#everything turns off and starts floating then she just disappears | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

foxtrology · 1 month ago

Text

calm before the storm (5)

harry castillo x reader

series

word count: 11.3k

warnings: no y/n, 28 year age gap, female reader, angst, fluff, smut.

The espresso arrived in delicate porcelain cups with gold rims, served on a tray so elegant it looked stolen from a palace. A curl of lemon peel floated in hers. Harry’s had no lemon, no sugar—just black, bitter, and scalding, like everything else about him.

She stirred slowly, eyes flicking across the candlelit table as the night wound down.

Marcella was reapplying her lipstick with a tiny compact mirror.

Lorenzo was swirling the last of his wine, looking far too smug for someone who hadn’t said more than five words during dessert.

Paolo… was watching her.

Still.

His gaze was lazy and smug, lingering on the exposed curve of her shoulder where her dress dipped low. His smile said too much. His espresso stayed untouched.

She felt Harry shift beside her.

The air around them had been tense ever since Lucy was mentioned—no, dropped like a live grenade mid-meal. And now, every breath was edged. Every movement calculated.

She took a sip of the espresso.

Warm.

Sharp.

Nothing like the chill that had settled between her and Harry since Lorenzo opened his mouth.

Marcella rose first. “A beautiful dinner, as always. I do hope we didn’t scare her away, Harry. We’re just curious by nature.”

Harry stood politely. “I’ve noticed.”

Marcella turned to her. Kissed both cheeks, leaving behind lipstick marks, the scent of expensive perfume clinging like static. “You’re lovely. Don’t let us corrupt you.”

She wanted to scoff. But didn't.

Livia followed, flicking her perfectly toned hair over one shoulder, clearly trying not to show how annoyed she was by the way Paolo had looked at her all night.

“It was… a pleasure,” She said with a tight smile.

“Likewise,” Livia replied, cool.

Then Paolo leaned in.

And it was way too close.

His arms wrapped around her like they’d known each other longer than ninety minutes, like he thought he was owed something soft and flirtatious just for finishing his pasta.

“Stunning,” he whispered, right by her ear. “Absolutely stunning.”

His hands hovered at her waist.

And lingered.

Until Harry’s voice cut in like a whip. “That’s enough.”

Paolo didn’t flinch.

Just smiled. Slow. Smug. Sleazy.

He released her, turning back to Harry with a shrug.

Livia’s jaw ticked. The muscle along her neck pulsed once.

Francesca playfully rolls her eyes when Livia's back is turned.

"Ignore her. Jealous."

Luca nods at Harry, muttering out a goodbye. Francesca kisses her cheek, whispering ciao before disappearing with her husband.

“Let’s go,” Harry muttered, his hand finding her back—not gentle, not affectionate. Just there.

But before they could walk away, Lorenzo cleared his throat.

“Harry—don’t forget tomorrow. Nine sharp. Contract revisions with Giuliana. She’s flying in.”

Harry’s mouth was a flat line. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

She offered a tight smile to the rest of group she didn't bother to get the names of, stepping back from Harry slightly. Just enough to create distance, but not enough to make a scene.

Danny approached, arms crossed loosely, face unreadable. But as everyone else started peeling off toward their rooms or the private bar tucked into the side of the villa, he leaned in close to her.

Low enough that Harry wouldn’t hear.

“They’re assholes,” Danny whispered. “All of them. Don’t let them make you feel small.”

She blinked.

He glanced back toward the dinner table, then met her gaze again.

“You’re the only real person here.”

Then, louder, “Night, boss. Night, trouble.”

He smiled at her. And left.

The walk back to the room was silent.

Not companionable silence. Not comfortable silence.

Uncomfortable silence.

Her heels clicked sharply against the stone walkway. The air smelled like rosemary and wine, but it was ruined now. Everything felt sharp-edged and unfinished.

Harry’s hand wasn’t on her back anymore.

She hugged her arms around herself, silk dress clinging to her skin, still warm from the evening, now feeling like too much. Like a costume.

He didn’t speak until they were halfway up the stairs.

“You’re quiet.”

She didn’t look at him. “So are you.”

He scoffed. “You’re mad.”

“No,” she said, too quickly. “I’m—” she stopped. “I’m not mad. I’m… processing.”

They reached the room. He opened the door. Held it open for her.

She stepped in.

The villa room was still warm, glowing from the faint amber lights left on by the staff. It smelled like lemons and her perfume and something delicate hanging in the air, still waiting to break.

Harry shut the door behind them.

The tension was immediate.

A rope pulled taut.

She didn’t turn around. Just stared out the open balcony doors, arms crossed, back stiff.

Harry set his watch on the nightstand. “Say it.”

She blinked. “Say what?”

“Whatever it is you’ve been dying to say since dessert.”

She turned now. Slowly.

Her dress shifted with the motion, silk whispering against her thighs.

“You didn’t tell me,” she said quietly.

“Didn’t tell you what?”

She blinked. Really?

“That you were invited to Lucy’s wedding.”

He sighed. Rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

She let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “You didn’t think it mattered?”

“It was just a fucking card. An invite. I didn’t even RSVP.”

“You didn’t tell me,” she repeated, voice rising. “You brought me to Italy and introduced me as your girlfriend in front of those people—people who clearly still talk to your ex—and you didn’t think it would matter?”

“She’s irrelevant.”

“Is she?” Her voice cracked slightly. “Because it didn’t feel that way when everyone at that table kept bringing her up like I was some new accessory you brought to distract from the fact that you haven’t moved on.”

Harry stiffened.

Jaw tight.

“She’s not why you’re here.”

She folded her arms tighter across her chest. “Then why am I here, Harry?”

His eyes darkened.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“You brought me to Italy. To this villa. To that dinner. And you made a scene every time someone looked at me too long—”

“I didn’t make a scene.”

“You glared at Paolo like you wanted to set him on fire.”

“The way he touched you.”

She laughed, but it wasn’t funny. “You’re unbelievable.”

He moved closer, slow and predatory. “You’re upset because I didn’t tell you about the invitation?”

“I’m upset because I don’t know what I am to you, and tonight it felt like you brought me here just to show me off.”

He flinched. It was subtle. But it was real.

“I didn’t bring you here for them.”

“No?” she whispered. “Then why now? Why Italy? Why introduce me like I’m your girlfriend and then not tell me the one thing that could change the entire context of this trip?”

Harry looked away.

And that was worse than yelling.

It was silence again.

Cold. Strategic. Familiar.

She hated it.

“I’m not her,” she said, quieter now. “I’m not Lucy.”

He didn’t respond.

She stepped back.

“I don’t want to be part of some rebound performance for your colleagues. I don’t want to be the girl you use to prove something.”

“You think that’s what this is?”

“I don’t know what this is,” she snapped. “Because you don’t talk about it. You just show up. You just do. You make tea and buy groceries and show up in the rain and give me keys and whisper things when we’re in bed and none of it makes sense.”

His voice dropped. “It makes sense to me.”

“Well, it doesn’t to me.”

She didn’t mean to cry.

But the tears came anyway—furious and humiliated and hot against her cheeks.

And Harry just stood there.

Not moving.

Not speaking.

Not reaching for her.

And that—

That broke something.

She turned toward the door.

He didn’t stop her. Didn’t say her name. Didn’t chase her.

So she walked out. Into the villa hallway. Barefoot.

Wearing that stupid silk dress that now felt like a costume for someone she didn’t recognize.

And Harry?

Harry stood in the quiet aftermath.

Watching the door. And saying nothing.

Just like always.

That’s what echoed in her head after the door clicked shut behind her—just like always.

It followed her down the hallway, a shadow of a thought that curled into the folds of her dress, into the crook of her neck, into the hollowness that lived behind her ribs.

Outside, the air smelled like something ancient.

Not perfume. Not wine.

Stone.

Wet stone, cracked and sun-warmed, steeped in centuries of candle smoke and blood and rain.

The kind of smell you didn’t get in America.

The kind of smell that told you, you were far from home.

She walked without a purpose.

The path outside the villa was dimly lit, bathed in the low flicker of lanterns strung between olive trees. The gravel hurt her feet—of course it did—but she didn’t turn back for shoes.

Didn’t care.

It was almost satisfying, the tiny stabs against her soles. Something real. Something sharp. Her dress clung to her thighs, catching on her knees with each step. It whispered as she moved. Almost pleading.

She passed the vineyard, now just a silhouette of stalks and wire. The grapes had been picked already, nothing but the memory of harvest clinging to the air.

The road bent to the left. She followed.

She walked until she didn’t know where she was.

Until the villa was gone behind her.

Until the only thing she could hear was the sound of her breath and the soft crunch of gravel.

She wished she had brought her coat.

She wished she’d screamed at Harry.

She wished she’d stayed quiet.

Most of all, she wished she was home.

Not New York. Home.

Her shitty little apartment. Her corner of chaos. Her socks with holes and half-made puzzles. Her books stacked like fire hazards. Her stupid crooked lamp and the incense she lit when she couldn’t sleep.

And Frances.

God, Frances.

She would’ve followed her into the bathroom. Sat on the sink while she washed her face. Meowed like a tiny judge if she cried.

Now there was nothing.

Just an old road in a country that didn’t belong to her.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. The screen lit up.

12%

A panic rose. Brief and strange.

It wasn’t just battery. It was proof of connection. A lifeline. A thread.

And when she saw Maya’s name in her favorites, she pressed it without thinking.

She didn’t even know what time it was back home.

Didn’t care.

The phone rang twice.

And then—

“Dude,” Maya said, voice groggy, “It’s like five a.m.—”

“I’m sorry,” she said, so quickly it came out cracked. “I just—I just needed to hear your voice.”

Maya paused.

Then sat up. She could hear the rustle of sheets.

“Oh no,” Maya murmured. “What happened.”

“I left.”

“What?”

“I left the room. I’m—I’m outside. I don’t even know where I am.”

“Are you drunk?”

“No.”

“Are you safe?”

“I think so.”

Another pause.

Then Maya exhaled slowly, her voice softer. “What happened.”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “It was supposed to be this beautiful, perfect thing. And it was. It was, for like, five minutes. And then it all cracked. It just—cracked. And now I’m here. Barefoot. And I just want to be in my bed. With my cat. I want Frances sitting on my stomach while I try to sleep.”

Maya let her talk.

Didn’t interrupt.

She sniffled. “I feel so fucking stupid.”

“You’re not stupid.”

“I am.”

“You’re not.”

“I thought he brought me here because he wanted me here. And now I feel like—I don’t know. Like I’m a prop. Like I’m some beautiful thing he found and polished and put on a plane to prove something.”

“Did he say that?”

“No.”

“Did he make you feel that?”

“Yes.”

A breath passed on the line.

“Then fuck him,” Maya said, calm and certain.

She laughed through her tears.

“He’s just a guy, babe,” Maya said, her voice warmer now. “A guy with a nice face and a big wallet and apparently zero communication skills. But you? You’re you. You were whole before him.”

“I don’t feel whole.”

“You’re just cracked at the edges right now. That’s temporary.”

She said nothing.

Maya added gently, “And also, Frances misses you. She sat on your hoodie and refused to move for three hours.”

That made her laugh again.

“God, I’m so tired,” she whispered.

“Then come home.”

She blinked into the night.

“I don’t think I can.”

“Then stay. But make it worth it. Don’t mope in a five-star villa.”

“I’m not in the villa.”

“Where the hell are you?”

She looked around.

Then up.

Stars. So many of them. Not like New York. They looked like spilled sugar.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, find someone who looks like they know where they are and ask them to take you to wine.”

“I’m not wearing shoes.”

“Classic.”

Another beat.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“I’ll keep my phone on.”

She nodded, though Maya couldn’t see her.

“Love you,” she added.

“Love you too. And hey—fuck him.”

The call ended.

She slipped the phone back into her dress pocket and exhaled, long and shaky.

And then—

A voice behind her.

“Excuse me?”

She turned, startled.

A girl stood a few feet back. Early twenties, maybe. Italian. Short hair, dark curls clipped back loosely, face flushed with wine.

She was holding a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of something in the other.

“You okay?” the girl asked, English accented but clear.

She blinked.

Nodded too quickly.

The girl tilted her head. “You look sad. And barefoot.”

“I’m fine,” she said, but her voice cracked.

The girl didn’t move.

Didn’t leave.

Instead, she smiled softly. “We’re having drinks. Me and my friends. You should come.”

“I’m not wearing shoes.”

The girl looked down. Then smiled again—this time wider, open.

Without a word, she stepped out of her sandals and handed them over.

“They’re a little big,” she said. “But they’ll get you there.”

She stared at the sandals.

Then at the girl.

Then back at the sandals.

“I don’t even know your name.”

“Chiara,” the girl said. “Now come. Before the bottle runs out.”

And without thinking, without hesitating, without asking who the friends were or where the drinks were or what kind of night this would turn into—

She slid her feet into Chiara’s sandals. And followed her into the dark.

Into something that was not Harry.

Not heartbreak. Not home.

But something. And sometimes?

That was enough.

For now, at least.

Chiara led her through narrow, winding cobblestone alleys that opened like secrets into wider roads.

The buildings were the color of peaches and faded terracotta, windows shuttered, vines trailing down from balconies. The air was warm even at this hour, kissed by the day’s sun, soft with the hum of nightlife.

She could hear music before she saw it—something pulsing and golden in the distance. A rhythm built from laughter and basslines and clinking bottles. It wasn’t a club. Not here. It was something older.

Wilder.

More communal. Like the heartbeat of a town that refused to sleep.

The street opened onto a wide stone courtyard surrounded by low houses and lanterns strung in crooked lines between olive trees and window hooks. Someone had dragged out folding tables and plastic chairs. Children ran barefoot. Older women in cotton dresses danced slowly near the center. Men clinked glasses. Twentysomethings passed along cigarettes.

Everyone looked like they belonged.

And there, on a makeshift stage cobbled from old crates and a rug, a small local band played with chaotic joy. The guitarist was in his sixties, sunglasses on, nodding along as the singer belted out Heart of Glass in a thick accent, missing half the words but not a single beat.

Chiara turned to her with a grin. “See? Worth it.”

She smiled back, dizzy with the scent of grilled meat and overripe lemons. The sandals were too big, but they kept her grounded. The silk dress fluttered around her knees. Her hair was a mess. Her mascara probably gone. And she looked exactly like someone who had been crying.

And still—

For the first time all day, she didn’t care.

Chiara handed her a glass of something cold and pale.

“Try,” she said.

She did.

Wine. Sharp and dry, with a citrus aftertaste that bloomed on her tongue like summer. It made her eyes water in the best way.

They didn’t go to the center of the party at first. Chiara weaved through groups, greeting everyone like a favorite daughter. Everyone smiled when they saw her. Kissed her cheek. Clapped her shoulder. Called her name.

And then—Chiara turned, placed a hand on her arm, and said, “You should meet a few people.”

And she did.

She was led to a long table tucked beneath a tree strung with fairy lights. Four older locals sat there already—men and women with weathered hands and soft laughter. One wore a scarf around her hair and had a cigarette burning in an ashtray shaped like a tomato.

They didn’t ask questions. Didn’t try to fix her. They just pulled out a chair. Made room.

Set a plate in front of her with bread and soft cheese and figs.

The woman with the scarf poured her another glass of wine. “Bella. Mangia.”

She did. And for a while, she just watched.

She watched a teenage girl dance with her grandfather, both of them barefoot, both of them smiling like nothing had ever gone wrong in the world.

She watched Chiara spin with a boy in a leather jacket, laughing like a movie scene.

She watched people clink glasses and hold hands and sing even if they didn’t know the lyrics.

The way the light caught on olive oil skin, on soft teeth, on silver bangles.

The way everything moved in circles.

Like life was a loop of love and forgetting.

She didn’t look at her phone.

Didn’t think about Harry. Didn’t allow herself to.

Not yet.

Chiara returned with a new plate of something fried and a boy trailing behind her. Tall. Tanned. Tousled curls. A soft jaw and a sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off.

“This is Nico,” Chiara said with a wink. “He is nice.”

Nico smiled at her shyly. “Ciao.”

“Hi,” she murmured.

He sat beside her.

Didn’t touch her. Didn’t push.

Just started talking.

His English was halting but eager. He was from the next town over. Studied architecture. Played piano. Wanted to move to Berlin one day but hated the cold. His favorite American movie was Kill Bill. His favorite band was The Strokes. His mother made the best limoncello in the province. He had a cat named Pesto which his little brother named.

She smiled. Asked questions. Laughed.

He made her forget, for a few minutes, that her chest was full of broken glass.

When the music slowed and a new song began by Fleetwood Mac, softer now, melodic—Nico offered his hand.

She hesitated.

Then stood. They walked to the edge of the courtyard.

He didn’t pull her in close. Just kept a polite distance, hands barely touching her waist, eyes downcast, respectful. He danced like someone who wasn’t trying to impress her. Just trying to make the moment stretch.

And she let herself sway.

For a while.

Until something shifted.

Until he looked at her and his fingers brushed the bare skin at her hip and her whole body stiffened—

Not because she was afraid.

But because she couldn’t.

Wouldn’t. Not to Harry.

Even after everything.

Even after the silence and the lies and the way he just let her walk out like she was nothing.

She couldn’t be the one to do something cruel.

She pulled back gently.

Nico stepped away immediately. “I’m sorry—did I—?”

She shook her head. “No. No, it’s not you.”

He nodded once. “Is it someone else?”

She nodded again. “Yes.”

His mouth curved in a sad smile.

“Then he is lucky,” he said softly.

She blinked. Swallowed.

“Thank you,” she said. “For dancing with me.”

“Of course,” he murmured. “Even girls like you deserve to dance.”

She smiled. A real one.

He kissed her hand. Briefly.

Then he walked away. she didn’t follow. Didn’t sit down.

Just stood there as the song changed again—Call Me this time, the band getting rowdier, the tempo rising.

And she laughed. Out loud.

Because it was absurd. Because she was barefoot in borrowed sandals in a foreign town, dancing to Blondie with strangers under stars that didn’t belong to her.

Because the world hadn’t ended. Not yet.

Chiara reappeared, cheeks flushed, hair wild. “You okay?”

“I think I am.”

Chiara beamed. “Good. You stay until the last bottle. That’s the rule.”

She nodded.

And she did.

She stayed through four more songs, four more drinks, two more strangers who told her she had kind eyes.

She stayed until her dress clung to her knees and her feet were dirty and her phone was down to 3% and her laughter felt like it belonged to someone new.

Harry had stopped pacing only to check the time.

10:52 PM.

Then again.

11:14.

11:37.

11:58.

12:17.

And every time, the numbers made less and less sense, like they were mocking him. He’d checked his phone so many times he couldn’t remember if he’d texted her once or ten times. He hadn’t called, though—not yet.

The first hour, he was sure she’d be back.

She just needed air.

That’s what people say when they need to cool off, right?

Get space.

Take a breath. She was always walking off somewhere when she needed to process—he remembered her telling him that once, offhand, like it was no big deal.

"I just walk. It helps me think. Helps me not freak out."

