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beesincognito · 2 years ago

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Perfect Strangers- part eight: The Galgaridons

Viktor x Fem!reader (SFW)

part seven part nine (start here!)

Takes place before Arcane and works its way there, did my best to combine the different versions of lore. (nsfw in parts)

(you and Viktor meet on your first day at the academy and bond over being habitual, awkward loners. The story revolves around class issues and a sense of belonging mixed with lore and Arcane plot. The story will split at some point and you choose which ending you want to read.)

*no warnings for this part*

Word count: 6,660

******

You were home. The air was crisp, clear of fumes from factories and cars despite still being so close to the city. Walls of trees and fields of green separated you from the looming buildings and you were able to pretend it was more isolated than it really was. The home was more of a large estate, wings and fountains greeted any visitor that would arrive. At the request of your mother, the ivy that adorned the walls for a decade was being removed by landscapers when you had arrived. It had been damaging the walls, but you still missed how it looked. Now it was bare and dull despite the decorative architecture.

Your mother rushed over to you with her arms outstretched and hugged you tightly the moment you stepped out of the cab. Gladly accepting her embrace, you followed her inside when she carried one of your small bags for you. She chatted wildly about the dress she sent you and hoped you enjoyed wearing it at the gala as your father simply greeted you politely and asked how your studies were going.

“Oh dear, let her have a breather every once in a while. We already know she’s excelling in her studies,” she quipped at your father, guiding you away from his study that he always lurked around.

Lying to protect her feelings felt better than disappointing her altogether so you made up a simple story of your time at the spring dance. Meeting imaginary patrons and students that you had smart conversations with and sparked connections that could be useful in the future. Your mother believed every word since she only accepted the best for her daughter.

Just like every end of term, you unpacked your boxes that had been shipped to your room. Usually you would only be there for a few days before returning to the academy district since it was so close to home anyways.

******

At the dinner table you asked your parents what their surprise was. You knew it most likely meant traveling out of Piltover since they never called anything a surprise. They exchanged glances, silently debating if they should tell you exactly where you were all going, but decided against it.

“You’ll just have to wait and see, but it’ll prepare you to join the family business once you’re ready,” your father waved his utensil at you and you just smiled back at him.

“Alright, as long as I don’t actually have to work,” you took a bite of your food when your mother laughed at your response, implying that you most likely would try something out that involved working or at least communicating with business partners.

It was too easy to figure out their plan without anything too specific. The location was a mystery, but the activity was obvious. You were most likely going out of town and visiting with another prominent company somewhere that you had never worked with before. Learning how to negotiate and build a relationship with other people for business was important in your family’s line of work since most of the things they built were foundational to a region.

That night in your room you slept like the dead.

******

Traveling in one of your own family trains felt special as the cart bumped against the tracks. You had your own private cart with its own dining area and small private rooms. It was a long trip with many stops since the train still had to pick up and drop off other passengers. On longer stops you got to at least admire the station to get a breath of fresh air. You passed through many barren landscapes mixed with cities that looked more broken and fortified at the same time.

It made your stomach drop when you finally figured out where you were going. You bursted through the doors to the dining room where your parents were enjoying a morning coffee.

“We’re in Noxus,” you panted, feeling a heaviness in your shoulders.

“You got us, dear,” your father held up a hand in a you caught us gesture and smiled at you. “Is it not exciting? Don’t worry, we're perfectly safe where we're heading.”

Sweat beaded on your forehead as you tried to feign excitement, thinking about Caston. Just being in Noxus alone was a risk. You didn’t know much about it aside from what everyone else had told you and you wondered if it was wrong to assume. It was the same way your mother thought of Zaun so you wondered how she was allowing this trip to a war mongering place to begin with.

The rest of the train ride was quieter between the three of you. Your parents had no idea what had happened at school since you blamed your facial scars on an experiment gone wrong.

At the train station in Noxus, you were met with a driver that guided you to a large and armored motorized carriage. His face was a permanent scowl despite how polite he was towards your family, holding your hand and your mothers to help you into the carriage.

The engine fired violently before the carriage began carrying you to what felt like your doom. You felt sick with nerves that twisted your stomach and made your past traumas surface against your will.

“Are you well, y/n?” your mother fawned over you, dapping your forehead with a handkerchief when you didn’t respond. “Motion sickness?”

You longed for fresh air, but the carriage didn’t have any windows, only an orange light in the center of the ceiling that flickered every time the road bumped beneath you. Once it came to a stop you thanked your lucky stars, bursting out of the door before either of your parents had the chance to stand. The driver missed your hand when you hopped out onto the cobblestone surface that met the soles of your shoes with a hard thud.

It was colder than Piltover in Noxus at this time of year, apparently. It seemed like you were in a secluded box within towering walls. The fortress dwarfed your family home in Piltover, it was sharp and strong with the way its architecture commanded respect. You were unable to see the city beyond the height of the stone that encircled you. A large elaborate shield crest with a “G” adorned the face of the building above the door.

Staff stood on the doorsteps and ushered your family forward, guiding you through the front doors that shut with a loud clang of gears and locks once you were all inside. Your bags were carried away to rooms off upstairs.

A larger than life painting hung over a fireplace the size of a closet where a fire had smoldered into tiny embers. You froze, looking into the eyes of what looked to be a much younger Caston.

What were the fucking odds?

Actually seeing him again never occurred to you as a possibility and it terrified you despite his letter you never told anyone about. It arrived long after the incident when you had been on the mend mentally. Stowing it away after reading it. It contained the secret of his soul and his grievances and how often he thought of you. Forgiveness was in your nature, but facing Caston after he nearly killed you in a drunken rage was more than a challenge.

“Handsome isn’t he?” an older woman approached your family in a tight, business styled, dress with deep red accents. She must have been the mistress of the house.

Your mother responded instead, complimenting the woman on her son whom she knew nothing about. It prompted her to introduce you and you politely took her hand to greet her. She complimented your beauty, speaking of how strong willed you looked and that you must have been an excellent student just by the look in your eyes.

If that look was anxiety and fear, she was right.

“House Galgaridon welcomes you and your family, we hope you enjoy the accommodations and we will all rejoin later at dinner in two hours, I apologize for my husband’s absence,” Mistress Galgaridon took your mother by the arm to walk your parents personally to their room, leaving you in the foyer with servants to babysit you.

Sweat made you shift uncomfortably when it dampened the back of your neck. You followed a short man in a black suit up the stairs opposite from where your parents had walked up. In the room there was a large bed with long posts, curtains were tied up around the frame. Everything was simple, but elegant. Unlike the flowery romantic look of your family home. Instead the room felt cold with dark granite walls and tapestries, red rugs covered the stone floor that would otherwise have been like ice beneath your feet.

There was another painting above the fireplace opposite to your bed. It was more recent. Caston Galgaridon labeled in gold at the base of the painting confirmed the face you recognized instantly. He stood in a suit of dark Noxian armor. A large sword in hand was held out in front of him in adoration instead of being ready for combat. Red curtains decorated the background and a dragon’s skull sat at his feet. You couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out and running your fingers along the lines of the skull, feeling the way the paint was textured from each stroke.

His face was changed from when you last saw him and his hair was cropped too short to see the curls anymore. Determined and serious, almost aged as if it had been a decade of war for him.

Since he was depicted as a Noxian soldier, you guessed he enlisted in the army instead of going back to school. He had failed to mention anything about enlisting in his letter you received unexpectedly before leaving school. It wasn’t your responsibility to worry about his future, but you couldn’t help but wonder if things could have been different.

Against your better judgment, you began snooping around the room. There was no way Caston used the space when his painting hung so high in such a gaudy manner on the wall. No one would have been vain enough to want to stare at themselves all night and day. You pulled open drawer after drawer. Finding most of them empty save for the writing desk that contained a stack of letters, notebooks, and a tally sheet with no labels.

The letters were addressed to you, but unsent and unsealed, still open and loose in a neat pile. You couldn’t stop yourself from reading as many as you could in the hours of privacy you had. They detailed his time in the army and how it changed him, how he wished he had never touched a drink or laid a hand on you. Regret seeped through the pages with his words and how he hoped you were doing well and able to move on despite the hurt he caused.

It made your body tremble with your nerves ablaze and terrified. You worried he was obsessed and what that meant for your safety in his domain despite all of the other bodies occupying the manor.

Disgruntled arguing broke your concentration and the large door swung open.

“-a dozen rooms and you put her h-“ Caston froze when he saw you holding a letter and your eyes locked onto his.

He wasn’t angry towards you, instead his eyes softened. Apologizing for the intrusion and for not realizing you were in the room already, he politely backed out and closed the door gently. Refraining from engaging with you at all from the short distance between you both. The sound of his deep voice faded into the distance and you sank into the chair beside the desk, feeling your legs weaken.

******

At dinner, Mistress Galgaridon assigned the seats, directing you to move next to Caston when his younger siblings arrived late for the meal. They all looked so different from him, the age gap separated them plus his tired and hardened face made him look older than you knew he was. You reluctantly left your mother’s side and joined him, sitting with a silent huff through your nose as he politely pushed your seat in under you.

When your parents and the mistress began exchanging pleasantries you refused the wine a server offered to pour into your glass. The same server skipped Caston, moving on to another guest without questioning him the same way they had with you.

Giving him a quick side glance you met his own awkward peak and you both looked away in a hurry. Bringing your water glass to your lips and gulping half of it down too quickly.

“I’m sorry for barging in on you earlier,” he whispered, still avoiding your gaze.

“It’s… fine,” you mumbled, “I shouldn’t’ve been reading your letters.”

“They were for you… even if I never sent them,” he cleared his throat and fidgeted with his utensil on the table instead of eating.

The rest of the hall was boisterous with conversation that you both excluded yourselves from.

“Is this your doing?” you questioned him quietly, holding back the bite in your words. “I’m sure the timing of that letter was no coincidence since I’m here now.”

“My parents were looking for a collaborator and I remembered your family business,” he answered sheepishly with hunched shoulders, “I didn’t think they’d bring you. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t accept the apology out loud, trying to take a bite of food instead. It was delicious, but your anxiety induced nausea stopped you from continuing.

“What was the tally sheet?” you couldn’t stop yourself from being curious. He was practically a different person. The cocky and flashy personality was gone and in its place was this quiet stranger.

“Days sober,” he swallowed his food, turning his head and keeping it low, “everything you had time to read is true.”

With your curiosity satisfied and your stomach unable to take another bite, you excused yourself from the table. Caston stood and watched you leave which drew the attention of both of your parents. He sat when he saw his mother eying him with interest, waiting out the rest of the meal in silence.

******

In your room you exited the large double doors, stepping out onto a balcony that overlooked the walls. The city had a commanding presence and there was a raven perched on the wall opposite from you. Even in the distance you could see the redness of its eyes glowing in the night. All six of them. You shuddered at the sight of it and promptly returned to the room, sitting at the writing desk and finishing the letters. Leaving the notebooks and tally sheet untouched.

“y/n?” you heard Caston’s low voice on the opposite side of the large ornamental wooden door.

A lump formed in your throat, unwilling to answer his hushed call. Fear still cooled your nerves to ice, unmoving in a form of self preservation even though he could open the door himself at any time. The longer you waited the more you began to sweat again. Eventually you heard his footsteps calmly leave, tapping gently against the stone floor in the hallway and then the thud of a door opening and closing not too far off.

His room must have been close to yours. It didn’t bother you as much as you thought since nothing was more terrifying than being in a room alone with him so soon after your reunion, which would have happened if you answered him.

Another knock came after a long period of silence, this time the voice of a younger woman came through so you rose and opened the door slowly. In her hands was a tray with a teapot, a ceramic cup, and a small covered bowl.

“Young master Galgaridon asked me to bring you this,” she smiled, walking past you swiftly when you moved aside for her.

She lit a small candle under the burner, placing the teapot on top with a soft clink of the sturdy ceramic. With a towel, she grabbed the handle of the lid on the bowl and lifted it to reveal a light soup. The aroma was delightful and you were keen to try it once your stomach growled in response.

You thanked her and told her you needed nothing else on her way out.

“Oh wait, I was also asked to give you this,” she turned on her heels and handed you a folded and sealed letter before curtsying, leaving you alone once again.

Knowing yourself better than anyone, you set the letter aside to read after finishing your food. Whatever was written could wait and you didn’t want more nerves stopping you from getting a proper meal that day.

The taste of the familiar tea almost brought tears to your eyes, wondering why Caston would remember something so small as your regular order. You sipped it gratefully once your meal was finished, sitting back in the large soft chair and staring at the letter in your grip.

With the flick of your finger you broke the wax seal. He must have sealed it to stop the maid from getting too nosy and reading it, and you wouldn’t have blamed her for her curiosity either.

Please know I will make myself scarce while your family is here if that is your wish. I am on leave from my military duties, but at your word I will return. Words cannot express the anguish I have felt all these years after what I did to you. Your forgiveness is all I can beg for and I will still accept that you may never grace me with it.

There is a rope by your bed, pull it whenever you need something and a maid will come in case you never want to leave your room while you’re staying here. Though it would be a shame to be locked away for two weeks on my account.

I assure you, I’m not the same man you knew.

-Caston

Holding the letter with a trembling hand you lowered it into your lap. A weight seemed to lift from your chest. Yet the damage was still there, somewhere in the pit of your stomach when the memories would come unannounced, but time dulled it especially with the closure of seeing him again as a different man.

You were tempted to respond, but thought better of it, not wanting to open that door just yet. Sure he seemed different in every way. Waiting until more time had passed between you seemed best.

******

The next day you wished to remain in your room, much to the detriment of your father that insisted you at least sit in on the opening discussions. He ushered you out of your seat where you were comfortably reading. Begrudgingly following him out into the hallway. Listening to him begin lecturing you about the nature of business and how you needed to build a relationship with your clients in order to get what you wanted out of each other. It sounded shallow coming from him, but you ignored that feeling, trying to wake yourself up.

Feeling underdressed was an understatement when you entered the library where Caston sat with his parents and your mother at a large wooden table.

Caston and his father stood when you entered, stiff and regal in their black military uniforms. Your mother and mistress Galgaridon were both in simple classy dresses and you got a disapproving look from your mother when she looked you up and down.

Ignoring the simplicity of your outfit, corduroy pants and a tucked in button up shirt, you let your father push your chair in beside Caston. Everyone was seated and settled in. Discussions began and you tried to listen intently, committing the way your parents spoke to memory in case this was really your future.

The Galgaridons had a vested interest in assisting their country’s military efforts and were in the middle of renovating a dilapidated factory where they wanted to forge an arsenal and armor. It was not a topic you heavily favored or would want to support as a business venture, but with Caston sitting beside you, you kept your opinions to yourself. You respected his view on how the army changed him and it took effort to keep the peace.

The discussions met a good place to break and your parents were offered to take a look at the factory to see what they would have to work with once the builders were finished with renovations.

“Caston, please show her around the manor and be a good host while we’re gone,” Master Galgaridon chuckled and left with your parents.

“But-“ Caston began to protest, but one sharp look from his mother silenced him and he held his hands behind his back. Following orders like a good soldier even if it was just a request from his parents.

You both watched everyone leave, even the butler that had been standing by in the corner of the room. It was deadly silent in the library where bookshelves towered over you. You couldn’t help but stare at the spines of the books, trying to read the titles with the temptation to pick them up and flip through their pages.

“You’re allowed,” he tilted his head towards you, noticing your hungry eyes.

“To what?”

“Read. The library is yours to roam,” he gave you space and stepped away to push in the chairs everyone left untucked. “But in case my mother asks you about our home, please bear with me on this tour. I’ll make it quick.”

Shrugging your shoulders in acceptance, you clasped your hands together and followed him out of the library. You let him tell you about the halls and rooms you passed through, detailing how old his home was and how his family occupied it for generations. Statues and art caught your attention as always. Lingering around the art, he let you take your time and enjoy the moments alone with your thoughts

“Your family seems to love preserving themselves,” you commented when you stopped by a copper bust of Caston.

“My mother insists on it,” he grimaced at the copy staring back at him with furrowed brows. He rubbed at his own real brow in the realization that he often scowled so it was no wonder that’s how the artists depicted him.

“So does my father,” you remembered sitting for a new painter every few years in uncomfortable dresses, often holding objects that meant nothing to you, but resembled status for the family.

“How are you feeling?” he whispered as a maid crossed your path in a large military memorial room adorned with weapons, suits of armor, and relics from conquests.

“About the room?” you feigned ignorance to the true nature of his question.

“About being around me… I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he stopped his hand from reaching out to your sleeve when he thought of holding you back from walking off further into the room ahead of him.

“Caston I can’t do this if you’re going to bring it up every chance you get,” you turned hotly on your heels. Approaching him with a confidence you didn’t know you had until that moment and pointed a stern finger in his face. “You don’t scare me anymore and what happened can't be undone so give it a rest already. I got your letters, I got your message at dinner, I got all of your friendly gestures sent by the maids last night from bringing me books to checking on me way too much! If you hoped for more I’d better retire to my room and be alone until the trip is over.” Your chest huffed when you were finished with bombarding him, lowering your finger and feeling rather satisfied with yourself.

Caston stood there looking down at you with bewilderment and held back an old familiar smirk.

“I want for nothing anymore, I didn’t mean to upset you,” he apologized in a low voice, paying attention to who might have been nearby listening. “It’s nice to see you come out of your shell.”

Waving him onwards wordlessly, he continued guiding you through the manor and made quick work of it. When the tour was finished you were led back to the library where he left you to your own devices after recommending a few sections to peruse.

You watched him leave, carefully pulling a large volume about the history of Noxus from a shelf he had not recommended for light reading. It made sense for you to broaden your horizons about the world you lived in instead of living off of the opinions of others and rumors that were thrown around. All your life you knew Noxus was an uncivilized dangerous place to be, yet here you were with your family on a business trip. Obviously not all places in Noxus were as safely locked away as House Galgaridon. It made sense that only the strong could survive in comfort and why Caston ended up the way he did, not that it excused his behavior.

The history book was filled with wars and a constant struggle for power, ruthless bloodshed in the name of Noxus.

You made it about halfway through the book before nightfall came and a maid arrived to light the fireplace. Since you didn’t send for her you assumed the staff were keeping tabs on you and knew you hadn’t moved from where he left you earlier that day. Trying to finish the book in the library was growing more difficult with the darker it became. Not from the darkness and being unable to see the words on the paper, because the fire was bright enough. Rather it was because you felt exposed in the cavernous library where every shift of your clothing against the material of the seat would echo. It was also getting colder despite the fire.

Holding the book to your chest you made your way back to your room and were quickly lost in the maze of halls. It must have been the private corridors the maids and other staff used to go about the manor unnoticed. You continued down a long narrow hall, feeling the cracks in the stone with your fingertips and listening to the scrape of your shoes against the wood. Soon there was no light at all and you thought of turning back when another pair of footsteps approached you in the darkness. A deafness came over your ears as the sound of the footsteps competed with your racing heart and you quickly walked back in the opposite direction.

A strong hand gripped your arm and you yelped.

“It’s me. Sorry for the scare,” Caston’s deep voice surprisingly put you at ease, his grip was gentle and careful to not hurt you. “I was coming to get you, everyone is back and I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

“I’m sorry I-“ you held your hand in front of your face and couldn’t make out anything, “I took a wrong turn somewhere. Once the sun finished setting, these halls became pitch black. How does anyone get around in these long stretches of nothing at night?”

His quiet deep chuckle echoed against the stone and down the hall. You felt his fingers carefully cup your spare hand and place it in the crook of his elbow. “You get used to it, but that’s why we keep them empty,” he began to walk, slower than he usually would in the shadow.

With your eyes unnaturally wide you continued to stare into the black, waiting to see even the tiniest glimmer of light as your feet made the only noise. When Caston came to a stop you worried for a moment before he pushed a wooden door open. It had been a foot away from your face, but you didn’t even notice until the light from the main hall flooded the passageway. Squinting your eyes against the light, even though it came from dim candles, you noticed you were back by the door of your room.

“We didn’t take any turns did we?” you asked, taking your hand back from his arm and stepping towards your door.

“No, but you did at some point before I found you,” he gave a subtle bow, “I’ll have someone collect you in an hour for dinner if you’d like to join us.”

You nodded, earning a soft smile from him in return. Shutting the door to your room once he left, you noticed the room was warm. Spending the hour reading more of the history book instead of changing into something more appropriate, you enjoyed the blazing fire as the heat kissed away the chill from your bare feet. The soft chair and reading table had been pushed up to the fireplace in your absence.

Having so many staff members in one home seemed excessive and you could never imagine growing comfortable letting people dote on your every need. A simpler life was what you craved, even your family home felt excessive at times once you experienced dorm living in the academy district of Piltover.

Thinking of Piltover made you wistful. Feeling Viktor’s absence and realizing how much you missed him after only a week of being gone since most of the trip had been the train ride up to Noxus. Viktor was most likely enjoying his vacation just fine, visiting your usual haunts alone ranging from the library, the café, or even the art store he occasionally stopped by with you. Imagining him relaxing put a smile on your face. You decided to write him a letter, telling him about the trip so far and letting him know you were safe despite the unexpected situation you landed in.

It was lengthy and word heavy, but you missed him so much you wrote the same way you would talk to him if he was sitting there in the room with you. You imagined how the trip would have gone if he accepted your invitation. The tension between him and Caston was something you hated to think of and felt relieved he wanted to stay behind and just work.

When you finished, you borrowed Caston’s stationary supplies from the writing desk to seal it with the only crest that was there. Lighting the candle with a match and holding the red wax over the flame, watching it swirl and melt in the golden ladle. Viktor was none the wiser on what the crest meant until he read the letter so there were no worries about it being tossed or not making it to him at all.

Once his name and the school address was penned on the folded wad of paper, you stuffed it into your pocket. Unsure of who to ask to mail it, you figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask Caston at dinner which was not far off.

The knock of a maid at the door broke your train of thought, thoughts of the trip back being too far away and getting to see Viktor again.

You followed her to the dining room, feeling calmer than the previous night and looking forward to the meal. This time you took your seat next to Caston willingly, letting him push your chair in again.

“Who would I talk to about sending mail?” you whispered, allowing him to lean into your bubble to hear you.

“Any of the staff, or I could give it to them if you’re not comfortable asking,” he held his hand out and you slipped the letter against his palm. His eyes read the name. If it stirred anything negative in him, nothing gave his feelings away. “I know it’s not my place to pry, but how is he?” he asked, it sounded genuine, as he carefully tucked the letter into his dress jacket.

“Um… he’s got some pain here and there,” you admitted, lifting your utensil to take a bite, “but he manages.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he straightened his back, “I’ll make sure this gets out tonight,” he assured you, tilting his head towards you as you both continued with your meals after you thanked him.

******

Caston was true to his word when your confirmation arrived in the response letter that was slipped under your door the following week. It was folded neatly and lacked a wax seal, but looked relatively undisturbed considering the length it must have traveled to get there. You were giddy unfolding it, overly excited to read whatever Viktor wrote even if it was a few meager lines.

Instead it was much like your letter to him, two pages stacked on top of each other made up the folded wad of paper and you read them front to back. Picturing everything he detailed about his work in the lab and getting accepted as a teaching assistant for the following semester. On top of that he listed books he treated himself to, and some surprises for you, from the second hand shop outside of the academy district. Meeting people in the aisles that talked enthusiastically about the books and their contents or complaining about the lack of organization on the shelves. The little successes of getting strangers outside of the academy to laugh at his dry humor were a joy to read about.

His descriptions of the city and how refreshing it was now that the weather was turning and the chill was setting in made you miss home. The last of the flowers from summer were beginning to wilt so the school greenhouse brought their plants in before the frost set. Apparently he went days at a time without visiting the lab which you were glad to hear just knowing he was taking time to himself. Even learning that he was trying his hand at art that didn’t involve mechanical designs made your aching heart flutter.

You imagined him sitting outside with the first snow in the city, drawing on a sketch pad and content.

He expressed many concerns about your situation, wishing you could return to the academy at once for your own safety, but trusted your intuition to keep yourself safe.

There was a line about how he wasn’t sure about the flora that was in Noxus, but he thought you would appreciate a little piece of home. A tiny pressed white flower from the academy green room was tucked neatly between the pages. You touched it gingerly with your fingertips, not wanting to damage the delicate petals. Unexpected tears pooled in your eyes once you finished reading his letter, missing him so much seemed irrational and made you feel something awful inside.

Getting out of bed that day was impossible despite the maid’s best efforts. You kept your bed curtain closed and wrestled with the pull to sleep and her persistent visitations to try and rouse you.

You figured you deserved a day of complete rest and isolation and you explained it to your mother when she eventually gave in and visited you when a staff member asked for her assistance.

“I’ve been participating in business meetings for days mother,” you insisted, “please let me have this one day to do nothing. I don’t want to see anyone else today,” you begged her from your warm cocoon of plush blankets.

She lovingly petted your unkempt hair, her reassuring smile let you know you had gotten your way with her for once. She kissed your forehead and let you rest which you were unbelievably grateful for.

Pulling out Viktor’s letter, you read it a few more times between naps and walking around the room in your pajamas. Feeling free and not needing to impress or entertain anyone.

******

On the last day in Noxus, you let Caston show you the grounds outside the back of the manor. It was a lush garden, packed with all kinds of plants as they competed for space and attention. There were flowers of many deep and dark colors that you lingered by, listening to the hum of the city beyond the protective barrier that surrounded you. Despite the noise, there was a peace in the garden that even the safety of your room hadn’t given you.

Your conversation with him was light and the responses between you were brief. After spending so many days together the tension was eased enough to be friendly acquaintances once more. Similar to how it felt when you were just classmates, still strangers to the kind of people you were outside of a formal setting back then.

Prying questions from your mother over the course of your stay made you open up to her at least a little, only letting her know you and Caston dated, but ended on poor terms. She didn’t need to know anymore.

Even his parents hadn’t a clue about your history with their son, instead they made jokes about how you two should date. Awkward laughs were all either of you were able to muster before losing yourselves in a thousand yard stare.

“I don’t regret our time together,” you told him from where you were kneeling among the flowers when he was facing away from you.

Standing rigidly against the bright sun with his eyes closed, basking in its warmth. His eyelids blinked a few times in surprise at your words. Since you scolded him the previous week he had respected your wishes and avoided speaking of the dirty laundry that was the end of your relationship.

“We don’t have to talk about it, y/n,” he was frozen in place, his broad back still facing you.

“Now I want to,” you sat back into the grass, “I don’t want you to keep punishing yourself for what happened.”

You saw his shoulders tremble when his head dropped to his chest.

“Your face… you have to see it in the mirror everyday… the scars,” his voice caught in his throat, “This is your pain, not mine. Please don’t worry about me, I don’t deserve your pity.”

“I don’t pity you.”

“Good.”

