#lonely rat boy

[targarrus]

page of pentacles

[cascadiiing]

Bloodlust, or something like that

(Quinn Redacted Audio)

[imjustavenuxwithaboomerang]

don't have an actual helpful intro post so i'm making one now heheh

my name is venux and i use she/they pronouns. i'm bisexual/unlabeled (teeters depending on the day) but i use gay as an umbrella term a lot. i'm also autistic (undiagnosed but that doesn't really matter)

i mainly post about hsmtmts, the zombies franchise, lab rats, and opla. but i post about a lot of other shows/movies (including, but not limited to, avatar: the last airbender/the legend of korra, mighty med, dead boy detectives, 9-1-1/9-1-1: lone star, monster high, descendants, and arcane)

dni: racists, homophobes, transphobes, pedophiles, misogynists, ableists, zionists, bigots and just creepy people in general

tags i use: venux's headcanons, venux answers asks, venux's opla binge, venux's hsmtmts s4 binge, venux watches zombies: the re animated series, venux makes alignment charts, venux's "they can never make me hate you"s, venux rambles (for non-fandom related posts), venux makes text post memes, tag venux is it (ya know like "tag you're it"), and venux forces ppl to watch things

i'm always looking for mutuals and would probably love to be friends. asks and interactions are encouraged and appreciated :))

[grimbothefool]

Template by @vault81

yay yay yippee my lil guys!!

[blujayonthewing]

trying to organize the lad's playlist and right now I've got all his 'friends with animals' songs directly after 'you can look right through me, walk right by me, and never know I'm there' and right before 'I don't want your pity, I just want somebody near me' WHICH FEELS, MEAN,,

[historia-vitae-magistras]

How did Matt and Al eventually make up after 1814?

They... kind of didn't. Alfred finally got the message that Matt didn't want to share his territory and largely ignored him in favour of Western Expansion. After the British stopped funding and supporting indigenous rebellion to check the American expansion, Alfred had no more quarrels. As far as they were both concerned, they were no longer kin. Arthur had disowned Alfred. Alfred had disavowed Arthur and largely dispossessed himself of Matt too. There were two spheres now, and neither of them wanted much to do with the other, even if trade never ceased.

After the Napoleonic Wars ended in Europe, the British clamped down on the Canadian colonies. The family compact basically turned it all into a very oppressive, shitty oligarchy in both what is now Quebec and Ontario. Nova Scotia was a little better, but not much. If Arthur started paying attention to Matt, it was because he was getting increasingly mouthy and demanding more and more of him. And Arthur wasn't having it. This culminated in what is, in my opinion at least, the lowest point of Canadian-American relations. The various factions that spilled across the American border in the pro-democracy risings of 1837-1838 seeking aid were either ignored or rounded up by US cavalry and handed back to the British. The leaders were hung, and the rest were banished to Australia. It was only in the 1850s that the US started to get aggressive with Japan and was firmly established in California that things were simmering again. The Fugitive Slave Act resulted in the underground railroad that often found its end in Ontario, and the British started making overtures as things got tense again.

In my head, this was more or less Alfred ignoring Matt and Matt focusing on trying not to get himself killed for about 40 years. It's less making up and more Civil War Union Alfred going "okay, yeah hi, I might die so I'm not going to be mad when you drag me out of a corpse pile." They only started making up and talking as the Northern US and Canadian lower classes bonded and got along. They were still cool but could still talk and have a civil conversation by the late 1840s. The Civil War would really fix things between them personally if not as much nations-to-nation. There was a lot of Confederate bullshit the increasingly unpopular British-held government refused to deal with, trying to play off both sides of the US against each other. This enraged the US and many of the Canadian and British lower classes. At the same time, 60,000 Canadians volunteered, overwhelmingly for the Union. Matt prying chunks of dixie shrapnel out of Alfred's ass and holding a surgeon at gunpoint did most of the healing lmao.

[greatwesternrailway]

at work there were three rats and someone sold only two of them, which you are absolutely not supposed to do, it should have been all three together or just one to join rats already in the home. so the poor third rat is all by himself in there now. there’s another rat in the back who could have gone in with him but when he was delivered he had a little bit of blood on his nose so he’s had to be quarantined for a full week so we can check he’s alright. and now i can’t stop thinking about these two rats being so lonely all on their own in a cage and it makes me so so sad :(

[pregnantsecondo]

NO BC WHY WOULD THE OUTSIDER MARK THE LONELY RAT BOY IF HE DIDNT CARE JUST A LITTLE BIT

[sluggsy]

speaking of replaying ol games restarted n&f too and in the half hour ive played im thinking abt my second mc being silas's little brother

[arolesbianism]

I love comparing bandori and sekai covers in a "I genuinely love both of these franchises and both of their music and want to think abt what each is going for in their covers and what they do that I like or don't like" sort of way but god damn do they make it hard when half of their overlap is with crusty dusty sekai covers and the more so recent stuff is mostly bandori's more low key instrumental stuff which I am Not a fan of so it's so hard to find a pair that doesn't feel like hydrogen bomb vs coughing baby in one way or another to me dhjdhdj

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 5]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 6.8k

Summary: 'Rule 27: It’s a poor choice to help a hare at high noon, but it will certainly appreciate you if you do.'

WARNING for some descriptions of violence

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

You’d first set foot on The Rose Queen when you were the tender age of eleven. Or, well, something close to that. It wasn’t like most peasant orphans were taught numbers, let alone how to interpret calendars well enough to mark the passing of years.

It was the first ship you’d ever seen up close—sleek, and salt-stained, and creaking beneath your toes. The Boy King at its helm had turned his nose up at you in his too big coat, with his too big boots and tricorn hat that kept slipping down over his eyes. It was a ragtag crew that you’d wandered into, made of nothing but runaways and street rats. The ship itself was just as unusual and fresh-faced. It was built in a very impractical sort of way, with hallways that led to nowhere and portholes that opened up into endless seas of shadow where you could tumble down, down, down for hours and never see an end (or so you’d been warned). There were paintings on the walls, all off-centered and hanging on crooked nails that wobbled with every dip in the waves. The masts and rails were stained a deep, bloody red, in honor of its title. And no matter how the raging winds and waves battered at those petals, your Captain would have you out there the next morning to paint them anew. The Rose Queen was the finest pirate ship in all the ocean, and you only half-said that out of personal bias.

The vessel of the Silver Songbirds was… not like that.

It was grand, certainly. But there was a barren cleanliness to it that didn’t feel lived in. Sure, Riddle’d had you literally scrubbing stains out of the deck with a toothbrush and pot of turpentine, but this was different. Sterile, rather than squeaky. The wood planks didn’t whine with a weary, seaworthy groan beneath your feet that you could feel through the heel of your boots—as if to reassure you it was there. The air smelled of salt, sure, and you could see a group of gulls circling overhead, but the whole of it felt… empty. Lonely.

The black haired man led you to a small, private room in the ship’s hull. That alone was strange. You’d been sharing quarters for the whole of your seafaring career. This new little suite of yours had a bed, and white paint on the walls, and a porthole for a window. He gently coaxed you into sitting at the foot of the mattress and readjusted the coat resting along your shoulders. His smile was soft, kind. The sort of warm, pretty expression that you could read about in a love poem.

You remembered your Siren’s vicious, pointed smirk—red, and haughty, and sharp enough to cut glass—and fought a pang of something you absolutely refused to put a name to.

When you blinked back into focus, his lips were moving in a slow, steady flow and you focused your best on the shape of them. It was hard, with how placid his expression was—with how little there was to make out of anything he was attempting to get across. And whether it be your furrowed brow or a sudden memory that oh right, you’d told him your ears worked as well as a three-legged horse pulling a one-wheeled cart, he startled into silence. His face twisted up with chagrin, and he offered you an apologetic smile with round, pink cheeks.

He fumbled around in his pockets for a piece of paper and scribbled out a hasty note to press into your palms.

‘My name is Neige Leblanche, and I’ll be taking care of you for this journey.’

You paused, fingers worrying at the sides of the neat, square bit of parchment. It felt right to offer your own name in return. That would be the polite thing, surely. But you paused, throat tight with uncertainty and a prickling, unpleasant sort of heat. Because you’d never even told your Siren your name, had you? Not even once.

And beneath that sudden, sour gut punch was something else.

‘Rule 116, your name is not a number, but it is your value. Do not offer it to any whose own interests are undue.’

The first time Ace had found himself with a wanted poster (‘Ugly,’ he’d complained, bitter. ‘How am I supposed to hook any tail with this? I look like a mutant potato. This stupid portrait is worse than prison.’), Riddle had taken your handwritten Book of Rules and underlined that one thrice over. You hadn’t thought much of it until you’d had to cut a hangman’s noose from around your idiot, foxy friend’s throat—the handiwork of the tavern folk he’d been boasting to only an afternoon before. And then it had made sense. Ace had survived (with a new, grand tale of woe that he liked to repeat ad nauseum until you wished you’d left him strung up), but the lesson had remained.

Carefully you swallowed the words resting on your tongue and offered a polite-ish nod in their place.

“Nice to meet you, sir. Thank you. For saving me.”

Neige shook his head in a panicked sort of rush, hands waving back and forth with a clear ‘none of that! None of that!’ before reaching back into his pockets to search for another note.

‘It was my honor,’ he wrote, words jumbled and sloppy in his haste. ‘It’s the duty of all officers to help those in need.’

Your brow pinched. Officer? Officer of what?

Your Siren had called these Songbirds dangerous. ‘Not safe’ written into the sand over and over again with his curled claws. You didn’t know much of mainland politics and other such nonsense, but maybe there was some sort of… Siren Hunting Order? Soldiers of the King sent out to scour the seas and keep them safe for a host of weary, would-be-merman-meals? That would make sense. It would make a lot of sense, actually.

Another note was pressed into your hands.

‘How did you end up stranded on that island?’

Islet, you wanted to correct petulantly. Riddle would have. Your Siren would have.

You opened your mouth and hesitated. Telling Nigel, or Nergal, or whatever his name was that your ship had been besieged by a pod of ravenous mers (and one fair-faced asshole who you already missed far, far too—) was as good as serving them up on a silver platter, wasn’t it? Siren hunters probably traded information like how pirates traded maps or merchants traded gold. And you’d be damned if your loose tongue was what led to your friend companion co-strandee’s family being hunted for sport just after he’d finally managed to make his way home again.

So you stiffened your upper lip and turned to look your savior in the eye.

“I fell overboard,” you said, firm. “Because I’m an idiot.”

He blinked, startled, and you could recognize the spluttered ‘…oh’ shaping his lips.

He handed you another scribbled bit of parchment, gaze averted and awkward.

‘I’m sorry.’

“Never apologize to the half-wit for whatever fallacy of their own led to them falling into the pit,” you recited naturally, and Nigel startled. His doe eyes went round with confusion and he tilted his head at you like a curious hound. Nothing intimidating, more like some kind of fluffy cocker spaniel or primped up lapdog staring up at you with too-long-lashes and too-few-thoughts.

You shrugged.

“Just a rule I was supposed to follow,” you shrugged off. You offered a slanted grin. “Though when you’re the idiot in question, it can be pretty hard to avoid.”

Neville smiled at you with a soft sort of laugh that you swore you could feel dancing along your skin.

Another note.

‘I’ll be back in a bit. Please enjoy the amenities here and get some rest. If you need anything, let us know and I’ll get it sorted personally.’

You dipped your chin in thanks and collapsed back against the small, flat mattress in the corner. It was soft, sturdy, probably good for your back and all that nonsense. The sheets were crisp and white, and they rubbed blandly at your weary hide. You could smell the lingering, sharp fragrance of some kind of tacky soap in the cotton. Totally not unpleasant at all. Theoretically, it should have actually been the best bed you’d ever slept in. But a part of you missed swaying back and forth in a net hammock, and an even bigger part missed plopping down in the sand with the heat of a crackling fire at your front and the even steadier warmth of the long, curling, press of gemstone scales at your back.

You flopped over onto your side and stared at the empty, carefully manicured surface of the desk opposite you and wished more than anything that you’d brought your shell.

.

.

The room was cold when you next woke, and you shivered into the jacket Neige had draped along your shoulders (because it was ‘Neige.’ It had been signed on the bottom of the note he’d left you that morning alongside your breakfast. Which was stupid. The dumbest name you’d ever heard). The starched fabric of it all wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it was better than shivering through the chilly ocean mists that were seeping in through the porthole.

You burrowed into the swathe of white and blue wool like a rabbit in a hole, and then winced in irritation when another of those stupid, gaudy pins dug into your cheek.

You plucked the first from its place—the duo of silver songbirds. It really was quite pretty, despite the ominous undertones and all. Two, graceful, delicate sets of feathered wings arching up into the sky—forever frozen in a dance to the clouds. You dropped it into the little, dark crevice between your bed and the wall. Good riddance.

Next came a crest that was familiar in a distant sort of way—a memory that tickled that back of your brain from days long past. You hadn’t noticed it before, what with the echoes of ‘not safe, not safe, not safe’ blaring in your head like an alarm, but it was just as neatly polished as the birds pinned above. It was diamond shaped, the edges embossed in twining lines like the cut of a rope. At its head sat a strange sort of crown, with the arches and more familiar pointed designs replaced by the billowing arcs of sails.  All of that gallantry surrounded a pair of rearing stallions—hooves crossed along a golden edged sword and circled with blue ivy.

You twisted it between your fingers, watching the metal glint in the low light. You hadn’t set foot in proper society since Riddle had let your young, dumb self abscond into the ocean all those years ago. You could hardly remember the flag of our home country, let alone the specifics.

