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mackeydoodledoo · 3 years ago

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Twice the Chaos: Chapter 1

Pairing: Rosalie Hale x (Fem!DemonHybrid)OC: Pandora Barlowe

Summary: You were only passing through. You had nowhere to go; you were the spawn of Satan himself. There was no place in the world for you. Until you met a blonde vampire.

Warnings: Parental Abandonment, Depression, Chaotic Life

A/n: Listen... I’m just tryna see something here...

Key: Bold/Italics = Telepathic Conversation/Thoughts

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Your mother had left you when you were of age; not wanting to take care of a freak. That was how your mother always referred to you. Your Father? He was never around. Since being left out into the streets, life has been absolute chaos. You try to make a living for yourself; but you began developing new features.

“I’m sorry, we can no longer have you be working at our establishment,” The owner comes up to you

You were just trying to clean tables; next was you getting fired?

“What? Why? I haven’t violated any of your rules,” You try to counter-argue, “More so, I’ve been trying to not violate them...”

“Your... Vibe... Everyone’s giving us weird looks... It’d be better if you no longer worked here,” He doesn’t budge

You storm out of your former workplace.

That is IT! I’m done!

You try running your hands through your hair but you felt something knock against your fingertips.

Stubs?! That can’t be...

You saw something move from the bottom corner of your eye.

A tail?! What the absolute hell is happening?

You run off to the woods in order to avoid getting any further attention from humans. You did everything... Just simply trying to get through like at the age of 18. Clearly it wasn’t going to happen...

You are beginning to become like me...

Who said that?!

You were beginning to freak out.

Your father...

What are you talking about?! My dad was never around! He could be dead for all I know and care!

You don’t get it do you?... I am your father...

Father?

You were sure your father just ran off with another woman. But, it wasn’t logically possible to have someone telepathically speak to you.

Why am I going to believe some voice in my head that’s never been around until now?!

You just try to get the same voice out of your head.

You’re like me... You can come home. You won’t have to worry about being judged here...

Home?! My mother threw me out as soon as I turned 18... Since then I couldn’t even keep a single job afloat without anyone that comes within my radius getting me fired because of my “bad vibes”! Well, look at it this way-

No! Face it! There’s no place for me!!!!! Heaven or Hell? Doesn’t matter... There’s no damn place for a freak like me...

The voice in your head ceased then. But, the development of new features hadn’t. Your stubs? Grew into small horns. Tail? Resembled a Demon’s tail. Pointed end and everything.. It’s been months since you had your last job... Anyone really. You use a beanie to cover your horns and you shove your tail into your pants or jacket; whichever was comfortable. You mysteriously was still stable enough to create your own little place in the woods. But, it was still depressing for you. You still thought about how your mother abandoned you, getting fired just because of the vibes you give off, despite trying to be a normal human.

“Why me?...” You ask yourself, “Why me?....”

You look up as soon as you felt a single raindrop fall.

I need a new tarp... But, I’m not in for going back into town... They wouldn’t eve just as so sell me a new tarp... Whatever I guess...

You had passed out while the rain was going on. However, when you open your eyes, you were expected to feel wet. But, you felt warm. You look up to see a brand new tarp draped over your small hideout and you look back down to see a Sherpa-lined blanket engulfing you in warmth.

Who?...

“Got me these?...” You ask yourself

You crawl out of the hideout and try to look around the woods to see if there was anyone else that had been camping out. But, no such people were there. You scoff but felt thankful that someone was sympathetic enough to give you a whole new tarp to go over your head and a blanket.

Fortunately it had stopped raining by the time you went out to go fishing to get your fill for the day. To be honest, it didn’t feel so bad when you would be out fishing, you found a big enough lake to see the sun rise and set over the horizon, you were able to catch a handful of fish to get you through each day.

I see you’ve grown accustomed to living on your own... Nice job kiddo.

What did I say about coming out to “chat”? Don’t try and persuade me to “Come home”.

I’m not. I’m just checking in on you. You claim that there’s no place for you here... Yet, you’ve made a small place for yourself?

Might as well be somewhere off the grid.

Not to that once blondie...

A blondie?... Who?...

Not sure, but that new tarp and blanket? That’s from her.... She’s been coming nearly every night...

You watch me sleep?...

I do it to protect you so you could sleep.

Don’t try and act like my dad... I’m fine without him....

You still don’t believe me?..

Still haven’t seen you face to face.

You wouldn’t want to see me face to face....

Good, we’re on the same page then. Don’t think I’d want to meet my old man anyway...

Once dusk had hit, you were putting out a firepit you had set up to cook the fish you had caught not too long before.

I got you kiddo. Go ahead and sleep.

I said don’t treat me like you’re trying to be like my dad. I never knew him anyway...

You take the blanket and use a couple of your flannels as a pillow.

Goodnight...

Night.

The same old routine persisted. You felt the off-putting vibes on how you were able to be this stable, especially living in an unused shed of all places that was clearly in a state of decay.

I think that blondie has taken a liking to you.

She’s still in question? She doesn’t even know me... How could you know?

When she would come check on you, just last night she was lying next to you. I know because she’s been visiting every night.

And she can’t see you?

No one can.

That’s a ‘shocker’... But can she not hear you?...

Only you and myself.

“Weird...” You take a deep breath as you sit against the tree

You were kind of fishing from sitting on a tree branch, decently high from the ground.

You’ve thought about the last several nights you were sleeping in your little hideout space. You would open your eyes, but still be half asleep. As you were half awake and half asleep; you could have sworn you felt an arm hooked around your waistline. But you don’t think anything of it as you pass right back out. The feeling would be gone in the morning.

You really think there is someone?

She’s come every night. Who knows? Maybe you’ll be taken to where she lives.

Out here? In the middle of nowhere? I doubt it..

Like clockwork, you set up your makeshift flannel pillow and lay across the old tarp you decided to use as a covering form the molding hardwood floor.

You open your eyes and realize the cold morning feeling is no longer around. Your eyes begin adjusting to so much light coming into the room.

“You’re awake now?” A feminine voice asks you

You were startled. Startled to the point where you fell off the bed. You groan at the impact. Trying to gain your vision back, a figure comes walking over to you. You immediately sit up and begin backing away.

“You-you don’t wanna be near me,” You say, almost in a drunken state, “I’m no good around people...”

“Says who?” She asks

“Says the many people that have fired me from jobs because of the vibes I give off,” You groan when you feel the wall against your back

“Well, they just go by the book cover,” She says, helping you back into bed, “You should lay down... You hit your head there pretty hard.”

In your still blurred vision; the woman’s hair was brunette.

That isn’t her...

But, she isn’t giving off any bad vibes...

I’ll be the judge of that...

You try to sit up again but a hand is gently pressed against your shoulder.

“My daughter will be here any minute to check on you,” She says, calmly, “You should thank her when you have the chance... She felt miserable watching you every night.”

She... Felt miserable?...

See? She does like you.

But, she still barely knows me. I don’t even know her name and vice versa.

That could change here.

Will you just stop talking?....

The next time you open your eyes, your vision slowly coming together; you saw a faint color of blonde.

Could it be?...

“I told you you shouldn’t have brought that... Thing in here. She’ll get us all killed,” A male voice tries to persuade the blonde

“I couldn’t just leave her there,” She argues, “She was miserable. Carlisle and Esme already said she could stay here under my care.”

“If you get us killed it’s your fault,” He replies

You hear him storm out of the room.

“You’re awake for real now?” She sits at the bedside

“Where?-” You ask, trying to sit up

“My family estate,” She explains

“My-my stuff, some of my stuff-” You begin freaking out

“Already taken care of,” She slightly smiles

You sit up from the lush bedsheets, taking deep breathes as you try to wrap your head around the last several hours.

“How long was I out?” You ask the blonde

“Several hours,” She answers, “I continuously checked on you... You were... Crying, tossing and turning, talked in your sleep...”

“Oh? What about?” You ask

“Does... ‘Why me?...’, ‘What am I?...’ Ring a bell?” She asks

It does for me.

Shut up.

“I may have had those kinds of panic attacks while I slept...” You explains, “Which is why I look like shit right?..”

“I was going to say that you’ve slept for so long,” She says, cocking an eyebrow at you, “But if you think that too than you do you.”

It was an awkward silence for the both of you. You didn’t know what to make of this blondie.

I like her.

I said shut up.

What? She’s pretty, she’s looked after you the last serval nights.

That doesn’t mean she’s my soulmate or anything... We barely know each other, let alone each others’ names.

“My name’s Rosalie Hale,” the blondie answers

“Huh?” You ask, removing the bedsheets from your legs

“You... Didn’t know my name so... Thought I’d tell you,” She says, “Now, you must be hungry.”

“Yeah,” You say, in a suspicious tone, “Lead the way blondie.”

“It’s Rosalie,” She corrects you

“Alright blondie,” You continue using that nickname

Rosalie turns to you to try and hit you. You easily block her arm with yours. For the first time since childhood, you laughed. A genuine laugh had come out of your mouth. You stopped dead in your tracks; making Rosalie turn to you.

“You okay?” she asks, walking up to you

A chill runs up your spine as you feel her gentle touch against your forearm. You look back at her with a slight surprise. But, Rosalie didn’t seem phased by your sudden change in expression.

“Yeah,” You sigh, “I haven’t laughed in awhile... It’s.. Been a very long time.”

“How long is a long time?” She asks

“Probably when I was a little kid...” You sigh, “Since then, I’ve never really learned to smile, laugh or experience any sort of positive thing...”

“I’m so sorry,” She says, her expression changing to concern, “Well, what matters most is that you now have an actual roof over your head. You are under my care now.”

“You- don’t do me any favors blondie!” You try to protest

“Too late!” She smiles, letting out a small giggle

Ooooh, I do like her.

Aren’t you a fire spirit or something? Lay off buddy.

Oh we getting jealous now huh?

What?!- No! You aren’t physically here, so that means you can’t have blondie.

So you can?

That’s not what I’m saying- you know what, shut your trap!

“Your friend there is fond of me I see,” Rosalie blushes

“What? Him?” You ask, “You... Can hear him?”

“He’s in your head no?” She asks you

“Well, yes but- how can you know that?” You ask

“Let’s just say I’m full of surprises,” She smirks

You watch her walk off into the kitchen as you make eye contact with what looked to be her family members.

“I hope you’re well rested now sweetheart,” A brunette speaks

“That’s the adoptive mother and father; Carlisle and Esme,” Rosalie explains to you

“I’m sorry you have had a tough time these past few months,” Carlisle says, “But, you are more than welcome here.”

“Oh, just at least I can get back up on my feet,” You say, bashfully, “I wouldn’t want to take up any more space than I already have..”

“Nonsense!” A male voice enthusiastically says

Your feet lose contact with the ground. You let out a yelp as you try to get a vision of who had just grabbed you.

“That is my brother... Emmett Cullen,” Rosalie scoffs, “He’s a little bit... Chaotic..”

“Chaotic is my middle name,” He jokes as he sets you right back onto the ground

“Four of our other kids are somewhere around...” Carlisle explains, “Oh, they must be out hunting. You’ll see them when you see them.”

“Thank you again,” You say

Quite a family...

You’re telling me...

After you had gotten a proper meal for the first time in months, you found yourself in the library. You don’t really read that often anymore as you have come to the conclusion that it would take you a century to read a single book.

“Looking for something in particular?” Rosalie asks from the doorway

“To be honest... No,” You answer, “I guess I’ve just been wandering aimlessly. Never really been in a house this... Spacious..”

It’ll be much more spacious when you come live with me.

Like I said before. You are not my father and don’t try to have me come to wherever the hell it is that you live in.. Not a chance..

“You don’t get along with your dad very well?” Rosalie asks

“Never knew him...” You sigh, looking out to the forestry that surrounded the estate, “My mother said he left as soon as I was born...”

“Hey, before you go on, do you... Want to talk about it elsewhere?” She asks, placing her palm over your upper arm

“That would be nice,” You slightly smile

“I know a place,” Rosalie smiles

In one swift motion, Rosalie hoists you over her shoulder.

“You better hold on leech,” Rosalie teases

“That should be ME telling you that,” You nervously chuckle

Rosalie hops out of an open window; breaking into an inhuman speed. You weren’t sure where to hold on along Rosalie’s clothing without touching an area where Rosalie wouldn’t want you to touch her. So you just hang over her shoulder. Almost like a heavy weight.

“You doing okay?” Rosalie asks

“Yep!” You sort of lie, “Good as we can be blondie!”

“We’re almost there!” Rosalie announces to the both of you

Chapter 2

#Rosalie Hale x Reader #twilight saga #twilight #jasper hale #carlisle cullen #esme cullen #emmet cullen #edward cullen #bella swan #rosalie hale #female reader

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inkedtae · 4 years ago

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a brew of wings ⇾ myg. [M]

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ dragon!yoongi x witch!reader (f.)

𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ daechwita inspired, fantasy, magic realism, smut, fluff, angst-ish, hybrid au, shifter au, 18+

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ⇾ your tiny tea shop is the perfect front for harbouring hybrid fugitives

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ⇾ 10.3k

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ⇾ mentions of violence, mentions of abuse, mentions of captivity, mentions of death, hard dom!yoongi, lip piercing!yoongi, big dicc!yoongi, tattooed!yoongi, sub!reader, tea shop owner!reader, unprotected sex (wrap it to tap it), rough sex, a lil dirty talk, pet names, daddy kink, oral (m. receiving), multiple orgasms, begging, teasing, spanking, a lil choking, spit play, breath play

𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 ⇾ happy halloween!! speical thanks to selene (@jksangelic) for helping me out a bit with logisitics!!! enjoy :)

♕ This is dedicated to @kkulmoon. My bestest soulmate!!!

♕ banner/border by ⇾ @suqakoo (jiji is wonderful and deserves all the love and this is a beautiful banner)

♕ beta’d by ⇾ @nottodayjjk (a hundred kisses and thanks to this gems for always being there for me~~)

♕ le playlist

In the humble village of Daegu, sandwiched between a blacksmith and mechanic, a tiny tea shop lives - exactly where Namjoon said it would be. But, not at all like his mother had described all those years ago. Technology has bled into every corner of her once little world. Yoongi wonders if she would still recognize it as he watches customers filter in and out from under his wickered hat. The tea shop seems all too busy to resemble anything close to a hybrid asylum, but Namjoon was specific. Perhaps Yoongi shouldn’t trust knights of the king. Most have a reputation for hybrid mistreatment. However, there isn’t much logic in letting Yoongi run so far only to be captured in an obscure tea shop. And besides, Namjoon is a friend. Perhaps the closest he’d encountered in a long while.

“She’s going to scold you.”

“Nix loves me too much to scold me.”

Nix. The familiar name redirects Yoongi’s attention to the two men walking by him. The taller one, with features so symmetrical they almost seem unreal, rests a fishing pole over his shoulder. The shorter one, with the sharper tongue, carries a bag that clatters with glass. They enter the shop causally tossing curses at each other. Yoongi reaches into his pocket, unfolding the little piece of parchment Namjoon ripped to scribble on.

utopia, nix, huckleberry lemon on ice.

One glance up at the flickering neon sign above the storefront attempts to spell Teatopia, but the first strokes of light seem to be dead. Instead, it glows atopia. Tremors of the midnight train suddenly resonate around the evening market. All lights flicker and dishes clatter, though the villagers' conversations carry on. Their affairs remain uninterrupted, eyes focused only on each other. Yoongi clenches his fists and digs his feet into the ground to steady himself until the train finally passes. When he glances back up at the neon sign, parts of the first ‘a’ flicker out to read utopia.

Rolling his shoulders back, Yoongi bears his fangs behind sealed lips, as a precaution, then pushes the door open. A bell chimes. Patrons sit around velvet draped tables. They engage in lively conversations, breaking steamed buns together and sipping on all sorts of tea. But, it’s the steady crackles of the fireplace that pique Yoongi’s interest. The amber embers beneath the flames soothe the heaviness upon his chest. One breathful of floral smoke, and he sinks into comfort.

That is until a black cat purrs down by his feet. Yoongi snaps his gaze down to find it circling between his legs then prancing off behind the counter. The two men bickering outside sit at the bar in front of a woman looking more unimpressed the longer they speak. Yoongi retracts his fangs, eyes fixated on the way your brows dance with annoyance. And that dress. He doesn’t care much for fashion but you seem to wear it differently, simply. Most people, much like him, travel with layers. Only a black dress clothes you, sleeves flourishing at your wrists and laces around your cleavage. Though, he really shouldn’t let his eyes wander.

Yoongi ignores the heat rushing to his cheeks as he approaches the counter. The black cat sits by the one-eyed register. Its tail swirls and emerald eyes remain on him. He tentatively takes a seat by a sleeping old man, a couple seats away from the arguing men.

“Nixy,” the shorter one smirks. “You wouldn’t scold me, right.”

You, Nix it would seem, cross your arms under your chest. You hold a blank expression until the taller one sighs and grumbles, “He stopped for a pack of stray dogs.”

“Jin! You promis- He purposely mislead us to fish for a couple of hours!”

Jin gasps then nudges his friend. “Guk, I swear I’ll kill you.”

Guk scoffs, returning the shove. He stands from his seat and attempts to tower over Jin, only to get a hand slice to the neck. A quick exchange of smacking hands breaks out between the two, the sleeping old man beside Yoongi suddenly wide awake.

“Land one in the gut!” He shouts.

Yoongi winces at the volume. He mutters a curse under his breath before his annoyed gaze meets yours. You watch him for a beat, two, three, then blink your attention back to Jin and Guk. A wave of your hand separates them with a slide back. Frustration still rages in their gazes. Yoongi holds his breath, diverting his gaze to the floor. Recognizing rage in others often triggers his hybridity. The dragon tickles in his palms as thick, black talons replace his nails. Yoongi shoves his hands in his pockets, eyes shifty, breath heavy.

You bite your lip. Jin and Guk fall silent, their words cinching in their throats. “I don’t want to have to send Apolla to babysit you,” you sigh. The black cat purrs in hiccups, as if laughing. You let a smirk grace your lips, continuing, “This next batch needs to be delivered on time.”

With a twirl of your finger, glass vials, now filled to the brim with multi-coloured herbs, float back into Guk’s bag. You, then, beckon the pouty men closer. They shuffle towards the counter. You tug two tiny crystal pendants from your charm bracelet and pin one on each of their sleeves. “These should help you stick to your path,” you mutter. “Soak them in saltwater once all the orders are complete.”

Though they roll their eyes, both men nod in understanding. Guk offers an innocent smile, Jin a playful one, before turning to the door. Whatever spell you had over their voices seems to wear off by the time they exit. “Little punk,” are Jin’s final words.

Yoongi’s hands clam with sweat as his talons retract under the cover of his pockets. He sighs heavily. Gaze shaking behind his short hair, he shifts in his seat. The old man’s snoring returns sinking in with the crackling fireplace seamlessly. Yoongi wishes he had this man’s freedom. The ability to fall in and out of sleep in a public place without fearing for his safety. Is it his identity or the shop that makes him feel this secure?

“What can I get you?”

He flinches. Meeting your curious gaze, he mutters, “Huckleberry lemon.”

“Infused or blended?”

Momentary panic flashes in his eyes. If you notice, you don’t make it known. “On ice.”

The action is quiet, subtle, but Yoongi hears it clearly. Your breath hitches. You swallow thickly, looking him over once, twice, then ask, “On or in?”

“On.”

You wave a hand. The lights of the shop flicker out, candles taking their place. Yoongi shoots to his feet, talons and fangs returning. His temples suddenly ache where his horns should be. Oh yes, Yoongi remembers, Horns surface in defense too. Setting his jaw, he ignores whatever sentiment scratches at his throat and whips his gaze around the store, searching for the first attack. However, he merely finds the patrons preparing to leave. They seem all too familiar with the switch between electric to flame. A few of them even mutter curses under their breath.

The old man stretches by Yoongi, to which he flinches. “Another rogue broomstick?” He asks you.

“A mop,” you correct before tugging on your ear. A loud clattering boom sounds from the closest by the end of the counter. Yoongi jumps back, looking to you for an answer. You avoid his gaze.

The customers bid you a goodnight. You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. They swim with panic instead. Yoongi perks his ears towards you, instantly picking up the quick beat of your heart. It’s hammering, blood sprinting around its cycle within your veins. He glances down at your hands. Your nails have scratched their way to the edge of the wooden counter, knuckles tense as you grip onto it.

Once all the customers have left, you circle around the counter and ask, “Is Namjoon okay? What happened?”

Yoongi stumbles back, eager to create distance amongst you. “Yeah, he’s fine. He told me you’ll find me a place to stay.”

“Where is he?”

“Seoul.”

You pause. Not a single breath dares escape you as you assess his word. Yoongi raises a brow. What exactly is your connection to Namjoon, he wonders. You went out of your way to find out as quickly as possible if anything was wrong. He licks his lips when realization finally colours your features. A bitter curse slips past your maroon lips. Without another word, you rush back around the counter and begin scribbling onto a loose piece of parchment. You roll it up once you’re done. “Apolla,” you call. The black cat leaps from counter top to top, landing by you effortlessly. You slip the note into her collar and whisper, “Make sure they read it and seriously consider it before leaving to the next, okay?”

Apolla meows, rubs her head in your hand then jumps off the counter. Yoongi peers over the counter to see where she’s gone, but he can’t spot her anywhere in the candle lit darkness.

“Do you have the note he gave you?”

Yoongi snaps his attention back to you. Your back faces him again. He digs into his pocket and pulls out the tiny piece of parchment. You pluck it right out of his hand and roll it up with your own note then whistle a high melody. Distant hoots grow louder behind him. He looks to the door as it opens on its own accord. A black owl swoops into the shop. You tie the message to its left leg, offer the owl what looks like a rat tail, then send it off. The door shuts the moment it's gone, locks clicking.

Finally turning to Yoongi, you tip your finger up and his hat falls to his back. Yoongi glares. Your sporadic writings and dismissals might have been interesting at first, but now he’s looking for answers. How is this witch supposed to help him? Namjoon promised he’d be safe here and, though the shop feels secure, you do not.

“Agust Dragon,” you whisper.

Yoongi furrows his brows. His gaze shifts to the draped windows and locked doors. Who told you of his arrival? Perhaps this was a trap. Was it to see how far he could get, to have this entire little town witness his defeat? The cruelty of the king does not know restraint. If anyone was to lead him back to his mother’s village to further humiliate him, it would be the king. Yoongi rolls his shoulder back, inhaling deeply as his talons surface once more. Taking a step back, he asks, “How do you know that? He didn’t write that in the note.”

Your eyes glow with concern. Had Yoongi not been fixating on every change, he wouldn’t have caught the underlying tone of your gaze. It’s almost as if you’re questioning just how much he knows. You wave a hand at the radio. Through the speakers, a robotic voice informs, We interrupt your scheduled programming to alert a hybrid breach in Seoul. Agust Dragon has escaped royal captivity. All-

With another wave, it switches back off. “It goes on for a while about your scar too,” you add.

Tremors of the taser used to detain him flash within his veins. The glint of that pearl sword blinds him with the haunting pain. Between those stone walls, he fully transformed. Had he known it would be the last time, he would’ve spread his wings wide, tipped his head to the sky and bellowed a cloud of fire. Within the smug, he’d inhale deeply and do it all over again. Perhaps he would’ve escaped then. Perhaps he would’ve endured more scars. At least, Yoongi thinks, I would still be a dragon.

The clatter of dishes pulls him out of his thoughts. He blinks his attention back to where you stood, only to find you mixing something in a black caludon. Jars of various contents hover around you, some peaking at the mixture over your shoulder. Yoongi watches you move further in the kitchen behind the counter like you’re floating yourself. Movements so swift, sharp, susintically enchanting, he can’t take his eyes off you no matter how hard he tries. Your power is an outlaw to nature yet looks so natural. Is it a charm of who you are or who you’ve become?

“I’m not sure what’s nourishing for a dragon,” you say over your shoulder. “I try to adjust the glamour to the hybrid. There isn’t much about dragons.”

“Yet.”

The speed of your gaze to his soul makes him shiver. You don’t regard him with hostility, but something much worse: curiosity. The very bane of his existence. Only, hints of concern cushion the blow of this realization. Yoongi can sense your intentions in the way you calculate your words. You explained what you’re working on without prompting. You ensure he knows you’re here to help by mentioning nutrients rather than sedatives. Yoogni may not know you, but he knows Namjoon well enough to know that if he trusts you enough with this information, then you might not be as big a threat as your curiosity is.

You return to the counter with a red and gold patterned teapot. The colours swirl around a white base in slithering motions. Yoongi assumes it’s a simple meld of lines until he makes out the bold eyes of a dragon. Shooting you a glare, he asks, “Is this a joke?”

The smirk on your face does not comfort his annoyance. Whether or not you recognize this, is hard for Yoongi to tell. There’s something painfully unreadable in your eyes. You never regard him with pity, even if he knows his face is bruised, clothes dirty and hair smells all too strong to ignore. Something else laces your looks that soothes and riles him all at once.

“It’s charmed to reflect your greatest desire,” you explain.

Yoongi pauses, looking down at the teapot again. The wings of the dragon flap then spread wide, like gliding over the winds. He blinks back his frustrations, reverting his attention to the flower painted cup in your hands. Regret pricks his heart, his conscious scolding his tongue for lashing out all too quickly. Just because he can’t completely trust you, doesn’t particularly mean you don’t have pure intentions regardless.

He clears his throat and mutters, “Sorry.”

After pouring dark violet tea into the cup, Yoongi watches as you squeeze a bit of honey in. You shrug his apology off while giving the tea a good stir. Sliding the cup towards him, you tentatively search his gaze and ask, “So, what did you see?”

Yoongi ignores the question. He keeps his attention focused on the tea, bracing himself before that first, initial sip. The moment the spice soaked chia touches his lips, he is thrown into a euphoric tranquility. Notes of cinnamon, ginger, anise stars and peppercorn evade his senses. His body voluntarily melts into the warm comfort spreading within. And that little bit of honey you added, offers just the right amount of sweetness, and that’s not something Yoongi particularly cares for.

It takes pulling the cup away from his mouth for him to realize he’d drank it all. Face warm, he glances up at you. He’d never really met a witch before, merely seen them around. He doesn’t remember his mother mentioning any in Daegu when she resided here. They seemed to flock around Ilsan, near the wooded mountains. It’s rather common knowledge that the closer they are to nature, the stronger they become. Their strength usually also manifests greaty in covens. So, why is this one alone?

Wiping his mouth, Yoongi holds the cup out. He may not completely understand your motives, but that tea is too warm to turn down. You smile and refill it. He takes another sip, removing the cup from his face so as to not to chug it all at again. You pick up on his actions and quietly giggle to yourself. Yoongi bites back a smile. Maybe it’s the tea, but he finds something about your laugh that’s all too pleasing. It feels familiar, a little sentimental, and profoundly personal.

“What’s your name?”

He raises a brow. Was Agust not enough for you? Or do you know that it isn’t who he really is? “How did you-”

“You look like the cautionary type,” you interrupt. “The type to bear his fangs and talons on the slight chance that danger is just around the corner. So, I would assume you didn’t tell whoever caught you your real name.”

And he thought he hid that so well. You’re smarter than he expected you to be. Or perhaps, more accurately, you’re more perceptive than expected. The longer he remains in your presence, the more he realizes he has completely underestimated you. Originally, you were just some middle maiden, redirecting lost hybrids upon a knight’s command. Now, Yoongi is starting to wonder if perhaps you’re the one in command. However, if you can sway knights of the king, why wouldn’t you use that power for something greater than relocating refuge hybrids? Why not destroy the system all together?

Either way, your potential summons a ghost of smirk to his lips. “And why should I tell you?” His tone is almost teasing, but simply because Yoongi is curious now. How much attention are you offering?

You rest elbows on the counter and lean on your chin in your hands while trying to hide a smile. “I’m (Y/N).”

In a reactive loop, he mentally repeats your name until it’s seared into his brain. His dragon hums in approval, like it was expecting it, expecting you. Yoongi presses on. “What’s the point of Nix then?”

“A coven name burns into your soul,” you whisper. “Much like a dragon does when born.”

“I thought you said you don’t know much about dragons.”

You smile, rolling your eyes like he’s the one being tested. Sitting up, you turn back to the kitchen and ask, “Have you eaten?”

Yoongi barely parts his lips before you cut in again and call over your shoulder, “Or would you rather get washed up first? Hmm, that might be best. Finish your tea and I’ll show you to the bath.”

A snap of your fingers and the kitchen comes alive. You shut the curtains into the back, but Yoongi makes out the charmed sponges and dishes being cleaned. The closest that clattered not to long ago, opens just enough for a broom and mop to waddle out. They rush to the back, the mop bumping into the broom. For a moment, the two nudge each other back and forth, until your echoing steps scare them into continuing on their path to the kitchen. They slip between the curtains.

In near silence, Yoongi sits alone in the shop. The distant spray of the sink only just breaks the hearth’s crackling concentration. Every sip of tea settles the fuming dragon. It’s something about the spicy kick and earthy tones of mint - at least he thinks it’s mint. He wonders what gives it this violet colour. Is it the magic? Is it you?

It’s rather odd, now that he thinks about it. Three days of travel, of near survival only to find solstice in a cup of tea. Perhaps that’s the true magic you offer. A sense of peace is a sip away? Or maybe it’s the lack of concrete walls and iron chains. His mother would enjoy this tea. His father would look forward to the food. But Yoongi craves the steam of a bath, the warmth of a pillow. And the dragon within yearns for your presence. If Yoongi wasn’t so sunk in tranquility, he’d search for a reason. Alas, he cannot be bothered.

“You ready?”

The chime of your voice snaps his gaze away from the teapot. Yoongi glances down at his cup to find it empty again. Why can’t he every savour the taste?

With a nod, he hops off the stool. “How far is it?”

You toss him a confused look. Nodding towards the right, you reply with a chuckle, “Just a couple of steps.”

The teapot and cup hop off the counter and into the kitchen as Yoongi watches you disappear down a hallway. You return with a half-smile, regarding him as if he’s the strange one, enchanting dishes and speaking in half-truths.

“Well, come on!”

A sharp retort sits on the tip of his tongue. Yoongi swallows it before it can cause more damage than necessary. Orders don’t resonate too well with the dragon. It burns his throat with disobedience. There is a better way to do things: his way. He doesn’t particularly like being forced into another. Still, he follows in silence.

You lead him to the tiny office that looks more disorganized than anything else. Layers of loose parchment and letters bury a mahogany desk. Dried wax, leaked from overused candles, splatters over every surface. Blankets atop a sapphire and opal patterned carpet lay in disarray. You bend over in front of him, his face reddening and eyes shooting to the ceiling, to find cobwebs and burned lights tangled around the beams. With a grunt, you flip up the carpet and a little hatch appears. A stomp, two, three and it clicks open. A dark staircase makes itself known.

“After you,” you smile.

Yoongi furrows his brows. Are you insane or simply numb to your own oddities? He’s having a hard time deciding when you flash him such an innocent smile. Glancing back at the dark staircase, even his dragon begins to question your sanity. “You want me to enter this basement first? The hidden, dark basement?”

It takes a moment but his point finally dawns on you. Brows shooting up, you let out a nervous giggle and decide to enter first. “It’s not a basement,” is all you offer as a means of comfort. Or at least that’s what he thinks you say. You’re about halfway down before saying anything at all, voice distant and echoing.

Where else can he go, he wonders. It would be hard to find a hidden place after being spotted in the town. He doesn’t even know the terrain that well and there isn’t just some tree he can climb or cave to scurry into. You’re unfortunately his last hope for safety. Perhaps you just have a skewed version of it. Yoongi just hopes it's not as skewed as the king’s.

