#and hes so gentle and smiling the whole time. what a wonderful and upstanding young man. what beauty and grace💖💖💖

[cautiouslyyyoptimistic]

The best part about the bingqiu epic-misunderstandings-era during the jin lan city arc is that it works so well BECAUSE luo binghe is genuinely scary and unnerving at times. I think he should have been SCARIER actually. The dreadful feeling of inevitability that justice will be enacted upon you by the protagonist and his presumably world warping powers and persuasion should be utilized MORE!

[lubdubsworld]

Insatiable ( Jungkook x Oc ) Chapter 4

Pairing : Jeon Jungkook x OC

Rating 18+

Genre : Vampire Au!!!! , DILF! Jungkook ! Bodyguard AU! Babysitter OC!   Age difference!!! 

Chapter 1   Chapter 2  Chapter 3

Chapter 4

“Dearest, I am  appalled. “ My father said apologetically. “ Jungkook told me what happened at the dinner and I’m beginning to rethink this whole idea. These pups need to be on a leash , if they cannot control themselves to this extent.” 

I was curled up on the couch next to my dad, his fingers gently stroking my hair while he stared at the screen in front of us. It carried all the accounts of the mansion for the week and the numbers made my head swim . So I ignored it, eating the freshly baked macarons that  cook had sent up from the kitchen. 

My father occasionally consulted from a bunch of files spread out on the table in front of him and I shuddered again when I thought about Mingyu. 

“He was an awful choice father. I should have just told you to set things up with Yugyeom.” I grimaced. 

My father nodded at once.

“Of course dearest, I’ll talk to him myself and see if he’s free this weekend. Will that work for you?”

“thank you father.” I said brightly, curling up next to him.

For a few minutes, we both stayed quiet, him humming as he leafed through the files, me munching on a few ripe tangerine pieces. 

“What do you think of Jungkook?” My father said suddenly, making me cough. 

I swallowed, throat dry.

My father felt me stiffen against him and he chuckled. 

“Don’t panic, love. I am way too old not to recognize heartache when I see it. Especially in my own daughter. Your display at the breakfast table yesterday was quite unlike you and I realized, it’s not just a silly infatuation anymore, is it  ? ” He rubbed the back of his fingers on my cheek, soothing and gentle. 

I didn’t reply. 

“I think he’s a good...man.” I finished.

“Ahhh...” My father chuckled. “  Man.  Here I am , trying to foist you off on boys who’ve barely popped their fangs for the first time .... when it is obvious that what you need is someone reliable and in control. Therein lies the appeal, does it not, dearest? ” 

I flushed red, scrambling to sit up , and clutching the fabric of my skirt in a death grip. 

“It’s... it’s stupid. I’ll get over it.” I choked out. 

My father hummed. 

“Have you told him how you feel?” He asked gently and I stared at him.

“You’re not mad.?” I whispered.

My father chuckled.

“Why would I be mad?  I’ve known him for five whole centuries. He’s a fine, upstanding man. Jungkook is fair and strong. He is more than capable of taking care of you and the best part, you would be able to live here forever. I would be lucky to have him as my son in law.” He said firmly. 

I felt my body go lax in disbelief. 

“Somi .. Somi said...That you wouldn’t approve. Because he isn’t from a strong clan. ”

“Somi worries too much about what the others in our clan may say.  Especially your uncle. He’s coming back soon remember? “ My father grimaced. 

I felt a shiver run through me. 

“Uncle Jaebum? He’s coming back?” I whispered, terrified. 

My father hummed, kissing the side of my head.

“Yes he is, love. But don’t worry. I’ll handle him. Your uncle still believes that lineage plays some role in how a vampire turns out but couldn’t be more wrong. i mean , young Mr. Mingyu has single handedly proven  that theory wrong , hasn’t he?” My father shook his head, laughing, “  So tell me, has Jungkook agreed to court you?” 

I groaned. 

“He has categorically stated that he doesn’t want to court me.” I said softly.

My father laughed at that.

“That must’ve been a novel experience for you.” 

I pouted. 

“Father!” I whined. 

“Alright, alright ...dearest. I won’t tease. Did he say why? ” He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. 

“Because I’m too young? Possibly.... He said something about carrying too much baggage and not wanting to ruin my life.” 

My father made a noise of impatience.

“The boy is an overthinker. He’s always been that way. He doesn’t look that way but he cares deeply about hurting others. It’s possible he’s only trying to protect you. Albeit in a very misguided way. “

“ Perhaps. But, whatever the reason, he’s not willing to court me. So, no. i don’t think he wants to be your son in law. I wish I could change his mind. ” I muttered, snuggling closer into him. 

“Ah, you know I can’t change his mind for you, don’t you flower? That’s your job...”

I sighed. 

“I know...” 

“If Jungkook does choose to court you. You will have my blessing. I will give you a wedding that will make the world watch in awe. “ He said firmly. 

i laughed. 

“Really? You made Somi marry Jimin in the barn on the estate.” I grinned. 

“Well, Don’t tell your brothers and sisters but you are my favorite after all. “ He whispered conspiratorially and I grinned. 

It was funny because I knew he wasn’t even lying. 

After my mother had left the clan, my father had taken on the role with enthusiasm. Unlike the head of clans all over the world, my father was approachable , friendly and deeply involved in his children’s lives. And he had always adored me. 

“And even if Jungkook doesn’t realize how amazing you are, remember that there are plenty of good men out there. I want you to be happy, dearest. I will not settle for anything less than your complete happiness. “ My father said fiercely and I hugged him closer. 

I loved this man too damn much. 

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

“ You’re so good at what you do, Sera .” Lee Minhyuk gave me a seductive smile as he watched me wrestle his one year old daughter into her booties with one hand while i kept the other wrapped around her to stop her from toppling backwards on the small seat. 

 How about you stop flirting and help me dress your daughter , you asshole, I thought angrily, grunting from the effort of crouching for long periods of time. 

When the fluffy blue fur boots were finally on, I gave little Cherin’s squishy thighs a soft squeeze, pressing a kiss to her perfect cheeks. 

“Good bye cherry berry...” I sang softly, waving gently as she hugged her father’s legs before being scooped up into his arms. 

“So, are you free this friday? We could get something to eat?” Minhyuk gave me a wink. 

His wife was out of town. 

I offered a polite smile in return. 

“I’m going to have to pass on that. I don’t date parents, Minhyuk ssi.” I bowed my head lightly. 

Minhyuk looked annoyed but his gaze flitted to the 6′3″ man behind me, and he didn’t push the subject, merely bowing before leaving. 

Behind me Jungkook cleared his throat. 

I turned and he gave me a slow, lazy smirk. 

“You don’t date parents? Does that mean we’re not on for tonight anymore?” His eyes danced with mirth, mischief glinting in the black orbs. 

I flushed red. 

“Stop it, “ i hissed peering over his shoulder to make sure none of the other workers in the daycare had heard him. 

Jungkook smiled a little at the panic in my face. 

“But then , it isn’t really a date is it? You only want my body.” He sighed deeply in faux disappointment. 

I gave him an impish smile.

“It is the best thing you have on offer....” I shrugged. 

He laughed.

“Fair enough. Did you tell your dad about Mingyu? ” He asked as the workers began to leave one by one. Joowon had left with some of the other kids earlier, Jimin and Somi having promised to take the kids in the clan out for icecream. 

I picked up the stray blocks, dropping them into the huge laundry basket repurposed as a toy bag. i got on my hands and knees to peer under the huge wooden dresser in the corner, looking for stray blocks or toys and picking a few. 

 My back screamed in protest and i wondered if I was going to spend the rest of eternity with an achy back. I was just too young to be feeling this old. 

Was Park Jimin onto something with the whole yoga and stretching and exercise and healthy eating ? Should I stop binge eating french fries and possibly start eating salads? 

I sighed, straightening up and twisting my torso a bit only to find Jungkook with his gaze leveled very obviously  on my ass. 

So much so he didn’t even notice I was looking at him. 

I cleared my throat and his gaze left my butt, meeting mine with an absolutely unrepentant look on his face. 

“What?” He shrugged. “ I’m just seeing what I’m going to be working with tonight .” 

I felt my face flame, hating the way an absolutely ridiculous smile was threatening to make its way onto my face. I turned away quickly, crawling on all fours to the next dresser and peering under it too. 

once all the toys were put away and I’d double checked the to do list on the board , We finally closed the day care down for the night. It was just  little past six and I stood by the door, watching while he carefully checked all the side gates and the backyard. 

Slipping the key into my backpack , I began the walk back to the mansion and he fell into step next to me. 

“You didn’t answer my question....” He said softly and I blinked.

“Oh?” I couldn’t remember. 

“ Did you tell your father what happened with Mingyu?”

“Did you?” I retorted. and he shrugged. 

“I had to give a complete play by play report. Your father was incredibly upset.” 

I chuckled. 

“He’s very protective of me..” I shrugged.

Jungkook went tellingly quiet.

I felt foreboding rise inside me. Jungkook inhaled sharply, obviously staring to say something but i cut him off quickly. 

“He likes you!!” I blurted out quickly. “ I mean..he approves of you... Told me he wouldn’t mind you being his son in law.” 

My lack of filter was going to get me  killed  one of these days. 

Jungkook however seemed more amused than annoyed. 

“Well, considering the kind of candidates in the race, I can see why he would prefer me. “ He laughed. 

I frowned. There was something smug in his tone that irked me. He shouldn’t get to be smug about something like that when he didn’t even want to be with me in the first place. 

“They’re not all clowns. Yugyeom is a great guy.” I said sharply.

Jungkook’s eyebrow shot up.

“Is it so?”

I nodded, honest. 

“He’s older... almost two centuries old now and he’s a good friend.” 

“Two centuries? How on earth did he become your friend?” 

“He was one of my tutors during college. So I kind of had a crush on him.... It was all exciting .... You know, teacher and student .....forbidden love and all that “ I smiled. 

Jungkook gave me a cheeky smile. 

“Ahh...ever sucked his dick off under the desk? Or dreamed of it at least? ” He asked casually and I choked.

“ What? “ 

“Why do you look so shocked? isn’t that the most common of fantasies?“

I glared at him .

“No... I did not. That’s indecent.” 

He stopped walking. 

I walked a few steps ahead and paused, turning to stare at him. 

“What?” I demanded. 

“Sera , what the actual fuck do you think we’re going to be doing tonight?” He asked thoughtfully. 

I spluttered . 

“I... Its different. I was too young back then. Of course I know what you’re going to do tonight.” I said impatiently, turning around to keep going. 

But his hand shot out, gripping my arm and pulling me to him. I crashed into his chest, gripping the fabric to steady myself. 

“For someone who was so eager to have me show her the ‘ ropes’ , you’re quite intent on running from me, anytime i bring it up.” He whispered. 

i stared resolutely at his chest, refusing to meet his eyes. It wasn’t that I was shy per se. But just looking at his face made me lose my braincells. 

“I’m not running away. I just....” Don’t want to read too much into your flirting. Your teasing. Your interest in me. I have to keep my heart safe and I can’t do that with you offering me all of your attention....

“Don’t be nervous, alright? I’ll take good care of you.” He smiled softly. 

 God, I hated this man. 

I could feel heat pool in my belly, spreading all over my body and the urge to throw myself into his arms was so overwhelming.

“I know you will. “ I said softly, finally looking up at him, pressing my palm to his face. “ You’re a good man. A kind man. I knew the minute I saw you that you’d take good care of me. ” 

The words seemed to affect him and he bit his lips, grabbing my wrist and pulling my hand away from his face.  

“We should go.” He said shortly, pushing away from me and walking away briskly. 

“Who’s the one running now, Jeon Jungkook?!!!” I yelled after him and he flipped me off without turning around. 

Laughing, I ran to catch up with him again. 

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

At 10.55 , I stood outside Jungkook’s room, nervous but eager.

 It wasn’t even the prospect of sex, I thought giddily. Just the idea of spending time with him, of listening to him talk, of having him at touching distance .....it was so intoxicating. 

I knocked lightly. 

Jungkook opened the door , a smile on his face and it was jarring, how young he looked like this. 

He was clearly fresh out of the shower. Hair wet and and still dripping a little, he was dressed in a grey hoodie, the sleeves rolled up to show his veiny forearms and grey sweatpants, hands tucked into his pockets as he shook his hair out of his eyes. 

It was a futile action and all it really did was send water droplets flying all around. 

I blinked against the unexpected spray, water clinging to my lashes and my cheeks. 

“Hey!! “ I protested. “ Are you a puppy? Use a towel like the rest of the world.” I mumbled. 

He laughed. 

“Come in, princess.” He grabbed my wrist, tugging gently and I stepped into his room, looking around eagerly. 

He closed the door behind us and I heard him pull the dead bolt into place before turning the key as well.

No interruptions then.....

Good. 

“Your room is actually bigger than mine.” I frowned, noting the big four poster bed, complete with a white curtained canopy. I let my gaze fall to the clean white sheets and my mind flashed back to the beautiful Helena, sprawled on the bed in nothing but her underwear. 

I swallowed the bitter jealousy that threatened. 

Hands wrapped around my waist from behind and he hugged me close, the warmth of his chest heavy and amazing on my body. I jumped a little when i felt the gentle press of his lips on the curve of my neck. 

“You sure about this? We don’t have to do anything at all tonight. We can kiss a little, watch a movie and sleep. But you’re a big girl so I’m gonna let you call the shots.” He lightly grabbed a huge chunk of my hair, lifting it out of the way before kissing the back of my neck. 

“Uh...” I stared straight ahead, already half aroused. “I want....to feel good.” 

He laughed against my skin, his hold around me tightening. 

“That can be arranged.” He said hotly, teeth nipping  at my skin before he gently turned me around in his arms. 

I looked up at him, drinking in his gorgeous face and he hummed, eyes narrowed as though in deep thought. 

“Bed?” He prompted and it was ridiculous, how one word could turn me on that bad. I nodded, making to move but he surprised me, crouching and grabbing the back of my thighs, pulling me up so easily, that I shrieked. I wrapped my thighs around his waist, more by instinct than intent and he laughed at the look on my face. 

“This always gets the ladies going.” He winked and I flushed. 

“Show off...” I muttered, lightly punching his shoulders and he shrugged.

“I don’t hit the gym five times a week to  not  show off darling.” he drawled, walking over to the bed and tossing me on the mattress. I bounced off the surface, squawking in surprise and I scrambled to sit up but he was already grabbing the hem of his hoodie and tossing it off. 

I’d never seen him shirtless but before I could fully appreciate the view, he was climbing on the bed. He grabbed my ankles, tugging me away from the head board and I landed on my back with an oof. 