So he waited.

Like an idiot.

Let her walk out in a silk dress with nothing on her feet and a thousand emotions clawing at her throat and said nothing.He hadn’t even moved.

He hated that version of himself. Hated the silence. Hated how familiar it had become, how easy it was to fall into that old defense mechanism of shutting down before things could get worse. That’s what he did with Lucy. That’s what he did with everyone.

But she wasn’t Lucy.

God, she wasn’t Lucy.

And he had wanted to tell her that tonight. Had planned to. Right after dessert. Right after Lorenzo made that comment about the invitation. Right after Paolo looked at her like she was something edible and Harry had nearly ripped his throat out with a butter knife.

Instead?

She asked why she was here.

And he didn’t have the courage to answer the way he wanted to.

"Because you’re the only person who makes the rest of it feel quiet."

But it was too late now. She hadn’t texted back.

His last message sat there like a ghost,

Old man Harry ❤️👴: Where are you? Please. Just tell me you’re okay.

He sat with that for five minutes. Then stood. Paced again. Kicked the edge of the nightstand by accident and cursed. Then noticed something on the floor near her suitcase.

Her sandals.

The flat ones she packed at the last second because she hated the way heels made her feet ache when they walked too long. She almost didn’t bring them. He remembered teasing her about overpacking. She’d rolled her eyes and stuffed them in anyway.

He picked them up.

Turned them over in his hands like they might tell him something. Then he grabbed his coat for her.

Left the room.

The hallway was too quiet. Like the villa itself had exhaled and gone still. He made it to the main staircase before spotting one of the employees—a young guy, maybe twenty, sweeping flower petals off the marble.

Harry didn’t even hesitate. “Did you see a woman leave earlier? Silk dress. Barefoot.”

The guy blinked. “Ah, yes. Yes. I think she went toward the town. A girl was with her. Dark hair. They were laughing.”

Harry’s stomach dropped.

The town.

Jesus Christ.

She was barefoot in a foreign town at midnight wearing something that belonged on a fucking Vogue cover and she didn’t have a goddamn jacket and—fuck.

He nodded tightly. “Thanks.”

And then he walked.

Not drove.

Walked.

He didn’t want the barrier of a car. Didn’t want anything between them when he found her—because he would find her. He had to.

And he’d do it holding her sandals like a goddamn fool, because if she needed them, he’d be ready.

The gravel gave way to the road. The olive trees faded behind him. The lanterns thinned. The cobblestones began. He followed the noise.

He knew this kind of sound. Not the sound of a bar or a club—but community.Music. Voices. Bottles clinking. Old songs sung out of tune. A courtyard party. Some kind of celebration.

And when he turned the corner, it was like walking into another century.

The stone square was alive with light and movement. Paper lanterns, wine bottles, music bleeding from a band tucked under string lights. Kids dancing. Grandmothers smoking. Tourists. Locals. Some combination of both.

And there—God.

There she was.

At a table tucked beneath a tree.

Laughing. Barefoot.

Wearing the silk dress he loved so much, with her legs tucked under her like she’d been there for hours, a half-eaten peach in her hand, juice dripping down her wrist. An older woman sat beside her, talking with big hand gestures, and she nodded along, eyes bright, like she understood every word.

Harry didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

She looked radiant.

She also looked...not sober.

And he should’ve been mad. He should’ve stormed across the courtyard and demanded to know what the hell she was thinking. But the moment he saw her—truly saw her—his anger dissolved.

Because she wasn’t being reckless.

She was surviving.

In the only way she knew how.

He approached slowly. Not wanting to scare her.

The older woman saw him first. Gave him a sharp look, one that said, don’t you ruin this for her. And then she leaned over and said something to her in Italian. She turned her head.

And saw him.

Her eyes went wide. But she didn’t smile.

Didn’t move.

Just looked at him like she wasn’t sure if he was real.

“Hey,” he said softly.

She blinked. “Harry.”

“You left your shoes.”

She looked down at his hands.

And then—God, then—she laughed. Just a little. Just enough to break something in him.

“You came all this way to bring me shoes?”

“I came to find you,” he said. “The shoes are just...part of the deal.”

She swallowed.

The older woman stood and patted her shoulder. Then her cheek. Then kissed her forehead like she was her own granddaughter and walked away into the party.

Harry sat down beside her.

Set the sandals on the ground.

She didn’t put them on.

Instead, she looked at the peach in her hand.

Then up at the sky.

“I met a girl named Chiara,” she said. “She gave me shoes. Then gave me wine. And then took me here.”

He nodded.

“I was worried.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t answer.”

“I didn’t know what to say.”

He nodded again.

Her voice was slower now. Tipsy. Not slurring, but looser than usual.

“I called Maya,” she added.

“I figured.”

“She told me to stay. Make it worth it. Not mope in a five-star villa.”

A beat.

“Were you moaning about me in Italian to strangers?”

“Only a little.”

He smiled, finally. “That’s fair.”

Another beat. She looked at him then.

And her expression cracked, just a little.

“I didn’t mean to leave like that.”

“I didn’t mean to let you.”

She closed her eyes.

Harry reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a napkin. Reached forward. Wiped the peach juice gently from her wrist. She didn’t pull away.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he said.

“I know.”

“I thought maybe you were coming back. The first hour. I thought you were just—walking it off.”

“I was.”

He exhaled.

“I didn’t know how to fight with you,” she said. “This was our first one.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t like it.”

“I hated it.”

She looked at him again. “I thought you were going to yell.”

“I don’t want to be that guy.”

“I didn’t want to be the girl who runs.”

“And yet.”

She smiled, tired. “And yet.”

A pause.

Harry leaned back in the chair, watching her like he didn’t know whether to kiss her or hold her or just sit there until the sun came up.

“I should’ve told you about the invitation,” he said finally. “I didn’t because I didn’t want it to take up space in this. In us. But I should’ve known it would.”

She said nothing.

He tried again.

“I didn’t come here with you to prove anything. I came here because I wanted to wake up next to you in this place. I wanted to see you eat peaches and drink wine and wear that fucking dress and let me love you.”

She flinched slightly.

“You could've told me that,” she said quietly.

“I know.”

He looked down at her bare feet.

“I brought your sandals and my coat in case you got cold,” he added. “I didn’t want you walking back on the road with nothing.”

“You remembered I packed them.”

“I remember everything.”

She pressed her hands to her face. “God, I’m a mess.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“I’m wine-stained and peach-dripping and probably sticky.”

“You’re beautiful.”

She dropped her hands.

Met his eyes.

And for the first time all night, he saw the pain underneath.

“You let me walk away.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t stop me.”

“I didn’t think I could.”

“Well,” she said, voice cracking, “you could’ve tried.”

That was what broke him.

He leaned forward.

And gently, slowly, reached for her.

One hand on her thigh, steady. One hand on her jaw.

“I’m trying now.”

She looked up.

And when he kissed her, it wasn’t desperate.

It wasn’t apologetic. It was real. Soft. Unshaken. Earnest.

When they finally pulled apart, she touched her forehead to his.

“Take me back,” she whispered.

He smiled. “Villa?”

She nodded her head. “Please.”

He nodded.

And helped her to her feet.

She didn’t put on the sandals right away. So he bent down. And slipped them on for her. One foot. Then the other.

She looked at him like she couldn’t believe he was real. And maybe, finally, he felt real too.

He wrapped his coat around her shoulders. Tucked her against his side.

She gave Chiara back the shoes just as they were reaching the edge of the courtyard.

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice thick with wine and gratitude.

Chiara waved her off like it was nothing, grinning. “Don’t thank me. You needed them more than I did.”

They stood there for a beat—Chiara’s cheeks flushed, her sandals dangling in one hand, the air around them scented with smoke and lemon zest and melted sugar.

Then, Chiara turned to Harry.

Her eyes flicked up and down, assessing him the way only someone deeply unfazed by power could. “You’re the boyfriend?”

Harry blinked. “I—”

“Yes,” she said quickly, cutting him off. Her voice was sleepy but certain. Like it wasn’t even a question. Like she already knew the answer.

Harry turned to look at her.

And then back at Chiara.

Chiara smirked, eyebrows lifting with mischief. “My family is having a dinner tomorrow. It’s for the town. You should come. Both of you.”

“Dinner?” she asked, dazed, adjusting the coat around her shoulders. “Like... family dinner?”

“Like long tables, cheap wine, too many cousins, lots of pasta. Real dinner,” Chiara said. “Everyone’s invited. But you’ll be my favorite guests.”

She hesitated.

Harry didn’t say anything.

And then Chiara added, almost in a sing-song whisper, “Boyfriends are allowed.”

That made her laugh.

A soft, surprised sound that bubbled out before she could stop it.

She looked up at Harry.

Hair messy. Eyes tired. Mouth pink and smudged. Wrapped in his coat like it had always belonged to her.

He looked at her like he was still catching his breath.

She turned back to Chiara. “We’ll come.”

Harry still didn’t speak.

He just nodded once.

And the way he looked at her—like her saying yes was the only thing that mattered—was its own kind of vow.

He’d do whatever she told him to.

The walk back to the villa was slower this time.

She was quiet now, the kind of quiet that only came when the world had finally stopped spinning. Her shoulder pressed into his side as they walked. Every few steps, she stumbled slightly—nothing dramatic, just enough for him to catch her waist and steady her.

“You alright?” he murmured once, voice low in the hush of the road.

She nodded into his shoulder. “Mhm. I’m just…falling in love with you.”

Harry swallowed.

He wrapped an arm around her tighter.

By the time they reached the villa gates, most of the staff had gone. The courtyard was quiet, the lanterns dimmed to a low, amber flicker.

But one worker—a young man in pressed linen, eyes wide the moment he spotted Harry—stood frozen near the entrance, stacking empty glassware into a crate.

Harry didn’t break stride.

He glanced once in the man’s direction. “Water and crackers to our room. Now.”

The man paled. “Yes, Mr. Castillo. Right away.”

She didn’t say anything.

But she looked up at him.

“You didn’t even ask,” she whispered, scoffing.

“You’ve been drinking. You’ll wake up with a headache.”

“Harry.”

He didn’t look at her. “Don’t argue. You’re not going to win.”

She smiled. Sleepy. Touched.

“I wasn’t going to argue,” she murmured. “It’s… nice.”

He said nothing.

But his fingers flexed at her waist.

As if holding her tighter was the only way to respond.

Back in the room, the air was warm again.

The balcony doors had been closed by the staff, but the faint smell of night drifted in anyway—lavender and stone.

He helped her out of the coat.

Set it carefully over the back of the velvet chair.

She didn’t say anything. Just stood there in the middle of the room, blinking at the floor like her body had finally remembered it was tired.

“You want to shower?” he asked, gently now.

She nodded. “I feel sticky.”

“Alright.”

He stepped into the bathroom. Turned the water on. The steam started to rise immediately. When he returned, she was standing exactly where he left her.

Still in the dress. Still barefoot. Her hands limp at her sides.

“C’mere,” he said softly.

She did.

He pulled her in slowly.

Guided the silk down with careful fingers. The fabric slid off her shoulders, pooled at her waist, then fell to the floor in one elegant sigh.

She stepped out of it.

Now just in her underwear. Still quiet. Still soft.

He kissed her shoulder. Just once.

Then reached for the towel.

She followed him into the bathroom like she was moving through water. The steam curled around her ankles.

She shivered once. He noticed.

The water was warm now.

Gentle.

He let it run first. Down her back. Her spine. The delicate curve of her hip.

She didn’t speak. She just stood there.

He reached for the soft cloth the villa had left.

Soaked it. Added soap—vanilla-scented, already faintly familiar. And then—he bathed her.

Not rushed. Not sexual. Just intimate.

His hands moved slow, reverent, washing her shoulders, her arms, her back. He knelt down to scrub her calves, careful not to press too hard. His palms circled over her skin like she was something ancient he didn’t want to break.

When he reached her forearm, he froze.

Barely noticeable.

A flicker of ink.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

There, just inside her left elbow—so faint he almost missed it—was a tiny tattoo.

A letter.

Just a small, quiet T.

Harry’s throat tightened.

But he didn’t ask.

He just finished washing her arm with the same gentle touch, eyes moving on, heart slightly heavier than before.

She didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she did.

But she didn’t say anything either.

Once she was clean, he wrapped her in a towel. Pressed a kiss to her temple.

Carried her out of the steam like she weighed nothing.

He dried her carefully, patting down her legs, her collarbone, her stomach. He found a fresh shirt in the drawer—his, oversized, white, worn soft at the edges. He slipped it over her head since it was already buttoned.

Her hair was still damp.

He knelt to towel it gently, fingers combing through the strands until they no longer dripped.

She watched him do it.

Eyes half-closed.

“You’re very good at this,” she murmured.

“Good at what?”

“Loving me.”

Harry didn’t speak.

Just brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

And kissed her—soft, long, like a whisper.

He helped her into bed. Propped the pillows. Tucked the blankets around her like she was something precious.

Then brought over the glass of water and plate of crackers the staff had delivered while they bathed.

She nibbled one. Took a sip.

Then collapsed back into the pillows.

He undressed quickly—just his shirt and slacks. Left on his briefs. Climbed in beside her.

She shifted automatically. Turned. Pressed her body into his side.

Her leg hooked over his. Her arm wrapped across his chest. Her breath slowed.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?”

“For coming to find me.”

He kissed her forehead. “Always.”

He didn't bring up the tattoo. Not yet.

They didn’t talk about tomorrow or what's to come. Not yet.

They didn’t talk about anything. They just breathed.

And slept.

And healed.

And in the morning—Italy would still be there.

So would peaches. And pasta. And a dinner table strung with lights.

But for now—

It was just them.

In a room that smelled like lemons and warm stone.

Wrapped in each other.

Wrapped in the kind of silence that finally felt safe.

Morning came like it was trying not to wake them.

The room was amber with early light, seeping through the curtains in soft, sleepy stripes. Somewhere outside, birds were chirping. A breeze moved through the barely cracked balcony door, brushing the linen curtains like a lullaby. The whole villa felt hushed, like it knew.

It was 8:02.

Harry was already awake.

He laid still beside her for a while, eyes open, body warm under the weight of her leg still tangled around his. Her breath hitched faintly as she dreamed. The collar of his shirt—still on her, buttons halfway undone—had slipped off one shoulder, revealing the smooth curve of skin he’d kissed hours earlier. One arm was splayed above her head on the pillow, the other tucked beneath his own.

She looked like a painting.

And for a moment, Harry just watched.

Tried to memorize her like this. Sleepy. Safe. Still here.

But work waited.

So he moved carefully, untangling his limbs from hers like she was glass. She stirred only once, face nuzzling deeper into the pillow, hand curling slightly into the sheets like she could sense his absence and wanted to hold on to something.

He kissed the top of her head.

Then slipped into the bathroom.

The water was cold at first. Harry didn’t mind.

He turned it hotter as he moved, running his hands over his face, under his jaw, through his hair. The steam clung to the mirror and his skin alike, fogging everything. He leaned both hands on the tile at one point and let the water pound against his neck.

It cleared his head, but not enough. He couldn’t stop thinking about the night before.

About her walking barefoot into a foreign town because he’d shut down when she needed him most.

About the way her voice cracked when she said you let me walk away.

About the tiny tattoo on her arm—T, barely there. So small you’d miss it unless you were right next to her. Unless you were bathing her.

And now?

Now she was asleep in his bed like none of that had happened.

Like she trusted him again.

Like he hadn’t ruined everything and somehow still got to keep her.

It was a kind of grace he didn’t think he’d earned.

He stepped out of the shower twenty minutes later, water dripping down his chest, towel slung low on his hips. His hair curled in wet waves. He padded barefoot into the bedroom and dressed quickly—black slacks, a crisp white shirt rolled up at the sleeves, two buttons undone. Watch on. Shoes polished. Silver chain on.

She still hadn’t moved.

He sat beside her on the bed. Bent low. Ran his finger gently up and down her cheek.

Her face twitched slightly. Eyelashes fluttered.

"Shh," he whispered, brushing her hair back from her temple. "Don’t wake up yet.”

She half-opened her eyes—barely.

He smiled, close to her ear now. “Sleep. I’ll be gone a few hours. Stay in bed. Don’t go anywhere.”

She made a sound in her throat—something like a hum of protest.

Harry chuckled under his breath, then pressed his lips to her temple.

“I’ll bring you something sweet,” he whispered.

She nodded without opening her eyes. He waited just a second longer—then left.

The door clicked shut. And the room was quiet again.

She woke twenty minutes later.

The sheets were tangled around her legs, the pillow smelled like him, and her entire body ached in that slow, heady way that meant she’d actually rested. She blinked against the sunlight and rolled onto her back, groaning faintly.

It was too quiet.

Harry was gone.

She reached for her phone. Then realized it was across the room—battery still dead. She decided to leave it there.

Instead, she pushed back the blankets and padded barefoot into the bathroom. The tile was warm from the sun. She found a silver bowl on the counter, filled it with cold water, and dipped her hands in. The chill snapped her out of the morning haze. She dabbed her face, then dragged wet fingers across the back of her neck.

Afterward, she dressed slowly.

A soft cotton tank top, half-tucked. Loose trousers that hit her ankle. A thin cardigan she’d almost left in New York. Her hair went up in a loose bun with a clip she’d stolen from Maya’s drawer months ago.

Still barefoot, she padded back into the room and scribbled a quick note on villa's stationery—

Back soon. Don’t panic.

Then she plugged her phone—leaving it charging on the nightstand.

The villa was already humming by the time she stepped into the hallway.

She passed a few staff members carrying trays and linens, all of whom startled slightly when they saw her. Gave tight nods. Quick, deferential greetings.

One man even bumped into a flower vase as he tried to walk and bow his head at the same time.

It was weird. And sort of funny.

Apparently, being Harry Castillo’s girlfriend meant even your morning stroll inspired a mild wave of panic.

She rounded a corner—and there she was.

Francesca. From dinner.

Slender, sharp-eyed, hair pulled behind her ears, long dress with thin straps and a vintage scarf tossed over her shoulders like armor. She held a book in one hand and an espresso in the other, leaning casually against a column in the sun.

“Francesca, hi” she says.

Francesca looked up. Grinned.

“Well, well. She rises.”

She laughed. “Didn’t expect to see you up.”

“I didn’t go to bed.”

“Oh?”

Francesca held up the book. The Secret History. Pages dog-eared, spine cracked, annotated within an inch of its life.

“Started rereading at midnight. Got to the murder again by sunrise. Can’t stop now.”

They fell into step together without speaking.

Walked through the garden, past the edge of the pool, toward the gravel path that led down into the town.

Francesca sipped her espresso.

“You hungry?” she asked.

“A little.”

“There’s a place.”

“A place?”

Francesca smiled. “Where they don’t care if you’re underdressed. They don’t care who your boyfriend is. They only care if you eat.”

That was enough.

She followed her down the winding path.

The town appeared slowly—first rooftops, then chimneys, then the low hum of traffic and laughter. Morning energy pulsed beneath it all. A few locals bustled through the square. Bread vendors called out from carts. Children ran with gelato already staining their fingers.