You frowned and the edges of the badge pricked at your fingers.

You dropped this one behind the bed too, with a petulant flick of your wrist to make sure it really stuck.

.

.

‘I’m sorry I haven’t been around more often, there’s some business I’ve been having to take care of.’

You handed the note back with a shrug.

“It’s no bother.”

Neige offered an apologetic grimace nonetheless and another of those smiles that looked a bit too sweet to be real.

‘Do you mind if I ask you something?’

You bristled before you could help it, thoughts spiraling away to harpoons, and nets, and hunting parties. And then you settled your shoulders into a polite, easy line and offered one of your own too-put-together smiles in return.

“Yeah, sure. I mean, you saved me after all.”

Neige smiled again, easy and comfortable, and pressed another slip of parchment into your palms.

‘Where were you headed? When you fell overboard?’

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck you with a barbed cactus branch dipped in—

Ahem.

You cleared your throat in a way that was surely a Very Normal Person Thing To Do, and tried to ignore the fact that he was so brazenly attempting to map out his plan of attack—to pinpoint the route that the sirens had been chasing and run after it like hounds tracking a fresh scent. Which, to be fair, sirens were a scourge on the seas. Hundreds upon hundreds of good men and women had been lost to their crooning songs and wickedly sharp teeth. They were vicious, often cruel, and so much stronger than any mortal sailor that of course the world above would fear them. You’d been very much of the same opinion until only quite recently, and now—now you just couldn’t.

“I don’t know where we were going,” you lied, and Neige’s brow pinched in a dour, rejected kind of way. “But,” you tried, sprinkling in a touch of truth to make the lie go down easier, “I know we were coming from Port o'Bliss.”

He nodded, that uncongenial expression slipping off his face as easily as it’d settled there.

He rattled off something quick and bubbly, and you pointedly arched a brow. The brunette blushed bright pink and hastily scrabbled for another bit of paper.

‘Thank you for being so helpful. I know it can’t be easy.’

Your neutral expression froze on your face and when you smiled it felt more like a polite bearing of teeth. Did he know? Could he see right through you? Or worse, was he getting all the answers he wanted from you either way, no matter how you tried to coat it in a veneer of misdirection.

“Sure thing.”

He handed you another note, this time for his pocket. Crumpled and soft, the ink a bit smeared along the curling letters.

‘It’s a poor choice to help a heron at high noon,’ it said, ‘but it will certainly appreciate you if you do. So my thanks to you.’

Something settled in your gut at the familiarity, something deceptively warm and homey.

“It’s a hare,” you said, without much thought. “Not a heron.”

Neige nodded with a polite, smiling mumble that looked like another apology, and then left you to your own devices.

That night, a veritable feast was delivered to your tiny, white-walled cabin. A grand spread of food fit for a king. There was roasted fowl, pools of thick, spiced gravies, mountains of vegetables that you’d never even seen before. And tarts. So many colorful, fruity tarts that were so sweet they almost made your tongue curl.

“What’s the occasion?” you asked as Neige took a seat at your desk to nibble at the meal alongside you—a cloth napkin folded neatly across his nap and a clear glass flute for wine placed a bit precariously by his elbow.

He smiled, honey warm, and offered you another note.

‘For helping the hare.’

.

.

Neige didn’t come to visit you the next morning, and his absence had the hair at the nape of your neck standing on end.

You paced and paced around your cube of a barrack. It was maybe four steps from one end to the next, but the constant bumping your toes against the wall was better than just sitting there doing nothing. The worst part was the silence. Not the one in your head. Yes, yes, you were more than used to that. On and on, yada yada. But the silence of the ship. The Rose Queen had always felt like a living thing, a great, wooden beast with a pulse you could feel thrumming beneath your toes, your palms. All you had to do was lay a hand against its side and you could feel the rumble of the tide beyond, the rushing footsteps of sailors sprinting about to meet one of Riddle’s orders or other, the thump of heavy, wet mop heads smacking the deck overhead. It was quiet, but it wasn’t quiet. This ship? No matter how you laid against the boards or pressed flat to the walls, there was nothing. And it made you feel like you were trapped aboard a vessel full of ghosts.

The sun had long begun to set by the time Neige returned, and by then you were nothing but a livewire of nerves.

Had they found him? Your Siren? Was he there somewhere, just a few floors above—strung up like a fish in a net? Caught and displayed like a fine trophy? Or had they killed him outright? Had they found his pod? Had he put up a fight? Had he—

A piece of rolled parchment was held out for you to take, a satin blue ribbon tied along its belly. Neige’s soft, brown gaze was glued to the floor and you snatched the paper from his hands like a rabid cat and tore it open. You could barely keep your eyes steady to read it all—fine, pointed print done up in a neat hand.

‘—danger to those who venture—'

‘—for the safety of the people—’

‘—therefore, the decision has been made—'

‘—with the greatest consideration—’

‘—with immediate effect—'

‘—we have declared the extermination of—'

“You can’t!” you wailed, and Neige’s doe eyes darted up to yours and immediately away once more in guilt. “He’s—he’s not bad. I swear! I know how things look—and—and I know he’s not—that’s he’s a—but you can’t—”

Neige’s wavering stared jumped back to you in open surprise, and you saw his lips twitch on one word—delicate brows pinching in question.

‘He?’

You frowned and fought the urge to stomp your feet. Because, okay, fine. Sure, you were arguing tooth and nail for someone whose name you maybe didn’t even know. Someone who had swum away from your stupidly sentimental ass with all the power and grace of a beast fit to rule the depths of the oceans while you could barely flounder at its surface. And sure, sirens killed people and ate them. But this one was—he was special, and you’d be damned if you let some primped up fishermen try to reel him in on a hook just because he’d maybe eaten a few people. And—

There was a hand on your shoulder, and Neige was staring down at you with an expression not dissimilar to that of a parent about to tell their child that the cat had got out and met a terrible, squishy end beneath the wheels of your neighbor’s carriage. He sighed, dark lashes brushing along his cheeks, and then reached out with his other hand to tap a finger between your collar bones.

“What?” you snapped, and he tapped again. “Me? What about me?”

He paused, gaze meeting yours with a pointed sort of melancholy.

Oh.

Oh.

You remembered the pins you’d dropped behind your bed, one by one. You remembered the strange coat of arms crowned with golden sails and bearing a great, shining sword. Something regal, something imperial that a commoner like you would have only caught fleeting glimpses of in parades, and marches, and war calls.

Something like, say, Pyroxene’s Royal Naval Fleet.

You glanced down at the parchment again, crumpled between your fists, and smoothed it out into something legible beneath your fingers. You reread the text with careful focus.

‘For the Crime of Piracy’ it said. Right at the tippity top. In red ink.

��…ah,” you blinked. “That makes a lot more sense.”

.

.

You were to walk the plank on the ‘morrow.

Which honestly, you hadn’t even thought was really a Thing—walking the plank, argh. Fiddly dee and a yo-ho-ho. That sort of storybook nonsense. The parables that parents passed onto their children to try and scare them away from a life of villainy. Real pirates were put to the rack, or hanged in the town squares to scare the adults away from doing the same.

But you supposed it was practical, at least. Blood was hard to scrub out of wooden decks, so beheading would have been a bit of a mess. Bullets were best to be conserved out on the high seas where stocks were already low, and honestly, your body would just have to be thrown overboard anyways before it stunk up the barracks. So, like, doing it all in one would be quite efficient. You could appreciate that. 

Your hands would be bound at your back and you’d be given three breaths, three steps, and then you’d be tumbling down into the waves below. Claimed by the waters that you’d patrolled for so many years now. Fitting, honestly. Riddle would be proud (beneath the raging, spitting indignation of you being caught at all, but that was another matter). At least you wouldn’t be going out from food poisoning or something mundane like that, so that was a win. And who knew. Maybe your Siren would find you again when you were nestled to rest in some seabed not too far from here, and he could finally make a meal of your dumb ass yet. Happy endings abound.

You wondered idly at the dual branches of fate you’d wandered along in these past weeks, and if it would have been better to hide away when you’d first seen those sails on the horizon. To keep to the little, crescent island you’d found yourself on and slowly starved to death. Alone, abandoned, and sitting in a forever stillness worse than any silence you’d known before.  Forever staring out over the horizon for a glance of amethyst fins that you knew you’d never see again.

If given the choice between the two, you’d take the plank.

.

Neige brought you another feast that night, and you gorged on it merrily. 

When he nervously kept piling your plate with choice cuts after choice cuts, gaze diverted to the floor and looking like a kicked puppy dog with its tail between its legs, you rolled your eyes and swatted at his fingers.

“Unclench yourself,” you huffed, and he puffed up stuttery and pink in horror. “It’s not the end of the world. You’re just doing your job, right? If we’d met under different circumstances I bet I would have shot you first. So, really. All’s fair.”

He worried his lower lip between his teeth, guilt still swimming heavy and warm in those doe eyes of his.

He said something under his breath, something that you’d bet even if your ears were working at full capacity you wouldn’t have been able to parse out. He leaned forward to scrawl a note on the napkin beside your plate.

‘You’re happier now? After all this? I don’t get it.’

You reached out to pat him merrily on the shoulder, more a smack smack smack then anything really pleasant. He could see him fighting a wince with all the trembling sort of bravery of a field mouse. Poor dear. What was the Royal Navy thinking? Hiring on someone who looked like they belonged on an advert for rouge and sweets. This was the last face a pirate was expected to jeer into? This one? Really? It was a wonder this little, squirrely man hadn’t keeled over the first time someone spat on his boots.

“It’s a poor choice to help the fish at high noon,” you said around a mouthful of crumbs. “But it’s my choice. And I’m happy to do it.”

“Fish?” you saw him mouth, brow pinched, and you batted at his shoulder again before reaching for another of those too-sweet tarts.

.

.

There was a whole procession for your execution. With speeches. Which even with the slowly encroaching panic worming into your guts, you couldn’t help but think was at least a little funny.  

The whole crew was lined up in solemn formation, listening stalwartly to some judge, or high ranking officer, or whatever rattle off who even knew what. Your crimes? A homily? The lunch menu? Fuck if you had any clue. And you were the one being fed to the sharks. There had to be some joke hidden in here, right? The scoundrel pirate who could never be tried, simply because they couldn’t hear their own sentencing. You wouldn’t even know when to stand up and shout ‘I object!’ It would probably be pretty funny, right? If you just did that out of nowhere. And what was the worst that could happen? Oh, no. A fine. Please, sir. Add it to the list of debts I owe from beyond my watery grave. Amen.

A hand at your lower back gave you a gentle nudge forward and you shifted against the ropes binding your wrists. They were nicer than your own stores aboard the Rose Queen. Not nearly as itchy, the fibers neat and clearly expensive. Neige stepped up beside you and offered you a look that was likely meant to be kind, but your growing nerves had started to eat through your willingness to play friendly. You could feel the weight of the crew around you, even if you couldn’t hear them. The creak of the deck beneath your toes as they shifted about, the way their bulk must have been shielding you from the worst of the wind. Unlike with your own mismatched family of castaways, their presence wasn’t reassuring. And you kept your eyes locked forward and away from the field of sharp gazes eating into your hide.

The plank was narrow, and immediately you were fighting the urge to sway on your toes. Having your hands bound at your rear only made it worse. It threw off the whole of your center of gravity and had you feeling dizzy and seasick.

You took one breath, stuttery, and one step. The wood whined beneath your heels in a vibration you could feel all the way up to your knees.

Another breath, another step. You could feel the salt soaked board starting to bend now. Clearly it wasn’t meant to support much of anything, let alone a whole person. And for some reason the idea of it breaking beneath you was so much worse than taking that last step all on your own. A sudden plunge that was out of your control. It had your heart hammering in your throat and cold nausea bubbling in your belly.

You looked down. You didn’t want to, but it was like your gaze was a weighted, magnetic thing. Pulled down into the salty depths below. The water looked rougher than it had a moment ago, or maybe you were just really starting to panic. You could see the white froth of the wake breaking against the ship’s hull. It churned like the start of a storm, which was really, terribly inconvenient. Seeing as it’d been so still and calm just a few minutes before. And, y’know, the fact that you had to fall into that mess of sharp peaks and rocking waves. You swore you could see dark shapes flitting about just beneath the surface, a flash of grey, or maybe green. It was hard to tell, with the brightness of the early morning sun in your eyes.

No one was poking at your back, urging you forward, which you thought was quite odd. You’d been taking your sweet ol’ time sauntering to your demise. You’d assumed they’d have less patience for a pirate with cold feet. Instead, the world around you was just silent and still. Shifting with the raging waves below, but empty and quiet as a tomb for all you knew otherwise.

You took your last breath, your last step.

And then the ship lurched and you were plummeting towards the water. The dissonance between having something beneath your feet—no matter how frail—and then nothing was jarring, and it had you gasping on impulse. Hair whipping at your cheeks and lungs squeezing tight as the air screamed past your throat. It felt like you were drowning before you even hit the water.

When you did finally crash into the waves, it hurt. You’d always been a fairly proficient swimmer, but whether it be the mind numbing panic or the ropes binding you tight, tight, tight, you just started to sink. The salt stung like an open wound, and the water was cold. Frigid. Like being tossed into the jagged side of a glacier. You at least had the sense not to gulp down a mouthful of water out of reflex, but that didn’t make things much better.

You screwed your eyes shut, bubbles frothing at your nose, and tried to find that peace that you’d clung to all night long. A life for a life, one catch for another. No one was going to miss you anyways. And if you had to meet the reaper some way, then of all the ends the universe could have spun for you, at least this one had some meaning to it.