“Ow. You’re being entirely too careless with me. “ I protested. 

He crawled forward on his knees, closer and closer till he was throwing one leg over my body, straddling my waist. 

“Thought you wanted to be put in your place.” He reminded me and I grinned up at him. 

“I think I’m right where I want to be. Under you.” I said honestly and he nodded.

“It’s where you belong.” He whispered, taking me entirely by surprise .

 My heart began pounding a familiar ache, a familiar pang. I knew it was an illusion. He didn’t for a second believe I belonged here but it was hard not to believe him, when he was hovering over me , looking like a fallen angel. 

God, don’t get emotionally invested. He doesn’t actually mean it, you fool. 

“Kiss me.” I held my arms up and he lowered himself carefully, keeping his weight off me as he kissed me, soft and gentle. I let my fingers tangle in the damp ebony locks, tugging gently as he angled himself better, tongue begging entrance. 

The heady mint taste of him, sent me into over drive and I wrapped both my legs around his waist, pulling him down. 

I took a second to just take him in.

The scent of his skin against mine, clean and woody, slightly sweaty, but mostly just musky. The smell of a man . The weight of him on my body, the hardness of his arousal evident even through the sweatpants. He pulled back to stare at me, his fingers brushing my cheeks. 

“You have perfect lips for kissing. Lush and plump. Like tiny pillows I can sink my teeth into.” He whispered, catching my lower lip between his teeth and tugging. 

“You have beautiful nipples. I want to lick them some day. .” I breathed, running my thumb on the curve of his cheek bones. 

Jungkook stared at me in complete shock for a second and then  laughed . 

“Thats.... a new one. Jesus. “ he shook his head, almost in disbelief. 

“Sorry.” I flushed and he waved off my apology. 

“You wanted to feel good right? Shall I start?” His eyes twinkled. 

I nodded, way too eagerly and he laughed harder. 

“Okay, let’s get you out of these clothes, princess. “  He grabbed my arm, pulling me up to a sitting position before gently tugging the t shirt off my chest. I wasn’t wearing anything underneath and his breath caught s he stared at my breasts.

He stared at them for a second, swallowing before, glancing at me .

“Beautiful.” He said, voice deep and husky. 

“Thank you .” I said primly. 

He laughed again and shook his head.

“I can’t remember ever laughing so much before sex. This is so weird.” 

“Weird bad?” i asked, nervous.

He shook his head.

“Weird good.” He leaned in, kissing my cheek just as he hooked his thumbs into my shorts, pulling them down easily and leaving me completely naked. “ Weird adorable.” 

I crossed my legs, drawing my knees up at once, feeling devastatingly shy. 

His eyes softened. 

“You want me to turn off the lights? “ He asked gently. 

“Yes please.” I said desperately and he nodded, quickly climbing off the bed and fumbling with the light switches. He left a single light on , near the closet. It left the rest of the room dimly lit. 

“Am I the first one to see you like this?” He asked, rubbing his hands together before climbing onto the bed again. 

“Um... after the age of ten, yes.” I laughed nervously. 

He hummed. 

“You’re gorgeous. Toss me that pillow.” He pointed to the one next to my head and i handed it to him.

“Lie down for me darling.” He smiled. 

I hesitated, closing my eyes tight just because it was overwhelming, seeing him in front of me , shirtless and being naked in front of him. 

I laid back slowly, knees still pulled up and feet on the bed, thighs pressed together. 

My heart was pounding , less from nerves and more from sheer anticipation. I’d waited long enough for this to truly feel nervous or want to back out. 

And the fact that it was with Jungkook... I’d pretty much hit the jackpot in first time experiences. 

Hands on my knees made my eyes fly open and I found myself staring up into his face.

“You okay?” He asked gently. 

i nodded.

“Let me between your legs?” He asked sweetly. 

I felt the blood rush to my face, my legs shaking as I spread my knees and thighs, enough to give him space between them. His fingers closed around my ankle lightly, gentle as he ran his hands up and down my legs. 

“Relax alright. You wanted to feel good and I’m going to make you feel good. The only thing you need to do is... well.. feel.” He smiled, impish bunny teeth bright even in the darkened room. 

I nodded, closing my eyes. 

“Don’t wanna watch?” He teased and I shook my head. My pulse kicked up at the very thought of it. 

Jungkook wasn’t anything like I’d imagined, I thought miserably. He had been attractive as the stoic, serious man who wanted to do the right thing but like this : naught and flirty and charming , he was absolutely devastating and i wasn’t sure i could come out of this unscathed. 

I couldn’t fight the feeling that I was making a huge mistake . that this whole thing was going to end with my heart ripped to shreds....

His lips against my forehead pulled me out of my thoughts and I swallowed. 

“I’m going to touch you.” He said softly and I shuddered when his hands closed over my breasts, gentle but firm, kneading the flesh very slowly, thumbs rubbing back and forth on the nipples till they tightened. 

I bit my lips to stop myself from crying out, the sensation overwhelming and foreign because it was someone else’s fingers and not my own. 

“Hey... “ one soft finger pressed against my lips, parting them gently and i sobbed out loud. “ None of that.... You should be as loud as you want to...how else will I know if I’m getting the job done?” 

“You’re getting it done..” I choked out, shaking all over and his kissed my lips again, quick and hard. 

“So beautiful.” He murmured, lips pressing kisses down my chest and across my breasts.

“Since you wanted to lick my nipple, let me uh...return the favor? In advance ?” He laughed against my skin and I inhaled sharply when he nipped at the fleshy mound. 

His lips closed around my nipples, the suction gentle but his tongue wet and insistent .

I went completely still, my hands flying to his hair and gripping so hard he grunted . My hips lifted off the bed at the sensation, every nerve ending on fire as he kept suckling and licking and god, his teeth...he was using his teeth to bite down on the nub... making me thrash my hips , my body completely overwhelmed . 

He kept his lips over the peak, licking the tip over and over till it was tender and wet and hard . He used his hands to knead the other side, thumb rubbing insistently on the neglected nub and I felt my toes curling into th mattress, my arms drooping to loop around his neck as he began to move his hips as well, grinding down on to my thigh. 

I was going to black out from having my nipple played with, I thought vacantly.

“Probably won’t feel this good for me but I’m glad you like it.” He laughed again and I loved the sound of it. Loved that he seemed to be enjoying this too. And I wanted him to enjoy it. Wanted to make him feel good too.

So I let my hand drop, down to his waist and then to the front of his pants.

He froze over me. 

“Sera-”

“I want to.” I said desperately, knowing what he was going to say.  . “ Please , let me touch you too-”

“Hey hey...shush..”He kissed me again quick and heady. “ Remember what I said? You call the shots.... “ He pressed another kiss to the corner of my lips. “ Want me to take off my sweats?” 

I nodded, “ Yeah.” 

He wiggled out of his pants quickly and i cursed myself for wanting the lights turned off. 

I hesitated, rubbing my palm on his pecs and tracing the muscles down to his tightly packed abs and then hesitating. 

“You can touch.” He said hotly and I swallowed, letting my fingers flutter down between his gloriously thick thighs. His skin was smooth and hard , like silk over steel and I let my fingers go lower, past the light dusting of hair to the thick, rigid length of him , my fingers closing over the hardness of his cock. 

Jungkook jerked forward, head burying into the pillow near my head and he swore.

“Fuck...” He sounded strangled and I laughed , gripping him harder but not a lot because I wasn’t sure how much was too much. .

“I have no idea what I’m doing...” I admitted weakly , loosening my grip a little to stroke up and down over the length of his cock. 

“Fuck.. just the fact that you’re doing it is going to make me cum.” He choked out and I laughed, ridiculously flattered.  

He grabbed my wrist, pulling my hand away.

“Lick it.” He said softly. 

I went still, my brain grinding to a halt.. Lick....??

 My eyes went wide.  

And so did his.

“Your palm.” He choked out. “ Lick your palm not my..... Your palm. It’s too dry.” 

Oh..  oh.

Lick my palm. Not his cock. Right. Got it. 

“Okay...”I drew my hand up and hesitated , unsure . Jungkook watched me like a hawk, eyes trained on my mouth and I bit my lips, cupping my palm and spitting into it, twice for good measure. feeling absolutely filthy.

“Fucking hell.” He breathed as I took my hand down to his cock again, wrapping my hand around it and it did feel better, easier to jerk him off with the lubrication. I moved my hands up and down , with  no rhythm and Jungkook gritted his teeth. 

“Okay... I’m gonna.. “He shivered a little when I tentatively pressed my thumb to the head, surprised to find him wet , on the top. I gathered the moisture around his slit, spreading it all over the head of his cock, using my fingers to rub circles over the crown , fingers tracing the thick vein on the underside. 

 inside me. This is going to be inside me. 

 I felt my thighs shake, my insides clenching, wetness dribbling out of me as I squirmed. 

“Please... Jungkook , I...”

“I got you...” He whispered, grabbing my hand and pulling it away from his cock. 

“hey-” I pouted but he shook his head. 

“If you don’t keep your hands off,  this'll all be over before it even begins,.” He said dryly. 

I closed my eyes again, my nerves picking up. 

“Listen...” He said suddenly and I blinked, staring at him. “ I’m going to get you wet...” Oh, god, “ With my tongue.” 

My entire body went taut. 

“I..”

“It’ll make it easier... trust me. And It’ll feel good. Wasn’t that the goal today? “ He tossed me a wink, squeezing my thighs a bit. He moved back and grabbed the pillow.

“Lift your hips up for me.” He said gently and I raised my butt, jerking when he folded the pillow in half and pushed it under my hips. And the he was crawling backwards, till his face hovered over my belly button.

“Throw your legs over my shoulders....” He said briskly, gripping my thighs , one in each and spreading my legs apart. I did as he asked, the back of my knee resting on the hard muscles of his broad shoulders and i raised my head a bit to peer down at him. 

The sight of jungkook’s gorgeous fucking face between my thighs got seared into my head and I fell back, already overwhelmed. 

He pressed a soft kiss to my thigh, a little nip my skin and then sucked the skin at the juncture of my hip and thigh. He was breathing in suddenly, a loud, shuddering inhale.  His breathing wavered and i felt the sharp pin prick of teeth. 

“Shit..”He pulled back and I jumped a little, watching him struggle. He glanced at me and I saw the flash of white between his lips. He’d dropped fang...and was clearly struggling to get them to retract. 

“You can do it..” I said feverishly. “ Jungkook , you can.... Drink.” 

He shook his head and glanced up at me and the look in his eyes made me startle .... because it looked like he was going to get up, move away , possibly call off this whole thing and no...no that was absolutely not going to happen. 

I was not letting him back out of this. 

He tried to move, but I grabbed his hair, yanking his mouth back to my thigh. 

“Fucking do it...” I snapped angrily and his eyes widened at my tone, “  do it and then fuck me , Jungkook or I swear to God I’ll  -” 

Sharp, sharp pain lanced through my spine as he bit down, fangs piercing my skin with ease and I felt the rush of liquid as it left my body, filling his mouth as he gulped. 

His venom worked its magic, the pain dulling to a throb, a pleasant heady intoxication....meant to make the bleeding out painless, meant to make death pleasant for the prey but for me it was just pleasure.

 Pleasure because he could have his fill and I would still be able to give him more. 

Pleasure because with me, he could indulge himself, as much as he wanted without worrying about the consequences. 

Jungkook groaned against my thighs, his shoulders shaking as he drank and I stroked his hair, petting the dark strands as I fought the slight lightheadedness, knowing that it would pass soon. 

Jungkook sucked deeper and I parted my legs moaning when my head began to spin, and then I felt his fingers touch my center, parting my folds , spreading the wetness all over his fingers before his thumb pressed down on my clit, rubbing insistently. I felt myself dripping all over the sheets, so wet and swollen and throbbing... 

“Oh, god yes... That feels so good, Jungkook .. I...” I gasped  as he slipped one long finger in, deep and without any resistance. The warm wetness in my thigh began spreading and I heard him groan as he sucked harder, drinking me down like i was the finest wine. 

“Another... give me more...please...” 

He moaned, still drinking, still shaking as he pressed another finger in next to the previous one, deeper still, searching and stroking, tracing every ridge inside me, curling just right, and rubbing down on that spot inside me...the one I could never quite reach by myself. 

Jungkook inhaled sharply, his fang sinking in just a little deeper as he latched on tighter and my legs shook as I cried out. 

He hummed, using one hand to rub soothing circles on my thigh, while he rubbed his thumb across my clit , hard and the gentle and then hard again until it throbbed and ached , over and over again and I was sure the little nub was bruised, that I wouldn’t be able to touch it for a while without wincing. 

I was gushing , my arousal so strong that the sheets were soaked, wet and so damp and the sensation of his fingers, thick and deep inside me while his fangs bit down harder, while he fed from me, was just too much...too much. 

I exploded around his fingers , my orgasm so strong that my hips lifted right off the bed, and he fucked me through it, fingers pounding in and out of my wet swollen walls as he pulled away, fangs retracting and I struggled to get on my elbows , to get a look at him.

He looked completely wrecked, fangs still half out, lips red and dripping blood , eyes flashing scarlet and blazing with lust so potent , I felt my insides churn.,,. i stared at him as I clenched over his fingers and he closed his eyes, shoulders shaking as he tried to get his bearings but I grabbed his shoulders, scrabbling to pull him up and closer. 

“Inside!” I choked out as he tried to get up, looking punch drunk and out of it.” Get inside me.”

“Sera... you’re...” He was slurring his words and I cried out in sheer frustration, scrabbling to my knees and pushing him down till he was flat on the bed. 

 “ Please i need it... need your cock inside me Jungkook, fuck...”  I begged, my thighs aching and walls clenching from how desperately I wanted to be filled. I stuck my hand between my legs , gathering as much of my wetness as I could before gripping his cock, coating him in my arousal.

 There was something so filthy about his hard, thick cock covered in my juices that made my mouth water. I wanted to swallow him down, to feel his cock hit the back of my throat but I wanted him inside me too. 

Maybe next time. 

“Please....Please can I sit on your cock?!! “ i choked out, fully gone. Jungkook groaned at my words. 

“Yes.. fuck... Do it.. Come on baby, take what you want from me.” he whispered.  and I scrambled up to straddle his thighs. Gripping the base of his cock, I pressed the tip against my entrance, closing my eyes to brace myself, digging my knees into the mattress for leverage before sinking straight down . 

“Oh, fuck....” I shuddered, my entire body thrumming as he pressed in, the hard length of him cleaving me so easily there was absolutely no pain to even register. It was just new. Different. 