Francesca led her down a narrow side street.

Past closed shutters and old stone fountains.

They turned into a tiny café with vines crawling up the side of the building. There was no menu. No sign. Just four tables, all mismatched, and the smell of garlic already floating from the back.

An old woman came out with two mismatched mugs and a basket of bread.

Francesca handed her the book.

The woman took it without a word.

“They trade novels,” Francesca explained. “She hates Kindles.”

They sat.

No one stared at them. No one whispered. No one cared.

It was perfect.

They talked. Not about Harry. Not about the dinner.

They talked about books. About unreliable narrators. About Marguerite Duras and poetry that tasted like metal. About Sylvia Plath’s letters and whether or not Donna Tartt would ever write another book.

They lingered. Coffee turned to tomato toast. Toast turned to pastries. Pastries turned into wine even though it wasn’t even ten yet.

And at one point, Francesca reached into her bag and pulled out a little polaroid camera.

“Smile,” she said.

She blinked. “Why?”

“Because you are gorgeous. And that’s worth capturing.”

The camera clicked. She didn’t smile. But her eyes were soft. And that was enough. For now.

Meanwhile across town—

In the velvet backroom of one of the most exclusive restaurants in Florence, the air was thick with espresso, cigarette smoke, and the kind of tension that clung to cufflinks. The room was dim and windowless, paneled in dark wood, framed by heavy crimson curtains, and lit by a single crystal chandelier that hung too low and sparkled like a threat.

Harry sat at the head of the table.

He wasn’t speaking.

He didn’t need to. People rarely spoke first when he was in the room.

Lorenzo was swirling his double espresso like it was a Negroni. His Rolex caught the light every time he flicked his wrist.

Paolo was leaning far too close to the waitress, his fingers brushing her tray every time she approached, voice oily with charm as he mispronounced grazie on purpose to make her laugh.

She didn’t.

Luca looked like he wanted to disappear.

And Danny? Danny was sweating.

Not visibly—yet. But his collar was too stiff, his shoulders too rigid, his jaw too tight. He kept sipping water like it might help, but the glass never emptied, and he hadn’t made eye contact with Harry since they sat down.

Harry noticed. Of course he did.

He noticed everything.

He sat still in his chair, one ankle resting across his knee, a finger tapping once every few seconds on the armrest. His blazer hung off the back of his chair. His shirt was crisp, unbuttoned at the throat, and the light caught the sliver of silver chain just below his collarbone. His hair was damp from the morning shower. He looked composed.

But his jaw hadn’t unclenched since Giuliana walked in.

She was seated across from him, all sharp cheekbones and smooth efficiency, her tablet glowing on the linen tablecloth. Everything about her was glassy, manicured, calculated.

"These are the revisions," she said flatly, turning the tablet to Harry. “Standard margin adjustments. Expanded options for the additional properties. And a clause we’d like to include about exclusivity with vendors.”

Harry barely glanced at the screen.

“Exclusivity how?”

Giuliana smiled thinly. “You can read the fine print later.”

“I'll read it now.”

Across the table, Paolo stifled a laugh and took a drag from his cigarette.

Giuliana didn’t flinch. “Of course.”

Harry leaned forward, scanned the clause once, then again. His jaw moved slightly. “No.”

“No?” Giuliana echoed, arching a brow.

“You want control over my vendor list without adjusting the revenue share?”

“That’s the proposal.”

“Then it’s a dead one.”

Silence.

Even Paolo shut up.

Luca exhaled quietly, grateful for the pause in verbal combat. He’d taken to chewing the inside of his cheek and staring at the antique mirror behind Giuliana like it might teleport him home.

Giuliana didn’t argue. Not yet.

She just tapped a new page on her tablet. “Then we can revert. But don’t be surprised if the board follows up with a counter.”

“They can send what they like,” Harry said, voice even. “Doesn’t mean I’ll sign it.”

He sat back. Calm. Steady.

But his eyes flicked—just once—to Danny.

Still quiet. Still tense. Still refusing to look up from his notepad.

Harry’s gaze lingered a little too long.

Danny cleared his throat. “We can loop back on the exclusivity clause during the second round of review. After—uh—after the revisions from finance are incorporated.”

Giuliana gave a tight nod. “Fine.”

Paolo made a noise in his throat, leaned back in his chair, and said to the waitress as she returned, “Due moretti, bella, grazie. Unless you’d rather share one with me.”

The woman didn’t respond.

Harry’s head turned.

Slowly. One look. That was all it took.

Paolo shut up again.

The waitress placed the espresso in front of Harry. Her eyes darted between him and Danny, then back to the door, then away entirely.

Danny swallowed.

His phone buzzed on the table.

Once. Then again.

He flipped it over without checking it.

But Harry saw the name flash across the screen the first time.

Allegra / NYT.

He filed it away.

Another tap of his finger on the armrest.

The same rhythm. The same restraint.

Giuliana was talking again—something about property assessments, something about taxes and city permit negotiations—but Harry wasn’t listening.

Because Danny hadn’t stopped shaking his leg under the table for the past twenty minutes.

And that wasn’t just nerves about the deal.

That was something else.

Something worse. Something guilty.

And Harry could feel it—like a shift in temperature, like a drop of blood in a glass of water. Barely visible. But spreading.

Danny had barely slept.

He’d spent the entire night texting anyone he could think of, pulling strings, calling in favors that weren’t his to call. He’d offered to Venmo three separate interns eight hundred dollars each just to “accidentally” delete Carrie Roth’s file folder.

It hadn’t worked.

One of them—Allegra—called him at 6:23 in the morning, voice full of regret.

“She still has the photo. But she’s not allowed to publish it yet. The girl—Harry’s—there’s nothing on her. It’s weird. No last name. No socials. Nothing. She’s a fucking ghost.”

Danny had rubbed a hand down his face, staring at the window.

“And Lucy?” he asked, already bracing for it.

Allegra hesitated.

“…Yeah. She gave a quote.”

Danny closed his eyes.

Fucking Lucy.

Of course she had.

"How bad is it?"

“Not bad-bad. But not good. Vague. Something like, ‘I hope he’s happy. We all move on eventually.’ But it’s laced.”

“Laced?”

Allegra sighed. “She sounds like she’s holding a knife behind her back and smiling for the camera.”

Danny had spent the rest of the morning doing damage control.

He knew how Harry would react.

Or worse—how he wouldn’t.

The silence was always worse. The version of Harry that went still. That closed off. The version that pushed the good things away.

And Danny…Danny had never seen Harry like this with anyone. Not even Lucy. Not even close. There was something softer now. Something better. Harry laughed more. He joked. He sat closer. He smiled like someone who actually felt peace for once.

And if some fucking quote from his ice queen ex managed to ruin that?

Danny would never forgive himself.

So he sat. In the backroom. In the middle of a million-dollar meeting. And tried to pretend he wasn’t unraveling.

Harry knew.

He didn’t know what Danny was hiding yet, but he knew it wasn't good.

He watched his friend fidget with a sugar packet. Watched his gaze drift anywhere but Harry’s face. And he did what he always did when people lied to him.

He waited.

Let them hang themselves with silence.

Let the lie grow heavy.

Let the guilt set in.

Then he’d strike. Not yet. Not today. But soon.

He sipped his espresso.

Looked straight at Danny. And said nothing.

Danny didn’t meet his eyes. Which told Harry everything.

The meeting didn’t end so much as dissolve.

Giuliana closed her tablet with a firm snap, gave Harry a businesslike nod that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and rose from the table without another word. Her assistants followed in silence.

Lorenzo didn't bother saying goodbye.

He just huffed, muttering something to Paolo in rapid Italian, and disappeared behind a cloud of aftershave and espresso.

Paolo lingered, naturally.

He adjusted his collar like someone waiting for a round of applause, then turned to Harry as if they'd just finished a friendly brunch rather than a laced negotiation.

“Enjoy the rest of your little vacation,” he said with a crooked smile. “And tell your girlfriend to try the gelato place on the corner of Via Luce. It’s almost as sweet as she is.”

Harry didn’t flinch.

Didn’t blink.

Just said, “Walk away.”

Paolo did. Chuckling to himself, the kind of laugh people used to cover fear.

Then it was just the three of them—Harry, Luca, and Danny—in the quiet echo of the emptied room.

Luca stood awkwardly by the far wall, holding his phone in one hand, glancing towards the door. He looked like a schoolboy waiting to be dismissed, trying to figure out whether he’d be expected to walk home or if someone was going to make him stay behind for detention.

Harry noticed him hovering.

“You waiting on a ride?” he asked.

Luca looked up, startled. “Ah, yeah. I called for a car but it’s taking forever. No signal in here.”

“I’ll take you back,” Harry offered simply. “Come with us.”

Danny perked up immediately. “Actually, if you don’t mind, I’ll just get dropped at the villa first. I’ve got—uh—work to do.”

Harry turned to him slowly. “Work.”

“Yeah,” Danny said quickly, already pulling out his phone. “Emails. Calls. Logistics. Just, you know, stuff. Need to get ahead of it.”

Harry arched a brow but didn’t press.

Not yet.

“Fine,” he said. “Let’s go.”

They stepped outside into the Florentine afternoon—the kind of golden, honey-warm light that made everything look like a painting. The car, black and sleek, was already waiting, engine humming low and loyal.

The driver opened the door.

Danny climbed in first, barely offering a word before burying himself in his phone. His thumbs moved at an unholy pace, scrolling, tapping, texting, double-checking some digital disaster Harry was clearly not yet privy to.

Luca slid in next, offering a polite grazie to the driver, and then Harry joined, stretching out as the car pulled away from the curb.

For a while, the only sound was tires against cobblestone and the soft clicks of Danny’s frantic typing.

Then Luca’s phone buzzed.

He looked down, smiled, and turned slightly toward Harry.

“Francesca says she’s with your girlfriend,” he said. “They found some little café. She said to tell you not to worry—they’re safe, they’re having croissants, and we are both invited if you’re done playing mafia.”

Harry’s mouth twitched.

“Tell her I’m on my way.”

Luca sent the message, then tucked his phone away. He seemed a little lighter now—shoulders relaxed, voice warmer. The post-meeting haze had faded from his features.

Harry glanced at him sideways. “Francesca yours?”

Luca blinked, then smiled, a little sheepish. “Yeah. My wife. We got married last year.”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“You’re young.”

Really ironic of him to say when he's fucking involved with a girl who's 26.

“I’m twenty-nine.”

“Still.”

“I know.” Luca chuckled softly, running a hand through his hair. “Everyone told us we were crazy. But she’s… Francesca. She could’ve ruined me if she wanted to, and I would’ve said thank you.”

Harry smirked faintly at that. “Sounds about right.”

“She’s opening a boutique,” Luca added. “In our town outside London. Small, but she’s excited. She’s good at what she does. Always has been. Fashion, interior work. Makes everything feel expensive even when it’s not. I think she wants to build something that’s hers.”

Harry nodded, thoughtful.

“Smart woman.”

“The smartest,” Luca agreed. “She helped me rebuild after the last deal I tanked. Stuck around when I had nothing. The ring I gave her was bought with borrowed money and blind faith.”

“She sounds like someone worth keeping.”

“She is.” Luca glanced out the window. “Not everyone’s that lucky, you know? Finding someone who lets you be soft without thinking less of you for it.”

Harry didn’t respond.

Just looked out the opposite window.

Thought of her curled in bed this morning, the soft sound she made when he ran a finger down her cheek. The way she whispered his name in her sleep. How her breath had hitched when he wrapped his coat around her shoulders last night like it was the only thing he could offer.

The car slowed.

They were near the villa now, winding through the familiar lined paths. The sun cut through the trees in slats of white gold, casting shadows like ribbons across the windshield.

Danny didn’t look up from his phone.

“Here’s good,” he muttered, already gathering his things.

The driver stopped.

Harry didn’t say a word.

Just watched as Danny climbed out like the car was on fire, muttering something about emails and pressing timelines, phone already back to his ear.

He walked toward the villa at a pace that could only be described as erratic.

Harry watched him go.

Luca then gives the driver the cafe's address. The driver nods, starting the car back up.

He looked sideways at Harry. “You think he’s okay?”

Harry didn’t answer.

Instead, he rolled down the window.

Let the wind rush in.

Let the city open around him, brick by golden brick.

And somewhere, in a quiet café across town, she was laughing over croissants and gesturing with her hands, probably making Francesca snort her coffee and wave for more napkins.

He could feel it.

Like gravity.

And for the first time in hours, the tightness in his chest began to loosen.

He was on his way back to her.

The car wound through the hills, the stone and roads softening into something warmer as they dipped toward town. Golden light pooled on terracotta roofs, and the scent of warm bread and basil drifted through the open windows.

Harry barely noticed. His fingers drummed silently on the armrest, but it wasn’t impatience. It was gravity. Like some part of him already knew where she was. Like some thread between them had pulled taut and was pulling him home.

Francesca spotted the car first. She waved lazily from the doorway of the cafe, espresso in one hand, sunglasses on, expression unreadable. Her other hand was tangled with his girl’s, who stood beside her in soft linen trousers and a tank top, cheeks flushed from wine or sunlight or maybe just relief.

Harry stepped out of the car without waiting for the driver to open the door.

She looked up.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t need to.

She crossed the stone patio in three quick steps and wrapped her arms around his waist. Not urgently. Just naturally. Like that was where they belonged.

Harry exhaled into her hair.

Francesca raised her brow. “We’re going to lunch.”

Luca stepped out behind Harry and nodded. “I told you they’d be ready.”

The restaurant wasn’t far—tucked into a shaded side street, the kind of place only locals knew about, with uneven cobblestones and no name on the door. The tables were mismatched wood, the plates chipped, the wine poured without asking.

They sat under vines.

Harry kept his arm draped along the back of her chair, his fingers occasionally brushing her shoulder. She leaned into it like instinct. Her hand drifted to his thigh more than once, casual, familiar. The air was warm but not hot. They ordered bread, fruit, and some pasta.

They got wine drunk slowly.

Not the loud kind. The soft, sleepy kind.

The kind where she bit her lip to keep from smiling every time he looked at her. The kind where Harry started to say something about her hair, got halfway through, and just shook his head because the words wouldn’t do it justice.

Francesca snapped a photo of them with her old film camera.

They didn’t even notice at first.

She was resting her chin on Harry’s shoulder, eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushed. He was whispering something into her ear that made her laugh, soft and slow. The kind of laugh that lives in your chest. Francesca snapped again.

“You look like you’ve been in love for a hundred years,” Francesca said.

Harry blinked. “Haven’t I?”

She just swats him.

The wine kept coming. The food kept coming. She fed him a slice of peach soaked in something syrupy and giggled when the juice dripped onto his shirt. He didn’t care. He just licked it off her thumb like it was a reflex.

At one point, he said her name in that voice—the low, quiet one he used when the world fell away and there was only her.

She leaned in.

He kissed her under the vines. Soft. Long.

Not showy. Not loud. Just... there.

She pulled back when she realized she was still in public.

Harry smirked. “Come with me.”

“Where?”

He stood. Took her hand.

“Just come.”

She didn’t ask again.

They slipped out the back of the restaurant, past the kitchen doors, into a narrow alley framed and hidden by stone walls and jasmine vines. The air was thick and cool, and the quiet wrapped around them like smoke—intimate and heavy with the weight of what was about to happen.

Harry backed her against the wall with a hand on her waist, his body pressing flush to hers.

His eyes were dark, hungry.

“You’re drunk,” she whispered, grinning.

“A little,” he murmured, dragging his mouth along her jaw. “But not on the wine.”

Her breath caught.

He kissed her again—slow, consuming. His hand slipped beneath her tank top, palm hot against her bare skin, gliding up to cup her breast. He loved when she didn't wear a fucking bra.

She gasped softly, arching into his touch.

“Here?” she breathed, half-laughing.

“No one’s coming,” he said. “But you are.”

Before she could respond, he dropped to his knees.

Right there, in the middle of that sun-drenched alley, Harry shoved her loose linen trousers down, dragging her panties with them. She stepped out, trembling slightly, and braced herself against the rough stone wall.

He looked up at her with a wicked glint, then leaned in.

He didn’t kiss her like she was fragile. He devoured her like a man starved—tongue hot and wet, lips greedy, fingers digging into her thighs to keep her still. The first stroke of his tongue made her moan, the second had her thighs clenching around his head.

“Fuck, Harry—”

He groaned in response, mouth never leaving her. He licked her like he meant it, filthy and relentless, nose buried in her pussy, tongue lapping every drop, every twitch, every whimper. He moaned into her like she was his favorite meal, like the taste of her was addictive.

He wrapped his arms around her thighs, locking her in place as he flicked his tongue over her clit again and again until she was gasping, squirming, one hand gripping his hair like she needed to anchor herself to the world.

He sucked her clit hard, then teased it with the tip of his tongue, slow and obscene.

When he slid two fingers inside her—deep, curling—she nearly collapsed.

“Fuck—fuck—” she choked out, her voice high, wrecked.

Her orgasm hit fast, sudden and overwhelming. Her knees buckled. She cried out, hand smacking the wall behind her as pleasure tore through her, her body shaking.

But Harry didn’t stop.

He kept licking, kept fucking her with his fingers, chasing every aftershock, every tremor, until she was sobbing his name and clawing at his shoulders, too sensitive, too overwhelmed, dripping onto his tongue.

He only pulled back when she pushed at his head, breathless and dazed.

His mouth was soaked. His lips swollen. His eyes wild.

He rested his forehead against her stomach, breathing hard, his hands still splayed on her thighs like he never wanted to let go.

She laughed breathlessly. “You’re fucking insane.”

He kissed the inside of her hip, slow and reverent. Then stood. His mustache was glistening with her, and he didn’t bother wiping it off.

“You taste like wine and fucking salvation,” he whispered, voice rough.

She buried her face in his shoulder, dizzy.

They fixed her clothes, hands brushing, bodies flushed with heat. Her thighs were still trembling.

He laced their fingers together as they walked back, like he hadn’t just ruined her in a sunlit alley with nothing but his mouth.

And she let him.

Like nothing happened.

And when Francesca saw them, she just raised a brow and handed her another glass of wine.

Meanwhile, back at the villa—

Danny had turned his suite into a digital warzone.

Two laptops. One iPad. Three chargers. Twelve tabs open. Phone on speaker.

“Allegra,” he said, pacing. “Tell me you have good news.”

The voice on the other end crackled slightly. “Define good.”

“She hasn’t sent it yet?”

“Not yet.”

“But she will.”

Allegra exhaled. “It’s Carrie Roth. Of course she will. She’s sitting on it like a fucking vulture. Waiting until it hurts the most.”

Danny scrubbed a hand over his face.

On his laptop, the image was still frozen. The photo Carrie took. From the lobby. The one Harry made her delete. So he thought.

Carrie hadn’t published it yet. But she would. She always did.

And when she did? It wouldn’t just go viral.

It would scare her off.

This girl Harry was in love with—really in love with—she wasn’t built for this.