You sighed into the darkness, soft, but when your lips parted next around what should have been a mouthful of icy saltwater, all you could taste was air.

Your eyes shot open in the gloom to a mess of familiar golds and purples that you’d thought you’d never see again.

Your Siren pulled back, bubbles curling from the edge of his lips into a soft stream of warmth between the two of you. Nestling as deep as a full breath all the way in the tightest corners of your lungs. You could feel the dip of his claws as he settled his hands at your shoulders—keeping you in place. And immediately you shrieked and flailed in your bindings.

“You—!”

You promptly choked on another mouthful of sea water and your Siren wailed—all that molten fondness in those lovely amethyst eyes of his sharpening into familiar, pissy exasperation from one second to the next. He dragged your face back to his, slotting his mouth against yours and pushing more air into your lungs. You leaned into it before you could help yourself. Half for the whole oxygen thing, and half, because, well—

When he pulled away this time he smacked a hand over your mouth with a sneer, his thumb and index finger hooked upward to pinch at your nose. He jabbed a claw in your face with a clear ‘stay put’ and immediately went to work cutting through the bindings twined along your arms. The ropes fell away beneath his talons like butter to a hot blade, and he fretfully ran his palms up and down your limbs—looking for any stray bits of netting like a compulsion. Once he seemed certain that you’d been properly freed from your ties, he hauled you up against his chest in a grip that had you losing all the air in your lungs all over again. You could feel the cool jut of the sea glass around his neck pressing into your collar, and he buried his head down into your throat until you didn’t know where he ended and you began. The frills of his tail fluttered in the water, and the bulk of those twining strands curled up and around your legs like a barnacle.

He was warm. Warmer than you’d been expecting, for a creature who spent his life patrolling the darkest depths of the ocean. It wasn’t the same sort of heat that would beat off a human’s hide, but it was more comforting than any you’d ever known. You burrowed down against his shoulder, nose scrunching against the side of his neck and the fins at his ears brushing your temple. You could feel his claws flexing at your sides, feel the shift of his scales against your skin. And just as your lungs were starting to burn, he ducked forward to pull you into another kiss—filling your chest with wonderful, wonderful oxygen all over again.

You blinked blearily past the sting of salt in your eyes and he scrubbed a thumb against your cheek.

Now that those high, wonderful, heart bursting emotions were settling back into something manageable beneath your ribs, you took a moment to look at him. Really look at him. Because you’d sent him on his way, hadn’t you? Waved him off with well wishes and a hope for his happiness. And all that aside, how had he even managed to find you—

Bubbles streamed from your nose as that newest shared breath began to run dry, and your Siren hooked an arm around your waist to propel you upwards.

You crested the surface with a gasp, paddling instinctively against the churning wake. When all that did was leave you smack, smack, smacking at your Siren’s chest like a flailing toddler, he hissed—a spitting, pissy thing you could feel on the breeze—and hauled you back up against him. Just like he had all those times you’d swum together in your cove. You forced yourself to settle, bobbing gently against the tide as he kept you both aloft.

Once your body had managed to catch up with your brain to realize that it was, in fact, not drowning, all of the adrenaline rushed out of you like a broken spicket. You slumped against the Siren’s chest, fuzzy headed and dizzy. Because he’d saved you. Which made no sense in the least. But you’d almost died, and he’d saved you—

Your gaze drifted back up to the ship from which you’d only so recently taken your Cannonball of Doom and startled.

There was blood everywhere.

Staining the railings, splashed along the low flying flags, dripping along the deck. A macabre mess of gore and claw marks gutting the once grand vessel like a beached whale. Some of the crew still seemed to be hanging onto the life rafts, others were taking running leaps into the water like they were under compulsion—eyes glazed over and distant. There was a prickling all along your skin, something twisting familiar and strange in your gut, and oh. Oh.

One of the grander looking officers (the one who had been giving your pre-execution speech, perhaps? He looked similar enough) was shouting something from his place at the bow of one of the life rafts—arm extended in a grand show of valor and sword glinting into the light of the morning. And then a great, emerald siren was rearing over the side of that tiny vessel with a sharp grin on his face and sharper talons on display. The officer was dragged overboard, and the siren’s tail came down on the guardrails with a force that had the wood splintering and the already haphazard little boat rock, rock, rocking until it caught on a high wave and capsized.

You could see the flash of colorful scales and the tips of even brighter fins all around. Cresting above the water just long enough to grab hold of another wailing victim and drag them down to the depths. There was enough blood in the water that you could smell it. Acrid and copper against the ocean’s already sharp, salty musk. And sure, you were a pirate. You’d been in raids, you’d seen death. Plenty of it. But this. Well. It was unfamiliar. In a strange, detached sort of way. These assholes had chucked you overboard, after all. So you only really had a teensy, tiny pinch of sympathy for the fact that being eaten alive probably hurt like a sonofabitch.

It was more strange, you supposed, to be at the center of a sirens’ hunt and not be the one facing down the angry, bitey end.

You kicked in the water, nose scrunching when the red tide lapped against your chin.

“This isn’t going to attract sharks, is it?”

Because if you were saved from drowning at the hands of a royal militia only to wind up as a fish’s dinner, you would be terribly annoyed.

Your Siren rolled his eyes at you, like you were just the most ridiculous and stupid creature in all of creation. And then he made a languid swipe of his large, fully-healed tail and began to swim away from the literal bloodbath he and his pod had wrought. With you and all your silly, fragile humanness in tow.

It was far too relaxing, being pulled along against his side. The gentle rocking of his tail beneath you as he swam at the surface—always ensuring to keep your head above the water as he did so. You could feel your eyes starting to dip, feel a yawn cracking along your lips. Maybe it was just the adrenaline crash hitting, or maybe it was the relief that you hadn’t even wanted to address. He’d come back. For you.

The earless pirate who never seemed to do much but stumble into one conundrum after another. Who had only annoyed him at best and shorn his fins to shredded, useless bits at worst. Who had thrown shells at his head and only nicked him a little when you cut the ropes from his hide.

Who had made him human foods with fire and taught him your language in a messy scrawl of sand and snark. Who swam with him in the bay and twined a necklace of shining, purple sea glass around his neck. Who braided his hair, and laughed at his pouting, and—

There was a rough roll of surf that splashed in your face and you spluttered against the white froth.

The Siren paused and beat his tail against the deeper waters, propping you upright as you hacked and fretfully patting at your back. You could see his mouth moving as he mumbled something, brow pinched, and stared back at him with your own wobbly frown—confused.

“Why did you come back?” you asked, and the Siren’s brows jumped up into his hairline. He looked startled, genuinely. And that only had you even more befuddled. “And how did you even find me?”

This time when he huffed, there was a subtle sort of irritation there that you’d learn to recognize well.

He was pouting.

Something brushed against your fingers in the water, soft and fleeting. You glanced down just in time to catch a blur of lavender flitting nervously below the choppy waves, never dipping close enough again to touch, but looking hesitant to keep much further either.

The Siren followed your gaze only to narrow his eyes, pointed teeth bared as he swatted at the poor, round, little octopus with his tail. A clear shoo, shoo if you’d ever seen one. The octopus squeaked, sending bubbles spiraling in all directions, and frantically looped out of the way of the mer’s petulant tantrum. You whacked him right back, indignant on your teeny friend’s behalf. Because—!

“You followed me,” you burbled, and the little octopus spun in a fretful circle. If you didn’t know better, you’d say the poor, little dear was wringing its hands. Your Siren bared his teeth and smacked out again. “Hey! Don’t be an ass! He saved me,” you argued, and your bitch of a merman just snapped his fangs in your face like a feral cat.

You gawked.

“No way. You can’t be annoyed that you were beat out by a baby, purple octopus the size of an orange.”

He huffed and turned up his nose, and you burst out into laughter for the first time since you’d watched him swim out of your cove all those days ago.

You laughed and laughed until tears were beading at the corners of your eyes, and your Siren was grumbling in complaint and pinching your sides with his curved claws. There wasn’t real malevolence in that stern glare of his, though—just more of the prickly, teasing sort of snide side eye he’d given you in your latter weeks together. Fondness, you realized. That’s what was softening it all. The same sort of warmth you held for him.

Your favorite, pissy, preening, self-righteous goldfish.

You snorted into his shoulder, still shaking on giggles, and you could feel his sigh against your temple. You burrowed down against his side, feeling his fins brush along your hips as he kept the both of you afloat.

“Thanks,” you said, soft. “For coming back.”

You were expecting another melodramatic sigh, another plaintive roll of the eyes. Instead, his fingers came up to twine with yours and tugged your hand to rest against the pendant at his throat. You blinked, confused, and he just curled your palm around that little, sand-smoothed piece of glass.

You arched a brow. “What does that have to do with anything?”

This time he did roll his eyes at you, and when he spoke he mouthed the word dramatic and wide so he was sure that you could see it.

‘Moron.’

You whined in complaint and smacked his fingers away. “But I’m your moron.”

Another huff, soft against the nape of your neck. And you could see the barest twitch of a smile on his red lips as he turned back into the tide and continued his trek home.

.

.

.

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

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[thinemoonshine]

༄LECHE OF THE SIRENS.ೃ࿔*

corrupt!enhypen ot7 x siren!reader warning(s): the boys being downright disgusting, reverse harem, mature themes, obsessive and possessive behaviours, (y/n) is manipulative and puts them in their place, unconventional 'love' type: mini series word count: 10.4k

seven nobles who are corrupt meets a girl akin to a celestial being. little do they know, that the maiden is anything but—as she is the bane to all abominable man, a siren.

𝓟𝓐𝓡𝓣 1

𝒮unghoon scoffs incredulously at his friend, Jongseong’s, decision to sneak into the prostitute house through the back door. “Don’t tell me you’re still playing the role of the refined, virtuous young lord?”

Jongseong clicks his tongue with a frown as he turns his face away from his deprecating friend. “I have to. If I wish to be the head of my house, I have to maintain a polished reputation. My father sees to it that I will.”

The young can only roll his eyes though a ghost of a smirk plays on his lips. “Oh, and you’re doing a very good job with that, aren’t you?”

“How is it that you’ve managed to keep your wickedness hidden?” Jaeyun asks with an arch of his brow.

“Because I’m smart,” Jongseong shamelessly confesses as he faces them once more. “I only use those with either nothing to gain…or everything to lose if they were to be acquainted with me—that includes the ladies.”

The other five of his friends, excluding Riki and Sunoo who seem to be disinterested in their venereal subjects, only stay silent at the side—arms crossed and deadpanned.

“Well then, the three of us will proudly enter through the main door while you have to sneak around like a little rat for daddy,” Heeseung mocks to which Jongseong frowns at but he tells no falsity.

He then turns to the youngest three with hands in his pockets. “What about you lot?”

Riki wraps an arm around Jungwon’s shoulders with a playful smirk. “We plan to watch them dance. They have a performance tonight.”

“And we’ve gotten the VIP tickets,” Won adds and pulls out two slips making Seong knit his brows.

“Only two?”

Sunoo raises a hand. “I’m staying out. The aromas they they use are headache inducing.”

“Suit yourself,” the oldest of the bunch says casually with a shrug before they all haughtily enter the establishment in the red district.

The lone member sigh watches them disappear before he retreats to the lively booths that line the roads. Various savoury smells and appetizing images of food bring delight—rekindling his spirit for fun. He’s always been fond of all types of delicacies.

“What would you like, young man?” The vendor asks Sunoo who so conspicuously eyes the food at his stall with stars in his eyes.

The customer grins happily, ear-to-ear before he speaks. “All of it!”

—

“I’ve eaten too much, ugh,” Sunoo groans and pats on the waistband of his high-waisted trousers that make his every move uncomfortable. Even breathing is distasteful with each inhale causing his slight bloated abdomen to strain against the band.

As he walks at the side of the now much serene and isolated street as it’s nearer the exit of the district, he halts in his steps at the sigh of a maiden standing near the shore of the sea.

She’s clothed in a ragged dress with the hems either disintegrated or chewed away by ants and its colour has faded to the point where one can’t exactly discern its original hue—whether grey or brown or beige or even white.

Furthermore, she lacks shoes—standing with her feet bare against the sand as she blankly stares at the water that rolls towards her toes but not close enough to touch.

Sunoo scowls, disturbed and mainly disgruntled by seeing an obtrusively nameless, untitled woman who so clearly does not belong in the festive and enchanting district. He’s about to turn away but the maiden does so first—meeting his glare that instantly softens to be filled with astonishment.

He’s awestruck.

The beauty the lass beholds is unlike any other. With eyes as clear and scintillating as the full moon yet deep and secretive like the depth of the seas, dewy skin that shimmers beneath the light, cheeks that bloom radiantly with life and lips pulled to the loveliest smile that the young noble has ever seen—she is mesmerizing.

So bewitching that it enthralls him—his every senses—to the point that he believes that she might not be human.

And for someone renowned as one of the most irresistible and pursued men of the time, that statement holds no exaggeration.

“What a beaut!” A man suddenly comes by with his friend. The two are dressed in fine suits and adorned with ostentatious accessories, displaying their wealth and rank in the social class yet their behaviour juxtaposes them.

Their faces are flushed and hair all tousled, clearly blotto.

“Which company are you from, huh?” The man hiccups as he approaches the mysterious girl who’s now focused on the pair. “Pretty girl like you wearing crappy clothes like this in this place can only mean two things.”

She remains still and silent with head lifted to look up at the taller man looming over her.

“One, you ran away. Two, you got thrown out because you’re not ‘performing’ well. Not…satisfying enough,” he continues with a drunken chuckle while his friend snickers.

