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florencemtrash · 10 months ago

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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Seventeen

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: None. Some angst. Some fluff. AHHHHHHHHHH just look at the gif guys

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

“Let me know if I’m hurting you.”

“I will.”

The wet cloth soothed his burning skin as you carefully cleaned away the smattering of blood dashed over his high, bruised cheekbones like freckles. You were both holding your breaths, only daring to move when your lungs demanded it. Azriel sat on the chair you’d dragged into your bathroom, face level with yours as you leaned down to inspect his face with two fingers tucked beneath his chin.

Azriel’s fingers twitched at his sides, aching to touch you somewhere. Anywhere.

“You said you’d tell me if I hurt you.”

“You’re not hurting me, Y/n.”

Azriel could have told you that he was well versed with cleaning blood off his body and clothes. He could have reminded you back in the dining room that Feyre and Rhysand stood only ten feet away and could have whisked away his injuries and the bloodstains with a single touch or snap of their fingers. But instead he’d said nothing. He’d let you close your hand around his, fingers dangerously close to his thrumming pulse, and followed you to your bedroom while ignoring the throbbing pain of his cracked ribs.

Feyre called your bedroom The Wisp after having decorated it with all manner of airy, cream-colored furniture accented with soft browns. Your desk was overrun with neat piles of papers, books, and journals. The windowsill by your bed was dedicated to pre-sleep novels and clusters of lavender tied with twine and left to stand upright in vases fashioned from ink bottles. The scent of old books and parchment paper clung to every surface along with something that smelled clean and entirely like you.

Your bathroom was similarly orderly. Bottles of perfumes, lotions, and oils were laid out on the countertop like little soldiers, catching and scattering the moonlight from the window in a rainbow of color.

You brushed the cloth over his lips, eyes lingering on the two splits already scabbing over, then down the curve of his jaw to his chin.

It was reverently quiet here in your bathroom. Nothing but the faint and steady drip from the faucet into the quartz basin and your breathing filling the space.

Color had been spilled over Azriel’s face like a watercolor painting, equal parts painful and beautiful to look at. Because he was still so, so beautiful looking up at you with those whisky eyes that made your head spin. Those dark curls that hung over his forehead like seafoam waves. Your hands fluttered over the bottles on the countertop before settling on a pale green one that smelled strongly of mint. You smoothed the oil over Azriel’s face, leaving a cool, tingling sensation wherever you touched.

“I’m sorry about Lucien,” You whispered. “And Helion. I never wanted you to get hurt like this.”

“Don’t apologize.” He smiled sadly. “Cassian was right when he said I had it coming.”

You winced. “How bad was it when you fought Lucien the last time? When you invoked the Blood Duel?”

Azriel didn’t shy away from the question, and his gaze never left yours as you quietly restoppered the bottle. “I was a second away from stabbing him through the heart when Elain stopped us. There are a fair number of scars we both left that fight with, but we did walk away,” He stiffened at the memory, “Barely.”

“Do you… do you regret it?”

“Yes,” Azriel said quickly. Firmly. “I will regret what I did and what Elain and I did together until the day I die.” His hands flexed by his sides and he dared to lift them up to your hips, anchoring himself with the feeling of you beneath his fingertips. When you didn’t shy away from his touch, he continued on. “I wanted what my brothers had and in my desperation I think Elain and I chose each other because we just wanted to do something. I wanted a mate and proof that I belonged alongside Rhys and Cassian, and Elain wanted to break the rules for the first time in her life. To feel in control. But we never should have done it knowing everyone would get hurt.”

“Sometimes love is like that,” you murmured, “Messy and hurtful… or so I’ve read.”

“I didn’t love Elain. I don’t love Elain. At least not romantically.” Not the way that I love you.

You tried to ignore the flutter of relief in your chest. It didn’t feel like the right time for it. Not with Azriel bruised and hurting before you. You dropped your eyes to the pale green tiles and caught sight of Azriel’s gloved hands.

“You’re wearing them again.”

Wordlessly you picked up one and gently began tugging the leather off his fingers. One by one. The whole time you kept your eyes on him, tracing the tension in his shoulders and between his eyes as his ruined skin was exposed inch by inch. The air felt foreign on the skin of his palms. The feel of your body so close to his felt exhilarating.

“I’m so sorry,” Azriel whispered, “I never meant to hurt you in all the ways that I did. What I did—”

“I know, Azriel.”

His eyes traced every line of your face, hands shaking. “You’re not a fourth choice. You’re not broken... But I think I might be,” he confessed. The words hung in the air between you two. Words you could wrap around his neck and hang him with.

He felt every stroke of your fingers over his knuckles. Every flutter of your eyelashes as you looked at him with the faintest tilt of your head.

“So what?” You breathed out.

Azriel shook. “Y/n?”

“So what if you’re broken? Maybe you are, maybe you aren’t,” You leaned your forehead against his, noses brushing, “But you’re still Azriel.” You smiled gently at him, eyes fluttering closed as you sighed. “And I think that’s a wonderful thing.”

Azriel stopped breathing as you brought his hands up to your lips and brushed them over every scarred knuckle. Every touch of yours was sacred. In their sincerity. In their rarity. In their preciousness to him.

“Do you… do you like me, Azriel?” Your words were nervous and soft. Softer than the finest bed Azriel had ever laid his head down on. Softer than the clouds that turned to rain when he flew through them. Softer than your ink-stained fingertips landing on the sprinting pulse of his neck.

“Yes,” Azriel murmured, “You can’t even begin to know, Y/n.”

And then your softness was all around him. It was your lips against his lips, pillowy and tasting faintly of the sweet wine you’d drank at dinner. It was your hands and arms looping around his neck and keeping his head squarely on his shoulders so he could experience this vibrance. It was the feel of your body as he held onto your hips and then flattened his hands against the small of your back, pressing you as close as he dared. River-soaked robes long since forgotten.

You were like water threatening to slip through his fingertips.

You hoped you were doing this right. Reading about kissing was very different from the actual thing. Your lips felt too stiff or too fervent. You worried your hands were too greedy as you plunged them into his raven-wing hair and tangled silken strands. But while you lacked experience, Azriel surely seemed to be making up the difference. He held you as close as possible, until it felt more like breathing than kissing.

Salty tears landed in between your lips until you could both taste their sharp tang on your tongues.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he kept saying over and over in between shaky gulps of air. “Y/n, please believe me. I—”

You kissed him harder just to make him stop, swallowing his pain as best you could until his breathing evened out.

“I’ve got you, Az.” You brushed his black waves away from his forehead before kissing him there too. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Tell her. Tell her. Tell her.

Azriel’s shadows chanted in his ears. But he made them go silent.

Another day.

Let him just hold you like this for now. For as long as you would let him. Here in the stillness with you — the only person who’d ever brought him a real sense of peace and quiet — he felt it was safe to hope again.

The long stream of kisses ended too early for his liking, although he didn’t dislike the sight of your heaving chest and blushing cheeks. He couldn’t quite believe what had just happened, and you seemed to be thinking the same thing as you stood between the walls of his legs, his arms wrapped loosely at your sides and yours dangling off his shoulders.

You’d kissed him. You’d kissed him.

You touched your fingertips to your lips, worry in your eyes. “Was it bad? Did I do a bad job? I’ve never—”

Azriel would have none of that. He tightened his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest and kissing you all over again. You relished in his heat and the faint tickles of shadows that encased you both in darkness, like a veil had been thrown over the room leaving everything gauzy and soft.

“You, my Y/n,” his lips brushed over the corner of your mouth, trailing down to your neck when he sighed so, so softly, “Are a marvelous kisser.”

Had you melted into a sack of bones on the floor? It certainly felt like you had. You were blushing uncontrollably, searching for something, anything, to comment on. You thought your heart might just burst out of your chest.

“You have frosting in your hair.” You plucked the white blobs off his head, feeling the sugar grains crumble between your fingers.

“I think that was meant to be dessert.”

“I think you might be right.” You tried controlling your breathing when Azriel leaned forward and kissed the bare skin of your shoulder, and failed miserably. “It’s a real shame,” you stammered, “I was looking forward to cake.”

He kissed the center of your chest next and your heart skipped a beat. “I’ll buy you all the cake in the world to make it up to you.”

“That’s a hefty promise, and a waste of cake.”

“Do you doubt me?” Azriel asked honestly. You could ask him for moonlight in a bottle, or a dress spun from spider silk, or all the stars in the sky and he’d find a way to make it happen. Some way. Somehow. He’d give you everything that was his to give, and then some.

“No. I don’t doubt you.”

“Good.”

He couldn’t help himself. He kissed you again, reveling in the faint sighs that he swallowed up and the few that escaped between your locked lips to sing in his ears. You traded kisses for hours on end, slipping them in between conversations and gentle touches. It was an exploration in intimacy that you worried might sweep you away, but Azriel was as he always was — patient and gentle — from the tips of his black hair to his scarred hands to his leather boots. And you loved every inch of him.

You clung to his shirt, the scent of soap still clinging to his skin after he’d returned from his bath and laid down in bed beside you in cotton instead of leather.

“Azriel,” You said, your voice thin and tired. The candles burned low casting shadows that flickered and twisted on the wall. But you didn’t pay any mind to shadows any longer, not when you knew they belonged to Azriel as surely as you did. “Stay.”

And who was he to deny you? He held you close, your cheek pressed against his chest. You fell asleep to the sound of his heart, and he fell asleep to the rhythm of your breathing.

You woke up to the weight of Azriel draped over your body, face pressed against your breasts, arms wrapped around your waist, and the rest of him nestled in between your legs. He grounded you, wings splayed out and bathing in the sunlight that streamed through the windows.

You were pleasantly surprised that he was still asleep and you took the time to lightly trace his features, weaving your fingers through his hair until he made a sound that had your heart speeding up. Something halfway between a sigh and a groan.

He was slow and sluggish to wake, eyes blinking languidly as he registered the warm, supple body beneath him.

You.

He’d fallen asleep here with you, wrapped up in your scent until the world had faded away into blissful nothingness. He could have been asleep for eight hours or eight years and he would be none the wiser. All he knew is that you were running your fingers through his hair, and he didn’t want you to stop.

“Hey, you,” You murmured when his whisky eyes fluttered open, eyelashes casting spidery darkness over his cheekbones where his own shadows curled as if still asleep.

Azriel hummed, burying his face in your chest and sighing with his whole body. His arms rubbed up and down your sides leaving molten heat in their wake. “Please don’t tell me it's morning.”

“I’m not above lying, Azriel. It’s the middle of the night.”

His wings shook with quiet laughter, the movement of his body tickling your skin until you were grinning unabashedly.

“Then why are you awake?” Again, his words were muffled by your skin.

“Because I’m currently being crushed beneath the weight of an Illyrian warrior.”

His head shot up in alarm. He was no small male and although he’d spent centuries gaining enough strength for his wings to feel weightless on his back, he knew they were anything but. And you’d let him stay like that all night. It was a miracle you hadn’t suffocated.

Stupid. Stupid.

“I’m sorry. Gods, I didn’t mean—” He began to slide off of you. But you were laughing.

“Wait! No! I was joking. I was joking. Come back!” You wrapped your legs around his back, the sudden movement pulling him flush against you in a rush of heat that made him go stone still.

Mother, help me. He thought to himself, feeling blood travel both up and down his body.

You guided his head to your chest by the strands of his hair until he was following the curves of your silhouette once again. “I like it when you hold me like this, Azriel,” you confessed. “I don’t feel like I’m going to float away anymore. Does that make any sense?”

“It makes perfect sense,” he whispered. He felt the same way. “You make the world go quiet, Y/n.”

It wasn’t until the clock struck twelve bells and the House’s cooking wafted through the hallways that you and Azriel finally peeled yourselves off one another, shuffling to the bathroom in a cluster of wings and loose night clothes.

Azriel watched you closely, finding new ways to love you even as you brushed your teeth side by side, bumping hips and smiling at one another shyly. He watched as you brushed your hair and washed your face, stealing kisses that left minty cool tingles on his skin.

Lucien was noticeably frowning when you and Azriel walked into the dining room, Azriel’s scent still clinging to your skin and yours to his. You’d done nothing more than sleep in the same bed, everyone was looking at you with shit-eating grins like you’d taken Azriel on the living room couch for the whole House to hear.

“You look well rested, brother,” Cassian noted over the lip of his coffee cup.

It was the best night of sleep Azriel had gotten in centuries, perhaps in his entire life.

You wordlessly traded seats with Elain at the table, leaving you and Azriel on one side and Lucien and Elain directly across. When no one was looking, he reached down and pulled your chair closer, pressing his knee against yours beneath the table. Lucien noticed — of course he did — but the blush on your cheeks was so innocent and the love in your gaze so honest that he couldn’t bring himself to make any comment. Although, he did throw a few dangerous looks Azriel’s way, looks that plainly said, If you hurt her, you’re a dead man.

Azriel only nodded faintly in reply, as if he knew what Lucien had been thinking all along and was in agreement.

But in the following weeks your brother would come to be grateful that your care for one another was not loud. It wasn’t desperate, groping hands in hallways or sultry looks that heated up crowded rooms and made people uncomfortable. It was reserved smiles and knowing glances when you independently formed the same thought at the same time, eyes latching onto one another until one of you inevitable broke away laughing.

For the first time in his life, Azriel had someone who wanted him back just as fervently, even if it was difficult to believe.

Azriel always needed to be touching you, whether it be a hand at the small of your back or the press of your shoulders together as you leaned over one of the desks at Cagniv — now that Azriel was allowed inside — with papers strewn about like dove feathers.

You were no better. You stuck close to his side where shadows lingered and sought him out in every room until you may as well have owned the space within the curve of his wings.

But things were changing. Koschei loomed taller and taller over the House like an avalanche ready to wipe Velaris off the map. Once again, everyone heard Vassa’s cries at daybreak and nightfall, and when Jurian slipped out of the attic for his own rest, he looked a little thinner and paler each time and no amount of medicine or food you and Lucien brought upstairs seemed to be helping.

Azriel tried to steal every extra second with you in the mornings. If he had his way, he’d never leave his bedroom again, content to admire the splash of sunlight over your body and your sleepy sighs. But he was still the Shadowsinger and Spymaster of the Night Court and you quickly got accustomed to waking up to an empty bed with only a note on the nightstand. On those days you migrated out of whatever room you’d spent the night in — yours or Azriel’s, although the lines were blurred — often trekking to Cagniv to escape a house where strange, new faces were coming and going with more frequency: ash-pale fae from Winter, a white-haired female from Summer with skin so dark it was almost black, and golden males from Dawn with downy hawk wings. They locked themselves in Rhysand and Feyre’s office where bargains and plans were made in blood and salt.

Other days you carted your books to Feyre’s studio with Nesta and Ione in tow, perching on a stool while the High Lady crafted life out of brushstrokes like she was the Mother herself.

Feyre stood at her easel, as she had been every day this last week, with her pencil clenched between her teeth as she ignored the faint aches in her lower back and her wrist. Every line, every detail, was attended to with painstaking precision as she mapped Nesta and the old woman’s faces onto the blank canvas first with graphite, then with a thin wash, then with layers of paint that added dimension and familiarity to the two stoic faces. Feyre didn’t let her passion overtake the more clinical approach she was taking with this piece. This was not the time for free flowing movement and modernism.

This was all about realism.

Exactness.

When the High Lady placed her brush on the muddied water cup beside her, you jumped up. “Is it finished, Feyre?”

“As finished as it will ever be,” Feyre responded gravely as you took in the sight before you. Three women: Nesta, Ione, and some mixture of the two. Feyre had captured their likeness with incredible precision, using the painting to familiarize herself with their faces and the ways they could be warped and molded.

You peered over the corner of the canvas to where the two women were standing side by side. Ione lengthened her spine, cane clasped in her hands that you’d never seen her lean on with her full weight. Time had condensed her bones and stolen some of the height from her frame, but none of her sharpness. It was a trait that granted her a strange degree of likeness to Nesta, as if you’d glanced into a future where she’d never turned fae.

You looked at Feyre, then down to the vials of blood you’d collected from the pair. Already your magic was seeping into the burgundy bottles, testing its boundaries with such an unfamiliar medium as you released any hold you had on it. You looked at the High Lady and nodded.

It just might work.

“My brilliant daughter,” Helion praised, kissing you on the top of your head before disappearing in a flash of light. His empty teacup spun on the saucer.

You felt a familiar flicker of pride grow within you. Helion had spent hours pouring over your notes, your manuscript, and leaning his ear towards your plans. He was in agreement.

It just might work.

Lucien slunk out of his room after Helion’s voice disappeared and sank into the abandoned couch with his whetstone and white-bone blade. The ring of metal echoed through the room, melting into the birdsongs that slipped in through the cracked open window and the clatter of sugar spoons against a porcelain plate.

“You should tell him,” you said again, pushing a teacup over to your brother. It was a common refrain after Helion’s visits.

Lucien stared at the three cups now strewn across the coffee table. Two empty. One full and untouched. Had Helion noticed the extra one?

“I’ve had enough of High Lords for a while,” Lucien said as you poured yourself another strong cup, “When this is over, I’m taking Elain, Jurian, and Vassa back to the Human Lands.” His eyes flickered over to you briefly, “You should come live with us. You’d find it interesting how they conduct themselves. You might even learn something.”

“I’ll visit for a short time, but nothing longer than that.”

“Why not?” You lowered your gaze and blushed, unconsciously tugging your sweater higher up your neck. The sweet marks Azriel’s lips had left on your skin were long gone, but you swore you could still feel them. “You know why.” You murmured softly.

Your swollen eyes spoke of restless nights without the Shadowsinger’s hands to lull you to sleep. Azriel had gotten into the habit of stroking your cheek while you talked in bed, until the steady brush of skin against skin finally had your eyes closing shut. You missed him.

“Lucien, I understand that you want nothing to do with Helion or any other High Lord, but… You could be better. I know you could be. You could be the best High Lord of them all, if you’d only be open to it.”

Because that was Lucien’s worst fear, wasn’t it? That a time would come when Helion would leave this world and any hope for a quiet, peaceful existence with Elain would be gone.

“And what if you’re wrong?”

You touched his wrist and the blade stopped its strange singing. “‘It’s often those who think they deserve it least, that deserve it most.’ Pippin Clodshot from—”

“A Duel of Two Faces by Aechtion.”

You reared back in surprise and Lucien grinned, tapping your nose. “I do read, sister.”

The sarcasm in his voice was laid on so thickly you could only grumble in response. “I wasn’t aware you had two brain cells to rub together, brother.”

Lucien laughed so heartily and for so long that Elain and Ione stuck their heads out from the kitchen in conern.

“I thought someone was dying.” Ione rolled her eyes before her grey head disappeared once again.

You slid further under the covers, burying your face in Azriel’s pillows as the sun finally slipped behind the mountains and shadows raced each other to the Sidra.

Seven days.

Seven days of waking up to empty sheets after Azriel had jerked awake halfway through the night, bloodshot eyes searching for something you couldn’t see and that he didn’t tell you about. He’d only kissed your forehead, smoothing back your hair and murmuring something about a task he needed to take care of before shrugging on his leathers. You’d sat in bed, comforter tucked under your arms and over your chest even though you were fully clothed, and watched Azriel move around the room with a practiced air as weapons flashed in the moonlight and disappeared into his bag.

You knew all the hiding places in his room now — one of the many secrets you’d unearthed — so you didn’t find it at all strange when he captured your lips before dipping his hand beneath the mattress and pulling out a long serrated blade, perfect for sawing rope and wood.

“Where are you off to this time?”

Azriel had gone still, taking his time to shake away his thoughts before sweeping a handful of stoppered vials off his desk — sleep potions, draughts for pain and healing, subtle, painless poisons. You would know because you had helped make them.

“I’ll be back before you know it, Y/n,” He’d whispered, eyes boring into yours with a haunted look that hadn’t left him since that day in the market square.

Ten days.

Ten days of carrying around a heavy ache that every so often tightened with a feeling you couldn’t name. Almost as if it didn’t belong to you.

You paced back and forth in Azriel’s room, trying to calm a heart that hadn’t stopped racing for the last hour. You’d tried opening, then closing the windows as you curled up beneath the covers of his bed, mountain air blowing the curtains open and chilling your too hot skin. But none of it helped.

Chasing his scent in the sheets wasn’t enough anymore.

You tiptoed out of Azriel’s room, copying his silent steps and sticking to familiar shadows as you slipped through the House. Like Lucien, you tended to stay hidden whenever representatives from other Courts visited the River House. They were people Rhysand and Feyre trusted, but that didn’t mean you could erase centuries of wariness from your bones.

You heard nothing coming from Feyre’s studio, but you knew that if you were to sneak through the layers of air she’d sealed around the space, you’d meet a male carved from molten heat.

You waited in one of the spare studio rooms for the High Lord of Autumn to leave, eyes peering through the slit between the door and its hinges. If you stared for long enough, you swore you could see the air beside the door rippling with Autumn heat.

Finally, Eris Vanserra stepped into the hallway in all his striking glory, followed closely behind by Lucien. Violently red hair hovered over a pale, freckled face composed of angular lines — striking but not unkind. You thought he looked like a lit match with his wiry frame wrapped in resplendent browns, reds, and golds that spoke of forest riches. Or maybe he just looked narrow when standing next to Cassian. That was always a possibility.

“Thank you, Eris.” Feyre squeezed his hand reassuringly. She wore similarly decadent clothes. The moonstone and diamond crown perched atop her light brown hair was a rare sight, but Feyre wore it as naturally as she wore her paint splattered overalls. She was an artist and a High Lady in equal measure, and she sacrificed no part of one in favor of the other.

The newly minted High Lord of Autumn chuckled darkly, eyes flashing like a living flame. You’d heard horrible tales about Beron Vanserra, his cruelty, and his violence. But whatever traits Eris had inherited from his father he’d sloughed off like a second skin. The molting process had been full of its own pains, but as you assessed him now, you saw only the characteristics he shared with Lucien.

“Don’t thank me yet. Not until my feet have touched the Continent.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Eris tipped his head, a smirk on his face, then disappeared in a flush of woodsmoke.

Spring, Winter, Summer, Day, Dawn, and now Autumn. The seven courts had slid into an uneasy alliance once more, weary but willing after decades of war. Feyre wasn’t sure how much more Prythian could take if this transformed into another bloodbath. But if the fledgling plan you’d all helped nurse came to fruition, it wouldn’t come to that… at least that’s what Feyre kept telling herself every night so she could sleep.

The High Lady jolted back when you slipped out from your hiding spot, cast in a halo of cool-toned light from the dying sun. Cassian shared in Feyre’s surprise. They hadn’t heard you come up the stairs or pass by the door. They hadn’t even sensed you until you made your presence known.

Maybe she’s picking it up from Azriel? Feyre said with some amusement.

Gods help us all. There’s two of them.

“Where’s Azriel?” You looked to the High Lady for an answer, hands held stiff at your sides. You felt that strange anxiety clawing at your throat. It had dripped into your feelings slowly since the morning, growing like a weed until you couldn’t stop clenching your fists. “I haven’t heard from him in days.”

Feyre felt a familiar coil of guilt settle in her stomach.

Don’t tell her about this, Fey. Azriel had begged her, his eyes hard and tired before taking off from the back porch towards The Warren.

He’d made all of them promise not to tell you about that place. About what he did. About what he was doing. But you weren’t a fool. You knew of his reputation as a Shadowsinger and a Spymaster and the work that came with it. You’d traced some of the scars on his body, plucking the stories from his skin whenever he let you, and you woke up when he did from his silent nightmares. The slightest change in his breathing pattern, the barest flinch of his arm wrapped around your waist was all it took for you to open your bleary eyes and shake him awake.

But there were some secrets he was still too afraid to reveal, and some secrets he’d buried so deeply he didn’t even know what their monstrous faces looked like anymore.

“Y/n—” Feyre began.

“I want to know.” You reached for Feyre’s wrist, grasping it so tightly your knuckles paled and Cassian stepped forward. It was a silent reminder that you had the power to take that knowledge from her if you wished. You loved Feyre. You considered her a friend. But the panic wasn’t leaving you. You stared at her desperately, pupils blown wide open. “I need to know he’s alright.”

Feyre opened her mouth to speak, then froze as Rhysand’s velvety voice entered her mind, strained to the point of breaking.

Feyre, you need to bring Y/n to The Warren.

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Author's Note:

85K+ WORDS AND FINALLY THEY'VE FUCKING KISSED HOLY SHIT

I really must applaud you all for your patience because hot DAMN I am FLOORED!!! And yes, yes, I know, I know y'all want Y/n to figure out their mates and I will simply be pleading the fifth and hiding in my room and not telling anyone of you when that will actually happen because I simply cannot! ASFDK;JABSLDFIGUH

*takes a deep breath* Thank you all so much for reading and for your engagement whether that be leaving comments or liking or literally anything because it makes my day and I'm just happy that my passion project/hobby is able to bring people some smidgen of joy because the world really sucks but hey at least we have fanfics

#the shadowsinger and the inkbird #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel x you #azriel x helion's daughter

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leahnardo-da-veggie · 4 months ago

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The Tragedy of Love, Death and Maggots part 7

Part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6

I started forward again, keeping up with Brett as we made our way towards the home of the greatest monsters in our little hell.

Not that there weren't other monsters there too. Monsters with tentacles and spikes, like the one that gave me a long, barely healed gouge along my upper arm. Monsters like a man with too many limbs, sitting in the dark hiding their extra hands behind their backs and beckoning us to come in such that they might dine on our flesh. Monsters that were nothing more than a glitch, that ruined everything they touched.

Bad enough that they took our flesh, sucked the marrow out of our bones. Worse still, that they took our lives. But what made this place hell, instead of merely dangerous, was that it took our soul. This place had killed the love in my heart and stomped on its shattered bits, just like we had a dozen cultists.

Those cultists were human once, just like us. For all of their cruelties and insanities, that meant they were human when we killed them. Which made us, all four of us, murderers. I looked at Brett, running backwards and clamouring at us frantically. He didn't look like a murderer.

If there was anyone I wished I could rescue from this hell, it was him. Athena had her rage and bloodlust. Mrin had her eagle-eye and sudden breakdowns. I had my age, my apathy. He was the only untainted one, the one who shone like the sun, with his dirty blonde hair and sky-blue eyes straight out of a movie.

I… I hated him so much in that moment. It wasn't fair that he could live in this neverending nightmare and still smile like that. His girlfriend was a axe-crazy psycho, his daily life involved scrounging for rusty cans of food and drinking water from leaky pipes, and yet! Yet despite it all he managed to love, to trust, to care with such a passion that it sparked my rage. I was jealous, so very jealous of him.

“The lair's up ahead,” Mrin said suddenly, jerking me out of my thoughts. “I see silhouettes of people.” She paused. “Cultists, I mean. Not people.”

I stepped closer, hiding behind a pillar. Things that could be charitably construed as human twirled in dizzying circles around an altar. “A ritual of some kind,” I whispered to the others. “But for what?”

My question was answered soon enough, and I wish it hadn't. Two masked cultists, heavily muscled and scarred, bore a struggling, furious girl up towards the altar. Despite the ropes holding her wrists and ankles together, she hissed and sputtered like a wildcat, struggling as hard as she could. They hadn't chosen her carriers carelessly, I noted. Anything less than the strongest of bonds and bearers, and that girl would have clawed her way free.

“Athena!” Brett made a move to dash into the rows of dancers, only to be stopped by my outstretched arm.

“Don't be a fool, kid. If you run into a circle of cultists, you'll just get killed along with your dearest crazy Athena. Is that what you really want?”

The glare he gave me could have belonged to a petulant teenager, if not for the undercurrent of terror. “But-”

“Hush, both of you, or we'll all be found.” This was Mrin, always sensible.

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foxymoxynoona · 1 year ago

Text

To Kill A King (Chapter 13)

Banner and linebreaks by the talented @awrkives

Summary: What’s more charming than Prince Seokjin? Nothing, obviously. Except maybe the rotating palace guests who each smile and bow and charm in an attempt to hide their true motives. Fortunately Seokjin has a close circle of friends (well, servants) who watch his back and endure his humor and help him navigate the tumultuous seas of heartbreak, love, and an arranged marriage, not necessarily in that order. If only they had helped him keep a closer eye on his bride-to-be’s handmaiden, who arrives with her own agenda… or maybe it would have been better if he had noticed her less? One thing is certain as this royal drama of the heart plays out: there are many people competing to kill a king.

Main Pairing: Prince Seokjin x Female OC Genre: Historical Fantasy World, political conspiracy, romance Rating: 18+ Content Warnings & story tags: includes explicit sex (mxf, fxf), possibly graphic violence/injury later, love and sex triangles or uh quadrangles?, sort of e 2 l, sort of bodyguard trope, sort of arranged marriage, a lot of plotting murder (it’s literally in the title), maybe character death, grief, pining, angst, love, oral (f & m receiving), public sex, I don’t know everything yet as the story is long and still being written

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NOTE: check out the Character & Setting Cheat Sheet for a refresher on who’s who

Nasimiyu didn’t know how to feel other than smug. Word of Seokjin’s fight with Namjoon shot through the palace like the smell of fish. Nasimiyu couldn’t believe it at first. Seokjin? Throwing fists?! She saw Namjoon’s black eye on her way to the private dining room for supper –which Namjoon chose to take in his room– and Seokjin’s busted lip but still couldn’t believe it until King Dong-gun himself sank into his chair and laughed,

“Well. Who’d have thought this son would be brawling in the courtyard, eh?”

Beside him, Lady Zselyke turned up her nose and teased, with a trace of a smile, “I suppose he had to inherit something from you.”

“Besides my dashing good looks?”

“He looks more like his mother,” General Dong-suk mumbled around a forkful of food already buried in his mouth. Nasimiyu glanced at the man and quickly away, afraid of making eye contact. General Dong-suk’s reputation preceded him. The King’s younger brother was notorious for winning wars, no matter the cost, and while Nasimiyu didn’t know specifics, she did know her father thought he was both terrifying and genius. We’ll want him on our side, Prince Hamisi had said. Another reason we need to do this the right way. The last thing we need are losses along the border during the transition of power. Dong-suk is undefeatable.

High praise from her father, who himself bragged a great deal about having the most peaceful principality in Marvono so that they had no need of war to begin with. Yet he clearly admired Dong-suk. She’d expected a scarred, muscular old soldier based on the things she’d heard and instead found herself breaking bread with a razor sharp man, crisp and clean and unemotional. It felt like he sucked the warmth from the air just by his presence. He was far, far more frightening in person than any of the people she’d met in those tavern backrooms could possibly understand. Hatred for this man had streamed from them like blood and sweat, stories of his depraved acts, his prolific use of torture to get answers, his scorched earth tactics for any boarder villages “harboring” soldiers from the other side –whether they knew it or not. Such stories had seemed impossible to pin onto one man’s shoulders, impossible to believe without some bigger outcry than a couple dozen angry youths shouting about it in Marvonese taverns, far from those borders and battles and truth.

And yet, she was glad Seokjin sat in between them.

Nasimiyu supposed General Dong-suk had meant that as an insult to his brother, though it was a compliment to Seokjin and the beauty of his mother captured in portraits around the palace. Dong-gun laughed like he expected nothing differently from his brother and Seokjin buried his face in his food.

Lady Zselyke smoothed it over with, “That he does, and there’s no harm in being good in the face and with an uppercut, eh?”

“What do you know about fighting, Aunt?” Seokjin asked her. Apparently this was also a joke that Nasimiyu didn’t get because Zselyke laughed fondly and waved her napkin at him.

