#she only wanted his company and understanding! so humble and expecting so little. he lays his soul down for her so fast

[bbqhooligan]

since it fits the "love interest randomly undresses for tension purposes" trope people miss that scenes full meaning, Dong Eun undressing before Yeo Jeong. Shes baring her soul, choosing to. pretty obvious visual metaphor of opening up fully to him. It went beyond just telling him the story, when the words fail to convey the pain she undresses fully. its not the weaponized show of arms for Do Yeong, that was meant to distress and shake him. neither is it for manipulating him! she wasnt even hoping to gain anything from it! she had already given up on relying on him (using him, in her mind) because he had his own share of pain in his life. shes ONLY looking to be understood by him. to be seen. SHES surprised he answers as intensely as he does.

that scene is her biggest surrender and open admission of being fond of him without expecting any benefit. her most vulnerable and human moment, only possible through her trust and affection for him.

[inkbyajm]

Bottled Up

pairing: C.H. x fem!reader

category: angst, fluff

warnings: yelling, crying, insecurities

word count: 2.2k

notes: apologies for the tardy post, i wrote and rewrote and re-rewrote the whole angsty scene because i didn’t know if it was written well enough, i wanted to make sure you guys could feel the emotions that i vividly visualised and tried my best to put into words  :( i did send it to a friend to check and she seemed to like it, so let me know how it goes for you, my loves. the angst for this one was inspired by 2 different songs - hold me while you wait by lewis capaldi and i will run from you by cemeteries. it’s not necessarily about the lyrics, but more about the melody and the mood you get into listening to them (they go in order). give those a listen :) also, beware of the upcoming philosophy references, i did study philosophy last year, hopefully no one gets triggered lmao

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Is a person’s scent something a normal human being picks up on before taking into account the rest of their features? Would a normal human being remember said scent and be able to recognise it in a crowd full of strangers? Corpse wasn’t too sure about the answer, but one thing he did know, is that she smelled delicately sweet, like cherry blossoms, and that ever since he had noticed it during their game night a few weeks ago, he simply couldn’t let it go. It was intoxicating, but in a calming way. 

━

Corpse and (Y/N) each lay on their beds in their own homes, going into the third hour of their call. He couldn’t exactly fall asleep, so he had decided to see what his dear friend was up to, and even though she was this close to succumbing to sleep, she said nothing and stayed up to keep his busy mind company.

“Okay, hot topic: what do you think about soulmates? More specifically the romantic type?” the girl asked, not knowing how much of a risqué question it was. How was he supposed to answer?

“I don’t really have an opinion on it. Why?”

“I read Symposium by Plato the other day and it presented an interesting concept about human beings. Basically-” Of course she fucking read philosophical books. How were they even having a conversation with each other? Why were they even friends? She was on a whole other level of smart. “-so this guy says that humans were like androgynous blobs, so they’d come in two sets of everything a normal person has. But those humans were so powerful, the gods were literally shaking in their robes, so Zeus decided to cut everyone into two to weaken them. But then humans became so miserable, they spent their entire lives searching for their other halves. In the end, Zeus kinda felt bad and said fuck it, I’ll give y’all dicks and vaginas for every time you wanna hug each other. And that’s the oldest explanation there is about the idea of soulmates.” she sighed, finished with her rant.

“That was...not at all the story I expected to hear.” she heard him mumble on the other side of the call. “Yeah, Greek philosophers were up to some reeal freaky things, you would have loved them,” he laughed at her joke, “I honestly think it’s cute. Not the whole cutting people into two thing, but like, longing for someone and then finding them because you finally feel complete. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a strong independent woman who doesn’t need a prince in shining whatever to sweep me off my feet. But it does sound nice, that ideal comfort, a person you’re just...meant to be with, I guess.”

There was a moment of silence that neither of them really minded, before it was Corpse’s turn to ask the second bold question of the night. “Have you found that person yet? Your soulmate?”

She’s never thought about it before, but she hasn’t really thought about soulmates that much either, it was a spontaneous thought she had said out loud. “I’m not sure, actually. (B/F/N) could be one, I guess.” (Y/N) shrugged in return. Wasn’t she going to ask him about it? She probably didn’t care that much. Understandable.

“My favourite quote about love is «You come to love not by finding the perfect person, but by seeing an imperfect person perfectly.». It’s by Sam Keen, the American philosopher. It maay be the hopeless romantic in me shining through, but I do very much agree with his statement.” Did this mean anyone could have a chance with her despite their fuckups? So if he were to try, would she-?

“Obviously, there are some things that just can’t be ignored or avoided, but at that point it’s preferences and personal tolerance. Depends on the person, ya know?” she swiftly added, unaware of the effect it had on him. Sick. Some people were just meant to rot alone.

The final question was posed by (Y/N). She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t at all curious. This little crush of hers had been steadily growing with every hang out, every laugh, every hug and every glance. There are rarely ever moments where one could casually discuss a topic this personal with friends, at least there weren’t with friends one had feelings for. This was the perfect opportunity.

“Corpse?”

“Hmm?”

“Have you ever been in love?” her voice was soft, her approach gentle.

“Well, I’ve been in relationships before, so I guess, yeah? It’s been so long, I don’t even know what love feels like anymore.” he let out a breath resembling a chuckle. Lamest fucking answer ever. But it was true. He hadn’t thought about love in that way in quite a while.

“A lot of people describe it as having an intense range of overwhelming feelings. Lightheadedness, slight shakiness, heart palpitations, some people have even reported losing their appetite. Crazy how human bodies work, huh? Oh! Speaking of chemicals-”

She had continued on to ramble about...chemistry? Eyes? Corpse couldn’t really hear what she was saying anymore, let alone concentrate on her words, as he pieced everything that’s been happening for the past few months together. The nauseating feeling. The pounding of his heart so fast it felt like he was about to die. The urge to make as little eye contact with her as possible, because otherwise he’d turn into a furnace. The obsession with her perfume, like he was some fucking creep. The fool was falling in love. And it was at that moment that everything had come crumbling down.

━

(Y/N) and Corpse hadn’t talked for a couple of weeks. Or rather (Y/N) messaged the 23 year old many times, but he’d either claim to be busy or just not answer at all. There were two possible reasons for the sudden lack of contact: he was indeed busy with his musical projects and couldn’t allow himself to be distracted; or something much more serious was going on. It didn’t matter, for she was already in her car, on her way to his apartment.

Arriving at her destination, she used the spare key he gave her months ago, a sign of absolute trust, and allowed herself into his humble abode. Silence reigned in her friend’s residence. She thought maybe he had gone somewhere, and though that was unlikely, it wasn’t unprecedented. The door to his recording room was closed, and while she was tempted to check if he was in there, she refrained from doing so, knowing that specific room was not to be entered unless he was around to give permission.

“Corpse?” she called out just to make sure. There was no response for a few minutes, which made her assume she had the place for herself, until she heard a door open behind her. Turning around, she saw his figure emerge from said recording room in a white t-shirt and black sweatpants, his curly hair disheveled.

“Hey, how are you d-”

“Why are you here?” he spoke flatly, interrupting her. “Well- You weren’t, um, answering your messages or any of my calls, so I thought something had happened.” she replied, suddenly nervous, fiddling with the rings on her fingers. “Nothing happened. I told you I was busy.”

The air around them seemed colder as tensions rose. (Y/N) could tell he was irritated, but she couldn’t exactly figure out why. She had never seen this side of him before. “Okay. Tell you what, I assume you haven’t had dinner yet, so why don’t I go ahead and start cooking something up while you-”

“Get out.”

She blinked a few times, not quite registering the words that had just left his mouth. “Sorry?” Her voice was quiet. She was taken off guard.

“Are you deaf? I said get. the fuck. OUT.”

Corpse shouted the last word, making her flinch in what appeared to be fear. Good. Run away while you still can. Heart pounding, (Y/N) took a second to remind herself whom she was speaking to. “I see that you’re angry, but at least give me a reason why-”

“You want a reason? I just don’t fucking WANT you here!” Anger grew inside of him like a tumor, but it wasn’t intended for her. She had simply been caught in a storm that had been building up for years. “Do you understand that?! I can’t fucking be around you without feeling like I’m going to EXPLODE.”

His words hit her like paintballs. They were only words, plain and simple, but they dug deeper and deeper into her skin with each hit, until, eventually, it broke. Eyes burning, she felt the tears slowly welling up in them.

“Why are you doing this to me?!” her own voice grew louder with frustration, but mostly, confusion.

“Maybe because I can? Because I’m a goddamn asshole?” 

“Don’t say that.”

“How?! How can I not say it when it’s the truth!” He wanted to stop. His mind told him to cease whatever it was that he was doing. However, blinded with resentment towards himself, he only spilled words he would regret after it was too late. 

“I can’t function like a normal fucking human being. I can’t be a good friend, son, or whatever the fuck else, and I sure as hell can’t love you.”

The paintballs had turned into a singular sword. A very long, very sharp sword that had found itself plunged deep inside her chest. How did he found out? When? Had she been too obvious? Had she been pushy? Clingy? Way out of line? The woman before him was unable to conceal her shock, as tears came rushing down her hot cheeks. Her voice brittle, she tried defending herself. She couldn’t leave it at that. She had to try. Try to have him see reason. “You don’t love me, that’s fine. But you didn’t have to deliver it this way-”

“But I did.” breathless with fury, Corpse clenched his fists so tight they had turned cold, yet they were still trembling. “You can get so naïve and dumb, you won’t understand things unless they’re spelled out nice and fucking bold for you.”

He closed with (Y/N) until their noses nearly touched. He noticed the way she silently shook, her eyes which shed endless tears never leaving his gaze. Unable to make a single sound, she felt the man’s hot breath on her face, his aura domineering.

“Now get. out.”

Her body wouldn’t cooperate as she just stood there. Staring back at him, her inner brows raised. Corpse wanted to hug her. Envelop her trembling figure with his and tell her he was sorry, that he meant none of it, that he had lost his mind. But he couldn’t bring himself to do anything. And with his own tears threatening to spill, he created a distance between them. He needed her gone.

“Leave! GO!”

His yelling was enough to jolt (Y/N) out of her trance, and, in a hurry, she sprinted towards the entrance. The door closed behind her, she felt a sudden urge to fill her lungs with much needed air. She jumped at the resounding scream that emanated from deep within his soul, letting out all of his pent-up rage.

Feet carrying her all the way to her car parked outside of the building, the young woman managed to climb in, and this was the queue for her body to break down. The night was young. The street empty. No one around to hear her long-lasting wailing. She clutched the steering wheel for support, fingers wrapping around the leather in a tight grip. A headache was creeping up from the back of her skull. Her ears pulsated in response to the heavy pounding of her heart. Clumsily, (Y/N) inserted the key into the ignition, felt around for the gear stick, and drove away. She didn’t know where she was going or how long it was going to take to get there. She needed to get out.

What went wrong? When did it go wrong? She couldn’t help but feel guilty, feel at fault. She had never seen that side of him before. He had never treated her that way before.

It was the hugs, wasn’t it? He had to have noticed the way she held on for a second too long to enjoy the smell of his cologne. Her vision blurred as she resumed softly weeping, her salty tears staining her top. Or it might have been the touchiness, she would practically glue herself to him during their movie nights. Unaware of both her actions and surroundings, (Y/N)’s breathing quickened, becoming ragged. Maybe he didn’t like the way she called him three times a week. Her hands were slowly losing control over the wheel, over the vehicle she was driving. She invaded his privacy. That was definitely it. Fuck. How could she have been so damn blind, selfish, ignorant, FUCKING STUPID.

Lights. Something was moving towards her- MOVE.

With a sharp turn, she dodged the approaching car just by a hair’s breadth, but as she had avoided one accident, another came just as quickly. 

[saphirered]

I have a request! How about a pre!Caleb x reader with a runechild reader that has been with Caleb and Nott from pre-stream? What would their friendship dynamic be with the two and how does Caleb react to them being hunted for experimentation by various magic users.

I’m so sorry this took so long to write. Double shifts have been killing me but I’m still trying to get these requests out regardless in whatever free time I get. I hope this one’s to your liking. It turned out pretty long 😅 . Enjoy regardless 😘

Prison. How did it come to the point where being stuck in a jail would be both the best and worst place for you to be? At least those after you wouldn’t be able to get you without getting in a lot of trouble or jumping through legal hoops giving you enough time to plan your escape. 

When word got out you were a runechild people praised you… and hunted you discovering your worth as a conduit for the natural magics as well as an arcane power source. You learned many before you were hunted and killed, or enslaved for just this fact so when people came knocking you weren’t going to stick around and find out their intentions and plans for you. You value your own life more than that no matter how curious you may be about what it means to be a runechild. 

Being on the run has its good sides; new places, new people and new experiences. The down side, no stability, no security and no long term friends, always on the road with barely a moment to breathe but at least you’re alive and not held captive and squeezed for every bit of arcane juju in your body. Though, you have to say you do miss having friends. Luckily you’re not the only one on the run from selfish mages with ulterior motives and as they say, birds of a feather… 

You’re sitting in the corner of your cell head leaning back against the wall and one knee propped up. There’s barely any light bleeding through the narrow window up high, the only way you’ve been able differentiate day from night and count how long you’ve been here. Time’s running out. You’ll have to make your escape soon. The guard schedule is the most difficult as you don’t see yourself overpowering all of them. Sure you can charm a few but brute strength isn’t really your thing and you’re kinda squishy compared to the armoured folks trying to keep people from escaping… You weren’t going to take your chances there and draw more attention to yourself. 

The barred door opens, the sound pulling you back to reality to see a rather filthy looking man and a child? Halfling? being pushed into your cell. Great. Company. Not like that eliminates what few plans you had… The door is closed behind them by the guard that gives the small person a kick in the back for good measure. You don’t respond as they cry out about to turn back around and attack the guard but are stopped by the man. The duo sees you as the guard leaves and sticks to the opposite side of your humble abode sitting down together and whisper. 

This would be the next few days; these new roommates of yours sticking to themselves barely speaking at all when not whispering. Not like you could blame them. You weren’t about to stick your nose in their business just like they hadn’t. Though, what you wouldn’t do for some warmth during the colder times like the small one, a goblin you learned, snuggled up with the raggedy man. When was even the last time you had a hug? It feels like ages. Whatever they had going on, you had to say you were slightly envious. At least they had each other. You were all alone and would remain alone for the foreseeable future. You’d give the world if that meant you could have something like they do. 

It’s been a few days since you were given any food. You’re hungry and by the grumbling stomachs of the man and goblin, so are they. Then the guard came by throwing a single slice of bread through the bars. Both you and the goblin scurry forward diving for the slice and you get it. 

“This isn’t enough for all of us!” You shout after the guard holding onto the slice. 

“It’s all you’re getting. Share or fight for the scraps.” The guard calls nibbling on some piece of fruit or something. The goblin woman curses after the guard who stops in his tracks. You quickly glance between the raggedy man and the goblin as the guard walks over to the bars. Casting the spell with nothing but your mind as the guard’s distracted by the screeching cursing woman, the guard’s form relaxes a little bit and eyes turn to you. 

“I’m so sorry about her, my friend. You wouldn’t be able to help us out, would you? It’s been a few days since we’ve eaten and we’re growing hungry. Could you be a dear and fetch us some good and proper food quickly? I’d greatly appreciate it.” You bat your eyelashes and smile innocently. The guard nods happily and hands you a pouch filled with what he was snacking on. 

“I’ll be back with more but please take this for now.” The guard says before he’s off to find you more food. You let out a breath of relief that it worked. You open the pouch and see some fresh berries. The goblin stares at you in confusion as the guard went from asshole to friendly in a split second. You hand her the slice of bread. 

“Now let’s hope the asshole returns within the hour.” You make your way back to your corner and sit down in your usual spot. While you do nibbling on the berries you feel the man’s eyes burn into you or rather a dimly glowing rune on your lower arm. You quickly shift hiding it, staring him down until he averts his gaze. You see from the corner of your eyes as the woman offers to share the slice of bread with the man with a slight hesitation. That amount of food is going to do next to nothing to sate an empty stomach for one, let alone two people. You look down at the pouch of berries while you pop one in your mouth. 

Cursing to yourself you get up, walk over to their side of the cell and sit down a couple feet away from them. You think for a second, pour some of the berries in your hand and hold it stretched out towards the man. 

“Look, we’ve seen you charmed the guard with your wiles to give you food but do you have to rub it in our faces too?!” The woman screeches petting the man’s shoulder in comfort. 

“I don’t think they’re taunting us. I think they’re offering to share.” 

“Take them before I change my mind.” You’re still half deliberating on eating them yourself with how hungry you had grown in the past few days. The goblin calms down demeanour instead turning to confusion trying to find some ulterior motive while the man takes the berries with a brief smile and shares them with the woman. 

The room turns silent again for the next thirty minutes or so before the guard returns with some plates of fresh food. Bread, not stale, butter, a couple of cuts of meat and even some steamed vegetables and rice. You rush over to the bars a little quicker than you’d wanted but even the smell’s enough to make your mouth water. You take the plates offering the guard a charming smile.

“Thank you very much, my friend. We won’t forget your generosity. Now why don’t you be back on your way and we’ll keep this our little secret alright?” 

“Yeah, of course. Let me know if you need anything else.” The guard nods before leaving the three of you. 

“You lot still hungry because this needs to be gone in the next thirty minutes or so.” The man pats a spot next to him and the goblin and you rush over handing them their own plates the three of you shoving down the food as fast as you can, to the crumbs, licking the plates clean. Not your finest perhaps but it only shows how long it’s been since any of you had a proper meal. After you return to your usual silence but remain seated with them. 

The consequences of your spell usage came as you expected and resulted in some bruises for you but they were worth it. Since you shared the food and took full responsibility for your actions the man, Caleb and goblin, Nott had grown a little more open with you and the three of you came to a nonverbal understanding to share what you got and distribute fairly. In the mean time you’d still been plotting your escape but your stunt had put a bit of a dent in that as they changed up the guard schedule too. Time’s running out. 

It’s afternoon and you’re laying on the floor curled up shivering from the cold facing away from Caleb and Nott. Your breath is visible in the air, the day unusually cold. A small hand touches your shoulder so you turn to see Nott giving you a pitied look. You sit up a little still shaking breathing into your hands and rubbing them together in the hopes of getting some warmth going. Nott grabs onto your hand and slowly pulls you in the direction of Caleb where she had been sitting before. You don’t resist as she sits you down right next to Caleb. You can’t help but cling onto him a little, responding to the warmth he brings and he does the same. While the difference is minimal, it’s better than none. Nott curls up in between the both of you on your laps using part of your coat to wrap around her, your own little heating pad against your stomachs. 

Caleb snaps his fingers and you feel soft fur scratch your neck, weight of a paw shifting to your shoulder and settle down. Looking down you see a bengal cat cuddle up like a scarf between you and Caleb. You make eye contact with the man. While your knowledge of the arcane might be limited you put one and one together and recognise the cat to be a familiar. You scratch the orange fuzz-ball’s head a little making it purr. 

“That trick you pulled a few days ago, you think you could do it again?” Caleb asks, voice shaky from the cold. You nod. 

“Good. We’re gonna need it if we want to get out of here. Together.” 

The next few days are repeated in kind, the cold sticking and freezing to death isn’t on any of your schedules. Caleb showed you a little trick of his to keep you warm when you were sure no guards would be near. The flame in his hands and cuddly cat Frumpkin, offered you some warmth and comfort when you most needed it. 

One day you’re in Caleb’s embrace, Nott in yours and you’re huddled together, when you feel some kind of amulet hidden beneath the layers of Caleb’s clothes. Caleb notices you noticed and freezes up. 

“Don’t worry I’m not going to steal it. Is it from your home?” You assure and while he grows a tiny bit less rigid he’s not back to his usual self.

“You could say that.” Caleb speaks absentmindedly, sounding a little stuck in his head.

“So not a good memory then. I won’t pry.” This puts him more at ease. He reaches into the neckline of his shirt and pulls out the amulet running his thumb over it. Curious what it looks like you’re slightly taken aback it matches something you’ve managed to keep hidden on your person too. 

“Looks like we have more in common than I thought. People with those kind of trinkets usually intend to stay hidden from people with a tendency to stick their arcane noses where they shouldn’t.” You take out the similar amulet from beneath your robes and show it. You’d rather not go into the details of how you procured this object. What matters is you have it and it keeps you safe from more persistent folks. 

“It appears so. If you don’t mind me asking, who would you be running from to need such an item?” You notice some wariness behind Caleb’s curiosity. Mistrust perhaps?

“No one in particular that I know of currently. It’s more of a precaution you see. The… origins of my abilities make me very wanted by those of arcane interests. They’d see me caged like some pretty songbird to be shown off to their friends or in chains, to be used as a power source for their spells and rituals without my consent. Certain powerful mages have been made aware of my presence in the Dwendalian Empire and seek to use me for their own plots. I prefer my freedom and staying out of their clutches.” You explain. You have no reason to hide this from Caleb. It just wasn’t relevant before. 

“I think I have a feeling I know about these individuals and believe me when I say you’re better off staying far away from them. I intend to do the same.” Caleb puts the amulet back in its place hidden from sight and you do the same. 

“A common interest then? Since we’re running from the same thing, perhaps sticking together after our grand escape until our paths diverge works in our benefit?” You deliberate as Nott listens along. You expected her to be asleep but apparently she had been listening too. 

“You can protect us and we protect you. You can study and learn together and become more powerful. We’ll protect each other. Caleb?” Nott speaks as she grabs yours and Caleb’s hands in her small ones giving them a light squeeze. 

“I don’t see why not.” Caleb mutters seeing the benefit in sticking together for the foreseeable future. He looks at you waiting for your answer.

“I guess. If you’ll have me, I’d very much appreciate the company.” 

And so you decided to stick together. Your breakout, not without its hiccups, successful regardless. You did as you agreed and had each other’s backs leaving your prison days far behind. You make a great team swindling people, stealing what you need to get by. Life on the road is hard but much more bearable with these two at your side. Nott has very much taken the mother role when it comes to the two of you, making sure you’ve eaten enough, studied enough and sleep instead of sticking in the books with Caleb. She’ll cuddle up to your side even on the warmer nights wrapping her arms around your arm or sides. Caleb shares his knowledge with you, as much as he can anyway hence the two of you studying together. He’s taken up the role of tutor and friend very well. The three of you while a little rocky at first have a good thing going on. You’re more than just friends. You’re family. You look out of each other no matter what and you stick together until the bitter end through think and thin because at the end of the day; birds of a a feather, stick together. 

[nobodycallsmerae]

Hey, I hope you’re well! 🙃Can I ask #7 and #32?

Hi hi!! I'm fine! I hope you're doing great too!! I've written another shot based on prompt #32, (which im quite proud of) and you can find it here. You haven't mentioned a pairing, so I'm just gonna write for bbrae :)

I humbly tried to dabble into the holy world of office romance. You should see my manhwa reading list. My last 6-7 webcomics are filled with office romances XoX

____

'What? But I've been working overtime for the past twelve days!' He whined, practically on the verge of tears.

'Well that's tragic,' The vice president rolled her eyes. 'But you are my secretary now, and you have to be competent in what you do.'

'But..!'

Raven Roth had no idea how she'd gotten herself into this situation.

She was the vice president of a successful company, an accomplished and respected 28-year-old woman, but now she was stuck here, in her office, arguing pointlessly with a man-child.

Her old secretary (and only friend) Kory Anders, was on her honeymoon, leaving Raven with.. Him.

‘No “buts” Mr. Logan,’ Raven cut him off. ‘The company is going through a critical time now, and I want every employee to give their hundred percent. And you-’

Sometimes she wondered why she didn’t just fire him, but, truth be told, even if he was messy, and lazy, and was definitely not used to working behind the table, 27-year-old Garfield Logan was actually quite good at what he did.

And also that her old secretary had personally hired him, and Raven did not want to deal with an angry Kory Anders.

‘M-Mr. Logan are you…?’ She looked at her now secretary, who had slumped shoulders and was looking downwards.

‘How do you expect me to work like this?!’ He finally snapped, looking up at her and walking closer to her desk. ‘I get sleep for a grand total of three hours a day, I haven’t had a proper meal and have been practically living on caffeine and I don’t have any plants in my new apartment!!’

‘Plants…?’ She raised an eye-brow.

‘I just needed a third thing, okay?’ Gar cried out. He took a few deep breaths and with his chin touching his chest, his shoulders began to shake.

‘Mr. Lo- Logan are you… cryi-’

‘Yes! Yes, I’m having a mental breakdown right now!’ He exclaimed, looking up at her with tears in his eyes. ‘You may be perfect, Ms. Roth, but I am not! I’m nowhere near perfect, and I’m trying my best to keep up with you here. I’m trying my best, I swear, but I can’t anymore. You’ve ought to give me a break. If I had a girlfriend, I bet she’d want me to quit.’

‘..Well, you don’t have a girlfriend…’ Raven quietly muttered, feeling kind of guilty all of a sudden.

‘Because I’ve been working for you the whole time!!’ Gar yelled, watching her wince as he did.

He finally exhaled, and calmed himself. He stepped back, and suddenly, a professional aura surrounded him, which made Raven blink twice.

‘..I’m sorry Ms. Roth.’ He regarded her. ‘I’m sorry for behaving in an-’

A quite peculiar, but not not-good sound made him stop in his tracks, and in front of him, he could see his superior…. Laughing?

Gar had worked for Raven Roth for almost a month now, and he had never even seen the sides of her lips turning upwards, often making him wonder if they were fixed in a slight frown. But now, in front of him at 10 pm, The Raven Roth was laughing her heart out. Gar blinked, and even rubbed his eyes, wondering if he was hallucinating, because, truthfully, the scene in front of him was… making his heart flutter.

‘I-I’m sorry Mr. Logan..’ Raven said between laughs, covering her mouth with her hand. ‘But no employee has ever talked to me like that before… I would say that you’re almost being… cute.’

‘Well.. of course they haven’t,’ Gar coughed, trying to hide his obvious blush. ‘They’re practically working zombies…’

‘Heh, well you know what,’ Raven sighed, rolling her stiff shoulders into her plush chair. 'You can go home for today… But, I need those papers present on my table by next Monday. Understand?'

'Yes, Ma'am!!' Gar happily exclaimed, saluting her.

‘I may say… you’re being quite perky for someone who was whimpering not two seconds ago.’

‘Heh.. yeah, about that..’ He blushed, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. ‘Can we just pretend the last five minutes of our lives never happened?’

‘Even the time I told you to wrap it up for the day?’ Raven slyly played along, not knowing what had gotten into her… but not disliking it either. ‘Okay, then, get the files from-’

She looked at him, pouting like a cute little puppy which was kicked in the- wait…

...Cute?

Raven Roth didn’t think things were cute, let alone other humans. She didn’t go around swooning over other men like some women, but what had invaded her thoughts right now?

Well, she did say that the puppy was cute… that had to count for something, right?

‘It’s okay, Mr. Logan, you may go. I was just messing with you.’

‘Phew.’ With a hand on his fine chest, the secretary let out a sigh. Wait, fi- ‘And also, now that we’re off the clock, please, you can call me Gar, Rav-’

‘And you may call me Ms. Roth.’

‘Ms. Roth.’ He smiled. He slightly bowed his head as a silent greeting and walked out of her office.

Raven thought about continuing her work, like she’s been doing every single night-

‘Mr. Garfield?’ She called out, surprising herself as she did.

‘Si?’ Gar immediately popped his head back into her office, almost as if he’d been standing in front of the door the whole time.

Now that he was looking oh-so intently at her, she blushed. And the last time the vice president had blushed was probably(?) when she was in kindergarden…

‘I.. J-just.. I wanted…’ Raven stumbled, making Gar raise his eye-brows with disbelief. ‘Just.. ah, thank you. I.. I needed this. This may seem a little out of character for me-’

‘A little?’ He teased.

‘Okay, well,’ She huffed. ‘This may not seem like myself, but..’ She sighed, almost bashfully fingering the folders on her table. ‘You know I don’t have many friends, everybody knows that. There are only people who are more-or-less fearful of me because of my designation. And ever since Kory went on her… vacation, I have just been working without a care in the world. But… this, whatever weird little confrontation we had right now… it was refreshing. I really needed that laugh, honestly,’ She chuckled. ‘So.. thank you.’

Gar’s face was colored red, and she was almost sure it mirrored hers, but he just smiled. ‘Anytime.’ He winked. 'And.. I'm your friend now! So don't hesitate to come to me anytime you're in need of a pal.'

Raven awkwardly smiled and got back to the task she was doing on her computer.

‘Umm.. Ms. Roth, aren’t you gonna go home too?’

‘Huh, me? No.’ She shook her head, stifling a yawn. ‘I have this presentation to be tak-’

‘What? But today is Friday.. You have the whole weekend ahead of you! You should take a break!’

‘No, Mr. Loga- Garfield, it’s okay.’ He'd taken a seat on one of the chairs in front of her table. ‘You should go ahead...’

‘Oh, Ms. Roth..’ He sighed. ‘If you take a break now, and get a decent good night’s sleep while you still can, you’ll be refreshed and will be more energized to do your work later on; which will make your work even better! So.. what do ya’ say?’

Gar smiled at her, but he seemed dumbfounded once he saw the expression on her face. She was blushing, very heavily, and Gar wasn’t sure if he’d done something which made her face flush. He raised an eye-brow, to which Raven shyly responded by pointing towards her desk with her eyes. As he looked down at where her eyes were pointed, he saw that his hands were covering hers, almost in an affectionate way.

‘Ahem.’ He pulled back at once, his face flushed with shock and embarrassment.

Raven tried regaining her composure, flattening the front of her suit as a distraction and trying to not concentrate on the warmth that was still lingering on her usually cold hands.