Against his cautionary judgement, he descends. Each step beckons him closer to warmth, a reality he wasn’t expecting. An orange hue dances against the stone walls as he reaches the last few steps of the spiral staircase.

You’re right. Again. It’s not at all a basement, but a home. Yoongi inherits the serenity, familiarity and security the moment he arrives. Book shelves galore, candles a plenty and belevenance at every glance. You move around the living room with a pillow and a stack of blankets. Dropping by the foot of the emerald couch, your attention falls back to Yoongi. In his dirty clothes and unwashed hair, he feels so out of place from the purity your home radiates.

“The bathroom is just down that hall,” you say, pointing to one of five hallways on the right side.

You’re odd. Yoongi didn’t think that would be something he’d respond to. He nods as a thanks, ignoring the way your generosity strokes his heart. Perhaps, he wonders while shuffling down the hall, humans are wretched. And witches, the so-called horrors of horror, are benignant. Or, it could just be that you are. Either way, Yoongi has witnessed something tonight that he hadn’t in a long time. Acceptance.

He spares you one last glance, hand hovering over the brass doorknob. You’re holding a wand and attempting to transform the couch into a bed. The dragon reminds him that you don’t know him, where he comes from, how long he’d traveled, or what he’d done to be chained. All you know is a friend sent him here and his hybridity makes him undesirable. Such a luxury, the dragon whispers, to trust and be trusted.

Agust doesn’t like to talk about himself. You learned this quickly. After the first night, you tried to pry again. Who else escaped? How long had he known Namjoon? Any chance he’ll be offering that name now? But, he won’t budge. Sometimes, when he’s tired of all your questions, he’d walk away. The excuse is usually that he’s looking for a book, but you haven’t seen him pick up anything besides an anthology of flight. You decided to give up all together, not daring to ask the real question on your mind, like how he got that scar.

Other times, however, he’ll turn the questions onto you. Maintaining eye contact, he’d listen to each answer and engage in a little conversation about each point. Three weeks have elapsed, and you still have yet to decide if this is part of his diverting tactic or if he’s genuinely interested. In both cases, it’s good to know that he’s willing to have a conversation about something.

It’s also reassuring to find that he’s adapted to your routine seamlessly. He mentioned something about wanting to help out around the shop his third morning in Daegu. The look on his face was too precious to deny. Curious, unsure, tentative, he muttered the question like it meant everything and nothing to him all at once. You were wondering if he knew that Apolla still hadn’t returned with news then, but now you’re sure. He glances at her food bowl every morning, as if looking for signs of her presence.

Three weeks is the longest she’d ever looked for a safehouse. You expected that not many people would want to harbour a known fugitive, but hoped that someone would. Most hosts recognize the danger of associating with a hybrid. The consequences are the same - execution. Perhaps risks run higher when a face is attached to a name and continuously circling the news.

Your greatest regret, however, is how relieved you are that he won’t be leaving. Sure, Agust is stand-offish and too blunt at times, but there’s just something about him that reels you in. The rasp of his voice, the indifferent wonder in his eyes, how he walks like he rather be flying is endearing. He almost floats with determined desolation, like he digs the very hole he’s in to get out. The deeper he is, the stronger he becomes. You’re not sure if you find that admirable, but it’s something merely Agust-esque.

He leans on the counter now, reading that same anthology again. You’re sure this is his fourth time through it. He still soaks in every word and takes his time with each page. A customer approaches the counter with a bright smile. You stop cleaning one of the tables to watch Agust deliberately ignore him. Being a dragon, he can sense when someone is near and how they might be feeling.You know this from the stories your coven would trade. Dragons, being a rarity, are something like gods to witches; you haven’t really met one before Agust.

“Good evening,” the customer greets. He hops onto one of the stools as Agust ignores him. His smile wavers. “S-sir?”

“Shh.”

The customer blinks. He looks around as if wondering if he’d really just been shushed. “I would-”

“Shh.”

You sigh, muttering a quiet plea to the gods under your breath. Then, you catch it, the smirk plaything on Agust’s lips. It’s so tiny, hidden behind an annoyed persona, that if you hadn't been paying such close attention you would’ve missed it. He’s not ignoring the customer to gain a reaction out of them, but out of you. And for some odd reason, that makes your heart skip a beat.

Agust flips the page then finally acknowledges the customer. An amused look holds his features as the customer stutters their order. “Orange basil?” He questions, hints of disgust drenched in his tone. Before the man can part his lips to reply, Agust sighs and shrugs. He looks at you, and raises a brow. It’s rather teasing, silently asking why you’re staring.

After wiping your hands, you carry the tray of teacups and little teapots back to the counter. The magic takes over once you stand by Agust. He follows your every movement, eyes lingering on the sway of your hips for a few seconds too long.

“Jimin,” you greet, ignoring Agust like he had done to the customer.

He picks up on your actions quickly, a quiet chuckle escaping him. “Suck up,” he whispers.

“Is he supposed to be behind the counter?” Jimin asks. He avoids Agust’s gaze, knowing his question would earn him a glare.

“Not with an attitude,” you reply with a bright smile.

Agust rolls his eyes, prepared to chuckle until he hears Jimin laugh. He sighs as if the daily customer is intruding. Within seconds, his interest in the conversation falls. That cursed anthology consumes his attention all over again.

You mask your disappointment with business, turning to the kitchen. The caldron already heard the order and began it’s brew just as you have enchanted it to do. Agust knows this. He’s watched you recharm the pots every morning. And every time you run back here, you know he notices. Sometimes you can feel his eyes following you when you walk away from him. There’s a faint pull in his gaze, like he’s pleading for your return to his side. At times, you find yourself longing after him too when he’s in such close but distant proximity.

A quiet hoot shatters all your thoughts. You rush back to the counter in time to find the door burst open and Grako swoon in. Agust already had his gaze locked on the glass, his inner dragon probably having picked up the thumping flaps of feather in the wind.

Some customers gasp and duck agains their tables. You ignore their confused stares, knowing they’ll chalk this up to one of your strange quirks. Grako lands on the counter, scaring Jimin enough to make him jump out of his seat. Agust enjoys the sight a little too much.

“Can you get the seeds by the sink for me?” You ask Agust, hoping to grant Jimin a moment without ridicule. Without a word, he makes his way to the kitchen.

You fight every instinct to follow after his frame and focus on the owl. Searching for Namjoon’s reply, your heart sinks when you don’t find parchment on the left leg. Your message looks untouched on the right. Untying the string holding it together, you unroll the parchment to find the unchanged message.

Agust sets the sealed bag of seeds on the counter. Grako turns to face him. You do your best to suppress a shaky sigh, but Agust hears it anyways. He ignores the owl eyeballing him and shifts closer to you. The action surprises you enough to distract from your worries. Agust never cared for less distance. Yet, he stands close enough to feel the warmth of his breath fanning over your shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” He mutters.

Though you want to tell him, you know now is not at all the right time. One too many pairs of eyes lock on you, various ears perking in your direction. You force a smile and shake your head. “Nothing at all,” you reply in the steadiest voice you can muster.

He nods. He doesn’t believe it, but nods. “How often do your charms work?”

You raise a brow. “Often.”

“So are the sponges supposed to wring sink water all over the floor?”

Agust is clever. You never doubted this. He’s perspicacious, calculating and above all downright angelic. However, you try not to let that last detail overtake you too much. It’s just that pierced lip and dark tattoo peeking from under his tunic stun you from time to time. The messy hair, undercut and dark, and that scar that lure you more than they should. It’s all too pure to be so rough, much like his personality.

No, wait, you’ve gotten ahead of yourself again. Agust is clever - yes. He knows just how to get his way with you every time. Anything he wants, you usually offer. His reference of rogue cleaning supplies is just one example of his advantageous perception. Tugging on your ear, you sent the sponges acraze around the kitchen. A cacophony of broken dishes and spilled cauldrons echo throughout the shop. You wonder if you tugged too hard or perhaps used a stronger spell than intended. Did you even recharm the sponges or the entire kitchen?

All conversation halts to the loud mess transpiring behind the curtain. Agust nudges your elbow, reminding you of the switch to flames when enchantments “malfunction.” You mutter a quiet, oh then wave a trembling hand to the ceiling. The lights flicker a few times before the half-hearted spell finally works.

“But-” Jimin tries to say only to have Agust hush him again with a finger upon his lips. Jimin sighs, following the rest of the customers out.

Agust waits for the doors to lock before fully facing you. “So?”

You’re not sure what Agust’s relationship was with Namjoon. You always assumed it was closer enough to trust, but how close is that for Agust? Did Namjoon know his real name? The last thing you want to do is sadden him with your assumptions about your best friend’s silence. However, as you part your lips to lie, you find you are simply incapable of the action when it comes to Agust. It’s not just that he will automatically catch on, but that the act itself dries your mouth. It would feel awkward to lie, perhaps even disgusting.

“He didn’t reply.”

“It’s been gone for a month.”

“I know.”

He searches your eyes. Fingertips hovering near yours, he inhales half a breath. “Maybe he went back to Ilsan?”

Namjoon told him about Ilsan? Your heart festers with jealousy, regrettably towards Namjoon. If Agust knows of Ilsan, then Namjoon must know his real name. The fact that you didn't mention a name at all in your note might have tipped him against replying. You know Namjoon well enough to know he would take the safest option. Is that where Agust picked up his cautionary habit? No, you mustn’t entertain this petty frustration. So what if Namjoon is closer to Agust than you are? They probably spent more time together too. Another wave of annoyance attacks your chest. That possibility seems to irk you more than soothe you as it was meant to.

Sliding the piece of parchment and a pen towards him, you mutter, “Write your name. The one he’d know.”

Agust pauses. You don’t spare him a second glance. It’s childish, you know, but you can't help but be a bit peeved with him. Your mind is actively reminding you that Agust and Namjoon are their own people and do not need to have a smaller relationship than you and Agust do. Your heart can’t shut up about it though. It invades your thoughts with questions that attack your insecurities. Have you been too nice? Too mean? Too lazy with your magic or too powerful? Is he intimidated or simply more comfortable around men than he is around women? Feeding Grako from the seeds in your palm, you clench your jaw and attempt to purge these thoughts from your mind.

Doubt is poisonous. You wish you had an anecdote for this sort of suffering.

“I don’t want to.”

“Well, he doesn’t believe you’re really here,” you all but snap. “So either scribble the stupid name or let him die.”

Your drama makes you cringe. Being too aware of your stupidity in the moment might just be the very worse detail about this cursed conversation.

Agust scoffs. Inching closer, he towers over you. Jaw set, eyes dark with amber rage, he whispers, “You’ll refrain from using such a tone with me if you know what’s good for you.” His calloused fingers trace the outline of your face, as he continues, “I don’t want to warn you again.”

You shudder against his frame. Gulping, you muster whatever courage you have left and mutter, “You’ll refrain from using such threats with me.” You take his hand in yours and squeeze gently, letting your magic tickle his bloodstream. He shivers as those black talons reappear. You feel their impression against your wrist. “If you know what’s good for you,” you finish.

Agust waits, watches. Adam’s apple bobbing, he nods once. His attention returns to the parchment. He scratches his name, blows it dry, then rolls it up like you had weeks ago. You tie the note to the right leg again. You hope your assumption is correct as you secure the knot. After tossing Grako a rat tail, to which he effortlessly catches, you send him off again. This time he is Ilsan bound.

“Who is Namjoon to you?” Agust asks once the doors lock shut again.

You wave a hand to the kitchen to fix whatever disarray you accidentally set it to then answer the question with one of your own. “Who are you to him?”

“A friend.”

You weren’t really expecting an answer. He usually sulks when you toss a question back at him. So, you begin to wonder, why did he answer this one? What is so important about your answer this time?

“A best friend,” you smirk.

He rolls his eyes. “Does getting on my nerves fascinate you?”

You shrug. “Usually.”

“Just answer the question.”

“I did.”

He sighs and you mock it, earning a pointed look. “Did you meet in Ilsan?”

“Yeah. We grew up together,” you answer. Though you love to tease him, you can never keep it up for too long. You always end up giving into him at some point. “We were neighbours. The coven didn’t really like him lurking around me though.”

“Was this his idea?”

You raise a brow. “I thought you were friends?”

“You’re enchanting,” he suddenly blurts.

When your face falls in shock, his cheeks heat up. His words seem as though they are registering for the first time. How enchanting are you exactly?

“What I mean is,” he tries again. “You have the tendency to get your way from anyone you’d like. Jin and Guk have made all glamour deliveries on time, Namjoon rounds up hybrids for you to relocate all over the kingdom, and you recruit every animal you find.”

“Not every animal,” you playfully pout. “Just the useful ones.”

Agust rolls his eyes. Accepting defeat, he shuts his book and tucks it under his arm. For a second, you think he’s about to say something. But, he merely licks his lips and avoids your gaze. If you didn’t know any better you’d think he’s upset with you.

Later, during dinner, you start to believe your assumptions. Agust seems to focus on everything but you. The beef stew, garlic buns, kimchi, ginseng tea, even pulling out that stupid book again. Never has he opened those pages at the table, always offering you at least sliver of attention. Maybe you have no right for feeling this way, but his disregard for you twinges your pride.

“Is there a reason you’re staring?”

And that tone. You’ve grown rather sick of it, frankly. He sulks around the house, around the shop and grumbles half-hearted insults. Though you know they’re usually playful, you can’t ignore the festing frustration in your chest.

His eyes gleam with the dragon within. “We both know I can sense your anger.”

“Shut the book.”

“No.”

You raise a brow, silently suggesting a possible source to your anger. Agust shuts the book.

“Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” you sarcastically smile.

He stares for a moment then shakes his head. “I’m not sure why you’re so angry,” he says while picking up his plate.

You charm it right out of his hands as he stands from his seat. He glares. You return it. When he reaches for his cup, you wave a hand at it as well. Both dishes hover to the sink. The game carries on until all the dishes float back to the kitchen. You toss a mocking smirk and ask, “Enough flying for you?”

“What do you have against flying?”

It has your attention. “Nothing.”

“You’re a terrible liar. How you’ve gotten away with all this hybrid hiding all these ears is beyond me.”

You quirk your head to the side. So he knows this operation has been years in the making. Then what was all that questioning about?

“If you have something to say, then say it,” he baits after taking his seat. He almost sounds like he doesn’t think you will. He should know you better by now.

You stand up and circle the table. Leaning against the edge, towering over him, you cross your arms under your chest and disregard all filters. “How did you escape?”

He scoffs. “Namjoon helped me.”

“Yes, but how?”

A certain darkness falls over his features. He gulps before letting out a shaky sigh. “He was guarding my quarters. We spoke often.” Then he falls silent, eyes reverting to the floor. A moment elapses, two, three, by the fifth he takes another deep breath. “My last night was hard. He told me that he was working on permanent relaction in Ilsan. Something about how the mountains are safest. But after that night, I don’t think he was willing to wait for the right moment anymore.”

So, that’s how he knew of Ilsan. Shame settles over you in heavy waves. You avoid his eye in regret. Even after that, you know you shouldn’t pry. But you continue to ask anyways. “What happened?”

He glances at the anthology. “They took my horns,” he mutters so indifferently you think it’s a joke. Still, you don’t dare laugh. Not when his face is riddled with embarrassment and disgrace.

“Then, I was forced into a full transformation,” he continues. “And clipped.”

You gasp. He lets out a breathy chuckle. “Don’t be so dramatic, (Y/N).”

How can he be so lighthearted? No- you mustn’t question his ways of coping. Regret engulfs you as you look to the stupid book again. Perhaps you shouldn’t have been so pushy about it. You’ve heard rumors in the coven, about clipped dragons. You just didn’t think anyone would ever succumb to such cruelty.

“I won’t tell you things if you’re just gonna cry about it,” he grumbles.

You’re crying? Rubbing your hands against your cheeks, you’re surprised to find them wet. “Sorry,” you chuckle. “I just can’t believe they really-”

“So this wasn’t your idea then?”

Shifting closer to him, you wipe away all your tears and shake your head. “Namjoon found me the day I opened. I told him in a letter that I’ve borrowed a home under the shop. A couple of hobbits told me about it on the train from Ilsan.”

His hand slips into yours, stunting your explanation for a moment. You gaze down at them, finding the warmth all too welcoming to vocalize any curiosities. His thumb brushes against your knuckles, as if attempting to soothe your worries.

“Is that how you relocate us? Through tunnels?”

You nod. “He’s a knight of the people. Just like he vowed to be.”

Agust sighs. He stops the smoothing touches and redirects his eyes to the floor. “I’m Yoongi,” he whispers, then quickly changes the subject before you’re able to comment on it. “My mother is from Daegu. I thought I’d find her here even though I know where she’s buried.”

Yoongi. How precious. You repeat the name over and over again until it seers into your brain. A sudden tug to get close gnaws at your heart. A part of you wants to sit in his lap, but another is trying desperately to convince you how bad of an idea that is. The fact of the matter is, though you appreciate the honesty, you can’t help but wonder why he’s telling you all this. After a little over a month of half-sentences and playful teasing at most, he’s suddenly willing to spill all this out to you? It doesn’t make much sense to you, but you’re too afraid to ask. The last thing you’d want to do is downplay his honesty for something material.

Alas, it seems like you don’t have to ask though. Yoongi already knows.

“I want to tell you I don’t know. But, I think you might be the first person in a very long time to not care.” When you furrow your brows in confusion, he lightly chuckles and clarifies, “You are clever enough to know my name is not dragon, despite popular belief, and couldn’t care less that I am one. I’m just Yoongi to you, even if you didn’t know it.”

You cannot deny the allure of him anymore. Hearing him speak of you like this, like you’re the only thing that matters, does more to you than you’re willing to admit. You press your thighs together before slipping into his lap. He wraps an arm around your waist like he’d been expecting this. Yours dangle off his shoulders like you’d been made for this.

He looks so painfully holy up close, like a fallen god. The scar through his eye crushes your guts with anger. He’d seen so many horrors, perhaps even endured most of it. You know it is not because of the dragon. The determination in his gaze, the desire to survive roots further down than any mythical side of him can touch. Yoongi made it this far because he wanted to. And what do all his efforts leave him with… clipped wings and horns? You can’t sit back and watch him pour himself into this anthology another second. It’s clear he misses his wings, even his horns.

“Yoongi,” you start, mind sifting through memories of dragon lore. “I think I can bring your wings back.”

He falls silent. A breath doesn’t even dare escape him. “You keep telling me you don’t know much about dragons.”

“I don’t have any physical books about them or dragon hybrids for that matter, but most covens revere dragons. The greatest stories among us are about how magical you are. A piece of you in any potion heightens the effects tenfold,” you explain.

“So what? You just so happen to have a spell to sprout wings?”

He’s mocking as a defense. You know this though it still doesn’t stop you from rolling your eyes. “Not exactly. Reproduction spells are tricky. They don’t require the typical notions of a dragon that any other spell might. They tend to be a bit more…” you trail off, eyes dancing all around the room just to stay off him. Shifting on his lap, you suddenly find it all too awkward to be seated here.

“More..?”

Perhaps you shouldn’t have brought this up. “Intimate.”

You expected to hear him retch in disgust, or maybe even cringe. At the very least, you expected his face to fall. Never did you think it would light up, no matter how badly you hoped it would.

“Intimate?” He repeats. “How exactly does that work?” You’re about to answer when he adds, “Show me.”

Heart fluttering, you swallow thickly. Your guts churns with desire, core drenched in desperation as he continues to regard you with cocky indifference. Is he joking? Testing you? You pray to any god listening that he’s serious.

“We should probably fire the caldron first,” you whisper. “The base needs to brew for a while.”

Yoongi nods. “I’ll make sure to give it enough time.” He attempts to hide his smile. You push yourself off his lap and try to ignore how needy you become from a few simple words. You can feel him watching. Body shaking, you’re not sure if you're bursting with excitement or simply anxious. Yoongi seems to have made you feel both throughout his stay here.

Deep breath in, and you bring both hands up to light the fireplace. The charmed calderon fills to life. Rosewater to start; sweet thyme, cloves, wolfsbane, knotgrass and a hint of ginger to brew. Yoongi makes his way towards you, silently watching all the ingredients pour into the black pot.

“When is it my turn?”

Skin ablaze, you bit your lip to hold back a moan. “The witch’s essence needs to be added too,” you mutter all too quietly.

He hears it anyways. “Even better.”

Your nerves are all he can sense. The smirk on his face tells you that much. He’s playing because he knows he can. He knows he’ll get away with it and there isn’t much you can do about that. Unless… there is?

He did ask you to show him how the intimacy would work. You start to unlace your dress, biting back a giggle when his breath hitches. Did he think you wouldn’t do it?

Over and off, goes your dress. In a soft thump, it lands on the wooden floors. Yoongi sighs, eyes shamelessly roaming over your naked body, fixating on every dip of your curves. His balls his hands and makes it a point to keep them by his side. The shift in power makes you giddier than it should.

Raising a brow, you ask, “I thought you wanted to see how it’s done?”

Yoongi chuckles. He licks his lips, looking off to the side for a moment then pulls his shirt off. The symbol of Min inks in arm like a sleeve. A royal dragon. The abuse makes all too much sense now. Not that it has ever been out of place for the king to do such a thing. He thumbs your chin, gently asking to meet his gaze.

“Do you still want to restore my wings?” He asks, like his status could ever change that.

You decide to show him how badly you do on your knees. Hands fiddling with his zipper, you undo his pants and let his massive cock smack your face. Yoongi gasps a moan; your pussy clenches with need. How dare he make such a sound so effortlessly? You just might cum from his voice alone, if he keeps this up. And who told him it was okay to be this thick? He’s so heavy against your cheek, pointing at the soft flesh like it belongs to him.

His eyes gleam, lips stretch into a smug smirk. Well, don’t you? He seems to be silently asking.

Mouth open, you carve a taste. Is dragon cum as sweet as everyone says? Tongue over slit, and you can confirm that it is. Your eyes roll back and whines escape like it’s your first time. It’s just one taste but you can’t hold yourself back. Spitting over his cock, you pump him a couple of times then shove him down your throat.

Yoongi groans. His fingers tangle in your hair. At first, they move in gentle motions. The gesture is enough to tell you not to strain yourself. But then you make the mistake of swallowing around him. Your throat tightens all too deliciously for him to merely watch. Like a switch, Yoongi unbounds himself. His nails dig into your scalp, and hips snap forward.

You gag. And he loves it. Every wet, choked sound struggling to keep up fuels the force of his thrusts. He loses himself all too quickly to even realize that he’s suffocating you. Hands against his thighs, you have to pat him a few times before he returns to his senses.

In an instant, his hands are by his side again as he pulls out. You let his cock rest on your tongue as you pant. Through your blurred vision, you can only just make out his concerned gaze. “Sorry, princess,” he hisses.

As if you thought that honey-thick voice couldn’t get any raspier, he goes and calls you his princess. A loud moan leaves you all too quickly. No one has ever dwelled on you like that. Is his objective to ruin you before the spell casts?

While brushing your hair back, he chuckles down at you. Your soul fills with the undeniable desire to please this man beyond comprehension. You want to hear him whisper how tight you are, tell you how well you’re doing. Until pride glows every inch of your heart, you will not stop choking on his giant cock.

You take him all at once, again. Throat burning, a part of your regrets not working yourself up to committing to all of him. Back and forth, you bob your head on his dick. So big, he barely even fits. Every new thrust means squeezing himself through all over again. It beckons tears to your eyes and strains your jaw. You’re aching, but he’s twitching.

Face scrunched in pleasure, Yoongi throws his head back. “Just a little more, princess,” he hisses. Pulling in deep, he keeps your head still against his pelvis and whispers, “Hold it there. Just stay- fuck, do it again for Daddy, princess.”

Anything for daddy, you wish you would scream. You force yourself to swallow twice more than he asked for, risking a gag too big to ignore. Through gritted teeth, he roars like a dragon in heat and unloads himself in your mouth. Most of it slides down just from how deep he’d reached, but the rest spills out from the corner of your lips.

He doesn’t care. Pulling out, he continues to pump himself at the sight of you. Hair disheveled, cheeks stained with tears and mouth smeared with cum, are you really this big a whore? Or is it all just for him?

You’re granted a moment to catch your breath, watching him watch you with newfound wonder. Vein laced hand, inked and sticky with his own cum, Yoongi pulls you back up to your feet by your neck. He pats your hair down, wipes your lips, then presses a tender kiss upon them.

It’s now that you notice he has always smelt like charred oak, musky and smokey. Everything about him sets you aflame, And though, your lips are on fire from the taste of his, the cold edge of his piercing cools you enough to miss the heat. You moan and drape your arms around his neck like this is some innocent kiss and his erection isn’t poking at your belly.

“Is there any particular way I gotta fuck you, princess?” He questions between sloppy kisses.

You force yourself off him long enough to answer, “Hold me over the pot. We have to cum together for it to work.”

He smiles, jerks his head back when you try to kiss him again. A twinge of embarrassment strikes your heart before he turns you around and softly trails kisses up and down your neck. “You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs into your skin, rough hands kneading your ass. “Fuck, I knew you had an ass but this is fucking insane.”

A smack follows his praise. You cry out his name. He spanks you harder. “You know that’s not what you’re supposed to call me right now.”

You giggle through an erotic moan. He doesn’t like the sound of that. With one hand tight on your neck and the other wrapped around your waist to hold you in place, Yoongi kicks your feet and spreads your legs. Gliding his girth between your folds, he hisses against your ear, “You’ll learn to behave yourself from now on, princess.”

You want to tell him it was never your intention to disrespect him. However, the slow, deliberate punishment he inflicts melts you into him in silence. All you can bring yourself to whine is, “Whatever you want, daddy.”

“Mmm, that’s right. That’s my perfect princess,” he whispers. Then, he sucks in a sharp breath with you and plunges himself in your tight cunt. You knew he wouldn’t fit probably in your mouth, but you thought that your pussy, sopping for attention oh so desperately, would easily accept him. It’s your fault for underestimating such a massive cock. His tip doesn’t even fit. Yoongi takes to bending you over for a smoother entrance.

“So huge!” You cry only to have him chuckle behind you. Vibrations of his laugh tickle your spine.

Once he finally pushes his way through, breathless moans and groans filling the space between, he gives you some time to adjust. It;s thoughtful of him, but you both know no amount of time will ever get you used to his godly size.

“Please just ruin me, daddy,” you beg, through a broken whine.

“What was that, princess?”

“Please, please just fuck me!”

Tightening his grip on both your neck and waist, he rapsys a dark laugh against the shell of your ear. You shudder, thinking you might just cum now until he starts to ram you. You jerk forward each time despite his hold on you. His hips always overpower everything else. Rough smacks of skin on skin drown your voice until it’s completely gone. You cannot even bring yourself to properly breathe. He’s a beast. Huffing your name, clenching his jaw and sinking his balls into you, Min Yoongi makes it his mission to destroy you.

“Pretty, pretty little girl,” he hisses. “My pretty princess.” Grinding his hips against your ass, cock swilling the mess he’s making of your pussy, he suddenly breathes, “I wanna make you my queen.”

Leaning back into him, you find just enough strength to muster the first words that come to mind. “I’m gonna hold you to that, daddy.”

He moans, softening his hold to shower your face with gentle kisses. A reflection of comfort and familiarity glow in his eyes when he pulls away. His hands slide down to your thighs. He bends a little to hosite you up against him. With your legs spread, he holds you over the calderon and picks up that wickedly rough pace again. You place your hands over his and let him ravish in you.

Slouching, your pussy tights with every new thrust. Doses of you are already dripping into the brew as it boils. Yoongi curses. You thought you felt him twitching a few minutes ago but now you’re sure. In fact, you can even see it. He’s so big an imprint of his cock bulges from your stomach. You watch it twitch again as he shoves his balls deeper into you.

Just witnessing it, triggers your orgasm. You try to hold it off long enough to let him know, only to have Yoongi barks, “Fucking cum!”

You’ve never been one to deny him anything. Convulsing, you let your orgasm run free through you. Yoongi digs his fingers into your thick thighs to keep you steady, all while continuing to ruin you. It seems as though cumming spurs him on to further plough into you. He moves with harsher force and speed than he did when he was annoyed.

He mutters something else in your ear, but you can’t make anything out. Your ears ring, vision blurs and you tremble all over. Toes curled and pointed to the sky, you cry out his name. And, as he pulls out of you to let out leak your mixed cum into the potion, you whisper the spell under your breath thrice.

“Kiss me,” you whine. “Quick.”

Though lacking his title, he doesn’t argue. Lips on lips, you drip out your love and seal the spell.

The cackles of the potion break your kiss. Yoongi sets you back down to your feet then steps away from the heat. You lean back into him, watching the calderon overflow with steam and gleam green.

He pecks your shoulder and wraps his arms around your waist. “So, there really is a potion,” he chuckles quietly to himself.

“What do you mean? Why would I lie about something like that?”

Yoongi shrugs. You push your ass back against him, teasingly. He tightens his hold with a playful smirk. “I just thought you wanted me.”

“I do,” you whisper without much thought.

A relieved smile, gummy and too cute to resemble anything you just did, stretches upon his lip. You peck his chin to which he blushes. Min Yoongi blushing is not a sight you were prepared to see, erupting your heart all too easily.

“Never speak of this,” he tries to grumble indifferently, but that smile is still playing on his lips. When you go to tease him again, he says, “Will this even work?”

You shrug. “Only one way to find out.” Enchanting a cup, you snap your fingers to beckon towards you. You fill it to the brim with the potion then hand it to Yoongi.

He hovers the rim against his lips. Lost in thought or deliberation, you’re not sure. All you can tell is that it seems as though time has frozen for him.

“Yoong-”

“I don’t want wings,” he sighs. You blink back at him. He takes a breath before adding, “Not now, anyways.”

You look back to the pot, wondering if the entire thing might have been a mistake. He drops the cup into it without much care for the brew that spills and cups your face. “I don’t want wings tonight. I want you.”

“I’m right here?”

“I remember a little about what it was like to fly. Being with you reminds me of that,” he whispers.

Tear prick your eyes, disbelief holding your voice hostage. “Me?” You croak, in confusion. “Yoongi, I-”

He holds you closer and suddenly all your words die in your mouth. You’re not even sure what you were trying to say. Pressing his forehead against yours, he mutters your name like a prayer and whispers, “You’re all the wings I need.”

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

#bangtanfairygarden #networkbangtan #hyunglinenetwork #btswritingcafe #btswritersclub #btsguild #btsgoldnet #bangtanhq #ficswithluv #houseofddaeng #magicshopnet #min yoongi smut #yoongi smut #suga smut #bts fanfic #bts smut

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fanmoose12 · 4 years ago

Text

after death do us apart

Summary: Levi thinks his house is haunted.

Levi is in his kitchen, busy with a very important task of measuring leaves for the tea when he hears a loud, obnoxious thud, coming from his living room.

He softly curses, grabs his cane and rushes, as fast as he can with his body not as strong as it was before, there.

When he arrives, he sees that everything else is in order, except a picture frame that is now lying on a floor.

Levi's blood boils, an annoyance bordering on anger rushing through him. This picture - that one that now lies on the floor like some kind of useless shit - is his most priced possession. It is the only thing that keeps the memory of them alive, the one thing that reminds him during cold and dark nights that he might be alone right now, but there was a time where he wasn't.

It's a picture of him, Hange, Erwin and Mike all standing together with their arms around each other. He doesn't remember if that had ever happened, but that's what he had found in one of Moblit's notebook and after he made that discovery, he just couldn't leave it behind.

No picture of them exists - Mike and Erwin were gone even before they found out what a photo camera was, and in her last years, Hange was always too busy to take a single photo.

He regrets it now, not pushing her to take it, but Moblit's picture is vibrant enough. He doubts a photo could capture their essence quite like his sharp eyes and skilfful hands could.

