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brunchable · 3 months ago

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Winter King, Part Three : Cruel Summer. . .

Pairings: King AU Bucky Barnes x Out of place Queen Reader Words: 17.4K Themes: Royaltycore AU, love and power, Arranged Marriage, georgian/regency era misogyny, profanity, Eventual Smut. Summary: Y/N finds herself struggling to prove that she’s more than just a pawn in this dangerous game of power. But when Winnifred demands answers, it’s not just Y/N’s loyalty to the king being tested—it’s her resolve to carve out a place for herself in a world determined to see her fail. A/N: Inspired by Queen Charlotte. I must say I love the chase scene between Steve and Y/N here HEHEHE. Let me know what's your fave scene? I'm actually curious about what ya'll want to see next ;) credits to the gif owners, it ain't mine.

Your fingers played nervously along the rim of your teacup, your gaze flicking to the tall windows that overlooked the estate gardens. It should have been a peaceful view. Instead, it only reminded you of how small you felt within the grand expanse of this new life.

Opposite you, the Dowager Queen, Winnifred Barnes, was the very picture of feminine authority. Even in the soft light, she seemed to carry the shadows of experience with her, the weight of a crown long set aside but never truly removed. Her eyes, a steely blue that seemed to pierce through all pretenses, were trained on you with an intensity that made it impossible to look away.

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” you murmured politely, dipping your head in a respectful nod as she took her seat.

“Y/N,” she acknowledged with a curt nod, her gaze lingering on you for a beat longer than necessary. She motioned to the staff, who swiftly poured the tea and set delicate plates of pastries before you both. The clinking of porcelain was the only sound in the room until the servants exited, leaving you alone in silence.

Winnifred took a slow sip of her tea, her eyes never leaving your face. “I thought it best we have breakfast today,” she began, her tone measured but holding an edge that made your heart quicken. “After all, there’s much to discuss following last night’s... eventful proceedings.”

You tried to keep your expression neutral, but the knot in your stomach tightened. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

She set her cup down, her gaze on you sharpening. “How did you find your first night as a married woman?”

It was a simple question, and yet difficult to answer. You hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. The truth of it all was still a bitter pill to swallow—that you’d spent your wedding night alone, while Bucky had left for his estate in Annecy. A flash of disappointment coursed through you, but you tamped it down, forcing a polite smile.

“It was... different,” you said cautiously, choosing each word with care. “We still have much to learn about one another.”

Winnifred’s brow arched ever so slightly, a glimmer of disapproval, or perhaps curiosity—lighting in her gaze.

“Different, is it?” She leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering to a deceptively soft tone. “You mean to say that he left.”

Your breath caught, but you nodded, refusing to drop your gaze. “Yes, Your Majesty. He thought it best, given the circumstances.”

For a moment, the Dowager Queen was silent, her eyes studying you. Then, slowly, she tilted her head, the corners of her lips curving into something that might have been a smile—if it weren’t so sharp.

“And you... let him go?” she asked, each word pronounced with a chilling clarity that made your chest tighten.

You blinked, taken aback. “I—”

“You didn’t make him stay?” she pressed, her tone holding a note of challenge. “You are his wife now, Y/N. The Queen of this realm. It is your duty to keep him by your side.”

The words struck like a lash, the implications behind them sinking deep. You opened your mouth, struggling for a response that wouldn’t sound weak or defensive.

“I... I didn’t think it was my place to—”

“Your place?” Winnifred interrupted, her voice cutting through the air like a knife. “Your place is precisely what you make of it. Do not expect him��or anyone else—to show you the respect you deserve unless you demand it.”

Her gaze bore into you, and you felt yourself shrinking. There was no malice in her words, no cruelty—only a harsh kind of truth that left you reeling.

“I didn’t want to—” You paused, taking a steadying breath. “I didn’t want to force him. We... barely know each other, Your Majesty. I thought it best to give him space.”

Winnifred leaned back slightly, her eyes never leaving your face. “Space?” she echoed, her voice low. “You have given him space, Y/N. Now watch how quickly it turns into distance.”

She was right, of course. Bucky’s absence already felt like a chasm between you, one that you weren’t sure how to bridge.

“You are a queen now,” Winnifred continued softly, the steel in her gaze tempered by something gentler—something almost like understanding. “But more importantly, you are his wife. And being a wife means more than simply standing by his side in public. It means holding your ground in private. Pushing him when he needs to be pushed. Because if you don’t...”

She trailed off, her eyes searching yours. “If you don’t, then others will step in to fill that space you so graciously allowed.”

The implication hung in the air like a warning, and you swallowed hard, the reality of her words washing over you. This was about more than just Bucky leaving for the night. It was about control, power, and the dynamics that would shape your marriage—and the kingdom.

You straightened your spine, meeting her gaze with as much resolve as you could muster. “I understand, Your Majesty. I won’t make the same mistake again.”

Winnifred’s lips curved into a faint smile—one that was both approving and calculating. “Good,” she murmured. “Because while my son may be king, it is the queen who sets the tone of the court.”

She lifted her teacup once more, taking a measured sip. “Now, tell me what else happened last night. Did he say anything that would suggest his intentions regarding your marriage?”

You hesitated, recalling the heated exchange with Bucky, and a message passed on to you shortly after he left. “He... spoke about needing time,” you said quietly. “Time to adjust. But he assured me that I am the only one he’s loyal to.”

“Did he now?” Winnifred’s gaze darkened, but there was a glimmer of something like pride in her eyes. “That is a start, at least. But loyalty is not the same as affection.”

You nodded slowly, unsure of how to respond.

“Listen to me, Y/N,” Winnifred continued, her tone soft but unyielding. “He may keep his distance now, but do not let it remain that way. You must find a way to close that gap. The sooner you do, the sooner the court will fall in line. Show them that you are a force to be reckoned with—both as a queen and as his wife.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Winnifred’s gaze softened just a fraction, and she set her teacup down gently, fingers tracing the delicate handle as if recalling a distant memory.

“There was a time,” she began, her voice quieter now, “when I, too, thought loyalty was enough. When I believed that if I simply did as expected—kept quiet, remained the dutiful wife—things would naturally fall into place.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in her tone. Winnifred rarely spoke of herself, of her past. It was as if every part of her life before the crown was locked away, buried beneath layers of duty and decorum.

“But I learned,” she continued, her eyes taking on a distant, almost wistful look, “that being quiet, being passive, only serves to diminish your place in the marriage. To let others dictate your worth.”

She leaned forward slightly, her gaze locking onto yours with a newfound intensity. “So, I stopped being passive. I took control—not just for myself, but for the kingdom. And for him.” Her expression softened, but there was a sadness there, too. “Because even kings can falter. Even kings need someone to remind them of their place. Their worth. Their responsibilities.”

You stared at her, feeling as though you were seeing the Dowager Queen in a new light—a woman who had fought for her own place in a world determined to silence her.

“What I’m saying, Y/N,” she murmured softly, “is that you cannot let James dictate the course of your marriage. You must stand firm, push him if need be, and make him see you. Truly see you. If you don’t, you will always be the girl who stood in the shadows, watching others take your place.”

You swallowed hard, the force of her words settling deep within you. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I won’t forget that.”

Winnifred nodded, a small, approving smile playing on her lips. “See that you don’t. Because once you have his attention—once he realizes the strength you hold—he will never let you go.”

She straightened, the softness in her gaze receding, replaced once more by the composed authority of a queen. “Now, eat, my dear. You’ll need your strength for whatever comes next.”

And as you reached for your fork, her advice settled over you like an invisible crown—one you’d have to wear with as much grace and power as you could muster. Because from now on, this marriage would be yours to shape, yours to control.

× × × ×

High ceilings of the grand council chamber stretched above, adorned with elaborate chandeliers that cast glittering reflections onto the polished marble floors. The long, gleaming table in the center of the room was flanked by dark wooden chairs, each occupied by men whose expressions were masks of restrained curiosity and barely concealed tension.

The Dowager Queen, stood at the head of the table, her regal posture unyielding as she faced the most powerful men in the kingdom of Montelune. Prime Minister Nick Fury, with his one good eye keenly observing every subtle shift in the room, sat closest to her, his fingers steepled thoughtfully. Around him were the Duke of Hanover, Lord Pierce, and Lord Rumlow—all high-ranking noblemen with a vested interest in the stability and future of the crown.

The men exchanged uneasy glances, their eyes occasionally flickering toward the dowager as if uncertain how to broach the subject that loomed over them like a dark cloud.

Finally, it was Fury who cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Your Majesty, I trust you are well-rested?” His voice was smooth, but the weight of unspoken questions hung heavy in the air.

Winnifred’s gaze was cool as she regarded him, one eyebrow arching ever so slightly. “Rested enough,” she replied crisply. “Thank you, Prime Minister.”

Another awkward silence settled over the room, and the noblemen shifted uncomfortably in their seats. There was something almost comical about seeing men of such power and influence falter in the presence of a single woman, but Winnifred knew the source of their unease. It wasn’t just her title or her presence that made them wary—it was the nature of the matter at hand.

Lord Pierce leaned forward, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally managed to speak. “Your Majesty, we... we thought it prudent to gather today to, ah... discuss certain affairs.”

The Dowager Queen’s lips twitched in a faint semblance of a smile. “Affairs?” she repeated softly, her tone laced with just enough amusement to make him squirm.

“Yes, well,” Pierce continued, his face reddening slightly, “it is... as you might understand, a rather delicate matter. One that pertains to... er, ensuring the continuation of the royal line.”

Winnifred’s eyes narrowed, and she tilted her head, considering him with a look that could cut glass. “Are you inquiring whether the consummation of the marriage has taken place, Lord Pierce?” she asked bluntly.

The man’s flush deepened, and he coughed awkwardly. “Well, not in so many words, Your Majesty, but—”

“Say what you mean, Pierce,” Fury interjected dryly, his gaze unwavering as he looked between the dowager and the other noblemen. “We all know why we’re here. There’s no need to dance around it.”

“Indeed,” the Dowager Queen agreed, a steely edge creeping into her voice. “And let us dispense with the niceties, shall we? The answer is no. Nothing happened last night.”

Her words fell like a stone into a still pond, sending ripples of shock and discomfort through the room. The men exchanged uneasy looks, clearly taken aback by her directness.

Fury’s gaze remained steady, though his jaw tightened. “That is... concerning, Your Majesty. Considering the importance of securing the royal line—”

“Considering the importance of the king’s reputation,” Lord Rumlow cut in, his voice low and gruff. “If word gets out that he didn’t—”

“That he didn’t perform his marital duties?” Winnifred finished for him, her voice cold. “Yes, I am aware of the implications, Lord Rumlow.”

The silence that followed was almost suffocating. The men seemed at a loss, unsure how to proceed with such a delicate subject in the presence of a lady—no matter that the lady in question was the Dowager Queen herself.

Lord Pierce cleared his throat again, clearly floundering. “Perhaps, Your Majesty, there are... reasons for the delay. A need for time, perhaps, to... adjust?”

Winnifred’s gaze turned icy. “Time is not a luxury we have, Lord Pierce. Nor is it a cure for whatever holds my son back.”

Fury leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. “Your Majesty, with all due respect, if His Majesty is reluctant... might there be another way to ensure that the matter is handled discreetly? Some form of... encouragement?”

“Encouragement?” The Dowager Queen’s voice was deceptively calm, but there was a dangerous glint in her eyes that made the noblemen stiffen.

“What exactly are you suggesting, Prime Minister?”

Fury held her gaze, unfazed. “I’m suggesting that perhaps His Majesty needs to be reminded of his responsibilities. He must be made to understand that this is not merely about him and his bride—it is about the future of Montelune. The stability of the crown.”

Winnifred’s expression did not soften, but she gave a single, sharp nod. “I am well aware of that, Prime Minister. But James—” She paused, catching herself, and then continued more firmly. “The King has always been... stubborn.”

“Then perhaps he needs a push,” Lord Rumlow muttered under his breath.

Winnifred’s gaze snapped to him, and he immediately looked away, his bravado fading under her scrutiny.

“A push?” she echoed icily. “Do you honestly believe pushing the King of Montelune will achieve anything other than further resistance?”

The men fell silent, and Fury’s shoulders tensed, his expression tight with frustration. “What would you have us do, Your Majesty? If the King refuses to—”

“The King does not refuse,” Winnifred interrupted, her voice ringing with authority. “He hesitates. There is a difference.” She paused, drawing herself up to her full height, her gaze cutting across the room like a blade. “But as I told you, this matter has already been addressed. The Queen will handle it.”

There was a collective pause as her words sank in. The Queen? Their glances darted back and forth, disbelief and confusion clear on their faces. It was Lord Pierce who finally voiced what they were all thinking.

“Your Majesty, the Queen is... well, she’s rather—”

“Inexperienced,” Rumlow supplied curtly, a hint of disdain lacing his tone.

“Meek,” Pierce added, though he looked apologetic.

The Dowager Queen’s gaze hardened. “You underestimate her.”

The Prime Minister’s lips pressed into a thin line. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, the Queen is still unproven. This court is filled with those who would tear her down the moment they sense weakness. To place this matter in her hands—”

“Is exactly what needs to be done,” Winnifred interrupted, her voice like steel. “She is not a child. She is a queen. And she must learn to wield her power—now, not later.”

The noblemen exchanged uneasy glances, clearly unconvinced. The silence that followed was thick with skepticism, and it was all too clear that they did not share the Dowager Queen’s confidence in Y/N.

But Winnifred stood her ground, unflinching. “Mark my words, gentlemen,” she said softly, a dangerous edge to her voice. “You may doubt her now, but she will prove you wrong. She will make you see her strength.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Lord Pierce asked quietly.

“She will,” Winnifred replied, the certainty in her voice absolute. “Because I have seen it. I know what she’s capable of.”

Another tense silence fell over the room, the men still wary but unwilling to argue further.

“Very well, Your Majesty,” Fury said at last, his tone resigned but respectful. “We will... defer to your judgment. For now.”

“Good.” Winnifred’s gaze swept over the room once more, as if daring anyone to question her again. “Now, unless there are other matters to attend to, I suggest we all turn our focus back to ensuring the stability and prosperity of Montelune. The rest... will be handled in due time.”

With that, she rose gracefully from her chair, the noblemen following suit. And as she left the room, her back straight and her gaze unflinching, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that the Dowager Queen was a force to be reckoned with—one who would see this matter resolved, no matter what it took.

Once the door closed behind her, the men shared a look of relief mixed with lingering anxiety.

Lord Pierce let out a shaky breath. “I don’t envy the queen one bit,” he muttered.

Fury nodded slowly, his gaze still fixed on the door. “No, I don’t imagine many would,” he murmured. “Because if there’s one person who can push her to act, it’s the Dowager Queen herself.”

× × × ×

It had been five long days since you’d last seen Bucky, and the estate that was meant to be your new home felt more like a gilded cage with each passing moment. Every day unfolded like clockwork, precise and unchanging, as if someone had wound up a porcelain doll and set it down to perform its routine.

You would rise from your cold, empty bed, get dressed in yet another resplendent gown chosen by the maids, and eat breakfast alone in the grand dining room. Lunch, the same—only the time of day changed, the vast silence swallowing every bite of food, every clink of porcelain against silver. Dinner was no different, the emptiness of the long table a stark reminder that you were isolated, adrift in a sea of marble and gold with no anchor in sight.

Even your attempts to fill the hours felt hollow. Books, once a source of comfort, blurred into meaningless words on a page. The piano keys beneath your fingers, no matter how delicately or forcefully you played, only echoed through the cavernous halls, sounding less like music and more like a lament. You’d tried wandering the estate, but at every turn, there was a servant or guard with polite words and unyielding eyes.

“You mustn’t go out, Your Grace. It’s for your safety.”

Your safety. The words grated against you like sandpaper, their false concern suffocating. Safety from what? From whom? No one would say. No one ever did. And every day, you could feel your sanity slipping, unraveling thread by thread, as the confines of the estate closed in around you.

And now, standing at one of the grand windows overlooking the manicured gardens, you turned abruptly, spotting Scott lingering nearby as always. The man had become a constant presence, a shadow, his careful attention both protective and irritating. You narrowed your eyes at him, frustration bubbling up like a storm.

“Scott, I want to invite Lady Natasha, Lady Wanda, and Lady Pepper for tea tomorrow morning,” you stated, your tone clipped and firm, already expecting resistance. “Make the arrangements.”

Scott’s expression shifted, a mixture of unease and hesitation. He lowered his gaze briefly before speaking, his voice quiet but unwavering. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Your Majesty.”

Your brow furrowed. “And why not?”

“My Queen… you’re still within the period of your honeymoon.” He chose his words carefully, as if speaking too freely might shatter the fragile peace that lingered between you. “It’s traditional for the queen to remain in seclusion during this time.”

“Traditional?” The word tasted bitter on your tongue, like bile. You let out a derisive laugh, shaking your head incredulously. “What, precisely, is there to seclude myself for? The king is nowhere to be found, and I—” You broke off, swallowing the sharp edge of your anger. “I am not permitted to invite anyone into my own home?”

Scott straightened slightly, his discomfort plain as day. “It’s not a matter of permission, Your Majesty. It’s simply how things are done. You are to stay within the estate until the period of seclusion ends.”

“Customary.” You echoed the word again, as if tasting its bitterness for the first time. You let out a short, sharp laugh that was entirely devoid of humor. “The king can do whatever he pleases while I am expected to sit idly and await his return. Is that what you mean?”

Scott’s mouth opened, but no words came. He simply stared at you, his gaze flicking nervously to the maids who were also watching, wide-eyed and tense.

You took a step closer, your voice softening into a dangerous whisper. “Tell me, Scott—how long is this period of seclusion supposed to last?”

“Until the tenth day after the wedding, Your Highness,” he murmured, lowering his gaze respectfully. “It is meant to provide you time to acclimate to your new role and… to reflect upon the responsibilities that come with it.”

“Reflect,” you repeated bitterly. “All I’ve done is reflect, Scott. Reflect on how little control I have over my own life. Reflect on how I have been shuttled around like a prized possession instead of a human being. Reflect on the fact that I have no voice, no say—no freedom.”

Silence fell over the room, the weight of your words hanging in the air like a dense fog. Scott shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting to the floor.

“Your Majesty,” he said quietly, “these traditions are not meant to confine you, but to protect you. To ensure your position as queen is established and—”

“Stop,” you cut him off, your tone ice-cold. “If you’re going to say one more thing about traditions or customs or protection, I would rather you not speak at all.”

Scott’s mouth snapped shut, and he gave a small, stiff nod. “As you wish, my queen.”

“Good,” you murmured, turning back to the window, your gaze hard and unyielding. “Leave me.”

You didn’t look back as Scott and the maids slowly withdrew from the room, the door closing softly behind them. The silence that followed was almost suffocating, and you stood there, staring out at the gardens that were just as closed off to you as the rest of the world.

No freedom. No voice. No choices.

× × × ×

Later in the evening, as you sat restlessly by the fireplace, staring at the flames that offered no warmth, the door to the drawing room opened, and Captain Steve Rogers stepped inside. His tall frame seemed to fill the space, and for a moment, you allowed yourself a flicker of hope. Perhaps he’d brought news, or perhaps—just perhaps—he’d come to take you away from this unending monotony.

“My Queen,” he greeted formally, bowing his head slightly.

“Captain,” you acknowledged, trying to keep the edge of desperation from your voice. “It’s good to see a familiar face.”

He offered a small, sympathetic smile as he approached. “I apologize for not visiting sooner, Your Majesty. Things have been... busy.”

Busy. The word sent a fresh wave of bitterness through you. Busy for everyone but you, it seemed. You forced a smile, gesturing for him to sit. “No need to apologize, Captain. But tell me—where is the King? I haven’t heard from him since I arrived.”

Steve’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, his gaze flickering toward the floor before meeting yours again. “He’s still in Annecy, My Queen.”

“I see.” you said softly, the name foreign on your tongue. “How exactly is Annecy?”

“It’s about a quarter of a day’s ride south, through the forest and along the main road,” Steve explained, his voice careful, measured. “It’s a secluded place, one he visits often when he needs to... reflect.”

The way he spoke made something inside you snap, your control fraying at the edges.

“Reflect,” you murmured, the word a bitter taste in your mouth. All this time, he had been in Annecy, brooding and reflecting, while you languished here, alone and forgotten. The distance between you felt more like an abyss.

“How would one get there, exactly?” you asked, feigning nonchalance. “Just in case I wanted to... send a letter, perhaps?”

Steve’s brows furrowed slightly, suspicion flickering in his blue eyes. “It’s not safe for you to travel alone, my queen. The roads can be treacherous.”

“I’m not asking for permission to travel, Captain. Merely inquiring out of curiosity,” you replied, your tone light but your heart pounding in your chest. “If I were to send a messenger, I would need to know the way.”

He hesitated, but then sighed, relenting. “It’s a straight path through the eastern gates of the estate, then along the main road until you reach the first fork. You’d take the left path, following it through the forest until you cross the river at the stone bridge. From there, it’s just another few hours until you reach the edge of Annecy.”

You nodded thoughtfully, your gaze dropping to the floor, committing his words to memory. “Thank you, Captain. That’s... very helpful.”

Steve shifted uncomfortably, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched you. “My Queen, if you’re considering—”

“I’m not considering anything,” you interrupted smoothly, your lips curving into a placating smile. “I’m merely... curious.”

He didn’t seem convinced, but he nodded nonetheless. “Very well. If you have any other questions—”

“Actually,” you cut in, your voice suddenly brighter, almost too casual, “I was wondering if I might step outside for a moment. The fresh air might do me good.”

“My Queen, it’s already quite late,” Steve said carefully, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. “Perhaps it would be best to wait until morning.”

A flicker of frustration flared within you, but you forced yourself to remain calm, nodding graciously. “Of course. . .of course. You’re right, Captain.”

Steve’s shoulders relaxed slightly, but his gaze remained watchful as he bowed his head. “Goodnight, Your Majesty.”

You offered him a demure smile, waiting until he turned to leave before your expression hardened, determination flaring to life in your chest. You watched him leave, each step of his boots echoing down the hall, the sound growing fainter until you were sure he was gone.

And then, moving swiftly, you slipped into your chambers and changed into a riding outfit, the dark fabric molding to your form like a second skin. Your heart pounded in your ears as you quietly made your way through the estate, avoiding the servants and guards as you made your way to the stables.

It was time to take matters into your own hands.

The stables were dimly lit, the smell of hay and leather filling the air. You slipped inside, your footsteps quiet as you glanced around—and then you saw it: Steve’s horse, a powerful white spotted stallion, already saddled and prepared for his return journey. He must have left it ready to go, just in case he needed to leave in haste.

A thrill shot through you as you crept closer, your fingers trembling with both fear and excitement. This was your chance. You stroked the stallion’s neck gently, murmuring soft words of reassurance before swinging up into the saddle. Steve’s horse shifted beneath you, but you steadied him, your resolve hardening.

You turned the stallion toward the eastern gate, your heart hammering with a mix of exhilaration and dread. The estate was still and silent as you urged the horse forward, guiding him through the gates and onto the open road.

Just as you reached the edge of the estate grounds, you heard a shout—Captain Rogers, his voice laced with both alarm and disbelief.

“Your Majesty! What are you doing?”

But before he could reach you, you dug your heels into the stallion’s sides, sending him into a gallop. The wind whipped past your face, the thrill of freedom and fear mingling as you urged him faster, faster—

“Damn it!” Steve’s curse echoed behind you, and you risked a glance over your shoulder to see him sprinting to the stables.

Within moments, he’d mounted another horse, spurring it forward with a sharp command. “Your Majesty, stop! You can’t just—”

But his words were lost to the wind as you rode, your stallion’s hooves pounding against the dirt road. For the first time in days, you felt alive, the adrenaline coursing through you like fire.

Steve was gaining on you, his horse closing the distance quickly. You could hear him shouting your name, the words muddled and frantic, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

Not until you reached Annecy.

Not until you reached him.

× × × ×

The night was alive with the sound of hoofbeats thundering down the narrow, moonlit road. The crisp air bit at your cheeks as you leaned low over the stallion’s neck, the wind whipping past your ears in a deafening roar. The exhilaration coursing through you was intoxicating—a reckless thrill that washed away the numbness of the past days.

You were free, if only for a fleeting moment.

But behind you, not far off, you heard the determined pursuit of another horse—a powerful, steady rhythm that only a seasoned rider could command.

“Your Majesty!” Steve’s voice rang out over the pounding of hooves, a mix of frustration and exasperation lacing his words. “Stop, damn it! You’ll get yourself hurt!”

You clenched your jaw, pushing the stallion faster, your heart racing with equal parts fear and defiance. Let him chase me, you thought stubbornly. You weren’t turning back now. Not when you were this close to escaping.

The darkened forest loomed ahead, the path winding and treacherous beneath the canopy of towering trees. Shadows stretched and twisted, the moonlight barely penetrating the thick branches. But you didn’t falter. You knew how to handle a horse, knew how to navigate even the trickiest of trails. You just had to stay ahead.

A glance over your shoulder revealed Steve, his broad form hunched low over his mount, his expression tight with concentration. His horse was closing the distance, its powerful strides gaining on you inch by inch. A thrill of panic shot through you, and you urged your stallion forward, digging your heels in as you veered off the main road and plunged into the woods.

Branches clawed at your sleeves and hair, the underbrush thick and uneven beneath the horse’s hooves. But you pressed on, darting through the narrow gaps between the trees, your breath qyickening. You could hear Steve’s curses behind you, the snapping of twigs and the rustle of leaves marking his relentless pursuit.

“Your Majesty, this is madness!” he shouted, his voice closer now. “Stop now, before you hurt yourself!”

“Go back, Captain!” you called over your shoulder, the thrill of the chase making your blood sing. “I’m not turning around!”

“Damn it, woman!” Steve growled, unable to hide his frustration with you. “You’re going to regret this!”

The path ahead narrowed even further, the trees pressing in on all sides. Your horse stumbled slightly, its hooves slipping on the loose soil, but you quickly regained control, urging it onward. You could feel Steve’s presence like a shadow at your back, his horse matching yours stride for stride, the sound of their breathing harsh and heavy in the cool night air.

And then, with a burst of speed, Steve’s horse surged forward, drawing up beside yours. You stole a glance at him, your eyes meeting his briefly in the dim light. His gaze was fierce, determined—and utterly unyielding.

“Pull up, My Queen,” he commanded, his voice low and dangerous. “Now.”

You shook your head, setting your jaw stubbornly. “No. Not until I see him.”

Steve cursed under his breath, his hand darting out to grasp at your reins. “I’m not letting you—”

You yanked the reins sharply, steering the stallion to the right and away from his grasp. The horse whinnied in protest, but you held firm, pushing it onward. Steve swerved to avoid colliding with you, his horse skidding on the loose gravel before regaining its balance.

“Damn it!” he shouted again, his voice raw with a mix of anger and concern. “This isn’t a game!”

“No, it’s not!” you shot back, your voice rising with the intensity of the chase. “It’s my life, Steve!”

Something flickered in his eyes—something that looked almost like pity—but he didn’t relent. He tightened his grip on the reins and urged his horse forward, drawing up alongside you once more.

“I’m not letting you go,” he ground out, his jaw clenched. “Even if I have to drag you back myself.”

“Try it,” you dared, the words slipping out before you could think better of it. “Just try.”

His eyes flashed, and for a moment, you thought he might actually do it—might tackle you right off your horse and force you back. But instead, he gritted his teeth, his knuckles white where they gripped the reins.

“Fine,” he bit out. “You want to do this the hard way? We’ll do it the hard way.”

And with that, he urged his horse even closer, the two animals almost neck and neck now. He reached out again, his hand brushing against your arm, and you tensed, your heart hammering wildly.

But instead of pulling you back, he yanked sharply on the reins of your stallion, forcing the horse to slow and swerve, breaking your pace. You let out a cry of protest, your grip tightening on the reins as you fought to keep control. Steve’s horse blocked your path, cutting off any chance of escape.

“Let me go!” you shouted, your voice trembling with a mix of fury and desperation.

“Not happening,” Steve growled, his eyes blazing as he leaned in closer. “You think I’m going to let you ride off into the night alone, to God knows where, just because you’re stubborn?”

“You don’t understand—”

“I understand perfectly,” he interrupted, his tone harsh. “I understand that you’re hurting. That you feel trapped. But this—” he gestured to the dark woods around you, his voice rising with exasperation—“this isn’t the way to fix it.”

You glared at him, your breath coming in short, furious gasps. “And what would you know about it, Captain?”

“Enough to know that if you keep pushing like this, you’re going to get yourself hurt,” he shot back, his voice cracking slightly. “And then what? Do you think that’s what he’d want? For you to risk everything like this?”

You stared at him, your chest heaving, and for a moment, the fight drained out of you, leaving you hollow and aching. He was right. You knew he was right. But the thought of going back—of returning to that empty, suffocating house—was unbearable.

“I just... I need to see him, Steve,” you replied, your voice breaking on the words. “I need to understand.”

His expression softened, his grip on the reins loosening slightly. “I know,” he murmured. “But not like this. Not alone.”

The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy with unspoken words. And then, slowly, hesitantly, you nodded, the fire inside you dimming to a flicker.

“Okay,” you whispered. “Okay.”

Steve released a breath he seemed to have been holding, his shoulders relaxing. “Good,” he said quietly, his voice rough with relief. “Let’s head back.”

But as he turned his horse, you saw your opportunity—a split-second chance—and before he could react, you kicked Steve’s horse into a gallop, the sudden burst of speed propelling you forward, back onto the path.

“Princess—Queen—Y/N!” Steve roared, the sound of his curses following you as you tore through the woods, the wind whipping past you.

This time, you didn’t look back. You couldn’t afford to. You had to reach Bucky. You had to know why he’d left you there—alone and abandoned.

Steve’s shouts echoed through the night as he raced after you, his horse’s hooves pounding against the ground like thunder.

“Stop, damn it!” he bellowed, his voice raw and desperate.

“Enough!” you shouted back, your voice cracking with the force of it. “Stop telling me what I should and shouldn’t do!”

Steve’s horse pulled up beside yours again, his face tight with worry and anger. “This isn’t safe, Y/N!”

“Don’t you dare!” you snapped, your eyes blazing as you looked at him. “Don’t you dare tell me what’s safe. You can’t keep me locked up like a caged bird just because it’s easier for you to watch over me!”

Steve’s mouth opened as if to argue, but you cut him off, your voice trembling with fury. “I’m not turning back, Steve. Not this time. So either let me go... or help me.”

He stared at you, the conflict clear in his eyes. For a moment, it seemed like he might refuse, might force you to return despite everything.

But then he let out a harsh breath, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Damn it, Y/N... fine.”

“What?” you breathed, barely daring to believe it.

“If you’re going to do this, then I’m coming with you,” he ground out, his jaw clenched. “Because I’m not letting you ride off into the night alone.”

You swallowed hard, the fight draining out of you as his words sank in. Slowly, you nodded, a shaky breath escaping your lips.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the horses’ hooves.

Steve’s gaze softened, and he gave a terse nod. “Just... try not to get us both killed, all right?”

A faint, breathless laugh escaped you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a small flicker of hope.

With one last glance at each other, you turned your horses toward the open road, the path to Annecy stretching out before you.

× × × ×

The cold night air nipped at your cheeks as you and Steve rode side by side, the rhythmic gallop of the horses’ hooves creating a steady, almost soothing cadence in the darkness. The road ahead was long, the path winding through the forest illuminated only by the pale light of the moon, casting everything in a muted, silvery glow.

Despite the tension simmering between you, there was something almost... peaceful about it. The silence that stretched between you and the captain wasn’t oppressive like before.

Steve’s gaze slid sideways, lingering on your determined profile. He wasn’t sure what he expected when he’d first seen you at the palace, but it certainly wasn’t this. A princess—no, a queen—in every sense of the word, but also something else entirely. Impulsive, stubborn, unrelenting in your resolve to push forward no matter what stood in your way. Every action you took seemed to defy the expectations of your station.

And yet, here you were, riding through the wilderness in the dead of night, your chin lifted high as if daring the stars themselves to challenge your resolve.

The corner of his mouth twitched in grudging admiration. “You ride well,” he offered, breaking the silence.

You turned to him, arching a brow. “Are you surprised?”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Maybe a little. I didn’t expect a queen to handle a horse like that.”

Your lips curved into a small, almost wry smile. “My father made sure I knew how to ride from a young age. I learned when I was six.”

Steve blinked, his gaze sharpening with curiosity. “Six? That’s... early.”

You shrugged, your expression turning thoughtful. “I suppose it is. But in my country, it wasn’t unusual. There was a lot to navigate, and horses were a necessity for both travel and safety.”

Something in your tone—a flicker of something distant, a shadow—caught his attention, and he studied you with newfound appreciation. He’d thought you reckless before—impulsive, driven by raw emotion. But perhaps he’d underestimated you. There was more to you than he’d thought, more beneath that composed surface you kept so carefully guarded.

“You’re more capable than most people give you credit for,” he murmured, his voice almost contemplative.

You glanced at him, your gaze sharp and discerning. “They don’t see what they don’t want to see, Captain. I can read, too, you know.” A dry chuckle escaped you. “I can speak three languages, play music, excel in archery. I know more about strategy and history than some of the advisors who sit in the council chamber.”

Steve’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he quickly schooled his features, nodding slowly. “That’s impressive.”

“Is it?” you asked softly, a hint of bitterness creeping into your tone. “It’s not impressive if no one cares to know.” You shook your head, letting out a sigh. “No one’s ever bothered to ask. Not even James.”

His chest tightened at the way you said it, the quiet hurt that laced your words. He looked down at the reins in his hands, feeling a pang of guilt. You were right. No one had asked. Steve certainly hadn’t. He’d only ever seen you through the lens of a title, a role. He hadn’t seen you—not until now.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, the words sounding inadequate even to his own ears. “I should have... I didn’t realize—”

“It’s not your fault, Captain,” you interrupted gently, your voice carrying a tired acceptance. “I’ve had to learn to hide things. If I didn’t, I’d be seen as a threat—or worse, a failure. Women aren’t supposed to read, to know things beyond sewing and dancing.” Your lips twisted wryly. “But I never liked being told what I could and couldn’t do.”

Steve couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. “I can see that.”

You rolled your eyes, though the gesture was light. “I’m serious, Captain. No one sees me for who I am, only for what they want me to be. And if they did see the real me... I wonder if they’d be disappointed.”

The raw honesty in your voice cut through him like a blade, and he swallowed, a knot forming in his throat. He couldn’t imagine anyone being disappointed by the fierce, unyielding woman riding beside him. If anything, he was completely, utterly astounded by you. Your strength, your determination—it was unlike anything he’d ever encountered.