‘Well, Mr. Logan, I thank you for your concern, but…’ The VP sighed, eyeing the files on her desk, thinking back on what had happened a few moments ago. Raven wasn’t the kind of person to reconsider things; She had a schedule and she followed it accordingly. But she also wasn’t the kind of person who’d be easily flustered around people, blush (so many times!), or have such… inappropriate thoughts about a co-worker. (Raven believes “cute” is highly inappropriate.) She also made a mental note to go for a health check-up soon, because she wasn’t sure if her heart was supposed to be beating so fast. Or be missing beats.

‘..I’m going to say something and regret it real quick.’ She mumbled. ‘Okay.. have it your way!’

‘Sweet!’ Gar laughed. ‘Seeing as we’re the only people left, let’s head out together!’ He suggested before walking out.

Raven looked dazed for a moment, but then quickly sorted through the files and folders. She organised what she needed and what she would take a look at later, and sighed at her empty table.

Rummaging through her bag, she looked for her car keys. ‘Shit.’

'You okay?' He called out to her. 'Whoa, that was so cool!' She heard him say to himself as his voice echoed through the empty office.

'Nothing, just..' She exhaled. 'I locked the keys in the car, and my spare keys are at home...' She looked frustrated.

'Oh man...' Gar stood at her door, looking down. 'Uhh, can't you just call up your butler or something?'

'It's almost 11 at night, Garfield.' She let out a long sigh.

'Wait.. but can't you rich people like, call your butlers anytime and they'll be present?'

'What do you think this is, a no-budget fanfiction?' Raven rolled her eyes. Her head was laying on her clean table, and Gar couldn't help but blush after seeing her look so laid-back in front of him. 'Well, I can call them, but I wouldn't want to disturb them. Besides, I can just call a cab for now.'

'Or I could give you a ride!' Gar abruptly suggested.

'Umm?' The woman awkwardly raised an eye-brow, not able to find her words to reply to him.

'I mean..' He started, scratching the back of his neck. 'I was the one who suggested we wrap up for the day, and I'm here with you now. If anything were to happen to you, it is really unsafe now, late at night, I wouldn't help but feel responsible. So let me-'

'Garfield.. I-' Raven blushed. 'I don't think it will be suitable for me to accompany a co-worker like this... And also if people think there's an ulterior motive-'

'I don't have any ulterior motives, Rae.' He smiled. 'I'm just a concerned guy looking out for a friend.'

'Very well... Thank you, Garfield.' She looked down at her table, trying to hide her flushed face. 'Also, nobody calls me "Rae".'

'Yes ma'am!' The secretary smiled and walked out to his cubicle to get his things, leaving Raven alone in her office.

Right then, Raven Roth knew something had changed. Be it the atmosphere or herself, she wasn't sure, but something had definitely changed between her and this Gar Logan.

Maybe it was just one-sided; maybe it was because nobody had made her laugh like that, (even though he didn't do it on purpose.), maybe because no one else had ever suggested her to leave her precious work and get sleep. It could be because for the first time, someone had talked to her as Raven (...or Rae) and not “Vice President, Miss. Roth”. Or probably because it was the first time somebody had cared for her enough to stay back and offer a ride.

She wasn't sure why (or what exactly), but she knew something had changed... and in the deepest, darkest corners of her mind, Raven selfishly hoped it didn't change back.

‘You ready?’ He reappeared at her office, bowing a little melodramatically as he caught her eye.

'Yeah…' Raven smiled. 'I'm ready.'

____

Believe it or not the whole meltdown-in-front-of-lady-boss thing is based on a real incident lmho.

Anyway, I hoped you enjoyed this!! Please share your thoughts :>

[send me a prompt]

[theunchainedmelody]

Vanessa x Yami One-Shot

So... I got sick and tired of the lack of attention this rare pair gets so I wrote a one-shot for it. WARNING: This Story is VERY, VERY ADULT AND LEMONY. Also, it’s probably not the most feministic writing. So I apologize if any of it offends people as I was writing it for myself and it’s not my intention to be problematic. If you want to support me, leave a comment here or leave a review at https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13905101/1/Witch-s-Lust-The-Seduction-of-Captain-Yami

"Witch's Lust" The Seduction of Captain Yami

The rose-haired witch was staring intently at a bottle of wine standing criminally unopened in front of her. As she wondered whether to uncork it, she swirled around her wine glass, of which, now only a small burgundy pool at the glasses' bottom remained. Her velvet glove slid around the glass's stem as her mind drifted off. Vanessa Enoteca had been drunk for most of the day and was now suffering through the remnants of a hangover. She rested in her lingerie, happily presenting to the men in the room as she lay sprawled out on a sofa in the main room. Here, most of her squad was gathered, engaging in all sorts of merrymaking and violent duels. This company was spread out through a fireplace-lit chamber filled with sofas, dining tables, and tapestries.

The sound of Magna and Luck engaged in a magical battle was ringing in her ears. It was almost as loud as their voices as they quarreled. Vanessa let out a sigh as she half-regretted her choice to drink so early in the day. Just this once, perhaps she should have taken her day off to go and meet some dreamy man. Yet in the end, it was easier to stay here and lazily lounge about the mansion. That was when she heard her beloved captain come marching into the main room. The stomping of his boots alerted her to his presence as he marched in with his usual swagger. Her eyes wandered to Captain Yami as he looked over the Black Bulls. For some reason, she felt a bit pained seeing him. It was not as if she adored him any less, but from what she had gathered, he had met with the Blue Rose's captain Charlotte several times recently for some sort of secret missions. As Charlotte's crush on him was obvious, the entire situation made Vanessa uncomfortable. She was not so naïve as to be clueless about why she felt this way. She had a crush on him herself, perhaps even something akin to love. Unfortunately, Vanessa was too lazy to do anything about it. She sometimes casually flirted with Captain Yami or even the other men in the Black Bulls. With Captain Yami, it had never led anywhere as he never seemed to care about her playful confessions or flirtations.

In any case, her drunken gaze ate the eye candy in front of her. Yami was so incredibly handsome it should have been illegal. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with messy black hair, a bit of stubble, and a cigarette in his mouth. His rugged, virile masculinity was always pouring out, most evident in how his muscular pecs looked painted on upon his sleeveless white shirt. This was to say nothing about his incredible height, his muscular shoulders and biceps, those veiny forearms, and his handsome, rugged face. His sexiness further oozed out in how he carried himself, with a macho, laid-back attitude containing a sharp, fighting spirit. She certainly wasn't the first woman to think so about him and she doubted she was the last.

She heard Yami say in his deep baritone, "Alright. Listen up. We've got a mission. Some new bandit gang has been assaulting one of the big-time merchants and the nobles want us for an armed guard. I'm sending two of you out on this."

Once the members began to scramble for his attention as they always did, Vanessa found herself unable to understand a single sentence between them. Everyone was raising their hands frantically and shouting in unison. It served to heighten the sharp pain from her hangover. She moved over to the table with a bottle in hand, wanting to sit closer to the captain in case he chose her for this mission. However, she had an intuitive feeling he wasn't going to. For some reason, Vanessa felt less playful and jubilee than she would have expected. After all, she was infamous for being a lighthearted party girl, especially after drinking down a few glasses of wine.

Magna said, "Come on, Captain! I'm the man for the job. I haven't busted skulls in ages"

Yami said to Magna, "No way. You hit the last merchant we guarded over the head when he insulted you!"

When Finral offered his services for the chance to speak to the female merchants, the Captain answered with, "No way. If you're just going to flirt with the female merchants, you might as well stay home then."

It was the same response for Asta, Charmy, and Grey. He then looked over to Vanessa, sitting attentively at the table beside him. She pointed to herself with a rather humble look, the captain being the only man she'd ever act so meek around.

She said quietly, "I suppose the same goes for me since I'm always drunk?"

Yami's arms crossed and he said, "You're no use to us when you're all tipsy."

Vanessa's eyes lowered and she said, "Ah. I'm very sorry, boss."

Like all the Black Bulls, she admired him and fought for his affection. Still, she felt a bit sadder at his remark than she usually would. What had gotten into her?

That was when her Captain added, "But when you're sober, I'd say the opposite. You tend to have a level head. You're the most reliable one here."

His praise warmed her heart. She couldn't help but blush and beam happily up at him.

"Ah. Thank you, Captain" she said.

Despite this compliment, Yami didn't pick her on account of her hangover. Instead, he opted to send Noelle and Gordon on the uneventful mission.

______________________________________________________________

One month later….

Vanessa, Asta, Charmy, and Yami were all out on yet another mission. It was a busy week for the Black Bulls. Vanessa found herself hoping she would get a star accolade if she performed well enough. It wasn't like her to much care for such things but lately, Asta had been something of a motivation for her, as he was for all the Black Bulls. As Asta and Charmy were asleep in the spacious squad tent, Vanessa found herself alone with Captain Yami. It was rare to have this man alone to herself like this, and so she was quite enjoying it. The pink-haired witch felt more like herself tonight, perhaps thrilled because she got picked to go with Yami on missions several times lately. She had been able to show off her red thread of fate and the samurai even complimented her!

At the moment, Vanessa was drinking down more alcohol as Yami sat on a separate log to her left while smoking a fresh cigarette. She smacked her lips happily as she finished a sip of booze. She was a bit tipsy, albeit not fully inebriated, as they were still on a mission, and she needed to stay alert.

Yami said quietly, "Oi. Don't get drunk now."

"Aye aye, Captain," she said with a playful salute.

Vanessa showed her obedience by corking up the bottle. That was when she saw Yami gazing up at the starry sky, admiring the dazzling canvas of stars, planets, and galaxies that enveloped the heavens above them. She smiled at seeing the captain unusually lost in thought. Normally, he didn't seem to be thinking of much at all. She didn't consider him stupid, but he was a simple, honest individual. Vanessa didn't dislike that in a man. Yami was her type after all. Perhaps it was because he was her first encounter with a man, but he remained the golden standard. Just like back then, she continued to love his broad manly frame. She remembered the day he broke into her birdcage. It stirred something within her when she had him so close to her, an overdue awakening for her as a heterosexual woman. And now, she had Captain Yami to compare every other man to in her endeavors. She was happy to sleep with attractive gentlemen now and then, whether they be pretty boys or hunks, but the captain would always be the prize.

Vanessa giggled a bit as she remembered that nostalgic first meeting. She thought of it often, ever since her last encounter with the Witch Queen. That destined day, Yami showed her she could walk on her own two feet. What Vanessa now valued above all else was freedom. The freedom to enjoy all the pleasures she desired. The freedom to fight for her friends. The freedom to grow stronger. The freedom to seek a happy ending and rewrite her fate. In the end, she always did what she wanted. Even her loyalty to the Black Bulls was something she had chosen willingly. Her loyalty to this man was entirely her choice.

Now, as Vanessa looked over to Yami, she realized how comfortable she felt around him. Even so, this was not to say he didn't get her heart racing the closer he was to her face. She often found her heart beating madly when he was beside her. However, as he blew out a puff of smoke and paid her no attention, that was when it struck her…. the danger of being so casual with the captain. Likely, Yami saw Vanessa as no more than a little sister. Her heart raced when around him, but his heart did not race when around her. It was then that an even more disconcerting thought entered her mind.

In that moment, what WAS he thinking about?

Perhaps…

Perhaps he was thinking of another woman…

The witch shook away the infantile thought. Whether he was thinking of Charlotte or some other inane topic, one thing was for certain: Vanessa was not on his mind. Never once, had he showed an ounce of attraction or interest in her. The witch's eyes became sad. Her eyes darted over to the far-off tents. They were still zipped closed, meaning it was unlikely anyone would hear what she wished to ask him. And so, Vanessa finally decided to ask him the million-dollar question.

"Hey Captain, I heard you've been doing missions with the Blue Rose's captain. You're not getting a crush on her, are you? Those Blue Roses don't seem friendly to men. Haha."

Yami stared at her unamused and she regretted her lighthearted jabs. Of course, she was prying for information but this all left her feeling like an idiot.

At last, Yami asked, "Hmmm? Who told you that?"

Vanessa jabbed further and said, "I heard from a little birdie that you said she and you can get married when you are both old and alone. I'm so jealous. Charlotte's a lucky lady. Fufufu."

Yami again stared at her blankly, not flustered in the least.

He said, "I was mostly joking. Even if she has a crush, she doesn't say much."

Vanessa felt a bit of relief at his responses, but they were still far too ambiguous. She decided she needed to be absolutely sure of the situation. As such, she decided to risk her own attempts to woo him by saying, "Is that so? I thought she was your type. You like strong women and she's a captain. And she's ranked first in looks according to the Magic Knight's survey. But I suppose I was mistaken. You're such a hard man to read. Heh heh."

Propping up Charlotte hurt terribly, but Vanessa had to bear with it.

Yami rubbed the back of his thick, dark hair a bit awkwardly and said, "I'm not sure what to say. I haven't thought about any of that seriously. I'm not looking to date her or something. My love is battle, booze, and sword. And I'm busy looking after you brats."

He flashed a cheeky smile at her. Vanessa couldn't help but smile in response. He hadn't said he was uninterested in Charlotte, but it seemed that interest wasn't serious. And if it was, he wasn't going to make any moves within the next century or so. She decided to not pry further lest she expose her jealousy. Instead, she put a gloved hand to her cheek and smiled lazily. Honestly, she was impressed she had managed to get him to speak so much about his emotions and thoughts. Yami rarely opened up about anything. It seemed there was some depth to him he was hiding, much as she had suspected for many a years. Just as she was ready to return to sipping her glass of wine, Captain Yami added one last comment that would shatter everything.

"And besides," said Yami, "I don't know what's up with this bullshit survey you're talking about, but I honestly figured you'd be ranked first. Men are always looking at you starry-eyed, right?"

Suddenly, her cheeks were burning red. He had never complimented her looks before, even if his wording was a bit indirect. Again, she decided to test the boundaries of their relationship to see if she could hear the words she wanted so desperately for him to say.

"Oh?" asked Vanessa playfully, "Captain, you're making me blush. But there's no need to try and cheer me up. I placed fourth. I couldn't be happier."

She wasn't.

Vanessa had placed fourth because she was lacking in feminine charms, appeal, and a sense of propriety. This was not to say she was terribly insecure about it. She was far from desperate for male validation, even if she enjoyed the attention. Even Yami's affection was something she could live without. But right now, she started to doubt that last part. It was frustrating to know she didn't have a chance in winning him over. The sinful witch's advances on the captain couldn't compete with what a pure maiden like Charlotte could offer him. Her love was inferior and she was undesirable as a romantic partner. Men were happy to bed her, but she'd never gotten a confession in her life. And so, in this moment, she simply waited for the captain to shoot her down. It wouldn't be the first time he ignored her flirtations. It was her destiny to lose in the battlefield that was love.

"I wasn't trying to cheer you up," Captain Yami answered, "I was just telling the truth."

His tone was rather stern. Vanessa was both flattered and a bit afraid to see Yami's grave tone of voice aimed at her. Had she teased him too much? She didn't want him mad at her. Vanessa couldn't stand the thought of upsetting or disappointing Yami.

He continued in a casual tone of voice, "Don't worry about some shitty poll. Everyone knows that the most beautiful witch in the Magic Knights is the Black Bull's 'Lush of a Witch'. That's obvious, isn't it?"

Vanessa couldn't help but blush furiously. Her hands clenched together as she felt utterly embarrassed. She hoped he didn't realize just how flustered she was. Never in a million years did she expect to get this compliment from him. He saw her platonically, right? But his comment, while not particularly sexual, seemed a bit personal, didn't it? He was saying HE found her the most beautiful, right? She wondered if she should play it off with a tease, but decided yet again, to push her luck. Just maybe, she could change her fate tonight.

"Oh my, Captain," she said with a playful hand to her cheek, "You think I'm the most beautiful?"

She swore she saw Yami get flustered for once in his life. Not red in the cheeks but just a bit hesitant to answer. He then took in another breath of tobacco and sent a cloud pouring out from between his lips. He played it cool, as always.

He said slowly, "I said that, right? But don't push your luck and get a big head. You're part of my squad because of your abilities, not your looks. Save those worries for when you're off-duty, Vanessa."

"Of course, Captain," she was with heated cheeks, "I'm flattered you think so."

Vanessa was positively ecstatic now. Sure, he didn't have feelings for her, but if he found her attractive, that was a good start. In a way, his chivalry made her love him even more. He honestly respected her enough to not take advantage of her. He also respected her abilities as a mage, as a member of the Black Bulls. Perhaps she even met his qualifications for a strong woman. Even if she was not a frontline fighter, she was a competent witch who had won her fair share of battles. The lustful witch, with her insatiable thirst for the opposite sex, decided to risk it all for this man. And so, she sought to seduce her beloved captain. The ultimate prey.

______________________________________________________________

Later that night…

Crickets and frogs in some far-off bog kept the silence between them from being wholly unbearable. After another several minutes, Vanessa stood up and brought her bottle over to beside Captain Yami. For a moment, she was frozen behind him, staring down in petrification. Her mind momentarily froze as she wondered what to do next. Vanessa was sweating. What had gotten into her? She never froze, even in the company of a particularly gorgeous man. But this was Captain Yami we are talking about!

Just as Yami was about to ask what was up with her, the scarlet-haired witch sat herself down beside him on the log.

"Want a drink, Captain?" she asked playfully.

"Eh? Alright," he said casually.

He drank from her wine bottle and she took a swig herself. She truly wasn't like Charlotte, blushing from indirect kisses from Yami. She was just herself… Vanessa. And either he liked these parts of Vanessa or he didn't. In any case, Vanessa wasn't going to wait timidly any longer like her rival. Besides, Captain Yami would never make the first move. She'd never even see him with a woman before. She wondered why that was. Vanessa decided to learn where she stood in all of this, or rather to wrap her red thread of fate around him. Only this thread didn't require Rogue, only her womanly charms.

Vanessa slid her gloved hand behind his muscular arm and looped her arms around it until she had him wrapped in a loving embrace. He gazed over at her with a raised eyebrow. She placed her head on his shoulder. He didn't recoil or pull away. Even so, her actions could be mistaken for one of her casual flirtations, especially after the nice things he had said. She'd never gone further with him than this. It was time to cross the line!

Enoteca released her grip on his bulging arm muscles and placed her hand on his pec. It was so firm, ready to burst out of his shirt. It drove her mad with desire. She let her hand cling to his chest as she began to rest her cheek on his shoulder. There was no denying what she was trying to do, right?

"Hmm? What are you trying to do?" he asked blankly.

She said in a soft voice, "Captain, you must know I've got a huge crush on you. I've had one since you rescued me from that birdcage."

She lovingly stroked his pec and let her hands rub on the tree-trunk limbs he called arms. He stared forward like before, but she could feel it. His heartbeat was increasing.

Yami said calmly, "You know we can't. I'm your captain. I can't abuse that power."

Vanessa said, "What if I want it? If the sex or dating doesn't work out, we can just go back to how it was before."

Yami replied, "We can't go back, Vanessa. You're my beloved subordinate. I care about you. You should find a good, honest man to take care of you."

She exclaimed passionately, "Captain, you're the man I love! Only you."

She swore that for a moment, Yami flashed her the slightest hint of a blush.

"You're drunk," he said.

"Captain, you're so mean," she whined in a girly voice, "Just reject me outright. Say if you don't want me. For a man of few words, you sure dance around things."

Yami rubbed the back of his hair and said, "Want has nothing to do with it. I'm your captain. There are boundaries we can't cross."

Vanessa asked slyly, "So if I wasn't your underling… Are you saying you would?"

He didn't answer.

She leaned up to his ear and began to speak in her most erotic voice, "If I was in a different squad, would you get excited if you saw me in this outfit or in nothing but my lingerie laying on your bed? Waiting for it? Begging for it?"

He seemed frustrated now and rubbed his head as he said, "You look sexy as hell all the time. In your panties or your uniform. Is that what you want to hear?"

"Mmm-hmm," she said as she leaned up and kissed Yami on the lips. She put her hands on each side of his face as she pressed her lips against his. She was kissing her beloved captain. Vanessa felt his cheeks heat up even as he kept eye contact. She decided to do the same and give him "fuck me" eyes as she tasted his lips. At last, he kissed back.

"Mwuah," she said as they smooched.

Her heart was racing and her body was warm with fever.

"If you don't tell me to stop," she said in a breathy voice, "I might just go all the way, Captain. Fufufufu."

She giggled as her hands now roamed down his neck, laying loving kisses upon it. She tugged on his ear with her teeth like a predator tasting its meal. This man could break her in his arms, but right now, he seemed to have turned into jelly before her. Her hands wickedly fondled his muscles and ran across his delectable collarbones. She let her lips leave nude-pink lipstick kisses on his white t-shirt. Vanessa then traced her fingers over his abdominal muscles as she slid down and got onto her knees, a position she only took when devouring a man. She let her hand wrap around his bulge, and to her delight, her beloved captain seemed to be stiffening up. But she needed to truly impress Yami if she was to make him go absolutely wild for her. For that, she would use her man-pleasing skills until he was unable to think of any other woman than her.

"Wait," said Yami, "Those brats will see."

Are you getting flustered, Captain? How cute.

Vanessa said, "Then you better not moan too loud for me, Captain."

She was disobeying him. It was exciting to finally get what she wanted with the captain. However, she decided to pause a moment. Despite her desire to seduce him, she wanted his consent in all of this. And so she remained between his legs, dangerously close to his crotch as she gazed up at him patiently, awaiting those magic words. If he wanted her to stop, he merely needed to say so.

At last, he whispered, "Fine. But keep your voice down."

The witch sported a wicked smile. She slid down his pants and smirked at the sight of his fundoshi. She then slid aside his loincloth as her eyes widened.

This is Captain Yami's… cock

Vanessa licked her lips excitedly at the delectable sight in front of her. She hoped she wouldn't drool as anticipation left her starved for him. Her captain was well-hung indeed. She couldn't wait to kiss it. To taste it. To suck on it. To lick it. To swallow it. For it to stuff her full. Instinctively, she moaned as she slid her tongue on the underside of the shaft. She was already wet just from a taste of the erotic cock before her. It was almost instinctive how she devoured it hungrily. However, his veiny member wasn't yet at its most magnificent. Vanessa began to play with it in her skillful hand, rubbing her thumb over the bulbous head as she pulled back his foreskin. She then swirled her tongue around the glistening tip of Yami's throbbing erection. He was erect for her! She had succeeded in turning him on. She looked up to see Yami was panting a bit now. Inside, his rigid emotions were shattering.

He thought, "Damn. She's good at this. How many men has she done this with?"

The sight of Yami's ever-growing lust for her turned the witch on to no end. As did the taboo of sucking her captain's cock, a man who was practically family to her and the Black Bulls. There was also the thrill of getting caught. Vanessa did enjoy the idea of another man watching, but she knew if her comrades woke up, it was over. Even so, she wanted to make him moan and growl for her. She tasted his delicious manhood before wrapping her lips lovingly around the thick head and tasted his sticky precum. She then lay kisses down the underside until she reached her captain's balls, both of which were brimming with semen meant to impregnate her. She licked each testicle and wrapped her lips around them lovingly, sucking on them gently. Vanessa played with his balls in one hand now as she returned to his monstrous penis. Something so big… She would surely choke on it and it was sure to break her. Even so, she couldn't wait to find out if it would fit inside her womanhood. She decided to show him just how good she was at pleasing a man. She took his dick into her mouth and laid it on her tongue. She then sunk downward and let his shaft slide down her throat. The lustful witch was deepthroating her captain's entire cock, the man she was smitten with! It was like a dream come true for her. Vanessa couldn't help but moan as she took him in inch by inch until she swallowed him down to the base. She left his veiny dick covered in a wet froth of saliva. Her eyes were heavy with a fever for his manhood, and she let her finger rub against her clit. Without a doubt, this was the hottest blowjob she had ever given.

At last, Vanessa released his shaft from her mouth and asked him in her sultriest voice, "How does it feel? I'm quite proud of my blowjob skills."

He said both angrily and weakly, "Damn it. I'm going to lose it if you keep doing that."

"Then lose yourself to it, Captain!"

Vanessa slurped and tasted it hungrily before deepthroating the entire shaft once more. She was bobbing her head now. She could already tell the captain's manhood was throbbing and ready to burst. She giggled, somehow knowing he was not used to climaxing so soon. Unfortunately for him, there was dark witchcraft at work here. This witch's lascivious tongue was trying to drain him. She was kissing the head of it when she suddenly felt Yami's powerful hand wrap around her head. The young woman blushed as the muscular man forced her down onto his massive girth.

"Mmmmph!" she moaned both in surprise and in arousal.

She choked on it a bit as he handled her so roughly.

"S-Sorry," he said, "I lost control."

Vanessa giggled as she resumed her work and let him hold her against his crotch, making her worship it. He tasted utterly amazing. She licked his manhood lovingly now until it was left twitching and sensitive. As Yami began to rub her hair warmly, she let her tongue swirl around the head again. At last, she saw his dick twitch madly and the captain's teeth smashed together before he let out a growl. The untamed muscles of his body tightened, and his legs jerked forward violently.

"Fuck," he groaned, "Uggh….:"

Again, he forced her to swallow his cock as he climaxed. She lovingly took in every drop of this man's thick, fertile seed. The taste was salty and masculine. It bubbled as she drank it down, much of it getting stuck on the walls of her throat. Vanessa took down every drop for him, showing off the indisputable fact that she was a swallower, not a spitter.

"Mmmmn" she let out amidst licking her lips, "How was that?"

Yami said, "I doubt anyone can compete with that, Vanessa."

She loved when he said her name.

Her captain thought silently to himself as he recovered, "That's enough though. We can't go any further."

Vanessa said," Ooh. I got so horny, sucking your cock, Captain. Let's go all the way. Why don't you bend me over and have your way with me?"

Her words put an even more powerful hex on him, luring one of the most powerful captains in the Clover Kingdom into her trap. Yami grit his teeth again, looking like he was struggling to choose between a life and death choice on a hellish battlefield. But Vanessa already knew she had won. He then sighed as he regained control of himself… somewhat at least.

He answered flatly, "Not here. Let's go somewhere more private."

______________________________________________________________

Vanessa clung happily to her captain's arm as they made their way deeper into the forest. Around them, the air was growing cooler and the sound of nocturnal creatures deafened their ears. Once the tent was well out of sight, Yami brought Vanessa to a thicket of trees with a small grassy clearing on the other side. A fine choice. The wizard then pulled up her against him, his arms wrapping around her. It left her blushing and made her heart skip a beat. Her brain struggled to process that she was sharing such a romantic moment with such an aloof man as Captain Yami. His powerful hands slid down to her burgundy miniskirt, and he let his rough, calloused fingers feel her soft thighs.

He said, "You're always flaunting your body in this skimpy outfit, trying to get a rise out of men. Trying to get a rise out of me."

"Fufufu," she said, "That's right. Looks like I finally caught a good one."

She pulled down her corset dress and let her massive melons slip out. Her Captain Yami didn't waste any time in enjoying her chest. He began to press his handsome face into her cleavage, tickling her with inviting hot breaths upon her bare skin. Vanessa giggled, never expecting to see this side of her beloved leader. She let him take a nipple into his mouth and suckle on it fiercely as if searching for milk. His tongue was swirling around it as his sword-wielding hand sunk into her other breast. She panted and moaned, her breasts feeling all manner of pleasure from this man.

Once her nipples were left glistening with saliva, Vanessa guided Yami towards a large tree trunk behind him. She sat him down so his back rested against it as she began to kiss him again. She then grinned and blushed madly as she felt him lift up her skirt and slide down her purple panties. His forceful hands wrapped around her large round ass and sunk deep into it. Vanessa arched her back and moaned shamelessly as she felt him strike it with one of his burly hands. Her butt stung in the most delightful way as her captain marked her as his woman, leaving her rump stinging and a man's handprint temporarily tattooed upon it. He now spun her around so he could let his hands explore her from behind. Vanessa panted and squirmed as he gave into his pent-up desires. His hands fondled her breasts roughly from behind and sunk into them greedily as he nibbled on her ear, his teeth tugging on it gently. What a tease he was… She couldn't resist letting out another moan of approval. Yami let a hot puff of air linger in her ear, as if he were a hungry wolf about to devour her. His hand now slid down to her legs. She felt him slide a powerful index finger down to her womanhood. He played with the nub there, sending maddening pleasure up her body. Vanessa squealed in his embrace. His hairy arms were bulging and his veins were throbbing as he held her against him, exploring her body however he wished.

He said heatedly, "Your body is insane."

She panted, "Ooh. You're the … mmnn… one who looks built for breeding me."

He said sinfully in her ear, "What a coincidence, you look built for being bred."

His words were utterly arousing to her. Did he really just say such a thing? He wasn't usually like this. Was he drunker than he appeared? Vanessa wasn't sure of what the answer might be, but he was saying all the right things. Usually, she relied on a few words of praise from Yami each month, but today he was making her feel like a queen, even as he handled her so roughly. His fingers now slid into her lower lips of which were soaking wet. She panted as she leaked out fluids in response to his skillful finger. A second digit slipped into her womanhood and together both fingers began to thrust into her like a dick. After several minutes of being fingered and having her breasts fondled, the man-loving witch splashed out her juices for him. However, like Yami, she was far from winded. His teasing had only made her more desperate to push these boundaries past the point of no return. As he continued to play with her clit, Vanessa moaned out her true desire.

"Oh fuck, Captain," she said as she panted madly, "I want it. I want your cock. I want you to impregnate me! Mmmmnn."

Yami said, "Alright then. Bend over."

