#needle and smitten to come in the next chapter too

[vickysaurus-art]

The Adversary accidentally knocks herself out while fighting the Slayer, and he decides to take care of her rather than listen to the Narrator. How will it affect their next fight?

This one's a double feature, the second chapter with the continuation of the story in Eye of the Needle will be up in a couple days! Content warnings for graphic descriptions of violence and temporary character death, because it's an Adversary story.

[mjonthetrack]

tide

Chapter 44

A month.

Thirty days had slipped through his fingers like grains of sand, and still, she was gone.

Gone from the water. Gone from the depths where his power reigned, where he should have felt her like a pulse beneath the waves.

The ocean no longer whispered her name.

That silence was an ache he carried deep in his bones.

He had searched tirelessly—diving into currents, summoning storms, consulting ancient sea spirits—but Zafina was nowhere to be found beneath the tides. The siren’s essence had vanished from her rightful domain, leaving the sea restless, unbalanced.

He knew where she was.

He had to know.

Because the ocean’s balance was tipping. The creatures of the deep stirred uneasily, and the kingdoms beneath the waves whispered warnings of an approaching darkness—something that only her returning power could hold back.

But she was on land, far from the watery throne she was born to command.

The god who could rule tides and storms found himself stepping into a world he despised: human cities thick with heat, sweat, and corruption. He slipped through Jamaica’s night streets cloaked in shadows, the sharp scent of salt replaced by alcohol and smoke, and the thrum of life pulsing in dingy bars.

He played the part of a man—no crown, no dominion—just another shadow moving between neon signs and flickering streetlamps.

That’s when he found her.

Leaning against a sticky counter in a dive bar drowned in cheap lights and cheap whiskey, she was everything wild and dangerous and raw. Her dark curls tumbled over a corset top that barely contained the wildness beneath, and short shorts cut sharp against her skin.

She laughed—low, intoxicating—flirting with the bartender like she was the predator and he was her next meal, carefully appraised and ready to be devoured.

The bartender—nervous, smitten—didn’t stand a chance.

The way she toyed with him, that mischievous glint in her half-lidded eyes, the dangerous curve of her smile—it all screamed of a woman who wore her power like armor and seduction like a weapon.

Jey watched quietly, the swell of conflicting emotions twisting inside him.

This was the woman he loved and feared, the goddess who refused to return to the depths.

He stepped closer, the scent of saltwater and danger still lingering faintly around her, like a ghost clinging to her skin.

He didn’t want to startle her—didn’t want to push too hard and risk losing her again.

But the ocean’s call was too loud, the storm too close.

He had to bring her home.

He cleared his throat softly, breaking into her game.

Her eyes flicked to him—blue, then black, then that fierce storm of colors all at once.

Recognition. Surprise. A challenge.

He was no longer just a god of the sea.

He was a man caught between worlds, desperate to reclaim the siren who had stolen his heart—and perhaps, his fate.

Chapter 45 “Tonight.”

Zafina didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Didn’t waver.

She brought the rim of the sweating glass to her lips, the rum stinging her tongue, sugar and flame in one slow sip. The bartender—young, sun-kissed, trying too hard in his fitted tee and shaky confidence—was hanging onto every curl of her smile.

“Come tonight,” she murmured, sultry and smooth, her voice dipped in syrup and venom. “Like I said. And bring some friends.”

She slid the glass onto the bar with an audible clink, leaned in just enough to watch his brain scramble behind his eyes, and then pulled away.

No glance spared for the man behind her.

As if she hadn’t felt the shift in the air the moment he walked in.

As if her lungs hadn’t frozen just slightly, her predator’s instinct immediately aware of the energy dragging through the room like a tide.

He didn’t speak. Not yet.

But she felt him.

The way her body wanted to snap toward him like a compass needle.

The deep hum that vibrated under her skin—the undeniable signature of a god’s presence.

His.

Jey.

Still, she didn’t turn.

Her heels clicked on the floor as she moved. The sway of her hips purposeful. That corset was too tight to be practical, those shorts too short to be decent—but Zafina Amaya wasn’t made for comfort or modesty. She was made for command. For the hunt. For destruction and allure in equal measure.

She refused to let her eyes drift toward the man with skin like carved mahogany, the kind of strength in his frame that gods were sculpted from. She refused to acknowledge the silver flash of his Cuban link resting against the heat of his bare chest beneath that open button-down, or the way the tattoos sprawled across his collarbone seemed to pulse with memory.

She could smell the ocean on him.

Her ocean.

Salt, kelp, stormclouds, and something unmistakably him. The scent of thunder waiting to break.

Her jaw tightened. Her fingers twitched.

No. She would not look.

She would not give in to whatever twisted, immortal thing bound them.

She stormed past him, her bare shoulder grazing his chest, just enough to feel the heat between their bodies like an open flame—and when she felt her own core clench in response, she gritted her teeth harder.

Jey’s mouth parted, ready to say her name, ready to release whatever honey-dipped cadence he thought would pull her back—those low notes, that lazy cadence and island rhythm that always made her almost forget herself.

But before he could speak, she snapped—

“Don’t.”

Her voice cracked sharp like a whip, eyes still forward, stride unbroken.

His mouth shut.

Zafina kept walking. Out of the bar. Into the night. Into the thick Jamaican air that did nothing to cool the heat in her blood.

She hated how fine he looked.

Hated the way her own soul twisted toward him like a starving thing.

Hated that the blue in her eyes had refused to go black the moment he arrived.

She wasn’t going to let him use his voice, his warmth, or his memories to tangle her again. Not this time.

He wasn’t a tether she wanted.

He wasn’t a place she could rest.

He was danger. A crown she didn’t ask for. A world beneath the water she swore she’d leave behind.

But gods didn’t let go so easily.

And somewhere behind her, she felt his gaze. Unmoving. Devouring.

Jey didn’t follow.

Yet.

But the moon above them was full, and the waters had started whispering again.

Chapter 46 “Let them come to her.”

He felt her call before he heard it.

It wasn’t words, not really. It was heat in the marrow of the ocean. A vibration through the Pacific floor. A beckoning ripple that caught on the tide and crawled into the night. A flame—subtle at first—then blazing, seductive and primal, meant for one kind of prey: mortal men.

Jey’s eyes darkened beneath the water. No clothes, no pretense. He had shed the human costume the moment the night swallowed him whole. Now, beneath the waves, he was what he truly was.

God. Ocean-born. Untamed.

The pull to her was instinct.

Not obsession. Not love.

Possession.

And something worse—pride.

He cut through the waters like a blade, silent, fast, cold-blooded in his resolve. The moon was fat above, her light laying silver pathways across the currents. Every sea spirit watched as he passed, the temperature of the ocean shifting like it knew something was about to be offered.

He surfaced in the shallows, the world around her coming into view through slick strands of moonlight. She was there—on the rocks, waist-deep in water, the corset long abandoned, skin shimmering like obsidian oil, bare and unholy in her truest form.

Her hair coiled down her back in thick waves, wet and heavy. Her mouth was curved, but not in a smile.

It was a hunger.

A promise.

Around her, mortal men came.

Some swimming, some wading, others drawn into the sea as if it were a lover’s bed. Eyes glassy, their laughter shallow, eager. They didn’t know. They never knew. That the moment they entered her water, they’d already been chosen. Doomed.

She called them with that subtle shift in her song, humming, high and eerie and saccharine sweet, like sugar-cane laced with poison.

Jey didn’t interrupt. Didn’t stop her.

He helped.

His hand spread in the water, ancient power rippling outward. From the shoreline, more men emerged—confused, wandering, like they’d been yanked from their paths by some invisible leash. They didn’t question it. They couldn’t. They moved like they were meant to be there.

Zafina didn’t turn, but she felt him. Felt his magic amplifying hers.

She didn’t ask for it, but she didn’t stop it either.

And when he appeared behind her, the heat of him pressed to her spine—broad chest damp, skin like thunderclouds, voice low and velvet-slick in her ear—she let her eyes fall half-shut.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he murmured, voice half a growl, half a hymn. “Hunger suits you. Let them come to you, mo duwende. Let them worship you.”

Zafina’s fingers flexed at her sides.

The power in her surged—her scales glinting, her fangs peeking from between parted lips, her eyes a voidless black that saw through everything, everyone. She was no longer trying to hide. This was her world now. Their world. The surface had been fun. But this? This was truth.

And the sound of his voice behind her, that reverent, possessive worship in it—it added a new ache to the fire.

He wasn’t trying to chain her this time.

He was watching. Praising.

A god letting his siren queen feed.

Her hips rolled with the water, her form swaying in that hypnotic rhythm the mortals couldn’t help but follow. Her song shifted again—this time deeper, more deadly. She lifted one hand from the water and pointed.

One man swam closer. The others followed.

“You feel that?” Jey whispered into her curls, his mouth close, his breath hot against the shell of her ear. “That’s your ocean screaming for blood. For you.”

She didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

She moved.

The moment the first man reached her, she struck fast—a smile slicing across her face, hand curling around his neck with deadly ease. He gasped, but it was too late. Her kiss was the last thing he ever felt.

Jey watched, still as a mountain.

Not jealous. Not wrathful.

Pleased.

There was something ancient in him too. A part that had fed like this before. That remembered the cycles of death and beauty that the ocean demanded.

He leaned down again, his voice a low purr, “Kill them pretty, mama. Show ‘em why they fear the sea.”

She dragged the second man under without a sound.

The water around her was beginning to stain, a murky wine-colored bloom creeping outward. Still, they came. Lured. Enchanted.

She didn’t stop.

Neither did he.

The Pacific whispered, Let her be who she is. Let her burn through the weak. Let her rage before she returns to you whole.

And Jey, standing behind her in the glow of moonlight and ruin, could only murmur again—this time with something that almost sounded like awe,

“…My beautiful monster.”

Chapter 47 “My beautiful monster.”

The words didn’t drift into the sea like everything else.

They sank into her skin.

Zafina felt it—the truth in his voice, the low rasp of pride, the wild reverence wrapped around the name he gave her. Not queen. Not woman. Monster. And yet, when he said it, it didn’t feel like a curse. It sounded like worship.

Her spine shivered.

A slow, involuntary tremor curled down from the nape of her neck to the base of her back, coiling somewhere deep in her belly. Her song paused—not broken, but stilled, like a breath caught in the throat of the ocean.

He noticed it.

Of course he did.

The scent of her changed—rich, ripe, and sharp in his lungs. Arousal. She was turned on. Not by the carnage, not entirely—but by him. His words. His presence. His eyes watching her unleash the dark. His approval of it.

He stepped closer.

Close enough that his chest brushed her back again. His hand hovered just above her hip, not touching—but his heat spread like wildfire. His voice was soft now, too soft for any mortal ears, a whisper only she could hear:

“You like that,” he murmured. “You liked hearing it. Say you didn’t.”

She didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Her lips parted in a slow gasp as her fingers dug deeper into the shoulder of the man she hadn’t killed yet—his body slack from her earlier glamour, unaware he was caught in the grip of a divine war.

Her claws drew blood.

But she didn’t pull him under.

Something in her shifted.

Her body stiffened—torn, trembling, drowning in two instincts. The hunger in her wanted to feast. To drag. To devour. But her soul—what was left of it—quivered like it remembered something else.

Him.

That sound again—a tiny, helpless whimper, barely audible. A crack in her.

Jey inhaled sharply. His eyes flared with a heat too old to be lust and too new to be love.

He reached out this time. No hesitation.

His hand cupped her waist, fingers pressing into the soft, bare skin of her hip. His other hand slid up, ghosting over her ribs, then around to her sternum—calming, firm, anchoring.

“You’re still in there,” he said low, dark, and sweet like molasses. “I see you, Zee.”

The name, that name, made her growl low in her throat—but it wasn’t from anger.

Her black eyes flickered—like a candle in wind—then fully shifted. Oceanic. Soft blue.

Vulnerable.

Jey leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of her ear.

“I don’t care how many you kill,” he whispered, “just don’t lose you.”

She inhaled sharply—saltwater, blood, and his scent—heavy with ancient godhood and something devastatingly male.

“I can’t…” she rasped.

He gently pulled the nearly-dead man from her grip, setting him adrift, forgotten.

“Yes you can.”

“No,” she hissed, voice rough. “This is what I am.”

“And this is what I am,” he said. “A god who chooses you.”

Zafina turned slowly, facing him.

Moonlight washed over her body, casting light and shadow in beautiful contradiction. Her bare chest rose and fell, her lips still stained red. But her eyes—those damn siren eyes—were blue. Wide. Confused. Starving in more ways than one.

He touched her cheek.

Not possessively.

Not to dominate.

Just to hold.

“You felt that too,” he said, voice rasping. “When I called you mine.”

Her breath hitched. She stepped back.

Then forward again.

Her forehead rested against his chest.

“I should kill you,” she murmured, voice raw.

“You’ve tried,” he murmured back, smiling against her curls.

“I will again.”

“I know.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t pull away.

Her breath warmed his skin.

Jey wrapped his arms around her slowly—carefully—as if embracing a blade. She let him. She let him.

The water calmed around them.

Above them, the clouds shifted. The stars blinked awake. And beneath that vast celestial ceiling, the goddess leaned into the god—not as prey or predator, not as queen or killer—but as something in between.

Haunted.

Hunted.

Held.

And he whispered one more thing against her temple, something ancient, something true:

“You can be all of it. Just don’t lie to yourself.”

She didn’t answer.

But she didn’t pull away either.

Chapter 48 “Ke’alohilani.”

The name fell from her lips like an invocation.

Soft. Shaken. Reverent.

It wasn’t a name she should have known. Not one anyone in this realm had called him in centuries. Not even whispered. It was his true name—his god-name. The one spoken only by ancient seas, by elder tides, by deities long returned to dust.

But she said it.

Breathed it like a secret she'd never been taught, like a memory her flesh forgot but her soul carried.

Her breath hitched the moment it left her mouth. Her eyes widened—ocean blue, not black—as she stumbled a step back, trembling. Confusion twisted her face, even as her chest heaved with the weight of something primal and real.

“Ke’alohilani…”

The moment cracked like lightning in the dark.

His spine stiffened.

Jey’s body went still—god still. Everything in the ocean seemed to halt, every current, every spirit, every distant whale song falling silent. The water bent around them. The air stilled. The stars paused in their burn.

She’d spoken his god-name. His soul-name.

And it moved him.

He looked at her now—not like a man staring at his lover, or his equal, or his threat. But like a god who had just been seen for the first time in eons. Naked. Unmasked. Named.

A thunderous pulse echoed in his chest.

“You—” he rasped, his voice lower than she’d ever heard it, raw and layered with centuries of something deeper than want. “Say it again.”

She couldn’t. Her throat was tight. Her lips trembled.

“Say it, Zee.”

Her knees buckled.

Not from fear. From recognition.

This wasn’t just a man she wanted or hated or needed. This was the being her power had been woven against. The one the currents ached for. The name she'd just uttered wasn’t learned—it was embedded. Stamped into her soul when she was created, when she was forged from hunger and moonlight and death.

She swallowed hard, every part of her shaking.

“…Ke’alohilani.”

His growl was low and deep.

His eyes flashed—not silver like they had before, but a glowing, molten blue, like the volcanic vents at the bottom of his trench kingdom. His power rippled outward from his chest like a shockwave.

The manta ray, far behind them, dipped deep in the distance as if bowing.

He stepped forward.

One step. Then another. Until his hands were on her bare shoulders, firm, anchoring.

“You knew me,” he said, his thumbs brushing her skin. “Before you even knew yourself.”

“I didn’t—” she shook her head, but her voice cracked. “I didn’t want to know you.”

“But your soul did.”

Her lip quivered.

“Don’t do that—”

He didn’t listen.

Instead, his hand cupped her face, fingers tangling in the wet tangle of her dark hair, holding her steady as if she might disappear.

“Say it one more time.”

She didn’t want to.

But her eyes rolled shut—and from somewhere too deep to fight, she whispered it once more, like prayer.

“…Ke’alohilani.”

His lips crashed into hers.

It wasn’t the kiss of a mortal. It wasn’t even the kiss of a lover.

It was divine.

Possessive.

Explosive.

Power and hunger swirled through it, as if the very ocean pulled tighter around them in response. Her fingers clutched his chest, his chain digging into her palm, and when he lifted her slightly, she wrapped her legs around his waist without thinking.

Her siren aura flared—but didn’t fight him.

His godhood consumed her—and cradled her.

They didn’t need words anymore.

Not when the name that bound them echoed between their mouths, their breaths, their skin, their essence. She felt herself bending—not breaking—but bending in the direction of fate. Of inevitability. Of him.

And she hated how much she wanted it.

How good it felt to say his name.

To know his name.

To belong to it.

He pulled back just enough to whisper, lips against hers, breath hot and heavy:

“You can run. You can fight. But don’t you ever forget—you called me.”

Her head tipped forward until their foreheads met, chests heaving.

“I hate you,” she whispered.

His grin was savage and knowing.

“No, you don’t.”

And for once…

She didn’t argue.

Chapter 49 “You kissed me first.”

She didn’t remember when her mouth had begun chasing his.

But she was.

Breathless. Needy. Her bottom lip brushing hungrily against his. Her tongue flicking just enough to taste the salt on him, the divine pulse he couldn’t hide. Her eyes were open now—no longer black, no longer brimming with that jagged, ancient rage.

Blue.

Ocean blue.

And full of something that wasn’t fury. Not hunger. Not the song of death.

Want.

Her hand gripped his jaw with the sharpness of someone still trying to convince herself she wasn’t weak, but her hips told another story—tilted forward, pressed tight against him, her bare body humming with heat and godless tension.

And then she slowed.

Like her mind finally caught up with her mouth.

The fervency faltered. She softened the kiss—not in romance, but in that seductive cruelty only sirens mastered. Her lips parted from his, then came back in again, slower. Wet. Teasing.

A beat passed between each kiss. Each one more maddening than the last.

She kissed the corner of his mouth.

Paused.

Kissed his top lip. Bit it, just a little.

Paused.

She was playing with him now.

And he felt it.

Jey’s jaw flexed under her palm. His hands, still braced against the small of her back and the curve of her hip, tightened. He tried to follow her rhythm, to meet her hunger with his own, but she kept pulling back. Pacing it. Controlling it.

It wasn’t for the kill this time.

It was for power.

For touch.

For the slow unraveling of the tether neither of them knew they’d been holding for centuries.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” she muttered, her voice hoarse between kisses, her eyes still blue but flickering like a light trying to short. “I shouldn’t want this.”

“But you do,” he rasped, forehead pressed against hers, chest rising and falling hard. “Your body does.”

“Fuck you.”

“You’re trying.”

She growled.

Her mouth caught his again in something messier—this time more desperate, like she hated herself for every second of it. Her teeth scraped his bottom lip again, but she didn’t bite like before. Didn’t try to draw blood. Just… tasted.

Savored.

Teased.

“You think this means anything?” she hissed against his lips, nose brushing his. “I’ve kissed men just to drown them. I’ve sung to gods before. I’ve killed things with more power than you.”

“But none of them made you slow down.”

She stilled.

For half a second, just one heartbeat.

Then another slow, deliberate kiss. And another.

But her shoulders had lost tension. Her posture less predatory, more pliant. Like her body was betraying her again. Like it wanted to fold into his even though her pride screamed not to.

He brought his hand to the back of her head, holding her gently this time.

“You’re not running.”

“I’m not staying either.”

“But you’re still here.”

She tried to pull back then.

She did.

But he didn’t stop her. He let her retreat those few inches, their breath still tangling. And when she looked at him, lips red and parted, her expression held something broken under all that ice.

She was scared.

Of him.

Of herself.

Of what it meant that she hadn’t tried to kill him after tasting his godhood. That she’d kissed him again. That it wasn’t rage or conquest anymore—but the desire to be touched, claimed, felt.

By him.

Her voice cracked as she whispered, “I don’t want to feel like this.”

“You already do.”

She didn’t argue.

Couldn’t.

Because her hand was still on his chest, and her nails were pressing into the place where his heart beat—loud, steady, god-deep. She wanted to pretend she didn’t feel it echoing in her own. Wanted to believe it was nothing more than a passing ache.

But she knew better.

The ocean inside her knew better.

So did her soul.

And even though she’d pulled back, even though her eyes were flickering with panic now, the truth was painfully clear between them:

She wasn’t just a siren anymore.

She was his.

Whether she liked it or not.

Chapter 50 “Pull me under.”

He hadn’t expected it.

Not from her.

Not from the blood-eyed siren who once spat threats at his name, who snarled warnings into the salt-thick air like prophecies. Not from the woman who clawed through sea kings and shark-blooded spirits like she was born for nothing but death.

But she looked up at him now—

Not with rage. Not with pride.

With need.

With those impossibly blue eyes that made his chest ache in ways even gods weren’t immune to. The kind of ache that wasn’t born from wounds or war but want. Crashing, trembling, ancient want. And when she spoke, her voice was small—so small he almost didn’t hear it over the crashing surf.

“Pull me under.”

Three words.

Three damn words and Jey’s world tilted.

His name still hummed in her bones. Ke’alohilani. She’d spoken it moments ago like her soul had remembered before her lips did, like some tether centuries old had finally jerked her back toward the truth. His truth.

And now… she was giving in.

Her bare skin was damp, mist-laced, lit by moonlight. She stood with the ocean just licking her calves, but the tremble in her limbs wasn’t from cold.

No.

It was surrender.

Not weak. Not passive. Something fiercer. Wilder.

Her lip quivered as she looked up at him, shame and hunger clashing hard in her gaze.

“You know what you’re asking?” Jey’s voice was low, touched by the tide of his godhood, the way he only let it echo when he meant something real. “You beg me for the depths, you can’t climb back out.”

“I’m not begging,” she hissed—but her voice cracked, and her hands trembled as they reached for his chest.

“Yes, you are,” he said simply.

And it pleased him.

God, it pleased him.

Because it wasn’t weakness. It was instinct. Her goddess bones crying for their match. Her siren soul recognizing the one being that couldn’t be drowned or bitten or pushed away.

Him.

She shook her head as if trying to resist again—but then her fingers curled in the wet skin over his heart, her forehead touching his chest.

“I don’t want to feel like this,” she whispered. “I hate how I ache for you.”

“Lie again.”

“I don’t—”

He grasped her chin, tilted her face up, and the second their eyes met, she stopped pretending.

Because she wanted this.

Her lips parted. Her breath shallow.

“Please.”

The word nearly undid him.

He didn’t wait.

His power rippled out, the Pacific bending beneath them. He stepped forward, and the waves answered—not crashing, but curling upward in reverence, water rising around their ankles, thighs, hips.

She gasped as it lifted her—not rough, but like arms beneath her thighs.

Jey caught her easily, one arm around her waist, the other buried in her hair. Their mouths didn’t meet yet. No. He waited. Let her tremble. Let her know exactly what she’d surrendered to.

And she didn’t fight it.

Not now.

Because it was already happening.

The water began to swallow them—slow, purposeful. Every inch a benediction. A claim. The ocean pulling its two most powerful children back into its core.

Her legs wrapped around him without shame. Her hands tangled at the nape of his neck. Their foreheads pressed tight. His name was on her breath again, more broken this time, more desperate.

“Ke’alohilani…”

He exhaled, shuddered.

“You are mine,” he whispered, power ringing through his tone.

She didn’t deny it.

Couldn’t.

Because the sea around them surged with approval. Because her hips pressed to his. Because her body sang now—not a song for death, but one for home. For him.

When their lips met again, it wasn’t teasing.

It wasn’t slow.

It was the kiss of storms, of deep water and dark fire, of gods and sirens and ancient bonds reforged in moonlit surf.

He pulled her under.

Not with hands.

With everything.

And she let him.

Chapter 51 — "Below the Surface" Seismic. Filthy. Fated. The ocean bore witness.

The ocean did not hush for them.

It roared.

Tidal rifts cracked far beneath the crust, and somewhere in the deep Pacific trenches, seaquakes were birthed from the kind of cosmic union gods once feared.

The moment they sank below the waves, fully claimed, fully had—everything shifted.

Zafina's breath hitched sharply, her body wrapped tight around him as the waters swallowed them both whole. Her fangs scraped his shoulder, her nails tore against the flexing muscle of his back, but it wasn’t rage this time—it was the overwhelming crash of a woman built to kill, brought to her knees by the one being who could meet her chaos with his own.

Jey’s power pulsed in slow, dragging waves beneath her skin. It poured into her like heat through every sacred seam, until her slick gasp choked out against his mouth, her thighs trembling violently where they stayed wrapped around his hips.

“Mine.” His voice was gravel in her throat, echoing through the salt-thick abyss, low and commanding.

She wanted to deny him, fight him. She tried.

But her moan betrayed her first.

That sound—

It was filthy.

It was ancient.

It was devotion.

His hands gripped her thighs like he could rip apart continents if she told him to. Her body twisted against his, grinding with slow, maddening circles as if daring him to lose control.

“You want this?” he growled, lips brushing the shell of her ear as his hips surged upward with enough force to send shockwaves through the trench walls. Coral crumbled behind them. Volcano vents burst far below, hissing steam into the silence.

“I want ruin,” she hissed back, her black eyes wild again, flickering with that chaotic blue he craved. “Give it to me.”

He did.

Right there in the heart of the sea, two immortals collided like gods had never meant for it to happen.

Every movement was too much. Too good. Too dangerous.

The ocean around them boiled in places, cold in others, heat and chill clashing like battle cries. Her tongue found his throat, licked a long, slow stripe up to his jaw just as she arched into him again, her moan drowned beneath the roaring current and the thunder inside their bones.

He slammed her back against a coral shelf, water parting briefly around them like it feared the force of their union. Her hand slipped down his chest, fingernails dragging across sacred ink. A grin split her lips—teeth sharp, dark delight dancing behind her lashes.

“You’re still holding back,” she mocked, eyes gleaming like the abyss.

He growled.

Then he gave her everything.

They thrashed like gods at war—his mouth capturing hers, his hand locked at her throat, her thighs squeezing tighter every time he sank into her so deep it felt like the sea bent to him.

“Ke’alohilani,” she whimpered, voice cracking in ways she never allowed.

He kissed it from her lips.

Bit it from her jaw.

And when her hips stuttered and her head fell back, that siren scream she gave off broke water above them.

Literally.

A geyser exploded into the sky.

Fishermen would speak of it for generations.

When the quake settled and the sea cooled, she floated against his chest, hair wild in the current, lips parted, pupils blown wide.

Her body was slack with pleasure, but her voice still cut with that impossible sharpness.

“You think this means anything?” she whispered, voice raw, throat bruised.

He chuckled low in his chest.

“Yeah,” he muttered, dragging his fingers along her waist, “I do.”

“And what now?” she challenged, still breathless, still trembling. “You keep me? Chain me up like some myth-obsessed god-king?”

He grinned, pressing his lips to the curve of her throat.

“Nah,” he said. “I let you swim—but you’ll come back.”

She didn’t reply.

She just held on.

Because she knew he was right.

And the sea would never forget what they did tonight.

Chapter 52 — “Marked in the Deep” Their names were already carved into the currents. But he needed more. Needed her sealed. Bound. Unshakably his.

“Zafina.”

Her name wasn’t spoken—it was claimed.

His voice sank into the water like it belonged there, like every molecule shifted to make space for it. Her pulse fluttered against his chest, her lashes barely lifted.

She was spent, her bare limbs weightless in the pull of his arms, her lips still kiss-bruised from the war they’d made of each other. But even exhausted, she was still dangerous. Still goddess. Still hers alone.

And he wasn’t done.

“Don’t,” she rasped, barely audible, even to him. “I can’t—”

Jey pressed a kiss to her throat, a brush of reverence and resolve all at once. Then lower—his mouth followed the path of a god claiming his match—not with violence, not with dominance, but with something more dangerous.

Intention.

“You think that was the end?” he murmured. “That we’re finished?”

Her jaw tightened, eyes narrowed—but she didn’t move.

“You felt it too,” he went on, voice like molten thunder, dragging across her skin. “You were begging. Pull me under,remember?”

She did. The words echoed in her bones.

He pulled her closer, bare chest against hers, his hand splayed between her shoulder blades.

“I need it,” he said quietly, almost like confession. “The real bond. I need to seal it, Zee.”

Her head lifted just slightly. “So I’ll wear your mark? Be tethered to you? Like some—kept thing?”

“No,” he said without flinching. “So no one else can take what’s already mine.”

His voice dipped low, reverent. “So no other immortal, no old magic, no dark calling from the deep can touch you. Not unless they wanna die slow.”

The way he said it made the ocean still.

Her lips parted—then closed again. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

“You know how it works,” he murmured, brushing his mouth against her jaw, then her collarbone, then lower still. “The synchronization… that release together, it’s not just sex. It’s legacy. It’s power. It’s a vow.”

She stiffened. She didn’t want to need this. To need him.

But her body betrayed her. Her spirit knew already. It had since the night she first tasted his blood.

“…What if I hate you after?” she whispered.

Jey looked at her, deadly serious.

“Then you’ll hate me,” he said. “But you’ll still be mine.”

He didn’t ask again.

He just kissed her.

And when her arms rose around his shoulders—when her fingers clawed into his wet curls, dragging him deeper—he knew.

The bond had already begun.

It started slow. Tormentingly slow.

His lips worshipped her—lips, throat, ribs, hips. Her body writhed against his like current over reef, smooth and volatile. She clawed down his chest with a snarl, meeting him thrust for thrust until the pressure between them was more than just physical—it was elemental.

“Jey—”

“Let go.”

“I—”

“Let. Go.”

Their foreheads pressed. Eyes locked.

Black to blue. Blue to blue.

And then—

They came undone.

Together.

A sonic pulse blasted out from them like a second quake. The water surged, the ocean howled. Their moans clashed into one, their bodies arched, locked, collapsed.

And then—silence.

He held her through it.

She shuddered in his arms, glowing faintly, her siren mark pulsing like a sapphire flame on her skin, mirrored by his own glowing brand over his chest—one that hadn’t existed before tonight.

They were tethered now.

Soul-deep.

She tried to speak but choked instead. On disbelief. On surrender.

“You sealed us,” she breathed.

“I did.”

“And now?”

He smiled. “Now we deal with the shitstorm we just woke up.”

Because far below them, something ancient was rising.

And it had smelled her surrender.

Chapter 53 — “The Throne & the Tempest” He didn’t just claim her in the sea—he claimed her in spirit, in godhood, in the very marrow of his power. And he would not release her.

The water outside his kingdom pulsed with tension, but within the caverns of the Pacific throne, it was a different kind of pressure. Thick. Lush. Charged.

Zafina sat on his lap.

No—she was held there. Possessively. Purposefully. One of Jey’s massive hands was splayed wide against her bare thigh, the other arm wrapped around her waist as if she’d disappear if he let go. His head was tilted back, thick curls haloing his throne like coral-black fire, but his eyes… they never left her.

She squirmed once—once.

“Don’t,” he growled low in his chest. The word wasn’t a warning. It was a tether.

“I’m not trying to leave,” she said tightly, though her siren pride bristled at being caged.

“You can’t leave,” he said simply. “Not from this. Not from me.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes—until she felt it again.

That ever-present hum beneath her skin.

His energy, divine and primal, curled around her like ocean current—coating her, soaking into her. Her siren form had no choice but to yield to the bond. It recognized his essence now. Craved it. And he used it to hold her.

She turned her head, lips brushing against his jaw. “You think sitting me on your lap in your palace makes me yours?”

His hand slid up her thigh, fingers flexing slightly as he exhaled against her temple. “No. I knew you were mine when you screamed pull me under. This?” He tilted his hips slightly—just enough to remind her who had her. “This is for me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re obsessed.”

“I’m a god,” he said darkly. “And now I’ve found my goddess. Of course I’m obsessed.”

She hated that it pleased her. Hated that the possessiveness settled her hunger, even just a little.

Hated that she… didn’t hate being there.

But the stillness wouldn’t last.

A low groan echoed from the deep trench below his palace. The temperature dropped a degree. The walls of the kingdom shivered with old magic. Even Zafina stiffened.

“What was that?” she asked.

Jey’s gaze turned inward. Ancient. Focused.

He was listening—to the seabed. To the spirits. To the shift in tide.

“The deep doesn’t like that we sealed,” he muttered. “There’s something older down there. Waiting. It felt the bond happen. And it’s waking up.”

She sat straighter. “Another god?”

“Something before gods.”

Zafina turned fully in his lap. Her eyes were bright blue again now, but narrowed, calculating.

“So we woke up a monster.”

“No,” he said, lifting his chin. “We didn’t. I did.”

She arched a brow.

Jey slid a hand to the small of her back and pulled her flush against him again. “Because I took what they never could. I found the siren queen and made her mine. Not with chains. With power. With pleasure. With truth. And the deep fears what we can do together.”

Her lips parted at that. Something shivered through her—not fear. Recognition.

“You think they’ll come for us?” she asked softly.

“I hope they do.”

He stood then, lifting her effortlessly with him, still in his arms. Still close. Still his.

“They want to see what a Pacific god and a Caribbean siren can become?” he muttered, heading down the steps of his throne with her body curled to his. “Let them come.”

The deep waters churned, furious.

But the gods were already awake.

And they were together.

Chapter 54 – “The Claim of Old Gods” She was born of salt and fury, of fangs and silk—intended to be a monster’s bride, but the ocean spirits had other plans. They didn’t just make her… they hid her. In plain sight. For him.

The tremors in the Pacific hadn’t stopped. They had deepened. Grown rhythmic, ancient, intentional. Something old was calling.

Zafina sat on the edge of Jey’s dark stone bath now, her legs folded beneath her, her bare back pressed to the carved obsidian wall of his inner sanctum. His markings—his divine tattoos—had etched faintly into her skin during the sealing. Not visibly, not always. But they flared when she touched the water.

So she avoided it now.

Jey stood waist-deep in the pool, body slick and carved from divinity, watching her with storm-dark eyes. Silent. Still. Listening again.

“It’s rising,” she said finally, arms folding beneath her breasts. “The thing in the trench.”

His jaw clenched. “I know.”

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “What is it?”

He didn’t answer right away. The water rippled around his hips. Something about the way he stood—poised like a tidal wave waiting for gravity’s permission—told her he wasn’t avoiding her question. He was choosing how much truth to offer.

Finally: “A titan. One of the first. Older than sea gods. Older than gods, period.”

Her mouth twisted. “And it wants me?”

Jey looked up at her then. “It tried to claim you before you were ever conscious.”

Zafina blinked, and the air between them turned electric.

“Wait—what?”

Jey rose from the bath, water slicking off the bronze cut of his chest and arms, his presence thick enough to choke. He moved to her, hand trailing up her leg before gripping her chin, tilting her face to his.

“You think you were made by accident?” he murmured. “No, Zafina. You were forged. You were created with purpose—beauty like a weapon, hunger like a promise. But your spirit—your soul? It was meant to be shackled. To a titan who believed he could leash the sea’s fury by owning its most powerful siren.”

She stiffened.

“But the ocean spirits… they interfered,” Jey continued, voice lowering, rasping like sand against coral. “They wove your essence with mine. Long before we met. Hid you in other waters. Gave you time to forget what chased you. Until now.”

Zafina’s breath caught in her throat.

“Why now?”

“Because I sealed you.” His voice was thunder. “Because I made you mine. And when that happened—when I spilled my essence in you and we synchronized—when your cry pulled magic from the depths and your body matched mine beat for beat?”

He leaned in, forehead pressing to hers.

“It was done. Final. No unbinding. No severing. You’re locked to me, Zafina. And I will never let you go.”

She tried to scoff. She did.

But her thighs shifted, subtly, as the heat between them flickered alive again.

“You talk like you have a choice,” she murmured, lifting her chin. “Like your claim isn’t the same as his.”