Onyakopon tells him there are more pictures of Hange now. There are portraits made by talented artists that paint Hange as the last Commander of Survey Corps or during her last moments on Earth.

They're hanged in museums and various memorials but Levi doesn't wish to see any of them. He doesn't care about them, those pictures - they were drawn by talented artists, and Levi doesn't doubt that.

But they never knew Hange, not like he did. So how could they come up with something worthy of the light she bestowed on this world? How they could ever hope to put it on paper?

Levi crouches down, his bones and protesting, and picks up the picture frame.

Thankfully, it is still intact.

But just as his old, broken heart swells with relief, there is another thud. This time, the book falls down, nearly missing Levi's head.

He curses again, loud and vulgar, letting out the best of profanities the Underground taught him.

He whirls around, his eye searching for the offender. The room is empty, though. It's mostly silent too, the only sounds flowing around are those from outside his window. But then he hears it, a faint, feeble murmur that sounds almost like "sorry".

His heart clenches, his hand gripping the cane to keep himself grounded.

He knows that particular sorry. Heard many times many years ago - ehen he stumbled over the barely conscious, sleep deprived body, when his shirt got soaked in tea, soup or some kind of possibly dangerous chemicals, heard it repeating over and over as gentle, trembling hands inspected his injuries and wiped away the blood.

It was sometimes accompanied by cheerful, loud laughter, other times - with quiet, broken sobs.

He couldn't hear that sorry. He couldn't.

It was just a trick of imagination, nothing more, nothing less.

I am not old enough to go senile yet, he thinks as he puts the picture where it belongs to.

It was just a trick of imagination, he repeats and leaves the room.

He goes back to the kitchen and resumes his task. The skin on the back of his neck is prickling, like someone stares intently at it, but Levi chases that feeling away, convincing himself that he's simply being paranoid.

He pointedly ignores the quiet sound, the one that resembles a sigh of disappointment and the one he heard too many times too, during long nights at the lab and inside Commander's office, as well.

***

It's not the first weird (unexplained, she would say) thing that happened in his house. There are instances happening all over the place, each of them brings a different degree of strangeness

Windows and doors - close and open on their own volition, lights turn on and off, books, his clothes, kitchen ware - disappear for hours only to appear in the most random of places, bangs and knocks sound at all times of the day, merciless to his sleeping pattern.

Logically, he knows that it isn't normal. He also knows that he probably should talk about it with someone. But he was never good with that thing - talking. All the people he was somewhat comfortable sharing his troubles are now dead and gone.

He theoretically can discuss it with Gabi and Falco, but he doesn't want to, because, well, no matter how big they think they are, they're still children. Onyakopon is out of question too, because he might just get too worried and then send him into that building on the edge of the town - mental institution, he calls it.

And Levi might be old, but he's not senile. Yet.

Probably. He hopes so at least.

His mind is still his own, broken but not shattered. He knows right from wrong, sees the difference between reality and a dream.

He still functions properly, and yet those instances don't back away.

He'd ignore it, write it off as a product of imagination or strange coincidence. If only it happened once. Or twice. Three times even. Three weird happenings in a row is hard, but possible to ignore. But when it happens every damn day, for almost dozen times, it's not just hard to ignore. It's fucking annoying too.

He knows a name he can put to describe it all, of course. Born and raised in the depth of Underground, how can he not? Stories like this were well known and greatly appreciated down there. They were children of the dark, after all, friends with shadows. Everything dark and scary, anything feared above their little world was welcomed and encouraged.

Isabel used to warn him about enraged, vengeful spirits that hunt those who wronged them or those who disturbed their resting place. Kenny - when he was in a less shitty, kinder mood - used to tell him about souls that die without fulfilling their purpose and were destined to roam through the land of the living for all eternity, unable to sleep with their business unfinished.

Before putting him to bed or whenever she felt especially sentimental, his mother used to speak of those unlucky ones who died before their loved ones did.

"They cannot find peace even in death," she said. "And so they come back to our world and stay close to the ones they still cannot let go, watching them until they are able to reunite."

He never believed in those stories, though. Perhaps, he was born and raised in the Underground, but he got out of it, lived his best years with the sun shining on his face and wind blowing through his hair.

He thought ghosts doesn't exist.

But now that his best years are behind him, now that he has seen enough shit to know that anything is possible, now that some days he himself feels like a ghost, he starts thinking of them more and more.

Hange is gone, he reminds himself, she's gone and even though you miss her like crazy, it won't bring her back.

Hange is gone, and none of it is real.

But, god, does he really wishes that it was. *** It is the middle of the night, and Levi feels a presence behind him. It's not ominous like in that book about ghosts he recently found. It's quite soothing, actually. It makes him almost content.

It's not looming or hoovering over his form either. It's right next to him, as though this something - or someone - lays on a bed close to him.

It doesn't bother him anymore, nearly not as much as it did before. It brings him comfort, in some sort. It reminds him of-

No. It doesn't.

The presence behind him shifts and Levi feels the blanket slip from his legs.

No, that won't do.

He tugs the blanket back, but either he's getting too weak with age or that presence, ghost or whatever is so much stronger than him, but he can't get it back. They fight for it for a while, each struggling to get the upper hand. Levi yanks it back, applying all the force that's still left in him, but bears no result. He grits his teeth, sweat gathering on his temples as he pulls the blanket.

"Give it back, you little sh-"

He doesn't get to finish.

The loud, snapping sound of ripping cloth cuts him off.

"Fuck!" Levi yells, frustrated. It was his favorite blanket. "Is this so funny to you, you piece of shit? Why do you keep tormenting me?"

There is a bit of silence, and then lights in his room turn on. With wide eyes, Levi watches the paper levitate from a small pile on his desk. Pen appears next, and it hovers above the paper, the sounds of furious scribbling filling the dark room.

Before he can say anything else, shout more profanities or threaten the invisible fucker to get out (he may not be as strong as he was before, but he has a cane and he still knows how to use it effectively), the paper starts flying, catching him right in the face.

Levi takes it in his hands, squinting his good eye to see what's written there.

It IS funny, but i didn't wish to torment you. You know that, right?

Something resembling a sob escapes from his lips. Levi fists his hands into sheets below him, but eight fingers is apparently not enough to ground him and keep him from falling.

"Who are you?" he asks shakily, his voice breaking.

The pen starts moving again, flying over another paper. This one isn't thrown in his face. It's gently laid next to his thigh. Levi takes it, and his hands shake so much it gets hard to read. Words swim between his eyes, but Levi persists, laying the note on his lap and bending over to see better.

His whole world shakes when he finally deciphers the words.

Haven't you guessed already?

He closes his eyes and some sound escapes past his lips, he's not sure if that can be called a sob or a chuckle, or a combination of both, but his whole body is trembling as he tries to fight strength to whisper,

"Hange?"

From somewhere close to him, on his left side where she always used to be, he hears a delighted, happy laughter.

He looks around the room, his eye shifting, desperate to find her, but he sees nothing.

Fear grips at his heart.

So just a hallucination then? Simple wishful thinking?

"Where are you?" he murmurs, giving it all another chance. "Hange-"

"I'm here," a warm sensation travels up his forearm. It doesn't exactly feel like an ordinary touch would, but it's there, it seems real and it fills his chest with hope. "Right here, a little to your left," she continues. "Just look at me, Levi."

He does, immediately he does. But there is no one next to him. The gentle sensation doesn't fade, gets more persistent if anything, but Levi still can't see her.

"You need to look a little bit harder," Hange murmurs. "If you can hear me, I'm sure you can see me."

Levi stares, his eye focused on the empty place next to him. He strains his vision, moves his gaze up and down, huffs in frustration and then finally, finally, he sees something.

It's vague, indistinct, barely visible in the dark, but he makes out the outline of the body. He can see the mop of brown hair, and they're messy as always, can see strong arms and wide shoulders, that long, prominent nose, that rosy, soft lips that are stretched out in a hopeful smile, those brown, sparkly he missed so much.

"Hange," he breathes out, his voice barely above whisper.

He wants to touch her, god, he wants to touch her so much, but when he puts his hand above hers, it goes right through her.

"The situation is not exactly perfect," Hange laughs. "I don't think you can touch me, and I can't exactly touch you as well."

"I don't care," he shakes his head and moves his fingers, until his and Hange's are close. He doesn't feel much, but something warm is still there and it still makes his breath stumble.

Hange is here, she's not gone, not completely, she's here, with him. It is more than enough.

*** They fall into a sort of routine after that. It's easy with Hange, as it always was.

She disappears for short periods of time, refusing to tell Levi where she goes.

"They asked me not to tell you," she says enigmatically, and doesn't ever elaborate, no matter how many Levi asks.

At first, he still worries he's going crazy, but then Falco, Gabi and Onyakopon show up. They all sit down around the small coffee table in Levi's living room, chatting amongst themselves and sharing the last news and gossips.

"You look healthier," Falco remarks, as Levi brings the tea from the kitchen.

As soon as he puts the cups down, the chaos begins.

The door shuts with a loud bang, the windows rattle and chandelier above them starts to dangerously tremble.

Levi also notes that Hange is careful not to make any mess, but she still acts so damn loud. And dramatic. He hides a sigh as he continues to sip on his tea and watch Onyakopon, Gabi and Falco lose their shit in front of him.

Gabi ducks behind an armchair, Falco close on her heels, curling around her. Onyakopon keeps frantically looking around, his breath quick and shallow. Levi can almost hear the sound of his panicked heartbeat.

"Stop it, four-eyes," he murmurs, too softly to everyone else to hear (not that they could pay attention to him amidst all that clutter anyway).

Everything stills immediately. Silence washes over his apartment, interrupted only by Onyakopon's gasps.

Hange snickers beside him, but Levi is the only who can hear her.

"This was fun," she giggles, running a hand over his shoulder.

Levi can't disagree with her on that one.

"What was that?" Onyakopon exclaims, clutching his heart. "Was it-"

"A ghost?" Gabi cries out, looking both horrified and excited.

Levi glances at Hange, silently telling her 'she looks just like you'. She waves him off and turns back to Gabi.

"Is is the first time it happens?" Falco asks.

"No," Levi answers, shrugging. A week ago, he'd be as disturbed as his friends are, but now he moved past disturbance to acceptance to delight. "It's been happening for weeks now."

"You aren't safe here," Falco, bless his young soul, looks genuinely worried, down to the deep crease on his forehead. "We should look for another apartment."

"Don't bother. I'm quite comfortable here."

Of course, he's comfortable. Hange is here with him, after all.

"But!" Gabi tries to protest, but Levi silences her with a raised palm.

"I'm not injured or unwell," he gestures on himself, as if to illustrate his point. "And, besides, it gives house some character, don't you think?"

"A very scary character," Onyakopon notes.

"Well," Levi almost smiles, hearing Hange's laughter behind his back. "The house is not very different from its master then."

His guests leave soon after, but not before Gabi and Falco make him swear to call them if anything 'more dangerous and scarier' happens.

As soon as they're out, Levi sits down in his favorite armchair. Hange flies over to him.

"So," she looks up at him, and the bright sparkle in her eyes, even though it is still a bit indistinct, sets his heart racing. "Have I convinced you that you're not going crazy?"

He wants to ask how, opens his mouth even, but then promptly shuts it closed. Of course, it is Hange. She knows his thoughts better than he does.

And if he had any doubts about her realness, they've disappeared right in that moment.

*** Hange is almost always next to him, hovering over his shoulder and constantly chatting into his ear. It almost feels like the good old days.

Although now he can't kick her leg whenever she starts teasing or rambling too much. His trademark glare has to be good enough, though.

He brings Hange books and introduces her to all kinds of new technology. She is beaming like a child at every new thing he shows her, and Levi's heart is so full of love for that weirdo, he's afraid it's going to burst.

Hange accompanies him on his strolls too, and his poker face has never put to trial more than during those moments, when Hange starts joking or fooling around, making him almost lose all of his composure.

He can't laugh or even berate her in public, and she knows it, goddamn. And uses it for her advantage, the asshole.

Levi gets his revenge when they're back at his house, refusing to give her new books until she swears to behave.

She swears every time, hand on her chest and all that. And she breaks that promise the very same day. Levi can't stay mad at her, though. He never could.

*** "You know, I thought you were a vengeful spirit at first," he shares with her one evening.

He sits in front of the fire, his legs outstretched to the source of warmth. Hange is laying on the floor, book hovering above her. She closes and turns to Levi.

"I could be," she says. "But, unfortunately, the people I'd like to haunt are long dead as well. Floch is gone, Eren is too..." Hange scoffs, shaking her head. "And I can't very well haunt every bloodthirsty soldier back in Paradise. Too much work for the old, frail me."

Levi lifts an eyebrow. "You don't look that old to me. Especially, when compering with me..."

"Oh, Levi," Hange rises and gets closer to him. She sits down on his lap, and Levi feels warmth spread through the skin of his cheek as Hange puts her hand on it. There is a smile on her lips, the one that Levi knows too well. The one that means that Hange is going to say something very, very stupid. She opens her mouth and proves him right once again. "I was always more attractive than you," Hange murmurs. "Nothing changed since my death."

He rolls his eye and laments that he can't flick her nose.

Hange is still smiling, and when she leans in, he can almost feel a ghost of a kiss on his lips. *** "Don't you ever feel regret?" Levi asks one day.

He is sitting in his wheelchair, looking at the bright setting sun from the small garden near his house.

Hange is on top of him, her long legs dangling from the wheelchair. As he speaks up, she turns to him, and the happy expression turns into something more thoughtful.

"Regret?" she repeats, frowning. "What can I ever regret?"

"This?" Levi gestures around. "I know, you're still here, but don't..." he frowns, struggling to find the right words. "Don't you wish for something more? For us to have a proper chance?"

Hange looks up at the sky, and for a moment she's quiet. Levi thinks if he should take his words back, change the subject completely but it's something that's been bugging him for a long time. He's happy, so happy, that Hange can still be with him. But there are moments when he wishes for... more. To be able to hold her hand and share meals with her, to walk with her through the streets without worrying that someone might think he's some drunkard or lunatic who talks to himself.

He knows it's selfish to even think about it, he already received so much more than he deserved, but isn't selfishness an inherent part of a human?

Sometimes, he just can't help but long for something more.

"I'm sure you know what a method of trial and error means," Hange begins, looking back at him. Her words confuse him, but before he can open his mouth, Hange shushes him and continues. "Remember those days at my lab? Nothing ever worked out, every experiment turned into an ever bigger disaster than the previous one, and I was so frustrated I wanted to crawl up the wall. But there was a certain beauty in it all - I tried, I failed, I tried again. Over and over, until something good came out. And, boy," she chuckles. "When something worked, it worked perfectly. And, maybe, all of this, all of us," she swiftly runs her fingertips through his brow and Levi shivers at the warm, gentle feeling that spreads down to his soul. "As a failed attempt. We tried, it didn't work," she pauses, and her eyes are bright, much brighter than the sun behind her. "We can try again."

Her words stir something inside, a long forgotten feeling of hope. But he still can't accept it so easily, the cynic in him fights to make himself known.

"But you're already dead," he protests.

"And that means this attempt has failed. Not as spectacularly as that time when my experiment blew up and burned Moblit's eyebrows, but... not a perfect success either. We can try again, though. We can say goodbye, walk from each other and then meet again, in some other place and time."

"And what if we fail again?"

"Then we try again. And again, and again, until we can get it right. And when we finally do, oh boy!" she exclaims, flailing her arms into the air. "Wouldn't that be spectacular?"

She laughs, so happy and free, and Levi wishes to gather her in his arms and never let go. All he can do right now, though, is circle his hands around her waist, imagining that he's holding her.

Just like always, he trusts Hange.

They will meet again, and, maybe, it will all fall apart in a disaster worse than this one. But they can try again. They can keep trying, until... forever.

And, perhaps, that's the true beauty of life.

#not me ignoring all of my wips to write another barely comprehensible oneshot #ghost hange though!#we need more ghost hange lmao #levihan #levihan fanfiction

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junicai · 4 years ago

Text

lights out.

| summary | In New York, the City that Never Sleeps, Aria can’t sleep. So, her roommate comes up with a skeptical idea, and ropes Mark into it as well.

| word count | 3.7k

| warnings | one (1) curse word

| era | circa. April 2019

92. "Just remember if we get caught, you’re deaf and I don’t speak English."

New York City.

Forever illuminated in light, forever alive and bustling down below the skyrises that towered above the people that wandered through the streets no matter what time was displayed on the clocks. The city was teeming with energy, bubbling beneath the surface as it waited for a chance to explode.

Traffic backlogged street to street, wandering souls pattering around the block in search of nothing, aimlessly strolling past the busy business-goers, those that carried briefcases with carefully filed notes and papers, and those that had dragged themselves out of their beds for the graveyard shift in the neon-lighted coffeehouse.

24-hour Coffee! The best coffee you’ll find in the Big Apple!

The noise outside the window was muffled through the thick glass but the busy sounds of the city still filtered through, gently falling in to the otherwise silent hotel room.

Aria rolled over onto her side, pressing her head into the soft pillow. The red LED lights of the alarm clock sitting on the locker beside her bed was boring the colour into her retinas, and no good could come from simply watching the minutes tick by.

The blankets were soft, if not a little cold on her skin, and she pulled her legs into her chest to rub at the exposed skin lightly. Donghyuck had insisted on leaving the air conditioning on as they slept, the boy living up to his name Fullsun as he ran hot near-constantly, but that left Aria to shiver slightly despite the mountain of blankets she had buried herself beneath.

Rolling back over to the cool side of the pillowcase, Aria let her eyes fall on Donghyuck’s back.

The boy wasn’t asleep - she could hear the low sounds coming from the airpods in his ears as he watched something on his phone - but he looked comfortable enough that she was reluctant to disturb him.

It had been a long day, and tomorrow was their only real designated day in this area before they were scheduled to be flown out to their next concert.

Aria loved touring, but it was hard to keep going sometimes. She assumed that Donghyuck thought the same, and that’s why instead of insisting that the pair of them watched something on his laptop, or played a game, he was letting her sleep in peace.

He had watched Aria push herself past what they both had thought her limits had been that day - watched as she stumbled through the final songs of their set with blurry eyes and a shaking frame. He’d moved to wrap an arm around her waist as soon as they had broken formation, and she’d given him a shaky smile for his efforts.

Donghyuck had guided a rapidly blinking Aria through their ending ments and off the stage, catching her as she slipped down the last two steps. He’d practically carried her into the car, waving off an insisting Yuta, who was adamant that he could help despite still favoring the ankle he had rolled two nights ago.

They were all running a little worse-for-wear, but, by god the crowds made up for it.

He had known that NCT 127 had an international fanbase, had known that they were popular overseas for years. But there was nothing like seeing a crowd of five thousand, even eight thousand people from a country that didn’t speak their language, singing their songs and screaming their fanchants at the top of their lungs.

It settled into his bones, pushed him past his old boundaries to create new ones, made him want to keep going and keep singing, keep dancing, keep performing until his knees went from beneath him and he fell to the ground with a thud.

Donghyuck knew Aria felt the same, and that’s why he took it upon himself to pull her away when she needed him to.

Despite their broadly opposite personalities - truly the sun and the moon when it came down to it - they were similar in so many ways. Scarily so.

Scary, in so far as the fact that Donghyuck knew when Aria couldn’t take it anymore, knew when she was stumbling and falling not because she was tired but because she’d hurt her back again and was unwilling to talk about it. Scary, in the fact that he knew when she wasn’t telling them something, choosing to bite her lip instead of letting whatever worry that was bouncing around in her head fall onto their shoulders to help carry the weight.

Donghyuck wanted to help her carry those things. Even if that meant carrying her as well.

The two of them had slipped into the hotel room at nine minutes past ten, showering briefly in the small bathroom they had adjoined to the left wall and slid into the two beds with a quiet goodnight. It had been silent since Aria had leant down to turn off the centre light, only the light peeking through the curtains from the street and the light of Donghyuck’s phone screen to illuminate the dark room left.

He had thought she had fallen asleep soon after - given the bleary squinted look she had given him in the van home as she told her to not fall asleep just yet, that they’d be home soon and then she could sleep - so you could imagine his surprise as he flipped over in the bed, letting the phone fall face down and was met with the image of Aria starfished over her single bed, staring open-eyed at the ceiling.

“Ari?” Donghyuck cleared his throat. “Ari? Why’re you awake still?”

Aria’s head flopped to the side to look at Donghyuck in the opposite bed, blinking once at him before closing her eyes and groaning. “Can’t sleep.”

He hummed, lifting up the corner of his blanket with a hand as the other pushed his phone onto the bedside locker to make sure it didn’t fall off the bed.

Without a word, Aria slid out from underneath her own blankets - pulling one from the top layer - and padded across the room to slide into Donghyuck’s embrace, fluffing the extra blanket on top of them both.

Donghyuck sniffed a laugh at her, but said nothing as he dropped his arm around her waist to pull her closer to him and snuggled his head into where her shoulder meets her neck.

Aria giggled lightly at his hair tickling her skin, moving her head away from the strands until the hand around her waist squeezed once.

“It tickles,” She whispered.

“But m’comfy like this,” He responded, shoving his head further in if possible and throwing a leg over hers.

“Just-” Aria moved some of his hair away from her face. “Better.”

“Better?”

“Its not in my face anymore.”

Donghyuck lifted his head from her shoulder to peer up at her face. “Why couldn’t you sleep? You were sleepy in the van.”

Aria huffed. “No I wasn’t.”

“You hit your head against the window when you dozed off.”

“I-”

“Twice.”

She sighed through her nose. “If it bruises I’m going to be upset. My face is my only selling point right now.”

A silence permeated the room, and Donghyuck sat up.

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” He asked again.

Aria flipped to lay on her stomach, shoving her head into the pillow. “I dunno. Think I have some excess energy to burn off or something.”

“You were literally dead on your feet three hours ago,” Donghyuck said.

“I know that. I just, feel like I need to go on a walk or something. Just to move or do something that isn’t lying in a bed in the middle of New York.” Aria muffled out into the fabric, kicking her legs slightly.

Donghyuck caught a wayward ankle before it could hit him in the face. “Hey, kicking your best friend was not on that list!”

“It could be.”

Scowling, he fell back beside her, scooching closer. The pair laid together for a moment, listening to the sound of traffic from outside.

“You want to go for a walk?” Donghyuck was the one to break the silence, looking down at Aria.

“Yeah.”

“Then let’s go.”

Aria lifted her head to blink up at him. “It’s like,” she broke off to turn her head towards the clock, blinking rapidly to bring the LED numbers into view, “Half one in the morning, I don’t think the hotel gym is open.”

“I don’t mean the gym. I mean out there.” Donghyuck pointed to the window.

This time it was Aria who sat up, rubbing at her eyes. “Hyuck, what?”

“You want to go for a walk? Let’s go for a walk. Who’s gonna stop us?”

“Our managers? The fact that its nearly two in the morning? The fact that Taeyong will kill us?” She said, bewildered.

Donghyuck sat up to face her properly. “They won’t know! We could be quick - promise. You can’t tell me you don’t want to see the city properly.”

Aria spluttered. “We have seen the city! We took that bus tour around when we first arrived!”

He scoffed. “I meant properly, Ari. Like a local. How the city is meant to be.”

“We could get murdered.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d let that happen.”

Aria swallowed. “What happens if we get caught on the way out?”

“Simple: Lie.” Donghyuck leant back on his hands like this wasn’t the worst plan he had ever come up with in his nineteen years of life.

It wasn’t often that Aria went along with his ideas - nine times out of ten, she was usually the one talking him out of them. It was only when she’d run out of patience, or the will to give the effort to barter logic out with him that she’d give in. Or in cases like this.

“Fine.”

Donghyuck let out a whoop, reaching over to the locker to snag his phone off the top of it and flicking the screen unlocked. Aria in turn proceeded to roll off the bed and onto the carpet, looking for the pair of leggings she had worn through the airport to cover her legs so she didn’t go wandering around the city in a pair of sleep shorts.

Finding the black coloured material hanging on the back of the chair, she could hear Donghyuck texting someone behind her.

“Who’s that?” She asked, not bothering to turn around as she moved into the bathroom and partially shut the door to allow her both privacy and the ability to continue her conversation with him.

“Mark - Thought we should tell someone where we’re gone, right?”

Aria stopped. “Does he want to come?”

“Given the angry texts I’ve just received about quote, missing out on stuff like this now that he’s not in Dream: I’d say a solid yes.”

Aria nodded, before realizing that he couldn’t see her. “Is Jungwoo coming as well then?”

Mark was rooming with Jungwoo this time around, the members alternating on a rotational basis.

Donghyuck shook his head. “No, he says that Jungwoo is too tired. He’ll keep a lookout for Taeyong for us though, which is good.”

“Huh, that’s nice of him.” Aria re-emerged from the bathroom, leggings pulled up over her hips and a large hoodie swamping her frame. With her thin wire glasses, she looked cosy and extremely comfortable.

Donghyuck himself was still wearing a pair of sweatpants, and pulled one of his hoodies on over his t-shirt before rummaging in the pile of shoes to find something comfortable.

Without looking back, he tossed out Aria’s runners, who caught them with a thanks before sitting down on the ground to do up the laces.

He succeeded in finding his own pair of shoes, pulling them in just before two light knocks sounded against their door. Aria pulled it open to reveal a bleary-eyed but excited Mark, a padded jacket pulled over his jumper.

"You are insane." Was the first thing out of his mouth.

"You're welcome to leave?" Sniffed Aria.

Mark frowned. "I never said I wasn't."

Opening the door wider, she revealed Donghyuck who had just stood up from the edge of the bed, brushing down his pants. He looked up to meet Mark's eyes and grinned.

"Let's go!" He cheered, moving to walk out into the hallway but being stopped by Aria catching the neck of his jumper and tugging him back.

Looking at her quizzically, he raised an eyebrow.

"You need a coat? It's nearly two in the morning it's going to be cold outside."

Aria herself had pulled on a jacket once Mark had arrived, but Donghyuck was still only clad in a threadbare hoodie that wouldn't protect him from the cold outside.

Reaching back over the bed, he pulled out his cost from beneath a chair and slid his arms into it wordlessly. He turned to Aria and spread his arms out into a display. "Happy?"

"It's better."

"Guys do you think we could not do this in the hallway? I really don't want to get caught by someone right now." Mark's voice came from just inside the doorway.

"Right, right," Aria agreed, shoving Donghyuck out the door and snatching the keycard off the table just before they left.

She slipped the keycard into her inside pocket of her jacket, zipping it closed before patting the padded material lightly. “Safe and sound.”

Mark, closed the door behind them. The beep sounded as the mechanism locked itself, and the trio were left standing alone in the empty hallway.

Donghyuck stretched his arms above his head, wincing slightly as his shoulder clicked. “Just remember if we get caught, you’re deaf and I don’t speak English.”

Aria paused. “Hyuck, you don’t speak English.”

“I’m deaf and you don’t speak English.”

“And what do I do? You planning on leaving me for dead?” Mark asked, arms crossed.

Donghyuck only pat him on the shoulder, moving to rest his weight onto his elbow. “You, are fast. You’ll be fine.”

“You, are a terrible influence.”

“A proud one.”

Aria put a hand on one of their shoulders each, pushing the two boys forward down the hallway insistently. “Let’s not have this argument where we can be found in incriminating circumstances, okay boys?”

Donghyuck snorted. “Aria we’re not going to go to jail for sneaking out.”

“Doyoung might put Aria on house arrest,” Mark countered.

“Then let’s not wait around for him to find her!”

With that, the trio made their way down the hallway, choosing to take the stairs down to the ground floor instead of the elevator - hoping to avoid as many people as possible. Aria had slipped three black facemasks into her pocket before they had left the room, knowing that if they were to be spotted they’d need something to help them blend in.

The front doors of the hotel slid open with a quiet beep, and she was blasted with a cold front of air. She could feel her nose twitch slightly at the breeze, and knew that she’d be returning with a rosy tinge to her skin if they stayed out longer than a few minutes.

But instead of letting that bother her, Aria chose to focus on the identical wide grins Donghyuck and Mark sported, both boys looking around in wonder at the lights that surrounded them on the pavement.

“Shall we?” Aria extended her arms playfully, giggling lightly as they both linked their arms into hers.

Beginning their walk down the pavement, she could only look around in wonder. New York truly lived up to it’s name - dozens of people were milling about even at this time, all clad in various thicknesses of coats, and Aria felt herself relax minutely at the knowledge that the trio didn’t stick out against the colorful lights like a sore thumb.

Each street had something new, and her eyes grew wider with every sign they passed as they walked.

“Mark look!” Aria pointed towards a small bookstore on the corner of the block, dropping his arm to run towards the window. “Doesn’t that look like the notebook you wanted to get in Atlanta?”

A small, green leather-bound notebook had piqued Mark’s interest in the city earlier that month, but by the time he had had the time to get to the bookstore, the notebook had been sold.

The notebook that Aria pointed out was near identical - perhaps a little bit thicker, but close enough to the original that Mark was already planning on how he was going to get back to this street tomorrow when all the shops were opened back up.

“Do you think we could come back here tomorrow to get it for you?” Aria looked away from the window, eyes shining hopefully.

Mark reached out to tug Aria underneath his arm, pulling her into his side. “I’m sure we can figure something out, Ari.”

She clapped her hands lightly to celebrate, before Donghyuck was taking them both by the hand and dragging them both back down the street which they had walked up.

“Now, while you’ve both been looking for fancy notebooks, I’ve been doing some important area recon, and have discovered that,” He trailed off, continuing walking with a firm grip on their wrists.

“Ta-da!” Donghyuck came to a stop, releasing their wrists before making jazz hands beside his face.

Behind him, was a small food cart with an attendee that looked like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world.

“Pretzels?” Mark asked with a tilted head.

“Pretzels.” Donghyuck nodded emphatically.

Aria tugged lightly on the younger boy’s sleeve. “Hyuck, I don’t think any of us brought money with us-”

Donghyuck hummed, cutting her off. “Got you covered, angel.” pulling out his phone and taking several small bills from behind his opaque phone case.

Turning to the attendee with a blinding smile he strolled forward to the cart, opening his mouth to begin speaking.

“Can I.. we..”

Mark stepped up behind him. “Order,” he whispered, facing the pavement so his lips weren’t visible to the man.

“Order.. three.. three,”

“Pretzels,”

“Pretzels please?” Donghyuck finished, looking up at the man curiously.

“Yeah,” Came the deadened response. “That’ll be $9.87.”

Donghyuck fumbled with his hands momentarily, before placing three bills into the awaiting hand and stepping back from the cart, shoving his hands into his pocket.

Aria came up beside him as Mark waited at the front of the cart. “Hyuck, I don’t think I should..”

He turned his head to look at her. “Hm?”

“I don’t think I should, eat that. You know?” She looked down knawing at her lip slightly.

“I think you should.” He said.

“No I really shouldn’t-”

Aria was cut off by Mark approaching them, three warm pretzels in his hand. He handed one to Donghyuck who took it with an affirming hum before ripping into the bread with his teeth, and handed the other to a cautious Aria.

After Mark had taken his first bite, he looked quizzically at Aria who was staring traitorously at the bread in her hand. “Ari?”

She sighed, dropping her shoulders a little. “I’m sorry, I don’t know if I should-”

Aria squeaked when both Donghyuck’s and Mark’s glare was turned on her. “Guys I-”

“Pretzel.”

A protest formed on the top of her tongue, but fell flat when Mark raised an eyebrow.

“Ok, ok sorry.” Aria took a bite from the now-cooling snack.

Satisfied, both boys went back to their own snacks, sighing lightly as the trio continued their walk back down the streets they had come. From a different angle, they noticed new things each time, and it was so easy to lose track of the time when they were staring up in wonder at the neon lights.