Vanessa grinned happily and obeyed him. Despite how weak her legs were after being pleasured by the samurai's ruthless hands, she perfectly balanced herself on her high heels. Vanessa bent over with her hands pressed against the tree's lengthy trunk as she presented her ass to him. Her garters dug into her flesh as she did. She panted and as she felt Yami's hot shaft land directly on her ass cheeks. He was driving her crazy! She found herself desperate to be fucked by him as if she were in heat during mating season.

"Ooh don't tease me, Captain," she said with a manic look in her eye.

He said, "Vanessa… Sorry. I don't think I'll be able to control myself."

"Don't hold back," she said, "Let out all your pent-up frustration… Unleash all your lust onto me."

He said, "Have it your way. You're the one that caused this so hurry up and take responsibility."

The witch panted as she felt Yami's shaft begin to force its way into her and spread her wide. He was stuffing her full and splitting her apart. He was utterly massive and just the feeling of it remaining inside her was driving her mad. Vanessa then felt his boiling-hot hands grab her ass as he withdrew. Immediately, he speared her deep and fast as he swung forward his muscular hips. His hard muscles crashed into her soft flesh. The clap of his testicles to her butt echoed through the forest. Yami seemed mesmerized by how her butt jiggled with his thrusts and so he struck both pale cheeks with his palm. The succubus witch moaned with every blow as he increased the speed of his thrusts. He suddenly grabbed her by the wrists and pulled them back beside her hips. Her captain was having his way with her! His thrusts became ferocious, like that of a bucking bronco. He slammed into her and impaled her deep, spearing her with every inch of his veiny rod. It sent a shock up her spine. She looked back to see the dashing ronin panting madly, baring his fangs to her like a feral beast. His handsome face was red and glistened with sweat. As he overheated, Yami gave her quite the show as he pulled off his shirt and revealed his glistening, glorious chest. His pecs and chiseled abs were practically oiled with sweat as he continued to thrust into her. His cock was already throbbing as it rammed in deep.

Her captain said, "Damn. I'm going to cum. Where do you want it?"

She panted as she frantically said, "Inside!"

"Suit yourself, witch," he answered.

As he poured into her, she heard him growl like a ferocious beast. He arched his back and tightened his grip on her wrists as he shoved his manhood in deep again and unloaded fertile seed into her womb. Venessa's tongue hung out as she moaned from feeling him froth within her. She knew she would need to buy an emergency pregnancy-control charm the next morning. A thick load like this was dangerous for her. And yet it drove her mad as he kept dragging back his hips and snapping forward into her, so desperate to impregnate her. Not a moment later, she climaxed again. She arched her back as her juices splashed out of her and his seed poured deep in.

In the heat of the moment, Vanessa cried out, "Captain, I've always loved you! Aaaahnn!"

Yami said, "That's playing dirty, you troublesome woman… Fuck!"

He grit his teeth angrily as his body began to tremble. His powerful eyes weakened and his face was red from blushing. For them both, it felt as if his virile semen would never stop filling her. As Yami pulled out, one last shot escaped him and splashed onto her ass and clothes. Vanessa was marked by the erotic scent of her mate. Yami panted now over her as his muscled tightened and relaxed with every breath.

"Oooh…" said Vanessa, feeling his load gush out of her.

She then looked back at her beloved captain. To her amusement, he was still rearing to go. She licked her lips and rubbed her butt against his manhood playfully, threatening to make it slip into either of her holes.

"Shall we continue until you are spent?" she asked playfully.

Yami panted and took out a cigarette, lighting a fresh smoke.

He muttered something that sounded like, "Insatiable woman."

That night they did it in every position imaginable. From behind. Missionary. Cowgirl. Vanessa even begged him until he dicked her asshole. As morning arose, she and her captain were left utterly exhausted. He was completely spent and her clothes were stained with the gift of her darling Captain's essence, the fruits of their lovemaking. Yami now tenderly held her slender wrist in his mighty grip, holding her close to him. His broad-shouldered body welcomed her into rest. Vanessa leaned up and planted another kiss on his lips. He did not resist as their lips crashed against one another. After such a hedonistic encounter, Vanessa was surprised the night ended so softly. Yet she would not complain. A romantic embrace with her captain was equally welcome.

As they heard Asta and Charmy begin to stir back at the camp, Vanessa and Yami immediately sprung to their feet in a panic. Suddenly, all the risks and consequences of their lustful endeavor returned to them.

Yami said, "Let's run for the river. We'll pretend we fell in boar shit or something."

Vanessa said, "Oh? I was going to brag to the other Black Bulls. Mission success! I seduced the captain!"

Yami said humorlessly, "You're mad, woman. Absolutely not. You're definitely joking, but don't forget, you and I will be in hot water with the higher-ups if I'm caught fraternizing with a subordinate."

Vanessa said, "Ah. I'm sorry about that."

He then put a hand on her head and let it ruffle through her pink locks. She couldn't help but blush the same as always. Anytime he doted on her, she was extremely happy.

He said, "So I'm saying it's best you keep this between us for now. Is that clear?"

"Aye aye, Sir," she said with a professional salute.

He then sighed again and for a moment, she saw a genuine smile upon his face.

Jeez. Just when I thought he couldn't get any more handsome.

Yami then gazed at her with a bit of determination in his eyes.

He said, "Oh yeah. I want to clear something up. You talked about me preferring strong women. But actually, I told you I like women I can drink with too. You're the one who asked me at the festival, remember?"

"A-Ah," she said a bit embarassed, "You mean-"

"I'm saying you fit both those things. That makes you my type of woman, doesn't it?" said Yami, "So no more pouting. You got your way after all."

He then continued, "Oh, and no more flirting with other guys, got it?'

She said a bit angrily, "Of course, I know that! Geeze."

Her man now smiled at her and waved back at her as he said, "Well, we best wash up."

Vanessa then heard him say gently and mischievously, "Seems I'm caught in the witch's web with no way out. What a pain."

With that, Yami turned around and coolly made his way towards the river, happily smoking as he did. He had his hands in his pockets now as he sported a sly grin she could not see. Instead, Vanessa was left with a hand to her chest as her face turned a brand-new shade of scarlet. That man… he liked her more than he let on it seemed. She couldn't help but smile lovingly at him, enjoying the sight of his shoulder blade and muscles pressing through his sleeveless shirt.

What an interesting man he was! Despite claiming to be a warrior of few thoughts and fewer words, Captain Yami was cleverer than he let on. A good match for a clever witch like her. He always knew what to say to make her happy. With those words, Vanessa knew that slowly but surely, they could start a relationship together. Despite her insecurities, Yami had picked her in the end. He chose HER. She couldn't help but feel a bit of pride and a sense of relief at her victory. She looked forward to the day he held her bridal style in his arms with her family, those rambunctious Black Bulls, cheering them on as they announced they were officially dating. Until then, she would be his wicked witch and pull the strings needed to get her way and gain their happy ending together.

<3 The End <3 

[wulfies-kpop-fanfics]

One Photo → Mark Lee [1]

↳  Pairing: Mark Lee/Reader

↳  AU: Soulmate!AU - The first touch of two soulmates permanently scars their bodies.

↳  Word count: 4,863

↳  Chapters: Prelude | You Are Here! | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

⁙ Summary: For an end of the year photography project, you’re tasked with taking a photograph for your favourite group, NCT127, and coincidentally, discover your soulmate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MONDAY - 1

Your heart was pounding a million miles a minute as you stepped into your photoshoot studio on campus two weeks later, ready to see a bunch of other students preparing for interviews for the same position. Surprisingly, you were the only one present besides your teacher. She smiled and approached. “Hey,” she greeted you with a short handshake. “I see you’re nervous?” “A little,” you admit, returning her friendly grin. “I’m surprised nobody else is here.” She hummed. “Well, there was a lot to choose from. Come on. This one, I believe, is a little special compared to the others.” “How so?” Your voice was laced with curiosity as she led you further in, past the background sheets that separate the room into two halves. Behind it were people you had only dreamed of seeing in person.

The three of them stood as soon as they lay eyes on you. Johnny, Mark, and Jaehyun. You were completely frozen, staring at them and nearly forgetting to breathe. The thought of the members interviewing you themselves had never even entered your brain.

Your teacher placed a hand on your shoulder, startling you. Without a word, she smiled at you, nodded at them and left the room. Once the door shut with a soft click, Mark approached you. “Hi, I’m Mark Lee,” he held out his hand. “You probably knew that, considering your expression.” He laughed sweetly. You barely held out your hand with a shy nod, “I’m (Y/N).” Instead of going through with the handshake, Mark immediately moves in to engulf you in a friendly hug. “It’s nice to meet you,” you mumbled into the hug, barely processing that you were actually hugging Mark Lee and were in the same five-foot radius as three members of NCT. Johnny and Jaehyun also hugged you tightly, insisting that you join them at the table your teacher had set up for them.

“I thought I would be more prepared,” you admitted softly, digging into your backpack and pulling out your portfolio of projects and random photos you’ve taken. Mark takes it first to open and look through. “I’ve been a fan since your debut.” 

Johnny smiled. “Then you’re just the person we’re looking for,” he said. He glances over at your portfolio, then back to you. “The truth is, we aren’t looking for a professional like a lot of others in this program. We bring our own from our company.” Your knit your eyebrows together in confusion. “Then why sign up? If, um, you don’t mind me asking.” 

Jaehyun looked up from browsing your portfolio with Mark. “We were looking to take one photo.” He held up his index finger. “We wanted to have a friend that’s from around here to help us find the perfect spot, and photographers always know the best places.” Your eyes widened. A friend? Did he really just say that? “Just one photo?” You decided to ask, the whole prospect of clarifying what Jaehyun meant by ‘friend’ was a little too overwhelming.

The three of them nodded. “We want just one photo for our dorm. This stop is important to us, and we want this to stay away from social media. It’s just going to be for us. And for you, for your project, of course,” Mark explained. “We don’t want someone that is too professional and we don’t want a fansite to take it. It seemed to us that a friend would be the best choice.” He smiled gently at you. “We’ll provide you with a ticket and backstage pass, as well as paying you based on the program’s price for the photo to be touched up and framed.” 

You tripped over your words. “Well, I… I don’t think I’m in a position to turn you down, but…” Johnny cocked his head to the side. “But..?” 

You gulped and sheepishly avoided eye contact. “I can’t speak Korean,” you mumble, fiddling with your fingers. Mark smiled sweetly at you. “That’s okay. We’ll translate for you. So, what do you think? Would you like to spend a day with us before our show?” 

You smiled, deciding to be a bit more daring. They did say, friend. “You’re asking that like there’s even a shred of a chance I’d say no.” 

All three of them grin. “Thank you, I was hoping you would say yes,” Mark says. “Your portfolio is stunning.”

Your face goes red and you're barely conscious enough to stand with them as they prepare to leave. Johnny and Jaehyun hug you again, praising your work before taking their leave, but Mark doesn't join them.

“Our manager has your teacher's contact information, but I want to involve the company as little as possible… if it's not too sudden, could I please have your number?” Mark smiles sheepishly, offering his unlocked phone to you, open to a new contact page. It's as if he has no idea of the impact he has on his fans. Sometimes you forget that NCT is made up of normal humans, and the one standing in front of you is a year younger than you are. 

“Of course,” you take it gently and add your contact info, taking a quick selfie to add as your little profile picture, all while Mark watches you searchingly. “Here you are,” you hand his phone back, hesitating on saying what you were thinking, “since you want to be friends, feel free to text me.” 

Mark takes his phone back with a smile, sending you a quick smiley face to make sure the number was correct. The room is silent for a moment, your face feels as if it's on fire and Mark returns the stare you gave him when you walked in.

“Come on, Mark!” you hear Johnny’s voice from outside the classroom and you both turn toward it. You smile sheepishly.

“I shouldn't keep you, should I?” you ask, voice soft and a little embarrassed.

“No, but I wish I had more time. I'll text you, I promise,” he says, hugging you once more before leaving you alone and speechless. 

You wondered if all fan interactions were like the one you just experienced. You were aware the members of NCT were known to be humble and kind, but they were much calmer and affectionate than you expected. The idea that you just saw Mark's smile in person made your own cheesy grin spread across your face as you packed up your portfolio. 

After class, you headed back to your dorm, a skip in your step. Once you opened the door and stepped inside, you felt like you could collapse. Fatigue washed over you like a tidal wave, and you knew it was time for an afternoon nap. Rhiannon was still in her lab, so you could grab at least 20 minutes of shut-eye before she would come back and beg for you to make dinner. You set your bag down by the door with your shoes and set a course for your bed. As soon as you were able to slide underneath the covers and nearly drift to sleep, your phone vibrated.

You reach into your pocket, confused. Rhiannon was the only friend that had your number, and if she even thought about her phone in a lab, she would be kicked out. Once you unlock your phone, you finally remembered who else you gave your number to.

Mark: Hey!

You licked your lips as your chest twinged and filled with butterflies. You screamed internally for a few seconds, the moment hitting you a little harder than before. Mark Lee had your cell phone number and he was texting you first. 

You: Hello, what’s up?

Mark replied almost immediately, which startled you a little bit. You turned over in your bed to get a little more comfortable.

Mark: We were just finishing up settling into our hotel rooms. I wanted to know how you're doing, are you in class? I hope I'm not interrupting anything

You: No, I got home a little while ago. I was gonna take a nap tbh

Mark: Oh! Sorry, I don't mean to take away sleep from a college student

You smiled a little bit. He was too sweet. As if your nap wasn't going to ruin your sleep schedule.

You: Its fine, if I had a nap I wouldn't be able to sleep tonight anyway

Mark: So you're free then?

Your eyebrows furrowed as you typed your response.

You: Uh yeah, why? Did you all want that picture now?

You put your phone down, a little overwhelmed. If they wanted it now, you wouldn't see them again until the concert, which wasn't until Friday. Perhaps you should have expected they wanted to do this as fast as possible, their Canadian and Chicago stops were planned with vacations in mind considering Johnny and Mark's heritage. When your phone buzzed again, you almost jumped to grab it.

Mark: Well no not yet. I was just wondering if you wanted to get coffee or something. Or tea if you prefer that 

Your eyes widened.

You: Really?

Mark: Yeah. I dunno, I want to take the friend thing more serious than the guys. They just wanted to use that word so it was like an unspoken contract that you wouldn't post this everywhere y'know? 

Your heart sank a little bit, but you could see how important privacy was. If you were in the same position, you would have done the same.

You: I understand… I'm still kind of a stranger though, are you sure?

Mark: That's why I'm asking. I don't want you to be. So, will you meet me?

You: There's a Tim Hortons on the first floor of M building near where you met me on campus, I can be there in 40 minutes 

Mark: See you in 40 minutes then :)

As soon as you read that text, you tossed your comforter to the side and raced into the bathroom. You fix your hair and could barely decide whether to change your outfit or not. He did see you earlier today, would he think you were trying too hard if you changed? 

“Keep it together, (Y/N),” you told yourself, patting your cheeks with your hands as you eyed your complexion in the mirror. “He just wants tea and coffee, nothing major.” 

Just then, the front door opened. “Are you talking to yourself again?” Rhiannon called from the foyer.

“No,” you called back, clearly lying as you took one more scan of yourself in the mirror before leaving to greet your friend. “You’re back early. How was the lab?”

“Tiring,” she answered. “My bitch lab partner came in even earlier than usual to make sure I didn't have the chance to set up our station again.” She rolled her eyes and dropped her backpack next to yours. 

“Yikes,” you reply, watching her wander into the kitchen. “Are you gonna tell your professor that she is trying to sabotage your grade?” 

Rhiannon sighed. “I don't know if the following shitstorm would be worth it,” she says, plugging in the electric kettle. “I'm gonna make some tea, you want any?”

You shook your head, even though she probably couldn't see you from the wall separating the kitchen and foyer. “No thanks, I'm going out to Tim's in M building.” 

Rhiannon took less than a second to appear in the archway to stare at you. “Why?” She questioned, squinting at you. 

“Mark asked me to meet him for coffee.” 

“Mark,” she repeated, crossing her arms. “I thought you hated Mark Davids.” 

“Not that asshole,” you shot back. “Mark Lee.” You began to look for a pair of cuter shoes as Rhiannon’s eyes widened.

“You got the job?!” She exclaimed, her voice nearly reaching a squeal. "YOU MET MARK LEE? WITHOUT ME?!"

“Yeah,” you smile sheepishly, taken aback by her shouting. you picked out your favourite pair of shoes, red converse high tops. “He just seems like he wants to hang out right now though.”

“Oh my God,” her voice nearly lowered to a whisper. “Mark Lee just asked you out.”

You rolled your eyes. “He didn't ask me out, he just wants to talk,” you explain, pulling on your shoes to tie them. 

“I dunno, he could be it,” she says, waltzing back into the kitchen. “You never know!”

You sigh. “See you later!” 

“Tell him to get Haechan's number!”

After a 15-minute subway ride and a lot of hurried walking, you hauled open the pristine doors of M building, the newest addition to your college campus. Right before you was a little Tim Hortons with a tiny student’s lounge to accompany it. There was a little bit of a line to the micro cafe since night classes were starting up around now, but the student’s lounge was close to empty. 

You took in a deep breath, fully stepping inside and beginning your search for Mark. It doesn’t take long to spot him, he’s sporting yellow hair and a white face mask, accompanied by two red Tim Hortons cups at a table in the corner of the lounge. It takes you a moment to fathom your position - about to meet someone you’ve been crushing on for months through a computer screen for coffee in a lounge at your college. On top of that- he’s already bought you something.

“Hi,” you meekly greet him, approaching the table. Mark looks up from his phone and his eyes immediately crease into the crescents of his beautiful smile.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” He pulls his mask off, “sit down, I, uh, got you some tea. You kind of struck me as that kind of person, so I hope I got it right.” 

“Thank you, Mark. You really didn’t have to buy me anything…” You smile nervously, your face feeling hot and your heart beating a mile a minute. Mark seemed a little nervous, just like you. It was a sobering moment, taking the cup he pushed toward you and opening it to take a sip. Your eyes widened. Your tea was exactly the way you always order it, nearly to the grain of sugar.

Mark watches your expression, happy that you seemed to like your tea, “I wanted to treat you. I know how weird this must all seem for you, but for some reason, I feel like I know you.” He runs his hand through his hair, avoiding eye contact for a moment. 

You look away from him as well. There's a moment of silence between you, the bustle of students slowly diminishing as the sun sets behind you. 

“I, uh, can't really relate to you in that way,” you whisper after you worked up the courage to break the silence. “A lot of your life is on display.” 

“You're right,” Mark agreed. “There are a few things I keep to myself, though,” he smiled cheerfully. “But what I mean is hard to explain.”

Curious, you nod toward him, “try me.”

“When I was standing in line, I was trying to figure out what to get you. I wanted to treat you since I asked you to come, and I kind of expected for you to say no since your professor said you had class today and-”

“Mark, it’s fine, stay focused.” you smile faintly at him and wait for him to continue, sipping your tea again.

He blushes and nods sheepishly. “When it was my turn, I got what I wanted and the second I thought about you, I recited medium steeped orange pekoe tea with two cream and one and a half sugar like I had been getting it for you for years.” He stops for a moment, presumably watching your stunned reaction.

Your breathing was feeling a little crooked, and you couldn't quite place what you were feeling. You tried to take in a deep breath, shaking your head when Mark began to look concerned. 

“Sorry,” you apologize quickly. “I, uh, kind of know what you're talking about. This is all just a little; I don't know…”

“Overwhelming?” Mark finished, nodding his head. “I can't stop thinking about it.” 

You tried to smile. “I guess you gave the bug to me,” you joke. “Want to get some air?”

“I'd like that.” 

The two of you walked down a path that led off-campus, talking. It was as if the two of you had forgotten your positions in life; Mark a celebrity with his life on a pedestal and you just a fan that forgot how much you really knew about him.

You were rediscovering his cheerful nature, his loud and hearty laughter that was a whole-body endeavour, learning that he plays the guitar, his love of ice cream and sweet things. His favourite colour was blue, and he loved Christmas so much he already had a growing list of things to buy for his friends as gifts.

The sun was nearly hidden behind the hills of the park you wandered into, admiring the newly blossomed cherry trees. You were showing him a small bed of flowers decorated to look like a Canadian flag when Mark asked the dreaded personal question you had been hoping you would never have to answer again.

“How did your parents find out?” His tone was soft, curious. He didn't sound as invasive as others have been in the past, but the question still made you bite your lip to keep from frowning.

“A gang fight,” you answer, bitterly. “My dad punched my mom in the face so hard that day, she needed to go to the ER. It actually took three months for her to figure out why the print of my dad's fist hadn't faded from her cheek.”

Mark didn't speak for a moment. “Was that too much to ask?”

You looked up at him from the flower bed, smiling faintly. He looked good in the final evening glow. “I don't mind that much, but...”

“I'm sorry,” he said, tentatively placing a hand on the small of your back. 

“It's okay,” you start, his sympathy nearly made you melt. The two of you begin walking again, Mark absently running his fingers over cherry petals as you both passed the trees. “I got out of it all pretty quickly. They fought when they were high, and that was almost all the time. Sometimes, I feel scared just thinking about how my life might end up. If any of it is all as real as everyone says it is.”

Mark stares at you, and there is sympathy radiating off of him. He looks like he wants to say something, but he stays quiet.

You hold back a frown and decide to break the silence. “Anyway, how about your parents?” 

“A hug,” he answered, nodding, a smile returning to his face. “it's not the most common first touch in the world, but I hope I find mine the same way.” 

“That does sound nice,” you agree softly.

“I've heard it's all up to fate and magic,” Mark says, charm in his voice. “I've always wanted to believe in that.”

“I'd like to believe in that. Makes life seem a little more bearable. I’ve just always been so cynical through my childhood, so much so that all of my hope for a fairytale ending faded a long time ago. I never really thought that anything good would come out of it. If the universe really wants me to find someone, I guess I can’t really do anything about it.”

Mark smiles, although you can tell he is hiding a smidge of disappointment. “I suppose that's one way to think about it,” he replies. “I just want to know someone so well that I don't have to think twice about it. Like knowing the exact way to cheer them up when they're sad. Like the perfect cup of tea or their favourite stuffed animal. I guess that takes a little bit of magic.” 

You stop in your tracks, thinking about the perfect tea he had given you earlier.

“What's wrong?” Mark stops and turns around when he notices you're not keeping pace.

“Nothing,” you lie with a smile, watching Mark's scepticism through the darkness of night. 

“Okay,” he says softly, looking up at the sky. “I guess it's late, huh?” 

You join him in looking up. If the city wasn't always so lit up, this spot would be perfect for a shot of the starry night sky between the small canopy of cherry trees. “I guess it is.”

“How far away is your dorm? I can walk you,” he suggests, taking your hand. You're frozen, too stunned by the gesture to pull away.

“You don't have to,”

“But I want to,” Mark grins. “It's the one way I can make sure you get back safely.”

“You're too kind…” you pause for a moment. Mark is staring you down, waiting for you to say yes. “I'm not allowed to say no, am I?”

He shook his head, smiling. “Nope. Come on, let's go.” 

Scoffing lightly, you concede and begin walking again. “You can take me to my subway stop and I can tell you which train to take to go back,” you offer, assuming he would need to be back at his hotel before it got too late at night. 

“No,” he said quickly. Your eyes widened at his tone and once he noticed your reaction, he lowered his voice. “I just… have these gut feelings. I'd like to escort you right to your dorm,” he clears his throat, “um, if I'm not crossing any lines.” 

You feel sympathy for him. Just looking at Mark, you can tell he's worried about you, but you can't quite see the reason. “Okay,” you agree softly. 

It's silent for a while as you both walk through the well-lit city. It's not until you pass a food truck on the way to the subway station that either of you says something again.

“You know, you and I walked around that park for hours and we didn't even know how late it was until the last minute,” Mark comments, still holding your hand and pulling back gently to keep you from walking past him. 

“Yeah, you're right,” you blush, you had to admit to yourself that you hadn't lost yourself in conversation or such comfortable silence like that even on a date. "We forgot to eat. Are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” Mark admits with a laugh, “and these hot dogs smell good.” 

You look up at him. “I'll buy.” You wriggle your hand out of his grasp and run toward the cart before Mark can catch you, readying your wallet. 

“Two hot dogs please, one with relish and one plain, please. Also, burn the plain one a little bit, thanks.” 

“You're slippery,” Mark says, watching you pay for the food.

“You bought me tea, it's only fair,” you stick your tongue out at him. He sighs and nods at you, only breaking his gaze when the man at the cart hands down the hot dogs a few moments later. “The one with relish is yours. You hate ketchup, right?” 

Mark takes his hot dog, eyes wide. “Uh, yeah,” he pauses. “I just haven't really told anyone outside the guys and my family.” 

You're halfway through a bite of your ‘dog and you nearly choke on it. 

“Hey, hey!” Mark reaches out for your shoulder, hoping that you wouldn't pass out. “Chew and swallow! Sorry, I didn't mean to freak you out.” 

You swallow and cough, shaking your head. “Don't worry, I'm fine,” you say. “This is just a weird feeling.” 

He nods. “Yeah. But I don't really mind it. Come on, let's walk some more.” 

It was totally surreal to you, walking and eating with Mark. He was right, there was this strange feeling washing over you every time you looked at him, different than watching him on a Vlive broadcast or music video. Like you knew something about him that nobody else did, and it made you feel both good and scared out of your mind. It felt invasive.

One subway stop and a little bit of a walk later, you both arrive at your dorm building. “Here we are,” you announce. “My roommate is probably going to kill me for coming back so late.”

“Should I go in with you? To protect you?” Mark is smiling, but you can tell there is a hint of seriousness. 

“If you want. She will probably ask for something from you, though.” You open the main doors and enter in your code, leading Mark in with you.

“Like what?” Mark furrows his eyebrows. “She's not weird, right?”

You nearly laugh out loud. “She's weird all right, just not the kind you're thinking of. She wanted me to get Haechan's number from you, but I got so absorbed in talking with you that I forgot to ask.” 

“Oh,” Mark is following you close behind, letting out a tiny sigh of relief. “That doesn't sound too bad, but his reaction should be interesting.” 

You shrugged. “You don't have to do it. Anyway-” You're cut off as the door to your apartment opens, Rhiannon stepping out and pressing her hands to her hips. 

“Look who's finally back,” she states, and you can immediately tell she is angry. “It's almost 1 AM!” 

“Shh! I'm sorry, okay? I lost track of time! I was with-” 

“Mark,” she says, her voice less harsh when she notices Mark is standing behind you, sheepishly smiling and waving at her. “At least you had the initiative to walk her home.” 

You squint at your best friend. It's clear she is trying not to freak out in front of him. “Are you gonna let me inside?” 

“Not yet,” she states. “Mark, I love you,” she says quickly, grabbing your arm and pulling you to her. You're smiling awkwardly at him, shrugging and mouthing ‘sorry’. 

Mark smiles awkwardly and nods at you. “Uh, thanks,”

“Thank you for bringing (Y/N) back. Has she asked you about Haechan?” 

“Yeah. I'll text you guys his number when I get back- which I probably should…”

You step forward. “Do you know how to get back?”

Mark shakes his head. “I think it's on Yorkville, I might have to use my GPS.” 

You shake your head. “It's easy to get there. Head to the station you and I were just on, take the southbound for 5 stops. Once you get above ground, you should be on that street.” 

Mark smiled at you. “Thank you.” He approached you to give you a hug, which felt warmer than the other two from earlier in the day. When he turned to leave, a pang hit your chest.

“Mark,” you called. Instantly he turned around, his expression curious. “Let me know when you get back safely.” 

He nodded, smiling warmly. “I will, I promise.” 

You watch him leave, a little shocked that spending the entire night with him didn't feel like it at all. You're only broken out of your thoughts when Rhiannon drags you inside your apartment and shuts the door.

“You scared me half to death, you bitch! At least text me when you're gonna stay out this late! I thought you were just having tea! I was this close to calling the cops!” She presses her index finger to her thumb and shoves her hand towards your face as you stand before her, a little humiliated.

“Your fingers are touching,” you say quietly, screwing your eyes shut.

“Exactly!” she exclaims. “I was one button away from speaking to 911! You're goddamn lucky I heard you and Mark coming down the hall!” You open your eyes when she gently touches your arm. “Don't scare me like that.”

“I'm sorry. I promise I'll keep in touch next time.” You smile awkwardly at her. “I was just so caught up in talking and trying to make sure it wasn't a dream.” 

Rhiannon nodded and returned your smile. “I know. You should go to bed, you have class in the morning.” 

“Yeah. Thanks for worrying about me.” 

Once you were in fresh pyjamas, you had some music on in the bathroom while you dry your hair with a towel. A quick shower before bed always was relaxing enough for you to fall asleep quickly. Snuggling up in bed after that long day was especially nice, gathering up your teddy bear to hug close. You're just about to drift off when your phone buzzes. 

Mark: Hey, I'm back safe. Thank you for the directions 

You: You're welcome

I had a really nice time tonight 

Mark: Me too

You have class tomorrow right 

You: Yeah, it's a short day though, just a small photoshop lab 

Mark: Do you want to hang out again when you're done? By the way, the number I promised - __________

You: I'd like that. Thanks, I'll forward it to her 

Haechan was cool with it right 

Mark: Me too :) yeah he was cool with it, he owed me a favour anyway 

Sleep well ok?

You: I will, you too? 

Mark: Yeah I promise 

Goodnight (Y/N)

You: Goodnight :)

After putting your phone down on your nightstand, you peacefully drifted off with a smile on your face.

[ahsxual]

Unbreakable Connection

Pairing: L!Joker x reader

Summary: You and J met each other coincidently and now, after a few months, you somehow managed to become really close friends.