The first sound emits from the girl when the latter roughly grasps her jaw in his hand, causing her to gasp. He hums as his eyes narrowed onto her. “DANG! With this typa face, tho! You’re too precious to he thrown! You ran away, huh?”

She takes a step back.

“No, no, don’t you dare run,” the man growls and now grapples her by the shoulder with his free hand. His face expresses displeasure but it soon shifts to a mischievous grin. “Why don’t we find out ourselves, hm? If there really is something wrong with ya.”

His hand unlatches from her jaw to travel down her neck to her collarbones and Sunoo, the only witness to the whole scene, turns on his heels to walk away.

‘She’s ravishing, but she’s still a shameful, used woman with nothing to her name,’ he thinks vainly and begins to step away. ‘Whatever happens is not my responsibility—and none will care either way.’

He begins his stroll but is compelled to turn once more at the sound of a painful grunt and he’s met with the view of the young woman biting the hand of her assaulter that rests on her shoulder before she kicks the other in his shin.

And with another swift motion, she retrieves an auger shell from the sand below them before slashing its sharp tip against their faces—almost stabbing one of them in the eye which leads to him stumbling backwards and crashing onto his arse.

“YOU WHXRE!!” The one on his feet roars with pure wrath and the gaze in his bloodshot eyes is baneful. He plans to end the girl right where she stands.

But just as many times before, she stays mute and skillfully dodges him with a mere bend to the side—his drunken self too wobbly to move as agile as he wishes. And right when his back faces her from his reckless offense, she stabs the shell into the flesh of his back without a single blink. Once, twice—and thrice.

His wail of pain cuts through the tranquility of the night as he falls onto his palms and knees into the water. Blood flows rapidly from his three wounds despite them being quite tiny. She dug them deep enough.

“Take him with you,” is all the girl says to the one trembling with fright and thus, forced to sobriety—his face blanched and the centre front of his trousers carrying a warm, dark patch.

He pathetically crawls to his injured friend and carries him onto his back before hasting away like a scurrying rodent.

She who remains behind observes as they further away before dropping the bloody shell and inhaling, exhaling, as if to calm herself—ignoring the second presence who stares her from afar with wonder in his widened eyes and cheeks in a faint rosy tint.

He already found her entrancing enough by a mere glance, but now, seeing what she’s capable of, seeing how a true gem she is, he’s utterly spellbound. And he truly must be because he’s completely unaware of her approach until she stands before him with an arm’s length between them.

“Why did you not aid me?” She queries and the sound of her voice tickles his ears, causing his hair to rise and his insides tingle with a rush of sparks he’s never felt before. “Why leave?”

Sunoo looks down at her as his breaths slow, the adrenaline that courses through him from just watching her beginning to calm. “…There was no reason for me to help. You are an insignificant stranger and neither did saving you will benefit me in any way.”

“How cruel,” she says yet, those words hold no criticism or any sort of sentiment. It’s simply a statement, an observation and still, the softness and tune of her voice in which she uses to speak—a most subtle raise in pitch at the end—makes it seem as if she’s…amused. “It’s a shame you think of me in such way when I think of you so highly.”

The other maintains his position as she takes a small step forward. “What do you mean?”

“I was hoping to gain your attention. I’ve been seeing you since before, Sunoo,” she continues and her knowledge of his name befuddles him. He should be interrogating her, demand answers as to how she knows of his identity however, the fact that she seems to be interested in him outweighs any other thought.

His face mantles and long pretty lashes framing his foxy eyes flutter at his flustered rapid blinking. “Y-you have?”

She nods her head and he’s never seen someone conduct a simple action so gracefully, especially so with that sweet smile that resides on her face. “I think you’re a very noble man, Sunoo. To leave your friends as they fall victim to their insatiable desires… You are different.”

Sunoo is uncertain what it is about her words, but they always squeeze his heart as butterflies emerge in his stomach. And those gorgeous eyes…the bat of her lashes as she looks up at him, the unwavering tenderness in her gaze and undivided attention—it’s unalike any of the many, many he’s received in his life.

He wants more. He wants her. And if acting as a righteous, refined young lord is what it takes to ensnare her, he can play the role for as much as he needs to.

“It must be cold, isn’t it—to wear such a thin dress in this night breeze?” He begins and wears a beguiling smile that never fails to swoon those around him. “If you don’t mind, would you allow me to gift you with a few warm coats and dresses?”

The maiden shakes her head as she turns away. “It is fine. There is no place for me to put them, anyways.”

At this, the noble’s brows raise. “Do you…not have a place to stay?”

Her silence confirms his suspicion and as vile as it is, a sense of relief and delight fill him. An opportunity strikes.

Suppressing the urge to let his smile tilt to a cunning smirk, she asks the girl.

“Then, would you like to stay in my residence for the time being? There are plenty of rooms to offer and I would not mind the company…if you will have me.”

The other lifts her head to him and the expression on her face already tells him of her decision—widening his grin.

—

“He ditched us without a single notice and now he’s disappeared for a whole 2 weeks cooped up in his home?? That’s awfully suspicious, wouldn’t you think so?” Jongseomg clicks his tongue harshly, both annoyed and worried for one of their youngest as he stomps up the former’s grand staircase.

Being friends with one another has its perks, one of them being that they don’t require to send letters to inform them of their visits—their doors always open to each other.

“Maybe he’s been occupied with all his lessons? He told me he’s been slacking,” Jaeyun tries to assuage the older’s frustration but his only response is ignorance.

Five figures trail behind him and their paces fasten when they reach Sunoo’s floor. Their soles brushing against the squeaky clean tiles create rushed, dissonant shuffles and footsteps.

But before they can venture further down the corridor to his room, they’re forced to a halt at an unfamiliar sight—or to be exact, an unfamiliar person.

Slipping out of her room is a girl accoutred in a silk white dress that shimmers softly at every sway, its fabric hugging her chest, following the shape of her bosom down to her waist while its long skirt flows down in freely—allowing for as much stretch of her legs as she wishes.

Butterfly sleeves hide a majority of her upper arms with a sheer fabric layering the silk, creating a more sophisticated and elegant form. Her further adornments consist of a snowy gold bustier corset top to accentuate her frame while the frills that are sewn onto its upper edge give the illusion of being a part of the butterfly sleeves—making it seem as if she’s wearing an off-shoulder dress.

Her ensemble is an immaculate combination of extravagance and yet gracefulness. Whoever made it is surely an exquisite tailor.

Although, the 6 young men would know nothing about it considering they’re not able to dwell on her dress as they’re too busy gawking at the ethereal damsel that stands before them. They’ve seen many women before—some even doing more than seeing—and yet, they’re confident to declare that they’ve never seen one quite like her.

She’s breathtaking in a way where it’s inhuman. As if she’s an extraterrestrial being—or a creature of myth that tends to lure unprotected, vulnerable men like they are at the moment just to bring them to their demise.

A lethal beauty.

Unlike them however, (y/n) merely shifts her glance between them just to identify. Not once does her eyes widen and sparkle nor do her cheeks flush from the fluster of meeting such unrealistically gorgeous young men who can instantly bring anyone—and anything—below their feet.

“(y/n), why did you—Oh,” Sunoo sounds—tone shifting from curious to blunt indifference.

His presence that exits from the same chamber (y/n) emerged from instantly rouse suspicion and intrigue in his friends.

Jaeyun scoffs. “So, this is what this was all about? You’ve found yourself a woman and decide that you’d rot in your mansion with her—neglecting your own friends?”

Sunoo frowns as he shields (y/n) from their prying, scrutinizing eyes. He was never one to really care about their reprimands. “Neglect? It’s not like you’re all under my care. I’m not your parent who needs to coddle you.”

“Kim Sunoo, you know that isn’t what we mean,” Heeseung rebukes, a sharp and fierce glare on his otherwise doe eyes. “You vanished for 2 weeks with not a single word!”

“Do I need to inform you of my activities?” The younger hisses with his own eyes whetting and things would have escalated from the fire growing in the two if it isn’t for (y/n) placing a hand against her host’s arm.

His glower softens almost immediately as he shifts his focus onto the girl—his instant sickening his friends.

(y/n)’s voice is gentle, airy like the morning breeze as well as clear and alluring like the glistens of the water surface from the shining moonlight—charming one to stay and watch the waters glitter.

Or in terms of voice, seducing one to not just remain and hear but listen—just as how they all fall into an unanimous quiet.

“Should I leave?" She asks, shocking Sunoo terribly as dread fills him. The idea itself is horrifying. "It seems I might have overstayed my welcome."

Sunoo shakes his head vigorously. "No, no! Don't leave! I—They are just being rude, they know nothing."

His frantic behaviour that drips with desperation is both amusing and astonishing to his friends who have never seen him act so...pathetic before. He's always been the embodiment of sophistication, of grace to the point that it's boastful at times.

(y/n) looks up at him nervously, her brows tilted with worry. "But—"

"(y/n)," her host cuts her off as he cups her cheek, thumb caressing her skin tenderly. "Don't fret, hm? This is all just a small argument between my friends and I. Why don't you go back in and practice the new piece I taught you?"

Seeing no reason to refute, the girl nods and returns to the room she exited from with quiet nimble footsteps.

Sunoo's gaze that was warm and endearing turns frigid and stern the moment she disappears and he turns his head to his friends. "I'm not going to entertain this useless bicker between us so I suggest we digress. Leave, stay, I don't care what you do as long as you don't disturb us again. (y/n) is my guest and she will remain here for as long I will her and none of you are to defy that."

With one last warning glare, he turns away to join (y/n) whose melodious play can be hear from the momentary opening of the door before Sunoo slams it shut.

A deafening silence overtakes until Jaeyun clears his throat.

"You heard what he said so who's up for an impromptu sleepover?" He suggests with a playful, wide grin as he wiggles his dark brows at the others.

—

It's so fun being powerful. They can make anything happen with a flick of the wrist or a snap of their fingers. With just a simple order from them, those around them easily oblige—eager to execute every command. Just how they need not to lift a finger while their servants back home are panicked—rushing to pack clothes and other necessities for their young masters who so suddenly sent a letter informing them of their plans of staying at Master Sunoo's abode.

Jongseong scoffs as he recalls his maids and butlers running from the gates the moment their carriage arrived and pretending to be all calm and collected as they stood in front of him—as if their skin wasn't glistening with sweat and breaths weren't heavy as they pant.

Knock, knock!

He furrows at the abrupt interruption of his reminiscence and sits up on the bed to face the door. "Who is it?"

"It's (y/n)," the entrancing voice from before promptly straightens his posture as he springs onto his feet.

Clearing his throat and neatening his shirt while approaching the door, he abruptly halts at the ridiculousness of his own behaviour. Why is he trying to impress a poor, insignificant girl anyways? He already heard the talk from the servants on how Sunoo randomly brought her home while she was still in her rags and completely barefoot.

"What is it?" He utters with a heavy sigh as soon as he opens the door.

"Would you like some tea? I made it myself," (y/n) asks with a hopeful mien, eyes sparkling and lips in a small smile.

The other cocks up a brow skeptically. "You know how to brew tea?"

"I watched," she answers, deepening his skepticism.

Another long, unamused sigh leaves him. "Just get in."

She enters cheerily and sets down the tray on his little tea table while watches behind with arms crossed and gaze sharp.

“I thought it would be a nice welcome. Sunoo taught me that it’s good etiquette,” (y/n) says as she pours him a cup of warm tea with calculated, precise movements—shocking him, to be honest—and placing it down in front of him without a single tremor. “I hope you find it to your liking.”

Jongseong scoffs at his futile wish. He’s one of the most picky when it comes to his meals—always thinking none of is good enough and that includes how he enjoys his tea.

He had to personally teach his servants how to brew and how much sugar to be used to actually make one fitting his palate and even then, they still can’t satisfy him.

After a few gentle blows to cool down the hot drink, he brings the brim of the cup to his lips for his first sip and once again, receives another surprise. It’s…splendid. Such aroma and perfect balance between tea and sugar that spreads perfectly on his tongue and warming him from the inside—akin to sitting in front of the hearth during winter.

He lifts his gaze to meet with (y/n)’s as he lags to utter the words in his head—all of them jumbled from both disbelief and yet, amazement. “How did you make this? It’s exactly as how I prefer it to be.”

“I…um, I actually asked your servant beforehand on how you typically enjoy your tea,” (y/n) timidly answers as she stares at her fiddling fingers on her lap. “I apologize for not asking you myself and instead, intruding on your privacy.”

Strangely, he doesn’t mind very much although usually he would find it offensive that someone is investigating him through his servants. Instead, he finishes the rest of his tea before passing to her on its small plate. “Pour me some more.”

His request rekindles a discernible light onto her face as she physically perks up—eyes upturning and corners of her lips curling as she obliges. And Jongseong can’t help but admit that she looks…adorable.

For him to be able to control her mood with a few words or actions, he finds it amusing and truly lovable—so much so that he doesn’t notice how much time has passed with her sharing her experience living at the mansion while he merely sits and listen with a gentle smile retained on her face.

Only when the room darkens to the point the cups in front of them are almost unseen and their faces are shadowed does he finally, take note of the time.

“Oh! I’ve taken too much of your time. I should leave now,” (y/n) exclaims with alarm as she rushes to her feet while collecting all their cups and biscuits back onto the silver tray. With hands on her stomach, she then bows at Jongseong respectfully, bidding him goodbye before she lifts the tray and out she goes.

The lone man remains in his room as his servant enters to light the candles and lamps before leaving him to his own devices.

As much as he enjoys the silence, he never knew how lonely it can be…until today.