And so so exhilarating. 

I sank all the way down till my ass hit the hardness of his thighs. 

And then I couldn’t move anymore. My body shook with tremors and My hands began trembling. 

“Jungkook...please... I..”

He responded by reaching out and gripping me thighs.

“Look at me baby...!” He said sharply and I stared down at his sweat slicked face. His eyes flashed red for a second and then he tugged me down, till i was lying flat on his chest. His arms came around my waist, anchoring me in place. 

“Gonna give it to you good. Just stay still yeah?” He breathed against my ear as i buried my face in the crook of his neck. And then he was rolling us both over, till I was flat on my back, his hand closing over my thigh, spreading my legs apart as he pistoned straight in. 

We were both too far gone for any semblance of a rhythm and I stopped trying to move, merely wrapping my arms around his neck, clinging on as he fucked into me, so hard that I could feel him in my gut. I felt my hips ache from the sheer force of his thrusts, my thighs cramping from how wide he had me spread and my clit throbbing from the way his cock dragged across it with every thrust. 

Pleasure swelled, again, this time stringer and I stopped fighting to make it happen, sinking back and letting it crash over me , like a wave breaking over the cliffs. 

Jungkook groaned as I exploded around him, my walls clenching around his cock and milking him and he shuddered in my arms, his cock twitching inside me as he came, filling me up . 

I gripped his shoulders, clinging to him as he trembled through the aftershocks. I felt my walls clenching, over and over again and Jungkook gave me a strangled moan.

“Too much...baby.. please stop... “ He begged and I froze, realizing that he was too sensitive and wanted to pull out. 

“sorry...sorry... “ I willed my walls to stop clenching and he made a noise of sheer exhaustion as he pulled out of me. 

I watched as he rolled off me, collapsing on his back, breathing hard. 

I stared up at the ceiling, feeling the wet mess of his cum, drip out of me and onto the sheets. I had the sudden made urge to stick my finger down there , scoop it up and taste it but I tamped it down. 

“Well.” I began.... 

He turned to look at me. 

I turned to him, still trying to catch my breath. 

“I’m not a virgin anymore.” I grinned wide. 

He groaned and ran a finger over his face. 

“Congratulations, Princess.” 

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

Author’s Note :  Please i need holy water. 

feedback is love. If you don’t tell me you loved this fic i will not write smut anymore. 

taglist :  

@ladyartemesia        @veronawrites   @alpaca1612     @bonyg    @unseejuice21  @sppvjj     @ggukkieland     @tae-by-tae      @blr1004      @yoongichild    @stussyjeon  @jellybearo​   

[drxwsyni]

Yandere Mirio Togata x quirkless!f!Reader x Tamaki Amajiki

Anonymous asked: “I recently read your headcannons for poly yandere Tamaki and Miro. They were so good!! I was wondering if you could do a one shot about their darling escaping for over a week and is finally letting her guard down. Maybe while at the store the two yanderes finally find her. (Maybe the punishment that ensues afterward). Female quirkless reader if you will. Keep up the amazing work!”

a/n: im sorry this took so long! i have a lot of requests that are really time consuming along with my other fics right now but i swear everything that’s sent in so far will be completed. And thank you anon! I actually really like this pairing so i’m glad people are asking more of it :)

_____

Isolation      (2.3k words)

_____

One week.

Seven whole days without the smothering presence of the two so called ‘heroes’ who’d delusionally kept you under lock and key without rest.

The smiles and reassuring sentiments they offered did little to calm the fear you had for the men. No matter how much they declared their devotion to your safety and general well being, nothing could hide the undenying brutality they were capable of should you ever slip up.

You’d seen them in action before. On the news or in a social media coverage―during the time prior to meeting them―demonstrating the extent of their quirks. Their personalities were so gentle, almost as if to distract from the severeness of their abilities. And for the general public, it did the trick.

It did it for you too.

The warmth to their compassion was irresistible. The worst part about it was how genuine it was―and still is. You would be gladly basking in their affection even in the present if it weren’t for the predicament they’d placed you in after you ever so foolishly opened up to them.

The realization on their end should’ve been nothing to think twice about. It came in an idle conversation one day―the fact that you were quirkless.

They’d already grown fairly protective of you since that fateful day in which they worked together to rescue you and your coworkers from a hostage situation. But after getting to know you more, and subsequently coming across this detail, the change was like day and night.

You didn’t even see it coming. Waking up in an unfamiliar room, wrists cuffed together with a long metal chain attached, padlocked to the headboard of a king sized bed. When you found out who the guilty party of this transgression was, you knew better than to fight tooth and nail despite everything in your being wanting to.

No, it was about outsmarting them. They were stronger―so much stronger. You wouldn’t stand a chance against one, let alone both Mirio and Tamaki. It came down to biding your time.

Fighting the bile in the back of your throat, you let them have their way. The two of them were smothering.

Mirio was a little more lenient. He spent a lot of time around you, but somewhere in his dysfunctional mind was the notion that you needed your space...sometimes. His downsides came in the form of a tight grip around your frame that threatened to squeeze the air from your chest and keep it out. More than once had it left you pitifully begging him to loosen his hold even in the slightest.

As for Tamaki, he was much gentler with his affection. You were allowed the space to breath, but it didn’t mean much when you could almost never pry the man off of you when he was around. Clingy was an understatement―he treated you more like a pampered pet than an actual human.

Together, they were suffocating. You’d never seen such a display of diligence until being forced into the confines of their home. There left absolutely no room for error on their part―something you became keenly aware of.

So, rather than brute forcing your way to freedom, you resolved to lure them into trust the way they’d done with you.

The ordeal took ages, and your will to go through with your plans was ashamedly growing weaker each day. But finally you’d caught them slipping up under the pretence that you weren’t watching their every move like a hawk.

First it was the passcode to the computer in the living room―to disarm the house’s security system, the cameras along with it. After that it was a matter of getting your hands on the spare keys to the locks, both those around your wrists and the digital ones keeping the front door shut. This feat proved to be significantly harder, but one of them was bound to falter eventually.

You’d never felt so grateful to Mirio as he carelessly left his keys on the side table in the entrance in favour of scooping you up in his arms and settling on the couch with you instead. And he left them there as he quickly went to change out of his work attire in his bedroom―just enough time for you to pry the spares off the metal keyring and pocket them for yourself.

They hated leaving you alone and without supervision, a worry that Tamaki held more than Mirio, so it left the window for escape impossibly small. But you jumped on the opportunity the second it came.

For some ungodly reason neither of them picked up on the missing keys.

Your luck must have been coming to existence all at once, as not soon after they were forced to be apart from you at the same time for particularly demanding hero work―not that you cared.

You’d gone over the plan in your head just about a million times, so when the moment finally came your body acted without pause.

The cuffs fell from your wrists. The computer was unlocked and the failsafes were shut down. A backpack was shoved with supplies―clothing, money, food―and then the front door was opened. You stepped outside for the first time in months, you’d lost track of how many.

From then on it was just about running, putting as much distance in between you and that dreaded house as possible. When you finally reached the city, you didn’t even bother going to the police. They wouldn’t believe you, not when it came to two of the most upstanding young heroes out there.

Instead you went to the nearest train station, purchasing a ticket for whichever one was next for departure.

You did that a few more times in whichever town you were dropped off at until you reached the limit for how much money you were willing to spend on traveling. Now it was about holing up in some cheap motel until you could scrounge up the cash elsewhere to keep distancing yourself.

By the end of your first week you were still left with the same sum of money as you were when you got there. The weight of your fear was enough to keep you inside. But you couldn’t live off of overpriced room service and the remaining energy bars from that glorified prison forever.

As much as the prospect of leaving the safety of your room terrified you, the thought of starving to death wasn’t any more appealing. You weren’t hungry yet, but the food would only last for another day―maybe less. It was regrettably the most rational option, should you not want to run out of the little money you had.

It was supposed to be quick. There was a convenience store just ten minutes from the motel. You would grab the cheapest options there and make a beeline back to the dingy building you were stationed in.

You felt their presence before you saw them.

A large, strong arm snaked around your waist, pulling you back into a broad chest. Mirio.

And then came the visual confirmation in the form of Tamaki walking out to stand in front of you―too closely for your comfort.

“What’s our little angel doing all the way out here?” Mirio’s voice was lighthearted, but you could hear the distinct lowness, threatening.

You couldn’t move, frozen in place by gut wrenching fear.

Tamaki took both your hands in his own, a grip that could crush bones if he applied even a little more pressure. “Do you know how long it took us to find you? I-I thought―”

“But she’s here now, right? And because she knows what’s best for her she’ll be good and come home with us.” His voice was near centimeters from your ear, sending a shiver up and down your spine.

You didn’t wait this long to be free from them to just give up so easily.

“I’m not going back.”

Mirio gave your hip a small squeeze, a nonverbal warning followed by the real thing. “You know we’d never hurt you baby. Not unless you forced us.”

“B-but we’re not against hurting the people in this store. They’d never find out it was us and you know that.”

Of course, they were too smart to leave a trail back to them, or back to you. And in an instant that strong defiance you once held vanished into thin air, replaced with pure dread.

“P-please don’t do this. You don’t need to do that, just―”

“That’s right, sunshine. We don’t need to hurt anyone. We just need you to come home, you can do that for us, right?”

Like you had a choice.

The blond was already pulling you towards to exit before you could respond. Tamaki hadn’t let go of his death grip either, and you weren’t about to fight him.

Instead you kept your eyes trained on the ground, head hung as if even looking at another person might have them thinking you were about to ask for help. Tears were silently falling from your eyes as they led you back to their car parked outside the convenience store.

“We’re so glad you’re okay sweetheart. You know how dangerous it can be without us to protect you.”

Tamaki was silent as he opened the back door for you, his partner doing all the talking.

The town you were in felt abandoned, especially now that you were off to the side parking lot of the rundown store. So there was nobody to witness the two men carting you off to that wretched place they called your home.

Nobody to witness when the blonde behind you covered your face in a white rag that was alarmingly sweet-smelling.

The ride home would be long, he said. No need to put you through any more stress today.

Before you knew it your limbs grew heavy, brain muddled with inescapable exhaustion. They didn’t even give you the chance to argue over the matter, but then again, it’s nothing they hadn’t done before.

_____

It was cold―so undeniably cold.

The concrete left your body aching when you came to. Your clothing had been replaced with shorts and a tank top―showing that they were still generous enough not to leave you completely defenceless.

You were in a room you didn’t recognize, questioning whether or not the two even brought you back. It was barren: grey walls, a bucket in the corner, illuminated by a single ceiling light that you couldn’t locate the switch to. Lastly, there was the heavy metal door that served as the only exit to the suffocatingly small enclosure.

And there was no handle, or observable locks.

The only sound was that of your own heartbeat as the thudding grew more intense with each passing second.

It stayed like that for ages. Left with the company of your own mind, the isolation began eating away at you quicker than you could’ve ever anticipated.

At this point you assumed this was how they were choosing to deal with your behaviour, but the absence of that clarification was worse than the initial shock by far. It made you paranoid.

Not even the hunger eating away at your stomach was enough to distract you.

Or the extreme drought in your mouth from dehydration.

Or the sharp pain in your tailbone from having remained unmoving from your spot in the corner.

When the sound of footsteps finally could be heard leading up to the doorway, you almost thought that you were hearing things.

The lock shifted in the metal compartments, echoing off the walls.

You would’ve stood up to greet whoever was behind the doors, but the pain that was spreading down your back, coupled with the sensation of your lower limbs falling asleep long ago prevented this.

The door creaked open, and you hated that you felt an ounce of gratitude to see that it was in fact Mirio and Takami who’d put you in this god forsaken room.

The blond started forward ever so slightly while his counterpart remained at the frame of the doorway.

You still feared the men, even though they’d done nothing to physically hurt you―at least until now. So you remained huddled in the corner, arms wrapped defensively around your legs as Mirio stalked over to your form, crouching down at your side.

“You know why you're down here, right?” A rhetorical question, all three of you knew the situation well.

“We don’t want to do this, but you need to learn you can’t just run off like that.” Tamaki’s voice was quiet, like he hated locking you up more than you hated being locked up.

Out of habit you kept your mouth shut. You’d held out for this long while still retaining your sanity, what was a little longer?

“This isn’t a punishment, sunshine. It’s more like...a lesson. You’ll stay here for a bit so you can learn that what you did was wrong, okay?” He reached out and patted your head, as if that would make you feel any better.

It baffled you how he could keep a smile even when subjecting you to such inhumane conditions. But you chalked it up to insanity as clearly neither he nor Tamaki had an ounce of an idea of how wrong this was.

There was a long moment of silence, the two likely waiting for a response which you had none to give. You couldn’t fight them, or talk them out of their plans.

You should’ve ran farther.

The blond stood up from his crouched position, walking back over to his partner.

“We’ll be back in a few hours so you can eat, don’t miss us too much!” Joyful as ever, Mirio led his partner out of room, motioning to close the door before pausing.

“Just know that we love you, okay? We’re doing this for you.”

You could just barely hear Tamaki’s voice before the door slowly closed shut. There was the sound of the locks once again, falling into place.

And then the lights went out.

But you told yourself that you would get through this. You had to.

Because you were scared of what would become of you if you started to enjoy their affection.

[shreddedparchment]

Pseudo Princess Pt.02

A New Princess

09/27/2019

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader          Word Count: 5,910

Warnings: a smidge of abuse, language?, floral baths

A/N: I literally worked on this all day. Haven’t edited much. Did one quick pass through but I probably missed a whole bunch of stuff. Pardon my typos. I was just so eager to get this out. Again, I will not tag you if you ask to be tagged in the comments. Only tag requests sent in ASKS will be answered. I hope you enjoy this new chapter. Please let me know what you enjoyed. If you happen to reblog, thanks for helping me spread my work. xoxo

Baths have never been anything that you’ve particularly hated. You don’t mind getting clean, in fact, you like feeling like you’re new after a bath.

However, until today, your experience with baths has been one of need rather than want.

You always had to bathe in cold water from the river. You nearly always bathed without soap. And you only ever came out smelling slightly better than when you went in.

But today...

You sigh with contentment as your body sinks into the large copper basin. Fresh flower petals, peony and jasmine have been spread across the water. Scented oils are still being added as you settle in.

Technically this is your second bath.

You'd been doused in water before, over the a different smaller tub to scrub the layers of mud that had caked onto your skin.

Now, since your skin is mostly clean, you’re lowered into this one.

Your lady in waiting adds the oils to your bath, having shooed the bath preppers—two stocky young men that had taken to staring at your barely covered naked body as they poured cauldron after cauldron of hot steaming water into the tub—she’s taken it upon herself to make everything just right.

