if I promise to stay quiet?”

“Deal.” And she stops.

They stay still and silent for fifteen minutes more when the children’s nurse finally opens the door and steps out into the hallway. He crosses his arms.

“Here’s how it’s gonna go,” Duke says, dead serious. “The two of you will go back in that room with me as a supervisor. You are going to ask your questions, and you are only going to ask questions. You’re not touching that child, you’re not touching his cane, and if I think there’s even a hint of too much distress for him then you’re out. Understand?”

“But, you can’t do that though,” Francine is in disbelief. “That directly impedes an official Interpol investigation, a classified one to boot, you can’t just –”

“I can and I will.” The nurse growls and his upper lip curls a bit. “I’m dedicated to the safety and wellbeing of my patients, and that includes this kit. I don’t care how confidential it is, I don’t care if this is inconvenient for you. That child has been through hell and I’m here to make sure he doesn’t go through it again.”

Duke braces himself in front of the door and looks between the two officers, waiting for acceptance or opposition. Inspector Singh quirks his mouth and sighs.

“I’m sorry, Francine, it looks like we don’t have much of a choice.” The bear takes his hand out of his pocket and pats it briefly as if to make sure the cigarette won’t fall out. Then he steps up to the nurse and gives that easy smile.

“Fine,” Francine growls. “But nothing better leave this room, you understand?”

“Of course not. This trust is a two-way street.” The dog cracks open the door and slips inside. After a moment he sticks out a hand and beckons the officers to follow. Francine hustles forward impatiently and Inspector Singh trails behind her. They all look to the bed.

The kit sits upright, holding a large notepad and a blue glitter gel pen. The Cooper cane has been propped up so the hooked end is practically wrapped around his neck. It’s a disturbing sight to Francine, who has personally seen that cane take out her comrades in near the exact same position. The child stares at the pen and doesn’t look up as everyone settles into the room.

“Hi, sweetie,” Duke murmurs as he crouches beside the bed. “We’re back. Do you want to introduce yourself or would you like me to?”

They watch as the child runs his fingers along the Cooper cane. After a moment, he turns the notepad around and shows them the first page. It’s two words, glittery-blue and written in shaky cursive.

Sly Cooper

Francine has to stop herself from rolling her eyes. There’s no way this is the kit’s real name. To her surprise and mild irritation, the nurse offers his hand to Cooper’s son.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Sly Cooper.”

Something passes along the child’s face, the closest thing to a positive emotion any of the adults have seen from him the entire time. But it’s gone just as quickly and careful blankness is the replacement. He takes the hand and shakes it once, then pulls back to wrap around the notebook and pen.

Bodie steps forward as if to say something, but Duke holds up a hand to keep him back. Then he leans forward to whisper to the kit. Francine can hear him anyway.

“Remember, you don’t have to answer any questions you don’t want to, alright? And if they need to leave, just give me the signal and I’ll make sure they leave.”

The raccoon places his right hand flatly against the center of his chest. He moves the hand in a clockwise motion.

“That’s exactly right. You’re a fast learner, Sly.”

There’s not another positive flicker; Cooper’s son has completely turned to stone. He fiddles with the rings of the notebook. The nurse glances sideways at the inspectors and nods very briefly.

Bodie takes the lead again, sticking his hands in his pockets.

“Well, I guess we can just get to the point. I asked you earlier if you saw what happened. Did you?”

Scribbling, scratchy pen on paper. The notebook is flipped around again.

Yes

“Great! Now we’re getting somewhere.” The inspector pauses when the child’s eyes flicker up to him before trailing to the nurse at his bedside. “Shall I continue or, no?”

“…You can continue.” Duke says softly, offering the palm of his hand which the kit takes and squeezes once.

“Alrighty. So kiddo, what’s –” he stops when there’s suddenly furious writing.

Don’t call me that, is accompanied by furrowed little eyebrows, conveying an emotion somewhere between hard anger and a cracked chasm.

“Fair enough, fair enough. So what do you want me to call you?”

The child shifts his hands and points at his name. This time Francine does roll her eyes, but neither of them say anything when the nurse gives them a glare that Cooper’s son can’t see.

“I think you should ask your last few questions, Inspector.” The dog suggests not-quite-cordially. “Busy officers like yourselves, we don’t want to keep you waiting too long, right Sly?”

‘Sly’ doesn’t respond to that in any way.

“Fine,” Francine grits her teeth. “How many people attacked your house?”

The kit’s mouth sets and he blinks rapidly, then puts down a single digit. It’s the number 5. Bodie is already writing it down in his own notebook.

“Good, good job – uh, Sly. Is there anything you can tell us about those five criminals? What they looked like, what species, anything?”

There’s a moment where it looks like they aren’t going to get an answer, and the nurse sits up a little bit in preparation to kick the officers out, but that moment is gone in a clenched fist and determined eyes.

The raccoon child writes slowly, stroke after careful stroke. When he’s finally satisfied, he hands the notepad to Duke, who reads it and in turn passes the thing to Singh. Both inspectors look over five words in blue glitter ink. One of them is misspelled but still recognizable.

Frog. Dog. Aligater. Bear.

Monster.

Francine feels her trunk twitch at the last one and lifts her head, but the kit is trembling again, rubbing his flat palm over his chest erratically. Duke stands and beckons them towards the door.

“I think this is the most you’re going to get for now. If you need something else, I’d suggest coming back tomorrow at the very earliest.”

His tone is curt but not quite unkind, so Bodie rips out the single page and gives the notebook back to the nurse in a show of good faith. Francine wants to scream at the unprofessionalism of it all.

“We’ll be in contact if there’s anything more. Come on, Francine.” The bear takes her arm and pulls her gently away, and the last thing she sees before leaving the room is Duke holding the notebook out to Cooper’s son, who has buried his face against his father’s cane.

Neither inspector says anything until they’re in the relative safety of their car. Then Bodie pulls the notebook page out of his jacket sleeve and uncrumples it.

“What do you want to do now?” He asks, brushing the crinkles out.

The elephant taps her trunk against the steering wheel. “As much as I hate to admit it, we probably aren’t getting anything more out of Cooper’s son for a while. Let’s get back to Interpol headquarters and see if they found something useful from that house.”

“Sounds good, lead the way.”

“Here we go,” Bodie hums cheerfully as he drops a short stack of papers on his partner’s desk. “Birth certificates, marriage license, official homeowner documents, aaaand schoolwork.”

Francine flicks through the first few pages, knowing they’re all sorted exactly as he named them. Sure enough, the third document is the child’s official birth certificate, with the name ‘Sly Cooper’ in bold, damning ink.

“He wasn’t lying about his name.” The elephant sits back in her chair and shakes her head, incredulous. “I can’t believe this. Cooper’s audacity, honestly.”

“He was definitely something else,” Bodie remarks as he snags the certificate from her and scans it. “Well, shit.”

“What?”

“Kid turned eight yesterday.”

They’re both quiet for a minute. Francine feels something sink into her stomach and rubs her eyes with her trunk to distract from it.

“Well, no point dwelling on what we could have done better,” she says firmly once the feeling has passed. “Right now we need to do our jobs. What else should I know about from this pile?”

“Mm, well, we’ve got a name for Cooper’s wife at least: Charlotte James-Cooper. She hyphenated her maiden name when they married.”

“That’s bizarre.”

“How so?”

The elephant touches the marriage certificate. “The Cooper family is notoriously prideful of their heritage. There’s police records of both men and women who take the last name when they marry into the family.”

“Almost sounds like the mafia.”

“That’s one way to look at it, I suppose. But it’s extremely unusual that Connor’s wife kept her last name, in a manner of speaking. In fact I’ve never heard of it.”

“The man named his only child Sly, Francine. I think unusual is an understatement.” Bodie flips through more of the documents and clicks his tongue. “Ooh, we got a homeschooler over here.”

“What?” She leans forward to look over his shoulder. Sure enough, there are filled-out homework assignments in the child’s cursive, marked as approved from some official homeschool organization.

“Looks like the mother was the teacher. Oh hey, he was doodling on this page, check it out.”

There is indeed a little drawing of a stick-figure raccoon with a hat and cane, carrying a giant bag of money away from one end of the page, where an angry ‘villain’ in a cape is surrounded by police cars. The raccoon appears to be running towards the other end of the page, where another stick-figure raccoon is waving at him, hearts drawn around her head. Beside her is a much smaller raccoon, holding a pair of tiny canes in his hands. This little figure has a phrase scratched underneath it: Sly Roichi Master Ninja Thief.

The two inspectors stare at the drawing a moment, taking it all in. Then Francine angrily crumples the paper and drops it in the wastebasket.

“Damn Cooper to hell, we were right. He was indoctrinating the kid.” She grabs the rest of the school papers, looking for more evidence. It doesn’t take long.

Doodles of Connor Cooper stealing from banks, people, police officers. Doodles of ‘Sly Roichi Master Ninja Thief’ – always labeled as such whenever he appears – doing backflips and scaling rooftops. Doodles of the mother beating up bad guys. Doodles of the whole family together, standing on a mountain of treasure. All the drawings have smiley faces above them, made in the same red ink as whoever graded the assignments. No words, just smileys.

But there’s a single one near the end of the pile that has a real response; the drawing is of a hooded raccoon standing on top of a tree. Far above is either the moon or the sun – it’s hard to tell when it’s only a circle colored in yellow – and in its shadow is the giant, vague shape of a bird looming over everything.

The red ink sentence has been daintily scribbled in the space between the silhouette and the raccoon: ‘please talk to your father about this after dinner tonight.’

“That’s a weird one,” Bodie points out, making idle conversation. “Kid must’ve had a nightmare.”

Francine lays that page flat and careful on her desk. “How much do you know about the Cooper family history?”

“Uh, besides the obvious? Not a whole lot. They were sneaky thief bastards, what else is there to know?”

She picks up the little notebook paper from the hospital visit, with four species and one nonsense idea being their only lead to Cooper’s murderers. The inspector looks from the words to the drawing.

“Singh, go get me our records on the Fiendish Five.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I’m pretty sure I know who the perpetrators are,” she says slowly, “and if I’m right, then this just got a lot harder.”

A/N: This took longer than planned but I've been so busy it's a miracle I got it out this week, honestly.

Thanks for reading, and have a nice day!

#sly cooper

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childofthenight2035 · 6 years ago

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Moonlight (Part 3) Final

A/N: Eyy, @ osh-osht0394 I’m finally done with this thank you for being patient and i hope you’ve actually liked these so far but anyway here;s the third part of Moonlight yavayay

Pairing: Oh Sehun x g!Reader

Summary/Prompt: On a camping trip, you stumble across a mystery that leaves you terrified for your life.

Genre: Pretty much everything, Wolf!AU

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: None

Find links to the other parts in my masterlist! Link in bio.

“This totally sucks,” my friend commented as we ducked under the sunroof of the little café that she had always wanted to try. We shook our umbrellas, freeing them from the raindrops. She dropped hers in the basket outside the door and I followed her lead. “It hasn’t stopped raining in days. We’re going to get flooded if this keeps up.”

We just might, I thought, partially knowing the reason behind the storm, but I didn’t comment. She pushed open the door and we entered the café. It was a snug little place, the warmth quite welcoming in this bad weather. Oh, this is nice. I looked around at the tables and chairs grouped in cozy corners. This is really nice. Looks comfortable.