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 1,8k

A/N: Soo this is a request from lovely @heavymetalnarwhal where J and the reader have a platonic relationship. They've become close friends after they accidentally met. J has grown and now he trusts her, her home eventually becoming his haven and in return, the reader can finally have someone trustful to talk to, and someone who can understand her and be there when she needs him most. So darling, I hope you enjoy this! <3

(I don't own this gif!)

On a specific day, you were in the mood for a night walk: after all, you weren't having a good day, so you thought that this was the best thing to do to get away from your haunting thoughts;

Your usual way of relaxing is staying at home while watching some movie, reading some book, listening to music... but that particular day you just wanted to do something different, what lead you to something you would never expect to happen...

While you were walking into some empty and narrow street near a port, you heard some uncommon noises... more specifically from people talking and moving heavy objects hurriedly, you supposed;

You were about to return to your home when you heard them, but since you weren't in a hurry, you let your curiosity take the best of you;

Oh, how simple choices like this could origin such a drastical change in your life...

You hide yourself behind a corner, where you could see what seemed like ten people moving huge boxes with a "caution" warning on it into a truck, all of them covered in familiar masks;

When you were about to remember where those masks were from, you suddenly saw the one and only prince of crime of Gotham city: the Joker, jumping outside of the high truck into the ground effortlessly;

You covered your mouth after releasing a loud gasp unintentionally, earning suspicious glances from some masked men... or should you say women?

The Joker has women working for him too?? you thought, surprised by that fact.

After that, you started to run as fast as you could to your house, concluding that you had seen enough;

Little did you know that the psychotic clown saw you from afar, following you discretely after, while his goons continued to work;

When you got home, you went to bed and tried to sleep, thinking on how bad and strange that day was;

Since then, everyday you had the feeling that someone was following you, which obviously made you terrified. You thought about calling the police, but what if all of this was just your mind tricking you? What if you made yourself sound like a fool in front of the authority, wasting your time only to get to see them laughing at you afterwards? Yup, that's how Gotham police worked... and it was completely not worth it;

When you got home and finally managed to calm yourself down, you opened the door and instinctively screamed once you saw the most wanted psychopath in the city, chilling out on your sofa like he was in his own house;

"W-what are you d-doing here??" you asked, trembling, shaking from the inside out of your vulnerable body towards his presence;

"Oh, you arrived! I ah... just couldn't wait to finally meet the ah... little kitten who was picking at what she... shouldn't. But curiosity sometimes it's stronger than our own safety, isn't that right, huh?" he calmly, yet dangerously said, getting up from the couch to approach you slowly. You had nowhere to escape: you knew if you tried, he would kill you right then and there, and you wanted to do whatever was needed to stay alive just for a few more seconds;

"P-please, don't k-kill me...!" those words were the only ones that could came out of your quivering mouth by your frightened mind.

He looked at you disappointed, however he wanted to ask you something that he didn't understand just yet. "How... all of you are so... predictable. <Please, don't kill me!!>... Really? That's all ya have to say in your defense doll, huh?" he tried to imitate a little girl begging for mercy, which would make you laugh if you weren't on the that exact position.

"I-I guess if you were me, you would s-say the same thing. I... I don't k-know what else to say to you..." really? Were you really justifying yourself and trying to have a decent conversation with Joker?? He then stared at you intensely for a few moments, like he was analyzing you.

"Well, I guess I have to ah.. agree with ya on that one." he said. "But I didn't come here to ah... have a chat while drinking hot tea with ya. I actually wanted to ah... ask ya something."

"W-what is it?" even if you tried, you couldn't stop yourself from stuttering every time you spoke.

"Why didn't ya tell anything to the men that eat donuts 24/7 with a pistol in their ass pockets, the so called heroes of this city about ah... what you saw the other night, huh? If ya had reported me, I would probably be in jail right now instead of having this little... shitty chat with ya." even you didn't know the real reason, if you were honest. Maybe you thought this city was already fucked up, so what's the point in trying to arrest him when there’re many killers, thieves, and who knows what out there? You're just trying to live a quiet life... and if you did denounce him, you probably would be his next brutal victim once he lays his eyes on you again;

"I-I don't know... I just... want to live a quiet life. Let's be realistic: you probably would get out of the prison soon, so... it wouldn't make any difference, I guess..." this time you managed to speak without stuttering so much, which impressed you. He seemed thoughtful about your answer: he was good at reading people, and you didn't seem the kind of person that just wants to live their life in the best way possible, only caring about money and fame, not giving a shit about others. You have your own world, your own perspective of life, your own space without bothering anyone, and he admires that;

He could tell you're a shy and introverted person, not having anyone truthful enough to really talk about what happened... and Joker liked that fact.

From that, he already could tell that maybe you were someone to trust... and that's what he was about to find out;

After that, he nodded, telling you there was a chance of him coming back, since he got interested in your way of being. He decided to spare your life since you didn't report him, making you feel utterly relieved for not telling anything to the police or anyone;

Days passed and he wouldn’t show up like he said, and if you were honest, you actually missed him: you didn't have any romantic intentions with him, no no no, yet you thought maybe he could understand you... and accept you, finally valuing your worth and see you for who you are, without judging or offering rude side glances like most people do.That's when once again, he managed to impress you.

"Ta-daa!" he loudly exclaimed, making you jump from your secretary.

"What the hell?!" you exclaimed back, angry ‘cause he scared you by coming out of nowhere... again. "What are you doing here Joker??" calling for his name sounded strange... yet familiar, like you already knew him for a long time;

"Ah... from what I remember, I said I would come back. Soo here I am!" he then laid down caressly on your fresh-made bed. "Ohh this one's good! How much ah... did it cost, huh?" he said happily, finally having a comfortable bed to lay on instead of the rigid ground where he uses to sleep... when he can sleep.

You were speechless, him being completely at ease, but you decided to respond him. "Uh... it cost around 600 dollars. I saved a lot of money to buy it, so please be careful." suddenly, he started to laugh at you, like you said the funniest joke he ever heard.

"600 dollars?? Are ya kidding? Ya could just have stole it! And there would be so much fun and adrenaline on it as an extra!" he admitted excitedly, sounding like a kid who had the greatest idea about something random.

"Well, I'm not an expert thief like you. And I prefer to be humble and pay for it, thanks but no thanks." you answered, returning to do whatever you were doing previously before he unexpectedly entered your room.

"Oh... humility. Where does that lead us to, huh? To people getting whatever they want from us? Playing us like their little toys? Thanks, but no thanks." he imitated you casually with his arms resting under his fade green painted hair, which made you laugh this time since, somehow, you didn't feel scared of him anymore.

From that day on, he would visit you almost every day: firstly you felt like he was using you just to get a place to sleep and to properly eat: he has people working and doing anything for him, so why would he need you? Some common girl who's life isn't that interesting? You sadly thought. But with time, you could see he actually enjoys your company;

You would even tell him your problems, when a day went wrong or someone would bother you... and in that case, the next day that same person wouldn't be alive to tell the story. You thought strange at first, not knowing why everytime someone was mean and rude to you, they wouldn't be alive the next day. But then you put all the pieces together... so from that moment you stopped telling him when someone messed with you, unless it was really necessary and serious;

Sometimes you would tell him he was your guardian angel, to which he made a disgusted expression, making you correct yourself to "guardian demon";

"That sounds so much better, sweet cheeks." he said before winking at you. Every time he did that, you would blush furiously and hide your hot face, since you were a very shy and timid person, specially around him for some reason. He loved teasing you just to see you embarrassed, but of course he respected you, so he never crossed the line;

And all of this leads to now, where J is practically considered your weird best friend, the one you tell everything, the one you can truly trust and ironically, feel safe. If you only knew that one simple walk would make all of this happen... how funny life can be, putting two completely opposite people together and create this unbreakable connection between you two... like they always say, it's just destiny doing his work.

[chrysalispen]

iv. never give the heart outright

AO3 link HERE Chapter under cut.

====

The day Aurelia Laskaris left Gridania dawned damp and foggy: as mundane and unremarkable a sendoff as one could possibly wish. The heat wave had relented overnight and the wind with it, and the trees’ leaves hung still and sparkling with droplets of dew. Pale rays of early morning sun filtered through the low-hanging wisps of cloud and collected dust motes and small insects in their wake. The quality of it reminded her of L’haiya’s lace curtains, the way their softness and the delicate patterns and filtered sunbeams had always framed the sitting room windows of her girlhood home.

The driver of the chocobo carriage aimed to set out from the city before full daybreak. Thus she stood in drowsy silence along with half a dozen other passengers set to board, watching the lalafellin teamster as he and the Canopy’s porters secured the larger bags. Barring any unforeseen incidents, the carriage’s route would take them south past Quarrymill, through the marshes near old Amdapor, and south into the high desert of northeastern Thanalan until they reached Ul’dah.

It had taken her all of three days to conclude her affairs: there was, after all, no property for her to sell, nor any anxious relatives to wheedle her into remaining.

Watching the small man loop his handfuls of hempen rope to secure over boxes and bags and other people’s assorted belongings, Aurelia felt a certain twinge of wistfulness that she had not expected. The forest city was not quite home, but it had served as the closest thing she had to one for nearly five years. But it was not enough to keep her. The excitement of the road ahead had not left her, and she faced the morning with bright eyes and a clear mind. The sun was up and so was she.

Keveh’to did not share her optimism, that much was obvious with a mere glance. The Miqo’te stood at her side with an expression one could only describe as pained. His ears lay flat against his fluffy hair, and his fawn-colored bottlebrush tail lashed emphatic and agitated beats against her leg.

“I know I’ve asked you half a dozen times now,” he said quietly, “but are you absolutely certain about this?"

Her answer was the same as it had been each time he had asked:

“As certain as I shall ever be.”

“That isn’t reassuring.”

“Yes, well,” she felt a twinge of annoyance at his pessimism surface at last, “as one recalls, ‘twas you who made the suggestion that I consider further study afield.”

"When you told me you’d give the matter some thought, I didn’t expect you to come back to Miounne’s place the same day with a letter of introduction already scripted and sealed.” His arms folded over his chest and he stared up into the canopy. “E-Sumi-Yan must have had that letter already waiting to give to you, whatever he said.”

“Perhaps. It’s not as though he would have told me if he did.” Aurelia looked down at herself and smoothed the pleats of her skirt yet again. All of it, from head to toe, was new. It felt so odd; she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had new clothing. “Thank you again,” she continued, somewhat awkwardly. “For the traveling attire. It's quite fine.”

Keveh’to shrugged. A dull rosy flush crept up the sides of his neck. “It’s Ul’dah,” he said. “They’ll toss you out the gates on your arse if you show up looking like a beggar.”

“Hells below,” she tried to make a jest of it with a soft laugh, “you make it sound as though they’ll have a fashion inspector awaiting my arrival.”

“No. But I’ve known my share of that lot, and ‘tis not unlikely they’ll hit you with a demand for a hefty bribe at least once.”

“Yes, I’ve heard stories from some of the others.”

“And for goodness’ sake, Relia- please do yourself a favor and be careful about the company you keep. No one needs to know about you-know-what.” He tapped his temple with a humorless smile. “Ul’dah is a great deal more cosmopolitan than our humble little forest abode, but even they might balk at that.”

The stare she gave him could best be described as obstinate, with the hard set of her jawline. “...I might be ignorant of many Eorzean customs, but I should like to think I am not that much of a fool.”

“I’m trying to watch out for you.”

“Rest assured, I do appreciate the thought.” Still so glum. She frowned at him, “I thought that this decision would have pleased you. You made no secret you were tired of watching me mope about.”

“I- yes. But-”

He opened his mouth, stuttered into empty air, then sighed.

The other passengers milled about them in a somnolent shuffle, muttering to each other and passing bags back and forth. A pair of snowy-haired elezen twins in clothing as new and fine as her own brushed past Aurelia and Keveh’to without sparing a second glance, their identical braids and hair-ribbons stirring in a cool and sluggish breeze from the riverbank. She waited for the pair to pass well out of earshot before she continued, as gently as she could manage:

“This isn’t goodbye forever, you know.”

“I know.”

“They gave me honorary citizenship. I think I’m obligated to at least visit from time to time.” Another jest, one which failed in a like manner as the other to crack his solemn visage. “But I do fully plan on returning once I’ve completed my studies.”

“Right. I understand that. It’s…” His ears swiveled forward, then back, still flattened unhappily against his hair. “...Never mind. It’s not important.”

“No, go on.”

“It’s a trifling personal matter. Naught that you should worry about.”

“If you have something to say-”

That stony stoicism faded at last, relaxing into a smile, but it was as sad a smile as she had ever seen Keveh’to Epocan give anyone. “Matter of fact, I did. Once. But I see now that I’ve gone and waited too long,” he said cryptically. “Saying it now won’t change anything, and I wager I’d only feel worse if it did.”

“I’m sorry.” Aurelia worried at her lower lip with her teeth. “Truly, I am.”

His smile stretched into a grin. It made him look far more like the man she had come to know, the friend who teased and needled her and let her talk herself into momentous decisions. “You’ve no cause to be sorry for anything, my friend. The fault is mine own if there’s fault to be placed. I’m just being sentimental, I suppose. And, mayhap, a touch selfish.”

“Last call for luggage,” bellowed one of the porters. “If ye don’t bring it up now, ye’ll be carryin’ it yerselves! ‘Tis a long road ahead! Last call for luggage!”

Aurelia looked down at herself, then the bags at her feet. She only had the three pieces: her salvaged field kit, her herbal bag, and the pack which held in it those few trifling personal possessions she owned, including her mother’s memento mori. The field kit’s thick carbonweave strap perched on her shoulder, its tripartite-link imperial insignia long since removed by her own hand (Rhaya Wolndara’s angry reaction to the sight of it had been a valuable lesson in precaution) and its once-hefty weight now considerably lightened with even her most conservative usage of its contents over the years.

“Well,” he said after a moment, with transparently forced cheer, “let’s be about it. This lot won’t load itself.”

“The field kit needs to stay with me,” she drew out of reach when he stretched out a hand to take it from her shoulder. “Too many fragile items. Glass and the like. I’ll not trust it to the vagaries of a draught chocobo.”

“Fair enough.”

He picked up the others and made his way toward the waiting porter as the small collection of passengers began to mill towards the slatted steps. A Highlander man drowsed near the front of the carriage, hand wrapped loosely about a wine bottle and otherwise oblivious to the world. Aurelia double-checked the small leather belt she wore to make sure the letters Miounne and E-Sumi-Yan had penned were intact; a fine mess it would be if she were to lose them on the journey.

“Aurelia!”

The matronly Duskwight proprietress of the Carline Canopy stood head and shoulders over most of the passengers, and she quickly drew their attention as she made her way towards the small gathering with a swift and decisive stride. The Garlean offered her a small smile.

“Good morning to you, Miounne,” she said. “Come to see me off, have you?”

“I certainly have. I hope you weren’t planning on leaving us this morning without breaking your fast, girl,” was Miounne’s brisk reply, though she returned the smile as she held out her hands. In them, she carried a steaming tin cup and a small cloth-wrapped bundle. “I set aside one of my eel pies for you. ‘Tis a bit chilly as well, so I thought some hot tea might do you well on the road. Don’t worry about the cup; I have plenty of them.”

Touched by the gesture, Aurelia carefully took the cup and the wrapped pie, one in each hand.

“You didn’t have to do this-”

“I know,” Miounne said, a wry smirk tilting her lips. She wiped her hands on her apron. “But I did. The pie is heavy and should keep your belly full for a day or two. You’ll be changing carriages at the station in Highbridge to the Sunroad trail; you’ll want to get more supplies while you’re there-- make sure you have plenty of fresh water. There’s naught betwixt Drybone and the city save malms of scrubland, and this time of year the water holes will be too low to sustain travelers. I imagine the Calamity will have made the pickings slim for hunting as well.”

Aurelia nodded.

“Once you pass through the city gates, make your way to the Quicksand. That’s where the Ul’dahn Adventurers’ Guild operates; the proprietress’ name is Momodi Modi. I sent word ahead that she’s to expect your arrival within the sennight. All you need to do is give her your name and mine.”

“I... yes. I’ll do that.”

“And please, Aurelia dear- do take care in Ul’dah. It is a very different sort of city from ours. You are a kind woman with the best of intentions and there are those who would…” Miounne hesitated. “...Well. I’ll not fearmonger; I’ll wager you’ve heard enough of that. But I would ask the Twelve to watch over you nonetheless- if that’s all right, of course.”

She didn’t say anything for a long moment. Instead, she watched Keveh’to’s back, the way his officer’s overcoat pulled taut across the shoulders as he passed her bags to the porter, then cast her eyes down at Miounne’s parting gifts.

The sight brought back a memory of the last time she had left behind the familiar to set out for the unknown: fresh from her schooling, set to board a train at the capital’s processing center after she had enlisted in the imperial army. No one had accompanied her. Not to give her well wishes or helpful directions, or even to wave their farewells from the platform as the train departed for the tunnels bored beneath the mountains and into the heart of Castrum Pinnaculum. She had gone to the station alone, had left alone, and for the first few weeks of basic training, she had struggled alone.

But she was not alone now. Perhaps she no longer owned a marvel of a garden, or slept in a fine bed, or wore silks, but since coming to Eorzea she had made more friends in this past handful of years than in the previous decade. That had to count for something.

Aurelia stared into the steaming teacup and swallowed past the sudden constriction in her throat with considerable effort, then looked at the other woman with glassy blue eyes.

“I’d like that,” she said at last. “And thank you, Miounne. For everything.”

Before the woman could muster a response Aurelia had turned away and hurried towards the lowered carriage steps. She didn’t want to lose her nerve or shed tears, not today, and she still had one more farewell to give.

Keveh’to reached the steps first; he plucked the carbonweave strap from her shoulder and slung it over his own the moment she drew near. “Let me pass that up to you once you’re seated,” he said. “You can’t carry both your breakfast and this great bloody thing onto the carriage.”

She was the last to board. The wooden stair was showing its age and it creaked even under Aurelia’s slight weight as she made her way onto the covered deck. The platinum-headed Elezen twins she had seen earlier sat in the back near the cargo across from the last empty space: the one in blue was wholly absorbed in perusing a tome while the one in red dozed upon their companion’s shoulder. Neither of them paid her any mind as she set her teacup and snugly wrapped meal upon the open seat. Nor did any of the others, for that matter.

Mayhap this part was not so very different from that long ago train ride after all.

Aurelia chuckled aloud, though the sound lacked humor, and turned towards the other end of the carriage at the sound of swift footsteps. Keveh’to had come up behind her to deliver her remaining bag. The half-empty imperial field kit, still large and cumbersome for all it lacked much of the weight it once bore, smacked with a quiet dull thud against his thigh with each step. His expression was unreadable as he set it down at her feet.

“Suppose Mother Miounne already said it so I don’t need to,” he said, “but I will, anyroad. Take care of yourself and be careful who you trust. And if there is trouble and you need to leave for any reason, you always have a home here.”

“Keveh’to-” Before she could finish what she had meant to say his arms had wrapped about her shoulders in a heavy embrace, tail wound around her calf.

“Write to us once in a while, will you?” he muttered in her ear. “Just… just so we know you’re doing alright. Even if it’s something about your alchemy that I- I mean, we don’t understand.”

“Or care about,” Aurelia said wryly. She knew full well that Keveh’to was not asking her to write to Miounne. Her arms tightened about his shoulders in return, just for a brief moment. “...I’ll write as often as I can manage.”

“Good.”

The Miqo’te looked for a moment as though he wanted to say - or do - something more, but instead released her with all haste, tail flickering and ears swiveling with his discomfiture as he went. Aurelia said nothing further as she took a step backward and turned to the seat where her tea and morning meal awaited. It was easy enough to spare him his blushes, to pretend that her focus lay upon how best she might secure her bag under the seat. Once that was done she picked up the teacup and took a thoughtful sip, placing Miounne's eel pie upon her lap. She was too full of nerves to be terribly hungry but that would no doubt change within a bell or two.

His retreat down the narrow steps came just in time for the porter to lift and shutter the low-slung door behind him with a brisk snap. Aurelia felt her eyes prickle and burn but her composure held fast, and when she turned about and lifted her free hand to wave at her friend it was with a bright smile on her face.

Her minder - her friend, now - gave only a half-second’s hesitation before he waved back. At his side, Miounne too lifted her hand in silent farewell.

“Quarrymill!” the driver shouted. “Next stop, Quarrymill!”

Following upon the heels of the teamster’s call came the draught chocobos’ twin kwehs. She braced herself and her teacup a moment before she felt the sharp initial jolt of the carriage’s forward motion. Within seconds it smoothed into a sedate and seamless drift as the wind aether filled the balloons overhead, and they were off down the half-paved cobbles that led to the Blue Badger gate. In moments they would pass out of the city and turn onto the southbound road.

For the final time, Aurelia allowed herself a glance over her shoulder, back over the lip of the carriage and in the direction of the Carline Canopy. Keveh’to, it seemed, had chosen to remain outside the chocobo paddock. He stood stiff and unmoving save for the tail that lashed erratically at the air, his hands shoved into his deep pockets and his mouth turned in a downward bow she could see even from here.

His words drifted across her mind like errant clouds.

I’ve waited too long. Saying it now won’t change anything.

She kept her gaze upon the dwindling figure until the carriage had rounded the bend and that splash of bright yellow was no longer visible through the foliage.

~*~

Watching the commotion below from his perch upon a flight of corrugated metal steps, Nero tol Scaeva knew what was coming next. The cohort’s work had come to a screeching halt and several of the engineers had gathered about to investigate the rear quarter panel of the left leg. None of them seemed to know what orders they were to give or be given if any, and the resulting confusion left them milling aimlessly about like ants puzzling at a stray piece of food someone had dropped on the floor.

Thus it fell to him to restore order, as much as he would rather not: his presence alone would subject him to fearful kowtowing and stammered excuses. He knew he could be a hard man when the situation called for it, but he liked to think he was also a fair one, and even the greenest of the signal corps had no reason to fear his wrath so long as they could explain themselves to his satisfaction. Still, he was a Garlean, and the provincial fear of his countrymen was deeply ingrained into the army's conscripts -- ingrained when it was not beaten.

No help for it, I suppose.

He made his way beneath the iron scaffolding that surrounded the warmachina's exoskeleton at a brisk pace. The clatter of his sollerets upon the metal tiling set an easy and unhurried rhythm as he crossed the open floor until his stride slowed to a full stop mere fulms away. The engineers’ chatter, quiet but idle, dwindled into an anxious silence.

One of the engineers, a tiny Auri woman with her lavender-tinted hair bound in regulation braids, went visibly pale at the sight of his approach but to her credit did not make a show of flinching from him, and even had sufficient courage to offer up a salute as was proper. He folded his arms over his chest and peered down at her through the visor of his helm. They stood close enough that he could see how her forearm - still stiffly crossed over her chest - trembled at his proximity.

“Architectus,” he said very calmly.

“Y-yes, my lord?”

“As you were,” she dropped her salute, but her back remained ramrod straight and the tension did not leave her shoulders. He continued as if he had failed to notice, “I mark a number of you performing a very serious study of this warmachina’s leg joint, in lieu of performing your assigned tasks.”

Her swallow was audible even through his helm’s transceiver, but her stone-faced stare did not waver. “Apologies, my lord. There is-”

“I believe I have stated on multiple occasions that we have a schedule to keep, and not a terribly lenient one at that. Perhaps the cohort is in need of a reminder.”

“My lord, please,” the woman blurted, then winced almost immediately, “I am sorry to interrupt. But you see, there’s a problem.”

Shite and swiving hellsfire, if I never hear ‘there’s a problem’ again in my lifetime it will be too soon. Still, unlike sas Junius it was not in Nero’s nature to vent his spleen upon hapless messengers. He released a long-suffering sigh instead - only somewhat dramatized for her benefit - and watched those large ocean-blue eyes break their impasse at the sound. They flickered nervously up at his face, then down, then back out to stare at that fixed point past his waistline.

“Of course there is,” he said aloud.

“My lord?”

His own fault, he surmised, for expecting any other response to his bit of japery. “Never mind. Continue.”

“Yes, my lord. We ran the initial tests using the Vanguard H-1’s specifications, as dictated. The operating system ran as expected upon startup. But when we tried to proceed with full activation... well, we tried to switch over from the H-1 but it caused a power surge and nearly started a fire- as you see here. As it is we’re dead in the water. She won’t power on at all now.”

“I assume our engineering teams ran down their checklists for aught that might have compromised structural integrity, prior to attempting the activation.”

“Just so, my lord. Circuitry, fuel lines, motherboards-- it was all green.” She bit her lip. “If… perhaps we might speak to the quartermaster and requisition another part. Or perhaps a larger-”

“The next step up would be the specs for a low-velocity assault craft,” Nero interrupted dryly. “While I share your readiness to explore all possible options, I think it unwise to blindly run through every single spare part at our disposal hoping for a result. Aside from the obvious risks, ‘tis inefficient. We do not have a great deal of time to make what amounts to an educated guess.”

“I- yes,” she stammered. “I apologize, my lord, I should have thought-”

He waved an impatient hand. She fell silent as instantly as if he had slammed a door shut in her face. “Who is your immediate superior?”

“Valens nan Varro, my lord.”

“Kindly inform him that the activation test has been delayed pending an internal review. We will reschedule after I have spoken with the legatus.”

Now she was staring at her feet, her face pale once again. “...He will be sorely displeased if he discovers we have failed you, my lord. Sorely.”

“Ah, yes. A terrible burden indeed, the primus architectus' personal inconvenience. Unfortunately, we shall all have to bear it,” Nero said briskly. He did not care to argue the matter with a subordinate; such behavior would undermine his authority, and the engineers present were well aware that his word was the final say.

“But-”

“If nan Varro is displeased with the decision and wishes to contest it, then he may take his grievance up with me directly.”

Her shoulders slumped forward ever so slightly, not in relief but defeat. Beneath his helm, Nero raised his brows at the response but said nothing further.

“Yes, my lord.”

“And I expect an incident report on my desk by 0700 tomorrow morning. Posthaste.”

Her answering salute was stiff and formal, expression as stony and unyielding as a statue’s. Whatever emotion he had spied was carefully hidden now; the wall was back in place. Curious. Irrelevant. He had neither the time nor the wherewithal to waste in wondering after it.

Nero passed her without another word, her fellows hastening to clear a path for him as he approached the enormous back leg. There were scorch marks on the edges of the chassis panel, he noted; exposed copper fibers trailed from the opened casing like wilted ivy creepers. The ends were blackened and a thin line of smoke still curled in slender lines; the smell was acrid and familiar and the castrum's ventilation system would disperse it within a half hour.

One hand hovered just over the scorched plate as he studied the sight, with a furrowed brow and pursed lips.

Retrofitting Allagan technology was not a precise art, as much as it pained Nero to admit it. Some artifacts worked so readily with Garlean magitek that the process was utterly seamless, as if it had been meant for their hands. Others were far more complex, and thus more time-intensive. The Ultima Weapon had been his longest project to date, and the tribunus laticlavius had to remind himself that the machina had been experimental even to the greatest scientists of its age: a groundbreaking anti-eikon countermeasure that partnered the arcane with the mundane. A seamless blending of aetherology and engineering, borne of man’s ingenuity.

Blended---

Ah.

“My lord?” a timid voice echoed at his back. The engineers were watching him; they had gathered a respectful six fulms away.

“...This is not a public spectacle,” his hand fell away from the plating. “See to this mess. I want the machina checked from top to bottom for aught that could possibly cause further delays. Exposed joints, chassis warping, blown fuses, exposed wires, all of it.”

"My lord, the test-" "Is no longer your priority," his impatience filtered through as a short, barked command. "Attend to your tasks. I will not ask you twice." The gathered cluster of engineers sketched their salutes and scattered like mice, scrambling to obey before any of them could experience the implied consequences for perceived insubordination. Nero watched them in silence for a few beats before taking his leave. He made his way back along the catwalk and up several flights of steps, to one of the administrative bays that oversaw the hangar. Once he was certain of his privacy, he removed his helm with a soft and relieved sigh. It was a mere press of a button after that to open the transceiver link and set it to a specific frequency. Static hissed in the confines of the empty office for one second, two, before the link became stable and there was smooth air and Gaius van Baelsar's gruff baritone:

“State your business.”

“Lord Gaius. Have I interrupted something?”

“Yes, but naught of particular importance. For a small blessing.” The legatus of the XIVth Imperial Legion sounded vaguely put out, but not irate. An encouraging sign which meant he was like to be at least somewhat amenable to the discussion Nero wished to have. “I take it you have something you wished to discuss.”

“I do. The activation test failed. I should have an incident report within the next 24 hours that will list the particulars.”

“Again?”

“Indeed. This is why,” Nero took a deep breath, “I should like to request that the Weapon and all hands involved in the project be transferred to the research facility in Agelyss Wyse.” “The Vylbrand coast? That is not exactly shouting distance from Gyr Abania. And there are certain dangers present which make your proposition quite risky.” Refusal to take risks will not garner the results we seek. "With all due respect, my lord, you did not assign me this project with any fond hopes that I would remain complacent,” he could almost feel his commanding officer bristling at his bluntness, “and these failed tests have made it abundantly clear that - as you will recall that I posited, against protest from certain quarters - ceruleum combustion alone will not be sufficient to bring the Weapon back online. Not at full capacity.”

“What do you propose?”

“I will get to that eventually, but first and foremost: I need data. Current data. Simulations and conjectures will only get us so far.” He glanced out the bay window at the massive machina, a dormant monster, each opened claw the size of a juggernaut. “The Weapon was designed to do far more than subdue eikons, and we have merely scratched the surface of its capabilities. But scratching is all we will manage if we remain here.”

Nero managed - only just - to keep the excitement out of his voice. The Black Wolf of Garlemald was a straightforward man, he knew from long years of experience: interested in results, not theories.