Now that you’re seated, you watch her as she calculates the oil before stopping the amber bottle and setting it on the table where your food had been a few hours ago.

Your lady has long straight hair the color of rubies and sunset. Her skin is silken cream. She’s clearly a beauty but you can’t tell if she’s a noblewoman or lucky, like you.

“Natasha?” You ask, tentative as she fetches a maroon bar of soap. It smells like pomegranate and more jasmine.

She smiles at you. “Yes.”

It’s a kind smile but you also saw her eyeing you suspiciously when she came in at first. She also seems to know that you’re checking to see if you remembered her name correctly.

She sits beside you on a slightly lower stool so that she still sits above you but low enough to help you.

“Lean forward, your Highness.” She asks, and your neck flares with heat.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach making you queasy and your chest begins to hollow.

“Your high-?” You probably lose most of the color in your face because Natasha’s eyes flash with concern.

“Are you alright, your Highness?” She wonders, genuine in her concern.

“I…” You look to the shut doorway and know that there’s a guard sitting out in the room entryway between the main doors and the doors to your bedroom.

Natasha leans in closer as you finally lean forward and give her access to your back.

When you speak again, you whisper as Natasha smiles conspiratorially.

“I’m not really a princess, Natasha. The king plucked me from the side of a road, covered in mud. I’m nobody.” You worry, chewing your lip harshly.

Natasha frowns and reaches up to run her thumb across your lip, stopping your biting.

“Don’t do that. Princess do not chew on their lip. And I know.” She assures you. “Tony, that is to say, the King cannot hide much from me. I was the one that gave him the idea to look for a peasant.”

“You?” You lean back, slightly shocked as she really goes at your skin with the smaller towel she'd lathered up.

“I have worked as his Majesty's assistant for many years now. Too many. He’s like a brother to me and Pepper, that is, the Queen, is like a sister.

“His Majesty figured you might find it a little difficult to acclimate which is why he’s entrusted your care to me. Don’t worry, your Highness, I’ve got your back.” She smiles reassuringly but you know she has no loyalty for you yet.

Her loyalty, like yours, is to the crown. You agreed for the sake of your kingdom.

“So, we have a day full of things for you to do. You won’t get much rest today. Or for several days. Maybe weeks, depending on when King Rogers decides he wants to get married.” She informs you.

“What’s he like?” You ask eagerly, desperate for information on the widower. “Have you met him?”

“I have. He’s very upright. Upstanding. Noble. Honorable. A little serious but very sweet. He’s gentle when he isn’t angry but when he is angry he has been known to lash out.” She explains.

You blanch again, feel queasy once more. “Is he violent? Will he hit me?”

“No.” Nat answers, reassuring you with the tough spark in her emerald eyes. “Like I said, he’s honorable, and even if he were inclined to hit you I wouldn’t let him. It’s my job to protect you.”

When she says that it almost sounds like she’s willing to fight. Physically. With punches and kicks.

“What is it that you did for his Majesty, Natasha?” You wonder, suspicious now.

She smirks down at you, pleased with how observant you are. Sharp.

“Never you mind, Highness. Sit back, I’ll scrub your tummy.” She asks but as you sit back you reach up and take the cloth from her.

“I can do it.” You watch her until she releases it.

“Very well. Make sure you get all your nooks and crannies. We need you shining like new.” She says, getting up to rifle through your wardrobe.

“What things will we do today?” You wonder, attempting to mimic the correct way she speaks. Most of your word choices are fine but there’s a posh little tone to her words that you’ll need to learn to mimic.

Right now you sound too much like the country bumpkin you are.

“These dresses will need to be altered to your specific body type. You'll also start training in etiquette and we need to attempt to teach you a little to write and read.

“I’m hoping King Rogers will take his time in accepting you as his wife. It’ll give us time to get you trained a little.” She picks a floor length gown with no hoop which you like. It has an latticework of lace along the bodice and the sleeves over a beige underskirt made of voile and organza.

It’s pretty but more expensive than all of the money you've ever earned sewing up patches and fixing shirts and pants.

“This looks the closest to your size. It might sit a little loose but it'll work until we can get you a proper wardrobe.” She turns towards the bed to lay out your dress and you wonder if she did that on purpose to show off the flowing fabric of the dress.

She proceeds to pull out several undergarments, a long and thin white shirt, and a corset with back lacing to put over it.

Your own well worn undergarments had been discarded, along with your dress.

“Okay.” She says, moving to you and holding out her hand. “Give me that. You’re too slow. I need to get you scrubbed and changed within the hour. We still have to wash your hair.”

“I can do it.” You protest and make to dip under the water.

“No!” Natasha almost shouts. “Not in there. We will wash your hair separately and when we are done with your bath.”

“Why?” You frown, looking down at the now slightly murky water with its flowers and oils.

“Because, you haven bathed in a while and that water is already rife with dirt.” Natasha explains.

“I’ve done it before.” You complain.

“You weren’t a princess before.”

“This is stupid.”

“Stupid as it might be, doesn’t change the fact that you were filthy when I got you. Please, your Highness, let’s do it my way at least a few times. Then after a few washes, when you’ve used soap and I’m sure your body is clean enough, then you may wash your hair at the same time. Alright?”

You consider Natasha for a moment, still standing with her hand outstretched, long red hair braided and pinned up on the top of her head. She doesn’t look upset though and is genuinely pleading with you.

You give in and hand her the cloth then lean back as she pulls her stool over and takes to scrubbing your legs hard.

“You don’t think I deserve to be here, do you?” You ask, feeling shameful for being so dirty.

Nat stops her scrubbing and looks up at you. She blinks, thinking for a moment before shrugging her left shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter what I think.” She says. “What you’re doing is going to be hard. I don’t know if you’re prepared for what taking this on means.

“I don’t know if you’re good at lying which you will have to do on a daily basis, to everyone but myself, the King, and the Queen and often it will have to be spur of the moment.

“Can you do that?” She asks, brow furrowed with worry and curiosity.

“I…I dunno.” You admit. “I’ve lied before but not about something this important.”

She nods. “And we'll have to fix your speech. You don’t sound too bad but sometimes you can really tell you’re not of noble birth.”

More shame draws your eyes down as Nat goes back to scrubbing.

“But you are very brave. You’re choosing to do this from the kingdom when you are not obligated to. You’re giving up your freedom for a life in service of the crown. And it won’t even be our crown.” She says in astonished admiration. “Have you even considered that?”

“I have no one, Natasha. I don’t even own my own home. True, at least I could go out and do what I liked but my life was meaningless. I would grow old, if I was lucky, and I would die alone. At least this way, I might serve a purpose.”

“Didn’t you have parents? Or maybe a beau?” She’s scrubbing between your toes and it takes all of your willpower not to squirm.

“Um…” Your voice shakes, itching to laugh. “No.”

She looks at you and you can’t help it, you burst into laughter.

You throw your head back and the water sloshes around you as she hurries to finish your other toes, smiling wide as you laugh. Your finished leg lifted and bent against your chest as you wiggle.

When she’s done she drops her hands, leaning against the side of the tub, a look of fondness in her eyes.

You chuckle a little more as you settle in the water again. It’s still warm. Will she let you soak a bit longer?

“What?” You chuckle. “Why do you look at me like that?”

“Because now that you’re all cleaned up, with laughter in your eyes, I think you just might make King Rogers fall for you. Genuinely.” She gets up and moves to hold open the thin white robe for you.

Ears burning, neck flaring once again, you rise. The water sloshes around you and several petals stick to your wet skin as you step out onto a small carpet placed by the tub so that you don’t slip.

She wraps the robe around you, and it sticks to you, growing sheer as the wet is soaked up.

You can see everything. You shiver and Steve closer to the fire, but Natasha reaches for you and pulls you to the stool she'd been sitting in.

“Here. Sit.” She moves to fetch a brass pitcher and holds it, waiting for you.

You sit, then naturally lean back on instinct.

“Do you really think he might like me?” You ask her. Eyes wide, heart pounding. “What does he look like?”

Now that you know that he isn’t abusive and is in fact a true gentleman by all accounts, you’re eager to see this possible future husband.

“He’s very handsome. I’ll show you his portrait when we’re done. As far as his liking you, it may be better if you don’t expect too much.” She says sadly.

“Why?” You ask, worried.

“Well, as you know, King Rogers lost his first wife.”

“Yes.” You nod.

“Queen Margaret was the love of his life. I have never known anyone to love someone that much, except perhaps Tony and Pepper.” She explains. “When he lost her, I heard he went into seclusion.”

“How did she die?” You wonder, watching as much of Natasha's face as you can while she works her hands through your long hair, pouring warm water from the pitcher’s until it’s soaked.

She gets the soap and begins to lather it up, pitcher set aside.

“An accident, I think. I don’t know the details but I heard she had to get surgery done and she passed from complications.”

“Oh.” You’ve never heard of anyone actually getting surgery but the rich can afford it so it’s probably more common here. “So you’re saying he may not like me?”

“He might not. He needs to remarry and he needs an heir so, whether he likes you or not, he will tolerate you. Perhaps even grow fond of you? It think that may be the best we can expect but I hope he can see you laugh as you just did.

“Perhaps it will sway his heart.” She smiles.

Grabbing the pitcher, she rinses your hair and you stare at her beautiful face.

“Why do you care? I mean, whether he likes me?”

She looks down at you in slight shock. “You are under my care, your Highness. I want you to he as happy as possible in this new life you are choosing especially because you are doing it for the kingdom.

“If I can make him love you. I will.” She promises and finishes with your hair.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re exhausted.

The day has been endless, and it all began with a fitting for your dresses.

All of the gowns in your closet had to be altered. Then your head was measured for a new tiara and several others to take with you.

The one you are given to use with your dress is silver with a gold inlay, a large ruby at the front surrounded by smaller yellow diamonds.

It belongs to the Princess Morgana and you’re really nervous about wearing her tiara when she isn’t home. What if you lose it?

“It only until your own is made. You’ll have it tomorrow. Were you satisfied with the design you chose?” Natasha asks.

You'd chosen a simple tiara with silver leaf designs that run along the entire front and the center should be two large gems.

You’re not sure what they’re supposed to be as the design was just a sketch but you’re sure that his Majesty will choose the stone.

“Yeah.” You answer.

Natasha frowns at you. “Yes.” She corrects.

“Right, sorry. Yes.”

“Come on. We need to get you to the speech tutor.”

This is the moment that Princess lessons takeover your day. You do indeed begin with your speech. You’re corrected often but after a few hours you begin to understand what the tutor wants, and you deliver.

He’s impressed and you leave the lesson feeling more confident. Etiquette is much more different.

You slouch often, and the new tutor, a stern middle-aged woman slaps the center of tour back several times to make you remember as she teaches you how to hand things to others. How to sit. Stand. Bow. Curtsy. And all the other intricacies of life in the castle.

The long and carefully crafted waves of your hair provide a little cushion, but the smack still stings.

On the sixth hit, you hiss in pain and Natasha’s hand is suddenly there, grabbing the rod she’d been hitting you with.

“Hit the Princess again and I will personally make sure this rod ends up somewhere unpleasant.” She threatens, death in her eyes and a sneer stretching her red tinted lips.

The woman pales but she looks at you as you reach behind you to try and rub at the spot on your back.

“Negative reinforcement works better to create a memory for her to remember.” The woman argues but she’s just barely enthusiastic about it.

She’s eyeing Natasha with fear.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to use negative reinforcement so that you remember not to hit the Princess. Do it again, and I’ll have you sacked. Got it?” And Natasha waits, eyes narrowed at the woman.

“Y-Yes, my lady.” The woman nods then moves on to sitting at the dinner table.

You’re taught how to walk. How to sit with a book. How to relax when you’re told to though really, it’s still just sitting up straight and it’s not a very relaxing position.

You’re taught how to walk in your dresses and how to lift and adjust them when you climb stairs and sit down or stand up. When you asked them what you do before running, Natasha had smiled and looked at the middle-aged woman.

“A Princess does not run. You never run.” She insists.

“Never?” You ask again.

“Never.”

“What if-?”

“A Princess does not run. I think we will end our lessons here. I will see you tomorrow to see what you have retained. Good day, your Highness.” She curtsies and leaves.

You eat in your room and then return to the empty school room you’ve been using to find a new tutor waiting for you.

The alphabet is written across several sheets of parchment paper, and with a quill provided, you are given the task of copying their shapes.

“Once you can write them, we’ll learn what their names are and how to sound them out.” The man says before watching you copy the letters.

This is how you spend your day and soon, darkness takes over the castle once more. Natasha hasn’t left your side all day and with your fingers cramping and your eyes burning, you turn to look at her, massaging your hand.

“I think that’s enough for today, Master Rymond. Thank you for your hard work. We will see you again tomorrow.” Natasha tells him.

“My lady.” He says, nodding to her then he bows to you. “Your Highness. Good work today.”

When he’s gone you really want to sit back and slouch and really relax but the center of your back is still stinging, and you realize that the etiquette woman was right. The smacks are a good way to ensure you remember.

“I don’t think I will ever slouch again.” You whine, reaching up again to rub the sore spot. You’re probably bruised up.

“That’s good news.” Natasha teases. “Are you hungry or would you prefer to go to bed?”

As she stands beside you, hand on your shoulder, you look up at her and think.

“Both?” Are you being greedy?

Natasha however nods. “Okay. Do you know your way back to your room?”

“I will escort her, Lady Romanoff, madam.” A young male voice pipes up from the doorway and you lean around Natasha to get a look.

The young man is wearing a more relaxed suit of armor. Where the majority of the Knights are decked out in full gear, this young man seems to be wearing shoulder guards, knee guards, and sturdy boots all much lower profile than regular armor.

He has wavy brown hair, smooth and light. Peach white skin, sweet and bright hazel eyes, and a thin but tight muscular build. He looks lithe. Like he could outrun anyone simply because he’s lighter.

“Peter,” Natasha says fondly. “I didn’t know that his Majesty was going to give you to us.”

“Yes, Ma’am. He thinks it might be better to have someone like me with you at all times, in case something should happen.”

“Good.” She beams. “I’m going to go get the Princess some food, will you show her to her room for me? I’ll only be a few minutes.”

“Of course.” He nods, giving you a sweet smile too.

“I’ll be back.” Natasha gives your head a gentle caress and your heart soars at the affection.

Why are they all so nice to you? You’ve never been this loved before. Is it really them loving you or are they just appreciative of what you’re doing? You don’t want to question it, but it all seems to good to be true.