The atmosphere was broken by a ping from Mark’s phone.

Jungwoo [2:08] uh

Jungwoo [2:08] taeyong hyung started his rounds

Jungwoo [2:08] id recommend getting ur asses back

Jungwoo [2:09] ill stall him

Mark [2:09] how long do we have

Jungwoo [2:09] seven minutes. tops

Mark [2:09] fuck

The trio turned on their heels, pelting down the pavement.

The people they passed looked oddly at them - they must have made a comical sight. Three twenty-year-olds, dressed in padded jackets and facemasks sprinting down the street at two am. They looked like they’d just committed a robbery.

Aria could feel sweat beading at her forehead beneath her headband, pulling it off and tucking it into her pocket. These shoes were not designed for sprinting, and she could feel the rough plastic digging into her ankle already.

“How long do you think it’ll take us to get back?” Aria yelled over to the other boys, the blood rushing in her ears.

Mark slipped out his phone from his pocket, pulling it up close to his face and checking the time. “Four minutes? We’ve gone in a big circle.”

“We’re dead.” Donghyuck breathed out harshly, picking up speed.

Silence filled in the wind rushing past their ears, feet pounding against the pavement. Mark barely stopped himself before crashing into a small child clinging sleepily to an older woman’s hand; twisting his body out of the way at the last second before profusely apologizing.

It seemed like an eternity before they reached the front doors of the hotel they were staying at for the next two nights.

Panting, Aria slowed to a walk, pulling at the neck of her sweater to fan herself. She took slow and deep breaths, trying to calm her pulse before they made their way into the lobby.

Starting forward, she was stopped by Donghyuck’s hand on her shoulder and Mark’s sharp intake of breath.

“Oh. Oh god.”

“Mark? You alright?” Aria turned to face the boy, watching his face drain of colour.

He lifted a hand, pointing to the one window on the fifth floor with a light still on. It stood out against the other darkened windows, like a lightstick in a sea of concert-goers. And there, illuminated against the cream-coloured curtains, was Taeyong’s silhouette.

Donghyuck huffed. “Aria, this was a terrible idea!”

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yungidreamer · 4 years ago

Text

First Bite

Starting at the beginning!

Summary: Seonghwa attends a house party, all part of keeping up appearances as a high ranking duke trying to hide his immortality. She is the the little nobody, there by luck or by fate, and when their paths cross he decides she is his, he just has to convince her of that fact.

Wordcount: 8.2k

Content warnings: Not a ton, kissing, Seonghwa is a bit possessive and supercilious, descriptions of biting and arousal, references to sex but none yet.

Seonghwa sighed, trapped inside the stiflingly warm, dark carriage as it jostled along the road to the manor. He didn’t want to go. He didn’t like travel. It was all a massive waste of his time. But he had to do it once or twice every few years. Prove he was alive and well, caring for his land, and protecting the people. His somewhat distant lands provided some buffer to his official obligations.

He stayed in one of his fiefdoms for 20 or thirty years, however long he could hide the fact that he didn’t age, then left the land to a caretaker while he moved to his second, repeating the process when he had to or when the situation in one place became intolerable. War, famine, and unrest; they were all inevitable and sometimes he stayed and sometimes he didn’t. It mostly depended on what he could do and what he had to risk. Though he was incredibly deadly with his strength, agility, and speed, his inability to bear sunlight made him a useless soldier. At least these days they didn’t expect lords to go out at the head of their army.

This wasn’t war. This was almost worse. It was a useless social obligation, hours and days of mindless chatter and social interactions. This was going to be hell, but it had to be done. He had to be one of them occasionally, had to play the role, play the part he was obligated to be by society. At the first chance, he was going to leave and go back home. Thankfully most of the people who would be at the function were degenerates who slept the day away and loved to party all night, so at least his schedule wouldn’t make him stick out all that much. And food would be plentiful as the chaperones were always eager for a little trist with a lord after their charges went to bed.

Seonghwa sighed and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes, wishing he could sleep to pass the time. At least he could just let his mind wander to more pleasant things.

The halls were still relatively quiet in the manor. It was morning and the guests who were already there were mostly still abed and probably desperately hung over. She tiptoed down the hall to the library, having snuck out while her shared chaperone and her fellow charge were sleeping the day away. She needed another book to read, something to break the mind numbing boredom of the chatter in the ladies rooms. The sewing and knitting and the like didn’t bother her, she in fact, enjoyed them. It was the hours of meaningless chatter that killed her.

Nothing could make her care about the latest gossip about who had done the latest scandalous thing; like dropping their napkin at the last dinner or who forgot to use a properly sized parasol while taking a turn in the gardens. She didn’t care who had done what and, thankfully, it was never about her. Being barely in the class that allowed her to be here and having no relations who were of much more import, no one cared what she did so long as she never stepped outside of her station. Never presumed to be more than she was supposed to be. And that suited her just fine.

Slipping in amongst the tall wooden shelves, she searched for the section she had discovered on her last trip, determined to pick up the book she had been thinking of since she spotted it on the shelf on her last trip.

“Where was it, where was it,” she muttered to herself. “I know it was somewhere around here.”

“What were you looking for?” A voice drifted in from behind her, startling her. Spinning on her heels she turned to find a man behind her, a stranger who must have joined the party sometime after she had retired to her room the night before. What was he doing here in the dim library? No one was ever up at this hour aside from the servant.

She paused, taking in the figure that seemed to have appeared from the ether to loom behind her. He was tall and slim and impeccably dressed in something a few years out of fashion. Given the perfect state of his clothes and the ornate trim and frippery, she guessed it was a personal preference rather than old clothes he was simply making do with. His hair was dark and glossy, not powdered or covered in a wig, as was currently fashionable. From what she could see in the dim corridor of the shelves, he was pale and in possession of beautiful angular features that fit his oval face perfectly. The expression on his face had the sort of effortless disdain that only an aristocrat could manage.

“Just a book,” she curtsied, knowing her place and what was expected of her in the presence of such people. “I didn’t realize anyone was here. I apologize for the intrusion.” She bobbed again as she backed away, looking to escape, knowing how many things could go wrong in her position if she was found alone with someone like him.

“Wait,” his voice was soft but held a command to it, something that said he was used to being heard and obeyed. She froze, raising only her eyes as she waited for whatever he would ask of her. “What book?”

“The City of Ladies,” she replied softly, dropping her eyes to the floor.

“Come,” He said, turning and going back down the aisle. Falling into step behind him, they moved to the next row of shelves. He went in a few steps before turning to one side and running his finger along the spines of the books on one side until he found what he was looking for. Pulling a small leather bound volume off the shelf, he turned it in his hand to double check the cover, then handed it to her.

Blinking, she looked at what he had handed her. Pressed into the cover of the book in Old English typeface was The City of Ladies by Christine de Pisan. How had he known where this was, she wondered to herself.

“Is that not what you were looking for?” He asked, when she merely looked at the book in her hand with no response.

“Oh yes, it is,” she nodded, pulling herself together. “Thank you. I’ll leave you to your business.” Without another word, she turned and made her way back out of the library as quickly as she could without looking back.

The day had passed quickly and the incident in the library seemed to have gone unremarked upon by anyone else. He probably didn’t mention it to anyone, she told herself, feeling a sense of relief at the thought. She probably wasn’t worth the breath to him and had been dismissed from his mind the moment she had closed the library door behind her.

Sitting in front of the small vanity in the corner of her room, she looked at herself in the mirror, lit by the single flickering taper she had on the tabletop. Her nimble fingers pinned the last errant curls up on her head before picking up the furry puff from the ceramic canister and giving her hair a light dusting of powder. She pulled the towel from her shoulders and shook it out the window to get rid of the dust it had caught. Giving herself one last glance in the reflection to check for anything out of place, she blew out the candle and headed out of her closet sized room to join her chaperone and the other charge to head to dinner.

The older woman, paid by both of their families to watch over their unmarried daughters as they attended the house party, was gushing over Emma, the other girl who was her charge, as she dressed and prepared for the meal. They were both there ostensibly in search of suitable partners of the right class also in attendance at the party, but she was smart enough not to hold such illusions. Unlike the girl being properly pampered and prepared, she knew she was there mostly to pass the time and fulfill her social obligations as a spare girl to fill out the gender balance. For most everyone else there, the coming hours were the highlight of the day, the thing they most looked forward to. For her, it vied for the dullest. But alas, her attendance was required.

Taking a seat off toward the side, she waited patiently as they put the last details on the other girls outfit. A diamond comb was tucked into the curls on one side and a string of pearls were tied around her neck. Their chaperone gave her hair a few last pokes before having the girl stand so she could brush out the last crimps in her skirt. She was her best hope at landing a sizable reward for landing one of them a good partner. It was only logical that she would pour her attention into Emma.

“Alright, let’s go,” Mrs. Collins said motioning at her as she took Emma’s arm to walk the other girl to the dining room. She happily stood up and followed them as they made their way through the long halls to the dining room. At least dinner would only last so long tonight, she thought to herself. There would be a small ball tonight after dinner where people could drink and dance and mingle well into the wee hours of the morning if they wished. She, very likely, wouldn’t. Instead finding a good time to bow out, go back to her room, and read in the privacy of her little closet until she fell asleep.

Servants at the doors to the dining room bowed as the ladies passed, going to find their seats for the evening along the long, wide table that stretched the whole length of the large dining room. It was a classic room, decorated in a late baroque style that gave the room a heavy, dignified feel. The curved ceiling, covered in vivid scenes of figures, fruits, and plants made from plaster moldings that glinted with gilded accents. Busts filled oval frames above the doors and some windows that always made her feel like she was being watched and judged by people long since dead. Do you really think you belong here, they seemed to ask. Don’t worry, she always assured them silently, I won’t be here that long.

Taking her seat, she placed her napkin in her lap, letting her eyes look at the sparkling setting on the table before her. It was a safe place to look and didn’t invite nosy questions on inane conversations. There would be enough of that once everyone was seated and eating. Reverend Norwich would be seated to her right and would want to ask her if she had read her bible that morning. To her left would be Edward Johnson Esquire who wouldn’t be able to keep his eyes from dropping the cleavage of the women on that end of the table, more so with each sip of wine. At least it would only be a couple of hours.

Reverend Norwich arrived, taking his seat and giving her a bob of his head, which she returned. Thankfully, he turned his attention to the woman on the other side of him first, giving her just another moment of respite. All too soon, though Mr. Johnson arrived and, with no one to the other side of him, his attention was quickly turned on her.

“You look lovely this evening,” he told her, leaning a little too close as he spoke.

“Thank you,” she replied, giving him an obligatory smile that never quite reached her eyes.

“The dress, is it new?” Mr. Johnson asked, his eyes lingering on her neckline.

“No,” she shook her head, adjusting the gauzy fichu she was ever so glad she had worn this evening. “I wore it the first evening here, but I believe you hadn’t arrived yet.”

“It’s very, very pretty,” he stated with a small nod. “The pink looks lovely against your skin.”

“I want this seat,” said a surprisingly familiar voice from behind them.

“Pardon?” Mr. Johnson said, turning in his seat to look at the interloper who was interrupting their conversation. There he stood, the man from the library, and for the life of her, she had no idea why.

“I said,” he repeated in clipped tones. “I would like this seat.”

“Your Grace,” the hostess, the Marchioness of Umberland, drew close, her voice slightly breathless from her hurry to join them. “Your seat is next to mine, near the center as our guest of honor.”

“Lady Umberland,” the man greeted, taking her hand and giving it a light brush of his lips. “Forgive me, but I would like to choose my own seat this evening.”

“But, the seats…” her voice trailed off and her eyes flicked over the three of them for a second before pursing her lips. “Right, please follow me, Mr. Johnson.” The man stood up, following the hostess to the other side of the table while she reworked the seating to keep the gender integration and the ranks of those seated… appropriate.

Seonghwa took his seat beside her, scooting his chair in before waving at a passing servant to get him a new napkin as Mr. Johnson, in his rush to vacate said spot, had taken his with him to his new seat. Having received the acknowledgement from the man, he turned his attentions to the rather flustered woman beside him.

“Are you enjoying the book?” He asked her, fixing his dark eyes on her profile.

“Pardon?” She finally turned to look at him with wide almost startled eyes.

“The book you borrowed from the library this morning,” he pressed. “Are you enjoying it?”

“Yes,” she responded tentatively. “I haven’t gotten far, but I do like what I have been able to read of it.”

“Good,” he gave her a small nod. “It’s been a while since I read it, but I remember finding it interesting.”

“You read it?” Unable to keep the surprise out of her voice, she continued to stare at him.

“Reading fills the time and I do rather enjoy it,” the corner of his mouth twitched, almost hinting at a smile.

“Reading takes me to the world I cannot see myself,” she replied, turning to look back at her place setting.

“Is it your dream to travel, to see the world?” He watched, waiting for her reply.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “There are things I would love to see, but I suppose I want to understand the world most of all.”

“Intelligence is as much the ideal foundation for a conversation as it is for a city of ladies,” Seonghwa said, returning to reference the book he had located for her.

“I’m not sure many share that opinion.” A rueful smile tugged at her lips. She set her chin to a haughty angle before parroting just a few of the things she had heard since she had arrived at the party. “No man wants a woman whose mind is outside the home… An educated woman makes a terrible wife; she is never satisfied and always argues, thinking she knows so much more than her husband… What is the use in a woman who can do more than read the Bible and calculate basic household finances?”

“Amen,” said the Reverend from the other side of her, having caught the last few sentences she had spoken but not the context. “A woman who is educated beyond the role that God has given her, is destined to misery and constantly reaching beyond what she is destined for.”

“I could not possibly disagree more,” Seonghwa sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Why would any man wish to tie himself to someone who is barely capable of holding a conversation? And if she is to be the mother of one’s children; to nurture and raise them, would you not want a woman who could educate and cultivate brilliant children?”

“Perhaps it is different at your station, Your Grace,” the Reverend allowed, giving a deferential bow. “But it is the fate of most women to live simple lives and those who dream of the world beyond that will find only disappointment.”

“A simple life need not be in contradiction to one of curiosity,” Seonghwa couldn’t help but retort. The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the soup course as a small army of servants placed low, shallow bowls on the charger plates in front of them which was then filled with a ladle of clear brown broth.

The conversation of the room dulled slightly, replaced by periodic tinking noises as spoons made contact with the fine china. She picked up her bouillon spoon, bringing the soup to her lips, hoping that the contentious conversation was done between her two dinner companions. Much as she was enjoying seeing the reverend taken down a peg, she couldn’t help but feel like a rag being pulled between two dogs as they competed for possession of it.

“Why did you come to the party?” Seonghwa asked from beside her, having finished his soup and laid his spoon in the now empty bowl, ready to be taken away.

“The usual reasons, I suppose,” she set down her spoon, having finished enough to satisfy her. “To pass the time and, my father hopes at least, to meet a potential husband.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized how forward it sounded, as if she were dangling herself as a prospect for him. “I didn’t mean… I myself don’t think the prospects are terribly promising for me.”

“No one suitable or you aren’t finding yourself much in demand in that category?” He asked as the wave of servants returned, taking the bowls and replacing them with dinner plates.

“Perhaps both, perhaps for the same reasons,” she admitted. “None of those in attendance find me appealing and the sentiment is mutual.”

“Taste, or lack thereof, cannot be accounted for,” he commented enigmatically. Their conversation continued through the courses as they came and went, mostly consisting of him asking her something and her replying. It wasn’t that she wasn’t curious about him, but she didn’t know if it was really her place to pry. Given the gap in their stations, she couldn’t be sure of his reaction if she did.

When the meal was finally over, Lady Umberland stood up calling everyone’s attention to her as she asked them all to find their escorts and make their way to the ballroom. She started walking towards Seonghwa, expecting him, as the highest ranking male visitor to the party, to escort her. Seonghwa however turned away when he saw her moving toward him, taking the arm of the woman he had sat beside for dinner. Lady Umberland quickly sought out the second highest ranked man and headed down the hall, leading the way to the ballroom.

The guests quickly broke apart, moving into groups of milling, chatting people as they waited for the music to start. Seonghwa took her off to one side of the ballroom, finding an empty seat for her and taking a relaxed stance beside it. She could feel the eyes of others from around the room landing on them with a questioning intensity. The attention was cloying and she wondered how long it would be before she could escape.

“Would you like to dance?” Seonghwa asked as the quartet began to play the first song.

“I… if you would like,” she agreed, coming to her feet. Taking her hand, he led her out onto the open floor, not yet filled with any other couples. In time with the music they moved through the steps of a minuet. It gave him an excuse to hold her hand as they swayed and dipped in time with the music. Her hand was warm and soft and he couldn’t help but imagine what her skin would feel like under his lips.

All too soon, the music stopped and Seonghwa had to release her hand and give her a bow. She returned it and quickly made her way back to her seat, almost hoping he wouldn’t follow when she caught sight of her chaperone standing near it, her eyes boring into both of them as they returned.

“Your Grace,” Mrs. Collins bobbed, giving him a quick obligatory bow. “I came to take my lovely charge off your hands. You have been so kind to give her your attention this evening, but I am certain there are many others you wish to see this evening. We can leave you to that. Come along, young lady.”

“I am perfectly happy with the company I have,” he said, stopping her as she stood up from her seat to follow her chaperone.

“Pardon, Your Grace,” Mrs. Collins tried to sound diplomatic. “But I cannot allow you to monopolize my charge when you patently have no intentions of consequence for her.”

“Frankly, madam, you have no idea of my intentions,” Seonghwa replied flatly.

“You can’t possibly be entertaining the notion of courting her,” the woman gave a dismissive chuckle. “She’s the daughter of a barrister.”

“I have intended on doing so since I first laid eyes on her,” he stated. “My conversation with her over dinner simply served to confirm my first instincts.”

“Pardon?” The older woman sputtered.

“I thought I might wait to ask her in a more private setting,” Seonghwa took a step closer to her and put his hand on the back of her chair possessively. “But I suppose I can make my intentions clear here.” He came around to face her, going to his knee in front of her as she sat frozen in her chair. “Consent to be mine and you will never want for anything. You don’t have to say yes now, just say that you will consider my offer and you can retire for the evening.” She nodded silently, satisfying Seonghwa who then said quietly, leaning closer, “If you wish to speak about this tomorrow, you know where to find me.”

With that, he stood up, stepped back and gave her a little bow. Taking the opportunity he offered, she gave him a curtsy and quickly made her way back to her room with her chaperone following behind.

“What did you say to him,” the woman asked in a harsh whisper as she closed the door to the main room. “How did you even meet him? Have you met him before?”

“Not before coming here,” she replied, taking a seat at her vanity in her small room. “It was pure chance that we crossed paths.”

“I dare say your father will be pleased with this if you can actually land him,” Mrs. Collins sighed. “I have to go back so I’ll lock the door behind me. I’ll only say this; if you choose to pursue this and it ends in ruin it won’t be on me. A scandal would not touch a man of his station but it will be all you are remembered for. It is your risk and your reward to seek.”

With that she was left alone to contemplate how her life had so quickly, in a mere course of hours, been turned upside down.

Seonghwa retired to the library after the party, sitting himself down in front of a pile of papers related to his estate as he tried to pass the hours of the early morning. Waiting. Surely she would come. Surely she felt that same magnetic pull as he. When his manservant arrived to check on him that morning, he had tasked him with obtaining a marriage licence from the local church or magistrate, whoever could procure it most readily and most expeditiously. The man had uncharacteristically let a flash of surprise cross his face for a moment before suppressing it beneath his usual mask of neutrality. He simply nodded and ventured out to do as he was bid.

It was not until well after the noon hour that he heard the soft click of the library door unlatching and then being softly closed again that she finally arrived, drawing him from his work. He knew it was her by the soft sound of her footsteps and the almost timid entrance into the space. Anyone else who would have come would have behaved as if they owned the place, or at the very least, like they were sure of their place there; they knew they belonged.

He hurried to stand, walking quickly to meet her as she crept in the dimly lit room. He met her as she paused near the last set of shelves by the doorway before the room opened up. Her eyes met his as he came near and he could practically feel the tension roll off her in waves.

“I’m glad you came,” he said, taking her hand and guiding her to the seats arranged comfortably around the unlit hearth. “Please, sit.”

“Thank you,” she agreed, taking a seat in a broad square velvet and wood chair to one side. “I believe we have a little to discuss.”

“Yes,” he agreed, taking a seat in the chair nearest to her. “We do.”

“Do you mind if I ask you… why?” She ventured nervously.

“Why what,” Seonghwa cocked his head to the side as he looked at her.

“Why me? Why all of a sudden you decided… I’m not even sure what,” she trailed off.

“It’s simple,” he stated, leaning forward. “I want you; I find you fascinating. You were meant to be mine and I see no point in dancing around that conclusion.”

“But, why?” she pressed, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Do you not feel the same?” He asked, the first hint of doubt entering his thoughts.

“I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “I know nothing about you and I would have not have dared to dream that you would be interested in me. Men like you don’t take note of women like me.”

“There are… few men like me,” he replied.

“And women like me are rather common,” she softly challenged.

“You are not common,” He shook his head. “ You are fascinating. The fact that others have overlooked it only speaks to their idiocy, not your quality.”

“Thank you for the compliment,” her chest felt inexplicably tight.

“Give me just a little of your time to convince you,” Seonghwa proposed. “If you don’t want to sign the marriage licence when it has been procured, I will leave you alone. But give me a chance.”

“Alright,” she agreed, standing up and smoothing her skirt. Seonghwa stood as well, taking advantage of the moment to step forward and draw her into a kiss. She froze as his lips brushed over hers, slightly dry and cool as they pressed against hers. It went unnoticed that no breath caressed her cheek as he held her face between his hands, gently savoring her lips. He smelled faintly of sandalwood, paper, and ink. Her eyes drifted closed, softening under his touch.

She felt so alive under his touch; so warm, so vivid. Touching her was like facing the embodiment of every temptation he had ever faced. He could hear the faint stutter of her heart at his touch like a trapped bird fluttering in its cage. So delicate, so fragile… so tempting. He wanted to crush her to him, to hold her close. Her warmth was a delicate flickering flame that he was torn between wanting to protect it and wanting to curl his chilled hands around to the point of nearly suffocating it’s light as he tried to absorb as much of the radiant heat as he could.

“Will you have tea with me this afternoon?” He asked, finally managing to pull himself away.

“I-- yes,” she nodded, taking a step back and bringing her hands up to cover her flaming cheeks. “I believe you can send for me and Mrs. Collins at the appropriate hour.” She turned quickly and made her way out of the library while she could, a frisson of nerves tickling the back of her neck.

He spent the next three days by her side at every opportunity while he courted and coaxed her into letting him into her mind and heart. They took tea together in the afternoons under the somewhat distant but watchful eye of her chaperone. In the evenings he sat with her during dinner, discouraging any of the other men in attendance from socializing with her as he stayed, hovering over her, even when they were not speaking. He was just there, always.

On the evening of the third day, her father, having been summoned by a very distressed Mrs. Collins, arrived half expecting to find his daughter ruined or the whole of the house party in shambles. Rather he found the house, perhaps tense, but otherwise unremarkable. When he located his daughter he was somewhat flummoxed by the sight of a very well dressed and handsome man hovering silently beside her. He decided it must be the man who had caused the uproar but how someone who seemed as cold and staid as a marble statue could have done so baffled him.

With his presence, at the moment, unnoticed he waited and watched. His daughter seemed perfectly at ease in his presence and the others in the room looked at them with an occasional curiosity or perhaps envy, but little else. After a long few moments, she turned to address the man and for the first time there seemed to be a warmth to him as he leaned in and spoke to her quietly. A faint smile emerged at the corner of his lips and a warmth and attentiveness burned behind his eyes.

Deciding he had seen enough, he stepped into the room, making himself known to the occupants including his daughter. He couldn’t help but think how much she resembled her mother as her eyes landed on him and she grinned as she stood up to greet him, her feet carrying her to him with an effortless elegance.

“Papa, what are you doing here?” She asked as he drew her into a warm hug.

“Mrs. Collins insisted I come here myself and sort out whatever was going on,” her father replied. “Though I must confess I am not sure what exactly that is.”

“She was right to ask you to come but I believe she may have made things sound much more dire than they are,” she laughed, looking over her shoulder to where the mysterious figure was waiting. Upon seeing her turn towards him, the man stepped closer, coming up alongside her. “It seems that I might be engaged.”

“That is good news, my dear,” he assured her, taking her hands while giving the man beside her another assessing look. “So long as it is to someone who would make you happy.”

“I would like to introduce myself properly sir,” Seonghwa said from beside her. “Perhaps we ought to speak privately for a moment.” Her father nodded at the offer, motioning for him to lead the way to wherever he thought best. Seonghwa turned and led the way out of the main room and into a small side study, taking a seat in one of the plush armchairs and crossing his legs. Her father followed suit, taking the chair opposite, un intentionally mirroring the younger man’s stance.

“I’ve decided I am going to marry your daughter,” Seonghwa stated in such a perfectly matter of fact manner that her father could not help but blink blankly in response before clearing his throat to respond.

“I believe it would be customary to ask permission to do so,” her father returned, feeling a bit prickly at his surety.

“I did,” Seonghwa stated simply. “I asked her.”

Her father was again left blinking. In theory he actually liked that answer as he did believe it was up to his daughter who she would marry. He wanted her to be happy and very much believed in her and trusted her judgement. Still, something about the haughty certitude of the man irked him somehow. Yes the man outranked him, yes he agreed with his assertion in theory, but could he not at least pretend to want his approval?

“While I am glad that you have made her opinion in the matter of such priority,” her father granted. “I would be remiss if I did not seek to ensure that your intentions toward my daughter were good and that you intend to care for her as the treasure that she is in my eyes. I could give her away to no one who would care for her with less devotion than I do.”

“She will never want for anything,” Seonghwa replied. “Every comfort of life will be hers. I can promise that any intellectual pursuit that catches her fancy she will have the means to pursue. I would not seek to put her into a box that demands she is anyone but who she wishes to be.”

“Do you love her?” Her father asked bluntly.

“Love is a complicated word,” Seonghwa waved away the world dismissively. “And love fades like a picked bloom. I would not reduce my feelings for her to something so trivial as love. I can promise to be devoted to making her happy for as long as we are both alive.”

“Perhaps I am a strange man,” Her father sighed. “But I have never considered love to be a trivial thing. I would say I love her mother still, though she has now been dead for longer than I had the privilege of having her as my helpmate and companion.”

“You are fortunate to have had such a love that lasted so long,” he commented.

“Pardon me for saying so,” her father couldn’t help but observe. “You seem quite young to be so jaded.”

“I am, perhaps older than I look and have long been accused of acting older than my years,” Seonghwa laughed wryly. “Just think of me as an old soul.”

“Whatever word you choose to put to it,” her father steepled his fingers and touched them to his chin. “If you can promise that you will do whatever is in your power to make my girl happy, I suppose I can give you my blessing.”

“Thank you,” he said as he stood up. “I know having your blessing would be a relief to her. I believe the marriage license will be available to be signed tomorrow.”

“So soon?” His eyebrows shot up at the news. “Is it really necessary to rush so? No wedding? No vows in a church.”

“I am not fond of churches,” he explained without really explaining anything at all. “But I would not object to a small ceremony here, perhaps tomorrow evening.”

“Not to repeat myself but, so soon?” Her father asked, his chest feeling slightly hollow. “I won’t even have time to get her a dress or gather her trousseau.”

“She needs nothing more than the clothes she has brought with her as far as I am concerned,” Seonghwa shrugged. “I will provide her with clothes that befit her new station. You can send any of her belongings she will want to my residence. I can provide anything she needs, but I cannot replace things of sentimental value.”

“I will send them along when I return home,” her father swallowed past a lump in his throat. “I do hope you won’t object to an occasional visit by her old father now and again.”

“You are welcome to visit our home,” Seonghwa said simply.

“Thank you,” her father bobbed as he also stood. “I am relieved to hear that, if I am honest.”

“You can come soon and assure yourself that your daughter is well,” Seonghwa offered in a tone that might be mistaken for kind as he opened the door to the main room, allowing her father to exit first before he closed the door behind them.

They found her waiting for them, keeping busy with her nose buried in a book, though she had clearly been keeping half an eye on the door, waiting for them to emerge. When she saw them step out, she closed the book on her lap and stood up, looking at them expectantly. Her father came to her, a smile on his face as he took her hands in his.

“Congratulations my beautiful girl,” he pulled her into a hug. “I shall miss having you at home to stop me from letting my work keep me up too late.”

“Maybe you will have to find a new wife who will make sure you will take care of yourself,” she suggested, only half joking.

“Perhaps,” he chuckled. “Or I can just listen to the spirit of your mother nagging at me and do as I know she would have told me to.”

“Mmm, so long as you actually listen,” she scolded lovingly.

“I will, I will,” he promised. “Would you perhaps have a private dinner with me this evening? One last meal, just the two of us.”

“Yes, of course,” she agreed. “I’ll go tell the kitchen that we will take our portions in your room, if that is alright.”

“Excellent,” he nodded. “I believe I will go now and wash the road off me before then. Give me an hour and then please join me.”

“Alright,” she replied, watching as her father straightened his jacket and headed out to ask after his room.

“Just one thing,” Seonghwa caught her arm as she started to go to find a servant to send word to the kitchen. “When you are done with dinner, come to my room. There is something I wish to discuss with you tonight, alone.”

She nodded in acknowledgement and he let her go, heading out of the surprisingly busy library to see to dinner.

It was late by the time she left her father, but most of the guests of the houseparty were still busy with dinner and the after meal socializing so there was no one in the halls to take note of her sneaking to Seonghwa’s room. She knocked lightly on the door, still half unsure if she really should have come. But, now with her father’s blessing, it seemed more certain than ever that she would actually become the Duchess of Harrington tomorrow. Seonghwa answered the door quickly, indicating that he had been eagerly awaiting her arrival. He shepherded her inside, closing the door firmly before he pulled her into his arms and taking her lips in a hungry kiss. He had been starving for the taste of her ever since that first kiss in the library, her taste and warmth teasing him with the mere memory.

After a moment he forced himself to pull back. He had to tell her tonight, give her the chance to back out now or decide to go forward, knowing what he was. With a strength and determination he had not been sure he had in him, he stepped away from her, leaving her blushing and dazed in the wake of his passion. She looked tempting and delicious standing there in his rooms, ready for the taking.

“I don’t mean to sound as though I object to this,” she said, touching her lips at the lingering sensation of the kiss, “But if this is why you asked me to come, I think it is best if we wait until tomorrow to do anything more.”

“It isn’t,” he admitted, shifting on his feet. If he could have blushed, he would have. “I want you to understand what it means to bind yourself to me. I want to know that you are choosing this life with me freely and with a full understanding.”

“If you are wondering if I intend to try and abstain from what I understand to be my wifely duties,” her eyes flicked to the tall, damask draped four-poster bed on the far side of the room. “I do not, but I would still ask to wait one more day.”

“I am comforted to know that, given how short a time we have known one another,” he said with a calm formality that did not match the lustful turmoil inside him. “I have a… special requirement of my wife.”

“If it’s about having an heir,” she tried to reason out what he must be trying to get at. “I have no reason to believe I would not be capable of providing you with one. I know that it is vital for men of title.”

“I cannot have children,” Seonghwa replied plainly.

“How…” her brow crinkled as she looked at him. “How do you know?”

“For the same reason that I have a special requirement that I would ask of you as my companion,” he stepped forward and took one of her hands and placed it on his chest. “Those who are like me are simply incapable of producing new life. Is it important to you to have children of your own?”