And yet, you spoke as if it were something to be ashamed of.

“I doubt that very much,” he said quietly, his gaze steady and sincere. “If they could see what I see, they’d realize just how wrong they’ve been.”

You blinked, surprise flashing in your eyes before you looked away, your lips pressing together. “Thank you,” you murmured, the words barely audible over the sound of the horses’ hooves.

He nodded, his chest tightening again. “You deserve to be seen, My Queen. All of you.”

Silence fell between you again, but this time it was different—softer, gentler. The tension that had wound itself around you began to ease, loosening its grip ever so slightly. You stared ahead, your mind still spinning, but something in his words soothed the ache inside you, if only for a moment.

“Just... try not to run off on me again, all right?” Steve added after a moment, his tone lightening. “You’re going to give me a heart attack.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up at his exasperation. “No promises, Captain.”

He shook his head, a reluctant smile on his lips. “Of course not. You’d never make it that easy for me, would you?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you teased, and for the first time since you’d left the estate, the tension in your chest began to loosen, the weight of it lifting just a little.

Steve glanced at you, his gaze warm and admiring. “You really are something else, my Queen.” He paused, his expression turning thoughtful as he murmured, “Bucky has met his match, it seems.”

Your smile softened, a faint flush rising to your cheeks. “And you, Captain Rogers, are far too kind.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, I’m just speaking the truth.”

× × × ×

The flickering glow of torches cast the estate’s front steps in a soft, golden hue, and a figure stepped forward from the shadows. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and his eyes, narrowed and assessing, were locked on you as if you were an intruder. The guards flanking the entrance straightened, their hands subtly tightening on the hilts of their swords.

“Who are you?” the man asked, his voice carrying an edge of command.

You instinctively straightened in your saddle, your gaze meeting his. “I am the queen.”

His brows rose ever so slightly, a flicker of something—surprise, perhaps—passing through his expression. But he didn’t step aside. Instead, he squared his shoulders and planted himself more firmly in your path, his jaw set.

“And why is Her Majesty arriving at such an hour without an escort?” His tone was polite, but there was an undercurrent of steel that made your pulse quicken.

Before you could respond, Steve cleared his throat, guiding his horse a step forward, his gaze fixed on the man with an unflinching intensity. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Sam.”

Sam glanced at Steve, recognition sparking in his eyes, but he didn’t move. “Captain Rogers,” he said evenly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Didn’t expect to see you standing in the way of the queen,” Steve shot back, his tone calm but firm. “I suggest you step aside.”

The man—Sam—hesitated, his gaze sliding back to you, lingering with a mixture of wariness and something else... respect? Curiosity? You couldn’t quite tell.

“Your Majesty,” Sam said slowly, his voice measured, “I’m under strict orders to keep the estate secure.”

You squared your shoulders, lifting your chin as you met his gaze head-on. “I have come to see my husband. I am certain his orders do not extend to preventing me from entering.”

Sam’s lips twitched, as if he were fighting back a smile. For a heartbeat, you thought he might refuse again. But then he stepped aside with a graceful nod, sweeping his arm toward the entrance.

“Welcome, Your Majesty. Forgive me for the delay.” His eyes shifted to Steve, a knowing look passing between them before he turned back to you. “Shall I announce your arrival?”

You hesitated, glancing at Steve, who merely shook his head. “No,” you said softly, feeling a strange surge of determination. “I’ll find him myself.”

With a nod, Sam stepped back, gesturing for the guards to lower their weapons. As you dismounted, handing the reins to a stable boy who had appeared from the shadows, you felt Steve’s steady presence beside you—a silent pillar of support.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he murmured under his breath, his voice barely audible over the rustle of leaves in the breeze.

You nodded, squaring your shoulders. “I didn’t ride all this way to be turned back now, Captain.”

He gave you a small, tight smile, his eyes flicking briefly to Sam before returning to you. “Then let’s go find him.”

The grand entrance of the estate opened before you like the maw of some great beast, its stone walls and towering pillars casting deep, ominous shadows. As you stepped inside, the air seemed to change—thicker, almost suffocating, like a place that held too many secrets. The floors gleamed under the flickering light of candles set in wall sconces, the polished surfaces reflecting the nervous tension tightening in your chest.

Steve followed closely behind, his hand hovering near his sword, his gaze scanning the dimly lit corridors with the sharp, alert intensity of a soldier on high alert.

“He’s this way,” he murmured, gesturing with a tilt of his head.

You nodded, your heart pounding louder with each step. The estate was grander than you had expected, the hallways long and winding. For a moment, you felt disoriented, as if you’d stumbled into a labyrinth. But you forced yourself to focus. You were here for a reason—to speak to James. To confront him, to demand answers.

After what felt like an eternity, you reached a heavy wooden door, slightly ajar, warm light spilling through the crack. Steve slowed, his hand coming up as if to stop you, but you shook your head. You needed to do this alone.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open gently, stepping inside.

The heavy door creaked shut behind you as you stepped fully into the observatory. Your gaze swept over the large telescope set up at the far end, its towering structure silhouetted against the backdrop of the star-strewn sky.

You saw him—standing beside it, a shadowed figure against the soft glow of the evening, the faint town lights far below barely piercing the darkness up here. His fingers traced the metal frame of the instrument, the careful precision of his movements almost reverent. It was unexpected—seeing him like this. Vulnerable, focused, his usual air of authority and distance replaced by something quieter, more human.

“Why are you here?” he asked, his voice clipped and cold. The question sounded more like an accusation, his grip tightening on the edge of the telescope.

“I think you know why,” you replied, your words as sharp as the air between you. “You can’t just keep sending me away like I’m some piece of unwanted baggage.”

He exhaled harshly, his shoulders shifting, but he still didn’t turn to face you. “You’re supposed to be at the estate. This is not—”

“Not what?” you cut in, your own frustration spilling over. “Not where I’m supposed to be? I’m your wife, James. Is it not my right to stand beside you, wherever you may be?”

Finally, he turned, his jaw set, eyes hardened as he stared at you across the room. “You’re making everything more complicated than it needs to be.”

“Complicated?” The word tasted bitter, and you threw it back at him like a weapon. “Complicated is this entire charade of a marriage you’ve thrown me into. You can’t even be in the same room as me, can’t look at me without acting like I’m some burden you’re forced to carry.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze never wavering. “You knew what was expected from the very beginning. I never misled you.”

“Never?” you shot back, stepping closer, heat rising beneath your skin. “What about everything you said that morning in the garden? You made me believe—” You stopped yourself, anger tightening in your throat. “You led me to believe there was more. You looked me in the eye and made promises without saying a word.”

Bucky scoffed, shaking his head sharply. “You’re twisting things, Y/N.”

“Am I?” Your voice rose, matching his, the words bursting out like they’d been waiting for this fight. “You led me on, made me think there could be something real between us. Did you really mean it? All those sweet words? Or am I just another woman you can disregard?”

His expression didn’t soften, didn’t waver. He took a step forward, eyes burning into yours. “You’re not just another woman. You’re my wife. And that’s exactly why I’m telling you to go back where it’s safe.”

You laughed, a cold, hollow sound that felt like it echoed through the observatory. “Safe. You keep saying that. But you know what’s unsafe, James? Being married to someone who treats me like a ghost. Like I’m here but not really here. Like I’m nothing more than a title to you.”

“You don’t understand,” he snapped, his voice dangerously low. “You think this is about you? It’s not. It’s about—”

“Don’t you dare tell me what this is about!” you interrupted, your anger roaring back to life. “You’ve been pushing me away since the day we married. You send me to that estate like I’m some delicate flower who can’t handle the truth. You won’t even give me the courtesy of honesty.”

“I am being honest,” he growled, his voice vibrating with suppressed rage. “You just refuse to accept it.”

“Then tell me why you shut me out!” you demanded, taking another step closer, refusing to back down. “Tell me why you can’t even bear to look at me!”

“Because it’s easier that way!” he exploded, the words crashing between you like a thunderclap. “Because every moment I spend with you, every look, every touch—it makes it harder to keep my distance. And I need that distance, Y/N. I need it.”

“Why?” The single word felt like a challenge, a dare, as you stood your ground. “Why do you need to keep your distance?”

He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes wild with something you couldn’t quite decipher. “Because if I don’t, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” you pressed, your voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “You’ll feel something? You’ll actually let yourself care?”

“Damn it, stop twisting my words!” he snapped, his voice echoing off the walls. He pointed toward the door, his hand trembling slightly. “This conversation is over. Go home.”

But you didn’t move. Instead, you square your shoulders, staring him down with a determination that only seemed to make his fury burn hotter. “You’re just a coward, James.”

“What did you say?” His eyes darkened, the heat in his gaze scorching.

“I said you’re a coward,” you repeated, your voice unyielding. “It’s not about protecting me, is it? It’s about protecting yourself. You can’t handle feeling anything real, so you shove me away and pretend it’s for my sake—”

“Enough!” he roared, slamming his fist down on a workbench. The sound reverberated through the room, you flinched, but didn’t back away. He took a deep, shuddering breath, his voice a raw growl when he spoke again. “I’m commanding you to go home, Y/N. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“And what if I don’t?” you shot back, your heart hammering in your chest. “What if I stay here and make you face me?”

He took a step forward, the distance between you closing until he was towering over you.

“You want me to be honest? Fine. I’m being honest now.” He leaned in, his voice a dangerous whisper. “Go. Home. Because if you stay, I can’t promise I won’t hurt you.”

The threat hung in the air, his gaze blazing with a warning you knew he meant. But even then, you didn’t move. You held his stare, refusing to look away, refusing to give in.

But then something shifted in his eyes—something dark and final.

“Leave,” he bit out, each word a sharp command. “Go back to the estate. This is not up for debate.”

“James—”

“Go.” His voice cut through the room like a blade, and for the first time, you felt the full force of his resolve, the cold, impenetrable wall he had built around himself.

Slowly, you stepped back, your eyes still locked on his, the ache in your chest spreading like a poison.

“You really think you’re protecting me?” Your voice wavered, the frustration and pain that had been building over the past five days bubbling to the surface, spilling out like a torrent you could no longer contain. “But all you’re doing is pushing me away. You think that sending me back to that estate, is what’s best for me? Locking me up like some prisoner while you hide away here?”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his expression an unreadable mask of ice.

“Every morning I wake up in that empty bed, wondering if today will be the day you finally show up. If maybe, for once, you’ll decide that I’m worth more than a few fleeting words, worth more than some shadow you keep at arm’s length.” Your voice shook, but you pressed on, refusing to let the lump in your throat silence you.

“I eat alone. I read alone. I play music for walls that don’t listen. I’m trapped in that place, surrounded by people who refuse to let me leave, because you’ve ordered it. ‘For my safety,’” you scoffed, the bitterness heavy in your tone. “But safety from what, James? From whom?”

He flinched, just barely, but you caught it. You saw the way his fingers twitched at his sides, the way his gaze flickered with something—regret, maybe—before he buried it beneath that cold, stony facade.

“Your silence is worse than anything else. Worse than the gossip, the rumors,” you continued, each word sharp, slicing through the air. “I didn’t marry a title, James. I married you—or at least, I thought I did. But the man I met in the garden… the man who promised me something more… that’s not who I see now.”

He didn’t respond, his gaze unyielding, his stance unrelenting.

“Fine. If you want to let this crumble to dust, then fine. But don’t you dare think that you’re doing it for me,” you spat, turning on your heel and heading for the door. “You want me to leave? I’ll leave.”

With that, you stormed out, slamming the door behind you, the echo of it reverberating through the silence he left behind.

And in that silence, Bucky stood alone, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes fixed on the door you’d just walked through, the words he didn’t say choking him from the inside out.

× × × ×

You stormed down the spiral staircase until you arrived at the hallway, each step punctuated by the echo of your boots against the stone floor. You barely registered the curious glances of the servants or the soft rustling of skirts as maids darted out of your path. Everything was a blur of color and sound, your heart pounding in your ears like a war drum.

You reached the grand foyer, your breath coming in ragged, furious gasps. You hadn’t meant to let him get to you—hadn’t meant to let his coldness, his indifference, chip away at the fragile hope you’d nurtured.

But he had.

And now the hope was gone, replaced by a searing anger that burned hot and unforgiving in your chest.

“My Queen!” Steve’s voice called out urgently somewhere behind you. You didn’t stop, didn’t even glance back. “What happened? Did he—”

“I do not wish to talk about it, Steve,” you snapped, not breaking stride as you pushed through the front entrance. The cold night air hit you like a slap, the sharpness of it biting into your skin, but it was a welcome relief—anything to douse the fire raging inside you.

“Y/N, wait—”

But you ignored him, striding toward the stables where your horse was already saddled and waiting. A stable boy jumped at your sudden arrival, his eyes wide with uncertainty as you approached.

“Bring my things. I’m leaving,” you ordered, your voice taut with barely contained fury.

“But—Your Majesty—” the boy stammered, glancing nervously between you and Steve, who had followed you out.

“Do as she says,” Steve murmured, his tone resigned, though there was a hard edge to his gaze as he watched you mount the horse.

“Y/N—” Steve tried again, his hand lifting as if he might reach for you, stop you. But you jerked the reins sharply, cutting him off.

“Are you coming?”

He fell silent, his shoulders slumping slightly as he watched you, the conflict clear in his eyes. He looked like he wanted to say something else, wanted to protest—but then his gaze flicked back toward the darkened silhouette of the estate, and he let out a low, frustrated sigh.

“Yes,” he muttered, his voice tight with suppressed emotion. “I’ll escort you back to Byron—but allow me to have a word with the King.”

“Do whatever you want,” you bit out, the bitterness in your tone making his jaw clench.

Steve approaches your horse, looking up at you with a hardened look, “Do not leave without me.”

“I won’t.”

× × × ×

Bucky stood in the center of the room, the soft, amber glow of candlelight casting deep shadows across his features. His breathing was labored, each inhale and exhale scraping through his lungs like broken glass. He stared at the closed door, his hand still clenched around the edge of the workbench, his knuckle white with the force of his grip.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, his voice a harsh, broken sound in the empty room.

The door creaked open suddenly, and Bucky’s gaze snapped up, his eyes blazing with a dangerous mix of anger and fear.

Steve stepped inside, his expression tight, his shoulders squared. For a moment, the two men simply stared at each other, the air crackling with unspoken tension.

“What the hell was that?” Steve demanded, his voice low and fierce, like the growl of an animal poised to attack. He took a step forward, his gaze never leaving Bucky’s. “What the hell did you say to her?”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he turned away, his shoulders stiff. “That is no concern of yours.”

“Like hell it’s not,” Steve shot back, his voice rising with barely contained fury. He took another step forward, his eyes blazing. “She came here for you. She rode all the way from Byron—alone, at night—just to see you. And you turn her away like she’s nothing?”

“Watch it, Rogers,” Bucky warned, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “This is between me and her.”

“Bullshit,” Steve spat, his fists clenching at his sides. “She is my queen. You may be her husband, but you are not acting as such. You are simply pushing her away—”

“Watch how you speak to me, Captain,” Bucky warned further, his voice low and simmering with barely controlled rage. He turned back to face Steve, his eyes flashing with a dangerous, unyielding intensity. “I am your King before I am your friend. Don't you ever forget that.”

But then Steve’s expression hardened, the muscle in his jaw flexing as he took a deliberate step closer, refusing to be cowed.

“You may be my King,” Steve ground out, his voice tight and edged with anger. “But that does not mean I will stand by and watch you destroy yourself. I know why you’re doing this. And it’s tearing her apart.”

“I’m doing what I have to,” Bucky interrupted sharply. He stepped forward, his hard gaze latching onto Steve’s. “Do not presume to know what is best for her, Steve.”

“And you do?” Steve challenged, his voice dripping with contempt. “Because from where I stand, it seems you are doing everything in your power to hurt her.”

Bucky’s expression twisted, a dark, bitter smile tugging at his lips. “You think I wish to cause her pain?”

“I think you’re terrified,” Steve replied quietly, his voice calm and unflinching. “You’re scared of what you feel for her, afraid of getting close—because losing her would destroy you. But this… pushing her away, pretending you don’t care… that’s just cowardice.”

Bucky’s eyes flared, his hand darting out to grab the front of Steve’s coat, yanking him forward until their faces were inches apart. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Then explain it to me,” Steve demanded, his voice low and unrelenting. “You are sabotaging yourself and tearing her down in the process—I am done watching you destroy the one good thing you possess.”

For a moment, they stood there, locked in a silent, seething battle of wills. Then, slowly, Bucky released his grip on Steve’s coat, his shoulders slumping as if the fight had drained out of him.

“You should leave, Steve,” Bucky muttered, his voice thick with exhaustion and defeat. He turned away, his gaze falling to the floor. “Go take her back to Byron. Make sure she’s safe.”

“Bucky—”

“Just go,” Bucky bit out, his voice rough and ragged. He didn’t look back, didn’t give Steve a chance to argue.

Steve’s gaze lingered on him for a long, tense moment, a dozen words hovering on the tip of his tongue. But then he turned sharply on his heel, his boots echoing through the silent observatory as he left, the door slamming shut behind him.

And then, slowly, he sank down onto the nearest chair, his head dropping into his hands, his shoulders shaking with the force of emotions he couldn’t quite suppress.

But no tears fell. He’d learned long ago how to bury them deep, how to lock them away where they couldn’t hurt him—or anyone else.

Because this was the price of keeping you safe. The price of keeping his distance.

Even if it destroyed him in the process.

× × × ×

The maids moved quietly, arranging fresh flowers and setting a delicate porcelain tea set on a polished table. Queen Winifred sat gracefully in her high-backed chair, sipping her morning tea, her posture as rigid and refined as ever.

She barely looked up as her lady-in-waiting, Lady Harriet, approached hesitantly. There was a slight shift in the atmosphere—something unspoken crackling between them. Harriet glanced around, making sure no one else was within earshot, before leaning in closer.

“Your Majesty, I thought you should be informed… the Queen…” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “Last night, she left the estate. Captain Rogers accompanied her.”

The Queen Dowager’s hand stilled, the delicate teacup hovering just inches from her lips. “She did what?” she asked, her voice even but laced with incredulity.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Lady Harriet continued, her voice dropping lower as if speaking the words any louder would make them more scandalous. “She rode all the way to the King’s estate in Annecy. It caused quite a stir among the staff, even with Captain Rogers by her side.”

For a moment, a thick silence settled in the room. The Queen Dowager’s eyes narrowed slightly, as though considering the implications of such an audacious act. But then… something unexpected happened.

The corner of her lips twitched.

Lady Harriet blinked, surprised, as a soft chuckle slipped past the Queen Dowager’s lips—a sound so rare, it seemed to startle even her own maids. Winifred set the teacup down gently, a wry smile spreading across her face as she tilted her head in quiet amusement.

“She rode to Annecy,” she repeated, a hint of disbelief mingling with a spark of admiration in her eyes. “With Captain Rogers…” She shook her head slightly, as if she could scarcely believe it herself. “That girl…”

Her chuckle grew a little louder, a quiet, knowing sound. Lady Harriet exchanged a glance with one of the other maids, clearly perplexed by the Queen Dowager’s reaction. This wasn’t the disapproving reprimand they’d expected.

The Queen Dowager leaned back in her chair, her gaze turning distant as she stared out the window.

“So, she did listen after all…” she murmured to herself, almost as if speaking the thought aloud would make it more real.

Lady Harriet hesitated, unsure whether to continue or to remain silent. “Your Majesty?”

The Queen Dowager waved a hand dismissively, still smiling to herself. “It’s nothing, Harriet.”

She took another sip of her tea, a thoughtful look crossing her face. “The Queen may have more steel in her spine than I initially thought.”

“Should we… take any action regarding her behavior, Your Majesty?” Harriet asked tentatively, still clearly baffled.

Winifred’s smile widened, a gleam of something almost like pride flashing in her eyes. “No, Harriet. Leave her be.”

She glanced down at her teacup, swirling the liquid gently. “Let her make her bold moves. Let her surprise them all.” She lifted her gaze, the hint of a satisfied smirk tugging at her lips. “It’s about time someone shook things up around here.”

Lady Harriet shifted, still looking uncertain. “But Your Majesty, if Captain Rogers was with her, it might imply—”

“Captain Rogers may be a steadfast soldier, but he does not dictate the queen’s actions. She made her choice.” Winnifred paused, her smile deepening. “And if I’m not mistaken, that girl has enough fire to make any man, king or captain, follow her lead.”

And with that, she returned to her tea as if nothing had happened, the faintest smile lingering on her lips—a smile that spoke of a plan unfolding, of something more significant simmering beneath the surface.

Yes, the queen was proving to be quite a force, indeed.

× × × ×

You sit perched on a thick branch of the grand oak tree, high above the garden path. The cool breeze plays with the hem of your skirts and rustles the leaves around you. A delicate porcelain teacup is balanced carefully on a knot beside you, the matching saucer nestled securely on a branch above, where a glimmer of sunlight catches the floral patterns.

Below, the world feels distant—removed. From this height, you can watch the maids flit about like little insects, pretending to ignore you while stealing glances up at your odd choice of seating.

Your book lies open in your lap, but you haven’t turned a page in a while. The words blur together as your gaze drifts away from the text, caught instead by the blue expanse of sky peeking through the foliage, your thoughts miles away.

It has been two days since you rode to Annecy in the dead of night. Two days since you confronted your husband, demanding answers he seemed unwilling—or unable—to give. And now, silence. Not a single word from him. Not even a letter. The ache of that silence lingers in your chest, tightening every time you think of him.

With a sigh, you look back at the pages, willing yourself to focus. But even now, the ache of anticipation tugs at you. A soft crunch of boots against gravel draws your attention. From your elevated position, you glance down and find Captain Rogers standing beneath the oak, his brow furrowed in a curious frown as he peers up at you.

“Your Majesty?” His voice carries a note of genuine confusion and surprise. “How did you get up there?”

You blink, taken aback, before a smile tugs at your lips. “I climbed, Captain Rogers.”

His eyes widen slightly, and then he glances at the tree trunk, scanning the branches as if trying to piece together the puzzle of how a queen—of all people—managed to scale a tree like a child escaping her governess.

“Climbed,” he repeats, disbelief tinged with admiration. “And no one stopped you?”

“No one saw me until I was already here,” you reply, a faint note of mischief coloring your tone. “And by then, what could they do? Order their queen to come down?”

The corner of his mouth lifts in a reluctant smile as he steps closer, his gaze still on you. “Well, I can’t say I expected to find you up a tree, but… may I join you?”

You raise an eyebrow, looking down at him as he places one hand on the trunk, testing his grip. “Do you think you can get up here, Captain?”

“Only one way to find out,” he murmurs.

You watch, surprised and a little amused, as he hoists himself up, his powerful arms making easy work of the climb. He’s not quite as graceful as you’d been, but soon enough, he’s straddling the branch in front of you, facing you, his legs on either side of the limb to keep himself balanced. The limb dips ever so slightly under his weight. The closeness between you makes the air seem charged, a tension simmering beneath the surface.

“Impressive,” you say softly, tilting your head to regard him. “For a soldier, you climb trees like a schoolboy.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “I suppose that’s one way of putting it.” He shifts his position slightly, leaning forward, his hands braced on either side of the branch, bringing him closer, his gaze holding yours with unsettling intensity. “But what are you doing up here? Escaping the palace? Or just trying to find some peace?”

“Perhaps both,” you reply with a small sigh. “The view is nice up here. It gives me a different perspective.”

“Perspective,” he repeats thoughtfully. “Or maybe it’s a place to hide.”

Your gaze snaps to his, a flash of irritation rising at his too-accurate guess. “And if it is?”

“Then I understand.” His voice is soft, devoid of the teasing lilt he’d used earlier. “But sometimes… sometimes what we’re running from follows us, no matter how high we climb.”

His words strike something deep within you, and you avert your gaze, looking out at the horizon instead of meeting his eyes. “What do you want, Captain? Surely you didn’t climb this tree just to talk about running away.”

He shifts closer, his knee brushing against yours, the rough bark digging into your skirts as he leans forward slightly. His proximity is dizzying, his eyes searching yours with a kind of determination that makes your pulse quicken. “I thought… perhaps some company would be welcome. It’s a lovely day, and you seem… alone.”

“Alone, but not lonely,” you lied, the words almost a whisper. “Still, I appreciate the thought.”

“But you shouldn’t have to handle things alone,” he counters gently, his gaze softening as he watches you. “Sometimes, it helps to share the burden. Or at least… know there’s someone willing to share it.”

You glance down at the garden below, where the maids are casting furtive glances up at the two of you, their curiosity barely concealed. A murmur rises among them, speculation sparking like dry kindling. You can practically hear the gossip spreading like wildfire.

“Is this... concern for my well-being or more... personal interest, Captain?” you ask, your voice laced with challenge.

He holds your gaze, his expression softening in a way that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Perhaps a bit of both,” he replies quietly.

A murmur rises among the maids, their eyes widening as they exchange knowing looks. Your gaze shifts briefly to them before returning to Steve’s, suspicion and confusion swirling in your chest.

“Captain Rogers, I—” You begin to speak but falter, unsure how to respond to this unexpected display of interest.

He leans back slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “It’s just... Your Majesty, you deserve someone who sees you. Not just the crown, not just the queen, but you.”

The maids’ murmurs grow louder, and you force yourself to smile, though it feels brittle on your lips.

“That’s very kind of you to say, Captain,” you reply, your voice steady despite the confusion roiling inside you. “But perhaps you should keep such thoughts to yourself. I would hate for anyone to misunderstand your intentions.”

“Misunderstand?” he echoes, his smile widening just enough to be noticed. “I’m not sure there’s any misunderstanding when a man speaks his mind.”

Your eyes narrow, a flash of irritation sparking behind them. What game is he playing? Before you can press further, one of the maids drops a basket of flowers, the sudden clatter drawing both your attention. The young woman quickly bends to pick them up, her cheeks flushed, but not before she casts another furtive glance at you and Steve.

“Let them talk, Your Majesty. Sometimes, a little attention is exactly what’s needed.”

“Attention for whom?” you ask, your voice dropping to a whisper, your suspicion growing. “For me? Or for... someone else?”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “For whoever needs it,” he murmurs softly, the words thick with unspoken meaning.

You inhale deeply, holding his gaze as you speak. “I think it’s best if we don’t continue this conversation.”

With a quiet sigh, you carefully swing your legs over the branch and drop down, landing gracefully on the grass below. Steve follows suit, descending with a thud beside you, his presence lingering too close for comfort.

“Thank you for your... company, Captain,” you say quietly, smoothing down your skirts.

He dips his head in a respectful bow. “Of course, Your Majesty. I apologize if I overstepped.”

Without another word, you turn on your heel and make your way back to the estate, leaving him and his cryptic words behind among the watchful eyes and eager whispers of the maids.

The afternoon sun cast dappled shadows across the marble floors of the corridor as you made your way back to your chambers. Each step you took felt heavier, weighted down by the encounter in the garden, by Captain Rogers’ unexpected behavior, and the murmurs that had buzzed around you like a swarm of bees.

As you turned a corner, you caught sight of Scott—your valet—hovering a few paces behind. His presence was a familiar one, but something about it now felt... different. Obtrusive. You slowed your pace until you came to a halt, turning abruptly to face him.

“Scott,” you called softly, your tone edged with irritation and confusion. “Why are you following me?”

Scott, ever the stoic presence, dipped his head in a respectful bow. “Your Majesty, it’s my duty to attend to you.”

Your eyes narrowed as you took in the determined set of his shoulders, the way his gaze remained fixed just over your shoulder, never meeting your eyes. He’d been like this ever since you returned from Annecy—hovering in the shadows, always lingering close by.

“Yes, I know that, Scott,” you said slowly, studying him with a scrutinizing gaze. “But lately, you’ve been… hovering more than usual.”

His lips twitched, a fleeting sign of discomfort. “I apologize, Your Majesty. I merely wish to ensure your safety.”

“Ensure my safety?” you echoed, suspicion prickling at the back of your mind. You glanced around the empty corridor, a sense of unease settling in your chest. “Who ordered you to follow me around like this?”

Scott hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor before he glanced back up, his voice low. “It was the order of the king, Your Majesty.”

Your breath caught. Bucky? You frowned, confusion and frustration warring within you. Why would he do that? He hadn’t even bothered to see you, to speak to you since the night you confronted him. And yet, now he saw fit to have you followed?

“And… What of Captain Rogers?” you asked, your voice quieter now, a strange apprehension curling around your words. “Why does it seem like he’s been lingering around more often? Was that also at the king’s order?”

Scott shifted slightly, his expression remaining neutral, though there was a faint trace of something—sympathy, perhaps?—in his eyes. “Yes, Your Majesty. The king… he wanted to ensure you were… properly attended to.”

“Properly attended to?” You scoffed softly, shaking your head. The absurdity of it all threatened to choke you. “So, let me get this straight: His Majesty won’t speak to me, but he’ll send his best men to guard me as if I’m some helpless child in need of constant supervision?”

Scott stiffened slightly, but he didn’t respond, his silence speaking louder than any words could.

A bitter laugh escaped you, the sound harsh and brittle. “And here I thought I was being foolish for imagining things.” You looked back at Scott, your gaze piercing. “So, this—this is the king’s way of keeping me under lock and key?”

“It’s for your safety, Your Majesty,” Scott replied softly, his voice almost apologetic. “He wants to ensure nothing happens to you.”

“Nothing happens to me?” You shook your head, disbelief and anger simmering beneath your calm facade. “Nothing is happening to me. What does he think will happen to me? I’m not the one who’s running off and avoiding our marriage.”

Scott’s gaze dropped to the floor again, his silence confirming what you already knew. This wasn’t about your safety—at least not entirely. It was about control. About Bucky’s way of maintaining a grip on something he couldn’t seem to confront directly.

“Well,” you muttered, turning away sharply and continuing down the hall, your heart pounding in your chest. “I’ll be sure to thank him for his... consideration.”

Scott fell into step a few paces behind you, his presence a shadow that only deepened your frustration. With each step you took, the realization settled deeper into your bones.

Bucky might have ordered this, but he was still keeping his distance. Still choosing to watch from afar, rather than face you. And that, more than anything, was what made your heart ache.

You stopped abruptly, your irritation bubbling to the surface as you turned back around to face Scott, a sudden thought lighting up your eyes.

“You know what?” you murmured, voice edged with determination as a small, dangerous smile curled your lips. “I think I’d like to shoot some arrows.”

Scott’s eyes widened, a look of surprise flickering across his face. He shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting away before he cleared his throat.

“Your Majesty, I—” he started, hesitation written in every line of his posture.

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head as if considering his reaction. “Is there a problem, Scott?” Your voice remained calm, but there was a sharpness beneath it, the kind that could cut through any excuse he might offer.

Scott’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, struggling to keep his composure. “I, uh, I don’t believe it’s wise, Your Majesty,” he murmured carefully, his voice almost too soft, too placating. “Perhaps… a walk in the gardens or a relaxing moment in the music room instead? Or I could—”

“Scott,” you interrupted sharply, crossing your arms over your chest as you leveled him with a pointed look. “Are you refusing your queen?”

The tension between you hung heavy in the air as his shoulders tightened, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to find the right words to say.

“Of course not, Your Majesty,” he managed finally, though his voice trembled ever so slightly. “It’s just… your safety—”

“My safety,” you echoed dryly, the irritation you had been holding back spilling out now. “Tell me, Scott, how exactly do arrows pose a threat to my safety? Unless I plan on aiming at myself, I believe I’ll be fine.”

His mouth twitched, struggling between his duty to follow orders and the fear of displeasing you. “It’s not the arrows, Your Majesty,” he murmured, choosing his words carefully. “It’s just… we were instructed to keep you... away from—”

“Instructed?” you cut in, incredulity and frustration sharpening your tone. “Instructed to keep me away from what? Activities that make me feel like I have a shred of control over my own life? I can’t even invite Lady, Romanoff, Potts and Maximoff.”

Scott shifted uncomfortably, his gaze dropping to the floor as if it held all the answers. “No, Your Majesty, of course not. It’s just—”

“Just what, Scott?” Your gaze was unrelenting, your patience wearing thin. “If you’re so worried about my safety, then be a good valet and stand by as I shoot. Ensure that nothing happens to me, since that is your duty, after all.”

He blinked, clearly caught between his loyalty to the king and his loyalty to you. The silence stretched long, taut and crackling with unspoken defiance. Finally, he exhaled softly, shoulders slumping just a little in reluctant acceptance.

“Very well, Your Majesty,” he said quietly, though his eyes remained wary. “I shall arrange for the equipment to be brought to the archery range. But… might I suggest a different method for alleviating your frustrations?”

You raised an eyebrow, lips curving into a faint smirk as you glanced at him. “Such as?”

“Perhaps a ride through the woods?” he offered quickly, hope lighting up his eyes. “Or I could arrange for a music instructor, or even some time in the library. Anything that would allow you to... relax.”

You let out a soft, humorless laugh. “You think a music lesson or a book will do the trick, do you?”

Scott hesitated but nodded, his voice gentle. “You’ve had a trying few days, Your Majesty. It’s natural to feel… frustrated. But there are ways to—”

“Enough,” you interrupted, your voice firm but not unkind. “I appreciate your concern, but I know what I need. Fetch the equipment. I won’t be persuaded otherwise.”

He sighed softly, bowing his head in reluctant submission. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

You turned away sharply, your gaze fixed on the distant view through the windows. The truth was, this wasn’t just about shooting arrows. It was about the tightness in your chest, the simmering anger beneath your skin, the need to do something other than sit around like a caged bird. Bucky had placed you under watch, yet he refused to see you.

If no one else would let you be free, then you would take what freedom you could. Even if it was just the satisfaction of a well-aimed arrow hitting its mark.

× × × ×

You stood at the archery range, your fingers gently tracing the fletching of an arrow. You could feel every set of eyes on you—Scott’s gaze wary and apprehensive, the handmaids’ murmuring softly amongst themselves, the guards standing at attention with blank faces. But most notable was Captain Rogers, his presence a solid, quiet reassurance, yet even he stood back, watching you like a hawk.

Taking a deep breath, you nocked the arrow, the smooth wood and feather a comforting weight in your hands. You narrowed your gaze, focusing on the target ahead. The world around you blurred, leaving only the taut string and the distant bullseye. And then, with a practiced release, you let it fly.

The arrow sailed through the air with a sharp hiss, striking the target with a satisfying thud. A few inches off-center, but still well within the mark.

“Not bad,” Steve commented, a hint of admiration in his voice. “For a first shot.”

You turned to him with a raised brow, a glint of amusement in your eyes. “First shot of the day, you mean.” Then, without breaking eye contact, you nocked another arrow, your movements smooth, effortless.