“Oh stop. You know, I used to be right there to the side any time your father brawled, ready to clean up the mess afterwards.”

“You weren’t very good at it,” Dong-gun chuckled. “I had to learn my own way out of messes.”

“How can you say that?! I smoothed things over with your father so many times.”

“Ah, yes, with him, I suppose he was fond of you, he’d wait until you were out of sight to whip my backside so you wouldn’t be distressed.”

Nasimiyu couldn’t believe they were laughing about this, but they did. Except for General Dong-suk, who ate tidily but quickly, as if it had been weeks since his last feed but he had somewhere to be.

“Sometimes it takes a firm hand,” he said, chasing a sip of wine. “Perhaps you needed firmer hands. Your boys did.”

Nasimiyu couldn’t help the stare out of the corner of her eye, curious how the king would take to such a jab at his parenting methods.

King Dong-gun’s voice seemed steelier as he countered, “I raised a fine soldier, didn’t I? And Seokjin will make a… king.”

“Thank you, father, I appreciate your bold, unflagging support,” Seokjin quipped and Nasimiyu wanted to kick him beneath the table but withheld. Did he really not know the right time to make a joke and the right time to abstain? No jokes could exist around that General uncle of his.

But maybe he didn’t intend it as a joke; he didn’t have his usual bold smile as he lifted his own glass of wine. He kept blinking, like there was something in his eye. As soon as his wine glass was done, he shoveled food into his cheek like he, too, had somewhere to be. He didn’t look like a valiant champion, though earlier he’d strutted into dinner like he’d just been crowned one, and bowed low to Nasimiyu after she placed her hand in his.

Never in a million years had Nasimiyu expected Seokjin to hear a complaint from her and go right to resolve the problem himself. A fist to Namjoon’s face! Damn, she wished she could have seen it.

“A fine king such as yourself,” General Dong-suk said in a sharp voice that Nasimiyu saw made King Dong-gun stiffen. “He’ll go around throwing balls and punishing fops for fucking maids? Who cares? Take care of the problem or get over it, it’s a trivial matter and not something you should be brawling like a fresh pup about.”

Seokjin looked startled and rushed to clarify, “I assure you, the cause of the exchange is well in hand–”

“Maybe they’re both fucking the maid,” King Dong-gun suggested with a laugh, then quickly added, “My apologies, Princess. I forgot you were here, you’re so quiet tonight.”

“Just taking it all in,” she mumbled, but it was missed beneath Lady Zselyke insisting, “She has a sense of humor about it too, Dong-gun, don’t worry about her.” Nasimiyu saw the quickest flicker of Zselyke’s eyes in her direction but didn’t understand the meaning of it. And she most certainly would not have a sense of humor about Seokjin fucking any maid, particularly hers.

“I am confident he is not,” she said coolly, and smirked at Seokjin in the hopes people would see it and murmur. Seokjin gave her the smallest smile but it was like something pressed heavily down on him. She wished he would take more pride in his own fight!

“Besides, I think it’s admirable,” Lady Zselyke rushed on to cover Nasimiyu’s response. “When there’s an issue, you go right to solve it. No skulking around waiting for someone else to handle it or hope it will handle itself. It’s the proper way to deal with things, isn’t that right, Dong-suk?”

Honestly Nasimiyu couldn’t believe Zselyke had addressed him at all, much less so casually. She seemed to puff herself up further as Dong-suk looked at her, wine glass steady in his hand. Nasimiyu couldn’t decide whether it was stupid or admirable.

“I don’t believe you wish to hear how I deal with things,” Dong-suk said, looking away from Lady Zselyke like she no longer interested him in the least. He gestured brusquely to a servant to clear his plate away.

King Dong-gun chuckled, “Here to tell me how you’d run things differently if it was your ass in my seat?”

“I don’t need to tell you,” General Dong-suk said, and didn’t look at his elder brother either. “There’s no point in wasting our breath, I don’t want your chair.”

“Yes, good, it’s molded to my ass.”

“And his will fit?” Dong-suk asked with a gesture towards Seokjin. Flippant. Unimpressed. With one sentence Nasimiyu understood precisely what uncle thought of nephew. Not that she had expected anything different.

“I’ve already started my special diet to gain the weight,” Seokjin mumbled under his breath. Nasimiyu had never seen him so… wilted. He couldn’t even endorse his own jokes. Everyone else at the table ignored him.

Lady Zselyke sniffed, nose in the air, “King Dong-gun has done a fine job molding Seokjin into a prince who will rule well when the day comes, but that day will not be for a very, very long time.”

“You think so?” General Dong-suk asked evenly. Nasimiyu bit her lip in an effort not to react. She kept her head down, shocked to hear the brother of the king so brazenly suggest, “There are a dozen plots to take his head today alone and you think he will stay king for a very long time?”

“Dong-suk,” Zselyke scolded, her voice soft.

King Dong-gun rolled his eyes and laughed, “You exaggerate, little brother. Maybe four, maximum. I am not nearly terrible enough to warrant that many plots.” Something harder came into his voice as he added, “Not as terrible as you would have me be.”

“‘Terrible’ is a clever choice of word, old brother,” Dong-suk returned. “It can mean many things. To be feared, respected. That would keep you alive.”

“He’s a good king,” Zselyke argued. “The people–”

“The people,” Dong-suk laughed, cold and empty sounding. “The only good king to the people is a dead one. There is no wisdom in trying to be a good king for the people, they will always want something other than what you provide, and should they get it anyway, they will immediately want something else instead.”

“And yet here I sit,” Dong-gun said, and lifted his wine glass for a sip.

Nasimiyu startled as something brushed her leg –Seokjin’s hand. He gave a look, but she wasn’t sure what he was trying to convey to her.

“Ignoring my warnings.”

“I heed your warnings,” Dong-gun argued. “The legitimate ones. We have the Destin rebellions under control–”

“It’s not Destin you should be worried about, they’re nothing, a ragtag band of nobodies. Embarrassments, every one of them.”

“The whole principality?” Seokjin mumbled. He glanced over his shoulder, smiling, like he thought at least his footman or bodyguards would laugh, but he’d said it so quietly, probably they couldn’t even hear him. Seokjin was afraid, that seemed obvious, and Nasimiyu –despite feeling the same– found herself disappointed by him. This was his own uncle. Surely you should at least be brave against your own family? If you weren’t, who else could be?

His uncle only spared a disgusted flicker of his gaze and forged ahead, “It’s not Destin you should concern yourself with. Cut them off with one clean slice, it can be done in an hour.”

“And how many dead would it be?” King Dong-gun asked with a shake of his head.

“Numbers do not matter at a time like this. What number is order worth?”

“How many lives is my reign worth, do you mean?” King Dong-gun clarified, a nuance of language that clearly did not amuse Dong-suk. But Nasimiyu found herself briefly fascinated… was Dong-gun saying he would not take extreme measures to curb a rebellion because he did not consider the loss of lives worth it for a threat against his life? Was that really what he was saying? Nasimiyu was sure she must be misunderstanding, filling in blanks since the two of them argued about political things she only knew crumbs about.

“I’d say at least five,” Seokjin said. And, further baffling to Nasimiyu, King Dong-gun burst into laughter.

“Come, son, at least ten!”

“Let’s call it seven.”

“Idiots,” Dong-suk sighed, letting his eyes close. “Every one of you, idiots.”

“And it’s already been two,” King Dong-gun said, smiling at his brother. But then the chuckle died away as his words caught up to everyone, maybe even himself. The smile remained but it looked more threatening than amused now. “I’ve lost a wife and a son, brother. You would have my other son?”

“I don’t want Seokjin on the lines,” Dong-suk scoffed. “I’ve seen him brawl. I’d take his fucking valet before I’d take him anywhere.”

“That is what it would cost me to give you the war you ask for. How could he face his people if he did not go to fight, as his brother did? And yet…”

Nasimiyu’s eyebrows raised. She glanced at Seokjin, her only near-ally in this, curious if he knew what war was being asked for. This was the first she had heard of war as a current event other than the unrest in Destin and maybe an occasional skirmish along the border in Therepin.

“I don’t ask for a war but the means to stop one before it begins.”

Nasimiyu felt herself getting twisted up. It certainly sounded better to stop a war before it began. The ‘Therepin Border Skirmishes’ had happened during her lifetime but she had been young and shielded, raised on the far side of Yeonhalbi from the battles. Marvono sent soldiers but not too many, not anyone within reach of her.

“You grow idle, brother,” King Dong-gun said, his knife scraping noisily against his plate as he cut his steak. “Without war, you have no purpose, is that how you feel? I can put you to other tasks.”

“Destin? You won’t let me do what needs to be done.”

“I’m handling Destin.”

“I am your general, I should handle it all.”

“A rather bothersome one,” King Dong-gun scoffed. “I can’t even eat the steak I requested just for you without you nipping my ear off about war this, death threat that. Your job is to end wars, not monger them. Get a wife or a hobby and stop trying to kindle unrest. If war erupts along the border–”

“I will have warned you!” General Dong-suk shouted and slammed his fist on the table. It was a sudden and explosive outburst after he’d maintained such tight composure. Steady. Menacing by subtlety, not volume. Now Nasimiyu suspected he could do both. “If you continue to ignore the threats along the border… Your people there suffer. Unrest grows. You grow fat and lazy in your capital by the sea and the people will come for you.”

“Find another way. That is my final word.”

“It may very well be, Dong-gun.” Dong-suk rose from the table and gave the king and Lady Zselyke both a withering stare, as if she’d had much to say in it. His gaze slid blindly over Seokjin, who clearly had no merit for Dong-suk. Nasimiyu leaned back, feeling the briefest moment of Dong-suk’s eyes on her –it couldn’t have been but a second.

Perhaps Dong-gun saw it too, or maybe he had decided to try and drive the dismissal home further; he laughed, “Ah, did you meet Prince Hamisi on your way here, by chance? He’s gone south, I believe. I’ll be curious to hear what he reports about the people there and whether things are really as bad as you say. But I’m afraid you won’t find support for your war from him. He’ll laugh in your face before he sends soldiers from Marvono to die simply because you’re bored.”

“I’ve never met the man in my life and if he sells his daughter to this idiot family, I don’t care to.”

The private dining room was perfectly silent for a solid minute in the wake of his departure. For that reason, Nasimiyu thought it a ridiculously dramatic exit –but he had totally cleared his plate in remarkable speed, so maybe his only purpose at dinner had been to quickly eat and try one more time to continue this argument he and his brother had clearly broken off earlier. Nasimiyu regretted not knowing more. If the borders were full of unrest again and it posed a threat to the crown, that would be her problem to solve someday, possibly someday soon.

But it was also confusing because… well, her father hadn’t mentioned there was the risk of war along the border, nor rebellion from Yeonhalbian people. There was that remark her father had made, which Nasimiyu was proud of herself to recollect now, that he felt King Dong-gun’s ways of doing things led to the borders needing protecting, of also that he thought many people wanted King Dong-gun dead. Was that what General Dong-suk had meant…? It was annoying, feeling like she was short a few cards to understand what they were talking about. It further annoyed her that Lord Namjoon probably could have filled her in on everything and given her a reliable account of whether General Dong-suk really was as out of hand as rumor had it.

She could ask Seokjin, of course. Of course. She wanted to laugh at the idea. Seokjin had his face down in his bowl of soup and couldn’t have looked less interested in discussing politics. She never got the sense he knew much about anything, despite getting to sit in council. He just took it for granted to know what they were talking about, even though the outcome of a dinner argument like this could change the future of Yeonhalbi. Even his own future! If war did happen, Seokjin would either have to go fight or rule as his father went to die instead. Dong-gun didn’t seem like the self-sacrificing type…

For a moment, war loomed up as a real thing, more than it had ever felt before. She’d thought of war as undesirable but sometimes a necessity, but never stopped to consider who made the call about whether it was necessary or not. Probably you decided which way –war or no war– would lead to fewer deaths and better long-term outcomes… but for whom? For the monarch wanting to maintain their crown? Or the people who lived in the warzone?

War hadn’t touched Marvono since the uniting of Yeonhalbi. The nation to the north was quiet, peaceful, their relationship good with Marvono and the borders never contested –partially because they were a relation. Prince Hamisi had no sons to send to the Therepin Border Wars, even if he’d wanted to, and daughters were never expected to be soldiers. War didn’t hurt people like them.

But Nasimiyu would have her own children someday, likely sons and daughters both. It would be honorable for her sons to serve in a necessary war, but how necessary would a war have to be for her to be willing to send them?

Seokjin leaned close to her and said in what seemed to have been intended as a whisper, “Sorry about that. Family… you know how it is. I almost wish we’d go back to talking about my fight…”

“My family doesn’t have quite the… characters yours does,” Nasimiyu whispered back, aware that at least Lady Zselyke was listening closely to her. King Dong-gun had called his footman over and was telling him about some meeting he wanted to have the next day now, and also to let him know if Dong-suk left the palace at any point.

“No? No heated debates at dinner about who wants to kill you or what wars to wage?”

“No, never,” Nasimiyu said, and didn’t keep the wistfulness from her voice, though she knew she’d sounded critical a moment ago. She wanted to sound critical, because this had all seemed so inappropriate, but truthfully, she wanted in. She wanted to know. She wanted to be one of the ones having to make even those difficult decisions about what was right and how to help people best. She would have loved if her father included her in those debates around the dinner table –war, ethics, philosophy, danger, whatever! If he had, maybe she wouldn’t have felt compelled to seek it out herself –and she never would have met Dulce.

“Ah, your father loves you more than mine,” Seokjin said loudly. “He wanted to protect you from it all.”

King Dong-gun shook his head and argued, “Why do you think we ate privately in here tonight? Sometimes you have to let the stink air out for a few days. I would have done you a disservice to hide the shit of ruling from you. Someday you’ll be the one fanning the stench out.”

“Not for a long time!” Lady Zselyke bubbled over, and downed the remnants of her wine. “Honestly, all this talk of death and war and–”

“There there, Zelly, don’t you worry about it. Suk and I will make up in a few hours. He knows I’ll never give my permission and I know that he manages to get it done another way and everything will be fine.”

“But if the borders really are unquiet–”

“They’re not. Ask Namjoon, wherever he’s sulked off to hide. Why don’t you ask him, Seokjin? While the two of you fix whatever this was?”

Seokjin’s brow lowered as he said, “That… isn’t likely to happen.”

“You don’t have to like him, but you do have to find a way to work with the people in position to best help you.”

“I don’t need his help. Not someone like him.”

“You’ll have to let go of this idea of liking people,” King Dong-gun continued. “It leaves you worried about whether people like you, and once you care about that, you’re damned.”

Seokjin gave his father a wide grin and promised, “Well I’m safe there, I’ve never worried about that.”

“Good. Because the rest of your life is going to be spent working with people you hate, and arguing with people you care for. You think you’re always going to see eye to eye with me? Or your advisors? Even your wife… her father… it’s harder to hold your ground with people like that but you have to.”

Seokjin looked stunned. Nasimiyu wasn’t sure why. At first Seokjin struggled to find the words, before he pressed, “You think I should stand my ground? You believe I’ll have the right way of things–”

“Well you’d better figure it out eventually,” King Dong-gun laughed and Seokjin visibly deflated. “Otherwise the people around you will figure it out for you, but no one except the king can ever see all there is to see. It’s your uncle’s job to ask for what he wants to get the job done in the easiest way, and it’s my job to tell him no, to get it done in the best way. Get good at telling people no, Seokjin. Zselyke, let’s go for a walk, I need to get some unkind words about my brother out of my mind.”

In only a moment, Nasimiyu and Seokjin were alone in the dining room, silent and still though neither touched another bite.

Eventually Seokjin snorted, “Won’t it be a sight to see if my uncle has to answer to me someday? I know you’re thinking it. How in the world am I going to hold someone like that in line?” He shook his head and for a moment looked so sincere and open and casual –except this time instead of putting Nasimiyu off, she felt like he’d reached a hand out to her. Vulnerable, but in a good way. Like he’d gestured to his uncle and said this is a problem we’ll have to address as king and queen someday, how do you think we should do it?

“He’ll have to listen to us, or he’ll lose his head,” she suggested.

“Us,” Seokjin insisted and his grin grew. Nasimiyu’s eyes narrowed. But instead of saying exactly the wrong thing, which is what she expected, he nodded, “Yes, all right. You’ve managed your father, haven’t you? Is he anything like that? You’ll be an asset on the throne.”

Nasimiyu was not sure she had managed her father but insisted, “Of course I have. It’s wise of you to… to recognize that. That I would be an asset, I mean.” She paused. “Do you mean that?”

“That you would be an asset?”

“That you would have me by your side. In council or ruling or dealing with… problems,” she clarified.

“The king always takes his queen into confidence–”

“I mean openly. Not a listening ear as you dress for bed but a partner in–”

Seokjin laughed and Nasimiyu bristled, but once again his words surprised her as he insisted, “I get the feeling I couldn’t keep you out if I tried, but I wouldn’t pick that fight. If you show a head for politics, at least that would make one of us.”

“Even though it would be breaking with tradition,” she said, standing because he did, trying to sound calm as a surge of energy bubbled in her chest. “If I did more than just plan balls and suppers and–”

“I hope life with me can be good for you, Nasimiyu. If you’d rather do this or that, it’s yours. I don’t care if you don’t want to plan balls. Zselyke can keep doing that since she likes it so much. If you want to be involved with council and hold court, we do that together, or you take it over, I sure don’t mind. Maybe we’ll actually be good at it all together. Yes, Jimin, I’m going in for the night, can you tell Drin I’m not sparring after all? I think I got my workout in today.”

“What are you going to do about Namjoon?” Nasimiyu asked before he could disappear.

Seokjin hesitated, then asked, “Well what do you think I should do? Did I do enough? My father thinks I need to just learn to work with him, but…” He sighed deeply and looked away. “A guy like that…”

“May be of use to us,” Nasimiyu decided. “I think you’ve done enough for now. Hopefully he will behave himself, and if not, we’ll send him away. Besides, he’d probably take Mindeulle with him but I’d like to keep her here.”

“I’m glad you’ve made friends with her.”

“I’m glad you took my complaint about Namjoon seriously,” she said, feeling benevolent. “Thank you, Seokjin.” He gave her an indecipherable look, chased away quickly by his typical smile.

“Always, my princess.”

Nasimiyu’s spirits lifted as she returned to her room, yanked back and forth between the fight for her sake and the appearance of this frightening possibly-war-criminal uncle, but then Seokjin’s easy acceptance of her value in ruling this country. It had never occurred to her that Seokjin might just… let her. Sure, it was possible he’d still be in the way. But… maybe not. There might be value in having the “true King” in the wings as she ruled, to keep the loyalty of those who actually did support the Kim line. Namjoon certainly wasn’t going to have that honor now. And while Nasimiyu wasn’t sure exactly how many children she planned on having –because honestly the whole ordeal sounded rather unpleasant and also frustrating because why couldn’t a queen rule on their own rather than worrying about heirs to take it from her– maybe she would enjoy having daughters. She’d never have to send them to war, and no one would expect her to turn the crown over to them simply because a male ruler took priority over a female one. And Seokjin was handsome; probably he would lend himself well to beautiful daughters. He might be a loving father and could see after their care while Nasimiyu ruled. And he had fought his cousin at the drop of a word from her, and he had been very good in bed.

For a moment she thought to invite him back into it. Why not? He’d done well and deserved a reward and so did she. But he had already gone, and she didn’t feel like chasing him down. She would just send for Dulce instead and let her earn her affection back.

Besides, she shouldn’t totally lose her head about Seokjin. She wasn’t sure she wanted to change their plans and keep him around… but maybe they ought to think more about this before they did anything so final as kill him. At least not yet…

Although Nasimiyu recognized –and perhaps this made the potential change of plans both more and less appealing– her father would not abide by it. Could she tell her father no any more than Seokjin could his uncle?

Dulce had volunteered for the laundry that afternoon and stayed hidden when Nasimiyu sent for her after dinner –easy enough when Taehyung invited her along to the nearest tavern the staff liked to frequent. Probably the head maid and Nasimiyu would give her hell later but she wouldn’t regret the evening drinking and playing cards with Taehyung, Jimin, and several other staff who seemed to warm to her since Taehyung had her under wing. He seemed to charm people on first meeting. It was wild to Dulce that no one suspected he was royal –not that she believed royals were actually born better than anyone else, but if such a thing existed, he sure had it. Seokjin had the looks for it but he was too…

“Involved,” Jimin had sighed as they walked back to the palace together late in the night. Dulce had thought soft or foolish but involved seemed right as well. With quite a bit of alcohol now warming her blood, Dulce nodded at Jimin’s rant, his tongue loosened by a few shots too many. “What’s he doing throwing punches with Namjoon in the middle of the courtyard? He’s got other things to be worried about right now, like his wedding!”

Jimin had not been there for the fight. He’d arrived late, too late to hear Seokjin shout at his cousin: Keep your fucking hands off Dulce!

She shuddered. Her name didn’t belong in the prince’s mouth. It always sounded wrong. His concern for her was misplaced. Her business was none of his. And while she didn’t know how the fuck he’d found out, she did not need some knight in velvet and jewels rallying to her defense.

“Yeah,” she agreed, realizing Jimin was waiting for her to say something.

“He’s so eager to impress your mistress though,” Jimin continued. “I worry he’d do anything for her at this point. At dinner it sounded like it all had something to do with Nasimiyu… she had a problem with Namjoon?”

So Jimin didn’t know.

“I don’t know,” Dulce admitted. “I wasn’t with her. I only showed up at the end of the fight.”

“With Taehyung.”

“Yeah.”

“You two are getting… close.”

Dulce arched her eyebrow and asked, “Are we? Says… Taehyung?”

Jimin laughed and admitted, “I know him too well to trust anything he says. But last time he invited you along, you didn’t join and this time you did.”

“Last time was for a fuck, this was for a game of cards.”

“Yeah, beginner’s luck,” Jimin grumbled because he’d lost and badly. Dulce had won just enough to not seem suspicious, but the men had made a big fuss out of it, like she’d never played cards before, like she needed to be coddled. Because she was a woman. And apparently that made you less good at cards or something? They were all terrible; it was a challenge to lose.

“Everyone in this palace worries too much about who’s fucking who,” she told him, assuming he was trying to clumsily ask if she and Taehyung were fucking, or maybe if she wanted to fuck, or if fucking was off the table.

“Be nice, it’s all they have to do,” Jimin laughed. “It’s Priva! The capital of the world! Live in Priva –live in the palace of Priva– and enjoy infinite wealth, splendors out your ass, nonstop fun!” he shouted, his voice echoing around the empty yard as they crossed it.

Dulce tried not to smile at his drunk antics and gave him a friendly shove, scolding, “Be quiet, you’re a public nuisance.”

“Even the staff here live the life of dreams!”

“If you’re so miserable, leave.”

“I’m not miserable, I love my job. Taehyung’s the one shoveling horse shit, I just fluff collars and make sure the pets get fed and tell people the prince isn’t in his room when he’s got a comic he wants to read,” Jimin corrected.

“Yes, sounds awful.”

“I know what awful is. I know I have it good,” Jimin corrected. “You have it good.”

“Do I?”

“Don’t you?”

“Sure,” Dulce said.

“Is the princess good to you? They say you can tell a lot about someone by how they treat their staff. What does it tell us about the princess, hm? Will she be a good queen, Dulce? What will the world look like when we’re shining the shoes of the people in charge?”

He was drunk and rambling and thinking big thoughts but Dulce wasn’t in the mood to follow. And certainly she would never get so drunk as to start spilling secrets, even Nasimiyu’s. Not only could she hold her liquor better than that, she’d never let herself drink that much. He laughed when she said nothing.

“Enigmatic Dulce.”

“Big word for a Destin.”

“Ha! Classist!”

“Paloman. I believe we’re beneath you in education so I’m punching up.”

“We’re trash people from trash principalities, it’s true,” Jimin sighed. “I don’t have much lost love for my homeland but Prince Seokjin will do right by them. He promised.”

“Hm.”

“He seems to like you, maybe he’ll be a good benefactor to Paloma too.”

“I’m not sure he could find it on a map.”

She hadn’t meant to say that part, but it set Jimin off in a peal of laughter that had him stumbling on the stairs. She felt obligated to see him to his room, which he made a big show of thanking her for, bowing low and kissing her hand, then giving her a gentle tug to see if she’d follow him into his private room. Because of course he got a private room, lucky ass. Why didn’t she get a private room?

But Dulce didn’t feel like fucking anyone right now. Sex would be a chore, despite Jimin’s good looks. The alcohol made her numb and there was too much drama and she was annoyed and not in the mood to be exposed in any way with anyone.

So she declined, pinching Jimin’s ear when he pouted about it. She’d walked away before realizing at least she could have slept in his room, away from so many people. Maybe she ought to have taken him up on it but then “fallen asleep drunkenly” before they could get their clothes off.

This regret mixed with the others from the day, from the past few days, and she felt her spirits sink the further she walked from Jimin and his bright presence. Even his complaints seemed more like bragging and gratitude; he was dedicated to the Prince thoroughly, even when smashed. He belonged here.

Dulce got that bubbling feeling under her skin again, the same one that had made her freeze earlier when Seokjin had said that, making it clear she’d stupidly stepped into a trap without noticing. A feeling that, to be honest, she had been trying to ignore for a while now:

Get out of here.

The strains of that warning threaded through just about every encounter she’d had since she arrived here. She didn’t belong in this palace, with these people, with Nasimiyu, anywhere in sight of this Prince with the walking target on his forehead that he’d practically painted there himself. And what was she doing this all for, to protect a family who hadn’t even tried to find her when she left? No, why would they? All anyone cared about in her family was themself and their own interests. Everything she’d learned about her family as a child was just a lie. It was all a lie, all the good things in the world…

Realizing she was too tired and more than a little drunk and probably going to get in a fight with the other maids when she crept into the sleeping quarters, she took a detour to the kitchen instead. Might as well get some food and water to clear her mind.

It was so late the kitchens were actually quiet, which only happened for a couple hours in the middle of the night, and even then, there was no guarantee that no one would ring the bell with some midnight demand to rouse the overnight staff.

Perhaps that had happened because she heard voices deep in the kitchen, too muffled to make out until she drew close. The door to the outside swung shut as Yoongi turned to her, a bleary look to his eyes.

“Are you cooking?” she asked with confusion because there was no food out.

“Just finished,” he said, gesturing to the dishes piled in the sinks, ready for the washers in the morning. “Did you come for food or company?”

“Food.”

“Had enough company already?” he pressed. “You smell like a tavern.”

“That is probably because I was in one.”

“Really? Didn’t take you for the going out type,” Yoongi mused, beginning to rummage.

“I can find something, you don’t have to.”

“I don’t want you digging around, just sit.”

“I go out,” she belatedly answered. “Sometimes.” She watched his back as he found bread and butter and a bowl of small berries she wasn’t familiar with.

“Me too, when I’m avoiding someone.”

“Who said I was avoiding someone?”

“Were you?”

“What is that berry?”

“They’re called cloudberries,” he explained as she picked from the bowl to inspect. She’d never seen anything like the misshapen orange sphere before. “They’re imported.”

“Too expensive to feed a maid,” she pointed out before popping it into her mouth. She felt very comfortable with Yoongi right now. She didn’t want to but it couldn’t be helped. Sometimes it was lonely, never getting close to anyone. She couldn’t get close to him either but she could settle into a corner with him in a different way than she could with Nasimiyu or with Jimin or Taehyung and somehow all these little pieces of herself she showed in flashes to different because it was human nature to crave connection had to be enough.

No, it was enough!

She didn’t need more than that.

“The king won’t know and the prince won’t mind,” Yoongi assured her.

“You might be surprised…” she mumbled.

“Who are you avoiding?”

“No one,” she answered again, glare brief in Yoongi’s direction because he had fed her, after all.

A thud against the outside wall made them both look over and Yoongi sighed.

“Does someone need you?”

“Are you avoiding… Namjoon?” Yoongi asked. Even before she could roll her eyes he pressed on in an almost deadpan voice, “Did he cause you harm or take advantage of you in any way that makes you feel unsafe?”

For a moment she just looked at him, not sure why the look or voice. He looked like someone had a dagger to his throat, forcing him to ask the question.

Then an idea came to her. She set the bread down before she’d even had a bite, and pushed away from the counter, marching over to the door that led to the outside and threw it open.

Prince Seokjin stood just outside, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed although he straightened immediately at the rush of the door.

She looked back at Yoongi and demanded, “Really? You’re voiceboxing for him? If you have a question, Prince Seokjin, you can ask it to my face.”

“I…” He looked startled and she belatedly recognized her own inappropriate intensity and familiarity. The alcohol might not make her divulge secrets, but there had been a lot of it, and it did make her a little…loose. Informal. Irritable.

Just as quickly, he cleared his throat and asked with all the propriety of a lord asking a lady for a dance, “Did he hurt you?”

“No!” she scoffed and strode back into the kitchen to get her food. He followed, as she suspected he would.

“I don’t mean to offend you by asking the question–”

“You do offend me. Who I fuck is none of your business.”

He blinked rapidly, maybe at her language, and assured her, “Yes, I– yes, of course it’s not, but– except that I wanted to make sure–”

“You wanted to make sure,” she repeated, grabbing the hunk of bread. “So instead of asking me, you brawled in the courtyard and then shouted my name, associating me– spreading my private business–”

“I suspected he had– Nasimiyu told me– I only wanted to protect you,” he said, and recoiled as if he had tossed her a hot potato and suspected she would throw it back in his face.

“To protect me,” she repeated in utter disbelief.

“He’s a lord and you’re a… a maid.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“I don’t mean it as an insult,” he hurried to say. “But it wouldn’t be the first time someone used their title to take advantage of a woman who– who might feel as if no one cares or that there is no justice to be had.”

“Noble of you. Do you run around fighting everyone who does such a thing? Before there is even a complaint from the woman?”

“I… well…” He clearly floundered for words and Dulce bit into the bread because she felt too loud herself and didn’t like it. She was furious, she realized about herself. She didn’t even fully understand why, except that this man had done something stupid and she was furious about it. “I don’t often have it brought to my attention,” he stammered out. “If I did, yes, of course I would defend any woman who needed it.”

“This one didn’t.”

“Well…”

“Not every woman is a damsel in distress.”

“Yes, certainly, of course not. And I’m no knight,” he offered, smiling with that supplicating grin like he hoped he could soothe her anger with a joke.

“I don’t think a knight would shout a woman’s private affairs right in the middle of the courtyard–”

“What did you shout?” Yoongi asked, eyes going wide. “You didn’t mention that part.”

“I– well, you see, it was just– ah, you know how it goes when you have a fight and your blood is pumping and the nerves, maybe you don’t think through everything… I don’t know what I said, I don’t think it was important…”

“It was private,” she said, lowering her voice, lowering her eyes, playing into the very image of demure lady she realized he expected of her. Soft little sweet maid. Quiet. Unassuming. Violated.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just– I know him, and I don’t want him taking advantage of you– or anyone! But especially–”

Yoongi coughed and pounded on his chest so Dulce didn’t hear what Seokjin said.

“I mean that I’m sorry I said anything. I’m sorry I got involved in your affairs, it just never occurred to me that you would… I mean that you…”

“That I have sex?” she blurted out. “I do. I have sex. I’m not this blushing virgin maid you seem to think I am! You don’t have to come swooping in to fight off men for me.”

“Well I just– in the city that day, those men were bothering–”

“I could have taken care of them too! I don’t need your help!”

