#ghost eyes aquamarine au

[isaacvalley]

rudy

[hexonthepeach]

dive

pairing: f4!nct dojaejung x fem!reader (past johnny x reader mentions)

genre: hana yori dango/boys over flowers/meteor garden/f4 thailand reverse harem au (mild allusions and characterization only)

warnings: brief mentions of past bullying, dom!doyoung, hopelessromantic!jaehyun, mommykink!jungwoo, reader is a bit of a switch, smut (mmmf, double penetration, oral f & m receiving/giving, unprotected sex, anal, semi-public sex), degradation/humiliation kink (reader), pet names: baby, mommy (reader), puppy (jw)

wordcount: 10k

author's note: i wrote this as a distraction from other projects after listening to perfume on repeat and lamenting the end of promo. intended as a oneshot but i have some ideas for continuation. please let me know if you enjoy it (and more importantly, what you enjoy)

The Bangkok night is warm and thick and redolent with flowers. The expensive vacation home one of your three companions had arranged for your short stay is quietly luxurious, separated from the city bustle but still hazed with light past the high walls and thick foliage surrounding the pool. 

You'd never made a habit of asking who paid for what with your travel companions, but you guess by the mix of old world and new that it was Jaehyun's idea to stay here–perhaps even a Jeong family permanent accommodation. His family's import business had done well in the region, judging by the luxury sports cars parked in the driveway.

Everything about this trip is surreal–worse for the fact that a fourth presence lingers like a ghost in your periphery. 

He should have been here. Indeed, you've taken his place, filling the natural void like a small drop in an ocean-sized hole. 

Everything about this distraction brought you back to him: the rose petals strewn across your pristine bed, the snarling garuda statue lurking across the aquamarine oasis. 

Johnny is 8600 miles away and still very near. 

Jaehyun joins you at the pool's edge, slipping some well-concocted drink near your manicured fingers–most likely Jungwoo's contribution by the tasteful sprig of flowering basil. You'd refused multiple drinks at the club, still flagged from a day of travel and self-conscious of the eyes on your table and you’d finally agreed to one now that you were back safe in your own private enclosure.

He shucks off his sandals to dip his feet in beside yours, nudging you beneath the water to remind you that even with the grief that's hollowed you out inside, you're not alone.

Jaehyun doesn't speak–well accustomed to your need for silence when you've inevitably descended into that space again. 

Unfortunately, Doyoung isn't as accommodating. 

"What did we say about moping, Y/N?" A tall shadow stands beside you, swaying slightly. 

"I'm not moping," you say, sipping from your glass of Mekhong soothed with sugar and soda. "Just thinking."

"Wasn't the point of this vacation to get you to stop doing that?" Doyoung is touching his toe to the warm water when there's a sudden rush from behind you, a startled cry escaping the man before he hits the surface fully clothed. 

"Was he bothering you?" Jungwoo asks, looking completely unfazed about shoving the other man in.

"You bastard," Doyoung says, spluttering up and tossing his hair back as he holds his phone out of the water.

"It's waterproof."

"That's not–"

"I'll buy you a new one." 

"Now you're going to have him trying to return the favor," you say, giving him a sly smile.

"Oh I think I'll be alright," he says with a wink, backing up a few paces before cannon-balling in. If you'd been doused by Doyoung's ungraceful landing you're soaked thoroughly by the splash Jungwoo makes, finding yourself shielded by Jaehyun's torso wrapped around you. 

You hadn’t even thought to protect anything but your drink, your heart stuttering as you find yourself inches from his flushed face and rosy lips.

"You okay?" he asks, wiping water from your face with his silk sleeve. 

"Yeah," you say quietly. "Can't see the tears now, right?"

He blinks at you, believing you by the clouded expression in his dark eyes.

"I'm just kidding. Not crying, see." You smile at him as best as you can muster, hoping your carefully-applied makeup isn't running off your face. 

"Don't you want to join us?" Jungwoo has escaped Doyoung by pressing himself to your knees, shoulders well out of the water at standing level. You shake your head, suddenly shy.

"You should have let those girls come back with us," you say. "All that work wingmanning for nothing."

"Blame Doyoung for boring them talking about tariffs," Jungwoo says, ducking as the other shoves water in his direction. "Besides, we didn't want you to be alone."

"You know I don't mind, puppy." You tousle his wet hair, sipping deeply again. Through the fogged rim of your glass you catch his cheerful expression falter. It lasts only as long as he realizes Doyoung is floating on his back, swamping him with a tackle.

"I asked them to keep it just us for tonight." Jaehyun says, breaking his quiet. 

"Saving the party for Phuket!" Jungwoo shouts in the background, mispronouncing the first syllable deliberately to sound like fuck it.

"Have someone you're missing tonight, too?" Your tease lands with a thud, watching your best friend's mouth crease at the corner as he chews his lip. 

"I'm sorry, that was rude–"

"No," he says. "I know how you feel."

"How far away is Paris?" you ask, not expecting an answer.

"5 hours," Jaehyun says, grinning slightly. It's a callback to so many months of watching him stare out towards the airport from the school rooftop with you, letting you listen while he mused on what she might be doing at that hour, how long it would take to get there. 

You'd encouraged him even as your heart broke–feeling the dwindling embers of a schoolgirl crush on him turn to ash. You would never be as good as his childhood love, even if you had taken up her place as his companion seated beside him on the piano bench when he practiced, or studying beside him as he drifted off into one of his many naps.

It was better this way–more comfortable just being able to be with him without the worry that you could live up to her, your heroine in highschool. But there would always be something there.

Doyoung clambers out to sit beside you, far enough away not to dampen the fuschia Versace metal mesh minidress he'd gifted you earlier. It was the perfect costume to play the part of nouveau riche jetsetter for a girl who lived one step up from a basement apartment. 

No one would mistake you for class, or even an influencer, but in their company no one was looking at you anyway. Most people thought you were Doyoung���s assistant or Jungwoo’s sister. The nasty looks, sometimes worse, always followed when they introduced you as their friend.  

"What can we do to make this a magical night?" Doyoung asks. You find yourself unable to answer, eyes caught on the smooth definition of his chest through the barely buttoned translucent shirt he'd worn out. You note he's lost the matching loose tie, probably still wrapped around a girl's neck on the dance floor.

"It's already so nice," you say, looking up at the blink of stars through the light pollution. "Thank you for including me." 

"You think we'd leave you behind?" 

The way he says you carries all sorts of strange subtext, considering your history. It had been a long journey from being mercilessly bullied and shoved into the dirt you came from, as Johnny had called it, to here. The lap of luxury, attended to by three specimens of wealth and privilege so out of your league you may as well be batting a thousand.

"Well it’s not like I got you in the divorce," you say, knot twisting in your chest. "I guess even now it’s hard to tell if you’re just being nice to me because you feel bad for me."

"First of all, he left all of us," Doyoung corrects. His voice is a little raspy, as if he's controlling his emotions. The admission leaves you questioning. You knew how close they were but they'd never shown any sign of being affected by Johnny's sudden departure.

Maybe you'd just been too busy wallowing to notice. 

“Second, you’re special. Too special to let just anyone play with. If you hadn’t noticed, we enjoy your company.”

"And when have we ever done something nice?" Jungwoo rests his arms on your knees, almost pulling you into the water. Jaehyun pushes him back with his foot, earning a tug on his leg that does little to move his immovable weight. 

"You're a package deal, though. Like a blend," you raise your mostly empty glass to drive your horrible attempt at a metaphor to death. “Even with one ingredient missing you can’t beat the original.”

“Well I won’t deny you're a strange substitute,” Doyoung says, gracefully using your words to make his point. It reminds you of how he’d spent hours drilling you with details of tea ceremony when your ridiculous coworker had asked for a demonstration of his family’s heritage business. 

“But taste requires innovation, and it’s often the unexpected addition that changes the entire flavor profile. You’re new but you’re refreshing, and unique. Not something to be discarded because anyone demands it.”

“That’s a very poetic way of saying you still like me even if I’m an uncultured pain in the ass.”

"Poor little weed," Jungwoo says, hands splaying over your bare thighs before Jaehyun can foist him off again. “Are you insulting Doyoung’s taste? You're the first girl any of us have agreed on."

"I doubt that considering what I saw last Friday. Did all of you sleep in Doyoung's room or did you take turns–"

You catch Jungwoo's scheming look with Jaehyun right before the cocktail glass is plucked from your hand and you're picked up on both sides, Jaehyun lifting you by the waist and Jungwoo taking over once you're free of the edge.

"Let me go," you shriek, folding over his shoulder. 

"Are you sure?" Jungwoo bends his knees until your hem is submerged, not phased as you beat on his back with soft hits.

"At least toss me in so you can get a head start," you threaten. He indulges you, lifting you up out of the water like he's going to help you recreate that pivotal scene from Dirty Dancing only to throw you back and into the deep end. 

You hold yourself in a ball and sink, breath held, channeling your best hello darkness my old friend as you wait for the inevitable. It takes less than ten seconds before Jaehyun dives in after you, pulling you up.

“Got you,” you say, grinning through the trickles of warm water. Jaehyun looks less than amused, lips thinning into a tight line as water drips from his bleached blond hair.

"Don't scare us like that," Doyoung gripes, joining you a few seconds too late. You shoot him and Jungwoo a look over your perch on Jaehyun's arm, clinging to him for comfort.

“Yeah, please.” Jaehyun breathes. 

"Is my makeup coming off?" you ask. He's been staring at you funnily as you float beside him, bodies brushed up in the expansion of his clothing and the occasional contact with his frame.

"What?" Your best friend sounds dazed, water collecting in his dimples as he smiles softly.

"What?" You parrot, teasing, mirroring him in the way your eyes dart to his mouth, not surprised to find his lip trembling. His uplit face is shadowed with hidden feelings you can only guess at. 

That years-old urge to kiss him returns. It could be considered revenge for back when he'd grabbed you and given you a taste of what it would be like that day after he’d come back from his trip abroad. You'd melted into him like it was the most natural thing in the world, the illusion only broken when Johnny had slammed the rooftop door shut on the way back down, flowers for whatever apology he'd half-assed scattered across the dirty tar paper.

You'd slapped him afterwards, surprised to find him smiling. He's in love with you, isn't he? Had to be sure.

There'd been so many times after that he'd played with your feelings you'd lost count, but one constant remained: he would never pursue you fully if he believed it would hurt his best friend.

Your chest feels tight just imagining what might have been, had you changed course back then. But you've long given up dwelling on might have beens.

Jaehyun is less mercurial now that he's older so you’re the one to catch him by surprise, lips pressing to his cheek right beside his mouth–in the smile lines you know too well. It's a quick send-off before Jungwoo can grab his legs and pull him under from below. 

Doyoung takes the opportunity to capture you by the waist, keeping you from becoming a casualty of their underwater fight. He looks just as serious as always, even without his usual glasses.

"Sorry about the dress," you say, working to stay afloat.

He laughs at you, prone to condescension as always. "If you like it we can get you another. But do you really want to wear the same thing twice?"

"Some of us can't replace our wardrobe every week," you huff. 

"Are you under the impression I'm replacing a bespoke suit collection every week? All I'm saying is you should have a new dress for every occasion. Especially if you're with us."

You jab him in the side, surprised at the hardness of his ribs but also delighted by his startled wheeze. 

"I'm not your kept woman."

"Not even if we want to keep you to ourselves?" 

A little shiver runs through you, making eye contact with him as he mouths the waterline. It's said so innocently but you know better. He and Woo had been dropping double entendres since well before takeoff from Seoul.

Flirting was Jungwoo's thing, a silver lining to the dark shadow of a personality that enjoyed being subtly in control. As the future heir to a crime syndicate it was much better than experiencing his hidden anger. Doyoung though . . . as much as he dabbled in shadier scenes and pretended to be a womanizer he's old-old-old money, from a strata inaccessible to anyone who's genealogy can't be traced back to the Goryeo dynasty. 

The idea of him folding you into his life, much less keeping you, is absurd.

“Well that does seem to go against the whole idea of this being a trip to finally get over . . . everything,” you say, deflecting from his intensity. “What happened to letting me live like the F4 for one week?”

“Is this not it?” He quirks an eyebrow at you. 

“What if I want you to play wingman for me? Find me something meaningless to distract me?”

You're not expecting the dark storm that settles over his refined features.

“I think you have enough distractions here to keep you occupied.”

Your pulse picks up, hearing the hidden message loud and clear. He'd heard your laments to Jungwoo about how long it had been since you even thought about being with someone else, how you'd never really gotten to date after three brutal years of school, work, and accidentally making the worst chaebol tyrant in Seoul fall for you. 

Now that you're free for the first time in your adult life, you want to experience what it's like to be just another girl, like the ones they so frequently invited to their tables at function and club alike.

"Are you insinuating you're not going to let me bring anyone back if I find a fling? After I just spent all night singing your praises to a healthy pool of candidates? Double standard, much?"

Doyoung wraps an arm around you to keep your head from knocking against the tiled pool edge. He's backed you into it without you even noticing it. 

"You can try," he says, gripping the wall next to your cheek. "Though I would question the sanity and intelligence of anyone who took you up on it." 

There's his brand of cruelty: casual threats delivered without a hint of remorse. You'd been on the receiving end, perhaps were now, but you're not afraid of him in the slightest.

"You're not reporting all of this to him, are you?" 

Doyoung doesn't answer, nostrils flaring. 

"Or is he only texting 'Woo back?" you ask. 

"Who texted me?" Jungwoo asks with open curiosity behind him. 

Doyoung presses a single finger to your lips in warning, releasing you. 

"Didn't you get the number of that model? Miss Thailand 2016 runner-up?" You toss your head slightly to clear it, still feeling heat suffuse your cheeks from just a touch against your mouth. It really had been too long. 

"Oh she's too good for me," Jungwoo remarks, jokingly. "Besides, I already have a failed beauty queen right here." 

You snort. “In what world is second place a failure when it’s your first time?”

The contest had just been a university charity project but you'd worked hard to earn that spot after Johnny had entered you in as some kind of sick game from abroad. Jungwoo had helped you conquer it–had even got you a side gig modeling when his usual partner had dropped out at the last minute at one of his shoots. You’d just been there to deliver coffee and now you were on a cover being printed in 15 different countries. 

You always liked reminding Jungwoo of his Pygmalion moment because that's when you'd genuinely seen his kinder side–even if you suspected he may have threatened at least two of the judges to land you on the final stage. Losing had been worth it to spend time with the member of the F4 you’d never been close to in high school. 

"Maybe she doesn't deserve you," you say, swimming around him to grab him loosely around the shoulders. “Not many can appreciate having a personal rescue dog to save them from getting wrinkly fingers.”

You're immediately indulged, Jungwoo paddling you back to the shallow end where Jaehyun is lost in thought, staring at white blossoms from one of the trees in the courtyard floating in front of him. Doyoung is just as contemplative. 

It’s probably best to not let it stretch out any longer–you were always a fan of ripping the bandage off quickly even if it hurt. 

"I'm going to go take a shower and call it a night." You announce, hearing Jungwoo groan. "Unless . . ."

"Unless what?" Jungwoo perks. Jaehyun squints up at you where you stand over him. You look at Doyoung instead, as he drags himself out of the water to sit on the ledge beside the stairs.

"Unless you tell me what we really are."

The buzz of cicadas seems to die a little, soft music inside the house drifting out through the glass. 

"Friends, hopefully?" Jungwoo says.

"Well you aren't bullying me anymore, so yes. But friends don't keep their friends from moving on from past relationships."

"That's not at all—" Doyoung begins.

"Let me finish," you interrupt. He's immediately quiet, throat bobbing as he looks beside you at Jaehyun's taut shoulders.

"I'll never fit in with you or your world but we both stopped judging each other for that a long time ago, I think. I like spending time with you, I like knowing you'll still include me even if . . . " You can't bring yourself to say Johnny's name. "Even if I'm just another ghost who's outstayed her welcome."

It was their term for dropped flings and casual encounters, with a whole subset of terminology for the ones who couldn't get the hint (poltergeist), or lost their cool at their dismissal by screaming and crying (banshees). 

It hadn't been like that for you even the second or fifth time Johnny had broken up with you–always for reasons out of your control. You'd shown him the same aggression and cruelty in answer, but you’d never begged for him to take you back, ever, and you certainly had never sought out his friends. 

It had always been their prerogative to spend time with you, and you’d leaned into it your freshman year of university study and singlehood, wanting the support network denied you by being alone and poor in a city you could barely afford. You’d never take their money but you had accepted their company, and had enjoyed it far more than you could have imagined. 

Even if it kept you in Johnny Suh’s outer orbit, what you had with them meant something to you. You didn’t want to lose it when he came back. From the press releases about his recent promotion, it would seem to be soon.

Waiting for that inevitability is like attending your own funeral before you’re dead, pallbearers for company. 

"You're not a ghost," Jaehyun says. "And we won't abandon you, ever."

"You'll just keep me and this dynamic trapped in amber until Johnny changes his mind, then? It's been a year already. I don't want to lose any more of my youth to him, and I don't want to lose you when he comes back and you all act like he's done nothing wrong."

"That won't happen," Doyoung says, sighing. 

"No, because I'll leave before then." You get out of the water, brushing your face free of the hot tears. "Wouldn't want to ruin your fun."

Jaehyun pulls you back, strong enough you lose your footing and sink into his submerged lap. 

"You're not going anywhere," he says. There's no malice or anger in his tone, just quiet assurance. He cleans your face again, blue silk cuff coming away black with mascara. 

"You asked what we are. Remember when you used to come sit next to me under that stupid ad?" 

"Yeah?" you sniff. You'd spent hours with him sitting on a city bench as he stared up at a billboard for luxury clothing with her face on it. She’d been the dream he chased at your urging, the fantasy that had sadly broken with proximity.

"When I was in France, after things became clear, I would go and sit somewhere and pretend like you were there with me."

"I hope it was somewhere fun, like the Louvre," you joke. 

"Too crowded." He shakes his head, smirking. "Would look weird talking to myself."

"Oh you talked to invisible me but you couldn't pick up the phone once?"

He shakes his head again, squeezing you. 

"Anyway. The point is you're stuck with me. And them."

"And Johnny . . .?" 

"Stop bringing up our ex," Doyoung says. Not your ex, our ex. 

"It's a valid concern," you say, adjusting in Jaehyun's hold to rest your head against his damp shoulder. "I'm not going back to him. And I know you'll choose him over anyone else."

"No," Jaehyun says. 

"You're the exception." 

You lift your head to blink up at Doyoung.

"Didn't think you made those."

"Well you just haven't spent enough time with me, then."

"You planning on spending time with me?" You smile lazily, hand drifting to squeeze his leg. It's always fun to see his unflappable face twitch.

"He already blocked off half his itinerary for private tours. Jaehyun had to fight him to split it equally," Jungwoo says. Doyoung splashes water into his face with his foot.

"I wanted it to be a surprise," he says sourly. 

"Like the massage tomorrow morning?" 

This time Doyoung's kick makes waves wash over you and Jaehyun, leaving you spluttering.

Jungwoo takes it, smiling once his floppy brown hair is pushed back out of his eyes again. He grins at you from the water. "You'll take your dog for a walk when you remember I exist, right?" 

"Why not just come with us?" You'd often wondered if there was an invisible tether for how often they appeared together.

Doyoung clears his throat, Jaehyun shifting uncomfortably under you. 

"What am I missing?" You laugh awkwardly, looking between them. 

"I forget the only man you've ever dated never dated anyone seriously, either." Doyoung looks somewhat pleased with himself. "Traditionally when you spend time with someone you're interested in you don't have company–"

Shock runs through you like ice dumped over your head. "You can't be serious."

Doyoung's face is incredibly serious, Jaehyun's proving only a little more relaxed about the disclosure. You turn around to Jungwoo, floating nearby with a humored expression. 

"You're not part of this are you, 'Woo?"

"Of course I am. You deserve a break from stuffy museums and romantic dinners to have some real fun."

His eyebrows lower a bit in some sinister joke, and for the first time a little fear courses through you. It's been a long time since you saw their manipulative and controlling side, but bringing you to a foreign country to date you, their best friend’s ex, without telling you . . . That's a whole new level of it.

"This isn't a competition, is it?" You hide the tremor in your voice. 

"Between us? Of course it is," Jungwoo says.

"And the terms?" You look at Jaehyun, who is unable to meet your gaze. "Let me guess, whoever fucks me first?" 

His eyes widen in genuine dismay, panicking. "No, of course not–we just wanted to give you a chance to decide if . . ."

"If what?" 

"If you liked one of us more than the others," Doyoung finishes for him. 

You find yourself breathing heavily, face flushed. 

"What if I can't choose?" You ask, gaze fixing on Jaehyun's mouth as he bites his lip, still looking guilty. 

"If you decide you don't want to be with any of us, then things stay the same. Nothing changes. We'll still be friends." He says it all slowly, deliberately, almost as if it’s rehearsed.

"And if I choose one of you? Do I get to suffer the jealousy complex of another deeply insecure and emotionally unavailable man?"

That hits them where it counts. They'd all watched Johnny take out his fears on you, masked under bravado, posturing for an audience that more often than not was just you and his friends. His peers had rarely done the same, unless you counted Jungwoo following his enforcement orders like a loyal hound or Doyoung orchestrating clean-ups. 

No, they'd skated clean through multiple horrorshows by simply being there to throw their weight. No one else had the notoriety and resources to cover up the trail of damage left in Suh's wake.

You stand up again, turning between them. "And none of you are worried about Johnny finding out?"

A lump forms in your throat, bitterness about even having to invoke your own personal demon. Yes he'd walked away, but you knew his sense of entitlement would never allow his interests to be compromised by another–especially his closest companions.

And here they are, looking between each other and discussing your fate with the deliberate calm of a business transaction.

Apparently the only consequences were for you.

"Or is that the real game you're playing here," you ask. "Degrade me so far in his eyes he'll want nothing to do with me while you write me off as disloyal trash."

Jaehyun sucks his breath in through his teeth, and you note how hurt he looks. Jungwoo seems even more upset, full bottom lip jutting out.

"I know what you've been through, and I know it will be a long time to forget," Doyoung says. "But we're not him."

You remember an old saying your father had taught you: when you're holding a hammer everything looks like a nail. Better applied to problem-solving perhaps, but you'd also been dealing with one, giant nail-shaped problem since he'd crashed into your life. It was stuck in your heart and time and healing hadn't removed it. Maybe it was permanent, but you still had to live with it. 

"I just don't understand how you think you think this will work."

"You're awfully concerned about what he thinks," Jungwoo says, rising over you. "What about moving on?" 

"I don't give a fuck what he thinks. I'm just looking out for you. You know he'll punch first and ask questions later. What if he does something reckless?"

Jungwoo is laughing at you through closed lips, eyes crescented in mirth. "We have you to protect us, right? Just roundhouse kick him in the face again."

“That was lucky,” you say. “He wasn’t trying to murder me, either. There’s probably an American hitman on his way right now to take us all out and make it look like an accident.” 

“He would definitely hire locally,” Jungwoo corrects you. 

“And here I thought you were braver than that,” Doyoung muses. “Do you think we need his permission? You certainly don't.”

That makes you pause. You look at Jaehyun. Of all the people in the world he was the closest to their former leader. They’d fought even more than he and you had, and Jaehyun had always conceded, taking it on the chin, letting Johnny drag him along in his wake. The one time he'd stood up to him had been for you and it had almost fractured everything irreparably.

His black eyes pierce into you when he looks up. 

“I think y/n can make any decision she wants to,” he says dangerously. “None of us will stand in your way, whatever you choose.” 

“You promise?” you ask, tilting your head to let your wet hair brush over your bare shoulder. 

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Jungwoo says. 

You wait for the others to show visual signs of concession: Jaehyun nodding, Doyoung making the sign of the cross in what is an obvious misuse of the gesture. 

“Good. Because if Johnny finds out what I’m doing on this trip, he’s not the only one who will kill you.”

"I think we should start enacting a punishment whenever she brings him up again," Doyoung says.

"Great idea," Jungwoo says, sweeping you into his wet hold from behind. The chill you'd been feeling exposed to the air dissipates a little, his warm chest against your bare shoulders. You shiver a little at the intimacy, feeling him laugh even if he doesn’t make a sound.

“What will it be?” Doyoung defers to Jaehyun.

He leans back . “She does something to distract herself.”

You purse your lips together, affecting an air of deep thought. "My choice?"

"Always," he says, not breaking eye contact. 

"Rock, paper, scissors, then." You nod at him. He grins, Doyoung groans. Jungwoo's long arms wrap around your waist, hands already in position. 

"Surely there's a better way we could eliminate your options," Doyoung says, almost missing the cue and throwing paper to the other two's scissors. 

"Better luck next time," you tease.

"Kiss it for luck." The back of Jungwoo's hand presses to your mouth moments before Jaehyun initiates. 

Jungwoo loses the second quick round after a draw, crushed by Jaehyun's rock. 

"I should have known you were cursed." Jungwoo pouts, not letting you free until you've ducked back into the water to escape him. You give him a wink as you swim towards the stairs, emerging between Jaehyun's spread legs before he can close them. 

"What are you doing?" he asks, warily, still leaned back against the last stair.

"What I want," you say, blinking drops from your lashes. You move weightlessly on to his thighs, grabbing his soft face in your hands. He's unable to process what's happening quickly enough to respond as you tilt his face up and press a gentle kiss to his parted mouth. 

You ignore Jungwoo's wolf-whistle in the background, partially aware Doyoung has shifted nearby the moment you'd slid into your friend's lap. All that is noise as the gentle sound of the water feature drowns the startled sound you make when you're grabbed and pulled back to Jaehyun's mouth. 

This time it's real: solid and delicious as he crushes against you, tongue sliding across the seam of your lips until you let go of your held breath to softly exhale into his. Small dips of his chin coax you into opening for him, your hands threading into his hair to anticipate his movements as he kisses you like it's the last time in his life he'll ever get the chance. 

"That's enough," Doyoung says, Jungwoo booing him. 

The other two may as well not exist, your thumbs circling Jaehyun's cheekbones as you retreat to inspect the damage. He's usually so composed it feels like peering into a different universe's version of him, rapture and satisfaction warring with concern in his expression. 

"Thank you," you whisper. His eyes focus again, teeth exposed as he tongues them. 

"Any time," he says. It's funny how instantly he regrets the word choice, the pink in his ears and cheeks deepening.

"Not thinking about you-know-who now, are you?" Jungwoo asks, right behind you. 

"No," you say. "But I suspect you wish I'd say yes if only for the consequences."

"That was hot," he admits. "But I don't typically like my prospects thinking about other men." 

"Can I tell you a secret?" You crook your finger, clutching on to Jungwoo's wet patterned shirt when he leans down far enough to be in range. 

"I only made you play for it so we could find out who goes first." You say it in his ear, letting your mouth drag against the shell.

He pulls back, hesitant, nose brushing against your cheek. 

"Really?" 

"Kiss me and find out," you offer. 

He doesn't wait, lashes against his cheeks as he meets you halfway, tilting your head to the side for full exploration of your lips. He's much gentler than you expected, shy almost, tender even when your tongue meets his and you can taste the hint of sticky mango rice you'd had for dessert earlier. 

"Good boy," you say once you've broken free. He smiles in the way you're used to the most, right side of his face crooking with an edge of deviousness.

You turn to find Jaehyun watching, eyes starry with arousal but unreadable. Doyoung is on his feet as if he's preparing his exit, expression stony. 

"Is something wrong?" you ask, meeting his calculating stare.

Doyoung opens and shuts his mouth, water pooling at his feet. 

"Not enough punishment for you?" There's an edge to your voice that you recognize as the tone you'd used many times before, in your idiotic quest to tame one of his own. 

The tension breaks when Doyoung laughs softly, crouching down and crooking his finger. You wade up the steps to meet him, hyper aware of the drag of eyes on you as you emerge from the water, dress clinging to your skin. 

"I planned out such a nice trip for you, and this is what you really want?" Doyoung asks, eyes traveling down your body and back to your face in the kind of assessment that you'd seen other people wither under. 

"Why do you think I agreed to come?"

“Noted.”

He nods, slightly, but makes no move to take what you'd already given the others. You don't let it dissuade you, fingers digging into the hard line of his shoulders to press your lips to his. 

It's like kissing a statue. A challenge you're willing to meet as you delve further, rocking him back on his heels. You pry open his mouth with gentle bites and licks between each kiss, past his perfect teeth until you can explore his tongue with your own. You don't realize your hands are fisted in his wet hair until you're done, finding him collapsed on the wet cement, panting. 

"Was that sufficient punishment?" you ask.

"For you? Absolutely not," Doyoung says, the rare full smile gracing his kiss-swollen mouth. "For them? Yes."

You glance back at your other two companions, clocking that they're both nearer than you remembered. Jaehyun's hand drifts over your hip, as if he's questioning letting you go in the first place. 

"Should we set some rules? Or are you all going to take them as an excuse to break them?"

Jungwoo chuckles. 

"No competition. Equal time, equal attention. And no possessiveness," you state. Doyoung looks up from under his brows with amusement, clearly enjoying your groundless attempt to set boundaries. 

"I don't care what you throw at me as long as you don't walk back what you said about our friendship."

"I think we're something different now," Jaehyun says, voice cracking.

"I know," you say. You run a hand over his head, feeling his temple come to rest against your waist. "But you crossed that line first. I'm just saving you the trouble of playing some silly game to come on to me. I'm not a prize to win. I'm a person who knows you all better than you think."

You turn to Doyoung again, holding your ground. "You said you'd give me the true F4 experience."

"Within reason," he demures. 

"Then lose your hangups and let me have a taste of what it's like to be just one of those girls you have no problem with having fun with. No special treatment, no regrets."

The stunned silence has you feeling a twinge of embarrassment at pushing your agenda this far.

"Impossible," Jungwoo answers. 

"Why not?"

He pulls the hair away from your neck to kiss beneath your ear. Gooseflesh appears on your arms even in the warm air, anticipating his answer, but he's too occupied with trailing his mouth down, sucking lightly over your pulse. You feel dizzy, hand reaching back to hold his head to you.

Once he's had enough of watching you unravel Doyoung jerks you forward, grip tight around your wrist.

It's a familiar gesture, a reminder you are at their mercy. He cuffs his hand around your neck like he's going in for another kiss, stopping at a few inches. 

"You don't get to set all the rules. This one especially. You are not just some girl with whom we engage in forgettable, inconsequential relations."

He pauses, eyes darting to your mouth before meeting yours again. "If we go down this path you're getting the real thing. All of it."

"We know you have experience." Jungwoo adds. 

Oh you knew. They fucked around but they were careful about it, always gentlemen, always above board. NDAs in some cases, mostly for Doyoung. You didn’t know all of their specific proclivities outside of Jungwoo exclusively chasing women a generation older but you suspected whatever they enjoyed was much less wholesome. 

Like Johnny's needs once he'd finally had you. He'd bent that way and much, much more. The difference was he'd never been as precious with you as they were with their little conquests.

If they didn't want the safety of a legal cushion it didn't mean they didn't need it–they just didn't think it would be a problem.

"I'm sure you've heard a lot of things about me," you say. A whisper of rage underlies the words, colored by so many rumors foisted on you well before you'd ever accepted their company–even more when they had. 

Whore. Cockslut. Used goods.

Johnny had always been a contradiction–surprisingly prudish about sex but quick to use the grossest allusions to it when pressed for details by his friends, liberal in his name calling. They'd known him since childhood–they didn't believe him, even if everyone else had taken his words as gospel. You'd had your revenge by proving just how true those words could be in private.

"We don't know anything you don't," Jaehyun says, quickly. 

"Still, I don't think you know what you're signing up for," you say. "If anyone is using anyone in this arrangement, it's going to be me. Or I'm out."

"You worried we can't show you a good time?" Jungwoo asks. It's a funny question with him pressed into your back like he'll push your head down into the water if you answer incorrectly.

"I'm worried you'll chicken out," you say, grabbing Doyoung's wrist to keep his fingers on you, covering them with yours to increase the tension. You'd always been strong.

Doyoung's expression is matched by his lingering hold on your throat, squeezing a little and making your eyes drift shut in pleasure.

"You always did seem to enjoy the humiliation a little more than our other targets. Can't say it wasn't an encouraging factor. You like it, don't you?"

He lets you go with a slight push, registering the way your eyes haze over with reflected lust.

"Yeah. Blame a few formative years of getting my signals crossed. Just part of the damage." There's no shame in your voice, another casualty of their efforts.

"You're not damaged," Jaehyun remarks.

"Not beyond repair," you agree, gaze burning into Doyoung's. His regard is a thousand times more revealing than a kiss, most especially the tic in his cheek every time Jungwoo decides to leave a mark with his tongue and teeth on your throat and you reward him with a moan.

"Should be fun seeing which one of us can push past your comfort zone, then," Jungwoo says, breath cooling the last bruise he's left on the back of your neck. "Find out if you have one."

"You're not dropping the competition?" 