“Would you have killed me… if I didn’t escape?” you asked without thinking. It was cruel, but your curiosity got the better of you with your guard lowered.

He finally turned, his face was contorted with anguish.

“I know you probably won’t believe me, but I don’t remember everything that happened,” he admitted. “I just remember the enforcers, the arrest… perhaps I would have.”

With a thud, he knelt beside you and pulled up his sleeves. Long scars trailed up his forearms where you remembered scratching him that night.

“I barely remember you doing this,” his voice cracked.

In the privacy of the garden you both sat in silence, holding back tears and sniffling against the breeze when the tension began to dissipate once more. You apologized for bringing it up after you scolded him for doing the same, but you appreciated the honesty regardless. In an attempt to mitigate the pain, you both talked about the good times before his jealousy took over. He reminisced about your dates and the first time you kissed.

“You should go back to school,” you suggested. “I know the academy isn’t the only place you could go.”

“I serve my nation, just as my parents did,” he leaned on his hands, letting his head hang back.

“You’re trying to get yourself killed and you know it,” you gave him a pointed look which he ignored. “Please go to school.”

“I can’t just leave the army,” he explained, “I’d be a deserter. A traitor. I have to finish the time I’ve committed to serve.”

Nodding your head reluctantly in agreement you waited for time to pass before you had to leave. Most likely not seeing him again for a long time once you boarded the train back to Piltover.

******

Thanks for making it to the end! :)

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #reader x viktor #viktor #arcane viktor #viktor/reader #reader/viktor #viktor arcane x reader #reader #arcane #arcane reader insert #perfect strangers

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Palliate.

Pairing: Yandere!Witch/Reader.

Word Count: 3.7k.

TW: Emotional Manipulation, Amnesia, Obsessive Mindsets, Mentions of Violence, Blood and Bruising, Mentions of Death.

Mint, to settle your nerves.

That was the first thing he’d taught you, before you were strong enough to do anything more than sit on the edge of your bed and listen. Three leaves if you were desperate, two if you weren’t, and one if you just needed something to focus on, to take your mind off your own hazy thoughts and the places they tended to lead, when you let them wander freely. He said that was normal, that it should be expected. You’d spent so long incapacitated, it was only natural you’d be a little unsteady, once you finally got back on your feet. He said that it’d get better, over time, but you’d have to fight through it. You’d have to give yourself time to let it get better, even if there were little things you both could do to help.

The mint helped. Most of the time, at least. More than most little things did.

You tried to concentrate on the flavor, now, letting it distract you from the sun beating down on the back of your neck, from small bruises forming on your knees as you kneeled between rows of rue and sage and rosemary just far enough apart to let you tug at the weeds invading his otherwise pristine garden. It was a little odd to be outside the small cottage you’d become so closely acquainted with, even if you were only a few paces away, still hesitant to venture beyond the clearing you’d spent so much time observing while you were bedridden. You were still injured, technically, and you’d been told time and time again not to test your own limits. He said you should… You were sure you should be doing something, but—

“Didn't I ask you to rest?”

Right. That made sense.

You weren't supposed to get out of bed, just yet.

A hand came to settle on your shoulder, and reflexively, you glanced towards the man now lingering behind you. You really didn’t need to, though. His voice would’ve been enough, a calm drawl strung out into something playful, fondness coming easily and anger still a long ways off. He’d never gotten mad at you before, but the threat persisted. You didn’t want to be more of a nuisance than absolutely necessary, especially after he’d been so kind to you.

“There’s only so much sleep I can take,” You replied. You didn’t want to be a nuisance, but you didn’t want to spend the rest of your life in bed, either. “I’m starting to think that’s your only trick, uh...”

“Eden, love. Just Eden.” There was a pause, his sly smile turning sympathetic. “Is your memory acting up again?”

“It’s not as bad as it used to be.” You were telling the truth. For weeks, you’d barely been able to hold onto your own name, let alone anything about your eternally patient host. But, Eden (you tried to remind yourself of that, to make a note of it, Eden) was kind enough to give you time. You needed time. You needed patience. “I found the door, didn’t I?”

“And it’s nearly been a week since the last time you wandered into the forest,” He noted as he crouched at your side, earning a small, offended noise and an elbow to his bicep, just forceful enough to warrant a hum, a slight pout, something between a whine and a chuckle. You didn’t want to stare, but you let yourself watch as his expression softened, as his gazed flickered towards the sprout of basil at your feet and a shock of white hair fell over his eyes. He looked like he was going to reach towards you, like he was going to touch you, but he stopped himself, letting his hand slip down to the satchel at his waist, instead, calloused fingers running over the well-worn leather.

You wondered what he kept in it, sometimes. You’d never seen him without it, not willingly, and he spent so long in the forest every day, he kept himself so busy with so many traps and snares and spots of ink littered across hand-drawn maps, it would’ve been impossibly to guess what he thought was worth keeping by his side. He brought enough of it back, bundles of assorted feathers and glass jars full of golden pollen and other things, stranger things, things you could barely catch a glimpse of before they were shoved to the backs of cabinets and forgotten about, on your end, at least. Eden didn’t forget about such important things as quickly as you did.

“It’ll get better,” He went on, finally, just when you thought he’d stopped talking altogether. “And, if it doesn’t, we’ll find a way to make it better.”

He sounded so sure of himself. You wanted to believe him, when he sounded like that. You did believe him.

You couldn’t remember a time when you hadn’t.

Ginger, to alleviate migraines.

It wasn’t for you, luckily. Of all the ailments you suffered from, you’d been left mercifully exempt from headaches and vertigo and all those minor, awful things that would make your life just a little harder than it had to be. If anything, your head was always a little too light, a little too empty, especially after so many hours of following the same unpaved road with nothing to think about but the passing scenery and Eden’s vague instructions, little more than a list of names and goods. Little to go off of, despite his insistence that you be the one to go.

You’d asked why he didn’t just go himself the first time he sent you on your way with a basket of herbs and roots, but Eden had only frowned, shaking his head. He said he wasn’t welcome, not in the marketplace, not in a village that’d already come to know him by name. He said that, if you cared for him at all, you wouldn’t subject him to a full day of haggling in hushed tones with women who refuse to sell mediocre incense for anything less than a small fortune.

And since you did (foolishly) care for him, you went. Not that you were anymore wanted in the marketplace than he was.

You hated it, compared to the cozy isolation of Eden’s home. You hated how crowded it was, how alien it felt to have to navigate the cramped stalls, how the merchant in front of you scowled as he weighed small bags of the exotic, colorful spices Eden was so fond of, the ones that you could never seem to taste the way you were supposed to, judgingly by how liberally Eden used them. He didn’t try to hide the disdain in his voice as he spoke, aged weariness mixed with a self-righteous reluctant. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t used to it, that constant trepidation from people who didn't understand you, from people who didn't care for Eden. At least he was kind enough not to hide it. “Running errands for the witch hermit, again?”

“Eden’s not a hermit.” You tried to smile, to brush it off as if was just another misconception. He wasn’t. You weren’t sure what he was, but he liked people, he liked having someone else around. Or, he liked having you around, at least. He didn’t seem to care much about company, beyond that. “He just enjoys his privacy. We both do.”

“Only a witch, then.” There was a pause, a gruff laugh that didn’t match his grim disposition. Something in the back of your throat tightened, and silently, you wished he’d be a bit more wary of you. Just enough to keep him from speaking so openly. “I’d take what you can and go, if I were you. He takes after his father, and that man spent his whole life makin’ a monster of himself, playing with things no one should. His son ain’t much different.”

It was your turn to laugh, now. “He cries whenever he finds fawns separated from their mothers. He takes in tadpoles he finds puddles. I don’t think Eden is capable of cruelty.” He was a kind man. You’d never seen him be anything but kind. If he had an ulterior motive, if he had a single sadistic bone in his body, you had yet to find it. “He took me in, too, when I was injured. He might be the only reason I have a roof over my head, now. That’s not a kindness I can say very many people have showed me.”

His lips pursed, the barest hints of confusion crossing his expression. It was gone in an instant, and you tried not to linger on it. He thought poorly of Eden, but the mere fact that you were alive – walking and breathing and alive – was enough to earn him your gratitude. Regardless of what a merchant and a marketplace worth of gossip thought. You knew what you believed, you knew what was true, and you wouldn’t let a few rumors convince you otherwise.

Although, you’d be lying if you said that belief didn’t waver, as he went on. “Cruelty isn’t all you have to worry about.”

You opened your mouth. Then, you closed it again, keeping your eyes on the basket still hanging limply on your arm. He wasn’t done yet, not with the spices, not with his poorly veiled warnings, but you didn’t want to listen. You could listen, you would listen, but you didn’t want to. You didn’t want to believe anything you heard in such a crowded place, in such an awful place.

You just wanted to get back to Eden.

Willow bark, to take the pain away.

It’s more of a comfort than a necessity, by now. You used to need it, rely on it, and you still liked to keep a bundle nearby, just in case, for days where the soreness was worse than it should be and you needed something to take the edge off, to suppress that overwhelming ache back into a steady throb. But, you never needed it, not like you used to. Not like you had when your injury was a defining feature rather than an afterthought and Eden’s medical expertise was more of a experimental artform than a practiced skill.

His hands didn’t shake, anymore, as his fingers skirted over your bare skin, following along the outline of your wound, the trail of stitches that stretched from the bottom of your shoulder bone to the center of your rib cage and repeated itself, carrying over again and again and again, forming neat rows of tender flesh and scar tissue that refused to stop any higher than your hip bone. He wasn’t hesitant, not with the needle, not as he pushed it through the long-suffering spots where he’d first messily laid your stitches months ago, and he didn’t have to look at you to recognize the way you shifted, the soft string of expletives you let out, to notice your little attempts to turn your head at just the right angle, flinch at just the right time to—

“Eyes on the ceiling,” He demanded. With a small huff, you obeyed, turning back towards the furthest wall. “It’ll only get worse, if you look.”

You knew that. He’d said as much as thousand times before, once for every day he'd tended to your lasting wounds. You were tempted to try, to insist it was only fair that you got to know what was going on with your own body, but you trusted Eden, and it was easier to tilt your head back than to argue, to search the cluttered room for something more interesting than the boy sitting at your side and your own, nagging discomfort.

You were in his workshop, now, an area separated from the rest of the cottage and filled to the brim with the tools of Eden’s trade – blooming flowers permanently encased in blocks of amber, the shells of insects hollowed out and ground into a fine powder, pots, everywhere, some empty and some not, the largest placed over a smoldering hearth that never seemed to grow dimmer, despite how often Eden forgot to tend to it. There was something inside, a substance you didn’t recognize, bubbling and black as a starless sky. It was already solidifying around the edges of its cauldron, crystallizing into rows of jagged, silvery edges slowly creeping along the coaction's surface like an infection. Like a parasite. Like something that shouldn’t have existed but continued to, regardless.

Eden must’ve caught you staring. The needle stilled, and instead, he took to dabbing something cool and smooth around the edges of your scars. A rag, or a balm, or a dozen other possible remedies. You didn't try to look. “It’s for you,” He explained, as if that made it any better. “One of my father’s incomplete recipes. He never figured out how to stop it from hardening once it’s exposed to open air.” Eden clicked his tongue, pulling the thread he was working with taut, and you cringed, tying to ignore the slight pinch. It didn’t hurt, not really, not like it used to. It didn’t hurt at all, if you were being honest, but it felt like it should’ve. “The color isn’t right, either. And I’ve already fed enough dye into the damn thing to poison a small village.”

You should’ve laughed. You wanted to, you knew it was the reaction he was looking for, but it was all you could do to avert your stare, to let your fingers curl around the edge of the table he’d perched you on. "They really don’t like you.”

“I’ve noticed.” A blunt response, not abrasive, but not encouraging, either. Not as dismissive as you would’ve preferred. “And yet, they manage to stomach my cures regardless. It’s funny how quickly pain softens the heart, isn’t it?”

“They say it’s unnatural.” You were pushing, now. You should know better than to push. You never found out anything good, when you tried to push. “They say your father used to dabble in things that shouldn’t be.”

Eden sighed, pushing himself to his feet. There was a short silence, interrupted only by the sound of glass knocking against glass before he dropped what he was holding, stepping in front of you and cupping your face with both hands, instead, forcing you to face him, to meet his dark eyes. Black eyes. Lightless eyes. A contradiction when compared his tanned skin and warm smile. A contradiction you tried to overlook as he bent down, kissing the top of your head so gently, you could almost bring yourself to ignore it altogether.

“My father was a toymaker and a healer. My mother died in childbirth. He did what he could to take care of me, and there is nothing unnatural about that.” He took a moment to laugh, to hold you, and you couldn’t be help but be thankful for it. Only weeks ago, he’d been afraid to touch you, afraid to watch you break all over again. Now, it was all he could do to let you go long enough for his arms to fall to your waist, for your face to find his chest, his tunic, a place to hide yourself away from the rest of the world. You didn’t want to go back, not to the village, not to the marketplace, not to the lonely, hurtful, desolate world outside his cottage. You didn’t want to go back to a place filled with so many people so determined to separate you from Eden. You didn’t want to return to a life you couldn’t remember, one where you wouldn’t have the man who’d saved you by your side. “He loved his family, just as I love you.”

For once, you didn’t have to convince yourself to believe him.

Witch hazel, to stop the bleeding.

You’d need it. You’d need a lot of it, more than you should for such a small cut, a jagged line drawn from the corner of your eye to your opposite check, thin but deep and bleeding, pouring out, washing over your hands as you tried to clutch at your face and rub away the damage, like a child trying to blink away a bad dream. Your legs might’ve been bleeding, too, the sides of your ankles, the backs of your thighs, your skin scraped raw in all the places you’d hit the ground as you tripped, falling over your own feet at your stumbled backward, but you didn’t check, you didn’t want to check, you didn’t want to see how bad it was. You didn’t want to take your eyes off the man in front of you, his towering stature, his grim expression.

His sword, silver and unsheathed and pointed at your heart, as it had been from the moment he first caught sight of you.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. No one was supposed to be here, in Eden’s forest, only minutes away from the cottage you’d come to think of as your safe haven. He hadn’t asked for your name, he hadn’t mentioned Eden, he hadn’t said a word to you, not before there was a dagger flashing across your line of sight, a weapon quickly discarded for something more intimidating, something that’d let him stay at arm’s length while he approached you, his stare holding yours, his lips pulled into a thin frown. “I—” You tried, but your voice gave out quickly. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had threatened your life. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been so scared. “Please, I didn’t mean to get in your—”

“Stop talking.” His tone was flat, apathetic, the barest hints of rage seeping through a weathered veil of neutrality. Immediately, you fell silent. “Who said you had the right to use that voice?”

You opened your mouth, but you thought better of it, biting down on the inside of your cheek as you bowed your head. You wanted to get back to Eden, back to his cottage. You wanted to be anywhere but here. You wanted to run, but you wanted to get out of this with your head on your shoulders, too. “Are you going to kill me?”

“It will not be a true death.” There was a pause, a reluctant hesitation. You pulled your knees into your chest, your hand still pressed to your wound, but the gesture didn’t seem to earn you any pity. “But, I am going to make this—”

He stopped, abruptly, his head attention towards something behind you. You heard it a moment later – measured footsteps, barely making a sound against the dead leaves and branches that littered the forest floor. You didn’t turn around. You didn’t have to.

Not when there was only one person who’d ever bother to save you.

“Adam,” Eden called, already positioning himself at your side. His hand was already on his satchel, toying with the buckle. Like he’d done this, before. Like he already knew it wouldn’t resolve itself peacefully. “There are easier ways to introduce yourself. If you put that sword away, I’m sure (Y/n) could still find a way to forgive—”

“Do not call it by that name.” He was focused on Eden, now, leaving you to fade into the background, to observe as his hands began to shake and he glared, baring his teeth, as Eden had done more than try to play peacekeeper. “That is not (Y/n). It doesn’t deserve to pretend it is, none of your abominations do. It won't bring— It can't—” He trailed off, his sword falling back to his side, his eyes clenching shut. You almost felt bad for him, your would-be murderer, but Eden’s expression remained cold, unbothered. Slowly, almost idly, he reached down, taking you by the arm and helping you to your feet, letting you tuck yourself against him as Adam finally found his voice.

“(Y/n) is dead. Nothing you do can change that.”

A moment passed in silence, still, deathly, frigid silence.

Then, Eden spoke.

“I can handle this on my own.” He didn’t deny it. He wasn’t denying it. Why wasn’t he denying it? “I need you to brew tea, Chamomile. Gather as much lavender as you can on your way home, until your pockets are full and you can’t carry anymore. Can you do that for me, love?”

You nodded, but you were still shaking, still unsure, still so, so confused. You weren’t dead. You could breathe, and you could think, and you ate and you slept and you weren’t dead. “I’m not.” You didn’t know who you were talking to – Adam, still clutching his sword, still ready to behead whoever his blade could reach or Eden, your Eden, the gentle protector who hadn’t looked at you once since his arrival. You just wanted someone to say it wasn’t true. You just needed someone to say it wasn’t true. “I’m not. I’m alive. I’m not de—”

“I’m in love,” Eden said, his voice soft. As if he hadn’t heard you at all. “Why does everyone act as if that’s so monstrous?”

You didn’t want to hear Adam’s response. You didn’t want to hear anything, not from him, not from Eden, and certainly not from your own frenzied thoughts, racing and only growing louder as you ran, sprinting, stumbling through the forest in any direction your legs would carry you. A crooked sob racked over your chest, and reflexively, you moved to brush away the tears blurring your vision, but you couldn’t feel yourself when you should’ve, it wasn’t flesh that met your cheek. Your eyes darted to your hand, a sneer already playing at your lips for whatever mud or decaying foliage had plastered itself against your skin, but…

But, you found a small trail of crystals, instead, silvery-glass that coated your palm, rows of jagged edges that hadn’t been there before, that shouldn’t have been there, where your blood had stained your skin only minutes ago. Or, where you thought your blood should’ve stained your skin. You hadn’t looked.

You hadn’t looked.

You froze dead in your tracks.

Slowly, our raised a hand to your face, to the cut carved into it, to what should’ve been a bloody, bloody wound. Something jagged met your fingertips, but you ignored the slight sting. It didn’t hurt. Not as much as it should’ve. Not as much as you wanted it to.

By the time you pulled away, your hand was covered with it. Thick, cool, forming webs between your fingers as you spread them apart. Dark. A kind of dark you’d only seen once.

As black as a starless sky.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere prompts #yandere imagines #yandere oneshots #yandere scenarios #yandere oc #male yandere #yandere oc x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere ocs #yandere witch #yandere fantasy #yanderecore #yancore

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imaginejamesandsirius · 3 years ago

Note

Hey i love your stories! Can you please write a fanfic where after Lily rejects James yet again, Sirius starts to give James hints that he is into him. Also make Harry time travel to the past while all this is happening. And Harry witnesses a cute Prongsfoot or Jirius or Starbucks. And learns the truth about himself that us parents are James Potter and Sirius Black ?

((A/N: Trans Sirius-- with a brief mention of a trans pregnancy since most of this fic takes place in Hogwarts))

Sirius rubbed a hand in circles against James's back for comfort. Or at least, he hoped it was comforting him, but he wasn't sure if it was having the intended effect. "It's not that bad, mate," Sirius said.

"She looked at me like she wanted nothing more than for me to drop dead," James muttered.

Sirius swallowed and plucked up some courage-- he was always in short supply of it when it came to James. "That's what I mean. She's not interested. Maybe it's time for you to... try with someone else. Someone that already knows you and likes you for it."

"Mm. Yeah," James said, sounding resigned, "maybe." He looked over at Sirius with a small, sad smile. "What happened to 'don't worry about it, Prongs, she'll come around'?"

"You're miserable like this," Sirius said. "If chasing after her is going to make you this sad, I don't care if you end up happily married with five kids, ten years from now. I would rather you be happy now, and only get more happy in the next ten years, rather than be utterly miserable in the beginning."

James laughed, and his smile lost the sadness. "Thanks, Padfoot."

That was more progress than he'd had in the last year. He smiled back.

"You make it sound like there's someone just waiting to date me," James said. They were laid out on the Quidditch Pitch, looking up at the cloudy sky. They'd started by pointing out the clouds that they found shapes in, then they started making up elaborate lies for what they saw, then the conversation-- as it so often did when they were talking without direction-- turned to Lily. From there, James admitted that he thought Sirius was right about not trying to date her anymore, and Sirius told him that he would have better opportunities in the future.

"Maybe there is," Sirius said, feeling like his throat had something stuck in it. "Have you taken a look around lately? You're great, and I'm sure someone has noticed that-"

"Mister Potter!"

They both sat up. Professor McGonagall was striding towards them, so they scrambled to their feet. "We're allowed to be out here," James said, sounding both defensive and confused. They weren't going to get in trouble, were they? It wasn't after hours, and the Quidditch Pitch wasn't off limits.

"You need to come with me, immediately."

"I didn't do anything wrong for once," James said, sounding more confused than ever. Sirius felt much the same.

"You are not in trouble," she said, sounding frustrated. "There's a matter the Headmaster needs to see you about."

James started forward, and Sirius did too.

"Your presence is not required, Mister Black," she said.

Sirius stopped in his tracks, blinking at her. Where James went, he went. The professors hardly bothered to give them separate detentions anymore, since they knew there was no point in it. He shared a look with James, and they both shrugged. James left with Professor McGonagall, and Sirius sank back onto the pitch.

Well. Sod everything. He felt like he'd been about to make some progress. James barely thought about other people as a romantic option, and he certainly didn't think of Sirius that way. He'd been about to broach it as a possibility. A very minor possibility. Barely a nudge in the right direction.

He knew what would happen if he told James flat out that he was interested in him: panic and rejection. James would panic when he heard that Sirius fancied him because he hadn't expected it, and when James heard something he didn't expect of this magnitude, he'd run away. James only ran when it was family. His parents. Sirius. Nobody else. Sirius wasn't quite sure when he became part of 'family' and not simply 'best mate', and he didn't know if it excluded him from being a possible partner or not. Once James started thinking about other people, it would be easier to see if he stood half a chance.

Harry could never remember seeing his parents. He'd known them when he was a baby, obviously, but that had been it. The complete beginning and end of his time with them. He didn't have any memories. All he had were the photos that Hagrid had kindly given him, and the handful of stories that people had told him. The pictures were great. Harry could look through them a dozen times and not be bored. The stories were barely existent. They were tidbits more than anything else. 'Your father loved Quidditch' and 'your mother was clever'. They weren't full stories about a prank his father had done, or something his mother had done while she was Head Girl. No stories. Just personality traits. He wanted... more. More memories for his parents that were long gone.

He wanted to feel some sort of connection to them. He hadn't meant for that to be taken to an entirely new level, but he should hardly be surprised that his magic had led him to it. Led him directly to his parents at Hogwarts, while they were in sixth year.

"I didn't mean for this to happen," Harry said apologetically to Professor Dumbledore, but he couldn't take his eyes off his father. He was only a couple years younger here than he was in the most recent photos Harry had of him. It was strange to think that only a few years from now, the teenager in front of him would be a father. Harry tried to imagine himself doing that, and he couldn't.

"I'm your father?" James asked numbly.

"Yeah," Harry said, adding a nod unnecessarily.

"Who's your mother?"

"Lily Evans."

James's eyes went wide. "Evans? That's- that's not possible. She won't give me the time of day."

"I've been told that you start getting on in the next year or two."

"Told?" Professor McGonagall asked, and Harry hesitated.

"I'm not sure I should say," he hedged.

"Mister Potter," Professor Dumbledore said, and Harry looked over automatically, but the Headmaster was talking to his father. "Could you wait outside for a minute?"

For a second, it looked like he was going to refuse. A small part of Harry hoped that he would, that he'd demand to spend as much time with his future son as he could. But the moment passed and he gave a short nod before leaving the room.

"He's my kid from the future!" James hissed into the mirror.

Sirius's eyes went wide. He looked as shocked as James had felt. "What?"

"That's not all. He said that his mum is Evans!"

"What?"

"Apparently we start getting on in the next year or so. He didn't get to tell me more before they made leave the room, but can you imagine? Me and Evans? It was starting to feel like a fantasy, but- I guess we make it."

"Yeah."

He was so excited that he didn't notice how subdued Sirius was. "Merlin, Pads, it's incredible! I can't wait to get to know him. He'll love you. I bet you haven't changed a bit," he said, grinning.

"Ha, yeah, sounds like me."

James heard footsteps on the stairway. "Got to go."

"B-"

He tapped the mirror to end the connection before Sirius could finish getting the word out. He'd apologise for it later, if Sirius was feeling peeved. He shoved the mirror back in his robes. Some of the professors knew that they had them, but there was no reason to wave it around under their noses and risk it being confiscated.

By some stroke of fate, Harry got to be alone with Sirius. It made him feel more comfortable than anyone else. He didn't know why, because it's not like Sirius as a teenager was anything like Sirius as an adult. He didn't have the weight of Azkaban on him. He had none of the death, none of the experiences from war. Not to say that he was innocent and carefree here. His parents were utter rubbish, and he'd already run away to live with Harry's father and grandparents.

He was so different that at times, it seemed like he was a different person altogether, but his laugh was the same. When he laughed, Harry knew that he was the same person underneath it all.

It just... made him feel better to be around him.

"Missing home?" Sirius asked. They'd been told to stay inside. Naturally, Sirius had suggested they go out to the Great Lake. Harry had never done it before; it wasn't safe for him, not in his time with who he was. It was beautiful though, with the night sky clear and reflecting on the surface.

"No," Harry said.

Sirius raised an eyebrow in doubt.

"Missing my friends."

"Ah. I can understand that." Sirius retrieved a pack of smokes from his pocket. He tapped one out into his hand and offered it to Harry.

He hesitated before accepting it. "I've never had one before," he admitted, figuring that it was obvious in the way he was holding it.

"Too afraid your parents will catch you?" Sirius asked with a grin, like the idea of Harry not wanting to get in trouble with his parents was very amusing to him.

"Not really. More like... who would have offered one to me? I'm barely passing my classes with how busy I am."

"Busy with what?" Sirius asked. He didn't think it was a question that was like walking into a minefield, but it was.

"Can't say," Harry said. "How do I light this?"

Sirius snorted, but not unkindly. He flicked out a finger, a flame dancing above his skin. It reminded Harry of when he'd met Remus on the train to Hogwarts in third year and he'd been holding fire above his palm as easy as anything. He lit the end of Harry's cigarette. "Don't try to take too much at once. Small puffs until you get used to it."

Harry smoked the whole thing, chatting back and forth with Sirius. Mostly it was Sirius laughing at him and Harry asking for advice on how to hold it and asking if it was supposed to taste this bad-- the answer was yes.

"So do we get on?" Sirius asked, after he'd vanished the butts and they were just sitting by the lakeside again with nothing to do. "In your time?"