We seated ourselves by the large glass windows on the far side of the café and picked up the menus that were already placed on the table.

“I’m so hungry I could eat a horse,” she pouted.

“Gross.” I pretended to choke. “Why eat a horse when there’s pie and club sandwiches?”

“True.”

We scanned our menus for a while longer before a waiter approached us. I heard my friend’s sharp intake of breath and I tore my eyes away from the list of drinks.

Oh wow, he’s gorgeous, was the first thing that popped into my mind. Does he seem familiar at all? Maybe I’m just imagining it. I think I would remember if I saw someone as beautiful as him. Oh my gosh, he’s looking at me.

His eyes met mine and suddenly the air in my lungs evaporated. I don’t know how long he held my gaze. I was only aware of my heart pounding. His eyes are so pretty, I can’t help but feel like I’ve met him before.

“Ahem.” My friend’s exaggerated cough brought me back to my senses. A light shade of pink tinged the waiter’s cheeks.

“I apologize,” he said, his voice deep and earthy. I’m swooning, I can’t. “It’s just that…” He looked at me again. “You’re very beautiful.”

Taken completely aback, my mouth parted in surprise. I covered my mouth with my hand to hide the wide smile that I couldn’t hold back. I was blushing, I was sure of it. What even is happening? “Oh. Um…thank you.” I glanced up at my friend, who was watching our exchange with a mixture of excitement and amusement. From the breathy laughter that escaped our waiter’s lips, I could tell that he felt embarrassed, too.

“Pardon me.” He lifted his little notebook. “Could I take your order?”

I remained frozen in my seat, lips tightly sealed as she ordered for both of us. Once he walked away, we burst out at the same time, “What the heck was that?”

“It’s love at first sight,” she said dreamily. “He just saw you and now he’s completely whipped.” I swatted at her arm.

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Hey, I’m just saying that it’s so obvious that he likes you.” She shrugged. “I’m hungry. Wait, did it stop raining?” I craned my head to peek outside. True enough, rain was no longer pounding the roofs and the road as if it wanted to drown everything on earth. Does that mean…maybe he’s moved on from it. He didn’t get what he wanted and he’s accepted it. That’s a relief.

After a fulfilling snack, I had completely forgotten about the rain. The waiter and I had avoided each other’s eyes as he arrived with our food and drinks, a red blush painting my cheeks again.

Once the food was eaten, we sat back in our chairs, waiting for the cute waiter to return with the bill.

“Here he comes,” my friend whispered in a not-so-subtle way. I widened my eyes menacingly at her in a warning to shut up. The tall dark-haired young man smiled down at me and handed me a slip of paper. As I grasped it, our fingertips brushed together.

I gasped as an electric shock jolted through my body. From the way he snatched his hand away, I understood he must have felt the same thing. The bill fluttered to the floor, but my mind was overwhelmed. Ecstasy coursed through me, but so did several memories.

Glimpses of a dark wood on a rainy night. Soaking wet and firewood scattered around me. Utterly alone. A wolf, with a sleek black coat. A young man. The werewolf.

“Sehun?!” I whispered, finally realizing why the young waiter looked so familiar. His eyes locked on mine when I spoke it. He gave me a tiny nod. I could scarcely believe it. This was my stalker? The werewolf who had marked me down?

I stood up, face hard, defiant. “I can’t believe you.” I shot my friend an apologetic look, gave him one more glance in fury, fear and contempt before storming out.

I didn’t even remember my umbrella.

Barely two paces away from the shop, thunder crackled overhead. Before I could even contemplate dashing back to the shop for it, rain had begun to pour down. I let out a frustrated yell and pressed forward, head bowed.

“Y/N!” I heard a deep male voice call my name, but I refused to turn back. He seemed to be walking behind me at the same pace. “Y/N, please listen to me.” I had no intention of doing so. I continued on as if I hadn’t heard. How dare he, I fumed to myself, how dare he think he can just target me like that? What am I, an object? As much as I wanted to stop and hear what he had to say, I was stubborn. I kept walking.

“Y/N, I can understand that you’re confused,” he called out, still steadily following me. “I don’t blame you. And after what Kyungsoo must have said to you…” He trailed off. “But it’s not like that, please believe me. Just let me explain.”

“I don’t need to hear anything you have to say,” I finally answered him back. “Just go away.”

“Y/N, I think we’re soulmates.”

At that statement, I stopped in complete disbelief and swivelled around to face him. “Do you hear yourself, Sehun? Are you crazy? If you think that you can just mark me down and use me, then you’re wrong, okay? Just leave me alone.” I swung back around and I took only two steps forward when I heard his voice again.

“Walk away. But first look me in the eyes and tell me you didn’t feel anything when I touched you.”

I paused, wanting to say it right out. But then I remembered the euphoric feeling that had run through me, the shock, his face telling me that he felt the same. Kyungsoo’s voice floated through my mind. “You managed to get him to transform. Even I’ve never been able to do that.”

I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. I shut my eyes tight until I felt footsteps in front of me.

“Y/N, please look at me.” His deep voice sent vibrations into my chest. I obeyed. He searched my eyes for some hint of what I was feeling, and I could only hope he had better luck than I did, because I had no idea what was happening. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to scare you that night.”

“What is going on?” I nearly whimpered. It barely registered that the rain had stopped.

“I don’t know how much Kyungsoo told you,” he began, “but the full moon is far too dangerous for me and everyone around me. The moon sired me, she can kill me.” He hesitantly reached out and cupped my cheek. “When I was in wolf form, it was so obvious from your scent—you were my mate, my soulmate, whatever you want to call yourself. I’ve smelt you so often on Kyungsoo that for a while I thought he might be my soulmate—“ he let out a breathy chuckle, “—but no, it wasn’t strong enough to be coming from him. I guess it was fate that brought you to me. I attacked Kyungsoo because all I saw was him, another wolf, with you. I couldn’t stand it. I apologize for everything.” He took my hand in his broad one. “I understand if you don’t ever want to see me again. I’m only asking for a chance.”

My mouth was parted in confusion and awe as he finished his little speech. I knew in an instant what I was supposed to do. I nodded.

“Okay,” I murmured. “I can give you the chance.”

He smiled endearingly and brushed back a lock of hair from my face. “I can see why Kyungsoo is so protective of you.” He brought my hand that was still in his grip, to his lips and pressed a kiss to it. I involuntarily shivered. His lips were so soft and plush and I longed to feel them against mine.

He swallowed nervously, possibly sensing my desire. “Is there any chance that you’ve kissed a werewolf before?” I giggled a bit, shaking my head no. He wet his lips. “W-would you want to?”

“Gosh, you’re too slow,” I whispered, ignoring the thudding of my heart. My fingers found his collar and tugged him toward me, my lips finding his. A jolt ripped through my gut the second our lips met. The kiss was better than I could have ever thought possible.

We broke apart, breathless, blood pounding in my ears.

“I think,” he panted, “we should go back. Your friend claims that you have the money.”

Oh no. “Dammit, I forgot about that,” I laughed. I linked my arm through his. “You’re right, let’s go.”

“Wait,” he interjected, “you’re not scared of me, right?”

I rolled my eyes. “Please. Behind that wolf, you’re just a puppy.”

p.s. there’s a bonus part now!

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queenofalotofdifferentworlds · 6 years ago

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The Body is a Tool

(Character Study, whole thing on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18220610 )

"Without you, we won’t survive two days. You must take care of yourself." That had been the words of my Queen to me this morning. Her violet eyes had shone bright with truth and trust, something I was sure she would not acknowledge just yet. In truth, I could not be sure she knew about that trust.

Before that, she had ordered bedrest for myself using my words against me. I would have liked to curse my principals. Regardless, I would not lie and I would never lie to my Queen.

Being of service to the Queen had proven to be an exercise in an interesting use of my abilities and magic. The fact that Cass appeared to find new ways of injuring herself rather horrifically was only one of the concerning matters.

Lightly, I tapped on one of the books I had spread across the bed I sat on to read. In contrast to some other patient I could have thought of, I actually did what was best for my body most of the time. Even if it was an inconvenience. That was the second most concerning matter regarding our Queen.

I was torn from my contemplations by the rhythmic knocking on my door. “Come in.”

Cass stepped into the room, and without a doubt I knew her mindset was in a troubling state. She held her body like a warrior ready to spring into action at any second. Her face was a broken mask, hiding most but giving hints as to how disturbed she was. Not in the way she seemed to have been broken over the course of her life time and time again. Her companions, although still ununited, would protect the Queen and I could not see any of them serve punishments I knew Cass had endured over the course of her life. Something had happened.

The other thing I observed was the way she treated her injured hand.

"It seems I am the only one honouring our deal." I tried for a factual tone but could not quiet succeed. Adrenaline surged through my veins and activated my blood pressure. I wanted to grab and shake her. I wanted to make her understand. She had to perceive that she was important. Her person and her body were significant.

"I didn’t do any handstands and didn’t use it the whole day," Cass answered flippantly, letting the paper she carried in her uninjured hand fall on my bed and sat down beside it. Cass was very much still a mystery to me in some aspects, but I could read her pain like an open book. It was in stark contrast to Cass herself, who didn’t even seem to know that pain should never be constant. Feeling pain was not the norm and should never be treated lightly.

"And I am sure it was not your own merit." I had not meant to let those words slip. Since yesterday, it was harder for me to stop myself, to keep myself and those words that I knew could cause so much harm in check. No matter my personal wishes, I served the Queen and she needed to be tended like a splintered vase. She needed careful consideration and no pressure at all.

"The body is a tool."

My breath stopped in my throat. The single reason I did not do something indignant was her reaction. Still, I could not deny the icy shower that rushed down my spine and chilled me to my core.

Cass eyes widened and she swayed slightly. Obviously, she had quoted someone and had even used that person’s tone of voice. Flat and cruel. Her breathing failed, and it took more of my control than I would have cared to admit to not react in anyway. Her inner turmoil screamed through the violet of her eyes that probably saw scenes from her past that no one should have to live through even once.

Minutes later she blinked and I saw her return to the present. Only now I allowed myself to move. Psychology had not been part of my studies, but I tried to make up for lost time. What I did know was that she would probably react violently if she was startled when she saw her past, so it was better to wait for her to come back on her own. However long it took. However cruel and painful it was to stand by and watch her suffer.

"Maybe, but it is also the temple of your being. It deserves respect and care." I forced my voice to only betray compassion and calm. My nerves were strung so high I could practically feel them vibrate while I sat there, looking at an incredible kind person knowing that there was no logic that could explain that. These words were the bare minimum of what I wanted to tell her. I knew if I had not said them I would have choked on them. As a healer, I did not like to take lives, but I would feel great pleasure in killing whoever had taught Cass those belittling lies, torturing her into believing them.

"Every body carries the story of their lives." Exceedingly careful, I closed the book in my lap and placed it on the pile next to me. I needed to stay in control. Cass needed serenity right now. Not a healer that forgot himself because he felt protective of his charge.

“A healer learns to read it." I found her eyes and held them. My next words would hurt her, I knew. This whole conversation would hurt her. As a healer, I knew that sometimes you have to cut open a wound before you can heal it. It did not change the fact that I already hurt because I had to reopen festering wounds in her soul that probably bled since she was able to grasp reality around her.

"Your body shows a story I would not wish for anyone."