She leaves you, sweeping out of the room in her stunning black gown.

“Shall we, your Highness?” Peter gestures towards the door and you nod with a smile.

There’s silence between you and Peter for a few minutes as he leads you back up the stairs to the floor above. You watch his easy gait and the smile he seems to wear at all times.

“Peter?” You check, afraid to make a mistake in decorum.

“Yes, Princess?” He says, turning to walk slightly sideways but just long enough to give you an expectant look.

“Is it okay that I call you that?”

“Of course.” He smiles at you then faces the front again. “I’m at your service.”

“Why are you at my service?” You check, so confused by everything here in the castle.

“His Majesty, King Stark, thought that it might be good to have me by your side. You’ll need a protective detail and he thought one knight would be better than four.” He explains, beaming with pride at the job assignment.

Why only one of him though? Doesn’t this leave you and him more vulnerable?

“Why you?” You ask, “Not to be rude…I don’t mean to be rude if that was rude, but I’m a little confused as to why his Majesty would send only one guard instead of four and why Lady Romanoff would be so keen to have you with us.”

“Oh.” Peter says, nodding with a knowing smile. “That’s because I’m different from the other Knights. I’m stronger.”

“Stronger how?”

“Well,” He reaches up to scratch the back of his head. “Since we’re going to be spending so much time together, maybe it’s best if I let you know. I would hate to scare you.

“A few years ago, I got lost in the woods. I wandered away from my school group and found myself right smack in the middle of a witch’s hut. See, my uncle died, and my aunt was so sad about it that I thought, maybe, if I can find a good witch, she might help me get my uncle back. I found a spider instead and…well, it must have had a spell on it or something because it bit me and when I woke up the next day I was…different.”

It all suddenly falls into place, making sense in a way that you weren’t expecting.

“Oh my God, you’re the Spiderling.” You realize, looking him up and down again and for the first time noticing the red of his uniform beneath the navy painted armor plates. There’s a hood around his neck which you assume he uses to hid his identity.

“Actually, I go by Spider-Man now, but yes. That’s me. Please don’t tell anyone.” He begs, looking at you with worry.

“I won’t.” You promise, overcome with subtle pride that His Majesty would assign someone so skilled to be your protector.

“Wonderful.” He smiles at you, and you can’t help it. You stare a little as he leads you to your room.

Once you’re there, he hurries forward and opens the doors for you.

“Thank you.” You beam at him and he nods.

“Of course.”

The sight of your bed prompts your exhaustion to catch up with your body. It’s been twenty-six hours since you’ve slept, and you know you’ll have to get up early in the morning for more lessons.

“I’ll leave you to get changed.” Peter says. “Goodnight, your Highness, it was such an honor meeting you. I hope we get along really well together.”

Sweet. He’s really very sweet.

“I’m sure we will, Peter.”

He leaves you on your own, shutting the doors as he leaves but you know he’s probably stationed himself in that entryway.

You want to change. You want out of this dress and this too tight corset, but you know that you can’t take it off on your own, so your best bet is to wait for your lady in waiting to come back.

It takes her only twenty minutes. When she walks in, you sit up from truly relaxing in the chair by the fire, shooting up into your perfect posture.

“Good.” She praises you. “You’re practicing.”

She’s carrying a tray of some cold meats, cheese, and grapes.

“But you can relax when it’s just us, your Highness. I won’t tell on you.” She looks up at you as he places the tray on the table by your chair and gives you a quick wink.

You smile up at her and dive into the food she’s brought you. She pours you a glass of wine and you take a drink to wash the gritty cheese from your teeth.

“If that’s the case, I insist that you call me by name when we’re alone.”

“Your Highness…” Natasha begins to protest.

“Please? This all too much already. I’ve been called Princess and your Highness since I arrived. I’m starting to forget it. Please?” You’re begging wears her down and her gaze softens.

“Very well. Y/N.” She says, her cheeks flushing from the enjoyment of using your name.

You eat in semi-silence, Natasha munching on her own plate of food at your insistence.

“Tomorrow will be just as long.” She warns. “Are you sure you still want to do this?”

“Yes.” You nod. Certain that you can do this for them. All of them. Your entire kingdom.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Natasha begins, taking a drink of her own wine before setting her empty plate aside. “His Majesty has sent for a painter.”

“Why?” You wonder, finishing up your grapes.

“Well, they’ll need to paint you into the family portrait and King Rogers has replied to his Majesty’s letter.” She smiles at you, teasing you.

“Already?!” You gasp, nervous, heart pounding.

“Yes. He seems very eager which can be both good and bad.” She explains and as you eat your last grape, she gets up and takes your plate and empty goblet.

“Why? Why is it both?” You demand, terrified suddenly.

“Well, for one, it means that he’s accepted you. Mostly. He has requested a portrait of you be sent so that he might know what you look like. So, he seems able to overlook the strangeness of why you’ve been hidden away for so many years.” She seems more satisfied by this than you are.

“What if he doesn’t like the way I look?” You worry.

“You’re beautiful, your High-Y/N. He’ll love your looks.” She promises.

“You don’t know that.” You say under your breath, fiddling with the skirt of your dress.

“Come.” Natasha urges. “Let’s get you changed for your bath.”

“Another one?” You get up and move to her though you don’t understand why you need another bath.

“Yes.” She laughs. “Another one. You will bathe once a day until you are married and then you will bathe as often as they require you to in Broklin. There’s a kingdom in the south where they bathe almost three times a day. It’s ridiculous.”

She helps you out of your dress and begins to undo your corset.

“So, why is it bad?”

“Hm?”

“King Rogers’s eagerness. Why is it bad?” You clarify.

“Oh!” She shakes her head, glancing at you through the ornate mirror before you. “Well, once he gets your portrait, if he’s satisfied with you and calls for you, then our time here is finished. We have tomorrow, then the painter arrives the day after. He’ll paint your portrait in a few hours and then send it to Broklin. That will take a day and if the King likes it, we should hear back from him the day after that.

“That gives us only five days in which to get you ready for him. We may have to make excuses for why you cannot read or write.” She’s already brainstorming, and you feel shame once again for not being educated. “I’ll get with his Majesty and we’ll work something out.”

“I’m sorry.” You nearly whisper.

“For what, your Highness?” Natasha asks, finally pulling you free of your corset.

“For not being better. For not knowing how to read or write.” You keep your eyes down, suddenly hating your upbringing and orphaned state.

“Oh, no.” Natasha gasps. “No, Princess. Don’t say that.”

She turns you around slowly and ducks down to grab your under shirt and lift it up over your head. With it off, she pulls the same thin white robe you’d worn before and after your bath last night and helps you slip it on.

“Never forget that you are doing us a favor by agreeing to this foolhardy scheme. I told his Majesty that it would never work but when I met you, I suddenly realized that maybe, with the right girl, it might actually be something we can pull off.

“You gave me the confidence to take this post without fear. If anyone can marry King Steven Rogers and keep war at bay, it’s you.” She chafes your arms, more affection. “Trust me, Princess. I know what I’m talking about.”

A look into her emerald eyes tells you that she does indeed feel confident in you and it eases your worries a bit.

“I’ll work really hard.” You promise her, and she smiles.

“I know you will.

You fall asleep in the bath, the lavender and jasmine concoction along with the pomegranate soap and rose oils make you sleepy.

The heat from the fire, the hot water, it all lulls you into a truly relaxed state and you don’t even feel Natasha as she scrubs you down.

Suddenly she’s shaking your shoulder gently and your eyes pop open.

“Wake up, your Highness. Just a quick brush of your hair and you can go to sleep.” She says sweetly.

You lick your lips and get to your feet, stepping out as she wraps you up in a warm towel, then proceeds to brush your hair.

You very nearly fall asleep again on the edge of your bed but then she’s finished, and she helps you put on your nightgown.

It’s long and white and almost as sheer as your robe with puffed sleeves and a scoop neck that ties just along your clavicle to keep it shut.

“Um…” Natasha suddenly worries as she pulls the bottom of your nightdress down.

“What is it?” You ask her sleepily.

“I have something for you, but I forgot it in my room. Don’t fall asleep, alright? Lay down but try and stay awake. I will return in just a few moments.”

She bounds from the room, her black dress sweeping behind her majestically.

You slide back along your super soft and plush mattress, your body almost melting into it as your head finds your mountain of pillows.

For a few minutes, you wonder how it is you got so lucky. Sure, as Nat had said, you are giving up a lot of freedoms for this, but you’ve never slept in a bed this comfortable. You’ve never eaten food as delicious as you’ve eaten today. You’ve never fallen asleep in a bath of sweet floral water or smelled this good afterwards. You’ve never gone to bed with a full belly and you’ve never worn silks and jewels worth more than any amount of money you might have made in your lifetime.

You are truly blessed, and you vow to work hard to make certain that his Majesty did not make a mistake in choosing you and that Natasha’s hard work will not go to waste.

Despite your trying, you do end up dozing off. The bed is too comfortable and the fire too warm.

The door opening is what snaps you out of your slumber and you blink away the sleep before sitting up to watch your lady come in wearing her own nightdress and a thick red robe around it to keep her modest.

“Here you go.” Natasha says happily, the tease of a wily smirk on her lips.

“What is it?” You ask, staring down at the small silver compact case she’s holding out for you.

“Open it.” She urges, sits on the side of your bed and lets you take it.

You search for the small clasp at front and flip the lid slowly.

For a moment you forget how to breathe. The man inside, this small portrait, robs you of all rational thought.

He’s beautiful.

“He has blonde hair.” You say breathlessly.

“Yes.” Natasha nods, sounding amused. “It’s shorter in that photo. He’s grown it out some now. He also has a beard now. Very kingly.”

His strong jaw angles sharply. He has a long straight nose. Full rose-pink lips. Stunning storm blue almost gray eyes. His brow is slightly severe in the portrait. Stern. But it only makes him more handsome.

“I…” You begin, worried suddenly. “What if he doesn’t like me? I’m not at his level.”

With a frantic heart, you look at Natasha and she smiles with more amusement.

“I told you, you are beautiful. You are more than a match for him. In four days’ time, we won’t have to worry about that because he will have written about how beautiful you are and how much he can’t wait to marry you.” She lies.

You look back down at him and try to calm your heart.

“I want him to like me.” You admit, admiring his beauty.

“Most women do.” Natasha teases. “I knew you’d like him.”

“I hope he’s as kind as he looks.” You sigh, wishing you could know him already but also scared to disappoint his own expectations.

“He is. He may just need some coaxing. He was very saddened by his wife’s death.” She nods.

“I will do everything that I can to not only ensure the safety of our kingdom, but also to make him happy.” You gush. “I want to make him happy, Natasha.”

Natasha chuckles. “Of course, you do. And I’m sure you will. Now, get some sleep. I’ll be back in here in a few hours.”

Her warning falls on deaf ears however because you’re engrossed in his portrait.

“Can I keep this?” You ask her as she rises to her feet and pulls the blanket out to get you underneath it.

“It’s yours. I had one made for you. If you want a more recent one, you’ll have to get one from him once you’re married.”

Could this Adonis really marry you? Live his life with you? Be your husband? Your King?

“Goodnight, Princess.” Natasha whispers as she shuts the doors, knowing that as you lay down with your eyes glued to that portrait, nothing will break your concentration.

And she’s right. You stare at King Rogers’s portrait until his image is burned into your retinas. You blink and his face is there.

Soft golden hair. Piercing blue eyes. Perfect pink lips.

You fall asleep stroking his face, wondering if you’re foolish to get quite so enamored with his looks when you don’t know him one bit.

But…he’s to be your husband. Better to love him than to not.

All you can hope is that when he sees your own face in paint, that he will not be too disappointed.

[originalpistol]