Jey snarled low, suddenly pinning her against the wall, his hand at her throat—not squeezing, just holding.

“I don’t want to own you,” he growled. “I want the world to know you’re with me.”

The markings on her skin pulsed again, faintly glowing.

“And I want that titan to rise. I want him to try. I want him to see—you don’t belong to him. You were never his.”

He leaned closer, teeth grazing the shell of her ear.

“You’re my equal. My sin. My sanctuary. My storm.”

Zafina’s eyes flared ocean-blue, chest rising and falling too quickly, the scent of arousal drowning the space between them.

“And when he comes,” Jey whispered, “we’re going to bury him in the trench he crawled from. Together.”

Far beneath the sea, the trench opened.

A slither of ancient stone and shadow sloughed off the walls.

Eyes—massive, lidless, unfathomable—opened in the dark.

And something remembered Zafina.

[dalchiid]

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 12

A story of obsession, fear, and lust. You're a maid whose Masters forbid you in meeting their guests for the night but your luck runs dry when you run into them and catch the attention of Lord Hoseok himself. He's smitten from the beginning and thus, your fate has been decided.

Pairing: Yandere Vampire Hoseok x Fem/AFAB Reader

Word Count: 6,248

Warnings: 18+, Yandere, Obsession, Possessive, Angst, Fear, Blood, Biting, Dub-Con, Eventual smut

Will add or remove warnings based on what's in each chapter.

I do not condone the behavior being exhibited in my work. This is solely for entertainment purposes and I hope if any of you are ever in a situation like this that you have the chance and ability to run away from it. Take care out there.

DO NOT copy, edit, or repost my work anywhere.

Chapter 12 Warnings: Yandere, Possessive, Obsession, MC going through withdrawal so pain & sickness

Prev | Next

You wake up to a choked scream. Wait. Was that you? You groan in pain as you open your mouth wide before gritting your teeth. Your back hurts like it's on fire. Your limbs are not far behind and you have to swallow before you release another pained sound.

You hear words. They are being spoken to you - about you you think but you feel like you're underwater. You can barely understand what's being said but the voices sound masculine.

Your eyes open and you have to shut them quickly because the world spins around you and fast. You could barely see what was happening around you but you could feel the gentle touch on your arm.

"Hyun-Woo," you cry out.

You hear something along the lines of "I'm here" but you're not entirely sure. Your back seizes painfully, the muscles drawing taut beneath you. Your arms pull back to try and lift yourself off of what you're lying on but it doesn't relieve your pain. You cry out once more and feel a single tear escape from your clenched shut eyes.

Your hearing starts to clear and you can hear what starts off as mumbles turn into voices that go back and forth with each other. One is Hyun-Woo and the other is unfamiliar to you. You have a hard time imagining who it could be and frankly could care less since you're in so much pain.

You grit your teeth as a spasm in your back forces your body to seize again. You try your best not to cry out but the pained sounds leave you in a choked manner. You whine when your body relaxes after seizing up with your breath coming out in pants.

"Where am I," you manage to croak out.

"You're in my room, Dove."

You feel a damp washcloth being placed against your forehead. It's cool against your burning skin but it feels too sensitive to the touch. You try to knock the washcloth off but hands prevent you from doing so.

"Leave it alone, Y/N. You need it."

You pause before gasping. "Sunmi?"

When did Sunmi get here?

"It's me. Shh it's okay." She pats your hair softly.

"H-How did you know?" You try to ask despite feeling nauseous.

She makes a sound akin to a hum before she pulls her hand away from you. "I went looking for you earlier today. Couldn't find you until I heard Master Hyun-Woo's shouts when you had fainted. It's just us now and the good doctor."

Doctor? Maybe that's the unknown voice that you heard.

Your body seizes up again and you cry out loud with tears springing forth from your eyes. The pain feels like fire running up and down your system and you can barely deal with it. Why did this have to happen to you? Why did you have to kiss Hoseok?

A whimper escapes you as your body relaxes again. It's temporary relief except you still feel the pins and needles running across your skin. You're sensitive to the touch and are too afraid to open your eyes lest you vomit. Your body shakes from the cold chills but you feel too hot in your clothes. Sweat permeates through them and it forces the clothing to stick to you uncomfortably. You pull on your shirt to try and take it off but struggle with it. You grunt in annoyance when it doesn't come off and cry out when your skin aches in the process.

"What is it, Dove? Tell me what's wrong?"

You don't care that there are men in here you just want the damn shirt off.

"Take this off. I want it off." You pull at the shirt again and cry when no one moves to help you.

"It's okay." Hyun-Woo goes to calm you down. "We'll take it off. It's okay."

Multiple hands come to help you and remove the shirt from your body. Cool air hits you hard but you welcome it. Your bra is an issue as well but you try to ignore it to maintain some decency for yourself.

As soon as the shirt is off your body seizes again. You grit your teeth through it and give a loud cry of relief when it doesn't last as long as the others.

"How long will she be like this?" Sunmi asks.

"Could be anywhere from two to three days. Maybe more. Depends on how long she's been using." The doctor says.

"Depends on how long she's been using," he says. He made it sound like you were a drug addict, but were you any different than them? Now wasn't the time to act high and mighty.

"Two days." Hyun-Woo says. "The vampire who did this to her said he'd give her two days."

You hear a hum. "He'd give her two days or that's how long this will last? He might be right but I wouldn't trust the word of her dealer. So we'll have to just play it by ear."

You groan. You don't want to play it by ear. You just want it all to end now.

A chill runs through your body and despite sweating you try to burrow into the blankets on top of you.

"Cold," you say as you knock the cool washcloth off of your forehead.

Sunmi grabs it just before it can fall and you feel her lie it down next to your head.

Little whimpers escape you and you dread the next spasm that will rock through your body. You shakily inhale and exhale it into a sigh. You feel so exhausted and you know you're far from over this despite wishing you were.

"W-What happened earlier? How did I f-faint?" Your question is loud in the otherwise quiet room.

There's no answer at first until the doctor speaks.

"It's completely normal for fainting to be the first thing that happens when you slip into this sort of withdrawal. Excess stress could help speed it along faster."

You were feeling stressed. Hyun-Woo's constant kisses and touches were bothering you to no end. You only felt nausea and a headache at first but it all must have snowballed when he wouldn't stop touching you.

You flinch at the memory. And you weren't alone either. You remember Jungkook being there. What must he have thought? Seeing you so prone to Hyun-Woo's touch despite you not wanting it. Despite seeing you getting ready to faint. He wouldn't speak a word about this would he?

"Jungkook," you say but no answer from anyone follows. "W-What about J-Jungkook? H-He won't s-say anything - he c-can't." You can't stop stuttering as more chills wrack your body.

"I didn't see Lord Jungkook." Sunmi says.

"He must have left soon after Y/N had fainted. Don't worry though I'll make sure he doesn't speak a word of this."

Hyun-Woo's words bring you little comfort. By now everyone would know if he wished to speak up on it. Gods know what time it was - how long it's been since you fainted. You try not to think about it but the worry is eating you up inside.

At that moment your body seizes again and you cry out loud from how unexpected it was. You can feel hands hover over you with care - unsure of what to do.

"She'll be like this for a while. The best you can do is make her feel comfortable and keep her hydrated."

"There's no medicine we can give her to help ease her?" Hyun-Woo asks.

"There are options but I'm limited in my resources here. Her best bet is to be sent to a rehabilitation center."

"No," you cry out. "I d-dont want to go!"

"Shh, shh it's okay, Y/N. You don't have to go if you don't want to." Hyun-Woo shushes you gently as his hand pats your arm from beneath the covers.

Your body relaxes a little at his words but you still feel slightly on edge. You don't want to go. Not that it was beneath you but because it was so unknown to you and you'd be away from home. Away from work and everyone will know why you're gone. You couldn't deal with that. Not now or ever.

A part of you hates yourself for going through this. For dealing with Hoseok but for also thinking you could get through this without him. You're at a war with yourself and can't trust your thoughts when it comes to him.

"I'm going to run this under cold water again." Sunmi's words are soft but you can hear her all the same as she removes the washcloth from near you and steps away.

A hand caresses your face ever so gently. The hand feels like it's ghosting across from how soft the touch is.

"My poor angel. I'm sorry you have to go through this."

Your hand comes out from beneath the covers and weakly grasps the hand on your face. You softly cry at Hyun-Woo's touch. Part of you wants to push him away but you also want the comfort. You so desperately need it.

"I want it to stop," you cry.

"I know, love. I know."

It's quiet for a moment as Sunmi comes back. She comes to place the cloth onto your forehead much to your displeasure. You don't want it but you know she's doing this out of care so you relent and avoid swatting her hands away.

"Thank you, Doctor. You may leave. Feel free to house in one of the adjacent rooms just in case you are needed again."

You can't see him but you assume the doctor bows at Hyun-Woo's words before departing. It's as the door closes do you seize again. Your hand grips Hyun-Woo's tightly but it's for a moment as this spasm doesn't last for very long.

After breathing in and out deeply you take a chance and open your eyes. The room still spins around you but not enough to make you dizzy. You look over to your left and see Sunmi. It's hard to concentrate on her face but you see it all the same. To your right you see Hyun-Woo. He's sat on the bed by your side. You think you see his brows furrow in worry but again it's hard to concentrate with the room spinning around you.

You briefly close your eyes as you bring a hand up to rub at your face. "I feel fucked up."

"I can imagine." Sunmi says as she pats your head. "I told you it would be hard."

Hyun-Woo looks between the two of you with curiosity. "How do you two know each other?"

"We met in passing but hit it off quickly." Sunmi is quick to answer. She leaves out the parts about the bruises, rumors and Hoseok.

You can tell Hyun-Woo wants to know more but her smile let's him know that that's the end of it. He pouts in her direction with a side eye before looking back at you.

"Do you need anything, Dove? Would you like some water?"

You think about it for a second before nodding. "Yeah, I'm k-kind of thirsty."

He goes to stand up to fetch a bottle from his mini refrigerator. He's quick to come back and twist the cap off for you. It's just as you're about to grab it does your back spasm again and you grab the nearest thing and squeeze. It's Sunmi's hand and you can't bring yourself to feel bad when she winces. You're in too much pain to notice let alone care. You cry out when it doesn't want to subside and lasts for a couple of seconds longer. Once it dies down you heave a heavy breath. Sweat dripping down with the cool droplets of water from the washcloth. You feel a mess and you're sure you look it too.

"Here." Hyun-Woo softly says as he gently cradles your head up with one hand and brings the water bottle close to your lips with the other.

You take sips - afraid you'll vomit if you drink too much too fast. The cold water refreshes your system and when it becomes too much you push Hyun-Woo's hand away. He stops feeding you the water and lays your head back down just as gently as when he picked it up.

"Better," he asks.

You nod in response.

"Good. I'll keep it right here on the nightstand for whenever you need it. Just let me know."

He's so attentive to you. Treating you like a delicate flower that needs time and patience to flourish. Though you're not flourishing. Far beyond that. You feel like you're dying and it's with attentiveness does Hyun-Woo care for you. It leaves a weird taste in your mouth. Though you appreciate him looking after you you still recall all that he's done to you. Right now you feel like a wounded animal in the den of its predator. You can only do so much and accept what is given to you for your sake. At least Sunmi is here with you. That alone brings some relief to you. Though you know at some point she'll need to retire for the night. A thought strikes you right then.

"What t-time is it? How long have I been out?"

Sunmi looks at her watch but it's Hyun-Woo who answers as he stares at you.

"You've been out for roughly an hour."

"It's 5:45." Sunmi adds on.

That shocks you. You were out for almost an hour? You can't imagine that yet here you were and the time. The time!

"Hyun-Woo," you start off shakily. "It's a-almost time for dinner. Y-you need to go."

He frowns as he shakes his head. "I don't care for that. I want to stay with you."

You mirror him by shaking your own but regret it when it makes you a little dizzy. "I d-don't want anyone s-suspecting anything and Jungkook. You have to tell Jungkook not t-to tell anyone about this."

Hyun-Woo's frown deepens but before he can get a word in your body seizes.

You cry out from the pain. This one catching you off guard and forcing your body to contort. Your arms press backwards as your back is lifted off of the bed. You grit your teeth trying to get through the pain that spears through you. You heave a cry when your body relaxes once again after having been in an aching position and nearly shed tears from it all. You don't know how much more of this you can take.

"Hyun-Woo." His name leaves you in a harsh whisper. "Please."

You can tell he's debating on whether or not he should listen to you. The more stubborn side of him you're fearful of winning looks like it's coming to a head as his brows furrow.

"At least for a little while, Master."

The two of you look towards Sunmi.

"Talk to Lord Jungkook before he settles down to eat and stay for a little while after to avoid any suspicious glances that may be thrown your way."

You look back at Hyun-Woo and see that Sunmi's words got to him. You're thankful for her because he nods before looking at you.

"I won't be long then, I guess."

You give a soft smile in response.

He smiles back before leaning down to press a soft kiss against your washcloth covered forehead.

"Just give me some time and I'll be back, my love."

When he pulls back you have a hard time locking eyes with him. Choosing instead to focus on the ceiling. He doesn't say anything about it as he goes to stand up and you have to clench your jaw in preparation for any oncoming spasms just in case seeing you in pain might make him want to stay. Nothing happens and you're grateful for it as he sees himself out and leaves you alone with Sunmi.

It's quiet for a moment and you suspect Sunmi might have some questions. You look up at her and see she's staring at you.

"I'm s-sure you have s-some questions," you say.

"Yes, but it's none of my business."

"It's n-not but you already kn-know about Hoseok." You bite your lip.

"True," she says as she nods. Sitting up straighter she gives you a weird look. "I thought it was strictly carnal with Master Hyun-Woo."

You sigh. "I-It is or at least it was but i-isn't at the same t-time? I just," you sigh as you rub your face knocking the washcloth off. "I don't w-want him."

There's a solemn air that surrounds you both at your admission.

Sunmi carefully takes the washcloth from off the bed and holds it gently in her grasp as she looks at it. "And you haven't told him this?" She looks back at you.

"H-He doesn't want to hear it."

Her lips purse as she slowly nods her head. "You really know how to pick them don't you?"

You send a glare her way.

She laughs a little. "I don't mean to make it sound like it's your fault. I'm sorry." She continues to giggle at your expense.

"It's not funny."

"I know, I know." She sobers up as your glare lessens. Afterwards she sighs. "Besides handling your withdrawals first what are you going to do about Master Hyun-Woo?"

You mimic her sigh though yours is tinged with pain. "I d-don't know."

"Hoseok will be leaving so he isn't an issue. You just need to avoid him for the time being. As for our Master," she gives a pained expression. "He's a constant. You'll be dealing with him every day."

You groan as you go to rub your eye. "P-Please don't remind m-me. AH!" You yell out in pain when another spasm hits you this time in your lower back. It forces your right leg to cramp and seize up itself.

Sunmi's hands outstretch towards you in worry but there's only so much she can do. You appreciate the concern nonetheless. As soon as it's over you whimper. You don't know how much more of this you could take. You think back on Hoseok's words. He told you he'd give you two days but you don't know if you could last. You're not even halfway done the first day and you feel like you're about to lose your mind. Your body ached - your soul ached. You wanted this all to stop. Your eyes practically roll to the back of your head as you try and settle into bed.

"I don't know," you slur.

Sunmi looks confused. "You don't know what?"

You shake your head lightly. "I d-don't know how much m-more I can take."

She purses her lips as she looks down at you in pity. "Just know your other option isn't any better."

Your other option: Hoseok. But would it be so bad? You curse to yourself. You didn't want him though. Or at least you think you don't. Your brain is too muddled to think on that. Even then, could you be with someone as possessive as him? As Hyun-Woo?

You rub your temple as a growing headache makes its way beneath your skin. Your thoughts jump back and forth to yes and no to up and down and to left and right. Nothing makes sense yet it does and Hoseok is both your savior and your damning devil. You try and stick with your thoughts and feelings prior to all of this and that it's no, you don't want Hoseok. You want him out of your life and out of your system. You're getting through this withdrawal without him and you'll prove to him and everyone who knows about this that you're strong. You can get through this.

A sharp pain stabs from your temple through your eye. Softly you gasp at the feel of it. You wipe your eye when you feel wetness and for a second you're scared you'll see blood but when you pull your hand back you see nothing but regular tears. You sigh in relief but it does nothing to ease your pain.

Your teeth chatter as a cold chill sweeps over you. This alone doesn't help you at all. Feeling like you're boiling from the inside but you're cold on the surface. Stuttering when you speak because you can barely handle the way your body shudders from the chills and pain that wrack through your body. You're an utter mess at this point. You want to scream, you want to cry, you want to sleep all of this away. You want to do a lot of things but there's only so much you can get away with at this point and time.

Why? Why you?

✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞

"Your little pet is ill." Hoseok recalls Jungkook's words. He suspected as much. Judging by the time he guessed the withdrawal effects would start to kick in. You'd be falling ill without him and there wasn't much he could do about it. He wanted you to learn your lesson first and foremost. That you needed him. He knows you won't last for long - no matter what you believe in.

Hoseok is currently sat at the dining room table. Most of the people are here except for Jungkook and that bastard Hyun-Woo who he suspects managed to find out about your situation. He knows it wasn't because you willingly told him but because Hyun-Woo has a knack for butting his nose into other people's business. Only the gods know how many times he's done so over the years Hoseok has known him.

It takes a while before Jungkook makes an appearance. Seokjin and Hoseok raise a brow in question to the younger vampire who enters the dining area with a small but irritated pout. Hoseok knows it's because he's hungry and whatever it was was that was keeping him from eating is no doubt on his shit list. The young one nearly throws himself into his seat that was barely pulled out before him and grabs his knife and fork. He doesn't even know what there is to eat yet. If he did he would see the main dish didn't require a knife but he picked it up only to then run the two utensils across each other illiciting a sharp sound. Hoseok clenches his teeth in irritation. If there was a sound he hated most it was the sound of utensils being scraped against one another as well as being scraped across a plate and teeth. Jungkook was clearly doing this because if there's one thing he does when he's mad it is to act like a petulant child throwing a tantrum.

He runs the fork over the knife one more time before Hoseok barks at him.

"Enough!"

Jungkook along with everyone else at the table looks up at Hoseok.

"If you're mad about missing dinner that is still clearly here I'd suggest you find a less annoying way to deal with it."

Hoseok is mad at him which just makes Jungkook pout harder.

"Sorry, hyung." His words are soft though Hoseok hears him all the same.

The older vampire doesn't acknowledge his apology because his thoughts are now filled with you and another vampire who suddenly makes his appearance now. Hyun-Woo enters the dining area and he reeks of stress. He can smell you on him but not much else besides the vampire's disgusting scent.

"I was wondering if you were going to join us or not." Hyun-Sik speaks with an ever present smile.

Hyun-Woo gives an awkward smile in return but Hoseok can tell he's not all here. His mind is elsewhere and Hoseok can guess where.

Everyone continues to eat but neither Hyun-Woo nor Hoseok find themselves able to eat. The former because of you and the latter because of Hyun-Woo's presence. It leaves Hoseok feeling irate knowing Hyun-Woo had been with you. No doubt touching you - trying to express his love to you. Though Hoseok may have given you permission to do whatever you so please during this time of withdrawal it didn't mean he had to tolerate it. Especially when it had to deal with Hyun-Woo himself. Speaking of which...

The vampire looked unsettled. He wasn't very good at hiding his feelings. If anyone else noticed they made no move to acknowledge it. Hyun-Woo was silent but Hoseok could tell something was wrong with him. His eyes looked through the plate before him and he would nervously bite his lip. He sat wound up in his seat - tense amongst bodies that sat still and calm. If it weren't for his self control Hoseok would roll his eyes openly at him. How much more obvious could he make his situation be?

Hyun-Woo clears his throat as he reaches for his glass so he can be served wine. He tried to act natural but the actions fall through into a pathetic attempt. Hyun-Sik takes notice and smiles in his direction as he is served his own wine.

"Everything alright, dear brother?"

It takes Hyun-Woo a second to realize he's being talked to. When he does his eyes go wide for a second before his features grow calm.

"Of course. Why do you ask?"

Again Hoseok's self control is marvelous otherwise he would have laughed out loud at how stupid Hyun-Woo looked and sounded right now.

Hyun-Sik shrugs with a smile. "Just checking is all."

Hyung-Won looks over to the middle child of Baek and over to the youngest.

"Anything new I should know about? I feel like we don't talk as much as we used to."

Hyun-Sik smiles in his older brother's direction before looking down at his glass of wine. "It depends on what constitutes as new to you, brother."

Hoseok notes how the oldest doesn't react to the comment instead looking over to Hyun-Woo who looks off into space again.

"Hyun-Woo?"

Said vampire shakes his head softly before looking over to his brother. "Hm?"

Hyung-Won presses his tongue into his cheek before parting his lips to speak again. "You seem lost in space today. Anything on your mind?"

Hoseok looks at Hyun-Woo and wonders what he'll say next. Will he speak on you and what's been happening between you and him or will he stay silent?

Hyun-Woo is silent for a moment more before he shakes his head with a weird look. "I didn't sleep well. Still kind of tired."

There's a clang to Hoseok's right. Jungkook dropped his chopsticks as he stares in mild disbelief and interest towards Hyun-Woo's way. Hoseok takes it all in and he wonders what Jungkook would be willing to say at this point and time. All he got out of him earlier was that you had fallen ill and that Hyun-Woo had panicked. This was after Jungkook had spent some time with you and the other vampire over in the play room. It also seemed as if Jungkook wanted to say more to him but they were interrupted by Hyun-Sik who then led Hoseok off into the dining area to eat.

He hums to himself in silent thought.

Hyung-Won makes a sound of acknowledgement Hyun-Woo's way. "I see." Is all he says but it doesn't bother Hyun-Woo nor Hyun-Sik in how disinterested he sounded. Maybe they were used to this. Unlike the Bangtan clan who share almost everything with one another. There were no secrets between them. None whatsoever. Not even the one about you.

Regular conversation breaks out at the dining table. Seokjin casually stirring one up and everyone else falling in line. Hoseok finds himself talking here and there and Hyun-Woo feels like he has no choice otherwise people will start asking questions. The least spoken to because he rarely speaks back is Jungkook who eats his food like a man starved. Though Seokjin is used to this because of how things are back at home.

"Speaking of sweets," Seokjin trails off the topic of conversation. He looks towards Hoseok and a sickeningly sly smile overtakes his face. "How's your little darling, brother?"

Something akin to a snarl appears on Hyun-Woo's face because he knows. They all seem to when it came to Hoseok.

"Darling?" Hyun-Sik questions. "I'm assuming you mean our dear Y/N?"

"That's the one." Seokjin smirks as he takes a swig of his drink.

Hoseok takes a sip of his own without a single emotion to express. Nothing to hint here nor there.

"She's doing well."

"Is she now?" Seokjin questions.

He hums in response.

"You've really taken a liken to our maid. A maid who is off limits for the most part but that doesn't stop you now does it?" Hyung-Won states.

Hoseok has a hard time deciphering whether he meant that in a good or bad way but doesn't let it affect him either way. Instead, a smile that barely reaches his eyes overtakes his face.

"Despite being off limits as you say if there's one thing Hoseok is good at it's changing the minds of others." Seokjin says with a smile.

Hoseok doesn't acknowledge the comment but he watches the way the two Baek's watch their middle brother. Hyun-Sik smiles but it's almost reserved and Hyung-Won's brow raises in Hyun-Woo's direction. No one says a word in response but before it can get awkward a voice speaks up.

"She smells nice. Better than the ones Jimin brings home."

All eyes draw towards Jungkook who licks the chocolate mousse off of his spoon.

"Well we know why the ones Jimin brings home smell weird, Kooky."

Jungkook huffs at the nickname. "Not here, hyung."

"Oh right, right." Seokjin winks his way.

There's a subtle roll to Hoseok's eyes at the exchange.

"What would you do after you leave?" Hyun-Sik asks. Everyone looks over to him to see he was asking Hoseok. "You seem to forget she's our maid which means when you leave she's out of your life."

Hoseok smiles but it barely reaches his eyes. "I have my ways."

"That he does." Seokjin adds in.

The sound a of chair scraping against the floor resounds through the room. All eyes are drawn toward Hyun-Woo who stands with his hands leaning against the table. His eyes bore into Hoseok's face and all know if he had the power to he'd leave a hole from how hard he stares.

"You talk too much," he says.

Hoseok raises a brow in his direction.

Hyun-Woo stands to his full height and crosses his arms with a look of distaste. "You talk too much knowing she doesn't want you. After all it was me she chose over you."

Hyun-Sik's smiles drops as his eyes widen along with Hyung-Won's. Jungkook goes back to eating his dessert while Seokjin looks like someone told him the greatest of news.

He sits back in his seat with a wide smile. "Well this just keeps getting more and more interesting."

"What do you mean she chose you Hyun-Woo?" Hyung-Won asks.

"I mean that we're in a relationship. It's only recent but one that should be respected all the same."

Hoseok doesn't display his reaction but he's growing irritated by the minute. He doesn't know how much more he can hear the vampire before him delude himself into thinking he has anything going on with you.

"And this is Y/N correct? The same Y/N that's been denying your advances for months now."

"Hyung-Won." There's a slight pout to Hyun-Woo's lips.

"I only ask because it doesn't sound right to me."

"Well maybe he's right." Hyun-Sik says with a look of realization coating his features. "It would probably explain the marks on her neck I've seen. It must have been Hy-Woonie then."

There's an uncomfortable silence that takes over the room before it errupts.

"Wait, what marks?"

"She has bruises on her neck."

"Bruises?!"

"No as in love marks."

"Hyun-Woo doesn't seem the type to do that."

"Well I saw them too."

"You saw the marks too?"

Jungkook nods.

Everyone seems to quiet down after Jungkook speaks. Chaos took over almost every single person in the room except for Hoseok and Hyun-Woo who stare at each other. The former gives him a weird look while the latter looks uncomfortable from all the unwanted attention.

"Hyun-Woo?"

He doesn't know where the question came from but he can't take his eyes off of Hoseok. The other vampire sits before him with a cocky air about him. Like he knows the truth but that's because he does because it wasn't Hyun-Woo who marked her but Hoseok. And it's beginning to drive Hyun-Woo up the wall.

He grits his teeth in both anger and annoyance. "You can't have her."

Hoseok chortles. "I think she's already made her choice. You're just choosing to ignore it."

Hyun-Woo's hands turn into fists. He doesn't want to hear anymore of this. He doesn't have to because he has you in his room. You're with him and not Hoseok.

He turns away and leaves the dining area in a furious hurry back to his room. Back to you.

Hoseok knows where he's going and despite doing his best not to show it, he's annoyed. He figures you're spending your withdrawal with him because you need the support but Hyun-Woo is letting it get to his head.

The rest of dinner is set in an awkward silence. No one mentions Hyun-Woo or you again and they especially don't bother Hoseok. The brooding vampire finishes up what's in front of him quickly so he can head off somewhere where he'll more than likely be alone. He doesn't want to be in his room. He wants to be somewhere close to you so he chooses the garden. You love the garden so much and he'll be sure to have the one back at home ready for your viewing pleasure because he has plans for you. Plans for you to come home with him. It's just a matter of having your Masters relieve you of your duty. To relieve you to him. He has a lot of plans but none that can be met so far. He wants you dearly because he knows you're the one for him. He just needs for you and everyone else to see that too.

Hoseok pushes away from the dining table and makes his way to the garden. It's not a long trek and soon he finds himself before the sliding doors. Though his time here hasn't been long he looks upon the memories with you here as if they were from ages ago. He misses you and wants to relive them. He sits down in the very same spot as last time he sat out here with you. It doesn't feel the same without you here but he takes in the oncoming night air as if you were. Imagines your hand is outstretched towards him and imagines himself taking it into his own. Imagines him kissing each and every delicate finger of yours until he lays one into your palm. Imagines the way your face will blush and watch as the redness takes over your ears and neck. His flower whose scent was once her own but now intermingles with his after he gave her a part of him from each kiss. It was like that for vampires. Oftentimes mates would exchange scents but since you were human only yours would change. He could tell by the smell already that you were becoming his. An enticing scent that could draw other vampires in during the process of exchanging but over time you'll smell more and more like him until all that's left of you is him and him alone.

He leans back in his seat and closes his eyes. He wonders how far along you are in your withdrawals. Wonders how much pain you're in. He's no sadist but he takes pleasure in knowing you're hurting without him. He would love to be by your side and know you wouldn't be suffering because he would be there to give and give more of him so you wouldn't hurt but you wanted to prove to him otherwise. Yes, he's sure about that. He figures you want to prove your independence from him though you do want him. Prove that you're still an individual that can take care of herself. Though that means you're in pain now and so he can't bring himself to even think why this is a good idea.

He wants to visit you but last he checked your room you weren't there and he suspects you're with Hyun-Woo. Of all the people to spend this withdrawal with he can't understand why it's him. The vampire had to have forced you because his Y/N would never. It made no sense to him. He worries for you a little in his presence and wonders if he should send someone in. Someone he can pay good money to keep an eye on you. They'll have to come up with a good reason to head into Hyun-Woo's room and have a believable tale as to why they can stay and take care of you in his stead, but he doubts Hyun-Woo will allow it. The man is too paranoid for his own good.

Hoseok huffs. He could just wait it out until you need him. That can work out too. He's confident you'll need him again and with that thought he is comforted because with time comes patience and soon you'll be his again.

[germvity]

RISES THE MOON

leon s kennedy x reader // 8 // two-way mirrors

"ah..!" he sighs, letting you off as you swallow. "good boy. you feel okay?" you ask softly, fingers tracing lines on his outer thighs. leon nods, drowsy from his intense peak. "good, this trial will probably last for a little while longer and i wanna see how many times i can make you cum." you grin as leon whimpers.

tags: protective!reader in this one, david being a bully 3.0, fighting (physical and verbal), leon being a sub part 2, smooches, he's a simp for you pls

warnings: fighting (physical and verbal), mild smut, hurt/comfort

sorry this chapters late i was writing a lot theres like-- 7 drafts in here 😭 enjoy!

---

you wake up with leon curled around you. memories of yesterday came back to you, and you can't help but smile. leon was truly smitten with you after it, clinging to you like butter on bread. "leon~.." your voice is soft as you comb your fingers through his hair. the blonde mumbles slightly, nuzzling your collarbone as he exhales slowly. "come on, wake up for me. trials will start soon." you purr, gently tapping his cheek. "mmn. y/n?" leon yawns, tightening his hold on you. "be a good boy and wake up for me." you tease, watching leon's ears turn red as he whines. "stop..."

you giggle, kissing his head softly as he stretches. "sleep well?" you grin, letting him kiss you before nodding. "i haven't slept like that in years." he jokes, his nose kissing your neck as he cuddles into you. "i'm not surprised that you slept so well, you went for about 4 rounds." you tease as he makes a small embarrassed noise. "what? you don't like being my good boy?" you tease, and he shoves your shoulder slightly. "shut up.." leon pouts, and you chuckle, kissing him sweetly.

melting into your lips, leon hums into your mouth as he tilts his head for you. "good boy." you smile when you pull away, admiring his soft blush and slightly parted lips. "knock it off-.." he huffs, sitting up and shuddering when your fingernails traced soft lines over the hickeys on his back. "you did so well for me." you breathe, and leon hums softly, back arching into your touch. leaning forward, you kiss one of the hickey's softly, making him jump. "sorry, you're too tempting." you smile, kissing his shoulder.

leon's back is to you, but you can just tell how flustered he is at your attention. "aww, is my baby embarrassed?" you tease, and leon groans slightly as you press down on one of the hickeys. "please-.." he mumbles, but you tut. "not now, we have to get ready for trials." you smile, kissing his neck softly. "you're so mean." he fauns hurt as he leans back onto you, placing his forearm over his eyes dramatically. "oh hush, you might get a treat tonight." you grin, kissing his jaw.

leon seems satisfied with your answer, getting up to get dressed. a bell tomes, signalling that trials will be beginning shortly, so you join leon in getting ready. "need anything?" you ask, rummaging through your items. "no, i'll be alright." leon smiles, grabbing your hand to get your attention. "for good luck?" he asks, and you catch on immediately. smiling, you give leon a soft kiss as black fog rolls in to collect you both.

unluckily, the two of you start separated. in fact, all of the survivors were separated. cursing, you step over to a generator, starting it up carefully. a yell catches your attention, and you stand slightly, turning to look over your shoulder for the source of the noise. silence. sighing, you turn back to your generator, connecting the wires carefully. nea finds you, giving you a small smile as she crouches next to you. "y/n, long time no see." she teases, and you glance at her with a polite smile. "yeah... how is everything?" you ask, not really that interested in knowing about the survivor camp. "eh, same old. david's still a tyrant." she sighs, falling silent before murmuring a small. "and i miss you."

you sigh at her confession, not knowing how to respond as your dull eyes stare at the belly of the generator. "will you ever come back if we manage to knock david off his pedestal?" she asks, trying not to seem hopeful. "i can't... i'm sorry." you sigh, falling silent once more. "oh.." she mumbles, and it was clear she still had feelings for you. "i just... really miss you." nea breathes out, and you nod. "i know... i just... me and.." you take a breath and turn to nea. "i'm seeing leon.." you whisper to her, and she seems so hurt. "what?" her hands are trembling and you're nervous she'll fuck up the generator.

"i'm sorry... he just.. cares for me, a lot." you sigh, looking back to your hands. "and i don't?!" the rebel yells, standing from the generator. "shh..! i'm sorry! it's just... we weren't official, nea." you huff, standing to soothe her. sniffling, nea storms away, and you sigh. "nea wait..!" you want to go after her when another yell comes from around the corner. furrowing your brows, you decide to leave your gen, not caring that ruin was currently eating away at it's progress. upon following the source, you see david standing over leon, a foot on his throat and a bloodied stick in his hand. "leon!" you yelp, charging david off of him. "you fucking whores! i hate you both!" david snaps as you struggle to get the heavy stick from his grasp. "you ruined everything!" the fighter growls, pushing you away to try and hit you.

quickly, you evade his swing and snap a sharp piece of metal off of a nearby hook. "david, please." you try to reason, arming yourself and not caring if it cut your hand. "y/n..!" leon rasps, trying to get to you. "stay there, leon." you demand, keeping david's focus on you. "you fucker, i swear. all you had to do was not say no-!" he swings, and on instinct, your sharp metal finds his throat. spluttering, david drops his weapon and grabs the metal, falling to his knees. you gasp, ignoring the way his blood had splattered onto your face as david collapses. the fighter gurgles, and you glance at leon, seeing his broken form. grabbing the stick, anger fuels you as you bludgeon david brutally.

gasping at the small whimpers, your attention shifts to leon, his hazy eyes are fluttering closed as he looks away from you. "leon!" you scramble to his side, cradling him in your arms. an ugly bruise blooms on his throat as he coughs sharply, blood seeping down his face. "y/n..?" he mumbles, clutching you tightly. "hey, it's okay, you're okay! tell me what happened, baby." you smile, ignoring your shaky hands as you hold his hand tightly.

"i was working on opening a chest, and he just-..." leon pauses to cough again, and you hush him softly, rocking him carefully. "he hit me, and tried to choke me and-." leon can't finish as his eyelids flutter. "hey, hey..! open your eyes for me, it's okay..!" you breathe out, your tears dripping onto his face and mixing with his blood. "it hurts.." he admits, managing to keep his eyes open for you. "i know baby, i know." you sigh, looking around for nea. the rebel stood nearby, clearly terrified of the situation, but she clutched a med kit tightly.