Cass averted her eyes. Her body shook with small tremors, and the way she bit down on her lip, made me wait for her to draw blood.

Deliberately, I employed movements that would move the mattress while standing up to let Cass know what happened around her. In these situations, she reminded me of a frightened dear. She could storm into a life or death situation without so much as stop eating her breakfast, but everything concerning emotions frightened her worse than any hell ever could.

My motions were reflective and slow while I sat down beside her and placed my hand on her forearm. She did not retreat, nor did she show any signs of discomfort. It took me a moment to gather my courage. This conversation had to happen.

"No matter what you were taught, it was all a lie." When she did not react, I squeezed her arm lightly. Even if I had been as free with physical affection as Leander was, I could not be sure that would be wanted by her in this instance. Still, I wished I could do something less harmful.

"Do you think I'm not aware of that?" She glared at my angrily. There was defiance in that pain. It always surprised me how much power and light were in those shattered eyes. That light was nothing like a flickering flame or the soothing shine of the moon. There were violet suns in the Queens eyes, burning with hundreds of explosions. A destructive force that was able to aid life.

"That is not my point." I let go of her and stood up. It was cowardice, plain and simple. I was not able to look at her while saying what had to be said. Hurting her was inevitable, but even so I could not look at what harm I would cause her.

"You treat your body like an enemy, like a disobedient tool." I walked slowly to my desk, grabbing at all strands of courage that I could find in me. "I have seen your scars and how little attention you give to your injuries and pain.” I heard my grief bleeding in those words. I felt my face contort in an expression I had hidden every time I had seen her scarred body and listened to proofs of her granular soul. Preparing myself for what was to come, I turned.

"It scares me, my Queen."

Cass stared at me in shock, able to see my emotions clearly. Tears formed in the corner of her eyes, and I turned away. I would argue that the proud fighter she was would not appreciate that someone observed what she would consider weakness. That was quiet possibly the truth and also not the reason I turned away. I worked noiselessly while listening to every wrecked breath and every quiet sob.

The fierce pain in my chest was only almost bearable. Torn between pleading for forgiveness and comforting her, I kept working on an ointment. The hot tickles of tears on my face were testimony to how much I cared for that girl that had been bestowed one of the greatest honours one could imagine in this world. I guessed that feeling could not be any more intensive if she actually was my little sister.

I heard movement behind me of skin being rubbed, and I used that chance to clean my face as well. Listening to the calming breathing and making sure I was actually able to be of use to her, I turned, carrying a tray to her with what I had just prepared. Forcing the serenity back on my expression nearly caused me physical pain, which I would gladly accept as punishment for what I had done.

I sat down next to her and she held out her hand without a word. Whatever she still might tell herself, she had begun to trust at least Leander, Amalia and myself. She gave even more evidence of that fact when she drank the pain reliever without a question.

The disgust on her face regarding the unpleasant taste brought a smile to my lips. She reciprocated with a twitch of her own.

“It will relieve the pain and help you sleep."

She nodded to that, as if she did not care. “Thank you.”

There was a new tone in her voice. Something small and vulnerable, with just a trace of hope, if I was not mistaken.

This is a character study of Takumi, a character of Throne, which is also available on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16293821/chapters/38107559

also this is a gift to you Love @ensignanna

#Cass Pirk Novels #Cass Pirk #book #character study #fantasy book #I love all of them #Takumi #why do I keep hurting them like that #Throne

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mindingmyownbusiness · 7 years ago

Text

Duet

Pairing - Bucky Barnes x Reader Prompt - “I love it when you sing.” Summary - You’ve just figured out that the mysterious voice you hear singing through the vents is none other than the Winter Soldier himself. Now the only question is, what do you do with this newfound information? Warnings - n/a, just adorable fluff, it’s sorta my thang Word Count - 3026 Notes - Written for @true-queen-of-mischief and her 600 follower writing challenge, congratulations! I know this is hella late, it’s 100% my fault, thank you for being patient, I hope it’s worth it! Song lyrics pulled from “Wanted Dead Or Alive” by Bon Jovi, “Death of a Bachelor” by Panic! At The Disco, “Baby it’s Cold Outside” by Frank Loesser, and Dirty Dancing’s “(I’ve Had) The Time of My Life”.

My Masterlist

Stripping off the last of your combat gear with an exaggerated groan you tossed it in the corner of your bathroom on top of an embarrassingly large pile of dirty clothes. Guess I know how I’ll be spending my weekend. You started the shower, setting it as hot as you could stand and spent several minutes just letting the heat and the steam relax your tired muscles. Note to self: thank Tony for the endless supply of hot water in this place. You grudgingly went through the motions of washing the last remnants of the mission from your skin and hair, more eager than ever to collapse into the comfort of your bed.

Shutting off the water you reached for your towel, the details of the mission swimming through your mind. You started absentmindedly humming along with the singing coming from… wait, singing..? I didn’t… where is that coming from…?

It's all the same, only the names will change Everyday, it seems we're wastin' away... Another place, where the faces are so cold, I drive all night, just to get back home

I'm a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride I'm wanted, dead or alive Wanted.. dead or alive

Looking around for the source of the sound you quickly realized it was coming from the vents. Wow, whoever that is they are really good. You smiled to yourself, listening until the voice gradually faded away. Looks like someone on the team has a hidden talent. But who…?

It didn’t take long to figure out, especially with FRIDAY’s helpful assistance. With your room being at the far end of the floor your bathroom and the bathroom for the person across the hall were positioned right next to each other, much closer in proximity than anyone else’s. It had to be him. Freaking Bucky Barnes. You felt your cheeks warm just at the thought of him. There was no denying you harbored an attraction for the supersoldier. Strong, protective, a gentleman, and now I find out the man can sing? Is there anything he can’t do? Sighing you flopped down across your bed, Bucky’s crooning voice filling your thoughts as exhaustion finally claimed you and you fell fast asleep.

Training had been super intense that morning. You appreciated the new moves Nat was teaching you but that didn’t make your muscles hurt any less. Desperate for a shower you decided to skip breakfast and just grab a snack instead before heading to your room. As you entered the kitchen you saw Bucky rummaging around in the fridge, humming quietly to himself.

“Hey Barnes, toss me a bottle of water?” Grabbing an energy bar from the pantry you turned and saw that Bucky hadn’t moved. “Buck?” Still nothing. You raised your voice slightly. “Bucky!” Is he ignoring me or what? After a moment of hesitation you stepped close enough to poke him in his ribs causing him to jump and hit his head against the fridge door.

“Dammit! What the hell..?” He gingerly rubbed the back of his head with his flesh hand and yanked out his earbuds with the other. “You know (Y/N), it’s never a good idea to sneak up on an assassin. Not if you value life and limb.” He was trying his best to hold a serious face but you could see just a hint of a smirk edging in.

“And here I thought it was impossible to sneak up on you. I would say my skills are improving but that would be a lie.” You smiled apologetically, gesturing towards his earbuds which were still pumping out the faint strains of something. “Sounds like maybe you were really into whatever you were listening to…?”

“Huh? Oh, right…” He pulled his phone from his pocket and paused the music. “Yeah, Shuri set me up with this music app and Steve and Sam have been making some suggestions. Just trying to get caught up ya know.” He shrugged his shoulders, scrolling through his playlists.

“Hey, um I have that app too... If you want I could share some playlists with you?” You bit your lip feeling shy all of a sudden.

“Ah.. yeah, yeah I’d like that.” Bucky handed you his phone with a small smile and you made sure the two of you were connected through the app.

“I’ll see what I can put together for you then.” You grabbed your stuff and headed for the door, smiling like crazy once you rounded the corner on your way to your room and a much needed hot shower.

A few minutes and several gallons of water later you heard it again, the beautiful baritone of a certain handsome brunette floating out of the vents...

Do I look lonely? I see the shadows on my face, People have told me I don't look the same... Maybe I lost weight, I'm playing hooky with the best of the best, Put my heart on my chest so that you can see it, too

A girl could get used to this. You grinned, taking your time drying off so you could enjoy every single note.

I shouldn’t feel weird, right? Just because I’m actively trying to figure out when Bucky is going to be showering so I can eavesdrop on him singing? Hahaha, that’s not creepy at ALL. You groaned and buried your face in your hands at the breakfast table. This was an argument you’ve been having with yourself for weeks. It was almost as if you’d become addicted to his voice, the more you listened the more you wanted and if you were being honest with yourself, the more you listened the more you wished he was singing to you.. for you. And it had only gotten worse when he started singing songs from the playlists you’d been sending him. I swear if he sings Shawn Mendes again I’m gonna need a cold shower to follow my regular shower.

“Hey (Y/N), you ready for our run?” Thankful that your mental conflict was interrupted by the Captain you nodded your head and hopped up to do a few stretches. For once you were looking forward to a good run. The days had finally started to turn cooler and there was just something about fall transitioning into winter that excited you and made you want to get out in it. Way more motivating than running in hundred degree heat for sure, not that Steve noticed with all the supersoldier benefits he ended up with. “Good. Bucky and Sam are gonna meet us downstairs.”

Cool weather and a rear view of the Winter Soldier? Now that’s something I can get behind. You giggled quietly to yourself, earning a curious glance from Steve as you entered the elevator. “Just um, something funny Nat told me earlier. You know her, so funny…” You smiled weakly and cringed inwardly but fortunately Steve was distracted by your arrival at the ground floor. The four of you exchanged brief good mornings, not wasting any time before you literally hit the ground running. You and Sam paired off behind Steve and Bucky, soon finding your groove, laughing together every time you got lapped by Steve on Sam’s left and Bucky on your right. After about an hour of this you and Sam headed back to the tower to hit the showers. As you stepped into your bathroom you couldn’t help but smile thinking of how by the time you were done Bucky would surely be starting his own shower and you couldn’t wait to hear his song choice today.

Wrapping your towel around you, you paused, sure you had heard something... but no. Great, now my mind has decided to play tricks on me. Shaking your head you turned to head back into your room but you just couldn’t stop yourself from gravitating back towards the vent, leaning against the wall just under the opening. You closed your eyes, letting your head fall back against the smooth surface. What are you doing (Y/N)… just go get ready already, he’s probably not even in… there…? Your face slowly morphed from a mask of frustration into one of absolute awe as the first strains of one of your favorite songs of all time floated through the vent and into your ears.

Hmm-mm-mm-mm... Baby it's cold outside, Hmm-mm-mm-mm... But baby it's cold outside, Hmm-mm-mm-mm-mm... Been hoping you'd drop in, Hmm-mm-mm-mm... I'll hold your hands, they're just like ice…

You slowly slid down the wall, sitting on the floor and smiling wider than you had in quite awhile, humming along at first but slowly slipping into the lyrics with practiced ease:

(My mother will start to worry) Beautiful, what’s your hurry, (My father will be pacing the floor) Listen to the fireplace roar, (So really I'd better scurry) Beautiful please don't hurry, (Well maybe just a half a drink more) Put some records on while I pour…

Getting lost in the music you imagined what it would be like for you to be singing with Bucky for real, in person. You could see it so clearly, you and Bucky, bundled up together in a nest of blankets and pillows in front of a roaring fire while snow fell outside. What I wouldn’t give… You smiled at how easily your voices fit together, your volume gradually increasing as you got more and more into the song:

(The neighbors might think) Baby it's bad out there, (Say what's in this drink) No cabs to be had out there, (I wish I knew how) Your eyes are like starlight now, (To break this spell) I'll take your hat, your hair looks swell, (I ought to say no no) Mind if I move in closer, (At least I'm going to say I tried) What's the sense of hurting my pride, (I really can't stay) Baby don't hold out, Baby it's cold outside!