"I'm not supposed to say," Harry said, clamming up.

"Oh, c'mon. It's not the end of the bloody universe if you tell me that I do alright as a godfather. You must like me at least a little bit, if you're spending time with me now. Or I guess you could be running away from your lovebird parents with the eyes they're making at each other," he added, sounding too bitter about it considering he was talking to their son. A son who, as far as he could tell, loved his parents very dearly, even if he wasn't allowed to give any sort of details or stories.

"Do you not like them together?" Harry asked.

"Hard to dislike something you've never seen," he grumbled. "You know who you remind me of?" he asked suddenly.

"My dad?" Harry replied wryly.

"I was going to say my younger brother, actually. Regulus."

"You have a brother? I mean, I knew that you did, but. Well, you've barely mentioned him before."

"Hm," Sirius said shortly. He'd kind of hoped that Regulus left their parents too. In the future, that is. Evidently, it was a hope that never panned out. "Well. That's who you remind me of," he said, throwing on a grin that he didn't feel but looked fine enough. "The hair might be Potter, but your face screams Black."

Harry laughed. "I've never heard that one before. I'll have to remember it when I get back. Ron will get a kick out of it."

"That your best mate?"

"Yeah. He's been with me through everything. Most everything," Harry amended, because there had been that spat during the beginning of the Triwizard Tournament.

"I take it that's an 'everything' I don't get to know about?"

"Yeah."

"I hope I handle it well while it's happening then. Since I know you come out of it alright," he said, nudging Harry with his elbow.

Harry grinned knowingly.

"Ugh, don't tell me I become a swot in my old age," Sirius groaned.

"Not at all. You're just protective."

"That makes sense. You're James's kid, after all. And you do have this air about you that says you need looking after."

"And so you offered me a smoke?"

"I've always been a rebel, even to my own instincts," Sirius said loftily.

Harry laughed again.

They quieted, and a chill wind stirred their hair.

"I've always wondered-" Harry started to say, then stopped himself.

"What?"

"I'm not supposed to ask questions that give you hints about my time. No matter how much I might want to know the answer," he tacked on with a mutter.

"Couldn't you ask me when you get back?"

"Like you'd tell me if I did. You're so evasive sometimes."

"I'm evasive, but what I'm more of right now is curious. Ask me what you wanted to know, and we'll keep it between us. I won't even tell James, and if you remember us from your time, I'm sure you realise what a unique offer this is."

Harry only gave a small smile. "You sure?"

"I don't know if you noticed that I didn't promise to answer," Sirius said with a smirk.

"Oh come on. I'm asking something I'm not supposed to ask, and you won't promise your favourite godson an answer?"

"I don't remember you being my favourite godson yet."

Harry put his hands together in a pleading fashion.

"Merlin, you look like Regulus. He used to use that face on me back before Hogwarts." And it had always worked. "Fine, what did you want to ask?"

"Do you fancy someone? As far as I know, you've never dated or- been interested in anyone."

Sirius clapped a hand on Harry's back. "Sorry to have to disappoint you, Prongslet." He got to his feet and stretched his arms over his head. Wow. As if it wasn't enough to know that he didn't end up with James, he had to learn that he never moved on. He stood on the sidelines and pined uselessly. Great. "I'm going back inside, and I get the feeling not to leave you alone."

Harry gave a faint smile. He knew that he'd overstepped, but there was no taking it back. Sirius didn't seem to be too upset with him, so he'd be grateful for that much at least. "Probably for the best."

"You feeling alright?" Sirius asked quietly. Everybody else was asleep. If they were smart, they would've casted a silencing spell around their curtains, but there was never any guarantee. Besides, Sirius didn't know if that etiquette was the same in Harry's time as it was here.

Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall had agreed to let Harry stay in their dormitory with them (if none of them minded, which, of course, they didn't). The house elves had brought up an extra bed for Harry to sleep in, so they didn't even have to come up with new sleeping arrangements.

"I thought you'd be over the moon that you and Evans end up together," he continued, when James didn't jump at the opportunity to tell him what was wrong.

"Yeah, I thought so too," James whispered back. "And I was at first."

"Then what's wrong?"

He reached up and ruffled his hair. He knew that Evans didn't like it when he did that, so he'd started stopping himself from doing it when they were out in the corridors or in class. "I'd been thinking about what you were saying. About moving on and dating someone else. Or at least looking at someone else. It had started to sound fun, y'know? Besides, she's a prefect and... tightlaced. I don't really know how much fun we'd have together." He breathed in, then out, sounding tired. Tired beyond the fact that it was late and in spite of there being no classes today, it had been a long day. "I guess it works out," he said, but he didn't sound convinced.

"It's just me here," Sirius reminded him, bumping their shoulders together.

"Lily's great, right? She's beautiful and smart, and she's definitely the catch of the school. I'd be totally lucky to date her. I was just really starting to believe that we weren't right for each other. I guess it's not sitting right because I was starting to accept that it was never going to happen. And- okay don't tell Harry this, but I don't think he looks that much like her."

Sirius nodded. "I was thinking the same thing."

"Right?" James said, invigorated by Sirius agreeing with him. "He looks like you!" He wasn't so excited that he didn't remember to keep his voice down, but the route he went made Sirius frown a little.

Yes, he'd thought that Harry looked a bit like Regulus, but he'd figured that was him projecting protective instincts and misplaced family feelings or whatever the fuck. "You think?"

"Are you kidding? You have the same smile."

"Oh well in that case, there's no one I'd rather raise a kid with," Sirius said, too honest but able to make it a joke with a smile and another nudge to James.

"Me either," James said, nudging him back with a grin.

Harry silently watched the exchange. He wanted to feel some sort of sadness or betrayal that James didn't want to be with his mother, but... well, he was starting to suspect that maybe Lily wasn't his mother. Lily hadn't looked very much in the photos like Aunt Petunia, but there had been a familial resemblance. He'd even been able to link it between Lily and Dudley, no matter how much he's sometimes wished he could unsee it.

He'd spent hours trying to find his own similarities to his family, and he'd never managed it. Not with Lily or the Dursley's, at least. Everyone said that he looked like James, and it was an easy connection to make. Mrs. Weasley had taken a picture of him with Sirius once, and every time he looked at it, he'd felt like he finally had someone he could call family. There were a lot of Black family members, weren't there? Maybe someone in his family tree was Harry's mother. It sounded ridiculous to say on its own, but it made more sense to him than Lily did right now.

He'd try to get some sleep tonight. He wasn't sure how well that would work, but in the morning, he'd see if he could learn more. He was supposed to go back to Professor Dumbledore's office in the morning to see if they could learn more about how to get him back to his own time. If anyone would know how to check who his real parents were, it would be the Headmaster.

His father and godfather had gone to bed a while ago, and there was only the sound of breathing to fill the otherwise silent room. He would've preferred if there was someone talking. Not necessarily Sirius, just somebody. He didn't usually have this problem. Ron had a tendency to talk in his sleep. They usually weren't fully formed words, just syllables that never went anywhere. He hadn't realised how much he'd gotten used to it in the Hogwarts dormitory until now, when it was gone.

He'd been pretty confident in his plan until then, feeling alone in the quiet of the room with people that barely knew him. Also that cigarette he'd smoked made him feel icky, and he didn't think it had gotten out of his system yet.

He wasn't sure there was anything to test. Everyone had believed him the second he said he was James Potter's son. When he'd said that his other parent was Lily, they had paused and looked closer at him before deciding to move on with their questions. He'd thought, originally, that it was because they couldn't believe James and Lily got together. Now he wasn't sure. In fact, he was sure that that had nothing to do with it. It's because he didn't look like her.

The only one that had accepted it straight away was James, and he'd changed his mind later, thinking that Harry didn't look that much like Lily. And with the way he'd been talking to Sirius, Harry wouldn't be surprised if Sirius was his other parent. Well, that's a lie. He'd be very surprised. Mostly because there wouldn't have been any reason for Sirius to keep it from him. Even if they'd had a good reason to tell the lie to begin with, there wouldn't have been any point by the time Sirius and Harry finally met.

None of this made any sense, and the people in this time couldn't even answer his questions; none of them knew why they would've lied, or the circumstances surrounding the things they could've possibly lied about.

He rolled onto his other side and sighed. Why couldn't his life ever be simple? He'd always thought that he knew his parents were, and he was pretty sure he'd been wrong about that. Did he have any proof? No, not yet, but he didn't really have proof that he was Lily's son, either. Everyone said it, but what did that mean in a world where he'd somehow been entered into the Triwizard Tournament under a fourth school that didn't exist, had magic that he hadn't known about for the first ten years of his life, and had time traveled decades, something he'd been told in no uncertain terms was impossible.

He woke up the next day, half expecting to find that he'd gone back to his own time without doing anything.

He sat up and looked around. Nope. Peter was doing his tie in the mirror, and Remus was walking around like a zombie. He glanced towards the other two beds and saw that their curtains were still drawn.

Harry went back to the future. He said gave goodbyes to everyone, but with Sirius, he hugged him tight like he never wanted to go. "I know it doesn't mean anything to you right now," he said quietly, as he was holding on, "but I love you. And I'm not mad." He'd given Sirius a squeeze before letting go, followed by a sad smile, and then he turned to go into the Headmaster's office.

Sirius didn't know how to feel about that as a goodbye. Sure, he didn't know Harry that well, so the preface of 'doesn't mean anything to you right now' made sense, but why had he been so sad about it? And for that matter, Sirius already knew that Harry was his godson. The love was pretty heavily implied. What did he mean about not being mad? What would he have been mad about? Maybe that's what he'd meant about Sirius not understanding right now. Of course, if that was true, then it didn't make sense why he'd said 'I love you' first. Maybe he'd done it because he felt it was more important than him not being mad. None of it made any sense to him.

He was sure he'd understand. It would only take ten years or so.

Well, it didn't take ten years, but Sirius finally figured it out. When he got pregnant. Pregnant and vulnerable, and in the middle of a war.

He was pregnant, and Lily looked him straight in the eye and said, "We'll tell everyone it's me."

"What?" he asked, numb and not wanting to jump to the wrong conclusion.

"You and James have been hiding your relationship because it's not safe. This won't be any better, and you'll need help. We can tell everyone that I'm the one who's pregnant, that way you're safe. When the war ends, we can be honest, but for now..."

This is why Harry had thought his other parent was Lily. They'd told everyone that she was. Something must have happened to make it where they couldn't tell the truth. Some part of the spell gone wrong or summat, and that was enough to make Sirius hesitate, but not enough to make him say anything other than, "If you're sure," because Harry did live long enough to be a teenager this way, and that wasn't guaranteed if he said no.

When he told James what Lily offered, all he did was hold Sirius and kiss his head. "If you're sure," he said, and Sirius laughed a little. He wasn't sure about this, but what other choice did they have? “Whatever you need to do to feel safe, we’ll do it. Anything for you, love, you know that.”

#james potter #sirius black #harry potter #prongsfoot #marauders #fanfic #filled #getting together #hogwarts time #time travel #mpreg #siriuslystarbucks

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sincerelystranger · 4 years ago

Text

read on AO3

---

Nie Huaisang fans his face nervously as Xichen watches quietly from across the room.

He’s not quite turned away from Xichen, but he doesn’t seem to be able to look at Xichen either. His eyes keep flickering back and forth from the wall behind Xichen to the floor.

Every single one of Huaisang’s actions seems to scream discomfort, maybe even fear. It occurs to Xichen that it’s strange behavior for someone who invited themselves over. It also occurs to him that at one point in his life, he wouldn’t even have noticed the behavior as strange.

At one point in Xichen’s life, he would have readily believed Huaisang’s act.

He doesn’t now.

He doesn’t know what to believe anymore.

And he thinks maybe that’s what hurts the most.

He thinks that maybe that inability to trust his own judgement is what keeps him locked in seclusion, torturing himself over the things he missed and the things he once believed.

Maybe.

He sits in silence, just watching Nie Huaisang. He’s not sure if he’s surprised by Nie Huaisang’s visit, or if a part of him expected him all this time. The only thing he knows is this:

Nie Huaisang somehow looks altogether too much and not enough like da-ge and Xichen can’t tell whether he hates him for that or not.

Nie Huaisang clears his throat suddenly, the sound is almost deafening in the heavy silence of Xichen’s room.

“Ah… You look… well, er-ge,” he says weakly, still not meeting Xichen’s eyes, “Wei-Xiong made it seem as if… well…” He trails off, briefly making eye contact with Xichen before dropping his gaze back to the floor.

Xichen isn’t surprised by the mention of Wei Wuxian.

Of course Wei Wuxian would have something to do with this. Of course.

“Wei-Xiong said that you weren’t well – that you didn’t want visitors… I mean… of course… you’re still in seclusion…” Nie Huaisang stumbles over his words. Xichen can see his hand shaking slightly as he continues to fan his face.

That does surprise him though – the fact that Wei Wuxian advised against Nie Huaisang visiting Xichen.

With how nosy Wei Wuxian has been throughout Xichen’s time in seclusion, he would have thought that Wei Wuxian had had a hand in Nie Huaisang’s visit.

“Wei Wuxian advised against your visit?” Xichen asks, curiosity opening his mouth.

Nie Huaisang seems surprised by Xichen’s voice. The fan goes still in his hands. “He… did,” he nods, “Wei-Xiong… He… Well I don’t think he trusts me… anymore.” There’s a small self-deprecating smile on his face as he admits this. He looks to the ground again before slowly bringing his gaze up to meet Xichen’s eyes. He gives Xichen a weak smile. “I guess you don’t either, do you, er-ge?”

Xichen guesses he should have expected it, but it still catches him off-guard to be confronted so openly.

Somehow it seems… out of character for Huaisang.

But then…

What does Xichen know of Huaisang’s character anyway?

“I… I just don’t know why you did what you did,” Xichen admits. And it’s the closest thing to the truth that he can stomach to say. Because… because even after everything. Even after the manipulation and betrayal and years of being lied to. He still…

Well he’s still Nie Huaisang’s er-ge, isn’t he?

It’s one of the only things he’s been able to come to terms with in his time in seclusion: The people Xichen loves may do monstrous things, but Xichen will love them anyway. He can’t help himself. Once he loves, he doesn’t know how to stop.

Nie Huaisang is quiet for a while. He slowly lowers his fan to his lap. He looks more vulnerable, sat there without the fan covering part of his face.

Even after everything, it makes Xichen’s heart ache for him. Even after everything, Xichen wants to call him close, ask him how he can help wipe that sadness from his face.

He doesn’t though.

He stays quiet.

“It’s already been eight years since da-ge died,” Huaisang says slowly, “Next year, I’ll be older than he ever got to be.”

Logically it’s something Xichen has known for a while. He’s been older than da-ge for years now. But it still churns his stomach to hear those words come out of Huaisang’s lips. To be hit with the realization that da-ge has truly been dead for so long. It seems… so impossible. Da-ge is still so fresh in Xichen’s memory.

“It’s strange,” Huaisang continues quietly, “In my memory da-ge is always so much older than me. Always such an… adult. When father died and da-ge became the sect leader, I remember thinking, ‘of course.’ Because da-ge already seemed so grown up at the time. So sure of himself.” Huaisang wipes absently at the floor and huffs a small laugh. “Now I wonder how the elders could have been so cruel as to put all that responsibility onto such a young boy.”

A lump forms in Xichen’s throat.

“Da-ge was always… good,” Xichen says stupidly, “He never shied from responsibility… he always gave everything his… best.”

Nie Huaisang huffs another small laugh. “Da-ge was always good,” he agrees. “If the world could have been as good as he was – if I could have been as good as he was – everything might be different now.”

The room goes quiet again at Huaisang’s small confession.

Xichen can’t find it in himself to disagree or to comfort, because he thinks the same. Maybe if he could have been as good as da-ge, everything might’ve ended differently. Maybe if Xichen hadn’t questioned da-ge’s judgement… Maybe if Xichen had just trusted da-ge…

Maybe…

“He… loved you er-ge. Did you know?”

“Of course,” Xichen answers, a little taken aback by Huaisang’s question.

“No,” Huaisang says with a shake of his head. “He loved you… as a man. Did you know?”

The center of gravity seems to have changed in the room. Xichen feels… tilted. Unmoored.

“He – da-ge… he didn’t,” Xichen tries to explain slowly, a slow panic crawling up his spine. Da-ge didn’t – he couldn’t. Da-ge never saw Xichen like that…

Never…

“He did,” Huaisang says, something stubborn bleeding into his voice.

Xichen shakes his head. He doesn’t know where Huaisang got this idea but…

“He didn’t, Huaisang,” Xichen says, “I… I…” It’s humiliating to have to own to it. How does Huaisang always manage to put him into this situations? Situations where he has to cut his heart open with his own hand. “I confessed to him when we were… younger.”

Da-ge had been kind when he refused Xichen.

His hand had been gentle and warm on Xichen’s shoulder and his eyes had been deep and kind. “I can’t be that for you. I’m sorry.”

But he still stayed Xichen’s friend.

Still stayed Xichen’s… da-ge.

“He refused you because he thought….” Huaisang stammers, “He… he said…”

Xichen’s heart drops to his stomach. Something cold makes its way towards his chest. He said? Da-ge had… He had talked about Xichen’s confession to Huaisang?

“What,” Xichen asks, a nervous hunger gnawing at his throat. “What did da-ge say?”

“He said you deserved better than a man destined for madness,” Huaisang says finally.

It feels like a cruel joke.

Another manufactured cruelty from Huaisang. Another upturned grave that Xichen will have to cover with his hands.

“You… Don’t lie to me, Huaisang,” Xichen says, and he’s ashamed by the way his voice trembles. “Da-ge… He never…”

“He was always doing these foolish things,” Huaisang says, his voice cracking, as tears spill from his eyes. “Always giving up parts of his happiness for the people he loved.”

A sob escapes from Xichen’s lips. He hurries to cover his mouth so more don’t shamefully spill out but it’s no use. Da-ge couldn’t… He…

But of course he would.

“He did it for me too,” Huaisang continues, his lips trembling, his whole body taut as he tries to control his sobs. “And I didn’t know either, er-ge. I never realized until it was too late. All the things—“ Huaisang folds in on himself, his hand coming up to cover his eyes as he cries. “—All the things he gave up for me. All the things he turned a blind eye to because he knew I loved them.”

The room dissolves into quiet sobs.

And it’s a little funny, Xichen thinks, even though Huaisang is tearing out the seams in Xichen’s heart that Xichen just barely put in. Even though Huaisang has brought with him so much hurt and anger and confusion. It’s still… comforting to cry with someone who Xichen knows misses da-ge as much as Xichen does. There’s still a twisted sense of camaraderie there.

When the wave passes and the sobs quiet, Huaisang straightens back up. He wipes gingerly at his face with his sleeve. Xichen is reminded of all the times he watched Huaisang do the same action when he was just a child. Da-ge would have reprimanded him, Xichen thinks. Da-ge would have tossed Huaisang his handkerchief.

Because as wild and brutish as da-ge was reputed to be… he was… proper like that. Gentler than anyone imagined he could ever be.

That was one of the things Xichen had loved about him.

Huaisang lets out a shaky exhale. He’s twisting his sleeves between his fingers nervously. Even now, it seems impossible to Xichen that Huaisang – sweet and spoiled Huaisang – could have lied to him for so long. It seems impossible that the Huaisang he knows – the Huaisang sitting in front of him – could have orchestrated the downfall of Mengyao.

It seems impossible, and yet…

“You say that you don’t know why I did the things I did,” Huaisang says, his voice soft and scratchy from his tears, “And if I’m honest, I didn’t understand myself either.” He looks up and Xichen then and gives a helpless shrug. “It’s so unlike me. Right, er-ge? All this planning and scheming and… and just all this work to destroy someone I love. It was torturous for me – it really was, er-ge. But...”

Xichen doesn’t move. He doesn’t make a sound. It feels like he’s at the edge of a cliff. What Huaisang says next will most certainly push him over but he’s still waiting… He doesn’t know how to do anything else.

“I think… I think I was punishing myself,” Huaisang says, “I think I was punishing myself for loving san-ge – for letting my love blind me to his evil deeds.”

Xichen’s heart drops to the bottom of his stomach. He feels slightly nauseous.

Huaisang drops his gaze from Xichen’s eyes to the ground just in front of Xichen. “And for what I did to you at Guanyin Temple… I… I think in a way… I wanted to punish you too.”

He’s falling. He’s been pushed off the cliff and he’s falling.

It’s a lot more freeing than he thought it would be. It almost feels like flying.

Punishment.

Was that all it was?

All this confusion and loss and pain and confusion and loss and loss and pain…

Just punishment?

A strange laughter bubbles from Xichen’s lips before he can even control it.

“Sorry,” he says, quickly bringing his hand to cover his mouth. Shamefully enough, the laughter spills over again. “Sorry.” But it’s not enough. The laughter forces itself out of his body. He can’t help himself. He feels insane, but he’s laughing and it won’t stop. “Sorry, I’m so sorry. I’m so—”

Xichen can almost feel Huaisang’s surprise but he can’t help himself. The laughter won’t stop. And strangely, after a few moments of his unhinged laughter, he hears…

He looks up, his vision clouded slightly by the strange tears his strange laughter has created and to his surprise… Huaisang is laughing too.

Seeing Huaisang laugh plants more seeds of laughter in Xichen. He can’t stop now – even if he tried. The laughter bubbles over. Huaisang’s laughter waters Xichen’s laughter and it grows and grows and…

Punishment.

That was all it was.

All this pain and loss and confusion and it was just… punishment.

How ridiculous.

---

The night of Huaisang’s visit, Xichen steps outside for the first time since he started his seclusion.

In the dark of night, the world seems all at once strange and inviting.

Cloud Recesses, of course, is quiet. All the disciples having gone to sleep long ago.

Xichen feels safer, with that knowledge that he’s alone. That he won’t run into anyone who—

“Xichen-ge!” a voice surprises him from his thoughts. He turns towards the voice and sees Wei Wuxian and…. Wangji.

Wei Wuxian visits him often enough that it shouldn’t be such a surprise to see him, but it feels different seeing him outside the confines of his room. Xichen feels self-conscious suddenly. Like his arms are too long and maybe his hair is untidy.

“Wei… gongzi,” he nods after a shocked moment, “Wangji.”

Wei Wuxian waves him over as Wangji nods back. “We’re taking a walk,” Wei Wuxian exclaims, “The night is cool and the stars are bright. Come join us, Xichen-ge!”

It’s all so ridiculous, Xichen thinks as he takes a heavy step forward, out of the gate and towards the path.

How ridiculously easy it is to leave the jail he created for himself. How ridiculously normal it feels for Wei Wuxian to ask him to join him on a night walk – as if Xichen hasn’t trapped himself between four walls for years.

Wei Wuxian and Wangji separate to make room for him. It’s a small act of kindness, Xichen realizes, and he takes it because it does feel a little safer to walk between them.

Such a childishness, he thinks, still too bare to the world to feel any embarrassment from it. But he does feel safe. Wangji feels… taller… and sturdier than Xichen remembers him being. And Wei Wuxian… Well is there anyone more reliable to walk the dark night with than Wei Wuxian?

“Look!” Wei Wuxian says, pointing up at the sky. “Isn’t the moon beautiful tonight?”

Xichen follows Wei Wuxian’s finger up.

The moon is round and heavy. It looks so close that it feels like Xichen might be able to touch it if he just reaches up.

“It’s beautiful,” he agrees softly.

“It’s like it knew you would come out to see it today, Xichen-ge,” Wei Wuxian nods happily. “Don’t you think so, Lan Zhan?”

Wangji hums his agreement as they keep walking.

Happiness sits hot and heavy in Xichen’s chest. He feels safe and free and…

“I think we’ve had enough punishment,” Huaisang had said before he left. “You and… me too, er-ge.” He had looked at Xichen then and had given him a smile – a real smile. No hint of sadness in his face at all. “Da-ge always wanted the people he loved to be happy… so I think it’s time to do that. Don’t you think so, er-ge?”

He hadn’t answered Huaisang as he left but he agrees quietly in his heart now.

He’s lost and lost and lost and he’s sat in that loss for years. Yearning and searching and looking for an answer that wasn’t there – ignoring the world outside his room for years and choosing punishment day after day because… because maybe he thought he deserved it.

And still…

The moon is beautiful.

And still, his family welcomes him back.

#mdzs #the untamed #Xichen in seclusion #This time Huaisang comes to visit #just so many things I jam packed into this #honestly I should just write a paper on the stages of grief and what I find so interesting about it #instead of writing these long basically plotless stories lol #lan xichen #nie huaisang

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miamlfy · 4 years ago

Text

Finally

A/N: After nearly three months of not posting, I finally completed a fic. Feel free to give me feedback on this and just know my inbox is always open.

Pairing: Sirius Black x Fem!Reader

Summary: Sirius finally gives you the ring he promised you two years ago.

Warnings: THIS IS A PART TWO TO FUTURE TALK - read part one before this one! Mentions of death and most likely mistakes I missed

Word Count: 1,1k

Masterlist

Enjoy!

(Not my gif, credit to whoever made it)

Two years have passed since the war ended. None of you thought to see the day when you could safely leave your house without having the sickly thought of being followed. Although it felt nice to no longer be at risk, most of the order was gone. A lot of lives were taken in order for war to end. The deaths of Marlene and Dorcas hit you the hardest, and you only wished they could once again live their lives unafraid.

Sirius also wished the same for his kid brother, Regulus. He felt so proud of him when it became known that it was Regulus who betrayed Voldemort and helped destroy him but that didn’t stop Sirius from feeling guilty, he left Regulus alone when he should have been there protecting him from the evil world.

James and Lily were finally safe to come out of hiding, and Remus could finally spend another full moon with his friends altogether. It became known that Peter was working alongside Voldemort, however he was still a part of your family and the five of you began to work on forgiving and trusting him again.

Since that night you and Sirius spoke about your futures together, Sirius has been waiting for the perfect time to go ring shopping and pick out the perfect one for you. He only hoped that you didn’t forget about that night and that your engagement, if he could call it that was still on. He just waited on the perfect day to go to the jewelry store.

Thankfully distracting you wasn’t a difficult task as you took up the duty on renovating the Grimmauld Place during the weekends with the help of Kreacher—somehow the house elf took a liking for you. The only issue now was trying to get James to go with him, ever since Lily became pregnant with their second child James has become clingier then ever and demands to be at his wife’s side 24/7.

“C’mon James, this is a special moment for me, and I need you, as my future best man, to accompany me!” Sirius pleaded.

James stood for a moment thinking with a finger over his lips. “No.” He said. Sirius let out a frustrated sigh.

“I went with you! Why won’t you come with me?”

“Because Sirius, what if Lily needs something and she can’t get it or what if Harry gets into something he isn’t supposed to get into?” James proceeded to look over to his three-year-old who was inches away from pulling their cat’s tail. James ran to move Harry away and placed him on his hip.