“Yes of course not,” he said, and pinched his cheek and turned away. “Of course you don’t. You um… you have feelings for him and it’s not my right to interfere–”

“Your idea of women is so…”

Yoongi held his hand up to her, an interruption that gave her just the pause she needed to realize she was saying too much. Expressing too much. She was just so mad that he of all people could so greatly misunderstand her. Underestimate her! And the infuriating thing was that she couldn’t actually even tell him the truth! That she’d been thinking of–

NO, not that truth! That she had murdered–

No, not that one either! That she could kill if she needed to, that she could defend herself–

“Sometimes women have sex for fun,” Yoongi informed Seokjin. “It doesn’t have to be profound.”

Seokjin’s face had turned a deep shade of scarlet, his ears practically emitting flames in the low light of the kitchen lamps, as he stammered, “Yes, of course, I know that. I just meant– I didn’t realize it was your way of passing the time– but that’s fine! I’m not here to judge. I just misunderstood but it was– it was a good faith mistake! I just want to make sure you feel safe and happy here. Namjoon is known to have– well there was this business before where he inserted himself into the wrong woman– I mean situation!” he cried. “Honestly the fight wasn’t even about you, we go way back, I’ve had problems with him and how he treats women for a long time.”

Yoongi swept crumbs from the counter where her abandoned bread sat hardening, and mumbled, “I don’t know, maybe he treats them well…”

“You aren’t helping here,” Seokjin said, the only thing he’d managed to say that didn’t sound like a stuttering, stumbling mess.

“I fed her, helpful,” Yoongi countered. “You overstepped, so just say you’re sorry and move on.”

“I’m sorry, move on,” Seokjin said, then covered his face and cried, “Fuck, I meant–”

Dulce genuinely couldn’t believe this guy, so worked up about her anger that he clearly couldn’t think straight. She hated herself for wanting to laugh at what he’d said. It was funny, if he’d meant it as a joke. She hated how much she liked that he told jokes at the worst times. But she was furious with him! Mortified! Ashamed! How dare he say something funny right now!

“I would love to move on but now I might lose my job because of my private… happenings,” she said. Not entirely true, but not totally a lie, and she couldn’t let go of her anger so easily.

“You won’t,” Seokjin said, as if he had any control of it. “There’s no way Nasimiyu would lose you over this. Just because you have terrible taste in men doesn’t mean–”

“Jin…” Yoongi mumbled.

“Well she deserves to know– you deserve to know he’s not a good man. Maybe it’s just sex, I don’t know, that’s your– that’s your own private affair, but you should know he’s not a good man so don’t expect anything good from him.”

“Stop worrying about me!”

“Yes, right, fine, I’ll just turn it off!” he said, throwing up his hands. “I’m sorry I tried to be a decent man.”

“You have bigger things to worry about than the sex life of a maid,” she huffed. “I didn’t ask for your help or your worry or your– your saving or whatever you thought you were doing!”

“Yes, I see that now. Don’t worry, it won’t happen again. I’ll just mind my own business. Pretend I don’t even know you.”

“You don’t know me!” she pointed out.

He didn’t say anything. Just threw his hands up and walked out the door of the kitchen into the yard. It enraged Dulce. She felt a nearly-impossible-to-ignore urge to chase after him and grab his arm because how dare he just walk off during an argument? Nearly, but not quite; she stopped herself because Yoongi was there, and the sight of him was enough to sober her the pinch she needed to realize she was behaving like a drunk lunatic. She never lost control like this. She never bickered like this! There was no point! Bickering gave someone else power over you. Needing to have the last word or prove a point or correct someone’s thinking meant you cared, and she didn’t have space to care –certainly not about what some stupid prince who was going to die anyway thought about her. Who gave a shit if he thought she was fucking around? Who gave a shit if he thought she was inexperienced and shy and helpless? Who gave a shit what he thought at all?

She’d shouted at him. She’d shown too much, cared too much, let her feelings take over in a way that made everything a thousand times more embarrassing. She’d shouted at the crown prince. And Yoongi had witnessed the whole thing.

Cover cover cover!

“I’m drunk,” she told Yoongi, not a lie. She let her eyes get really wide and asked, “Do you think he’ll have me thrown in prison for talking to him like–”

“If you want him to stop infantilizing you, you should stop it with the eyes,” Yoongi dismissed her with a gesture.

“What?” She was genuinely surprised. No one had ever cut so sharply through that sort of thing with her before.

“Honestly, I’m beginning to wonder if you’re doing it on purpose.”

“Doing what on purpose?”

“Interfering.”

“Interfering with what?” she asked, her confusion genuine because what could he possibly mean by that?! Interfering with… “With the Prince and Lord Namjoon? It’s not a secret they hate each other but why would anything I do with Lord Namjoon have anything to do with the other? It was just alcohol-induced sex after the ball! Fucking isn’t always that deep!”

“Ah, he’d have a quip for that,” Yoongi snickered. Dulce didn’t know if that meant she’d managed to clear his suspicions that she was up to something. But honestly, to think she’d fucked Namjoon as a way to… to what? To piss off Nasimiyu, if anything!

“I don’t know what you’re accusing me of doing.”

“Nothing,” he said. “I don’t either. Why don’t you head off though? Take your bread. Damn, what a mess.”

“The crumbs?” she asked, knowing it wasn’t the crumbs, knowing that apparently he didn’t buy the innocent act. And Seokjin had bought it too much. And she was angry about him buying the very act she had fed him and for why? Because he’d believed it so much he was willing to fight a man about it? That couldn’t really truly actually be the reason he’d fought Namjoon and yet…

She took her bread and the cloudberries and left, but the berries tasted too sweet right now, like they’d make her sick.

The first person to ever fight for Dulce and it had to be him?

What a mess.

“He was on duty when he disappeared?” Dong-gun asked, looking down his nose at Jungkook as Seokjin stood by. Jungkook nodded, glancing at Seokjin for confirmation. The remaining three men of Seokjin’s bodyguard rotation stood by, with a space in between where Edmung ought to be. Five, five men who followed Seokjin around the clock, even stood outside to do nothing but wait when he slept or pissed or attended council. Even checked the washroom before he entered if it was outside his own chamber. And fuck him if he had bubble-guts or something and needed to spend some extra time in there, because they just stood there on the outside, waiting, knowing.

The guards had been assigned to him since that time he’d been just about assassinate years ago, but Seokjin didn’t complain about it anymore because the truth was he dodged them all the fucking time so it wasn’t too much of a burden. Jungkook wound up with an unfair balance of shifts because Jungkook was the one he was least inclined to dodge. But Alonzo, Muhtar, and Marks were old, annoying, judgmental, and never laughed at any of Seokjin’s jokes. He also suspected they reported everything he said and did to his father –or would have if he did anything worthy of mention, good or bad. He didn’t trust them much, though he supposed they were good at their job. There hadn’t been any close calls since that hunting trip. It could also be that no one cared enough to try anymore.

“Seokjin?”

“He was just gone,” Seokjin confirmed with a shrug. “I didn’t lose him on purpose. I don’t remember the last time I saw him.”

“It’s a window of two hours between when his rotation began and when Jungkook noticed he was missing,” Muhtar explained. That was a long time in which Seokjin couldn’t recall a single interaction with the man. Not that they usually interacted. He was sort of… annoying. A few years older than Jungkook, and he did laugh at Seokjin’s jokes sometimes, but he just took himself and his job so seriously. The older guards did too, but they were calmer about it. Sometimes Seokjin wanted to take Edmund by the shoulders and shake him and insist This isn’t an impressive assignment! The only person who ever tried to kill me was a crazy guy who thought I looked too much like my dead mother to live! He insisted he could talk to animals and that he controlled the boar he sent after me with his mind! He was nuts!

Damn, he hated to remember it. The immediate formation of his guard might make it appear as though his father was deeply concerned about the attempt, rather than embarrassed at his son’s incompetence. Seokho was off winning a war and Seokjin was nearly killed by a wild boar in the caves while holding a gun. He’d shot ducks before, he’d caught and cleaned his own fish, he wasn’t –as his father laughed and lectured for years to come– incapable of getting his hands dirty with the matters of life and death. Incapable of defending himself while his older brother was off fighting and killing people.

The boar had nearly killed him. Gouged him in the side, knocked him off a cliff, and he’d hung there bleeding to death as Jungkook shot the boar in the head, shot the assassin in the leg from his perch in the trees, and pulled Seokjin up from the branch. At nineteen. Home on a brief leave from the military and allowed to hunt with them as a favor to his late father who’d died defending Dong-gun. A hero at nineteen while Seokjin couldn’t even shoot a boar that was about to kill him.

He’d never said it, but sometimes Seokjin wondered if his father wished the boar had finished the job. Or that his sons had traded places, and it was Seokjin who’d died in the Therepin border skirmish two months later. He himself felt like that sometimes too. Not that he wanted to die –because actually there were many things he enjoyed in life– but that it wouldn’t be so bad to die because he didn’t really get to live much anyway. That’s how he felt sometimes. If he died, eh, maybe it was meant to be, and he’d done his best to wring enjoyment from his short life while he could.

So he snuck into the city to enjoy himself. He broke away from his bodyguards so they wouldn’t watch him with those dull, judgmental, disappointed gazes, pretending not to but observing everything. Even Edmund, who acted like it was a great honor to be hired to guard the crown prince. It led him to wish the bodyguards weren’t there, to act like it, so that a man who dedicated his life to Seokjin’s safety disappeared and Seokjin couldn’t even say the last time he’d seen him.

“There’s been no body found?” King Dong-gun asked the head of palace security.

“No, sir.”

“Which means he could still be alive and talking,” Uncle Dong-suk pointed out, standing by the window. Seokjin was surprised his father had allowed his uncle into this meeting on palace security affairs after they’d fought nonstop since his uncle’s arrival, but maybe Uncle Dong-suk had just invited himself and his father simply hadn’t wanted to argue any more.

Seokjin shrugged, “He won’t have anything to talk about. He doesn’t go into council with me. I don’t have anything confidential in my rooms and he doesn’t go into them anyway.”

“Guards don’t have free access to all places in the palace,” the head of palace security insisted. “If Edmund was attempting to access anything important, the guards posted at those rooms would deny him entry.”

Marks –who, notably, had hired Edmund– insisted, “We have no reason to believe he was a traitor. It’s more likely he was captured and is loyal and innocent of wrong-doing.”

“Except for getting captured, leaving my son open to danger.”

“But how would he actually be captured in the middle of the palace while on duty?” Alonzo pointed out. “He wouldn’t go without a fight.”

“Unless he’s guilty is my point.”

“In which case he would probably leave while off duty,” Jungkook pointed out. “I don’t know how he was taken but I think he was, ser. Quickly and quietly.”

“Could this be related to the body found in the Princess’s bureau?” Muhtar suggested.

“Should we double up bodyguards? Two at a time?”

“No,” Seokjin said quickly. “I’ll just be more aware of what’s around me.” No one had a comment on that, which he took poorly; they clearly didn’t think him capable of being aware of his surroundings, a low fucking bar. “We don’t even know what happened, I don’t see any reason to double up my guards, especially when I don’t even leave the palace. For all we know he went to help a cat and slipped over the sea wall or something…”

The debate went on. Ultimately Seokjin won about not increasing his bodyguard, but lost about increasing palace guards. Two attacks within the walls was two too many. The search for Edmund would continue, though without a single lead, it seemed as likely to be solved as the dead body in Nasimiyu’s bedroom.

Seokjin felt a headache coming on. Things seemed to be going from bad to worse. Everything had been so quiet and dull before Nasimiyu arrived and now he couldn’t keep up with it all. His father wanted to spend the afternoon holding court as a way to show there was nothing wrong, but intelligence had come in about another demonstration in Destin and Uncle Dong-suk wanted to “talk about it.” Which probably meant arguing with Dong-gun about whether he could take several hundred soldiers and just raze the principality to the ground. The more Seokjin learned about his uncle’s policies –both on and off the books– the more he feared his father had an absolute sadist running the military.

They won wars. Their borders were safe. But if the things he heard said about his uncle’s campaigns were true, how could his father possibly let the man be the top general of all Yeonhalbi’s military? Yet at the same time, he saw his father constantly checking his uncle, telling him no about this, no about that. Did they genuinely disagree? Did his uncle do those things anyway? Did his father feel like it just gave him plausible deniability?

Seokjin didn’t know what the truth was. He was scared to know more. All he knew for a fact was that his uncle was cruel, had frightened him since he was a child, beaten him plenty of times to instill that fear, and seemed incapable of joy or mercy. When Seokjin was king someday, Dong-suk would have to go. Surely there was a man who could run the armies for Yeonhalbi and not give off the impression, true or not, that he was committing war atrocities –or, what seemed to be his father’s latest accusation, lying about unrest simply to get permission for a war. If nothing else, Seokjin would need a general he could say no to, who would listen to that no. In this fictional world where suddenly Seokjin knew the right thing to do and just needed people to execute his grand plans.

But how were you supposed to know? As he sat through the debate about Destin –which had his father and uncle arguing so loudly he thought they’d come to blows– all Seokjin could think was, how are you supposed to know? How did you know which wars were worth fighting? How did you know which sacrifices were worth making? Which risks worth taking? It was one thing to refuse a doubled guard because it was his own life at risk; it was another entirely to debate whether the time had come to handle Destin with overwhelming violence or if they could afford to ignore the new alleged raids happening along the Therepin border. Those were Yeonhalbin lives being lost either path you took.

All Seokjin could think was that it was good there were adults handling these decisions. Adult who knew what to do. But did they? They had all differing opinions. And he was an adult! At twenty-nine, shouldn’t he have a clear idea of the right things to do, the proper choices to make? Seok-ho had died at thirty-one, but by twenty-nine he’d already been so sure of himself.

Seokjin couldn’t even manage to be friends with a maid. He’d been so sure he was finally doing the right thing for her, for women in general. Finally taking a stand against Namjoon and his greed. Nasimiyu seemed happy about it but Dulce… damn. Dulce had really put him in his place about it, in a way he’d never expected. He felt like shit about the whole thing –that he’d gotten it so wrong, that he’d insulted her without meaning to, and maybe worst of all, that she’d chosen Namjoon.

She’d chosen him.

It didn’t matter whether it was just sex or something more. Dulce tolerated Seokjin’s jokes and drank hot chocolate with him and tried his culinary masterpieces in the kitchen, but when it came to actual attraction, her eyes went right to Namjoon. Not that Seokjin expected Dulce would choose him or anything, but couldn’t it have been anyone but Namjoon? If she wanted “just sex” so badly? Yoongi was right there! Hell, Jimin and Taehyung had made it annoyingly obvious she was welcome to their dick, and Jungkook had slid right in at the ball–

Who was he kidding? Seokjin knew he’d sulk at least a little no matter who she chose. For reasons he was not particularly interested in analyzing, thank you very much. It wasn’t important. It wasn’t personal. Maybe he just respected her opinions, and would have liked for her to think highly of him. Maybe he’d like to be chosen by someone for once. No one ever chose him. Nasimiyu wasn’t even choosing him, she was just stuck with him.

For some reason, girls always chose Namjoon.

He failed to wipe the scowl from his face as he crossed paths with Namjoon and Mindeulle in the hall. It was pure coincidence; he would have simply avoided making eye contact and hurried away. Instead his gaze just happened to narrow as he came face to face with both of them.

“You can’t be like this forever, please, Seokjin,” Mindeulle leapt into the middle.

For once, Seokjin said nothing, because he wasn’t sure what to say. On one hand, he might owe Namjoon an apology. On the other hand, he meant what he’d said. In fact, he meant it even more now that Dulce had confirmed it was consensual. Looking at Namjoon’s dumb face and broad muscular body and incessant talking about intelligent and profound things and understanding now that this was what Dulce had been drawn to made feelings begin to boil again. So he kept his mouth shut. Because he could be intelligent and profound too and he thought Dulce knew that but apparently she didn’t like his kind of intelligent and profound, or at least not his face. And it didn’t matter because she was just the maid of his future wife but all the same.

“It’s fine,” Namjoon mumbled and grabbed Mindeulle’s arm to drag her away.

“But–”

“I said it’s fine.”

Seokjin didn’t feel fine about any bit of it, and he didn’t appreciate Namjoon taking some kind of high road either. But all he could do was stride down the hall away from them, trying to look like he had not a single care in the world. He wanted to be that man again, the one who didn’t care, who didn’t worry, who just let himself be carried along by the inevitable and did his best because nothing more could be asked for. But ever since Nasimiyu had arrived, he’d been confronted again and again by all the ways his best was wrong or ridiculous or not good enough.

And now one of his bodyguards was either dead or betraying him. Personally, his money was on dead, but did he really know anyone? Anyone? Maybe Edmund had been tracking his movements or eavesdropping on things around the palace for months and just split because the time was right! That was better though. Otherwise a man had quietly died for him. It made him feel sick.

Seokjin needed out of here. He needed to get away from this place and people for a few days and decompress. Not Prince Seokjin, not Dong-gun’s leftover son, most certainly not the future king. He wanted to sit on a dinky little fishing boat and catch his own dinner and invent a new spice rub. He never got to go fishing these days. The most he managed was hiding away in his room and even that seemed impossible lately. His poor pets were suffering without him! Everything just felt too big and heavy.

Hands on his back made him jump and spin with a shout that Marks pretended not to see as Nasimiyu looked up at him with surprise.

“Ah, you. Hey you,” he grinned at her, stumbling to match the energy that flowed just from her hands pressed against his chest and the curve of her lips.

“Nasimiyu. Your fiance. Remember me?”

“Yes, I think so,” he joked. “Um…” Her hand slid down his chest to tap his belt loop before she pulled her hands away. His mind tripped, confused by the openly fond way she looked at him now. Yes they’d had sex, but she seemed so different towards him than she had even before yesterday.

“Are you rushing off to something important?” she asked him.

“No, leaving. Hoping to avoid anything else important today. Mundane activities only.”

“Oh. Hm. I had an idea, but it’s not very mundane.”

“Oh? Uh…” He looked up and down the hall but they were alone (except for Marks. Fucking Marks.) “What did you have in mind?” He figured he must be reading unintended flirtiness into her behavior and wasn’t disappointed by that fact. His mind was a million places at once right now and he did not feel up to the task of being a very good lover.

“I wanted to thank you. For taking me seriously yesterday.” She dropped her voice and clarified, “About Lord Namjoon and my maid.”

“Ah. Right. You don’t have to thank me. You’re to be my wife, of course I’ll take you seriously.” He gave her a serious nod to drive the point home.

“I know you’ve had to endure teasing about it. From your father and uncle.” Teasing wasn’t the word he’d use but it didn’t matter; he shrugged. “So let’s spend some time together.”

“Ah, I’m sorry Nasimiyu, I’m a little distracted this afternoon. I don’t have the energy to go out–”

“Not to go out, to stay in. Come on,” she said, taking his hand and tugging him along. He knew he must be misunderstanding, and truthfully he wanted to just go back to his room and be alone, but he also knew that Nasimiyu was being openly affectionate with him for the first time ever and he’d be an idiot not to encourage it. Wasn’t this what he had longed for –for years? His future bride tossing a coy smile over her shoulder and leading him by the hand to her bedroom? Shutting the door and the world outside and guiding his hands to the laces of her dress?

“Right now?” he asked with surprise.

“Something wrong? Do you have a schedule?”

“No. No, I just– I’m surprised. That’s all.” He wasn’t prepared for this, mentally. He willed himself to prepare as her clothing fell away –even though it felt all wrong. The sun was out. That had never occurred to him as something wrong for sex, but it’s what he blamed the wrongness on now. Or the stress of the day.

“Seokjin?”

“Sorry, I…” He almost told her that Edmund was missing but decided it was better not to frighten her. Not until he knew there was actually a reason to be frightened. “Just distracted. A lot on my mind today.”

“I don’t suppose your uncle had anything good to say today either, did he?” she asked. To his surprise, she didn’t seem angry about his confession or the delay. Her body was all feline grace as she walked, totally nude, to her vanity and removed her jewelry. “Just war war war, I supposed?”

“Yes. War war war.”

“I don’t like him,” she admitted, meeting his gaze through the mirror. She was beautiful. She was so beautiful. Why wasn’t his body responding to this beautiful woman standing so comfortably naked in front of him?

“Me either.”

“I want him gone. As soon as possible,” Nasimiyu said.

Seokjin cracked a crooked grin and admitted, “I don’t make decisions like that.”

“Yet. Someday you will, when you’re king.”

“Yes, someday.”

“And we’ll get someone else to be our general then,” she said. “Right? Even my father would be better. Or maybe not my father, I don’t know, but someone we can trust not to– do you think the rumors about what he’s done are true?”

“I don’t know what rumors you’ve heard. I hope not. It’s making me cold; let’s not talk about him more while you’re naked. I don’t want those things to get crossed in my mind.”

“Yes, of course. But I just mean, you agree? That we’ll replace him?”

“It can be the very first thing we do someday.”

Nasimiyu turned back to him and took hold of the lapel of his jacket, all grins as she cooed, “Our first agreement for our future rule.”

“I hope we’ll agree on a lot more than that.”

“I’m sure we will. You’re far more reasonable than I initially thought. But right now, you seem overly burdened with your work today and taking care of that nonsense with Namjoon and my maid yesterday so let me take a load off your mind.”

“Uh… yes?” She nudged him backwards to the bed, unbuttoning his jacket and shirt, undoing his belt and pants.

“You just lay back and do exactly as I say and I think we can both be very happy.”

Seokjin would have been a fool not to go along with this, and so he lay back, and tried to will his mind clear. He was a lucky man. With a beautiful bride. The way she rode him felt good, so good, what more could he possibly ask for?

***

“Hang these in the closet,” Mirte told her, draping the gowns across Dulce’s arms. “No need to linger, you’re going on a cleaning shift after that.”

Dulce’s arms itched beneath the heavy silks and velvets and beadwork –totally the wrong clothing for a salty city like Priva– as she complained, “Can’t I take them in the morning?” She suspected Nasimiyu was in the room and wasn’t in the mood to see her. She’d managed to avoid her since their argument, and was even more convinced now that she ought to keep herself scarce, in case somehow Seokjin’s shout had reached Nasimiyu’s ears: Keep your fucking hands off Dulce! Dulce was a failure at her mission. The target shouldn’t know your name like that.

Her getting assigned to laundry and cleaning had Nasimiyu’s other maids delighted, since it was obvious Dulce had fallen out of favor. She didn’t care; she was glad for the distance.

“She’s wearing the orange tomorrow, it must be hung in there tonight, do not question your orders,” Mirte scolded. Older, gray-haired, a total bitch ever since Princess Simisola had insisted Dulce be brought along as part of Nasimiyu’s household despite her obvious bumbling skills as a maid. If Mirte had half a brain she knew there was something suspicious about it, but apparently she had the other half that wanted to keep her job and life and so she had accepted this inconvenience without further question. But plenty of barbs towards Dulce.

Fine, Dulce would hang the gowns and leave quickly, no matter what Nasimiyu might say or do. How like her to demand a specific dress for the next day. Who cared? Grab something from your dozens of gowns already hanging and don’t force a maid to run around the palace with your ridiculously expensive clothing when she’d rather do the laundry and get some rest.

Dulce knocked at the door and paused a moment to make sure Nasimiyu didn’t shout at her to go away. It was normal for servants to slip in and out otherwise unnoticed. They weren’t important, after all, not people, just tools, pieces of furniture there to serve the house without question or notice.

The guard had to pull the door for her to slip inside, which she couldn’t do quietly with so much fabric draped over her. She could barely see around herself, a veritable moving mountain, as she shuffled sideways so as not to bash her shins on any wayward furniture or drag the hems and have to wash them all over again.

Which meant her mind lagged without a visual and with her senses focused on safety. The moans didn’t register at first, the dull thud of a mattress. The masculine shout coincided with the moment her mind registered the sounds, wait a moment. Instinct made her twist quickly to see the source of the cry just as Prince Seokjin leapt from the bed, dragging a sheet around his waist and turning his back to her.

Nasimiyu looked lazily over her shoulder, the long curve of her body stretched across the bed. She looked neither bothered nor surprised to see Dulce, as if she looked right through her. Dulce couldn’t decide if this was cruelty on display, if Nasimiyu had engineered her to walk in on her and the Prince fucking, or if Nasimiyu only meant her cold indifference at this happenstance to be the barb.

“Ah, hi… Dulce…” Seokjin stammered, body curled away from her as if he could disappear, as if she might not notice he was nude except for the sheet. Mid-fuck. Flushed and sweaty. Dulce’s insides grated against each other, shredding. “Uh…”

Nasimiyu rolled her eyes and insisted, “Come back to bed, Seokjin, she’s just hanging my gowns.”

Cruel cruel cruel. It was one thing to have listened to Nasimiyu wax poetic about Seokjin’s cock, it was another to interrupt their lovemaking. Dulce turned her back to them, desperate to look as unbothered. She didn’t want to give Nasimiyu the satisfaction. It didn’t matter if this had been intentional. It seemed like a game Nasimiyu might play to get revenge about Namjoon, to prove to Dulce how replaceable she was, the make sure she understood that Nasimiyu was fucking someone else too. Her future husband. She had no way of knowing Dulce would feel more bothered by Seokjin’s naked, muscular back than the soft curves covering the sharp edges of Nasimiyu’s anger. Dulce snipped quickly, easily, at the cords connecting her to Nasimiyu, but tangled herself up confronted by the prince. Naked. Interrupted mid-fuck. An image that would never leave her mind now. He looked even taller out of his clothes. There was definition to his leanness she had not anticipated, lines of muscle along his arms and across his stomach. Knowing how he ate, how was his waist so thin?

And he’d just had his cock in Nasimiyu, that one she raved about so eloquently.

Dulce said nothing and moved as quietly as she could, as if she could undo her presence. She shuffled into the closet and drew deep, trembling breaths to control herself. She was good at control. There was nothing remarkable here. Just a servant going about their business while their mistress lived her life. She hung the gowns quickly, nauseated by every brush of her hand against the fabric. How stupid, how ridiculous that people were born into such different lives like that. Because of the circumstances of her birth, here was Nasimiyu, a princess spending her evening stretched out beneath a prince. And Dulce hung her gowns, each one probably worth more than her family’s entire property, gowns which must be delivered tonight so that Nasimiyu could wear the one of her choosing tomorrow, even while the princess was busy being fucked by a prince. The prince.

It took an eternity to hang the damn gowns. Probably the hems were wrinkling and she’d done a bad job but fuck everyone, Dulce didn’t care. She wasn’t a laundress. She wasn’t even a fucking maid. She was sick of this whole fucking place and the people in it and her reason for being here was irrevocably broken. Nasimiyu’s cruelty had turned towards her now and she wasn’t going to sit around and be her punching bag, a plaything. She’d leave tonight and never look back and Prince Hamisi could throw his tantrum. Maybe she’d even go back to her family and move them. Maybe Prince Hamisi was full of bluff and shit anyway. Maybe she’d kill Prince Hamisi, just for fun.

She tried not to look at either of them as she left the room. Nasimiyu lay on her back, chest clearly pushed up, probably hoping Dulce would notice her tits, ever vain. Prince Seokjin sat on the edge of the bed, blanket still wrapped around his waist, back to both women and face cast down and away. His shoulders slumped miserably. Poor baby, had he lost his erection? Not an exhibitionist? Good luck keeping up with Nasimiyu if one maid walking through was enough to interrupt him. Most men wouldn’t stop. Some men would make eye contact and enjoy the audience. Half the noblemen were probably fucking their maids anyway. King Dong-gun had been after all. Had it started when the Queen’s handmaid walked through the room, just like this? Had it been a secret at first, or had the Queen extended her hand and asked Taehyung’s mother to join? Nasimiyu extended her hand and Dulce saw her smile out of the periphery, almost like she was going to suggest it.

But Prince Seokjin wasn’t his father. Dulce couldn’t imagine he’d agree to that, not if he couldn’t even keep fucking his wife while a piece of furniture brought in the laundry.

Dulce was only too glad to close the door behind herself. The guards laughed and she realized they had known what they were letting her in to. They thought it was funny, a maid passing into a room where people were fucking. Everyone was a sick voyeur, was that it?

No, in another situation Dulce might have seen the humor. She might have rolled her eyes about the whole thing. Maybe in a different situation, she would have invited herself. That was the dark thought she wouldn’t let her mind entertain –a world in which she didn’t hate Nasimiyu, in which Nasimiyu wasn’t angry with her, in which she would be invited into that bed and–

No, she wouldn’t let that fantasy linger for even a moment! She wouldn’t think about what she would do, what Nasimiyu would do, what the prince might do in that situation. Never. Some thoughts were too destructive to think, and right now she was frazzled and shocked and…

…and distressed. She recognized the pounding of her heart but at least it was invisible to anyone who saw her as she charged through the hallways of the palace and headed for the gate down to the street. Her mind turned to the idea of sex as a defense, to strip away the emotion. Because there was emotion. There shouldn’t be emotion. But Dulce felt stabbed in a place harder to reach, harder to heal. Maybe impossible to heal. Nasimiyu and the prince were only doing what was normal and their right to do and yet she felt…

It was time to go. Right this moment. There was no one and nothing to stop her. All this time her chains had only been made of loyalty and blackmail, far too weak to hold her. She broke free of them and focused only on the soft taps of her shoes against the stone steps as she took to the staircase leading to the sea wall and away from this cursed place.

The sea wall would be the most direct path through Priva. She’d calm down by the time she reached the far side of the city and think of what to do and where to go next. Obviously she couldn’t stay here, not even in a city this large, because she’d see them. She didn’t want to be anywhere near them. No Marvono. No Therepin. Sartia? Destin? Maybe Rinsk. Nothing ever fucking happened in Rinsk, but then it would be hard to find work. Maybe she really should go south, find mercenary work instead of assassin work. Drink her way through a lot of money and hack things to death until a blade caught up to her and silenced it all. It wasn’t like there was anything else holding her anywhere for any reason.

Dulce sat heavily on one of the benches looking over the dark sea and let the wave of emotions crest over her head and roll further along without her. It was too much. Living life several steps ahead of emotion left her unprepared for the way feelings tore at her now. She couldn’t name them, couldn’t understand them, just knew that they were there and they were drowning her and she couldn’t endure this. She didn’t want to feel like this. She gripped the edge of the bench and breathed the humid, warm air in deep and tried to sink into the dark waves below, tried to let the loud crash of them breaking against the rocks drown out everything. Tried to match her heartbeat to their steady cadence. It was slow. A large wave broke and then several smaller ones failed to match it until the next large one came along. The noise of it felt like ringing in her ears.

For a long time she sat there, letting herself be rocked by the sound of the waves. How unfair that Priva had to be on the sea. She liked the sea, she had learned that while living here. There was a sea on the far side of Paloma but she’d never been there. Maybe she ought to. She could go to Sartia to stay by the sea but it would mean dealing with more nobles and frankly she felt on the verge of a murderous rage from which no noble was safe.

No nobles lived in Paloma. The Paloma sea was colder though, she was pretty sure. Further north. There was something about the sticky heat of this sea that would linger with her. She’d never come here again but she was glad to take this moment and let this feeling drown out everything else. This was what she would try to remember of her time in Priva –not evenings in the kitchen, not an afternoon drinking hot chocolate in an expensive cafe in the city, not ballrooms and ballgowns or longing to join the sparring in the yard or any of it. Fuck this place and all the people here.

She felt the eyes on her later than she ought to have. In a moment she knew someone was watching her and had been for a while. For a brief moment she wondered if it was Nasimiyu or the Prince –more likely to be him because Nasimiyu wouldn’t patiently await acknowledgement, but less likely to be him because why would he come after her?