“To be honest,” she gave him a self effacing smile. “I had expected to never marry which means I long ago accepted the idea that I would never have a child. I remember losing my mother when she had my brother who followed her not long after she passed. It could perhaps be a blessing not to risk such a thing, though I am still not sure how you know that you cannot have children.”

“Should I show you what I would ask of you?” He questioned, taking half a step towards her.

“I suppose that is the simplest way for me to understand,” she agreed, nerves tingling with a mix of anxiety and anticipation.

“Come here,” he reached for her, taking her to stand in front of the unlit hearth. Two candelabras sat on either end, providing the room with flickering light from their tapers. Behind them, in a frame on the wall was a glinting mirror. Seonghwa positioned her to stand facing herself in the reflection and stood behind her, his dark eyes locking with hers as he put his hands on her shoulders. His fingers gently pulled the gauzy fabric of her fichu from where it was tucked in at her neckline, tossing it away and onto a nearby chair. She opened her mouth as if she was going to say something but seemingly thought better of it, instead biting her lip as she continued to watch him in the reflection.

“My precious, do you trust me?” He asked as he brushed the hair away from the side of her neck.

“Yes,” she replied. She couldn’t have told you why, but she did trust him.

“This might sting at first,” he instructed gently as he pulled her back towards him and leaned closer to her, breaking eye contact as he looked at the soft flesh of her neck. “But don’t pull away. I promise it will feel good.”

She didn’t reply or even nod, instead, simply allowed him to tilt her head to the side as she watched, almost as if she were seeing it done to someone else in that reflection. Seonghwa kissed the side of her neck with his cool, slightly dry lips, feeling the gushing pulse of her blood just below the soft veil of her skin. Her scent wafted off her, carried by the very vital heat of her body out to tease his nose. He knew she would taste sweet to him, like the finest candy. All human blood tasted delicious and was satisfying as it coated his mouth each time he fed. It was the only thing that truly held taste for him like this and each person tasted different, tasted like them. They carried the hint of what they ate and anything else they put in or on their bodies, which naturally made some more tempting and delicious than others, but they still tasted mostly of whatever their innate flavor was, He could smell someone and know largely how they would taste, the good and the bad; and she smelled good.

His tongue darted out, getting some small first taste. He had spent so much of the day with her, waiting for her, or mired in thoughts about her, he hadn’t yet taken the time to feed. The borrowed warmth and life he took with each feeding had diminished and the thought of getting it from her excited him. Opening his mouth, he set his teeth on her skin and looked up to meet her eyes which had gone slightly wide as she watched him… and still she did not pull away. Snaking one arm across her chest to hold her to him, he bit down, his fangs sinking into her neck with a fluid ease.

She stiffened and let out a small gasp at the sensation, the flash of pain. But almost as soon as she felt it, the pain vanished and was replaced by a strangely insistent pleasure that seemed to flow through her as if it could replace the blood he took. Her heart fluttered under his hand and her body ached for something, she knew not what.

As Seonghwa fed, watching as pleasure bloomed on her face like the evening primrose at dusk. Her gasp became a breathy moan as she leaned into him, giving herself over to him and the pleasure he bestowed upon her. She tasted as good as he had thought she would, perhaps better, and it took immense resolve to pull himself back when he had eaten enough. With a gentle brush of his tongue, the wounds closed, leaving only two small pink marks in their place. They would surely go unnoticed, or at least unremarked upon.

Her legs felt weak and she couldn’t help but sag in his arms as the pleasure faded, leaving her fuzzy headed and slightly dazed. Lifting her into his arms, he sat down in the large, old armchair, cradling her in his lap. He held her, murmuring to her softly as the feelings faded, leaving her mostly tired and slightly confused.

“What are you?” She finally asked.

“Vampire,” he whispered, as if the lower volume might make the word less threatening to hear.

“I didn’t think they were real,” she said back, continuing to let her head rest on his shoulder.

“Not everything they say is true,” He answered, giving her comforting pats and strokes.

“What is, then?” She asked, letting her head remain resting on his shoulder.

“I can see in near total darkness,” he began. “I am stronger and faster than I was before, long ago. I seem to be cursed to live forever like this and can quickly heal nearly any injury so long as my body is largely intact and my heart is not pierced by wood or silver. I cannot go in the sun or even the direct reflection of its light.”

“Does a bite feel as good for you as it does for those you bite?” Her question was honest, holding only the faintest hint of embarrassment at the half hidden admission.

“I only remember the feel of it from your side once and it is different,” he considered, thinking back to what he remembered of it. “But feeding from you gives me great pleasure if that is what you are wondering.”

“Then does that replace lying with me for you?” She sat up straighter, wanting to look at him as she asked. “Is that why you can’t have children?”

“No,” he smiled as he took one of her hands and gently guided it to rest on his very ready erection under the layers of his clothing. “I am quite capable of that as well, but we will save that for tomorrow… if you will still come.”

“Yes,” she said quietly.

“Then for tonight, give me one more kiss and then I will let you go on your way.” He reached for her, turning her face to his with his now warm hands cupping her soft cheeks. Her lips parted under his touch and she allowed his tongue to venture in to dance with hers. The faint tang of iron teased her taste buds as he kissed her and the brief thought that it was the taste of herself fluttered through her mind as inconsequentially as a fall leaf caught in a fall gust.

Breaking the kiss, Seonghwa stood them both up, giving her some small distance before taking her hand and guiding her to the door. He brushed a hand over her cheek, letting it trail down over the side of her neck where he had bitten it.

“Tomorrow I will make you mine for all the world to see,” he vowed before letting his hand drop and opening the door to the hall with a quiet click.

“Tomorrow,” she nodded once before stepping into the hall and slipping away before anyone could notice her presence.

Masterlist

#park seonghwa #seonghwa smut #ateez smut #ateez imagines #seonghwa imagines #kpop smut #kpop imagines #ateez fluff #vampire au #vampire #historical AU #historical fiction #smut

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haikyuuhimbosandhypebeasts · 3 years ago

Text

Heliotrope

Here’s my submission for the Forget Me Not collab for Anisylum! Please note the TW as it is VERY heavy. This piece is entirely SFW though!

Ship: Tsukishima Kei x GN! Reader Genre: Angst, but some fluff in some places. Word Count: 2.2k Trigger/Content Warnings: near death experience, hospitalization, COVID-19, vomit mention, amnesia after hospitalization, a suicide attempt is briefly mentioned, swearing because this is by me Sexy Sexy Masterlist: here!

Sand clung to skin and the harsher rays of light that usually cascaded and burnt you had died away into a fading tangerine glow. You perched comfortably on the sand, taking note of the undulating waves- they were like you in the sense that while you could crash down hard on the opposition, you would shy away in a fragile manner when faced with gentle treatment. Perhaps it was that you felt you weren’t worth such luxuries that you found it hard to make friends through your first few years of high school. Perhaps it was trying to push people away because you were afraid yet alarmingly aware of your mortality. Perhaps it was something else entirely, something you weren’t quite ready to come to terms with. What you did know was that you weren’t alone in the violent struggle through high school to make friends while you had your walls up. Next to you was someone you never thought you’d share your favorite place with; in any terms you found this boy appalling with his behavior. So appalling, you saw yourself in the way he closed himself off and cut those close with tongue lashings. You knew this only through another friend who took issue with him as you went to another school in an entire other prefecture. Words mauled their way out from your throat, breaking the silence between you and Tsukishima Kei. “I won’t ask you why you tried to do what you did today. But I will ask if there’s anyone you can talk to in your life.” You didn’t understand yourself. Why would you say that…? You don’t remember anything like this at all… His response was equally incoherent and odd. “Okay, but I’ll kill you if you go back on it.” When you opened your mouth to reply to him, the ground around you suddenly reared up like a defensive serpent. A pillar of beach sand forced its way from the ground into your throat, suffocating and trapping your lungs in permanent fullness. You could only gag and cry, unable to even see Tsukishima past the torrent of sand breaking into your body with the intent to kill you slowly…

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

You woke up once more in that dull grey-blue and white room with the only sounds you could properly process being the beep of a heart monitor somewhere behind you. You had managed to halfway curl into somewhat resembling the fetal position, but something kept making you cough and gag as your throat was caught. You move your hand to whatever is catching and about to make you vomit- a tube. This tube, you followed, was in your nose good and solid, and you felt it deep enough in your sinuses you didn’t dare try to pull it out. Moving your hands felt foreign like you had forgotten how to process being human and natural motions like that. You testingly ran your right hand down the tube, taking care to not tug and cause discomfort. Your other hand came to rest on your face. It was slick from sweat, likely due to whatever the fuck you just had a dream about. At the corner of your lips was another tube and when you followed where it led it was taped to the side of your face. You lick your lips and manage to almost fall into a haze until you see movement for the first time in what feels like forever. To be fair, it is one of the most jarring appearances of a person you’ve seen in your whole life to what you can recall. A person in a full-body hazmat suit enters your room through a door you hadn’t even processed was there, then greets you as casually as they can through a plague-resistant suit. “Hey there.” You squint at them. Yeah, you have no fucking idea who this cosplayer in a hospital is, and while you should probably be polite, you feel like you got ran over not once but twice. You try to speak to them, but you can’t. You don’t have the air for it, it’s like you have no control over your breathing. Clarity washes over you. You’re hospitalized. These are tubes because you were asleep and weren’t breathing or eating right. The realization must show on your face because your nurse speaks up again. “Don’t worry about me too much, we’re just gonna check your vitals and if you feel up to it, we can see how you do without the ventilators.” You try to manage out a “whoopee”, which unimpressively comes out as some form of odd wheeze, and your nurse begins by grabbing the blood pressure cuff covered in protective plastic while they wear a sympathetic expression.

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Once you were off the ventilator, the nurse informed you about what had happened. Apparently, an ambulance was called when you were unresponsive and nearly blue in the face, sitting in front of your refrigerator with the door open. You were diagnosed with a severe case of COVID-19, something you had feared would wipe you out entirely and turn you past tense since its spread in your country. This fear wasn’t entirely irrational, either- you were immunocompromised and have been since you were a child. You grew up with being careful around others and hearing of a highly contagious new strain was something that filled you with so much paranoia you seriously considered quitting your current career and instead adopting a hermit lifestyle while completing college at home. Of course, such a thought was squashed by the slowly impending thought of rent, bills, due dates for assignments, and your bitch of a manager who lets people get close to you without a mask on. It’s not a big deal, (y/n), she once said to you. You wanted to shoehorn some tubes down her throat just to survive, see how that felt. It didn’t help that human resources wouldn’t listen to your complaint. They brushed it off since you were just a lowly sandwich maker at a chain sub place. If you had enough scraped together for lawyers right about now, they’d be totally fucked, you thought to yourself. Even more jarring is that it seemed you lost a handful of memories while in the hospital. You could remember basic outlines of people in your head- your very tall and incredibly testy roommate, your younger sister who wore glasses and was much smaller than you, and… a foggy memory of a man with messy black bedhead who had an arm wrapped around your shoulder. It hurt to think too hard. The doctor soon came by to give you test results, to check your vitals again, and to look over your records. He was a bit terse, but you can’t make the best judgments of people when they’re in plastic suits. “We’ll need to get you cleaned up by tomorrow and you should be able to head home,” he’d said, looking over your chart. You didn’t necessarily feel too ecstatic about your trip to your apartment. You remembered your roommate and how finicky he was, and you dreaded for him to belittle you over your condition. You dreaded it enough to even feel a knot of anxiety form in your stomach, wrenched in between your ribs without the intent of ever coming out. “We’ve already contacted uh…” The doctor squints at the screen, “Tsukishima… to come to pick you up tomorrow at noon. We’ll have care instructions printed out. You still have to quarantine for about a week more since your immune system isn’t at its most prime currently.” You agreed, it probably wasn’t a good recovery idea to make a couple of sammies for the public while you were recovering from a virus that had you intubated. He seemed grateful that you were lucid and cooperative, at least.

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

You, predictably, didn’t sleep well after being in a medically induced haze for several days. Even more predictably, you found yourself awake from anxieties of the future. Tomorrow was only a few hours away, and then you’d be home. Home… what did that look like for you? The fog in your head was thick initially. You do remember coming home from classes at a different time than Tsukishima, how when you entered he’d often be reading over homework. You remembered how sometimes he would be in the shower and the scent of cheap green apple soap filled the living room connected to it. You remembered… You remembered holding his thin frame in your arms on a bridge, pulling him back from oncoming traffic. You remember how you both collapsed and how the cold autumn air stung your lungs. You remember wide golden eyes staring back at you, as tears slowly filled them, then his normally impartial voice breaking as he hiccuped a sob, “Why? Why did you have to be in Sendai right now?” You felt tears stinging your eyes and a lump form in your throat. You found yourself in distress of your new emotions. Maybe… maybe you can sleep this horrible feeling off. Maybe this fog in your head where you need to know how deep your relationship ran will lift once you get genuine sleep.

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

Finally, a knock on the door encouraged you to rouse from your sleeping state. And eloquently, you spoke your true feelings in your sleep-deprived state, “No.” You hear the doorknob turn and the door open. There’s a lack of a greeting from your nurse nor a quick apology from your doctor for interrupting your sleep. Actually, if you’re gonna use logic, what nurse or doctor is gonna wake up their peacefully sleeping patient in recovery? Thought of it being your doctor or nurse practically evaporates once the intruder has a seat on your bed. They still haven’t spoken, so now you’re remembering what tricks of self-defense you learned online to give this person a proper ass-kicking for getting way too close. You crack your hazy eyes open to get a look at where they’re sitting and you stop dead in your thoughts as wary gold eyes peer down at you. Your eyes widen out of reflex and butterflies bloom from your stomach at seeing what you now remember is your roommate. “I knew you were awake,” He said, a wry smile on his face. His expression was betrayed by his concerned gaze, though, “Wow, you look like shit.” You don’t know entirely why past his comment feeling not as an insult, but almost as a compliment, but you smile a little, “I feel like it too.” His expression doesn’t change. He runs a large calloused hand through the tresses of your hair, though, as if to soothe you. The doctor walked in and apologized for interrupting the moment between the two of you, unsure if it was something serious. You told him it was nothing because that’s what it was to you.

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

The car ride wasn’t filled with the snarky banter you had been expecting. Instead, there was plentiful comfortable silence as Tsukishima drove. You didn’t know whether to be grateful or not for the silence- you still felt quite feeble and needed way more bed rest before you could get ready to do anything for anyone. Despite the wholesome silence, you felt those round gold eyes focus on you occasionally. And even though it was comfortable, you felt a melancholy twinge in the atmosphere as he inspected you. “I know you’ll give me shit for this… but you look like you’ve lost weight. I uh…” He gripped the steering wheel harder. You glanced over at him. A shade of baby pink dusted itself across his cheekbones and nose as he focused on the road. “I’m worried about you.” Fuck, there go those butterflies again. Something in you pushed to help- to comfort- but the logical side of your brain brought you to a halt. You’d weighed it in your head a couple of times. You two act closer than just roommates, and it’s not entirely clear how or why you got up to this point… but you had a solid hunch you might be dating this guy. Maybe? You closed your eyes and rested your head on the car door as you thought. You remember how sand clung to your body and you could hear the roaring of the sea. How you watched Tsukishima focus on the waves to regulate his breathing. You vaguely remember your words breaking away from your throat and catching the salty sea air. “Why don’t we stay together?” His lanky body stiffened, then he looked at you with disbelief. “... you wouldn’t want that. I’m fucking annoying and mean.” Your eyes creased with familiarity at the line. “Yeah? So am I. We can butt heads until we balance each other out.” It looked like he wanted to cry, but his pride wouldn’t let him cry in front of you anymore today. “I won’t ask you why you tried to do what you did today. But I will ask if there’s anyone you can talk to in your life,” you reached a careful hand over to rub his back, “Kei, if there isn’t, let me be that person.” You felt how his breath shuddered. To save his pride, you looked to the ocean and watched its hypnotic movements. After a few deep, shaky inhales and exhales, he replied. “I don’t understand why you’re being nice to me. Why you didn’t let me die. I will probably come back to this point in my life several times and you’re trying to say you’ll put up with it?” There was some bite to his tone, he was trying so hard to put up walls when he had no will to do so at the moment. How long had he pushed others away from being close? If he was anything like you… it was since grade school. “Let me be your support for when you’re in pain,” You tried once more, “I’m stubborn as shit so I know I won’t give up on you.” “You’re not getting it, you fucking idiot. I’m always in pain, that’s just been life,” he snapped bitterly, glaring at you now. “Then I guess I’ll be by your side forever.” You’d said it without thinking that day. It was like the ocean grew quieter with your words as if even Poseidon became interested in your proposition. You felt heat rise to your face at the implications of what you said. He stared at you with raised eyebrows and the slightest hint of a champagne pink hue on his face. He averted his eyes almost in a panic and watched the ocean again, suddenly very aware of his own expression. You carefully peered over at him again to see he’d only grown redder, now mirroring you. “You… don’t mean that,” He said as if it were a statement. “I do. You’re a good person inside, but you’re defensive and hurt. I’ve seen that from you in the past and I’ve learned more about you today. I want to be there for you as long as you’ll have me. Will you let me?” He picked at the sand as if thinking it over for a moment. There was a brief pause as waves rolled over each other in front of both of you, the sound of their impact being the only thing to grace your ears. Finally, his cynical tone returned as he regained some form of his prior composure. “Okay, but I’ll kill you if you go back on it.”

╞═════𖠁𐂃𖠁═════╡

“Hey. (Y/n), we’re home,” Tsukishima gently shook your shoulder to rouse you from your sleep. You opened your eyes slowly and groaned out a swear. Tsukishima felt a hesitant smile creep up his face as he opted to just try and maneuver you into your shared home himself. He remembered how waking up was hard for you. Once he opened the passenger door you nearly fell out onto the pavement, only saved by your seatbelt and the giant himself. Your face fell awkwardly into his hip, and you grumbled at the interruption to your sleep. “You sleep like the fucking dead, christ,” he mused out loud and sat you up so it was safe to unbuckle your seatbelt. He urged you to get up more- it wasn’t that you were heavy, he just really wasn’t in the place to lift you at the moment and didn’t even know how to go about it. Regardless, he held you up by a shoulder and crouched to make it easier for you both to walk to the apartment. In some part of your sleep, you began to speak, “Kei.” He kept his gaze trained forward at the front door and struggled to grab his keys from his pocket, “Yes?” “Are we married?” Kei dropped his keys, then shot you a look of concern, “... No…?” He had to hold himself back from saying not yet, unsure of what you were getting to. He reached down to grab his keys and he focused back on the door. “Why are you asking?” He unlocked the door and threw it open, getting you both inside finally. He set you on your couch and sat on the floor in front of you. You looked at him suspiciously, now roused from your sleep. The only thing on your mind was that dream- it had to be a memory! You refused to understand it as anything but that. You prodded, “On the beach, I told you I’d be by your side forever.” He seemed to weigh your thoughts heavily in his mind, “... did you forget about us?” You didn’t expect what felt like cold water to hit your back so hard and so suddenly at his suggestion. He didn’t seem hurt at the thought, instead, he found himself occupied with your reaction. His hand reached out to rub the side of your face as you looked at him with wide, guilty eyes. “Don’t worry about it. Your sister told me this kind of thing might happen…” His calloused thumb traced over your lip, and he offered a smile the best he could, “I’ll try to explain it.” Tsukishima explained that what you remembered happened about four years ago and you had been living together ever since. He motioned to photos on the walls of the two of you and people who you could just hardly remember. When you rested your index finger on an individual who was much scrawnier than most of the people there, sitting on the bench with you and watching you speak with admiration, Tsukki put his hand over yours. “That’s your sister. She took most of these pictures, but she usually sits next to you when you have a space available.” You nodded and closed your eyes. You began to remember summers you spent with her in childhood and her yelling at you to do your homework when you bothered her as you got older. You smiled a bit. Once your eyes opened again, your finger traveled to possibly the tallest person in the room. He was big, but you remembered something warm and comfortable about that man… “That’s Kuroo. You both went to the same high school and you were in his friend group.” You both went on like that for a while until you’d cleared everyone in that picture. Once you did, you sat down to think over the new cluster of names you’d picked up. “... when you promised you’d be here with me forever, did you remember what I promised to you?” Kei asked as he sat next to you. “No… I just remember what happened on the beach up until you threatened to kill me if I took back my promise.” “Oh, right. I was going through that phase,” He seemed displeased with the comment. You found it almost funny but refrained from laughing for his sake. He continued, in a quieter tone, “I promised that if something happened to you, that I would always be here for you, too. That I’d get you back into shape.” His larger hand gently entwined with yours, “... so if you remember that promise and you’ll have me, I’d love to marry you once you get your memories back. … If you want to. I-” You cut him off with a hug to his side, trembling a bit as your emotions got the better of you. You smiled up at him. “I can’t promise I’ll be better fast, and I still feel like several trucks ran through me at once… but I’m happy,” you managed out. You didn’t know what your face looked like right about now and you didn’t have the nerve to look up into Kei’s glasses to check your reflection. He wrapped his arms around you in return, pressing the side of his face against your head. “Please, don’t give me an answer yet. You’re not in the right mental state. I’ll wait for you until you’re ready.” You ran your hands up and down his back. You weren’t exactly afraid of remembering things, but you were quite anxious for what tomorrow might bring for both of you. Despite that, you felt safe recovering in his arms, and you were sure you’d feel that way for a long time.

Have a link to the sexy sexy masterlist down here as well. Unless you’re done reading, then have a good day. But if you’re not there’s some fire stuff in that bad boy.

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behindheremeraldeyes · 3 years ago

Text

sasusaku month 2021

day 3 - nighttime

title: lost inside the habit

summary: It’s the middle of the night and Sakura can’t sleep. Her thoughts are clouded by an ugly feeling she had never felt before and Sasuke is the only one who can do something about it. It’s his fault that she can’t sleep, after all.

Rated K [ffnet] [Ao3] .

There was a strange heat polling inside her stomach that made her entire body burn. Her heart-beat was beginning to sound too loud in her ears, and no matter how many times she had already tried to close her eyes, sleep refused to come. She had been tossing and turning for at least 3 hours now, stubbornly battling against the urge to get up and do something in order to save what was left of her night.

It will pass, she kept telling herself, knowing very well that was a lie. It was not going to pass. Not anytime soon, at least. She sighed for the seventh time— but who was counting, right?— and tried to appeal to her logical side to free herself from that inner turmoil.

The shinobi world was at peace, her patients were well and her loved ones were safe and sound, probably enjoying the warmth of their beds at that exact moment. Naruto’s dream was getting closer with every passing day, her sensei was doing a great job as the Hokage and Gaara had agreed to expand her recent project to the Wind country.

Nothing was wrong, except—well— everything was.

The air inside her lungs felt heavier than all the boulders she has crushed with her bare hands during the war, and as soon as her lips started to tremble, Sakura knew she was losing it.

The eight sight came. Fuck, she muttered.

She used her forearm to cover her eyes as she bit the insides of her cheeks. It was way too late for her to be awake, let alone to be so filled with such unexplainable rage— or maybe not so unexplainable as she would like to admit.

It was all because of those stupid words. Words that could mean nothing, but since they came from his lips, could also mean everything. How could he say those things about a stranger? How could he ruin her day like that after talking about someone else with such easy words?

How could he compliment a girl he had just met when all she ever had were the recurrent “you're annoying”s? That jerk.

Though Sakura has always considered herself to be above such things, experiencing those feelings for the first time was a lot harder than she had originally expected. Jealousy hurt. It stung her heart like multiple needles, and the simple memory of that fleeting moment was enough to make her feel another projectile penetrating deeper into her core. It made her disgusted to even think of him, and more than that, it made her feel ugly inside.

She should be better than this. She’s a highly ranked medical ninja and shouldn’t let those feelings corrupt her like that. If anything, she should be happy for him, right? Happy because, after so long, he was finally being able to interact with different people and move on with his life.

Sasuke deserves to be happy. However and with whomever he chooses to. And if she really was his friend, she should be happy for him.

If she loved him— truly loved him, then she should be happy for him.

But she was not. She just couldn’t. Instead of happy, Sakura was mad, resentful and begrudging.

She was ashamed of herself.

Ashamed for not wanting to share a free and independent person with a world of his own choosing simply because she somehow felt entitled to a position that has never been hers to begin with. In all of those years he was away from the village and she was trying to get him back, it never crossed her mind that, perhaps, just that didn’t make her special at all. She was his teammate and friend, sure, and even the only girl he has ever spoken to for over 10 minutes straight, but there was never any guarantee that she would ever become more than that.

Just because she was the only one by his side, it didn’t mean she would be the one if he ever opened himself to those kind of experiences.

Sakura had no right over his love life. She had no advantage or extra points for being who she is.

His heart is not a prize to be conquered at the end of a game. There’s no winner, but she was certainly the loser.

Her cheeks turned red and angry tears were threatening to spill from her eyes at that moment. She was feeling like a spoiled little girl, crying in order to solve her problems. She had to get herself together. He has always done whatever he wanted and there was no reason it would be any different when it came to the matter of his heart.

He leaves whenever he wants to and returns whenever he pleases.

And as always, she simply accepts it all. It’s their own routine— an old habit which she refuses to abandon. Sakura has settled into that kind of life of waiting for him to make the next decision, and that was fine until she realized that, maybe, the one decision she’s been waiting for him to make might not involve her.

In fact, it might even take her away from his life.

The stubborn tears finally fell down the side of her face, and her eyes widened. It became harder to breathe at the idea of losing him forever and it was as if her chest was being crushed. Her fingers were now clutching the covers until her knuckles turned white, and the turmoil was now stuck in her throat, making her sick.

And if she didn't do something— anything about it, she was going to throw up.

Without thinking twice, she threw the covers away and stood up from her bed. She didn’t know exactly what she was doing, but before she could convince herself otherwise, the pinkette was already jumping through her window. With her bare feet, she was running through rooftops, the winter night gracing her exposed skin. Her heart was beating faster now, adrenaline rushing through her system, and as she jumped around, her eyes could already see her destination from afar.

Her cheeks were burning due to the icy breeze, but she didn’t care. Sakura had to get to him. She had to listen to a different voice from the one hunting her thoughts.

Once she got to the Uchiha compound, she ran towards his house, only stopping at the threshold. She was not thinking straight anymore for, in the dead of the night, she started banging on his door, calling his name, and had he had any neighbors, they would all be cursing her at that moment.

“Sasuke-kun!” She screamed, her heavy fist almost making a hole in his door. Her voice was rushed, and she could see the white haze escaping from her lips. “I need to talk to you! Sasuke-kun!”

Her heart was beating as fast as she was knocking, and for a moment, she decided to stop banging to see if her ears would capture something coming from inside the house. Nothing. The only sound she could hear came from the night wind and that was not what she needed.

Her emerald eyes glared at the door, a pout taking over her lips. It was impossible for a skilled shinobi like him not to hear all that noise. She was growing anxious and even considered the idea of invading his house through the window, however; she knew better than to believe that catching him by surprise like that would be a good idea. It was Uchiha Sasuke’s home, after all. She could bet anything that he had traps all over the place. Breaking in was definitely out of question.

She shook her head and decided that it was too late to start changing her original plans— not that she has any plan at all. The pinkette raised her fist, then, ready to start knocking all over again. When she was about to move her hand, though, the door suddenly swung open, only to reveal the alarmed figure of the man she had been looking for.

“Sasuke-k—”

“What!? What is it?! Are you okay!?”

He sounded breathless, his mismatched eyes scanning her from head to toe, as if he was trying to find any injury or any trace of blood. His dark locks were a mess, and his lips were parted in awe. Now that she was thinking about it, showing up like that was probably not the best of the ideas if she didn’t want him to get all worked up. There was really no need for all that, but there was no way he would know it. Especially when she was the one who started all that noise to disturb his sleep.

She would have to do something about that, too.

“Calm down, Sasuke-kun, I’m fine.” She sighed, her head now starting to throb. “No one is hurt or anything.”

“Huh?” His brows arched in confusion, his lips still slighted trembling until they formed a frown. “Then what’s wrong, Sakura?”

Everything. “Nothing. I—“

“Nothing!? Tch, bullshit. If you’re here in the middle of the night, almost breaking my door, then something must be off. Is it something with Naruto?”

“No, he’s fine.”

“Kakashi, then?”

“No, he’s okay, too. I—“

“Are you sure you are okay?”

“I’ve said I’m fine already, didn’t I?!”

With every question, she could feel her anxiety building up inside of her. Of all the things that could have happened that night, being practically interrogated by him was not something she had imagined at all. And whether she liked to admit it or not, that was probably better than what she had originally planned— which was, again, nothing at all.

“Sakura, then, why—“

“Can you just shut up for a minute and let me talk!?”

Her heart was beating too fast inside her chest now, and she realized she had no control of the situation anymore. Sakura was just there, growing mad for no reason at all, and he was also growing slightly irritated because it was the middle of the night and she had just woken him up so she could literally stand there making no sense.

God, what a night.

Silence settled between them for a couple of seconds and her green eyes started to inspect him out of habit. His breathing pattern was slower now, his eyes still trying to read her, and Sakura was starting to feel overwhelmed by that. She had to say something. Anything or else he was going to think she was insane— and maybe she was because she didn’t really know what the fuck she was doing there anymore.

A new sigh escaped her lips, and she closed her eyes for a second, trying to recollect what was left of her. She looked at him, then, and took a deep breath, the cold air reaching her lungs. “Look, no one is hurt. The village is safe, and for all I know, all of our friends are sleeping safely right now.”

“Then why—“

“Why am I standing at your door at such stupid hours and making a fuss for nothing?” She asks, rhetorically. “Honestly, I don’t even know, but here I am.”

He stopped for a moment, his face now holding a very confused expression. His fingers reached for the bridge of his nose and he closed his eyes for a moment, the adrenaline from earlier finally wearing off. He was annoyed, she could tell. Still, at least the interrogatory was over.

“Look, Sakura… I’m going to ask you something and I promise your answer won’t change the way I see you as the respectable shinobi you are.” He stopped for a second, tension now building up inside of her. “Are you drunk?”

Her brows knitted in confusion, and his question took her completely by surprise. She had no idea of what kind of expression was spread across her face right now, but she could bet it was a strange one. He couldn’t really be serious.

“What?” she asked, not really believing he was asking her such a thing.

“It’s a completely normal question. Did you go out for drinks with the Godaime?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Are you sure?”

"I’m not drunk, Sasuke-kun!” She yelled at him, her red cheeks now puffed in anger. She clenched her fists, but loosed them after a second. It was late and cold, and damn, she should’ve thought properly before crossing the village wearing only one of her father’s large t-shirts and some fluffy trousers. That was not working at all. “Can I come in?”

When she asked him that, it was like something clicked inside of him and he realized that they were, indeed, in the middle of a winter night. Whatever was happening, they could do it inside his house, where it was clearly more comfortable. “Aah, of course. Come in.”

“Thanks.”

They entered his house, then, and for she was already used to it, the pinkette ended up leading him towards his living room. She sat on his couch, and with no ceremony, he sat next to her, their knees practically brushing. He was close enough so she could feel some heat radiating from him, and somehow that offered her some kind of comfort.

Of course it did. He is Sasuke-kun, the boy who has been holding her heart for at least a decade now. The same boy who can make her smile and cry with a single smile— or the lack of one— and the one who has dared to compliment a girl in front of her. Ugh, not that again.

“Can I get you some tea?”

“N-No, I’m fine, thank you.” She bit her lower lip, the ugly jealousy starting to bite her insides again. “Sasuke-kun, I need to ask you something.”

“Hn. I’m listening.” And indeed he was. He has always been a good listener, and perhaps that’s why it has always been so easy for her to talk to him. Just being with him has always been enough for her, but now— now that it was late and she knew there was a chance that he could, eventually, be taken away from her— it just wasn’t. Not anymore.