“James if you don’t come with me, I won’t visit you for a week and I’ll take Harry with me!” Sirius said in a semi threatening tone.

“You wouldn’t?!”

“Oh, I would, without hesitation James. Without hesitation.” Sirius began taking Harry out of his father’s arms, making James grip his son slightly tighter.

“Fine, I’ll go…if Lily gives me permission.” Sirius rolled his eyes as James ran to where Lily was.

Convincing Lily only took three seconds, which wasn’t very surprising considering she would complain to you on how annoying James was becoming and she needed a break from him. James and Sirius were now entering their fifth jewelry store, Sirius was having the hardest time finding the perfect ring for you.

Sirius was extremely close into taking home an Emerald ring with a silver band until James said it looked too Slytherin. However, James was becoming incredibly picky with any ring Sirius was close to buying.

“James, I hope you know this ring is for Y/n and not for you.” Sirius said slightly annoyed.

After visiting three more stores, Sirius and James both found a ring that they would both agree on. The ring would perfectly match your skin tone along with the stone. The next step on his plan was to figure out a good way to propose to you.

Sirius spent at least two weeks coming up with ideas, but nothing seemed good enough until he remembered the exact words, he said to you two years prior.

“I want you to marry me after this god-awful war, I want to marry you and I want to have children with you. I want the happiness, the love, the joy, the tears, and even the sadness and anger. I want it all with you. Take this as a proposal or whatever but I want to marry you after all this.”

Sirius thought to himself if it was a good idea to do it this way, but he promised you a ring and he’s going to give you said ring. Stuffing the ring into this jacket, he apparated to where you were as you were starting to spend more days renovating the once horrid house.

Entering the house, he noticed the walls were freshly painted and furniture that was more up to date. Hearing your softs singing coming the kitchen, Sirius ran down the hallway ignoring Kreacher’s comments towards him running in the house.

He stood by the entrance for a few seconds, admiring you as you were in your own world painting the cabinets. Taking out the ring box from his jacket, he opened it looking at the ring once more before placing it front of you.

Slightly confused at what was blocking your view, you pushed Sirius’ hand back to have a clear look at what he was trying to show you.

“Sirius what is this?” You asked, still staring at the ring.

“It’s the ring I promised you, my love.” He spoke softly. You felt your heart start to pound at his words. “Two weeks ago, I went out to buy it with Prongs just how I said I would.”

Tears began to fill your eyes as you turned around to face him, you honestly didn’t think he remembered since none of those thoughts were never spoken about since that night.

“I want to continue being with you for the rest of my life, you’re already working on our future home and it’s only fair that we live in it as a married couple. So, will you ma— “

“Sirius just put the damn ring on me already! Of course, I’ll marry you!” You said excitedly, cutting him off.

Sirius laughed as he took the ring out of the box and placed it on your finger. You held your left hand up, admiring the beautiful ring he chose for you.

“It’s perfect darling. I love you and can’t wait for what the future brings us” You said, kissing him afterwards.

“I love you too and I can’t wait either.” Sirius and you held each other tightly, not wanting the moment to end.

“We’re still naming our future kid Elvendork, right?” You said, breaking the silence.

“For Merlin’s sake Y/n, when are you letting the name go?”

#sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius x you #hp marauders #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter #young sirius imagine #young sirius x reader #marauders x reader #marauders x y/n

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sirthisisa-wendys · 4 years ago

Text

The General (part 9.5): Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: it’s over. the ruse is up.

wc: 2.1k

tw: none

masterlist

“Have you ever considered just not going to meet the Prince and remaining in your rooms?” Kaori wonders as you sharpen a blade with a rock. “I mean, I’m sure he wouldn't bother you if you assumed the appearance of an invalid. How about getting out of town for a week?”

She’s tried everything to get you to reconsider your stance on killing Prince Naoya. Any theory, any loophole, any cop-out; Kaori’s said it. But you have no choice. Geto has to be avenged, and the only way you can manage vengeance is killing the man who sent your lover to his death.

“Listen, we have only a couple of days left. We can use poison, strangulation, accidental drowning, and straight-up murder - which I think is the messier of the bunch.” Toji ticks off methods as he watches you work away at the blade with determination. “I vote we poison his food, and if that doesn’t work, smothering can go a long way.” Megumi peers into the little pond in front of him as his father discusses treason, entirely uninterested in anything but finding another frog to play with. You envy the child and wish that you could take his place, forgetting everything else except the current pursuit of a frog. But your frog is much more elusive, slippery, and well-guarded.

“We have to drug the guards first,” you note, and Toji grunts affirmatively, biting his lip as he stares past you, deep in thought. You look at the scar on his mouth and squint, wondering if you’re just now noticing the pink-ish raised mark or if you’d seen it before, but never noted the way it looks against his tanned skin in the sunlight. You look away before anyone can accuse you of staring, but make a note to ask about the injury later.

“How can you be assured that none of this will affect your parents?” Kaori wonders, and you look at her with a pensive stare.

“I’m sure it wouldn’t affect them. They know nothing of the plot and I--”

“If you’re dead, you can’t defend them,” she reminds you, and for a moment, you reconsider the plan altogether.

“Toji, do you think you could get my parents out of here safely?”

“I can’t guarantee shit,” he replies, resting his chin on his palm as his green eyes focus in on you again. “But I can sure as hell try.” He adds when you give him a defeated look. You respond to his addition with a half-smile, and he rolls his eyes at the sight, huffing out a short breath.

_______________________________________________________________________

“Try and hit me,” Toji encourages you, and you reach a hand out to slap him across the face. But you miss entirely and stumble forward, almost face-planting into the ground. “You can’t put all of your force in your upper body like that.” He chastises, stepping in front of you again.

“Give me a rake and we’ll see about that,” you counter, earning you a loud laugh. Toji takes his stance again, hands prepared for a fight.

“Come on, little girl, put up a serious fight. You don’t need a rake.” You inhale deeply, centering yourself with one foot placed behind you at an angle and one foot in front, planted firmly into the dirt. “Hit me.”

The roundhouse kick narrowly misses Toji’s tan face, and his eyes widen as your heel barely scrapes his nose.

“I said hit me, not kill me!” The bodyguard gripes, and you laugh at his overly-surprised expression and step back, holding your stomach as you bend over in a fit of giggles. When you stop and straighten back up, you catch Toji staring at you in wonder.

“What?”

“Your laugh… I’ve never heard you laugh like that before.” At the mention of your enjoyment, you hum thoughtfully, realizing, yes - you hadn’t laughed so heartily in a long time. But in his moment of unguardedness, you shoot your hand out - the fist making contact with his gut immediately. He grunts, holding his abs and wincing a little. “You… fucking... bi--” Before he can finish his sentence and grab you, you take off for the hill behind the house, laughing as you run with all of your might.

But Toji catches up to you easily, grabbing your elbow and making you tumble to the grass, then roll back down the hill in his arms. As you roll - and scream - grass and dirt and wildflowers are kicked up and tossed into your hair and clothes, dirtying your face as well. When you stop though, you’re on top of Toji, and his arms are crushing you against his chest protectively.

“You can let go now,” you groan, and he opens his emerald eyes, staring right into yours with an intensity you’ve only seen on one other person’s face. “Toji…” you whisper, and his face changes again, now softer and much more… relaxed, if that was even possible. He blinks, and you pause, recognizing the meaning behind his looks. “Fushiguro, I--” He lets you go immediately, clearing his throat and standing.

“We should get back before dinner. I’m fucking starving.” He saunters off with his hands in his pockets, not even offering to help you up off of the ground.

_______________________________________________________________________

The moon hovers precariously in the night sky, illuminating the garden directly below it and bathing you in moonlight. You’re only a few hours away from meeting Prince Naoya, and it’s the thought of seeing him face-to-face that keeps you up tonight. What would he look like? Would he know who you are? Would he ask you any questions about Geto?

Your eyes rest on the reflection of the moon in the fountain, Toji’s old dagger resting in your lap.

“It ain’t much,” he mumbled when he handed it to you. “But if something happens, whether it’s with the food or the smothering... You’ve got this dagger.” Then he showed you how to murder someone quickly by using a pillow and your dagger, aiming precisely for the open space between his ribcage. “Stab once, pull it out, and run like hell if you want.”

You inhale deeply, filling your lungs with fresh air.

“Cold out here,” Toji mumbles, rubbing his arms as he walks out of the house barefoot. “Can’t sleep, y/n?”

“No,” you admit, then jerk your chin at him. “You?”

“I don’t get much rest these days,” he replies, sitting beside you at the fountain. “Worried about tomorrow?” You look over at the green-eyed man and blink, your blank expression telling all. “Well, I’m not. You’re going to be fine.”

“And what will you do when you have to watch me be executed?” you tease, but Toji’s eyes fall to the fountain, eyeing the moon’s reflection.

“It’ll be sad. But I understand why you have to do what you’re doing.”

“Toji Fushiguro? Sad?” You laugh, but he gives you a withering look instead of laughing along with you.

“Listen, I’ve made a lot of off-color remarks, but I meant what I said. You’re a great person, and I would hate to see your life go to waste over some petty vendetta.” His mumbling catches you off guard, but you say nothing in response, opting to look down at the dagger instead. “But, you’re determined to pursue your lover into the afterlife; I get it. You must really be in love with him.”

“I am,” you reply, still not looking at Toji.

“Well, since you’re going to die tomorrow, I might as well be transparent with you,” Toji whispers. “You know, looking after you was a pain in the ass at first.” You frown at him, wondering what kind of comment that is, but he continues anyways. “But you grew on me. Shit, watching you for these months has become enjoyable, more exciting than the idiocy I used to do before. Y/n… I’m--” Toji swallows hard, then raises his eyes to meet yours. “I’m... going to miss you.” Toji leans in slowly, placing a rough hand on your right cheek before kissing the other cheek with a tenderness you always knew he held deep inside. Once he pulls away, he stands, raking his hands through his short hair and sighing before walking back into the house. But you’re left outside, wondering what could’ve been if you weren’t so hell-bent on bringing your dead lover justice.

_______________________________________________________________________

The sounds of horses, bells, cheering, chants, cacophony… too much noise.

You can hear it all from your position in the kitchen. The village is louder than it’s ever been before, and all the noise provides the perfect background noise to you and your mother’s preparing food for the six of you already living in the house and about thirteen guests- the seven guards, the four servants, a royal advisor, and finally, Prince Naoya. The resulting feast will outshine any feast your mother has cooked before, and you know that the village will speak of the honor bestowed upon your house and the cooking from it for at least a day.

The next day, they will be lamenting the loss of the eldest son of the Imperial Court, and rejoicing upon your execution. Just like they celebrated Geto’s death.

Wherever you are, I hope you’re happy, Su, you pray as you peel a leek with precision. Only a few more hours and Naoya would be within your reach.

First, you’d drug him with a powder Toji had acquired in exchange for… something unmentionable that he wouldn’t divulge. Second, you would help the prince off to his bed as the drug took hold of him and tuck him in. Then, you’d smother him to death. If that didn’t work - “and there’s a chance that it might not”, Toji warned - you would stab him in the heart. Death would reach the Prince’s soul before the morning light. And you would be ready to die the next day, all to meet Geto in whatever world he had passed on to.

An icy hand grips your heart as the hours pass.

The thought of rejoining your lover - feeling his arms around you, touching his hair, looking into his black eyes - is more than enough for you to pretend everything is alright. All you’re doing is making the most of the last few hours you have with your family, Kaori, Toji, and Megumi. The small child is parading about in his newest outfit, displaying his hakama and haori for all to see and coo over. Toji wears a matching outfit, the clouds and animals drifting about his black haori reminding you of a zoo display and of the days you wish you could have.

You’re wearing your best kimono - the peach one Kaori dressed you in the day you left the camp; Suguru’s mother’s kimono. It’s all too beautiful, really. Everyone is dressed up like royalty, but you’re the only one who came dangerously close to that life and escaped by the grace of a certain General who had your heart. Now, you would murder royalty and die as much of an outcast that Suguru was.

After you wash your hands in the fountain, you place the dagger inside your kimono and look at yourself in the mirror for the last time. Color had returned to your cheeks over the past few days, and a certain look in your eye had become commonplace. You had something to live for, and these days would remain in your memory as the best days you’ve had since Geto died.

“They’re coming up the path,” Kaori hisses as she walks past you, ushering Megumi and Toji to the door behind your mother and father. “Come on.” You follow them obediently, standing behind your father and mother as the procession winds its way down the road. While soldiers, musicians, villagers, everyone is parading in front of the carriage carrying the murderer of your lover, you look to the ground and clench your fists. Your resolve steels itself in your spine as you hear the procession get even closer, the clanging making your jaw tighten and your knees tremble. Too much noise, too much noise, too much noise for a man who slaughtered innocents.

The music dies down when the carriage comes to a halt, but the sound of children excitedly squealing nearby. You keep your eyes downcast, not daring to look the spiteful man in the face or attract attention to yourself. The echo of children’s excited chatter stabs you in the heart even deeper - how could children be excited by this killer? - and you try to block out the memories of Itadori, Junpei, and Nobara, but to no avail.

You’re trying so hard that tears are streaming down your face, and mucus gathers in your nose as you begin to cry quietly. Megumi reaches up to grab your hand tenderly, holding it in his five little fingers as you hear the door to the carriage swing open slowly. You avoid looking, and sniff so hard you almost miss the first words out of a certain blue-eyed bastard’s mouth:

“Whoa; watch your step, Yuji! You don’t want to fall in front of Lady y/n, do you?”

_______________________________________________________________________

TAGLIST: @kamisamaundercover @jotazinha @just4readingfics @mxhi @sammytamaki @brownskinnedgirll @keelyshayee @leanne-tamashi @vabybizzle @amaris9 @fuegy-fuegy @ambiguous-something

#geto x reader #jjk geto #jjk #jjk megumi #megumi fushiguro #jjk toji #toji fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen getou #geto suguru #getou x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines

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newtonsheffield · 4 years ago

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Hard to believe but I think among the some 300 fanfics out there no one did a what-if Edmund never died. Probably because the premise of the whole story was edmunds death and what wld be the conflict if not that? However, I think it would make a brilliant story since I am pretty sure Anthony as Mr. Bridgerton wouldve been an even bigger rake. So, maybe you can write it? Pretty please with cute corgis on top? Preferably set in the regency era, it can just a Drabble, nothing more. But I want to see it take some form. Who knows maybe someone else will get inspired to write it if not you.

Okay So... Apparently I couldn't bloody help myself.

You owe me two cute Corgis anon. (Please forgive me for how bad I am at writing in regency)

Anthony sighed to himself as he stood in the corner of the ballroom in his family home. Not Hiding per se, That would be undignified for a future Viscount, Anthony reasoned, merely keeping a low profile. He'd promised his mother he would attend, and at least pretend to look interested but really, it wasn't to be born. Anthony saw Mrs Featherington set her sights on him, tugging her daughters in his direction, Anthony bit back a groan, casting around for someone with whom he might enter conversation, panic rising slightly as she drew closer.

"I do hope you're not attempting to sneak out early, Anthony." Anthony sighed, turning towards the voice. "I wouldn't dream of it father." Edmund, Viscount Bridgerton's face lit up as he laughed jovially, clapping his son on the shoulder. Anthony huffed as his father said. "You did promise to indulge your mother tonight I believe, I heard it was in penance for being rather late to the house party last week." His father said pointedly. Anthony flushed slightly at the light admonishment from his father. "I arrived in time for the final day." He muttered shame faced. His father chuckled. "And I'm sure whatever detained you was very amusing, son. However we have a duty to honour our commitments as gentlemen. Do we not?" He asked, his tone firm. Lord Bridgerton was speaking now. Anthony nodded. "Yes, Sir."

"And that rather includes humouring your mother where dance partners are concerned, I'm afraid." He said, Anthony's father once more. "I hope you're not telling your son to be as cheeky as you are, Lord Bridgerton." A voice said to their left. Anthony rolled his eyes. She'd found him. "Oh I'd never dream of it, Lady Bridgerton." Anthony watched his parents closely, their eyes sparkling as they looked at one another, the picture of marital bliss, and something deep inside Anthony ached. Ached to be so happy and settled and sure of one's partner.

His eyes drifted around the room his parent's voices filtering into the background and then he saw her. A striking woman was standing, some distance across the room, her skin glowing in the candlelight bouncing off her high cheekbones, her spine straight and proud. Beautiful Anthony's subconscious echoed. And he couldn't help himself. "Who is that?" The words had left him before they'd fully formed in his mind. His mother's head spun in his direction, her eyebrows raised. "Who, Darling?" "The young woman, with dark hair, by the Featheringtons." Mrs Featherington had retreated from her pursuit but was still casting hopefully looks in his direction.

Lady Bridgerton sighed "A Miss Edwina Sharma. Newly arrived with her mother and sister from Somerset." Yes, Anthony could see her talking with another pretty young woman, and a woman who must be her mother. "Her mother is an earl's daughter, married a tradesmen, who has since passed. Rather a popular young Lady this season." His mother finished pointedly. And the look on her face was unbearable, but Anthony couldn't help himself. "Excuse me, Mother, Father." Anthony said, turning away from their identical grins, his most charming smile working it's way on to his face as he picked his way through the crowded ballroom.

"How Do you Do?" Anthony heard his voice ring out and two pairs of dark eyes turned in his direction, and then, much slower, the woman, Miss Edwina Sharma he corrected, slowly turned towards him, her eyebrow raised, Surprised. Lady Sharma spoke first "Very Well Sir. And You?" "Very Well. Forgive the intrusion, Lady Sharma. My mother, Lady Bridgerton, mentioned you were newly in town for the season and I thought to introduce myself." He said politely, his eyes flicking in Edwina's direction, she was casting an odd, almost exasperated look at her sister, who appeared several years younger. Lady Sharma smiled politely, gesturing to her daughter's in approval. "Mr Anthony Bridgerton." He said, smiling his most charming smile, the one that always made ladies flutter their eyelashes at him. "And you must be Miss Edwina Sharma." He finished, "I am, Yes." She replied politely, although, it was the wrong she. Miss Edwina Sharma was standing to his intended's left, her younger sister apparently. Anthony cursed himself.

Edwina Sharma for her part, looked a little surprised at having ben addressed at all. Anthony floundered, a little unsure how to continue. He recovered quickly, turning back to the woman who had stayed silent, her brow furrowed slightly. "And might I enquire after your name, Miss?" Anthony said, refusing to allow himself to be ruffled by the odd turn of events. And still the woman stayed silent, her eyes narrowing. "Might I present my elder daughter, Mr Bridgerton? Katharine." Katharine. That certainly seemed to fit her better. Regal. His smile grew. "Miss Sharma." He said with a small bow. "Mr. Bridgerton." A curtsy. Her voice firm, unemotional.

"Miss Sharma, I wondered if I might engage you for the next? Have you permission to waltz?" He kept his voice light, maintaining eye contact. One of her eyebrows was in danger of disappearing into her hair altogether now, she opened her mouth "Kate would be delighted." Her sister cut across her, a broad warm smile on her face. Kate the name seemed to echo through him. Kate seemed to sigh, resigned, taking his proffered hand as he lead her to the floor.

His hand light on her back, electricity coursing through him as the dance began, moving in time to the music. "Forgive me for my forwardness, Miss Sharma but I-" Anthony started, desperate to know something about her. "And I hope you'll forgive mine in return Mr. Bridgerton when I ask you to keep your distance." Her tone stiff, Anthony's heart stuttered even as her foot stomped on his. "You see, your reputation proceeds you, sir. And I'd rather my family not have their reputations linked with one such as yours." Her tone was clipped, her eye contact defiant. And he should have been angry, indignant but dear god, What a woman. Her eyes seemed to go on forever, layer after intelligent layer. Anthony scoffed. "I assure you, Miss Sharma, my reputation has been vastly exaggerated." It had been slightly. Miss Sharma laughed as the dance came to an end.

"I'm not sure I care to find out, Mr. Bridgerton. Merely being in your presence this long has surely tarnished me in some way." Her eyes were shining with her own joke now. And she was witty as well, something deep inside Anthony burned. "That rather sounds like a challenge." Her eyebrow raised again. "And do you enjoy those, sir?" "Why don't I call on you tomorrow and you can find out?" He couldn't stop the smirk from his face at the surprise written plainly on her own. Tension seemed to build between them, their eyes locked together. Her breath caught oddly. "I shan't hold my breath Mr. Bridgerton." And then she'd dropped his arm, stepped back from his presence and was making her way back through the throng leaving Anthony staring after her.

"Careful, brother. Mother's planning a wedding breakfast." Benedict's amused voice said in his ear. Anthony finally took a breath. "Perhaps she should."

Again there will never be any more of this, but what a thrill

#that's all there is #there isn't any more #edmund lives au #bridgerton fic #kathony #anthony x kate #anthony bridgerton #kate sharma #kate sheffield #molly's asks and answers #the viscount who loved me #TVWLM

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ktheist · 4 years ago

Text

ghost of a kiss.

muses. duke’s son!yoongi x marquis’ daughter!reader x crown prince!namjoon / professor!yoongi x student!reader x detective!namjoon

genre. historical au. reincarnation au. modern au.

words. 5.3k

note. nobody come at me for the header pls. or as bretman used to say, like fuck i’m tryin i’ve only been doin this for 2 hours 😭

There weren’t that many things Yoongi wouldn’t do if his father so wills it. Perhaps it was the Min blood coursing through his veins that made him so apathetic to human emotions.

You want to laugh.

You also want to cry, scream and throw the closest thing you have which is your fan at Yoongi’s ever emotionless expression. Just like a blank canvas painted with invisible ink, Yoongi never shows his feelings. Never spoke his mind.

Well, not around you at least.

It was as if you were just a pretty little doll for him to play with –no, he doesn’t even pay you any mind. He just sat there, sipping on the cherry blossom tea that the maid poured into his cup and gave one worded answers to the questions you asked after your endless chatter came to, well, an end.

After that, he put up with you a little bit longer when you insisted you’d wanted to escort him out of the garden and to the front of the mansion where his carriage awaited.

“Until we meet again, my lady,” he would bow but you would hold out your hand for him to place a ghost of a kiss on like lovers would.

It was always you who were asking for too much.

Always you who were a slave for his affection.

But instead of doing all of those things you dreamed of doing when you meet him again –and meet him, you do– you end up running past the grandeur doors of the ballroom, down the red carpet splayed hallway and into the gardens where red roses glimmer with dew drops underneath the moon rays.

What a heartbreakingly beautiful set up for a damsel with a broken heart.

“My lady,” it hasn’t even been five minutes when you hear that stone cold voice of Yoongi.

“Why couldn’t you just pretend you didn’t see me running like a scared, defenseless mouse after we met. After all, you’ve always been good at that –pretending like I don’t exist.” You wanted to laugh and laugh, you did. It sounds withered, unlike the full blooms of floral that surrounds you two.

“As your fiance, I have a duty to–”

“Duty.” You spit out the word like it’s poison, “was visiting me every fortnight for tea a duty of yours too?”

The corners of your eyes are red from roughly rubbing the traces of tears that threatens to fall on your cheeks and ruin your makeup.

You take a deep breath before turning to him, pushing down a silent sniffle.

“As you may have heard from your father, Duke Min, you’re relieved from that cumbersome duty,” you hold your chin high.

As you should.

Yoongi Min stares at you a moment longer than he usually would. Is it the hair? Your hair’s grown since he last saw you.

Or perhaps the bodice that wraps around you and enhances your curves and bosoms.

‘Perhaps’, you somberly admits, ‘he simply forgot how I looked after four years.’

“As you should have heard from the Marquis,” Yoongi presses, “I refuse to break the engagement.”

“Wha–” the word slips past your lips before you even register it.

“It can’t be undone, his Majesty already approves of the annulment,” you know you’re repeating words your father and brother uttered. Like a hopeful little mouse in the face of a black panther.

“Only with the Majesty’s approval can you request to break the engagement but it’s up to the Min’s if we wish to grant your request –I reject it.” Yoongi stands only a few feet away from you, his eyes appearing darker than black, shadowed by the moonlight.

When he steps forward and out of the shadow, you find yourself forgetting how to breathe. Like a beast in the night, he ambles his way to you elegantly and swiftly.

Before you know it, Yoongi is standing in front of you. And you, a captor beneath those haunting, onyx, splendor. His gloved fingers twirl a strand of your hair around them before he brings the golden locks to his lips.

“I loved you blindly, Sir Min,” you send your gratitude to the gods and goddesses for the stillness in your voice, “I longed for you like a sailor long to sail the seven seas but do you know what’s so wretched about this sort of longing? Only a lucky few manage to love without drowning.”

Your slender fingers curl around his wrist. Even then, you couldn’t close your fist around it –your hand is too small and delicate compared to his. And at times like these, you’re reminded of how woman you are and how man, he is.

“Release me,” the air feels cold against your now damp cheek but your heart is icier, “once and for all. At the very least, I’ll be able to marry a humble Count who’ll receive part of my inheritance once my father dies.”

The scoff that leaves the man’s lips sends shivers down your spine.

“A humble count,” his eyes gleam with mockery, as if he finds your words ironic, “did the Crown Prince of the Isira Dynasty not propose to you? Did you not come back for the sole purpose to tell me you’re abandoning me?”

You suspected the rumors of your getting closer to the Crown Prince, Namjoon, would spread over the continent.

“If you know, then let me go.” You say steely.

It’s the rawness in your tear-stained eyes that steals Yoongi’s breath away. The night breeze that blows past him almost sends him tumbling down like waves crashing against the shore.

“[Name],” he speaks your name for the first time in a long time, the syllables rolling off his tongue like sweet honey, “I’m not a man of many words. I don’t know how to–”

“You didn’t know how to kill either but you got better at it with practice!” Your throat feels as if it’s being grazed by sandpaper.

Your heart, on fire.

It’s the first time you’ve shown a different emotion than that heartwarming smile that looks like you’re meant for spring and blooming flowers. In that blissful moment, you look like one of the crimson roses that bear witness to you and Yoongi’s altercations.

“That’s right, I know what you do,” you nod, gaze burning with acid tears, “all those months spent waiting for you to come back from those expeditions. Monsters weren’t the only thing you slayed, were they?”

“No,” Yoongi breathes out and for some reason, his chest feels like it’s going to cave in and crush his heart.

The sensation is alien to him. Hell, he didn’t know he had a heart to begin with. It was just an organ that kept his blood pumping –he’d gladly tore it out and gave it to his dearest fiancée if she so much asked for it.

But now – now – she’s saying she wants no part of it.

The realization comes to him like poisonous smoke. Spreading around the hollowed part of his chest and seeps into that beating organ of his. Before he knows it, you’re already slipping out of his grasp.

“I’ll break off the engagement,” he finally says, his brain not registering the words that left his mouth, “for a kiss.”

But his heart knows what he wants.