Nervous anticipation gives you butterflies, different than the ones springing up being teased by the three of them. Not one of them accepted being outclassed.

"No." Jaehyun says it well before the others. His hands drop to your legs to hold you steady as Jungwoo continues his assault on your neck. "But equal opportunity. I think we can all agree on that."

"Don't worry, we'll play fair," Jungwoo says, biting your shoulder. You jerk in his grasp, vaguely aware of fingers at your hem. Doyoung continues to watch, tongue darting over his lips.

"I hope not," you say. "I won't."

It's all the permission your captors need.

Your breath stutters as Jaehyun's hand slides up your inner thigh, circling the wet skin absent-mindedly. You whine a little, teased by the first intimate touch you've had in months.

"You better stay quiet. We do have neighbors," Doyoung says, voice pitched low.

"Think you can shut me up?"

He takes the hint, sliding his legs back over the ledge, letting you finish unbuttoning his shirt to expose his creamy skin. You spread your fingers over his firm abdomen, flicking aside the sheer fabric. He's intoxicatingly sensitive, muscles tensing as you follow the path of water down his long waist.

"You sure you want to play this game?" Doyoung asks, hand resting on your shaking fingers as you struggle to unbutton his damp jeans.

You look down at Jaehyun, smiling at him when you find he's still enraptured by your upper thighs. You wait until he looks back up, head cocked for permission.

"You alright with sharing me, tonight?"

Miles are crossed, bridges are burned as he contemplates the ask, returning to his shy efforts at warming your naked skin, lifting your hem to dangerous territory.

"Wouldn't dare stand in your way."

Jaehyun's approval is the best thing you've seen in a long time, even more so when he adjusts to be eye level with your now exposed underwear, back pressed to Doyoung's leg. 

Jungwoo tugs at the strap of your dress playfully. 

"Can puppy wait his turn?" you ask, looking up at your other torturer. 

Jungwoo kisses you over your shoulder, messily, before casually breaking one of the thin straps of your dress where it's attached to the delicate gold cherub adornment. The night air pebbles your skin, exposed nipple hardening more as he trails a fingertip lazily around it.

"As long as you need." 

He angles you down a bit towards the other man, just as Jaehyun's mouth finds you through the thin fabric of your lingerie–hot and perfect. Your knees are already weak and you have to catch yourself on Doyoung's thighs as you're touched and kissed and licked, still partially submerged and torn between warm and warmer.

There's a bit of menace in Doyoung's face, watching you unzip and find his length. He adjusts a little when you tug down the elastic waistband of his underwear, his cock already mostly erect despite the water. He's not as big as Johnny but perfectly sized, long and veined as he hardens in your hand. 

You experiment with laves of your tongue against his flushed head, watching him for a reaction through your lashes.

"Sucking me off before I can even take you on a proper date." He tsks, the sound changing when you lower your head, tongue folding around his tip to devour him whole. 

"You look so good with my cock in your mouth," he says. "Wish I could take a picture–"

You cut him short by taking him deeper, feeling him press at the back of your mouth. It's been awhile since you tested your gag reflex.

Thankfully Jaehyun has compromised on watching you while pushing your underwear into your sticky folds, Jungwoo playing with your breasts in the most maddening way possible with soft flicks and tugs. 

Both of them are sending you skyrocketing to a level of joy yet unexperienced this lifetime, much less this year. You have to concentrate on Doyoung to keep from falling apart too quickly.

Jungwoo's long fingers help clear your hair from your face so you can breathe, giving them all a better view as you choke, letting drool slip from your mouth as you take it deep and hard. 

The noises coming from your throat are nowhere near as obscene as the sounds Doyoung makes, angled back and thrusting weakly with each moan. You always thought his voice was beautiful, scratchy and breathy, but hearing him say your name in between gasps has your entire body enflamed. 

"Fuck, you're good," Doyoung says quietly, angled back on his elbows. 

Jungwoo holds your damp hair back, wrapping it in his fist to help guide you more gently. You relax your throat and take it, tears leaking from your eyes. If touch had you vibrating before, the sensation of being debased in this way has you dripping, your arousal exposed by Jaehyun's fingers slipping your panties down to the water.

"She's soaked," he says, running a single finger through your folds. You answer with a groan, other hand in his hair to hold him back before he can dip in again.

Jungwoo tests you, too, giving you a few swipes to collect your slick. He brings his fingertips to your mouth when you finally take a breath, letting you clean them.

It's delightful how Doyoung is unraveling already, arched back, eyes glassy. He drinks in the sight of you sucking two of Jungwoo's fingers until your cheeks hollow.

"You think you can finish what you started?" you ask.

"I don't think I'll ever want it to end," he admits.

"How about coming on my tongue?" You ask, pumping him slowly. You chase the taste of yourself with kitten licks of the beads of white on his head, going lower to trace his veins. 

"Only if you want to swallow everyone tonight," Doyoung says. The offer is tempting. You hesitate long enough that he reads you like an open book, adding an edge of threat. "Or do you want to be stuffed like the little whore you are?"

The affectation has you seizing up in long-withheld gratification. Jungwoo grinds against your ass as Jaehyun ignores your hold to finally lick long paths up your inner thighs, chasing trails of slippery arousal and water to dive in, fingers spreading your legs wide.

It's impossible to find a retort, sinking back into Jungwoo's embrace as you're attacked from below.

"I think you should only fuck me if you can make me come," you counter. "And it's still Jaehyun's turn–"

Your words are punctuated by a cry, Jungwoo's hand clapped over your mouth as Jaehyun pumps into you with two fingers, hooking into your g-spot.

"Ooh," Jungwoo says over your head. "Guess you'll have to wait." 

Doyoung sighs, taking over with his hand when you're bodily dragged back, Jungwoo lifting your dress to take it off. 

"Leave it on," Doyoung says. "The ravaged look suits her." 

You shoot him a look, unable to maintain your expression when Jaehyun's mouth works likes he's devouring you in turn, teeth scraping as he explores every inch of you, teasing your clit with darts of his tongue. Jungwoo frees your mouth to let you breathe, babbled words of praise spilling from you in between small cries.

"So good, so right, god, fuck–fuck." You're inarticulate as Jaehyun pumps his fingers slowly, spreading you and pressing right below his languid tongueing. Jungwoo's attention returns to your sensitive breasts, gently twisting each bud between his fingertips. 

"Keep it down," Doyoung warns, but it's impossible. 

Electric tingles spread down to your toes, tipped against the smooth pool floor. You let yourself relax in Jungwoo's hold, curling over your lover's head. Jaehyun is incredibly careful with you even as you're brought deeper, water lapping at his collarbones as he holds you spread and licks you in broad swaths. 

"Need a hand?" Jungwoo asks, somehow catching Jaehyun's nod mid-effort. You're unmoored by the hand that slips in from behind, fingers curling into you shallowly, water lapping your immersed buttocks. Jaehyun gives up control but he's still also buried in you, drawing wetness out of you with each stroke of his fingers.

Jungwoo matches his speed, knuckle to knuckle, as Jaehyun moves up to apply pressure to your clit again. 

"You two can get her ready. I want her after she's been used," Jungwoo says. 

"Of course you do," Doyoung says, dropping back in the water, demanding your attention. You indulge him with your hand, pumping him loosely beneath the surface. It's hard to coordinate as Jungwoo's hand fucks you into the pressure of Jaehyun's grip tight on your upper thighs, each circle of his tongue on your clit making your vision shimmer. 

"She's so close. Bet we can make her squirt." 

"No," you say, automatically self-conscious. 

"Did you hear that? She thinks she has a choice." The heel of Jungwoo's palm smacks wetly against your ass as he finger-fucks you, already too much before Jaehyun seems to pull you towards him, pressing hard into your walls. It's unlike anything you've ever felt, completely at their mercy as Jaehyun applies suction to your clit to bring you to the brink. 

"Come for us," Doyoung says. He's pressed to your side, rutting against your waist while taking your mouth to keep the shriek building inside your throat muffled.

There's no controlling the powerful waves tearing through your core, your legs shaking and buckling as the orgasm begins and doesn't seem to end, torn from you between all three of them. A hot gush of liquid coats your thighs as you throb around their fingers, pleasure morphing into pain until you're begging for them to stop. 

Jaehyun is the first to let you go, rising to share your release with a crushing kiss that takes your breath away, Jungwoo's fingers still reaching deep inside you.

"Good girl," Jungwoo says. "Was that your first time?"

You nod, cheeks hot, forehead pressed to Jaehyun's. You cling to him, still not quite down to earth from your climax. 

"Thank you," Jaehyun says, laughing slightly. "Was that too intense?"

"No," you shake your head. "Just hold me, please."

"Forever," he says, lifting you to straddle his hips. He manages the stairs to collapse on the deck, wrapping you tight in his arms as you kiss him deeply, cleaning his face of your release with gentle swipes of your fingers.

"You sure you don't want to go inside?" he asks, when you begin to unwrap him from his shirt. 

"I need you so much," you say. "I can't wait another moment."

He grins, shyly, kissing you as you help him out of his undershirt to reveal his swimmer's frame, triangular torso buckling into visible abdominal muscles. He's breath-taking, even more beautiful when you help him out of his pants and underwear to find his thighs flexed beneath his hard cock, shorter but thicker and so perfectly full and ready for you to sink down on. 

He doesn't question taking you raw–brow furrowing in concentration as you adjust to his girth slowly.

"We'll do this without an audience soon," you whisper, hoping he can still hear you as he bottoms out in your heat and his eyes flutter shut. 

"Yeah," he says, breathily. He's not moving, soaking in the sensation of having you completely wrapped around him. "I couldn't wait, either. You feel just as perfect as I imagined."

"So good," you assure him, moving for him. The lingering effects of coming harder than you think you ever have in your life aren't stopping you from bearing down on him, taking him harder and deeper with his wide shoulders for leverage. 

"Fuck, baby," Jaehyun growls. "I'm not gonna last like this."

He takes control with a firm grasp on your waist, pumping up into you. Soon he's bouncing you mercilessly into his hips, laid back on his wet clothes.

You haven't forgotten about the other two men, not when Doyoung's kneeled behind you, straddling Jaehyun's legs to stroke himself against the swell of your ass. 

Jungwoo grabs your hand to wrap around his own exposed cock, letting you feel him before you can even take in the sight of him bobbing over your head. Your finger and thumb can barely connect around his shaft, length too much to fit half of it in your mouth before you know it will be in your throat. Now you understand why the screams you'd heard from his room always sounded on the borderline of pain. 

"Too much for you?" He asks, angling the velvety soft head to catch on your open lips. Jaehyun slows down his thrusts to let you ease into taking the other man, pumping Jungwoo's base as best as you can as you sloppily accept the suffocation.

"Must have had a lot of practice getting your throat fucked to take me so well," he says, angling your head to move past the back of your tongue. You can't answer so you squeeze his balls instead, applying just enough pressure with your nails to have him groaning in appreciation. 

You lose your rhythm when you feel spit drip down your back, Doyoung collecting your earlier release from your thighs and mixing it with his saliva to rub his fingers against your puckered hole.

"Are you gonna be a good girl for all of us?" he asks, pressing a digit into the ring of muscle, causing you to choke on the heavy weight in your mouth.  

Jungwoo pulls out, saliva trailing from your lips as he gives you a break to adjust. You press your forehead to the sheer tank separating you from his flat belly as you look over your shoulder.

"I can take it," you say, trying to relax. Doyoung inserts another slender finger, making you clench around him and Jaehyun until the other man is panting. 

"I didn't ask if you could take it. I asked if you were going to be good."

"Fuck me and find out," you taunt. He's not like the others–he denies you anything but the wedge of his fingers into your ass, adding a third to stretch you when you're not loose enough. 

Jaehyun fucks against the intrusion, holding out until you're closer as he twines his fingers with yours and watches you work Jungwoo's oversized cock in your mouth and hand. 

"Knew you were a little slut who wanted to have all her holes stuffed. One of us wasn't enough for you, you had to make us share. I'm the only one who gets to fuck this tight little ass, though."

Doyoung drops another gob of spit on the dimple at the base of your spine, letting it slide over the gape left when he slides out his fingers. You cry out at the first intrusion of his cock into your barely-lubed hole, fighting to stay on top of Jaehyun as he works in with shallow thrusts, inch by agonizing inch.

"Keep forcing me out," Doyoung says. "I'll just fuck you harder." 

As if to prove his point he grabs on to your ruined dress at the back, arching your spine for you and making you take him deeper. The burning pain blurs into delicious aching pleasure–you needed this more than you could have even imagined. Jaehyun grunts inarticulately, palming your breasts and squeezing them in time to the ecstatic shudders rolling through your body as you're filled. 

"Open up for me," Jungwoo says, cock back in your gaping mouth. You let him hold you by the hair to fuck into your mouth, spit and tears mixing to splash on your breasts. 

When they resume their individual efforts you feel yourself being pulled apart by sensation, only able to manage sharp breaths through your nose to keep from drowning as tears leak from your eyes and sobs rip from your throat. 

"No cumming until she creams herself on Jaehyun," Doyoung says, reaching around to press hard into your clit. It's a hard ask with how overstimulated you already are but you can feel your muscles tightening against your will. Doyoung and Jaehyun's uhhs and mms mix in your ears, Jungwoo softly praising you when your jaw relaxes to swallow him despite the rock of your body against the other two. 

"Fuck she's so tight," Jaehyun says. "I don't know if I can wait."

"Wait." Doyoung orders, picking up his pace. "She's close. Make sure she remembers to breathe."

Jungwoo groans, pulling out with a last slap of his head on your tongue, letting you lap at the precum leaking from him. "You two are useless." 

He kneels down beside you, wresting Doyoung's hand away from your sore folds and rubbing soft, tight circles around your nub. It's not the stimulation as much as his mouth on yours, kissing with as much care and intimacy as you'd felt before, that carries you to a peak again.

"Oh fuck," Jaehyun says, lifting you with a last upwards jerk of his hips and spilling inside you. The rush of warm heat is so good you chase it, overworked muscles unable to hold against the sensation and twitching powerfully around both of their cocks buried deep inside you. 

Just as quickly your knees give out, collapsing half on Jaehyun and Jungwoo. Doyoung's shallow movements turn violent as he no longer bothers to keep you locked on Jaehyun, thrusting a few more times into your throbbing heat before emptying himself and pulling out to rub the last few spurts onto your skin.

"Shh," Jungwoo says when you continue to whimper, sniffling from the tears sliding down your cheeks. "You're almost done."

You shake your head half-heartedly, clinging to his shirt. You're dizzy, adrenaline fading and leaving you boneless and blotted out.

"Please. Maybe just a breather?" you beg. "My legs . . ." 

Jaehyun lifts you, and you hiss at the raw pain of your abused knees, grit brushed away by someone else's hands.

"Poor baby." Doyoung says. "Should have done this in bed but you just couldn't wait."

"'S fine," you mumble, swimming in the glow of your last orgasm. "Bed sounds nice."

"Get a towel," Jungwoo says, and Jaehyun rushes to grab one for you. Instead of cleaning or drying you off Jungwoo carries you to the edge of the pool, slipping in and cramming the soft fabric under you as he lets your legs dangle over the edge and into the water.

"What are you doing, puppy?" You manage to ask, holding on to his neck.

"Don't worry. I'll be careful," he says, palming himself between your legs. "Someone want to keep her head up? I need her to watch." 

Jaehyun adjusts to embrace you from behind, spreading your limp legs so they can all see the steady leak of cum from your gaping holes. You hear the telltale click of a picture being taken, distantly aware Doyoung's phone is still–obviously–working.

"What . . . ?" You ask drowsily, acquiescencing to the pull of your dress over your head and off of you. You shiver deeply, warmed by the body heat of the man behind you as the other strips in front of you. 

"You're going to come for us one more time," Jungwoo says, rising out of the water to pump himself at your leaking core. "I'm not letting you go until I can wring every last drop out of you."

"Fuck," you protest, writhing as he pulls you almost off the hard deck and onto his ready length. Jaehyun holds you tight, arm under your breasts as Jungwoo slides into the mess of cum and slick between your thighs. 

"That's right, take it," Jungwoo says, pinning you against Jaehyun. "Breathe, baby." 

"Too much," you sob, finding he's not even fully sheathed when the familiar ache in your belly of being hit too deep whites out your brain. 

"You don't want your puppy?" Jungwoo can barely speak, ramming in deeper with each rock of his hips. "Don't want to be a good mommy and take all of me?" 

Jaehyun is already semi-hard against your back, and you catch Doyoung's approval before he replaces it with a feigned look of disgust, slipping into the water to watch you both. You can see his arm flex, jerking himself underwater, the other holding his phone up. 

"If we'd known you were such a whore we would have fucked you sooner. It looks like you'll need some more breaking in."

You cry out, stretched tight around the thicker root of Jungwoo's cock, letting him wrap your legs over his shoulders for maximum depth. Whatever pain you feel is so merged with the fullness and perfect hit of him against your walls that you don't mind it, you can't help but slip into a dreamy state of bliss. 

"You're doing so well," Jaehyun says into the hair at your temple. "Can't wait to treat you right. Make you come on my tongue again as many times as I can before the sun rises."

"No, no, no," you moan.

Jaehyun pinches your nipple to wake you up, Jungwoo gasping when you manage to clench around him. 

"You both got her pussy first. You should let me take her tonight. Keep her awake by fucking her as soon as she falls asleep." Doyoung threatens, pulling your leg aside to get the best angle of you being impaled and stretched fuller than you'd ever thought you could be. 

"No one's getting her if she doesn't come again," Jungwoo says. He meets your tear-filled gaze, eyes half-lidded. "Is that what you want? To fall asleep on my cock and let me warm you all night until you're ready to fuck me?"

"Please, come for me, puppy," you manage to bite out, touching yourself in earnest to try and fight back. "So big for me, fill me up."

He takes the bait–you're folded in half, legs bent to your chest as he drives in, balls slapping wetly against you. When you're pliant again he readjusts his strokes to press into your upper walls with each rotation of his hips, and for the first time in a long time you realize you're getting close on cock alone. 

Jaehyun seems to feel the change in you, grinding against your back as his hand holds your throat so you can't turn away. The pressure makes you practically feral, crying out for more. 

"Just like that, like that, please please please," you moan over the lap of the water.

"Feel you sucking me in," Jungwoo says, face flushed and sweaty over you, hair dripping water onto your curled belly. "Let go for me so I can come in you so deep you can taste it."

"Yes, yes, please." You buck with the sudden electric tingle of another climax, steady tempo leading you to softer spasms than before. It's fine if you can't tell where you're at or what you're feeling because Jungwoo can, one final snap of his hips dropping you into fucked out darkness. 

When you come to again you're wrapped around him in the pool, gasping at the sensation of his cock still slowly pumping the last of his release into you.

"Trust me," he says, hands under your backside, lowering you into water suspended between the night and the warmth below. 

Doyoung spreads a hand over your breasts, Jaehyun beside him to hold your neck like he's teaching you to float. You let your mouth fall open and your eyes clench shut, tasting pool water before one of them–Doyoung probably, by the sounds--releases thick, white stripes across your tongue. Jaehyun follows suit, cockhead nudging against the underside of your breast as he paints your torso with molten heat. 

"Fuck that was incredible," Jungwoo says, slipping out of you finally so you can sink into the water. You submerge as much as you can to lose the coat of stickiness, until Doyoung decides you're done, pulling you out and against his chest.

"That was . . . a lot," you admit, shaking against him. 

"You did so well." He soothes you with a hand on your head, clearing your hair from your face delicately to press a kiss to your forehead.  The gesture is so at odds with his recent persona that you can't resist burrowing into it, relaxing fully against his naked chest. "Not bad for an initiation."

"I'm one of you, now?" you murmur. 

"Always were," Jaehyun says. He doesn't dare take you from Doyoung but he does lean down to kiss you deeply, hand running broad circles over your spine.

"Just think of all those red cards as an invitation." Jungwoo jokes, sinking down to eye level to caress your cheek. 

You remember scraped knees and busted lips, cafeteria trays dumped on you by entire tables of jealous girls and sycophantic boys. Johnny humiliating you, ordering you to clean his shoe with his tongue when you'd taken the place of your weaker friend who'd spilled on it. 

But you also remember the small moments of acknowledgement–the way Jungwoo had lingered outside your work waiting to get off when you closed to walk you home at night, or how Doyoung had bought out the entire store when you'd used the shitty part-time job as an excuse to duck out of being his date to a formal dinner you had no business being at. 

And most of all, all those hours spent sitting beside Jaehyun in your rooftop retreat, silently appreciating the late afternoon sun turning the city brilliant as you shared one half of a wired headphone.

Maybe having your heart ripped out was worth it, if it meant having this.

"Which one of us do you want to take care of you tonight?" Doyoung asks. 

You smile into his cool skin, melting into the knowledge that you've earned a place very few had shared. You'll enjoy it as long as it can last.

"Play for it."

[ellethespaceunicorn]

Make That Kitty Purr [Director’s Cut]

Title: Make That Kitty Purr [Director’s Cut]

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Mike x Reader, August Walker x Reader

Fandom: Hellraiser: Hellworld x Mission: Impossible - Fallout, Crossover AU

Word Count: 5.7K

Summary: Uncle August doesn’t give a shit that you’re Mike’s girlfriend. THIS IS THE DIRECTOR’S CUT OF THIS STORY.

Warnings: voyeurism, cheating, unprotected p-in-v (wrap it before you tap it), dubcon, creampie, breeding kink, impregnation, spit kink, choking, slapping, dacryphilia, adult breastfeeding, August is an asshole, Mike deserves better 

A/N: Original story is here, Make That Kitty Purr. I decided to share what the story was before I cut it down, based on this ask from @geralts-yenn. Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best.

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist 

“You must be Michael’s girlfriend, right?” The velvety voice slides over you like warm honey. As your name rolls off of his tongue, you turn around in the small space of the open fridge door and are face-to-chest with a mountain of a man.

Everything about him was perfect. A tall frame with a muscular build was easy to spot at first glance. On closer inspection, you stare into aquamarine eyes that have a brownish-gold spot in the left iris. And that ‘70s porn stache oddly worked well on his face. Fresh sweat slid down his neck, the heat from outside still radiating off of his body. You feel his breath on your face before you realize he’s speaking to you.

“I’m sorry, what?” You shake your head slightly and smile up at him as he smirks at you.

“I said, I’m August. I’m Michael’s Uncle, Walt’s brother,” He reaches over you to grab a beer off of the door of the fridge, “Not surprised he didn’t introduce us.” At your confused expression, he only shakes his head and sips from his beer. He watches you watching him as he lowers the beer from his lips, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “Like what you see, Princess?”

The noise that comes out of your mouth is a mix between a gulp, a yelp, and a moan. And it seems to echo in the kitchen of Mike’s parent’s house. Everyone is still outside, Mike asked you to come in and get…something. You’d forgotten when you were suddenly in the presence of a god among men. You would have to watch yourself around this one. He had the power to make you misbehave.

“There you are, Sweetcheeks,” Thank goodness Mike comes into the kitchen when he does, “Thought you got lost in here. Hey, Uncle August.” They exchange looks with one another, looking back at you at the same time.

“I just got talking with your Uncle and forgot what I came in here for.” You decided to tell the truth, although you left out eye-fucking his Uncle. He didn’t need to hear that.

“You were coming in to grab us a couple of beers, but now Mom asked for a couple more things.” Mike moves you out of the cool haven of the fridge and grabs a few things from inside. With his back turned, he can’t see August looking into your eyes as he adjusts himself.

Fuck.

“Hey, Uncle August, was that invitation to come up to the cabin still good? I may have a free weekend coming up.” Mike closing the refrigerator door saves you from the intense draw of August’s fixation. 

“Of course. Anytime you wanna come up, just let me know in advance so I can make sure everything is good for you.” August looks to Mike like he hadn’t been touching his dick and looking at his girlfriend.

“Alright, awesome. Come on, Sweetcheeks.” Mike leads the way, holding the potato salad. You pick up the beers and chanced a glance back at August who is licking his lips and following behind you. You feel his presence behind you as you exit the porch. The unmistakable feeling of a hand ghosting over your hip almost makes you squeal but you school yourself, catching up the Mike.

The rest of the barbecue goes off without a hitch. The interaction between you and August is forgotten until you go in to help clean the dishes. You tell Mike’s Mom to go back outside and that you’ll take care of the rest of the washing. That is, until August comes in and has you all to himself again. 

“Need some help, Princess?” That voice goes straight to your pussy and you instantly tense up at the pet name.

“No, I, uh…I got it. Thank you, Uncle Aug–” You start, but he cuts you off.

“No, Princess. I’m not your Uncle. You call me August.” His hand on your hip as he spoke had you trembling.

“Yes, August.” You don’t know how you were able to speak, but you did it and that’s all that matters.

“Good girl.” The praise has you squeezing your thighs together and accidentally pressing back into August who has moved closer to you. Your ass had been pressed against his clothed cock and it sent shockwaves to your brain.

The groan that escapes August’s mouth vibrates through you. Before you know it, August is putting down his empty beer bottle and putting both hands underneath your dress. Your protests die on your tongue as his fingers hook under the waistband of your panties. With a tug, the underwear is coming down your legs and you’re stepping out of them. August brings them to his face to inhale your aroma before pocketing your thong.

“I’ll see you soon, Princess,” August says, leaning down to kiss your shoulder in an almost sweet albeit possessive gesture, “Give Michael my best.”

You’re left gobsmacked in the kitchen, only coming out of your reverie when you hear the door to the kitchen opening. You finish up the washing as the family files in. 

If you ride Mike into the mattress that night, that’s your business. Mike was none the wiser as you thought of a velvety voice, a mustache, and your taken undies. Thoughts of August go away soon enough and are but a distant memory when Mike brings up needing a break from school for a while. 

You casually ask if August will be there while you are at the cabin, Mike says it will just be the two of you and you relax. At least you won’t have to worry about those little moments you and his Uncle shared.

When Mike invites you up to his Uncle’s cabin for the weekend, you are beyond excited. You’ve never been away with him and this is the perfect opportunity to have a little fun away from your college roommates. You love them, but it’s so hard to get some alone time with two other girls breathing down your neck.

You pull up to the cabin on Friday afternoon and notice another car already in the driveway, a tall man dressed rather sharply grabbing a suitcase out of the trunk. As he turns around, you recognize Mikey’s Uncle August. I guess we’re not going to be alone this weekend after all.

Mikey puts the car in park and jumps out before you can even unbuckle yourself. “Uncle August, what are you doing here?”

“My schedule changed so I figured I would come and check on the cabin while you were up here,” August put down his luggage and rolls his sleeves up before running a hand over his mustache.

“Well, we were kinda thinking we would have the place to ourselves, actually,” Mike says, walking around the car after turning it off.

“We?” August’s head tilts as his eyes land on the passenger window.

You watch the exchange from the car, seeing that August has finally noticed you. Exiting the car, you close the door behind you and join Mike who puts a possessive arm around your waist.

“Uncle August, this is my girl. You remember her, right?” 

August nods and correctly remembers your name, slowly letting it pass over his tongue. While Mike is smiling down at you, August lets his eye rake over you from head to toe. If Mike had seen, he would not have been happy. Damnit, August, be cool!

“Michael, why don’t you get the bags while I take your girl inside out of the cold? You can handle that, right?” Before you know it, your hand is taken by a large paw and you are led inside the cabin. August walks close to you and you can smell his aftershave up close, the scent intoxicating.

You’re surprised when it takes Mike as long as it does to get all of the bags into the cabin. You packed pretty light, but August had him take everything to the rooms instead of leaving them by the hallway. You notice August is staying on the bottom floor of the cabin while you and Mike are staying in another room on the second floor.

While Mike is upstairs, August goes to the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of wine. He pours two glasses and offers you the other. You don’t miss how his fingers linger on yours.

“What shall we toast to, Princess?” You don’t hide the shiver that runs down your spine at the pet name.

“Um, to…a hot tub and time away from annoyances,” You lift your glass over to connect with August’s. He holds your gaze as he takes a sip. 

“And to these, maybe?” August holds up a pink lacy pair of underwear, your thong from the barbecue months ago. He still has them, smiling down at you before pocketing them again when you reach out to try and take them.

Mike’s voice startles you as it booms through the cabin, “Sweetcheeks, you wanna get in the hot tub now or later?” Sometimes you wish Mike had a chill mode, but you loved the adorable goofball.

“I’ll get started on dinner while you two have some time alone,” August takes your wine glass and tops it off, and sends you up to find Mike. You can feel his eyes on you as you walk away, but you don’t dare look back.

As you get in the hot tub after getting changed into your bathing suit, the sun is setting over the mountains. Mike’s hands and mouth are over you in an instant, not caring what his Uncle may be seeing. He pulls you into his lap and attacks your neck. Your eyes close at the sensation and when they open, a gorgeous set of oceanic blues lock on you.

August is watching you as Mike slides a hand into your suit bottoms. You know you should tell Mike to stop but the idea of putting on a show for August is a temptation you can’t ignore. Your mouth opens in a silent scream as Mike’s fingers circle your clit before sliding into your entrance. Clutching a hand in his hair, you bite your lip as you ride Mike’s fingers.

As August watches you, he grips and strokes his cock through his pants. You reason with yourself that since you aren’t touching each other, this isn’t cheating. This is just slightly inappropriate, nothing to truly worry about.

Mike’s attention to finger-fucking you is gone as he pulls out his cock, pulling your bottoms to the side. He swiftly enters you and pulls you down onto him fully. Within seconds, you adjust to Mike’s cock and start to ride him while maintaining eye contact with August.

Mike pulls out your tits from your suit top and gives attention to your nipples. The man loves your boobies and it keeps him occupied as you continue your impromptu sex show for August. The older man unzips himself and for a moment, you think you’re going to be graced with the sight of his cock, but he only reaches in to stroke himself. Watching him watching you is enough to send you over the edge. Mike follows after you shortly, pulling out of you to jerk his cock as you didn’t exactly bring condoms to the hot tub.

You watch as August pulls his hand out of his pants, zips himself up, and walks out of your field of vision. It doesn’t look like he came and you instantly want to help him over the edge but hold yourself together. You move yourself to sit next to Mike and rest your head against his shoulder as you both catch your breath and readjust your clothing. A million thoughts run through your head, the most severe of which is gnawing at your soul.

You want August, and it’s obvious he wants you back. How could you want something like that? Mike isn’t perfect, but he’s yours. He adores you and you think the world of him. Yes, he can be a bit aloof, but he’s genuinely interested in your happiness. He doesn’t deserve to be fucked over by your selfish desires.

You are broken out of your reverie minutes later as August beckons you both to come in for dinner. You both towel off and put on robes. August already has the table set with three plates and he sits at the head of the table with you and Mike sitting across from each other. 

The conversation comes easily enough, August mostly focuses on asking you about what you are studying and what your future plans are. Mike seems to be none the wiser that August is paying you so much attention as he shovels pasta in his face. August refills your wine glass, handing it to you, his fingers lingering again. August finally turns his gaze to Mike and asks what you all have planned for the weekend. 

Mike mentions you are scheduled to go to a beer garden tomorrow and you would be meeting some friends afterward. You don’t remember making plans to meet up with friends but you go with it anyway. Mike’s friends were pretty cool, at least the ones you’ve met. Well, Derrick could be annoying and could make Mike completely miserable to be around but hopefully, he wouldn’t be there tomorrow.

You all finish dinner shortly thereafter, a few glasses of wine in your system. August gets up, and you assume he is going to start clearing the table. “August, you cooked, we can clear the table.”

“Nonsense. You’re a guest here,” he says, waving you off, “Michael can clean up the kitchen while I give you a quick tour.” He holds out his hand to lead you through the living room, and that same hand ends up on your lower back. 

Your bare feet pad softly on the hardwood while his shiny shoes clack next to you. Your robe is the only thing preventing August from touching your skin directly. The heat coming off of his hand is enough to elicit a shiver from you. Instead of mentioning it, he just smiles down at you and walks you into the spacious entertainment room.

A large television screen is in front of a sectional couch. Two vintage full-height arcade game systems stand against either side wall. A pool table sits on the right, while a poker table is to the left. You’re impressed with the setup and you say as much.

“Yeah, I like to entertain sometimes. You’re welcome to this room whenever you want. Most of the streaming apps are already set up and there’s a Playstation and XBOX as well if you’re interested,” August points over to the tv, leaning in as he speaks.

“I can already see Mike getting lost in here for a few hours,” you snort, trying to hide your obvious annoyance.

“I’m sure you can keep him occupied, Princess.” There goes that pet name again. You look up at August and he grins like the Cheshire cat down at you.

If Mike hadn’t walked in when he did, you would have leaned into that smile. “I was looking for you guys. Sweetcheeks, are you ready for bed? I’m exhausted.”

“You’re tired from cleaning the kitchen?” August teased, knowing full well that wasn’t what tired the younger man out.

“Yeah…well, it’s a big…kitchen, so,” Nice save, Mike.