She had to get it out of her chest. No matter the risks, she had to be honest, and whatever he decided to do with that honesty, she would have to accept it.

“The thing is… I don’t want to lose you, Sasuke-kun.” She bit her lip, her cheeks growing warmer. “Not again.”

His eyes widened, and she noticed the way his expression slowly melted into a softer one. His lips were pressed in a thin line, and he was looking at her with all the tenderness in the world, as if he immediately understood her. “I'm not running away from the village again, Sakura. I won’t—“

“Not like that.” She spoke, and she could feel her cheeks growing redder in embarrassment. “I’m not worried about you leaving the village again, Sasuke-kun. I’m just scared that, when you decide to stay… It won’t be with me.”

Though she had decided to be straightforward about the whole thing, Sakura didn’t think she could use any other words to describe her feelings at that moment. That was the best she could muster at that moment, and that would have to do.

Her eyes were looking straight at him, carefully searching for something— anything that told her he had understood the real meaning behind her words. She could feel that her heart was about to burst out at any moment now. Her hands were shaking on her lap, and with every second of torturing silence, she could feel her senses screaming at her to run away and never look back.

Perhaps, if she ran home at that moment, he could go back to bed and pretend it was all a strange dream. Perhaps she could try to convince him she was, in fact, wasted after a night out with her master. Perhaps—

A sudden warmth enveloped her small hands, and when she looked down at them, she saw his big, calloused palm over them. His skin was warm and his thumb carefully started to caress the back of her hand in circular movements. Her eyes widened at that, and when she lifted her head to look at him, his eyes were already on hers.

They were so deep at that moment— so delicate and caring that she just couldn’t bring herself to look away from them. His eyes have always been her favorite things about him, and even after everything, she still found them the most gorgeous things in the entire world.

“You’ve always had the strangest concerns, Sakura…” He spoke softly, as his lips slightly curled upwards. “How could it not be with you?”

Her eyes were tearing up now, her lips twisting into a pout. A wave of relief was spreading across her body, and she knew she was really close to start ugly-crying in front of him. “It couldn’t?”

“Of course not.” He squeezed her hands. “As long as you don’t change your mind, then—“

She cut his words before he could finish his sentence as she pressed her cold lips against his warm ones. It was an impulse she couldn’t control, and she was glad for that. After years of holding back and imagining how actually kissing him would feel like, there she was, making the first move and making sure he knew there was no changing her mind.

His lips, as she realized, were soft as she had always pictured them to be, and she couldn’t help the sparks that took over her at such simple contact. She had dreamed about that for most of her life, and once she felt his hand cupping her cheek as he started to kiss her back, Sakura realized that it was all worth it in the end.

She was smiling against his lips, and though chaste, that was probably the most intimate moment they’ve ever shared. Once they parted, she noticed that his hand remained on her cheek, and she couldn’t help but lean against it. Her eyes were holding a smile of their own, and even if her life depended on it, she didn’t think she could hide the happiness radiating from inside of her core.

Not from him. Not at that moment.

“I won’t ever change my mind.” She said, eagerly.

“Hn, that’s good to hear.” He said, caressing her cheek one more time before letting his hand slide from her face.

“And you better not change yours either, Sasuke-kun!”

“Where did you even get this stupid idea from, anyway?”

“Eh?” Her eyes widened, a new blush taking over her cheeks. How on earth was she going to explain to him that she woke him up and kissed him in the middle of the night just because he complimented a random girl the other day when the whole team 7 was together having lunch? He would never stop mocking her if she told him that. “No particular reason…”

“Tch.” He scoffed. “Honestly, you’re spending too much time with that Dobe.”

“And whose fault is that?” She crossed her arms across her chest, a mocking tone lacing her words.

“Hn, you might have a point.” He nodded, accepting her words, but choosing not to comment on them. “Are you feeling better now?”

“A lot. I was going insane back home, and I just had to do something about it. Sorry for waking you up in the middle of the night.”

“It's fine. Whenever you need."

“Hey, don’t get used to me just coming in and kissing you!” She blushed madly, finally remembering her boldest move.

“Your words, not mine.”

“Shannarou.” She sighed, her heart a lot lighter now. Anxiety was no longer torturing her from the inside, and the green monster of jealousy was now silenced in the depths of her mind.

In the end, Sakura was glad for doing what she did. She was proud for finally taking a stand and not just keep waiting for a magical moment that might never come.

She took the first step towards a new future filled with possibilities, and though she didn’t really know what was to come next, at least, she knew for sure that, in the end, they would be together. And for the moment, that was enough.

fin.

------

a/n: so, why not write a jealous Sakura every now and then, right? I had a lot of fun writing this one and I can really imagine that pink-haired dork being all worked up over something like that XD Also, this was inspired by that song “Stay with me”, which is originally a Japanese song, but I can’t stop listening to Caitlin Myers’ version of it! Anyways, enough of me. Hope you’ve enjoyed it, and please, leave me a comment with your thoughts!

#sasusaku #sasusaku month 2021 #sasusaku fanfiction #sasusaku fanfic #ss month 21 #myssfics

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disgruntledspacedad · 4 years ago

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in defense of Din’s subdued reaction to losing the kid...

gif by @quantam-widow

I know we were all thinking it. We got a 2 second reaction shot to the destruction of the Razor Crest (may she forever rest in peace), but then, Grogu gets taken, and... nothing?

What the fuck, Din? we all protest. That’s your baby on that ship! Don’t you care? Scream, curse, kick a rock, cry, make a fist, something!!

I will acknowledge that so far, the show has been excellent with giving us emotional payoff, am I right? I mean, just today we got Din laughing, twice. Twice in a row. I honestly never thought we’d see that. There have been so many excellent, precious soft!Din moments this season, and they all feel deliciously earned.

So, from a meta POV, I guess I’m saying that I have faith in the writers to get it right, and in Pedro to deliver. Duh.

In universe, though, I think it’s fair to point out the obvious - that Din is a pretty reserved guy. He’s much more of a thinker than a feeler. He’s used to keeping things bottled up, and I would even argue that his life often depends on his ability to dissociate from his emotions. Din’s entire journey so far has been about how one little baby yodito shakes his worldview to its very foundations. He’s getting there, but it’s a slow process.

And also, consider this - we haven’t seen Din alone yet, not since Grogu was taken. For a guy who lives a guarded life literally encased in fucking armor, any display of emotion is going to be carefully protected until he’s in private.

But anyway, Din is detached, rational, a little emotionally constipated, and definitely comfortable in a stressful situation. A true ISTP if you ask me (yeah, I know you didn’t, but whatever). Often, it seems that these cool headed, logical types who have never ruffled a feather over anything in their lives are the least adept at handling genuine fear. In other words, when panic does strike, it strikes them hard.

And guys, Din was definitely panicking during this episode.

He’s clearly unsettled from the jump - that outburst of “dank farrik!” in the cockpit sells it, and his distress only becomes more obvious from there. Talking out loud, trying to convince himself that the best thing for Grogu is for him to be trained as a Jedi. Reminding himself of the creed. His overt caution as they approach the seeing stone. His impatience, “Are you seeing anything??”

Then there’s the effects of long term stress. Sure, a bounty hunter in the outer rim doesn’t exactly live an easy life, but Din is definitely used to the drama being on his terms. Compare Din’s body language in the opening scene of season one to when Boba confronts him in chapter fourteen. You can just feel the anxiety, the weariness, the frustration. Din has been on the run for months now, constantly looking over his shoulder, sleeping with one eye open. Notice how he even startles at Fennec’s voice? Season one Din would never have given that much away, regardless of the situation. Long term stress has clearly taken a toll on him.

So we have unsettled, stressed out Din in an emotionally charged situation. He’s exhausted, he’s scared, he’s desperate. This scenario is a recipe for even the most level-headed of adrenaline junkies to loose their cool, and that’s exactly what happens to Din. He panics, and he makes some pretty big fuckups because of it. Leaving Grogu unprotected, twice. Trying three different times to break through that “force field,” even when he knew he couldn’t. Dropping that jetpack and then just forgetting about it (I know we were all screaming about that one, or at least, I was).

So, fear is a positive feedback loop. Those neurotransmitters that do us good in a bad situation - raising heart rate, narrowing focus, shunting blood to the muscles - can also be detrimental if we get too high of a dose - tachypnea and tachycardia, inability to think critically and see the big picture, lack of blood and oxygen to the brain. Epinephrine, in particular, even inhibits the laying down of new memory pathways. In other words, stress leads to poor performance, and poor performance leads to more stress, which leads to... you get the idea.

Then, in the middle of all this chaos, they fucking blast the Razor Crest.

More epinephrine, more cortisol, more stress.

By the end of it all, Din is a fucking shitstorm of stress hormones and pent up emotions. Notice how he seems to be on autopilot in the immediate aftermath, robotically scanning the ashes of the Crest for anything that might be left intact. Notice how empty his voice is when he says, “the child is gone.” This is a dead man walking. Din has nothing left. His whole life has just gone up in smoke, and he can do nothing about it.

Guys, Din is holding onto his sanity by a fucking thread in this scene. “The child is gone,” he says, like he’s reminding himself, grounding himself in his shitty reality. He’s stunned.

And helpless. There’s literally nothing he can do for Grogu. He has no ship, no credits, no resources, nothing to bargain with, nothing to offer. Din literally cannot allow himself the luxury of feelings right now. He’s just got to focus on surviving this very shitty day.

Then, Boba Fett upholds his end of the deal, and suddenly, Din has something to hold onto. An ally, a badass friend, some hope. I don’t think Boba shows Din that chain code in order to verify his claim on the armor - he’s already wearing it, for godssake. I think Boba shows him the code in order to catch Din’s attention - hey friend, I know you’re hurting, but I’m a man of my word. When I make a vow, I keep it. Let’s regroup and go find your kid.

And Din would totally latch onto that. A fighting chance? Din fucking leaps at it. There’s a job to do. A kid to save. All of those stress hormones are going to keep on stewing, because Din has never really come down from his adrenaline high.

It’s like this in real life, too. There isn’t time to be afraid. There isn’t time to be sad, or second-guess, or say, oh how terrible, or wonder what if it doesn’t work? There’s just you and the job, and if you are the only thing standing between life and death, you will put everything else aside and do what you have to do, for as long as you have to do it.

And that’s where Din is at this moment. He’s running on the fumes of his adrenaline, all tempered focus, all strategy and no bullshit.

Emotional shock, my therapist buddy calls it. Apparently, it’s normal. Expected, even.

But guys, the fallout of this kind of crazy ass adrenaline high is insanely intense. I’m talking collapse to the floor, legs won't hold you, trembling, crying so hard you sling snot, shuddering breaths, stare dead-eyed and spent at the ceiling because you’re just too wiped out to even sleep kind of intense.

And then, after the breakdown comes the angst. The detailed thinking. The oh god, what if this had happened, or, should I have done that instead? It seems like every emotion that gets put on the back burner in the moment comes back to bite you with twofold intensity when all is said and done.

In other words, Din is definitely going to feels some things .A lot of very intense things. A reckoning is coming, my dudes. Trust me. It’s just not quite here yet.

That being said, here’s what I can expect from Din going forward:

Just like he’s is slow to acknowledge his growing parental feelings for Grogu, I think Din’s going to be slow at processing his grief at Grogu’s loss. In the next episode, he’s got plenty to distract him - getting together his hit team to take back the kid and coordinating an attack on the empire.

However, I do think we’ll get a slow moment with Din, probably sometime at the beginning of next week’s episode if the pattern holds. I doubt it’s the full-blown breakdown that we’re all needing, but I’m willing to bet money that we’ll see Din grappling with the fact that his kid is gone. I also think that badass beskar murder machine Din from chapter three will resurface. Stress and desperation make us do irrational things, and anger is one of the stages of grief that Din will inevitably have to work through (I think he’s flickering between denial and bargaining for now).

But then, after Din gets Grogu back? I think that’s we’ll have our big, dearly earned emotional payoff.

For one thing, Din won’t be able to deny his feelings anymore. He wants to keep this kid, it’s so very obvious. Losing him just forces it all to the forefront.

And then the relief/joy/regret/guilt that Din is going to feel once he’s got Grogu back? Not to mention the physical exhaustion? All of the fear/terror/angst/grief that he ignored in favor of just going pedal to the metal, guns blazing, get the kid or die trying? That shit’s going to crash into him with all the subtly of a fucking tsunami. I guarantee you, we’re going to get some sort of confession, or adoption vow, or face revel, or other sort of profound softness from Dad!Din in the falling action of this season (At least, I hope we get it at the end this season but I wouldn’t put it past them to kick it into the premier of season three, just for pacing reasons, but then again, I obviously have trust issues).

Personally, I would love to see Din grappling with the long-term fallout of losing Grogu - night terrors, guilt, paranoia, etc. That’s probably the stuff of fanfiction - mandalorians don't have nightmares on screen, surely - but still, some lingering effects Grogu’s kidnapping would be realistic, and I would absolutely live for it.

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popculturebuffet · 4 years ago

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Ducktales Shadow Into Light (Lena Retrospective): Friendship Hates Magic! (Commission by WeirdKev27)

Hello all you happy people! And welcome, and to some of you welcome back to Shadow Into Light, my fully paid for but gladly done Lena retrospective, covering everyone’s faviorite lesbian emo shadow’s personal jounrey through all three seasons and some brucey bonuses.

So this time we pick up in mid-season 2.. yes MID season 2. Though for once taking so long to adress things had valid reasons. It dosen’t make the 8 month wait for Lena to return and for Violet to show up, her concept art having been shown off shortly before Shadow War aired during San Diego Comic Con, any less aggravating, especially since the episode did air overseas before that but never leaked anywhere properly. So I knew she’d be okay but not HOW.

As I said though.. they had their reasons. The episode was set for episode 8 in production order, right behind whatever Happened to Della Duck? which answered the other big cliffhanger from season 1, Della’s exile on the moon. So while this episode was back in the queue, along with Della’s, which had to wait till after the christmas episode to air because said episode takes place before it. So waiting on this episode was fair on the crew’s part even knowing it was a hiatus.

It ended up getting pushed back by a week once the episodes started airing.. but as outlined last time, THIS TIME Disney actually moved it for good reason instead of just doing so because shut up. See the problem with moving episodes around in season 2.. is Della’s return. Several episodes that in theory could’ve easily been pushed back instead of this one, Depths of Cousin Fethry, Treasure of the Found Lamp... couldn’t because they take place BEFORE Della came back and it’d be weird to air them after. One features Donald, the other dosen’t but still lacks Della and it’d be weird if it did> While this episode takes place before Della comes back or was at least meant to, no one appears in person, and Beakly mentoning “the boys and scrooge” at the bin could simply be her forgetting Della’s a part of things for a second. It’s not entirely in character, but it’s much easier than explaning why Della’s not there and Donald is.

They also moved one episode ahead of this.. but it’s one I approve of. See from episode 7 onward the episodes were aired in week long duckbombs, woo-ooo. I I don’t fault disney for it or the reason I suspect they had for doing this: while it wasn’t the intended way of airing, they likely did this airing style to get shows on Disney Plus quicker for it’s debut and given they’ve sunk a LOT of money into the streaming service and it’s a key part of their future, I can’t blame them for wanting the entire series thus far on the platform at launch. It’s one of if not their most popular show at the moment. They wanted it front and center.

So this one took an extra week to air, and an extra day as they aired raiders of the doomsday vault right after Della’s return in “Nothing Can Stop Della Duck!”.. which is also not a bad move. Fans wanted more of Della and her bonding with the kids, I wanted more of that so while the wait was grumble inducing, it was worth the tradeoff to get more of this character and her bonding with Dewey.. and let’s face it Glomgold. You know what i’m about at this point.

So there were delays but not the mind boggling ones that reshuffled the season last time and by next season there’d be zero reshuffling with both holiday episodes designed to go anywhere. So with the history and the agonizing wait out of the way join me under the cut as a snark knight returns, a new fan faviorite debuts and Beakly gets sucked into Launchpad’s awful fandom.

We open our story at the Duckburg Library. Man I fucking miss the library. I mean you can go by apointment and what not but I also have library card debt and stuff, and it’s just not the same.

Anyways naturally Webby is going there to research the Shadow Realm in hopes of finding something to bring Lena back. Last week was “Children’s Card Games, Dark Magic and You! by Professor Yugi Moto which while enlightening got her nowhere. Next up is “Shadow Games on Motorcycles!: How a Crimson Dragon defeated a giant Shadow Monster and brought the dead back and I helped by Doctor Yusei Fudo”.

But that one’s not in yet so she instead goes to the Librarian to get another book.. and it’s Quackfaster! Horay! As for why she’s working two jobs, she’s saving up for a retirement condo in BIRDDDBAAADDOOOSSSSS. I had to type it that way it’s ape law.

But her next book “I Went there and it Sucked, My Time in the Shadow Realm by Mayor of New Jersey Joey Wheeler” is taken by “another strange little girl”. Quackfaster, you chase people around with a scimitar. Just accept your the weird one and live with it like me. You’ll be happier that way.

And so we finally meet Violet whose introduced pitch perfectly. Webby gives out her usual “Hi I”m Webby”.. and Violet simply holds a finger up, finishes her page and gives a simple “Yes?” It demonstrates her quite nature, her love of reading and her lack of social skills all in one fell swoop. The ensuing dead language off is also pretty damn adorable reminding me of that scene from “Lisa’s Wedding” where she and Hugh fight over a book and reading it before making out.. minus the making out because these are children, no one wants that, and Webby is taken. .and even then again children. Most we get is an innocent peck and some blushing.

So Violet, finding out Webby needs it and is researching the arcane too offers to research together tonight, bringing a sleeping bag just in case it goes on long... to Lena’s unheard objections as she’s rattled by the break in her normal routine with Webby, and the possibility of Webby falling for someone else. I mean this i framed as a friendship thing... but you can only say “friend” so many times in a work before you sound like a retired grandma in denial about their granddaughter.

Later at the Mansion, Beakley is enjoying a nice quiet afternoon to herself. Turns out once a month Scrooge has “Binventory Day” where he and the boys catalogue the bin for hours giving her a night to herself and Webby. Webby loudly interuppts the peace as is Cartoon Law, but Beakley is pleased Webby is getting back on the friendship horse.

Bentina ends up ruining it a bit though by bringing up her previous slumber party disasters... which even Lena at her most jealous admits were her fault and only agrees to in the hopes Webby’s going to cancel. Instead Webby decides to make this the most normal sleepover ever! The one where her new friend is coming to specifically help her with magic.

Bentina tries to back her grandaughter/daughter down from this insane logic, but Webby does, if innocently clap back well to her being the one to give her “Be yourself” advice. “I’m not like you Granny, I need to have friends”

And while Webby quickly flees after Beakley tries to deny it.. she’s not wrong. She has exactly one friend who she works for and no social life to speak of.. and as far as I can tell she’s fine this way. Beakley is happy with her work and raising Webby and has someone to talk to in Scrooge. She has everything she needs, while Webby is a social butterfly.. a socially inept social butterfly. She needs people and loves meeting new people and needs friends and not just her family. One’s an introvert the other’s an extrovert. I’m both at times, and before you ask why yes it is a living nightmare thank you so much for asking. I get where both are coming from. And Beakley clearly had friends at one point it’s just a long war with FOWL and a sudden granddaughter probably whittled it down to just Scrooge. It’s okay to be yourself.

So this is where the plotlines split off, so as usual, i’m splitting the up.

Launchpad and Beakley in Getting To Know You And Getting Sucked INto Your Strange and Lovely Fandom

So Beakley naturally cries out “name one person I don’t get along with.. and in walks Launchpad , Nature’s Perfect Himbo, having destroyed the gate and at least being honest he probably will again. Why he’s here when the boys and Scrooge are all gone?

But I don’t care as this subplot is just.. a nonstop delight. Starting with Beakly inviting Launchpad to sup with her.. which just confuses him. Look Bentina you have to use small words.. it’s a miracle he gets up in the morning, dreses himself and hasn’t died in a tragic gasoline fight accident. You have to know your audience. Still funny.

And “not knowing your audience” continues as Beakly serves them pea soup but Launchpad is intimidated by the spoons and while she does offer to help instead tries to use all of them then a straw and then falls facedown in his soup. And this is the SECOND TIME Beakly’s left someone living at the mansion to die. I mean that’s not a lot but it’s still weird it happened twice.

Finally they sit quitely, Beakly reading the Scarlet Pimpernell, and Launchpad doing a coloring book. And besides the odd couple energy what I really like about this subplot.. is that it fleshes Beakly out> This is one of her ONLY plots in the entire goddamn series, yes really. 70 episodes and she only got five spotlight episodes/plots. But it does at least show her off: her upperclass pedigree we really don’t see often, showing that while she applied to the job as maid out of necisity she knows her stuff, her love of classic literature and her being out of touch with the common person. It’s not a ton but it’s more than ninja butler or “stop having fun with your kids della and be a parent”. I mean she wasn’t wrong but she could’ve been nicer about it given the circumstances.

So Launchpad, given Beakley’s never shown any interest in him as a person before, assumes she’s going to fire him and was just softening him up. I mean Scrooge himself outright said he never would and if he did he’d do it to your face, hard as it’d be. But that aside, he’s fine with getting to know her once he knows that no he’s not being fired she just wanted to hang out, he’s everyone’s friend. But naturally an upperclash british former super spy and a dumb as a bucket with a heart of gold pilot have nothing in common, not even aircraft as “plane go up, plane crash going down’ is about the extent of his actual knowledge on aircraft that isn’t instinct or dumb luck.

He does manage to break the ice though, mistaking her book for a Darkwing Duck book and deciding to show her the show since it might be something they have in common. At first she’s as unintuhsed as you’d expect a british lady who never watches the telly watching a 90′s kids show would be.. but by the end she’s gotten all the way into it.

It’s really endearing, showning that two vastly diffrent people with nothing can common can be brought together by something as simple and glorious as liking the same show. I’ve had it happen with me. She naturally is all for filiming his fanscript after the finale provides no answers, being the one to suggest it and the two end the episode shooting it with her in full darkwing duck cosplay. I’ts a cute and entertaining subplot and a nice contrast to the main plot which while not super dark, does have a fog of tension over it. Speaking of which.

Webby, Lena and Violet: In Two’s Company, Three Accidently Creates Monsters That Nearly Take Your Girlfriend Off Into The Shadowy Abyss So the slumber party gets underway with Webby shooing away Duckworth after clearing out her room to greet Violet herself and violet having brought pie... a great callback to an earlier joke where Webby wondered if pie was normal at a sleepover. No but it should be. So Webby welcomes her in to her totally normal room devoid of anything. Nothing suspicious about that.

So Violet tries to get her into research, specifically Tulpas, an actual magical concept, a mental construct of some kind created out of desire, imagination or what have you. Gee I wonder if that will come into play this episode. Webby.. wants to play baggle or what have you or do makeovers and drags Violet along to do the second thing after Violet asks about Magica. Lena then finds something glowing in Violet’s bag...specifically, her old amulet, cracked but still working and flowing with Magica’s power.

Lena assumes Violet is Magica and goes to warn Webby only to find her HORRIBLY MUTATED! Naturally it’s a misdirect, as it turns out Violet is just REALLY good at special effects makeup. It’s something I honestly forgot about her... i’m betting one of her dad’s is an effects artist. Just saying that’d be neat. But Webby gives the “i’m normal really even though I live in a giant mansion with my dad I don’t know is my dad and my grandma whose actually my adopted mom” game away by pointing out the demon’s fang is crooked and Violet is curious and heads to Webby’s room finding a picture from said demon. He signed it and everything. Good man that Rakshaka.

Webby is worried Violet will be freaked out by all the weird but nope, she enjoys it. And it’s not a suprise: violet is actively researching the shadow dimension. Why WOULD she be scared off. The conflict was in Webby’s head all along.. and partly out of PTSD, but we’ll get to that. Webby still tries to get her to baggle but they settle on ancient rune dice baggle and summoning some spirits. Lena scoffs.. until it actually works. It does make sense though: As we’ll see in her last starring role, Lena is kinda like Wanda Maximoff: she has an extreme amount of power but she has no idea how to use it and is simply making up most of her magic as she goes along or took magica’s lead. But the spell means Lena can touch the dice so she spells out don’t trust her.. but forgets she’s dealing with two nerds who love unlocking puzzles and assume the message is on the dice themselves.

Webby and Violet decide they need more clarity and resume the seance.. which summons mysterious white shadow creatures Lena saw before.. .some now taking Magica’s shape. And Lena’s panicked “Oh not again” says it all. So Lena tries the tried and true bedsheet ghost cliche, grumbling about it but showing up as a ghost without any abillity to speak or talk to webby dosen’t do anything and Violet tackles the sheet before deciding to grab the amulet to dispiate the spirit.. only for Lena to show up for a breif second before she does show making the panicked child look incredibly supscious.

Webby naturally tackles and interrogates Violet wanting the full story. And it turns out the big secret is.. Violet is entirely normal. Nothing to do with Magica, no possesions or secretly being her or a minon of hers... she was just a logic obsessed 12 year old who thought magic was a myth.. until the Shadow War proved “Nope it’s real everything you know is wrong. Up is down black is white and short is long”. She just happened to be close to the bin and found the amulet when the remains of the staff fell near her and compacted back into it.

It’s a brilliant reveal. See first watch around your genuinely unsure if Violet is a real person or not.. unless you went in knowing she is, but semantics. Point is most first time viewers didn’t know she’d be a beloved member of the supporting cast and didn’t know what to expect. But looking back... it makes no sense. If Magica had the amulet.. why would she need to infiltrate the mansion. Revenge? Possibly but she’d want Scrooge there too. Even being evil on her own Violet had valid opportunity to pilfer Webby’s magical items, she has an entire box of magic rocks right there and then simply zap her with the amulet. But she didn’t.. because Violet is a person. When she DOES use it she’s utterly terrified, and we can see her breathing heavy, scared.. something Magica has NEVER been of Lena. To Violet it was just a ghost. Webby hadn’t told her about lena and any information she had about her was second hand from newspapers and the like.

Webby is sympathetic, as Violet’s feeling of being sheltered from this greater world naturally resonates and while Lena is still supscious, having reincorperated, it’s clear Webby trusts violet and simply dosen’t want to loose another friend to magic. Here trying to hide it now takes another tone.. she knows Lena was behind it.. but is so afraid of it consuming violet the way it did Lena, she forgets almost ALL of the weird magic stuff in sleepovers was magica’s manipulation, and that Lena died because her creator was a monster, not because of magic. Magic is not inherently good or bad, it just is, and that will come back as a theme in a few episodes. It allowed Magica to ravage the town and kill Lena.. but it allowed Lena to exist in the first place and while the terrible events with Magica clearly shook her.. it also shook violet out of her complacency and got her to research a world she never would’ve considered. Good can come from bad.

And it’s with this in mind that Violet.. does not give up. She’s stayed in her box enough.. and now she knows the spirit is a friendly one.. she figures they can bring Lena BACK using the amulet. After all it was lena’s and the source of her powers.. it might be the key to reiviving her. And while Lena, if invisibly as always, remarks it’s dangerous.. Webby, with no hesitation agrees to get her girlfriend back. It’s risky sure.. but what Lena hasn’t gotten is she’s WORTH the list. She’s so full of self loathing from both her manupations of webby and Magica’s gaslighting and abuse that she can’t see herself being worth anything even as Webby spent MONTHS trying to save her, clearly still loves her, and only didn’t want violet getting hurt because she misses her. Webby still loves and needs her for who Lena is.. Lena just can’t it and it hurts to think about that.

So the girls once again try to summon Lena and it starts to work.. but also summons the Tulpa’s back... this time taking Magica’s form and causing a suspcious lena to panic.. and suck both of them into the shadow realm. We get the reunion we’ve been waiting for as Webby tackle hugs her happily.

But it’s soon cut short as Lena still thinks Violet is just manipulating Webby, lying to her and that “she’s mine!”

For the record Joss Whedon sucks, not taking that out on Anthony Stewart Head or the guys who actually wrote the episode. Moving on.

I feel Lena’s jealousy comes from the aformentioned self loathing, mixed with a life of having to live just to surivive at the beck and call of a throughly awful person who didn’t consider her a sentient being worthy of anything especially love. She can’t fathom anyone else loving Webby the way she does because she feels once webby has anyone else.. she won’t need her. It’s toxic and wrong.. but it’s easy to see why that’d happen when sh’es only had one healthy relationship. She barely knows the boys, Beakly only grew to tolerate her and she was only friends with Scrooge for like.. a minute. Webby is the only person she knows, loves and trusts and she just can’t risk loosing that and can’t convince herself to share.

In a realistic scenario Lena would have to simply learn to trust and let her girlfriend have other relationshps and that hogging her all to herself is inhernetly toxic and bad. And while she still does we’re talking about a living pile of shadows smooching a clone, so yeah instead the tulpas come out and drag her off..and take Lena’s form. While Lena tries to blame Violet, Violet has absolutley none of that and makes Lena see the hard truth: Lena is so worried about being forgotten, she created the tulpas by accidnet. As I said her power is raw and unfocused.. so she didn’t do it on purpose nor did she realize how toxic she was being. This finally snaps Lena back to reality, and see Violet geniunely cares about Webby and any ulterior motives were just in her head, so the two agree to work together, using a similar chant to the one from Jaws to destroy the Tulpas and save Webby.

So the shadow realm is disapated and our trio are returned to the human world.. but Lena, not being part of it and no longer having a tether.. starts to disolve, with a really heartbreaking scene of Webby holding her hand, as does violet. But.. then a miracle happens. Since the Bracelet was Lena’s link to Webby, and to her own magic, with it and the amulet close by.. both swirl around Lena, and the power of love.. for a new friend and a first love... revivies her. Mist parts.. and we get one heartwarming sign that after all this time “I’m back?!” Lena is confused.. but once again part of this plane of reality. She’s free and WEbby triumphanthly hugs her with Violet joining in. By letting go of her hate.. Lena returned to who she loved. They also run into the end of the other subplot and Launchpad’s casual hey lena is just great.

So our heroes are reunited and doing horror makeup and I really love Webby’s updo here and wish more works fan nd otherwise used it. WE get a final fakeout as Lena seemingly disovles and Violet reveals herself as magica.. only for it to be a prank and Webby to just be glad the love of her life and her new best friend get a long. We get one last hearwarming image and we close out.. with Lena finally having what she always wanted freedom. And while she may not know it yet in accepting violet.. she’s finally found family. More on that in a few weeks.

Final Thoughts: This episode is excellent. It’s not the best of the Lena arc, that comes next and it does drag once or twice.. but overall it’s a really great character piece, with a nice ballance betwen the tense main plot and the funny and goofy subplot. It adds more to Lena’s character, finally brings her back, while giving us a new and throughly fascenating new character to rave about in Violet, as well as giving Webby her own personal squad. It’s a great episode.. and only leads to a better one. But we’ll get to that in a week or so. First we have a bit of a detour and my plug.

If you liked this review, follow for more, spread it around, and join my patreon. It’s almost time for new patreons to pay up and if you hit my stretch goal i’ll review a darkwing duck episode next month and every month! We’re just five bucks away people! And if you’d like to just comission a review directly it’s just 5 bucks an episode and avaliable via my dms, ask or discord.

Next Time on Shadow Into Light: We take a break from the last two Lena episodes to go to one of her sources as we head back to Ducktales 87 with Magica’s Shadow War! I know almost nothing going in so... Shadow betrayals and stuff? Yay?

Tommorow: It’s Fenton’s birthday! And since i’ve done a LOT of ducktales recently and can’t do super ducktales till I hit my next stretch goal at 25 bucks, we’re going back to ST Canard at long last for Gizmoducks second apperance.. which can’t possibly be worse than the first so i’m excited. Let’s get dangerous tommorow!