Your eyes flew open and you froze, suddenly realizing that your voice was the only one singing that last line. Oh no no no no… Scrambling to your feet you held your breath, listening for any sound that might reassure you that Bucky didn’t hear you but you were only met with silence. You cursed inwardly, wringing your hands and pacing around your room. Maybe… maybe he doesn’t know it’s me? You groaned out loud. Oh who am I kidding he’s totally gonna figure it out. Okay, okay... let’s not get hysterical now, I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? You took a deep breath only to release another defeated groan. Well he could be super pissed and never speak to me again. Okay, yeah that pretty much sucks.

Completely wrapped up in your thoughts you barely registered the persistent knocking at your door, absently crossing the room to open it. “Alright, alright I’m coming! Seriously can’t a girl go through a crisis in peace…?” That last word died on your lips and was followed by what could only be described as a very undignified squeak as your eyes took in the sight of one James Buchanan Barnes, slightly out of breath and standing in your doorway. He was shirtless and wearing Jesus take the wheel only a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair still wet, wet enough that drops were randomly falling onto his very muscular and did I already mention this well let me say it again very naked chest, lazily travelling the length of his torso down past his abs to… SNAP OUT OF IT WOMAN! Quit being a perv and look at his face!

Meeting his eyes you felt the butterflies in your tummy start to churn. “B-Bucky..? Hey, um what are you--?”

“That was you, wasn’t it?” His words rushed out at you, tinged with just enough of a sense of urgency to kick those butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy.

“I, um, what do you, I-I mean what are you talking about?” Your efforts at keeping the nervousness out of your voice were failing and you couldn’t stop your fingers from fidgeting.

Bucky took a second to look down the hallway then stepped into your room, lowering his voice. “Just now?” Your attempt at a clueless face only made him roll his eyes. “Singing, in the shower? That was you, right?”

You swallowed nervously, looking away as you realized it was pointless to keep trying to deny it. You nodded slightly, your worry bleeding into your voice now. “Are.. are you mad at me? I-I haven’t told anyone I swear!”

He shook his head slightly, rubbing his hand over his face with a sigh, “Geez doll, no... I’m not mad, I’m not... I don’t know what I am…”

Now that the truth was out your word vomit just kept coming. “I just.. I love it when you sing. You sound so good and you know the words to like everything and---”

“Wait…” Bucky narrowed his eyes. “ Exactly how long have you been listening to me sing in the shower?”

You cringed but it was too late now. “Um… a few months?” Bucky just stared at you with his mouth hanging open. “I know, I know, I should have said something and now that it’s all coming out I realize I totally invaded your privacy but.. ugh what was I supposed to do? Barge over there and tell you to stop? Now that, that would be the real crime.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, “Whatever you say doll, nobody was ever supposed to hear me anyway.”

“Are you kidding? Bucky you are amazing, like super talented. Four chair turn on The Voice good, I swear!” Before you could talk yourself out of it you reached up to cup his jaw, gently turning his head so his eyes met yours. “Hey, music is obviously a part of you. I get that you’re not ready to share it with everyone and I respect that. But… I’m not gonna apologize for not saying something. I meant what I said, I love it when you sing.”

“Well.. thanks, doll.” Smiling down at you Bucky leaned in for a hug but immediately jumped back, looking you up and down as if just now realizing that both of you were barely covered. “Holy hell doll you, you’re just in a… and I’m only… I, uh..” He was getting more and more flustered by the second and it was all you could do to suppress your giggles.

“Wow... I didn’t know a blush could go that far Barnes. Eyes up here, soldier.” Bucky’s eyes shot back up to yours, wide as saucers and his body super tense like he might dart any second. “Relax Buck, it’s fine, promise. Listen, how about we both put more clothes on and you let me take you out to lunch as my way of making amends. We can even go to that diner you’ve been dying to try. Deal?”

It took him a second but to your relief he relaxed, that lopsided smile that you loved finally making an appearance. “Deal, but I’m driving.”

“So karaoke night, huh? What brought this on (Y/N)?” Natasha slid into the seat next to you as the crowd erupted in cheers for Tony’s rendition of The Clash’s “Should I Stay or Should I Go”.

“Come on, do I really need a reason to plan a night out with my friends?” You bumped Nat’s shoulder and she smiled at you over her drink. “Plus, who doesn’t love karaoke? I mean, you can’t let a little thing like total humiliation get in the way of having a good time.”

“I’m all in,” Sam shouted from across the table. “It’s been way too long since we all got together outside of a world ending event. Heck, you even got Barnes to leave the tower for once. Where is he anyway? Don’t tell me he’s skipped out early.”

Before you can answer the music for the next singer starts. Everyone’s attention is turned back toward the stage where a tall, muscular man is sitting on a stool. A curtain of hair is obscuring most of his face and a distinctive metal arm is glinting in the spotlight.

Now I've, had the time of my life, No I’ve never felt like this before. Yes I swear, it's the truth, And I owe it all to you--

“Holy sh--” Sam looks at you, then back to the stage, then back to you, his mouth trying to form words but failing.

“Pick your jaw up off the floor, birdman.” Grinning like the cat that got the cream you patted him on the cheek. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I believe that’s my cue.”

'Cause I've, had the time of my life, And I owe it all to you...

Bucky takes your hand, helping you onstage then kissing your knuckles with a wink and a smile.

I've been waiting for so long, Now I've finally found someone to stand by me.

We saw the writing on the wall, As we felt this magical fantasy.

Now with passion in our eyes, There's no way we could disguise it secretly. So we take each other's hand, 'Cause we seem to understand the urgency

Being up there with Bucky, singing your heart out, you swore you’d never been happier. And you were so glad you finally convinced him that this was the perfect way to tell everyone that you were officially together.

Just remember You're the one thing, I can't get enough of So I'll tell you something, This could be love Because I've, had the time of my life, No I never felt this way before. Yes I swear, it's the truth, and I owe it all to you…

As the song ended Bucky pulled you into his arms, kissing you breathless until the whoops and hollering from your friends and teammates had you both laughing too hard to continue. “I love you, doll,” Bucky pressed his forehead to yours, grinning from ear to ear.

“I love you too, partner,” you kissed him once more before dragging him off the stage and over to where everyone was impatiently waiting to congratulate you both.

Taggy tag tags: @dianelogan @bucky-plums-barnes @buckyywiththegoodhair @cate-lynne @avengerofyourheart @sebspocketsquare @sgtbxckybxrnes @bionic-buckyb @plumfondler @imaginingbucky @sexonastickstan @angryschnauzer @witchymarvelspacecase @palaiasaurus64 @eyecandybarnes @promarvelfangirl @the-observant-fangirl @ballyhoobarnes @trinityjadec @kjs-s @sebbytrash @idreaminpaint @true-queen-of-mischief @buckthegrump @moondancewrites @thisisjamesbarnes @beccaanne814 @oneshot-shit

#my fic #bucky barnes x reader #karaoke #fluff #bucky barnes fluff

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thedefinitionofbts · 7 years ago

Text

Of Stardust and Spacetime (4)

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 (Final)

Pairings: Jeon Jungkook x Reader | Kim Seokjin x Reader

Genre: Scifi, Angst, Fluff/Romance, Comedy

Words: 4K

Description:

On clear nights he looks up at the sky, and he can still see you. He can see the image of you transcending alternate universes tied together by iridescent ribbons, passing through the iron cores of distant stars, and sliding across Orion’s belt to meet him in that magical place between the stratums of space and time. And he can remember that you existed, and that you stood next to him, just like this.

The night sky is dark because the observable universe is finite. It was infinite, the entire cosmos would be a blinding sheet of gold with every star that ever existed in this endless realm burning brightly like inexhaustible suns all fighting to outshine one another.

“Once a certain quantity is reached, people aren’t able to grasp numbers. You get to the hundred thousands, millions, billions, and then you lose track. I mean, how often are we asked to imagine a hundred million people? Consider what that would even look like.” Professor Min Yoongi’s voice is subdued but firm, he pauses to allow the students to ponder over his remark before continuing. “Stars only make up 4% of the universe, but as you can guess that is still a very large number.”

Taehyung leans over to whisper in Jungkook’s ear. “Lets game at my place today. Internet is real fast.”

“Tae, we have to talk to the professor after class, remember?” Jungkook reminds, trying to pay attention to the ongoing lecture. He and Taehyung naturally decided to pair up for the project but have been wasting the past two weeks submerged in consecutive Overwatch marathons when they should’ve been deciding on a research topic. In retrospect, it was to be predicted since they are both game addicts, and it was honestly fate’s fault for bringing them together so they could perpetuate that addiction to new levels.

“Oh, yeah, you’re right, you’re right. No more distractions.” Taehyung nods, turning back to face the front.

“Sir Isaac Newton is known as the godfather of modern day physics. Although his fundamental theories have aided in our understanding of the physical world immensely, they have undergone a few modifications since their inception.” Yoongi flips to the next slide. “We learn later through the work of Albert Einstein that time, which Newton deemed as constant, is not that unchanging linear progression it was once thought of as. I’m sure you’ve all heard of the famous Twin Paradox by now.” There is a nonverbal agreement that reverberates throughout the room. Yoongi nods in approval. “A twin hops on to a spaceship, travels to a distant star at the speed of light, and returns to find that he is younger than the twin who stayed on earth. It has long become fact that high speed and heavy gravity can both dilate time.”

“I never fully understood that.” Taehyung whispers another remark to Jungkook, who snorts in agreement.

“Einstein’s theory of relativity is built on the fact that space and time are constrained by the velocity of light.” Yoongi takes a sip of coffee, lubricating his throat before proceeding to project his voice to the mere five students in the back of the room. “Now, what time is, exactly, is still very elusive. I’m going to spare you all the details of the history of time, but if it happens to be something you are interested in researching, I would encourage you to consider selecting is as your topic of research. It can get extremely complex.” He clears his throat and switches to the next slide. “To date there are two main theories concerning the reality of time. The first one states that the past is gone and the future only exists as a probability distribution. The second hints that the past, present, and future all co-exists. We have since come to postulate that neither the first nor the second theory is entirely correct, and that time is more accurately a combination of both. It is nonlinear, in other words, reality is not a cause and effect relationship.” He smiles mysteriously. “Which brings me to the birth of quantum physics.”

Lecture continues for another 45 minutes, in which time Jungkook’s butt cheek falls asleep and he’s forced to find a way to inconspicuously massage it without other people wondering what the hell he was doing. Most of what the professor briefly runs through is not new knowledge to Jungkook, so he wasn’t allocating as much attention to the topics being covered as he probably should have. And he finds out that was a bad idea, along with wasting the past two weeks not brainstorming research ideas, when he and Taehyung walk up to the front of the lecture hall after class.

“Professor Min, we were having a bit of trouble deciding on a research topic.” Taehyung speaks first because Jungkook was a bit too nervous. He was never good at speaking to professors or interacting with them in any socially imaginable way. He constantly had this irrational fear that they would see through him and realize he didn’t know squat and was just winging life. Ok, so maybe that’s not giving him enough credit for surviving undergrad, but it certainly felt that way sometimes, especially when it came to the subjects he chose to study- namely theoretical physics.