"nea, please help him!" you beg, and she sighs softly. moving over to you, nea crouches and unzips the med kit. "i can't stay mad at you... i'm no monster." she smiles, pressing some antiseptic onto his gash. leon whimpers, and you hush him, easing your rocking so nea could heal him. the antiseptic gives him a bit of oomph to sit up slightly, letting nea bandage the gash on his forearm where he had defended himself. "you poor thing.." you gush through tears, gently stroking his face with your hand. nea's hands freeze at your words, but she keeps going despite her own feelings. "thank you so much nea.. i owe you big time." you sigh as she presses a small needle full of red liquid into his arm. "yeah, you do." she smiles despite her watery eyes.

"i'm sorry that we didn't work, but despite us being separate.. can we still be friends?" you ask softly, and nea nods. "of course." she smiles, wiping her tears away as she hugs you tightly. "thank you.." you smile, hugging her back despite leon being squished between the two of you. heartbeats pick up as the killer approaches, and nea pulls away. "shit.." you mumble, grabbing leon's hands. "can you stand..?" you ask softly, and the officer nods slightly. "i think so.." he says, still holding you tightly as you help him stand. "come on, we gotta go." you usher leon away from the scene, but ghostface cuts you off.

"jesus christ, what happened here?" he laughs, voice modulator crackling. "leon, stay behind me." you mumble, stepping in front of the blonde protectively. "damn, relax cutie. i'm in a good mood today so i'll give you time to run." the killer is masked, but you could tell he was smiling. quickly, you push leon the other way, staying behind him as he runs. footsteps gain on you, and you grunt as the ghostface's knife slashes against your back. you split up from leon, vaulting the killer shack's window adeptly. "fuck, i hate this place." the killer grumbles, climbing through the window clumsily. "good! get used to it!" you snap, darting out the door.

you keep him there for two gens, and he huffs, leaving agitated as the third one pops. you sigh, resetting the shack pallet carefully before heading off in the other direction. "y/n!" leon calls, and you turn to see him ushering you over. "leon, are you alright?" you ask, jogging over as you cup his face with your hands to inspect him. "i'm feeling better yeah, those syringes are good shit." he chuckles, and you smile, giving him a soft kiss. "i'm glad you're feeling better." you say, grabbing his hand to lead him to another generator. "come on, let's try and get out of here." you say, crouching before the generator.

"i saw you looping ghostface.." leon trails off, and you glance at him. "it was hot." your blonde grins, and you laugh slightly. "thanks, maybe i can teach you a thing or two." you chuckle, grinding on the generator as nea pops danny's ruin. "let's go!" you smile, letting go of the gen to kiss leon lovingly. he gasps, letting go of the generator too. "y/n..!" he whines, grabbing the wires once more. "sorry, but letting go of a gen every now and then feels good." you smile, brushing his hair out of his face.

finishing the generators was easy as nea now keeps the aggravated killer on her tail, and you lead leon to the gates. luckily, your spine chill managed to carry you in small bursts to 99 the gate, and the two of you wait for nea to find you both. "so.. while we wait-..." you tease, pulling leon's jacket to kiss him. "open the fucking gate!" nea calls, and you look over to see her hauling ass towards the two of you. "got it!" leon calls, opening it quickly and pushing the two of you to safety.

the three of you cheer as danny storms off, angry at his loss. "take that you tosser!" you yell through the thorns as leon pulls you into him for a kiss. "gross..!" nea fake gags, and you roll your eyes. "hey, before we split... are we good?" you ask, and nea nods. "as long as we can kick ass in trials, we're good." she smiles, hugging you once more before waving and heading off to the survivor camp. leon seems confused, going to ask you what was going on but you cut him off. "come on, let's go relax before any more trials." you smile, pulling him along to your shack.

[17wishbones]

Here is Chapter VII: War’s End (Part 2). I low-key cried writing this because, wow, I really do love this Flame Hashira so so so so so so much. I got a bit distracted reading other fanfiction and all that but here comes the second part. Now, this has spoilers from the manga/movie, so get to watching it as soon as possible. However, if you don’t mind it, go ahead and have a read! Please enjoy!

- - - - - - - - 

                                            Chapter VII: War’s End (Part 2)

Bright rays of the sun beat down on you as you stood before the oceanfront. The wind blew through your locks and along your skin. In your hands was a net and a few fish caught in them. You ogled them with a tight squint. ‘I know this handwork-’

“_____! _____!”

Your eyes widen. “That can’t be. . .” You slowly turned around and was blessed with a beautiful sight. “Mother? Father? You’re both. . .” Tears flowed like a river as you tackled them in an overdue embrace. You couldn’t swallow the sorrow that crept over your body when you thought to have lost them.

“We’re both what? Other than waiting for you to come home?” Your father was a tall man, standing halfway over six foot. His thick dreads touched the small of his back and his salt and pepper beard filled out his face. He was a handsome man still.

“You must be thirsty, _____. Come on in and drink. You’ve caught enough fish to last us a while.” Your mother was a beauty herself. She had a clean shaven head, a strong jawline, and the legs of an Amazon.

They stood tall while you remained short. You didn’t receive the end of the tall gene pool but that didn’t make you any harder to love, even though they joked about your height all the time. The two of them loved you so much.

Your mother, Oolade, wiped your tears away as your father, Uzoma, got the net of fish from the shore. “We shall eat as kings and queens together!” He shouted. “Look at the bounty our daughter has gathered!”

“I am proud of you, my sweet _____.”

“Mother, Father, please, you are embarrassing me!” You laughed. “Kyōjurō would love nothing more than to meet you both.”

“Kyōjurō?” They both questioned in unison.

“Oh.” Your mind went blank a moment. ‘Why did I say that? Kyōjurō? Who-who is that? His name sounds familiar.’

“Never mind that. Come.” You didn’t even think twice as you followed your mother to your quaint house on the shore that your father built by hand. It was just as you remembered.

“Oolade found some wild rice to make with as well. We’re going to have a feast!”

‘What was I even doing before? I must have been daydreaming.’ There was no questioning this surreal feeling as your parents showered you with love and laughter.

Overwhelmed with a sense of unbridled joy, you thought to never leave him.

You blinked. ‘Him?’ You questioned blankly. ‘Who is this him?’

Time had passed but the scenery didn’t change. “Hey, I’m going to step outside for some air.”

“Hurry back so that you may bless the food before we feast.” Your parents’ smiles, even though forever imprinted in your mind, suddenly dulled in comparison to the image of this fiery man.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. You slowly opened them and saw an outlined path towards the woods. You instinctively followed it to a rip into another space. You gasped aloud as you caught a young child making their way to this shining orb floating within a bundle of sunflowers.

The child turned to you, frightened and with the needle pointing towards you. They were sweating and shaking with fear.

“What are you doing here?” 

“How did you find me!? You’re not supposed to be able to enter into your own unconsciousness!”

“It’s mine… isn’t it?” You took a step forward.

“_____? _____!” Oolade and Uzoma came running toward the border with sadness filling their eyes. “What are you doing? Come back!”

“_____, don’t leave us!”

You didn’t heed their words, but their voices wretched your heart. “You plan to do something? For what cost?”

“Destroying your core will allow me to sleep peacefully and see my family again!”

“And that’s the best way to go about it?” You ignored their calls as you pressed forward towards the child. “Your good dream will end and so shall you succumb to your pain.” Your eyes softened. “You will die a sad death. To a demon.”

“How do you know how I feel!? You just had a good dream!”

“A bittersweet dream. My parents have long since passed. They no longer live in this world. Even this cannot bring them back forever or give me peace.”

The child backed up until he was just a footstep away from your core. “Come any closer and I’ll do it!” 

You stopped your approach and knelt down, holding your arms out. “Then you choose. Live your life or succumb to an eternal slumber?”

The child had wanted a good dream of his family, to be happy, but when he saw the look on your face, the look of pain and suffering from even getting a glimpse of what life could have been with them spread over your face.

He dropped the needle and ran to you full throttle, crying his heart out as he embraced you tight around your neck.

This was the right thing to do. Even as good as the dream would be, it would hurt all the more to have it taken away.

The faux warmth of the child disappeared and your eyes fluttered open to an ungodly sight that made you want to throw up.

“What the hell!?” You stood on top of flesh. “Intestines!?”

Rengoku flashed past you by one moment and returned the next. “You’re awake, Sunflower!”

“Did the demon become a train!?”

“So it seems, yes! Kamado and Hashibira are going for the neck. Our job—”

“Is to protect the passengers at all costs.”

“Nn! You take care of this cart and I’ll do the other four!”

“Just one?”

“Your safety is of utmost importance! Aid Golden Boy and the Demon girl as needed!” He kissed you quiet before dashing off in a blaze, hushing your protests.

“That man…” you drew your Nichirin blade, “Is so…” your short dash in the cart made easy work of the disgusting, fleshy tendrils, “Annoying!” But you couldn’t argue with his command or logic. He was sound in the midst of danger.

What you did was light work, and by the looks of it, Zenitsu and Nezuko had the other three sorted as Tanjiro and Inosuke ran for the front of the train. You hummed, slightly irritated at your position. You were getting into none of the action, but you knew how fast Rengoku and Zenitsu were moving by the back and forth teetering of the carts.

‘This train could topple at any moment, especially with all of this monstrous bulk. So, there’s no telling when it’ll--’ A shrill filled the air, disorienting you as the train of muscle crumpled up and fell right off the track. If it weren’t for the demon’s flesh and that Demon Slayer footwork, people onboard would have been seriously injured.

You checked those in your assigned cart and then where Zenitsu and Nezuko were. “Are you guys alright?” 

“Mm, mm!” Nezuko nodded as you came over to the slightly slumped Zenitsu.

“Great!” You took him by the shoulders and started shaking him away. “Zenitsu? Zenitsu! Wake up!” He was still asleep, but he only incurred very few injuries as Nezuko had. “At least you two are alright. You really held your own, Nezuko. I’m a little jealous I didn’t get to help out much at all.”

Nezuko, no matter if tired or full of spunk, was just a beauty to look at. You understood why Zenitsu was so smitten with her though he feigned himself a well-groomed ladies man. She offered a soft sound as a response before she leaned up against you. 

Parts of the demon’s body slowly faded from existence, leaving now broken windows with an open view to the outside. Rengoku stood over Tanjiro, instructing him as he laid on the ground. Nezuko picked up her brother’s scent and slowly headed outside. Zenitsu followed her sleepily as you grabbed a few people and exited yourself.

Suddenly, the earth shook and dust flew everywhere as something else landed unto the field. You couldn’t believe your own eyes! The aura spiked high as it circled around the tattoo-marked Upper Moon demon. The shine in those eyes were as hungry, monstrous, and devilish as their appearance.

In the blink of an eye, he was just moments away from striking Tanjiro. “Fire Breathing! Second Form! Rising Scorching Sun!” Rengoku’s quick thinking saved him. “I don’t understand why you’d target a wounded person.”

“I thought he’d just get in the way between you and me.”

You froze. You had never seen a demon so fast like this one. It was just as scary as that time in Asakusa. The aura you ingested made you run on instinct, quelling the thoughts of fear or nervousness. 

This one looked too toxic. You’d be sick for days. Not to mention, this demon only had eyes for Rengoku.

“You and I have something to talk about? It’s our first time meeting and I already hate you.” Rengoku replied.

“Is that so?” Akaza mused. “I really hate weak humans,” in terms of Tanjiro and others, “When I look at weaklings, I just feel disgusted.”

“It looks like you and I have different moral values in regards to things.”

“I see. Then I have a wonderful proposal. How about you become a demon, too?” 

“No chance.” Rengoku declined.

“I know your strength just by looking at you. You’re a pillar, right?” Akaza’s interest in Rengoku shined through his symbolic eyes. “Your battle spirit is quite polished. You’re getting close to Supreme Territory.”

“I am the Fire Hashira, Rengoku Kyōjurō.”

“And I’m Akaza.”

They both exchanged names but withheld their stances. Akaza came to kill and eat any humans as well as convert the strongest ones into those he could. However, no matter the strength, Rengoku was defiant in every sense of the matter when it came to slaying demons and protecting the weak who could not fight for themselves.

But you weren’t out of the clear, however. “Ah, seems like I have a two for one deal.” To your chagrin, the demon noticed you next. “Why don’t you consider becoming a demon, too?” He saw your spirit as well, one with potential of being his punching bag. “As a demon, you can become stronger. That wonderful sword style of yours will keep on improving and we can fight forever! Otherwise, you’ll never reach Supreme Territory and do you know why?”

Silence.

“Because you’re human. Because you’ll grow old. Because you’ll die.” Akaza pointed his finger at Rengoku. “Become a demon, Kyōjurō. You can train for a hundred years. Two hundred years. You can become stronger.”

His face grew dark as he pointed at the likes of everyone in the vicinity, truly disgusted by what he saw before him. Rengoku looked none too pleased with you inserted into the situation. ‘Don’t worry, _____. I will protect you, the children, everyone! Nobody here will die or turn into a demon while I still stand!’ He felt overprotective over you, and found it fit to fulfill his duty not only as a demon slayer, but as a man.

Rengoku couldn’t stand that look of dread and worry filling your eyes. “Growing old and dying is the beauty of the fleeting creature called a human being. Because they grow old. Because they die. They are tremendous. Lovable. What they call ‘strength’ isn’t a word that is used in regards to the body.” He wouldn’t let Akaza spout such untrue words. “This boy isn’t weak. Don’t insult him. I’ll say it over and over again. You and I have different moral values.” His sunset eyes widen menacingly. “No matter what kind of motivation I have, I will not become a demon.”

“I see.” Akaza stanced. “Technique Deployment. Destructive Kill: Compass Needle!” Akaza prepared to fight. “If you won’t become a demon, then I’ll kill you!”

Air waves and flames lit up the area as both Rengoku and Akaza moved at blinding speeds. Pillar versus Upper Moon. You were stuck in place, unable to move. The sudden gravity of the situation skyrocketed and your body froze. Your breath shifted, becoming uneven and quick.

“DON’T MOVE!! If your wounds open, it’ll be fatal! Standby, soldier!!”

Rengoku’s serious voice brought you back, but he demanded no one interfered. Inosoke, who stood at Tanjiro’s side, felt helpless.

It was an explosion of power that erupted, and emerging from the dusty cocoon was an unscathed, healed Akaza and a battered Rengoku. “Kyōjurō…?” His blood-soaked uniform recalled his humanity, his mortality. You were in a state of distress.

Akaza praised him, and employed the idea of becoming a demon, where all his wounds, his crushed eye, and his organs would heal in moments. He’d become stronger, faster, and more powerful than before, but the answer was still no.

Rengoku raised his blade and stared on with a dazzling, one-eyed smile. “I will fulfill my duties! I won’t let anyone die here!”

“You really should become a demon so that we can fight for all eternity!”

“Full Focus Breathing. Flame Breathing. Esoterica. Ninth Style: Purgatory!”

“Technique Deployment. Destructive Kill: Obliteration Style!”

They clashed in one final blow, and the results after the dust cleared terrorized you with your unknown and worst fears.

Akaza punched through Rengoku who held his blade upright. It was but a second before he tightened his grip and slashed at Akaza’s neck which surprised the demon. Rengoku, even as death approached him, remained resilient as he caught Akaza’s other hand, tightened his innards around his arm, and dug his blade further across. As the demon screamed for release, Rengoku screamed for his defeat.

“INOSUKE, MOOOOVE!!! MOVE FOR RENGOKU-SAN!!!”

Tanjiro’s shout broke you from your shock. Opportunity to strike was now or never. At the speed they ran, they wouldn’t reach Akaza as he struggled for release as the sun was due to rise. 

‘Full Focus Breathing. Fire breathing. First form: Unknowing Fire!’

It was a split second decision that made all the difference, and thanks to Inosuke. As Akaza panicked upon seeing Inosuke preparing to jump, Akaza suddenly felt weightless below. ‘What? My legs!’

Inosuke stopped just in time, leaving the final slash to Rengoku who pushed with all of his might and brought his searing blade through Akaza’s neck.

“You sneaky bit— oh no! The sun! I have to go, I have to— AHHHH!!”

Dawn broke over the horizon and Akaza’s body disintegrated.

“Kyōjurō!” You helped him to his knees, seeing the condition that he was in. “You’re hurt. Maybe if we can get you bandaged up, we can—”

“I’m sorry, My Sunflower. My stomach won’t close. I will die very soon.” He turned and addressed Tanjiro. “Kamado, my boy. Let’s have a final chat.”

Tanjiro ran over, huffing as tears stained his cheeks. “Rengoku-san, don’t talk too much! Help will be here soon. Just hold on!”

“Just listen to me. Return to the Rengoku Estate. There should be notes about the ‘Dance of the Fire God’. My father read them  many times. I didn’t read them myself, however, so I don’t know what’s inside them. And for the both of you, tell Senjuro to pursue the path that he thinks is right, as his heart tells him to. And tell my father to take care of his body. And also...” He leaned in. “Kamado, my boy, I believe in your sister. I accept her as a member of the Demon Slayers.”

Droplets of water dripped from Tanjiro’s big eyes.

“I saw that girl protect the humans inside the train despite bleeding out. Those that protect humans and fight demons are Demon Slayers, no matter what anyone else says. Live with your chest high. You, Hashibira, Golden Boy, and her will become great pillars.” His attention finally landed on you.“My Sunflower.” He weakly raised his blood-smeared hand, touching your cheek. “Never give up. I will be watching over you.”

Rivers flowed down your desolate face. “Wait for me over the bridge when I cross. And meet me in the next life.” You found his hands and held them in yours. “I-I l-” Words became lost as you choked on every letter, unable to contain the sadness corrupting your mind and heart.

It hurt him to see you like this, and it devastated him more that he wouldn’t be able to comfort you and grow old together. “My life flashed before my eyes and my most wonderful memories were of you. Your warm smile, your touch, your praises, it makes me more determined than ever to be with you wherever we may go or be.”

The last thing he’d feel was your lips on his, stained with his blood. “I’ll never forget you, Kyōjurō!” You said with as much enthusiasm as you could. “I-I love you!”

Rengoku couldn’t help but to smile. “I love you, too, My Sunflower. Set your heart ablaze. . .”

“And move forward.”

Rengoku peered past you and Tanjiro, spotting a familiar shape. ‘Mother?’ You and Tanjiro looked back but saw nothing. But an enveloping aura past you two and surrounded Rengoku. ‘Did I do everything right? Was I able to fulfill everything I was supposed to carry out?’ 

‘You did a wonderful job.’ A smile to him, a smile to her, and his head drooped. His body rested peacefully in your arms and his fiery aura dispersed as it was no more.

‘Kyōjurō!’ You were too choked up as you sobbed loudly and ugly. Your heart ached just like it had when your parents were eaten by demons.

Your world darkened, stained in your tears and his blood. What was this victory worth now that he was gone? 

It was worth every saved life here, and you knew that. It was going to weigh on your heart how you didn’t help him sooner, but his face discouraged you. He took the brunt of Akaza’s assault and held on until the very end.

You mourned over him from that day and weeks later. No one had seen you since the Mugen Train incident. Rengoku had done so much to keep everyone safe, taking his last breath on the battlefield. It had been a hard pill to swallow, one that you had not fully been accepting of even though you were there to see him off.

Tanjiro, Inosuke, Zenitsu, and Nezuko missed seeing you around. And especially Senjuro, but you needed to separate yourself and become better. You were no use to anyone lying on your back and crying your eyes out.

With the Nichirin blade in your possession, you carried on silently with a memory of him attached at your hip. His haori? Cleaned, pressed, and framed on the wall. For as long as you lived, his legend would be immortalized. On your shoulders, you carried the burden of loss. Sometimes, it’d hurt so much, your chest would heave and you’d clutch part of your left breast, where the pain ran deep as tears stung your eyes.

You left Senjuro with a kind yet sad smile as you didn’t want to hear the ugly mutterings of his father’s distant, drunk voice. His aura dripped in a drab blue, his melancholy nature surely melting at the loss of not only his wife but now his eldest son.

You hadn’t forgotten about those you loved. You’d be back for them. - - - - - - - - - -  Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII (Part 1) / (Part 2) / (Part 3)

[imnotwolverine]

When at night

Henry Cavill x OC Lisa - multi-chapter fic

Author’s note: It’s been a rather gloomy, rainy day today so I was stuck at home, writing this. This chapter starts rather angsty, but do not fret; it all ends on a fluffy note. Have a nice weekend y’all! 

Word count: 6.375

Disclaimer: angst, fluff, injury 

--

This is part 5 of the Tea for Two oneshot. 

Find the masterlist here.

--

< Go back to part 4

Darkness came quickly that day, the night clouded and extremely cold. Large lights had been set up to shine an eerie light through the thick pine trees. The crew huddled away in their thick parka’s while the wind whipped and howled wildly. Not the type of weather you want to be in, but we had no choice. For this particular scene it worked brilliantly and so we were up and about at 11 pm, leaning into the trees while waiting to reset the scene when needed and check for continuity errors.

I had brought a thick winter jacket, wool gloves, jeans and snow boots. Enough I had thought, but even now it was terribly cold. I shivered, folding my hands in the pits of my arms while I looked at a colleague, who was huddled away in his jacket as well. ‘Fecking cold.’ He croaked out in his thick cockney accent. I chuckled. ‘Quite so.’ I shivered in turn while a smile curled on my lips. I stared out in the direction of the set, hearing some hustle and bustle as the director was giving some new directions. It was maybe 50 meters away, but other then seeing things happen, we couldn’t hear a thing due to the loud wind.

A loud, deep crack sounded and I looked at my colleague, then at the trees around us. Nothing happened. He shrugged, smirking. ‘Forest spirits.’ He said, whipping out his hands as if casting a magic spell. The wind laid low again for a bit. We laughed, looking around us. ‘No spirits to be seen.’ I sniffled. And then another single of wind came blowing in. A louder crack. The smile on my lips soon melted like snow beneath a hot sun, when I saw my colleagues eyes widen as he looked at something behind me, his body stiff with shock. I turned around quickly, seeing the bright setlights disappearing around us as a big shadow swallowed us whole. ‘Tree!! Tree!!!!’ I heard people screaming. Panic. My eyes struggled to adjust to the sudden dark as I felt sharp twigs brushing my skin, then the crushing blow of heavy bark. I was smitten down to the ground…

A dull, punishing pain in my chest. I could barely breath and slowly the already low lit area got black. I whimpered like a wounded animal - I think…I couldn’t hear myself. I actually couldn’t hear anything for a time. Seconds? Minutes? I wasn’t sure. I tried to wiggle my hands, but all I felt was thousands of needles stabbing painfully in my skin. Had I blacked out? Or..Was I ..dead? My eyes still black and my senses numb all I could do was wallow and whimper in panic. Could someone hear me? Please? ….Nothing but the silent dark answered my pleading calls.

‘…Heave!’ I heard somewhere far away. Or was it closeby? ‘….Carefulll.’ The voices sounded again, in unison. I struggled to locate these voices. Low voices. I looked around, still not seeing much. Were these angels? I felt a tingle creeping up in my body. I started blinking more feverishly. I could feel. But. My eyes. Still no sight. Did I maybe go blind? I whimpered again, now hearing myself. Far away. Or was I was dead after all? I groaned in resignation as the voices kept floating around me, indistinguishable.

And then..finally.. blurbs of light started to appear. I spread my eyes open, gasping. A terrible pain in my chest shot up. OH GODS. Pain. This was bad. AARGHH. And the sounds. I heard the voices get closer and closer. More light. Way too bright light. Flashlights shining at me. Stop. Put it out. I whimpered again, feeling my head spin as I tried to swallow more air. PAIN PAIN PAIN. Through the rush of pain I could now clearly hear myself. Shapes re-appeared as I noticed a white haired man sitting huddled over me, his lips speaking words I could not fully register until I focussed on him. ’Please…. Respond…. Can you hear me?’ His yellow eyes looked at me with fear and sorrow, his hands tenderly touching my cheeks. Henry. Dear Henry. I took a shallow breath, feeling the numb pain now getting sharper and sharper. All I could do was squeeze my eyes closed and wail in pain. ‘Emergency services have been called.’ A voice sounded in the back. ‘Don’t move them. And check if she’s breathing.’ I heard Henry gasp softly. Poor Henry.

I cracked my eyes open again. My body felt foreign. Heavy. I just couldn’t move and breathing in caused the shooting of sharp shudders of pain that rolled through me like I was being hit by a truck. Again. And again. And again. But I was alive. I think. I forced myself to look around. Henry still hovering above me. On the far right I recognised my colleague laying there too. He was crying his eyes out, being consoled by some people huddled over him. I took a shivery breath. He was alive. Good. I looked back up at Henry, struggling to somewhat hide my pain from his prying eyes (and failing), then tried to look down at my body. He immediately pressed me down. ‘No sweetheart. No. Just. Relax and keep still.’ His voice sounded pitchy and worried. ‘I’m so cold.’ I whimpered, making his face break into even more sorrow, as he looked up in desperation at the people around us. Thankfully not long after someone came running with some blankets. Blankets which Henry folded around me with the most gentle hands. But it seemed not to help very much. I was cold. So cold. I just laid there, blinking slowly, my body shuddering with every shallow breath I took. Off and on I would hear voices get louder and softer, my vision fading and returning. ‘Stay with me.’ He said softly, his voice but a whisper that hovered above me for my vision had faded again. I tried and tried. But my body was just unwilling. And breathing was so hard, all I could think of, all I could feel, was pain. So much pain.

—

I woke up in a hospital bed. The deafening pain was now dull, but still present. I blinked, looking at the room. The walls, the bedding, even the curtains, were grey. Of course. A hospital was no place for happiness, hmm? I looked around me, finding familiar faces. One of the manager assistants had fallen asleep in a chair next to my bed. I tried to sit up a bit, immediately regretting that as a sharp pain shot through my chest. I cowered back into my initial horizontal position, groaning in slight defeat. I continued looking around while taking more care not to move my chest. My colleague was laying across the room, playing on his phone. His leg was craned up, covered in plaster. Broken leg probably. I groaned as another shoot of pain rushed through me. So..what happened to me? I raised my head a little, looking down at my body. But I couldn’t see much, just blankets and my hospital gown. An uninvited tear billowed down my cheek and I swallowed. Be strong girl. Be strong. ‘Sam’ I whispered. Nothing. ‘Sam’ I said a touch louder, straining my chest. ‘Hey girl. You awake?’ He finally spoke, as he noticed me struggling. I panted weakly. ‘Oh...uh.. Damn! Damn this thing.’ He rasped, some undefined noises coming from his part of the room. His bed creaked loudly. I peaked down, seeing he now had managed to find the button to lift the top part of his bed to a sitting position. ‘You in pain? I can call the nurse for ya. Who is..so cute by the way.’ I took a moment to manage another shivery breath. ‘Just..No air.’ I gasped. I heard him muffle, clicking some buttons. It seemed to take forever - though it probably took just a minute - until a nurse came walking into the room. She moved aside my curtain, opening up the room to me. Three more beds, all empty.

‘Hee-lo. Goo’ moohning. You pain?’ She ushered in a melodic voice. I looked at her for a moment, unsure. Then finally managed to croak softly: ‘No…air.’ Sam interjected from the other side of the room; ‘She’s got difficulty breathing sis.’ The nurse looked at Sam, then back at me, nodding in understanding, then folding away the blankets down to my belly. Which helped a little. I gasped for another bit. ‘Get pain kill.’ She said, pointing at herself. Then disappeared again. I crushed my teeth together. I decided to save my energy and frustration, though I dearly wanted to just sit up and talk to Sam about what happened. I saw the managing assistant yawning, wringing his eyes. He looked at me for a moment in dazed confusion, before fully realising where he was and what was going on.

‘Hey! You’re awake. Oh that’s good. Gooood..’ He hesitated, sitting up from his awkward sitting position to get a better look at me. ‘So…How are you?’ He asked, hovering over me, studying me. ‘She’s got difficulty breathing. The nurse is getting her some ..stuff.’ Sam said. I just stared at the managing assistant awkwardly, a painful smile pressed on my lips. He looked at me a moment longer, then fetched his phone from his pocket. Texting someone. I looked at him, a bit confused as to why this was good moment to start texting someone. He, however, wasn’t fazed by my exasperated facial expression. He finished texting before looking back at me. ‘Hard to keep Henry away from you..princess. He’s not allowed to visit, safety risk and all, blabla. He was …soo…mad. Anyways. I took his place, promising I would alarm him when you awoke. So yea I was here…’ He babbled. I huffed. He looked at me, raising an eyebrow. ‘…Sleeping.’ I muttered. He gasped. ‘Well…what else was I supposed to do?’ He tried. All I could do was offer him an amused smile. Poor assistant.

The nurse returned. She dosed the fluidbag connected to my arm with some magical elixir and after just a few minutes I felt a rosy feeling come over me. ‘Ahh…drugs.’ I whispered, closing my eyes for a moment, in relief. My chest felt a whole lot more comfortable now, breathing becoming more doable. I took a good breath. Then opened my eyes again. ‘What’s the damage?’ The nurse had already moved away, so the assistant sat back up. ‘Punctured lung, three broken ribs, bunch of scratches and small wounds. You’ve been really lucky, it could have killed you, had your rib but punctured a little lower it would have been your heart.’ I shivered. ‘Wow.’ ‘How long do I have to be here?’ He laughed. ‘Easy sis. Surely a week, they want to keep an eye on you. And healing takes about 6 to 8 weeks probably.’ I sighed. ‘Oh man.’ ‘Yep. Can I get you anything?’ I looked at him, thinking. My brain was soo slow. I blinked, thinking. ‘Did you …happen to get my phone?’ He nodded, reaching out to a bag on the floor, rummaging around it before handing me my phone. ‘Oh I need to sit up a bit,’ I said, having difficulty raising the phone in vision without my vision becoming a bit blurry. The assistant happily obliged, pushing on some button so my head end also rose up. Well, that felt good. I could finally take a proper look at the both of them. Sam waved gleefully. I laughed a slow smile. Drugs…

I opened my phone. So many text messages. Even my mom, which confused me. How did she know? I looked into my call history, and noticed a few attempted calls. ‘Home. Pap. Mam.’ I returned to the text messages and started responding. ‘HEY! What happened? Dear? Are you okey? This guy called you had an accident? Call me.’ She had sent me plenty of messages. I sighed and started typing. ‘Hi mom. I’m okay now. Got into an accident yes. Falling tree. Broken ribs and punctured lung. But please, no worries. I’m safe now. Can’t call you..no voice yet. Text me whenever. Love you!’ Then the next flurry of messages. From Henry. ‘They won’t let me get to you. :’( .. You just got out of ER. Hmpf I want to be with you…. I have called your mom. Just so you know…I sent Gus to be with you for the night.’ And a picture of him and Kal looking really sad, taken this morning. I took a selfie. I sure looked sickly, I realised, looking at it for a second before sending it. ‘Hi.’ I typed. He responded quite immediately. ‘Oh thank gods.’ ‘The zombie has arisen!’ I quipped, adding a happy emoticon. He returned a sad frowny emoji. ‘Are you in pain?’ ‘Not any longer. Got painkillers just now.’ I took another picture of Gus and Sam both gazing at their phones in the grey room. ‘And..more zombies ;)’ ‘Are they taking good care of you?’ ‘Sure. It’s mostly just boring though. Sigh. Hate hospital. Hate the colour grey.’ ‘:(’ ‘And I miss you!’ ‘I miss you too, so so much.’ He sent. Directly followed by more typing. Henry is typing. Henry is typing. I stared at the screen. ‘They wouldn’t let me go off set without security..which is only going to arrive this afternoon. Pfff. Gosh I got so mad. :( Stupid fucking contract. I was so scared. You laying there under that tree. So pale. So much blood.’ ‘I blacked out. Didn’t really..experience any of it.’ ‘:( I was so scared I would lose you.’ I sighed. Looking at the letters on my screen. I wish I could hug him right now. Crawl away in his strong arms.

Thankfully I could. About three hours later he came walking in with a large vase of colourful flowers, not even taking a moment to put them down, before kissing me desperately. He was still in full costume, some blood on his shirt. Was that mine? I couldn’t tell, my attention already drawn away by one of his security men whom closed the curtains around us, offering us some privacy. He sat on the edge of the bed, finally putting down the vase on the night stand, taking a moment to study me. He looked exhausted with worry. ‘Hi.’ I whispered. My voice was still raw and measly. His jaw clenched. ‘Oh..Sweetling.’ He reached his hands to entangle them with mine, being extra careful he didn’t lean on me. ‘How are you?’ I whispered. He looked down at our hands for a moment, then back at me. Lost for words, his eyebrows knitted together as he tried to look for something that expressed what he was feeling. I squeezed his hands and blinked at him slowly. ‘Glad to see you..’ He finally sighed. ‘Alive.’ He sat down on the edge of the bed and hovered over me, studying my face more closely. I smiled, wiggling one of my hands from his, to cup his face. ‘Thank you for the flowers.’ I said. He smiled. ‘A bit of colour. WHICH is surprisingly hard to find in rural Poland apparently.’ He sighed. I grinned. His gaze traced down my neck, to my torso. He folded away the blankets. Though not really seeing much more then my hospital gown. ‘Fold it away. I’m curious.’ I said. He looked up, hesitant. Then, most carefully, he pulled open the binding. What appeared was..I guess..less bad then I expected. Lots of small cuts, some with stitches, some bruises. And a bandage around my lower chest, with a speck of blood just centimetres away from my heart. His breath halted, a slow shiver running over his face. I traced the bruises. You could almost see the branches outlined in them. He closed the gown again with delicacy, folding back the sheets. He took another deep breath, then kissed my forehead. He was still struggling to say anything, so instead he just looked at me once more with those pleading puppy eyes.

‘They’ll release me in a week.’ I said, trying to break the heavy atmosphere. He smiled endearingly, cupping my cheek. ‘All in due time.’ He warned. I rolled my eyes. He grinned, happy to see I hadn’t lost my eagerness for life yet. ‘Oh..I brought you some of your stuff. Though I didn’t really know…what to bring.’ He nodded at a box that had been placed on one of the chairs near the wall. I recognised my fluffy slippers, some books, laptop, some clothes. ‘Thank you.’ I smiled. ‘Let my assistant know if you need anything. You’ve got his number right? Otherwise just tell me.’ I nodded. I sighed, folding my hands back into his. ‘And..you called my mom?’ I quirked up an eyebrow. He let out a breath, grinning. ‘Yes…Which was ..interesting. I kind of..forgot your family is dutch. So she was a bit confused I think.’ I smiled. ‘I just texted her. I think she got enough of an idea what you meant, from the texts she wrote me. Poor mom.’ He leaned in for another kiss, resting his forehead against mine. ‘I might just have to learn a little dutch.’ He grinned. I giggled. ‘Ah, don’t worry. You’ll be alright. She speaks better english when not on the phone.’ I shrugged, feeling a sting in my chest, making me wince. ‘Ai…’ His hand quickly cupped my cheek. ‘Careful there.’ He said, immediately sitting up and checking if anything was obstructing. I sighed deeply. ‘Hmmpf. I’m especially not looking forward to having to call the BBC.’ I took another breath.  ‘The doctor told me I’d probably have to delay my work for them for another month.’ Henry quirked his head a bit. ‘Well, there is perhaps a silver lining to that…’ He suggested. I poked him in the ribs, earning a heartfelt laugh from him. He was right though. I would mean another month with him. His gaze got soft again, looking at me lovingly. ‘I love you.’ He whispered softly. ‘I love you too.’ I hummed.

—

The week crawled by slowly. So slowly. The BBC wasn’t fond of the news at all. They immediately had started looking for someone to replace me on their team altogether. Well. That’s showbizz kids. And I must admit I felt a bit down because of it. Now I had nothing exciting to look forward to after shooting for the Witcher finished. An annoyance that wasn’t getting any better by laying in bed all day, which made me crazy with pent up energy.