#lena sabrewing #webby vanderquack #ducktales #weblena #violet sabrewing #shadow into light #friendship hates magic #great title by the way #bentina beakley #launchpad mcquack #darkwing duck

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irontinystar · 4 years ago

Note

hi! i was wondering if you’d recommend other authors that you enjoy or even specific fanfics you like? i’ve only just started getting into the steve/tony fandom and want to follow more people! thank you!

Hi there!!! Welcome to the fandom!!!<3<3<3

I’m so glad you asked this question since I’ve always wanted to do a fic rec post!!!!

HERE WE GO:

10K+ WORDS (ONE CHAPTER) FICS:

Quit while you’re ahead by magicasen

“It began, as things tend to between them, as a bet.”

the reason you ruminate the shadowy past by Mizzy

“So, Captain America effectively manages to cockblock Tony for a year.

It's not Steve's fault. Well, actually, it is. But he was just proving a point - that if a superhero is gay, how can it be wrong? Steve just picked the wrong superhero to make the point with. Now America will think they're dating - and Tony's not going to be the guy to break Captain America's heart.

There's only one way out. To save face, Steve and Tony have to become fake boyfriends. Steve thinks the "boyfriends" bit will be the hardest to act... but maybe it's the "fake" part that will be the hardest act of all...”

made to make you blue by gottalovev

“Steve, drunk for the first time since the serum, hits on Tony. It's everything Tony's ever dreamt about, but he refuses to have sex with a drunk Steve who can't truly consent. They do kiss, though, and Tony stays the night. The morning after brings a misunderstanding of disastrous proportion, where both men wrongly assume the other is uninterested. Life gets extremely complicated when Enchantress, mad at Thor, casts a spell that links people who love each other together, letting them feel the other's pain.”

On the Turning Away by thegraytigress

“Tony's new relationship with Steve is going great. They're a few weeks into it, and it's utterly amazing. He's feeling better and more sure of himself than he ever has before. Honestly, he's flying high.

But then he asks Steve a simple, logical, and seemingly innocent question: "do you want to spend the night?" And everything comes crashing down.”

love the sin, love the sinner by silkspectred

“It keeps happening. Not often, just once or twice a month, but it keeps happening. Always in the same way: it’s unplanned, sudden, unexpected, Steve is surprised and eager, his dick goes from zero to one hundred in two seconds, Tony’s touch is electric, everything he does drives Steve crazy, but he never lets Steve kiss him, he very rarely looks Steve in the eye, he never talks, never makes a sound when he comes, never mentions it later.”

Of Beards and Best Defenders by nannersmelo

“Tony finds out about when Steve had a beard once upon a time, and outraged that he never got to see it, decides to find a way to witness it by himself.”

Tony Pretends To Date Steve (Until He Doesn't Have To) by HappyStony

“"You alright?"

Of course he was not alright! Tony had a blue eyed, blond haired, six foot too high, two hundred who knows what pound, too sexy for his own good ninety something, mentally twenty, year old man on top of him. Who even asks that question in a situation like that?

Or: Basically the title. Tony pretends he's dating Steve until...well, you know.”

i have found the one (whom my soul loves) by soniclipstick (veriscence)

“It's been months since the Avengers were pardoned. One by one, they'd all gone home, until Steve finds himself alone in the grand old building T'Challa had given them.

But everything changes when Steve answers the doorbell, and Tony Stark strides in with more grey on his temple and make-up on his face than Steve remembers.”

Hating Steve Rogers by nanasekei

“The thing about hating Steve Rogers is that it shouldn’t be easy - but it really, really is.”

we have become something different, beloved (tragic and lovely) by Areiton, venusiaries