“Sounds like a good idea, baby. Let’s go,” you grab Mike’s hand and turn toward August, “Night, August.”

“Goodnight, you two,” August hums, looking from you to his nephew.

The two of you head to bed upstairs, arm in arm. It takes everything out of you not to turn around and look at August once more.

In the middle of the night, you pull yourself out of Mike’s grip and head to the bathroom. You notice your throat is dry and decide to go to the kitchen for a bottle of water. August is already in the kitchen, pouring himself a drink. As he picks up the lowball of amber liquid, he turns to greet you.

“You alright, Princess?” The genuine concern in his voice almost overshadows the fact that he is only clad in a tight pair of boxer briefs. Almost. 

Instead of answering, you are entranced by his hairy chest and defined abdominals. Muscular arms and thick thighs are on full display. You’re sure you’re staring but he doesn’t seem to mind as he makes his way over to you. It seems like he moves in slow motion and your brain doesn’t fully comprehend when he reaches out to you.

His warm hand on your arm reminds you that you forgot to put on a robe before coming downstairs. Your crop top and cheeky underwear leave little to the imagination and you look down at yourself before looking from his hand back up at him. As if seeing your thoughts across your face, August removes his hand from your shoulder.

“I just came down for some water.” You’re surprised that you were able to get those words out, as whiny as they were. Your dry throat returns after you speak.

August nods and turns around to go back to the fridge. The ass on this man is ridiculous too, that’s just unfair. He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and brings it back to you. He holds it out to you, and you take it shakily before opening it and taking a sip. You cap it again and hold it up to your suddenly warm neck. You let out a sigh and close your eyes for a beat. When you open them, August is standing closer to you. You didn’t even hear him take a step.

You slowly lower the water bottle from your skin and August takes it, putting your bottle and his whiskey down on the nearby dining table. When he turns back to you, he reaches up and holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He takes his time leaning in, giving you an out to easily lean back.

But you don’t lean back, you lean into him as he slots your mouths together. You whimper into his mouth and it is all over from there. He drops your chin, his hands sliding from your face to your neck and down your back until they settle under your ass as he lifts you into his arms.

“Tell me you want me, Princess,” August whispers, the heat coming off his clothed cock blazing into your core, “You want me to take care of you?”

Fuck.

“Yes,” you whimper, carding a hand through his thick head of hair. 

“That’s my good girl,” he groans, walking to his bedroom. He kisses your neck, nipping at it as he settles you back upon his bed. He hovers over you for a moment, rubbing your covered sexes together. Letting you have ample time to change your mind while making sure you won’t.

“Please,” you whine, no longer able to hide your desire to have him inside you.

“Please what? Say it,” he grunts, pressing his groin harder into you.

“Fuck me, August.” is all he needs to hear before he’s pulling your underwear down and off. He doesn’t remove his own, only tucks them under his balls as he runs the head of his dick through your sopping folds. He enters slowly and gradually, letting you adjust to his girth and length.

Once he is fully seated inside you, he begins a punishing rhythm that has your cervix screaming. Your legs wrap around his waist and his hand finds your throat, placing slight pressure on the sides. The older man has you in a daze soon enough, filthy words leaving his mouth.

“Fuck, it’s just like I imagined it,” August grunts, his pupils blown wide as he looks down at you, “I jerked my cock so many times with your panties. They barely smell like you anymore. I’m gonna change that.” With that, he pulls out. Getting off the bed, he reaches into the pocket of the slacks he was wearing earlier and finds your thong.

He gets back on the bed and starts to stuff the underwear into your wet snatch. You squirm under his touch as he pushes the material inside you. Once you are full, his finger circles your clit.

“I’m gonna get you to cum all over your panties so I can have that smell back in my life. You’re so perfect, Princess.” Between his words and his finger working you over, it doesn’t take long until you're coating your underwear in sweet nectar and moaning August’s name.

“Mmm, that’s my good girl. Now, let’s get this out, shall we?” That’s all the warning you get. August inserts one thick digit inside you and pulls out the wet lace. He sets them aside and slides his dick back inside you. He sets a slow pace, wanting you to beg for more. It’s not long before he is granted his wish.

“August, harder, please?” Your whimpers go straight to his dick and you feel him involuntarily twitch.

“Yes, Princess. Anything for my good girl.” August lands two soft slaps on your face, his hand then moves back to your throat as you toss your head back into the pillow underneath you. “Is Princess gonna come all over my cock?”

You nod, this time when he lands a slap, you feel a sting. The shock of it mixed with his thrusting has you so close.

“Come for me, Princess. Then I’ll breed this tight little cunt.” 

“No, August. I’m not on birth control. Please don’t…come inside me…” Your words are trailing off as your orgasm catches up with you. The sound of wet squelching echoes in your ears.

“I’m gonna stuff you so full of my cum. You’re mine now, Princess. And I will keep you full of me, giving me strong children one after the other. Tell me to come inside you, Princess. Now!”

“Come inside me, August.” If his hand wasn’t around your throat and his body against yours holding you down, you think you might not have said it. But you did say it. You can’t take it back.

His hips stutter in their movement and you are soon flooded with his spend. He doesn’t stop fucking you until you come again, some of his seed leaking out past his cock as he pulls himself out. He looks down and smiles watching you leak with his spunk, before laying next to you. He draws you closer to rest your head on his chest.

He kisses your forehead in a sweet gesture. Juxtaposed with the filthy act you’ve just committed, you suddenly feel nauseous. You bite back bile as you rest against August. You wish the Earth would open up and swallow you whole. You stay like that for a minute more, feeling your legs get wet with his cum as it leaks from you. 

“You’re going to break up with Michael. I don’t care if you love him and he loves you. You’ll be pregnant with my children soon enough and I’ll be the one taking care of you. He won’t want you because I’m going to ruin you for all other men, Princess.” His words hit you hard followed by his hand around your throat, “Did you hear me?”

“Yes.” You sniffle.

“Yes, what?” You feel his body tense.

“Yes, Sir.” 

“That’s my good girl. You’re mine, remember that. Now, open your mouth,” He still holds onto your throat while he turns to you.

You open your mouth and he spits, half of it landing on your lips. You squeeze your eyes shut in disgust as you hear him laugh at your discomfort. He wipes his saliva into your mouth, “Swallow it, Princess. I would hate to think you don’t want my gift.”

Your world implodes as you swallow, the gravity of cheating on Mike suddenly screaming its way into the forefront of your mind. You hate yourself and you hate August for enticing you.

“Now, be a good girl and end it with Michael. And make yourself useful and bring me my whiskey on your way back, Princess.” 

You get up quickly, finding and putting on your underwear before all but running out of August’s room, you can still taste him on your tongue. You reach the upstairs bathroom connected to your bedroom and make it to the toilet in the nick of time. Your dinner comes back up so harshly that you end up waking Mike up with your gagging.

He comes to hold your hair out of the way and rub a soothing hand on your back. As you finish, you spit, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You close the lid, sitting down on the floor next to Mike as he looks at you concerned.

“Mike, baby, I’m so sorry.” 

“Sweetcheeks, what are you sorry for? You just got sick is all.”

“Not saying sorry for that, I have to tell you something.”

“Babe, you’re scaring me, what’s going on?” Mike’s voice quivers and it is all you can do to stop yourself from kissing his frown away because you’re about to break his heart.

“I…slept with August,” you blurt out, and you start to cry before you can help it, “He told me to come to break it off with you and I don’t want that, Mikey. I don’t want him.” You stop your rambling and sit in silence.

Mike isn’t saying anything and you wonder what is even going through his head. You hazard a look over to his face. His jaw is working in anger and he pulls his knees up to his chest.

“Mike, I’m so sor-”

“We’re leaving. Get dressed.” Mike cuts you off and gets up from the floor. You get up and follow him to the bedroom, pulling on your jeans and hoodie quickly as he begins to pack your suitcases quietly.

You watch him move about the room mechanically. You wish he would talk to you. But, you know you don’t deserve to be comforted. He needs and deserves better than you. As he finishes, he pulls on his clothes and takes your things downstairs.

You follow him down, pausing when you both see August now wearing just pajama bottoms. He actually looks surprised to see you both dressed and holding your luggage.

“Go to the car, I’ll be out in a sec, ok?” Mike’s voice is eerily calm as he hands you the car keys and ushers you outside.

“Mike, let’s just lea-”

“I said, go to the car. I’ll be right there,” he barely raises his voice, but he pushes slightly on your shoulder to get you outside. Like he doesn’t want you to witness something.

You grab your luggage and head outside, closing the door behind you. You try and block out the sounds of a struggle in the cabin as you walk across the gravel driveway. You put your suitcase in the trunk and get in the car. You’re putting on your seatbelt as August comes out to the car. Opening the car door, he reaches in and pulls you out. 

“August, what are you doing? Where is Mike?” Your questions are left unanswered as you are pulled inside. The cabin is eerily quiet and you notice Mike sitting on the staircase, his hair and clothing a mess, staring daggers at you.

“So you gave him my favorite thong of yours, let him fuck you and come inside you, and what? I’m just supposed to let that go and forgive you?” Mike practically spits fire at you, his words scalding you.

“Mikey, please. Let’s just leave like we were going to. I want you, Mikey, I’m so sorry I made a mistake. Please don’t leave me.” You beg at his feet, groveling for him not to quit on you.

“It wasn’t me that left. Remember that. I never wanna see either of you ever again,” Mike grabs his suitcase and moves to pass you, “And you can find another way back to school. I’ll leave your stuff outside. You two deserve each other.”

“Mikey, please–”

Mike pushes past you and walks out of the door. You can hear the gravel crunching under his feet. The unmistakable sound of your luggage and bookbag hitting the driveway. You run out in time to see him driving away. Your entire world shifts around you as the weight of your actions consumes you.

The last thing you remember is your legs feeling wobbly as you are caught by strong arms.

You haven’t seen Mike in almost a year when you bump into him in the supermarket. You’re walking down the frozen food section, perusing the ice cream flavors when you hear someone’s throat clear behind you. You turn around and are met with a messy head of curls peering into your cart, the baby carrier in his line of sight.

“I shouldn’t be surprised you had his baby. You always wanted kids, guess just not my kids.” Mike shakes his head, looking away from you. 

“Mikey, I’m–”

“Save it, you’re wasting your time. I got someplace I gotta be.” Mike rolls his eyes and leaves you where you stand. The coldness of the aisle hits you more harshly than before.

You broke a good man’s heart and you deserved the life you have now. 

You grab August’s fave, mint chocolate chip, and then head to checkout. Loading the car, you head home. August made you drop out of school to begin your new life as his incubator.

He comes out of the house as you pull into the driveway, grabbing the baby carrier and cooing to his son. You’re left to bring in the rest of the groceries.

Since you gave birth, August has been relentless in his attempts to get you pregnant again. Once upon a time, sex all day long would have aroused you. Now, it’s become your least favorite activity. You can’t get wet for August. 

To have any kind of arousal, you’re forced to think of Mikey. The way he would kiss you in the middle of laughing, or the sounds he made while going down on you. That part of your life is gone. Now, you are a mother against your will. And August won’t let you forget what you’re here for.

“My son is hungry, can you handle that, Princess?” He waits until you nod, opening your blouse and unlatching your nursing bra before he gently hands you August Jr. As the baby suckles at you, your mind wanders.

“Yes, Sir.” You start to believe August likes the robotic way you speak now. Whenever you did express emotion, it was to show sadness and he hated that.

While you hold your son, August grabs your chin gently between his forefinger and thumb. “Smile for me, Princess,” You look up at August and follow his command, “That’s my good girl. After he’s done feeding, meet me upstairs. You’re ovulating and I am so attracted to this view of you. Just think of it, Princess. AJ sitting atop your pregnant belly while you feed him. It’s so perfect.” He sweetly caresses your face, never is he as sweet as when he wanted you.

After your son falls asleep while eating, you put him on your shoulder and burp him. You walk to his nursery and lay him down, caressing his curls before kissing his tiny face. It’s not his fault that his father is terrible to his mother.

It’s your fault for letting yourself fall into the arms of a man that wasn’t your boyfriend. You had everything you needed with Mikey. And now you had nothing you wanted with August. Plastering the smile that August loved so much on your face, you walk into your bedroom.

August sits on your bed, waiting for you while he strokes himself. You walk up to him, the sickly sweet smile still on your face, and begin to undress slowly. He reaches up to play with a swollen, wet nipple and you can’t help but enjoy the relief it brings when he latches onto your breast. While he drinks from you, he pulls you into his lap. Without pulling free of your nipple, he uses a hand to slide his cock inside you.

You groan as he breaches you, whimpering as he guides your hips to ride him. August pulls away from your breast to switch to the other, working to drain you while he fucks you. You want to hate him, you wish your milk was poison to kill him. But, instead, all you do is cradle his head and grind down on him.

When he has had his fill of you, he leans back wiping his mouth before maneuvering you to lay on your back as he fucks into you. 

“I love you so much, Princess.” His words are a surprise and they confuse you.

“Why?”

“You’re the mother of my children, of course, I love you…You give us everything we need…You make me so happy…You’re my Princess, I’m your King…And we have our little Prince.” His words are all coming out in short breaths as he tries to hold back his orgasm until after yours. He reaches down to play with your clit as he sucks hickeys into your neck. “Tell me you love me, Princess.”

“I love you, August,” You actually sound like you mean it as your orgasm rushes through you.

“That’s my good girl!” August thrusts into you one last time, releasing his fertile seed inside you. You feel every twitch and squirt inside of you, and you swear you could feel yourself being impregnated at that moment. He stays inside you for a moment longer, pulling out to hold your legs up and rock you side to side as he heard that helps to aid in conception.

This is your life, an endless sea of pregnancy. A hollow promise of love from a man who took everything from you. And the worst part is, you’ve given up fighting because you know you deserve it.

A/N: Welp, that’s something. I’ll be in my bunk, rethinking my life’s choices.

**Tag List**

@brattymum96 @ambinxe @avengersfan25 @kebabgirl67 @identity2212

@astheskycries @enchantedbytomandhenry

@rebelangel1102 @mrs-solo-walker

Let me know if you wanna be added (or removed) 😁

[dannylovesstuff]

Years ago I made a fan made character of a au abysstale mad mew mew it because I never seen her in that au soo I made her but now wen I saw it me being older I actually didn’t like how it look and now I re make it and yaaaa….

This is abysstale mad mew mew

Info: it the same lore as well mad dummy and mad mew mew being the same person or ghost you say but this have slightly unstable cell on her body wen frisk encounter mew mew she go her battle as normal but angered her body and her cell starts get unstable there be 2 ways this end either frisk sparing mew mew she would be slightly crack and cell coming out but happy and leave or breaking her would result of realist the unstable cell making a new enemy to defend cuz try kill you now and the aftermath being a shell once was….

Fact: that mad mew mew wen in battle her eyes become aquamarine or teal ( idk what color) wen in battle or angry

Her old design probably back in 2021

Abysstale by @metakazkz

[tacitusauxilium]

Please repost do not reblog

CHARACTER SHEET ―

FULL NAME.: Fuuka Yamagishi

NICKNAME: The Ghost Girl, Fuu-Fuu.

ALIASES: Oracle (Phantom Thieves Codename), Lucia (her username to communicate with Futaba in P3D).

PRONOUNS: She/Her 

HEIGHT:  5′0″ (up to Arena / Ultimax), 5′1″ (Ultimax and onward)

ZODIAC: Capricorn

SPOKEN LANGUAGES: Japanese and English (speaks very well in both), Spanish (on the side since she sees it’s very easy)

𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒 ―

HAIR: Short, bob like in middle to high school--grows out to shoulder length, or longer, and keeps up in a braid.

FACIAL HAIR: N/A

EYES: Warm and gentle teal eyes 

SKIN TONE: Pale with a hint of muscle tone in her arms and legs 

BODY TYPE: Short and lean -- her chest is around a B cup but gets a cup size bigger when she is a mother. Still a little uncomfortable in her own skin so wears clothes a little bigger than normal (larges instead of her normal medium).

VOICE: Welcoming and soft at first -- becomes a hint louder and full and determined when it comes down to business with shadows or helping someone out of a tight spot.

DOMINANT HAND: Right

POSTURE: She sits upright, as if she is being constantly looked at it and her posture needs to be perfect. Hands on her lap and her head slightly tilted. If she can, she’ll put a leg behind the other or sit on it for comfort.

SCARS: Mental scars thanks to her lovely parents. A couple scars physically -- one of the side of her right hand when she was cooking for the first time (a small burn that didn’t heal properly), and one on her back (about half a foot long from her right shoulder blade to the center of her back) when she was being rescued by Minato from his shadow. 

BIRTHMARKS: None. 

MOST NOTABLE FEATURES: Teal, aquamarine hair (depending on how the sun shines on it) that pops out of a crowd. Her face is blemish free, her clothes are simple and flowy, as well as her hair almost always being down in a braid. She does garnish some attention because of her hair and attracts some eyes once or twice.

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃 ― 

PLACE OF BIRTH: Kyoto, Japan

HOMETOWN: Near Kyoto, Japan, in a small town somewhere near Otsu.

SIBLINGS: Verse dependent ( By default, none. The AU where Minako is the leader, her brother is alive and mentioned @doctor-yamagishi​ )

PARENTS:  Hikaru Yamagishi (Father) || Yui Yamagishi (Mother)

𝐀𝐃𝐔𝐋𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 ― 

OCCUPATION: College student, Auxiliary member of Shadow Operatives, side hustle of fixing up electronics for friends and family and strangers cause she doesn’t want to be rusty

CURRENT RESIDENCE: Lives near Shibuya

CLOSE FRIENDS: Minato Arisato, Minako Arisato, Shinjiro Aragaki, Mitsuru Kirijo 

FINANCIAL STATUS: She’s living paycheck to paycheck (a la fixing stuff up and what not), but Mitsuru Kirijo pays her handsomely for helping her out with many things with the Kirijo group

DRIVER'S LICENSE: Yes, but rather take public transport

CRIMINAL RECORD: Clean

VICES: Jumps to conclusions a bit too fast as well as maybe being a bit needy--never wanting to be alone for too long (weeks, tbh). Very helpful to anyone--good or bad, even if she does realize it. Gets hyperfocused sometimes and is almost unable to get into contact with if that does happen.

𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 ―

LOVE LANGUAGE: Words Of Affirmation, Gift Giving and Acts of Service.

RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES:  Let’s see: when she was younger, she had a hard time of anyone liking her, much less loving her. Though, when she loves someone and they love her back, Fuuka is protective, clingy, and falls hard for them--she will never stop loving them. She is more of a private person when she wants to show off her love/lover, but Fuuka will never stop talking about them to anyone if given the chance. Though, it takes a lot to build up a romantic relationship with her, but she’s a keeper.

𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐎𝐔𝐒 ―

CHARACTER'S THEME TUNE: Recovering People Pleaser (by CARYS), Off-Seer (Xenoblade Chronicles 3)

HOBBIES TO PASS THE TIME: Watering and taking care of her flowers, reading a romantic novel, fixing up her own laptop, napping, and baking.

LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED: I see her being more of a left brain type of person, maybe a little bit on the right brain, but 90 percent left brain.

SELF-CONFIDENCE LEVEL: When she was a high school, it was very low--it took members of SEES to really boost that confidence for her. When it comes to her as an adult, she is full of it and makes sure her friends know it--but, she still is bashful around other people she’s unfamiliar with. She does doubt herself sometimes, but Fuuka will try to see more stuff in a positive light. 

Tagged by: @dxfiedfxte (GODDAMMIT CHASE THANK YOU FOR THIS!)

Tagging: @catsdisco (for any P3 muse you have~), @foolisharcanum, @tvstarkuma, @oraclememehacker, @path-of-blue-eyes, @kinjiros-quiet-corner​ / @doctor-yamagishi​, and whomever would like to do this~ :D

[overthinkingtaleblr]

Finals just ended and the tag is dead so I’m gonna try to remedy that with some AUs! I personally really like rocks so I’m gonna cycle through some Taleblr/Steven Universe headcanons so I have an excuse to look at rocks!!! My system goes that all rocks a feasible for anything unless given a reason otherwise… So.

Information below the cut!

TALEBLR AS SU GEMS

Acachalla Family:

I think that story-wise, they’d probably be a group of gems who likely all came to earth independently of each other from different starting points! Papa and Gertrude might the the only ones who were alive during Rose Quartz’s time of the bunch, but they likely never fought in the Earth resistance itself… Also I’m keeping Papa’s time as a Cowboy.

Papa Acachalla — Imperial Topaz on his upper back.

Gertrude Acachalla — Pyrite on her navel.

Billy Acachalla — I’m not entirely sure but I think his gem is a little fucked up. I’m thinking a mix of Sapphire and…. Opal, but not a fusion, onnnn his leg.

Sally Acachalla — (Chipped) Condor Agate on her chest.

Spencer Acachalla — Overcooked Moissanite on his forehead.

Sue Acachalla — Pearl on the back of her hand.

The Paranormal Investigators Extraordinaire:

I think that PIE would be going around on corrupted gem-collecting duty. They’re just trying to get through the day!

Johnny Ghost / Jimmy Casket — I’m not sure about Ghost, but I think Casket should be a Bloodstone. I’m lowkey considering having Ghost be a person being “possessed” by a corrupted gem. Alternatives are Ghost being partially-corrupted Bloodstone, or a gem that was made weird and has Bloodstone inside of it. The other option is Spectrolite

Johnny Toast — Lapis Lazuli on his palm!

Fred “Spooker” Soup — Pink Morganite on his eye!

Chris Ghostie — Also considering having him be a human person who just stumbled into the gem stuff one day!

Related!:

Maddie-Friend — Also Pyrite!

Chakalata — Either also a morganite or an emerald

Poppy — I think it’d be interesting if she was a half-human morganite. Not like Ghost, but like Steven (RIP BB you will be missed)

CBF — Same gem (but corrupted) as whatever gem ends up connected with Ghost… or a corrupted aquamarine

Gavin Toast — Lapis Lazuli on his lower back, from the same vein as his brother.

More Details:

I included some stones who don’t appear or only appear in fusions so here’s my thoughts on those—

Both Maddie and Gertrude have a history of being sneaky, so I wanted to pick something that could be… spy-ish… so Pyrite.

I think Opals should be able to be healers since the stone is known to refract light and gems are made of light!

Condor Agate is named after a bird so I def. Want them to be able to do some bird-related stuff.

Moissanite are a lot like diamonds, so I think they’d take militaristic general or commander positions in the Diamond’s court if they appear at all… but Spencer is overcooked, so he mostly does his own thing

Bloodstone is spooky rock with blood in name woooooooo

[dannyphantom-rewrite]

Timekeeper's assistants AU

Alright y'all! This is gonna be my info dump post for the Timekeepers assistant Au- buckle up cause it's gonna be a long one!

Inspired by @queendibz post here

The entire purpose of the assistant squad is to keep all the time lines running smoothly- this can range from stopping a world ending event to making sure things misplaced by natural ghost portals get put back into the right time and place.

So First up on the crew list,

Dan:

-Dan definitely isn't a homicidal maniac anymore but he's not 100 percent "redeemed" either.

-I mean he's probably still a bit of sadist but he tries not to be?

-The best description I can give is that he's in recovery, basically.

-So, Clockwork knew that Dan would eventually bust out of the thermos just because it wasn't built to hold a ghost of his power level for a prolonged period of time. But beyond that?? He has no idea about anything in regards to Dan. Since Dan's creation was averted, his timeline doesn't exist anymore. He's a paradox that exists outside of time, and unfortunately, that means he's the one entity in the multiverse that exists in Clockwork's blindspot. There's no way for him to know what Dan's going to do next.

-Anyway, Dan eventually breaks out of the thermos fully intending to Fuck Shit Up, And Clockwork makes a point of informing him that if he leaves the clock tower he will cease to exist. (Like Dan, the tower exists outside of time, so he's safe there.)

-Dan is the first member of the assistant squad. Granted, it took a while for him to come around to the idea of helping Clockwork but he got there eventually.

-Dan is an entity that was born out of the rage and grief of two very broken people and he has so much shit he's working through as a result

-One of the first things he had to do was recognize and accept that he's an entity that's completely separate from Vlad and Danny. He might have all their memories and the weight of their mistakes on his shoulders, and on top of that, the atrocities he himself committed because of them. The first step is realizing that he doesn't have to be defined by the people that made him.

-It's a really fucking difficult thing to do tho and he's got a lot of weird emotions in regards to Vlad, Danny and the Fentons as a result. A near constant identity crisis, self loathing, daddy issues, something that could arguably be called an Oedipus complex, (FUCKING THANKS, VLAD)

-Cannot stand the smell of fast food, it makes him nauseous and the sight of Nasty Burger sauce alone is enough to make him vomit Ectoplasm.

-He's just a hot mess all around y'all

-He tries to keep his interactions with the Danny's as minimal as possible at first bc of this. The first time he meets them in person he shape shifts into Danny like he did in TUE and just pretends to be one of them. Some of them have had interactions with their respective Dan's already and would be super wary of him and probably pretty freaked out otherwise.

-Dan is eventually allowed to leave the clocktower for supervised "Field missions" with the aid of a time medallion to keep him from poofing out of existence, but it takes a while for clockwork to build up that level of trust.

-Dan's shapeshifting ability Actually comes into play a bit on a lot of those missions, since he can Mimic Danny it also makes sense that he'd be able to impersonate Vlad in the same way. Granted he's not incredibly comfortable taking on either of their appearances but it does help him hone his shapeshifting ability to the point where he's able to pick and choose features from both Vlad and Danny and sorta make his own human disguise.

-Most of the time he acts as the eye in the sky from the tower, monitoring for timeline anomalies and then notifying the appropriate member of the assistant squad.

-He has a room under the clock tower that he operates from. I kinda like the idea of there being like, catacombs down there? Anyway he's got all kinds of monitors and view screens and he very rarely leaves. It also doubles as his "living space." He doesn't need to sleep but he's got a big mess of a pillow fort that he crashes in regardless bc sometimes you just NEED to be unconscious for a while. The catacombs are also absolutely full of those little blob ghosts that wander around the zone bc They're attracted to the ecto energy the tower gives off. He's really annoyed by them at first but they grow on him after a while and now he just dotes on them.

-There's a specific throw pillow sized one that likes to hang out in Dan's room a lot and he ended up getting a little over attached to the stupid thing. His name is Dorian. Bc he's a gift.

-SIR THATS MY EMOTIONAL SUPPORT BLOB

-Dan's appearance has changed slightly. He wears his hair loose now and it's kinda just this big fiery mane when it's not contained. His cape is more of a cloak now, it has a hood and he wears it sorta pinned together at the shoulder so the DP logo is covered.

-Dan's relationship with the rest of the Danny's is kinda weird, and a little strained. He has a hard time being around them for very long because, well, he used to sort of be them? Except not really? He does care about them tho, and the last thing he'd want is for one of them to end up like him.

-His relationship with clockwork definitely starts out pretty familial, after he becomes his assistant, anyway. There's room for that to develop into meddling minutes but I'm not entirely sure if I'm gonna go that route yet.

-The Danny's only ever hear his voice for a while before he finally let's them meet him for real, so they end up calling him Charlie for a while as a joke. Cause Ya know. Charlie's angels. Even after Charlie still ends up being his designated name on missions.

Mer! Danny:

-Was recruited bc a lot of the shit that gets sucked through natural portals ends up in a body of water somewhere and when that happens he's on call to retrieve it.

-Is Actually not at all ghostly! Mer Danny's situation is basically the plot of H2O (just add water), or if you haven't seen that, Aquamarine. And by that I mean he's only a merfolk in water.

-He's an electric eel

-His Jack and Maddie are marine biologists, with a particular interest in marine cryptids

-We're taking sea monsters baby!!!

-Not entirely sure how this Danny ended up half mer yet but I'll figure it out, lmao.

-14 years old

-His nickname/ designation is "Moray"

Crown Prince! Danny:

-Nickname/designation is Prince / Princey

-16 years old

-Not allowed to go anywhere in the zone without the Fright knight bc of some ancient ghost law bullshit, so he has a constant babysitter.

-He's next in line bc he sealed away Pariah, but can't take the throne until he is both, A) at least 18 years and B) Completely deceased

-Vlad is his Regent bc he did have a part in the whole sealing the previous king thing, but he's also not completely dead so his power is super limited there.

-As Prince Danny has the crown of fire in his ghost form, although now the name is kinda ironic seeing as it's completely frozen over. It's blue now and it smokes like dry ice.

-As Regent, Vlad has the ring of rage for "safe keeping"

-Vlad and Danny are pretty much constantly at each other's throats, fright knights probably had to shut down more than a few of Vlad's attempts to usurp the crown from Danny through combat.

-Princey deals with the timeline issues that involve the ghost zones' internal / political affairs, and he's gotten very well versed with dealing with the Observants.

Winged! Danny :

-15 years old

-Mallard duck wings

-His Vlad is a swan

-Comes from a family of waterfowl, Jack is a goose, and Maddie is a white swan. Both he and jazz are ducks bc of their grandparents.

-As Fenton his wings are white, like jazz, and as phantom they turn black with a green iridescent sheen.

-He's trans

-Nickname/ designation is inviso Bill. Bc ducks have bills haha get it-

-Ghostly wail?? Nah son he's gotta killer QUACK

-Absolute besties with Mer!Danny/ Moray, sometimes they go swimming together after a mission.

Clone! Danny:

-Physically he's a 12-year-old, but he's only been alive for a few months.

-Alt universe where Vlad manages to stabilize the perfect clone with his own DNA.

-Dani still exists, and the original danny from his time line also rescued the other problematic clones.

-Doesnt like the fact that he's a clone, and very much wants them all DEAD. Bc them running around is a reminder that he's not the real danny.

-Human half looks the same aside from the widows peak and the mallen streak. His ghost half takes after plasmius. Blue skin, and the Hazmat kept it's original white colors.

-Probably has fangs and a forked tounge.

-Not so much a member of the squad as he is someone that they need to be keeping an eye on.

-Does NOT get along with them.

-Dan enjoys making him uncomfortable.

-Designation is Masters / the brat (not to his face tho)

Family Breakfast AU! Danny:

-A BABY

-The boy is a fucking overpowered todler okay. He's an 8 year old.

-The biological son of his Vlad, was born a Halfa. Jack, Vlad and Maddie got their shit together and are in a healthy poly relationship.

-Got separated from Vlad one time in the zone and inadvertently adopted by the assistant squad and clockwork.

-His Vlad is aware of the squad and just. Dad's the crap out of the Danny's as a result. It makes for some..... interesting interactions.

-I can't think of a nickname so I'm just gonna be lazy and say he gets to be the one Tru Danny bc cute little kind privileges lmao.

Full ghost! Danny:

-15 years old, will always look 14.

-Nickname/designation is Toast

-Died in the portal accident and got fucking FRIED.

-He always smells like somethings burning.

-He's really bright and sorta sparks a bit, you can see his bones glowing through the hazmat.

-He still leave the zone to protect his version of amity, but lives with clockwork full time.

Canon Danny (NOT PHANTOM PLANET COMPLIANT) :

-Basically show Danny, except phantom planet never happened fuck you

-Joined the crew after the events of de stabilized

-Also he's trans fuck butch

-Franken! Danny

-Yall remember that Headless Danny Au? This is my take.

-Is Actually 20 years old, but physically stuck at age 14. Bc he's a walking corpse :)

-Came from a timeline that was directly parallel to Full ghost! Danny. He dies in the portal accident, but jack and Maddie are in the lab when it happens and manage to sort of bring him back using a combination of science and freaky ghost junk.

-So he's basically possessing/ stuck inside of his own dead body. Which, is thankfully not rotting or going into rigor mortis bc Ectoplasm is rather similar to formaldehyde, but he's not the most durable thing and bits and pieces fall off from time to time.

-Like his head. For example.

-He's pretty desensitized to it at this point and if he loses a leg after a ghost fight he doesn't see anything wrong with sitting down on the curb of a main street to stich it back on. His being dead isn't exactly a secret.

-Don't ever ask him to "give you a hand" bc he can and will not hesitate to pop one off and Chuck it at you.

-Said hand and any other body part will continue to function just fine even if it isn't attached to anything, btw.

-Nickname/ designation is Adam. Bc. Ya know. that's the name Frankenstein's monster gave itself.

Post Phantom Planet! Danny:

-A very jaded 22 year old who is driven only by spite and enough caffeine to kill a horse

-Very, very tired of the hero thing.

-Being a global celebrity isn't all it's cracked up to be.

-Decided to follow Vlads lead and fuck off to space for a while. Partially to get away from everyone and also partially bc he kinda feels responsible for the fact that the only other person like him and probably floating DEAD in the void somewhere? And yeah Vlad fucked up all on his own but what if he'd tried harder to get through to him things could have been different-

-Joins the crew after a natural portal opens up in space and decides to help out and use clockworks resources to try and track down his Vlad.

-Nickname/ Designation is Polaris, aka the north star.