You look at him like he’s crazy, eyes going round and glossed lips parting in a silent gasp. But when he makes no attempt to correct his words, realization gradually settles in.

“Make it quick.”

Long lashes flutter shut, lips pressed in a straight, unwilling line. The hand that clasps around his wrist falls to your side. Your shoulders are tense. You look like you’d rather be with those chimeras Jeongguk’s breeding than here.

Yoongi takes another step toward you.

Your eyebrows knit together when his gloved knuckles caress your cheekbone. The sharp inhale of breath you take as you brace herself doesn’t go past him. A rose, even in the face of the hands that threatens to pluck it, remains fierce and grounded.

The wait feels endless. As if time passes agonizingly slow yet the only indication that time hasn’t halted altogether is the way your heart keeps palpitating inside your chest as though it’s about to explode any second.

Then you feel them –a pair of softest, ghostly, lips on your forehead. As opposed to the hand kisses he left you, this one lingers with a sort of yearning. And even then, it feels short-lived.

As though you will never have enough of Yoongi Min.

“My lady, you look disappointed, if you wanted me to kiss you elsewhere, you should’ve said so.” There’s a mirth in his tone. And for a moment, you feel warm, like the warmth of the sun hugging you.

“What if I did?”

You want to ask but you decide against it. Thrusting your chin up like the noblest of women would, you remind him of the deal, “I’ll send someone to retrieve the annulment papers in a week’s time. I assume it will bear your signature, sir.”

With that, you walk past him, your laced hand brushing against his gloved one but even on the verge of goodbyes, Yoongi Min doesn’t let you walk out of it that easily. His pinky finger hooks around yours like a rusted, weak chain. Unsure whether to keep holding on or letting go.

Yet your feet stop dead in their tracks. Your heart races. Deep down, you know you want him to hold onto you like you held onto him for ten, pitiful years.

“Have a good evening, my lady,” is all he says, his hand falling away and he begins strutting to the opposite direction you’re heading even though there’s nothing in that direction besides a maze made of rose beds.

But you don’t plan to ponder too much on it. Namjoon, the Crown Prince, is waiting for you back in Isira where you’ll build a new home. A new life. And with a loving husband.

Or so you thought.

That was a lifetime ago. To say you opened your eyes to a twenty-one year old body in a world plagued by motor engine propelled and electronic devices –would be a lie.

This body is yours.

This life is yours.

You remember your first step, first successful ride on the bike after your father took off the supporting wheels, your first fall and the rest of your firsts, seconds, thirds and so on. And as such, you remember your first time meeting Min Yoongi.

At the age of twenty-one and him, twenty-six, his emotions are hard to pinpoint.

He isn’t much different in this lifetime.

His hair is a shade of rich brown that could easily pass as black if he’s not walking underneath the sunlight. He’s taller than the twenty-two year old boy you last saw before your carriage crashed into the ditch –that was the last thing you remembered from your last life.

No, you didn’t die. But the rest of your life past that point was blurry.

And here he comes, all in his dark colored vest over a white undershirt and black trousers. Professor Min Yoongi is nothing short of perfection.

“[Name], do you have a minute?” He approaches you like a panther; soundless and undetectable.

Before you know it, he’s five feet away from you and if you were to make a quick u-turn, it would be too obvious.

“I’m afraid not professor, I’m sorry, should I email you at a later time so we can discuss matters of my assistantship?” You put on your best smile and he lifts a dubious brow that screams that he sees right through your lie.

Yet he doesn’t press on.

Instead, he offers another alternative –though completely disregarding the last bit about the email, “right, then meet me after class.”

“I-I’m afraid I can’t do that either professor, I have to rush to Cyber, right after–!” You almost choke on your words.

“I’ll talk to Professor Park about that,” he says simply and taps you on your shoulder like any good-natured professor would with his top-performing student.

It just so happens that you’re extremely good at the class he teaches, which, ironically, is Neurocriminology.

“Professor Min?” You knock on the intimidating wooden door and hear a curt ‘come in’ from the other side before pushing the door open.

Behind his desk, Yoongi looks up at you through his long lashes and straight into the windows of your soul.

Even in your second life, his piercing stare affects you.

But you tell yourself that it’s because he’s just devilishly handsome and you’re humbly a woman.

That, and he and Professor Park Jimin are the youngest professors in the department.

“Those assignments over there need sorting.” Yoongi points to the pile of papers in a box perched on the coffee table as though waiting for you to arrive.

“Yes, professor,” you breathe through your mouth and swallow back the words of accusation that threaten to fall past your lips.

You did volunteer to be a student assistant but you never thought, in a million years, that the man who resembled your fiancé in the past… Well, on paper at least. You never thought he would pick you as his supervisee.

The room is silent save for the rustling sound of papers fluttering as you shift through each assignment and place them alphabetical orders of the name. Every once in a while, you can’t help but steal glances at the man seated behind the desk. With his hair slicked back and the cuffs of his wrist rolled up to his elbow, he looks like every girl’s modern day prince charming.

“Why are you so keen on running away from me?” His husked tone cuts through the silence.

“Pardon, professor?” You blink, not catching the meaning of his words until a moment later.

Your cheeks heat up under his piercing gaze, the recollection of the occasions you fast-walked to lose him in the hallways burning in the back of your mind.

“I-it seems I always have places to be… classes to attend, I’ll make sure to meet you every morning to confirm my tasks, professor,” you can’t just confess that he has a face and name of the man you once loved in your past life.

If you so much spoke of your remembering you’d be sent to the asylum.

A ghost of a smile tugs on the corners of his lips but it was gone as soon as it came. You’re not sure if you’re just seeing things.

“Very well, send me the location of your apartment so I can pick you up tomorrow,” he doesn’t look up from the screen of his Mac when he says that.

“P-professor?” You blink, disbelief coloring your complexion.

“You said you’d meet me every morning, yes? I always have my breakfast at 7:30 AM at The Curve, we can discuss matters of your tasks over breakfast.” He goes on like it’s just another day of him assigning you a task to complete.

The next morning, you sit with your back straight, staring at the pancakes Yoongi ordered for you. The sweater he wears over his vest makes him seem more relaxed than his usual vest and tie look. His long lashes almost brush the top of his cheek as he casts his gaze down at the leaf shaped latte he’s drinking.

“Professor, I double checked with the administration office and they gave me a list of things I have to do to complete my assistantship. From the tasks you’d given me, I checked off at least three of the requirements,” you take out an azure blue notebook where you flip to a page that has a piece of paper and slides it across the table.

“You came prepared,” he muses, an amused smile playing on his lips and your little heart does its little flips.

“I take it you’re writing a paper on neuroscience and human behavior –if there’s anything, I can help you with, please let me know,” you return his smile with a schooled one –the kind that you use when you’re dealing with strangers.

“Sure,” the professor nods, “I could use some help researching neurodivergence.”

The conversation flows smoothly. The worries you harbored for the whole of your university life now dissipated. You were at your most comfortable when it comes to academia. Your passion lies in your interest in criminology and the one man who you could engage in an intellectual conversation is none other than the man whom you tried so hard to avoid.

At some point, you think your worries, silly. Just because they share the same face and name, doesn’t mean they share the same memory. For all you knew, you could be the one in a million who remembers your past life.

That is, until Yoongi asks, “were you happy?”

He uses the word ‘were’ to refer to the past. It takes you a moment to register that he didn’t mean your childhood nor adolescent years.

And when you finally put two and two together, you can almost hear your heart drop. You thought you’d be sweating bullets and heaving for air from the tangible pressure this conversation brings.

But before you could say anything, Yoongi speaks again, “I won’t push for an answer, I know where that led me before.”

He casts his gaze down, long, nimble fingers picking up the cup of latte and making the regular sized cup seem miniature in his hand.

It’s a few days later, as you accompany him to another university to meet with a fellow specialist, that you finally say, “you never pushed me.”

Stirring the cup of black coffee, sitting at one of the round, two-persons tables in the cafe of the Sociology Department, you go on, “in fact, you never asked for anything at all. I was always the one asking for too much, giving just as much.”

‘I loved you too intensely and I burned too bright.’ These are the words you never dare say.

Loved.

Because you don’t love Min Yoongi anymore.

Perhaps, that’s why you’re unusually calm.

“I can’t remember everything –only bits and pieces. That night,” you swallow –you don’t need to steal a glance at him to know he’s thinking of the same night; the night you said your goodbyes, “after the carriage crashed, I remembered seeing shadows clash against one another. Namjoon’s men went against the assassins who came for me because I was the rumored Crown Prince’s soon-to-be fiancée. I had to go into hiding after he was demoted to a mere prince because of his brothers’ schemes… at some point, I remember starving because we had nothing to eat.”

A new identity was all Namjoon could offer for his beloved. He spoke of claiming back the throne that was rightfully his yet his supporters scattered all over the continents after the siege. Their spirit waned overtime. He came for you after the shadows saved you but you both lived in poverty until one shriveled up like a dead flower and the other went mad for the crown that was once his.

The way his fists clench with remorseful anger doesn’t go past you, it’s almost as though you can hear him blaming himself for your choices.

You smile wistfully, “but yes, I remember being happy,” the smile tugs into a straight line as you face him with conviction, “would I give everything up for that sliver of happiness again? No,” you shake your head, “now I just want money.”

Yoongi laughs. Like truly laughs out loud with his shoulderline shaking and hand on his stomach. The sound lacks the menace that you remembered him to wear around him like a cloak.

All of a sudden, the air seems to change. The tension you once felt, now dissipated into thin air. A familiar warmth creeps up your neck but you mask it with indifference.

You can’t afford to fall for him all over again.

Not when you’ve had a lifetime to mull over and decide these feelings would die with you –get buried with you.

“What happened after your sister ruined the dukedom?” It’s when you both got to this point of the conversation that you felt your heart writhe inside your chest.

As if physically hurting for the fate that befell Yoongi –at this point, it was just an assumption, but you were sure that–

“Aera tracked us one by one until she killed every single Min,” he says simply, as if talking about a cherished sister who up and left home with the family’s savings a few hundred years ago, “she was the best of us. She knew people like us couldn’t be left alone to live a quiet life.”

In the lulled silence, you notice the festering remorse that dances in his eyes.

He clasps his palm over his mouth as he stares out of the window, “of course, things are different now. We’re not allowed to kill.”

At that, you almost spat out the coffee you’re downing. You couldn’t believe your ears.

“It was illegal to kill then, you and your family did it anyway because you were just so– so… messed up!” You explode partly, voice lowered as you lean over the table, cautious of anyone nearby who might hear you.

“Aren’t you glad neurocriminology gives justification to murderers, well, murdering nowadays?” He smirks, one corner of his lip tugging upwards.

You find yourself breathing in sharply as your heart skips a beat at the sight of Min Yoongi’s dark humor.

The Yoongi in your past life would never be able to even understand a joke –you were sure.

But now it’s you who doesn’t appreciate the humor.

“Is that why you became a professor?” It’s apparent in the way your brows knit together.

“Rather, paired with my previous… knowledge, it’s an easier way to get a PhD and a stable earning,” the shrug makes him appear boyish –younger than he is.

For some reason, he was several years older than you in this lifetime compared to the last.

“Apparently mine deems that I marry rich,” you remark playfully.

“Then, shall we get married? I missed my chance in my previous lifetime and I’m kind of well off in this lifetime,” it’s the easy suggestion of marriage that makes you almost choke on the pancake you just directed into your mouth.

“Professor, there’s just something you don’t joke about,” you say after gaining a semblance of your composure yet your heartbeat drums in your ears and your cheeks feel as though they’re on fire.

Why are you so happy to hear that Min Yoongi, your former fiancé and beloved, entertained the idea of marriage with you even in this lifetime?

“Your sisters... do they remember?” Yoongi asks one fine evening as you’re surfing the internet to research the needed materials he tasked you with.

“How did you know I have sisters?” You blink, surprised.

Yoongi had to mask the involuntary smile that tugs on the corners of his lips when he sees how lovely and adorable of a face you’re making.

“You mentioned them before,” he states, “even if you didn’t, I’d suspect as much since I was born with the same siblings from the previous lifetime –for now, it’s me, Aera and Hoseok, who knows where my dad hid the rest of his children and mistresses.”

“They don’t remember, I tried asking when I first started remembering –was it at the age of eight? They looked at me like a devil just possessed their little sister,” you sigh softly, “it’s better this way. Life isn’t all that easy for them either in the past.”

The cherry blossom tree standing tall and proud one the edge of the field is positioned so that anyone who stood in front of his window would get a full view of raining, pink petals.

“Why do you think we remember?” You ask, staring at the petal that fluttered into the room and found itself atop Yoongi’s deep brown lock.

“I’d say fate’s giving us a second chance but you’d laugh at me,” he plainly says, flipping a page of the journal he’s reading.

And laugh at him, you do, “professor, I didn’t take you for a hopeless romantic!”

“We both changed, you and I,” you told him over dinner at le Saumon de Bord du Lac.

The piano playing in the background and the dim lighting gives off an atmosphere of a romantic evening. The waiter even thought you were a couple and offered a couple’s discount.

Yoongi being Yoongi, accepted it right away and called you his ‘darling’. Your cheeks burn up for a good fifteen minutes until the wine comes and you finish the whole glass in a few gulps.

“No shit, Sherlock,” he agrees wholeheartedly without even looking up from the menu, “for one, I’m not some apathetic maniac who goes around wielding spears.”

“No, you’re my professor and I’m your student, we should never be caught dead having dinner together,” you shoot him a rebellious grin to which he nods.

“Touche,” he acknowledges.

A week later, you stopped dead in your tracks when you saw a blonde haired, hazel eyed man approaching you and Yoongi. You’d stepped behind Yoongi’s broad shoulders, the man almost didn’t notice you at all.

He’s supposed to give a talk on neurocriminology –a guest of Yoongi’s.

“Are you okay?” He asks after you’re back in his office, he pulls you away from the spotlight when he notices your forced mechanical smile and fingers tugging at your sleeves.

“I know, right? Why did I get so weird like that?” You laugh to yourself, as though engulfed in your own world.

It doesn’t take a genius to – or perhaps, Min Yoongi was that, so that’s why he successfully – put two and two together and figured out that his esteemed guest is the reincarnation of Namjoon.

The blond didn’t seem to recognize you though.

But that didn’t stop him from taking an interest in you.

“[Name]... that student of yours, is she single?” Namjoon asked when they were out for dinner with the other professors but before Yoongi could even respond, the blond was already laughing it off, “nevermind, forget what I said. You wouldn’t happen to know anyway.”

“Don’t go around flirting with my students, they need to focus on getting a degree first before anything else,” Yoongi jokingly warned.

Something in his stomach twists and turns, as if a snake was slithering around his intestines, spreading its venom all over him.

But that did nothing to stop you and Namjoon from exchanging numbers and going out to brunches and dinners like he did with you. You keep on tugging on her sleeve and pushing your hair to the back of her ear when you spoke to Namjoon at the next talk he was invited to.

Much to Yoongi’s surprise, despite your obvious discomfort, you’re the one who suggested inviting Namjoonfor the new semester and handled all the matters pertaining to the talk.

“I don’t want to push you because if I do, you’d drift farther away from me and if I pull, you’ll recoil and take ten steps back –there’s no right way,” Min Yoongi has you trapped between the door and his body one afternoon. Particularly, after he saw the name Joonie flash across your screen as your phone vibrates.

You excused yourself to answer the call but just as your hand touched the door handle, his hand rested on top of yours, stopping you from walking out of his office.

“Wh-what are you saying, professor?” You stammer, the now still phone held in front of your chest.

He thinks he sees the tip of your ear turn red but it could be because of the fading winter air.

It was always uncomfortable to watch you and Namjoon interact but Yoongi attributed it to the fact that one remembered the times they spent together in their past life and the other having absolutely no idea yet still falling for your charms either way.

He twirls a strand of your hair around his index finger before he kisses it, “he may have your heart but I’ve loved you first –I’ve always loved you first.”

“P-professor-!” You exclaim, heels turning and so does your body.

No doubt, your sole purpose of turning around to face him is to caution him of his bold declaration –you were like an open book that Yoongi could just pick up and flip the pages to. You’d always been readable, even back then. Perhaps, that was why it felt like a hand clawed through his chest and wraps its talons around his heart each time you put up walls and turn away his subtle advances.

Because he knows winter has long settled in the hollowed part of your chest.

But because of how he was leaning down to kiss your hair, you end up face to face with only inches apart. There’s no mistaking the blush that spreads across your face, washing away the initial surprise of finding yourself so close to him.

“Call me Yoongi,” he implores with that deep, husky voice of his.

It’s the way he looks at you. Like he’s frightened beyond belief that you’d do exactly what he thought you would; take ten steps back –that makes your heart thump unceremoniously in your chest.

“Y-yoongi… we shouldn’t…” you murmur weakly, eyes tracing his soft lips before snapping up to meet his gaze.

“May I kiss you?” He knows he should let you go to answer the call –what you do and who you see in this lifetime is none of his business.

And yet, he can’t bear the thought of you walking away from him in this lifetime. Not when there’s the second chance he made a pact with the devil for.

Fate and the devil, what difference are there if they meant to serve one purpose?

You nod.

And all of a sudden, he’s back where it all ended. In that garden where roses bore witness to their tragic love affair.

He leans in and presses his lips on your forehead ever so gently –it feels as though if he puts any more pressure, you’d break like you’re made of glass.

“Kiss me for real –if you kiss me on the forehead, it feels like you’re saying goodbye,” your eyes flutter open and your brows join together in protest, he feels you tug on his shirt impatiently.

The softest of smiles graces Yoongi’s lips and you think your heart is going to explode into millions of pieces. Is it not enough that he’s the reason you almost forgot to breathe?

“Wasn’t it you who was itching to run away from me?” He teases, pinching your cheek and just like his hand kisses –you still feel them ghost over the back of your hand every once in a while– his touches are feather light.

“Only because you were an emotionally constipated idiot.” You argue back, lips puckered in protest.

“Then, if I may… my lady…” he trails off, index finger curled under her chin, tilting you face up.

“You may,” you giggle against his lips, arms tracing up the planes of his abs to his chest and find home around his neck as you pull him closer, deepening the kiss.

(“I was only putting up with Namjoon because he’s the head of the criminology department in Incheon –I was thinking of applying for a job there after graduating.” You confess some time later once you’re at le Saumon de Bord du Lac.

“Huh,” Dion blinks, not expecting that.

“Did you think I was going to date him in this lifetime?” You giggle as if you already know the answer, “true, he’s still as handsome as ever, but we did go broke and… I never truly loved him.”

You cast her gaze down, cheeks burning with warmth, shyness overcoming you all of a sudden. If he could, Yoongi would gather her in his arms and embrace her like he’ll never let go.

But he settles with a reach of his hand on top of yours on the table, thumb caressing the spot just below the knuckle of your fourth finger.

“In this lifetime… definitely.”)

note. this was shared on a discord server and posted on wattpad under a different pseudonym!

#bts fic #bts fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfic #bts scenarios #yoongi scenarios #yoongi smut #bts smut #bts fanfiction #yoongi fanfiction #yoongi fluff

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believinghurts · 4 years ago

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New Series Alert

I have gotten back into Twilight and have decided to take a swing at writing fanfics for it. This is the prolouge/start to my new OC series. Please read and let me know what you think! Don’t worry I will be continuing writing the Their Daugther series as well, but my James Potter and Percy Weasley series has been put on pause. I’m not 100% sure where to go next in those stories so until I figure it out I am trying something new!

Warnings: Bella bashing, jealously, umm Renee being rude

Word Count: 900

Lucky Star

“Well I see that you are still dying your hair those God awful colors, Elizabeth,” Renee sneered at her eldest daughter while her step-siblings, Jack and Maisie, and her sister laughed.

“Yeah, I am. Good to see you too, mom,” Lizzie rolled her eyes slightly. She had always been the least favorite twin in her mother's eyes. Isabella, her sister, was perfect in every way possible according to Renee. This was the first time she had seen her mother in about 4 years. Lizzie had lived with their father all of her life. When she and her sister were three their parents got divorced. Isabella went with their mom and Lizzie with their dad, then during the summer, the girls would switch for a month. That was up until their mother met Phil and his two-span, then Lizzie’s summers became filled with sitting in her small room alone. Bella decided when she was 11 that she didn’t want to switch anymore causing Lizzie to stop seeing their mother altogether. She would call once or twice a year if that, but it was fine. Lizzie had plenty of people to fill that void in such as Sue Clearwater and her boyfriends’ mother, Esme.

Lizzie wouldn’t be here now if it weren’t for Renee not wanting Bella to fly alone, but of course, it was okay for Lizzie to fly alone to Arizona to just turn around and fly right back to Forks, Washington. Lizzie would much rather be at home watching baseball with her dad or out with Rose causing mischief to Roses’ siblings. Lizzie had always been slightly envious of the Cullen siblings' relationship. Although adopted they were all incredibly close. Emmett and Edwards were always joking around with Rose and Alice talking about fashion while Jasper and Grey were always working on some sort of puzzle. Isabella and Lizzie had never really gotten along even as kids. The favoritism from their mother combined with Bellas's need to be the center of attention always caused a rift.

Lizzie remembers the one time she got the lead in a school play during the fourth grade. She had called her mother, excited to share her achievement only to have her rip it away by saying Bella won some award for math and that Lizzie probably only got it because the other girl was sick or something. Bella bragged about her award every time she saw her sister while belittling her about the play-calling it and Lizzie names.

“I would love to stay and chat, but we have a flight to catch. Come on Bella.” Lizzie turned and walked back towards the Port Angeles terminal wanting to get back to rainy Washington and away from her mother as soon as possible. She hears Bella say goodbye and her hurried footsteps to catch up with Lizzie.

“You could have said goodbye” the younger Swan snapped while they waited for their boarding passes to be called.

“Why? It’s not like mom or any of them care if I do or not,” Lizzie answered back. The sound of Lizzies phone ringing cut of Bellas reply. Lizzie smiled before picking up. “Hey, Esme. What’s up?”

“Hi, darling. I was just making sure you landed okay and was about to be on your way back,” The matron of the Cullen household replied. Esme had loved Lizzie ever since she met her. The girl was sweet and caring towards everyone including her family of vampires. Lizzie never made them feel like they were anything less than human. Esme had heard of how her actual mother treated her and stepped in to help fill the role since she already saw her as one of her own.

“Yeah, the flight was fine. We’re waiting to be called now. So I’ll have to get off soon.” Lizzie ignored Bellas's confused looking glare.

“That’s fine. I was just checking up on you. I’ll see you tomorrow hopefully.” Lizzie heard a yell coming through the background. “Tell my girl I’ll see her at school tomorrow!”

Lizzie giggled, “I’ll see everyone tomorrow. Bye Esme,” and since she knew whoever was in the house could hear her, “Bye everyone else!” a chorus of byes rang out as she ended the call.

“Who was that?” Bella asked. She was confused as to why her sister had so many people who cared about her. Bella knew she was the better twin; she was prettier, smarter, funnier.

Lizzie ignored her sister till after take off. She knew she was trapped into answering now. “Lizzie, who was that? Whose Esme? Dad’s girlfriend?”

Lizzie burst out laughing. She knew that her dad would never date, she had tried multiple times to get him to. He was too focused on his daughter and job to do so. And the thought of Carlisle and Esme not being together was heartbreaking, “No, Esme is not dads’ girlfriend. Esme is my boyfriend's mother.”

Bellas jaw dropped to the floor. Does her sister have a boyfriend? Who has a family that likes her? That was insane to her. Bella remained quiet for the remainder of the flight thinking of how she was going to get this ‘boyfriend to leave her sister and come to her. She knew that he was probably weird if he was dating her blue-haired sister, but she didn’t care. Soon everyone would see what a freak Elizabeth Star Swan was

#twilight fanfiction #twilight #wolf pack twilight #carlise cullen #edward cullen #esme cullen #jasper cullen #cullen coven #cullen family #rosalie cullen #twilight oc #new work #new series

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svenotes · 4 years ago

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drabble #1

❝ the one where your one night stand turns out to be your boss ❞

[ PAIRING ] : jeon jungkook x reader | bff!hoseok x reader

[ GENRE ] : office au (not the tv show lol) + crack, smut (mentioned)

[ WORD COUNT ] : 1.7k

[ WARNINGS ] : mentions of sex, a lot of banter, jungkook only appears for like two seconds so this is more best friend!hoseok and oc bickering

[ AUTHOR’S NOTE ] : i’m trying to get back into writing, so here’s some funny banter w plot

drabbles | masterlist | wattpad cross post | ao3 cross post

“Besides, when have—!”

“No.”

Hoseok frowns, eyes narrowing on you. “You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

Going through your mental checklist, you neatly place the documents in your hands on your boss’s desk. Today has been a hectic day at the office. It was a miracle that you even managed to finish everything by the end of your shift. On days where you can barely tell the difference between left and right, you found yourself clocking extra hours. You suppose you have Hoseok to thank for that. By some grace of God, he was assigned on the same project as you and as annoying as your friend could be, he also knew when to keep things professional.

He’s already set to leave for the day, waiting for you to finish up. Since the days are getting shorter, he’s made the habit of walking you to your car after work. He stares at you with a dubious look in his eyes, and you hold it for a moment before you walk towards your cubicle to pick up your keys.

“I know you,” you start, grabbing your purse and keys. “I know what you’re going to say because I know you.”

Hoseok scoffs at that, crossing his arms over his chest. A part of you hopes he stops his questioning and drops the topic altogether. However, you know Hoseok. Dropping a subject isn’t his specialty, even if the world demands that he should.

As you try to leave your office, Hoseok blocks your path. “Y/N.”

You keep a straight face. “Hoseok.”

“I am your best friend—!”

“Debatable.”

He ignores you and continues, “And I love you—!”

“Also debatable,” you murmur.

“—which is why I cannot for the life me understand why you would keep secrets about your sex life from me.”

He catches the attention of a few of your co-workers. You brush them off with a smile, wishing them good-night before you pull Hoseok inside an empty office by his loosened tie. He lets out a choked cough as you drag him in and shut the door behind him, keeping your conversation away from prying ears.

“Are you trying to kill me?” Hoseok hisses, rubbing his neck. “I just want some details about the new guy you’re screwing. How’d you meet? How long has this been going on? Why was I never informed you were dating someone?”

You close your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose. “For the millionth time, I am not dating anyone. And there’s nothing to know—!”

“You’re lying! Again!” He points a finger in your face. “You left the bar with someone on the night of Ellie’s birthday and you’ve been secretive ever since.” He narrows his eyes. “Who are you hiding?”

You swat his fingers away, brows furrowed. “I’m an open book. I have nothing to hide.”

“Bullshit. You're as open as Yoongi.”

“How is Yoongi?” You ask, not-so-subtly deflecting. “It's been a while since I’ve seen him. You need to stop keeping him all to yourself. I miss my ex-roommate.”