“What have you considered so far?” Yoongi speaks without even looking up from his pile of scientific papers.

“Uhh, w-we..” Taehyung desperately looks towards Jungkook for help, but it’s obviously not something the younger could provide either. Cold sweat and panic ensues, and Jungkook may or may not be feeling the need to dash out of the room. But of course he’s not going to just ditch Taehyung or act like a socially anxious teenager- if it wasn’t too late already.

Fortunately, Park Jimin, the TA, steps in just in time. “I think the most interesting topics tend to come from questions that mean a lot to you personally.” He smiles encouragingly as he walks over to the two students. “Why did you choose to study theoretical physics? What are some of the unanswered questions you would like to shed light on?”

Taehyung is the first to answer, clearly more relaxed than Jungkook was. Said younger male is still not so subtly trying to avoid eye contact with the outwardly friendly TA. “W-well, for as long as I can remember, I’ve been fascinated by space, astronomy, and astrophysics. My dad gifted me a telescope when I was eight, and I’ve loved stargazing ever since. Theoretical is just an elective for me to explore unproven concepts.”

“Good, good. That’s the way to start.” Jimin shifts his attention to Jungkook, who has not spoken a word since. “How about you? Jungkook, right?”

Jungkook nods, swallowing nervously. “I-I…” Fuck, he can’t think under pressure. Is having no reason a good enough response? Will this Park dude see through it if he just bullshits it?

There’s a tiny little voice in his head that reminds him of his true reason, the driving force behind him sticking with a major that makes him feel incompetent 24/7. The motive that’s always been half hidden, that he’s deceptively tried to sort of push off to the side because it’s so ridiculous the only other person he’s ever told is Hoseok. And even that only happened a few days ago because it took him years (and after the event of physically holding your hand for the first time) to feel comfortable enough to reveal. No, there is no way he’s going to tell his physics professor, his TA, and his Overwatch buddy/project partner about you. They’ll think he’s lost his mind. They’ll laugh at him, and he’ll never have the guts to show his face ever again. Hell no, not in a million years-

…

An hour later, Jungkook’s cards are all laid out on the table, and he and Taehyung have a general idea on what they might want to research- more or less.

He fucking panicked.

The first little bit about meeting you when he was five just slipped, and the rest flooded out like word vomit. The good news is Jungkook managed to explicate everything quasi-logically and semi-believably. The bad news is Jungkook will be forever seen as the questionably crazy one. So much for trying come off normal…seriously at this rate, the whole world is going to find out about his secret that’s isn’t even a secret anymore. He can already see the headlines now: Scientist claims to have a girlfriend who doesn’t even exist in the physical realm.

Jungkook wants nothing more than to disappear off the face of the planet.

You feel less and less embedded in reality as the days pass. Your limbs would go numb whenever you spaced out, and you wake up feeling like your mind was wiped clean, sans the vague recollection of your dream from the night before. The clearer your dreams the looser your grip of the real world is, and ever since you informed Seokjin of your hunch about your dreams, he’s been increasingly worried about you. Of course you haven’t revealed the rising severity of your current symptoms, not wanting to distress him any more than you already have, but it was hard to get anything past the young man who’s been by your side for most of your life.

“Y/N, are you sure you’re ok?” Seokjin’s soft voice laces itself between the severed pieces of your contemplation, bringing you back into the library the two of you were studying in.

You look down at your blank sheet of parchment. The flatness of its off-white color makes you feel dizzy for some inexplicable reason. You had not begun writing your report at all, but that was clearly not the cause of your spiraling unresponsiveness. “Yeah, I-I’m fine.” You shake your head to dispel the distraction.

“If there’s something on your mind, you need to tell me.” He’s more adamant this time, staring at you intently as if to nonverbally convey that he knew something was not right and he wanted to help.

Ever since you had come clean about your strange dreams, Seokjin has been patiently waiting for you to share more, expertly hiding his growing urge to assist you in discerning such perplexities because he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. It was impossible for him to not notice how out of it you’ve been lately, forgetting some of the most fundamental pieces of information about yourself, like you’re age and sometimes even your name.

“Does it have to do with the visions?” He speaks again after you continue to remain silent.

“Seokjin, really, it’s nothing. I think I’m just overthinking it, maybe if I take my mind off-”

“Y/N” Seokjin interrupts. “I’ve known you for over fifteen years. I can tell when something is bothering you, and I can assure you it won’t go away until you’ve addressed it.” He was right. It’s sometimes uncanny how well he’s able to read you, how he somehow understands you better than you understand yourself. He exhales smoothly and reaches out for your hand, giving you that familiar light squeeze. “Need I remind you of Irene?”

Your face immediately heats up at the mention of his past project partner for History of Pandora during year one who you wrongly assumed was his newly found girlfriend and avoided him for months out of sheer pettiness. It’s your most embarrassing memory to date; one that you’ve denied on countless occasions, and you can’t believe he’s bringing it up now.

“Irene did not bother me.” You pout, releasing his hand and crossing your arms.

Seokjin’s lips quirk upwards. “Ok, whatever you say~” One would have to be blind to have not spotted your jealousy back then, but of course Seokjin is not going to push your buttons. He never does. “But seriously, Y/N, you’ve been unlike yourself recently, and I really think you should reach out to Namjoon if you think it has to do with your visions.”

“Namjoon?” The name of the man who provided you with star mail service two years ago rings a bell in your head. “The star mail guy?”

Seokjin hums matter-of-factly. “I think speaking to him may provide some insights. He has to have at least heard of people experiencing similar symptoms in the past, right? They’ve relocated to a newer astronomy facility since we last went, but I’ve searched up their new address on the interweb. If you want, I can drive you there this weekend.”

It really shouldn’t surprise you by now that Seokjin would go through the trouble to find a way to help you without you needing to request for assistance, but the way he just casually threw his suggestion out there when he probably spent a good part of his day running through the different options in his head rendered you at loss for words. You end up just sitting there, staring at him with a slightly slack jaw.

“Y/N?” He says, waving a hand in front of your face, almost afraid you had spaced out again.

“I-I…. would really appreciate.” You finally respond, cheeks feeling a tad warmer than the rest of your body. “Thank you, Seokjin.”

He smiles pompously. “Would you expect any less from yours truly?” He boasts, flashing you one of his signature proud, verging on arrogant, smiles, and thus chasing away the butterflies that nearly started fluttering in your stomach and making you roll your eyes at him playfully.

…

As promised, Seokjin drives you to the new Astronomy Center at the heart of one of Pandora’s largest metropolises the following weekend. You had grown up in smaller towns that were only marginally larger than the villages out in the countryside, so you had only ever seen the capital city as images through the screen of your television.

Gazing out the window of the vehicle you marveled at the monolithic structures rising from the ground ostensibly able to pierce through the sky. Their mirror-like glass windows sparkled under the light of Solaris’s golden rays, compelling your jaw to hang slightly ajar. The roads were made of smooth concrete as opposed to the cobblestone paths you were used to, and the occasional sky train that zoomed by on the elevated tracks made you gasp in delight.

“Star Mail must be a booming business.” Seokjin comments as he looks around with eyes just as wide as yours, waiting for the light to turn green.

“Yeah, if they can afford to pay for a facility down here.” You agree, swallowing as the concerns of how to explain yourself to Namjoon begin to take form. You had been thinking about it for the past few days, formulating what questions to ask and how to describe the visions that fostered the purpose of your visit.

“Relax” You hear Seokjin murmur as he senses your uneasiness. “This isn’t the be all end all. If he can’t help you, we’ll find another way.”

He had been reassuring you with similar words the entire ride, and you have to admit, it did the job of quelling the majority of your trepidation. Despite not knowing what you would discover today, you cannot disregard the hint of excitement that weaves itself between your natural anxieties, an enthusiasm that is only amplified by the breathtaking scenery rolling by.

The new astronomy building was a stark contrast to the broken down one you had visited two years ago. Built for the purpose of viewing the night sky, it stood on a hillside overlooking the city center you had just driven through the heart of. With only five stories, it diverged sharply from the skyscrapers that greedily took up vertical space, and its futuristic design made it more befitting of a research center at the forefront of science.

Stepping out of the car, your eyes are glued to the giant domed top of one of the sections, unmistakably made to house a giant telescope. It was understandably much larger and more overwhelming up close as you were standing in the most compromising position to view such a grandiose structure.

“Are you sure you don’t need me to go up with you?” Seokjin questions as the two of you enter the facility. He’s looking down at the reflective marble flooring and around at the decorative portraits of outerspace plastered on the walls in just as much awe as you are.

“I’ll be fine.” You assure him. “The real question is will you get lost in the city without me?”

“Do I seem that incompetent to you?” He puts on a bored expression as if the answer was self-explanatory.

You shrug. “I don’t know. It’s seems highly likely.”

He teasingly makes an offended face before nudging you in the shoulder. “Call me when you’re done?” He says, glancing at the large clock hanging from the ceiling.

You give him a curt nod before heading towards the elevator. Although you would’ve felt much more comfortable if Seokjin stayed with you, you knew you had to do this alone. And despite the habitual reliance on your old friend tempting you to fall back on your dependency on him, it was about time you started facing your own problems independently. Besides, you wanted to give him a chance to explore the city and would’ve felt bad if he drove all this way solely for your benefit. You take a deep tranquilizing breath as he waves to you one last time before the sliding doors squeeze shut.

When the doors open on the 5th floor, you’re confronted by a large room with a decorative telescope placed in the very center. An enclosed balcony-like area that had a slanted glass ceiling was located at the end of the long room, while the left portion of the chamber was lined with tall bookshelves and the right was filled with computer monitors and more of those same pod-like apparatuses that you assume are for sending Star Mail.

“Hello?” You call out, wondering if the entire place was empty as there was no sound other than the idle machines, softly humming in the background.

You hear a painful grunt, the noise of a book falling to the ground, and the emergence of someone from behind a cluttered bookshelf. “Yes?” The vaguely recognizable face of Namjoon appears with those same square glasses you had witnessed him sport two years ago. He tilts his head when he sees you, seemingly trying to recall why you appear so familiar.

You gulp before speaking. “Hi, I’m Y/N. I’m not sure if you remember me from two years ago, but I came to send star mail with a friend-”

Namjoon holds up a hand to signal for you to stop speaking. He chuckles lightly and nods his head. “Yes, yes, I remember you.”

You let out a breath of relief that he at least recognizes you. You also note that he must have an excellent memory, since he had only met you once and has probably seen hundreds of fresh faces in the past two years.

“You don’t happen to be back to send more mail are you?” He cocks a brow, walking over and offering you a seat at one of the tables next to the rows of organized pods.

You shake your head vigorously. “No, no. I was actually hoping to ask you some questions about some weird things I’ve been experiencing since I went through the star mail procedure.”

“Oh?”

You continue, wanting to get everything out before you the nerves caught up. “I saw some strange events while I was in the pod, and I’ve been dreaming about them for the past two years.” You glance up at him tentatively, waiting for him to either assure you that it was completely normal to experience such side effects or simply brush your statement off as nothing to be concerned about. There’s a period of silence as you watch Namjoon’s eyebrows furrow as he digests your rather quick and to the point disclosure.