Steve’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile. He crossed his arms, stepping closer, though he kept a respectful distance. “Of course. I stand corrected, Your Majesty.”

Scott cleared his throat softly, stepping forward as if to remind everyone of the gravity of the situation. “Your Majesty,” he said, his voice laced with concern, “perhaps it would be best to—”

“To what?” you interrupted, the arrow poised and ready. “Put down the bow and take up knitting? Perhaps have a nice cup of tea and read a dull novel while I bide my time?”

Scott blinked, his lips pressing into a thin line, but he said nothing. Instead, his gaze shifted to Captain Rogers, almost as if hoping for support.

“Let her be, Scott,” Steve murmured, his tone gentle but firm. “If she wants to practice, let her practice.”

With that, you turned your attention back to the target, drawing the string taut. This time, the arrow flew with a deadly precision, landing just shy of the bullseye. A small ripple of approval murmured through the handmaidens, but Scott merely sighed.

You tilted your head, a sly smile curving your lips as you glanced at him.

“Scott,” you began casually, as if speaking of the weather, “do we keep any paintings of His Majesty around the manor? Perhaps one in full regalia?” Your tone was innocent enough, but the implication hung heavy in the air.

The handmaidens exchanged startled glances, a few stifling giggles behind their hands. Steve’s gaze shifted sharply to you, his lips twitching, but he said nothing, watching the scene unfold with a barely hidden glimmer of amusement.

Scott, however, did not find it amusing in the slightest. His eyes widened slightly, and he straightened, his voice dropping into a low, chiding tone. “Your Majesty, that is not a funny joke.”

“Isn’t it?” You tilted your head, feigning a look of mock surprise. “I find it quite humorous.”

A muscle in Scott’s jaw twitched, but he composed himself quickly, his gaze flickering to Captain Rogers as if asking for assistance.

But Steve merely shrugged, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips. “The queen does have a unique sense of humor,” he said lightly, his gaze still on you. “One might even say it’s… refreshing.”

You shot him a grateful glance before nocking yet another arrow, this time releasing it with a force that sent it whistling through the air. The arrow struck the outer ring of the target, and you clicked your tongue, feigning disappointment.

“Perhaps I need more inspiration,” you mused aloud, not bothering to hide the bitterness in your voice. “A better target. Or maybe something a bit more… personal.”

“Your Majesty,” Scott said warningly, stepping forward as if he might dare to take the bow from your hands. “This—”

You turned on him sharply, your expression hardening. “What?” you demanded softly. “This is my one small act of freedom. This range. These arrows. This target. Would you deny me even this?”

Silence fell over the group, thick and uncomfortable. The guards shifted uneasily, glancing at one another, unsure of how to proceed. The handmaidens fidgeted, casting worried looks in your direction. But Steve held his ground, his gaze never leaving you.

Scott swallowed, his eyes darting between you and Steve, then back again. “No, Your Majesty,” he said quietly, his shoulders slumping just slightly. “I would never deny you.”

“Good,” you murmured, lifting the bow again and taking aim, your gaze focused, unyielding. “Then let me have my small comforts, if nothing else.”

And with that, you released the arrow, the force of it reverberating through your arms. It struck the very edge of the target, just shy of missing altogether. You lowered the bow slowly, your heart hammering in your chest as you stared at the arrow, frustration coiling tightly within you.

“Perhaps next time,” you said softly, almost to yourself. “I’ll find a better target.”

Scott said nothing, his silence louder than any reprimand. But as you turned away, your gaze met Steve’s once more, and the warmth in his eyes—unspoken understanding, quiet admiration—was enough to dull the edge of your anger.

× × × ×

“Have you heard?” Lady Leah’s voice, soft but carrying the weight of scandal, broke through the hushed quiet of the drawing room. She leaned forward, her eyes wide with feigned innocence. “They still haven’t consummated.”

Lady Ravonna’s teacup paused halfway to her lips, a delicate brow arching. “The king and queen?” she murmured, as if the very notion were inconceivable. “How do you know?”

Leah’s lips curved into a smug smile. “People talk,” she said simply, glancing sideways at Sharon, who sat rigid, her fingers drumming against the arm of her chair. “And apparently, they talk quite a bit.”

“Seven days,” Lady Maya added softly, her gaze flitting between the women. “A week, and still… nothing?”

A delicate scoff escaped from Sharon’s lips, though her eyes were cold, calculating. “I’m not surprised. Our queen,” she sneered, the title dripping with disdain, “is too busy batting her lashes at Captain Rogers to notice she has a husband.”

The other women exchanged startled glances, shock and intrigue flaring to life in their eyes. Ravonna set her teacup down with deliberate care, her gaze narrowing slightly. “You’re saying there’s something between them?”

“I’m saying there’s enough for people to start talking,” Sharon replied coolly, her voice a low, dangerous purr. “You know how these things start—one whispered word, one lingering glance… and suddenly, there’s a story worth telling.”

Maya’s brow furrowed slightly, a hint of concern crossing her face. “But… the queen and the captain? It seems—”

“Impossible?” Sharon cut in sharply, “Hardly. The way he hovers around her, like she’s some delicate flower in need of protection… the way she looks at him, like he’s the answer to all her problems. It’s disgusting.”

The other women exchanged wary glances, sensing the venom simmering beneath Sharon’s words.

“Sharon, you should be careful,” Leah murmured softly, her gaze darting nervously to the door. “If people hear you speak like this—”

“Like what?” Sharon snapped, her voice laced with bitterness. “Like the queen is nothing more than a conniving bitch?” Her lips curled into a cruel smile, her eyes gleaming with malice. “Because that’s exactly what she is. A lying, manipulative whore who thinks she can just—”

“Sharon!” Maya hissed, glancing around the room frantically. “You can’t say that!”

But Sharon continued, undeterred, her voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. “She’s a whore,” she repeated, the word dripping with venom. “Parading herself around like some saint, when she’s got Captain Rogers hanging on her every word. And for what? To make a fool of the king?”

Ravonna shifted uncomfortably, leaning forward to place a calming hand on Sharon’s arm.

“Sharon, enough,” she murmured firmly, her tone gentle but insistent. “You need to calm down. Words like that will only bring trouble.”

Sharon’s gaze snapped to Ravonna’s, her eyes blazing. “No. Words like that will bring the truth to light. The truth about what she really is.”

“But you don’t know that for sure,” Maya whispered urgently. “It’s all just… whispers. Hearsay.”

Sharon let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Whispers are all we need. Whispers will turn into rumors, and rumors will turn into truths, whether they’re real or not.” She straightened, her gaze steely. “I’ll make sure of it.”

The other ladies exchanged uneasy looks, their faces pale. But it was Leah who spoke up, her voice trembling slightly. “And what if this all backfires? What if the king doesn’t believe it?”

“Then we make sure he does,” Sharon said coldly, “We make sure everyone believes it. Because if she thinks she can just waltz in here and steal everything I’ve worked for… she’s got another thing coming.”

“What exactly are you saying, Sharon? What do you intend to do?” Ravonna frowned, her gaze skeptical.

Sharon’s smile was slow, almost sinister.

“Nothing. For now.” She leaned back in her seat, the picture of composed fury. “The court will tear her apart on its own, once they realize she’s unfaithful. Once they see her for what she truly is.”

“But… how?” Leah asked hesitantly, her brow furrowing. “There’s no proof. No evidence.”

“There doesn’t need to be,” Sharon said dismissively. “People love a scandal. And the more outlandish it seems, the more they’ll believe it.”

“But Sharon,” Ravonna murmured, her voice tight with unease. “You’re playing with fire. If the king finds out—”

“Let him,” Sharon snapped, cutting her off. “Let him see what his perfect queen is really like. A disloyal wife. A disgrace. He’ll thank me in the end.”

They exchanged uneasy glances, none daring to speak, none daring to question further.

Finally, it was Maya who broke the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. “But… what if it backfires?”

“Then it backfires,” Sharon said coolly, shrugging as if it were of no consequence. “But it won’t. Because I’ll make sure it doesn’t.” Her gaze hardened, her expression fierce. “No matter what it takes.”

× × × ×

The grand council chamber in the main palace was abuzz with tension, the air thick with barely restrained impatience and worry. High-ranking noblemen lined the long table, each one glancing nervously at the Dowager Queen as she entered the room with her head held high, her presence alone commanding silence.

Queen Winifred took her seat at the head of the table, her gaze sweeping over the gathered men. Prime Minister Fury, seated directly to her left, leaned forward, his brows knitted in frustration.

“It’s been seven days,” he began, his voice carrying a distinct edge of impatience. “Seven days, Your Majesty, and they still haven’t consummated their marriage.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room, voices low but urgent.

Lord Haynesworth, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, spoke up next, his tone carefully measured but no less troubled. “Your Majesty, the lack of consummation is… troubling, to say the least. The kingdom needs stability, and without a legitimate heir, we risk giving dissenters an opening to question the monarchy’s strength.”

“Indeed,” Duke Townsend of Lancaster agreed, his fingers drumming restlessly against the polished wood of the table. “There are already whispers. Rival factions are looking for any sign of weakness, and this... delay is giving them all the ammunition they need. We cannot afford to let them think the crown is vulnerable.”

Queen Winifred’s gaze narrowed slightly as she listened to their concerns, her face a mask of calm composure. She had expected this—expected the panic, the finger-pointing, the thinly veiled attempts to shift blame.

“And without an heir,” Lord Pierce added, his voice rising, “we’re risking more than just whispers. We’re risking civil unrest. There are already reports of some nobles openly questioning whether the king is... able to fulfill his duties.”

Another wave of murmured agreement swept through the chamber, the words laced with anxiety and fear. But Queen Winifred remained impassive, her fingers resting lightly on the arm of her chair.

“Gentlemen,” she said, her voice cutting through the noise like a blade, “you are all acting as if I do not understand why there needs to be an heir.” She leaned forward slightly, her gaze sharp and unyielding.

“You forget that I am the one who secured the throne for my son after the turmoil of his father’s reign. I am well aware of the consequences should there be no successor.”

A strained silence fell over the room as the noblemen shifted uncomfortably in their seats, chided by her words. But it didn’t last long.

“Then what is being done, Your Majesty?” Lord Haynesworth pressed, his voice lower now, but no less insistent. “The queen has failed to... inspire confidence in the king. If this continues, we may have to consider alternate measures.”

A tense murmur followed, the suggestion hanging ominously in the air. Queen Winifred’s gaze turned icy, her eyes boring into the man who dared to voice such a thought.

“Are you suggesting,” she said softly, dangerously, “that we undermine the queen’s position? That we destabilize her standing at court?”

Lord Haynesworth cleared his throat, looking away, but Prime Minister Fury leaned in, his voice grim.

“Your Majesty, we’re suggesting that you take action—swiftly and decisively. It’s clear that Queen Y/N is not—”

“Careful, Fury,” Queen Winifred interrupted, her voice low and lethal. “Choose your next words very carefully.”

The Prime Minister paused, visibly reining in his frustration. “Your Majesty, the queen’s actions have been... questionable. If she cannot perform her duties as a wife, how can we expect her to perform her duties as a queen?”

Another murmur of agreement rose from the table, the men nodding, emboldened by the Prime Minister’s words. But Queen Winifred’s gaze remained cold, calculating.

“There are still three days left before the period of seclusion ends,” she said firmly, cutting through their mutterings. “We will not resort to drastic measures based on impatience and rumors. The queen is more than capable of fulfilling her role, and I will not have her judged prematurely.”

“But Your Majesty—” Duke Townsend began, only to be silenced by a sharp glare from the Dowager Queen.

“Need I remind you all,” she continued icily, “that this entire situation was precipitated by the king’s absence and neglect? My son bears just as much responsibility for this situation, if not more. Do not lay the blame solely at the queen’s feet.”

“Of course not, Your Majesty.” A smooth, honeyed voice cut through the murmur of agreement, drawing all eyes to Lord Carter, seated near the middle of the table. He inclined his head slightly, his expression the picture of respectful deference. “We know the queen is… new to this role. As you said, she has shown great patience. But we must ensure she understands the gravity of her position.”

Queen Winifred’s gaze shifted to him, her expression cooling a fraction. “Are you implying that she does not?”

Lord Carter smiled gently, his fingers tapping lightly on the table in a rhythm that seemed almost contemplative. “Not at all, Your Majesty. I merely suggest that perhaps the queen might benefit from… additional guidance. From those more experienced in navigating the complexities of the court and the expectations that come with the crown.”

His tone was mild, even reasonable, but beneath the surface, there was an undercurrent of something dangerous, something quietly undermining. A subtle criticism wrapped in a layer of politeness, creating ripples of doubt with each carefully chosen word.

“And what sort of guidance would you suggest, Lord Carter?” Winifred asked, her voice deceptively soft.

He spread his hands, a faint smile touching his lips. “Nothing drastic, Your Majesty. Just… an assurance that she understands the full extent of what is at stake. We would not want any misunderstandings to arise, after all.”

Queen Winifred’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she nodded once, her gaze never leaving his. “I see. Well, rest assured, Lord Carter, I will make certain that the queen is fully aware of her responsibilities. And I will remind all of you once again—there are three days left. We will revisit this matter then.”

The subtle warning in her tone was not lost on the gathered men. They shifted uncomfortably, casting uneasy glances at one another.

“Three more days,” she repeated, her gaze sweeping over each of them, daring them to argue. “Until then, I expect every one of you to refrain from spreading further discontent and to let me handle this matter. Is that understood?”

A chorus of reluctant nods and mumbled affirmations followed, but none dared to protest further.

“Good,” Queen Winifred murmured, rising to her feet with regal grace. “Because should any of you take matters into your own hands before the honeymoon period ends, you will find yourselves facing more than just my displeasure.”

With that, she turned on her heel and swept out of the room, leaving the noblemen in stunned silence. As the heavy doors closed behind her, the men exchanged wary looks, unease settling like a shroud over the council chamber.

“She’s defending the queen,” Lord Trenton muttered, disbelief etched into his features. “I never thought...”

Lord Carter, his gaze lingering thoughtfully on the closed doors, smiled faintly, his expression carefully neutral. “Three days,” he repeated softly, his voice carrying a measured tone. “We shall see if the queen can prove herself worthy of that defense.”

“Three days,” Duke Townsend muttered, shaking his head. “She expects us to wait three more days while the court fills with rumors and discontent. This cannot end well.”

“Waiting is no longer a luxury we can afford,” Lord Pierce interjected quietly, his gaze darting toward Lord Carter. “We’re already seeing signs of division among the lower houses. If this continues…”

Prime Minister Fury leaned forward, his voice a low, harsh whisper. “It’s not just the lower houses we need to worry about. Every day without an heir gives the rivals more time to gather support. We need stability now.”

“Then perhaps,” Lord Carter said softly, his tone calm amidst the brewing storm, “it is not the queen we should be questioning.” His words drew curious, cautious glances, and he smiled faintly. “There are two parties in a marriage, after all. If an heir is what we need, perhaps we should be focusing our efforts elsewhere.”

A silence settled over the group, heavy and charged with unspoken meaning.

“You mean the king,” Duke Townsend murmured, a slight frown pulling at his features. “But His Majesty—”

“—Is just as responsible,” Lord Carter finished smoothly, his gaze steady. “We’ve already seen how his absence affects the queen’s standing. Perhaps it is time we remind him of the consequences if he continues to... neglect his duties.”

“Careful, Carter,” Prime Minister Fury warned, his voice laced with tension. “Tread lightly. The queen dowager may have left, but her influence hasn’t. One wrong move, and you’ll have more than the crown’s displeasure to contend with.”

Lord Carter’s smile never wavered, but his eyes held a dangerous glint. “I assure you, Prime Minister, I am well aware of where the true power lies. But if the queen dowager wishes to protect the queen, she must remember that protection does not extend to inaction.”

The men exchanged wary looks, the conversation shifting into murmured agreement. The line had been drawn, the challenge subtly issued. And even as they debated, the weight of Lord Carter’s words lingered in the air, thick with intent and unspoken plans.

Three days. Three days to see if the queen would succeed… or if the cracks in the crown would deepen beyond repair.

tags: @theendofthematerialgworl @httpb3a @spiidergirlsworld @sebastians-love @stevesbbgorl

@targaryenhues @almosttoopizza @scott-loki-barnes @brckenmemories @vicmc624

@classicrebound @nommingonfood @greatenthusiasttidalwave @railmesebstan @annawilk

@landoslutmeout @winterslove1917 @missvelvetsstuff @s0kovianwitch

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kymsys · 6 months ago

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hiii i'm obsessed with your merman au!! if it's okay i totally let it take over my brain for a hot minute so ummm here's a little gift if you will accept it 👉👈 sorry to bother, i just HAD to write something dkfdl;fjg. your art is so gorgeous btw <33

After weeks of secretly housing Satoru in his private garden, Suguru had devised a way to safely return him to the ocean without being caught. He'd even relayed all the information about the kingdom's fishing system so Satoru would be able to steal the occasional fish without getting caught in the nets himself. He had to admit, he would miss having his little secret around. But he knew he couldn't keep Satoru cooped up forever. Satoru was a creature of adventure. He was probably tired of Suguru anway.

After a few attempts, Suguru successfully scooped Satoru up in his arms, Satoru wrapping his tail around his waist to stay up. His skin was cold to the touch. He teased Suguru as he clumsily navigated the path in the dark, even though he'd already walked it alone several times, and Suguru hated the way his heart stuttered at the siren's breath on his ear.

Really, Suguru should've done this much sooner. He should've released Satoru as soon as he realized he was falling for the creature. It was hard not to when it was in Satoru's nature to be enticing. Suguru let himself spend far too much time with him in the garden, let Satoru flutter his fingertips over his collarbones, let him beckon him closer and nibble on his ear playfully, let him lick the blood off his wrist when he got scratched up. He was never sure if Satoru was threatening him or flirting with him, never sure if it was all a game or if there was actually part of him that was interested in Suguru.

Suguru willed his mind to stop racing as he knelt down on the rocks and lowered Satoru into the water. Satoru immediately swam away and back, did a few turns and flips, gleefully splashing in his newfound freedom. Suguru smiled, heart tugging in his chest as Satoru slowly moved farther away. He was about to turn around when Satoru came back up to the edge of the rocks, resting his forearms on them and beaming up at Suguru.

"Care to join me?" He teased with a sharp grin. Suguru huffed out a laugh and shook his head.

"What, you're not dying to get away from me?" Suguru shot back, trying to keep his smile light even though it felt heavy on his face. Satoru pawed at his ankle and Suguru obliged without thinking, sitting and dipping his feet in the water, Satoru folding his arms atop his thighs.

"If you could breathe underwater, I'd drag you in here with me." His eyes practically glowed in the moonlight, a deceptively innocent smile curling at the corners of his perfect lips.

"You'd do that regardless." Suguru let himself give into the urge to push Satoru's hair off his forehead. It would probably be the last time anyway. Satoru's smile dropped the slightest bit.

"No." He reached up to touch Suguru's cheek, lightly stroking his cheekbone down to his jaw. "Not to you."

MANGO HOW DARE YOU WRITE SMTH SO BEAUTIFUL 😭😭😭 its amazing i love it so much HNGGGGG. THANK YOU?! thank you so much, i cant believe ppl love my merman au so much, thanks for this sweet gift and thanks for indulging with me 🥺 funnily enough @kingdomofred had also written that suguru took gojo out of the ocean into a pond. ARE WE ALL VIBING TOGETHER? it seems to be a thing for sure xD okay i have to dive a bit deeper into why i love your writing so much: the way that suguru isnt sure if gojo actually likes him or he is just acting accordingly to his siren behaviour?? it breaks my heart, its so bittersweet but yet i love it so much !! it fits so perfectly and i love the resolve at the end that yes ofc gojo likes him ; u ; ♥ . the image you described of suguru carrying gojo and the way gojos tail would lay around sugurus waist?? THAT IS SO FUCKING NICE?! definitely gonna put that on my to draw list !! and gojo nibbling on sugurus ears and licking his wounds and blood....fuck thats hot. i have no other words left. truely. THANK YOU MANGO IM IN LOVE 🥰(made my day)

#merman au #merman au lives #jjk #satosugu #stsg #geto suguru #gojo satoru #thank u mango #bless u

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holybibly · 1 year ago

Text

Divine Rosa ❢ot8xreader❣

❣ Pairing: yandere!otx8 x reader

❣ Genre: Dark Romance, vampire au, angst, horror, yandere au, smut

❣ Word Count: 8.5k

❣ Summary: The moth always pours itself into the flame; what a pity that in the end it burns out. After the tragic death of her sister, MС tries to find answers to the questions she left behind. This leads her to a gated cottage town known for its luxurious rose gardens. In addition, there are also these mysterious men who manage all the affairs in the city. Too sweet, too helpful, too intrusive, and too in love.

❣ WARNING: only!18+ Themes of death, suicide, severe depression, stalking, blood, yandere behavior, panic attack. Sexual themes: hematolagnia, body worship, masturbation, bite kink, olfactophilia, voyeurism.

❣ Disclaimer: I don't support yandere behavior, stalking, or religious imposition. Themes include violence, obsession, possessiveness, and emotional or psychological manipulation. This book is intended solely for entertainment purposes.

❣Chapter 2: Wolf in sheep's clothing❣

Love is a word that deserves closer consideration, halfway between the dry hypocrisy of the dictionary and its deep sacral meaning.

What a strange feeling…

Love, both virtuous and vicious, motivates us to accomplish great feats yet also triggers the commission of heinous crimes. This mysterious and inexplicable feeling interweaves its complex structure within us, becoming the most unstable, contentious, and hazardous of all human emotions.

Love is the fundamental source of all our emotions and experiences in the world, both beautiful and disgusting.

Love has a multitude of motives, including the desire for control, submission, care, seduction, lust, protection, worship, creation and, of course, destruction.

The feeling is manifold; We can call this complex emotion by different names, including passion, hatred, obsession, alienation, objectification, mania, unattainable dreams, happiness, idolatry, spiritual unity, and possibly the most poetic of all—the second half of the soul.

Humans crave love from birth until death. This desire is inherent and everlasting. As we take our first breath, we unconsciously absorb the toxic essence of love, which settles in our lungs like delicate, silky flowers.

This need is woven into the very structure of our DNA, an animal instinct that inadvertently condemns us to eternal suffering.

Love exists as a palpable entity, often obscured by human perceptions of carefree happiness and joy. It can be likened to a lurking deep-sea creature, concealing its true visage, branching and moving under the thin surface of our skin.

She is as cunning as a murderer's grin, and she is well aware of the inevitable tragic end of every story she is about to tell. Though we may be in the belief that we have had a joyful life, in reality all our actions have been under the impulse of love. For the sake of this deceptive feeling, which unites us for a moment in the ecstatic joy and privileges of angelic ugliness.

In the end, our physical bodies will serve to feed the earthworms, to house the larvae and to nourish the roots.

Never again will they gaze into each other's eyes, never again will the turquoise flame passion between them ignite, and never again will their lips meet in a voluptuousness kiss.

Love has the power to drive us insane, to blind us, and even to lead to our demise.

And yet, in life, it is possible to miss everything but love.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

3rd POV

I want to fill my mouth with your name. I want to eat you whole. Pablo Neruda, Twenty Love Poems, and a Song of Despair

“You look pathetic, San. Don't you think so? I wonder what Seonghwa would say to that?” Yeosang lazily runs his pale spidery fingers over Yoru's silky black fur, looking with contempt at the naked brunette stretched on a pile of knocked-down sheets and pillows.

The rings on his hands burn with blood, like the eyes of the Devil.

San looked blissfully relaxed and languid, like a caressing predator. His golden skin seemed to glow from within with an otherworldly glow as the translucent sunlight greedily licked his body with its soft touch.

Still, there was something vaguely animalistic, almost primitively predatory, about him, which in no way connected him with the arrogant aloofness that was inherent in the entire vampire race.

There was hot blood running through his veins, making him even more dangerous.

He was unbridled.

“I don't care what Seonghwa says, if he says a word at all in the next few centuries. Personally, I would prefer that his magnificent body continue to rest in the coffin for a very long time.” A smug smile played on his sensual lips. “And unlike you, my dear brother, I don't hide my true desires.” A slow, almost lazy glance from San's silvery eyes swept over the slender body of Yeosang sitting in the chair, lingering for a moment on the pale pink patch of soft skin on his temple.

He imagines, not without pleasure, how, with particular cruelty, he tears it from the porcelain face of his beloved brother with his long claws, leaving behind a wet, gaping wound.

San hated it. His birthmark is indisputable proof of his connection with his beautiful Rose.

The sign that binds their souls tightly into a single whole.

He should have found her first that night.

“Look at you, Sangie. You act like a coward, hiding in dark corners and wandering in her dreams. Perhaps I could understand you if your wayward antics gave her pleasure. If our Rose woke up with your name on her lips, all wet and needy, so desperate for more.

You have to ignite her passion and her desire to be loved, make her feel special, and fill her with thirst and hunger for our touch and our love. All her thoughts should belong only to us. But how did we end Yeosangie? Tell me, huh? Our Rosa has an animal terror before you. Sarang is afraid of you. Isn't that really pathetic? You know, I can smell that sweet scent of fear on her sheets.” San buried his face in the soft fabric of the silk pillow on which Sarang usually slept and took a deep, slow breath. “So damn delicious… I want to eat her whole.”

All he wanted now was to feel her from the inside, so that her scent would stay forever in his lungs, merge with his blood, be absorbed into his skin, and become an integral part of it.

God, he is prepared to worship this woman and idolize her in every conceivable way.

She was his.

Not in some figurative or metaphorical sense, no. She was his everything. A soul that fills the shell with his dead body, blood black as night, that runs through his veins, his thoughts. Every second of his life. San couldn't tell where he ended, and she began, for you were two halves fused together into a single breathing living being.

The beginning and the end of his life

If he could know death, which was no longer possible for him, he would be happy to suffocate on that heady aroma that was spinning his head like a powerful drug. And to do so until death takes him into his arms.

How beautiful would his death be! Silk sheets, roses, and Sarang are the only true loves.

“She smells so divine, Sangie; how can you resist this temptation?” His back arched gracefully. Under the golden canvas of the skin, the jagged vertebral bones were outlined, and the flexible muscles were stretched like tight velvet ribbons. The relief of his chiseled abs pressing against the bed, his thighs rushing up, creating a perfect s-line.

He moved so smoothly. A large predatory cat, draining gross sexuality and animal dominance. A true erotic vision, fringed by the diffused glow of the lazy midday sun. The smell of her fear brought out the worst in him and made him crave to devour her heart and soul, but he couldn't do it.

“You don't know shit, San. You come here whenever you want and act like a cranky kid, pouting and expressing anger because you couldn't get her first. What a pity, because I was the one who made the connection. I can feel her; I can feel her in my veins; I don't have to act like a bitch in heat fucking her bed.” Yeosang's voice was indifferently cold, so deceptively calm, but San could clearly hear the poisonous malice in every word he said.

It looks like he hit a nerve.

“You tell me you'd never been in my place, Yeosangie?” San grinned, and on his cheeks appeared charming dimples. “You never could lie;you always spilled everything to Seonghwa like a good puppy at the first snap of his fingers. You should ask Wooyoung to teach you some lessons if you want to play games with me. We all know exactly what you do, so didn't be shy about it, honey. Do you think you can hide from Hongjoong your little dream manipulation, constant stalking, and night visits? Or how pathetic and pathetic you look, whining and wriggling like a whore when you come in with her dirty laundry, which you hide under your pillow. Oh my God, what will Seonghwa say when he finds out? You should care. Our good boy has gone to the dark side; he's going to be so disappointed that he lost his mutt. Although you know, maybe you and Wooyoung aren't as different as I originally thought. He's just as pathetic a puppy as you are, my beautiful brother, and look how that turned out for him. Perhaps you'll be the next one to end up in a coffin. I'd change my behavior if I were you. Bad boys get punished.” There was mockery and outright bullying in his voice.

That's right, they were family; their loyalty to each other was an unbreakable blood oath, and if necessary, they would be willing to die for each other. Blood is thicker than water. But the bond they shared with Sarang was different from anything that could be explained. She wasn't a missing part; to think so would be foolish. No, she was a part of themselves, a part of their dead souls, filling their bodies with a semblance of life. Something extremely more dangerous than any possible blood bond. A bond where the lines between reality and fantasy, obsession and morality, understanding and rationality were blurred. And that bond was the reason, why Wooyoung, Yunho, and Seonghwa were still resting in their luxurious coffins. Iron, velvet, and crystal—so completely different, so frighteningly the same.

San remembers with pleasure how good it felt to drive stakes into their black hearts. The spell would be broken with a kiss. Perfectly. He hopes their sleep will be eternal. This time, it should be different. He will be the first, yes. San will be first—not Seonghwa, not Hongjoong, not Wooyoung, but him.

That's right. Everything will be the way it should be from the beginning. After all, he was the one who started it all.

Once upon a time, Sarang belonged only to him.

“San…” Yeosang hissed menacingly, digging his bony fingers forcefully into the soft feline fur, causing Yoru to meow painfully and curl up into a ball in his lap. His fangs bared, scratching his plump lower lip, and black veins trickled in an intricate pattern down his thin neck.

The brunette laughed and rubbed his cheek against the soft fabric of the pillow, covering his eyes dreamily.

The silk felt wonderful against his bare skin.

“You hiss like a kitten; will you show me your sharp little teeth?”

“You'd better watch out for your tongue, or I might rip it out.” The fierce gaze literally stabbed him. It burned and penetrated to the core of his being.

“I dare you.” The bloodied lips opened, allowing the pointed tip of his tongue to traverse the tortured, swollen flesh, licking away the blood that seeped to the surface.

“Let his lips be like rose petals - red as fresh blood.” Said the Queen Witch.

San covered his eyes and completely ignored the angry brunette. He loved to play with fire. It was his nature. If it had been Hongjoon or Mingi in Yeosan's place, he might have thought twice before poking the tiger with a stick, and of course he would never intentionally offend Seonghwa; the outcome of any of those confrontations would not have been in his favor. But this was Yeosang - airy and gentle as melting snow.

The shadows of San's long eyelashes lay in a lacy pattern on his heart-wrenching cheekbones. They were one of the most striking features of his appearance - sharp and angular - and they made his face a masterpiece. A creation skilfully crafted by the hand of a master.

Yeosang's beauty was soft and angelic, the kind of beauty one might see on the faces of the winged, plump cherubs beneath the vaulted ceilings of Gothic cathedrals. He had once admired their beauty so much, especially when he tore their flesh with his claws and tore baby, fluffy wings from their pale, soft bodies.

Such an exquisite, decadent taste.

San's beauty was of a completely different kind: vicious, dark and hypnotic. Chiseled like the eternally frozen perfection of a pagan marble god, every line of his face was sharp and deadly seductive. From the feline cut of his eyes, shimmering with silvery immortality, to the capriciously curved corners of his plump lips, always inflamed and soft, so tortured and tender from incessant biting and kissing…

San's appearance was sinful.

He was the most desirable of all nightmares, the special kind that seduces the girls of the church, then fills his bathtub with their blood and organizes orgies in the bloody pieces of their torn bodies. San was formidable and intimidating, but his aura was alluring and seductive. The terrible prospect of an inevitable end and death had never looked so appealing. Maybe he was having an affair with you, or maybe he was going to kill you. There was lust, danger, and rage. There was a delicate balance between horror and desire, as if he were the embodiment of both the horror and the charm of God. He was the man everyone secretly dreams about when they caress themselves before going to bed, in a cold, lonely bed.

He was the person who made you feel uncomfortable in your own skin and who made you experience a shivering sensation of fear that would spread over all of your exposed areas.

San was undoubtedly that person. Despite the potential for his eyes to linger on your skin, his presence was desired. Exquisite wounds, reminiscent of blossoms from damaged tissue, were created by his razor-sharp canines.

Death and sex were not enough for San; he had a craving for disorder and hot sensations.

He always wanted more, whether it was blood or pleasure. He never felt satisfied.

His sole desire was Rose—just her alone.

“Do you smell that Sangie scent?” San inhaled deeply again that intoxicating divine scent, resisting the urge to savor her flavor like a dog, choking and whimpering. “Mmmm, I want her so badly. I want her whole, every fucking cell of her body. She's driving me crazy.”

Sarang emitted a scent that was distinctly sharp and overpowering in its fragrance. Reminiscent of aged wine, it was infused with the bitterness of dark chocolate, the piquancy of red pepper, and the sweetness of roses. It tastes like sin and blessing at the same time. Like a slight saltiness akin to the tears she had shed, he longed to lick them off her rounded, flushed cheeks. The fruity sweetness of illicit fruit. The taste of his own blood. The metal and thick aroma of their sexual encounter. Thick as semen and honey.

San wants to have her. Wants her to love him. He desires his love to be reciprocated as fervently and passionately as he does.

His only wish is her love.

Although it is not enough for him to possess her love, he wants her to have an intense and almost sadistic affection for him—one that goes beyond what seems possible. He yearns for her to destroy him. Because he's confident in Sarang's ability to do so. He needs more. More than she could offer him, more than she could ever agree to. He is but a slave, created to worship her.

San's aim is to belong to her; he would go to any extent, even to the point of destroying the entire world, if that is what it takes to achieve that. The value of her love is immeasurable, and his objective is absolute. She is the center of his life and the very essence of his being. She is the haunting presence in his dreams, a seductive force that both seduces and tortures. The midnight idol of his desire, the serpent that dwells around his heart, tempts him to sin.

San craves her love so much, and that need is so painful, so all-consuming, and so twisted. If need be, he would kill her with his own hands, just to be sure that no one else would ever have her.

Sharing her with his brothers was like hellfire burning him from the inside out, but it was a paltry sacrifice he could make in exchange for her love.

This time, he won't let her go. This time, not even death would dare separate them. Saran will be his. She will be theirs. In life. In death. Forever and ever.

Soon.

It will happen so soon. San can't wait for the day when his Goddess is beneath him, in the cage of his body, sprawled on the black velvet of his bed. With his fangs deep into her sweet flesh, and she will screaming his name in a haze of ecstatic pleasure.

He would make her see stars. San will take her all the way to the doors of Heaven.

“San,” “San,” “San,” “San” over and over, until her voice completely collapses to a painful wheeze, until he absorbs every tiny sound she makes, every moan, every breath, every barely perceptible note, until all she will remember is his name.

Until Sarang whispers right into his lips, “I am yours.”

Soon.

In the meantime, San can patiently wait. He will wait as he always has, obediently and without complaint. He will be such a good boy. San will wait obediently, as he has done for centuries and centuries before. Until the time is right to pursue his desires, he will take all that he has dreamt of, and God will save the souls of those who get in his way.

Right now, he thinks he could die here — in her bed, surrounded by the lingering warmth of her body and her maddening scent. He would like nothing more than to show her all his passion and devotion and all the love he could give her.