Strolling through the corridor is (y/n) who’s reminiscing her conversation with her guest before and a smile stretches itself onto her face. A glint sparks in her eye and a passing Sunghoon espies the ambiguous expression she wears but she disappears down the stairs quickly, ridding him of the opportunity to observe more.

His luxuriant dark brows knit in wonder as he returns to his room.

—

The next day is just like any other for (y/n)—awaking at the sounds of cheery chirping birds, freshening up with the help of her designated servants and getting dressed with the outfit of her choice before she leaves to have her daily etiquette lesson with Sunoo.

One might think she’s the lady of the house from the way she’s treated by the staff and to even be privately tutored by the young master himself—that’s the grandest, most gracious gesture he’s ever done for anyone at all.

But to think she’s only a nobody picked up from the street, it’s a cultural shock to others.

“Good morning, Sunoo,” (y/n) greets Sunoo who’s already waiting for her on the windowsill as he stares at the sunny view outside. “Will we pick up from yesterday’s lesson?”

The noble lad turns to her, his eyes already scintillating with adoration as he approaches her with long, calculated steps. “How about we take a break today? The day is beautiful outside.”

His suggestion excites the other who nods vigorously and he giggles with contentment—hand reaching up to fix her hair and trailing his fingers to the side of her face to warmly press his palm against it.

Electrifying tingles bloom in his chest when she reciprocates his affection by leaning against his hand, her eyes shutting briefly before they open to look up at him.

Sunoo feels his breath hitch. She always does this to him. Every single time. He initiates the intimacy and yet at the end he’s the one breathless and desperate for more, craving for her touch and wanting her to want him just as he does to her.

“I’ll tell the servants to prepare you favourite pastries and tea. Wait for me in the garden veranda, hm?”

She nods and he reluctantly slips his hand away, leaving him feeling cold and bare as he yearns for her warmth and comfort once more.

(y/n) casually makes her way to the garden, humming one of the sweet melodies Sunoo taught her to play on the piano as she ambles.

An air of peace and joy encompasses her, disregarding the predatory eyes that ominously tracks her every move from behind a tall bush. His hand rests on the side of the prickly leaves as he stalks the naive prey.

His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip as a sardonic smirk reveals itself when he sees her stop at the veranda–taking his first step towards her.

“I thought you had lessons,” Heeseung begins and the girl spins on her heels.

Her brows twitch upwards subtly at his unexpected presence. “Yes, I was supposed to. But Sunoo thought it was better to enjoy the sunny weather today.”

“‘Sunoo?’” The male repeats, intrigued by the fact that she’s on a first-name basis with the oh, so majestic Kim Sunoo. He scoffs—though, not of demeaning nature. “I see you address him using casual terms. Will it be improper of me to ask you to do the same for me?”

(y/n) tilts her head, puzzled and he continues.

“Lee Heeseung, that is my name. But you will just call me Heeseung.”

Her lips form an ‘o’ in understanding before she beams brightly—fingers pinching the sides of her skirt to slightly lift them up and perform a curtsy. “It is a pleasure to know you, Heeseung. My name is (y/n).”

“Just (y/n)? No family name?” Heeseung furrows. He knows her origins are obscure but he expected her to at least, be aware of the name of her kin. However, the nod of her head answers his curiosity. And somehow…he favours her even more because of it. “I’ve been told on how Sunoo found you near the edge of the red district unaccompanied and lost. It must have been terrifying.”

The girl’s gaze travels down to her shoes before back up at him, unsure of what to say. “Well…”

Heeseung translates her uncertainty as meekness however—a sign of vulnerability—and he’s more than glad to be the pillar of her strength if it meant she’ll lean onto him. “You can tell me anything, (y/n). I’ll be there whenever you need someone to talk to.”

His hands gather hers before he clasps them together, swallowing them completely and a shaky breath escapes him at the sight. With eyes swirling with ambition, he looks into hers with feign empathy—doe eyes feigning innocence and goodwill as he closes the distance between them.

“Will you let me? (y/n)?” He ask—no, pleads, almost as he continues his pretense of a selfless hero. He lowers himself to a slight extent as to not intimidate her by looming over her completely though, it fives not much of a difference. His frame still shadows away the sun from her anyways, leaving her with dim lighting as she’s nearly caged by him.

The maiden smiles softly before nodding although remaining quiet and Heeseung immediately lets out a breath of relief. For a moment there, her stillness seemed to suggest rejection but she must have merely been nervous.

“Why are you acting so benevolent suddenly?”

Her question takes him aback and he stammers, “P-pardon?”

His gaze falls from her face to their hands when she slowly slips hers out to rest them onto his larger ones—thumb softly drawing circles onto his skin which brings desirable shivers down his spine.

“I know how you are. I’ve seen you. Committing all those criminal acts, indulging yourself in dirty riches and greedy gambles as you find pleasure in women that you deem worthless thus, undeserving of any care or compassion—and neither do you give any compensation for those that you’ve treated with injustice,” (y/n) speaks with an eloquence that leaves no room for debate. She isn’t just reiterating all those rumours she might have heard but she is fully cognizant of every word she speaks, of every allegation that they are nothing but truths.

Heeseung is struck by a turmoil of emotions: displeased and offended by her unvarnished tongue yet at the same time wonderstruck by her character that completely goes against his initial impression.

“You…! I thought you were of low origins? You should not be aware of anything regarding the aristocracy!” Heeseung hisses as he snatches his hands back in attempt to conceal his disconcerted demeanor.

But (y/n) retains her sangfroid as she lets her arms relax onto her sides. With a pretty smile gracing her pretty face, her lips part to speak pretty, pretty words.

“If your genteel veneer is merely a pathetic attempt to lure me, then I’d very much prefer it if you were to bare your teeth and spit your venom into my tea,” she says in a whispery tune, just enough for both him and her to hear. She then lifts her hand up to trail her feathery touches down from his neck to his chest—paralyzing him as he shudders with unashamed titillation.

His eyelids fluttering and breath hitching as she smirks deviously, an image even Sunoo has yet to be graced with.

A kittenish giggle escapes her and the sound of it ignites him—hair rising and pants tightening especially when she pulls him down by the nape to whisper.

“Because at least then, you might have the chance to ensnare me with your sincere wickedness rather than your feeble, futile attempt to be a saint,” she snaps and he groans at the feel of her lips lightly grazing the shell of his ear before she pushes him away. “Sunoo will be here soon. I suggest you leave.”

Poor Heeseung’s head is much too dazed and fogged to respond as he drunkenly drags himself away with a painful throb in his lower region and skin flushed red as he replays his moment with her again and again in his head.

(y/n) is a pretty woman, the most gorgeous he has ever laid eyes upon—but she is as lethal as she is beautiful. And what unraveled just minutes ago shows him that she is so much more capable than what she seems. This is mere child’s play.

And he wants to know everything about her.

—

“But young master, this amount may be overwhelming for the villagers. Some of them may not be able to afford this,” Yoo, Sunoo’s aide, voices his concerns after receiving the list of demands from the noble.

Nevertheless, Sunoo remains quiet as his eyes sharpen at the sheet he vigorously writes on—burning the letters with his fervent glare. “They live and conduct their business on our property thus, it’s only fair that they should comply with our rules and commands.”

“However, this is too sudden! Would it not be best for you to grant them a period of time to prepare their payment?”

“Father has instructed me to collect a certain amount during his leave and although I do admit that I have been negligent in fulfilling his wishes, it is justified as I have more priorities to tend to.”

The aide bites his tongue from blurting out a name at his master’s mention of ‘priorities.’ Clearly, his priorities are—is, actually, (y/n) alone.

From tutoring her personally to spoiling her with endless jewels and clothing—even calling over one of the most renowned tailor in town—and spending his day and nights with her behind closed door doing what ever it is they are doing.

Yoo doesn’t blame (y/n), of course. If anything, he thinks she has been one of the sweetest characters he has ever been graced with. However, he can’t deny that she is a great distraction to his master.

“Young master Sunoo—” He attempts to begin another argument.

“Aide Yoo,” Sunoo abruptly interrupts with his voice only slightly raised but the lowness of its pitch that’s inordinate for one who’s typically said to be akin sunshine causes the other to tremble. He gulps as his face blanches with fright.

The noble gently puts his quill down but his following acts are anything but—with a gaze so banefully intent that threatens to almost kill, he perturbs the assistant. “It seems you are mistaken. I’ve passed that document to you not to hear your thoughts but for you to simply relay it to the village. What is so difficult for you to comprehend?”

“I-I was only trying to help, my lord.”

“Well, it’s futile and in all honesty, irritating. Now leave for (y/n) will be arriving soon—and by then, no one is permitted to enter my study,” Sunoo commands with a hiss to which the aide instantly bows at before scurrying out.

He shuts the door behind him as quiet as possible but nearly screams his lungs out at the sight of (y/n) who’s standing by the entrance. “(y-y/n), Master Sunoo is waiting for you.”

With another small bend at the waist, Yoo dashes away to promptly finish his assignment and the girl slips into the chamber.

Seeing her is like a breath of fresh air for Sunoo and he instantly rises to his feet before rushing to the maiden—seizing her into his arms and laying his head against her crown.

“(y/n), my lovely (y/n)…” He mumbles and the other says nothing, only patting his back in a slow, calming rhythm—its sensation quietening the loud noises in his stressful mind. “Come.”

She follows obediently, letting herself be lead to the couches before he sits them both down. After straightening her gown for her, Sunoo coils his arms below her waist and lays his head against his chest—listening to her heartbeat as if it’s a lullaby.

A small smile graces his face as his breaths slow to relax.

(y/n) gazes down at him momentarily, trailing down his features and tracing their shapes before turning her head to his overfilled desk with its surface covered in sheets after sheets of documents. He’s slacked far too much to spend his time with (y/n).

And the knowledge of that brings a content smile to her face. She has him right where she wants him.

“Busy?” She asks quietly, almost in a whisper to not interrupt the tranquility that encases them.

Sunoo nods, bottom lip sticking out unconsciously at the reminder of his despair. “Father is returning in two weeks. I have many works to settle before then.”

(y/n) hums in acknowledgment as her fingers begin to comb through his dark brown locks, causing pleasurable tugs onto his scalp and he almost purrs in delight—nuzzling more against her bosom as he raises slightly to feel more of her touch. “My poor Sunoo.”

A love arrow straight to his heart.

She’s accepted him. She’s regarded him as hers. It was always him to express his affections, him to initiate the meetings and now, she’s finally welcomed him into her world. Oh, how blessed does he feel. Suddenly, all that pile of work on his desk doesn’t seem so daunting—his being now buzzing with bliss.

And (y/n) certainly knows that. From the way his smile widens, apple of his cheeks glow in a rosy hue and eyes visibly upturned even while shut, he’s overjoyed. Using her other hand, she begins to outline the features of his soft, angelic visage, mourning at the fact that he’s not as sweet as he looks. Still, she’s grown quite attached.

“(y/n),” he calls suddenly. She hums in response, urging him to continue. “What am I to you?”

It’s this question. It’s not frequent but some of her previous victims have too, inquired her the same and with each, she answers differently. An answer she knows has to be believable, not too exaggerated but not too humble and yet impactful enough to occupy his head and ring in his ears—hypnotizing them to believe her fondness of them is sincere.

And for Sunoo, it’s simply too easy.

“You’re my saviour,” she purrs and the allure of her voice upends the hair on his skin and his body quivers ever so slightly as eyes flutter open with surprise and yet, admiration. The pounding of his heart only heightens at the sight of her already looking at him with the most endearing smile cast on her lovely countenance—eyes swirling with an ambiguity but nevertheless, warmth for him.

His own stare softens, melting into hers as they search her face for any hint of falsity—rejoicing internally upon seeing none and his body lifts to place his plush lips on hers for the briefest of moments.

And yet that single second felt like heaven to him.

The feel of her bare skin against his mouth ignites a desire in him he never knew he had, overtaking his senses and ridding him of every thought—the heavy longing for her growing with every breath wasted not having her and it festers inside him, eating away so quickly he feels he might shrivel and perish.

But he can’t yield to it—not now. He might scare (y/n) away, especially after her confessing her heart, professing to him of her trust and devotion by calling him her hero, her knight in shining armor. He might ruin his chances before he even completely captures her heart.

He titters at the surprise painted on the girl’s face and he lifts his hand to caress her cheek with the gentlest of touches. “And I shall be for as long as you wish.”

—

“The fish tell me you’re an exquisite skater.”

Sunghoon’s brows knit as he turns to face the owner of the lulling—yet, with a touch of mischief—voice. “The fish?”

She nods and directs her gaze to the large man-made pond at which he crouches beside. “They tell me you tend to skate here when the water freezes over as you find yours at your own home not as freeing.”

The noble readies to stand but decides against it when the girl joins his side—mindless of the ends of her dress that drape onto the grass as she gazes longingly at the water. “Is that so? What else do these fish tell you?”

(y/n) smiles, as if amused that he seeks to know more despite the ridiculousness of her statements. As an underwater creature, it is a norm for her to speak to marine life but the same can’t be said for a creature of land. “That you possess an extravagant beauty among your kind.”

At this, a corner of his lips twitch to a smirk of intrigue. “And? What do you say?”

Her stare shifts to the man’s reflection cast onto the still water’s surface. “I wouldn’t say I’m against it.”

Her indirect yet direct admission of his beauty makes his smirk widen into a grin and he too, turns to look at the pond.

‘What a shame. A beautiful woman and yet, disturbed by her own insanity,’ he thinks and exhales through his nose. But the smile on his face doesn’t falter. ‘Well, she isn’t completely useless.’