[aikoiya]

DP - PT AU - Phantom Fusion

Au of Phantom Twins AU where in Reign Storm, Danny & Dina discover that they can fuse. It works just like in Steven Universe. They discovered it when Dina caught Danny trying to sneak off to fight Pariah Dark with the Ecto-Skeleton without telling her. They got into a fight & when Danny tried to escape with it, Dina grabbed him & they fused. So, after a bit of freaking out, they got into the suit & beat Pariah much easier than in canon & was able to close the Sarcophagus fairly easily on their own.

All they needed was the key, which Vlad used. When he asked who they were, they said "Dana." (Pronounced day-nah.)

Most of the story goes fairly the same as the original, but the twins use fusion as a sort of trump card.

Now, the reason that they have the power to fuse is because they're kinda 1 soul in 2 bodies & it's like they're trying to get back together. This later manifests in an actual power that allows them to fuse with other Halfas. No other Halfas have this ability, so when they fuse with other Halfas, it's due to one of the twins facilitating it.

However, they try to hide this ability to keep it as their trump card that they can surprise enemies with.

At the same time, because they were fused when they beat Pariah, they both sorta have a claim to the throne.

I'm not sure how they'd resolve that, but they might end up being co-rulers because they literally possess 2 halves of the same soul & it is the Ghost Zone.

Being that they're a literal combination of an entire man & an entire woman, Dana is a legitimate hermaphrodite rather than intersex like Stevonnie is. Who I think should've been classified as a hermaphrodite too, but I understand the desire to raise intersex visibility.

I will not list their pronouns because they think that's stupid & they really could not care less if you referred to them as a man or a woman & will not jump down your throat for it because they figure that 'he' & 'she' are still accurate to a degree. They are very thick-skinned & self-assured like Dina, so they figure that they are what they are & it doesn't matter what people call them because it won't change the reality of what or who they are.

They initially have a figure similar to Stevonnie, but as the twins grow & mature & gain muscle, Dana begins to exhibit more of that duality of sexes until, as adults, they have something of a rower's build with larger, more bloated pecs, feminine hips, & curved thighs.

They've actually got a figure reminiscent of Luisa from Encanto.

At this age, they are also even taller than Jack.

---

During the events of D-Stabilize, Danny, Dina, & Ellie manage to do a 3-way fusion.

The resulting fusion is more reminiscent of a more feminine Stevonnie in figure than Dana had been & goes by Danalie.

Something about this fusion seemed to give Ellie more stability than before afterwards.

---

A lot later, when Vlad & Dina are together, they manage to fuse into Valdin Phantasmus in a crisis.

To start off, Valdin is a fusion of Vlad & Dina. Like Dana was, they are a hermaphrodite & have a similar figure, but with more of a swimmer's build.

Also like Dana, they do not give a flying fuck about pronouns. They figure that if you've got an issue with that then that's your problem, not theirs.

They are taller than Vlad, but not as tall as Dana when the twins are adults, have longer hair than Dina's (stopping at their knees by now) with Vlad's widow's peak. Their hair is gunmetal grey with a metallic sheen to it. They also have a streak of silver starting from the middle of their widow's peak to stop at the end of their hair, it's generally tucked behind their right ear.

Their eyes either glow yellow-gold or purple & have fleshy skin with an aquamarine tint to it (Plasmius has teal), as well as pointed elf-like ears. They have Dina's upturned nose, Vlad's tall cheekbones & face length, as well as Dina's more pointed chin with a small soul patch of gunmetal hair. They also have pronounced canines like Dina's, but when angry, a longer pair of fangs slide out from in front of the canines on the top row of teeth.

They've got a more muscular, masculine torso & arms, with wide, curved, feminine hips & thighs. Their pecs protrude slightly & are bloated while still maintaining a masculine shape to them. Meanwhile, their calves are both very muscled & masculine.

They wear a high collar, long-sleeved, black & white kevlar tunic, mostly white. Everything from the breast area down is white, forming the shape of a triangle (^) where it meets black at the top. Everything above the center of the chest is black with black long-sleeves. At the center of their chest, in the white, is a black, stylized "VP." They also have white gloves all-the-way to their elbows with a triangle-cut hem & studs on the knuckles as well as miniature thermoses mounted on the wrists.

Around their waist is a black belt full of first aid supplies, one large pack resting against each hip. One pack has a red medical cross while the other has a green one.

They have black kevlar tights with white, knee-high, lace-up, 1" vintage heel combats that have steel toes & a high cut front with a triangular shape at the top. The shape of the shoes' feet are formal with elongated toes.

Finally, over all that is a sleeveless, white, long coat with a red lining, a lapel, a medical cross on their left breast over their heart, & reaches down to their ankles & has a zigzag hem on the bottom like Vlad's cape had. The first thing they always do when they form is pop their collar like a delinquent.

In their right ear is a silver skull earring with a ruby in one socket & a peridot in the other.

They wear eyeliner, like heavy eyeliner, but no other makeup.

They've got a bit of an 80s rock thing going for them.

Like mentioned before, Valdin is very self-assured & content with themselves as a person, exhibiting a little bit of an ego & arrogance, but not full NPD like Vlad has. They are incredibly intelligent & articulate. They switch between Vlad's more refined, faux-british vernacular & Dina's more casual, upper midwest form of speech depending on the situation.

They are both proper & witty, as well as chivalrous, heroic, kind, empathetic, & compassionate, but are also very manipulative & petty at times, with an occasional bit of a manic edge to them. Can be selfish, overly practical/objective/pragmatic, & has plans for everything. They are a masterful strategist & whereas Vlad had styled himself as a chess master but was too impatient to actually be one, with Dina in the mix, Valdin actually is one. However, that doesn't mean that they can't be impatient. They still feel their patience waning at times, but they are quite a lot better at reeling that in thanks to Dina's self-control.

They have a storm core.

They are a lot like Garnet in that they love being themselves because Vlad & Dina love being together.

Phantom Twins AU Masterlist

[doiefy]

blue // na jaemin

“The winter has passed and the spring has come We have withered and our hearts are bruised from longing”

- blue, bigbang

In which one ceases to age until they find their soulmate, with whom they then grow old. In which everyone has moved on without you.

genre: soulmate!au, fluff, angst, slow burn

pairings: jaemin x female reader (written with a female character in mind, but it can easily be gender neutral!), features relationships with other dream members, briefly mentions haechan x jeno

word count: 11.6 k

warnings: language, mentions of alcohol and smoking, mentions of war, mentions of death, discussions of Korea under Japanese occupation, some of the historical references may be inaccurate.

taglist (DM, comment or Ask to be added): @simplicitysbabe Big thank you to @neojaems​ for beta reading this for me !! <333

spotify playlist

Your test comes back blue.

When you rip open the envelope containing your results, you find the little coloured square hidden between pages and pages of lab protocols, testing procedures and other nonsense you know no one actually has the time to read. Then there are the stupid pamphlets, the ones with overtly bright and bubbly messages reassuring people that they’ll find their “special someone” soon, slogans most likely written by people who found their soulmates before they even turned twenty. You scoff, shoving the useless papers back into the envelope and recalling the first time you tested back in 1945, right after the war. The receptionist wrote your results down on a piece of paper and nonchalantly told you to have your emotional breakdown outside.

Now you stare at the blue marking on your paper blankly. It simply means you haven’t aged biologically in ten years, but when you haven’t aged in decades, it means nothing. While the world progresses, you remain frozen in the same body, playing a cruel game with fate. And as with any game that one cannot win, you’ve slowly become bored with it, allowing it to take its course while you sit idle nearby. You feel only disappointed, and not even perplexed or surprised in the slightest. Something about meeting Jaemin just seemed too good to be true; after a lifetime of misfortune and failure, something about the bad news feels… expected. Inevitable. As if unconsciously, you knew he wasn’t the one.

Na Jaemin is not your soulmate. And you spend the walk home contemplating how you’ll tell him this.

When you unlock the door to your shared apartment, you know he’s already home, and earlier than usual: his shoes are placed meticulously on the rack by the door and his jacket is hung up next to the messenger bag he takes to work. The living room smells faintly of the pine and vanilla candle you bought last month, and you smell traces of shampoo and bodywash from the bathroom.

“I’m home!” you call out as you kick your shoes off and put them neatly next to Jaemin’s. There’s a muffled response of your name before the door to your room opens. Then his arms are around you, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he mumbles a tired greeting.

“Bad day?” You ask softly, pushing all your other thoughts to the back of your head. He looks exhausted. His hair is tucked messily under the hood of his navy sweater, still damp from the shower he took earlier. His eyes lack the usual brightness you often find yourself so immersed in, replaced with the fatigue and weariness he almost never brings home.

“I hate this company,” he sighs as you run your fingers through his hair. You feel him relax in your arms a bit. “My boss is a dick, everyone in my department hates each other and the coffee tastes like actual ass. Maybe I should just quit while I still can.”

You frown. “Jaem, you’ve been with them for literally a month. You can’t possibly be thinking about quitting already.”

“A month! A month in and I’m already having mental breakdowns under my desk at lunch. Imagine what will become of me if I spend a year there,” he scowls, but his expression softens when you kiss him reassuringly on the cheek. “Alright, alright, fine, maybe not quit, maybe I’ll just take a long, long, vacation and then retire… Move to the countryside with you…” He trails off dreamily and for a moment, you lose yourself in the fantasy he’s painted for you. The mental image of a quaint house by the ocean is quickly shattered when you remember the test results hidden in your bag. The sunflowers you envisioned surrounding the cottage are blown away in the wind, their bright yellow petals swallowed by the blueness of the sky.

“Oh, you wish,” you laugh, quickly pressing your lips to his in hopes that he won’t see your expression, that he won’t see the sadness and regret you’re fighting to suppress. “Maybe, baby, maybe one day we can do that.”

“Maybe,” he laughs, his face lighting up with the energy and liveliness that has been missing. “But enough about me. How was your day, love?”

“Mm. The same old,” you say, pulling out of his arms so you can finally take your jacket off. You crash into the couch where you fold up your scarf and toss it aside. “Stressful.”

He stares at you for a hard moment, visibly concerned as if he can tell there’s something troubling on your mind. “Is something the matter?” He asks carefully, sitting down next to you. He holds you at arm’s length so he can look at you properly. “Is this about the test?”

“What? Oh, no, not the test. I doubt the results will come in until sometime next week.” The lie slips out easier than it should, and you feel guilt slowly start to twist your insides. Just a white lie, you tell yourself. It can’t hurt anyone but yourself. He’s been through enough today. He’s tired. Not tonight. It can wait. “I’m just tired,” you shrug. “I need some dinner and a nap, then I’ll be all good again. Do we still have anything in the fridge or should we order takeout?”

“I already ordered chicken from Yong’s. I had a feeling that today would be a bad day for the both of us,” Jaemin grins. His smile is smug at first, then endearing when he sees your shock.

You practically pounce on him in excitement, and the two of you go crashing into the couch cushions until you have him pinned beneath you. “Oh my god, I fucking love you, you know that?”

Jaemin groans, curling into himself as he gives you a wounded look. “And that’s how you show your love? By trying to break my bones?”

“Besides the point,” you huff. “You aren’t going to say it back?”

“Yes, of course. I love you too.”

Unsatisfied with his answer, you lower your face so your lips are hovering just inches above his. He looks up at you starry-eyed, his fingers ghosting over your cheeks; you can’t help but notice the way his gaze travels briefly to your lips.

Then you realize how dangerous this is. You know that he’s not the one. You know that you’ll eventually part ways with him when he finds out, no matter how reluctant you’ll feel. Every moment you spend with him like this will come back to haunt you when he’s gone. It will become another reminder of what you’re about to lose, yet here you are, falling deeper into his embrace, intoxicated by his scent and lost in the depth of his eyes. You are only tying more strings between the two of you, strings that will need to be stretched and snapped. You are only making it more painful for the both of you.

But for tonight, you don’t care.

“Say it like you mean it,” you whisper.

He holds your face gently, and those sparks you felt upon your first meeting with him are still there, igniting each time he looks at you, blazing into an open flame when he tells you, “I love you.”

You kiss him with more urgency this time, your lips meeting his in a clash of teeth and tongue. He puts his hands around your waist and pulls you impossibly closer to him. For just a moment, you’re focused on only him and his presence. For just a moment, you forget about everything; the sheet of test results is just another piece of paper in your bag, the blue mark just another colour. Because tonight, he is all that matters to you.

You met Na Jaemin almost three years ago.

Though the details have faded with time, you remember your first conversation well. It began at a friend’s art show beneath the golden glow of the studio lights, the two of you surrounded by brilliant splashes of colour and bold strokes of texture. Renjun had insisted on introducing you to Jaemin before you even arrived at the gallery, and you couldn’t have possibly refused. Your friendship with Renjun goes way back to the 40s, and you often think he knows you better than you know yourself. “I think he could be good for you,” he told you quietly just before leaving to speak with his other guests.

At first, Jaemin seemed timeless. It was as if he didn’t belong to any particular time period, as if he had lived to see several generations rise and fall, but had never risen or fallen with any of them. Dressed elegantly in a fitted turtleneck and a wool coat, he appeared youthful and contemporary; yet the way he spoke hinted at a certain maturity, at wisdom and sagacity. There was something charming about him too, something about the way he recounted events of the past and drew you in with only his words.

Next to a breathtaking oil painting of the sea, you discovered your commonalities. He was almost two decades younger, but like you, had spent his entire life searching for a partner without much success. You were delighted to learn that he had also worked in teaching—though he mentioned changing careers frequently whenever things became too mundane. He was effortlessly intriguing, and every word he spoke was lively and animated. He infused your conversations with colours, painted everything in bright yellows and aquamarines that matched the swirling paint strokes of the artworks around you, left you wanting to know more without even trying.

You left the gallery that night with his number in your coat pocket. Needless to say, Renjun was thrilled.

Weeks passed before you saw him again. Your busy schedules always managed to get in the way of your plans, but the two of you still kept in touch, chatting late into the night and well into the early hours. As the months went by, you dared to hope that maybe he was the one.

You immediately scolded yourself for being naive. With all your past partners, you had been hopeful in the same way, only to be let down in the end. Your test when you were with Donghyuck came back blue, as did the one with Mark. Both have since moved on, found their soulmates and written their happy endings. Even if you still stay in touch and meet up for an occasional coffee, you know that you are only a distant memory to them in some way or another.

The prospect of the same thing happening with Jaemin had never occurred to you—you’d been so caught up in getting to know him, so blinded that you’d completely forgotten. And then you saw him differently. As if he were a flame that could be snuffed out in an instant, a feather that could be sent flying with the slightest breeze, the slightest breath. You mulled over it for weeks and always did so silently, until it finally came up in conversation.

Almost a year had passed since you’d met him. With the summer coming to an end, the two of you had driven down to the Han River where you sat in the open trunk of his car, sharing a can of cheap beer from the convenience store. There were no words, only the faint melody of an old pop song buzzing from your phone and his hand around yours.

“Move in with me,” he said at last, glancing at you expectantly, trying to gauge your reaction. It wasn’t completely out of the blue—you’d been searching for a new apartment for weeks—but it still took you by surprise. “Too fast?” He asked when he registered your shock.

“No, not at all,” you shook your head and squeezed his hand. “Don’t get me wrong Jaem, I’d love to. It’s just, I don’t know about any of this. About us. If we’re actually…”

He hummed a quiet response, his brows furrowing slightly in contemplation. “Soulmates,” he said with a melancholic sigh. “You don’t want to go any further before we know for certain. I understand.”  

You nodded. “It always hurts, you know? You think you’ve finally found them only to realize you’ve been completely wrong the whole time.”

“I know,” he said, and his empathy flooded you with warmth and reassurance. “You always think you’ll be prepared for the next time. You always think it will hurt less as time goes by. But it doesn’t.”

“Exactly.”

You tipped the last of the beer into your mouth; it tasted faintly sweet on your tongue before dissolving into a pleasant bitterness that hit the back of your throat. When you were finished, Jaemin took the empty can and fiddled with the tab, bending it back and forth until it snapped off.

“I want it to be you,” he told you after a few minutes of silence. “I want it to be us.”

“And if we aren’t?”

He kissed you, hard enough for you to see stars. It wasn’t desperate or longing, but it seemed to convey a hundred different thoughts all at once, a hundred different emotions for you to decipher. When he finally pulled away, his voice was thoughtful and he was seemingly lost in a pleasant daydream. “Oh, love, the universe has already cursed us to search eternally. We may as well spend eternity together.”

“Seriously, Jaemin, what if we aren’t?”

The tremor of your voice snapped him out of it. The glimmer of hope disappeared from his pupils and the dream slipped from his hands.

“We’ve been alive for so long,” you continued, trying to keep your voice steady. “I don’t think I can go on like this. What if we aren’t meant to be? What will we do?”

You didn’t regret your time with Donghyuck or Mark or Jungwoo or any of the people you were lucky enough to have met, but you’d watched all of them from afar, watched them grow while you stayed frozen in time. Each new generation that came along was only a reminder of your loneliness. You felt a certain emptiness each time you invited new people into your life, one that deepened when they eventually left you behind. Or worse, when they gave you their pity. You couldn’t stand it when people told you that it was unfair or that you deserved better, all while they lived comfortably with their soulmates. You weren’t jealous, nor could you ever be angry at them for something beyond their control. Your anger was directed at the invisible forces that toyed with the world, the mischievous hands spinning the universe in some strange direction that left only you disoriented.

His expression took on a faint sadness and when he spoke again, his voice was calm, barely a whisper. “Then so be it. If you need to move on, it would be selfish of me to stop you from doing so.” He stared out at the waters wistfully, at the yachts sailing downstream. “And besides, you’re right. Maybe it’s time we settle down… even if it’s not with each other.”

Your birthday came a few months after that night, but you held off on testing. The bus you took home from work passed by one of the labs, but you never got off at the stop, always watched the doors open and close from your seat. The test isn’t that accurate anyways, you told yourself; it could produce only an approximate biological age, so maybe the longer you waited, the better.

But in the end, it was simply an excuse to escape reality, to avoid your confrontation with fate itself.

You moved in with him just before the end of the year.

New Year’s Eve wasn’t a big deal for you (you’d lived through too many for it to be exciting), but you spent the last minutes of the year with him, surrounded by cardboard boxes waiting to be unpacked. Jaemin had still made some sort of effort at festivities despite your indifference: pale pink and gold candles lit around the living room, golden champagne in delicate glasses set on the table.

You were almost asleep when the clock struck twelve, wrapped up in one of his oversized sweaters and a white throw blanket. The celebratory music blaring from the TV was muffled in your ears, a pleasant symphony that lulled you deeper into sleep until Jaemin awoke you with a kiss.

“Happy New Year, Y/N.”

“Happy New Year, Jaem,” you mumbled, a smile ghosting your lips as you focused on the comfort you felt in his arms; on the new year, on your new home, new hope.

You know something’s wrong.

Jaemin doesn’t come out to greet you, even after you announce your arrival. He’s home—his shoes and coat are put away neatly like any other day—yet it’s deathly silent, terribly still. No music playing in the living room, no voice down the hallway. Only the occasional chirp from your broken smoke detector, which you’ve been meaning to fix for weeks. As you bend down to unlace your boots, you can’t help but worry.

You find him in your shared bedroom, sitting cross-legged on the comforter. The sun has almost set and the shadows stretch across the room, blanketing him in darkness and masking his expression with ambiguity. He doesn’t move when you turn on the lamp on the bedside table. He doesn’t move when you sit next to him.

There’s a familiar sheet of paper in his hands.

“Jaem, I…”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

It isn’t accusatory or hostile; his voice is laced with nothing but sadness, yet you feel so much guilt, guilt that closes around your throat and squeezes the air out of your lungs, leaving you breathless. You kept it from him for days, and now this is the way he must find out about it. From a piece of paper you were careless enough to leave where he might find it. From a piece of paper detailing the DNA extracted from a sample of your blood. You should have told him.

“I didn’t know how to,” you let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Are you serious?” There it is, the cold edge that begins creeping into his voice as he stares down at you. He flicks a finger in the direction of the date printed at the top of the paper. “It’s been a week, Y/N. You kept this from me for a week. Why?”

“I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you, okay?” It comes out sharper than you intended; you immediately begin to drown in guilt as soon as you see Jaemin’s expression fall. You didn’t mean to lash out, and now you make up for it by taking his hands in yours. They're ice cold. “Look, the day I found out, you were already tired from work. I didn’t want to bring it up and make everything worse—”

“So you lied. Said the results hadn’t come in yet,” he says flatly and you rush to defend yourself, only to realize that he’s right.

“I’m sorry.”

The rest of your words don’t come. With a tired exhale, you bury your head in your hands, too overwhelmed to say anything else. You can only hope that he’ll understand, that he’ll empathize and that he’ll forgive you, even if you don’t exactly believe you deserve any of it right now. You hold back the tears. Only when he pulls you into his arms do they fall. He takes your hands, gently pulling them away from your face so he can wipe your tears despite your protests. There’s no coldness in his expression now, only concern.

“I needed time to process everything,” you continue, but you choke on the words. “I couldn’t even accept it myself, I couldn’t—”

“I know, love,” he says quietly as his thumb brushes against your cheek. “I know. It’s alright.”

Your silent sniffles turn into unrestrained sobs as he pulls you into his embrace, your pent-up emotions finally released in the form of silvery streams on your cheeks. You aren’t sure how much time passes. The sun meets the horizon in a hazy line of faint pink and orange. The sky darkens. Outside, the city lights up in a multitude of hues, the amber light from the street below seeping into your room. The minutes go by, but Jaemin never lets go of you until your tears have run dry.

“Better?” He asks, albeit his voice is shaky, his gaze trembling when he looks up at you. You nod.

“We’ll figure this out,” his eyes seem to say. You can tell he’s just as terrified as you are, just as unsure and as lost. Though for now, you simply hold each other. You say nothing about the paper that lays discarded on the floor or what it entails, even if you both feel the need to address it, to face its implications. In this moment of brokenness, neither of you have the strength to do so.

You eventually collect yourselves. You make dinner and force yourselves to eat before passing a meaningless hour in front of the TV. You clean up, wash up. Sleep early in preparation for tomorrow. Jaemin never leaves your side.

“Where do we go from here?” You whisper into the darkness of your bedroom.

“Tomorrow, love,” you hear him say just before slipping into unconsciousness, into restless sleep.

According to Lee Donghyuck, the chances of meeting your soulmate are 1 in 10 000. Or at least, scientifically. Theoretically. Donghyuck was a man of logic and reason, and had your lives not revolved around soulmates like the earth revolved around the sun, perhaps he wouldn’t have believed in fate at all.

“Remove fate from the equation,” Donghyuck mumbled to himself thoughtfully, jotting a few numbers down on a paper napkin. “And let’s assume your soulmate is around your age.”

“Can’t you rule that one out too?” You pointed out,  but he was too busy, already lost in his thoughts.

“If your soulmate is determined at birth and instantly recognizable at first sight… And they’re actually alive somewhere in the world…”

You watched the quick movements of his blue pen with intrigue. He spun the pen restlessly, allowing its barrel to cross over and under and between his fingers, at times so quickly that it became nothing but a blur of colour. Finally, he scribbled a final verdict and inked two definitive circles around it. “If fate hadn’t been so kind, the chances would have been one in ten thousand. One lifetime out of ten thousand.”

“That slim? Ten thousand lifetimes, that’s nearly impossible,” you said, skeptical but amused at his train of thought nonetheless. You took the napkin from him and looked over his calculations, though some of the numbers were too big for you to check without a calculator. You trusted that Donghyuck had done them correctly though. “You know, if you told that to someone who’d spent a century searching for their soulmate, they’d probably beat you up. You’re lucky I like you.”

He giggled. “We’re lucky it’s only hypothetical.” He took the napkin from you and crumpled it, smudging the neon blue ink on the tips on his fingers.

With Donghyuck, things were simpler. He was young, young enough to not be in a hurry, young enough to speak his thoughts so freely. He never pitied you or worried about offending you, and he never treated you as if you were out of place among the new generations. He offered you perspective. You knew that you weren’t meant for each other, but you were still content to spend your time with each other. To wait together.

“So… I might have found a new place.”

You don’t miss the surprise on Jaemin’s face when you tell him over dinner. His eyes widen a bit in curiosity, his brows arching upwards and his mouth falling slightly agape. He sets his fork down against his plate, folding his hands together the way he does when he’s deep in thought.

“Already?” He inquires. Maybe you imagine a hint of disappointment in his voice, a slight dip in his tone. He looks at you with a sort of sadness, as if trying to imagine what it would be like with you gone, to come home to an empty apartment every night. “Seriously, Y/N, you’re welcome to stay if you need to. We said we would take the changes slowly.” His words aren’t just out of consideration for you.

More than a month has gone by silently, and within that time, the frigid cold of winter has finally given way to spring. Nothing has really changed when you think about it, as if your test results are meaningless. And you suppose that they have become just that, a meaningless scrap of paper at the bottom of the recycling bin in the kitchen. Jaemin still holds you the same way, though his touches are just a little bit more fleeting. Your conversations still extend late into the night, though they feel just slightly melancholic. You hang onto his every word even while telling yourself not to, that maybe there is no point in doing so when everything is already coming to an end.

“I don’t know if I’ll take it… at least not for sure. And even if I do, I won’t be moving in until April. I just thought I’d tell you ahead of time,” you tell him, reaching across the table to take his hand. “I mean this in the nicest way possible, but I think I need some time alone. So I can adjust to all of this.”

“No, I understand. It’s just a little jarring, you know? Don’t know what it’ll be like without you here.”

“It’s literally only a block away,” you giggle, and he smiles. “I’ll still be here.”

After the coolness of February comes grey skies and a drizzly March, heavy rainfall washing the white snow to grey slush. Eventually, the clouds part across the sky for the sun, allowing the brilliant blue of the sky to peek through. April comes sooner than expected, producing blooms of yellow and white in the flowery courtyards of your new apartment complex, bursts of bright colours along the cobblestone paths.

You stand surrounded by boxes in the middle of your new studio apartment, watching the people pass by on the streets below. The windows are cracked open for air and you can hear the bustle outside, the yells of the street vendors, an occasional shriek of a child’s laughter. The new bedframe and mattress you ordered stand leaning against the wall in the corner, waiting to be assembled. Jaemin stumbles through the door with another box and sets it down before dusting his hands off on his jeans.

“That’s the last one,” he says. He collapses on the couch that the previous owner left behind, out of breath. You sit down next to him, allowing him to rest his head on your lap. He finally looks around, then at you. “Everything you hoped for?”

You nod happily. “I’ll miss having you around though,” you chuckle, playing with the soft strands of his hair, freshly dyed—after losing a drunken bet to Renjun a week ago, he reluctantly let the latter bleach and tone his hair bright silver. But you think it suits him; it accentuates the darkness of his eyes and paleness of his skin, gives him a cold and chic edge offset by the gentleness of his smile.

“I’ll still be here,” he repeats your words from two months ago. “And you’ll be much closer to work, right? No more crazy subway routes and early mornings. At the cost of me being your personal alarm clock, of course.” He grins, and you smack him with a red throw pillow.

“I won’t miss that,” you roll your eyes teasingly.

“Whatever you say, love.” He lifts his head off your lap to press a kiss against your cheek.

You spend the rest of the afternoon with him, unpacking boxes, hanging up clothes, building the bedframe and fitting the mattress with clean sheets so that at least you’ll have somewhere to sleep tonight. When the sun sets, everything is lit in an ethereal glow, and you stare out the floor-length windows, admiring the sky. Jaemin joins you after a moment, wrapping his arms around you as the two of you rock back and forth to the steady rhythm of the music playing from his phone.

When he leaves in the evening, he gives you a final hug, jokingly telling you not to miss him too much. When he’s gone, you find yourself staring out the window once more, at the blocky silhouette of Jaemin’s building a few blocks away. He pointed it out earlier, thrilled that you could see so far from this high up.

You quickly learn that on cloudy days, it is nothing but a smudge of grey in the distance.

While Donghyuck always tried to ease your worries with reason and strokes of pen ink on his skin, Mark took you on long drives around the city, hoping that the wind blowing through your hair would clear your mind.

On late nights when you couldn’t sleep, you often found yourself in the passenger seat of his 1975 Hyundai Pony, listening to static-laced 80s rock music while he drove you around the streets of Seoul. He would always roll the windows down in the summer and watch the contentment on your face, one hand around yours while the other guided the wheel.

Mark Lee was even older than you—and with all the wars and tragedies he’d lived through, he understood what it felt like to be kept awake by the nightmares. To be kept awake by thoughts of loved ones being blown to bits, to be haunted with memories of the past. With how long he’d been searching for the right person, he knew the urgency you felt and the longing to finally settle down with a soulmate. He understood.

The stories he told you were woven between puffs of cigarette smoke and gentle kisses on your forehead. He told you about Canada and the mountains that surrounded Vancouver, where he’d spent some time in the 40s. He told you about his family, about his brother’s grandchildren who looked older than he did. It was strange, he’d admitted with a small laugh and sadness in his smile.

The two of you often pointed out buildings along the side of the road, reminiscing what stood in their place before the bulldozers and big trucks rolled in. Just down the street from his apartment, the old drive-in cinema was being replaced by an upscale theatre. Next to it, a park was being cleared for a new shopping centre. Even the studio he’d rented out last summer had been demolished so a new entertainment agency could build its empire. Once in a while, he would drive by and stare ruefully at the construction site—the classical compositions he’d once recorded there were being replaced by a new type of music, with catchy beats and pretty pop stars dressed in shiny outfits.

His music had been drowned out by a new industry, and likewise, many of the things you remembered from your childhood have been lost to time. Talking about the past with him helped you remember. It was a sort of reassurance even as you moved on.

Mark eased a bit of your pain, staying out with you until the early hours of morning to make sure that you were alright. The next morning, he would almost always call to ask if you’d slept okay, unless there was an issue with the old landline phone in his office. All concept of time disappeared when you were with him, along with your memories and the demons haunting your dreams. But eventually, he would drop you off at home and bid you goodnight, leaving you to watch him drive away. Eventually, the night came to an end.

He couldn’t stay with you the whole night, nor could he stay with you forever.

Your evenings are often interrupted by Jaemin’s messages asking you to come over. Sometimes he says that he misses you, or he wants to see you for dinner. Other times, he kisses you breathless against the closed door as soon as you’ve stepped inside, always with an unmatched fervour and urgency as if you might slip right through his grasp and disappear.

Tonight, however, it’s neither.

It’s half past midnight when your phone is set off in a series of quick vibrations. Wrapped in nothing but a towel with your hair still dripping, you type in a reply, hesitate, press send. You get changed, slipping into a pair of jeans and an oversized T-shirt before grabbing your keys.

Jaemin is uncharacteristically quiet when he opens the door for you, his gaze downcast so you can’t see his expression. He’s deteriorating; you can see it in the way he turns his back to you after locking the door, the way he walks inside with a halfhearted invitation for you to follow.

“What’s wrong?” You ask when you’ve sat down across from him.

“I think I found them,” he mumbles and you notice how he averts your gaze. “My soulmate, I mean. I think I found her.”

“Wait, then why with the long face? Jaem, that’s great—”

He cuts you off with a sharp bark of emotionless laughter. His expression turns bitter when he pulls his sleeve up to reveal a mark along his wrist: two linear streaks of dark purple that twist together like the centre petals of a rose. He stares at it, almost with contempt. Apart from the standardized DNA tests, markings are the only other way to identify soulmates, though they almost never show. No one has any proper explanation for them and you have no explanation for why Jaemin has one now.

“Don’t get me wrong, I think she’s great. She’s smart. She’s funny. We have the same mark so I know it’s her,” he says shakily. “But god, I must have really fucked up in a past life to deserve this.”

You feel dread. It hits you all at once, because the way Jaemin speaks is so distant and unnerving, as if he’s lost himself in a trance and forgotten all about you. You’ve seen this dazed look before, only twice, when he was truly distressed and truly lost. This isn’t like him.

He found her. He should be happy. You should be happy for him. He should be happy.

“What is it?”

“I think I’m broken. Something’s wrong with me.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, and you try to keep the urgency out of your voice for his sake. He doesn’t say anything. “Jaemin?”

“I don’t feel anything when I’m with her. Nothing.”

You don’t register his words. They don’t make any sense to you. They are barely coherent. No, you think. That can’t be possible.

“Maybe we rejected each other in a past life and then both offed ourselves. Or maybe this is just the universe’s way of saying ‘fuck you.’ Maybe—”

“Stop that,” you tell him firmly. “Whatever this is, there has to be an explanation for it. Marks don’t just appear out of nowhere, right?” You pause to take a shaky breath, suddenly realizing that your words aren’t meant to comfort only him. “We can look into it. We can figure out what’s going on. This is the 21st Century, remember?”