He dreams of running his lips over her skin and tasting her until his whole face is wet and glistening with her juices. He will fuck her into oblivion until night turns to day and then drown her in tenderness, worshiping her caress-weary body as an obedient slave should.

Sometimes, he thinks it's not normal—the feelings he has for her. Such love simply cannot exist. How can someone love someone so much? Is it normal to hate the very existence of nature and the heavenly bodies for being able to see her beauty, which should belong to him alone?

However, these were only momentary musings until he regained his composure, dispelling any doubts. How could he even question his love? It felt so perfect and effortless, like breathing. How could such thoughts even enter his mind?

Her love was a life worth living.

It was destined since the dawn of time, when spirits roamed the earth, the sun was young, and the old gods had not yet vanished. She belonged to them, and they belonged to her. They sensed her first breath on their lips. He felt.

Their love bloomed again—a blood rose.

Soon…

These fantasies drove him mad; every cell ignited with the desire to possess, awakening his animal predatory nature. The ugly nature of his genuinely depraved being.

He pictured Sarang biting into his neck and taking possession of him. She aimed at him as if he were nothing more than a thing, a toy for her amusement.

“Say my name, Sarang. Express your fondness for me and acknowledge that I am your only one. I want you to own me and claim me as yours. Say my name until it burns your lips. Again and again. Drink my blood, bite me to death; I'm nothing more than your slave, just a pathetic means of pleasure. Hit me. Hurt me, I beg you. I need it so badly. Please, my love, I am begging you to love me. Love… Love me so much until it kills me. That is what I wish for.”

His hips moved smoothly, grinding his arousal against the rumpled bedclothes. San moaned, breathlessly gasping as he found the perfect angle to satisfy his intense desire for release. He needs to cum; he couldn't leave here without cumming. He buried his face in the pillow, panting and whimpering like a wild animal possessed. His primal instincts demanded he leave his mark on her, to possess her and fuck her into oblivion until her belly bloated from the amount of cum pouring into her and her head felt light and empty.

His claws lengthened, digging into the mattress, leaving sickening jagged stripes as his hips moved uncontrollably, continuing to rub his throbbing wet cock against the silken folds of the crumpled sheets.

The sounds he made were almost heavenly.

Soft, extended moans that turned into pitiful sobs. He sounded like an angel in the throes of passion.

In his fantasies, San imagined drinking from her as long scarlet streams of her sweet blood ran down their naked bodies, staining everything red. How deeply he entered her body, seeing the imprint of his cock on her flat stomach as her neat, pointed nails plowed into his back into gaping lacerations.

His teeth clenched as he let out a hoarse moan, the sound vibrating deep in his throat. San needed to cum; he was on the verge of madness. The need for pleasure was more obvious than anything around him at the moment. The transparent essence of his arousal dripped down onto the sheets, sticking to his golden, wet skin with every movement of his muscled thighs.

His thoughts returned to the dark, vicious images of hot animal sex. A fine shiver ran down his entire body.

He will run his tongue along every contour of the intricate bloody lines, licking up every last drop. First, the longest neck-open and vulnerable to his insatiable mouth, then lower down the hollow between the heavy breasts, rising in time with her labored breathing. His lips would close around the hard pink nipples, scraping them with his teeth, making her squeal and gasp. Lower down her flat belly, where the flowers of his hungry kisses and hard touches bloomed. Until his tongue is between the moist puffy folds of her pussy, he runs the pointed tip along the soft silken flesh, plunging deeper into the tight hole where blood mingles with her natural sweetness. He wants to feel the velvety, wet walls of her vagina clench and quiver around his tongue.

“Sarang!” His voice was hoarse, and his hands gripped the sheets beneath him with such force that his knuckles turned white, almost tearing the skin.

He looked pornographic.

San was so lost in his fantasies that he had completely forgotten about Yeosang, who was still in this room, until he was reminded of it with a sharp, painful tug of his hair. Long, thin fingers gripped the dark, damp strands with force and tilted his head back rigidly, revealing a view of a strong neck with veins swollen from exertion and beads of sweat running down her

“Here we go, such a pathetic, stupid bitch.” Yeosang said it with mockery in his voice. His lips curled into a wicked smirk, and San could feel it on his skin as the brunet whispered in his ear. “Look at you, you're nothing more than a slut; where's your pride, San, eh? The great general of the dark army, the heartless ice prince, the ruthless Ripper, is nothing more than a drooling whore shamefully rubbing his cock against the sheets.” Yeosang's fingernails dug painfully into his scalp, tugging harder on the long silk strands the color of night.

“Yes, yes, keep calling me that.” His request sounded like a plea. All Yeosang's words made him move faster, almost in desperation.

The rhythm of his hips became erratic and uncontrollable. He was close. His teeth clenched as he let out a hoarse moan, the sound vibrating deep in his throat.

“Are you imagine fucking her, Sannie, hmm? Or what would it taste like? I bet the taste will be heavenly; she's sweeter than ever in this life. Oh no, I know exactly what you're thinking.” A mocking chuckle escaped his ruby-red lips. “You want her to bite you.” Those wicked lips pressed against the frantically beating pulse point. “Right here.” Yeosang's teeth sank with force into the flushed skin of San's neck—that particular sensitive spot on his neck beneath a scattering of pale freckles.

San's eyes rolled back in pleasure, his mouth opened in a silent moan, and his hips shook with the intensity of his orgasm. Thick, hot cum splattered onto the sheets, staining them with the pale, milky liquid.

The brunet unclenched his teeth, releasing the tender skin. The bite mark was wine-red, with swollen incisor impressions and drops of black blood in the hollows. A poisonous flower, tempting to know sin.

“Sannie, look at the mess you'd made. Truly a royal fuck. I always thought it was more Mingi's style.” Finally, thin but surprisingly strong fingers let go of the silken strands, allowing San to rest his face tiredly against the pillow. His whole body relaxes after the overwhelming orgasm. The entire pillow is soaked with drool and sweat, and semen cools beneath his stomach, sticking uncomfortably to his skin.

He opens one eye and looks up at the vampire leaning over him with a lecherous smile.

“Would you like to join me, my beautiful brother? We still have a few hours before she gets home.” The brunet rolls onto his back to make room for Yeosang in the bed. His fingers run along the sculpted curves of his abs, scooping up the viscous, pearly liquid and sliding it into his mouth. “Mmm…” A long tongue swirled around his fingers, licking up every drop with lazy, slow pleasure.

“You're disgusting, San.” Yeosang puckered his lips in disgust, looking around at the brunette sprawled on the bed. He turned sharply on his heels and strode away from the room; to he pick up Yoru on his way, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, in his arms. “Get up; we have to go. Hongjoon is calling us.”

“You're not leaving the cat?”

The brunette turned around over his shoulder, meeting his gaze with San's silver eyes.

“June misses his darling; for our little girl, it's time to come home.”

San propped himself up on his elbows, looking at the departing Yeosang. His lips stretched in a satisfied smile full of devilish anticipation.

The time had finally come.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

1st POV

"Feed me to the wolves, let them take my flesh."

“Well, I'm glad to finally meet you in a more relaxed setting, Miss Ahn. Please take a seat.” With an elegant gesture, the man motioned me to a deep leather chair in front of his desk. On the glass tabletop was a silver plaque engraved with the name “Mr. Lee Taeho”.

“Miss An” - how sad and tragic that sounds. I never wanted to try out this role. I didn't like being addressed like that, because it was always Mina, and before her, it was my grandmother, and probably my mother was addressed like that when she was alive.

But here I am, the new Miss Ahn, and unlike my predecessors, I have not sought to carry the weight of this unbearable crown. I don't need the congratulatory ribbons and the wet glitter sequins smeared across my face.

Although there was nothing in the address itself that I could call unpleasant, the tone with which it was always delivered foreshadowed the inevitable tragic ending of its own and tasted of earth and chrysanthemums.

You're bound to end up as one of them; it's not all by chance, Sarang. Don't kid yourself.

I saw the future as a series of predetermined events, especially after Mina's death. She had the arrogance to dispose of my life as she saw fit, putting chains of obligations and secrets around my neck. I buried her in the ground, and my days became nothing more than a list of dull plans, paltry hopes, and bitter regrets, as murky as the water in the city canals through which a coffin floats. Still, I couldn't help but wonder who would be the next Miss An when I died, or would I be the one to hold that title forever?

There are never any former queens. There are only dead ones.

I could feel the blood flowing faster through my veins.

For a few moments, there was silence around us, thick and enveloping like fog. If I'd felt any hint of confidence as I walked through the tall glass doors of Silver & Black LTD, now, alone with this man, I was floundering in my social insecurity like a butterfly caught in a spider's web. I resisted the urge to squirm under the gaze of his night-dark eyes. Beautiful and terrifying at the same time.

Lee Taeho wasn't just one of Silver & Black's most successful lawyers; he was also a devilishly handsome man.

He was built like a god. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, and a tight-fitting white shirt that accentuated his muscular biceps, bulging pecs, and flat stomach. The image of strength and power was completed by the perfectly tailored, tight-fitting trousers. The rolled-up sleeves revealed several tattoos on his wiry forearms—something in Latin that I couldn't make out.

His face was also striking, with angular, pointed features that would have looked strange and out of place on anyone else, but the luscious, perfectly sculpted lips made them something unimaginable and outrageously beautiful.

I felt uncomfortable under the weight of his scrutinizing gaze. He was looking at me like I was something special, but not in a sexual or romantic way; rather, it was the look of an explorer who had found an unexpected treasure in a pile of rubbish.

“I honestly didn't expect you to have any free time in the next few months, so thank you for seeing me at such short notice.”

To be honest, I knew absolutely nothing about Silver & Black until Soomin told me about them on the way here. Soo turned out to be absolutely right when she told me about them. This place was the epitome of the arrogant domination of money and power—cold, glassy, and sterile, like a morgue where the remains of all “happy stories” are taken.

I could never belong to such a place, but I could easily imagine Mina here, with her developing blood curls and the unemotional grandeur of royalty. People like my sister were part of that 'proper' society so suited to closed Sunday clubs and icy glass offices. Like all of her kind, Mina was a great predator, used to labeling people and giving them her own names and definitions. She knew exactly how to make those around her feel uncomfortable with just one look.

Some people have everything, others nothing. It's as cruel and true as the inequality of love.

I still didn't understand how Mina had so much money to afford the services of this company, but judging by how polite and “sweetly” the receptionist greeted me at the entrance, she was very much appreciated here.

Blood of my blood.

“You have nothing to thank me for, Saran.” He said that, and I looked back at him in surprise. It wasn't so much the fact that he allowed himself a familiarity that surprised me, but the way he said my name—as if it had always belonged to his lips. It was as if he'd said it over and over again until the intonation was perfect.

My heart beats fast in my chest, but I couldn't tell if it was fear or something else entirely.

“We will always make time for you. If you'll allow me to be frank, I've left a few free hours each day, just in case you decide to call me. Honestly, I expected it to take a little less time on your part, but who am I to judge you, Sarang?”

“But why?” I tried to gather information and put it together in a way that wasn't absurd. I didn't want to assume anything.

“Why? Do I have to explain? Maybe I just wanted to see you; you're a beautiful girl, and I'm a great admirer of the beautiful. He smiled, seemingly satisfied with the embarrassment that must have been written on my face. I could feel the heat spilling over my cheeks, turning them a painfully inflamed shade of red.

I had never been a girl with a 'cute' blush. I was more like a girl burned by the gold of the sun, pressing her cheek directly against the boiling, bubbling surface of the sun.

Taeho lightly drummed his perfectly filed nails on the glass tabletop, completely ignoring my obvious embarrassment at the situation, and continued:

“But let's say that this is due to the fact that your dear sister was a valued client of ours, whom everyone here at Silver & Black LTD sincerely appreciated. Miss Ahn was our special customer. All the staff will agree with me; your sister is impossible not to love.”

“A special client?” I interjected. Somehow, that didn't surprise me at all. Of course, it was only natural that Mina was always at the center of the universe. People followed the sound of her voice like rats behind the magical melody of the flute.

“Are you surprised, Sarang? Your sister has helped our firm in many ways, bringing us new clients and introducing us to the 'right' people, making our firm one of the best in Korea. She's contributed a lot to the development of Silver & Black. There was a strange note in his voice, as if between the cracks there was something terrible—a terrible secret that could change my whole life.

For some reason, I don't feel comfortable at all right now.

“I'm pleased… hmm, or rather, I'm pleased to know that my sister has done so much for you. Lately, she and I haven't really been close, and we've barely chatted. So I didn't know where she went or what kind of people she hung out with.” My words come out a little sour, and I press my lips together.

The lovely Mina, as always, is proving to be the best. I wonder if the day will come when she damn pedestal will be nothing but a pile of ruins at my feet. I thought all this time you'd been pining for roses, but instead you've been doing the right thing. What else don't I know about you, Ahn Min?

What don't I want to know about you?

''Yes, yes, she helped us a lot. Now let's get on with signing the documents, do you mind? I don't want to keep you any longer than necessary.” His words were very dry, businesslike, and in no way in keeping with the previous flirtation. Something flashed in his eyes—concern, doubt, maybe even fear—there was a tense tremor in his hands, and his whole aura changed, as if something huge and evil had turned its attention to him.

“Sure, let's get started.”

The entire process took no more than 30 minutes. I signed document after document, with occasional detached comments from Mr. Lee, which were completely at odds with his previous behavior. There was nothing special about the documents, except for one thing: Rose Hill. As best, I could make out from the extensive stack of papers, it was a small house in the style of Victorian England. It was in the ownership of a gated cottage community, the grounds of which were owned by a private company. It was all too complex and confusing to realize the meaning in the space of 30 minutes. I'll deal with it later, most likely in the company of Soomin and a couple of bottles of wine.

“Can I sell the house I inherited, Rose Hill?” I asked without lifting my head from the papers; a few more strokes and I could be out of here. The atmosphere in the office was terribly tense; my skin itched unpleasantly and tingled in places as if it no longer belonged to me.

“To my regret, I cannot help you in this matter. In all matters concerning Rose Hill, you must deal directly with the owners of the land; I will email you their contacts.” The smile he gave me was forced, and I couldn't help but wonder what had made such a difference in his change of mood.

“Okay, thank you.” I signed the last form and handed the pile of paperwork to Mr. Lee. “I'm done; hopefully everything is settled now. Can I get a copy of the documents, preferably today?”

Taeho cursorily flicked through the pages to make sure each one was signed.

“Our administrator, Sunwoo, will give you all the documents. There is one more thing you need to get before you leave. When you leave here, go further down the corridor to the vault, and Bora will show you a locker in the storage room that belongs to your sister. Now, if you'll excuse me, my next customer is waiting, and I don't want to keep him waiting.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Thank you very much for your time, Mr. Lee.” I clumsily rose from my chair, trying to get out of this stuffy room as quickly as possible. The air felt pressurized, and I felt like I was going to start suffocating a little more. I needed to get out of here right now.

“It was nice to meet you, too, Miss Ahn. Please take care of yourself.” The look he gave me was sad—so unusually sad, like the look of a man living his last day on earth. It was as if the end had come for him before he could realize it.

His words, on the contrary, were a warning. “Take care of yourself.” What kind of lawyer wishes that to a client as a farewell? Was I in danger? Perhaps you were. Although that's true, it's worth crossing out the word “perhaps”, yes, I was in danger. Could he have known about it? Did Taeho know about the roses or the people who sent those awful flowers? Was there something he hadn't told me? A thousand questions were in my head as I walked out of his office.

Mechanically, I reach for the strands of pearls at my neck and twist them around my fingers, nervousness bubbling in my stomach. This isn't some worldwide conspiracy, Sarang. Wake up.

I think I'm becoming paranoid.

The door closes softly behind me. I'm alone in a sterile, shiny corridor.

In the distance, I hear a cheerful laugh—Soomin. She was definitely laughing. Soo is having a great time waiting for me to wrap things up. Even though she was denied my escort to Mr. Lee's office, she wasn't upset at all because the nice receptionist, Sunwoo, I think his name was, was determined not to let her get bored alone.

I could have fallen in love with him. He was charming and cute, with a sweet, heart-shaped smile that would make your teeth rot. He was wearing a perfectly tailored suit, Armani Prive, in a thinly stitched pinstripe. I'd say he looked like a puppy. With those big, wet, shiny eyes and the way he struck the right pose when you told him to.

Yes, that was the kind of guy I fell in love with—the kind with a good reputation and a well-paid job—the kind who makes love, not fucks. They're the ones who make sure he looks you in the eye and whispers to you about how good you're feeling when he's caressing your body.

Good boys. Obedient boys. Sugar-coated like candy.

If I fell in love with a guy like that, Soomin would break him up like a Christmas candy bar and take a bite right down the middle of him. She liked that type—kind, gentle, and submissive. There had never been a lack of male attention in her life, but for some reason, Soo had always surrounded herself with this type of boy, like colorful toys. She wasn't afraid to break them because she could always move on to the next one. They never crossed her, nodding in obedience and jumping as high as she asked. Men were no more precious to Soo than broken crystal balls, shimmering but useless.

The corridor in front of me was long and empty, with a single door at the end. The sound of heels hitting marble tiles echoed in my head, and the checkerboard pattern on the marble was jarring. For a moment, I thought the corridor was narrowing like a rabbit hole, endless and dark. I was short of air, unable to breathe, and the oxygen in my lungs was as thick and viscous as swamp sludge. I clawed at my neck with my fingernails, trying to pull off the pearl collar, but I felt myself tightening it stronger. My eyes stung from tears and mascara, and ink streaks ran down my cheeks, and somehow they felt colder than they should have.

My fingernails dug into the skin on my collarbones, scratching at it with cruelty and anger.

I needed to get away from myself. To be separate from my body and the way I felt. The nightmare awakened inside me, licking my veins, working its way inside, and gnawing into my soul. My consciousness was beyond my mind.

I hear the sound of tearing threads and thousands of pearls falling at my feet, and I fall with them. I want to go back to before it all began. Before the pain, Before the roses.

Fluorescent lights flash like the tails of nameless comets on the pearly roundness of the beads. I see stars exploding behind my eyes, painting the underside of my eyelids with intricate strokes—the constellation Gemini. Nergal. I want to remember the days when roses were just roses, not home to the ghosts of my soul.

I hear a sound—it's pearls crunching under sharp heels. Under steel heels, like the teeth of the Witch Queen.

“Oh my God, Saran!” Someone shouts. Soomin isn't laughing anymore.

Her hands are so cold against my clammy skin. She presses my face against her chest, and the feverish beating of her heart brings me back to reality. She is my white rabbit.

Voices, voices—there are so many of them. It's a cacophony of sounds and unpleasant cracking noises. The pearls keep breaking, and I keep crying.

Someone brings me a glass of unpleasantly cold water; it runs down my throat like a liquid flame.

I finally took a breath.

“Take me home.” That's all I can say right now. I want to go home, away from the world, away from the sun, and away from the memories.

“She's having a panic attack; she needs air.”

“No! I need to go home.”

“It's OK, sweetheart. I've got you,” Soo purrs, kissing the top of my head like a little baby. She pulls me off the floor with effort, lifting me to my feet.

I look down at the checkered pattern of the marble slabs and at the scattered pearls. In some places, the white slabs are smeared with red, like lipstick smeared by a kiss. This is blood. My blood.

My legs shake like a newborn fawn as Soomin leads me away from this place. Every step was painful, almost more painful than Soo's tight grip on my forearm. “It's okay, Sarang, we're going home.”

It's okay, Sarang.

It's okay.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

“Are you sure you're feeling better?”

“Yeah, I'm fine now.” I squeezed out the shadow of a smile. Apparently it was useless; the look in her eyes remained the same: worried, with fear lurking around the edges. Fear for me.

“How long have you been having these attacks?”

“This is the first time. I guess… I don't know. Let's just say it's a consequence of trauma. I don't want to talk about it.”

“I'm so sorry.” Soo crouched on the edge of the bed, taking my hand gently. I was made of glass; she didn't want to break me or do the opposite by hurting herself on me. “It's so horrible that you have to go through all this, baby.”

“Yes, it is.” What else could I say? I could not have said a word, and everything would have been understood. The wounds under the bandage itched terribly. Long red marks stretched along my collarbones and neck. Mascara was still smeared across my face, as was the soft pink lip gloss. I looked like a mess. I was a mess.

My throat was all dry and thirsty, and my eyes were so swollen I couldn't even open them fully.

“Do you want me to stay with you tonight, love? We can watch a film or something; maybe one of those stupid comedy shows Mina hated. I'll make dinner and open the wine.”

“No need; I'll be fine. Soomin, go home; you should be resting too, not babysitting me. I'm fine, really. I'm feeling better, and I'll definitely get through the night. I'll probably go straight to sleep as soon as you leave.” Much as I loved Soo, I didn't feel like seeing anyone right now.

“If you say so, Please call me in the morning as soon as you wake up, okay?”

“Of course. Be safe, Soo. Love you.” I thought I covered my eyes for only a second before I heard the click of the front door. The mark of her kiss burned on my cheek.

I don't know how many hours I sat like that—completely still, not taking my eyes off the dark landscape outside the window, which was getting brighter now that a little moonlight was seeping through the thick clouds.

I didn't want to get out of bed, drowning in pillows and blankets like a pipe dream. I felt good in my bed. I couldn't understand what exactly had changed, but I could feel the change. Even in the morning, the bed had been cold and lonely, but now the silk under my fingers was warmer and softer to the touch. Even the smell of the blankets seemed to be different, like purple lilies and musk, a scent that remotely reminded me of something very familiar but long forgotten. Could it have been Soo's perfume? No, more like the scent that Yoru always brought with her.

By the way, where did she go? She was here when I left this morning, but knowing her talent for disappearing and reappearing at will, I didn't hold out much hope of seeing her today. It would be nice to have her around now, though.

I rolled onto my side, resting my cheek against the pillow. I didn't want to sleep, but I didn't want to get out of bed either. My gaze settled on the small box that lay on the chair across from the bed. A casket from a storage locker.

After my panic attack, Soomin took it away, since I was apparently incapable of doing so. Next to it was a neat stack of papers with black paint poisonously embedded in them, listing all the possessions I now owned, including Rose Hill, but the most valuable and important thing was kept in this little silver coffin.

The metal walls of the casket shimmered like liquid silver when moonlight hit them. I was mesmerized by this otherworldly glow. Number 0711 - Miss Ahn Mina. Sometimes a lifetime can be folded like origami and placed on a velvet cushion like a collector's item.

I struggled with myself for a few more minutes before I threw back the blankets and got out of bed. My curiosity outweighed my fear. At that moment, I had to remind myself that “curiosity killed the cat,” and if I had been any smarter, I would have thrown the box to hell and never thought of it again.

The box opened silently, and I felt a chill, as if someone had dipped my heart in ice water. There weren't many things in the box—something old, something new, and something blue—all like a wedding tradition. It wasn't like Mina. She had always despised the idea of marriage; the very thought of anyone daring to claim her freedom made her sick.

It wasn't for her, and it wasn't for me.

Weddings are gorgeous, creamy bouquets of fragrant flowers that breathe in the dawn. At the end of a long journey down a narrow church aisle, a handsome prince awaits with the promise of eternal love. As if. Girls, guard your hearts, for they will eat them for breakfast. Piece by piece, like a birthday cake, until there's nothing left to keep you alive.

Then there'll be another, just as naive. And then another, and so on, endlessly. That's all love is. A streak of devil's rubies and eaten hearts.

There was no heart and no love in that box. Just one little piece of paper with torn edges and a handful of precious trinkets. Just one small puzzle piece that had fallen out of a huge and complex picture. I could recognize Mina's handwriting from a million others, but the words written on that little piece of paper were not hers. In each letter lurked something that had never belonged to Mina; her hand had scrawled those lines, but her lips had never uttered those words.

“My only love. My divine Rose, when I leave this world, I will leave you everything you could ever want. When you read this, I will be gone. Everything has been arranged; everything is ready for you. The whole world will belong to you, my love. I took care of it. On the back of this page, I have left the number of my good friend. Please give him a call; he will help you with all the things you need. He'll be waiting for you. He is the only one you can trust, Sarang. Your beloved Mina P.S. Don't forget, love is eternal.”

I flipped the sheet to the other side. The handwriting was the same but so different; the letters were sharp and crumpled, as if they were written in a hurry.

Hongjoong. I had heard that name before. I knew the taste of it on my tongue.

My fingers hurriedly dialed the number; I didn't look at the time, and, to be honest, I didn't care. I wanted to make sure that he was real and that this wasn't another one of her crazy fantasies that would lead me down a blind alley. I needed to know that Hongjoong wasn't fiction but blood and flesh, intermittent breathing, and an unevenly beating pulse.

At the other end of the phone, the long beeps were interrupted, there was a static pause for a second, and then I heard the sleepy and so welcome sound:

“Hello.”

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seonghwaddict · 2 years ago

Text

★ NEVER SAY NEVER. [ 002 ] the pinkette.

synopsis. something about the eight most well-known boys of your campus just didn't sit right with you, so you never gave any effort to interact with them. but after a series of... interesting incidents, they can't seem to leave you alone. pairing. college students! vampires! ot8! ateez x fem! reader. genre. fluff, angst, eventual smut, college au, vampire au.

chapter warnings. innuendos if you squint, wooyoung is still a bit annoying but it's ok because it's wooyoung. word count. 1.9k

　　　　　　　　chapter i // chapter ii // chapter iii

The car ride to wherever Wooyoung and his seven friends lived felt a lot longer than it actually was. He talked the entire way there and if you weren't so polite—ignoring the fact you cursed him out multiple times already—you would have put on you headphones to drown him out.

Most of what he said was not worth replying to, but sometimes you caught yourself having actual conversations with him. The way he could talk to anyone without previously interacting with them surprised you a bit. And if you weren't so stubborn, you would have admitted it was a bit admirable, a skill you never really mastered.

On the bright side, you think, at least he let you take care of the music. He hadn't heard more than half the songs on your playlist and you felt it was your duty to introduce him to the most life-changing songs you've ever listened to. Sometimes he'd ask you something about a song, and you'd accidentally ramble on and on about anything related to it; the composition, the lyricism, the artist.

When you did that, he'd stare at you for however long he could any chance he got. He enjoyed listening to you talk, your voice soothing and free of any innuendos he'd normally receive when talking to anyone from campus. Your eyes practically glistened when he asked about a particular song that played (one titled "Reflections" if he remembered correctly) before you went off on another tangent about how the song makes you feel, arms and hands flailing around to emphasise your points.

At that point, he promised himself he would not get you to talk about music around Hongjoong, in fear that he'd never see you again. The musical composition major would probably propose to you on the spot.

"Oh! And also, the way they used–" You abruptly cut yourself off, looking down to pick at the cuticle of your thumb, confidence gone in the blink of an eye. "I– uh– Sorry. I'm rambling again."

Wooyoung slowed down before completely stopping at a red light. As soon as those words left your mouth, he shook his head in objection. "Don't be sorry. I like listening to you."

You looked up at him and upon finding no trace of deception or false reassurance on his stunning face, you nodded, dropping your hands in your lap. The man next to you felt an urge to grab ahold of one of them, but he knew you'd throw him out of his own car.

The tenseness in the air didn't last much longer as you noticed Wooyoung pull into a driveway leading up to the grandest mansion you'd ever seen. There seemed to be two floors, probably a third in the basement, and the walls were painted a clean white. The design of the house was quite modern, utilising geometric shapes and large, clear windows.

The lawn was neatly trimmed and the grass healthy. There wasn't much to see out front, but you assumed they'd prefer to use the privacy of a garden in the back.

At the sight of the residence, your jaw just about dropped and you whipped your head to the left, staring at the brown-eyed boy.

"This is where you live?"

He shrugged nonchalantly, but the smug smile stretched across his face told you everything you needed to know.

"Are you guys part of the mafia or something?"

He choked at that question, quickly denying it, but you only sighed in disappointment.

"That's too bad, maybe I'd have found you a bit cooler."

"Hey!" He pouted. "I'm very cool."

You tilted your head, unbuckling your seatbelt and getting ready to leave the car. "Hmm... I don't really think so..."

"Plenty of other people do." Wooyung got out of the car with you, still pouting at you over the roof of the vehicle as he moved to the trunk to pull out your bag. "You ought to as well."

"I don't know, Woo. I'm not really one to care what others think." You pouted back at him mockingly before your expression became confused. Upon your words, his pout turned into another mischievous grin. "What?"

"You just called me Woo," he sang playfully as he led you to the entrance. "Are we on nickname basis now?"

"What are you talking about? I clearly said Wooyoung."

He narrowed his eyes at you, shrugged, and then turned away from you to unlock the front door. "Either way, I like it when pretty girls say my name." And with that he entered the house and left you standing there, staring with wide eyes and blushing cheeks.

After you finally pulled yourself together and reminded yourself you didn't like him at all, you stepped inside. As you kicked off your shoes, your project partner instructed you to wait for a second while he informed whoever was home that they had company. You obliged, not wanting to see anything that would haunt you. What would that be? You didn't have an answer for yourself, but you'd rather not find yourself walking into the living room and seeing a half naked man.

As Wooyoung rounded the corner again, you had gotten up from where he put your bag, getting ready to follow him wherever he wanted to work with your sketchbook in hand.

"You're in luck, most of them are out and Seonghwa-hyung is almost done cooking." He led you to what you assumed must be the kitchen. "We can eat first and then start working."

You held back a gasp, but couldn't stop the amazed look on your face as you took in your surroundings. You shouldn't have been so surprised considering the fucking hallway was pretty, but the kitchen was absolutely divine.

It also took on a modern style, sleek white cabinets and counters surrounding the space. In the middle of the room was a kitchen island with a matching white marble surface, one side occupied by a large sink and the other with five barstools. But, most of all, it was so clean.

Not that you expected a house where eight men live together to be dirty and a mess, but you also kind of did. Yes, you were aware that they were all rich and could probably afford you and your entire bloodline, including a cleaner, but that thought never really crossed your mind.

As you continued observing the kitchen, your eyes landed on a man on the other side of the island, leaning against a counter with his arms crossed, watching you. His eyes scanned your body, assessing you before he lifted a hand and ran it through his pastel pink hair. Seemingly satisfied—though you're not sure of what—he nodded and smiled at you.

Wooyoung briefly introduced you to each other, though you already knew perfectly well who this was, and you weren't exactly happy to be in the same room as him. But, for obvious reasons, being rude to your project partner's best friend was not a very good first impression. And as much as you didn't really care about first impressions, you knew—and dreaded—that you'd had to come over quite often for this project.

A look of realisation crossed Seonghwa's features, his round eyes lighting up. "Ah, I know where I've seen you. You also take linguistics, right?"

You nodded to confirm that. He usually sat all the way in the back, though your professor encouraged him to move up front since he was such a good student. He always kind of intimidated you, but seeing him now, in sweatpants and a large sweater, hair blow-dried and fluffy; you wonder why you would ever think he's scary. Nevertheless, he's just like the others.

Wooyoung tilted his head in confusion and turned from where he sat at the counter to look at you. "I thought you're an art major?"

"I am," you took a seat next to him, leaving one barstool of space between you. "I'm double majoring in art and linguistics."

The man you answered hummed and turned to his older friend. "What are you making?"

"I didn't know we'd have a guest, so it's just bulgogi with rice noodles." He turned to address you, "Hope you don't mind."

"Oh, not at all! I could eat anything right now." Neither of the boys missed the way your eyes lit up at the mention of food.

The three of you continued to converse as Seonghwa prepared three plates for you to eat. He fished out some utensils from a drawer and set them in front of you, then him and Wooyoung.

"Oh, YN," Wooyoung said, sounding as if he suddenly remembered something, getting up and grabbing some cups from a cupboard. "Grab some drinks from the fridge, there should be plenty of options so choose whatever you want."

But as you moved to the fridge, Seonghwa quickly blocked your path with a slightly nervous sounding laugh. "No, that won't be needed!"

You tilted your head and blinked at him and Wooyoung could hear the way the elder's heart skipped a beat. Another nervous chuckle escaped his mouth before he explained, "We ran out of drinks yesterday, follow me to the pantry and I'll show you what options we do have."

"Uhhhh... okay...?" Though still confused and slightly suspicious of the way he was acting, you followed him to the other side of the kitchen. You thanked him as he held the door to the pantry open to you, but completely missed the chilling glare he sent Wooyoung.

Fourty-five minutes later, the three of you had finished eating. You offered to help wash the dishes, but the pinkette immediately shut you down and sent you and Wooyoung to work in the living room.

"Thank you for the food, it was really delicious. If I could cook, I'd ask you for the recipe." You smiled at him, placing yours and Wooyoung's plates next to the sink.

"Well," he started, bracing one hand on the cupboard next to you and leaning in slightly. "I could always teach you, if you'd like." His eyes briefly moved from yours to the area slightly below before he resumed eye contact.

And there it is. That's a shame. You thought you had misjudged him, but you supposed you were wrong.

At your expression, he burst out laughing (it was a very pretty, melodic laugh), standing up straight again and putting some distance between the two of you.

Maybe you weren't wrong...? At this point, you didn't know what to think of the man in front of you.

"I'm just kidding, Wooyoung already told me about your... feelings towards us. I just felt like messing with you a bit" He trailed off, smile stretching a bit further to reveal his perfect white teeth. "You're kind of cute when you're flustered, though."

Now that he mentioned it, you could feel the warmth on your face. As the realisation showed itself on your face, he laughed once more and rested his hand on your shoulder. He turned you and led you towards the living area, where you could already see Wooyoung making himself comfortable on the couch.

"I'll leave you guys to do your work now. I might join you once I finished cleaning, but I have a paper due tomorrow morning so don't wait for me."

"Hyung, you're not part of our project, why would we wait for you?" Wooyoung raised one of his disgustingly symmetrical brows.

With a shrug, he answered, "To balance out your annoyingness."

He didn't stick around to hear Wooyoung's whiny complaints, instead turning back to the kitchen with a loud laugh. The brunette rolled his eyes and patted the spot on the couch next to him.

"Now," he said once you sat, albeit with so much space between you three people could fit comfortably, "Where do we start?"