I was scrolling a bit on my laptop. Me and Henry had started to write each other lengthy texts of our days, besides working through this list of 35 questions to fall in love. It was fun. We wrote extensively about our wishes, dreams, unknown hobbies, families, habits. We had gotten to question 19, which hit quite close due to the circumstances. If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living? Why? Henry had written first. ‘I would quit acting, marry you and make love to you every day until my days were spent. And travel. I’ve been to many places, but never got the time to truly explore them.’ I was scrolling through his Instagram posts, daydreaming a bit and trying to calm the small summersaults my heart was making. He HAD been anywhere and everywhere. I clicked back to the Whatsapp app. ‘Quit acting huh? Hadn’t expected that from you. For me…I wouldn’t really change too much. I already travel for work and enjoy it a lot. And I’ll gladly participate in daily lovemaking. ;) Ever been to Sevilla? It’s probably my favourite city of all I’ve visited.’ I closed the tab again, knowing he was working right now, so he would not be responding until way past dinner time.

Checking Whatsapp he hadn’t responded yet. But I couldn’t help adding to my earlier messages: ‘Oh, and I would organise a large feast for friends. I used to cook these large Christmas dinners for friends. Those were just great. The more the merrier!’ I added. He responded a few minutes later. ‘Quit acting because I wouldn’t be able to finish another movie or series within that time. Besides, I’d have more pressing matters to attend to ;) I’ve never been to Sevilla actually. What makes you love it so? And…oh dear how I look forward to eating your food again. We’ve had overcooked spaghetti bolognese. Mamma mia.’ Followed by the meme of a chef loading penne pasta in his gun. I chuckled. ‘Well, if Sevilla offers anything you like, it sure is GOOD FOOD. My gosh. And the mix of culture. Moorish. Spanish. The late nights with people moving around the streets, greeting friends and family and hopping around from place to place after every drink or so to catch up with friends and family - this way the elderly could stick around in one bar and still get to see their whole family in just one night. That’s really cool to see. And the plants! Oh my, so beautiful. Especially the palace gardens. And what about you? What’s your favourite place?’ ‘My parents’ farm. Mostly because of youth memories though. The weather is shit, the people close-minded, lots of unemployment, …thinking about it, it’s not such a good place haha. But there’s animals, and my family. Makes any place a good place.’ He sent a picture of him as a small boy, with, probably some of his brothers, playing soccer in a murky garden with uneven plaids of grass.

--

It was a week later. A Monday. And it sure felt like it, as the rains were pouring down from the heavens. I was finally released from the hospital. Which was good. The loneliness and utter boredom were not doing me any good. I stood waiting below the flyover at the entrance of the hospital, glad to finally be able to sniff some fresh air. I saw a cab pulling up, halting in front of me. The door swung open as one the ladies from the costume department squeezed herself out of the car. ‘Hey kid!… Awh sweetheart.’ She ushered over, extending her hands for a hug, then realising that wasn’t such a good idea, so instead held onto my shoulders while kissing me on the cheek, trying her hardest not to give the usual squeeze. She pulled her hands away quickly to give me a look up and down. She smiled as she reached out for the small box of stuff that was standing besides me. ‘Let me get that from you.’ She took the box, before handing it over to the cab driver who placed it in the boot. I used the moment to get in the car. Which was …surprisingly hard. I had to clench my teeth and take it as slowly as possible to not to be in full agony. I was slightly panting by the time I was finally seated. We drove off as the rain kept pouring and pouring, offering a rhythmic drumbeat on the car. ‘So... how are you?!!’ The lady finally asked from the backseat, her thick American voice a tad too loud. ‘Alright. Stable I guess. How’s the set? Finished that white gown?’ I said, only turning my head slightly. ‘Set’s good. Been a bit …sad actually, this week. It all sure left an impression. Besides it has been raining almost non stop. We’ll probably run into some delay this week.’ She spoke. I nodded, looking ahead at the road. We were driving through the outskirts of the city. More grey buildings after more grey buildings. But they did slowly seem to thin out. The rolling hills and meadows returned and the road became more bumpy. ‘Will snow later.’ The cab driver pointed up to the sky. I looked at him. He was a small man with dark stubble, a thick moustache, small hat on, his skin dark and leathery. He had probably seen it all.  

We arrived on set. And good things come in pairs: it had finally stopped raining. I grunted and groaned as I got out of the cab, before managing it out of my seat, then waved at the cab in thanks before turning. I noticed the woman who had accompanied me had already started walking towards the food parlour, so I decided to follow her in my own, much slower pace. I looked around, glad to be back. And more glad even to see how everyone used the dry moment to continue the hustle and bustle. Barely anyone noticed me and that was for the better of everyone. I just wanted some time to get readjusted.

From the looks of it they had actually started shooting again. I couldn’t find Henry around the food tent, but I did however see a very bored Kal laying there. ‘Kal!’ I said, as loudly as I could without straining myself. His ears peaked up and he jumped up when he saw me. He quickly came running down the slippery grass, making a small sliding to greet me. He jumped up enthusiastically. ‘Sssh. Calm calm.’ I laughed. ‘Hey furry friend. Miss me?’ I petted him fiercely and enjoyed stroking his thick pelt as he leaned into me to receive some scratches. It was good to be back. 

The costume lady had already huddled off again. She probably moved my belongings to my co-shared trailer. ‘Busy, busy, busy.’ I whispered, making my way to one of the crew members. He was shining up some swords with a polish. ‘Hi Callum. Any idea where I can find Lizz?’ ‘Heyy you’re back. Oophh..You look a ghost girl.’ He said, looking me up and down. ‘Yea..grey rooms don’t do me any good.’ I shrugged, trying to evade any further questioning. ‘But ehh..Lizz is back of field.’ He nodded in the direction of the castle. I sighed. He hesitated. ‘You can just..take it easy yea?’ I smiled. ‘I know. Thanks Callum’ I walked off, followed by a happy Kal. I looked to the end of the field, noticing they were shooting there. I looked down at Kal, looking at him sadly. ‘Sorry pal. Can’t have you there. Kal, stay here.’ I pointed at the dinner tent. ‘See you in a bit.’ I petted him, seeing him immediately lay down again in defeat.

The sky was slowly turning a tinge purplish. Perhaps the cab driver was right. I huddled closer in the jacket I got from production - my own was..well..impaled, as I walked around the castle, looking out over the lake. I saw the crew was positioning a new scene. A lot of folk afoot. I couldn’t discern yet whom it were, so I waddled over the slippery, icecold gravel, keeping my eyes trained on the ground keeping a steady footing. My breath was shallow and harsh, yet it also felt good to feel fresh air in my lungs. I slowed my pace a bit after a few minutes, nearly out of breath from just walking.

In the end it took a good 10 minutes for me to reach the production crew. First to be found was Lizz. She walked up to me, an air of surprise over her when she noticed me walking up to her. ‘Well have you here. Goodness. Welcome back.’ She exclaimed. I grinned, still a bit out of breath. ‘Hi Lizz. How are you?’ I sighed. ‘Good. Dear, shouldn’t you be..resting?’ She rested a motherly hand on my shoulder. ‘The doctor did allow me to take a daily stroll. So…’ I pointed at the castle, then to where we were standing. ‘Strolling.’ She squeezed my cheeks. ‘Good thing the branches didn’t get your pretty face. So…uhm… the set! We did scene 24 to 30, but surely need to reshoot 29, too poor lighting. The weather’s been absolutely terrible these days. We better get cracking if we want to make up for lost time…’ She looked at me hesitantly. ‘I can borrow you my eyes, but not allowed to lift anything.’ I winked. ‘That’s good. Alright, uhm..’ She looked up at the trees next to us, her gaze a bit worried as she looked back at me. ‘I’m not afraid of the trees Lizz.’ I grinned, understanding her train of thought. She nodded, looking from the scene set up back to me. ‘Forest scene. The..ehh..31st, shot 3. If you could aid in consistency with Lucy, storyboards are with Boomer.’ I nodded, making my way to the storyboard guy.  

Just then snow started to fall. Tiny, tiny flakes started to stick to our eyelashes. I joined Lucy, whom quickly told me what to look out for. I looked at the storyboard, realising the scene included my dear Henry - whom I had not yet spotted, as he was huddled away in the back, discussing some choreography with his trainer. Also there was Freya as Ciri and 3 unknown actresses. Sorceresses. I flipped through the storyboard. They’d sing a song to entrance them, but Geralt wouldn’t be so easily impressed, bickering with one of them which would lead to a fight. Ciri would start to run away - it was to be one of her first humanoid monster fights, making her doubt her powers.

I decided not to call for Henry, since he was so focused in his conversation. Instead it was Lucy who called for him on my behalf. ‘Henry!’ She squealed. He looked up, his orange-yellow eyes shooting at Lucy. Then slowly his gaze travelled towards me. He released a breath, then excused himself before striding towards me. His lips curled in a half smile as he kissed me, hastily. ‘Hey.’ ‘I’m back.’ I said, smiling. ‘You look like you could use some rest.’ ‘I know. But some fresh air first. How’s it going?’ ‘Good.’ He looked up, noticing the snow. ‘Perfect actually.’ He smiled an earnest smile, his eyes glittering as he wiped a few snow flakes out of my hair, making my heart beat loudly in my chest. I blushed slightly, barely registering they were about to start the scene ‘Everyone ready? Let’s shoot!’ The director’s assistant shouted as everyone quickly hurdled themselves into place. He kissed me quickly, smiling as he noticed Freya getting up next to him, her face turning up into a broad smile as she noticed me.

Evening started to fall and they wrapped up shooting. The wind had completely mellowed down, snow now falling heavier and heavier. I was walking with Henry back towards the encampment, my arm hooked into his. I didn’t have breath yet to talk and walk at the same time. But he made up for that, as he talked for the two of us combined. I occasionally looked at him, enjoying his presence as his low voice rattled on about things that had happened. He spoke of the rain, some funny events on set, how they checked all trees near shooting locations with the park guard, about Kal’s frantics. I laid my head against his shoulder, smiling contently.

We dined in his trailer, away from the hustle and bustle, just to be together for a bit and finished the night cuddling in bed as I fell asleep in his arms as I so loved to do. His large arms shielded me from the cold winter night, but not from my dreams, which were somewhat restless. I dreamed of running. Running through the thick bushes, trees whipping around me in eagerness to scare me. ‘You don’t belong here.’ They whispered. ‘You must leave.’ But no matter where I ran, there were more trees. I shot up from the bed, sweating, having apparently awakened Henry, because he was stroking some hair from my face. ‘Hey..shhh…you’re safe.’ He whispered.  ‘Bad dream.’ I panted, sighing.

I snuggled back into his arms, but sleep couldn’t catch me quite so easily anymore. And I felt Henry’s breath wasn’t as deep as it usually was either. I quirked up my head, seeing if he was asleep at all. He wasn’t. He was looking at the ceiling, before he noticed I was awake and looked down at me. ‘Try to sleep.’ He whispered. I sighed. ‘So should you.’ We were quiet for a bit. ‘We were at number 30. When did you last cry in front of another person? And by yourself?’ I asked, turning a bit to look at the silhouette of his face, the snowy moon lighting his face just enough so I could see his eyes blink. He wrapped his right arm more tightly around me, pulling me closer. Then sighed. He was quiet for another moment. I just continued looking at him. ‘I’ve cried a lot this week.’ He finally whispered. I stroked his curly chest hair with my free hand, trying to comfort him. His left hand reached for my hand, pulling it up to kiss the palm of my hand. ‘I felt so powerless.’ His voice sounded thin, almost shivery.

We lay there for a bit longer, remaining quiet. I figured he did not wish to speak of his emotions right now. Entwined in each others arms, I twirled a finger across his ribs. ‘Hey. So what is going to happen now?’ He finally asked, shifting his weight a bit, turning on his side so he could look at me. I looked back at him, seeing mostly just his silhouette. ‘What is going to happen?’ I said. ‘With us..the next few months.’ He hesitated, brushing a hand over my cheek. I moved my head a bit to snuggle into a more comfortable corner of his arm. ‘Don’t know. Contract here might run a week longer since the weather’s been shit. BBC found replacement. So…the big black hole is coming.’ He let his hand travel from my cheek to my arm, tracing it slowly. ‘Would you…would you like to stay with me?’ He asked gently. I chuckled. ‘We can do that?’ I asked. He sniffled. ‘I’m Henry Cavill dear. They wouldn’t have a Witcher in their Witcher series, if I wasn’t here. Surely it’s an easy bargain to have an extra member on the team in return for a happy Henry.’ I sniffled in turn. ‘You are..’I reached for his hand, raising it up to my mouth, playfully biting into one of his fingers. ‘…Such a snack.’ He laughed, rolling us over to kiss me. A long, wanting kiss. But we both understood that such a thing wouldn’t be wise at this point. Besides, I wasn’t allowed to use the pill while on antibiotics. He rested his forehead against mine, forcing himself to calm down. He pecked me on the lips once more. ‘I’ve missed…all of you.’ His hand travelled down to my crotch, grabbing it wantingly. I gasped. ’Not now.’ He chuckled. ‘I know.’ He looked at me. Darkness hiding most of his face from me. An old question drifted up in my head, one I had wished to ask earlier.

‘Henry. If anything…does not go according to plan. I mean. The pill. Condom…’ I had to take a breath. He interrupted. ‘Ah.. the child surprise? No worries. ’ He kissed my cheek. ‘I would gladly be his or her dad.’ I grinned. ‘Jokes aside. If I accidentally get pregnant. What would you have me do? Would you like to know?’ ‘Of course I want to know! And I support whatever choice you make. Though you WOULD have to marry me, as mother of my children.’ He growled, kissing me again. I snickered. ‘Okey okey..okey.’ I pushed him away a bit, then interlocked my gaze with his. ‘Why then, what makes you want to marry so badly?’ I raised an eyebrow. He sighed. ‘Because I want to be a married man, first of all, be it silly. And I surely would love to celebrate love…and see you in such a beautiful dress again.’ He got up a bit, prepping himself on one arm. ‘Do you have no wish to marry?’ He said, looking at me with honest curiosity. I looked up at him, a stroke of moonlight lighting up his face. He looked like an angel. Oh how my heart tugged and screamed. My man. My man! Look at him! Thankfully I could find words before he started worrying: ‘I like the idea of celebrating love, and a pretty dress…and a different last name. Truly, my last name isn’t…nice.’ I chuckled. ‘I guess I just only never had such dreams as a little girl. My parents have also never married.’ He cupped my cheek. ‘But I may ask you one day?’ My heart swelled up even more, beating loud as a drum. ‘You.. may.’ I smiled.  ‘Though don’t buy a ring. I don’t like wearing rings.’ He bent over me again, kissing me sweetly. ‘Gotcha.’ He lay down again, pulling me closer.

We lay there for another bit, just looking at the slow moving shadows on the walls. ‘So..Why no ring?’ He said after a minute or so. ‘You won’t let your traditions go hmm, mr. Cavill?’ I chuckled, tickling him. He didn’t respond much. He wasn’t very ticklish, but he did groan in quiet - albeit clear - sexual frustration. He quickly encapsulated my hand, pressing it against his belly. I sniffled softly, then continued: ‘For real though? I don’t like wearing rings, so I would find it wasteful. I’m actually thinking I would prefer a tattoo on my finger. That’s more..forever..anyways, than a piece of metal.’ I shrugged. He snickered in turn. ’A tattoo huh.’ He was quiet for a moment, thinking..‘So I have to propose to you with a tattoo gun in hand?’ ’Nooo…I mean…after actual marriage I would get it tattooed on. Oh you!’ I laughed. ‘A tattoo.’ He hummed, his breath slowing down as his voice got drowsy. He fell asleep, leaving me a moment to watch him a little while longer, before sleep caught back up with me.

When I woke he had gone to set already, having left behind a note on the bed.

‘Lunch date? 13h castle hall.’

I smiled.

---

Part 6 >

[darawonplease]

✵ polaris. ch.2 - changes.

Necessary warning.

This fic Is loosely inspired by “So Beautiful” and “5STAR”.

I’m in no way trying to romanticize mental illness. DID is a serious matter and this is just the exploration of the concept treated in the m/v in a fictional way (like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde) and in no way an accurate depiction of this disorder. If this makes you uncomfortable, please don’t go further.

a.n. I’ll use all different names for the characters (real name/English name/nickname/stage name), it might get confusing so-

For reference: Barom / Rom / Christian / Ian ✵ Chaerin / Chae / Rin / CL ✵ Dabin / Live ✵ Scott / Rem

✵ ch.2 – changes.

「 ☽ Ian's POV」

“Promise me you know how to ride this thing”.

Chae approached me with uncertain steps.

“Just trust me”. I threw her way the extra helmet I kept in the saddlebag.

She hopped onto my motorcycle and immediately wrapped her hands around me.

“Chaerin? Are you scared by any chance?

I chuckled at her. No matter how fierce her celebrity image was, deep down she was a soft, scaredy-cat.

“I-Ian! Don’t make fun of me, ok? It’s just that I have never done this before”.

“What? You’ve never ridden a motorcycle?”.

She slowly grasped my shirt.

“Never…”.

“There’s always a first time so brace yourself miss”.

I suddenly pushed my foot on the accelerator.

“IAN!”.

.

Seoul city opened before our eyes, the bright neon and LEDs becoming flashes of color in the distance.

A rush of adrenaline kicked in my bloodstreams; riding my much-loved motorcycle was a way to escape – although shortly – from all my troubles.

She rested her head on my back, gently.

“You alright?!”. I shouted in the shy hope she’d hear my voice in the roaring of the vehicle.

Chae remained silent, only holding me closer to her.

I didn’t hesitate a second and took the road that brought us back to DPR’s studio and parked the motorcycle under the building.

“Oi… I didn’t wanna force you to do this, I’m sorry”. I hopped off after her.

Chae removed the black helmet and shook her head, making the silky silver hair fall over her shoulders.

“That was rad, let’s do it again sometime”.

She flashed her best smile at me, leaving my poor self completely smitten by her excitement.

“Oh, you guys went for a ride?”.

I turned around; Dabin was leaning beside the entrance door with both hands in his black hoodie front pocket, the brooding aura he emanated was quite unlike him.

“Yeah…”. I scratched the back of my head; the hint of tension in the atmosphere stiffened me.

“Man, take me with you next time!”. He cackled – his eyes disappearing in two small half-moons as he patted my back repeatedly. Dabin’s sudden mood switch took me so aback that I froze in place with a confused smile on my lips.

“You two are such lovebirds”. Chae wrapped her hands around both of us, embracing all three in a warm group hug.

“Yeah, my Ian-nie Hyung, come kiss me”.

“Oh, come here Dabin-i”.

“Get a room”. Chae rolled her eyes jokingly.

.

✵

.

“Ian”. Scott called for my attention, waving the pen he furiously kept clicking during the call.

“Huh?”.

“You spazzed out”.

“I’m just tired. What’s up?”. I ran my hand through my hair to fix the long lock hanging in front of my eyes.

“Their producer just told me on the phone…”, he heaved a long sigh, “they decided to cancel the shooting”.

“This too?”.

“Apparently”. Scott drowned his face in his palm in resignation.

“How the fuck are we going to fund our projects if we keep going like this?”.

“Christian”, he moved closer to me with the swivel chair and rest his hand on my shoulder to, hopefully, reassure me. “I’ll find some other gig to keep us afloat”.

“This WAS the gig we needed to keep us afloat”. I stood up from my seat, abruptly pushing away his hand away from me.

Dabin barged into the recording room, “Did you guys hear the news? The producer just canceled the project”.

“We ALREADY fucking know, Dabin”. I rolled my eyes in annoyance.

“What’s with this attitude man?”.

Scott glared at him and shook his head, silently begging him to refrain from responding anymore.

I reached for the leather jacket still plopped onto the chair and headed towards the exit door.

Dabin narrowed his eyes, “Where are you going?”.

“Home”.

“What?”.

Scott grabbed Dabin by his shoulder to stop him from coming after me, but I had already slammed the door before I could see his reaction.

“What the hell is wrong with him?”.

“He’s been like that all day, just leave him be”.

Their voices followed me through the hallways as I made my way out of the building.

.

✵

.

I gripped the handlebar some more, fighting the increasing tingling spreading in my palms and that slowly rode up my arms. I gripped it strong enough to make the last turn before stopping the motorcycle on a moist green patch at the side of the road, leading to the province. I sat beside the vehicle; the stars were roof for my tired body. The chilly night stung my skin with frozen needles.

I reached for air with my trembling hands, trying to grasp something that wasn’t there.

where are you…?

why is everything I built going to shit?

The huge weight on my chest became heavier and heavier as if it wanted to drag my body underground and through hell. I knocked three times on my chest but the ache wouldn’t stop.

why am I so powerless?

Why do I feel like drifting away?

A faint buzzing sound filled my ears in an instant becoming an agonizing strident noise in seconds.

.

✵

.

tic

tic

tic

The constant dripping of freezing water droplets woke me up from what felt like an endless slumber. My body immediately started to tremble as a result of my clothes being drenched wet.

The light made my eyes retire in darkness, I slowly tried to open them again to get used to the faint white glow.

It took me a minute to realize I was sitting against the glass wall of the shower. The water kept falling on my shoulder, drop by drop, relentlessly. Just like every little piece of bad news, every insignificant obstacle, every bad feeling I bottled had just exploded, drowning me. Drop by drop.

I crawled out of the shower, begging my legs to sustain my bloody self. I pressed my hand against the glass wall for support as I tried to finally stand up when a glimpse of crimson red made me immediately turn my head: my knuckles were bruised and sore.

“Who are you? I can’t even recognize you anymore”.

A strained voice echoed in my head as fuzzy images flashed before my eyes, chaotic, unrelated, tangled. I squeezed my eyes, mentally rewinding the events of yesterday evening but finding nothing.

I shook my head and proceeded to crawl out of the bathroom, leaving a wet path behind me like a snail.

I turned towards the living room, a song I didn’t know was playing louder and louder as I stepped towards the couch, where my laptop was.

“What’s this?”. I looked at the file’s name.

.

「 imalwaysnear.m4a」

.

“What the hell?”. The sound of my voice suddenly appeared on the aggressive track, rough and strained. It sounded like me but it also felt like someone else’s.

“When did I record this?”. I mumbled, clicking on the file details to uncover the mystery.

“How come…”.

I squinted my eyes.

.

「 Created: Tuesday, October 27, 2020, 4:44AM 」

.

“It must’ve been…me? Yesterday night?”.

I quickly patted the coffee table to find my phone amidst all the mess, its brightness instantly blinding me.

It was already noon, I had received several audio messages from Scott; He was probably mad at me for disappearing so out of the blue the other day.

I gathered the courage to get scolded and played all of them as I made my way towards the bedroom. I placed the phone on the nightstand and listen half-heartedly to Scott’s voice while I searched for a fresh new outfit.

.

“Ian… I don’t know how to say this. I know it’s been a rough couple of months for us… for you. But what happened yesterday with Dabin was truly alarming. I never made you a violent person. You know I love you man…whatever happens. Just know we’re here for you if you need to talk it out. I hope you’ll apologize to him when you’ll feel ready. He’s okay by the way, just a couple of bruises. Just call me when you feel like it”.

.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror and noticed a cut crossing through the bridge of my nose bridge and bruised cheek.

.

previous chapter. ✵  next chapter. ✵ masterlist

[squidofthedeep]

Trend Setter

Chapter 1 / 7

AO3  

Summary: Virgil agrees to a bet with his best friend to surprise each of his boyfriends, certain he's not going to get the response from them Remy insists he will. Self-esteem issues are a bitch, but one best friend and four adoring boyfriends should be enough to fight them back, right?

Pairings: romantic DLAMP; platonic sleepxiety; background romantic remile 

Warnings: swearing, discussions of sex and nudity (but none happens in this chapter)

----

Virgil wiggled his foot and scrunched his toes, his nose following suit, trying in vain to get the blood flowing again as the pins and needles began to set in. As soon as he started moving though, the rest of his leg yelled unhappily, sore and hot close to the crease of his hip.

Groaning, he slowly dragged himself upright, uncurling from his previously comfortable position, and dropped both feet to the floor to stretch against the back of the couch. His left foot was still feeling like a static-filled television screen, and a dull throb was pulsing through his thigh, but at least he was no longer in danger of a muscle cramp. A snort caught his attention from the other side of the couch, where his best friend was laying with his back braced on the armrest, looking up from his phone.

“You’re a pretty shitty cryptid if you can’t even hold a position for more than a half an hour, Vee,” Remy teased, reaching out blindly to grab his mug from the ground next to him and taking an obnoxiously loud sip.

“Fuck you,” Virgil retorted fondly, shoving one of Remy’s legs off the couch as he stood. “You know I have shitty hips, asshole.” Bracing the heel of both hands against the back of his hips, he leaned back until a satisfying series of pops and cracks traveled up his spine. Straightening, he leaned one way, then the other, easing the stiffness from his body. With a relieved sigh, he turned to pluck the now empty mug from Remy’s hands and dropped it out of the way on the coffee table. “And if you tell anyone, I’ll let it slip that you drink tea, not coffee, nerd.”

“You wouldn’t dare, brat!” Remy gasped with a dramatic hand to his chest. “I suppose I’ll just have to keep you quiet then.” He reached out with ridiculously juvenile grabby hands. “Come lay on me and stretch your hips out so I don’t send you back to your boyfriend harem broken.”

Virgil snorted, but more than happily sat between Remy’s legs and lay back against his chest. The position let his hips sit at a slightly different angle, and his legs lay straight over the couch, as he snuggled in, comfortably surrounded by his best friend. He hummed as Remy wrapped his arms around him closer and held his phone so they both could see the screen.

“Mindless social media scrolling time!” Remy declared, opening up Tiktok with a flourish of his thumb.

“Yaaaay,” Virgil deadpanned. Still, he let himself carefully relax on top of his friend, exhaling slow and deep through his nose as he allowed the shenanigans of idiots on the internet distract him from his pain.

Virgil wasn’t sure how long they lay like that, a tangle of limbs and sarcastic quips, while he cycled through his breathing and felt his discomfort creeping away inch my inch. He was paying a small amount of attention to the phone when Remy started scrolling through videos with a very similar premise.

“What the hell are we watching now?”

“Gurl, with how much time you spend on the internet, I don’t get how you’re always behind on trends.” Swiping up to another video, Remy tilted his phone so Virgil could see a little more clearly. “It’s a couple’s challenge, where one partner walks in totally naked and films their partner’s reaction.”

Virgil scrunched his nose. “That’s stupid.”

His pillow lurched as Remy gasped again. “It is not! It’s endearing! Look at how these boys smile when they turn around! How they run into their love’s arms! Even an edgy emo like you has to admit that it’s cute as fuck.”

Rolling his eyes, Virgil turned to bury his face under Remy’s jacket. “Okay, fine,” he groaned, “it is maybe, somewhat, kind of adorable. But!” He cut in before Remy could start squawking a victory. “There is no way at least some of these aren’t faked. And besides, I bet all of these people are like, drop dead gorgeous, or something. I’ll bet you couldn’t get that many reactions from someone who looked like a normal fucking human.”

There was a suspicious beat of silence before Remy spoke, his voice unusually careful, like he was actually thinking before opening his mouth. “What about from someone who looked like a raccoon dragged through a grunge concert?”

Virgil froze, squinting at a piece of garbage poking out of a pocket on the inside of the leather jacket. “What are you getting at, Jeremy.”

Remy swatted the back of his head. “Don’t you use my full name, mister. I promise you this is gonna work in your favour, just hear me out. You think that this many people couldn’t be realistically overjoyed at seeing their regular ass looking partner, right? Well, you just happen to be even more attractive than a regular ass looking mother fucker, and you have four boyfriends. Why don’t we put your theory to the test?”

Sitting up, Virgil directed his suspicious squinting at Remy directly, now accompanied by an unimpressed raised eyebrow. “So you want me, arguably the most anxious person you know, to film myself, totally naked, walking in on each of my boyfriends?”

“You got it, hot stuff!”

Up went that eyebrow even further. “Why the fuck would I ever agree to that?”

“Because.” Remy grinned, sitting up now too, his knees still around Virgil who sat crossed-legged between them. “If - and when! - they react like the smitten fools they are, I will personally pay for every concert ticket you want to go to for the rest of the year.”

Both eyebrows shot up towards his hairline. “Remy, what the fuck? Seriously?”

“Dead serious, babes. You need a worthwhile motivation, not to mention a serious dose of body positivity and a reality check if you actually believe those boys wouldn’t lose their minds over you. I promise you, V, you really are a good looking man, and your squad of handsome bitches would agree with me.”

Virgil crossed his arms, but his defenses were crumbling. “And what if they don’t react like you say they will?”

Remy frowned, squishing Virgil’s cheeks with both hands. “If even one of those fuckers doesn’t respond like you are a god walking down from Olympus, then I am definitely still buying you concert tickets, but you’ll also have to help me hide a body. I won’t let any of them make you think you’re anything less than fucking amazing, babes.”

“Remyyy!” Virgil whined, shoving his friend’s hands off his face and hiding behind his own. “You’re such a fucking sappy loser, you know that? What would Emile say if he heard you talking like that to another man?” He teased.

“I would say you’re both adorable, and I’m very glad you have each other as friends!” A third voice cut in, causing the pair on the couch to jump and knock their heads together.

“Ow..,” Virgil groaned, rubbing his forehead. Glancing up, he saw Emile darting into the room, a ghost of a giggle on his lips as he fretted over Remy.

“Oh dear! Are you two alright? You didn’t hit too hard, did you?”

Remy tried to bat his hands away, but quickly gave in to bask in the attention as Emile cupped his cheek. “We’re alright, honeysuckle. This hard head was just about to agree to something, though.” He looked pointedly at Virgil.

Sighing, Virgil dropped his face into his hands. “Fine. You’ve got yourself a deal,” he groaned, ignoring Remy’s whoop of victory and Emile’s questioning look. What had he gotten himself into?

[sassyduckqueen]

30 Days of Lukanette- Needles and Thread

@the-real-gingakid New Chapter and I actually remembered. Hope you enjoy reading it :)

Also made up a villain! Yay me

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I'm really nervous," Luka admitted as he followed Marinette backstage. It was one thing meeting Jagged Stone once but Luka only briefly met him and didn't have much time to actually talk to him. Marinette turned to him and smiled. "Ok now I feel less nervous,"

 "You'll be fine," She grinned, taking his hand and linking his fingers with hers. "Jagged is really cool and Penny is awesome as well. She's the one who gave me the backstage passes,"

 "But why did you pick me to come back stage with you?" He asked as they headed towards security but before she could answer, she stopped. To her surprise, Adrien was also backstage with his friend, Kagami. He smiled as he moved aside like a gentleman and let her pass first before following her. Marinette felt herself shaking softly as seeing with him hurt a little more then she expected. Not because he was with someone but because it made her feel like he lied to her about the girl he loved. However, those feelings were pushed out of her head when she felt Luka placing his arms around her and resting his head on her shoulder. "Marinette,"

 "I'm ok," She whispered before shaking her head and turning around to face him. Luka looked down at her with a soft expression. "Come on. Jagged is waiting for us!"

 Luka couldn't help but smile as she grabbed his hand again and walked over with him to the security. The guy looked over as she held up the pass. With a nod, he smiled and opened the door.

 "Miss Penny is expecting you," He replied, letting them pass. Marinette thanked him then walked through. Adrien was chatting to a few of the other people with back stage passes. To her annoyance, Lila was also there. She was stood right next to Adrien and was gushing over him. He was happily talking to her but Kagami looked like she wanted to kill her. Marinette could relate. Sat on one of the chairs was Chloe Bourgeois. She was looking at her nails and was making annoyed faces at Lila. 

 "Jagged himself invited me," Lila gasped. "As a thank you for rescuing his kitten,"

 "That is so cool," Some guy that Marinette didn't recognize smiled, clearly smitten for her. She rolled her eyes as Luka looked at her.

 "You ok?" He asked as Chloe noticed them and got up.

 "How did you even get a backstage pass, Dupan-Cheng?" She asked. 

 "Oh, Jagged gave me two actually," She mumbled, quietly. "Just as a thank you for designing his album cover. Nothing major,"

 "So you didn't rescue a kitten like Little Miss Lila or should I say liar?" Chloe laughed quiet enough just for Marinette and Luka to hear her then she turned her attention to him. "Hey. Haven't we met before?"

 "The fashion show," He replied, causing her eyes to go wide.

 "Oh, you're the other boy my mother kidnapped as Style Queen!" She gasped before rubbing the back of her neck. "Look. Sorry about that but my mother wasn't herself and-"

 "It's fine. Ladybug saved me," He smiled before looking away slightly. "Besides, been akumatized isn't fun,"

 "You... You were akumatized?" Chloe whispered, a little shocked. Marinette cleared her throat. "Sorry,"

 "It's fine. I just don't like to talk about it," He replied before smiling. "Anyway, we're here to have fun. Right, Mari?"

 "Yep," She grinned as Kagami walked over.

 "Marinette, it is good to see you again," She smiled before looking at Luka. "A friend of yours?"

 "Yes," Marinette smiled, looking up at him. "This is Luka Couffaine. Luka, this is Kagami Tsurugi,"

 "I remember you. We all went ice skating together," He smiled, causing her to smile back. "You were really good at it,"

 "You weren't too bad yourself," She replied before looking at both of them. "Are you on a date then?"

 "Y-Yes we are," Marinette blushed a little as Luka smiled at her. Kagami smiled a little as Adrien walked over. However, he completely ignored them and lead her away from them as Lila smirked before she walked over.

 "Hey, did something happen between you and Adrien?" She asked, flicking her hair. Marinette sighed but Luka slightly tightened her grip on her hand. "Oh, aren't you that musician? How's that going? You know I personally know Bob Ross. I could totally-"

 "That's kind you to offer but no thanks. Bob Ross is someone I don't want to work with," Luka stated.

 "Oh you don't want to be successful?" She asked, fluttering her eyes.

 "I'd rather earn my success then steal it from another person," He replied. She then laughed her false laugh.

 "Of course, you do," She replied before grinning slyly. "Didn't you get akumatized for that exact reason? It would have been easier just to let XY have your music and her designs. I'm sure his version was better anyway,"

 Luka gritted his teeth but Marinette placed a gentle hand on his arm, making him look at her. Instantly, he found himself calmed down but Lila's false laugh was heard again.

 "Wow, Marinette. You sure know how to pick them," She grinned. "First, Nathaniel and now... Luke was it?... you know I don't care but if i didn't know any better, I'd say you clearly have a thing for villains. Shame, it's the ones with lame powers,"

 "Marinette," The familiar voice of Penny interrupted before anyone could say anything farther. Lila grinned and walked off as Marinette sighed and turned to Penny. "Jagged and Clara are ready now,"

 Marinette nodded and took Luka's hand as they began to walk backstage. Penny stopped by a door and turned to face them before looking at Luka.

 "You should know that there is a crocodile called Fang also in the room. He is very friendly but for obvious reason, most people are afraid of him," She explained. "And Jagged can be... lot to handle,"

 "It's fine," Luka smiled. "I have to deal with huge personalities at home. My mum is a whole different level of crazy,"

  "Then you should be fine," Penny smiled before pushing open the door. Marinette and Luka walked in, looking around in amazement.

 "Marinette!" The sound of Jagged's voice echoed before Marinette found herself picked up and spun by the rockstar, who then put her down and grinned. "How's my favorite fashion designer doing?"

 "I'm good thank you," She smiled, blushing a little.

 "Hey! Clara! Vivica! Looks who's come in to say hi!" He yelled as the two girls came over. Luka recognized both of them. It was hard not to recognize Vivica given that she had gone after Adrien and him as Desperda and he recognized Clara, despite not personally been a fan of her music. Sure, she was good and he respected her as a singer but she was more Juleka's kind of singer then his. There was also the fact that he was an extra in her music video with Marinette and Adrien. He smiled as that had been a fun day. He lightly shook his heaad, reminding himself to get the copy of her new album signed for Juleka.