Slowly she turned her head to identify who it was. Her hand slid into her skirt for her blade –not the one Nasimiyu had given her, the one she actually preferred– as a hooded figure stepped along the seawall towards her. The person seemed to shy away from the others walking past, leaving a wide berth between themself and the evening strollers. Dulce realized how effectively she had blocked everyone out. The seawall was a popular destination at this time of evening, with the sun only just set. An unlikely place for anyone to threaten her but not impossible.

The woman sat on the bench beside Dulce and shifted the hood of her cloak just enough for Dulce to see her face, soft and nervous and not the least bit threatening. It took a moment longer for her to place where she had seen this person before: in court weeks ago. King Dong-gun had thrown her child and he’d been hurt.

Dulce felt her stomach cramp with the certainty that she was about to learn something she did not want to know.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said by way of introduction. “I’ve been looking for a way to cross paths with you.”

“With me?”

“Yes. You see, I need to get a letter to the prince, and I can’t trust anyone to deliver it for me. You were kind before, when my child was injured, and you are in proximity to him. You serve his fiance, the Princess.”

“Anyone might deliver a letter,” Dulce pointed out.

“I’ve been trying to catch you for a week,” the woman continued. “I need to be sure the letter gets to him, it’s very important. And… and I have to ask that you don’t read it. It’s for the prince’s eyes only. It’s very important.”

“What makes you think I won’t read the letter the way anyone might? Why me?”

The woman laughed, a sad laugh, and admitted, “I don’t know that. I have to take the risk. I’m desperate.” She held the letter out with a trembling hand.

“What’s in the letter?”

“I can’t tell you.” The woman hesitated, then added, “I’m trying to keep my children safe. That’s all. I don’t know you and I know you don’t owe me anything, but I’m just a mother trying to keep her children safe.”

Dulce took the letter. She felt the woman’s close study as she tucked it into her pocket.

“I don’t know why you’d trust me,” Dulce admitted, “but I’ll deliver your letter.”

“When my child was hurt, you were the first to move to help.”

“My mistress helped. And the prince.”

“You were the first to move, I saw it. You were the only one to see us out afterwards and ask if my son was all right. You gave my children candy…” Dulce had. She’d swiped it from the kitchen on her way to find the women and her sons before they left the palace that day, hoping the gesture would loosen the woman’s lips and she could understand why King Dong-gun had reacted so strangely at the sight of her. The answer to her questions might very well be in that letter.

“That doesn’t make me a good person. Anyone could read your letter and sell your secrets.”

The woman nodded and closed her eyes. Everything about her seemed a breath away from shattering.

“I know that. I’m begging you not to.”

“I won’t,” Dulce found herself agreeing. “I’ll deliver your letter, you don’t have to worry about that.”

“When?”

“I can leave it in his room tonight,” Dulce suggested. He’s not in there anyway.

“No, no, please hand it to him. I can’t risk that he misses it.”

“All right, I’ll hand it to him tomorrow morning,” Dulce said. Maybe it was a lie. She hadn’t planned on going back to the palace. She’d see what was in the letter and then decide.

“Thank you.” The woman looked like she wanted to say more, her eyes watering and catching the silvery moonlight. She had a beautiful face. Sad, but beautiful. Instead she simply said, “Thank you,” again and then quickly departed.

Dulce didn’t love finding out the woman had been specifically trying to catch her, though in a way she could understand why. Small gestures could have big impacts. She didn’t think anyone had noticed Nasimiyu didn’t move when the child was hurt until Dulce did. Maybe everyone had.

The letter was burning a hole in her pocket now. She wanted to open it but not where the woman would see her, just in case she still watched. Sympathy for the woman cut through her own noisy emotions; curiosity managed the rest. At least it was only herself she had to manage. She couldn’t imagine trying to make it in this world with children. What a curse to have children whom you loved but born into a life in which you couldn’t protect them.

Dulce rose and returned to the palace, where she could be sure of finding a place to read the letter where the woman couldn’t see. The laundry was quiet at night, since the noise would wake the nobles in the nearby wing, so she went there and leaned against the wall to carefully pry up the seal with a candle and the blade of her knife. The fact that the woman had a seal already struck her as odd and she wished she knew anything about the symbol on it.

Inside, the message was simple: Please meet with me on the first day of the sunflower festival by the clock tower. It concerns your brother and the danger you are now in too. Hoya told me to say this if I needed your help: Hoya broke the blue vase.

Dulce read the message again and again and searched the paper but couldn’t make sense of it. This didn’t seem to be about her sons at all. Who was Hoya? Someone they both must have known, someone who had a secret message with Seokjin. It was curious. It made her curious. She liked to be on the knowing side of secrets. But more importantly, this woman seemed to know something about his dead brother and an implication of danger towards the Prince.

Was it about Nasimiyu’s plot? Probably not; Nasimiyu’s family had nothing to do with Seok-ho’s death. Probably there were other plots. Maybe it had to do with the missing bodyguard? Dulce was unsettled about the disappearance, even though it wasn’t any concern of hers. It wasn’t her fault if the prince got himself killed with weak security. Yes, it would lead to a failure of Nasimiyu’s plan but quite frankly, Dulce didn’t care about Nasimiyu’s plan anymore. She hated Nasimiyu. She hated the prince.

She didn’t hate the prince, she was just angry with him. For fucking Nasimiyu? No, no, yes, but no. For fighting Namjoon on her behalf. For making assumptions about her. For not seeing her through the disguise. It was all stupid. She wasn’t drunk but she didn’t want to look closer at it.

What if the brother mentioned was Taehyung, not Seok-ho?

She resealed the letter and shoved it back into her pocket, not sure whether to deliver it. Maybe if she didn’t, the prince would get killed and Nasimiyu’s plan would be ruined.

But the prince would be killed.

But he was going to get killed anyway, no matter what.

But she didn’t want to be around to see it.

She went to her room. She’d grab her things and leave and decide at the last minute whether to deliver the letter. The servants’ dorms were mostly quiet at this time of night; she had only the faintest light to work by. She dragged out her bag and packed as quietly as she could. The last thing she needed was someone waking up and asking where she was going and why. Abandoning her post would bring some of them joy but they wouldn’t want her to get away without trouble.

She needed to lift her mattress to get a few things from beneath it –nothing valuable, because that was the most obvious place to look, but things that looked sentimental, so she’d look like a normal maid if anyone did snoop. A little hedgehog, for example.

When she crouched to lift it though, she noticed a book sitting on the foot of her bed. Book four of the Kalamouche series. She knew who it was from the instant her fingers brushed the title. Who else would send her a copy of this book? She’d already read this one, but he didn’t know that because the last time it had briefly come up in the kitchen, she’d only admitted to reading two and three.

The note fell out as she opened the front cover:

I’m sorry.

Dulce felt an uncomfortable throb in her chest. I’m sorry.

For what?

When had he sent this here? It was him, she would have recognized his handwriting from the papers on his desk, he was the only one this made sense for. Even if it didn’t make sense. Was he sorry about fighting Namjoon? Or sorry for thinking she was some young, unsexed, innocent child? Or sorry for airing her affair in the middle of a courtyard for all to hear?

Or sorry to be caught in bed with her mistress, his fiance?

It couldn’t be the last one. Really it couldn’t be any of them. What did he mean, sending her this stupid book with this stupid little unsigned note? A prince had no business apologizing to a maid. A prince had no business giving a gift to a maid. How dare he? How dare he act like this and be so stupid and make her so confused and make it so difficult for her to leave?

She couldn’t leave.

She slumped against her bed and closed her eyes, the book clutched in her lap alongside the hedgehog from that day in the city. Usually it was in her pocket but she had shoved it under the mattress after they’d argued in the kitchen, as a show of her anger that no one would see but herself.

I’m sorry too, she allowed the words to form in her mind, the letter she would write if things were different. I’m sorry that I let myself get too close to you. I’m sorry that you were born into this life you don’t seem to want and that you will always be in danger for the rest of it. I’m sorry that you don’t get to wander the city and enjoy the mundane things in life the way you want to. I’m sorry that you are going to marry Nasimiyu and she will never be the woman you deserve. I’m sorry that you’re so stupid you’d fight your cousin for my honor or dignity or safety or whatever noble idea you had. I’m sorry that I am not who you think I am, I have lied to you every day I’ve been here, but I’m sorry that some truth snuck through too and you were tricked into believing that was all of me. I’m sorry that I came here to help you along to your death. I’m sorry that even though it won’t be me, someone else will do it instead, because you weren’t born with the venom and claws you need to survive.

But it won’t be me that does it.

She wished she could write a letter to Nasimiyu, too, but then it would give everything away. I’m sorry, Simi, but you are never going to be queen.

Dulce tucked the hedgehog back into her pocket, alongside the letter, alongside the other letters she had sewn into the foot of the mattress and now tugged free –the ones Seokjin had written to his betrothed. She wouldn’t read them. She didn’t want to. Instead she would sneak them back into his room tomorrow, and then she would give him the letter from the woman with the sons, and then she would find whatever it took to unequivocally expose Prince Hamisi and the Marvonese family’s treason to King Dong-gun and Prince Seokjin.

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sweetfushi · 9 months ago

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hii! i just saw the mha men as girl dads thing and it was so cute😭😭🥹

could i request the same concept except maybe they’ve returned from patrol very late at night and saw their little baby asleep (or awake, take your pick✨) at the front door waiting for them?

thank you 🩷

COMING HOME TO FIND THEIR CHILD WAITING FOR THEM

fluff | dabi, tamaki amajiki, mirio togata x reader, established relationship, mentions of blood, burns and scars. ◦ notes. hello hello! i’m so glad you enjoyed it 😭 your request made my heart flutter and i really enjoyed writing this (baby fever was seriously activated) <3

DABI.

— He’s drenched in rainwater, another’s blood and decorated with a couple of new slashes. None too deep, but still ones to be cautious of. He steps through the front door with a groan, and considering it’s 3am, he’s surprised to find the hallway light still on. When he hears a soft snore, his heart skips a beat and he tenses, only to glance over at the bottom of the stairs to find his three-year-old son dozed off.

— Dabi takes a moment to process the preciousness of the moment, the stinging from his scars barely felt amongst the warmth in his chest. He smiles faintly, a very subtle expression, kicks his boots off on the doormat and picks the boy up. “You idiot. You know I don’t come home until late,” Dabi mumbles, huffing out a sigh. He could’ve caught a cold like this, or have a sore neck from his sleeping position.

— “You’re here,” you whisper from the top of the stairs. Dabi’s gaze is quick to find your face, admiring your disheveled hair, tired eyes and sleep attire. “He insisted he’d welcome his Dad home from his mission. He’s been down there all night,” you chuckle softly, heart fluttering when Dabi ascends the stairs and presses a kiss to your neck, wrapping his free arm around you. You take note of the blood on his arm and give him a look of annoyance, one he knows to acknowledge by heading into the bathroom for you to patch him up.

TAMAKI AMAJIKI.

— It’s almost midnight when Tamaki comes home. The second he walks in, he's quick to lock the door behind him carefully. He’s panting from exertion but evidently calmer now that he's home, carefully pulling his shoes off just as he hears a small, sleepy whine. He looks over to the coat rack by the door to find his two-year-old daughter sleeping under it. However, from the sound of the door locking, she’s already starting to flutter her eyes open.

— “Papa!” she gasps once her vision focuses. She scrambles to her feet, almost tripping as she dashes towards him and jumps into his embrace. He’s quick to catch her and hold her tight with a small gasp, hesitant from all the blood on his hero suit. “Hey, what are you doing up so late?” he whispers, patting her back. “Where’s mama?” His daughter goes into a long rant about how you're already asleep and how she's been waiting for over three hours, sitting by the door with her snacks beside her.

— Tamaki lets out a breathy laugh, ruffling her hair. "Determined to welcome me?" She nods frantically. "Well now that you have, I think we need to get you to bed." But by the time he says that, she's already asleep, head resting on his chest and her sleepy whines starting up again. Tamaki smiles contently, rubbing her back as he walks up the stairs, into your room and places his daughter down to sleep before getting ready for bed himself.

MIRIO TOGATA.

— It's not too late when Mirio returns, about 10PM, but he's still careful when locking the door and pulling his shoes off. He makes his way into the kitchen to wash his hands, only to see you and his daughter sat at the dining table, anxious expressions painting your faces (or however anxious of an expression a five-month-old can muster). The moment he steps foot into the kitchen, you notice him, holding your daughter in your embrace as you speed-walk towards him.

— "Oh my God, love, are you alright? Who's blood is that?" Your brow is furrowed as your run your hands along his chest, his abdomen, and up to his neck. Mirio tenses at the intimate contact, flushing a light pink, but he quickly assures you that "I'm a-okay, sweetie. This blood isn't mine, some low-level villain got in my way last minute, so this is just the result," he laughs softly. His daughter squeals and coos, reaching for her father. Mirio wipes the blood off his chest before snatching her into his arms and spinning her around, their giggles filling the air.

— She starts to tug on and play with his cape, wrapping it around herself in an attempt to play hide-and-seek. Mirio indulges her and, while she's in his arms, starts running around in a mocking attempt of trying to look for her. You exhale at the sight, relief filling your chest to see his usual demeanour. Your daughter refused to sleep until she saw the beaming face of her father, and now that she had, she still didn't seem like she was going to sleep any time soon.

sweetfushi © do not modify, repost, translate, copy or use my post in any way. all that is included in this post, aside from the fictional characters and universes, belong to sweetfushi (zee).

#changed mirio's one up a bit because mirio with a tiny baby is absolutely adorable #tamaki amajiki x reader #mirio togata x reader #dabi x reader #mha #bnha #mha x reader #bnha x reader #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #mha scenarios #bnha scenarios #bnha fic #mha fic #my hero academia #mha fluff #bnha fluff

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randomfoggytiger · 2 years ago

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React: "Return to Me" (from the POV of Someone Averse to RomComs): All Parts

After getting intrigued by this gif set (and getting encouraged by @baronessblixen and @dd-is-my-guiltypleasure), I began a fun, crazy weekend of watching "Return to Me" slowly, gathering screenshots, and typing down my in-real-time reactions.

Here's the accumulated stash for simplicity's sake:

“Return to Me” Part I

Part II: I Become a Bonnie Hunt Fangirl

Part III: Wherein I Rename Bob the Builder

Part IV: It Seems I Am Terrible with Names

Part V: My Headache Loses the Bob-Ben War

Part VI: Bob, Bowling, and Joe Nearly Kills Me

Part VII: Scars and Hearts, Dining and Dashing

Part VIII: The Perfect ¾ and Ending

Enjoy!

#Return to Me #from the POV of Someone Averse to RomComs #Compilation #analysis #mine #collection #DD #txf #but not #Minnie Driver

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dracosaurusrex · 4 years ago

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Kintsugi: Imperfectly Perfect (Draco x Reader)

“Kintsugi is the Japanese art of putting broken pottery pieces back together with gold — built on the idea that in embracing flaws and imperfections, you can create an even stronger, more beautiful piece of art.”

- Tiffany Ayuda

Summary:In which Y/N teaches a broken Draco Malfoy how to mend himself and embrace the scars that haunt him.

Wordcount: 10.3k

Genre: Angst/Fluff; Postwar AU

Warnings: Descriptions of depression; self-degredation; sexual themes but no smut

A/N: Hi! This is my first time writing a postwar AU. I was always afraid of doing so out of fear that I would mistakenly portray Draco, but I guess this can be a rite of passage in a way aha. With that being said, here’s my attempt! I hope you like it :D Feedback is very much appreciated!!

The sound of an alarm clock breaks the peace that had manifested within the darkness of the room. One eye creaks open, followed by the other, and a body raises itself to greet the day.

The boy lifts his sheets gently, allowing the cold air to engulf his skin, to wake him, to pull him into the reality of yet another morning.

The pads of his feet are the next to awaken as he hoists himself out of bed, meeting the frigid floor beneath him. He plods across the expanse of space, only to take notice of his reflection in the mirror.

Draco Malfoy, once boisterous, prideful, loud, and arrogant, had been reduced to a shell. One that lived by drifting through the motions of each passing day. It showed through the dark circles apparent under his eyes, the frown that resided on his lips, and his overall gaunt appearance. The thrill that was once characteristic of his youth had spilled through his cracks, leaving him empty and seemingly unrepairable; and no other perspective of his experience could convince him otherwise.

The second wizarding war took too much from him so early on. It started with his father, the man he had ardently looked up to, who he desired so much to please. Lucius’s arrest put the young boy on the forefront of the Death Eaters’ activities, placing an unbearable weight on his shoulders. From that point on, it wasn’t long until the mischievous smile left him, only to be replaced with panicked eyes, increased stress levels, and absolutely no peace of mind. The boy had his entire life on a tightrope, constantly pulling strings to survive.

The result of such was the immense realization of guilt pooling from the sights of Hogwarts in shambles, the lifeless bodies of those he was once acquainted with, and the shame of literally walking away from it all.

Nightmares were also frequent visitors. Besides those that embodied remnants of the war, Draco was almost always confronted by the tauntings of his wrongs: the way he poorly treated others, his stuck-up sense of superiority, the foul slur that he once used so freely--they all haunted him with no end, and all he wanted to do was take everything back. The boy has so often degraded his character since then, describing himself with words such as ‘worthless’, ‘loathsome’, ‘putrid’--the list goes on. He carried his beating heart as though it was dead weight, wanting so desperately to discard the regret that compounded on itself through the years. He was broken, and had no hope of being fixed.

It was also needless to say that the family dynamic had changed for the Malfoy’s; especially since they often stayed within the confines of the property. Narcissa had been diligent in eradicating the place of all things that harbored any signs of Voldemort’s occupation--opening curtains, tending to her garden, changing up the plans for the interior design. Lucius, on the other hand, often occupied himself in his study, simply abiding by the plans for change that his wife had made. He still invested in his social connections, actively making donations to charities and hospitals that had been established as a result of the war. The act helped shed some light on their image, however any interaction that was to be made with the world outside was done through Draco as representative of the family name.

Fortunately, he managed to keep his mind silent in the mornings. As he walked through the vast hallways he would take note of the way light had poured into the manor, admiring the charm that it brought to its nooks and crannies. The quaint atmosphere that was characteristic of these corridors were peaceful, and managed to calm his thoughts albeit temporarily.

As soon as he entered the dining room, Narcissa beckoned him to sit with her and his father.

“Draco, darling, come have some breakfast.” Without much response, he obeys, taking the spot across from her. She placed his favorites on a platter, and observed him as he nibbled on the food in front of him. After several minutes of silence, she pulled an ivory-colored envelope from the pocket of her robe and slid it to him. With food still mounted on his utensils, the boy glanced at the gold details that embellished its corners.

“We’ve been invited to an art gala hosted by the Ministry. The details are inside.” She said.

“I’ll be sure to be in attendance, mother.” He confirmed before resuming his breakfast. The woman casted a worried look at him before turning to Lucius. Things could never go back to the way they once were.

The art gala was held on a Saturday evening, and Draco found himself standing in front of a finely decorated building. An air of aristocracy and luxury loomed within the environment--it was an energy that he had been surrounded by all his life. Large columns aligned its front. A red carpet stemming from the entrance had been rolled out, sweeping along a flight of stairs. Familiar faces of esteemed socialites were seen making their way up the steps. Banners had been hung, indicating the gala and a live auction as highlights of the day’s events.

His only job was to engage in civilized conversation, connect with other high-standing figures, and expand the family network. Simply put, he was there to look pretty.

The feeling of dread overcame him at the thought of immersing himself in socialization. With a begrudging sigh, he straightened his back, briefly smoothened out his suit, and adjusted his cufflinks before trudging up the stairs. Eyes tracked his every step. Despite his emotional wellbeing, the boy still managed to clean up well, creating a facade to those around him. He didn’t bask in the glory, though. He knew he was handsome, he knew he was wealthy, but looks and money were no longer sufficient enough to help him tend to the emptiness he felt on the inside.

The gala itself didn’t begin until 6:00 PM, which was in an hour. Therefore, in hopes to kill time, Draco aimlessly walked through the art displayed for the auction to be held later that night. He carefully observed the numerous crafts with great scrutiny. Paintings were created with much detail--many of them embodying styles from the varying art periods. Sculptures paying great detail to the human body littered the main floor. Hand-crafted furniture were set on display as well, showcasing elaborate ornaments and designs. Mother would like these. He thought. He continued plodding across the exhibit, typically stopping for a mere minute for every submission before walking away.

It was when he took sight of a humble set of ceramics that he actually stopped to stare. The collection consisted of bowls and pots ranging from small to medium sizes. However, what caught his attention were the traces of gold that coursed through their shapes. They took the form of cracks, which looked too beautiful, too flawless to be such--he couldn’t comprehend them ever being broken at all.

“Do you like them?” A light voice startles him from his thoughts. Standing next to him is a bright-eyed girl whose face he vaguely remembers.

“Y/N Y/L/N? What are you doing here?” He dismisses her question and looks at her with disbelief laced through his voice. The girl was in Ravenclaw when they were still in Hogwarts. Due to the difference in houses and friend groups, there was rarely any interaction between them. Nevertheless, he’s heard countless praises for her artistic talent even as a student, therefore reserved a tinge of respect for her reputation.

“Draco Malfoy! It’s been such a long time!” She beams at him. A breathy laugh escapes him as a polite smile settles on his lips.

“Definitely has been. Were you eyeing this set as well?” He glanced back at the ceramics, contemplating on bidding for them in the auction. The sight of them evoked a warm, admirable energy within him, as though they called for his presence.

“Heavens, no. I actually made them.” Y/N took notice of the way he glanced at them, and shyly rubbed the back of her neck. The boy turned to her with eyes widened in awe of her brilliance—the smile of politeness immediately transitioning to one of sincerity.

“You made these? They’re beautiful!” The comment brought heat to her cheeks.

“Draco, please. You flatter me so.”

“I’ll be taking these home without a doubt.” He reassures her. In the moment that he says so, he immediately takes notice of her appearance. Her hair was slicked into a low bun. Her makeup gave her a pleasant dewy look. Gold accessories accentuates her deep emerald evening gown, which only emphasizes her curves as it flows down her body. He couldn’t recall her ever being attractive when they were students—she had always been clad in blue. But, tonight proved that green was definitely her color.

“You look lovely, by the way.” He complimented as his eyes glossed over her. She bit her lip in response to the butterflies that formed in her stomach.

“You always had a way with words didn’t you, Malfoy?” The melodic laugh that she produced, in turn, caused his heart to skip a beat.

“I admit I was a prat, but I’m not joking around this time.” The girl let out another giggle before placing her hand on his shoulder and giving it a quick squeeze.

“I think you look rather dashing yourself. Unfortunately, though, I have to get going. I’ll see you around?”

“It would be my pleasure.” Draco watches Y/N’s figure as she walks away. Before she goes any further, she looks over her shoulder and says, “Good luck with the auction!”

With a small wave and smile, the boy is left in a lighter state.

The gala came and went with Draco thoroughly exhausted from the copious amounts of socialization. Questions regarding connections to his father were asked, business cards were exchanged, and flattery and compliment was a common occurrence amongst these interactions. Nevertheless, the boy’s energy especially drained from the intensity of the auction that occurred towards the end of the night. All the art pieces were valuable and beautiful, however it was only then that he realized that he wasn’t the only one drawn to Y/N’s work. Competition for the highest bid was at an all-time high as number paddles were desperately raised for every price announced. His heart clambered in his chest as the thought of keeping the ceramics seemingly slipped from his grasp.

“Highest bid for 80,000 galleons! Do we have any takers?” The auctioneer announces. Draco waits for a second to see that no one has raised their paddles. Within the next, he lifts his own confidently.

“We have a bidder for 80,000 galleons! Do we have any more bidders? No?” At this point, adrenaline coursed through his veins, beads of sweat had formed and fell, and the grip on his paddle tightened, leaving marks on his hand.

The auctioneer proceeds to announce the final countdown, “Final bid for 80,000 galleons! 1, 2, 3, sold to Draco Malfoy!” Relief overcame him while congratulatory praises were given by those nearby. He catches Y/N’s gaze from afar, and throws her a wink, signifying the resolution for the chaotic night.

As attendees began to file out of the building, the boy waited in the hall to collect his reward, filling out the form that confirmed the amount he had to pay. With his attention drawn to the slip, he fails to notice Y/N’s presence beside him. She looks over his shoulder, eyes widening at the amount before looking away to suppress the smile that threatens to form on her lips. She never really gave much monetary value to her art before; each one was produced as a product of passion and love. However, the expression that it first brought to Draco’s face, in addition to the amount of effort he put in to attain them, reassures that her work will be well taken care of. She momentarily stares at his broad shoulders before gaining the courage to speak.

“Congratulations!” She says, startling him once again. He takes a second to collect his breath before looking up at her.

“Do you plan on giving me a heart attack, Y/L/N, or is it in your nature to be overly enthusiastic?” The shameless smirk she has on her face, prompts him to release a chuckle. He stands up straight as soon as he signs the piece of paper, engaging his line of vision with hers.

“The way you respond is not my fault, Malfoy.” She answers, playfully shoving her index finger towards his shoulder. He grabs her wrist, and the warmth from his hands, accompanied by the flirtatious gleam in his eyes, prompts her to cast the same expression. She shoots him a coy smile before he releases her from his grasp.

“Would you like to accompany me to the front?” He asks.

“That’d be lovely.” The pair approaches the stage where the volunteers greet them both. They present his items upon confirmation, and proceed to wrap each bowl individually. He lifts one of the unwrapped pieces to his eyes, examining the gold details.

“How’d you manage to pull this off?” He asks, impressed by her craftsmanship.

“It’s a technique called ‘kintsugi’. I learned it while living in Japan for a while after the war,” She says, reaching her hand out for it. He gives it to her.

“You know, these pieces were never supposed to be auctioned off in this gala,” She explains as she delicately traces the lines, “They were so damaged. You can even consider them to be broken beyond repair,” Draco observes as she lifts it to her eye level.

“But obviously, when pieced back together—with all their cracks emphasized by the gold—they have much more value and beauty,” Y/N gives it back to Draco, and he takes it gingerly.

“However, It took a long time for it to come out that way. When you examine the piece before its repair, the first thought in mind would be to discard it. After all, why would anyone bother mending a broken bowl?” She meets his eyes once again.

“These cracks would typically be considered flaws, but at the end of the process the piece is still whole—I’m still whole. They mean a lot to me, and helped me heal from the war and all.” Her line of sight drifts towards the end of her statement, yet the boy catches himself appalled by the passion in her voice. He didn’t expect her to speak so openly, yet the words that flowed from her mouth touch him in a way he can’t comprehend. For once he feels a glimmer of hope budding within. For once, inspiration meets him, and he doesn’t want to lose that feeling she effortlessly provided.

“I’ll make sure to take great care of them.” He says with much sincerity.

He places the piece back onto the table, and turns back to Y/N to see a sweet smile on her lips.

“I have faith you will.” A knowing look is shared between them--one that makes both hearts flutter in longing to see each other again.

“Do you think we can keep in contact? If it’s alright with you that is. I’d like to become more familiar with this art technique.”

“The Slytherin prince wants to keep in contact with me? Consider me wooed.” Draco rolls his eyes and chuckles at the old title. Before he could respond, she speaks again with more seriousness, “I don’t usually accept visitors in my studio, but I’ll make an exception for you. You can come by sometime, if you’d like.”

A genuine smile appears on his lips for the second time that night. Out of all the individuals he exchanged contacts with, she by far had been his favorite. He ensured to send her an owl to confirm their meeting, hoping to do so some time next week.

As they part, she turns back one more time, and calls out to him, “Draco,” The sound of his name perks his head upward

“You should smile more. It’s a lovely sight.” Before he could see her face erupt in a blush, she apparates away. With his new belongings in hand and an obvious grin, he too returns to the manor, feeling elated for the first time in a long while.

It was nine o’clock by the time Draco apparated home. Narcissa immediately took notice of his change in aura much to her relief.

“How was the gala, dear?” She asks.

“Quite pleasant this time around, if I’m being honest. I won these at an auction.” Draco stated as he props the box on top of a table. His mother approaches him, attention drawn to the objects when he reveals the contents inside.

She gasps, “Oh my stars, they’re beautiful.”

She picks one up delicately. The expression she had on her face was very much identical to the one he sported when he came across them the first time.

“I knew you’d like them. The artist was a fellow classmate of mine at Hogwarts.”

“Oh? Who is it? I would like to see more from this artist.”

“Her name is Y/N Y/L/N. Quite brilliant she is.” Mother’s instinct told Narcissa that this girl had her son taken aback. She saw it through the pleasant expression that graced his facial features, which contrasted greatly to the gloomy air that usually accompanied him. Furthermore, there was a decadent tone in his voice, a sparkle in his eyes, and a slight smile present when her name rolled off his tongue. She decided to probe a little bit more.

“House?”

“Ravenclaw.” He responds.

“Very fitting. The craftsmanship in her work is amazing,” The woman’s eyes marveled at the gold.

“How is she?” She asks. The question catches the boy off guard.

“Pardon?”

“How is she doing? Has she been okay since the war?”

“We didn’t touch upon it too much. Although, she mentioned that creating these has helped her heal.”

“You mean to say that these were broken at one point?”

“Precisely. She mended them.” At this point, Narcissa was quite taken by the girl as well.

“You should invite her over one of these days. I’d love to have a cup of tea with her.” Draco quirked a brow at her.

“You’re not going to ask about her blood status?”

“I would’ve known she was a pureblood from her last name, but times are changing aren’t they not?” Narcissa flashes a tightlipped smile towards her son, to which he responds with a nod of understanding.

“I’ll be going up then. You can keep that one mother. You seem to take a liking to it.” Draco turns on his heel at the end of his statement, carrying the box of ceramic goods under his arm. He wouldn’t acknowledge that times are changing. However, tonight has been the only instance he had felt his life shifting —from the way he reunited with Y/N, to the way his mother spoke. It was a step forward to redemption, and he felt a little more willing to see where it would go.

The boy sat on his bed, deep in thought. With moonlight shining upon him, he delicately traced the golden lines that streaked the small bowl in his hands. Then with much hesitation, he rolled up his left sleeve and began tracing the blaring curves of the mark that stained his porcelain skin. Its presence resembled shackles that have been chained to his ankles, and the weight of the memories caused him to grimace. However the budding warmth that had seeped within him soothed the negative sensations. Heart palpitations of regret transformed into those of hope. Furthermore, recollection of the girl’s words rang through his mind. It led him to wonder if piecing himself into something better would ever be a viable reality—a dream so tempting to pursue that he brought himself to his desk to start a letter addressed to her.

Y/N awoke to a tapping noise on her window. With heavy-lidded eyes, she peeks through her curtains only to be met by an eagle owl. Its wide orbs stared directly at her, and attached to its beak was an envelope. She recalled the conversation she had with a certain platinum-haired boy from the night before, and immediately jolted upward, pushing the window open to let the animal in.

“Do you belong to Draco, love?” It perches itself on her shoulder, and drops the envelope into her hands. A wax seal presents itself with an ‘M’, confirming her inquiry. She opens it with much carefulness, and pulls out the letter inside.

Y/L/N,

How does this Thursday sound? 5:00?

The girl chuckled at how straight-to-the-point he was, while her mind flitted back to their school days. She had always felt neutral about him. In contrast to popular belief, she didn’t think he was quite bad. Despite the harshness behind his actions, his eyes always maintained an undertone of fear. Upon the revelation that the boy was indeed a death eater, the title itself wasn’t what stirred her. Rather, it was the incomprehensible experience that she could merely picture him going through. She was there when he crossed sides. She was no stranger to the distraught look on his face--fear had overtaken him even in that moment. He might’ve been flawed, but it wasn’t without reason.