“What did you see?” He inquires with an unreadable interest.

You swallow again, slowly regaining conviction. “I was in a unknown place, and I saw someone.” You whisper softy. “H-he’s not Pandorian, he’s…he’s…different.” You proclaim with more resolve.

“Are you sure?” Namjoon’s voice is lower this time as he raises both of his eyebrows in mild shock. This information was no doubt strange to him. In all of his years researching and aiding in the process of sending Star Mail, he had never heard of anyone having visions or hallucinations about a person that they’ve never met before while undergoing the procedure, much less experiencing such detailed dreams about said visions afterwards.

You close your eyes, trying really hard to remember just exactly what you’ve been seeing for the past two years. You find it difficult to recall these seemingly subconscious events, but you were pretty confident that everything was occurring in a linear fashion only it was abnormally nonconsecutive. It seems as though time is passing differently for you and the person in your dreams. “Yeah, they’ve all been about the same person. The first time I met him, he was very young. I would say about five years give or take? And when I dreamt about him again, he was slightly older and so on.”

Namjoon’s expression changes back to one of resting calm. He nods in vague understanding, unable to do much more than that. “What does it feel like? When you’re there, I mean.”

“Surprisingly, I can never remember much of it.” You huff a small laugh, recalling how difficult it was to even recall you were even having dreams in the beginning. You would only wake up more or less unsettled and confused. The clarity of said dreams have somehow increased in strength as you find yourself enjoying, for lack of better words, seeing that person. His lovable facial features, his boyish personality, the way he makes you feel like you belong somewhere your rational mind tells you that you don’t.

“Does he know who you are?”

You nod. “He seems to be unable to physically see me.” You purse your lips, trying a bit harder to draw upon that sensation of communicating with him, the way your voice only travels as invisible sound waves to his ear. “But he somehow knows what I’m saying. I don’t think he knows what I am or what I look like, and he’s always…” You pause, trying to formulate how to explain that look in his eyes when you’re with him, that shy smile that dances across his face every time he speaks to you, the warm feeling he gives off even though it might just be your imagination. “…happy to see me.”

“I see” Namjoon continues to nod.

“Do you think they are real events?” You prod, mildly puzzled as to why the astronomer is not commenting on your statement any further. The man seems to be deep in thought, and you regret blurting out an inquisition so impulsively, not letting him deliberate in peace.

“I have no doubt that they are.” He asserts, causing you to almost experience non-physical whiplash. You didn’t know he was going to give such a simple but assured response for something you’ve been hesitant to believe yourself and running through ways you can explain why they viscerally feel real. “If he’s not Pandorian, I would presume he’s from a planet that is millions of light years away.”

“Why that long?” Your question gives away your elementary understanding of metaphysics, but Namjoon remains patient.

“A light-year is a measure of distance. Space is so vast we have to measure distances using the speed of light, which is also the precise reason Star Mail is converted to electromagnetic waves. It’s the fastest way to send information, and it’s pretty.” He explains, adding that bit in the end for kicks and smiling at the thought of iridescent light beams shooting off into space before reverting back into focus. “The reason I’m bringing this up is because we’ve searched our galaxy for intelligent life and have not found any within a 50 million light-year radius.”

“What does that have to do with Star Mail and my visions?” You’re a bit ashamed to ask because Namjoon seems to be waiting for something to dawn upon you, thinking that the amount of information he just shared should be enough for you to come to some obvious conclusion.

“When you are separated by distance, you are also separated by time.” He answers. “Going by my gut instinct, I would hypothesize that he is somehow able to interact with that package of Star Mail you sent two years ago, but…”

“But?”

He looks at you with unreadable eyes, and you feel a chill run down your spine. “It’s supposed to take 50 million years for your parcel to reach him.”

...

#bts fanfic #bangtan bookclub #networkbangtan #armiesnet #btswriters #bts scenarios #bts imagines #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagines #bts angst #seokjin imagines #seokjin fanfic #seokjin scenarios #bts fluff #jungkook x reader #seokjin x reader #scifi

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kazdumps · 4 years ago

Text

Our Nature

A peculiar fellow is Mr. Angle but all groundskeepers of a cemetery ought to be. Working along with the dead under you is not something a "normal" person could do. At least the people who pass by him say those things. Once, which is only a few moments ago, he heard a group of teens talking about his unusual behavior. He confronted them, as he was not a man scared to speak when he heard unjust talk (though he's not social by any stretch of the imagination).

"And what exactly is normal?" He smiles a wide grin exposing crooked blackened teeth. Mr. Angle's hair was greeseily in tangles upon his head. The teens had not heard him creep up behind them ("Creep?" He would later be appalled by the word being used to describe how he surprised the youth. "Appeared, is more accurate old friend," He'd correct but it would be ignored) and swiftly ran away. Mr. Angle never got his answer but he's sure they would've been wrong anyway.

"Normal is what society deems and it changes constantly. Rapidly even. There is no consistent variable," Mr. Angle answers still grinning. They weren't bad kids and they'd either grow out of being judgmental or keep it to themselves.

"If they grow up; you never know when I may strike," Angle's companion arrives in the same method of which he creeped ("I did not-") behind the kids (" So if you say I've crept then you must've as well!" He would later exclaim. "I always creep. I'm rather creepy" the friend would respond").

"Time is up already? What a shame; also I thought I told you not to read my mind. It's for me and Her and no one else. Not even you, Death"

"I wouldn't read it if your mind wasn't shouting all the time. You wear nothing on your sleeve but part of you is desperately trying to reach out. Luckily, or unlucky, I can hear your true voice. And do you know what I think?" Death says; he, to human standards, is more appealing then Mr. Angle (at least the Mr. Angle as a groundskeeper who wore ragged clothes and kept his his appearance as untidy as can be) even if he changes his form constantly (as society changes along with it). His hair,on this occasion, is a flowing red waterfall. His eyes at first glance may be blue but another will argue it's green. Purple, someone will shout but they're quickly shut up; who in this world has purple eyes. Most agree on that he wears contacts but a clever few will delve into various superstitions. Death's favorite is when they call him a ghost; funny that people can grasp mortality but don't think it applies to them. For if you see Death's eyes, you won't have much time to contemplate them.

"I don't intrude on other people; so no,"

"You need to talk to more people! Even I talk to humans before I release them! All of them have something to say and there's bound to be at least one with something nice," Death says tugging on the string on his dark hoodie. Hoodies were much more comfortable then cloaks and attracted less attention.

"I talk to some others-" Mr. Angle begins to defend himself, as he always does.

"You don't talk to mortals; you've spent so much time stalking them I bet you can't even hold a conversation with one,"

"You use such cruel words, old friend, stalking- how horrid. You make me sound like a sinner,"

"Well you aren't the most pleasant person in thier eyes. Both mortal and not,"

"Are you saying other Angels don't believe I'm pleasant? I can assure-"

"Don't get your wings in a flutter. Other immortals whether that be me, angels, or any other being like us," Death sighs, placing a hand on his companion's shoulder (he didn't get physical touch often but with someone like Angle it wouldn't hurt either party). "I must depart someone...please consider at least some of my words," With that Death has disappeared just like how he arrived. In a blink of an eye.

"I talk to people," Mr. Angle stares outloud glancing at his watch. His work day is over and it was time to attend to his next job. One not even Death knew he has. "At least they're like people. They're rebellious like them and have free will and everything that people have. They're just more...evil,".

Dr. Grey is just as peculiar as Mr. Angle but for a completely differnt reason as he always is rather pleasant. Dr. Grey has never lost a patient that was in his care. Everyone is relived in hearing he'll be thier surgeon. He's delivered in the most helpless of cases and the mothers with new babies are in perfect health. Many other medical professionals look up to him. He is the definition of "The Good Doctor".

"Even the most skilled has lost someone- But Dr. Grey you've performed what most can only consider miracles; how do you do it?" A reporter asks as he tries to head toward his car. He just performed another successful heart transplant and the press crowded him.

"I guess it's just luck and practice- and I'm sure there are other doctors who are just as-or better then I am," Dr. Grey says scooting around the crowd but still answering questions to the best of his abilities. 'To the best I'm allowed' he slightly says to himself. He loves to talk to people but not about his own accomplishments; it makes his stomache twist in guilt and fear. Pride is a deadly sin and he'd never went to indulge in it.

"Dr. Grey! Some people are calling you the god of medicine; what do you think of this honorable nickname?" Another reporter asks shoving a microphone at his face.

"Honorable yes- but not accurate. I'm no god! Trust me on that!" He gives a smile but underneath layers of fear pile on. He wonders if these people were sent to make him break the rules. If any minute when he slipped up they'd push him into a fiery death. Or at least he would.

"Dr. Grey! Dr. Grey we need to-" Voices drown out each other trying to hold the good doctors attention for a little bit longer. Even if he is popular among the community people rarely heard about his methods.

A boy, only about fourteen or fifte inen, is the final one in his way. He stands at his car door not budging from his postion.

"I'm in a bit of a hurry to get home; I have to meet someone today. If you or a family member have any medical concerns you can call my office. My receptionist will make an appointment for you," Dr. Grey explains.

"Don't need none of that. Just a question wanted to ask ya. Nobody can do what you do. Did you sell your soul to the devil or somethin' ".

He opens his mouth to say something but promptly shuts it. What was there to say? He wasn't sure if what he has done counts as selling your soul but either way this wasn't the reason he helped people (nor the reason he was famous) and it wasn't Satan who controls his every move.

"My Dad said that a boy sold his soul to play the guitar real good so I thought maybe you did with yours?" Before Dr. Grey can think of a suitable reply the boy is pushed out of the way of the door. Taking the opportunity he gets in the vehicle letting out a breath of relief.

He has to meet that angel today and he'd rather not anger him by being late; it could cost him his life.

Dr. Grey drowns out his anxieties by turning on his radio. Music, he long ago decided, is man's greatest art form second only to literature. Instead of melodies though the radio crackles a lone person talking about all the negatives of the world. It seems to be all that newscasters want to talk about, even in times of relative goodness; they'd always find a way to spin a twist for a more "interesting" report.

"I witnessed a mother giving birth to her daughter while her wife waited outside. I saw a waitress get paid a tip of sixty percent and it was enough to pay her bills on time. I see time and time and time again people hold doors for the others before them. Everyone is filled with so much joy and yet you imbeciles never report any of that!" It's unusual that he feels such anger, especially over something that has happened since the dawn of its creation.

This building up anger is due to several reasons. The first of which being that he was running late. Untimelyness isn't a sin per say but sloth is; Grey is certain that angel has been looking for a reason to smite him out of existence since they first met. So being late is definitely a no go.

The second reason for all this tenseness (even though it came out as anger his feelings were rather mixed) is the press. It seems every day Dr. Grey gets more and more popular. Pride is a sin and pride comes around with popularity. It's the reason most celebrities think they're all that. Not only that but envy could come from him being popular too. He already noticied how his coworkers look at him with admiration. Surely, though, one heart would be poisoned with vanity. If he lead a human too hell- Grey shakes his head at the notion. There isn't hint of doubt in his mind that would lead to destruction too.

Then there is his anger- anger making him angry if this was I one of his books he'd find it quite funny- which leads to wrath. Not that he couldn't accuse the angel of holding wrath in his heart, a bitter hypocrite is Heaven, but that would do no good and hold the same result.