Not yet. Not that kind of spotlight.

Not the New York fucking Times with a headline about her being a mystery. About who she was, what she wore, why she mattered.

It would ruin everything.

Danny knew it.

Harry wouldn’t survive it if she left. Not after Lucy.

Not after that silence, that grief, that hardening it took to survive someone walking away.

And this girl?

She was different. She made him soft. She made him happy.

Danny had never seen Harry like that. Not once.

So he’d do anything to protect it.

Even if it meant calling Carrie himself.

Even if it meant trying to spin it, bribe her, threaten her, beg.

“Allegra,” he said, heart pounding. “Text her. Now. Ask for a meeting. Say it’s urgent.”

“What do I tell her it’s about?”

Danny stared at the photo.

He swallowed.

“Tell her it’s about blood in the water.”

Back in town, Harry reached for her hand beneath the lunch table.

She let him.

And when he leaned in, lips grazing her ear, and whispered, "I’m never letting you walk away again," she believed him.

Because this time, he meant it.

#harry castillo #harry castillo x reader #materialists #materialists fanfic #harry castillo x you #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x reader #joel miller writing #joel miller x y/n #joel tlou #pedro pascal fandom #the materialists #the materialists fanfic #Spotify

539 notes · View notes

azrielstaylorsversion · 5 months ago

Text

Just a friend

Azriel x reader

When two best friends are in love with each other and they finally get one last push, what will become of their relationship?

My laugh echoes through the room as Azriel tells me about his biggest and definitely most embarrassing mission scandal.

We have been talking for hours at this point. It was just past midnight. We did this at least a few times per week. Or at least we tried to, when we weren't working too hard.

The two of us were curled up on the couch in front of the crackling fireplace of the one of the many rooms of the House of Wind.

A blanket is pulled over my body with a hot cup of tea in my hands, trying not to spill the hot water as my body shakes with laughter.

Az is sitting next to me while I am laying down, using his lap to rest my legs on. One of his hands rests just above my knee. He always needed to touch me somehow.

"That didn't happen." I laugh again.

Azriel chuckles, "It did. And I'm not proud of it, but it makes a good story."

I watch his face lighten with happiness. Something I like about him in private; the way he laughs and smiles.

His shadows float through my hair. I don't even really notice it anymore, they are just there. A part of me, just like Az is a part of me. In a way.

Best friend.

Azriel's relaxed body stiffens slightly, his attention turning towards the door.

"Who is it?" I ask.

He turns his face back to me. "Late night talks are over." he gently pats my leg. "Cass needs me in three.. two..--"

He is cut off by the door swinging open. Cassian walks in, Nests following close behind. They both look irritated in their own way.

Their eyes fall on us. Nesta's eyes linger just a few seconds too long, curiosity shining in them.

"Sorry Y/N, gonna take Az from you." he hauls his brother from the couch and drags him along.

Azriel turns around one more time and smiles, mouthing help.

They disappear out of the room while Nesta lets herself fall down on the couch next to me.

"What did you do?" I ask her.

"More like what I didn't do." she says with a slight smirk on her face. I laugh, ready to ask her about the details. "Before you speak we are going to talk about something else."

"What is it?" I ask confused.

"When are you and Az just going to admit it." she sighs.

"What?" I ask stunned.

"Oh stop that. You know what I'm talking about. You're in love with him, he's in love with you." Nesta explains.

I open my mouth to say something, but I can't find the words.

"He's so in love with you. Why won't you see it." she groans.

"I don't know what you mean." I tell her, trying to keep my cheeks from turning red.

"Hm, let me see; the way he looks at you. He never looks at anyone that way. You make him light up, he actually jokes around you, the way you two are always cuddled up, how he almost always has a hand somewhere on your body. Oh, and when he talks about you when you're not in the room." Nesta says. "He's madly in love with you."

My cheeks turn more red. "That's what best friends do."

Nesta let's out a laugh. "Definitely not. Maybe some things, but not the touching thing. Oh, and how he always looks at you when you aren't paying attention."

I progress her words. Did I love him? No doubt. But with Nesta telling me this, I actually started to believe it could be mutual.

We've known each other for centuries, so if I even as much as ruined our friendship I would be heartbroken.

"Just talk and see where that gets you." Nesta smiles.

I toss and turn in my bed. The sheets and pillows are too warm, but when I get out of bed everything is too cold.

The moon shines through my windows, but I'm too lazy to do something about the bright light.

The thought of Azriel runs through my mind. It's all Azriel, Azriel, Azriel.

Nesta's words hang heavy in my head.

I sigh and push the sheets off my body. I make my way to the closet to throw a sweater over my nightgown and walk for the door.

I don't hesitate to open it and walk straight through.

Azriel's room isn't far away from mine. Where my room is at the very beginning of the hallway, his is at the very end.

I've been inside his room many times, but never have I actually been nervous to enter.

I move my hand to knock, but the door already opens, revealing a very much awake Az. A very much awake Az with a black eye and split lip.

The nervousness disappears and worry replaces it. "Are you okay?" I ask.

"You should see Cass."

I stare at him, unsure what to do now.

"What are you doing here?" he asks with that loving tone.

"I-.. I can't stop thinking." I decide to tell him.

"Do you want to come in?" he already steps aside.

I nod and walk inside as he closes the door. His familiar smell fills my nose. What was I doing...

Azriel sits down on his bed, patting the spot next to him.

I sit down and he immediately grabs my hand.

"Why do you do that?" I ask without thinking, remembering Nesta's words.

I look at Azriel's stunned face.

"Because.." he doesn't seem to progress his own words. "Because I want to be close to you."

There is actually tension between us and I hate it. This doesn't feel nice.

"Is that what best friends do?" I ask him.

He looks down at our intertwined hands. "Maybe some, but.."

"But what?"

He sighs, but not in a irritated way. "I like touching you. I like being near you. I like your presence and the way you talk. And I just overall love you."

I stare at him. "Like.. Like what? A friend?"

"No, I love you. Not in a friend way." he finally says.

Even though it was my plan to confess, he did it before I got the chance.

He notices the way my face falls. Worry takes over his features. "I'm sorry if I ruined--"

"I love you too. I love you so much." I remove my hands from his and place them against his face. "You have no idea how much I love you and how much I've loved you for years."

He laughs, his eyes slightly glistening with tears. "You have no idea how loved you make me feel. Even as a friend, you saved me."

He pulls my body closer to his, leaning in to kiss me. I gladly let him, pressing my lips against his.

He pulls me on his lap, and as we kiss, something snaps.

I pull my face away from him, looking at him. I didn't have to look twice to see if he really felt that too.

"Mate." I whisper.

"You're my mate." Azriel says softly.

#acotar #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel x reader

375 notes · View notes

dioslesbianwife · 2 months ago

Note

Hiii ! How are you?

Can i request the Phantom troupe (including illumi) with a reader who's like Zatanna Zatara (Powers, appearance and personality) ? Anyways, thank you! Have a nice day :)

hii, doing alr, hope you’re good too! sure i can do that, hope you enjoy and ty for being patient and for requesting <3

Chrollo Lucilfer

Absolutely fascinated by you. Someone with powers outside the known Nen system is like a goldmine of knowledge to him.

Tries to analyze your magic, maybe even attempts to see if he can steal it. If your power doesn’t operate through Nen, he might be frustrated that it’s beyond his reach.

He enjoys your charisma and theatrical presence. You’re one of the few people who can match his calm confidence without being intimidated.

If you become an ally, he’ll treat you like a rare gem- something to be studied, protected, and utilized.

Hisoka

Obsessed with you. You’re powerful, unpredictable, and have a flair for drama? He’s practically drooling at the idea of fighting you.

He’s absolutely the type to mimic your backward speech just to see what happens. He butchers it, but he still tries.

If you disappear mid-fight, he’ll grin like a maniac and call it foreplay.

If you ever pull a "sawing a person in half" trick, he will volunteer himself just to see if it hurts.

“Ohh~ turn me into something fun, ♡ Y’know, like a snake! Or maybe a toy~”

Illumi Zoldyck

Does not like that he can’t immediately figure you out. It bothers him to no end.

He watches you with a blank stare, barely blinking, analyzing every movement.

He asks unsettling questions like, "If I remove your tongue, would your powers still work?"

If you use magic to manipulate his needles, he’ll consider you a genuine threat.

If he ever decided he liked you, it wouldn’t be normal. He’d see you as something he needs to contain. "You should let me make you stronger."

Feitan

Immediately dislikes you. You make no sense, and he doesn’t trust things he can’t predict.

Hates your confidence. The way you smirk and joke when things get dangerous makes him want to wipe it off your face.

If he tries to cut you and you casually bend reality so his sword phases through you, he will be furious.

He refuses to believe your magic isn’t Nen. “Everything is Nen.”

If you ever levitate while he’s using Pain Packer, he’s throwing hands.

Shalnark

Thinks you’re really fun. He loves how flashy and dramatic you are.

Would totally try to hack magic if that were a thing. “So, if I record you saying a spell backward and play it back, would it still work?”

He’d ask you a million science-based questions about your abilities. You could tell him magic is just vibes and he’d still want to test it.

Loves pulling pranks with you. Imagine him using his remote ability while you use magic to make things disappear. Chaos.

Machi

Pretends she doesn’t care, but she definitely cares.

If you use magic to heal wounds instantly, she’ll be one of the few who actually respects it.

If you ever float or vanish mid-conversation, she just sighs. "Drama queen."

If she has to fight you, she’ll take you seriously from the start. No underestimation here.

Nobunaga

Thinks you’re a joke at first- until you make his sword vanish with a flick of your wrist. Now he’s pissed.

Keeps challenging you to duels, even though you clearly don’t need a sword to fight.

Will argue that magic and Nen are basically the same thing. “It’s just another form of aura.”

If you ever make fun of his “waiting in a circle” strategy, he will genuinely sulk.

Phinks

Hates anything that doesn’t make sense. Your powers? Make zero sense.

“Oh, so you just say words backward, and bam magic happens? That’s BS.”

Absolutely tries to punch you just to see if you can counter it. If you teleport behind him, he’s raging.

Begrudgingly admits that you’re strong after you dodge every single one of his attacks without even touching the ground.

Bonolenov

Actually respects you because his own fighting style relies on something that seems supernatural.

Wants to know if your magic is tied to history or an ancient practice.

If you ever perform a dramatic incantation before fighting, he finds it oddly honorable.

Kortopi

Not really interested in you unless you mess with his conjured objects.

If you can duplicate his duplicates, he will be visibly disturbed.

Pakunoda

Would love to read your memories, but you might be able to black her out due to magic. If she can’t read you, she’ll be intrigued.

If you’re an ally, she enjoys hearing about your performances and tricks.

If you’re an enemy, she considers you a serious wildcard.

Uvogin

Thinks you’re hilarious. Big himbo energy means he doesn’t question your powers- he just accepts them.

“You turned my beer into water. Why.”

He will absolutely try to out-magic you by doing something dumb like pulling a coin from behind your ear.

If you actually defeat him in a fight, he will laugh and say, “Hm. Alright, that was sick. Let’s go again!”

Franklin

Unbothered but interested. He’s quiet about it, but he sees your potential.

Would never underestimate you, but he also wouldn’t be impressed by simple tricks.

If you make his bullets disappear mid-air, he’ll blink, pause, then say, “Well, that’s inconvenient.”

Shizuku

Thinks your magic is neat but doesn’t think too hard about it.

“Oh, you can summon things from nowhere? Me too.” Pulls out Blinky.

If you make Blinky vanish, she’ll just stare at you and say, “Huh.”

Would probably forget that you can do magic and act surprised every time you do it.

153 notes · View notes

pumpkinbxtch · 1 year ago

Note

hello, a request please, from apollo x readerposeidon, how does apollo react if hermes tries to flirt with his girlfriend reader (hermes just wants to bother his older brother)

• this is a message for THAT nereid!

— apollo x daughter of poseidon!reader

warnings: none

a/n: Hi baby. here's your apollo crew being jealous there's nothing more like him than that.

✷

Apollo started biting his nails as soon as he heard your laughter echoing in his dining room, which he found stupid because it was HIS dining room and you were laughing with another guy right in his face. Well, it was not just another guy, it was his brother, which made it a million times worse.

His visits used to be enjoyable, now not so much.

— So, ¿what do you say? — Hermes asked, winking at you, and Apollo wondered about the sudden need to make his life miserable by looking you in that way.

Your lips painted another smile as you playfully shook your head, glancing sideways at your boyfriend, who was struggling not to throw the vase at his brother's face. Honestly, it amused you. “This is for all the times you let that Nereid flirt with you in front of me,” you thought, it was your perfect revenge, and with his brother willing to play along, they were hitting the nail on the head.

— Hmm. What do you say, darling? We can stay in that house for the summer. It's close to the water, and I think it would help me train while waiting for the swimming tryouts.

Apollo forced a smile and nodded silently, if he spoke, he'd surely yell. Hermes played with the crystal glass and leaned slightly towards you.

— Even if my brother can't be with you all the time, you can go on your own — he said, looking at his brother, pretending to be kind, and Apollo felt his blood boil. — I'll keep an eye on her for you, brother.

Apollo scoffed — I don't want you keeping any eye on my girlfriend, thanks.

The double entendre floated between you, and you pressed your lips together, trying not to smile.

Hermes ran his hand through his black curls while making loops with his hand, trying to find words to elaborate. That was exasperating, Apollo thought he was just trying to look dashing. For his misfortune, his brother kept talking.

— I think it'll be fine, she needs it for her training, after all, right? — He turned to you with the blue eyes that every son of Zeus seemed to possess. — Although, they should fear you from now on, doll.

Apollo choked at that word and drew both of your attention.

— Is everything alright, Apollo? — Hermes smiled maliciously, and the sun god remembered the stupid rule that whoever gets angry first loses.

— Nothing — Apollo replied, snapping his fingers to start the music. maybe breaking that stupid tension.

When “The Girl Is Mine” by Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney started, you were close to crack up. You couldn’t believe him.

— I love this song, little bro — Hermes hummed while drumming his fingers on the glass table, passing over the message on purpose.

“'Little bro'? I'm the older one,” Apollo thought, annoyed. He couldn't wait to kick that idiot out of his mansion.

The part with the ex-beatle began, and the messenger of the gods leaned closer and starting to sing to you.

— I love you more than he… — Hermes winked at you.

— Okay, enough — Apollo exclaimed, standing up and covering his brother's mouth with his hand. He kept singing even as his voice died in your boyfriend's palms.

Apollo growled and shot you a furious look before disappearing with him in a golden dust.

As you were left alone in the dining room, you burst into laughter and took a sip of water, impressed by your brother-in-law's performance.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway, and you masked your smile with a serious expression.

Apollo dusted off his hands and sat back down, his eyes fixed in the center of the table. You cleared your throat and casually propped one leg up on the chair, playing with your hair as you listened to him rant.

— And tell me, my love —your voice echoed through the palace vaults, — how does it feel? — In the midst of those emotions that had him on the edge of a psychotic episode, that question caught him off guard. You raised your eyebrows sanctimoniously and smiled smugly.

Oh.

— You! — He pointed at you accusingly, and you ran off giggling.

As he tried to catch up with you, he heard the echoes of the palace bringing the reason you played along with his brother's stupid game: “Tell that damn Nereid to screw off, you're mine!” And the brake on his heels, now fearing you'd walk back to him.

Okay, you won. Definitely, Apollo wouldn't even talk to a rock if it kept you from flirting with his brother again.

✷⁠

#maría's shared dreams☆｡ﾟ✧#pjo hoo toa #trials of apollo #heroes of olympus #apollo x y/n #apollo x you #apollo x reader #apollo #lester papadopoulos x you #lester papadopoulos x reader #lester papadopoulos #hermes #pjo #percy jackson

590 notes · View notes

captainsophiestark · 8 days ago

Text

Better Than I Dreamed

Azriel x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for day four of the @sjmxreaderweek event!

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses

Day Two Prompt: Villain/Heroes

Summary: The Autumn Court's only female spy has officially defected to the Night Court to start a new life that's more than she ever could've imagined.

Word Count: 1,768

Category: Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"Cauldron boil me, I love this song!"

I laughed as Cassian, the feared general of the Night Court's armies, shouted to be heard over the music from the middle of the dance floor at Rita's. It shouldn't have been possible, but he managed to up the energy by another level as he danced and jumped around, Mor doing the same right beside him. I grinned and followed suit.

Six months ago, I'd been the only female spy in the Autumn Court. I'd worked my ass off to gather secrets and protect that absolute asshole Beron, despite constant danger and disrespect even from within my own court. It had been hell, but I'd been so deep in the middle of it, I hadn't even noticed.

Four months ago, I'd officially decided to defect from the only home I'd ever known, to the Night Court of all places. I'd run into Azriel on a mission two weeks before, and even though we were quite literally enemies, he'd saved my life. It had been the first crack in the foundations of my loyalty to the Autumn Court, which had quickly come tumbling down. Even though he had no reason to do so, Az had helped me through everything. He'd been my lifeline when I needed him, and we'd been almost inseparable ever since.

Last week, I'd finally passed the final test from Rhys and the rest of his Inner Circle to prove my loyalty and trustworthiness to the Night Court. I'd been allowed to relocate here, in Velaris, with the help of all my new friends. It came after working shoulder to shoulder with all of them on a dangerous, high-stakes intelligence mission, which we'd barely managed to pull off. But barely still counted as a success!

Which was why we all now found ourselves at Rita's, celebrating both my clearing of the final security checks and our success on the mission.

I laughed as Cassian and Mor linked arms and swung each other around the dance floor, picking up enough velocity to be a threat to anybody standing too close. I shifted back slightly to give them more space without having to slow down my own manic dancing energy levels.

No sooner had I shifted back than I felt a looming, shadowy presence directly behind me. I turned to find none other than Azriel, the fearsome Spymaster of the Night Court, staring me down. I smiled.

"Hey. I was wondering where you'd disappeared to."

He shrugged, the corner of his mouth lifting into the barest hint of a smile.

"I had something to take care of."

I frowned, but before I could get out a clarifying question, the band changed the song they were playing to my absolute favorite song of all time. I'd first heard it on the first day I'd been allowed in Velaris, walking through the streets with Azriel and Mor. The smile returned in a split second, bigger and brighter than ever.

"May I have this dance?" Azriel asked, extending one hand to me. I took it without hesitation.

"Like you even have to ask."

Az pulled me closer to him, and the two of us started bouncing and moving with the rhythm of the music. I'd heard this song plenty of times since coming to the Night Court, alone and in the company of the member's of Rhysand's inner circle. But nothing stood out quite as much as the few different times I'd heard it in the company of Az, and just Az. It had sort of become our unofficial song.

My heart felt the lightest it had, possibly ever, as Az and I danced together, chest to chest. Our song ended, but we didn't slow down, carving out our own space just the two of us in the middle of the crowded Rita's dancefloor. A dazey smile floated onto my face, and a happy laugh literally bubbled out of me on our fifth or sixth song.