“But what am I even supposed to tell her?” He demands, his tone exasperated and his brows furrowed together. “‘I know you’ve been looking for me for your whole life, but I can’t see you as anything more than a friend, sucks for you’? What do I do, spend the rest of my life drowning in guilt and self-pity because I couldn’t love her the way she wanted me to? Because I could only pretend?”

You have no answers for him. Perhaps he hasn’t felt anything for her because he hasn’t let go of you. Perhaps it really was a mistake, a freak accident in the cosmos that put the wrong marks on the wrong people, designating a pair that was never meant to be. Your thoughts run wild, but you can’t put anything into words for him. Even if you could, you don’t think you would have the strength to say anything aloud.

Instead, you hold him in your arms, wiping away the tears of frustration that have formed at the corners of his eyes, running your fingers through his hair. You can only hope that his soulmate will do the same for him some day, perhaps in some future where the cruel forces watching over you cease their endless games. Genuinely, you hope.  

The tone goes off a third time. You glance at the clock across the room: 11 AM. He has to be up by now, you think to yourself as your fingers continue drumming a repetitive rhythm onto the kitchen counter.

“Hello?”

Just before the automated voice can tell you to leave a voicemail, he picks up. Donghyuck’s voice is groggy, as if he’s just woken up—or maybe he’s just about to go to bed. With his disaster of a sleep schedule, you can never be sure.

“Hi, it’s me.”

“Oh hey, you, I know you.” You hear him chuckle on the other end of the line. “How are you, Y/N? I haven’t heard from you in ages.”

“I’m alright, the usual, I guess. How about you? How’s Jeno?”

“Jeno adopted another cat because he’s fucking insane, so now we have three little furballs running around the house. But yeah, it’s going great! So great,” he drawls with a familiar bite of sarcasm. You smile to yourself. “If he brings home another one because ‘Oh Hyuck, look it’s so cute, can we keep it?’ I will literally choke him in his sleep. Anyways, what’s going on? You never call me.”

“You never pick up,” you huff, earning a small laugh from him. “Okay, I wanted to ask you something. What do you know about soulmate marks?”

Thoughtful silence. “Not much. I mean, I’ve got my theories, but nothing has really been proven. Why, did you get one?”

“No, not me. Jaemin.”

“Oh, Y/N… then that means…”

“It’s alright, don’t concern yourself with me, Donghyuck. I’m more worried about him, honestly.”

“Hm?”

“He found his soulmate recently, but it’s not exactly… it’s not going as expected, let's just say that. He said he feels almost nothing when he’s with her, and to make things worse, apparently now it’s mutual. God, Donghyuck, they’re so awkward with each other, it physically hurts me.”

Donghyuck is silent again, and you hear the faint clicking of his keyboard. You can almost see his contemplative gaze and the soft blue glow of his computer screen lighting his face. “Did they know each other at all before the marks appeared?”

“Yeah, they were coworkers.”

He hums. “Okay… that could be why. Marks have a tendency to appear if soulmates have been around each other for extended periods of time without realizing it. It’s like nature’s way of telling them that the person they’re looking for is right in front of them. As for why they haven’t felt anything for each other? I dunno… reincarnation can really fuck with people. Any previous sentiments for your soulmate stick with you as you pass on, even if you’re both reborn completely different people.”

I must have really fucked up in a past life to deserve this. Jaemin’s words echo in your head.

“Obviously, there’s still opportunity to fix things,” Donghyuck adds quickly before you can get too lost in your thoughts. “It just takes time. Honestly, I wouldn’t be too concerned”

“I know, I know,” you groan. “I’m just upset that after everything he’s gone through, this is the shit he has to deal with.”

“Yeah. I can’t even imagine.” He pauses. “You know, a lot of people would just run off if they were in the same situation. He’s lucky to have you.”

You give a breathless laugh and shrug. “I feel like it’s the least I can do.”

“You never give yourself enough credit,” Donghyuck says, a hint of melancholy to his voice. There’s a sudden noise in the distance that cuts him off, and he curses beneath his breath. “Shit, the new cat’s not trained yet and I think she’s doing something stupid in the kitchen. Jeno will kill me if anything happens to her.”

You suppress a giggle. “Go ahead. We can catch up some other time.”

“Of course. See you, Y/N.”

The line clicks.

If Donghyuck taught you to be hopeful and Mark taught you to be strong, Jungwoo taught you to be brave.

Kim Jungwoo was your first love, and in many ways, you consider him to be irreplaceable. Perhaps it had simply been the result of young naivety back then, but you thought he was unlike any other person you’d ever met. In hindsight, he was different. A bright light dancing his way into your life when you were only a child in the 30s, a free-spirited boy who went where he pleased despite living under such an oppressive regime.

The Kims lived only a few doors down. You frequently saw the boys in their front yard kicking a beat-up soccer ball back and forth between them. Jungwoo was the middle child, and he sat right in front of you in class, his back always perfectly straight against his wooden chair so as to avoid the teachers’ chastisement. He was a quiet boy, and he never said a word unless it was to answer a question. But even then, his voice was small—not exactly shy or scared, just quiet. He quickly learned to raise his voice when the teacher hit him on the back of the hand with a ruler and demanded he speak up, when the wood scraped apart the skin of his knuckles.

At the time, when Japanese was all too foreign on your tongue and you struggled to understand anything taught in class, you thought he was a genius. He always had the right answers when he was called upon and there wasn’t a trace of an accent in either of his languages. Not that you heard him speak Korean much; you didn’t dare speak it unless you were hidden in your own homes, where your parents could discuss the uprisings without having to worry about the police roaming freely outside. Though, they still spoke in hushed voices as if anyone could hear them, as if terrified for what could happen if someone did hear.

The first time you spoke to Jungwoo properly was in middle school. After a humiliating incident at school that left you in tears, he ran to catch up with you on the way home and spoke to you in timid Korean, offering to help. You were still teary-eyed and beyond upset, but you let him guide you through your homework. He rambled to you about the Japanese grammar you couldn’t understand and explained the mistakes you’d made for your teacher to lash out at you the way she had. It didn’t stop you from making the same mistakes the next day, but at least he was patient, unlike the adults at school.

“You’re not stupid,” he told you one afternoon on the way home. Again, you were in tears.

“But the teachers think I am,” you grunted. “And I feel stupid. I can’t understand a word they say. I never have the right answers. Everything I say is wrong. If that’s not stupidity, I don’t know what it is.”

“Y/N, all we do at school is memorize meaningless facts that don’t really matter,” he replied with a shrug. “Just because you can’t shove all that information into your head doesn’t mean that you’re stupid. Look at Doyoung. He was failing school but he’s still one of the smartest people I know. He just… learns differently.”

“So? That doesn’t make me smart either. They still think—”

Jungwoo scoffed. “Who cares what they think? I think you’re wonderful, and they’re the real freaks. Miss Ito, especially.” He wrinkled his nose. “She smells funny.”

“Hey, be nice, Jungwoo,” you chided, but you were laughing. He was effortlessly funny and it was such a pleasant contrast to the way he acted at school. He was always so disciplined and perfect when the adults were watching, but he seemed to let loose around you. It made you feel… special, in a way. Validated, accepted. Something you never felt at school.

You walked home with him almost everyday from then on. You became inseparable, even when your school shut down and sent all the students to gender-segregated schools, even when your parents worried that you were spending too much of your time with him instead of studying. Even when war arrived.

The Second World War plunged your lives into darkness; Jungwoo quickly became the only light to guide you. He was there for you while your parents were away, while they laboured in the factories making helmets and guns and bullets so that they could at least put food on the table. He was there when the light at the end of the tunnel went dim, though he was miles away from home.

Jungwoo had never struck you as a fighter or rebel, even if he had the physique of a soldier. He had the drive and the courage and the steel to fight, but you only saw gentleness in his monthly letters to you. The last letter you received from him still sits in a drawer somewhere, the last words he wrote sealed in a plastic envelope so that they won’t fade away.

You took the test a few months after the war ended, only because he had pleaded with you to do so. Even if I don’t make it home, he wrote to you in the same curving script he’d used to teach you years ago. Promise me.

When the receptionist gave you a piece of paper with an X marked next to your name—there were no colour indicators back then, only X’s and hollow circles—a part of you felt relief that you couldn’t quite explain. Another part of you was disgusted, convinced that you were being selfish and apathetic. You thought that maybe you had no regard for him; that you only cared for yourself and a stranger you were still searching for. He’d risked his life to join the rebel army, fought on the frontlines with the Allies, and you repaid him with nothing.

It would take you years to come to the conclusion that your reaction was only natural. It would take you years to heal and start seeing other people. In due time, you would stop frequenting the church in your hometown and your fingers would cease to brush against the memorial stone in the yard, upon which his name was carved. Just one name among many.

Jaemin’s hands are all over you: in your hair, around your throat, pushing you against the wall as he kisses you. His fingers tangle into your hair and he pulls on the strands, forcing your head back a bit so he can continue trailing his lips over your neck and collarbones.

“We can’t be doing this,” you tell him when you manage to pull away. His arms come around your waist anyways and he buries his head in the crook of your neck. You can smell the alcohol on his breath, and you glance behind him to see empty soju bottles on the kitchen counter.

“I’m not with Jieun,” he snarls. “Besides, like I said. I think we’re fucked. We aren’t meant to be.”

“Don’t say that,” you hiss, taken aback by his sudden coldness. “This isn’t fair to her.”

“It’s mutual, remember? I bet she’s out there doing the exact same thing with some other guy. She doesn’t need me.”

“Jaem—”

“We’re fucked. She told me she doesn’t need me, and I told her the same.”

You’re horrified. “You did what?”

“Hilarious, isn’t it? We had our first fight, and we aren’t even together yet.” He scoffs, pushing a hand through his hair in irritation. “Some type of soulmate.”

You’ve never heard him talk like this. He’s out of his mind. He’s lost it. “Fuck, Jaem, how much did you drink?”

“Not enough to feel better, clearly,” he snaps.

“Alcohol and whatever this is between the two of us isn’t going to make you feel any better. This isn’t going to fix your problems.”

“Then what do you want me to do?!” His words are sharp, his expression hard when he glares at you. “You tell me to move on and to give her a chance and to stop doing whatever—” he motions frantically. You’ve never seen him so wild, so out of control, and you’ve almost never seen him lash out at anyone like this. “—whatever the fuck this is, but do you even know how it feels? Do you even care?”

A sharp intake of breath, and then the world is crashing down around you.

The feelings you fought to suppress re-emerge, rising up to crush you and force you into relapse. Doubt. Regret. Guilt. The little voice in the back of your head is a raging monster now, and it shouts at you, screaming at you in a blind rage. Telling you that you’re heartless and self-absorbed and indifferent, everything you believed you were when Jungwoo died. Reinstating what you know isn’t true. You know he doesn’t mean it. You know that it’s just alcohol fueling the words spewing from his lips and nothing more, but they still bring back unpleasant memories, a sense of dread you can’t shake.

He realizes, albeit a bit too late. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

If you knew how much it hurts me to watch you do this to yourself. If you knew how much it hurts me knowing that there’s only so much I can do for you. “Don’t. I get it.”

For a few seconds, the room is silent, save the ticking of the clock behind you. It reminds you briefly of a memory that you can’t quite grasp, like a flash of deja vu before you spiral back down to the present reality where you stand in cold, frigid silence. The broken smoke detector chirps.

“I should go,” you say at last. You go to grab your keys from where you left them on the counter but he quickly stops you, his hand coming around yours. You look up at him in irritation, pulling away sharply.

“It’s late,” he says shakily, almost pleading. “You shouldn’t walk home at this hour. Not alone.”

“I’ll call a cab,” you shrug before slipping into your sweater and pulling on your shoes. You bid him goodnight and leave him dumbfounded in the living room.

You return home to a sleepless light and endless thoughts in a cold bedroom. A broken record replays his words in your head again and again, until you see Jungwoo’s face floating above you in the darkness. His features are faint, like wisps of smoke that loosely form sad eyes and lips pulled downwards in a frown. And then he’s the one asking, “Do you even care?”

You have no answer for the annoying voice in your head. You stare at the lines of light drifting across the expanse of the ceiling, wide awake as the sky brightens outside.

“How long will you be gone?”

It was the 3rd of August 1995. You knew because the next day would mark 50 years since Jungwoo’s death. The next day, you would be going back to your hometown and laying flowers on the altar in the Kim family home, revisiting the memorial you’d left behind when you moved to Seoul.

You shrugged as Mark passed you his lighter. The old zippo produced a small spark between your fingers, and then the sting of smoke was filling your mouth and nose. You didn’t smoke regularly—you’d stopped years ago—but you sure as hell felt like you needed one tonight.

“I dunno,” you said, taking a long drag from the cigarette. “A couple more days after the ceremony? If I stay any longer, Doyoung might get upset.“

“Upset?”

“He doesn’t like seeing me. Said I bring back bad memories. I think I remind him of Jungwoo too much.”

Mark grimaced. “Well it’s scary, seeing a childhood friend who hasn’t aged in fifty something years… Must he like seeing a ghost.” He paused, tucking a stray piece of your hair behind your ear so that he could see your face. “My nephews feel the same way about me.”

“You remind them of something?” You asked.

“Their father, I guess,” he explained. “My brother… wasn’t the most understanding of them when they were younger. Whenever they see me, all they can think of is their childhood and his abusiveness.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?”

He took a moment of contemplative silence “No, not really. I mean, maybe it did at first. But it’s not like I go out of my way to avoid them just because of the memories they associate with me. That would be unfair for me.”

“It would be,” you agreed.

“So then why avoid Doyoung? What he thinks of you is beyond your control. If you remind him of painful memories, that isn’t exactly your fault.”

You sighed. “I don’t know. I just feel like staying out of his way might help him heal. Maybe it’ll help him move on from everything he’s trying to forget.”

“Oh, Y/N.” Mark took your hand with a breathless laugh. His smile was both sad and endearing, as if he were in awe of you—what for, you weren’t too sure until he murmured, “You’re too kind sometimes.” He paused to exhale, smoke escaping his lips and bleeding into the atmosphere, dispersing into the starry sky. He stared into the sky for a few moments, silent.

“But it’s not always up to you to heal their wounds. At some point, they have to learn to heal themselves.”

“What the hell happened to him?”

Jaemin looks like a mess. His hair is disheveled and swept messily all over the place. His skin is unhealthily pale, unusually warm to the touch beneath your fingertips. You can tell he’s had a little too much to drink; he sits on the couch in a daze, his eyes fixated on an invisible point in front of him as if searching for something that is no longer there. He yelps in pain when you wipe at the cut on his lip.

“We bumped into a couple guys at the bar. One of them took a swing at him,” Renjun explains as he passes you the bottle of disinfectant. You carefully apply a drop to a cotton swab. “And it didn’t help that he was also drunk. Thank god Lucas was there to break up the fight.”

“I wasn’t drunk,” Jaemin groans in protest. “Just tipsy.”

“Tipsy? You couldn’t even tell me Y/N’s number.”

“I don’t remember anyone’s number.”

“Well, you couldn’t tell me your own name either. Got any excuse for that one, smartass?”

You ignore their bickering and continue cleaning the cut on Jaemin’s cheek, holding him firmly by the shoulder so he doesn’t move. The cotton quickly turns light pink between your fingers. You briefly examine the red marks along his jaw where he’d been hit, frowning. Jaemin has never been one to get into fights and especially not while under the influence, but the bruises on his cheek and his knuckles suggest otherwise. Hell, he rarely even gets drunk, but it’s becoming more and more frequent, to the point where Renjun makes sure to watch over him whenever they go out together. He’s derailing, you think to yourself as you brush his hair into some sort of order.

“Okay, let’s get you to bed.” You put his arm around your shoulder and help him up to his feet, nearly staggering beneath his weight. Renjun rushes over to help you move him into the bedroom.

“You should probably go home. It’s getting late,” you tell him when Jaemin has been settled in bed. You glance at the clock hanging in the kitchen as you clean up the first aid kit on the table: almost 2 AM. “I’ll stay with him… make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“I really tried to keep him away from the alcohol tonight. I swear I turned away for only a second to deal with Yangyang and he— Ugh, I’m so sorry,” Renjun apologizes again, shaking his head. “This whole soulmate ordeal is really getting to him. I’m worried, Y/N.”

“You know how he is. He always figures it out one way or another” you reassure him. “I’ll talk to him again though. Maybe he’ll actually… listen this time.”

“Well, call me if anything happens. I probably won’t be asleep anyways.”

“I will. Thanks, Jun,” you nod appreciatively.

By the time Renjun has gone home and you’ve finished cleaning up, Jaemin is already asleep. He stirs when you switch off the lamp and reaches out for you in the darkness, fingers intertwining with yours. “Stay,” he mumbles, pulling you a bit closer.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You say as you admire the way the moonlight filters in through the windows and draws pale lines across his cheeks. Despite the cuts marking his skin, he looks so much softer now, innocent, in a way. Again, you’re reminded of the Jaemin you met at the art gallery. He was none of this. None of this pent-up frustration released in empty beer bottles, none of these crimson bruises marking his otherwise smooth skin.

“You have to stop doing this to yourself,” you murmur. There’s no reply at first, and you wonder if he heard you at all.

“I’m sorry,” you finally hear his voice: small, feeble in the darkness. His words become more urgent as he keeps speaking, spilling from his lips uncontrollably. “I shouldn’t have said those things about you. I wasn’t thinking. You know I could never mean it.”

You hush him, wrapping him in the security of your arms. A single tear brushes against the back of your hand, then another. “It’s alright,” you assure him as you rub soothing circles against his back. “You were going through a lot. I understand, okay? It’s okay.”

He shakes his head frantically, his tears falling in steady streams now. You let out a low hiss when you see them stain pink with the blood from the wound on his cheek. “Still, that shouldn’t be an excuse. I’ve managed to fuck up everything since all of this started. I hurt Jieun, I hurt Renjun, I hurt you. I can’t even go to work and look at Jieun without feeling like such an idiot and getting mad at myself for being such a child. Without feeling like maybe I deserve this.”

Your heart drops, then shatters into a million pieces at the bottom of a dark abyss.

“Look at me,” you plead as you take his face in your hands. “Look at me, Jaem, please.” He finally lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours in the stillness. All you can see is brokenness, defeat and regret, a look you knew well. It’s an expression that once followed you around for years, appearing in every mirror and reflection you passed by. An innate, intimate part of you that you despised so much until you came to accept it. “Listen to me, Na Jaemin. You are one of the strongest, bravest and kindest people I’ve ever met, and nothing will ever change the way I see you. You don’t deserve any of this bullshit. You don’t deserve this.”

“If you knew what I told her, Y/N,” he lets out a shaky breath. “If you knew what we told each other when we found out neither of us had any feelings for each other… maybe you would think differently of me.”

“If that’s truly what you believe, fix what you broke,” you say firmly. “Apologize to her. Make things right between the two of you, unless you want to go through this all over again in another life. Things will only get worse if you don’t address them now.”

“And if I can’t?”

“If anyone can do it, it’s you, Jaem.” Trembling, you press your lips to his temple. “Whether or not you end up with her, whether or not you think you deserve this, I love you. And that will never fucking change.”

He leans forwards, his forehead touching yours, his nose brushing against yours and his lips just inches from meeting yours. But he never comes any closer, and you feel no urge to close the distance either. Perhaps it’s a sign that both of you are already starting to let go, to drift apart; this moment is nothing romantic or lustful, nothing more than comforting each other in your brokenness. Nothing more than trying to help each other numb the pain.

“I love you.” His voice trembles, but his words are steady, deep-rooted in sureness.

“Then promise me you’ll try, Jaem. You’ll try to set things right, for both our sake.”

“For you, love,” he murmurs, so quietly that you can barely hear him. His voice is lost to the faint rumbling of the air conditioning unit somewhere outside and the distant noises of traffic. “For you, I would do anything.”

You wonder if he’ll remember any of this in the morning. You wonder if he’ll take your words to heart, or if they’ll simply be enveloped in dreams fueled by drunkenness, reduced by sleep to nothing but a blur.

...it’s not always up to you to heal their wounds. At some point, they have to learn to heal themselves

You’ve done everything you can for him, you decide. Even if you continue to walk by his side, the rest is up to him.

One Saturday morning, Jaemin shows up at your door dressed in black jeans and a button-down shirt, his hair swept up neatly. There’s a kind of brightness to him; it’s not necessarily hope or excitement, but certainly a change from what you’ve seen the last couple of weeks. He’s meeting Jieun for lunch, he tells you nervously. He wants to see you before he goes. You tell him you’re proud of him. That genuinely, you admire him.

The next time you see him, it’s at a floral shop. He’s in the middle of picking out flowers, and he flushes when he sees you. A single rose seemed too cliche, he tells you sheepishly, and asks your opinion. He thinks she’ll prefer something a bit more unique but equally tasteful, equally elegant. You recommend orchids or gerberas. They last longer than roses, but they convey the same message. When he’s gone, you buy a small vase of irises for your apartment; your living room needs a bit of colour.

Weeks later, you find a small package in the mail: a parting gift, you realize when you tear open the padded envelope. It’s nothing too special, nothing fancy or expensive—just a piece of blue glass wrapped in silver accents, attached to a delicate chain that you loop around your neck. When you hold the pendant up to the sun, its blue tint shatters into infinite colours, tossing specks of luminous yellow and orange all over your bedroom. More than just a singular colour, it reflects the other hues around you. And for just a brief moment, you think you see your own reflection.

You watched Jaemin move on just as you’d watched Mark and Donghyuck: from afar, with reserve but at the same time, excitement. Close enough for him to know that you were still there for him, but allowing some sort of distance that grew as the days melded into weeks and then months.

For the most part, he seemed to be alright. His texts were always cheerful, covered in happy emoticons—he used them when he was too giddy with excitement to type actual words. “We figured things out,” was all he said one night, and it was all you needed to hear to know that they’d be okay.

You started to notice the fondness he’d developed for her; it was subtle at first, just a hint of affection in his voice when he told you about her over the phone. Though slowly, it developed into something more. It was just as Donghyuck said: time had forged a relationship out of nothing, out of empty words and empty emotions, growing a garden from a barren piece of wasteland.

The first time you spoke to Kim Jieun, it was over the phone during one of your calls with Jaemin. She’d chimed in on your conversation at some point to say hi, and the way she spoke almost reminded you of Donghyuck: bright, cheery, a little sarcastic in a playful manner. You quickly learned that she was easy-going though brutally honest at times, well-mannered yet well-humoured. Most importantly, she wasn’t judgemental, and she didn’t treat you any differently from Jaemin’s other friends just because you’d been with him previously.

Of course, there was still a sense of yearning, a bittersweetness whenever you saw the two of them together. Your fingers always danced fleetingly along the screen of your phone before pressing like on the photos he posted to his social media. You saw him less and less, only occasionally running into him at the bakery you used to frequent together or at a friend gathering. For the most part, you let the past stay in the past. He seemed happy. And honestly, you were happy for him.

“I told you he’d be fine,” Donghyuck murmured to you at one of Jeno’s rampant parties, once most of the guests had trickled out for the night. The two of you sat on the balcony, watching everyone stumble around in their drunken stupor: Jeno was passed out on the couch with two cats sitting perched on his chest. Renjun was trying to braid flowers into Jaemin’s hair, which he’d recently bleached yet another shade lighter to match Jieun’s platinum locks. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Chenle and Jisung exchange a few bills and bicker over a bet—Chenle was still in denial that Jisung had won, apparently.

“I didn’t doubt you for a second, Hyuck.”

“But you were worried,” he grinned smugly.

“Why wouldn’t I be worried?” You sighed and knocked back the rest of your wine before motioning for him to pass you the bottle. You swiftly poured yourself another glass. “If I couldn’t have my happy ending, at least I wanted him to have his. As… cliche as that sounds.”

Donghyuck raised a brow at you. “What’s to say that you won’t get yours too? They can’t keep you waiting forever. The longest it ever took for someone to find their soulmate was 241 years.”

“Goddamn, are you trying to make me feel better or worse?”

“Better, of course! Okay, what I’m trying to say is that it’s rare for anyone to wait longer than two centuries. If everyone lived for up to three hundred years, we’d have a lot of dictators and other crazies running the world. The universe would spontaneously combust.”

“I know I’m barely even halfway there, but come back to me when I set a new world record,” you rolled your eyes, to which he responded with a small chuckle.

“So what now?” He glanced at Jaemin, who sat across the room with his eyes half-closed, an empty red solo cup in his hands. Jieun had her head on his shoulder, rambling drunkenly about something to Renjun. If you hadn’t known any better, you would have thought she’d been a part of the group all along; she fit in so seamlessly, and it warmed your heart to see her getting along with everyone.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “Nothing for now, I guess. Just waiting.”

“Whoever it is, I’m sure they’ll be worth it,” he hummed in reply.

“You think so?”

“People say that the longer you wait, the better. It’s all in your head, of course, but they have a point.”

You sighed, lifting your head to gaze at the stars hanging overhead. “I suppose they do. Maybe someday I get to find out.”

He patted you on the shoulder reassuringly. “You’ll figure it out. You always have.”

Donghyuck left a little later to get a drunk Jeno to bed, and then you had only the quietness of night to keep you company. Your mind drifted and you contemplated his words, repeating them silently to the wind. The night sky replied with nothing but a gentle breeze against your skin.

You could be patient, you thought as you watched the others inside. You fished the pendant out from beneath your shirt and stared at the reflection in the glass. It was as if you were grasping a piece of the night sky between your fingers: the stars and a crescent moon captured in a single, translucent oval. In the dark, the pendant appeared deep indigo, not too different in hue from the four coloured markings you’d acquired over the years.

But the sun would rise in due time, you thought to yourself mirthfully. Beneath the brightness of morning, you’d hold a different colour in your hands. You tucked the necklace back into the fabric of your shirt. You could wait.

read the epilogue, yellow

[voidselfshipp]

Paranormal Roomate

Cw: hurt/confort (none of the things my s/I says actually happened)

Summary: Jerico finds out shes sharing her house with someone unsual.

Only mutuals allowed to rb.

-> for this fanfic, I use the AU and visuals of "krosrios " on Instagram. (Aka. Dark//danny//Dan is older than me and the oldest of the feng.ton siblings)

Taglist: @tex-treasures @mercuryships @malewifehenrycooldown

Okay this was weird.

Jerico swears she had put that glass somewhere else, but whatever. Maybe she just imagined it.

Calmly painting away, she almost doesnt notice the sounds of heavy stepping. She stops, and tries to see if they come from outside. But then theres only silence.

"Weird" she thinks, to then shrug, and Keep painting.

Unbeknownst to her there was something going on, a local ghost decided it was a good idea to mess with her, scaring her with loud noises or weird sounds, footsteps.

Jeri at one point got used to it, to the point of talking directly to the ghost itself.

--I need to study, Keep it quiet!-- she said to the air, to then Open up her note books.

And what do you know, the ghost actually complied.

This ghost didnt seem to interact with her besides scaring the daylights out of her or eating food out of her fridge. But today was the exception.

Jerico closed the door of her house a bit too hard, locking it and leaving the keys on its usuall spot.

She threw her bag and jacket on the Office hair and plummeted in the bed. Letting out a loud sigh.

She curled up under the blankets, tears soon to follow as she hugs herself, and sobbs heavily.

She felt the weight of two muscly arms wrap around her waist behind her, something solid against her back. Shes too busy crying her eyes out that she doesnt freak out, only lean in the touch.

A soft and faint aquamarine glow catches her attention, she turns her head and is met with a heavily muscular Man, white flowing hair in a ponytail, red eyes and light Teal skin, wearing a black turtleneck and leather pants with combat boots.

The ghost clears his throat,after some seconds of silence he asks, almost in defeat-- What happened?

Jeri looks up at him, puffy eyes and red cheeks from crying, she just says--Bad day..

He sighs and pushes her head against his chest, body curling against her own in almost a protective manner.

--wanna talk 'bout it?-- The ghost said.

--...I dont know where to start...-- she made a pause, tanking a deep broken breath--remember that test I was studying for? I failed it, then there was so Many loud noises, ive heard them all day, someone poked fun at my insecurities....--she sniffed, the ghost Man looking down at her.

He says nothing and only hugs her tighter, anger in his chest directed at the person who dared make her feel bad.

--Easy...ive...ive got you now..-- he whispered against her hair, feeling her relax, still quiet.

They spent twenty minutes like that, in absolute silence.

--So youre the ghost that has been terrorizing me for months huh?-- Jeri asked, a faint tone of joking present.

--Hey..it never gets old-- he replied with a smirk, sharp fangs poking through his lips.

--Youre quite good looking-- jerico said off handedly-- I imagined you being like...a sheet ghost?

His flaming hair puffs up, cheeks turning a Darker shade of Teal-- Sheet ghost? Really?!

--hey! I dont know how ghosts look like!-- Jerico deffended herself, still joking.

He snorted-- well, cant blame you, I know for a fact that you dont like scary movies...you dont have any idea how ghosts look like

--that fact being that youve been living rent free in my house?

--i -- you-- he sighed-- youre the only one that lets me stay...

--Yeah I know..this house feels empty when im the only one living here...-- Jerico agreed.

--Uh..thanks for lettin' me stay..-- He looked away, awkwardly-- Figured you could use my name...Im Dan..

--Nice to meet you, Dan, im jerico

He chuckled thinking "dork"-- you better now?

--Yeah, thank you

--Dont mention it, hey...--his tone became softer-- ill make you some tea, you just..stay here..

--never thought the ghost who liked to scare the living shit out of me would take care of me like that

--You grew on me, youre too sweet-- Dan answered-- 'sides, if youre sad I cant scare you

--Haha, I like you too, dan-- jeri added sarcastically

He let out a happy "hmmpht" and flew through the wall to the kitchen.

Of course he knew how she liked her tea..., hes been living with her for months.

Though, a part of him was happy that he finally spoke to her, he didnt thought that he would get a crush on her when he first started scaring her. But she was very sweet, and a good person, and he couldnt help himself.

Jerico meanwhile had time to process what just happened. She grew fond of this ghost living with her, but now she had the smallest crush on him. I mean. He was very handsome.

Since then, Dan and Jeri became best Friends, and roomates, sort of.

Turns out, the beefy ghost was good at cuddling, and it didnt take long before Dan realized she had a crush on him. So, one night, they cuddled up in the sofá with some blankets and drinks, watching a movie, she was sitting on his lap, Back to his chest, both wrapped in a big blanket.

--Hey...-- he said, a bit scared-- I like you...

--Like you as in...*like* you like you? Romantically?

He looked away-- Uh- yeah..

Jeri made a pause as if she was processing what she just heard-- well..thats good..because I like you too..

He smiled and pressed a kiss to her temple, to then move to her lips and kiss her with all his strenght, which was a lot..

Jerico kissed back, wrapping her arms around his neck.

--I love you-- he spat out without thinking, love overwhelming Him.

--I love you too...-- She replied leaning in for another kiss. The movie becoming more of a background noise now...

[isaacvalley]

Again

[sweetchup]

A Helping Hand 4: Ghosts of Past // Day 3 🌙

Type: Shalnark x reader

Au?: Savior Au

Word Count: 2,000+

Warning: Past Character death, Bribing, Drinking, Trauma

Author Note: Sorry this came out a little later in the day than expected. I hope people like it and let me know in the comments who you think the ghosts are. Sorry for making y’all cry

<—(Pt.4.3☀️) / (Pt.5)—>

A Helping Hand Masterlist

“All right.” You mutter to yourself, quickly centering the fluffy cat plush on the grave before taking a step back to take a look.

You and Shalnark had done a lot for Pakunoda’s grave, from cleaning up all the dirt and cobwebs surrounding it to getting some of her favorite things to place on her grave. You just hoped, somehow and somewhere, she would be satisfied…

As you wipe the sweat off your brow, you look out the window towards the already night sky. Time had passed by so quickly while you were working. So much so, you had nearly forgotten about Chloe. Thankfully, Shalnark had offered to go grab Chloe for you at the last minute while you finished things up.

“Hey nice job. You even lit the candles.”

Speaking of the devil, you turn around to see Shalnark entering the room, Chloe trotting close right behind him. As the cat comes running up to you, you notice Shalnark holding two bags in his hand.

“What did you get?” You questioned out loud as you lean down to pick Chloe up. Shalnark gives you a confused look before looking at his hand and realizing what you were asking.

“Oh.” Shalnark fumbles with the bag before handing you a can, “I got us a couple of beers to drink.”

“Beers? Shal I don’t think…” You watched appalled as Shalnark proceeded to chug a whole can down in front of you. “...you should be drinking…”

“Oh come on, Doc. A couple of drinks won’t hurt anybody.” Shalnark chuckles out, jumping back onto the rock behind him to sit before pulling out another can. Suddenly as he takes a sip of his next one, a mischievous look flashes on his face. “Hey (Y/n). I say we have a little drinking contest to see who has a bigger toleran—.”

“Nope” You deadpanned, not even leaving room for Shalnark to argue back. As a gust of wind passes through the old building, causing it to moan lightly under the wind’s strength, you feel a shiver run up and down your spine. Damn, even though you were wearing a ski jacket and scarf it was still cold.