༺ ⁝ 𝑳𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒟𝑒𝓋𝒾𝓁,  𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕. ⁝ ༻ Shades upon shades of pastel pink passed by my eyes in multiple different fabrics. Lace? Overused, still sexy, but overused. Velvet? Perhaps but it would need to be [real] if [I] was going to place this piece in my line. Felt? Fuck no. God, what a travesty that shit would be. Leather? There were two competitors, that I knew of, who were planning to incorporate leather into their “signature” lines, and if anyone knew me? They knew I was bound to blow their lines out of the water, and drown them. Not to say it wasn’t a difficult task; I wouldn’t be sweating over it. Deep blue eyes wandered over all of the fabrics that were sitting right at my fingertips, and slowly I let that gaze rise up to each person that held these panels. With a swift flick of the wrist I dismissed two fabrics from the room, and nodded to the remaining four. A smile of absolute certainty casted in against my features, and I nodded the four of them to take their seat at the designing table for this morning’s meeting with Christian Dior. “Go. Now. I want each of you seated at that table in [ten] minutes. Fabrics and swatches, no exceptions. You mess this up — even the [slightest] mistake? You can gather your belongings and leave,” I called out over my slender, black-clad shoulder. Of course, everyone knew how I operated by now, and if they didn’t? There would be someone in this studio that would brief them before I laid eyes on them. That’s the way I liked it. When you’re at the top of the hill, you get other people to do the minuscule things for you, and Lord knows I wasn’t one to train a rookie. Not in this lifetime, at least. Those days were long gone, and I would rather be shot square in the temple than to backslide into that pathetic existence, again. The familiar sound of their feet shuffling behind me, making their way to gather all of what was needed, caused a knowing smirk to form in where the smile had once been. Time to get this year’s line underway, and ready to go for the September release. For years now, I had been in close cahoots with Mister Dior, and I wasn’t about to waste that type of talent, or let some other company attempt to yank at his sketchbook. That was [my] job. In an ease of motion I began to thumb through my mother’s old sketches before I settled at the one I’d been saving for the right time. For the right artist. Dior was my prized penny in a stack of bent up nickels and dimes. Gentle fingers swept against the old tattered pages of this book for a moment as I thanked my mother for this gift I’d been given twelve years prior. Eyes fell closed for this second in time before I nodded, folding the book back to hide this page even though I knew it would open right back up. Perhaps with old wounds. Perhaps with a whole lot of hate. Who knew? Ringlets of Chestnut and Dark Chocolate locks framed my shoulders, and fell against my back as I made my way towards the room surrounded with glass walls, and a priceless view of Seattle. I could feel the eyes of all those who sat in the studio focus on me, and instead of acknowledging their angst, I simply flashed a brief smirk. Some young girl held the door open for me as I entered the room and an immediate smile washed into play as Christian stood to hug me. Small embrace, and that was it. Nodding, I stood at the head of the table, setting the book on the table and turning my attention to all who sat before me. “This year I want things to change. I want to create a line that screams to be pleased. That begs those who wear it to be taken at their weaknesses, but in that, to be [used] but only if [they] say to do so. Now, you all probably assume that will have to follow suit with bondage, submission, and dominance. To that I say — you are [wrong]. This has to do with vulnerability, and you might wonder what in the hell does that have to do with lingerie? Everything. You have to open a new side of you to place these clothes on you. To present yourself as a present for whomever, and that is our ticket in. That is how we are going to wipe our competitors off the slate. This is the year of Provocation by Pistol. Welcome Mr. Dior, and feel free to take a look at everything we’ve got in store for you. There are fabrics there that many wouldn’t dare to place in a lingerie line, much less as a primary focus, but I would. I want to see Velvet made completely of Silk, Dupioni Silk, Lamé, and Embroidered Organza. I want [you] to incorporate each of these into my line this year, and I want you to do so making new renditions of my mother’s sketches. Make them your own, but more importantly, darlin’ — Make me love them.” 𝑶𝒉, 𝒚𝒆𝒔. I could tell by the way he raised a brow towards me that his interest had been piqued, and I had ultimately won signing Christian Dior onto this year’s line. Too bad Daddy was wrong when he told me a, “bullshit little lingerie line won’t get you anywhere big.” I loved him, but he underestimated the power of a woman’s sex appeal far too much. Though I supposed it had to be hard for such an ‘upstanding, tight-lipped’ man such as himself to ever think of his daughter in that dedication. Shame. He could’ve had a hand in being a partner, but he’d lost that right many years back. Perfectly manicured fingers used the glass table as leverage as I pushed myself back, coming to stand just as I flashed Dior with a sardonic little smile. Nodding once towards him as to let him know I would see him in my office as soon as he had briefed my team on what he would like to do. I wasn’t about to show my entire team the works of my mother; too many eyes are too many chances to be betrayed. Christian stood just as I made my way from the room, and sauntered up the nearing stairs to my office. The only room on the entire top floor of my studio, though there were many upon many floors beneath. Twenty, to be exact. I bought this building on my nineteenth birthday, my third year of unrivaled success as a model in New York City. Coincidentally; my first year as a designer was my last year as a model, though I could easily reclaim my spot on the runway if I wished. I decided long ago that I wanted to be the name on the clothes rather than the name in the clothes. By trade, this is how I came to know [many] of the talented and entitled designers, artists, and models. So I used my time on the runway to aide into my own fashion empire. Much as I had used my father’s colleagues, friends, and social tree to find all of those to invest not only in my company but in me. To believe in [me.] Worked like a charm. Daddy, on the other hand, was a completely different story. Being a model was one thing, but being the face and name behind a billion dollar luxury lingerie line? Fuck me, I might as well have become a prostitute on the corner of Monterrey Square in Historic Savannah. That would’ve been less disgraceful to my father’s eyes than what I was currently becoming. What I was [creating] for the whole world to view, and part of me hated his self-righteous bullshit. Mama never would have done that. She wouldn’t have done all to me as he had; she wouldn’t have allowed her friends to lay their hands against her only child. Her only [daughter]. These thoughts echoed throughout my mind as I felt my fingertips dig down into the denim fabric of my Marc Jacobs denim jacket, almost far enough to pierce through the mastered stitches. Anger didn’t begin to cover the searing pain that etched in against my heart. This was why I worked so goddamn hard. To be able to say I had become more than John Hale. The most influential man to walk the streets of Savannah since Jim Williams. A man who took the world for granted, and treated people like disposable resources. Yes, Daddy, use everyone who ever loved you, and throw caution to the wind when it comes to their feelings. How smart. Ocean inspired eyes rolled back at the thought alone, and I tilted my head to the side just as I opened the leather bound sketchbook. A small, subdued smile coming into play as I let my fingers glide in against the drawing. It was almost as if my eyes had glazed over in a daze as I felt the familiar strokes of my mother’s pencil, and I simply sat back in my seat. Wonder filled my mind as I let my mind drift off to the thought of where she was. Where my father had placed her when I was twelve years old. The year he found out that I was ‘afflicted’ with lusting for others. That I wanted to be in an industry so highly controversial, and that his little girl wanted to walk the runway. He saw it as my mother’s fault since she spent most of her days that turned into nights, and back to day, piecing together her drawings. Making them come to life in her tiny ass attic apartment that was our secret. He knew of her dream to become a designer. What he didn’t know was that she had found the little silver key to the attic the same year I was born, and from then on? That was where she went to find solace. To comfort herself in her darkest days, and where she taught me how to be something he never could —ｓｔｒｏｎｇ. “𝙰 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝙷𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚗𝚘 𝚏𝚞𝚛𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍.” I could still hear her sweet voice speaking to me from behind her wire mannequin as she pinned the dress in place. She would always make sure to peek around whatever masterpiece she had been working on, just to make sure I heard her quote Congreve but with her own touch. Maybe she didn’t realize it then, but I always paid attention when she spoke. Little did I know then, but I would always wonder if I subconsciously knew Daddy was going to throw her away the moment he found out. I did always have a knack for being able to predict certain outcomes, and perhaps a piece of me did know that particular fact of life. After all, by the age of fifteen I knew all the plays in my father’s playbook. 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑 𝑶𝒏𝒆: Create a “lasting” relationship. 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑 𝑻𝒘𝒐: Mind fuck them to the best of your abilities. Find out their weaknesses and their quirks. Figure out why they are in their position of power, and [how] they got there — that’s arguably the most important piece of information you can have against someone you plan to overcome. Once you know how they built themselves up to where they now stand; you’ll be able to see how to tear them down. Stone by stone. 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑 𝑻𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆: Take your time throwing the stones of their lives away. You do [not] want to rush this, if you do they will catch on. They will see that you aren’t a friend after all, and that you are only in this for yourself. You are using them as your next step in the game. 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑 𝑭𝒐𝒖𝒓: Keep a distance, but not too much of a distance to raise suspicion. Make sure they know you “care” about what they’re going through. Hell, even offer your help if you feel it’ll help you step up your game. Build trust quicker than you tear it down. 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑 𝑭𝒊𝒗𝒆: Be still and know. Make moves behind closed doors. Nothing leaks to the press. Nothing leaves the table of which pages are signed [until] whomever you are fucking is already too far buried to fight back. Make sure anything you have done has been covered. There are no tracks. Be still in what you have finalizing. Know that there is nothing to unravel your own work. 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒑 𝑺𝒊𝒙: Bury that motherfucker quicker than a lawyer who has something to hide. These are the six quintessential steps to overcoming [anyone] who dares to challenge a Hale. Especially if there is a threat involved. My father instilled these rules of the game from the time I was old enough to play a decent game of chess, with the logic that if I could outsmart a grown man at the age of thirteen; I could overcome any business tactic with a little grit and grace. Too bad I never liked to follow the rules. I play at my own expense, with my own rules, and at the hands of no mercy — for a mercy rule is a weak man’s way out. ⁝༺༻⁝ The familiar sound of knuckles against my office door quickly grasped my attention from the previous thoughts, and snatched me back to reality. It took a moment to fully refocus myself on the task at hand, and I nodded to the man who stood six foot three in the doorway. “C’mon in, Dior. I’ve got somethin’ to show you,” I called out in a clear, concise southern draw. Letting my gaze settle against him as he made his way over, straightening out his suit as seen fit. Once he had taken a seat across from me, and I flashed a small but noticed smile in his direction before I turned my mother’s sketchbook towards him. Taking a moment before I thumbed through to fourteen different designs. All a completely different style; all equally as challenging as anything else he had ever created. After I let him take the book into his own hands, to study the drawings, I began to speak once again. “What I want [you] to do is to take these and make them your own, but with remnants of her. My mother. She was quite the artist, without a platform, without a voice into the world of fashion alike. It’s time to break the ice. I want you to use only four fabrics to create something unimaginable. Bear in mind, every one of these looks will have to be transformed into lingerie, and every look will pair with leather boots made by Christian Louboutin; you’re free to contact him to work amongst yourselves on the scheme. However, I will want restraints to match, and perhaps whips. Something to keep the edge alive, to fight the competitors on their ‘love me leather’ pursuit. Like I said — make me love them.” His emerald eyes stayed fixated on me for nearly five minutes before he nodded a very slow nod of understanding. Perplexed; to say the least, I’m sure. Though his smile lead me to believe he was more than happy to do as I had demanded, and instead of speaking he began in against the sketches once more. Studying each detail in their design just to look back up at me, and finally he broke the silence, “These are beautiful. Such a elegant touch she had to the designs; I wouldn’t touch that. There are things I will refuse to change, and others you will never recognize as your mother’s — they will be my own. You will be proud Miss Alice, and you [will] love them. I am a man of my word.” The certainty of his voice made a smirk creep in against my lips despite the satisfaction I got out of knowing he was pleased with my idea. Then and again; who wouldn’t be? With a nod to him, I moved to my feet to shake his hand as if to non-verbally seal the deal, and just as he went to tuck my mother’s sketchbook beneath his arm, I shook my head. “I think not. Her book stays in the studio. It does not leave the premises; there will be no exceptions. However, my assistant can and will make any and all accommodations you need to be comfortable here. There is a whole extension to this studio that comes off the fifteenth floor — in the back. It should be big enough to fit your needs, and if not? You come to me. We will work something out.” With that in the air, he smiled rather warmly towards me before sliding the book back onto my desk. Without a word he stepped into me, gracing my cheek with a gentle peck to show respect for my wishes, and as a friendly goodbye before stepping away. I waited until he had made his exit to slip my mother’s most prized work into my locked drawer, though once secure I made my way from the office. Smiling at the familiar clink of my heels against the marble floors — Oh how I loved that sound. I waved a hand in the direction of those who were still at work on the floor before thanking them briefly, and explained deadlines to the few who were in the meeting. For a moment I had to double check myself to make sure there was nothing I was forgetting to say or do, but ultimately I turned on my heel and headed for the elevator. Tucking my phone into my purse as I walked, a somber smile came into sight as I stepped onto the glass box, pressing in the ground level button, and once the doors slid closed? I ran a hand back through my thick locks, nodding to myself as I knew where I had to go next. What I had to do. Who I had to go see. Ding! The doors slid open in what seemed like no time, and I sauntered through the lobby and directly for the car that awaited my arrival just to dismiss my driver instead of taking my usual ride to my temporary home on Bainbridge Island. With a heavy breath falling from my lips, I followed back to retrieve my Bentley where I slipped comfortably in against the leather seats before bringing the car to life. It only took a few seconds before I was pulling away from my studio and heading to the outskirts of Seattle to Northern State Sanatorium. After an hour and a half later, I found myself pulling into the dreary confines of this institution’s parking lot, and for a moment? I couldn’t help but to wonder what kind of horrific shit might linger deep within the walls of this building. There wasn’t a smile to be had here, and that much was evident. Nodding to myself, a silent confirmation that I needed to do this because if I didn’t do it now? I never would. Minutes passed as I sat in the car, breathing...just breathing before I slipped away from the car. My purse hung from the crook of my elbow just as I sauntered towards the door, and much to my surprise? It was a mechanical door instead of something wretched as I assumed it would be. That’s reassuring, at least I noted to myself just as I made my way to the front desk where a sliding window opened and a blonde woman of about sixty years sat. She looked over me for awhile before finally asking for my name and for the name of whom I was coming to see. 𝑯𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈. “Alice Katherine Hale, I’m here to see my mother; Josephine Alice Hale.”

[theaurorfileshq]

C A S S A N D R A   A S T O R - R E Y E S  /  A U R O R   S E R G E A N T

AGE: Thirty

BADGE NUMBER: S01B24

BLOODSTATUS: Pureblood

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cis Woman, She/Her

IDENTIFYING FEATURES: Eyebrow scar, walks with a slight limp and aided by a cane.

STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES:

(+): Excels in Defence Against The Dark Arts/Uncomfortable knowledge of the Dark Arts in general, can resist the imperious curse, strong moral compass and a heart of gold.

(-): A tendency to hold back from using destructive spells even if doing so puts her at risk, legitimately desperate for approval from authority figures, inability to produce a patronus.

BACKGROUND:

–– In her younger years she feels like a shadow incarnate. A ghostly slip of a thing in a family of ghoulish, graceful monsters. Cassandra is the youngest of four, and the only girl in the family. There is not a day that goes by where she doesn’t know her place. The Astor-Reyes family are traditionalists to the core. Her mother teaches her the rules with a deceitful gentleness. Little girls should be seen and not heard. Little girls should stay out of the way. Little girls need to do whatever their father and brothers tell them. Even when she was small, she knew the foolishness of it. Cassandra was far too hungry a thing to sit still and pretty while her brothers worked. Like all shadows, she longed to come into the light and swallow it whole.

–– She proves herself a prodigy from a young age. Her magic comes out early, unbound and unrestrained. It’s clear to all that little Cassandra is a power-house. A forest fire in a pretty dress, a scorching blaze with very polite table manners. In the early days, before she learns how to focus herself, her magic almost sparks and crackles with its fury. She still remembers the day her father leans down to kiss her forehead and whispers “you’re going to burn the world down, aren’t you, Cass?”

–– Despite it all, she still feels like a shadow. Her power, her raw talent, only get her so far in her father’s eyes. She is allowed to study from his books, secret and forbidden to so many others. He practices spells on her so that she will build a natural defence, so that she will know how to protect herself with magic and muscle memory. When she takes any real interest in his work, she is shut down. Business isn’t for little girls. When she tries to engage with her brothers on an equal playing field, she is pushed away. Experimental magic isn’t for little girls. They look at her with sharp eyes, predators in the making. They’re how Cassandra knows what monsters look like, she’ll reflect, a decade later.

–– Her grandfather never leaves the house. He is a reclusive soul, she thinks, with an edge of longing. Oh, how she would love to stay at home forever with books for company. He has an edge in his eyes, and he stares out the window for long hours at a time. Cassandra is his favourite, she knows, in the way children often do. He is more gentle with her than the others, he humours her more than anyone else, and drives her brothers away when they bother her or tease her. She asks him why he never ventures outside the gates of their garden, and he tells her that he is a trapped soul. He says it like a story, fairy tale slow and full of wonder. He has an enemy, you see. An enemy who outwitted him and bested him in battle. An enemy who feared his power. So her grandfather had to barter away magic and some small level of freedom in exchange for the chance to stay with his family. It seems awfully noble and romantic to Cassandra, but she won’t know for many years the extent of his thwarted dark deeds.