Of all the women Sunghoon has shared his bed with, none are comparable to the woman who now sits a mere forearm’s length away from him. If he plays things right, he might be able to have her tonight.

“So you think I’m handsome?” He asks boldly and (y/n) nods but still keeps her attention to the small fish swimming. “Then, why don’t you look at me?”

His question prompts her to do exactly that—to look at him—and she’s abruptly met with his deep gaze boring into hers. He smiles at her obedience. “Tell me, what you like about me.”

For a moment, a silence encases the two with the exception of the occasional chirps of birds and faint rustles of the flora dancing into one another with the help of the wind.

She's attentive towards him, eyes fixed on his face and although Sunghoon knows that she's only finding the answer to his question, he can't help but feel slightly abashed—tips of his ears turning red as his apple bobs in his throat from the fluster.

"You remind me of winter," (y/n) finally responds and he blinks, nearly missing her answer if it isn't for her tilting her head at the notice of his straying mind.

He clears his throat to gather his voice. "Are you a fan of the season?"

"I suppose. The cold and snow refreshes me in comparison to hot, drying summer," the girl explains briefly and once again turns away to look at the pond—making him frown.

The lack of attention from her is beginning to vex him. What's so interesting about a pond and its small swimming fish? Obviously, nothing much—especially with the Park Sunghoon existing in the same space. He's far more eye-catching and valuable than a pool of water.

He retains his composure however, knowing that he can't lose his head if he wants to succeed in his objective. "You must be good friends with the fish seeing as how you're so engrossed by them."

His comment earns him a soft chuckle and he'd be lying if he said the saccharine sound doesn't placate him. The twinkle in his eyes and fangs peeking from below his top lip as he smiles are telltale signs.

"You're so silly. I was more of looking at the water. My close fish friends are at sea anyways," she answers truthfully but Sunghoon believes it as another one of her crazy talk.

And in order to win her heart, he chooses to entertain them. "Must be lovely to have friends from so many places. I take it that they're very cordial?"

The girl nods and her face suddenly lights up as her figure perks. Sunghoon watches with puzzlement as she reaches into a seamlessly hidden pocket at the side of her dress before pulling out her fist and offering it to the noble.

One of the latter's dark, luxuriant brows arches with skepticism—that is, until she uncurls her fingers to reveal the three irregularly shaped pearls resting on her palm.

Even when they're not in perfect circles, they are still priceless and beautiful—white coats carrying a pearly sheen that shines at every light and the rawness of their forms create an exquisite uniqueness that Sunghoon has never seen on any other jewel. An inestimable grandeur.

"I received these from my friends but now that I see them, I feel that they would be in much better hands in yours," (y/n) claims as she gently places the three orbs onto his opened palm. Eyes upturned and smile bright, she looks at him with an apparent eagerness. "With such smooth porcelain skin, you seem to be a pearl yourself."

Sunghoon is unable to retort a witty remark, nor can he muster a scoff—captivated by the girl as he admires her limitless geniality. How can one be so unconditionally kind and sweet to a naive extent? To casually grant one with prized possessions simply because she thought they would look better on him. It's foolish—and yet, he finds it so foolishly lovable.

Stretching his lips to a smile, he's finally able to let out a small chuckle. "Are you sure your friends won't be upset with you by giving these to me?"

(y/n) shakes her head and stands—hands dusting her skirt and straightening it before she turns towards the mansion.

"How are you sure?" Sunghoon asks once more as he too, rises to his feet and now towering over the other.

The latter titters and brings her hands behind her back, clasping them together as she begins her amble. "Because I ate them."

It's like every single gear in his head has stopped and all senses numbed apart from his hearing as her voice—her answer echoes in his ears like an enchantment.

'She...ate them?' He mentally thinks and yet, instead of feeling horrified or even mildly perturbed, the hunger he's felt since before only grows—bubbling and boiling in his stomach up to his chest and throat as it urges him to just seize the defenseless girl in front of him.

To paint her skin with his tongue and relishing in her taste, coating every surface with his moisture before sinking his teeth and leaving conspicuous dents of his fangs as to mark her, warning any other who dares to approach. He craves to own her, to make her his and his alone and have her sing and scream his name so frequently that it becomes the only word she knows—to be the only one she recognizes.

Oh, how terribly starved he is for her.

"Are you not returning? The sky will darken soon," the girl asks as she twirls to him slightly—skirt swaying and hair flowing in the wind before she tucks it behind her ear to reveal her face. Her pure eyes staring curiously at him as she awaits his answer.

Sunghoon gulps, both mind and heart turning erratic as he struggles to remain composed and stoic despite his flawless performance throughout the years.

"Sunghoon?"

He throbs with need at the sound of her voice calling his name and his lashes flutter from his shaking lids, dazed and mesmerized by just a simple gesture from her before he nods his head with a stutter.

A gone man.

—

Jaeyun melts into (y/n)’s hands that play with his hair—braiding and twirling the dark locks with her fingers, delivering delicious, gentle tugs onto his crown—and his eyes are shut tight as he relishes in the feeling.

It all happened so quickly, unexpectedly, for him and (y/n) to become close. All it took was him loitering in the garden one afternoon from boredom and (y/n) inviting him to join her lone picnic. He accepted, seeing as he had nothing else worthwhile to do but he didn’t expect anything from the activity.

He thought it would be mediocre at best. After all, what else is there to do aside from sipping warm tea and munching on fresh fancy-filled sandwiches? And he can’t even do anything ‘exciting’ with (y/n) being so out in the open.

And yet, after a few minutes in, Jaeyun was filled with a sense of tranquility and comfort that he’s never felt before.

He was embraced by a warm sense of home and relaxation, one that entirely limps his body and empties his mind that makes him believe the respite he’s had all this time before are poor excuses. There’s just something about (y/n), something that makes him feel so casually free and blissful—even while doing nothing and just…reveling in each other’s presence.

Just like now.

“(y/n),” Jaeyun starts quietly as he leans his head against the pillow she put on her lap for his ease since he’s sitting on the carpeted floor and her on the couch. “How would you like to stay at my residence for some time?”

The girl’s motions freeze entirely and that one simple act instantly makes him straighten his back as eyes shoot open, alarmed and anxious.

“(y/n)?” He calls again, shaky, as he spins on his seat, looking up at her with eyes pleading for an answer to her abrupt change. What was it? Did his invitation offend her? Does she think that his offer is with salacious intent? It won’t be a surprise if she did. Did his reputation precede him and affected her view of him without him knowing?

The noise in his head quietens as she begins to speak.

“No, it’s nothing. It’s just…I don’t plan on leaving Sunoo, Jaeyun,” (y/n) softly declares as her fingers brush the fallen strands of his hair away from his eyes. His doe eyes blink up at her nervously as his brows raise and angle downwards at the end, an adorable expression for an atrocious man.

Jaeyun gently holds her hand just as it begins to retract. “But, why? It won’t be for long. Just for a brief, even a visit! You’ll love it there, I’m sure of it.”

“Sunoo won’t like that,” the girl rejects again with a soft shake of her head. “He’s my saviour, Jaeyun. He was the one who brought me to his home and cared for me. I’d hate to go against him in any way.”

For the first time in forever, Jaeyun loathes himself for having fun. If only he wasn’t so drunk and occupied with the pleasures of the red light district, he might’ve been the one to find her. He might’ve been the one to welcome her in his home and is able to covet her freely without fear or concern for anyone else.

Because then, he would be the one to own her. The one whom she’s tethered to, just as how she is with Sunoo.

He furrows, frustration imbuing.

“But recently, I have been a bit worried,” she says suddenly and this pulls the other’s attention back to her. “I overheard him last time discussing with his aide regarding the collection of tax. And I know, I know it’s for the greater good but…I can’t help wondering if his aide’s words run truer than I hope.”

“What do you mean?” Jaeyun asks, now fully focused as he sees an opportunity to cease her concern, to be her knight in shining armour. His hand squeezes hers assuringly, prompting her to spill the words in her head.

She sighs in defeat. “His aide said that the amount of tax might be too overwhelming for the people, but Sunoo said it was urgent and that nothing could be done.”

Jaeyun restrains from scoffing out loud. He knows that the only reason their host is rushing with the collection is because he had been slacking.

“I’m aware that there must be a reason why he’s putting such great pressure on the villagers but I fret,” (y/n) confesses and meets his eyes, making his heart skip a beat. “Do you think they’ll be alright?”

This is it. His moment.

He smiles and shifts to sit on his heels before clasping both her hands in his. His thumbs draw soothing circles below her knuckles. “If it may bring you some sort of comfort, we can go to the village.”

The rekindled sparks in her eyes bring him more joy than he ever thought they could and he unconsciously wears a grin as his tender gaze is transfixed on her.

“We can?”

‘No. To be honest, no. Not without Sunoo losing his marbles,’ he thinks but his smiling eyes say otherwise.

“Of course.”

—

CRASH!

“Where is she?? FIND HER!” Sunoo shrieks with unbridled wrath as he tightly grips (y/n)’s dress in his fist. Shards of white adorned with prettily painted flowers scatter the sparkling floor from the tea set he hurled towards the wall.

His aide flinches at his piercing scream and gathers his hands together in fear while maids hurry to clean the mess. “W-we’re trying our best, my lord.”

“Do her servants have no clue where she went?” Sunoo snaps as fox eyes sharpen more than they ever have and Yoo shakes his head vigorously. “I should’ve assigned her those guards but I didn’t as I was afraid she’d get uncomfortable. Foolish! Idiot!”

Yoo and the other staff around shudder violently, terrified of what their master will do. They have never seen him be so cross and upset—because he has never been this emotional before. But ever since (y/n) entered his life, they’ve seen many changes in their employer.

“Young lord! We’ve brought a servant who said he saw (y/n) before her disappearance!” A guard declares after performing a respectful bow and enters the chamber alongside his colleague with a shivering slim boy held tightly between them.

Sunoo’s glare shifts to the poor staff member and only then does Yoo feel like he can breathe—stumbling slightly as his abrupt inhale nearly knocks his balance.

“Speak,” the noble orders lowly and the worker gulps harshly.

“I-I saw her in the garden with M-Master Jaeyun. The two were unaccompanied which w-was odd but I thought they were merely enjoying a stroll so I…I said nothing.”

SMACK! THUD!

Gasps erupt from the other servants while hands fly to cover their mouth, taken aback. Widened eyes glance at the noble before they quickly avert them, horrified at the thought of the repercussions if they are caught.

The fallen boy remains ashamed and hurt on the ground while holding the stinging pain against his cheek from Sunoo’s abrasive slap.

“That accursed Jaeyun hyung…” He curses below his breath before turning around, a motion everyone is grateful for as they watch him sit on the missing girl’s bed. He stares at the expensive silk in his hand before running his other against the soft sheets of her mattress. His inordinately unfeeling gaze casts onto her pillow as he smiles at the imagery of her slumbering peacefully but it vanishes as quickly as it forms. “Go to the village. I have a feeling that they might be there…”

His orders are absolute—all necessary figures quickly departing to execute his demand while the servants hastily leave him to the comfort of his own presence, hoping he will simmer down.

Sunoo lays on her bed and buries himself underneath her blanket—basking in her scent and lingering warmth as he clutches her dress against his chest. His head turns into her fluffy, soft pillow and lets his lips brush against the cool fabric as a woeful whimper sounds.

He misses her. He wishes to see her. To touch her and embrace her and be graced with her presence, be spoiled in her unconditional affections. He yearns for her. He needs her.

He can’t live without her.

Knock, knock.

He doesn’t respond to the sound, expecting the visitor to take their leave so when the door swings open, he’s quick to recover to a sitting position as a glower forms.

“Who dare—Sunghoon hyung?” Confusion laces the younger’s tone as the said noble moseys into the room. “What’s so urgent for you to disrupt my private time?”

A scoff emits from the older as his thick, defined brow cocks up with intrigue. “Private time in (y/n)’s room? Seems scandalous, is it not?”

His mockery ticks him off and Sunoo stands, letting go of the girl’s dress in the process. “If you have nothing worthwhile to say, leave.”

Sunghoon raises his hands to his chest in surrender. “Calm. I was merely trying to lighten the mood.”

The younger’s silence and intensifying glare should be enough as a hint to leave and yet, he still chooses to stay.

“Please, the matter I am to discuss with you is regarding (y/n). I’m certain that you’d like to know.”

The other perks.

“I’ve noticed that she doesn’t seem to be quite…fortified in the head. There seems to be a few screws loose,” Sunghoon says slowly and the younger noble’s silence compels him to continue. “So I was going to suggest a proper facility for her to perhaps, fix her. A new institute has recently opened up near by home and I’ve heard of their excellent treatments—always proving to be effective and the staff are cordial and capable.”

Feeling proud of himself, Sunghoon grins brightly as he expectantly rubs his hands together behind his back. Of course, his ‘helpful’ suggestion is a mere excuse. After Sunoo drops her off to the institute, Sunghoon will only collect her and have her stay in his abode—to be his once and for all.

Sunoo isn’t dumb, he’s bound to be suspicious but among all of them, he is also known to be one of the nicest despite his stand-offish attitude. He’ll accept Sunghoon’s proposal if it meant better lifestyle for (y/n).

But perhaps, he’s become too naive, too complacent and confident to realise that his friend’s affections for (y/n) has run deeper than he bargained for. An affection so strong that it borders with obsession.

The sound of the younger’s scoff pulls Hoon away from his reverie and his dark brows knit at him. “So, you too?”

“Pardon?” Sunghoon sounds, visibly confused and Sunoo stands before striding towards him with a mien, solemn, and gaze, frigid.