"What?" asked Az, a bemused smile on his own face. I shook my head and laughed again.

"Nothing. It's just... I kind of can't believe this is my real life. You know, if anybody I worked with in the Autumn Court could see me right now, they'd be absolutely shaking in their boots, head to toe."

"...Why?"

"Well, you're... you! You must know what your reputation is in the other courts. The terrifying, all-seeing spymaster of the Night Court, thought to perfectly resemble and maybe actually be the Shadow of Death. You were the number one fear of every spy in that court, and now..." A smile pulled onto my face, slightly delirious, and I shook my head. "Now I'm here, dancing with you in a club, feeling safer and more comfortable and at home than I ever have in my life."

A strange look flickered across Azriel's face which I couldn't quite decipher. Some day, I hoped I'd be able to read all the microexpressions that flickered across his face. I wanted to stay as close as possible to the shadowsinger, for as long as he'd let me.

The realization sent another wave of giddiness flooding through me, especially as Azriel tentatively reached out to put his hands on my waist, our dancing shifting to something a little slower and more intimate. I leaned into him. I knew I was beaming like an idiot, but I just couldn't bring myself to care.

"You're like... you're like a scary teddy bear, or like a wolf that only you are friends with who would shred anyone else. And I just... I feel so fucking lucky that I'm one of the people who gets to be here, with you, like this. Especially after everything that happened and where I came from."

Az gently squeezed my sides, but when I looked back at him after staring off into space as I tried to get my thoughts together, I found him carefully scanning my face with an eyebrow raised. I thought the corner of his mouth might just be twitching up towards a smile, but I might've been imagining it.

"...Are you drunk?"

"No!" I cried, whacking him on the arm. "Just... happy. I... I didn't realize how unhappy I was, how much I was missing critical components of my life, until I got here, with you all. I'm a little giddy about being here, I'll admit."

Az's mouth really did pull up into a smile at that, and he pulled me even closer to him, until our chests were pressed against each other. My heart sped up.

"I can't say I can ever remember being giddy, but... I'm damn happy that you're here right now, too."

I grinned at Azriel, and I got a rare, bright smile back from him. A magnetic force seemed to pull me closer to him, and him closer to me, and the next thing I knew, his lips were on mine as my hands moved across his shoulders and up to tangle into his hair.

Fireworks exploded in my chest and in my mind. The entire world narrowed down to just me and Azriel, and all of a sudden, an invisible string I hadn't even been aware of snapped taught, connecting my heart to the heart of the male holding me in his arms. Azriel held me tighter and deepened the kiss, but I pulled back after a moment, unable to stop a laugh of absolute joy from bubbling out of me.

"This doesn't feel real," I said, my smile starting to hurt as I shook my head, still gazing at Azriel and holding onto him for dear life.

"I know what you mean."

His gave me a little squeeze, and as the reality of the moment started to really sink in, I put my hands on either side of his face and pulled him back in for another kiss. I'd completely lost all sense of the world around us, and I knew Az had, too. For better or worse, however, we had friends in the vicinity who weren't so oblivious.

"Woo! About time!" cheered Cassian loudly. He and Mor had moved to stand right beside us, and Azriel and I shot them matching glares as we reluctantly broke apart.

"Pay up, Cassian," said Mor with a grin. He rolled his eyes, but I saw him slip Mor some kind of payment. Apparently, they'd bet on this outcome, and Mor had been right.

Azriel huffed and shot the two of them a particularly strong glare, which was enough to snap Cassian back to the moment.

"Look, I'm not gonna judge either of you if you want to celebrate the moment right here and now, but I thought it might be nice to give you both a reminder that we're still at Rita's, in the middle of the dance floor. Not exactly private, if that's something you're after."

Azriel huffed again, wasting no time before turning to walk us both out of the bar. I waved to Cassian and Mor and called back a "Thank you!", to which they just nodded before going back to bickering over whatever Cassian had just been required to pay up. I quickly forgot all about the both of them, though, as Azriel and I cleared the door to Rita's and he lifted me into his arms before launching off into the sky.

I shrieked and laughed again, the wind whipping at my clothes and the strong arms of Azriel—of my mate—supporting me bringing back that delirious, giddy feeling I'd had in the bar. I rested my head on his shoulder, bringing one hand up to brush some of the hair back from his face.

"I love you, Az," I said. My voice was quiet, but I knew Az well enough to know he'd be able to hear me over the wind. "This still feels like a dream, but it's one I don't want to wake up from. Ever. I love you so much."

"...I love you too. More than-" Azriel's voice actually broke, and I saw his jaw clench tight to hold back whatever emotion was about to break through. He took a deep breath, holding me tighter to him. When he spoke again, his voice was strong and set in a way I hadn't heard before. "I love you too."

I curled into Azriel's chest, no more words needed as we sailed above the city of Velaris together. I had no idea where we were going, but I trusted that Azriel would find us somewhere perfect. My new life in Velaris and with him had just begun, and already it was better than anything I'd ever known. I couldn't wait to see where it went next.

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

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen @misshale21 @diego42

Maasverse: @lilah-asteria

128 notes · View notes

kaiser1ns · 7 months ago

Text

i told you, didn't i? time is nothing but a construct, an easy thing to manipulate but we'll start with the living dead or the walking dead, call it however you like, my little puppet! everything is more fun when its uʍop-ǝpısdn. hope you will enjoy being stuck between the physical and spiritual realm. remember, reality is an illusion, the universe is a hologram. buy gold, bye!

𝗷𝗶𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘀𝗵𝗶!𝘀𝘂𝗼 𝗵𝗮𝘆𝗮𝘁𝗼 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

THE CORPSE'S BRIDEㄑword count :: 6121 ▿ finding a red envelope with money often symbolizes marriage, but sometimes luck is just on your side as you pick it up in the city center. what you didn't know is that you accepted а marriage proposal. and this is how the suo family tricked you, a living woman into becoming the ghost bride of their deceased son.

CHOOSE ANOTHER DIMENSION IN WEIRDMAGEDDON

“You are a disgrace to our family.”

Every day it was the same old tune, like a broken bamboo flute that had worn out its melody. You’d hear it as soon as you stepped through the front door, sometimes even before. “How come the gods have cursed me with such a daughter?” your mother’s voice carried over the sounds of her stitching, accompanied by the echo of your father’s disapproving grunt. They acted like they were personally offended that you were still breathing.

Yes, yes … The unmarried daughter. You knew the script so well by now, you could predict every insult before it left their mouths. There was no getting out unless someone asked for your hand in marriage. It was already getting more than annoying, you wake up wondering when there will be a wedding and go to sleep thinking about how you want everything to end. If you had been born a boy, it would have been much easier for you, but apparently, the all-mighty gods want you to suffer.

“Are you in this house again?” Even though you were the one coming home from the market, laden with bags of food you’d bought with your own money. Not that they ever thanked you, for making dinner and serving delicious meals on their plates. The most gratitude you got was a side-eye from your mother as she sewed something, muttering to herself as she added the finishing touches to the red and gold dress.

You froze. Red and gold? No, no, no.

“What are you staring at?” She snapped, her needle pausing mid-stitch on a piece of crimson fabric that shined bright by the house lights. “This is your wedding dress if you ever manage to get a husband.” her tone was as sharp as the needle in her hand when she returned to her sewing, sighing at the fact that you were still here.

This wasn’t your first marriage guilt trip. Ever since your two older sisters had gotten married off, the pressure was on you. Sometimes you genuinely considered just disappearing poof and you are gone. Then you could haunt them forever, appearing in their dreams and turning them into nightmares.

“Mother, do you need me to do anything else?” you asked, hoping to escape even for a little while. Her eyes narrowed, the needle suddenly looking more like a weapon in her hand. “Go fetch some water from the well, and get something sweet for your father.”

You didn't need to be told twice. Grabbing the wooden bucket, you made your way to the center of the village. It was quiet for once, no bustling crowds or nosey elders asking why you weren't married yet. You mimicked your mother's nagging voice under your breath, lowering the bucket down into the well.

"Your sister is already expecting her first child, and you still don't even have a husband, blah blah blah..."

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your grip on the rope. The weight of it felt so familiar to your life, dragging downwards, just like your mother's hopes. And then, something bright caught your eye, a splash of crimson against the dull stone. You squinted. There, floating near the bucket, was a red envelope.

“Finally!" you muttered, quick to glance over your shoulder. It was an unspoken rule — finders, keepers. Maybe the universe had finally tossed you a bone. You bent down, fingers brushing the envelope's edge, and a chill ran through you, despite the sun hanging lazily overhead. Red envelopes were usually given for weddings. Could this be a sign? A stroke of luck for your otherwise underwhelming love life?

But the moment your fingers touched the envelope’s contents, the air shifted and the wind seemed to whisper your name—in a voice that wasn’t yours.

You looked around. No one was there. Strange.

Opening it like it was your last meal on this earth you couldn't believe your eyes. "Gold!" you whispered. The crisp smell of paper money filled the air, your fingers trembling slightly as you counted it. Your mind raced with possibilities—finally moving out, finally escaping the daily nagging, finally—wait.

Inside the envelope was a small, folded piece of parchment. It was old, the edges colored in yellow, and as you opened it, your heart sank. There was a lock of someone's hair, it was a slightly reddish brown with a small note tied to it. The words on the paper weren’t a blessing. They weren’t even good news. The name next to “groom” was unfamiliar: Suo Hayato.

Heart pounded fast as you pieced it together. You hadn’t just found some stray money. You’d accepted a proposal—a ghost marriage proposal. There are beliefs that if an unmarried boy is not married in the afterlife, his spirit could bring misfortune or illness to the living family members, pushing families to find a bride for him and one way to do that is to leave a red envelope, tricking the girl into thinking it has money. Because even in death, a person is not seen as complete without a partner. It also ties into beliefs about spirits and the afterlife, where the dead might reach out to the living to resolve unfinished matters.

Slowly your gaze slid back to the red envelope. An intricate pattern was etched into the surface, symbols you didn’t recognize. The kind of symbols your grandmother used to warn you about, eyes wide and voice hushed.

"Do not touch what belongs to the dead," she'd always said, but how exactly would you know that something belongs to someone who is not here anymore?

You cursed under your breath. Well, great. It was too late to back out. The Suo family had tricked you into becoming the ghost bride of their dead son. A gust of wind blew through the well, carrying with it a low, chilling hum. You swore you could hear that voice again, whispering softly in your ear, "Thank you for accepting me."

That gentle voice, with that honeyed sound, made you shiver as your hands began to shake. That couldn't be true, it wasn't real. You just accepted an invitation to your own wedding and of course, no one alive would want you, of course, it would have to be someone dead. Quickly taking the overflowing water bucket you hid the letter in your clothes. You would think about it later, you were running late and would be scolded more than usual. The dead boy would wait a little longer, there was nowhere for him to run.

You go home as quickly as possible, the strange feeling of someone watching you still hasn’t left you. Your mother was done with sewing the dress, but she was nowhere to be found as you placed the bucket in the kitchen. Then you found her and your father in the garden talking, sitting between the statues of the ancient dragons that you and your father used to play among when you were little. When they loved their daughter and engagement did not destroy the relationship between a girl and her parents.

"I don't want our daughter to be treated like that. But this is what we should do." hiding behind the wall you were shocked by her words, eyes wide and tears started to form in your eyes. You never expected to hear such a thing from her as you wiped your tears and heard your father. "To keep this image of a perfect family. I hope someone asks for her hand soon because she won't live in this home any longer." Of course, traditionally, girls who did not marry were regarded as a threat to the entire family and were not allowed to continue living at home. Suddenly the letter fell out from inside your robe. You are practically married now and maybe tonight you will pay your husband a visit in the graveyards.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way, was it? You hadn’t asked for this. But there it was—a contract, a promise, an unholy bond.

Fingers trembling, you snatched up the letter that had fallen and shoved it deeper into your robes, your heart pounding in your chest. Maybe this could be your way out. If the Suo family’s dead son had claimed you, then at least no living man could. You thought back to the voice, that soft murmur, almost too tender for something no longer living. But could you trust a voice that came from the dark?

Your parents' voices faded into the distance as you hurried to your room. The dress, a crimson red with delicate embroidery, hung neatly on the wooden frame, waiting for you. Its beauty felt like a mockery now, knowing your parents had likely sewn it for some stranger. You brushed your fingertips over the fabric, the reality of your situation sinking deeper. This dress would never be worn for a joyous occasion. Not for you.

As the evening sun began to set, you glanced out the window toward the distant graveyards. The lanterns lining the street flickered eerily against the walls. A strange pull began to take hold, like an invisible red string tugging you toward the resting place of the stranger you were about to marry.

But still, you were curious, who is this husband of yours? How old is he because that was important ... you didn't want to marry some 50-year-old grandpa. It wouldn't be your first time sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night when everyone was asleep because right now, the urge to go and find his grave surpassed even the heavenly world. It was time to meet him, the one who had called out to you, to see if this strange and unnatural union could be undone. Or maybe you were bound forever.

You could still feel his presence—the weight of it lingering in every step you took as you made your way through the empty streets. The moon hung low in the sky painting everything in its silver glow. The silence around you was oppressive, broken only by the sound of your sandals against the dirt path.

The closer you got to the graveyards, the colder it became. The wind picked up again, swirling around you, bringing the chills. You almost turned back to go home, but the thought of your parents, of being cast out from your home, pushed you forward.

Finally, you arrived at the gates of the cemetery. The iron bars stood tall and ominous before you, half-covered in creeping vines. Beyond them lay the rows of graves, their headstones arrayed like one great army. You swallowed hard, hesitating for just a moment, before pushing the gate open.

Your feet carried you towards the Suo family’s burial plot and the further you ventured in, the more you felt that presence intensify. It was suffocating, wrapping itself around you like a veil. And then, there it was—a single grave, marked with the name of your husband.

The earth before it looked freshly disturbed as if something—or someone—had been moving beneath the soil. You stopped, breath hitching, your body frozen in place. It had been dug up, there was dirt everywhere, and by the light of the lantern, you could see that the dug up was deep, to say the least. You put a hand over your mouth in complete shock. There was no one in the coffin. How come there was no one? Your breathing became heavier, the warm air coming out of your mouth suddenly turned cold, your eyes wide with complete fear when you heard noises near you. It could be someone passing by, a bird, or ... a rabbit.

A little white bunny, with a color just like the moon reflecting the yin energy. But will it bring you good fortune and peace in a place like this? Why did everything suddenly just turn into a scary fairy tale and why did you have to be the main character? You and the small animal looked at each other, its red eyes shining brighter than the lantern next to your face until suddenly it ran away when you tried to approach it.

And then, you heard it again—that voice. But this time, it wasn’t a whisper.

"Welcome, my bride."

The voice came behind you.

Swallowing hard your body shook, more than before as you couldn’t move. You stood in one pose, like a statue until you heard footsteps approaching. Spinning around, heart pounding in your chest, you screamed as loud as your lungs allowed. The sight before you was more horrifying than anything you could have imagined—a boy, or what had once been a boy, stood there, grinning at you. You instinctively threw your lamp in defense, the small flame flickering in the air and for a moment you thought the fire would pass through him like a ghost. But the impact was real. It struck his chest and clattered to the ground.

“W-what? Stay away from me or I will … I will–” You stammered, your mind racing. He wasn’t just a ghost, but a corpse. A jiangshi, a walking dead boy. Panicked, you glanced at the disturbed grave behind him, a confirmation that Suo Hayato had indeed risen from the dead.

But something was strange. His pale skin didn’t have any signs of decay, no silver hue like the stories warned, no moss clinging to his rotten flesh. He looked almost normal, almost alive. His brown hair hung loosely over his face, parted to one side and his singular eye or his living eye, watched you and made you feel the goosebumps. The other eye was covered by a leather eyepatch, which only gave you an unsettling feeling. A pair of yellow tassel earrings, with red gems like the rabbit’s eyes swung with his movements. And there was the black hat, a yellow talisman attached to it, though the paper was blank.

“Please, do not fear me,” he said, voice still sweet and calm despite the terror bubbling inside you. “You woke me up from my slumber for our wedding. My parents always wished for me to marry, but you see … “ His words trailed off as he lifted the talisman from his hat, his grin widening as if trying to comfort you. “I died before I could tell them who I truly wanted.”

You let out another scream, louder this time. The absurdity of his casual tone while he stood there, very much undead, with his smile flattering for a second and his single eye widening slightly because he had expected as much. You backed up until you were pressed against the cold stone of another gravestone. This couldn't be happening. He was dead, he should be dead, and yet here he was, speaking to you as this is just another day.

“I-I don’t want this! I don’t want to marry a dead man!” you shouted, your voice trembling as you struggled to keep your footing, knees weakening beneath you. All of a sudden, the weight of what was happening crushed you down. You didn’t want to die anymore. Not like this, not as some undead bride in a nightmare you hadn’t asked for.

The boy, Hayato, tilted his head, his smile now almost sorrowful. “I am not here to harm you. I was brought back for this, to fulfill my parents’ wishes.” you caught a glimpse of the boy he might have been before death took him. “I can’t bear to see you afraid of me. I never wanted this either, but you were the one who took the red envelope my mother left.”

You paused, trying to steady your breath, eyes darting between his face and the talisman he held. The numerous stories of jiangshi that your grandmother told you—these creatures were said to drain the life force from the living, feeding on their energy until nothing remained. Was that why he was here? To suck away what little life you had left? To take you down into the grave with him?

“I won’t let you drain me,” you blurted out, your voice shaking but your defense rising despite the fair. “I’m not ready to die yet!”

Hayato’s eye widened, and then a deep sigh escaped his lips. He stepped closer, too close for your liking as you flinched. But instead of attacking, he let the yellow paper fall over his face again. “I am not here to drain you. I was raised … incomplete. Not fully dead, not fully alive,” he explained, lowering his gaze to meet yours. “I simply wanted to meet you.”

“But you are a jiangshi,” you whispered, blinking as your eyes were fixed on him as if watching for any sudden movement.

“Yes,” he admitted, his smile fading completely now, replaced with sadness. “But I did not ask for this fate any more than you happened to be my bride.”

His words sank in, making you rethink everything. He was just a strange boy who stood between life and death. His pale face, his empty eye socket beneath the patch, the talisman that should have controlled him but didn’t—he was terrifying, yes, but also…trapped.

“Then what do you want from me?” you asked, and as much you wanted to run, to escape something kept you rooted in place.

Hayato hesitated, then looked up, meeting your gaze with that single eye of his. "I want what I was denied in life. A chance to choose for myself. And maybe..." He paused, and the tiniest hint of hope flickered in his gaze. "Maybe to experience love."

Your heart was still racing, unsure of whether you should trust him—or if you even had a choice at all.

“Just accept him already, young lady! I want to sleep when it's dead silence.” someone's female voice called but there was absolutely no one near you and you started to look around. "I'm down here, but you have time until you join us." The woman's voice came from leaning against her tombstone. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you, ma’am." Your breath hitched, and your gaze landed on a nearby tombstone. The name etched into the stone was worn, nearly faded, but still there. A woman’s ghostly form leaned casually against it, translucent and calm. You were talking to dead people now. Wonderful.