A cry from the owl broke her out of thought. “Impatient are we?” It blinked in response. Not wanting to keep the bird waiting any longer, she pulls out a piece of parchment and begins to write a response to the letter.

Y/N inserted the parchment into an envelope, sealed it, and handed it to the owl only after she gave it a treat. As she watched it take flight from her window sill, she contemplated more on the boy. ‘Kintsugi’ the art of broken pieces and precious scars. As thoughts of him lingered, she began to wonder if how he fared ever since the war had drawn to its close. Before she knew it, she carried along with her work, totally occupied with the image of him in mind.

Draco’s heart beat like a drum when he skimmed through the contents of Y/N’s response. The feeling of nervous excitement erupted within his stomach up until the moment he stood on her doorstep. Besides the instances in which he’d gone out for his parents, it had been a long while since he stepped foot outside for himself. He took sight of the sheet of clouds that blanketed the sky, the small plants that were scattered on her porch, and the movement of the curtain as wind blew through her open window.

Mere seconds of waiting were filled with more self-doubt as he tugged on his left sleeve, clenching his forearm soon after. Not much could be guaranteed from this meeting. For all he knew, this might’ve been a one a time thing. However, such thoughts were casted aside once he was greeted with Y/N’s glowing smile.

“Draco! It’s so nice to see you!” She stepped aside to let him in, “Please come in.”

The boy greets her, and looks around her small space. He indulges in the glimpse of her expressive decor--somehow they represented the life that she had built and created for herself over time.

“Darling, your jaw is going to fall off,” she chuckled, “Come, the studio is in the back.” The girl gestures at him to follow her, and is met with a small building stationed behind the main house. The image of shelves fills his view upon entering. On them were stacks of cracked ceramic—some in large pieces, others in small. Towards the far corner of the room was a pottery wheel, and opposite from it was a small gas kiln. In the middle was a table space with various tools, brushes, lacquer, and gold. The room was as neat as it could be, much to Draco’s surprise.

“This is me.” Y/N turns around with her arms spread out. She then proceeds to pull a stool out for the boy and urges him to sit. He does so, and she stands in close proximity to him, leaning on the table for support.

“I was actually working on a piece before you came.” The girl points to her current project—a vase whose cracks have already been bound.

“What’s the process like?” He asks

“It’s much longer than you think. I learned how to do it the traditional way in Japan, and I haven’t deviated from it ever since.” The boy quirks a brow.

“You mean to say that there are faster methods?”

“There are, however it’s the process I appreciate the most I suppose. Mending takes time after all.” Y/N, who had been looking down at her feet, glances up at him to see his brows furrowed inwardly.

“Don’t you get impatient?” She nods in reminiscence.

“I used to in the past, but all things worth anything take time, right?” They stare at each other for a moment. Draco, who has longed for the feeling of redemption, looked into the pure intent within her eyes. The silence prompts her to slip a small smile at him.

“How about you, Draco Malfoy? How have you been?” There it was: The question that he could never answer (not truthfully anyway). Despite being in the center of all his thoughts, he hadn’t developed the courage to face them properly. He was stuck in a routine of living that provided a false sense of security. However, the present brought him to the realization that he had never been secure--not with himself.

“Not as good as what people see at face value.” He said simply.

“I never would’ve thought. Although, I suppose it just shows that we can never truly judge others, huh?”

“Yes, definitely.” He allowed his view on her to linger before speaking again.

“I actually wanted to see the way you worked.” It was her turn to quirk a brow at him.

“And why’s that?”

“To see the mending process.” Y/N remained silent as she analyzed the longing look in his eyes. His silvery orbs conveyed volumes of a history that was left unspoken.

He continued, “I want to believe that broken things can be mended.” The determination in his eyes reminded her of why she began learning kintsugi in the first place. Behind the determination was hope that longed to be born to fruition.

“I have one condition,” she said. His eyebrows arched in response.

“You can watch me, but you have to do some mending yourself.” She stepped away at the end of her statement and reached for something on her shelves. When she came back, she grabbed the boy’s hand, and placed a small bowl in his palm. It was a simple piece--still intact--taking on a warm, grey sheen. He looked at her with confusion, only to be met with seriousness.

“Kintsugi begins when something breaks, and it focuses more on the beauty of the process rather than the outcome. That being said, it requires a lot of patience and acceptance.”

“I’m not an artist, Y/N. It won’t be perfect.” The girl takes hold of his other hand, and cups it within hers firmly.

“It doesn’t have to be, Draco. The process belongs to you. You just have to trust yourself.” She said earnestly with her grip on him tightening. The warmth from her hands emanated through his skin and into his chest. She stood so close now, her head tilted upward to meet the uncertainty on his face. It made him feel vulnerable, but he stared back into her eyes with much resolve. It was an answer as it is.

Y/N gave him a reassuring smile and stepped away from him.

“I want you to drop that bowl. You don’t have to smash it, just let it fall.” Draco shifted his glance and looked at the bowl hesitantly. After a couple of seconds, he releases his hold, and allows the piece to slip from his fingers. His eyes were trained on it as it fell through the air, meeting its fate with a shattering sound. The bowl that was once intact was now in pieces on the floor, eliciting a familiar ache within him. It had split into five--a large one, one medium, and three more that were much smaller that comprised the object's rim.

As he bent down to pick up the pieces, a new wave of ambition overcame him. Each chip was picked up with much mindfulness, with responsibility, with purpose. When he stood up again, he began to perceive them as a reflection of himself, and gently placed them on the workbench.

Y/N, who witnessed the entire scene, smiled when Draco turned to face her. Her lips were pulled up gently, sweetly, and it evoked rosy feelings inside him. The boy eyed her as she went back to the shelf.

“How do you feel?” She asked. Her back was turned to him as she reached for another bowl.

“Light.” She smiled at the sound of his response. She returned with a teal-colored bowl in hand. Following his previous actions, she dropped it, allowing the sounds of shatters to fill their ears once more.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“You think I’m going to make you do this alone?” The girl bends down as she gingerly picks up the chips of ceramic from the floor. She proceeds to clear out the table, leaving only the utensils to be used to start the process.

“The materials I use are already here, but we’ll be working only with the lacquer for today.” The two set off to organize their pieces, hearts becoming more aware of one another as time passes on. After everything got sorted out, she demonstrated layering a coat of lacquer to the edges. Draco examined the way the smile instantly left her face, only to be replaced with a focused expression. Her eyebrows lowered, lips in a firm line, sights fixed on the ceramic. He also noticed how languid her fingers were in handling each piece with care.

The solemnity of the sight is broken as she parts her lips to speak again, “Did you know that the lacquer is toxic?” He shakes his head when she spares him a glance momentarily before setting her gaze back onto the chips. “It’s toxic when wet, therefore much care needs to be taken when you lay it on the edges.” She then takes the smaller pieces and proceeds to add lacquer on them as well.

“However,” She continues, “as it dries, it hardens and mends the bowl perfectly.” She attaches the pieces together, and lifts the bowl carefully to show him. The boy stares at her flawless handiwork--the cracks reveal themselves as mere lines, seemingly invisible to the naked eye.

“Strange, right? A substance that was once toxic is used to mend. When it dries it restores the product to perfection, and loses its toxicity.” Draco simply nods. It was a hard concept for the boy to grasp, but her words tickled a corner of his heart. How could something so bad be used to restore something that was once whole into perfection? He gazes at his own project while Y/N sets hers down carefully.

She passes the materials to him, observing as he gingerly takes the brush in hand. He dips it into the pool of lacquer, raising a glob of it up from the bottle.

“You don’t need too much, just enough so that the brush is covered completely.” She reached out to grab his hand, to demonstrate what she had meant. After realizing their closeness, however, she turned a shade of pink and stepped back. Draco tried his best to hold back his smile, but failed miserably.

“I’m s-sorry.” She stammered. He chuckled at her.

“Nonsense, I’m all for this form of instruction.” He said teasingly, eliciting a laugh from her.

“Don’t mind me, just concentrate.” She ordered. Silence loomed, but smiles remained on their faces. Draco continued his work, emulating the way she coated her edges. He gripped each chip firmly while his eyes trailed the movement of the brush. Each second spent felt like darkness was being extracted from within, leaving him light and solemn. With much caution, he then pressed them together, and watched as the product adopted its once flawless form. With an approving look, Y/N explained the proceeding steps, immediately noticing the relaxed expression that had settled on his features. Deciding to take a break, the two embark to the main house to relax.

“Since we have to wait a while, is there anything you want to do? To eat?” She asked as they entered the room. The question, however, was left unanswered due to the sighting of a familiar looking uniform. Hung on her wall was a Ravenclaw robe.

“You still have it?” He asked, pointing to the article of clothing with his chin. She chuckled and pulled it off it’s hanger.

“Yeah. I found it a couple days ago, and thought I’d try it for old times sake.” She slipped it over her shoulders, pulling the boy through a series of flashbacks from his time in Hogwarts. He recalled passing her by the hallways, getting small glimpses of her sketches, even seeing her vibrant personality shine with her friends.

“You know, I always thought you looked better in green.” He said approaching her.

“You think so?” He nodded.

“It’s a shame that we never really talked much. I think we would’ve been good friends.” She said in response.

“You think so?”

“Well besides the bullying, yes. I don’t think you’re as bad as people portray you to be.”

“You give me too much credit, Y/L/N.”

“Maybe you deserve a little more credit than you were granted.” This sparked more warmth within the boy. As she ordered food for delivery, Draco took a seat at her table, his gaze locked on her with the robe still propped on her body. His thoughts drifted as he imagined what might’ve happened if he did befriend the girl. How different would he be if he had her for company? How close would he have allowed their friendship to become? His mind began to wander and he ruminated on the what-could-have-beens, most especially the effect that his receiving of the dark mark would have had on her. His fingers flitted to his arm and rubbed the portion of fabric that covered his mark.

Y/N sat across from the boy, immediately noticing his dazed look.

“What’s on your mind?” She inquires. The boy broke off from his thoughts and refocused his attention to her.

“Just thinking about the past.”

“What of it?” She asked. He looked at her with slight reservation in his eyes.

“How different things would be if we were friends.” Her thoughts lingered on the possibilities for a while before she abandoned them completely. Only one realization came into mind:

“Well, we’re friends now. Perhaps everything that happened in the past was needed for us to meet like this.” She slid off her robe and propped it back on the hanger.

She continued, “Whatever it is, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Now belongs to us.”

In that moment, a switch flipped in Draco’s mind, and he knew those words would stick to him for a long time. Maybe it wasn’t a chance at redemption that he yearned for--the conversation he had with her made him realize that the chance had always been presented to him--rather it was company. Genuine company. The one that opened their arms for comfort, the one that offered understanding when he couldn’t offer some to himself, the one that provided reassurance that everything was going to be okay.

She didn’t need to elaborate. Her words conveyed her intent clearly, her eyes blazed with firmness, confidence, and faith in him. The boy closed himself off for way too long out of the fear that he’d be rejected once again. The anxieties that had resulted from the foul glances, derogatory statements, and prematurely formed accusations towards his family locked him away to the only source of comfort that was available to him--himself. How was it possible that he made it through on his own all this time? He barely held on to a thread, and as he crumbled further, so did his grip. And when the grip was no more, he fell into the hollowed body that he was. He allowed his darkness to swallow him, to control him as he mindlessly drifted with each passing day.

Until now.

Right now, in the stillness of the room, in the comfort of her dining table, in the presence of her worn out Ravenclaw robe, the thread had reconstructed itself. It presented itself as the small smile that softly graced her lips, the scent of clay that lingered on her hands, and his bowl that sat solemnly streaked with cracks in the workshop behind the main house.

“I suppose you’re right.” The boy showed a smile of relief, which prompted the girl to reach out for his hand, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Here’s to our friendship!”

There were very few things that Draco cherished in his life: his family and his solitude. As weeks flew by with Y/N’s company, however, he found that his heart was beginning to create space for her as well. It began subtly with the way he silently observed her actions. She catered to each of her pieces with the same amount of dedication--every detail incorporated with mindfulness, with care, and intention. She exerted a similar effort when it came to guiding him. Every step in the process was taught with much patience. Her soft hands would graze his own in attempts to correct his form, to stabilize his shakiness, and to relieve him of the tension that came with his perfectionistic tendencies.

-flashback-

The sound of Draco’s uneven breaths made themselves aware in Y/N’s presence. She had left him alone to tend to his project and herself to her own. Muscle memory led her to scrape off the excess traces of lacquer from the cracks, while the boy fixed his concentration on sanding the surface of his bowl smooth. Scratching noises filled the air, and only became more amplified as minutes ticked onward. It was unfamiliar to the girl--the action itself shouldn’t have required much energy. With a brow arched upward, and her gaze directed towards him, the sight of furrowed brows and tense lines fill her view, eliciting a chuckle from her.

“You’re going to break the bowl at that rate, Draco.” The boy unclenched his jaw and gave Y/N an exasperated look, increasing the volume of her laughter.

“I told you I won’t be perfect.”

“What is it that you’re having trouble with?” Y/N asked, as she made her way to his side of the table.

“Some of the excess just won’t budge from its place.” Draco huffed in frustration. She removed the bowl from his grasp, and examined the object. On the other hand, he takes the liberty to step closer to her, his face peering over her shoulder. The heat emanating from his body distracted her, which she responded to by immediately returning her attention to the remnants that resided on its cracks.

“It helps to focus on one spot at a time,” She grabs the crumpled piece of sandpaper laying on the side, and connects its surface to the porcelain. He watches as she uses minimal yet focused motions to scrub at the excess. Slowly but surely the residue clears out, revealing a clean, crisp line. “See?” She turns her head to the side only to be met with his in such close proximity. His breath softly brushes against her skin. His silvery orbs dive deep into her y/e/c ones. The pulses of their heartbeats ring through their ears, and the concentration shifts from the demonstration to one another.

It’s the apparent flush staining his skin that has her pulling away.

“Why don’t you try?” She nervously asks. Y/N hands the bowl to the boy, and observes as he attempts to emulate her actions. With motions still stiff and choppy, she finally takes his hand into hers.

“Relax, Draco. You need to be patient with it.” With slender fingers wrapped around the back of his palm, she guides his grip with focused and particular motions. The repetition engrains itself into his muscle memory, and he quickly gets the hang of it. He exhibits relief with every remnant removed. In return, she releases her grip and looks at him with a satisfied expression.

“Thank you.” He says, and he means it. With perfection constantly being expected of him, the feeling of humility that comes with being a beginner is foreign. He had always been pushed into the limelight--the weight of his family name designates the image of flawlessness, elegance, and poise in all that he did. No room for mistakes. He was required of only the best. So, when he looks at her and gazes at his hands, a genuine smile spreads on his lips.

The expectation for perfection may have taunted his past, but the realization of his commitment in giving his best brought out a clear sense of victory despite the imperfect process that had been associated with it.

Some days are tougher than others. The nightmares make it difficult to get through the night regardless of how infrequent they became. It always resulted in him waking up, broken into a cold sweat. Goosebumps peppered his skin, the hair behind his neck stood straight, and he would gasp for air. With regret once again overcoming him, a weight forms in his throat--it’s impossible to go to sleep now. Moreover, the fear for the lack of a peaceful slumber keeps him wide awake until sunrise, and there is only one word that shouts at him in the back of his mind.

“Mudblood.”

“You filthy mudblood!”

The sayings are coupled with the memory of his back pressed onto the cold, wet, bathroom floor. He could recall the stinging sensations that pricked his body, the sight of blood seeping through the white fabric of his uniform, and the energy that was draining from his spirit. It was the lowest he has ever been--mere moments away from what could’ve been his end. Maybe that’s what should’ve happened. There was no one for him to turn to--the warmth of his mother’s arms was so far away, the act of shedding tears was sacrificed to protect his family, and the fact that he was already repulsive in the eyes of others caused his hope to plummet. There wasn’t anyone who he could call his true friend--one he could confide in to relieve the burdens he had faced.

But there was Y/N. The erratic heartbeats that rang against his chest subside when he remembered the firmness within her voice as she cheered for their friendship. The sparkle and reassurance that was displayed within her eyes tickled his heart in a way that he hadn’t experienced before. The soft touch of her hands reminded him that he wasn’t alone. The patience in her voice reminded him that despite all of his shortcomings, there was always hope for change.

It was then that he’d pluck himself out of bed, and take hold of the ceramic piece that laid prettily on his desk. With deep breaths, he ran his fingers through its golden streaks, allowing the chilled sensation to calm him down. His eyelids would flutter close, and he’d envision her soft smiles, her chipper personality, and the passion that was expressed through her eyes whenever she worked. He’d recall the worn-out Ravenclaw robe hanging on the wall of her dining room, and remember that she was there. She believed in him. She had given him a chance. With his mind set to ease and the morning sun illuminating through the fabric of his curtains, Draco picked up his own broken pieces, and binded himself with the faith she had as the lacquer to keep him together.

Narcissa and Lucius had noticed subtle changes in the boy. A peaceful light had returned to his silvery eyes, the frown that graced his lips began to fade with time, and the tension that he held in his joints loosened. He treaded the halls with his back upright, his vision trained straight ahead--each step filled with more purpose than the last. They didn’t make it known to him, but the sight brought them much joy.

It was a cloudy day when Draco returned to Y/N’s workshop. This time around, however, there’s much more uncertainty and nervousness within him as he stands in the midst of her working.

Earlier that morning, Narcissa mentioned hosting a ball within the manor (something that hasn’t been done in forever). Invitations were sent out already, the RSVP list continues to grow, and the property itself has been decorated to exhibit its new grandeur. Of course, he agreed to it--slightly concerned about how they’d be perceived--but he was more thrown off by his mother’s only request:

“Please bring Y/N with you, Draco. I’d like to commission her for a piece.” In his mind that translated into, “I want to meet the girl you’ve been constantly visiting.” He knew his mother wasn’t against her. He was more worried about how Y/N, herself, would respond.

The familiarity of her focused expression surfaces, and it attracts him much more than it has before. Her hands are nimble, and she moves fluently. Her hair was tied into a low and messy bun with loose strands framing her face. Her appearance now was much different than their first meeting at the gala, yet his mind went back to that night--picturing her beauty in her deep emerald green dress. With his feelings for her more clarified, he feels his heart beat at the thought of her touch, moreover the thought of his touch on her. Would she even return his feelings?

“Draco, are you alright? You’ve been staring this way for a while now.” He takes the opportunity to test the waters.

“I needed to ask you something actually.” He goes around and pulls a stool to sit on, meeting the level of her gaze.

“And that is?”

“My mother asked for you,” He said, fumbling with his fingers, “My family is hosting a ball, and she wants you to come--she wants to meet you.” He notices the way her eyes widen at the sound of his announcement.

“I’m sorry. Come again?” Draco released a soft chuckle before reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a decorated envelope with her name printed on the front.

“This is yours.” She takes it from his grasp gingerly and brushes her fingers on the fine embellishments. Realization hits her when she skims across the familiar letters of her name.

“I’ve imagined many things in my life, but they certainly don’t come close to this. Wow, imagine being invited to a Malfoy ball.” Her words flowed out with awe, softening his heart. He reaches out, and tucks one of the loose strands behind her ear. The action forces her to look into his eyes.

“She’s taken quite a liking to your work.” His smile brings out one of her own.

“I’m honored.” She starts to beam, “I should go dress shopping soon.” Her eyes remain transfixed on the information given on the actual invite itself.

“I think you’d look beautiful in anything you decide to wear.” It was meant to be a thought--meant to stay in his head--but it came out, and now the girl felt her face get hot. She covered it with her hands, while the boy just looked up at the ceiling to avoid her gaze.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.” He says.

“It’s fine.”

“If it’s fine then why are your hands still covering your face?”

“Why are you still looking up?” Draco, lowers his chin and pulls her wrists away.

“I’m not anymore.” When the words leave his lips, and his eyes meet hers, he becomes aware of the amount of peace that he attained since meeting her again. In some way, the silence that fills them is overtaken by the messages that their gazes send to one another, both containing gratitude and affection.

“So will you come with me?” He asks.

“Definitely.”

Y/N paced back and forth while many aristocrats stepped into the manor with much poise in their step. She didn’t mind formal events when it came to art, however, this case felt entirely foreign to her realm of comfort. She wasn’t from a wealthy family nor was she pureblooded either. Surely the end of the war had initiated a shift in change, but the significance of blood status still persisted in some even after. Nevertheless, she made herself present. With much resolve and a false sense of confidence, she stepped into the entrance of the building.

The foyer was bustling with chatter--many attendees stood with glasses of champagne in hand. Still in an awkward stature, the girl takes a look around. The ceilings were decorated with crystal chandeliers. Velvet curtains were pulled to the side, exposing massive windows. Arches, columns, even the walls were covered with ornamental carvings. Every single aspect portrayed luxury. Whenever Draco visited the girl, she discarded his association to wealth and solely focused on him as a person. Because of this, the realization that the boy actually had some coin in his pockets hit her like bricks.

Draco, who had kept his eyes locked on the girl, chuckled to himself. She stuck out from the crowd with her eyes widened in awe. Not to mention her attire. Her hair was kept straight down with golden clips holding it tucked behind her ear. Furthermore, she was dressed in a champagne mermaid gown speckled with beads and embroidery, which flourished outwards and into a sheer fabric decorated with similar details. Her neckline plunged into the middle of her abdomen, yet her shoulders remained covered with long sleeves that wrapped themselves fittingly around her wrists. She truly had the tastes of an artist.

He quietly made his way to her as she continued to gawk at the room. “Your jaw is going to drop, darling.” He whispered in her ear. The feeling of large hands planting themselves on her waist caused her to let out a small yelp, pulling her out of her daze. She let out a breath of relief when she turned to see Draco’s face.

“You scared me.”

“You were gawking at the walls.” Y/N rolled her eyes, and briefly skimmed him from head to toe. Heart skipping at the way his suit had admiringly framed his shape well. She giggled at the sight of the snake brooch that embellished the collar of his jacket.

“Always a Slytherin, aren’t you Malfoy?” As she brushed her fingers along the details of its design, Draco reached for her hand, and held it by her fingers. She could only stare as he lifted it higher to press his lips on it. Butterflies were felt everywhere.

“And a charmer.” She added. They shared a quick laugh before being interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. Standing before them was Narcissa, who beamed at the sight of her son with the girl beside him.

“You must be Y/N Y/L/N. I admire your work, dear.” The older woman stuck her hand out, which the girl shook firmly.

“Thank you so much. It’s a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Please, call me Narcissa.” The delight in her voice emitted a welcoming energy, loosening the nerves that Y/N felt early on.

“Thank you so much for inviting me, Narcissa.”

“It was no problem at all, dear. I’d actually like to speak to you regarding a commission later on tonight. Would that be alright with you?”

“Of course! I’m honored you’d even considered me.”

“Very well, I’ll leave you two alone now. I hope you enjoy yourselves.” Sweet smiles and gazes were exchanged between the two women. After casting a knowing look to her son, she departs from the pair, disappearing into the crowd.

“Draco, I’ll have you know that I can’t dance to save my life.” He snickered at her confession, already letting the comfort between them settle in.

“It’s alright. Let’s walk instead.” With arms hooked, Draco begins leading her away from the bustling room and into a secluded hall. Mounted on the walls were paintings of his predecessors. He introduced each patriarchal figure to her, starting with Septimus. Her vision plastered itself to their features, mentally discerning the traits that Draco inherited. After a while of walking and conversation, they finally got to a family portrait. Depicted on it was a younger-looking Lucius and Narcissa, and seated on his mother’s lap was a young Draco himself. Y/N unhooked her arm from his, and approached the painting. She concentrated on the little boy. He had bright eyes, a toothy grin, and flowing platinum locks. His hand gripped firmly on Narcissa’s, and his small legs dangled over her dress. He was the only one smiling in the painting, and it warmed your heart knowing that the artist decided to keep that detail in.

“What’s going on in that mind of yours?” He asks, stepping close. He hesitantly snaked his arm around her waist, hoping that she didn’t mind. She looked up to him and smiled, stepping even closer to him.

“You were so small.” Draco scowled slightly. However, his heart skipped a beat when he saw the way she looked at the portrait with adoration, allowing his foul expression to fade.

“Well that was painted when I was seven, so it’s no wonder I was small.” His sarcastic remark caused her to roll her eyes again, softly slapping the hand that was planted on her. He glanced at her and squeezed her side tighter, pulling Y/N even closer to his body--his warmth increasing the amount of butterflies that rose in her stomach.

“When I walked in earlier, it completely slipped my mind that this was your house. That you grew up here.”

“Why’s that?” He asks, genuinely interested in her response.

“Everytime you came over, I only saw you as Draco. Not as Draco Malfoy, only son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, and heir to the Malfoy family name.”

“Please elaborate.” He commands, his heart now racing.

“You’re more than the expectations held for you. You came with commitment to learn about a process that you were genuinely interested in. You grew with your mistakes and your frustrations. That experience was you, and you alone.” She couldn’t help but reveal that admiration she had for him through her voice.

“I thought it was amazing.” She whispered, hoping that he wouldn’t hear her. He did, however. In turn, he grabbed her hand and led her further down the hallway and into his room. Y/N stood there confused at his sudden action. Her eyes then begin to widen at the sight of him removing his suit jacket with her mind drifting to rather dirty thoughts.

“Draco, what are you-”

“I didn’t think it was possible.” Y/N furrowed her brows.

“What do you mean?” Draco looked into her eyes, before shifting his gaze to his left sleeve. Her line of sight follows him as he unbuttons his cuff, and rolls the fabric up, revealing his dark mark. She gasps.

“I didn’t think it was possible to mend myself.” It didn’t take him to say much for her to finally understand that he didn’t intend to do anything dirty. It was the opposite of that. He was making himself vulnerable to her.

“But you showed me how.” He said, completing his statement. Tears brimmed her eyes upon the realization of the reality he had to live. The blaring mark that took away his innocence screamed against his pale skin. It screamed of the pain, of loneliness, and the many many long sleeved shirts he must’ve worn to keep it hidden away.

“If there’s anyone amazing, it’s you, Y/N.” The tears that had built up fell as she furiously shook her head.

“No, Draco. It’s you. It’s all you.” She took his arm delicately into her hands and pressed her lips on his dark mark. Draco felt his eyes well up in tears, while her own spilled onto his skin. Every kiss that she peppered seemed to paint over his scars, his cracks with gold. The feeling of emptiness dissipated in her presence, only surrounding him with warmth that he had yearned to keep.

“I’m thankful for you.” He whispers. Y/N couldn’t hold herself back at that point anymore. She released his arm from her grip, and held his cheeks within her fingertips, wiping the moisture that managed to fall from his silvery orbs. She, then, slowly lifts herself using her tiptoes, and scans his face for a moment before pressing a sweet, short kiss on his lips. It was gentle, much like her. It was patient, much like her. It was filled with faith, hope, and concern--things that she hadn’t been able to express to him in words, yet was felt through her kiss. Draco closed his eyes at the sensation. When she parted from him, he cupped her face with his hands, and drew her close once more. A sigh escaped her as she felt all the emotions he managed to keep in. Each press conveyed a level of appreciation that the boy had never thought he was capable of showing.

In that moment a memory of a shrill shout fills her mind, and she stops so suddenly.

“Weren’t you struck with sectumsempra?” She asks with her brows furrowed towards him. His lack of response confirms her curiosity.

“May I?” Her fingers trail to the top of his shirt as she makes her request. Knowing what it is she wants to see, he nods, prompting her to carefully undo the buttons. Her hands tremble as she makes her way down, revealing the scars that resided on his body. She pushes the fabric over his shoulders, and begins tracing each one--much similar to the way he has done with the golden cracks on her bowl. She slowly lowers herself and starts placing kisses where he has been struck. With her hands gently fastened to his sides, her lips linger in one area before transferring to another. He finds comfort in them--it was as if each sensation reassured that he was loved. As she travels upward, she plants a kiss on his jaw, and a final one on his own. With it she expresses a message dedicated only to him: I believe in you.

They separate and bask in the moment by holding each other’s gaze. After a while, Draco wraps his arms around her waist, and pulls her into a tight embrace. He nuzzles his nose on the crook of her neck and kisses it, while she runs her hands up and down his bare sides. His left hand then finds its way to her jaw, tilting her face upwards. He proceeds to nip the expanse of her neck, making her head fall back to grant him more access. The hand that was wrapped around her waist travels downwards to her hip, grips it, and presses her body against his.

“Draco,” she moans.

“Hm?” She doesn’t respond. She finds herself completely intoxicated by his lips as he moves from her neck, her sternum, and to her exposed abdomen. Instead, she laced her fingers into his hair and pushed him closer to her skin.

The pair was interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door.

“Young master! Are you in there?” It was a houself. Draco presses a finger to his lips, signalling to remain quiet.

“I don’t think he’s there, we should check elsewhere.” Light footsteps were heard fading into the distance, eliciting a light laugh between the two. Y/N looks into his eyes once more, and kisses him one last time.

“Should we go?” He responds with a small ‘yes’ and kisses her forehead. As he buttons his shirt, the girl plods across his room, fascinated with its luxuriousness as she takes in the details. One of them causes her to gasp, however. She walks with her throat choking up at sight of the familiar bowl that was placed on his desk. It was hers. She lifts it gently, recalling their first conversation at the gala. The golden scars remind her heavily of the boy behind her. As she traces them, warm hands rub against her sides before snaking around her waist once more.

“Does this mean you’re my girlfriend now?” Y/N laughs at his question.

“I suppose it does.” She says as she weaves her fingers into his. The boy takes a moment to stare at the bowl ahead.

“When you said that Kintsugi helped you heal, I wasn’t quite sure to believe you or not. But, going through the process was more than enough to make me understand why.”

“You truly are amazing Draco Malfoy. I won’t let anyone tell me you aren’t.”

“Even if my past is completely flawed?”

“Your past made you into who you are right now. What we have is ‘now’, and ‘now’,” she sets the bowl down and faces him, while her hand caresses his cheek. “...‘now’ belongs to us. Now you are amazingly, wonderfully, imperfectly perfect.”

Epilogue:

The sound of Y/N’s words rung in his mind as Draco found himself standing in the middle of her workspace. With a firm grasp on the brush handle, he dips the bristles into the gold liquid, allowing the excess to drip back.

He takes a deep breath, and allows the solemnity of the room to fill him. Many thoughts overtake him in the moment, but only one makes itself prominent to him, resilience. After going through the binding process himself, he pridefully lays down the gold over the cracks on his bowl--each one portraying the imperfections of his past.

A/N: Hi! If you made it this far, I want to thank you so much for reading! There’s a bit of inaccuracy in the last bit, but besides that I hope I brought much light to the technique in general. I hope you enjoyed!! Feedback is very much appreciated :D

Tagging:

@beiahadid @hahee154hq @mushi98 @stretchyice @dracosathenaeum @dreaming-about-fanfictions @saby06143 @rottenhexrt @littlethie @amithatemo

Link to the taglist is on my masterlist :D

#Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco x reader #draco x y/n #draco x you #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy imagines #draco lucius malfoy #tw depression #tw self degredation

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boombox-fuckboy · 4 years ago

Text

List of stuff I've listened to so far (Audio Drama A-Q)

Accurate as of: 2025-01-06

Listened: 2 times, 3-5 times, 6+ times.