　　[ lilo's notes ... ] woohoo the next chapter!! i think i'll make the upload schedule fridays, so expect new chapters then. what do we think of the story so far? i'm so happy about all the positive comments i've been getting, thank you guys so much. whoever though seonghwa would be the one she'd like, is wrong... so any other guesses? i have a few ideas on what to do for that project, and i think it'll actually be quite cool. so please look forward to that ^^

　　ଘ(੭˃ᴗ˂)੭ taglist ... @atinytinaa @marievllr-abg @legohwas @moonsangie @kiss-hwa @cqndiedcherries @ateezourstars @r1kitti @sarahleighflora @kyukyustar @cqndiedcherries @ateezourstars @kitty4hwa @hyukssunflower @aestheticsluut @neohyxn @mrowwww @darkdayelixer @itsokaytobedumb00 @hwa-sans @purplelady85 @meginthebuilding27 @stopeatread @mothworked @foliea @euphoric-emily16 @teezers99 @mulletjoonsupremacy @imalildelulu @sunukissed @blehhhidk @ad0rechuu @seongfury

　　NEVER SAY NEVER　©　seonghwaddict, 2023

#★ NEVER SAY NEVER — seonghwaddict #ateez #ateez x reader #seonghwa x reader #hongjoong x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #wooyoung x reader #jongho x reader #vampire au #college au #fluff #eventual smut

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zoeysdamn · 10 months ago

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I had no choice - Knight!Nikolaï x reader

A/N: More angst for @corpsebasil AU? heck yes. Also I'm sorry in advance this was better in my head fjnkjrbg

Part 2 of this one-shot (tho you can also read it as a stand-alone)

Summary: You and your secret lover Sir Nikolaï got married in secret a few months ago. As the princess of Ravka, you can’t let this information become public right now. But what might happen if your hand is forced to reveal it? Are your royal duties more important than your union to your beloved knight? TW: angst, child neglect, slight violence, mention of blood and death in childbirth, angst, slut-shaming, dubious morals, mention of su!cide

It was easy, at first. The first months of your married life, albeit a secret one, had been blissful and lovely, and easy. There was the thrill of secrecy, the shared glances that now carried the bubbling emotions of newlyweds, the stolen kisses behind curtains, and the knowledge of returning to each other’s arms when the night would come. But after several months of this untainted happiness, reality slowly came back. It wasn’t a crashing realization, more like a creeping around your mind just like the insidious whispers in the corridors reaching your ears from time to time. Then came the crippling doubt. Nothing loud or really consistent, but quiet and haunting at every small moment of silence within your mind. What if someone knows? What if we weren’t that discreet? What of it then? You knew the answer to that last one, of course ; treason, trial, exile, maybe even execution for Nikolaï – perhaps even yourself. Ironically, the love Nikolaï showered you with was precisely what made you neglect those thoughts. It might have been a deliberate subconscious move too, to bury your own head in the sand instead of being practical. And that despite all of the warnings around you, that led you to the exact situation you currently were in.

The day had started as usual though. You woke up in the arms of your lover – your husband – like any other day. It was always a bliss to look at the peaceful asleep face of Nikolaï, getting kissed by the first rays of sun like a delicate brush on a painting. You consider yourself lucky to be able to catch a glimpse of the handsome relaxed face of the knight every morning. Though it was always a matter of getting up before the maids came to your own adjacent chamber, Nikolaï always took the time to shower you with kisses to start his day ; you gladly returned the favor, by the way. Then the dreadful slipping away from his chamber, just to put back on the princess role once again. Getting dressed, getting breakfast, where you see Nikolaï again, dressed in his knight outfit this time. The day has gone by as usual, meeting with your ladies in waiting or dignitaries, walking around the palace gardens, Sir Nikolaï always close by as the dutiful bodyguard – and devoted husband he was. Then during the afternoon tea, a guard showed up to whisper something to your beloved knight’s ears, to which he answered with a sharp nod. Polite as ever, he had excused himself to attend this military matter that requested his attention ; nothing out of the ordinary really, for the captain of the knights.

The prospect of him leaving your side for a few hours had you pout a little, but the deception had been quickly washed away by the knowledge and secret promise of a later reunion in the wink Nikolaï secretly sent you before exiting the room.

Really, everything had started as it always was.

Then, out of the blue, two guards arrived in the tea room and asked to follow them, per your father’s request. It wasn’t something terribly surprising either, as the princess of Ravka the king could sometimes summon you ; so although it wasn’t planned, you weren’t surprised and you followed your father’s guards. Most of the palace guards were known by you, at least by face if not by name and Nikolaï’s words, but the king’s guards were a special case. Unlike the rest of the military, they didn’t serve Ravka, but the King only. And you were about to remember that very soon.

“Father,” you greeted with a small courtesy as you entered the gilded room, “you had requested my presence?”

The king lifted his nose from the paper he was reading. Despite all the etiquette lessons you had been through growing up, the first thought that came to your mind was that he was looking old. Decades of ruling a country and being an absent father does that to you, you supposed. All while you thought about it, you missed the somber look the monarch was giving.

“Leave us,” he said sharply to the guards. Ever obedient, the two soldiers who escorted you swiftly left the room without a word.

This made you frown slightly in confusion. “Is something wrong, father?”

“What do you think?” he said sharply. “Why would I have summoned my useless child if everything was fine?”

The sting of his words took you by surprise for a moment. Growing up, you knew the king didn’t like you – your mother was supposed to give birth to a boy after all. With no male heir and a wife who died shortly after giving birth, the King never bothered to hide his disdain for you, at least in private. You had learned to not be upset by it with the years, and by the time you were an adult you both ignored each other the most you could. The sudden verbal attack for years wasn’t expected.

Squaring your shoulders for the incoming scolding, you tried to keep your voice as steady as you could. “What do you mean, sir?”

The king slammed his hand on the table out of anger, startling you. When he looked you dead in the eye with a look full of hate, you knew it was useless to try to resolve this issue with diplomacy.

“Do you think of me deaf and blind, child?” he spat angrily. “Do you think of me stupid enough to not know everything that goes around in my own house?”

Gulping slowly, you tried to appease the situation. “Sir I–”

“Do not talk back,” the king hissed as he sprung up from his chair. His face had turned redder in anger as yours paled. “Did you think you could go around my back like that?”

“Sir,” you said shakily, even though your voice tried to be steady, with all due respect, I really don’t know what you’re talking ab–”

The slap that echoed in the room cut the words out of your mouth before you could even blink. Add to that the surprise of the physical attack, and the force your father used on it, you lost balance and crashed on the floor. Your ears were ringing, head spinning as a hot, searing pain bloomed on your cheek. Trying to steady yourself on the hardwood floor, you barely even noticed the tears welling in your eyes at the shock. With a trembling hand, you reached for your bruised cheek ; a string of blood coated your fingers, fresh from the cut the sharp edge of the king’s rings had made when he slapped you. You felt your heart sink into your stomach at the sight: there was no coming back from this situation.

“Don’t make yourself a liar atop of a whore, child”, the king seethed, glaring coldly at you.

The words felt like a second punch, you almost snapped your neck looking up to him with wide eyes. The pathetic sight of the princess of Ravka on her knees with tears-filled eyes and bruised cheek made the monarch snicker in disgust.

“Did you think I’d never found out about your ridiculous affair with that bastard? That saints-forsaken son of a bitch of a knight–”

“Leave him out of this,” you pleaded with a raspy voice. The tears were heavy in your eyes and voice, but you’ll be damned if you didn’t fight for Nikolaï’s honor just like he did for you.

“I’ll have that filthy bastard’s head no matter how much you’ll beg,” sneered the king in disdain. “This is what you get when you spread your legs for the first knight in sight, you whore.”

The accusation hurt even more at the implication that you could have bedded any knight that had come across you ; Nikolaï was anything but a random knight. But your father hadn’t finished with you yet.

“And it wasn’t enough for you to fuck him, you had to marry him,” he spat with a disgusted snarl. “Just how dumb are you? You had one role in this life, to marry according to my choice and nothing else! Who would ever marry a useless slut like you now, hmm?”

Despite your firm intent to stand up for your love and union, you couldn’t help but feel a heavy lump of shame forming in your throat. Years of conditioning to your role as the princess of Ravka came to shame you: of course as a female heir, the only use you were supposed to have to the kingdom was to marry the most interesting party your father and his council would have chosen. But alas, you had failed this mission in favor of your heart’s choice.

“You’re a disgrace to this kingdom and your family,” the king spat once again. “But as much ashamed as I am with you, I fortunately have a solution to make something acceptable for us.”

Snapping your head up from the floor, you stared at him with wide eyes, fearing what he would say. “What are you going to do?” you asked with a trembling voice.

He tsked in annoyance. “Your little…fling is fortunately not known by anyone but me. I made sure of that after my spies reported your filthy sins to me.”

His words echoed in your mind once, twice, before a gasp escaped you when you realized his implications. “D-do you mean that…you had them killed?” you hiccuped.

Once again your reaction seemed to only bring more irritation to the king, who only rolled his eyes. “Did you think I’d let anyone live with that knowledge? You have dragged our family’s honor through the dirt enough, I couldn’t let anyone spread a word about this.” He glanced at you to see tears roaming on your cheeks and let out a bitter huf. “This better be a lesson for you, you ungrateful child. Their deaths are because of you, and no one else.”

“No,” you whimpered, “this isn’t true, I never wished for their deaths–”

“Enough!” the king barked, running short on his patience. “I will not hear one more word from your treacherous mouth! You will be confined in your room until I deemed so, and I can promise you that the only way for you to get out will be to be married to someone I chose to fix your mistakes!”

Your eyes widened, causing more tears to roll on your cheeks. “You can’t do that!” you cried pathetically. “You can’t unmake vows made before the Saints–”

Another rough slap cut you once again, and you gasped at the new attack. “Quiet! I don’t want to hear anything from you, whore!”. Just as you tried to ease the ringing of your head after the slap, your father forcefully grabbed your face to make you look up to his hateful eyes. “I may be unable to untie that heathen marriage of yours, but death most certainly can.”

His words tore an horrified gasp from your throat, but he carried on venomously.

“I’ll have the head of Sir Nikolaï delivered to you on a silver platter as a wedding gift, as soon as that son of a bitch returns to the palace, do you understand me?”

Against all of your might, you nodded your head weakly, tears roaming on your face. As soon as he got your understanding, the king yanked his hand off your face in disgust. As to prove a point, he immediately grabbed a handkerchief and wiped his hand clean; that’s the moment when you realized that something other than tears was dripping on your lips. When your trembling fingers brushed against your abused lip, you realized that was blood which dripped from your nose.

The king shot you another disgusted glare.

“Put yourself together, child.”

Like an automat, you clumsily managed to get up on wobbly legs, eyes lost into nothingness. You felt dizzy, numb, unable to think properly at the tragic turn of events in such a short amount of time. It was like your body acted on its own, whipping away the blood that had tickled down your face with the back of your hand in a very unlady-like manner. It didn’t matter though, considering your father had already turned his back to you to look at the window, signaling this was the end of this dreadly entrevue.

“This conversation never happened to anyone but us,” he stated coldly. “Am I being clear?”

Somehow your body responded on its own – even more surprisingly, your father seemed to have seen you nod ; or perhaps he had expected you to react like the obedient puppet you had been trained to be. You barely even noticed him calling for one of his guards and the said guard entering the room.

“Take the princess back to her rooms,” he ordered coldly. “She is to be kept there under some of my personnel guard’s surveillance at all times until I say otherwise. No one but a few personal maids is to enter, am I understood?”

Whether the guard had answered or not didn’t matter, you wouldn’t have heard them anyway. Too lost in your own foggy, broken mind, you barely even be conscious of your own moving through the halls of the palace to your room, nor the looming presence of the watching guard. It was only when they let you inside of your room, and you heard the lock of the door, that the full realization of the situation sank in with a crash.

Tears that had previously dried up came back flooding on your cheeks and you felt like you were suffocating. Trembling and dizzy, you had to lean on the wall for support as you cried. How did all of this happen?

Nikolaï and you had always shown the utmost discretion, of course ; you knew the risks. No one had witnessed your wedding but the priest who had officiated it. As a man of the church, he was sworn to secrecy, you had an absolute trust in him. Embraces, kisses and passion had always been confined to the privacy of your chambers – much to both your disappointment and safety. Outside and for everyone’s eyes, you became the princess and Sir Nikolaï once again and nothing more. So how did everything go so wrong, so fast?

Shaky fingers went to clutch the ring looped on the thin chain around your neck. Oh, how you wished Nikolaï was here with you at the moment. You craved his presence, his comfort and his love. He would have known how to comfort you, how to find a solution. But he wasn’t by your side, and the moment he’d come back would be his ultimate demise. A sob wrecked your body ; you probably wouldn’t even be able to see your love, your husband one last time.

You spent the next half hour crying, whimpering, curled on the ground against the wall. The gash in your heart couldn’t stop bleeding, forbidden to heal due to the absence of Nikolaï and the tragic upcoming of his inevitable death. Despair clung onto your soul, embedding itself to the deepest parts of yourself. Never in your life, especially after your wedding, you would have thought you’d feel like that again.

Being the princess of Ravka never prevented to have an abusive parent, you knew that better than anyone. Insults and slaps had been frequent when you were a child, whether it was for a silly mistake on your part or simply your father having a bad day. The king never forgave you for your mother’s death and you being a girl ; his parental affection had been buried deep down in the ground at the same time as your mother, it had seemed. But the years had passed, and you had learned to know better than to expect any love from the king, and to avoid his rageful fits by making yourself useful. Being a political asset by mastering the art of negotiation and diplomacy had smoothed your relationship with the king ; until today, it had been years since he last raised his hand on you.

“Your majesty?”

You jumped in surprise, startled by the sudden voice in your room. Snapping your head up, your tear-filled eyes met your maid’s worried ones.

“Are you alright, your majesty?”

The lump in your throat only felt heavier. That girl was blessedly unaware of the torment you had been thrown into. A wobbly lip and tear-stained cheeks wouldn’t fool anyone, yet you nodded weakly.

“Not really,” you rasped.

The frown of concern on the maid’s face only worsened, just to be cut by a gasp at the inspection of your own face. “You’re bleeding! Have you been hurt?”

Brushing your fingers against your nose once again you gulped at the sight of blood once again. Your father definitely didn’t go easy on you this time.

“Help me up,” you mumbled weakly, to which the maid obeyed promptly.

As a contrast to your tired numbness, the poor servant fussed in anxiety, helpless and worried about her mistress’ state. She led you to sit on a vanity, you could hear her from a distance talking about soothing tea or something. As she busied herself your eyes wandered to the reflecting surface in front of you. A wave of nausea and tears rises when you lock eyes with your reflection: half-disheveled hair and red eyes, cheeks red from both the slaps and the tears, a bloody nose and dread sinking into your bones. The woman in the mirror is someone you never thought you’d see one day – or again.

Suddenly, all the sadness and sorrow morphed into something else. Disgust. Fear. Anger. Rage. Everything bubbled inside of your chest, craving a way to get out. As your eyes wandered, trying to get a hold of something real to ground you, they landed on a little box covered in dust. Hidden behind bottles and jewel boxes, you hadn’t touched it for years.

The sight was like an electroshock; all of the sudden, you remembered what was inside of that box. And then all of those emotions raging inside you turned into even more: resignation.

“Alyosha?”

The maid immediately rushed to your side in worry. “Yes my lady?”

“I need you to deliver a message for me.”

The sun was starting to set when a knock echoed on your door. Given the context, the faintest sound should be startling you with the fear of dreadful news. But you knew exactly who it was, so you invited them to enter.

The sound of armored steps on the wooden floor and the locking of the door hang heavy in the air.

“You requested my presence, your majesty?”

You turned around to face the knight who had entered your room. Where you usually expected blonde curls and a loving smile, you met the dark hair and stern face of Sir Dominik Vertov.

“Indeed,” you said quietly – and way more calmly than you had thought barely a few hours before. “I thank you for coming, Sir Dominik.”

Polite and composed as ever, he only squared his shoulders. “It’s my watch, princess.”

Unlike his childhood friend Nikolaï, Dominik had been promoted to the King’s guard after his duties during the war. Nikolaï had been offered that place too ; he refused.

Your lover had admitted several times that he missed his best friend. Even if they both had their duties in the palace, they didn’t meet quite as often as they used to. But today, you were relieved that he and dominik had partied ways, for it may be your only chance now.

“I’m still thankful for your presence,” you said carefully. When you asked your maid to deliver a message to Sir Dominik, asking him to meet with you as quickly as possible and in the utmost discretion, you weren’t so sure he’d agree to it. After all, you were only the princess ; his allegiance laid with the king, not you.

Like reading your thoughts, the knight gave you a pointed look. This made your throat tighten; there was no need beating around the bush any further.

Taking a deep exhale, you unfold the words you had thought on for hours earlier.

“I have something to ask of you,” you started, careful to keep your voice as steady as you could. “This isn’t something easy, and I know there is no way for me to repay you for that, or even ask your forgiveness for.”

The knight frowned slightly at your words, both curious and perplexed. What was so terrible you could ask of him? Several answers came to his mind, some terrible, some absurds, but you soon cut off his train as thoughts as you declared:

“I need you to help me to take someone’s life.”

That definitely wasn’t something he expected. Dominik raised an intrigued eyebrow. “With all due respect princess, I’m not sure killing someone can solve any problem you might have.”

“Believe me, it is,” you insisted gravely.

“I’m not a thug for hire –”

“It’s a matter of saving Nikolaï’s life,” you cut him, a little louder. At your words, Dominik stopped his rambling and looked at you with wide eyes.

After a few seconds of the initial shock – both of the prospect of his friend being in danger and the princess calling him by his first name, he recomposed himself. “What do you mean?”

You gulped, feeling more nervous and your will faltering at every passing second. But you had to be strong, for Nikolaï.

“What I’m going to tell you can’t be known by anyone,” you said quietly. “Should you turn down your help on me, you have to at least swear to not tell a soul.”

The knight looked more and more confused, but strangely agreed to this. So with a deep inhale and a turn to the window, you dropped the bomb.

“A few months ago, Nikolaï and I got married in secret,” you confessed quietly, wrenching your hand together nervously. A soft gasp was heard from Dominik, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to face him. “We started a romantic relationship around a year ago, which no one knew about. Or so I thought until today.”

You could practically hear the churns turning in Sir Dominik’s head. He would be fast to understand the situation, surely.

“Someone found out,” he deduced out loud, and you nodded. “And you don’t want to be exposed.”

You whipped around at his underlying accusation. “This isn’t about my pride or reputation! If I had to throw everything away, my name, my titles and prices to be able to be with Nikolaï freely, I’d do it in a blink of an eye!”

This took him aback slightly. Even if he was a royal guard, Dominik never thought nicely of high-born morals. Even less to someone like Nikolaï and him. And that’s why he was now more concerned than ever.

“...who knows?” he asked after a few moments of silence. This time you faced him, and you could read the real question: who has to die?

The weight in your stomach got heavier, even if you had made your peace with this inevitability. “Someone who has the power to order his death,” you muttered.

You couldn’t say out loud that the king was the target ; who knows who could be listening?

As soon as it clicked in his head, Dominik’s previously composed face turned into a mix of horror and disgust.

“This can’t– you don’t mean – “

“It’s a heavy task I’m asking, I know,” you muttered.

“It’s not that!” the knight snapped. “You’re asking me to be accomplice of regicide, princess,” he whispered through gritted teeth, careful not to be heard.”

“I know,” you repeated in a quiet, yet steady voice. “But I also know that the king doesn’t make threats lightly.”

Dominik looked down; he was aware of that.

You turned to your vanity to retrieve the dusty little box. Once full of colors, it was now a faded crackled porcelain. But it was also what may be your salvation. Opening it, you carefully took a small velvet pouch, barely bigger than a thumb and returned to where the knight was standing. Dominik raised an eyebrow at you when you handed the pouch to him.

“What is it?”

“What might earn Nikolaï the right to live,” you answered cryptically. At the frown of incomprehension from the man, you could only offer him a sorry smile. “Pour it in my father’s wine, it’ll be a quick death. It’s the safest way of ending this.”

“For who, for you?” he snorted, throwing a disgusted look at the pouch of poison. “Having someone else killing your father because he had been mean to you and is forcing you to a divorce?”

His words felt like a slap once again, and your face darkened. “Divorce isn’t an option for the king,” you hissed, “It’s Nikolaï’s head he wants.”

Saying it out loud made you choke on your own words. Hearing the threat clearly from your father was one thing; realizing the actual danger by saying it yourself was something else. Dominik too, had his eyes widened at the statement. He thought that Nikolaï would have been imprisoned for his crimes, maybe whipped. But death? The king was cruel but he never thought he’d go to such lengths on one of the most faithful knights in the kingdom.

“Please,” you begged, your voice wavering as tears threatened to spill, “I can’t live without him. If anyone happened to Nikolaï I would never forgive myself.”

Sir Dominik didn’t respond. Stepping closer, you handed him the pouch once again, with trembling hands.

“If not for me, do it for him,” you whispered weakly. “I’m begging you to help me to save the man we both love.”

A beat passed. Then, the knight slowly reached for the pouch. As you felt it leaving your hand, it was like a weight in your heart was lifted at the same time. Sir Dominik stared at the small pouch for long seconds.

“How will this work?” he asked quietly.

You tried your best to not let out a relieved sigh. “Pour it into any liquid. It’ll be over after an hour or so.”

The knight nodded. “Any signs that might alert doctors before he…passes?”

You shook your head. “It’s supposed to be painless. Not easily noticeable either after the death, for what I’ve been told.”

Looking up at you, Dominik frowned slightly. “You were awfully well prepared for this situation, it seems.”

The new underlying accusation didn’t upset you like before. Instead, you just smiled sadly.

“It was never supposed to be for the king,” you said with a tint of sadness, to which he frowned even more. “Poison is said to be a women’s weapon but people often forget it might also be a painless way out for some of us.”

Dominik’s eyes widened at your words. Sensing his confusion, you darted your eyes away, the sting of long-gone memories coming back.

“Noble titles and gold never stopped anyone abusing their child,” you muttered bitterly. “No matter how fine your clothes and manners are, being called and treated like the utmost failure half of your life can make the strongest minds sink.”

You let out a shaky breath, trying to get a grip on your trembling hands. No matter how many years had passed, you still remembered every single slap and punch your father had thrown at you behind closed doors.

Raising your head a little higher to gather courage, you turned back to face the flabbergasted knight. “Thankfully I had a wet-nurse who saw through it. After patching another wound, she blessed me with this.”

“Blessed you?” he frowned.

“What other choice did I have as a woman?” you ask sadly, and you knew by the way he looked away that he understood. “It’s only a fair thing to finally use it to end this cycle of violence.”

“At what cost?”

“Thankfully not Nikolaï’s life,” you countered quietly. “But…I’m sincerely sorry it’ll cost yours.”

Dominik nodded solemnly. He knew this; as one of the king’s guards, he was among the very few people who could approach him. Maybe this poison won’t alert anyone at first, but the suspicion of assassination would soon rise. The list of suspects would be very small, and it would be only a matter of time before Dominik would be arrested for treason if someone figured things out.

So he’ll have to flee. Abandon his rank as a king’s knight, his reputation, his life. All of this to be replaced by the brand of traitor and murderer. He was willing to do it. Of course he was. Nikolaï had saved his life during the war countless times, and above that he was his best friend, his brother. If he had to run away and live a life of fugitive for the rest of his days in order to save Nikolaï, he’d do it in a heartbeat. No matter how serious the crime could be.

“I’ll be on the road as soon as it’s done,” he muttered, more to himself than anything.

You nodded slowly. The guilt that was sinking in your stomach made bile rise in your throat. “Do you…have someone who would come with you?” you asked quietly. If the man who helped you had to run, you sure would do anything to help him. But Dominik shook his head.

“We don’t have much time,” he simply said. “Nikolaï and his men are said to be back tomorrow. It’ll be done tonight.”

Again, you nodded, afraid that tears could fall if you spoke. Dominik straightened his back, and bowed.

“It’s been an honor to serve this family, princess. I shall bring with me the comfort of knowing my best friend has a woman like you by his side.”

The small smile stretching your lips at his words was a sad one. “I’ll be forever in your debt, Sir Dominik. You’re a good man.”

He offered you a sorry smile as he lifted himself up again. Both of you knew nothing would ever be the same after this night. Now bound by the terrible secret of what will come, in order to save Nikolaï.

So without a word, he made his way to the door. Just when he was about to open it, the knight stopped himself and looked back at you.

“Are you really willing to kill a king for a mere knight?”

The answer, although heavy with consequence, was immediate.

“I deeply believe that every life is equal beyond our birth and titles, Sir Dominik.”

That made him smile. “You’ll make a fine ruler one day, princess.”

You thanked him with a bow of your head. He returned it and then, quietly, slipped away from your chamber. No one heard the door click, nor did they notice a missing horse from the stables a few hours later in the dark of the night.

That night, laying in your bed, you kept your eyes open until daylight to let the last few tears of guilt run down your cheeks, thinking about the lives you has sacrificed for you love.

The crashing news of the king’s death came before Nikolaï returned to the palace.

It was a valet who discovered him, laying in his chair with eyes half closed and skin cold. Words spread fast as a doctor was hurried to the king’s side, and by the time the rumor had reached the kitchen, the monarch was confirmed dead.

A heart seizure, the royal doctor told you after he was brought to your chambers with a somber look to deliver the news. The tears and cries that escaped you hearing your father’s death were genuine, and everyone saw how deep their princess was affected. Truth was, those tears weren’t for the king; they were for Sir Dominik, the knight who had now abandoned everything to save your husband. Now the poor man was doomed to a fugitive existence, and you weren’t sure if somehow you could forgive yourself that.

The mournful look and tears did the trick anyway. Everyone was looking at you with sorry eyes for the past days, and cladded in your black clothes you played the role of the mourning princess to perfection. Two days after your father died, Nikolaï came back to the palace.

As soon as he stepped down his horse, a servant hurried to deliver him the news. It was all it took him to rush through the palace’s corridors and to your room. He bursted into your chambers unannounced, panting and face painted with worry, but it vanished as soon as he landed his eyes on you. Before you could rise up from the chair you had been reading on, your husband engulfed you in a bone-crushing hug.

Both of you clung on each other like your lives depended on it – and somehow, they were. You could even feel Nikolaï’s hand shaking in emotion. After a long, much-needed minute of embrace, he lifted his head from your neck to have a look at you.

“Are you alright?” he asked in worry, searching on your face for any sign of discomfort – apart from grief.

Instead of answering, you were staring at him, beaming. Every single detail of his handsome face, even painted with worry, sent a flood of relief through your body. He was back, he was here, he was alive. Your husband had come back to you alive and well, while you had feared the opposite for the past days. What was grief and guilt until then turned into joy and warm relief.

“I am now,” you finally whispered, still not quite believing Nikolaï was here at last.

The knight let out a shaky breath he didn’t know he was holding. Taking your hands with his, he held you close to him. “I’m sorry about your father’s passing, my love,” he said sincerely.

You could only offer him a tight smile. Nikolaï didn’t know what your father had done during your childhood. As he never lifted his hand on you for years, Sir Nikolaï had never been around to witness such tragedy. And you never wanted to share this with him; you and him deserved better than those plaguing memories.

Right now all you needed was the comfort of your husband’s arms, just to prove to yourself that everything had not been in vain.

Soon, when the time of mourning would be done, you’d publicly announce your engagement to Sir Nikolaï. Being a well-renowned and popular knight would play in your favor, the council would be glad to have him as the prince consort next to Ravka’s new queen. Soon, you both would be free to be married once again and be never afraid of loving each other again.

Soon, everytime you’d see Nikolaï’s face and smile, you’d convince yourself that it had been worth every sacrifice and lie. When the guilt would creep up on your mind during sleepless nights, you’d face them with the knowledge and conviction that you had no choice. Even if that meant losing good men or forcing fate.

Nikolaï might have been your bodyguard before becoming your husband, but as his wife you’d burn down entire cities and behead dozens of kings to keep him safe. That was a promise and a choice you’d intend to keep at any cost.

sorry it sounded better in my head *sob*

#shadow and bone #shadow and bone imagine #nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov x you #nikolai x reader #sir nikolaï #knight!nikolai #knight nikolai lantsov #angst #nikolai lantsov angst

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quillthrillswriting · 8 months ago

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my (quillthills) ao3 ATLA fanfiction masterlist:

"if happiness were a tangible thing, it would be you":

Katara is tired of the iron grip that Emperor Ozai has over the kingdom of Rosas, tired of watching him spread his influence across the mainland. When Sokka comes home from the palace with the knowledge of an impending tragedy, Katara is left to wish on the stars in hope that they will offer salvation. They do, in the form of the Avatar, a boy transformed into a wishing star almost a century earlier. Her wish for hope is fulfilled, in the form of a boy known to be the embodiment of hope. Will that same hope be enough to stand against a man powered by the dreams and wishes of an entire kingdom? OR: ever since pixina put the idea in my head of a kataang wish AU, i haven't been able to stop thinking about it. this fic is the result<3 if you haven't seen wish (2023) yet, don't worry! you don't really need to to understand this fic:)

"so i will go to secret gardens in my mind":

after he and katara's escape to the palace gardens the night prior, avatar aang, the king of all four elements, cannot stop thinking of the beautiful dark-haired water princess. misunderstandings and deliberate deception constructed by regent ozai makes the reconciliation of these star-crossed lovers more complicated than necessary. OR: the second of many kataang regency-era works ♔

"you’re in the wind, i’m in the water":

aang has only just been crowned as the avatar, the king of all four elements, and already, he struggles to find his footing in a society without any of his people. a dance with princess katara of the water tribe, and a subsequent escape to the palace gardens, helps him find that footing. OR: the first of many kataang regency-era works ♔

"there's a star-man, waiting in the sky":

a flash-fiction atla modern AU in which yue passes away from cancer early in life, and sokka becomes an astronaut so that he can go to space and be close to the moon she always loved so much ☾

"the teenager in the iceberg"- multichap

i feel like a lot of people have wondered how different atla as a whole would be if aang had been older, so in this au, aang was frozen at age 16! naturally, i just had to flip aang being after katara from day one to katara now having a crush on aang from the very beginning. essentially, to recap. ATLA aang aged up AU fic. kataang. where she falls first, and he falls harder. also, cmon. i just had to write a new version of the scene where zuko and aang meet.

"you with the dark curls, you with the watercolor eyes"- multichap

Avatar Aang had been told time and time again that to venture across the surface of the sea when the moon had risen and claimed what rightfully belonged to it was to sign your own death certificate. And yet, he found himself here, at the water’s edge, skipping stones, lost in thought. To be the Avatar had once meant something, years before. Before the four tribes had separated, scattered to the ends of the earth. Those who formed fire itself chased the other tribes from the surface lands, those who could move rock and metal burrowed underground, those who flowed with the air sent ships with great sails across the sea until they reached towering mountain spires. Those who bent water, who bent blood… they retreated to the depths of the sea, and with time, they became a part of it. Legend told of the way in which the Water tribes had adapted, two legs smoothed into razor sharp scales and voices twisted into something dark and luring. Now, they were the monsters known as sirens. OR: a KATAANG AU where tui and la have split the earth into the sea and the sky. aang is a winged avian, while katara is a siren<3

"well, my (not-yet) boyfriend's in a band":

in which the gaang are in a band, and when it comes time for them to write an original song to submit to the republic city music festival, aang is...suspiciously good at writing love song lyrics OR kataang, if they were in an indie band and aang didn't know how to communicate his feelings except through writing love songs

"i’m no longer a kid, and everything has changed":

after aang falls to azula's lightning strike in the caves of the earth kingdom, toph, sokka, and katara are left to pick up the pieces. katara's healing abilities are put to the test in the weeks that follow, but she finds herself seeing aang in a different light as she realizes how much he's endured since emerging from the iceberg only months before. OR: the weeks-long gap between the end of season two and the beginning of season three of ATLA is finally at least partially expanded upon. ALSO OR: a bit of aangst, or kataangst, if you will

"can you see me using everything to hold back?":

Katara's life after saving the world was filled with a whirlwind romance with Fire Lord Zuko that became a loveless, controlling marriage she is no longer happy in. After finding out the extent to which her husband has betrayed her trust, she escapes to find home in the person she has missed most during her time in the Fire Nation. OR: The common Zutara trope of "Zuko helps Katara escape an unhealthy relationship with Aang" is flipped entirely and completely on its head.

"my heart is yours, it’s you that i hold on to":

The war has been ended, Ozai has been rendered helpless, and Zuko has reclaimed the Fire Nation with the promise of peace. Everything that Aang has been working towards since the moment Katara freed him from the iceberg has been done. He's saved the world. Now, all that's left is to confess to his forever girl. OR Aang wakes up the morning after him and his friends saved the entire world, and the first (and only) thing he can think about is Katara. When they get a chance to talk, the two take a walk down memory lane.

"shining down on me":

sokka can't stop thinking about yue. she comes to him in his dreams, and try as he might, he just can't move on. inspired by the song "my love, mine all mine" by mitski

"the avatar's adventures in parenting":

aang being a bad parent is CHARACTER ASSASSINATION and i won't stand for it. i just know that him and katara wouldn't be focused on just passing on bending, but the *teachings* and ideals of both of their tribes to all their children, regardless of bending status. OR, aang and katara become parents and aang finds out that parenting is his proudest achievement, more so than stopping a hundred year war or holding the position of avatar

"i'm trying to tell you something, something that i already said":

katara speaks to each member of the gaang individually and finds out that aang has been head over heels with her for years and no one ever bothered telling her. this takes place after the fire lord is defeated, but in my version, they never kissed in the finale:oo katara is basically dumb in terms of love and so is aang and they are peak miscommunication trope and theres too much zutara content and not enough kataang OR katara interrogates each of her friends (toph, sokka, and zuko) and comes to the conclusion that she has lived for years without the kind of love most people wish for their entire lives

if any of these speak to you, they can all be found on my ao3 account:)<3 happy reading!!!

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thetormentita · 25 days ago

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ad victoriam - part 1

Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo. — Virgil.

Pairings: Ofc x Lucius Verus, Ofc x Emperor Geta, Lucilla x General Marcus Acacius, Ofc x General Marcus Acacius (platonic)

A/n: our starting point! before going under the cut, be aware that some characters may be ooc and you can consider this a proper au.

Warnings: angst, some merrymaking?, mentions of slavery, mentions of war, geta himself should be considered a warning, babes

Tagging list: @mmkkzz @novaursa @maegelletargaryen

Every single time she lays on her bed to find some rest, but the Somnia are cruel and drive her to her mother’s villa, where the sound of clashing woods calls her attention.

It is always a warm afternoon, and close to the gardens are two kids, a lad and a lass, with wooden swords in hand as they play, emulating the great victories of Maximus Meridius, the greatest gladiator of his time.

They laugh. They shout. They squeal. They look happy.

Every single morning she wakes up with wet cheeks, the breaks of her heart still not fixed.

…

She closes her eyes when the sing of a lark reaches her ears, drawing a soft smile upon her face as she purrs to the touch of possibly the most powerful man in the world.

“You must be proud, mellita” he mumbles to her ear, the tip of his nose brushing her skin. “Soon your father will be back home. The Gods favour the brave, and the General is certainly one of them.”