–– She didn’t realise that her family was strange until a couple of years into her schooling. She joins the Horned Serpent house without a second thought, and struggles to make friends even among her like-minded compatriots. People seemed to shy away from her at every turn, so she closed herself off in return. She focused on her books, and her grades, and the polite small talk she could make with those who knew her from before school began. Other noble, honoured pureblood families. She hears it whispered one day, after a talented display of hexes in her Defence class, far more advanced than anything the others could produce. ‘I bet she’s evil, like the rest of them.’

–– The Astor-Reyes family has a bad reputation, and she was foolish not to see it sooner. She didn’t realise she was wrong, to know the things she did. She didn’t realise she shouldn’t have studied the darkest of arts from an early age. She didn’t realise it was wrong to gaze into the abyss, and wish it would touch you in return. They all saw it as a thing that hurt. They didn’t know that the knowledge could be a powerful and rewarding thing. They didn’t know that it could be as gentle as a father’s kiss. It had never hurt her, she’d never seen it damage anything, not really.

–– At seventeen, she has the aura of a wispy, flighty thing. Delicate, darkly beautiful. Her family had a bad reputation, but all she’d been able to do was go with it. After school, she begs her father to let her help him in the family business. She understands now what he does, and that it isn’t strictly speaking legal. Yet she wants to help, regardless. He’s just a businessman. He gets things that people wants. He sells them. Trinkets and artefacts and treasures. It’s just stuff, she thinks, in her still teenaged brain. What are people going to do? Hurt themselves with it? Though she’s older, and undeniably the brightest of his children, he tells her no. She should be focusing on marriage, like a good little girl. She should find a husband and carry on the family line, in one way or another. For the next three years she entertains the ideas, entertains suitors and boyfriends and girlfriends. She has not great longing to be a wife to any of them, and shakes them off as best she can.

–– It’s a strange thing, to be willingly blind. To believe that you have honour when you know, deep in your heart, that something is very wrong. She gets the impression that her family is spiralling around a drain, that something too dark and too dangerous is creeping in. Her eldest brother is a dark shade of the man she used to know, frantic and cloying and obsessive to an extreme extent. He inherits control of everything, in the end, when her father is arrested for his crimes and locked away. She watches the auror squad come and take both Andre and him. Brother and father gone, a dwindling family left behind. She answers questions and feels the heavy judgement of their gazes. Micheal Astor-Reyes becomes the head of their family in a deft blow, and though he only lasts a matter of weeks in the role, she wishes it had been over quicker. Her brother is a cruel man, a foul beast. Experimental and half-crazed like a character in a no-maj novel, Frankenstein the doctor, or Frankenstein the monster –– one and the same, wrapped up in the visage of a man she tries very hard to love. She watches him, far too often, his words and his deeds. She watches and wonders: is this wrong? She wonders it often enough that the litany shifts without her notice, a resigned and shaky: this is wrong.

–– Micheal almost blows her up, in the end. Him and his experimental magic. She should have been wary when he let her into the room, when he asked her to act as witness to his greatest deeds. She knows that he could have easily killed her, down there in his lab. His necromantic obsessions, his fascination with death and how to best it. That kind of spell can do far more damage than it did to her, when it backfires. She knows it could have killed her –– it killed him, after all. She’d seen his burned out husk, seen what was left of him, twitching until he faded away. A great deed. She’d known she was hurt, but it didn’t occur to her that she ought to cry or to scream or to call out for help. All she’d wanted in the moment was to lay down and fall asleep.

–– They bury her brother in the family crypt, and it’s a mark of her own strength that she attends the ceremony. Fresh from her sick bed after two weeks of healing. Intensive as the attentions of her healers had been, Cassandra still feels weary. Bone tired. Achey inside and out. ‘Dark magic often leaves a profound mark on the psyche.’ She needs help to stand, her leg still healing far too slowly for anybody’s liking. The help takes the shape of her Grandfather for the extent of the day. He keeps her steady, somehow steadfast and strong even in his old age. Her mother sobs and weeps, wrapped up in her seemingly endless sorrow. It still doesn’t occur to Cassandra that she ought to cry. She plays picture perfect hostess next to her mother after the ceremony, shakes hand after hand, and accepts condolences she doesn’t want. She plasters on a grim smile, as sad as she can manage.

–– It’s only the three of them in the house, quite suddenly. Cassandra, her mother, and her grandfather. Andre and father will be locked up for a very long time. Micheal is dead. Alexander departed in the weeks after the funeral, galavanting around Europe in a desperate effort to make a name for himself divorced from the rest of his despicable family. Cassandra feels more like a ghost than ever. A broken thing, gripping the cane her mother gifted her as she strives towards independence. She lost her wand, during the accident. It snapped beneath her when she fell. She ought to get a new one, she knows –– but she isn’t ready to face the world, she isn’t ready for them to look at her, yet. She sits in the dusty, unused Drawing Room instead, and makes fitful attempts to master simple spells wandlessly. The ancestral portraits watch her in wry amusement, until one speaks up –– ‘You’re not going to get anywhere like that.’ It’s Cassandra, the elder Cassandra. A great aunt she’s never given much thought to. Grandfather had always described her in unflattering tones, far too priggish for his taste, a stoic and upstanding citizen. His distaste for her is why she was condemned to the old drawing room, rarely used even by her mother. ‘I do believe my old wand is somewhere in the attic, gathering dust. Go and fetch it so we may all cease watching you struggle like a foolish child.’

–– She thinks a lot about the elder Cassandra in the weeks that follow. Using her wand. Gazing at her portrait. Reading about her, however much there is, in the family records. She seemed more noble than anything else, to Cass’s young eyes. Never married. A patron of various charities. Master duelist and stalwart believer in duty and honour. She had been the one who turned her Grandfather in to the Auror’s, who condemned him to a life of imprisonment in his own home for his unholy deeds, condemned him to a life without a wand. Then, the elder Cassandra had died young. She has no proof to back the chilling hunch, but there is something in Cass certain that her death was far from natural.

–– She thinks a lot about honour. Right and wrong. What kind of person she wants to be. She thinks, and then she stops thinking at all and begins to act. She moves their hoard of dark artefacts and distasteful books up to the attic, out of sight and out of mind. She opens all the windows and lets the light in. Then, with steely determination, she applies to auror training. Her career begins in fits and starts, wary eyes following her everywhere she goes. Her name carries weight, her family’s bad reputation still at the forefront of everybody’s mind. She doesn’t cower from it, this time around. She holds her head high and promises herself she’ll never quit, that she’ll never stop trying.

–– Cassandra is a good Auror. It turns out that she has a talent for it, more than she’s ever had with anything else. She graduates from the Academy in New Orleans at the top of her class, after having worked herself to the bone. She felt the rush of the accomplishment, felt ready to dedicate herself mind body and soul to the job, with a newly crafted sturdy moral compass in her heart. A lot of people still don’t trust her, even after years on the job – they think the darkness will win out, that she’ll default back to it if the going gets tough. All she wants is to prove them wrong, once and for all. All Cassandra wants is to be good, to help people, to make a difference in this world. She knows she’s going to succeed.

[ayafoxheart]

An Ishgardian Ballad - Just a Story

(Screen shot by @kiskiphelone via tumblr, and used with grateful permission!) 

[ A story from Aya's life in Ishgard.  A story inspired by Noir - and stylistically by Cowboy Bebop (my favorite anime).  I encourage anyone familiar with it to read the narrator in Jet Black's voice.  If you're not familiar, I still hope you enjoy〜 ]

RPC Cross Post: http://ffxiv-roleplayers.com/showthread.php?tid=7871&pid=286681#pid286681

First Musical Accompaniment:

The maid huffed.  It was a huff of indignation.  A huff of curiosity.  A huff that resounded with a full measure of spontaneity, but was in fact fully rehearsed; being the sort of gesture one learns through repeatedly encountering the same situation. She shook her head with a look of annoyance.  People were always leaving their junk here.  Sometimes it seemed they just wanted rid of it.  Other times it seemed as if it were something special in search of a new owner. This was just a little wooden box.  It looked like it could contain just about anything.  The woman cocked her head and stared inquisitively wondering just what it was, what its story could be.  Junk is junk, but most that found its way here had a story of one kind or another. Now, you might be thinking this is just another one of Aya's boring stories about tea time, or another one of those friendly conversations beneath the setting sun, or some such stupid junk like that.  But this isn't one of those stories.  Not at all.  Its a story of family and honor.  Of doing what is right, or at least what's necessary - or just your best.  Oh, yeah, and its a story of young love.  So, you know, if that's not your kind of thing you can just save yourself the trouble and stop right here.

The woman known as Aya Foxheart, wasn't always known by that name.  Once upon a time she was known simply as 'Aya'.  You know all of those performers out there known by only one name?  Well, yeah, that was her doing.  When she first made her name in Ishgard she didn't think she had another name worth sharing.  So there it was, just 'Aya'.  Somehow it stuck, and those others just want to be like her.  Now you know. She's also thought of as one of Eorzea's greatest heart breakers.  A darling and a delight.  Or just trouble on two legs.  And she'd have it no other way: you'd think the whole world would just bend over to get out of her way.  But it isn't always so. She'd tell you that she can't remember just how it all happened.  Or where it all started.  Maybe somewhere with fairy tales of knights and damsels.  Told by a mother passing on everything good in this world to her only daughter.  She always said: 'When we lost everything, only our stories remained.' And here we are: her knight, at last: Charlesemile.  Char, as she knew him. There he was again: tall and strong, even for an Elezen.  She imagined him as a knight: no simple swordsman of the Temple, but the kind who stormed keeps and castles for true love.  His long dark hair, raven-pitched, matched eyes that seemed capable of limitless depths.  They were undeniably an object for the feminine gaze, and reflected affection with an effortless ease that belied his otherwise calm demeanor. She could not help herself in her admiration: his was the sort of smile you never forget.  She didn't know how many times she'd seen him there back stage, or at some of the wilder parties thrown down there.  He was probably just another nobleman's son, pawning off his influence for an evening's fun with the chorus girls, dancers and actresses of the lower-city stage.  Their shows were more fun, and the girls themselves all-the-more entertaining, than those of the upper classes.  They were also rather more appreciative of the bobbles and favors the young men offered.  To young aristocrats, life down below the surface seemed altogether untouched by the frigid frost that defined the life of Ishgardian courtiers.  Oh yes, she'd know just the sort.  She'd seen it all before.  She competed for their patronage.  She wore their jewelry.  She played their game, how could she not?  And why not?  Wasn't she enjoying herself? She wasn't quite famous yet.  At least not like she would be.  Just a teenager, and soon after her first starring role as an Othardian Princess in a great tale of heroic romance - you know the one.  So, you could say she was a hot thing, but not quite that hot, if you know what I mean.  And, with her charms, its not all that surprising that he fancied her.  Weekend after weekend he went out of his way to find time with her during one event or another.  We pick up again, somewhere, sometime, just off-stage. "Aya," he said with that bewitchingly soft tone of his, "How many times have I seen you like this?  With all this company?  With the noise? And the parties?"  He offered up a disarming smile as he drew himself closer, pressing his arm to the wall just above her shoulder. He smiled with the gentleness that came naturally to his placid features.  "Its you I want to see.  Not them," he admitted with a hint of nervousness.  He offered his deep, dark, pleading eyes to hers. "As much as I enjoy these shows, the only real reason I come down here any more is for you..."   She gazed back, stunned. She'd like to remember a thousand thoughts coursing through her mind in that moment.  Carefully weighing her options, and noting everything the man before her offered. That she was guarded, wondering, parsing.  But that wasn't her.  She was a just charmed girl in love. There were only two things she felt: relief and excitement. It wouldn't be easy.  Is it ever, truly?  But, this is a hard-scrabble story, you realized that already, right? Still, young lovers find a way. Their relationship was a spirited whirlwind.  A torrid little thing buried in the frozen city.  They spared every moment they could: walking the silent galleries of the lower city late at night.  Slipping away from parties.  Together, she visited the surface for the first time in years.  She visited the Pillars and the Hoplon. She strolled past the villas of the rich and the famous.  Well dressed men and women respectfully greeted her in his company.  But, even then, the warmth of the daylight sun, and the pleasure of such easy respect, never compared to how wonderful Char made her feel. He was everything that she was not: upstanding, of station, proper, educated, and full of a poised restraint that seemed ever to personify the Elezen of Ishgard.  His was a practiced manner, forged by a rigorous upbringing and quenched in the halls and classrooms of preparatory school.  But in those quiet moments alone with her, he allowed the mask to slip.  He embraced the warm, effortless joy that she readily offered the world.  He smiled, he laughed, and together they grew to be more than either could have alone.  Together they dreamed.  Together they strayed. Of course, Aya was already a sought after woman. Charlesemile was not without his competition.  And for her the danger was thricefold: to admiring men she owed her patronage, her fame, and so her future, at least whatever future she could make of her own.  She could no more offer them a cold shoulder than she could wish away the Ishgardian cold.  But even the greatest of men are prone to jealousy when a lovely young thing is involved.  And so there she stood: pressed from all sides by dreams, needs, and fear. Despite her best efforts, things weren't always calm.  There's one night in particular I'll never forget.  I get to tell this one: I can see it now: a flurry of snow drifting down from the heavens.  Descending flakes briefly caught in the lamplight of towering spires long before reaching the warm glint of lamps on the cobblestone streets of the less heavenly city below.  The relative peace of the moment was interrupted by the sound of shouting voices.  That age old concern: young men ready to fight over a young woman. Then, all at once, they fell silent with the sound of a 'crunch'.  Cold steel striking the firmness of a young man's face. There quickly followed a second, 'crunch'.  The same young man collapsing in a crumpled heap upon the snow. Several more remained standing, swords drawn and ready to taste blood.  The not so poor fellow laying prone and regretful on the cobblestone was Reginald de something-or-other (its really not important at the moment).  Above him, wiping the blood from sword-hilt stood Char.  The others were Reginald's friends, or lackeys, depending upon how charitable you're feeling. "I suggest you three get him out of here, you've given us enough trouble for the evening." The trio looked back and forth, unsure of what to do with the sudden absence of their ringleader. In the moment of hesitation the subject of the altercation strode into the proverbial spotlight.  Though slighter than the Elezen, Aya's always had a presence about her, and with her fearless poise and pose she seemed to momentarily tower over the rest of them.  I can see it now: blue eyes shining with the full ferocity of highland defiance.  Tensed, ready fists lingering waist-height just behind her. And she showed not a care that her bodice had been slit from top to bottom, leaving her Ala Mhigan bounty threatening to spill into plain view.  She wanted nothing more than to return the disgrace that had been shown her, and given the chance she would more than pay it back. The fury of Highland women is something of legend, and once witnessed can never be forgot.  Such is the lesson of this parable- or something like that. Anyway, faced with the charming knight, and his enraged damsel, the trio of well-heeled goons beat a hasty retreat dragging their barely conscious provacateur with them.  And though he couldn'tt feel his feet as they banged along the cobblestones, he managed enough to hurl threats upon the couple: "You'll pay for this you wretch! And your cheap wench too!" It doesn't take much imagination to know how this scene ended.  And there were more of the sort.  Despite the challenges, they still found a way. And so it was. Sometime later Aya found herself at Heathrow's Emporium.  It's her favorite kind of shop: the sort where you can find anything and everything.  In other words: just another junk shop.  And Heathrow's one of those talented old guys who always seems to know a little bit about everything.  He also managed to have something new in stock most of the time: a neat trick given the difficulty of trade since the gates were sealed. I've always found it strange that the girl is drawn to this kind of place.  I wouldn't say she's some sort of expert on junk, I sure hope not, but I'd believe she were Eorzea's foremost expert on the purveyor's of junk. Ah hell, there I go talking too much again, lets get back to the story. "...yes, my dear, it plays an absolutely beautiful little tune.  Sweet and lilting." "The sort to remind you of a girl you love...?" She asked with a heart-warming unassumingness. He laughed, "I'd imagine its exactly that sort."  Then the old man paused, bushy eyebrows twitching. "Say... its not for that handsome young master..." She nodded, silently, as the old man laughed, "And here I thought it was supposed to work the other way around.  Guess I'm just old fashioned." "But, but..." he cautioned earnestly, "As I said, the box doesn't work any more."  He scratched his head, peering at the little device, "I have not been able to figure out how its broken.  Until it's fixed it won't play any music at all, whether for pretty girls or not." She stared at it intently.  It was perfect.  Small and he could take it with him anywhere he might go or travel.  And everywhere he went, he could play the tune and think of her.  But could it be made to work? She stared at it all the more, as if she could make it work through the force of will alone. The old man laughed, humoring the girl, "Ah... well... perhaps it just needs the power of love.  You are welcome to give it a try, anyway.  Its yours, just bring it back if it doesn't work..."  Now, Aya's got a knack for tinkering.  Anything mechanical, even magitek.  If its a widget or gizmo with gears or crystals she can figure it out given enough time.  I don't know where she got it from.  I really don't, but sometimes its just a joy to watch. What she can't do is fabricate replacement parts.  And that's where I get to have my part in the story: for that she needs a brother with a hammer and a careful touch.  Well, she's a pretty amazing girl, and with my help, she had that damned little box working again. ♪Tinkle-dee-dee-dun-da-da-dee♪ sang the delicate little chimes.  It was a lovely tune.  It wasn't sophisticated or deep, but she knew he'd think of her whenever he heard it, wherever he might be.  She wound the spring again, and flipped open the lid to listen once more. "Well, whadya know, sis.  It works!" announced Osvald, her brother the smith, still wearing his smithy apron. ♪Tinkle-dee-dee-dun-da-da-dee♪ it played again and again.  She grinned with the sort of excitement that only she could muster. You see that guy there?  That's me, her brother.