 "Marinette, it's been too long," She grinned, hugging her as Marinette hugged back. "Have you heard my latest song?"

 "It's very good," Marinette smiled as Vivica came over. "I'm glad to see you two are getting on well,"

 "Vivica is really quite the find. Her music is truly one of a kind," Clare grinned before turning her attention to Luka. "And who is your friend, standing in blue? He looks quite smart. Who is he to you?"

 "This is my... um- ah-" Marinette gasped, getting her words confused.

 "I'm Luka," He smiled. "It's nice to meet you, Clara,"

 "Aww, such gentleman. So kind to the core," She grinned before thinking as Jagged came back over. "But tell me, Luka, have we meet before?"

 "I was one of your extras in your miraculous video along with some of my friends," He replied, looking at Marinette as Jagged looked over at him.

 "Wait... I know you as well... You're the boy with the awesome hair I met at the fashion show right?" He grinned but then he frowned again as if trying to work something out before he clicks his fingers. "You're Anarka's lad. How's your ma doing?"

 "She's well thank you," He replied as Vivica nodded.

 "Sorry about the whole... Desperda thing," She mumbled.

 "It's ok," He smiled back as Clara grinned. 

 "Are you two staying for the show? It would be a shame if you had to go," She asked, spinning around. 

 "We're staying," Marinette confirmed. "Luka got some of the best tickets in the house,"

 "It was nothing really..." Luka mumbled, blushing but before anyone could say anything, the door burst open and to everyone's surprise, Bob Roth stormed in followed by Penny, who was trying to stop him.

 "Sir, I told you he's busy!"

 "Jagged, why on earth did you leave my son, XY, out of this little musical get- you!!" He gasped, looking at Luka. "Security! Get that psycho out of here!"

 Instantly, Jagged, Clare, Vivica, Penny and Marinette all started shouting at Bob Ross, in Luka's defense, causing him to look shocked.

 "Who you calling a psycho, Mr Roth?!" Vivica growled.

 "How could you say such a lie?!" Clara gasped, tears in her eyes. "Say it again and you'll make me cry,"

 "That's really not rock and roll, Bob! Calling a nice boy like him a psycho!" Jagged stated as Fang growled as Marinette crossed her arms angrily.

 "Really, it's fine guys," Luka gasped, gently pulling them back.

 "At least, you're willing to admit you were wrong," Bob grinned, thinking he had won before muttering under his breathe. "And talentless,"

 "With all due respect, Mr Roth. I have no need to steal other musician's music," Luka replied coolly, crossing his arms. 

 "Now listen here, kid. My son has never 'ripped off' anyone's music-"

 "Two words, Mr Ross," Luka stated calmly.

 "Oh and what are those then?" He sneered.

 "Kitty Section," He replied, causing the color to drain out of Bob Ross' face. "Or did you think I would forget?"

 "That was a joke!" He laughed nervously as Fang growled at him. 

 "You know full well it wasn't," Marinette piped in. "The only reason why you let them play was because Cat Noir filmed you on live tv admitting that you stole their music so don't you dare to try to make out that Luka was the villain!"

 "I think you need to leave," Penny stated as security walked over. For a moment, Luka thought they were going to remove him but the two bulky guys walked over to Bob Ross, who glared at them. "The exit is this way, Mr Ross,"

 "This isn't over, kid!" He growled, pointing his finger at Luka. Once he left, Luka let out a breathe that he had been holding in before turning to the three musicians before him.

 "I'm really sorry about that," He mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. 

 "What happened between you and Bob Ross?" Jagged asked. "Why did he call you a psycho?"

 "Um... it's kind of a long story..." He admitted but Penny smiled softly.

 "We have time so you can tell us,"

 "O-ok... um... basically... I'm in this band called Kitty Section with my sister and our friends... Marinette designs the gear, sets and props for us... anyway, we entered this contest to win a space on Alec Cataldi with our music video but as it turned out, it was Bob Ross trying to find something for his son to use as new music. He basically stole our music and Marinette's costume designs. Me and Marinette confronted him about it and Marinette tried to get him to do the right thing," He looks over at her with a loving look before continuing. "But he refused to, stating we would want a cut of the profits. She then told him that she would tell the truth and he threatened her. He threatened to destroy all of our futures but he seemed to have it in for Marinette... because of that, I got angry and well... I got akumatized into Silencer... I kind of went after him to get him to admit what he had did and that's pretty much why he called me a psycho..."

 "He stole your music?" Jagged gasped, shocked. "And threatened Marinette?!"

 "How awful and sad," Clara gasped. "I understand why you got mad,"

 "Anyway... can we stop talking about it now? It's in the past," Luka asked, looking away.

 ~Meanwhile~

 "Get your hands off me!" Bob Roth growled, yanking his arms off from the security before storming off angily. "That little punk! Who does he think he is!?"

 He began to walk off but failed to notice the purple butterfly fluttering behind him before it landed in his glasses. Instantly, the area around his eyes turned red and he came to a stand still as a purple butterfly shape appeared around his eyes.

 "Copyright, I'm Hawk Moth," A voice in his head stated. "That artist don't deserve his talents so I'm giving you the power to take them away for good. All you have to do in return is bring me Ladybug and Cat Noir's miraculous. Do we have a deal, Copyright?"

 "Yes, Hawkmoth," Bob smiled before a purple smoke over took his body.

 ~At the Gig~

 Luka and Marinette happily danced to the music as Vivica played a solo and joined in with the crowd as they cheered but their joy didn't last as a man in a black outfit with a white copyright logo on it suddenly walked out onto the stage. He had shades covering his eyes and seemed to completely ignore the crowd. He walked straight over to Jagged and touched him. As soon as he did, Jagged flashed black and white then fell to the floor in a sort of coma before the man grabbed the microphone.

 "Good evening everyone. My name is Copyright and I'm looking for one person in particular! Luka Coffaine! Where are you, you little punk?!" He growled, shocking both Luka and Marinette as he scanned the room before he narrowed his eyes. "There you are! I told you this wasn't over, you little psycho! That talent of yours will belong to me!"

 With that, he leaped from the stage as everyone scream and ran. Luka grabbed Marinette's hand and ran with her, disappearing into the panicking crowd with her. He made a sharp turn before the two of them ran backstage. Everyone around there were in the coma like state. He stopped and open a door that had Jagged's name on it before closing it.

 "You're not hurt are you?" He asked, cupping her face. 

 "No, I'm ok," She smiled. "But was that who I thought it was?"

 "Bob Roth... he must of been akumatized... This is all my fault... I should have just kept my mouth shut about Kitty Section," He gasped, feeling guilty.

 "Hey, he was the one in the wrong and he was the one who called you talentless and tried to lie. You just told the truth that's all," She smiled but they heard a crash. 

 "LUKA COUFFAINE!!" They heard him shout. Luka looked around and spotted a window. He opened it and helped Marinette out but before he could climb out himself, a hand grabbed his leg and threw him into the wall. "Found you,"

 "Luka!" Marinette shouted but he got up.

 "Go, Marinette! Run!" He shouted as he backed away from Copyright. He frowned deeply as his back hit a wall. He closed his eyes as Copyright reached out but the sound of a yoyo been thrown caught his attention. He snapped open his eyes as it wrapped around Copyright's hand then he was pulled back as Ladybug yanked it. 

 "Get out of here and hide!" She ordered. Luka nodded and ran off before finding his way into another room. He opened his shirt and Sass flew out.

 "Time to help Ladybug," He stated as the little snake nodded. "Sass! Scales Slither!"

 (***)

 "Stupid bug!" Copyright growled as he threw Ladybug into the wall and walked up to her. "You shouldn't have gotten in my way,"

 He went to reach for her earrings but before he could touch her, he was hit by a lyre and Ladybug was helped up by Viperion before the two of them rushed out. She turned around and gasped.

 "He's after a boy called Luka Couffaine. We have to make sure-"

 "He's fine, Ladybug. He's well hidden. Trust me," He smiled as Cat Noir jumped down from the ceiling.

 "So what's the villain this time?" He asked, spinning his tail.

 "He calls himself Copyright and he appears to be able to put people in a coma like state," Viperion explained as he frowned.

 "What is it?" Ladybug asked.

 "It's just something he said before," He replied, frowning. "When he was threatening that kid, he said 'your talent will be mine'... it just makes me think there may be more to his power then just placing people into comas,"

 "That does seem to be the case," The three of them jumped as Rykuro walked over. Cat Noir grinned. "Don't get over excited. I just happened to be in the area. As I was saying... Viperion is right. The coma state is only temporary. A few of his victims are awake now. Included Jagged Stone,"

 "Then let's go talk to Jagged," Ladybug grinned before the heroes ran off. They came to the concert hall and walked over to Jagged as well as a few other people. Viperion frowned as he noticed Clara Nightingale was sat down. He walked over to her.

 "Are you ok?"

 "I'm fine but I can't seem to rhyme, dance or sing. And when I try to stand, everything gets dizzy," She mumbled as he noticed Vivica attempting to play her guitar but instead, she played a bad note and the guitar string snapped. 

 "Ladybug..." He stated, making her look at him. 

 "What is it?"

 "His power, what he said. It makes sense now," He mumbled. "He can steal other people's talents,"

 "That isn't good," Cat Noir states as Ladybug frowns.

 "I think it's time to summon your lucky charm," She nods and does so. 

 "A tuning folk. What can we do with that?" She asked, looking around. She frowned deeply before looking at him. "I have an idea but we need someone to act as a bait..."

 "I could do it, mi'lady. I'm the cha-"

 "I'll do it. No offense, Cat but he isn't after good looks. He wants talents. In particular, musical talent and while I'm sure you have what it takes, I'm the one with the lyre," Viperion replies before whispering to himself. "Besides, I have to make this right,"

 "Ok. Cat Noir... I need you underneath the stage. once the speakers are on and you can hear the noise, use your power ok?" She orders. Cat Noir nods. "Viperion... you're gonna have to get real up and close with this guy for the plan to work. You need to get him in this exact spot,"

 "Got it,"

 "Rykuro, I'll need your help with the speakers,"

 "Very well. Let's do this," The two girls and Cat Noir ran off as Viperion got into position. He took a deep breathe and started to play his Lyre. Soon, Copyright came in and growled.

 "Quite a talent you got there, boy," He snarled, growling as he stalked over but Viperion kept his cool as he played.

 "You want it? Come get it!" He shouted. Copyright ran at him before he jumped on the stage. He reached his hand out but before he could touch him, a blast of sound came from the speakers, causing him to cover his ears before the wood beneath him broke, trapping him in the stage. Luka took off his glasses and broke them in half, releasing the akuma. Ladybug came over and proceed to purify it before using the ladybugs to fix everything. Copyright turned back into Bob Roth, who looked around confused as Viperion walked over to him and helped him up.

 "What happened!?"

 "You were akumatized," He stated calmly. "Look maybe it's not any of my business but you just can't go round stealing other people's work, Mr Roth. Also maybe you should try and encourage your son to actually explore his talents. I'm sure he has some,"

 "You should just stick to been a hero, kid," Bob replied, causing Viperion to sigh but Ladybug stood next to him.

 "Viperion's right, Mr Roth," She stated, making him roll his eyes. "How would you feel if someone stole the song or the piece of art you put your heart and soul into? Or what if it was your son's work? Would you be happy if that happened to him?"

 "Well... no..." He admitted. "But that kid... he went all psycho..."

 "Because you pushed him over the edge," Viperion stated. "You threatened to hurt the people he loved and to stop him from doing what he loved. You can't tell me that you wouldn't have acted similar if you were in his shoes,"

 Bob went to open his mouth but he was cut off by Viperion's bracelet beeping. He sighed and walked off before finding his way back to the dressing rooms. Once he was sure he was alone, he detransformed and feed Sass some ham before walking back to the stage. Marinette rushed over to him and hugged him.

 "I'm glad you were safe!" She stated before gasping. He frowned.

 "What is it?" 

 "Your hoodie is ripped," She gasped before grabbing his hand. "Come on. I've got needles and threads at mine. I can fix it there,"

[a-night-at-the-0pera]

Virtues Uncounted, Part 5

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4

Series Pairings: Gwilym Lee x Reader, Joe Mazzello x Reader

Chapter Summary: The year is 1820, in the charming English village of Ashwick Heath. You are a young lady of distinction, rather bored during the long summer months in your family’s country estate. The only reprieve from this boredom is the handsome, if shy, Mr. Gwilym Lee, the youngest son of the noble family living adjacent to you, and his mysterious and brash American cousin, Mr. Mazzello. As June slips away into July, you receive a proposal that is hard to refuse, and Mr. Mazzello attempts to clear the air before it is too late.

Chapter Warnings: Flirtation, alcohol consumption, angst, a life-altering surprise...

Chapter Word Count: 7.7k 

Author’s Note: There’s both a stillness and a madness to this chapter...I hope you all enjoy it! Thank you to my boo @o-holynight for making this gorgeous moodboard, as well as beta-reading this fic along with @sweet-ladyy! Again, massive shoutout to all my friends here on Tumblr and in the Discord for being so sweet and fun and supportive (and putting up with my incessant babbling about this series). This is a work of fiction, and all place names and peerage titles are made up by me, for ease of writing. As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated, because they give me feedback! I love to hear your thoughts on the stories I write! Are you Team Gwilym or Team Joseph? Sound off in my inbox! 

~~~~~~~~~ 

The morning after the Moorhead Park ball is grey and still, the birds in the trees outside eerily silent in the pale, watery light. Sitting up slowly in bed, you rub your eyes and groan, noting how sore your body is from the previous evenings' activities. You sleepily stretch and throw off the covers, shuffling over to the wardrobe and selecting a cream-colored muslin morning dress. After fastening your stays and slipping the dress over your head, you call for Margie to do up the garment, tying your hair back with a silk bandeau as you wait for the lady's maid.

"Good morning, Miss," Margie says as she enters the room, quietly closing the door behind her.

"Good morning, Margie," you hum, fiddling with some flyaways, "are Mother and Father awake yet?"

"Yes, Miss, they are down at the breakfast table, waiting." You nod at her. "Would you fasten my dress then, please?" 　 She hesitates, glancing towards your wardrobe. "Might I suggest changing into a walking dress, Miss?" 　 "It is not yet nine, Margie. Why would I do such a thing?"　

"We received a calling card from Mr. Lee earlier this morning, indicating that he will be coming to the house around 10. Presumably to see you. And unless you wish for a young gentleman to see you in your morning dress, it would be more pertinent to change now." You freeze, gaping at Margie in the mirror. "Mr. Lee is calling on us this morning? By himself?" 　 "It appears so, Miss," she nods, heading towards your closet, "so let's pick out something pretty, yes?" 　 After a few moments of searching, she pulls out a light pink walking dress and begins to unbutton the back as you strip off your unfastened morning dress and toss it to the bed, lost in your thoughts. Gwilym is certainly eager if he actually took your teasing invitation to ask you in the morning seriously. There is just over an hour until he is supposed to arrive; you had better figure out your answer quickly, then. 　 Margie helps you finish dressing and you head down to the dining room, preparing yourself for an onslaught of questions from your parents as you open the door, peeking your head around the door frame. 　 "(Y/N)!" your mother shrills, the lace edge of her morning cap quivering, "Mr. Lee is coming to visit us this morning!" 　 "Yes, Mother, Margie told me," you sigh, shuffling into the room and flopping inelegantly into your chair before snatching a few pieces of toast from the tray in the center. 　 "Why is he visiting?" she continues, "Did something happen between you at the ball? Is that what caused you to flee?" 　 You nod slowly with a mouth full of bread and jam as your father chuckles, his eyes sparkling in amusement. 　 "Perhaps, my dear, our daughter initially fled due to Mr. Lee, but she returned home last night overjoyed...that is more of the mystery to me." 　 Your mother turns to you, her eyes wild with curiosity. "Do you care to share with us?" 　 "Not really," you grumble, taking another bite of toast. 　 "(Y/N), we have the son of an earl coming to call on us for an unknown reason, and if you do happen to know why, I would greatly appreciate being informed, so I can appropriately plan!" she cries out, placing down her teaspoon with a sharp clink. 　 "My dear, surely the young man is coming to speak with (Y/N). Our company is not unexciting, but I cannot believe that Mr. Lee is paying us a visit at ten o'clock to play bridge and discuss Hume." 　 "Or, if he is," you add snarkily, "he probably wishes to do those things with me, not you." 　 "You know better than to think you can be unchaperoned with him, young lady," your mother hisses, "your reputation could be besmirched." 　 "How tragic," you mock, spreading more jam on your toast, "I think you forget, Mother, that Mr. Lee and I have spent time alone before...my personal tour of the library at Moorhead Park comes to mind." 　 "Nonsense," your mother snorts, "Mr. Mazzello was there to accompany you." 　 You raise your brows at her. "And you trust Mr. Mazzello as a chaperone? My, my, I must tell him that he has finally gained your respect." "I have never not respected the man," she sniffs, "I just find him to be poorly-mannered at times. He is charming, but it is plain that he was raised without learning proper etiquette." You bristle at your mother's haughty tone, ready to pick a fight, but your father swoops in to mediate. "Why are we discussing Mr. Mazzello, when it is Mr. Lee who is arriving shortly? And (Y/N) will not be unchaperoned, dearest, so please do not bemoan her reputation." "I will certainly not be chaperoned! I am not an infant!" 　 "We are all aware that you are a grown woman," he coolly responds, "but that is precisely why you must be accompanied. You may see Mr. Lee solely as a friend, but I can assure you, my dear, that he sees you in an entirely different light." 　 If only you knew how right you are, Father, you think to yourself, willing yourself to not let a smile creep onto your face thinking of Gwilym and the kiss by the lake. You know that this chaperoning battle is one you cannot and will not win, but the idea of speaking your mind to Gwilym in front of your mother makes your skin crawl.

"Fine," you grumble, "but if I must be chaperoned, I insist that it is Margie."

"As you wish, dearest," your father shrugs, taking a bite of sausage.

The next hour creeps slowly by. Your mother has imprisoned you in the parlor with her as she embroiders a handkerchief, waiting for Mr. Lee's arrival. Trying to occupy yourself, you read through the dictionary, the only book that you can find lying about.

Mollify.

Morganatic.

Mortuary. 

"So, how did you enjoy the ball?" your mother asks benignly, her fingers deftly navigating over the embroidery hoop on her lap.

"It was nice."

"Just nice?" she asks, quirking a brow at you, "you had a full dance card, I'm sure."

You hum in agreement, thumbing through the thin pages of the dictionary.

Your mother sighs, putting down her needle with exasperation at your lack of responsiveness. "With whom did you dance?"

"Mr. Lee, Father, the Earl, Mr. Berland, Mr. Dempsey," you list, "and both of the Americans in the room, Mr. Malek and Mr. Mazzello."

"Mr. Malek was quite a charming fellow," your mother nods, "and quite wealthy, I am told. He is a merchant in London, correct?"

"He imports fabric," you respond, "but I think he is rather smitten with Miss Boynton, so there is no need to press him on me, Mother. They will make a fine pair, I believe."

"I was not pressing him on you," she sniffs, resuming her embroidery, "I was just making conversation."

"Yes, like you are always 'just making conversation' about Mr. Lee and I," you grumble, flipping to the next page of the book rather aggressively.

"(Y/N), it is my prerogative to make sure my only child has a suitable marriage," she says sharply, "to ensure both your happiness and the continued success of our family and investments."

"Right, my happiness," you hiss, closing the dictionary with a loud snap, "and what if I was to tell you that I do not enjoy being your pawn? That Mr. Lee and I are determined to marry for love, and not simply due to obligation to our parents?"

Your mother smiles to herself as she runs the needle through the handkerchief, "So you and Mr. Lee are planning to marry?"

"That is not what I..." you begin, cursing yourself for inadvertently admitting Gwilym's motives for his morning visit, "I just mean, that if Mr. Lee and I do court, and we do decide to become engaged, that it is entirely of our own volition, and not due to your planning or meddling."

"Whatever you say, dearest," she replies, that insufferable smile still on her lips. You are about to snap at her again when you hear the doorbell ring and the shuffle of feet out in the hallway. Your mother adjusts her lace cap, motioning for you to sit up straight on the couch. A few moments later, Fitzgerald opens the parlor door, bowing to the two of you before clearing his throat to announce the visitor.

"Mr. Gwilym Lee, ma'am," he says to your mother, stepping back to let the tall gentleman into the room as the two of you rise to your feet.

"Baroness Woolmere, how lovely it is to see you," Gwilym says sweetly, bowing slightly to your mother.

"It is a pleasure to have you in our home, Mr. Lee," she responds with a curtsy, "won't you sit?"

"Actually, I was wondering if your daughter would like to accompany me on a walk this morning," he asks, turning his blue eyes to you and smiling softly, "the temperature and fresh air are most agreeable today."

You return his smile and open your mouth to respond, but your mother jumps in enthusiastically before you can.

"She would be delighted!" she says, motioning for the butler, "Fitzgerald, would you be so kind as to ask Margie to fetch a walking bonnet for (Y/N)?"

Fitzgerald nods and exits the parlor as your mother turns to Gwilym again, her eyes crinkling from her wide smile. "May I just say, Mr. Lee, that you looked quite dashing at the ball last night?"

"Thank you, Baroness, you are far too kind," he says, blushing slightly, "I think your daughter was far more enchanting than I."

His smile causes heat to rise in your cheeks, and you stare at your feet, embarrassed to be flattered so directly in front of your mother, who does not seem to mind in the slightest, clasping her hands together in poorly-concealed delight. Margie enters the parlor with a curtsy to the three of you, carrying one of your bonnets in her hands and offering it to you, and you quickly put it on and tie the ribbon under your chin. Gwilym offers his arm to you, which you take gently, smiling up at him shyly.

"I shall return Miss Woolmere safely, ma'am," he says to your mother, bowing his head to her one last time before heading out the parlor door with you on his arm, Margie tying her own bonnet in place as she follows the two of you outside. Fitzgerald offers Mr. Lee his top hat, which he places jauntily on his head, grinning down at you as you step into the grey mid-morning light.

"I was thinking that we could take a turn around the rose garden," Gwilym murmurs, "the blossoms smell so sweet."

You nod, allowing him to lead you down the path around the back of the house, his gloved hand placed over yours. Margie lingers far behind the two of you, knowing that you will greatly appreciate the space and privacy. Gwilym keeps glancing at you sideways, but you stare straight ahead, your mind racing as you try to formulate your answer to the question you know he is going to ask.

"It is a lovely day," Gwilym says lightly, trying to engage you in conversation.

"It is cloudy, Mr. Lee," you laugh, tilting your eyes to the sky.

"Please, (Y/N), you know you may call me by my first name," he insists, lightly squeezing your hand, "I want you to call me by my first name."

You silently nod your chin towards Margie, who is admiring the roses nearby, her eyes darting surreptitiously to you and Gwilym. He raises an eyebrow at you but nods anyways, continuing your slow stroll towards the gazebo in the center of the garden. The heady scent of your family's prized English roses fills your nose as you sit on the bench between the marble columns, the metal cool underneath you. Gwilym sits a respectable distance away, leaving a gap of nearly a foot between the two of you as he removes his soft leather riding gloves, placing them in his coat pocket.

"I presume you know why I am here," he starts softly, fiddling with a shiny button on the cuff of his jacket. You nod silently, your gaze flitting down to your hands, folded in your lap. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Gwilym move one of his hands towards yours, before hesitating and quickly returning it to his own lap, rubbing his thigh anxiously.

"I in no way mean to pressure you into an answer before you are ready, (Y/N)," he says, looking around for Margie, who is wandering at the far end of the garden, well out of earshot, "but I very much wish to court you. To show both you and the world how much I care for you. But first, I need your consent."

You continue to stare at your hands, feeling a few tears begin to well up.

"Or your refusal," he quickly adds, rubbing his thigh more intensely, "I will certainly respect either answer."

Two tears fall quickly from your eyes and you inhale sharply, rubbing at your eyes in at attempt to conceal them, but Gwilym notices, his eyes filling with worry.

"Oh, (Y/N), I did not mean to make you cry! If it is something I have said, I..."

"I am scared, Gwilym," you breathe out, finally looking up from your lap to focus on the roses on the column in front of you, "this is a big decision, and I am scared."

Gwilym sighs, reaching up to remove his top hat and placing it on the seat beside him.

"May I...may I touch you, (Y/N)?"

You nod, still willing yourself to stop crying as Gwilym reaches his hand for one of yours, gently rubbing his thumb across your knuckles in a soothing motion. The soft, repetitive motion gives you something to focus on and your breathing steadies, the tears fading from your eyes. It slowly dawns on you that this is the first time that you and Gwilym have held each other's hands with no layers of fabric to separate you, and you relish in the warmth of his skin. You feel the calluses on his hands from his labor in the stables, and the light friction from his thumb sends a shiver down your spine. With a deep breath, you turn, your eyes meeting his.

"Thank you," you sigh, squeezing his hand lightly. He squeezes back, a reassuring smile on his lips.

"Of course," he murmurs, "I only wish for you to be happy, (Y/N). I apologize if I have done anything to scare you."

You shake your head, placing your other hand on top of the entwined hands in your lap. "You have done nothing wrong, Gwilym. I am not scared of you. I am scared of the future."

"I know, darling, but I will be right by your side for every step of the journey," he says, "if you will let me."

The term of endearment sends a ripple of warmth through your body, a slight smile turning up the corners of your mouth. Gwilym sees and smiles back, raising his other hand to caress your cheek for a moment before darting it away, seeing Margie come into view again. She smiles at the two of you briefly, pointedly averting her gaze from the two of you sitting in the gazebo.

"When I look into your eyes, (Y/N), I see my future. What I wish for, most ardently, is for you to see yours in mine. If you will permit me, I wish to court you, to show you how passionately I feel for you without hiding it from the world. But I need to know you want this, too. Do you?"

His blue eyes bore into yours imploringly, his thumb still rubbing over your hand as you shakily inhale, closing your eyes. Just one week ago, this scenario had never even crossed your mind, your resentment of your parents' meddling too strong to entertain the idea of having feelings for the young Mr. Lee. But here you are, sitting in the rose garden, with your kind, elegant, and caring friend proposing courtship. There is an undeniable emotional intimacy between the two of you, formed from years of familiarity, but is that love? Can it become love?

Suddenly, a new image flashes through your mind. Mr. Mazzello's confident smile and the sensation of his hand on your back during the waltz fills your senses, sending a shiver down your spine. You had never felt such magnetic attraction ever before, his very presence on the dance floor intoxicating you. Perhaps, if circumstances were different…

No. You shake your head softly, purging the auburn-haired man from your thoughts. There is no world in which you and Mr. Mazzello could ever be together. It is impossible. Besides, you and Gwilym shared that electric kiss by the lake. Surely your reaction to that is an indicator of your feelings for him. Accepting his proposal of courtship is a decision that will please everyone, especially your parents. Perhaps, over time, you will grow to truly love Gwilym, to see him as not only a friend but a true partner, and to care for him as he so clearly cares for you. You slowly reopen your eyes, turning to look at Gwilym steadily and confidently.

"Yes."

* * *

As June slips away and July springs to life, oppressing the countryside with burning heat, Gwilym showers you with tokens of his devotion. Messengers from Moorhead Park deliver bouquets of flowers nearly every day, always accompanied by a letter filled with sweet nothings from your beau. A few times per week, the two of you find a moment to meet for a walk around your estates or for tea, always accompanied by a chaperone. On more than one occasion, your mother has nearly shrieked with delight at seeing Gwilym hold your hand, and the Earl has given his son a fair share of knowing looks over a cup of Darjeeling. At an evening assembly in Ashwick Heath, you and Gwilym danced three dances together, setting the room alight with gossip of your impending, assured engagement.

The one individual who has barely been seen since your courtship with Gwilym began is Joseph. The Lee's American cousin has been frequently away from Moorhead Park, staying often with his new friend Mr. Malek in London, making acquaintances with the high and mighty of English society. The few times you have seen him, he has tentatively approached you, only to have you pointedly avoid him by walking away. You have not spoken with him since the Moorhead Park ball and do not wish to. Gwilym told you all you needed to know about his cousin's intent towards you, and you have no desire to continue a friendship with a dishonest man. However, despite your anger towards him, you are still undoubtedly attracted to Mr. Mazzello, missing his easy laughter and sharp wit during society dinners and dances.

But you have Gwilym. He has proven to be as sweet and considerate as you could have ever dreamed of a suitor, and the past month has drawn you closer to him than you thought possible. On your walks, you have begun to share your deepest secrets with him, and he, in turn, has also confided in you, letting you see past the polished, gentlemanly shell into his heart. That is why you are now primping and preening yourself in front of the vanity mirror in your room, twisting your hair into an elegant chignon and fastening it with the gorgeous, emerald encrusted pins that Gwilym gifted to you last week. Tonight's dinner at Moorhead Park is particularly important for you and your beau, since a long-absent face is returning to Ashwick Heath. Alexander is home. You know that Gwilym is nervous for his elder brother's return, as he has become increasingly taciturn and anxious since learning the news. His hair is almost always mussed from running his fingers through it, and his letters have become shorter and less frequent. You want to be as supportive as you can be, but it is hard when you have hardly any idea as to why Gwilym is acting this way. Yesterday, he visited you for a brief walk around the garden, where he expressed his frustration with his mother's perfectionism surrounding this arrival celebration for Alexander before ducking inside to speak with your father, likely about the dinner plans. As he left the house, Gwilym kissed your hand, his eyes still anxious but smiling sweetly at you as he bid you farewell. It still feels strange to be smitten with your childhood friend, but you are slowly getting used to it. Your father's faint call from downstairs summons you to leave for Moorhead Park, so with a final glance in the mirror, you smooth your dress and slip on your shoes, heading out the door and gliding down the stairs to your waiting parents, who smile widely at you before walking to the carriage outside. "You look lovely this evening, my dear," your father hums as he helps you into the black chaise, "I am sure Mr. Lee will be quite complimentary." "He always is," you smile. Your father chortles and pats you affectionately on the arm, giving your mother a knowing smile across the carriage as the driver starts towards Moorhead Park. Just several minutes later, the horses halt in the gravel driveway of the manor, and a footman clad in fine livery darts out to open the door for your family, holding his hand out to you to assist in your descent from the carriage. As always, Reeves welcomes you into the manor with a deep bow and a smile before escorting you all to the parlor, which is already alive with chatter from the assembled guests. There are more guests than you anticipated, expecting this to be a more intimate family dinner for Alexander. At least a dozen people are standing around the elegant parlor, sipping Madeira as they converse. You see several Naval officers in uniform, their gold and blue suits striking in comparison to the other men's plainer evening suits. From across the room, Gwilym spots you and trots over, beaming brightly as he offers you his arm. You accept with a smile of your own, waving to your parents as Gwilym leads you back towards the people he was talking to just moments ago.

"You look ravishing tonight, darling," Gwilym mutters, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand as an undetectable gesture of affection.

"Thank you, Gwilym," you breathe back, squeezing his arm lightly. He brings you over to a small circle of gentlemen, two in naval uniforms and one in a smart burgundy-colored evening suit. All three men incline their heads to you as you walk up to them, and while still holding to Gwilym, you curtsy back, smiling.

"Gentlemen, may I introduce Miss (Y/N) Woolmere, daughter of the Baron and Baroness Woolmere?" your beau says, looking down at you with a doting smile.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss," the man in the burgundy suit says, taking your free hand and kissing it lightly, "Peter Lensdale, at your service."

"Peter and I went to school together," Gwilym informs you, "and he is the next in line to inherit the title of Marquess of Lensdale."

"Don't go telling your woman that, Gwil, she might leave you for Peter here," one of the men in uniform jokes, shoving Gwilym's shoulder. Gwilym makes a slightly disgruntled face before turning back to you.

"And that fine gentleman is my brother, Alexander, who I am sure you remember," he grumbles, holding tighter to your arm as Alexander bows dramatically to you.

"Charmed, I'm sure," the brunette drawls, grinning cheekily up at you as he plants a long kiss on your knuckles. The other officer chuckles from behind pursed lips as you retract your hand politely yet firmly.

"It has been a long time since we have seen each other, Captain --"

"Commodore Lee, actually," Alexander preens, not-so-subtly adjusting the gold epaulets on his uniform, "and yes, it has been several years, I think. You are how old now? Nineteen?"

"Twenty," you gently correct, "I'm sure I was not yet sixteen the last time we met."

"You have certainly grown into a beautiful and impressive young woman," he affirms, turning to his brother, "young Gwilym is a lucky man, landing the catch of the county."

Gwilym blushes scarlet, scowling at his elder brother, who is chuckling to the officer beside him. Mr. Lensdale offers you a sympathetic grimace, undoubtedly more familiar than you with the dynamic between the Lee brothers, as you politely smile around the circle and rub Gwilym's arm, hoping to soothe him.

"And I do not believe we have been introduced yet, sir," you say sweetly, extending your hand towards the unknown officer next to Alexander, who eagerly takes it and kisses it sloppily.

"Lieutenant Porton, Miss," he grins, giggling. Gwilym stares down his nose at the officer, clearly disapproving of his behavior towards you. After a few moments of awkward silence, Lieutenant Porton excuses himself to go get a drink, wincing under Gwilym's icy glare. As your beau strikes up a conversation with Peter and Alexander, you take a moment to glance around the room, searching for familiar faces. Your parents are conversing with the Earl and Countess, as well as the village pastor and his wife, who are all darting their eyes towards you and Gwilym intermittently. You recognize Mr. Dempsey as well, who smiles and inclines his head to you as he catches your gaze, a gesture you politely return. The rest of the ladies and gentlemen in the room are strangers to you, a majority of them being naval officers, surely friends and acquaintances of Alexander. You are about to turn back to the conversation being held in your little circle when a familiar head of auburn hair catches your eye.

Mr. Mazzello is sitting by himself on one of the parlor couches, a glass of Madeira in his hand as he stares around the room, his hazel eyes widening as he meets your gaze. He quickly waves at you, and the sight of his pearly white smile, which you haven't seen in weeks, sends a little pang to your heart. Despite the enthusiasm in his greeting, his eyes look tired, sad almost, and you find yourself wishing you could sit with him and talk about everything that has happened in the past few weeks.

But playing with snakes only leads to being bitten, so you stay at Gwilym's side, turning back to the gentlemen in front of you without so much as a smile to Mr. Mazzello, who you can see slump, discouraged, back into the couch in your periphery. After a few fun stories from Peter about Gwilym as a school boy and some embarrassed rebuttals from your beau, the two old friends decide to go get refreshment before the start of dinner, leaving you alone with Alexander. "So, how did my gangly brother manage to seduce the most eligible woman in our circle, hmm?" Alexander asks, polishing off the last of his wine. You feel your cheeks heat up at his impertinence, but do not shy away, already sensing that Alexander is a man who takes great pleasure in ridiculing those that he deems less than himself. "Perhaps your brother has more merits than you are aware of, Commodore." Alexander snorts into his glass, the pinkness of his cheeks apparent. "Oh? Merits beyond our massive fortune and estate? I am sure you are aware that all belongs to me once Father dies. Little Gwilly is getting nary a penny from me, so if you were marrying him for money, I suggest breaking off the engagement." "We are not yet engaged," you mutter darkly, "and I am certainly not a fortune-hunter, if that is what you are implying, sir. I happen to find Gwilym to be a most kind and charming man." 　 "Your standards are far too low, Miss Woolmere," Alexander tuts patronizingly, "but, tragically, that is what happens when one never leaves the countryside. My brother has hardly stepped a foot outside of Ashwick Heath since returning from schooling, and now he wastes away his days with those infernal horses. What kind of a man would wish to stay here in the monotony of country life when they could sail the open seas, travelling the world?" "Gwilym is more than enough of a man for me," you spit venomously. Alexander smirks at you, his hand drifting from his waist to the fabric of his white breeches, resting his palm against his front. "Perhaps, Miss Woolmere, you need to raise your standards in that arena as well." Your cheeks are burning and Alexander notes your embarrassment, grinning like a cat with a mouse caught between its claws. He is taking great pleasure in making you squirm. You glance around for Gwilym and see he is now engaged in a discussion with your father, who is patting the younger gentleman heartily on the back as they laugh together. Alexander follows your gaze and leans closer to you, the scent of Madeira souring on his breath. "You know, if my parents had not coddled Gwilym's feelings so, our betrothal would never have been broken." You step away from him, nose wrinkling at his foul breath. "Our betrothal?" 　 "Oh, no one told you?" he snarls, curling his lip at you, "when you were no older than eleven, your parents promised mine that you would marry me. I had no taste for that match, obviously...you are far too much of a bookish prude for me. But I have a strong sense of duty to my parents, and a wife is a wife." 　 You feel frozen in place, your breathing becoming increasingly shallow as Alexander continues. 　 "When I enlisted in the navy four years ago, my worm of a brother bemoaned his undying feelings for you to Mother and Father. As always, he coveted what I had, and he always was Father's favorite. Not that I mind. If Gwilym is infatuated with you and you feel the same, clearly you are not the woman I thought you could be." "You're drunk," you hiss, numbness washing over you as your mind reels. Gwilym has had feelings for you for four years? Your parents promised you to this hateful, pompous man, and never said anything? 　 "Obviously," Alexander smirks, waving his glass around. You look around for Gwilym again, but he has since disappeared and your parents are preoccupied with the Countess. However, the idea of staying in Alexander's presence for any longer makes you sick, so you begin to walk away. He catches your wrist, pulling you closer to whisper harshly in your ear. "If you ever find yourself looking for a real man, you know where to find me, (Y/N)."

Putting on the mightiest scowl you can muster, you yank your arm away and walk swiftly to the other side of the room, trying to put as much distance between yourself and Alexander as you can. Your breathing is still shallow and ragged from panic, and you put your hand lightly on your chest, willing yourself to calm down. You need to sit down. 

Unfortunately, the only available seat in the room is next to Mr. Mazzello. You can feel his eyes on you as you sit delicately next to him on the silk-covered couch, careful not to make eye contact or any social overtures that would allow him to speak to you. After all, as a commoner, he is not permitted to address you before you address him. Not that that has ever stopped him before.

Surprisingly, Joseph holds his tongue, his fingers drumming lightly on the base of his crystal wine glass as he continues to stare anxiously at you. It is painfully obvious that he is simply dying to speak with you, but you decide to torture him a bit, staring into the fire in the hearth, trying to even out your breathing. You fiddle with your lacy fan, tapping the ivory handle gently against your leg as you trace the delicate carvings on the side, knowing that the American's eyes are following your fingers. Joseph opens and closes his mouth a few times, letting out an almost imperceptible whine. He truly is desperate. Maybe it is time to let him out of his misery.

"Good evening, Mr. Mazzello," you mutter quietly, still staring at the fan in your lap. Joseph sighs, relieved you have given him the tiniest amount of permission to speak, and he takes a sip of wine before capitalizing on this opportunity.

"It is wonderful to see you again, Miss Woolmere," he says with urgency, as if he is afraid you will stand up and walk away, "you look lovely tonight, as always."

Your heart swells at his compliment, but you try to maintain your cool, simply humming in acknowledgement. After all, this is a man who hurt you. No matter how alluring you find him, your heart's pride and protection comes first. Not to mention your loyalty to Gwilym.

Joseph continues to speak, seemingly unbothered by your cold response. "It has been so long since we have spoken, and I greatly miss your company, if I may be so bold as to admit that."

Your gaze flicks up to meet his, attempting to chastise him for his boldness, but his hazel eyes simply shine at the eye contact, the familiar toothy smile returning to his face.

"Well, you have been away. You have chosen to forsake my company," you murmur, looking back at the fire. It was not meant to sound so bitter, so heartbroken, but your words betray feelings you did not think you held. Inadvertently, you have just admitted to yourself and to Joseph just how profoundly he has hurt you, and both of you are equally shocked by your quiet admission.

"I only stayed away because I thought you wanted me gone," Joseph says, tracing the rim of his glass, "I do not know what I did, but at the ball..."

"Gwilym told me why you were so friendly towards me," you spit out, trying desperately to shove away the feelings bubbling up inside, "he told me why you came to Ashwick Heath."

Joseph freezes, his eyes darkening as he glances towards Gwilym before turning back to you. "And what reason did my cousin give?"

"He told me that you are here in England to land yourself a rich, hopefully titled wife. That you saw me as the perfect little fool who would gamble with her family's respectability for a handsome man.”

“So you think I am handsome?” Joseph smirks, attempting to add a little humor to the conversation.

“Clearly not enough, as I came to my senses,” you snap back, immediately wiping the smile from Joseph’s lips.

"And it never occurred to you that my cousin would lie to you? That perhaps he had motivation to get you to distrust me, so you would flee to his arms?"

"That is a bold accusation, sir," you hiss, "Gwilym has been nothing less than a saint to me for years. Of course I would trust him over a practical stranger."

The fire fades from Joseph's eyes, replaced by that same tired sadness from earlier.

"Will I always be a stranger to you?"

"I know that you are 24 years old. I know you come from New York. Usually, friends know more than that," you shrug.

"So what would you like to know?"

"Why are you really here?"

Joseph leans back into the couch cushions with a sigh, placing his glass of Madeira on the side table as he scratches his chin. "It is quite a long story."

"I appear to have the time," you snip back, gesturing around the room at the assembled guests, all still involved in their own conversations. Joseph chuckles wryly, rubbing his thighs quickly before turning back to you.

"Alright. I shall tell you. But all I ask, Miss Woolmere, is that you suspend judgement. I know that may be difficult for you..."

You roll your eyes, trying in vain to keep a tiny smile from gracing your lips, "Just tell me, Mr. Mazzello."

He holds his hands up in a gesture of surrender, chuckling again. "I do not wish to be secretive about my life, especially towards you, but certain circumstances of my life back in New York...were deemed inappropriate for polite society. This journey to England was supposed to be a fresh start. For both me and my family."

You nod slowly, worry starting to creep in. All those weeks ago, when Joseph came to your house for tea, you had teased him about his flight from New York by listing all the outlandish scenarios you could imagine, but you had not been serious. Surely Joseph could not have done any of those things. But if he is hoping for a fresh start here...whatever he has done must have been terrible.

"My parents have made it clear to me that I am a disappointment to them. I just...do not fit the mold of who they expect me to be. I think, in some ways, they would prefer if I never returned home."

"You are scaring me, Mr. Mazzello, please..." you whimper, suddenly overtaken with the urge to hold him, but restraining yourself, "please...why are you here?"

He shifts closer to you, his eyes shining with pain. "I fraternized below my station, Miss Woolmere. I committed social suicide. All I wanted was to help him."

"Help who?" you ask, barely above a whisper.

"Last year, one of my father's relatives from Italy appeared on our doorstep, near starving. He had survived the treacherous journey across the ocean with only the shirt on his back and a letter from the man in Manhattan who was supposed to employ him. But when he arrived, the business was shuttered and the employer gone, disappeared without a trace. In America, immigrants are treated worse than dirt, despite it being a country founded by children of immigrants. I was sitting in the parlor when my father answered the door and turned the man away, despite his pleas. He insisted we could not have an Italian vagrant hanging around us, polluting our reputation."

"But there is no peerage system in America...and your father himself came from Italy, did he not?"

"Yes," Joseph growls, "and he had to shed every ounce of his identity to fight his way into New York society. By some miracle, he married my mother...to our credit, we have fewer reservations surrounding marriage and class in the States than you do here, but it is purely by my mother's family background that my father was able to integrate like he wished."

"So why...?"

"Why did he turn his own relative away? Because he was scared. Because he lacks compassion. Because he cannot remember what it was like to be alone in a new land," Joseph sighs quietly, a single tear dripping from his eye. He rubs it away quickly, clenching his jaw and staring at his hands in his lap.

"But I am not a coward, Miss Woolmere. At least, I try not to be. So I found Angelo and gave him a loan, helped him find lodgings, and took him to dinner, as a gesture of hospitality."

"How did that ruin you?" you ask softly, "if anything, I would see that as a noble act, a demonstration of gentlemanly compassion."

"If only the world was full of angels like you," Joseph murmurs, wringing his hands together. "There are eyes everywhere in New York. Someone saw me with my cousin and sold the story to a rag newspaper, which printed all kinds of derogatory slander about me and poor Angelo. Our entire family was shunned...uninvited from the Governor's Ball, barred from society events...even my sister's suitor broke off their engagement. Through one act of compassion, I single-handedly destroyed all my father's hard work, and I do not believe he will ever forgive me."

A few more tears begin to fall from his eyes but Joseph makes no effort to wipe them away, too immersed in his memories to pay any attention. Your heart feels like it is being strangled, the tightness in your chest causing tears to prick at the corners of your eyes as well. Impulsively, you reach out and wipe away one of the fat tears pooling on Joseph's chin, feeling the scratch of his stubble on the pad of your thumb. Joseph jumps at the contact, his eyes demisting and locking on yours as he grabs your wrist, gently but firmly removing your hand from his face.

"I...I'm sorry," you stammer, quickly moving your hand back to your lap and fiddling with your fan again, "I should not have done that."

Joseph nods quickly, rubbing away his tears and exhaling sharply.

"That whole catastrophe is why I have not pursued you further, despite my deep desire to do so. I would never wish the pain and isolation that I have experienced on anyone, especially not you. You deserve the world, Miss Woolmere...not a disgraced merchant's son. Gwilym is the perfect choice for you."

You have no response, completely overwhelmed by his story and his confession. A tempest of emotions is raging in your head, your heart tossing about like a little ship on the dark, stormy waters. That night at the ball...Joseph must have felt the same way you did during that waltz. His warm eyes and entrancing smile were not purely induced by the Madeira, and were not falsified. He truly feels for you, and despite your best attempts, you somehow feel for him, too.

"Joseph, I..."

His eyes widen in surprise, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

"Did you just call me --"

Before you can say anything else, you hear the telltale sound of someone tapping a teaspoon against their glass. All heads in the room whip around as the ambient chatter dies down, searching for the source of the noise. The crowd shifts to reveal Gwilym, standing between his father and yours with a brilliant grin on his face, holding the wine glass aloft.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to thank you all for joining us this evening to celebrate my brother Alexander's return to Moorhead Park. He is grateful, I am sure, for your company and your cheer, as are we all."

The assembled guests all smile and lift their glasses to toast, but Gwilym raises his other hand to stop them, his eyes searching the crowd.

"However, before we all adjourn to the dining room for dinner, I have an important announcement to make. Where is Miss Woolmere?"

You freeze, eyes widening as several people move out of the way to reveal your position on the couch to Gwilym, who gestures for you to join him at the front of the room.

"Come, darling, come stand with me," he insists, beckoning you over. You stand quickly and walk over to him, shooting both him and your father quizzical looks. Gwilym takes your gloved hand in his, looking down briefly at your entwined fingers with a soft smile before lifting his head again to address the crowd.

"Yesterday, I went to speak with Baron Woolmere about asking for his daughter's hand in marriage, and I am most pleased to say that he has accepted, and we have begun drafting terms of a prenuptial agreement. My beloved (Y/N) and I are now engaged to be married, and I do believe I am the happiest man in England tonight, if not the entire world!”

Cheers and applause go up from the crowd, but all you can hear is blood pounding in your ears, the world seeming to slow around you as you look around in panic. Your mother and father look positively euphoric, grinning as your father shakes hands with the Earl. A chorus of congratulations rings out as the assembled guests converge on you and your now-fiance, crushing the two of you in a flurry of enthusiastic hand shakes and well-wishes. Through the claustrophobic crush, you make eye contact with Joseph, who is still sitting on the couch, his hazel eyes staring back at you with a mix of concern and sadness as he knocks back the last of his Madeira, wincing at the burn.

This cannot be happening. Not here. Not now. You look up at Gwilym for reassurance, that this must certainly be a joke...a dream, even. It has to be. Why else would he not have asked you for your consent? In what world would sweet, considerate Gwilym not discuss engagement with you before your father? Despite a gentle tug on his arm, Gwilym does not look down at you, his eyes trained on someone across the room. When you follow his gaze, you see it is on Alexander, whose mouth is set in a firm scowl, his wine glass held up in a mock toast to his brother. Gwilym's expression oozes haughtiness, and for the second time this summer, you see his competitive nature rear its head. He has won you, finally besting his brother. For the second time that night, the actions of one of the Lee brothers make you feel sick.

You try to pull away to free yourself from the crowd, but Gwilym holds tight to your hand, laughing with Mr. Lensdale, who claps his friend firmly on the shoulder. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Joseph stand and exit the parlor, casting one more forlorn glance your way before shutting the door softly behind him.

When did your life cease to be your own?