“I understand this, but you are also asking to upend our timetable for the sake of a hypothesis.”

“A hypothesis with its foundation in the methods the Allagans used to create and maintain Dalamud- as Lord van Darnus would attest, were he still with us. I think it a safe assumption that the Ultima Weapon operates upon a similar methodology.” Van Baelsar’s only response was a sigh of consternation. Nero continued, “And yes, it would move our overall timetable forward a few weeks. I admit it.”

“Nearly two months,” the legatus said sourly. “You understand that even if I agree to your proposal, it is not something that can be immediately enacted.”

“I would not expect to presume thus, my lord, of course.” There was bureaucracy involved, and the logistics of moving entire teams between castra -- not to mention the machina itself. Well, Solus zos Galvus had not built the Empire in a day, either. “I realize there are protocols to follow. I only ask for consideration-”

“And due consideration will be given, tribunus- in due time. At the very least I must needs contact the Occidens praefectus and discuss the matter. We will speak on this anon.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He could afford the wait. In the meantime, there was much yet to be done- and new plans to be made. When the legatus called for him again, as he inevitably would, Nero would be prepared to explain what must be done ere their goals could be met. Allag’s mighty Weapon would awaken from its slumber by his hand, and he would receive his fair due at last. There was no one and nothing now to keep him from reaching forth to take what was rightfully his.

This victory shall be mine and mine alone, he thought. And you, old friend, will be as chaff in the wind. Discarded and forgotten.

Beneath his twin veils of tempered glass and chromed crimson steel, Nero tol Scaeva began to smile.

[eryiss]

Summary: Freed has taken great joy in watching Laxus become not only a powerful mage, but a celebrity as well. As any dutiful husband would, he saw it his responsibility to make sure Laxus' new found fame didn't go to his head. And what better way to accomplish that than to splash him back to reality. [Fraxus One Shot]

I'm not sure where this idea came from, but it seemed fun and I don’t write canon-focused as much as I'd like to. This is just a fun little one shot, that I hope can put a smile on your faces.

You can read this under the cut, on Fanfiction, or on Archive of Our Own. Hope you enjoy it.

A Splash of Reality

Freed wasn't entirely sure how, but Laxus had become something of a celebrity.

It had started out during their stint working for Blue Pegasus, wherein Laxus had been forced to take an interview with Sorcerer Weekly. Master Bob had insisted on it, claiming that the guild was run on patrons as well as their jobs, and having the world-renowned Laxus Dreyar suddenly as a guildmember was big news and could stir up a lot of business. It was made an even bigger deal because of Laxus' previous aversion to anything to do with press. It was his first interview, and it had been incredibly successful.

From there, things had snowballed. Other interviewers suddenly saw Laxus as a viable target, and Bob forced Laxus to do the more high-profile ones. When Fairy Tail had returned, Laxus had been one of the main points of intrigue, partly because now he was a well-known media figure and Fairy Tail returning was big news, and party because of the rumours about Laxus taking over.

Once he had started, he hadn't seemed to stop. Not only did he do interviews, but he also done an advertisement for the creators of his cherished headphones, which had kickstarted his pseudo-career in modelling. Every interview now came with a photoshoot, and Freed was immeasurably amused about how, with every shoot he did, the amount of clothing Laxus wore seemed to be lessening and the poses became more focused on his physique. Apparently the magazines knew a body they could profit from when presented with one.

While Laxus did complain, Freed knew he was enjoying it all. The man, while private, did like attention, if only on his terms.

The amount of time the couple could spend together did lessen slightly, but Freed didn't mind that. It would be hypocritical if he did, given when they had gotten together it had been the same year he'd gained the reputation as the 'Pretty Boy with a heart of darkness', and he had topped the 'Wizard I'd Like To Date' list; something Laxus had yet to do, Freed thought smugly. Media was something a famous wizard had to deal with, and it was a lot more fun laughing at Laxus' awkwardness in interviews than it would be if he allowed himself to be angry at the late nights Laxus spent in a studio somewhere.

One such night, Freed found himself doing the dishes as Laxus returned home.

"Hey," Laxus greeted as he entered, immediately shucking off his coat. "You alright?"

"Perfectly well," Freed said with a smile, placing the sponge on the draining board and turning to greet his husband. "Did your meeting go well?"

"I guess so," Laxus shrugged. "They offered me the contract. Pretty good pay, lots of coverage, they seemed enthusiastic about it."

"I can't imagine why," Freed chuckled. "It's not as if you're the person everyone's taking about right now, and that everything you attribute your name to seems to explode in popularity. Oh wait, you're exactly that," Freed chuckled. "I expect they threw a party just because you considered it."

An underwear company had, a month prior, come to Laxus saying they wanted him to be the headliner for their new ad campaign. They had stated in no uncertain terms that they would do almost anything to have him as their lead model, and it wasn't hard to understand why. Laxus had done a photoshoot for Sorcerer Weekly where one of the pictures showed Laxus teasing his underwear, and it had been the year's most successful issue of the magazine. The company had openly grovelled to get Laxus to consider their offer, and Freed had found it hysterical. He remembered what it had been like when he'd gotten similar offers, and was thankful that he no longer had to deal with it.

"Are you considering taking it?" Freed asked as he turned back to the dishes.

"Not sure," Laxus said, walking behind Freed and pressing his lips against the man's crown, a silent greeting. "They're respectful, and they said I can pick a photographer I know which means I won't get stuck with a creep. But I'm a mage, y'know. It'd make me less credible if there were magazine and billboard with me nearly naked on them, right?"

Freed paused, and smiled. He had known Laxus most of his life and they'd been together for a good few years, so he could read the man well. The fact that he'd phrased his last statement as a question, rather than as fact, was telling. He wanted to do it, almost definitely would do it, but he just needed a push.

And unfortunately, Freed had a bit of a cruel side.

"You're absolutely right," Freed said, voice almost haughty in tone. He was grinning into the unclean dishes. "Not only would you seem a sell-out, it would also affect your guild work and your reputation. It would risk taking away the fear factor you bring to missions; you shouldn't do it."

There was a beat of silent, one that Freed relished, before Laxus spoke again.

"But there's good aspects to it," He stated, forcing a nonchalant tone. "I could get some more money for the guild, which it always needs. And it's not like it's uncommon for mages to do ad campaigns and get into modelling. I mean, Mira does it all the time and nobody questions how fucking scary she can be."

"I'll agree to that," Freed nodded slightly, looking to Laxus with a wicked grin. "If you agree that you're loving this."

This had been the unspoken aspect of Laxus' celebrity status. Before it had happened, the blonde had been ardent that he'd never get into the publicity side of mage work, and that the people who did weren't as respectable as those who didn't. He'd claimed he would never do an interview by choice, and that he would hate every moment of it if forced to do one. That might have been true at the start, but as he had gotten used to it, gotten more comfortable with it, and had created professional relationships with journalists and photographers, he'd clearly started to enjoy it. A lot. But he refused to admit it, another amusing part of the situation.

"You kidding me?" Laxus scoffed. "Wish they'd stop asking, then I'd go back to normal."

"If that's the case, I'll talk to Master Makarov and have him block all correspondence from the media," Freed offered, and smirked when Laxus' eyebrow twitched slight. "Just admit it Laxus, you've become a celebrity, and you're enjoying every second of it."

"No I'm not," He protested, collapsing into a chair at the dining table.

"Oh please," Freed chuckled. "There's a small voice in your head that is constantly celebrating every moment of this. The arrogant teenager who wanted to hog the spotlight," Freed smiled as Laxus blushed a little. "You remind me of me when I first got into the celebrity side of things."

"I ain't that bad," Laxus stated. "Nobody can be as bad as Freed Justine the Pretty Boy."

"You might be more subtle about it," Freed conceded. "But I know that if you hadn't made such a big deal about not being one of those people, you'd be just as bad as I was."

"So what if I'm enjoying it," Laxus huffed, looking away from Freed and ignoring the chuckle that got him. "It ain't like I'm doing anything wrong by liking it."

"Certainly not, you're a well renowned wizard and you have put a lot of effort into proving yourself capable and impressive. Your celebrity status just proves that it's not just magic you're proficient in, but also publicity, arguably something a lot harder to do," Freed said as he walked from the kitchen sink and towards Laxus. "But if you think I'm not going to take every opportunity to annoy you like you did when our roles were reversed, you are very naïve indeed."

Laxus chuckled slightly at that, and the minor amount of defensiveness dissipated. As a couple, they had always had a flirtatious, harmless tit-for-tat rivalry, and Freed was glad Laxus knew his teasing was a part of that.

"Guess I deserve that," Laxus conceded. "What are you planning to do then? Find an embarrassing picture of me and send it to every magazine you know?"

"I'd hardly do something so unoriginal," Freed chuckled, thinking back to when Laxus had done just that to Freed. The picture of Freed sleeping, leaning against his sword, hair a mess after a mission, drooling slightly, had been featured in every low-end gossip magazine for a week, something which Laxus and The Raijinshuu found great delight in.

"Then what?" Laxus probed, smirking. He was clearly thinking of the picture as well.

"I can hardly ruin the surprise for you," Freed chuckled. "But, overall, I simply intend to keep you humble. To make sure all the grovelling and worshipping doesn't go to your head."

"How d'you plan on doing that?"

"Well, this, for example."

Freed moved quickly. As he had walked from the kitchen sink, he had grabbed the sponge that lay on the draining board and hidden it behind his back, something that Laxus hadn't noticed. He speedily moved it above Laxus' head, wringing it out. A cold shower of dishwater dropped out of it, landing on the blonde's perfectly styled hair, and splashing onto his shoulders.

Laxus let out a loud and undignified squark, wide eyed as the water dripped down his face. He looked up at Freed with shock for a moment, before determination painted itself across his featured. Freed met the expression with a cocky smile.

"You'll regret that," Laxus stated plainly.

"I don't think so," Freed chuckled. "After such a lovely noise, I don't think anything you do could make me regret it."

Laxus strode to the kitchen sink, scooping his hand in and collecting a handful of the foam bubbles. He turned on his heel and looked to Freed, who had crossed his arms and looked at the bubbles with an unimpressed eyebrow quirk. Not put off, Laxus stepped forward and slowly stroked Freed's face over with his bubbly fist, covering the man's features. He chuckled as he stepped back, the bubbles clinging to Freed's face.

"Well I have had a taste of my own medicine," Freed said in a voice so sarcastic it was almost impressive. "And it is very bitt-"

Freed cut himself off, gaping slightly as realisation – and a glass full of water – hit him. He gaped slightly as the cup full of dishwater splashed cold against his face, part of it entering his mouth. He slowly spat the water out onto the floor, glaring at his husband as bubbles trickled down his face. Laxus loudly laughed at him.

"I see," Freed said, voice calm now. "It's war then, is it?"

"Guess so," Laxus shrugged, crossing his arms, and adopting the same stance Freed had used just a moment ago.

And so, the war broke out. Before Freed could get to the sink, Laxus had splashed another handful of bubbles and water in his direction, drenching his crisp shirt and sending a shudder through him. Freed quickly got his revenge, cupping his hands and doing the same. His attack had been more effective, and Laxus groaned at a large wet mark covered his designer clothing; designer clothing that looked indistinguishable from his other clothes, given that no designer could change his unique sense of style.

The impromptu water fight lasted for a short while, and was covered in a mixture of sounds ranging from cries of annoyance to loud and raucous laughter. Though their kitchen was something of a mess by the time the fight neared its end, neither man cared. They both faced a lot of pressure, and moments of ridiculous fun was something they both relished.

Particularly Freed, given that he was now holding Laxus by the hair, threatening to plunge his face down into the rest of the dishwater.

"You wouldn't," Laxus grunted, muscles flexing as he pushed up against Freed's grasp.

"We both know I would," Freed taunted. "Unless you concede, of course."

"Never," Laxus demanded.

"Well then, let me give you a taste of what you've got in stall," Freed laughed, and Laxus' eyes narrowed. "Tonight I had gravy with my dinner, so the water is not only cold and stagnant, but it's also got a delightful hint of soapy beef. The few specs of the dinner I didn't finish are still floating around, which I expect will make this interesting," Laxus curled his nose at that; he could already smell the mix of contrasting scents. He was fine not having a closer look. "And from your nasty sneak attack, I can say from experience that it has a disgusting taste."

"You won't push me in," Laxus huffed. "When it comes to arm strength, I win."

"Perhaps with another man, that would be true," Freed mused. "But as your husband, I know a weakness or two that I can exploit."

Freed's fingers grazed against Laxus' waist, and a tickling sensation flushed through the blonde. His eyes widened as he reaffirmed his grasp on the sides of the sink, because Freed had barely been trying to tickle him and he was now only an inch away from the water's surface. If Freed really wanted to do this, Laxus would be powerless.

"You have one last chance to admit I win," Freed chuckled, breath hitting Laxus' ear. "Or it's bath time."

"Go fuck yourself."

"Very well," Freed grinned. "Enjoy yourself, Mr Celebrity."