Just because you decided you'd be rich from a dumb envelope, and what did it turn out to be? You live between these two worlds as much as your husband. "Ah, the boy of the Suo family. They finally found you a bride."

This time it was a deep male voice as you both looked in that direction. It was coming from a tall, ghostly figure standing just behind another tombstone. "Good choice! I know the women in her family are unearthly beautiful!” You didn't know how to take that, a compliment you'd never received before. Hayato looked at you while you were still looking down at the ground, the moon illuminating everything above you.

His eye filled with something like... affection. He waited patiently for your response because it wasn’t easy to just accept a marriage proposal, a ghost one at that.

The dead were already speaking to you as if you were one of them, and perhaps you were—caught between their world and the one you had known your whole life. Maybe you didn’t want to die, but living in this strange in-between place was better than being cast aside by the living. You took a deep breath and slowly nodded.

"I... I accept," you whispered, almost to yourself, then met Hayato's gaze. "But I need to go home first." He smiled, the kind of soft smile that made you forget for a moment that he was no longer alive. "Of course. I will wait for you."

You turned, leaving the graveyard behind, though the voices of the dead still whispered in your ears, their conversations muffled by the distance. The walk home was quieter than before, though you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching from the shadows, but you knew that the light would appear again.

A week passed when you gathered courage and told your parents everything. You showed the envelope, explaining what had happened—how the Suo family had chosen you, how you had unknowingly accepted the fate of being a ghost bride, and how his spirit had come back to claim you. By not telling them, however, that your husband is somehow alive. You expected anger, disbelief, or perhaps even outrage. But instead, your parents stood in silence.

Your mother was the first to break the stillness. She took your hands in hers, her grip trembling slightly, but a small smile appeared on her face. "You... you will be married?" she whispered as if daring to hope this strange, supernatural fate might finally be your salvation.

Your father, though pale with shock, slowly nodded. "This is... unexpected," he muttered. "But if it means you will be safe, and the Suo family is satisfied, then this is for the best."

Before you could respond, there was a knock at the door. Your mother rushed to answer it, and there they were, the Suo family—Hayato’s parents. His mother, a graceful woman draped in mourning clothes, approached you with a smile that held both grief and relief.

"You have given my son peace," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "For so long, his spirit was restless. He didn’t even tell us who he wanted to marry. But now, he has found his bride, and he can be at peace. Our family is forever grateful."

Feeling as if you were floating between two realities—the living and the dead, bound by an agreement you hadn’t fully understood. But now, there was no turning back. This was your life now. This was real. It wasn’t some bad dream. You were truly a bride—if only to a ghost. Or rather, what remained of it.

The dress your mother finished sewing would be wrapped around your body soon. At least that's what you heard from the conversation of the adults in the great dining room. How did it all happen so fast? You could believe that Hayato told his mother in her dream. You could talk to the spirits of dead people after all.

You were walking in the big yard of your house when you heard a light tapping, small and gentle steps and in the middle of the garden was the white bunny from yesterday and immediately rushed towards the animal. It started running and you followed. Why does this rabbit appear out of nowhere? Are the gods giving you a sign to escape your fate as a normal human? Most probably, yes.

It stopped in front of the family temple where you honored your ancestors but for some reason, you hadn't been here in a few weeks because you were always doing work around and outside the house. You saw the rabbit jump up the steps and stand in the center of the temple, surrounded by tombstones but it hopped in front of your grandmother’s stone. Asking her for help won't hurt, you missed being here, finding peace in this beautiful place especially since your grandma never judged you.

Lighting the candles and incense, you kneel down, hoping for guidance from your ancestors. Please, if you can hear me. I need your help and advice. I need to know what's the best thing to do. You stood there holding your hands in an attempt to get an answer. You could see and talk to the dead, and that must include your family too. Suddenly the heat from the candle went out and you snapped your eyes open to see several of the stones with their names begin to glow and the rabbit was still sitting in front of your grandmother's table stone.

Images appeared from the blue glow, rather the spirits of your ancestors as they sat over their stones, and you looked to the one of your grandmother's, and as a finale, her spirit appeared last, and the white bunny jumped into your lap.

“So this is our ghost bride? She is too beautiful to be buried alive.” a woman called out, and you believe this is your grandmother who lived 120 years ago, as she waved a fan in front of her face. “A ghost bride? She took that from you.” Next to her was a man, dressed in warrior armor as his arms were crossed like he was judging you.

“Said the man who denied getting married because he was already married to the war.” waving her fan slowly but you could still catch her sly smile in a teasing tone before the warrior opened his mouth and someone cut him off.

“A wedding is a wedding. Don't fight over the happiness of someone so young, either.” you knew that voice as you looked at the spirit next to your grandmother it was your grandfather. Your eyes watered when you saw them again. Hugging the bunny with one hand, you got up, and with the other, you tried to touch them, but failed. They were just ghosts, they weren't like Hayato because their debts and wishes had been fulfilled. “My sweet child, I wish I could hug you as well.”

You wanted to ask how you could even see them, but that was a stupid question from the person who was about to marry a dead man. Of course, you could see them because the moment you touched the envelope the physical and spiritual realm merged into one.

“Grandma, why does this have to happen to me?” your voice trembled as the words spilled out, heavy with the confusion and heartache that had been building for days. Becoming a ghost bride... it wasn't something you could ever have imagined for yourself.

Your grandmother looked at you with that soft and reassuring smile. "Everything happens for a reason, my dear," she said, but did everything have to have a reason or was it another joke of fate? "The gods have chosen you, and so has the Moon goddess. You have everyone's blessing, even though you may not experience love the way you dreamed... I know, without a doubt, that the boy loves you deeply."

You stared at her, disbelief washing over you. "How do you even know if a dead boy can feel anything? His heart stopped... How could he possibly love?"

Your grandmother laughed at your innocence, the sound warm and comforting, like a lullaby from long ago. "You don't have to be alive to love. Love isn't confined by life or death. It’s a bond that exists between souls. The red thread that connects you two may be invisible, sometimes tangled, but it will always lead you to the right person, living or dead."

Her words settled into your heart, but still, a tear slipped down your cheek as you struggled with the weight of it all. As you wiped your eyes, you heard the soft crunch of footsteps behind you. The spirits of your family turned, their eyes full of knowing as they gazed toward the garden.

Your heart skipped a beat when you saw him, your dead husband-to-be, wandering quietly through the garden, stepping into the light from the backyard’s small door.

"See now, my dear," your grandmother whispered, her voice lingering like an echo. "Love always finds a way."

You turned to speak to her again, but they were gone—the spirits of your family had vanished, leaving you alone in the garden. Without hesitation, you rushed towards Suo as the bunny stayed at the temple, your heart drawn to him in a way that defied all reason. Everything is happening too fast to be true.

Anger. Confusion. Fear. His presence in the garden felt too sudden. And yet, there he was, standing under the bright daylight with that same eye smile you remembered from the last time you saw him, but now you can see him more clearly.

"My beloved, I have wondered to whe—"

"Are you crazy?" you hissed, cutting him off with a whisper-yell as you looked around anxiously. "You can't just show up out of nowhere! What if my—no, your parents see you?"

Your heart was racing now, not just from the shock of his sudden appearance, but from the fear of what would happen if someone else saw him too. Suo’s presence, while comforting to you, was a ghostly impossibility to the living. People would panic, or worse, think you'd lost your mind.

He, however, seemed completely unfazed by your panic. His gaze was soft, patient even, as if he had expected this reaction. Slowly, he reached for your hand, his fingers brushing against yours with a strange warmth that startled you. The sudden contact made you tense up, your breath catching in your throat.

"Only you can see me, my love," he said quietly, his voice gentle as you blinked, processing his words. Only you can see me. It made sense now, why the spirits of your ancestors had appeared without anyone else knowing, why Suo could walk into the garden without causing a stir. But still, the way the words "my love" slipped from his mouth—it felt both sweet and unnerving.

You gulped, suddenly unsure of how to respond. "My love?" It was all you could manage to say, trying to reconcile the person before you with the man you were supposed to marry in death.

Suo’s smile didn’t waver. It softened, his gaze steady as if there was no question in his mind. "Yes," he said simply. "You are my love. You have always been."

The conviction in his voice made your chest tighten. You wanted to protest, to ask how he could say such a thing when your relationship had never truly begun, but the truth was undeniable—he had come back for you. Whether by fate or the pull of the spirit realm, you were bound to him, and he to you.

And for the first time since all of this began, you didn’t know whether to feel relieved or afraid.

Suo’s hands held yours gently, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles in a way that made your heart race. His touch was warm, so real, despite everything about this moment feeling so impossible. You searched his eyes for answers, trying to make sense of the emotions and memories, but nothing came.

He noticed your confusion, and his smile faltered slightly, but only for a moment. "I know you probably don't remember me," he began softly, his voice laced with a bittersweetness, "since you moved houses."

He paused, glancing down for a second as though gathering his courage before meeting your eyes again. "But we used to play together as kids. You were the wife, I was the husband... and my dog was our child." He chuckled softly at the memory, but you could hear the longing hidden by the humor.

Your breath hitched as scenes of long-forgotten memories began to appear. The boy... the boy you used to play with every day, laughing under the summer sun, pretending to be grown-ups before life pulled you apart. You had moved after a terrible storm destroyed your home, making you move out to your sister's home for a while and your own house had been renovated during that time. It was chaotic, and in the midst of it, the boy who once filled your days with laughter had simply faded into the background of your life.

"I..." You shook your head, confusion washing over you. "You were the one who gave me a lantern with a special message inside when we were kids?"

Suo nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "After you moved out, I was desperate to find you. I did, but you never spared me a glance. You were always so busy with chores, with life... and I was just a boy standing on the sidelines, watching."

His hands tightened around yours as he gently pulled you closer. "But apparently, I couldn’t stop thinking about you... even in the afterlife."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his confession sinking in. All this time, he had been holding onto memories of you, even as death claimed him. His wish, left unfulfilled in life, had somehow bound you two together in the strangest, most unexpected way.

He glanced at your family temple, where the spirits of your loved ones seemed to smile warmly at him. Even the white bunny was jumping around as if in celebration, as though the universe itself had conspired to reunite you two.

“So please give me a chance. I promise you that in the next life, whichever one of our many to come…I will always find you and love you.” you could feel it, you could see it, that he is really into you. Despite his interest in you all this time, it was strange to you that someone liked you, he saw you as more than the girl who did the dirty work of her parents.

But was it as easy as it sounded? To love him the way he loves you. In a week you had already seen it all and knew that there is no way to escape fate no matter what you do, no matter what life you live because what is written for you will happen unless you want to write your own story.

The boy you had left behind when life pulled you away. Tears welled up in your eyes as you realized that, you had always been connected despite the years and the distance.

"I remember you now," you whispered, voice trembling with emotion. "You were always there... and I forgot." A pang of guilt struck you, but Suo’s gentle smile reassured you that you hadn't done anything wrong.

"You didn’t forget," he said softly, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. "Life just happened. But we were always meant to find each other again.”

The idea of destiny suddenly feels more real than ever before. It was as if fate had tied this entire journey tightly, leading you back to him—even in death. You couldn't deny it anymore. You were bound to him, not just by circumstance, but by something deeper that had always been there, waiting for the right moment to unfold like the lantern lights during a festival.

Suo leaned in slowly, his breath warm against your skin. “Can I?” He asked but your heart raced, your hands trembling as his lips brushed against yours, soft and tentative, as you couldn’t tell him yes. It was a kiss that felt like a promise, one that sealed the connection between your two worlds, between your souls. In that tender moment, everything seemed to make sense, and the talisman on Suo's hat glowed faintly, the word "爱" (love) appearing under the bright sun with that striking crimson color.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, your face was burning as you couldn’t see but were sure that you were redder than the color red. "I can’t believe my first kiss was with a zombie," you said, still holding onto his hands.

He chuckled, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. How that was even possible when his blood circulation should have been stopped, you didn’t know—after all, he wasn’t technically alive but you found yourself not caring anymore. Why should you care when the person in front of you really loves you and proves it? It was him. That was all that mattered.

"Well," he said, smiling down at you and squeezing your hands "here I am, having my first kiss with a living person." You both laughed, hands intertwined, surrounded by the quiet serenity of the garden. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to marry someone like him, it would be more interesting, especially since you have to balance two worlds now. You had nothing to lose, but you wanted to spend more time alone with him, to remember the boy who was once a part of your life and now will be with you forever.

Remember the dead even when they appear for you with a marriage proposal. Because there is something to see and hear, but mostly to feel. And he felt too alive when you started running towards the exit of the garden as he looked back to see the spirits of your family cheering and dancing with joy and your grandmother looked at him with that warm smile she only showed to you. Suo would be curious how his family would react if they too would hold a banquet in the world of the dead because…

“You are a blessing to my family.”

WEIRDMAGEDDON VICTIMS :: @maruflix @heartkaji @17020 @stunies @y2kuromi @seneon @littleplantfreak @meidiary and special thanks to @kiurona for suggesting the idea and working with me and @nyxypoo for doing a beat read

324 notes · View notes

the-goat-bazaar-of-art · 2 months ago

Text

Wanted to do something in my Parselmagic AU involving SWW. Tom is Severus's birth father in this AU, and thought it would be interesting to see "what if Severus had a parent that cares for him, but unfortunately that parent is Tom Riddle." Here's a short story to go along with this (i tried to keep most larger part of the au minimal in this so no one got lost.)

It was a lazy afternoon, the kind Tom rarely allowed himself to experience. If he wasn't doing something productive, then he was wasting his time. But today, he was going to truly relax with a bit of light reading. He had just arrived home from an impromptu meeting with a handful of his inner circle. After kicking off his shoes and leaving them by the front door, he made his way to his office, already loosening his tie. His suit jacket was carelessly tossed onto the couch, followed by his waistcoat, left in a crumpled heap.

He entered his office and felt like he could finally breathe. Yes, the house was his, but over the last year, it had begun to fill up. Nagini lived here now. Mangala spent half her time in the cottage, her presence lingering even when she was gone. And even with Severus away at school, his cottage… was less his.

But his office. That was his alone. A sanctuary untouched by anyone else’s personal touches. It was the one place not violated by another’s presence, where his books and thoughts remained undisturbed. Where he could sit and think and feel completely and utterly in control.

He scanned his bookcase for the 14th-century Novgorodian grimoire he’d started a month ago. Too many interruptions, too many people that demanded his attention. But the grimoire’s secrets called to him. It was also an intellectual distraction that wasn't related to his work or his time as Voldemort. Without looking, he flicked his wrist, and a bottle of brandy and a shot glass floated over to his desk. The glass poured itself, amber liquid swirling as frost crawled over its surface, chilling the drink in anticipation of his arrival.

He caught sight of the black spine, and his finger graced the book just as he heard the roar of the fireplace from the other room. He turned his head to his office's door, frowning. He didn't recall inviting anyone over at this hour. Only a few people had direct access to his floo network.

He once again abandoned his grimoire to discover who had arrived unannounced. He slipped down the hall and back to the sitting room, taking care to keep his footsteps light so the potential intruder couldn’t hear him.

Tom halted when he saw Severus. His son's back was to him, hunched over and his shoulders tense. Severus’s breathing was staggered, as if he was struggling to ward off a panic attack. What disturbed Tom most was that Severus wore his school’s cloak, but nothing else. No trousers. No shoes. No socks.

A sickening dread pooled in Tom’s stomach, the kind of horror he had felt once he learned Severus had been mauled by that damned werewolf. But this was worse. This was so much worse, he knew it in his gut.

He took a cautious step forward. “Severus,” he said, trying to keep his voice gentle.

Severus flinched at the sound of his own name. He turned, slowly. His face was ashen, but the skin beneath his eyes was pink and blotchy. They were bloodshot and glossy, tears streaking down his cheeks. He clutched his cloak tightly around his body, his knuckles white with the effort.

His neck was exposed, revealing deep, jagged scars made by that same cursed werewolf. They disappeared under the cloak, but the mere glimpse of them left Tom reeling.

And then Tom noticed it—Severus wasn’t wearing a shirt, either. His son was wrapped in nothing but the thin cloak, his skin bare and trembling beneath it.

Something twisted and rotted inside Tom’s chest. A sickening, visceral certainty clawed at him, his mind already jumping to the worst possible conclusions. It took everything he had not to let his rage break loose, not to grab Severus and demand answers then and there.

“Dad?” Severus whispered, his voice cracking on a choked sob.

The way Severus said that word—Dad—broke something deep inside Tom’s chest. The sound of it, so small, so desperate, twisted his insides with a sick, helpless fury.

Who hurt his child?

Tom took three long strides, closing the distance between them. His hands lifted to grasp Severus’s shoulders, but he hesitated, his fingers trembling mere inches from the boy’s frame. The last thing he wanted was to hurt him further or send him spiraling into more panic.

But then Severus lurched forward, taking the open arms as an invitation. He buried his face against Tom’s shoulder and released a heaving, guttural sob that ripped through the room.

Tom’s arms folded around him, instinctively protective and possessive. His magic roiled under his skin, desperate to lash out against whoever had done this. The fury buzzed against his bones, begging to be unleashed. But he clamped down on it, shoved it into the darkest corner of himself where it couldn’t hurt Severus. Not now. Not when his child was trembling against him, the weight of his grief and terror pressing into Tom’s chest like iron.

They stayed like that for a moment, Severus’s face pressed against Tom’s shoulder, his sobs muffled and wet. Tom held him, not daring to move, his fingers twitching with the effort of keeping his rage contained. But Severus needed this—needed him. So Tom kept still, his arms locked around the boy like a shield.

When Severus’s sobs finally slowed, Tom carefully guided him to the couch. The boy didn’t fight him, his movements limp and automatic.

Tom flicked his hand over the coffee table, summoning a pair of lounging pants and a cotton jumper from his own dresser. They were his clothes, loose and far too big for Severus’s thin frame, but they would do. He could always adjust them with magic if need be.

“Put these on,” he said, forcing his voice to stay calm and soft. As if it could make any of this better. “I’ll make you some tea. And bring you something to eat.”

Severus just stared at him, his eyes dull and glassy. Hollow. As if the spark of curiosity and fiery defiance were snuffed from them. The parts Tom recognized himself in Severus were gone, and left behind a broken doll.

Tom's stomach lurched.

Before now, Tom had never allowed himself to believe this sort of violation could happen to his son. No, no, no. Not his child. Not his Severus. He would protect him—protect him the way the adults around him had failed to do when he was nothing but a wretched, desperate boy.

And yet.

Here Severus was. Broken and hollow-eyed, swaddled in nothing but his tattered cloak, trembling. Tom’s hands clenched and released at his sides, his nails cutting into his palms until they ached. His magic surged under his skin, begging to be released, to find the one who did this and crush them until they were nothing but blood and dust.

The simple, vicious truth of it hit him like a curse to the chest: He had failed.