The last thing that troubles him, besides the annoying radio (why a predomintly talking channel was on in the first place is a mystery itself), has to do with his most recent patient; Ashely Sage. A lovely girl who has been dealt all the wrong cards in life. She's only fourteen and is two months pregnant. Dr. Grey did not press her on the matters but picked up that she did not "sleep" with this man by choice. Now that is enough to tug on his heart strings but her unpleasant tale doesn't end there. No the worst part of this all is because of her parents flawed thinking she will be forced to carry out the pregnancy.

He couldn't help her and that's what pushes his mood over the edge; no her life wouldn't be perfect with an abortion but keeping an unwanted baby doesn't help her any more. On top of that he's pretty postive the child won't even been given up for adoption. The poor girl has barely lived her life and now is forced into a role as a mother.

It sickens him- the rapist, the parents, a the flawed ideology under the guise of being "True Cristians". True Conservatives more like it- he knew an Angel and he would be horrified if he heard how humans interrupted and use the word of God. Or maybe he already knew of people like that and ignored it. He doesn't talk to people much.

Dr. Grey finds it a cruel sort of irony, that he knows more about good and would rather people participate in good, then most. Being a Demon and all and finding this very horrific always held irony. In some cases, where he was drunk and felt brave, he'd laugh at it. That he had a sound moral compass yet the ones who "served god" didn't. This case though? He just feels a very deep pang in his chest. One that stays with him the entire drive home.

Mr. Angle is finished with his "mortal" job which means he ought to be finished with his appearance. As he sits down in his vehicle his teeth were no longer black nor rotten, his ragged hair is slicked back, he smelled pleasantly of pine, and he dons a dark blue polo complete with kakhi pants. In colder months he may have worn his tinged pink sweater but the heat prevents that today.

"Kept me here ten minutes past, Death, damn your conversations- always keeping me late," He curses under his breath starting his car up. Car might not be an accurate description for his pitch black long vehicle from 1958; a retired hearse is better. It bore a scratch along it's left side but beside that it's perfect. Not only that but it kept most people off Angle's tailend.

He turns on the radio only to turn it back off. A stupid sob story was being told.

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yugirl-with-dragons · 7 years ago

Text

Arabic AU - Distraction

Guess what, another piece written by my friend @aceyugiohdreamer!!! (again, all the stuff you’ve read so far is a product of Ky’s mind, an I have no words) Ky is great and this piece is the best thing ever!! x°D

#very recommended to every faithshipper out there

However, she shows Aki the outfit.

Aki peered at the display. All she could see were a few sheer, brightly colored fabrics that, even if they had been more opaque, would still barely cover anything. They seemed less designed to function as clothing than to accentuate the body wearing them and exaggerate all movements, since their gossamer texture meant they would flow airily with the momentum. The only part of it with any substance were the strings of gold diamond-shaped ornaments hanging from the length of some of the sashes. They served no practical purpose, as far as she could tell. Nothing of this costume seemed practical.

She was starting to form an idea of what Sherry had meant by “entertainer.”

“What,” she seethed, glaring at the fabric with enough intensity to possibly set it ablaze, “in the hell am I supposed to do with that?”

Sherry rolled her eyes.

“I’ll show you,” she offered.

Aki quickly stepped back. “Unless you’re going to show me on yourself . . .” She glanced at the costume again, grimacing. Sherry half-expected her to hiss like a cobra. “I’m not interested. That there is disgraceful.”

“Don’t be a prude,” Sherry admonished firmly. “Say whatever you want about your own tastes, but there’s nothing disgraceful about the human body.”

Aki frowned. “That’s not what I—”

“Whatever,” Sherry cut her off impatiently. “You don’t like it? Fine. It’s been noted. Now, are you going to put that aside and do it anyway for the sake of the cause, or not?”

Aki’s heart pumped molten iron through her veins. She wanted to retort that she could come up with a better plan if she had a chance, one where she didn’t have to wear such worthless scraps for the provocation of any onlookers’ lewd desires.

But it was true that Aki had been raised her entire life to think in straightforward terms. She wasn’t trained to deceive or sneak around clandestinely. Her plan would most likely consist of storming in at the front gate with companion dragons at the ready. She could be properly clothed for that.

But were any of the others ready enough to use their magical gifts? Would they be ready to take on an entire army? Would innocent people get hurt in the fight? Would Rex have more surprises waiting for them? She hadn’t sensed him up to anything major the last few days, but she also hadn’t sensed his operation of the perverted underground chamber until the very last minute—what else might she have missed?

And with that in mind, the less time they wasted, the better.

She ground her jaw.

Sherry waited patiently with a perceptive eye that Aki glanced away to avoid. Finding the ensemble again made her stomach clench, but she also couldn’t ignore the stinging shame of thinking that if she refused this, she would be selfishly dooming the world to destruction for her own pride and dignity.

She would be the greatest of all failures, throwing away everything she had been given and everything she had accomplished with her skill, rendering herself and her life meaningless. How could she face the Crimson Dragon after that? How could she face the millions of lost lives in the afterlife who died because she couldn’t bear to wear one outfit with scanty coverage?

The weight of their imagined judgment felt like burning coals on her head.

“Fine,” she muttered, still not looking a Sherry. Though they were both strong, confident women, she could imagine how childish she must seem through the other’s eyes right then. But it wasn’t childish to her: for Aki, this was a matter of identity. Her clothes marked her as part of her tribe, and marked the station she held among her people. To strip herself of that . . . it felt antithetical to everything she was and lived for. Could Sherry understand that? Or did she really think her just a prude?

She felt a strong hand on her shoulder then—and the compassion it conveyed.

Sherry’s voice was somber. “Everyone has to be prepared to make sacrifices in dire times.”

Aki’s first bitter thought was that this was beyond sacrifice—more of an excessive test of her devotion, or some wild joke—but she held her tongue.

Sherry pat her shoulder, then asked, “Where do you want to change?”

Aki sighed with resignation and gestured to a corner where three rugs stood on posts, connected lengthwise and set into a zig-zag. Though technically the whole temple was her space, she preferred to have an extra layer of privacy for undressing.

“Come on,” Sherry said with gentle motivation. She gathered the ensemble into her arm and nudged Aki on. Once they were safely behind the curtain, Sherry put a hand on her hip. “All right, we can go one piece at a time, or all at once, whatever you prefer.”

Aki felt her face burn. No one had ever seen her naked. No one had ever seen more bare skin than her face, hands, and feet. How could Sherry be so casual about this?

Sherry was diplomatically patient, and seeing Aki’s apparent equal distaste for either option, she made the decision herself.

“One at a time then,” she declared.

Aki agreed silently, taking in a deep breath in an attempt to calm her nerves. When that didn’t work, she could only push herself to go through with it anyway. Slowly she removed her topmost layers—first her shawl, then her outer robe, then the sash wrapped around her waist, then finally her overtunic—until she only had on her undertunic and pants. She swallowed, then grabbed the back of her tunic and slowly, reluctantly, slid it up and over her head. For a moment she held it bunched around her arms, covering her breasts. She couldn’t bring her eyes higher than Sherry’s waist as she hugged it tight to her chest, but after another deep breath she finished by slipping her arms out of the sleeves one by one and rolling the tunic up around them. Only when it was in a neat bundle did she finally set it to the ground, then she stood with arms crossed over her chest to give herself some small sense of comfort.

“All right,” Sherry said softly, drawing up one of the pieces of fabric—though, how she could tell that was the one that went on top was a mystery Aki. Seeing Aki’s uncomprehending eyes, Sherry held it up with both hands to give her a better view. “This is the top. See?”

It was a long orange sash, with the string of ornaments dangling along the bottom of the center. As she looked closer, she could see that there were designs embedded into the fabric, and she felt a sour tinge in her mind at the thought that this must mean it was expected that the wearer would get close enough to the audience for them to see the designs, too—otherwise, what was the point? Fortunately, at least, this middle section seemed opaque enough that it would conceal the skin beneath. She could also see two U-straps hanging down from the top.

“See these?” Sherry pointed to two small cups sewn into the back of the sash. “Fit your breasts into these. They’re meant to keep them steady and push them up a bit so they look rounder.”

Aki felt no enthusiasm about this lesson—but she nodded to show comprehension.

“Slip your arms through these”—she held up the straps—“then hold them up.”

Aki felt squeamish, pressing her arms harder against her chest, but hoped that if she cooperated this would get over with sooner. So she did as instructed and let Sherry guide the straps down the length of her arms to her shoulders before holding them up at her sides. Sherry pressed the sash against Aki’s front—with a width that only stretched from the middle of her chest to the bottom of her lowest rib—making sure to fit the cups comfortably over their targets, then went behind Aki so she could tie the ends together tight enough that the whole thing held snuggly against her body.

Aki had never word anything that clung to her skin this way, and she felt an instinctual desire to wriggle out of it.

“Now, the rest of the top portion includes these.” Sherry lifted up four more long strips of a matching bright orange, which at first Aki thought—hopefully—would be more layers to cover her body.

But no.

Sherry wrapped and tied each one around her upper arms and wrists so that they hung almost to the floor. Aki swayed her arms experimentally, and as she thought, the fabric was so light that they began to float with the slightest movement.

Purely for show. Visual interest.

They would have been better wrapped around her body.

“All right, ready for the next part?”

Aki grimaced.

“No.”

But she put her hands on the waist of her pants anyway and untied the straps. Then she unwound them until the pants were able to fall off if she let them, but instead she held them up and, with great deliberation, stepped out of them one leg at a time. Then like the tunic, she lifted them and folded them around her arms into a neat bundle before setting them down.

“All right,” Sherry said, holding up the next piece. To Aki it looked like two long cuts of fabric hanging down from a horizontal band. “You’re going to step into the undergarment piece,” she instructed, moving aside the front cloth to show what she meant. Aki breathed a prayer of thanks that it had at least that much. Sherry handed the piece over and Aki configured it in her hands so that she could place her feet through the band and raise it up to her hips. Sherry then tied a knot in the back that set it firmly in place. Aki looked down, dismayed but unsurprised to see that the hanging fabrics did nothing to conceal her legs in any worthwhile way.

“Good. Now, one last thing.”

Keeping behind Aki, Sherry swung a small cut of fabric around her face and tied it so that it hugged across the bridge of her nose, teasing the bottom half of her face with it feathery touch.

Sherry stepped back around and gave Aki an evaluative survey, her eyes riding up and down her body without a hint of embarrassment or hesitation.

It only exacerbated her chagrin.

And then came assessment.

“Perfect. You look perfect.”

Aki crossed her arms again, holding herself defensively.

“That is not what I want to hear,” she muttered.

Sherry exhaled, summoning her patience. “Listen, it’s only awkward if you make it awkward. It doesn’t have to be, because despite what you think, you don’t look ridiculous—you honestly look the part. Now it’s just a matter of acting. Giving off the right air. If you own it, then you’re in control, and there won’t be anything to be embarrassed about.”

Aki had serious doubts there was any way she could feel in control of this situation. She felt stripped of it—not to mention of her clothes, too.

She needed Sherry to keep going, to boost her morale higher, help her believe that she could actually pull this farce of a role off.

That wasn’t what she got.

“So, that in mind: do you know how to dance?”