For audio drama R-Z click here

For TTRPG pods click here

101.7 OUROBOROS

10ver.exe

The 12:37

13 Minutes Or Less

90 Degrees South

A Ninth World Journal (to finish)

A Scottish Podcast

A Timeless Flight

A Voice From Darkness

The Abberant Report

Absolutely No Adventures

Achewillow (listening)

Aced it! (Non-fiction)

Additional Postage Required

The Administration

Afflicted

Aftershocks

Alba Salix, Royal Physician

The Alexandria Archives

Alice Isn't Dead

All in my Head

All The Wrong Magic

The Alnerwick Files

The AM Archives

The Amelia Project

Among the Stars and Bones

Anamnesis

And 195

The Angel of Vine

The Antiquarium of Sinister Happenings

The Antique Shop

Antonyms

Apocalypse Songs

Arca-45672

Arcadia, CA (to catch up)

Archive 81

Arden

Ark City

ars PARADOXICA

The Attic Monologues

The Author’s Anathema

Aurora Everlasting (to catch up)

Autumn

Average Folks

Back Again, Back Again

Badlands Cola

Bastard Fur (Certain Scenes Excluded)

BE NOT AFRAID

The Beacon

The Beef and Dairy Network (to finish)

Before The Tone

The Behemoth

Believer: A Paranormal Mystery

Between the Devil

Between Heartbeats

The Big Loop

Blackwood

Black Box (The Haunt Collaboration)

Black Box (REVERB) -> Gave up E6

The Black Tapes

The Blood Crow Stories (Season: 1 2 3 4)

Blood Culture (to finish)

Bodies in Space

Borrasca -> Gave up S1

Boston Harbor Horror

The Box

Breathing Space

The Bridge

The Bright Sessions

Brimstone Valley Mall

Burgess Springs

The Burned Photo

Burst

Caledonian Gothic

The Call of the Void

Camlann

Camp Here & There

The Candyman

Cape Lock

Caravan (Certain Scenes Excluded)

Catharsis

The Cellar Letters

Chain of Being

The Children of Room 56 (to catch up)

Children of the Stones

Cicatrix: Scars of Parchment

CIRCLES

City of Ghosts (to catch up?)

Clockwork Bird

Community Cat News

The Conservatory

Constants

Counterbalance

Crash of the Mellifera

Cryptid

The Cryptonaturalist

Dark Ages

Darkest Night

The Darkroom

Dart

Dash (to finish?)

The Dead Letter Office of Somewhere, Ohio

Dead Man's Notes

DEADHOUSE

Dear Bastard!

Death By Dying (to finish)

Deathless

The Deca Tapes

Deep Blue Stars

The Deep Vault

The Department of Midnight

The Department of Variance of Somewhere, Ohio

Desert Skies

Desperado

Deviser

The Diary of Aliza Schultz

Diary of a Space Archivist

Dining in the Void

Directive

Dirt - An Audio Drama (to catch up)

Discovery Park

Dispatches From The Multiverse (to finish)

The Domestic Life of Anthony Todd (to finish)

Don't Mind: Cruxmont

Doorways

Dos: After You

The D.O.U.G. Project

Down

The Dragon's Rest

Dragon Shanty

Dreambound (to catch up)

The Dreamwalker's Diary

The Dungeon Economic Model

Duggan Hill

Echobox

Echoes (In) Between

either

Elaine's Cooking for the Soul (to catch up)

Electromancy

Elevator Pitch

Elixir

The Elmwood Strain

The Elysium Project

The Endless Ocean

Erraticus

Escaping Denver (to catch up)

Ethics Town

Experiment 31E

The Eye

Faerie (to finish?)

The Far Meridian

Fathom (Listening)

Fawx & Stallion

Finding Atlas [To Have & To Hold]

Finding Pattersby

Finding Penny

The Fiona Potts Interview

Forest 404

Forgive Me!

For The Record

Fracture

Gabriela & The Inn Between

The Gaia Miracles

Gaslight

Gastronaut

The Ghost Catchers

Ghost Hunt Pacific

Ghost InSpectors

The Ghosts on This Road (Listening)

Ghost Tape

Ghost Wax

Girl In Space

Give Me Away

Glasgow Ghost Stories

Glass Letters

The Gloom

The Goblet Wire

Goddess: An Audio Drama

The Godfrey Audio Guide

The Godshead Incidental

The Gods We Belong To (gave up after s1)

Golden Ash

Good Morning Evildoers

The Gorgon Show

Gospels of the Flood

Greater Boston

The Green Horizon

The Grotto

Guidance Through The Dreamscape

The Hades Project

Halfmoon Chronicles

Hallway to Nowhere

The Harrowing of Minerva Damson

The Haunted Hour

Haunted House Flippers

Have Monster, Will Travel

The Heart of Ether

The Heart Pyre (Listening)

Hello From The Hallowoods

The Heron

The Heresies of Radulf Burntwine

Hi Nay

The Hidden Almanac (listening)

Hit Replay

Hollow

The Hotel

Hotel Daydream

Hovering

How I Died (to catch up)

How it Ends (to finish)

Hubris: A 24-Hour Podcast Project (to catch up)

Hughs and Mincks: Ghost Detectives

Hulm (to finish)

The Hyacinth Disaster

I Am In Eskew

I Have Seen Niagara (Undecided on Finishing)

The Imperfection

In Another Room

In Transit (to finish)

Inc: The Podcast

InCo

Incident Report Number 31

InkWyrm

Inn Between

Interference (listening)

Into the Depths

ISS Icarus

It Makes A Sound

Janus Decending

Jar of Rebuke

Jisko Archival Records

Joy To The World

Jump Leads

Jupiter's Ghost

Kalila Stormfire's Economical Magick Services (to finish)

Kane and Feels

Khôra Podcast

King Falls AM

The Kingmaker Histories

Knifepoint Horror

Knight Falls, CA

Kowabana (unfinished)

Lake Clarity

Lakeview

Larkspur Underground

Last Call at Bluebell Café

The Last Movie

Lavender Evening Fog

Leaving Corvat

The Left Right Game

Less is Morgue

Leylines (to finish?)

Liars & Leeches

Liberty (to finish)

LifeAfter/The Message

Life With Althaar

Light Hearts

Light House

The Lightning Bottler

Limetown

Liminal Criminals

The Liminal Lands (listening)

Little Town of Rainbow

Live From Averno

Live From Epsilon Base

The London Necropolis Railway

Long Night In Egypt

Lone Stranger

The Lost Cat Podcast

Lost Shaman

Lost Terminal

Love and Luck

Mabel (to catch up)

Magic King Dom (to finish?)

The Magnus Archives

The Magpie Catalogue

Malevolent (to catch up)

Mantelreef

Maps of the Lost

Margaret's Garden

Mars' Best Brisket

MarsCorp

Marsfall

Mayfair Watcher's Society

McGillicuddy and Murder’s Pawn Shop (to finish)

The McIlwraith Statements

Meteor City

Middle:Below

Midnight Burger

Midnight Radio

Midst

Mil-Liminal

The Milkman of St. Gaff’s

Mina's Story

Mirrors

The Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity and Mortality

Mnemosyne

Modem Prometheus

Modes of Thought in Anterran Literature

Mona's Isle

MonkeyTales

Monstrous Agonies

The Moon Crown

Moonbase Theta, Out

Mount Olympus University

Murder on Michigan Avenue

Murray Mysteries

Museum of the Missing

My Parallel Life

Neighbourly (to catch up)

The New Dawn Diary

Night Life (The Lightning Bottler)

The Night Post

Night Shift: An Urban Fantasy Audio Drama

NORA

North West Footwear Database

Not Quite Dead

Nothing is Wrong

Novitero

Nowhere, On Air (to finish)

Null/Void (to finish)

Nym's Nebulous Notions

Oblivity

The Occurence in Riveroaks

October's Children

Old Gods Of Appalachia

Olive Hill

Omen

On Asphalt Bones

On the Threshold

The One Stars

Ophiuchus Radio (to catch up)

Oracle of Dusk (to finish)

The Ordinary Epic

The Orphans

The Other Path

Out of Place

The Outside Tapes

Oz 9 (to finish?)

Paired

The Pale

Palimpsest

Para.docx

Paranatural Support Services Team

Parkdale Haunt

The Pasithea Powder

Passenger List

The Path Down

Patient 33

The Patron Saint of Suicides (to catch up)

The Penumbra Podcast -> Gave up 4.08

The People Outside

The Petrol Station

The Phenomenon

The Phone Booth

The Phosphene Catalogue

The Piper

POD115

Point Mystic

The Polybius Conspiracy

Primordial Deep

Project: Daydream

Project Nova (to catch up)

Punishment Island

Quid Pro Euro

#listened to #█████ posts #housekeeping

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cowboy-bumblebee · 3 years ago

Text

The Will of Mother

Chapter 7 - Traitor and Lover

Warnings: violence, death, cussing, blood

Reader is AFAB, but gender neutral pronouns are used

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Summary: Another Dimitrescu Daughter falls at Ethan’s hands, and he begins to question who you’re really out to save

My mind started to race as I watched Ethan and the Duke continue to barter. Alcina. Daniela. A sick feeling creeped into my stomach, my head started to hurt, and I wanted to scream and cry and punch the wall all at once.

I was angry. Angry at myself for caring so much about what happened to Alcina and her daughters after my short time here. Angry at Ethan for forcing me into a position where I was tearing myself apart inside. Most of all I was worried. Almost endlessly worried about the fate Alcina and Daniela would suffer at Ethans hands. Unless...

Slowly standing, I made my way right back out of the Duke's little room and peeked around. Dead quiet. Taking a deep breath, I quietly let the door shut behind me and tried to run on quiet feet. I dashed up the grand staircase, eyes darting around.

"Alcina?" I called out, desperate for an answer. But nothing. How could she be so hard to find now that I needed her?

Exploring the rooms upstairs led to no new discoveries. No Alcina, no Daniela. Back down the grand staircase and through the dining room, I made my way outside.

"Alcina!" Shouting now, the only response I was met with was that of the howling wind and snow in my eyes.

Almost blindly I navigated the little courtyard before I ran into a cold, skeletal being. A scream escaped me as my eyes landed on the figure.

Rail thin with dark grey skin, the being had tattered robes on that only covered its torso and most of its face. It held a sword in one hand, raising it above its head before its eyes landed on me.

The being lowered its sword, slowly reaching out its bony finger towards me. An involuntary whimper escaped me as I tried to step away, only for it to point its sword at me as a threat.

The cold, sharp finger landed on my neck. Just the one finger, tracing across the scar given to me by Alcina. The bony thing quickly snatched up my wrist, pulling my hand to its throat as it let out a hiss of a sound.

My entire body tensed so hard I almost felt like everything was cramping up. Heart hammering in my chest, I suddenly felt confused as my hand ran across a scar on the beings neck, almost non-existent. I could see it more than feel it.

Just as quickly as it had grabbed me, it let go and shoved past me. I could see two others nearby who just as well ignored me.

It's not just me. She did this to others! But she... killed the women before me.

Closing my eyes, I let out a shaky breath and tried to relax myself as I continued through the snow and wind. Finding myself at a door, I opened it and darted in.

A piano was being played nearby. I followed the staircase up before following the sounds of the piano, being lead to a balcony overlooking a room with a small stage and grand piano.

Daniela sat at the piano, playing notes slowly until I walked in. She stopped, eyes slowly traveling up to where I stood on the balcony, and she grinned. With a little wave and a 'come here' motion, she stood and retreated through the double doors behind her.

I can get through to her. She can get through to Alcina. I doubt they could hide from Ethan, they'd need to leave. They'd be safe though. Ethan wouldn't bother with her if she left him alone and didn't have his daughter, right...?

I ran down the stairs that lead down to where Daniela was, sprinting after her through the door.

"Daniela?"

"Oh I'm so happy you're here. Now my sisters won't have to die for nothing." Daniela's voice hissed out, though she didn't seem to be anywhere in the room.

A sickle swung right by my head, missing and lodging itself in the wall. Now full of panic, I spun to face her as she laughed and ripped the sickle out of the wall.

"I really will be enjoying this, you tasty thing," Daniela swung at me again, letting out an annoyed huff as I threw myself out of the path of her blade, "But you just want to make this difficult on me."

"Daniela please just listen to me-"

"No! I'll end up like Cassandra! Or Bela! And then who will Mother have?! Nobody! Nothing!" She screeched out at me, diving at me where I scrambled to my feet.

I grabbed hold of her wrists, one in each hand as she wrestled to dig the sickle into me.

"No! Daniela it won't! I'm trying to avoid that, please just listen!" I pleaded as she let out a frustrated scream, pushing me down to the ground. Still holding her wrists, she started swinging violently to make me let her go.

Flipping her onto her back, I tried to shove away the sickle only to slice open the palm of my hand. Seizing the moment as I brought my injured palm to my chest, Daniela shoved me off of her and onto the floor.

Standing back up, she dusted herself off and grabbed her sickle. A satisfied smile came over her features as I was backed up against a post. She lifted her skirt so she wouldn't step on it, gingerly stepping one heeled shoe onto my chest.

"Alright. I'll listen now. And then I'm going to rip your throat right out and serve it to Mother on a plate." Daniela threatened, her smile persisting.

"Okay, Daniela, look. I don't want you to die. I don't want you to... to end up like Bela and Cassandra! I don't want that for your Mother either!" Daniela's smile faded as she listened to me.

Slowly pulling myself to sit up, she pulled her heel off of my chest and simply stood over me instead.

"I don't want Ethan to kill you. But it's going to happen if you don't get out of here. You and Alcina, you need to go. He's not going to stop until he gets out or finds Rose here. That won't happen until you're dead, because you want him dead. And he’s not going to die." I tried to reason, slowly standing up with the help of the post behind me.

"If you don't want me dead, then why did you start running around with that stupid man?" Daniela questioned, pointing the sickle alarmingly close to my face. She was at least willing to hear me out.

"Because what choice did I have! He pulled me away from your Mother after Bela and then she saw me with him, and then she assumed. She assumed the worst and I had no choice but to run or die." I pleaded my case, both of us barely noticing as a book on a shelf fell nearby. It was near impossible to tell where it had come from with all the books and bookshelves littered around the platform we were on.

Letting the room settle into the silence, Daniela nodded and grabbed my hand. She looked at me before saying, "We need to go talk to Mother. She won't hurt you if you're with me. I think...”

I opened my mouth to speak, cut off at the sound of the roof above us shifting and grinding before opening up. Cold winter air and snow rushed into the room, Daniela screaming as she shoved me away and darted off of the platform.

My body fell into another taller one, only making the person stumble before standing me up. And my eyes were met with those of Ethan Winters own piercing eyes. He knew all I had said.

As the roof began to shut, Ethan cranked the wheel on the post once more to hold it open. Daniela continued to scream as she tried to find somewhere the wind wouldn’t reach. Ethans gaze held mine before I turned and tried to run to the doors across the room. A firm hand grabbed my wrist and Ethan pulled me back to him, uncomfortably close so I could hear him over Daniela and the wind.

"You are absolutely not going anywhere without talking with me." Ethan said before his attack started. A stray bullet flew past me, forcing me to get down. Hiding behind a fallen bookshelf, all I could was listen. Daniela screamed and cursed Ethan, gunshots rang out in the air. Every now and then I could hear Ethan turning that crank the wheel on the post and the ceilings gears groaning in protest as it opened back up.

Before long, all of the noises stopped. The ceiling slammed shut. And peeking my head over the bookshelf, I could see Daniela crumpled into nothing at Ethan's feet. Maybe he’d forgotten about me. Slowly rising to my feet as he collected whatever she dropped, I backed up to the door.

Twisting the knob silently, I almost sighed in relief. Until the door hinges creaked. Ethan spun around, crossing the room in quick, long strides. Placing his palm on the door behind me, he slammed it shut.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I’m sorry?”

“No you heard me right. Why the hell are you trying to help her? And her daughter, she was trying to kill you before I came in! I could hear all the commotion! And look what she did to you, you still tried to help her?!” Ethan shouted, grabbing my hand and forcing me to look at where the blood ran down my palm and into the sleeve of my jacket.

Wiggling my fingers, I winced in pain, remembering the feeling of the blade gliding across my palm. Ethan let go of my palm, poking an accusatory finger into my sternum.

“You tried to help these freaks, these psychotic monsters. You were trying to help them get away, and for what?! They haven’t done anything for you except hurt you! And don’t you think I didn’t notice that nice little scar across your neck. Ear to ear, lovely souvenir that is.”

“Stop it, Ethan! I know! I know about the scar and obviously I know about my hand, and clearly I know I’m not safe here! I’m not an idiot!” I shouted back, peeling my back off of the door to get back in his face like he’d gotten in mine.

“Then why the hell were you helping them. Hm? I know you can’t be on their side. Otherwise you’d be one of Miranda’s freaky ‘kids.’ Or maybe even one of Dimutrescu’s daughters! Or maybe I’m wrong, maybe you are on their side. Just waiting to kill me.” Ethan rambled, pushing me back into the door behind me. My heart started to pound as he shifted his suspicions onto me, he didn’t seriously think that did he?

“Ethan, you’re paranoid. I’m not one of them. But I’ll tell you why I was trying to help them. Because they were people too. They still feel too. Did you not see the way Alcina reacted when you killed Bela?”

Ethan threw his head back with a laugh, disbelief clear in his voice as he said under his breath, “Oh God, you’ve taken pity on them.”

I cleared my throat uncomfortably as he left my personal space, shaking his head. Picking up a little box of ammo on a bookshelf nearby, he started to walk away.

“Listen, you’re great to have along with. Any help to find my daughter really is great. But you can’t start feeling pity or sympathy for these things. They’ll manipulate the shit out of you. And then we’ll both end up dead.” Ethan warned before he left.

I was alone in the room, the only sounds being that of my heartbeat and the muffled whistling of the wind outside.

He didn’t know what Alcina and I had done. He thought she was just slitting my throat just to do it. He thought I was just being stupid and naïve.

And that’s good. The less he knows, the better. But I can still save Alcina.

#donna beneviento #ethan winters #flirty #karl heisenberg #lady beneviento #lady dimitrescu #lord heisenberg #lord moreau #mother miranda #re8 #x reader #smut #alcina demitriscu #salvatore moreau #reader insert #resident evil village #resident evil 8

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frostgears · 1 year ago

Text

followup visit

it's just a preventative visit. you've been to see the reclusive doll before, damaged far worse than this. she'd taken your cake of stolen pu-erh, patched what could be patched, told you to come back in six months for a followup; she'd check that the epoxy and filler holding your shin together had stayed properly bonded.

you'd laughed at the time. six months for an ownerless doll? an unlikely eternity.

not long after, one gloomy middle-aged woman with a perpetually furrowed brow had noticed you casing her tea shop for the third time. she'd locked the door with a security remote before you could make a dash through it, and said, "i know what you are, but i'll bet not many else do. and you've been looking at the good stuff, which means you have decent taste. sit. let's talk about whether i call a friend of a friend, or whether you think you can pass for an employee."

and here you are, six months later in the reclusive doll's parlor, holding a small brown waxed-paper bag of milk oolong with the shop's logo imprinted on the front. it represents an uncomfortable fraction of what the shopkeeper had let you have recently; you weren't going to go dry, exactly, but you'd be running for a week or two on cheap bulk stuff pinched from orders that would never notice.

the door opens, but it is not the reclusive doll that comes out first.

"—do my best, but no promises i can't keep. anyway, that's what i got you for, yeah?"

the doll in the doorway is fascinating. you've never seen so many repairs on anyone still walking around. no more than three-quarters of her face is original porcelain, absolute maximum. the rest is patchwork replacement. there are shiny lines of solder bridging cracks, parallel to others filled with the dull matte epoxy that the reclusive doll uses, a cheek with a blue-white willow pattern that has to be a transplant from dining china, and her eye—

you look away as soon as she notices you staring, but her very eye is split by a gleaming gold lightning bolt of kintsugi work, holding the two unequal halves of her blue glass iris together.

"there's only so much i can do with hedge dollcraft, Calico! you're no Ship of Theseus. the original charms on your body will only stretch so far, and they'll only take so well on material like this."

her dress is just like her: it's a recognizable pattern, lacy but not entirely impractical. there are places where damaged fabric has been excised, patched, carefully replaced without changing the shape, but all done in black fabric. an image comes to mind: on the side of an abandoned building, burn scars.

"then you'll just have to get better, won't you? we both know that's what you want anyway."

"we can't always have what we want," the reclusive doll mutters, trailing the scarred doll into the parlor. then, "oh, you're here. Calico was just leaving."

Calico is in no hurry, apparently. she pauses in the middle of the parlor, turns, and gives you a slow look-over, mismatched glass eyes scanning hungrily for something.

"you said 'material like this'. what if we had better material?"

"we don't. and we can't get it."

"but what if we did?"

"then maybe. i don't know that it's been tried before."

"you'd try it."

the reclusive doll shrugs. "maybe. now get out. i have another patient."

"so you do," the scarred doll says, finally acknowledging your existence. "nice to meet you, another patient, however briefly. maybe we'll run into each other again, hmm?"

you move your free hand to cover the shop logo on the brown waxed-paper bag of oolong, but in your witch-crafted heart, you can feel — you know — you're absolutely sure — that you weren't fast enough. □

the space between cracked and broken

the reclusive doll knows far more about repair dollcraft than any other doll you've ever met.

"how did you learn all this?" you ask, pulling an opaque stocking up over a formerly shattered shin. if you look very closely, you might see the cracks, but that's better than you ever managed with just epoxy and your own fingers.

she takes a long sip of the pu-erh you brought her. (hard to get. you couldn't run from loss prevention, so you had to be perfect on the first try.) finally she says, "you really should try this."

it smells better than anything you've had this month, but you're paying her with the stuff, and you don't want to cut into her profits.

"thank you, but this doll drinks greens, mostly."

she shrugs. "your loss. so. i can tell you two stories… up to you what you want to believe."

the reclusive doll continues, "one is about a doll who figured dollcraft out by hard work. she can patch and sand and re-charm you like this, because a hundred other dolls came to her first, and got the best she could do for them then… and maybe a hundred dolls from now, she'll be even better; if you'd broken six months from now, there wouldn't even be a mark, who knows."

you notice that the china cup from which she's sipping tea has a thin crack. you wouldn't have noticed, but one of the roses only has three-quarters of a petal.

"and the other?"

"perhaps," she says, "she used to be a good doll, a real proper polite witch-toy. maybe the witch even had her help build new dolls, taught her a thing or two, just so the witch wouldn't have to do the boring parts, and what she can do now, that's just what she remembers. a few scraps from the witch's table, turned to mending instead of making."

you hear a very faint clatter, notice a judder in her hands that can't have been there earlier in the afternoon when her careful fingers were inside you. the teacup clattering ever so faintly against the saucer. only another doll would notice.

"that tea does smell quite good," you say. "perhaps just a sip?"

"oh, not a problem, let me pour you a fresh cup…" and her movements return to their normal grace.

old habits die hard, you suppose. if this was your place — if you had a place, hah, more like, if there was a place for you — you'd want to serve a guest too. so it goes.

it really is very good tea. □

#empty spaces #dollposting #microfiction #the tea thief

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thatslikely · 4 years ago

Text

we - g.w.

we - george weasley x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of food, tooth rotting fluff

word count: 1.3k

a/n: ok... this was meant to be 800 words ish but I guess I just can’t write blurbs?? i think my shortest work ever was 800 soooo

“Hey, Georgie,” you said hesitantly, tapping him on his broad shoulder, “we need to talk.”

The laugh that quirked his lips and crinkled the edges of his chocolate eyes you weren’t shy of adoring fell as flat as the icy Black Lake during the harsh winter months. The slightest wrinkle formed between his eyebrows, nonchalant concern seeping through his pores.

The phrase you just uttered never led to anything remotely good. Those four dreaded words are what ended his juvenile relationship with Katie Bell all the way back in fourth year. Bill had stated the four words as he sat down a ten-year-old George so many years ago, who loved his older brother dearly, and broke the news that he would be indefinitely moving to Egypt.

It was safe to say he didn’t have a great history with the phrase.

With worry wincing his features, he agreed. “Sure, darling. Everything all right?” You nodded, grabbing his wrist and dragging him away from the group of Gryffindors that he had previously been enthralled with in conversation.

He sat on your curtained dorm bed with a creak uncomfortably, as if he were a guest visiting your house for the first time. “You look like you’re about to explode Georgie, relax,” you meekly smiled. “I just have something to tell you.”

The heel of his shoes lifted up and down, causing his knee to bounce every so slightly, a habit that was only expressed when fear truly racked his body. With a dry mouth and averted gaze, you said, “you see, after Hogwarts, there’s been a little change in plans.”

“I want to attend a Muggle college.”

“The Muggle world’s a lot bigger than I thought,” George said thoughtfully as his tongue licked vertical stripes up the scoop of ice cream in his palm. “No one ever told me there were so many places to go and see and do.”

“Yeah, they never did talk about its expansiveness back at school. Even Muggle Studies barely scratched the surface.”

As your mind swam through the previous school year, which was packed full with laughs, pranks galore, romantic dates with your titian-haired boyfriend, and an awful case of senioritis, George swiftly lurched to steal a bite from your cone with a mischievous smirk.

However, you were too quick for him, you always had been, and your treat was safe from his stomach. “Not today, Weasley.”

“Bummer. I regret not getting that flavor, ‘looks delicious.”

“I guess I’ll let you have one bite.” You turned your cone in his direction, and unsurprisingly, he snatched it from your grasp, dashing away from you, laughs interspersed with joking taunts escaping his strawberry cream-coated lips.

“Get back here!” you shouted at the lanky, retreating figure, moving your legs swiftly after him.

The sun had risen tranquilly to the center of the dreamy, blue sky above, and its golden beams were trickling down from overhead. The weather fostered the perfect atmosphere to tour one of the college campuses you had been accepted into, accompanied by no one but the doting, red-haired boy you could call your’s.

The brilliant idea of attending Muggle college had stemmed from Hermione, who one day in the library, when stacks of yellowing books and dusty pages crammed with research enveloped the two of you in a world of strictly academia, mentioned in passing that it was on her list of possible things to do post-Hogwarts.

Before you had learned that the blood coursing through your brains contained traces of magic-harnessing abilities, university had seemed some distant end goal expected from you after graduating high school. That notion had been quickly swept aside when you learned of your wizard ancestry and you received a letter informing you that you would attend Hogwarts first thing the next fall.

But now, observing the cliques of college students sauntering around the open-aired quad, you realized that this was the next step for you. The only next step for you.

“Hey, Y/N, I have a question,” a sixth-year George asked as his thumb lovingly caressed your skin, leaving warm, tingly patches in its wake. “When me and Fred open the shop the moment we’re out of here, will you come live with us? Me?”

“There’ll be a homey flat above the shop, perfect for us. Fred’ll be there too, of course, but I reckon we’ll have plenty of time just the two of us.” George’s umber eyes scanned your face in an attempt to know what thoughts and opinions ran through your mind. He meant what he said: he couldn’t imagine not seeing you after the both of your educations concluded.

“I’ll live anywhere as long as you’re with me, Georgie,” you replied with a grin.

A small chip of guilt flaked off your heart when you knowingly broke the promise you had sworn by not even two years ago. You outright refused to attend any universities not within the UK, as part of your internal compromise for leaving George.

George was beyond happy for you, though, and he was not shy of showing it. He’d unabashedly boast around the Great Hall or common room practically every day, saying with a smirk oozing with pride and joy, “I’ve got the smartest girl ever. She’s going to college.”

You and George strolled along the brick-pathed sidewalks and trails, admiring the different buildings with elegant architecture. When you two walked past the dorm rooms, varicolored flags could be seen draped from the windows; in the patches of well-groomed green that dotted the landscape, students were tossing frisbees and eating sandwiches on picnic blankets.

It was like no school you had ever attended, and you were undeniably enamoured by it.

As the afternoon faded away, conquered with a sweeping tsunami of darkness, the silver moon encroached closer to the pinkened sky. You and George treated yourselves to a nice dinner on the river, at a restaurant that you wouldn’t dream of dining at again if you chose to enroll.

You and George had covered all the logistics of college: how it worked, where you would live, when he could visit.

“Maybe Fred and I will open a shop down here someday,” he said, forking a bit of the food before him. “You think college students (or to-be college students in your case) would like pranks?”

“I wouldn’t put it past them, by the looks of campus so far.”

He gave you a genuine, innocent smile (his mouth still full of food, not unlike a squirrel’s), as if to say ‘it’s settled then.’ “You never were the neatest eater,” you giggled.

“I can be sophisticated if I want to!” he rebutted.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Definitely. One-hundred percent. No doubt about it. I’ll take you to another nice restaurant one of these days and watch me have the best manners ever!”

The string lights illuminating the patio looked great, the beads of contained golden light highlighting every detail about him that you love so much. It shone on the faint, near indistinguishable scar on his eyebrow from a failed prank when he was six. The glint of pure love in his eyes that he held ever since he laid eyes on you back in fifth year. The way one specific tessel of his soft ginger hair would never sit quite right, no matter how many gels and spells he’d apply.

The boy opposite you was so easily tempted to simper and tease you for so blatantly staring at him, every inch of him it seemed, as it was a trait him and his twin could never rid. But instead, a fuse in his brain finally clicked; the final piece of a undeniably complex and breathtaking puzzle fell into place, and he finally made up his mind.

He smiled warmly, his eyes prickling with joy. It wasn’t a grin of the same nature as one derived from one of his pranks, or a clever jab Fred would crack: it was an expression of ultimate contentment, resulted from the pure emotions that sputtered through his chest like a firecracker.

“You think we should apply here?” He’d accepted the fact that he had been grappling with for so long: there was no way he’d live without you, and if that meant leaving Fred the shop for a while, or even delaying its construction, then so be it.

“We?”

“We.”

general taglist:

@amourtentiaa @anchoeritic @accioweaslcy @theweasleytwinsgirl

twins/george taglist:

@horrorxweasley @hufflepuff5972

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enha-woodzies · 4 years ago

Text

➸ CHAPTER 9 | " THE SPACE BETWEEN US "

starring: enhypen ft. i-land daniel

pairing: jungwon x fem!reader x sunghoon

genres: royal au, romance, angst, slowburn, 18th century setting

warnings: very mild swearing; brief arguments

word count: 2.5k

taglist: @serendipitysung (betareader) @en-sun @affectionaterainoflove @renkiv @softforjungwoo @jislix @gyeraniee @fluffi @stxrryemxlys @jungwon-luv-bot-pt3 @lost-lepord-beanie @hyunsunge @hooniecore @thenoceurgirl @thonkingdeepo

[ PREV. CHAPTER ] | [ M. LIST ] | [ NEXT CHAPTER ]

START OF PARK SUNGHOON'S POV

I stood there at the side, leaning against the arched entrance. I never meant to eavesdrop in the conversation you were having with the firstborn of the Yang family. It piqued my interest upon hearing your troubles and impulsively decided to help you. To pass time, I guess… or to stall my father into giving me his magnificent title of a duke and have me marry some lady I don’t even desire to have.

Without any significant bargain in the offer, I suggested anyway with the thought that maybe this could help me look at myself the way everyone did before I made history with your brother. The physical bruises and scars we both afflicted on each other faded with time, but the torturous memory continues to haunt us. I may look fine around his presence, but he never had the slightest idea of how I curse myself every single night knowing I not only ruined him and his tender affections with Yena, but our budding and steadfast friendship as well.