“"What's the Accords?" he asks, and Tony's head tilts. "I don't think that concerns you," he says. "But you don't deny that it's something." "There's a lot of something's I'm involved in that you don't know about," Tony says.

~~~~

There's a story, years long and publicly known, about the way the Avengers ended and why. And then there is the truth, carefully hidden and protected.”

remedy by quidhitch

““I like the walls,” Steve shrugs, knocking his knuckles against the side as if to demonstrate. “Makes me feel covered.”

A soldier in a fortress, Tony thinks, which is a pretty ridiculous thought to have about Captain America and his enormous limbs stuffed into a too-small bathtub, but there it is.

Or: Tony Stark learns a thing or two about what it means to be In Recovery™.”

Binary System by Annie D (scaramouche) ( @no-gorms )

“Tony tends to be tactile with people he trusts. These days that list of people includes Steve, which is a good sign of the progression of their friendship. For his part, Steve seems to enjoy it as much as Tony does... until Tony goes a little too far.”

The Best Policy by starknjarvis

“Tony Stark breezes through life on bluster and bullshit. When he gets hit by a truth spell, he locks himself away in his workshop so he can find a way to reverse it without anyone finding out. So why can't he say no when Steve keeps asking to spend time with him?”

Slipping off the Page into Your Hands by Sineala ( @sineala )

“Soulmates have their first words to each other written on their wrists. This should make it easy. For Steve and Tony, it is anything but. Steve's problem is that the future he has awoken into is nothing he was ever expecting: he has a soulmate now. Who might be a robot. And if his soulmate is Iron Man, how can he be so attracted to Tony Stark? It should be impossible. Tony's problem is that he is Iron Man, his soulmate is a man whom he in no way deserves, and he is going to fight everything in his heart and do his best to make sure Steve never, ever finds out the whole truth.”

How to Win Affection Without Really Trying by Annie D (scaramouche)

“Tony almost dies saving Steve’s life, but that’s just part of being an Avenger. It’s no reason for Steve to get all weird and intense around him afterward.”

A Certain Affinity by miobambiino ( @miobambiino )

“"They were like that a lot nowadays, ever since they got back from their little kidnapping escapade. Sure, they’d been close before then - they all had - but now… it was different. They were close, close. Squishing up next to each other, whispering to one another, playing with each others hair, apparently.

Steve inwardly grimaced at himself. He was being bitter and petty, he knew that. But he couldn’t figure out why, though. His teammates were getting along, which is only a good thing. Especially considering how they started things off way back on the helicarrier. But since when were Tony and Nat this cosy?"

Aka Steve is jealous of Tony and Nat's friendship, gets the wrong idea, and requires a little help from Nat herself to get some well-needed perspective.”

Admiring the Scenery by Annie D (scaramouche)

“Steve’s used to people checking him out, but when Tony does it, it feels… different.”

Symmetry Breaking by Annie D (scaramouche)

“After the Battle of New York, Steve rode off on his motorbike. That's how it went the first time.

This time he rides back, all the way to Stark Tower, where he asks Tony for help.”

MULTICHAPTERS FICS:

almeno tu nell'universo by silkspectred

“Tony drives off.

Well, he wants to.

But he can’t.

Because.

Steve Rogers is in front of his car.

Steve fucking Rogers. Is in front of Tony’s fucking car.”

take my heart clean apart by mistymountainking

“He’s tired, so tired of waiting, tired of touches with no meaning, tired of holding his breath when Steve’s in the room, tired of keeping this love to himself.

“I can’t—I can’t, if you don’t mean it.”

***

Tony comes home exhausted after an SI event. Steve acts as welcoming committee. It's an old, careworn routine they've perfected over the years, but tonight ends up going in a very different direction.”

Thrust Issues by Sineala

“A battle gone wrong leads Tony to the unexpected and pleasant discovery that Steve is much more well-endowed than he could ever have imagined. But when Tony learns that Steve has never actually been able to sleep with anyone because of his size, Tony does what any good friend would do: he offers to relieve Steve of his virginity. Personally. Tony's determined, Tony's methodical, and Tony has a plan. He's going to get Steve laid. Tony just needs to make sure Steve never finds out that Tony's in love with him.”

Overhaul by Annie D (scaramouche)

“Steve knows that Tony has feelings for him and, since he doesn’t return those feelings, has been mildly dreading the day that Tony decides to do something about it. When that day finally arrives, Steve discovers that Tony’s wooing strategy isn’t anything at all like he’d expected.”

Whatever Makes You Happy by WilmaKins ( @wilmakins )

“Steve and his team never stopped Avenging. So when T'Challa tells them about strange events at the site of an ancient landmark, everything seems quite simple. Of course they'll help Shuri to investigate it - helping people is what they do, after all.

Until they discover that a race of alien empaths are harvesting human emotions as a source of power. Specifically, they're using the misery of one Tony Stark.

So, until they work out what's really going on, the fate of the world might depend on them keeping Tony happy.

Not simple. Not simple at all.

Set six months after CA:CW.”

a catalog of non-definitive acts by firebrands ( @firebrands )

“Tony's seen the way Steve watches him, trails after him just for a moment, then catches himself. Let it never be said that Tony Stark doesn’t pay attention. At least, when it matters.

Or, Steve, Tony, and the emotional fallout of keeping secrets. (Set in some nebulous time pre-AoU.)”

The Single Biggest Problem With Communication by BlossomsintheMist

“In the wake of Steve's return from the dead and the end of Norman Osborn's reign of terror, the superhero community is recovering--Steve has taken on a new role and Tony is trying to put his life back together. Things are still awkward between them, but they're determined to put things to rights. But when a discussion about their feelings leads to further misunderstandings, they discover that might be more difficult than either of them realized. Set in the early Heroic Age after the end of Dark Reign, this is a get-together story about crossed wires--and second chances.”

Broken by livink ( @anthonyed )

“After Siberia, Tony Stark faces depression, a giant purple alien and a forced reunion. Ironically, he feels as if he's the only one who is broken in this journey. Until he comes across Barnes. Then, Bruce, Natasha and Wanda. Later, he realises that the man who broke him is broken too and this is a story where they heal and find their footings back.”

wonderland by Areiton

“Six weeks after being abandoned in Siberia, Tony wakes in a Tower, next to the man who broke his heart and his trust. But the world--whatever Wonderland world they’ve landed in--isn’t like their own. The Avengers are happy here. Tony and Steve are married here. With a direct line to Steve’s emotions and the team that he’s always wanted--Tony is more than a little tempted to stay. Seeing how happy Tony is, how healthy Bucky is--Steve doesn’t disagree. But there are cracks in Wonderland and the shiny paint peeling might leave a nightmare behind--one that Tony and Steve will need each other more than ever, to escape.”

when i run out of road, you bring me home by quidhitch

““Oh, I won’t bother you.” The tone of Steve’s voice implies that he definitely will be bothering Tony, aggressively and frequently. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll keep to my farm, you keep to yours. Solitude together.”

Tony opens his mouth to argue that that’s not how this works, but he snaps it shut at the realization that Steven Grant Rogers is fucking with him. That twinkle in his eye has accelerated into a full-on glimmer, and the ends of his lips are twitching. Jesus, he hates this man. Or maybe he wishes he did. Tony can’t really tell the difference anymore.”

Down in Lonesome Town by resurrectedhippo

“Tony eyes him. “Why do I always find my way back to you?”

Maybe he didn’t necessarily return to Steve, but fate is a funny little thing, and after living a life of loss, Steve wants something that’s his to keep. Tony deserves a love that’s unrestrained; Steve thinks he’ll erupt with it.

Love is messy, not easy, and takes work.

Maybe love feels like rage.

But maybe love could just be jumping off a rocky mountain and smiling anyway.

After the universe is restored, Steve is lost without any direction. Retiring from the Avengers, he moves across the country and ends up building a house by a misty blue lake. Across the bridge is Tony Stark’s new workshop.”

In the Stillness of Remembering by elise_509

“Steve Rogers is a reminder of a past that Tony Stark would rather forget. But when Steve’s own ghosts suddenly become the present, Tony finds he and Steve need each other to face the future.”

Good For You by orbingarrow

“Steve doesn't understand why Tony dates people who abuse him. Tony doesn't understand why Steve cares.

The rest is bad choices, good choices, rehab, milkshakes, paintball, YouTube videos, couples therapy and learning to put the past in the past. Or: How Tony finds his happy ending.”

SERIES:

Pulse-Point by itsallAvengers

Guys and Bots by Annie D (scaramouche)

AUTHORS:

I love very deeply each author of the fics I’ve listed, but these are the main blogs I follow here on tumblr who regularly post 1K (more or less) words fic:

@omg-just-peachy

@no-gorms

@maguna-stxrk

@natasharxmanov

@s-horne

@firebrands

@iam93percentstardust

@anthonyed

@ad1thi

@littlemissstark

@chirriko

@tinytonysnark

(Plus self-spam: MrsWinterBreath , my own ao3 profile!)

Lastly, check @sabrecmcstonyficrecs blog by @sabrecmc who is not only an extremely talented writer themself, but also incredibly patient and kind enough to offer masterposts with fics about any Stony trope you could ever think of!!!

This is a non-exhaustive list because there are a LOT more authors out there that deserve their works to be read, so I suggest you giving it a chance even to fics and authors you’ve never heard of, you might find a masterpiece without even realising it!!!!

And most importantly: always leave a kudos and comment if you liked what you read, this way I guarantee you the authors will be more than happy to keep on providing you with amazing works!!!!

#stony #stony fic #stony fanfiction #stevetony #stevetony fic #stevetony fanfiction #steve x tony #tony x steve #superhusbands #iron man #captain america #tony stark #steve rogers #stony fic rec #stevetony fic rec

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cry-stars · 3 years ago

Note

For the ask, Katrielle and Ernest, AU where somehow his mother is missing instead of dead?

Absolutely! Thank you so much for asking, and I'm so sorry for taking so long with this! It turned out much longer than I expected. The AO3 link to it is here, but I'll also put it below a read-more here as well.

...

The wind rushes through Kat’s hair as she pedals her way down Chancer Lane, her heart pounding in her ears. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the concerned glance of the waiter from the cafe, and the curious stare of Aleks Lipski as he looks up towards her through the bakery window. Quickly, she summons up a smile, throwing her arm in the air and waving as she passes them by. Then, she turns her eyes back to the road, her smile fading as she puts all of her energy into her pedalling, her mind focused solely on her mission.

She’s not panicking. Of course not.

Everything is fine.

But it’s so unlike Ernest to not show up at the agency, let alone for days at a time, without letting her know. And it’s even more unlike him to ignore her calls. Something isn’t right.

Kat hadn’t noticed the first day that he’d been missing. The Layton Detective Agency is buzzing with activity these days: after the news spread that Dad had returned, the people who had been searching for him for all this time gravitated to Kat’s little agency like moths to a flame. Kat’s seen so many people that she hadn’t seen for months or years within the space of a few weeks. Al, Lucy, Flora, and so many others crowded themselves into the building, chatting and crying and laughing, and Kat had been right in the thick of it all, lost in the excitement of Dad’s return.

Within all the chaos, it makes sense that an ordinary person wouldn’t notice Ernest’s absence; he’s quiet at the best of times. But Kat should’ve noticed. She’s solved a hundred mysteries like they were nothing. She’s more observant than the whole police force put together. She should’ve noticed that her loyal assistant wasn’t there.

The weekend passed uneventfully; Katrielle didn’t bother going to the agency, busy as she was with her family. She’d left a message at Ernest’s number, letting him know that she wouldn’t be there. It didn’t bother her too much that he didn’t pick up; it was the weekend, after all.

But come Monday morning, Ernest still wasn’t at the agency, and this time, it was impossible to shrug off his absence. She’d tried to call him in the morning, but there had been no answer. Somewhat rattled, she’d forced a smile and settled down to do some reading and paperwork on her own. Of course, she missed her usual morning tea (yes, she’s capable of making it herself, but Ernest’s tea always tastes best), and she missed simply having him around; the agency just doesn’t feel the same with only she and Sherl in it. But in the end, she’d shrugged it off as best as she could. Perhaps Ernest had slept in today, or wasn’t feeling well. It had been a hectic past few weeks, after all. And perhaps he had been in the agency yesterday, and she just somehow hadn’t noticed.

She left one more call before going home. Still no reply.

Surely he’d be here tomorrow.

But he wasn’t.

Three days without coming to the agency… five days if you count the weekend… Surely she’s not being overly anxious about this? A five day absence isn’t something that she can play off as normal or unusual; it’s completely unlike Ernest to do something like this.

“He’s still not here, Sherl,” she’d said this afternoon, fighting to keep her tone of voice neutral and curious. “Do you… do you think everything’s alright?”

She wasn’t anxious. No, not at all. But she needed Sherl’s reassurance.

“He hasn’t had a day off since Christmas, Kat,” Sherl had said, yawning as he curled up on the sofa. “And you wouldn’t even let him have that whole day off. Even the most loyal of dogsbodies need a chance to curl up and have a rest now and then.”

“But it’s been five days if you count the weekend, and he hasn’t answered any calls.”

Sherl cracked one eye open, then the other, his face creasing into something like a frown. “Well. It is unlike him to leave you on paws like that.” Katrielle could hear the doubt creeping into Sherl’s voice with every word that he spoke.

That’s when she knew that she had to see if Ernest was alright.

If there’s nothing wrong, she can downplay it to Ernest and to Sherl, or to Dad if he asks, playing it off as one of her many whims. Oh, she just happened to want to go on a bike ride, just wanted to burn off some nervous energy on her way home from the agency. And she wouldn’t be lying, not really. She has to get home somehow; she’ll just be taking the scenic route, passing by Ernest’s flat. The… very long, out-of-the-way scenic route, but...

...she won’t be able to sleep tonight until she makes sure that he’s alright.

The sun is already setting by the time she arrives at Bowlyn Hill. Kat throws a half-nervous glance over her shoulder at the statue, with the massive globe upon its shoulders, before making her way down the hill. She’d like to make it to Ernest’s flat alive, if possible.

Before last Christmas Eve, before that evening at Richmond Court, Katrielle hadn’t known that Ernest lived in this part of town, but in hindsight, it makes perfect sense. He had known so much about the area during the Ratman case, and, since he grew up with such a small income, it makes sense that he would live in this area.

Before that night, Kat had really known almost nothing about Ernest. And still, she really knows very little about him, other than the tragic history of his family. He’s still a very private person: of course, he spends most of every day with her, but he works constantly during that time, and certainly doesn’t waste time chatting when he could be cleaning or sorting something that Kat’s made a mess of. And then, he goes home, alone.

At least Kat knows where he lives now: she’s visited his flat once or twice, dropping off something he’s left at the agency, or bringing over one of Rosa’s many treats that she’s “made too much of.” But still, Kat isn’t exactly a Bowlyn Hill regular; it’s easy to get lost here, amid the twisted alleyways and dark roads. She half-wonders if she’s going to get lost as she pedals her way through the streets as quickly as she dares.

At last, Kat pulls up in front of the building where Ernest’s flat is located. The building is noticeably newer and taller than others nearby, but is still coated with the same grime that covers so much of the surrounding area. At least it appears to be all in one piece, unlike many of the other buildings in this area. While some buildings in Bowlyn Hill, like Mrs. Slow’s tailor shop, have a sense of charm, there are many others that are in horrible disrepair.

Kat casts a wary glance behind her toward the old hospital, shut down almost ten years ago, which looks like something out of one of Flora’s murder mysteries. She’d heard the stories of how Dad had been beaten, so many years ago, and had stayed in this very place for weeks. While the Ratmen patrol the streets now and hopefully keep Bowlyn Hill from seeing any more violence like what Dad experienced, Kat can’t help but feel anxiety stir up in her stomach. Did something like that happen to Ernest? Is that why he’s been absent? Is he lying battered in some lonely alley?

Fighting back nausea, Kat hurriedly dismounts from her bicycle, clumsily leaning it against the wall as she rushes to the door of the building, tripping over her own feet as she reaches for the handle—

The door opens.

“M-Miss Layton!”

Ernest stands before her, shock dawning over his face.

He’s alright.

A wave of relief gently washes over Katrielle, and a second wave of self-consciousness slaps her in the face. He’s completely fine, and yet she rushed here in a panic, almost barging through his front door. This is why she should think through things more logically; she shouldn’t let her emotions get the better of her like this…

“I-I’m dreadfully sorry.”

Kat startles, snapping back into reality. Why is he apologizing? She stares at him in confoundment, noticing how he stares through the floor, his hands coming up and clumsily attempting to smooth back his uncombed hair. “It’s been days, I know,” he stutters. “I sincerely apologize… I should have been there; you shouldn’t have had to come look for me...”

Kat realizes too late that she’s simply been standing here, silently staring at him, ever since he flung the door open. She forces a chuckle. “What? Did you think that I came here to scold you?” Kat uses her usual teasing tone, but it’s far from genuine. Is he really that afraid of disappointing her?

Perhaps he’s not alright after all.

“W-well…” Ernest’s fingers slow their movement through his hair, his hand pausing above his eyes. He slowly looks up, meeting Katrielle’s gaze, his gaze half-hidden by his hand. Kat notices, for the first time, the dark circles under his eyes. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I promised myself that I’d do everything I could to help you, and I’ve failed once again.”

Any irritation that Kat might’ve felt at Ernest’s unexplained absence has completely vanished at this point. Her curiosity is in overdrive, but given Ernest’s state, it seems like some tact is called for.

“Nonsense,” she says, gently but matter-of-factly. “Now that we’ve found Dad, the greatest purpose of the Agency has been fulfilled. So I don’t need…” She was about to say that she didn’t need help anymore, but that would wound Ernest’s pride.

(And it would be a lie).

She amends her statement. “I don’t need constant help anymore. You don’t need to worry about that.”

“But… but I like helping you.” Ernest bites his lip. “I really do. But I just couldn’t this week, Miss Layton. I should have told you why, but, I…” He stares through the floor. “I… I’m just not sure what to do, and I didn’t want to burden you, when you’ve done so much for me.”

How could Ernest be a burden? Katrielle has helped countless people with simpler matters than whatever’s troubled Ernest so badly. Are her powers of observation so sub-par, that Katrielle didn’t know that he felt like he’d burden her by asking for help?

“It would hardly be a burden, Ernest.” She places a hand on his shoulder, summoning up a confident mask of a smile. “Any mystery solved—that’s my motto. And I want to solve the mystery of why my loyal assistant seems so worryingly unlike his normal self.”

Will this be enough for him to understand that she genuinely wants to help him?

Ernest blinks. He turns away from her once again, but not before Kat spots the pink colouring his cheeks. “I’m sorry to have made you worry about me,” he says slowly. “It’s… it’s been a difficult last few days. But, I… I’m glad you came.” A quiet smile colours his face, so small that it’s almost invisible. Perhaps Katrielle’s powers of observation aren’t completely unreliable after all.

Ernest breaks the silence, clearing his throat. “I was just about to go on a walk, if you’d care to join me, and I’ll try to explain, if you’ll allow me to.”

Kat slowly feels a genuine smile lighting up her own face. “Of course”

They walk together down the street, Katrielle walking her bicycle beside her. She’s not quite sure if the silence between them is comfortable or not—she’s still relieved that Ernest is physically alright, but there’s still something wrong. Will she be able to help him half as much as he’s helped her for all of this time?

Ernest stops suddenly, and Kat blinks, reorienting herself to reality. They stand before the gates of a cemetery. The iron gates are battered and rusted, and Kat can see moss growing over many of the tombstones.

“I come here every Wednesday,” Ernest says quietly as they enter the gates. They walk between the tombstones, the long, damp grass staining their shoes. “Mama passed on a Wednesday. It really wasn’t all that long ago, in the scheme of things, but it’s so hard to remember. It’s all a blur. One moment, I was talking to her in the hospital room, and the next… they’ve… they’ve taken her away.” He keeps walking, his head moving back and forth, his eyes scanning the tombstones on either side of him. “I never knew where she was buried. Nobody ever told me. I come here every week to look, to see if I can find her grave. But I’ve never found it.”

“I’m so sorry,” Katrielle says quietly. It’s difficult to know what else to say. She understands the grief of losing a parent as well as Ernest does. But she’d known in her heart that Dad was still alive, and that had given her the strength to go on, to become a great detective and to hone her skills, searching for him. Finding him had been a dream come true. But Ernest’s loss was permanent—

“But—” Ernest bursts out, breaking through Katrielle’s thoughts. “The group home where I stayed after Mama died called me Thursday night. And they said that…” His voice rises in pitch; his rapid breathing is barely constrained. “...that someone named Ms. Richmond came and… and was asking about me.”

Katrielle freezes. “What?”

Ms. Richmond...that must be—

“I know.” Ernest’s hands are shaking. “I don’t know what to think either. How could she still be alive? But I rushed to the group home as soon as I could. But I missed her, and they don’t know where she went. And I’ve been reeling ever since. I’ve called everywhere I could think of. I’ve scoured the city as best I can. And then, when I couldn’t find anything… I locked myself away because I’m… I’m afraid.”

“Afraid?” Katrielle repeats his last word gently, eager to find out any further details that Ernest might know.

“I… I don’t know what to do. What if I never find her? Or, what if I find her, and it turns out that she isn’t Mama?” Ernest lets his face fall into his hands. “I… I can’t bear to go through that again: to get my hopes up, only to lose her all over again.” He turns away, staring off into the sea of tombstones. “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be bothering you with this. You have so many other things to think about. You can go home; I’m alright.”

Katrielle’s mind races. How could Ernest’s mother still be alive? A mix-up at the hospital, perhaps? Perhaps she was only at death’s door, and never truly died? Or could this be a bigger conspiracy?

What an intriguing mystery. One that will take a great detective to solve.

After all, Ernest has done so much to help her in her own search for Dad. It’s only fair that she does the same for him.

“Any mystery solved, Ernest.”

Ernest blinks, looking up at her with confusion in his eyes. “Pardon, miss?”

“Any mystery solved.” Kat gives him a smile, hoping that it comes across as reassuring. “It would be better to find out the truth, wouldn’t it? This mystery’s come across your path for a reason. If you don’t solve it, I know that you’d regret it.”

“Yes…” Ernest starts hesitantly. He clasps his hands together, staring down at them as he kneads them anxiously together. “But I… I don’t know where to start.”

“That’s why I’m going to help you. You’ve helped me look for my dad for so long. One good turn deserves another, wouldn’t you say?” She holds her hand out to him. “What do you say, Ernest?”

For what seems like forever, Ernest stands still, staring toward her; Kat can’t tell whether he’s dumbfounded or whether he’s going to cry.

Did she push too hard?

She’d never wanted to give up on searching for Dad, but in her darkest moments, there were times where she’d thought that it would have been easier if he had actually died, if she didn’t have to explain to everyone (including herself) that he was missing. She regrets thinking that way, but perhaps Ernest doesn’t. Perhaps he wants to leave the past in the past—

“Miss Layton…”

Ernest’s voice cuts through Kat’s thoughts. She blinks, refocusing her gaze on his face, noticing his tiny smile, and the teary shine in his eyes. “Thank you… thank you so much,” he says, his voice trembling. “Even… even you simply coming to see me means so much, but offering to help me…” He chuckles weakly, looking away, swiping at his eyes with one hand. “I’m supposed to be the assistant, but ever since I’ve known you, you’ve assisted me far more than I ever have assisted you.”

He’s far too hard on himself. “Nonsense, Ernest. You’re the best of assistants. It only makes sense that I’d want to help you now and again, don’t you think?” She sets her hand on his shoulder, hoping that it will come across as a comforting gesture. She’ll let go of a little of her pride, just this once; she wants to see him as his usual self again. “Besides, this is your case. So perhaps you don’t need to be an assistant this time.”

“O-oh! Well, that doesn’t sound right--you being my assistant.” Ernest chuckles again, but this time it sounds a little more natural; beneath her hand, Kat can feel the tension in his shoulder leaving by the second. He looks up, meeting her gaze with a hesitant smile. “But thank you. I… I do want your help, if you’re willing to give it to me.”

“Of course I am. Whenever you’re ready to begin the search, I’ll be there.”

Ernest smiles again, but Kat can still see pain behind his eyes.“I’m almost ready,” he says. “Just one moment.” He turns away. Kat watches his eyes scan the gravestones, as if searching one last time for the elusive stone engraved with his mother’s name.

She’s impatient to begin the search, but Kat forces her feet to stay still, forcing herself to stay silent as he surveys the graveyard. She’ll give him this moment. He helped her day in and day out searching for her father for more than a year. She can wait for him.

#katrielle layton #ernest greeves #professor layton #katnest #just if you squint #my fanfiction #thank you so much for asking!#I've been wanting to write about kat and ernest more #and I really love this AU!

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isayoldbean · 4 years ago

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okay there seems to be a degree of interest so here you go. the intro to an au i was gonna write before my anxiety meds murdered my writer brain. uhh for reference this fic is set in 2017, with their ages being the same as they would be in canon at that point (so like... 28ish i think?)

---

Setsuna had several regrets right now.

She wasn't sure what they were exactly, since she couldn't remember anything after the fifth drink, but she knew that whatever she had done, she had regretted it.

Actually scratch that, that fifth drink was definitely on the regret list. Drinks one through four weren't looking like such a great idea, either.

Everything hurt.

Am I... am I dead...?

No, that couldn't be it. She didn't have any first-hand experience with death, but she was reasonably sure it wouldn't involve quite this much pain. Even for somebody like her.

A bus, maybe. I got hit by a bus.

Possibly. But in that case she'd most likely be in the hospital. She didn't hear anything to make her think that was the case, though. Might as well just open her eyes and take a look.

Except as soon as she dragged her eyes open white hot glare like the sun radiating off the concrete in August, burning through her eyes and leaving charred husks behind in their sockets--okay, so no doing that for a while.

At least she got enough of a glimpse of her bedroom before she was overwhelemed to know that she made it home last night and had not, in fact, been hit by a bus. So there was that.

Ugh, I want to die, she thought, sinking further into her pillow. Work is going to be hell today.

Oh. Right. Work.

She should probably call in and let them know she'd be late today.

Except her body was just so heavy. It was almost like there was some external weight pressing down on her from above, pinning her in place. She couldn't move so far as an inch without something groaning in protest. Perhaps that was to be expected, since until a few moments ago it had seemed perfectly reasonable that she might have spent part of her evening wedged underneath 30 tons of public transport. And besides, she could barely remember her name right now, let alone what she might have done with her phone last night.

She sagged back into bed and the weight pressed down on her even more, filling her with warmth and soothing her malaise, even if just the slightest bit.

Surely it couldn't hurt to rest for just a few more minutes...

---

She had no idea how long she'd been out, but at least her head seemed a little clearer.

The pain was still excruciating, of course, but it had mercifully lowered itself to the point that she could tolerate it now. The strange pressure still persisted, but she supposed that would pass with a little more time, too.

Maybe now she would have the clarity to piece together what had happened last night.

She knew everything had started when Tsukuyomi showed up. Most things did, after all.

Honestly, she still didn't even know how Tsukuyomi had known they would be there. She certainly hadn't told her about it, and knowing how the others felt about her, she was sure none of them had either. And yet somehow the nuisance had figured it out, and suddenly there she was, gluing herself to Setsuna's side and not taking any hints that she was making her feel uncomfortable as hell. And that's when Setsuna had started drinking in earnest. The last thing she remembered was finally managing to peel herself away from Tsukuyomi's iron grip and letting everybody know she was going out to get some fresh air.

Not that there was really such a thing as fresh air on the Vegas Strip. But hey, she was drunk at the time.

Was she ever.

And now she was paying for it.

God, are there really people who do this all the time? For fun?

She didn't know if that was impressive or just sad.

Well, either way, that wasn't really the issue. The issue was that she had a killer hangover, and several hours of her life were apparently completely missing, and probably since she was at her house in her own bed she couldn't have done anything too terrible, but that didn't really eliminate all that much in the grand scheme of things and what if she got some really embarrassing tattoos or wound up appearing naked in some video that would go viral and her bare ass was going to be plastered all over the six o'clock news and oh god--

--Stop it. Take a deep breath, just like your therapist taught you. Okay. Now think it through logically. Tatsumiya probably knew exactly what she had gotten up to last night--she was weirdly prescient when it came to Setsuna's behavior, somehow. She was probably sleeping in the next room, so all she had to do was get up and ask her. And if for some reason they hadn't gone home together, her number was on speed dial. That would more than likely settle it. If not, then she could panic again--but Tatsumiya would be there to walk her through it, so she wouldn't risk spiralling quite so much.

But before any of that--none of this would be an issue if she didn't get a glass of water right now, because if she didn't then Tatsumiya would be discovering her dessicated remains in about five minutes.

She attempted to roll out of bed, but that strange heavy feeling held her in place yet again. She frowned. Seriously, what?

Maybe if she sat up, instead...

It was decidedly difficult, but she was at least making headway, even if her muscles were groaning in protest every step of the way.

Until it registered that the protesting she heard was most definitely not coming from her muscles. In fact, it wasn't coming from her at all.

--Oh.

Oh shit...!

Please don't be what I think it is--

With agonizing slowness, she traced a path down from the ceiling, to the wall, to the end of the bed, to the covers bunched at her waist, to--

--there, draped over the left side of her body, so obvious in its existence that she could only stare in disbelief that she had only just noticed it, was the smooth expanse of a girl's back.

She suddenly felt unbearably cold. Then unbearably hot. All of the blood in her body pulsed through her system at once--one single time, then twice, then a third time. Then it didn't seem to move at all for such a long period of time that Setsuna had decided that she was probably dead. Yes, her soul had leapt from her body, and she simply hadn't yet had time to process that she had died. A strange way to go and not at all how she'd pictured it happening, but if she was honest with herself, death from mortification was probably exactly the sort of thing she should have expected all along.

Only as soon as she had accepted that her life had ended, adrenaline reared its ugly head and sent her blood fizzing back through her body with such force that it practically knocked her out of bed.

That was when the ugly little gremlin known as panic sunk its teeth into her hindbrain.

Fight or flight engaged itself.

Flight won.

"SHIT SHIT SHIT--" She kicked and thrashed her way towards the edge of the bed, not really sure what she was doing or where she was trying to go, other than as far away from the naked woman in her bed as possible. Depth perception was a thing of the past, as was the concept of distance, and soon Setsuna felt herself lurch and become weightless as she slipped over the side of the bed and went sprawling into a heap on the floor.

The shock of the impact jarred a little bit of awareness back into her, and she stared back up at where she had just been with wide, disbelieving eyes.

There was a naked girl up there. In her bed.

All of the beds in the city of Las Vegas, and a naked girl wound up in hers.

This... wasn't something that should happen to somebody like her. No, this was firmly in the category of Things That Happen To Other People, And Probably Only Ever In Movies. Movies she'd never watched, at that. What was she supposed to do in this kind of situation, anyway?! She didn't know the protocol.

Oh man I'm so fucked.

Rustling sheets and incoherent mumbling refocused her attention away from her burgeoning anxiety attack and back to the reality that she was currently sharing space with another person. That she was about to have to interact with. While hungover and scared out of her mind.

We've been over this already. Stop. Take a deep breath.

If the shuffling noise she heard was any indication, the girl was moving closer to the edge of the bed. Closer to coming face to face with her. The moment of truth.

Take a deep--

A head poked over the side of the bed and peered down at her with soft, warm brown eyes, bleary from sleep and confusion.

Setsuna forgot about the breathing thing.

"Um. Hi," the girl said, a hesitant, sheepish smile creeping over her face in spite of the circumstances.

Then Setsuna forgot about everything else, too.

She was... really pretty.

Wow, I am extremely fucked.

#Negima #Setsuna Sakurazaki #Konoka Konoe #KonoSetsu #Tsukuyomi Iwai #i've forgotten my writing tag oh geez

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imagine-that-one-thing · 4 years ago

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Styles. || 15

Authors Note: Hey everyone!! I know it has been a while since I have updated, but I wanted to pop in and say hi, I am back. I intend to do my best to start writing again and to start where I left off at. I have missed Elise and Harry’s story so much, but I needed the break. With that being said, I am back and doing my best to get back to writing their story. Bare with me as it has always been hard for me to end stories, hence why this one is still kicking. I have a strong connection with the story and I just want to keep writing, so here I am. I hope you all love their story as much as I do. Anyway, I hope you are all well and continue to read my work. xx

For previous chapters, click HERE.

First. Book : Styles and Co

Second Book : Styles’ Towers.

Third Book : The Rise Of Glory.

Styles & Co. || Extras.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Wouldn’t It Be nice.

My apartment is quiet as I type away at my laptop, attempting to stay focused on my essay with a pounding headache. I have hardly slept the last few nights, and I have been running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Balancing school and work have proven to be extremely troublesome, but I do not regret my decision one bit to take up Jamie’s proposal. I am incredibly appreciative of the opportunity, even if I manage to get an hour or so of sleep a night.

I landed Jamie the clients and completed the meetings as requested, and successfully redesigned one of the portfolios— it has all been worth it. It will one day pay off to only sleep a few hours.

I massage my temples before the sound of my apartment door opening takes my attention. I turn around immediately, almost plummeting to my feet before nonchalantly recognising it’s Elise and not my worst nightmare. Ever since my father appeared at my apartment that one night, I have been on edge, not to mention I also don’t want Logan coming to my apartment. “Hey,” I half-smile towards her as she closes the door behind her and propels me the apartment keys.

I catch the keys in my hands, “Good to know you’re alive, Harry,” Elise’s commentary takes me by surprise as I kiss her cheek, and she moves away from me.

She’s exasperated.

“What do you mean? What’s wrong?” I immediately challenge, “What’s with handing me the keys?” I dangle the keys in my hand.

Elise raises her brow and crosses her arms over her chest, “What’s wrong?” Elise scoffs, “Harry, you haven’t spoken to me in two weeks, not sure if we are even together.”

“What? Sweetheart, I called you the other night before I fell asleep.”

Elise shakes her head, “You haven’t called. I got a text from you, but it said my name, and that was all,” Elise responds, showing me her phone, proving that she is, in fact, correct.

Fuckity-fuck-fuck.

“Oh,” I trail off, feeling like a horrible person… “I’m so sorry.”

And the award for worst boyfriend, once again, goes to me. How wonderful. At this point, I may as well keep an honorary speech on hand. Damnit.

“Harry… if you don’t want to be with me—“

“Darling,” I begin, “I thought I called you the other night… I swear I even texted you today when I woke up,” I assure her, clutching my phone from my table and clicking her messages.

The messages are somewhere here. I know there’s some sort of logical explanation. I remember distinctly. I texted her.

My heart drops, and I shake my head, dissatisfied with myself, “I uh… I never hit send… I never realised that the texts I did send never delivered,” I show her my screen of undelivered text messages and a message from this morning I never sent. “I look like an ass.”

Elise snickers and nods her head, “What else is new?” She jokes, and I can’t help but playfully roll my eyes and grin at her. However, she may be joking; deep down, she and I both know that there’s some truth to the joking matter. I’m an ass, and I can openly admit it.

“I know it is no excuse, but I’m dead tired and busy. I wasn’t trying to blow you off or forget you. I genuinely thought I had called and texted you… Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“You still want to be with me?”

“I’m sorry you even doubt my intentions. Of course, I do. Not sure you feel the same about me.”

It has never been my intentions for her to have to doubt whether I want to be with her. I want to be with her, one-hundred and ten per cent. She’s the woman I aspire to spend my time with. It’s too early to say this, but I want to spend my life with her. We aren’t ready for marriage, but she is the one I want to come home to every night. She’s the one with who I want to grow and build a life.

“I know you’re tired and swamped, but I did feel like you didn’t want to be with me,” Elise confesses.

I nod my head, considering her feelings and how I may have made it seem like I don’t give a damn. “That’s me just being an ass who is struggling to get everything done. Can I make it up to you?”

“How?” Elise demands.

I can imagine she is tired of hearing whether I can make it up to her. I’m tired of hearing it, too. I sound like a broken record, which isn’t my intent, but I am doing my best. My best isn’t good enough, and I know this, but I will do better. I will do what it takes to make her feel valued. I don’t want her ever to have to question my intentions or love for her.

“Stay the night with me. I’ll go to work and come back at around eight before you have to be up. I’ll bring coffee and breakfast… if you like?” I suggest, unsure of how to make things up to her. Dinner and flowers are too cliche, and I have already promised her that. Right now, all I can do is breakfast, and I physically don’t have time for anything else until the weekend.

Elise nods her head and agrees, “Can you maybe try to remember that I’d like a text or a call, so I know you’re alive?”

“I’ll do my best. I’m sorry, baby, I am,” I step closer and kiss her cheek before giving her a warm hug.

I need to make it up to her, and I need to show her I care and want to be with her. She deserves better than a boyfriend who forgets to press send on a text message. It may not be a big deal to some, it was a genuine mistake, but I feel horrible for not realising I hadn’t spoken to Elise. I feel as though I neglected my duties as a boyfriend to make sure she is okay and feel valued and wanted. It is the small things that can make a difference in a relationship.

Elise hasn’t asked for much; she wants my time and effort, which I will give her to the best of my ability.

❈ ❈ ❈

I feel a tender touch to my shoulders, and I draw myself away from my sleeping state. I open my eyes and groggily glance around. Fuck, I fell asleep on my laptop. “You fell asleep,” Elle informs me, her hand massaging soothing circles on my back.

I nod my head and sigh. I touch my fingers to my temple and rub them slowly, “I have the worst headache, and this is due in an hour,” I gesture towards my computer screen that is only making my headache graver.

“Would you like me to finish it for you?” Elise kindly offers.

“Do you even know what I am writing about?” The words leave my lips without me thinking twice about how they sound.

“Don’t be a condescending ass, Harry,” Elise mutters.

I heavily sigh and nod my head, “I’m sorry. Do you know about this,” I motion towards my laptop that has my composition mostly completed? I am not sure if I am nearly finished or not.

“Harry, I can use the literature as a framework to sum up your essay, unless you don’t trust I have the intelligence to do so?” Elise answers, annoyed with me still.

I do not blame her for being irritated with me, After all, I have unintentionally blown her off, and now I am making her believe she is not intelligent, which was not my purposes. I know she is brilliant. She may not be as into the business world as I am, but she is one hell of a writer. Elise is excellent with essays and literature. “And don’t forget, I have to take business, so I do know the basics,” Elise notifies me, and I bow my head.

“Again, I am sorry, Elle,” I apologise, “Be my guest, have at it,” I move my chair, and Elise rests beside me, immediately beginning to read what I have written.

“For someone who is great at business, you have a lot of errors,” Elisse chuckles, nudging me lightly. I nod my head and hum.

“Business major, not an English major, also wrote that with a headache and no sleep,” I mumble before I rest my arms on the desk and place my head to lean in my arms, closing my eyes and falling in and out of sleep while Elise types away. “Harry,” Elise taps me.

I hum my acknowledgement, “Hey, what is the main conclusion you want to be emphasised?”

“Baby, I don’t care,” I murmur tiredly, “Just write whatever sounds good, just don’t fail me,” I continue.

“Great, so I will conclude on valuation and whether to rely on an algorithm or on an ad-hoc analysis,” Elise confirms.

“Sounds good,” I admit, grappling with concentrating, my eyes stinging and my head spinning. “I trust you, darling,” I drowsily mumble, prompting to rest my head on her shoulder, closing my eyes again and drifting off to sleep.

❈

It isn’t long before I am woken, and it feels like only moments have passed where I was put at ease and managed to get a few moments of relaxation. “Hey, Harry, hey, sweetheart,” Elise gradually and benevolently tears me from my sleep, and I lift my head off her shoulder, brushing my eyes as I attempt to focus on her. “It’s done; you need to just go to bed.”

I groggily come to terms with my surroundings, regarding that Elise has finished my paper, “What time is it? I still have work to do,” I shake my head, remembering the collection of work I need to finish. I need to establish a fundamental algorithm for one of my clients, and I still need to figure out a way to balance Elise’s sister’s portfolio that was due the weekend of her wedding. Still, Jamie put it on hold due to her antics and marriage. With Elouise getting married, there is a chance she could venture to combine assets with her husband, but if he is intelligent, he won’t let her encounter any of his assets. I would not combine anything with her. There is a time and a place to consolidate things, and a new marriage is not the time. They have not established boundaries, nor have they demonstrated the true meaning behind the wedding. I think Elouisa married for money, point-blank.

“It’s one, and we are going to bed. You’re not working yourself to death,” Elise informs me, closing down my emails and shutting my laptop.

“Elle, I have to send it and —“

“I already sent it. You owe me, by the way,” Elise smiles, standing up from her position and taking my hand, dragging me with her.

Elise and I wander towards the hallway, “Add it to my tab,” I chuckle, “Tell ya what… I’ll get breakfast in the morning, and this weekend I’ll take you to a nice dinner,” I inform Elise, aware that she deserves more than what I’ve given her lately. I’m not sure how she hasn’t thrown in the towel and told me to go fuck myself.

“That would be nice,” Elise accepts as we step into my bedroom, and I waste no time taking my shirt off and launching it to the corner. This is the earliest I have managed to crawl into bed, and if it weren’t for Elise, I’d still be awake, perching at my computer and making my headache ten times worse.

“Thank you for finishing my paper,” I grasp a t-shirt from my drawer while Elise draws back the covers of my bed, “I appreciate it,” I assure Elise, handing her a t-shirt for her to wear to bed.

“Ignore me again for a week or two, and I won’t be so nice,” Elise responds, taking the shirt from my hands. I nod my head, and I don’t expect her to be friendly and forgiving when I fuck up and act like an arse. I need to be held accountable. Elise leans up and kisses my cheek before caressing her hands to my chest, “You’re hot.”

“Thanks, but I’m not in the mood for compliments.”

“Moron,” Elise rolls her eyes, “You’re warm,” she caresses her hands to my cheeks, “Your cheeks are flushed.”

“Mhm,” I hum, “I get migraines after a long period with little sleep,” I shrug my shoulders, not too concerned about things, “It happens like once every few months.”

“Has it ever occurred to you to sleep?” Elise challenges with a touch of sass to her tone of voice.

Sleep would be delightful, but I have too much on my plate.

“It has,” I laugh, “But I don’t have enough time for that.”

“How are you not miserable right now?”

“I am,” I respond, “I just know I have to deal with it. Are we going to continue talking about my lack of sleep and terrible migraine, or are we going to sleep for a few hours?” I question, moving to my side of the bed and crawling between my sheets.

In all fairness, I am miserable. I feel like utter shit, my head is pounding, any sort of light burns my eyes, and it feels like I’m just being clobbered with a club.

“A few hours?” Elise seems surprised at my comment.

I only have a few hours to spare, nothing more, nothing less.

I nod my head, “I have work at six, so yes, a few hours.”

“Surely you’re not getting up?”

“I have to, Elle,” I sigh, “I can’t afford not to.”

In all honesty, I don’t want to get up in a few hours, I’d love nothing more than to sleep in and allow my migraine time to dwindle off, but I can’t. The world doesn’t stop because I’m unwell or for any reason. My mother’s bills still necessitate to be paid, meetings still need to take session, and my school work still needs attending. I don’t get sick days. I don’t get to sleep in. It’s nothing against Elise, but I’m not lucky enough to get to have a few additional hours of sleep as she can.

“You’re wearing yourself too thin.”

“I have to.”

“Can’t I help?”

“You have; you finished my paper for me. That’s more than enough.” I smile towards Elise, kissing her, sweetly, “Thank you for your help.” I kiss her again before stepping away and moving to my side of the bed.

It is not Elise’s responsibility to help my situations. These are my problems to deal with, and she has enough to worry about on her own. I do not wish to burden her with my issues, nor do I wish for her to have to deal with anything more than she already needs to. I don’t want to scare her away, and I don’t want to risk letting her help me and then leaving me because it is too much to handle. I can handle things on my own… I think.

❈ ❈ ❈

The drive to Elise’s parent’s house has been nothing but full of anxiety. I have no reason to be anxious, but I am. I haven’t stepped foot back in the house since the weekend I met her parents. Ever since, I have kept all meetings with the parents in public places. The gates to the private estate open, and I drive up the driveway, parking next to Elise’s car before turning my car off. I sit in the driver’s seat, taking a deep breath as I take in my surroundings. One day I will be able to afford such an extravagant house like this, but for now, I will settle with my tiny apartment and non-glamorous lifestyle.

I get out of my car and close the door. I make the short walk along the perfect cobble pathway towards the door. Everything about the estate is immaculate, from the gardens to how the Autumn door wreath sits flawlessly aligned. Although the leaves are shifting to magma-reds, hot-oranges and fever-yellows, not a single leaf is on the ground— the groundskeeper but be astonishing at his job. The barbecue-red leaves hang soundlessly on the trees, and I can't help but glance up and watch in awe, curious as to whether one will fall and wreck the pure aesthetic the Cartier’s have going on. I shake my head and chuckle to myself before walking up the steps. I stand before the double doors and adjust my shirt, making sure my collar is suitable, and my shirt is not creased. I take a breath and knock on the door.

After a few moments, the door opens, “Well, it’s about time you show up,” Conrad, Elise’s dad, comments with a grin, “I thought you were bringing the liquor?” Conrad questions as he opens the door wider and allows me to step into the house.

I shake his hand, “Hello, and no sir, I did not bring the liquor. Next time I will bring you a bottle,” I respond as we shake hands.

I was unaware that it was now customary for me to bring liquor. I shall be prepared for next time. Hopefully, this time, I will not feel as though I do not belong here or that I am not good enough for Elise. Although our last gathering at the house was far from what I had hoped, ever since that day, her parent’s and I have gotten closer and gotten along. Conrad has realised I am not here for the money, and I do not want any special treatment in the business world. I want to make it on my own with my name, not theirs.

“Elise is at the kitchen table, finishing another essay.”

“She has had quite a few to do,” I nod my head.

“While she finishes, care to have a drink with me?”

“Uh, sure,” I agree, following Conrad into the living room and standing by him as he picks up his decanter set and begins to pour a glass.

“Question for you… Would you consider working for me?”

I shake my head, “All due respect, no. You’re my girlfriend's father, and I do not want to make things awkward. I am also quite happy at Jamie’s company.”

“Damnit, Jamie got a good one. Okay, fair… Well, I would like to have lunch with you and talk business one day this week, just to get to know you more.”

“I can do Thursday?” I suggest, “I leave Thursday night to travel with Jamie.”

“I guess that will do,” Conrad nods his head, “Where are you going?”

“We are going to LA.”

“My brother and I need to talk more. I am leaving for LA next week. We could have tag-teamed clients.”

I chuckle and shrug, “That is between the two of you. Do you not worry about competing with each other for clients?”

“No, we have boundaries.” Conrad shakes his head just as Elise wanders in and welcomes me.

She kisses my cheek and beams towards her father, taking a prompt sip of my drink before asking us about our conversation, and of course, rolling her eyes at me when she is told we are discussing business.

❈ ❈ ❈

After a brief moment at Elise’s parent’s house, I was enlightened that we would be setting sail on the River Thames. I had no idea that today's adventures entailed such a journey. I was under the impression it would be a relaxing day at the house— I was mistaken. I did not anticipate spending part of the day on a yacht. I did not know Conrad owned a yacht.

I knew Elise’s family was wealthy, but I did not think they were this prosperous. Elise doesn’t show nor act that she has a very elite lifestyle. She never once mentioned that her father had a yacht. It makes me wonder what the fuck else they have that I have no clue about. After all, Elise has an investment that is almost worth a million dollars— and somehow, she is still asking me for investment help and assistance with the stock market.

“Harry,” Conrad begins as he hands me a glass of some sort of alcohol, “I believe I owe you an apology,” Elise’s Dad begins, taking me by surprise.

I look at him and nod, waiting for him to give me some sort of explanation. I am not sure what he owes me an apology on, but I am willing to listen to him. “I didn’t give you a fair chance when I first met you months ago. I thought you were hanging around for a business opportunity. I know that way of thinking was wrong. I should not have assumed.”

I don’t blame Conrad for not being open to his daughter dating someone who does not come from the same upbringing as she did. I didn’t have a gorgeous house with perfect gardens. I didn’t have the luxuries she had and still has; I grew up with everything I needed and not much more. My mother couldn’t afford luxuries, and she still can’t. One day, I do hope to give my mother the amenities she deserves. I want to be able to fix her house up the way she wants it and buy her a nice car that she doesn’t need to worry about, whether it will break down on her drive to the grocery store. I didn’t grow up anywhere near close to the same lifestyle as Elise, so I understand the judgement on Conrads end. Every father wants the best for their daughter, and I might not have much money or much to offer her materialistically, but I can give her my time and love— I personally think that is better than anything anyone could buy her. One day, I will buy Elise the things she deserves. One day I will buy her the bracelets and the necklaces, all the things women love to receive. But for now, all I can offer Elise is my devoted time and love.

I accept Conrad's apology, “Sir, I want nothing more than to give her all the great things she is used to, but for now… All I have is myself. I can’t give her expensive dinners and diamonds. I can barely get her flowers, I will be honest, but I can give her my time, effort, and love. I care for your daughter a lot… To be honest, I am in love with her,” I begin to speak sentences before thinking about them. Part of me wants to stop sounding so soft, but the other part knows that Conrad needs to know my true intentions with Elise, “I may never be able to afford a yacht like this,” I gesture to the space around us, “And I may be dirt poor, but I will never be the man my father was, and believe me, that means more to me than anything materialistic I could give her. She will never have to worry about whether I love her. She will never have to worry about where her next meal will come from or whether she will be alone… I will put her first, I will put her before myself, and I will treat her the way a lady should be treated.”

Being a man and being the complete opposite of my father is what I strive for in life, aside from being a CEO. I have learnt what a man is and what a man is not. I have learnt the difference between a deadbeat husband and a real husband. I will not be the man my father was; I will worship the ground Elise walks on, and I will do everything in my power to make sure she is taken care of in every way. Like I have said, I might not ever get to give her mansion with the most beautiful art hung on the walls she could imagine, but she will know that every time I walk through that door, that I am coming home to her. Elise knows that I am the one she can call at any hour with any problem, I will always be there for her, and I will support her in all her decisions. I am aware that we may fight and argue over stupid shit. Hell, we will even fight over things that aren’t stupid, but I wouldn’t want to fight with anyone else at the end of the day. We will have our moments where we want to strangle each other. I know the time is coming, and I know there will be times she won’t want to speak to me or times where I have fucked up, but that is the beauty of a relationship— you grow together, and you learn.

I don’t plan to give up when the going is tough. I will not leave her in the dark and call it quits because things might not get any easier for us financially. I may run from many things when it gets tough, I may bury myself in work in school when I don’t want to deal with personal issues, but I will do my best not to run from her— from us.

“You don’t speak of your father. May I ask why?”

I grow withdrawn for a moment, unsure of what to say. I have managed to avoid my father’s issue for most of the relationship with Elise, but I know at some point I will have to tell her a few things. I would much prefer to discuss how Conrad succeeded in his business to the point he owns a yacht and can sail on the River Thames with a skipper and crew. I wonder if he even bought the dock as well that he docks at. I shake my thoughts away, remembering I have been asked a question about my father. “He isn’t in my life.”

“You mentioned that,” Conrad nods.

“My father is not what I would call a man. He is just someone who is a waste of space in society.”

“That’s a bit harsh, Harry.”

I lift my shoulders into a shrug, “All due respect, but that is nothing compared to the things he has done and said to my sister and myself,” I respond, not trying to sound like a prick. I don’t like having conversations about my Father. He is not worth my time or energy. I should have just told them the has is dead. In all fairness, he is dead to me. “He was an alcoholic. I don’t like to get in detail about him.”

Conrad nods his head and respects my decision of not wanting to speak much of my father. Conrad takes a sip of his drink, and I finally do the same, allowing the whiskey to give me a sense of ease. “Elise told me that you had been the one paying to keep your mother’s house?”

I nod my head, “Yes, sir… Mum lost her job and my sister…. Well, she is going through an emotional breakdown and struggling herself,” I admit, unsure of how much detail Elise has told her parents.

“I have a lot of respect for you, Harry.”

“Why?” I curiously ask.

Conrad leans forward and places his drink down at the table, “You are helping your mother and working night and day plus doing your masters, and you have not complained once.”

“I think I have complained,” I shake my head.

“Elise has said otherwise. You’re a genuine and modest gentleman, and you seem to put others first… I respect a man who can do his best to provide and not make excuses.”

I am not sure what to say. If I didn’t go to work and do what I do, my mother and sister would be on the streets. Someone had to step up and do what needed to be done. I would never forgive myself if my mother lost her house. The house may be small in comparison to what Conrad has, but it is still a home. It is the place my sister and I grew up in. It is the place my mother worked hard to maintain to the best of her ability. “I’d do it all over again if I had to,” I shrug, not really in the mindset that this is something that I should be praised for. I don’t need praise for stepping up. I just want my family to be happy and healthy.

“You’re a good man. I see that,” Conrad nods, finally cracking a small smile, “I don’t think I would want my daughter dating anyone else.”

I stifle a laugh and shake my head, “Give it time. I am sure Elise will tell you I am an asshole.”

“We all are assholes at some point. It’s more so common with people like us.”

“People like us?”

“We are businessmen, and we are born to lead and be assertive. Sometimes that crosses over into being an asshole. Do you know how many times my wife has called me every name under the sun? Or how many times she has told me I am being a CEO and need to walk out of the house and adjust my tone before walking back in?” Conrad questions in all seriousness, and I can’t help but chuckle. I can see Elise doing the same thing in the future. “Cathleen does not take my shit, and I don’t think Elise will take it either. She will call you an asshole, and all you can do is learn where the line is drawn between CEO and boyfriend or husband.”

“Elise has already called me an asshole,” I confess, “I deserved it.”

“Half the time, we do deserve it. It’s in our nature, but again, we learn to control it. We better get back to the ladies before they think I have killed you,” Conrad stands to his feet.

I stare at him and raise a brow, “Was that your initial plan, sir?”

“No, but it will be if you call me sir one more time,” Conrad laughs, “My name is Conrad,” Elise’s Dad corrects me, not wanting me to be as formal. I nod my head and stand up, taking my drink with me before we climb the stairs, leaving the cabin area and stepping back out into the crisp air, Conrad and I parting ways and walking to opposite ends of the yacht.

I make my way around the yacht, amazed by how big the fucking thing is. I know this thing had to have cost more than I can imagine. I smile to myself when I see Elise sitting on a blanket at the yacht’s foredeck with a book in her hand. I watch her for a moment as she is clueless to the world around her, her hair is blowing in the breeze of the slow sails, and her eyes are cast on a book with no intentions of looking away. Most people would be taking pictures or drinking on their father’s yacht. Instead, she is content, reading a book on her own and paying no attention to the rest of the world.

I step closer to where she rests, “Elle,” I call her name from her behind, not wanting to startle her as I walk closer. Elise turns to look at me over her shoulder and smiles that gorgeous smiles of hers.

“I see you made it out alive,” Elise chuckles, keeping her finger in place on her book.

“I did,” I nod, “I see you have your nose in a book.”

“I do,” Elise shows me the cover of the book.

I cock my head to the side and look at the title, “Haven’t you read that before?”

Elise nods and hums her response, “And you are rereading it?” I question.

“It is a good book, Harry. Do you have something against the Great Gatsby?” Elise asks, sounding shocked, almost as if I have insulted her but asking if she is rereading it.

I am not the kind of person to read books twice. I read them the first time, watch the movie and then call it a day. I have never been interested in reading something over and over again, just for the fun of it. I know the ending. I know the plot. Why reread it?

I sit down beside her and drape my arm around her as I kiss the top of her head, “Eh, I won’t lie. I found the book boring.”

“How so?”

“It’s a story about elite society.”

“Is that what you got out of the whole book, Harry?” My response does not amuse Elise.

“No, I don’t like how the book was portrayed. Not one of the characters were good. It isn’t like To Kill a Mockingbird where the book manages to display both the good and the evil inside people.”

“It’s the writing style that makes the book so great. It’s the pros.”

“Yeah, not a literary person, love,” I shake my head, “Anyway,” I trail off, “I have to go to LA for work on Thursday,” I finally tell Elise that I have a business meeting in LA that will take most of my time next week.

“Damn it, Harry,” Elise huffs.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Now, who is going to help me study?” Elise chuckles, causing me to roll my eyes at her.

This woman is something else, that is for sure. “Do you keep me around just to help you study?”

Elise shrugs her shoulders and closes her book, “Also for your good looks, but seriously, I need some help with my China and globalism course.”

“I assume you have a test?”

“Indeed,” Elise nods, “Can I get some help?”

“Sure, we can before I leave, or if you want, we can facetime while I am in LA to help?” I offer, unsure of when the best time will be for her to study. “China Globalism is a blast. You will love it,” I sarcastically add, very aware of the fact that Elise will hate the course. She may be knowledgeable,, but this will be the course that tests her in every way. The fucking course broke me at one point, it was a horrible experience, but it has come in handy with Jamie’s clients. However, I do not foresee this course helping Elise. She doesn’t want to get into this side of the business. She doesn’t even want to be in the business world. Elise has a true passion for English. I know she wants to do something with writing and is only pursuing business for her father.

“I already hate it,” Elise mutters, “So, you will be able to help?”

“Of course,” I agree, “I don’t know why you think I won’t help,” I kiss her cheek as she places her book down on the blanket.

Elise looks at me and pushes her hair behind her ear, “I know you’re busy; that’s why.”

“Mhm,” I hum, “I am going to have to go up to my mother’s sometime soon. Would you like to come with me?” I softly offer, not wanting to make the dreaded drive to Chesire on my own. I don’t want to go up there, but I have to. My mother deserves to see me, even if it is for a few moments.

Elise rests her head on my shoulder, “I would love to,” Elise responds cheerfully, far too cheery to be going to Cheshire. I wish I had her happy demeanour about Cheshire, but I cannot. I can’t even attempt to fake it.

My phone goes off, and I reach into my pocket and grab it. I look down at the screen and bite the inside of my cheek when I see ‘Logan’ pop up on my screen.

I don’t want to deal with him, and I thought I made it quite clear that I want nothing to do with the spawn of satan. My hatred for Logan will probably never subside, so we should have minimal contact, but for some reason, like my father, Logan is determined to cause havoc on my life in every single way possible.

I quickly read the text message, much to my bitter distaste, “Harry, I know you didn’t want to hear from me so soon, but if it’s a 999 situation. — Logan”

I place my phone back in my pocket and stare out at the water in an attempt to find my thoughts. A 999 situation with Logan can only really mean one thing. Blood. The last time it was a 999 situation, I had to swallow my hatred towards him and give him blood. I am not sure why he doesn’t just go to our father for it— but I can’t be petty and scoop to the level of declining him what I believe is primary care. I may hate him, and he may be what I consider the worst thing to happen to my life, but I can’t sit back and not help him with this. Ever since his mother passed away, I have been the one to donate blood to him when he needs it. I don’t remember our ages well, but I know that at around sixteen, his mother died, and up until that point, she was the one who would help him when his health got too poor. Now it is up to me. I could be an asshole and refuse to help him. I could tell him to fuck off and go to our father… But what kind of man would I be to deny someone essential health? What kind of man would I be if I didn’t help someone in need? Most of all, what kind of man would I be if I didn’t put my anger and resentment to the side to benefit someone else?

To answer my questions, I would be a selfish prick like my father, and I refuse to be anything like him.

I pull myself back to reality and remind myself that today was meant to be a day of not stressing about things I cannot change or fix. I cannot change the predicaments that happen. I am not in control of them. I am only in control of what I do. When I am done with Elise and her family, I will see what needs to happen with Logan and do what needs to be done.

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