Still strained with doubts, Aki muttered, “I know my people’s way of dancing.”

Sherry gave a look that made it clear she doubted that would do any good.

“Well, look, the basic principle isn’t that hard. There’s going to be music, and you’re going to want to try to move in time with it, but the main thing you’re going to want to do is focus on drawing attention to your curves—so sway your hips a lot, and twist whenever you can to show off your breasts.”

Outside the temple, where Yusei and the twins had been lounging in the shade, the three of them jumped at the sudden, horrified shriek, “YOU WANT ME TO DO WHAT?”

Ruka and Rua were on their feet, hearts pounding.

“Should we go in there?” Rua asked Yusei, nerves coiled and muscles ready to pounce.

Yusei pressed his ear against the canvas and heard a muffled voice reply with exasperation, “Do I have to tell you everything?”

Yusei put his hand on Rua’s head, patting him reassuringly.

“I don’t think there’s anything we can do. Don’t worry, Aki will be fine.”

He kept his face confident as he thought to himself, I hope.

Aki was shaking, Sherry’s unreasonably casual manner unbearable on top of everything else.

And despite Aki’s alarm, Sherry continued undeterred, slapping her hands onto Aki’s hips. The unexpected touch made Aki jump.

“These things. Their called hips. And when you move them”—Sherry pushed to force a side-to-side motion—“they get people’s attention. Which is what we’re after here.”

Aki stepped back, waving Sherry away.

“Don’t make fun of me!” she demanded. “You’re not helping!”

Sherry put her hands on her hips. “I would have thought a high priest like you would be used to being the center of attention.”

“Not like this!” Aki waved her arms emphatically, only to feel that the comical levity of the floating fabrics undermined her seriousness. She huffed, smacking one as it fluttered by her side. She turned her eyes back to Sherry with a pointed glare and asked, “Why do you even know so much about this anyway? Are you around nearly-nude dancing women often?”

Sherry crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “Why not?” she asked with assuredness that dared Aki to object. “These dancers work hard and are skilled at what they do. They are a marvel to watch. And it’s the same with the men. They’re all artists, and I take pleasure in admiring their work.”

Aki didn’t know what to say to that at first. It wasn’t her place to judge or downgrade anyone else for their profession. But it still didn’t make pretending to be something else any easier. So she just stood there, feeling tight, ridiculous, and exposed.

“I prefer my kind of art,” she muttered bitterly, waving her fingers rhythmically so that they summoned a small, curling wind. She enjoyed the thought of her power ripping the flimsy fabrics apart out of spite.

“And I prefer mine,” Sherry countered, stepping forward. “And hopefully, we can both get back to them quickly.”

Aki nodded to affirm her agreement.

Sherry returned the nod, signaling mutual understanding.

“So, with that in mind—” Her hands smacked back against Aki’s hips and gave them a quick jerk. “Show me what you can do with that beautiful body of yours.”

Aki flushed, burning with indignation, doubting that if any strangers touched her like this while she was in the middle of her act that she would be able to keep herself from ramming her knee into their face.

Sherry chuckled. “Careful, or you’ll turn just as bright red as that dragon god of yours.”

Aki began twisting the ball of her foot into the ground. “Shut up,” she muttered.

Yusei was still standing by the temple when Sherry came out, looking utterly pleased with herself. Yusei jumped to attention, as did the twins beside him. Sherry quickly met his eyes, apparently having intended to find him in the first place, and approached him with a stride that struck Yusei as triumphant.

“Yusei,” she addressed, putting her hands on her hips. “I would very much appreciate you providing a second opinion.”

Yusei blinked.

“What?”

Sherry closed her eyes to hide their roll.

Then she gave him a direct look.

“I want you to go in there, take a good look, and tell me if you think that priest will make a passable entertainer in the royal palace. Understand?”

Yusei was visibly baffled. “But . . . why me? I wouldn’t know that. Jack would be more likely—”

“I am not letting that blustering, uncouth brat anywhere near Aki,” Sherry said, slicing through the suggestion with absolute refusal. “She’s fragile and on edge enough as it is. I need someone with tact. Someone who can put her at ease.”

Yusei immediately felt silly for having even brought up the name.

“I’ll go,” Ruka offered shyly. “Maybe I could help?”

Sherry gave her an evaluating eye, then shook her head. “No. Thank you, but, I need a more . . . mature eye.”

The suggestiveness in her tone made Yusei nervous.

“What do you—”

“Just get in there!”

Sherry grabbed his arm and jerked him forward, then pushed his back when he had stumbled past. Yusei caught himself on his feet and straightened up at the closed flaps. He glanced at Sherry, who gave him a hard look with her arms crossed. There’d be no arguing with her.

Yusei relented. After all, if Sherry thought Aki needed someone to calm her down, well, as her friend, he was happy to be the one to do it. He took a deep breath then called out, “Aki? I’m coming in . . .”

There was silence for a moment, and just as he was about to glance at Sherry again, he heard a small voice—an unnatural sound coming from Aki—call back, “Ok.”

So he put out his hand to create a small opening and slipped through.

Then froze.

She was standing there, in the center of the temple, arms crossed over her chest, looking like she was huddling for warmth against cold air.

And every fiber in his body told him to look away—because he felt like he was seeing far more than he ever should.

Her entire outline was visible, and most of her skin, even with the few swaths of vibrant orange fabric that pretended to conceal it. He had the very intense feeling that this was a terrible invasion of privacy, and yet . . . his eyes felt stuck.

She was so clearly uncomfortable, and he was being discourteous. He should look away. He told himself to look away. He should show her some decency and respect her modesty.

But he couldn’t even blink.

As the seconds passed, Aki wriggled where she stood, frowning and growing a darker, warmer shade all over.

“What?” she finally demanded sharply, pressing her arms tighter over her chest.

He felt like a complete idiot. Thirteen years of the highest quality education, five years of building up street smarts, and he could think of nothing to say. Nothing.

He opened his mouth, begging for something to come out.

“I . . . I . . .”

Aki’s body shrunk in on itself with growing agitation.

“What?” she shouted. “What is it? You want me to entertain you too? You want me spin around all provocatively”—she waved her arms, sending the sashes tied to them flying in wispy trails around her—“and satisfy some perverted fantasy of yours? Is that it?” She realized then that she had uncovered herself and quickly slapped her arms back crossed over her chest, glaring at him with a hot mix of hostility and embarrassment.

Somehow that rattled Yusei’s mind back into operation.

“No,” he countered, holding his hands up in a defensive gesture. “That’s not—I don’t—it’s just . . . you . . . you look . . . amazing.”

It felt so flimsy. As excuses went it only convicted him more of his offence. He prepared himself for a blast of her ire.

Instead her eyes widened, and her cheeks darkened to a deep, red amber. For a moment they stared at each other in silence.

It did not escape Aki’s notice that his eyes traveled nowhere beyond her own.

Maybe she had spoken too rashly, she thought, feeling her agitation soften in shame.

“I don’t want to hear that,” she mumbled, looking down. She pressed her bare thighs together, hating that she could see them through the translucent orange. It felt wrong, so wrong to her. She could decide to bear with it, but this would never stop feeling wrong. And for Yusei to see her like this . . . She had the sinking sensation that she had completely lost his respect now. How could he ever take her seriously again?

She heard the soft footsteps on the rugs as Yusei approached her. Her body tensed defensively, but she forced herself to stay put—running away would have only made her even more ridiculous.

And then she felt Yusei’s hands on her shoulders. She jumped at first, because she hadn’t been expecting it, but then she looked up and saw his eyes again. And they were such kind eyes. And it was such a companionate touch. She swallowed, wondering why she felt a tremor in her spine.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice.

His hands were on her bare skin. Her bare skin.

That must be why she felt shaky. This was too strange. Her body was responding to the unnatural feeling of being exposed to such contact.

Or was it . . . maybe it was . . . those eyes—eyes a richer blue than the sky—looking at her, at her. Like that. Despite having such open opportunity, her body vulnerable and defenseless against his exploring gaze, he maintained a deep hold on her face. He chose to come close and see her—the way she wanted to be seen.

“I was just . . . surprised. I didn’t mean . . . to make things worse for you. I know this is hard.”

He gave her shoulders a squeeze. And she felt his support fill her as if he had summoned it magically into her heart.

“But you’re going to do great. I know it.” He spoke with such confidence. His voice was so warm. His touch so soothing. “We’re counting on you, Aki, and I have every confidence in you. You’re strong, and smart, and you can get through anything. So you’ll get through this.”

Her head began to buzz, her scalp tingling. And her throat felt dry like the air. She had to swallow again.

“You don’t think I look stupid?”

He shook his head. “No,” he said honestly. Of all things, stupid was not at all how he thought she looked. “I really don’t. It’s strange, for sure, but not stupid. And just think, when we’re done, you’ll never have to dress like this again. You’re doing something that makes you uncomfortable for a bigger cause. That means a lot, Aki, and I’m proud of you. You should be proud of you.”

Words escaped her, just out of reach of her numbed mind. There were only two she could manage to string together.

“Thanks . . . Yusei.”

He squeezed her shoulders again—and her head swelled with the sound of her heartbeat.

The air felt so cold around her shoulders when he removed his hands.

For the briefest moment, she had forgotten how bare she was, but when his own face began to color with a new shade of red, the memory came flooding back.

“Well, I . . . I don’t want to, you know, keep you, so . . . I’ll just . . . I’ll let you . . . I’ll go now.”

He hadn’t meant to stumble so inelegantly. It was just easier to keep his thoughts collected when all he could see of her was from the neck up. Now that he had stepped back, he had to fight against the call of the bright colors—and the curves they highlighted—below that boundary. With his attention split, forming sentences had become much more difficult.

He cursed himself. Nothing had ever addled him like this before, and he couldn’t let it. This was too important. He needed to get his head together before their mission started or else he’d be a liability. But also because . . . Aki deserved better.

She still had her arms crossed tightly—self-consciously—over her chest, which Yusei deliberately prevented his eyes from sinking towards. He gave her a nod to excuse himself, then turned, forcing himself to exit at a calm pace.

Only when he was safely outside did he exhale a long breath and bury his face in his hand. But with his eyes closed, his mind went rogue, filling the emptiness by conjuring the image of her it had captured in that brief view. He wanted to dig it out, or at least pour water over himself—because he felt so hot in his chest.

This was ridiculous. He had seen plenty of women in the city, what the hell was wrong with him? Why did the only one his mind had ever decided to latch onto have to also be the one with the power of a fiery god blazing inside her?

Right, that’s right, remember that. If she wanted to, she could probably summon a wind strong enough to tear limbs right off someone’s body. Wasn’t that terrifying?

But . . . no. That wasn’t all she could do. Terror was just a part of it—a part of power in general. Mostly, what he felt when he saw her bursting with so much magic and energy and confidence . . . was awe. That Dragon was magnificent to be sure, a being unlike anything he had ever experienced, but there was something about her . . . He tilted his head back, relishing in the word that came to mind.

Glory.

She shined with it.

And to see her this way, shriveled up by humiliation with and costumed in a way that seemed to mock her true power . . . felt wrong.

And yet, his mind still insisted on superimposing that image over the other—fabrics swirling and ornaments chiming and skin catching the light of the sun and—

He slapped his hands over his face and crouched low to the ground, groaning.

He considered praying to the Dragon for help.

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