Shalnark lets out a small sigh to himself before shrugging his shoulders, “Fine, Fine. Guess I’ll have to drink this all by myself then.”

“Shal no—.”

Quickly, you attempt to take the can from Shalnark’s hand but the male caught onto your intentions and was much faster than you. Holding the can far away from your reach, you glare up at him in annoyance.

Unfazed by your threats, Shalnark leans forward to you and whispers, “Then, Drink with me (y/n).”

After a couple of minutes of staring each other down, and an attempt from Shalnark to chug down another beer, you realize you have to give in. Sucking your teeth in, you, begrudgingly, open a can and take a sip. Instantly, you feel yourself cringe at the bitter taste the beer held. It definitely wasn’t your type of drink to have.

“Am I sensing a chicken?” Shalnark teases out, already in the process of crushing his second can in his fist. You send him a quick glare, already wanting to just strangle him right then and there, as you bring the can up to drink from again.

You can feel the alcohol flow through your body almost instantly as Shalnark makes you drink more. It was just like what those textbooks you were forced to read in college said. You felt it in your brain first, euphoric and relaxed as if you had no worries in the world. Like a false haze fell over your eyes, blinding you from the rough truths of the world. Then, you felt it in your muscles. Your speech was getting more and more incoherent, your hands were shaky and, eventually, it got to be such a struggle to even stand that Shalnark had to help you sit down next to him…

To him…

You let out a small giggle to yourself as you stare at Shalnark. His blonde locks shimmering under the light blue glow of the moonlight as he tipped his head back once more to take a gulp from his can. His Adam’s apple bobbing back and forth a couple of times as he swallows before he pulls the can down to rest against his thighs. You watch as his aquamarine eyes, that seem weirdly more blue now, turn to look over towards you.

“What?” He questions out, his words coming out as a whisper, “Why are you staring at me?”

Because your Handsome, obviously?

Perplexed, you watch as Shalnark suddenly throws his head back in a fit of laughs. What… What was wrong with him?

It takes a couple of minutes but eventually Shalnark calms down and looks at you; his face covered in a wide grin.

“Handsome, Huh?” He teasingly questions out, giggling slightly as you choke on your drink. As you hack your lungs out, you can hardly let out anything, only able to muster a small murmur of a word after a couple of minutes.

“W-whAt…”

Shalnark gives you a moment to compose yourself, handing you a water bottle after your coughing calms down before proceeding to explain.

“I think you might have drinked a little bit too much if you can’t distinguish between your thoughts and what you say, Sweetie.” You flash Shalnark a quick glare at his statement. He seemed to be having a playdate with the amount of teasing and reactions he has been able to wring out of you. You will admit it was funny at first but now it was just getting plain annoying.

Just give him a good smooch. It’ll shut him up real good.

You nearly choked on your water as you proceeded to quickly spin around. What in the world was that. There wasn’t anyone else around from what you could see and sense but you could have swore you heard another’s male’s voice. It couldn’t be Shalnark either. The one you heard was ruff and rumbly, nothing like Shalnark’s. So—

“You okay?” Shalnark calls out, breaking you out of your thoughts.

You feel yourself pause for a minute, your thoughts needing a minute a couple of minutes to catch up to you before answering, “Ah… Yeah. I just thought I heard something…”

Shalnark thinks for a second before letting a light hum in response.

“I don’t hear anything. Well… Unless you count Chloe rolling around in the petals—“

You cut Shalnark off with a loud gasp, “Chloe No. No. No!”

Quickly, you scamper over to Chloe, picking up the cat before she could possibly roll and knock over anything on the grave. She was usually quite the respectful cat, not much to cause trouble, so it surprised you that she was acting like this. You hoped the gods, or whatever supernatural force that existed out there, won’t strike you down for your cat rolling around on Pakunoda’s grave like that.

“What’s with you Chloe… you never roll around like this unless someone is giving you belly rubs—” You end up cutting yourself off as a loud yawn forces its way out of your mouth. Oddly, the tiredness of today’s events suddenly hit you like a truck making you feel absolutely drained.

“Eh? Tired already?” Shalnark chuckles out as you practically collapse next to him. “You do know our hotel is on the other side of the city right?”

“Please tell me you’re joking…” You pleaded out. You knew, from experience, how hard it could be to grab a cab this late at night especially if your hotel is on the other side of the city.

“Sadly not Princess.”

You let out a small whine as you defeatedly fall backwards to lay on the rocks.

“Well, didn’t you stay here with the troupe for a while? Do you possibly have a place to sleep here, just for tonight?”

“Well, we do. But, when we stayed here in York New it was during the summer, not the winter. So we don’t have anything that could possibly keep us warm except for the candl— what…” You sit up a little as you hear Shalnark pause and suddenly rummage through his plastic bag, “A Blanket…”

After hearing what he found, you fully sit up and lean over his shoulder to take a look.

“That’s actually perfect.” You murmur out, reaching down to touch the fabric, “It’s big enough for both of us and the fabric is extremely thick to keep us warm. We will be perfectly fine if we have this and our jackets on.”

“I-it’s not that. It’s just I didn’t— this wasn’t… in the bag before. I didn’t buy this.” Shalnark mumbles out confused as moves around the blanket. Testing to see if he was really seeing what was in front of you two.

“Perhaps… you accidentally grabbed it or switched up with someone else’s bag?”

“W-well no. I didn’t see the blanket when I took out the drinks earlier—“ Shalnark is cut off as you take the blanket from him. As you unfold the fabric, Shalnark sighs to himself. What was he thinking? Getting all worked up over a blanket. You were likely correct, he or the cashier likely misplaced a blanket in his bag. Shalnark huffs out a laugh as a sudden thought comes across his mind. Uvogin would surely beat his ass if he saw Shalnark suspicious of a mere blanket.

A frown slowly makes its way on Shalnark’s face as his thoughts escalate. What was he doing? Sitting here like a school boy with a crush, falling hopelessly in love with you. He wasn’t dead, he still had his nen, the rest of the troupe is very much still alive… and Hisoka was still on the loose. Plus, if…

“What's important is the survival of the whole, not the individual."

"The worst case is all of us dying. The end of the Spiders."

… Hisoka actually succeeds in killing the other spiders then he would have to rebuild the spider… Right? And, you… you couldn’t come along with him if that's the case. You live in a different world than him. You were a caring doctor and he a cold blooded kill—

Shalnark winces as a firm smack hits the back of his head, nearly sending him flying forward.

“Ow. (Y/n)... what in the world was that for?” Shalnark grumbles out annoyed as he massages the back of his head. He’s not sure why you’re mad but you didn’t have to hit him that hard.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” You questioned out. As Shalnark spins around to give you a piece of his mind, he pauses. You… you were on the total opposite side of the giant flat rock in the process of setting up the sleeping area. “Ah. Do you mean these pillows? I found them in the corner. It’s so weird, they are practically brand new.”

“Oh yeah… that's it…”

If you were over there, then who smacked him. Was it…

… A Ghost?...

… No, no. That’s totally absurd. That’s the type of stories the boss would believe in, not him. He just… drank too much. Yeah, That’s it.

As Shalnark finally calms himself down, he decides to make his way over to you. Slowly, as you two settle down to sleep onto the cold surface, Shalnark can already feel you begin to drift to sleep off in his arms. He, very carefully, pulls you closer to him.

As he does so, he can hear the faintest whisper off in the distance. He almost mistakens it as the wind if it weren’t for the distinct familiarity in the voice.

Be selfish, Kid…

.

..

…

“Uvo…?”

Shalnark decided that night…. that you two were going to leave York New the very next morning.

Taglist: @meromelodi, @quartetstarheaven , @yumezai , @lvndrhwis, @writtenappreciation , @jojo-sinner, @pastelbear12 , @aly-kurta , @bbunnycore , @feifood , @akobere7u7 , @aleksa784

[gumnut-logic]

Bit 1 | Bit 2

And here is more of this Steampunk AU story. John whump, Eos, and Virgil angst. I had hoped to write more, but I got kinda distracted ::cackles and tackles @flyboytracy :: Some of you may have seen the last little bit of this before, but there is more that I might be able to play with tomorrow.

Many thanks to @tsarinatorment @scribbles97 and @janetm74 for putting up with my whining and for their reassurance.

I hope you enjoy this little bit more.

-o-o-o-

It was Grandma who saved John.

And Gordon who saved Eos.

Virgil wasn’t there. He was in too deep keeping Five afloat, her engines straining with the extra weight on one side and so many broken systems. But Alan told him of the confrontation between Gordon and Scott. The yelling, the outright refusal to destroy Eos, despite the fact the Fish obviously hated her with a passion. John, who was out cold and bleeding, obviously had something on Gordon that was pushing this, but in the end, Gordon spoke to the automaton, explaining that she would need to be caged to make Scott comfortable enough to let her live.

She complied, though Virgil suspected she had been absolutely terrified at the time.

Perhaps this was why John was right.

Scott would likely never forgive her for taking John’s eye and almost sinking Five and them along with it, he would never trust her, but Virgil liked to think he now knew that his decision to let her live was the right one.

Until she proved him wrong, in any case.

So Eos went into a cahelium alloy cage, built for animal transport by Virgil some years ago, while Grandma treated John.

John who lost his eye. There was nothing to be done to save it. His grandmother had dosed him up, stitched him up, and tidied the wound as much as possible.

The diagnosis was a glass eye or eye patch.

Gordon was heard to hiss and spit Eos’ name.

His gun didn’t return to its holster for days, always on hand.

Virgil spent all that time stabilising Five. They limped into some coral shallows and lowered her to the sand. Her land struts were slowly deployed, pushing her up and out of the water.

She groaned ever so much as water poured from her starboard side.

There, while John slumbered in chemical induced sleep, followed hours and hours of patching, welding and waterproofing.

Scott had to drag Virgil off her hull, the sun long gone below the horizon, and haul him to bed.

There were angry and tired words.

There were a lot of them that day.

So it wasn’t until the next morning that Virgil managed to see his star navigator of a brother.

It was Grandma who saved John.

But it was Virgil who saved his sight.

Scott had forbidden Virgil from using his gifts to assist in medicine. It took too much, his big brother said. He didn’t want to risk Virgil.

Not after nearly losing him to Gordon.

But at his first sight of John, Virgil couldn’t do anything but lay his hand on the side of his little brother’s head.

And reach.

He drew in a breath as he felt the damage, felt the cut lines of communication, the severed muscles and the ghost of the organ that was no longer there.

John stirred beneath his fingers, obviously reacting to the sudden source of warmth, possibly of pain.

His single aquamarine eye opened slowly and looked up at Virgil.

Virgil had always been a little envious of John’s eyes. They were such a beautiful colour, like that of the oceans they travelled.

And now one was gone.

But already designs were forming in Virgil’s head. He had given Gordon back his legs. This was different, but he should be able...it might take more...connection.

His fingertips flared again and John blinked. “Virgil?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” It was a sleepy question.

Virgil didn’t answer. They had both been in the room with what had become Eos. It may have been John’s experiment, but Virgil was a mechromancer who had had a little more whisky than perhaps he should have.

And this was the result.

He reached down and squeezed his little brother’s hand. “It will get better. I promise.”

John tried to frown and winced. “Virgil? What are you talking about?”

Another squeeze, but he didn’t answer.

John drifted off in the haze of drugs before he could ask again.

It was Virgil who saved John’s sight.

But it was Scott who saved Virgil.

-o-o-o-

Next

[moonchildsaurora]

Running in Circles

✤ guard captain!Mingi x thief!reader  ✤ genre: Guard AU // smidge of fluff, (semi)enemies-to-friends. (feat. Yunho) ✤ t/w: sfw, none - except very brief mentions of some fighting, rated PG ✤ count: 3k ✤ [ part 3 ] of Lacuna miniseries

a/n - huge apologies for keeping Captain Song in for a so long but alas, he’s finally freeeeee. I really need to pick up the pace with continuing on with this mini series 😅 this idea sorta played out better in my head than out in words - I’m not 100% happy with this, it’s defs not my best but I shall practise writing more Mingi fics in the future! This is also probably the tamest of the lot in terms of cry-level. Just preparing you guys with an easy read before the shitstorm that awaits in the next member on the list one shot hahahahahahaha. @hereisleo​ & @barsformars​ hope you both enjoy this for ya man 😉 I couldn’t bring myself to hurt this giant teddybear too much in writing. Also everyone, let’s welcome back a familiar face within this one shot :P

In all of his years of being a royal palace guard of Aethevintis, nothing would cause his body to seize up with tension instantly and hasten the greys that threaten to come through his still youthful auburn tresses than when he was requested at the interrogation chamber.

Heavy steps echoed off the dark granite stone floors, the sharp clinking from an array of medals that hung proudly to signify his prestige were in sync with his tense pace. Song Mingi had no problem exercising command and authority when it was needed, in fact, he prided himself in doing so.

He was good at his job, and he knew that.

Otherwise the title of Captain wouldn’t had been bestowed upon him that four winters ago. The real struggle was when his confidence in being assertive was mistaken for the ability to intimidate, broad body physique to further fuel that common misconception. And so Mingi often found himself sat in that bleak chamber with some poor unfortunate soul, who had been frightened into admitting nothing more than petty crimes.

He’d argue such tactics were unnecessary. Running his hand frustratingly through his hair for the umpteenth time, Mingi mentally braced himself for whatever...or rather whoever awaited for his arrival.

Rounding the corner, his brows arched up with surprise upon seeing the King standing in front of the chamber doors. The troubled look that replaced the King’s usual ebullient features prompted Mingi to straighten his posture immediately; this was sure to be a serious matter.  “Good afternoon Sire…”

Yunho turned towards the rich baritone voice of the Guard Captain and rigid shoulders relaxed ever so slightly at the sight of one of his most trusted.    

“Captain Song,” Yunho nodded in acknowledgement, “Although I’m not sure if it’s entirely good at all.”

Mingi’s forehead creased but remained silent to allow the King to further elaborate about his plight.

“The Queen’s aquamarine diamond parure has been stolen, and I suspect a selection of other jewels too. Those I care not for as much as the diamond parure…it’s got high sentimental value as it was passed down within the family from my great-great-grandmother.”

“That certainly isn’t good at all. Has the perpetrator been caught yet, Sire?”

“As luck would have it, yes actually. And I’ve been told that you would be the perfect person to know how to handle this….situation,” at saying this Yunho fully turned to face Mingi. The falchion in his belt’s scabbard felt heavy and a million and one thoughts were running through his mind at once.

“Mingi…”  

Mingi could see the sincerity in Yunho’s eyes and the hesitation in spilling out the words that needed to be said.

“I hope you know that in any other circumstances, I would not be requesting you to deal with such matters that you have immense dislike for. I apologise for putting you in such a position. This…certain individual has crossed paths with you before and I’m hoping with that familiarity you may be able to coax them to reveal where the diamond parrure is. How you do so, I’ll leave that up to your discretion.”

Oh.

Well that wasn’t what Mingi was expecting to hear. A certain individual he’s familiar with?

He straightened his back and gave a determined nod of his head, “I shall do my best Sire. That room may be the bane of my existence but this matter is clearly of importance to you, let us hope the thief can be convinced to comply.”

“You have my utmost gratitude Mingi,” Yunho said, reaching his hand up to give Mingi’s shoulder a comforting squeeze before making his way out of the grim dungeon hallway.

Mingi waited till the King was out of sight before turning to face the chamber. Taking a deep breath, he steeled his heart and pushed open the doors with slight force.  

“Well, well if it isn’t my favourite Captain of the guards. Come to keep me company for the evening?”

If he wasn’t already sweating before, he sure was now. That oh-so coquettish voice he’s grown to recognise almost immediately, fell on his ears.

You sent a cheshire grin to the tall figure, legs propped up on the worn-out wooden table and hands idly fiddling with the heavy brass shackles around your wrists. This certainly wasn’t the first time your paths had crossed but it was the first for you both to meet in a more dire setting.

Mingi feared for the implications of your capture.

Not just a mere thief of the streets but being the leader of Dusk Talons, the Royal Crown surely won’t pass up a chance to make an example of a core individual from the renowned thief guild.    

“You ought to close your mouth, otherwise the flies will get in.”

One of the guards closer to you brought his fist down on the table, a mere tactic meant to frighten you. However, all it got out of you was the bored glance you sent to the guard who started berating you for talking back to Captain Song.

Mingi let out a sigh, “That’s enough. I can take it from here, you all are dismissed.” The command was given to the other guards in the room as he settled into the chair across from you. They left without a fuss and silence encompassed the room, though not for long.

“Would you please be a dear and help with this?” you asked, chains jangling as you held out your cuffed wrists towards Mingi.

“It would seem that’s not needed at all,” a ghost of a smile gracing his lips, “your handy work got the job done for you.”

“You’re no fun.”

Not admitting out loud, you were slightly impressed that the guard captain didn’t let your lock-picking slip by him. The shackles dropped on to the table and you made a show of stretching your arms out, body arching lithely off the chair. Your loose tunic rode up just shy of showing skin, causing Mingi to avert his eyes out of respect.

That widened your grin.

Mingi let out an awkward cough, any pre-planned script he had for questioning was abandoned. You weren’t entirely a stranger to him nor were you an acquaintance – if the laws even allowed for that. But Mingi didn’t feel right about making you go through the same interrogation protocol as previous criminals had to. You weren’t like them.  

“I can’t tell if you thrive off the riskiest raids or that you don’t fear anything nor anyone. Going after Her Majesty’s diamond parure? Of all things!”

An airy chuckle left you, “If I didn’t know better…you sound awfully worried for me, Captain.”

“Shouldn’t you be at least more careful? What would become of your family if something were to really happen to you?”

The grin on your face disappeared immediately.

Mingi continued when he didn’t hear a response, “I’ve seen you…giving food and gold back to those in the Lower Wrean. I know some of the funds for the city’s orphanages are provided by your guild. And that one time…the only reason why you led the attack on our eastern outpost was to rescue a few of your own and relocate some of the nomad camps away from potential crossfire. You don’t abandon family, right?”

These were the things that convinced Mingi, you weren’t really all bad. Questionable choices? Sure. Morals? A little grey. Although underneath the layers, your intentions have always stemmed from a compassionate heart.  

“What’s to the rich if they lose a few here and there? They have far more than enough, so to us, they’re top of the list of contributors.”

Mingi remembered you telling him that when he had first caught you escaping from one of the noble’s house. Your guild only ever stole from the rich and it was a bonus if the corrupted was targeted too. Mingi, who then was still under the command of the previous captain, hesitated to pursue. For his moral compass went spiralling. Being bound to carry out his royal duty or close a blind eye because he empathised with what you stood for.  

Empathy.

Nothing more than a weak link, according to his captain. There was little room for that, just as grey had no place among Aethevintis’ black-or-white justice system.

Hence, a thief was still a thief at the end of the day. Even for a good cause, by definition you were on the opposing side.

You continued to observe Mingi in silence, with a neutral expression, as you let his words sink in. Captain Song was much different than his predecessors. An unspoken level of mutual respect had developed between you both somewhere along the way of your encounters. The way he led with his heart rather than blind authority was admirable.

“We do what we must to get by. My family…as you so kindly put it…are capable of adapting to whatever circumstances are thrown their way. Risk is an inevitable norm for us.”

At least, you could appreciate Mingi looking at you without that faux sympathy.

“And I’ve lived doing what I do best…that is to survive. Being careful only gets you so far but being smart, well, you could go just about anywhere with that.”  

With a rather loud yawn you broke the tension in the dim room. The grin reappeared back on your face and you slinked backwards on the chair. Mingi was contemplating on whether switching back to the original subject of this…talk…would be a good idea or not. He needed a starting basis, a hint of sorts from you in order to give direction where he’d be searching for the missing parure.  

Betting on the fact that you don’t wholly despise him, Mingi tried his luck. “Now I do have a job to complete, and I’m sure we both would rather spend our time elsewhere other than down here…”  

“Aww, I thought we were having a good time getting to know each other better. Don’t get to do that as much on the streets now, do we?”

“What have you done with Her Majesty’s parure?” asked Mingi, keeping his tone levelled.

“You sure are set on that huh? What’s in it for you if you successfully retrieve the jewels?”

Tilting your head, eyes sparking a challenge. Only to be met with determination glinting off Mingi’s own pair of dark chocolate brown orbs.

“Nothing more than the satisfaction of returning a precious family heirloom back to my King. It’s of great importance and sentiment to him.”

You wished you could find fault in his resolution. Yet again, Mingi was nothing but honest in answering you.  

Surely, you could play a little nicer this time, right?

“Hmm, I’ll think about it. I’m feeling rather parched as well…any chance I could get some fresh water?”

Sensing you weren’t going to give in anytime soon, Mingi drew in a deep breath and exhaled. Standing up he offered, “And I’m guessing you haven’t had anything to eat?”

“You’re offering?”

“This is an interrogation chamber, not a torture one.”

Mingi left to gather the necessities. Head filled with too many conflicting thoughts, that he missed the growing grin on your lips and the space where the dungeon keys previously sat on his belt.  

“THE PRISONER HAS ESCAPED!”

“FIRE IN THE COURTYARD!”

It was havoc.  

The thunderous sound of fireworks broke through the tranquil evening. Catching everyone by surprise and confusion arose as to why bursts of colourful sparks were going off within the palace grounds. When some of the flag banners and trees caught fire from the stray sparks, it caused a flurry of panic.

And to make matters worse – the guards had lost you.

Mingi finished over-seeing the last batch of palace staff into the safe area. “All palace guards are to stay by the doors to the throne room and west wing! No one is to leave or enter until my unit and I have done a final sweep of the grounds, “ he ordered.

Part of the team was put in charge of getting the fires under control. He deduced the fireworks were set off as an intended distraction and, a successful one at that too. Mingi’s priority was now to prevent you from escaping.

He heard the commotion and shouting before, “CAPTAIN! THE SOUTHWEST WALLS!”

You held your own and by the time Mingi had reached your location, the guards who were stationed there were knocked out cold on the ground. A minor cut bled slightly from your left cheek and you looked a little more roughed up than when Mingi had last seen you.

“Here I was thinking this would be a clean goodbye…” you said, securing the rope around your waist that Mingi noticed was tied to the stone merlons. He also saw a couple of dark-coloured pouches with you that weren’t present on your attire during the interrogation.

Three guesses as to what filled those pouches.

You followed his eyes to where they were fixated on, “Ah yes, amongst thieves it’s the number one rule to not hide our spoils on ourselves…lest we get caught.”

A series of sharp whistles was heard. The signal that your guild had completed their tasks and was awaiting to reunite with their leader down below at the meeting point. You blew three consecutive similar whistles back in response.

“Wait!”

You paused with one foot up on the stone edge. Turning back to look, you saw Mingi’s hand hover slightly over his falchion.

“Are you going to try and stop me?”

‘No. But I will ask once more, where is the diamond parure? I know the cold season approaches and you’ll need all the resources you can get. Those gold and other jewels you’ve got there should be sufficient enough. So please….”

Having already made your decision the moment you slammed the doors to the chamber out, simultaneously breaking the noses of the unsuspecting guards, you knew what you had to do. But that didn’t prevent you from adding a little dramatic flair.

After all, you want to stay memorable in Captain Song’s books.

“You just don’t know when to give up, do you?”

Your voice dripping with light sweetness, eyes locked on his as you made your way right up to him. Your hand darted out to grab his falchion and on reflex, Mingi intercepted – large calloused warm hand latching around your wrist.

“But maybe that’s what makes so different from the others…” You flipped his hand so it faced palm up, and placed a familiar cobalt blue pouch on it. “You’re a good man, Captain Song. Thinking with your heart doesn’t make you weak…this world needs more of that, more of people like you.”

You watched his shoulders fall with relief and the look he had in his eyes change into something you couldn’t quite discern. Mingi nestled the pouch carefully towards his body, the delicate clinking confirmed its fragile contents within. And he didn’t feel the need to look inside for confirmation; he trusted you.

“If we were to meet in another lifetime, I hope we’d be on better terms then. Preferably one leaning closer to friends.”

A genuine smile crept up from the corners of your lips upon hearing Mingi’s words.

“That sounds rather nice, actually.”

You could definitely use a friend like Mingi in your second lifetime, should fate ever be so kind to give you another shot.

“CAPTAIN!”  

The clamouring of guards and blades being drawn drew closer and you could hear the running of feet up the stairs.

“Well, that’s my cue to leave. And I am so sorry for doing this but…”

And you physically winced when you sent a knee to his gut, causing Mingi to collapse and gasp for air.

“…Captain Song wouldn’t go down without a fight and this makes it look less like you just let a scummy thief off the hook.”

Mingi waved his other gloved hand, “I…understand – you ought to hurry…” he managed to cough out the words.

“Don’t be a stranger.”

With that, Mingi watched you leap over the wall’s edge just as back-up from his unit arrived. Not only did you leave him with the Queen’s jewels and potentially a bruise or two, you also left him with a new sense of comfort.

Two worlds apart. Two unlikely individuals who were both willing to cross the bridge that’s been built to fill the gap, to meet in the middle.

Yeah, this was a change he could get used to.

“Thank you Captain Song!” cheered the orphans, watching with admiration at how effortlessly Mingi climbed the tree to recover their kite that got stuck in the tall branches.

He soon found his legs to be attacked with hugs from several pairs of petite arms.  

Mingi returned the affections with gentle head pats and a, “Be careful not to run too fast and watch where you’re going!”  

The townspeople greeted him as he patrolled his rounds. Even scoring a ruby red freshly-picked apple from one of the vendors. Today would be a breeze. Golden rays of the sun shone down warmly and the morning air was still crisp. Mingi was already planning to finish his shift early and go see if he could convince Yunho to sneak away from royal duties for a round of archery out by the fields.

“STOP! THIEF!”

Just like that, his trail of thoughts were cut short. Mingi snapped his attention towards the direction where the yelling came from. Jogging over to where the crowd had gathered, he was nearly bowled over by a fleeting figure.  

Upon making eye contact for that split second, he could recognise your mirthful eyes from anywhere.

Your eyes crinkled with delight and being bold as to send a wink his way. But your feet never stopped sprinting and within seconds, Mingi had lost you among the sea of townspeople who still went about their business on the street.    

“THEY WENT THAT WAY!”

Mingi looked back to see some of his unit tailing after a few hooded figures who disappeared into the maze of alleyways. Your guild sure knew the layout of the town inside out.

A sigh escaped him. So much for finishing up early for the day.

But if it was a chase you wanted, then it would be a chase you’ll get. Being the respectful gentleman that he was, he’d let you have a head start of course.

Maybe one day, when he’s old and cranky, worn out to his bones – he’d stop running in circles after you.

Luckily for you both, today wasn’t that day.

[pickalilywrites]

a mikahisu au inspired by one of my favorite shows~ please enjoy ^^

------------------

Do You Still Dream of Me?

MikaHisu. Hotel Del Luna AU.

Like the Moon Loves the Ocean Series: Chapter 1

13252 words.

Read on Ao3!

Armin Arlert hunches over a stack of documents, nibbling on the end of his fountain pen. The pen costs more than his entire outfit — an oversized suit that Armin had fished out of a bin at his local thrift store when he was trying to find a respectable ensemble to wear for the interview that snagged him his current job. Even now, Armin isn’t sure how he managed to get a job as a finance manager at one of the most expensive hotels he’s ever seen in his life. Actually, this might be one of the most extravagant places Armin has ever stepped foot in. He still feels out of place when he arrives in the morning, his polyester suit looking even cheaper against the marble floors and gilded staircase, but nobody ever seems to pay him any mind when he sneaks through the door and scurries away to his office at the far end of the lobby.

His brow furrows as he looks at a particularly confusing set of numbers, numbers that don’t add up the way that they should. Or, well, they’re not adding up in a way that will be satisfying to the hotel owner when he reports the new estimated budget for next month. They’ll have to cut spending once again. At the very least, they need to stop splurging on unnecessary decorations for the hotel and personal luxury expenditures. It’s the same report he’s made every month since he’s been here, but always surprises the hotel manager nonetheless. And she’s never happy to hear it. Armin highly suspects that it’s a major reason why he’s her least favorite hotel staff member even though he’s really just the bearer of bad news.

Ah, how do I break this to her? Armin wonders, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his face tiredly. He lets his arms fall to his sides and sits in his chair, his head tipped back and his eyes closed as he contemplates his next move. On one hand, the woman can’t possibly fire him because her assets would be entirely in the negatives if he weren’t here to keep her in check. On the other hand, the glare she shoots him as he delivers the bad news is enough for him to wish an abyss would appear and swallow him up on the spot. He briefly wonders if he can lie his way out of it - maybe fudge the numbers so that the woman can live as extravagantly as she desires - but that just seems like a disaster waiting to happen. There really isn’t any way out of it.

Armin sighs once more before opening his eyes ... only to see a set of cold, dead eyes staring back at him.

He’s not sure what kind of noise comes out of his throat as he jumps out of his chair, knocking over the stack of papers he’s been working on and tripping over his chair. He’s still shrieking as the thing approaches him, its hand outstretched as it walks toward him even as he crawls backward up against the wall. Armin can hardly look at it - this ghost of a person, a bloody wound across its neck where it had been decapitated before its untimely death - and he shrinks against the wall as it comes closer and closer.

The door opens just then and the sound of footsteps alerts the ghost, making it turn its head to see who has just entered.

“Excuse me, miss,” a voice says. A woman appears, completely calm even though Armin still sits huddled in the corner screaming. She ignores him, her focus entirely on the ghost, to which she offers a warm smile. The woman gestures towards the opened door. “I’m afraid you’ve stumbled into the office of our financial advisor. If you can step into the lobby, our receptionist can assist you in checking into a room at the front desk.”

The ghost looks slowly from the woman and then to Armin. After a long pause, the ghost woman slowly bows to Armin — her form of an apology, Armin supposes — before departing, the door swinging shut behind her.

The woman stares at the closed door for a moment before shifting her attention to Armin. Gone is her professional smile; it’s replaced with an amused expression, laughter stifled behind lips closed in a thin line. She offers a slender hand to Armin to help him up. “I thought you’d be used to our clients by now. Hasn’t it been almost a year since you started working here?”

“Er, yeah,” Armin says sheepishly, the tips of his ears turning pink in embarrassment. He drags his feet to his desk, collecting his papers and dropping them into a messy stack on his desk before collapsing in his chair. Face in hand, he says, “I probably should, but it’s still weird. I can probably see a million ghosts for the next few years, but they’ll always make me jump in my seat. Maybe if they didn’t stop phasing through the walls of my office and sneaking up on me …”

The woman only laughs, and Armin feels a little more relaxed. Mikasa Ackerman, the assistant manager of the hotel, is one of the only hotel staff members Armin feels comfortable around. While the other staff members either roll their eyes or laugh when Armin encounters their ghostly clientele, Mikasa has always been patient with him.

“The next few years,” Mikasa muses, a lopsided smile on her face. She takes a seat in a chair across from him. She leans her elbow on the armrest, her cheek pressed up against her hand. Eyebrow raised, the manager asks, “You really think you’ll be working here for a few more years? Do we not pay you well enough?”

“You’re really underestimating the cost of student loans these days,” Armin sighs, slumping lower in his chair. He reaches for the mug on his desk, bringing it to his lips, and takes a long sip of coffee. It’s cold as it hits his tongue and slides down his throat, and he shudders when it hits his stomach. On second thought, caffeine probably isn’t the best decision considering the fact that he was almost scared shitless only a minute ago. He returns the mug to its coaster, an unsatisfied frown on his face.

“Poor, poor you,” Mikasa coos, eyes crinkling as her smile widens. She sits back, legs crossed and hands placed on her knees. She looks so comfortable here, so much like she belongs in her wool suit, the golden badge that lists her name and title pinned against her breast. If she weren’t so nice, maybe Armin would feel inferior. “It’s kind of your fault for going for a Ph.D. What do you need a doctorate in finance for anyway?”

“I don’t really know what I was thinking, to be honest. I thought maybe I could teach at a university somewhere down the line. Hoped the salary I earned down the line would make the investment worth it, but obviously I didn’t learn anything in my undergrad.” Armin waves his hand around the room. “Anyway, here I am now working at a ghost hotel so that I can pay off my student loans.” It’s probably the biggest mistake of his life next to taking a job at this hotel. Obtaining a Ph.D didn’t give him the salary bump he hoped it would and this was the only place that paid him nearly enough for his years at school.

“Could be worse,” Mikasa says with a shrug. “At least you don’t age while you’re here.”

“Ah, right,” Armin says. That was mentioned as an added perk when he had started to work here, but he hadn’t really believed it at first. Sure, some of his coworkers claim to have been working at this hotel for decades, although most of them look well under the age they say they are. Armin’s not even sure how that’s possible considering the demanding boss they work under. He supposes he’ll find out if it’s true in a few years, assuming he’s still paying off his student loans by then. Armin sits up a bit, eyebrow raised. “How long have you been working here again?”