Hoseok and you have known each other for as long as you’ve been working for the company. He sat in the cubicle beside yours and over time you became good friends. Yoongi, your roommate at the time, stopped by the office to drop off some lunch and met Hoseok before you could introduce them.

At first, the two despised each other, their personalities crashing — Hoseok too bright, and carefree and Yoongi more mellow and conserved. However, things began to shift between them over time and now Hoseok walks around with a ring in his jacket pocket at all times.

Hoseok’s cheeks dust pink. “I haven't proposed yet if that's what you're wondering.”

“Just let me know who’s best man I’m going to be,” you laugh.

“None of ours, ‘cause I’m going to ban you from the wedding—!”

Your eyes widen, appalled. “Why—!”

“Who are you dating?”

Your mouth clasps shut, glaring at him. “No one.”

It’s not a lie, Jungkook and you are not dating. Your relationship with him was far from romantic. However, Hoseok doesn’t know that and you’re not sure how you're supposed to tell him. Especially when it seems as though your past is trying to relive itself in the form of another man. You worked hard to move on from when you fell in love with your co-worker — you’ve worked so hard to put the past behind you and keep your professional life separate from your personal. Yet, it’s as if all of that hangs by a thread, threatening to slip through your fingers because history is trying to repeat itself.

How were you supposed to know your kind-of one-night stand was the youngest heir of Jeon Enterprises? You wouldn’t have dared to take a bite of the forbidden fruit if you knew.

A headache forms at the very thought of Hoseok’s lecture once you explain to him you unintentionally fucked your boss. It’s why you’ve been avoiding him and deflecting his questions throughout the day. You sigh, meeting his eyes.

What Hoseok doesn’t know cannot hurt him, right?

His eyes narrow on you, mouth opening for a rebuttal, but the knock on the door silences him. Your attention turns towards the door and you forget to breathe at the sight of the man at the door.

Jungkook's eyes immediately find yours, a small smile tugging on his lips. He looks sweet — innocent, even. Nothing like the man who feasts on you like fine cuisine. Your breath gets caught in your throat when you vividly remember the sinful things he can do with those lips — that mouth. You push the thoughts to the side, mirroring his smile despite the rapid pace of your heartbeat.

“Mr. Jeon,” Hoseok speaks first, clearing his throat.

Jungkook's eyes widen a fraction as he finds Hoseok standing a few feet from you, mirroring the shocked expression you wore moments ago. As if he didn’t even notice Hoseok’s presence.

“Please, call me Jungkook,” he starts, sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. “There’s no need for formalities.”

Hoseok simply nods. “Right. Jungkook.”

“I — uh,” you clear your throat, ignoring the heat that rises to your cheeks as Hoseok's scrutinizing gaze flickers between the two of you. “Did you need anything?”

“Ah,” Jungkook’s eyes flicker towards Hoseok. “Nothing in particular. I was going around trying to get to know the team better. You just seemed preoccupied earlier and I didn’t want to disturb you, so I thought I’d catch you now.”

“Oh,” you say, stupidly.

“We were was just about to head home,” Hoseok adds, glancing between the two of you. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

"I see,” Jungkook hums and his lips curl into a frown momentarily. “It was nice meeting you today. I look forward to working with you both.”

You hold his gaze for a moment before you respond, “Yea, likewise.”

“Me too,” Hoseok deadpans.

Swallowing, you ignore the look Hoseok sends you. It’s clear, he knows; he's put the pieces together. You will the heat in the apples of your cheeks to dissipate as you keep your composure.

“Goodnight.” Jungkook nods at Hoseok before returning his attention to you. “I’ll see you later.”

“Night.”

As he leaves, his gaze lingers on you for a second too long before he walks away. You let out a breath of air you didn’t realize you were holding, hand resting against your thundering heart. Hoseok waits for the door to shut and for Jungkook to round the corner before—!

“I’m not going to lie,” he begins, leaning against the desk, “that was painful to watch.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re fucking him.” It wasn't a question.

“We slept together a few times,” you sigh, pressing your fingers against your temple. “He said he worked at his father’s company, but I didn’t know his father was CEO of Jeon Enterprises. It didn’t even piece together that he was the Jungkook our team manager was talking about until I saw him this morning.”

He lets your words sink in, humming as he studies you. “He was totally gonna ask to fuck you tonight.”

“Shut up.” You throw your keys at him, but he catches it with ease. “We’re… supposed to meet tonight.”

He raises a brow. “To fuck?”

“Mhm.”

You’re supposed to meet tonight for a date, but Hoseok already knows too much. Telling him you decided to humour Jungkook for a date will only worsen your headache. Mainly because Hoseok will tell you the only reason you’re humouring him is since you like him.

Only two weeks have passed since you first met and look at the mess it’s already created. What should’ve been strictly a fuck-buddy relationship has turned for the worst.

“You probably shouldn’t.”

“I know.” You slouch, defeated as you lean against the desk beside him. “I know.”

“Wow — wait.” Hoseok’s shock turns into a frown. “You bailed on me Sunday night for mediocre dick, didn’t you?”

“Not mediocre dick,” you sigh, reminiscing the last time you went over. Although, it doesn’t last for long — “Ow! Hoseok, what the fuck?”

“That's for bailing on me,” he snorts before flicking your forehead again. “And that was for telling me his dick game is good.”

You roll your eyes, scoffing, but that doesn’t stop the rush of memories from last weekend. Limbs entangled between sheets, hands grazing every inch of your bodies and lips twined with yours. Your body still remembers the comfort of his warmth as he brought you to euphoria over and over again. A mere memory makes your knees weak.

Your phone buzzes in your hands and you suppress your groan.

[ 6:14 pm ] jungkook (dude w the nice dick): you still coming over?

You don’t realize Hoseok leans over to read your text until —!

“Booty-call.”

Flicking his forehead, you ignore Jungkook’s message. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Alright,” he says, following after you. He keeps quiet until you’ve both entered the elevator, away from other’s prying ears. “Are you going to visit him tonight?”

“I don’t know.”

Your thoughts are torn between right and wrong — your career and pleasure. Meeting him tonight and ending things would be the right decision, but you’re not entirely sure you would be able to avoid his advances if you tried.

You’re screwed.

It’s been long since you crossed the Gates of Eden and sunken your teeth into the divine fruit, and now you’re addicted to the taste.

You are so incredibly screwed.

#jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #hoseok imagine #bts imagine #bts #jungkook #jeon jungkook #hoseok #jung hoseok

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universallywriting · 4 years ago

Note

Connverse: 58 and 75

https://universallywriting.tumblr.com/post/641505013940846593/fanfiction-trope-mash-up

Accidental Eavesdropping and Bed Sharing. Very clever!

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

If Steven is totally honest with himself, he doesn't know when his powers start. His dad says that there are moments throughout his infancy that might have been magic, or it might have been a tired parent not having the best memory.

There was the occasional toy Greg swore he had put out of reach found back in Steven's hand, the occasional flower patches that seemed to spring up around him. Little things that made Greg wonder just how strong his son really was.

Because of that, Steven could never really be sure when his dreams stopped being his own.

Does he dream about working in the donut shop? Or is that Sadie's mind he's riding along in? Does he have dreams about loneliness, wandering aimlessly in a world of lifeless rocks, or is that Amethyst's memory twisting up in his own when they slept close together?

After fusing with Connie, it's nearly impossible to know if a dream is his or hers.

He's only ever fused with two humans - Connie and his father. The fusion with his father hadn't lasted long - not from any weakness in their relationship but because of his flickering powers. But he and Connie fuse again and again, just for the joy of fusion. They're so in sync it happens by mistake, and his mind gets good at falling into hers.

So how is he supposed to know who dreams of the terrifying ocean overhead, and the comfort of a pink bubble? Who dreams of trying to breathe and finding lungs full of water, or empty of air? Who dreams about books they're reading together, or games they play together, or their favorite shows?

It's rarely easy.

He wakes up one morning with Connie beside him after a sleepover. He's dreamed from her point of view, and he's sure the dream isn't his own, because he has never seen a green paper full of odd little bubbles. He barely understands the dream at all - only vaguely comprehending that the sheet of empty bubbles was a big, important test that he has no chance of passing.

He asks Connie about it, and her cheeks get red as she mumbles, "You shouldn't eavesdrop on people's dreams." It's half a joke, and she had been sweet enough to explain the bubble tests to him, but it sticks with him.

It isn't nice to eavesdrop. He knows that. He's gotten in trouble for it plenty over the years.

So Steven does his best to practice. He practices with all his powers, so it's no trouble to add dreamwalking to the list. He tries to catch his mind whenever its floating off to the humans of Beach City. If a gem needs him, that's fine, but it's rude to sneak around people's brains.

He knows his own face grows hot when he imagines other people seeing his own dreams. His powers have snatched his privacy away more than once. Steven knows it's not a pleasant feeling.

He pulls himself away from dreams of swordfighting and fantastic worlds, and nightmares about school stuff and gem stuff. He rolls back the leash of his magical mind, though it's a strain to keep himself properly out of someone's head when they have the same nightmare again and again, and the need to help makes his gem hum.

But it's rude. He holds back. He lets humans be human without him meddling.

He's gotten really good at it, mostly. It almost never happens. It's only a problem when he and Connie sleep side by side, separated by inches or nothing at all. He doesn't stand a chance then. He's been trying with everything he has, but there's no chance.

When she's this close, he's not sure his gem understands when he ends and she begins.

Any time he and Connie dare to share a bed, his mind tumbles into hers. He asks Garnet, sure it's either a problem of fusion or love, and Garnet is an expert in both. She tells him a little more each time he asks, a little more complicated as he grows, so by seventeen he has a notebook to study from as he tries to solve the impossible problem.

Garnet says that Steven is not good at fusion because he's a Diamond. It's the caring, the empathy, being willing to see things from someone else's point of view. That was the thing that had made fusion come to him so smoothly over time, with so many of his loved ones.

Garnet explains that Connie does the same for him.

Compatibility is a two-way street. If Connie wasn't so good at understanding the world the way he does, Stevonnie wouldn't be such an easy fusion to make. Every year they know each other better, their lives twisting up in one another's no matter how many miles threaten to rip them apart.

The choice is to keep eavesdropping or end being close altogether. Neither of them hesitates.

He falls asleep next to Connie, the two of them snoring in her too-small dorm room bed, and Steven still never has a clue whether he's walked into her dreams or not. Not unless he tried, not unless he meant to.

The only consolation was that Connie didn't either - not unless they talked about it.

He worries over it. "Maybe we could put a pillow between us."

"Why?"

"I don't want you to catch my nightmares."

She looks up at him with deep, brilliant brown eyes and for a little bit it's quiet. he lets it be quiet, because he's gotten good at that over the years. Connie likes to think before she speaks if she isn't angry, so he lets her do that now, carefully picking through her massive vocabulary to phrase her words just right.

"I get more nightmares when I'm alone," she says finally, and her eyes flick away at the confession. "I'd rather go through it with you. It's awful being alone."

They talk about it for a while. It's almost an argument, but not quite, and by the end Connie's laughing and saying, "We're dating, Steven. I don't have a lot of secrets left! What are you gonna see?"

So he eavesdrops. They share dreams of flying and falling, swimming and drowning, success and failure. Sometimes it's a fun game to wonder who the dream comes from, and it's hard to feel embarrassed when they couldn't even tell whose brain it had been cooked up in.

Though when they dream of kissing - when things are suddenly less floaty and wild, and the dreams are nothing but heavy breath, calloused fingers on soft skin, and sweet whispers of adoration. Well. They both wake up blushing, but since it could be either one of them there shouldn't be much to be embarrassed about.

Still, when Steven wakes up from dreams like that, his flaming cheeks make him wish he could get a little better at keeping his mind to himself.

#steven universe #steven universe future #connie maheswaran #connverse #fic

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nonbinarychaoticstupid · 4 years ago

Note

fifteen (hugging each other) if you want? (any ship/pairing/anything you feel like) aaaa

:0 skjckiskjdshd i was going to do carulia bc AA but then i fell into the lumity hyperfixation and this was born dksjdjksdjknjf this is the fastest i have ever written for a prompt

ft amity being ridiculously soft and in love and probably a lot of spelling mistakes idk

They drop Willow and Gus at their respective homes before midnight sets in - Amity even helps Gus crawl in through his window, which is nice of her, Luz thinks. She's too sore and tired to do anything except stand behind her, watching the street in case Odalia comes tearing down it on top of another abomination (probably with teeth this time, because who knows what happened after they ran away from the warehouse), gripping her sore arm and thinking about how her heart started pounding in her ears earlier, how she flushed when Amity grabbed her shoulder and hurried her outside and had to stare determinedly at the stars for a good ten minutes before she could look her in the eyes again, how -

"Luz?"

She jumps. It's Amity - of course it's Amity, she's been anxiously hovering around her and mumbling apologies for her parents since they were sure they weren't being followed - and she's holding out her hand and offering her a small, awkward half-smile, and Luz's heart gives a funny little jump, and then a second as she takes it and laces their fingers together.

And then a third, this time for a different reason altogether, when Gus pokes his head out of the window above them and waves.

Amity waves back (She really likes us now, Luz thinks, grinning up at the illusion of Gus's disembodied head propped on his balcony), and when they set off down the street, she feels her own grip tighten ever so slightly around her hand.

She lets out a long breath. Everything is fine. It's a beautiful, silent night, and she's wandering down the prettiest street in Bonesborough and holding Amity's hand, and there's still abomination gunk in her hair, but everything is... fine. Great, actually. And Amity is smiling, which is awesome, because Luz has never seen her smile at anything like that before.

She could get used to it, honestly.

Amity glances at her and smiles again, softer, slower. "You're making your idea face."

Luz blinks, resists the urge to reach up and feel exactly what face she's making. "Oh, am I? I have an idea face? That's pretty cool, actually. Or is it? Because then everyone knows what I'm thinking. Nah, still cool. I have an idea face. Yeah. I'm intimidating and cool. A bad boy, if you will."

She laughs. (Luz's heart does the funny little jumping thing again. She wonders, distantly, if it shows.) "The literal walking definition of a bad boy, you goof."

"Baddest boy in the Boiling Isles. Lesser witches cower before my star power."

Amity laughs again. She has a really nice laugh (like, wow), and it's still making something in her chest feel funny. "Luz the Bad Boy," she says, somewhat giddily.

"Azura the Good Witch and her edgy cousin." She squeezes Amity's hand, swinging their interlaced fingers between them. It's not often they get moments together like this, and she's starting to understand now what it is that's making her heart race and her breathing feel funny, and she thinks, a little distantly, that spending time alone with Amity is going to be - weird now, and - "I'd read that book."

"Please don't tell me the next thing we do is write it."

"Oh, we?" Luz turns to grin at her. "There's a we now?"

And Amity - Amity flushes.

"Yes - I, um - a - a we, sure, I don't - I dunno, uh - we as - as in - um -" She bites the inside of her cheek, glancing away, and Luz's heart does the jumping thing again.

"Wow, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she mumbles, grip loosening on her hand, and she chews on her lip and squeezes it tighter. It probably isn't the best move, but Amity... Amity seems to respond well to it - she squeezes her hand back, and when they round a corner and officially make it out of the main town, Luz notices that they're walking in sync. The realisation makes her smile.

"Amity," she begins, and Amity jumps.

"Hm?"

"Are you gonna go back to your parents tonight? I - I don't think that's really safe. You - you could - uh, you could stay with us, if you want. Just until school tomorrow. King won't sleep on your clothes if I tell him not to, I swear."

She smiles at her over the space between them - the same soft, slow smile that made Luz's heart do the Thing again earlier. "I - thanks for the offer, but I'll probably go to Skara's. She's used to it. Me coming over after an incident, I mean."

"Stuff like that's happened before?" Luz whispers, and she meant it to sound casual, not... tense. "I'm - I'm really sorry, Amity. I'm sorry for pushing you earlier."

Amity shrugs. "You didn't know. It's not like I go around telling people. And it's not - it's not a big deal, anyway."

"Amity, that necklace -"

"Luz," she mumbles, not unkindly. "It's not a big deal. I can handle it. I've got Edric and Emira."

"And your father?"

She shrugs again, slower this time. "He doesn't care. Mom could dangle us over the edge of a cliff and he'd be more concerned with the soil density than, you know, his children."

Luz can't think of anything to say except "I'm sorry." She reaches out with her free hand, touches Amity's shoulder, and she gives her a long, warm look. And they fall silent.

And Amity's head falls gently onto her shoulder.

The silence lasts for the majority of the walk home, right up until they make it into the woods, and then Amity lifts her head from Luz's shoulder and murmurs, "It's really pretty out here at night, isn't it?"

Looking over at her and saying yeah, it is would be the obvious and cliché thing to do, and also Amity would notice and probably laugh at her, so Luz stares determinedly again at the sky for the second time tonight and chokes out, "Yup. Really pretty. Love living out here. Especially at night."

Amity giggles, and it's the most undignified and adorable sound she's ever heard come out of her mouth. "You're a dork."

"Biggest dork on the Boiling Isles. Baddest boy around. My list of qualifications just keeps on growing."

She laughs again. And Luz realises that ever since they escaped the warehouse, she's been... relaxed. Not happy, because dealing with a mother like that probably couldn't leave her feeling particularly cheerful, but... open. Softer, warmer. And she thinks it's because of the absence of the necklace.

They stop not far from the Owl House, in the shelter of a large tree she knows, logically, isn't oak, but looks too close to be anything but. Amity's head falls back onto her shoulder again. She makes a soft, contented noise (and the Thing happens again, and she thinks, wow), and mumbles, "You're thinking about the necklace, aren't you?"

"I didn't say anything. That was all you. But yes, I am curious. D'you - d'you want to talk about it?"

A long, almost languid shrug. She reminds Luz of a cat sometimes. "She used it to talk to me. And, uh - and keep me in line, I guess. Threaten me where no-one else could hear it. Where Dad couldn't stop it. Yeah, he did try to stop it sometimes. Mostly because he seems to draw the line at physical injury he can't explain to the authorities." The corners of her mouth twitch up, and Luz has to shake herself.

"That's awful," she breathes, feeling small. "That's horrible, Amity, I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Amity detaches herself from Luz's side, and her hair is messy and sticking to the side of her face and when she steps away and turns to face her she keeps a hold of her hand. "Come on, I'll walk you to the door."

Luz smiles at her.

Amity lets go of her hand when they get to the porch. (Luz tries not to visibly frown at the loss of her presence.) She makes it all the way to the door, Amity trailing behind her with an odd, uncertain expression, and then something shifts a little within her ribcage and she spins around and flings herself into her arms, and Amity yelps and stumbles back a little, and then she loops her arms around her shoulders and hugs her back.

Luz likes hugging Amity.

It's such a simple thought, and it makes her feel so strangely delighted. They fit perfectly between each other's arms, and in the half-dark, lit only by the dim, guttering light from the lamps inside the house itself, and she has the feeling that the only reason Hooty isn't directly behind them making some snide comment is because Lilith is inside and entertaining him, thank G0d.

Something like five minutes pass - I've been hugging Amity for five whole minutes, oh my gosh - and then she hears, somewhere to her left, "Uh, Luz?"

"Hm?"

"This is nice."

She settles her head on Amity's shoulder. "It is."

"I think I have to let go now."

"Nooo..." She buries her head in Luz's hoodie, just gently enough to make her heart do the Thing again, and sighs, and Luz laughs.

"You okay there?"

"Don't get a lot of hugs."

"Mm. You can still stay with us tonight if you want." ('Don't get a lot of hugs.')

Amity shakes her head. "I'm good. Thank you, though."

"Thank you for saving my life today. You were awesome. You are awesome. I can't imagine doing anything like that."

"Luz," she says, warmly, softly, "You do it all the time."

And with that, she steps back, lets go of her entirely, and practically skips into the night, leaving Luz to stare after her and wonder why she left so fast, and spend the rest of the night agonising over this weird, warm feeling buzzing away in her chest.

#sep texxt #ask #sandiegocarmen #luz you're in LOVE #sep's writing #toh #the owl house #lumity #luz #luz noceda #amity #amity blight #gosh. gay.#tw abuse #tw abuse mention #toh spoilers

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joontier · 4 years ago

Text

“V” | part one

synopsis: You zinged. With the captain. Who was human.

pairings: kim taehyung x female reader

rating: R (18+) | genre: smut, fluff, angst, crack, minor angst (as of now) ,fantasy, (unknowing) enemies to lovers trope; captain! taehyung x vampire! reader, based off Hotel Transylvania and Girl’s Trip! | warnings: plenty of sexual innuendos, explicit sex) (groping, fingering, exhibitionism,

word count: 13.1k

g/n: im splitting this into a two/three shot because i really wanted to post this bc the coward in me is afraid that if i finish and post the whole thing this app might crash on me ajfoiawjefiajwfa n e ways, enjoy this first part and please let me know what you think!

one. | two. | three.?

navi | m.list

Albeit recorded as one of the smallest countries in terms of area and population, the country of Tersnoa proudly boasts its multiple attractions and rich culture. As the nation’s economy depends heavily on tourism, Tersnoa is considered a hidden treasure amongst the genuine travelers - human and monsters alike.

Santa Shelea - the monster capital of Tersnoa, is located beneath the lush woods of the small country, hidden to the human eye. Entrance to the city you grew up in is a privilege given only to monsters, though it wasn’t always like that.

The city used to nurture human and monster liaisons, with relations surpassing mere diplomacy. Humans and monsters shared friendships that run deeper than their contrasts in physical attributes and their innate characteristics. It was a time when both parties realized they were so much alike in plenty of ways and respect was observed by all despite the differences in appearances and culture. Admittedly, monsters had more to sacrifice with these accords due to your more primal urges, but your kind made it work, for the sake of peaceful coexistence.

The other party, however, did not seem to share the same sentiments for long.

Santa Shelea was one of the few places left on Earth where monsters sought refuge as your kind of people were constantly drawn out of the places they used to peacefully live at by the humans themselves. You thought Santa Shelea was different - that these people you once even considered family wouldn’t push you away just like what the others did, but it wasn’t before long that the human citizens of the once-glorious city were going to change their minds.

These selfish, pompous humans conducted an uprising to protest against the presence of monsters in ‘their’ land. It was an awful time to have grown up in, being called a ‘monster’ in all senses of the word, especially from those people you have even considered friends. The human citizens conducted an uprising in Santa Shelea, protesting the presence of monsters in ‘their’ land, ultimately disturbing the peace of the city.

Humans burned your houses down to the ground, including your helpless mother in their supposed quest for peace. After having kept the harmonious liaisons for quite some time, your kind had gone back to your primitive instincts, fighting for your rights along with an army of beasts, hybrids, witches, and members of the undead. It was catastrophe epitomized, a day that no one wishes to relive.

It isn't fair to say that the monsters emerged victorious when so many had perished, your mother included. Eventually, these mortal beings realized there were no match for formidable creatures and soon took their leave of the once prosperous city. Soon enough, humans became history to monsters and vice versa.

Rebuilding your beloved city from scratch was no easy task, proving to be even more difficult with the agony that came with burying the past. To prevent any more man-made disasters in the future, the witches had agreed to cast a spell over Santa Shelea: that your city will forever remain invisible to the human eye.

And it has remained such until the present, appearing as part of the picturesque mountain ranges Tersnoa has to offer. Far from the city and beneath the mountains of lush forestry, Hotel Tersnoa stands tall in the middle of Santa Shelea - the city where monsters thrive. If you could only speak for yourself, the city could easily pass as the eighth wonder of the world.

Hotel Tersnoa isn’t the only legacy handed down from your great-great-great-grandfather (“G4 for short”, he’d offered one day, explaining that he had to ‘blend in with the now’). During the past millennia, he had also established a conglomerate of enterprises across the world. He’s even founded BloodHub, an international focus group centered on blood diseases and blood donations but you wouldn’t want to delve on the beginning and end of that.

The responsibility of taking over the hotel had been passed on to your father since then and his ardency for the hotel was unparalleled, the bequest of the hotel has surpassed the original Hotel Tersnoa of which your grandfathers had initially envisioned it to be. Your father would spend hours on end surveying every detail, nook, and cranny of the beloved establishment, barking orders left and right.

On top of being a father, he had busied himself with the responsibilities of a hotelier. Yet you knew deep down it was all but a façade to mask the void that your mother left in his heart. There were many nights you’d caught him staring into the distance in a secluded place, away from the hustle and bustle at the hotel. You loved your father dearly, wanting nothing else for him but the happiness he truly deserves.

When you had turned of age, you insisted on taking over the hotel in your father’s stead. You knew that your mother’s passing had been a toll too great to bear for your father, especially in a place where he is constantly reminded of her. You wanted him to enjoy his life, to bring back the life in his eyes, however ironic it may sound as part of the undead.

Your father had disapproved of the idea at first, reasoning out that it was too big of a responsibility to hand over. He’d told you that you were still young and he wanted you to enjoy your life while you still could. With your adamancy and endless prodding, you had finally convinced him to cave in. Besides, you’re pretty sure you’ll stay young for a long time.

As you have taken on the commitment of being the lady of the house, or hotel rather, your father spent his time moving from one place to another, taking on different identities so as not to reveal his real one. When you were just starting out with your duties as the new hotelier a few years back, he couldn’t leave you behind for a day, checking up on you every two hours just in case an emergency occurs. As if something drastic could happen when more than half of your customers are already dead.

Years pass by and hourly check-ups became daily ones and then weekly afterwards, until he calls you from halfway across the world every once in a while, just to tease you if the hotel was just as great as he left it. You hadn’t actually seen him in a year, apparently ‘busy’ with his new business venture in Amsterdam.

That’s why when you pick up his scent nearby, you momentarily stop in your tracks. It isn't exactly unusual for your father to have impromptu visits, but you’ve learned that it’s highly unlikely for your father to drop by at such a time like this.

He avoids peak season at Tersnoa like the plague, let alone a Friday the 13th special like today, in addition to the most anticipated week-long celebration of the hotel’s six hundred and sixty-sixth anniversary. Your father steers clear of times like these at all costs, always making up excuses to avoid the crowd and the stress that comes with it. So much for being the past manager.

You can’t really hold it against him, as it surely has been an arduous feat having run the hotel for almost two centuries. Even though you both laugh it off whenever you tease him about it, you know deep down he genuinely enjoys attending to his customers and making sure they get the best customer service.

A scoff escapes your lips when you see the infamous Drac-cape nearing. You’re mildly tempted to ignore him altogether, not wanting to be involved with someone who wore something that has run out of style decades ago. Secondhand embarrassment is a thing, and it’s very real.

You have already lost count of the times you’ve told him to get rid of the ridiculous piece of clothing, yet he dismisses you every time, clinging onto the nostalgic feeling that comes with the cape. In consideration of your request, your father had gone so far as acquiring the services of a handful of stylists to make some alterations to the design, and you have to say you’re pretty impressed with the outcome. What else could you have said? The Drac-cape was old but gold.