~~~~~~~~~

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[ladylillianrose]

Extraordinarily Star-Crossed a Max Richman/Zoey Clarke Fanfiction

A/N:Thank you everyone for all your comments and support! We are entering the last era before we make it to modern-day! @clarkemanotp​ and I really do appreciate all your love for this story! This tale truly is a labor of love!

Atlantic Ocean, April 1912 Chapter 1

Paris, France 1792 Chapter 6

Paris, France 1792 Chapter 5

Paris, France 1792 Chapter 4

Paris, France 1792 Chapter 3

Paris, France 1792 Chapter 2

Paris, France 1792 Chapter 1

Florence, Italy 1485 Chapter 6 

Florence, Italy 1485 Chapter 5 

Florence, Italy 1485 Chapter 4 

Florence, Italy 1485 Chapter 3

Florence, Italy 1485 Chapter 2

Florence, Italy 1485 Chapter 1

Greece 382 B.C.E. Chapter 6

Greece 382 B.C.E. Chapter 5

Greece 382 B.C.E. Chapter 4

Greece 382 B.C.E. Chapter 3

Greece 382 B.C.E. Chapter 2

Greece 382 B.C.E. Chapter 1

The Underworld

"What I don't understand is how you found yourself in this situation in the first place," Mo said, threading a rather large needle.

"Someone didn't meet me at our previously arranged time," Leif muttered.

"Where is he, by the way? You all are normally back by now."

"I heard something about him falling in love with a mortal. He's probably spending her last few years by her side," Leif explained.

"Awww, our little Tobin, all grown up and falling in love. You think it will make him more mature?" Mo grinned, holding his measuring tape to Leif's torso.

Leif snorted, "Not a chance."

As though summoned by their discussion of him, Tobin waltzed into the room. "Bro, what happened to you?" he gestured at Leif's headless body.

Leif's head rolled his eyes from its position on Mo's worktable. "Oh, this? It's nothing just a minor run-in with THE GUILLOTINE!!"

Tobin winced as Leif yelled at him, "I looked for you when we arrived in Paris. You were supposed to meet me at the docks on August 2nd! We got there and you were nowhere to be found!"

Leif's head frowned, "No, you were supposed to meet me there August 1st! And when you didn't arrive, I was arrested and beheaded under suspicion of being an English spy!"

Tobin couldn't help the snicker that escaped his lips, "So, what you're saying is that you got there ahead of me?"

Leif sighed, "Here we go…"

"No, seriously man. I'm sorry we got the dates mixed up. But really, it's nothing to lose your head over."

Mo chuckled as he began sewing Lief's head back onto his body.

"Must you continue?" Leif rolled his eyes, trying his best to ignore Tobin's antics.

"I've got one more joke, though it may go over your head!" Tobin collapsed onto the sofa laughing at his own wit.

"And to think you're leaving me alone with him," Leif groused at Mo.

Mo made the final stitch to Leif before responding. "It's my turn to offer my expertise to our young couple. Besides, have you seen the hats they wore then? I was not going to pass up a chance to snag one of them!"

"On the off chance that things go wrong this time, we may need to consider a new plan to break Aphrodite's curse," Leif suggested, inspecting Mo's handiwork in the mirror.

Mo and Tobin nodded in agreement.

"I hate to say it, but it may be time to talk to them," all three of them shuddered at the prospect.

"If and only if, things do not go well this time, do we involve them," Mo stated as he grabbed his bag. "I've got a good feeling about things this time around," he grinned at the other two and walked out the door.

"Sorry about all those jokes, bro," Tobin apologized to Leif.

Leif waved him off, "It's to be expected."

"I hadn't even thought of them before, they were all just off the top of my head!"

Leif groaned, "It's going to be an unbearable era!"

________________________________________________________________

Queenstown, Ireland April 11, 1912

Cordelia Haughey nee Murphy stood staring in awe at the large ship, her eyes wide with wonder at how something that large could even stay afloat.

"Excited, Delia?" her husband Andrew asked, as he smiled at her. Setting down their bags he wrapped his arms around her waist lovingly.

Cordelia sighed, enjoying the feel of his strong arms around her. She tilted her head and brushed a kiss along his cheek.

"I can't believe we're actually going to New York on that ship!"

"It's our chance for a whole new start," Andrew said, a slight frown marring his handsome features.

Reaching up, Corelia caressed his cheek, "Come now my love, this is our honeymoon. Don't let thoughts of the past cloud our joy."

Andrew's face softened, he kissed the palm of her hand, and lovingly ran his fingers along with her simple gold wedding band. "I'm sorry, my heart. I just wish…."

Cordelia nodded, "I know, love. I know."

________________________________________________________________

Their families had been against the match from the start. The Murphy's were a proud Irish family, rarely did they stray far from the land they had farmed for generations. Cordelia had been expected to marry a good Irish lad and settle to raise their family nearby, ensuring the next generation of Murphy's grew up near their roots. This was the way things had always been with the Murphy's, so why should Cordelia expect her future to be any different? But as soon as she met Andrew, she knew that fate had other plans in store for her.

Andrew Haughey had been sent by his father to investigate a small parcel of land willed to their client. Letters had been sent informing the landowners of his pending visit, but there had been no response, which explained the lack of a welcoming committee at the train station. Never one to be deterred, Andrew grabbed his bag and began walking down the dirt road. He had dutifully studied the map of the property in question, so finding the farm proved to be a simple task. He arrived at the farm, just as a young woman with hair the color of flames, stormed out of the chicken coop.

"Fine! Keep your damned eggs, you spiteful old biddies!" she yelled, giving the door a kick for good measure.

Andrew unsuccessfully tried to stifle a laugh, as the young woman turned, her cheeks flushed at her outburst being overheard.

"I'm so sorry, I had no idea anyone was nearby!" she apologized, refusing to meet his eyes.

Andrew smiled and waved off her apology, "I should be the one apologizing, I didn't mean to startle you."

She smiled and looked up at him for the first time, his breath caught at the piercing blue of her eyes. "I'm Cordelia Murphy," she said, introducing herself.

"It’s a pleasure, Miss Murphy, I'm Andrew Haughey."

"What brings you out to my family's farm, Mr. Haughey? Your accent places you a long way from home," Cordelia gestured for him to follow her towards the house.

"Well, I'm here to speak to your father about a small part of the farm that was left to a client of mine," Andrew explained awkwardly. "I had written to inform him of my arrival but…."

"I see," Cordelia frowned. "Do you have a place to stay, while you conduct your business?"

He blushed, "I must confess that I had not planned that far ahead. There was an inn not too far back that I'll see if I can rent a room at."

"Father has gone to the city for supplies and won't return for at least a week. In the meantime, you are welcome to stay in the farmhand's bunkhouse." 

Cordelia glanced at the attractive man next to her, hoping he would say yes. He was handsome to be sure, but there was something more that drew her toward him, as though their hearts already knew each other.

Andrew was taken aback by her offer, "I appreciate that, but I doubt that would endear me any further to your father if he learned that I was here with you alone."

Cordelia laughed, "Oh, I'm not here alone! It's almost impossible to be alone when you're a Murphy."

"Then where is everyone?"

"My mother just returned from checking on my brother's wife, she's nearing time for the baby to be born. They live just in that house over there," she pointed to a small house nearby. "Then there's my sister and her family who live in that one, just over the hill. And my younger brothers and sister still live with Mam, Da, and I in the larger house just here."

"You must all be very close with one another," Andrew observed, taking in how close all the properties were to the main house.

Cordelia smiled, "We are, though a moment or two alone wouldn't go amiss."

Andrew let out a chuckle and nodded in agreement.

Opening the door to the large house, Cordelia placed her empty egg basket on the bench and hung up her shawl.

"Mam?" she called.

"In the kitchen!" 

"You can set your bag right on that bench there. Take a seat, and I'll be right back," Cordelia headed in the direction of what he assumed was the kitchen.

Andrew wandered around the small living room, enjoying the warmth and coziness it exuded. He frowned as he imagined the look of disdain his father would have at such simple furnishings.

"Who are you?" he heard a small voice ask from behind him. Turning he saw a young girl, roughly 5 years old, staring at him in confusion.

He bent down to her eye level, "My name is Andrew Haughey, what's yours?"

"Norah Murphy," she stated proudly.

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Norah," Andrew smiled as he shook her small hand.

"You sound funny," Norah said wrinkling her nose.

He chuckled, "Ahh, that would be because I'm from a place called Scotland."

Norah's eyes widened and she opened her mouth to ask another question.

"Norah Claire!" a voice interrupted. "Leave our guest alone, and come wash up for supper!"

"Yes, Mam!" Norah quickly ran to the kitchen to follow her mother's instructions, nearly running into Cordelia in the process. 

"Come, I'll show you where you can get cleaned up. Then I'll take you to the bunkhouse after supper," she smiled at him. Andrew smiled in return, Cordelia's heart skipped a beat.

________________________________________________________________

By the time Cordelia's father had returned from the city, Andrew and Cordelia were smitten with one another. Andrew had sent a telegram to his father to tell him of his attachment, saying that he hoped when he returned home that it would be with Cordelia as his wife.

Robert Haughey was less than pleased with the news he received from his son. He replied immediately, stating that under no circumstances was he to bring some Irish farm girl home as his bride. He was to return home at once and Robert would send someone else to deal with the Murphy property.

Andrew was furious, how dare his father orders him around as though he were a disobedient child. He was an adult, free to love and marry whomsoever he chose.

Cordelia was facing a similar disagreement with her parents.

"I will not have my daughter marrying some Scottish lawyer, and running off to Lord knows where!" her father thundered. "You are a Murphy, it's your duty to stay here on our land, marry and raise a family!"

"But that's not what I want!" Cordelia cried. "That's what you want for me! I love Andrew, and he loves me! I'd rather be anywhere in the world with him than trapped here on this awful farm!" She stormed out of the house, racing across the field to the bunkhouse.

Andrew opened the door and Cordelia threw herself into his arms sobbing.

"Delia, what's happened?" he asked, concerned.

"They don't care that I love you and you love me, it's not what Murphys do. Being a Murphy means being trapped here on this godforsaken farm, never to have a moment’s peace," she bit out between sobs.

Andrew frowned, "My father shares a similar sentiment."

"What are we going to do? I won't give you up, not when I've just found you," she declared firmly. 

"Nor I, you," he replied, dropping a kiss on her forehead. 

"We could leave, together…," Cordelia suggested, quietly.

"Start a new life somewhere else?" Andrew mused.

"Yes! We could get married, and find a ship that's traveling far away from here, where no one knows our families! Just you and me, a fresh start!" Cordelia's eyes sparkled as she looked at him eagerly.

"I've heard stories about a ship leaving next month for New York. It's departing from Queenstown, I'm sure we could still manage to book passage on it!" Andrew explained, quickly warming up to the idea.

"Then what are we waiting for!" Cordelia excitedly peppered his face with kisses.

Andrew laughed, "Go pack your bags, my darling. Once everyone is asleep we'll leave, and when we board the ship in Queenstown, it will be as man and wife!"

________________________________________________________________

*BWAAAHHPP!*

The ship's horn blasted, pulling Cordelia from her musings.

"I do believe that's our cue," Andrew smiled at her, moving to gather their bags. Weaving expertly through the crowd, Cordelia followed him closely, practically jumping with excitement. This ship would take them to begin their new lives in New York. A whole new adventure awaited them on the other side of the ocean, and they would face it together. As they boarded the ship, Cordelia felt a weight lift off her shoulders. They were finally free. 

________________________________________________________________

A/N:

Andrew Haughey, a Scottish Lawyer (traveling 2nd class)- Max Cordelia Murphy, an Irish farmer's daughter, newly married to Andrew (traveling 2nd class)- Zoey Alexis Howard, an English singer and entertainer (traveling 2nd class)- Mo

[bee-kathony]

Fraser Memorial | Ch. 1 “Sutures”

Thank you @sassenachwaffles for being my beta on this chapter and thank you @jules-fraser for approving of my pictures and indulging me as I started another fic! 

2015 | Scotland

The emergency room had been quiet all morning, only three people had come in with minor injuries that were fixed in minutes. My fingers ached to suture someone’s skin, fix a broken nose... anything that would take my focus off of my ex.

Frank Randall had cheated on me. Simple as that.

But it wasn’t simple, he was my fiancé, we’d been together for six years and had plans. Hopes and dreams that involved us buying a house, getting married, children… he ruined them when he slept with one of his students. A history professor at Oxford University, Frank had wooed me in my last year of school. He was a new professor and I was smitten with the teacher.

I should have known that something like this could have happened.

I was once the student, crushing on their professor, hoping he would ask to see me after class so we could talk those extra five minutes without anyone else around.

It’d only been three months since I found out he was sleeping with her and in that short time I had relocated to Edinburgh to get away from him and my shattered dreams. Thankfully the hospital accepted my transfer. It was rare that they would take on a resident from another hospital, especially since I was English.

I glanced down at my watch, only ten minutes had passed since I’d last checked it. Sighing, I ran my hand through my mass of curls, getting my finger stuck in a knot. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” I cursed, yanking my hand and managing to make matters worse.

“Ye need scissors?” Geillis, a fellow resident, asked from behind the nurses station.

I huffed, “No, thank you. I’ve almost,” I pulled a bit more, “Got it!” My hand came free and only a few loose strands drifted to the white tiled floor.

“Ye ever think about cutting it? Yer hair?” Geillis pointed to my bird’s nest.

Shaking my head, I pulled my hair tie off my wrist and started putting it in a messy bun, “I would look horrific if I cut my hair,” I laughed, tucking loose bits into the bun. “They would stick out even more, if that’s even possible.”

“Aye, yer probably right.” She laughed and then we both turned our heads to the emergency room doors that were now opening with a bang. Finally.

A man with a slight limp walked through the doors, holding up a very large red headed man who appeared to be doubled over in pain.

“Mine!” I called before Geillis could and raced off to meet the men, leaving Geillis’ shouts of complaint behind me.

“How can I help?” I asked, my eyes taking stock of what was before me. The larger man’s face was twisted in pain, and his hand was clutching his opposite shoulder. Dislocated. There was also blood, and a lot of it, running down his arm.

“This idiot here thought he could lift a box of about forty-five bottles of whisky, clumsy dolt.” The blonde man laughed through his words, “Happened walkin’ up the stairs. Smashed all the whisky o’ course.” I chuckled lightly to myself, clearly the man was not too concerned about his friends pain.

“Come with me, we’ll get you set up in a bed and I’ll take a look at that shoulder.” I led the two men who slowly followed over to the row of beds. The large man laid down, wincing as he fell back against the pillows.

“You’ll probably want to sit up and not lean on that arm.” I instructed and moved my fingers in a ‘come forward’ motion.

“Aye, I think it’s broken.” The red haired man said, groaning as he sat up in the bed.

I laid my hand gently on his shoulder to assess the damage, it was in fact dislocated. This would be an easy fix. “It’s not broken, only dislocated.”

“Only,” he laughed and I looked into his eyes for the first time to find that they were the brightest blue I’d ever seen. Caught off guard, I shook my head slightly and turned my attention back to his shoulder.

“I’m going to pop it back into place, it’ll hurt but then feel a whole lot better.” I placed my hands firmly on his arm and he nodded, gritting his teeth and looked straight ahead.

Applying pressure, I forced his shoulder back and then up and it made a sort of popping noise as it reset. The man grunted but then let out his breath, looking down at his shoulder to see it good as new.

“Ah Dhia, it feels a thousand times better, thank ye Sassenach.” He smiled up at me and I felt my belly do a little flip.

“You’re welcome. It really wasn’t very — wait… what did you call me?” I shot my eyebrows up at him. I’m pretty sure that ‘Sassenach’ was not a very nice name to call someone.

The man blushed, his ears turning pink as he met my gaze full on, “Och, I didna mean it in a bad way, of course not, yer English are ye no’?”

“Well, yes I am.” I crossed my arms in front of me and waited for further explanation.

“So…” he drew out the word, “’Tis only a way of calling ye that, yer an outlander, lass. Please dinna take offense because I truly didna mean to offend ye. ’Tis only I dinna ken yer name.”

I looked down at my chest where my name tag should’ve been but it had somehow fallen off during the day. “Oh, I’m Claire. Claire Beauchamp.” I smiled and then I remembered the man’s friend and turned my head to him as well, offering him the same smile.

“This is Ian, my brother-in-law,” the man pointed to his friend with the limp, “and I’m Jamie. Now that we ken each other’s names maybe ye could attend to this blood that hasna stopped drippin’ out of my arm?”

I cursed under my breath. Christ, I had completely forgotten that he had been bleeding. His eyes were a distraction and his Scottish lilt was rather enchanting. Of course, I knew that by moving to Scotland, I would in fact hear plenty of Scottish accents but there was something in the Highland-lilt -- something about the way he said ‘Sassenach’.

“Jesus! I’m sorry,” my cheeks turned red and I moved over to the cabinet beside the bed, quickly pulling out what I would need. Definitely sutures, bandages, antiseptic and tweezers to pull out any remaining glass.

Once I set up the tray and had it arranged neatly, I rolled the small cart over beside the bed. “Hold out your arm please.”

Jamie lifted his arm, and I sucked in the air between my teeth, there was a large piece of glass sticking out. I normally had a strong stomach but sometimes, there were things that put me over the edge.

“Jamie, yer doctor’s afraid of blood. I told ye we shoulda gone to the other hospital,” Ian laughed and put his hand on Jamie’s back.

“I’m normally fine, blood doesn’t make me ill but seeing that,” I looked down at his arm again, “has made me just a wee bit nauseous.”

“Dinna fash, Sassenach. If ye throw up, I promise to make sure none of that hair on top of yer head gets in the vomit.” Jamie laughed and I would have hit him on the arm if he wasn’t injured.

“Thank you,” I said sarcastically and turned to grab the antiseptic and cloth to clean around his wound before I dislodged the glass shard.

While I cleaned his wound, Jamie didn’t complain, only pressed his lips tightly together and put on a brave face. “This may hurt,” I said in a soft tone as I held my tweezers near the glass.

“Just do it, lass.”

The glass came out easily enough, and thankfully it wasn’t very deep into his skin but he would definitely need sutures. I laid the shard on the tray and grabbed another cloth to clean him and this time Jamie let out a little yelp as the antiseptic touched his wound.

“Can deal with a dislocated shoulder but not a little sting?” I mused, smiling up at him as I continued to clean the remaining blood.

His arm twitched slightly but he didn’t pull it back, “Och, the stinging is verra painful, Sassenach, dinna make fun of me!”

“He’s a big baby, Claire, dinna listen to him,” Ian chimed, “He cries in sappy romantic movies too, don’t ye?”

Jamie glared at Ian, but there was a slight mischievous glint in his eye.

“I dinna cry, I have allergies,” Jamie grumbled, puffing out his chest a little.

I grabbed the needle and threaded the suture through the small hole and brought it to his skin. “I have allergies too, you know like when I watch ‘Titanic’ and Jack dies, somehow I always get allergies during that scene,” I joked, which earned me a nudge from Jamie’s other hand into my side.

“Dinna joke about ‘Titanic, Claire, ’tis verra serious, their love was forever.” He laughed and I had to admit to myself that he was very interesting. Jamie was such a large presence, one wouldn’t think at first glance that he was into romantic movies and even cried during them.

“Seems like ye’ll be awhile,” Ian said, “I’m gonna go and grab a snack out of the vending machine, ye need anything, Fraser?”

Fraser? Surely not…

I waited until Ian had walked away before asking Jamie what was currently making me freak out.

“Fraser? That’s your last name?” He jumped slightly as I poked him with the needle and began to suture his wound.

“Aye, James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser, to be exact.”

“As in… Fraser Memorial… the name of this hospital?” I paused my work on his arm to look up into his face.

Jamie’s ear’s turned pink again, “Aye, well ’tis no’ like it’s me who owns the hospital. That’d be my Da Brian. One day though… it’ll be mine.”

He was practically my boss and here I was picturing late nights cuddled up next to him on the couch watching ‘Titanic’ and crying.

“So it’s named after your dad then? Kind of odd to name a hospital after yourself, aye?” I resumed suturing his wound, nearly done.

“Och, no. It’s named after my older brother Willie.” He replied, looking down to watch the needle go through the last bit of skin and I clipped the end and tied it off. “He passed away when I was a lad.” I watched as I saw his blue eyes go gray and his smile faded for a moment. “He had cancer.”

My hand lingered on his arm, offering comfort, “I’m so sorry Jamie. Was he treated at this hospital?”

“Aye,” his voice trembled, as if he was remembering his brother now, “My father partnered with a man and bought the hospital a year after Willie died. Then they renamed it for him, to remember.”

I bandaged his arm in silence, not quite knowing what to say, what could I ever say to that?

“You’re all done.” I tucked in the end of the bandage underneath, “You need to clean the wound daily, and for the first couple of days you’ll need to change out the bandage, some blood seeping through is normal.” I assured him, and looked over to see Ian returning with bags of crisps and candy in his arms.

“Och, yer finished? I had to go to three different floors to find what I wanted.” He groaned and offered Jamie a bag of crisps.

“Thank ye, Sassenach. For healing me wi’ yer wee hands so well.” Jamie grabbed my hand and placed his lips on the back of it. I could have sworn he heard my heart beating frantically in my chest.

“No problem at all, anything for a Fraser,” I laughed, hoping I didn’t sound like I was trying to suck up to the owner’s son.

“Will I need to come back to get the sutures taken out?”

“Oh, yes! Come back in about three weeks and I’ll take them out for you.” I only prayed that when he returned I would be on shift.

“Aye, three weeks then, Claire.” Jamie smiled and turned to leave with Ian, who was munching on a Snickers bar, going on and on about how stupid Jamie was to lift that heavy of a box.

My eyes never left the back of his head as I watched them walk away and just before they turned around the corner, Jamie’s eyes met mine and he grinned, setting butterflies loose in my belly.

Present day

I checked my reflection in the mirror, applying one more coat of mascara before I decided my make-up would just have to do for the evening. My dress was a simple black, that hugged every curve and line of my body. Just the way my husband liked, or so he showed me.

“Sassenach!” He called from the living room, “Are ye ready? We dinna want to be late!”

“Such an impatient man,” I fussed, grabbing my coat from the bed and slipping it on over my shoulders. Jamie was waiting for me, his arms crossed, looking down at his watch.

“I’m ready. I swear it!” I smiled and kissed him on the cheek as he turned his face to press his lips to mine.

“Don’t!” I pulled back, “You’ll mess up my lipstick and I don’t think you want to wait around for me to fix it.”

“I’d love to mess up yer lipstick, Sassenach. And that wee dress of yers too,” the color of his eyes turned into a deep blue, “but yer right, we must go.” He sighed, frowning as he settled for a kiss to my forehead and took my hand, leading me to the door.