Aurelia hums, letting him do.

“Of course, Augustus. I am eager to see him again after all this time.”

A whimper escapes her lips as his firm grip on her thigh and her waist makes her approach even more his chest, almost forcing to rest her head against his chest. Geta knows what he wants, and when he put his eyes on the daughter of the famed general Marcus Acacius, Aurelia knew she had to be as cunning as possible to protect the only thing she has: her family.

“So pliant. So perfect.” he muses as he lifts her face with thumb and index, softly grabbing her chin, claiming her with a longing kiss, enough to leave her breathless. Geta smiles against her lips when her hand softly cups his cheek, responding with a tenderness she pushes herself to have in order to make him believe she is utterly captivated by him.

All to protect her family.

…

The embraces of her mother are always soothing. She allows herself to close her eyes and take deep breaths, the scent of peonies filling her lungs, grounding her. It is a stark contrast to the world she navigates outside these walls, a world filled with deception and danger, where every move is a calculated step in a larger game of chess. Within these walls, with her mother’s arms around her, she finds a rare solace, a temporary respite from the masquerade she must perform each day.

“Marcus will be here soon” Lucilla’s voice is soft and fluid, her tone carrying a mix of both concern and reassurance, and Aurelia knows well the reason.

The sons of the late emperor Septimius Severus.

They have a fixation upon General Acacius, the brilliant military strategist who has garnered the respect and fear of both friend and foe alike. Acacius’s loyalty to the Severan dynasty is beyond question, but his influence among the legions and the Senate has grown so vast that it borders on the precipice of overshadowing the current rulers themselves, and Geta and Caracalla know it well enough to have the youngest of them put his eyes upon Acacius’s adoptive daughter.

“Then we must give him a warm welcome, mama.”

The arrival of the lord of the household is anticipated with a mix of excitement and apprehension. Far from home for so long, mother and child are divided between the joy of reunion and the palpable tension that his presence brings. Acacius, with his towering stature and commanding presence, has treated them well, even adopting Aurelia as his daughter and raising her as such, always keeping a smile for her, bringing her little presents here and there, truly cherishing the little black-haired girl that seemed to came tangled in the stola of the daughter of the great Marcus Aurelius.

The arrival of Acacius catches Aurelia tucking her braid up into a tidy bun with a silver stick, and she rushes to greet him, her face lighting up with joy, almost running to the atrium, getting a disapproval look from her mother, who always insists on maintaining a composed demeanor befitting a young lady of her status. However, Aurelia is not able to contain her excitement upon seeing her mother’s husband, ready to drink from his tales as if they were rich liquid.

As soon as the famed general climbs down his horse, an imposing black steed, befitting of someone like him, Marcus slightly hurries his step to greet the most important women in her life.

“Welcome home, my dear” a chaste kiss is enough for the moment for husband and wife, making Marcus quickly shift his attention to ‘his little Hippolyta’, a title he had fondly given Aurelia due to her adventurous spirit and fierce independence, much like the legendary Amazonian queen. Aurelia’s eyes light up as if she were just a little girl, and his arms surround her in a warm embrace that speaks volumes of the affection between them, making her feel safe and protected. “One day, there will not be any Aurelia left to squeeze, my general.” Lucilla adds with a hint of laugh in her voice.

“But for the moment there is, right?” he kisses her hair, smiling against the soft strands.

A light dinner with Marcus’s favourite dishes waits for them, and during it Aurelia makes sure that she gets as much information as she wants, asking pointed questions about his recent campaign, the conditions of the troops, and the political atmosphere in Rome. Marcus, accustomed to the battlefield’s harsh realities rather than the intricacies of political maneuvering, tries his best to satisfy her curiosity. He talks of the strategies employed, the victories hard won, and the losses that weigh heavily on his heart.

“The men fought bravely,” Marcus begins, his voice tinged with the pride and sorrow only those who have led men into battle can truly understand. “Each victory we claimed was not just a mark of territorial gain but a testament to their resilience and courage.”

“And the swag? Something interesting?” Aurelia interjects with a glimmer of curiosity in her eyes, shifting the conversation towards the spoils of war, a topic that, albeit less noble, has always fascinated her. Marcus can’t help but notice the sudden spark in her demeanor, a stark contrast to the somber tone their conversation had taken on earlier when discussing the harsh realities of war. He smiles, recognizing the gleam of intrigue that warfare’s treasures often ignite in even the most stoic of warriors and scholars alike.

“Well, the swag,” Marcus begins, leaning back slightly as he searches his memories for the most captivating pieces of loot they had encountered during their campaigns. “Isn’t it too late? Tomorrow I must parade myself through the whole city and get honoured by the emperors.”

“Oh, come on!”

A sly smile curves the general’s lips as his gaze crosses his daughter’s.

…

Known sights come to his mind as his eyes try their best to observe even the tiniest detail around, a hard task due to the fact that he has to climb the eroded walls to reach the tiny hole on the wall.

“Lad.”

He knows it goes for him, despite it he shakes a hand trying to shush the man who calls him.

“Lad.”

“Shut up.”

He frowns, taking a deep breath as his mind betrays him with memories buried deep down, when his mother would take them to the amphitheater to watch the gladiators. He allows himself a little smile as he closes his eyes for a momemt, remembering the girl with the hair with the colour of the darkest night and the prettiest eyes he has ever seen.

“Lad” he returns to the wall, sitting on the floor with his back against the stones, his gaze upon the man now silent before him. The man’s impatience seems to dissipate, replaced by a curiosity sparked by the sudden shift in his demeanor. “What did you see?”

How could he describe it. How could he tell him about what lays out there?

His eyes are upon the door of the cell, pondering his next words carefully. “It is magnificent” he starts slowly, his voice a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the serene atmosphere the word itself conjured. “Buildings around us. Statues. Temples. During the day, the sunlight dances across their surfaces in a way that makes the entire city seem alive. And at night,” his voice grows slightly stronger, fueled by the vivid images in his mind, “the whole place transforms. Lights flicker on, one by one, like stars coming to life in the night sky. Around us the city sleeps, but when the sun is up in the sky thousands of people emerge, like a hive buzzing with life.”

“You have been here before.”

“Aye.” his voice is a whisper, silent and deep, carrying the weight of memories long held.

“Where are we, lad?”

“Where men fight for death or glory.”

He clenches his jaw, his eyes distant, as if he's looking through the thick walls of the present into a vast, tumultuous past. His fists clench at his sides, grasping the chains as if they are the only anchor keeping him in the now, preventing his mind from drifting back to those days of smoke and fire, blood and steel.

He has to blink twice to notice the hand before him, extended in solidarity, a silent offer of companionship in a moment heavy with unspoken understanding. The man next to him has his gaze upon him, steady and unwavering, a silent testament to shared hardships and unvoiced promises of support.

“Cassius.”

He takes the hand, feeling the strength and warmth that pulses through the grip, a stark contrast to the cold, hard reality before them.

“Hanno.”

#av p #gladiator 2 fanfiction #gladiator 2 fanfic #gladiator 2 fic #lucius verus fanfic #lucius verus fic #lucius verus x oc #emperor geta fic #emperor geta fanfic #emperor geta x oc

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flightfoot · 11 months ago

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ML Fanfic Recs for 2023: 10K - 20K Words

So I’ve been going through and adding particularly good fics I’ve read throughout the year. Only Complete fics, of course. Enjoy!

Chat Noir and Marinette decide to fake date in order to get Buttercup jealous enough to confess. Why won’t that boy make a move on such a wonderful girl as Marinette? And why is he beginning to hope that Buttercup stays blind?

Adrien wakes up in Nino’s arms. Neither of them have any explanation for this, considering they were nowhere near each other the night before.

Marinette and Zoe uncover a ring stashed away in a closet. Why does it have an unusual effect on Chloe?

Felix isn’t careful enough when he goes snooping around the Agreste Mansion. Gabriel decides that he can’t let him roam free.

Kim bets Alix that she won’t be able to attend all of her friends’ weddings in a row. She has never been one to turn down a challenge.

All this and more below the break!

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May I Introduce Myself, Your Highness? by @chocoluckchipz

Whether picking up a stray animal off the streets or saving a dying child at the market, Adrien had always strived to be the best version of himself. Truly, he would've been the perfect candidate to be snatched up by a kwami, were he an orphan, dying somewhere remote after a short life full of nothing but suffering and misery. Yet as it stood, the sole heir to the French throne had little to complain about. Apart from, perhaps, a complete absence of a love life. That is until a mysterious girl, wandering around his gardens at night, catches his attention.

I love Fantasy AUs. It’s a bit unclear what’s happening at first, but it all gets explained in the last chapter. Also don’t worry about the age gap between Marinette and Adrien at the start of the story, I promise it’s not a problem in the end.

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do you think I have forgotten about you? by @roseinaugust

Based on the song 'About You' by The 1975. Memory Loss. Told in alternating time lines, one leading up to and one dealing with the aftermath of Marinette relinquishing the Miracle Box and the guardianship. Marinette struggles with her life after losing her memory, though there is a persistent voice that calls to her that always seems just out of reach in her memory.

Beautiful memory loss fic here, with seeing Ladybug’s and Chat Noir’s relationship before she gave up the Miracle box, juxtaposed with the present day, when Adrien is only a stranger to her. I could really feel how Marinette was struggling with navigating these new circumstances, with her friends seeming to expect her to remember, to be who she was to them, to Adrien especially, before, and her just... not knowing whether she can do that. It’s got a happy ending though, for those who are concerned about that.

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Creative Lies and Destructive Truths by @azuriteartist

Alya and Lila are two sides of a never-ending fight. The fight between truth and lies, between honesty and deception, between justice and personal gain. And now they have the powers to elevate that fight to a city-wide level.

Can Alya stop the deception before it destroys the city? And can Lila stop the truth before it destroys her?

So everyone who’s been around my blog for awhile knows how much I love Alya getting the spotlight (I mean my sideblog alyaappreciation is dedicated to her, because frankly, she needs it), and azurite’s lovely fic here is no exception. Fu ended up giving Tikki to Lila and Plagg to Alya. There actually isn’t tension between them at first, they get along well to start with, but Plagg knows Lila’s lying about things and eventually pushes Alya to take action once they grow alarming, until the two of them are both accusing each other of being liars as superheroes, and the public doesn’t know what to believe.

I’m betting there’s more of this AU to come. I hope so, I love the consideration and agency it gives to both Alya and Lila.

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How Marinette Learned to Stop Worrying And Love The Ball by @rosie-b

Hidden from the crowds thronging around the busy fairy portal in Paris's town square, a fae gate sits at the edge of the forest, locked, rusty, and full of ancient magic. Marinette thinks that this abandoned gate must not work anymore... but one day, a fairy disguised as a black cat steps through it.

Ah, Fantasy Soulmate AUs, my beloved XD. This ain’t the only one of this fic type I’m gonna be recommending. This is just a cute fluff fic without much strife. I love Marinette and Chat Noir being able to be childhood friends via his visits, even if he has to pretend to be her cat whenever he comes over, and I ESPECIALLY adore Alya being his chaperone and quickly becoming friends with Marinette in her own right. It ain’t a complicated plot, but it is a nice and warm fic.

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Vengeance Noire by @phiellydinyia

After a horrific argument with his father, Adrien escaped from the mansion with his heart in pieces. In hindsight, it made sense why an akuma was sent his way. He shouldn't have let his emotions get the better of him.

But he never expected Plagg to be even more upset than he was. He never expected his own kwami to be akumatized. To become the threat of a city he swore to protect. And what's worse is the fact that Chat Noir can't jump in to save this one.

But Ladybug can. And that's why he has to find her as quickly as possible, suit or no suit.

I love some good Adrien angst, especially with a delicious side order of Plagg and Adrien’s bond with each other. Even as Adrien’s barely functional, though, he’ll do everything in his power to save Plagg, even if Plagg wishes he wouldn’t go quite that far.

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the best laid plans (of bugs and bakers) by @mexicancat-girl

Paris is buzzing with the appearance of a new ladybug-themed hero, Scarabella.

Alya decides to use her second hero identity to help her best friend Marinette. A bit of her flirting with Marinette is bound to make Marinette's crushes jealous and finally ask her out! Her plan is fool-proof…!

Except when it's not. Not enough people are talking about Scarabella flirting with Marinette. How can Alya properly help her best friend if the news can't be bothered to cover Marinette's budding romance with Scarabella and only posts things about Marinette with Chat Noir?! So Alya puts her all into her plan, upping up her flirting each time she appears as the newbie hero Scarabella.

This totally does not backfire in any way.

I adore fics that center on Alya, I haven’t exactly been shy about that fact. This is a nice one for some Alyanette adorableness! (And some Scarabella and Chat banter, I really enjoyed reading that as well). “Fake” flirting to make crushes jealous tends to turn real very quickly, and this is no exception. It’s hilarious, Alya’s the last one to figure out that her romantic relationship with Marinette is very much real XD.

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Control by @generalluxun

A fun and rebellious gesture by her friend Zoé leaves Marinette accidently in possession of something more precious than she ever expected to hold.

It's a blessing. It's a curse. It's life itself.

She has no idea what to do. There is so much wrapped up not only in WHAT, but also WHO. Her friends and partners can offer advice, consolation, and support, but in the end when you are both Ladybug and the Guardian you are the one in control.

This is a fantastic SentiChloe fic. Marinette ends up with Chloe’s amok and isn’t sure what to do with it, whether to try to give it to Chloe, whether to try and use it to make Chloe a better person, or whether to just hold onto it secretly. Along the way, she ends up getting into Chloe’s head, getting a better idea of Chloe’s mindset, what she thinks and feels when she does the things she does. I loved seeing her struggle with figuring out what to do, it ended up being a great character study for both Marinette and Chloe!

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Within Your Heart by Inkyibis

It's Valentine's Day and Ladybug just wants to her superhero partner to find his love.

And what she wants, the Lucky Charm will create.

If only she could remember what it is she did last night.

Adrino fic here! Marinette’s drunk and feeling awful that her superhero partner is alone on Valentine’s (she’s in a loving and committed relationship with Alya), so she creates a Lucky Charm to help Chat find love! In this universe, Ladybug’s Lucky Charms have the power to create new rules for the universe to follow, such as making one that demands that if you have any magic in you, you have to tell the truth or else you’ll freeze. Or in Adrien’s case, that he has to wake up in the arms of his true love every day XD. It’s very sweet and I love both Adrien’s and Nino’s relationship, and the relationship between the rest of the Miracuteam members as well, even though that’s not the focus.

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This Distance Between Us by @coffeebanana

After defeating Monarch, the search for the Peacock Miraculous brings Ladybug and Chat Noir to a hotel room in London. But it's hard to enjoy the victory when Ladybug can't figure out why Chat's been so quiet, why he seems so sad. How's she supposed to help if she has no idea what's wrong?

This is a great Sentiadrien fic, with Chat freaking out about it and feeling like he’s not worthy of Ladybug’s affections, but not telling her what’s actually wrong because he thinks she won’t want him anymore if she knows. Of course, he’s wrong about that.

Also there’s a pretty intense confrontation with Felix, pissing Chat Noir off is a bad idea.

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Auspicious by The_Rabbit42

Entry #6 for AU April 2023: Reverse-Crush Kwami-Swap

Adrien is quiet and reserved whenever he's not consumed by stress. And between extracurriculars and modeling and his responsibilities as Mister Bug, he's often stressed. He appreciates his kitten, but he loves his bright and outgoing classmate. Not that she knows that.

Marinette's parents have always allowed her a good deal of independence, but she's felt her confidence skyrocket since getting Plagg. Simply being Lady Noire allows her to be more flirty and free. She likes her friends, but she loves her stoic and heroic partner. Not that he knows that.

This is just a lovely fic that’s exactly what it says on the tin. I like how Rabbit goes into what Lady Noire’s and Mister Bug’s dynamic is like here especially.

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Of Crisp Days and Crispier Cakes by @scribeofrhapsody

Gabriel wants to not be sick. Adrien wants to make a cake. Nathalie wants a chill birthday. Maybe they can help each other. Maybe it'll be a disaster.

So this starts off as just the cute fluff fic of Adrien and Gabriel attempting to make Nathalie a birthday cake that the summary indicates, but soon evolves into a more action-filled drama fic when Gabriel makes the terrible decision to akumatize a cashier while sick... a cashier who happens to be in the same shop as Nathalie and Adrien. Who are willing to put their secret identities at risk in order to save each other.

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After Irritation Do Us Start by @scribeofrhapsody

It was the most difficult decision of his life, but Gabriel did it. He let go of Hawk Moth. He moved on from Emilie. Now, all he wants is to enjoy life with his son and new wife. Unfortunately, a certain nephew of his seems to be determined to unearth what Gabriel needs to remain buried.

I love this look at what could have happened if during the season 3 finale, Gabriel had decided enough was enough and given up on being a supervillain, moving on with Nathalie instead. How much better things could have been if he’d just decided to stop - though Adrien still wouldn’t be happy to discover why Hawk Moth had suddenly stopped attacking.

Oh yeah, there’s an OC here called Gerald who Adrien’s puzzled by, since he’d never heard of this guy before the past year. At the end of the story you find out why he’s included in the story. It’s not a major thing, but it is kind of funny and fits well with the rest of the story.

---

Rocking the Cat-Eyes by @buggachat

“I like being a girl.”

“That’s the alcohol talking,” Marinette snorted.

“I’ve always been a li’l jealous,” Adrien admitted.

“... Of what?”

“That you get to be a girl,” Adrien murmured, “and I don’t.”

—

When Marinette and Adrien host Girls' Night at their apartment, Adrien is easily welcomed to attend as "one of the girls"... but has a bit too much to drink. Some drunken confessions are spilt, some assumptions are made, and most of all...

Adrien is confused.

This is a great Genderfluid!Adrien fic. Marinette actually figures out that Adrien’s not entirely cis before he does, and tries to let him know she’s supportive... but unfortunately Adrien comes to some incorrect conclusions...

Anyway it’s a lot of fun, and Adrien rocks a dress and makeup!

---

Desperation by OuzoAthena11

Marinette is at the end of her rope. There seems to be no hope for defeating Monarch, not now that he has most of the Miraculous and has figured out how to transfer their abilities to others.

Tikki has an idea: Awaken the memories of who Marinette was in the past to see if any of their knowledge across time and the multiverse could help.

But this means that Marinette might forever be changed, and so will Chat Noir, if he should choose to do this.

Little did they know that they knew each other in their past lives, and how frequently they crossed paths and even were a couple... well, that meant that they are soulmates.

Star Wars crossover fic here, with Marinette as Obi-wan and Adrien as Quinlan. I like how the reincarnation aspect was handled here, with Obi-wan’s and Quinlan’s memories being prominent and them “waking up” in a way at first, but those settling back down after a bit and Marinette and Adrien going back to being mostly themselves, but with a lot more life experience under their belts and some cool new abilities - which comes in handy for taking down Monarch!

---

Family by @unecoccinellenoire

“You know,” Nino grins, “if you need advice on being a big brother in a year or two I’m sure I could help.”

The bottom of Adrien’s stomach dropped out.

---

Adrien struggles with the concept of his father and Nathalie having children.

So this is a world where Adrien and Marinette managed to defeat Gabriel, taking his Miraculous, with them giving him an ultimatum: they won’t out him as being Hawk Moth so long as he doesn’t cause any more trouble and does right by Adrien. Gabriel does, in fact, move on finally to Nathalie, giving Adrien a lot of mixed feelings to deal with. He still loves them both despite everything, but he’s also angry at them and he definitely does NOT want them to have children, both because he thinks they’d like any biological child they had more (he’s also harboring guilt from indirectly being the cause of his mom’s death), and because frankly, they screwed up too much with Adrien for him to want them to inflict that on another child.

And then there’s also Adrien dealing with the realization that he’s a Senti on top of that and wondering why he and Felix look the way they do, what Emilie’s reasons were.

It’s mostly just Adrien getting to talk things out, navigating this emotionally fraught situation he finds himself in now that the dust is settled.

---

Galaxy In Your Eyes by @liiinerle

Arriving in Paris, Kagami almost immediately finds herself assaulted by a dark, infectious butterfly. When she wakes up, a ladybug-themed superhero is standing over her, and her eyes are like holes into an empty, vast, and incredibly alluring universe...

An AU where the two main Miraculous function differently from the norm.

Nice Marigami fic here! Or should I say, Ladygami - technically Marinette doesn’t exist, only Ladybug, who’s an immortal creation goddess, or something like that. But she still fights to protect Paris from Hawk Moth alongside Chat Noir, who is still a normal, squishy human underneath the suit.

Anyway, there’s a but of inspiration from Nimona here, with a lot of people being scared of Ladybug because she’s a bit... out there, especially when she shapeshifts to have like, 6 extra arms and a lobster tail. Kagami’s into it though XD

---

Stay Weird, Ladybug by @diadraws

Ladybug receives an invitation at the end of a patrol!

Contains some of my own headcanons, most notably: MIRACULOUS HOLDERS ARE CREATURES!!! They get actual animal traits when transformed instead of just a costume. My tumblr is diadraws where I elaborate some more on my headcanons which may add some additional context to this fic if you are interested!

CONTENT WARNINGS: *major* depictions of panic attacks, discussion of child neglect/abuse, and a minor emetophobia (vomiting) warning towards the end.

I’ve loved the comics and fanart I’ve seen dia create for this AU, with Ladybug’s and Chat Noir’s more animalistic designs, so reading a fic set in that AU was a real treat! It’s mostly just a Ladrien sleepover at Adrien’s house, but it’s very nice and cozy, with some good character development of Adrien helping Ladybug with panic attacks she keeps having.

---

Trapped by @consistent-chaos-corporation

Felix asks to visit Adrien as soon as his father is gone. Gabriel catches him snooping, looking for Adrien's Amok.

Everything gets worse from there.

Damn, poor Felix. He came to try and help Adrien, but instead Gabriel stole his Amok, forcing him to obey his commands, holding him prisoner in his basement for months. If you want some quality Felix whump, this is the fic for you!

---

When Secrets Come Undone by SortaArtsy

Ladybug promised not to tell Adrien... but she never promised not to confide in Cat Noir. What happens when Ladybug unintentionally vents to the one person who wasn't meant to know any of it?

****MAJOR SEASON 5 SPOILERS WARNING! ****

May not be season 6 compliant when it comes out.

This is a “Adrien finds out what everyone’s been keeping from him post-S5″ fic, and I think it’s handled really well! He feels very hurt, betrayed, and disbelieving initially about being a Senti and his father being Monarch (...mostly being a Senti, it ain’t that hard to believe that Gabriel was a supervillain), and is angry at everyone who kept it secret from him, but he still handles it well, going and talking to the people involved, getting their reasoning and perspective.

---

Wanted: Catnap by SortaArtsy

Adrien Agreste has barely been sleeping, trying to be everything expected of him. What happens when he spreads himself too thin? Sick!Adrien/ Cat Noir

Adrien’s just pushing himself so hard, trying to do his regular duties, until his illness forces him to rest. I love how concerned everyone is over him - even GABRIEL eventually relents and wants him to rest. It’s just cute and nice and fluffy.

---

Felix is Fine by SortaArtsy

Felix wakes up sick, but is determined to keep it under wraps. Kagami refuses to be fooled. Feligami fluff. Implied past trauma/ abuse, though nothing explicit. Set post S5 so there are SOME SPOILERS!

If you want a Felix sick fic, this story’s the fic for you! I like how Felix and Kagami actually talk about why Felix is so determined to keep the extent of his illness hidden, what caused him to feel like he needs to do that, and Kagami’s understanding about it. Colt sucks.

---

Our Tales Are Endless (That’s Why I Tell Them) by @joonapeach

Marinette lives a simple life - one surrounded by pretty dresses, fresh macaroons, and the calming view of Paris. It's a life she thinks she has always fit in.

And yet sometimes, when a certain boy comes by her shop with a flower and a new adventurous story, she can't help but wonder if there's something else she's missing.

This was a truly gorgeous story. It’s the classic “Marinette gives up the Miracle Box and loses her memories” storyline, exploring her life two years later. Even though she’s had time to heal and recover, she still feels like she’s missing something, something big. At least Adrien’s stopping by regularly to tell her stories about Ladybug and Chat Noir, even if she doesn’t understand why they resonate with her so well.

---

a winter so warm by @rosekasa

winters were hard for even the best of vampires, but at least adrien had marinette to keep him warm with her cuddles.

december was going to suck without her. so it was only to be expected to get extra cuddles in before she left, right?

(well, not really, considering those heating supplements he was taking, but she didn't need to know about that).

This one’s mostly just cute cuddly adorableness! It’s basically like all those “Marinette gets the Ladybug trait of needing to cuddle up to someone for warmth”, but with Adrien instead. And of course featuring Marinette being a very talented witch who just wants to help Adrien stay warm when she isn’t there XD.

---

The 8 Weddings of Alix Kubdel by The_Rabbit42

The bet is simple: with the Rabbit Miraculous, Alix will be speaking at all of her friends' weddings. No matter what age they tie the knot, she'll be there looking the same. From Alix's perspective, she's going to each ceremony and reception one right after another in a nonstop bender.

This fic’s a lot of fun! I loved seeing all the different weddings, as well as how Alix slowly felt more and more out of place, with going forwards in time. Some of the weddings could get, uh. Exciting as well XD. And while there’s been years in-between Alix’s appearances for her friends at the wedding, for Alix, it’s only been a few hours, if that...

---

and I thought I heard you sing by @into-september

When Hawkmoth has been defeated and unmasked, Marinette is left with two problems and no solutions.

First, that Adrien is further out of her reach than ever before, and no-one can tell her how to get to him.

Second, that Cat Noir is far more troubled than she knew, and the only thing she can do is wait for him at the place they agreed to meet.

It’s your classic “Hawkmoth’s defeated and taken into custody but that means Adrien’s in for a rough time” sort of fic. Everyone’s worried about Adrien and wants to give him what comfort and support that they can, but he’s being hidden away from everyone (which I mean, honestly that’s a good move), so that’s not really possible. Plus, Ladybug’s noticed that Chat’s having a tough time in his civilian life, which worries her.

---

Time Locked AU by PumpkinPatchworkQuilt

In Time Locked, instead of just fixing the damage it puts everything post akuma back to exactly how it was, people, buildings, memories, time. Since it’s more extreme than in canon it requires both The Cat and The Ladybug to complete the Cure,(and visually contains both as well). Because of this only those with a miraculous can recall the events and only those who cast the Cure will have any lasting effects from the fight and even then it’s limited to scars, phantom aches, getting a tad more muscle definition and of course spatial displacement in extreme cases.

Since technology is slightly resistant or incompatible with the miraculous magic, footage of right after the akuma attack will survive, on a technicality and as such only reappears when the time catches up the the recorded time, that could be minutes, hours, or days depending on how long it took to defeat the akuma.

First story: Alya’s Guide to Surviving a Magical Terrorist Which You Can’t Remember

In a world where the fight against Hawkmoth is kept secret from the public, one Alya Césaire sets out to bring the whole thing to light, (and possibly win a journalism award while she's at it)

This was an interesting AU, I loved the focus on Alya especially and her investigative abilities, figuring out that there was a battle between good and evil taking place in the background of everyone’s lives even though most signs of it are wiped clean after the battle’s over. And Adrien and Marinette pick up on her cleverness and want her to help! I love how much appreciation this fic shows for Alya.

---

Stitched Together by @nedjsmlfavs

Stitch Witch Marinette was just supposed to be having a nice, terrifying outing with her best friends. She never expected to find a magically trapped kitten, but here we are! Whatever happened to this poor little guy?

Poor Adrien, being transformed and chained up for ages, having no idea that he was gonna be rescued. But at least he got to have fun at Marinette’s place as a cat!

Most of this fic is adorable, though with some dark undertones lying in wait. After all, SOMEONE chained up that poor little kitty...

---

Love Remains by @kasienda

Marinette stood in the center of her own room. The pink walls were adorned with sketches and photos, and other unfamiliar souvenirs of her life. Her eyes jumped curiously from a hand made purse to a bowler hat decorated with a feather to a cork board covered in pictures of her friends.

She loved her room. Which made sense, she supposed. She had theoretically been the one to decorate it, but she didn’t remember decorating it. And now, the room was like a cave filled with treasure.

Because each little piece of it held a secret - some part of herself that meant something to her, a clue to what her life had been like before…

Before she had woken up in the arms of a boy wearing a magic black catsuit. His heartbroken sobs had caused something in her chest to twist painfully. She hadn’t understood why then, but from that very first moment she knew she had wanted to make things better for him.

She had no idea how to do that now that she understood what she had lost.

Sixteen years worth of memories.

The echoes of which were papered onto the walls and notebooks of her room just waiting to be rediscovered.

No one else seemed to share her excitement.

Unlike most “Marinette loses her memories” fics, this one isn’t super angst for Marinette - she takes it in stride. Now, everyone else, not so much. It’s really interesting seeing her contrast who she appeared to be before with who she is now, particularly when it comes to her previous self being in love with Adrien and not Chat, while she’s in love with Chat and not Adrien. Of course eventually she finds out certain things that makes that make a lot more sense. She isn’t so different from how she was before after all...

---

Betrayal by @jennagrinsoverml

MAJOR EPHEMERAL SPOILERS!!

Ladybug planned to use Viperion's power of Second Chance to get Chat's identity to Su-han without Chat knowing or agreeing.

Of course, then the world went crazy, and she didn't go through with it.

But when an akuma exposes Ladybug's plan to Chat, he doesn't know that. He just knows that his Lady betrayed him.

He deals with his feelings in the best, most mature way he can think of.

He disappears.

So I, like a lot of others, wanted more follow-up on Ephemeral, and particularly on the betrayal of trust it was for Marinette to try to trick Chat Noir into giving up his identity to a third party without his knowledge or consent (I wrote my own take on that at the time, called Transcient, that I’m proud of). This fic did a good job of exploring that, with Adrien reacting in a manner that made sense to me (repressing his negative feelings about the situation as much as possible and trying to justify it to himself, but still feeling terrible despite his own best efforts), and how Marinette realized that she messed up, since Luka keeping it secret that he knows hers and Chat’s secret identities caused her to be upset as well. It did a great job of exploring those negative feelings and letting everyone talk things out, explain their viewpoints, and rebuild their relationships afterwards, which is something I really value.

---

Swimming in Circles by @generalluxun

Life has moved on for Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She's not where she thought she would be seven years ago, but she's still in a good place. Classes, hobbies, friends, her life is full despite the lingering shades of her faded yet sweet middle-school romance. Then just as quick at the first time, someone drops into her life and turns her into an absolute mess once more.

Love and crushes might be her undoing, but she's got a little more experience this time to weather the storm. This fateful stranger stirs memories as well as emotions inside of her, and with a forthrightness her old self would be jealous of, Marinette takes the plunge.

So this is a Trans fic, with Marinette’s new crush being a trans version of a certain classmate who she doesn’t recognize, who’s changed a lot, for the better. I like how it deals with the baggage she has with that person, has her think that through.

---

Three’s company by @torvalvt

Kagami has been doing her best for years to ignore her feelings for her friends. It doesn't help that Adrien and Marinette insist on spending as much time as possible with her, even going so far as inviting her along on their dates together. If only the affection she felt for them wouldn't get in the way of their relationship. Because it is growing harder and harder to tamp down her feelings with how close they are getting to her.

This is adorable. Adrien and Marinette really want Kagami to join their relationship and she just doesn’t dare hope for it. If you want some adorable Adrigaminette from Kagami’s perspective, I recommend checking this fic out!

#ml fanfic rec #miraculous ladybug

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riversofmars · 3 months ago

Text

Welcome to another Liv/Helen AU :D Will be updated once a week, 27 chapters, let's gooo!

Summary: Classics student Helen Sinclair has resigned herself to study love as the academic, in books and poetry, but never for herself. It had always seemed like a far-fetched concept as she kept her head down, worked hard to be worthy of her place at Oxford University and not just rely on her family influence to carry her through. Her studies - and life - take an unexpected turn one sunny spring morning, when a chance of something exciting and new falls into her lap - quite literally. (Rating up to Explicit but starts off General cause the slow burn is real)

Chapter 1: Post Hoc Ergo Propter Hoc

Helen Sinclair had made a mistake. While the sun shone brightly on one of the first truly nice days of spring, the grass of the luscious lawns of Trinity College remained deceptively damp. Blowing a wisp of blonde hair from her eyes, she released a small huff of annoyance.

She should have brought a blanket. Or at least a coat.

Between carrying her reading materials, notebook and a packed lunch, she had decided a blanket would break the camel’s back, or in this case, her own. Casting a glance back in the direction where she knew her student rooms to be, she weighed her options. Alongside the sun plenty of her fellow students had emerged from their halls, study rooms and the libraries of Oxford University, keen to take advantage of the nice weather. The lawns and gardens were teaming with life, and she knew a prime spot like the one she had picked - backing against one of the garden walls and overlooked by a gorgeous magnolia tree - would be snapped up in a heart-beat if she didn’t hold on to it.

Taking a pragmatic approach, and judging the weather nice enough, she dropped her satchel full of books into the grass and shrugged off her cardigan. Its warm brown colour would be less susceptible to the elements than her cream skirt and would have to be her willing sacrifice. Tugging the sleeves of her blouse down, she simply got on with it and settled on her cardigan, setting herself up in the way she had become accustomed to in her nearly three years of study: her reading materials to her left, a notebook to the right, a sandwich to hand should she want it, and a pencil behind her ear. Leaning back against the garden wall, she relaxed her shoulders and picked up the first book with a contented sigh.

Winter had been long and dark this year, or so it had felt with endless exams and long hours after dusk. Now, as Trinity term was underway and Helen looked towards her thesis, it was as though a shadow was slowly lifting. A smile drew to her lips as she immersed herself in Ovid, the smell of magnolia adding to the oddly timeless words of the poet, and as sunlight fell through the fronds and onto her pages, it occurred to her that life - though predictable - could be far worse than it was in that moment.

And then, in the blink of an eye and with the turn of a page, her life turned upside down.

Helen’s head snapped up to the distinct sound of footsteps pounding into the ground close by, a scampering sound, boots against stone and someone gasping in effort. Suddenly, pink and white petals fell onto her pages, the branches of the tree shook precariously and she looked up just in time to spot a shape above her - a person! - losing their footing on the wall they had scaled. Trying to hold on to the tree but failing. Tumbling. Falling. And a cry of surprise burst from the blonde’s lips as they landed right on top of her.

“Oh my-” she gasped, relieved and surprised to have evaded the worst, as a mop of brown hair fanned across her lap and the body it belonged to rested on the ground beside her. She was greeted by a groan of pain.