You’re about to greet him when a staff approaches you, holding out a folder with papers that require your signatures. Your father stands a meter away with a proud smile, watching you with fondness in his eyes. Once you finish with the papers, he calls out, “Ah, my princess,” arms wide open to greet you with a hug. He’s the first to pull away, hands still resting on your shoulders as he takes a good look at you. “You grow up so fast!” he says jokingly with a wide smile plastered on his face as he pinches your cheeks.

There’s something off though, something suspicious behind that painstakingly dubious grin on his face. Smiling wasn’t something your father was fond of doing especially in public - too deep into portraying the character of the dark and brooding Dracula depicted in human children’s stories. Plus, your fangs sometimes get in the way, so smiling isn’t really a preferable option.

Before you get the chance to ask about his sudden visit, another staff member approaches you, another folder in hand. Your father shoos you away before you object, dragged away by your duties for the millionth time tonight.

“What is it now?” you ask the skeleton beside you, every sound of his movement resembling that of a marimba. “Your presence is being requested by Ms. Catherine at her party, Countess.”

You’d almost forgotten your cousin Catherine had rented out the hotel’s rooftop to celebrate her engagement to her long-time boyfriend Jericho. You’ve already congratulated and apologized to her plenty of times prior to this day, already knowing that you won't be able to celebrate it properly because of the events being held at the hotel. With the hectic schedule you were running on, you just realized that you hadn't visited her all day.

It had been a very long week, and you were tired to the bone, but the guilt of not being physically present at her party was gnawing at you endlessly. Almost reaching the point that you forgot your father was just in front of you mere seconds ago - and now he’s disappeared, again.

Heeding to your cousin’s call, you decide to leave the area, leaving a puff of smoke behind you. You reappear the same way at the rooftop, just beside Catherine herself, who looked like she was hiding from someone, crouched behind a table.

“Who are you guys hiding f-” Unable to finish your sentence with Cat shushing you, you crane your neck up a little, glancing at the others who were in similar dispositions. Weren’t they all too old to do this in an engagement party? Or was this a new trend Cat wanted to start?

Your heart clenches nevertheless at the hilarious attempt to hide from whoever or whatever it is they were hiding from. It was quite the scene: an orange tentacle slithering its way to steal a cupcake by the buffet table, Barry Blob thinks he can camouflage as jelly, and Bigfoot was… well, let’s just say he was never meant for a game of hide and seek. The only monster one would have expected to be good at this was your uncle Griffin who was born invisible but he was always the one first spotted because he thinks wearing disguises like a hot pink wig (his choice of the day) would make him unnoticeable.

And yet this is what they supposedly call ‘hiding’.

“Is this the new norm during engagement parties? Hiding from the responsibilities of married life I see,” you suppress a snicker with your palm, and when Cat looks back at you to shut you up, she screams with such fright, alarming everybody on the rooftop.

“Surprise!” Mandy Mummy, one of your closest friends, appears from the other side of the table.

“You guys were meant to surprise me?” Your brows furrow. “Are you all sure? What’s the occasion?”

Frankie Frankenstein emerges from behind the bar, throwing a suspicious look at you. “You’re kidding me, right?”

You look at the others in the hopes of finding a hint behind what was really going on, but Cat beats you to it, extending her arms out as she beckons you closer, “I don’t know how a monster could possibly forget the day she was born, but we’re here now so, happy birthday my dearest forgetful cousin!” Cat gives you an extra slap on your ass in greeting.

Realization finally hits you, reminiscing the short moments throughout the day that had hinted on your birthday. You did see a few of your staff nudge each other in your presence, but you only thought it was because they were hesitant to say something when they knew that it had been a hectic week so far, tight schedules and all.

The rest of the crowd clear out, revealing themselves from their hiding places. Your father appears from one side, carrying a dangerously huge three-tiered cake.

Mandy approaches first, narrowing her eyes at you, “Wait, you seriously forgot your own birthday?” Cat answers in your stead, “She did,” while she points a finger to her temple, reiterating her capability of subjective precognition to the rest of the group.

“Uncle Drac! Can you remind me again how are we related?”

“I wanted to ask the same thing!” Your father exclaims, grabbing a glass of champagne from a gargoyle waiter and trailing off to greet his friends.

“Cat, you know I’ve been busy for so long, I don’t exactly have a birthday countdown every year to remind me of something that is...not really that significant.”

“______, I know we’re practically dead, but that doesn’t mean you have to live like one.”

“Why don’t you try living in my shoes then, hm?”

“I would, if they were Valentinos.” Unable to rack your brain for a smarter response, you roll your eyes at her instead. The guests start singing happy birthday in chorus as they near you. The night continues on a light note, people wishing you another year of happiness and prosperity, likewise congratulating your cousin for her engagement and her soon wedding.

As the conversation eventually moves on to wedding preparations, Frankie spills on the details of Cat’s plans for her bachelorette party. You weren’t so keen with the idea - not when this was the first time it had been offered by the people closest to you.

Bachelorette parties were primarily a human thing - some sort of commemoration of debauchery as you had understood from Google when you had looked it up a few years ago. These kinds of celebrations weren’t exactly included in your traditions but judging by the photos you’ve seen online; you’re sort of glad this wasn’t classified as the norm in your world yet.

Cocktail parties with half-naked bartenders? Masseurs drenched in vaseline? Topless butlers serving dinner? What was with having male nudity as the baseline for such an occasion?

You didn’t think this was going to be a trend in the monster-verse anyways, as your kind comes in different shapes and sizes and these parties just might end up with one seeing a lot more than necessary.

When you try to confirm the plans with Catherine, she just shrugs at you three, telling you all that it was going to be a surprise. You, Mandy, and Frankie groan in unison at her reply.

“Impatient much? You still have the whole day tomorrow to pack your things.”

“We’re going on a trip?! And you’re telling me about this just now? A day before our leave?!”

“Yeap. How long does it take you to pack your clothes?”

“Do you not realize that I have a whole ass hotel to manage? I mean it’s not like I don’t want to go but surely, all my responsibilities cannot be handed over in a span of twenty-four hours? Plus, our week-long six hundred and sixty-sixth anniversary special isn’t over yet! You could have at least told me two weeks ahead?”

Someone places a hand on your shoulder, and you look up to see your own father smiling at you. “You’re just like your mother, darling. Stop worrying so much!”

“Exactly why I told him instead,” Cat raises her eyebrows at you as she points to your father. “Catherine’s right. So, I’ll be taking care of the hotel while you girls have some girly time by yourselves,” he says, taking a sip of his drink.

“Are you sure you can handle Hotel Tersnoa?” Your father almost spits out the champagne as he looks at you incredulously. “Excuse me? Need I remind you who handed the hotel over to you?”

“I know, it’s just… a lot has changed. We’ve expanded the hotel, there’s now a theme park, and a new island has just been opened… it can be a lot…”

Your father dismisses your worries with a wave and a kiss on your forehead. “Nothing I’ve never done before. You’ll be back before you know it. What could possibly go wrong?”

Right. Your father’s words echo in your head.

What could possibly go wrong?

“A cruise?!”

You’d gone through hours of travel, your ass was hurting from the prolonged sitting, and Catherine had not once told you where you were headed, mouth zipped shut. And yet here you were, mouth agape in shock – the betrayal, the treachery, the deception.

Docked in front of you is a humongous white ship, honking its siren with all its might. You’re struggling with attempting to even comprehend the entire situation. Your cousin did not just drag you out of your hotel to another… hotel...on water.

“Welcome to the Bermuda Triangle, where you’ll embark on a monster cruise of a lifetime,” announces a fish-man or man-fish creature clad in a sailorman’s outfit (well he was definitely a fish, but had the limbs of man). All your expectations for this trip had just been obliterated by a singular monotonous, unidentifiable being.

“Psst. Why is your face like that? I heard the fare was astronomical!” Frankie whispers when Mandy squishes between you two, trying to get a brochure from a stall nearby.

Everybody knew Cat was more than willing to spend her money on anything she has set her eyes on (just like that exclusive collection of Hermes bags she has back home) and actively looks for other ways to spend her money (such is a costly cruise) so this trip didn’t surprise you as much as it did Frankie. You’re wondering though, how she found out about this cruise and why she intends to celebrate her bachelorette’s party here.

If a disinterested man-fish was tasked to welcome its guests, well, you can tell there’s really nothing much to look forward to here. You just hope this cruise will give her money’s worth, or rather, at least half of it.

“Hey! This looks amazing!” Mandy exclaims, flipping the colorful brochure over a couple times. “There’s even a waterpark, multiple dining options, bowling alleys, a theater…”

“Sounds like everything you can do…at the hotel!” You can’t help the rising pitch of your voice by the end of your reply while your friends laugh at your indignance. Mandy and Frankie ignore your protests, while Cat whispers near you, “Wait ‘til you see the itinerary!”

“Not you too?! Seriously though, I don’t get why you’ve chosen to do it here, instead of our own hotel…” you pout, head hung low.

Cat pulls you aside, letting the other passengers move forward, “Listen to me darling, alright? All these months, years, all you did was work and work and work again, we barely had any time to hang out together just like the old times, so I figured a break from all your customer service shenanigans and let yourself be served for once. Take a vacation from running everyone else’s vacation. Is that alright with you?”

Giving her an apologetic smile, you pull her into your arms for a tight hug. She wasn’t lying though when she said you had barely spent time with each other. Back when your father was still running the hotel, you’ve spent your early years always practically attached at the hip: from crying over your first boyfriends, through that emo high school phase, to pursuing several degrees, and to spontaneous trips halfway across the world when you were bored.

“Plus, Jer and I intend to start a family as soon as we get married, so these girl trips won’t come by often all the more.”

“You know I love you to the moon and back right? And will you stop making me feel like an aunt when I’m not yet one?! But, to be honest with you, that would be really cute though! Little you and little Jerichos running around… but you know, if Jer will come close to laying a finger on you, just say the word…”

“We zinged, darling. You have nothing to worry about. Maybe you’ll find your zing on the cruise too.”

You roll your eyes at her fondly. As if.

It doesn’t change the fact that you still have second thoughts about this trip. Begrudgingly, you climb up the stairs, sulking as you watch your friends and the rest of the group of the monsters huddle in excitement as they ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ at the cruise’s features.

When you spot a few of Hotel Tersnoa’s beloved patrons in the group that arrived with you, your heart sinks a little, refusing to believe a fancy cruise could ever question their loyalty to the greatest monster hotel known to your kind. Guess nothing ever truly lasts, even with the undead.

You had initially expected the ship’s interiors with no sort of identity at all, resembling an array of badly mixed cocktails, individually appealing yet when put together looks like a lousy rainbow (you swear it’s not the spiteful hotelier inside you that’s speaking). Much to your chagrin though, the imaginary cruise you had inside your head was definitely not the case at all.

The rest of the monsters behind you continue to marvel at the cruise ship. And, quite frankly, you too are quite impressed yourself, as much as you hate to admit it. You’d never though such modern, minimalistic styling could fit a hotel on water but this cruise just seems to carry it pretty well.

The moment you set foot on the carpeted floors of the cruise, you’re awed at what seems like a celebration of the beauty of mother nature with nearly all furnishings made out of organic materials and colors exhibiting earthly hues. To add to the experience, preserved palm tress line the corridors and chandeliers made of LED lights litter the varnished high ceilings. It was like land on water – if that made any sense at all.

Man-fish continues to lead your group through the hallways, until you arrive at the main deck, just as picturesque as shown on the brochure Mandy held onto earlier. You were starting to realize why your cousin was into this whole cruise.

The creature half your height goes on to share a little history on the cruise ship – known as the Legacy. Similar to your hotel, cruising lines was also a family business for decades but it was only this year that the owners decided to extend the lines from taking human passengers to making a whole ship exclusively for monsters.

As this was the vessel’s maiden voyage and with your group being the first batch of guests to ever board the ship, a welcoming event was to happen tomorrow night, and the creature mentioned something about having the official invites placed in your rooms along with your luggage.

Right on cue, the moment you lean on the railing to overlook the deck below, a marching band appears from the side – a whole parade of man-fishes clad in band uniforms and red and gold. There’s even a few of them who start doing acrobatics, the sight of which has Frankie giggling to herself as she comes up with the term ‘fishcrobats’. She claims she’s the punniest monster in the universe.

The lights on the deck dim suddenly, and bright bursts of color start shooting up from a deck above you, fireworks lighting up the evening sky. It was a breathtaking display, with the others spiraling upwards while the rest exploded into a thousand more sparks. The display continues for a few more minutes, until the band makes a drumroll and a spotlight moves across the length of the ship and points at someone across the deck.

“Woah…” Mandy gapes, words drawling out to a low whistle. “Who. Is. That.”

A man in an all-white dress uniform emerges from the upper deck. “Ahoy there! Welcome aboard! Bienvenido, Zdravstvuyte, Guten Tag, Bonjour! I am V, captain of the Legacy…” Applause follows as the fireworks die down completely. “And yes, I’m human, but don’t hold that against me.” The captain’s eyes scan the crowd until they meet yours. He winks.

As soon as the blonde-haired captain looks away, Frankie squeals in your ear. “He totally just winked at you!”

“No, he didn’t,” you retort, never having been so grateful for not having a pulse, else Frankie would have your heart beating out of your chest.

“Yes, he did.”

The two of you were about to start bickering about the wink when the captain continues, “I’m very excited to have each and every one of you onboard for our very first monster cruise!” As unusually graceful as nobody else could probably do, he slides down the railing of the stairs as if he were just gliding through thin air.

“You’ll enjoy gourmet dining, thrilling adventures, and non-stop entertainment – all on our way to our final destination: the lost city that isn’t lost anymore – Atlantis!”

Your jaw drops – not because Atlantis had ‘apparently’ been found, in fact, it was never lost in the first place; they just cut ties with surface dwellers because of damage brought about by water pollution. In your defense, it was the humans were uncontrollable with their despicable habits but you can’t really put the blame on the Atlantians. It was their home after all, and they only wanted to protect it. Just as you would with Tersnoa.

What truly surprised you though, was how he managed to snag a partnership with them when you had vying for one since you took over the hotel. Well, your business proposition was never officially offered on the table, but still! Perhaps, if you made an entrance as grand as him, you would have succeeded though.

It was getting crowded where you stood, and Mandy tugs at your hand, pulling you down to the lower deck. Begrudgingly, you go down the stairs, sulking as you watch your friends and the other monsters huddle in excitement. You even recognize a few of the other passengers who are likewise patrons of Tersnoa. Or at least they were, now. Guess nothing truly ever lasts, even with the undead.

He reaches the lower deck in no time, greeting the other monsters with a wave and a smile. When he nears and you get a better look at him, you feel your entire body shudder – in a strangely delightful way, wave after wave of this electric feeling reaching until the very tip of your toes.

It feels as if every vein inside of you is pulsating, despite being practically dead. You felt…alive. A million thoughts rush through your head, with your gut feeling telling you something that is almost unmistakable. You have never, ever felt this way before but your intuition tells you this is the exact embodiment of the stories you’ve heard so many times in your lifetime. Could it be? Was it even possible?

The sensation was inexplicable, foreign too, yet it felt right. Like… like it was meant to be, perfectly destined in the most peculiar of ways. Digging through your purse, you retrieve the small mirror inside made specifically for vampires. Taking a quick glance of your reflection on the glass, you take notice of your irises that have turned purple, almost lavender in color. Gulping, you return the mirror into your purse at once, confirming your suspicion.

You zinged.

With the captain.

Who was human.

Frankie nudges your shoulder when she notices you stiffening beside her. “Is everything okay?” You feel your friend’s blue, stitched hand land on your shoulder. Giving Frankie a short reassuring nod in response, she shrugs it off, not before hearing her mumble about noticing something different with your eyes. Thankfully, the manifestation of the zing comes in different ways with every monster specie, so Frankie wouldn’t get the hint that you’re in deep, deep trouble.

Years of listening to stories of your culture and traditions rush to your head, all with the same words resonating throughout your brain. ‘It can make you cry; it can make you high; but, one thing a zing never does is lie – for it stays with you until you die.’

Shaking your head, you attempt to rid your thoughts of this man. He shouldn’t be your zing; he can’t be your zing. This was a huge mistake. The must’ve made a mistake. How could the very kind of people who murdered your own would also be the one designated for you – a soulmate, in human’s terms. You don’t even know how you're supposed to react to such a thing. Was it a curse? A blessing perhaps?

You continue to watch the man in silence. Sweet baby Jesus, the visuals this man was bestowed with. Maybe the man up there was real after all, and he had spent all seven days to craft this ethereal being. Even if he was meters away, his mere presence already makes you weak in the knees – considering the fact that you really haven’t officially met the person.

With his almost unrealistic face, you’re left wondering if your bodily reactions were caused by your zing or the captain really holds such prowess over creatures of all kinds. You wonder if it’ll be easy to forget your painful past and move forward? Trust the zing like all monsters do?

After promulgating the greatness of the monster population and how big of an honor it is for him to hold the first ever monster cruise, he also apologizes afterwards on behalf of his fellow humans for the mistreatment of your kind, drawing nearer and nearer to your group, eyes trained on you when he’s not busy welcoming the other monsters.

In an attempt to keep yourself from trembling, you clasp your hands together. Momentarily taking his eyes off you as he greets another guest, Mandy leans toward you and nudges your rib, “That, my friend, is what you call: a hottie. Go get him, tiger!” Blinking your eyes, you recollect yourself, giving her a dubious look, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Honey, anyone with a single working eye can confirm to themselves that the captain has been hand-sculpted by the gods themselves. And don’t tell me you don’t notice the bed eyes he’s giving you the whole time,” Mandy chortles bandaged shoulders bumping against your own as she does. “Deny it all you want now, darling, but I have this gut feeling that the love boat will be sailing very soon.”

Just then, as if on cue, the captain makes a beeline for your group, a small sultry smile playing on his lips. You feel like your insides wanted to crumble into sand and disperse into thin air. God, the things this man does to you…Rather, the things you want him to do to you. Now, your own brain betrays you with inappropriate thoughts and he’s currently in front of you looking like a whole course meal. He has such pretty eyes too and oh- this is bad. This is very bad.

“Ah, if it isn’t the one and only Countess Dracula,” he says, voice low as his eyes bore themselves into your soul (as if you still had one). “May I?” The captain takes your hand in his and gingerly places a kiss on the back of your palm. You’re rendered speechless by the small gesture, while the rest of your friends gape at the captain like he had suddenly grown three more heads.

“I’m known as V around here,” he keeps your hand in his, and you’re instantly all too conscious of everything – what if your hand was too cold for him? Or too clammy perhaps? All your worries are diminished when he doesn’t seem to take notice of any of your present worries, tugging you closer to him as he inches towards your face, warm breath fanning against your cheek, “but you can call me Taehyung.”

He pulls back just as slowly, sending you and your friends an innocent boxy smile. “Guess I’ll be seeing you lot around! Please enjoy the cruise. And remember, if there’s anything you need, feel free to approach me anytime.”

Walking away to attend to his captain-y duties, the three other girls gather around the moment he’s out of sight. “What. Was. That.” Catherine questions, punctuating each word with numerous blinks.

“I’ve already sent a prayer to Anubis to take care of our dear ______’s departed soul,” chimes Mandy, waving a hand in front of you in the hopes of taking you out of your shock.

“Whoosh! There goes _______’s undies!” Frankie adds as she throws her head back in laughter. Your cousin tsks at them to get them to stop teasing you, but with the smirk she’s sporting on her face, you’re certain she’s going to bring this up sooner or later.

With a deep sigh, you hang your head low. This was going to be a long vacation.

Right after Taehyung stages the entrance of the century and greets the cruise’s guests, he discreetly makes his way to a less crowded part of the ship and walks briskly along a dimly lit hallway. Pushing forward an inconspicuous panel on the wall leading to a secret passage, Taehyung silently makes his way done to the lower level of the ship.

The stateroom is almost pitch black as he enters; Taehyung feels his way through the room, solely relying on muscle memory to head to the bedroom. When he turns on the light to check on his great-grandfather, the old man squints, croaking out Taehyung’s name. Rushing to the elder’s side, the dutiful great-grandson pours water on the glass by the bedside table.

Taehyung perches himself on the edge of the bed, taking his great-grandfather’s frail hands in his own. “Dracula – is he on board?” the old man rasps, voice almost whispery. “No,” the younger man shakes his head in denial, “but his daughter is.”

The former winces a little when he tries to shift in his bed, “Even better. Tear him apart by slowly taking his loved ones away from him one by one. Let him feel the pain we had to go through.”

The blonde-haired captain sighs when his great-grandfather coughs again, wheezing as he does. “Promise me you’ll avenge our family, Taehyung. I’m not sure if I’m going to make it any longer, but if I won’t…” he coughs, the strain on his voice evident. “Grandpa, it’s okay, it’s going to be okay.” The old man waves his hand, dismissing Taehyung, “Promise me…for your mother, for your father, and the rest of our family. You and I are the only ones left, my dearest great-grandson. We have no one else to rely on but each other.” The old man’s hand clasp weakly against Taehyung’s.

He tucks his great-grandfather in his bed, and waits patiently for the old man to fall asleep before leaving the room.

You and the girls roam around the deck for a little longer, before deciding to call it a night and head to your rooms. It’s quite the walk all the way there, but as you get farther from the hustle and bustle of the crowd and onto a more secluded part of the vessel, not to mention the rooms are getting father apart from each other, you suppose Cat had picked the best suites available on the cruise. Typical.

Not putting much thought into it with exhaustion taking over your body, you tiredly take a half body bath and head to bed.

Rising a few hours later, you plan on checking out your cousin’s accommodation choices. Just as man-fish had mentioned the night before, there was in fact an invitation placed on top of your bedside table, the gold linings too attractive to miss out on. How could you have possibly missed it though, is all up to your fatigue last night, far too tired to even scan the room.

Heading to the kitchen first to make yourself a cup of coffee, you’re greeted by the beautiful glow of the sunrise as you exit your bedroom. You’re momentarily stunned by the beauty of it, as it was your first after a long time to see the sun, or at least a quarter of it. Contrary to popular belief, sunlight doesn’t incinerate vampires, nor does it make you vanish into thin air. In fact, the closest stories had gotten to your biological truths was that sunlight made you weaker – sort of, because the only explanation for it was that you get really bad sunburn under its rays. But that’s nothing a small bottle of Witch Republic’s Suncream Lotion SPF 5000 can’t fix.

Equipped with a 60-inch smart television mounted on a wall, an equally large painting was hung across the room, serving itself as the background for the sitting area.

The fittings are generously provided for, if the room truly claims it to be a suite for couples: a settee is placed in front of the television for viewing purposes, and another is placed vertically across for lounging and enjoying the view of the balcony.

The balcony – was magnificent in all senses of the word. From a picture on the tiny ‘Legacy’ booklet you grabbed from the table, there really wasn’t much to a panoramic view of the sea but as you pass through the wide windows, the beautiful orange glow from the dawn adds a lovely burst of color in the predominantly monochrome furnishings of the room.

You inhale deeply, breathing in the fresh sea air. You spend a few more moments there, leaning over the balcony until Frankie ruins your moment from a couple of meters away, calling you loud enough for the rest of the ship and the Atlantic Ocean to hear. She drawls your name out, screaming her excitement over your rooms. “I haven’t slept like this since I got my arm re-stitched!” You laugh at her before waving and returning to the sitting room.

A part of you was taking mental notes – possible additions and improvements to your hotel, yet the other half of you wants to allow yourself to enjoy small pleasures like these. Maybe Cat was right all along, that you needed a break from running the hotel and truly relax for a while. With the size of this suite though, you can’t help but wonder if Cat got you all the couple suites solely for your enjoyment or hers.

You decide to take your mug of coffee with you to the balcony and breathe more of the satisfying sea air until the sun rises in its entirety and you retreat back to your room, wanting to sleep in the warm duvet of your bed once more. Maybe this vacation won’t be that bad after all.

Shopping with Catherine was never an easy task. If you could say so yourself, shopping with your cousin was a whole workout on its own.

It’s been three hours since she’s dragged you, Mandy, and Frankie out of your rooms and offered you a shopping spree and free lunch. Who was one to deny such graces? Even when all three of you knew you all would end up following your cousin wherever she went until you’d all complain about how she has to take too long when she always ends up buying everything she sees anyways.

As you stare at your seated self by the full-length mirror, you start to have second thoughts about discontinuing that beginner’s program subscription in yoga before you let Catherine drag you out of the comfort of your room. Sighing in defeat, Frankie turns to you with a similar expression on her face.

Starving, the three of you leave Cat momentarily to look for something to eat, and at the sight of a frozen yogurt stall across the hallway from where you’re seated by the Chanel windows, you and the rest of the girls immediately saunter towards the quaint stall.

While you wait for the girl to finish up your orders, your eyes are busy wandering all over the place in an attempt to count how many shops and boutiques they managed to allocate inside the cruise ship. Guess your hotelier side is already one with your true self.

As you watch a loud group of male monsters exit the arcade nearby, you catch sight of someone awfully familiar: the last face you’d want to see when you’re stuck inside a cruise ship for a few weeks.

Your eyes follow the group, wanting to make sure your eyes are not playing tricks on you. Like a hawk, you watch the group closely – one man in particular, yet he won't seem to look in your direction. You wanted to forget all about it and pretend you didn’t see anything, but you figure this is going to cause you a number of sleepless nights if you don’t. Quickly, you resort to a plan that will have to cost you more energy than just observing, but you were determined to make sure that it was really him.

Focusing your vision on a nearby potted plant, you make the clay vessel move an inch as you try to catch his attention. The first try doesn’t work and neither does the second. Hell bent on your resolution, the third time works the charm (obviously with a more significant amount of distance the plant has moved).

Your suspicions are confirmed – it’s truly him.

Just like that, all sorts of emotions course through you and you feel the corners of your eyes starting to well with tears. He laughs at something one of his companions say, and you feel your heart clench as you look at the same smile you fell for years ago.

It’s takes you a while before you process somebody has been calling you name several times, then you see Mandy waving her hand in front of you. “You okay there? What happened?”

Etching an ingenuine smile on your face, you turn to face her as she hands you the dessert, “Nothing…just thought I saw someone familiar…”

“Mhmm,” Frankie hums, scooping a large portion of yogurt into her mouth, “as long as it’s not you-know-who, then it’s irrelevant,”

“Actually, I think it is him.”

Frankie chokes on the sliced strawberry topping she just ate. “What?!” Mandy places a hand on your shoulder, an apologetic look on her face. “Don’t tell me that fucker is also here?!” Shushing her quickly, you reach out to her to tug at her arm to keep her quiet.