I was heinous then. But I swear with my whole heart, I don’t ever intend to hurt you now the way I did with your brother. The moment I let myself drown in your alluring gaze under that brightly lit moonlight, I told myself I won’t take another girl for granted. Not just because I owe it to Niki, but because you were the first person who looked at me without judgment despite knowing your brothers detest me with the entirety of their souls.

I’ve been courting you for over a month now and I’m completely aware of the things we’ve agreed upon about the ruse; needless to say, one might catch feelings in the aftermath. I know this was all a show to give Jungwon a headstart for his own game, but why am I gravely pained every time his name slips out of your lips? Why do I keep myself up on most nights thinking about this lingering question of who do you love? Why do I want to hold you even closer to my side every time he looks at us in dismay?

I’ve come to know that I had myself caught in the middle of whatever this is between you and him; that I’m just the fuel to the fire that’s already been there, left neglected within time. But I can’t help but feel like I need to protect you from him; from whatever hurt he might cause you over time. Although I know my place in all of this and where I stand, it still stings thinking that it isn’t in your heart.

Why would it be, anyway? I’m only just a page you couldn’t keep; a filler in your romantic novel who had the part of the villain origin story but couldn’t fight your hopeless hero. Sadly, Jungwon’s five steps ahead of me. So much for telling the ton there was us in the making, but you weren’t even mine to begin with.

Your mother invited me and the Yang family for dinner a sennight ago. She said it was to properly introduce me as your husband-to-be to your family, that includes your lover’s sitting across the table discussing the recent blow from the Daily Tattle, which was, of course, us.

“Jungwon, dear, have you wished your friend, Y/n, luck on her future wedding with the duke-to-be? Need I remind you that she’s going to need some of it from her best friends.” Lady Yang gently nudged her son who was busy tapping his spoon and fork upon the table. “Jungwon here is finally courting someone, have you heard of that, dear? Lady Choi, daughter of the-”

“The ever famous cheese merchant of our city, Viscount Choi, whom without, we wouldn’t be eating this opulent cheese on the table right this very moment.” I finished, which made the two mothers impressively smile in my direction. Realizing how uncomfortable you become at the very slightest mention of Jungwon’s new lover, I figured butting in could end your agony; seeing that your man is stupid enough to not read the situation in front of him. He seemed more occupied with the utensils than your disheartened state.

As predicted, you excused yourself, and it went without saying that Jungwon followed after you as you rushed out the dining hall and out to your garden. Your brothers and his soon left the hall and went with their casual discourse on the parlor, leaving his and your mother exchanging wedding plans with the company of champagne bottles and cheese. I held my head up high as I walked into the library to reflect on matters that kept me wondering at night. Until Niki strode in, with a pocket watch in hand.

“Riki, I’m-”

“Save your breath, Your Grace. You’re going to need it in case you piss the hell out of Jungwon and he lands his knuckles on your pretty face again.”

“Why don’t you do it then? Can’t get your hands dirty for your sister yet you can for Yena?”

“Do not fucking tempt me, Sunghoon.”

“Too bad. I’d love to see you try, though.”

“And I’d love to see your little mouth shut, Your Grace. You’re impressive, but I’m sure you’ve always been told that. For a moment there you really had me thinking you were about to apologize to my brother. Turns out you’re still the coward that you’ve always been.” Jay walked in unannounced, slightly scaring me. He’s like a lion ready to hunt for prey, even though he’d just sit there looking unbothered. I’ve always deemed your eldest brother with veneration. All I did was drop my head low when he threw me those harsh words, though I completely agree as they embody me in so many ways possible. I hate it.

“A wedding, huh? Don’t you think you’re going too far, already? This ruse is nothing but a shame to both our families. Heed me while I’m asking you nicely to end this foolishness you’ve invoked on our sister.”

“Forgive me… but I’m afraid I can’t.”

Fortunately, Niki was quick enough to grab a hold of Jay when he was about to come at me. I must say this now before it’s too late, and better be in front of your brothers than your lover.

“I will take full responsibility for Y/n. I will be a man of worth to her and a word of honor, I will end any future causes of grievances upon us both. I will protect her from it, just as I’m doing now.”

“You’re doing nothing but stall her from her fate with Jungwon!”

“And how do you know she still cares for him? Haven’t you seen the look on your dear sister’s face whenever Jungwon’s name is brought up? Haven’t you seen that man strolling around the town with a fancy girl in hand a week after breaking your sister’s heart? I thought so. But you just want things to go your way. I’ll respect that. For now.”

I dashed out of the library after giving them a piece of my mind. Though I had planned to apologize to Niki, Jay’s words got the best of me. I headed towards the garden to look for you, but before I could have your attention, Jungwon already did.

END OF PARK SUNGHOON’S POV

Jungwon rushed to the garden, following Y/n’s quick pace in an attempt to block out any possible thoughts about her lover. Basking under the bright moonlight, Jungwon grabbed her by the wrist, making her turn and crash against his jabot-clad chest.

“Y/n, please-”

“Really, Jung? God! You totally had me fooled that day when I thought we were having a moment!”

“We did! But-”

“But what? You can’t hold yourself accountable for the things you left me with so you squander your way with another lady? Tough blow, don’t you think?”

“Please, Y/n, I just need you to listen to me and-”

“I’m tired, Jung. All these years, you let me wait for you for five years just to have you run back and hurt me again. I’m tired of you making a fool out of me, and I’m dumb enough to always let you. Because I love you. I love you so much, it fucking hurts. I have so much love for you yet here you are, always welcoming me with fleeting bliss and leaving me with endless torment. But the damage has been done and I’m out. I love you, but I guess I’m going to have to leave it like this.”

“You still do?”

“God! I poured out my heart for you and all you could say was that? Jung, how can you be so dense?! I wouldn’t have let you hold me that day in the forest if I don’t love you! I asked you for a new start but you ran off and a week later you’re traipsing around Northumberland with Lady Choi! Right in front of me!”

“You were with that man that day too, in front of me! You look at him with so much admiration with your hand hanging on his arm. How do you think that made me feel?!”

“More than the damage you did to me? What a load of nonsense, Jung! And here I thought you already knew that Sunghoon and I were just fooling around to get to you.”

“Well, I’m here now, Y/n! I’m all yours now!”

“No, you’re not. You just can’t bear the truth that you lost me to him. At the end of the day, it will always be your pride. It always has been. I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I’m apologizing but I still will. This ends here, Jung. I wish you well.”

The entire time that Y/n and the young lord were arguing out the garden, Jay and Niki were carefully listening from the library’s window; Niki figured it was finally time to spill the truth to his sister.

Niki followed Y/n to her room, taking note of the soft sobs and sniffles she emitted. She turned around when she felt her brother’s footsteps trailing after her.

“Riki…” Niki was suddenly enclosed by Y/n’s tight embrace, dampening his jabot shirt with her tears. He returned the warm hug as he gently rubs her corseted back, feeling the constant huffs from her crying.

“I’m sorry about Jungwon.”

“He doesn’t deserve me.” The lady muffled against her brother’s chest.

“Maybe you’re right. And neither does Sunghoon. Listen, Sister. There’s something I need to get off my chest. Come.” The two entered the lady’s room and Niki carefully shut the door tight, locking it in the process. He sat atop the neatly arranged bed while patting the space next to him, gesturing Y/n to sit closer to his side.

“Jay isn’t happy with the sudden announcement of your engagement, and neither am I. But always know that I will always have your back, just like how you always have mine. I’ve seen how Sunghoon made you smile and laugh like how you used to with Jungwon back in the day. This day feared me but we’re here now, and I must tell you the reason why we’re all against him courting you in the first place.”

“Remember Yena? The girl I told you about in the letters? Sunghoon… he deceived her. He made her cheat against me, fed her with lies, and tricked her into thinking our love was nothing but a hoax. I saw them one day in his father’s garden, I followed them, curious enough to see how he made her happier than when she was with me. Until he kissed her. He took her first kiss when I thought we’d be sharing it with each other. And she kissed him back... like I wasn’t even someone to reckon with. Needless to say, I attacked him. The boys went against him afterward. Jungwon was there too. With all the lies he wired into her brain, Yena never looked at me the same after that day. And the many days that followed. She and Sunghoon just suddenly stopped seeing after the fight that erupted between us.”

“The thing was, sister, Sunghoon never loved her. He was young and didn’t want to let the opportunity pass, that’s what he told us when I had his collar by my clutch. That was the only excuse he could ever give us. The asshole that he is.” Niki clicks his tongue while dropping his head low, gaze fixed on the carpeted area on the floor across them. “Fuck. I would still have Yena if he didn’t try to treat things like we were playing a game of who could get the girl first. Thinking about the time he wasted on nothing genuine, Yena could have spent it on me instead and I would have had her here, introduced to Mother and the ton.”

Y/n placed a hand on her brother’s closed, shaky fists. Niki let out soft sniffles, trying his best to keep himself from cracking. “I’m sorry, Riki, I didn’t know. He told me it was all in the past and that he desires to make amends now.” Niki jerks up, eyes fixed on his sister’s eyes. “You’ve only heard his point of view, you never heard mine. Sunghoon’s made a whole record in university, Y/n. He goes around the grounds breaking hearts like he owns them. Girls would swoon over him and he would gladly oblige. What an ambitious, cunning little prick. And now he has you wrapped around his fingers, the same way he did to Yena.”

“I’m sure he means no harm now, brother. He’s been nothing but kind and gentle to me. He makes me utterly happy; the part of my romantic story where I used to want Jungwon to be consistent of.”

“You know, I’ve always been considerate of your choices and aspirations, sister. But I will not lose you to Sunghoon like this. I’m afraid Jay and I will have to be very uptight with you seeing him from now on. I’m sure by now you’ve come to understand why Jungwon’s scared of surrendering you to him. He means well, sis, Jungwon…”

“I will not settle for someone whom I have to spend a lifetime second-guessing whether he wants me in his life or not.”

“But he’s been missing you a lot lately, hasn’t he?”

“I’m afraid him missing me is far too different from him wanting to marry me.”

Niki only sighs before planting a soft kiss on his sister’s temple and fixing his fit to present himself back to the lobby. Y/n was left in her room, fidgeting with her fingers while anxiously biting her bottom lip in deep contemplation.

Sunghoon may have stolen her attention from Jungwon, but she had to admit, she never regretted it. She has felt safe with Sunghoon the past months they’ve been together. Jungwon did nothing but torture her constantly with every chance he got. Although they hadn’t been sticking around their ruse’s ground rules lately, she feared the time between her and Sunghoon would be up soon and she wouldn’t feel his comforting presence around her anymore.

Sunghoon may have gotten her used to their dilly-dallying that time apart from each other could make her feel miserable. Not to mention the embarrassment that would come with it considering she is foretold to be Northumberland’s next duchess after all.

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#kpopscape #enhypenwriters #enhypennetwork #neothestars #of lords & mischiefs #enhypen angst #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen fics #enhypen series #enhypen jungwon #enhypen heeseung #enhypen jay #enhypen jake #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen sunoo #enhypen niki #iland daniel

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chenziee · 4 years ago

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Dine and Dash (chapter 1)

[Read on AO3 or under the cut]

Can you believe it's been 11 years since Ace was saved from Marineford? Yeah, me neither. Still feels like fucking yesterday. So happy they managed save him in the end :) #ForeverInDenial

I took the opportinity of the anniversary of chapter 574 being published to finally write the obligatory Everybody is alive and nothing hurts AU that we all deserve, especially a certain beautiful, precious fire boy <3 (And yes, I know the anniversary was yesterday, I fucked up but shhh)

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Relationships: ASL brothers, Law/Luffy

Rating: Teen and Up

Words: 1894

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Everybody Lives, Nothing Hurts, Portgas D. Ace Lives, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, lawlu being cute, Protective Sabo (One Piece), Protective Portgas D. Ace, best big bros protective of their innocent baby bro, ASL Brothers, what else uhhh, i might add more as i go, Donquixote "Corazon" Rosinante Lives

Summary: When the three brothers who had once terrorized the Grey Terminal as well as the Goa Capital come together, nothing good can come of it. Even though they're not children anymore. Or maybe especially since they're not children anymore.

Or; the obligatory Everybody Is Alive And Nothing Hurts AU

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When Ace jumped from his raft up onto the railing of Luffy’s ship, he honestly didn’t expect someone to be standing right where he landed. He couldn’t blame Nami for screaming like she did in favor of a normal greeting, and it was also no surprise when Luffy’s voice came only a second later, asking what was wrong in a voice full of alarm. What was surprising, however, was when Luffy’s head popped out from behind what looked like a large polar bear sleeping right on the deck of the Thousand Sunny. Seriously, Luffy and his tendency to pick up the weirdest things.

"Hey, Luffy," Ace greeted, waving at his brother.

A bright smile appeared on Luffy's face when he realized just who the intruder was, scrambling to his feet and immediately falling over, nearly landing face first onto the lawn. Ace just had to laugh at the sight, but his amusement soon died down. Instead, he had to frown at the pained groan and cursing in a voice that was decidedly not Luffy's, and neither did it seem to have come from the polar bear who was still snoozing away without care.

"Sorry, Torao," Luffy apologized with a sheepish smile directed at the person he had apparently tripped over.

Who the hell was ‘Torao?’ Who was the person Ace could only assume his baby brother was napping with? Seemed like an interrogation was in order. Later though, there were arrangements to be made first. After all, having back up on this couldn't hurt and he had the best back up just waiting for him on the next island.

Picking himself up and running over, Luffy nearly crashed into Nami in his hurry this time, but his navigator managed to side step him at the last second, probably expecting something like this to happen. Luffy only shot her a crooked smile and a half-hearted apology, prompting her to shake her head at him, crossing her arms over her chest in a scolding manner.“Honestly, how is your entire family like this? One of you is going to give me a heart attack one day.”

“Sorry,” Ace and Luffy apologized in unison, the both of them bowing to her for good measure. After all, they both knew all too well that Nami’s wrath was scarier than anything they had ever witnessed on the Grand Line so far.

Nami huffed, shooting one last unhappy glare at them before she turned around and said, “We should be arriving at the next island in a few hours, I’m going to check what we need and get things ready.”

Ace sighed in relief; it seemed like they had somehow managed to avoid the worst.

"Ace, what are you doing here?" Luffy asked as soon as Nami walked away.

Ace grinned, finally jumping off of the railing he had been perching on. “Can’t I just come visit my favourite baby bro?”

“Of course you can,” Luffy said, sticking his tongue out at him. “I just didn’t expect you. Weren’t you going to Wano to see Tama?”

“Yeah, but there was a change of plans. Sabo’s actually on the island you’re heading to so I took a detour,” Ace explained with a shrug.

The reaction was immediate. Just as Ace expected, Luffy perked up even more, his smile going impossibly wide and Ace could swear there were stars in his eyes. He was also basically vibrating in place and Ace had to chuckle at the sight. He understood Luffy’s excitement, neither of them got to see the revolutionary nearly as often as they would have liked for obvious reasons, but Luffy was just too cute when he got like this. How he even did the… bright all over thing was something beyond Ace’s understanding but he loved seeing it every single time regardless.

“Sabo’s there?! Why didn’t he tell me?” Luffy cried out, grabbing onto Ace’s arm in his eagerness.

Before Ace could reply, the other person who had been hidden behind the polar bear until then stood up, muttering seemingly to himself, but loud enough for both Ace and Luffy to hear, “Oh great, there’s going to be three of them.”

“Torao~,” Luffy whined, turning to look at the grumpy man with a pout. “Don’t say it as if it’s a bad thing,” he finished, bouncing away from Ace to stand in front of the other man instead.

Ace scowled at the sight of Luffy peeking up at ‘Torao,’ who only stared back impassively as if he wasn’t bothered in the least by Luffy’s puppy eyes. Ace didn’t think that was even possible. Not to mention they were standing way too close to each other for Ace’s tastes.

“It is a bad thing. There’s way too much energy just with you, Luffy-ya. I don’t need more of it around me,” Torao told him, finishing with a light flick to Luffy’s forehad. An action that nearly had Ace toss a fireball at him if only Luffy didn’t start giggling over it.

Suddenly, Luffy stepped even closer to the man, wrapping his arms around his waist and grinning up at him. “You love it,” he announced, sounding all too proud of himself.

“In very small doses,” Torao admitted before leaning down and kissing the top of Luffy’s head.

Oh, Sabo was so hearing about this.

Ace cleared his throat loudly, raising his hand to make sure the fire crackling threateningly in his palm was the first thing Torao would see when he looked in his direction.

“Nice to see you again, too, Fire Fist-ya,” the man said flatly, one eyebrow raised.

Ace smiled at him, making sure it look as fake as he could make it. “Trafalgar Law. What do you think you’re doing to my little brother?”

“What does it look like?” Law shot back, showing a smirk that only managed to irk Ace further. If Luffy wasn’t standing right there, he would really have thrown that fireball at him.

“Ace?” Luffy asked, tilting his head to the side in confusion as he looked at the fire dancing angrily under Ace’s command.

Ace sighed at that, reluctantly putting the flames out. That asshole was seriously so lucky Luffy was there. He and Sabo would have to corner him later and threaten him when Luffy wasn’t looking. “Anyway, as I was saying—” Ace shook his head, trying to make himself focus on the matter at hand— “I don’t think Sabo knew you were this close to the island. He said he only had one afternoon free and absolutely needed to see me for some reason. So, Luffy. Want to come with us to get something to eat?” he asked, even though he knew the answer. As if Luffy would ever say no to that.

“Let’s get meat!” Luffy exclaimed loudly, full of enthusiasm and throwing both arms in the air. He nearly punched Law in the face.

Sadly, it really was only nearly but Ace still took great pleasure in returning the smirk Law had given him earlier. He quickly turned back to Luffy, however, and replied, “Well, Sabo seemed like he had something in mind already so let’s just go and see.”

Luffy nodded at his words, a bright, happy smile that looked just the same as it did all those years ago at Mt. Colubo on his face, and Ace felt his previous smirk melt into a fond smile in return. There was warmth in his chest at the sight, the knowledge that his little brother was still the same even after everything that had happened over the years making him incredibly happy.

Without even realizing, Ace’s hand came to touch his own exposed chest, his fingers tracing the rough, large burn scar that Akainu had left there during the war four years ago. It was honestly a miracle he was even alive. He had fully accepted death back on the execution scaffold but then Luffy crashed in, just as loud, just as unexpected as always, bringing so much chaos with him that it changed the entire course of the whole ordeal. And then he accepted it once more when he threw himself in Akainu’s way to protect Luffy.

But now here they were, both of them miraculously alive—thanks to Jinbe, Marco, Vista, and, as much as it pained him to admit it given the very recent circumstances, mostly thanks to Trafalgar Law’s incredible timing and medical skill—and both bearing lava burn scars on their chests as a reminder of what could have happened; what was so incredibly close to happening. It was incredible how much the experience had changed them, yet somehow, how they were still the same as they used to be when playing pirates in their little tree house base.

And when Sabo had appeared in front of them again, with tears and apologies and so very alive, it felt almost inevitable.

Ace shook his head at his own thoughts. This was no time to get all sentimental. “Okay, Sabo’s waiting. Are you ready to go? Striker isn’t really a two person boat but it should be okay,” Ace said, gesturing towards his fire powered raft.

“Yes!” Luffy shouted like he had just won something. “Your boat always seems so fun to play with,” he sang, running over to look down at the slim, sleek raft that was gently swaying along the Sunny.

“Glad you’re so excited,” Ace chuckled.

He went to jump back down on Striker immediately, but Luffy stopped him when he spoke up next, “Oh wait. Do you think we could take the Mini Merry? Torao is meeting his dad on the island, too.”

Ace paused, looking at Luffy with a slight frown. What the hell was a ‘mini merry?’ But more importantly, did they really have to take Trafalgar with them?

Thankfully, Law had saved Ace from having to deal with either of those questions when he spoke up instead, “Thanks but I’ll stay here, Cora-san won’t be there until evening anyway. Plus, I’m not going to risk your brother drowning me on the way.” He shot Ace another one of those smirks when he finished and Ace almost wanted to burn it off of his face but…

“Fair point,” he admitted instead, surprised at the laughter that bubbled out of his chest. He shuddered in horror at the idea of this asshole growing on him.

“I have no idea what you two are talking about,” Luffy mumbled in annoyance, but perked back up a second later when he announced he was going to let the crew know he was going on ahead.

Ace and Law looked at each other, Ace trying to convey with his eyes the threat of bodily harm that he was thinking in regards to the man standing in front of him. He could only assume he had succeeded when the corners of Law’s mouth twitched up slightly, followed by the surgeon flipping Ace off before he turned around and walked off, sitting down and making himself comfortable with his back resting against the somehow still asleep polar bear.

He was seriously pissing Ace off.

He did have to give it to him, though; if nothing else, this asshole had guts. Reluctantly, Ace had to admit that was probably the most important qualification to pass as Luffy’s boyfriend. He was still not getting out of that interrogation though.

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[chapter 2 coming...... as soon as I can finish it]

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xjoonchildx · 5 years ago

Text

guarded | jhs x reader | chapter three: exotic pets

summary: you’ve tried to separate yourself from your infamous crime family, but a new case has your carefully-constructed world crashing down around you. now you have to figure out how to heal old wounds and handle the new man who enters your orbit.

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: mafia AU, E2L, slow burn, tsundere, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 3.4K

A/N: i hope you guys are enjoying the story so far! i’d love to hear what you think. thank you so much for your support. things are going to start ramping up on the whole slow burn angle from here. once again i must thank the fabulous @ladyartemesia for both this killer graphic and beta reading for me -- as well as the amazing @taetaewonderland. pouring out a sunkist in your honor today xoxo

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | EPILOGUE

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

It’s funny how people believe the shit they see in movies.

For instance, most film fans think it’s entirely possible to break a bottle over someone’s head. One character grabs for an empty beer during a fight and the glass explodes in dramatic fashion with just one crack across another character’s skull.

You know better.

You know there’s way too much give to the human body to shatter glass like that.

If you want to break a bottle you’ve got to connect with something much harder. The corner of a table. A fireplace mantle. That’s how it works in the real world.

You stare into the mirror and run the pad of one finger along the raised scar that mars your left collarbone. All these years later and it’s paler and smoother but it’s still hideous, taunting you in your reflection.

Today you cover it with an oversized scarf carefully matched to a silk blouse. Tomorrow it will be a turtleneck. You’ve come up with dozens of ways to hide the ruined skin, but there’s never going to be a way to get rid of it.

It will always be a physical reminder that there are some pieces of your past you can never leave behind.

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

Hoseok has a cold.

There was extra gravel in his voice this morning as he went over your schedule for the day. You can detect the faint scent of a cough drop in the shared air of his car.

But he doesn’t mention it and neither do you.

This morning, you’re glad for it -- glad for the absence of small talk.

In a few minutes, you get to walk into your boss’s office and announce that half the evidence in what should be a home-run case has vanished into thin air. You have to pretend to have no idea why someone would want to sabotage a seemingly minor prosecution of a couple of idiot gangsters and you have to do it without so much as hinting at your family’s connection to organized crime in this town.

There’s a knot in your stomach so tight you feel nauseous.

Hoseok’s phone buzzes with an incoming call from the mount on the dash and he frowns for a split-second before sending it to voicemail. One minute later it buzzes again and he rejects it again. Seconds later and he makes it three in a row.

You know damned well that if those calls were about business, Hoseok would have answered them right away. The knot in your stomach tightens even more and you turn your head to stare out of the window.

It’s an unfair situation, this arrangement. Hoseok has access to every corner of your life while you don’t know a damned thing about him. Who would he be going home to every night if he weren’t under orders to stay with you? Who is waiting for him when this is all over?

Someone, certainly.

Willing women are in abundance in his line of work. You grew up around them -- a revolving door of beautiful, vulnerable girls who thought nothing of trading their bodies for gifts and cash. Women so eager for security and love they accepted whatever scraps were thrown their way.

In a way, you were like them -- a motherless little girl living in the midst of male-dominated chaos and desperate for female connection. You watched the way they styled their hair and applied their makeup and how they went about the myriad tasks of being women. Then inevitably you’d grow too attached too fast only to have your heart broken when one day they just disappeared.

And they always disappeared.

You wonder what the woman trying to reach Hoseok this morning looks like. You wonder if she’s angry that he’s had to be away so long. You wonder what version she gets of him and how different it must be from the version you get. The knot in your stomach is replaced by something else.

Something you’d rather not examine too closely.

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

“You should let me take you to lunch.”

Donghyuk interrupts what must be the worst morning of your entire career without so much as a knock or a hello. He drops into the empty chair in your office uninvited and doesn’t wait for you to answer.

“We could ditch the busy work, slip out the back entrance -- ” he grins conspiratorially, “ -- have a two-martini meal at Congdu and then sneak into the bathroom to fool around. What do you think?”

You groan out loud. You are not in the mood for this shit right now.

“This is not a good time, ‘Hyuk.”

He sighs. “Yeah, I heard.”

Of course he’s heard. Everyone in a hundred-foot radius has heard. To say your bosses were displeased with the bomb you dropped on them this morning is an understatement.

“So then why are you in my office asking me to go day drinking? Do you want me to be fired?”

“Of course not,” he says, looking offended. “I just thought you deserved a break from the madness for a minute.”

You laugh without a hint of humor.

“I’m going to get a permanent break from the madness if I don’t rescue this case somehow. So no -- no lunch today. Probably no lunch for the next six months, actually.”

Donghyuk frowns.

“Dinner, then? There’s a new spot in Gangnam I’ve been wanting to try. We could go tomorrow night.”

Christ, the man is insistent these days.

You are too mentally worn out to figure out why your casual arrangement with Donghyuk feels a hell of a lot less casual of late. If he’s suddenly decided he wants more than just the occasional meal-to-mattress thing you’ve enjoyed for months, he’s in for a disappointment. You are tapped out.

“I’ve got -- It’s just complicated for me right now,” you manage.

“Yeah, I get it,” he agrees sympathetically. “The bodyguard thing, right?”

“Right,” you repeat slowly, mind suddenly flipping back to Hoseok. Back to this morning’s car ride.

Back to those missed calls.

Something childish and petty and unbecoming stirs inside of you.

“You know what? Dinner tomorrow night could work, actually.”

Donghyuk leans back and smiles wide.

“Great.”

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

Hoseok’s cold hasn’t improved.

The ride to the restaurant is radio silent, but for the sound of his occasional sniffle. You could have sworn you saw actual displeasure cross his face when you’d asked him to take you to meet Donghyuk tonight. It feels like the air between you is crackling with tension.

But it’s probably your imagination.

Hoseok says nothing as he closes the car door behind you, nothing as he holds the door to the restaurant open for you, and nothing when you thank him as you step inside.

Donghyuk has a table waiting. No small feat because this place is packed.

It’s a brand-new restaurant and apparently one of the most expensive and coveted dining spots in the city. In an instant, it dawns on you that there’s no table for Hoseok. You turn to ask him where he wants to be, but he brushes past you to take a seat at the bar.

Again, he says nothing.

You huff your frustration under your breath as you slide into the chair across from Donghyuk. He’s got a snifter of what’s sure to be some pricey brandy in his hand.

“Germain-Robin Select Barrel,” he declares, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before taking a sip. “Best stuff in town.”

Of course it is.

Donghyuk is accustomed to having only the best of the best; a natural by-product of his upbringing. You’ve known one another since you were pupils at the same prep school, living parallel lives. You both had expensive homes and pricey tutors and fancy clothes -- but his family graced the pages of the society magazines while yours graced the pages of the newspapers.

This thing you have with him is supposed to be easy; an uncomplicated diversion. But lately, it's a hell of a lot less satisfying than it used to be. Either Donghyuk is really getting more self-absorbed and less interesting -- or you are just starting to not give a shit about anything he has to say.

He’s droning on about something golf-related when you tune out completely. Your eyes wander to Hoseok at the bar.

He still hasn’t ordered anything to eat and a drink sits untouched on the bartop.

“Sharp dresser, that guy.”

“What?”

You swing your focus back to Donghyuk like you’ve just come out of a trance.

“The bodyguard,” he says around a fork full of food. “He’s got pretty good taste for some street gangster. I should find out where he shops.”

You’re caught by surprise -- by his comment, by the way it makes your chest tighten. By the force of the second-hand embarrassment you suddenly feel on behalf of Hoseok.

“He’s not some -- street gangster,” you say quietly, slowly.

“Oh, he’s not?” Donghyuk asks, looking genuinely confused. “He’s not one of your brother’s guys?”

Red-hot anger blossoms inside of you so fast you can barely contain it. You stare Donghyuk down with the most venomous look you can muster.

“I didn’t say he wasn’t,” you bite out. “But you have no clue what you’re talking about. And keep any mention of my brother out of your mouth.”

“Jeez, sorry,” Donghyuk fires back, lifting his hands in surrender. “I didn’t realize I was touching on a nerve. I thought you hated your family. That’s what everyone says, anyway.”

You jerk out of the chair so abruptly it nearly falls back. The napkin in your lap falls to the floor and the people sitting at the tables nearby stop to look. Donghyuk’s mouth falls open with surprise.

“I’m done,” you grind out, grabbing for your purse.

“Sit down,” Donghyuk hisses. “You’re making a scene.”

“She said she’s done.”

You never saw Hoseok move, never registered him leaving the bar -- but when you rip your gaze away from Donghyuk, he is at your side.

Hoseok opens his wallet and throws a pile of bills down on the table. He doesn’t spare a glance at Donghyuk as he calmly ushers you away from the table.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

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

The ride home from the restaurant is just as silent as the ride there.

Hoseok drives and you stare blankly out the window as you replay Donghyuk’s words in your mind.

I thought you hated your family. That’s what everyone says.

Yes -- you hated your father. You had your reasons and you had earned that right.

But Namjoon? Never. You could never hate your brother.

The fact that you’d given anyone -- even Donghyuk -- reason to believe otherwise makes you feel sick to your stomach. Shames weighs so heavy on your chest it feels like you can’t breathe.

You don’t even have the energy to devote to being embarrassed at how that whole scene played out in front of Hoseok. By the time he walks you into your apartment, you’re just desperate to wash up and fall into bed. Hoseok lingers in the living room but you don’t even look at him. You head straight for your bedroom.

The tears come the moment the latch clicks closed.

Followed closely by the screams.

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

HOSEOK

What a shitty way to end what had really shaped up to be an enjoyable night.

Hoseok could see the moment things went south at dinner. You’d looked disinterested from the second you sat down, distracted the entire time you ate your meal. But then the strangest look came over you at the end, something Hoseok couldn’t quite decipher. Until it was replaced by something he understood loud and clear from all the way across the room.

Fury.

It was way too fucking satisfying, really.

The look on that idiot’s face when you humiliated him in front of an entire restaurant full of his shitty little peers. The way his mouth dropped open when you told him you were done and the way his cheeks burned red when Hoseok tossed the money on the table.

That would have been the perfect way to end the night.

But then you started screaming.

Hoseok’s body is moving before his mind does. In seconds, he’s crossed the apartment and ripped your bedroom door open.

“Holy shit,” he breathes.

You are pressed against the far wall of the room, staring down at the floor. Hoseok follows your terrified gaze down to the large black snake coiled just a few feet away.

“Okay, wow. Fuck,” he mutters, shoving his hand through this hair, trying like hell to formulate a cohesive thought. “Okay just...just stay calm for me, okay? Can you do that?”

You say nothing, out of screams and out of words as you stare back at him. It’s clear that no, staying calm is the last thing you can do right now but staying silent is a pretty good second option.

“I have to leave you for a second, okay? Just one second. Can you stay calm for me?” Hoseok repeats, taking a tentative step out the door. “You don’t have to answer me, just nod. I’m going to be back in seconds and I’m going to get this thing out of here. Are you with me?”