Mikasa grins. “A little over twenty years.”

The answer isn’t anything new, but it’s always a punch in the gut whenever Armin hears it because it never makes sense to him. Mikasa can’t be older than twenty-seven — and that was pushing it. If she really were working for twenty years, she would have been a child when she had first been employed. Armin thinks she must be joking with him just like the other employees are, but Armin finds that strange too. Mikasa is always friendly with him, but she’s not the type to tell strange jokes.

“Right,” Armin says. He looks at Mikasa cautiously, but her expression tells him nothing.

“Don’t worry. It’s not so bad after a while,” Mikasa says. She leans back, staring back at Armin. Even though she doesn’t look at him threateningly, Armin still shrinks under her gaze.

“How’s your work going, by the way? Any good news for the boss?” Mikasa reaches over, a finger tapping on Armin’s stack of papers.

Armin groans, burying his head in his hands, although it’s more because of the mention of their boss rather than the work itself.

Historia Reiss is the hotelier of the Blutmond, the phantom hotel which Armin finds himself unfortunately employed. Her appearance is anything but intimidating. She wasn’t even close to being five feet tall. With hair of spun gold and aquamarine eyes, the petite woman could be mistaken for a life-sized doll if it weren’t for the terrible scowl on her face. In all of Armin’s time at the Blutmond, he doesn’t think he’s seen her smile once. She glowered the entire time during his interview, never opening her mouth except to ask whether or not he’d be able to balance her account in time for her to buy the latest model Porsche. The woman didn’t even congratulate him when she and Mikasa came to visit him with the news of his new job, only telling him that she expected him to come to work on time and not to make any mistakes with her finances or she’d have his head. He completely believed her and has always double-checked his work at least three times before finalizing his spreadsheets. His other coworkers have insisted that the woman isn’t nearly as frightening as Armin believes her to be, but the way they cower and scurry to put everything in place whenever she steps into the room doesn’t fool him. He’s also heard a curious rumor about her. His coworkers always mention that she’s been here the longest — over a thousand years — although he’s not sure if it’s just a way of them calling her an old hag because the woman doesn’t look a day over twenty-five.

“It’s really not going so great,” Armin says with a pained expression. He flips through some of his papers, pulling out a small stack that documents Historia’s personal expenses. Most of the page is highlighted in bright red. Armin thought the severe color would help convince their boss about his budgeting suggestions at the end of the week. Handing the papers to Mikasa, Armin says, “It’s only been half the month, but Miss Reiss is spending way too much on her credit card already. At this rate, she won’t have enough to buy that caviar that she likes so much.”

“It’s fine. Historia doesn’t actually like caviar that much. She just likes how rich she feels when she eats it,” the manager says absentmindedly. Mikasa flips through the papers, an eyebrow raised, but she doesn’t seem surprised as she reviews Armin’s findings. Once through with them, she straightens them out on the desk. “Maybe I can convince her to get sashimi next time.”

“I’m serious. She really needs to cut down on her spending habits.” He hates how whiny he sounds, but it’s difficult for him not to whine when he’s imagining how infuriated his employer will be when he timidly suggests that she not buy anymore jewelry for the rest of the month. “I mean, does she really need to have twelve different sports cars lining her garage? Where is she even going?”

Mikasa sits with her fingers steepled, a pout on her lips as she looks down at the papers again. She reaches over to thumb through the papers once more before sitting back again. “I guess I can talk to her about it.”

Armin sits up, his mouth shaped in a perfect “O.” “Would you really?” His mind is already going a million miles a minute, thinking about everything he has to review with Mikasa before she presents the information to their boss. Maybe he can show her the presentation slides he prepared in advance. He thought having his notes on an elegant Powerpoint would be much better than him stuttering through his notes while Historia glared at him. A little more energized now, Armin is already clicking through his computer, pulling up the presentation slides for Mikasa to look at. “If you’re really serious, I have some materials that can help you-”

“I’m not,” Mikasa says, an amused smile on her face. She laughs when Armin visibly deflates. “Ah, I feel a bit bad seeing you so disappointed, though. Are you really that scared of her?”

Armin thinks about the little woman, the blue flames that ignite in her eyes whenever he so much as hints at the fact that her shopping sprees should have a cap on them. He shudders. “I’m terrified.”

The woman nods sympathetically. “Alright, I’ll try to talk to her. No promises, though. You know how she feels about these things.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you,” Armin breathes, collapsing against the back of his chair with relief. He knows that most of Historia’s ire will be directed towards him, but he hopes that having Mikasa deliver the news will somehow soften the blow.

“Mhm. You’re going to get used to being in her line of fire though. It’s unfortunate, but it comes with the job of being her finance manager. She’ll always be bad with money no matter how much you tell her not to spend,” Mikasa tells him with a wry smile. Her phone buzzes in her pocket, the sound making Armin jump in his seat. She looks at him, snickering, and pulls her phone out. Mikasa glances at her phone before turning it so that Armin could see the name flashing across the screen - Historia. “Unless you’d like to practice right now.”

Armin, eyes wide and throat closing shut at just the sight of the hotelier’s name, shakes his head.

“Alright, alright,” Mikasa laughs. She stands up, straightening out her blazer. “I’ll stop teasing you and leave you to your work then. And don’t worry about Historia; I’ll take care of her for you.” The manager returns to her phone, swiping across the screen and taking the call.

“Thanks, Mikasa,” Armin says. He didn’t mean for his voice to come out as a squeak, but he finds that he can’t speak knowing that his employer might hear his voice on the other end.

Mikasa simply waves at him, walking towards the door. “Yeah, I’m free, but I’m surprised you’re not calling Levi for something like this,” she’s saying. She pulls open the door, her voice fading as she’s walking out. “No, the work is fine. It’s perfect, actually. I was hoping we could talk about your finances. I just talked to Armin …”

Armin winces at the mention of his name and, as much as he knows he shouldn’t because it’ll only make him feel worse, strains to listen in on the conversation but the wooden door proves too thick of a barrier to let him eavesdrop. Just as well, he thinks as he rests his forehead against the cool surface of his desk. He’ll just get back to work estimating next month’s budget. And, he thinks as he squeezes his eyes shut, praying that he won’t have any more unexpected paranormal visitors today.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

Historia sits in the passenger seat of a slick blue Bentley, one of the many luxury cars that line her parking garage. Mikasa has tried to convince the hotelier that one car should be enough, has even tried selling them behind her back only for Historia to buy twice as many cars to replace them. Looking at Historia now, Mikasa understands why the blonde gravitates so naturally to high-end sports cars. In the passenger seat with her golden hair falling behind her back in waves, Historia looks like she could be a model for the luxury brand. Her pastel dress, one that Mikasa is fairly certain has been flaunted on a runway at some point in the past year, is probably worth just as much as the Bentley if not more. Mikasa doesn’t even want to think about how much jewelry that adorns the woman’s neck is worth, although she knows she should probably ask.

“What took you so long?” Historia asks, her scowl breaking the illusion of her pixie-like appearance. She sits up, holding her matching clutch purse in her lap. Her bottom lip sticks out, making her plush pink lips look even more like a doll’s. She looks cute, Mikasa could even say, but she knows the words would only cause Historia to narrow her blue eyes in an irritated glare.

Mikasa slips into the driver’s seat, fishing the car keys from the inside of her breast pocket. “My apologies. I was speaking with Armin before I came here,” she tells Historia. She turns the ignition, the engine purring as the car starts up. “He had some interesting things to say about your finances.”

At the mention of the man’s name, Historia hisses, tossing her hair over her shoulder. It seems to be a common reaction whenever the finance manager is mentioned in the hotelier’s presence. “I don’t want to hear anything he has to say,” Historia sniffs, as if not speaking about it will somehow help her avoid her financial issues. She reaches for the remote, clicking the garage door open so that they can make their exit. “He never has anything good to say to me. All he ever does is bring me bad news. I don’t even know why we hired him.”

“Because you’re terrible at budgeting,” Mikasa answers easily, ignoring the glare that she receives. After working at the hotel for decades, she’s quite used to being at the receiving end of Historia’s scathing looks. She doesn’t take her eyes off the road as she drives, maneuvering out of the parking spot and onto the driveway easily. “He mentioned that you might not even have enough money for an ounce of caviar at the end of the month.”

Historia whips her head so quickly that her neck might have snapped if she were a normal person. Mikasa doesn’t have to look at the woman’s expression to see that she’s horrified at the thought of not eating the overpriced salt-cured fish eggs. “Should I just fire him?” Historia murmurs, sitting with her back against her seat. She shakes her head, her brows furrowed as she considers letting go of her financial manager. “Or maybe we can cut his pay. I’ll have more money if I cut his pay, right?”

“If you cut his pay, he’ll be working here for longer to pay off his student loans,” Mikasa reminds her employer. “You could try hiring someone else, but he was the best in his class. Harvard.”

Historia’s bottom lip wobbles and, for a moment, it looks like she might even cry. Instead, she lets out a frustrated shriek like a spoiled child. “Ah, that kid! I hate him, you know. Out of everyone here, he’s probably my least favorite.”

“I know,” Mikasa says with a sympathetic nod, trying her best to keep her face stoic even though all she wants to do now is burst into laughter at the childish outburst.

These words aren’t new to Mikasa. In fact, she’s heard different variations of the same words over the years that she’s been here. Sometimes it’s Levi, the current general manager of the hotel. Other times it will be Pixis, the elderly but sweet bartender, or Colt, the receptionist at the front desk who looks barely out of his teens. Quite a number of times it has been Connie, the room manager, for swiping too many snacks from the kitchen in between mealtimes. Mikasa’s even been the least favorite every once in a while, although Armin has been given the title these past few months because he’s come in the way of Historia and the thing she loves the most - a luxurious lifestyle.

The funny thing is that Historia has not always been rich. It’s something that the woman likes to remind everyone, Mikasa included, every now and again. Mikasa doesn’t doubt that, but she does find it amusing that Historia turned her back on her past lifestyle so much so that she doesn’t have an ounce of frugality in her body.

“Who’s the client today?” Mikasa asks just as they’re about to hit the main road.

“Some man named Reiner Braun,” Historia says with a click of her tongue. She flips idly through her phone before inserting coordinates in the device. “His grand-niece reached out to us, but she couldn't tell me how rich he was. Don’t you think that’s ridiculous? You’d think someone so close to him would have a sense of how much money he has.” Historia frowns as she inspects her pearly pink nails.

“Children these days,” Mikasa tsks wryly, but Historia doesn’t seem to pick up on her sarcasm.

“They’re terrible. Terrible, terrible. Stupid and spoiled, all of them.” Historia clicks her tongue disapprovingly. The irony of calling someone else “spoiled” while she’s wearing a diamond choker around her neck hasn’t yet reached Historia.

“And I suppose you know what being spoiled looks like?”

It takes a moment for Historia to realize what Mikasa is saying. She sits up, clearly insulted. “I worked for this!” Historia says indignantly, smoothing out her skirt to prevent wrinkles. “I’ll have you know that I worked for every single cent that pays for my lifestyle. I earned all of this.”

“Of course,” Mikasa says with a nod. Beside her, Historia begins to settle down in her seat. “I’m sure the exorbitant prices you charge your clients also helps.”

Historia gives Mikasa a scathing side glare, one that would have made Mikasa flinch in her early days but now it’s like watching a kitten get angry after hiding its toy. She tosses her head, her golden tresses flying back in the wind. “I should have just brought Levi with me,” she mutters under her breath.

Mikasa remains unbothered. “You probably should have,” she replies in a sing-song voice.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

“You know,” Mikasa says as they stand on the doorstep of a sprawling mansion fit for a lord, “you would think his grand-niece would have mentioned that he was loaded.” She reaches over to ring the door, frowning when she’s unable to hear its chime through the thick mahogany door.

“This?” Historia asks, gesturing around the estate. She shrugs, unimpressed. “This is nothing.”

Earlier, they had been stopped at the gate and asked for their identification. Mikasa had thought they would have been stopped there after Historia had gotten into a shouting match with the guard over the intercom until someone else popped on the screen — a young woman with thick dark hair tied half-up in a messy bun — and said they were cleared to come through, pressing open the button for the visitors despite the guard’s protests. As Mikasa drives up the road to the house, Historia hardly looks up at the sprawling green lawn, the freshly trimmed topiaries, or the sparkling fountain. The petite woman doesn’t even blink when Mikasa parks at the front of the house, throwing open the door and stepping out of the car without glancing back even as a valet hurries forward and asks Mikasa for the keys. Although not a fan of letting other people drive around in Historia’s cars, Mikasa grudgingly left the keys in the valet’s hand, chasing after the blonde woman because Mikasa knew Historia never likes to wait for anyone.

“I suppose since he’s living so shabbily we shouldn’t take any commission from him,” Mikasa says dryly. She doesn’t flinch when Historia smacks her sharply on the arm. “Or at the very least offer him a discount. I’m not sure he can afford our services otherwise.”

“Don’t joke like that,” Historia snaps. She reaches up to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Money is money, so we’ll take what we can get.”

The door opens just then, the same young girl who was on the intercom with a bright smile waiting behind it breathlessly. She looks to be just thirteen or fourteen. Her hair is falling out from its little bun and her clothes — a ratty t-shirt and some cutoff denim shorts — look out of place in the mansion. Historia is no doubt looking at the girl’s outfit in disapproval, but the girl doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, she sticks out a hand towards the pair. “Hi, I’m Gabi! I spoke to you on the phone,” the girl says, oblivious to the maids and servants panting behind her that are trying to pull her back. “You’re Mikasa and Historia, right? From the Blutmond?”

“Miss Braun,” a butler hisses, grabbing at Gabi’s arm. “The guests haven’t been properly screened. You can’t just allow anyone to enter the Braun estate.”

“Relax. Uncle Braun said I could invite my friends over whenever I want,” Gabi snaps. She shakes the man off, scowling at him before turning back to Mikasa and Historia. “And these two are my friends, right?” She looks at them expectantly, silently begging them to play along.

Historia and Mikasa exchange a look, not confirming or denying anything. After a moment, Historia sighs, her arms folded across her chest. “For the duration of this visit, yes, we are Miss Gabi Braun’s … friends.” She looks as if the word leaves a sour taste in her mouth, but Gabi looks smug, happy that she’s managed to dupe the mansion’s staff members even though the majority of them look unconvinced. Of course, none of this bothers Historia, who just charges forward, looking around and not hiding the fact that she’s inspecting every inch of this place.

“Oh, um, let me show you around a bit,” Gabi says, shutting the door behind Mikasa and hurrying after Historia. “It’s easy to get lost here because it’s so big.”

“It’s not that big,” Historia snorts.

“Excuse me,” Mikasa mumbles as she pushes past the staff. It seems that they’ve either given up or just don’t want to bother with the Braun girl anymore because most of them just sigh before returning to their assigned tasks.

Although Gabi is supposed to be giving the tour, Historia is the one that leads the way while Gabi and Mikasa follow behind. Historia hardly says anything as she closely inspects the many statues and paintings that decorate the corners and walls of the various rooms they visit, but Gabi fills the silence with needless chatter of the art pieces. Every now and again Mikasa expresses some admiration for all the historical and artistic knowledge Gabi displays and the praise has the girl puff her chest out in pride, but Historia will sigh under her breath or roll her eyes at times. It really may be that nothing in this mansion really interests her because she never lingers on a painting for longer than a second or two before moving onto the next art piece.

“So, Gabi,” Mikasa says after a moment, making sure that the group was out of earshot of any eavesdropping maids or busboys that might have followed them. She makes sure to keep close to Gabi, her voice low as she speaks. “You called about your great uncle, is that correct? Can you tell us a little bit more about him before we meet him?”

Gabi bites on her lip and fiddles on a loose thread on her faded shirt. She nods before looking over at Historia, who’s halfway across the room frowning at a grand piano. “Er, yeah,” the girl mumbles. “I can … I can tell you about him.”

“You can talk from there,” Historia says without looking up. She presses a finger to an ivory key and a note rings out, echoing across the room. It seems that the note is unsatisfactory though because her frown deepens after hearing it. “I have impeccable hearing.”

Gabi looks unsure, but Mikasa puts a reassuring hand on the girl’s shoulder and smiles. “Go ahead, Gabi.”

“Okay,” Gabi says. She takes a deep breath, but she’s already shaking. Tears already forming in her eyes, she looks up, swallowing hard. “Uncle Reiner … he’s been strange for a while now. Maybe a few months. My parents say it’s just dementia because he’s so old but … I don’t think that’s it.” Tears roll down her cheeks and she’s looking down now, stubbornly wiping them away with the back of her hand.

“Take your time,” Mikasa says gently, rubbing soothing circles on the young girl’s back.

Historia is a little less sympathetic. She strides over, taking a seat on a nearby chaise lounge and sitting back like it’s an appropriate time to relax. “And what makes you think we can help? I don’t typically enjoy doing business with doddering old men.”

“Ignore her,” Mikasa tells Gabi, shooting a look at Historia. Historia simply sticks her tongue out in reply.

“N-no,” Gabi says with a shake of her head, sniffling. “I h-heard you could h-help people. That you h-have a special business. My uncle … I don’t think the th-things he’s seeing are hallucinations. I th-think what he’s seeing … they’re ghosts.”

Historia looks a little more intrigued now, sitting up on the chaise with her legs crossed instead of lounging back. “What makes you think that they’re ghosts?”

Gabi hesitates. “Well … he mentions these names sometimes… Bertholdt, Porco, Marcel…,” she says, brow furrowed. “He hardly ever talked to me about them, but sometimes their names would slip. Whenever I asked about them back then, he would just tell me that they used to be friends back when he was younger. He always looked so … sad whenever he talked about them like … like he couldn’t see them anymore.”

This story is enough for Mikasa to offer their services or at least give Gabi an offer to look at her great uncle, but Historia simply lets out a huff, pushing herself off the chaise and making her way out the door.

“An old man haunted by his old, dead friends,” Historia says with a toss of her head. She beckons for Mikasa to follow her, ignoring the horrified look on Gabi’s face. When the young girl runs forward, barring Historia from leaving, the haughty woman only sighs once more. “Look, if you’re worried he’s getting haunted by ghosts, why don’t you just run over to a church and get some holy water to splash on him? Or just buy some salt to sprinkle around his bed.” She waves her hand, gesturing for Gabi to move out of her way, but the girl refuses.

“I’ll pay you!” Gabi says. She stands resolute, her arms spread wide even as her lower lip trembles.

Historia raises an eyebrow. She steps back, a hand on her hip. “You’ll pay me?” she repeats. “You’re thirteen. What could you possibly offer me?”

“I could give you … my inheritance,” Gabi says. She sticks out her bottom lip, jutting her chin out and lifting her head. Her eyes are still red from crying, but tears have stopped falling down her cheeks. She clears her throat and continues, “Uncle Reiner hasn’t told anyone … but he’s made me the sole heir of his estate … among other things. I can … give you this mansion and everything in here if you just please help me.”

Mikasa wants to tell Gabi that it’s not necessary. Their services aren’t nearly worth that much and, even if it were, it’s illegal to make such a transaction with a minor.

Historia, of course, doesn’t care. She’s looking at Gabi with more interest now, her blue eyes shining as she looks at the girl. The woman isn’t even thinking about the logic of such a promise — when she would be able to collect the inheritance or what she would do with it. Her mind is occupied with calculating the worth of the estate and the many statues and paintings that decorate it. “I hope you know,” Historia says, her eyes glittering, “that any contract you make with me is binding.”

“You really don’t have to do this,” Mikasa begins to say, but Historia cuts her off with a snarl.

“No, I’ll do it,” Gabi says with a shake of her head. “All of this stuff … it doesn’t mean anything to me. I’ve never been very materialistic. All I really want … is for my uncle to be okay.” She lowers her arms, looking at Historia with uncertainty.

“How very noble of you,” Historia says, but she isn’t really listening. She’s busy fishing something out of her clutch purse, reaching in and pulling out a document filled out in the tiniest font. Even though the contract could have never fit perfectly in Historia’s purse without being folded up, there isn’t a wrinkle in sight when the woman presents the document to Gabi. The woman fishes out an expensive-looking fountain pen, one that Mikasa is only half-sure had originally been in the hotelier’s purse although it might be more likely she had snatched it off of a desk from the mansion when nobody was looking. Historia holds up the contract with a lipsticked smile, a perfectly manicured nail tapping at against the line where Gabi should sign. “Just sign your name here, darling.”

Gingerly, Gabi takes the pen from Historia, staring at the document with uncertainty. The pen sits uncapped in her hand, hovering over the dotted line where her signature should be. Her eyes scan the document, but the words begin to blur and she begins to gnaw at her lip.

Mikasa steps forward, lowering the document from Gabi’s face. “You don’t have to sign it.”

“Mikasa,” Historia hisses. An angry glare flashes across her face for half a second before switching to a more composed, reassuring smile directed at Gabi. “Don’t listen to her. Just sign it, sweetie. It’s harmless.”

Gabi looks from Mikasa to Historia, her expression uncertain, but she glances once more at the document and grips the pen in her hand with more conviction. The tip of the pen hits the paper and Gabi scrawls her full name — Gabrielle Mariella Braun — in an illegible, childish print before handing the fountain pen back to Historia.

“Perfect, perfect,” Historia says in a sing-song voice, squinting as she inspect’s Gabi’s signature. She turns her head slightly to Mikasa, lowering her voice a bit but not enough as she asks, “They don’t teach children cursive these days, do they? This girl’s signature is terrible. It’s like a toddler let their crayon wander across the page.” Historia takes another look at it before rolling up the contract and stuffing it into her purse.

“Cursive?” Gabi repeats with a knitted brow.

“It’s just connecting all the letters with a line, really,” Mikasa tells the girl, patting her on the shoulder to show that it’s not that big of an issue. A small part of her regrets not talking Gabi against signing the document, but she figures Gabi’s at more of an advantage than Historia is since the former is a minor and any contract she signs could be deemed void. She’ll just leave the problem for later, preferably when Armin is at her side so he can drive Historia mad enough to leave the poor girl and her inheritance alone.

“Right then!” Historia says, a lot more lively than she was a few minutes ago now. She flicks a lock of golden hair away from her face and smiles brightly at Gabi. “Be a dear and show us where your grandfather is. We’ll help him in any way we can.” It’s become quite obvious to Mikasa that Historia has long forgotten Gabi’s name despite being introduced to the girl a little while ago and having just seen her name written on a document not a minute before. Gabi doesn’t seem to have noticed. She’s more taken aback by Historia’s change in character. Mikasa can’t really blame her. The hotel manager had seen the woman do a complete 180 after being offered a yacht for her services once and thought new yacht-owner Historia was a completely different person from the usually crotchety hotelier.

“Er, yes. If you follow me, right around here …,” Gabi says, her voice trailing as she leads them out of the room and into the hallway.

Mikasa and Historia follow the girl, Historia with a new spring in her step as she lets her fingers trail against every vase and statue that they pass by with renewed appreciation for the artwork. As they walk, Historia hums a song that Mikasa almost knows by heart, but she knows it’s a song that hasn’t been sung in centuries.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

Gabi leads them to a room at the end of the east wing. The room is much smaller than Historia and Mikasa anticipated. Historia had almost walked ahead and yanked open the largest double doors in the hallway before Gabi hurriedly pulled the woman away and rushed them over to her great uncle’s quarters. The door was considerably less extravagant — a single mahogany door with simple square panels and a gilded doorknob — and Mikasa could see the frown returning on Historia’s face.

The girl opened the door just a crack, leaning in to whisper, “Uncle Reiner? I brought some visitors for you. They’re … friends of mine. They said they might be able to help you.” She waits a bit for an answer. Even when Mikasa strains her ears to hear, she can’t hear a thing. It seems that Gabi does, however, because after a pause, she finally opens the door, allowing Historia and Mikasa to enter before her.

Mikasa isn’t quite sure where to look when she steps into the room. The bedroom is every bit as lavish as the rest of the house, the furniture all in deep reds and browns with highlights of gold here and there. There’s a noticeable lack of decoration, the walls instead adorned with photos of an elderly man with a wide jaw, snowy white hair, and milky white eyes. In most of the photos he stands alone — many times posing next to some art piece that he has lying around the house — but other times he’s seen with other members of his family including his grand niece. Mikasa is so busy looking at the pictures that she almost doesn’t see the man himself buried under a mountain of pillows and blankets in his bed. He looks so still that there isn’t much difference between his real self and the version of him in pictures. The ghosts that stand beside his bed look livelier than he does, Mikasa thinks.

“Uncle Reiner,” Gabi says, her voice quiet so as to not disturb her great uncle too much. She approaches his bed, Mikasa near her side while Historia wanders around the room unbothered. “This is Miss Historia and Miss Mikasa. They come from a special place … the Blutmond Hotel. They help people like you … people who can see ghosts.”

The man’s eyes flutter open but he struggles to keep them open. He sits up and his head turns towards Gabi, following the sound of her voice, but his gaze is fixated on something past her. It’s not a ghost, Mikasa knows, because there are only three in the room right now. One is currently hovering around the old man, unsure of what to do with his ghostly hands even as his face is filled with worry as Gabi’s great uncle sits up. The other two stand on the other side of the man’s bed eyeing Historia warily as she carefully inspects the room for any valuables.

“Ghosts? Have your parents been talking about me again?” the old man asks before coughing violently into his hand. He hunches over, his whole body heaving with every cough. He pounds his chest pitifully with his other hand as he wheezes. He shakes his head when Gabi runs over with a tissue box from his nightstand. One hand is clutched to his chest, but he’s still breathing heavily when he tells Gabi unconvincingly, “I’m fine. They just worry about me because of my old age.”

The man at Reiner’s side kneels down next to the old man. His ghostly blue hand reaches out to touch Reiner’s, his taut young skin such a stark contrast from the old man’s thin, veiny hands. All of the ghosts are significantly younger than Reiner, Mikasa notices. If she has to guess, they were probably in their late twenties when they passed. Judging from their military garb and the bloodstains that bloom across their chest, they died in a war. She wonders about their relationship to the old man, why they’ve stayed with him so long when it must have been decades since their death.

“Your names are Historia and Mikasa?” the old man asks, a tired but polite smile as he looks from the two women. He sits up in the bed, his back resting against the headrest and his hands folded in his lap. Unbeknownst to him, the ghost who had held his hand earlier sits beside him, gazing cautiously at both Mikasa and Historia. “I’m sorry to say that my relatives have a habit of spreading unnecessary rumors. They seem to have worried my grand niece.”

“They’re not untrue,” Gabi insists. She tugs on the elbow of Mikasa’s suit, her lower lip trembling dangerously. Her eyes are moist as tears begin to form and she sniffs loudly before turning to her great uncle. “I’ve seen you talking to … them. I’ve heard you call their names. Bertholdt, Porco, Marcel… You’re always talking to them when you think I’m not listening, but you always tell me it’s nothing when I ask you about them.”

At the names, the ghosts stiffen, but they don’t move from their positions. They look at Mikasa, wondering if she’ll give away their existence. She tries her best not to look at them.

“Because it’s nothing,” the man says, laughing it off weakly. He gets into another coughing fit, banging against his chest. The ghost at his side, eyes wide with worry, can only look at him helplessly.

Historia’s voice pops up, the hotelier speaking for the first time since stepping into the room. “Were you in the Second Great War, Mr. Braun?” She observes a glass case with different medals, leaning forward as she inspects the engraving on all of them. Historia hums, “I didn’t realize you were a veteran.”

“Ah, yes,” the old man says belatedly, surprised at the sudden jump in topic.

“You have quite a lot of medals and honors.” Historia’s finger traces the glass edge of the case. “You fought well.” The words should be congratulatory, but Historia says this almost coldly.

The old man must feel it too because he begins to fidget under the young woman’s gaze, his silken sheets tangled in his fists as he begins to stammer a “yes” under his breath.

The ghosts must dislike Historia’s tone because the two that had stood at the side of Reiner’s bed stand up, walking over to Historia and staring down at her petite frame. They tower above her, identical expressions of repressed fury on their faces, and Mikasa wonders for the first time if they’re brothers. With only a slight difference in height and hair color, the two could be identical. Despite the two spirits that are glowering down at her, Historia doesn’t waver, not even sparing them a passing glance as she continues to peruse the other items around Reiner’s room.

“You’ll have to forgive my partner. She’s quite interested in … history,” Mikasa lies. She wrinkles her nose as she says it — partly because she’s a terrible liar and partly because the thought of Historia being interested in anything other than money is ridiculous — but Gabi nor her great uncle seem to take notice. Mikasa fishes for the little business card in her breast pocket before presenting it to Mr. Braun, making sure to hold it at an angle for the nearby ghost to see as she hands it over. She clears her throat, glancing back at the other two ghosts to make sure they were paying attention before saying, “Miss Historia and I are from the Blutmond Hotel. We provide services for those who have passed.”

All the ghosts look at her, their necks turning so fast that they might have cracked if they were alive.

“For those that have passed?” Reiner repeats, eyebrow raised as he takes the business card gingerly between his fingers. He frowns and is about to toss the card on his nightstand before seeing the upset expression on his great niece’s face. He drops the card in his lap instead before running a tired hand through his thinning hair. “I’m hoping that won’t be until a few more years yet,” he jokes, but he’s the only one that laughs. It sounds strange echoing alone in the quiet room.

“Uncle Reiner,” Gabi says, her voice rising into a whine that Mikasa knows will make Historia grate her teeth.

Mikasa puts a hand on the young girl’s shoulder, giving her a quick squeeze and reassuring smile. “It’s fine,” she whispers before turning once more to Mr. Braun. To the ailing man, she says with a soft voice, “Mr. Braun, how many ghosts do you see in this room right now?”

His eyes flicker for a bit, roaming around the room but never resting on the ghost that sits beside him nor on the ghosts that stand near Historia. His gaze finally stops somewhere above Mikasa’s shoulder, eyes watering as he whispers, “Three.”

Gabi’s grip on Mikasa’s arm is vice-like and the hotel manager has to pry the girl from her arm for her blood circulation to return. “It’s alright, it’s fine,” she says to Gabi again, brushing her off gently. Mikasa looks at the ghost beside Reiner and watches as the young man shakes his head ever so slightly, his eyes begging her not to tell the old man of his existence. She opens her mouth, but Historia speaks first.

“Those aren’t ghosts,” Historia says, finally strolling across the room to stand beside Mikasa. She ignores Mikasa’s eye roll and instead bounces about on the balls of her feet, speaking casually as if talking about the weather. “Ah, I should clarify. Those things that are haunting you … I guess you would say they’re your own memories. There are ghosts here too, but it looks like they’re only here to keep you company.” She waves her hand as she explains, trying to find the right words. Historia looks quite proud when she’s done, but everyone (with the exception of Mikasa) looks at her with a bewildered expression.

“You mean there are ghosts here?” Gabi asks with wide eyes.

If Gabi grabs onto Mikasa’s suit any tighter she’ll tear the fabric. Mikasa doesn’t particularly mind, but she knows Historia would be infuriated if Gabi ripped such expensive clothing in her presence and the hotel manager carefully pries the girl off her arm.

“The supernatural world is quite complicated,” Mikasa says gently. She’s worked in the supernatural business for years and she still hasn’t grasped it entirely, so she can only imagine the confusion that Gabi and her great uncle feel right now. Mikasa sucks in her cheek as she tries to think of how to explain the situation in layman’s terms. “There is a myriad of things that can haunt a person, not just ghosts. Spirits, demons … even deities if they’re angry enough.”

“And next you’ll be telling me werewolves and vampires exist,” Mr. Braun scoffs, but his eyes still roam aimlessly around the room for something they can’t see.

“Don’t be silly. Werewolves and vampires are another thing entirely,” Historia snorts with a roll of her eyes, although she doesn’t confirm or deny the existence of either. She points a painted finger at the old man. “What you have haunting you are your own memories, Mr. Braun, although I imagine they’ve grown horribly distorted over time.”

Mr. Braun’s mouth is tightened into a thin line, all laughter gone from his eyes. He fixes Historia with a steely glare, but she doesn’t waver. He doesn’t speak, not even to ask her to clarify. Perhaps it’s because he already knows what memories she’s alluding to.

“What’s she talking about?” Gabi hisses in Mikasa’s ear.

“Mr. Braun, how old were you when you were drafted for the war?” Historia asks, stepping closer to the bed. She ignores that ghost closest to Reiner’s side even when he stands in front of her. She stares right past him as if she can’t see him at all and continues her questioning of Mr. Braun. “Perhaps in your twenties, judging from the looks of your companions. Mid- to late twenties, even. Life was just beginning for you. Being caught up in a war you had nothing to do with must have been frustrating to you.”

“No, it was an honor to fight for my country,” Reiner murmurs, but his eyes begin to cloud over and his expression grows grimmer.