And with that, Freed's free hand attacked Laxus' weak spot, his muscles buckled, and his face was shoved into the disgusting water below him.

~~~

"You've made a decision then?" Freed asked.

He walked out of his bathroom wearing nothing but a robe, his hair a slight mess after a quick towel dry. After Laxus had been pushed into the sink, Freed had been declared the victor of their water fight, and the two had retreated to the shower to clean off. Laxus had left the bathroom before Freed, claiming he was going to call the underwear company and give them a definitive answer while Freed readied himself for sleep.

"Yeah, just got off the phone," Laxus said, smiling at Freed and shifting the covers so his husband could climb in. "Told them I'd do it, they seemed pretty happy about it."

"I imagine so," Freed chuckled. "I hope you don't become disillusioned by it all, because glamour shoots can be a tiresome bore. I'd certainly rather you endure it than me."

He climbed into the bed, automatically leaning against his husband and curling up around him. Laxus wrapped him in his arms without a second thought, smiling a little at the scent of Freed's distinctive shampoo. He nuzzled his nose into the man's hair for a moment, before resting his chin on the man's head.

He grinned to himself before speaking again.

"You were right, they really would have done anything to get me working with them," Laxus mused, seemingly out of nowhere. "I went to them with a pretty big demand, and they actually went with it. Kinda shocked."

"As I said, you're a big name," Freed shrugged, covering himself with the duvet. "What did you want from them?"

"Double the pay."

"They really were desperate," Freed chuckled. "What they offered before was generous anyway."

"Well, I guess they saw the perks of it," Laxus chuckled, and smiled a little wickedly. "I mean, when I say they doubled the pay, I might have been misleading. Because while they're paying twice as much, it's not just going to me."

"Then who is it going to?" Freed questioned.

"You, of course," Laxus smirked, and Freed froze in his arms. Laxus tightened his grip slightly. "You see, I told them just how much my stud of a team captain – who was the fantasy guy of the whole nation a couple years ago – wanted to get into modelling. How he missed the spotlight, and wanted to show off to the world. And when I told them in no uncertain terms that I wouldn't be doing anything without him, they seemed very happy to do what I wanted."

"You didn't," Freed said, voice hollow.

"Oh I did," Laxus chuckled. "So it looks like I'm not going to be the only celebrity living here from this point, huh?"

"You bastard," Freed grunted.

"Damn right I am," Laxus grinned, taking Freed's chin with his fingers and turning him so they were face to face. He smirked at the man, who was doing a mix of a glare and a pout. Laxus leant forward, kissing Freed with a victorious expression. "I guess I win after all, Pretty Boy."

[felidaefighter]

The Fish And The Wanderer

Once upon a time, there lived a young man who had set off on his own to see the world. He traveled place to place, profession to profession, with a tune in his voice and carrying only what he needed to keep him alive. He cared not for armor nor combat, and preferred instead to duel or inspire with his words.

This man stayed nowhere long, but he found a piece of land he rather liked and a profession that amused him for a time, and together with a friend (and friends of that friend) they decided to break away from the local ruler and begin something new. But the land was not his, and he owned nothing to convince the ruler otherwise, so he found a new profession in leadership of his compatriots, using his words as he was so adept with.

And as time passed and the city grew alongside the trees and the bordering walls, the wanderer found there to be a longing in his heart, for more than just travel. There was something missing. Laying on the grass and staring at the stars, he reminisced about his childhood and the stories his father had told him-- and with a startle in his heart, the man realized he wanted a child.

As the wanderer recalled the story his father had told, his father had needed the magic of the universe to bring him into existence. There needed to be an exchange, or it could not be done. The story went like this:

A formidable warrior with powerful allies and the gift of flight, the wanderer’s father lived most of his life in isolation, building structures so vast that most men would weep in awe to see them. But he had wanted a child, ever so desperately, and one night he looked up at the stars and asked the universe what he must to do to make such an impossible thing happen.

To his surprise, the universe answered him, and it answered with a question: What did he love, that he could exchange? The wanderer’s father had thought long about this before understanding what it meant. “I fear death, and so I love the lives that I live and the lives that I have. I would give up that security, to have a child.” And in two painful gasps, the wanderer’s father had felt something wrenched from his body, his very soul-- but when he looked down he saw a babe with stars in its eyes, and regretted nothing.

The man spent three long days and three long nights thinking about if he truly wanted a child, although he had already his decision. But it felt traditional and proper to think on it for that long, and the man was rather fond of such poetic things. So on the third and final night, he stared up at the stars and confessed for them to hear: “I wish to have a child, but I cannot bear one and have nobody to bear one for me. What must I do to make such an impossible thing happen?”

And although he had heard it in his stories, it still shocked him when the universe replied.

“You are the child of such a desire; it comes as no surprise that you should act upon the same. Certainly you already know there needs to be an exchange of that which you love for that which you will love.”

“Yes,” the wanderer said, “Whatever has to be done, I will do it.”

“And what have you to trade, to sacrifice?” The universe asked.

The man thought about this for a long time before answering truthfully: “Nothing I love is mine, and of that which is mine I love nothing. I have nothing I can give.”

The universe respected the truth in the man’s words, but it could not make something out of nothing. “Love is not about if something belongs to you,” It replied. “You must learn to know love as more than that which is yours and that which is not yours. Love is not possession, and nor is a trade based upon that. When you understand, I will return to you.”

And the man was left alone staring at the stars, only the echo of those words to keep him company.

-----

So the man led his city, but he did not love it as others did, for he was, after all, a wanderer at his heart. And the man owned little more than the clothes on his back, but he did not love these things. The universe had told him to love something that was not a thing to be kept. Something as free as he was, and only then could he have a child. He walked to the docks on the bay, and hoped to spin together his thoughts into something more than what they were. The man dangled his feet over the water and stared into the waves, when the glint of a reflection caught his eyes.

It was the scales of a silver fish, refracting the light that had been filtered through the water. He watched as the fish swam about, making the light dance and scattering it through the water. He thought in that moment the humble silver much more beautiful than any crown or gold could ever be. The pitch flecks on her scales distinguished her from the other fish in the group she swam with, and he lost hours of the day. “It would be rude to call you simply a fish,” the man not-quite whispered, “Perhaps I should call you Sally.”

Nearly every day, the man visited the docks and looked for that same fish. As many days as he looked, he found her. And every day he found her, he found something more to admire. First it was the beauty-- the silver of her scales, the flow of her fins, and the way she moved through the water as if she were part of it. Then there was more-- the way she knew the wanderer was there, her habits, her paths, her own personality.

The man admired even the way her scales were changing colors as the leaves changed with the seasons, both turning a brilliant, vibrant red. If he had not known before, he knew now-- Sally was a salmon, and it was almost time for her to swim upriver. He felt an unfamiliar ache in his heart at the thought, and its song was in time with the longing he still felt.

“I will miss you dearly,” the wanderer confessed with a sniff, “And I fear that when you leave I still shall have no child to love. But I wonder more; will you be happy, upriver? I want for you to be.”

And when the salmon spoke it spoke in the voice of the universe.

“I am not sure you know much about salmon,” she said, and the bafflement and wonderment and sorrow all mixed together for the wanderer, and he knew in the song of his heart that he loved her-- not as a thing to be kept, but as one as free as he was.

“I didn’t expect you to answer,” the man confessed, his being overwhelmed causing his own saltwater to blend into the ocean below him.

“I, too, have asked things of the universe.” Sally said. “And it has granted me a voice with which to express this, however briefly. Tomorrow we swim upriver; follow me, and the universe will take our exchange.”

“Tomorrow?” the man cried out, distraught; “So soon? We haven’t even spoken before this! Surely we must!”

And fish cannot smile, but they both knew eachother well enough to understand. They spent all night talking, under the stars. The man learned of things he never knew about the ocean, and Sally learned what it meant to wander more than just the waters. And when dawn came the man didn’t need her voice to follow her in the mass of fish, as he ran along the riverbanks keeping pace with the current.

When the other fish had all stopped, Sally kept swimming, against her bones but towards what the universe promised-- and the man raced alongside her, though she no longer spoke. There on the shore, there lay a tiny, unmoving pile of vibrant orange fur. “We cannot create something from nothing,” Sally and the universe said, “But here is something that was nearly nothing and needs a piece of love to be alive. What it means to have a child is to love, no matter their form, no matter their freedom. You understand this now.”

The wanderer nodded, throat choked with emotion. Sally spoke.

“Thank you for loving me. A salmon never lives to see their children, but if you love them as you have loved me it will never matter. I exchange trust, and my life, to know this. Keep them safe,” she said.

And the universe took a little bit of her love, and a little bit of his love, and it put it into the small creature that lay before their eyes. A small, shuddering gasp wracked the whole of its body, as it took its first breath of true life. The man reached out ever so carefully and held the tiny thing in his arms, so small he feared he would crush it.

“You did it,” he whispered, “You’re alive. My little champion.” The fox in his arms sighed into his sleeve, and he kissed the little thing’s forehead and promised to forever keep his word to Sally. No matter the form, no matter the bonds his child sowed, he would love them. He would keep them safe. And so the wanderer vowed to plant his roots as a salmon had their spawn, and more than play at his profession of leader. He would do what he must for his child. And if he won his war, if he was able to keep his roots planted, and what of the form his child took and the bonds they made?-- Well, that’s another story.

The End.

[no6secretsanta]

Stay

Stay

From @pigeonsimba to @crowmunculus

The winter chill bites into Nezumi’s skin, tugging his hood back with icy fingers and nipping at his nose and ears until his whole head aches.

Well, aches more, as Nezumi already has a tension headache from clenching his teeth all throughout play practice. Why is it so hard for them to get it?

He knows No. 6 has never been a hub for the arts—that, in fact, until eight years ago, the arts and any other form of self-expression was illegal—but since the wall was torn down and the citizens of No. 6 and West Block were encouraged to mingle, Nezumi would have thought at least some talent might have managed to slip through.

But no. The whole group is a pile of steaming shit.

Nezumi has been working with the troupe for a little over half a year, and they are still as miserable as when he first stepped through the door and ripped their run-through of Into the Woods to shreds. He barely managed to whip them into shape before showtime, and he only deigned to intercede because he could not bear to see a musical butchered so thoroughly in front of a live audience. The end result was passable, but apparently so improved from the group’s prior performances that the actors begged Nezumi to stay on as their director.

Nezumi had been steadfastly against it, but Shion insinuated it might be good for him, and Karan started making obvious comments about how great Nezumi was at theater, and finally Inukashi cracked and told him to fucking agree to the job already so he could stop mooching off of Karan’s goodwill.

Nezumi viciously regrets letting himself be bullied into taking the position. The worst of the volunteers act with all the charisma of wooden dolls; the best are sycophantic hams who howl their lines into the audience and throw themselves upon the stage props like “drama” means “dramatics.” Nezumi wants to cull the whole theater, but he’s already invested so much time into it that he’s loath to start over with a fresh crop of amateurs.

It seems No. 6 will always be a seat of disappointment and frustration for him, no matter how nicely the city functioned now under the Restructural Committee. It’s nights like this when Nezumi wishes he was still on the road.

 When he was traveling the world with nothing but the clothes on his back and his knife at his hip, he only had nature and his thoughts to contend with. The land never disappointed him the way people did; though it tested him almost as much.

He had staggered, starving, over endless yellowing plains; been bitten and stung by animals and insects he hadn’t known the names of; his skin had blistered from trekking over golden hills of sand under the relentless sun; he had hallucinated from hypothermia and nearly died in the mountains outside No. 4.

But Nezumi had always been a survivor, and for every time he skirted death, he gained a little more appreciation for the world around him. It had power he could never wield, power the human race would never possess nor fully understand. Elyurias had shown him his first taste of the wonder of the unknown, however bitter that lesson had been.

 Alone in the wilderness, there is no one to blame but yourself if things go wrong. The elements are punishing, but they are impartial. The sun doesn’t burn him to show its might; the rivers’ currents don’t snatch at his ankles to bring him to his knees; the trees don’t shed their leaves to rob him of shelter and food. The elements don’t care whether he lived or died. Nezumi means nothing to them and they have nothing to prove.

Nezumi had traveled the world for seven years, and even though he knew there was more to see, there had come a morning when he woke and the stillness in his chest said that it was enough; it was time to make good on his promise and attempt to put down roots.

So far, Nezumi has done well to keep the wanderlust to a low murmur in his chest, but sometimes, the roots still feel like choking tethers. He misses the days when he only had himself to rely on, the freedom of knowing that if someone’s company no longer suited him, or a job grew stagnant, he could simply pick up and move on.

Nezumi’s pocket vibrates and the reverie slips away in an exasperated cloud of breath when he checks his phone’s lit-up screen. It’s Midori, the most veteran actor in the troupe and resident thorn in Nezumi’s side. The woman is a prima donna in every sense of the word, but that’s not why she’s on Nezumi’s shit list: prima donnas he could deal with, but Midori is a frustrating mix of loudly entitled and deeply self-conscious. She demands starring roles, only to repeatedly ask for praise and reassurance of her abilities.

He presses the silence button and stuffs the phone back in his pocket. He’s already late and he’s almost to Shion’s house, and he doesn’t want to exacerbate his headache or Midori’s fragile self-worth by spitting venom into a receiver.

Yet another thing to miss about wandering through the wilderness: no phones. Every mile walked in blessed silence.

Nezumi mounts the stairs to Shion’s apartment and fumbles to pull the spare key Shion gave him out of his pocket and shove it into the lock. The brass door knob is so cold the metal burns in his hand as he turns it and slips inside.

Only the lamp beside the couch is on, but the apartment is small enough that the soft light is enough to illuminate the whole space. The front door opens onto a neat little kitchen, and beyond that is the living room, outfitted with a small dining table, an armchair, and a couch and coffee table. Two long bookcases span the length of the back wall, their shelves and tops stacked with novels half pilfered from the underground room and half collected by Shion over the years. The heaps atop the bookcases are high enough that they block the windows behind, so in the afternoons, the sunlight has to steal through the crevices of the towers like a thief, painting irregular patterns on the laminate floors and over the thick-fibered rug that lays beneath the coffee table. The bedroom and bathroom lay off to the right, completing the tour of Shion’s humble abode.

It’s odd to enter the house and realize that it’s Shion’s home. It’s a far step up from the underground room, and certainly much nicer than any of the places Nezumi has lived in since.

Nezumi makes a cursory glance around the quiet living space, but he doesn’t see Shion. He frowns and checks his phone for missed texts or calls, but there’s only the ones from Midori.

Maybe he stepped out? Nezumi is more than a half an hour late, after all, but it would be very out of character for Shion to walk out when he is expecting guests.

The bedroom door is shut and silent, and Nezumi wonders whether Shion is changing. Or possibly he’s asleep, Nezumi considers drily. It wouldn’t be the first time Shion invited him over, only to pass out in the middle of the visit.

Well, if Shion did forget he invited Nezumi over, or accidently fell asleep in his room, Nezumi isn’t going to just turn around and return to his room at Karan’s bakery. It’s too freaking cold out and his stomach is growling like a wild animal, so Nezumi removes his shoes and pads into the kitchen in search of something small and quiet to eat.

A snatch of deep blue fabric catches his eye as he moves toward the cabinet to grab a bowl: a tie thrown over the back of the dining room table chair. Shion’s leather briefcase lays splayed over the table, its papers peeking out of the lip where the buckle isn’t fastened properly.

The corner of Nezumi’s mouth quirks up. He had always thought of Shion as a neat person—after all, Shion threw a fit about the state of the underground room and systematically organized the whole space, and only a neat freak would do something so pointless when they knew full well Nezumi was just going to come back and muck it up again. But after returning to No. 6 and reacquainting himself with Shion, Nezumi discovered that Shion isn’t quite as uptight as he thought.

Shion is by no means untidy, but he has habitual ways of making messes: clothes strewn over his bed, cartons left on countertops, reading glasses and mugs and paperwork abandoned on the coffee table for days before Shion remembers to put them away.

Maybe Shion had been more Type A when he was sixteen, and his time working in the real world has forced him to bend in the interest of saving time, but Nezumi has a different theory: Shion had been on his best behavior in the underground room because he had always thought of it as Nezumi’s home and himself a guest staying there.

Nezumi knows he hadn’t been an easy person to live with, and he can’t say with certainty that if Shion had left messes around the underground room that he wouldn’t have used them as ammunition to threaten and criticize Shion when he felt they were getting too close.

Nezumi presses his lips together as every slight, and scowl, and unkindness he’d shown Shion when they were kids flits through his memory. No, he hadn’t been the easiest person to live with, and despite Shion’s constant probing and declarations of affection, there had always been a wall between them—mostly of Nezumi’s making, but at least part of the distance between them came from Shion’s stubborn misjudgments of his character.

Neither of them understood themselves well then, and that had made it impossible for them to understand each other.

But that was the past, and Nezumi has learned not to hold onto the things he can’t change. He and Shion aren’t the same people now, and they have agreed to start from scratch. Still, he can’t help the surprise he feels when Shion acts contrary to his perceptions, or the pangs of guilt when memories of his past conduct rise unbidden to his mind.

Nezumi peers over the countertop and finds Shion’s shiny dress shoes kicked off against the side of the heavy coffee table. A fogged-up plate cover rests atop the table, laid upon a dish towel to protect the lacquer, and Nezumi abandons foraging for a bowl to investigate. He spots a tuft of white against the dark gray of the couch and realizes that Shion is not sleeping in the bedroom after all.

The couch isn’t long enough for him to stretch out, so Shion is curled on his side in the fetal position, half of his face pressed so snugly into one of the throw pillows that Nezumi suspects he’ll have the lines and seams imprinted on his cheek when he wakes. The top few buttons of Shion’s shirt are undone, as are the buttons at his wrists, the sleeves rolled back to reveal the pale skin of his arms. Nezumi’s gaze traces the edges of the red scar wending its way around Shion’s neck, following its path until it slips beneath the collar of his shirt. He looks peaceful, and Nezumi feels some of the tension ebb out of his head and shoulders as he studies the sleeping man.

It’s odd to think of him—them—that way, as a “man.” On the road, Nezumi always remembered Shion as he had been: cute and heartbreakingly earnest, with his fluffy white hair, big brown eyes, and even bigger ideas. Nezumi had found him equal parts endearing and maddening. But the years have shaped Shion into a man of consequence and elegance.

When he walks into a room, the gravity shifts in his direction; Nezumi’s seen it on televised programs and in person. People are drawn to Shion like bees to a brilliant flower, and Nezumi has never seen someone who’s able to resist Shion’s easy charm; everyone caught in conversation with him leaves smiling and murmuring praises, no exceptions.

Nezumi always joked about Shion being royalty, but he never imagined Shion might actually become No. 6’s new era prince. Calling him Your Highness and Your Majesty seem less like teases now than his actual titles.

But Nezumi doesn’t call Shion those nicknames anymore. The first time he slipped into his old habit, Shion had given him such a look that Nezumi almost excused himself from Karan’s bakery and skipped town again. Apparently, being part of the Restructural Committee has made Shion painfully conscious of how tyrannical governments can be, and he will no longer tolerate Nezumi referring to him as No. 6’s ruler, even in jest.

That’s new: being deferential to Shion. Nezumi isn’t sure whether he’s so cautious because he’s changed enough that he cares about getting into—and staying in—Shion’s good graces, or if it’s that Shion has just become that much more intense.

Shion’s always been too much for him to handle: too warm, too stubborn, too bright, too naive. Too human. The winter they spent together in the underground room was the happiest and most terrifying winter of Nezumi’s life. West Block taught him never to get attached to anything, because he never knew when it would be snatched from him. Nezumi didn’t know how to throw Shion away, and he didn’t know how to keep him safe, so every moment they spent together was like slowly drowning.

The time away from each other has worked wonders on Nezumi’s emotional growth, and he had thought he was ready to come back and face Shion as equals, but Shion is still too much for him. The important difference between now and then, however, is that Nezumi doesn’t want to run from the challenge. He doesn’t need to fight to live anymore and Shion certainly doesn’t need his protection, so that leaves them free to be human together.

Only, Nezumi is still learning how to fully be himself in front of someone he actually wants to see every day. A transient life doesn’t give one much practice on building lasting relationships. But he’s working on it, and this new, grown-up Shion doesn’t seem to be in a rush to prise him apart.

A yellow sticky note is stuck to the top of the plate cover, and when Nezumi cranes his head to read the cramped script, a smile steals over his face. The note says, “Wake me up before you eat!” The words “wake me up” are darkened and underlined several times, a warning that this isn’t a request; it’s an order.

Nezumi has ignored Shion’s verbal instructions to wake him many times before, so he’s not sure why Shion thinks emphatic notes are going to have more weight. God knows Shion needs the sleep. He’s up at 5:00 a.m., works until the sun is far below the horizon, only to come home and continue working. If he passes out on the couch from exhaustion, Nezumi figures he shouldn’t mess with the natural order of things.

But, well… Shion did invite him over, and tonight Nezumi is feeling like a little company.

So, he muses to himself, how should I go about this?

One time, he woke Shion by dropping a stack of books on the table. He thought it would be funny to see him jump at the loud noise, but Shion screamed instead, scaring the shit out of them both. Shion was surly with him for the rest of the afternoon, but he paid Nezumi back the next morning by sneaking into his room at the bakery at the ass-crack of dawn and dumping an armful of paperbacks onto Nezumi’s head before he skipped off to work. That was some cold-served revenge Nezumi hadn’t expected and wouldn’t soon forget.

Tonight, Nezumi decides he’d rather wake Shion gently, so as to avoid any vengeful repercussions.

He reaches for Shion’s shoulder and gives him a light shake. A low groan of resistance rumbles in Shion’s throat and Nezumi gives him another nudge. “Shion. You asked for this, remember?”

Shion’s brow creases and he burrows his face deeper into the pillow, until all Nezumi can see is the mess of his sleep-mussed hair. Nezumi’s mouth twitches. Cute.

The mischievous part of his brain tells him to blow in Shion’s ear, but the rational side knows better. Nezumi slips his fingers into the soft strands of Shion’s hair and gives it a ruffle. It’s criminally soft and warm against his winter-chilled fingers.

“Wake up, Shion,” Nezumi whispers, combing the snowy locks behind his ear. “I’m hungry.”

Finally, Shion lifts his head and squints at him. “Mm. Hey. Did you just get here?” he manages, just before a huge yawn claims him.

Nezumi slides his fingers once more through Shion’s downy hair while he’s too sleepy to really notice, then folds his arms over his chest.

Shion sits up and stretches his legs out in front of him, bumping his feet against the base of the coffee table. “How was work?”

Nezumi screws his mouth to the side, but his headache has dissipated and he can’t drum up the level of annoyance he felt on the walk over, so he answers with a blasé, “Fine. Everyone still sucks.”

Shion flashes him a quick, sleepy smile and nods at the table. “I made dinner.”

Nezumi plucks the fogged-up plate cover off the dish and discovers dinner is chili. “Finally got around to using that crockpot, huh?”

“It was really easy to make. You just throw the ingredients in there and time does the rest.”

“Mhm…. You know you’re supposed to refrigerate this, or keep it in the pot until it’s ready to be served?”

Shion shrugs. “It hasn’t been out that long.”

“It’s gone cold. How long have you been sleeping on the couch? Do you even know what time it is?” Nezumi glances over at the microwave clock.

Shion slants a look at him. “Time to stop being mean to me. I just woke up from a nap, and you know how I get when I’m woken up from a nap.”

Nezumi feigns a cringe. “Yes. All too well.” He takes the bowl and crosses the room to pop it in the microwave. 

When he turns back around, he finds Shion tidying the living room, heaping the dish towel, the plate cover, and his fancy work shoes into his arms before moving to the kitchen table for his tie and bag. He still looks half asleep. Nezumi leans back against the counter and watches Shion stumble around in the half light, his hands full of his mess.

For all that Shion has grown, he’s still very much the boy Nezumi remembers: soft and effortless and searching. Teenaged Nezumi had been a fortress, but Shion’s goodness always fleet-footed its way up the ramparts.

Shion’s quiet tenacity used to scare him. Now it feels like a blessing that someone cares enough to try to breach his walls. If Nezumi hadn’t had the memories of Shion’s warmth through the lonely nights of travel, he wasn’t sure what paths he would have taken, or if the journey would ever have led him back to No. 6.

Shion catches him staring and pauses on the other side of the island counter. “Why are you laughing at me?”

“I haven’t made a sound.”

“Your eyes are laughing at me.”

Nezumi snorts. “My, we really are in a bad mood, aren’t we?”

Shion’s shoulders drop and he sighs. “Yeah, sorry. Today was…long.” He shifts the heap he has collected in his arms and turns to the dining table, weighing his chances of success should he try to add the paper-laden briefcase to his horde.

“You should go to bed,” Nezumi says. “You look one object away from crumpling to the floor. I’ll clean up and leave once I’m done with eating.”

“No, I want to have dinner with you tonight. That’s why I invited you over. I just…” Shion hums in thought, still sizing up the briefcase. He clicks his tongue. “Oh, never mind. I give up,” Shion huffs, and dumps the collection in his arms onto the far end of the table to be fussed over at a time when he has more brain power to deal with it.

Nezumi chuckles, and turns to the beeping microwave to retrieve his food.

Shion settles himself in his designated chair, and Nezumi takes up the seat across from him.

“Where’s your bowl?” Nezumi asks. “You said you wanted to eat dinner with me.”

“Hm? Oh…” Shion colors slightly. “Right, well… I was hungry when I got home, and it was a while before you were supposed to come over, so I already ate.”

Nezumi raises an eyebrow. “And you were asleep before I even got here. I wonder why I came over at all. These are not the actions of a host looking forward to his guest.”

“I was looking forward to you coming over,” Shion insists. “I would have called you to cancel, if I wasn’t. And falling asleep was not on purpose.”

“It was on purpose enough that you had the forethought to leave a note to wake you up.”

Shion has no defense for that, apparently, and drops his gaze to the steam rising from the chili bowl. Nezumi bites down on a smile.

“I can make a small bowl for myself, if you want to eat together,” Shion offers, but Nezumi waves him off.

“Just keep me company and I’ll consider you forgiven.”

The chili is delicious, the perfect balance of spices and liquid consistency. But then, it’s Karan’s recipe, so of course it’s perfect.

When Nezumi first arrived in No. 6, he stayed in a room on the cusp between what used to be West Block territory and Lost Town. He remained there, alone, for a week, fussing over when and where and how he would announce to Shion he was back. He finally resolved upon visiting Karan first, since she was the mini boss in this situation.

Karan hugged him before he even finished reintroducing himself, and things snowballed from there. A month later, Nezumi found himself moved into Shion’s old room in the Lost Town bakery and having family dinners with Karan, Shion, Inukashi, baby Shionn, and occasionally Rikiga. The warm family atmosphere is at once disorienting, uncomfortable, and deeply satisfying. Being part of a greater whole appeals to a part of himself that Nezumi hadn’t even realized he had been missing.

The biggest perk of living with Karan, however, is that Nezumi has his pick of the most delicious foods and pastries imaginable. Nezumi has experienced some extremely novel, odd, and mouth-watering cuisines while traveling abroad, but Karan’s cooking could compete with the best of them. She makes simple things, comfort food, but every recipe is executed perfectly, and Nezumi would take common food made well over fancy dishes any day.

Shion rests his chin in his hand and says nothing as Nezumi eats. He looks more alert now. The glossy film of sleep has faded from his eyes, and Shion’s gaze is back to its usual level of penetrating. Shion’s ability to stare like he can see past all your bullshit directly into your soul hasn’t changed one bit. In fact, being a member of No. 6’s governing body seems to have made his perceptions more astute.

This is both a comfort and a cause of deep uneasiness.

“You must like it,” Shion says, “because you’re not saying anything.”

Nezumi spoons another bite into his mouth and chews on that comment. “I’m not sure I like what you’re insinuating. It sounds like you think I only talk to criticize.”

Shion straightens. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Fishing for compliments, then?” Nezumi shrugs a shoulder. “Alright. Karan’s recipe is really delicious. You must give her my praises.”

Shion turns face away and shakes his head, but Nezumi still catches the curve of his incredulous smirk. Nighttime sparring is Nezumi’s preferred type, because Shion is usually too tired to win.

“Deliver the praises yourself,” Shion says. “You live there, not me.”

“I compliment Karan all the time. But I don’t think it means as much coming from me.”

“It means a lot. Mom loves you.”

Nezumi hums a sound of assent and decides to be civil and ask, “How was your day, then?”

“Fine.” Shion leans back in his chair and folds his arms across his chest. “Everyone still sucks.”

Nezumi points his spoon at him. “Touché.”

Shion laughs lightly, but a moment later his face sours and he sighs. “Talking about work after work is depressing. Can we talk about something better?”

“I would love to, but I don’t think either of us do much else but work and read, Shion. And last time I tried to discuss literature with you over dinner, you told me to stop.”

Shion leans his elbows on the table and laces his fingers together, his expression serious. “You were playing devil’s advocate too much. I don’t get why people do that. If we’re having a discussion about something, I want to know your opinion, not an opposing opinion for opposition’s sake. And if it is actually your opinion, then don’t hide behind ‘playing devil’s advocate.’ Just be honest about it; otherwise, you come off as an uppity snob, parroting views that aren’t even yours just to pick a fight.” 

“…I feel like you’ve been sitting on that diatribe for quite some time.”

“I was thinking about it all week,” Shion admits. “People in the office do it, too, all the time, and it drives me crazy.”

Nezumi nods his head slowly. “Duly noted. Anything else you’ve been stewing on that you want to share?”

Shion’s expression goes quiet. His interlaced fingers tense, but he holds Nezumi’s gaze and says lightly, “No. That’s it.” 

The temperature in the room drops a few degrees. Okay… That’s concerning. Nezumi focuses on scraping the last remnants of chili from his bowl to mask his confusion. What did Shion have on his mind that he didn’t want to share?

Did I offend him?

Shion hasn’t seemed irritated or guarded around him lately, but then Nezumi doesn’t know him as well as he used to. Shion’s basically a politician now and is well-versed in evading uncomfortable questions and bending truths. But even though Shion has gained some important networking skills, he hasn’t changed that much in essentials; he’s still straightforward and fiercely opinionated. If Nezumi pisses him off, Shion lets him have it right then and there. So whatever it is, it’s a touchy enough subject that even Shion balks at mentioning it.

Does he want me to back off?

Nezumi’s stomach twists, and his appetite shrinks in the shadow of his thoughts. It’s barely been any time at all since Shion welcomed him back. He couldn’t be sick of him yet… Right?

Nezumi knew reuniting with Shion wouldn’t be seamless. They would have to relearn each other; they’re different now, and there’s no pretending that difference away when they’re in close quarters with one another. He had expected anger and hurt when he and Shion finally faced each other again, but Shion has shown him nothing but warmth. Shion’s emotions are more muted at twenty-four years old than they were at sixteen, but he is no less gracious or willing to throw open his home to Nezumi again.

Nezumi had been grateful for the warm welcome. It was proof that Shion still wanted him around, but he also recognizes that Shion’s willingness to try again merely meant Nezumi had gotten his foot in the door.

Nezumi knows very well he’s on probation.

The seven years of separation that had brought Nezumi so much clarity had apparently caused Shion a lot of pain. Nezumi has picked up enough from Karan and Inukashi to piece together the broken picture of Shion’s life in the first four years of their separation: anxiety, depression, periods of simmering misdirected anger. As happy as Shion’s friends and family are that Nezumi made good on his promise and returned—as happy as Shion claims to be—they have reservations about letting him slip back into Shion’s life. They want definitive proof that he’s here to stay, and will not make a ruin of Shion’s feelings a second time.

Nezumi thought he gave Shion that proof when he agreed to move in with Karan. He thought he’s shown his dedication through the family dinners, and casual conversations, and solicitude for Shion’s personal space over the last few months, but maybe he’s growing too slowly for it to work. Maybe for all the progress Nezumi has made he isn’t enough for Shion anymore.

In West Block, Shion needed him; he was marooned and uncertain, and Nezumi was his only support and source of information. But Nezumi isn’t Shion’s whole world now. Shion has work, and friends, and a mother who loves him, and he’s gotten by just fine while they were apart. Maybe he’s realized that Nezumi no longer fits into his life the way he used to.

“Nezumi? What’re you thinking about?”

Nezumi glares down into his empty bowl. He never wants to return to the angry, caged person he had been, but sometimes he remembers what a bitter hell it is to care about another person, and he wishes he could push away the feelings instead of letting them burn through him.

“Nezumi?” Shion reaches across the table and pokes his bowl with the tip of his pointer finger. “Are you alright?”

“Fine. Just thinking about what you said earlier, about being honest.” Nezumi pushes out his chair and stands. “Easier said than done sometimes.”

He takes the bowl to the kitchen sink and begins to wash it. Midway through soaping the spoon with the sponge, he hears Shion’s soft footfalls on the tile behind him. His presence pricks at the back of Nezumi’s neck like heat, but he keeps his attention on the sink.

“You can use the dishwasher, you know….”

“Old habit,” Nezumi answers. He rinses the spoon off, places it in the drying rack, and moves on to the bowl.

Stupid, Nezumi curses himself. Old habits indeed. He’s too old to be covering his insecurity with fits of pique.

And what is he so upset about, anyway? Shion hasn’t said he’s unhappy or he wants him to leave. He could be hiding something entirely different—he could be hiding nothing at all. Maybe Shion’s just tired. Maybe they’re both very tired and being weird for no reason and everything will settle itself in the morning.

Nezumi scrubs the bowl until the brilliant blue of the glass is completely eclipsed by soap.

“I made you mad,” Shion says like a revelation. “Why?”

Why? Nezumi doesn’t have to do any deep meditation on the question. He’s upset because he has feelings now and everything is inconvenient. Every one of Shion’s smiles makes him hopeful, and every frown and cautious reply sends his mind into a paranoid spiral. And although he’s in tune enough with his emotions now to acknowledge what he’s feeling, his stubborn pride is still an obstacle to expressing them.

So here he is, acting like a spoiled child about something that isn’t even confirmed.

Nezumi splashes a bit of water over the bowl and drops it onto the bottom of the sink with suds still clinging to the rim. He scrubs the water from his hands with a cloth and faces Shion.

“I’m not mad,” Nezumi mutters. “I’m…” Off balance. Terrified. Utterly inept. “Confused,” he hedges.

Shion bites his lip, his dark eyes wide and searching, and Nezumi tries not to sound like too much of an insecure fool when he says, “You lied to me just now. There’s something on your mind.”

Annnnd, now I sound accusatory. Nice. Shion doesn’t answer immediately and it makes the moment so much worse. 

Why did he have to be a masochist and call him out? He should have ignored the awkwardness and enjoyed Shion’s company instead. If Shion is uncertain of their relationship, he could have used tonight to convince him it’s worth giving them another chance. Instead, he’s forced Shion to tip his hand.

With every silent second that passes, Shion looks more uncomfortable and Nezumi wants to crawl out of his skin. He can’t stand the nervous tilt to Shion’s expression. Nezumi turns back toward the sink and runs the water over the bowl again, just to have a reason to escape Shion’s gaze, no matter how transparent.