“First it was Jaeyun, and now you. It’s laughable how any of you think that you can steal (y/n) away from me,” the host scoffs, a cynical smirk on his face and he tilts his head up to him. "I think it is wise for you to leave my abode at this moment, and never set foot in it until I permit you to."

Sunghoon's luxuriant brows knit as his panicked eyes flicker between the other's, deeply shocked by his abrupt verdict. Seeing the inordinate hostility in his golden eyes and the taut fists trembling on his sides from his restraint, it is as if he no longer recognizes. As if they are distant strangers.

His words are caught in his throat, horrified at the young's unforeseen aggression and thankfully, he needs not to respond as the rapidly approaching clamour and discordance of sabatons against tiles.

Like an alarmed lemur, Sunoo's head snaps to the door instantly as eyes widen with anticipation right as his guards enter while flanking (y/n) and Jake. Relief washes over him, shoulders falling and corners of his lips curling as he pulls the girl away from his men's holds.

"(y/n)! I thought you left me. I was so worried," Sunoo sighs into her hair as he embraces her tighty—a scandalous gesture for unwed figures and yet, none dare to refute. He expects to be reciprocated, to feel her own limbs wrap around his torso with warmth yet instead, he's pushed an arm's length away and is greeted by a face scrunched with pure franticness and concern.

"Sunoo, it isn't his fault! It was my idea, truly! I was the one who encouraged the escapade. Not Jaeyun!" She pleads for mercy—not to grant it to her, but to Jake. And it irks Sunoo, so so much to an extent where he wishes for the older lad's demise.

He casts his focus to the said man, eyes that were previously soft and cordial turning sharp and beady like those of a serpent's as he calmly approaches the apprehended noble. "Jake."

The lack of honorifics shocks the latter who's so accustomed to the other addressing him with respect—even if they were to be in a friendly banter, Sunoo never forgets their proper labels as he thinks of dignity very highly.

Which meant that right now, Jaeyun is very, truly, undeniably fuc—

"Just as I have said to Sunghoon, you are to pack your bags and to never dare to approach my property in any circumstance. And this order is to remain until I, myself, revoke it," he hisses his words that are laced with venom. Glare fixed solely on the man whose face blanched upon understanding his command.

That would mean he can never see (y/n) again. He can't simply accept that.

"It wasn't my fault! If you weren't such a selfish, lazy arse, you would not have needed to burden your people with an absurd amount of tax! (y/n) was just worried for them and I sought to ease her of her anxiety that was caused by you!" Jaeyun argues, seething as his chest heaves heavily. It's unwise to argue with the host whose edict will dictate his fate but that's all he can think of.

Sunoo scowls, brow arches with disbelief. "What?"

The feel of cold, trembling fingers intertwining with his distract him and he grows quiet upon meeting (y/n)'s gaze. She shakes her head softly as she rolls her lips between her teeth, brows scrunch and eyes constantly shifting from one of his to the other.

"Please," she begs wispily and brings his hand against her cheek which she then nuzzles into. Like ice to a bruise and a hearth in winter, Sunoo's tumultuous emotions are pacified, leaving only heavy exhaustion from his mental strain and the shaky exhale he perform is a telltale sign. He overlooks the curl of her lips when he surrenders into her—cupping her other cheek with his vacant hand before he presses his plush lips onto her forehead in a lingering, intimate kiss.

Sunghoon and Jaeyun gawk at the sight, both shocked and envious of his privilege to do such a thing with her, but they are quickly dismissed by him who chooses to abide by her requests. Even Sunghoon is excused as he's now too eager to spend time with (y/n) after being deprived of her for hours.

As the doors of her lavish chamber shut behind the two nobles, they turn to one another and exchange knowing yet simultaneously understanding looks before they separate to their own private rooms.

"I didn't know you would be so affected. I apologize," (y/n) says softly as Sunoo brings her to the bed before gently sitting her beside him. "I promise I will not do it again."

The noble stares at her, hurt flashing across his deep gaze as he recalls how she willingly chose to leave him and follow Jaeyun, but he only shakes his head a smile. She's still his and no one can change that. "It's true I was I upset. But, it was my fault. I knew I was being unfair to the people, but desperation lead me to be...selfish. I shouldn't have." "I'll mend it. I shall revoke my order and instead, retrieve the amount needed from my personal vault. My father would not know if I don't tell him, right?"

He lets out a small chuckle with a grin that spells mischief and slyness. His eyes upturned as they scintillate with excitement.

And at that, (y/n)'s brows raise briefly, pleasantly...surprised at his sudden declaration. He'll use his own wealth to correct his wrongs? Of course, it is to be expected—for one who is morally responsible and selfless—but never did she expect that he, or any of the seven nobles, would make such a decision.

"(y/n)?" Sunoo calls softly, bemused by her abrupt silence before finding himself grappling to remain solid and sane when she presses her lips against his cheeks. His temperature spikes, each nerve end tingling as his face turns pink like a blossom. "(y-y/n)?"

The girl smiles as she cups his cheek, an enigmatic yet, warm gleam in her eyes as she stares tenderly at him. Sunoo feels as if he'll implode from how inordinately quick his heart rate is.

"You're sweet," she says, a strange sense of ambiguity laced within. Her thumb caresses his dewy skin that blooms redder. "I've truly...grown attached."

𝓟𝓐𝓡𝓣 2

ᡣ𐭩ྀི₊ ⊹ masterlist ᝰ.ᐟ✮⋆˙

inspired by ‘milk of the sirens’ by melanie martinez and ‘siren’ by kailee morgue

𝜗𝜚 enha are very ew here :C so proceed with caution!! i can't wait for (y/n) to give them a taste of their own medicine :D erm, if you enjoyed it, don’t forget to leave a heart and reblog—they give me some motivation, ya know? but please, do not spam like!! X♡X♡, romi ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

taglist for this series is open—send an ask to be included ♡

@angelicyouth @lilyuwon @sakanelli-afc @lakoya @clara12o @heeseung-min @inkpot-winters @lilikisuki @randomanothercreature @laylasbunbunny @hveanlyanqelic

copyright © 2024 thinemoonshine all rights reserved

[astonmartinii]

tight knit | charles leclerc social media au

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

spa 2021, where a knitting hobby comes in handy

yourusername

liked by scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc and 401,874 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: hello spa !! one of my fave tracks and i'm so excited for this weekend AND for those who asked, here's my current project, it's a sweater :)))))))

view all comments

user1: oh to receive pics of charles like that

user2: i love how she's like here's my fine ass bf but more importantly here's my update on my knitting

danielricciardo: is the man on the second slide single?

yourusername: HE'S MINE BACK OFF (p.s. i love you dan, but don't joke about that shit i have approximately 200 teenagers in my dms threatening violence everyday over him)

charles_leclerc: cherie, i didn't know that :(

yourusername: i'd fight all of them and more for your hand

charles_leclerc: my knight in shining armour

danielricciardo: okay i was trying to make a joke, it was not an invitation to prove how in love you guys are we get it

user3: i too wish i had a bf rich enough that i could travel and knit full time

pierregasly: have a day off for once

yourusername: keep on like that and you'll never get that panda

pierregasly: but you promised !!!!!

yourusername: be nice then

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, yourusername and 1,208,760 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: calm before the storm at spa

view all comments

user4: now where does y/n get all of these cut head accessories?

yourusername: vinted babes

user5: we love a thrifty queen

user6: storm meaning driving the ferrari shit box

yourusername: wow you look great, banishing me to the row behind you just to take this photo was defo worth it

charles_leclerc: you were there for two mins max then you sat with me stop these false narratives

yourusername: lies it was five minutes cause you didn't like the angle

charles_leclerc: i want to look handsome is that too much to ask

yourusername: you're always pretty baby

user7: can they stop like i am so lonely i can't see this

carlossainz55: let it be known that the only way charles can beat me in chess is with y/n's help

yourusername: nooooooo i never helped i was knitting

charles_leclerc: i wasn't cheating !! y/n was just being nice to me

f1

liked by scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc and 708,954 others

tagged: yourusername

f1: well, that's one way to spend qualifying's red flag. y/n y/ln spent her time in the ferrari garage working on her knitwear.

view all comments

user10: she said in her spa post it's a jumper i hope it's for charles

yourusername: it is, lord knows that boy needs all the help he can get in the wardrobe department

charles_leclerc: rude !!!! you never say anything

yourusername: you're always so proud i can't tell you it's bad

charles_leclerc: life ruined

yourusername: but you're so pretty no one cares about your criminal trouser collection

charles_leclerc: back handed compliment, but a compliment nonetheless

user11: she's so unbothered i love her

alexalbon: okay but when is my jumper coming @yourusername i ordered it last month

yourusername: it's coming i swear !!!

alexalbon: you let charles skip the line again didn't you

yourusername: maybe ...

yourusername

liked by lilymunhe, charles_leclerc and 481,056 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: hoping for a drier sunday, drowned rat is definitely not my aesthetic

view all comments

user12: the first picture i am going to rip my skin off

charles_leclerc: is this the appropriate time to say save a horse ride a cowboy?

pierregasly: this is why ferrari is a red flag

yourusername: howdy

pierregasly: you people are gross

charles_leclerc: you talk about ur dick at any give opportunity

yourusername: and no one actually calls you tripod

user13: damn.... couples that drag together stay together

pierregasly: ok. i will refrain from talking about your sex life publicly.

user14: i love that y/n posts about knitting just as much as she posts about charles.

yourusername: charles is the side chick

charles_leclerc: it's true i've been told to roll over in bed to make more room for the yarn

f1wagsupdates

liked by user15, user16 and 2,304 others

tagged: yourusername

f1wagsupdates: appreciation post for my favourite wag !!

view all comments

user17: i want to be her when i grow up

user18: i need her hair care routine asap

user19: can we stop putting these women on a pedestal for like no good reason?

user20: usually i'd agree but y/n has nothing but kind and a good role model, so if you idolise one wag it might as well be her

user21: her style is so underrated

user22: i need the jacket in the third slide

scuderiaferrari

liked by carlossainz55, yourusername and 770,984 others

tagged: yourusername, charles_leclerc

scuderiaferrari: there's two types of people during a red flag at spa

view all comments

user23: they're so precious to me

charles_leclerc: i wish i could relax that much in the ferrari garage

yourusername: i am not relaxed, i am actually the most stressed, i just hide it well

charles_leclerc: maybe we'll confiscate the needles for the actual races

yourusername: probably the only wise strategy in that garage

user24: i love how y/n keeps going for ferrari's neck and charles just can't reply

carlossainz55: it's so cold can i get my christmas jumper order early @yourusername ?

yourusername: that's a big queue to skip chilli i'm not sure i can comply with that

carlossainz55: if i changed my name to charles would this change?

yourusername: maybe 🤔

user25: the sky camera is obsessed with her and i am exactly the same thank you for the content

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc and 508,673 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: it's a bit cold in spa so charlie's new jumper (just finished) is coming in handy straight away

view all comments

user26: LORD PLEASE I HAVE SEEN WHAT YOU HAVE DONE FOR OTHERS

user27: okay this is cute and all, but DAMN that jumper is so fucking cute y/n is so talented

charles_leclerc: i think the phrase is: came in clutch

yourusername: you're welcome baby

charles_leclerc: i retract my previous statement about confiscating the knitting needles and i will give up more space in bed for the yarn if this is what i get

yourusername: not us having a polyamorous relationship with KNITTING

user28: so like i need y/n to open up a shop

alexalbon: i hope mine comes next

yourusername: i'm on it already albono

lilymunhe: on his jumper or the one for me that he asked for

yourusername: yours obvs

alexalbon: mugged off again

charles_leclerc

liked by landonorris, yourusername and 1,409,874 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: words cannot describe how much i love you (and your knitting). as george would say i am snug as a bug in a rug and it's all thanks to you

view all comments

user29: SNUG AS A BUG IN A RUG CHARLES WHO ARE YOU

yourusername: can they start the race so we can go be snug as a bug in a rug back at the hotel?

charles_leclerc: omw to the fia hq rn

yourusername: thanks baby

georgerussell63: i thought this was my job but thanks charles i guess

charles_leclerc: man of the people and the cuddles

user30: lord i am so lonely

danielricciardo: y/n x enchante collab when?

yourusername: coming to mclaren rn

charles_leclerc: so my cuddles mean nothing?

yourusername: have you seen this man's pricing we'll be rich baby

charles_leclerc: we are rich baby

note: pls enjoy, requests may take a while cause your girl managed to break her finger lol

[luveline]

can we please have more coworker JAMES 💜

james calls you something he maybe shouldn’t | fem

You’re feeling at a James-given mark when Sirius appears. 

You don’t know Sirius half as well as you know James nor Remus, but you’re ninety five percent sure he’s a good guy. He’s funny at lunch, whenever Remus has managed to convince you to go with them. He’s like James in terms of scandal. They like making bad jokes. Sirius really likes making Remus laugh, so he must be nice. 

“Hey,” he says, “where are they?” 

You nod toward the boss’ office. “Presenting the last of the Lang and Co.” 

“Oh, right.” Sirius moves in to James’ desk. He knocks one of his figurines over purposefully, then moves one to have its face in the other’s backside. 

“I’ll have to tell him that was you,” you say. 

“Rat. Why?” 

“He’ll think it was me otherwise, and then–” He won’t kiss me later, you’d been about to say. James has grown suddenly and enthusiastically fond of withholding affection whenever you mess with him. As a joke, of course, but you refuse to risk your lunchtime kiss. “You know what he’s like with me.” 

Sirius smiles oddly. “I do.” 