“Did your friends share the same sentiment?” Historia continues to inquire. The ghost brothers from before each put a hand on her shoulders, their expressions just as dark and dangerous as Mr. Braun’s. Still, Historia presses on. “Were they just as brave as you when they camped in those trenches with corpses of other soldiers? Did they die with honor, their bodies rotting in those holes for weeks before whatever remains of them are shipped back to their loved ones? And were you honored to be one of the ones that made it out alive, standing tall even though the guilt was slowly killing you all these years?”

The ghosts are hostile now, their hands rough as they pull Historia back from Reiner. With a flick of her wrist, Historia sends them flying against the wall, their presence only detected by the way the portraits on the wall shake slightly. It’s enough to make Mikasa flinch, but Gabi and Reiner are too distracted to notice.

It’s the last ghost, though, that has Mikasa the most worried. He stands in a protective stance, his eyes flickering with a dangerous blue flame. On his face is a terrible glower, a stark contrast from the worried look he had worn earlier. His fists are clenched against his sides, shaking slightly with suppressed rage. Historia has faced her fair share of ghosts over the years. Mikasa doubts that this one is any more powerful than the malicious spirits that Historia has gone up against, but a ghost powered by violent anger is not something to be underestimated.

“Historia,” Mikasa warns, her voice low.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Mr. Braun whispers in a hoarse voice. He seems to shrink into his bed, his silken sheets pulled tight around his body as if trying to protect himself from something. His wild eyes continue to wander above his head, looking at things that don’t exist to anyone else but him. The old man pulls the sheets over his head, but the tremble in his voice can still be heard as he whimpers, “Every day they’ve plagued me, haunted me, but they never leave.”

“Uncle Braun-“ Gabi begins, but Mikasa holds her back after Historia gives her a subtle gesture to restrain the girl.

“Mr. Braun,” Historia says, stepping through the ghost easily. She reaches over and pulls the sheets from the man’s hands, letting them fall carelessly to the floor. She grasps the man’s face in her hand, lifting his chin up, and forces him to look at her and only her. “You said it yourself that it’s not your fault. Why have you gone so long doubting your own words?”

It’s the first time the man’s gaze was fixed on something, his eyes no longer wandering aimlessly at things unseen. He licks his chapped lips as he struggles to find the answer to Historia’s question. “Because I lived while they died,” he tells her in a voice dripping with grief. His eyes grow glassy, moist with tears. “I believe that warrants some guilt, don’t you?”

Historia is silent, holding his gaze. Even when the man’s tears begin to fall, dripping down his cheeks and spilling onto her hand, she still holds on. After a moment, she finally lets go a little too roughly, throwing Mr. Braun’s head back with unnecessary force. The movement earns an indignant squawk from Gabi, who struggles to break free from Mikasa’s grip, but the hotel manager manages to hold the girl. The ghosts move towards the hotelier too, their faces alight with anger, but she waves her hand again and all three are pinned against the wall with much greater force than last time.

“What if I told you that you could see your friends one last time, Mr. Braun?” Historia asks as casually as if she were asking about the weather. She digs through her purse, humming that little tune as she does so. She pulls out a little silver pistol, her slender fingers wrapped against the gilded grip, and loads a single bullet into its chamber. She speaks again, her words light and honey-sweet as she points the barrel at the old man’s forehead. “Mr. Braun, would you like to see your friends again?”

“Historia,” Mikasa growls with narrow eyes.

“What’s she doing? Why does she have a gun?” Gabi asks, voice rising. Her head whips back to Mikasa, eyes wide with horror. She tries to break free from Mikasa’s grip, but the woman holds the girl back tightly. With more urgency, Gabi thrashes more violently, trying to lunge towards Historia’s gun. “Let me go! She’s going to shoot him!”

The ghosts have broken free, all of them clambering for Historia with arms outstretched, but the blonde stands there with her gun aimed as if she and the old man are the only two in the room. Historia ignores the ghosts even as they grab at her, her arm remaining steady even as they try to pull the gun from her fingers. She keeps her gaze fixed on the old man who only stares back at her. While Gabi screams and Mikasa struggles to keep the young girl out of the line of fire, the old man appears calm, a look of resignation on his face.

“What do you say, Mr. Braun?” Historia asks quietly.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he rests his head against the headboard, eyes closed as if he’s about to fall asleep. His answer is adequate enough for Historia to fire the gun.

A piercing shriek cuts across the room just as Historia pulls the trigger, but it’s the only sound that can be heard. There is no whistling bullet. There is no bang as the bullet makes its mark upon the target’s skull. There is no dull thud as a corpse falls to the floor. There is only Gabi screaming for her great uncle as she finally manages to pull away from Mikasa’s hold, her screams only halting when she reaches for the wound on Mr. Braun’s head only to find him fully intact and unmistakably alive as he blinks back at her.

“What …?” Gabi asks, turning slowly to look at Historia and Mikasa.

“It’s a special gun, sweetheart,” Historia explains as she blows at the tip of the barrel. It’s for show, really, because the gun isn’t smoking at all. She drops the gun in her bag, patting it happily before looking back at Gabi and noticing the girl’s stunned expression. Historia frowns, leaning over to Mikasa to ask, “Did I not make that clear?”

“Not at all,” Mikasa replies. Her employer is many things, but clear is not one of them.

“Ah, it’s so troublesome to explain though,” Historia grumbles. She looks at Gabi, watching as the girl slowly loses her mind trying to comprehend everything unfolding in front of her. Her lower lip sticks out in a pout and Mikasa can already see the wheels turning in her mind as she tries to find a way out of dealing with the young girl. If there’s something Historia dislikes almost as much being told how to handle her money, it’s dealing with people on the verge of a mental breakdown. Historia looks over to Mikasa, her face hopeful as she waits for her employee to step in and take the lead, but Mikasa shoots her down with a dirty look and Historia sighs. “Look, Gabi,” Historia says impatiently, hands folded across her chest and foot tapping already. “It’s really not that difficult to understand. You see, the bullet I shot your Great Uncle Braun with allows people to see ghosts. Now, Mr. Braun can finally interact with the ghosts that have been watching over him for so long, all thanks to yours truly!” She waves a gracious hand and waits expectantly for the praise that she believes is deserved of her, but it never comes. Gabi is too busy staring at the empty air around them to give Historia any sort of thanks.

“What do you mean?” Gabi asks, her voice reaching a terrible whine that makes Historia sniff disdainfully. She looks at Mikasa, her expression making it quite clear that she thinks that Historia is speaking nonsense, but the woman offers her no further explanation. Her eyes land once more on her Great Uncle Braun and she notices that his eyes no longer roam. Instead, they are fixed on something in front of him, something that she cannot see. Horrified, she turns to Mikasa, gripping the woman’s wrists so hard that her knuckles turn white. “What’s wrong with Uncle Reiner? Why is he like that? He’s even worse than before!”

“He’s fine,” Mikasa says soothingly. She breaks one hand free from Gabi’s grasp and pats the young girl’s head gently.

“We could make this a lot more simple, you know,” Historia says. She pulls out the gun from her purse once more, twirling it carelessly in her hand. “Shall I shoot her too?”

Mikasa shoots Historia a hard glare. “You are not shooting a child.”

Her employer rolls her eyes, grumbling under her breath about how she was simply suggesting an easier solution, but she puts the gun away.

The ghosts are speechless as they cautiously approach Mr. Braun. The two brothers keep their distance but the other ghost — the tall one that had looked so murderously down at Historia when she had pulled the trigger — is the only one to stand right in front of his old friend. Both the ghost and Mr. Braun stare at each other as if they are the only two in the room. The soldier holds up a hand, reaching for the old man but too afraid to touch.

“Bertholdt.” It’s not a question that comes from Reiner, but a statement of disbelief. As he gazes at the ghost, the old man looks more awake than he has been this entire visit. He sits up, reaching for Bertholdt’s outstretched hand. Their fingetipsrs touch, then their palms, and then their fingers lace together. Ever since he had first laid eyes on Bertholdt, the real Bertholdt, Reiner hasn’t looked away once. “It really is you.”

“It’s true, then? He can see me now? He can really see me?” Bertholdt asks, staring in awe at his fingers interlaced with Reiner’s. He looks to Historia, eyes begging her to tell her that this is all real and not some cruel trick.

It’s a heartwarming scene, but Historia stands there with her arms folded across her chest. She gives him a curt nod before looking away disinterestedly, an inaudible sigh slipping from her lips.

Mikasa gestures for the ghost and his companions to get closer. “Go on,” she says with an encouraging smile. “He hasn’t seen you in so long. It must be overwhelming to reunite with you after all this time. Tell him everything and banish the nightmares that have been plaguing him for so long.”

Reiner continues to converse with Bertholdt as if nobody else is in the room. “But have you been here all this time?” He looks behind Bertholdt, a genuine smile now on his face. Although he has aged, his grin is as youthful as a young boy’s. He gestures with his free hand, waving his friend’s over. “Marcel and Porco, too? After everything I’ve done, you’re still here?” Tears are beginning to well up in his eyes once more but Bertholdt hastily wipes them away with a tender thumb.

“We were worried about you,” Marcel says. He takes a seat on the edge of Reiner’s bed. His expression is much softer now, filled with affection as he gazes down at his old friend, and rests a gentle hand on Reiner’s arm. “After the war … we were sorry we abandoned you. We couldn’t find it in ourselves to leave you again until we knew you were alright.”

It must have been torture for them to stay by Reiner’s side all those years, observing him helplessly as he screamed at distorted visions of them that blamed him for their deaths. It takes a certain type of strength — a certain type of love, Mikasa thought — to stay for someone for all those years. It had already been over half a century and still they had never left him. It must have been a similar pain for Mr. Braun too, Mikasa thinks, to have been tortured by the memory of his fallen for all those years. All those years he had suffered alone. Not anymore.

“What’s going on?” Gabi whispers, eyes wide as she tries to take in a scene she can’t understand.

“We’ll explain outside,” Mikasa whispers back. She places a hand on Gabi’s back and leads the girl towards the door, Historia dragging her feet as she follows behind. In the background, Reiner and his old comrades continue to talk.

“We were so worried,” Porco is saying, voice quiet as he takes a seat beside his brother Marcel. “You blamed yourself for things that weren’t your fault. It didn’t feel right to just leave you when you were suffering so much without us.”

“Did I worry you? I’m sorry. You stayed because of me instead of moving on like you should have,” Reiner says with a wry smile. He gazes down at the hand that holds Bertholdt. “But I’m glad I could see you all one last time… I missed you.”

Bertholdt gives Reiner’s hand a quick squeeze. “We missed you too.” His eyes crinkle when he smiles. It fades a little bit, affection replaced with concern as he asks, “But the things you were seeing … are they still here?”

Reiner doesn’t even look around to check, keeping his eyes on Bertholdt instead. “No,” he says with a shake of his head. His smile is spread so wide, wrinkles appearing at the corners of his mouth and eyes. “I only see you.”

Mikasa shuts the door gently behind her, a small smile on her face.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

“So let me get this straight,” Gabi says slowly. She holds up a fist, bringing up a finger every time she brings up each new topic she’s had to process. “There were no ghosts haunting Uncle Reiner. The things he was seeing were just hallucinations that were conjured up in his mind due to his own guilt. But there were ghosts — the ghosts of his old friends — that were watching over him all these years because they were worried about him. And I can’t see them because I wasn’t shot with a magic bullet?” She looks at her three fingers with a frown and then at the two women beside her.

“That’s pretty much it,” Mikasa hums. She’s only had to explain it a handful of times to the girl, so she’s quite pleased that Gabi’s grasped it so quickly even if the young girl’s expression grows more and more troubled with each repetition.

“Please don’t make us go through it again,” Historia says with a grown, knocking her head back against the wall. She bangs the back of her head against the wall a few times in frustration, her expression one of tired impatience, before letting out another exaggerated sigh. Although Mikasa has been patient throughout, Historia has been growing more and more impatient, only offering a few words here and there while Mikasa took care of most of the explanation.

“Well, it’s hard to believe you when I can’t see anything! How can I even trust you guys? I might have signed over my entire inheritance to a bunch of frauds!” Gabi points out, her gaze more suspicious of them than it was when they first met. “For all I know, you might have just made things worse bringing up his past!”

Historia stiffens at the young girl’s words and for a moment Mikasa thinks she’s going to get up and leave, but the woman opens her mouth to say quietly, “Darling, would you have rather he been haunted by his past until his last breath?” Gabi doesn’t respond and Historia continues, her eyes a little less icy now as she leans against the armrest. “You don’t understand because you’re so young. You don’t have things that you regret or lost things you can’t live without, not the way your uncle has. You should be thanking me, really, for allowing him the ability to reunite one last time with his old friends. Some people aren’t so lucky.”

The young girl’s cheeks blaze a bright red and she looks down at the floor, her eyes bright as they begin to fill with tears. “I’m sorry. I’m just scared,” she mumbles, lower lip trembling dangerously. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this before. So sad, but at the same time … so happy.” The tears begin to roll down her cheeks one by one, her shoulders shaking as the girl tries to suppress her crying. Mikasa is about to reach out and offer Gabi a shoulder to lean on but, surprisingly, Historia beats her to it.

Gently, the blonde wraps an arm around the child’s shoulders before guiding her onto her shoulder. It’s a rare sign of sympathy, one that Mikasa usually doesn’t see Historia display, especially towards clients. It’s even more surprising when Historia begins to stroke the girl’s hair, brushing stray locks away from the child’s face as she hums that song that Mikasa still can’t fully recall. “Farewells are like that,” Historia murmurs, looking into the distance as if remembering something. “They’re always sad, but they’re not entirely sad. Never entirely sad.” There’s something wistful in the way she says this and Mikasa almost opens her mouth to ask why, but now isn’t the time. Maybe another day when they’re alone and there isn’t a child between them that needs comforting.

The three of them stay that way for a while, silent save for Gabi’s sobs and the muffled conversation on the other side of the while. As Mikasa rubs circles on the young girl’s back, she focuses her gaze on Historia, who has that faraway look in her eye that she sometimes gets when she isn’t thinking. It’s not one that Historia wears freely around others, but she’s gotten more careless around Mikasa over the years. Mikasa notices that such a distracted gaze tends to appear during businesses such as these where a client with ghosts that should have left a long time ago. There’s no ghost that haunts Historia now, at least none that Mikasa can see, but she has a feeling she already knows the memory that keeps Historia up at night. Why Mikasa never asks the woman herself, she doesn’t know.

The door to Mr. Braun’s room finally creaks open and the ghosts — Porco, Marcel, and Bertholdt, who is still holding onto Reiner’s hand as the old man follows them to the hall — trail out. They look much calmer now, their expressions serene and no longer hostile as they look first at Mikasa and Historia.

“Did you have a nice talk?” Historia says, getting up to meet them. She looks over at Mikasa and Gabi. Although the young girl is still crying, Historia beckons her forward, a twinge of annoyance on her face that’s replaced with a polite smile as she looks at Mr. Braun. “I hope you’ve had enough time to say your goodbyes. Goodness knows you’ve probably had a lot you wanted to say to Mr. Braun for the past half a century, but you’ve stayed here far too long, don’t you think?”

They nod in agreement, but they all look reluctant to go, Bertholdt especially. Still, Marcel steps forward with a gracious smile and says, “We have to thank you, Miss Historia, for allowing us to meet with Reiner one last time before we pass.”

Historia waves away his thanks with a wave of her hand, although her smile grows into a smirk after hearing the praise. “Not at all. It’s the least I could do.” She turns to Mr. Braun, her gaze more patient than it was when she was dealing with the elderly man’s great-niece. “Are you ready to say goodbye, Mr. Braun?”

He doesn’t look at Historia, his gaze lingering on Bertholdt whose hand he still holds. His withered hands cling to the spirit, eyes wistful like he never wants to let go. “Will I ever see you again?” he asks.

“If there’s ever a way, then I’m sure we’ll find our way back to each other,” Bertholdt replies. Mikasa can’t see the ghost’s face, but she knows he means it. She doesn’t know if it’s possible — to meet someone again after death or if reuniting in another life is feasible — but she believes his words now. If anyone can make it happen, it will be him.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

Mikasa and Historia drop the ghosts off at the hotel, leaving Connie and Levi to assist them and introduce the ghosts to the hotel’s rooms and various facilities. Mikasa had taken a few minutes to assure the ghostly trio that all of their accommodations (within reason, she added) would be met to the best of the staff’s ability. She would see them all again soon, the manager assured them even as Historia impatiently dragged her away to meet their reservation at the dim sum restaurant Mikasa had placed earlier today.

“So,” Mikasa asks, watching fondly as Historia shoves an entire BBQ pork bun into her mouth, “how is the food?”

“Incredible,” Historia answers with her mouth full of food. Despite how elegant the woman might appear on the outside, Historia — much to Mikasa’s amusement — always eats as if she’s starving. It doesn’t matter if they had eaten hours ago or thirty minutes ago; Historia will shovel food into her mouth until her cheeks are filled and doesn’t stop until every dish is licked clean. While others have found the woman’s table manners atrocious and even frightening at times, Mikasa can’t help but be entranced whenever she watches Historia eat.

“Come, eat more. The shrimp dumplings are absolutely divine.” Historia plucks a beautifully wrapped shrimp dumpling with her chopsticks and offers it to Mikasa.

“Thank you,” Mikasa says, holding out her plate to accept the dumpling. She takes the extra time to admire the delicate pleats in the translucent skin and the gorgeous pink of the plump shrimp sitting inside. When she takes a bite, the delicate wrapper breaks apart and her teeth dig into the shrimp with a delightful crunch, her mouth filling with the shellfish’s sweet flavor. Mikasa easily finishes the dumpling in another bite, savoring the taste of it as the starch wrapper melts on her tongue and mingles with the savory-sweet filling. When she’s done, she looks up to see Historia looking at her with a smug smile on her face.

“Delicious?”

“Very.”

“You’re very welcome,” Historia says, her chest puffed out proudly as if she was the one to suggest they eat here tonight. She goes back to inspecting the dim sum dishes laid out in front of them, her eyes latching onto a plate of chicken feet. She nibbles on one, spitting the bones out onto a napkin. When she’s done, she gets another, her lips shining pink from the grease. “It’s lovely, but it would have been better if you had let me change like I had asked.”

After dropping the ghosts off at the hotel, Historia had thrown the door open and rushed out to go change before Mikasa had caught her by the wrist. The woman needs to have a wardrobe change almost every hour of the day. It’s another one of Historia’s eccentricities that Mikasa lets slide half the time, but she had made reservations earlier and changing it would have been inconvenient.

“Would the chef’s cooking be any different if you were wearing a different outfit?” Mikasa asks. She takes a gentle bite into a soup dumpling, making sure not to slurp the broth too noisily. It almost burns her mouth, but the tender pork filling inside more than makes up for it.

Historia frowns, discarding the bones from her third chicken foot onto the table. She licks the sticky sweet black bean sauce from her fingers before wiping them on the napkin that sits across her lap. “It would taste better if I were wearing a different outfit,” Historia replies before plucking a fried crab ball from its plate. She digs her teeth into its crispy exterior with a loud crunch and swallows before continuing. “Things taste better when you’re dressed for the occasion. You should know this by now, Mikasa. We’ve been together for over twenty years, you know.”

She doesn’t need the reminder. Mikasa has been counting the days just like her cousin has been counting down the days. He’s been with Historia for almost an entire century. Mikasa wonders what it’s like to know someone for one hundred years. She can’t fathom it.

“And what would you wear instead?” Mikasa asks.

“Mmm.” Historia brings her chopstick to her mouth to nibble at thoughtfully. The woman has entire rooms filled with clothes — all organized by color, season, and style — and yet she’s still able to remember and assemble entire outfits complete with shoes and accessories. She grins when she’s finally thought of the perfect outfit, pointing her chopsticks at Mikasa with a grin on her face. “The Majorica pearls. They look like little dumplings. And the blue tulle dress, the one with the trailing skirt.”

Mikasa knows exactly which ensemble Historia is referring to, although it’s admittedly been a while since she’s seen the blonde hotelier wear the fairy-like tulle. With its shimmering skirt that seems to be a different shade of blue every time Historia moves and its long billowing sleeves that hang off Historia’s shoulders, it’s a piece that’s far more suited for a runway or an elegant wedding than a casual outing to a dim sum restaurant, but Historia wears such extravagant pieces with such confidence that it would seem out-of-place if she were to wear anything less luxurious.

“I think you look beautiful right now,” Mikasa replies.

Historia hardly bats an eyelash. “Of course I do. I’m always beautiful,” Historia says, brushing off the compliment as easily as she always does. It used to bother Mikasa, but she’s used to it now. “That blue dress would really suit the atmosphere of this restaurant better though.”

Mikasa only hums in response.

The two continue eating — Mikasa in delicate bites while Historia gorges herself with buns stuffed with succulent meats and crispy deep-fried shrimp balls but somehow never dropping a crumb. Mikasa doesn’t even eat much. She’s never had much of an appetite, but Historia cleans every plate. By the time Historia cleans off their last plate, there’s a mountain of dirty dishes stacked high on the side of the table, and yet Historia is still hungry enough to call over a nearby waitress and order nearly every dessert on her cart.

Mikasa doesn’t touch any of the pastries that are laid out in front of them, but Historia plucks a crispy durian cake and breaks it in two, the flaky crust crumbling underneath her fingers and spilling onto the table. The intoxicatingly sweet scent of the durian custard is fragrant enough to fill the whole room. Historia stuffs one half into her mouth, savoring the delicate taste of the durian custard as she chews and swallows. She follows with the other half before wiping her fingers on the cloth napkin in her lap.

“Do you still dream of me?” Historia asks nonchalantly. The question comes out of the blue, making Mikasa look up from where she was staring at Historia’s fingers.

I do, Mikasa wants to say. I dream of you every night. But she doesn’t say it. She never does. Instead, the manager replies with a simple, “Yes.”

“Hm,” is all Historia says.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

That night, Mikasa dreams of Historia in a garden. She wears clothing from a different time, the material like that from a rough burlap that has been bleached white from the sun and stitched into a plain dress. She’s younger in this dream, her face a little rounder and her blue eyes less guarded. Historia lays in the garden, staring up at the starry sky. She doesn’t stir even as another girl joins her.

“Historia,” the girl says, freckles sprinkled across her olive skin. Her hair is chopped unevenly in a short cut that frames her thin face, but Historia still smiles when the girl leans over her. It’s not the first time Mikasa has seen this girl in her dreams. “I dreamed of you again.”

“Did you?” Historia asks. Her mouth always curls upward whenever she sees the girl. She’s probably not even aware of it.

“I always dream of you,” the other girl replies.

“Was I beautiful?” Historia asks.

“Of course, you were,” the other girl replies. She lies down beside Historia and the blonde curls up against her, Historia’s blonde head resting against the other girl’s shoulder while their fingers intertwine. “You’re always beautiful.”

It’s painfully intimate. The two look so happy together, curled up against each other as they stare up at the sky. Mikasa doesn’t think she’s ever seen Historia smile like that. It makes her heart ache.

[deathonyourtongue]

Winter Passing | Chapter 10

Summary: After car accident leaves him at the base of a mountain with no sign of civilization for miles, a breakup is the least of Henry’s problems. Just as death’s icy fingers begin to coil around him, salvation presents itself in the form of an old cabin in a clearing. Despite years of being told fairy tales and ghost stories that warn against such things, he uses his last of his strength to reach the cottage. When he wakes, he finds not a demon, but an angel, long removed from the insanity of the modern world. Pairing: AU!Henry Cavill x OFC Word Count: 2K Warnings: None, for once. A/N : I think my tag list broke during the last update. Should be fixed now. Like what I do? Buy me a coffee!

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Foraging in the winter was a skill to be honed, and after finishing the morning work on the property, Henry followed Olivia out towards the wilds of the forest that took up the back end of her home. 

“I didn’t think anything grew in winter, especially out here,” he murmured, watching her intently, keen to learn and-as he tended to be more and more often with each passing day-in awe of how she moved, how she lived. 

“Technically nothing grows in winter, but there’s plenty to gather,” Olivia explained as she opened her hand, showing Henry a seed pod that resembled a dancing flame.

“The pancakes we had the other day? Were made with flour from these Hornbeam seeds. And here? These are delicious when you prepare them correctly,” Olivia explained, her other hand holding a few crabapples. 

Eyebrows up in amazement, Henry dutifully turned around, letting Olivia put more foraged goods into the backpack she’d strapped him into. “What about poisonous stuff? Or stuff that you can use for...You know…” He made a face and Olivia couldn’t help but laugh, cupping Henry’s cheek and reaching up on her tiptoes to give him a kiss as they continued their walk through the forest, protected from the elements by the thick overhead cover of the ancient trees. 

“That too. Holly and Mistletoe, though I personally have little use for them as nature intended,” Olivia nodded, her smile growing bigger as she felt Henry tuck her in under his arm, pulling her close as they fell in step with one another. 

“Tell me a story from when you were...Before you were a witch?” Henry asked, his voice soft and tinged with reticence, lest he say the wrong thing. 

“I was born a witch, sweetheart. It’s not like vampires. You don’t get turned into one at the peak of your life,” Olivia laughed sweetly, squeezing his waist with one hand while the other rubbed gently over his chest. “And before you ask, no vampires do not exist. Some of us do blood magic, which is pretty close, but none of us have fangs...That I know of.” Gazing up at him with amusement, she leaned into his strong form as they continued to walk.

“A story from when I was younger. Let’s see...When I first became aware of my powers, my favorite thing to do was hide things up in the trees. I started small; little bits of fur, some meat, one of my mother’s hair combs. No one noticed at first, of course, but then I started to get bolder. My father’s saddle was the first thing anyone really noticed, because, well, we only had one at the time. My crowning achievement though, was putting the family goat in the tallest tree of our village. It lasted all of an hour before the goat began to bleat, and a crowd formed. My parents were none too impressed. I’ll never forget my father having to climb up there, only to throw the poor thing down into an elk skin a few of our neighbors held out.”

“You were-”

“A little shit, yeah.” Olivia grinned proudly up at Henry, earning a laugh and a playful kiss, neither her nor Henry paying much attention to their surroundings, too wrapped up in the moment to care about what might be headed their way.

“Well, you turned out alright, that’s what matters, no?” Henry chuckled, giving her a warm squeeze and another kiss to the temple. 

Olivia couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt more at peace and more elated. Looking up at him, she knew Henry was the root cause, but after centuries of solitude and suffering, Olivia refused to let the fear of the unknown take hold. What they had was all she’d ever wanted, and she wasn’t about to let it slip from between her fingers. 

The choice, however, didn’t seem to be hers. 

As they rounded the path into a smaller clearing just west of the cottage, the woods turned silent. Though it was winter, the forest still tended to be a cacophony of sounds, from bird calls to deer munching on berries. The silence was unnerving, and looking over her shoulder, Olivia’s unease grew into fear as she watched Gunnar go into a low crouch. Eyes fixed on the clearing, the husky bared his teeth and raised his hackles, on the defensive. 

Olivia had barely turned back around when she caught sight of the apparition. Despite the cloud-covered sunlight that streamed into the clearing, the creature still terrified her, as the light allowed her to see her mother’s visage in greater detail. 

Henry’s hold on her tightened instinctively, his eyes fixed on the ghostly image before him. “Liv, darling, what do we do?” He whispered, his concern growing when he felt Olivia begin to tremble. 

Hiding her face in his chest a moment, Olivia worked to get her breathing back under control, fighting off every urge to run, knowing that doing so would only aggravate the apparition. Instead, she felt an anger grow inside her, usurping the fear as she forced herself to remember that this land was hers. With a push away from Henry, she turned her full attention to the spirit, drawing it closer with her actions. 

“Gunnar, stay.” She commanded when she heard the husky stalk closer, a low rumble making it clear he was ready to attack at any moment. 

“You’re not welcome here. Leave. Now.” Olivia spoke firmly, taking off her gloves. Henry’s eyes went wide when he noticed the aquamarine waves entwining around Olivia’s fingers. Moving like the ocean itself, they crashed and flowed, gathering in strength and fury until they created a stormy swell between her hands. There was no doubt, even to Henry, that if she let go, whoever was on the receiving end of the rush of water, would be in for a terrible time.

“Last chance, wretch. Tell me who summoned you and from whence you came, or suffer even more than you already have.”

The water between her hands began to glow, and upon closer inspection, Henry realized there was fire beneath the waves and the true nature of Olivia’s threat became clear. Being hit with a jet of water was one thing, but if that water were hotter than an open flame, spurned by anger, it was something else entirely.

Frozen in place, Henry couldn’t stop his cry of fear as the apparition suddenly lunged forward, screeching when it was hit full on by Olivia’s fury. To his surprise, the thing began to disintegrate once more, although this time, the process seemed far more grotesque. Instead of fading, the water seemed to eat away at the apparition, like acid on metal. It turned his stomach, but he couldn’t look away, fascinated and appalled in equal measure. 

Just before its face melted away, the creature let out another ear-piercing wail, the singular word it spoke chilling Henry to the bone. 

TABITHA!!

Unable to keep from shivering, Henry only found himself able to move when Gunnar nuzzled at his thigh, the husky’s demeanor back to normal as he sat at Henry’s feet. 

“Tabitha? Who’s Tabitha?” Olivia asked as she shook off her own chill, the creature’s all-white stare one that would be burned into her memory for a very long time. Moving back to where Henry stood shell shocked, she rubbed his back, knowing full well this could be his breaking point. 

“T-Tabitha’s my ex-girlfriend’s name. I w-was leaving her the day you saved me.” 

Olivia could feel the chill in his body, the fear in his heart as he made the connection. Though she had no idea how long they’d been together, the betrayal and astonishment Henry felt coursed through every vein, and it didn’t take a genius to realize that Tabitha had kept her true nature a secret from her lover. 

Taking Henry’s hand in hers, Olivia turned them in the direction of home, hoping the hearth, some tea, and her thickest blanket would be enough to ease the pain she knew was imminent in Henry’s very tender heart. 

“What I don’t understand is...Why’d she have your mother’s face?” Henry mumbled long after his tea was gone, his gaze still despondent as he sat curled up on the couch, as close to the hearth as he could manage. 

“If she’s as strong as she seems, Tabitha will have seen me with you. It doesn’t take a lot of work to conjure up a family line, even one as old as mine. She’d have found my mother’s face in my thoughts without breaking much of a sweat.”

A visible shiver went through Henry and he shook his head, looking for all the world like he might cry at any moment. Frowning, Olivia curled up next to him, making sure he could feel her arms squeezing tightly around his torso, hoping the contact would ground him. 

“Am I cursed?” Henry’s question made Olivia’s laugh spill out before she could stop it. 

“I wouldn’t say that. After all, only one of us is sending threats, and from what little you’ve told me, it sounds like she wasn’t the most pleasant person to begin with.” Shifting easily with Henry, Olivia let him settle as they both laid out on the couch. With his head between her breasts, she finally felt Henry’s anxiety ease and his heart rate slow. 

The crash against the window sent them both flying off the couch, once more on high alert. 

“Oh my god, it’s just an owl. Christ, where’s Dyster when you need him?” Olivia muttered to herself as she moved to the window, opening it to let the bird in. Scrambling up the couch and as far away from the black-and-white-feathered creature as possible, Henry’s wide-eyed look matched the owl’s, the two staring at one another for a long moment before the bird turned its attention to Olivia.

“I come on behalf of--”

“Theofina, right? Yeah, I get it. I’m wanted in Rome. Since it seems I don’t have much of a choice, tell her to ready my apartments, and that I’ll be bringing a guest not of our order. How’s your beak? You hit pretty hard.” 

“It’s fine, ma’am. Just wasn’t paying attention as there was a mouse and, well, I’m hungry.” The difference between the two emissaries couldn’t have been more blatant, and not for the first time, Olivia wondered just how much had truly changed in her former home.

“Here, I have some rabbit to spare. Warm yourself by the fire. Are you pressed for time?” Olivia asked, doing her best to ignore Henry’s befuddled expression as she pulled some raw rabbit from the floor cooler, cutting it in half before meeting the bird by the hearth.

“What’s your name?” She asked, stroking over his head gently, surprised when she still felt a chill in his feathers.

“Atrix, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” Atrix bowed his head for a moment before taking the offered meat and downing it in go. 

“Are you treated well?”

“I’m given a home, food, and responsibility, ma’am. That’s all I require.” Atrix nodded, his eyes closing in peaceful enjoyment of the food in his belly, the heat from the fire, and Olivia’s caring touch. 

“Good. Go when you’re ready. I’ll leave the window open.” Olivia spoke softly, feeding Atrix the second half of the rabbit before moving to wash her hands. 

“Thank you, ma’am. You’ve been most kind. Is this the guest you intend to bring, in the typical way?” Atrix questioned, his eyes going as wide as saucers before he turned his head nearly all the way around to look at Henry. 

“Yes. It might be uncomfortable, but it’s the quickest way there, and I know he’s strong enough to endure it.”  

“Endure? Endure what?” Henry asked, eyes still fixed on the owl, unsure of what was being talked about, given he could only hear one half of the conversation. 

“How do you feel about a quick trip to Rome with me?”