“I didn’t want to bring it up yet,” Shion says softly behind him. The words trace a line of cold down Nezumi’s spine. “I wasn’t sure how you’d react, and I didn’t—” Shion pauses and clears his throat.

The bowl is clean, but Nezumi keeps the water running, staring down at the stream and dissociating while he waits for Shion to deliver the critical blow.

“It’s only been a few months, and I know you’re still settling in at Mom’s,” Shion continues. “I didn’t want to put too much pressure on you.”

Pressure? Nezumi’s racing heart makes it very difficult to think properly, but he vaguely realizes Shion’s words are a strange lead up to telling him to hit the road.

Nezumi flicks the faucet off and half turns to peer at him. Shion straightens when their eyes meet and a combination of relief and agitation flits over his face before falling into a guilty sort of apprehension.

“I was afraid,” Shion says. “I didn’t want to scare you away when things have been going so well.”

“Scare me away…how?” Nezumi is thankful he’s such an accomplished actor, because it allows him to deliver the question with completely calm curiosity. Internally, he is a mess of electricity. Shion doesn’t want to scare him away, which means Shion wants to keep him close. His heart is pounding so hard his head feels like it’s going to explode.

Shion opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, then turns his burning face aside and fixes his eyes on the front door. He’s raking his thumbnail so deeply and incessantly against the second knuckle of his pointer finger that he seems in danger of rubbing the skin raw.

“I wanted to ask…” Shion mumbles to the door, “whether you might consider…staying here.”

Nezumi drums his fingers quietly on the counter but otherwise stays very still as he probes, “Here as in…?”

“Here. My house.”

The faucet releases an errant drop into the sink; the faint plop is thunderous in the silence stretched taut between them. Nezumi clears his throat and turns his body the rest of the way to face Shion straight on. Shion glances at him sidewise, probably trying to read his expression, but as Nezumi is keeping his face carefully devoid of emotion, Shion will get nothing.

Nezumi leans back, crosses his arms across his chest, and asks as casually as humanly possible, “You want me to stay over tonight?”

He’s pretty sure Shion doesn’t mean anything suggestive by it, considering they are not romantically involved anymore—yet?—but even as a platonic invitation it makes Nezumi’s breath catch in his throat.

Shion eyes Nezumi up and down, and although he knows Shion’s probably just trying to get a read on him, a flash of heat skitters over Nezumi’s skin. He shifts fractionally and Shion’s eyebrows twitch up in equal measure. Shion stops pretending to be fascinated with the door, and Nezumi has a sense that he’s given something crucial away.

“No. Well—not exactly,” Shion says. “I want you to move in with me.”

Nezumi’s mind sticks.

Move in. Shion isn’t trying to get rid of him. In fact, Shion isn’t tired of him at all. He wants to live with him again.

Which is…terrifying? Exciting? Baffling and blessed and wholly unexpected. Nezumi isn’t sure how to feel about this sudden invitation, because he hasn’t belonged somewhere in years. He had never thought he was the type to stay put.

Until Shion.

His whole impetus for slowing down and returning was Shion. They’ve been stuck in each other’s orbits since they were twelve years old, and Nezumi has finally reached the point where he’s ready to submit to the gravity of them. But that’s a two-way street, and Nezumi expected he would have to match Shion’s patience if he ever had a chance of winning him back. If he and Shion ended up together, this time it wouldn’t be an arrangement of convenience or necessity; it would be because they had chosen to build a life side by side.

And Shion is asking me to live with him again.

Nezumi realizes he’s been silent too long when Shion starts twitch and flutter, a telltale sign he’s about to launch into a nervous ramble. God, Nezumi is so grateful time hasn’t trained that quirk out of him.

“I know it’s kind of… Kind of quick, maybe?” Shion babbles. “And maybe it’s a little backwards, since we’re not…together anymore, yet, and people usually move in after they’re already together, but…” He flushes, but pushes through the stumble quickly. “But we’ve done it before, and it worked then, and I think it will work just as well now. Better, even. We’re older, and we both know what we want out of life—and each other.”

Not the most coherent speech, but Nezumi agrees with all the sentiments. Even so, he finds himself asking, “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

Maybe it’s a dumb question in light of Shion’s confession, but Nezumi has to ask it. He has to hear the answer in order to quell the doubts bubbling up from the darkest parts of his mind, the parts that have grown quieter as he’s grown, but still whisper he’s not worth it, that he’s twisted and broken and taints any goodness that comes his way.

“I’m sure,” Shion says. “I’ve thought a lot about it and I realized something.” He takes a deep breath and stares directly into Nezumi’s eyes as he says, “I don’t need you anymore, Nezumi. I can get on just fine without you; I know that. But I want you in my life. And it seems like you want that too?”

“Yes.” Nezumi’s answer lacks Shion’s conviction, but it’s alright; Shion knows him well enough to realize he wouldn’t agree to something so serious if he isn’t committed. “I would like that.”

Shion releases a small breath. “So it’s a yes?” He slides a bit closer along the counter. “You’ll move in? You don’t have to. I know it’s fast and you’re used to being alone. I won’t be offended if you need more time.”

“I don’t. I’ve had plenty of time to think too, you know.”

“Right,” Shion laughs lightly. “Okay. Good.”

Nezumi and Shion smile at each other in the wake of their new understanding. Despite the wintry draft slipping in under the front door, the kitchen feels warm.

Too warm.

“I’m not as clean as you,” Nezumi blurts. Moving in together is fun in theory and Nezumi definitely wants to, but it’s only fair he be upfront about what Shion’s about to get stuck with.

Shion’s smile is incandescent. “I know. It’s fine.”

“And I’m told I still kick in my sleep.”

“I have a queen bed now, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“I shower in the mornings, and it takes at least twenty minutes, so you’ll have to factor that in when you get up for work.”

“I shower at night, so I think it’ll be fine.” Shion pauses. “But twenty minutes is a long time. What do you do in there for so long?”

Nezumi ignores the question and launches into his next point. “You’re going to need more bookcases. At least two more. I have a shit ton of books; they barely fit in my room as it is.”

Shion glances at his back wall. “I’ve been meaning to buy more anyway.” He raises his eyebrows. “Anything else?”

A million other things, but Nezumi decides that’s enough for the moment. Shion’s eyes are wide and full of laughter and the bit of scar peeking out from his unbuttoned collar is all of a sudden very distracting.

“You better not change your mind about this,” warns Nezumi. “Once I move in, I’m not leaving again.”

Shion’s eyes flash. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

Nezumi can’t help but smile when he answers, “A promise.”

Shion lifts his chin and nods, evidently pleased. They regard each other shyly for a moment before Shion decides to diffuse the tension by announcing they’re going to watch a movie.

Ten minutes in and Nezumi pretends not to notice when Shion’s head starts to nod. Twenty minutes in, and Shion is back to being face-down on the throw pillow. Nezumi abandons the movie-watching farce and watches Shion sleep instead.

This is what I’m signing up for, Nezumi thinks, shaking his head. Night after night of Shion asleep and defenseless on the couch. He cards his fingers through the fluffy white hair at the nape of Shion’s neck.

He can hardly wait.

[dirt-cup-draco]

Ardeth x Reader - Too Late For Us

Hi!! Could I kindly request an Ardeth Bay x Reader (Rick’s sister) where they had history but reader left with Rick and Evelyn to London after the first movie and bc of Alex they now meet again to defeat Imhotep and the Scorpion King, but Ardeth is engaged already to a woman from his tribe and reader is incredible jealous. Both reader and Ardeth still love each other though

When Evy and Rick had come to you, explaining that times were changing for the worst yet again, it went without saying that you would be helping them, right beside your brother and sister-in-law. What didn’t really sink in until you were in a plane, on your way to save the world from danger it couldn’t fathom, was that you would have to see Ardeth. Just as you felt responsibility to your sibling, he felt responsibility to keeping Imhotep buried once and for all. 

“What if he doesn’t want to see me?” Rick just rolled his eyes as you bit at your fingernails, a nervous habit you had thought you had left behind long ago. You also thought you had officially left your feelings behind but it didn’t seem like those had disappeared either. You weren’t ready to see Ardeth yet at the same time you could think of nothing else that would make you happier. The terror and excitement swirled in your stomach and you were left feeling sick. 

“I’m sure he’ll be very pleased to see you,” Evy comforted, hand warm on yours as she gave you a sympathetic look. 

You and Ardeth had grown very close the first time you had met, some invisible force drawing you together that not even the chaos around you could withhold. It had started with longing glances and slight touches, a hand on the small of your back as you tried to stay upright on the shifting sand, your knee bumping against his as you warmed yourselves in front of a fire that Rick had started as the sun set. 

One night everything had snapped into place, the tension growing until neither of you could handle it anymore. Jonathon was curled up in the sand, a bottle grasped in his hand. Evy was laying comfortably in a sleeping bag, Rick dozing peacefully near her. You found it sweet, your brother, whether he would have admitted it then or not, had found the woman for him. Alternatively, you and Ardeth were still awake, shoulder to shoulder and gazing at the stars. You thought that maybe you had found the man for you. 

The both of you had connected eyes at the same time, a sentence pausing in Ardeth’s throat as your closeness rattled him. “I-I was just going to say how beautiful the stars were tonight,” He confessed, looking surprisingly flustered. 

Without another word between the two of you, your lips had engaged in a dance that left your legs feeling weak. His hands were steady and his lips insistent as he pulled you closer, daring to nibble at your lip. You had been putty in his hands. You had both stumbled to a tent, too busy getting lost in the feel of his scruff against your neck and his hands kneading at your hips to think properly. Ardeth had left an impression on you that wasn’t fading, as well as several hickies if you remembered correctly but you hadn’t been complaining. 

After that, you both had little time to be near, let alone intimate. Time passed and when it was your time to leave, you had hesitated. Pulling Ardeth aside you had discussed a future that you could only dream of now, one where you sent letters frequently and stayed in touche, one where you visited and let the seeds of this whirlwind romance grow. 

But, just like in dreams, it was fleeting no matter how many times you tried to fall back asleep and continue the fantasy. 

You held to little bits and pieces, old letters he sent before he halted them completely without another word as well as the memories you shared. You hoped he was alright or that he hadn’t forgotten you at the very least. Did he think of you the way you thought of him? You were shaken from your thoughts as the plane landed, your heart in your head and your logical reasoning gone somewhere out the window. 

With the sun glaring down on you with unforgiving rays, you followed Rick and Evy as they chatted idly. You were too busy ogling the man that you had adored as he came into focus, hopping gracefully from his horse as he greeted your little traveling group with open arms a cheerful grin. “My friends,” His rich voice danced around in your head, turning your every thought to mush. 

Ardeth knew you would be arriving with your brother, it was a certainty. He however hadn’t thought he would feel his chest restrict at the sight of you, his heart aching uncomfortably. You looked like a deer caught in the headlights as you watched him and his stomach turned. Even now and he could see the adoration in your eyes, even if it was veiled by hurt. 

He had enjoyed your company, you had been hypnotizing and strong and Ardeth had been starved for touch, his body in tune with yours. However, when you left it only took him a month or so to realize that he didn’t care for you as you cared for him. Ardeth liked you but your connection had been purely physical, he missed your presence but only as a friend. It had been fun, passionate fun, but only that. He hadn’t had the guts to tell you he didn’t see you two going any further in any aspect besides friendship. 

The months had passed and then years. You were still a brilliant and beautiful woman, even a decade later but the spell you seemed to be under had worn off of him. “Come in,” He urged, his voice strained the slightest bit as he invited you all into his home that was just over the sand dune he had appeared from. “I have had refreshments prepared for you all,” 

“You mean I’ve prepared refreshments,” Came a teasing voice. It was soft and sweet, with a faux edge that made Ardeth’s heart burst with affection. However, you were feeling quite the opposite. It was as if a cold bucket of water had been tossed onto you when you had least been expecting it. A woman with a straight back and bright eyes sauntered into the humble living room you had all gather in, tucking herself into Ardeth’s side as if it was second nature.

You watched as he smiled, the warm expression dropping slightly as he caught your eye. He set his arm over her shoulder, pressing a kiss to her temple but he found he couldn’t look away from the betrayed look in your eyes. What would ease your pain? He wondered momentarily. Ardeth had tried to spare you by cutting off contact, letting you move on as he had, but it seemed he had only hurt you more. 

“Yes, I must give credit where credit is due, my love,” Ardeth cooed. 

Rick grinned, oblivious to the way your heart shattered. “You old dog! How did you manage to land such a knock out?” Rick was charming and she giggled at the compliment. Evy subtly elbowed Rick in the side, her other arm extending but in such a way that no one could see the show of support. You gripped her hand, willing her strength to be yours. It took everything in you to not cry. You had your own doubts, but a part of you had been hoping so badly that he had waited for you like you’d waited for him. 

“I ask myself that every day,” Ardeth answered Rick, eyes now glued lovingly to his lover’s face. “I have been blessed to have her by my side, these past five years have been a dream with her. I couldn’t ask for a better wife,” 

Ardeth emphasized the word. Wife. He has a fucking wife! You nearly whimpered. You had been starry eyed over him for years and here he was, happily married for nearly as long as you two had been separated. He knew you were processing the information, he could see it in the ways your eyes had gone dull, your expression exceptionally blank as you tried not to cry. 

You bit your lip in the hopes it would stop trembling. “How wonderful! Congratulations, friend.” You finally managed, words tasting bitter but sounding saccharine. Evy squeezed your hand as your shoulders shook imperceptibly, your entire body tensing to stop the physical reaction of your heartbreak. It was a cruel joke to bring you back to him only to shove the happiness he had found in your face. 

“Now how about those refreshments, huh?” You pressed, “I’m starving! Anyone else?” Your voice pitched without warning and the group was left looking at you in question before laughing softly. 

“A woman with an appetite, I like you,” Ardeth’s wife grinned, sending you a playful wink. Unbeknownst to her, you had been hoping to jump her husband’s bones not even two hours ago. You tried to smile back but it fell flat. 

“Y/N-” Evy whispered as the others began to filter in to the kitchen, the two of you diddling behind. 

“It’s fine,” You muttered. “It’s too late for us now, my fault I didn’t see that sooner,” Without another word uttered, you locked your heart away and calmed your expression. You were here to save the world, not let it crumble around you. Ardeth gave you an apologetic look and you nodded curtly. An understanding passed between you then. 

Whatever your history had been, it wasn’t to be repeated. 

[omega-queen-collects-lipstick]

I'm a bit of a Greek mythology nerd can I get a god au? Maybe mc is a human they fall in love with or a nymph or something? Sorry I just reread my old mythology books and it came to my mind... And i wanna see your boys in the situation :D

Ah cute little river nymph Mc. She was origionally a little mountain brook and then temperatures rose and she's a large river that ends in the cutest little lake.

She happily heals those who come to her for aid. She blesses items and retrieves lost treasures.

Only problem?

She can't leave to far from her waters. She was the first born nymph in the river so her lifeline is directly tied to the waters. Granted she could set up a small pond maybe using a piece of gem like from the cave in which her life was breathed into her and dropping it in a small body of water.

She has the prettiest water wings from her back she uses to drift around under water. An odd water lotus protrudes from her skull and opens shuts and glows different colors based on her mood.

Now the boys. Ohohoho. No they aren't gods. No their demigods. Direct and favored children of the gods.

Erik surprisingly is the son of Zeus. He is highly favored but very quiet from the abuse of Zeus's wife hera.

She constantly sends him on traumatizing journeys and while he gets glory with every win he also retains a lot of mental damage.

And no one seems to notice or care.

Except for Mc.

She noticed the second he came up to her questing for her rivers sacred pearl. (Lodged in the heart of the lotus on her head.) She said one thing to him and that was it for him.

"dearest traveler, your heart and mind are scarred let me heal it in hopes you won't end the precious life you hold."

He couldn't slay Mc for the pearl when you look at him with such kindness and offer to give healing to him, her would be slayer.

He quite thoughtlessly walked into her waters. She could have drowned him as many nymph's do for fun but she refrained and instead brought his skull into her chest as she slowly waded till they were in the middle of the river. Her eyes never leave his and that's probably why he didn't panic when she sank them both into the water.

Next thing he knows he wakes to his head in MCs lap and his body- no- his very soul feeling much lighter than it ever has.

He gladly took his punishment for not killing the nymph maiden.

Quicksilver is the child of hades. Scorned and raised to be selfish and cruel because no one will love him once they know his birth origins. So why even attempt to be anything other than they'll all assume he is.

Except for mc it seems.

He came to her seeking aid for a cracked skull. Being the son of the god of riches he threw a sack of coins at her feet.

"what use have I of such trivial things when your company and joy is far sweeter."

Predictably he assumed mc was just trying to get more out of him and got angry. He didn't understand her genuineness. Nobody is so pure especially not a nymph. Rumors about this one be damned.

So he left the bag there yelled at her a bit and stomped off. However next thing he knows he wakes up drooling into her boobs completely healed and relaxed.

Of Course he doesn't exactly respond appropriately. He groaned and pressed his face further into her boobs. Give him a break it's the first time anyone has let him near such a vulnerable place. He'd give up all the gold under the earth just to lay there forever and just motorboat these fucking pillows of the gods.

Seeing as she would refuse to take coin and insisted his company is payment enough he comes by often. Mostly in the hopes of napping on her lap or tits. The boy is touch starved and MCs constant willingness to indulge his needs, mostly innocent, for free, he grows a serious attachment.

Sweets is the son of aphrodite. He's beautiful, not as beautiful as his mother of course, but he is indeed unnaturally gorgeous. So much so that he never finds himself without attention.

However this also means none of the attention is genuine. Just an effect of being a son of aphrodite. This also means people feel entitled to his love and he gets assaulted and raped on many occasions.

He tried to drown himself in MCs waters. She of course wouldn't allow it and instead offered him a listening ear completely unaffected by the gift of aphrodite.

"poor dear, your body sullied by unwanted love. Let me lend an ear for I am very lonely."

He told his story and then fell asleep on the rock that stays warm after the sun is gone. When he next wakes he feels well rested. But she's not there. He goes into town for food expecting to be swarmed as usual but instead he finds himself being glanced at but ultimately left alone.

She had removed his burdens and he is forever grateful. He comes by often to talk and keep her company as well as to keep his water angel safe.

Hotaru is the son of hermes. God of travelers and master of none. His whole life has been traveling. Searching. For what he doesn't know.

He's done it for years until his father finally points in one specific direction.

To her.

Mc who has to never walked farther than her river would allow. Who has met more people in her grand lifetime than he has in all his days of travel.

Offered him a home in her woods.

It's unheard of and at first he refuses but stays long enough to rest. After about a year he comes back because again his father pointed in that direction.

There she was sitting there on a rock. Waiting. Waiting for him. It doesn't even look like she's moved since he left. When she saw him she said "welcome home."

So foreign to him but it made his travel hardy legs weak just to hear. But again he refused her offer, staying a little longer this time.

It happens again and again. And he stays longer and longer. Each time all Mc says is "welcome home." Until he forgets his stubbornness for those kind sweet eyes and says. "It's good to be home."

Of course he still travels but now he shares a nearby cottage with sweets, quicksilver, erik, and eros.

Eros is the son of dionysus. The god of wine, parties, and insanity. This boy has a few screws loose. He frolics with his satyr friends and causes mortal to go out of their mind if he doesn't like them. As a man who parties constantly and chases nymphs it's not unheard of that he would crave something different.

On this note somehow he finds himself on the banks of MCs river. And he's heard the rumors so he approaches the water directly, weary of parties and booze, feeling as though his whole life has been nothing more than a crazy blip in the lines of time.

To see Mc rise out of the water like a literal goddess and smile at him in such an innocent humble way (something he's never truly seen on a nymph before) he had hope.

She beckons him over to her and cups his face. Her eyes look so sad as she gazes upon him.

"you seek a purpose. My dear I cannot give you purpose. But I can help you find it. If only you would smile."

Nonsense. MC can do anything. He's seen the results of her miracles. The stories. She's an absolute goddess. She just needs to see it. Then she can help him.

He refused to listen and instead became obsessed with trying to get her to see as he does. It became borderline occultic the way he was acting.

"Eros I can't see what you do for I have not your eyes. I can't give you a purpose. Please, stop hurting yourself!"

"don't hurt that poor sow! It has done naught to you! You don't even entend to eat it!"

"Eros this isn't healthy, you need to sleep. I shan't approve of you worshipping me. I'm no goddess."

Mc does her best but it seems he has a different idea of what a purpose is and goes mad with his obsession with her and trying to get her to see that she can do all the things he thinks she can.

At least he smiles when he goes about his self proclaimed mission. That's all she ever wanted. To see people smile.

The others sort of follow the same viewpoint as eros just not as coocoo. More like a small time cult family gently and lightly worshipping Mc and her genuinity.

They keep her company. They love her. They secretly pray to her or their parent for blessings. Eros on the other hand is very open and crazy with his worship. Just not dangerous to Mc. Which is why the others haven't done a thing about it.

[sparrowwritings]

Final Fantasy Writing Challenge Day Eighteen: Water into Wine

Day Seventeen -- Masterpost -- Day Nineteen

If there was any consistent upside to being a Warrior of Light, it was the very rare moments where one could celebrate a victory with people that were just helped. No politics. No Ascians. No unforeseen complications. Just the simple joy and thrill that came with watching those with very little hope get everything they could ever want. 

For the first time in quite a while, Lara felt like she could relax her guard.

“Ha ha! Good show, young one!” A boisterous voice called from behind her and she moved too slow to brace for the sudden good natured slap on the back. She just about jumped out of her skin, turning in a defensive stance only to lay eyes on the culprit. Gosetsu bellowed a laugh. “No need to be ready for a fight! The Naadam is finished!”

Lara slowly started to relax again, though with a suspicious squint. “And you know better than to sneak up on a warrior. You scared me on purpose.”

“Guilty,” He grinned, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I had expected you to notice me, but perhaps you were very deep within your thoughts. I apologize.”

She sighed. “Apology accepted.” Inwardly, plans to talk to Yugiri for good ideas on how to get back at the older samurai were already being formed. Maybe there was a spice she could trick him into eating...With a disarming smile, she asked the first question that came to mind. “So was there anything else, or…?”

“Ah, yes, I did have something else.” He put his hands together and bowed in the Eastern way. “Lord Hein has requested that you and Roger join him when you have a moment during the celebration.” 

Lara blinked. Sure, she’d had private meals and conversations with leaders before. Some more successful than others (the fateful dinner with the Sultana got shoved right back into the depths of her memory before it could interfere). But it was only a couple of days ago when they’d found Lord Hien on the Azim Steppe. With all of the running around preparing for and participating in the Naadam, Lara barely had time to even think outside of that.

It wasn’t a bad idea to get to know the man in more relaxed circumstances. Particularly since it was his country that she was trying to liberate. 

“I can go right now.” The words were out of her mouth the second she had decided.

Gotsetsu grinned once again as his back straightened. “Follow me, then,” He called as he turned to lead the way.

There wasn’t very far to go. The Mol had moved all of their humble belongings into the Dawn Throne that very day. The celebration was spread thin throughout the platform, but the main body was held within the building erected in the center. The two sauntered past reveling Xaela. Some acknowledged the Warrior of Light (since she was technically co-leader of the tribe) with Eastern bows, while others were too focused on celebrating to really pay attention. 

All too soon, the two had walked past the large hall where the throne was kept and into a smaller adjacent room. This one had been decorated in the traditional colors and symbols of the Mol tribe, and seemed far more comfortable than any room Lara had gone to when the Oronir were in charge. In the room, seated on the floor in a circle, were Yugiri, Hien, Cirina, Lyse and Roger. 

Cirina offered a gentle smile and a nod as Lara and Gosetsu entered and took their places. Hien also nodded respectfully, while Yugiri merely sat with her legs folded underneath her. Roger, ever enthusiastic when it came to anything, waved with both hands at the two of them. Lyse also waved, though she limited it to one hand. The already small room felt somewhat cramped, but Lara didn’t make any comments about it. Instead, she gave a more subdued wave to Lyse and Roger, followed by a bowed head to Hien and Cirina. Yugiri was doing that thing where she was pretending to not be in the room because she was supposed to be guarding her Lord, so Lara respected that wish for the moment. “Thank you for inviting me, Lord Hien.”

He gave a half-smile at that. “Please, as of this morning we are now both of equal position. You and Roger may call me Hien.” The Warriors of Light tensed up at that. Gosetsu and Yugiri also made moves to speak until he raised a hand. Both of them stayed quiet. “However, I understand that outside of the Azim Steppe many will not understand what has happened here. As such, you two may openly use my name when we are alone or in trusted company.”

The teens both breathed a sigh of relief, particularly since Hien’s retainers had also relaxed. “You’re very kind, L--Hien.” Lara stuttered a moment before continuing. “Today was a much needed victory.”

“Indeed. Hard fought and hard won, just as our future battles will need to be.” He indicated a set of cups that were in front of him. “Please, join me in celebrating it properly. One drink ought to do, for there is much work to be done come the morning.”

There must have been some sort of cue, for Yugiri had unfolded herself from her spot and gave each of the small cups to everyone in attendance. Lara hadn’t caught the moment until after it was already gone, but apparently Gosetsu had been given a small dish instead. Probably to account for his very large fingers. Then, with all of the grace and poise of someone who had done this hundreds of times, the ninja carefully took a flask in both of her hands and poured a clear liquid into the cups of everyone in the circle. Notably, she did not have even a cup for herself. 

With a sneaking suspicion, Lara took a cursory whiff of the drink. It had a fermented fruity smell to it. Roger gave her a questioning look. Unsure of how to explain without words that the two had been given alcohol, she just shook her head a little. He pursed his lips and she hoped he understood. Lyse lifted an eyebrow herself, but similarly didn’t speak.

When Yugiri had finished and returned to her spot without a cup in hand, Hien lifted his own in front of him. If he’d noticed that the Warriors of Light had been communicating silently, he made no comment about it. “A toast, to current and future victories. May the kami bless our efforts in freeing Doma from Garlean control.” 

“Hear hear!” Lyse cheered before realizing that the other Domans hadn’t said anything yet. She colored a little. Hien didn’t seem to mind, his serious expression softening to an amused smile. 

With another raise of his hand, he spoke a word in the Doman language that Lara heard in her head as “cheers'' oddly enough before everyone started to drink. She saw Roger carefully toss his drink behind him in such a way that it didn’t make a splashing sound before she let the liquid go into her mouth. It left that familiar burn down the back of her throat, but the taste was better than some of the alcohols that she’d tried during her time as a Culinarian. 

The head rush that came from how strong it was warned her not to have much more. From the corner of her eye, she could see that Lyse shuddered from either the taste of the strength. Everyone else that had taken a drink hadn’t seemed affected.

“Ah, I had missed the sake of my homeland…” Gosetsu rumbled. “There’s nothing else like it.”

“Sake?” Lara asked.

“A kind of rice wine,” Yugiri answered. “Native to our homeland.”

That started a conversation about various drinks and foods of the West that Lara was more than happy to participate in. 

[marshmallow-phd]

Secret in His Eyes

Spinoff of Sins of the Father

Genre: Mafia Au

Pairing: Luhan x Reader

Summary: A vacation exploring China’s famous city was supposed to be relaxing. When you witness a horrifying murder, you instead find yourself in police custody, unable to run. Trying to stay alive, you meet Luhan, and you believe you can trust him. You never imagined that he might be the one you should be running from.

A/N: Yeah... I was too lazy to keep up with the header so I made a gif instead... 

Part: Prologue I 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I Final

**

Your heart was racing as you followed Detective Zhuang through the trees. Too many times you thought you heard Luhan behind you, shouting for you to stop, but he was never there. It was all in your head – maybe even your heart.

By the time you reached the tree line, you were doubling over trying to catch your breath. Detective Zhuang seemed hardly effected by the run, power walking over to the driver’s side door without hardly looking at you.

“In the car. Hurry.”

You obeyed even though you were still struggling to breathe. As you sat in the leather seat and watched the trees blur by on the back road you never knew was so close, you tried to find the relief you would have expected to feel. But it evaded you. Anxiety stayed in its place. Worry as well. Questions relentlessly bullied you.

Did Luhan yet know that you were gone? How was he taking it if he did? Was he angry? Hurt? Would he hate you? Or think that something bad happened to you? Would he search the ends of the earth or simply let you go and move on with his life?

You hoped that he would let you go. Not an easy feat given how much he begged for you to stay with him. This separation was an inevitability. You just hoped that he would see it.

The relief still didn’t come when you left the country behind and entered the city limits. In fact, if anything, your apprehension heightened. Were you simply used to the security blanket that was Luhan in your life? Separation anxiety was not something you were expecting to be suffering from. Maybe as soon as you were on a plane home – really, truly leaving – then you would be okay.

Confusion came when you passed the airport and Detective Zhuang didn’t slow down even a little bit.

“I thought I was able to go home?” you asked after turning to her.

“There are no planes scheduled to leave the country right now,” she replied. “At least, none that we can seat you on. Tonight, you’ll stay with me, where it’s safest. Hopefully by tomorrow we can get you on your way.”

You nodded, understanding that a giant aircraft couldn’t be catered to your own schedule, but you still wished an exception could be made. Well, staying with Detective Zhuang shouldn’t be too terrible. After all, she made you feel safe and her own residence had to be easier to protect than a random motel.

The tall apartment building that turned out to be her home was nothing like you’d expect from a member of the police force. No, you didn’t think she lived in poverty, but the high-rise that shined in the evening sun seemed to be more fitting for a company director or celebrity than a humble detective. Security was tight in the parking garage underneath the building, needing both a fingerprint scanner and a card reader to open the fortifying gate. Good. That should keep unwanted enemies out.

You stayed quiet as you followed Detective Zhuang through the garage and to the elevator, watching the number climb all the way to the fourteenth floor before going down the short hallway to the last door on the left. She herded you inside and locked up behind her before switching on the lights. Your jaw dropped.

The entire apartment was white and new and glass. Light reflected off of nearly every surface, illuminating the space like the sun at noon. And it was open. Nothing felt cramped or shoved together. There was plenty of room to roam around freely. Everything had a place – from the remote on the sparkling coffee table to the fruit basket and writing supplies on the island counter.

“You live here?” you asked, astonished.

“Yes,” Detective Zhuang laughed. “What did you expect? A dumpy studio in the middle of the slums?”

Now you felt embarrassed. “Well, no. But this just seems… like… a lot. How much-”

“The guest bedroom is the second door on the right. On the bed should be a change of clothes for you. Get comfortable and I’ll make some tea for you.”

You nodded, shutting up. It was only just hitting you how inappropriate the question you were going to ask was. How much she made or how much the apartment was had nothing to do with her protecting you and was none of your business. The only thing you should be focusing on is the fact that no one would be able to find you here. Home was finally in reach.

The guest bedroom was no less as grand as the rest of the apartment, although its theme was a bit darker with its navy blue comforter and gray walls. Waiting for you on the foot of the bed was a cotton t-shirt sporting some band you’d never heard of and a pair of running shorts. You took your time changing and getting comfortable before venturing back out into the living room.

Detective Zhuang was talking fast into her cell phone, but as soon as she saw you, she hung up. “Better?” she asked you.

“Yeah.” It wasn’t too much of a lie. The clothes were certainly more comfortable, but they didn’t easy you into a better state mentally.

Patting the cushion next to her, Detective Zhuang said, “Sit.” As you did so, she pulled out a recorder from her jacket pocket, clicking the starter button and setting it down on the coffee table. “Now. I need you to tell me everything that happened while you were held by Luhan.”

Ice ran down your spine. Everything? You couldn’t. Not the more intimate details, not the feelings that still brewed in the pit of your stomach. Thankfully, Detective Zhuang misinterpreted your fear. She reached out and took your curled up hand that rested in your lap.

“It’s okay,” she reassured you. “He can’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe now. But I need to know what happened so we can put him away for good.”

Little did she know that was the last thing you wanted. But you had to tell her something, so you gave her the broad strokes of your time there. You never mentioned the first time Luhan took you out of the mansion or that he pretended to be Lin at all. During the conversation, Detective Zhuang stood up and went to the kitchen where the kettle whistled that the water was now boiling.

“So, why did he call you to his office?” she asked from the other room.

You shrugged, even though she couldn’t see it. You felt like a fraud. It would be a miracle if you were able to keep all this straight if ever asked about it again. “I don’t know. We never got that far. A bomb went off, knocking us both out.” Part of you expected her to rush over and asked if you were okay or to question the fact that you even brought up a bomb in the first place.

“Did he get hurt?” Detective Zhuang asked. There was no ounce of concern in her voice, just inquisition.

“Yeah,” you replied. “A piece of wood pierced his side. But he survived. Conscious and walking around, at least.”

She came back and handed you a cup of tea. The steam floated slowly from the caramel colored liquid. You were comforted by the heat radiating from the cup to your fingers, the time you’ve felt that this whole afternoon. “He’s lucky,” she said as she went into the kitchen once more. “Most people don’t survive a bomb made by Mr. Eight.”

You paused before the mug could hit your lips. You roamed over the words that you had weaved together to make sure you hadn’t accidentally slipped the unknown bomb maker’s name in. No. Definitely not.

“How do you know it was made by Mr. Eight?” You put the mug down with a shaky hand, rattling the bottom against the glass surface of the table.

Emerging from the kitchen, Detective Zhuang “If anyone would make a bomb to get back at Luhan, it’s Mr. Eight.”

You shook your head, unable to believe the leap in logic. “But Yixing said he hadn’t been heard from in years. And surely there are other people with the means to get back at Luhan that way.”

She ignored your other comment to focus on another piece of information you’d accidentally let slip. “Yixing? As in Lay Zhang? Interesting. I didn’t realize he was back in town as well. Things are working out a little too nicely, aren’t they?”

It was written all over her face. A hidden agenda that had been there all along.

Jumping up to your feet, you put as much distance between the two of you as possible. “Who are you?”

Detective Zhuang scoffed. “You know who I am. I’m the officer that’s been trying to keep you safe this whole time. Now sit back down and finish your tea. It’s considered rude here to let it get cold.”

You shook your head. “Tell me the truth. How did you know about Mr. Eight?”

With a tilt of her head, Detective Zhuang studied your face. “You almost seem… protective right now. Does someone have a bad case of Stockholm Syndrome?”

“No!” you snapped back. “I’m just wanting answers because I’m tired of being jerked around by everyone. No one has been honest with me since that night in the alley.”

Detective Zhuang took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It’s best if it stays that way.”

You were done with this. She wasn’t who you thought you were and alarms were going off in your head, screaming that you were in danger. Taking a chance, you leapt over the coffee table and ran for the front door. You managed to undo the lock and pull the door open a few centimeters before it was shoved closed once again by Detective Zhuang’s hand.