The week came and went, and she had not been able to see Char.  This was not altogether unusual.  He was a busy young man: already in the final year of school and training for the military career that awaited him.  It was not altogether easy for him to slip away, and she truly didn't mind.  Eventually, they knew, all would be right, and they could be together like they had always dreamed. All she could think about was presenting him with the gift of the little music box.  She opened it, and listened to the tune, imagining him in years to come playing the tune in some distant garrison and imagining rushing into her arms. He'd never feel alone.  He'd never forget. The days came.  The days went.  There was still no word from him.  She could barely wait, and at last she  could no longer bear it. If he were so busy, then even now he could use a reminder of her love.  She'd left him messages before, and this would be no different. After dinner she slipped from the family inn and into the streets she called home.  This was her city.  Her place.  She had no trouble making her way in the dark to the surface streets, and the Pillars. There she gently rang at the servant's entrance, as she had before. The sweet-smiling butler answered the knock, and with the exchange of a few kind words, accepted the gift to deliver. Of course, a young woman's dreams rarely come so simple, do they? She slipped quietly into bed, unable to sleep with the excitement that swelled within her breast.  She imagined Char's face when receiving the gift.  She imagined him listening to the sweet little tune again, and again. ♪Tinkle-dee-dee-dun-da-da-dee♪

Second Musical Accompaniment:

She was helping with chores the next day when the carriage pulled up out front of the tavern.  She nearly leapt in excitement, imagining a summons from her Prince Charming.  She ran to the door, throwing it open and announcing herself, "I'm here!" There was quite a bit of activity within the rest tavern in response to the unexpected visit.  Her cousins quickly began to look for 'Uncle', the one man in the family with enough standing and knowledge to speak with a member of a representative of a Noble House - no one else could afford such transportation.  The Elezen gentleman who disembarked from the carriage offered nothing but serene disinterest.  He stood at a majestic height, supported by an ornately decorated walking stick, and draped in what appeared to be a new fur coat: an extravagance.  His short dark hair was just starting to gray at the temples - a gray that clung fully to the neatly trimmed beard that graced and distinguished his chin. His eyes scanned the environs of the modest inn.  One could feel his silent scoff at the dimness of the light in the tunnels of the lower city, and the bare dinginess of the entire scene. Aya stared at him, agape, from the open door.  At last, he took a few long, slow strides toward her before letting out a labored sigh that wiped the last remnants of smiling from her features.  He brought his stick to rest, leaning lightly upon it. "You must be Aya..." His voice was sanguine, unaffected, and possessed of the cool, collected refinement of the masterly class.  Uncle had been born and raised in the city, as had his father and grand father.  He was a lowly inn-keeper, but still a respectable man who knew how to handle delicate situations involving men of higher status.  Ishgardian was his native tongue, and despite his lower-levels dialect he could affect a proper-enough tone to not offend the sensibilities.  It was this man to whom Aya would have looked for rescue, but this was not the man who arrived. Instead the sound of a heavy walking stick quickly descending the stairs announced the arrival of a fellow of an altogether different character. "I... yes...?" She answered, with a downcast stutter, "..ser!" she added with same panic.  Her fingers clutched defensively at the door frame. His countenance betrayed no hint of emotion as he accepted her reply without comment, before slipping a gloved hand into the interior breast pocket of his coat.  Unfolding his hand he presented to her the small, familiar music box. "And, you are the one who brought this to our home, yesterday evening?"  There was a slight tilt of his head, expressing curiosity without intended harshness. The color quickly drained from the girl's cheeks.  Her body tensed and then drooped.  She fainted, her body threatening collapse at the sight, and the revelation it proclaimed.  Only the sudden intervention of a strong grip prevented her plummet to the pavement.  Her father.  Harsh.  Strong.  Ala Mhigan to the very core.  He had never bothered to learn Ishgardian.  His grasp of the tongue is not just rough, but often borders on incomprehensible. He grasped her around both shoulders, fingers clasped around her arms, bodily holding her up with a gentle tenderness reflected in the worried expression upon his grizzled features.  The Elezen pressed his shoulders back, folding his hands together in an entirely proper posture, while more of the family arrived in the entryway behind the girl and her father.  Her uncle was the next there, but he was already too late.  Her mother let out a wail of surprise, as the two of them took hold of Aya leaning her back and trying to revive her.  With his daughter being cared for, the man who had-been lord, grasped his heavy walking stick and raised himself to his full height.  He strode confidently forward, with the learned bearing of a fearless man of the battlefield, hunting ground, and dueling yard.  He approached the unfazed Elezen with defiance: the worried expression replaced with a look grim and terrible: his heavy brow taut and furrowed, blue eyes filled with barely restrained malice. "This is my daughter." He stated, matter-of-factly.  "Who do you think you are?"  He turned his chin up toward the wiry, graceful nobleman, inviting confrontation. The Elezen had felt the pang of sympathy at the sight of the fainted girl, but he could not but dismiss the mockable sight now presented him.  He gazed down his nose upon the might of Ala Mhigo's conceit, in all its broken glory.  "A man whose acquaintance neither of you deserve." He replied with cold and patient form. Ever fiber of the old Ala Mhigan's body stood on edge.  His voice growled to life with an agonizing fire, "You dare speak to us like this!"  The old warrior raised his stick menacingly, glaring with rage.  His interlocutor refused to flinch, he only drew his own cane slightly higher, perhaps to guard against a potential blow, but otherwise refused to budge or shout - still, exasperation shown through his voice, "I shall speak to you however I please.  But I am only hear to speak to your daughter, and as mercifully brief as possible." From the entryway her uncle shouted to both of them for calm.  Her father glared, but dared nothing further, just yet.  He slowly lowered his cane, glowering with narrowed, threatening eyes.  "You knife-eared scoundrel if you have dared to touch a hair upon my daughters head, I swear before the Destroyer that I shall strike you down!" "Twelve forfend!" gasped the Elezen in a manner that defused the situation.  He folded his arms across his body, raising his head indignantly, "I know not your daughter.  Nor do I ever care to.  That is why I am here." The Ala Mhigan relented, if cautiously.  "What the hells do you want with us, then?" The Elezen again presented the music box, "Are you aware that your daughter has been spending an inordinate amount of time with my son?" The Hyur looked puzzled, but Aya shouted from the doorway where she had recovered.  "Father, its true!"  Tears streamed down her cheeks.  Her father knew not what to make of anything in that moment: except that this man was still terrifying his daughter. His posture quickly relaxed, and he returned to her side, speaking to her softly in their mother tongue.  "Aya... what is going on?" The graceful Elezen let out a sorrowful sigh, "Now... now...  I did not mean to be the cause of such... trouble." He hesitated, searching for words of comfort rather than offense.  "There is no need for tears.  No harm is intended for anyone today."  Her father turned back toward the man once more, father and daughter staring at him hostilely, as her father replied, "I have my doubts, Elezen.  Speak your business then, and begone." "My son."  He started, pausing to take a breath and start over.  "Charlesemile, is a man of great potential.  I do not know what you are aware of, but I was not born to the gentry.  Our family have been loyal retainers for generations.  Centuries of carefully kept records attest to that.  I was fortunate enough to marry a daughter of the family, I..."  He paused, stifling a sigh while momentarily closing his eyes, "... I do understand what it is to marry for love.  She became an unlikely heiress, and our son was raised with a future in her class.  When she died, her title and name did not pass to me.  They are his to bear.  But you understand, I presume, that if he is to secure his family's position he must marry into his own station."  Having finished the statement of his business, he rather abruptly presented the music box once more.  "And what's this?" Asked her father, still standing by her side.  The entire family watched the exchange from within the building.  "A symbol of love, professed, I do believe." Stated the Elezen with clinical precision.  "Now.  I have every reason to believe that your feelings are sincere," he stated, with a carefully sincere intonation of his own.  "And that knowing this, you will do what is clearly best for him.  If you do not stay away from him he shall lose his standing, title, and every potential for his future.  I pray that you satisfy yourself with once having known one of Ishgard's premier men, and one of her greatest knights." Her father rapped his stick powerfully against the paving stones, "She's not good enough for you, that's it?" He growled, before snarling a choice Ala Mhigan phrase toward the man.  The Elezen bore the assault without flinching, and then addressed Aya one last time.  "Is everything understood?"  She wiped the tears away with her fingers, steadying herself just long enough to nod and answer him, "It is." The old Elezen was a bastard, no doubt.  Glad we don't have his type as an in-law, and honestly I find myself wishing father had just throttled him right then and there for all of us. But Aya was the wiser, and we'd all have paid, in the end, for the gesture.  I know she thought it over for days.  She agonized.  But, in the end, what could she do?  It wasn't like there was somewhere the two of them could run to.  Not at this time.  Not in this city.    "... what are you saying?" she had never seen Char so emotional as he was in that moment.  "You cannot mean it!" He exclaimed, his voice cracking.  "I do..." she repeated, struggling to force back her own tears as she sat passively next to him.  She had summoned every last ounce of control and reserve. She was doing everything she could to be strong for him.  "I do mean it."  "But..."  he let out an unaffected sob.  The plaster-like veneer cracked before her eyes.  "We are from different worlds, Char..." she repeated the carefully rehearsed words.  Though they did not, and could not reflect her true feelings.  "We cannot be together.  I will hold you back..."  "I don't care!" He yelled in frustration, leaping up from the bench as he turned toward her, his voice full of passion.  "I don't care about any of that!  All I want is you!"  "And... you cannot..." she could not fight back the tears and longer.  Her heart broke again.  She sobbed.  Chill rain fell from the cloudy sky with a crack of thunder.  "That... this... this is it?! After... after...." he lost his train of thought, his own tears joined hers as they fell through the cracks and fractures of youthful dreams. The rain poured.  It soaked them both, as the biting wind nearly froze them in place.  "Char..."  "Yes?"  He raised his eyes, with a faint sense of hope.  "Thank you.  Thank you for having loved a girl like me..." It seems like that was a long time ago.  So long ago.  Eventually, Aya escaped this cage-like city.  Found herself a new name: 'Foxheart'.  You know how some of that story has gone- more than me, probably.  Some, well, none of us will ever know just everything she's been through outside these cold walls.  Out there, in the vast rest of the world.  Sometimes I find myself wondering if she would have been the one to hold him back, or if, truly, it were the other way around. Meanwhile things here kept on, like they do.  The world never stops.  We went on with our lives.  Never forgetting.  I'm sure Char didn't either, how could you forget a girl like that? Sometimes I wonder if that bastard father of his ever had second thoughts.  Ah well.  Eventually, as you know, there was another Dravanian attack on us.  Then, another day, they swung open those big gates.  I never thought I'd see it.  Had to let in adventurers, that's just how bad things had got.  And then, one day, with the gates open again, she returned home... Dread.  A deep-seated dread that stills the heart, and then retreats to its darkest corners as we try to forget.  As we try to move on. She'd heard.  But she had to know.  Had to be there.  Had to see it, no, feel it for herself.  It was raining.  That awful, awful, cold rain. Her fingers followed the indentation in the stone.  The memorial engraving in that cold, ungiving, uncaring stone.  "... Charlesem..." She tore herself away.  Then she did what she did back then--what she always seems to do: she ran.  She ran away.  Away from the memorial.  Away from the name she loved.  Away from the memories.  Away from it all.  Just... away. I did say this was a sad story didn't I... I guess I probably should have...  The maid stared at the little box that had been left behind like so much junk.    Curious, at last, she flicked open the lid:  ♪Tinkle-dee-dee-dun-da-da-dee♪  She smiled at the lovely little tune, and mused to herself "I wonder what old Heathrow will think of that...?"