But he could make it right. He could make it right by being here now. And then by gutting the son-of-a-bitch who did this and spreading his entrails across Diagon Alley as a warning for anyone else who dared hurt what was his.

#fanart #severus snape #tom riddle #pro severus snape #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #first wizarding war

91 notes · View notes

sweet4roma · 1 year ago

Text

HELP ME OUT?

pairing: fratgirl!karina x gn!reader

wc: 0.6k

warnings: smut, alcohol consumption, dubcon, thigh riding, kissing, public sex, not proofread

Frat parties were the devil’s place on earth. No matter who you went there with, what you were wearing or your intentions, everything would turn out somewhat badly.

Today was no exception, as you and your roommate, Minjeong, went to the frat party of the campus. You weren’t big on parties, but due to your friend’s constant pleads, you gave in.

“come on, y/n… it will be soooo fun!!” you were assured.

Yet, you found yourself sitting alone on the coach in the living room, with dancing couples all around you. Minjeong had long gone, but you saw her make out with a guy in a corner. Good for her! But it was not good for you! Anxiety was slowly but surely filling you up, but luckily you had your cup of alcoholic punch calm you down every now and then.

“maybe i should just go home”

As if a higher power had heard you, someone plopped next to you before you could finish your thought. Lazily checking the other person out, you saw it was Yu Karina, your roommate’s close friend. You would later find out she was one of the people hosting the party.

“You having fun?” she asked getting closer to you.

The atmosphere quickly changed. You would usually be intimidated by her beauty and strong aura, but as you felt a little dizzy she seemed.. clueless? You were now more aware of her quirks, such as avoiding eye contact as she was quickly closing the space between the two of you.

“not really. minjeong was sucking faces with some guy so now i’m kinda by myself.”

you were honest with her as you had no idea where this conversation would go. She looked after you with a slight smile that made you want to kiss it off her face.

“i can keep you company” and oh how you wished she did.

Your hand unintentionally went on Karina’s thigh as you two began talking. She was fun to talk to so you kind of regretted the times you purposely avoided her out of embarrassment. With all the jokes, gossip and giggles between you two, everyone else seemed to have disappeared. Her eyes would swift from your own and the hand that was creeping upwards on her thighs.

“so…” you started an idea without thinking about finishing it. luckily, you were interrupted by Karina jumping on your lap and placing her lips on yours.

Your mind went blank as you felt her plump lips on yours. Your instincts guided you to place your hands on her waist and open your mouth, allowing her to slide her tongue right in. Her hands slowly went from your face down to your neck. From there, they made their way to your chest, shily cupping your chest. She continued her groping as you moaned in her mouth, telling her you like it.

“I..I have never done this” she pulled away breathlessly. Yet her expression had no sign of wanting to stop, as she placed your thigh between her own ones, slowly grinding her cunt on it. “fuck.. help me out?” her begging made your face warm up, but who were you to deny such a pretty girl?

Your hands roamed down to her hips, guiding her so she wouldn’t recklessly grind anymore. You could feel her clit hit your flesh, and the twitch of her legs as it did so. Karina let her moans float out of her mouth, before quickly attaching her lips to your neck. She bit and licked everywhere, making sure to leave a mark. Although neither of you were thinking clearly, you both wanted to remember this in the morning.

It wasn’t long before Karina came on your thigh, coating it in a sticky substance. She rode out her high, further smudging her liquid all of over you. “thank you” she smiled as she pecked your lips one more time. “return the favour?” was the last thing you could say before she pulled you in her room.

#sweet4roma #aespa smut #karina smut #yu jimin #wlw smut #karina x reader #aespa x fem reader

469 notes · View notes

cherryredstars · 1 year ago

Note

Hey!!! Firstly I want to say that I LOVE everything you do about Miguel 🛐🩷 Secondly, I apologize if I'm confused, English is not my first language, Portuguese is (yes, I'm from Brazil haha). If it's not a bother, you could do something like: Miguel comes home after work (he can be as Spider-Man or whatever he prefers) and finds his wife (aka me) coming out of the shower. She's ready for dinner, so he gives her a kiss and says he's going to take a shower too, so they can have dinner together. He goes into the bathroom and leaves the door open, starts taking off his clothes knowing that she is watching. So he gets in the shower and makes a point of taking his time, smoothing his beautiful body with the soap (while we drool). Well, we just couldn't take it and joined in (Oops, looks like we're in for another shower. This is definitely the best one).

I apologize again if it was confusing and it's okay if I can't do it. Thank you!!!🩷🩷🩷🩷

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Shower Sex, Handjob

Summary: Some simple shower shenanigans.

Word Count: 540 (Not Edited)

He can feel the humidity the second he walks in through the door.

The bathroom door was wide open, letting the steam from your shower tumble out. The light is still on, and he peaks in. You’re humming as you do your skincare routine, hair and body wrapped in a towel. You startle when you see him, turning to him with a glare as you scold him. He can’t help himself from smiling, wrapping his arms around your waist. The smell of your body wash and shampoo is strong, and he could drown in it. He presses light kisses to your shoulder, water still beading on your skin. You lean back into him, pull the rest of your peeling mask off.

As you start talking about dinner, he pulls away. Your hands float over the plethora of products in front of you, picking up a serum as Miguel strips. You can see him from the corner of your eye, fully naked before he gets into the shower. The glass is still foggy, but it starts to disappear as the water runs. You can feel your mouth watering as he gets under the stream of water, hands pushing his damp hair back. You can feel your thighs clench, and your eyes trail down his body. It doesn’t take long for you to slip back in, pressing against him from behind.

You know he’s smiling, a low hum coming from him. Your hands come around his hips, rubbing at his lower stomach. They trail down, following the path of the water. You can feel his body stiffen as your hand comes to the base of his cock, the other slipping to his balls. He lets out a groan, head tilting down to watch as you slowly begin to pump and massage. Water runs down the side of his face, running down to his chin and falling in an unbreaking line. It moves as his jaw does, his mouth dropping open in a series of moans. His body shivers as you move your hand faster, your lips pressing kisses to his back.

Your hand moves further up, palm rubbing into his tip. A wet slap fills the small shower, his hand coming to rest on the shower wall. He lets out a shaky moan as you continue your work, his body continuing to tense against yours. You smile against his back, Miguel body arching as he rests his head besides his hand on the wall. He lets out small curses, his abs rolling from the tension. His hips buck into your hand as you leave his tip to continue doing simple pumps.

A vibrating moan escapes him as he finishes, white cum temporarily splattering against the wall. The water quickly washes it away, and Miguel’s chest heaves as he comes down from his orgasm. He closes his eyes as you giggle behind him, letting his softening cock go. You let the water envelope your hand, cleaning it off before you step out. You wipe yourself down with your discard towel, covering yourself back up once again. You suddenly perk up for a second, turning and knocking on the shower door.

“Don’t take too long Miguel, dinner will be done in an hour.”

542 notes · View notes

sleepycheriee · 1 month ago

Text

THE GALA .ᐟ

a/n: it’s like 12 am rn but, i got a random surge in energy so here ya go!

warnings: a little nsfw, mdni!!

the ballroom is buzzing.

lit golden and decadent, buzzing with overpaid hedge fund heirs and their bored wives in custom couture. tailored waitstaff float by with trays of flutes and quiet smiles, practiced in the art of disappearing. the music hums in the background like it knows it’s only here to fill space.

tashi glides through the chaos like a shadow in heels. she’s done four laps already. maybe five. maybe more. every candle’s in place. every signature cocktail poured correctly. no disasters. no missteps. no reason for her to be scanning the room like this except—

there it is.

that laugh.

it cuts through the champagne buzz, floats above the music. light, lilting, a little too loud for the kind of event this is. her heart kicks up immediately. she turns.

and stops dead.

you’re standing near the archway, champagne glass in hand, laughing at something one of the junior associates said. and you—god, you look unreal.

that dress isn’t just form-fitting. it’s criminal. satin, cherry red, hugging you like it was stitched to your skin. the neckline dips daringly low, showing off your cleavage in a way that tashi should scold you for, and the slit up your leg leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. you sparkle under the light like something sent just to ruin her.

she doesn’t move. doesn’t blink. just stares for a second too long, until you finally turn, eyes catching hers from across the ballroom.

and you smile.

that smug little smile, soft and sweet, like you don’t know what you’re doing. like you haven’t been walking around her office all week with lip gloss too shiny and skirts too short.

you start toward her, and tashi has to school her face. breathe. be normal.

she is the head of the duncan girls foundation. she has handled international scandals, multi-million dollar contracts, legal crises, entire empires falling apart.

she can handle a hot intern in a red dress.

maybe.

“you always look this tense at your own parties, ms. duncan?” you tease when you reach her, eyes wide, tone syrupy sweet.

“you always look this distracting at mine?” she fires back, one brow raised. her gaze drags over your body again—slow, obvious. no shame.

you lean in slightly, letting your arm brush hers. “you told me to wear something nice.”

“i said professional.”

you giggle. “same thing, right?”

tashi’s jaw tightens. her fingers curl around her glass. she’s never been more aware of her own restraint. you’re standing too close. smelling too good. your lips glossed up.

“come with me,” she says suddenly.

you blink. “ooh. boss voice.”

she doesn’t answer. just turns, and you follow—heels clicking behind hers, steps light and flirty, like this is a game you already know you’re winning. she leads you past the ballroom, into a hallway meant for staff. colder, quieter. and when she stops in front of a coat closet, your brows lift.

“very scandalous of you, ms. duncan,” you whisper, mock-gasping.

“i said call me tashi,” she mutters, pulling the door open and tugging you inside before you can say anything else.

the door clicks shut. it’s dark, but not for long.

because suddenly her mouth is on yours.

you gasp, hands flying to her shoulders, but you don’t stop her—not even close. you kiss her back, harder, sweeter, letting her press you up against the wall, lips feverish and frantic. her hands trail down your sides, gripping your hips like they belong there.

she tastes like champagne and tension. like everything she’s been trying to repress.

your fingers tangle in her blazer. your thigh hooks around her leg, dragging her impossibly close. her hand slides up—under the slit of your dress, fingers ghosting over your bare thigh, and—

“fuck,” she mutters against your mouth. “you’re not wearing anything under this?”

you grin into the kiss. “just a little thong,” you whisper, breathless. “you like it?”

tashi groans, low in her throat. “you’re gonna kill me.”

“maybe.”

her hand slides higher. your back arches. she kisses you again—hungrier this time. rough. her lips travel down, to your jaw, to your neck, sucking a mark you’ll pretend not to notice in the mirror tomorrow.

you moan softly, tilting your head, but then—

you stop.

just enough.

you pull back with a little pout, lips kiss-swollen and eyes glittering.

“we should stop,” you say breathily.

tashi blinks, stunned. “what?”

you press a finger to her lips. “not here. not yet.”

“you just dragged me into a fucking closet,” she says, voice low and dangerous.

“you dragged me,” you correct, playful. “and i let you. but…” you lean in, brushing your lips against hers, “if i’m gonna let you fuck me, tashi, it has to be special.”

her breath catches. her hands tighten on your hips. she looks ready to explode.

you giggle, slipping out of her grip like smoke, fixing your dress. “see you back at the party, boss.”

and just like that—

you’re gone.

leaving tashi in the dark, lipstick on her mouth, wanting you more than she ever has.

taglist .ᐟ @lexiiscorect @cinnamoncunt @strawberrisummer

#challengers #tashi duncan #tashi duncan x reader #tashi duncan x y/n #tashi duncan x oc #tashi duncan x you #tashi challengers #tashi donaldson #challengers movie #millie’s prompts.ᐟ #corporate!tashi x bimbo!reader #bimbo!reader

62 notes · View notes

xsolaresx · 4 months ago

Text

paul lahote.: violent delights have violent ends

pairings: paul lahote x fem! reader

summary: What if Jacob couldn't save Bella from drowning in New Moon? What if, with the death of Edward's blood singer, another one appeared and he wasn't so kind?

warnings: angst! sad! graphic description of blood!

word count.: 2,1k

author @xsolaresx

notes: English is not my first language, so there may be some grammatical errors.

ps.: if you want to translate any of my work, please send me a message and we’ll talk about it.

I was dreaming. I knew this because I was surrounded by salt water, but my clothes were still dry. I'm sinking into the deep sea, but I'm still breathing, so I'm staying calm. Soon I'll wake up in Paul's arms and it will all be just a strange dream.

However, the dark, calm waters off the coast of La Push suddenly turn into turmoil when something falls off the cliff into the sea, a few meters in front of me. Several bubbles appear, blocking my vision and I can't see anything, but as my surroundings come back into view I can see that something has fallen and is slowly sinking.

My vision becomes a little blurry and unfocused because of the darkness, but when I manage to focus on the object I realize it's a person. It's Bella, my friend since childhood. She's awake, she doesn't seem unconscious, but for some reason she's not moving, she's not trying to float or swim back to the surface. She's letting the darkness consume her, taking her deeper and deeper into the ocean. I start to swim towards her frantically, my arms and legs aching from the effort that the icy water causes, rendering my movements useless.

Bella looks at me and smiles, nodding her head in the negative.

She doesn't want to be rescued.

The freezing cold of the water begins to take its toll, her skin becomes paler than it usually is and her cheeks and nose turn an unnatural shade of purple.

Bella had always loved the cold, even if she tried to deny it, even if it hurt her.

She sinks deeper and deeper into the darkness, until she closes her eyes and smiles. Her body disappears from view and a desperate cry rises from my throat as I try to reach her, but it's too late. Bubbles come out of my mouth, blocking my view of the darkness of the sea.

This is a nightmare. I realize it when I wake up screaming and crying in Paul's empty bed. Lahote bursts through the door, his body trembling, ready to transform into the giant wolf and protect me from any threat. But his features soften when he realizes that it's just the two of us in the room, and that my face is covered in tears.

“Tell me what happened, baby.” He kneels in front of me, taking my face in his hands. Paul tries to dry some of my tears in vain, as I can't stop crying in despair.

“B-Bella's going to kill herself, I saw it Paul.” my voice comes out slurred, my despair increasing when I realize that this is the truth, my friend has given up. She doesn't want to live without Edward anymore.

“Calm down, baby. It was just a bad dream, everything will be fine.”

“You don't understand, I saw it. You have to help her, Paul. It's going to be on the cliff, I saw it.”

“Y/N, breathe, please...” a knock on the door interrupts us. Paul tries to get up to see who it is, but I run in front of him and open the door.

A drenched Embry in shorts is standing on the other side in the rain. He's a little startled when he sees me and shifts his gaze in respect when he realizes that I'm just wearing Paul's big sweater and nothing else

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you, but it's a serious matter,” he says a little awkwardly, his face showing concern.

“What happened?” Lahote appears from behind me, his voice even more serious as he holds my waist tightly.

“It's Jacob... we were chasing the red-headed bloodsucker when he smelt something different and went in the opposite direction, letting the vampire escape... It's just that he... he found Bella on the shore. She'd jumped off the cliff... I'm sorry Y/N, I know you were close, but... She's gone Y/N.”

It's as if a hole has opened up in my chest. After all those months I spent by Bella's side, helping her eat, sleep, keeping her company even when she didn't want to, all the efforts I made to make her understand that it was enough that she didn't need Edward, she couldn't take it. Bella would rather die than be away from that vampire.

Paul holds me tightly when he senses my sadness at the imprinting bond.

I've always hated the cold, ice cream or snow, but I learned that once I became Paul's imprint it meant that I could snuggle into his feverish body and he would never let me go. Compared to me, Bella always loved winter, even if she tried to say otherwise, she liked to feel her fingers freezing in contact with the snow while we played outside. She always went with the ice, sinking into snow crystals and snuggling up to her dead boyfriend. At the end of the day, Bella couldn't save herself from the deadly attraction that Edward exuded.

He was the lion and she was the deer.

“Someone needs to go and see Chief Swan, Jacob refuses to leave the hospital and Billy doesn't know yet, but he'll want to go to Charlie when he does.”

“Let's get Billy and go straight to the Chief's house, they're friends, he'll know how to comfort him,” Paul says when he realizes I don't have the strength to answer. Embry just nods and rushes off into the forest. “Come on, my love. You need a bath and something to eat.” Lahote pulls me into his arms as he closes the door.

I cling to him as if he were my lifeline. My only chance of not drowning again.

I put on some clothes while Paul tried to get me to eat a sandwich before we left, but I couldn't, I wanted to throw up everything and cry. The craving increased as I realized that it was all Cullen's fault, if he had walked away when he met her, if he had stopped playing with his prey, trying to live something he couldn't, Bella wouldn't have gotten so close to him and felt so helpless without his presence.

She would have lived.

All the way Billy kept quiet, he was one of the first to warn Bella of the danger, but even he couldn't persuade her.

“Come on, sweetheart, we're here.” Paul touches my hand with a consoling caress. I hadn't even realized we'd arrived at Charlie's house.

“I can't.” The tears that had dried come back blurring my vision, Paul tries to hug me as best he can in the passenger seat.

“We'd better go ahead, give her some time to process.” Billy, who was in the back of Paul's truck witnessing everything, speaks up to comfort me. Lahote nods, climbs down and gets the older Black out of the car.

I watch through the living room window as the two of them get in and tell Charlie, who falls to the ground in tears.

I rush out of the car aimlessly, the suffocating pain in my chest blinding me and taking all the air out of me. The next thing I know, I'm in the forest behind Chief Swan's house, a long way from the trail. I'm lost. I fall on the wet ground and stay there long enough for it to get dark. I know that Paul will soon find me, so I remain motionless, my strength gone.

A strong wind blows past me, lifting my hair and I shiver with cold. In the distance, I hear branches breaking, until they stop, only for the noise to come back and get closer and closer to me. I don't have time to react, when I try to get up I'm surprised by a figure standing in front of me in the distance. It's Edward.

“What do you want?” the vampire's figure makes anger rise in my throat. “Isn't it enough that you killed my friend?”

“It was never my intention...” another wind blows towards me, blowing my hair into my face.

As I pull the strands out of my eyes, I realize that Cullen is pulling in air sharply, his eyes turning into massive dark stones. I stand up when I realize that his fierce gaze is directed at me. The sad, desolate look he had been wearing for a long time was gone, the only emotion I could see in him was remorse, and... thirst.

“I came after Bella... I wanted to see for myself... make sure she's gone.” Edward says cautiously, letting out heavy breaths with each sentence.

“She's dead, because of you. If you'd stayed away from her, if you'd stayed away from the beginning... she'd be here.” I say angrily as more tears come out of me.

“I couldn't, I was weak, her smell... it was like a drug to me, I couldn't stay away from Bella. I loved her.” His face contorts in pain, as if it's hard to admit that now that she's gone.

“Then why didn't you turn her? If you loved her, why didn't you make her one of you!” I shout fiercely. “That's what she wanted, to be immortal with you,” I whispered in pain.

“I couldn't, I couldn't condemn her to that life.”

“Didn't you realize that you condemned her long before that? You brought danger to her, you made her become a danger to herself. She preferred killing herself to being without you!”