Stunned into inaction, Helen could make herself do little other than watch as a small woman, a similar age to her, unfolded herself from the tangled and surely uncomfortable position she had landed in. “A-are you okay?” she stuttered at last, coming back to herself, when the brunette brushed her shoulder-length hair out of her eyes, trying to get her bearings. She appeared unharmed.

“I-” the woman looked up to her, bright blue eyes widening in shock as she seemed to catch up with what had happened. “Oh my God, I’m sorry-” She scrambled upright, leaving Helen with crinkled pages in her book and completely confused. “I didn’t see you there. I didn’t mean to-” She glanced back to the wall, then down around herself as though she was looking for something as she brushed herself down quickly, twigs and leaves remaining in her hair. It was not only endearing but utterly puzzling, and the blonde stared at her in shock.

“What were you doing up there? Why-” she started, watching as the other woman rushed to pick up something a few feet away. Helen couldn’t make out what it was, it appeared to be wrapped in cloth, and the mystery deepend. In a slightly terrifying notion, it occurred to her that she might be a thief. Why else would one be climbing over garden walls and tucking wares under one's arm? Even so, she hardly looked it. With a loose shirt tucked into tapered trousers and braces hanging off her shoulders, she fit in perfectly with the well-to-do academic youth Helen counted herself amongst. The young woman turned around to answer, offering an apologetic and strikingly charming smile, when suddenly voices called across the university green.

“She’s gone that way!”

“Over there!”

“Shoot,” the brunette groaned, “Must run-”

“What?” Helen was utterly bewildered. It seemed as though they were chasing her. Maybe she really was a thief? Or were people after her for a different reason? Usually, these things only happened in books. “Why-” She looked around to see several students emerge from the building to their right, charging towards them.

“Sorry about your book!” the woman apologised in a rush, flashing her another brilliant smile as she burst into a sprint. “Have a nice day!” And she took off towards the gates.

“Wait!” the blonde called after her, though not entirely sure why. She didn’t have reason to keep her, other than her curiosity. As she watched the group of young men rushing after her, she realised one of them to be her younger brother George who slowed as he recognised her. She didn’t have time to search her brain on whether she’d seen the mystery woman around the college before, or to decipher the hint of an accent that she had noticed, which she seemed to have been trying to mask. Those matters were rudely shoved to the back of her mind when her brother demanded her undivided attention.

“Helen!” he snapped at her, visibly annoyed, as he came to a halt in front of her and leaned onto his thighs to catch his breath. “Why didn’t you stop her?” he panted.

“Who was that?” she asked, hoping he could satisfy her curiosity, but he only gave an exasperated groan.

“How did you not realise?!” he exclaimed, gesturing to the gates. His friends hadn’t stopped to wait for him, seemingly continuing their chase as they were long gone.

“I-I don’t even know who that was,” Helen countered, taken aback by his anger. What was she meant to have realised? Whatever this was, she wanted no part of it. “She fell on top of me from the wall- What even-”

“That’s where she disappeared to, crossed across the gardens!” he groaned, running his eyes up the wall and kicking a nearby branch across the way. “Bloody hell!” he voiced frustration, that his sister wasn’t following.

“George!” the blonde admonished, shocked by his outburst. Their father had always been strict about the use of foul language, insisting it spoke of lower social class. Perhaps those rules differed for men… it wouldn’t be the first such rule she had been made to obey while her brothers didn’t.

“The bitch just stole our cup trophy from last year!” George snapped angrily, gesturing off into the distance, and her eyes widened in surprise as the penny dropped at last. This was over a rowing trophy?

“Seriously?” Not wanting to laugh, knowing how seriously some of her fellow students took sporting activities, she feigned surprise. These sorts of things happened all the time between colleges and while Helen was usually not so immediately involved, she thought the concept quite amusing. Credit where it was due, the brunette had done well to smuggle a trophy from their halls!

“Helen, honestly, get your head out of the clouds,” he groaned, moving towards the gate as the first of his team-mates began to return empty handed. “Try and engage with reality for a change. There is a world outside of your books!” He didn’t wait for her to respond, picking up his step to meet his friends and likely make an elaborate scheme to bring their trophy home.

Helen watched him go, finding herself in a strange sort of limbo, suddenly not sure anymore of what she was meant to be doing. She tried to shake her head free, willed her mind to focus on the page in front of her, and tried to smooth it out as best as she could. As silence fell around her once more, sunlight dancing across her book, she struggled to get back into Ovid, despite his lovely way with words.

Absently, she wondered which college the mystery woman belonged to.

—

When Helen returned to student halls that evening, it was with a smile on her face. The nice weather had lasted through the afternoon and done her the world of good. She had made good progress in her reading, in spite of the eventful interruption, but as dusk gathered and temperatures dropped, she’d had to admit defeat and make for her rooms.

With a sigh, the blonde dropped her bag onto the old oak desk under the window, finding herself more tired than she’d expected and longing for the comfort of a woollen jumper. She had left her return rather late and caught a chill. In the well ordered space that was her student accommodation, that was easily to come by.

Soon after, as she tugged a warm turtle neck into place, and she went hunting for matches. It was a well practised and much beloved routine; the light of candles and smell of beeswax somehow just suited the old-worldly surroundings the renowned university offered. As she lit a couple of stump candles on her desk and one on her bedside table, she felt warmer already and couldn’t help remark on how homely it felt alongside the ornate furniture. Helen hoped she would be allowed to keep the room when she went onto her postgraduate, having made firm plans to continue at Oxford already. In the past few years, she had grown more comfortable here than she ever had in her actual childhood home; not that she’d ever spent much time there anyway, boarding school had started at a young age.

Helen went to sit at her desk, pulling a blanket across her legs and she unpinned her bun, letting her hair down in a quite literal sense. As she threaded her fingers through the blonde tresses to untangle them, she started pulling her books from her satchel.

“Now, where were we…” the blonde hummed, flipping open her notebook alongside a well loved Latin dictionary. Her eyes fell to her copy of Ovid, and she couldn’t stop herself from having a peek at the creased pages, briefly returning to the chance encounter. It really had been odd, but no odder than the fact that she found herself thinking back to it. For weeks now she had been extremely focused, following an exact schedule and writing plan she had set herself for her undergraduate thesis. She wasn’t someone who left things late, having had her proposal approved a long time ago and started research long before that. When it came to academic focus, Helen was second to none, and it made her momentary preoccupation all the more difficult to explain.

A knock on her bedroom door startled her from her thoughts.

“Helen?” a familiar, female voice sounded, knocking again and the blonde quickly dropped Ovid back onto the desk, almost as though she had been caught red-handed at something, even though she wasn't sure what.

“Lucie, hello,” she greeted Lucie Miller with a warm smile as she opened the door to her. Her best friend since they had met in freshers week their first year was hardly an unusual visitor.

“So, I hear you had a bit of a run in today,” Lucie grinned as she walked past her, her blonde bob flying behind her as she didn’t wait for an invitation.

“A- a run in?” Helen echoed, not protesting her intrusion as she was far too occupied with trying to suppress her stutter, realising what she was referring to. Word certainly travelled fast around the college. She took her sweet time closing the door behind her, trying to hide the flush of her cheeks. She didn't like the idea of being the topic of conversation. “Oh, you mean-”

“George told me you got jumped upon,” her friend smirked, seemingly endlessly amused as she dropped down on her bed.

“That’s hardly-” Helen scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. Lucie’s forward personality often put people on the backfoot, and while Helen was not immune to it either, she knew how to handle her and quickly launched an offensive of her own. “What did he tell you for?” She frowned. Her brother didn’t usually share her social circles, neither one of them did. Even though they were all members of Trinity College, Harry a couple years ahead of her, George a year below, their paths rarely crossed, and it served them all just fine.

“Well…” Lucie seemed unsure as to how to answer, scratching the back of her neck and Helen took a step towards her.

“Well?” she pressed on, and her friend folded.

“You know we have to get that trophy back, right?” she opened, and Helen raised her eyebrows.

“We?” she echoed. That was not how she saw it, that was for sure.

“It’s a perfect opportunity,” Lucie continued, evidently not dissuaded by her friend’s doubtful expression. “You’re not busy right now, are you?” She cast a glance to the desk and Helen stepped in her way, almost as though she feared she might read something off the crinkled pages of Ovid.

“I was working,” she answered flatly, and Lucie launched into an enthusiastic proposal before she had the chance to stop her.

“Cause George thought you could pretend that you actually got hurt when she fell on you. It would be a perfect excuse to get into Pembroke, and-”

“Pembroke?” Helen interjected and her friend flapped her hand at her.

“That’s where she’s from, did you not know?”

“Well no, not at the time…” Helen admitted, oddly pleased to have the question that had been plaguing her through the afternoon answered unexpectedly. “Do you happen to know her name as well?” The question crossed her lips before she could think better of it and for a moment Lucie scrunched up her brow, uhming thoughtfully.

“Olivia- Livia- Liv-something or other.” She shrugged noncommittally, picking at the wax of the candle in the bedside table. “Foreign last name. Your brother will know.”

“Right…” It was far from the definite answer Helen had hoped for and she would be damned if she asked George about it, so she put the matter off.

“So, are you coming?” Lucie prompted, a grin spreading across her face.

“What, now? No!” It was a knee-jerk reaction, there was little she wanted to do less. Not just because of the increasingly late hour, also because she wouldn’t go pretending something that simply wasn’t true.

“Come on. You won’t have to do much. Just look a little sad and pained - shouldn’t be hard -” her friend teased and Helen shot her a glare.

“Hey!”

“While we talk to someone from the college about the accident, the boys can sneak in and get the trophy back,” Lucie continued, and Helen shook her head, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“I’m not getting involved in that,” she countered firmly as she perched on the edge of her desk. She had far better things to do with her time. If she hadn’t been the one to be landed on by ‘Liv-something-or-other’ she would never be asked.

“But-” her friend sought to change her mind, following her with an imploring gaze. “We have to teach them a lesson, they can’t just-” She gestured into the air and Helen shook her head firmly once more.

“Not me, no, this has nothing to do with me.” She held up her hands in surrender. “Besides, she was perfectly lovely actually and apologised, I’m not getting her into trouble for a little mishap.”

“She stole our trophy!” Lucie exclaimed, but Helen wasn’t swayed.

“I’m not getting involved. I’m busy.” She picked up the nearest book for emphasis, Ovid of course, as the fates would have it, and put it down again quickly as though it was a cursed item of some sort. Quickly she folded her arms again and tried to deflect. “Besides, what’s it to you?”

“Well I-” Her counter had the desired effect as it put her friend on the backfoot. Helen’s lips pulled into a grin as she sensed she was onto something. She probed further.

“If you want to ingratiate yourself to my brother, I’m sure he would be partial to taking you out without this song and dance,” she teased, shooting her a knowing look. “Be warned though, he does like the sound of his own voice rather.” That was an understatement, both Harry and George were rather full of themselves, but perhaps they had qualities that she herself couldn’t appreciate as their sister.

“Mind you, worse matches than one of the Sinclairs…” Lucie hummed, giving her friend a playful and exaggerated once-over in response, and Helen laughed.

“No offence, but you’re not for me,” she chuckled, struck for a moment by the realisation of how glad she was to have found friends in this place she could be carefree, honest and herself with. While she didn’t have many, she was all the more grateful for them, and they played no small part in her feeling welcome and wanted here.

“Rude,” Lucie quipped back. “If I liked girls, I bet I could win you around.” She fluttered her eyelashes at her, and Helen nearly choked on laughter.

“Unlikely,” she just about managed, shaking her head at her. “You’re not even remotely my type.”

“What is your type?” Lucie countered, dropping the act in favour of satisfying her curiosity. Even though they had known each other for a long time now, this subject they rarely discussed. Finding herself on the spot, Helen quickly realised today was not the day that she was willing to change that. Perhaps she would have, if she’d had a straightforward answer, but the plain truth was that she lacked the experience to really know.

“None of your business,” she shot back, working hard not to falter under her questioning gaze. These were insecurities she would prefer to keep private.

“Come on, if you told me I could try and play wingwoman for you. If you ever come to a social event, that is,” Lucie complained, revisiting a subject of contention they had been over many times. While she was a social butterfly at these things, with confidence and charisma to boot, it was not something Helen enjoyed. If she was being perfectly honest, she preferred books to people half the time.

“I’m here to study, not to-”

“Yes, but in nearly three years, I haven’t known you to go on a single date! Or even have a misinformed fumble at a party,” her friend continued, rolling her eyes at the excuse she had heard far too many times already.

“I have different priorities at the moment,” Helen quipped. “Have you finished the reading for your thesis yet?”

“Fair enough,” Lucie gave up, evading the pointed question and jumped to her feet. “So I can’t convince you to have a little walk over to Pembroke right now?” she tried once more with a half-smile, and Helen shook her head.

“Not a chance,” she held firm, casting a look out of the window, night was falling fast now, their window of opportunity closing.

“Thought this might be the end of it,” Lucie conceded, following her gaze. “The race is on Sunday anyway, not much point in going after it now.”

“Probably not, no,” Helen agreed, returning her attention to her friend. She had no idea what races took place when but she would take her word for it.

“You will show your face for that though, won’t you?” Lucie asked as she made to leave. “You can’t hide out in your room all hours.”

“Maybe if the weather remains as nice as it was today,” Helen evaded a straight answer as she walked her to the door. She very rarely went to sporting events, usually only when her father was visiting to watch Harry and George and her attendance was expected…

“I’ll hold you to it,” Lucie warned, wagging a finger at her. “Who knows, you might find you enjoy spending time with people.”

“Goodnight, Lucie.” Helen gave her a gentle shove out the door and her friend grinned, waving goodbye.

#doctor who #liv chenka #helen sinclair #fanfiction #eighth doctor #big finish #femslash #liv x helen #lucie miller #oxford #academia aesthetic #college au #alternate universe #digital art #slow burn #wlw #sapphic romance

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spnangelbang · 1 year ago

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2023 Angel Bang Masterlist

And it's a wrap! The 2023 SPN Angel Bang is now over and all stories and art have been posted!

Thank you to all our teams to participated and completed the bang for this inaugural round (yes, I hope there will be another one!) Here is the final list of stories & art posted:

Devotion by FriendofCarlotta, Bees

You Promised by anyrei, queerwerewolf, PetraAmia

What We Deserve by butterflyslinky, Klayr

An Act of Humanity by seidenapfel, xfancyfranart

Loki Spake by mukur0, bakh-meliorism

Casifer's Deception by Kinetic-Passion, Keikakudom

A Light Above Descending by Hedderstheowl, enigmaticNeurologist

Plan B by akajed, golby moon

Take Me Out by TheLadyKeira, Dimitri Evans

The Law of Entanglement by AngelEyz4ever, Anyrei

Escaping the Labyrinth by Kyra_maximoff, Slurpy natural

Time Enough for Counting by angelshotgun, kingdumbass

A Gift of Penance for Your Sins by SwirlyCloud, babyhorseshoecrabe

Apple Pie and the Apocalypse by LadyKnightSkye, sidewinder

circle, broken by autisticandroids, sketcheun

True Colours by angelofthequeers, comfycowboy

What Sacred Games by prettydizzeed, Hectatess

Jack's Angels by MercurialKitty, sidewinder

The Garden's Keeper by Gitten, Dimitri Evans

Birds of a Feather by CathiesCreations, Sketcheun

A Cupid's Work by Redamber79, LadyRandomBox

Earth Angel by Eyes_of_a_Tragedy, tfw_cas, rezal

Dialogues of the Undead art by spn-fanfic-reblog-writes

doors unlocked and open by sidewinder, fluffsnake

Angel Academy by Crematosis, DoggoJin

Instrumental by Restlesshush, theplaidfox

Heaven is a Place on Earth by ArthursKnight, Bakh_Meliorism

The Angel with the scarred face by Dimitri Evans, Atlas_Pie

Creation Myth by howldean, dustghoul

Ethereal Feathers by Atlas_Pie, seidenapfel

Unraveling the Past by Dk323, As-lost-as-sams-shoe

Wings by Lyconite, Atlas_Pie On a personal note, to everyone who participated as artists, writers, and beta-readers: thank you for being such a great group of angel enthusiasts! And an extra-special thanks to my co-mods @bleuzombie, @deancodedcastielenby and @twinone1221 for all their help. This was my first time organizing and running and bang and while we may have hit some bumps in the road along the way, I'm really proud of all the work that came out of this.

As has been teased/mentioned before, I will be organizing a Reverse Angels & Demons bang next, the details of which will be announced within the next few weeks. So keep watching this space! Also the @dadstielminibang which I'm co-modding is set to begin posting today, so be sure to follow over there for some wonderful fic & art featuring Castiel as a father figure in both canonverse and AU settings.

Thanks again, from @hawkland

#spnangelbang #admin post #spn fic #spn art #spn bangs

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alilcherrysramblings · 6 months ago

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Part 2 of my Garden of Deception AU! (LMK S5 SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT!!

Centuries later, the Nine-Headed Demon manages to locate MK/Xiaotian. He twists the story and manages to convince the young man that Nuwa abandoned him and made Sun Wukong to be his replacement. As proof, he shows Xiaotian Wukong and the pilgrims on their Journey.

Heartbroken and angry, Xiaotian begins to plan a “surprise” for the unsuspecting pilgrims…

#lego monkie kid #lmk #lego monkie kid mk #garden of deception AU #lmk nuwa #lmk nine-headed demon #lmk season 5 spoilers

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klonnieshippersclub · 1 year ago

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Fueled Desires

Happy Day 2 of Klonnie Week/Weekend! This one is set in Bulgaria way back then with a human Katherine. For this AU, Klaus recruits Bonnie as a spy and feelings arise. Let me know what you think.

It was desperation. That was why she took this job. Her childhood was hard. Bonnie has no mother for she had died in childbirth. The only family she had was her father. He tried his best to raise her all by himself while working to put food on the table. Luckily for him, Bonnie was an easy child. She didn't seek out any trouble. She just had a curious mind. She was always seeking answers.

Without her mother, Bonnie lacked the magical knowledge to truly blossom as a witch. However, the girl was determined. All she had was her mother's grimoire and she memorized spell after spell. In her magical studies, she discovered her passion for plants. It was unfortunate that her passion was useless when her father fell ill.

Bonnie knew magic could do anything. It had to fix this. Her mother's grimoire did not have the spell she needed to aid her father. It was then that the Original appeared to her in the family garden. Klaus Mikaelson offered her a deal. If she served him, then she would be given access to his magical library and extensive knowledge on healing with witchcraft. Bonnie jumped at the chance.

The petite young lady did not anticipate how he intended to make use of her. She wasn't in the kitchen or waiting on his hand and foot. No, he needed her to be a spy and monitor some silly girl. She never expected her relationship with the Original. She thought she would fear him. She does not. She thought she would hate him. She does not. She thought she would find him disgusting. She does not.

In fact, Klaus was appealing even with blood around his mouth. The truth sickened her. She didn't bother knocking at the door to his room or announcing herself. “You requested my presence?”

Klaus acknowledged her with a nod as he sat on the edge of his bed. “Yes, please sit.”

Bonnie moved towards him and sat beside him with space between to keep their knees from touching. She kept her face blank as she asked, “may I inquire about the purpose of this meeting?”

“I need you to give me a report,” Klaus said.

“Regarding what?”

“I need you to provide details on Katerina's behavior and whereabouts.”

It took everything in Bonnie not to react. She could sense his deception and worried about his true motives for calling her to his room. “We already discussed the subject this morning.”

“You are correct.” His eyes lingered on her body while Klaus memorized her soft curves. “I just wanted an excuse to invite you to my bedroom.”

Bonnie sighed in response. “I am not like the other servants.”

“You are not. That is why I like you.”

“I do not believe you. You may not use me for your dark fantasies.”

“I want you by my side, that is my true desire.”

“You lie to me!” Bonnie exclaimed with irritation. Klaus had been persistent in his pursuit of her since her employment began. She had never taken his words seriously, but she could not ignore the goosebumps tingling on her skin when he was near.

“Trust my word. Are we not partners?”

“No, we are not,” Bonnie remarked. “We work together for your benefit. I work for you to provide for my sick father.” They do not share the same goal and their power dynamic as employer/employee made it clear to Bonnie that they were not equals as you should be in a partnership.

Klaus moved closer to Bonnie and grabbed her hand. “I have given you everything that you ask for, even spell books for healing potions.”

“You treat me like a dirty secret you are ashamed of.” Stolen kisses didn't make a relationship in Bonnie’s mind, especially when the man will fuck almost any girl around. “I know of your previous dalliances with the girls of the streets.”

Klaus in frustration felt the urge to pull out his hair. Those girls were before Bonnie and meant absolutely nothing. “How can I prove that you are the only one I want as queen?”

“You can’t,” said Bonnie as she stood and took a step to leave. “Do not request me again unless necessary.”

Bonnie couldn’t leave quick enough with Klaus able to maneuver her body away from the door. Klaus pinned her body on his desk nearby. She wasn’t like the past witches he’s dealt with. Bonnie was courageous, understanding, accepting and loyal. Damn, the business arrangement!

Klaus lust for Bonnie grew brutal by the day. Ready to explode. Bonnie kissed him with thirst, savoring the taste of his lips on her own. She was weeping between her legs. This intimacy was wrong, but felt so right. She had heard the whispers of other servants about his sexual prowess. Bonnie secretly longed to experience his skills. An airy moan freed itself from her lips as she was pulled from her thoughts.

“Would you like me to stop?”

“No,” Bonnie replied quickly as Klaus' hands traveled up her gown.

The knock at the door ruined it all.

#bonnie bennett #klonnie #klaus mikaelson #the vampire diaries #tvd #bonnie x klaus #klaus x bonnie #the originals #klonnieweek2023 #Rikki tries writing

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kittyflufi123 · 5 months ago

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Human arcane order AU!!

I finally present to you my human AU of the arcane order!! after so much time planning their designs and everything... I made this little graphic with information about them!!

I'll leave some bonuses for you to be curious about!! and maybe I'll do short stories on ao3.. but nothing so relevant just short stories hihi

information:

skrael:

• is 27 years old

•works as a stylist at a fashion agency and in his spare time works in a cafe.

•likes fighting games and stories (god of war, red dead redemption, dark deception, etc.)

•lives in the united states in las vegas with bellroc.

• loves cold foods, especially iced coffee and vanilla and mint ice cream

• married to bellroc for 3 years and has 10 years of friendship with nari and bellroc

bellroc:

• is 29 years old

•works as an architect in a very old construction company.

•likes boxing in his spare time and karate on the weekends

•lives in the United States in Las Vegas with Skrael (but has lived in China and Japan)

•fluent in English, Japanese, Chinese and knows a little Russian and Brazilian Portuguese (thanks to Nari is Skrael)

•likes hot and sweet foods (hot chocolate, cappuccino, cake, chicken and cheese snacks)

•He likes to sleep cuddled up in Skrael on hot nights and travels to Australia on summer holidays to see his country.

nari:

• is 25 years old

•works as a biologist for a TV show and takes care of a sanctuary in Canada.

•likes gardening in his spare time and hiking in the mountains for camping.

•lives in the united states in new york with douxie and archier.

•He likes to visit Bellroc and Skrael during the summer holidays and always prepares his famous feijoada (a typical Brazilian dish) with lots of pepper, because he knows that Bellroc likes it.

•fluent in English, Russian and a little Japanese.

•nari likes any type of food, but prefers less industrialized things as some can give her allergies.

•She goes to Brazil with Douxie and Archier almost every Christmas so she can be with her family.

Well!!! This was a little information about them!! I hope you like it and I'll see you later!! :3

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holybibly · 1 year ago

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Divine Rosa ❢ot8xreader❣

❣ Pairing: yandere!otx8 x reader

❣ Genre: Dark Romance, vampire au, angst, horror, yandere au, smut

❣ Word Count: 10.1k

❣ WARNING: only!18+ Themes of death, suicide, severe depression, stalking, blood, yandere behavior.

❣ Chapter 1: Memento Mori ❣

Have you ever thought about death?

How many times have you asked yourself, “What will happen to us next?” “Is there something on the other side?” “Will we see the shining light at the end of the tunnel and the white-winged angels, or is it just darkness waiting for us?”

We constantly reflect on this, sitting in the noisy company of friends, frozen for a moment in cold numbness; late at night, when there is no sleep and gloomy thoughts creep into your head; on the subway, bus, or taxi returning home from work or school, desperately understanding the desperation of their situation; recurring days in endless solitude.

We should stop doing that. When the time comes, we will ask ourselves other, more important questions.

Nevertheless, we tirelessly continue to be interested in it. Again and again, until our clock stops.

Sometimes I think all we have after we die are flowers and regrets. In our soul, heart, and mind, every second, there are many events that do not obey any rules of formal logic. All that we lose at death. There is no longer the privilege of choice that we had in life; now we have to settle for small, choking on despair and memories, staring into our own reflection on a silver epitaph.

“Our love will stay with her forever.” It would sound like a dream if it weren’t such a dirty lie.

I don’t think love exists. It’s like a sweetener: we feel sweetness, but the brain realizes it's fake, sending out red signals warning of deception. But we still desperately crave this feeling, however painful it may be.

And yet, after death, our lives go on, and in some special cases, we find ourselves more alive than ever before.

It's our time to watch as the new story unfolds, and the usual roles are played by other actors. New names appear on the waiting list, and celebratory ribbons are given to the new queens. See how fake diamonds sparkle in their luxurious crowns. Despite that, you’re the star of this show. Your name is in the news, in the bold headlines on the front pages of newspapers, and every casual passer-by claims to have known you personally while you still existed in a small, closed time period called life.

So what does it feel like to be the only spectator in the front row? The main subject of general regret.

In our cooled consciousness, a sharp conviction of our own uselessness is born and settles. Friends we used to call the best put your stuff in boxes with ribbons of tape. A family that tears the remnants of your life apart, erasing your name from the family register with a sickeningly straight line of black ink. Acquaintances and colleagues, always smiling with an astringent sweetness that glues their teeth, easily remove your number from the contact list and open their palms in a welcoming gesture to those who came to take your place.

All of them, all these people close to us, express their false regrets about your untimely departure, putting a tick in front of the memorized phrase: “Ah, we are so sorry. She was young and beautiful.” Is that what they usually say?

That’s all; our race for popularity is over. The rules of good manners and standards of appearance no longer matter. Your thoughts, actions, and preferences belong only to you, and at this very moment, we feel freedom. Short time, but still freedom.

It is only a short moment until the lid of the coffin closes completely over us. And here we are, face to face with our past, alone.

As hard as it may be for us to admit it, it's true. All that remains for us after death is regret.

Each of us has our own. Someone feels regret for the love that he could not protect and the loved ones that he has lost forever. We regret the things we’ve done and the words we haven’t said, but most of all, we regret the time we’ll never get back.

The dead mourn more than the living.

Besides regrets, we’re taking flowers with us. Yes, these beautiful creatures are leaving with us to one day wrap around our bones, sever the grayish subtlety of our skin, and grow again above the ground, eating us like a parasite.

The flowers also symbolize the grand finale of our celebration. When the music dies down and the curtain falls, they will be the only ones who will stay side by side while the guests leave the lavishly decorated hall one by one.

Have you noticed how many bouquets are brought to cemeteries?

I like to think of it as a peculiar payment for our rest. Maybe death is as in love with these deliciously fragile things as we are, and that’s why they’re leaving with us. Silent companions who hold our hand as we go into the darkness.

The path to the origins of the great Sanzu River is paved with bloody lycoris and mournful lilies. Truly a magnificent sight. Ugly and beautiful are two sides of the same coin.

When I was little, Mina told me many different stories. Some warmed my cheeks and stretched my lips in a happy smile; others were gray, like days with incessant downpours. I wrapped myself in blankets and warmed my palms with warm cups of herbal tea, but there were other stories that I didn't want to remember until now.

They were sinister, like a spider hovering on a web waiting to be sacrificed. The words were sharp; they pierced the skin, leaving long, stinging wounds. Meaning has always been terrible; like a blade in the tongue, it could not be swallowed and understood. I was afraid. I was scared to death. I could not sleep in the light of a bright day or in the mist of a starry night; in the coziness of the blankets, there was no warmth or protection, and the mocking laughter of Mina made it worse.

My grandmother scolded her and assured me that all this was nonsense, empty words, and legends formed from idleness, but I knew better. There was truth in Mina's stories, and the realization of this only made them scarier.

The most terrible of them was the story of a young man in black silk robes. Beneath the black veil was a sensual smile, and the fox's heterochromic eyes were alluring and sparkling like stars.

Was he a nine-tailed kumiho? A black reaper holding death itself on a leash? He may have been a vampire, desperate and thirsty, but personally, I was sure he was a ghost. A past woven into a single canvas, thread by thread, stitch by stitch. I think I saw him once, during the Lunar Festival. He was the center of my little universe, the otherworldly and inexplicable, his long black clothes flowing to the ground like a waterfall, and the diffused light of the treacherous moon embraced his silhouette like a caring mother’s embrace.

I thought the world was dancing around him. The children were running around laughing and circling like butterflies in the round dance; the couple were whispering nicely, their palms intertwined tightly, as if it would save them from the inevitable parting; and the others were simply enjoying the festival time, waiting for the sheaves of colorful fireworks to explode in the sky.

His eyes pierced my figure so greedily and sharply. I saw hunger in them. A thirst. A goal.

And then I screamed. So loud and disgusting in a childish way. With a shrill screech, I rushed into the crowd, hoping to find Mina. The colorful ribbons in my hair rushed into the air, and the wind bore me the echoes of his sweet laughter.

He was mocking me. I could have run, but he could have caught me in a second if he wanted to. For a moment, I looked back to make sure that he was still standing there, covered with moonlight and a myriad of stars, but the long, flowing silk of his black robes melted like a mist in the night without leaving a trace.

Mina laughed mockingly as I clung to the lush skirts of her violaceous hanbok, sobbing, choking with tears, and pointing my finger in the direction where I saw the young man with the fox’s eyes.

After that incident, I didn’t sleep for days, couldn’t eat, and was afraid of every noise.

From that night on, I began to believe in ghosts. They are among us. We can see them, reach them, and hear their whispering voices. Science cannot explain them; they are not subject to it. They are mistakenly called fictions, twisted forms of memories that acquire real outlines and are indistinguishable from the real world.

Science calls it imagination; I call it another form of life. Ghosts exist. They’re always there.

The line between the dead and the living is thin and fragile. If you push it a little harder, it’ll shatter.

It’s true—life after death exists.

I was told once that death is like being submerged in water. First, the lungs start to burn from a lack of oxygen; the body gets heavier; the eyes are baking, but we’re still conscious; and the brain continues to function. Then comes the next step. Our body desperately clings to life, continuing to contract the heart muscle. Bam, bam, bam. Deaf blows on the rib. If you start acting now, there is little hope of salvation. No more than a minute. And then, after that, there’s the final stage. Clinical death. Smooth stripe on the monitor.

Our sinking is over. We have reached the bottom. We have met eternity in the muddy depths, blended with the muddy sand and pearls.

That may be true, but for me, death is no more than a moment—until the last flowers on the grave fade.

I never thought about dying. Until it happens to Mina.

The first time I met death, it was with my first breath. I was born with silence—too small, too fragile, and painfully quiet.

Then there were the piercing sounds of medical devices and the screams of doctors and assistants. I was taken away instantly and carried far into the sterile, transparent box. Death retreated, but it didn’t go away.

I was only three when my parents died. Mina was squeezing my hands and talking about a long journey. Grandma took us to her old country house, where secrets were hidden and hyacinths blossomed. At the time, the very concept of grief was not clear and tangible to me; rather, the feeling was like frostbite, when the skin was already dead, but the pain was absent.

So I knew death before I even knew it.

My grandmother died suddenly. Her life was cut short in an instant, like a thread brought to the flame. I knew it; it seemed long before it happened. That summer, I was going to be at a ballet camp, and Mina was the star of the school, and she was planning on spending time with her cheerleading friends. Just one call changed all our plans. Short skirts and ballet points replaced chrysanthemums and black ribbons. Mina was grieving, taking condolences, while I watched from the sidelines. Grandma's leaving seemed like a dull pain from an old injury rather than a sharp cut, and it was easier to deal with than I thought.

This was the third time I'd known death.

And then Mina happened.

The passionate, bloody, grandiose Mina's death. By closing my eyes, I could see her face again. White, sun-drenched, and blood roses, her long fluttering eyelashes, and scattered carmine strands of hair.

She was not at all afraid to die, as if this scenario had been memorized by her. Isn't it an innate instinct, a fear of the unknown, of death? We are frightened by monsters under the bed and horrors lurking in dark corners. We must be afraid of death. We are obliged to do this from the very moment we are born.

Mina was not afraid. She was never afraid of anything, unlike me.

Spiders, darkness, roses…

The list goes on.

When she died, I realized two things: one, nothing lasts forever, and two, I wanted to know what happened to my sister and what became her trigger. Big red button. At my request, an autopsy was conducted to rule out a drug-induced hypothesis that could have caused mental and emotional distress. Forensics found nothing in her lungs except rose petals. Mina literally breathed flowers. It sounded almost fantastical to me. Even her death was beautiful. Forever the first violin in the orchestra.

The case of her mysterious disappearance was closed. There was no point in looking for someone who was already dead. I asked the detectives to continue the investigation, but despite my desperate pleas, the police were adamant. My sister’s once-radiant life was packaged in a pair of cardboard boxes with a large-scale signature in black marker. “An Mina, case 117”. With each passing day, everything about Mina sank into darkness, but the mysteries and secrets around her only grew larger.

Once upon a time, I could call Mina an open book. It was easy to read—all the emotions, character traits, and habits—everything in it was exaggerated; there was no middle. Her love was never a simple hobby; it was always sharp, risky, and passionate.

Perhaps that is why she so easily fell into an obsession with roses; her feelings took a dangerous path.

I wanted to know who gave her these fabulous roses, who sent her candy and little sweet notes. There was something wrong with all of this, and not just the fact that the lush pink buds didn’t fade. No. It was a feeling, something very ominous, like a calm before a hurricane. A frightening, unnatural silence when all is silent and the air is gathering in front of the thunder's stunning storms.

There’s a long, unrequited tranquility on the other side of the phone line.

In the Japanese language, there is the expression “koi no yokan,” which literally means the feeling of inevitable love for the person you first met. This is not love at first sight, but a premonition of future love. So it was with these roses; they were not evil as such, but they were the inevitable omen of his coming.

True evil does not come in the form of a little red man with sharp horns and a long tail. Evil is beautiful—almost religiously magnificent. His appearance is divine and seductive, attracting the sweetness of the forbidden. Of course, the Devil himself was once an angel. And not just anyone; he was God’s favorite.