“Are you nervous, Jamie?” I squeezed his hand as we walked to the car parked on the street.

“Aye, a wee bit.”

“Your speech will be great, I know it.” He stopped us before we climbed into the car, his hands slid down my body to rest on my hips.

“’Tis a big responsibility, bein’ an owner of a hospital.” He squeezed my sides making me jump, “With my father retiring and all, I ken it has to be me but I just worry I willna be good at it.”

Not caring about my lipstick or the stain it would leave on his lips, I pressed forward and closed our mouths together. “Jamie Fraser, you’re the bravest man I know. You’re ready for this, your father has trained you well. Besides…” I smirked, my hands sliding down over his arse, “I can’t wait until I can say I sleep with the boss.”

Jamie laughed and pressed his lips to mine again, “I love ye, Sassenach. Truly, I do.”

“And I you, Jamie. Now let’s go! It’s bloody freezing out here, and I need those heated seats!”

He let go of my hips and opened the passenger door for me. The entire drive over, his hand never left mine - I squeezed it off and on, a matter of habit, to remind him I was there. I was always going to be there, I was always going to be his biggest supporter.

The tension was seeping out of his body. No normal person would have known that, but I knew James Fraser, and I knew just how big of a night this retirement gala at Fraser Memorial was going to be.

[ao3bronte]

Sommeil

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Read it on AO3

A continuation of ML Fluff Month.

Sommeil - Chapter 5 Unexpected Reveal

si on sortait prendre l'air / au lieu d'me prendre pour de la merde / prends-moi la main

Let's set the scene.

There's an empty bottle of Champagne on the desk poised just far enough away that the pooling condensation doesn't bleed into Marinette's acceptance letter to the fast track program at the Institute. She’s one of three to have made it, her men's line a roaring success with the judges panel even after Nicolas’ scene stealing meltdown, and Marinette hasn't stopped glowing since, especially since Chat came by her bedroom earlier that evening with a bottle of Veuve Clicquot Brut in one hand and two flutes in the other.

“To fashion!” he announces, giggling like an idiot as they tap their flutes together for the umpteeth time.

Marinette grins, “To fashion!”

Chat takes another sip and leans back against her kitten pillow with a wink, “So does this mean I get the suit jacket now?”

“It’s all yours,” she replies, sliding down onto her belly beside him, “I might need it back though. Mme. Sotnikova said that she might have some clients who are interested in using it in the men’s fashion show in January.”

Chat’s eyes seem to glitter in the lamplight as he takes another gulp, “Yeah? That’s amazing Marinette.”

“I think so too,” she agrees with a blush, peering up at him through her eyelashes. His transformation is back to the way it is normally, his sharp fangs and wild hair seemingly forgotten for now, “I guess I’m going to be a lot busier once January rolls around.”

“And then it’ll be me finding ways to get you to fall asleep,” Chat says with another wink and the suggestive meaning behind his words are not lost on her. Gawking, her face heats up and the saucy quip she’d usually have come up with as Ladybug suddenly dissolves on her tongue.

“Chat got your tongue Purrincesse?” he flirts, and there’s spice in his eyes as he wiggles his eyebrows, his tongue peeking out passed his teeth, “Oh wait, I guess I already did this morning.”

Marinette chokes on her Champagne, “Chat!”

“What?” he blinks those wide kitten eyes of his, that telltale smirk belying his innocence, “I was just telling the truth.”

Marinette tries to gain back her composure by draining her glass all in one go and Chat has to fight to keep from cackling, “I’m sorry, did I break you?”

“Nope, nope nope nope,” Marinette’s head is spinning ever so slightly, the delightful mix of alcohol and flat out nervousness and elation hitting her bloodstream like a concrete truck, “You need to behave.”

“Yeah?” he bends his elbow and props his head up on his palm, glancing down his nose at her with the kind of smouldering look that’s so much more paralysing than it used to be. Shivering, Marinette feels the same foreign feeling from this morning burst into flames low in her belly in a way it never has before, “I’ll be so good for you.”

Marinette reaches out and snatches Chat’s champagne, chugging it in an act of self preservation, “Y-yeah?”

“Oh yes,” he bats his eyelashes and what is going on between her thighs? , “And if I’m not, I’ll let you punish me however you see fit.”

kathunk

When she looks back on this moment, she’ll likely blame the alcohol. She might even blame Chat too, what with the way his pupils seem to dilate, his tongue running across his lips in a way that has her leaning closer, drawn in like a butterfly to a flame. Every inhibition she’s ever had around him has fallen off the tracks and into the neighbouring ravine as his mouth part to speak, his cheeks flushing pink as his free hand gently settles on her hip. It's nerve wracking in the best of ways and even though they’ve slept beside each other and kissed each other before, they’ve never quite done something like this.

“Marinette?”

There’s a question on his tongue, one that speaks of the same nervousness she’s feeling, that same unmistakable tension from the force that’s driving them closer like an elastic band that’s just about to snap, “Yes.”

“Yes?”

Marinette doesn’t bother quelling the whole body shudder that rockets up her spine, “Yes, now kiss me.”

And well, he really doesn’t need much more of an invitation than that.

Diving back in with all of the gusto from earlier that morning, Marinette meets him halfway and it’s nothing like their first kiss where they’d all but slammed foreheads, clacking teeth in earnest. No, this time it’s sloppy and messy and it occurs to her that Chat may be even more anxious than she is, what with the way he keens and warbles restlessly, the purr buzzing up from his chest a counterpoint to the way his hands stutter and stop as they roam. Bravely, Marinette tries to steady her own jittery movements and buries her fingers in his hair, relishing in the way he gasps against her mouth as she tugs, the painful pleasure sending him reeling.

“I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing,” Chat mutters against her lips after a while, tucking an errant curl of hair behind her ear. She’s already well aware of this, having discussed their singleness repeatedly for months, and she hopes he understands just how much she can relate, murmuring encouragements against the corner of his mouth as she tugs him closer. Relaxing in her arms like the slut for praise that he is, he slots their lips together again and gently brings her lower lip between his teeth before breaking the kiss altogether with a sigh, smiling as she groans in protest. He traces his fingers down the side of her neck as an apology and kisses her softly along the same pale stretch of skin, paying special attention to the constellation of freckles trailing down beneath the shell of her ear.

“Glad I’m not the only one,” Marinette murmurs back, tilting her head to the side as he kisses towards her collarbone, moisture brushing over her skin as he nods.

“It was like I was possessed earlier,” Chat explains and Marinette’s eyes blink a few times to try and regain her senses, her lips popping open with a gasp as his tongue dips into the notch between her collarbones, “I was me but it was...kind of a crazy version of me.”

“Yeah?” she responds breathlessly as she rolls onto her back, her nerve endings utterly overwhelmed as Chat continues to plant soft, deliberate kisses along her exposed skin, “W-what did your kwarmi say about it?”

“He told me I need to chill out before I transform,” he snickers and the shock of hot breath is enough to inspire goosebumps to break out along her décolletage, “I was so furious when Nicolas hurt you—”

“Hush,” Marinette bats him lightly on the forearm and closes her eyes again, luxuriating in the kiss he leaves on her jawline, “I don’t want to think about him while you’re kissing me.”

“So this is…” Chat trails off and Marinette sighs, tipping her chin down to stare at him, “Is it alright if I keep going?”

“Yes Chat,” she assures him, her voice taking on a sort of desperate edge as he breathes against her skin, his green eyes seemingly glowing with the praise, “So stop talking and start kissing. Now.”

A knowing smile stretches across his lips and he chuckles lowly, scooting a little farther back onto the bed, “As you wish.”

~

It’s January and Marinette doesn’t know whether she's coming or going half the time, her world a vibrant ball of insanity and swathes of fabric wrapped in sewing needles and pin cushions. She’s running herself ragged, much to Chat’s chagrin, who's been sleeping like the smitten kitten he is every night in her bed, always fast asleep by the time she finally crawls in after midnight for a snuggle. She calls him the perfect bed warmer and he happily adds that to his job requirements; as the official Keeper of Marinette’s sanity, Chat takes his role very seriously.

“Do you have the dress bags?”

“Check.”

“Extra pins?”

“Packed them last night.”

Chat hands over her purse, “Your brain?”

“That’s debatable,” Marinette smirks and adjusts the strap so it doesn’t dig into her neck, “But I brought a change of clothes so I look somewhat presentable backstage.”

“You’re going to do great Marinette,” Chat announces proudly, wrapping her in another quick hug, “I wish I could be there to watch.”

“I wish you could be there too,” she agrees, ducking her head as he plants a kiss against her temple, “I’m really nervous. I still don’t even know which models will be wearing my designs!”

“That’s because Mme. Sotnikova is taking care of everything,” Chat assures her, leading her over to her trap door as the wintery morning sun peers in through her windows, “Your job is to arrive, deliver the clothing and roll in all the accolades you’ll get after the show!”

Marinette grins as his confidence flows through her, “I hope they love it. This could be my big break, you know? And remember how I told you that one of the models bought my design? Well, they're wearing it tonight and the other two suits are up for sale tonight too, which is like, insane. I can’t believe it!”

“Which design did the model buy again?”

“The suit jacket that you liked,” Marinette grimaces, “I promise I’ll make you another one.”

Chat seems to take it in stride, “It’s all good Purrincess. Just being your model is enough for me. Can you imagine? One day I’ll be able to brag to everyone that I was the suit model for the world famous clothing designer Marinette Dupain-Cheng!”

“I don’t think so,” Marinette begins to blush in earnest and bats him on the forearm, “Especially if I don’t leave soon which means that you have to get out of here too. Will I see you tonight?”

“And every night after,” Chat replies, pressing a kiss to her lips before opening the door for her, “For as long as you’ll have me, I’ll be here.”

“Thank you,” Marinette beams, hauling her dress bags and backpack full of designing supplies down the stairs, “Be safe today.”

Chat offers her a mock salute and a wink, “Always. See you later!”

~

The suits are delivered and the scene is set. Marinette quickly follows Mme. Sotnikova down to another part of the backstage area and scampers over to where she’s been told to go, sitting down on one of the makeshift stools in the corner that Mme. Sotnikova has claimed for her own. Shadowed by her personal assistant on one side and her business associate on the other, the Russian woman debriefs Marinette quickly, her good mood only evident by the slightest of upticks in her left eyebrow.

“All suits have been suitably tailored yes?”

Marinette nods vigorously, “And twice measured. There shouldn't be any issues.”

“I expect no less,” Mme. Sotnikova taps her perfectly manicured nails twice against her clipboard, “It is future of your career in fashion. You will be remembered for only good or bad reason after today.”

Gnawing on her lower lip, Marinette doesn't know whether she needs to pee or throw up, “I'm confident that everything is perfect.”

“You don't look confident,” Mme. Sotnikova states flatly, her face as blank as ever, “Stand up straight and change clothing. You look like student, I need designer. This is biggest night of your life, act like it.”

“Yes Mme.,” Marinette all but blubbers, her nerves beginning to get the best of her. How was she going to make it through tonight? She knows her products are perfect but what if something goes wrong backstage while she's in the gallery with Mme. Sotnikova? What if a model spills water or a makeup artist drops mascara down the front of the fabric or a quick change assistant rips the lapels—

“I can hear you thinking. Stop,” Mme. Sotnikova raps her pen down on the table in front of her, causing Marinette to flinch, “Change your attitude. You would not be here if your designs were not good enough, yes?”

Marinette desperately tries to swallow the raging nest of butterflies threatening to burst through her stomach and manages to do so, if only barely, “I’ll try.”

“No, you will do,” Mme. Sotnikova counters with an arched brow, “No one will buy from shy designer. You have already sold one suit, I want second and third sold for good price to fund your next project.”

“My next project?”

“Yes,” Mme. Sotnikova’s lip twitches upwards and Marinette takes that as a good sign, “And you will need money from sales for materials. I have two fashion houses interested in collaborating with my students and I have already assigned you.”

“ Two fashion houses ?” Marinette’s jaw drops, “Which two?”

“Zegna and Eidos,” Mme. Sotnikova replies with the slightest of smirks, “It is unusual for woman to make name for herself in men’s fashion but I have seen stranger things.”

“Wow…” Marinette trails off, her eyes rivalling the circumference of saucers, “That’s amazing!”

“Yes, but you won’t sell clothes looking like that. I hope you pack something nice?”

Marinette nods dumbly, still utterly shocked by the fact that two major names in the men’s fashion business were looking into her designs, “I made an outfit specifically for this event.”

“Another thing to sell,” Mme. Sotnikova’s eyes practically gleam with the possibilities, “Change clothing and return. The show will start in one hour.”

“Yes Mme.,” Marinette hops off her stool and snatches her own dress bag from the table beside her, running off towards the bathroom. Her heart is thudding furiously in her chest with nerves and anticipation, her thoughts and pulse an absolute mess in her head. As a little girl, she’d always imagined herself designing dresses and skirts and lacey ensembles...who would have thought she’d be hitting the fashion scene with three custom made floral suits for men?

The source of her inspiration comes to mind.

With a private smile, Marinette disappears into the largest stall and secures her dress bag onto the hook, zipping it open and pulling out the first item on the hanger. It’s a silk camisole she’d picked up at the discount store and tailored herself, stitching a gorgeous line of black lace to accent the sweetheart décolletage. She shucks off her shirt and throws off her bra, slipping the camisole on over her bare skin.

“Brrr,” she shivers, bracing herself at the odd sensation as the silk brushes up against her bare breasts in a way that reminds her of Chat’s curious leather clad fingers after a long patrol outside. He’s the most tactile person she knows, not that she’s been handsy with anyone else mind you, but she’d be lying if she said that she didn’t fantasise about those hands of his on her body at least once a day.

Marinette unclasps her jeans and lets them drop to the floor, gathering them into her waiting hands only to be thrown into the bottom of the dress bag. She fishes out the item on the next hanger and smiles victoriously, especially since she’d managed to hide it from Chat’s prying eyes so it would be a surprise when he'd visit tonight.

If she’s going to be known for menswear, she might as well flaunt it with a gorgeous pair of slim, high-waisted trousers in the same dainty jacquard floral design as her matching slim, stretchy woven blazer with snappy peak lapels. The darting is meticulous, the hemming succinct, the silhouette both feminine and sleek in a way that positively screams power move. She grins as she slips the jacket over her shoulders and leaves the front unbuttoned, tucking the silk camisole into the pants to accentuate her waist.

From the bottom of the bag, Marinette fishes a pair of simple back pumps and pops them onto her feet, packing up the rest of the clothing and walking out and take in her appearance in the mirror. She’s almost ready, but a quick change of hair style will fix that right up as she tugs her ponytails out in favour of a messy bun on the top of her head. With her neck exposed, her fellow designers will be able to see more of the hand sewn detail work of the suit as well as the sneaky, yet vibrantly apparent Marinette sewn into the line of the lapels in the same vibrant pinks that dominate the majority of her custom pantsuit design.

With a swipe of lip gloss and a quick wink to herself in the mirror, Marinette hits a power pose and struts out the door towards Mme. Sotnikova's corner with all the confidence she can muster. She’s one of the top design students at the Institute and she’s at the most important show of her life so far.

That, and she’s Ladybug. With or without her spots, she’s going to rock this show tonight.

~

The lights drop and Marinette shifts impatiently beside Mme. Sotikova, her fingers itching to be of use. She wishes she could be back there with the rest of the design team but she supposes her suits are safe with the Institute’s professionals, and since she’s still just a student, she can’t be back there once the show gets going anyway. She’s not exactly complaining mind you; getting to sit in the gallery is no small honour and Marinette can hardly believe all of her hard work has led her here to this moment.

The music begins to throb from the speakers and Marinette waits on baited breath, eager to see which models will come out first. Thirty different independant companies are being featured in the show and the organisers have partnered up with Paris’ best modelling agency to show off the stunning array of menswear that doesn’t belong to larger, more well known houses. There are many other small time designers here who are just bursting through the glass bubble of obscurity and into the raging world of global recognition and Marinette still can’t believe she’s sharing air with these people. She knows she’s lucky to have had this opportunity through the Institute but damn if she isn’t excited as the first model struts down the runway wearing a plaid ensemble so garish that it screams haute couture.

Twin models Félix and Florent pose with matching sequined coats that light up the gallery like multi coloured disco balls. Isha shows off a houndstooth three piece with a wide brimmed hat and studded loafers. Micah wears a fur coat so fluffy it nearly eclipses his entire body and Oskar totes a romantic silk pussy-bow blouse in the same pink as Marinette’s own stunning ensemble, of which she’s already received a smattering of compliments for already. Mme. Sotikova looked about as impressed as she’s ever seen her and it gave her the burst of confidence she’d needed to shake hands and bump shoulders with various people in the industry as they’d made it into the gallery and sat down.

“Oh!”

The first of her two suits for sale walks onto the runway and Marinette nearly swoons, the crisp pastel green of the breasted jacket practically sinful against Victorien’s ebony skin in the downcast lights. Posing, he cocks his hip just so as he hits the end of the platform and Marinette’s heart flutters to a halt in her chest as he turns around and offers the crowd a steamy smoulder, blowing her away. She’d been proud of that suit but holy hell did it look stunning on him and clearly the crowd around her agrees, taking notes on their notepads or typing furiously on their tablets.

Several more models step onto the stage before her second design makes an appearance and Jin rocks it like the sassy rockstar he is, all legs and swagger and long black hair that make her knees weak. How did they get so many attractive people in one space? And how did they get so attractive in the first place? It reminds her of Adrien in a way, a boy she hasn’t seen in months except for his Instagram posts and Snapchat stories. He made a few posts about being backstage at an event today but he hasn’t geotagged any of them so he’s probably in New York again or Hong Kong or—

Merdemerdemerdemerdemerdemerdemerde!!!

“Is that Adrien Agreste?!”

“Shh!” Mme. Sotikova hushes her as Adrien struts across the stage in her white floral jacquard suit jacket and holy fucking shitshitshit, is that—she can’t even—what in the everloving ASDFGHJKL?!

Marinette alternates between silently screaming and hyperventilating in her seat as Adrien makes his way up the runway, his trademark smirk on his lips literally ripping the air from her lungs. She can hardly think let alone convince her heart to keep functioning as he pauses at the end and finds her in the crowd, his bright green eyes drilling into hers as if he’d known exactly where she would be sitting. Choking, she promptly enters cardiac arrest as he winks at her (AAaaHhHHH!!!) and turns back around, his hips moving with the music in a way that has her thighs throbbing and her head spinning because Adrien Agreste is the one wearing her suit on the runway, which means that Adrien Agreste is the one that bought her suit jacket, which means that Adrien Agreste has something on his perfect body that she made, which means Adrien Agreste will wear it again, which means—

Marinette blacks out for several minutes and even though her body is doing a fantastic job of keeping her upright in her seat, her brain has completely flatlined. She cannot wait to tell everyone she knows about it and the thought alone of telling Chat when she gets home makes her heart soar. He’ll be so proud of her, knowing that her designs are being worn by the city’s most famous model and she hopes she can speak to Adrien too after the show, even if it’s just a quick thank you for purchasing her piece. She knows they went to school together and they were close friends, but he’ll let her take a photo of him for her Instagram right? Would it be uncool to ask? Would he even be allowed to? Then again, he’s here as an independent, not as a representative of Gabriel so maybe…

The show has ended and she’s somehow managed to follow Mme. Sotnikova backstage again. The Russian woman has sent her assistants out to talk to the reps from the interested companies about her suits and Marinette can hardly keep her feet planted on the ground, her entire body floating on cloud nine. The only thing better than this would be defeating Hawkmoth and finally being able to see who her boyfriend is; with no suits and secrets between them, she’d finally be able to stop the kissing and heavy petting and finally ( finally!) lose her V Card to the boy who'd somehow managed to steal her heart away—

“Hi Marinette!”

She spins around and nearly smacks her face into Adrien’s floral printed chest, “Adrien! Hi!”

He chuckles as she stumbles back and he reaches out to steady her, the warmth of his hands seeping through the fabric of her own suit, “Your outfit is gorgeous Marinette. I’d say that I didn’t believe you made this, but after wearing this amazing jacket, I believe you could make anything.”

“Th-thank you,” Marinette practically melts at the compliment, glancing up at him with the kind of gobsmacked expression that reminds her of what she was like as a kid, “I’m glad you like it.”

“Like it? I love it!” he says, spinning around on the ball of his black and white loafers with a laugh. She smiles and takes in the whole ensemble, the snakeskin pattern on the shoes with tassels shaped like shark’s teeth hanging off the tongue, the silky white trousers with the subtle fleur de lys pattern all along the fabric, the…

...wait a minute...

“Anyway, these trousers have a fleur de lys pattern on them, kind of like an overlay, but it’s so subtle that it won’t distract from this awesome flower pattern on the jacket.”

No

“Oh, and shoes! I picked up these loafers recently, they’re black and white and have these fun little shark teeth tassels at the front.”

Fucking

“They’d be totally unexpected, or I could just go with the plain black ones, or the steel gray…”

Way

Marinette feels the blood drain from her face as she glances back up at him, her jaw unhinging with a clatter to the floor. He’s just smiling that usual smile of his, but those eyes, those bright green infuriating eyes are gleaming with the kind of mischievous bullshit she’s long associated with her asshat of a partner and Marinette doesn’t know whether she wants to punch him in the face or kiss him stupid.

“Someone wants our picture Marinette,” he says with his perfect voice, snapping her out of her borderline murderous reverie, “Come stand beside me.”

She nods dumbly as Adrien wraps his arm around her waist and tucks her in closer to his side. The photographers, and there are a few of them, ask her to smile but she can hardly hear them speak over the voice in her ear as he leans over, his lips scant centimetres from her skin.

“We make the purrfect pair, don’t we?”

Marinette chokes.

Miraculously, they somehow manage to pull off a picture and miraculously, Marinette somehow manages to extricate herself from his grasp long enough to toddle over to the nearest table, Adrien sauntering along in her wake. She's gaping like a fish and he's beaming like a ray of pure stupidsunshine and if Mme. Sotnikova hadn't chosen that exact moment to crash their conversation, Marinette might have just slapped him for being so damn calm about it all.

“M. Agreste,” she greets him, her steel grey eyes appraising him briefly before turning to Marinette, “I have clients for you. Come.”

Marinette turns long enough to nod to her Russian mentor before shifting her focus back to him, the two handsome, blond objects of her affections all rolled into one in all their matchless glory standing before her. How did this happen under her nose? How did she not notice after four years of school and what, twelve thousand pictures of him on her walls? She practically stalked him at one point, memorising his schedule in some pseudo suave attempt to understand the Adrien behind the camera, and what a creep she’d been! And that same boy had been in her bedroom! He’d seen all the crazy photos! He knew how borderline insane she’d been as a teenager! He knew everything and she'd been ignorant to it all!

“Your teacher is waiting for you,” he says with a tip of his head and the move is so horrifyingly catlike that she can practically paint his mask and ears on with her mind’s eye, “You shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

Marinette finally manages to unglue her tongue from the roof of her mouth and narrows her eyes just enough to make sure he knows she means business, “You and I are going to have a talk tonight.”

“At least I’m still invited,” he replies, and his smirk dissolves into a look she’s much more familiar with, his eyes finally showing some of the nervousness he must have been hiding underneath, “The usual time?”

“Don’t. Be. Late,” she makes sure to punctuate each and every syllable in a way that makes him shudder in the best of ways. He’s always liked taking orders from her alter-ego; why should this be any different?

Chat Adrien gulps audibly, “God, you’re gorgeous when you’re angry.”

“And you’re just gorgeous in general, but that doesn’t negate the fact that I have every intention of killing you tonight.”

Adrien has the gall to laugh, “Okay one, these trousers are way too tight for that kind of talk and two, Mme. Sotnikova is going to kill you first if you don’t get over there.”

Marinette scowls, “This isn’t over.”

“And thank god for that,” he winks, his smile as impish as the little glance he gives her over her shoulder as he turns away, “À plus, Purrincesse.”

[taeheyhey]

Close to Normal

Chapter 6 - Interlude

Taehyung x Reader - Fluff/Angst/Future Smut - 2k words

A/N - Hello again! Happy Friday! Once again, thank you so much for the likes and follows, it's really lovely and encouraging and I am so thankful! Please enjoy <3

Chapter One ~ Two ~ Three ~ Four ~ Five ~ Six ~ Seven ~ Eight ~ Nine ~ Ten ~ Eleven ~ Twelve ~ Thirteen ~ Fourteen ~ Fifteen ~ Sixteen ~ Seventeen ~ Eighteen ~ Nineteen ~ Twenty ~ Twenty-One ~ Twenty-Two

They hadn’t noticed your phone was there initially, however Jimin was the one to eventually spot it. He was walking towards the window past the table Taehyung had placed it on after Mark had tried to contact you as you slept, ironically so it wouldn’t get lost. He saw the screen light up and reached out to hold it up for his friend. “Who’s phone is this?”

Taehyung raised his eyes at the question and then leapt instantly and clumsily from his seat as his gaze fell on the unfamiliar handset. He snatched it from Jimin and gawked open-mouthed at the phone, seemingly a thousand thoughts jumping to his mind all at once. This was his way to find you, right? But, what if it was Mark trying to call you again? The image of his face wasn’t smirking back at him from the screen as it had before though, and this number didn’t have any name or photo attached to it.

Jimin stared dumbfounded at his inaction. “Are you going to answer it or stare at it?” but it was as if he hadn’t heard the question, and he cradled it in his hand, gazing mutely at the illuminated display. “Taehyung-ah!” finally having enough he grabbed the phone back from him, startling him back in to reality, just in time for the phone to go dark as the caller gave up.

“What do I do, Jimin?”

He recognised the baffled expression on Taehyung’s face, he had seen it often, his eyes widened to almost twice their normal size, his lips slightly pouted. “Well, you usually pick them up when they ring. There’s a little green picture of a phone and you – ”

“Jimin-ah! It’s her phone!” He was at a loss, a spark of hope ignited in him when Jimin held up your phone, and he all of a sudden forgot what to do with his hands, flexing and relaxing his fingers uselessly and shifting his gaze between the handset and Jimin’s face. He didn’t know exactly what it was he was hoping for, he just knew that if he didn’t at least get the chance to see you again, it would play on his mind for far too long.

“Look, here’s the number that called,” Taehyung nodded at Jimin’s soothing tone, and though a blank expression still dominated his face, he found himself more grateful than usual that his dearest friend was there with him. “Call it, they might know how to find her.”

Both men held their breath without realising as the dialling tone commenced on the other end of the phone, the otherwise silent room lending itself well to the soft thud of Taehyung’s pulse beating in his ears. Then, after what felt like hours the ringing stopped and he heard your voice again. It occurred to him that the last time he had heard you speak was when you said his name for the first time. He inhaled deeply in an effort to calm his pounding heart “Hello...y/n?”

“Is it her?” Jimin bounded up to where Taehyung was standing stock-still, gripping the phone in his hand impossibly tight. In his attempt to push his head near the speaker to finally hear the voice of the girl he had heard so much about, he almost knocked it from Taehyung’s hand. Scrambling to regain his grasp on the handset, he pushed Jimin only lightly, but enough to catch him off balance and he stumbled backwards in to the large sideboard on which the television set sat. “Ya!” he cried out indignantly, but his smitten friend, ignorant to the distress he had caused, simply repeated your name again with a sigh, his eyes closing slowly in a display of relief.

Later, Jimin would ask him how it felt when he realised it was you on the other end of the line. Taehyung would struggle to describe accurately how the sensation shook his entire body, how he somehow wanted to laugh and cry with relief at the same time. He would only just be able to articulate the emotion he felt when he finally heard you say his name again: joy.

~~~

The entire conversation felt utterly surreal. You cringed at your voice involuntary increasing in volume when it seemed like he was having difficulty taking in what you were saying, and you felt guilty that it was him having to adjust to you and not more of a mutual exchange.

The task at hand, at least on the surface, was to arrange a way for Taehyung to return your phone to you.

“You are coming back?” You could picture him enunciating the words carefully, the image all too vivid in your head of how his lips looked when his forehead pressed against your own, telling you how he wanted to kiss you.

Grateful that there was no one to see the blood rush to your face at the memory, you answered his question. “Yes, I need to get my car too.”

“Your car...when?” You could still hear incoherent muttering in the background as Taehyung spoke, and you were almost certain you could hear him hiss under his breath to whomever was in the room with him as he tried to concentrate on your conversation.

You hadn’t had more than a sip of the beer that Ronnie had offered you on your arrival, but you thought it may be a couple more hours at least before you attempted to get back behind the steering wheel. “Um, maybe about four o’clock.” That should give you plenty of time to get back to the bar and start your shift at six that night, having agreed last minute to work that evening, so Ronnie could go out and meet his friends he sometimes played cards with.

“Myeossie sijagae?” You could tell he’d moved his face away from the phone to pose the phantom mutterer a question, and you heard him hum softly in acknowledgment to whatever the answer had been. “Not later?” He spoke in to the mic again and asked you, with what sounded like hope lacing the question. “I can see you at eight.”

“I have to work at six,” you responded, regret clear in your tone. You briefly wondered if you could wait till the next day to get your phone back, just so you could still use it as an excuse to see him again. Then you remembered that you needed to collect everything you owned that following day, and to delay that just to meet a virtual stranger for a few moments just seemed so frivolous, no matter how much your heart might be crying out for it. “You could leave it at the front desk for me,” you suggested reluctantly, still uncertain if he was as keen to see you as you were him.

“No,” You had barely finished the sentence before Taehyung blurted out his disagreement. “I will come to you.”

Surprised, but pleasantly so, at his adamance to hand you your device back in person, you arranged to use Ronnie’s phone to text him the address, both of you knowing it would be far easier than trying to explain it verbally.

You hung up the bar phone again, pins and needles shooting through your fingers as a result of gripping the handset too tight, and looked at the clock, assessing how much time you had physically and mentally to prepare yourself.

~~~

Later that evening, your car retrieved and around ten minutes until eight o’clock, you checked your reflection as discreetly as you were able in the mirror which made up the back of the bar, between half empty bottles of scotch and brandy for the tenth time that minute.

Ronnie, who was waiting for his ride to the card game, sat perched on a stool with his elbows resting on the bar top, eyeballing you with thinly-veiled amusement as he took a swig from his beer bottle. “You expecting to see someone special, y/n?” he enquired curiously, nudging one of the regulars – Peter – beside him.

In all the time you had worked at the bar you had been with Mark, and Ronnie had certainly never seen you this twitchy about him arriving. He had vaguely heard your side of the conversation on the bar phone earlier, but aside from a few stutters here and there and maybe a solitary giggle escaping you, it hardly sounded like you were arranging some great, passionate rendezvous. Even if you had, he highly doubted you would arrange it at the bar on a night you were working.

“Hm?” You pulled your eyes away from a particularly stubborn tuft of hair which stuck out ludicrously on one side of your head and turned to where he was sitting, an uncertain grimace plastered across your face.

“This person bringing your phone, is it someone you know well?” Ronnie was asking in a teasing tone, but the questioning boiled down to the fact that he was concerned about you.

He had always worried about you. You were too soft, too trusting, too quick to put other's needs before your own. Ronnie knew that – on paper – this was not necessarily a bad thing, but he had seen one too many people take advantage of your gentle nature and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself from retaliating on your behalf this time, the way he had restrained himself with Mark countless times, and with your own parents years ago.

You leant over the bar and, recognising the concealed paternal fretting beneath the taunting colour of his question, grasped his free hand in both of your own. “Please don’t worry, Ronnie. He’s just someone I met last night. He helped me after...everything.”

You felt your ears heat up at the recollection, and the coy expression on your face was not lost on your boss. “Oh right, okay. And what is it exactly he wants your help with?” You clapped your hands around his in an 'I’m done talking about this with you' kind of gesture and he saw your eyes dart up to the clock: almost seven fifty-five.

Before he could make any further comment, Ronnie’s phone vibrated loudly across the bar top, signalling the arrival of his ride. He leant over the bar and ruffled your hair, causing a second tuft to rise up in sympathy on the other side of your head, and asked you to be careful.

As usual you promised you would be and vowed to call the police and him (in that order) should anything occur. Not like any of the guys who drank in here would ever allow anything to happen – though they would swear gruffly that was more for the bar’s sake than for yours. Frowning slightly and turning back to your reflection behind you, you tried again to smooth down the unruly mop on your head.

Draining the rest of his bottle, Ronnie dragged his jacket from the stool beside him and headed towards the front door. Just before he reached the exit, the door was pushed open from the outside and two young men walked in. The head of the taller of the two came to just above Ronnie’s jawline and the shorter one just about reached his shoulder. Based on the fact that the apparent age of the new arrivals was perhaps just about a third of the bar's usual clientele, Ronnie assumed that these boys were here to return your phone.

Which one was responsible for your blushed cheeks and sudden interest in your own appearance, though? He hoped it was the shorter of the two, he seemed to have the correct combination of apprehension and respect on his face when he’d almost walked in to Ronnie just a moment ago. The taller boy however, was seemingly oblivious to his presence, his eyes scanning the bar keenly until his gaze fell on you, a large breath escaping him as he did so. And the second Ronnie saw you whip your head around to meet the young man’s eyes, it was glaringly apparent whose arrival you had spent the whole evening – perhaps longer - waiting for.

A/N (another one!) - Hi again, truly thank you to those of you who are taking the time to read this, I really am thankful for every single note! I do have more fics planned out, some half written, and I'd really like to know if anyone would be interested in seeing some of my other stories!

FYI - I'll be posting chapters of this story, edited/refined from my AO3 account, every Friday. 

Thank you again :)

[green-eyeddragonfanfiction]

Winter’s War: Chapter 2

Summary: After the death of Doctor Erskine, you and Steve are shoved to the side. You bond during your time on the road. You head to Italy earlier than Steve.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (eventually)

Warnings: language, death, blood, violence

Word Count: ~4,167

A/N: More technical jargon! All of the technical jargon! *gifs not mine* Peggy and Howard will return... eventually.

Masterlist // Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

“Steve’s about to give his report of what happened. We should grab some seats before it starts,” Peggy said, holding her hand out for you to take. You did, welcoming its comfort.

Howard opened the door to the room and you took a deep, calming breath. You would find out who killed your mentor and why… and you would make them pay.

New York, New York 1943

Hydra.

That name haunted your dreams and waking hours alike. The deep science division of the Nazis. The people responsible for killing Abraham.

“I know that look,” Steve said as he sat down beside you, still in his “Captain America” outfit. “You’re thinking about Hydra again,” he said knowingly, commiserating smile on his lips. He set his shield down against your desk and pulled his silly blue winged hood back so it no longer obscured half of his face.

“You say that like you’re not constantly thinking about them, too,” you said bluntly as you set down your latest invention. You pulled your protective glasses to the top of your head and stared at him accusingly.

He smiled at that, glancing away guiltily. “Guilty as charged. But what I’m doing is important-”

“Yeah, yeah, bonds are important to the war effort. Bond sales take a bump in each state, blah blah. I know the speech, Steve,” you said dismissively, burying your face in your hands.

He sighed, eyeing you sadly. He knew your frustration all too well. The very same day he gained his powers he was relegated to a chorus girl. It was decided you’d go with him and keep an eye on him in case the experiment went wrong or his body started to reject the change. That had been a year ago, yet you and Steve were still on the road, touring the country, raising funds for the war effort.

Like him, you resented your current task. You wanted to be in a lab somewhere, attempting to create things that would help take Hydra down... or even help try to unravel Erskine’s serum (though you weren’t sure how much help you’d be in that area).

You let out a long sigh and leaned back in your chair, giving Steve an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t want to be here, either,” you said quietly.