“I tried to control myself, she was my blood singer, I always knew it, but I fell in love with her instead of accepting my fate and sucking her blood, but... your blood, it... it smells just as good as hers...” In the blink of an eye Edward is in front of me, his hand outstretched towards my face, but not touching me. More tears roll down my cheeks, but now it's out of fear, finally realizing that I've been in front of a predator all along. A blood-sucking vampire.

“You wouldn't do that... I'm Paul's imprint, it would kill him,” I say fearfully as he sinks his nose into my neck.

“Bella was the only one who held me to this world, the only one who made me better than a bloodsucker, but now that she's gone, there's no sense in it anymore.” I try to move away from his icy body, but it's in vain. He's much stronger than me.

“Jacob will come after you, he'll want revenge for Bella, and if you kill me then all the wolves will come after you... you'll die” I try to persuade him to run away while there's still time, but this seems to ignite the flames in his black eyes. Edward lifts his face from my neck and looks deeply into my eyes. In the darkness, I realized... I was never going to get out alive.

“That's exactly what I want.” Edward advanced towards my neck, his teeth, so white and polished, now looked like shiny, bloody daggers. A strangled cry comes out of me as I feel a sharp pain in my neck.

I think that soon he will throw me aside and run away, but no, I watch as his eyes darken even more into a crimson shade. I pray to the ancestors that it will be over soon, that I can see Paul's chocolate eyes one last time and hug him.

My body is losing its strength and I'm slowly falling to the ground with him on top of me, my eyes are getting heavy and my vision is blurring. The last thing I see is a reddish wolf jumping on Edward and pulling him off me, but I don't have the strength to call for help. Blood pours down my throat and I realize that the bastard has torn a hole in me. I can't speak.

I turn my face and realize that more wolves have fallen on the vampire, tearing him limb from limb. Edward takes one last look at me and smiles, surrendering to death, then a gray wolf rips his head off.

Paul shapeshifts and falls to his knees next to me, his trembling hands trying to stop the bleeding, but it's too late.

“I - I - I'm cold.” I try to say to him, but only whispers come out of me, it's too hard to speak.

“I know, baby, I know, I'll warm you up, okay? I know how much you hate the cold.” Thick tears fall from Lahote's eyes, and with one last effort I try to dry them.

“I lo-love you,” I say and blood starts to come out of my mouth.

“I love you, Y/N. I'll always be here for you, it's all right now. You can rest my darling, I'll take care of you.” Paul says in tears, all the time looking into my eyes. Then I realize that this is the moment.

My arms fall by my sides, I can no longer feel my legs and in one last gasp I look at Paul.

My breath stumbles and then there is nothing more. There is no life.

Violent delights have violent ends.

#fanfic #edward cullen #jacob black #twilight #the twilight saga #paul lahote #paul lahote x reader #new moon #wolves #vampires #family cullen #la push #wolf pack

70 notes · View notes

allyallyorange · 1 year ago

Text

Yunho The Human

AT AU is back with another little story written by @nnnnnnnothingtoseehere

How Yunho ends up in Universe A

Master Post for AT AU

“You should spend more time with Jongho,” his mom says. “Take him somewhere on your day off, like you used to.”

Yunho almost snorted at that, but manages to hold it back. It was too early in the day for another fight with his parents, especially after the previous night.

It had started the same way it always did, with his dad making some off handed comment about what Yunho should be doing with his life but clearly wasn’t.

He hadn’t even tried to hold back the biting response then, and things quickly devolved.

It had made him want to scream because they acted like he should just get over himself and move on with his life, like that was something easy or possible to do.

Yunho didn’t know how to explain to them the way his chest ached all the time, or how hard it was to get out of bed every morning. He knows they would say he should be moving on, especially after so many years.

After all, Jongho was fine. Jongho, who lost his parents. Yunho should be fine; he only lost his best friend, after all. Jongho is more than fine; he seems to be the next Albert Einstein at the age of twelve. He’s bright and smart and good at studying; in other words, everything Yunho isn’t.

It hurts more than Yunho will admit to be surpassed in every single category by a twelve year-old.

“You guys used to be so close,” his mom continues. She is washing dishes at the sink, with her back to Yunho. “He’s been through a lot, you know. It would be a shame if the two of you grew apart now.”

Yunho resists the urge to inform her that he’s been through a lot too, and maybe doesn’t want to spend time with the tiny little prodigy who is better than him in every way, including dealing with grief.

When he doesn’t respond, his mother eventually turns around to look at him.

“Did you hear me, Yunho?”

“Yeah,” Yunho mumbles, dragging his spoon through his cereal. “I heard.”

It’s already going soggy, and Yunho almost feels sorry for the limp bits of cereal floating around. He feels like that most of the time these days.

“You really should take him somewhere,” his mom says in that vaguely hopeful tone that Yunho has come to dread. “Get hot chocolate with him or something. Something fun, to get you both out of the house.”

“Fine,” Yunho is answering before he even realizes what he’s saying. “I’ll ask him.”

The smile his mom gives him just makes him feel worse. She looks so hopeful, like this will actually be the thing that gets Yunho’s life back on track.

He doesn’t bother to correct her. He’ll disappoint her soon enough.

Of all places, Jongho wants to go to the library.

Yunho just gapes at his cousin, finally asking what on earth he wants to do at the library.

Jongho rattles off some answer that goes straight over Yunho’s head. The kid is probably researching advanced particle physics for fun, or something similarly nerdy and genius.

“Fine,” Yunho sighs. “Let’s go.”

You could have cut the tension in the car with a knife. Yunho finally turns the radio up, desperate to listen to something other than the constant parade of guilt and self-criticism that makes up his thoughts.

Jongho didn’t say anything, just fidgeting with his gloves in the passenger seat.

He practically bolts out of the car the second Yunho puts it in park, disappearing through the library doors before he can even get fully out of his seat.

Figures. Yunho wouldn’t want to hang out with himself either.

He trails after Jongho, making a vain attempt to stomp some of the melting snow off his shoes before stepping into the library.

Yunho hasn’t been here in ages, and he takes a deep breath on instinct. The smell of books is comforting, and he takes a moment to just soak it in.

Everything is smaller than he remembers, but he’s definitely had several growth spurts since he was last here. The kid sized reading tables look ridiculously small, and Yunho can’t believe he ever fit in the seats.

He would come here with Mingi, mostly during the summer when they were bored. They would sit for hours and read every comic book the library had, until the words spun off the page or they fell asleep.

Yunho shakes his head violently, trying to dislodge the memories. This is why he doesn’t leave the house; they would roam all over town. He can’t go anywhere without being reminded of him.

It takes him way too long to find Jongho. The kid is sitting at one of the tables in the reference section, almost invisible behind a stack of at least five hefty books. Yunho quickly gives up on reading the title of the one in Jongho’s hands when he doesn’t even know what the first word means.

He flops down across the table from Jongho, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He is just opening one of his mobile games when a pointed ‘ahem’ gets his attention.

Jongho is glaring at him from across the table, face scrunched comically.

“What?” Yunho asks, earning a furious hiss from his cousin.

“We’re in the library,” Jongho whispers pointedly. “Talk quietly.”

“My bad,” Yunho mutters, glancing back down at his phone.

“This is a library,” Jongho repeats in a biting whisper. “Find a book to read.”

Yunho blinks at him for a long moment, weighing out the amount of energy it would take to actually fight him on this.

You’re supposed to be bonding with him, his mom's voice whispers in his head. Fighting would definitely not do that.

“Fine,” he grits out. “I’ll get a book.”

He stands up, pushing his chair away from the table with exaggerated care. Jongho watches him seriously, only looking back down at his book when Yunho actually begins to look at the nearby shelves.

Nothing in this section is remotely interesting, and Yunho wanders aimlessly in search of something decent. He almost doesn’t stop when he passes an end display of fairy tales, but something about the bright covers has his feet slowing almost on his own.

He knows he’s too old for fairy tales at this point. He knows better than most that happy endings are pure fiction; the real world is much worse.

The book at the top of the display looks different from the rest, and he picks it up on whim. Flipping it open, he expects bright pictures and ornate pages, all accompanying a predictably bland story about princes and princesses and happily ever afters.

It quickly becomes apparent that the book in his hands is anything but that. It doesn’t even look like it’s a fairy tale, really. It seems more like a guide to being a hero, and Yunho finds himself reading more and more while just standing there.

He knows it’s dumb, and that he should find some actually helpful book probably called something like “How To Fix Your Life For Dummies.” But deep down, he knows he just wants to think about something other than his shitty life. Some weird book that takes itself way too seriously may be a cheap bit of escapism, but Jongho clearly won’t let him burn a couple of hours on his phone.

Tucking the book under his arm, Yunho returns to where he left Jongho. The kid hasn’t moved, but has switched books. There’s no way he read it that fast, but Yunho honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

Doing his best to ignore his cousin, Yunho sits back down and opens up the book again. It’s not a difficult book to read, and he is soon comfortably lost in a vaguely nonsensical chapter about how to kiss a princess.

The book is simple, but it’s just enough to keep him from thinking about anything else. It’s honestly nice to sit here and escape for a while, and before long he’s more than halfway through. He has to skip some sections that seem to be written in entirely different languages, as well as a few that are just covered in symbols and diagrams that don’t make any sense.

Yunho is just about to turn the page when he realizes the pages of the book look like they’re sparking, somehow. He pauses, watching as what look like little white sparks jump off the page, bouncing harmlessly off his clothes and the table.

He is just beginning to open his mouth to ask Jongho if he’s losing his mind when the sparks begin to pour off the book, increasing in brightness.

Yunho had been leaning the book against the edge of the table, and he quickly pushes it fully on the table. That doesn’t stop the sparks, and as he watches they begin to flow upwards until there’s a whole bunch of them floating a few inches over the book.

This is it, Yunho thinks distantly. It’s the mental break you were waiting for. He’s finally going crazy; it took years but he’s made it.

The sparks have solidified into a mass of light, hovering over the book. The light stretches as Yunho stares, widening and flattening until it’s as large as a decently sized tv. Some part of his brain wonders if anyone else is seeing this or if it’s just him.

The light has been white up until now, but the center of the mass begins to darken. The effect reminds Yunho of pouring water on ice, how it will make some parts of the ice transparent and more glass-like.

He leans forward, trying to get a better look. The darkness has now spread to cover most of the mass, leaving only a rim of light around the edges. It reminds Yunho of every portal he’s ever seen in superhero movies and comic books.

He almost falls out of his chair when he realizes there’s a person looking back at him from the other side. Their features aren’t clear, still obscured by the surface of the portal.

Yunho watches in horrified fascination as a hand reaches through the portal, the surface dragging for a moment before breaking around their fingers. The hand grabs the edge of the portal like it’s solid and Yunho stares because normal people don’t have blue skin.

He looks up just in time to see the person’s other hand pulling the surface aside enough for their head to poke through, dragging it out of the way.

The person looks to be a guy, around Yunho’s age. He looks pretty normal, with dark hair and sharp eyes that survey the library quickly.

You would almost think he’s human if it wasn’t for the bright blue skin and pointy ears clearly on display because of his haircut.

Yunho is tempted to look around to check if anyone else is seeing this alien portal with a real life alien reaching out of it, but he doesn't. He’s sure that if he as much as blinks this will all disappear.

“Have you seen a guy with white hair?” the alien asks, looking at Yunho. “He’s just a bit taller than me, and pretty skinny?”

Yunho gapes at him for a long moment, trying to remember how to speak.

“U-um, no,” he finally stammers.

The alien’s face tugs into a frown at that, and he lets out a slight sigh.

“Fair enough,” he admits, beginning to pull away from the portal. The second he does, it begins to close, the dark part fading first.

“Hey wait,” Yunho calls out, reaching for the portal without thinking about it.

He jolts the second he touches it, feeling like he was just shocked. He is opening his mouth to say ouch or yell or ask what on earth is going on but he quickly finds he can’t. The feeling of vertigo rushes up to catch him, and Yunho feels like he’s being yanked forward through the portal.

He lands hard on his ass, voice coming back in the middle of a yell. He quickly stops yelling, way too surprised for that.

The blue guy from before is standing in front of him, looking just as surprised and confused as Yunho feels. They seem to be in some kind of room, but everything from the walls to the floor are perfectly black. It’s unsettling, making him feel like he’s standing in an open void somehow.

“Where the hell are we?” Yunho asks. “What is going on? Who are you?”

The guy just stares at him, eyes wide as they dart around Yunho’s face quickly.

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

The sound of a third voice startles both of them, and Yunho scrambles to his feet as the blue guy whips around.

He almost falls again because there is what could only be described as a column of light in front of him. He squints at it, belatedly realizing that it’s not column-shaped at all. It has a head and arms, and clearly a voice.

Yunho could have sworn he didn’t have that much to drink last night. This has to be a dream, a hallucination, something. He’s been watching too many dumb superhero movies lately and his subconscious is finally deciding to take revenge.

“U-um, sort of?” the blue guy stammers. “I mean, I found him but that’s not what I was looking for.”

He sounds just as confused as Yunho knows he looks, but he’s thankful the weird light person isn’t talking to him. The blue guy is weird, but he at least has a face.

“That’s great,” the light person says easily. “I hope you succeed in your journey.”

They raise a hand, and Yunho feels that same sense of vertigo rising up to meet him. This time it feels like he’s falling backwards, the whole sensation churning his stomach violently.

At least he lands on his feet this time.

The room around him thankfully looks relatively normal after the freaky void place, worn wood under his feet and making up the walls.

He looks around slowly, trying to figure out what exactly happened.

He seems to be in a treehouse of some kind, various branches crisscrossing through the walls and floor. The whole place is fairly small, but it may just look that way because it’s absolutely full of stuff.

Yunho gapes at the eclectic assortment of weapons, tech, and unidentifiable objects scattered across the floor and various surfaces of the room. None of this makes any sense, and he only ends up with more questions when his gaze lands on the two other people in the room with him.

One of them is the alien guy from before, looking just as blue. He is staring at a normal looking guy, who is in turn staring at Yunho.

They stare at each other for a long moment before everyone starts talking at the same time.

“Is this him?” the normal guy asks, clearly talking to the blue alien dude.

“No, I have no idea who this is,” the blue guy responds.

It’s a little tricky to actually make out what he’s saying because Yunho is also talking.

“What the hell is going on?” he demands. “Who are you guys? What is this place?”

They all continue to talk over each other for several minutes before the normal looking guy holds up both hands.

“Stop,” he says loudly. “We can’t all talk at once.”

Yunho shuts his mouth reluctantly, knowing that he does make a good point.

The guy turns to face him more fully, giving Yunho a chance to get a better look at him. He certainly looks normal, with dark hair. He does have blond undersides, peaking through the upper half of his hair

He also has a plant growing out of the top of his head. It’s a perfectly normal plant, with leaves and everything. Yunho gapes at it, not quite able to believe his eyes.

“You ended up in our headquarters, so you’re going to answer our questions,” the guy continues briskly. “Sit down.”

“Um, where?” Yunho asks, glancing around the crammed treehouse.

The blue alien dude moves forward to shove a few weapons and piles of metal parts off a surface, eventually revealing a couch under all the stuff. He gestures to it, and Yunho obediently sinks down.

“Right,” the normal guy says, putting his hands on his hips. “Have you ever seen this guy?”

He bends down to pick up a rolled up piece of paper, unrolling it so Yunho can see.

The paper has a drawing of someone on it, but Yunho can’t make out anything actually identifiable. The drawing looks like it was done by a two year old, and not an artistically inclined two year old.

“...no,” Yunho says slowly. “No I haven't.”

“Are you sure?” the guy asks again. “He has white hair? Seems pretty powerful?”

“Nope,” Yunho repeats, shaking his head.

“Think he’s lying?” the guy asks, turning to look at the blue alien.

He just shrugs, looking as confused as Yunho feels.

“You know I can hear you,” Yunho points out, not particularly liking being talked about like he’s not in the room.

“Hush,” the guy tells him. “We’re the ones interrogating you.”

Yunho doesn’t point out that this is the most informal interrogation he’s ever seen. He’s sitting on their couch, for crying out loud. There’s nothing to keep him here, and Yunho really doubts either of them could actually restrain him if necessary. The blue guy is pretty muscular, but Yunho has at least four inches on him.

The other two continue to talk, at least having the decency to lower their voices so Yunho can’t hear them as easily.

“Ok fine,” the normal guy finally says. “If you’re sure.”

The blue alien nods, turning back to face Yunho.

“Hi,” he says with a smile that makes his eyes disappear. “We didn’t exactly start off on the right foot. My name is San.”

Yunho blinks at him, definitely not expecting a formal introduction.

“Hey,” he says after a moment. “I’m Yunho.”

“Nice to meet you, Yunho,” San tells him.

He pauses for a moment, clearly waiting for the other guy to say something. When he doesn’t, San elbows him in the side.

“Oh right,” he says quickly. “I’m Wooyoung.”

Yunho nods, murmuring some kind of acknowledgement.

“Where are we?” he asks, gesturing vaguely around the room.

Wooyoung and San look at each other for a long moment, clearly having some kind of nonverbal discussion.

“Probably better to just show him,” San says.

Wooyoung nods, making the plant on his head sway slightly.

“C’mon then,” he says, beckoning Yunho.

Yunho gets up off the couch, following a little ways behind as San and Wooyoung cross the cluttered floor, heading for what appears to be a trapdoor set in the floor.

Wooyoung tugs it open, revealing a ladder leading down to the ground.

Yunho doesn’t see how showing him the outside of their treehouse will answer his question at all, but he doesn’t point that out. He eyes the ladder nervously, but it seems to hold Wooyoung’s weight easily as he practically slides down the rungs.

He follows a bit slower, thankful that San waits until he’s almost at the bottom before stepping down too.

Wooyoung is waiting at the base of the ladder, and he meets Yunho’s eyes.

Instead of saying anything, he just gestures to the landscape around them.

Yunho is opening his mouth to ask a question, but finds that he can’t think of any. The tree the treehouse is in seems to be the only thing for miles, standing tall on the top of a slight hill. The land is gently rolling, fields of grass extending for what feels like forever.

A distant mountain range completes the feeling of stepping into a painting, smudges of snow decorating the peaks. Yunho gapes at the scene, awed to some extent by the natural beauty, but much more dumbfounded by the lack of anything modern.

There’s nothing; no telephone poles, no roads, no cars. There aren’t even any buildings that look remotely normal. Yunho is definitely excluding what might be a village off in the distance; he is very sure none of it will look like it’s supposed to.

This isn’t home, he thinks distantly. It can’t be; he’s very sure there isn’t anywhere on the planet this remote and untouched.

That’s not even considering Wooyoung, who has a plant growing out of his head, and San, who is blue.

“Where is this?” he asks slowly, turning to look at Wooyoung.

He grins proudly, puffing out his chest a bit.

“You’re in our world,” he says with a grin. “Pretty cool, isn’t it?”

#doodle doo #ateez #ateez at au #jeong yunho #yunho #choi san #choi jongho #jongho #san ateez #ateez san #thank you Nnn for writing this! I love it sm

153 notes · View notes