So are these flowers. I’ve never heard of people falling in love with soft petals and spiny stems. No one ever sings strange prayers for roses and dedicates his life to them without a trace. Those roses were bigger than they looked.

I think that Mina’s death was not accidental; it wasn’t suicide. Something broke her, violated her mind, and eventually destroyed her. Whether they were roses or people who gave them, that was my question. It was a secret hidden in the white folds of her lace dress, the dreamy smiles, and the names she spoke with such awe.

During Mina's funeral, I was approached by one of the lawyers who handled her legal affairs. I had to sort out the property rights and the lots of pages with numbers, dates, and places. Mina left me not only secrets but also a great legacy. As it turned out, in addition to our common apartment, she had several other assets in her possession, including her grandmother's mansion, which at one time she received as a sole inheritance, shares in various companies, and investments abroad.

I am now the sole owner of all this.

I had no idea where to start looking for answers or where to find the keys to the secret locks. Maybe I can find something in her files between the lines and the capital letters, or maybe it’s all dry formalities. So, going to the lawyer sounded like a good start to me.

How many can hide from those who command our last will?

Even so, I didn't want to be alone with Mina's secrets if I could find something in her belongings. I decided to call Soomin, who was once Mina’s best friend, the closest, to be exact. She was always there, having fun and crying with Mina, supporting and comforting when needed. Soomin was an integral part of her life. My life.

After the incident with the roses, they split up, not on the best of terms. Their conversation completely ended, but I still continued to spend time with her, and we often went to brunch at various gourmet cafés that Soomin loved so much. She was an elite restaurateur and had great taste, not only in the interior but also in food.

In a way, she completely replaced my sister. Soomin always told me, “No orgasm can ever match a stunningly cooked fondant au chocolat”. Yeah, I could totally agree with her on that.

After dialing her number, I waited for an answer. The wait was not too long, and after the second tone, I heard the melodic voice of Soomin on the other side. “Hello” “Soomin, I'm sorry to distract you from work; can you give me a few minutes?

“Sarang? I can’t believe you finally called me. How are you feeling, honey? I’ve been really worried about you, you haven’t spoken to any of us all this time.” In her voice, there was a sincere concern that resembled a mother's.

Soo has always been so caring and gentle. In her was the same fascinating brightness that Mina possessed, which brought them very close and became the strong foundation of their friendship, but unlike Mina, who resembled a raging forest fire, Soomin was a comforting flame of home. One was ready to destroy everything around her; the other collected ashes in beautiful vases and kept them as precious memories.

After Mina died, she was there for me when I especially needed support.

“Sorry, Soomin, I’m still trying to get over it." I sounded exhausted, even to myself. The days spent in voluntary isolation completely drained me emotionally and physically. I was the alarm of danger light for my friends. “You know, when she went missing, it was hard for me, but I was still hoping she’d come back. I convinced myself that Mina was fine and that she was enjoying life surrounded by her favorite roses.” It was the first time I had spoken openly about my feelings since Mina’s death. “I never imagined that my sister would slit her throat in front of me. I still have nightmares, Soomin, but I’m calling you for another reason, I have a little favor to ask you.”

“Sarang, you should feel like this; it’s okay. What happened to Mina traumatized you; damn it, it would have traumatized anyone if they were you. We agreed to give you time to get over it at your own pace, but when you didn’t answer our messages and calls, we started to worry. Eun Jung even offered to come to you several times; you know how she is.” She was anxious, and I understood why. “I’ll help with everything I need; just tell me how I can do it.”

“You agree too quickly, Soo.”

“Sarang, please stop. The only thing I can offer you now is my help. I can’t imagine how you’re handling all this, and if you need my help, I’ll be there for you. So stop denying me and tell me what you wanted to ask.”

“Do you remember Mina’s lawyer who approached me at the funeral? I think it’s time I met him. It’s all about inheritance and property, but there’s something else.” I started off insecure. “I want to find out who sent her those stupid roses.”

“Why?” in her voice sounded like sincere surprise. “If you were me, would you want to know how it all started?”

“Probably, but aren't you afraid? Judging by how it turned out for Mina,” she stammered for a second. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.”

“No, you’re right. Absolutely. I’m scared, and if things weren’t so messed up, maybe I would have done something different, but listen, Soomin, I have a strong feeling that I’m always missing something, and it’s bothering me.” “People don't change so dramatically, and certainly not because of the roses. You've been friends with her for so long, so you know her as well as I do, and we both understand that it's crazy to give up everything in your life for roses like that. Especially for Mina.” When I spoke my thoughts out loud, I was even more convinced that I needed answers. It really was crazy. “ She left so many secrets that I want to find a clue. I haven't told anyone, but the roses are still being sent. I received a call from the cemetery administration saying that her grave was littered with flowers, and they needed to figure out what to do with them. Not only that, but I also received several bouquets.” There was no point in hiding it anymore. If I want Soomin to help me, she needs to know about those roses that were sent to me.

“My God, Sarang, you should have told me right away. Did you talk to JiHo? This is an abnormal situation. What if you’re being chased, Sarang? I don’t know, it’s all so scary.”

“You have no idea, but I don’t think we should talk about stalking.”

“Why? Maybe it’s a stalker or serial killer; you should be careful. Please tell me JiHo is living with you now.” “First, I don’t think anyone in their right mind is going to come after me, and second, JiHo and I took a pause.”

“Did you break up?” she asked with an incredulous echo.

“I'm not sure if you can call it a breakup.”

“God, the bastard left you. I always told you he was a rare asshole and would run away at the first opportunity.”

“Soomin, let’s not talk about it, but if you want to hear it, yeah, you were right about him.” The memories of our conversation with my ex were still fresh and festering in my mind like a ball of worms.

It’s very convenient to hide behind phrases like “let’s take a break,” “you need time to figure things out,” “emotional vacation,” etcetera. No one wants to be a part of your grief. At this party, the cake belongs entirely to you.

“Okay, let’s close the JiHo thing. Tell me, do you know anything about who sent the roses? Any ideas?”

“Absolutely nothing; I’m stuck. There’s nothing that can help. No address, no sender’s name, Maybe we can find something in her files or stuff; I don’t know.”

“Yes, it’s possible. When do you want to go to a lawyer?”

“This Friday, if you’re free?”

“Give me a minute,” the papers rustled on the other side, Soomin clearly trying to find the day she needed in her diary. Knowing the nature of Soo, it was difficult to make out anything there; her records were always chaotic, and careful planning was not her forte. In this, too, she was similar to Mina.

“I’m totally free. How about going to brunch first and then to the lawyer?

You could use some fun, and I’ve always wanted to go to this new trending place. I hear they serve incredible fondant au chocolate, and the owner looks like God cut him out. How does that sound? “First, tell me, are we going there for the fondant or the owner?”

“You can’t judge me; everyone’s talking about how attractive this man is; I just want to see.” Soo softly dissipated.

“Have you betrayed your love of chocolate for a man? Kim Soomin is something new. Anyway, everything sounds great. Let’s go and see if those rumors are true, but if I were going there solely for the chocolate,” I smiled at that thought. I’ve really been lacking in communication lately. We should start coming back to the real world. “Do you know the address?” “Sure, I’ll pick you up at 11:00. Please wear something prettier than a black dress.” “It’s a classic, and thank you again, Soo.”

“You have nothing to thank me for, Sarang. Finally, I can call you like that, you know, Rosa, it doesn’t suit you. I’ll see you Friday, baby.”

“I think so, too. Until Friday.” I put the phone aside, taking a deep breath. The long stems of white roses had folded in half in the cramped bin. A luxurious wrapping in a rare shade of Solferino and embroidered topaz ribbons lay next to the bulky pile, and a small note was shrunk into a perfect ball that was also lying in the trash.

Whoever sent those flowers should have stopped doing that. I’m not Mina. I don’t like roses.

· · • • • ✤ • • • · ·

How quickly does the waiting time pass? We count the days, the hours, and the minutes until the exciting event we’re expecting, circled by a thick red line in the calendar, but is it really worth our time, which life has measured for us?

It's so strange; the days are like bottles of sand thrown by a restless ocean onto a flickering glass bank. I remember this one, crystal blue—it smells like strawberry cheesecake and summer heat. And this one, made of gloss and pearls, is full to the brim with grave earth and chrysanthemum petals. I like the one that sparkles with diamonds from the royal frosted glass; it smells like a lover’s pillow, and there are memories of the first love. There is another, very ordinary, and therefore the most precious—empty and at the same time full. If you open it, you can hear the gentle wind whispering your name.

My life is all about memories now. I’m just trying to keep what’s left.

The rest of the week passed unnoticed by me. Time, like the rapid trains at the station, rushed by, and I kept waiting to see the stop I needed in this incessant turmoil.

Existing in space is very simple when it belongs only to you. I did actions that were memorized to the finest detail, simple mechanisms that gradually brought me back to my normal state. Feed the neighbor’s cat. Do the cleaning. Go for a walk. Check the mail. Cook dinner. Ordinary things to take your mind off the colorful bottles on the shelves of consciousness and the endless cycle of nightmares.

And I also noticed that at night, time flows more slowly. Second by second, replace the glowing dial until dawn. And so on until the ruthless rays of the sun insidiously penetrate between the tightly woven threads of heavy boudoir curtains, and the golden shadow spills over the pampered skin like boiling water.

I think I'm allergic to the sun and, therefore, to the stars.

Maybe the whole world.

Today I woke up earlier than usual. Somewhere below the horizon, the sun splashed in the golden ichor of the predawn twilight. Yoru stretched out at the foot of the bed, warmed by tiny drops of warm light that seeped into the room through the window. Last night, she refused to leave, stubbornly ignoring my presence and my tender pleas to return home to her mistress.

Yoru was my neighbor’s cat, perfectly embodying all its best features: a slightly aggressive, capricious, and having a little bit of arrogance. Despite this, she had a strange affection for me and often stayed at my house if she was in the mood.

Other tenants avoided Yoru, considering her a bad omen, and it was not only the polished glossiness of her black fur; she always appeared where death later came. I didn't care; I've always loved cats, and having one of them in my house was a bit of comfort. I wasn't alone.

Sensing my awakening, her almond-shaped eyes flashed with the sharp color of precious stones in the slits of the eyelids—a thick amber glow, not yet warmed by curiosity or playfulness. Yoru tossed and turned, clearly unhappy that someone had disturbed her sleep, arched her back and closed her eyes again.

We could lie like this all day long, in silence and some strange harmonization. I’m sure she’ll get close to me a little bit later, calculating her every move, until he presses on his heart with a peaceful, relaxed purr. Unfortunately, today was not the day I could afford it. Soomin will soon be here, and I need to get a little tidy.

Shower. Food. Simple things. Jars of creams and neatly arranged lipsticks Are there certain rules of appearance when you go to a lawyer? What dress should I wear—a deep neckline or open legs? How decent?

Should I still look mournful? Should I wear a veil? Two months have passed; are other colors acceptable? What will he think of me?

So many questions were spinning in my head while I was going, and it seems to me that whatever I choose, it will still be inappropriate. The story of Mina was not a passing affair; probably everyone in the city had fleetingly heard about her death. One of my friends told me she was called “Queen of Roses” because of the flowers in her hair, and I saw the headlines of the “exquisite death” articles.

The black color dripped venomously to the floor with the long hems of the dresses in my wardrobe; the gray, like a mist, settled in the loops of cardigans and oversized sweaters; and the ghostly white terrified me with thin transparent lace and ruffles, just like on Mina's dress. The choice was not too large.

A jacket dress on a naked body made of thick matte silk, a little pearl, and a high choker collar with long falling threads, It was one of the old jewels I bought in a small antique shop. Vintage trinket in the style of Queen Marie-Antoinette. I had a whole collection of such chokers—some studded with precious stones made of expensive jewelry metals, others woven with the finest threads, like a skillfully woven web. Hard made of steel and leather, and soft, like angelic kisses, made of organza and velour. JiHo once said I had a choke kink if I liked things like that; maybe I did, but my ex was too “vanilla” to close his hands around my neck.

After getting dressed and styling my hair, I sat down on the couch and waited for Soomin to arrive. What should I do now? I was lost. Turn on the TV or read a book? Look at the news feed on Instagram; be sure to look at JiHo's profile to see his new photo. Does he miss me or not? Is someone else warming up his bed now that I'm not around? Is JiHo still wearing the same perfume as before, or has he found something different?

Anyway, I never liked his perfume; it was salty like tears and distant ocean breezes and rancid like decaying wood in the dense Amazon. He called them gourmet; I could only agree if they were worn by someone else, say someone more dominant and powerful. Maybe I would even find this strange, gloomy mixture of aromas attractive, inhaling it from someone else's hot skin and feeling with the touch of my lips a steadily beating pulse in the swollen veins on a strong neck.

How long does love last? Three years or more? For me, it's a moment; for others, it's an eternity. I loved him. It's true. Very strong and very long ago. My love did not resemble the indomitable elements or the explosions of colored fireworks; rather, it was the fragrant bloom of wildflowers and the scattering of stars in the sky. She was comforting, not passionate, and I wanted to see someone like me, someone who could comfort my heart and give me tenderness.

Tenderness and comfort alone were enough for me, but deep inside, I wanted something dangerous, something forbidden. I was devout, one of those people who are called “good girls,” but was it really me or the role that Mina gave me?

Maybe in the far corners of my mind, my thoughts weren’t as good and right as they should be. I didn’t even want to admit it to myself, but sometimes when I woke up from another nightmare, I was glad she was dead. Dark, reckless emotions made their way through my cracks; they were moments of despair as my anger lifted its ugly head and oozed poison and blood. My cruelty and hatred had the color of roses and smelled like chocolate. She had fox eyes and a seductive smile; desire flowed in her veins, and strangled thirst was heard in her voice.

In my nightmares, I saw not only Mina and bloody roses; sometimes there was a young man in long silk robes and a veil hiding his face. He's just a ghost; I met mine years ago, but somehow he seems more real to me night by night when he comes into my dreams without permission. He crept into them like a serpent-tempter into the Garden of Eden, slipping away at dawn like the shadow of two moons, hiding behind a door I could never open.

Unreal in my reality.

I felt the arrival of Soomin even before her long nails methodically began to knock on my door. It was as if the spell had been removed and all the sounds of the world had rained down on me in an instant. Yoru shook off her sleep and whirled around at the front door, waiting for an unknown guest. The clatter of high heels echoed in my apartment, slipping through the cracks of the door locks, and the thick smell of ambergris and blooming jasmine at night walked ahead of her, warning every one of her approaches. If I didn’t know better, I could easily have mistaken her for Mina. That was my sister once.

The whole world was just a part of her life; she was not part of the world. To be ordinary—what a bad form!

“Sarang! Sarang, open up. I’m here.” and in fact, her long nails caught on the dark wood of my front door, causing Yoru to bristle and hiss.

I was absolutely sure they wouldn’t get along.

“Are you awfully loud? Someone told you this, Soo?” I opened the front door wide, smiling softly. “I missed you, Soomin.”

“Don’t tell me about it; I missed that pretty face.” She hugged me, which made Yoru hiss again, attracting Soo’s attention. “When did you get a cat?”

“That’s not my, Yoru cat, my neighbor from apartment 1366, that door.” I waved my hand to the far end of the corridor, where Mrs. Lee’s apartment was located. “I like her; I don’t mind having the baby stay with me sometimes.”

“I see.” There was an awkward pause between us until Soo broke it. “You want to talk about… you know what.” She was worried about this topic; I could see it from the way she shifted from foot to foot, or was it from high heels? In the light of the electric lamps, the steel studs glittered like sharpened spindles from the tale of The Sleeping Beauty.

“Not now. Better tell me about this restaurant we’re going to.” Soomin was easily distracted if you changed the topic of conversation in the direction of a subject of interest to her.

I walked out of the house, taking one last look at Yoru. The cat didn't even think about leaving my space; he was already ensconced in a pile of pillows on the sofa in the living room. If she wasn't going to leave, I wouldn't force her.

“Don’t you need to return the cat to the mistress? She looks expensive.” asked Soo

“She’s a purebred Persian cat, and no, Mrs. Lee won’t worry about it; Yoru can stay with me for weeks before she comes home. This has happened before.”

“All right, if you say so.”

I shut the front door and turned the key, permanently cutting off my escape routes. Today. I have to do this today or my resolve will wear thin, and I will once again voluntarily isolate myself in the comfort of blankets and tightly closed curtains.

"And so, the restaurant..." This was the beginning of a long story that interested no more than random passersby in a faceless crowd.

“You’re going to love this place, I promise. Everything I’ve seen on their Instagram profile is so fascinating, but you know what makes this place really attractive? It’s the owner. Eun Jung was there last week, and she couldn’t shut up about…”

For the next 30 minutes, I heard about this trending establishment. “ Angels' Share” is the most requested boutique café in the last 3 months on all search engines. A luxurious café with exquisite dishes and a magnificent concept.

But most importantly, it is, of course, divine, and Soomin, the owner, was absolutely sure of this. Hundreds of girls lined up in endless lines from dawn to dusk, hoping to see him, at least for a moment.

On your first visit, the owner of “Angels' Share” personally serves you throughout your interruption there. Your name is inscribed in the book of exclusive customers in gold ink. Their main specialty is gourmet desserts, and if you are not seduced by the angelic face of the magnificent man who runs this place, then the sweets melting on your lips will do it instantly.

Full berries of scarlet strawberries in white Belgian chocolate. Mille-feuille with fresh wild berries. The devil's food is the most chocolate of all chocolate cakes, and, of course, the angel cake has the most delicate silk cream of exotic fruits.

As Soomin told me about it, she was clearly having an emotional orgasm. Her arousal was obvious, but I could not understand what she craved more: exquisite desserts or the sweet kiss of the owner.

“I think he's a real angel,” Soo finished her rant after giving a fiery speech about the unique beauty of a man she had never met in her life.

“I'm not sure if it's all true, Soomin, but you'll be able to see for yourself when we get there. You should not trust everything they say. You're too impressionable and trusting.”

We spent the rest of the journey in peaceful silence. This is the type of silence when there are a lot of questions in the air, but each side is not sure when to start asking them. I know she wanted to ask me a lot of things, and in response, I wanted to finally share my experiences and feelings that I had been desperately hiding for the past two months. Nevertheless, each of us remained silent, as if afraid to destroy fragile comfort with uncomfortable words.

When the car stopped, Soomin smiled approvingly at me, as if to say, “Go ahead, my girl!” She was good at it because she was also a cheerleader like Mina.

“Angels' Share” was impressive at first sight, and not only because of the long line of girls lined up in a perfect line and dressed in intricate clothes like collectible dolls on the shelf.

A myriad of flowers, lace, and feathers, pastel shades, and delicate ruffles—all of them looked like animated sugar fantasies. Their cheeks were dusted with pink blush, and their inflated lips were accentuated by a thick layer of transparent sticky gloss with a fine sprinkle of glitter.

Perfectly well-groomed hair is arranged in children’s cute curls or intricate hairstyles with hundreds of sparkling hairpins and velvet bows. The variety of their images was amazing, as was the height of their heels. This place was definitely something special if the girls were willing to sacrifice their comfort for a couple of desserts.

Or it wasn’t about desserts.

At such moments, I especially understood how much we needed someone else's approval. The list of items seems endless: he likes cute girls, girls with an athletic figure, pale skin, and big eyes; she should not be boring; my friends like her; she has long legs and a thin waist; and she is a certain height. I wonder if he'll use a ruler to measure me. Big boobs or a nice ass—which turns him on more? What will our first date be like? That's right; should I call him Oppa or not? Tell me what you want, and I will fulfill whatever you want. I will fulfill every one of your fantasies. Tell me about your desires.

Seduce me. Surprise me. Love me!

I don’t want to live like this. I want to be who I really am, with all my flaws and imperfections. I want to be sharp and rude; I want to be cruel and honest; I want to look as I want, without colorful tinsel and layers of makeup, with cellulite, stretch marks, and a little overweight. That may be so, but it will be me. Just me.

The voice of Soomin ripped me out of my mind.

“I told you so,” said Soo smugly, purposefully heading for the entrance, circumventing a string of discharged girls. She was a lioness on a hunt, while they were stranded in colorful piles like scared rabbits.

If you do not pay attention to the girls, the exterior is fascinating. Gold, flowers, and crystal resembled the frame of a precious box. “Angels' Share” was positioned in such a way that the sun flooded it from all sides, creating around it a mysterious golden haze of sunlight and a dazzling iridescent play of crystals.

Everything was so beautiful, I won't deny it, but didn't the gingerbread house beckon the children deep into the dark forest where the wicked witch lived? Everything beautiful always has a downside, and someone knows how to mask it better than others.

While I was looking at the details, Soomin dragged me inside and was already talking to the host girl, who was checking the records for a long list of names. She also, like the girls on the street, looked like a doll. Her hair was long and shiny, tucked away from her face with an embroidered rim with Swarovski crystals, and her eyelashes were so lush that they touched her cheeks when she blinked. I would call her beautiful; she licked to perfection, which made it almost unnatural. She had a sweet, high-pitched voice and an overly friendly smile. Annoyingly friendly.

“Please follow me; I'll show you your table. Since you have visited us for the first time, Mr. Yoon will personally take care of you today. Please enjoy your stay at “Angels' Share.”

YooA—that was the name of this girl—led us up the spiral staircase to the second floor. It seemed that everything around was carved from pale golden marble, with the addition of luxurious interior items and thousands of flowers—or, to be more precise, thousands of roses. Snow-white, cream, pastel pink, and soft peach—the whole space breathed rose buds that stood in tall transparent vases.

The sight took my breath away, and I was inwardly tense. It's okay; it's just a café, not Mina's apartment. You need to relax and not start panicking; it will not benefit anyone.

As if sensing my growing panic, Soomin squeezed my palm.

“Are you all right? You look pale.”

“Yes, it’s all right; there are too many roses for my taste; you know, it brings back memories.” I smiled tortuously in response to her words. I didn’t want to ruin her day; she was so excited and happy when we came here.

“We can leave if you are not comfortable, Sarang.” Soo still held my hand, gently walking her thumb over my palm in a comforting circular motion. “If you want to go somewhere else, this is fine. I can always come back here later.”

“No!” came out too loud. “No, I’m fine. I can’t wait to try their chocolate fondant. You know I’m here only for chocolate.” She said the last part with me in one voice.

YooA showed us our table, although it was more like a small loggia separated by airy chiffon tulle and pearl threads from the common room. I could easily fall in love with this place if not for the languid, enveloping smell of roses and the beauty of their lush, perfect buds.

“Do you think the rumors are true, and we'll see an angel appearance today?” Soomin leaned across the table to talk about the owner, not so obviously?

“I think you'll find out about it now, anyway.” I couldn't finish my thoughts, interrupted by Soo's enthusiastic sigh. It was a sound of undisguised admiration that she couldn't hold back, even if she tried.

The reason for her excitement was right behind me, and I had to look back a little to see what it could have been.

Of course, all the sounds of delight belonged to none other than Mr. Yoon. In part, I could understand why he was called angel-like. His beauty was painfully perfect, to the point where it became almost terrible. His face was beautiful—almost obsessively beautiful, like the face of a stone goddess on a grave. Surreal. The skin seemed to glow from the inside, like molten silver flowing through the veins. He had long hair—ashes, platinum, mother-of-pearl—everything mixed on a diamond cloth. One silvery strand fell delicately over his face.

Are the melodies of an angelic choir in the air, or does it just seem that way to me?

The more I looked at him, the more his appearance disgusted me.

I felt flawed and unsuitable, like a puzzle that did not fit the picture; my heart did not beat faster with excitement or sweet agony; I did not burn and did not desire it as it should. Between us, it was possible to draw thousands of parallels in a myriad of universes, and none of them ever intersected. Beauty is deceptive, like a serpent promising forgiveness. It’s the pain of a bittersweet injection entering our nervous tissue.

What do we know about them—angels? White-winged light bearers, without flaws and ignorant of evil and vicious desires, are submissive and faithful to their ideals and purposes. Silent watchers who look after our virtue. But there are those who are chained and silken, whose wings are torn out with bloody flesh, for they are sinners.

Their name is the fallen. Unforgiven.

He was not an angel. He was one of them who traded the vaults of heaven for the flames and steel of the nine circles.

His presence was heavy, stifling, and sharp. Goosebumps ran through my skin as an omen of the imminent end.

I could have sworn that the second our eyes met in his eyes, the color of dark bitter chocolate, anger, and disgust thickened. So everything that is perfect collapses, falls, beats, and crumbles like the great walls of Babylon, kissing the transcendental peak of heaven. Like a Venus flytrap, his appearance was a clever disguise of vice and rot in a velvet cage of flesh, and this place is the very gingerbread house that beckons to certain death.

“Welcome to “Angels' Share”. My name is Yoon Sung Hoon; I own this place, and today I will make sure your stay here is unforgettable.” The voice flowed like honey smoothly and gently, I could melt at this tone.

“I am Soomin, and this is Sarang; we have heard a lot about this place.” Soo’s cheeks were pink from a shy blush, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say she was embarrassed. This man was clearly something special, if he could make Soomin behave like a schoolgirl in love with just his presence.

His eyes rested on my figure for a second, and I wanted to shrink into a ball under this appraising gaze, as if he was trying to probe me and understand how dangerous I could be. It was only a moment, and then a smile shone again on his angelic face.

“I hope you’ve only heard nice things about us. What do you want today?” I wonder what he is used to hearing in response. I want you and your love, and I will accept everything you would not give me. Will you be my boyfriend? My husband? Will you give me eternal love? Judging by the expression on Soomin's face, this is exactly what she wanted to ask him, but she pulled herself up in time.

“I want to taste your best dessert.” As they say, kill them with your sweetness. Where has my self-sufficiency and t.” As they say, “kill them with your sweetness.” Where has my self-sufficient and confident self gone? Soo, this blushing mess was nothing like hers.

“Of course, only the best is for you. And what do you want?” All his attention was now drawn to me, and I had no pleasure. Yoon Sung Hoon is clearly not used to girls not falling at his feet like moths hitting the glass. Our dislike was mutual. Our dislike was mutual. “What do you want, Sarang? I would recommend one of our most special desserts: a white chocolate soufflé with candied scarlet roses.” Sung Hoon was smiling, but not at all benevolent; there was something mocking in the exquisite curve of his lips, as if he were challenging me: “Come on, try me.”

Roses. Those damn roses again. It always came down to these flowers. Were they my path leading away from the dark forest, or would they lead me straight to the crystal coffin in the tallest tower of the castle?

Instead of politely refusing, as a true lady should, I have given a crude, hoarse, and utterly evil speech:

“I hate roses.”

For me, flowers are as beautiful as the pain of a broken heart. You can call me a heartbreaker. What will your heart taste like? I'm so eager to try it.

“My apologies.” Sung Hoon bowed his head, hiding his gaze in the lace of fluttering eyelashes and platinum bangs. With this simple action, Soomin once again made a barely audible, enthusiastic sound. “In this case, I offer you our signature chocolate fondant with raspberry jam and glass caramel glaze. Our clients say that he has a heavenly taste, so celestial that he can be sinful.”

Sung Hoon—there was something about him that disgusted me. His way of speaking, his appearance, his behavior—in general, every detail of it The most beautiful apple on the branch will always be wormy. I couldn't understand how he could charm girls in a split second, without any effort, as if it were in his blood—to cause desire and awe.

During our short conversation, Soo did not look at me once, inseparably studying every detail of the angelic man. If I make an incision in his skin, will the gold pour as befits angels, or will it be the viscous and black acid that Pandora once shed from her eyes?

I didn’t like it here. I didn’t like Yoon Sung Hoon, and he probably didn’t like me. How was I in his eyes—insignificant, puny, ordinary? Our dislike was mutual but totally unfounded; I just knew I didn’t want to be in the same space with him. I can’t breathe.

Guests always leave after dessert. I didn't want to linger, so I agreed to fondant. “Okay, I'll take fondant and cappuccino.” I looked at Soomin again; her thoughts were clearly elsewhere, judging by the bitten lower lip and flushed cheeks. “And matcha latte, please.”

“Of course, ladies…” With this phrase, he finally left us, and I sighed deeply.

“I think I'm in love, Sarang.” Apparently, with his passing, Soo’s brain has resumed active activity. “He absolutely justifies all the rumors about him.”

“Yeah, I can agree with that; he’s definitely something very special.”

After Sung Hoon served desserts and another 10 minutes of heated discussion of his appearance, our conversation took its normal course. It’s like ping-pong; the rules are very simple: move from one question to another, follow the theme, and don’t miss your turn. “How's the work?” “Everything is fine.” “How’s your boyfriend?” “You remember I told you we broke up?” “What have you been doing lately?” “Too much to do; I can’t remember, but recently I came back from Japan”, “Did you like it there?” “Great seats and great cuisine.” “How do you feel, Sarang?” Say it again; I didn’t hear you.

“How do you feel, Sarang?” Once again, you speak unclearly.

“How do you feel, Sarang?” It's so loud here, I can't hear you.

“Sarang?!” Can I skip my turn? I’m tired of this game.

I took a deep, slow breath.

“What do you want me to say, Soo? Something that will calm you down or something that should comfort me? ”

“Truth, Sarang. I want to hear the truth from you.” Soomin looked at me so carefully that it seemed as though she was looking straight into my soul.

My mind moved from one thought to another, not knowing what it would focus on. Truth. What is it like, this truth? She is like a beautiful, spiritually disheveled monster with a lesbian couple of black widows in an aquarium; she exists in an endless eternity of joyful decadence and an ecstatic nightmare.

It’s no big deal to tell someone the truth, but are you ready to see your own reflection in someone else’s eyes? They say alcohol is a liquid truth, but I think it's nothing more than a road strewn with bread crumbs, straight into a dense, dark forest. The more you drink, the deeper you go. Sometimes, through the intricately woven stems of condemnation and bitterness, subtle rays of understanding break through, like the light shed by the dual face of the moon. But this happens so rarely that the eyes themselves become accustomed to the surrounding darkness.

I’m still afraid of the dark and, therefore, of the truth. Now I’m sure I’m allergic to the world.

When I looked at the café, I noticed that there were many more people. Bunny girls with colorful barrettes occupied small transparent tables filled with all sorts of desserts; others, similar to porcelain dolls, put their palms to their cheeks, flushed with embarrassment, and laughed loudly, sitting in the same loggias as ours. The sounds of clicks from selfies and aesthetic Instagram photos did not subside for a second, as did the high play of voices merging with soft background music.

This probably wasn’t the best place for such a serious conversation, but was it ever the perfect place to have a heart-to-heart?

“Honestly, I don't know. Really?” I began, stirring the thick, fragrant foam from the cappuccino. It tasted like a first kiss—a little bitter, a little sweet—something that I would like to repeat again and again. “Secrets, secrets, and more secrets—everywhere I look, no matter what I ask, they only get bigger. Everything is as usual: Mina died, and the world is still spinning around her. Remember, I told you that they still send roses? I can say that soon the cemetery will start selling bouquets because there is simply nowhere to put them. Every day there are fresh flowers on the grave.” Maybe I sounded a little petty and annoyed, but I didn't care. “I may not seem like the best person on this planet, but sometimes I feel absolutely happy that I finally managed to bury her in the ground.” Yes, this is exactly the right moment; you are not mistaken. That was my truth, like salt and pepper, like ashes, like burned dreams.

Soomin shook her head negatively.

“You shouldn't talk about yourself like that, Sarang; you're not a bad person, and we both know it; everyone around you knows it; and even that bastard JiHo knows it. You have gone through a lot, and if I were you, I would have gone crazy long ago, but look at yourself: you are here with me, in the noise of the metropolis, and you have your whole life ahead of you.” She put her hand on top of mine, and the warmth of her body penetrated mine. “Mina was who she was, and neither you nor me nor anyone else could change her. So don't let her ghost poison your life. I'm not a fan of this entire Nancy Drew thing, but I won't dissuade you. If you want my help, I'm on board.”

I laughed bitterly, taking a sip of the coffee that had already cooled. There was something special about it—sweet, ice-cold coffee, like long-cooled love.

“Yeah, you’re right; she was who she was, but I guess we were wrong about that because those flowers broke her in half. In fact, that’s the whole point of the question: where did the roses come from? She was interested in nothing but flowers and some strange prayers. She frightened me. You know, at first it looked like another love of hers; everything was as usual—she talked incessantly about flowers and admired them, but the more roses they sent us, the less she was interested in the rest of the world. Mina withered and languished while the roses bloomed. I've never seen anyone come to our house or meet someone. Nothing, just roses—hundreds of roses. You just can't imagine how many there were.”

“You know, I don’t really want to imagine it. Okay, let’s say you find something in her files. What’s next? You really need this? Maybe we should just let go, you know, scatter the ashes to the wind.” Breaking off a slice of angel cake, Soo mooed in satisfaction as the dessert was in her mouth. “Mmm, I love sweets. Who handled her legal affairs? If this is one of the free lawyers, we should hurry; the queues in these cantors are worse than here.”

“No, no, we're not going to a free advocacy team. Wait a minute.” I pulled out of my purse a small card from a thick black cardboard and handed it to Soomin. Transparent gloss on a soft matt surface looked refined and very expensive, just like the business card itself. “Silver & Black LTD” was the name of the law firm that handled Mina’s affairs.

“You’re kidding me!” She exclaimed, almost burying her face in her business card. “That’s “Silver and Black.” How did she manage to work with them? They’re one of the most elite law practitioners in all of Seoul, and I’d say across Asia. Their lawyers are real sharks in their cases; for the existence of their practice, they have not lost a single case, and the bills for their services are simply cosmic. How does she have so much money? Sarang, did you inherit her sugar daddy too? If that's the case, ask for more; you're much more expensive than a cheerleader, and nerds are always sexier and more desirable.”

“Stop saying that like I’m a whore. I don’t know where she got the money, but are their services so expensive?” My surprise was obvious. Our family was not poor, but we were not rich; we occupied that golden layer in the class hierarchy where we could just live without any worries about tomorrow. Mina and I were well provided for, but judging by Soomin’s reaction, “Silver and Black” could afford only filthy rich and influential people.

“If I were to be offered the opportunity to trade my virginity for cooperation with them, I would have done it without hesitation. Are you sure we have an appointment with them?”

“Soomin!” Frankness was always such a simple thing for her that I felt awkward at such moments. “Of course, I called them yesterday to confirm the details.”

“What? The cult of virginity is overrated anyway, but now I'm much more interested in it.”

“Let me think, more amazing men?” “How did you guess?” Soo smiled sweetly, shoving another piece of dessert into her mouth. I snorted; I couldn’t help it. "Hey, don’t laugh! You should also consider new options, since you and JiHo have broken up. Listen to me, little Sarang, nothing will warm your bed better than a hot big boy."

"Ew, Soomin." She just laughed back.

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