He sits at James’ desk. Ever since you and James… started whatever it is you’re doing, things have been raw for you. Maybe you’re stupid, it’s only kisses, but you’re sort of thinking it isn’t. Like, this is dating. You might not be boyfriend and girlfriend, but you’re exclusive. 

James is too good, and some small part of you doesn’t like admitting it, but the bigger part (the part that wants to kiss him and be kissed by him) knows it surely. How could you have grown to fancy him otherwise?

“Doing anything fun this weekend?” you ask. 

“Not likely,” Sirius says, tucking hair behind his ears. “We’re all helping Remus’ dad paint the house. It’s a tiny thing n’ it won’t take long, but he lives in Aberystwyth. S’gonna take hours to get there and he wants to stay up there ‘cos his dad gets lonely.” Sirius scratches his jaw. “His dad’s nice, mind. I don’t mind going up there. Just hate being stuck in the car when James is driving.” 

You won’t see James this weekend, then. He hadn’t mentioned it. “It’s beautiful in Aberystwyth. Maybe you can go to the beach,” you say. 

“That’s what I’m trying to convince them to do.” Sirius grins. 

“Not the best weather.” 

“It’s always nicer up there. We spent a lot of time up there, you know, in the summers. We ping-ponged between Remus’ house and James’ parents.” 

“Do they live there too?” you ask. 

“Nowhere near.” Sirius laughs, a deep, rich sound. “You think I’d be used to long drives.” 

“Where’s James from?”

“My parents live deep in the West Country,” James says, his hands sudden on the back of your chair. 

Fuck, you think. You had no idea he was coming, distracted by Sirius and the patter of rain against the window. “You creeper.” 

“You’re the creeper. Grilling dear Siri for details on my personal life.” James dives for a biscuit from the plastic packaging laid out on your desk and then away from you. “If you want to know where to send your fan mail, just ask me, sweetheart.” 

“How do you sneak up on me like that?” you ask. 

The space between your chair and the wall isn’t super tight, but it’s still weird to think he’d approached from the right and you hadn’t noticed. Just, James isn’t generous with details about himself and you’re too timid in your standing with him to ask. 

“Practice… Sirius, what have you don’t to my little women!” 

“I thought they were boys?” Sirius says. 

“That gives you no right to knock them over and make them do frankly obscene things to one another. This is a workplace.” James knocks Sirius out of the way, desk chair and all, to set each of his little green figurines onto their feet. The ones that are standing, that is. The sleeping one he puts back in pride of place underneath his computer’s monitor. 

“She told me not to,” Sirius says, not looking at anyone now, peering backward toward the office. “But I didn’t listen, don’t blame our sweet Y/N.” 

“I wasn’t going to.” James sends you a secret smile. 

“She wouldn’t physically withheld me if I weren’t so devilishly fast.” Sirius’ voice warms. “Hello, darling.” 

Remus huffs as he sets down a huge binder of paper. “Hi.” 

“You okay?” 

The tone he uses is so tender, so soft, you aren’t jealous of Remus but you’re not far from it, either. Remus’ frowning is quick to turn up at the sight of his meddling boyfriend. It must be nice to see someone and have them make a bad day good. 

You look up, finding James paused with a hand on his desk. He’s looking at you, impassive. 

“You okay?” you ask him. 

He squints, wrinkles his nose. “Fine. Got shouted at a bit for the reports. Bet you’re glad you have a twisted ankle.” You’re confused at first, then caught. James’ wrinkled face darkens to glare at you. “You lied?” 

“I really didn’t wanna see him today.” Your boss sucks. 

“And we did? Remus, we’ve been betrayed.” 

“James, I knew she was lying, I just don’t care.” Remus rubs his face. “Why shouldn’t one of us escape him?” 

Sirius takes Remus’ empty hand hanging at his side, picture of a concerned lover. 

James, on the other hand, steals another biscuit despite your laughing protesting and nimbly switches off your monitor. 

“Had enough,” James says. Turned away from the boys, he smiles at you playfully, hand twitching at his side like he wants to give you a squeeze. Or a shove. “Your betrayal is noted.” 

“Mm.” You take a third biscuit from your pack to offer him. 

He takes it, letting his knuckles brush under your arm before pulling away. “And filed away for a later date.” 

When Sirius has pulled Remus away for another early lunch, James retakes his chair and slides as close to you as he can be. He looks for your hand under the desk. You pretend it’s just casually there on your knee and not waiting for him to hold. 

“My dad’s family is very well off,” he says, rubbing your index finger with his thumb, “so the estate is huge. They own a lot of land, but he’s not, like, a lord or anything. You’d love it down there though, it’s nice.” 

“I bet I would.”

“Don’t look so surprised.” 

“No, I’m not, I know you’re rich.” 

“Not that sort of surprise. It would be nice to go down there together.” He can tell he’s getting ahead of himself and backtracks. “Well, this weekend I’m going to gorgeous Aberystwyth and you’re…” 

“Doing laundry.” 

“Well,” he says quietly, “maybe you can make some time Sunday night after all of that and we can get a late dinner.” 

“I thought I was in trouble over the twisted ankle.” 

“Who could be in trouble for an injury?” James sandwiches your hand in his. 

“Fake injury.” 

“Oh, my girl,” he murmurs, almost inaudible, “so honest. No punishment on account of owning up to it.” 

Great. My girl and he’s going away for the weekend. James Potter’s your personal nightmare. 

—

james coworker au

[historia-vitae-magistras]

How do the rest of the fam react when Matthew basically loses it after the whole nedcan breakup-kiku drama? I know you wrote a oneshot where Alfred gives him a puppy which was super cute! But I wonder if it freaks them all out because Matthew doesn’t usually draw attention to his suffering??

Ooooh, good question, thank you. So I've gone over like 15 different iterations of the windmill expanded universe, and I'm just using this ask as a brain dump now so buckle in folks, this got long. But the way it happened, without anyone falling out of love so much as priorities shifting and readjusting as time passes. That created a situation where no one's at fault, its not like anyone's committing adultery, but differences in age, experience, and psychology made the fallout very uneven.

So as a Pacific Nation, Zee saw it coming a thousand miles away. Mai's schedule was opening up, and there was chatter amongst the East Asian democracies from the late 80s onwards that, oh, that pointy tulip-headed fucker is in our airports a lot. Kiku has dairy in the kitchen a lot more than he used to. There's yet another new statue to some Dutch fuck in a square in Tokyo. He and Mai aren't meeting up as nearly as much as they used to. So she's sitting on Jack's back deck drinking a beer, going, "Fuck, mate, Mattie's going to be even more depressed than usual." And even Jack, who typically pays far less attention to politics, much less any other anglo's sex life, is wrangling a gator out from under the floorboards and nodding sagely in agreement because even he's fucking noticed.

But then three, four, and five years pass, and things have yet to explode. Matt is so consumed with depression and internal problems that he doesn't realize how much Jan's withdrawn until it's too late, and the not-breakup. He never fell out of love, but when it comes to where Jan wants to spend his time, it's not with Matt. And at some point, that discussion happens, and Matt's absolutely blindsided. The boy who saw Francis and then Alfred leaving him coming a thousand miles away and adjusted halfway decently because he had time to prepare is just bashed over the head with the new status quo. And he doesn't know why. Jan has never sat down and discussed what he did in the far east. Everything Matt knows, he knows second-hand, in the abstract.

So he's showing up at Arthur's in a state even his father is like, "oooh shit" and Matt just kind of lays down and doesn't get back up. Arthur doesn't know what to do with him except bring him a cup of tea and give him an awkward pat. They have a very difficult conversation about Jan and Kiku that's absolutely humiliating for Matt because how could he not know these things? But yeah, Matt just kind of goes down like a dead log and lays there cuddling the cat until he's practically growing mushrooms. Profoundly unwell. Arthur can't do shit to fix it, so he goes and collects Matt's things from Jan like he's restocking the British Museum because he has to fucking something. He gets... rather protective of Matt. He throws out Francis when he starts making pithy comments about how Frenchman doesn't take this sort of thing lying down; they take it on all fours making vigorous love to a third party.

Alfred shows up when he looks for Matt to fix his headspace again and can't find him. He and Arthur got into it because they always get into it at least a little bit, and they're suddenly silent because they realize Matt's just gotten up, hefted the cat under one arm and left the room and gone to lie down in his actual bedroom rather than intervene. And he always intervenes. His prime biological directive is to keep the peace, and he just says fuck it, you're loud; I'm going to go be depressed in another room. Alfred has a blue screen of death. He doesn't understand why Kiku fucking Jan would make any difference; he has his harem of part-time partners. He doesn't know what to fucking do. The head shrinking and emotional support is Matt's fucking job. He gives Matt a solid pat on the shoulder and tells Matt, "I love you, dude, feel better." And fucks off back to North America.

Not long after that, Matt's deep-seated embarrassment about his existence overrides the depresso long enough to eat a solid meal and book himself a flight home. But he's not back for even a month before he's lost his fucking marbles and gone feral in the woods again. And it's not a good time of the year for it. Alfred ends up picking him up from a rural ER somewhere and doesn't know what the fuck to do with a baby brother who can't get his shit together, so he shovels some anti-worm meds and a rabies shot into Matt and puts him back on a plane to England. Calling up their father like "Jan and he were your idea. You broke it; you fix it!"

Arthur does what he hates most in the world and calls Alasdair. He'd rather call in an air strike on his house than call Alasdair for help, but father's favourite knife is fucking broken, and he can't fix it, and if anyone might be able to, it's Alasdair. And lord, even if he can't do much, he does get Matt on Vitamin D and an antidepressant. And he and Arthur practically force Matt out of bed and make him start going for walks and eating more than twice a week. It's all kicked in enough that when Jan sends him some vaguely guilty tulips, Matt hurls the entire thing against the wall, and starts swearing and screaming and throwing shit; Arthur breathes a sigh of relief and starts in Jan, too because oh thank god, Matt's finally releasing an emotion! He gets better pretty rapidly after that because the pressure eases up.

And then when he finally goes home, Alfred impulse purchases the pupper.

[certifiedcodbabygirl]

clearly the only solution to the penpal au is you’re supposed to write to ghost but the entire task force hijacks the letters every once in a while. /hj /lh

Price also ends up doing that too once he realizes why the entire team becomes obsessed with writing letters

DUDE YES *smooches your brain*

Simon starts writing to you through a military penpal program Price had all of them in. Ofc, like the rat bastard he is, he drags his fuckin feet on it. Eventually, you manage to get him a little more willing to write back and it seems like he even looks forward to it. He's the first one to grab his letter from the container when they come. He claims it's to get it over with, but the other guys know better.

You'd think the other guys would be the ones more open to their penpals but NO. They managed to be paired with some of, who they call, the most boring people they could have met. Hell, even Price began to drag his feet after the 2nd letter back.

Simon seems to be the only one actually enjoying his exchanges, even if he tries to hide it. Johnny's the first one to get curious, wanting to know what the LT's got that's good enough to loosen the stick in his ass.

While Simon's out of the room, Johnny reads through the first couple letters Simon received. Your sweet words, stupid jokes, and genuine care are a stark contrast from the uninterested and short words he received from his penpal.

He stops writing to his penpal, not that they noticed/ cared, and grew the balls to write you one. He claimed his penpal dropped out, so they had to make do, not that you minded. And God, when you started to write back, he swore it was like he was a schoolboy all over again. Getting excited for the letters, heart racing as he reads your carefully written words, counting down the days till he gets another.

He gets ballsy one night and opens up to Gaz about what he did, not showing a single crumb of remorse. Tells him all about how sweet you are, how you show genuine care for his safety, even giving the idea of sending a care package. He could see that same thought process going through Kyle's mind, contemplating switching to you. He gave Kyle your address and told him to just come up with an excuse.

Now Kyle's a little smarter than Johnny, knowing that if Ghost finds out he's probably fucked. However, at the end of the day, he's a lonely man. He had this sweet thing like you just within reach and he's supposed to not take it? Yeah right.

He gave the same excuse Johnny did, claiming his penpal's schedule became too busy to write back, and just like that you had 3 soldiers wrapped around your finger. He sweet talked you, gave little puns here and there, really became like a lap cat. He wasn't as forward as Johnny and not as refrained as Simon. He gave you music recommendations when you say you like a certain genre, he gave you book recommendations, even sent you photos of him in front of a helicopter (you begged for it when he told you about him falling out).

Now, Simon isn't stupid. He isn't clueless. He noticed that the first couple letters went missing. Then he noticed Johnny being more eager to write. Same with Kyle. He noticed how they seemed to pull away from him when the topic was brought up. He's not a stupid man.

He might even be considered generous (don't say it to his face though, he'll take it as sarcasm). He knows the boys are talking to his penpal, but he'll be kind enough to share. His sweet lil thing. If you can keep up, that is. Your letters seem to boost morale and bring a small light that wasn't there before. They're all hard-working men, risking their lives to keep the world clean. They deserve this, don't they?

Even Price finds himself wanting in on it. If you can manage to bring Simon happiness (again, he won't admit it) and keep the other boys happy, surely you can take on one more. He sends you a letter, as their captain, and thanks you for what you've done. You're such a kind soul for giving these men some hope in their lives (laying it on thick, gotta keep em interested) and how much you've helped their performances.

They all write to you, their unofficial 141 penpal, and it works surprisingly well. The lines begin to blur a bit on being platonic and something else, but it'll be sorted out eventually. For now you're just theirs (Simon came around to it once he realized you had plenty of love to go around). You're the 141's, even if you don't fully understand what that means.

The first picture they send to you, around Christmas^ (I can't find the artist, please tag them if you know who it is)