“What fucker are you talking about?” Catherine questions, approaching the three of you with two extra paper bags in her hand. Frankie keeps her mouth shut, thankfully while Mandy comes in to the rescue. “Frankie was just talking about how fucking tasty this froyo is. In fact, I think so too – would you like to try some?” The girl offers her cup, eventually feeding Cat with a spoonful of fruity toppings.

The subject is quickly diverted and as your cousin rummages through her bag to look for the cruise’s official pamphlet, both Frankie and Mandy give you a knowing look.

“Lunch anyone?” You propose to the other three, already wishing you’d soon be forgetting about even seeing your ex-fiancée earlier.

You’d gotten back to your room around half past five, nearly collapsing to the floor after hours and hours of shopping with your cousin. The girls had agreed to use your room to prepare for the party later (one discussion you don’t remember agreeing to) and had gone around the sitting area, placing their bags done and going through their purchases.

You, on the other hand, had gone straight to the kitchen to look for something to drink. Besides, you just know they’re going to ask for something too later on, so you just grab a few bottles of water for the girls. As you rested against the cool fridge while opening a bottle of your own, you spot a punnet of strawberries sitting on top of a counter.

“Did any one of you bring strawberries here before we left?”

When they chorused their replies of denial, you check the strawberries warily, lifting them off the marble top. You hear something slide down when you open the container. A card came in with the strawberries.

Returning to the living room with strawberries in one hand and the card in the other, Frankie stands from the settee and snatches the card away from you. She waves the small piece of paper in the air, claiming it was a love letter. “Dear _______, I really think you’ve got a wonderful smile, but it’d be better if it was the only thing you’ll be wearing tonight!” she says, pretending to read the note.

“What?! You’ve already made a move without telling us about it? Lemme see!” Mandy exclaims, running after your stitched friend.

“Oh!” Frankie says, pointing to the sky, “Looks like we might be expecting a few inches tonight, hmm?” she adds, snickering as she pokes the inside of her cheek with her tongue repeatedly, and rather inappropriately.

“Y’all disgusting really. ‘M going to shower.”

“Make sure you don’t have too much fun with the showerhead!”

“Fuck you Mandy!”

“I would if you were my type!”

Catherine waits until she hears the water running before turning to her two friends left at the sitting area. “I’m worried.”

“About?”

“My cousin.” The eldest of the girls says, tapping her nails against the couch – a nervous habit. Frankie sets the card back down and nests herself on the carpet just across Cat. “What is there to worry about?”

“This thing between my cousin and the captain?” Carding her fingers through her hair, she closes her eyes before continuing, “Does the fact that he’s human not bother you…at all?”

“The dude’s harmless! And he better think it through when he tries to do something – he’s literally in a ship full of monsters. Do something dumb, he can get his head bitten off in no less than two seconds.”

Catherine is not convinced.

“Plus, I’m sure it’s just a one-time fling – surely, ______’s smart enough to know that. I just firmly believe that one must get laid regularly because penetrative sex is medicinal. And who knows? There might be cobwebs down there already!” Frankie adds.

Cat flings a brochure at Frankie before scrolling through her phone’s gallery then stopping at a portrait of you and her. “I’m just concerned about _____’s wellbeing. This is the most time we’ve spent together for the past two years, and I’m not even sure if she’s fully recovered from what she’d been through with you-know-who.”

“Even worse, what if she falls for the dude? Or she zinged? Or they both zinged?!”

“Hey, hey…” Mandy scoots over to Cat’s side and wraps an arm across her shoulder, “you’re overthinking now babe, and! This is your bachelorette party, stop worrying about stuff. _____ is a strong, independent woman. If she can handle the best hotel in monster history, then handling a man will be too easy.”

“Come out already!” Mandy whines impatiently from outside, knocking impatiently on your bathroom door. You smooth a few creases on your dress before you open the door to reveal your outfit. Shock was a heavy understatement. Cat’s usually beautiful features twist into one of distaste, Mandy pretends to gag at the sight, and Frankie avoids your gaze as she purses her lips.

You can’t help the nervous laugh that escapes your throat when they look at you up then down, scrutinizing your fashion choices.

“What. The hell. Is that?!”

“Why are you too covered up?”

Their hostilities continue as you give them a twirl, genuinely confused with their reactions when there’s absolutely nothing wrong with choosing a long-sleeved rayon blouse with ruffles in the front and a green pleated skirt.

“You didn’t tell me you’re meant to apply for the queen’s secretary?” Frankie questions, rummaging through your luggage.

“You mean Queen Elizabeth I?” Mandy adds, snickering along with the rest of the girls.

“Hey! G4 says she was pretty! And educated for her time too!” you cry in protest.

“Same with you darling. But it’s a party we’re attending and not a royal appointment, so will you do me a favor and wear this instead?”

Your mouth falls agape in shock.

“What?! This dress is… is barely covering anything!” You look closely at the satin blood-red piece of clothing as Catherine hands it to you. Needless to say, just looking at it was a cultural reset.

“Glad to know you’re unaware of that point.” Mandy butts in, “you’ll be happy to know that this dress will get you a man in no time either way.”

“Either way?” Frankie questions before leaving your room to looks for heels to go with your dress.

“Yeap,” the mummy replies, touching up her make-up, “Either you get a man who will cover you up or you’ll find one who will gladly take it off for you later tonight

Catherine coughs, “The captain,” winking at you while she pushes you towards the bathroom, “Chop chop now dear! We still have a party to attend to tonight!”

The party is already in full swing by the time the four of you arrive. The crisp, chilly air hits your face as you get to the main deck, and as you wrap your arms around yourself, you know you're already regretting having worn Catherine’s dress. Arms bare, half of your back out in the open, and a thigh-high slit? Really? A towel could’ve afforded you more modesty than this dress.

Mandy immediately heads to bar, leaving you all to ‘pick your poison for tonight’. Pursing your lips at your mummified friend, you trail after your cousin as she looks for a table to settle yourselves in. You scan the crowd, watching the other monsters move to beat of the music, and also, just in case someone you don’t want to see decides to show up again out of nowhere.

Mandy finds you shortly afterwards with a waiter trailing behind her, carrying a tray of ambiguous looking chalices. Oh boy.

This night was headed straight to hell.

Nearly an hour later, you practically waddle back to your table, breathless and throat parched as the desert. Catherine clings onto you like her Hermes Himalaya Birkin, just as exhausted as you were. Why do you always seem to forget that Mandy dragging your asses to the dance floor has never been the smartest choice?

The moment you get back to your table, you reach for the bronze goblet and down the rest of your drink. The distinctive burn has you keening, tightening your fingers around its stem. Beside you, Catherine coughs after she takes a sip of hers – “What the fuck is in this drink?? Methane?!”

“Throat…on fire…I feel like a fucking dragon,” you attest, voice raspy.

“That, my dear girlfriends, has been mixed by yours truly,” Mandy announces with a proud smile on her face. “I call it the Devil’s Piss.”

You shake your head at her, rubbing at your temples. Starting to feel the sweat break at your hairline, you want nothing more than to return to your suite and sleep the night away. Closing your eyes, you draw a calm scene inside your head: watching the sun set by your balcony as you sip on your hot chocolate –

Your dreams of orange skies and the soft breeze are cut short when you feel a tap on your shoulder. “Countess, the captain requests your presence on the bridge.” Your eyes follow the direction of where he was pointing and see a pair of eyes staring back at you.

Perhaps sleep could stay second on your list tonight.

Cat wiggles her eyebrows suggestively as you bow your head in embarrassment, your cheeks flushing when the rest of the girls whistle and howl as the man-fish stoically escorts you to the bridge. Once you arrive at the top of the stairs, the man adjusts your grip on his elbow as he gently takes your hand and stretches it forward for you to continue on by yourself. “The captain will be waiting inside, Countess” He bows curtly, and your left on your own to walk towards the bridge.

“Countess.” There’s the low timbre of his voice again, sending shivers down your spine effortlessly as you close the door behind you. He doesn’t speak after that, just taking in what you’re wearing tonight, subconsciously biting on his bottom lip as he takes in the outfit your friends have chosen for you.

Every step you take is wobbly, like your legs have turned into goo. The chilly breeze up here is likewise not helping your skin already prickled with goosebumps.

“_______,” Taehyung grabs your hand and gently places a kiss on the back of your palm. Another strike of electricity shoots up your spine at the small gesture. Goodness, what the hell was going on with you?

“Y-you don’t have to do this e-every time we meet.” Inwardly cringing at your shaky voice, you look away and exhale deeply in an attempt to calm your nerves.

It doesn’t help.

Especially not when the captain is less than an arm-length away, and being able to see him this close is doing dangerous things to you. “This is the first time I’ve been on a ship’s bridge,” you comment lamely, keeping the conversation on a sane note. The thirsty ass hoe inside you doesn’t seem to approve of the idea though, unfortunately.

“Really now? How is your first time on the bridge then?”

“It’s…different.”

“Different? How so?”

“Different from trying to run a hotel I guess, which was all I was doing for the past few years…It’s an unlikely comparison, I know, but being here…it’s like you get to oversee everything from the bridge, which I never get when I’m back home, like…you know you’re in control?” You were merely blabbering at this point, but then again, your brain loses control of your bodily functions when you're in close proximity with this man.

“You like being in control then?”

The tiny creaking sound coming from the floor tells you he’s taken a step closer to you, and the warmth coming from him is driving you insane. Damn this bloody dress of Catherine. You’re at a loss for words, neurons short-circuiting at both his question and how it’s equally chilly and hot at the same time in this small space.

It’s too much for you to handle, too much that you can't seem to find the appropriate words to voice out a reply, instead, you just turn around to face him. A gasp escapes your lips when you accidentally bump into his chest when you do so.

“Oh! Crap! I-I’m sorry…” You apologize meekly, fiddling with your hands and refusing to meet his eyes at all costs. The captain places your chin between his fingers and lifts your face for him to look at. He doesn’t say a word either, instead, just leans down and captures your lips in a feverish kiss.

Surprised – was an understatement. You hadn’t really expected him to call you over to the bridge and the next thing you knew he’s already kissing you. He immediately pulls away when you don’t reciprocate, apologizing profusely and mumbling about misplaced affections.

“No!” You exclaim, causing the captain to jump a little. You gather your courage and rub at your temples. “I mean…Captain V, your affections have not been misplaced, it’s just this…monster thing that has me acting like this the whole time, and I really have zero control over it and…”

You don’t get to finish your sentence as you feel his warm, moist lips on yours again. His strawberry-tasting lips glide over yours smoothly that you find yourself leaning towards him as you melt into the kiss. You’re first to pull away this time, breathless. “Forgive me, Countess…I’ve been wanting to do that since I first laid eyes on you on this ship,” he says, cupping your face as he rests his forehead against yours. “So beautiful,” Taehyung whispers against the shell of your ear and trails a finger from your cheek and eventually down to your collarbones as he ogles the cleavage Cat’s dress had generously given you tonight.

“Taehyung.” He places a lingering kiss on your shoulder. “Call me Taehyung, please.” He smooths his hand over your hips, tightening his grip as he pulls you closer and kisses you once more. You feel something hard against your stomach – oh. Your mouth parts when he starts to grind, slowly and devilishly against you and he takes this opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss.

His gaze darkens when he sees the expanse of skin the slit of your dress reveals as you shift your legs, thigh now out in the open. Attaching his lips to yours again, Taehyung distracts you from the way his slender fingers dance their way up dangerously near your core.

Your head bows in embarrassment when you remember Mandy checking if you’d worn the right underwear earlier, ‘If they’re not lace, they have to go.’ So when she busted inside the bathroom as you were changing into Cat’s clothes earlier and saw your favorite cotton panties (with an embroidered flower on the front), she quickly rips the material in distaste, strongly suggesting that commando is the way to go. It won't be long until Taehyung discovers –

“No panties huh?” Taehyung observes, voice low and deep. “Yes,” you reply breathily, closing your eyes as you ignore how you're throbbing all over in such a short period of time. You try to regain your wits back, your first zing too overwhelming that everything seems like a haze.

With a new, albeit questionable, surge of courage, you move your hand to palm him through his pants. When Taehyung bares his neck to you to elicit a groan, your head subconsciously dips towards the spot where you feel his pulse the strongest. In an instant, your primal instincts begin to take over you, baring your fangs and grazing them dangerously against his skin.

Holy fuck.

This man was going to be the cause of your death.

It’s been a while since you’ve been in close proximity with a human, and being this close to the captain has stirred up something inside of you that you never knew still existed.

Back in the days when humans had mingled freely with your kind, witches had placed suppressants in the Tersnoan atmosphere so that a monster’s primal instincts won't ever be able to take over your diplomatic selves.

Now that you were much older with fully developed senses, being this close to a human with no suppressants whatsoever had inevitably awakened your inborn vampiric tendencies.

Needless to say, your generation of vampires had gone ‘vegetarian’ in a sense. Your lifestyle no longer consisted of hunting down people for food, but you opted for a healthier alternative and a more convenient source of food: coconut juice. Besides, human blood never really came in highly recommended by the older generations, claiming it tasted like loneliness and despair.

What they failed to warn you of, however, was how intense the urge was once you were only a hair-breadth away from a human being who is very much alive. The temptation was getting stronger by the second, and the pulse coming from Taehyung’s jugular vein was ringing loudly in your ears.

Both the desires of hunt and lust were slowly taking over you, your judgment, and your irises, and your lips quake ever so gently at the excitement coursing through your veins. As you feel your irises change its color from their natural ones, to purple then to gold afterwards, the surprise in Taehyung’s eyes has gotten prominent, yet, with astounding self-control, he manages to keep the rest of his body calm and collected.

He gulps at the small smirk that plays on your lips, “To answer your question, I like being in control,” you say lowly, grazing the tip of your nail against his jawline, “but only when the need arises so.”

For a moment, you sense his fright with your golden eyes and fangs on display, but you feel it dissipate quickly when you bunch his shirt in your fists and pull him closer to you. Taehyung then takes this as a cue to continue his torment of his featherlight touches, causing you to lean against the wheel as your head falls backward at the sensation.

Brazenly, he hooks a hand under your thigh and wraps your leg around his hip, allowing himself to grind harder against you, the friction of his dress pants against your bare heat sending you to a state of near delirium. The moment is cut short however as you both hear footsteps approaching the bridge. The captain puts your leg down as abruptly as he hooked his arm underneath it earlier.

As you wait for the two man-fish creatures to pass by the wheelhouse, you and the captain keep a modest gap between each other, letting the staff move across the bridge and until they take their positions by the front portion of the deck. Just as if the captain wasn’t groping you merely seconds ago.

The moment they’re out of sight, Taehyung closes the distance between the both of you, resting his weight on you as he presses you further onto the wheel of the ship. Subconsciously, you bite your lip as you feel his boner practically begging for your attention.

His actions are hastier this time around, and quite frankly, you're glad he has managed to equal the same level of urgency you had. You don’t know how long you’ll be able to hold onto your sanity with the heat pooling in the pit of your stomach. Else, you’d be taking the matter in your own hands.

Every contact of Taehyung’s skin with yours has you skin ablaze, and you’re unsure if it’s due to the (partly) shameful fact that you haven’t been this intimate with someone for the past few years that you're this responsive. He’s fondling your breasts with one hand, unabashedly tweaking and playing with your nipples. The other hand is busy squeezing your thighs, fingers dancing lightly across the exposed skin of your leg.

Your breath hitches as he unexpectedly cups your bare mound, digits swiping against your folds. Body quaking at the feeling, your body leans forward, but Taehyung has other plans, tugging you back harshly to his chest. “You think you can stay still for me sweetheart? You wouldn’t want my staff to think we’re christening the bridge, do you?”

Maybe, just maybe, the thought didn’t sound so bad?

“Oh?” Taehyung hisses when he feels your quick intake of breath at the thought. He finds your clit seconds later, rubbing the nub languidly, “you seem to like the idea, hmm?”

“Taehyung, please,” you beseech, leaning towards his touch and grinding your hips against his palm in desperation. You’re uncertain if this was an effect still caused by the zing but at this point, you just wanted a release from his relentless teasing and you’re more than willing to work for it if you have to.

The captain revels in your responsiveness and as a reward, he complies with your request, quickening his pace and toying your clit with more vigor than ever. Your hands, previously just as busy groping Taehyung, now shoots out to grip at the helm, your high approaching rapidly. He inserts a long, dexterous digit to accompany his other hand, helping you reach your climax faster. A second finger has you reeling, gripping the helm even tighter than before, knuckles turning white at the sheer strength. One kiss on your neck is all it takes, orgasming so hard that Taehyung has to hold you still lest you lose your balance.

You're still panting a minute later, having turned around and resting your hands on Taehyung’s chest for support. You both stay like that for a moment in each other’s arms, until you’re brought back to reality by the captain’s boner brushing against your tummy. “Can I?” you ask as you look up to him, thumbing the waistband of his dress pants.

“_______, darling, as much as I’d want to you right here, there’s too many of my staff roaming around the bridge for the night. And if these creatures walking about isn’t bothersome enough, it’s the fact that fish don’t blink either…so there’s that…” Taehyung states before placing a kiss on your shoulder. “If you desire so, I’d gladly continue this in my room…” the captain offers, looking at you expectantly as another pair of the fish men round the deck.

“I think we should go with that.”

He nods briefly, placing a wet kiss on your temple before taking your hand in his. Giddy as a teenager at the sight of her crush, you let him lead the way to his stateroom, unable to hide the shy smile on your lips. Once he leaves the wheelhouse to one of his first mates for the night, he squeezes your hand and continues on, palm contrastingly warm against yours as you walk to his room together.

“Did you enjoy the strawberries I had sent you earlier this evening?”

“Definitely. They’re one of the sweetest bunches I’ve tried in my life! Thanks for them by the way.”

“You did? They’re handpicked from our very own greenhouse on the ship!” Taehyung looks back at you with the brightest smile, eyes crinkling with the purest delight. Your heart crumples at the sight. How could the zing have possibly chosen this man for you – or worse, how are you supposed to deal with this type of duality?

One moment he’s brazenly fingering you inside the wheelhouse with blinkless staff roaming about and the next he’s talking about growing strawberries and how farming has been therapeutic for him. How is one man so devilish and wholesome at the same time?

Just like that, conversation flowed natural between the two of you: the similarities of having to run a hotel (as well as a heated debate on whether or not a hotel on land or on water is easier to manage), hobbies you enjoy on a spiritual level, and a few bits and pieces of him as Kim Taehyung and not the captain of The Legacy.

You’d just learned he doesn’t drink coffee, nor does he drink alcohol; he plays the saxophone and claims he’s pretty learned with the instrument; and that he loves taking photographs. In addition, he’d also told you about how he was born and raised in Korea hence the faint accent, but he’d grown up moving from place to place with his great-grandfather due to their family business, and that’s how their voyages helped him practice his English and even pick up a few foreign languages.

Your getting-to-know each other session is brought to a pause when the blonde-haired captain stops in front of a door in a dimly lit corridor. Quietly, he fishes for something inside his pockets, takes out his keycard and taps it against the door lock. Taking a peek from outside, you wait for him as he turns the lights on before following him inside.

Mouth agape as you enter, your eyes wander around his stateroom, marveling at the sheer grandeur of the captain’s living space. Just when you thought Catherine had given you and your friends the luxury of staying in a suite large enough to house a family of five, the captain’s stateroom on the other hand could easily pass for at least ten people.

Taehyung’s suite exactly looks like it came from a magazine spread, akin to a million-dollar apartment…at a high-rise residential tower…located in the middle of the busiest city in the world.

The captain lets you roam around his stateroom, a small smile playing on his lips as you gape over every detail in the room. It was modern interior design taking to a whole new level.

Monochromatic in a way, yet for some reason, he had it strategically designed to make it look more dynamic, alive somehow. You were no expert in the field of interior design, but with your modest experience in running a hotel (from choosing what type of cotton will be best for the beddings to organizing parties with more than a hundred participants), you could easily tell every nook and cranny of this room was heavily planned out.

Pointing at the stairs, you wordlessly ask for his permission if you could go up and check out the upper level. Taehyung doesn’t follow right after, momentarily heading to his kitchen. Significantly smaller than the lower floor, the second level houses his bedroom, with a heap of curtains serving as a divider and cover from those staying below.

His bedroom speaks more of him than any other part of the stateroom. Just as he mentioned earlier, there’s an open saxophone case on one corner, next to another black violin case. You also take notice of the makeshift tie hanger he’d made using the coat stand.

What truly catches your eyes though, is the array of photographs hung on the walls. It’s a mosaic of some sort, with photos spread from a corner then occupying half of the adjacent walls. Some are framed, some are printed on canvas, and a number are on photo paper and pasted on the beige wall. They’re caught on film, you reckon, with the distinct grainy resolution common amongst the photos.

Swiping your finger against the wooden frames of the pictures he’d hung, you study each photo thoroughly, trying to figure out the story behind each picture. There’s three more situated on his bedside table, Picking up the one with Taehyung smiling widely beside a boat’s mast.

“Ah, my first sail,” Taehyung says, taking a step near you. The tiny hairs on your nape stand at the feeling of his warm breath against your skin. All of a sudden, you realize he’s standing too close – too close for you to remain sane.

You keep the framed photo in your hands, yet your thoughts have ultimately flown far away from whatever story was behind the picture; like how you hear his heart beat a little faster.

“Enough about me, countess,” the captain whispers as he places a hand over yours and guides yours back down to the bedside table. For a second there, you’d forgotten

For a second there, you’d almost forgotten he literally had the same fingers inside you just a few moments ago and that you’re now reminded of the main and sole purpose why you’re here in his bedroom.

“What about you?” Taehyung sets the strawberries down next to the photograph, then tucks a few strands of stray hair behind your ear. Each teasing touch is driving you closer to madness, like every move of his is calculated as if he knows he has this effect on you.

Lamely, you echo his words, “What about me?”

“Do you still want to look at more of my photographs or shall we continue what we started earlier?” It’s so awfully quiet inside the room that you basically hear yourself gulp at his proposal.

Weren’t your bodily reactions enough to serve as an answer?

You wanted to act less naïve (and appear a whole less desperate) that you’d imagined giving him a proper answer in your head, but here you were, stiff as a gargoyle statue, cowering beneath the warmth radiating off Taehyung.

Thoughts too haywire, you're unable to rack your brain for an appropriate reply, so you return the question to him: one with a double purpose – for him to ponder on and for you to recollect yourself. “What do you want?” Slowly, you turn to face him, bracing yourself for the hormonal uproar you are to experience.

The captain pouts cutely while in thought before darting his tongue out to lick at his lips. Taehyung gently brushes your hair over your shoulder, fingers subsequently tracing the outline of your collarbone. “I want,” he starts off, toying with the strap of your dress and wrapping it around his finger, “to take this off.”

Letting him slide the straps off your shoulders, you inhale deeply, anticipation doubling by the second. With your shoulders tense, the straps fall only until your elbows. Taehyung notices your hesitation and tenderly takes your chin between his thumb and his forefinger, tilting your head up so he could face you properly.

“Hey, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

Feeling sorry for him having to deal with your worries, you cup his beautiful face in your hands, “I want to. I really do – it’s just…it’s been a while.”

You're grateful when he leans toward your touch, sending a soft smile your way. “Of course, darling, we’ll take it slow.” Relaxing your shoulders, the thin straps of your dress fall down the length of your arm with the rest of the fabric following shortly after.

Core throbbing immensely with want, you take initiative this time, claiming his mouth with a newfound sense of courage and urgency. Your knees threaten to give in when he matches the intensity of your kiss. With haste, you thumb at the zipper of his pants, causing him to trip on his own feet and fall forward.

The blonde-haired man brings you down to bed with him, stretching his arm out just in time to break his fall, making sure he’s not resting too much of his weight on you. “What happened to taking it slow?”

Taehyung is just as breathless when he helps you with your predicament with his pants. “Fuck it, there’s plenty of time for that later but I need you,” you pant, unable and unwilling to keep your hands to yourself – brushing against his clothed erection, sliding them against his defined chest, wrapping your hands by his neck to pull him closer to you…

“I need you now, inside me, please Tae…”

He withdraws from your body and kneels by the edge of the bed. Legs already shamefully spread and ready, Taehyung rummages through the drawers of his bedside table, looking for something. At the mention of condoms under his breath, you wave at him, trying to catch his attention.

He turns to you, eyebrows raised. “No need. Human sperm can’t get us pregnant anyways. Are you clean?”

“Got checked three weeks ago, that good with you?”

You nod your head, beckoning him over. Taehyung wastes no time, taking his boxers off to free his dick from the confines of his underwear. He crawls over to you and places a kiss on each of your thighs before taking his cock and sliding it against your wet folds.

He uses yours and his essences as lubricant, jerking himself off first before pushing the red tip of his shaft slowly. In consideration of your own pleasure, he doesn’t rush his entrance, just pushing slowly then drawing it back to prep you properly.

Taehyung continues with that, until your hand shoots out to grab him by his wrist, giving him a tug to let him know you’re ready. Silently, he nods, this time pushing his cock inside until he’s fully seated inside your warm walls. “So t-tight.” Taehyung shivers when you experimentally clench around him.

“Babe,” the captain breathes out while heat rises to your face at the term of endearment. “Please don’t do that again, fuck, I might just cum early if… if…” Taehyung falls silent again, groaning as you clench one more time, “you're just one naughty girl aren’t you?”

When you shrug your shoulders in reply, it’s like something inside Taehyung snaps because he gives you a playful smirk before thrusting harshly. You mewl at the feeling, fingers tugging at his hair in encouragement.

“Y-you're so big,” you cry out as he ruts his hips, the tip of his cock deliciously brushing against your sweet spot with every thrust. “Fuck,” Taehyung hisses, continuing the fluid motion of his hips, “your pussy was made just to take me then.”

He goes almost animalistic, thrusting even deeper, stronger as he chases his high. “Think you can cum with me sweetheart?” Taehyung queries, pushing his hair back when he feels the edges of his fringe tickle your cheeks.

Taehyung deftly finds your clit while he’d continued his torment with his hips, a single moan coming from your mouth is all he needs before proceeding with abusing your nether nub. It doesn’t take you both much after that, both your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave, one after the other.

A few more hours into the evening and you find yourselves still tangled in each other’s bodies, worshipping each and every inch of skin as you get overcome by lust over and over again.

Taehyung collapses to your side after what seems like… in fact, you’ve actually lost count of how many times you’ve climaxed. Panting, he looks at you with a smile reaching his eyes, “That was…” He’s at a loss for words but when he hears laughter bubble out of you at his cuteness, he joins in.

The laughter dies down, yet you’re still staring at each other – no words needed to explain what had just transpired between the both of you tonight. You stay still and contented, basking in the euphoric bliss. He says he can't stay awake any longer, bidding you a good night’s sleep and sweet dreams.

You manage to stay awake though, on the contrary, swearing to yourself you’d just seen his eyes flash lavender before falling into a deep slumber.

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