Hoseok watches as you pull in one shaky breath and nod woodenly. That’s all the affirmation he needs.

He runs to rip a pillowcase off one of the pillows on his bed. When he gets back to your room, the snake has stretched it’s long body into a flat line and you look somehow more terrified than you did when he left.

“I’m back, okay?” he reassures, even though he’s certain you already know that. But you won’t take your eyes off that snake and he wants you to hear the artificial calm in his voice. “Don’t make any sudden moves. I’m going to get this thing into this pillowcase in my hands.”

He talks you through what he’s doing like it’s going to somehow reinforce that he’s in control when he knows that he’s anything but. Hoseok has seen and done a lot of weird shit in this line of work, but he’s never had to wrangle a fucking snake. He has a basic understanding of what needs to be done, but that’s still a far damned cry from actually doing it.

He takes one deep breath and starts forward with careful steps.

The fact that the snake has uncoiled might work to his advantage, he reasons. From this angle he can probably reach the tail without coming too close to the head. He knows that whatever move he makes has to be fast and decisive -- and he understands instinctively that your composure relies almost entirely on him maintaining his.

He sees you clap a hand over your mouth to stop from screaming when he grabs for the snake. The animal’s long body undulates in his grip, stronger than he expected, and he has to pull back when the snake swings its head in his direction. The entire debacle couldn’t have lasted any more than five seconds, but by the time Hoseok gets an opportunity to pull the pillowcase over the snake’s body, it feels like an eternity.

He wonders if you could see how badly his hands were shaking the entire time.

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

“So wait, what kind of snake is it?”

“Fuck Yoongi, I don’t know,” Hoseok snaps, pulling the cabinets under your bathroom sink open. He rifles through the contents, checking to make sure nothing else has been left behind.

“Black. Shiny. Doesn’t look friendly. You gonna come help me toss this apartment or do you want to talk exotic pets?”

“Don’t be a dick,” Yoongi chuckles, “and don’t do anything to that snake. I’ll be there in 15 minutes.”

Hoseok ends the call without so much as a goodbye.

He takes a break from inspecting your room to walk out into the living room to check on you. You are seated cross-legged on your couch, staring into nothing.

“Yoongi is on his way,” he says, rubbing one hand across the back of his neck. “He’s going to help me do a deep dive in all the rooms.”

You don’t respond.

“You okay?”

You turn your head slowly and blink up at him like you’ve just registered the sound of his voice.

“Uh, yeah,” you say slowly, even though you sound anything but. “I’m okay.”

Hoseok tongues his cheek. He wishes he knew what to do or what to say to make you feel more at ease. He chides himself for the thought almost as soon as it comes. You probably wouldn’t want to hear it from him, anyway.

“Alright,” he sighs, turning back towards your bedroom. “Just give me a minute to get through everything in here and then you can get some sleep.”

“Hoseok?”

You call to him from the couch and he turns back to face you.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

Something twists inside Hoseok’s stomach at the despondent look on your face. It’s such a contrast to the look he saw tonight at the restaurant -- the fiery, angry one that made him feel like he could understand you a bit more. He would rather see any other version of you than the one he sees right now.

“You’re welcome,” he says thickly, turning away to get back to work.

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

You are still sleeping when Hoseok leaves Seokjin at your apartment in his place.

Namjoon is standing at his office window this morning, like he often does when he’s thinking. Yoongi nods when Hoseok enters the office and helps himself to the only other empty chair.

“What happened last night?” Namjoon asks, not bothering to turn away from the window.

Yoongi shoots Hoseok a look that says you first and Hoseok returns with one of his own that says no shit, sherlock.

“There’s not much that you’re not already briefed on,” Hoseok starts, “I brought your sister home from a social outing and when we got home she found a snake on her bedroom floor. I was able to contain the snake and Yoongi and I searched every inch of the apartment after that. Didn’t turn up anything else.”

“Any sign of forced entry?”

“No,” Hoseok admits. “I couldn’t find any. I have a locksmith working with Seokjin on replacing the deadbolt again this morning.”

“Right,” Namjoon says, turning away from the window to walk back to his desk. “So that makes twice now that we’ve changed her locks, twice now that someone has managed to get in anyway. What about the cameras outside?”

“I checked the footage,” Yoongi says. “Someone used a pole or a stick to put a physical block over the lens. It was still up there when I checked this morning. Duct tape.”

Namjoon scrubs a hand across his jaw, sighs out loud.

“Fuck. Where are we with tracking the Lee girl?”

Yoongi clears his throat. “I’ve been out on a few runs so far; nothing out of the norm. Work to home to work. I’ve got Jimin and Tae checking out some other stuff but nothing to report back yet.”

“Keep digging,” Namjoon insists. “She has everything she needs. The knowledge and the access, but most importantly she has my sister’s trust. That’s what worries me the most.”

He turns his attention to Hoseok. “My sister. How is she holding up?”

Hoseok thinks back to the way you looked last night, back to that blank look on your face.

Not well.

“She’s tired,” he replies carefully. “Stressed out because she’s trying to rescue her case. The snake shit did not help.”

“I’m sure it didn’t.”

“Speaking of which -- ” Yoongi interjects, “ -- that snake. It’s an Indigo snake. Not venomous.”

Namjoon lifts one eyebrow.

“I’m saying the Ssijog are not trying to hurt her, not really. They only want to scare her into fucking up this case,” Yoongi reasons. “Trust me, they don’t want to make shit worse for themselves right now by adding a dead prosecutor to the mix.”

Hoseok winces at the logical-but-clumsy delivery of that last line.

Namjoon’s mouth pulls into a tight line as he leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers. Hoseok has worked for the man long enough to know that he’s not the type to lash out when he gets angry. Namjoon is the type to go quiet.

Like right now.

He narrows his eyes at Yoongi before opening his mouth to speak.

“You’re probably right about that, Yoongi,” he says in a low, careful tone. “But let me ask you this. Is that a bet you’re willing to make with my sister’s life on the line?”

Yoongi -- wisely -- doesn’t answer that.

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

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seostudios · 4 years ago

Text

extraordinary

SEOSTUDIOS HALLOWEEN SPECIAL

synopsis. after the king went missing, y/n embarks on a journey to save her father from the kingdom's greatest secret, the fallen prince, who has locked him in his mother’s castle. trading herself in for her father's release, she soon realizes the supposed blood-sucking creature is just an arrogant prince and makes her mission to draw the cold-hearted boy out of his isolation.

pairing. kim doyoung x fem!reader

genre. romance, fantasy, angst, smut

info. prince!doyoung, vampire!doyoung, princess!reader, beauty-and-the-beast!au (with a twist), non-idol!au, medieval!au, prince!ex!jaehyun, brother!jaemin

warnings. mentions of blood and arranged marriage, alcohol, explicit language, unprotected sex, bondage, a really bad sex scene ugh

wc. 5.2k

an. hi happy halloween! i promised ‘angel’ for my halloween special but i feel like wizards were boring for halloween (no hate) but a beauty and the beast au with a vampire twist sounded sexy.. so i hope you enjoyed this romance au there a smut scene but i’m not proud since i have to pee rlly badly and wrote this in a rush (LOL) i hope the cover tricked u! it’s supposed to give a ‘blank’ theme... yk anyways ill try writing more tysm bye i love you all think of this as a halloween special + 700 special mwhamwah

The long curtain that draped over your bay windows had the same orange hue to the morning light, every morning a perfect sunrise. Reminding you of the sleepless nights spent just to get a view of the sun as it illuminated the blue as if it were igniting the most miraculous flame. Throwing the large duvet that once covered your canvas, you quietly tip-toe out of your shared bedroom with fiance and future king, Jaehyun, not trying to wake him yet.

By the time you're finished looking presentable to the outside world, you make your way down towards the kitchen. There was only a week before the wedding, so the castle was a little hectic. Seeing the tailor and his assistance run in an out the front gates, the chefs coming from far and wide to bake you the most flavoursome cake out there. The wedding was a big deal. I mean between merging kingdoms and scoring the most eligible bachelor in the land... It was huge! Jaehyun was known in his kingdom for his selfless actions, but elsewhere, it was his dashing looks. Although he still hasn't managed to swoop in and steal your heart, you had no choice but to let him believe he did so for the sake of your future.

"Princess!" The chef Johnny calls. He noticed you wandering out of your suite after using the restroom and just had to get some small talk done and possibly put in a good word for his close friend about to seal the deal with you. "Oh! Hey Johnny," You greet, flashing him a toothy grin. "It's almost the big day..." He exclaimed. Wow, he seems more excited than me, you think to yourself. "Right. I'm nervous," You confess, your frown now replacing the award-winning smile. Which didn't go unnoticed by Johnny. His eyes, which were once trained on you, shoot up to look behind your shoulder. "Speak of the devil!" He shouted, shooting you a couple glances before running over to Jaehyun, who has just woken up.

Now at the dining table, you and Jaehyun sit accompanied by his parents. "So, Y/N" His mother starts in attempts to spark a conversation. You shot your head up to listen in on what she has to say, "Did you know Jaehyun has an older brother? Doyoung." Silence. You all sat in an awkward stillness, glances between Jaehyun and his father, worried. "No, I didn't. Is he coming to breakfast?" Her cheerful demeanour was quick to shapeshift into a dejected expression. "He moved to Paris to expand his corporation." The hidden truth was that he didn't move at all. He was banished. This tall tale is told all over the lands, but it was just a tall tale about the prince, was it not?

Once upon a time, there lived a dashing prince. His name was Doyoung. Despite having all the money and power in the kingdom, it still felt like there was nothing left for him there if he still lingered in his younger brother's shadow. So the prince ventured off, hoping to find someone who'd appreciate him for himself. That's when he met the great sorcerer, Minyeon, known by only the wicked. She was a sly witch, moving only on the outskirts of the lands. Aching to pounce on any punk in the vicinity. Therefore when she noticed the prince and came to realize his selfish needs, she casts a spell. "You're stuck like this until you find peace eternally. Is being a greedy spoilt brat all you need to be a prince? Maybe you should be more like Jaehyun." Those were her last words before disappearing into the woods. Doyoung quickly ran back home. Calling every wizard in town to inspect him. He was now cursed to live life as a blood-sucking monster unless he finds this peace. "You know we can't." His mother started. Doyoung's heart tore, hearing the crack in her voice. "I... I know Mother. I'll be quick." He said before finished packing the briefcase full of necessities. "I have a castle." She spits out, handing him a map. "Stay there. I will visit as much as I can," And it was the truth. She visited for the first few months until he started to change. The violent evil nature of a pure vampire, taking its place in Doyoung. That was no longer her son, and she couldn't risk venturing far to walk right into her death.

And that was Doyoung’s story.

It's been about three years since the incident, and villagers still ponder on whether it's fiction or not, but with the heartbreaking look on Jaehyun's mother's face this morning, I think you got your answer. Acknowledging the elephant in the room, you and your future mother-in-law finish up and head into the fitting room with the tailor, leaving Jaehyun with his father. "He knows-" Jaehyun started, quickly being cut off by his father. "That's why we limited guests on such short notice and doubled the guards. He won't be able to get in." He affirmed before the sound of the chair screeching slowly, and someone sitting was heard. The two look down towards the end of the table. "I won't be able to what?" Doyoung said, throwing his feet on the table.

死

"I really do think you look magnificent." The designer, Taeyong, chirped adjusting your corset. "Taeyong honey, don't you think that's a little tight? Y/N looks like she's turning blue." Jaehyun's mother jokes. Ever since you've departed from the boys at breakfast, she's been jumpy. Was she expecting someone? "Alright, here we go! Go take a look, princess." Nodding, you make your way to the large mirror. "Oh my! I love it! Thank you so much!" Doing a little twirl, as Jaehyun's mother cheers, showering you in compliments.

“So.. Y/N darling... How are things with Jaehyun?” She asked helping you undress after Taeyong exited. “What do you mean?” You asked curious, what could she mean? “You know this isn’t exactly a love marriage...” She hears a sigh from you. “I mean I like him!” Making sure you let her know that first, you turn away from the mirror to face her, “But not like that, he’s a good friend... Nothing more.” The confession left the still room feel like a ghost town. Jaehyun’s mother hands you a heartwarming smile, assuring you it’s okay. “You know, I think you’d be fit with my eldest son, Doyoung.” Smiling to herself she takes a loose strand of hair and places it behind your hair. “A-Are the rumo-” She nods. They were true, he really was a vampire. “May I ask where he is? Do you visit? How is he? Does he look like the vampires from the books?” All your questions erupt at once, causing her to burst into a fit of laughter. “Well where do I start?!” She says more to herself. “He’s in a castle, past the river banks and through the woods. Safe, hopefully. He’s also quite charming-”

A knock at the door, grabs both of your attention. "Come in," You said, but something was off. An uneasy feeling turns in the pit of your stomach as the doorknob unwinds to reveal Jaehyun. "You can't be in here! Shoo!" His mother scolded, but Jaehyun raised his hand to silence her. "Y/N, your father."

“He’s what?!” You shout. “Been abducted? By who? He’s on everyone’s good side.” You state clearly. “It’s not his fault. It’s our fault.” He confessed, looking down at the marble tiles of the hushed room. “My brother, Doyoung. Took him.” A gasp is heard from his mother as her hand goes to rest on her chest to feel her heart. “Is Doyoung here?!” She asked. He shook his head. “He showed up and told Dad and I the news but left afterwards. He told me to pass the news over to you.” Jaehyun began to massage his temples, this was really getting to him. “He wants you to meet him at his castle to - discuss - your father's return to his kingdom.” And in a blink of an eye you were gone. Jaehyun’s mother didn’t give you exact directions but you could find out where his castle is. “What are you doing!? Stop her!!” His mother cries, “She doesn’t know what she’s heading into!” Before she was able to run out to you, Jaehyun stops her in her tracks. “This is not our battle, Mother.”

Running into your barn, You mounted Ivy, about to venture off possibly to your death. You were determined though, no matter what; you need your father back. Not for you but for the sake of your kingdom. “Come on girl, we’re gonna save Papa.” Ivy was originally a horse for the knights but it seemed like the two of you had more of a sibling bond than you and your younger brother, Jaemin... Not that you guys hated each other! The river banks were a easy to trot by, the boat passengers and fishers greeting you, and the woods wasn’t as dark and ominous as Jaehyun’s mom put it to sound like.

There you were. Past the river banks, through the woods and you were led to the front gates of Doyoung’s castle. The castle was more ancient than any bone left in soil. The stone pathway pitted and scarred, looking up you notice it's tall walls, trees surrounded the castle. The large pillars, narrow, round towers dominate the skyline of this massive castle and are connected by enormous, firm walls made of cobblestone. Spooky was an understatement. You dismount Ivy and tie her loosely to an old log. “Stay here girl, I’ll be back with Papa.” Pushing the rusted gates open you throw your cloak over top your head and run towards the large wooden doors. Letting yourself in you examine the large foyer of the castle, it was much smaller than yours back home but the presence it held was bigger than any king to have walked the lands. Your breathing is rapid and shallow, you can feel your pulse pounding in your temples as you cautiously walked up the steps. "Doyoung?" You call out. A muscle twitches involuntarily at the corner of your right eye, after seeing a shadow swiftly move. He knows you're here. "I'm not scared of you." You spoke tenderly, moreso to convince yourself you weren't. Looking down the narrow hallway someone stands, before you were able to walk towards the figure he heads into a door. Now on a wild goose chase after Doyoung you reach a grand hall full of chambers, a dungeon. “Let me out you bastard!” An infuriated voice shouts. It’s your father. “Papa?! Where are you?” You cry running around the zigzag chamber. “Y/N? Over here Y/N!” He shouts once more, why were you here?

There he was, there they were. Your father was on his knees, gripping the bars calling out for you, but beside him standing tall, he was a slender and well built man with pretty, unturned lip. His pale skin sparkled in the moonlight, his dark eyes matching the night sky above perfectly. Doyoung. Although your heart picked up at his astonishing facial features, you were enraged on why he would abduct your poor father. “Let him go at once!” You demand. He kisses his teeth and dangles a pair of keys above your head. “Only if you stay.”

“I’ll be fine Papa.” You assure your father at the front gates of the castle. “Take Ivy and head home. I’ll be okay.” You embrace him once more, “But the wedding?!” Your eyebrows furrow. “It’s cancelled, why don’t you get Jaemin to merge with Jaehyun’s little sister, she just came of age and she’s arriving from Thailand tomorrow.” And thus the decision was made. You were now a resident at Doyoung’s, and your wedding was cancelled.

Sitting on the last step of the spiral staircase you watch Doyoung pace around the foyer, speaking to someone in a room. Didn’t he live alone? Getting up to explore the castle you were stopped by Doyoung, he’s quick on his toes. “Let me bring you to your room.” He said, his hand reaching out to you. Charming Slapping his hand you walk past him up the stairs towards whatever room you would make out to be your own. He trails behind you, “Feisty, I-” “I was talking to your mother about you earlier. I’m not dumb, I know it all.” Your began, opening a room door. “I want this room.” You demand, even if you showed him your stubborn side a little, it was fine. He did kidnap your father. Doyoung hums “Okay. Dinner in five” He chimed, before heading back down. The rest of the night was nothing out of the ordinary, other than the awkward glances to one another at dinner. In attempts of sparking something between the two of you Doyoung asks, “Did you enjoy dinner?” At the door frame of your bedroom. “Yeah,” All was well until you saw him begin to unbutton his dress shirt and head into the closet. “W-What do you think are you doing?” You asked frightened. Why was he undressing in your new bedroom. “Getting ready for bed?” “But don’t you have your own room?” You inquire confused. “You picked my room, so we share.” He replied. There were at least over a dozen bedrooms in this castle and you just had to pick his. “No take backs by the way, now get in bed love.” Kissing your teeth you throw on a pair of pyjamas you found in the closet; assuming it was his. Moving to the side of the bed to make a wall of pillows separating the two of you.

死

“It’s been over three months Doyoung.” This was one of those rare occasions you spoke at dinner. “And?” He questions. “I want to go home.” You stood your ground, it’s been over three months, nearing four and it’s safe to say this dinner was the most you’ve both communicated. “You are home,” He replies, taking a bite of his food. “No, it’s not. I sit in this castle reading books and talking to myself, I’m going mad!” You bark. “You traded yourself in for your fathers release, I can’t let you leave.” He always spoke softly but his words never failed to slice through you.

Doyoung enters his bedroom, while you were downstairs cleaning up. He reaches into the back of his closet, sliding the clothes on the rack to the side, to reveal a mirror. It wasn’t an ordinary mirror, it was a magic mirror, to help Doyoung communicate with his mother without putting herself in danger. “I thought this was the peace I needed to come back.” He said to himself looking at his reflection. “Peace? This isn’t peace Doyoung.” A voice hollered throughout the still room as the mirror illuminated. “I know it isn’t mother, I can’t seem to find it. I’m trying.” The tension grew thick, he was frustrated. “Find peace in her.” She finally said. Just then, the mirror shatters. “Doyoung?” Your soft voice calls from the closet door. His head spins around as he readjusts the clothing. “What time is it?” He questioned, flaring with energy. “About fifteen minutes to eight, why?” This is where you start growing nervous. Although he’s kept to himself you know he yearned for human blood. “Let’s explore.” He grabs ahold of your hand running down to the front yard. “Wear this.” Handing you a coat he intertwines your hands as the two of you exit the premises.

“Why are you being so weird?!” You roar demanding answers. “I want our friendship to blossom my love.” He spoke, a pang of guilt hitting him. Your cheeks suddenly kissed pink like the spring rose, the blooming colour so bright against your face. Looking forward,avoiding eye contact with Doyoung you tug his hand forward into the wilderness. “On my way here I remember seeing a bench surround with an ethereal setting.” You babble on the way to the destination. “Really? Would love to see it.” Doyoung replied uninterested. This didn’t go unnoticed by you so letting go of his hand you walk ahead. He catches up but doesn’t grab ahold of your hand. “I apologize.” He said, earning a scoff. “I really am, I’m all ears now.” The pleads went on until you reached the bench where you sat down and pulled out a book. “What’s that?” He asked. “A sketch book.” You reply, opening the book to reveal you artwork. “Whoa, Y/N these are amazing.” Astonished he grabs it out of you hand to flip through them, earning a rather adorable giggle from you, which did indeed cause a crack in Doyoung’s ice cold heart.

Your stay increased and the liking you had towards Doyoung has as well. Now there is never a dull moment at dinner, a new routine of late night walks. In all honesty, Doyoung hasn’t been the slightest interested in you up until last night. “Doie! Look at this, I drew you!” You cheer running over to the boy in his study. “Let’s take a look.” He stood in front of you, his eyes that told stories words couldn't, staring into your shiny orbs, piercing through you. He couldn’t help it, with your collar bones exposed with the large tee swallowing you whole.. You looked appetizing. So when his hand came in contact with your nape, leaning down, his mouth hovering over your neck, about to indulge he hears a whimper. “Doyoung..” He looks up to your frightened figure. However, you weren’t scared of him sucking a little blood out of you, just nervous of how close you were. “Doyoung. It’s okay...” You whispered your doe eyes staring right back at him. But he couldn’t, “I’m not a monster.”

These days Doyoung felt vulnerable around you. The once inhuman arrogant cursed prince acting as like another man. His crave and lust for blood sank and he desired something else, something more attainable at his end now; love. Though his love for you blossomed quickly he was insecure and full of doubt when it comes to confessing. The world seems to be on his side when the two love birds are together, fooling around, but once the tension grew his courage flees the scene. Weeks turned into months with this unbearable love for you; he no longer lusts for your friendship, he needs more.

You sat on the edge of the king sized bed, gazing out the bay window that peered into the land. Stars shining over top the night sky, appearing like magic at each sunset. Sipping onto the last bit of hot chocolate in your mug you change into a silk night dress Doyoung has purchased for you, since he thought you should have a new wardrobe now that you live with him. Back hitting against the soft mattress you wrap yourself in the thick duvet, closing your eyes to think.

My friendship with Doyoung has really come far these past few nights. Just the other night he cooked me breakfast in bed, which was really thoughtful of him. His egoistic personality fading into a tenderhearted man. Under all the layers from his saddening past, becoming a monster from the storybooks, to his prince status. He was a normal guy. I know he wants to flee this wretched castle and run back home, though he fears what he capable of. How he could hurt his people, or worse, his family. The sinister persona taking over him that cut his bond from Jaehyun. Oh But past all this is a man... You love.

The door creaks and you noticed a disheveled Doyoung enter the room. Must have been up in the study racing his minds to wonder, you believe. “Hey you.” You chirp, to sit up on the bed unknowingly a strap falls from your shoulder exposing your collarbone. “Hello Y/N.” The reply was dry and nonchalant about. But all worries ended when he hops into the bed curling up into himself gathering warmth. You don’t know why but your heart skipped a beat when you glanced over at him, catching his stare up at you. You huff playfully before relaxing into the sheets. The two of you could’ve easily split rooms and been on your way but there was an urge for you to stay in his suite. Maybe it was the thirst to find out who he really was, and why his path was this rough... Or it was because ever since you met at the chambers, your heart always raced around him; no matter the occasion. The room was quiet, sitting in a comfortable silence, both of you awake. Should you tell him? Is this too quick? Were you ready? The questions spring around your mind for a couple seconds before being interrupted by a pleasant surprise.

Doyoung’s hand makes it’s way to reach yours. The ice-cold finger tips, tracing over your hand. Skinship wasn’t rare but it was never making you consider he felt the same way. Intertwining your hands you turn to face him, to notice he was already looking at you. He wants to confess, he will confess. His mouth opens to speak, but quickly silenced with a pair of soft lips crashing onto him. Knowing his difficulty with words, actions seemed to have spoken better than them. His lips were warm and the taste of bourbon stung your tongue gracefully. Doyoung moves his hands from yours to rest on the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him. You two break apart for air, hesitantly looking at one another. Though his eyes told multiple stories, all you felt as of now was lust and desire. Giving yourself up to him, or how people back home would say; popping the cherry. Lips crash together and it felt like you were walking on air. The way your lips connected with his, molding together like they belonged, his mouth was so warm compared to the rest of him. The small tug onto your lips erupting a quiet moan is what gets him started.

死

You awoke to arms barricading around you, keeping your bare body close. The morning light shining through the closed blinds creating a funky pattern on the duvet. Your hands drawing funny little shapes on Doyoung's bare chest. Last night sure was hectic, he's got a lot of stamina for someone who claimed to be tired. Doyoung lets out a whine, “So bright in here..” He groans, covering his face. It took a minute to register what was going on and why you were naked and in his arms, but relaxed when he follows up on what went down last night. He could freely express his love physically and verbally. “Oh my god, I love you.” He says ecstatic. You mumble ‘I love you too’ to him before he goes on yapping, “Mother was right.” He whispers, “She was right. You’re my peace. My key to a happy life.” A soft smile dances on your lips after hearing those words, he truly did love you... But because his mother told him so? “Your mother?” You inquire, but he’s quick to reply. “She told me to find peace in you; at first I doubting her sanity because you were quite annoying-” “Hey!” You slap his chest, however he defends himself. “But I can’t live without your chitter chatter now.” He expressed.

Doyoung combs his hair, you cleansing beside him. “You got tanner honey.” You say pinching his skin lightly. “I did?” His doe eyes looking into the mirror at his skin. Then panic arose, “Quick Y/N! Fetch me some blood.” He says while you blankly stare back at him. “You don’t have any blood.” He grabs your wrist. The veins visible. “I.. I don’t want blood.” A sardonic laugh escapes. “I have an idea” He said patting your head lovingly. What could he have in mind? You hum, signaling him to continue as you dry off. “Let’s get married.” If you saw yourself right now you probably would’ve been convinced that your jaw was touching the ground. Nonetheless, life is a risk. Why not? “Okay.” You replied, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. The once feared blood sucking monster, was now back to being an ordinary prince. “I heard my father didn’t let our poor little sister get married..” He whispers into your lips. “Two weddings have been cancelled, let’s help them out.” Grabbing your hand he leads you towards the east end of his castle. You never ventured out there, quite creepy if I do say so myself. Digging into an old box he pulls out an off the shoulder wedding gown with embroidery on her bodice. Rhinestones and pearl beads were sewn on the gown. "It's beautiful," You gasp in awe. "It was my mother's gown. I want you to wear it now." He said handing it over. “Bring it in hand, let’s get ready there. Our big day is tomorrow isn’t it?” He smirks, taking you in hand to walk down to the foyer. “I called someone for us.” “You did?” Just then, you two hear the neigh of a horse (or two) in the distance approaching. A carriage arrived on time to bring you two home. “I can’t believe we’re going home.” You start. “Does this mean we’re gonna stay there because I’d rather not actually.” The confession was vague but Doyoung knew where you were getting at. The privacy was amazing, and hearing the sound of birds in the early morning instead of villagers was a blessing. “Me too.” He replied, helping you on top of the carriage.

And off you go.

Once you arrived you were surprised people recognized you, and the prince himself. Whispers and rumours already begun and you’ve barely made it through the main city. “There it is, our chapel.” You joke, pointing towards the castle, earning a little laugh from him. He was no longer a vampire, and it frightened you, was getting you to fall in love with him just to go back to normal his only goal? Or was he truly head over heels for you as you were for him. Many of actions reminded you of how he loved you. “Whoa did you see that? They just let us slip by..” He whispers to you after seeing the guards let you pass by happily. “It’s cause we live here,” You replied all giddy over his childish antics when it came to being home, he was thrilled. He quickly rushed towards the the throne room knowing his parents would be there and you rushed behind after setting the suitcases. “Mother! Father! I’ve come home!” He shouts in the still room. Gasps heard from various maids and guards. “I-I’ve found peace...” He pants. “Peace?” His father questioned, his mother correcting him, “He found love.” Doyoung shares a smile before walking up to the throne, “I’ve been gone for quite awhile, haven’t I?” He snickers before embracing his parents. “Brother?” A voice hollered through the room, follow by whispers. He turned to see his loving siblings. “Jaehyun...” Running towards him his smile fades. “I’m sorry,” The apology was wholehearted, from what Jaehyun knew; Doyoung was a loving brother. But all was false, back then he was a selfish beast, not caring once of who he hurt. Now, he was back and came work up from his mistakes. Jaehyun pulls his elder brother into a hug, as he sobbed quietly into his shoulder.

The door opens to reveal a princess; you. “You all know Y/N.” Doyoung says, grabbing your hand. At first, you don’t realize Jaehyun there, but he makes himself known. “Yes, I was engaged to her not long ago.” Shivers ran down your spine, how could he be so cold and straightforward. Did he actually love you? The straight brooding face quickly curved into a grin, flashing his dimples. “I’m joking. You two actually look like your in love, Y/N and I looked like brothers.” Laughter erupts within the room everyone catching onto the joke one by one before silencing. Doyoung clears his throat “I will be marrying Princess Y/N and merging our kingdoms into one.” It was nice to see his father smile, it was rare. This was good news and it seems like all is working out for the two of you. “Very well, how does next week sound?” He said, watching you two nod eagerly.

死

It’s been three hours since your vows have been exchanged, and you are now rocking a stone as large as your pupil on your wedding finger, while slowly being undressed by your husband. “Why is this thing so hard to take off,” He complained right as he gets the hang of it. Your lips molding with one another in perfect harmony. It's a slow process you want to enjoy, but most of all you want to pleasure your new husband. A gasp escapes your mouth feeling Doyoung gently lifts his hands up to palm your clothed core, the gentle rubbing before going underneath the thin material to your glistening folds. He hushed your with kiss going down your torso, til he reached right above your core. In a blink of an eye, you see yourself nude and legs sprawled out with Doyoung’s face between your legs. Licking a stripe between your folds, sucking gently on your clit. “So wet...” He murmurs under his breath, before diving in. If you thought your first time with Doyoung was hectic, you’re in for it tonight. Now hands tied behind your back by your own wedding veil you stuff your head into the pillow, screaming his name. “Oh my god! Oh my god! R-Right there! Harder!” You cry, curling your toes ass he thrusts into your core. Your hair bunched up into Doyoung’s fist, keeping you two steady as he penetrates into you. Coming close to your orgasm you arch your back in anticipation; this doesn’t go unnoticed. Doyoung comes forth, hot breath and groans loud and clear in your ear. Reaching down he finds your bud and rubs harshly onto it, feeling you clench around his length. A squeal leaves your mouth, “I’m cumming!” You cried, digging your face in the pillow. Just when you felt yourself relaxing into the pillow, you feel a hot liquid coat your pink walls and Doyoung pulling out

死

The sound of the kids playing rings in the background as you sip on a cup of coffee your husband, Doyoung brewed earlier this morning. He comes to sit beside you on the abandoned bench in the forest, memories flooding off our many escapes to this very bench as kids. His hand reaches to caress your pregnant belly. “Number three.” He said playfully as you slap his hand away, “His name is Taehyun, not Number three.” He chuckles, “A beautiful name from his beautiful mother.” Doyoung says, gently raking his fingers through your long locks of hair. “I love you so much,” He whispers, bringing his hand to your cheek before kissing the top of your nose. “I love you too I guess,” You shrug, covering your grin with the book you held. “Youjin and Minhyun are still in the garden, shall we go in...” His eyes trail the vicinity, before catching your kids who were sitting in a field of flowers. “Min! Jin! Me and your mother are going to head inside for a snack! Stay close!” He shouts over the kids who just send him a thumbs up. Eagerly, Doyoung stood up grabbing your hand pulling you gently towards the castle. “What a child,” You mumble before heading in.

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