He smiled ruefully. “Better out here helping any way I can than in some lab being poked and prodded with needles all day,” he said, shrugging. He seemed to realize what he said and grimaced. “Not that wanting to be in a lab is a bad thing, I just-”

“I know, Steve,” you said, smiling warmly at him. The serum hadn’t changed his inability to talk to women, though he’d gotten better at talking to you the more time you spent together. You’d come to think of him as your brother. “You’d rather be out there fighting on the front lines.”

He nodded, gaze far away. You let him be for a moment before you nudged his shin with your shoe, causing his attention to snap back to you. “We’re going to Italy soon, you know. In her last letter, Peggy said-”

At the simple mention of her name, Steve perked up considerably, the light that had been fading out of his blue orbs returning immediately.

“She’s in that area, yeah,” Steve said, smitten smile appearing on his face.

“I’m going out there earlier than you; have to arrange some last minute things with Colonel Phillips,” you said, biting your lip nervously. “Want me to figure out where she is once I’m out there...? Maybe see if she can find some time to visit the camp while we’re there?” you asked curiously.

He seemed at war with himself. He didn’t want to get his hopes up; it wasn’t exactly easy to find other people on the war front, but his excited fidgeting was answer enough for you.

“I’ll do my best to get a message out to her... but there’s a good chance she’ll hear about the great ‘Captain America‘ visiting the camp anyway,” you said, winking mischievously at Steve. An adorable flush appeared on his cheeks, causing you to laugh merrily at him. He scoffed and looked away from you, his embarrassment causing him to turn an even deeper shade of red.

The music on the stage came to a crescendo again and you picked up his shield and held it out to him. “Sounds like it’s time for the finale, Stevie,” you said, nickname slipping out of your lips from nowhere. Steve looked surprised, frozen halfway out his chair, hand frozen a few inches away from his shield. His reaction surprised you. “What-?”

“Nothing, nothing. I’ll tell you about it later,” Steve said as he tugged his cowl back on and grabbed the shield, hastily making his way towards the stage.

Like that, he was gone in a flash, leaving you off-balance. Was the nickname that weird? It had just slipped out. You hadn’t meant to-

You groaned and yanked your goggles back over your eyes, letting out a few disgruntled grumbles as you picked up your project and began working on it again. 

Half an hour later, after a frankly disgusting amount of applause, Steve returned.

“Good work, Cap’n,” you said cheekily, sticking your hand out for him to shake.

It was almost like he wasn’t consciously thinking about taking your hand; it seemed the time he spent on the road had given him some bad habits.

It was only once his hand was millimeters away from touching yours that he seemed to realize how odd it was for you to offer him a handshake.

Too late, though.

His fingers engulfed your gloved hand. There was a half second where nothing happened, but then he let out an undignified squeak, his body going rigid before he collapsed.

“Hmm. Probably too much power if that’s what it did to you,” you said, jotting down a few notes into your journal.

Steve recovered quickly, rolling into a sitting position.

“(Y/N)! What the hell was-”

“Language!” you chastised as you snapped your journal shut and carefully removed your prototype glove.

“You curse more than I do!” Steve argued, glaring at you as he stood.

“Yes, but your innocent demeanor is one of the best things about you,” you said matter-of-factly as you threw your journal and the prototype onto your desk.

“Wait, that isn’t the point! What was that and why did you use it on me?” he asked incredulously.

“It’s my new prototype stun glove. Stark and I have been batting ideas around and I came up with a new design... and I used it on you because I was afraid it’d kill a normal person and I didn’t have time to build a machine to test the voltage output,” you said, smiling up at him.

“Alright, you need to stop testing your inventions on me. The sedation dart hidden in the fountain pen and the sticky grenade were one thing- although I still found that horrid goo in... unmentionable places for weeks after that incident- but this actually hurt,” Steve said, sounding betrayed.

“Alright, I’ll start testing on myself,” you said amicably, shrugging. Maybe being stuck on the road away from your beautiful lab equipment had made you go a little crazy, but you’d never admit that to anyone else. The boredom was absolutely killing you.

Steve blanched. “Wait, no! That’s not what I meant! You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep acting like-” Steve’s voice cut off and he buried his face in his hands, a wry smile appearing on his face.

Alright, maybe you weren’t the only one going crazy. “Steve?” you asked quizzically, trying to get a peek at his face under his hands.

“I sound like Bucky,” he said, shaking his head in resignation as he smiled down at you.

Bucky... Bucky... Steve had mentioned him a few times, but-

“He’s my friend,” he said, correctly interpreting the confusion on your face.

“Oh, right. The guy that pulled your ass from-”

“Language,” he mocked.

You rolled your eyes. “-pulled your ass from back alley fights when you were still skinny and frail, right?” you asked, putting special emphasis on the swear, making him cringe and roll his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” he said, warm smile on his face.

“He’s in the army, right? The... 107th?” you said, trying hard to remember everything Steve ever mentioned about the man.

Steve’s smile slipped a bit. “Yeah, he’s on the front lines. I haven’t heard anything, but-”

“Hey, it’s hard to get mail in and out of the front lines, and we’re constantly on the move ourselves. Doesn’t mean anything,” you said, placing a comforting hand on his him.

He smiled at you, but you could tell he was still worried. He probably always would be. You were suddenly grateful all you had to worry about was Peggy and Howard. You didn’t even have to worry about family back home... seeing as you didn’t have any. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he said, placing a hand gently over yours. 

“Well, I guess it’s time to go pack, hm? We’re going to Europe soon!” you said, smiling up at him.

At that, Steve seemed to smile genuinely. “One step closer to the front lines,” he said determinedly, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Tell me more about this Borky guy while I pack?” you asked, eager to keep his good mood going. It seemed like his friend was one of the few things that consistently made Steve smile... along with a certain British SSR Agent.

“I know you said his name wrong on purpose,” he said, smirking at you.

“You can prove nothing!” you said loudly as you turned melodramatically, throwing your arms up in the air as you moved to your desk to gather your things.

Steve laughed at your antics but his smile didn’t last long.

You accidentally touched the wrong part of your prototype glove, causing you to convulse as the electrical current ran through your body. Your seized up and dropped like a stone. Steve caught you just before you hit the ground.

“(Y/N)? (Y/N)!” he said anxiously as he lowered you to the ground, eyes roaming the length of you for any injuries.

“Man am I glad you drained that thing of most of its juice,” you said, coughing as you sat up. “It definitely needs adjustments,” you said, glaring at the glove from your spot on the floor.

Steve rolled his eyes at you as he helped you up. Once he was convinced you wouldn’t immediately fall over, he let you go, but still hovered next to you protectively. “You’re ridiculous,” he said, his caring tone betraying his words.

“And you’re going to miss me for the few days you won’t see me because I’m your friend,” you said in a sing-song tone as you grinned up at him.

He rolled his eyes but didn’t dispute your claim which only caused your grin to widen.

“Come on, you. You have packing to do,” he said,  gently shoving you towards the door. You grabbed your journal, but left the prototype. That was a problem for a later time.

“So, about this ‘Borky’...”

Two Days Later - Italy - Allied Territory

The convoy made its way down the narrow, muddy road. The forest on either side threatened to encroach on the path at any second. Still, you found it beautiful “How are things back in the States?” one of the soldiers asked. Private Jones, if you remembered correctly. The military van you were being escorted in was so noisy you could barely hear his question.

“Honestly, kind of terrible. What I see of it, at least. Nothing compared to what it’s like out here, though, I’m sure,” you said loudly, hoping he could hear you over the engine.

“That’s too bad. I was hoping to return to gold-paved streets and an uncorrupted government,” said the mustachioed man beside you. Jones cracked a smile at the joke, as did the other soldiers in the van.

Dugan. Sergeant Dugan. That was his name.

“Well, I think they‘ve only managed to pave the streets with silver. Might be a while before they work up to gold. As for the government... it’s a complete mess, per usual,” you said, smiling.

Dugan let out a beleaguered sigh. “Well, any progress is-”

An explosion drowned out the rest of his words. It was close. Way closer than it should have been. Immediately, all of the men around you jumped into action, readying their guns and jumping out of the van, using the doors as cover.

“Stay down!” one of them yelled to you, shoving you face-first into the hard canvas-covered seat.

“It’s the damn Nazis! They must have skirted our perimeter!” you heard Dugan yell over the din of gunfire and explosions.

Another explosion rocked the van and you heard bullets bury themselves in the side of the van, while others zipped through the canvas top.

“We’re pinned, Sergeant!” you heard Jones yell.

“Then give them hell, Private!” said a voice you didn’t recognize. He must be a soldier that was in one of the other trucks.

It struck you then. Your escort was pinned by Nazis. You were as good as dead- this was supposed to be a milk run. They didn’t bring a lot of men or a way to contact the forward camp.

“Bloody hell,” you muttered, pulling the pistol you always carried with you out of your bag. You also pulled on your prototype glove, thankful you’d had time to work on it on your way overseas; it had an on/off button now.

If you were going to die here, you were going to take down some Nazi bastards before you died.

You crawled out of the other side of the van, surprising the soldiers.

“What are you doing, little missy? Get back in the van!” Dugan yelled, waving you away.

“To hell with that! I’m fighting for my life!” you yelled, glaring at him challengingly.

“Ha! I like this girl! I thought she was just some lab rat, but she’s got guts!” said the man you’d heard earlier. Past the army gear and layers of dirt you could see a handsome man, a pair of bright blue eyes studying the battlefield expertly.

“Flirt later, Barnes! We’re in a tight spot here!” Dugan said as he leaned over the side of the van and quickly ducked back behind it as a wave of bullets whizzed past him.

“I’d argue this is exactly the right time to flirt, but alright!” the man- Barnes- said, winking at you. Even in this situation, your heart skipped a beat.

“On your six!” yelled Jones.

You spun, raising your pistol in the direction he’d indicated. Sure enough, the Nazi troops had begun circling around your vans.

You aimed and pulled the trigger and the soldier out in front dropped like a stone, a red spot appearing in the center of his chest.

“Nice shot, Doll!” said Barnes, a wide grin appearing on his lips. “If we make it out of here alive, I’m taking you dancing!” he said as he took aim with his rifle at the soldier behind the one you’d taken out. He pulled the trigger and the Nazi dropped, dead as a doornail. He turned to look at you, smiling from ear to ear.

“What makes you think I’ll say yes?” you asked him incredulously. You spotted movement over his shoulder and took out the approaching enemy soldier before he made it onto the road.

Barnes looked over his shoulder, surprised, then back to you. “Thanks, Doll,” he said, lopsided grin doing unfair things to your already racing, adrenaline-filled heart. “And I suppose-”

“We got more incoming!” Dugan said, cutting across whatever Barnes was about to say.

You stood up slightly, peeking through the half-destroyed windows of the van. You quickly ducked back down as a rain of bullets destroyed what was left of the glass and whizzed over your head.

That... was a lot of Nazis. Apparently they’d called for backup.

A huge explosion nary twenty feet away threw shrapnel, dirt, and rocks every direction. A few of your soldiers hiding behind the neighboring van yelled as metal ripped through them, shredding their limbs and internal organs.

“No! Patterton! McKinley!” Dugan yelled, wincing at the carnage the blast left in its wake. “There’s gotta be at least two more companies out there!”

“Here they come!” Barnes yelled as he reloaded his rifle.

“I hate these guys,” you heard Dugan mutter under his breath as he peeked around the corner and fired a few rounds off.

You felt the ground shake around the same time your brain registered the odd noises coming from the battlefield.

“What the-” you dared to sneak a peak around the edge of the van and what you saw made your jaw drop.

Beams of blue light were decimating the Nazi ranks left and right. Every time one of the blasts connected with a soldier they seemed to vanish. No, that wasn’t quite right. It vaporized them. When it became clear the beams were only targeting the Nazi troops (who were quickly scattered by the onslaught), you and the surviving soldiers stood, gaping open-mouthed at the scene in front of you.

A giant tank finally rolled into sight and you all stared at it, dumb-struck.

“That looks... new,” Dugan said as he lowered his gun.

Then, to your horror, the main gun turned and pointed straight at all of you.

“Run!” Barnes yelled, turning on his heel to book it towards the forest on the other side of the road. You didn’t have to be told twice. You sprinted after him, cursing your lack of physical prowess. Maybe you should have gone jogging with Steve.

None of you made it very far.

You’d just made it to the edge of the trees when the main gun fired directly at your convoy. The blast quite literally knocked you off of your feet. The last thing you saw before you were knocked unconscious by the explosion was Sergeant Barnes’ arms wrapping around you.

“Aufwachen, fraulein,” came a raspy voice from above you. Wake up, young lady your brain slowly translated.

You blinked slowly, the world too bright and your head throbbing too painfully for you to want to open your eyes.

“Iche sagte aurwachen!” the voice said again, this time more angrily. I said wake up! your mind translated again.

You blinked blearily up towards its source and nearly screeched in fear.

There, standing above you, was a soldier. He was speaking German, but his uniform wasn’t Nazi. It was full black and his face was hidden by goggles and a terrifying mask.

“Aufstehen!“ he yelled, dragging you to your feet. Your brain didn’t need to translate that one: his meaning was clear. Get up.

You realized then that your pistol must have fallen out of your hands when you’d been knocked unconscious. You cursed your horrid luck.

Suddenly, the last thing you saw before you blacked out flashed before your eyes and you spun, searching for-

Sergeant Barnes. He and the other soldiers were kneeling in a line, arms tied behind their backs, guns pointed at the backs of their heads. You could see a few of them staring at you helplessly, heads as far down as they could go while still being able to look at you. You caught a glimpse of the steel blue of Barnes’ eyes before a backhanded slap from the soldier that had dragged you up sent you spiraling back down to the ground.

“Warum bist du hier?” the soldier bellowed, placing a boot directly onto your stomach, nearly crushing your ribs. Why are you here? “Rekrutieren die Amerikaner jetzt Frauen?“ he taunted. Are the Americans recruiting women now?

“Nein, Soldat,” you spat, grim satisfaction on your face when you realized they hadn’t removed your glove. The soldier looked down at you, startled that you were speaking German. “Ich bin hier, weil ich es sein will. Du solltest Angst haben,” you said venomously as you flicked your glove on and wrapped your hand around his ankle. I am here because I want to be. You should be afraid.

Apparently whatever he was wearing didn’t protect from electrical currents because he immediately convulsed and hit the ground, body twitching as his cells fried.

You barely registered the whoops of appreciation from your fellow soldiers. Before you could move an inch the guns of half of the enemy soldiers present had their guns trained on you. You eyed them warily. If they were anything like the tank you saw earlier, one blast would be enough to erase you from existence.

“Wie interessant,” said a slimy voice. A couple of the soldiers parted to reveal a short, balding fat man. “You speak German and took out a Hydra soldier vif a single touch. Vut are you doing vif a band of bumbling American soldiers, fraulein?” the man asked, his accent thick.

“Someone has to stop and ask for directions, right?” you asked, defiant smirk on your lips.

“Oh, and you make jokes, too! I was curious before vut now I must know vy you are here,” he said, his voice sickly sweet. He motioned to two of the soldiers next to you and they hauled you to your feet, careful to avoid the glove on your hand.

“Vut is this?” the man asked, pointing to the prototype glove with obvious curiosity. “Vere did you get it?” he asked, studying it closely, but remaining just out of your reach.

The way he was talking down to you as though you’d stolen it made something inside of you snap. “I made it, you slimy sack of piss,” you said. He didn’t have time to move out of the way and you spat directly into his face.

He pulled a hankerchief out of his pocket and primly wiped your spit from his face. Once it was gone he shoved it back into his pocket and gave you a genuinely disarming, creepy smile that nearly made you shiver. “Charmant,” he said darkly. “Nimm das fraulein auch. Ich habe Gebrauch von ihren Fähigkeiten,” he told his soldiers. Take the girl, too. I have use for her skills.

The second your brain registered the words you were fighting against the soldiers holding you. “Let me go! Lass mich gehen! Let me go, you bastards!” you screamed. You wouldn’t be some freak’s lab rat and you sure as hell wouldn’t help these sadistic bastards.

You noticed the scuffle happening in the line of American soldiers, vaguely recognizing Barnes, Dugan, and Jones trying to fight back, but the butt of a gun slammed into the back of your head and you once again surrendered to unconsciousness.

Steve’s POV - half a day after your capture

“What do you mean the Europe tour’s been postponed?” Steve asked the squirrely man who’d taken over your job while you were overseas.

“Haven’t gotten any details yet, Rogers. Just know something happened so we can’t go to Italy yet until things settle down,” the man said, eyes darting warily to and fro. He obviously didn’t like being cornered by such a large man, even if it was Captain America.

Steve immediately started to panic. You were over in Italy. You’d left a day ago. There was no way you wouldn’t be there by now. If you were hurt or- He stopped that train of thought before it took him to darker places. “But (Y/N)-”

“She’s way behind Allied lines, Cap. I’m sure she’s safe. Of course, that area’s on lockdown now so she’ll have to stay put until everything clears up,” the weasel said, looking completely unconcerned about your safety. It made Steve’s blood boil but, as usual, there wasn’t anything he could do. He just had to hope you were safe.

“How long?” Steve asked, glaring down at the publicist.

“Hmm?” he hummed as he looked up from the tour schedule.

“How long until we can go on tour in Europe?” Steve asked, dislike for the man growing by the second.

“Oh... hmm,” he studied the schedule in his hands carefully. Steve spotted your careful notes in the margins and his stomach plummeted again. Please be safe. “Looks like it’ll be... about a month,” the man said finally.

Steve’s fists clenched at his sides. The three most important people in his life were out on the front lines, and he was stuck in the States for an entire month longer than he was supposed to be.

“Hey, you alright, Rogers?” the man asked warily, looking up at Steve with a mix of concern and fear.

Apparently Steve’s frustration had gotten the better of him. He coached his face back into neutrality and turned away from the trembling man, heading towards his dressing room.

No, I’m not. “Just fine, thank you.”

Next Chapter

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Grifting With The Enemy: Chapter 3!

Here’s chapter 3, for anyone interested! :) It will also be posted on my FF.net and Ao3 accounts. Please feel free to send me any feedback or comments at all! They would be much appreciated! Enjoy! :D <3

Liz sighs, tapping her fingers against the kitchen counter as she watches the microwave plate spin, popcorn bag slowly inflating in the center, the staccato pops of the kernels punctuating the quiet of her apartment.

She is having a movie day.

Since her tentative truce with Red prevents her from taking any jobs until his heist is complete, Liz had enjoyed her first day off in ages after he and Dembe left, tugging on a pair of yoga pants to accommodate her simple plans of lounging around her apartment. That was pleasant for one day. Then Liz decided she should be doing some productive things with her time off. So she did some laundry, went grocery shopping, and cleaned her apartment from top to bottom. She also gave a long overdue call to her dad, telling him all the details of the gigs she had done since they had last talked.

Sam taught Liz everything she knows about being a grifter. In his heyday, he was a very well-known thief, stealing and performing break-ins for the minor criminals in and around Nebraska. He stopped when he decided to adopt her, wanting to clean up his act and be a good role model for his surrogate daughter. But when Liz was older, he got the itch again, going on small jobs when she was at sleepovers and birthday parties. In her teen years, Liz started to hang out with what Sam probably should have seen as the wrong crowd. However, he suspected what she was up to and discovered she had a talent for her adopted father’s past-times. Thrilled, Sam began to teach her all he could and she delighted in the knowledge.

Sam had encouraged her to go to college and study her passion, psychology, and told her that there was no reason why she couldn’t use her degree to help her steal by analyzing potential employers by letting her training tell her who was safe to meddle with and who she should steer clear of.

Liz had followed her beloved father’s advice and has been settled in D.C. for several years, a successful thief. And Sam couldn’t be more proud. He was delighted to hear about her big job with Red but he advised her to be careful.

“Those big bads are dangerous. Watch yourself, Butterball. Don’t let him turn on you.”

“I won’t, Daddy.”

After catching up with her father, Liz had realized there weren’t many other chores she could do around her apartment. So, today, she was treating herself to a movie day, complete with popcorn and pajamas, re-watching her favorite movies from her collection and thoroughly enjoying her well-earned down time.

And waiting for Red to call.

She sighs again, thinking, for what must be the millionth time in the last three days, about Red.

She still can’t believe he broke into her apartment. She supposes she shouldn’t be surprised – he is a criminal after all – and she can’t help but admire the skill it took for him to pick her lock without arousing suspicion in her neighbors or waking her up. Her lock is no simple thing. As an experienced lock-picker herself, she made a point to invest in the most sophisticated one she could afford to bar passage into her apartment. And yet it was still no match for Red Reddington.

Liz can easily imagine those large, tan hands with long fingers and neat nails skillfully manipulating the pick to –

The shrieking of her smoke alarm startles her out of her daydreams. She curses and wrenches open the microwave door, coughing when light smoke starts to cloud her small kitchen. She throws open the window over the sink and quickly pulls a kitchen stool under the smoke alarm, hopping up onto it to press the small round button and shut the damn thing off.

She plops down to sit on the stool, resting her head in her hand, resigned to waiting for the air to clear and the burnt popcorn to be cool enough to throw away, the nasty stench already crinkling her nose.

This is not the first time in the last three days that she has lost track of time thinking about Red. She has also left a load of laundry in the dryer too long, effectively shrinking one of her favorite shirts into oblivion, and missed a whole twenty minutes of her last movie, having to rewind it when she realized the tiny people on the screen had had the gall to go on talking when she wasn’t paying attention.

Liz knows that she should snap out of it. These feelings are too dangerous for her to be having for an employer. Especially when said employer is the Concierge of Crime. And especially when she has been stealing from said Concierge.

But Liz can’t deny that Red had seemed honest when he told her he would forgive her sins. But the man is a professional liar. But liar or not, he does seem genuinely smitten with her. But he is a famous womanizer. But Liz can’t help but be flattered by his attention. But is there any young woman that wouldn’t be flattered by the attention of Raymond Reddington? But if women weren’t falling over him, he wouldn’t be a very good womanizer, would he?

Ugh.

Liz puts her head in her hands, her convoluted thoughts starting to give her a headache. All she can be certain of at this point is that, no matter how trustworthy Red may seem, she should be very wary of him and she should definitely not, under any circumstances, develop feelings for him.

At all.

She groans, a weight settling in her stomach that feels strangely like inevitability.

When is he going to call anyway? He said he would call soon. But how soon is soon? Three days seems like plenty of time to Liz, certainly “soon”, so why hasn’t he called? Because she’s eager to get to work, she tells herself, not because she’s afraid she’s starting to forget all the different colors in his eyes, no, she –

Ring, ring.

Liz jumps off the stool in a panic, whirling around, looking for her phone. Where did she leave it? Stupid, she should be keeping it within reach at all times, dummy, what was she thinking, oh, there it is. On the coffee table next to the remote, where she left it when she went to make her popcorn, of course. She snatches it up and looks at the caller ID.

Unknown.

With her heart pounding in her chest, she presses “accept” and puts the phone to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Lizzie.”

Her heart leaps. Oh, it shouldn’t be doing that.

“Red!” she says happily, trying not to sound too out of breath or crazed or excited or like she’s been on pins and needles for three days waiting for this call. 

“Lizzie, how are you?” he asks warmly. Or at least it sounds warm with her phone pressed so hard against her ear.

“I’m well, thank you.” She says shyly, feeling herself blush, despite the fact that he obviously can’t see her. Geez, pull it together, Liz. “And yourself?”

“Good, thank you.” He’s good. Good. That’s good.

“And how is Dembe?” She can’t help but inquire after the strong, silent bodyguard.

“He’s good as well.” She thinks she can hear a smile in his voice as he says this. She wishes she could see his face. “Have you been enjoying your time off?” he asks.

Liz grins, slowly sinking down onto the couch, tucking her legs up underneath her. “Yes, I have. I’ve given my apartment some sorely needed attention and today I’m having a movie day.”

“That sounds wonderful. I’m sorry to have interrupted you.”

“Oh, you didn’t. I was in between movies.” She says quickly, for some reason finding it very important that she reassure him. Liz suddenly wishes that she was using Sam’s old cord phone, wanting something to twirl around her fingers as she speaks to him.

“Oh, good.” He murmurs, almost humming in her ear.

She settles further into the couch, trying not to swoon.

“Well Lizzie,” he starts, louder now, seeming to gather himself after a peaceful moment of listening to her breathe. “I’m calling to ask if you’d be free to meet with me tomorrow around…say, three o’clock?

Liz bites her lip, trying not to find it adorable that he’s asking for her availability when he knows perfectly well that she isn’t working.

“I believe I will be free, yes.” She tries for carefree aloofness but she doesn’t know how successful she is. “Where should I meet you?”

“My current residence. Shall I text you the address?”

“Please.”

“Certainly. I’ll see you tomorrow, then, Lizzie. Enjoy your movie day.” He says courteously, and with a hint of amusement, she thinks. Cute.

“Thank you. See you tomorrow.”

Liz hangs up, puts her phone back down on the coffee table, and tries to smother her grin. She shouldn’t be so eager to see Red again, she really shouldn’t. And if she is, it should only be because she’s eager to start planning the heist and that’s all. It’s the only thing preventing her from taking new jobs after all.

But she can’t deny that the thought of seeing Red once again fills her with excitement and anticipation. She can’t wait to resume their verbal sparring in person, when she can really observe Red and learn his different facial expressions and habits. As a student of psychology, every person presents different mysteries for Liz and Red? Well, Red is the most mysterious person she’s ever met.

And she can’t wait to unravel him.

-------------------

Knock, knock.

Liz rocks back on the balls of her feet as she waits for someone to answer the door, adjusting the strap of the messenger bag slung across her chest, which contains her lock-picking tools, disguises, and other thieving essentials. She doesn’t know exactly what Red has planned for today but she wants to be prepared.

She hears movement on the other side of the door and a second later it opens, revealing a pleasantly smiling Dembe.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Scott,” he greets her politely. “Please come in.”

With a slight shock, Liz realizes that this is the first time she’s heard Dembe speak, despite the fact that he’s been to her apartment. And seen her in her underwear. Interesting.

His voice is deep and warm, not completely unlike Red’s, but lightly accented. Something African, Liz thinks idly. But instead of the tingles of electricity and excitement she feels when listening to Red speak, Dembe’s voice elicits calm and comfort that rumbles through her pleasantly, like warm syrup.

“Thank you, Dembe,” she says sincerely, moving past him into the house. “But, please, call me Liz.”

He nods, smiling at her, a friendly light in his eyes. In just these first few moments of interacting with him, Liz can already tell that the large, dark-skinned bodyguard is a gentle giant with a kind soul. She can easily see herself taking a friendly, sisterly liking to him. She suddenly hopes that they will have the opportunity to spend more time together in the future.

“Raymond is in the first room on the right, Liz.” Dembe tells her, gesturing down the hallway past a sitting room and a small kitchen.

“Thanks.” She grins at him and saunters down the hallway, sinking quickly into her usual working mindset: young, careless, and confident. It hasn’t failed her yet.

She gets to the room Dembe indicated and, seeing the door pulled to, raps lightly on the wood, easing it open slowly.

“Ah, Lizzie!”

She hears his booming voice before she sees him but as he comes into view, she freezes.

He is striding toward her across the room, looking both comfortable and confident, which is quite a sight in and of itself. But instead of the full three-piece suits she has previously seen him in, he is wearing only an un-buttoned, cream-colored vest over a white button down shirt. With the first two buttons undone. This casual look is completed by his normal dress slacks and designer shoes. A quick glance around the room locates his matching suit-jacket neatly draped over the back of a loveseat. This overall look is so different from their previous encounters that it stuns her into silence.

He is very handsome.

Score one for Red.

The man in question, of course, notices her short bout of preoccupation.

“I do hope you’ll forgive my casual attire but today is rather a day off for me so I thought I’d dress down for our little meeting.”

Dress down. Unbelievable. Only a rich guy would consider a vest, button down, and slacks “dressing down”.

Liz works to quickly recover herself, deciding to play coy and flirty. This tactic has worked very well with him in their past encounters.

And it certainly isn’t a stretch for Liz.

She snaps back into character, having only stared in silence for less than a minute, and tilts her head, giving him a drawn-out once over, making sure to linger below his eyeline.

What a treat.

“Not at all. I think the look suits you.” She smirks at him and then she can’t resist. “And after all, you’ve seen me without pants so technically you’re overdressed.”

She breezes by him, hearing his slight intake of breath, and grins to herself. Score one for Liz. Now they’re even. She makes herself at home without being asked, tossing her messenger bag onto a chair and shedding her leather jacket and signature blue beanie.

She takes a moment to fix her hair and smooth her blouse, keenly observing the room as she does so – it looks to be a small library – before she quickly turns back to face him, catching him staring at a part of her that definitely isn’t her eyes.

Well. Fair is fair. She feels herself blush lightly at the welcome attention.

“So,” she starts, cocking her hip, “what are we doing today?”

As she says this, she spies a large, heavy, metal safe on the wide oak table that takes up the right side of the library. How did she not notice it there before? Some thief she is. Not her usual observant self. Granted, Red's jacket-less form is rather distracting...

He follows her gaze to the safe.

"Ah, yes," he says, "I thought we'd do some lock picking today. I haven't seen you in action yet and while your brush passes rather speak for themselves, I'd like to test your other skills, if you don't mind."

Liz bristles. She can feel shock and anger cross her face.

Test her skills? If she doesn’t mind? Is he joking? Any self-respecting thief would walk straight out on a gig if they heard those words. How dare he –

“I do hope you don’t misunderstand me. I have every confidence in your abilities. I simply think an assessment of your strengths will help us plan for the smoothest entrance and exit possible.”

Oh. Well then. When he puts it like that.

“All right,” Liz says primly, a little ashamed of jumping to conclusions. “Shall we get started?”

“Certainly.” Red agrees happily, pleased to have side-stepped that particular conversational landmine. He wastes no time in launching into what Liz has privately dubbed ‘story-time mode’. “This is a four-tumbler combination lock, quite an exceptional model actually, I have some information on it over here…”

Red turns and walks to a small round table by the loveseat to fetch the ‘information’ and Liz has to force herself not to laugh out loud. Does Red seriously think that she hasn’t seen this safe before? What kind of thief does he think she is? Not a very good one apparently. Well, she’ll show him.

“…and the tumblers are notoriously tricky to handle. One of my most reliable grifters struggled with this particular model – he was a funny thing, little Indonesian man, swore he couldn’t work with those damn fiddly lock picks, always used a bobby pin…”

As Red prattles on, Liz stealthily reaches inside her messenger bag and retrieves her trusty set of lock picks. They’re old and perhaps getting a little worn but she won’t use any other. She learned with these picks and they’ve never failed her.

She creeps over to the safe, securely locked and proudly guarding its secrets. For the time being, anyway. Red takes his time shifting through his papers, looking for the correct sheet, rambling on about this associate and that heist, not paying the least bit of attention to her. Liz rolls her eyes.

Unbelievable.

She has the lock picked in record time, 25 seconds, and by the time Red finally turns back to her, redundant information in hand, Liz is perched on the table with the contents of the safe – Red’s whole collection of passports and identities, evidently – in her lap, quietly snooping through them.

“…so I simply said, ‘Darius, how on earth do you – ‘” Red looks up at her and promptly stops in his tracks, his mouth agape.

Liz squints at his Canadian passport, turning it this way and that. “You know, I don’t care for this name – Lucius, ugh, doesn’t fit you at all – but I think I like this picture the best.” She taps her chin thoughtfully and then looks up at him through her lashes. “I think a little bit of facial hair looks good on a man. Makes him look a little wild.” She purrs the last sentence and throws him a wink.

He swallows audibly.

“I see,” he clears his throat and, with visible effort, gathers himself. “I appreciate the feedback.” He mutters sarcastically.

“My pleasure.” Liz responds cheerfully, grinning at the picture that is quickly becoming her favorite look of Red’s.

(She wonders idly what a little scruff on his face would feel like.)

His eyes narrow. “Well, I’ll be sure to remember your preferences the next time I renew my driver’s license.” He snaps. “May I ask how exactly you got into that safe? It’s supposed to be a top model.”

“Oh, it is.” Says Liz simply. “But I’m a top grifter.” She smiles winningly at him.

His lips purse. He strides over to the table to stand next to her, grabbing the passports and stuffing them back in the safe. As he snatches the last passport from her hands, (she tries not to pout), he notices her lock picks on the table.

“You use these rusty old things?” he asks incredulously, picking them up to inspect them. “Surely you can afford better ones, Lizzie.”

His condescending tone immediately grates on her nerves, which she suspects was completely intended, and she snatches them out of his hands, holding them to her chest protectively.

“I certainly could afford better ones, if I wanted them,” she snaps. “However, I chose to work with these.”

“Why?” Red demands, aghast.

“If you must know, my father gave them to me. They have sentimental value.” She jumps off the table and strides to her bag, quickly tucking her lock picks back inside, protected from his skeptical gaze. She won’t have him insulting her equipment, oh no. “For your information, I used these picks to break into that arms dealer’s warehouse of yours, what was his name? Something Spanish?”

His eyes narrow and he takes an ominous pause.

“…Miguel.”

“Ah, yes, Miguel. Very inattentive. Well, as I recall, I was rather successful.” She sniffs. And she was. She stole about half a million dollars in Red’s weapons and ammunition and he knows it. She crosses her arms and glares at him.

He glares back.

A tense moment passes, neither backing down. Liz can almost feel the air crackle between them.

Finally, he breaks eye contact and sighs.

“All right,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “You have my apologizes, Lizzie. I have no right to criticize the tools you use or the reasons you use them. What matters is that they are effective.”

“Agreed,” she says stiffly, still smarting a little.

He peers at her. “Needless to say, Lizzie, you’ve impressed me today. I don’t think I’ll be underestimating you again.”

A strange warmth blossoms in her chest, melting all her previous animosity. Liz can’t help but smile. She has impressed him.

(How is it he can be aggravating her one second, take a moment to smooth things over, and then be back to making her blush like a school girl, all within a few minutes? Amazing.)

“I don’t wish to part on bad terms.” he murmurs regretfully. “May I suggest we shake hands and make up?”

He grins hopefully at her, reminding her vaguely of a guilty but hopeful puppy. Liz’s heart stutters a little at the thought of touching him.

“I suppose.” She draws out the word and gives a long-suffering sigh, teasing him. She feels her heart beat a little faster as she uncrosses her arms and steps closer, extending her hand.

Their eyes meet as their hands touch and Liz feels a little shock of electricity from both points of contact. His hand is warm and soft, cradling hers gently, while his green gaze burns into hers. Liz feels frozen, staring into his eyes, the air seeming to vibrate between them.

She feels his thumb make a pass over her knuckles.

She shivers.

Slowly, he pulls his hand away, his gaze finally moving from her eyes and flitting down to her lips almost imperceptibly.

“Well,” he says quietly, his voice deeper than before, “you’ll need much less preparation then I was expecting. I think we can proceed with the original heist date as planned.”

“And when will that be?”

“How does September 20th sound?”

She smiles. “It’s a date.”

His lips twitch into a grin.

“Be sure to mark it on your calendar.” He murmurs, staring at her with lidded eyes.

Liz blushes.

She should leave. Before she does something stupid. Really, wonderfully, perfectly stupid.

So, with a final nod, she turns to grab her things and strides to the door of the library, feeling a little like she left something of herself locked up in the safe with his passports. What an odd feeling.

“I’ll be in contact in a few days about another meeting.” He calls after her.

“I have no doubt,” she says, aiming for breezy and unconcerned but hearing something a little more insecure. No, she can’t leave things like that.

“Oh, Red?” she stops in the doorway to look back at him. He is already staring at her. A little thrill goes through her.

“Yes?”

“Next time, how about something a little more challenging, huh?” She winks at him before turning to leave.

His warm chuckle follows her out the door.