“You should have just left it alone,” she growled before grabbing a hand full of hair on the back your head and slamming your face against the door, knocking you out cold.

**

Luhan wasn’t surprised that you were gone when he woke up. He didn’t think you would stay there while he slept to regain some of his strength. You were too restless with the events that had occurred lately. But finding you should be easy enough. There were only so many rooms in this mansion that you could hide in and you tended to stick to the ones you knew.

The wound by his side growled in irritation as he sat up. It took him longer than most days to get completely off the bed, needing to take a minute or two between each step before standing up on his feet. It must be past sunset by now given the lack of light out in the hallway. Luhan had to squint in both directions before venturing down towards your room. Out of respect, he knocked rather than his usual habit of bursting in uninvited. When there was no answer, he knocked again.

Still nothing.

Thinking that maybe you were asleep, he carefully opened the door and peeked inside. But the bed was empty, sheets still made from the maids’ earlier clean up. Luhan frowned as he closed the door once more. Okay, if you weren’t there, then where else could you be?

Maybe you were talking to Yixing? It was a start. Luhan could feel the jealousy already churning in his stomach. You always found it so easy to talk to the doctor. Luhan had to work to get to that level with you. And then he almost lost it. While you trusted him again, he knew it was a fragile existence. Just the slightest prick could shatter his progress.

As he approached Yixing’s room, he heard voices echoing inside. He smiled to himself. Good. He must be on the right track. This time, he didn’t knock, barging in the doctor’s room, too eager to see you to wait patiently for an invitation. But the smile faded as soon as he saw the occupants inside.

It seemed like everyone was there – except you. Tao, Yixing… even Kris and the female doctor, although what she was doing there, Luhan had no idea. Worried looks echoed across their faces even as they tried to hide it from him.

“What’s going on?” Luha demanded.

“You should be resting,” Kris stated, but that wasn’t going to be enough to deter him.

“That’s not an answer.” Turning to the one he could trust not to lie to him, Luhan repeated his question to Yixing. “What’s going on?”

Yixing looked nervously to the other two leaders before sighing. “We can’t find (y/n).”

“WHAT!”

Tao rolled his eyes. “Great. Way to lead with the bad news.”

“It’s not like there’s any good news,” the female doctor scoffed.

Luhan pointed to her. “You. Shut up. Tao. Explain.”

“I wanted to ask her a question about that night in the alley because our guys found female DNA on the bomb as well.” Sliding his hands into his pockets, Tao leaned up against the bookshelves. He was worried. As much as he tried to be like Kris, tried to be unaffected and unconcerned, he just wasn’t able to do it. And it was evident all over his face. “When she wasn’t in your room, I checked hers. When I still didn’t find her, I went to the security room to check the cameras. The last time she was seen, she walked out the back kitchen and to the woods. She never came out of the trees.”

Luhan looked in disbelief at his friends. His eyes flickered from one person to another, hoping someone – anyone – would tell him that it was all a sick joke. He even glanced behind him in hope that you would pop out laughing. But that moment never came. He look back at the others, shaking his head.

“No. No.” If he kept denying it, then it wouldn’t be true. Right? “She couldn’t- she wouldn’t just leave. Not like this. She promised. As long as there was danger, she would stay. Here. Where I could protect her. She wouldn’t….” Unless you saw a way out. What possible way that could be, Luhan couldn’t even fathom.

“We don’t know if she left on her own accord,” Yixing said. “For all we know, she could still-”

“She could still be out there.” The possibility hit him like a fast moving train.

Spinning on his heels, he ran out of the room and down the stairs, all the way to the kitchen where he burst through the back door. The others were right on his heels, hollering for him to stop or slow down, but there was no way he would listen.

“(y/n)! (y/n)!” He called out for you as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

There was no moon in the sky, making his search even more difficult. He continued to yell out your name, pausing every once in a while to listen for you to call back. But there was no reply. No response of any kind.

Pain seared in Luhan’s side which stopped him in his tracks. He clutched his side as he fell to his knees in a sad attempt to push away the pain. He needed to keep going, but his wound wouldn’t allow him.

“Luhan!” Yixing was by his side, hands on his shoulders to help steady his friend. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing,” Luhan grunted as he gently pushed the doctor away. He struggled to get to his feet, staggering enough that Yixing had to catch him. Looking at Yixing in desperation, he whispered, “She wouldn’t have just left. Not without a good reason. Someone might have taken her or-”

“If someone did take her, you can’t help her like this,” Yixing scolded, although his sympathy was more than apparent. Hooking an arm around his shoulders, he took on most of Luhan’s weight and headed back towards the house where everyone was waiting. “Rest. We’ll keep looking while you do.”

“I don’t know how you expect me to sleep,” Luhan grumbled.

Yixing sighed, knowing it was a hopeless battle. With his current state of mind, Luhan wouldn’t be able to sleep. That required shutting off and once he was wound up like this, his brain going off in every possible direction and coming up with every possible scenario of what he could do to find you again, that wasn’t an option. Lying in bed just staring up at the ceiling would do more harm than good.

“How about we compromise?” Yixing offered. “We’ll gather in the library and collaborate on what to do next there. But you have to stay in the chair and not work yourself up, okay? And if your body tells you to go to sleep, you at least try. Got it?”

Luhan didn’t want to agree to the conditions, but it was better than being locked in his room – which was an option he didn’t put passed his old friend.

“Fine,” he mumbled with a sigh just as soon as they reached the others.

Tao smirked, having heard a majority of the conversation. “To the library then?”

Luhan nodded and they headed inside.

Unlike most of the mobster movies he’d seen in his life, Luhan did not have that large, over-the-top library with hundreds of books lining the walls around the room. He had no need for so many novels and he wasn’t interested in the aesthetics of such a room. Really, this place was like a second study, a little bigger than his usual meeting room, but no grander or more luxurious.

They spent about an hour in there, bouncing ideas off each other of what could have made you leave or who might have taken you. Kris checked all his leads in the police stations, but no one had any record of you being picked up or held anywhere in the city. Nor were they able to find any mysterious last minute bookings among the busses or planes going out of the city. Luhan didn’t think you would be dumb enough to use your actual name, especially if you were getting help or forced to leave.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Sir?” Xiaofei peeked his head in cautiously.

Narrowing his eyes, Luhan immediately became the mafia boss he always was before you came into his life. “What is it?”

Still half-hiding behind the door, Xiaofei held up a tan office envelope. “This was dropped off at one of the warehouses thirty minutes ago.”

Tao stomped up to the door, snatched the envelope out of the underling’s hand and slammed the door in his face.

Yixing raised an eyebrow after exchanging a look with the female doctor whose name Luhan had still yet to learn. “Was that entirely necessary?”

“For Xiaofei? Yes.” With his finger, Tao tore open the envelope and slid out a single piece of paper. As he took in the contents of the paper, his face fell from its typical snark into one of distress.

“What?” Luhan tried to get up from the chair, but Kris kept him down with one hand. “What is it?”

Without saying anything, Tao turned the glossy paper around to reveal the picture on the other side.

It was of a person, tied to a chair, their hands behind their back and a blindfold over their eyes. Even with part of their face covered, he knew exactly who was behind held hostage and taunted before him.

“(y/n).”

[sabraeal]

All That Remains, Chapter 6: The Flower Garden of the Woman Who Could Conjure [Part 3]

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Obiyukiweek 2020, Day 2: Nobility Exhibit self discipline. Show respect to authority. Obey the law. Administer justice. Protect the innocent. Respect women.

Ah, but we have gotten ahead of ourselves once again, have we not? So wrapped up were we in lies and glamour that we have forgotten our girl on the shore, heart dripping in her hands.

It’s all right. She’ll forgive us. Little girls always do.

Let us not leave her waiting.

A girl stands on the shore, red shoes wet in her hands, with none of the answers she seeks. Or rather, none of the ones she was prepared to have.

Alive, the river had told her. Away, said the darkest fears of her heart.

Never had she thought that dead would seem the better option.

We are complex beings; animals with four-chambered hearts. We are meant to hold more than a single thought, a single emotion, a single wish. But still, still-- it is a poisoned gift when elation and desolation can exist beside one another, when they can be flavored by guilt and betrayal.

She is a just a child, and yet a storm brews in her chest, too large for to contain. Beneath it, she is but an island, alone at sea.

So when the boat comes, a humble thing with no explanation, no expectations, she steps on it. What else can she do, when there is no other way to leave the hurricane behind her?

Her rooms are dark when she returns to them.

Kiki moves, pale hair catching the last light of the hall. “Where are your matches? I can’t--”

“No.” Her voice feels wrong in her mouth, too sour and too low. For a moment, Shirayuki wonders if this is truly her body, or if she has stood in the shadows too long and becomes someone else.

“I mean,” she begins again, sounding more like herself with every word, “there’s no need. I’m going to bed.”

Kiki stills behind her. “Do you need help?”

Yes. “No.” Her fingers fumble at the clasps of her gown. “I wore one of my old dresses tonight. From when I...”

Still felt like myself. Her hands clench, cotton soft beneath her fingers, and for once she longs for something coarser, for a wool that might itch or a lace that might scratch. Anything that could ground her to this moment, this body.

“...before,” she manages, peeling the fabric off her. The night’s chill stings her skin. She nearly laughs-- in Lilias, this would a be a balmy night, and now she’s pimpled with goosebumps. “I haven’t forgotten how to undress myself.”

Stay here long enough and you’ll get the hang of it, Obi would be so quick to say. Or maybe, Master should be seeing to it that you do, Miss. But Kiki--

Kiki nods, skirting back to give her space she desperately doesn’t need. It’s strange how she can feel every inch of the gap between them, even though it is only empty air.

“Will you be coming tomorrow?” she asks, striving to keep her tone bright, buoyant. She may not feel like herself, but Shirayuki has made a career out of pushing forward, of persevering, and tonight is no different. “These other gowns are always a bit of a handful by myself.”

Kiki hums; it isn’t in agreement. “The consort will see to it.”

“Haki?” She tries to imagine that, the elegant queen of Clarines looping a hundred pearl buttons down her back.

Kiki’s lips cant into a soft smile, as if she knows just what Shirayuki must be thinking. “She’ll have women sent to you.”

“R-really?” She’s had maids before, lent to her when she traveled to Tanbarun, or sometimes for the night when Izana had deigned her appropriate company at one of Wistal’s balls, but for the queen to assign a pack of them herself, it seemed--

Official. A statement for other nobles to take notice of. Her stomach twists.

“She believes in you,” Kiki says quietly, laying a hand on her shoulder. “We all do.”

Her belly churns with a sickening flop. So did Obi.

Shirayuki shakes herself. It’s all going to be fine. Obi wouldn’t give up on her, and Zen wouldn’t give up on Obi either.

“R-right,” she manages, swallowing around the lump in her throat. “I’ll do my best.”

Is that not what we all want when we are lost? A way to leave the storm behind. A gentle guide to show us the way. An easy answer when none can be found.

It is said that lightning takes the path of least resistance; tree or pole or child-- all of them are the same in its eyes, so long as it meets the ground. And is that not what we are? Lightning in a bottle, a closed current seeking release. We hold a charge within ourselves and let it out when we touch metal. Sometimes even when we touch each other. No wonder we seize the easiest answer when we find it.

But, oh, how foolish we are to take it.

The covers surround her in a protective cocoon, warm and safe. Tonight’s turmoil has wrung her dry; she flops onto her mattress like a child who has run themselves to collapse. Dreams tantalize her from the corners of her vision, and she’s so ready to tip into their embrace, to take what oblivion they will give her with open arms.

There’s no reason to get so upset. 

She jolts from the edge of sleep, fingers clenched. It’s a stray thought, an echo of Zen’s voice; no reason for her heart to race, not when it’s true. Not when everything is taken care of.

It’s not odd for Obi to disappear with no explanation.

A protest strains against her lips, even with no one to rail against. The boy who left Wistal swimming in the fur of his coat isn’t the man who returned. He hasn’t been, not for years now-- maybe not even then. Not since they stood beneath a tree in Tanbarun and she said, I told you we’d see the town next time, right? Not since he’d dragged her along the walls of Lilias and showed her a sunset.

We might as well try to keep a cat indoors.

She rolls, burying her face in the soft cage of her pillow. There’s no point in worrying, not when Zen has everything well in hand, not when there are men out looking for him--

My lady, I don’t know any that have.

Her heart stutters in her chest. Zen had told her-- had promised her that he would send men out, and he wouldn’t-- he couldn’t--

The boy must have been mistaken. Or the consort had the right of it, and Zen had passed over the royal guard, using the knights of the Royal Circle instead. It would make sense; it would take more than a usual guardsman to catch a man of Obi’s skills, if he didn’t mean to be caught.

Whichever direction you’re heading in, he’d said, words misting in the air between them, a promise. I’ll be sure to follow along by your side.

Which can’t be true. Obi couldn’t-- he wouldn’t leave, not without saying goodbye. Not when he had so many promises to keep.

He saw a man leaping over the walls the night Sir Obi went missing. The guilt in Kai’s expression haunts her even now. He was seen leaving with a woman, my lady.

Shirayuki has always prided herself on her cleverness, how she could unravel the most tangled symptoms into a diagnosis. But she holds this puzzle in her hand, and no matter how she tries, she cannot make the pieces fit, cannot make them into a whole.

Obi is a man of his word. He jokes, but he never lies, she told Ryuu once, though she can hardly remember why now. He wouldn’t leave her, not like this. Or Ryuu. Or Zen. But yet, yet--

Did you know he didn’t leave alone?

The sheets tear from her, and oh, the morning is blinding, leaving her cold and blinking on her bed. Her eyes adjust, and there, in the bright glow of the dawn, stands the consort.

“It is time to get up, Shirayuki.” Her mouth curves into a smile. “There is much work to be done.”

There are no oars in this little boat, the girl realizes too late. She has no sooner pushed off from the shore then the current grabs her, hurtling her toward the river’s end. Water sprays up from the rapids, and her little boat rocks perilously under her feet. The easy path this may be, but it is not safe either.

There is a part of her that is frightened, watching as the world moves by her, taking her toward places unknown; but there is another part as well, and it is relieved. She may no longer be in control, but oh, that means she is also no longer to blame.

“So few gowns,” the consort remarks as her women parade Shirayuki’s closet for her review. “And so many of them out of season. They’ll have to be replaced.”

Shirayuki offers a brittle smile in the mirror as one of the maids firmly drags a comb through her hair. “I don’t--” she hisses, teeth tangling in a knot-- “I have as many as I need. Long skirts and fine dresses were bound to get ruined in the pharmacy.”

“But at necessary at court.” Her mouth bows into a faint frown, displeasure weighing on her brow. “You must understand, this is not a simple undertaking. You cannot just...pass a test and become worthy of a crown.”

“That isn’t--”

The consort raises a hand, and her words stutter to a halt. “You have made your position clear, Shirayuki. It is not the title nor the trappings you want, but Zen himself, and I--” she hesitates, gaze distant-- “it is part of why I want to help you. Love is no little thing.”

She smiles, a shy, secret thing, as if they were alone and the room not teeming with her maids. “It is worth all the pain, if you can have love as well. But--” the consort’s gaze fixes on her in the mirror-- “it is not enough. The kings of Clarines once ruled by divine right, and the people-- they have not forgotten.” Her expression shadows when she adds, “they cannot be allowed to forget.”

Shirayuki stares at her hands, flushed. Tanbarun’s royal family had been a joke rather than an inspiration, a vestige of a bygone age that the country had never quite shucked. She’d never held much stock in divine rights, in the idea that someone could be her superior by nothing more than being birthed from the right womb, but--

But being with Zen would mean participating in that fiction, upholding that illusion to keep him safe. “I don’t see what my dresses have to do with that.”

“Everything,” the consort assures her. “You have read fairy stories, haven’t you? Princes cast away because they are dressed as paupers, princesses made by conjuring the right gown-- we think with our eyes first, and then our thoughts. Do you see what I mean?”

Her lip worries beneath her teeth. She’s read those stories, yes, a thousand times, and in each one, it is the clothes than make the man, that set designs on how he is treat but--

The prince is always betrayed by his courtly manors, the princess found by the softness of her skin or made by the contents of her heart.

But those are just stories. Here, in Izana’s court...

Shirayuki bows her head, allowing the maid to slip a pin tight against her skull. “I do.”

“Good. I’ll call for my dressmaker.” The consort slides up beside her, inspecting her maid’s handiwork. “Lovely. Where do you keep your ornaments?”

“Oh.” She nods her her chin toward the wooden box. “Over there.”

The consort lifts the lid with elegant fingers, taking in a breath as if she means to speak--

And stills. Her fingers splay in the air, and she-- she closes the box.

“Well.” Her mouth melts into a warm smile. “That will have to be taken care of as well. Don’t worry, Shirayuki, you’re in good hands now.” Her teeth flash white behind her lips. “Mine.”

Why must these things always happen to children, you wonder. Could this girl not be a woman? Could this boy not be a man? Must it always be that the smallest and most vulnerable that are asked to wander the roads we most fear?

Certainly, they could be. Stories are but lenses through which we see ourselves, made more palatable for the distance. On another page, in another life, they could be a man and a woman on the cusp of something greater, the distance only increasing their longing--

But in a fairy tales there are rules, and the foremost among them is: you must be able to see the magic for it to happen.

When the boat pulls up to the shore, you must not see the beautiful women waiting at its dock, but instead the woman who can conjure. And that, that--

That is the provenance of a child.

Shirayuki is an eternal well of optimism, a veritable font of good will, but when it came to her training--

It’s impossible, she’d told Obi, face buried in her pillow. There’s no way any one person can do all this and look like they’re not trying.

He’d only grinned, idling by her bedside with his usual insolent grin. Glad to see Princess Lessons are going so well.

She’s prepared for more of the same, for the familiar two-steps-forward, ten-steps-back dance she’s been doing for the last few months only now with the added humiliation of the consort beside her but--

It’s different, this time.

“Shirayuki.” Lady Mihoko is entrenched in the divan today, looming with dignity of a temple’s ruin. It’s only the consort’s presence that has excavated her from her favorite chair, but she bears it like an statue missing a limb. “Pour the tea.”

She knows this for what it is: a trap. Mihoko’s maids flank the door to the parlor, ready and entirely willing to pour endless cups of too-sweet tea for everyone seated. This isn’t about thirst, oh no, but that she’s doing entirely too well. Mihoko wants to see her falter and fail as a girl with so common a spine should.

Shirayuki leans forward, mouth thin with concentration, and--

“Keep your shoulders back.” The consort sips delicately at her cup, her words barely rippling its contents. “Don’t round over. Pretend you have a pencil between your shoulder blades.”

Her hand stutters over the salver. A pencil--?

Lady Mihoko watches from her perch; a vulture waiting for a limping animal to fall. Shirayuki has always been at the top of her class, her time at Lilias served with distinction, but yet in this her failure is not only assumed but assured.

Fine. She pushes her shoulders back until the blades kiss, imagining that pencil between them, holding it still as she bends. It’s-- different. Exposing, almost, though she’s wearing no less than she was before, and--

And Lady Mihoko makes no comment as she pours, filling her cup to within a finger’s width of the rim. Nor does she have any disparaging remarks for when she fills the consort’s cup, or her own.

“Sugar?” Shirayuki offers mildly. The corners of her lips twitch, and it takes every last crumb of control she has to keep from smiling. The last thing she needs is for this victory to be tarnished by a vulgar expression.

Mihoko’s lips thin into a forbidding wrinkle, but holds out her cup. “It seems you are much improved,” she allows, begrudgingly, less a compliment and more an accusation.

Shirayuki will take it. “Thank you, Lady Mihoko.”

“Not that you could have sunk much further.” The lady takes a dainty sip before settling the cup onto its saucer. “But I suppose that would make any progress heartening.”

Her smile, carefully constructed to show no improprietous teeth, wavers. “You are...too kind.” The consort sends her a warning glance, and she adds, “My lady.”

“I know I am.” Mihoko glares down her nose, severe. “You should be grateful that Her Majesty has taken you under her wing. The queen of Clarines has much more pressing duties than to educate a--” she casts a disapproving look over her-- “hopeful.”

“Please, Lady Mihoko.” The consort’s mouth rounds into a pleasant curve, the perfect smile. “I am all too happy to fill my hours with such pleasant company as Lady Shirayuki’s. A lady may learn the right fork or the proper dance for an occasion, but one cannot teach a good heart or an interesting mind.”

Her ladyship harrumphs, a quake that shudders through her from slipper to veil, tenders no harsher reply than a sip from her cup. Some degree of royal relation she might be, but even Mihoko won’t quarrel with a queen.

“I’m very grateful!” Shirayuki assures her. “This whole, um, process has been quite challenging and, ah...”

Lonely, she doesn’t say. It nearly tips out all on its own before she even knows it is there, but now it catches in her teeth, sticky and unpleasant.

“It’s an honor,” she finishes, lamely. Mihoko only nods, propriety fulfilled, but the consort--

Haki stares at her, chin tilted, a finger laying thoughtfully along her jaw. She may not be Izana, but her gaze itches like his, as if she were a puzzle that needed solving, or even--

A bug under a glass.

It is not that the girl did not know the danger of sorceresses. Oh no, she had been warned about such women, had read of them in books and shivered at the sound of them in song. But standing as she is, shoes in hand, alone on a river too swift to swim and no oars with which to row--

She makes a choice.

The boat rocks as it comes to shore, so gentle under the sorceress’s guidance, and the little girl makes herself as placid, as docile. That has always been the way she fooled adults before; misbehavior is only assumed from unruly children, but an obedient one--

Well, she has only gotten this far because no one expects the obedient one to run.

It is a good plan, a clever plan, one any young child could be proud of, but--

She does not expect this sorceress.

It had never occurred to her how mortifying it would be to have someone to watch her fail lesson after lesson, to hear as her teachers passed along their lukewarm-- at best-- praise. Shirayuki had always been top of her class, her professors’ best student, and now--

Now she’s grateful Obi had to stand outside while she floundered. One day of the consort’s steady observation and she wants to lay down in her bed and never be seen again.

“You did well.”

Shirayuki turns, eyes wide, as the consort follows her into her room. “What do you mean?”

She blinks, head tilted. “I mean what I said: you did well.”

But I didn’t nearly tips right out, nearly falls straight on the carpet like an ink stain, but she catches it, just in time.

“You’re too kind,” she manages, because somehow implying a lie is more palatable than saying it outright. “I’m not sure my tutors would agree with you.”

The consort waves a hand, as if such worries were little more than smoke. “They are used to ladies. To breeding. When compared to a girl who has been training for this opportunity all her life...yes, you fall quite short. But that is not who you are.”

Haki steps forward, taking one of her hands in hers. “You are the woman who saved Lilias. That some believe a straight spine or a sprightly step could be worth more than that in a princess is--” she takes a breath, agitated-- “antiquated.”

Shirayuki stares, mouth slack, hand limp. “I thought you said--”

“It is important for the people to remember why kings are give the power they possess,” Haki tells her, her eyes so blue, so earnest. “But a good king earns the trust of his people by surrounding himself with the best minds his kingdom can offer. Anyone can learn to hold a fork, Shirayuki, but you--” she smiles-- “you cannot be replaced.“

Something in her chest squirms, but it’s not unpleasant. More like...a squirrel that’s made its next in a tree’s heart, finally waking after a long winter.”

“Oh,” she croaks past the lump in her throat. “Oh.”

In the stories, the sorceresses are old. Or failing that, they are seductresses, dark haired and pale-skinned, every word a twist of the knife.

But this one, oh-- this one is so beautiful and young, her hat so brightly painted with flowers. There is no danger etched on her face or molded in the curves of her body, no sharp teeth or crooked grin. Just a smile, so warm and so gentle.

The little girl is not foolish; she knows exactly how it is when you are not what you seem but--

She does not expect this.

Nor she does not expect to say, “I love roses,” the moment the woman touches her hand.

“You poor child.” When the woman speaks, every word is a song, “How did you come all this way on such a dangerous river? You must be very brave indeed.”

No one had ever called the little girl that before. Pretty, of course, and kind, and often gentle, but brave--

You must tell me who you are, the sorceress says, awe plain in her voice, and how you came here. I must know everything of such a clever little girl.

Her eyes prickle, and before she quite knows what to do, tears stream down her cheek.

Oh, my darling. Arms wrap around her, warm and soft, and oh, how long has it been since she has been held, just like this? So long, so long. No more worries. I have you. I will take care of you.

“Your Majesty, I must insist.” Arundo’s brow blisters with sweat, his dark eyes pleading. “Truly, it is my duty to instruct Mistress Shirayuki. I cannot possible ask you--”

“You are not asking,” the consort reminds him, her mouth hooked into a devious smile. “And I am the one insisting. I think a change of partners will do her ladyship a world of good.”

The dancing master pales. Shirayuki can’t blame him; if Izana was to find out she mangled his wife’s feet as she did Arundo’s...

“I’m not sure she’s ready for such a, ah...change.” He wrings his hands, mopping at his brow. “Surely a few more weeks, and perhaps--”

“I have been watching these lessons for quite some time, Master Arundo, would you not agree?” The man has no recourse but to nod, not with the way the consort pins him with her gaze, hedging him against the wall with her imposing posture. “I have noticed a few areas in which her understanding of the dance might be improved.”

All of them, probably. Despite years of tutors, Shirayuki has never quite grasped the finer areas of dance. Not that there hadn’t been some successes-- she never seemed to embarrass herself in Tanbarun when Raj insisted on a waltz, and Obi always managed to make her look capable, if not competent, but outside that--

Well, Her Majesty shouldn’t be wearing slippers facing off against her feet.

Arundo deflates in the face of her determination. “Ah, well...if you’re certain...Your Majesty...”

“I am.” The consort turns to her, skirts skimming the floor. Ah, it had been hard enough avoiding Arundo’s feet when she could see them; this hemline can only complicate matters. “Come, I’ll lead you through it. A waltz might seem hard to start, but there’s very little to remember.”

Shirayuki doesn’t have the heart to tell her that’s what they’d been trying to do before Arundo had decided that learning polka might behoove her more, if only because it put space between her partner and her feet. “Ah...if you think so.”

“I know so.” Haki tilts her a small, secretive smile. “Give me your hand.”

With one last helpless glance at Arundo, she does. The consort’s palm is cool against hers, like marble warming under her touch, and she slides into the circle of her arms with only a little finagling.

“I should be about the right height.” Her face is so close-- nearly too close, the her eyes so pale and so clear, so unlike the deep Wisteria blue. “Give or take an inch or two.”

That is all the warning she has; the accompanist starts a thoughtful piece, slow yet bright, and the consort sweeps her across the floor. She stumbles on the first step, but the music’s pace makes it easy to recover, to remember the simple rhythm of up, up, down; up-up-down--

She steps out into her turn, arm lifted, and--

Just barely misses Her Majesty’s slippered foot, slid to safety just in time.

Haki laughs, and it’s so different when it is not a disappointed tutor that looks back, but Her Majesty’s smiling face. As if she were not in a practice room, but a bed chamber, practicing on a lark instead of disastrously careening toward a deadline.

“Well then,” Haki breathes, holding her stomach as if it might cease her giggles. “Now we know what we need to work on.”

The girl is but a child, well-loved and then sent into the world alone, shell of determination over a soft body of longing. For how long has she been reaching out her hands only to come back empty? For how long has she been calling for help, only to go unheard?

And now a hand catches hers with warm smiles above it, with arms so ready to hold the burden she’s been carrying for far, far too long...

The little girl enters a garden, and oh, who are we to judge when she grasps with both hands.

“Well done, once again.” Haki slumps onto the divan beside her, flushed, eyes bright. “I think you’ve nearly gotten that waltz.”

Shirayuki delicately closes her jaw. “I’m...I don’t really think that’s true. I nearly stepped on you at least two dozen times.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Only because you’re much quicker than Arundo is,” she laughs. “Which is good, otherwise Izana would have--” she coughs, flustering under the consort’s bemused smile-- “I mean, His Majesty would have been quite upset if I’d broken your foot.”

Her Majesty hums, gaze measuring. “I see he was right.”

She blinks. “Excuse me?”

“You’re really not afraid of him.” Haki’s sweet smile sharpens into a grin. “Izana.”

“Hguk.” If only she knew how to answer questions like these-- or at least, how to answer them when someone with a His or Her poses them, looking for an answer that is not respect is earned, not given.

“I’m from Tanbarun,” Shirayuki settles on, since that seems...safe.

“Yes,” Haki hums, all too knowing. “I could see how a royal title might not impress you.” 

She has the sudden, perverse urge to object. Raj might have once been a black mark on Tanbarun’s reputation, the prince no princess would deign to entertain as a prospect, but now-- now he was a prince the people could be proud of. That she could be proud of. Even if he was a little ridiculous.

But she doubts that consort would understand such a change. So she drowns the impulse in the tea a maid hands her.

Haki sips at her own with effortless elegance, measuring her with a glance. “I suppose that is part of your charm. That you don’t believe in this,” she explains, “the superiority of good breeding.”

Tea burns when she breathes it instead of swallowing, and well, a coughing fit is one way to get out of having to answer...any of that.

Haki pats her back, harder than Shirayuki would expect from a woman raised to be a king’s demure shadow. “There, there.” The words ripple with the undercurrent of a giggle. “Let us talk of something else instead. Perhaps the reason your mind wanders?”

The garden and its marvels lead to a cottage, its walls of wattle and its roof of thatch. The most delicious smells waft through the window-- fresh baked bread, hot fruit tart--

Come inside, the sorceress says, I have sweet berries, fresh picked, and cool cream with which to have it.

The little girl hesitates, red shoe hovering over the threshold. It was one thing to stand upon the dock with her, to be held and hold in return, to walk among her flowers and marvel at the sight, but it’s quite another to enter her home, the center of her power. Unless she wants to be sweet child stew--

You must tell me how you came to be here. The sorceress smiles, so warm. I will help you, if I am able.

The little girl steps inside.

The consort smiles in her silence, sweeping up across the room. “You have such pretty hair pieces,” she remarks brightly, “I must applaud your taste.”

“Oh I...I didn’t pick them,” she admits. “I don’t really have an eye for that sort of thing.”

A perfectly shaped eyebrow lifts. “You don’t mean to say my good brother did. I never thought him the type.”

“Oh! No, it wasn’t him,” she laughs. “Obi...”

I’m looking for a boy, the little girl says, for despite all her cleverness, there are some tricks a child cannot see. He has dark hair. He is this tall. He gave me these shoes.

My oh my, the sorceress says, leading her to a chair. There are no other children in this house, but even still it is the right size, just large enough so that her toes brush at the floor when she kicks them. You describe him so well. He seems like he must be a very good boy.

He is, for he is, even if he’s strayed from her. But he is lost.

This is for you. The pin balances awkwardly behind her ear, hair entirely too short for something like it. He smiles at her, something lopsided and sharp. She hardly knows him then, only thinking that she must look ridiculous. Still, his eyes are the clearest she’s ever seen as he says, Part of my prize.

Is that so? the sorceress hums. Do you mind very much if I were to brush your hair? It is so disheveled from your travels, I would hate for it to get too tangled.

The girl hesitates, her hands in her lap. The berries and cream look very good indeed, and when the sorceress brings out her brush, it is mother of pearl, so pretty and so fine. She knows what they say about strange food, she knows what they say can be done with only a few strands of hair, but-- she is a small girl, so weary, so unused to kindness, and--

She nods.

Since there’s no martial arts match to win, he teases, so many years later, I thought we’d go choose another one for you.

It sits heavy in her hands as she stand in the hall, waiting.

Thank you, she says, meeting eyes that are still so clear all these years later, thank you so much for this

Have you seen him? she asks, watching the woman warily as she approaches. The little girl has heard of what conjurers might do, but she is a strong girl, a brave girl, a clever one. She would not be fooled by illusion. My boy?

Your boy? The sorceress sweeps close, the scent of flowers wafting on the air. I have not.

The brush is so soft in her hair, so lulling. She can feel her eyes drift to half mast. It has been so long since she rested.

But I’m sure he’ll come through. The sorceress’s mouth rounds into a dangerous curve. Everyone does, eventually.

You’re drunk, she decides, watching the way he sways on the balls of his feet, swaying like a sailor at sea. Still, he’s coiled tight, braced for an attack. Even soused, he’s vigilant Obi, I know that--

You don’t know anything about me, Miss.

His eyes have never been cloudier.

You have roses, the little girl slurs, so many of them, and so beautiful.

You like them? It’s hard to keep her eyes open now, her head nodding at the table.

They are my favorite, she says, my boy and I...we raised roses together.

The brush pauses, mid-stroke. You don’t say?

“It’s too bad you have so few.” The consort reaches out a hand, her fingers catching in her hair. The touch is so unexpected, Shirayuki forgets to flinch. “Your hair is so lovely.”

“Thank you,” she manages, which is better than saying, I hear that a lot.

It’s no use; Haki’s mouth lifts wryly, and even though she hasn’t said a word, Shirayuki knows she’s heard every one. “You’ll have to let me lend you one of mine.”

“Wha?” She blinks, staring as the consort rounds the divan, clasp in hand. “I couldn’t--”

“Put it in yourself? I know. Please,” the consort comes to sit beside her, pales eyes shining eagerly, “allow me to pin it for you.”

“I...” Shirayuki snaps her lips over her protest; Haki may only be the consort, but still, saying no to a queen was what Obi would call career limiting. “You’re too kind.”

Her hands are gentle as she removes the pins lying tight against Shirayuki’s scalp. “Oh no, not at all. It’s the least I could do for my sister.”

She says it so casually, as if this were all settled, as if Shirayuki’s success was already assured and not balanced on the head of a pin, and--

And for once, Shirayuki believes it.

You should stay, the sorceress says, and the little girl hardly hears it, her chin cradled on her arms.

I can’t, I can’t, she yawns, looking out on the world through the net of her lashes. I have to find my boy.

He’ll come, in time, the woman assures her. As I said, everyone does. Why not wait here?

With what she’d seen of Rona’s skills the last time she’d visited Tanbarun, Shirayuki expected to be left with a rat’s nest that would take three maids to untangle. But the consort’s hands are practiced, neatly twisting and lifting as she pins.

“Have you’ve done this before?” She grimaces; there was probably much more polite way to put that, one that didn’t call a queen’s qualifications into question. “I mean...there aren’t many ladies of the court that know how to, um, do this.”

“Take care of themselves? Yes,” she hums, too amused, “I know. I was one of the dowager’s handmaidens when she was queen. We didn’t need to do much, but, well...a girl like to distinguish herself, doesn’t she?”

“O-oh.” She bites her lip, thoughtful. “So...before you were the Mistress of Lilias? Is that how you met Izana?”

Her hands still, just for a moment, before twisting another piece. “No. We have known each other...far longer than that. Our fathers were...”

“Friends?” Shirayuki supplies, when Haki does not.

“No, better-- allies. I was practically raised with the Wisterias.”  She laughs. “No wonder I was always desperate for a sister. Good thing at least one of my brothers has decided to oblige me.”

The comb’s teeth skim against her scalp, and Shirayuki grimaces. “With someone no one expected.”

The consort drops down beside her, companionably close, closing a hand around hers. “Perhaps you did not realize, Shirayuki, how serious I was. I am as selfish as any of these men, though what I want from you is not feminine perfection.” She grins, and it’s not like Izana’s, a prelude to a challenge, but an invitation to mischief. “Don’t forget that before I was the queen of Clarines, I was the mistress of Lilias. If the woman who saved the North is an unorthodox choice to the relics of this court...then it is just the one I want. Do you understand?”

Stay, my precious girl, the sorceress whispered, I have long been waiting for a dear little maiden like you.

“I do.”

It is dark when one woman says to another, “There is a box in her room, on the dresser. Do you know it?”

The second bows her head. “I do.”

“Good.” The first worries a lip, hesitant. “See that it disappears.”

“I...” The second straightens, nods. “I will.”

A little girl sleep and a sorceress stands in her garden.

You must stay with me, she says as the roses seep beneath the ground, and see how happily we shall live together.